The Independence of Claire

by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

  "NO!"

  Sleep refused to come to Claire that night. She lay tossing on her bedwhile the old clock in the corridor without struck hour after hour.

  Two, three, four, and still she tossed, and turned, and again and againasked herself the world-old question, "What shall I do? What shall Ido?" and shuddered at the thought of the disillusionment which wascoming to her poor friend.

  What was her own duty in the matter? Obviously Cecil must be told thetruth; obviously she was the one to tell it. Would it be possible to_write_? Inclination clamoured in favour of such a course. It would beso much easier: it would obviate the necessity for a laceratinginterview. Would it not be easier for Cecil, also? Claire felt that ifpositions had been reversed, she would crave above all things to bealone, hidden from the eyes of even the most sympathising of friends;but Cecil's nature was of a different type. Having heard the oneabhorrent fact, she would wish to probe further, to be told details, toask a score of trifling questions. However full a letter might be, shewould not be satisfied without an interview. "But I might write first,and see her afterwards!" poor Claire said to herself. "It would not bequite so bad, when she had got over the first shock. I could _not_ bearto see her face..."

  It was five o'clock before at last sleep came to drive away the hauntingquestions, and when she woke it was to find her early tea had grown coldon the table by her side, and to see on looking at her watch that it wasnearly ten o'clock. She dressed hurriedly and went downstairs to findMrs Fanshawe alone in the dining-room, reading the _Morning Post_. Shewaved aside Claire's apologies for her late appearance with easy goodnature. No one was _expected_ to be punctual at breakfast. It wassheer tyranny to decree that visitors should get up at a definite hour.If Claire had slept badly, why didn't she order breakfast in her room,and spend the morning in bed?

  "You look a wreck!" she said frankly, and threw down the paper with animpatient gesture. "Such a nuisance about this bad news. Erskine seemsdisgusted with the whole affair. He has gone off with Major Carew tosee what can be done, and is to go straight to the Willoughbys. Sotiresome, for I particularly wanted him to be in good form thisafternoon! What's it all about? As it has happened in my house, Ithink I am entitled to an explanation. Something to do with MajorCarew's servant? How can your friend be associated with a servant? Theman has bolted, it appears. The Major came over half an hour ago to saythat he never returned last night. Thought flight the best policy, Isuppose, but what I am waiting to be told, is--what has he _done_?"

  Claire sat down on the nearest chair, feeling more of a wreck than ever.

  "Deserted! A soldier! But if he is found? The punishment..."

  "He has already been found out, it appears, so that it was a choicebetween certain punishment if he stayed, or the chance of getting safelyaway. I am waiting to hear what it's all about!"

  "Oh, Mrs Fanshawe, it's so difficult. It's not my secret!" cried poorClaire desperately. "He, this man, has been masquerading under hismaster's name. My friend knew him as Major Carew. She, they, becamevery intimate."

  "Engaged, I suppose! It doesn't say much for her discrimination. Herideas of what constitute a gentleman must be somewhat vague!" MrsFanshawe said disagreeably. She felt disagreeable, and she never madeany effort to conceal her feelings, kindly or the reverse. It wasannoying that one of her own guests should be mixed up in an unsavouryscandal with a common soldier: annoying to have people going about withlong faces, when she had planned a festive week. Really this ClaireGifford was becoming more and more of an incumbrance! Mrs Fanshawepaused with her hand on the coffee-pot, to ask a pointed question--

  "Have _you_ also known this man under his false name, may I ask?"

  Claire flushed uncomfortably.

  "I met him twice. Only twice. For a very short time."

  Mrs Fanshawe did not speak, but she arched her eyebrows in a fashionwhich was more scorching than words. "So you, also, are ignorant ofwhat constitutes a gentleman!" said those eyebrows. "You also have beenincluding my friend's servant among your acquaintances!"

