Ward of Lucifer

by Mary Burchell

  "Were you really?" Norma was suitably impressed, being quite unable to imagine herself a wife and mother at her present stage of development.

  "I'm afraid so. Too silly of course." The complacence deepened very slightly. "But then I was both pretty and foolish then, and that's when you do these stupid things. But, although you're such a lovely child, I think you probably have a lot more sense than I had at your age," Mrs. Cantlin added, with a charming little smile.

  She didn't mean that at all, of course. And Norma knew she didn't. So Norma said she was quite sure she hadn't half the experience and common sense of Mrs. Cantlin at her age, and a very amicable atmosphere was established.

  "Anyway, it's settled that you leave school and come to London in the autumn," summarized Paul, with slightly less than his usual tact where his mother's reminiscences were concerned.

  "Well, everyone seems set on it," Norma agreed, with a smile.

  "Who else, besides us?" Paul wanted to know.

  "I think Mr. Yorke would like it," Norma said. "And Sir Richard Inworth, who came to lunch the other day, was all for it too."

  "Oh, you've met Inworth, have you?" Paul was interested.

  "Quite an agreeable man, in a florid, horsey way," commented Mrs. Cantlin, in a tone that would have discouraged anyone from wishing to know anything further about him.

  "I thought he was rather nice," Norma said, feeling sorry that he should be dismissed thus. "He offered to teach me riding."

  "Very forward of him," remarked Paul. "I hope your guardian snubbed him."

  Norma laughed. "He did, as a matter of fact."

  "Oh, do tell us what he said." Paul leant his elbows on the table and grinned.

  "Only that if anyone taught me riding, he would do it himself."

  "Good for him!" declared Paul. "He evidently means to make the eligible bachelors take their proper place in the queue. Do you think he'd let me teach you to drive a car?"

  Norma was perfectly sure he would not. But she simply said tactfully, "I think it would be better to wait and see what he wants to teach me himself. It's only a few days since I came to live at Bishopstone, and I don't really know what all his plans are yet."

  "I'm a little surprised that Justin Yorke should take quite so much interest in you at all," commented Mrs. Cantlin thoughtfully. "Not that you aren't a dear and interesting child, my dear, but one doesn't expect him to take up such a personal attitude."

  "Doesn't one?" Norma said, and smiled. They would both think her silly, she knew, if she insisted that he was fond of her. But, in her heart of hearts, that was what she really thought. She also thought that she couldn't bear it if he were not.

  Mrs. Cantlin, however, was evidently not thinking of any such artless explanation.

  "He must be regarding you as something of an asset, in some way," she said, still in that thoughtful tone.

  At which Paul growled, with less than his usual good nature "That's what I think. And I've warned Norma not to

  let herself be exploited."

  "There is no need for you to use such melodramatic expressions, darling," replied Mrs. Cantlin, because other things being equal she. preferred to uphold the authority of guardians and parents in general. "I naturally supposed that, even if Justin did regard Norma as an asset, so far as his own affairs were concerned, he would study her interests too."

  "Doesn't necessarily follow. Mother dear," retorted Paul.

  Mrs. Cantlin showed her displeasure at the "Mother dear" by slightly pressing her lips together.

  "All that I was really thinking was that he probably intends Norma to marry well," she said, a trifle repressively.

  "Yes. But the question is' well' from his point of view or hers?" objected Paul, with a smile at Norma.

  "Aren't the two compatible?" asked Norma peaceably.

  "Yes, they could be, of course. But, if they weren't, I know whose interests he'd shove to the wall," Paul declared with a rather cross laugh. "However, I know I promised not to pick on your guardian any more, so

  I won't develop the subject further. If you've finished your coffee, would you like to come out for a walk? There are some splendid ones round here."

  "Yes. I'd love it." Norma jumped up with alacrity. "I'm afraid I'm no walker, so you two go off on your own," Mrs. Cantlin said with a smile. "I shall be perfectly happy with a book."

