CHAPTER XVIII
THE DESCENT FROM OLYMPUS
"Come and say good-bye to Lucas," said Bertie. "He is up andasking for you."
So, with an impetuous hand upon Anne's arm, he whisked her away on thefollowing morning to his brother's room. She was dressed for departure,and waiting for the motor that was to take her home. Of Nap she had seennothing. He had a way of absenting himself from meals whenever it suitedhim to do so. She wondered if he meant to let her go without farewell.
She found the master of the house lying on a couch sorting hiscorrespondence. He pushed everything aside at her entrance.
"Come in, Lady Carfax! I am glad not to have missed you. A pity you haveto leave so soon."
"I only wish I could stop longer," Anne said. He looked up at her,holding her hand, his shrewd blue eyes full of the most candidfriendliness.
"You will come again, I hope, when you can," he said.
"Thank you," she answered gently.
He still held her hand. "And if at any time you need the help--orcomfort--of friends," he said, "you won't forget where to look?"
"Thank you," she said again.
"Is Nap driving you?" he asked.
"No," said Bertie. "Nap's skiing."
"Then you, Bertie--"
"My dear fellow," said Bertie, "I'm fearfully sorry, but I can't. Youunderstand, don't you, Lady Carfax? I would if I could, but--" hisexcuses trailed off unsatisfactorily.
He turned very red and furiously jabbed at the fire with his boot.
"Please don't think of it," said Anne. "I am so used to being alone. Infact, your mother wanted to come with me, but I dissuaded her."
"Then I conclude it is useless for me to offer myself as an escort?"said Lucas.
"Yes, quite useless," she smiled, "though I am grateful to you all thesame. Good-bye, Mr. Errol!"
"Good-bye!" he said.
As Bertie closed the door behind her he took up a letter from the heap athis elbow; but his eyes remained fixed for several seconds.
At length: "Bertie," he said, without looking up, "are you due at theRectory this morning?"
"This afternoon," said Bertie.
He also bent over the pile of correspondence and began to sort. He oftendid secretarial work for Lucas.
Lucas suffered him for some seconds longer. Then, "You don't generallybehave like a boor, Bertie," he said.
"Oh, confound it!" exclaimed Bertie, with vehemence. "You don't suppose Ienjoyed letting her think me a cad, do you?"
"I don't suppose she did," Lucas said thoughtfully.
"Well, you do anyway, which is worse."
Bertie slapped down the letters and walked to the fire.
Lucas returned without comment to the paper in his hand.
After a long pause Bertie wheeled. He came back to his brother's side andpulled up a chair. His brown face was set in stern lines.
"I don't see why I should put up with this," he said, "and I don'tmean to. It was Nap's doing. I was going to drive her. Heinterfered--as usual."
"I thought you said Nap was skiing." Lucas spoke without raising hiseyes. He also looked graver than usual.
"I did. He is. But he has got some game on, and he didn't want melooking on. Oh, I'm sick to death of Nap and all his ways! He's rottento the core!"
"Gently, boy, gently! You go too far." Lucas looked up into the hot blueeyes, the severity all gone from his own. "It isn't what things look likethat you have to consider. It is what they are. Nap, poor chap, is badlyhandicapped; but he has been putting up a big fight for himself lately,and he hasn't done so badly. Give the devil his due."
"What's he doing now?" demanded Bertie. "It's bad enough to have thewhole community gossiping about his flirtations with women that don'tcount. But when it comes to a good woman--like Lady Carfax--oh, I tellyou it makes me sick! He might leave her alone, at least. She's miserableenough without him to make matters worse."
"My dear boy, you needn't be afraid for Lady Carfax." Lucas Errol's voiceheld absolute conviction. "She wouldn't tolerate him for an instant if heattempted to flirt with her. Their intimacy is founded on something moresolid than that. It's a genuine friendship or I have never seen one."
"Do you mean to say you don't know he is in love with her?"ejaculated Bertie.
"But he won't make love to her," Lucas answered quietly. "He is drawn bya good woman for the first time in his life, and no harm will come of it.She is one of those women who must run a straight course. There are a fewsuch, born saints, 'of whom the world is not worthy.'" He checked himselfwith a sudden sigh. "Suppose we get to business, Bertie."
"It's all very fine," said Bertie, preparing to comply. "But if Nap everfalls foul of Sir Giles Carfax, he may find that he has bitten off morethan he can chew. They say he is on the high road to the D.T.'s. Smallwonder that Lady Carfax looks careworn!"
