CHAPTER XIMISS LILY MARTINThe sight of Dr. Balmayne's little run-about car creeping slowly along the snowy road across the moor was indeed in the nature of an event. From Tuesday until Saturday only a few farm carts had dared the track. The doctor stopped at the outer gateway, crossing the causeway on foot, so his approach was not visible from the Pele itself. Olwen had, however, been out to feed the chickens, their mistress being actually in her bed; and Mrs. Baxter ran into the courtyard in some excitement to announce the arrival, descried by herself from the vantage ground of the Gatehouse.Mr. Guyse being out, Olwen had no hesitation in going to the archway to greet the doctor. She stood, in fur cap and big coat, smiling and rosy, under the fangs of the rusty portcullis."Well," said Balmayne, drawing off his glove to greet her, "so you are still alive!"She laughed gaily. "Did you expect to see my head fixed upon a spike outside the battlements?" she inquired. "No; I find Castle Terribil strange enough, but possible.""Good!" he answered. "Strange, but possible! You seem to have a fine taste in adjectives.""I have felt like ransacking a dictionary for them since I came here, whenever I am wrestling with the difficulty of conveying to my wholly Philistine relations anything like the impression this place produces!"He stopped midway as they strolled across the quadrangle, gazing up at the almost unbroken wall of the Pele, grim and grey, on that side pierced only by the loopholes which lighted the newel stair."It's still fine, you know," he said half grudgingly. "When it was first built it possessed, of course, the supreme attribute of architecture—that of complete fitness for its intended purpose. But even now that this is so no more—now that it is no praise of a dwelling that it shall also be a fortress—it is still wonderful, still dignified.""Like some people one knows, it turns its most forbidding face to the approaching stranger," she replied. "On the other side, where it overlooks the valley, the Tudor Guyses opened out windows quite recklessly.""They had no hesitation in adapting it to their needs. We are afraid to do that now, the spell of the past is too strong for us.""Humph! Somebody or other, not so many generations back, perpetratedthat!" observed the girl, pointing the finger of scorn to the low ugly kitchen huddled against the south wall, its chimney sulkily asmoke.He laughed. "Well, that's not encouraging, I own. And so you are finding existence possible?""I am having an experience," was her reply, "and I was rather in search of that. However, it is early days yet—— I suppose the snow doesn't lie all the year round, even here. As regards Mrs. Guyse, I fear her bad cold IB my fault. I urged her to go for a sleigh drive, and she is so unused to fresh air that it gave her cold, so I am feeling rather a failure just at present.""Your theory was right, but in practice it went back on you," he replied amused. "A thing which does sometimes happen, even in these anything but tropical climes——""When a vessel is, so to speak, snarked," she concluded. "Yes, you have helped me to a word. Mrs. Guyse is, so to speak, snarked. Really she is a good deal like the Bellman, in being courteous and grave, but the orders she gave are enough to bewilder a crew—oh, I'm talking nonsense, but really it is such a queer household! The poor lady resented my coming, but, as a fact, she is in sad need of a companion.""Yes," he replied reflectively, laying his hat and gloves on the hall table, for they had entered the Pele while they talked, "but her last experience in that direction was a bit shattering, wasn't it?"She gave a startled glance. "Was it? I didn't know. Tell me."He coloured slightly. "I beg your pardon. I thought you might have been told something of it by this time. However, as the Guyses have said nothing, I have no business to be discussing their affairs.""Certainly, you are right," but she said it reluctantly. She had the idea that this man might supply her with a clue, tell her something which might form a key to the characters of the strange people among whom she found herself."Will you wait a moment while I let Mrs. Guyse know?" she said, and vanished from his sight behind the curtain which hid the stair-foot.When she returned, he stood with his back to the stove, contemplating the barrel vault. It was never anything like full daylight in the vestibule owing to the primitive nature of the fenestration."Have you seen the well yet?" he asked."No," she replied with vivid interest. "Where is it?""Almost under your feet where you stand. Get Guyse to show you. It's beautiful water, and was the sole source of supply until they came to settle here, ten years ago, when he brought water up the hillside into the courtyard.""What a place!" she laughed."Have you ever thought to wonder how they conveyed any furniture to the upper floors?""I did, but never made inquiries. Now one thinks of it, how could they have got a billiard-table in?""Pulled out all the mullions of the big south window and hauled the table up with ropes outside the wall. That was Ninian's father all over.""They must have done the same thing all over the house!""I believe they did, except for such things as had been carried up in pieces and put together on the spot. You know, in the old times when there was raiding on the border, the cattle were all driven in here, where we stand, the women and children being accommodated above. Sometimes there were too many beasts for this place, and on one occasion, at least, some of them were stabled in the Gatehouse with the garrison—but perhaps Guyse has told you all this?""No, indeed, we don't have very much to say to one another.""Well, the legend is that the attacking enemy made a breach in the masonry of the Gatehouse tower, and that a bull jumped out through the hole and fell into the ravine. That is why they call the causeway the Bull-drop.""I didn't know it was so called.""Yes, it is; and the legend goes on to assert that when another bull shall drop into the ravine there shall occur the birth of a fair-haired Guyse, and the Guyses of Guysewyke shall come into their own again.""Does that mean, get back their lands?""The folk hereabout think it means that title and all shall pass to the elder branch. The present Lord Caryngston, you know, belongs to the junior line, the title having been conferred on his great-grandfather.""The present Mr. Guyse has quite black hair.""You haven't seen his brother?""His brother? I didn't know he had one.""Oh, yes, they are twins, and Wilfrid is as fair as he is dark. Well, I must not keep you here chattering but go and see my patient! Lead on, please."They proceeded up the newel, Olwen's brain busy with the facts just learned.Dr. Balmayne, while not recommending any more sleigh drives at present, urged his patient to as much change of air as the Pele could afford. He said the banqueting hall was the only really airy room in the house, and that she ought to spend the greater part of her time in it. Olwen eagerly said that she was quite sure that could be arranged; but as she marked the obstinate fold of the lady's pale lips, she guessed that, in face of the patient's opposition, no orders of the doctor could be carried out.As they passed from the bedroom to the sitting-room, the doctor asked, "What has become of the ayah?""Oh, I don't expect she is far off; but she asked me to bring you upstairs, she is very anxious not to seem to be usurping any prerogative of mine.""Dear me!" he said in a tone of great surprise. "She must have altered very much of late.""Why, was she jealous of the last companion? But I forgot, I ought not to ask you that question."They had reached the hall once more. "Oh," he said, "there can be no harm in my saying that the Hindu was very jealous of Miss Martin, and they never got on well.""Why, she is kindness itself to me—almost too kind! She overwhelms me with devotion. She has some sort of superstitious idea that it is her destiny to serve me. Look here!" she held out her hands, the nails beautifully manicured; then, turning her back to display her head, "Are you a judge of hair-dressing? What do you think of this for a winter's morning in the wilds of the Border? Why do you look at me like that?"In fact, his expression was that of consternation. "I—I am surprised—what you tell me surprises me. What can be the woman's object? For she does nothing without an object.""To induce me to stay, I should think," laughed Olwen. "She may have found that it is not easy to detain anybody young in this weird spot.""That may be," he said slowly, but not as if he were convinced. "Are you an orphan?" he asked abruptly; and her reply that she was caused him to furrow his brow. He said nothing, however, picking up his hat and gloves slowly from the table.Looking up, he caught her anxious eyes, and a smile kindled in his own. "Certainly the coiffure is tip-top, but Sunia had fine material to work upon, if I may be pardoned the remark." Tone and manner were alike just right, and she laughed with a clear mind."Shall you be coming again?" she wished to know."Oh, yes. Mrs. Guyse must not leave her room until I have seen her. It is a great thing for her to have your society; but I—I feel"—he dropped his voice—"as if I ought perhaps to utter one word of warning. The ayah is not to be trusted; and——"She smiled up at him with limpid eyes. "Are you going to echo Mrs. Askwith's warning to 'keep Muster Nin at a distance'?" she replied in the same undertone. "Well, you needn't be uneasy. We are not hitting it off. I have had to administer one or two snubs, and he now says he thinks I was born to be the mistress of a reformatory."They went out together into the frosty twilight. When they had gone some steps she remarked: "The hall is not a safe place in which to talk. You never know where the ayah is. However, she is welcome to have overheard all that we have said to-day.""Mrs. Askwith's advice was good; I am in a position to tell you that it was by no means unnecessary. But I think you are all right; you seem to have plenty of sense. Would it be an impertinence if I asked how you happened to come here?""Oh, very simply. I advertised, and Mrs. Guyse answered my advertisement. It wasn't quite what I wanted, but they pay well, and I thought it would be a beginning. I don't expect to be here very long, and if it grows in any way uncomfortable I shall leave.""Good!" he said; and added after thought, "I wish you were not quite so isolated. You have literally no neighbours. There is nobody nearer than the vicarage at Lachanrigg, and Mr. and Mrs. Baines are both over seventy, so during the winter they might as well not exist as far as the Pele is concerned."They strolled out across the Bull-drop. Just as they reached the outer gate Ninian Guyse rode up, mounted on Deloraine."Hallo!" said he, with a swift glance at the two. "Risked your precious Fordette on these roads, eh?""Don't you sneer at my tin-kettle! She's as game a little machine as ever hummed along these God-forsaken tracks," replied Balmayne. "Well, I've seen your mother, and she ought soon to be all right. Just a slightly relaxed throat which has sent up her temperature. I am telling Miss Innes to persuade her to pass more time in your billiard-room, or library, whatever