CHAPTER XXII
A WAY OUT OF THE TRAP
Mr. Hazlewood was very glad that Richard was away in London during thisweek. Excitement kept him feverish and the fever grew as the number ofdays before Thresk was to come diminished. He would never have been ableto keep his secret had every meal placed him under his son's eyes. He wasfree too from Stella herself. He met her but once on the Monday and thenit was in the deep lane leading towards the town. It was about fiveo'clock in the evening and she was driving homewards in an open fly. Mr.Hazlewood stopped it and went to the side.
"Richard is away, Stella, until Wednesday, as no doubt you knew," hesaid. "But I want you to come over to tea when he comes back. Will Fridaysuit you?"
She had looked a little frightened when Mr. Hazlewood had called to thedriver and stopped the carriage; but at his words the blood rushed intoher cheeks and her eyes shone and she pushed out her hand impulsively.
"Oh, thank you," she cried. "Of course I will come."
Not for a long time had he spoken to her with so kind a voice and a faceso unclouded. She rejoiced at the change in him and showed him suchgratitude as is given only to those who render great service, so intensewas her longing not to estrange Dick from his father.
But she had become a shrewd observer under the stress of her evildestiny; and the moment of rejoicing once past she began to wonder whathad brought about the change. She judged Mr. Hazlewood to be one of thoseweak and effervescing characters who can grow more obstinate inresentment than any others if their pride and self-esteem receive aninjury. She had followed of late the windings of his thoughts. She putthe result frankly to herself.
"He hates me. He holds me in horror."
Why then the sudden change? She was in the mood to start at shadows andwhen a little note was brought over to her on the Friday morning in Mr.Hazlewood's handwriting reminding her of her engagement she was filledwith a vague apprehension. The note was kindly in its terms yet to her ithad a menacing and sinister look. Had some stroke been planned againsther? Was it to be delivered this afternoon?
Dick came at half-past four from a village cricket match to fetch her.
"You are ready, Stella? Right! For we can't spare very much time. I havea surprise for you."
Stella asked him what it was and he answered:
"There's a house for sale in Great Beeding. I think that youwould like it."
Stella's face softened with a smile.
"Anywhere, Dick," she said, "anywhere on earth."
"But here best of all," he answered. "Not to run away--that's our policy.We'll make our home in our own south country. I arranged to take you overthe house between half-past five and six this evening."
They walked across to Little Beeding and were made welcome by Mr.Hazlewood. He came out to meet them in the garden and nervousness madehim kittenish and arch.
"How are you, Stella?" he inquired. "But there's no need to ask. You lookcharming and upon my word you grow younger every day. What a pretty hat!Yes, yes! Will you make tea while I telephone to the Pettifers? They seemto be late."
He skipped off with an alacrity which was rather ridiculous. But Stellawatched him go without any amusement.
"I am taken again into favour," she said doubtfully.
"That shouldn't distress you, Stella," replied Dick.
"Yet it does, for I ask myself why. And I don't understand thistea-party. Mr. Hazlewood was so urgent that I should not forget it.Perhaps, however, I am inventing trouble."
She shook herself free from her apprehensions and followed Dick into thedrawing-room, where the kettle was boiling and the tea-service spreadout. Stella went to the table and opened the little mahogany caddy.
"How many are coming, Dick?" she asked.
"The Pettifers."
"My enemies," said Stella, laughing lightly.
"And you and my father and myself."
"Five altogether," said Stella. She began to measure out the tea into thetea-pot but stopped suddenly in the middle of her work.
"But there are six cups," she said. She counted them again to make sure,and at once her fears were reawakened. She turned to Dick, her face quitepale and her big eyes dark with forebodings. So little now was needed todisquiet her. "Who is the sixth?"
Dick came closer to her and put his arm about her waist.
"I don't know," he said gently; "but what can it matter to us, Stella?Think, my dear!"
"No, of course," she replied, "it can't make any difference," and shedipped her teaspoon once more into the caddy. "But it's a littlecurious, isn't it?--that your father didn't mention to you that therewas another guest?"
"Oh, wait a moment," said Dick. "He did tell me there would be somevisitor here to-day but I forgot all about it. He told me at luncheon.There's a man from London coming down to have a look at his miniatures."
"His miniatures?" Stella was pouring the hot water into the tea-pot. Shereplaced the kettle on its stand and shut the tea-caddy. "And Mr.Hazlewood didn't tell you the man's name," she said.
"I didn't ask him," answered Dick. "He often has collectors down."
