B. M. Croker

“ Lady Kesters had removed her cap and motor coat, and was seated at the table in a careless attitude, leaning her head on her hand and smoking a cigarette. The door was exactly opposite to the taproom, and the assembled crowd enjoyed a rare and unexpected spectacle. A woman smoking—ay, and looking as if she were well used to it and enjoying herself—a lady, too—there was a string of pearls round her throat, and the hand that supported her dark head was ablaze with diamonds. ”

“ It was not impossible that these amiable visitations afforded Miss Parrett a delicious, and exquisite satisfaction.
The Drum Inn closed at ten o’clock, and even before the church clock struck, the Hogbens had retired; but the former Hussar officer, accustomed to late hours, and with the long summer night seducing him, found it impossible to retire to his three-cornered chamber—where the walls leant towards him so confidentially, and the atmosphere reeked of dry rot. No, he must breathe the sweet breath of the country, have some exercise, and walk himself weary under the open sky. ”

“ Wynyard, as he stood watching her, asked himself, Was she also passing out of his life? In another moment a yew hedge had hid her from his eyes.
“I believe I’ve done it now!” he muttered. “I could not help it; she knows, and is ready to kill me for my presumption! She will tell her aunts, and I shall get the sack.”
He picked up a small blossom that Aurea had dropped on the sundial, opened his watch, and carefully placed the little flower along with the little photograph. When people are in love, what irrational follies tempt them! ”

“ Owen was secretly amused, though his face was impassive. Here was Uncle Dick, extraordinarily eager for his company, actually chartering a motor, and grudging him out of his sight for a couple of hours! He never dreamt of the old man’s hungry heart—how, at times, life seemed empty and hopeless—and he had nothing to look forward to but the grave.
[297] The narrow escape of his nephew had brought home to him that he was really fond of the scapegrace now confronting him; even in a holland coat and chauffeur’s cap, what a handsome, well-set-up young fellow! ”

“ It was about four o’clock on a lovely afternoon in April; the air was sweet and stimulating, and the newcomer was conscious of a sense of exhilaration and satisfaction, as he looked across the stretch of meadows lying in the sunlight.
Wynyard was country-bred, and the familiar sights and sounds awakened pleasant memories. He noted the bleating of lambs, the cries of plover, the hedges powdered with thorn, and the patches of primroses. Everything was so rural and so restful—such a contrast to the roar of London, the skimming taxis, the hooting and clanking of motors, and the reek of petrol ”

“ ON YAMPTON HILL
It was not the horse, but the horse’s rider that was of consequence. Where was she? What had happened? Spurred by an agony of apprehension, Wynyard ran in the direction from which the runaway had appeared. In five minutes’ time a speck, and then a figure came into sight, and this presently resolved itself into Miss Morven—apparently unhurt. She, too, had been running; her habit was splashed, she carried her hat in her hand, her beautiful hair was becomingly loosened, and she had a brilliant colour. ”

“ Miss Susan was evidently a talker, and Wynyard listened in civil silence as, chattering incessantly, she accompanied him down the drive and out into the village street.
“Now I am going to take you to your lodgings, where I hope you will be comfortable,” and she looked at him with a kindly little smile. “There is where we lived for thirty years,” pointing to a pretty old red cottage, with a paved walk through a charming garden—at present gay with daffodils and crocus.
“Do you know I planted every one of those bulbs myself,” she said; “I’m a great gardener—my sister only potters. ”

“ Girls sewing in windows, men lounging in the Drum, women shutting up their fowl, all had noted the stranger, and wondered who this fine, tall young gentleman might be? An hour later they were amazed to learn that he was no more and no less than the Parretts’ new chauffeur, who was lodging with Sally Hogben—Sally, who could talk faster and tell more about a person in five minutes than another in twenty. ”

“ You are so young, and life here is deadly dull for such as you, with all the years and energies before you,” and she looked at him interrogatively. It was dusk; she was sitting in the deep drawing-room window, her slim figure silhouetted against the fading light. Wynyard had been nailing down some cases, and came and stood, hammer in hand, in the middle of the room. She knew perfectly well why he remained in the sleepy village; it was because Aurea Morven had glorified Ottinge. ”

