The Hall and the Grange Part 26

"If you feel like that about him--! Well, I'll see him and talk to him.

I don't think it's quite as bad as you think, Edmund. The fact is he's made a big position for himself in the world, and--"

"Oh, yes, I know all that. So does he. That's the root of the trouble."

The conversation was broken at that point by the incursion of several young people whose activities and sociabilities for the afternoon would radiate from this garden terrace. Norman Eldridge was among them, and with him were the two young men whom he had invited to Hayslope. These he had already presented to Pamela, and they were now on either side of her, while Horsham thus dispossessed, was making himself agreeable to other guests.

The hot afternoon wore on to the coolness of evening. There was perpetual activity of white-clad youthful figures on the tennis courts; some inspection--mostly in couples--of the ancient Castle, which stood ma.s.sive and grim overlooking the gay expanse of garden that surrounded it, and as if it would never quite adapt itself to its present peaceful and defenceless state; appreciation of garden beauties--also mostly in couples; general conversation from groups overlooking the courts; play of teacups on the terrace; and a general atmosphere of untroubled youthful enjoyment, tampered by the less vociferous contentment of the elders who watched or took some share in it.

But youth is seldom altogether untroubled, even when in the ma.s.s it appears most delightfully free from care. Pamela, for instance, might have forgotten, for the happy afternoon, the cloud that hung over her home, as her parents whom it most concerned seemed to be doing; the experience of a first proposal had not greatly affected her, though probably when she came to think it over alone it would seem more important than it did now. But she was unhappy about Norman.

Was he avoiding her? The idea came to her in the course of the afternoon, and grew. She was not entirely guiltless of a wish to avoid him, at first, or at least to appear to be doing so. She was not quite pleased with him, but her displeasure would melt if he sought her out, as he might be expected to do, and proved to her that she had nothing over which to disturb herself. He had more than one opportunity of securing a word or two with her apart. Almost invariably he had done so on such occasions as this, if only to share with her some laughing appreciation of the company in which they found themselves. He had produced for her inspection the first instalment of his promised supply of young men; the grin with which he had introduced them to her had shown that their conversation on that subject was in his mind, and he must have wanted to hear her observations, and to make some of his own.

She was quite ready to oblige him, as a stepping-stone to an exchange of views upon a subject more serious, for her slight resentment against him soon disappeared in face of his evident wish to maintain the usual friendly relations. He did accompany her and one of his friends, who had expressed a desire to see the Castle--in Pamela's company--on a round of inspection, and was quite friendly and amusing. But when she was ready to make it easy for him to talk to her alone, he did not give her the opportunity, and by and by she became sure that he did not want to talk to her alone. Then she retired into her sh.e.l.l, and showed him that she was displeased with him. He didn't seem to mind that either, and pretended not to notice it. He did his best to make her laugh, and it was unfortunate that once at least he succeeded. This made her angry with herself, and she withdrew from the group which Norman was so successful in entertaining. One of his friends--the one who had inspected the Castle with them--withdrew with her, but he found that the wind had changed and the sun of her amiability no longer shone on him.

She detached herself and went straight up to where Fred Comfrey was engaged in conversation with the Persh.o.r.e niece, and presently Norman had the felicity of seeing her walk off with him towards the retirement of groves unseen. Though carefully refraining from a look in his direction, she was fully aware of the annoyance he immediately showed, and was glad of it.

When she had got Fred alone she was inclined to be annoyed with herself for having been forced to that means of a.s.serting herself, and wished she had chosen Horsham for a tete-a-tete. Her feelings were warm towards Horsham, who had behaved well under his rejection, and she had seen him eyeing her rather wistfully as she and Fred had pa.s.sed him. Still, Norman would not have disliked that as much as this; and this needn't last long. Fred did not appear to such advantage here as at home at Hayslope, where his status was well understood and need not be taken into account. He did not seem to belong of right to the company a.s.sembled. He had, in fact, bicycled over to Persh.o.r.e Rectory, with the faint hope that the Rector's daughters, whom he knew slightly, might be going to the Castle, where he knew that Pamela was to spend the afternoon, and would take him with them. His hopes had been fulfilled.

