CHAPTER XX
THE CAGE DOOR
For the first few days succeeding Lord St. John's departure from TrenbyHall, matters progressed comparatively smoothly. Then, as hisinfluence waned with absence, the usual difficulties reappeared, theold hostilities--hostilities of outlook and generation--arising oncemore betwixt Nan and Lady Gertrude. Mutual understanding is impossiblebetween two people whose sense of values is fundamentally opposed, andmusic, the one thing that had counted all through Nan's life, was amatter of supreme unimportance to the older woman. She regardedit--or, indeed, any other form of art, for that matter--as amongst theimmaterial fripperies of life, something to be put aside at any momentin favour of social or domestic duties. It signified even less to herthan it did to Eliza McBain, to whom it at least represented one of thelures of Satan--and for this reason could not be entirely discounted.
Since Sandy's stimulating visit Nan had devoted considerable time tothe composition of her concerto, working at it with a recrudescence ofher old enthusiasm, and the work had been good for her. It had carriedher out of herself, preventing her from dwelling continually upon thepast. Unfortunately, however, the hours she spent in the seclusion ofthe West Parlour were not allowed to pass without comment.
"It seems to take you a long time to compose a new piece," remarkedIsobel at dinner one day, the trite expression "new piece" veryevidently culled from her school-day memories.
Nan smiled across at her.
"A concerto's a pretty big undertaking, you see," she explained.
"Rather an unnecessary one, I should have thought, as you are so soonto be married." Lady Gertrude spoke with her usual acid brevity. "Itcertainly prevents our enjoying as much of your society as we shouldwish."
Nan flushed scarlet at the implied slur on her behaviour as a guest inthe house, even though she recognised the injustice of it. An awkwardpause ensued. Isobel, having started the ball rolling, seemed contentto let things take their course without interference, while Roger'sshaggy brows drew together in a heavy frown--though whether he weredispleased by his mother's comment, or by Nan's having given her causefor it, it was impossible to say.
"This afternoon, for instance," pursued Lady Gertrude, "Isobel and Ipaid several calls in the neighbourhood, and in each case your absencewas a disappointment to our friends--very naturally."
"I--I'm sorry," stammered Nan. She found it utterly incomprehensiblethat anyone should expect her to break off in the middle of anafternoon's inspiration in order to pay a duty call upon some absolutestrangers--whose disappointment was probably solely due to baulkedcuriosity concerning Roger's future wife.
Isobel laughed lightly and let fly one of her little two-edged shafts.
"I expect you think we're a lot of very commonplace people, Nan," shecommented. "Own up, now!" challengingly.
Lady Gertrude's eyes flashed like steel.
"Hardly that, I hope," she said coldly.
"Well, we're none of us in the least artistic," persisted her niece,perfectly aware that her small thrusts were as irritating to LadyGertrude and Roger as the picador's darts to the bull in the arena."So of course we must appear rather Philistine compared with Nan's setin London."
Roger levelled a keen glance at Nan. There was suppressed anger and asearching, almost fierce enquiry in his eyes beneath which she shrank.That imperious temper of his was not difficult to rouse, as she haddiscovered on more than one occasion since she had come to Trenby Hall,and she felt intensely annoyed with Isobel, who was apparently unableto see that her ill-timed observations were goading the pride of bothRoger and his mother.
"Silence evidently gives consent," laughed Isobel, as Nan, absorbed inher own reflections for the moment, vouchsafed no contradiction to herlast remark.
Nan met the other's mocking glance defiantly. With a suddenwilfulness, born of the incessant opposition she encountered, shedetermined to let Miss Carson's second challenge go unanswered. Shehad tried--tried desperately--to win the affection, or even the bareliking, of Roger's women-kind, and she had failed. It was all just somuch useless effort. Henceforward they might think of her what theychose.
The remainder of the meal passed in a strained and uncomfortablemanner. Lady Gertrude and Isobel discussed various matters pertainingto the village Welfare Club, while Roger preserved an impenetrablesilence, and though Nan made a valiant pretence at eating, lest LadyGertrude's gimlet eyes should observe her lack of appetite and herthin, disdainful voice comment on the fact, she felt all the time asthough the next mouthful must inevitably choke her.
The long, formal meal came to an end at last, and she rose from thetable with a sigh of relief and accompanied the other two women out ofthe room, leaving Roger to smoke his pipe alone as usual. An instantlater, to her surprise, she heard his footstep and found that he hadfollowed them into the hall and was standing on the threshold of thelibrary.
"Come in here, Nan," he said briefly.