“ The white flowers had been gathered on Saturday in the Manor garden, and it was now Monday. Miss Parrett had adventured a drive to Westmere, returning home by four o’clock, and the car being washed and put away betimes, the chauffeur found himself at liberty. The glowing and golden September evening was enticing, and, whistling for Joss, he set out for a good long stretch before supper. On this occasion, man and dog deserted the low country and the water-meadows, and climbed the hills which sheltered the village. ”

“ Masham had not overstated the case when he declared that he “took risks.” Once or twice, when they hummed along wide, empty roads, as the wind roared past their ears, and the engine vibration was such that every nerve was ajar, it appeared to the chauffeur that he was trusting his life to a madman! Speed, his employer’s passion, seemed to grow insatiable with time—his appetite for eating up, with furious haste, miles and miles and miles, and ever hurrying onwards to the unattainable horizon, increased with indulgence. ”

“ Then the girl’s appearance—she was a girl to his fifty-six years—of superb health and vitality. What an inmate for a dull, drab home—what a stimulating companion for a lonely man!
It was a cosy little party of eight, and at a sign from the hostess, three matrons arose and preceded her up to the ghostly drawing-room, there to feel depressingly flat and to sip very superior coffee. After some devastating comments on the British climate and the British domestic, two of the quartette retired, whispering, to a sofa, in order to discuss a cure—leaving Miss Wynyard and Lady Billing tête-à-tête. ”

“ Wynyard had once quoted to his friend, “Needs must when the devil drives!” Now at times he could readily believe that the old gentleman himself was holding the steering-wheel!
Sometimes, as they tore through villages, they left a track of whirling feathers—the remains of a flock of geese or poultry; and Masham boasted, to his chauffeur’s disgust, that once, between Pau and Biarritz, he and his machine had been the death of five dogs. On more than one occasion, when his excitement was frenzied, and he undoubtedly saw red, Wynyard had endeavoured to wrest the steering-wheel from his employer. ”

“ As I’ve little to do, I sometimes lend a hand. The motor is a faked-up old rattle-trap, all paint and smart cushions; but its inside is worn out. Miss Parrett is under the impression that petrol is not a necessity, and I have such desperate work to get it, and she always cross-examines me so sharply, and gives the money as such a personal favour, that one would suppose I wanted the beastly thing for my own consumption. It is a riddle to me why she ever bought the car. ”

“ Hogben’s at-home day, I suppose! The parlour windows are never opened, the atmosphere is poisonous, and thick with the reek of old furniture. So here I am! I’ve faked up a table by putting blocks under the yellow box, for the washstand is impossible. This room is old and low; if I stand upright in some places, my head is likely to go through the ceiling, and in others my legs to go through the floor; but I know the lie of the land now. The window looks into a big orchard, and beyond that are miles of flat country; but you’ve seen Ottinge, so I spare you local colour. ”

“ Many talked as if the world had not moved for thirty years, and evinced a dull-witted contentment, a stolid refusal to look facts in the face; but others, the younger generation, gave him a new perspective—these read the papers, debated their contents, and took a keen interest in their own times.
Wynyard generally had a word with old Thunder, and played a game of chess with Pither, the organist. Captain Ramsay was established in his usual place—smoking, silent, and staring. ”

“ You are lazy, Miss Susan Parrett—this is sleepy hollow.”
“Oh, my dear child, you know perfectly well it’s your Aunt Bella; and she won’t make up her mind. What’s done one day is taken down another. What is that awful row?”
“It’s Mackenzie and Joss,” cried Aurea, dashing towards the door. Mackenzie, at large and unnoticed, had stealthily followed the chauffeur out of the room, and stolen a march upon his deadly enemy—Miss Parrett’s impudent and interloping mongrel. ”

“ When the choice of Owen’s future employment was duly imparted to his uncle and brother-in-law, the latter received it with approval, the former with a series of alarming explosions.
“His nephew—his heir—a common chauffeur! Outrageous! Why not enlist, and be the King’s servant, if livery he must wear?” Then, in a tone of angry sarcasm, “I see—I see his reason. The fellow will be gadding round, making believe to himself it’s his own machine; to many young asses, driving a car is an extraordinary pleasure. ”

