The Black Benedicts

by Anita Charles

  “If I did,” she replied, with a little unsteady laugh in her voice, “it was because I sometimes thought you detested me, too! And there was another thing,” she added, shyly burying her face, ‘and that was the real reason why I—why I never even dared to hope...”

  “And what was that?” he asked, curiously.

  “Miss Martingale!” she told him, in a muffled voice. “I was so certain you were going to many her—Mrs. Carpenter was certain—we were all certain...”

  “Then I, apparently, was the only one who was not certain!” she heard him reply a little dryly. “And as I never had the remotest intention of marrying Miss Martingale, as I’ve never even thought about marrying Miss Martingale, and haven’t the faintest idea how she would respond if I asked her—then you were all just a little bit out in your certainties, weren’t you?”

  But she was not altogether satisfied, and she kept her face persistently hidden.

  “But you obviously admired her—she calls you ‘darling,’ and whenever she came to Morven she was treated like a princess.” She put up a small, indignant face. “The best bedroom, even a ball arranged especially for her—what else did you expect any of us to think?”

  He laughed softly, and almost triumphantly, and as she dived for shelter again he put his fingers under her chin and held it firmly, so that she could not wriggle away from his look. And his look was suddenly extremely amused.

  “I do believe you’re consumed with jealousy of Miss Martingale!” he exclaimed. “But, my darling child, I’ve known her for years—ever since she was a struggling dancer in her early ‘teens, and I’ve done a lot to help advance her career, because she’s a wonderful artist, and for that reason alone I’ve admired her. I was able to pull strings—to help her in various ways, and for that reason I believe she has always been excessively grateful to me. But artists of her ability do not marry if they are wise, because invariably it upsets their career, and with Sonia her career is everything. She is not the least little bit in love with me, I assure you.”

  But Mallory, as she watched his lips coming nearer to hers, knew she would never be convinced of that. No woman in her senses...

  And then his lips had closed down on hers, and for close upon a minute neither of them could have uttered a word even if they’d wanted to. And Mallory, in a kind of ecstasy, certainly didn’t want to. She wound her slim arms upwards about his neck and held him tightly, and when at last they drew apart both were trembling and a little pale because the wonder of it was almost too much.

  “And do you still believe,” he asked, rather sternly, “that I ever gave a serious thought to Miss Martingale?”

  Later he told her that the house party at Morven was now broken up, and that Sonia and her friends had returned to London. There had been other, less pleasant, duties, which he had had to see to over the past few days. They brought a tired, sad look to his face as he mentioned them, but he was not going to go into any detail with her about them until she said, her own face grave and sad, too:

  “You mean Adrian! I—I know about him—I asked...!”

  Again he possessed himself of her hands and held them tightly, as if they were a kind of comfort.

  “I didn’t want you to know until you were fit enough, but in a way, perhaps, it was not such a tragic thing for him! He was not—quite as other men are, since that other accident of his, and then he fell in love with you,” with a rather quivering sigh. “He wouldn’t have been happy.”

  Because it was still too much of a nightmare for her to recall, Mallory had been striving hard over the past few days to keep all thought of that hideous drive away from her. But of one thing she was now certain. Adrian, that night, had not been entirely sane.

  “Was it—instantaneous?” she asked.

  “Not quite. He died in hospital, and Jill Harding was with him—she insisted on it! You see,” he explained, “When Harding came back from the village with the intelligence that you and Adrian had been searching for him because Serena had been taken ill, and instead of following the doctor back to the house, there was not any sign of your car, some sixth sense warned me that things were wrong. And I grabbed a car that was actually standing in the drive and came off after you—or, rather, I decided to try and cut you off, but succeeded in seeing you flash past when I arrived at the bottom of the lane.”

  Mallory shut her eyes tightly, and turned away her head, and he caught her instantly into his arms and held her comfortingly close.

  “It’s over now, my darling,” he assured her soothingly. “You don’t have to think of it any more.”

  But Mallory whispered:

  “I was thinking of Jill! She—she loved him!”

  “I know,” he said, and his face twisted slightly. “But as it was in any case a hopeless love she isn’t really any the worse off. And at least she was with him—at the last!”

  For a moment there was silence between them, and then he spoke to her with deliberate briskness:

  “And do you know what I’m going to do now?” he said. “I’m going to drive you home to Morven as soon as they’ll let me do so—and I think that will be tomorrow!—and then just as soon as you’re fit for the journey I’m taking you back to your mother, and immediately I’ve received her permission to do so I’m going to marry you! And bring you back to Morven!”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, and her eyes were like soft grey stars as she turned them to him.

  He stroked her cheek caressingly.

  “Two people who will be delighted about that will be Mrs. Carpenter and Serena,” he told her. “For now you really will be like a mother to Serena! And perhaps one day...!”

  The look in his eyes brought such a vivid blush to her cheeks that he decided to spare her and kissed her, lingeringly, instead. And then he whispered:

  “Do you know, there’s something we’ve neither of us said to one another, and I’m going to say it now! I love you, Mallory, my darling! I love you so much that I can’t imagine however I existed before you came into my life!”

  And she looked up at him shyly, but with radiant happiness in her eyes, and whispered backs “I love you, Raife! I’ll love you—always!”

  THE END