you call it. It is spacious and airy, and while she goes out so little, she must take all the air she can get indoors.""Yes, the doctor has put an idea into my head," chimed in Olwen, as the doctor shook hands, and hastened to where his chauffeur was cranking up the motor. "Good-bye, doctor, and thank you! I'll expect the medicine by the postman to-morrow and yourself the day after—and I'll remember all your directions!"The car started. Ninian, after standing, a moment as if in profound thought, took Deloraine's bridle, and Olwen and he walked across the causeway."Dr. Balmayne has been telling me that they call this the Bull-drop," said she conversationally."Oh, indeed! What more has he been telling you, I wonder?""Something extremely interesting—that there is a well under the floor of the hall. I do so want to see it!""There's nothing to see.""Oh, if it's any trouble, it really doesn't matter in the least. Please forget that I mentioned it, and let me say a word about Madam. I have been wondering why she doesn't use the billiard-room more; it is much the nicest room in the house, and not a bit draughty, and I believe I have discovered the reason."He turned his face to her, but the gathering night hid his expression. "You have noticed that my mother doesn't like the billiard-room?""Evidently she doesn't like being there.""And you think you know why?""Yes. I think it is because she is not comfortable there. There is no sofa upon which she can lie down.""I wonder if by any chance you are right," he mused, speaking for the first time since she had known him quite earnestly and naturally. "It might be worth trying.""Exactly what I was going to suggest," she broke in eagerly. "Of course, I can see that no sofa could be carried upstairs. But I have been studying the catalogue from Barton's, the big Leeds people, and they have those canvas lounges which fold up. With the cushions off the dining-room sofa and some pillows we could make one of those quite comfy for her. The one I liked is only thirty shillings, carriage paid. We could move back the settle, put up the big leather screen, set a table close by, and she would be almost as cosy as she is upstairs."He checked Deloraine in the courtyard and began to unsaddle him. "It's a rattling good idea. I'll write and order the thing to-night.""Oh, thanks! I am glad you don't snub my poor little plan!""Why should I snub it?""Somehow I thought you would.""You think you know all about me, don't you?""On the contrary, how can I know anything except what you have shown me?"He made no answer, and in the dusk she escaped, hurrying upstairs to tell Sunia what the doctor had said and to prepare a fomentation for Madam's throat.CHAPTER XIIA CONFIDENCE: AND SOME SPYINGMadam lay nearly flat on her back under the canopy of her great fourpost bed. Her sunken eyes followed Miss Innes curiously as she measured a dose of medicine into a glass.Approaching the bed the girl stopped, slipped an arm under the thin shoulder-blades and, lifting her patient, administered the draught."That's to lower your temperature," said she encouragingly. "You will feel much better when you are less feverish."As she rearranged the bed and rinsed the glass, she gave news of the beloved fowls. Kitty, one of the buff Orpingtons, regardless of the time of year, had insisted upon "going broody," and Mrs. Baxter, having tried various cures in vain, had at last given her a "clutch" of eggs. Madam speculated sadly upon the problem of keeping the chickens alive when hatched.Olwen hopefully suggested that the weather might be very different in six weeks' time."It won't. Not for months and months. You don't know this place. This accursed place," added Madam faintly under her breath."Oh, don't call it that! I find it extraordinarily fascinating. Nothing else like it anywhere, is there?""Let's hope not. Ah, it's all very fine for you to laugh. If you had been through all I have undergone——" She broke off, muttering to herself. Olwen could see that she was under the influence of fever, and spoke soothingly."I'm sorry. I hardly know why I laughed. Laughter comes easily to me, I think.""You're lucky. I never had a merry nature; and, if I could have seen into my future——"She moved restlessly, while Olwen sat down near with her knitting.Silence fell. How intense silence could be in that place! The thick walls shut off each room in a solitude of its own. No sounds of daily life arose to the listening ear; one might be isolated from everyone else in the world. As Olwen meditated on this the hush was broken by the voice of Madam, who began to speak in a low, monotonous narrative."I was born in a palace—a mansion on Streatham Hill, standing in a great park. My father rose from small beginnings to be one of the richest men in England. He was very ambitious for me, his only child. In the course of business he had come across Lord Caryngston, and had been able to oblige his lordship pretty substantially. It was arranged, in return, that her ladyship should present me at Court and invite me to her house to meet her friends. That was how I came to know Ninian Guyse. My father did not like the match, but he wanted me to be happy, and I was spoiled and wilful. I was head over ears in love. What a fool! Ah, what a fool! Ninian Guyse was as deep in debt as I in love, and only wanted my fortune.""Oh, don't say that!" cried the girl.The wistful eyes were turned upon her face. "It's true," she said defiantly. "Why should I not say it? Oh, I suppose you mean I ought not to say it to you! But that will be all right, as long as you don't tell Ninian." The drawn face assumed a look of deep cunning. "Not a word to my son, or to ayah. Understand? Why not our little secrets, you and me? ... Where was I? Oh, yes, we were married, you know, and as long as my father lived he exercised some kind of control, but, to my deep misfortune, he died, and then there was nothing to hold my husband. He went from bad to worse. I would not live with him at last. The twins and I usually lived in London and he at Danley, our Yorkshire place. He was an excellent jockey, and he sometimes rode his own horses. That was how he caught his death ... riding a race he felt certain of winning. He meant, if he pulled that off, to turn over a new leaf, or so he said. He just failed, and standing about afterwards he took a chill.""And died?""Yes. It turned to pneumonia, and he made no sort of fight. Disappointment had beaten him down. I think he was sorry just at the end; but it was too late then, he had taken everything from me—my love, my fortune—and flung it all away. Until he was dead I had no idea how completely he had ruined us. It was the twins' last term at Rugby; they were going to Oxford that autumn. When he found out how things were, Ninian said we must sell all our other houses, and the yacht and the racing stables, and come and live here. I wanted to sell this horrible place too, but Ninian would not hear of it. So terribly masterful—just like his father. He always was a farmer at heart; he loves the land. Wilfrid is so different——"At the mention of the name of this beloved son the whole tone of Madam's voice changed. Colour stole into her cheeks, a thrill into her voice. "Do you see that photo on the dressing-table, in the silver frame! Bring it to me."Olwen brought the picture to the bedside. Unless it was flattered, Wilfrid Guyse was indeed a handsome man. There was a likeness—even a strong likeness—to his twin, especially in general outline; but his hair was evidently fair and his expression wholly different. There was no bravado, no sign of a sneer, in these clear, well-opened eyes. The carriage of the head was fine, with the unconscious confidence of race."Do you like it?" The acme of maternal pride surged beneath the quiet question.Olwen started. The portrait had fascinated her. "Like it? Oh, yes. There is a great likeness to his brother, is there not?"Mrs. Guyse laughed in pure scorn. "Wait until you see them together," said she. "Nobody would look at poor Nin while Wolf was present. Though I say it, he is all the fondest mother could desire.""Does he come home much?" asked Olwen, with a good deal of curiosity as to the answer."Not so much as I could wish. He is secretary to Mr. Borrowleigh, who is in the Cabinet, you know. London is far from Guysewyke, and they work him terribly hard, poor boy. He tried nobly to retrieve the family fortunes when he left Oxford—went to Klondyke, starved and toiled—you would never think it to look at him, would you? My poor darling! It was too much for him. He broke down and had to come home and begin all over again. However, his health is now quite restored.""This photo was taken recently?""He had it done for my Christmas present."Olwen slowly replaced the frame upon the table. When she turned round Mrs. Guyse had raised herself erect, and her face was darkly flushed. There was a disturbed look in her eyes. "I've been talking—talking," she muttered. "Ninian said I should be sure to talk.""Well, why not?" asked Olwen gently. "I am your secretary, and your affairs are private to me. I am in the same position as a doctor, you know. What you say to me is a professional secret. But I think you have talked enough, and should lie down now."The sick woman grasped her arm with hot fingers. "Have I said anything to set you against Ninian or—or the place?" she asked uneasily.Olwen was obliged to laugh. "Of course not; though it could not matter even if you had.""You said, didn't you—you told me you found the Pele fascinating?""It has a fascination, certainly.""So have you," returned Madam most unexpectedly. Her eyes were fixed upon the girl's mirthful face and the pretty curve of her smiling mouth. "I consider you decidedly fascinating. I can't think where Ninian's eyes are.""Tastes differ, you know," was the amused reply. "As you approve, that is all that matters, isn't it? Perhaps Mr. Guyse will forgive me for being unattractive when he finds I am useful."Mrs. Guyse lay silent for a while, during which time she was presumably thinking over her indiscretions. At last—"Wolf won't be coming here for a long time," said she in a decided voice; "so don't build upon seeing him, will you?""It's very disappointing, but I'll try to bear it," replied the girl demurely, dissembling her mirth.After another pause—"I fear I was unwise to show you his picture. Are you susceptible, do you think?""I believe not. You see, when one has to earn one's living, one has no time to be fanciful.""I dare say"—with evident relief. "It was very different with me. I had been so spoilt, my father doted on me. I had everything I wanted; I had but to express a wish and it was gratified. That was what made the contrast, after marriage, so dreadful to me. I had been so flattered that I thought myself very attractive; and I was not. My husband told me so in plain words. He said I expected too much. You are not accustomed to flattery, are you? You would not expect too much?"Olwen began to be alarmed at her high colour and rambling talk. "I want you to lie down and rest and not talk," said she coaxingly. "I think I will go and ask Sunia to bring your tea.""Wait!" A thin hand was held up and beckoned. Olwen approached the bed. "Bend down. I want to whisper."Olwen stooped, a queer access of pity in