“ I think some one said he had been on a ranch up-country.”
Aurea looked out of the window, and was silent. Joey knew the world, and Joey, for all her free-and-easy ways and her noisy manners, was au fond a sensible, practical, little person.
“I dare say you are right, Joey,” she remarked at last.
“Why, of course I am! I grant you that the man is rather an unusual type of chauffeur, to come down to a dull situation in a dull little village; but, for goodness’ sake, don’t run away with the idea that he is some swell in disguise, for he is not; he is just ‘off the cab rank’—no more and no less. ”

“ Some distant Parrett relative bequeathed a heap of money to Miss Parrett, and she and Miss Susan have gone back to the Manor. Bella Parrett must be well over seventy; Susan is about fifty, has the youngest heart I ever knew in an elderly body, and is the most unselfish creature in the world. Miss Parrett is an egotistical old person, full of pedigree and importance, but always delightfully sweet and affectionate to me. She looks obstinate and self-willed, and I feel positive that some one has dared her to buy a motor! ”

“ I was reading a thriller in the train. The worst of it is, that just as you become passionately interested and something tremendous is going to happen, you are choked off by a full-page advertisement of pills or boot polish. I like my fiction undiluted; don’t you?”
Aurea was amazed at this flow of conversation from the monosyllabic Owen. Evidently Owen was one individual, and Mr. Wynyard another. She was even more impressed by the quiet confidence of his manner. Had he noted her embarrassment and nervousness? Suddenly he turned to her, and said—
“And how is Ottinge, Miss Morven?” ”

“ As Miss Morven was proceeding homewards, and, as usual, unattended (in spite of her Aunt Bella’s repeated remonstrances) , she passed the Drum, and noticed a motor in waiting, and also a light in a conspicuous part of the premises—the little, bulging, front sitting-room. Here two figures were sharply outlined on the yellow blind. As Aurea looked, she saw a man and woman standing face to face; the man put his hands on the woman’s shoulders and stooped and kissed her. She recognised his profile in that instant—it was the profile of Owen Wynyard! ”

“ Having known the pinch and humiliation of genteel poverty and practised stern self-denial in his youth, Sir Richard was naturally the last man to have any sympathy with a nephew—a restless, reckless scatter-brain—who was following in the footsteps of his squandering forefathers. The good-looking young scapegrace must have a sharp lesson, and learn the value of money and independence.
Lady Kesters’ promised interview with her uncle took place. He was fond of Leila in his own brusque fashion, and secretly plumed himself on having manœuvred her marriage. ”

“ Hugo de Montfort was a self-possessed young man, with sleek black hair and a pair of curiously unreadable grey eyes: an idler about town—clever, crafty, unscrupulous, and much given to cards and racing.
He welcomed his old pal Wynyard with enthusiasm—and secretly marked him for his own. Wynyard—so said report—was a nailing rider, a good sort, popular, and known to be the nephew and heir of a rich, unmarried uncle; so he played the rôle of old schoolfellow and best pal for all it was worth. ”

“ Wynyard roamed hither and thither as the freak took him, and surrendered himself to the intoxication that comes of motion in the open air—a purely animal pleasure shared with his companion.
They surprised the dozing cattle, and alarmed astonished sheep, sent families of grazing rabbits scuttling to their burrows; they heard the night-jar, the owl, and the corn-crake; bats flapped across their path, and in narrow lanes the broad shoulders of Wynyard broke the webs of discomfited spiders. ”

“ Villages are pestilential traps, swarming with pretty girls. Just the place where Owen will fall into the worst scrape of all—matrimony. He is a good-looking chap; they’ll all be after him!”
“I don’t believe there’s a woman in Ottinge under forty, and I never saw a more hard-featured lot—never. You know I stayed in the neighbourhood with the Davenants years ago.”
“Another thing—no one can take Owen for anything but a gentleman!” and Sir Richard put up his glasses and surveyed his niece, with an air as much as to say, “There’s a poser!” ”

“ As for Wynyard, his fate was sealed! A chauffeur without a car is as a swan upon a turnpike road. He had had visions of proposing himself as coachman—for he [252] did not wish to leave the village, and the vicinity of Aurea Morven—but Miss Parrett had other plans. In her opinion Owen, the chauffeur, was too good-looking to remain about the place—on account of the maids—and indeed her sister Susan treated him with most shocking familiarity, and spoke to him almost as if he were her equal. ”