Volume Three—Chapter Eleven.
Drawn Together.
“Well, dearest,” said Mrs Rolph, “have you been all round?”
Rolph, who was leaning back in his chair in the library at The Warren, reading a sporting paper, uttered a growl.
“Not satisfactory, dear?”
“Satisfactory! the place has gone to rack and ruin. I don’t believe those cursed poachers have left a head of game on the estate; but I know who’s at the bottom of it, and he’d better look out.”
“I’m very sorry, dear,” said Mrs Rolph, going behind her son’s chair to stroke his hair. “The garden looks very nice; both Madge and I thought so. Why didn’t you run over now and then to see that the keeper was doing his duty.”
“Run over?” cried Rolph, savagely; “who was going to run over here for every fool one met to be pointing his cursed finger at you, and saying, ‘There goes the fellow who didn’t get married.’”
“My dearest boy,” said Mrs Rolph, soothingly, as she laid her cheek on the top of his head, “don’t fret about that now. You know it’s nearly eighteen months ago.”
“I don’t care if it’s eighteen hundred months ago—and do leave off, mother, you know I hate having my hair plastered down.”
Mrs Rolph kissed the place where her cheek had been laid, and then drew back, showing that the complaint had not been merited, for, so far from the hair being plastered down, there was scarcely any to plaster, Rolph’s head being cropped close in athletic and on anti-Samsonic principles as regarded strength.
“It was very, very hard for you, my dearest, and it is most unfortunate that they should have chosen the same time to return as we did. You—er—heard that they are back?”
“Of course I did, and if you’d any respect for your son, you’d sell this cursed hole, and go somewhere else.”
“Don’t—don’t ask me to do that, Rob, dear,” said Mrs Rolph. “I know your poor father looked forward to your succeeding to it and keeping it up.”
“I hate the place,” growled Rolph rustling his paper; and Mrs Rolph looked pleased, but she said nothing for some time. Then, very gently,—
“Rob, dearest, you are going to stay now you are here?”
“No; I’m going to Hounslow to-morrow.”
“Not so soon as that, dear,” said Mrs Rolph, pleadingly, as she laid her hand upon his shoulder.
“Why not? What’s the good of staying here?”
“To please your mother, dearest, and—Madge, who is in a terribly weak state I had great difficulty in getting her back here.”
Rolph moved angrily, and crumpled up the paper, but Mrs Rolph bent down and kissed him.
“There, all right,” he said, “only don’t bother me about it so. I can’t forget that other cursed muddle, if you can.”
“No, my dear, of course not, but you should try to. And, Rob, dear, be a little more thoughtful about dearest Madge. She has, I know, suffered cruelly in the past, and does so now at times when you seem neglectful—no, no, don’t start, dear; I know you are not, but girls are exacting, and do love to spoil men by trying to keep them at their feet.”
“Like spaniels or pugs,” growled Rolph, the latter being the more appropriate.
“Yes, dear, but she will grow wiser in that direction, and you cannot be surprised at her anxiety. Rob, dearest, you must not blame her for her worship of one whom she looks upon as a demigod—the perfection of all that is manly and strong.”
“Oh, no; it’s all right, mother,” said Rolph, who felt flattered by the maternal and girlish adulation; “I’ll behave like a lamb.”
“You’ll behave like my own true, brave son, dearest, and make me very happy. When shall it be, Rob?”
“Eh? The marriage?”
“Yes, dear,” said Mrs Rolph, kneeling at his side and passing an arm about him.
“Has Madge been at you about it?”
“For shame, dearest! She would die sooner than speak. You know how she gave up to what you fancied would make you happy before. Never a word, never a murmur; and she took that poor unfortunate girl, Glynne, to her heart as a sister.”
“Damn it all, mother, do let that cursed business rest,” cried Rolph impatiently.
“Yes, dearest, of course; pray forgive me.”
“Oh, all right! But—er—Madge—she hasn’t seen her—hasn’t been over there?”
