Marry a Stranger

by Susan Barrie

  “There might,” he agreed, but he wondered what the woman he had last seen lying with toil-roughened hands and exhausted, not very attractive face in her humble cottage bed, with the baby lying on a pillow beside her, would think of this slender vision with the heart-shaped face and the enormous, thoughtful eyes who was his wife. Not that he forgot that she was a doctor’s daughter, and this sort of thing should not come as much amiss to her as it almost certainly would come to—well, he could only think of Vera Hunt, and he was quite certain that no consideration whatsoever would induce Vera to so much as set foot inside a cottage where the atmosphere was thick with the mingled fumes of paraffin oil and somewhat stale cooking, and quite a large collection of rather unwashed humanity.

  But Stacey had a look in her eyes sometimes which he could only describe as intensely humane—and he knew that she could be strangely earnest, and she was not one to flinch from unpleasantness. She had worked for Vera Hunt until she had collapsed on her feet, when at least she might have uttered a small complaint. But she had not complained.

  “Don’t forget I used to do a lot of things with, and for, Daddy, that were very similar to the things you’re asking me to do now,” she told him. “In those days he never hesitated if he wanted someone to prove useful, and as I was always more or less handy I got many tasks handed out to me that I didn’t always like. Not that the fact that I didn’t like doing them ever stopped me doing them,” she added hastily. “And, mostly, I was only too pleased to help.”

  “Yes; I think you would be,” he said slowly, and then he glanced at the large kitchen clock and noticed that it was practically three in the morning, and he rose hastily and, putting out both hands, pulled her to her feet also. “And now up to bed, young lady, or you’ll look an exhausted prima-donna in the morning, and you won’t feel a bit like indulging in any good works. And thank you a thousand times for spoiling your night's rest in order to look after my creature comforts. I should probably have gone to bed hungry and cold and too tired to sleep, but for you. Now I think there’s every danger that I shall oversleep tomorrow morning.”

  Stacey gave him an almost childishly grateful smile. Her heart seemed to be glowing inside her, not only because she was to accompany him on an errand of mercy the following day, but because he had thanked her as if he really meant it. She went ahead of him up the wide stairs, and outside her door he gave her a little pat on her slim shoulder.

  “Sleep well,” he said. “If you oversleep I’ll send Hannah up to you with some breakfast. And, in any case, you’ve earned breakfast in bed.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  But Stacey did not have breakfast in bed. She was ready to set out for the cottage of Dr. Hurst’s patient as soon as Martin was the following morning.

  And when he left her in the cottage, after she had removed her coat and her little hat and donned a kind of short, flowered cotton housecoat which she had been careful to take with her, he could see that she was not indulging in any self-pity, and already the youngest of the toddlers seemed to have formed such an attachment for her that it was loath to let go of the hem of the housecoat. In the last glimpse he had of Stacey and the children before he shut the door of the cottage, she was lifting the toddler on to her knee, having taken a seat in an old and slightly disreputable armchair, and the eldest boy had brought her a story book, likewise in a state of decrepitude, and she was about to read aloud for the benefit of the small tribe of youngsters.

  When he called for her in his car at lunch time the grandmother had not arrived, so she refused to desert her post, and it was not until after tea time that they finally drove homewards through the blue dusk of an early November evening. Stacey was feeling happier perhaps than she had felt for weeks, and she certainly looked happier. There was no lipstick left on her lips, and very little powder on her nose, as she had not liked to make herself up in front of the children in the cottage—and more especially in front of the somewhat imposing grandmother, complete with an unmistakable north-country accent, who had arrived to take charge of her daughter—and her hat was in her lap, and her hair was tousled, but somehow Martin thought she looked good enough to make it an effort of will to keep his eyes on the road ahead, and not on her. And—what he felt was more important than anything else—she was completely relaxed as she sat beside him, and chatted in a completely unselfconscious manner about the events of the day and her adventures with the children.

