December Love - Robert Hichens
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"What mystery, dearest?" said Miss Van Tuyn, not without irony.
But at this moment there was a tap at the door of the box, and Craven
opened it to find Mrs. Ackroyde and the young man with the severe eyes
waiting outside.
"May we come in? Is there room?" said Mrs. Ackroyde.
There was plenty of room.
"Lena will be happier without us," Mrs. Ackroyde explained, without a
smile, and looking calmly at Lady Sellingworth. "If I sit quite at the
back here I can smoke a cigarette without being stopped. Bobbie you
might give me a match."
The severe young man, who looked like a sad sensualist, one of those men
who try to cloak intensity with grimness, did as he was bid, and they
renewed the discussion which had been stopped for a moment, bringing the
newcomers into it. Lady Sellingworth explained that the mystery she had
spoken of was the inner necessity to try to find love which drives many
human beings. She spoke without sentimentality, almost with a sort
of scientific coldness as one stating facts not to be gainsaid. Mrs.
Ackroyde said she liked the theory. It was such a comfortable one.
Whenever she made a sidestep she would now be able to feel that she
was driven to it by an inner necessity, planted in her family by the
Immanent Will, or whatever it was that governed humanity. As she spoke
she looked at the man she had called Bobbie, who was Sir Robert Syng,
private secretary to a prominent minister, and when she stopped speaking
he said he had never been able to believe in free will, though he always
behaved as if he thought he possessed it.
Miss Van Tuyn thereupon remarked that as some people are born with
tempers and intellects and some without them, perhaps it was the same
with free will. She was quite positive she had a free will, but the
very first time she had seen Sir Robert she had had her doubts about his
having that precious possession. This sally, designed to break up the
general conversation and to fasten Sir Robert's attention on herself,
led to an animated discussion between her and Mrs. Ackroyde's "man." But
Mrs. Ackroyde, though her large dark eyes showed complete understanding
of the manoeuvre, did not seem to mind, and, turning her attention to
Craven, she began to speak about acting. Meanwhile Lady Sellingworth
went out into the corridor with Braybrooke to "get a little air."
While Mrs. Ackroyde talked Craven felt that she was thinking about him
with an enormously experienced mind. She had been married twice, and was
now a widow. No woman knew more about life and the world in a general
way than she did. Her complete but quiet self-possession, her rather
blunt good nature, and her perfect health, had carried her safely, and
as a rule successfully, through multifarious experiences and perhaps
through many dangers. It was impossible to conceive of her being ever
"knocked out" by any happening however untoward it might be. She was one
of the stalwarts of the "old guard." Craven certainly did not dislike
her. But now he felt almost afraid of her. For he knew her present
interest in him arose from suspicions about him and Lady Sellingworth
which were floating through her brain. She had heard something; had been
informed of something; someone had hinted; someone had told. How do such
things become suspected in a city like London? Craven could not imagine
how the "old guard" had come already to know of his new friendship with
Lady Sellingworth. But he was now quite sure that he had been talked
about, and that Mrs. Ackroyde was considering him, his temperament, his
character, his possibilities in connexion with the famous Adela, once of
the "old guard," but long since traitress to it.
And he felt as if he were made of glass beneath those experienced and
calmly investigating eyes, as he talked steadily about acting till
the bell went for the second act, and Lady Sellingworth and Braybrooke
returned to the box.
"Come and see me," said Mrs. Ackroyde, getting up. "You never come near
me. And come down to Coombe to lunch one Sunday."
"Thank you very much. I will."
"And bring Adela with you!"
With a casual nod or two, and a "Come, Bobbie, I am sure you have
flirted quite enough with Beryl by this time!" she went out of the box,
followed by her grim but good-looking cavalier.
"You must sit in front through this act."
Braybrooke spoke.
"Oh, but--"
"No, really--I insist! You don't see properly behind."
Craven took the chair between the two women. As he did so he glanced
at Miss Van Tuyn. His chair was certainly nearer to hers than to Lady
Sellingworth's, much nearer. Syng had sat in it and must have moved
it. As she half turned and said something to Craven her bare silky arm
touched his sleeve, and their faces were very near together. Her eyes
spoke to him definitely, called him to be young again with her. And as
the curtain went up she whispered:
"It was I who insisted on a party of four to-night."
Lady Sellingworth and Braybrooke were talking together, and Craven
answered:
"To Mr. Braybrooke?"
"Yes; so that we might have a nice little time. And Adela and he are old
friends and contemporaries! I knew they would be happy together."
