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Deadham Hard by Lucas Malet

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Did not Dr. Stewart-Walker, moreover, hold out hopes that, by following
his advice, the General's strength might be renewed, if not precisely
like that of the eagle, yet in the more modest likeness of some good,
biddable, burden-bearing animal--the patient ass, if one might so put it
without too obvious irony? As handyman, aide-de-camp, and, on occasion,
her groom of the chambers, the General had deserved very well of
Henrietta. He had earned her sincere commendation. To restore him to that
level of convenient activity was, naturally, her main object; and if a
sojourn at some rather dull spot in the Ardennes, promised to secure this
desired end, let it be accepted without hesitation. For the proverbial
creaking, yet long-hanging, gate--here Henrietta had the delicacy to take
refuge in hyperbole--she had no liking whatever. She could not remember
the time when Darby and Joan had struck her as an otherwise than
preposterous couple, offspring of a positively degraded sentimentality.

But there, since it threatened depressing conclusions, Henrietta agreed
with herself to pursue the line of reflection no further.--"Sufficient
unto the day"--to look beyond is, the thirties once passed, to raise
superfluous spectres. And this day, in itself supplied food for
reflections of a quite other character; ones which set both her curiosity
and partiality for intrigue quite legitimately afire.

The morning post had brought her a missive from Colonel Carteret
announcing his "recall" to England, and deploring the imposed haste of
it as preventing him from making his adieux to her in person. The
letter contained a number of flattering tributes to her own charms and
to old times in India, the pleasures of which--unforgettable by him--he
had had the happiness of sharing with her. Yet--to her reading of
it--this friendly communication remained enigmatic, its kindly
sentences punctuated by more than one interjectional enquiry. Namely,
what was the cause of this sudden "recall"? And what was his reason for
not coming to say good-bye to her? Haste, she held an excuse of almost
childish transparency. It went deeper than that. Simply he had wanted
not to see her.

Since the night of the dance no opportunity had occurred for observing
Carteret and Damaris when together.--Really, how General Frayling's
tiresome illness shipwrecked her private plans!--And, from the beginning,
she had entertained an uneasy suspicion regarding Carteret's attitude.
Men can be so extraordinarily feeble-minded where young girls are
concerned! Had anything happened during her withdrawal from society? In
the light, or rather the obscurity, of Carteret's letter, a visit to
Damaris became more than ever imperative.

Her own competence to extract the truth from that guileless maiden,
Henrietta in nowise questioned. "The child," she complacently told
herself, when preparing to set forth on her mission, "is like wax in
my hands."

The above conviction she repeated now, as the horses swept the victoria
along the shore road, while from beneath her white umbrella she
absently watched the alternate lift and plunge of the dazzling
ultramarine and Tyrian purple sea upon the polished rocks and pebbles
of the shelving beach.

To Henrietta Nature, save as decoration to the human drama, meant
nothing. But the day was hot, for the time of year royally so, and this
rejoiced her. She basked in the sunshine with a cat-like luxury of
content. Her hands never grew moist in the heat, nor her hair untidy, her
skin unbecomingly red, nor her general appearance in the least degree
blousy. She remained enchantingly intact, unaffected, except for an added
glint, an added refinement. To-day's temperature justified the adoption
of summer attire, of those thin, clear-coloured silk and muslin fabrics
so deliciously to her taste. She wore a lavender dress. It was new, every
pleat and frill inviolate, at their crispest and most uncrumpled. In this
she found a fund of permanent satisfaction steeling her to intrepid
enterprise.

Hence she scorned all ceremonies of introduction. She dared to pounce.
Having ascertained the number of Sir Charles Verity's sitting-room she
refused obsequious escort, tripped straight upstairs unattended, rapped
lightly, opened the door and--with swift reconnoitering of the scene
within--announced her advent thus:

"Damaris, are you there? Ah! yes. Darling child. At last!"

During that reconnoitering she inventoried impressions of the room and
its contents.--Cool, first--blue walls, blue carpet, blue upholstering of
sofa and of chairs. Not worn or shabby, but so graciously faded by sun
and air, that this--decoratively speaking--most perilous of colours
became innocuous, in a way studious, in keeping with a large
writing-table occupying the centre of the picture, laden with manuscripts
and with books. The wooden outside shutters of two of the three windows
were closed, which enhanced the prevailing coolness and studiousness of
effect. Red cushions, also agreeably faded, upon the window-seats, alone
echoed, in some degree, the hot radiance obtaining out of doors--these,
and a red enamelled vase holding sprays of yellow and orange-copper
roses, placed upon a smaller table before which Damaris sat, her back
towards the invader.

