The Independence of Claire by Mrs. George de Horne Vaizey
CHAPTER TWENTY.
THE FLOWERY WAY.
Only a few hours before her son's unexpected arrival, Mrs Fanshawe hadwarmly pressed Claire to extend her visit to a fortnight at least, andClaire had happily agreed. Mrs Fanshawe recalled the incident as shepoured out tea, and rated herself for her imprudence, but the deed wasdone; there was the girl, looking pretty enough to turn any young man'shead, and there, alas! was Erskine, who should, by all the laws of whatwas right and proper, be even now making love to Janet Willoughby inScotland! Janet was rich, Janet was well born, Janet was amiable andeasily led, for years past Mrs Fanshawe had set her heart on Janet as adaughter-in-law, and she was not easily turned from her purpose.Throughout that first afternoon her thoughts were busily engagedplanning ahead, striving to arrange the days to the hindrance ofdangerous _tete-a-tetes_, Erskine appeared to have returned in ignoranceof Miss Gifford's presence. Mrs Fanshawe had been careful to avoid allreference to the girl in her letters, and was unable to think how theinformation could have leaked out, nevertheless the choice of MajorHumphreys as a companion filled her with suspicion. Never before hadsuch an invitation been given on Erskine's initiative; on more than oneoccasion, indeed, he had confessed that he found the Major a bore, andhad expressed surprise at his mother's liking for so dull a man.
Mrs Fanshawe had never found the Major dull, since he shared withenthusiasm her own passion for gardening, and was a most valuableadviser and assistant. Together they had planned the flagged pathwinding low between the high banks of the rock garden, together they hadplanted the feathery white arenaria calearica in the crevices of thesteps leading upward to the pergola, together they had planned theeffect of clusters of forget-me-not, and red tulips among the longgrasses in the orchard. There was never any dearth of conversationbetween Major Humphreys and Mrs Fanshawe, and a stroll round the rosegarden might easily prolong itself into a discussion lasting a couple ofhours. Hence came the suspicion, or Erskine knew as much, and haddeliberately invited this man before any one of his own friends.Despite all appearance to the contrary, Mrs Fanshawe felt convincedthat "the bore" had been brought down to engage her own attention, andso leave her son free to follow his own devices. She set her lips, anddetermined on a counter move.
A _partie carree_ was dangerous under the circumstances; safety lay in acrowd. That evening when Mrs Fanshawe retired to dress for dinner, thetelephone in her boudoir was used to ring up all the big houses in theneighbourhood, invitations were given galore for tennis, for dinner, forlunch; and return invitations were accepted without consultation withher son. At the end of half an hour she hung up the receiver, satisfiedthat Erskine's opportunities for _tete-a-tetes_ would be few. Perhapsalso time would suggest some excuse for shortening the girl's visit tothe ten days originally planned. She must think it out, put her wits towork. Claire was a pretty creature and a delightful companion, but anobody, and poor into the bargain. She could not be allowed to upset acherished plan!
During dinner Mrs Fanshawe alluded casually to the coming gaieties, andmentally paid a tribute of admiration to the _aplomb_ with which Clairelistened, and smiled, betraying not a flicker of surprise at the suddenchange of programme. The good lady was so pleased with the result ofher own scheming, that when later on the Major proposed a game ofpatience, she accepted at once, and viewed with equanimity the sight ofthe two young people strolling down the garden path. It would be thelast night when such an escape would be possible!
It was an exquisite moonlight night, clear enough to show the colour ofthe flowers in the beds and borders. Claire's white dress took on aghostly hue against the deep background of the trees, her cheeks werepale, too, and the long line of eyelash showed dark against her cheeks.She felt very happy, very content, just the least little bit in theworld, afraid! Captain Fanshawe was smoking a cigarette, and in theintervals drawing deep sighs of enjoyment.
"There's only one thing that worries me--why didn't I come back lastweek? To think of rain, and mist, and smoky fires, and then--This! Ifeel like a man who has been transported into fairyland!"
Claire felt as if she also was in fairyland, but she did not say so.There are things that a girl does not say. They paced up and down thewinding paths, and came to the flight of steps leading to the pergola,"The Flowery Way" as Mrs Fanshawe loved to call it, where the arenariacalearica shone starry white in the moonlight. Erskine stopped short,and said urgently--
"Would you mind walking on alone for a few yards? I'll stand here ...while you go up the steps. Please!"
Claire stared in surprise, but there seemed no reason to deny so simplea request.
"And what am I to do when I get there?"
"Just stand still for a moment, and then walk on... I'll come after!"
Claire laughed, shrugged, and went slowly forward along the flaggedpath, up the flower-sprinkled stair, to pause beneath an arch of pinkroses and look back with an inquiring smile. Erskine was standing whereshe had left him, but he did not smile in response, while one might havecounted twenty, he remained motionless, his look grave and intent, thenhe came quickly forward, leapt up the shallow steps and stood by herside.
"Thank you!" he said tersely, but that was all. Neither then or latercame any explanation of the strange request.
For a few moments there was silence, then Erskine harked back to hisformer subject.
"Scottish scenery is very fine, but for restful loveliness, Surrey ishard to beat. You haven't told me yet how you like our little place,Miss Gifford! It's on a very modest scale, but I'm fond of it. There'sa homey feeling about it that one misses in bigger places, and the materis a genius at gardening, and gets the maximum of effect out of thespace. Are you fond of a garden?"
"I've never had one!" Claire said, and sighed at the thought. "That'sone of the Joys that does _not_ go with a roving life! I've never beenable to have as many flowers as I wanted, or to choose the right foliageto go with them, or to pick them with the dew on their leaves." Shepaused, smitten with a sudden recollection. "One day this year, aclose, smouldering oven-ey day, I came in from school and found--a boxfull of roses! There were _dewdrops_ on the leaves, or what looked likedewdrops. They were as fresh as if they had been gathered an hourbefore. Dozens of roses, with great long stems. They made my room intoa bower."
