CHAPTER II
The woman who paused for a moment upon the threshold of the library,looking in upon the little company, was undeniably beautiful. Shehad masses of red-gold hair, a little disordered by her long railwayjourney, deep-set hazel eyes, a delicate, almost porcelain-likecomplexion, and a sensitive, delightfully shaped mouth. Her figurewas small and dainty, and just at that moment she had an appearance ofhelplessness which was almost childlike. Nora, after a vigorous embrace,led her stepmother towards a chair.
"Come and sit by the fire, Mummy," she begged. "You look tired andcold."
Philippa exchanged a general salutation with her guests. She was stillwearing her travelling coat, and her air of fatigue was unmistakable.Griffiths, who had not taken his eyes off her since her entrance,wheeled an easy-chair towards the hearth-rug, into which she sank with amurmured word of thanks.
"You'll have some tea, won't you, dear?" Helen enquired.
Philippa shook her head. Her eyes met her friend's for a moment--it wasonly a very brief glance, but the tragedy of some mutual sorrow seemedcuriously revealed in that unspoken question and answer. The two youngsubalterns prepared to take their leave. Nora, kneeling down, strokedher stepmother's hand.
"No news at all, then?" Helen faltered.
"None," was the weary reply.
"Any amount of news here, Mummy," Nora intervened cheerfully, "and heapsof excitement. We had a Zeppelin over Dutchman's Common last night,and she lost her observation car. Mr. Somerfield took me up there thisafternoon, and I found a German hat. No one else got a thing, and, wouldyou believe it, those children over there tried to take it away fromme."
Her stepmother smiled faintly.
"I expect you are keeping the hat, dear," she observed.
"I should say so!" Nora assented.
Philippa held out her hand to the two young men who had been waiting totake their leave.
"You must come and dine one night this week, both of you," she said. "Myhusband will be home by the later train this evening, and I'm sure hewill be glad to have you."
"Very kind of you, Lady Cranston, we shall be delighted," Harrisondeclared.
"Rather!" his companion echoed.
Nora led them away, and Helen, with a word of excuse, followed them.Griffiths, who had also risen to his feet, came a little nearer toPhilippa's chair.
"And you, too, of course, Captain Griffiths," she said, smilingpleasantly up at him. "Must you hurry away?"
"I will stay, if I may, until Miss Fairclough returns," he answered,resuming his seat.
"Do!" Philippa begged him. "I have had such a miserable time in town.You can't think how restful it is to be back here."
"I am afraid," he observed, "that your journey has not been successful."
Philippa shook her head.
"It has been completely unsuccessful," she sighed. "I have not been ableto hear a word about my brother. I am so sorry for poor Helen, too. Theywere only engaged, you know, a few days before he left for the frontthis last time."
Captain Griffiths nodded sympathetically.
"I never met Major Felstead," he remarked, "but every one who hasseems to like him very much. He was doing so well, too, up to that lastunfortunate affair, wasn't he?"
"Dick is a dear," Philippa declared. "I never knew any one with so manyfriends. He would have been commanding his battalion now, if only hewere free. His colonel wrote and told me so himself."
"I wish there were something I could do," Griffiths murmured, a littleawkwardly. "It hurts me, Lady Cranston, to see you so upset."
She looked at him for a moment in faint surprise.
"Nobody can do anything," she bemoaned. "That is the unfortunate part ofit all."
He rose to his feet and was immediately conscious, as he always was whenhe stood up, that there was a foot or two of his figure which he had noidea what to do with.
"You wouldn't feel like a ride to-morrow morning, Lady Cranston?" heasked, with a wistfulness which seemed somehow stifled in his ratherunpleasant voice. She shook her head.
"Perhaps one morning later," she replied, a little vaguely. "I haven'tany heart for anything just now."
He took a sombre but agitated leave of his hostess, and went out intothe twilight, cursing his lack of ease, remembering the things whichhe had meant to say, and hating himself for having forgotten them.Philippa, to whom his departure had been, as it always was, a relief,was already leaning forward in her chair with her arm around Helen'sneck.
"I thought that extraordinary man would never go," she exclaimed, "andI was longing to send for you, Helen. London has been such a drearychapter of disappointments."
"What a sickening time you must have had, dear!"
