The Red Derelict

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER SIX.

  A SOLEMNITY.

  The chapel belonging to Hilversea Court stood a little back from themain avenue, and was so embowered in fine old trees as to be invisiblein summer-time from the main road which skirted the park wall on theoutside.

  From the west front of it, at right angles to the main avenue, thereopened out a second avenue, of a good width, and shaded by rows of talllimes extending some four hundred yards, and terminating in a sculpturedstone Calvary of sufficient size and proportions as to be plainlydiscernible even at a distance. This avenue was known as the Priest'sWalk.

  The origin of the name was by no means clear. Some said it was becausesuccessive family chaplains for generations had been in the habit ofpacing this avenue while saying their office, or for purposes ofcombining exercise with meditation; others that tradition had it that inthe reign of Elizabeth a refugee priest was arrested there, and being,of course, subsequently martyred, was said to revisit the scene atmidnight on the anniversary of his martyrdom, and pace up and down--incidentally, headless. None, however, could say for certain. But thename had stuck--had been there, indeed, beyond the memory of thegrandfather of the oldest inhabitant.

  On this cloudless June afternoon, however, there was nothing reminiscentof tragedy or special manifestation. Quite a throng of people lined theavenue on either side, quiet and expectant, talking but little, and thenin subdued tones. Overhead, at intervals, drapings of crimson and whiteand gold spanned the avenue, as though for the passage of royalty; forit was the octave day of the Feast of Corpus Christi, and the processioncustomary on that solemnity was about to take place.

  The occasion was a gala one at Hilversea. As far as possible the daywas observed on the estate as a general holiday, and so great was thepopularity of the old Squire and his son that even those among theirtenants who differed with them in creed would willingly meet theirwishes in this respect. Moreover, there was an abundant spread laid outin several large marquees, to which all belonging to the place werewelcome, whether they attended the religious observances or not; andthis held good of a sprinkling of people from outside, even though drawnthither by no more exalted a motive than that of witnessing apicturesque sight.

  That it was all this there could be no room for two opinions as thechapel doors were thrown wide and the procession emerged. Headed by thecross-bearer and acolytes came a long double file of white-clothedchildren wearing veil and wreath, girls from a neighbouring conventschool, and a number of choir boys in lace-trimmed cottas and scarletcassocks, which showed in bright contrast to the more sober black onesof the lay singers; several priests in cassock and cotta, all holdinglighted candles; then, preceded by torch-bearers and thurifers, andwalking beneath a golden canopy, came the celebrant bearing the SacredHost in a gleaming sun-shaped monstrance, and attended by deacon andsubdeacon, all three richly vested. Several banners, borne aloft atintervals, added a final stroke of picturesqueness to the movingpageant.

  The demeanour of the onlookers varied only in degrees of reverence, forof the opposite there was none. Headed by the old Squire and such ofthe house party not officially assisting in the ceremony many fell inbehind and followed on. So still was the summer air that the flame ofthe numerous tapers burned without a flicker, and when a pause occurredin the chanting a perfect chorus of thrush-song from the adjoining woodsmingled with the musical clash of censer chains and the tinkle of thecanopy bells.

  Wagram, in cassock and cotta, was acting as master of ceremonies,keeping a careful eye on the line of march with a view to rectifying anytendency to crowding up on the one hand or "gappiness" on the other.

  "A little quicker, please," he whispered to a tall, beautiful girl ofsixteen, with hair that shone like a flowing golden mantle over herwhite dress. She was supporting a large banner, and was flanked by twowee tots, similarly attired, holding the tassels. With a nod of thehead she complied, and then Wagram, stepping back a pace or two tobeckon the others on, brushed against somebody kneeling. Turning tooffer a whispered apology he beheld Delia Calmour, who, giving him alittle smile and reassuring nod, was occupied in resettling her hat.For a moment he found himself wondering that she should be there at all,then the discharge of his duties drove all thought of her out of hismind.

  At the far end of the avenue a _reposoir_ had been erected--a temporarythrone, abundantly decked with lights and flowers--and here all kneltwhile the _Tantum ergo_ was sung; and the white Host, framed in theflashing sun rays of the jewelled monstrance, gleamed on high asBenediction was given. Then, reforming, the procession, returning,moved forward once more upon its rose-strewn way, singing now the Litanyof Loreto, which, being, of course, well known to most of those present,was taken up on all sides, and chorused forth in one great and heartyvolume of rhythm.