The Rector's daughters were "getting on," and could neither send away a young man reported to be eligible on the plea of an engagement, or give up their afternoon's pleasure. But he was inclined to wish that his plan had not succeeded. He had been quite well received, but he was not in flannels and could not play tennis; so that he never merged with the rest, and there was a sort of air of apology about him which did not show him up to advantage. He had never been to Persh.o.r.e Castle before, and was apologetic about that, to Pamela, explaining rather anxiously exactly how he came to be there, and giving her the very impression which his explanations were intended to remove--that he had got himself in there on her account. This did not please her at all; nor did his way of taking her invitation to a stroll apart. She divined a difference in his att.i.tude towards her, though there was nothing in his speech at which she could take offence. Her invitation was made to appear a special mark of favour, and yet one to which he seemed to think he had some right. For the first time in her intercourse with him she was forced to take into account his admiration of her, which she had hitherto been able to set aside.

She asked him, rather shortly, what it was that her father had talked to him about, for she had not seen him since that afternoon. To her surprise he said that it had nothing to do with the quarrel, and gave her to understand that there were subjects which men discussed between themselves and kept to themselves. He said this in a half-jocular manner, not in the best of taste, and she had an uneasy suspicion that she herself might have been the subject of their conversation, but immediately rejected it. Fred seemed, anyhow, to be less in awe of her father than he had shown himself until now, and she did not like that, for she thought that deference was due from him. She was in fact, coming very quickly round to Norman's stated opinion of Fred--that he might have made a success of his job, whatever it was, and done well in the war, but he was an outsider all the same. She had labelled this view as sn.o.bbery, and Norman had said: "All right, then, I'm a sn.o.b. Let's leave it at that."

Perhaps Fred, not responsive to fine shades, but sharpened by his feeling for her, and under the uneasy influence of a false shame at being where he was, divined that he was losing ground in her estimation, for he suddenly plumped out; "Well, this is the last of holidays for me.

I'm off to London to get into harness again."

That changed the current of her thoughts about him. As a bold adventurer on the sea of life he was worthy of respect, and good wishes. She gave him her good wishes, and he stoically refrained from asking anything else of her, though he would have given a good deal for some word of regret that he was leaving so soon, or of desire for his return. Still, she was charmingly friendly again, and he took leave of her, and very soon afterwards of Persh.o.r.e Castle, thinking that his appearance there had not turned out so badly after all. He had actually made no plans to go to London, or anywhere else, in the immediate future; his announcement of departure had been an inspiration of the moment. He would never get any further with her, hanging about Hayslope. Her tone towards him had shown him that plainly. He was a fool to have counted a little upon that surprising and gratifying invitation of hers to a few minutes of intimacy in the middle of a crowd, and to have tried to advance himself a step. And yet-- What had it meant but that she was beginning to want him--a little, sometimes--as he wanted her, always.

She might not know it, and she had certainly not seemed to want him very much when she had got him apart; but the stirring of her heart towards him, surely it had begun! He would go away, as soon as possible, and plunge into work, and every now and then, at intervals not too close, he would come back, and tell her of what he had been doing. She would miss him. Would she miss him? He hoped so; he thought so. He was not an altogether unhappy young man as he pedalled himself back to Hayslope.

But he had left behind him an unhappy young woman. Norman was furious with Pamela now, wouldn't look at her, much less speak to her. And she was without the conviction to uphold her that she had done right. Her eyes had been opened. She was ashamed of herself for having given Fred that mark of confidence. Norman was right. He wasn't of their sort, and it didn't do to go outside the pale for your friends. Neither of those young men whom Norman had introduced to her would have made her feel uncomfortable, as Fred had, if she had given them an ordinary mark of friends.h.i.+p. Pamela had burnt her fingers, for she had wanted Norman to take her invitation to Fred as rather more than an ordinary mark of friends.h.i.+p. He had done so, and she was not pleased with herself, nor with him, nor with Fred. But of course she wasn't going to show him that. She took no more notice of him for the rest of the afternoon than he did of her, but she made herself particularly agreeable to the more coming-on of his two friends. But this wasn't a great success either, for the friend told Norman that evening, with the attractive candour of a friend, that he thought his cousin was a peach, but somewhat hectic in her mirth, which was exactly what Pamela wasn't as a general rule.

