Mary of Marion Isle

Chapter VIII

The Station

On the day following his farewell to Rose, Andrew lunched at West House in Cavendish Square. The arrangement was that he and Algernon were to proceed to Dover by an afternoon train and there spend the night, catching the Brindisi express boat the next morning. This was Clara's idea.

"You see," explained Algernon to Andrew, "she says it is to give me a rest and make a break in the journey, as though that little bit to Dover mattered one way or the other. What she means is that I might make a night of it if I didn't start till the next morning, forgetting that one can do that at Dover."

"No, you can't, old boy," answered Andrew firmly. "There will be no evenings out while you are in my charge, for I've got to earn that fee by faithful duty, which Clara knows."

"Oh! yes," chuckled Algernon, "there isn't much that Clara doesn't know. But what I don't understand is why she bothers about me at all. It isn't cousinly affection, for she has none for me, and whether I live or die will make no difference to her—perhaps, though, it would make a difference," he added reflectively.

"I think you judge Clara rather hardly," said Andrew. "She may be fonder of you than you think."

"She may, but I am quite certain that she is fond of herself and always has something up her sleeve. However, I have no doubt you'll learn who is right some day, so as my breath is short we won't waste any in argument."

That luncheon was not a cheerful feast. Over it there seemed to hang a kind of ominous shadow which the sparkling of the wines and the gleam of the silver dishes, handed round by perfectly trained and obsequious footmen, did nothing to dispel. Lord Atterton was surly and depressed; Algernon, who did not wish to leave England, was sullen and annoyed; Andrew, whose heart ached at the separation from his adored Rose, was silent and internally sentimental. Only Clara was just the same as usual; cool, collected, pretty, beautifully dressed, immaculate in manner; armed at all points against the chances and changes of this mortal life. She chatted away gaily about Egypt which Andrew gathered she must have been reading up in a guide–book, since she told him details of the orientation of the Great Pyramid, of the number of square yards that its base covered and of the millions of tons weight of stone which it contained, facts which she asked him to verify by local inquiry. To her uncle she was sympathetic, suggesting that he might travel with her to Spain to meet the pair on their return, an idea that did not seem to appeal to him, for he only grunted. To Algernon she offered her congratulations at his chance of making acquaintance with a lovely climate and of seeing the world, also of visiting the Cairo Museum and inspecting its mummies.

"Thank you," said Algernon, "but I prefer live people to dead ones; there will be lots of time for them afterwards," a remark that did not tend to lift the general depression.

At length the meal was over and Andrew was conducted by his uncle into the study where presently Clara joined them, leaving Algernon alone in company with the port. Then ensued a jobation. Lord Atterton dilated to Andrew on the greatness of his responsibilities, on the largeness of the sum which his services were costing him, on his general doubts as to his fitness for the office which he had undertaken, as to the way in which he should keep the accounts, and so forth, till at length that young man lost his temper.

"Look here, Uncle," he said, "if you think I want this billet, you never made a greater mistake in all your life. So far as I am concerned, I'd gladly give you the fee back again, with five per cent added out of my own pocket, to be rid of the job. I have reasons of my own for wishing not to leave England just now—" here Clara looked at him sharply—"and I want to get on with my medical work, instead of fooling about the world with a difficult young man who likes—well, to indulge himself. So, if you wish, I am quite willing to cry off."

"Don't get into a huff, Andrew," interposed Clara soothingly, "you must think of Algernon, not of yourself."

"Who else do you suppose I am thinking of, Clara? It's because I'm fond of old Algy and he won't travel without me, that I'm going at all. Do you consider it a pleasant business to have him on my hands in his state of health, especially as if anything did happen to him, as is quite possible, all sorts of things might be said," here he glanced wrathfully at his uncle. "I tell you that with me it is only a matter of duty."

"Don't talk so much about your duty," muttered Lord Atterton, "but do it, and I shall judge you according to the results. Most young men would not grumble about a duty of the sort at the figure which that Somerville Black has extorted from me."

"Then I know very well how I shall be judged, and that is, precious hardly, whatever happens," exclaimed Andrew indignantly. "Now I'm off to arrange things. I suppose you'll bring Algy to the station where I will meet you," and he left the room.

Clara followed him to the hall and, slipping her arm through his, said quite gently for her:

"Don't be vexed, Andrew. I know you don't want to go, if perhaps not all your reasons, although I may guess them. I know, too, how well you are getting on in your work and, though you mayn't believe me, I'm proud of it. As for our uncle, you shouldn't blame him too much, for you see how it is with him. He is half–mad with anxiety about Algernon, and that is what makes him so unpleasant."

"Then what will he be, Clara, if the complaint should take a bad turn, as I tell you it may? Why," he added bitterly, "I shouldn't wonder if he said that I had murdered him, for though I hardly ever think about the thing, I can't help remembering that I am the next heir to his confounded title."

"If such a thing should happen, Andrew, which God forbid, well, it would be His Will, that's all. And if you will forgive me for saying so, meanwhile, in all ways, especially in any arrangements that you make contemplate for your future," she added meaningly, "I wish that you would bear more in mind what are your real position and expectations in the world. Now you must be going."

