CHAPTER V
Lady Mary, coming from the library with the letter in her hand, mether husband in the hall.
"Timothy!"
She looked at him wistfully. Her face was very pale as she gave himthe letter. Sir Timothy took out his glasses, wiped them deliberately,and put them on.
"Never mind reading it. I can tell you in one word," she said,trembling with impatience. "My boy is sailing for South Africato-morrow morning."
"I prefer," said Sir Timothy, "to read the letter for myself."
"Oh, do be quick!" she said, half under her breath.
But he read it slowly twice, and folded it. He was reallythunderstruck. Peter was accustomed to write polite platitudes to hisparent, and had presumably not intended that his letter to the canonshould be actually read by Sir Timothy, when he had asked that thecontents of it should be broken to him.
"Selfish, disobedient, headstrong, deceitful boy!" said Sir Timothy.
Lady Mary started. "How can you talk so!" Her gentle voice soundedalmost fierce. "At least he has proved himself a man.' And he isright. It was a shame and a disgrace for him to stay at home, whilsthis comrades did their duty. I say it a thousand times, though I amhis mother."
Then she broke down. "Oh, Peter, my boy, my boy, how could you leaveme without a word!"
"Perhaps this step was taken with your connivance after all?" said SirTimothy, suspiciously. He could not follow her rapid changes of mood,and had listened resentfully to her defence of her son.
"Timothy!" said Lady Mary, trembling, "when have I ever been disloyalto you in word or deed?"
"Never, I hope," said Sir Timothy. His voice shook a little. "I donot doubt you for a moment, Mary. But you spoke with such strangevehemence, so unlike your usual propriety of manner."
She broke into a wild laugh which pained and astonished him.
"Did I? I must have forgotten myself for a moment."
"You must, indeed. Pray be calm. I understand that this must be aterrible shock to you."
"It is not a shock," said Lady Mary, defiantly. "I glory in it. I--I_wish_ him to go. Oh, Peter, my darling!"
She hid her face in her hands.
"It would be more to the purpose," said Sir Timothy, "to consider whatis to be done."
"Could we stop him?" she cried eagerly, and then changed once more."No, no; I wouldn't if I could. He would never forgive me."
"Of course, we cannot stop him," said Sir Timothy. He raised his voiceas he was wont when he was angry. Canon Birch, in the drawing-room,heard the loud threatening tones, and was thankful for the door whichshut him from Sir Timothy's presence. "He has laid his plans forthwarting my known wishes too well. I do not know what might be saidif we stopped him. I--I won't have my name made a laughing-stock. I ama Crewys, and the honour of the family lies in my hands. I can't givethe world a right to suspect a Crewys of cowardice, by preventinghis departure on active service. We have fought before--in a bettercause."
"We won't discuss the cause," said Lady Mary, gently. When Sir Timothybegan to shout, she always grew calm. "Then you will not telegraph tomy cousin Ferries?"
"Ferries ought to have written to _me_, and not taken the word of amere boy, like Peter," stormed Sir Timothy. "But the fact is, I neverflattered Ferries as he expected; it is not my way to natter any one;and consequently he took a dislike to me. He must have known what myviews are. I am sure he did it on purpose."
"It was natural he should believe Peter, and I don't think he knowsyou well enough to dislike you," said Lady Mary, simply. "He has onlyseen you twice, Timothy."
"That was evidently sufficient," said Sir Timothy, meaning to beironical, and unaware that he was stating a plain fact. "I shallcertainly not telegraph to tell him that my son has lied to him, wellas Peter deserves that I should do so."
"Oh, don't, don't; you are so hard!" she said piteously. "If you'donly listened to him when he implored you to let him go, we could havemade his last days at home all they should be. He's been hiding inLondon, poor Peter; getting his outfit by stealth, ashamed, whilstother boys are being _feted_ and praised by their people, proud ofearning so early their right to be considered men. And--and he'sonly a boy. And he said himself, all's fair in love and war. Indeed,Timothy, it is an exceptional case."