Craven shrank inwardly as he heard Miss Van Tuyn say "Adela," but he
only nodded and tried to return adequately the expression in her eyes.
Then he looked across the theatre, and saw Mrs. Ackroyde speaking to
Lady Wrackley. After a moment they both gazed at him, and, seeing his
eyes fixed on her, Lady Wrackley let go her smile at him and made a
little gesture with her hand.
"She knows too--damn her!" thought Craven, impolitely.
He set his teeth.
"They know everything, these women! It's useless to try to have the
smallest secret from them!"
And then he said to himself what so many have said:
"What does it matter what they know, what they think, what they say? I
don't care!"
But he did care. He hated their knowing of his friendship with Lady
Sellingworth, and it seemed to him that they were scattering dust all
over the dew of his feeling.
The second act of the play was more interesting than the first, but, as
Miss Van Tuyn said, the whole thing was rather a clever character study
than a solidly constructed and elaborately worked out play. It was
the fascination of Moscovitch which held the audience tight and which
brought thunders of applause when the curtain fell.
"If that man acted in French he could have enormous success in Paris,"
said Miss Van Tuyn. "You have chosen well," she added, turning to
Braybrooke. "You have introduced us to a great temperament."
Braybrooke was delighted, and still more delighted when Lady
Sellingworth and Craven both said that it was the best acting they had
seen in London for years.
"But it comes out of Russia, I suppose," said Lady Sellingworth. "Poor,
wonderful, horrible, glorious Russia!"
"Forgive me for a moment," said Braybrooke. "Lady Wrackley seems to want
me."
Indeed, the electric-light smile was being turned on and off in the
box opposite with unmistakable intention, and, glancing across, Craven
noticed that the young men had disappeared, no doubt to smoke cigarettes
in the foyer. Lady Wrackley and Mrs. Ackroyde were alone, and, seeing
them alone, it was easier to Craven to compare their appearance with
Lady Sellingworth's.
Lady Wrackley looked shiningly artificial, seemed to glisten with
artificiality, and her certainly remarkable figure suggested to him
an advertisement for a corset designed by a genius with a view to the
concealment of fat. Mrs. Ackroyde was far less artificial, and though
her hair was dyed it did not proclaim the fact blatantly. Certainly it
was difficult to believe that both those ladies, whom Braybrooke
now joined, were much the same age as Lady Sellingworth. And yet,
in Craven's opinion, to-night she made them both look ordinary,
undistinguished. There was something magnificent in her appearance which
they utterly lacked.
Braybrooke sat down in their box, and Craven was sure they were
all talking about Lady Sellingworth and him. He saw Braybrooke's
broad-fingered hand go to his beard and was almost positive his old
friend was on the defensive. He was surely saying, "No, really, I don't
think so! I feel convinced there is nothing in it!" Craven's eyes met
Lady Sellingworth's, and it seemed to him at that moment that she and he
spoke together without the knowledge of Miss Van Tuyn. But immediately,
and as if to get away from their strange and occult privacy, she said:
"What have you been doing lately, Beryl? I hear Miss Cronin has come
over. But I thought you were not staying long. Have you changed your
mind?"
Miss Van Tuyn said she might stay on for some time, and explained that
she was having lessons in painting.
"In London! I didn't know you painted, and surely the best school of
painting is in Paris."
"I don't paint, dearest. But one can take lessons in an art without
actually practising the art. And that is what I am doing. I like to know
even though I cannot, or don't want to, do. Dick Garstin is my master.
He has given me the run of his studio in Glebe Place."
"And you watch him at work?" said Craven.
"Yes."
She fixed her eyes on him, and added:
"He is painting a living bronze."
"Somebody very handsome?" said Lady Sellingworth, glancing across the
house to the trio in the box opposite.
"Yes, a man called Nicolas Arabian."
"What a curious name!" said Lady Sellingworth, still looking towards the
opposite box. "Is it an Englishman?"
"No. I don't know his nationality. But he makes a magnificent model."
"Oh, he's a model!" said Craven, also looking at the box opposite.
"He isn't a professional model. Dick Garstin doesn't pay him to sit. I
only mean that he is a marvellous subject for a portrait and sits well.
Dick happened to see him and asked him to sit. Dick paints the people
he wants to paint, not those who want to be painted by him. But he's a
really big man. You ought to know him."
She said the last words to Lady Sellingworth, who replied:
"I very seldom make new acquaintances now."
"You made Mr. Craven's!" said Miss Van Tuyn, smiling.