“No, my love, of course not. There must be no further communication between our families. It was Sir John’s own wish, as you know. No one could have behaved more honourably, or with more chivalrous consideration than he did over the horribly distressing circumstances. But that’s all dead, past and forgotten now, and you need not fear any allusions being made in the place. It was quite wonderful how little was ever known outside the house. But there, no more past; let’s have present and future. Time is flying, Rob, dearest, and I’m getting an old woman now.”
“And a deuced fine, handsome old woman, too,” said Rolph, with an unwonted show of affection, for he passed his arm about her, and kissed her warmly. “I tell you what it is, old lady, I only wish I could meet with one like you—a fine, handsome, elderly body, with no confounded damn-nonsense about her. I’d propose in a minute.”
“My dearest boy, what absurd stuff you do talk, when the most beautiful girl for miles round is waiting patiently for you to say,—‘Come, and I will recompense you with my life’s devotion for all your long suffering, and the agony of years.’”
“Just what I’m likely to say, mother,” said Rolph, grimly.
“But you will in your heart.”
“All right, I’ll try. She will let me have my own way. But I say, mother, she has grown precious thin and old-looking while you have been on the Continent.”
“What wonder, dearest boy. Can a woman suffer, as she has about you for two years now, without showing the lines of care. But what of them. It will be your pleasant duty to smooth them all out, and you can, dearest, and so easily. A month after she is yours she will not look the same.”
Mrs Rolph’s words were spoken in all sincerity, and there was a great deal in them as to their probabilities, but not in the direction she meant.
“Rob, dearest,” she whispered caressingly, soon after, “when shall it be?”
“Don’t know.”
“To set your mother’s heart at rest—and hers.”
“Oh, very well, when you like; but hold hard a minute.”
“Rob!” cried Mrs Rolph in dismay, for her heart was beating fast with hope, and his words had arrested the throbbing.
“I can’t have two of my important meetings interfered with. I’ve the Bray Bridge handicap, and a glove fight I must attend.”
“Rob, my darling!”
“But I must go to them. The confounded service takes up so much of my time, that I’ve neglected my athletics shamefully.”
Marjorie came in from the garden just then, and as she appeared at the French window, the careworn, hunted look in her eyes, and a suggestion of twitching about the corners of her lips, fully justified her athletic cousin’s disparaging remarks.
“Ah, my darling!” cried Mrs Rolph, rising.
“I beg pardon, aunt dear. I did not know you and Rob were engaged.”
“Don’t go, dearest,” said Mrs Rolph, holding out her hands, her tone of voice making Marjories eyes dilate, and as she began to tremble violently, a deathly pallor overspread her cheeks, and she tottered and then sank sobbing in Mrs Rolph’s arms.
“My darling—my darling!” whispered her aunt. “There—there! Rob, dearest, help me!”
Rolph rose from his chair, half-pleased, half-amused by his mother’s action, as she shifted the burden to his great muscular arms.
“Help her to the couch, my love. Why, she is all of a tremble. I’ll go and fetch my salts. Rob, dearest, can’t you bring back the colour to her cheeks?”
She moved slowly toward the door in quite a stage exit, smiling with satisfaction as she saw her son make no effort to place the trembling woman upon the couch, but holding her to his breast, while, slowly and timidly, her hands rose to his neck, gained faith and courage, and by the time the door closed upon the pair, Madge was clinging tightly, and for the first time for two years felt that the arms which encircled her held her firmly.
“Rob!” she cried wildly, as she raised her head to gaze wildly in his eyes.
“All right, pussy,” he said. “The mater says we are to forget all the past, and forgive, and all that sort of thing, and the event is to be a fixture, short notice and no flam.”
“You mean it, Rob—darling?”
“Of course,” he cried; and his lips closed upon hers.
“There,” he said, after a time; “now let’s go and have a quiet walk and talk.”
“In the garden? Yes!”
“Hang the garden! outside. I don’t want the old girl to be hanging about us, patting us on the back and watching for every kiss.”
