CHAPTER II
A DUEL
Margaret watched Beatrice with growing excitement that evening, in whichwas mingled something of awe and something of attraction. She had neverseen anyone so serenely self-possessed.
It became evident during supper, beyond the possibility of mistake, thatLady Torridon had planned war against the guest, who was arepresentative in her eyes of all that was narrow-minded andcontemptible. Here was a girl, she seemed to tell herself, who had hadevery opportunity of emancipation, who had been singularly favoured inbeing noticed by Ralph, and who had audaciously thrown him over for thesake of some ridiculous scruples worthy only of idiots and nuns. Indeedto Chris it was fairly plain that his mother had consented so willinglyto Beatrice's visit with the express purpose of punishing her.
But Beatrice held her own triumphantly.
* * * * *
They had not sat down three minutes before Lady Torridon opened theassault, with grave downcast face and in her silkiest manner. She wentabruptly back to the point where the conversation had been interruptedin the parlour by Margaret's entrance.
"Mistress Atherton," she observed, playing delicately with her spoon, "Ithink you said that to your mind the times were difficult for those whohad no opinions."
Beatrice looked at her pleasantly.
"Yes, Mistress Torridon; at least more difficult for those, than for theothers who know their own mind."
The other waited a moment, expecting the girl to justify herself, butshe was forced to go on.
"Abbot Marshall knew his mind, but it was not easy for him."
(The news had just arrived of the Abbot's execution).
"Do you think not, mistress? I fear I still hold my opinion."
"And what do you mean by that?"
"I mean that unless we have something to hold to, in these troublesometimes, we shall drift. That is all."
"Ah! and drift whither?"
Beatrice smiled so genially as she answered, that the other had noexcuse for taking offence.
"Well, it might be better not to answer that."
Lady Torridon looked at her with an impassive face.
"To hell, then?" she said.
"Well, yes: to hell," said Beatrice.
There was a profound silence; broken by the stifled merriment of aservant behind the chairs, who transformed it hastily into a cough. SirJames glanced across in great distress at his son; but Chris' eyestwinkled at him.
Lady Torridon was silent a moment, completely taken aback by thesuddenness with which the battle had broken, and amazed by the girl'saudacity. She herself was accustomed to use brutality, but not to meetit. She laid her spoon carefully down.
"Ah!" she said, "and you believe that? And for those who hold wrongopinions, I suppose you would believe the same?"
"If they were wrong enough," said Beatrice, "and through their fault.Surely we are taught to believe that, Mistress Torridon?"
The elder woman said nothing at all, and went on with her soup. Hersilence was almost more formidable than her speech, and she knew that,and contrived to make it offensive. Beatrice paid no sort of attentionto it, however; and without looking at her again began to talkcheerfully to Sir James about her journey from town. Margaret watchedher, fascinated; her sedate beautiful face, her lace and jewels, herwhite fingers, long and straight, that seemed to endorse the impressionof strength that her carriage and manner of speaking suggested; as onemight watch a swordsman between the rounds of a duel and calculate hischances. She knew very well that her mother would not take her firstrepulse easily; and waited in anxiety for the next clash of swords.
Beatrice seemed perfectly fearless, and was talking about the King withcomplete freedom, and yet with a certain discretion too.
"He will have his way," she said. "Who can doubt that?"
Lady Torridon saw an opening for a wound, and leapt at it.
"As he had with Master More," she put in.
Beatrice turned her head a little, but made no answer; and there was notthe shadow of wincing on her steady face.
"As he had with Master More," said Lady Torridon a little louder.
"We must remember that he has my Lord Cromwell to help him," observedBeatrice tranquilly.
Lady Torridon looked at her again. Even now she could scarcely believethat this stranger could treat her with such a supreme indifference. Andthere was a further sting, too, in the girl's answer, for all thereunderstood the reference to Ralph; and yet again it was impossible totake offence.
Margaret looked at her father, half-frightened, and saw again a look ofanxiety in his eyes; he was crumbling his bread nervously as he answeredBeatrice.
"My Lord Cromwell--" he began.
"My Lord Cromwell has my son Ralph under him," interrupted his wife."Perhaps you did not know that, Mistress Atherton."
Margaret again looked quickly up; but there was still no sign of wincingon those scarlet lips, or beneath the black eyebrows.
