Authors: Mary Burchell
To Kingsley Stour, however, the encounter was obviously shattering. He drew sharply to one side and, in a sideways glance, Leonie saw that he had gone quite white. She also saw—though only in a brief impression, since Sir James was already hurrying on to see his daughter—that a look of indescribable, almost malevolent anger disfigured the handsome face of the Assistant Surgeon as he met her glance.
It was inevitable, she supposed, since no explanations had yet been given. But it shook her badly that anyone could look at her like that, even in error, and she began to wonder if Claire, too, would look at her in angry reproach, on the assumption that she was responsible for Sir James’ presence.
Explanations could always be given later, of course. But first impressions were also important. And, as they stepped out on deck again and almost collided with Mr. Pembridge, Leonie actually seized his arm in her eagerness and said,
“Oh, Mr. Pembridge—sir, this is Claire’s father, Sir James Elstone. Would you
please
take him—and Mr. Elstone too, of course—to see Claire. And—and explain that it was you who cabled to him.”
“Why, of course.” The Senior Surgeon shook hands with Sir James. “Though I don’t remember cabling for you,” he added with a smile, as he greeted Maurice Elstone.
“I didn’t need a cable. I just came under my own steam,” the other man explained with an answering smile. “I think I see Claire.” And he waved to a figure reclining in a long chair at the other end of the desk.
“Where?—where?” Sir James’s eagerness was touching, and he and his nephew set off at a smart pace, leaving the other two behind.
“Are you coming?” Mr. Pembridge paused.
“No. I’d rather not. I—I have other things to do. And, anyway—” Leonie hesitated. “Mr. Pembridge, you will make it
quite
clear that it was you who cabled Sir James, won’t you?”
“Quite clear,” he promised. “I see that it could put you in a very unflattering light if Claire thought you sent for him. And even if—well, never mind.”
He left her then, walking rapidly along the deck in the wake of the other two, and Leonie was not able to ask what he meant by that half proviso.
She deliberately went in search of Kingsley Stour after that. For though she had no real taste for the scene there was bound to be, at least she wanted to make it clear that she had not been actively engaged in summoning Sir James.
But the Assistant Surgeon was nowhere to be seen. Possibly when they met him he had been about to go ashore. Or possibly, in the dreadful realization that Sir James was actually on board, he had decided it would be wise to make himself scarce.
Disappointment and chagrin and, Leonie supposed, a certain degree of alarm, must be consuming him at this entirely unexpected collapse of all his plans. And in some curious way it must have been almost more mortifying to be completely overlooked by Sir James than to be angrily challenged by him.
Unable to find him in any of the obvious places, Leonie turned her attention to her few professional duties. And presently Mr. Pembridge joined her for the emergency surgery which was all they usually held when the ship was in port.
She glanced at him anxiously.
“Did—everything go all right?”
“If by that you mean did Claire embrace them both with almost equal partiality and delight—yes,” said Mr. Pembridge drily. “There was a great family scene, and she hardly knew which to kiss first.”
“Then she was pleased to see her father?”
“Very, I think. I’m not sure,” Mr. Pembridge added reflectively, “that the word isn’t relieved.”
“Ah!” said Leonie, on a note of profound satisfaction. “Then she wanted him to come and—and extricate her.”
“It’s a comforting theory,” agreed Mr. Pembridge, still in that dry tone. “And, on the whole, I think it is correct. Anyway, my money is on the cousin now. I should say that the happy marriage which you so eagerly foresaw is all but arranged by this time.”
“Do you really think so?” Leonie was enchanted, and did not bother to hide the fact. “Oh, I can’t tell you how—how happy, how relieved I am.”
“You don’t need to,” said Mr. Pembridge somewhat disagreeably. “I can imagine it. Haven’t we any surgery patients this morning?”
“It doesn’t seem like it.” Leonie was a trifle subdued by his manner, and pulled down her cuffs and tried to look composed and very professional.
He sat down at his desk and glanced at her.
“Have you spoken to Stour yet about Sir James’ arrival?”
“N-no. I tried to find him, but he was nowhere about.”
“I believe he was going ashore, now I come to think of it. Well—I suppose you’ll have a heart-to-heart discussion later.”
That wasn’t quite how Leonie herself would have described it, so she said rather briefly, “I suppose so,” and Mr. Pembridge then abandoned the subject.
