Tenterhooks - Ada Leverson
Paul La France had been trying for an hour and a half to make eyes
through motor goggles, which, naturally, was not a success; so he
seemed a little out of temper. Archie was staring at him as if
fascinated. He went up and said:
'Voulez-vous lend me your goggles?'
'Mais certainement! Of course I will. Voila mon petit.'
'The darling! How sweet and amusing of him! But they're only to be used
in the motor, you know. Don't break them, darling, will you? Monsieur
will want them again. Ah! how sweet he looks!' as he put them on, 'I
never saw such a darling in the whole course of my life! Look at him,
Mrs Ottley. Look at him, Paul!'
'Charmant. C'est delicieux,' grumbled La France.
'What a charming little lawn this is, going right down to the sea, too.
Oh, Mr Ross, is that you? Isn't this a delightful little house? More
tea? Yes, please. Mr La France doesn't take sugar, and--'
'You don't know what I am now,' said Archie, having fixed the goggles
on his own fair head, to the delight of Dilly.
'Oh, I guess what you are! You're a motorist, aren't you, darling?
That's it! It's extraordinary how well I always get on with children,
Mrs Ottley,' explained Lady Everard. 'I daresay it's through being used
to my little grandchildren, Eva's two angels, you know, but I never see
them because I can't stand their noise, and yet I simply adore them.
Pets!'
'What am I?' asked Archie, in his persistent way, as he walked round
the group on the lawn, in goggles, followed closely by Dilly, saying,
'Yes, what is he?' looking exactly like a live doll, with her golden
hair and blue ribbons.
'You're a motorist, darling.'
'No, I'm not a silly motorist. Guess what I am?'
'It's so difficult to guess, such hot weather! Can you guess, Paul?'
'I sink he is a nuisance,' replied the Frenchman, laughing politely.
'No, that's wrong. You guess what I am.'
'Guess what he is,' echoed Dilly.
'O Lord! what does it matter? What I always say is--live and let live,
and let it go at that,' said Captain Willis, with his loud laugh.
'What, Mrs Ottley? But they won't do it, you know--they won't--and
there it is!'
'Guess what I am,' persisted Archie.
'Never mind what you are; do go and sit down, and take those things
off,' said Edith.
'Not till you guess what I am.'
'Does Dilly know?'
'No, Dilly doesn't know. Guess what I am, grandmamma!'
'I give it up.'
'I thought you'd never guess. Well, I'm a blue-faced mandrill!'
declared Archie, as he took the goggles off reluctantly and gave them
back to La France, who put them under his chair.
'Yes, he's a two-faced mangle,' repeated Dilly.
He turned round on her sharply. 'Now, don't talk nonsense! You're a
silly girl. I never said anything about being a two-faced mangle; I'm
a blue-faced mandrill.'
'Well, I said so; a two-faced mangle.'
'Don't say anything at all if you can't say it right,' said Archie,
raising his voice and losing his temper.
'Well, they's both the same.'
'No, they jolly well aren't.'
He drew her a little aside. 'A blue-faced mandrill, silly, is real;
it's in my natural history book.'
'Sorry,' said Dilly apologetically.
'In my natural history book it is, a _real_ thing. I'm a blue-faced
mandrill.... Now say it after me.'
'You's a two-faced mangle.'
'Now you're doing it on purpose! If you weren't a little girl, Dilly--'
'I wasn't doing it on purpose.'
'Oh, get away before I hit you! You're a silly little fool.'
She slowly walked away, calling out: 'And you're a silly two-faced
mangle,' in a very irritating tone. Archie made a tremendous effort to
ignore her, then he ran after her saying:
'Will you shut up or will you not?'
Aylmer seized hold of him.
'What are you going to do, Archie?'
'Teach Dilly what I am. She says--Oh, she's _such_ a fool!'
'No, Archie, leave her alone; she's only a baby. Come along, old boy.
Give Mr Cricker a cup of tea; he hasn't had one yet.'
Archie was devoted to Aylmer. Following him, he handed the tea to Mr
Cricker, saying pathetically:
'I'm a blue-faced mandrill, and she knew it. I told her so. Aren't
girls fools? They do worry!'
'They _are_ torments,' said Aylmer.
'I wish that Frenchman would give me his goggles to keep! He doesn't
want them.'
'I'll give you a pair,' said Aylmer.
'Thanks,' said Cricker,' I won't have any tea. I wish you'd come and
have a little talk with me, Ross. Can I have a word with you alone?'
Aylmer good-naturedly went aside with him.