  It was, as a matter of fact, Mrs. Cantlin's invariable habit to retire to her own room after lunch. There was a pleasant little fiction in the household that she then read, or perhaps meditated, or even studied. But the true facts was, of course, that she very sensibly had a nap, and thereby helped to preserve her youthful appearance and her almost girlish energy.

  So Norma and Paul started off on their own, very satisfied with the sole company of each other.

  Together they climbed the wooded hills behind Fairlee, and Norma told him something of her life at school, and the curiously isolated existence she had led under the remote guidance of Aunt Janet. Like Henry Bawdley, he seemed to think it incredible that Aunt Janet had not wanted to see more of her.

  "But I remember Xenia said she was always cold and impersonal, like your guardian."

  "Not in the least like my guardian," retorted Norma hotly, and he let that pass with a smile.

  "They hated each other like the dickens, anyway," he added cheerfully.

  "I rather gathered that," Norma admitted slowly, thinking of the cold way her guardian had said Aunt Janet was "an altogether superfluous person". Then she added thoughtfully: "I can't imagine being able to hate anyone like that, can you?"

  "No," Paul said frankly. "I can't. But then I'm not a creature of passion."

  Norma considered that very seriously. Then she said: "But do you think they are? I mean, were, in Aunt Janet's case, of course."

  "I never saw much of your Aunt Janet, and then only when I was a school-boy, so I can't say about her. But Justin Yorbe? Yes, I'd say he's probably a creature of violent but well controlled passions. Sorry.'"

  Norma laughed. "It's all right. I think I rather agree with you over that. I'm not quite sure why. But there's often a feeling of tremendous under-currents with him, so I suppose that's what it is. Now tell me something about yourself. We've talked long enough about me and my affairs."

  Paul smiled, "There's not very much to tell."

  And then, as he paused, as though considering what might interest her, Norma remembered her guardian saying that he was "an idle and meretricious young man". And, in anxiety to hear him vindicated, rather than because of any genuine curiosity, she said diffidently: "Can I ask you something very personal?" "Yes. Of course."

  "It sounds awful, whichever way I put it, but do you do anything for a living?"

  Paul laughed a good deal.

  "It's not awful at all. It's a very proper question. I don't do anything for which I receive a salary, if that's what you mean."

  "Oh."

  In spite of herself, Norma sounded disappointed, and he glanced at her in amused inquiry.

  "Does it matter?"

  "I think it's not my business, of course but I think it's nicer when people earn their own living," Norma asserted.

  "But I'm what's called a man of independent means, Norma." He still looked amused. "My father was a comparatively rich man, and left Xenia a life interest in part of a considerable estate, and the rest to me."

  "But don't you do anything but play around?"

  Norma's dark eyes looked large and troubled.

  "Oh, good heavens, I work, if that's what you mean." "Of course that's what I meant. What did you

  think I was getting at?"

  "Oh, I see! You had some idea that I was an idle and irresponsible young man, who did nothing for the good of his soul or his fellow men?"

  Norma nodded.

  "Where did you get that idea?" asked Paul cheerfully. But fortunately the question seemed to be rhetorical, so that Norma was not forced to disclose where she had got that idea. "I'll tell you abou
t my work, if you like. It's frightfully interesting, though it may not sound so to anyone who doesn't know it. I organize youth and sports clubs in the slums of the big cities."

  Paul's air of good-natured banter had dropped from him, and Norma saw that he was speaking now of something which deeply interested nun.

  "Oh, Paul, go on. How interesting."

  He smiled, and she thought suddenly how keen and intelligent his face was, and how silly it had been of her to suppose he did nothing but "play around".

  "Sometimes I do part of the financing myself," he explained, "at any rate in the beginning, but I aim at making them self-supporting in a year or so. It's demoralizing to have either people or organizations not paying their own way in the world."

  "And will you be organizing something like that, when we're in London in the autumn?" Norma wanted to know.

  "Yes. Would you like to come and see something of the work?" He smiled at her.

