Love and hatred

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

  CHAPTER III

  The door of Mrs. Tropenell's long low drawing-room opened very quietly,and Laura Pavely came through into the room.

  She had left a brightly lighted hall for a room of which the onlypresent illumination radiated from a shaded reading lamp standing on alittle table behind which sat her hostess. Thus, for perhaps as long ashalf a minute, Laura thought herself alone.

  During that half minute Mrs. Tropenell, with eyes well accustomed to theshaded light, gazed at her visitor with an eager, searching look, thelook of one who wishes to see more, and to see further, than she hasever seen before.

  But what she saw--all she saw--was the Laura she knew with a knowledgethat was at once so superficially close, and so little intimate. A womanwhose stillness of manner--a manner which at times made her appearalmost inanimate--covered, as Mrs. Tropenell had secret reason to know,an extraordinary force of negative will power. It was a force which hadeven pierced Godfrey Pavely's complacency, and shattered his firm beliefin all the rights that English law bestows on the man who has the goodor ill fortune to be a husband.

  As Laura advanced into the room her hostess saw that her visitor'sbeautifully shaped head, set proudly and freely on the slendershoulders, was thrown back in a characteristic gesture of attention,and, with a touch of reluctance, she admired afresh the masses of fair,_cendre_ hair drawn back from the forehead in a way which to most womenwould have been trying, yet which to this woman lent an air ofeighteenth-century charm and distinction.

  There was no colour in Laura Pavely's face, but her eyes, heavy-lidded,and fringed with eyelashes darker than her hair, were deeply blue.

  To-night she was wearing a very simple evening dress, a white chiffontea-gown with a long black lace coat. The under dress was almost high tothe throat, but beneath the black lace the wearer's arms, soft, dimpled,and rounded, were bare to the shoulder, and gleamed palely, revealingly.

  Mrs. Tropenell wondered whether Laura knew that her arms were unusuallylovely; then, for she was a very honest woman, her conscience rebukedher. Laura's faults with regard to men were faults of omission, not ofcommission. Of course she was aware--she could not help beingaware--that she was a singularly attractive and distinguished-lookingcreature. But she had always taken her own beauty, her own distinction,just as she did the rare, distinctive features of her garden, and theperhaps over-studied charm of her house--as something to be tended andkept beautiful, but also to be guarded from alien indifferent eyes.

  Perhaps because in these days every intelligent woman claims to bepicturesque and witty--beauty, sheer beauty, is somewhat under theweather. Laura Pavely, to use the current jargon of her day, was not a"success." She was thought to be affected, "deep," prudish, whereas shewas simply indifferent to the more commonplace human elements about her.

  Her marriage had withdrawn her from the circle of the old friends andneighbours among whom she had been brought up, in a measure because noneof them could "do," excepting in a very casual and cursory sense, withGodfrey Pavely. The world of his youth, the little world in and aboutthe country town of Pewsbury, to which he had introduced her as a bridewith such exultant complacency, found her not only disagreeablysuperior, but also dull. Besides, during the early days of her marriageshe had been too bewildered by the conditions of her new life, and ofher relationship with her husband, to trouble about making new friends,or even new acquaintances.

  And so it was that in any intimate sense Mrs. Tropenell was stillLaura's only close friend, but the younger woman was rather patheticallyaware of how little she really possessed of the older woman's heart, howconstantly she was compared, and ever to her detriment, to her deadmother, even how unconscious a rival in the older woman's favour wasLaura's own child--merry, cheerful, loving little Alice.

  * * * * *

  "Aunt Letty? I didn't see you were there."

  Laura Pavely had a delightful voice--low, clear, vibrating. It was avoice which sometimes seemed to promise more depth of feeling than itsowner ever chose to betray.

  As she stooped to kiss Mrs. Tropenell, Laura let herself slide down onto the floor. She knelt there for a moment, and the light gleamed on herfair hair and upturned face. "Alice sent you her love," she saidsoftly, "heaps of love. She's better to-night, though not quite wellyet!" And then, as there came a sound of quick footsteps across thehall, she rose, and drew herself up to her full height, with the graceof movement and the absence of flurry which were both so characteristicof her.

