by Berta Ruck
CHAPTER III
A LAST FAVOUR
That thought at the heart of Gwenna seemed to grow with every hour thatpassed.
And they were passing now so rapidly, the hours that remained to herwith her husband! One more blissful day spent on the mountains (butalways with that growing thought behind it: "_He has to go soon. Perhapshe will not come back this time. The new machine may let him downsomehow, perhaps_").
One more train-journey, whizzing through country of twenty differentaspects, just him and her together (but still in her mind that thrivingdread: "_Very likely he may not come back. He has had so many narrowescapes! That time he told me about when he came down from behind theclouds and the machine was hit on both sides at once: our men firing onhim as well, thinking his was an enemy craft! He got up into the cloudsagain and escaped that time. Next time as likely as not...._").
One more night they were together in the London hotel where Uncle Hughhad always put up. Paul slept, with a smile on his face that looked soutterly boyish while he was asleep: his blonde head nestled into herneck. Gwenna, waking uneasily once or twice, and with his arms stillabout her, was haunted by her fear as by a nightmare. "_It's more thanlikely that he may not come back this time. This time I feel that he isnot going to come back!_" And the feeling grew with the growing lightoutside the window, until she told herself: "_I know it! I know that Iam right_----"
Then came the wonder in her mind, "_Why am I not wretched about this?Why do I feel that it's not going to matter after all, and that it'sgoing to be 'all right'?_"
Still wondering, she fell asleep again.
But in the morning her presentiment was a thing full-grown.
Paul, off to the Front, would never come back again.
Quite early they were at the Aircraft Works where he was to leave hisyoung wife and to fetch his machine, the completed P.D.Q. that was totake him out to France.
He had spoken of her--that machine--in the train coming along. AndGwenna, the dazed and fanciful, had thought sharply: "_Ah! That's herrevenge. That's what's going to be the end of this fight between theGirl and the Machine. I won. I got him from her. This is how she takeshim back, the fiancee! He will be killed in that machine of his._"
Her headstrong, girlish fancy persisted. It was as real to her as any ofthe crowd of everyday and concrete realities that they found, presently,at the bustling Aircraft Works.
When Paul (who was to start at midday, flying across to France) changedinto his uniform and flying-kit, it seemed to her to set the seal uponher premonition.
He would never wear other kit again now, upon this earth.
The Aeroplane Lady, bracingly cheerful, met them with a sheaf ofofficial documents for the young Army aviator.
"I'm going to steal him from you for a quarter of an hour, Mrs.Dampier," she said with a little nod; and she took the young man intoher office.
Gwenna, left alone outside, walked up and down the sunny yardmechanically.
She could not have said what her thoughts were. Probably she had nothoughts. Nothing but the steady throb, quiet and reiterated as thepulse of the machinery in the shops, of that conviction of fatality thatshe felt.
It seemed to run on in her head as the belting ran on the shaft: "Hewon't come back. He won't come back!"
It was in the middle of this monotonous inward muttering that the doorof the office opened, and there came out a shortish figure,leather-jacketed and with enveloping overalls and wearing a cap withgoggles, peak behind. It was young Mr. Ryan.
He raised his cap and would have passed Gwenna quickly, but she stoppedhim.
She didn't know why. Since her marriage she had (ungratefully enough)almost forgotten the red-haired young man's existence, and perhaps itwas not so much himself as his cap and mufflings that caught her eyenow.
"Why, are you going up?" she asked.
"Yes," said young Ryan gloomily.
He seemed to be in the worst of tempers as he went on, grumblingly. Hewas going up. Just his luck. Plenty of times he'd wanted to go andhadn't been allowed. Now he'd got to go, just when he didn't want to.
"You don't want to?" Gwenna repeated.
Mr. Ryan coloured a little. "Well, if I've got to, that doesn't matter."
"Why don't you want to?" Gwenna asked, half indifferent, half surprised.To her it had always appeared the one thing to want to do. She had beenput off time after time. Now here was he, grumbling that it was just hisluck to go.
Then she thought she could guess why he didn't want to go up just now.She smiled faintly. Was it that Mr. Ryan had--somebody--to see?