  “I really enjoyed it,” she assured him. “They were such nice children—and they were even nicer after I’d given them all a good wash! And the mother is sweet. I like her new baby, too.”

  “I think you did very well indeed, Stacey, and I want to thank you,” he told her, removing one hand from the wheel for an instant and laying it lightly on her knee. “No one could have done better than you did.”

  She felt herself glowing even more contentedly inside.

  “And Mrs. Elbe looked after you all very well, I’m sure,” she said. “What a mercy she arrived in time, otherwise I don’t think I could have trusted Hannah to serve you your lunch, and Miss Fountain would probably have declined to do so.”

  “You don’t find Jane any easier to get on with?” he asked rather quietly, after a moment.

  “No, I can’t say I do,” Stacey admitted. “If anything, she’s sometimes a little more—well, a little less co-operative even than she used to be, and she spends so much of her time in her own room. Altogether, I find her behaviour a little bit—strange—to say the least.”

  “Um,” he murmured, staring thoughtfully at the road. There was silence between them for a few moments, and then he again laid his hand on her knee.

  “Stacey, my dear, I’ve been thinking ... How would you like a little change, after all these weeks in the country? Would you like to come to London and stay at the flat for a week or two, and do a little shopping, and see a few plays and things for a change? Would you?”

  Stacey could scarcely believe her ears, but she answered at once, delightedly, thinking that if she was in London she would be bound to see more of him: “Oh, yes, I’d love it.”

  “You would? Then we’ll have to see how soon we can fix it up. Perhaps when our guests have gone.” Silence fell between them, but it was a pleasing, comfortable silence, with Stacey hugging the thought of being in London with him to her breast. Possibly he would take her out as he took her out before they were married. She would see shows with him, dine with him at the little favorite restaurants he patronized, dance with him ... She had never yet danced with him! How wonderful, how exciting it would all be!

  They passed the Adens’ cottage just before they reached the main gates of Fountains, and every window seemed ablaze with light, shining forth into the dusk. Stacey thought they must be entertaining friends—or preparing to entertain friends. She had promised Beatrice Aden to sit for her and have her portrait painted, but if she was going away to London she would have to let her know that the portrait would have to wait a while.

  When they entered the hall of Fountains Vera Hunt seemed to be waiting for them at the foot of the stairs, although as a matter of fact she had only just descended from her bedroom, where she had been changing into something rather startling for the evening. It was black, with a raised pattern of gold thread, and a plunging neck-line, and about her shoulders was a stole of flame-colored silk. She had a curious little smile on her lips, and she looked at Stacey in a way that puzzled the girl.

  “So you’ve returned!” she said. “Having done rather more than your good deed for the day! I’m sure you must be very pleased with her, Martin, and very well satisfied because you’ve acquired a wife who fits so well into your particular scheme of things.”

  She descended from the last steps of the stairs and moved towards them. Stacey felt that something more was coming, although Martin, for once, had taken so little notice of Vera’s observation that he was calmly hanging his coat and hat on the hall stand.

  “And there’s something I’ve got to tell
you, my dear!” Vera exclaimed, with a bright, mysterious smile, still looking at Stacey. “A young man has been here this afternoon to see you, and he’s coming back again this evening, because apparently his stay in the district is to be short, and he says that he simply must have a few words with you before he goes away again! He’s a most personable young man, by the name of Richard Hatherleigh. I asked him, in your name, to join us at dinner tonight, and he said that he couldn’t do that because it appears that he’s staying with an aunt; but he’s coming in after dinner, and I’ve more or less promised that you shall be here to receive him.”

  “Oh!” Stacey exclaimed, and for the moment she was so surprised that she could say nothing more than that.

  Vera turned her smiling glance towards Martin, who had turned from hanging up his coat and hat, and was looking as if he was wondering whether he had heard aright, and because he was not absolutely certain his brows were drawn together in a frown.