"Why, of course, I knew it," said Beatrice, looking straight at her withlarge, innocent eyes, "that was why--"
She stopped; and Lady Torridon really roused now, made a false step.
"Yes?" she said. "You did not end your sentence?"
Beatrice cast an ironically despairing look behind her at the servants.
"Well," she said, "if you will have it: that was why I would not marryhim. Did you not know that, Mistress?"
It was so daring that Margaret caught her breath suddenly; and lookedhopelessly round. Her father and brother had their eyes steadily bent onthe table; and the priest was looking oddly at the quiet angry womanopposite him.
Then Sir James slid deftly in, after a sufficient pause to let thelesson sink home; and began to talk of indifferent things; and Beatriceanswered him with the same ease.
Lady Torridon made one more attempt just before the end of supper, whenthe servants had left the room.
"You are living on--" she corrected herself ostentatiously--"you areliving with any other family now, Mistress Atherton? I remember my sonRalph telling me you were almost one of Master More's household."
Beatrice met her eyes with a delightful smile.
"I am living on--with your family at this time, Mistress Torridon."
There was no more to be said just then. The girl had not only turned herhostess' point, but had pricked her shrewdly in riposte, three times;and the last was the sharpest of all.
Lady Torridon led the way to the oak parlour in silence.
* * * * *
She made no more assaults that night; but sat in dignified aloofness,her hands on her lap, with an air of being unconscious of the presenceof the others. Beatrice sat with Margaret on the long oak settle; andtalked genially to the company at large.
When compline had been said, Sir James drew Chris aside into thestar-lit court as the others went on in front.
"Dear lad," he said, "what are we to do? This cannot go on. Yourmother--"
Chris smiled at him, and took his arm a moment.
"Why, father," he said, "what more do we want? Mistress Atherton canhold her own."
"But your mother will insult her."
"She will not be able," said Chris. "Mistress Atherton will not have it.Did you not see how she enjoyed it?"
"Enjoyed it?"
"Why, yes; her eyes shone."
"Well, I must speak to her," said Sir James, still perplexed. "Come withme, Chris."
Mr. Carleton was just leaving the parlour as they came up to itsoutside door. Sir James drew him into the yard. There were no secretsbetween these two.
"Father," he said, "did you notice? Do you think Mistress Atherton willbe able to stay here?"
He saw to his astonishment that the priest's melancholy face, as thestarlight fell on it, was smiling.
"Why, yes, Sir James. She is happy enough."
"But my wife--"
"Sir James, I think Mistress Atherton may do her good. She--" hehesitated.
"Well?" said the old man.
"She--Lady Torridon has met her match," said the chaplain, stillsmiling.
Sir James made a little gesture of bewilderment.
"Well, come in, Chris. I do not understand; but if you both think so--"
He broke off and opened the door.
Lady Torridon was gone to her room; and the two girls were alone.Beatrice was standing before the hearth with her hands behind herback--a gallant upright figure; as they came in, she turned a cheerfulface to them.
"Your daughter has been apologising, Sir James," she said; and there wasa ripple of amusement in her voice. "She thinks I have been hardlytreated."
She glanced at the bewildered Margaret, who was staring at her under herdelicate eyebrows with wide eyes of amazement and admiration.
Sir James looked confused.
"The truth is, Mistress Atherton, that I too--and my son--"
"Well, not your son," said Chris smiling.
"You too!" cried Beatrice. "And how have I been hardly treated?"
"Well, I thought perhaps, that what was said at supper--" began the oldman, beginning to smile too.
"Lady Torridon, and every one, has been all that is hospitable," saidBeatrice. "It is like old days at Chelsea. I love word-fencing; andthere are so few who practise it."
Sir James was still a little perplexed.
"You assure me, Mistress, that you are not distressed by--by anythingthat has passed?"
"Distressed!" she cried. "Why, it is a real happiness!"
But he was not yet satisfied.
"You will engage to tell me then, if you think you are improperlytreated by--by anyone--?"
"Why, yes," said the girl, smiling into his eyes. "But there is no needto promise that. I am really happy; and I am sure your daughter and Iwill be good friends."
She turned a little towards Margaret; and Chris saw a curious emotion ofawe and astonishment and affection in his sister's eyes.
"Come, my dear," said Beatrice. "You said you would take me to my room."
Sir James hastened to push open the further door that led to the stairs;and the two girls passed out together.
Then he shut the door, and turned to his son. Chris had begun to laugh.