CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
THE MEETING IN HYDE PARK.
It was the end of May. The weather was warm and sunny, the windows ofthe West End were gay with flowers; in the Park the great beds ofrhododendrons blazed forth in a glow of beauty. It was the season, anda particularly gay and festive season at that. "Everybody" was in town,including a few million "nobodies." There were clerks toiling by theirthousands in the City, chained all day long to their desks; there wereclerks' wives at home in the suburbs, toiling all day too, and sometimesfar into the night; there were typists, and shop assistants, andprosperous heads of households, who worked steadily for five and a halfdays a week, in order that their families might enjoy comfort and ease,condensing their own relaxation into short Saturday afternoons. Andthere were school-mistresses, too, who saw the sun through form-roomwindows, but felt its call all the same--the call of the whole gladspring--and grew restless, and nervous, and short in temper. It was notthe leaders of society whom they envied; they read of Court balls, andgarden parties, of preparations for Ascot and Henley with a serenedetachment, just as they read with indifference in the fashion page of adaily newspaper that "Square watches are the vogue this season, and our_elegantes_ are ordering several specimens of this dainty bauble tomatch the prevailing colours of their costumes," the while they sufferedreal pangs at the sight of an "alarming sacrifice" at twenty-nine andsix. The one was almost within their grasp; the other floated in thenebulous atmosphere of a different sphere.
In the staff-room at lunch-time the staff grew restless and critical.The hot joints no longer appealed to their appetites, the wateryvegetables and heavy puddings became things abhorred. They thought ofcool salads and _compotes_ on ice, and hated the sight of the greasybrown gravy. They blamed the cook, they blamed the Committee, they saidrepeatedly, "Nobody thinks of _us_!" and exchanged anecdotesillustrative of the dulness, the stupidity of their pupils. As for theMatric. candidates, they would _all_ fail! There wasn't a chance for asingle one. The stupidest set of girls the school had ever possessed!Oh, certainly they would all fail!
"And then," said Mary Rhodes bitterly, "_we_ shall be blamed."
The Arts mistress said with a sigh--
"Oh, wouldn't it be heavenly to run away from it all, and have a week-end in the country! The gorse will be out, and the hawthorn still inblossom. What's the very cheapest one could do it on for two days?"
Mademoiselle said--
"Absolutely, _ma chere_, there is no help for it. It is necessary thatI have a distraction. I must buy a new hat."
Sophie Blake said defiantly to herself--
"Crippled? Ridiculous! I _refuse_ to be crippled. I want to run, andrun, and run, and run, and dance, and sing, and jump about! I feelpent! I feel caged! And all that precious money squandered oninjections..."
The six weeks' course of treatment had been, from the doctor's point ofview, a complete success; from Sophie's a big disappointment. Sheargued that she was still stiff, still in pain, that the improvement wasbut small; he pointed out that without the injections she would of acertainty have been worse, and since in arthritis even to remainstationary was a success, to have improved in the smallest degree in sixweeks' time might be regarded as a triumph. He prescribed a restfulholiday during the Easter vacation, and a second course of treatment onher return. Sophie resigned herself to do without new clothes for thesummer, and sold her most treasured possession, a diamond ring which hadbelonged to her mother, so that the second ten pounds was secure. Buthow was she to pay back the original loan?
Meanwhile Mrs Willoughby was inquiring among her friends for a suitablepost, and had played the good fairy by arranging to send Sophie for theEaster holidays to a country cottage on the Surrey heights, which sheran as a health resort for gentlewomen. Here on a fine dry soil, theair scented with the fragrant breath of the pines, with nothing to do,and plenty of appetising food to eat, the Gym. mistress's general healthimproved so rapidly that she came back to school with her thin cheeksquite filled out.
"Very satisfactory," said the doctor. "Now I shall be able to get on tostronger doses!"
"What's the good of getting better, only to be made worse?" cried Sophiein rebellion.
Cecil's loan remained unpaid. She had spent her holidays with hermother as arranged, but her finances did not appear to have profitedthereby. Dunning for bills became so incessant that the landlady spokeseverely of the "credit of the house." She went out constantly in theevening, and several times Claire heard Major Carew's voice at the door,but he never came into the house, and there was no talk of an openengagement.
