Witness for the Defence

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE HAZLEWOODS

  In the quiet country town obvious changes had taken place during theeight years of Stella's absence. They were not changes of importance,however, and one sentence can symbolize them all--there was now tarmacupon its roads. But in the cluster of houses a mile away at the end ofthe deep lane the case was different. Mr. Harold Hazlewood had come toLittle Beeding. He now lived in the big house to which the village owedits name and indeed its existence. He lived--and spread consternationamongst the gentry for miles round.

  "Lord, how I wish poor Arthur hadn't died!" old John Chubble used tocry. He had hunted the West Sussex hounds for thirty years and the veryname of Little Beeding turned his red face purple. "There was a man. Butthis fellow! And to think he's got that beautiful house! Do you knowthere's hardly a pheasant on the place. And I've hashed them down out ofthe sky in the old days there by the dozen. Well, he's got a son in theColdstream, Dick Hazlewood, who's not so bad. But Harold! Oh, pass methe port!"

  Harold indeed had inherited Little Beeding by an accident during thefirst summer after Stella had gone out to India. Arthur Hazlewood, theowner and Harold's nephew, had been lost with his yacht in a gale of windoff the coast of Portugal. Arthur was a bachelor and thus HaroldHazlewood came quite unexpectedly into the position of a country squirewhen he was already well on in middle age. He was a widower and a man ofa noticeable aspect. At the first glance you knew that he was not asother men; at the second you suspected that he took a pride in hisdissimilarity. He was long, rather shambling in his gait, with a mildblue eye and fair thin hair now growing grey. But length was the chiefimpression left by his physical appearance. His legs, his arms, his face,even his hair, unless his son in the Coldstream happened to be at home atthe time, were long.

  "Is your father mad?" Mr. Chubble once asked of Dick Hazlewood. The twomen had met in the broad street of Great Beeding at midday, and the elderone, bubbling with indignation, had planted himself in front of Dick.

  "Mad?" Dick repeated reflectively. "No, I shouldn't go as far as that. Ohno! What has he done now?"

  "He has paid out of his own pocket the fines of all the people in GreatBeeding who have just been convicted for not having their babiesvaccinated."

  Dick Hazlewood stared in surprise at his companion's indignant face.

  "But of course he'd do that, Mr. Chubble," he answered cheerfully. "He'santi-everything--everything, I mean, which experience has established orprudence could suggest."

  "In addition he wants to sell the navy for old iron and abolishthe army."

  "Yes," said Dick, nodding his head amicably. "He's like that. Hethinks that without an army and a navy we should be less aggressive. Ican't deny it."

  "I should think not indeed," cried Mr. Chubble. "Are you walking home?"

  "Yes."

  "Let us walk together." Mr. Chubble took Dick Hazlewood by the arm and asthey went filled the lane with his plaints.

  "I should think you can't deny it. Why, he has actually written apamphlet to enforce his views upon the subject."

  "You should bless your stars, Mr. Chubble, that there is only one. Hesuffers from pamphlets. He writes 'em and prints 'em and every member ofParliament gets one of 'em for nothing. Pamphlets do for him what thegout does for other old gentlemen--they carry off from his system a greatnumber of disquieting ailments. He's at prison reform now," said Dickwith a smile of thorough enjoyment. "Have you heard him on it?"

  "No, and I don't want to," Mr. Chubble exploded.

  He struck viciously at an overhanging bough, as though it was the headof Harold Hazlewood, and went on with the catalogue of crimes. "He made aspeech last week in the town-hall," and he jerked his thumb backwardstowards the town they had left. "Intolerable I call it. He actuallydenounced his own countrymen as a race of oppressors."

  "He would," answered Dick calmly. "What did I say to you a minute ago?He's advanced, you know."

  "Advanced!" sneered Mr. Chubble, and then Dick Hazlewood stopped andcontemplated his companion with a thoughtful eye.

  "I really don't think you understand my father, Mr. Chubble," said Dickwith a gentle remonstrance in his voice which Mr. Chubble was at a losswhether to take seriously or no.

  "Can you give me the key to him?" he cried.

  "I can."

  "Then out with it, my lad."

  Mr. Chubble disposed himself to listen but with so bristling anexpression that it was clear no explanation could satisfy him. Dick,however, took no heed of that. He spoke slowly as one lecturing to anobtuse class of scholars.

