CHAPTER XI
NO ESCAPE
Lady Dashwood sat on in the drawing-room. Now that she was alone it wasnot necessary to keep up the show of reading a book. She put it down ona table close at hand and gave herself up to thought.
But what was the good of plans--until Jim came back? The first thing wasto find out whether the engagement was a fact and not an invention ofBelinda's. Then if it was a fact, whether Jim really wanted to marryGwendolen? If he did want to, plans might be very difficult to make, andthere was little time, with Belinda clamouring to come and play themother-in-law. The vulture was already hovering with the scent of battlein its nostrils.
Then, on the other hand, supposing Jim didn't want to marry Gwen, buthad only been run into it--somehow--before he had had time to see MayDashwood, then plans might be easier. But in any case there were almostoverwhelming difficulties in the way of "doing anything." It was easy tosay that she would never allow the marriage to take place, but how wasshe to prevent it?
"I must prevent it," she murmured to herself. "Must!"
What still amazed and confounded Lady Dashwood and made her helplesswas: why her brother showed such obvious interest--more than mereinterest--in May Dashwood, if he was in love with Gwendolen Scott andsecretly pledged to her? Jim playing the ordinary flirt was unthinkable.It did look as if he had proposed in some impulsive moment, before Mayarrived, and then---- Why, that was why he had not announced hisengagement! Was he playing a double game? No, it was unthinkable that heshould not be absolutely straight. Gwendolen had somehow entangled him.The very thought of it made Lady Dashwood get up from her chair and moveabout restlessly. Then an idea struck her. Jim coveted Gwendolen for heryouth and freshness and only admired May! Yes, only admired her, andregarding her as still mourning for her young husband, stillinconsolable, he had treated her with frankness and had shown hisadmiration without the restraint that he would have used otherwise.
When would Jim return? How long would she have to wait?
She had told Robinson to take a tray of refreshments for the Warden intothe library. Now that she was alone in the drawing-room she would havethe tray brought in here. When Jim did come in, she would have toapproach her subject gradually. She must be as wily as a serpent--wily,when her pulses were beating and her head was aching? It would be moreeasy and natural for her to begin talking here than to go into thelibrary and force him into conversation after the day's work was done.Yet the matter must be thrashed out at once. She could not go about withBelinda's letter announcing the engagement and yet pretend that she knewnothing about it. Gwendolen probably knew that her mother had written;or if she didn't already know, would very likely know by the morning'spost.
She rang the bell, and when Robinson appeared, she told him to bring thetray in, instead of taking it to the library.
"When the Warden comes in, tell him the tray is here," she said. Oh, howthe last few minutes dragged! It was some distraction to have Robinsoncoming in and putting the tray down on the wrong table, and to be ableto tell him the right table and the most suitable chair to accompany it.Then, when he had gone and all was ready, she chose a chair for herself.Not too near and not too far. She had Belinda's letter safe? Yes, it washere! She was ready, she was prepared. She was going to do somethingmore difficult than anything she had experienced in her life, because somuch depended on it, so much; and a great emotion is not easy to hide,it takes one's breath sometimes, it makes one's voice harsh, orindistinct, or worse still, it suddenly benumbs the brain, and thoughtsgo astray and tangle themselves, and all one's power of argument, allone's grip of the situation, goes.
And the minutes passed slowly and still more slowly. When at last sheheard sounds on the stairs, the blood rushed to her cheeks and her handsbecame as cold as ice. That was a bad beginning! She went to the doorand opened it. He had come in and had gone into the library. She calledout to him to come into the drawing-room. She heard his voice answer"Coming!" She left the door open and went back to her chair, the chairshe had chosen, and she stood by it, waiting, looking at the open door.
He came in. He looked all round the room, and closed the door behindhim.
"All alone?" he said, and there was a question in his voice. Who was hethinking of? Who was absent? Whose absence was he thinking of?
She sat down. "You're not cold?" she asked.
"Not at all," he said, and he walked to the table arranged for him andsat down.
"Did you have a satisfactory day?" she asked.
"On the whole," he said slowly, "yes."
"You're not tired?" she asked.
"Not a bit," he answered. "Why should I be?" and he looked at her andsmiled.
"I don't know why you should be, Jim. I'm glad you're not. My guestsseemed to be tired, for they both went off long ago."
She was now making the first step in the direction which she must boldlytravel.
"I expect you are tired too," he said, "only--as usual--you wait up forme."
The Warden poured himself out a cup of coffee, and took up a sandwich,adding: "I managed to get a scrappy dinner before seven; if I had waitedlonger I should have missed my train."
"We were very dull at dinner without you," she said, bringing him backagain to the point from which she was starting.
The Warden looked pleased, and then pained. Lady Dashwood was watchinghim with keen tired eyes.
"We lunched at Chartcote, and then we did all that you particularlywanted me to do," she said. "And then something rather amazinghappened--I found a letter waiting me from Belinda Scott!"
She paused. The Warden glanced at her: his face became coldlyabstracted.
"I don't mean that it was strange that she should write, but that whatshe said was strange."
He glanced at her again, and she saw that he was arrested. She went on.It seemed now easier to speak. A strange cold despair had seized her,and with that despair a fearlessness.
"I can't help thinking that there is some mistake, because you wouldhave told me if--well, anything had happened to you--of consequence! Youwould not have left me to be told by an--an outsider."
The Warden raised the cup of coffee to his lips, and then put it downcarefully.
"Anything that has happened," he said, "has not been communicated by meto anybody. It did not seem to me that--there was anything that ought tobe."
Lady Dashwood waited and finding her lips would stiffen and her voicesounded hollow, measured her words.