  Delia Calmour rose from her knees and joined the increased numbers ofthose who were following. What had moved her she could not for the lifeof her have told, but she had found herself bowing down in reverence aslow as those around her as the Sacred Host was borne past. Now shefollowed with the rest. She could not get into the chapel, but in thisshe fared no worse than nine-tenths of those in whose midst she was.But through the open doors she could distinguish the starry glitter ofmany lights on or about the high altar, as, in a dead hush, betweenthunderous waves of organ and chant, the final Benediction of theBlessed Sacrament was given.

  The throng outside began to break up and those from within to come out.The convent children were marshalled forth, two by two, in charge oftheir attendant nuns, and still Delia lingered. She longed for anopportunity of having a little talk with Wagram, if it were only for afew minutes. She went into the chapel, thick and fragrant with incense.Two acolytes were extinguishing the numerous candles, and her pulsequickened as she saw Wagram, now divested of his cassock and cotta,standing by the sacristy door, pointing out the architectural andornamental beauties of the interior to a couple of priests, presumablystrangers. It was of no use, she decided, and, going outside, shewandered up the decorated avenue again. But before she had gone far shestopped short, striving to curb the thrill of her pulses, to repress thetell-tale rush of colour to her cheeks. A step behind her--and a voice.That was all.

  "How do you do, Miss Calmour? How quickly you walk. So you have foundyour way over to our solemnity?"

  Delia turned at the voice. As they clasped hands she was conscious ofan utterly unwonted trepidation. She had just given up all hope ofspeaking with him. He would be too busy with other things and people totrouble to find her out, even if he had remembered noticing her amongthe attendance at all, she argued.

  "Yes; but I had to screw up my courage very considerably to do so," shereturned, flashing up at him a very winning smile. "You see, I hadheard that anybody might come."

  "Of course. But what were you afraid of? That you would be spiritedaway and privately burnt at the stake? Or only thumb-screwed?"

  "No, no--of course not. Don't chaff me, Mr Wagram; it's unkind. Youought rather to pity my ignorance. Do you often have a ceremony likethat?"

  "Only once a year hitherto. This ought, strictly speaking, to have beenheld last Thursday, or Sunday, but we couldn't make it anything like asimposing on either day. We couldn't have got the convent school for onething, nor such a muster of clergy. They can't conveniently leave theirown missions on those days. Now come up to the house. There's `cup'and all sorts of things going; tea, too, if you prefer it--and I can'tallow you to break away as you did last time. Where did you leave yourbicycle?"--with a glance at her skirt.

  "I stood it against the chapel railing. Will it be safe there?"

  "We'd better take it along to make sure."

  She would not let him get it for her. Someone might detain him if oncehe left her side. Indeed, she could hardly realise that she was awakeand not dreaming. In saying that she had screwed up her courage to comeshe was speaking the literal truth, and even then would have given up atthe last moment but for Clytie, whom, feebly, she ha
d besought toaccompany her.

  "Not I, my dear child," had been the decisive response. "If I were toget into that crowd some kind soul would be safe to pass the word:`Hullo! There's Damages.' Then what sort of show would Damages' littlesister have? No, no; you must play this innings off your own bat."

  But Delia, to do her justice, had resolved in no way to second hersister's great and audacious scheme. It made her feel mean to realisethat she had even heard it mooted. Her presence there to-day was notdue to any wish to further it, but to a legitimate desire not to letslip so good an opportunity of furthering the acquaintance so strangelybegun.

  "I have never seen a more picturesque sight," she went on as they walkedtowards the house. "The effect was perfect--the procession movingbetween these great tree trunks--the avenue all strewn with roses--andall that flash as of gold here and there, and the scarlet and white ofthe choir boys. And how well they seemed to do it--no fuss orblundering. Did you organise it all, Mr Wagram? You seemed here,there, and everywhere at once."

  "I generally do master of ceremonies--a very much needed official, Iassure you, on these occasions."

  "So I should imagine. And all those little tots in muslin and whitewreaths--even the plainest of them looked pretty. Tell me, Mr Wagram,who was that lovely girl who carried one of the banners? She didn'tlook as if she belonged to that convent school."

  "Yvonne Haldane. No, she doesn't."

  "Is she French?"

  "There's nothing French about her but her name, unless that she speaksit uncommonly well. She's staying with us--she and her father. Thepeculiarity about them is that they are rarely seen apart."

  "Really? How nice. You don't often find that." And the speaker'sthoughts reverted to another sort of parent, abusive or maudlin,red-faced, and semi or wholly intoxicated. "But, Mr Wagram, who is thepriest who seemed to do all the principal part? Such a fine-looking oldman!"

