Ward of Lucifer

by Mary Burchell

  "Don't put it like that!" cried Norma, both distressed and angry.

  "Like what?" he inquired, looking genuinely surprised.

  "As though I were a slave, to be dressed up for the market place."

  For a moment she saw the surprise replaced by real anger, and she instinctively drew back from that, almost literally, and put out her hand in protest.

  "I'm sorry I didn't mean that."

  Then she saw that either his anger went, or he controlled it. Because he caught her out flung hand and laughed and said lightly: "Rather a pampered slave, surely?"

  "Yes, I know. I'm awfully I mean, I shouldn't have said that. I don't know quite why I did."

  "Oh, I think I do," he retorted easily. "You thought you saw signs of my playing the heavy guardian, and decided you would put a stop to that in good time."

  "No I didn't," Genuinely distressed, she came close to him and slipped her arm into his. "I was just being peevish and ungrateful."

  He laughed and touched her cheek lightly, and the subject was dismissed. But she remembered, rather wonderingly, afterwards that he had got his own way completely, and it was she who had been left feeling slightly in the wrong. And, later still, when she saw the disputed dress as he had wanted, she was fain to admit that he had been right and she had been wrong. It could hardly have suited her more exquisitely well.

  But the most successful of all her dresses was undoubtedly the one designed to wear with Richard's earrings and bracelet.

  It was cut with absolute simplicity, in long slender lines, with a high waist line and a very low neck, and, over one of the long, tight sleeves, she wore the barbari bracelet. To her guardian's extreme approval, she brushed her thick dark hair back from her forehead and the sides of her face, to leave fully exposed her small, fine ears, from which dangled the splendid earrings.

  "You look very beautiful, Norma," her guardian said, in that rather impersonal tone of approval. Then, to her surprise, he added with a slight sigh: "I can hardly hope to keep you with me very long, I'm afraid."

  "Nonsense," cried Norma eagerly. "I sometimes think I'll never want to marry anyone and go away from you."

  He laughed a good deal at that, and patted her dark head.

  "I don't think I'll demand such a sacrifice as that, my dear," he said. "But I hope when you do choose a husband, it will be someone who lives not too far away from Bishopstone."

  Norma wanted very much to say that, in that case, he had surely been all too eager to discourage Paul Cantlin. But she knew Paul was very much better left unmentioned, even in joke. Besides, she felt just a little sore because she had heard neither of nor from him since the day he had left Fairlee. And he had been so very emphatic about the lovely times they would have together when she came to London, and there had been that promise to take her to see one of his clubs and show her some of his work.

  It was true that she and her guardian had been in London less than a month. But she thought Paul might have found time to call or send even a brief note, if he had really been so much interested as had seemed at first.

  Why Richard whose own arrival in London had been delayed had actually written two letters since she left Bishopstone, though she was perfectly sure, from the composition of both, that Richard was no easy or natural letter-writer. However, he was now, it seemed, coming to London, and would be spared the pain of further letter-writing.

  "He had better come with us to the opera on Thursday night, if he arrives in time," Norma remarked, for her guardian had promised to take her to hear the opera after which she was named.

  Justin Yorke looked sceptical, "I doubt if opera is much in Inworth's line!"

  "Oh, no. I suppose it isn't. But 'Norma' is specially lovely, isn't it?"

  "I think so. It's very seldom done, because sopranos who can sing the title role don't grow on every gooseberry bush, and the work stands or falls by its Norma. Inworth might like it. At least it has recognizable airs. But, I warn you, that if he beats time with his foot, I shall throw him straight out of the box into the stalls below."

  Norma laughed.

  "We won't take him unless he shows enthusiastic signs of wishing to go."

  But Richard was delighted with the prospect of spending an evening in Norma's company under any circumstances, and seemed intrigued that the work was, as he put it, "called after her."

  "My dear Inworth, Bellini's 'Norma' was a period piece before either of you or I were born or thought of," Justin Yorke said, with amused impatience.