her heart."I have been imprudent. If you repeat what I have said you will get me into trouble; but, all the same, I am going to warn you. Ayah is his spy—Ninian's spy. Be careful, won't you?"The colour flamed into the girl's face. This was her second warning that day not to trust Sunia. "I'll remember, and please to understand that Idon't talk," said she, as impressively as she could.She felt uncomfortable as she took up the Barton catalogue and carried it downstairs to point out to Mr. Guyse the lounge chair which she thought would be suitable.He was standing upon the hearthrug as she entered the lamp-lit room; and, to her surprise, he met her with a scowl.What does this portend? she asked herself, as she went to the tray and sat down to pour out his tea. The kettle sang on the hob, there was a fragrance of hot tea-cake, and the table looked tempting with its crystal glasses of preserve and old Jacobean silver. Ignoring his silence, she began to talk. "I have brought the catalogue to show you. How long will it be before we can get what we order, do you know? I am wondering how you manage to collect things sent by rail."He was sitting, at the side of the table, at right angles to her, and as he leaned forward his sulky face was close to hers."I wonder," he said, "if, on the occasion when I came to fetch you from Caryngston, I succeeded in impressing upon you the fact that I am anxious for you to have no dealings with Balmayne?"Resenting his tone in every fibre of her, Olwen opened her mouth to say, "What concern is it of yours?" but, remembering in time her position in the household, she replied merely, "You impressed upon me the idea that you and he are not on good terms.""So you thought you would have a nice, confidential talk with him, about me—eh?""Oh! What makes you think so?" she asked calmly.He was ready for this question. "Mrs. Baxter told me what time the doctor arrived. I know what time he went. Sunia told me how long he was in the sick-room.""Was that all that Sunia told you?" she asked innocently.He reddened. Olwen summoned all her courage and, leaning back in her chair, she looked steadily into his eyes, which gleamed in a way which made her think absurdly of a panther lashing his tail."We had better have this out," she said quietly. "If, as I suppose, Sunia was listening, and if she has repeated to you all that passed between the doctor and me, you must know that nothing was said of which you could reasonably complain. Please understand that I did not come here to take my orders from you, and that I will not be bullied by you. If your mother has anything to complain of in my conduct she will tell me so. I know my place. I wish that you knew yours."He sat upright, as if she had stung him, and gazed upon her as if he hardly knew how to take this."If you were not here," she went on, "Madam and I could get on very comfortably together; but ever since you saw me you have been trying to make things intolerable for me. After the way you have just spoken I shall, of course, leave at my month. But as long as I am here, perhaps you will let me alone."He made a contemptuous sound. "That's just like a woman—flare up at a little thing like that! You give notice to leave just because I got a bit shirty over you and Balmayne——""Why, you made up your mind from the first that I shouldn't stay, didn't you? When you found that I am not pretty and that I won't flirt with you——""By Jove! how can you say that? Why, I tried with all my might to be friends, but you wouldn't touch me with the end of a barge pole.""You knew quite well that you were behaving in a way no girl could stand."He folded his arms, gazing down at the tablecloth. "I don't know any girls. At least, none like you."Something in his tone made her feel a little sorry for him, but she hastened to improve the occasion a little farther."Why can't you understand that I only want to be let alone? What do you matter to me? From the way you talk, I suppose that Dr. Balmayne knows something to your discredit, and that you are afraid he might tell me. Well, what if he did? It is of no business of mine. It doesn't interest me. As for Madam—when I first came, I thought she disliked me as much as you do, but the last day or two she has seemed glad—pleased—to have me with her. She has begun to—to welcome me, to turn toward me, as if she—l-l-loved me. And now I must leave her, all because you—you——"She could not finish. She was swallowing sobs, and, to her own vast mortification, was obliged to rise from the table and turn away to the fire so as to hide her quivering face.She heard him push back his chair and rise too. He took a turn to the end of the room and back. Then he came near to where she stood."I'm a perfect brute," he said gruffly. "I say—can't we start all over again? Do let us. I can't think why things have gone so badly. You got up against me somehow. I thought you were so different. I can't explain. If I say that I'm fairly ashamed of myself, and beg your pardon with all my heart, won't you give me another chance?""I don't know what you mean," said she, furtively wiping away her tears. "Another chance? I never gave you a chance at all. You don't count. Why should you?""That's just what I mean. I want to count. Give me a chance."She made no reply."I never had a sister, or perhaps I shouldn't be such a blundering fool with girls," adventured Nin. "Look here, can't you be great enough to hand me out a free pardon? I never guessed how much I was going to hurt your feelings just now, and if Madam is to lose you just because of my thundering folly—— Ah, well, you guessed quite right; Balmayne does think he knows something to my discredit, and I was anxious you should not hear it from him. I wanted to keep it dark altogether. But I suppose I'd better tell you about it myself.""But I don't want to know. Will nothing make you see that it doesn't matter a bit to me——""You'd have listened to Balmayne——""He declined to say anything when he found I didn't know——""Ah, then he did mention it?""If we are talking of the same thing.""Lily Martin, of course; the girl who was my mother's companion.""Oh, yes, I remember. He said that your mother had rather a shattering experience.""I suppose she had. Yes, it was a shock," he replied slowly. "Look here, dry your eyes and sit down to tea, and I'll tell you afterwards, if you'll promise not to go away at the end of your month. This place is quite jolly in fine weather."She sat down to table and poured fresh tea. "I have no doubt it is," said she. "You will enjoy showing it to my successor. You should explain to her, however, when offering her the post, that she is to be your companion, and not Madam's.""Now you're not playing fair. No good to say you forgive me and then stab me in the back.""I don't think I have forgiven you. At least, I haven't said so."He looked at her with puzzled eyes. "You try living here ten years, with never a soul to speak to, and see if you don't make an ass of yourself the first time you get the chance," he remarked presently.She did not answer, but took up the catalogue and made a little talk about the folding chairs depicted in the illustrations.He gave but a divided attention and ate hardly anything. At last he pushed back his chair with determination. "Now will you please listen?"She rose with decision. "Once for all, Mr. Guyse, I willnotlisten. I have already told you that I don't want to hear anything at all about it." As she spoke she was moving as if to go out of the room. He rose, with panther-like swiftness, and stood between her and the door. "You've got to listen," he said.CHAPTER XIIININIAN'S DEFENCEOlwen's heart gave a throb, and for a moment she was afraid. Then she remembered how quickly Ninian had been disarmed by the sight of her distress. She lifted a beseeching face to him."Please, Mr. Guyse! Please believe what I say. I would rather know nothing of your private affairs. I am not likely to remain long at the Pele, and it is best that we remain strangers.""We can't do that," he said with sharp decision. "Ask Sunia.""Your spy!" she said, throwing into the words an amount of scorn which brought the colour to his face. He did not falter, however. Taking her arm, just above the elbow, he led her to the hearth, and pushed her gently into a chair. "This is the last time I am going to misbehave," said he. "After this you shall do as you like with me; but you have got to hear me now. Sorry, but really you've got to.""But why? Why?" she cried."Because I insist."She wavered. He was standing over her, and it seemed to her quite probable that, if she made as if to rise, he would push her back into her chair. She could see that he was putting all the force of his will into the affair, and, after all, was it worth fighting him about? She hardly cared, for herself, whether she heard him or no, and was chiefly conscious of a wish that he would leave off importuning her. With a shrug of the shoulders she resigned herself, and Ninian, with a sigh of relief, seated himself upon a big pouffe which stood on the rug facing her, Daff's head between his knees.Thus settled, he looked up with an impertinent grin."The Head of the Reformatory has given leave to the latest arrival to explain to her how he first came to leave the paths of virtuous rectitude," he said. "She faces him, calmly judicial, and he proceeds to make a clean breast of it."She had some ado not to laugh. "Get on and don't be silly," said she.He drew a deep breath. "One black dark night a band of robbers," he began. "No. That's the wrong gambit Ahem! 'I was not ever thus, believe, fair maid——'"Olwen made to rise from her place, and he caught and detained her."Oh, dash, how is it that I can't resist playing the goat?" cried he. "Just one more chance, and that will be the very last, but the mischief of it is I don't know where to begin. Afraid I shall have to go back to our first coming to live here. I was about eighteen then, and it really was the only thing to do, my father had left us in such a tight place. Madam had been accustomed to something very different, it was horribly rough on her, and I dare say you'll think I was a selfish hound to bring her to such a place. But I couldn't help myself. I'm Guyse, through and through; and though I felt that I would give up most things for her, I simply couldn't sell the last Guyse stronghold and the last few poor acres. So there it is. The first crime's off my chest.""I can make every allowance for you there," said Olwen with a rush of sudden sympathy.He looked at her under his lashes. "That's something. You see, by coming to live here I managed to send my brother Wilfrid to Oxford. He's a credit to the family—brains and manners, and so on. The other reason was that I knew I could make a living out of the land, and also that, if I lived here, Madam need not lose all her friends, and I could get across a horse and carry a gun. If we had lived in a city I couldn't have earned bread and cheese, I've no commercial ability; and Madam would have suffered more, though she doesn't think so. Hallo! I'm sorry I'm boring you with what doesn't matter a bit. When we had been here a few years and Wolf had left the University, he was suddenly bitten with the notion of going to Klondyke. This upset my mother very much, made her so ill, in fact, that