'It's worse than ever,' said Cricker, in low, mysterious tones. 'Since
I've been staying with Lady Everard it's been wire, wire, wire--ring,
ring, ring--and letters by every post! You see, I thought it was rather
a good plan to get away for a bit, but I'm afraid I shall have to go
back. Fancy, she's threatened suicide, and telling her husband, and
confiding in Lady Everard! And giving up the stage, and oh, goodness
knows what! There's no doubt the poor child is absolutely raving about
me. No doubt whatever.'
Aylmer was as sympathetic as he knew how.
The party was just going off when La France found that the
goggles had disappeared. A search-party was organised; great excitement
prevailed; but in the end they went away without the glasses.
When Dilly had just gone to sleep in her cot a frightening figure crept
into her room and turned on the electric light.
'Oh, Archie! What is it! Who is it! Oh!... Oh!'
'Don't be frightened,' said Archie, in his deepest voice, obviously
hoping she would be frightened. He was in pyjamas and goggles. 'Don't
be frightened! _Now! Say what I am_. What am I?'
'A blue-faced mandrill,' she whined.
He took off the goggles and kissed her.
'Right! Good night, old girl!'
CHAPTER XXVII
The Elopement
The following Tuesday, Edith, Aylmer, Vincy and Mrs Ottley were sitting
on the veranda after dinner. They had a charming little veranda which
led on to a lawn, and from there straight down to the sea. It was their
custom to sit there in the evening and talk. The elder Mrs Ottley
enjoyed these evenings, and the most modern conversation never seemed
to startle her. She would listen impassively, or with a smile, as if in
silent approval, to the most monstrous of paradoxes or the most
childish chaff.
Aylmer's attention and kind thought for her had absolutely won her
heart. She consulted him about everything, and was only thoroughly
satisfied when he was there. His strong, kind, decided voice, his good
looks, his decision, and a sort of responsible impulsiveness, all
appealed to her immensely. She looked up to him, in a kind of admiring
maternal way; Edith often wondered, did she not see Aylmer's devotion?
But, if she did, Mrs Ottley thought nothing of it. Her opinion of Edith
was so high that she trusted her in any complications....
'Isn't Bruce coming down tonight?' she asked Edith.
'I'm to have a wire.'
'Ah, here's the last post. Perhaps he's written instead.'
Vincy fetched the letters. There was one from Bruce.
Edith went into the drawing-room to read it; there was not sufficient
light on the veranda....
In growing amazement she read the following words:--
DEAR EDITH,
'I hope what I am about to tell you will not worry you too much. At any
rate I do hope you will not allow it to affect your health. It is
inevitable, and you must make up your mind to it as soon as possible. I
say this in no spirit of unkindness; far from it. It is hard to me to
break the news to you, but it must be done.
'Mavis Argles and I are all in all to each other. We have made up our
minds on account of certain _circumstances_ to throw in our lot
together, and we are starting for Australia today. When this reaches
you, we shall have started. I enclose the address to write to me.
'In taking this step I have, I am sure, acted for the best. It may
cause you great surprise and pain. I regret it, but we met and became
very quickly devoted to one another. She cannot live without me. What I
am doing is my duty. I now ask you, and believe you will grant my
request, to make arrangements to _give me my freedom as soon as
possible_. Mind you do this, Edith, for it is really my duty to give my
name to Mavis, who, as I have said, is devoted to me heart and soul,
and cannot live without me.
'I shall always have the greatest regard and respect for you, and _wish
you well_.
'I am sorry also about my mother, but you must try and explain that it
is for the best. You also will know exactly what to do, and how to
bring up the children just as well without me as with.
'Hoping this sudden news will not affect your health in any way, and
that you will try and stay on a good while at Westgate, as I am sure
the air is doing you good, believe me, yours affectionately as always,
'BRUCE.
'_P.S._--Mind you don't forget to divorce me as soon as you can for
Mavis's sake. Vincy will give you all the advice you need. Don't think
badly of me; I have meant well. Try and cheer up. I am sorry not to
write more fully, but you can imagine how I was rushed to catch today's
steamer.'
She sat alone gazing at the letter under the light. She was divided at
first between a desire to laugh and cry. Bruce had actually eloped! His
silly weakness had culminated, his vanity had been got hold of. Vincy's
horrid little art-student had positively led him into running away,
and leaving his wife and children.
Controlling herself, Edith went to the veranda and said to Mrs Ottley
that Bruce wasn't coming back for a day or two, that she had neuralgia
and was going to retire, but begged Aylmer not to go yet. Of course at
this he went at once.
The next morning Aylmer at his hotel received a little note asking him
to come round and see Edith, while the others were out.
It was there, in the cool, shady room, that Edith showed him the
letter.