  “The secrets of your little wife’s past are popping out rather suddenly!” Vera declared, in a provocative tone of voice. “Who would have believed that she could conceal such an attractive young man under her hat, as it were? Really, Stacey, my dear, I’m beginning to think you’re a bit of a dark horse!”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Stacey never remembered the details of dinner that night, but she did know that it was not one of the pleasantest meals they had taken in that house. Martin, having shed all his affability of the afternoon as completely as if it had been a cloak, sat without making any attempt at conversation at the head of the table, and his face had an austere, withdrawn look, as if he preferred to contemplate his own thoughts rather than concern himself with the trifling affairs of his guests. Even Vera received no more than monosyllabic answers when she addressed a pointed remark to him, but this form of quiet snub had no apparent effect on her spirits, for she smiled down quite happily at her soup, and chatted away to Dr. Carter when he accepted the indication that his host for some reason was in no mood to be expansive, and confined his conversation to the two women at the table.

  After dinner Martin made an excuse that he had some important correspondence he must attend to in the library. He withdrew to that somewhat secluded corner of the house, and shut the door firmly. Vera took her place on Stacey’s piano stool in the drawing room and amused herself for half an hour or so while Stacey poured coffee and talked quietly to Dr. Carter about the affairs of the day, and her visit to Dr. Hurst’s patient’s cottage.

  Then, all at once, there was a loud summons at the outer door, and Vera looked up with a kind of smirk on her face while she suspended a rippling chord. Stacey rose hastily and excused herself and went hurriedly out into the hall.

  She felt her heart beating almost excitedly—partly because she knew she was going to be pleased to see Dick, and partly because she was by this time fully aware that the advent of the young man had had, for some reason, the extraordinary power to create a kind of metamorphosis in her husband. Normally the type to conceal most of his emotions behind a well-bred, suave, and usually quite kindly exterior, he had for some reason tonight revealed to them a facet of his character which Stacey, at least, found a little alarming, for with his dark, handsome face wearing that shut-in look, his lips a little tight, and his attention difficult to capture she did not know him at all. And in addition she felt that Dr. Bruce Carter was not very familiar with that aspect of him, either, although Vera Hunt, having known him more intimately than both of them—or so Stacey surmised—appeared not to be at all discomposed by the change. Indeed, ever since she had broken the news about Dick Hatherleigh’s arrival in the neighborhood, she had seemed to Stacey to be secretly amused about something.

  But Stacey quickly forgot everything for the moment when she caught sight of Dick handing his coat and scarf to Hannah, and coming quickly down the centre of the hall to greet her. His eyes had the same light-hearted smile in them that she remembered, and he had the same happy upward curve to the corners of his lips. He caught both her hands and held her a little away from him, looking at her with an expression of the most open admiration stealing over his face.

  “My word!” he exclaimed. “My word! Aunt Bee was right! You really do look the part ... And that dress!... Do you know, Stacey, my pet, you always had something to you, but now you’re positively sensational! You’re lovely!”

  Stacey blushed and laughed at the same time at his flattery.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Do you realize that it’s not much more than a year since you went away, and I can’t have changed so much in that time. But it’s good to see you again, Dick,” she added, with a warm note of sincerity in her voice.

  “It’s good to see you.” He was still holding her hands and gazing down at her, but somehow his look did not embarrass her. It was above all things, a friendly look. “I’m on a flying visit to this country, and I had to see you. There’s something I want to tell you—”

  Stacey suddenly realized that the library door had opened, and her husband was standing there regarding them. He came forward quietly as she automatically dragged her hands away from Dick’s, and she stood looking at him almost uneasily until he reached her and stood beside her and held out his hand to Dick.

  “So you’re Mrs. Aden’s nephew,” he remarked. “And you and Stacey have known one another for years!”

  “Ever since she was about so high,” Dick replied, grinning boyishly, and indicating about a couple of feet from the ground with his hand.

  “Really?” But Martin Guelder’s attitude was politely distant, and there was not even an assumption of interest in his voice. “And I happen to be Stacey’s husband! ... But I gather you didn’t even know she possessed one?”