"Really! Did they? How very jolly," was Erskine's comment.
His voice sounded cool and unperturbed, and Claire did not venture tolook at his face. She thought with a pang, that perhaps after all shehad been mistaken. Perhaps Mrs Willoughby had been the real donor ...perhaps he had never thought... She hurried on terrified lest herthoughts might be suspected.
"Mrs Fanshawe has been so kind, allowing me to send boxes of fruit andflowers to a friend in hospital. One of our mistresses, who is beingtreated for rheumatism."
"Poor creature!" said the Captain with careless sympathy. "Dull workbeing in hospital in this weather. How have you been getting on with mymother, Miss Gifford? I'm awfully glad to find you down here, though Ishould have enjoyed showing you round myself. I'm a bit jealous of themater there! She's a delightful companion, isn't she? So keen andalert. I don't know any woman of her age who is so young in spirit.It's a great gift, but--" he paused, drew another cigarette from hiscase, and stared at it reflectively, "it has its drawbacks!"
"Yes. I can understand that. It must be hard to feel young, to _be_young in heart and mind, and to be handicapped by a body that persistsin growing old. I've often thought how trying it must be."
"I suppose so. Yes. I'm afraid I wasn't thinking about it in thatlight. I was not discussing the position from my mother's point ofview, but from--her son's! It would be easier sometimes to deal with aplacid old lady who was content with her knitting, and cherished an old-fashioned belief in the superiority of man! Well! let us say theequality. But the mater won't even grant that. By virtue of hersuperior years she is under the impression that she can still manage myaffairs better than I can myself, which,
Looking at the firmly cut profile it seemed ridiculous to think of anyone managing this man if it were not his will to be managed. Mother andson were alike in possessing an obstinate self-will. A conflict betweenthem would be no light thing. Woman-like, Claire's sympathies leant tothe woman's side.
"It must be very difficult for a mother to realise that her son isreally past her control. And when she _does_, it must be a painfulfeeling. It isn't painful for the son; it's only annoying. The motherfares worst!"
Captain Fanshawe laughed, and looked down at the girl's face withadmiring eyes.
"What a faculty you have of seeing the other side! Do you always takethe part of the person who isn't here? If so, all the better for methis last week, when the mater has been spinning stories of myobstinacy, and pig-headedness, and general contradictiveness. I thoughtI had better hurry home at once, before you learnt to put me down as ahopeless bad lot!"
Claire stood still, staring with widened eyes.
"Hurry home--hurry home before--" She stopped short, furious withherself for having taken any notice of the slip, and Erskine gave ashort embarrassed laugh, and cried hastily--
"Oh, I knew; of course I knew! The rain was only an excuse. The realreason was that as soon as I knew you were staying here, I hadn'tpatience to stay on. I stood it for exactly three hours, thinking ofyou in this garden, imagining walking about as we are walking now, andthen--I bolted for the afternoon train!"
Claire felt her cheeks flame, and affected dignity to hide her deep,uncontrollable joy.
"If _I_ had been your hostess--"
"But you weren't, you see... You weren't! For goodness' sake don't putyourself in her place next. Be Claire Gifford for once, and say you areglad to see me!" His eyes met hers and twinkled with humour as he addedsolemnly. "There's not a single solitary convention that could possiblybe broken by being civil to a man in his own home! Even your ultrasensitive conscience--"
"Never mind my sensitive conscience. What I want to know is, how didyou know? Who told you that I was here?"
It was significant that the possibility that Mrs Fanshawe had writtenof her guest never occurred to Claire's mind; that Erskine like herselfdiscounted such a possibility. He replied with a matter-of-factsimplicity which left Claire marvelling at the obtuseness of mankind--
"Janet, of course. Janet Willoughby. We were staying in the samehouse. We were talking of you yesterday morning, and comparing notesgenerally. She said you were--oh! quite a number of agreeable things--and I agreed with her, with just one exception. She considered that youwere responsive. I said I had never found any one less so. She saidyou were always so ready to meet her halfway. I complained that yourefused to meet me at all. I ... er ... told her how I felt about it,and she said my chance was waiting if I choose to take it--that you werestaying here keeping the mater company. So--"
Claire said nothing. She was thinking deeply. For how many days hadJanet been staying in the same house with Erskine? Perhaps a week,certainly several days, yet it had been only yesterday morning that shehad given the news. Yesterday morning; and in three hours he had flown!How was Janet faring now, while Claire was walking in fairyland?
"You are not angry? Why do you look so serious? Tell me you are notsorry that I came?" said a deep voice close to her ear, but before shehad time to answer, footsteps approached, and Mrs Fanshawe's voice washeard calling in raised accents--
"Erskine! are you there? Give me your arm, dear; I am so tired. It'ssuch a perfect night, that it seemed a shame to stay indoors. The Majorhas been admiring `The Flowery Way.' It certainly looks its best to-night." She turned towards Major Humphreys with her light, cynicallaugh. "My son declares that it is profanation to allow ordinary,commonplace mortals to walk up those steps! He always escorts myvisitors round by another way. He is ungallant enough to say that hehas never yet seen a girl whom he would care to watch walk up thosesteps in the moonlight. She would have to be quite ideal in everyrespect to fit into the picture. We'll go round by the lily garden,Erskine, and then I think Miss Gifford and I will be off to bed. Youmen will enjoy a smoke."
For the next ten minutes Mrs Fanshawe kept tight hold of her son's arm,and Claire talked assiduously to Major Humphreys. She knew now whyErskine had asked her to walk ahead up "The Flowery Way!"