At the sound of the latter's voice, the girl started, raised her head
and, in the act of looking round, swept together some scattered sheets of
note-paper and shut her blotting-book.

"Henrietta!" she cried, and thereupon sprang up; the lady, meanwhile,
advancing towards her with outstretched arms, which enclosed her in a
fragrant embrace.

"Yes--nothing less than Henrietta"--imprinting light kisses on either
cheek. "But I see you are busy writing letters, dearest child. I am in
the way--I interrupt you?"

And, as Damaris hastily denied that such was the case:

"Ah! but I do," she repeated. "I have no right to dart in on you thus _a
l'improviste_. It is hardly treating such an impressive young
person--absolutely I believe you have grown since I saw you last!--yes,
you are taller, darling child--handsomer than ever, and a tiny bit
alarming too--what have you been doing with, or to, or by
yourself?--Treating her--the impressive young person, I mean--with proper
respect. But it was such a chance. I learnt that you were alone"--A fib,
alas! on Henrietta's part.--"And I couldn't resist coming. I so longed to
have you, like this, all to myself. What an eternity since we met!--For
me a wearing, ageing eternity. The duties of a sick-room are so horribly
anxious, yet so deadening in their repetition of ignoble details. I could
not go through with them, honestly I could not--though I realize it is a
damning admission for a woman to make--if it wasn't that I am rather
absurdly attached to what good Dr. Stewart-Walker persists in calling
'our patient.' Is not that enough in itself?--To fall from all normal
titles and dignities and become merely a patient? No, joking apart, only
affection makes nursing in any degree endurable to me. Without its saving
grace the whole business would be too unpardonably sordid."

She pursed up her lips, and shivered her graceful shoulders with the
neatest exposition of delicate distaste.

"And too gross. But one must face and accept the pathetic risk of being
eventually converted in _garde malade_ thus, if one chooses to marry a
man considerably older than oneself. It is a mistake. I say so though I
committed it with my eyes open. I was betrayed by my affection."

As she finished speaking Henrietta stepped across to the sofa and sat
down. The airy perfection of her appearance lent point to the plaintive
character of this concluding sentence. The hot day, the summer
costume--possibly the shaded room also--combined to strip away a good ten
years from her record. Any hardness, any faint sense of annoyance, which
Damaris experienced at the abruptness of her guest's intrusion melted.
Henrietta in her existing aspect, her existing mood proved irresistible.
Our tender-hearted maiden was charmed by her and coerced.

"But General Frayling is better, isn't he?" she asked, also taking her
place upon the sofa. "You are not any longer in any serious anxiety about
him, darling Henrietta? All danger is past?"

"Oh, yes--he is better of course, or how could I be here? But I have
received a shock that makes me dread the future."

Which was true, though in a sense other than that in which her hearer
comprehended it. For the studious atmosphere of the room reacted upon
Henrietta, as did its many silent testimonies to Sir Charles Verity's
constant habitation. This was his workshop. She felt acutely conscious
of him here, nearer to him in idea and in sentiment than for many years
past. The fact that he did still work, sought new fields to conquer,
excited both her admiration and her regrets. He disdained to be laid on
the shelf, got calmly and forcefully down off the shelf and spent his
energies in fresh undertakings. Once upon a time she posed as his
Egeria, fancying herself vastly in the part. During the Egerian period
she lived at a higher intellectual and emotional level than ever before
or since, exerting every particle of brain she possessed to maintain
that level. The petty interests of her present existence, still more,
perhaps, the poor odd and end of a yellow little General in his
infinitely futile sick-bed, shrank to a desolating insufficiency. Surely
she was worthy--had, anyway, once been worthy--of better things than
that? The lavender dress, notwithstanding its still radiantly uncrumpled
condition, came near losing its spell. No longer did she trust in it as
in shining armour. Her humour soured. She instinctively inclined to
revenge herself upon the nearest sentient object available--namely to
stick pins into Damaris.

"Sweetest child," she said, "you can't imagine how much this room means
to me through its association with your father's wonderful book.--Oh!
yes, I know a lot about the book. Colonel Carteret has not failed to
advertise his acquaintance with it. But, what have I said?"

For at mention of that gentleman's name Damaris, so she fancied, changed
colour, the bloom fading upon her cheeks, while her glance became
reserved, at once proud and slightly anxious.