  Mrs. Tropenell looked up quickly. Had Laura flushed, as she sometimesdid flush, with a deep, unbecoming reddening of her pale face, whenmoved or startled? No, she seemed, if anything, paler, more impassivethan usual, and Oliver's mother asked herself, yet again, what of lateshe had so often asked herself--if Laura was capable of _any_ feeling,_any_ passion, save a feeling of horror, a passion of repugnance, foraught which seemed to smirch her own fastidious physical and spiritualentity.

  That she loved her child, the high-spirited, happy-natured little girl,whose presence alone made life sweet and normal at Lawford Chase, Mrs.Tropenell could not doubt--she had had proof of how deeply Laura lovedher child on the only occasion danger had come near to Alice--during about of some childish ailment, when for a few hours the little creaturehad been in danger of death. She, the older woman, had been frightened,awed, by Laura's terrible, dry-eyed agony....

  Oliver Tropenell opened the door, and as he walked across the room, hismother's heart quivered with jealous pain, and even with a feeling ofsecret, impotent anger, as she saw the eager, rapt look which lighted uphis dark face.

  Laura held out her ringless right hand, but he only just touched it."I'm sorry I'm late!" he exclaimed. "As a matter of fact I was readinga letter just come, by the second post, from Gillie."

  "I've written to Gillie to-day," Laura said quietly. It seemed such along, long time since yesterday morning. She felt as if theextraordinary thing which had happened then had been blotted out.

  "Have you sent your letter off?"

  "No, not yet," she was surprised at the question.

  And then there fell a curious silence on those three people, till atlast the door opened, and dinner was announced.

  "Oliver! Take in Laura," said Mrs. Tropenell.

  On the last occasion when the three had dined alone together there hadbeen a little smiling discussion as to the order in which they should gointo the dining-room. But that had been many weeks ago. They were not insuch a light mood to-night, and yet--and yet, why should they not be?The hostess knew of no reason.

  The two paired off together, and Oliver's mother asked herself, forperhaps the thousandth time in the last three months, why she hadallowed this--this friendship between her son and Laura Pavely to comeabout? It would have been so easy to arrange that she and her son shouldspend the summer abroad! When he had first come home there had been atalk of their going away together to Italy, or to France--France, whichthey had both loved when he was a clever, ardent, headstrong boy, with astrength of brain and originality of mind too big for his boyish boots.

  But the harm, what harm there was--sometimes she hoped it was not sovery much harm after all--had been done quickly. By the end of thatfirst month at home, Oliver had lost all wish to leave Freshley.

  In those early days--or was it that already he was being unconsciouslyhypocritical as men are wont to be when in such case as that in which henow found himself?--he had seemed to have formed an even closerfriendship with Godfrey Pavely than with Godfrey Pavely's wife. They hadeven made a joint business expedition to town together, Godfrey asOliver's guest, staying in one of those luxurious hotels which seemequally attractive to the millionaire and the adventurer. But Oliver hadat last thrown off, when alone with his mother, any pretence of liking,far less of respecting, Godfrey Pavely. Yet when with the other man hestill kept up the sinister fiction. She knew that.

  * * * * *

  The three sat down in the pretty, octagon-shaped din
ing-room, and themother and son talked, Laura saying very little, and never giving,always accepting--in that sense, perhaps, an elemental woman after all!Even so, she showed, when she did rouse herself to express an opinion,that there was a good deal of thought and of intelligence in her small,beautiful head.

  Mrs. Tropenell, sitting at the top of the oval table, told herself thatin a primeval sense such a woman as Laura might well be the complementof such a man as was Oliver. He had strength, passion, idealism, enoughto furnish forth half a dozen ordinary human beings. And he had patiencetoo--patience which is but another name for that self-control in thesecret things of passion which often brings men's desires to fruition.It was patience and self-control which had been so lacking in GodfreyPavely during those early days when Laura had at least desired to fulfilher duty as a wife.

  And yet again and again during that uncomfortable half-hour Mrs.Tropenell caught herself wishing that Godfrey Pavely was there, sittingon her right hand. Godfrey always had plenty to say for himself,especially in that house, and when he felt secure of the discretion ofthose about him, he would often tell much that he ought, in hischaracter of banker, to have left unsaid. He knew the private businessof every one, gentle or simple, for miles round, and took an easy,unaffected interest in it all. It was only when he touched on widermatters, especially on politics, that he grew unbearably tedious andprosy. But then the only person whom Mrs. Tropenell ever listened towith pleasure on such subjects was her old friend, Lord St. Amant, whoalways knew what he was talking about, and always salted what he knewwith happy flashes of wit and humour.

