The Bars of Iron

  CHAPTER XXXI

  THE RETURN

  "_Ah! C'est Monsieur Pierre enfin!_" Eagerly Victor greeted theappearance of his young master. He looked as if he would have liked toembrace him.

  Piers' attitude, however, did not encourage any display of tenderness.He flung himself gloomily down into a chair and regarded the man withsombre eyes.

  "Where's Sir Beverley?" he said.

  Victor spread forth expressive hands. _"Mais_, Sir Beverley, he sit upall the night attending you, _mon petit monsieur. Et moi_, I sit up also._Mais Monsieur Pierre! Monsieur Pierre!"_

  He began to shake his head at Piers in fond reproof, but Piers paid noattention.

  "Sat up all night, what?" he said. "Then where is he now? In bed?"

  There was a deep line between his black brows; all the gaiety and sparklehad gone from his eyes. He looked tired out.

  It was close upon the luncheon-hour, and he had tramped up from thestation. There were refreshments in front of him, but he bluntly refusedto touch them.

  "Why can't you speak, man?" he said irritably. "Tell me where he is!"

  "He has gone for his ride as usual," Victor said, speaking through pursedlips. "But he is very, very feeble to-day, _Monsieur Pierre_. We beg himnot to go. But what would you? He is the master. We could not stop him.But he sit in his saddle--like this."

  Victor's gesture descriptive of the bent, stricken figure that had riddenforth that morning was painfully true to life.

  Piers sprang to his feet. "And he isn't back yet? Where on earth can hebe? Which way did he go?"

  Victor raised his shoulders. "He go down the drive--as always. _Aprescela, je ne sais pas._"

  "Confusion!" ejaculated Piers, and was gone.

  He had returned by a short cut across the park, but now he tore downthe long avenue, running like a trained athlete, head up and elbows in,possessed by the single purpose of reaching the lodge in as brief atime as possible. They would know at the lodge which way hisgrandfather had gone.

  He found Marshall just turning in at his gate for the midday meal, andhailed him without ceremony.

  The old man stopped and surveyed him with sour disapproval. The news ofPiers' abrupt disappearance on the previous night had spread.

  No, Marshall could give him no news as to the master's whereabouts; hehad been out all the morning.

  "Well, find Mrs. Marshall!" ordered Piers impatiently. "She'll knowsomething. She must have opened the gate."

  Mrs. Marshall, summoned by a surly yell from her husband, stood in thedoor-way, thin-lipped and austere, and announced briefly that SirBeverley had gone down towards the Vicarage; she didn't know no morethan that.

  It was enough for Piers. He was gone again like a bird on the wing. Thecouple at the lodge looked after him with a species of unwillingadmiration. His very arrogance fed their pride in him, disapprovethough they might of his wild, foreign ways. Whatever the mixture inhis veins, the old master's blood ran there, and they would always beloyal to that.

  That run to the Vicarage taxed even Piers' powers. The steep hill at theend made him aware that his strength had its limits, and he was forced topause for breath when he reached the top. He leaned against the Vicaragegate-post with the memory of that winter evening in his mind when Averyhad come swift-footed to the rescue, and had cooled his fury with abucket of cold water.

  A step in the garden made him straighten himself abruptly. He turned tosee a tall, black-coated figure emerge. The Reverend Stephen Lorimer cameup with dignity and greeted him.

  "Were you about to enter my humble abode?" he enquired.

  "Is my grandfather here?" asked Piers.

  Mr. Lorimer smiled benignly. He liked to imagine himself upon terms ofintimacy with Sir Beverley though the latter did very little tojustify the idea.

  "Well, no," he said, "I have not had the pleasure of seeing him hereto-day. Did he express the intention of paying me a visit?"

  "No, sir, no!" said Piers impatiently. "I only thought it possible,that's all. Good-bye!"

  He swung round and departed, leaving the worthy Vicar looking after himwith a shrewd and not over-friendly smile at the corners of his eyes.

  Beyond the Vicarage the road wound round again to the park, and Piersfollowed it. It led to a gate that opened upon a riding which was afavourite stretch for a gallop with both Sir Beverley and himself.Through this he passed, no longer running, but striding over the springy,turf between the budding beech saplings at a pace that soon took him intothe heart of the woodland.