  "I'd love it," cried Norma, aware, as she did so, that her guardian would probably have some excellent reason why she should not.

  Really, it was too bad of him to have implied that Paul was a pleasant waster! Why had he been so unfair? Did he honestly think that, because Paul's work had to do with recreation, it was not real work? Or had he given the situation his own interpretation because it suited him very well to do so?

  At the back of her mind, Norma was seeking disturbedly for an answer to these questions. But, meanwhile, Paul was explaining to her something of his past work and his future plans, and she listened and commented, and tried to banish her vague uneasiness about her guardian's behaviour.

  Presently they came out on to a stretch of open ground above the trees, and here Paul called a halt, and showed her the various landmarks of the district.

  Below, and to the left, lay Bishopstone, looking like an exquisite child's toy, and, not more than a mile from it, Paul pointed out Munley Towers.

  "Yes, it is a much finer place than Bishopstone," Norma said gravely, as though answering some observation made to her, and Paul glanced at her and smiled.

  "Didn't you think it would be?"

  "Oh, yes. Mr. Yorke had told me that it was, and that it once belonged to their family. I think he feels rather badly about its not being in the family any longer."

  "Does he?" Paul said carelessly, with evidently little sympathy for any wounded feelings of Justin Yorke. "Look, that's the road I brought you along."

  Norma obediently regarded a winding lane, which was otherwise unremarkable, and agreed that it was interesting because they had come along there together when they first met.

  "Where does the broad road over on the right go?" she wanted to know.

  "Right over the moor, and down on the other side to Barnholme. It isn't really very much used. They cut another road at a lower level, which you can't see from here. But at one time the higher road was used more because there was a small mine-working up in that direction. Then the story was that they stored ammunition there during the war, and people didn't much care about going that way, if they could get through on the other road. So though it is actually a much better surfaced road than the lower one, it's pretty well deserted."

  "And is there any ammunition left there now?" inquired Norma interestedly.

  "Yes, I believe so. But there's no danger," Paul explained, with a smile. "It's very distant and all banked in, you know. I expect one of these day's they'll blow it all up."

  "Blow it all up!"

  "Yes. Oh, under proper precautions, of course, and with the roads blocked and kept clear all round. It's as good a way as any of disposing of out-of-date and unwanted stuff."

  "Is it?" said Norma doubtfully.

  "Provided you have a big enough moor," Paul conceded with a laugh. "It's about time we started going down again now." And he gave Norma his hand, apparently under the impression that she would make better progress that way.

  Norma liked the feel of his strong, warm hand supporting her, when they came to a rough, steep place in the path, and, though his aid was not strictly necessary, the friendly contact made her happy.

  Mrs. Cantlin said they had timed things beautifully and that she had just finished a chapter of her book when they returned. And they reciprocated by not asking any awkward questions about the contents of the book, but told her instead about their walk.

  After that, Norma thought it was a delightful evening. The Cantlins were undoubtedly easy people to be with. They both enjoyed life in a tolerant, friendly way, and were more than willing to accept Norma into their general scheme of things.

  "One could be happy here without effort," Norma thought.

  Not that she was anything but happy at Bishopstone, of course. Indeed, she was sometimes dazzlingly happy there. Only, in a sort of perilous way, as though she knew the happiness might be snatched from her at any moment, leaving her with a sense of deprivation which she would not be able to bear.

  The Cantlins, on the other hand, radiated a natural, easy-going happiness. There was no need to calculate anxiously the effect of what one said or did at Fairlee. Yesterday must also have been a pleasant day there, and to-morrow would be another.

  "That's the right way to live, I suppose," Norma reflected. "At least, it's wonderful for one's nerves and emotions."

  But, even so, when it was time to return to Bishopstone, and Paul got out the car in order to drive her over there, she knew that, fast though Paul drove, her spirit and imagination ran on ahead eagerly to the home where she was perilously happy.