As for Claire herself, she had had a happy time in Brussels, stayingwith both English and Belgian friends and re-visiting all the oldhaunts. She thoroughly enjoyed the change, but could not honestly saythat she wished the old life to return. If she came back with a heavyheart, it was neither poverty nor work which she feared, but rather thewant of that atmosphere of love and kindliness which make the veryessence of home. At the best of times Mary Rhodes was a difficultcompanion and far from affectionate in manner, but since the giving ofthat last loan, there had arisen a mental barrier which it seemedimpossible to surmount. It had become difficult to keep up aconversation apart from school topics, and both girls found themselvesdreading the evening's _tete-a-tete_.
Claire felt like a caged bird beating against the bars. She wanted anoutlet from the school life, and the call of the spring was insistent toone who until now had spent the summer in wandering about some of theloveliest scenes in Europe. She wearied of the everlasting streets, anddiscovered that by hurrying home after afternoon school, making a quickchange of clothing, and catching a motor-'bus at the corner of the road,she could reach Hyde Park by half-past five, and spend a happy hoursitting on one of the green chairs, enjoying the beauty of the flowers,and watching the never-ending stream of pedestrians and vehicles.Sometimes she recognised Mrs Willoughby and Janet bowling past in theirluxurious motor, but they never saw her, and she was not anxious thatthey should. What she wanted was to sit still and rest. Sometimes asmartly-dressed woman, obviously American, would seat herself on thenext chair, and inquire as to the best chance of seeing the Queen, andthe question being amiably answered, would proceed to unaskedconfidences. She thought England "sweet." She had just come over tothis side. She was staying till the fall. Who was the lady in theelegant blue auto? The London fashions were just too cute! When theyparted, the fair American invariably said, "Pleased to have met you!"and looked as though she meant it into the bargain, and Claire whole-heartedly echoed the sentiment. She liked these women with their keen,child-like enthusiasm, their friendly, gracious ways. In contrast tothem the ordinary Englishwoman seemed cold and aloof.
One brilliant afternoon when the Park was unusually bright and gay,Claire was seated near the Achilles statue, carelessly scanning thepassers-by, when, with a sudden leap of the heart, she saw ErskineFanshawe some twenty yards ahead, strolling towards her, accompanied bytwo ladies. He was talking to his companions with every appearance ofenjoyment, and had no attention to spare for the rows of spectators onthe massed green chairs. Claire felt the blood rush to her face in theshock of surprise and agitation. She had never contemplated thepossibility of such a meeting, for Captain Fanshawe had not appeared thetype of man who would care to take part in a fashionable parade, and thesudden appearance of the familiar face among the crowd made her heartleap with a force that was physically painful. Then, the excitementover, she realised with a second pang, almost as painful as the first,that in another minute he would have passed by, unseeing, unknowing, todisappear into space for probably months to come. At the thoughtrebellion arose in her heart. She felt a wild impulse to leave her seatand advance towards him; she longed with a sudden desperation of longingto meet his eyes, to see his smile, but pride held her back. She satmotionless watching with strained eyes.
One of Captain Fanshawe's companions was old, the other young--a pretty,fashionably-dressed girl
, who appeared abundantly content with herescort. All three were watching with amusement the movements of a stoutelderly dame, who sauntered immediately ahead, leading by a leash aFrench poodle, fantastically shaved, and decorated with ribbon bows.The stout dame was evidently extravagantly devoted to her pet, andviewed with alarm the approach of a jaunty black and white terrier.
The terrier cocked his ears, and elevating his stump of a tail, yappedat the be-ribboned spaniel with all a terrier's contempt, as he advancedto the attack. The stout dame screamed, dropped the leash, and hit atthe terrier with the handle of her parasol. The poodle evidentlyconsidering flight the best policy, doubled and fled in the direction ofthe green chairs, to come violently to anchor against Claire's knee.The crowd stared, the stout dame hurried forward. Claire, placing asoothing hand on the dog's head, lifted a flushed, smiling face, and inso doing caught the lift of a hat, met for the moment the glance ofstartled eyes.
The stout lady was not at all grateful. She spoke as sharply as thoughClaire, and Claire alone, had been the cause of her pet's upset. Shestrode majestically away, leaving Claire trembling, confused, livingover again those short moments. She had seen him; he had seen her! Hewas alive and well, living within a few miles of herself, yet as farapart as in another continent. It was six months since they had lastmet. It might be six years before they met again. But he had seemedpleased to see her. Short as had been that passing glance, there was nomistaking its interest. He was surprised, but pleasure had overriddensurprise. If he had been alone, he would have hurried forward withoutstretched hand. In imagination she could see him coming, his graveface lightened with joy. Oh, if _only, only_ he had been alone! But hewas with friends; he had the air of being content and interested, andthe girl was pretty, far prettier than Janet Willoughby.
