Peter's Mother

by Mrs. Henry De La Pasture

  CHAPTER XVI

  Torrents of falling rain obscured the valley of the Youle. The greyclouds floated below the ridges of the hills, and wreathed thetree-tops. Against the dim purple of the distance, the October rosesheld up melancholy, rain-washed heads; and sudden gusts of wind sentlittle armies of dead, brown leaves racing over the stone pavement ofthe terrace.

  Lady Mary leant her forehead against the window, and gazed out uponthe autumn landscape; and John Crewys watched her with feelings notaltogether devoid of self-reproach.

  Perhaps he had carried his prudent consideration too far.

  His reverence for his beautiful lady--who reigned in John's inmostthoughts as both saint and queen--had caused him to determine that shemust come to him, when she did come, without a shadow of self-reproachto sully the joy of her surrender, the fulness, of her bliss, in theperfect sympathy and devotion which awaited her.

  But John Crewys--though passionately desiring her companionship, andimpatient of all barriers, real or imaginary, which divided her fromhim--yet lived a life very full of work and interest and pleasure onhis own account. He was only conscious of his loneliness at times;and when he was as busy as he had been during the early half of thissummer, he was hardly conscious of it at all.

  He had not fully realized the effect that this time of waiting anduncertainty might have upon her, in the solitude to which he had lefther, and which he had at first supposed would be altogether occupiedby Peter. Her letters--infrequent as he, in his self-denial, hadsuggested--were characterized by a delicate reserve and a tacitrefusal to take anything for granted in their relations to each other,which half charmed and half tantalized John; but scarcely enlightenedhim regarding the suspense and sadness which at this time she wascalled upon to bear.

  When he came to Barracombe, he knew that she had suffered greatlyduring these months of his absence, and reproached himself angrily forblindness and selfishness.

  He had spent the first weeks of his long vacation in Switzerland, inorder to bring the date of his visit to the Youle Valley as near aspossible to the date of Peter's coming of age; but, also, he had beenvery much overworked, and felt an absolute want of rest and changebefore entering upon the struggle which he supposed might await him,and for which he would probably need all the good humour and goodsense he possessed. So far as he was personally concerned, therewas no doubt that his proceedings had been dictated by wisdom andjudgment.

  The fatigue and irritability, consequent upon too much mental labour,and too little fresh air and exercise, had vanished. John was in goodhealth and good spirits, clear of brain and eye, and vigorous ofperson, when he arrived at Barracombe; in the mild, wet, misty weatherwhich heralded the approach of a typical Devonshire autumn.

  But when he looked at Lady Mary, he knew that he would have beenbetter able to dispense with that holiday interval than she was tohave endured it.

  She had always been considered marvellously young-looking for her age.The quiet country life she had led had bestowed that advantage uponher; and her beauty, fair as she was, had always been less dependenton colouring than upon the exquisite delicacy of her features andgeneral contour. But now a heaviness beneath the blue eyes,--a littlefading of her brightness--a little droop of the beautifully shapedmouth,--almost betrayed her seven and thirty years; and the soft,abundant, brown hair was threaded quite perceptibly with silver. Hersweet face smiled upon him; but the smile was no longer, he thought,joyous--but pathetic, as of one who reproaches herself wonderingly forlight-heartedness.

  John looked at her in silence, but the words he uttered in his heartwere, "I will never leave you any more."

  Perhaps his face said everything that he did not say, for Lady Maryhad turned from him with a little sob, and leant her forehead on herhands, looking out at the rain which swept the valley. She felt, asshe had always felt in John's presence, that here was her champion andher protector and her slave, in one; returned to restore her failingcourage and her lost self-confidence.

  "So you saw something of Peter in London?" she said tremulously,breaking the silence which had fallen between them after their firstgreeting. "Please tell me. You know I have seen almost nothing of himsince he came home."

  "So I gather," said John. "Yes, I saw something--not very much--ofMaster Peter in London. You see I am not much of a society man;" andhe laughed.

  "Was Peter a society man?" said his mother, laughing also, but rathersadly.

  "He went out a good deal, and was to be met with in most places," Johnanswered.

  "I read his name in lists of dances given by people I did not know hehad ever heard of. But I did not like to ask him how he managed toget invited. He rather dislikes being questioned," said Lady Mary,describing Peter's prejudices as mildly as possible.

  "I fancy Miss Sarah could tell you," said John, with twinkling eyes.

  "I did not know--just a girl--could get a stranger, a boy like Peter,invited everywhere," said Lady Mary, innocently.

  John laughed. "Peter is a very eligible boy," he said, "and Sarah isnot 'just a girl,' but a very clever young woman indeed; and LadyTintern is a ball-giver. But if he had been the most ordinary ofyouths, a bachelor's foothold on the dance-lists is the easiest thingin the world to obtain. It means nothing in itself."

