Part 21 (2/2)
They were happy days at Aldborough Park.
Each succeeding day seemed to complete the sum of Hilda Muirhead's hopes. In addition to motor-car rides to Southport, the scene of Raife's first meeting with ”the other woman,” Gilda Tempest, Hilda learnt the joys of riding behind good horses. Raife was an expert whip and drove a tandem as an expert. The countryside was again alive, now that the wayward young man had returned to reside among them. There were dinner-parties at the Park, and garden-parties, where Hilda was introduced to the county families, some of whom were amiable, and even affable, whilst others were not. It was a meeting of disappointment to many of the stately dames, and sometimes frigid daughters, that an American woman should have been selected to reign as queen at the beautiful old home, which, hitherto, had been regarded as a stronghold of English womanhood. These matters were, however, of slight consequence to Hilda, whose happiness was supreme in the possession of the love of the handsome and das.h.i.+ng young aristocrat, whom Fortune had thrown in her way.
She captured the hearts of all the men, and a large proportion of the women, with her frank and ingratiating manners. She over-ruled convention without destroying good taste; the tenants and townspeople were completely won over by her cordiality and good nature, which was frequently lavish. The old landlord, Twisegood, added to his evening custom by narrating the free and unconventional manner in which she made her first entry into his house. The old town of Tunbridge had not been so gay since the days of farthingales, frills and furbelows.
Hilda excelled in most sports. At tennis, golf, and every pastime, she led the way, and there was renewed life in clubs that had become, in a sense, rusty for want of what is generally called ”fresh blood.”
Raife Remington, the woman-hater of a few months ago, had become the most courtly of lovers, and it only needed the joy of marriage bells to complete the symposium of human delight.
In human affairs, however, it is not to be supposed that Fate will not be fickle, and cast a cloud to destroy the perfection of desire.
Jealousy has ever been an accompaniment to love, and it draws no distinction between the yokel and the aristocrat.
When Harold Brookman, in the compet.i.tion flight from the Hendon aerodrome to Manchester, came to grief and descended rather hurriedly in the home-croft of Aldborough Park, it was Hilda who, by chance, extricated him from a tangled ma.s.s of machinery. With a sense of initiative and prompt.i.tude she obtained a.s.sistance, and Harold Brookman was installed in a room at the Park, pending his recovery from the crumpled state in which he found himself.
It has been customary to surround aeronauts with a halo of heroism, and Harold Brookman's exploits were the talk of the world of flying. It happened, unfortunately, that Harold possessed that form of good looks that belongs to flying men, indicating firm resolve and determination.
Further, chance willed it that he should be an American.
Those who live under foreign flags are naturally attracted to their fellow-countrymen when they happen to meet. Hilda Muirhead was supremely happy in her love for Raife Remington, and he in turn, was satisfied in their mutual devotion. It was unfortunate, therefore, that Raife should have overheard Hilda's genuine and impulsive utterance as she and the injured man met for the first time on the terrace after his recovery from the accident.
”Well now, sakes alive, it's good to hear your voice, Mr Brookman.
I've been away from home so long, it seemed I was never going to hear a good American voice again.”
Raife, who came over on to the terrace at that moment, glared at Harold, and in response to Hilda's invitation: ”Hullo, Raife, come and talk to us,” he replied, rather gruffly, ”I'm sorry, I'm busy just now.
Besides, I haven't got a good American voice.”
The incident should have been quite unimportant, but nothing is unimportant where jealousy is concerned.
Raife nursed his indignation, and, without announcing his intention, went to London that afternoon. Lady Remington, realising that it was natural that Hilda should be pleased to meet one of her countrymen, especially in such exceptional circ.u.mstances, urged Harold Brookman to prolong his stay. In spite of his daring aerial exploits, Harold was very human, and the prospect of enjoying the hospitality of this charming old lady, and the company of his attractive young countrywoman, was agreeable. So he stayed at Aldborough Park, and, when the slight repairs that were necessary had been effected to his aeroplane, he made some trial flights from the croft, which was admirably adapted for the purpose.
It was natural that he should invite Hilda to accompany him on a flight, and she accepted the invitation with enthusiasm. The delights of aviation have been described, and their fascination for the more courageous type of woman is a matter of surprise to many, but it is easily understood by the psychologist. Many days pa.s.sed, and the wayward Raife sulked at his club in London.
Eventually he returned unannounced, as was his custom. He imagined that Harold Brookman had taken his departure. He chose to drive in a cab that attended at the station, and called on the old landlord, Twisegood, on his way home. The old man greeted him with his customary enthusiasm.
The somewhat incongruous couple were really friends, in spite of the difference in their station in life. For a while, Raife's ill-humour subsided, and he greeted the landlord cheerily.
”Well, Twisegood, how are you, and what's the news?”
Without waiting for a reply, he smacked the old man on the back, saying:
”Come along, let's go up to the white room and have a chat. You have what you like, but bring me a bottle of your sparkling cider.”
He ascended the stairs and entered the quaint white room. As he threw himself into a chair, and awaited the landlord with the refreshment, his mind, which was already perturbed, reverted to the occasions when he had met Gilda Tempest in that same room. It also brought to his memory the tragic death of his father, and the extraordinary encounter with Gilda in his library in the middle of the night. In spite of these episodes of crime, this strange girl still exercised an extraordinary fascination over him. The fit of jealousy was still on him, and his prolonged fit of sulking in London had not alleviated it. He sprang from his chair, and paced the room angrily, muttering:
”It's good to hear your American voice, Mr Brookman. Bah! She'll call him Harold next.” Twisegood stood in the doorway, holding the silver tray of refreshments. The old man waited, wondering what could have disturbed the young master in this way. Turning on his angry stride, Raife said:
”Come in, Twisegood. Put the tray down and let's sit and talk. I'm not quite myself to-day, so don't take any notice of me, if I'm disagreeable.” He took a deep draught of the cider, and added: ”What's the news up at the Park? I've been away for a few days.”
Twisegood smacked his lips after a long pull at his favourite Kentish ale, and commenced:
”Well, Master Raife, there be fine times. That American gentleman, he be flying in his machine all over the place, and they do tell me that Miss Muirhead, she be a real plucked 'un, and she goes up along with him.”
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