CHAPTER XXVII
SHADOW
The preparations that must inevitably precede a departure for anindefinite length of time kept Avery from dwelling overmuch on what hadpassed on that gusty afternoon when she had taken shelter in thedoctor's house.
Whether or not she believed the rumour concerning Piers she scarcelyasked herself. For some reason into which she did not enter she wasfirmly resolved to exclude him from her mind, and she welcomed the manyoccupations that kept her thoughts engrossed. No word from him hadreached her since that daring letter written nearly three monthsbefore, just after his departure. It seemed that he had accepted heranswer just as she had meant him to accept it, and that he had nothingmore to say. So at least she viewed the matter, not suffering anyinward question to arise.
She saw Lennox Tudor several times before the last day arrived. He didnot seek her out. It simply came about in the ordinary course of things.He was plainly determined that neither in public nor private should therebe any secret sense of embarrassment between them. And for this also shewas grateful, liking him for his blunt consideration for her better thanshe had ever liked him before.
It was on the evening of the day preceding her departure with Jeanie thatshe ran down in the dusk to the post at the end of the lane with aletter. Her Australian friend had written to propose a visit, and she hadbeen obliged to put him off.
There was a bitter wind blowing, but she hastened along hatless, with acloak thrown round her shoulders. Past the church with its shelteringyew-trees she ran, intent only upon executing her errand in as short atime as possible.
Her hair blew loose about her face, and before she reached her goal shewas ashamed of her untidiness, but it was not worth while to return for ahat, and she pressed on with a girl's impetuosity, hoping that she wouldmeet no one.
The hope was not to be fulfilled. She reached the box and deposited herletter therein, but as she turned from doing so, there came the fall of ahorse's hoofs along the road at the end of the lane.
She caught the sound, and was pierced by a sudden, quite unaccountablesuspicion. Swiftly she gathered her cloak more securely about her, andhastened away.
Instantly it seemed to her that the hoof-beats quickened. The lane wassteep, and she realized in a moment that if the rider turned up in herwake, she must very speedily be overtaken. She slackened her pacetherefore, and walked on more quietly, straining her ears to listen, notventuring to look back.
Round the corner came the advancing animal at a brisk trot. She hadknown in her heart that it would be so. She had known from the firstmoment of hearing those hoof-beats, that Fate, strong and relentless,was on her track.
How she had known it she could not have said, but the wild clamour of herheart stifled any reasoning that she might have tried to form. Her breathcame and went like the breath of a hunted creature. She could not hurrybecause of the trembling of her knees. Every instinct was urging her toflee, but she lacked the strength. She drew instead nearer to the wall,hoping against hope that in the gathering darkness he would pass her by.
Nearer and nearer came the hammering hoofs. She could hear the horse'ssharp breathing, the creak of leather. And then suddenly she found shecould go no further. She stopped and leaned against the wall.
She saw the animal pulled suddenly in, and knew that she was caught. Witha great effort she lifted a smiling face, and simulated surprise.
"You! How do you do?"
"You knew it was me," said Piers rather curtly.
He dropped from the saddle with the easy grace that always marked hismovements, and came to her, leaving the animal free.
"Why were you running away from me?" he said. "Did you want to cut me?"
He must have felt the trembling of her hand, for all in a moment hismanner changed. His fingers closed upon hers with warm assurance. Hesuddenly laughed into her face.
"Don't answer either of those questions!" he said. "Didn't you expectto see me? We came home yesterday, thank the gods! I'm deadly sick ofbeing away."
"Haven't you enjoyed yourself?" Avery managed to ask.
He laughed again somewhat grimly. "I wasn't out for enjoyment. I'vebeen--amusing myself more or less. But that's not the same thing, is it?I should have drowned myself if I'd stayed out there much longer."
"Don't talk nonsense!" said Avery.
She spoke with a touch of sharpness. Her agitation had passed leaving hervexed with herself and with him.
He received the admonition with a grimace. "Have you heard about myengagement yet?" he enquired irrelevantly, after a moment.
Avery looked at him very steadily through the falling dusk. She had afeeling that he was trying to hoodwink her by some means not whollypraiseworthy.
"Are you engaged?" she asked him, point-blank.
He made a careless gesture. "Everybody says so."
"Are you engaged?" Avery repeated with resolution.
