Stella Fregelius: A Tale of Three Destinies Page 8

  CHAPTER VI

  THE GOOD OLD DAYS

  For the next month, or, to be accurate, the next five weeks, everythingwent merrily at Monk's Abbey. It was as though some cloud had beenlifted off the place and those who dwelt therein. No longer did theColonel look solemn when he came down in the morning, and no longerwas he cross after he had read his letters. Now his interviews with thesteward in the study were neither prolonged nor anxious; indeed,that functionary emerged thence on Saturday mornings with a shiningcountenance, drying the necessary cheque, heretofore so difficult toextract, by waving it ostentatiously in the air. Lastly, the Colonel didnot seem to be called upon to make such frequent visits to his man ofbusiness, and to tarry at the office of the bank manager in Northwold.Once there was a meeting, but, contrary to the general custom, thelawyer and the banker came to see him in company, and stopped toluncheon. At this meal, moreover, the three of them appeared to be inthe best of spirits.

  Morris noted all these things in his quiet, observant way, and fromthem drew certain conclusions of his own. But he shrank from makinginquiries, nor did the Colonel offer any confidences. After all, whyshould he, who had never meddled with his father's business, choose thismoment to explore it, especially as he knew from previous experiencethat such investigations would not be well received? It was one of theColonel's peculiarities to keep his affairs to himself until they grewso bad that circumstances forced him to seek the counsel or the aidof others. Still, Morris could well guess from what mine the money wasdigged that caused so comfortable a change in their circumstances, andthe solution of this mystery gave him little joy. Cash in considerationof an unconcluded marriage; that was how it read. To his sensitivenature the transaction seemed one of doubtful worth.

  However, no one else appeared to be troubled, if, indeed, these thingsexisted elsewhere than in his own imagination. This, Morris admitted,was possible, for their access of prosperity might, after all, beno more than a resurrection of credit, vivified by the news of hisengagement with the only child of a man known to be wealthy. His unclePorson, with a solemnity that was almost touching, had bestowed uponMary and himself a jerky but earnest blessing before he drove home onthe night of the dinner-party. He went so far, indeed, as to kiss themboth; an example which the Colonel followed with a more finished butequally heartfelt grace.

  Now his uncle John beamed upon him daily like the noonday sun. Alsohe began to take him into his confidence, and consult him as to theerection of houses, affairs of business, and investments. In the courseof these interviews Morris was astonished, not to say dismayed, todiscover how large were the sums of money as to the disposal of which hewas expected to express opinions.

  "You see, it will all be yours, my boy," said Mr. Porson one day, inexplanation; "so it is best that you should know something of theseaffairs. Yes, it will all be yours, before very long," and he sighed.

  "I trust that I shall have nothing to do with it for many years,"blurted out Morris.

  "Say months, say months," answered his uncle, stretching out his handsas though to push something from him. Then, to all appearances overcomeby a sudden anguish, physical or mental, he turned and hurried from theroom.

  Taking them all together, those five weeks were the happiest that Morrishad ever known. No longer was he profoundly dissatisfied with things ingeneral, no longer ravaged by that desire of the moth for the star whichin some natures is almost a disease. His outlook upon the world washealthier and more hopeful; for the first time he saw its wholesome,joyous side. Had he failed to do so, indeed, he must have been a verystrange man, for he had much to make the poorest heart rejoice.

  Thus Mary, always a charming woman, since her engagement had becomeabsolutely delightful; witter, more wideawake, more beautiful. Morriscould look forward to the years to be spent in her company not onlywithout misgiving, but with a confidence that a while ago he would havethought impossible. Moreover, as good fortunes never come singly, hiswere destined to be multiplied. It was in those days after so many yearsof search and unfruitful labour that at last he discovered a clue whichin the end resulted in the perfection of the instrument that was theparent of the aerophone of commerce, and gave him a name among theinventors of the century which will not easily be forgotten.

  Strangely enough it was Morris's good genius, Mary, who suggested thesubstance, or, rather, the mixture of substances, whereof that portionof the aerophone was finally constructed which is still known as theMonk Sound Waves Receiver. Whether, as she alleged, she made thisdiscovery by pure accident, or whether, as seems possible, she hadthought the problem out in her own feminine fashion with results thatproved excellent, does not matter in the least. The issue remains thesame. An apparatus which before would work only on rare occasions--andthen without any certitude--between people in the highest state ofsympathy or nervous excitement, has now been brought to such a stage ofperfection that by its means anybody can talk to anybody, even if theirinterests are antagonistic, or their personal enmity bitter.

