by Sara Seale
“Are you? I thought you were protesting how strong you were,” he teased, then added good-naturedly: “All right, I’ll I pander to you this once. I’ll be up in twenty minutes, so get a move on.”
“Make it ten,” she said, and darted across the room. At the door she paused, remembering she had forgotten Clare, came back quickly to say good night, and was gone. If she could keep J.B. upstairs for half an hour, some more time would be successfully wasted.
In the library, James poured himself out another whisky and soda.
“Poor Sarah,” he said. “I think she’s afraid you’ve got designs on me, Clare.”
Clare smiled a little stiffly.
“She’s very young, isn’t she? I wish you looked after yourself as well as you look after your ward, Jim.”
“In what way?”
“Well, for instance—hot milk is much better for you than that stuff.”
James looked amused.
“I don’t think a mild nightcap can be said to be very injurious,” he said.
“You drank very little in the old days, Jim.”
“In the old days I couldn’t afford to drink at all.” He set down his half-empty glass on the mantelpiece and got up. “The ten minutes is up. I’ll just go and get this good-night ritual over. I won’t be long.”
He found Sarah sitting up in bed with a book. She drew up her knees under the eiderdown and invited him to sit on the bed.
“I mustn’t stay,” he said as he complied. “Clare is all by herself.”
“Just five minutes,” she pleaded. “You’ll both be going to bed, soon, anyway, won’t you?”
He looked at her curiously.
“You’ve been very anxious all the week-end not to leave us together, haven’t you, Sarah?” he remarked.
She flushed.
“Was I gooseberry?”
“Isn’t that what you meant to be?” He smiled suddenly. “You silly child! Do you think I wouldn’t have made an opportunity in spite of you, if I’d really wanted to?”
“I suppose so,” she said humbly.
“Well, go to sleep now, and don’t be foolish.”
“Don’t go yet.” She put out an eager hand as he got up.
He stood looking down at her, and his eyes were faintly puzzled.
‘This sudden desire for my company is very flattering,” he said, “but I really mustn’t stay any longer.”
“Well, tuck me in.” She snuggled down amongst the pillows, and James obligingly tucked in the blankets around her.
He surveyed her thoughtfully.
“I think you’ve been up to something,” he said. “Have you been telling Clare yarns about me?”
“Not exactly,” she said uneasily. “But she’s an awful sap, J.B. She believes anything.”
“I see. Bit of a menace, aren’t you, Sarah?” He glanced at the book lying on the eiderdown, and smiled at the title. “Don’t read too long. Good night, and sleep well.”
He stooped to kiss her, and she immediately imprisoned him in a fierce embrace.
“Be careful, J.B., won’t you?” she said.
He gently disengaged her clinging hands.
“Go to sleep, Sarah, and don’t imagine unlikely contingencies,” he said, and kissed her.
He found Clare sitting where he had left her by the library fire, turning over the pages of a periodical. She looked up with a smile as James shut the door.
“All safely tucked up for the night?” she said. “Good. Now we can have half an hour to ourselves. Sarah is a charming little person, but do you realise that we haven’t had a minute together? I’m afraid the poor child is a little jealous of me.”
He looked at her lying back in her deep chair. A tall standard lamp stood behind her, shedding a pool of light on her gold hair, her flawless skin.
“Well, perhaps that isn’t so surprising,” he admitted. “You’re very beautiful, Clare.”
She didn’t quite like the way he said it. James was simply stating an undeniable fact. There was no emotion behind his words.
“You used to think so,” she said with a sigh. “But I forfeited your respect long ago, didn’t I, Jim?”
“Perhaps I was less understanding then than I am now,” he said gently. “You probably were quite right, Clare.”
“And little Sarah has changed you, hasn’t she?”
“Sarah?” He looked surprised. “Well, perhaps she has. I suppose the sudden acquisition of a young ward would alter any man! Sarah doesn’t believe in letting time stand still.” He reached for his unfinished drink. The glass was still standing where he had left it on the mantelpiece, but it was empty. “That’s funny. I could have sworn I left a good half when I went upstairs.”
Clare made no comment, but when he lifted the decanter from the tray, she said gently:
“Do you think you need another, Jim? Do something to please me, and don’t have any more whisky tonight.”
He put down the decanter and turned slowly to look at her, the empty glass still in his hand.
“Do you know, Clare, that you are behaving as oddly this evening as Sarah?” he said. “Might I ask what you and she talked about this afternoon?”
Her beautiful eyes were filled with distress.
“She didn’t mean to give you away, I’m sure, Jim,” she said softly. “The child is very fond of you, that’s why I think it’s such a pity if you—if you—”
“If I what?” said James a trifle grimly.
“If you let this small weakness take a hold on you.”
James stared at her, then set down the glass carefully on the tray.
“Are you trying to suggest that Sarah told you I drank?” he asked slowly.
She made a little movement of negation,
“Not drank, Jim,” she said; “such an ugly word. But the child hinted that you took a little too much at times. I—I poured your whisky out of the window. For her sake, my dear—” She broke off, as James began to laugh.
