The Price of Things: Chapter 20

Chapter 20

It had been arranged that Denzil and his mother should spend Christmas
with Amaryllis at Ardayre. Both felt that it was going to be the most
wonderful moment when they should meet. There were no obstacles now to
their happiness and everything promised to be full of joy. The months
which had gone by since John's death had been turning Amaryllis into a
more serene and forceful being. The whole burden of the estate had
fallen upon her young shoulders and she had endeavoured to carry it with
dignity and success--and yet have time to spare for her war
organisations in the county. She had developed extraordinarily and had
grown from a very pretty girl into a most beautiful young woman. What
would Denzil think of her? That was her preoccupation--and what would he
think of the baby Benedict?

The great rooms at Ardayre were shut up except the green drawing room,
and she lived in her own apartments, the cedar parlour being her chief
pleasure. It was now filled with her books and all the personal
belongings which expressed her taste. The nurseries for the heir were
just above.

Her guests were to be there on the twenty-third of December, and when the
hour came for the motor to arrive from the station Amaryllis grew hot and
cold with excitement. She had made herself look quite exquisite in a soft
black frock, and her heart was beating almost to suffocation when she
heard the footsteps in the hall. Then the green drawing room door opened
and Colonel and Mrs. Ardayre were announced and were immediately greeted
by the great tawny dogs and then by their mistress. A pang contracted her
heart when she caught sight of Denzil--he was so very pale and thin, and
he walked painfully and slowly with a stick. It was only a wreck of the
splendid lover who had come to Ardayre before. But he was always Denzil
of the ardent eyes and the crisp bronze hair!

They were people of the world, and so the welcoming speeches went off
easily, and they sat round the tea-table with its singing kettle and its
delectable buns and Devonshire cream, and Amaryllis was gracious and
radiant and full of dignity and charm. But inwardly she felt deliciously
shy and happy.

They had neither met nor written any love letters since the April day
when they had parted in Brook Street, which now seemed to be an age away.

Her attraction for Denzil had increased a hundredfold. He thought as she
sat there pouring out the tea, of how he would woo her with subtlety
before he would claim her for his own. He was stimulated by her sweet
shyness and her tender aloofness. The tea seemed to him to be
interminably long and he wished for it to end.

Mrs. Ardayre behaved with admirable tact; she spoke of all sorts of light
and friendly things, and then asked about the baby. Was he not wonderful,
now at seven months old!

The lovely vivid pink deepened in Amaryllis' smooth velvet cheeks, and
her grey eyes became soft as a doe's.

"You shall see him in the morning--he will be asleep now. Of course, to
me he is wonderful, but I daresay he is only an ordinary child."

She had peeped at Denzil and had seen that his face fell a little as she
said they should only see the baby the next day, and she had felt a wave
of joy. She knew that she meant to take him up quietly presently--just he
and she alone!

After they had finished tea, Mrs. Ardayre suggested that she should go
to her room.

"I am tired, Amaryllis, my dear," she announced cheerily,--"and I shall
rest for an hour before dinner."

"Come then and I will show you both your rooms."

They came up the broad staircase with her, Denzil a step at a time,
slowly, and at the top she stopped and said to him:

"Perhaps you will remember that is the door of the cedar parlour at
the end of the passage--you will find me there when I have installed
your mother comfortably. Your room is next to hers," and she pointed
to two doors through the archway of the gallery. Then she went on with
Mrs. Ardayre.

Some contrary nervousness made her remain for quite a little while.

Was Cousin Beatrice sure that she was comfortable? Had she everything she
wanted? Her maid was already unpacking, and all was warm and fresh
scented with lavender and bowls of violets on the dressing table.

"My dear child, it is Paradise, and you are a perfect angel--I shall
revel in it after the cold journey down."

So at last there was no excuse to stay longer, and Amaryllis left the
room; but in the passage it seemed as though her knees were trembling,
and as she passed the top of the staircase she leaned for a second or two
on the balustrade.

The longed for moment had come!

When she opened the door of the cedar parlour, with its soft lamps and
great glowing logs, she saw Denzil was already there, seated on the sofa
beside the fire.

She ran to him before he could rise, the movement she knew was pain to
him--and she sank down beside him and held out her hands.

"Beloved darling!" he whispered in exaltation, and she slipped forward
into his arms.

Oh! the bliss of it all! After the months of separation, and the horrible
trenches and the battles and the suffering, the days and nights of
agonising pain! It seemed to Denzil that his being melted within
him--Heaven itself had come.

They could not speak coherently for some moments, everything was too
filled with holy joy.

"At last! at last!" he cried presently. "Now we shall part no more!"

Then he had to be assured that she loved him still.

"It is I who must take care of you now, Denzil, and I shall love to do
that," she cooed.

