CHAPTERXII.YOOTHA’S PRESENTIMENT.
Meanwhile Yootha Hagerston was secretly becoming more and more enamored of Captain Preston. It was the first time in her life she had ever really cared for any man; until now she had followed the fashion prevalent among many women of pretending to consider love and deep affection “all nonsense” and the hall-mark of a weak intelligence. She had come to know his movements and had discovered some of his haunts, with the result that she rarely missed an opportunity of meeting him “by chance.”
And, though he would not have admitted it, even to himself, Preston had for some weeks past been singularly attracted by Yootha. He had liked her that day he had met her for the first time, at lunch at the Ritz and afterwards at Jessica’s musical At Home, though the woman who had most interested him then had been Yootha’s friend, Cora Hartsilver. But now it was different. There was something about the girl, apart from her looks, which appealed to him. What it was he could not have explained. It might have been her sympathetic nature, or her personality, or her temperament; in any case he felt strangely drawn towards her every time they met.
On the lovely July afternoon Levi Schomberg hadcalled to see Jessica and Stapleton, and had afterwards wandered into the Park, Yootha was on the river with Preston. A friend of his whose home was at Pangbourne had, he had told her, on being suddenly ordered abroad, told him he could, during his absence, make use of his punt if ever he felt inclined to; though Preston had himself just rented a house-boat which was moored close to Maidenhead. Until now he had not felt inclined; punting alone is a dull form of amusement, and Preston had comparatively few friends in London. Then one day, while thinking of Yootha, the idea had occurred to him that she might like a river picnic from time to time, and he had hinted as much to her; Pangbourne was more solitary than Maidenhead he reflected.
They were in a narrow estuary—it was not a backwater—with the punt moored to a tree, and for some moments neither had spoken. No sound, save of birds singing in the woods around, broke the almost perfect stillness. The air was sultry, as though thunder were in the air.
“How fortunate I should have accepted La Planta’s invitation to lunch at the Ritz that day last August,” Preston said suddenly. “I did not want to lunch with him, I remember, but now I am glad I did.”
“Why are you glad?” she asked, looking across at him. She was lying in the stern, propped up with cushions, and made a pretty picture in her big hat and the becoming boating frock which revealed her figure.
He gazed at her without answering. Then, as if to conceal his embarrassment, he began to light his briar.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied awkwardly, tossing the match into the water. “That was the first time I met you, if you remember.”
If she remembered! Could she ever forget? That was the thought which flashed into her brain, but she did not utter it. Instead, she said carelessly:
“So it was. And the first time you met Jessica, too, wasn’t it?”
He made an impatient movement.
“Please don’t remind me of that. Every time I think of that woman I feel positively vicious.”
“I thought that day,” Yootha continued, after a pause, “that you had eyes for nobody but Cora. You do like Cora, don’t you?”
“Of course I like her, though not, perhaps, as much as you like her. Nobody could help liking her—nobody who counts.”
“I am glad you say that. In my opinion she is the one woman in the world. I simply worship her, and always have. She is so true, so absolutely free from insincerity. You never met her husband, I think?”
“No—fortunately.”
“Why fortunately?”
“From what I have heard about him he must have been a terrible outsider. Was she very unhappy with him?”
“Very. They ought never to have married. Myself, I hated him. He was so selfish, so self-satisfied, in short such a bounder. I ought not, I suppose, to say that of a dead man, but I can’t help it. He was odious. I know you would have thought so had you known him.”
Preston went on sucking at his pipe for some moments, without speaking. Presently his eyes met Yootha’s. He tried to look away, but could not. And then, all at once, the girl gave a curious little laugh. It was so unlike her to laugh apparently at nothing, that Preston laughed too.
“What are we both laughing at?” she exclaimed, suddenly recovering. She had colored unexpectedly, and Preston noticed that the hand which hung over the side of the punt trembled.
“I can’t think,” he said. “I fancy I was laughing because I feel so happy.”