"I see." Her head was bent over the tea-table; she was busy with her brewof tea. "And I was specially asked to come this afternoon. I had a notethis morning to remind me." She looked at the clock. "Dick, if we are tosee that house this afternoon you had better change now before thevisitors come."
"That's true. I will."
Dick started towards the door, and he heard Stella come swiftly afterhim. He turned. There was so much trouble in her face. He caught herin his arms.
"Dick," she whispered, "look at me. Kiss me! Yes, I am sure of you," andshe clung to him. Dick Hazlewood laughed.
"I think we ought to be fairly happy in that house," and she let himgo with a smile, repeating her own words, "Anywhere, Dick, anywhereon earth."
She waited, watching him tenderly until the door was closed. Then shecovered her face with her hands and a sob burst from her lips. But thenext moment she tore her hands away and looked wildly about the room. Sheran to the writing-table and scribbled a note; she thrust it into anenvelope and gummed the flap securely down. Then she rang the bell andwaited impatiently with a leaping heart until Hubbard came to the door.
"Did you ring, madam?" he asked.
"Yes. Has Mr. Thresk arrived yet?"
She tried to control her face, to speak in a careless and indifferentvoice, but she was giddy and the room whirled before her eyes.
"Yes, madam," the butler answered; and it seemed to Stella Ballantynethat once more she stood in the dock and heard the verdict spoken. Onlythis time it had gone against her. That queer old shuffling butler becamea figure of doom, his thin and piping voice uttered her condemnation. Forhere without her knowledge was Henry Thresk and she was bidden to meethim with the Pettifers for witnesses. But it was Henry Thresk who hadsaved her before. She clung to that fact now.
"Mr. Thresk arrived a few minutes ago."
Just before old Hazlewood had come forward out of the house to welcomeher! No wonder he was in such high spirits! Very likely all that greatshow of kindliness and welcome was made only to keep her in the gardenfor a few necessary moments.
"Where is Mr. Thresk now?" she asked.
"In his room, madam."
"You are quite sure?"
"Quite."
"Will you take this note to him, Hubbard?" and she held it out tothe butler.
"Certainly, madam."
"Will you take it at once? Give it into his hands, please."
Hubbard took the note and went out of the room. Never had he seemed toher so dilatory and slow. She stared at the door as though her sightcould pierce the panels. She imagined him climbing the stairs with feetwhich loitered more at each fresh step. Some one would surely stop himand ask for whom the letter was intended. She went to the door which ledinto the hall, opened it and listened. No one was descending thestaircase and she heard no voices. Then above her Hubbard knocked upon adoor, a latch clicked as the door was opened, a h
ollow jarring soundfollowed as the door was sharply closed. Stella went back into the room.The letter had been delivered; at this moment Henry Thresk was readingit; and with a sinking heart she began to speculate in what spirit hewould receive its message. Henry Thresk! The unhappy woman bestirredherself to remember him. He had grown dim to her of late. How much didshe know of him? she asked herself. Once years ago there had been a monthduring which she had met him daily. She had given her heart to him, yetshe had learned little or nothing of the man within the man's frame. Shehad not even made his acquaintance. That had been proved to her onememorable morning upon the top of Bignor Hill, when humiliation had sodeeply seared her soul that only during this last month had it beenhealed. In the great extremities of her life Henry Thresk had decided,not she, and he was a stranger to her. She beat her poor wings in vainagainst that ironic fact. Never had he done what she had expected. OnBignor Hill, in the Law Court at Bombay, he had equally surprised her.Now once more he held her destinies in his hand. What would he decide?What had he decided?
"Yes, he will have decided now," said Stella to herself; and a certaincalm fell upon her troubled soul. Whatever was to be was now determined.She went back to the tea-table and waited.
Henry Thresk had not much of the romantic in his character. He was a busyman making the best and the most of the rewards which the years broughtto him, and slamming the door each day upon the day which had gonebefore. He made his life in the intellectual exercise of his professionand his membership of the House of Commons. Upon the deeps of theemotions he had closed a lid. Yet he had set out with a vague reluctanceto Little Beeding; and once his motor-car had passed Hindhead and dippedto the weald of Sussex the reluctance had grown to a definite regret thathe should once more have come into this country. His recollections wereof a dim far-off time, so dim that he could hardly believe that he hadany very close relation with the young struggling man who had spent hisfirst real holiday there. But the young man had been himself and he hadmissed his opportunity high up on the downs by Arundel. Words which JaneRepton had spoken to him in Bombay came back to him on this summerafternoon like a refrain to the steady hum of his car. "You can get whatyou want, so long as you want it enough, but you cannot control the priceyou will have to pay."
