Halcyone: Chapter 20

Chapter 20

When once John Derringham had definitely made up his mind to any course
in life, he continued in it with decision and skill, and carried off the
situation with a high-handed assurance. Thus he felt no qualms of
awkwardness in meeting Mrs. Cricklander and treating her with an
enchanting ease and friendliness which was completely disconcerting. She
had no _casus belli_; she could not find fault with his manner or his
words, and yet she was left with the blank conviction that her hopes in
regard to him were over. She despised men in her heart because, as a
rule, she was able to calculate with certainty every move in her games
with them. Feeling no slightest passion, her very mediocre intellect
proved often more than a match for the cleverest. But her supreme belief
in herself now received a heavy blow. She was never so near to loving
John Derringham as during this Whitsuntide when she felt she had lost
him. Cora Lutworth once said of her:
"Cis is one of the happiest women in the world, because when she looks
in the glass in the morning she never sees anything but herself, and is
perfectly content. Most of us find shadows peeping over our shoulders of
what we would like to be."
Arabella found her employer extremely trying during the Saturday and
Sunday, and was almost in tears when she wrote to her mother.
    Mr. Derringham has plainly determined not to be ensnared yet. If this
    did not render M. E. so difficult to please, the situation would be
    very instructive to watch. And I am not even now certain whether he
    will escape eventually, because her whole pride in herself is roused
    and she will stick at nothing. I have a shrewd suspicion as to what
    has caused the change in his feelings and intentions towards M. E.,
    but I have not imparted my ideas to her, since doing so might do no
    good, and would in some way certainly injure an innocent person. As
    yet I believe she is unaware of this person's existence. We have done
    everything we can for Mr. Derringham with the most erudite
    conversation. I have been up half of the night ascertaining facts
    upon all sorts of classical subjects, as that seems to be more than
    ever the bent of his mind in these last two visits. (I am given to
    understand from other sources that the person of whom I made mention
    above is a highly-trained Greek scholar and of exceptional refinement
    and cultivation, so that may be the reason.) The strain of preparing
    M. E. for these talks and then my anxiety when, at meals or after
    them, I hear her upon the brink of some fatal mistake, has caused me
    to have most unpleasant headaches, and really, if it were not so
    modern and silly a phrase, I should say the thing was getting on my
    nerves. However, all the interesting guests are leaving on Tuesday
    afternoon. Mr. Derringham, I understand from what he said to me,
    intends to go over to his old master, Professor Carlyon's, and catch
    a later train from there, but M. E. does not know this, and I have
    not felt it my duty to inform her of it, because it might involve
    some awkwardness connected with the person about whom I have already
    given you a hint. I must close now, as I have some facts to look up
    concerning the worship of Dionysus which M. E. is going to bring in
    to-night. It was only yesterday I told her who he was, and I had the
    greatest difficulty to get her to understand he was Bacchus as well,
    as she had learned of him when younger under that name as the God of
    Drunkards, and did not consider him a very nice person to mention.
    But Mr. Derringham held forth upon the rude Thracian Dionysus last
    night and the fundamental spirituality of his original cult, and so
    she felt it might seem rather _bourgeois_ to be shocked, and has
    committed to memory as well as she can some facts to-day.
It will be seen from Miss Clinker's frank letter to her parent that Mrs.
Cricklander was leaving no stone unturned to gain her object, and such
praiseworthy toil deserves the highest commendation.
John Derringham, meanwhile, having successfully smoothed matters to his
own satisfaction, felt at liberty to dream in his spare moments of his
love. He already began to wonder how he had ever felt any emotion
towards the fair Cecilia--she was perfectly charming, but left him as
cold as ice!
And so at last the good-bys were said, and he got into the motor with
some of the other guests, ostensibly for the station, but in reality to
get out at the Lodge gates upon the pretense of going to see the
Professor. He intended, instead of this, to cross the haw-haw and
reconnoiter upon the hope of meeting his beloved, because there was no
necessity for him to spend a dull afternoon in Upminster when perhaps
some more agreeable hours could be snatched under the tree. He had
attended to every point, he believed, even having written a letter to
Cheiron which he had taken the precaution to give to his servant to post
from London on the following morning, so that there would be no Bristol
mark as a clew to their whereabouts. In this he merely stated that when
his old master would receive it Halcyone would be his wife, and that for
a time they had decided to keep the marriage secret, and he hoped his
old master would understand and sympathize.
The only qualm of any sort he experienced during these three days was
when he was composing this letter, so he finished it quickly and did not
even read it over. And now, as he strode across the Wendover park, it
was safe in his servant's pocket and would be despatched duly next day.
He was unaware of the fact that Mr. Carlyon had left for London by a
morning train.