“No, no,” she whispered, as she clung to him, as if fearing to lose him before she had him fast. “Except for this, Rob, dear, I wish we had not come back to The Warren.”
“Hallo!” he cried, boisterously; “jealous of Judy, pet? Why, I haven’t seen her for months? That’s all over, and I’m going to be your own good boy.”
“It wasn’t that, Rob. I was afraid.”
“What of? Losing me? Oh, you’re safe now,” he cried, with a boisterous laugh.
“No, dear Rob; it was not that, but of something else.”
“What, Brackley?” he said roughly, and with an angry scowl.
“Oh, no, Rob,” she cried, with a frightened look and a shudder as she covered his lips with hers. “Don’t, pray, speak of that. It is too horrible. I didn’t mean that.”
“What then?”
“It was nothing about you, Rob, dearest. It was about myself. I was frightened, but no, not now,” she whispered caressingly, as she nestled to him. “I shall always have your brave, strong, giant’s arms to be round me, to protect me against everybody.”
“Of course,” he said, complacently, as he smiled down at her. “But what are you afraid of?”
“Oh; nothing,” she whispered; “it’s because I’m weak and foolish. Oh, Rob, how grand it must be to feel big, and strong and brave. It was some time before we went away, I was out walking, and a man came out from among the hazel bushes.”
“Eh?” growled Rolph.
“It was that dreadful poacher who used to be about, and he asked for money, and I gave him some, dear, and then he became insulting, and tried to catch me in his arms, but I shrieked out and he ran away.”
“Caleb Kent?” growled Rolph.
“I think that is what he was called,” said Marjorie timidly; “but I need not be afraid of him now, need I, Rob?”
“You may be afraid for him,” said Rolph, fiercely; “for so sure as ever we meet any night, and he is poaching, I shall have an accident with my gun.”
“But you won’t kill him, Rob. Don’t do that, dearest; it would be too dreadful.”
“No; I won’t kill him if I can help it. That would be too bad, eh? I won’t nail his ears to the pump.”
“Ah, my darlings! here still,” said Mrs Rolph, who entered, smiling, but with the tears trickling down her cheeks. “Madge, my child, what has become of my salts—you know, the cut-glass bottle with the gold top.”
“Never mind the salts, mother,” said Rolph, boisterously; “sugar has done it. I’ve quite brought Madge to—haven’t I, pussy?”
“Oh, Rob, dearest,” cried Madge, hiding her face upon his breast, and shuddering slightly as she nestled there, as if a cold breath of wind had passed over to threaten the blasting of her budding hopes.
“It’s all right, mother, and—there as soon as you like. Come, little wifey to be, begin your duties at once. Big strong husbands want plenty of food when they are not training. They are like the lawyers who need refreshers. I’m choking for a pint of Bass. No, no, mother; let her ring. Satisfied?”
“Rob, my darling, you’ve made me a happy woman at last—so proud, so very proud of my darling son.”
“All right,” cried Rolph, gruffly; “but, look here, I’m not going to figure at Brackley over a business like this. I’m off back to barracks.”
“So soon, Rob,” cried Madge, and the scared look came into her eyes again, as she involuntarily glanced at the window as if expecting to see Caleb Kent peering in.
“Madge, my darling! Look at her, Rob.”
“Bah! what a cowardly, nervous little puss it is,” cried Rolph, taking her in his arms, and she clung to him sobbing hysterically. “Look here, mother; you’d better take a house, or furnished apartments in town at once, and we’ll get the business done there. Madge is afraid of bogies. Weak and hysterical, and that sort of thing. Get her away; the place is dull, and the poachers are hanging about here a good deal.”
Marjorie uttered a faint shriek which was perfectly real.
“Take us away at once, Rob, dear,” she whispered passionately; “I can’t bear to be separated from you now.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll stop and take care of you till you’re ready to start, and see you safe in town. You can go to a hotel for a day or two. Will that do?”
“Yes, dear; admirably,” cried Mrs Rolph, eagerly; and Marjorie uttered a sigh of consent that was like a moan of pain.