Somewhat reluctantly she followed him into the room. He closed thedoor behind her, then swung round on his heel so that they stoodfronting one another.
At the sight of his face she recoiled a step in sheer nervousastonishment. It was a curious ashen-white, and from beneath drawnbrows his hawk's eyes seemed positively to blaze at her.
"Roger," she stammered, "what--what is it?"
"Is it true?" he demanded, ignoring her halting question, and fixingher with a glance that seemed to penetrate right through her.
"Is--is what true?" she faltered.
"Is it true--what Isobel said--that you look down on us because we'recountrified, that you're still hankering after that precious artisticcrew of yours in London?"
He spoke violently--so violently that it roused Nan's spirit. Sheturned away from him.
"Don't be so absurd, Roger," she said contemptuously. "Isobel was onlyjoking. It was very silly of her, but it's sillier still for you totake any notice of what she said."
"She was _not_ joking. You've shown it clearly enough--ever since youcame here--that you're dissatisfied--bored! Do you suppose I haven'tseen it? I'm not blind! And I won't stand it! If your music is goingto come between us, I'll smash the piano--"
"Roger! You ridiculous person!"
She was smiling now. Something in his anger reminded her of an enragedsmall boy. It woke in her the eternal motherhood which lies in everywoman and she felt that she wanted to comfort him. She could forgivehim his violence. In his furious antagonism towards the art whichmeant so much to her, she traced the combined influence of LadyGertrude and Isobel. Not merely the latter's pin-pricks at dinner thisparticular evening, but the constant pressure of criticism of which shewas the subject.
"You ridiculous person! If you did smash the piano, it wouldn't makeme any less a musician. And"--lightly--"I really can't have you beingjealous of an inanimate thing like a grand piano!"
Roger's frown relaxed a little. His threat to smash the piano soundedfoolish even in his own ears. But he hated the instrument none theless, although without precisely knowing why. Subconsciously he wasaware that the real Nan still eluded him. She was his in the eyes ofthe world--pledged to be his wife--yet he knew that although he mightpossess her body it would bring him no nearer the possession of hersoul and spirit. That other man--the one for whom she had told him sheonce cared--held those! Trenby was not given to psychologicalanalysis, but in a blind, bewildered fashion he felt that that thing ofwood and ivory and stretched strings represented in concrete formeverything that stood betwixt himself and Nan.
"Have I nothing else--_no one else_"--significantly---"to be jealousof?" he demanded. "Answer me!"
With a swift movement he gripped her by the shoulder, forcing her toface him again, his eyes still stormy. She winced involuntarily underthe pressure of his fingers, but forced herself to answer him.
"You know," she said quietly. "I told you when you asked me to be yourwife that--that there was--someone--for whom I cared. But, if youbelieved _all_ I told you t
hen--you know, too, that you have no reasonto be jealous."
"You mean because you can't marry him?"--moodily.
"Yes."
The brief reply acted like a spark to tinder. With a stifledexclamation he caught her up in his arms, crushing his mouth down onhers till her lips felt bruised beneath his kisses.
"It's not enough!" he said, his voice hoarse and shaken. "It's notenough! I want you--the whole of you, Nan--Nan!"
For an instant she struggled against him--almost instinctively. Then,remembering she had given him the right to kiss her if he chose, sheyielded, surrendering passively to the fierce tide of his passion.
"Kiss me!" he insisted hotly.
She kissed him obediently. But there was no warmth in her kiss, noanswering thrill, and the man knew it. He held her away from him, hissudden passion chilled.
"Is that the best you can do?" he demanded, looking down at her withsomething grimly ironic in his eyes. She steadied herself to meet hisglance.
"It is--really, Roger," she replied earnestly. "Oh!"--flushingswiftly--"you must know it!"
"Yes"--with a shrug. "I suppose I ought to have known it. I'm only asecond string, after all."
There was so much bitterness in his voice that Nan's heart was touchedto a compassionate understanding.
"Ah! Don't speak like that!" she cried tremulously. "You know I'mgiving you all I can, Roger. I've been quite fair with you--quitehonest. I told you I had no love to give you, that I could never carefor anyone again,--like that. And you said you would be content," sheadded with reproach.
"I know I did," he answered sullenly. "But I'm not. No man who lovedyou would be content! . . . And I'm never sure of you. . . . You hateit here--"
"But it will be different when we are married," she said gently.Surely it _would_ be different when they were alone together in theirown home without the perpetual irritation of Isobel's malicious littlethrusts and Lady Gertrude's implacability?
