Authors: Unknown
“But you like it?” she asked, suddenly anxious that he should.
He nodded.
“Very much indeed! I had never imagined there were such things to see. And I’ve still got a month, to go!”’
“You’ll be able to see a lot in that time,” Linda suggested.
Carl smiled.
“I’d like to see as much of you as possible,” he said simply.
Linda turned away.
“In spite of what you know about me?” she asked bitterly.
He met her eyes fairly.
“Because of it, perhaps,” he told her. “You surely need looking after—and I hope to prove to you that it is my job!”
“But—” Linda protested, only to be silenced.
“I’ve not asked anything of you—yet, have I? Only to be allowed to see you!” he pointed out.
There was a long silence. A rose tapped softly at the open window pane, the birds were singing.
Linda sighed deeply and shook her head.
“I suppose the next thing will be that you try to persuade me to confess my sins to Judith,” she said, half resentfully, half wistfully.
Carl laughed in genuine amusement.
“There will be no need for me to persuade you,” he told her very positively. “You will do that off your own bat! You’re not nearly so tough as you imagine!”
He went away a little later, after he had helped Linda wash up the crockery they had used. The last memory she had of him was his reassuring smile as he turned at the gate for a last look at her.
She went slowly back into the house and sat in the chair he had just vacated, trying to sort out her thoughts.
She felt a completely different person. Less sure of herself than she had ever been in her life, but strangely content.
The weather, which had been unbrokenly fine for weeks, had changed in the last few days and was now sultry and oppressive. More than one person foretold a storm, and indeed, it did not take very much weather-wisdom to believe that they were right.
Miss Harriet looked apprehensively at the sky and reconsidered the arrangements that she had made for the party on which Judith had insisted.
“I had thought that we might have dancing on the lawn,” she said to Judith. “But now it looks as if we may have to stay indoors. I think I had better get the big drawing-room ready for dancing.”
“Just as you like,” Judith said indifferently.
And, indeed, indifference was the keynote to her mood now. She had shown it when the question of guests had been raised.
“Oh—everybody,” she had said. “You know better than I do.”
That was perfectly true, but Miss Harriet was not content to leave it there.
“I would like you to look at the list I have made out,” she said, and handed it to Judith.
Judith shrugged her shoulders as she took it, but for the sake of peace she ran her eyes down it. It included all the people of their own standing in the neighbourhood, and at the end was Charles's name.
“That looks all right,” she said casually as she passed it back to her aunt.
“You have no objection to Charles’s coming?” Miss Harriet asked bluntly.
Judith regarded her with a completely expressionless face.
“No. Why should I?” she asked.
Miss Harriet hesitated.
“You have shown your dislike for him pretty obviously,” she pointed out. “It would be awkward if there was any unpleasantness at the party.”
Judith kicked idly at a loose stone—they were out on the terrace—and said positively:
“There won’t be!” And then, as her aunt did not speak, she went on: “You see, Aunt Harriet, you used the wrong word. It isn’t so much a question of dislike. It is just that I am—completely indifferent. I can afford to be—now.”
Miss Harriet found nothing to say in reply, but afterwards she repeated the conversation to Mr. Bellairs. He listened in silence and then nodded as she finished.
“Very reassuring,” he commented.
“Reassuring!” Miss Harriet said. “That’s the last word I should have used.”
“But don’t you see, my dear,” he explained, “this makes it perfectly obvious that there is little depth to Judith’s engagement. She is using young Enstone to blind herself to the fact that Charles matters. I am more sure that she is in love with Charles than I have ever been before.”
Miss Harriet shook her head.
“I’m not,” she sighed. “Or, if she is, it will take a miracle to convince her of it.”
“Well, miracles do happen,” Mr. Bellairs said encouragingly. “And never more frequently than when love affairs are concerned. After all, one has been worked for us. In spite of all the years that have passed, we still love one another.”
Miss Harriet gave him a grateful glance and, for the time being, forgot Judith’s troubles as she planned her own future with the man who had loved her so faithfully for so many years.