Very much later, when surgery was over and Leonie was alone, tidying up, Sir James sought her out.
“May I come in, Miss Creighton?” He stood in the doorway. “Mr. Pembridge said I should find you here.”
“Of course, Sir James. Come in.” Leonie set a chair for him, glad that he had asked Mr. Pembridge’s permission, rather than hers, before breaking the rule of no visitors in the surgery outside surgery hours.
“I wanted to come and tell you right away how much I appreciate the way you have looked after Claire.” Sir James ignored the offered chair and, through force of habit, sat down behind the desk—in Mr. Pembridge’s chair, which secretly annoyed Leonie.
“It’s been wonderful knowing her and having her for a friend,” Leonie replied sincerely. “You don’t have to thank me, Sir James.”
“I can understand how you feel.” Sir James could not bring himself to reject any compliment paid to his child. “But you must have had some anxious moments.”
“Indeed, yes!” agreed Leonie, from the bottom of her heart.
“However, all’s well that ends well,” went on Sir James, not disdaining a cliché in the fullness of his content. “And there’s one thing abundantly clear,” he added, with a satisfied little chuckle, “now that Maurice has turned up and captured her fancy so completely, she’s not going to waste any more thoughts on that fellow who worried me so much some months ago.”
“I hope not,” agreed Leonie, wondering if her employer had recovered sufficiently from his own illness to stand something in the nature of a shock.
“Perhaps I troubled myself unduly, in any case,” Sir James said musingly. “Very likely she never thought of him again, once she got on board.”
“On the contrary,” Leonie felt bound to say, “she thought of him a great deal, Sir James. You see—he was also on board.”
“He was—
what
?” Sir James looked thunderstruck, and a slow, furious color suffused his face.
“Oh, please don’t agitate yourself,” Leonie cried. “And the danger is quite over now. At least, I think it is. But—”
“Why didn’t you let me know this before?” rapped out her employer.
“I was going to. Or, rather, I think I was going to,” Leonie admitted more exactly. “And then I received the news that you had had a heart attack and must not be troubled with anything that might upset you.”
“Absolute nonsense!” snorted Sir James impatiently, but she saw that the recollection of his illness made him view her behavior in a different light. “Well—tell me the whole thing now.”
“It’s a long story, Sir James,” Leonie sighed.
“Never mind. I want the whole story—however long it is.”
And so, sitting opposite him in Mr. Pembridge’s surgery, Leonie at last unburdened herself to her employer of all the harrowing experiences which she had had to deal with on the voyage. He hardly interrupted her at all. Only from time to time he put a brief question in order to elucidate a point. Then at last, when she had finished her story, he said,
“So the fellow is still here—on board?”
“Yes, Sir James. At least, I think he has gone ashore at the moment.”
“And my girl considers herself more or less engaged to him?”
“Oh, no! I very much doubt that,” Leonie hastened to say. “She started this voyage thinking that, I am sure, though I understand she refused to give a final decision until we reached Australia.”
“Well, we’ve reached Australia,” Sir James pointed out.
“Yes, yes. But a great many things have happened in between. And most important of all has been the return of her cousin into her life.”
“Maurice, eh?” Sir James considered that. “But they haven’t seen much of each other yet. Not enough to make a major decision about their lives.”
“No, of course not. But quite enough to make Claire realize that she doesn’t want someone else.”
“You think so?” He looked doubtful and worried. “I wish I knew what to do about this. I’ll have to have a serious talk with her, and it’s the last thing I wanted to do, just when everything was so—happy and pleasant between us.”
Leonie looked kindly at her employer, very sorry for him in his role of worried parent, and said diffidently,
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Please do. You seem to have handled this business with a great deal of ingenuity and sense.”
“Then—could you bring yourself not even to mention this business to Claire? Believe me, a little indulgent blindness on your part, and a great deal of affectionate attention on her cousin’s part, will do far more than any lecturing or arguing.”
Sir James looked astonished.
“D’you mean—say absolutely nothing at all to Claire about this?”
“Absolutely nothing.” Leonie was emphatic. “In two days more we shall be at Sydney. She will leave the ship with you and Mr. Elstone—”
“And you,” put in Sir James with a smile.