  "Monsignor Culham. He and my father have known each other all theirlives. Ah, here they all are," as the tall forms of the prelate and hishost appeared round the end of the house. With them was a sprinkling ofblack coats.

  "I believe I'm a little afraid," said Delia hesitatingly.

  "You needn't be. They are very good-natured men. They wouldn't wish toburn you for the world. They prefer the `Stakes of Smithfield' with the`e' transposed."

  "Now you're chaffing me again. But, really, I'm always a little shy of`the cloth.' I never know what to talk about."

  "Make your mind easy. We shall find the lay element abundantlyrepresented on the lawn, never fear. But first come and say a word ortwo to my father."

  Remembering the episode of the gnu, Delia was a little shy of meetingthe old Squire. But she need not have been, for his denunciation of thehouse of Calmour notwithstanding, his greeting of this scion thereof wasall that was kind and cordial.

  "So this is the famous big game slayer?" he said after a word or two ofwelcome. "What do you think of that, Monsignor? You don't meet everyday with a young lady who can boast of having shot big game--dropped afine specimen of the brindled gnu dead in his tracks."

  "No, indeed. In South Africa, I suppose?"

  "South Africa? No. Here--right here. But it was to save someone frombeing badly gored."

  "Which is one more instance to show that pluck and readiness of resourceare not prerogatives of our sex entirely," said the prelate, quick tonotice the look of embarrassment which had come over the girl's face.

  It was even as Wagram had said, the lay element was represented on thelawn, as a fair sprinkling of sunshades and vari-coloured light summerdresses and hats bore token. Likewise refreshment, and while in processof procuring some for his charge Wagram felt a pull at his sleeve.

  "Who's that you've got there, Wagram? Is Damages here too?"

  "Eh? Oh, by the way, Haldane, which of them is Damages?"

  "Not this one; a sister; the tall one: Clytie, I think they call her."

  "Oh! Well, this one isn't responsible for her sister, and she's a verynice sort of girl. She's the heroine of the gnu adventure, you know,and I want Yvonne to go and talk to her a little."

  "Of course I will," said Yvonne, moving off with that intent.

  "Look at her!" exclaimed Haldane as they watched this tall child crossthe lawn; straight, erect, gait utterly free and unstudied, the greatgolden mantle of her hair rippling below her waist. "Just look at her,Wagram! Did you ever see such a child in your life? And they talkabout `the awkward age.' Yvonne never had an awkward age."

  "I should think not," assented Wagram, who ran her father very close inhis admiration for the beautiful child.

  "How many girls of her age," went on Haldane, "would unhesitatingly goand talk to an entire stranger like that? They'd kick against it,object that they didn't know what to say, that someone else had betterundertake the job, and so on. Yet look at her; she's as self-possessedas a woman of fifty, and as devoid of self-consciousness as a savage,and she's talking to the other girl as if she's known her all her life."

  And such, indeed, was the case. So entranced was Delia with the charmof this child-woman that she almost forgot to do justice to thestrawberries and champagne cup which Wagram had procured for her, almostforgot furtively to watch Wagram himself as he moved here and thereattending to other guests; forgot entirely any little _gene_ she mighthave felt, remembering that, after all, this was not her world, that shewas in a sort of fish-out-of-water state. They talked of bicycling,then of post-card collecting, then of the solemnity they had justwitnessed, and here especially the blue eyes would kindle and the wholeface light up, and Yvonne would describe graphically and well other andsimilar ceremonies she had witnessed in some of the great cathedrals ofthe world. Her listener thought she could have sat there for ever inthat atmosphere of refinement and ease; and this lovely child, who haddrawn her with such a magnetic fascination--they would probably neverhold converse together again. How could they, belonging as they did todifferent worlds, and in this connection the thought of the atmosphereof Siege House caused her very much of a mental shudder.

  "Has this little girl been boring you a lot, Miss Calmour?" And Haldanelaid an arm round the sunny tresses upon his child's shoulders.

  "Boring me! Why, I never was so interested in my life! You and yourdaughter seem to have been everywhere, Mr Haldane. Boring me!" Andwith a little, instinctively affectionate impulse she dropped her handon to that of Yvonne, as though to plead: "Don't leave me yet."

  "We've been having a post-card discussion, father; Miss Calmour has asplendid collection. But she holds that post-cards are no good unlessthey've been through the post. I hold they're no good if they have,because the picture is all spoilt."

