CHAPTER XVIIITHE REASON WHY
WhilstOttinge had been dozing through lovely summer days, Aurea Morven was enjoying a certain amount of the gay London season. General and Mrs. Morven had no family—Aurea was their only young relative, the Parretts’ only niece, the parson’s only child; and, though she was the light of the Rectory, he was not selfish, and shared and spared her company. Besides, as Mrs. Morven said, “Edgar had his literary work, his large correspondence, his parish, and Jane Norris to look after him, and it was out of the question to suppose that a girl with such beauty and attractiveness was to be buried in an out-of-the-way hole like Ottinge-in-the-Marsh—although her father and her auntsdidlive there!” Mrs. Morven, a masterful lady on a large scale, who carried herself with conscious dignity, looked, and was a manager—a manager of ability. She was proud of the general’s pretty niece, enjoyed chaperoning her and taking her about, and anticipated her making a notable match; for, besides her pretty face, and charming, unspoiled nature, Aurea was something of an heiress.
It seemed to this clear-sighted lady that her niece was changed of late, her spontaneous gaiety had evaporated, once or twice she had sudden fits of silence and abstraction, and, although she laughed and danced and appeared to enjoy herself, refused to take any ofher partners seriously, and shortened her visit by three weeks!
Miss Susan had arrived at Eaton Place for a couple of days. It was arranged by the girl that she and her aunt were to leave town together—though the general and his wife pleaded for a longer visit, offering Aurea, as a temptation, a ball, a Windsor garden-party, and Sandown—the filial daughter shook her head, with smiling decision; she had promised the Padre, and, besides, she wanted to get back to the garden before the best of the roses were over! Theatre dinners were breaking up at the Ritz, and a stream of smart people were gradually departing eastward. Among the crowd in the hall, awaiting her motor, stood Lady Kesters, superb in diamonds and opera mantle. She and Miss Susan caught sight of one another at the same moment, and Miss Susan immediately began to make her way through the throng.
“So glad to meet you!” gasped the elder lady. “I called yesterday afternoon, but you were out.”
“Yes, so sorry—I was down in the country. Do come and lunch to-morrow.”
“I wish I could, but, unfortunately, we are going home. Let me introduce my niece, Aurea Morven—Lady Kesters.”
Lady Kesters smiled and held out her hand. Could this extremely pretty girl be the reason of Owen’s surprising contentment? She looked at her critically. No country mouse, this! her air and her frock were of the town. What a charming face and marvellous complexion—possibly due to the Marsh air!
“I have known your aunts for years”; and, though addressing Miss Susan, she looked straight at Aurea, as she asked, “And how is the new chauffeur suiting you?”
The girl’s colour instantly rose, but before she could speak, Miss Susan flung herself on the question.
“Oh, very well indeed—most obliging and civil—has been quite a treasure in the house and garden.”
Lady Kesters raised her delicately pencilled eyebrows and laughed.
“The chauffeur—gardening! How funny!”
“You see, Bella is so nervous in a motor, it is not often wanted, and Owen likes to help us. We find him rather silent and reserved about himself; he gives the impression of being a bit above his place?” and she looked at Lady Kesters interrogatively.
“Really?”
“I suppose you can tell me something about him—as you said you’d known him for years?” continued Miss Susan, with unconcealed eagerness. “I am, I must confess, just a little curious. Where does he come from? Has he any belongings?”
“Oh, my dear lady, do you think it necessary to look into your chauffeur’s past! I believe he comes from Westshire, his people—er—er—lived on my grandfather’s property; as to his belongings—ah! there is my husband! I see he has found the car at last, and I must fly! So sorry you are leaving town to-morrow—good-bye!” Lady Kesters now understood her brother’s reluctance to leave Ottinge—she had seen the reason why.
Miss Susan and her niece travelled down to Catsfield together, were met in state by the motor and luggage-cart, and created quite a stir at the little station. Miss Morven had such a heap of boxes—one as big as a sheep trough—that the cart was delayed for nearly a quarter of an hour, and Peter, the porter, for once had a job:
The ladies found that, in their absence, the neighbourhoodhad awakened; there were large house-parties at Westmere and Tynflete, and not a few smart motors now to be seen skimming through the village. It was a fact that several tourists had visited the church, and had “tea” at Mrs. Pither’s, and patronised her neighbour’s “cut flowers.” The old church was full on Sundays, dances and cricket matches were in prospect, and Miss Morven, the countryside beauty, was immediately in enviable request.
Miss Parrett had relaxed her hold, so to speak, upon the car, and lent it daily, and even nightly, to her niece and sister; indeed, it seemed that she would almost do anything with the motor than use it herself; and though she occasionally ventured to return calls at a short distance, it was undoubtedly pain and grief to her to do so—and, on these occasions, brandy and heart-drops were invariably secreted in one of its many pockets.