  "I think it meant a good deal to Peter," said his mother, with a sigh."If only I could think Sarah were in earnest."

  "I don't see why not," said John.

  Then he came and took Lady Mary's hand, and led her to a seat next thefire.

  "Come and sit down comfortably," he said, "and let us talk everythingover. It looks very miserable out-of-doors, and nothing could be moredelightful than this room, and nobody to disturb us. I want the realhistory of the last few months. Do you know your letters told mealmost nothing?"

  The room was certainly delightful, and not the less so for the Chillrain without, which beat against the windows, and enhanced the brightaspect of the scene within.

  A little fire burned cheerfully in the polished grate, and cast itsglow upon the burnished fender, and the silver ornaments andtrifles on a rosewood table beyond. The furniture was bright withold-fashioned glossy chintz; the rose-tinted walls were hung with finewater-colour drawings; the windows with rose-silk curtains.

  The hardy outdoor flowers were banished to the oaken hall. Lady Mary'ssense of the fitness of things permitted the silver cups and Venetianglasses of this dainty apartment to be filled only with waxen hothouseblooms and maidenhair fern.

  She could not but be conscious of the restfulness of her surroundings,and of John's calm, protecting presence, as he placed her tenderly inthe corner of the fireside couch, and took his place beside her.

  "I don't think the last months have had any history at all," she saiddreamily. "I have missed you, John. But that--you know already. I--Ihave been very lonely--since--since Peter came home. I think it wasSarah who persuaded him to go away again so soon. I believe shelaughed at his clothes."

  "I suppose they _were_ a little out of date, and he must surely haveoutgrown them, besides," said John, smiling.

  "I suppose so; anyway, I think it must have been that which put itinto his head to go to London and buy more. It was a little awkwardfor the poor boy, because he had just been scolding _me_ for wishingto go to London. But he said he would only be a few days."

  "And he stayed to the end of the season?"

  "Yes. Of course the aunts put it down to Sarah. I dare say it _was_her doing. I don't know why she should wish to rob me of my boy justfor--amusement," said Lady Mary, rather resentfully. "But I have notunderstood Sarah lately; she has seemed so hard and flippant. You arelaughing, John? I dare say I am jealous and inconsistent. You arequite right. One moment I want to think Sarah in earnest--and willingto marry my boy; and the next I remember that I began to hate his wifethe very day he was born."

  "It appears to be the nature of mothers," said John, indulgently."But you will allow _me_ to hope for Peter's happiness, and quiteincidentally, of course, for our ow
n?"

  She smiled. "Seriously, John, I wish you would tell me how he got onin London."

  "He dined with me once or twice, as you know," said John, "and wasvery friendly. I think he was relieved that I made no suggestion oftutors or universities, and that I took his eyeglass for granted. Inshort, that I treated him as I should treat any other young man of myacquaintance; whereas he had greatly feared I might presume upon myguardianship to give him good advice. But I did not, because he is tooyoung to want advice just now, and prefers, like most of us, to buyhis own experience."

  "I hope he was really nice to you. You won't hide anything? You'lltell me exactly?"

  "I am hiding nothing. The lad is a good lad at bottom, and a manly oneinto the bargain," said John. "His defects are of the kind which getup, so to speak, and hit you in the eye; and are, consequently, notof a kind to escape observation. What is obviously wrong is easiestcured. He has yet to learn that 'manners maketh man,' but he waslearning it as fast as possible. The mistakes of youth are ratherpathetic than annoying."

  "Sometimes," said Lady Mary.

  "He fell, very naturally, into most of the conventional errors whichbeset the inexperienced Londoner," said John, smiling slightly at therecollection. "He talked in a familiar manner of persons whose nameswere unknown to him the day before yesterday; and told well-knownanecdotes about well-known people whom he hadn't had time to meet, asthough they had only just happened. The kind of stories outsiderstell to new-comers. And he professed to be bored at every party heattended. I won't say that the _habitue_ is always too well bred, ortoo grateful to his entertainers, to do anything of the kind; but heis certainly too wise or too cautious."

  "Perhaps he was bored?" said Lady Mary, wistfully. "Knowing nobody,poor boy."

  "The first time I met him on neutral ground was at a dance," saidJohn. "He looked very tall and nervous and lonely, and, of course, hewas not dancing; but, nevertheless, he was the hero of the evening,or so Miss Sarah gave me to understand. But you can imagine it foryourself. The war just over, and a young fellow who has lost so muchin it; the gallant nephew of the gallant Ferries; besides his ownromantic name, and his eligibility. I took him off to the NationalGallery, to make acquaintance with the portrait of our cavalierancestor there; and I declare there is a likeness. Miss Sarah hadvisited it long ago, it appears. For my part, I am glad to think thatthese fashionable young women can still be so enthusiastic about awounded soldier. Sarah said they were all wild to dance with him, andready to shed tears for his lost arm."

