Chapter Seven.
Doubt and Dread.
Maud had just time to change her working attire for a dress which was suitable for the evening, though not sufficiently dressy to break the compact which had been made with the visitor, before the gong sounded, and she returned to the schoolroom to join the other members of the party. Ned was standing beside the fireplace, and greeted her with a pleasant smile as she entered.
“You didn’t come out and join us in the garden,” he said; and when she replied with a vague murmur, “Ah, well,” he added lightly, “perhaps you were just as wise. There is a decided nip in the air still, and if you get out of the sun, you are apt to feel chilled.”
Maud’s eyes opened with a quick glance of surprise, but she made no remark. The words had chilled her as no east wind could have done. Did Ned really believe that she would have stayed indoors and sacrificed an hour of his society for fear of a slight discomfort? If he thought this, he was indeed unconscious of the true nature of her feelings towards him; and though Maud was the last girl in the world to wear her heart on her sleeve, she had been happy to believe that she and Ned understood each other, and could count on a mutual affection. She did not know which hurt the more, the suggestion of her own indifference or the unruffled serenity with which it was made. As she sat opposite Ned at dinner, she studied his face, to see if she could find there a reflection of the depression which was stealing over her own heart, but looked in vain. Truth compelled her to admit that she had never seen him brighter, more radiant, more full of life and animation. She tried her best to throw off the cloud on her own spirits and to enter into the conversation, but the effort was not a success. The hands of the clock on the mantelpiece held her in fascinated attention. Every stroke seemed, to sound the knell of the bright hopes with which she had looked forward to this meeting, every stroke brought the parting nearer.
If Maud did not speak, the other girls more than made up for her silence, talking all together in true Rendell fashion, and telling the news of the last few months in their usual breathlessly eager fashion. Until now, conversation had had no chance of becoming general, and each one had some personal items of information to offer which appeared to her to be of absorbing interest. Lilias had paid a visit to an old school friend, where she had had many pleasing adventures, which she related in characteristic manner. Her sisters often discussed what it was which gave to Lilias’s stories such a suggestive and flattering atmosphere. It must have been something peculiar in the way in which they were told; for though she never said such a thing in so many words, the hearers were yet impressed by the fact that she had played a leading part, had been surfeited with admiration, and positively oppressed by the attentions which she had received! This evening was no exception to the rule; for as she spoke the listeners saw before them a picture of her own lovely figure moving like a queen through the scenes which she described, her humble vassals following in her wake. Lilias must be cleverer than most people supposed, Nan told herself sagely, as she watched the face of the visitor, to see how he was impressed by the recitals. Impossible to say! Ned stared fixedly at his plate, and made no remark. He very seldom looked at Lilias at all, Nan noticed. If it was not too absurd, she would have thought that he really avoided looking in her direction, while at every point in the conversation his eyes turned towards Maud, as if asking her sympathy in his enjoyment. Nan’s spirit rose with a bound, and she burst into the conversation once more, talking every one down by her high, clear tones.
“Mr Talbot, do you realise that I’ve growed up since you saw me last? I’ve said good-bye to childish things, and blossomed into a society dame. I’m a lady growed. Didn’t you notice it?”
Ned’s eyes gleamed upon her with the deep, kindly glow which Maud knew and loved to see.
“I didn’t, Nan; I’m sorry. I thought you looked exactly the same!”
“Never noticed my long skirts, or my done-up hair?”
“No!” Ned looked surprised, and tilted slightly back in his chair to obtain a better view of Nan’s head. It was really rather puzzling to decide whether her curly mop was intended to be up or down; and the burst of laughter which followed showed how perfectly his uncertainty was appreciated. Nan made a grimace intended to express reckless indifference, and waved her bandaged hand in the air.
“Well, it is up! Don’t pay any attention to those silly things. I ought to know best, for I’ve three separate hair-pins sticking into my scalp at the present moment. Jim took me to my first dance when he was at home for Christmas. It was s-imply lovely! I was awfully nervous, for I generally manage to make an idiot of myself if I get a chance; but I got on finely. I fell down full length as I was entering the room, but that was only because the floor was so beautifully polished. I danced every single dance—all waltzes, and the most ex-quisite music. I was introduced to an awfully nice man. He had ears like windmills, and the biggest mouth I ever saw; but he could dance! We went on, and on, and on, as long as the music lasted, and never stopped once; and when it came to an end I was as red as a lobster. It was simply lovely!”
Elsie smiled in an elderly and forbearing manner.
“More than you were, I expect. I can just imagine how you looked, with your hair all wild, and a crimson face above your white dress. You never think about your appearance, Nan.”
“Hope I never may. I haven’t one to think about, and that’s a blessing! It would be so boring to be pretty, and to have to worry about clothes and complexion. I’m thankful there’s none of that nonsense about me,” cried Nan, beaming; and every one of the listeners thought how pretty she looked at that moment, as she tossed her saucy head and smiled her dimpling smile; but they would not for the world have said so, and spoilt the charm of her unaffected self-depreciation. Christabel seized the opportunity, and took up the thread of conversation before any one else had time to come forward.
“Mr Talbot, I’ve been waiting to ask you a question. Do you know anybody called Vanburgh? The Grange is let at last, and the gentleman’s name is Vanburgh. We are simply aching to get to know something about them. The furniture has arrived, but nobody is in the house yet, except the servants. We made up our minds that there would be a family of daughters, but we begin to have qualms.” Chrissie was obviously pleased with the effect of that last expressive word, and repeated it once more with artistic relish. “Qualms, yes! Decided qualms. The furniture is so massive. We can’t see anything at all that would suit a girl’s room.”