  "Is that so? What is she? a Victorian heroine?" "No. A priestess in the time of the Druids," replied Norma's guardian dryly.

  "I say! That's taking us back a bit, isn't it?" said Richard, but cheerfully, as though he would find even Druids acceptable in his present mood.

  "Mr. Yorke says you're not to beat time with your foot, or he'll literally throw you out of the box," Norma warned him with a friendly smile.

  "Beat time with my foot? Why on earth should I?" inquired Richard, slightly aggrieved.

  "Because almost everyone, at some time or another, is tempted to show appreciation of a recognizable air in that revolting manner," retorted Norma's guardian candidly. "And it's surprising how few are proof against the temptation."

  "All right." Richard grinned good-naturedly, and Norma thought how refreshingly difficult he was to offend.

  On the Thursday evening, when he called at the St. John's Wood house, to collect Norma and her guardian in his car, Norma was just coming down the stairs, in the brocade frock, and wearing Richard's birthday present.

  "I say!" exclaimed Richard, coming to the foot of the stairs and gazing up at her. "How stunning those earrings look on you."

  "They'd look nice on anyone, Richard." Norma said, smiling and colouring a little.

  "No, they wouldn't. I've seen my mother wear them, and they didn't look the least like that," declared Richard, whose mother had been a dignified but rather horse-faced woman. "You look like something out of an opera, yourself, with those earrings."

  "The dress is also partly responsible for the effect," remarked Justin Yorke's voice coolly behind him, and Richard Inworth swung round.

  "Yes, of course. The dress is stunning too.

  You certainly know how to choose your clothes, Noima. You look terrifically grown-up and impressive in that. Nothing much of the schoolgirl left now." And he laughed appreciatively.

  "I didn't really choose the dress. Mr. Yorke did," Norma explained.

  "But you wanted it too," her guardian said quickly, and with the faintest note of irritation.

  "Yes, of course." Norma smiled at him, and gave him her cloak to put round her.

  As he did so, he put his arms round her from behind and lightly kissed the tip of her ear.

  "You look sweet, darling," he whispered, with a qui unfamiliar note of tenderness in his voice, and Norma knew that the irritation had entirely gone. So she smiled at him again, and then they went out to the waiting car.

  It was the first time that Norma or, indeed, Richard either had been in the Opera House, and her guardian pointed out the various features of interest and told her of one or two specially famous performances which he had attended there.

  Norma was fascinated by the red and gold magnificence of the place, and leaned over the side of their box, eagerly following her guardian's explanations. Then, just as the shaded pink lights were fading out, she saw a familiar figure sitting in the fourth row of the stalls. Xenia Cantlin was talking animatedly to a man who, at the moment, had his back to Norma.

  With a sudden leap of the heart which surprised her Norma thought she recognized Paul. Then, as the overture began, and he turned his head, she saw in the faint light from the orchestra pit that he was a stranger.

  Still, at least Xenia was there, and surely, with anything like reasonable luck, one should be able to have c word with her inquire about Paul make some sort of connection.

  During most of the overture, Norma was thinking about Paul but, once th
e curtain went up, she almost forgot about him and became completely absorbed in a very beautiful performance. As her guardian had said, the work had to stand or fall by its Norma, and she was lucky in that the Norma was a very great singer, on this occasion.

  Not until the curtain fell again and her guardian's voice said: "Enjoying yourself?" did she completely return to earth.

  "It's heavenly!" she declared. And even Richard said cheerfully: "I think I know that rather tUm-te-tum-ish tune to which all those old boys tramp out in the end."

  "Probably," Justin Yorke agreed dryly. "By an irony of fate, it appears, in an even further simplified form in most piano manuals for the very young and very incompetent."

  "Thanks a lot," grinned Richard.

  "Not at all. We've all stumbled through it in our misspent youth, I don't doubt. Would you like to come out to the buffet, Norma?"

  But Norma had already noticed that Xenia Cantlin was remaining in her seat for the moment.