Horsham happened to be in Judith's company when Pamela went away with Fred. He found Judith's company soothing after the laceration of spirit he had lately undergone. He had conscientiously examined himself upon Pamela's statement to him about Judith, trying to look at her with the eyes that had been attributed to him, just to see if there was anything in it, as yet unknown to himself. Certainly she was a very pretty girl, and now he came to look at her more closely not really a child any longer. It would not be at all surprising if some fellow fell in love with her, pretty soon. But she did not arouse in him the feelings that Pamela did. She was a delightful companion, and as a sister, if he ever had the luck to marry Pamela, she would be very dear to him--he felt sure of that. Yes, in a way he really loved her already, but not in that way at all. He was sure of that also, and being sure of it allowed himself to take his usual pleasure in her society, honest fellow that he was, without any misgivings of danger.

"I say," he said, "I don't much care for that fellow Comfrey. Pamela doesn't like him particularly, does she?"

"I don't know," said Judith. "I don't."

"You don't? Why?"

"I don't know why," said Judith, "but I don't," which was a thoroughly Judithian speech.

"Strikes me as rather a pus.h.i.+ng sort of fellow," said Horsham. "I shouldn't have thought Pamela would have taken up with a fellow like that."

"How high is that tower?" asked Judith. They were sitting on the lawn in view of the Castle, looming above them.

Horsham told her. She seemed really to want to know. He thought rather sadly that Pamela had not really wanted to know how far it was from Hayslope to Persh.o.r.e. Judith was sometimes more interesting to talk to than Pamela, or at least she was sometimes more easy to talk to. But perhaps that was because she was not so clever as Pamela. He knew _he_ wasn't. But he had a good brain and was improving it all the time. He told Judith something about the course of study he was pursuing at Oxford, but she was disappointing about that. "I hate learning things,"

she said; "at least I hate sitting down to learn something. I like finding things out for myself."

"Well; that's the only way of finding them out, isn't it?--real stiff things, I mean."

"I don't know. Perhaps it is. When did Napoleon die?"

Such a question from Pamela might have made Horsham suspect that he was being chaffed. But Judith didn't chaff him in that way. He was obliged to confess that he was uncertain of the exact date, but would look it up for her if she wanted to know.

"I don't want to know the exact date," she said. "But the Battle of Waterloo was in 1815, and I suppose he was getting on then. I didn't know till the other day that his wife was still alive."

"His wife!"

"Well, widow, then. The Empress Eugenie was the wife of Napoleon, and she's alive still, and lives in England."

Horsham did not laugh, or even smile at her. He felt a little shocked, but would not have let her see it for anything. "Oh, she's the wife of Napoleon the Third," he said. "The Napoleon we defeated at Waterloo was Napoleon the First, you know."

"Oh, I see," said Judith hurriedly. "Yes; of course, I ought to have known that. I'm glad I asked you, and not anybody else."

This little episode remained in Horsham's memory. He was rather surprised that Judith's astonis.h.i.+ng ignorance did not affect him more disagreeably. But of course a young girl might very well be ignorant of the course of modern history. He himself had not known the date of the great Napoleon's death until he had looked it up afterwards. Her mistake had had the contrary effect of making him feel rather tender towards her. He quite understood that she was ashamed of it, and would have hated to be laughed at because of it. She had known he wouldn't laugh at her. That was rather touching. It was pleasant to be understood, and trusted, in that way. Dear little Judith! If only Pamela would trust him like that! Perhaps she would some day. He loved her very much, and that must surely have some weight with her in time. They were a wonderful pair, she and Judith. It wasn't often you found two girls, quite different, as charming as those two. Oh, Pamela was worth waiting and hoping for.

CHAPTER XXIII

APPROACHES

Lady Eldridge came over to the Hall the next morning. Mrs. Eldridge received her with bright amiability. On the surface they were friends as before, but the desire for one another's company was less. They had not quarrelled and would not quarrel, but each of them knew now that the other had espoused the quarrel, and that it was beyond their powers to end it.

Lady Eldridge had brought news. William had taken a shooting in Suffolk, and she was going to join him there immediately, to get ready for their first party, to which, however, she had brought no invitation. "It has all been rather sudden," she said with a smile. "But William is like that. It is very good partridge country. He heard that the shoot was to be let, and ran down to see about it. It seemed to be just what he wanted, so he closed with them at once."

"Lord Crowborough told Edmund yesterday that he was buying a place in Suffolk," said Mrs. Eldridge. "Well, my dear, it will be dreadful to lose you, but under the circ.u.mstances at present I'm afraid we shouldn't get much pleasure out of one another here. Perhaps it's the best thing.