we thought she would go melancholy mad. Wolf and I talked it over, and he said she was moped to death and too much alone, and the best thing we could do was to hire a young lady to live with her, somebody young and jolly who would take her out of herself. We did as we did in your case, looked down a list of advertisers, and at last we chose Miss Lily Martin. She came, and she was a girl with high spirits, very good-natured, and used to make Madam laugh. She was here some time, more than a year, and we jogged along well enough, only Sunia never took to her.""Do you know why that was?""Sunia said she was not 'pukka'—I expect you know what that means. Said also that she had something up her sleeve. Said she had a lover." He was speaking with his gaze fixed on Daff's silky head, but on that he raised his face, and his eyes were hard as jade in the lamplight. "Of course, Balmayne thinks I was her lover," said he."Why does he think so?""I'll tell you. After about a year things began to go wrong. I expect Miss Martin got a bit fed up with this place and the monotony of the life. I couldn't even send Madam away for a few weeks in the summer that year, for Wolf had got into difficulties and it took all I had to send him what he asked for. Miss Martin's temper changed. Sunia told us afterwards that when she first came she got letters constantly, always two or three a week, sometimes more. By degrees they had dropped off, until of late she had only one or two a month. I suppose this upset her; anyway, she became moody and had fits of temper. I didn't mind her working it off on me, but when it came to Madam I had to interfere, for she took to bullying her. One day she had a queer outburst. I had found Madam in hysterics, and I was obliged to call the girl over the coals about it. She flew out at me and said we were bloated aristocrats, but that she was as good as us any day, and that, if she only chose, she could make things hot for us. To this day I don't know what she meant by that. On my honour, I don't believe her change of manner had anything to do with me. I may have chaffed her a bit, but I never made love to her. However, the end of it was that I told her I thought she had better leave. She was evidently no longer happy with us, and, what was more, she didn't make Madam happy either. I couldn't have her upset—why, the only reason the silly fool was in the house at all was to keep Madam happy! ... So I gave her notice. After that we had a treat. The first week she was furious, the second sulky, the third tearful—oh, my word! She wept at meals, she wept in her bedroom—so Sunia said—she wept all over poor Madam, and one day she—she wept on me. I couldn't stick it, and I am afraid I told her so, more hotly than I meant. Ah, I can see your sympathy for her showing in your eyes.""You are quite mistaken. I was thinking that when you succeeded in making me cry this evening you must have been forcibly reminded of poor Miss Martin!"He grinned. "After that it seemed to me that it would be better if I kept out of the way until she took her departure. I was very busy at the time, as it happened, so I stayed down at Lachanrigg with the Kays, and had all my meals there next day. When I came home, late at night, Sunia and the Baxters were in a fearful state. Miss Martin had disappeared.""You mean she had left?""Nobody knew. It seems she had spent the afternoon in the billiard-room by herself. Madam at that time used always to sit there, but she had got so fed up with the girl that, on that occasion, she went off to her own room and shut herself in. Sunia afterwards told us that Miss Martin, after an interval of five weeks, had got a letter that morning which had visibly upset her. She seems to have made a fire in the billiard-room and burned therein her whole collection of letters. Sunia took her a cup of tea, and found her kneeling on the hearth feeding the fire with torn letters, and noticed that she was in tears. Nobody saw her after that. She had not put on a hat, so they thought for a long time that she was concealed somewhere in the house, where there are a good many hiding-places. We began by searching pretty thoroughly, and when we proved unsuccessful, I thought I would go down to Lachanrigg by the short cut, down the hill, and get Kay to come and help me or advise me what to do.""Did you know where she came from—who were her people?""She was living in rooms in London when we engaged her. She had no home. She came originally from Canada, I believe. We knew of no friends to whom she would be likely to go.""Where did her letters come from?""Always London. We thought probably from a clerk in some bank, for the address was type-written... Well, as I was telling you, I went out and down the hill. It is almost precipitous down there, but there is a path of sorts, winding among the trees. Just as I went crashing down the steepest bit I thought I heard a moan. It was a very dark night, and I could see nothing, I had a lantern with me, and I turned it this way and that. The sound came several times, and it seemed to be behind me higher up the hill. After questing all about I found it was always above me, over my head, and at last I had the wit to peer up into the branches of the trees. There I found her. She had flung herself out of the big oriel in the banqueting hall, intending to commit suicide, and had stuck in the branches of an ash.""Alive, of course?""Oh, yes, but she was badly injured. I had to go and rouse Ezra, and between us we got her down and carried her to the Gatehouse, where we laid her in Mrs. Baxter's parlour. It was not possible, with her broken bones, to get her upstairs at the Pele, so in the Baxters' parlour she stayed. Balmayne had only just come here then, and he was immensely interested in the case. Thought she was a poor martyred saint, victim of my heartless cruelty. As for me, I was just about fed up with her, and I kept clear of her all the time she was ill. She utterly declined to say why she had tried to kill herself, and only declared that she wished she had succeeded in her attempt. At first she said that the moment she was strong enough to get about she would have another try; but Balmayne explained to her that, unless she took a solemn oath not to repeat it, he would have to inform a magistrate and get her bound over. That frightened her a bit, but she remained in a queer state of mind; very unsatisfactory it was for all concerned.""What did Madam say?""Madam behaved very queerly. I suppose Balmayne got at her, for she certainly believed that I was seriously to blame. She said she pitied the poor girl from the bottom of her heart, but for all that, she could not be persuaded to go and see her. I thought it would be a jolly good thing if she did, as she might get something out of her; but no. Never once did she see Miss Martin from the day of the accident to the day of her departure.""Departure? She went away then?""Yes. I was at my wits' end, wondering what on earth was to become of the poor thing, and making up my mind that I must screw myself to the point of making Madam go and see her and ask what her plans were, when she got a letter from the usual source. This letter seemed to buck her up no end. She told Mrs. Baxter next day that she was going to London as soon as the doctor would allow her to travel. And she was as good as her word. When she went off she informed me that I should see her again a great deal sooner than I expected; and I was fully prepared for a letter from some firm of lawyers, threatening an action of some kind. But from that day to this we haven't any of us heard a word of her. The earth might have opened and swallowed her. She was a queer one. Sunia says she had a wedding-ring slung round her neck, under her clothes, but I don't know if that is true. There! Now you have heard the history of Miss Lily Martin and myself to date. When Balmayne gives you his version, you can put the two together and see what they amount to."Olwen rested her elbows on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands, and gazed thoughtfully at the glowing logs. "And all that happened—when?""More than three years ago.""I wonder what made you tell me?""It's pretty obvious. If you stay on you are bound to hear it, and I wanted you to hear it from me.""I—I think I am glad you told me." She was in fact conscious of considerable relief. The story explained many things. Deb's distrust of the young man, Balmayne's uneasiness that another girl should be placed in the same position as the unlucky Lily; Mrs. Guyse's reticence and anxiety, Sunia's careful spying, and, most of all, Ninian's self-consciousness and inability to be natural with her."Well, after hearing this pretty tale, shall you funk staying in the Dark Tower?" he asked, after a prolonged survey of her grave little face, lit by the flickering flame-light."I think I am safe enough," she replied, not turning her head to look at him. "I am not a bit a Lily-Martin kind of girl.""Give a chap a chance! Can't I see that much? But you know there is another kind of girl just as bad, and when first I saw you I thought you were that kind.""Indeed. What?""A prude.""Well," the fire-light emphasised the dimple, "I think I am rather that kind. That is, I am apt to be thorny, except with——""People who speak your language?" The tone was soft and insinuating."That's it.""Well," said Nin, laying his olive cheek down on Daff's yellow head, "I'm going to learn, if it takes me a year. As I just told you, I've misbehaved for the last time. I am now a reformed character, your word is my law. If you say, 'Detestable young man, leave the room,' hard as that command will be, I shall obey. I'll be like a lover out of Richardson or Mrs. Radcliffe——""Oh, but please! I don't want you to be like a lover of any kind.""My mistake! I'm a pupil, am I not? And you're my teacher, if you'll take me on. Oh, do! 'I know it the only thing to save my yet young life in the wilds of time!'""With the poets at your finger-ends there is no excuse for you," she laughed. "Don't be so ridiculous.""Oh, come, you'll have to let me be ridiculous! Prunesprism was never my line.""It need not be your line, or mine either, when once you have mastered the 'simple little rules and few' which lie at the root of the language you have to learn.""Can't we begin now?""Not now. Really I don't want to be crabby any more, but you do see that while Madam is so poorly I must look after her, don't you?" She broke off and a wicked smile flashed at him, "Why, all the silly fool is in the house for at all is to keep Madam happy!""Jove, you're quick! I must mind my p's and q's with you!""Yes, they are rather important letters in your new alphabet!"
CHAPTER XI
MISS LILY MARTIN
The sight of Dr. Balmayne's little run-about car creeping slowly along the snowy road across the moor was indeed in the nature of an event. From Tuesday until Saturday only a few farm carts had dared the track. The doctor stopped at the outer gateway, crossing the causeway on foot, so his approach was not visible from the Pele itself. Olwen had, however, been out to feed the chickens, their mistress being actually in her bed; and Mrs. Baxter ran into the courtyard in some excitement to announce the arrival, descried by herself from the vantage ground of the Gatehouse.