Mr. Ryan blushed richly. Probably he did so not on this somebody'saccount, but because it was Gwenna who asked the question. One does notcare for the sympathetic questions of the late idol, even when anotherfills the shrine. He told Gwenna: "I've got to go with your husband as apassenger. He's had a wire to bring another man over to one of therepairing bases; and so he's spotted me."
"To bring over? D'you mean to France?"
"Yes. Not that they want _me_, of course; but just somebody. So I've gotto go, I suppose."
Gwenna was silent, absorbed. She glanced away across the flateighty-acre field beyond the yards, where the planes of Paul's newbiplane gleamed like a parallel ruler in the sun. A ruler marked withinches, each inch being one of the seams that Gwenna had carefully dopedover. About the machine two or three dark figures moved, givingfinishing touches, seeing that all was right.
And young Ryan was to fly in her, with Paul!
It wasn't Ryan they wanted, but "just somebody." ... And then, all in amoment, Gwenna, thinking, had a very curious little mental experience.As once before she had had that "flying dream," and had floated up fromearth and had seen her own body lying inert and soulless on her bed, sonow the same thing happened. She seemed to see herself in the yard.Herself, quite still and nonchalant, talking to this young man in capand goggles who had to go to France just when he particularly wanted togo somewhere else. She saw all the details, quite clearly: his leatherjacket, herself, in her blouse and skirt, the cylindrical iron, steamchambers where they steamed the skids, the Wing-room door, and beyond itthe new biplane waiting in the field two hundred yards away.
Then she saw herself put her hand on the young man's leathern sleeve.She heard her own voice ascending, as it were, to her. It was sayingwhat seemed to be the most matter-of-fact thing in the world.
"Then don't go. You go later, Mr. Ryan. Follow him on. You go and meetyour girl instead; it will be all right."
He was staring blankly at her. She wondered what he saw to stare at.
"What? What d'you mean, Mrs. Dampier? I'm bound to go. Military orders."
"Yes; they are for him, not for you. _You_ aren't under militaryorders." This was in her own, quite calm and detached little voice withits un-English accent. "You say anybody'd do. He can take--somebodyelse."
"Isn't anybody else," she heard young Ryan say. Then she heard from herown lips the most surprising thing of all.
"Yes, there's somebody. You give me those things of yours. I'm goinginstead of you."
Then Mr. Ryan laughed loudly. He seemed to see a joke that Gwenna didnot see. "Well, for a film-drama, that takes it!" he laughed.
She did not laugh. She heard herself say, softly, earnestly, swiftly:"Listen to me. Paul is going away and I have never been up with him yet.I was always promised a flight. And always something got in the way ofit. And now he's going. He will never----"
Her voice corrected itself.
"He _may_ never come back. I may never get another chance of flying withhim. Let me--let me have it! Say you will!"
But Mr. Ryan, instead of saying he would, became suddenly firm andperemptory. Perhaps it was the change in his voice that brought GwennaDampier, with a start, back to herself. She was no longer watchingherself. She was watching young Ryan's face, intently, desperately. Butshe was still quite calm. It seemed to her that since an idea and a planhad come to her out of nowhere, it would be mad to throw them
away againuntried.
"Let me go; it will be all right! Let me get into your things."
"Quite out of the question," said young Ryan, with growing firmness--theiron mask of the man who knows himself liable to turn wax in the handsof a woman. "Not to be thought of."
She set her teeth. It was life and death to her now, what he refused.She could have flown at him like a fury for his obstinacy. She knew,however, that this is no road to a woman's attainment of her desires.With honeyed sweetness, and always calmly, she murmured: "You werealways so nice to me, Mr. Ryan. I liked you so!"
"I say, don't----"
"I am sure that girl must be devoted to you. Isn't she? The one you wantto see? Oh, yes! Well, think if it were _she_ who begged to be with_you_," pleaded Gwenna softly and deadly calm. Her knuckles were whiteon the hands that she held clasped against her breast. "Think if shebegged for one last, last little time!"
"Look here; it's imposs----"
"I never begged for any one anything before, in my whole life. Never!Not even my husband. Only you! It's the first--the last favour, Mr.Ryan! You used to say you'd do anything----"
"No, please; I say----!"