To Charles the days seemed both to drag—and yet to pass like lightning. He never seemed to find time to seek Judith out, and yet, at the end of the day, it seemed as if it had been going on for ever.
Judith was avoiding him. That he knew perfectly well. Believing what she did about him, that was not surprising. It was perfectly obvious that nothing he could say would convince her that he and not Linda had spoken the truth. Neither was it in the least possible for him to speak of his love. In her present mood she would simply have thought that he was lying in order to get round her. He felt as near to helpless as a man of his type will ever allow himself to be. There seemed nothing that he could do—he had no illusions after his interview with Linda that she would ever admit to having lied about him, although he was more convinced than ever that she had.
There was only one gleam of light. Judith was not planning to marry Desmond because she loved him. If Charles had heard Carl describe Judith as a brokenhearted little girl, he would have agreed absolutely. Her face was too tanned by her open-air life for unhappiness to make her lose her colour, but there was a pinched look about her face, a blank look in her eyes that wrenched at Charles’s heart. Sometimes he wondered whether it was because of her obvious unhappiness that she avoided him, and decided that possibly it was—but not because she cared for him and was hurt because she thought he was completely mercenary. It was that everything stable in her old life had vanished and nothing had taken its place. She felt insecure and life was a wounding, unfamiliar thing. Because he had contributed to that feeling, pride compelled her to hide her hurt, so far as possible, from him. If, as he believed, Linda had also hurt her, then Judith would try to keep up appearances with her as well. And when he heard that he and Linda were both invited to this farewell party of Judith’s he was convinced that he was right. To the last moment she would keep up appearances. Then she would run away—and she would not come back again to Windygates.
Charles’s face grew grim. He had told Linda the truth when he had said that Judith was the only woman he had ever loved or wished to marry. Admittedly his first impression of her had been that she was an arrogant young person who should be taught a good lesson. But later, when he had heard her story from Miss Harriet, when he had seen that revealing photograph of her, he had realised that, right from the beginning, she had made an impression on him that no other woman ever had. He knew that he would do anything in his power to give her happiness—and there seemed no way.
His work that afternoon took him some distance from Windygates and, coming home, he stopped on a high ridge and, leaving the car, climbed still higher up the sloping ground that rose steeply from the roadside.
From this vantage-point he could see miles across the surrounding countryside, and although he was a comparative newcomer to the district, he could understand how Judith felt about it. She would tear her heart out by the roots if she were to leave it. For her own sake as well as his, she must be compelled to see the madness of her present course.
He had gone straight back to Windygates after his interview with Linda to find out if it was true about the engagement. Judith had been out but he had seen Miss Harriet. Her distress was obvious, and it was evident that she at least believed this story about it being of some weeks’ standing. But Charles could not make himself believe that, though he could have given no clear reason why. Had he known of the incident of the cheque, it might have helped, but Miss Harriet had not told him of that. Indeed, it was hardly possible that she should. Since Judith had stated so categorically that she had signed it, though she might not believe it, to have passed on any information about the incident could do no good. If he had made use of it in arguing with Judith it would only have added to her conviction that no one was trustworthy.
So Charles puzzled.
“I hope I’m not intruding?” said a pleasant voice.
Charles turned sharply. The American whom he had met once or twice in the village was standing there regarding him rather diffidently. Convention forbade that Charles should tell him that he certainly was and that the sooner he cleared out the better, so he got up from the boulder on which he had been sitting and put his pipe back into his pocket.
“Not at all,” he said with impersonal politeness. “I was just going.”
“Don’t do that!” the man said. “I saw your car down below and I thought I’d like to have a talk.”
“With me?” Charles said sharply.
Carl shrugged his shoulders.
“With whoever the car belonged to,” he explained. “You see, there come times when, if I don’t let off steam about this country of yours, I just about explode. I like it—but I can’t get the hang of it.”
Charles’s eyes wandered over the broad acres.
“What’s odd about it?” he asked uncomprehendingly.
“With the land? Nothing—barring its pocket size to my eyes. No, the people, I mean.”
