CHAPTER XXXI
THE CHANGED WORLD
Olwen Innes stood in the hall of her house in Chelsea, bidding good-byeto her guests. It was a charming hall, for the wall of a room had beenremoved to make space for it, and the result was excellent, creating aneffect quite unlike a London house.
Though years had elapsed since she acquired No. 2 Orchard Row, this washer house-warming; and the guests who were departing were all of themfriends in more than name, since they had become acquainted under stressof the most terrible period of modern history.
Hardly had Olwen decided where she would make her home, hardly had thedecorators completed their dainty work upon it, when the European Warbroke out. No furniture was as yet in the house, and Olwen and AuntMaud promptly turned it into a hospital for wounded officers.
The expenses of its working were borne entirely by the mistress of thehouse, and Aunt Maud personally superintended all the catering. Duringthe grim summers and winters when the fortunes of the Allies ebbed andflowed, the new heiress worked as hard as ever she had done in thePalatine Bank, with short and very occasional holidays.
Now that peace had returned and the war-worn nation was settling downonce more, the hospital emptied gradually, the nurses departed, and theowner found herself at last able to indulge her taste for beauty and toremodel the place which for so many months had been a refuge for some ofthe bravest of all the splendid men who served their country.
Languidly, and like a patient who has undergone a severe operation,England opened her eyes upon Peace once more. It seemed incredible, andfor long its unreal aspect was increased by the fact that the officersand men of the vast new armies returned only tardily and in smallnumbers from their regiments.
Crippled limbs, crippled incomes, crippled businesses were the order ofthe day; everywhere a brave attempt to hide financial wounds, to triumphover personal sorrow, to set the face steadfastly to the England of thefuture, wherein so much was changed, so much was gone, never to bereplaced; so much, one felt, was in store, but not as yet near fruition.
A good many of the officer patients who had passed through what came tobe known as the Orchard Row Hospital had been anxious to persuade MissInnes to join them in founding at least one family for the future ofEngland. But in vain. Aunt Maud said the war had changed Olwen. Ithad sobered her. Or was it, perhaps, her illness?
A somewhat severe breakdown followed her foolhardy midnight flight fromthe Pele. For a long time she was too ill even to write to Mrs. Guyseto thank her for her kindness during her stay. As soon as she was wellenough to travel Aunt Maud took her abroad. They had returned toEngland in the June before war was declared. Since that time so muchwater had rushed under the bridges of life that one could hardly keeppace with the swift flow of events. Everything personal sank into thebackground and was lost. The war and the war only had been thepreoccupation of existence ever since Olwen became rich. Except in theone direction of helping those she loved, she had not tasted the sweetsof wealth. One of her first acts was to make her grandfather resign hisliving. He now resided, as had always been his ambition, in a prettyand comfortable house at Harrogate in company with Aunt Ada, and washappier than ever in his life.
His departure from Bramforth made intercourse with the Holroyds lesseasy. Grace became a V.A.D. worker as soon as war broke out, and shelonged to come to London and help Olwen with her hospital. But therewas too much to be done in Bramforth, and her mother disliked the ideaof her going so far. Thus the girls had seen nothing of each otheruntil Gracie came to town for her first taste of pleasure, since theV.A.D. work became a thing of the past.
She now stood beside the young hostess and watched the leave-taking withinterest.
"What a lot of people you know!" she remarked, when the final guest haddeparted and they turned and went up the wide staircase to thedrawing-room.
"A good many," said Olwen; "though when I took this house I knew nobodyin London. These are almost all the families of our various patients orclergy with whom we have been brought in touch--doctors, visitors, orhelpers of some kind. I feel rather like the upstart ladies who cuttheir steps to the abode of the upper ten by dint of big subscriptionsto charity or the secret party funds. Really, I haven't tried toadvertise myself, but the people with whom I have found myself thrownare mostly nice, and I don't believe they realise how rich I am." Theypassed into the drawing-room, and she sank down upon a low chair with alittle lazy yawn and stretch. "We are getting deluged withinvitations," said she. "You'll have to come with us to two or threehouses to-morrow afternoon. What time does your brother's trainarrive?"
