by Sara Seale
"But did you mind?"
His smile was a little twisted.
"Yes, I think I did. You see, just as you wanted to love your father, so could I have loved that boy."
Lydia's child, she thought, looking away; the son that should have been his.
"I'm sorry," she said flatly. "I - I didn't mean to shut you out. I just didn't know you."
"And do you know me, now?'.'
"No," she said on a little sigh, "not very well."
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"And that's entirely my own fault," he said briskly. "Now change your shoes and come for a walk with me before tea."
Shelley scarcely met Colin at all during this period. If he came to the summer-house, she did not know of it; her mind was much filled with Nicholas and the weariness which seemed to weigh him down just then, and her own desire to bring him comfort.
He came home very tired these days. Sometimes she would coax him to her sitting-room after dinner, and play for him, sometimes she would just drive him to bed and sit with him until he slept.
"You're a strange child," he told her once. "One moment you're like my daughter, and the next you're all woman and I seem to be your child."
"Isn't marriage like that?" she said gently.
He sighed and smiled.
"Perhaps. Have you no regrets, Shelley?"
"For marrying you? None. Have you?"
He stretched out a hand to her.
"I have all I hoped for," he said. "Indeed, more than I expected."
"Perhaps you didn't expect very much," she said, and added impulsively: "Tell me about Lydia." For a moment the hardness came back to his face.
"What do you know of Lydia?" he asked. "Only what everyone knows," she said gently. "The things you've never told me yourself." He said a little wearily: "What do you want to know?" "Did you love her very much?" "I suppose I did. It's so long ago."
"How did it happen - you and she - after the accident? You've never told me."
His eyes closed for a moment as if in pain.
"She came to see me," he said, and the old harshness was back in his voice. "I was still in the nursing home. They had taken the bandages off that morning. I suppose I wasn't - a very pretty sight, then. I never forget the look in her eyes, the way she cried out, or how she shrank from just my hands touching her. She married Justin a few weeks later. They didn't tell me until they'd left the country.
Her fingers tightened on his.
"She didn't love you, Nick."
He opened his eyes.
"You've never called me that before. I like it," he said. "Why don't you think Lydia loved me?"
"Because, if she had, what you had looked like then would have made no difference."
"What a romantic point of view!" he said with his old cynicism. "But we are all human, you know. We can't control what revolts us."
She felt suddenly shy.
"But if you love a person, nothing about them could revolt you," she said.
He looked at her then with his familiar piercing regard.
"Don't you think so, Shelley?" he said, then added gently; "But, you see, you've never been put to the test."
Her heart cried out against Lydia's cruelty, and she said a little timidly, for she was still unused to questioning Nicholas:
"Do you - do you still love her ?"
He laughed.
"Good heavens, no! I told you once before, I think, it's very easy to forget."
"But you haven't forgotten," she said softly. His eyes were faintly mocking.
"Well, one has one's vanities. It's easier, I expect, to remember a hurt to one's pride than to one's heart."
She was silent, wondering how she might touch his hurt, not knowing how easily, already, she could hurt him. Her eyes went to the Bartolozzi print and she said with pain.
"Every time I look at it, I'm reminded of my crime. I wish you'd take it down, Nicholas."
His eyes followed hers.
"I'll do nothing of the sort," he retorted. "And I suppose you won't believe me if I tell you that I value the frame more than the print."
"Because I gave it to you?"
"Exactly. Because you gave it to me."
"How nice you are," she said shyly.
He sighed sharply, unaccountably.
"I'm too old for you, my dear," he said, and his smile was a little sad. "I've forgotten how to play." She put out a hand and touched him gently. "You could learn," she said, and lifted her face to kiss him.
It was a wet April. Growing weather, old Isaac said, and indeed the moor seemed to change from day to day, just as Colin had said it would. Shelley loved to find thedelicate fronds of bracken ready to unfurl as soon as the sun came out. She took a little plot for herself in the garden, and sowed mignonette and candytuft and all the homely seeds of her childhood's memory.
Once she wandered down to the summer-house and found a note from Colin which was nearly a fortnight old saying he was busy rehearsing and could not get over for a while. She smiled as she slipped it in her pocket, thinking how little he suspected she had not been there to look for him. Some day, she thought idly, she would ask him to tea to meet Nicholas, and then laughed at the idea of anyone coming to tea at Garazion.
She stood that evening, fingering the coat of arms carved above the mantelpiece in the study.
"It's funny it should be dragons," she said to Nicholas.
"It's so appropriate."
He looked up, amused and a little sardonic.
"Is it?" he said. "Yes, I expect it is, since I'm married to you. Dragons and Lindworms and enchanted beasts. What breaks the enchantment, do you suppose?"
"Usually," she said, tracing out the stone motto with one finger, "it's a princess. When she loves the beast enough he becomes transformed."
His eyes watched her with dark thoughtfulness.
"So you think there's a moral in fairy-tales, do you?"
"I think," she said simply,"that they only point out that if you love enough, there is no such thing as ugliness."