"I have not thought much of the hurt," he answered her, "for all these
months I have just been living for this day, and now it has come,
darling one, and I can hardly believe that it is true, it is so
absolutely divine--"

They could not talk of anything but themselves and love for an hour,
they told each other of their longings and anxieties--and at last they
spoke of John.

"He was so splendid," Denzil said, "unselfish to the very end," and then
he described to Amaryllis how he actually had died, and of his last
words, and their thought for her.

"If he could see us, I think that he would be glad that we are happy."

"I know that he would," but the tears had gathered in her eyes.

Denzil stroked her hand gently; he did not make any lover's caress, and
she appreciated his understanding, and after a little she leaned
against his arm.

"Denzil--when we live here together, we must always try to carry out all
that John would have wished to do. It meant his very soul--and you will
help me to be a worthy mother of the Ardayre son."

She had not spoken of the child before--some unaccountable shyness had
restrained her, even in their fondest moments. And yet the thought had
never been absent from either. It had throbbed there in their hearts. It
was going to be so exquisite to whisper about it presently!

And Denzil had waited until she mentioned this dear interest. He did not
wish to assume any rights, or take anything for granted. She should be
queen, not only of his heart, but of everything, until she should herself
accord him authority.

But his eyes grew wistful now as he leaned nearer to her.

"Darling, am I not going to be allowed to see--my son!"

Then, with a cry, Amaryllis bent forward and was clasped in his arms. All
her wayward shyness melted, and she poured forth her delight in the
baby--their very own!

"You will see that he is just you, Denzil,--as we knew that he would be,
and now I will go and fetch him for you and bring him here, because the
stairs up to the nursery are so steep they might hurt you to climb."

She left him swiftly, and was not long gone, and Denzil sat there
by the fire trembling with an emotion which he could not have
described in words.

The door opened again and Amaryllis returned with the tiny sleeping form,
in its long white nightgown and wrapped in a great fleecy shawl.

She crept up to him very softly. The little one was sound asleep. She
made a sign to Denzil not to rise, and she bent down and placed the
bundle tenderly in his arms.

Then they gazed at the little face together with worshipping eyes.

It was just a round pink and white cherub like thousands of others in the
world; the very long eyelashes, sweeping the sleep-flushed cheeks, and
minute rings of bronze-gold hair curling over the edge of the close
cambric cap; but it seemed to those two looking at it to be unique, and
more beautiful than the dawn.

"Isn't he perfect, Denzil!" whispered Amaryllis, in ecstasy.

"Marvellous!" and Denzil's voice was awed.

Then the wonder and the divinity of love and its spirit of creation came
over them both and a mist of deep feeling grew in both their eyes.

* * * * *

At dinner they were all so happy together. Mrs. Ardayre was a note of
harmony anywhere. She had gradually grown to understand the situation in
the months of her son's recovering from his wounds and although no actual
words had passed between them Denzil felt that his mother had divined the
truth and it made things easier.

Afterwards, in the green drawing room, Amaryllis played to them and
delighted their ears, and then they went up to the cedar parlour and sat
round the fire and talked and made plans.

If it should be quite hopeless that Denzil could ever return to the
front, or be of service behind the lines, he meant to enter Parliament.
The thought that his active soldiering was probably done was very bitter
to him, and the two women who loved him tried to create an enthusiasm for
the parliamentary idea. The one certainty was that his adventurous spirit
would never remain behind in the background, whatever occurred.

They would be married at the beginning of February, they decided. The
whole of their world knew of John's written wishes, and no unkind
comments would be likely to arise.

And when Beatrice Ardayre left them alone to say good-night to each
other, Denzil drew Amaryllis back to his side!

"I think the world is going to be a totally new place, darling--after the
war. If it goes on very long the gradual privation and suffering and
misery will create a new order of things, and all of us should be ready
to face it. Only fools and weaklings cling to past systems when the
on-rolling wave has washed away their uses. Whatever seems for the real
good of England must be one's only aim, even if it means abandoning what
was the ideal of the Family for all these hundreds of years. You will
advance with me, Sweetheart, will you not, even if it should seem to be a
chasm we are crossing?"

"Denzil, of course I will."

He sighed a little.

"The old order made England great--but that cycle is over for all the
world--and what we shall have to do is to stand steady and try to
direct the new on-rush, so that it makes us greater and does not sweep
civilisation into darkness, as when Rome fell. It may be a fairly easy
matter because, as St�pan says, we have got such fundamental common
sense. It would be much less hard if the people at the top were really
courageous and unhampered by trying to secure votes, or whatever it is,
which makes them wobble and surrender at the wrong moment. If the
politicians could have that dogged, serene steadfastness which the
Tommies, and almost every man has in the trenches, how supreme we
should be--!"

