"Very convenient," I said. "In fact, you could call this a marriage of convenience."
"It's most convenient for me."
"Still you might have chosen someone in your own set."
"Who could be more so? Whom did I tease and bully in my foolish youth?"
"I think you were teased and bullied by me as I ever was by you."
And so we talked; and I was fond of him; yet there was an uneasy feeling within me. I wasn't in love with him. He was kind; he was affectionate; and he was familiar. But I was suddenly afraid of the future.
I wanted to hear more of Rollo Carrington. Rosie was a good informant by way of her coachman. "Harry says we'll get married next year," she told me. "The head coachman's leaving and he's having his place and that means a nice little mews cottage. Mr. Carrington has promised him. It's a good house to be in. I'll work in the house—it's expected. Harry says it's the best house he's ever been in. Mr. Carrington's away so much and Lady Emily's not one to interfere; and I'll see you now and then, Miss, because you'll be there on and off, I reckon. I can't say I'm well suited here. She's always poking and prying and never satisfied. Cook said if she had the angel Gabriel in her kitchen she'd be finding fault. It's different there, Harry says. They don't interfere. They don't want to keep reminding you you're a servant. They don't think of it. Mr. Carrington's too busy with what the Government's doing and Lady Emily's not the kind."
"What about the son?"
"Mr. Philip. Why, Miss, you know more about him than anyone else."
"I mean Mr. Rollo."
"Him. Oh, he's another like his father. All business, so they say."
"He did marry though."
"Oh, that!"
"Rosie, did you ever see her?"
Rosie was silent for a few moments. Then she said: "Harry did. He drove them once or twice."
"What is she like?"
"Harry couldn't say. He never heard her speak. She was just in the carriage with him."
"Did he speak to her?"
"Harry never heard him. Like two deaf-mutes, they were. Not that Harry drove them much. Then she went away and Harry never drove her again."
"What did she look like?"
"I've asked Harry that, Miss Ellen, but you know what men are. They never notice. He couldn't say. Just that there was something sad about her. He did say she was like a gray ghost. She was always dressed in gray."
"A sad gray ghost," I echoed.
"You're getting your fancies again, Miss Ellen. Don't I remember what a one you used to be. Nose into everything and what you couldn't find out you made up. I know you, Miss Ellen."
One of the maids came into the room.
"Now, Bess," said Rosie, "what do you want?"
"I only came to tell you Janet's looking for you."
"Tell her I'll be along soon. I'm engaged with Miss Ellen."
When the girl had gone she said: "These youngsters. . . they listen. They hear more than's good for them."
I wondered then what I was doing gossiping with one of the servants in my old belowstairs manner. I must remember to mend my ways, now that I was to be a Carrington.
I said a little abruptly: "Well, I won't keep you, Rose."
Lady Emily was a good informant. Strangely enough, she liked me, which was very comforting, since she could hardly have been delighted by my poverty. She encouraged me to visit her frequently and I often called at the house. She did a kind of tatting quite expertly and it was fascinating to watch her fingers working in an efficient manner while her mind wandered on inconsequentially.
She liked me to sit beside her while she talked.
"I always wanted a daughter," she told me. "I hope you'll have some girls. Of course they want boys . . . and the first should be one, I suppose, but girls are very charming. I always wanted a girl or two."
From her conversation I learned far more about the Carringtons than I had known before.
The house in Sussex had come to her. She had been an only child and Trentham Towers had been the home of her family for five centuries.
"It was a pity there were no boys . . . the title went to a cousin, you know. But I kept the house. I was so glad. At one time it seemed . . . and then I had boys, two boys and no girls. Isn't that strange? My parents longed for a boy and got me . . .I would have liked a daughter and had two boys. You are my new daughter, Ellen. I think we shall be fond of each other. You're a bright girl and you and Philip are so young. . . ."
"Perhaps you think we are too young," I said.
"I was seventeen when I married. It was a good match. We were so poor. Trentham was falling to pieces. Josiah has done so much for it. I used to shiver in my bedroom. So cold in the winter. Now we are in this house in the winter and we go there in the summer.
So pleasant; and of course the servants ... we had our faithful ones. Poor souls, they rarely were paid. So good; and the roof was a constant anxiety. . . . They were always talking of the fabric of the building. Such a strange term! And then there was Josiah. Of course it was not a family like ours. . . but so rich. He was ten years older than I. You wouldn't believe it, would you? The Carringtons wear well. It's all that energy. They are always doing something that's vital to something, some country, some business and of course to themselves. It keeps them alert and to be alert is to be young, they say. I was never very alert, but I did marry Josiah and that was the end of Trentham's troubles. I haven't heard the fabric mentioned for years. Josiah's people . . . builders and suchlike . . . take care of that. As soon as the fabric does what it shouldn't, it is rectified. Everything changed on the day I married Josiah. My parents were delighted with the match, and Rollo was born a year after our marriage. Perhaps this time next year, dear. . . ."
"I do hope I'm going to produce these babies," I said.
"You will, because you're in love. I believe that's very important. Philip adores you. He always did. He was always talking about you, you know."