"Somewhere about half-past four, at King's Cross."
"The small motor had better meet him," said the mistress thoughtfully."He won't have very bulky luggage."
Ben Holroyd had not been to the war. Government had taken over hismills, and he was indispensable to their management. Olwen had givenbut little thought to him during the stress of the past years. Now shewas idly reflecting that he was the only man she knew, of whosedisinterestedness she could ever henceforth be sure as long as shelived. He had loved her honestly and with no thought of money. He wasto arrive on the morrow to spend a couple of nights and take his sisterhome. Olwen and he had not met since the outbreak of war.
The change wrought in both girls by the passage of those years, packedwith destiny, was noticeably great. Gracie, who had been threatened,even at the time when Olwen went to Guysewyke, with a repetition of hermother's unwieldy embonpoint, was now almost slender, fined down to amuscular trimness, the result of unremitting work. She was happilybetrothed to a north country "Temporary Captain," who in peace time wasa solicitor, and was now busily employed gathering up the threads of hisinterrupted practice in preparation for marriage.
Olwen bore more plainly still the traces of what she had gone through.Her face had acquired, as it were, new meanings. Her beauty, which hadalways been largely a matter of expression, was now much more evidentthan formerly. Those who met her for the first time never failed to bestruck by her, to remember her voice, her look--"What a _memorable_ faceMiss Innes has!" said old Lady Cumberdale when she came to visit hernephew, one of those officers who had implored Olwen to marry him. "Inever remember to have seen an English girl with quite so muchdistinction; but she looks sad."
The remark was repeated to Olwen. She sighed, remembering who had oncedescribed her as a "dainty rogue in porcelain." Not much of the roguewas now left. Everyone always added that little conclusion to anycriticism of her appearance. "She looks sad."
The sadness had been there throughout the weary months of war; but aslong as the necessity of the moment kept her at work, it had been anundercurrent, far below the surface. Like the hopelessly estrangedhusband in "A Confession," she might have said:
"_Therefore I kept my memory down, by stress_ _Of work._"
But memory, howsoever held down, arose the moment the grip slackened,and stood upon her feet. Each day that passed seemed now to bring theheiress back a step, across the dim gulf of separation, to the re-livingof the old days at the Pele.
Since the moment when, overlooking the balusters at Bramforth, she hadseen the top of Ninian's sleek black head, a little bent, as he moved tothe door, no word of him had ever reached her. He might have steppedfrom the vicarage threshold clean over the rim of the world, for all sheever knew to the contrary.
Her own severe illness had almost immediately supervened. Everyonethought it natural enough, not only that she should return post-hastefrom Guysewyke on receiving the news of her fortune and her father'sdeath, but also that she should succumb to the double shock. There wasno need for her to say anything to anybody in explanation of herproceedings. The Holroyds knew that she had hurt her head when skating,and had thought it best to come home in consequence; but no suspicion ofthe true state of affairs ever leaked out. Old Mr. Wilson kept hisgranddaughter's counsel faithfully. The plot revealed b
y Ninianremained in his own memory alone.
By the time she was well again, enough of the business resulting fromher father's death had been completed for her to be in possession ofample funds; and she only craved to utilise this unlooked-for aid, totransport her out of the old groove, to enable her to go where she mightfind the means to turn her thoughts from contemplation of her torturedaching heart.
For a while, the two powerful agents, wealth and change of scene, weremore successful than she had dared to hope. In the crowding of newimpressions, she let the thought of her humiliation sleep.
Steadily she set herself to face the world as it was, to consider theposition fairly.
Ninian had indeed trampled her maiden pride in the dust. He owned thathe had meant to marry her for her money. He gave, as the reason why hehad not fulfilled this intention, his own consciousness that he wasplaying a base part. This was, this must be, only a courteous way ofsaying that it seemed to him a shame to marry this girl, a nice littlething enough, for her money--that is, without caring about her.
In other words, her attraction had proved insufficient to hold him tohis purpose.