“And me,” agreed Leonie with a pang. “She will be among friends and relatives. And, from everything I have seen of Mr. Stour, he will recognize that he has lost the game and merely fade out.”
“But what am I to say to the fellow himself?” objected Sir James.
“Nothing.”
“
Nothing
? But we are going to be aboard the same ship for two days and nights. Are you suggesting I should pretend I don’t even see him?”
“Just that, Sir James.”
“But that’s letting him down much too lightly,” objected Leonie’s employer, who had obviously been longing for the last half-hour to get at the Assistant Surgeon and tell him exactly what he thought of him.
“I can imagine few things more mortifying than to be absolutely overlooked,” replied Leonie meditatively. “You’ve already done it once, and he simply hated it.”
“I’ve already done it? When?”
With a touch of humor, Leonie described the encounter on the stairs, and, when he had got over his astonishment, Sir James burst out laughing.
“You’re a very clever girl, my dear,” he said admiringly. “And I believe you’re right. I shall do exactly as you suggest, and when we get to Sydney, you shall have the finest two weeks of your life, before we fly you back to London.”
“Thank you, Sir James,” replied Leonie, smiling, though her heart sank at that moment into her neat black “ward” shoes. For the thought of going back to London, while Mr. Pembridge continued on board the
Capricorna
for the Pacific cruise, was almost more than she could bear.
During the rest of that day she saw nothing at all of the Assistant Surgeon and guessed that he made it his business to stay ashore until the very last minute. But late in the evening they sailed once more, on the last lap of the Australian run, and Leonie did not have to wait long before the expected storm broke.
He sought her out at the deserted end of the upper deck, where she had taken herself for a breath of evening air and a spell of quiet now her hours of duty were over. She had been there about ten minutes, watching the stars come out in a pale night sky, and thinking of the heart-breaking but inevitable parting which lay before her in two days’ time. And when she heard footsteps behind her, she thought for a wild and wonderful moment that it was Mr. Pembridge. Then she turned, and saw an angry Kingsley Stour.
“Oh—hello,” she said lamely.
“You unmitigated little cheat and liar,” he returned, without any of his usual smooth address.
“Sit down and relax,” Leonie retorted coldly, recovering her self-possession. “And stop calling me names which don’t apply.”
“You told me you hadn’t cabled to Sir James.”
“I hadn’t. Mr. Pembridge cabled.”
“Of his own accord?”
“Certainly.”
“And you expect me to believe that? You must think me a fool.”
“No, I don’t altogether,” Leonie replied coolly. “I think you’re a bit of a fool and a bit of a rogue, but not completely either. If you employed your admirable gifts in facing your responsibilities instead of dodging them—”
“I didn’t come here to have you give me a smug lecture,” he interrupted roughly.
“Very well. But if you came here to get the truth— the truth is that I did not cable to Sir James, but I did know Mr. Pembridge had done so. He ordered me to keep the fact from Claire, and inevitably I had to keep it from you too.”
“I don’t believe a word of it. Or, rather, I think you cooked the thing up between you. Pembridge is just wax in your hands.”
Leonie was so astonished at this that she laughed aloud.
“Don’t you believe it,” she said, with a sigh that was more revealing than she knew. “He’s wax in no one’s hands. But I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with this conversation. I’ve told you all I have to say, and now you’d better go.”
“And you think that’s the end of it?” For a moment he towered over her.
“I don’t know what else there can be,” she replied shortly.
“No? Well, that shows that in your way you’re a bit of a fool too. I told you,” he said slowly, “that you might be sorry if you did anything in a hurry. It was silly of you to rush off that cable in spite of my warning. Now you’re going to be sorry, Leonie.”
Before she could reply to this, he turned on his heel and left her. But she looked after him without any real sense of alarm, for the words had been a trifle too melodramatic, and, in any case, with Sir James and Maurice Elstone on board, she hardly thought Kingsley Stour would be able to do anything much to injure her.
Far, far more important was the fact that time was slipping away, the last two days were shortening hour by hour, and very soon she would be saying goodbye to Mr. Pembridge and leaving him on the other side of the world.
She wondered what really clever, glamorous girls did on such an occasion—girls who were supposed to be able to attract any man and make him their slave. But she didn’t think there was anything which would make Mr. Pembridge her slave. And, anyway, she didn’t want him as a slave. She wanted him as his charming, slightly arrogant, inimitable self.