  Pressing on, he came at length to a cross-riding, and here on boggyground he discovered recent hoof-marks. There were a good many of them,and he was puzzled for a time as to the direction they had taken. Theanimal seemed to have wandered to and fro. But he found a continuoustrack at length and followed it.

  It led to an old summer-house perched on a slope that overlooked thescene of Jeanie's accident in the winter. A cold wind drove down upon himas he ascended. The sky was grey with scurrying clouds. The bare downslooked indescribably desolate.

  Piers hastened along with set teeth. The dread he would not acknowledgehung like a numbing weight upon him. Somehow, inexplicably, he knew thathe was nearing the end of his quest.

  The long moan of the wind was the only sound to be heard. It seemed tofill the world. No voice of bird or beast came from near or far. Heseemed to travel through a vast emptiness--the only living thing astir.

  He reached the thatched summer-house at last, noted with a curiousdetachment that it was beginning to look dilapidated, wondered if hewould find it after all deserted, and the next moment was nearlyoverwhelmed by a huge grey body that hurled itself upon him from theinterior of the little arbour.

  It was Caesar the great Dalmatian who greeted him thus effusively, andPiers realized in an instant that the dog had some news to impart. Hepushed him aside with a brief word of welcome and entered theivy-grown place.

  "Hullo!" gasped a voice with painful utterance. "Hullo!"

  And in a moment he discerned Sir Beverley crouched in a corner,grey-faced, his riding-whip still clutched in his hand.

  Impetuously he went to him, stooped above him. "What on earth hashappened, sir? You haven't been thrown?" he queried anxiously.

  "Thrown! I!" Sir Beverley's voice cracked derisively. "No! I got off--tohave a look at the place,--and the brute jibbed--and gave me the slip."

  The words came with difficult jerks, his breathing was short andlaboured. Piers, bending over him, saw a spasm of pain contract the greyface that nevertheless looked so indomitably into his.

  "He'll go back to stables," growled Sir Beverley. "It's a way coltshave--when they've had their fling. What have you come back for, eh?Thought I couldn't do without you?"

  There was a stony glint in his eyes as he asked the question. His thinlips curved sardonically.

  Piers, still with anxiety lying cold at his heart, had no place left forresentment. He made swift and winning answer. "I've been a brute, sir.I've come back to ask your forgiveness."

  The sardonic lips parted. "Instead of--a hiding--eh?" gasped SirBeverley.

  Piers drew back momentarily; but the grey, drawn face compelled hispity. He stifled his wrath unborn. "I'll take that first, sir," hesaid steadily.

  Sir Beverley's frown deepened, but his breathing was growing lessoppressed. He suddenly collected his energies and spoke with his usualirascibility.

  "Oh, don't try any of your damned heroics on me, sir! Apologize like agentleman--if you can! If not--if not--" He broke off panting, his lipsstill forming words that he lacked the strength to utter.

  Piers sat down beside him on the crazy bench. "I will do anything youwish, sir," he said. "I'm horribly sorry for the way I've treated you.I'm ready to make any amends in my power."

  "Oh, get away!" growled out Sir Beverley. But with the words his handcame gropingly forth and fastened in a hard grip on Piers' arm. "Youtalk like a Sunday-school book," he said. "What the devil did you doit for, eh?"

  It was roug
hly spoken, but Piers was quick to recognize the spirit behindthe words. He clapped his own hand upon his grandfather's, and wasshocked afresh at its icy coldness.

  "I say, do let's go" he said. "We can't talk here. It's downright madnessto sit in this draughty hole. Come along, sir!" He thrust a vigorous armabout the old man and hoisted him to his feet.

  "Oh, you're mighty strong!" gasped Sir Beverley. "Strong enough--to kickover--the traces, eh?"

  "Never again, sir," said Piers with decision.

  Whereat Sir Beverley looked at him searchingly, and gibed no more.

  They went out together on to the open wind-swept hillside, Piers stillstrongly supporting him, for he stumbled painfully. It was a difficultprogress for them both, and haste was altogether out of the question.