She freed her hand as she uttered the question the second time. She wasstanding up very straight against the churchyard wall sternly determinedto check all trifling.
Piers straightened himself also. From the pride of his attitude shethought that he was about to take offence, but his voice held none as hemade reply.
"I am not."
She felt as if some constriction at her heart, of which till that momentshe had scarcely been aware, had suddenly slackened. She drew a long,deep breath.
"Sorry, what?" suggested Piers.
He began to tap a careless tattoo with his whip on the toe of his boot.He did not appear to be regarding her very closely. Yet she did not feelat her ease. That sudden sense as of strain relaxed had left hercuriously unsteady.
She ignored his question and asked another. "Why is everybody saying thatyou are engaged?"
He lifted his shoulders. "Because everybody is more or less of agossiping fool, I should say. Still," he threw up his head with a laugh,"notions of that sort have their uses. My grandfather for instance isfirmly of the opinion that I have come home to be married. I didn'tundeceive him."
"You let him believe--what wasn't true?" said Avery slowly.
He looked straight at her, with his head flung back. "I did. It suited mypurpose. I wanted to get home. He thought it was because the Roses hadreturned to Wardenhurst. I let him think so. It certainly was deadlywithout them."
It was then that Avery turned and began quietly to walk on up the hill.He linked his arm in Pompey's bridle, and walked beside her.
She spoke after a few moments with something of constraint. "And how haveyou been--amusing yourself?"
"I?" Carelessly he made reply. "I have been playing around with Ina Rosechiefly--to save us both from boredom."
There sounded a faint jeering note behind the carelessness of his voice.Avery quickened her pace almost unconsciously.
"It's all right," said Piers. "There's been no damage done."
"You don't know that," said Avery, without looking at him.
"Yes, I do. She'll marry Dick Guyes. I told her she would the nightbefore they left, and she didn't say she wouldn't. He's a much betterchap than I am, you know," said Piers, with an odd touch of sincerity."And he's head over ears in love with her into the bargain."
"Are you trying to excuse yourself?" said Avery.
He laughed. "What for? For not marrying Ina Rose? I assure you I nevermeant to marry her."
"For trifling with her." Avery's voice was hard, but he affected notto notice.
"A game's a game," he said lightly.
Avery stopped very suddenly and faced round upon him. "That sort ofgame," she said, and her voice throbbed with the intensity of herindignation, "is monstrous--is contemptible--a game that none butblackguards ever stoop to play!"
Piers stood still. "Great Scott!" he said softly.
Avery swept on. Once roused, she was ruthless in her arraignment.
"Men--some men--find it amusing to go through life breaking women'shearts just for the sport of the thing. They regard it as a pastime, inthe same lig
ht as fox-hunting or cards or racing. And when the game isover, they laugh among themselves and say what fools women are. And sothey may be, and so they are, many of them. But is it honourable, is itmanly, to take advantage of their weakness? I never thought you were thatsort. I thought you were at least honest."
"Did you?" said Piers.
He was holding himself very straight and stiff, just as he had heldhimself on that day in the winter when she had so indignantly intervenedto save his dog from his ungovernable fury. But he did not seem to resenther attack, and in spite of herself Avery's own resentment began to wane.She suddenly remembered that her very protest was an admission ofintimacy of which he would not scruple to avail himself if it suited hispurpose, and with this thought in her mind she paused in confusion.
"Won't you finish?" said Piers.
She turned to leave him. "That's all I have to say."
He put out a restraining hand. "Then may I say something?"
The request was so humbly uttered that she could not refuse it. Sheremained where she was.
"I should like you to know," said Piers, "that I have never givenMiss Rose or any other girl with whom I have flirted the faintestshadow of a reason for believing that I was in earnest. That is thetruth--on my honour."
"I wonder if--they--would say the same," said Avery.
He shrugged his shoulders. "No one ever before accused me of being alady-killer. As to your other charge against me, it was not I whodeceived my grandfather. It was he who deceived himself."
"Isn't that a distinction without a difference?" said Avery, in alow voice.
She was beginning to wish that she had not spoken with such vehemence.After all, what were his delinquencies to her? She almost expected him toask the question; but he did not.
"Do you mind explaining?" he said.
With an effort she made response. "You can't say it was honourable to letyour grandfather come home in the belief that you wanted to becomeengaged to Miss Rose."
"Have I said so?" said Piers.
