He thanked her and she returned bringing a tattered Eve and a Sketch which she handed to him with some pride.
When she left the room again, he laid down the papers by his side and lighted a cigarette – his last cigarette! What would he have done without those cigarettes – stolen at that! Perhaps Freda would bring him some – he had money to pay for them. A kind girl, Freda, in spite of her thick ankles and an unprepossessing exterior.
He took out a small notebook from his pocket. The pages were blank and he wrote in it: Corporal Green, London Fusiliers. He would do what he could for the girl. He wondered idly what story lay behind it. What had Corporal Green been doing in Holland in A —? Poor Freda. It was the usual thing, he supposed.
Green – it reminded him of his childhood. Mr Green. The omnipotent delightful Mr Green – his playfellow and protector. Funny, the things one thought of when one was a kid!
He’d never told Nell about Mr Green. Perhaps she’d had a Mr Green of her own. Perhaps all children did.
He thought: ‘Nell – Oh, Nell …’ and his heart missed a beat. Then he turned his thoughts resolutely away. Very soon now … Poor darling, what she must have suffered knowing him to be a prisoner in Germany. But that was all over now. Very soon now they’d be together. Very soon. Oh, he mustn’t think of it. The task in hand – no looking forward.
He picked up the Sketch and idly turned over the pages. A lot of new shows seemed to be on. What fun to go to a show again. Pictures of generals all looking very fierce and warlike. Pictures of people getting married. Not a bad-looking crowd. That one – Why –
It wasn’t true – it couldn’t be true … Another dream – a nightmare …
Mrs Vernon Deyre who is to marry Mr George Chetwynd. Mrs Deyre’s first husband was killed in action over a year ago. Mr George Chetwynd is an American who has done very valuable relief work in Serbia.
Killed in action – yes, he supposed that might be. In spite of all conceivable precautions mistakes like that did arise. A man Vernon knew had been reported killed. A thousandth chance, but it happened.
Naturally, Nell would have believed – and naturally, quite naturally, she would marry again.
What nonsense he was talking! Nell – marry again! So soon. Marry George – George with his grey hair – A sudden sharp pang shot through him. He had visualized George too clearly. Damn George – blast and curse George.
But it wasn’t true. No, it wasn’t true!
He stood up, steadying himself as he swayed on his feet. To anyone who had seen him, he would have appeared a little drunk.
He was perfectly calm – yes, he was perfectly calm. The thing was not to believe – not to think. Put it away – right away. It wasn’t true – it couldn’t be true – if you once admitted that it might be true, you were done.
He went out of his room, down the stairs. He passed the girl, Freda, who stared at him. He said very quietly and calmly (marvellous that he should be so calm!):
‘I’m going out for a walk.’
He went out, oblivious of old Anna Schlieder’s eyes that raked his back as he passed her. The girl, Freda, said to her:
‘He passed me on the stairs like – like – what has happened to him?’
Anna tapped her forehead significantly. Nothing ever surprised her.
Out on the road Vernon was walking – walking very fast. He must get away – get away from the thing that was following him. If he looked round – if he thought about it – but he wouldn’t think about it.
Everything was all right – everything.
Only he mustn’t think. This queer dark thing that was following him – following him … If he didn’t think he was all right.
Nell – Nell with her golden hair and her sweet smile. His Nell. Nell and George … No, no, NO! It wasn’t so, he was in time.
And suddenly, lucidly, there ran through his mind the thought, ‘That paper was six months old at least. They’ve been married five months.’
He reeled. He thought, ‘I can’t bear it. No, this I can’t bear. Something must happen …’
He held on blindly to that: Something must happen …
Somebody would help him. Mr Green. What was this awful thing that was dogging him? Of course, The Beast. The Beast.
He could hear it coming. He gave one panic-stricken glance over his shoulder. He was out of the town now, walking on a straight road between dykes. The Beast was coming lumbering along at a great pace, rattling and bumping.