'Good God!' he exclaimed, looking simply wild with joy. 'This is too
marvellous!--too heavenly! Do you realise it? Edith, don't you see he
wants you to make him free? You will be my wife--that's
settled--that's fixed up.'
He looked at her in delight almost too great for expression.
Edith knew she was going to have a hard task now. She was pale, but
looked completely composed. She said:
'You're wrong, Aylmer. I'm not going to set him free.'
'What?' he almost shouted. 'Are you mad? What! Stick to him when he
doesn't want you! Ruin the wretched girl's life!'
'That remains to be seen. I don't believe everything in the letter. The
children--'
'Edith!' he exclaimed. 'What--when he doesn't _want_ the children--when
he deserts them?'
'He is their father.'
'Their father! Then, if you were married to a criminal who implored you
to divorce him you wouldn't, because he was their father!'
'Bruce is not a criminal. He is not bad. He is a fool. He has behaved
idiotically, and I can never care for him in the way I used to, but I
mean to give him a chance. I'm not going to jump at his first real
folly to get rid of him.... Poor Bruce!'
She laughed.
Aylmer threw himself down in an arm-chair, staring at her.
'You amaze me,' he said. 'You amaze me. You're not human. Do you adore
this man, that you forgive him everything? You don't even seem angry.'
'I don't adore him, that is why I'm not so very angry. I was terribly
hurt about Miss Townsend. My pride, my trust were hurt but after that I
can't ever feel that personal jealousy any more. What I have got to
think of is what is best.'
'Edith, you don't care for me. I'd better go away.' He turned away; he
had tears in his eyes.
'Oh, don't, Aylmer! You know I do!'
'Well, then, it's all right. Fate seems to have arranged this on
purpose for us--don't you know, dear, how I'd be good to the children?
How I'd do anything on this earth for them? Why, I'd reconcile Mrs
Ottley to it in ten minutes; I'd do _anything_!' He started up.
'I'm not going to let Mrs Ottley know anything about it for the
present.'
'You're not going to tell her?'
'No. I shall invent a story to account for his absence. No-one need
know. But, of course, if, later--I mean if he persists--'
'Oh, Edith, don't be a fool! You're throwing away our happiness when
you've got it in your hand.'
'There are some things that one _can't_ do.' said Edith. 'It goes
against the grain. I can't take advantage of his folly to make the path
smoother--for myself. What will become of him when they quarrel! It's
all nonsense. Bruce is only weak. He's a very good fellow, really. He
has no spirit, and not much intellect; but with us to look after him,'
she unconsciously said us, and could not help smiling at the absurdity
of it,' he will get along all right yet.'
'Edith, you're beyond me,' said Aylmer. 'I give up understanding you.'
She stood up again and looked out of the window.
'Let him have his silly holiday and his elopement and his trip! He
thinks it will make a terrific sensation! And I hope she will be
seasick. I'm sure she will; she's the sort of woman who would, and
then--after--'
'And you'll take him back? You have no pride, Edith.'
She turned round. 'Take him back?--yes; officially. He has a right to
live in his own house, with his own children. Why, ever since I found
out about Miss Townsend ... I'm sure I was nice to him, but only like a
sister. Yes. I feel just like a sister to him now.'
'Oh, good God! I haven't patience with all this hair-splitting
nonsense. Brotherly husbands who run away with other girls, and beg you
to divorce them; sisterly wives who forgive them and stick to them
against their will....'
He suddenly stopped, and held out his hand.
'Forgive me, Edith. I believe whatever you say is right. Will you
forgive me?'
'You see, it's chiefly on account of the children. If it weren't for
them I _would_ take advantage of this to be happy with you. At
least--no--I'm not sure that I would; not if I thought it would be
Bruce's ruin.'
'And you don't think I'd be good to the children?'
'Good? I know you would be an angel to them! But what's the use? I tell
you I can't do it.'
'I won't tease you, I won't worry you any more,' he said, in a rather
broken voice. 'At any rate, think what a terrible blow this is to me.
You show me the chance of heaven, then you voluntarily dash it away.
Don't you think you ought to consult someone? You have asked no-one?'
'I have consulted _you_,' she said, with a slight smile.
'You take no notice of what I say.'
'As a matter of fact, I don't wish to consult anyone. I have made my
own decision. I have written my letter.'
She took it out of her bag. It was directed to Bruce, at the address he
had given her in Australia.
'I suppose you won't let me read it?' he said sadly.
'I think I'd rather not,' she said.
Terribly hurt, he turned to the door.
'No--no, you shall read it!' she exclaimed. 'But don't say anything,
make no remark about it. You shall read it because I trust you, because
I really care for you.'