  “Well, no,” Dick admitted—wondering what in the world Stacey had got herself linked up to this slightly grim chap for, and in any case he was a good many years older than she was. “Not until I arrived last night, and Aunt Bee told me all about her marriage. I don’t mind confessing I was slightly amazed. Stacey never struck me as the type who would dash off and get herself tied up ... Although of course, I know her father died, and all that—”

  “And you think that the circumstances of finding herself without a protector might in some way account for her precipitancy?”

  “Well”—Dick wondered whether he was imagining things, or whether it was really a pronounced dislike in the other’s eyes—“it might make her feel a little, well—lonely...”

  “And loneliness does lead one to do things that one might afterwards be inclined to regret a little? Not, of course, that I’m suggesting that Stacey does regret the step she has taken!”—with a bland, smooth note in his voice. He looked down at his wife, whose expression was not merely anxious, but a trifle alarmed, and addressed her in the same level, rather soothing tones. “Well, Stacey, my dear, I don’t wish to intrude on this little reunion with your old friend. I suggest that you take him into the library and offer him a drink, and then you can have a nice cosy little chat together about old times. And while you’re doing so I’ll go and take care of our other two guests.”

  With a barely perceptible nod to Dick he passed on across the hall to the drawing room, and Dick’s eyebrows ascended a little, and he looked at Stacey with only a partly humorous gleam in his eyes.

  “Whew!” he exclaimed, in a very low undertone. “So that’s your lord and master! Do you know, Stacey, I’ve got a kind of an idea that he doesn’t altogether like me!”

  But Stacey, when—because she couldn’t think of any other alternative to her husband’s suggestion—she had taken him into the library, and seen him installed in one of the deep leather chairs, ringing the bell for Hannah to bring some refreshments, tried very hard to erase from his mind any impression that Martin had seen anything either in or about him that would lead to a condition of dislike.

  “Martin’s so busy,” she defended her husband. “And he didn’t get much sleep last night. He was called in by Dr. Hurst to see one of h
is patients, and it meant that he didn’t return here until the small hours.”

  “And is he normally rather bad-tempered and peevish? He looked it to me.”

  “Certainly not!” Stacey exclaimed, with quite a lot of indignation in her voice this time. “But doctors scarcely lead normal lives, you know, and Martin is a very busy consultant in London. It’s not much fun for him to have his few days’ holiday broken into when he wasn’t really expecting anyone to bother him at all.”

  “Or some unknown childhood friend of his wife’s bursting in to upset his after-dinner peace?”

  “Oh, as to that”—Stacey realized that there was a kind of grave twinkle in his eyes, and he seemed to be regarding her speculatively—“as to that, I’m quite sure Martin didn’t mean anything at all. You mustn’t be misled by his manner. Usually he’s very nice to strangers—to people he hasn’t met before, I mean—”

  “But although he hadn’t met me before, I didn’t find favor in his eyes!” He grinned a little one-sidedly, and accepted the drink she poured out for him. “Well, perhaps it’s not so altogether extraordinary, seeing that you are his wife, and I’m considerably nearer your age.” He regarded her pensively. “You don’t mind him being so much older than you, Stacey? I mean, it’s true he’s not Methuselah, but he can certainly give you a few years, and according to Aunt Bee he’s been married before. However, that's none of my business—” He broke off. “So long as you’re happy with him, Stacey—?”

  Stacey felt the color rush into her cheeks as she vowed that she was very happy, and after looking at her a little longer with that slightly sceptical look on his face—and taking another sip at his drink—he suddenly decided to tell her the reason why he had been so keen to see her. And after giving her a rough picture of the kind of life he had lived over the past twelve months, and letting her into a few of his aspirations and dreams for the future, all of which concerned the country he had decided to adopt—East Africa, where his heart seemed to be firmly planted—he suddenly looked a little self-conscious and admitted that he was thinking of getting married very soon, and that was the reason why he had flown home for a brief leave, only a few hours of which were to be spent with his Aunt Beatrice.