Mr. Guyse being out, Olwen had no hesitation in going to the archway to greet the doctor. She stood, in fur cap and big coat, smiling and rosy, under the fangs of the rusty portcullis.
"Well," said Balmayne, drawing off his glove to greet her, "so you are still alive!"
She laughed gaily. "Did you expect to see my head fixed upon a spike outside the battlements?" she inquired. "No; I find Castle Terribil strange enough, but possible."
"Good!" he answered. "Strange, but possible! You seem to have a fine taste in adjectives."
"I have felt like ransacking a dictionary for them since I came here, whenever I am wrestling with the difficulty of conveying to my wholly Philistine relations anything like the impression this place produces!"
He stopped midway as they strolled across the quadrangle, gazing up at the almost unbroken wall of the Pele, grim and grey, on that side pierced only by the loopholes which lighted the newel stair.
"It's still fine, you know," he said half grudgingly. "When it was first built it possessed, of course, the supreme attribute of architecture—that of complete fitness for its intended purpose. But even now that this is so no more—now that it is no praise of a dwelling that it shall also be a fortress—it is still wonderful, still dignified."
"Like some people one knows, it turns its most forbidding face to the approaching stranger," she replied. "On the other side, where it overlooks the valley, the Tudor Guyses opened out windows quite recklessly."
"They had no hesitation in adapting it to their needs. We are afraid to do that now, the spell of the past is too strong for us."
"Humph! Somebody or other, not so many generations back, perpetratedthat!" observed the girl, pointing the finger of scorn to the low ugly kitchen huddled against the south wall, its chimney sulkily asmoke.
He laughed. "Well, that's not encouraging, I own. And so you are finding existence possible?"
"I am having an experience," was her reply, "and I was rather in search of that. However, it is early days yet—— I suppose the snow doesn't lie all the year round, even here. As regards Mrs. Guyse, I fear her bad cold IB my fault. I urged her to go for a sleigh drive, and she is so unused to fresh air that it gave her cold, so I am feeling rather a failure just at present."
"Your theory was right, but in practice it went back on you," he replied amused. "A thing which does sometimes happen, even in these anything but tropical climes——"
"When a vessel is, so to speak, snarked," she concluded. "Yes, you have helped me to a word. Mrs. Guyse is, so to speak, snarked. Really she is a good deal like the Bellman, in being courteous and grave, but the orders she gave are enough to bewilder a crew—oh, I'm talking nonsense, but really it is such a queer household! The poor lady resented my coming, but, as a fact, she is in sad need of a companion."
"Yes," he replied reflectively, laying his hat and gloves on the hall table, for they had entered the Pele while they talked, "but her last experience in that direction was a bit shattering, wasn't it?"
She gave a startled glance. "Was it? I didn't know. Tell me."
He coloured slightly. "I beg your pardon. I thought you might have been told something of it by this time. However, as the Guyses have said nothing, I have no business to be discussing their affairs."
"Certainly, you are right," but she said it reluctantly. She had the idea that this man might supply her with a clue, tell her something which might form a key to the characters of the strange people among whom she found herself.
"Will you wait a moment while I let Mrs. Guyse know?" she said, and vanished from his sight behind the curtain which hid the stair-foot.
When she returned, he stood with his back to the stove, contemplating the barrel vault. It was never anything like full daylight in the vestibule owing to the primitive nature of the fenestration.
"Have you seen the well yet?" he asked.
"No," she replied with vivid interest. "Where is it?"
"Almost under your feet where you stand. Get Guyse to show you. It's beautiful water, and was the sole source of supply until they came to settle here, ten years ago, when he brought water up the hillside into the courtyard."
"What a place!" she laughed.
"Have you ever thought to wonder how they conveyed any furniture to the upper floors?"
"I did, but never made inquiries. Now one thinks of it, how could they have got a billiard-table in?"
"Pulled out all the mullions of the big south window and hauled the table up with ropes outside the wall. That was Ninian's father all over."
"They must have done the same thing all over the house!"
"I believe they did, except for such things as had been carried up in pieces and put together on the spot. You know, in the old times when there was raiding on the border, the cattle were all driven in here, where we stand, the women and children being accommodated above. Sometimes there were too many beasts for this place, and on one occasion, at least, some of them were stabled in the Gatehouse with the garrison—but perhaps Guyse has told you all this?"
"No, indeed, we don't have very much to say to one another."
"Well, the legend is that the attacking enemy made a breach in the masonry of the Gatehouse tower, and that a bull jumped out through the hole and fell into the ravine. That is why they call the causeway the Bull-drop."
"I didn't know it was so called."
"Yes, it is; and the legend goes on to assert that when another bull shall drop into the ravine there shall occur the birth of a fair-haired Guyse, and the Guyses of Guysewyke shall come into their own again."
"Does that mean, get back their lands?"
"The folk hereabout think it means that title and all shall pass to the elder branch. The present Lord Caryngston, you know, belongs to the junior line, the title having been conferred on his great-grandfather."
"The present Mr. Guyse has quite black hair."
"You haven't seen his brother?"
"His brother? I didn't know he had one."
"Oh, yes, they are twins, and Wilfrid is as fair as he is dark. Well, I must not keep you here chattering but go and see my patient! Lead on, please."
They proceeded up the newel, Olwen's brain busy with the facts just learned.
Dr. Balmayne, while not recommending any more sleigh drives at present, urged his patient to as much change of air as the Pele could afford. He said the banqueting hall was the only really airy room in the house, and that she ought to spend the greater part of her time in it. Olwen eagerly said that she was quite sure that could be arranged; but as she marked the obstinate fold of the lady's pale lips, she guessed that, in face of the patient's opposition, no orders of the doctor could be carried out.
As they passed from the bedroom to the sitting-room, the doctor asked, "What has become of the ayah?"
"Oh, I don't expect she is far off; but she asked me to bring you upstairs, she is very anxious not to seem to be usurping any prerogative of mine."
"Dear me!" he said in a tone of great surprise. "She must have altered very much of late."
"Why, was she jealous of the last companion? But I forgot, I ought not to ask you that question."
They had reached the hall once more. "Oh," he said, "there can be no harm in my saying that the Hindu was very jealous of Miss Martin, and they never got on well."
"Why, she is kindness itself to me—almost too kind! She overwhelms me with devotion. She has some sort of superstitious idea that it is her destiny to serve me. Look here!" she held out her hands, the nails beautifully manicured; then, turning her back to display her head, "Are you a judge of hair-dressing? What do you think of this for a winter's morning in the wilds of the Border? Why do you look at me like that?"
In fact, his expression was that of consternation. "I—I am surprised—what you tell me surprises me. What can be the woman's object? For she does nothing without an object."
"To induce me to stay, I should think," laughed Olwen. "She may have found that it is not easy to detain anybody young in this weird spot."
"That may be," he said slowly, but not as if he were convinced. "Are you an orphan?" he asked abruptly; and her reply that she was caused him to furrow his brow. He said nothing, however, picking up his hat and gloves slowly from the table.
Looking up, he caught her anxious eyes, and a smile kindled in his own. "Certainly the coiffure is tip-top, but Sunia had fine material to work upon, if I may be pardoned the remark." Tone and manner were alike just right, and she laughed with a clear mind.
"Shall you be coming again?" she wished to know.
"Oh, yes. Mrs. Guyse must not leave her room until I have seen her. It is a great thing for her to have your society; but I—I feel"—he dropped his voice—"as if I ought perhaps to utter one word of warning. The ayah is not to be trusted; and——"
She smiled up at him with limpid eyes. "Are you going to echo Mrs. Askwith's warning to 'keep Muster Nin at a distance'?" she replied in the same undertone. "Well, you needn't be uneasy. We are not hitting it off. I have had to administer one or two snubs, and he now says he thinks I was born to be the mistress of a reformatory."
They went out together into the frosty twilight. When they had gone some steps she remarked: "The hall is not a safe place in which to talk. You never know where the ayah is. However, she is welcome to have overheard all that we have said to-day."
"Mrs. Askwith's advice was good; I am in a position to tell you that it was by no means unnecessary. But I think you are all right; you seem to have plenty of sense. Would it be an impertinence if I asked how you happened to come here?"
"Oh, very simply. I advertised, and Mrs. Guyse answered my advertisement. It wasn't quite what I wanted, but they pay well, and I thought it would be a beginning. I don't expect to be here very long, and if it grows in any way uncomfortable I shall leave."
"Good!" he said; and added after thought, "I wish you were not quite so isolated. You have literally no neighbours. There is nobody nearer than the vicarage at Lachanrigg, and Mr. and Mrs. Baines are both over seventy, so during the winter they might as well not exist as far as the Pele is concerned."
They strolled out across the Bull-drop. Just as they reached the outer gate Ninian Guyse rode up, mounted on Deloraine.
"Hallo!" said he, with a swift glance at the two. "Risked your precious Fordette on these roads, eh?"
"Don't you sneer at my tin-kettle! She's as game a little machine as ever hummed along these God-forsaken tracks," replied Balmayne. "Well, I've seen your mother, and she ought soon to be all right. Just a slightly relaxed throat which has sent up her temperature. I am telling Miss Innes to persuade her to pass more time in your billiard-room, or library, whatever you call it. It is spacious and airy, and while she goes out so little, she must take all the air she can get indoors."