"I hope so, but one must have vision as well so that one can look right
ahead and not stumble over retained old prejudices; people so often want
a thing and yet have not will enough to eliminate qualities in themselves
which must obviously prevent their obtaining their desire."

Denzil was not looking at her now, he was gazing ahead with his blue
eyes filled with light, and she saw that there was something far beyond
the physical magnetism which drew her to him, and a pride and joy filled
her. She would indeed be his helpmate in all his undertakings and
striving for noble ends. They talked for some time of these things and
their plans to aid in their fulfilment, and then they gradually spoke of
Verisschenzko and Amaryllis asked what was the latest news--he was in
Russia, she supposed.

"St�pan will be arriving in London next week. I heard from him to-day.
Won't you ask him down, darling, to spend the New Year with us here--it
would be so good to see the dear old boy again."

This was agreed upon, and then they drifted back to lovers' whisperings,
and presently they said a fond good-night.

* * * * *

Christmas Day of 1915, and the weeks which followed were like some happy
dream for Denzil and Amaryllis. Each hour seemed to discover some new
aspect which caused further understanding and love to augment. They spent
long late afternoons in the cedar parlour dipping into books and a
delicious pleasure was for Amaryllis to be nestled in Denzil's arms on
the sofa while he read aloud to her in his deep, magnetic voice.

Beatrice Ardayre at this period was like a pleased mother cat purring in
the sun while her kittens gambol. Her well-beloved was content, and she
was satisfied. She always seemed to be there when wanted and yet to leave
the lovers principally to themselves.

Another of their joys was to motor about the beautiful country, exploring
the old, old churches and quaint farmhouses and manors with which North
Somerset abounds; and they went all over the estate also and saw all the
people who were their people and their friends. The union was thoroughly
approved of, and although the engagement was not to be officially
announced until after the New Year it was quite understood, as the
tenants had all heard of John's instructions in his will. But perhaps the
most supreme joy of all was when they could play with the baby Benedict
together alone for half an hour before he went to bed. Then they were
just as foolish and primitive as any other two young things with their
firstborn. He was a very fine and forward baby and already expressed a
spirit and will of his own, and it always gave Denzil the very strangest
thrill when he seized and clung firmly to one of his fingers with his
tiny, strong, chubby hand. And over all his qualities and perfections his
parents then said wonderful things together!

Every subtle and exquisite pleasure, mystical, symbolical and material,
which either had ever dreamed of as connected with this living proof of
love, was realised for them. And to know that soon, soon, they would be
united for always--wedded--not merely engaged. Oh! that was
glorious--when passion need be under no restraint--when there need be no
good-night!

For in this the chivalry of Denzil never failed--and each day they grew
to respect each other more.

Verisschenzko was to arrive in time for dinner on the last day of
the old year. That afternoon was one of even unusually perfect
happiness--motoring slowly round the park and up on to the hills in
Amaryllis' little two-seater which she drove herself. They got out at the
top and leaned upon a gate from which they seemed to be looking down over
the world. Peaceful, smiling, prosperous England! Miles and miles of her
fairest country lay there in front of them, giving no echo of war.

"If we had been born sixty years ago, Denzil, what different thoughts
this view would be creating in our minds. We would have no
speculation--no uncertainty--we should feel just happy that it is ours
and would be ours for ever! The world was asleep then!"

"St�pan would say that it was resting before the throes of struggle must
begin. Now we are going to face something much greater than the actual
war in France, but if we are strong we ought to come through. We have
always been saner than other peoples, so perhaps our upheaval will be
saner too."

"Whatever there is to face, we shall be together, Denzil, and nothing
can really matter then--and we must make our little Benedict armed
for the future, so that he will be fitted to cope with the conditions
of his day."

"Look there at the blue distance, darling, could anything be more
peaceful? How can anyone in the country realise that not two hundred
miles away this awful war is grinding on?"

Denzil put an arm round her and drew her close to him and clasped
her fondly.

"But just for a little we must try to forget about it. I never dreamed of
such perfect happiness as we are having, Sweetheart,--my own!"

"Nor I, Denzil,--I am almost afraid--"

But he kissed her passionately and bade this thought begone. Afraid of
what? Nothing mattered since they would always be together. February
would soon come, and then they would never part again.

So the vague foreboding passed from Amaryllis' heart, and in fond
visionings they whispered plans for the spring and the summer and the
growing years. And so at last they returned to the house and found the
after-noon post waiting for them. Filson had just brought it in and
Amaryllis' letters lay in a pile on her writing table.

There happened to be none for Denzil and he went over to the fireplace
and was stroking the head of Mercury, the greatest of the big tawny dogs,
when he was startled by a little ominous cry from his Beloved, and on
looking up he saw that she had sunk into a chair, her face deadly pale,
while there had fluttered to the floor at her feet a torn envelope and a
foreign looking postcard.

What could this mean?

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