by Jane Arbor
“Then won’t that make the telling of the—the other thing come more easily when it must?”
“But it must not! Don’t you see, Jess, that I’m a complete coward where Muir is concerned—that that is what has been wrong all along? I’m grateful to him, I respect him. But I am afraid of him!”
Jess made a gesture of despair. “Liane dear, where is it all going to end? Have you faced that? Even if you and Peter are prepared to give each other up, the whole tangle will spell ultimate wretchedness for all of you and not least for Muir if you marry him while you love Peter. Have you thought of that?”
“I have, I have. But I can’t tell Muir, and you mustn’t press me to a decision about it yet, please, Jess.”
“But I think you know you must come to one, don’t you?”
Liane looked out across the garden. “I suppose so. And yet,” she added slowly, “I think I’m hoping all the while that something may happen, so that I shouldn’t have to make a decision. Perhaps that Muir might find he didn’t want to marry me after all, that he might love someone else.”
“Oh, Liane, you mustn’t deceive yourself so! Doesn’t every action of his toward you speak of his loving you?” Jess was remembering his concern that Liane should not be upset at the sight of the farmhand Tim’s injuries, the tenderness of his every look and gesture in her direction. “That’s why you needn’t be afraid of him, if only you could see it. He could well forgive your loving Peter because if he loves you deeply and sincerely he must want you to be happy. If he loves you, that will not stop for him, and probably he won’t love anyone else—at least for a very long time. But that is his battle, and you must give him a chance to fight it in his own way. As things are, you can’t spare Muir suffering—you must face that. But you can and must spare him the humiliation of having to find out about you and Peter. That he would not find easy to forgive.”
Liane shook her head, and Jess had to recognize that the last of her arguments had met defeat. Liane said, “Peter has so little time. And allowing myself to love him, just for now and without anyone knowing, doesn’t really take anything away from Muir—”
It was reasoning that was pitiable in its self-deception, but somehow Jess could not bring her tongue to the brutality of saying, “And when Peter goes back to duty— what then?” And upon Peter’s coming into the room Liane made an excuse to slip away, as if she could not bear to face any more of an argument in which she already knew to her cost Peter was on Jess’s side.
Peter said at once, “Liane has told you?”
Jess nodded.
“And the rest—that she insists that Muir Forester isn’t to be told?”
“That, too. But it is so wrong! Can’t you see that, Peter?”
“Wrong? Of course it is—crassly, hideously wrong!”
“Then why—?”
He thrust his hands into his pockets and paced angrily up and down. “Because it means so much to her, and I love her so much that I haven’t the heart to go back on my word, which I gave her when it seemed rather fun to keep our own secret and before I foresaw or knew of all the consequences that loom now. For one thing, if she were anyone other than Liane, I might believe that she wanted to keep the two of us dangling—”
“No! Not that!”
“Of course not that. She’s not capable of it, poor sweet. But it’s only one of the beastly thoughts that crowd in upon me now. There’s another—through my mother I’ve accepted Forester’s hospitality, and what sort of cad does this setup make me? And yet I can’t bear to leave Liane when we’ve got only a week or two more at most, and besides, I couldn’t hurt my mother by spending the rest of my leave away from her.”
“Does Mrs. Seacombe know about you and Liane?” asked Jess.
“I realize she has guessed, so far as my feelings are concerned, as I wish Forester would. As it is, he puts no barriers in the way of my being with Liane or with both of them, which makes it all the worse. But mother is different. She loses no opportunity to point out that Liane is unfit to marry anyone but a rich man, and I believe she has sensed and hated every moment that has taken me nearer to falling in love with her. As if—” added Peter, seating himself and resting his head on his hands “—as if we could help ourselves!”
“If anyone at all could help love,” Jess reminded him a little tremulously, “life would be a lot simpler, Peter. But I remember that before you came home Mrs. Seacombe told me that she wouldn’t want to stand between you and any girl. Couldn’t you hope to make her understand that Liane is the girl for you and perhaps enlist her help with Mr. Forester?”
Peter shook his head. “Not a hope, when she is prepared to fight to the last ditch against us herself and must see my betrayal of Muir in an even worse light than I do myself. Besides, when he hears the truth, it must be from Liane or from me. We owe him that, and I’m determined upon it if I knew how to persuade Liane that it must come to that in the end. But if only, Jess, she hadn’t this exaggerated idea of her duty to her father—this carrying out of wishes that he could surely never have held her to if he had lived!”
“Even that doesn’t count with her so much as her fear of hurting Mr. Forester. You’d think that he had proved the strength of his love by his being willing to wait for her indefinitely, but she is not to be convinced that he could make the sacrifice of giving her up for her own happiness, if not for his,” said Jess.
“But she must be convinced,” cried Peter desperately. “She must be made to see that we can’t hope to keep Forester in the dark forever, and that, if we try, the end will only be wretchedness for us all. Jess, please—” he leaned forward and took both her hands in his, gripping them almost painfully in his urgency “—you’ve got to help me in this! Will you?”
“You know I’ll do what I can, Peter.”