"Will you read Belinda's letter, and then you will see what I mean?" shesaid, and she rose and held the paper out to him.
His features had grown tense and severe. He half rose, and reached outover the table for the letter, and took it without a word. Then he puton his eye-glasses and read it through very slowly.
Lady Dashwood sat, staring at her own hands that lay in her lap. She wasnot thinking, she was waiting for him to speak.
He read the letter through, and sat with it in his hand, silent for aminute. For years he had been accustomed to looking over thecompositions of men who had begun to think, and of men who never wouldbegin to think. He was unable to read anything without reading itcritically. But his criticism was criticism of ideas and the expressionof ideas. He had no insight either by instinct or training for thedetection of petty personal subterfuges, nor did he suspect crookedmotives. But the discrepancy between this effusion of maternal emotionand Gwendolen's assertion that she had no home and that nobody cared wasglaring.
The writer of the letter was a bouncing, selfish woman of poorintelligence. That fact, indeed, had become established in the Warden'smind. The letter was in hopelessly bad taste. It became pretty plain,therefore, that Gwendolen had spoken the truth, and the lie belonged tothe mother.
Already, yes, already he was being drawn into an atmosphere of paltryhumbug, of silly dishonesty, an atmosphere in which he could notbreathe.
Couldn't breathe! The Warden roused himself. What did he mean by "beingdrawn"? He had carried out his life with decisive and seriousin
tentions, and whoever shared that life with him would have to live inthe atmosphere he had created around him. Surely he was strong enoughnot only to hold his own against the mother, but to mould a pliable girlinto a form that he could respect!
"Somehow, I can't imagine how," said Lady Dashwood, breaking thesilence, "I found a letter from Belinda to Gwendolen on my toilet tableamong other letters, and opened it and I began reading it--withoutknowing that it was not for me. Belinda's writing--all loops--did notmake the distinction between Gwen and Lena so very striking. I read twosentences or so, and one phrase I can't forget; it was 'What are youdoing about the Warden?' I turned the sheet and saw, 'Your affectionatemother, Belinda Scott.' I did not read any more. I gave the letter toGwen, and I saw by her face that she had read the letter herself. 'Whatare you doing about the Warden?' Knowing Belinda, I draw conclusionsfrom this sentence that do not match with the surprise she expresses inthis letter you have just read. You understand what I mean?"
The Warden moved on his seat uneasily.
"Belinda speaks of your _engagement_ to Gwendolen," said Lady Dashwood,and her voice this time demanded an answer.
"I am not engaged," he said, turning his eyes to his sister's faceslowly, "but, I am pledged to marry her--if it is her wish."
Lady Dashwood's eyes quavered.
"Is it your wish?" she asked.
The Warden rose from his chair as if to go.
"I can't discuss the matter further, Lena. I cannot tell you more. I hadno right, I had no reason, for telling you anything before, becausenothing had been concluded--it may not be concluded. It depends on her,and she has not spoken to me decisively."
He moved away from the table.
"You haven't finished your coffee, your sandwiches," said Lady Dashwood,to give herself time, and to help her to self-control. Oh, why had heput himself and his useful life in the hands of a mere child--a childwho would never become a real woman? Why did he deliberately plan hisown martyrdom?
"I don't want any more," he said, "and I have letters to write."
"Jim," she called to him gently, "tell me at least--if you arehappy--whether----"
"I can't talk just now--not just now, Lena," he said.
"But Belinda takes the matter as settled--otherwise the letter is notmerely absurd--but outrageous!"
The Warden hesitated in his slow stride towards the door.
"I am not going to have Belinda here on Saturday. There is no room forher. She can't come till May has gone." Lady Dashwood spoke this in afirm, rapid voice.
"That is for you to decide," he said. "You are mistress here."
He was moving again when she said in a voice full of pain: "You say youcan't talk just now, you can't speak to me of what is happening to you,of what may happen to you, when you, next to John, are more to me thananything else in the world. What happens to you means happiness ormisery to me, and yet you _can't talk_!"
The Warden was arrested, stood still, and turned towards her.
"You owe me some consideration, Jim. I have no children, you have been ason as well as a brother to me. I can have no peace of mind, no joy inlife if things go wrong with you. Yes, I repeat it--if things go wrongwith you. I was your mother, Jim, for many years, and yet you say youcan't discuss something that is of supreme importance! You are willingto go out of this room and leave me to spend a night sleepless withanxiety."
What his engagement to Gwendolen would mean to her was expressed more inher voice even than in her words. The Warden stood motionless.
"Be patient with me, Lena. I can't talk about it--I would if I could. Iknow all I owe to you--all I can never repay; but there is nothing moreto tell you than that I have offered her a home. I have made aproposal--I was not aware that she had definitely accepted, and that iswhy I said nothing to you about it."
Lady Dashwood got up. She did not approach her brother. Her instincttold her not to touch him, or entreat him by such means. She made a steptowards the hearth, and said in a muffled voice--
"Will you answer one question? You can answer it."
He made no sound of assent.
"Are you in love with her? or"--and here Lady Dashwood's voiceshook--"do you feel that she will help you? Do you think she will behelpful to--the College?"
There was a pause, and then the Warden's voice came to her; he wasforcing himself to speak very calmly.
"I have no right to speak of what may not happen. Lena, can't you seethat I haven't?"
The pause came again.
"You have answered it," said Lady Dashwood, in a broken voice.
There was no time to think now, for at that moment there came a soundthat startled both of them and made them stand for a second with liftedheads listening.
"Some one screamed!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.
The Warden was already at the door and had pulled it open. "Thelibrary!" he called out to her sharply, and he was gone. She hurried outafter him, her heart beating with the sudden alarm. What had happened,what was it?