  "My father was born predestined to believe that all the people whom heknows are invariably wrong, and all the people he doesn't know areinvariably right. And when I feel inclined to deplore his abuse of hisown country I console myself with the reflection that he would be thestaunchest friend of England that England ever had--if only he had beenborn in Germany."

  Mr. Chubble grunted and turned the speech suspiciously over in his mind.Was Dick poking fun at him or at his father?

  "That's bookish," he said.

  "I am afraid it is," Dick Hazlewood agreed humbly. "The fact is I am nowan Instructor at the Staff College and much is expected of me."

  They had reached the gate of Little Beeding House. It was summer time.A yellow drive of gravel ran straight between long broad flower-bedsto the door.

  "Won't you come in and see my father?" Dick asked innocently."He's at home."

  "No, my lad, no." Mr. Chubble hastened to add: "I haven't the time. But Iam very glad to have met you. You are here for long?"

  "No. Only just for luncheon," said Dick, and he walked along the driveinto the house. He was met in the hall by Hubbard the butler, an oldcolourless man of genteel movements which seemed slow and wereastonishingly quick. He spoke in gentle purring tones and was the verybutler for Mr. Harold Hazlewood.

  "Your father has been asking for you, sir," said Hubbard. "He seems alittle anxious. He is in the big room."

  "Very well," said Dick, and he crossed the hall and the drawing-room,wondering what new plan for the regeneration of the world was beinghatched in his father's sedulous brains. He had received a telegram atCamberley the day before urgently calling upon him to arrive at LittleBeeding in time for luncheon. He went into the library as it was called,but in reality it was the room used by everybody except upon ceremonialoccasions. It was a big room; half of it held a billiard table, the otherhalf had writing-tables, lounges, comfortable chairs and a table forbridge. The carpet was laid over a parquet floor so that young people,when they stayed there, rolled it up and danced. There were windows upontwo sides of the room. Here a row of them looked down the slope of thelawn to the cedar-trees and the river, the other, a great bay whichopened to the ground, gave a view of a corner of the high churchyard walland of a meadow and a thatched cottage beyond. In this bay Mr. Hazlewoodwas standing when Dick entered the room.

  "I got your telegram, father, and here I am."

  Mr. Hazlewood turned back from the window with a smile upon his face.

  "It is good of you, Richard. I wanted you to-day."

  A very genuine affection existed between these two, dissimilar as theywere in physique and mind. Dick Hazlewood was at this time thirty-fouryears old, an officer of hard work and distinction, one of the youngermen to whom the generals look to provide the brains in the next greatwar. He had the religion of his type. To keep physically fit for thehardest campaigning and mentally fit for the highest problems of modernstrategy and to boast about neither the one qualification nor theother--these were the articles of his creed. In appearance he was alittle younger than his years, lithe, long in the leg, with a thin brownface and grey eyes which twinkled with humour. Harold Hazlewood wasintensely proud of him, though he professed to detest his profession. Andno doubt he found at times that the mere healthful, well-groomed look ofhis son was irritatingly conventional. What was quite wholesome couldnever be quite right in the older man's philosophy. To Dick, on the otherhand, his father was
an intense enjoyment. Here was a lovable innocentwith the most delightful illusion that he understood the world. Dickwould draw out his father by the hour, but, as he put it, he wouldn't letthe old boy down. He stopped his chaff before it could begin to hurt.

  "Well, I am here," he said. "What scrape have you got into now?"

  "I am in no scrape, Richard. I don't get into scrapes," replied hisfather. He shifted from one foot to the other uneasily. "I was wondering,Richard--you have been away all this last year, haven't you?--I waswondering whether you could give me any of your summer."

  Dick looked at his father. What in the world was the old boy up to now?he asked himself.

  "Of course I can. I shall get my leave in a day or two. I thought ofplaying some polo here and there. There are a few matches arranged. Thenno doubt--" He broke off. "But look here, sir! You didn't send me anurgent telegram merely to ask me that."

  "No, Richard, no." Everybody else called his son Dick, but HaroldHazlewood never. He was Richard. From Richard you might expect much, theawakening of a higher nature, a devotion to the regeneration of theworld, humanitarianism, even the cult of all the "antis." From Dick youcould expect nothing but health and cleanliness and robustiousconventionality. Therefore Richard Captain Hazlewood of the Coldstreamand the Staff Corps remained. "No, there was something else."

  Mr. Hazlewood took his son by the arm and led him into the bay window. Hepointed across the field to the thatched cottage.

  "You know who lives there?"

  "No."

  "Mrs. Ballantyne."