"He's always said he would take me. You can follow us on. Yes, indeed itwill be all right----"
Here Paul, passing with the Aeroplane Lady at the end of the yard, onhis way to the machine in the field, saw by the steam reservoir hisyoung wife talking earnestly to the red-haired Ryan chap, who was to behis passenger. He heard her say: "You must, Peter, you _must_!"
He hadn't known that the Little Thing called that fellow by hisChristian name, but he thought he knew the kind of thing that she wouldbe saying to Ryan; begging him to keep an eye upon her husband, to doanything he could for him (Paul) since they were both going over toFrance together.
"It will be all right," repeated Gwenna to young Ryan in a settled kindof tone. "You'll give me your things, and then you'll stay here, out ofthe way until we've gone. You will!"
Thereupon Mr. Ryan became firmer than ever.
"Can't be done, Mrs. Dampier," he said curtly. "Afraid that ends it!"
* * * * *
In the meantime Paul was making a last tour of the P.D.Q.
"Just start her, will you?" he said to one of his mechanics.
A harsh roar rattled out over the countryside. Paul touched parts hereand there.
"All right," he said; and the engine was shut off again. Then he turnedto Mrs. Crewe.
"Well," he said, "if you don't mind----" He glanced first at hiswrist-watch and then in the direction of the buildings. The AeroplaneLady smiled.
"I think you'll find her in the office," she replied.
He crossed the field and walked straight into the office, but Gwenna wasnot there. He passed into the Wing-room where he had seen her at work.She was not there, either; only two of the lads in blue overalls werebringing in a wing. He said to them: "Is Mrs. Dampier in the centralshop? Just tell her I'm here, will you? I shall have to be off verysoon." In a moment one of the lads returned to say that Mrs. Dampier wasnot in the shops.
"Go out that way and find her, will you, then?" he said. "I'll go outthe other way; ask her to wait for me in the Wing-room if you find herfirst." He went out to search for his wife. He sought her in the shopsand in the sheds. She was not to be found. He came back to theWing-room; it was empty, except for the Great Dane, lying in his cornerblinking wisely, with his head on his paws. Dismayed (for he would havenot more than a moment to spare with her now) young Dampier came out andsent a lad on a bicycle up to Mrs. Crewe's cottage to find out if hiswife were there. Perhaps the Little Thing had forgotten thecap-comforter she was going to give him, and had gone to fetch that.Mrs. Crewe herself walked back from the field, and found him almostrunning about the yards again.
"What, haven't you found her? Isn't she anywhere about?" cried theAeroplane Lady in astonishment. "This is most extraordinary. She must behere somewhere----"
"I've been and I've sent all over the place," said the young aviator,distressed. "Here, I've got to start in a minute, and she isn't here tosee me before I go. I can't imagine what's become of her!"
The Aeroplane Lady could imagine. She had had the quick thought thatGwenna Dampier, at the last moment, had gone away, hidden herself fromthat ordeal of last farewells. "Perhaps the little creature couldn'tstand it," she thought. It was, when all was said, a heart-breakingmoment....
The Aeroplane Lady said softly: "Perhaps your wife's one of the peoplewho don't want to say any good-bye, Mr. Dampier. Like some peoplethinking it's unlucky to watch people out of sight!"
"Well, I've hunted all over the place," he said, turning away, agitatedand dismayed. "Tell her, will you, Mrs. Crewe, I shan't be able to waitany longer. I was to start at midday. I shall be late. You explain toher, please. Where's Ryan--ah, there he is."
For across the field he saw a short, muffled-up, brown figure, climbing,rather hurriedly, into the passenger's seat. It sat, waiting withoutlooking round.
The last stroke of twelve sounded from the clock of the factory. Thewhistle blew. The men trooped out of the works; every one of them cast aglance towards the field where the biplane was ready. Several of them ina group turned off there to watch the start.
Paul joined them and walked across the field.
His brows were knitted; it was dashed hard lines that he couldn't see_her_ for good-bye. His wife! She ought to have seen him off.... PoorLittle sweet Thing, she thought she couldn't stick it---- He wonderedwhere on earth she'd gone and hidden herself.