  "Why not cut the knot of the difficulty by collecting both?" suggestedDelia.

  "Don't you give her any such pernicious advice, Miss Calmour," laughedHaldane. "The craze is quite ruinous enough to me as it is. I findmyself gently but firmly impelled within a post-card shop every otherday or so--sort of metaphorically taken by the ear, don't you know--onthe ground that just one or two are wanted to fill up a vacant space inthe corner of a given page. But seldom, if ever, do I quit that shopwithout becoming liable for one or two dozen."

  Delia laughed at this, but Yvonne merely smiled complacently, as thoughto convey that her parent might think himself lucky at being let down soeasily. The latter went on:

  "Now you are inducing her to do that which makes me fairly quake, for ifshe adopts the course you recommend she'll buy the cards at a greaterrate than before, and ruin me in postage over and above for the purposeof posting them to herself."

  "All safe, father; all safe this time. I wouldn't have them if they hadbeen through the post."

  "Would you care to bring your collection over and compare notes withYvonne, Miss Calmour? Let me see, we are going back home on Monday.Why not come over to lunch on Tuesday? You have a bicycle--but Iforgot, you can hardly carry a lot of post-card books on a bicycle."
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  "Easily. I have a carrier on the back wheel which has often held a fargreater weight," answered the girl, hardly able to conceal her delight.

  "Very well, then, that's settled. But--don't stop to shoot any moreblue wildebeeste on the way."

  "Oh, that wretched creature! Am I never to hear the last of it?"laughed Delia, merrily rueful.

  Two considerations had moved Haldane in the issuing of this invitation--the spontaneous and whole-souled admiration evinced by this girl forYvonne, and the wistful look on the face of the latter at thepropinquity of a good post-card collection which she might not see. Heprided himself upon his knowledge of character, too, and watching Deliaclosely was inclined to endorse Wagram's opinion. The house of Calmourwas manifestly and flagrantly impossible; but this seemed a nice sort ofgirl, entirely different to the others. Moreover, Yvonne seemed to likeher, and Yvonne's instincts were singularly accurate for her age.

  "Well, I must be moving," said Delia, with something like a sinking ofthe heart. Wagram had disappeared for some time, and the groups on thelawn were thinning out fast. "But I don't see Mr Wagram anywhere."

  "He's probably in the big tent making them a speech or something," saidHaldane. "There, I thought so," as a sound of lusty cheering arose atno great distance. "He's sure to be there. Yvonne will pilot you thereif you want to find him. It's an institution I fight rather shy of," headded, with a laugh.

  But a strange repugnance to mingling in a crowd took hold of Delia justthen. Would Mr Haldane kindly make her adieux for her? And then,having taken leave of them, she went round to where she had left herbicycle, and was in the act of mounting when--

  "Hallo, Miss Calmour, are you off already? I've been rather remiss, Ifear, but you've no notion how one gets pulled this way and that way onan occasion of this kind. I hope Yvonne took care of you."

  "She did indeed, Mr Wagram. What a perfectly sweet child she is! Doyou know, I am to lunch there next week, and compare post-cardcollections."

  "That'll be very jolly."

  "Won't it? Well now, Mr Wagram, I don't know when I have enjoyed myselfso much. Oh, but there is one thing I wanted to ask you," relapsinginto shyness. "Might I--er--are people allowed--to attend your chapelhere on Sundays? Now and then, I mean."

  "Certainly, if there's room for them," he answered, looking ratherastonished. "It won't hold a great many, as you might have seento-day--oh, and, of course, you won't see anything like the ceremonialyou saw to-day."

  "I know. Still, I should like to attend occasionally. Then--I may?"

  "Why, of course. Meanwhile I must look out a pair of thumbscrews that'slikely to fit you. Good-bye."

  In the midst of the mutual laugh evoked by this parting jest Deliamounted her bicycle and glided away. She passed groups in the avenue,some, like herself, awheel. Gaining the high road, there was the whitegate opening on to the by-road through the park, the scene of the gnuadventure. Then, as by sudden magic, the spell of serenity and peacewhich had been upon her was removed. She felt restlessly unhappy, intumultuous revolt. She thought of home, when she should get there; ofBob's vulgarity, of Clytie's soft-toned and brutal cynicisms, of herfather, thick-voiced and reeling. Worse still, she would probably findhim in an even further advanced stage of intoxication, and more or lessfoul of speech in consequence, and--this is exactly what she eventuallydid find.