  Dick put his head on one side and whistled softly. He knew the generaltenor of that _cause celebre_.

  Mr. Hazlewood raised remonstrating hands.

  "There! You are like the rest, Richard. You take the worst view. Here isa good woman maligned and slandered. There is nothing against her. Shewas acquitted in open trial by a jury of responsible citizens under ajudge of the Highest Court in India. Yet she is left alone--like a leper.She is the victim of gossip and _such_ gossip. Richard," said the old mansolemnly, "for uncharitableness, ill-nature and stupid malice the gossipof a Sussex village leaves the most deplorable efforts of Voltaire andSwift entirely behind."

  "Father, you _are_ going it," said Dick with a chuckle. "Do you mean togive me a step-mother?"

  "I do not, Richard. Such a monstrous idea never entered my thoughts. But,my boy, I have called upon her."

  "Oh, you have!"

  "Yes. I have seen her too. I left a card. She left one upon me. I calledagain. I was fortunate."

  "She was in?"

  "She gave me tea, Richard."

  Richard cocked his head on one side.

  "What's she like, father? Topping?"

  "Richard, she gave me tea," said the old man, dwelling insistently uponhis repetition.

  "So you said, sir, and it was most kind of her to be sure. But that factwon't help me to form even the vaguest picture of her looks."

  "But it will, Richard," Mr. Hazlewood protested with a nervousness whichset Dick wondering again. "She gave me tea. Therefore, don't you see, Imust return the hospitality, which I do with the utmost eagerness.Richard, I look to you to help me. We must champion that slandered lady.You will see her for yourself. She is coming here to luncheon."

  The truth was out at last. Yet Dick was aware that he might very easilyhave guessed it. This was just the quixotic line his father could havebeen foreseen to take.

  "Well, we must just keep our eyes open and see that she doesn't slipanything into the decanters while our heads are turned," said Dick with achuckle. Old Mr. Hazlewood laid a hand upon his son's shoulder.

  "That's the sort of thing they say. Only you don't mean it, Richard, andthey do," he remarked with a mild and reproachful shake of the head. "Ah,some day, my boy, your better nature will awaken."

  Dick expressed no anxiety for the quick advent of that day.

  "How many are there of us to be at luncheon?" asked Dick.

  "Only the two of us."

  "I see. We are to keep the danger in the family. Very wise, sir,upon my word."

  "Richard, you pervert my meaning," said Mr. Hazlewood. "Theneighbourhood has not been kind to Mrs. Ballantyne. She has been made tosuffer. The Vicar's wife, for instance--a most uncharitable person. Andmy sister, your Aunt Margaret, too, in Great Beeding--she is what youwould call--"

  "Hot stuff," murmured Dick.

  "Quite so," replied Mr. Hazlewood, and he turned to his son with a lookof keen interest upon his face. "I am not familiar with the phrase,Richard, but not for the first time I notice that the crude andinelegant vulgarisms in which you abound and which you no doubt pick upin the barrack squares compress a great deal of forcible meaning intovery few words."

  "That is indeed true, sir," replied Dick with an admirable gravity, "andif I might be allowed to suggest it, a pamphlet upon that interestingsubject would be less dangerous work than coquetting with the latestedition of the Marquise de Brinvilliers."

  The word pamphlet was a bugle-call to Mr. Hazlewood.

  "Ah! Speaking of pamphlets, my boy," he began, and walked over to a deskwhich was littered with papers.

  "We have not the time, sir," Dick interrupted from the bay of the window.A woman had come out from the cottage. She unlatched a little gate in hergarden which opened on to the meadow. She crossed it. Yet another gategave her entrance to the garden of Little Beeding. In a moment Hubbardannounced:

  "Mrs. Ballantyne"; and Stella came into the room and stood near to thedoor with a certain constraint in her attitude and a timid watchfulnessin her big eyes. She had the look of a deer. It seemed to Dick that atone abrupt movement she would turn and run.

  Mr. Hazlewood pressed forward to greet her and she smiled with a warmthof gratitude. Dick, watching her from the bay window, was surprised bythe delicacy of her face, by a look of fragility. She was dressed verysimply in a coat and short skirt of white, her shoes and her gloves wereof white suede, her hat was small.

  "And this is my son Richard," said Mr. Hazlewood; and Dick came forwardout of the bay. Stella Ballantyne bowed to him but said no word. Shewas taking no risks even at the hands of the son of her friend. Ifadvances of friendliness were to be made they must be made by him, nother. There was just one awkward moment of hesitation. Then DickHazlewood held out his hand.