"Yes, the doctor has put an idea into my head," chimed in Olwen, as the doctor shook hands, and hastened to where his chauffeur was cranking up the motor. "Good-bye, doctor, and thank you! I'll expect the medicine by the postman to-morrow and yourself the day after—and I'll remember all your directions!"
The car started. Ninian, after standing, a moment as if in profound thought, took Deloraine's bridle, and Olwen and he walked across the causeway.
"Dr. Balmayne has been telling me that they call this the Bull-drop," said she conversationally.
"Oh, indeed! What more has he been telling you, I wonder?"
"Something extremely interesting—that there is a well under the floor of the hall. I do so want to see it!"
"There's nothing to see."
"Oh, if it's any trouble, it really doesn't matter in the least. Please forget that I mentioned it, and let me say a word about Madam. I have been wondering why she doesn't use the billiard-room more; it is much the nicest room in the house, and not a bit draughty, and I believe I have discovered the reason."
He turned his face to her, but the gathering night hid his expression. "You have noticed that my mother doesn't like the billiard-room?"
"Evidently she doesn't like being there."
"And you think you know why?"
"Yes. I think it is because she is not comfortable there. There is no sofa upon which she can lie down."
"I wonder if by any chance you are right," he mused, speaking for the first time since she had known him quite earnestly and naturally. "It might be worth trying."
"Exactly what I was going to suggest," she broke in eagerly. "Of course, I can see that no sofa could be carried upstairs. But I have been studying the catalogue from Barton's, the big Leeds people, and they have those canvas lounges which fold up. With the cushions off the dining-room sofa and some pillows we could make one of those quite comfy for her. The one I liked is only thirty shillings, carriage paid. We could move back the settle, put up the big leather screen, set a table close by, and she would be almost as cosy as she is upstairs."
He checked Deloraine in the courtyard and began to unsaddle him. "It's a rattling good idea. I'll write and order the thing to-night."
"Oh, thanks! I am glad you don't snub my poor little plan!"
"Why should I snub it?"
"Somehow I thought you would."
"You think you know all about me, don't you?"
"On the contrary, how can I know anything except what you have shown me?"
He made no answer, and in the dusk she escaped, hurrying upstairs to tell Sunia what the doctor had said and to prepare a fomentation for Madam's throat.
CHAPTER XII
A CONFIDENCE: AND SOME SPYING
Madam lay nearly flat on her back under the canopy of her great fourpost bed. Her sunken eyes followed Miss Innes curiously as she measured a dose of medicine into a glass.
Approaching the bed the girl stopped, slipped an arm under the thin shoulder-blades and, lifting her patient, administered the draught.
"That's to lower your temperature," said she encouragingly. "You will feel much better when you are less feverish."
As she rearranged the bed and rinsed the glass, she gave news of the beloved fowls. Kitty, one of the buff Orpingtons, regardless of the time of year, had insisted upon "going broody," and Mrs. Baxter, having tried various cures in vain, had at last given her a "clutch" of eggs. Madam speculated sadly upon the problem of keeping the chickens alive when hatched.
Olwen hopefully suggested that the weather might be very different in six weeks' time.
"It won't. Not for months and months. You don't know this place. This accursed place," added Madam faintly under her breath.
"Oh, don't call it that! I find it extraordinarily fascinating. Nothing else like it anywhere, is there?"
"Let's hope not. Ah, it's all very fine for you to laugh. If you had been through all I have undergone——" She broke off, muttering to herself. Olwen could see that she was under the influence of fever, and spoke soothingly.
"I'm sorry. I hardly know why I laughed. Laughter comes easily to me, I think."
"You're lucky. I never had a merry nature; and, if I could have seen into my future——"
She moved restlessly, while Olwen sat down near with her knitting.
Silence fell. How intense silence could be in that place! The thick walls shut off each room in a solitude of its own. No sounds of daily life arose to the listening ear; one might be isolated from everyone else in the world. As Olwen meditated on this the hush was broken by the voice of Madam, who began to speak in a low, monotonous narrative.
"I was born in a palace—a mansion on Streatham Hill, standing in a great park. My father rose from small beginnings to be one of the richest men in England. He was very ambitious for me, his only child. In the course of business he had come across Lord Caryngston, and had been able to oblige his lordship pretty substantially. It was arranged, in return, that her ladyship should present me at Court and invite me to her house to meet her friends. That was how I came to know Ninian Guyse. My father did not like the match, but he wanted me to be happy, and I was spoiled and wilful. I was head over ears in love. What a fool! Ah, what a fool! Ninian Guyse was as deep in debt as I in love, and only wanted my fortune."
"Oh, don't say that!" cried the girl.
The wistful eyes were turned upon her face. "It's true," she said defiantly. "Why should I not say it? Oh, I suppose you mean I ought not to say it to you! But that will be all right, as long as you don't tell Ninian." The drawn face assumed a look of deep cunning. "Not a word to my son, or to ayah. Understand? Why not our little secrets, you and me? ... Where was I? Oh, yes, we were married, you know, and as long as my father lived he exercised some kind of control, but, to my deep misfortune, he died, and then there was nothing to hold my husband. He went from bad to worse. I would not live with him at last. The twins and I usually lived in London and he at Danley, our Yorkshire place. He was an excellent jockey, and he sometimes rode his own horses. That was how he caught his death ... riding a race he felt certain of winning. He meant, if he pulled that off, to turn over a new leaf, or so he said. He just failed, and standing about afterwards he took a chill."
"And died?"
"Yes. It turned to pneumonia, and he made no sort of fight. Disappointment had beaten him down. I think he was sorry just at the end; but it was too late then, he had taken everything from me—my love, my fortune—and flung it all away. Until he was dead I had no idea how completely he had ruined us. It was the twins' last term at Rugby; they were going to Oxford that autumn. When he found out how things were, Ninian said we must sell all our other houses, and the yacht and the racing stables, and come and live here. I wanted to sell this horrible place too, but Ninian would not hear of it. So terribly masterful—just like his father. He always was a farmer at heart; he loves the land. Wilfrid is so different——"
At the mention of the name of this beloved son the whole tone of Madam's voice changed. Colour stole into her cheeks, a thrill into her voice. "Do you see that photo on the dressing-table, in the silver frame! Bring it to me."
Olwen brought the picture to the bedside. Unless it was flattered, Wilfrid Guyse was indeed a handsome man. There was a likeness—even a strong likeness—to his twin, especially in general outline; but his hair was evidently fair and his expression wholly different. There was no bravado, no sign of a sneer, in these clear, well-opened eyes. The carriage of the head was fine, with the unconscious confidence of race.
"Do you like it?" The acme of maternal pride surged beneath the quiet question.
Olwen started. The portrait had fascinated her. "Like it? Oh, yes. There is a great likeness to his brother, is there not?"
Mrs. Guyse laughed in pure scorn. "Wait until you see them together," said she. "Nobody would look at poor Nin while Wolf was present. Though I say it, he is all the fondest mother could desire."
"Does he come home much?" asked Olwen, with a good deal of curiosity as to the answer.
"Not so much as I could wish. He is secretary to Mr. Borrowleigh, who is in the Cabinet, you know. London is far from Guysewyke, and they work him terribly hard, poor boy. He tried nobly to retrieve the family fortunes when he left Oxford—went to Klondyke, starved and toiled—you would never think it to look at him, would you? My poor darling! It was too much for him. He broke down and had to come home and begin all over again. However, his health is now quite restored."
"This photo was taken recently?"
"He had it done for my Christmas present."
Olwen slowly replaced the frame upon the table. When she turned round Mrs. Guyse had raised herself erect, and her face was darkly flushed. There was a disturbed look in her eyes. "I've been talking—talking," she muttered. "Ninian said I should be sure to talk."
"Well, why not?" asked Olwen gently. "I am your secretary, and your affairs are private to me. I am in the same position as a doctor, you know. What you say to me is a professional secret. But I think you have talked enough, and should lie down now."
The sick woman grasped her arm with hot fingers. "Have I said anything to set you against Ninian or—or the place?" she asked uneasily.
Olwen was obliged to laugh. "Of course not; though it could not matter even if you had."
"You said, didn't you—you told me you found the Pele fascinating?"
"It has a fascination, certainly."
"So have you," returned Madam most unexpectedly. Her eyes were fixed upon the girl's mirthful face and the pretty curve of her smiling mouth. "I consider you decidedly fascinating. I can't think where Ninian's eyes are."
"Tastes differ, you know," was the amused reply. "As you approve, that is all that matters, isn't it? Perhaps Mr. Guyse will forgive me for being unattractive when he finds I am useful."
Mrs. Guyse lay silent for a while, during which time she was presumably thinking over her indiscretions. At last—
"Wolf won't be coming here for a long time," said she in a decided voice; "so don't build upon seeing him, will you?"
"It's very disappointing, but I'll try to bear it," replied the girl demurely, dissembling her mirth.
After another pause—"I fear I was unwise to show you his picture. Are you susceptible, do you think?"
"I believe not. You see, when one has to earn one's living, one has no time to be fanciful."
"I dare say"—with evident relief. "It was very different with me. I had been so spoilt, my father doted on me. I had everything I wanted; I had but to express a wish and it was gratified. That was what made the contrast, after marriage, so dreadful to me. I had been so flattered that I thought myself very attractive; and I was not. My husband told me so in plain words. He said I expected too much. You are not accustomed to flattery, are you? You would not expect too much?"