'Perhaps I oughtn't to,' he said. 'No, dear; keep it to yourself.' His
delicacy had revived and he was ashamed of his jealousy.
But now she insisted on showing it to him, and he read:
'DEAR BRUCE,
'I'm not going to make any appeal to your feelings with regard to your
mother and the children, because if you had thought even of me a little
this would not have happened. I'm very, very sorry for it. I believe it
happened from your weakness and foolishness, or you could not have
behaved with such irresponsibility, but I'm trying to look at it quite
calmly. I therefore propose to do nothing at all for three months. If I
acted on your suggestion you might regret it ever after. If in three
months you write to me again in the same strain, still desiring to be
free, I will think of it, though I'm not sure that I should do it even
then. But in case you change your mind I propose to tell nobody, not
even your mother. By the time you get this letter, it will be six weeks
since yours to me, and you may look at things differently. Perhaps by
then you will be glad to hear that I have told your mother merely that
you have been ordered away for a change, and I shall say the same to
anyone else who inquires for you. If you feel after this time still
responsible, and that you have a certain duty, still remember, even so,
you might be very unhappy together all your lives. Excuse me, then, if
I don't take you at your word.
'Another point occurs to me. In your hurry and excitement, perhaps you
forgot that your father's legacy depended on the condition that you
should not leave the Foreign Office before you were fifty. That is
about fourteen years from now. If you are legally freed, and marry Miss
Argles, you could hardly go back there. I think it would be practically
impossible under those circumstances, while if you live in Australia
you will have hardly any means. I merely remind you of this, in case
you had forgotten.
'I shall regard it all as an unfortunate aberration; and if you regret
it, and change your mind, you will be free at any time you like to come
back and nothing shall be ever said about it. But I'm not begging you
to do so. I may be wrong; perhaps she's the woman to make you happy.
Let me know within three months how you feel about it. No-one will
suffer except myself during this time, as I shall keep it from your
mother, and shall remain here during this time. Perhaps you will be
very angry with me that I don't wish to take you at your word, Bruce.
At first I thought I would, but I'm doing what I think right, and one
cannot do more.
'I'm not going to reproach you, for if you don't feel the claims of
others on you, my words will make no difference.
'Think over what I say. Should you be unhappy and wish to separate from
her without knowing how, and if it becomes a question of money, as so
many things do, I would help you. I did not remind you about your
father's legacy to induce you to come back. If you really find
happiness in the way you expect, we could arrange it. You see, I have
thought of everything, in one night. But you _won't_ be happy.
'EDITH OTTLEY.'
'Remember, whenever you like to come back, you will be welcomed, and
nothing shall ever be said about it.'
Aylmer gave her back the letter. He was touched.
'You see,' she said eagerly, 'I haven't got a grain of jealousy. All
that part is quite finished. That's the very reason why I can judge
calmly.'
She fastened up the letter, and then said with a smile:
'And now, let's be happy the rest of the summer. Won't you?'
He answered that she was _impayable_--marvellous--that he would help
her--devote himself to doing whatever she wished. On consideration he
saw that there was still hope.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Bruce Returns
'Never, Edith!' exclaimed Vincy, fixing his eyeglass in his eye, and
opening his mouth in astonishment. 'Never! Well, I'm gormed!'
A week had passed since the news of Bruce's elopement. The little group
at Westgate didn't seem to have much been affected by it; and this was
the less surprising as Aylmer and Edith had kept it to themselves. Mrs
Ottley listened imperturbably to Edith's story, a somewhat incoherent
concoction, but told with dash and decision, that Bruce had been
ordered away for a sea-voyage for fear of a nervous breakdown. She
cried a little, said nothing, kissed Edith more than usual, and took
the children away for longer walks and drives. With a mother's
flashlight of intuition she felt at once certain there was something
wrong, but she didn't wish to probe the subject. Her confidence in
Edith reached the point of superstition; she would never ask her
questions. Edith had assured her that Bruce would come back all right,
and that was enough. Personally, Mrs Ottley much preferred the society
of Aylmer to that of her son. Aylmer was far more amusing, far more
considerate to her, and to everybody else, and he didn't use his
natural charm for those who amused him only, as the ordinary
fascinating man does. Probably there was at the back of his attentions
to Mrs Ottley a vague idea that he wanted to get her on his side--that
she might be a useful ally; but he was always charming to elderly
women, and inclined to be brusque with younger ones, excepting Edith;
he remembered his own mother with so great a cult of devotion, and his
late wife with such a depressed indifference.