In the light shed by this atrocious thought, she went over endlessly allthat had passed between them from the time of their first meeting. Sheremembered the disappointment which had been plainly observable inNinian when he met her first in the inn; his subsequent changes of mood.Sometimes he had seemed as though he really liked her. Then he hadveered, as though he felt he could never keep it up. His unreal,jeering manner was quite accounted for. From the first he had feltunable to be natural with her. Then, as time went on, he had realisedthat as a chum, as a little sister, he could have liked her well enough;and it had seemed cruel to cheat her any longer. She saw it all withhorrible clearness; and the worst pang was occasioned by the knowledgethat he must have seen and known that she was taking his sham attentionsfor the real thing--in short, that he had been quite aware that the girlhe could not bring himself to marry was in love with him all the time.
As she recalled scenes that had passed between them she felt able totrace each alternation of his feeling, between determination to takeadvantage of her folly and carry out his purpose, and the fits ofself-contempt and shame which had from time to time overswept him.
Sunia, too! Olwen had even been led by her vanity to think that theHindu woman really liked her. Nothing of the kind. The ayah was merelyhelping to catch the golden goose for the use of her sahib and hisfamily.
These were racking thoughts. Her only consolation was the remembrancethat, after all, she had had strength to tear herself away. Sometimesshe wondered whether her dead father had known of her danger and hadexerted some unseen influence to snatch her from the brink of the gulfwhich threatened her, and which she herself had so dimly perceived.
When war broke out she at first failed to realise that all the youngmanhood of England would volunteer. She did not begin to study the_Gazette_ until three months or thereabouts after the beginning of thecampaign; and not once had her perseverance been rewarded by thediscovery of any mention of the Guyse brothers. Not that her search hadbeen exhaustive. There had been days let slip, under stress of a newflood of cases coming into hospital. She knew she had hoped that someday the unlikely might happen, and that one of those maimed heroes, socarefully carried on their stretchers into the quiet rooms, and tenderlylaid upon the soft beds, might turn out to be one of the Pele twins.
Nothing of the kind had happened. As the war went on, patients weremore and more methodically distributed, north to north, and south tosouth. Chelsea received none of the casualties among men born north ofthe Humber.
One result there had, however, been from the ayah's boastedincantations. The call of the north was for ever sounding in Olwen'sears.
Whether or no the woman had ever succeeded in administering the lovephiltre, Olwen felt fairly certain that she had found means to give hersome unhallowed drug; for not poppy nor mandragora, nor the far morepotent influences of money and the power that money gives, had availedto still the craving she felt to return to Guyseburndale.
No day had passed, since fighting began, during which she had not prayedfor Ninian's safety. Now that all was over, the stress and strain athing of the past, she began to feel more and more certain that he wasdead.
She knew enough of him to be certain that he would be reckless. Hislove for the Pele and for the land on which the feet of his forefathershad trod for centuries was the main motive of his life. For this he hadbeen ready to sacrifice himself and her, until his own nobler nature hadrisen and forbidden the banns. Deprived of this last chance ofreinstating himself in the country, what would he do?
There was but one course open to him before the war broke out, and thatwas to marry Rose Kendall. He might have done this; but if he had not,then at the outbreak of war she felt he would have flung himself intothe breach. Most likely he had been killed upon the Marne. She couldfancy him going into battle with a jest upon his lips:
_No Guyse_ _Is ever wise_ _Until he dies._
It seemed certain that he was dead and that Wolf was master of the Pele.If it were so, then she felt sure that he had sold the place and thathis mother had come to live in London to be near him.
Was that really so? Could it be so? The image of the Pele and of allthat was in it was clearly before her mind's eye, and the picture hadall the qualities of permanence. She felt that it literally could notchange.
Then she tried to imagine Rose Kendall as its mistress. That seemedequally impossible.
The craving to know the truth was growing to such dimensions within herthat she began to revolve wild plans for leaving town and going to staysomewhere in the neighbourhood--so that she might obtain news withoutseeming to ask for it.
"Are you frightfully tired, Ollie?" asked Grace wistfully, having spokentwice without receiving an answer.
Miss Innes came out of her reverie with a start. "Pardon, old girl, Iwas just thinking," said she, laughing, as she sat more upright andgazed about her with eyes still introspective.
"I was saying that those people who went almost last--I think you saidit was Lady Cumberdale--seemed very nice. I liked the girl."