  "Not until the next interval, I think, thank you," she said, wondering hopefully whether the same buffet catered for stalls and boxes. If not, it was going to be difficult to arrange a casual meeting, particularly if she were to do it without explanations to her guardian, which she would much prefer.

  However, at least in the second interval Mrs. Cantlin rose to her feet and began to make her way slowly towards the exit, talking to her companion, whom Norma now thought she recognized as a well-known pianist.

  "Let's go shall we?" Norma turned to Richard with a smile, actually hoping that her guardian would let them go alone. Richard was so much easier to manage!

  But he chose to accompany them, and Norma had to keep up an easy conversation, while she darted anxious glances here and there, in the hope of discerning Mrs. Cantlin in the crowd. At last she was cheered by identifying a bright red dress which she had noticed in the stalls, and, at the same moment, someone greeted her guardian and engaged him in conversation.

  Norma determinedly moved on with Richard, as though interested in seeing that they did get some refreshment. And then the throng parted for a moment' and she saw Mrs. Cantiin, standing not very far away' from her, evidently waiting for her escort to abstract something from the crowd round the buffet.

  "Richard, I've just seen someone I want to speak to I'll be back in a moment."

  "Right. What shall I get you?"

  "Oh, anything. An ice or lemonade or anything. It doesn't matter ," Norma said, and disappeared in the crowd.

  "Hallo, Mrs. Cantlin!" She was beside Xenia at last quite flushed with eagerness and relief at having managed the meeting.

  "My dear child!" Xenia Cantiin regarded her with approving astonishment. "How perfectly beautiful you're looking! And how you have grown up in a matter of weeks."

  "Oh, I haven't really," Norma laughed and her colour deepened still further. "It's only the dress and the earrings, I expect."

  "Well, the whole outfit is most becoming. And you look as though you're enjoying yourself."

  "Oh, I am. It's a lovely performance, isn't it?"

  Norma wondered how long it would take her to get round to the subject of Paul.

  "Yes. She's marvelous, of course. She always is if everything she does. But the tenor is almost too terrible in character, poor pet, isn't he?"

  "Is he?" said Norma doubtfully, not liking to say that she thought him awful.

  "Why, yes. You know, the tenor in 'Norma' only has to look a perfect fool, and really nature has admirably equipped him for the task," Xenia said brightly.

  Norma laughed. And then, because time was getting short and there was no opportunity for finesse, she said frankly: "How is Paul?"

  "Very well. Very busy, of course."

  "He's here, isn't he? In London, I mean." "Oh, yes, of course."

  "Tell him I was asking after him, won't you? And please remind him that he promised to take me to see one of his clubs one day," Norma said, as casually as she could.

  "Did he really? How dull, dear. I should expect him to take me to something more entertaining than that, if! were you."

  "Oh, no," Norma explained eagerly. "I'd love to go.

  You have our phone number, haven't you?"

  "Well, you'll be in the book, I expect, won't you?" said Mrs. Cantlin, who was one of those people who make the telephone directory sound like the Bible.

  "Yes. Under Mr. Yorke's name, of course. I must go now."

  "Lovely seeing you, darling," declared Mrs. Cantlin, kissing her fingers rather affectedly to Norma.

  "It was lovely seeing you," Norma said, and she meant it. ...

  Then she slipped away through the crowd again, and rejoined Richard, who was beginning to look as though he were wondering what to do with a couple of ices and a plate of sandwiches.

  "Oh, Richard, that's lovely!"

  She hoped her guardian, who joined them a moment later, would not notice that her colour was high and her eyes sparkling with excitement. But if he did, he evidently put it down to the pleasure of her first night at the opera.

  Norma was able to give her whole attention to the stage after that. She had accomplished the difficult meeting with Mrs. Cantlin without arousing any suspicions in her guardian's mind, and now she could be sure that her message would be transmitted to Paul, and that he would do something about their meeting.