  "I am very glad to meet you, Mrs. Ballantyne," he said cordially, and hesaw the blood rush into her face and the fear die out in her eyes.

  The neighbourhood, to quote Mr. Hazlewood, had not been kind to StellaBallantyne. She had stood in the dock and the fact tarnished her.Moreover here and there letters had come from India. The verdict wasinevitable, but--but--there was a doubt about its justice. The fullpenalty--no. No one desired or would have thought it right, but somethingbetwixt and between in the proper spirit of British compromise would nothave been amiss. Thus gossip ran. More-over Stella Ballantyne was toogood-looking, and she wore her neat and simple clothes too well. To someof the women it was an added offence when they considered what she mightbe wearing if only the verdict had been different. Thus for a year Stellahad been left to her own company except for a couple of visits which theReptons had paid to her. At the first she had welcomed the silence, thepeace of her loneliness. It was a balm to her. She recovered like aflower in the night. But she was young--she was twenty-eight thisyear--and as her limbs ceased to be things of lead and became once moreaglow with life there came to her a need of companionship. She tried totramp the need away on the turf of her well-loved downs, but she failed.A friend to share with her the joy of these summer days! Her bloodclamoured for one. But she was an outcast. Friends did not come her way.Therefore she had gratefully received old Mr. Hazlewood in her house, andhad accepted, though with some fear, his proposal that she should lunchat the big house and make the acquaintance of his son.

  She was nervous at the beginning of that meal, but both father and sonwere at the pains to put her at her ease; and soon she was talkingnaturally, with a colour in her cheeks, and now a
nd then a note oflaughter in her voice. Dick worked for the recurrence of that laughter.He liked the clear sound of it and the melting of all her face intosweetness and tender humour which came with it. And for another thing hehad a thought, and a true one, that it was very long since she had knownthe pleasure of good laughter.

  They took their coffee out on the lawn under the shade of a hugecedar-tree. The river ran at their feet and a Canadian canoe and arowing-boat were tethered close by in a little dock. The house, a placeof grey stone with grey weathered and lichen-coloured slates, raised itsgreat oblong chimneys into a pellucid air. The sunlight flashed upon itsrows of tall windows--they were all flat to the house, except the onegreat bay on the ground floor in the library--and birds called from allthe trees. The time slipped away. Dick Hazlewood found himself talking ofhis work, a practice into which he seldom fell, and was surprised thatshe could talk of it with him. He realised with a start how it was thatshe knew. But she talked naturally and openly, as though he must know herhistory. Once even some jargon of the Staff College slipped from her."You were doing let us pretend at Box Hill last week, weren't you?" shesaid, and when he started at the phrase she imagined that he started atthe extent of her information. "It was in the papers," she said. "I readevery word of them," and then for a second her face clouded, and sheadded: "I have time, you see."

  She looked at her watch and sprang to her feet.

  "I must go," she said. "I didn't know it was so late. I have enjoyedmyself very much." She did not hesitate now to offer her hand. "Goodbye."

  Dick Hazlewood went with her as far as the gate and came back tohis father.

  "You were asking me," he said carelessly, "if I could give you some partof the summer. I don't see why I shouldn't come here in a day or two. Thepolo matches aren't so important."

  The old man's eyes brightened.

  "I shall be delighted, Richard, if you will." He looked at his son withsomething really ecstatic in his expression. At last then his betternature was awakening. "I really believe--" he exclaimed and Dick cuthim short.

  "Yes, it may be that, sir. On the other hand it may not. What is quiteclear is that I must catch my train. So if I might order the car?"

  "Of course, of course."

  He came out with his son into the porch of the house.

  "We have done a fine thing to-day, Richard," he said with enthusiasm anda nod towards the cottage beyond the meadow.

  "We have indeed, sir," returned Dick cheerily. "Did you ever see such apair of ankles?"

  "She lost the tragic look this afternoon, Richard. We must be herchampions."

  "We will put in the summer that way, father," said Dick, and waving hishand was driven off to the station.

  Mr. Hazlewood walked back to the library. But "walked" is a poor word. Heseemed to float on air. A great opportunity had come to him. He hadenlisted the services of his son. He saw Dick and himself as Toreadorswaving red flags in the face of a bull labelled Conventionality. He wentback to the pamphlet on which he was engaged with renewed ardour andlaboured diligently far into the night.