  After the first few experiments with this new material Morris was notslow to discover that although it would need long and careful testingand elaboration, for him it meant, in the main, the realisation ofhis great dream, and success after years of failure. And--that was thestrange part of it--this realisation and success he owed to no effort ofhis own, but to some chance suggestion made by Mary. He told her this,and thanked her as a man thanks one through whom he has found salvation.In answer she merely laughed, saying that she was nothing but the wirealong which a happy inspiration had reached his brain, and that morethan this she neither wished, nor hoped, nor was capable of being.

  Then suddenly on this happy, tranquil atmosphere which wrapped themabout--like the sound of a passing bell at a child's feast--floated thefirst note of impending doom and death.

  The autumn held fine and mild, and Mary, who had been lunching at theAbbey, was playing croquet with Morris upon the side lawn. This game wasthe only one for which she chanced to care, perhaps because it did notinvolve much exertion. Morris, who engaged in the pastime with the sameearnestness that he gave to every other pursuit in which he happenedto be interested, was, as might be expected, getting the best of theencounter.

  "Won't you take a couple of bisques, dear?" he asked affectionately,after a while. "I don't like always beating you by such a lot."

  "I'd die first," she answered; "bisques are the badge of advertisedinferiority and a mark of the giver's contempt."

  "Stuff!" said Morris.

  "Stuff, indeed! As though it wasn't bad enough to be beaten at all; butto be beaten with bisques!"

  "That's another argument," said Morris. "First you say you are too proudto accept them, and next that you won't accept them because it is worseto be defeated with points than without them."

  "Anyway, if you had the commonest feelings of humanity you wouldn't beatme," replied Mary, adroitly shifting her ground for the third time.

  "How can I help it if you won't have the bisques?"

  "How? By pretending that you were doing your best, and letting mewin all the same, of course; though if I caught you at it I should befurious. But what's the use of trying to teach a blunt creature like youtact? My dear Morris, I assure you I do not believe that your effortsat deception would take in the simplest-minded cow. Why, even Dad seesthrough you, and the person who can't impose upon my Dad----. Oh!" sheadded, suddenly, in a changed voice, "there is George coming throughthe gate. Something has happened to my father. Look at his face, Morris;look at his face!"

  In another moment the footman stood before them.

  "Please, miss, the master," he began, and hesitated.

  "Not dead?" said Mary, in a slow, quiet voice. "Do not say that he isdead!"

  "No, miss, but he has had a stroke of the heart or something, andthe doctor thought you had better be fetched, so I have brought thecarriage."

  "Come with me, Morris," she said, as, dropping the croquet mallet, sheflew rather than ran to the brougham.

  Ten minutes
later they were at Seaview. In the hall they met Mr.Charters, the doctor. Why was he leaving? Because----

  "No, no," he said, answering their looks; "the danger is past. He seemsalmost as well as ever."

  "Thank God!" stammered Mary. Then a thought struck her, and she lookedup sharply and asked, "Will it come back again?"

  "Yes," was his straightforward answer.

  "When?"

  "From time to time, at irregular periods. But in its fatal shape, as Ihope, not for some years."

  "The verdict might have been worse, dear," said Morris.

  "Yes, yes, but to think that _it_ has passed so near to him, and hequite alone at the time. Morris," she went on, turning to him with anenergy that was almost fierce, "if you won't have my father to live withus, I won't marry you. Do you understand?"

  "Perfectly, dear, you leave no room for misconception. By all means lethim live with us--if he can get on with my father," he added meaningly.

  "Ah!" she replied, "I never thought of that. Also I should not havespoken so roughly, but I have had such a shock that I feel inclined totreat you like--like--a toad under a harrow. So please be sympathetic,and don't misunderstand me, or I don't know what I shall say." Then byway of making amends, Mary put her arms round his neck and gave him akiss "all of her own accord," saying, "Morris, I am afraid--I am afraid.I feel as if our good time was done."

  After this the servant came to say that she might go up to her father'sroom, and that scene of our drama was at an end.