The Beast … Oh! if only he could go back – to The Beast and Mr Green – the old terrors, the old comforts. They didn’t hurt you like the new things – like Nell and George Chetwynd. George – Nell belonging to George …
No – No, it wasn’t true – it mustn’t be true – He couldn’t face any more. Not that – not that …
There was only one way to get out of it all – to be at peace – only one way – Vernon Deyre had made a mess of life – better to get out of it …
One last flaming agony shot through his brain – Nell – George – No! he thrust them out with a last effort. Mr Green – kind Mr Green.
He stepped out into the roadway right in the path of the lurching lorry that tried to avoid him too late – and struck him down and backwards …
A horrible searing shock – thank God, this was death …
Book Five
George Green
Chapter One
1
In the yard of the County Hotel in Wiltsbury two chauffeurs were busy with cars. George Green finished his work on the interior of the big Daimler, wiped his hands on a bit of oily rag and stood upright with a sigh of satisfaction. He was a cheerful young fellow and was smiling now because he was pleased with himself for locating the trouble and dealing with it. He strolled along to where his fellow chauffeur was completing the toilet of a Minerva.
The latter looked up.
‘Hullo, George – you through?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your boss is a Yank, isn’t he? What’s he like?’
‘He’s all right. Fussy, though. Won’t go more than forty.’
‘Well, thank your stars you don’t drive for a woman,’ said the other. His name was Evans. ‘Always changing their minds. And no idea of the proper times for meals. Picnic lunches as often as not – and you know what that means, a hard-boiled egg and a leaf of lettuce.’
Green sat down on an adjacent barrel.
‘Why don’t you chuck it?’
‘Not so easy to get another job, these days,’ said Evans.
‘No, that’s true,’ said Green. He looked thoughtful.
‘And I’ve got a missus and two kids,’ went on the other. ‘What’s the rot that was talked about a country fit for heroes? No, if you’ve got a job – any kind of a job – it’s better to freeze on to it in 1920.’
He was silent for a minute, and then went on.
‘Funny business – the war. I was hit twice – shrapnel. Makes you go a bit queer afterwards. My missus says I frighten her – go quite batty sometimes. Wake up in the middle of the night hollering and not knowing where I am.’
‘I know,’ said Green. ‘I’m the same. When my guvnor picked me up – in Holland that was – I couldn’t remember a thing about myself except my name.’
‘When was that? After the war?’
‘Six months after the armistice. I was working in a garage there. Some chaps who were drunk ran me down one night in a lorry. Fairly scared ’em sober. They picked me up and took me along with them. I’d got a whacking great bash on the head. They looked after me and got me a job. Good chaps they were. I’d been working there two years when Mr Bleibner came along. He hired a car from our place once or twice and I drove him. He talked to me a good bit and finally he offered to take me on as chauffeur.’
‘Mean to say you never thought of getting back home before that?’
‘No – I didn’t want to somehow. I’d no folks there as far as I could remember and I’ve an idea I’d had a bit of trouble there of som
e kind.’
‘I shouldn’t associate trouble with you, mate,’ said Evans with a laugh.
George Green laughed too. He was indeed a most cheerful-looking young man, tall and dark with broad shoulders and an ever ready smile.
‘Nothing much ever worries me,’ he boasted. ‘I was born the happy-go-lucky kind, I guess.’
He moved away smiling happily. A few minutes later he was reporting to his employer that the Daimler was ready for the road.
Mr Bleibner was a tall thin dyspeptic-looking American with very pure speech.
‘Very good. Now, Green, I am going to Lord Datchet’s for luncheon. Abingworth Friars. It’s about six miles from here.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘After luncheon I am going to a place called Abbots Puissants. Abbotsford is the village. Do you know it?’
‘I’ve heard of it, I think, sir. But I don’t know exactly where it is. I’ll look it up on the map.’
‘Yes, please do so. It cannot, I think, be more than twenty miles – in the direction of Ringwood, I fancy.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Green touched his cap and withdrew.