"Is it forbidden to mention the wonderful book at this stage of its
development? Though even if it were," she added, with a rather impish
laugh, looking down at and fingering the little bunch of trinkets,
attached to a long gold chain, which rested in her lap--"Carteret would
hardly succeed in holding his peace. Speak of everything, sooner or
later, he must."

She felt rather than saw Damaris' figure grow rigid.

"Have you ever detected that small weakness in him? But probably not. He
keeps overflowings for the elder members of his acquaintance, and in the
case of the younger ones does exercise some caution. Ah! yes, I've no
doubt he seems to you a model of discretion. Yet, in point of fact, when
you've known him as long as I, you will have discovered he is a more than
sufficiently extensive sieve."

Then, fearing she had gone rather far, since Damaris remained rigid
and silent:

"Not a malicious sieve," the lady hastened to add, raising her eyes. "I
don't imply that for a single instant. On the contrary I incline to
believe that his attitude of universal benevolence is to blame for this
inclination to gossip. It is so great, so all-enclosing, that I can't
help feeling it blunts his sense of right and wrong to some extent. He is
the least censorious of men and therefore--though it may sound cynical to
say so--I don't entirely trust his judgment. He is too ready to make
excuses for everyone.--But, my precious child, what's the matter? What
makes you look so terrifically solemn and severe?"

And playfully she put her hand under the girl's chin, drawing the grave
face towards her, smilingly studying, then lightly and daintily kissing
it. In the course of this affectionate interlude, the string of pearls
round Damaris' throat, until now hidden by the V-shaped collar of her
soft lawn shirt, caught Henrietta's eye. Their size, lustre and worth
came near extracting a veritable shriek of enquiry and jealous admiration
from her. But with praiseworthy promptitude she stifled her astonishment
and now really rampant curiosity. Damaris but half yielded to her
blandishments. She must cajole more successfully before venturing to
request explanation. Therefore she cried, soothingly, coaxfully:

"There--there--descend from those imposing heights of solemnity, or upon
my word you will make me think my poor little visit displeases and bores
you. That would be peculiarly grievous to me, since it is, in all
probability, my last."

"Your last?" Damaris exclaimed.

"Yes, darling child, the fiat, alas! has gone forth. We are ordered away
and start for Cotteret-les-Bains in a day or two. Dr. Stewart-Walker
considers the move imperative on account of General Frayling's health.
This was only settled yesterday. Marshall would have rushed here to tell
you; but I forbade him. I felt I must tell you myself. I confess it is a
blow to me. Our tenancy of the Pavilion expires at the end of the month;
but I proposed asking for an extension, and, if that failed, taking up
our abode at the hotel for a while. To me Dr. Stewart-Walker's orders
come as a bitter disappointment, for I counted on remaining until
Easter--remaining just as long as you and Sir Charles and Carteret
remained, in fact."

Here the bloom, far from further extinction, warmed to a lovely blush.
Henrietta's curiosity craned its naughty neck standing on tiptoe. But,
the blush notwithstanding, Damaris looked at her with such sincerity of
quickening affection and of sympathy that she again postponed
cross-examination.

For over this piece of news our maiden could--in its superficial aspects
at all events--lament in perfect good faith. She proceeded to do so,
eagerly embracing the opportunity to offer thanks and praise. All
Henrietta's merits sprang into convincing evidence. Had not her
hospitality been unstinted--the whole English colony had cause to mourn.

"But for you they'd still be staring at one another, bristling like so
many strange dogs," Damaris said. "And you smoothed them all down so
divertingly. Oh! you were beautifully clever in that. It was a lesson in
the art of the complete hostess. While, as for me, Henrietta, you've
simply spoiled me. I can never thank you enough. Think of the amusements
past counting you planned for me, the excursions you've let me share with
you--our delicious drives, and above all my coming-out dance."

Whereat Mrs. Frayling disclaimingly shook her very pretty head.

"In pleasing you I have merely pleased myself, dearest, so in that
there's no merit.--Though I do plead guilty to but languid enthusiasm
for girls of your age as a rule. Their conversation and opinions are
liable to set my teeth a good deal on edge. I have small patience, I'm
afraid, at the disposal of feminine beings at once so omniscient and so
alarmingly unripe.--But you see, a certain downy owl, with saucer eyes
and fierce little beak, won my heart by its beguiling ways a dozen
years ago."