"I thought it would be Esmeralda."
"Well, to tell the truth, my dear, so did I. You see, your cousin was certain of it but, as Josiah said, you are more vital and amusing and truthfully, my dear, much more good-looking and we are delighted that Philip and you chose each other."
I took her hand and kissed it suddenly. I was growing very fond of her.
"You are a dear girl. How I wish Rollo could have found someone like you. Ah, Rollo . . . !"
"You are not. happy about him?" I prompted.
"My dear, how could I be . . .in the circumstances? He is his father all over again. He is going to be a power in the City . . . and of course with everything he touches. He needs a wife beside him though. Oh dear, it's so unfortunate. But of course we mustn't talk of it. It makes us all so unhappy and this should be a happy time. Tell me, have you and Philip decided on a date yet?"
"Philip thinks the end of June."
"That's a lovely month for a marriage. Josiah and I were married in June. Such a charming ceremony ... at Trentham church of course. You should be married there . . . but perhaps London will be more convenient. What does the place matter when two people are in love? London will certainly be more convenient because your cousin will want you to have a grand wedding, I'm sure."
"I don't know. I have no income of my own, you know, Lady Emily."
"So much the better," she said. "I had none. All I brought was the house with its dilapidated fabric. I think it as well. A husband likes to be the sole provider, you know."
So we talked and the affection between us deepened. I think Philip was her favorite although she was proud of Rollo. Rollo was too clever for her, she confided in me. He takes after his father. He and Josiah got on like a house on fire.
Philip used to come and sprawl in a chair and look from one of us to the other. I could see he was delighted with the friendship between us.
One day he took me down to the mews to show me a new horse he had acquired.
I immediately noticed one of the grooms because I had seen him so
mewhere before. Philip introduced me and chatted with him in the easy way he had and which I was sure endeared him to everyone.
"This is Hawley," he said. "He hasn't been with us very long."
Hawley said: "Good afternoon, Miss Kellaway," and I continued to be puzzled.
When we left the mews I said to Philip, "I've seen him before. I wonder where."
"It may have been at someone's house. I forget where he was before he came to us, though he's not really a stableman. He just wanted any job that was going, I think my father said, and as he seemed a good man and there was this vacancy at the mews he took him. ... I think we'll have the house in Finlay Square. It's the best we've seen. You must admit it."
"I'd like to look at it again, Philip."
"Oh come, Ellen, if we don't decide soon someone else might snap it up. Where are we going to live when we're married if we haven't a house? We'll have to be in my father's house for a while as it is, because I doubt everything will be ready by June."
I felt a little shiver of apprehension then. June. It was so near and I was very uneasy.
When I went to bed that night I remembered the man's face and where I had seen him before.
It was in the Park. He was the man I had thought was watching us.
We were going to a musical evening at the Carringtons'. Lady Emily had engaged a famous Italian pianist who would entertain us. Cousin Agatha was delighted to be going. "Half London will be there," she said. "At least anybody who is anybody will be."
"I suppose," I retorted, "everybody is somebody, and I doubt whether even Lady Emily's drawing room would accommodate more than seventy people in comfort."
I could never resist the temptation to be what she would have called "pert" in the old days. I shouldn't have been human if I could have resisted exploiting my situation a little. It was amusing how my stature grew daily, particularly since I had been such a frequent visitor to the house in Park Lane. In fact, my visits were quite informal.
This state of affairs I knew was a complete mystery to Cousin Agatha. Rose reported to me that she had heard her say to Cousin William Loring that I seemed to have bewitched not only Philip—which was understandable, for he was but a callow boy— but Lady Emily and Mr. Carrington too. Of course Lady Emily had always been oddly vague and Mr. Carrington was so immersed in affairs. . . .
Tilly was sewing all day long and far into the night making garments for both me and Esmeralda, because there was no doubt that Esmeralda was going to profit from the situation. I was determined that she should. I would give parties for her, I promised myself, and I would select the right sort of husband—someone kind and gentle and undemanding.
I said to her once: "All this fuss should really be for you." And she retorted: "How thankful I am that it is not. I couldn't do it half as well as you do. Mr. Carrington frightens me. He's so clever, isn't he? And I can never follow what Lady Emily's saying."
It was a relief to know she was not heartbroken.
I talked to her of the fun we should have in the country. She should come and stay and we'd have pleasant parties. We'd ride together just as we used to when we were children.
She said: "I'm so glad it's happened the way it has, Ellen. That Mrs. Oman Lemming is a dreadful person. Bessie told me that she is quite beastly to the servants there and particularly the governess. She can't wait to get away."
"What a miraculous escape I had!" I cried. "Thanks to Philip."
Somewhere at the back of my mind was the knowledge that I was trying to reassure myself. In the beginning it had all seemed so wonderful but now it occurred to me that everything had worked out too easily and that in itself was vaguely disturbing.
A few days later the Carringtons gave the musical soiree. I stood with Philip and people kept coming up to congratulate us. There was a photographer for the press. "Such a bore," said Philip, "but they catch my mother and she doesn't like to refuse them."
