“Oh——” and she paused expressively. That “Oh” was dramatic; it conveyed volumes of disapproval.
“Eva, I have been looking for you everywhere. I want you to collect the books for Mudie’s, make out a fresh list, and, as the maid is ill, will you wash two of the griffons?”
She spoke in her normal voice, but her jaw was set and her suspicious blue-green eyes roved backwards and forwards from Beverley to me.
“All right,” I said, rising with alacrity, only too thankful to close the interview; and as I followed Aunt Mina down the long flagged passages, I knew from the expression of her back, as surely as if she had told me in words, that her fears respecting Bev and myself were once more awakened.
My life at this period was by no means a bed of roses. Uncle was laid up with a sharp attack of gout, possibly brought on by the shock of Beverley’s debts. Beverley persecuted me. He was quite too dreadfully cunning, a domestic Sherlock Holmes, and seemed, in spite of his mother’s most anxious precautions, to mark down my exact whereabouts with unfailing accuracy. I snubbed him mercilessly, even at meal-times, and, strange to say, my brusque little speeches aroused Aunt Mina’s ire; yet if I had been agreeable she would have been furious and have declared that I was “drawing him on.” There was no pleasing her, but, poor woman, the situation was harassing; she could not send Beverley from home, as he was not to be trusted—her only alternative was to make some desperate effort to get rid of me! Alas! this was a hopeless undertaking. Consequently, so far as I was concerned, she became the very incarnation of despotism and aggression.
Although I lived in a luxurious abode, shared a maid with my cousin Clara (my share I may mention was merely nominal), had a delightful horse to ride, a superb piano to play on, quantities of books and most dainty food, I was far from being happy or contented. The truth was that the continual strain of holding Beverley at bay on the one hand, and vainly attempting to soothe his mother’s fears on the other, was altogether too much for my nervous system. The tension was terrible, a tension that was never relaxed. Just at this particular crisis our good genius, Mrs. Paget-Taylor, came to the assistance of the family. She constantly entertained visitors in her comfortable Dower House; sometimes these were relations, sometimes old friends, and occasionally there were casual acquaintances whom she had picked up abroad or when doing a “cure” at home.
One afternoon she appeared, just before tea-time, accompanied by two guests, a lady and gentleman; the former, who followed her closely across the slippery parquet floor of the vast drawing-room, was entirely uncommon and picturesquely different from our everyday callers. The visitor who approached in the wake of Mrs. Paget-Taylor held herself erect, her head slightly thrown back; her face was strikingly handsome, she had wavy brown hair, straight black brows, extraordinarily expressive eyes, and a brilliant complexion. These details can give but a faint idea of her personality. She wore a costume of some rich dark blue material with little touches of gold, and a hat that was equally chic and becoming. The vision was so vivid and impressive that I could do nothing but gaze, and gaze, and gaze.
The strangers were presented as “Captain and Mrs. Hayes-Billington,” and Mrs. Paget-Taylor murmured to my aunt that he was “a far away connection, at present on leave from India.” Captain Hayes-Billington was a stout well-set-up man of thirty, with regular features and a heavy dark moustache, but his face had a puffy appearance; indeed, he was altogether puffy, and to me his arms and legs recalled inflated air cushions, so tightly did his grey suit encase them. He was not in the least overawed or dumbfounded, as were some, by the magnificence of Torrington, but chatted away to Aunt Mina about “my regiment,” “my appointment,” and “my mines,” and carried round the tea-cups with the address of long practice. Mrs. Hayes-Billington also took part in the general conversation. She had a sweet, rather low voice, and exhibited when she spoke glimpses of beautiful teeth. Her manners were easy and assured, and her smile was radiant. Such smiles thawed Aunt Mina’s usual manner of ice and iron. She was always amenable when she realised that people were not afraid of her. This stranger was fearless, and listened to her account of the super-griffon’s asthma with an admirably assumed air of absorption and sympathy. It was wonderful how rapidly she stole into my aunt’s good graces. They discussed Monte Carlo, and the rapacity of milliners, and compared their experiences of French hotels. The visitor also exchanged a few sentences with Bev, who, instead of fleeing from callers as usual, was sitting, tea-cup in hand, staring at Mrs. Hayes-Billington with wide open pea-green eyes.
She inquired the name of his regiment, which query, strange to say, delicately flattered his greedy vanity.
“Not in the army?” she repeated incredulously, “I certainly thought you were in the Guards.”