Small wonder indeed! Yet as Anne sped along through the sunshine on thatwinter day she found leisure from her cares to enjoy the swift journey inthe great luxurious car. The burden she carried perpetually weighed lessheavily upon her than usual. The genial atmosphere of Baronmead hadwarmed her heart. The few words that Lucas had spoken with her hand inhis still echoed through her memory. Yes, she knew where to look forfriends; no carping critics, but genuine, kindly friends who knew andsympathised.
She thought of Nap with regret and a tinge of anxiety. She was sure hehad not intended to let her go without farewell, but she hoped earnestlythat he would not pursue her to the Manor to tell her so.
And then she remembered his letter; that letter that her husband musthave intercepted, recalling his storm of unreasonable fury on theoccasion of her last return from Baronmead. He had doubtless read thatletter and been inflamed by it. Hating her himself, he yet was fiercelyjealous of her friends--these new friends of hers who had lavished uponher every kindness in her time of need, to whom she must always feelwarmly grateful, however churlishly he might ignore the obligation.
He had raised no definite objection to this present visit of hers. Mrs.Errol had, in her own inimitable fashion, silenced him, but she had knownthat she had gone against his wish. And it was in consequence of thisknowledge that she was returning so early, though she did not expect himback till night. He should have no rational cause for complaint againsther. For such causes as his fevered brain created she could not holdherself responsible.
It was hard to lead such a life without becoming morbid, but Anne wasfashioned upon generous lines. She strove ever to maintain the calm levelof reason wherewith to temper the baleful influence of her husband'scaprice. She never argued with him; argument was worse than futile. Butsteadfastly and incessantly she sought by her moderation to balance thedifficulties with which she was continually confronted. And to a certainextent she succeeded. Open struggles were very rare. Sir Giles knew thatthere was a limit to her submission, and he seldom, if ever now,attempted to force her beyond that limit.
But she knew that a visit from Nap would place her in an intolerableposition, and with all her heart she hoped that her caution of theprevious day had taken effect. Though utterly reckless on his ownaccount, she fancied that she had made an impression upon him, and thathe would not act wholly without consideration for her. In bestowing herfriendship upon him she had therewith reposed a confidence which hisinvariable compliance with her wishes had seemed to warrant. She did notthink that her trust would ever prove to have been misplaced. But she wassorry, unquestionably she was sorry, to have left without bidding himfarewell. It might be long ere they would meet again.
And with the thought yet in her mind she looked out of the window infront of her, and saw his slim, supple figure, clad in a white sweater,shoot swiftly down a snow-draped slope ahead of her, like a meteorflashing earthwards out of the blue.
His arms were extended; his movements had a lithe grace that wasirresistibly fascinating to the eye. Slight though he was, he might havebeen a young god descending on a shaft of sunshine from Olympus. But thethought that darted all unbidden
through Anne's mind was of something fardifferent. She banished it on the instant with startled precipitancy; butit left a scar behind that burned like the sudden searing of a hot iron."I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven."
The car was stopping. The figure on skis was waiting motionless by theroadside. It ran smoothly up to him and stopped.
"Dramatic, wasn't it?" smiled Nap. "Did you think you were going toescape without another word?"
"I had almost begun to think so," she admitted, smiling also.
He stooped to take off the skis, then stepped to the door. He leanedtowards her. There was no faintest sign of cynicism in his face that day.He was in the mood of good comradeship in which she liked him best.
"Walk across to the park with me," he said. "It is scarcely a mile by thedowns. The man can go on to the Manor with your things and wait here forme on his way back."
Anne considered for a moment, but only for a moment. It might make herlate for the luncheon hour, but she was convinced that her husband wouldnot return before the evening. And the world was very enchanting thatwinter day. The very ground was scattered with diamonds!
"Yes, I will come," she said.
He handed her out, and picked up his discarded skis. His dark face smiledwith a certain triumph. The grim lines about his mouth were less apparentthan usual. He moved with the elastic swing of well-knit limbs.
And Anne, walking beside him, found it not difficult to thrust her caresa little farther into the sombre background of her mind. The sun shoneand the sky was blue, and the ground was strewn with glittering diamonds.She went over the hill with him, feeling that she had snatched one morehour in paradise.
The Knave of Diamonds Page 18
