Chapter Twenty.
The Flowery Way.
Only a few hours before her son’s unexpected arrival, Mrs Fanshawe had warmly pressed Claire to extend her visit to a fortnight at least, and Claire had happily agreed. Mrs Fanshawe recalled the incident as she poured out tea, and rated herself for her imprudence, but the deed was done; there was the girl, looking pretty enough to turn any young man’s head, and there, alas! was Erskine, who should, by all the laws of what was right and proper, be even now making love to Janet Willoughby in Scotland! Janet was rich, Janet was well born, Janet was amiable and easily led, for years past Mrs Fanshawe had set her heart on Janet as a daughter-in-law, and she was not easily turned from her purpose. Throughout that first afternoon her thoughts were busily engaged planning ahead, striving to arrange the days to the hindrance of dangerous tête-à-têtes, Erskine appeared to have returned in ignorance of Miss Gifford’s presence. Mrs Fanshawe had been careful to avoid all reference to the girl in her letters, and was unable to think how the information could have leaked out, nevertheless the choice of Major Humphreys as a companion filled her with suspicion. Never before had such an invitation been given on Erskine’s initiative; on more than one occasion, indeed, he had confessed that he found the Major a bore, and had expressed surprise at his mother’s liking for so dull a man.
Mrs Fanshawe had never found the Major dull, since he shared with enthusiasm her own passion for gardening, and was a most valuable adviser and assistant. Together they had planned the flagged path winding low between the high banks of the rock garden, together they had planted the feathery white arenaria calearica in the crevices of the steps leading upward to the pergola, together they had planned the effect of clusters of forget-me-not, and red tulips among the long grasses in the orchard. There was never any dearth of conversation between Major Humphreys and Mrs Fanshawe, and a stroll round the rose garden might easily prolong itself into a discussion lasting a couple of hours. Hence came the suspicion, or Erskine knew as much, and had deliberately invited this man before any one of his own friends. Despite all appearance to the contrary, Mrs Fanshawe felt convinced that “the bore” had been brought down to engage her own attention, and so leave her son free to follow his own devices. She set her lips, and determined on a counter move.
A partie carrée was dangerous under the circumstances; safety lay in a crowd. That evening when Mrs Fanshawe retired to dress for dinner, the telephone in her boudoir was used to ring up all the big houses in the neighbourhood, invitations were given galore for tennis, for dinner, for lunch; and return invitations were accepted without consultation with her son. At the end of half an hour she hung up the receiver, satisfied that Erskine’s opportunities for tête-à-têtes would be few. Perhaps also time would suggest some excuse for shortening the girl’s visit to the ten days originally planned. She must think it out, put her wits to work. Claire was a pretty creature and a delightful companion, but a nobody, and poor into the bargain. She could not be allowed to upset a cherished plan!
During dinner Mrs Fanshawe alluded casually to the coming gaieties, and mentally paid a tribute of admiration to the aplomb with which Claire listened, and smiled, betraying not a flicker of surprise at the sudden change of programme. The good lady was so pleased with the result of her own scheming, that when later on the Major proposed a game of patience, she accepted at once, and viewed with equanimity the sight of the two young people strolling down the garden path. It would be the last night when such an escape would be possible!
It was an exquisite moonlight night, clear enough to show the colour of the flowers in the beds and borders. Claire’s white dress took on a ghostly hue against the deep background of the trees, her cheeks were pale, too, and the long line of eyelash showed dark against her cheeks. She felt very happy, very content, just the least little bit in the world, afraid! Captain Fanshawe was smoking a cigarette, and in the intervals drawing deep sighs of enjoyment.
“There’s only one thing that worries me—why didn’t I come back last week? To think of rain, and mist, and smoky fires, and then—This! I feel like a man who has been transported into fairyland!”