"Mary, your weakness is painful, and your idolatry of Peter will bringits own punishment. The part of his deception that should pain youmost is the want of heart he has displayed," said Sir Timothy,bitterly.
"And doesn't it?" she said, with a pathetic smile. "But one oughtn'tto expect too much heart from a boy, ought one? It's--it's not ahealthy sign. You said once you were glad he wasn't sentimental, likeme."
"I should have wished him to exhibit proper feeling on properoccasions. His present triumph over my authority involves hisdeparture to certain danger and possible death, without even affordingus the opportunity of bidding him farewell. He is ready and willing toleave us thus."
Lady Mary uttered a stifled scream. "But I won't let him. How can youthink his mother will let him go like that?"
"How can you help it?"
She pressed her trembling hands to her forehead. "I will think. Thereis a way. There are plenty of ways. I can drive to the junction--it'snot much further than Brawnton--and catch the midnight express, andget to Southampton by daybreak. I know it can be done. Ash will lookout the trains. Why do you look at me like that? You're not going tostop my going, are you? You're not going to _try_ and stop me, areyou? For you won't succeed. Oh yes, I know I've been an obedient wife,Timothy. But I--I defied you once before for Peter's sake; when he wassuch a little boy, and you wanted to punish him--don't you remember?"
"Don't talk so, Mary," said Sir Timothy, almost soothingly. Hervehemence really alarmed and distressed him. "It is not like you totalk like this. You will be sorry--afterwards," he said; and his voicesoftened.
She responded instantly. She came closer to him, and took his bigshaking hand into her gentle clasp.
"I should be sorry afterwards," she said, "and so would you. Even_you_ would be sorry, Timothy, if anything happened to Peter. I'll tryand not make any more excuses for him, if you like. I know he's nota child now. He's almost a man; and men seem to me to grow harsh andunloving as they grow older. I try, now and then, to shut my eyes andsee him as he once was; but all the time I know that the little boywho used to be Peter has gone away for ever and ever and ever. If hehad died when he was little he would always have been my little boy,wouldn't he? But, thank God, he didn't die. He's going to be a greatstrong man, and a brave soldier, and--and all I've ever wanted him tobe--when he's got over these wilful days of boyhood. But he mustn't gowithout his father's blessing and his mother's kiss."
"He has chosen to do so, Mary," said Sir Timothy, coldly.
She clung to him caressingly. "But you're going to forgive him beforehe goes, Timothy. There's no time to be angry before he goes. It maybe too late to-morrow."
"It may be too late to-morrow," repeated Sir Timothy, heavily.
He resented, in a dull, self-pitying fashion, the fact that his wife'sthoughts were so exclusively fixed on Peter, in her ignorance of hisown more immediate danger.
"Don't think I'm blind to his faults," urged Lady Mary, "only I canlaugh at them better than you can, because I _know_ all the while thatat the very bottom of his heart he's only my baby Peter after all.He's not--God bless him--he's _not_ the dreary, cold-blooded, priggishboy he sometimes pretends to be. Don't remember him like that now,Timothy. Think of that morning in June--that glorious, sunny morningin June, when you knelt by the open window in my room and thanked Godbecause you had a son. Think of that other summer day when we couldn'tbear even to look at the roses because little Peter was so ill, and wewere afraid he was going back to heaven."
Her soft, rapid words touched Sir Timothy to a vague feeling of pityfor her, and for Peter, and for himself. But the voice of the charmer,charm she never so wisely, had no power, after all, to dispel the darkcloud that was hanging over him.
/> The sorrow gave way to a keener anxiety. The calmness of mind whichthe great surgeon had prescribed--the placid courage, largely aided bydulness of imagination, which had enabled poor Sir Timothy to keepin the very background of his thoughts all apprehensions for themorrow--where were they?
He repressed with an effort the emotion which threatened to masterhim, and forced himself to be calm. When he spoke again his voicesounded not much less measured and pompous than usual.