"My God, yes! It'll he different then. I shall have you to _myself_!"
"Your mother?" she questioned, a thought timidly.
"She--and Isobel--will go to the dower house. No"--reading herthoughts--"they won't like it. They don't want to go. That's naturalenough. Once I thought--" He checked himself abruptly, wondering howhe could ever have conceived it possible that his mother might remainon at the Hall after his marriage. "But not now! I'll have my wife tomyself"--savagely. "Nan, how long am I to wait?"
A thrill of dismay ran through her. So far, he had not raised thequestion as to the actual date of their marriage, and she had beenthankful to leave it for settlement at some vaguely distant period.
"Why--why, I couldn't he married till Kitty comes home," she faltered.
"I suppose not. When do you expect her back?"
"About the end of the month, I think, or the beginning of February."
"Then you'll marry me in April."
He made the statement with a certain grim arrogance that forbade allcontradiction. He was in a curiously uncertain mood, and Nan, anxiousnot to provoke another storm, assented reluctantly.
"You mean that? You won't fail me?" His keen eyes searched her faceas though he doubted her and sought to wring the truth from her lips.
"Yes," she said very low. "I mean it."
He left her then, and a few minutes later, when she had recovered herpoise, she rejoined Lady Gertrude and Isobel in the drawing-room.
"You and Roger have been having a very long confab," remarked Isobel,looking up from the jumper she was knitting. "What does it portend?"
Her sallow, nimble fingers never paused in their work. The soft, evenclick of the needles went on unbrokenly.
"Nothing immediate," answered Nan. "He wants me to settle the date ofour wedding, that's all."
The clicking ceased abruptly.
"And when is it to be?" Isobel's attention seemed entirelyconcentrated upon a dropped stitch.
"Some time in April. It will have to depend a little on Mrs. Seymour'splans. She wants me to be married from her house, just as Penelopewas."
Lady Gertrude was busily engaged upon the making of a utilitarianflannel petticoat for one of her protegees in the village. Sheanchored her needle carefully in the material before she laid it aside.
"Do you mean from her house in town?" she asked.
"Why, yes, I suppose so." Nan looked faintly puzzled.
"Then I hope you will re-arrange matters."
Although Lady Gertrude's manner was colder and infinitely more precise,yet the short speech held the same arrogance as Roger's "Then you'llmarry me in April"--the kind of arrogance which calmly assumes that anyopposition is out of the question.
"It would be the greatest disappointment to the tenantry," shecontinued, "if they were unable to witness the marriage of my son--asthey would have done, of course, if he'd married someone of thedistrict. So I hope"--conclusively--"that Mrs. Seymour will arrangefor your wedding to take place from Mallow Court."
She picked up the flannel petticoat and recommenced work upon it againas though the matter were settled, supremely oblivious of the fact thatshe had succeeded, as usual, in rousing every rebellious feeling herfuture daughter-in-law possessed.
Nan lay long awake that night. Roger's sudden gust of passion hadtaken her by surprise, filling her with a kind of terror of him. Neverbefore had he shown her that side of himself, and she had somehow takenit for granted that he would not prove a demanding lover. He had beenso diffident, so generous at the beginning, that she had been almostashamed of the poor return which was all that she could make. But nowshe was suddenly face to face with the fact that he was going to demandfar more of her than she was able to give.
She had not realised how much propinquity adds fuel to love's fire.Unknown, even to himself, Roger's passion had been gradually risingtowards flood-tide. Man being by nature a contradictory animal, theattitude assumed by his mother and cousin towards the woman who was tobe his wife had seemed to fan rather than smother the flame.
All at once the curb had snapped. He wanted Nan, the same Nan withwhom he had fallen in love--the inconsequent feminine thing of elusivefrocks and absurd, delicious faults and weaknesses--rather than a Nanmoulded into shape by Lady Gertrude's iron hand. An intense resentmentof his mother's interference had been gradually growing up within him.He would do all the moulding that was required, after matrimony!
Not that he put all this to himself in so many words. But a sense ofrevolt, an overwhelming jealousy of everyone who made any claim at allon Nan--jealousy even of that merry Bohemian life of hers in which hehad had no share--had been slowly gathering within him until it wasalmost more than he could endure. Isobel's taunts at dinner had halfmaddened him. Whether he were Philistine or not, Nan had promised tomarry him, and he would know neither rest nor peace of mind until thatpromise were fulfilled.
And Nan, as she lay in bed with wide eyes staring into the darkness,felt as though the door of the cage were slowly closing upon her.
The Moon out of Reach Page 20