  Oliver accompanied the two ladies back into the drawing-room, and hismother did not know whether to be glad or sorry that she had not had afew minutes alone with the younger woman. Sometimes it seemed as if sheand Laura never were alone together now. Was it possible that of lateLaura was deliberately avoiding her? As this half suspicion came intoMrs. Tropenell's mind she looked up and saw her son's eyes fixed on herface.

  There was something imperious, imploring, commanding, in the look hebent on her. She saw that he was willing her to go away--to leave him,alone, with Laura....

  Under the spell of that look she got up. "I must go upstairs for mywork," she said quietly. "And I have a letter to write too. I shan't bevery long."

  It was as if Oliver made but one swift step to the door, and, as he heldit open, his mother turned her head away, lest he should see that tearshad come into her eyes--tears of pain, and yes, of fear.

  How was all this to end?

  After walking slowly forward into the square brightly lighted hall shesuddenly stayed her steps, and clasped her hands together.

  A terrible temptation--terrible, almost unbelievable to such a woman aswas Letitia Tropenell--held her in its grip. She longed with a fearful,gasping longing, to go back and listen at the door which had just closedbehind her.

  So strong was this temptation that she actually visualised herselfwalking across to a certain corner, turning down the electric lightswitch, then, in the darkness, creeping to the drawing-room door, andthere gently, gently--pushing it open, say half an inch, in order tohear what those two were now saying, the one to the other....

  At last, thrusting the temptation from her, she again began walkingacross the brightly lighted hall, and so, slowly, made her way up thestaircase which led to her bedroom.

  * * * * *

  What Mrs. Tropenell would have heard, had she yielded to that ignobletemptation, would not have told her anything of what she had so longedto know.

  After he had shut the door on his mother, Oliver Tropenell walked backto the place where he had stood a moment ago. But he did not come anynearer than he had been before to his guest, and his manner remainedexactly what it had been when they had been three, instead of being, asthey were now, two, in that dimly lighted room.

  Still, both he and Laura, in their secret, hidden selves, wereprofoundly conscious that Mrs. Tropenell's absence made a great, if anintangible, difference. It was the first time they had been alone thatday, for it was the first day for many weeks past that Oliver had notwalked over to The Chase, either in the morning or in the afternoon or,as was almost always the case, both after breakfast and about teatime.

  At last, when the silence had become almost oppressive, he spoke, with acertain hard directness in his voice.

  "In the letter I received from Gillie to-day he tells me that he caneasily be spared for a few weeks, and I've already telephoned a cabletelling him to start at once. I've said that if he thinks it advisable Imyself will leave for Mexico as soon as I hear from him."

  "Oh, but I don't want you to do that!" Laura Pavely looked up at himdismayed. "I thought you meant to stay in England right up toChristmas?"

  "Yes, so I did, and I feel almost certain that he won't think itnecessary for me to go back. But the important thing is Gillie's andyour holiday. Why shouldn't he take you and Alice to France or Italy fora month?"

  He saw her face, the face in which there had been a certain rigid,suffering gravity, light up, soften, and then become overcast again.Moving a little nearer to the low chair on which she was sitting--"Yes?"he asked, looking down at her. "What is it you wish to say, Laura?"

  "Only that Godfrey would never let me go away with Gillie." She spoke ina sad, low voice, but she felt far more at her ease than she had yetfelt this evening.

  The last time she and Oliver had been alone, they had parted as enemies,but now there was nothing to show that he remembered their interchangeof bitter, passionate words.

  He answered quietly,

  "I wonder why you feel so sure of that? I believe that if it were put toGodfrey in a reasonable way, he could not possibly object to your goingabroad with your brother. It's time they made up that foolish oldquarrel."

  "Ah, if only I could get away with Gillie and my little Alice!"