Still holding her, he looked at her whimsically. “You know,” he said slowly, “you come close to some people in quite a short while, when you could spend a lifetime with others without ever being sure of them. It’s been like that for me with you, Jess. For instance, on my very first night here all my senses were bewitched by Liane, but in an odd, different way I was acutely aware of you—”
“Though very much in Liane’s background, I expect!” smiled Jess.
“No. Aware of you quite differently. Surely aware of you. As if I recognized at sight that if I should ask anything of you I could look to you, believing that you wouldn’t fail me. Of course, I didn’t know then that I should have to come so soon or ask so much!”
Jess found herself blushing before such simply expressed faith. “You don’t ask too much, Peter. But perhaps you hope that I can help you more than I really can.” Peter swung their joined hands. In impulsive, boyish affection he bent to kiss her cheek. “No, dear Jess, I don’t. Not more than we may achieve together, at any rate—” He broke off quickly and Jess, seeing his expression harden, turned to follow the direction of his glance, drawing her hands free of his grasp as she did so. Unnoticed by either of them, Muir himself had come to the open door of the room, and Jess caught her breath as she wondered how much of their conversation he had heard, how much he might have understood. Her hand stole to her cheek as she realized he must have seen that quick, shy kiss of Peter’s. But that should be easy to laugh off, whereas if he had heard their earlier discussion...! She searched his face anxiously. But it wore only a polite mask of apology for his intrusion.
“I beg your pardon. I thought Liane was here.”
“She was, but she went to change. I’ll find her—” With a parting smile for Jess, Peter plunged out of the room. Jess made a move as if to follow him, but something now in Muir’s expression detained her.
“I am afraid I came upon an intimate moment?” he said.
“Intimate? Oh, no—”
His look of incredulity seemed to make nonsense of her denial. “Well, of course,” he said smoothly, “such moments should not have to be explained away to a third person, but I certainly supposed it to be one which s
hould not have been intruded upon. That is—unless you were being annoyed,”
Relief that he had probably overheard only their closing words mingled in Jess’s mind with dismay that he had read into their attitude, into Peter’s little salute, more than could be lightly laughed off. But she made the attempt by saying, “It was nothing. Lieutenant Seacombe expresses his feelings rather enthusiastically, that’s all.”
“You weren’t unwilling that he should?”
“He wasn’t annoying me.”
“I’m glad of that. In any case, I daresay an engaged girl can make of her engagement an armor to repel unwelcome advances. Though I should have thought it wiser—and, incidentally, fairer to both suitors—not to encourage them.”
“An engaged girl!” Jess gathered her forces, realizing that this was her moment, the opportunity to enlighten him about Michael for which she had waited, though she could wish it had not come in this climate of heavy accusation. She kept her voice studiedly cool as she said, “Please believe that Lieutenant Seacombe and I were surprised in no sort of intimacy. Liane was with us until a few minutes ago, and I understood his kissing me for no more than it was—a mere impulse of gratitude for something I may be able to do for him. Even if it had been unwelcome, the fact of an engagement would scarcely have protected me since—” her lips curved wryly upon the words “—since I am not engaged.”
For a moment silence was strung between them on a taut thread—a moment long enough for Jess’s bleak realization of how empty and negative a thing her cherished revelation had become in the telling. The time when it had seemed of importance that Muir Forester should know the truth appeared a long way behind her now. For that had been when she had not known that his love was already pledged to Liane, when she had dreamed the impossible—that he was as heart-whole as she was herself.
She stole a glance at him. But, his hands busy and his eyes intent, he was making a deliberation of the ordinary task of lighting a cigarette. She found that she was already schooled to the disappointment of his quiet reply.
“Really? I’m sorry. But they say that second thoughts are sometimes the wiser ones.”
That meant that her denial had failed to tell him her engagement had never existed. He merely believed they had broken it off! But what did such shades of meaning and understanding matter now?
Muir went on. “I see now that your newly found freedom entitled you to take exception to my clumsy attempt at knight-errantry. In fact, perhaps I may congratulate Peter before long.”
Just in time, Jess caught back her emphatic denial. For a thought flashed through her head. If he could believe for a while that Peter is interested in me, that would give us a little time, a breathing space, for persuading Liane to tell him the truth... And before she could reflect upon the unwisdom of so involving herself in the tangled skein of Peter’s and Liane’s affairs, the chance of denial passed. For Peter himself came back just then saying that Liane was following.
Muir said briefly, “Tell her to find me in the garden, will you?” and went out by the French window. Peter stayed to see Jess out to her car, but she said nothing to him, feeling that she needed time to sort things out for herself.
She would not have been feminine if she had not wanted to look her very best for Liane’s twenty-first birthday dinner and dance. Perhaps, even, she was stung by a wish to show Jane Bretton that she could wear with poise something other than the uniform of which that lady considered she was so unworthy! She debated whether to shop in Norwich or in London, deciding on a day in London when she had persuaded Mrs. Tempton-Burney to allow Petra to accompany her.
For Muir had invited Petra to the party, and her mother was graciously allowing her to choose her own dress for it, a task that Jess realized was going to be difficult.