He had reached Little Beeding only a few moments before Dick and Stellahad crossed into the garden. He had been led by Hubbard into the library,where Mr. Hazlewood was sitting. From the windows he had even seen thethatched cottage where Stella Ballantyne dwelt and its tiny garden brightwith flowers.
"It is most kind of you to come," Mr. Hazlewood had said. "Ever since wehad our little correspondence I have been anxious to take your opinion onmy collection. Though how in the world you manage to find time to have anopinion at all upon the subject is most perplexing. I never open the_Times_ but I see your name figuring in some important case."
"And I, Mr. Hazlewood," Thresk replied with a smile, "never open my mailwithout receiving a pamphlet from you. I am not the only active man inthe world."
Even at that moment Mr. Hazlewood flushed with pleasure at the flattery.
"Little reflections," he cried with a modest deprecation, "worked outmore or less to completeness--may I say that?--in the quiet of a rurallife, sparks from the tiny flame of my midnight oil." He picked up onepamphlet from a stack by his writing-table. "You might perhaps care tolook at _The Prison Walls_."
Thresk drew back.
"I have got mine, Mr. Hazlewood," he said firmly. "Every man in Englandshould have one. No man in England has a right to two."
Mr. Hazlewood fairly twittered with satisfaction. Here was a notable manfrom the outside world of affairs who knew his work and held it inesteem. Obviously then he was right to take these few disagreeabletwists and turns which would ensure to him a mind free to pursue hislabours. He looked down at the pamphlet however, and his satisfactionwas a trifle impaired.
"I am not sure that this is quite my best work," he said timidly--"alittle hazardous perhaps."
"Would you say that?" asked Thresk.
"Yes, indeed I should." Mr. Hazlewood had the air of one making aconsiderable concession. "The very title is inaccurate. _The Prison Wallsmust Cast no Shadow_." He repeated the sentence with a certain unction."The rhythm is perhaps not amiss but the metaphor is untrue. My sonpointed it out to me. As he says, all walls cast shadows."
"Yes," said Thresk. "The trouble is to know where and on whom the shadowis going to fall."
Mr. Hazlewood was startled by the careless words. He came to earthheavily. All was not as yet quite ready for the little trick which hadbeen devised. The Pettifers had not arrived.
"Perhaps you would like to see your room, Mr. Thresk," he said. "Your baghas been taken up, no doubt. We will look at my miniatures after tea."
"I shall be delighted," said Thresk as he followed Hazlewood to the door."But you must not expect too much knowledge from me."
"Oh!" cried his host with a laugh. "Pettifer tells me that you are agreat authority."
"Then Pettifer's wrong," said Thresk and so stopped. "Pettifer? Pettifer?Isn't he a solicitor?"
"Yes, he told me that he knew you. He married my sister. They are bothcoming to tea."
With that he led Thresk to his room and left him there. The room was overthe porch of the house and looked down the short level drive to the irongates and the lane. It was all familiar ground to Thresk or rather tothat other man with whom Thresk's only connection was a dull throb at hisheart, a queer uneasiness and discomfort. He leaned out of the window. Hecould hear the river singing between the grass banks at the bottom of thegarden behind him. He would hear it through the night. Then came aknocking upon his door, and he did not notice it at once. It was repeatedand he turned and said:
"Come in!"
Hubbard advanced with a note upon a salver.
"Mrs. Ballantyne asked me to give you this at once, sir."
Thresk stared at the butler. The name was so apposite to his thoughtsthat he could not believe it had been uttered. But the salver was heldout to him and the handwriting upon the envelope removed his doubts. Hetook it up, said "Thank you" in an absent voice and waited until the doorwas closed again and he was alone. The last time he had seen that writingwas eighteen months ago. A little note of thanks, blurred with tears andscribbled hastily and marked with no address, had been handed to him inBombay. Stella Ballantyne had disappeared then. She was here now atLittle Beeding and his relationship with the young struggling barristerof ten years back suddenly became actual and near. He tore open theenvelope and read.
"Be prepared to see me. Be prepared to hear news of me. I will have atalk with you afterwards if you like. This is a trap. Be kind."
He stood for a while with the letter in his hand, speculating upon itsmeaning, until the wheels of a car grated on the gravel beneath hiswindow. The Pettifers had come. But Thresk was in no hurry to descend. Heread the note through many times before he hid it away in his letter-caseand went down the stairs.
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