"My dear, you are agitating yourself and me. Let us confine ourselvesto the subject in hand."
Lady Mary dropped the unresponsive hand she held so warmly pressedbetween her own, and stepped back.
"Ah, forgive me!" she said in clear tones. "It's so difficult to--"
"To--?"
"To be exactly what you wish. To be always on guard. My feelings brokebounds for once."
"Calm yourself," said Sir Timothy. "And besides, so far as I amconcerned, your pleading for Peter is unnecessary."
"You have forgiven him?" she cried joyfully, yet almost incredulously.
He paused, and then said with solemnity: "I have forgiven him, Mary.It is not the moment for me to cherish resentment, least of allagainst my only son."
"Ah, thank God! Then you will come to Southampton?"
"That is impossible. But I will telegraph my forgiveness and theblessing which he has not sought that he may receive it before theship sails."
"I am grateful to you for doing even so much as that, Timothy, and fornot being angry. Then I must go alone?"
"No, no."
"Understand me," said Lady Mary, in a low voice, "for I am in earnest.I have never deceived you. I will not defy you in secret, like Peter;but I _will_ go and bid my only son God-speed, though the whole worldconspired to prevent me. _I will go!_"
There was a pause.
"You speak," said Sir Timothy, resentfully, "as though I hadhabitually thwarted your wishes."
"Oh, no," said his wife, softly, "you never even found out what theywere."
He did not notice the words; it is doubtful whether he heard them.
"It has been my best endeavour to promote your happiness throughoutour married life, Mary, so far as I considered it compatible with yourhighest welfare. I do not pretend I can enter into the high-flownand romantic feelings engendered by your reprehensible habit ofnovel-reading."
"You've scolded me so often for that," said Lady Mary, half mockingly,half sadly. "Can't we--keep to the subject in hand, as you said justnow?"
"I have a reason, a strong reason," said Sir Timothy, "for wishing youto remain at home to-morrow. I had hoped, by concealing it from you,to spare you some of the painful suspense and anxiety which I ammyself experiencing."
Lady Mary laughed.
"How like a man to suppose a woman is spared anything by being kept inthe dark! I knew something was wrong. Dr. Blundell and Canon Birch arein your confidence, I presume? They kept exchanging glances like twomysterious owls. Your sisters are not, or they would be sighing andshaking their heads. And John--John Crewys? Oh, he is a lawyer. Whendoes a visitor ever come here except on business? He has something todo with it. Ah, to advise you for nothing over your purchase of theCrown lands! You have got into some difficulty over that, or somethingof the kind? You brought him down here for some special purpose, I amsure; but I did not know him well enough, and I knew you too well, toask why."
"Mary, what has come to you? I never knew you quite like this before.I dislike this extraordinary flippancy of tone very much."
"I beg your pardon," said Lady Mary; make allowance for me this once.I learnt ten minutes ago that my boy was going to the war. I musteither laugh or--or cry, and you wouldn't like me to do that; but it'sa way women have when their hearts are half broken."
"I don't understand you," he said helplessly.
Lady Mary looked at him as though she had awakened, frightened, to theconsciousness of her own temerity.
"I don't quite understand myself, I think," she said, in a subduedvoice. "I won't torment you any more, Timothy; I will be as calm andcollected--as you wish. Only let me go."
"Will you not listen to my reason for wishing you to remain at home?"he said sternly. "It is an important one."
"I had forgotten," she said indifferently. "How can there be anybusiness in the world half so important to _me_ as seeing my boy oncemore before he sails?"
The colour of Sir Timothy's ruddy face deepened almost to purple, hisgrey eyes glowered sullen resentment at his wife.
"Since you desire to have your way in opposition to my wishes, _go!_"he thundered. "I will not hinder you further."
But his sonorous wrath was too familiar to be impressive.
Lady Mary's expression scarcely changed when Sir Timothy raised hisvoice. She turned, however, at the foot of the staircase, and spoke tohim again.
