The Arbiter: A Novel
Page 8
CHAPTER VIII
And Rendel waited--through the autumn, through the winter--but notwithout seeing Rachel again. On the contrary, every week that passedduring that time was bringing him nearer to his goal. After the firstvisit was over, that first meeting under the now maimed and alteredconditions of life, the insensible relief afforded to both father anddaughter by his companionship, his unselfish devotion and helpfulness,his unfailing readiness to be a companion to Sir William, to come andplay chess with him, or to sit up and do intricate patiences through thesmall hours of the morning, all this gradually made him insensibly slideinto the position of a son of the house. And Rachel, convinced that shewas doing the best thing for her father and admitting in her secretheart that for herself she was doing the thing that of all others wouldmake her happy, yielded at last. They were married in April, and wentaway for a fortnight to a shooting-box lent them by Lord Stamfordham inthe West of Scotland, leaving Sir William for the first time alone inthe big, empty house. It was with many, many misgivings that Rachel hadagreed to go; but her father had insisted on her doing so. He hadvaguely thought that perhaps it would be a relief to him to be alone,but he found the solitude unbearable. Those acquaintances of Gore's whosaw him at the club expressed in suitably tempered tones their pleasureat seeing him again, and, thinking he would rather be left alone,discreetly refrained from thrusting their society upon him when inreality he most needed it, remarking to one another that poor old Gorehad gone to pieces dreadfully since his wife died. A great many peopleknew him, and liked him well enough, but he had no intimate friends.Pateley occasionally dropped in; but Pateley was too full of business tohave leisure to help to fill up anybody else's time, and Sir Williamfound the blank in his own house, the unchanging loneliness, almostunbearable.
In the meantime Rendel and his wife were beginning that page of the bookof life which Sir William had closed for ever. At last, that vision ofthe future to which Rendel had clung with such steadfast hope, with suchunswerving purpose, had been fulfilled: Rachel was his wife. It was anunending joy to him to remember that she was there; to watch for hercoming and going; to see the dainty grace of movement and demeanour, thesweet, soft smile--her mother's smile--with which she listened as hetalked. And during those days he poured himself out in speech as he hadnever been able to do before. It was a relief that was almost ecstasy tothe man who had been made reserved by loneliness to have such alistener, and the sense of exquisite joy and repose which he felt in hersociety deepened as the days went on. To Rachel, too, when once she hadmade up her mind to leave her father, these days were filled with anundreamt-of happiness. She was beginning to recover from the actualshock of her mother's death, although, even as her life opened to allthe new impressions that surrounded her, she felt daily afresh the wantof the tender sympathy and guidance that had been her stay; but anothergreat love had happily come into her life at the moment she needed itmost, and a love that was far from wishing to supplant the other. Thememory of Lady Gore was almost as hallowed to Rendel as it was to hiswife: it was another bond between them. They talked of her constantly,their reverent recollection kept alive the sense of her abiding,gracious influence.
It was a new and wonderful experience to Rachel to have the burden ofdaily life lifted from her. She had been loved in her home, it is true,as much as the most exacting heart might demand, but since she wasseventeen it was she who had had to take thought for others, to surroundthem with loving care and protection; she had always been conscious,even though not feeling its weight, of bearing the burden of some oneelse's responsibilities. And now it was all different. In the firstrebound of her youth she seemed to be discovering for the first timeduring those days how young she was, in the companionship of one whosetender care and loving protection smoothed every difficulty, everyobstacle out of her path. And all too fast the perfumed days of springglided away, a spring which, on that side of Scotland, was balmy andcaressing. Day after day the sun shone, the mist remained in thedistance, making that distance more beautiful still; and everythingwithin and without was irradiated, and like motes in the sunshine Rendelsaw the golden possibilities of his life dancing in the light of hishopes and illuminating the path that lay before him.
Rachel wrote to her father constantly, tenderly, solicitously; and SirWilliam, reading of her happiness, did not write back to tell her whatthose same days meant to him. For in London the sky was grey and heavy,and it was through a haze the colour of lead that he saw the years tocome. The dark and cheerless winter had given place to a cold andcheerless spring.