"But that was by special favour. I owe Mr. Braybrooke that!" said
Craven. "And I shall be eternally grateful to him."
His eyes met Lady Sellingworth's, and he immediately added, turning to
Miss Van Tuyn:
"I have to thank him for two delightful new friends--if I may use that
word."
"Mr. Braybrooke is a great benefactor," said Miss Van Tuyn. "I wonder
how this play is going to end."
And then they talked about Moscovitch and the persistence of a
ruling passion till Braybrooke came back. He looked rather grave and
preoccupied, and Craven felt sure that the talk in the opposite box had
been about Lady Sellingworth and her "new man," himself, and, unusually
self-conscious, or moved, perhaps, by an instinct of self-preservation,
he devoted himself almost with intensity to Miss Van Tuyn till the
curtain went up. And after it went up he kept his chair very close
to hers, sat almost "in her pocket," and occasionally murmured to her
remarks about the play.
The last act was a panorama of shifting moods, and although there
was little action they all followed it with an intense interest
which afterwards surprised them. But a master hand was playing on the
audience, and drew at will from them what emotions he chose. Now and
then, during the progress of this act, Braybrooke sent an anxious glance
to Lady Sellingworth. All this about loss, though it was the loss of
a voice, about the end of a great career, about age and desertion, was
dangerous ground. The love-scene between Moscovitch and the young girl
seriously perturbed Braybrooke. He hoped, he sincerely hoped, that Adela
Sellingworth would not be upset, would not think that he had chosen the
Shaftesbury Theatre for their place of entertainment with any _arriere
pensee_. He fancied that her face began to look rather hard and "set" as
the act drew near its end. But he was not sure. For the auditorium was
rather dark; he could not see her quite clearly. And he looked at Craven
and Miss Van Tuyn and thought, rather bitterly, how sane and how right
his intentions had been. Youth should mate with youth. It was not
natural for mature, or old, age to be closely allied with youth in any
passionate bond. In such a bond youth was at a manifest disadvantage.
And it seemed to Braybrooke that age was sometimes, too often indeed, a
vampire going about to satisfy its appetite on youth, to slake its sad
thirst at the well-spring of youth. He looked, too, at the women in the
box opposite, and at the young men with them, and he regretted that
so many human beings were at grips with the natural. He at any rate,
although he carefully concealed his age, never did unsuitable things, or
fell into anything undignified. Yet was he rewarded for his intense and
unremitting carefulness in life?
A telephone bell sounded on the stage, and the unhappy singer, bereft of
romance, his career finished, decadence and old age staring him in
the face, went to answer the call. But suddenly his face changed; a
brightness, an alertness came into it and even, mysteriously, into all
his body. There was a woman at the other end of the wire, and she was
young and pretty, and she was asking him to meet her. As he was replying
gaily, with smiling lips, and a greedy look in his eyes that was half
child-like, half satyr-like, the curtain fell. The play was at an end,
leaving the impression upon the audience that there is no end to the
life of a ruling passion in a man while he lives, that the ruling
passion can only die when he dies.
Miss Van Tuyn and Craven, standing up in the box, applauded vigorously.
"That's a true finish!" the girl said. "He's really a modern Baron
Hulot. When he's seventy he'll creep upstairs to a servant girl. We
don't change, I've always said it. We don't change!"
And she looked from Craven to Lady Sellingworth.
Moscovitch bowed many times.
"Well, Mr. Braybrooke," said Miss Van Tuyn, "I've seen some acting in
London to-night that I should like to show to Paris. Thank you!"
She was more beautiful and more human than Craven had ever seen her
before in her genuine enthusiasm. And he thought, "Great art moves her
as nothing else moves her."
"What do you say about it, dearest?" she said, as Craven helped her to
put on her cloak.
(Braybrooke was attending to Lady Sellingworth.)
"It's a great piece of acting!"
"And horribly true! Don't you think so?"
"I dare say it is," Lady Sellingworth answered.
She turned quickly and led the way out of the box.
In the hall they encountered the other quartet and stood talking to them
for a moment, and Craven noticed how Miss Van Tuyn had been stirred up
by the play and how silent Lady Sellingworth was. He longed to go back
to Berkeley Square alone with the latter, and to have a long talk; but
something told him to get away from both the white-haired woman and the
eager girl. And when the motor came up he said very definitely that he
had an engagement and must find a cab. Then he bade them good-bye and
left them in the motor with Braybrooke. As he was turning away to get
out of the crowd a clear, firm voice said to him:
"I am so glad you have performed the miracle, Mr. Craven."