2
Nell Chetwynd stepped through the french window of the drawing-room and came out upon the terrace at Abbots Puissants.
It was one of those still early autumn days when there seems no stirring of life anywhere, as though Nature herself feigned unconsciousness. The sky was a pale, not a deep, blue and there was a very faint haze in the atmosphere.
Nell leaned against a big stone urn and gazed out over the silent prospect. Everything was very beautiful and very English. The formal gardens were exquisitely kept. The house itself had been very judiciously and carefully repaired.
Not habitually given to emotion, as Nell looked up at the rose-red brick of the walls, she felt a sudden swelling of the heart. It was all so perfect. She wished that Vernon could know – could see.
Four years of marriage had dealt kindly with Nell, but they had changed her. There was no suggestion of the nymph about her now. She was a beautiful woman instead of a lovely girl. She was poised – assured. Her beauty was a very definite kind of beauty – it never varied or altered. Her movements were more deliberate than of old, she had filled out a little – there was no suggestion of immaturity. She was the perfect full-blown rose.
A voice called her from the house.
‘Nell!’
‘I’m here, George, on the terrace.’
‘Right. I’ll be out in a minute.’
What a dear George was! A little smile creased her lips. The perfect husband! Perhaps that was because he was an American. You always heard that Americans made perfect husbands. Certainly, George had been one to her. The marriage had been a complete success. It was true that she had never felt for George what she had felt for Vernon – but almost reluctantly she had admitted that perhaps that was a good thing. These tempestuous emotions that tore and rent one – they couldn’t last. Every day you had evidence that they didn’t last.
All her old revolt was quelled now. She no longer questioned passionately the reason why Vernon should have been taken from her. God knew best. One rebelled at the time, but one came at last to realize that whatever happened was really for the best.
They had known supreme happiness, she and Vernon, and nothing could ever mar or take away from it. It was there for ever – a precious secret possession – a hidden jewel. She could think of him now without regret or longing. They had loved each other and had risked everything to be together. Then had come that awful pain of separation – and then – peace.
Yes, that was the predominant factor in her life now – peace. George had given her that. He had wrapped her round with comfort, with luxury, with tenderness. She hoped that she was a good wife to him, even if she didn’t care like she had cared for Vernon. But she was fond of him – of course she was! The quiet affectionate feeling she had for him was by far the safest emotion to go through life with.
Yes, that expressed exactly what she felt – safe and happy. She wished that Vernon knew. He would be glad, she was sure.
George Chetwynd came out and joined her. He wore English country clothes and looked very much the country squire. He had not aged at all – indeed he looked younger. In his hand he held some letters.
‘I’ve agreed to share that shooting with Drummond. I think we’ll enjoy it.’
‘I’m so glad.’
‘We must decide who we want to ask.’
‘Yes, we’ll talk about it tonight. I’m rather glad the Hays couldn’t come and dine. It will be nice to have an evening to ourselves.’
‘I was afraid you were overdoing it in town, Nell.’
‘We did rush about rather. But I think it’s good for one really. And anyway it’s been splendidly peaceful down here.’
‘It’s wonderful.’ George threw an appreciative glance over the landscape. ‘I’d rather have Abbots Puissants than any place in England. It’s got an atmosphere.’
Nell nodded.
‘I know what you mean.’
‘I should hate to think of it in the hands of – well, people like the Levinnes, for instance.’
‘I know. One would resent it. And yet Sebastian is a dear – and his taste at anyrate is perfect.’
‘He knows the taste of the public all right,’ said George drily. ‘One success after another – with occasionally a succès d’estime just to show he’s not a mere money maker. He’s beginning to look the part though – getting not exactly fat, but sleek. Adopting all sorts of mannerisms. There’s a caricature of him in Punch this week. Very clever.’
‘Sebastian would lend himself to caricaturing,’ said Nell, smiling. ‘Those enormous ears, and those funny high cheekbones. He was an extraordinary-looking boy.’