"Good afternoon!"
She turned gasping; he was standing before her, holding out his hand.He had left his companions and come back to join her. His face lookedflushed, as though he had rushed back at express speed. He had seemedinterested and content, and the girl was pretty, yet he had come back toher! He seated himself on the chair by her side, and looked at her witheager eyes.
"I haven't seen you for six months!"
"I was just--" Claire began impulsively, drew herself up, and finisheddemurely--"I suppose it is."
"You haven't been at either of Mrs Willoughby's `At Homes.'"
"No; but I've seen a good deal of them all the same. They have been sokind."
"Don't you care for the `At Homes'? I asked Mrs Willoughby about you,and she seemed to imply that you preferred not to go."
"Oh, no! Oh, no! That was quite wrong. I _did_ enjoy that evening.It was a--a misunderstanding, I think," said Claire, much exercised tofind an explanation of what could really not be explained. Of the third"At Home" she had heard nothing until this moment, and a pang ofretrospective disappointment mingled with her present content. "I havebeen to the house several times when they were alone," she continuedeagerly. "They even asked me on Christmas Day."
"I know," he said shortly. "I was in Saint Moritz, skating in thesunshine, when I heard how you were spending _your_ Christmas holidays."His face looked suddenly grim and set. "A man feels pretty helpless ata time like that. I didn't exactly enjoy myself for the rest of thatafternoon."
"That was stupid of you, but--but very nice all the same," Claire saidsoftly. "It wouldn't have made things easier for me if other people hadbeen dull, and, after all, I came off better than I expected."
"You were all alone--in your Grand Hotel?"
"Only for a week." Claire resolutely ignored the hit. "Then my friendcame back, and we made some little excursions together, and enjoyedbeing lazy, and getting up late, and reading lots of nice books. I hadmade all sorts of good resolutions about the work I was going to getthrough in the holidays, but I never did one thing."
"Do you often come to the Park?"
Claire felt a pang of regret. Was it possible that even this simplepleasure was to be denied her? She knew too well that if she said"yes," Captain Fanshawe would look out for her again, would come withthe express intention of meeting her. To say "yes" would be virtuallyto consent to such meetings. It was a temptation which took all herstrength to reject, but rejected it must be. She would not stoop to themaking of a rendez-vous.
"I have been several times, but I shan't be able to come any more. Weget busier towards the end of the term. Examinations--"
Captain Fanshawe straightened himself, and said in a very stiff voice--
"I also, unfortunately, am extremely busy, so I shall not be able to seethe rhododendrons in their full beauty. I had hoped you might be morefortunate."
Claire stared at a passing motor, of which she saw nothing but a movingmass; when she turned back it was to find her companion's eyes fixed onher face, with an expression half guilty, half appealing, altogetheringratiating. At the sight her lips twitched, and suddenly they werelaughing together with a delicious consciousness of understanding.
"Well!" he cried, "it's true! I mean it! There's no need to stay awaybecause of me; but as I _am_ here to-day, and it's my last chance, won'tyou let me give you tea? If we walk along to Victoria Gate--"
Claire thought with a spasm of longing of the little tables under theawning; of the pretty animated scene; but no, it might not be. Heracquaintance with this man was too casual to allow her to accept hishospitality in a public place.
"Thank you very much, but I think not. I would rather stay here."
"Well, at any rate," he said defiantly, "I've paid for my chair, and youcan't turn me out. Of course, you can move yourself."
"But I don't want to move. I like being here. I'm very glad to seeyou. I should like very much to have tea, too. Oh, if you don'tunderstand I can't explain!" cried poor Claire helplessly; and instantlythe man's expression altered to one of sympathy and contrition.
"I do understand! Don't mind what I say. Naturally it's annoying, butyou're right, I suppose--you're perfectly right. I am glad, at anyrate, that you allow me to talk to you for a few minutes. You arelooking very well!" His eyes took her in in one rapid comprehensivesweep, and Claire thanked Providence that she had put on her prettiestdress. "I am glad that you are keeping fit. Did you enjoy your holidayin Belgium?"
"How did you know I was in Belgium?"
He laughed easily, but ignored the question.
"You have good news of your mother, I hope?"
"Very good. She loves the life, and is very happy and interested, andmy stepfather writes that his friends refuse to believe in the existenceof a grown-up daughter. He is so proud of her youthful looks."
"How much did you tell her about your Christmas holidays?"
"All the nice bits! I don't approve of burdening other people!"