Petra, for whom jeans and an open-necked shirt were practically a native costume, mourned over and over again, “I do wish I didn’t have to dress up. I look such a gawk in frills!”
Jess assured her that an evening dress needn’t necessarily run to frills, but was rather dismayed when, in the shops, she found how right the girl was and how few of the dresses they were shown suited her coltish figure at all. Their day was already far advanced before they found a demure little gown of beech-brown net that delighted Jess, in which Petra admitted she “felt comfortable” and which Mrs. Tempton-Burney might be expected to approve.
That left only a short time for Jess’s choice to be made, and Petra was loud in her penitence for being such a selfish beast for taking so long over her own.
“Never mind,” smiled Jess. “Often the most successful clothes are chosen in a hurry, I’ve found.”
“That means mine promises to be a howling failure!” sighed Petra. “Four hours and twelve different shops ought to jolly well sink it!”
“Nonsense. You look sweet in it and you ought to be the belle of the ball,” laughed Jess.
“Oh, no. Liane Hart must be that,” said Petra seriously. “Especially if her engagement to Mr. Forester is announced that night, as Jane Bretton believes it will be. She says every girl in the district will envy Liane, but I know one who doesn’t. I’m pitying anyone who isn’t going to college in the spring! Oh, look, Jess, there’s a pretty frock that would suit you.”
Jess looked and was a little shocked that Petra’s choice for her should run to fondant-pink and mauve lace. In the end—seeing Muir as a shadowy, critical figure in every mirror into which she looked—she choose a simple, full-skirted dress of cloudy gray green ninon to which, as it was not expensive, she added pale green shoes and an evening bag to match. And they caught their evening train home with a few minutes to spare.
On the morning of the party she phoned Liane early to wish her many happy returns and to confirm that she was expected at Quintains for dinner at half-past seven. Meanwhile, she had a heavy round of visits to make, though Mrs. Boss promised to lay out her things and to be ready to run her bath as soon as she came in.
But when she got back at about half-past five she found Mrs. Boss worried and agitated. She was waiting for Jess at her front door, hoping, she explained, to catch her before she put the car away.
“What is the matter?” asked Jess. “Surely not an emergency call?”
“Oh, nurse, it’s worse than that. And you with your party, too. I did try to get you at the Fleming’s, but they said you had just left.”
“Worse than an emergency? What is it then?” asked Jess sharply.
“Oh, there has been an accident at the beet factory in Starmouth. An explosion in a condenser—or whatever does explode in the beastly place. Dr. Gilder said you were to call him the minute you got back.”
“Does he want me over at Starmouth?”
“He didn’t say. Only to call him for instructions at once.”
Jess dashed to the telephone. But she got only Dr. Gilder’s secretary, who explained that the doctor, in common with all the other available Starmouth doctors and nurses, was at the factory attending the injured. His secretary, however, had Jess’s instructions ready, which were that she was to stand by indefinitely, ready to receive any of the men from the Cranes who, after treatment, were judged able to be sent out to their homes.
The secretary queried, “Have you many from out there who work at the factory, nurse?”
“Quite a number, though I can’t say offhand. Bellew and Stormant from here, Garnet from Crane—a dozen others at least. Is there good or bad news of any of them, do you know?”
“I can’t say yet. But Dr. Gilder suggested you should have someone stand by your phone while you go around in your car, checking which men are back already, which have sent news of themselves and breaking it to the other wives as necessary. Then report back here what you have been able to do. Understood, nurse?”
“Understood.” Jess replaced the receiver, feeling momentarily baffled by the size of her task and depressed by its poignant necessity. Then the ordered discipline taught by her training took over, and leaving Mrs. Boss in ch
arge of the telephone, she went to consult her records to find out where she must go.
One thing emerged with certainty—she could not possibly be at Quintains in time for dinner, and even if she found she had no treatments to give, she would be very late for the dance. “Standing by indefinitely” could mean anything...
She rang Quintains, asking for Liane. But it was Muir who came to the telephone, and he cut short her apologies with a crisp, “Yes, I heard. I called Starmouth Hospital to see if there was anything I could do, but it seems they have sufficient help and transport at that end. Now what can I do for you?”
“For me?”
“Yes. You have to visit these men’s homes, you say. I can take you around. My car is faster than yours.”
Jess murmured: “But your guests—?”
“That’s all right. Dinner can be held back a little. This is more important. I’ll be down at your rooms in five minutes. Wait for me.” He hung up without waiting for her reply.
When he arrived she explained that she had arranged their itinerary to make as round a trip of it as possible without retracing ground. But she wished first to visit little Mrs. Stormant, whose house lay slightly off course.
“She and her husband are utterly wrapped up in each other, and she is expecting her first baby,” Jess told Muir. She was glowing a little from his praise for her businesslike handling of their route.
“And is there news of him?”
“None before I came away, though Mrs. Stormant may have some by now.”
But although she had heard about the accident, Mrs. Stormant could get no news of her Ted, and her white-faced misery was pitiful to see. Worried about her, Jess mixed her a sedative and promised to return after making her other calls.