‘It’s odd to think of you all playing together as children. By the way, I’ve got a surprise for you. A friend you haven’t seen for some time is coming to lunch today.’
‘Not Josephine?’
‘No. Jane Harding.’
‘Jane Harding! But how on earth –?’
‘I ran into her at Wiltsbury yesterday. She’s on tour, acting in some company or other.’
‘Jane! Why, George, I didn’t even realize you knew her?’
‘I came across her when we were both doing relief work in Serbia. I saw a lot of her. I wrote to you about it.’
‘Did you? I don’t remember.’
Something in her tone seemed to strike him and he said anxiously:
‘It’s all right, isn’t it, dear? I thought it would be a pleasant surprise for you. I always thought she was a great friend of yours. I can put her off in a minute if –’
‘No, no. Of course, I’ll be delighted to see her. I was only surprised.’
George was reassured.
‘That’s all right then. By the way, she told me that a man called Bleibner, a man I knew very well in New York, is also in Wiltsbury. I’d like him to see the Abbey ruins – that sort of thing is a speciality of his. Do you mind if I ask him to lunch too?’
‘No, of course not. Do ask him.’
‘I’ll see if I can get him on the phone now. I meant to do it last night, but it slipped my memory.’
He went indoors again. Nell was left on the terrace frowning slightly.
George in this had been right. For some reason or other, she was not pleased at the thought of Jane’s coming to lunch. She felt very definitely that she didn’t want to see Jane. Already, the mere mention of Jane seemed to have disturbed the serenity of the morning. She thought: ‘I was so peaceful, and now –’
Annoying – yes, it was annoying. She was, had always been, afraid of Jane. Jane was the kind of person you could never be sure about. She – how could one put it? – she upset things. She was disturbing – and Nell didn’t want to be disturbed.
She thought unreasonably: ‘Why on earth did George have to meet her in Serbia? How trying things are.’
But it was absurd to be afr
aid of Jane. Jane couldn’t hurt her – now. Poor Jane, she must have made rather a mess of things to have come down to acting in a touring company.
One must be loyal to one’s old friends, Jane was an old friend. She should see how loyal Nell could be. And with a glow of self-approval she went upstairs and changed into a dress of dove-coloured georgette with which she wore one very beautifully matched string of pearls that George had given her on the last anniversary of their marriage. She took particular pains over her toilet, satisfying thereby some obscure female instinct.
‘At anyrate,’ she thought, ‘the Bleibner man will be there and that will make things easier.’
Though why she expected things to be difficult she could not have explained.
George came up to fetch her just as she was applying a final dusting of powder.
‘Jane’s arrived,’ he said. ‘She’s in the drawing-room.’
‘And Mr Bleibner?’
‘He’s engaged for lunch unfortunately. But he’s coming along this afternoon.’
‘Oh!’
She went downstairs slowly. Absurd to feel so apprehensive. Poor Jane – one simply must be nice to her. It was such terribly bad luck to have lost her voice and come down to this.
Jane, however, did not seem aware of bad luck. She was sprawling back on the sofa in an attitude of easy unconcern, looking round the room with keen appreciation.
‘Hullo, Nell,’ she said. ‘Well, you seem to have dug yourself in pretty comfortably.’
It was an outrageous remark. Nell stiffened. She couldn’t think for a moment of what to say. She met Jane’s eyes which were full of a mocking maliciousness. They shook hands and Nell said at the same time, ‘I don’t know what you mean?’
‘I meant all this. Palatial dwelling, well-proportioned footmen, highly paid cook, soft-footed servants, possibly a French maid, baths prepared for one with the latest unguents and bath salts, five or six gardeners, luxurious limousines, expensive clothes and I perceive, genuine pearls! Are you enjoying it all frightfully? I am sure you are.’
‘Tell me about yourself,’ said Nell, seating herself beside Jane on the sofa.
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