He looked round and saw Mrs. Ackroyde's investigating eyes fixed upon
him.
"But what miracle?" he asked.
"You have pulled Adela Sellingworth out of the shell in which she has
been living curled up for over ten years."
"Yes. You are a prodigy!" said Lady Wrackley, showing her teeth.
"But I'm afraid I can't claim that triumph. I'm afraid it's due to Mr.
Braybrooke's diplomacy."
"Oh, no!" Mrs. Ackroyde said calmly. "Adela would never yield to his
cotton-glove persuasions. Besides, his diplomacy would shy away from
Soho."
"Soho!" said Craven, startled.
"Yes!"
"Oh, but Miss Van Tuyn performed that miracle!" said Craven, recovering
himself.
"I don't think so. You are too modest. But now, mind, I expect you to
come down to Coombe to lunch on the first fine Sunday, and to bring
Adela with you. Good night! Bobbie, where are you?"
And she followed Lady Wrackley and the young man with the turned-up nose
to a big and shining motor which had just glided noiselessly up.
"Damn the women!" muttered Craven, as he pushed through the crowd into
the ugly freedom of Shaftesbury Avenue.
CHAPTER III
Miss Van Tuyn and the members of the "old guard" went home to bed that
night realizing that Lady Sellingworth had had "things" done to herself
before she came out to the theatre party.
"She's beginning again after--how many years is it?" said Lady Wrackley
to Mrs. Ackroyde in the motor as they drove away from Shaftesbury.
"Ten," said Mrs. Ackroyde, who was blessed with a sometimes painfully
retentive memory.
"I suppose it's Zotos," observed Lady Wrackley.
"Who's Zotos?" inquired young Leving of the turned-up nose and the larky
expression.
"A Greek who's a genius and who lives in South Moulton Street."
"What's he do?"
"Things that men shouldn't be allowed to know anything about. Talk to
Bobbie for a minute, will you?"
She turned again to Mrs. Ackroyde.
"It must be Zotos. But even he will be in a difficulty with her if she
wants to have very much done. She made the mistake of her life when she
became an old woman. I remember saying at the time that some day she
would repent in dust and ashes and want to get back, and that then it
would be too late. How foolish she was!"
"She will be much more foolish now if she really begins again," said
Mrs. Ackroyde in her cool, common-sense way.
The young men were talking, and after a moment she continued:
"When a thing's once been thoroughly seen by everyone and recognized for
what it is, it is worse than useless to hide it or try to hide it.
Adela should know that. But I must say she looked remarkably well
to-night--for her. He's a good-looking boy."
"He must be at least twenty-eight years younger than she is."
"More, probably. But she prefers them like that. Don't you remember
Rochecouart? He was a mere child. When we gave our hop at Prince's she
was mad about him. And afterwards she wanted to marry Rupert Louth. It
nearly killed her when she found out he had married that awful girl who
called herself an actress. And there was someone else after Rupert."
"I know. I often wonder who it was. Someone _we_ don't know."
"Someone quite out of our world. Anyhow, he must have broken her heart
for the time. And it's taken ten years to mend. Do you think that she
sold her jewels secretly to pay that man's debts, or gave them to him,
and that then he threw her over? I have often wondered."
"So have we all. But we shall never know. Adela is very clever."
"And now it's another boy! And only twenty-eight or so. He can't be more
than twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Poor old Adela!"
"Perhaps he likes white hair. There are boys who do."
"But not for long. Beryl was furious."
"It is hardly a compliment to her. I expect her cult for Adela will
diminish rapidly."
"Oh, she'll very soon get him away. Even Zotos won't be able to do very
much for Adela now. She burnt all her boats ten years ago. Her case is
really hopeless, and she'll very soon find that out."
"Do you remember when she tried to live up to Rupert Louth as an
Amazon?"
"Yes. She nearly killed herself over it; but I must say she stuck to it
splendidly. She has plenty of courage."
"Is Alick Craven athletic? I scarcely know him."
"Well, he's never been a rough rider like Rupert Louth; but I believe
he's a sportsman, does all the usual things."
"Then I dare say we shall soon see Adela on the links and at Kings'."
"Probably. I'll get them both down to Coombe and see if she'll play
tennis on my hard court. I shouldn't wonder. She has pluck enough for
anything."
"Ask me that Sunday. I wonder how long it will last."
"Not long. It can't."
"And then she'll go crash again. It must be awful to have a temperament
like hers."