  "And was he much with Sarah?"

  John laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Miss Sarah is a star withmany satellites. She raised my hopes, however, by appearing to have afew smiles to spare for Peter."

  "And she must have got him the invitation to Tintern Castle," saidLady Mary. "That is why he went up to Scotland."

  "I see."

  "Then she got him another invitation, I suppose, for he went to thenext house she stayed at; and to a third place for some yachting."

  "What did Lady Tintern say?"

  "That's just it. Sarah is in Lady Tintern's black books just now. Sheis furious with her, Mrs. Hewel tells me, because she has refused LordAvonwick."

  "Hum!" said John. "He has forty thousand a year."

  "I don't think money would tempt Sarah to marry a man she did notlove," said Lady Mary, reproachfully. "There was Mr. Van Graaf, theAfrican millionaire. She wouldn't look at him, and he offered tosettle untold sums upon her."

  "Did he? What a brute!"

  "Why?"

  "Never mind. You've not seen him. I'm glad he found Sarah wasn't forsale. But doesn't all this look as if it were Peter, after all?"

  "If only I could think she were in earnest," Lady Mary said again."But he is such a boy. She has three times his cleverness in someways, and three times his experience, though she is younger than he. Isuppose women mature much earlier than men. It galls my pride when sheorders him about, and laughs at him. But he--he doesn't understand."

  "Perhaps," said John, slowly, "he understands better than you think.Each generation has a freemasonry of its own. I must confess I haveheard scraps of chatter and chaff in ballrooms and theatres which havefilled me with amazement, wondering how it could be possible thatsuch poor stuff should pass muster as conversation, or coquetry, orgallantry, with the youths and maidens of to-day. But when I haveobserved further, instead of an offended fair, or a disillusionedswain, behold! two young heads close together, two young facessparkling with smiles and satisfaction. And the older person, whowould fatuously join in with a sensible remark, spoils all theenjoyment. The fact is, the secret of real companionship is notquality, but equality. There's a punning platitude for you."

  "It may be a platitude, but I am beginning to discover that what arecalled platitudes by the young are biting truths to the old," saidLady Mary. "I've felt it a thousand times. Words come so easily to mylips when I'm speaking to you, I am so certain you will understand andrespond. But with Peter, I sometimes feel as though I were dumb orstupid. Perhaps you've been too--too kind; you've understood tooquickly. I've been too ready to believe that you've found me--"

  "Everything I wanted to find you," interrupted John, tenderly; "andthat was something quite out of the common."

  She smiled and shook her head. "I am ready to believe all the nicethings you can say, as fast as you can say them, when I am with _you_"she said, with a raillery rather mournful than gay. "But when I amwith Peter, I seem to realize dreadfully that I'm only a middle-agedwoman of average capacity, and with very little knowledge of theworld. He does his best to teach me. That's funny, isn't it?"

  "It's very like--a very young man," said John, gently.

  "You mustn't think I'm mocking at my boy--like Sarah," she saidvehemently. "Perhaps I am wrong to tell you. Perhaps only a motherwould really understand. But it makes me a little sad and bewildered.My boy--my little baby, who lay in my arms and learnt everything fromme. And now he looks down and lectures me from such an immense heightof superiority, never dreaming that I'm laughing in my heart, becauseit's only little Peter, after all."

  "And he doesn't lecture Sarah?"

  "Oh no; he doesn't lecture Sarah. She is too young to be lectured withimpunity, and too wise. Besides, I think since he went away, and sawSarah flattered and spoilt, and queening it among the great peoplewho didn't know him even by sight, that he has realized that theirrelative positions have changed a good deal. You see, little SarahHewel, as she used to be, would have been making quite a greatmatch in marrying Peter. But Lady Tintern's adopted daughter andheiress--old Tintern left an immense fortune to his wife, didn'the?--is another matter altogether. And how could she settle down tothis humdrum life after all the excitement and gaiety she's beenaccustomed to?"

  "Women do such things every day. Besides--"

  "Yes?"

  "Is Peter still so much enamoured of a humdrum life?" said John,dryly.

  "I have had no opportunity of finding out; but I am sure he will wantto settle down quietly when all this is over--"

  "You mean when he's no longer in love with Sarah?"

  "He's barely one-and-twenty; it can't last," said Lady Mary.

  "I don't know. If she's so much cleverer than he, I'm inclined tothink it may," said John.

  "Oh, of course, if he married her--it would last," said Lady Mary.

  "And then?" said John, smiling.

  "Perhaps _then_," said Lady Mary; and she laid her hand softly in thestrong hand outstretched to receive it.