Edith had asked Aylmer to try and forget what had happened--to make
himself believe that Bruce had really only gone away medicinally. For
the present, he did as she wished, but he was longing to begin talking
to her on the subject again, both because it interested him
passionately from the psychological point of view, and far more,
naturally, because he had hopes of persuading her in time. She was not
bound by letter; she could change her mind. Bruce might and possibly
would, insist.
There was difficulty in keeping the secret from Vincy, who was actually
staying in the house, and whose wonderful nerves and whimsical mind
were so sensitive to every variation of his surroundings. He had the
gift of reading people's minds. But it never annoyed anyone; one felt
he had no illusions; that he sympathised with one's weaknesses and
follies and, in a sense, enjoyed them, from a literary point of view.
Probably his friends forgave his clear vision for the sake of his
interest. Most people would far rather be seen through than not be seen
at all.
One day Vincy, alone on the beach with Edith, remarked that he wondered
what had happened to Mavis.
Edith told him that she had run away with a married man.
'Never, Edith!' he exclaimed. 'Who would have thought it! It seems
almost too good to be true!'
'Don't say that, Vincy.'
'But how did you hear it? You know everything.'
'I heard it on good authority. I _know_ it's true.'
'And to think I was passing the remark only the other day that I
thought I ought to look her up, in a manner of speaking, or write, _or
something_,' continued Vincy; 'and who _is_ the poor dear man? Do you
know?'
He looked at her with a sudden vague suspicion of he knew not what.
'Bruce was always inclined to be romantic, you know,' she said
steadily.
'Oh, give over!'
'Yes, that's it; I didn't want anyone to know about it. I'm so afraid
of making Mrs Ottley unhappy.'
'But you're not serious, Edith?'
'I suppose I'd better show you his letter. He tells me to ask your
advice.'
She gave it to him.
'There is only one word for what I feel about it,' Vincy said, as he
gave it back. 'I'm gormed! Simply gormed! Gormed, Edith dear, is really
the only word.'
'I'm not jealous,' said Edith. 'My last trouble with Bruce seems to
have cured me of any feeling of the kind. But I have a sort of pity and
affection for him still in a way--almost like a mother! I'm really
afraid he will be miserable with her, and then he'll feel tied to her
and be wretched all his life. So I'm giving him a chance.'
He looked at her with admiring sympathy.
'But what about other friends?'
'Well--oh, you know--'
'Edith, I'm awfully sorry; I wish I'd married her now, then she
wouldn't have bothered about Bruce.'
'But you can't stand her, Vincy.'
'I know, Edith dear; but I'd marry any number of people to prevent
anything tiresome for you. And Aylmer, of course--Edith, really, I
think Aylmer ought to go away; I'm sure he ought. It is a mistake to
let him stay here under these circumstances.'
'Why?' said Edith. 'I don't see that; if I were going to take Bruce at
his word, then it would be different, of course.'
'It does seem a pity not to, in some ways; everything would be all
nicely settled up, just like the fourth act of a play. And then I
should be glad I hadn't married Mavis... Oh, do let it be like the
fourth act, Edith.'
'How can life be like a play? It's hopeless to attempt it,' she said
rather sadly.
'Edith, do you think if Bruce knew--how much you liked Aylmer--he would
have written that letter?'
'No. And I don't believe he would ever have gone away.'
'Still, I think you ought to send Aylmer away now.'
'Why?' she repeated. 'Nothing could be more intensely correct. Mrs
Ottley's staying with me--why shouldn't I have the pleasure of seeing
Aylmer because Bruce is having a heavenly time on board ship?'
'I suppose there's that point of view,' said Vincy, rather bewildered.
'I say, Edith!'
'About Bruce having a heavenly time on board ship--a--she always
grumbles; she's always complaining. She's never, never satisfied... She
keeps on making scenes.'
'So does Bruce.'
'Yes. But I suppose if there's a certain predicament--then--Oh,
Edith--are you unhappy?'
'No, not a bit now. I think I'm only really unhappy when I'm undecided.
Once I've taken a line--no matter what it is--I can be happy again. I
can adjust myself to my good fortune.'
Curiously, when Edith had once got over the pain and shock that the
letter first gave her, she was positively happier now than she ever had
been before. Bruce really must have been a more formidable bore than
she had known, since his absence left such a delicious freedom. The
certainty of having done the right, the wisest thing, was a support, a
proud satisfaction.
During these summer days Aylmer was not so peacefully happy. His
devotion was assiduous, silent, discreet, and sometimes his feelings
were almost uncontrollable, but he hoped; and he consoled himself by
the thought that some day he would really have his wish--anything might
happen; the chances were all in his favour.