"Darling Henrietta!" Damaris softly murmured; and, transported by
sentiment to that earlier date when the said darling Henrietta
commanded her unqualified adoration, began playing with the
well-remembered bunch of trinkets depending from the long gold chain
the lady wore about her neck.

Watching her, Mrs. Frayling sighed.

"Ah, my child, the thought of you is inextricably joined to other
thoughts upon which I should be far wiser not to dwell--far wiser to put
from me and forget--only they are stronger than I am--and I can't."

There was a ring of honest human feeling in Henrietta Frayling's
voice for once.

"No, no--I am more justly an object of commiseration than anyone I leave
behind me at St. Augustin."

And again she laughed, not impishly, but with a hardness altogether
astonishing to her auditor.

"Think," she cried, "of my sorry fate!--Not only a wretchedly ailing
husband on my hands, needing attention day and night, but a wretchedly
disconsolate young lover as well. For poor Marshall will be
inconsolable--only too clearly do I foresee that.--Picture what a pair
for one's portion week in and week out!--Whereas you, enviable being, are
sure of the most inspiring society. Everything in this quiet room"--

She indicated the laden writing-table with a quick, flitting gesture.

"So refreshingly removed from the ordinary banal hotel _salon_--is
eloquent of the absorbing, far-reaching pursuits and interests amongst
which you live. Who could ask a higher privilege than to share your
father's work, to be his companion and amanuensis?"--She paused, as
emphasising the point, and then mockingly threw off--"Plus the smart
_beau sabreur_ Carteret, as devoted bodyguard and escort, whenever you
are not on duty. To few women of your age, or indeed of any age, is
Fortune so indulgent a fairy godmother as that!"

Astonished and slightly resentful at the sharpness of her guest's
unprovoked onslaught, Damaris had dropped the little bunch of trinkets
and backed into her corner of the sofa.

"Colonel Carteret has gone," she said coldly, rather irrelevantly, the
statement drawn from her by a vague instinct of self-defence.

"Gone!" Henrietta echoed, with equal irrelevance. For she was singularly
discomposed.

"Yes, he started for England last night. But you must know that already,
Henrietta. He wrote to you--he told me so himself."

But having once committed herself by use of a word implying ignorance,
Mrs. Frayling could hardly do otherwise than continue the deception.
Explanation would be too awkward a business. The chances of detection,
moreover, were infinitesimal. There were things she meant to say which
would sound far more unstudied and obvious could she keep up the fiction
of ignorance. This, quickly realizing, she again and more flagrantly
fibbed. The voluntary lie acts as a tonic giving you--for the moment at
least--most comforting conceit of your own courage and perspicacity. And
Henrietta just now stood in need of a tonic. She had been strangely
overcome by the force of her own emotion--an accident which rarely
happened to her and which she very cordially detested when it did.

"Someone must have omitted to post the letter, then," she said, with a
suitable air of annoyance. "How exceedingly careless--unless it has not
been sent over from the hotel to the Pavilion. I have been obliged, more
than once, to complain of the hall porter's very casual delivery of my
letters. I will make enquiries directly, if I don't find it on my return.
But this is all by the way. Tell me, dearest child, what is the reason of
Colonel Carteret's leaving so suddenly? Is it not surprisingly
unexpected?"

"He was wanted at home on business of some sort," Damaris replied, as she
felt a little lamely. She was displeased, worried by Henrietta. It was
difficult to choose her words. "He has been away for a long time, you
see. I think he has been beautifully unselfish in giving up so much of
his time to us."

"Do you?" Henrietta enquired with meaning. "If I remember right we
discussed that point once before. I can repeat now what I then told you,
with even firmer assurance, namely, that he struck me as remarkably well
pleased with himself and his surroundings and generally content."

"Of course he loves being with my father," Damaris hastened to put in,
having no wish to enlarge on the topic suggested by the above speech.

"Of course. Who doesn't, or rather who wouldn't were they sufficiently
fortunate to have the chance. But come--to be honest--_je me demande_, is
it exclusively Sir Charles whom Carteret loves to be with?"

And as she spoke, Henrietta bent forward from the waist, her dainty
lavender skirts spread out on the faded blue of the sofa mattress, the
contours of her dainty lavender bodice in fine relief against the faded
blue cushions, her whole person, in the subdued light, bright and
apparently fragile as some delicate toy of spun glass. She put out her
hand, and lightly, mischievously, touched the string of pearls encircling
the girl's throat.