Olwen began to be alarmed at her high colour and rambling talk. "I want you to lie down and rest and not talk," said she coaxingly. "I think I will go and ask Sunia to bring your tea."
"Wait!" A thin hand was held up and beckoned. Olwen approached the bed. "Bend down. I want to whisper."
Olwen stooped, a queer access of pity in her heart.
"I have been imprudent. If you repeat what I have said you will get me into trouble; but, all the same, I am going to warn you. Ayah is his spy—Ninian's spy. Be careful, won't you?"
The colour flamed into the girl's face. This was her second warning that day not to trust Sunia. "I'll remember, and please to understand that Idon't talk," said she, as impressively as she could.
She felt uncomfortable as she took up the Barton catalogue and carried it downstairs to point out to Mr. Guyse the lounge chair which she thought would be suitable.
He was standing upon the hearthrug as she entered the lamp-lit room; and, to her surprise, he met her with a scowl.
What does this portend? she asked herself, as she went to the tray and sat down to pour out his tea. The kettle sang on the hob, there was a fragrance of hot tea-cake, and the table looked tempting with its crystal glasses of preserve and old Jacobean silver. Ignoring his silence, she began to talk. "I have brought the catalogue to show you. How long will it be before we can get what we order, do you know? I am wondering how you manage to collect things sent by rail."
He was sitting, at the side of the table, at right angles to her, and as he leaned forward his sulky face was close to hers.
"I wonder," he said, "if, on the occasion when I came to fetch you from Caryngston, I succeeded in impressing upon you the fact that I am anxious for you to have no dealings with Balmayne?"
Resenting his tone in every fibre of her, Olwen opened her mouth to say, "What concern is it of yours?" but, remembering in time her position in the household, she replied merely, "You impressed upon me the idea that you and he are not on good terms."
"So you thought you would have a nice, confidential talk with him, about me—eh?"
"Oh! What makes you think so?" she asked calmly.
He was ready for this question. "Mrs. Baxter told me what time the doctor arrived. I know what time he went. Sunia told me how long he was in the sick-room."
"Was that all that Sunia told you?" she asked innocently.
He reddened. Olwen summoned all her courage and, leaning back in her chair, she looked steadily into his eyes, which gleamed in a way which made her think absurdly of a panther lashing his tail.
"We had better have this out," she said quietly. "If, as I suppose, Sunia was listening, and if she has repeated to you all that passed between the doctor and me, you must know that nothing was said of which you could reasonably complain. Please understand that I did not come here to take my orders from you, and that I will not be bullied by you. If your mother has anything to complain of in my conduct she will tell me so. I know my place. I wish that you knew yours."
He sat upright, as if she had stung him, and gazed upon her as if he hardly knew how to take this.
"If you were not here," she went on, "Madam and I could get on very comfortably together; but ever since you saw me you have been trying to make things intolerable for me. After the way you have just spoken I shall, of course, leave at my month. But as long as I am here, perhaps you will let me alone."
He made a contemptuous sound. "That's just like a woman—flare up at a little thing like that! You give notice to leave just because I got a bit shirty over you and Balmayne——"
"Why, you made up your mind from the first that I shouldn't stay, didn't you? When you found that I am not pretty and that I won't flirt with you——"
"By Jove! how can you say that? Why, I tried with all my might to be friends, but you wouldn't touch me with the end of a barge pole."
"You knew quite well that you were behaving in a way no girl could stand."
He folded his arms, gazing down at the tablecloth. "I don't know any girls. At least, none like you."
Something in his tone made her feel a little sorry for him, but she hastened to improve the occasion a little farther.
"Why can't you understand that I only want to be let alone? What do you matter to me? From the way you talk, I suppose that Dr. Balmayne knows something to your discredit, and that you are afraid he might tell me. Well, what if he did? It is of no business of mine. It doesn't interest me. As for Madam—when I first came, I thought she disliked me as much as you do, but the last day or two she has seemed glad—pleased—to have me with her. She has begun to—to welcome me, to turn toward me, as if she—l-l-loved me. And now I must leave her, all because you—you——"
She could not finish. She was swallowing sobs, and, to her own vast mortification, was obliged to rise from the table and turn away to the fire so as to hide her quivering face.
She heard him push back his chair and rise too. He took a turn to the end of the room and back. Then he came near to where she stood.
"I'm a perfect brute," he said gruffly. "I say—can't we start all over again? Do let us. I can't think why things have gone so badly. You got up against me somehow. I thought you were so different. I can't explain. If I say that I'm fairly ashamed of myself, and beg your pardon with all my heart, won't you give me another chance?"
"I don't know what you mean," said she, furtively wiping away her tears. "Another chance? I never gave you a chance at all. You don't count. Why should you?"
"That's just what I mean. I want to count. Give me a chance."
She made no reply.
"I never had a sister, or perhaps I shouldn't be such a blundering fool with girls," adventured Nin. "Look here, can't you be great enough to hand me out a free pardon? I never guessed how much I was going to hurt your feelings just now, and if Madam is to lose you just because of my thundering folly—— Ah, well, you guessed quite right; Balmayne does think he knows something to my discredit, and I was anxious you should not hear it from him. I wanted to keep it dark altogether. But I suppose I'd better tell you about it myself."
"But I don't want to know. Will nothing make you see that it doesn't matter a bit to me——"
"You'd have listened to Balmayne——"
"He declined to say anything when he found I didn't know——"
"Ah, then he did mention it?"
"If we are talking of the same thing."
"Lily Martin, of course; the girl who was my mother's companion."
"Oh, yes, I remember. He said that your mother had rather a shattering experience."
"I suppose she had. Yes, it was a shock," he replied slowly. "Look here, dry your eyes and sit down to tea, and I'll tell you afterwards, if you'll promise not to go away at the end of your month. This place is quite jolly in fine weather."
She sat down to table and poured fresh tea. "I have no doubt it is," said she. "You will enjoy showing it to my successor. You should explain to her, however, when offering her the post, that she is to be your companion, and not Madam's."
"Now you're not playing fair. No good to say you forgive me and then stab me in the back."
"I don't think I have forgiven you. At least, I haven't said so."
He looked at her with puzzled eyes. "You try living here ten years, with never a soul to speak to, and see if you don't make an ass of yourself the first time you get the chance," he remarked presently.
She did not answer, but took up the catalogue and made a little talk about the folding chairs depicted in the illustrations.
He gave but a divided attention and ate hardly anything. At last he pushed back his chair with determination. "Now will you please listen?"
She rose with decision. "Once for all, Mr. Guyse, I willnotlisten. I have already told you that I don't want to hear anything at all about it." As she spoke she was moving as if to go out of the room. He rose, with panther-like swiftness, and stood between her and the door. "You've got to listen," he said.
CHAPTER XIII
NINIAN'S DEFENCE
Olwen's heart gave a throb, and for a moment she was afraid. Then she remembered how quickly Ninian had been disarmed by the sight of her distress. She lifted a beseeching face to him.
"Please, Mr. Guyse! Please believe what I say. I would rather know nothing of your private affairs. I am not likely to remain long at the Pele, and it is best that we remain strangers."
"We can't do that," he said with sharp decision. "Ask Sunia."
"Your spy!" she said, throwing into the words an amount of scorn which brought the colour to his face. He did not falter, however. Taking her arm, just above the elbow, he led her to the hearth, and pushed her gently into a chair. "This is the last time I am going to misbehave," said he. "After this you shall do as you like with me; but you have got to hear me now. Sorry, but really you've got to."
"But why? Why?" she cried.
"Because I insist."
She wavered. He was standing over her, and it seemed to her quite probable that, if she made as if to rise, he would push her back into her chair. She could see that he was putting all the force of his will into the affair, and, after all, was it worth fighting him about? She hardly cared, for herself, whether she heard him or no, and was chiefly conscious of a wish that he would leave off importuning her. With a shrug of the shoulders she resigned herself, and Ninian, with a sigh of relief, seated himself upon a big pouffe which stood on the rug facing her, Daff's head between his knees.
Thus settled, he looked up with an impertinent grin.
"The Head of the Reformatory has given leave to the latest arrival to explain to her how he first came to leave the paths of virtuous rectitude," he said. "She faces him, calmly judicial, and he proceeds to make a clean breast of it."
She had some ado not to laugh. "Get on and don't be silly," said she.
He drew a deep breath. "One black dark night a band of robbers," he began. "No. That's the wrong gambit Ahem! 'I was not ever thus, believe, fair maid——'"
Olwen made to rise from her place, and he caught and detained her.
"Oh, dash, how is it that I can't resist playing the goat?" cried he. "Just one more chance, and that will be the very last, but the mischief of it is I don't know where to begin. Afraid I shall have to go back to our first coming to live here. I was about eighteen then, and it really was the only thing to do, my father had left us in such a tight place. Madam had been accustomed to something very different, it was horribly rough on her, and I dare say you'll think I was a selfish hound to bring her to such a place. But I couldn't help myself. I'm Guyse, through and through; and though I felt that I would give up most things for her, I simply couldn't sell the last Guyse stronghold and the last few poor acres. So there it is. The first crime's off my chest."
"I can make every allowance for you there," said Olwen with a rush of sudden sympathy.