  Sir Beverley revived somewhat as they went, but more than once he had topause to get his breath. His weakness was a revelation to Piers though hesought to reassure himself with the reflection that it was the naturaloutcome of his night's vigil; and moment by moment his compunction grew.

  They were no more than a mile from the Abbey, but it took them thegreater part of two hours to accomplish the distance, and at the endof it Sir Beverley was hanging upon Piers in a state that borderedupon collapse.

  His animal had just returned riderless, and considerable consternationprevailed. Victor, who was on the watch, rushed to meet them withcharacteristic nimbleness, and he and Piers between them carried SirBeverley in, and laid him down before the great hall fire.

  But though so exhausted as to be scarcely conscious, he still clung fastto Piers, not suffering him to stir from side; and there Piers remained,chafing the cold hands administering brandy, while Victor, invaluable inan emergency, procured pillows, blankets, hot-water bottles, everythingthat his fertile brain could suggest to restore the failing strength.

  Again, though slowly, Sir Beverley rallied, recovered his faculties, cameback to full understanding. "Had anything to eat?" he rapped out sosuddenly that Piers, kneeling beside him, jumped with astonishment.

  "I, sir? No, I'm not hungry," he said. "You're feeling better, what? CanI get you something?"

  "Oh, don't be a damn' fool!" said Sir Beverley. "Tell 'em to fetchsome lunch!"

  It was the turning-point. From that moment he began to recover in afashion that amazed Piers, cast aside blankets and pillows, sternlyforbade Piers to summon the doctor, and sat up before the fire with agrim refusal to be coddled any longer.

  They lunched together in the warmth of the blazing logs, and Sir Beverleybecame so normal in his attitude that Piers began at last to feelreassured.

  He did not broach the matter that lay between them, knowing well that hisgrandfather's temperament was not such as to leave it long in abeyance;and they smoked together in peace after the meal as though the strife ofthe previous evening had never been.

  But the memory of it overhung them both, and finally at the end of alengthy silence Sir Beverley turned his stone-grey eyes upon his grandsonand spoke.

  "Well? What have you to say for yourself?"

  Piers came out of a reverie and looked up with a faint rueful smile."Nothing, sir," he said.

  "Nothing? What do you mean by that?" Sir Beverley's voice was sharp. "Yougo away like a raving lunatic, and stay away all night, and then comeback with nothing to say. What have you been up to? Tell me that!"

  Piers leaned slowly forward, took up the poker and gently pushed itinto the fire. "She won't have me," he said, with his eyes upon theleaping flames.

  "What?" exclaimed Sir Beverley. "You've been after that hussy again?"

  Piers' brows drew together in a thick, ominous line; but he merely noddedand said, "Yes."

  "The devil you have!" ejaculated Sir Beverley. "And she refused you?"

  "She did." Again very softly Piers poked at the blazing logs, his eyesfixed and intent. "It served me right--in a way," he said, speakingmeditatively, almost as if to himself. "I was a hound--to ask her.But--somehow--I was driven. However," he drove the poker in a littlefurther, "it's all the same now as she's refused me. That's why," heturned his eyes suddenly upon Sir Beverley, "there's nothing to be said."

  There was no defiance in his look, but it held something of a bafflingquality. It was almost as if in some fashion he were conscious of relief.

  Sir Beverley stared at him, angry and incredulous. "Refused you! What thedevil for? Wanted my consent, I suppose? Thought I held thepurse-strings, eh?"

  "Oh no," said Piers, again faintly smiling, "she didn't care a damn aboutthat. She knows I am not dependent upon you. But--she has no use for me,that's all."

  "No use for you!" Sir Beverley's voice rose. "What the--what the devildoes she want then, I should like to know?"

  "She doesn't want anyone," said Piers. "At least she thinks she doesn't.You see, she's been married before."

  There was a species of irony in his voice that yet was withoutbitterness. He turned back to his aimless stirring of the fire, and therefell a silence between them.

  But Sir Beverley's eyes were fixed upon his grandson's face in a close,unsparing scrutiny. "So you thought you might as well come back," hesaid at last.

  "She made me," said Piers, without looking round.

  "Made you!"