“I can’t give you any help on that point, Chrissie. You can judge better than I; but Vanburgh is an uncommon name, so we ought to be able to find out something about them. Do you happen to know where they have been living till now?”
“Here, and there, and everywhere; wandering over the face of the globe! A great deal of the furniture comes from India and Egypt; and one of the workmen came over to ask cook for some hot water one day, and said he believed the master had been travelling abroad. I wanted cook to pump him to find out more, but she said mother had forbidden her to gossip about the neighbours. Such a nuisance! I love gossiping about my neighbours. I remember when I was a little girl, how I used to adore being in the drawing-room when callers came and discussed the affairs of the village. I knew I should be sent away if I appeared to listen, so I used to sit and pretend to play with a doll or a book, while my ears were fairly sticking out of my head with curiosity.”
“You little hypocrite! I wouldn’t have believed you could have been so deceitful. But do tell us if you know anything of the Vanburghs, Mr Talbot. Did you ever meet any one of the name?”
“I met a man once—a fellow about my own age. He was at Oxford with me, but not at the same college. I saw very little of him.”
“That could not be the father, of course. He would have to be a son, and we never arranged for boys. What sort of man was he?”
“Humph!”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Humph!”
“What does that mean? What sort of man is supposed to be represented by ‘Humph!’ may we ask?”
Silence! Ned Talbot screwed up his lips and shook his head with determined obstinacy. The girls stared at him in silence for a good two minutes. Then Maud spoke again.
“Do you decline to say anything but ‘Humph’ on the subject, Ned?”
“Absolutely!”
“How very interesting!” Nan clasped her hands in delight. “How mysterious! How gloomy! How frightfully suspicious! I’m sure there’s something very dreadful about him, and in that case he will be even more interesting than the girls.”
“Nan!”
“I can’t help it. We know so many estimable people that it would be delightful to meet somebody bloodthirsty, for a change. Everything in Waybourne is so painfully commonplace that we are simply spoiling for a mystery, as the Americans would say. Now, Mr Talbot won’t commit himself to a definite charge, but his silence is more impressive than words. I’m sure there’s a mystery: something too gruesome and terrible to be divulged.”
“You leap to conclusions, Nan. Perhaps I had better state at once that there is nothing at all mysterious about the man I mentioned—nothing of the kind, I assure you.”
“Nor bloodthirsty?”
“Nor in the faintest shadow of a degree bloodthirsty.”
“Nor thrilling, nor gloomy, nor terrible?”
“The farthest possible remove from such qualities.”
Nan groaned with disappointment.
“What a blow! Another nonentity! I hope, then, that your Vanburgh has nothing to do with ours, for he sounds terribly uninteresting. Never mind; when you come down to see us in the summer, we shall have solved the mystery for ourselves; and you will be obliged to come down for our sale, you know. Have you heard anything about our sale?”
“I—er—yes; I heard something,”—began Ned hesitatingly. He half turned his head towards Lilias, and then once more stared down at his plate, while she continued for him, in her sweet flute-like voice—
“Oh yes; I told him about it. He has promised to come and help me when I get tired. I can’t manage the punt all alone!”
Once again was noticed the subtle suggestiveness of Lilias’s manner; but this time it was her pleasure to pose as a martyr—a poor, fragile martyr, to whom had been deputed a hard and ungrateful task, while her companions played in the sunshine. Nothing could be said against an unspoken accusation, especially in the presence of a stranger; but the sisters exchanged meaning glances across the table, and Nan stamped so violently upon Elsie’s foot that that melancholy young person writhed on her seat. The best safeguard to the feelings of the family was to change the subject, which Chrissie at once proceeded to do.
“But sha’n’t we see you again before midsummer?” she inquired eagerly. “Is this really the only visit you are going to pay us this time? Three skimpy hours! You generally come and stay over a Sunday at least. Can’t you come again before you go north? Mother and father will be home on Thursday.”
Ned Talbot flushed suddenly, and bit his lips under his moustache. He was evidently struggling with a spasm of nervousness; and Maud noticed as much, and wondered as to its meaning, even as she blessed Christabel in her heart for her welcome suggestion. Surely, surely Ned would not refuse!
“You are very kind,” he said slowly. “I had thought of asking if I might come. I am anxious to talk to Mrs Rendell. If it would not be inconvenient to have me from Saturday till Monday so soon after her return, I should very much like to come.” He looked inquiringly at Maud as he spoke, and she smiled a happy assent.
“I am quite sure it will be convenient; but I’ll tell-mother the moment she returns, and she will write to you herself. You will probably hear on Friday.”
“Thank you; I hope I may. This afternoon has been all too short, and I have not had time for anything. Not even a glance of ‘Kittay.’ It’s absurd to pretend to have been to Waybourne when one has not seen ‘Kittay’; isn’t it, Christabel?”
Chrissie dropped her eyelids, and twisted her lip with an expression of supreme disdain.
“I do not say ‘Kittay’; I say ‘Kittee.’ You are too sillay. Whatevah I say you mock me in this ridiculous mannah. I sha’n’t speak to you at all next time.”
Talbot made a gesture as of one heaping ashes on his head, and then, glancing at the clock, rose hurriedly from the table.
“I must go! Just time to catch the train. I had no idea it was getting so late. That comes of enjoying myself so much. I have had a jolly afternoon. Don’t know when I have had such a good time.” He held out his hand to Maud, and she took it, trying hard to smile as brightly as himself, but it was a difficult task. She would rather he had been less bright, less complacent. She could have been happier if he had gone away with a shadow of her own depression upon his brow. Poor Maud! she turned back from the door with an aching heart. The schoolroom seemed on a sudden unbearably grey and gloomy. Her former peace had given place to an aching doubt.