"Evidently not. Then there have been burdens? You've implied that!Nothing by any chance, in which a man--fairly intelligent, and, in thisinstance, keen after work--could possibly be of some use?"
The two pairs of eyes met, gazed, held one another steadily for a longeloquent moment.
"Yes," said Claire.
Captain Fanshawe bent forward quickly, holding his stick between hisknees. The side of his neck had flushed a dull red colour. For severalmoments he did not speak. Claire had a curious feeling that he couldnot trust his voice.
"Good!" he said shortly at last. "Now may I hear?"
"I should like very much to ask you some questions about--about a manwhom I think you may know."
The grey eyes came back to her face, keen and surprised.
"Yes! Who is he?"
"A Major Carew. His Christian name is Frank. He belongs to your Club."
"I know the fellow. Yes! What do you want to know about him?"
"Everything, I think; everything you can tell me!"
"You know him personally, then? You've met him somewhere?"
"Yes," Claire answered to the last question, "and I'm anxious--I'minterested to kn
ow more. Do you know his people, or anything abouthim?"
"I don't know them personally. I know Carew very slightly. Goodfamily, I believe. Fine old place in Surrey."
The Elizabethan manor house was true, then! Claire felt relieved, butnot yet satisfied. Her suspicion was so deep-rooted that it was noteasily dispelled. She sat silent for a moment, considering her nextquestion.
"Is he the eldest son?"
"I believe he is. I've always understood so."
The eldest son of a good family possessing a fine old place! Clairesummoned before her the picture of the coarse florid-faced man who hadtried to flirt with her in the presence of the woman to whom he wasengaged; a man who stooped to borrow money from a girl who worked forher own living. _What_ excuse could there be for such a man? She drewher brows together in puzzled fashion, and said slowly--
"Then surely, if he is the heir, he ought to be rich!"
"It doesn't necessarily follow. I should say Carew was not at allflush. Landed property is an expensive luxury in these days. I'veheard, too, that the father is a bit of a miser. He may not be generousin the matter of allowance!"
Claire sat staring ahead, buried in thought, and Captain Fanshawe staredat her in his turn, and wondered once more why this particular girl wasdifferent from every other girl, and why in her presence he felt afullness of happiness and content. She was very pretty; but prettygirls were no novelty in his life; he knew them by the score. It wasnot her beauty which attracted him, but a mysterious affinity which madeher seem nearer to him than he had hitherto believed it possible for anyhuman creature to be. He had recognised this mysterious quality attheir first meeting; he had felt it more strongly at Mrs Willoughby's"At Home"; six months' absence had not diminished his interest. Justnow, when he had caught sight of her flushed upturned face, his hearthad leapt with a violence which startled him out of his ordinary calm.Something had happened to him. When he had time he must think the thingout and discover its meaning. But how did she come to be so uncommonlyinterested in Carew? He met Claire's eyes, and she asked falteringly--
"I wish you would tell me what you think of him personally! Do youthink he is--nice?"
"Tell me first what you think yourself."
"Honestly? You won't mind?"
"Not one single little bit! I told you he is a mere acquaintance."
"Then," said Claire deliberately, "I think he is the most horrible,detestable, insufferable, altogether despicable creature I have ever metin the whole of my life!"
"What! What! I say, you _are_ down on him!" Captain Fanshawe stared,beamed with an obvious relief, then hastened to defend an absent man."You're wrong, you know; really you're wrong! I don't call Carew themost attractive fellow you can meet; rather rough manners, don't youknow, but he's all right--Carew's all right. You mustn't judge byappearances, Miss Gifford. Some of the most decent fellows in the Clubare in his set. Upon my word, I think he is quite a good sort."Captain Fanshawe waxed the more eloquent as Claire preserved herexpression of incredulous dislike. He looked at her curiously, andsaid, "I suppose I mustn't ask--I suppose you couldn't tell me exactlywhy you are so interested in Carew?"
"I'm afraid not. No; I'm afraid I can't," Claire said regretfully.Then suddenly there flashed through her mind a remembrance of the manytangles and misunderstandings which take place in books for want of alittle sensible out-speaking. She looked into Captain Fanshawe's facewith her pretty dark-lashed eyes and said honestly, "I wanted to knowabout him for the sake of--another person? _Nothing_ to do with myself!I have only met him twice. I hope I shall never meet him again!"
"Thank you," said the man simply, and at the time neither of the tworealised the full significance of those quiet words. It was only onliving over the interview on her return home that Claire remembered andunderstood!