“What’s wrong with us?” And, despite himself, a hostile note crept into his voice.
“ ‘Us’?” Carl asked. “You count yourself one of them?”
“I was born in England. I’ve lived here all my life. That goes for something,” Charles retorted.
“Yes, it certainly does. Come to think of it, maybe you’re the right person to ask. You ought to see it from both sides.”
“Maybe,” Charles said shortly. Or, on the other hand, perhaps he could see neither side’s point of view very clearly because he could, not bring a double vision into focus? Was he able to see the question but not the answer? Could he understand Judith’s problems yet be unable to find a solution for them?
“Right! Well, first, why is it that you regard one another with such suspicion? Why does an Englishman clash temperamentally with a Welshman? Why are your social barriers so difficult to overcome for any of you born out of them—and yet, a foreigner like me you just accept. No one says to me, ‘Who was your father?’ ”
“They wouldn’t,” Charles said promptly. “Just because you are a foreigner. You’re not expected to conform to our rules. Besides, haven’t the worst rows you’ve ever known been between relatives rather than acquaintances?”
“That’s right,” Carl agreed. “So you think that’s it?”
“Partly. But what a man is goes for something. In spite of regimentation and all the limitations over here, we’re still individualists. Consequently, though we may be suspicious, we do let a man speak for himself.”
“You’re a newcomer here, aren’t you?” pursued Carl thoughtfully.
“Yes. I’ve only been here about six weeks,” Charles explained. “I’ve lived in Sussex most of my life.”
“People know you’re half a foreigner?”
Suddenly Charles became really interested in his companion. The man wasn’t just asking aimless questions, he was really trying to work something out. He himself became curious to know what it was.
“No, as a matter of fact, they don’t,” he confessed. “You see, as I said, I was born in this country and I’ve lived here all my life. That means I had the right when I came of age to choose my nationality. I decided to stick to the country I’ve known all my life. Sometimes I forget that my father was an American—maybe you’ll have heard of our family?”
“Yes,” Carl said thoughtfully. “I knew your grandfather.”
“Did you?” Charles said with interest. “He was a grand old chap. I only saw him once or twice, but I’ve never forgotten him! Some time you must tell me more about him!”
“Oh, I didn’t visit him socially!” Carl said drily. “I was the boy he bought his afternoon paper from. But you’re right, he was a grand old man. Gave me a couple of dollars one Christmas. Seemed more of a fortune to me then than what I’ve got does now.”
“Yes—I can believe that,” Charles said slowly. “I remember a golden half-sovereign he gave me when I was ten. It was the realest money I’ve ever touched.”
There was a silence for a moment, and then Carl said slowly:
“How come if you’re not a foreigner to them, if you’re English like themselves—and yet a stranger, they trust you round here?”
“Who?” Charles asked sharply.
“The farmers—the village people.”
“Do they trust me?” Charles asked slowly.
“Yes. They do. They think you've got something, the way you dropped on that farmer with the sick cow.”
“Shawbury?” Charles said slowly. “That was luck.”
“More than luck!” Carl insisted. “At least, they say so. Well?”
Charles drew a long breath. Only too well he knew that he had gained their trust—but that his gain had been Judith’s loss.
“I’ve tried to play fair, that’s all!” he said shortly. He glanced down at his watch. “I must be going.” He turned to his companion with a smile. “I hope I’ve made things a bit clearer to you?”
“So far as you’ve gone,” Carl admitted. “But the thing that gets me most ”
“Yes?” Charles said rather impatiently.
“Yes,” Carl said slowly. “I want to know why you always leave action until so late it’s almost too late!”
“What!” Charles said sharply.
“It’s true. You ask yourself. Time and again. You ask any American—any foreigner for that matter. He’ll tell you the British always start out by being haughty as if they don’t care a damn for what anyone else thinks because they know they are right. Then they start explaining. They use all the words in the book. Then they use them all over again. When the rest of the world is decided that there’s nothing to it but words, then, bing! they go into action!”