He looked at her under his lashes. "That's something. You see, by coming to live here I managed to send my brother Wilfrid to Oxford. He's a credit to the family—brains and manners, and so on. The other reason was that I knew I could make a living out of the land, and also that, if I lived here, Madam need not lose all her friends, and I could get across a horse and carry a gun. If we had lived in a city I couldn't have earned bread and cheese, I've no commercial ability; and Madam would have suffered more, though she doesn't think so. Hallo! I'm sorry I'm boring you with what doesn't matter a bit. When we had been here a few years and Wolf had left the University, he was suddenly bitten with the notion of going to Klondyke. This upset my mother very much, made her so ill, in fact, that we thought she would go melancholy mad. Wolf and I talked it over, and he said she was moped to death and too much alone, and the best thing we could do was to hire a young lady to live with her, somebody young and jolly who would take her out of herself. We did as we did in your case, looked down a list of advertisers, and at last we chose Miss Lily Martin. She came, and she was a girl with high spirits, very good-natured, and used to make Madam laugh. She was here some time, more than a year, and we jogged along well enough, only Sunia never took to her."
"Do you know why that was?"
"Sunia said she was not 'pukka'—I expect you know what that means. Said also that she had something up her sleeve. Said she had a lover." He was speaking with his gaze fixed on Daff's silky head, but on that he raised his face, and his eyes were hard as jade in the lamplight. "Of course, Balmayne thinks I was her lover," said he.
"Why does he think so?"
"I'll tell you. After about a year things began to go wrong. I expect Miss Martin got a bit fed up with this place and the monotony of the life. I couldn't even send Madam away for a few weeks in the summer that year, for Wolf had got into difficulties and it took all I had to send him what he asked for. Miss Martin's temper changed. Sunia told us afterwards that when she first came she got letters constantly, always two or three a week, sometimes more. By degrees they had dropped off, until of late she had only one or two a month. I suppose this upset her; anyway, she became moody and had fits of temper. I didn't mind her working it off on me, but when it came to Madam I had to interfere, for she took to bullying her. One day she had a queer outburst. I had found Madam in hysterics, and I was obliged to call the girl over the coals about it. She flew out at me and said we were bloated aristocrats, but that she was as good as us any day, and that, if she only chose, she could make things hot for us. To this day I don't know what she meant by that. On my honour, I don't believe her change of manner had anything to do with me. I may have chaffed her a bit, but I never made love to her. However, the end of it was that I told her I thought she had better leave. She was evidently no longer happy with us, and, what was more, she didn't make Madam happy either. I couldn't have her upset—why, the only reason the silly fool was in the house at all was to keep Madam happy! ... So I gave her notice. After that we had a treat. The first week she was furious, the second sulky, the third tearful—oh, my word! She wept at meals, she wept in her bedroom—so Sunia said—she wept all over poor Madam, and one day she—she wept on me. I couldn't stick it, and I am afraid I told her so, more hotly than I meant. Ah, I can see your sympathy for her showing in your eyes."
"You are quite mistaken. I was thinking that when you succeeded in making me cry this evening you must have been forcibly reminded of poor Miss Martin!"
He grinned. "After that it seemed to me that it would be better if I kept out of the way until she took her departure. I was very busy at the time, as it happened, so I stayed down at Lachanrigg with the Kays, and had all my meals there next day. When I came home, late at night, Sunia and the Baxters were in a fearful state. Miss Martin had disappeared."
"You mean she had left?"
"Nobody knew. It seems she had spent the afternoon in the billiard-room by herself. Madam at that time used always to sit there, but she had got so fed up with the girl that, on that occasion, she went off to her own room and shut herself in. Sunia afterwards told us that Miss Martin, after an interval of five weeks, had got a letter that morning which had visibly upset her. She seems to have made a fire in the billiard-room and burned therein her whole collection of letters. Sunia took her a cup of tea, and found her kneeling on the hearth feeding the fire with torn letters, and noticed that she was in tears. Nobody saw her after that. She had not put on a hat, so they thought for a long time that she was concealed somewhere in the house, where there are a good many hiding-places. We began by searching pretty thoroughly, and when we proved unsuccessful, I thought I would go down to Lachanrigg by the short cut, down the hill, and get Kay to come and help me or advise me what to do."
"Did you know where she came from—who were her people?"
"She was living in rooms in London when we engaged her. She had no home. She came originally from Canada, I believe. We knew of no friends to whom she would be likely to go."
"Where did her letters come from?"
"Always London. We thought probably from a clerk in some bank, for the address was type-written... Well, as I was telling you, I went out and down the hill. It is almost precipitous down there, but there is a path of sorts, winding among the trees. Just as I went crashing down the steepest bit I thought I heard a moan. It was a very dark night, and I could see nothing, I had a lantern with me, and I turned it this way and that. The sound came several times, and it seemed to be behind me higher up the hill. After questing all about I found it was always above me, over my head, and at last I had the wit to peer up into the branches of the trees. There I found her. She had flung herself out of the big oriel in the banqueting hall, intending to commit suicide, and had stuck in the branches of an ash."
"Alive, of course?"
"Oh, yes, but she was badly injured. I had to go and rouse Ezra, and between us we got her down and carried her to the Gatehouse, where we laid her in Mrs. Baxter's parlour. It was not possible, with her broken bones, to get her upstairs at the Pele, so in the Baxters' parlour she stayed. Balmayne had only just come here then, and he was immensely interested in the case. Thought she was a poor martyred saint, victim of my heartless cruelty. As for me, I was just about fed up with her, and I kept clear of her all the time she was ill. She utterly declined to say why she had tried to kill herself, and only declared that she wished she had succeeded in her attempt. At first she said that the moment she was strong enough to get about she would have another try; but Balmayne explained to her that, unless she took a solemn oath not to repeat it, he would have to inform a magistrate and get her bound over. That frightened her a bit, but she remained in a queer state of mind; very unsatisfactory it was for all concerned."
"What did Madam say?"
"Madam behaved very queerly. I suppose Balmayne got at her, for she certainly believed that I was seriously to blame. She said she pitied the poor girl from the bottom of her heart, but for all that, she could not be persuaded to go and see her. I thought it would be a jolly good thing if she did, as she might get something out of her; but no. Never once did she see Miss Martin from the day of the accident to the day of her departure."
"Departure? She went away then?"
"Yes. I was at my wits' end, wondering what on earth was to become of the poor thing, and making up my mind that I must screw myself to the point of making Madam go and see her and ask what her plans were, when she got a letter from the usual source. This letter seemed to buck her up no end. She told Mrs. Baxter next day that she was going to London as soon as the doctor would allow her to travel. And she was as good as her word. When she went off she informed me that I should see her again a great deal sooner than I expected; and I was fully prepared for a letter from some firm of lawyers, threatening an action of some kind. But from that day to this we haven't any of us heard a word of her. The earth might have opened and swallowed her. She was a queer one. Sunia says she had a wedding-ring slung round her neck, under her clothes, but I don't know if that is true. There! Now you have heard the history of Miss Lily Martin and myself to date. When Balmayne gives you his version, you can put the two together and see what they amount to."
Olwen rested her elbows on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands, and gazed thoughtfully at the glowing logs. "And all that happened—when?"
"More than three years ago."
"I wonder what made you tell me?"
"It's pretty obvious. If you stay on you are bound to hear it, and I wanted you to hear it from me."
"I—I think I am glad you told me." She was in fact conscious of considerable relief. The story explained many things. Deb's distrust of the young man, Balmayne's uneasiness that another girl should be placed in the same position as the unlucky Lily; Mrs. Guyse's reticence and anxiety, Sunia's careful spying, and, most of all, Ninian's self-consciousness and inability to be natural with her.
"Well, after hearing this pretty tale, shall you funk staying in the Dark Tower?" he asked, after a prolonged survey of her grave little face, lit by the flickering flame-light.
"I think I am safe enough," she replied, not turning her head to look at him. "I am not a bit a Lily-Martin kind of girl."
"Give a chap a chance! Can't I see that much? But you know there is another kind of girl just as bad, and when first I saw you I thought you were that kind."
"Indeed. What?"
"A prude."
"Well," the fire-light emphasised the dimple, "I think I am rather that kind. That is, I am apt to be thorny, except with——"
"People who speak your language?" The tone was soft and insinuating.
"That's it."
"Well," said Nin, laying his olive cheek down on Daff's yellow head, "I'm going to learn, if it takes me a year. As I just told you, I've misbehaved for the last time. I am now a reformed character, your word is my law. If you say, 'Detestable young man, leave the room,' hard as that command will be, I shall obey. I'll be like a lover out of Richardson or Mrs. Radcliffe——"
"Oh, but please! I don't want you to be like a lover of any kind."
"My mistake! I'm a pupil, am I not? And you're my teacher, if you'll take me on. Oh, do! 'I know it the only thing to save my yet young life in the wilds of time!'"
"With the poets at your finger-ends there is no excuse for you," she laughed. "Don't be so ridiculous."
"Oh, come, you'll have to let me be ridiculous! Prunesprism was never my line."
"It need not be your line, or mine either, when once you have mastered the 'simple little rules and few' which lie at the root of the language you have to learn."
"Can't we begin now?"
"Not now. Really I don't want to be crabby any more, but you do see that while Madam is so poorly I must look after her, don't you?" She broke off and a wicked smile flashed at him, "Why, all the silly fool is in the house for at all is to keep Madam happy!"
"Jove, you're quick! I must mind my p's and q's with you!"
"Yes, they are rather important letters in your new alphabet!"