  Again Piers nodded. "I was to tell you from her that she quiteunderstands your attitude; but that you needn't be anxious, as she has nointention of marrying again."

  "Confound her impudence!" ejaculated Sir Beverley.

  "Oh no!" Piers' voice sounded too tired to be indignant. "I don't thinkyou can accuse her of that. There has never been any flirtation betweenus. It wasn't her fault. I--made a fool of myself. It just happened inthe ordinary course of things."

  He ceased to speak, laid down the poker without sound, and sat withclasped hands, staring blindly before him.

  Again there fell a silence. The clock in the corner ticked on withmelancholy regularity, the logs hissed and spluttered viciously; butthe two men sat in utter stillness, both bowed as if beneath apressing burden.

  One of them moved at last, stretched out a bony, trembling hand, laid iton the other's shoulder.

  "Piers boy," Sir Beverley said, with slow articulation, "believe me,there's not a woman on this earth worth grizzling about. They're liarsand impostors, every one."

  Piers started a little, then with a very boyish movement, he laid hischeek against the old bent fingers. "My dear sir," he said, "but you're awoman-hater!"

  "I know," said Sir Beverley, still in that heavy, fateful fashion. "And Ihave reason. I tell you, boy,--and I know,--you would be better off inyour coffin than linked to a woman you seriously cared for. It's hell onearth--hell on earth!"

  "Or paradise," muttered Piers.

  "A fool's paradise, boy; a paradise that turns to dust and ashes." SirBeverley's voice quivered suddenly. He withdrew his hand to fumble in aninner pocket. In a moment he stretched it forth again with a key lyingon the palm.

  "Take that!" he said. "Open that bureau thing behind you! Look in theleft-hand drawer! There's something there for you to see."

  Piers obeyed him. There was that in Sir Beverley's manner that silencedall questioning. He pulled out the drawer and looked in. It contained onething only--a revolver.

  Sir Beverley went on speaking, calmly, dispassionately, whollyimpersonally. "It's loaded--has been loaded for fifty years. But I neverused it. And that not because my own particular hell wasn't hot enough,but just because I wouldn't have it said that I'd ever loved anyshe-devil enough to let her be my ruin. There were times enough when Inearly did it. I've sat all night with the thing in my hand. But I hungon for that reason, till at last the fire burnt out, and I didn't care.Every woman is the same to me now. I know now--and you've got to know ittoo--that woman is only fit to be the servant, not the mistress, ofman,--and a damn treacherous servant at that. She was made for man'suse, and if he is fool enough to let her get the upper hand, then Heavenhelp him, for he certainly won't be in a position to help himself!"

  He
stopped abruptly, and in the silence Piers shut and relockedthe drawer. He dropped the key into his own pocket, and came backto the fire.

  Sir Beverley looked up at him with something of an effort. "Boy," hesaid, "you've got to marry some day, I know. You've got to havechildren. But--you're young, you know. There's plenty of time beforeyou. You might wait a bit--just a bit--till I'm out of the way. I won'tkeep you long; and I won't beat you often either--if you'll condescendto stay with me."

  He smiled with the words, his own grim ironical smile; but the pathos ofit cut straight to Piers' heart. He went down on his knees beside the oldman and thrust his arm about the shrunken shoulders.

  "I'll never leave you again, sir," he vowed earnestly. "I've been aheartless brute, and I'm most infernally sorry. As to marrying,well--there's no more question of that for me. I couldn't marry Ina Rose.You understand that?"

  "Never liked the chit," growled Sir Beverley. "Only thought she'd answeryour purpose better than some. For you've got to get an heir, boy;remember that! You're the only Evesham left."

  "Oh, damn!" said Piers very wearily. "What does it matter?"

  Sir Beverley looked at him from under his thick brows piercingly butwithout condemnation. "It's up to you, Piers," he said.

  "Is it?" said Piers, with a groan. "Well, let's leave it at that for thepresent! Sure you've forgiven me?"

  Sir Beverley's grim face relaxed again. He put his arm round Piers andheld him hard for a moment.

  Then: "Oh, drat it, Piers!" he said testily. "Get away, do! And behaveyourself for the future!"

  Whereat Piers laughed, a short, unsteady laugh, and went back tohis chair.