  Claire felt the hopelessness of trying to justify herself, and relapsedinto silence also, the while she made a pretence of eating one of themost miserable meals of her life. According to his mother, Erskine was"quite disgusted" with the whole affair! Claire's heart sank at thethought, but she acknowledged that such an attitude would be no morethan was natural under the circumstances. A soldier himself, CaptainFanshawe would be a stern judge of a soldier's fraud, while his _amourpropre_ could not fail to be touched. Claire had too much faith tobelieve that his displeasure would be extended to herself, yet she wasmiserably aware that it was through her instrumentality that he had beenbrought in contact with the scandal.

  In the midst of much confusion of mind only one thing seemed certain,and that was that it was impossible to face a tennis party thatafternoon. Claire made her apologies to Mrs Fanshawe as she rose fromthe table, and they were accepted with disconcerting readiness.

  "Of course! Of course! I never imagined that you would. Under thecircumstances it would be most awkward. I expect by afternoon the storywill be the talk of the place. Your friend, I understand, is stillignorant of the man's real station? What do you propose to do withregard to breaking the news?"

  "In. I'm going to write. I thought I would sit in my room and composea letter.--It will be difficult!"

  "Difficult!" Mrs Fanshawe repeated the word with disagreeableemphasis. "Impossible, I should say, and, excuse me! cruel into thebargain. To open a letter from a friend, expecting to find the ordinarychit-chat, and to receive a blow that shatters one's life! My dear,it's unthinkable! You cannot seriously intend it."

  "You think it would be better if I _told_, her?" Claire askedanxiously. "I wondered myself, but naturally I dreaded it, and Ithought she might prefer to get over the first shock alone. I haddecided to write first, and see her later on. But you think..."

  "I think decidedly that you ought to break the news in person. You canlead up to it more naturally in words. Even the most carefully writtenletters are apt to read coldly; perhaps the more care we spend on them,the more coldly they read."

  "Yes, that's true, that's quite true, but I thought it would be betternot to wait. She is staying at home just now. I don't think he willvisit her there, for he seemed to shrink from meeting her mother, but hemay write and try--" Claire drew herself up on the point of betrayingthat borrowing of money which was the most shameful feature of thefraud, but Mrs Fanshawe was too much absorbed in her own schemes tonotice the omission. She had seen a way of getting rid of an unwelcomeguest, and was all keenness to turn it to account.

  "He is sure to try to see her again while he is at large. He willprobably urge her to marry him at once. You should certainly not deferyour visit if it is to be of any use. How dreadful _it_ would be if shewere to marry him under an assumed name! You mustn't let us interferewith your arrangement, my dear. You only promised me ten days, so Ican't grumble if you run away, and for the short time that Erskine is athome, there are so many friends to fit in... You understand, I am sure,that I am thinking of your own convenience!"

  "I understand perfectly, thank you!" Claire replied, her head in theair, the indignant colour dying her cheeks with red. Mrs Fanshawe'sarguments in favour of haste might be wise enough, but her personaldesire was all too plainly betrayed. And she pointedly ignored the factthat the proposed interview need not have interrupted Claire's visit,since it and the journey involved could easily have been accomplished inthe course of a day. "I understand perfectly, thank you. I will goupstairs and pack now. Perhaps there is a train I could catch beforelunch?"

  "The twelve-thirty. That will give you the afternoon in town. I'llorder a fly from the inn. I'm _so_ sorry for you, dear! Most nerve-racking to have to break bad news, but you'll feel happier when it'sdone. Perhaps you could take the poor thing with you to that sweetlittle farm!"

&nbs
p; Not for the world would Claire have spent the next hour in MrsFanshawe's company. She hurried to her room, and placing her watch onthe dressing-table, so timed her packing that it should not be completeda moment before the lumbering country "fly" drove up to the door. Then,fully dressed, she descended the staircase, and held out a gloved handto her hostess, apparently unconscious of an offered kiss.