"Let me just go and give the order for my things to be packed,Timothy, and tell Ash to go and find out about the trains, and I willreturn and listen to whatever you wish--I will, indeed. I could notpay proper attention to anything until I knew that was being done."
Sir Timothy did not trust himself to speak. He bowed his head, and theslender figure passed swiftly up the stairs.
Sir Timothy walked twice deliberately up and down the empty hall, andfelt his pulse. The slow, steady throb reassured him. He opened thedoor of the study.
"John," said Sir Timothy, "would you kindly come out here and speak tome for a moment? Dr. Blundell, would you have the goodness to await mea little longer? You will find the London papers there."
"I have them," said Dr. Blundell, from the armchair by the study fire.
John Crewys closed the door behind him, and looked rather anxiously athis cousin. It struck him that Sir Timothy had lost some of his ruddycolour, and that his face looked drawn and old.
But the squire placed himself with his back to the log fire, and madean effort to speak in his voice of everyday. His slightly pompous,patronizing manner returned upon him.
"You are doubtless accustomed, John, in the course of yourprofessional work," he said, "to advise in difficult matters. Youcome among us a stranger--and unprejudiced. Will you--er--give me thebenefit of your opinion?"
"To the best of my ability," said John. He paused, and added gently,"I am sorry for this fresh trouble that has come upon you."
"That is the subject on which I mean to consult you. Do you considerthat--that her husband or her child should stand first in a woman'seyes?"
"Her husband, undoubtedly," said John, readily, "but--"
"But what?" said Sir Timothy, impatiently. A gleam of satisfaction hadbroken over his heavy face at his cousin's reply.
"I speak from a man's point of view," said John. "Woman--and possiblyNature--may speak differently."
"Your judgment, however, coincides with mine, which is all thatmatters," said Sir Timothy. He did not perceive the twinkle in John'seyes at this reply. "In my opinion there are only two ways of lookingat every question--the right way and the wrong way."
"My profession teaches me," said John, "that there are as manydifferent points of view as there are parties to a case."
"Then--from _my_ point of view," said Sir Timothy, with an air ofwaving all other points of view away as irrelevant, "since my wife,very naturally, desires to see her son again before he sails, am Ijustified in allowing her to set off in ignorance of the ordeal thatawaits me?"
"Good heavens, no!" cried John. "Should the operation proveunsuccessful, you would be entailing upon her a lifelong remorse."
"I did not look upon it in that light," said Sir Timothy, ratherstiffly. "The propriety or the impropriety of her going remains inany, case the same, whether the operation succeeds or fails. I fearedthat it would be the wrong thing to allow her to go at all; that itmight cause comment were she absent from my side at such a criticaljuncture."
"I see," said John. His mobile, expressive face and bright hazel eyesseemed to light up for one instant with scorn and wonder; then herecollected himself.
"It is natural you should wish for her sustainingpresence, no doubt," he said.
"I trust you do not suppose that I should be selfishly considering myown personal feelings at such a time," said Sir Timothy, in a loftytone of reproof. "I am only desirous of doing what is right in thematter. I am asking your advice because I feel that my self-commandhas been shaken considerably by this unexpected blow. I am less sureof my judgment than usual in consequence. However, if you think mywife ought to be told"--John nodded very decidedly--"let her be told.I am bound to say Dr. Blundell thought so too, though his opinion isneither here nor there in such a matter, but so long as you understandthat my only desire is that both she and I should do what is mostcorrect and proper." He came closer to John. "It is of vitalimportance for me to preserve my composure," said Sir Timothy. "I amnot fitted for--for any kind of scene just now. Will you undertake forme the task of explaining to--to my dear wife the situation in which Iam placed?"
"I will do my best," said John. He was touched by the note of piteousanxiety which had crept into the squire's harsh voice.
"Thank you," said Sir Timothy. "Will you await her here? She isreturning immediately. Break it to her as gently as you can. I shallrest and compose myself by a talk with Dr. Blundell."
He went slowly to the study, leaving John Crewys alone.