As he came within view of the haw-haw, he saw in the far distance
Halcyone just flitting towards the beech avenue gate, and in his intense
haste to catch her up before she should get too near the house, he
removed the bricks very carelessly, not even remarking that one, and the
most important, was disposed of in such a manner that the spike left
beneath would not bear his weight.
He had got thus far, his eyes fixed upon the slender white figure
rapidly disappearing from his view, when with a tremendous crash his
foothold gave way and he fell with fearful force into the ditch beneath,
his head striking one of the fallen bricks. And after that, all things
were blank and his soul wandered into shadowland and tasted of the pains
of death.
       *       *       *       *       *
From the first break of day on that Tuesday when Halcyone awoke she was
conscious that some sorrow was near her. Every sense of hers, every
instinct, so highly trained by her years of communion with Nature seemed
always to warn her of coming events.
She was restless--a state of being quite at variance with her usual
calm. The air was sultry and, though no rain fell, ominous clouds
gathered and faint thunder pealed afar off.
"What is it? What is it, God?" she asked of the sky. But no answer came,
and at last she went out into the park and towards the tree. She had
made all her simple preparations--everything that she must take had been
put into a small bag and was safely waiting in the secret passage, ready
for her to fetch on the morrow.
Cheiron, she knew, had gone to London. Had they not said good-by on the
evening before? And his last words had made her smile happily at the
time.
"Things are changing, Halcyone," he had said, with the whimsical raising
of his left penthouse brow. "Perhaps you will not want to learn Greek
much longer with your crabbed old Cheiron in his cave."
And she had flung her arms round his neck and buried her face in his
silver beard, and assured him she would always want to learn--all her
life. But now she felt a twinge of sadness--she would indeed miss him,
her dear old master, and he, too, would be lonely without her. Then she
fought with herself. Feelings of depression were never permitted to stay
for a moment, and she looked away into the trees for comfort--but only a
deathly stillness and a sullen roll of distant thunder answered, and
left her uncomforted.
And then some force stronger than her will seemed to drive her back to
the house, and to the long gallery, and just at the very moment when she
had passed beyond her lover's sight it was as if something chased her,
so that she ran the last few yards, and paused not until she stood in
front of Aphrodite's shrine.
It would be difficult to carry the marble head with the other few things
she proposed to take, but none the less was the necessity imperative.
She could not be married without the presence of her beloved mother to
bless her.
As she lifted her goddess out, with her silken wrappings, the first
flash of the nearing storm lit up the dark room with lurid flame.
Halcyone shivered. It was the one aspect of Nature with which she was
out of harmony. When thunder rolled and lightning quivered, her vitality
seemed to desert her and she experienced what in her came nearest to
fear.
"Ah! someone has angered God greatly," she whispered aloud; and then she
carried the head to the secret door, knowing full well she would be
unwatched in her entry there--on such a day, with thunder pealing, not a
servant would have ventured into the long gallery.
Another and louder rumble reached her with muffled sound, as she made
her way in the dark underground, and as she came to the place where
there was the contrived gleam of light and outer air, the lightning
turned the narrow space into a green dusk.
Halcyone was trembling all over, and when she had put her precious
bundle safely into the bag with the rest of her simple preparations, she
laid it on the iron-bound box which had never been stirred, all ready
for her to lift up and take with her in the morning. Then she ran back,
cold and pale, and hastily sought Priscilla in her own room, and talked
long to her of old days, glad indeed to hear a human voice, until
presently the rain began to pour in torrents and the storm cried itself
out.
But with each crash before this came her heart gave a bound, as if in
pain. And a wild longing grew in her for the morrow and safety in her
lover's arms.
And he--alas! that hapless lover!--was lying there in the haw-haw, with
broken ankle and damaged head, half recovering consciousness in the
pouring rain, but unable to stir or climb from his low bed, or even to
cry aloud enough to make anyone hear him. And so at last the night came,
and the pure moonlight, and when her usual evening duties were over with
her aunts, Halcyone was free to go to bed.
She opened her window wide, but she did not seek to wander in the wet
park. John would not be there, and she must rest, so as to be fair for
him when tomorrow they should start on life's sweet journey--together.
But her heart was not quiet. All her prayers and pure thoughts seemed to
bring no peace, and even when, after a while, she fell into a sleep, it
was still troubled.
And thus the day dawned that was to have seen her wedding!
She told herself that the dull, sullen oppression she awoke with was the
result of the storm in the night, and with firm determination she
banished all she could of heaviness, and got through her usual
avocations until the moment came for her to start for the oak avenue
gate. She timed her arrival to be exactly at ten o'clock so that she
need not wait, as this of the three outlets was the one where there
might be a less remote chance of a passer-by. They had had to choose it
because it was on the road to Bristol.