“Do you really,” she asked, and he saw that her chest rose and fell beneath the flimsy material she wore. “I wonder why?”
“Your cigarette had gone out,” he remarked inconsequently. “Try one of mine. I think you will like them.”
He stood up in the punt, and, balancing himself carefully, stepped over to where she lay. Then, kneeling beside her, he held out the case which he had produced from his pocket.
He sat close to her when he had lit her cigarette. Somehow her proximity seemed to agitate him. He wanted to speak, to go on conversing on ordinarytopics, as they had been, but words refused to come.
And at that instant a drop of rain splashed upon the punt. Without their noticing it the sky had become overcast. Heavy drops followed in quick succession, and then, without warning, a flash almost blinded them, and on the same instant a peal of thunder crackled overhead and all around them like rifle fire.
When they had set out, early in the afternoon, the sky had been cloudless, so that neither had coats or wraps. Just in time Preston snatched up his jacket and flung it over Yootha, a moment later rain came down like a shower in the tropics.
Pulling the punt in closer under the bank to get what shelter was obtainable, Preston looked down anxiously at his companion to whom his thin jacket afforded but scant protection. She was smiling up at him and looked perfectly contented, save for her anxiety about his getting drenched.
And still the rain poured down. Judging by the sky, it was not going to stop very soon. Flash after flash lit up the surrounding fields, and the thunder pealed almost incessantly. And then all at once, to add to their discomfort, wind began to rise.
That storm, as some may remember, was said to be the worst London had known for twenty years. It lasted throughout the night and well on into the following morning, wreaking havoc in the metropolis and in the provinces, and particularly up the Thames valley.
And it was a storm which Preston and YoothaHagerston are not likely to forget, for it broke down the barrier of reserve between them so effectually that by the time they got home that evening in a car—which Preston with great difficulty succeeded in chartering—they were to all intents engaged.
Thinking over, next day, the events of the previous afternoon, Preston smiled at the thought of all that had occurred. Had anybody told him in the morning that within four-and-twenty hours he would be engaged to be married, he could have laughed the speaker to scorn. Yet, as so often happens, the seemingly impossible had come about, and he began seriously to review the situation.
Yes, he was happy. Very happy. Of that he felt convinced. Often in his time he had met a girl with whom he thought he might be happy should she consent to become his wife, but he had never felt sufficiently sure of himself to propose. And now he thanked heaven for that diffidence, for he knew the only woman in the world he had ever really wanted as a wife was Yootha Hagerston.
They did not meet again until the following afternoon. He had telephoned about noon to ask if she would have tea with him at his rooms in Fig Tree Court, and her reply was what might have been expected.
“My darling,” he exclaimed, folding her in his arms and pressing her lips to his as they met in the little passage which his servant called “the hall.” “If you knew how happy you have made me, how I now realize that for weeks past I have wanted you to become mine—mine for ever——”
He stopped, for she was sobbing, clinging to him as though she could never let him go.
“What is it? What is the matter?” he exclaimed in alarm, raising her face from his shoulder and trying to look into her eyes. “Why are you crying, Yootha?”
And then, all at once, he realized that her tears were tears of happiness.
“Only one thing makes me anxious, Charlie,” she said later, after tea, “and that is that something may come between us—and prevent our marriage. I don’t know why, but I have a presentiment, a sort of feeling—oh, I can’t explain, I don’t know what it is, I hardly know what I am saying I feel so happy, so absolutely and perfectly happy. But can we hurry on the wedding, dearest? Couldn’t we be married by special license, or something. I don’t want to wait a day longer, not an hour longer than is absolutely necessary. Life is so uncertain, you know, and such strange and unlooked-for things sometimes happen. Tell me, Charlie, must we go to the ball Thursday night?”
“At the Albert Hall? I am afraid I must, darling, because I have made up a party, as you know. Don’t you want to go? I thought you were looking forward to it.”