"Her great mistake is that apparently she puts some heart into it every
time. I can't think how she manages it, but she does. Do you remember
twelve years ago, when she was crazy about Harry Blake? Well--"
But at this moment the motor drew up at the Carlton, and a huge man in
uniform opened the door.
Mrs. Ackroyde was right in her comment on Miss Van Tuyn. In spite of
Craven's acting that night Miss Van Tuyn had thoroughly understood
how things really were. She had persuaded Braybrooke to invite Lady
Sellingworth to make a fourth in order that she might find out whether
any link had been forged between Craven and Lady Sellingworth, whether
there was really any secret understanding between them, or whether that
tete-a-tete dinner in Soho had been merely a passing pleasure, managed
by Lady Sellingworth, meaning little, and likely to lead to nothing.
And she had found out that there certainly was a secret understanding
between Lady Sellingworth and Craven from which she was excluded. Craven
had preferred Adela Sellingworth to herself, and Adela Sellingworth was
fully aware of it.
It was characteristic of Miss Van Tuyn that though her vanity was so
great and was now severely wounded she did not debate the matter within
herself, did not for a moment attempt to deceive herself about it.
And yet really she had very little ground to go upon. Craven had been
charming to her, had replied to her glances, had almost made love to her
at dinner, had sat very close to her during the last act of the play.
Yes; but it had all been acting on his part. Quite coolly she told
herself that. And Lady Sellingworth had certainly wished him to act, had
even prompted him to it.
Miss Van Tuyn felt very angry with Lady Sellingworth. She was less angry
with Craven. Indeed, she was not sure that she was angry with him at
all. He was several years older than herself, but she began to think of
him as really very young, as much younger in mind and temperament than
she was. He was only a clever boy, susceptible to flattery, easily
influenced by a determined will, and probably absurdly chivalrous. She
knew the sort of chivalry which was a symptom really of babyhood in
the masculine mind. It was characteristic of sensitive natures, she
believed, and it often led to strange aberrations. Craven was only a
baby, although a baby of the world, and Adela Sellingworth with her
vast experience had, of course, seen that at a glance and was now busily
playing upon baby's young chivalry. Miss Van Tuyn could almost hear the
talk about being so lonely in the big house in Berkeley Square, about
the freedom of men and the difficulty of having any real freedom when
one is a solitary woman with no man to look after you, about the tragedy
of being considered old when your heart and your nature are really still
young, almost as young as ever they were. Adela Sellingworth would know
how to touch every string, would be an adept at calling out the music
she wanted. How easily experienced women played upon men! It was really
pathetic! And as Craven had thought of protecting Lady Sellingworth
against Miss Van Tuyn, so now Miss van Tuyn felt inclined to protect
Alick Craven against Lady Sellingworth. She did not want to see a nice
and interesting boy make a fool of himself. Yet Craven was on the verge
of doing that, if he had not already done it. Lady Wrackley and Mrs.
Ackroyde had seen how things were, had taken in the whole situation in
a moment. Miss Van Tuyn knew that, and in her knowledge there was
bitterness. These two women had seen Lady Sellingworth preferred before
her by a mere boy, had seen her beauty and youth go for nothing beside a
woman of sixty's fascination.
There must be something quite extraordinary in Craven. He must be
utterly unlike other young men. She began to wonder about him intensely.
On the following morning, as usual, she went to Glebe Place to take what
she had called her "lesson" from Dick Garstin. She arrived rather early,
a few minutes before eleven, and found Garstin alone, looking tired and
irritable.
"You look as if you had been up all night," she said as he let her in.
"So I have!"
She did not ask him what he had been doing. He would probably refuse to
tell her. Instead she remarked:
"Will you be able to paint?"
"Probably not. But perhaps the fellow won't come."
"Why not. He always--" She stopped; then said quickly, "So he was up all
night too?"
"Yes."
"I didn't know you knew him out of the studio."
"Of course I know him wherever I meet him. What do you mean?"
"I didn't know you did meet him."
Garstin said nothing. She turned and went up the staircase to the big
studio. On an easel nearly in the middle of the room, and not very far
from the portrait of the judge, there was a sketch of Nicolas Arabian's
head, neck and shoulders. No collar or clothes were shown. Garstin had
told Arabian flatly that he wasn't going to paint a magnificent torso
like his concealed by infernal linen and serge, and Arabian had been
quite willing that his neck and shoulders should be painted in the nude.
In the strong light of the studio Garstin's unusual appearance of
fatigue was more noticeable, and Miss Van Tuyn could not help saying: