Part 54 (2/2)
He did not trouble to conceal it.
”But I am certain Saunderson knows something. Do not count on it, Aymer.”
”I count every chance in my favour,” returned Aymer deliberately. ”I discount even your belief that Peter knew, since he said nothing.”
Mr. Aston looked at him sadly. He had no such hope, nor was he even certain he was justified in seconding Caesar's wish that the fortune should pa.s.s Christopher by. The nearer the great thing came to them the more difficult was it to ignore the vastness of the interests involved, and the greater the responsibility of those who stood motionless between Christopher and it. Yet Mr. Aston knew as well as Aymer that neither of them would move from their position, and if they had acted wrongly in following the wishes of the dead woman in preference to the material instincts of the living man, they must accept the result, and Christopher must accept it, too.
But he felt keenly Aymer's failure to present an unbia.s.sed face to the turn of circ.u.mstances.
”How long will it be before Saunderson acts if he has any clue to go on?” Aymer asked wearily after a long silence.
”He would act immediately, but whether that would land him on the right line would depend on the strength of the clue. Aymer, my dear fellow, try and put the matter from you. You are not going to act yourself.”
”No, but I'm no hand at waiting.”
That was true, and as usual the days of suspense told heavily on Aymer. Christopher's return was an immense relief. He had had a heavy spell of work and travelling, and allowed himself a few days' holiday.
It happened that Patricia was also at Marden. She spent so large a percentage of her time with Constantia now that her presence in the house that had been her home more resembled a visit than Christopher's comings and goings. No one had mentioned the fact that she was there to him, and he found her in the drawing-room before dinner kneeling by the fire and coaxing it into a cheery blaze.
”You are a regular truant, Patricia,” he complained after their greeting.
”Constantia maintains I am at school with her and calls me truant when I run down here for a few days.”
”Are you at school? What does she teach you?”
”Subjects too deep for mere man,” she retorted lightly. She continued to kneel with her back to him and the light touched her wonderful hair, that still seemed too heavy a crown for the proud little head.
It was like molten gold. Christopher felt a new heartache for the days when he could touch it without fear in the blind bravery of boyhood.
He wanted to see her face which she so persistently turned from him.
”I am not sure it is a suitable school for you.”
”Since when have you become responsible for my education, sir? Would you prefer my going to school with Charlotte? You are confounding me with Patrimondi. You will end by rolling me out flat on a high-road one day.”
She was talking arrant nonsense in self-defence, for every fibre of her being was quivering at his presence. The old hushed cry awoke in her heart ”Christopher and Love--Love and Christopher.” If she looked at him he must see it, her eyes must needs betray the pitiful whisper but for the clamour of foolish words. Where was Renata? Why were they all so late to-night of all nights? Yet she had hurried her dressing--chosen her gown even, on the chance of this interview that outmatched her schooled frivolity. The need to see her face and her eyes again pressed on the man--became imperative--as something of great moment, strangely difficult to achieve.
At last he abruptly spoke her name.
”Patricia.”
She involuntarily turned to him and found what had appeared so hard was quite easy, for she discerned some unusual trouble in his mind, and was woman enough for the mothering instinct to sweep up over the personal love.
”What is it, Christopher?”
He had wit enough to keep his advantage, for there was something to read on the upturned face that must not be deciphered in haste.
”I am seriously worried, Patricia. You might a.s.sist instead of hindering me.”
<script>