She turned then, and stood there looking down at him, and her eyes, under the soft, straight fringe, were grave and a little shy.
"No," he said shortly, instinctively moving his head so that the disfigured side of his face was in shadow. "There are some things which put too much strain on the affections."
She dropped to her knees on the rug beside his chair.
"You shouldn't think, because one woman hurt you badly, that we're all the same," she told him gently. "You - you build your own barriers, Nich."
The hard line of his jaw tightened.
"Yes, perhaps I do," he said. "Perhaps I've had to."
"Even with me?"
"With you more than anyone else."
She sank back on her heels and leant her head against his knee. She did not yet understand his reservations and his strange control with her was by now so familiar, that she accepted it with little surprise.
"I wish I could help you," she said. "I wish - you wanted more of me."
For a moment he was tempted to tell her how much he wanted of her, how much he still hoped for, but he was afraid of destroying that new delicate promise of the last few weeks. Only by infinite patience, he thought, could he create the relationship he desired, and let down the barriers which she had accused him of building.
He touched her hair lightly.
"You give me all I've asked for. Don't worry, Shelley," he said.
She sighed, and stretched up a hand to catch at his fingers.
"Are you happy?" she asked.
"Of course. And you?"
"I think I'm lonely."
His fingers closed for a moment on hers.
"I keep you shut up here too much," he said a little brusquely. "I have to go to London next week. Would you like to come with me?"
She looked up, surprised.
"How long will you be away?" she asked.
"Only a few days. I'll be fairly busy, but we c
ould do a theatre or so in the evenings."
"I expect I'd be in the way," she said.
"Well, during the day you'd have to amuse yourself, but it would be a change for you."
"I think I'd rather stay here, if you don't mind," she said, thinking of the long days spent in a hotel with nothing to do.
He was a little surprised at her refusal, remembering the urgency of her request when he went north, but he was relieved in a sense. When he took Shelley away, he wanted time to devote to her.
"You're probably right," he said. "Later, we'll have a proper holiday."
"Will you be seeing Father?" she asked.
"I can do. Any special reason?"
"N-no. I had a letter from him this morning."
Nicholas' face was hard. So Lucius wanted money again.
"All right," he said, "I'll make a point of seeing him."
"Thank you," she said. "Nicholas -"
"Well?"
"It doesn't matter. Give him my love." He regarded her with tender enquiry. "I'm getting to know these half-finished sentences," he said "What is it?"
She smiled at him a little shyly. Through Colin she had come to notice small things.
"It was only that I thought you looked tired," she said.
He was silent for a moment, wondering if she realized what a strain the waiting had put upon him.
"It's been a long winter," was all he said, and she sighed. Yes, it had been a long winter.
"You work too hard," she said.
"Well, things will slacken up soon. Have I neglected you, Shelley?"
"Oh, no," she replied quickly, her eyes widening. "I don't expect -"
He looked at her with gentleness. Had she expected too little of him? In his decision to leave her alone, had he given her a wrong impression?
"You're so young," he said. "I'm apt to forget the difference in years between us. Do I seem old to you, Shelley?"
"Sometimes," she answered, thinking of Colin. "But I think it's because - you so seldom tease me."
"What a funny reason," he said, but he knew what she meant. He was not the playfellow she should have had, perhaps he never would be. "Perhaps I've forgotten how to tease," he said a little harshly. "You should teach me."
The day before he was to leave, she ran one of her temperatures, and he postponed his departure for twenty-four hours, making her fearful at his solicitude.
"Don't go," she said, suddenly fearful of his absence. He was sitting on the side of her bed, and she flung out both hands to his in the instinct to keep him with her.
"If you aren't going to be well, I could postpone it," he said, a little puzzled by her manner. "Though there are some rather urgent matters."
"I'm quite all right, really, but -"
"But what?"
"I'd like you to stay with me."
She did not know why she was-so insistent, but the sudden temperature had made her weak and prone to tears.
"It won't be for long," he said. "And I really ought to go."
"Yes," she said, and her hands in his slackened. "I expect so. But come back soon."
He bent to kiss her. It was the first time she had seemed anxious for his return.
"I will," he said. "And next time we'll go together - for a holiday."
When he had gone, she wandered round the house restlessly. He had said he would telephone her that evening to see how she was, and she found she was looking forward to the moment with a quite disproportionate anxiety to hear his voice again. She tried to while away the hours by helping Mrs. Medlar with the linen, but Mrs. Medlar had her own ideas where everything should go, and when it became plain she was simply in the way, Shelley left her.
It was too wet to garden, and she went to her own sitting-room and opened her piano. As she played, idly wandering from one piece to another without much concentration, she looked at Nicholas' portrait, where it now hung, over the mantelpiece. Looking at it, she thought that, perhaps, through this she might come to know her husband. Already she was used to his disfigurement, indeed, at times she scarcely noticed it. This was how he should be, and this was how he could be for her if he would only admit her to his real life and thoughts.
His call came through after dinner, but the line was bad. He sounded brusque and a little hurried, as he usually did over the telephone, and having assured himself that she was well again, rang off with a brief good night. She went to bed with a feeling of despondency and an irrational dread of the next few days as if by leaving her now, he had called down ill-luck upon them both.