"Lilla Penrith? Yes, she is a dear," replied Olwen. "I told you wenursed the brother here, Captain Penrith. He made a very good recovery,much to the surprise of the doctors, since he developed enteric inaddition to his wound. We are going there to-morrow afternoon. If youhad not gone and got engaged so precipitately to James Heslop, I wouldhave introduced you to the Captain; he isn't half bad."
"The Honourable Miss Penrith took my fancy very much. We had a longtalk. She was doing V.A.D. work, too."
"She did it very well. But we leave out the Honourable, you know, mydear, except upon envelopes."
"Do you? Is she just plain Miss Penrith?"
"Only that. Did you suppose she wore her Honourable like a coronet?"teased Olwen. She talked at random, for she was tired, and her thoughtshad been switched completely away from her house-warming by theunaccountable rush of memory which was assailing her.
Aunt Maud came in smiling. "Well, I do think it went nicely," said she."Of course it ought, because everything came from the best places, andour staff is efficient. But this new idea of simplicity inentertaining, and not having any programme, made me afraid it might bedull. However, it wasn't!"
"Before the war, I should have paid a hundred guineas to a fewsecond-rate singers to perform good music to an audience that couldn'tunderstand it, and only longed to talk," said the mistress of the house."By the way, Lady Cumberdale said, quite apologetically, that she ishaving a programme to-morrow afternoon, as she wants people to hear somevery fine singing from some poor girl whose career was interrupted bythe war."
"I'm glad," said Gracie, with true Yorkshire fervour for music. "I cannever hear too much."
Aunt Maud launched into the usual kind of talk for such an occasion--arepetition of what people had said, and how they had look
ed; muchcomment having passed with reference to the different appearance of thehouse since it ceased to be a hospital.
Both girls were yawning before she had half done, and she broke off,with a laugh, to order them both to bed.
Miss Maud Wilson looked ten years younger than she had done in herniece's earliest memory. She had regained much of the fair beauty whichhad been hers in girlhood; and Olwen privately confided to Gracie thatnight, during hair-brushing, that it was Aunt Maud really, and not sheherself, who required a chaperon!
Next day, Orchard Row had recovered its normal appearance; and the twogirls, having breakfasted in bed, just by way of contrast to thestrenuous fashion of the past few years, passed a lazy morning, lunchedin luxury, and then dressed and started for Lady Cumberdale's afternoonparty. They looked in at another house en route, but at about five thecar set them down in Chester Square, and they heard, as they mounted thestairs, the strains of the singing of the proteges, as Olwen calledthem.
They entered as softly as they could, and greeted their hostesssilently. The men who were on the watch to see Miss Innes could notapproach until the song was done. There were some minutes during whichOlwen stood still, near the door, glancing round for friendly faces.
Someone who had been standing in talk with a girl moved, so that theface of the girl over whom he had been bending was suddenly visible toOlwen. It was a face which oddly succeeded in being pretty, in spite ofa somewhat hatchet-like outline and green eyes. Those eyes were subtlyexpressive, the curve of the lip showed a row of good teeth, slightlypointed. The whole face reminded her of Ninian, and her heart gave agreat throb.
"Lilla," whispered she to Miss Penrith, who was beside her, as soon asthe music ceased, "who is the girl with the white plume in her hat,there, against the curtain?"
"That? Oh, that's Elma Guyse, Lord Caryngston's daughter, you know.Her only brother was killed at Neuve Chapelle."
"Her brother? What, the one who married----"
"Who was to have married Wash-white Slick-Soap? Yes, but it didn't quitecome off. He went to the Front, and never came back. Shall I introduceElma to you?"
"Oh, presently--when you get a suitable chance."
No more was possible, for others were pressing forward to greet MissInnes, and she had to talk about things of no interest, while all herthoughts were centred upon Elma Guyse. She began, half unconsciously,to move nearer by degrees to where the girl stood, and was absurdlydisappointed to see her leave the room with a man in search of ices.
"Miss Innes," said a voice at her elbow, "here is someone who wants tobe presented. He says he has a slight acquaintance with you--ColonelGuyse."
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