The recital was one of Chopin's pieces beautifully rendered by the Italian pianist. Dreamy, romantic, then militant and stirring.
"We're negotiating prices about the house," Philip told me. "They take their time, I can tell you. Lawyers and things. Rollo's most interested in concluding it all as soon as possible."
I nodded, scarcely listening.
"We'll go on the Continent. What do you think of Venice? Rome perhaps? Will you like that, Ellen?"
I said I thought it would be lovely.
"Perhaps the house will be ready by the time we come back. Rollo's taking over arrangements for it now he's in London for a spell. My father hasn't time. They seem to think I'm not capable of doing it, and they're probably right."
"It's good of Rollo."
"Oh, he likes doing that sort of thing."
The recital was over and there was a buffet supper to follow. Everyone was discussing the music, and Philip, having caught sight of an old friend, went over to have a word with him, leaving me temporarily alone.
A voice behind me said: "I've been wanting to meet you all the evening."
I turned sharply and looked up at one of the tallest men I have ever seen. I knew at once that I had not met him before at any of the Carrington gatherings because if I had I could not have forgotten him. It was not only his unusual height and broad shoulders, but there was something else about him—an aura of power. His eyes were dark, deep-set, heavy-lidded, but very bright and expressive, though what they expressed it was not easy to decide. His nose was longish and arrogant-looking; his mouth could be either cruel or gentle, I was not sure which. All I can say is that even in those first moments I thought his was one of the most interesting faces I had ever seen.
"I haven't met you before," I said.
"I arrived just before the recital started. I have seen your picture in the papers. May I say that none of them does you justice."
"That's kind of you rather than truthful," I replied. "They are most flattering."
"Ah, I see you are modest as well as attractive. It's a nice combination but a rare one."
"Are you a friend of the family?"
"A connection."
"I hope you enjoyed the recital."
"I am enjoying it very much, thank you. Have you a date for the wedding yet?"
"Not exactly. It's to be in June. The actual day is not decided."
"I shall be there. I'm determined to be at your wedding."
"Lady Emily is giving my cousin a list."
Philip was looking across at me. "Ellen," he said, "we'd better go and speak to old Sir Bevis over there."
My companion bowed and turned away.
"Old Bevis is getting peevish," said Philip. "He always does if we don't make a fuss of him. Who was that, by the way, the tall fellow you were talking to?"
"I don't know. He said he was a connection of yours."
Philip shrugged his shoulders. "Must be one of my father's or Rollo's business friends. He looked it, I must say."
"Did you think so? I thought he looked the outdoor type."
"Probably been pulling financial wires in the Middle East. They do, you know. What I meant was there was that look of power about him. They all have it. I don't know how I shall get on because in me it's conspicuous by its absence."
"Perhaps they weren't born with it and it's something you develop," I comforted. "It comes with experience."
"Don't you believe it. These people were born wizards. Still, I've done better than they have in one way. I've got you."
"Oh, Philip, you say the nicest things. You make me feel more precious than a fortune, and that love is more important than the Stock Market."
"For a moderately intelligent young woman you are surprisingly foolish at times if you needed contact with the financial jugglers of the Carrington circle to bring that to your notice."
We talked to old Sir Bevis, who congratulated Philip on our coming marriage, but I could see that I was the one he was really congratulating. Like a lot of people, he just could not understand why the Carringtons were
accepting a girl without money. The logical explanation seemed to be that they were so rich that another fortune wouldn't make much difference.
When we had left Sir Bevis I noticed the man Hawley, whom I had seen in the Park and later in the Carrington stables.
Philip noticed my interest in him and laughed.
"Oh, your man of the Park. Old Hawley. He's been pressed into service in the house. He seems to have a talent for most things. He's valeting now."
"For whom?" I asked.
"For us all really. My father's valet left recently and it seems Hawley knew the job. He valets for us all, as we have always shared. My father and Rollo are away so much that there is not much for a valet to do."
"I suppose you'll go away a great deal when you're older, and I shall see the world with you."
"That's how it will be," he answered; and I thought then how lucky I was. It was this sudden turnabout provided by the Carringtons and banishing the specter of poverty forever which had set my mind nagging over the suspicion that it was all too good to be true. It was all very well for people to say that the love of money was the root of all evil, but I had to admit that it would certainly be good to have enough so that I need not worry about the future any more.
During the rest of the evening I looked for the tall man who had spoken to me but I couldn't see him. I was sure that if he had been present it would not have been difficult to spot him, for he was not the sort who could be lost in a crowd. I wished I had had the presence of mind to ask his name.
"It seems," said Esmeralda, "that one of the Carrington servants is courting Bessie."
"Really?" I replied. "Well, I suppose she's quite attractive."
"There's Rose and her coachman and now Bessie and Hawley."
"Did you say Hawley?"
"Yes, I'm sure that was the name. There seem to be several bonds between us and the Carringtons."
"Isn't that what your mother always wanted?" I asked, and I was thinking: Hawley! The man in the Park, the valet who looks after them all. Philip might laugh at me because of my interest in him, but ever since I had fancied he had watched us, I had been aware of him.
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