Owen, the automaton chauffeur, was the reluctant witness of the many attentions showered upon his lady-love, especially by Bertie Woolcock, who was almost always in close attendance, and put her in the car with many voluble regrets and urgent arrangements for future meetings. He would linger by the door sometimes for ten minutes, prolonging the “sweet sorrow,” paying clumsy compliments, and making notes of future engagements upon his broad linen cuff. He little suspected how dearly the impassive driver longed to descend from his seat and throttle him; but once he did remark to the lady—
“I say, what a scowling brute you have for a chauffeur!”
Meanwhile, Miss Susan looked on and listened to Bertie’s speeches with happy complacency. Bertie was heir to twenty thousand a year, and it would be delightfulto have her darling Aurea living at Westmere, and established so near home.
One evening, returning from a garden-party, Miss Susan and her niece had a narrow escape of being killed. Aurea was seated in front—she disliked the stuffy interior, especially this warm weather; they had come to a red triangle notice, “Dangerous to Cyclists,” and were about to descend a long winding hill—the one hill of the neighbourhood. Just as they commenced the descent with the brake hard on, it suddenly broke, and in half a second the car had shot away!
Wynyard turned his head, and shouted, “Sit tight!” and gave all his mind to steering; he took the whole width of the road to get round the first corner, and then the hill made an even sharper drop; the car, which was heavy, gathered momentum with every yard, and it seemed impossible to reach the bottom of the hill without some terrible catastrophe. Half-way down was another motor. Wynyard yelled, sounded the horn, and flashed by; a pony-trap, ascending, had a narrow escape of being pulverised in the green car’s mad flight. Then, to the driver’s horror, he saw a great wagon and horses on the road near the foot of the hill, and turned cold with the thought that there might not be room to get by. They missed it by a hair’s-breadth, and continued their wild career. At last they came to the level at the foot of the slope, and Wynyard pulled up, after the most exciting two minutes he had ever experienced. He glanced at his two companions; they were both as white as death—and so was he! Miss Susan, for once, was speechless, but at last she signed that she wished to get out, and Wynyard helped her to the bank, on which she collapsed, inarticulate and gasping.
“It’s a good thing Aunt Bella was not with us,” saidAurea, and her voice sounded faint; “thistime she really would have died! What happened?” turning to Owen.
“The brake rod broke, miss—the old car is rotten,” he added viciously.
“Old car!” repeated Susan, who, though her nerves were in a badly shattered condition, had at last found utterance.
“Very old and crazy—and you never know what she is going to do next, or what trick she will play you—and you ladies have been giving her a good deal of work lately.”
“If you had lost your head, Owen!” exclaimed Miss Susan.
“I hope I don’t often do that, miss,” he answered steadily.
“If you had not had splendid nerve, we would all have been killed; why, we just shaved that wagon by a hair’s-breadth—that would have been a smash! We were going so fast.”
He made no reply, but moved away to examine the machine.
“Of course it would have been death, Aurea, and I don’t want to go like that!”
“I should hope not, Susie.”
“I don’t think I shall be afraid when it comes—I shall feel like a child whose nurse has called it away to go to sleep; but I’d prefer to go quietly, and not like some crushed insect.”
Wynyard, as he worked at the car, could not help overhearing snatches of the conversation between aunt and niece; the latter said—
“The other day I was watching a flock of sheep in the meadows; the shepherd was with them, and they were all collected about him so trustfully. By his side was aman in a long blue linen coat. I said to myself, ‘There is death among them; poor innocents, they don’t know it.’ That’s like death and us—we never know who he has marked, or which of the flock is chosen.”
“He nearly chose us to-day—but he changed his mind.”
Aurea nodded, and then she went on—
“As to that odious motor, every one says Aunt Bella was shamefully taken in; but she would not listen to advice, she would buy it—she liked the photo. The car is medieval, and, what’s more, it’s unlucky,—it’s malignant! and you remember when we met the runaway horse and cart near Brodfield; I was sitting outside, and I declare it seemed to struggle to get into the middle of the road, andmeetthem! you remember what Goethe said about the demoniac power of inanimate things?”
“Now, my dear child, that’s nonsense!” expostulated Miss Susan. “I had a poor education, and I’ve never read a line of Goethe’s; if he wrote such rubbish, I had no loss!”
“Well, you will allow that the car did its very best to destroy us to-day! And Mrs. Ramsay told me a man she knew recognised it by its number—and that it once ran over and killed a girl on a bicycle, and the people sent it to auction, where some one bought it for a song, passed it on to Aunt Bella, and here it is!”
“The car will be all right now, Miss Susan,” announced the chauffeur, touching his cap; “there are no more hills, we are on the flat, and I can take you home safely; but I’m afraid she will have to go to Brodfield again to-morrow.”
“Owen, do you believe in a motor being unlucky?” she asked, rising as she spoke.
“I can’t say I do, miss; I don’t know much about them.”
“What do you mean?—not know about motors!”
“Oh,” correcting himself, “I mean with respect to their characters, miss; it’s said that there are unlucky engines, and unlucky ships, and submarines—at least they have a bad name. I can’t say that this car and I have ever, what you may call, taken to one another.”
And with this remark, he tucked in Aurea’s smart white skirt, closed the door, mounted to his place, and proceeded steadily homewards.