  Paul drove her right to the house this time, but refused to come in, and Norma did not press him to do so. Indeed, his amused acceptance of the fact that he was not popular with her guardian reminded her disturbingly of the unjust account which had been given of him. And she thought: "I must have that put right."

  She really shrank a little from the idea of tackling her guardian on a subject on which she felt he was to blame. She wanted nothing to disturb the new-found harmony between them. But Paul was such a dear, and smiled at her with such affectionate friendliness as he said good night, that she felt justice must be done, and it must be made perfectly clear to her guardian that he had no right to pretend that Paul was "an idle and meretricious young man".

  Her resolution lasted while she crossed the wide hall, and even until she reached the doorway of the lighted drawing-room. There she paused.

  It was almost a repetition of the scene when she had first seen him, except that this time he was sitting in a pool of mellow lamp-light, instead of in the glow of the setting-sun. And this time, when he looked up and saw her, he held out his hand without saying anything, and his expression, instead of being cool and critical, was welcoming and faintly smiling.

  Norma came straight over to him, right into the circle of his arm. And, unexpectedly, he said: "Well, darling?" and drew her down on to the arm of his chair.

  He had never called her "darling" before, and she felt certain it was not an endearment that he used easily.

  "I had a lovely time," she said, a little breathlessly. "I didn't stay out too late, did I?"

  "Not if you were enjoying yourself."

  He leant back and regarded her, his smile deepening slightly, and the very slightest hint of indulgence in his cold, blue eyes.

  "Did you miss me?" she asked, rather absurdly. "Miss you? Why should I?" he asked teasingly in return. "I've managed to live a good many years without you."

  "But that was before you knew me," Norma said seriously.

  "So it was," he agreed mockingly. "Well, then, I was too busy to miss you."

  "Were you?"

  He nodded. And then, as she didn't comment on that, but smilingly drew his arm a little closer round her, he said: "Aren't you going to ask me what I was doing?"

  "All right, then. What were you doing?" "Seeing about that horse of yours."

  "Oh, were you? Oh, how darling of you! Did you actually get one for me?"

  "I did."

  "Oh, how marvelous! You ar
e so sweet and good to me," Norma cried, "and I really don't know why," she added candidly.

  He let that pass, with a smile.

  "I think you'll like him. He's a young chestnut not too young. Old enough to understand the serious business of carrying an inexperienced rider."

  "And are you really going to teach me yourself?"

  "Certainly."

  "Not leave it to Sir Richard Inworth?" suggested Norma a little mischievously.

  "No." He glanced at her. "Did you want Inworth to teach you?" he asked dryly.

  "Oh, no," cried Norma frankly. "I'd much rather have you."

  "Very well." He smiled at the emphasis of that.

  But he added: "Though Inworth is a very nice fellow, as a matter of fact, and a magnificent rider. I daresay I'll let him take you out sometimes."

  "Will you?" Norma smiled, not really at all averse to the idea of riding out with an admiring baronet for company. "Is it too late for me to go out and see my horse now?"

  "Do you want to?" Norma nodded.

  "Very well." He closed the book which had been lying open on his knee all the time, put it aside and got up. "Come along."

  He took her out by the side door in the hall, and then round to the back of the house. Norma was still unfamiliar with the geography of this part of Bishopstone but, as he led the way across a cobbled yard, she saw there were numerous outhouses which evidently included a large garage, a barn and, further away from the house, stables.

  Most of the daylight had departed from the summer night sky, but a large, bland, golden moon, rising over the hill which she and Paul had climbed that afternoon, shed a peculiarly warm radiance over everything, except where the shadows of the stable yard flung down patches of black velvet.

  Norma found she was actually trembling with excitement, as her guardian paused to unlatch the upper half of one of the doors.

  "Is he in there?" she said, almost in a whisper. But, before her guardian could reply, the chestnut answered for himself, by pushing a glossy, inquiring head over the lower half of the door, and regarding her with large, liquid eyes.

  "Oh, you darling!" Norma let him sniff her hand.