But next day the sun shone, April put the spell of spring on the moor, and Colin called softly to her through the little gate in the wall.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"I was beginning to think," he said, as she came slowly to the gate, "that the ogre had gobbled you up, after all. Why have you deserted me, princess?"
"I've been busy," she said evasively, but she looked at him with swift pleasure and her spirits lifted as she saw the familiar gay raillery in his face.
"Well, I've been busy, too," he replied, "or haven't you noticed?"
She laughed.
"I found your note, but it was nearly a fortnight old," she said.
His eyebrows went up.
"Then I certainly haven't been missed! You're different, Shelley. Have you been falling in love with your grim husband, by any chance?"
She looked at him, startled for a moment, then said:
"One doesn't fall in love with Nicholas. He told me long ago that he didn't expect love from any woman."
His eyes were amused.
"Dear me! What a rash statement to make! May I come into your garden?"
"Of course." She opened the gate and he slipped inside. "Nicholas is away. He went yesterday."
"I know. I thought you might be glad of some company."
"Oh, very glad," she said happily. "I miss him."
His smile was a little wry.
"I don't know that I think that's quite the right answer." he said. "But anyway, let's make the most of a holiday. How about going to the Pixie's Hole again, and looking for a four-leafed clover?"
"Does it grow there?" she asked innocently.
He laughed and gave her hair a tug.
"I've no idea," he said. "But we could find out."
But he seemed to have forgotten about four-leafed clover when they arrived at the cave. He pulled her down beside him in the heather, and as he studiously lighted a cigarette, he
wondered if she realized how much he was tempted to make love to her. That new, innocent indifference to his recent visits was a prick to his vanity and a spur to his curiosity. She had changed, his sleeping princess, subtly and elusively.
"I believe you're growing up," he told her.
For a moment her eyes were grave and enquiring.
"But I'm not a child," she said gently.
"Aren't you? What's made you different?"
"Am I different?"
"Yes, in some odd way I can't define. Are you sure that husband of yours has nothing to do with it?"
She clasped her hands round her knees and looked out across the moor.
"I've felt closer to Nicholas lately," she said, slowly. "Sometimes I've almost thought he needed me." He made a small, impatient gesture.
"Well, naturally he needs you. Why, otherwise, should he have married you? Just to add you to his collection?"
In the brief instant before she covered her face with her hands, her eyes were hurt and bewildered.
"Yes, I think he did," she said.
A little breeze stirred the soft fringe on her forehead, and he said with gentleness:
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it seriously. Whatever sort of man he is, he'd scarcely just put you in a glass case and look at you."
She lifted her face and said:
"I think that's just what he has done. He seems to have no need of human relationships."
He looked at her oddly. "But, Shelley, no man married to you would be content to do
without something more,"
She stared at him, and a deep unhappiness she had not before suspected welled up in her and made her answer, passionately, thoughtlessly:
"Nicholas has never asked anything of me - anything - do you understand?"
His blue eyes were suddenly bright and inquisitive.
"Not even the ordinary demands of marriage?" he asked softly.
"Nothing," she said again.
Colin felt a stir of excitement and a quite simple flood of incredulity.
"But, sweet, it's not reasonable, it's not human! What's the man made of?" he exclaimed.
"I don't know," she said forlornly. "I don't understand him. I don't even understand myself."
He moved then, pulling her into his arms.
"I understand you," he said quickly. "I think the princess is stirring in her sleep, and high time, too. My heavens! If I'd realized how things were between you and Penryn, I'd have woken you up long ago. You weren't made for the self-imposed celibacy of a crank."
He turned her suddenly to face him, and closed his mouth on hers. For a moment she resisted him, then her young body was pliant in his arms, eager for the comfort which, until now, she had not known she had missed.
"Well!" he said, smiling, and releasing her. "How you do surprise me, princess! To think of all the time we've wasted!"
All at once she was weeping.
"I didn't know ..." she said, "... I never guessed it was so easy..."
"But of course it's easy, it's human nature," he told her, half-laughing. "What a child you are, my sweet! And what a fool that husband of yours must be!"
She pushed Colin away.
"No!" she said vehemently, "No ..."
"But why?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. "You're not robbing Penryn. You said yourself he wants nothing of you."
Not robbing him? But Lydia had robbed him, Lydia and his own brother, between them, had robbed him cruelly.
"No," she said again. "I'm married to Nicholas, I bear his name, and - there are obligations."
He took her hands, turning them palm upwards and kissing them lightly, as Nicholas sometimes did.
"Not in this case," he said. "A man, twenty years your senior, marrying you without love, without even the expectation of love... what can you possibly owe him?"
She clasped her hands about her knees again and said desperately:
"I feel I owe him a great deal. It's difficult to explain, but - I think he feels he mustn't ask anything of women because of his disfigurement. He thinks he's - repulsive in that way. And in the beginning, you see, I think I let him see - my aversion, without meaning to."