"And what is the meaning of these, then," she asked, "you sweetly
deceiving little puss!"

It was cleverly done, she flattered herself. She asserted nothing,
implied much, putting the onus of admission or denial upon Damaris. The
answer came with grave and unhesitating directness.

"Colonel Carteret gave them to me."

"So I imagined. They are the exquisite fruit, aren't they, of the little
expedition by train of two days ago?"

Damaris' temper rose, but so did her protective instinct. For that
journey to Marseilles, connected as it was with the dear secret of Darcy
Faircloth, did not admit of investigation by Henrietta.

"About where and when Colonel Carteret may have got them for me, I know
nothing," she returned. "He left them to be given to me last night
after he went."

She unclasped the necklace.

"They are very lovely pearls, aren't they? Pray look at them if you care
to, Henrietta," she said.

Thus at once invited and repulsed--for that it amounted to a repulse she
could not but acknowledge--Mrs. Frayling advised herself a temporary
retreat might be advisable. She therefore discoursed brightly concerning
pearls and suchlike costly frivolities. Inwardly covetousness consumed
her, since she possessed no personal ornament of even approximate value.

The conversation drifted. She learned the fact of Miss Felicia's
projected arrival, and deplored her own approaching exile the less. Only
once, long ago, had she encountered Miss Verity. The memory afforded her
no satisfaction, for that lady's peculiar brand of good breeding and--as
she qualified it--imbecility, did not appeal to her in the least. There
was matter of thankfulness, therefore, she had not elected to join Sir
Charles and Damaris sooner. She would undoubtedly have proved a most
tiresome and impeding element. Unless--here Henrietta's mind
darted--unless she happened to take a fancy to Marshall. Blameless
spinsters, of her uncertain age and of many enthusiasms, did not
infrequently very warmly take to him--in plain English, fell over head
and ears in love with him, poor things, though without knowing it, their
critical faculty being conspicuous by its absence where their own hearts
were concerned.--By the way that was an idea!--Swiftly Henrietta reviewed
the possibilities it suggested.--As an ally, an auxiliary, Miss Felicia
might be well worth cultivation. Would it not be diplomatic to let
Marshall stay on at the Hotel de la Plage by himself for a week or so?
The conquest of Miss Felicia might facilitate another conquest on which
her--Henrietta's--mind was set. For such mature enamoured virgins,
as she reflected, are almost ludicrously selfless. To ensure the
happiness of the beloved object they will even donate to him their
rival.--Yes--distinctly an idea! But before attempting to reduce it to
practice, she must make more sure of her ground in another direction.

During the above meditation, Henrietta continued to talk off the
surface, her mind working on two distinct planes. Damaris, off the
surface, continued to answer her.

Our maiden felt tired both in body and in spirit. She felt all "rubbed
up the wrong way"--disturbed, confused. The many moral turns and twists
of Henrietta's conversation had been difficult to follow. But from
amid the curious maze of them, one thing stood out, arrestingly
conspicuous--Henrietta believed it then also. Believed Carteret cared for
her "in _that_ way"--thus, with a turning aside of the eyes and
shrinking, she phrased it. It wasn't any mistaken, conceited imagination
of her own since Henrietta so evidently shared it. And Henrietta must be
reckoned an expert in that line, having a triad of husbands to her
credit--a liberality of allowance in matrimony which had always appeared
to Damaris as slightly excessive. She had avoided dwelling upon this so
outstanding feature of her friend's career; but that it gave assurance of
the latter's ability to pronounce upon "caring in _that_ way" was she now
admitted incontestable.

Whether she really felt glad or sorry Henrietta's expert opinion
confirmed her own suspicions, Damaris could not tell. It certainly tended
to complicate the future; and for that she was sorry. She would have
liked to see the road clear before her--anyhow for a time--complications
having been over numerous lately. They were worrying. They made her feel
unsettled, unnatural. In any case she trusted she shouldn't suffer again
from those odious yet alluring feelings which put her to such shame this
morning.--But--unpleasant thought--weren't they, perhaps, an integral
part of the whole agitating business of "caring in _that_ way?"

Her eyes rested in wide meditative enquiry upon Henrietta, Henrietta
sitting up in all her finished elegance upon the faded blue sofa and so
diligently making company conversation. Somehow, thus viewing her, it
was extremely difficult to suppose Henrietta had ever experienced
excited feelings. Yet--the wonder of it!--she'd actually been married
three times.