Are you going to move your furniture there?"

"But William hasn't bought the place," said Lady Eldridge. "It is extraordinary what tales get about. He has only taken it for the season, furnished, of course. It's a very nice house, and his idea is that we shall go there this winter when we are not in London. But there is no idea of our giving up the Grange. I hope we shall be here next summer, and that everything will be happy again between us."

"I hope it will be," said Mrs. Eldridge with a sigh; "and I wish we didn't have to wait until next summer for it. Little things always seem to be happening to put us farther apart, and nothing ever happens to bring us closer together."

"There is one little thing that may help. William is sending Coombe up to Eylsham. A head gardener is wanted there, and he has got him the place. He won't come back here, even when our tenancy there ends."

So there was that trouble removed, but too late for it to have much effect. Colonel Eldridge, when he heard of it, expressed a modified satisfaction. "I'm glad to get the fellow out of the place," he said, "though I think the mischief he may have done is at an end. People here have taken his measure, and he doesn't seem to have turned anybody against me. It has happened to suit William to clear him out of here; if he had meant to satisfy me by doing it he'd have done it in a different way."

He expressed some doubt, also, as to whether Lord Crowborough's story wasn't true after all. "Eleanor hasn't seen him for a fortnight or more," he said. "She only knows what he has written to her. We know that the place _is_ on the market. Very likely he has taken it for a time to see how it suits him; and if it does he will buy it. He hasn't told Eleanor that yet. I don't know that I've any reason to complain about it, if it is so. I suppose he wants landed property to support his new t.i.tle, and he wouldn't be content to wait for Hayslope. My life is pretty well as good as his. At any rate there's no definite point in dispute left now between us. There's no need for him to turn his back on me any longer."

"Wouldn't he expect you to take the first step towards a reconciliation now?"

"I dare say he would. But I'm not going to do it. What grounds should I have to go on? There aren't any. At the same time, if _he_ puts out any feelers, I shan't reject them. For one thing it is getting very tiresome to have to arrange things that he and I are both concerned in through lawyers, and absurdly expensive, too. Of course that doesn't matter to him, but every penny matters to me now. There are all sorts of little points that a few words between us would settle, and I've got to make a formal business of correspondence with all of them. If he no longer has any feeling for me as a brother, there's no reason for him to treat me as an enemy."

He had not mentioned to his wife that Lord Crowborough was going to try to put matters straight between him and his brother, but it was very much in his mind. He was beginning to have an uneasy feeling that if he had held himself a little less stiffly no estrangement need have occurred. He had been right, he thought, in every point of their dispute, and his brother wrong, but looking back upon it all there was nothing that should have led to an actual state of enmity between them.

The results of that state were pressing hardly upon him. There was a great deal of business in connection with the estate to which William was now the next heir that had been made easy by their meeting so often and being so of accord in what should be done. It had to be recognized too that, in spite of his determination to carry out his own obligations to the full, William had done much to grease the wheels. If he had never allowed him to pay money that was not actually due from him, a considerable saving had been made in his own expenditure by William's ready, open-handed ways. He was not sure, either, that William had not actually paid a good deal here and there that was not strictly due from him. He seemed to have been clever in getting over objections on his part, and making it all appear natural and business-like. You might say what you pleased about money not mattering much to him, and about his taking a pride in playing the bountiful; but it would be ungracious to look upon that side only, and to ignore the undoubted generosity of his dealings, and especially the impulse to cover it up. It was that generosity which Colonel Eldridge was missing now, even more than the tangible results of it, though the lack of them was making his days dark and anxious. In fact, he was beginning to miss William, though he had given Lord Crowborough to understand that he could do very well without him for the future.

Lord Crowborough lost no time in putting his good intention to the proof. He was seriously disturbed at the state of things revealed to him by his old friend. He had not thought that the quarrel had gone nearly so far nor so deep. In talking it over with Lady Crowborough, he expressed himself doubtful about being able to do much to mend matters.

"William has put Edmund's back up," he said, "and I'm not altogether surprised at it. Still, Edmund is ready to make friends if William gives him a chance. At least, he is quite willing to meet him again; and if they come together I expect they _will_ make friends."

"I think it is all very absurd," said Lady Crowborough. "I feel quite sure that Colonel Eldridge is in the wrong from beginning to end, and I very nearly told him so this afternoon."