‘Trust Sarah to think up a good one!” he exclaimed, and sitting down, reached for his pipe. “You really mustn’t believe all that child tells you, Clare. She has an assortment of dramas she invents for the gullible stranger.”
Clare looked annoyed.
“But why should she invent that kind of thing if it isn’t true?” she said.
James shrugged.
‘Heaven knows, unless she thought it would put you off .me. For some reason or other she’s lately become afraid that someone will snatch me from under her nose.”
Clare said earnestly: “She probably knows in her heart how preposterous the whole thing is. Jim, I do beg of you not to ruin your life and perhaps hers by being quixotic.”
He looked suddenly guarded.
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”
“Sarah told me you didn’t care to discuss the situation with outsiders,” she said. “But I’m not an outsider, Jim. I’m an old friend, and I do feel if you persist in this thing you will be making a grave mistake. After all, the fact that the child’s your ward doesn’t make you responsible for her for the rest of your life.”
He paused in the act of filling his pipe and looked at her with such intensity that she immediately began to feel nervous.
“Do you mind telling me exactly what you are implying?” he said quietly.
She put up a graceful hand and smoothed her hair.
“Surely you don’t mind my knowing?” she said. “I of all people understand that when one has lost the only person one really loved, it doesn’t seem to matter whom one marries. I married Izzy, and oh, my dear, it’s a mistake, however worthy the motive.”
“Did Sarah tell you she was going to marry me herself?” he asked in a strangled voice.
“She said you wished it that way when she was older,” Clare said. “I don’t think she realises at all what marriage will mean.”
“I see.” James lit his pipe, made sure it was drawing properly, then settled down comfortably in his chair. “Go on, te
ll me more. This is interesting,” he said.
Clare looked at him thoughtfully, a little puzzled by his manner.
“I suppose,” she said dubiously, “this isn’t another of Sarah’s inventions?”
“It depends on what she told you,” he said evasively.
“She said,” Clare repeated slowly, “that it was arranged that when she was a little older you would marry her. She said it was something to do with your uncle’s will. One knows, of course, that people do make these curious conditions when they die, but, Jim you surely wouldn’t tie a child of that age up on account of some arrangement your uncle saw fit to make?”
“Did Sarah imply she was being tied up?” he asked, still in that curious voice.
Clare spread her hands in a small, helpless gesture.
“My dear, I don’t think Sarah’s thought it out at all. Her actual words were that she liked you and you would look after her. That, surely, is not a very adequate basis for marriage.”
“As adequate as a great many,” he said shortly. “Liking is very important, I think, and has nothing to do with loving.”
“Then you’re serious about this thing?” She leaned forward, clasping her hands tightly together. “Jim, I do beg of you, don’t go and ruin both your lives. I know I’m to blame. I treated you badly, I wasn’t big enough to face poverty with you, but—don’t punish us both by taking such an irrevocable step.”
He looked at her a little oddly.
“It doesn’t seem to have occurred to you, Clare, that I might want to marry Sarah,” he said gently.
“You’re not going to tell me you’re in love with the child?” she said, her mouth tightening.
“Why not?”
She moved impatiently.
“But it’s absurd! Oh, I know she’s attractive, and a man of your age often imagines himself infatuated with youth, but you’ve got to think further than that, Jim. Sarah is a child. She doesn’t know her own mind. If you marry her, she’s quite likely to fall for someone younger in the first year or so.”
“You don’t think very highly of my qualities as a lover, evidently,” he remarked,
“My dear—” She lifted her shoulders in a delicate gesture. “That’s absurd! You’ll spoil her, devote yourself to her, but what good is that if she suddenly realises the difference in age between you? It isn’t fair to her, Jim. It isn’t fair to yourself. Do you really imagine an immature child will satisfy you after the first infatuation has worn off?”
“You put it all very crudely,” James said with a wry smile.
“I want you to face facts,” she replied very seriously. “I’m fond of you, Jim; too fond of you, perhaps. I can’t bear to see you make a fool of yourself for some quixotic idea. What did Sarah say? I’m going to be an old man’s darling? You’re not old, Jim. Why let yourself be thrust into that position?”
“Don’t you think,” he said politely, “that I am the best judge of that?”
The fire suddenly flared up, lighting up a small nerve throbbing in Clare’s throat.
“If your mind’s made up,” she said quietly, “I suppose there’s nothing I can say will make any difference. Oh, Jim, Jim, can you really contemplate this marriage after our own unhappy love?”
He knocked out the ash from his pipe, and got to his feet.
“I’m afraid you don’t understand, Clare,” he said gently. “But I think this is entirely a matter for myself and Sarah, when and if the time comes. In the meantime, let’s forget all about it. Things are so indefinite, and I think Sarah probably spoke without thinking. It’s half-past eleven. Supposing we go to bed?”
She saw the matter was closed and rose to her feet with a little sigh. The whole conversation had been vague and unsatisfactory.
“I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn,” she said humbly. “I’m so very fond of you, Jim—I would hate you to make a mistake.”
“I won’t make a mistake,” he assured her gravely. “If Sarah and I do marry, you may be sure it will be with both our eyes wide open.”
“Whatever you do,” she said, “I hope you will be happy. There’s little enough real happiness going around.”