  Laura looked up as she spoke, and Oliver Tropenell was moved, almostunbearably so, by the look which came over her face. Was it the mentionof her child, of her brother, or the thought of getting away fromGodfrey for a while, which so illumined her lovely, shadowed eyes?

  He went on, still speaking in the quiet, measured tones which made herfeel as if the scene of yesterday had been an evil dream. "I've eventhought of suggesting that Godfrey should come out with me to Mexico,while your little jaunt with Gillie takes place. We could all be backhere by Christmas!"

  She shook her head. "I'm afraid Godfrey would never go away except inwhat he considers his regular holiday time."

  "Not even if I made it worth his while?"

  She looked up, perplexed. And then a wave of hot colour flamed up in herface. Her conscience, in some ways a very delicate and scrupulousconscience, smote her.

  Was it her fault that Oliver Tropenell had come so to despise Godfrey?

  But he went on, speaking more naturally, that is quickly, eagerly--morelike his pre-yesterday self, "No, I'm not joking! I think I can putGodfrey in the way of doing some really good business out there. We'vespoken of it more than once--only yesterday afternoon we spoke of it."

  "You don't mean with Gillie there?" There was a note of incredulity inLaura's voice.

  "No." They were on dangerous ground now. "Not exactly with Gilliethere--though it seems to me, Laura, that Godfrey ought to make it upwith Gillie."

  Slowly, musingly, as if speaking to herself, she said, "If Godfrey evergoes to Mexico I think he would want me to come too--he always does."And this was true, for Godfrey Pavely in some ways was curiouslyuxorious. Little as they were to one another, Laura's husband neverallowed her to go away by herself, or even with her child, for more thana very few days.

  "You come too--to Mexico?" There was surprise, doubt, in OliverTropenell's voice, and suddenly Laura did a strange thing, imprudent,uncalled-for in the circumstances in which she found herself with thisman; yet she did it with no trace of what is ordinarily calledcoquetry. Lifting up her head, she said rather plaintively, "Surely youwouldn't mind my coming too,
Oliver?"

  "Does that mean that you've forgiven me?" he asked.

  She got up from the low chair where she had been sitting, and, facinghim, exclaimed impulsively, "I want us both to forget what happenedyesterday! I was wrong, very wrong, in saying what I did about Godfrey,"her voice faltered, and slowly she added, "But with you, who seemed tosomehow understand everything without being told, I felt, I felt----"

  He raised a warning hand, for his ears had caught the sound of lightfootfalls in the hall. "Mother's coming back," he said abruptly. "Don'tsay anything to her of my cable to Gillie." And at once, without anychange in his voice, he went on: "There's a great deal that wouldinterest you, quite as much as Godfrey, out there----"

  The door opened, and he turned round quickly. "I'm trying to persuadeLaura to come out to Mexico," he exclaimed. "Godfrey has practicallypromised to pay me a visit, and I don't see why she shouldn't come too!"

  Mrs. Tropenell made no answer. She knew, and she believed that both thepeople standing there knew as well as she did, that such an expeditioncould never take place so long as Gilbert Baynton was Oliver's partner.Baynton and Pavely were bitter enemies. There had never been even thesemblance of a reconciliation between them.

  But as her son bent his eyes on her as if demanding an answer, sheforced herself to say lightly: "I expect they both will, some day, andwhile they are away I can have my dear little Alice!"

  When, a little later, Mrs. Tropenell accompanied Laura out into thehall, she said, "Do come in to-morrow or Sunday, my dear. I seem to seeso little of you now."

  "I will--I will!" and as she kissed the older woman, Laura murmured,"You're so good to me, Aunty Letty--you've always been so very, verygood to me!"

  Oliver opened wide the door giving into the garden. He was now obviouslyimpatient to get Laura once more alone to himself....

  After she went back to her drawing-room, Mrs. Tropenell walked straightacross to a window, and there, holding back the heavy curtain, shewatched the two figures moving in the bright moonlight across the lawn,towards the beech avenue which would presently engulf them.

  What were their real relations the one to the other? Was Laura as blindto the truth as she seemed to be, or was she shamming--as women, God orthe devil helping them--so often sham?

  Slowly, feeling as if she had suddenly become very, very old, Mrs.Tropenell dropped the curtain, and walking back to her usual place, herusual chair, took up her knitting.