"It was horrid," Philippa assented sadly, "but you know Henry is no useat all, and I should have felt miserable unless I had gone. I have beento every friend at the War Office, and every friend who has friendsthere. I have made every sort of enquiry, and I know just as much nowas I did when I left here--that Richard was a prisoner at Wittenbergthe last time they heard, and that they have received no notificationwhatever concerning him for the last two months."
Helen glanced at the calendar.
"It is just two months to-day," she said mournfully, "since we heard."
"And then," Philippa sighed, "he hadn't received a single one of ourparcels."
Helen rose suddenly to her feet. She was a tall, fair girl of the bestSaxon type, slim but not in the least angular, with every promise,indeed, of a fuller and more gracious development in the years to come.She was barely twenty-two years old, and, as is common with girls of hercomplexion, seemed younger. Her bright, intelligent face was, aboveall, good-humoured. Just at that moment, however, there was a flush ofpassionate anger in her cheeks.
"It makes me feel almost beside myself," she exclaimed, "this hideousincapacity for doing anything! Here we are living in luxury, without asingle privation, whilst Dick, the dearest thing on earth to both of us,is being starved and goaded to death in a foul German prison!"
"We mustn't believe that it's quite so bad as that, dear," Philipparemonstrated. "What is it, Mills?"
The elderly man-servant who had entered with a tray in his band, bowedas he arranged it upon a side table.
"I have taken the liberty of bringing in a little fresh tea, yourladyship," he announced, "and some hot buttered toast. Cook has sentsome of the sandwiches, too, which your ladyship generally fancies."
"It is very kind of you, Mills," Philippa said, with rather a wan littlesmile. "I had some tea at South Lynn, but it was very bad. You mighttake my coat, please."
She stood up, and the heavy fur coat slipped easily away from her slim,elegant little body.
"Shall I light up, your ladyship?" Mills enquired.
"You might light a lamp," Philippa directed, "but don't draw the blindsuntil lighting-up time. After the noise of London," she went on,turning to Helen, "I always think that the faint sound of the sea is sorestful."
The man moved noiselessly about the room and returned once more to hismistress.
"We should be glad to hear, your ladyship," he said, "if there is anynews of Major Felstead?" Philippa shook her head.
"None at all, I am sorry to say, Mills! Still, we must hope for thebest. I dare say that some of these camps are not so bad as we imagine."
"We must hope not, your ladyship," was the somewhat dismal reply. "ShallI fasten the windows?"
"You can leave them until you draw the blinds, Mills," Philippadirected. "I am not at home, if any one should call. See that we areundisturbed for a little time."
"Very good, your ladyship."
The door was closed, and the two women were once more alone. Philippaheld out her arms.
"Helen, darling, come and be nice to me," she begged. "Let us bothpretend that no news is good news. Oh, I know what you are suffering,but remember that even if Dick is your lover, he is my dear, onlybrother--my twin brother, too. We have been so much to each other allour lives. He'll stick it
out, dear, if any human being can. We shallhave him back with us some day."
"But he is hungry," Helen sobbed. "I can't bear to think of his beinghungry. Every time I sit down to eat, it almost chokes me."
"I suppose he has forgotten what a whisky and soda is like," Philippamurmured, with a little catch in her own throat.
"He always used to love one about this time," Helen faltered, glancingat the clock.
"And cigarettes!" Philippa exclaimed. "I wonder whether they give himanything to smoke."
"Nasty German tobacco, if they do," Helen rejoined indignantly. "Andto think that I have sent him at least six hundred of his favouriteEgyptians!"
She fell once more on her knees by her friend's side. Their arms wereintertwined, their cheeks touching. One of those strange, femininesilences of acute sympathy seemed to hold them for a while under itsthrall. Then, almost at the same moment, a queer awakening came for bothof them. Helen's arm was stiffened. Philippa turned her head, but hereyes were filled with incredulous fear. A little current of cool air wasblowing through the room. The French windows stood half open, and withhis back to them, a man who had apparently entered the room from thegardens and passed noiselessly across the soft carpet, was standingby the door, listening. They heard him turn the key. Then, in abusinesslike manner, he returned to the windows and closed them, theeyes of the two women following him all the time. Satisfied, apparently,with his precautions, he turned towards them just as an expression ofindignant enquiry broke from Philippa's lips. Helen sprang to her feet,and Philippa gripped the sides of her chair. The newcomer advanced a fewsteps nearer to them.
The Zeppelin's Passenger Page 2