“I was, but now I would rather not go. Still, if you must go, of course, I’ll come with you. But I shall be glad when it is over. I can’t think why, but the thought of that ball now seems somehow to frighten me. It didn’t until we became engaged.”
But Preston soon dispelled her fancies. She was excited, he said, unstrung. “What could happen to anybody at a ball at the Albert Hall?” he exclaimed, laughing. He had been in hotter places in France and had come through all right—except for that bit of shrapnel in his leg. Yes, he agreed with her that it would be best for the news of their engagement not to be announced until her parents had been informed.
“How do you think they will take it?” he asked. “Will they be pleased, or not?”
“Probably not,” she answered lightly. “At least, if they are pleased, it will be the first time they have ever approved of anything I have done on my own initiative. And then there is the question of money. I have a small income of my own, as you know, and lately I inherited a comfortable little nest egg, and my stepmother naturally hopes that in the ordinary course of events I may some day make over some of my capital to her and to my father. Our marriage will dispel that delusion,” and she laughed.
“You say naturally,” Preston said, “but I think it most unnatural she should think anything of the sort.”
“Ah, you don’t know my stepmother. But let us change the subject. Whenever I begin to think about my stepmother something unpleasant is sure to happen. Don’t think me superstitious. I am not, as a rule, but on that point I am extremely superstitious, because what I say has often happened.”
As they came out into Fleet Street, a little later, they met Hopford hurrying to his office.
“Sorry I can’t wait,” he said, “but I’ve got hold of something rather good to-day, something which will interest you both, by the way, and I have to write the story before seven. See you at the ball on Thursday, I suppose?”
“You have promised to have supper with us there,” Preston said with a laugh.
“So I have! I shouldn’t have forgotten it on Thursday night, you may be sure. It ought to be a festive evening.”
He raised his hat and turned down Whitefriars Street, and Preston looked about for a taxi. But there was not one to be seen which was disengaged.
Presently he glanced at his watch.
“I have to meet a man in Bloomsbury at six o’clock,” he said, “and it is now half-past five. Would you care to walk that far with me, darling?”
She answered that she would “adore to,” and so it came about that, on turning out of Russell Square, Preston pointed out a house to her on the opposite side of the street.
“That is a house you must often have heard about,” he said. “They call it the house with the bronze face. It is the headquarters of the famous Metropolitan Secret Agency.”
Yootha looked across at it with interest.
“What a horrible knocker!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t the face awful? I have heard Cora and the others speak about the place. She went there recently,as you know, to try to find out about Jessica, and she expects to hear soon. She described the knocker to me then. No wonder it has given the house a curious reputation—I mean the stories that are told about it. But they are all nonsense, I suppose?” she ended, looking at Preston.
“Of course they must be, though the fact that Lord Froissart called there on the morning of the day he committed suicide has probably given the tales about the house a fresh lease of life. I can’t stand superstitious people, can you? I am glad you are not superstitious, dearest.”
Yootha laughed uneasily.
“It’s a gloomy, depressing-looking house, anyway,” she said, changing the subject as she glanced back at the door. “And it has a mysterious look. But I think a detective agency always sounds mysterious.”
“The people who run the Secret Agency must be extraordinarily clever,” Preston said. “The number of criminals they have brought to book is said to be very large, though the agency has not been in existence many years. I heard a rumor some days ago that they are now hot on the scent of the thieves who stole Mrs. Mervyn-Robertson’s jewels out of her safe during one of her evening parties.”
“Mr. Hopford seems to be very interested in that affair,” Yootha observed. “Now, I wonder if he had heard anything about it when we met him in Fleet Street? He said what he was going to write would be of interest to us both.”
They had now arrived at the house where Preston had an appointment. An empty taxi was passing, and he hailed it.
“Then we shall meet Thursday night,” he said, when he had handed Yootha into the taxi and shut the door. “Cora is going to call for me in her car at ten o’clock, and we shall pick you up on our way to the ball.”