  It was some slight consolation to note the change of bearing which hadcome over Mrs Fanshawe during the last hour, and to realise that thesuccess of her scheme had not brought much satisfaction. She wasnervous, she was more than nervous, she was afraid! The while Clairehad been packing upstairs, she had had time to realise Erskine's return,and his reception of the news she would have to break. As she droveaway from the door, Claire realised that her hostess would have paid alarge sum down to have been able to undo that morning's work!

  For her own part, Claire cared nothing either way: literally andtruthfully at that moment even the thought of leaving Erskine had nopower to wound. The quickly-following events of the last twenty-fourhours had had a numbing effect on her brain. She was miserable, sore,and wounded; the whole fabric of life seemed tumbling to pieces. Love,for the moment, was in abeyance. As the fly passed the last yard ofmown grass which marked the boundary of the Fanshawe property, she threwout her arms with one of the expressive gestures, which remained withher as a result of her foreign training. "_Fini_!" she cried aloud.Mentally at that moment, she swept the Fanshawes, mother and son, fromthe stage of her life.

  Where should she go next? Back to solitude, and the saffron parlour?London in August held no attraction, but the solitary prospect of beingable to see Sophie, and at the moment Claire shrank from Sophie's sharpeyes. Should she telegraph to the farm, and ask how soon she could bereceived; and at the same time telegraph to Mary Rhodes asking for animmediate interview? A few minutes' reflection brought a decision infavour of this plan, and she drew a pocket-book from her dressing-bag,and busied herself in composing the messages. One to the farm, a secondto Laburnum Crescent announcing her immediate return, then came a pause,to consider the difficult wording of the third. Would it be possible todrop a word of warning, intelligible to Cecil herself, but meaninglessto anyone else who might by chance open the wire?

  "Back in town. Have important news. Imperative to see you to-day, ifpossible. Appoint meeting. Delay dangerous."

  It was not perfect, but in Claire's dazed condition it was the best shecould concoct, and it left a tactful uncertainty as to whether the newsaffected herself or Cecil, which would make it the easier to explain.Claire counted the words and folded the three messages in her hand-bag,ready to be sent off the moment she reached the station.

  The fly lumbered on; up a toilsome hill, down into the valley, upanother hill on the farther side; then came a scattering of houses, achurch, a narrow street lined with shops, and finally the stationitself, the clock over the entrance showing a bare four minutes tospare.

  The porter labelled the luggage, and trundled it down the platform.Claire hurried through her business in the telegraph office, and ranafter him just as the train slowed down on the departure platform. Onecarriage showed two empty corner places on the nearest side, Claireopened the door, seated herself facing the engine, and spread herimpedimenta on the cushions. But few passengers had been waiting, forthis was one of the slowest trains in the day, but now at this lastmoment there came the sound of running footsteps, a man's footsteps,echoing in strong heavy beats. With a traveller's instinctive curiosityClaire leant forward to watch the movements of this late comer, andputting her head out of the window came face to face with ErskineFanshawe himself.

  At sight of her he stopped short, at sight of him she stood up, blockingthe window from sight of the other occupants of the carriage; by acertain defiance of pose, appearing to defend it also against his ownentrance. But he did not attempt to enter. Though he had been running,it was his pallor, not his heat, which struck Claire in that firstmoment. He was white, with the pallor of intense anger; the flash ofhis eyes was like cold steel. He rested his hands on the sill of thewindow, and looked up into her face.

  "This is my mother's doing!"

  It was a statement, not a question, and Claire made no reply. She stoodstiff and silent, while down the length of the platform sounded thequick banging of doors.

  "I got through sooner than I expected and went home to change. I didnot waste time in talking... I could guess what had happened. She madeit impossible for you to stay on?"

  Still silence. The guard's whistle sounded shrilly. Erskine came astep nearer. His white tense face almost touched her own.

  "Claire!" he whispered breathlessly, "will you marry me?"

  "Stand back there! Stand back!" cried an authoritative voice. Thewheels of the carriage rolled slowly forward. Claire bent forward, andgave her answer in one incisive word--

  "No!"

  The wheels rolled faster and faster: left the station, whirled out intothe green, smiling plain.