He was moved by sudden compassion for her. He knew things hadn’t been easy for her, and he suspected that she had come down tins week-end hoping to place life on a very different footing.
“If there’s anything I can do—” he said impulsively. “After all, we’re old enough friends for you to call on me.”
She smiled a little sadly.
“In the old days I could have come to you,” she said. “But now—you’ve been poor, Jim, you must understand that money makes a big difference.”
He said a little diffidently: “I can afford to help now, where I couldn’t before. After all, I owe you that, Clare. I couldn’t do much for you when I had the right. I should be very honoured if you let me help now. There are bills, aren’t there?”
For a moment she looked offended, then she relaxed.
“Yes, there are always bills,” she said.
“Let me have them, and I’ll settle the lot,” he said. “It’s the least I can do for you.”
She turned away and he half expected a proud refusal, but she said in a low voice:
“I’ve lost so much by my own folly that I can’t lose much more, can I? Would it be right, for old times’ sake, to let you help me?”
“Anything’s right for old times’ sake,” he replied, feeling a little embarrassed. “Send the bills along and don’t think any more about it.”
‘Thank you,” she whispered, and as he watched her leave the room, he experienced his last pang in his relationship with Clare. It hurt him unreasonably that she should rate herself so low.
Sarah didn’t offer to accompany James and Clare to the station the next morning. Indeed, she seemed to be doing her best to keep out of everybody’s way. She was quite unable to judge by James’s manner at breakfast whether Clare had given her away or not. She thought once or twice he regarded her with rather a curious expression and she wasn’t anxious to be left alone with him in case he questioned her.
Sophie’s cold had developed into a feverish condition and she was taking a day in bed, and Sarah, having said good-bye to Clare with relief, went down to the stables to read a letter from David, which had come that morning.
James found her there when he returned from the station. She was hanging over the half-door of Falcon’s box, abstractedly gazing at the black’s shining quarters. She became aware of James standing beside her, and his silence made her nervous.
“Falcon’s looking well, isn’t he?” she said.
“Yes,” said James absently. “He’s improved a lot since the summer.”
“Shall we exercise this morning?” asked Sarah,
“Why not? It’s a grand day,”
“I’ll go and change,” she said.
He put a hand on her shoulder, and held her back when she would have turned and left him.
“You seem to have had a successful line with our guest,” he remarked, and grinned at her sudden confusion. “Drink’s a new one, isn’t it? It used to be beating.”
She looked relieved. Perhaps the worst hadn’t been told.
“I was afraid she meant to nab you,” she explained. “I never imagined for one moment she’d believe me. I hope you didn’t mind, LB.”
“Oh, not at all. What does a little thing like a reputation for the bottle matter one way or the other?”
“You did mind! I’m sorry, J.B. I hope you weren’t inconvenienced.”
“Only to the tune of one glass of whiskey. She’d emptied it out of the window when I came down.”
Sarah giggled.
“She is a fool, isn’t she? I was awfully afraid you were going to marry her.”
“So, to make quite sure, you told her that I was going to marry you?”
She looked hastily down at her shoes.
“Oh, well, of course, that doesn’t bind you to anything, J.B. It was only meant
to put her off,” she said, and he retorted: “Thanks very much!”
They were standing by the stable door on which he had carved her initials beside his own, and she traced them out with a nervous finger.
“Do you remember when you did these?” she said dreamily. “I didn’t know who you were then. You put them side by side because you said then there could be no dissension.”
“If I remember, you wanted yours above so that we knew who was boss,” he said with a smile.
“And then I said they could go underneath, but you wouldn’t. But you are the boss in spite of that.”
“Am I?”
“J.B.F. and S.S.” she said reflectively. “I suppose you wouldn’t like to marry me, J.B.?”
He regarded her delicate profile gravely.
“Are you sure you’d like to marry me, Sarah?” he asked.
She looked up at once.
“I could try it,” she said. “If you found I bored you, there’s always divorce.”
He smiled a little reluctantly.
“If you married me, Sarah, you’d stay married,” he told her a little grimly. “I’m afraid I’m one of the old-fashioned kind—for better, for worse, you know.”
“Oh, are you, J.B.?” She began to stammer. “M-marriage is rather a big subject, isn’t it?”
“One of the biggest, so I think you’d better consider it more seriously before you decide on a prospective husband.”
“But you aren’t thinking of marrying anyone else?”
“Not at the moment. You’ve changed, Sarah. Not so very long ago, you were doing your best to find a wife for me.”
“It was different then,” she. said. “I’ve come to depend on you now. “She looked up at him and he saw her eyes were bright with tears. “You’re awfully good to me, J.B. I must be a frightful nuisance.”
He pinched her cheek.
“A frightful nuisance!” he said lightly. “What’s come over you, Sarah? You’re incredibly meek these days!”
“I’m not really belligerent—not underneath,” she said a little piteously.
“Do you think I don’t know that? You only fight what you don’t understand. We all do that when we’re young,” he told her gently, and watched her turn away.
“I wish I could stop being young,” she said, and her voice trembled. “I wish I could be old and mature and—and sure of things. I’ll go and change.”
