Part 50 (2/2)

”No,” said Peter, ”I won't go on, for it's running my horses on a rock.

Think it over, that's all. But remember the offer does not remain open indefinitely.”

”Well, and if I choose to refuse it and go to law and _take_ my children--what then?”

”No court in England would give you their custody.”

”Why not?”

”Because you couldn't show means to support them, and we could produce witnesses to prove that you are not a fit person to have the custody of children.”

”We should see about that.”

”Well, think it over. It's your affair, you know.” And Peter went away, leaving Hugo to curse and bite his nails in impotent rage. Peter really was far from conciliatory.

Jan needed a fright, Hugo decided; that's what she wanted to bring her to heel. And before very long he'd see that she got it. She shouldn't shelter herself for ever behind that supercilious beast, Ledgard. Hugo was quite ready to have been pleasant to Jan and to have met her more than half-way if she was reasonable, but since she had chosen to bring Ledgard into it, she should pay. After all, she was only a woman, and you can always frighten a woman if you go the right way about it. It was d.a.m.ned bad luck that Ledgard should have turned up just now. It was Ledgard he'd got to thank that Fay had made that infamously unjust will by which she left the remnant of her money to her children and not to her husband. Oh yes! he'd a lot to thank Ledgard for. Well, he wouldn't like it when Jan got hurt. Ledgard was odd about women. He couldn't bear to see them worried; he couldn't bear to see Fay worried, interfered then. A blank, blank, blank interfering chap, Ledgard was.

_What Jan needed was a real good scare._

They suggested Guernsey. Well, he'd go to Guernsey, and he wouldn't go alone. Hugo thoroughly enjoyed a plot. The twilight world that had been so difficult and perplexing to poor Fay had for him a sort of exciting charm. Wren's End had become dreadfully dull. For the first week or two, while he felt so ill, it had been restful. Now its regular hours and ordered tranquillity were getting on his nerves. All those portraits of his wife, too, worried him. He could go into no room where the lovely face, with youth's wistful wonder as to what life held, did not confront him with a reminder that the wife he had left to die in Bombay did not look in the least like that.

There were few things in his life save miscalculation that he regretted.

But he did feel uncomfortable when he remembered Fay--so trustful always, so ready to help him in any difficulty. People liked her; even women liked her in spite of her good looks, and Hugo had found the world a hard, unfriendly place since her death.

The whole thing was getting on his nerves. It was time to shuffle the cards and have a new deal.

He packed his suit-case which had been so empty when he arrived, and waited for a day when Peter had taken Jan, Meg and the children for a motor run to a neighbouring town. He took care to see that Earley was duly busy in the kitchen garden, and the maids safely at the back of the house. Then he carried it to the lodge gate himself and waited for a pa.s.sing tradesman's cart. Fortune favoured him; the butcher came up with (had Hugo known it) veal cutlets for Hugo's own dinner. Hugo tipped the butcher and asked him to leave the suit-case at the station to be sent on as carted luggage to its address.

Next morning he learned that Tony was to go with Earley to fetch extra cream from Mr. Burgess' farm.

It was unfortunate that he couldn't get any of Tony's clothes without causing comment. He had tried the day before, but beyond a jersey and two little vests (which happened to be little Fay's), he had been unable to find anything. Well, Jan would be glad enough to send Tony's clothes when he let her know where they were to be sent. Tony had changed a good deal from the silent, solemn child he had disliked in India. He was franker and more talkative. Sometimes Hugo felt that the child wasn't such a bad little chap, after all. But the very evident understanding between Jan and Tony filled Hugo with a dull sort of jealousy. He had never tried to win the child, but nevertheless he resented the fact that Tony's att.i.tude to Jan and Meg was one of perfect trust and friendliness. He never looked at them with the strange judging, weighing look that Hugo hated so heartily.

He strolled into the drive and waited. Meg and Jan were busy in the day-nursery, making the little garments that were outgrown so fast.

Little Fay was playing on the Wren's lawn and singing to herself:

The fox went out one moonlight night, And he played to the moon to give him light, For he had a long way to tlot that night Before he could leach his den-oh.

Hugo listened for a minute. What a clear voice the child had. He would like to have taken little Fay, but already he stood in wholesome awe of his daughter. She could use her thoroughly sound lungs for other purposes than song, and she hadn't the smallest scruple about drawing universal attention to any grievance. Now Tony would never make a scene.

Hugo recognised and admired that quality in his queer little son. He did not know that Tony already ruled his little life by a categorical imperative of things a sahib must not do.

At the drive gate he met Earley carrying the can of cream, with Tony trotting by his side.

”I'm going into the village, Tony, and Auntie Jan says you may as well come with me for company. Will you come?”

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