It was a rainy afternoon that the young couple returned to London; butthe gloomy look of the streets outside did but enhance the brightness ofthe little house in Cosmo Place, Knightsbridge, with its open, squarehall, in which a bright fire was blazing. Light and warmth shoneeverywhere. Rachel drew a long breath of satisfaction, then her eyesfilled with tears. The very sight of London brought back the past. Couldit be possible that her mother was not there to welcome her? She hadthought her father might be awaiting her at Cosmo Place; but as he wasnot, she went off instantly to Prince's Gate. How big and lonely thehouse looked with its gaunt, ugly portico, its tall, narrow hall andendless stairs! The drawing-rooms were closed: Sir William was sittingin his study, a chess-board in front of him, on which he was working outa problem.
Rachel was terribly perturbed at the change in his appearance--asomething, she did not quite know in what it lay, that betokened someabsolute change of outlook, of attitude. He had the listless,indifferent air of one who lets himself be drifted here and there ratherthan of one who moves securely along, strong enough to hold his own wayin spite of any opposing elements. This fortnight of solitude, in whichhe had been face to face with his own life and his prospects, hadsuddenly, roughly, pitilessly graven on his face the lines that withother men successive experiences accumulate there gently and almostinsensibly. He had taken a sudden leap into old age, as sometimeshappens to men of his standing, who, as long as their life is smooth,uneventful, and prosperous, succeed in keeping an aspect of youth.Rachel's heart smote her at having left him; it reproached her withhaving known something like happiness in these days, and her old senseof troubled, anxious responsibility came back. She begged him to comeand dine with them that evening. He demurred at first at making a thirdon their first night in their own house. Rachel protested, and overruledall his objections. She arrived at home just in time to dress fordinner, finding her husband surprised and somewhat discomfited at herprolonged absence. He had wanted to go proudly all over the house withher, and see their new domain. But as he saw her come up the stairs, herealised that black care had sprung up behind her again, that this wasnot the confiding, naively happy Rachel who had walked with him on themoors.
"There you are!" he said. "I was just wondering what had become of you."
"I was with my father," Rachel said, in a tone in which there was atinge of unconscious surprise at what his tone had conveyed. "And,Francis, he looks so dreadfully ill!"
"Does he?" said Rendel, concerned. "I am sorry."
"He looks really broken down," she said, "and oh, so much older. I amsure it has been bad for him being alone all this time. I ought not tohave stayed away so long."
"Well, it has not been very long," said Rendel with a natural feelingthat two weeks had not been an unreasonable extension of their weddingtour.
"He looks as if he had felt it so," she answered. "But at any rate, Ihave persuaded him to come to dinner with us to-night; I am sure it willbe good for him."
"To-night?" said Rendel, again with a lurking surprise that for thisfirst night their privacy should not have been respected.
"Yes," said Rachel. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Oh, of course not," he replied, again stifling a misgiving.
"You see," said Rachel, "I thought it might amuse him, and be a changefor him, and then you might play a game of chess with him after dinner,perhaps."
"Of course, of course," Rendel answered. But the misgiving remained.
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When, however, Sir William appeared, Rendel's heart almost smote him asRachel's had done, he seemed so curiously broken down and dispirited.They talked of their Scotch experiences, they spoke a little of theaffairs of the day, but, as Rendel knew of old, this was a dangeroustopic, which, hitherto, he had succeeded either in avoiding altogetheror in treating with a studied moderation which might so far as possibleprevent Sir William's susceptibilities from being offended. Rachel satwith them after dinner while they smoked, then they all went upstairs.
"Now then, father dear, where would you like to be?" she said, lookinground the room for the most comfortable chair. "Here, this looks a veryspecial corner," and she drew forward an armchair that certainly was ina most delightful place, looking as if it were destined for the masterof the house, or, at any rate, the most privileged person in it, acomfortable armchair, with the slanting back that a man loves, and byit a table with a lamp at exactly the right height. "There," she said,pushing her father gently into it, "isn't that a comfortable corner?"
"Very," Sir William said, looking up at her with a smile. It truly was adelight to be tended and fussed over again.
"And now you must have a table in front of you," she said, lookinground. "Let me see--Frank, which shall the chess-table be? Is there afolding table? Yes, of course there is--that little one that we boughtat Guildford. That one!"--and she clapped her hands with childishdelight as she pointed to it.
Rendel brought forward the little table and opened it.
"Oh, that is exactly the thing," she cried. "See, father, it will justhold the chess-board. Now then, this is where it shall alwaysstand--your own table, and your own chair by it."