  Not, she thought guiltily, glancing at her guardian's cold, fine profile, seen against the light of the stage not that she wished in any way to deceive him. But he was unreasonable and difficult where Paul was concerned and, while she would not dream of avoiding answers if he actually questioned her, she could not help thinking it would be pleasanter for all them if he saw no special occasion for asking questions.

  During the next few days, she eagerly expected a telephone call from Paul, or possibly even a letter.

  But she had mentioned the telephone to Mrs. Cantlin, and therefore her most likely wording to Paul would be "Norma is expecting a ring from you about your taking her to see the club."

  With some difficulty, she contrived to avoid going of the house very much, and even once pleaded a headache, in order to avoid an evening engagement. To be sure, it was something which she was not particularly anxious to do, and therefore she did not mind missing the outing, but she felt a little self-conscious and deceitful over magnifying a small headache to a definite indisposition, simply because she was afraid Paul might telephone while she was out.

  And then there was no call.

  "It serves me right, I suppose," thought Norma disconsolately. "But, oh, why doesn't he ring?"

  On the third evening, she had a definite engagement with Richard, and could hardly refuse to go out. Besides, her pride was already beginning to revolt against the idea of staying in indefinitely on the chance of a telephone call from a man who hardly seemed interest in her, after all.

  So she went out with Richard, and enjoyed herself reasonably well. But her first anxious query of Coxon when she returned home was: "Were there any telephone calls for me, Coxon?"

  I "No, Miss Norma. Not that I know of. There was - only one call this evening and Mr. Yorke took that." ; "I see," Norma said, and went slowly into the drawing-room, wondering-whether she had the courage ; to catechise her guardian.

  When he looked up and smiled at her, with those blue eyes of his rather cold, she knew that she had not. So, instead, she told him about her evening with Richard, and he was charmingly interested and attentive.

  Only when she had actually kissed him good night and was going towards the door, did she say over her shoulder: "No phone calls for me, I suppose?"

  "No," her guardian said. "Were you expecting one?" "No," replied Norma, and went away to bed.

  And, after that, she thought perhaps it would be better not to think about Paul any more. Certainly there was no point in waiting for a phone call any more. And, though for a day or two longer, her heartbeats quickened rather each time the post was brought in for, after all, a letter took longer to write and have delive
red than a phone call took to put through, she finally told herself that either Mrs. Cantlin had forgotten to pass on her message which seemed improbable or else this was Paul's way of showing he had cooled off.

  After all, there might very well be some other girl in whom he was specialty interested, and for whom he chose to drop all other casual acquaintances.

  Norma tried not to mind, and went about a good deal with Richard Inworth, and knew that, in most ways, she was greatly enjoying her stay in London.

  Presently she was surprised to find how rapidly the weeks were slipping by, and that it would soon be time to be doing her Christmas shopping.

  Her very generous allowance as Justin Yorke's ward made this a pleasant duty, rather than an anxious burden, and Norma spent some very happy days shopping on her own.

  Even now, she was innocently unaware of how people turned to look at her as, vivid and eager, indefinably elegant in the lovely clothes which guardian had chosen for her, she went about pleasant affairs. She was already rather different from the anxious schoolgirl who had first come to

  stone, for it was impossible to live in the same house as her guardian and not acquire a good deal of poise=' and self-possession.

  Warm-hearted and simple and almost naive she would always be, but Justin Yorke was already making of her something more like a dazzling young woman than a lovely child.

  It was about a couple of weeks before Christmas when Norma in a short brown squirrel coat over a red frock, and with a small red hat set rather far back on her dark hair was standing at the crowded counter of one of the big stores, examining the relative merits of two possible presents.

  She could not have said what it was that made her suddenly look up. But she did so. And there was Paul, standing a few yards away from her, regarding her wit attention.

  "Paul!" She put down what she had been holding and came straight over to him. It was too late to pretend anything but the pleasure she felt in seeing him, and she went on quite frankly: "How lovely to see you, after all this while."