The sun was shining gorgeously again when she emerged from the secret
door, carrying her heavy bundle, and except in the renewed freshness of
all the green there seemed no trace of the storm. Yes--as she got near
the gate she saw that one huge tree beyond that old friend who had
played the part of the holder of the Golden Fleece was stricken and
cleft through by the lightning. It had fallen in helpless fashion,
blackened and yawning, its proud head in the dust.
This grieved her deeply, and she paused to pass a tender hand over the
gaping wound. Then she went on to the gate, and there waited--waited
first in calm belief, then in expectancy, and at last in a numb agony.
The sun seemed to scorch her, the light hurt her eyes, every sound made
her tremble and start forward, and at last she cried aloud:
"O God, why do I feel so troubled? I who have always had peace in my
heart!"
But no bird even answered her. There was a warm stillness, and just
there, under these trees, there were no rabbits which could have
comforted her with their living forms scuttling to and fro.
She tried to reason calmly. Motors were uncertain things--this one might
have broken down, and that had delayed her lover. She must not stir, in
case he should come and think his lateness had frightened her and that
she had gone back to the house. Whatever befell, she must be brave and
true.
But at last, when the afternoon shadows were lengthening, the agony
became intense. Only the baker had passed with his cart, and a farm
wagon or two, during the whole day. Gradually the conviction grew that
it could not only be an accident to the motor--if so, John would have
procured some other vehicle, or, indeed, he could have come to her on
foot by now. Something had befallen him. There must have occurred some
accident to himself; and in spite of all her calm fortitude, anguish
clutched her soul.
She knew not what to do or which way to go. At last, as the sun began to
sink, faint and weary, she decided the orchard house would be the best
place. There, if there was any news of an accident, Sarah Porrit, the
Professor's one female servant, would have heard it.
She started straight across the park, carrying her heavy bag, and
crossed the beech avenue, and so on to the trysting tree. A cold feeling
like some extra disquietude seemed to overcome her as she neared the
haw-haw and the copse. It was as if she feared and yet longed to get
there. But she resisted the temptation, and went straight on to the
little gate and so up the garden to the house.
Mrs. Porrit received her with her usual kindly greeting. All was calm
and peaceful, and while Halcyone controlled herself to talk in an
ordinary voice, the postman's knock was heard. He passed the Professor's
door on the road to Applewood and left the evening mail, when there
chanced to be any.
Mrs. Porrit received the letters--three of them--and then she adjusted
her spectacles, but took them off again.
"After all, since you are here, miss, perhaps as you write better than I
you will be so good as to redirect them on to the master. You know his
address, as usual." And she named an old-fashioned hotel in Jermyn
Street.
Halcyone took them in her cold, trembling fingers, and then nearly
dropped them on the floor, for the top envelope was addressed in the
handwriting of her beloved! She knew it well. Had she not, during the
past years, often seen such missives, from which the Professor had read
her scraps of news?
She carried it to the light and scrutinized the postmark. It was
"London," and posted that very morning early!
For a moment all was a blank, and she found herself grasping the back of
Cheiron's big chair to prevent herself from falling.
John had been in London at the moment when she was waiting by the tree!
What mystery was here?
At first the feeling was one of passionate relief. There had been no
accident, then; he had been obliged to go--there would be some
explanation forthcoming. Perhaps he had even written to her, too--and
she gave a bound forward, as though to run back to La Sarthe Chase. But
then she recollected the evening postman did not come to the house, and
they got no letters as Cheiron did, who was on the road. Hers could not
be there until the morning--she must wait patiently and see.
With consummate self-control she made her voice sound natural as she
said, "Oh, I am so late, Mrs. Porrit. I must go," and, bidding the woman
a gracious good evening, walked rapidly to the house. A telegram might
have come for her, and she had been out all day. What if her aunts had
opened it!
This thought made her quicken her pace so that at last she arrived at
the terrace breathless with running; and having deposited her bag in
safety, she came out again from the secret passage and got hastily to
the house.
But there was no sign of a telegram in the hall, and she mounted to find
Priscilla in her room, which she discovered to be in great disorder, her
few clothes lying about on every available space.
"Oh, my lamb, where have you been?" the elderly woman exclaimed. "At
four o'clock who should come in a fly from the Applewood station but
your step-father's wife! She was staying at Upminster, and says she
thought she would come over and see you--and now it's settled that we go
back with her to London to-morrow. Think of it, my lamb! You and me to
see the world!" Then she cried in fear: "My precious, what is it?"
For Halcyone, overwrought and overcome, had staggered to a chair and,
falling into it, had buried her face in her hands.

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