Avery paused. She had a sudden feeling of uncertainty as if he had kickedaway a foothold upon which she had rashly attempted to rest.
"You admit that it was not?" she said.
He smiled a little. "I admit that it was not strictly honest, but Ididn't see much harm in it. In any case it was high time we came home,and it gave him the impetus to move."
"And when are you going to tell him the truth?" said Avery.
Piers was silent.
Looking at him through the dusk, she was aware of a change in hisdemeanour, though as to its nature she was slightly doubtful.
"And if I don't tell him?" said Piers at length.
"You will," she said quickly.
"I don't know why I should." Piers' voice was dogged. "He'll know fastenough--when she gets engaged to Guyes."
"Know that you have played a double game," said Avery.
"Well?" he said. "And if he does?"
"I think you will be sorry--then," she said.
Somehow she could not be angry any longer. He had accepted her rebuke inso docile a spirit. She did not wholly understand his attitude. Yet itsoftened her.
"Why should I be sorry?" said Piers.
She answered him quickly and impulsively. "Because it isn't your natureto deceive. You are too honest at heart to do it and be happy."
"Happy!" said Piers, an odd note of emotion in his voice. "Do you supposeI'm ever that--or ever likely to be?"
She recoiled a little from the suppressed vehemence of his tone, butalmost instantly he put out his hand again to her with a gesture ofboyish persuasion.
"Don't rag me, Avery! I've had a filthy time lately. And when I saw youcut and run at sight of me--I just couldn't stand it. I've been wantingto answer your letter, but I couldn't."
"But why should you?" Avery broke in gently. "My letter was the answerto yours."
She gave him her hand, because she could not help it.
He held it in a hungry clasp. "I know--I know," he said ratherincoherently. "It--it was very decent of you not to be angry. I believe Ilet myself go rather--what? Thanks awfully for being so sweet about it!"
"My dear boy," Avery said, "you thank me for nothing! The matter is past.Don't let us re-open it!"
She spoke with unconscious appeal. His hand squeezed hers in instantresponse. "All right. We won't. And look here,--if you want me to tell mygrandfather that he has been building his castle in the air,--it'll meana row of course, but--I'll do it."
"Will you?" said Avery.
He nodded. "Yes--as you wish it. And may I come to tea with Jeanieto-morrow?"
His dark eyes smiled suddenly into hers as he dropped her hand. She had amomentary feeling of uncertainty as she met them--a sense of doubt thatdisquieted her strangely. It was as if he had softly closed a dooragainst her somewhere in his soul.
With a curious embarrassment she answered him. "Jeanie has not been wellall the winter. Dr. Tudor has ordered a change, and we are going--she andI--to Stanbury Cliffs to-morrow."
"Are you though?" He opened his eyes. "Just you and she, eh? What acosy party!"
"The other children will probably join us for the Easter holidays," Averysaid. "It's a nice place, they say. Do you know it?"
"I should think I do. Victor and I used to go there regularly when I wasa kid. It was there I learnt to swim."
"Who is Victor?" asked Avery, beginning to walk on up the hill.
"Victor? Oh, he's my French nurse--the best chap who ever walked. We aregreat pals," laughed Piers. "And so you're off to-morrow, are you? Hopeyou'll have a good time. Give my love to the kiddie! She isn't reallyill, what?"
"Dr. Tudor is not satisfied about her," Avery said.
"Oh, Tudor!" Piers spoke with instant disparagement. "I don't supposehe's any good. What does he say anyway?"
"He is afraid of lung trouble," Avery said. "But we hope the change isgoing to do wonders for her. Do you know, I think I must run in now? Ihave several little jobs still to get through this evening."
Piers stopped at once. "Good-bye!" he said. "I'm glad I saw you. Takecare of yourself, Avery! And the next time you see me coming--don'trun away!"
He set his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up into the saddle.Pompey immediately began to execute an elaborate dance in the roadway,rendering further conversation out of the question. Piers waved his capin careless adieu, and turned the animal round. In another moment he wastearing down the lane at a gallop, and Avery was left looking after himstill with that curious sense of doubt lying cold at her heart.
The sight of a black, clerical figure emerging from the churchyard causedher to turn swiftly and pursue her way to the Vicarage gate. But thesounds of those galloping hoofs still wrought within her as she went.They beat upon her spirit with a sense of swift-moving Destiny.
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