  Mr. Porson owned a villa at Beaulieu, in the south of France, which hehad built many years before as a winter house for his wife, whose chestwas weak. Here he was in the habit of spending the spring months, more,perhaps, because of the associations which the place possessed for himthan of any affection for foreign lands. Now, however, after this lastattack, three doctors in consultation announced that it would be wellfor him to escape from the fogs and damp of England. So to Beaulieu hewas ordered.

  This decree caused consternation in various quarters. Mr. Porson didnot wish to go; Mary and Morris were cast down for simple and elementaryreasons; and Colonel Monk found this change of plan--it had beenarranged that the Porsons should stop at Seaview till the New Year,which was to be the day of the marriage--inconvenient, and, indeed,disturbing. Once those young people were parted, reflected the Colonelin his wisdom, who could tell what might or might not happen?

  In this difficulty he found an inspiration. Why should not the weddingtake place at once? Very diplomatically he sounded his brother-in-law,to find that he had no opposition to fear in this quarter provided thatMary and her husband would join him at Beaulieu after a week or two ofhoneymoon. Then he spoke to Morris, who was delighted with the idea.For Morris had come to the conclusion that the marriage state would bebetter and more satisfactory than one of prolonged engagement.

  It only remained, therefore, to obtain the consent of Mary, which wouldperhaps, have been given without much difficulty had her uncle beencontent to leave his son or Mr. Porson to ask it of her. As it chanced,this he was not willing to do. Porson, he was sure, would at once giveway should his daughter raise any objection, and in Morris's tact andpersuasive powers the Colonel had no faith.

  In the issue, confident in his own diplomatic abilities, he determinedto manage the affair himself and to speak to his niece. The mistake wasgrave, for whereas she was as wax to her father or her lover, somethingin her uncle's manner, or it may have been his very personality, alwaysaroused in Mary a spirit of opposition. On this occasion, too, thatmanner was not fortunate, for he put the proposal before her as a thingalready agreed upon by all concerned, and one to which her consent wasasked as a mere matter of form.

  Instantly Mary became antagonistic. She pretended not to understand;she asked for reasons and explanations. Finally, she announced in idlewords, beneath which ran a current of determination, that neither herfather nor Morris could really wish this hurried marriage, since hadthey done so one or other of them would have spoken to her on thesubject. When pressed, she intimated very politely, but in languagewhereof the meaning could hardly be mistaken, that she held this fixingof the date to be peculiarly her own privilege; and when still furtherpressed said plainly that she considered her father too ill for her tothink of being married at present.

  "But they both desire it," expostulated the Colonel.

  "They have not told me so," Mary answered, setting her red lips.

  "If that is all, they will tell you so soon enough, my dear girl."

  "Perhaps, uncle, after they have been directed to do so, but that is notquite the same thing."

  The Colonel saw that he had made a mistake, and too late changed histactics.

  "You see, Mary, your father's state of health is precarious; he mightgrow worse."

  She tapped her foot upon the ground. Of these allusions to the possible,and, indeed, the certain end of her beloved father's illness, she had akind of horror.

  "In that event, that dreadful event," she answered, "he will need me, mywhole time and care to nurse him. These I might not be able to give if Iwere already married. I love Morris very dearly. I am his for whatever Imay be worth; but I was my father's before Morris came into my life, andhe has the first claim upon me."

  "What, then, do you propose?" asked the Colonel curtly, for oppositionand argument bred no meekness in his somewhat arbitrary breast.

  "To be married on New Year's Day, wherever we are, if Morris wishes itand the state of my father's health makes it convenient. If not, UncleRichard, to wait till a more fitting season." Then she rose--for thisconversation took place at Seaview--saying that it was time she shouldgive her father his medicine.

  Thus the project of an early marriage fell through; for, havingonce been driven into announcing her decision in terms so open andunmistakable, Mary would not go back on her word.

  Morris, who was much disappointed, pleaded with her. Her father alsospoke upon the subject, but though the voice was the voice of Mr.Porson, the arguments, she perceived, were the arguments of ColonelMonk. Therefore she hardened her heart and put the matter by, refusing,indeed, to discuss it at any length. Yet--and it is not the first timethat a woman has allowed her whims to prevail over her secret wishes--intruth she desired nothing more than to be married to Morris so soon asit was his will to take her.

  Finally, a compromise was arranged. There was to be no wedding atpresent, but the whole party were to go together to Beaulieu, thereto await the development of events. It was arranged, moreover, by allconcerned, that unless something unforeseen occurred to prevent it, themarriage should be celebrated upon or about New Year's Day.