Part 30 (1/2)
CHAPTER XVI
It was a fatigued and jaded party that got out on the platform at Countisford. The mere wearing of evening dress when other people are at breakfast will damp the spirits of the most hardened, and even Lawrence had an up-all-night expression which reddened his eyelids and brought out the lines about his mouth. Isabel's hair was rumpled and her fresh bloom all dimmed. Laura Clowes had suffered least: there was not a thread astray in her satin waves, and the finished grace of her aspect had survived a night in a chair. But even she was very pale, though she contrived to smile at Val.
”How's Bernard?” were her first words.
”All serene. He slept most of the time. I was with him, luckily.
We guessed what had happened. You missed your train?” In this question Val included Lawrence.
”It was my fault,” said Lawrence shortly. It was what he would have said if it had not been his fault.
”It was n.o.body's fault!” cried Laura. ”We were held up in the traffic. But Lawrence is one of those people who will feel responsible if they have ladies with them on the Day of Judgment, won't you, Lawrence?”
”I ought to have left more time,” said Lawrence impatiently.
”Let's get home.”
In the car Val heard from Laura the details of their misadventure. Selincourt had waited with the women while Lawrence secured rooms for them in a Waterloo hotel: when they were safe, Lawrence had gone to Lucian's rooms in Victoria Street, where the men had pa.s.sed what remained of the night in a mild game of cards. They had all breakfasted together by lamplight at the hotel, and Selincourt had seen his sister into the Chilmark train. Nothing could have been more circ.u.mspect-- comically circ.u.mspect! between Selincourt and Isabel and the chambermaid, malice itself was put to silence. But Lawrence was fever-fretted by the secret sense of guilt.
At the lodge gates Val drew up. ”It's preposterous, but I'm under Bernard's express orders to drive Isabel straight home. I don't know how to apologize for turning you and Hyde out of your own car, Laura!” No apology was needed, Laura and Lawrence knew too well how direct Bernard's orders commonly were to Val.
Lawrence silently offered his hand to Mrs. Clowes. The morning air was fresh, fog was still hanging over the river, and the sun had not yet thrown off an autumn quilting of cloud. Touched by the chill of dawn, some leaves had fallen and lay in the dust, their ribs beaded with dark dew: others, yellow and shrivelling, where shaken down by the wind of the car and fluttered slowly in the eddying air. Laura drew her sable scarf close over her bare neck.
”What I should like best, Lawrence, would be for you to go home with Isabel and make our excuses to Mr. Stafford. Would you mind? Or is it too much to ask before you get out of your evening dress?”
”I should be delighted,” said Lawrence, feeling and indeed looking entirely the reverse. ”But Miss Isabel has her brother to take care of her, she doesn't want me.” Isabel gave that indefinable start which is the prelude of candour, but remained dumb. ”I don't like to leave you to walk up to Wanhope alone.”
This, was as near as in civilized life he could go to saying ”to face Clowes alone.”
”The length of the drive?” said Laura smiling. ”I should prefer it. You know what Berns is.” This was what Lawrence had never known. ”If he's put out I'd rather you weren't there.”
”Why, you can't imagine I should care what Bernard said?”
Laura struck her hands together.-”There! There!” she turned to Val, ”can you wonder Bernard feels it?”
”I beg your pardon,” said Lawrence from his heart.
”No, the contrast is poignant,'' said Val coldly.
”Dear Val, you always agree with me,” said Laura. ”Take Captain Hyde home and give him some breakfast. I'd rather go alone, Lawrence: it will be easier that way, believe me.”
It was impossible to argue with her. But while Val wheeled and turned in the wide cross, before they took their upward bend under the climbing beechwood, Lawrence glanced over his shoulder and saw Mrs. Clowes still standing by the gate of Wanhope, solitary, a wan gleam of sunlight striking down over her gold embroideries and ivory coat, a russet leaf or two whirling slowly round her drooping head: like a b.u.t.terfly in winter, delicate, fantastic, and astray.
Breakfast at the vicarage was not a genial meal. Val was anxious and preoccupied, Isabel in eclipse, even Mr. Stafford out of humour--vexed with Lawrence, and with Val for bringing Lawrence in under the immunities of a guest. Lawrence himself was in a frozen mood. As soon as they had finished he rose: ”If you'll excuse my rus.h.i.+ng off I'll go down to Wanhope now.”
”By all means,” said Mr. Stafford drily.
”Good-bye,” said Isabel, casting about for a form of consolation, and evolving one which, in the circ.u.mstances, was possibly unique: ”You'll feel better when you've had a bath.”
”I'll walk down with you to Wanhope” said Val.