For the next quarter of an hour they abandoned the personal note, anddiscussed the various topics of the hour. They did not always agree,and neither was of the type to be easily swayed from a preconceivedopinion, but always they were interested, always they felt a sympathyfor the other view, never once was there a fraction of a pause. Theyhad so much to say that they could have talked for hours.
Gradually the Park began to empty, the string of motors grew less, thecrowd on the footpath no longer lounged, but walked quickly with adefinite purpose; the green chairs stood in rows without a singleoccupant. Claire looked round, realised her isolation, drew aninvoluntary sigh, and rose in her turn.
"It's getting late. I must be hurrying home. I go to the Marble Archand take a motor-'bus. Please don't let me take you out of your way!"
He looked at her straightly but did not reply, and they paced togetherdown the broad roadway, past the sunken beds of rhododendrons with thefountain playing in the centre, towards the archway which seemed to bothso unnecessarily near! Claire thought of the six months which laybehind, saw before her a vision of months ahead unenlightened by anothermeeting, and felt suddenly tired and chill. Captain Fanshawe frownedand bit at his lower lip.
"I am going away to-morrow. We shall be in camp. In August I am takingpart of my leave to run up to Scotland, but I can always come to town ifI'm needed, or if there's a special inducement. I came up for both theWilloughbys' `At Homes.'"
"Did you?" Claire said feebly, and fell a-thinking. The inference wastoo plain to be misunderstood. The "special inducement" in thisinstance had been the hope of meeting herself. Actually it would appearthat he had travelled some distance to ensure this chance, but thechance had been deliberately denied. Kind Mrs Willoughby would havewelcomed her with open arms; it was Janet who had laid the ban. Janetwas friendly, almost affectionate. As spring progressed she hadrepeatedly called at Saint Cuthbert's after afternoon school and carriedClaire off for refreshing country drives. Quite evidently she enjoyedClaire's society, quite evidently also she preferred to enjoy it whenother visitors were not present. Claire was not offended, for she knewthat there was no taint of snobbishness in this decision; she was justsorry, and, in a curious fashion, remorseful into the bargain. She didnot argue out the point, but instinctively she felt that Janet, notherself, was the one to be pitied!
They reached the end of the footpath: in another minute they would be inthe noise and bustle of Oxford Street. Erskine Fanshawe came to anabrupt halt, faced Claire and cried impulsively--
"Miss Gifford!"
"Yes?"
Claire shrank instinctively. She knew that she was about to be asked aquestion which it would be difficult to answer.
Erskine planted his stick on the ground, and stared straight into hereyes.
"Why are you so determined to give me no chance of meeting you again?"
"I--I'm _not_ determined! I hope we _shall_ meet. Perhaps nextwinter--at Mrs Willoughby's."
He laughed grimly.
"But if I were not content to wait for `perhaps next winter--at MrsWilloughby's.' ... What then?"
Claire looked at him gravely.
"What would you suggest? I have no home in London, and no relations,and your mother, Captain Fanshawe, would not introduce me to you whenshe had the chance!"
He made a gesture of impatience.
"Oh, my mother is the most charming of women--and the most indiscreet.She acts always on the impulse of the moment. She introduced you toMrs Willoughby, or asked Mrs Willoughby to introduce herself, whichcomes to the same thing. Surely that proves that she--she--"
He broke off, finding a difficulty in expressing what he wanted to say;but Claire understood, and emphatically disagreed. To enlist a friend'ssympathy was a very different thing from running the risk of entanglingthe affections of an only son! Obviously, however, she could notadvance this argument, so they stood, the man and the girl, looking atone another, helpless, irresolute, while the clock opposite tickedremorselessly on. Then, with an abruptness which lent added weight tohis words, Erskine said boldly--
"I want to meet you again! I am not content to wait upon chance."
Claire did not blush; on the contrary, the colour faded from her cheeks.Most certainly she also was not content, but she did not waver in herresolution.
"I'm afraid there's nothing else for it. It's one of the hardships of aworking girl's life that she can't entertain or make plans. It seemsmore impossible to me, perhaps, from having lived abroad whereconventions are so strict. English girls have had more freedom. Idon't see what I can do. I'm sorry!"--she held out her hand infarewell. "I hope some day I _shall_ see you again!"
Quite suddenly Captain Fanshawe's mood seemed to change. The set lookleft his face; he smiled--a bright confident smile.
"There's not much fear about that! I shall take very good care that wedo!"
The Independence of Claire Page 16