Andrew was at the station early for reasons not entirely connected with the luggage. Indeed, he expected that Rose would be there earlier still, having taken the precaution to send her a postcard on the previous night, ante–timing the departure of the train by about forty minutes. Therefore he was disappointed when a hurried but careful search of the Charing Cross terminus revealed no sign of her. Suddenly his hopes revived, for in the distance he caught sight of the tall, ascetic form of Dr. Watson, peering about him amiably, and saw that he was followed by a lady. When a few seconds later he discovered that the lady was Arabella his mental temperature fell with a suddenness that was almost alarming. Collecting himself, however, he greeted them as cordially as possible and thanked them for coming to see him off. Then, as he was about to inquire for the missing one without whom all Charing Cross was but a howling and deserted wilderness, the doctor said:

"Rose must have made a mistake about the hour of the train, since a porter told me that it does not leave for nearly forty minutes."

"I think that the mistake was Doctor West's," interrupted Arabella in her precise way. "I saw his postcard on the floor where Rose had let it fall, and certainly it said 3.10, not 3.55."

Avoiding the matter of the postcard, which would have involved explanations, Andrew asked if Rose was there.

"I don't think so," answered the doctor. "I understood that she was coming, but that she might be a little late, as she wanted first to call at a shop in Regent Street. Didn't you, Miss Black?"

"She did not mention the matter to me one way or the other, and therefore I have no idea of what she intended," replied Arabella still more precisely, adding, "Hats sometimes take a long while to try on and make people forget appointments."

This started the doctor on a dissertation about woman's obsession for dress, which he began to illustrate by ancient and savage examples, remarking that he had no doubt that Eve was careful as to the cut of her skin garments. Andrew listened with a vacuous smile which he summoned up to conceal his inward agony, and was positively relieved when he saw Mrs. Josky bustling towards him, dragging Laurie by the hand, though he thought he had got over the pain of that voluminous farewell.

"Oh! there you are, Doctor West," she exclaimed. "I thought that I might be late, having lost that dratted Laurie in the crowd outside the bus. Well, all's well that ends well, and I have brought you your rug which you left behind, also a thick coat, since a Jew with whom I do business, who once lived in Egypt, said that it is sometimes very cold there" (in fact the rug and the thick coat were a subterfuge, for Mrs. Josky had deliberately secreted them in order to follow her adored Andrew to the railway station).

He thanked her and then found it necessary to devote his attention to Laurie, who had just realized for the first time the completeness of the impending separation, and showed signs of vociferous breakdown. So, while Dr. Watson continued his lecture on female vanity to Arabella, whom it seemed really to interest, Andrew set to work to console Laurie with promises of a present of Turkish Delight, the succulence of which he described in glowing terms.

"Stop talking to that snivelling kid, who has given trouble enough already," interrupted Mrs. Josky, who felt herself neglected, "and let's go through the list of your luggage again, since if there is anything else left, I can send it by the night train to Dover."

"We've done it four times―" expostulated Andrew, and broke off as he caught sight of the large form of Dr. Somerville Black surging towards him.

"Hullo! here you are, Andrew," said Black. "I thought I would drop round and give you an idea or two that occur to me about the treatment of that young man whom you are going to bear–lead. Why, there are Watson and Arabella, but I don't see the rest of the Flower–garden," and his face fell. "They seem very interested in each other, don't they? Too much so to notice a little one like me, so here goes," and he plunged into medical details about Algernon's case, making Andrew take down a certain prescription in his note–book.

This went on until Lord Atterton and Clara appeared convoying Algernon, who seemed to be in a somewhat festive mood.

"That young man has been drinking a stirrup–cup, unless I am much mistaken," remarked Black as his keen eye fell upon him. "You will have to guard against this tendency of his, since Egypt won't do him much good if he is always half–drunk."

Andrew groaned, overwhelmed by his accumulated woes, but had no time to answer, for just then the others reached them.

The details of that interminable farewell need not be described at length. Lord Atterton said little, but Andrew, whose dark eyes roaming round in continual search of Rose upon the crowded platform fell upon his face, noted that it was wrung with grief. His mouth twisted and although the day was cold, beads of perspiration appeared upon his bald head and forehead which he wiped away with a silk pocket–handkerchief, lifting his hat to do so; his small eyes that followed his son's every movement blinked continually, and from time to time he brushed his hand across them, evidently brushing away a tear. Moreover he noticed that notwithstanding her quiet, even talk to whoever happened to be next to her, Clara also observed these things and was watching her uncle anxiously. Only Algernon did not observe. His energies were absorbed in trying to obtain a copy of the Sporting Times which was not forthcoming, and in bribing porters with sixpences to get it for him.

Andrew, who was by nature sympathetic, understood that his uncle was suffering; more, that he was terribly afraid lest he was looking his last upon his only child who, whatever his failings, was all the world to him a lonely man; perhaps even that in his soul he had some premonition that this was so. Andrew did not like his uncle; their natures were antagonistic and he had never pretended otherwise. But now for the first time he felt drawn to him and remembered that after all the same blood ran in their veins, so much so that he freed himself from the rest of the party and went to where Lord Atterton stood looking strangely alone even in that populated place.

"I will do my best for him, Uncle, I will indeed," said Andrew, in answer to the thoughts which he knew were passing through the man's mind.

"I hope so," was the steely answer. "Under all the circumstances, if you didn't, you'd be a—well, never mind. And I tell you straight out, Andrew, that if anything happens to Algernon while he is in your charge I shall never forgive you."

"Then that means that you will be very unjust, Uncle."

"Perhaps, but it is true. I hate the whole business," he added with cold passion, "and wish that I had never gone into the house of that infernal, vulgar doctor there, more than I ever wished anything in my life. But it was fate, for otherwise why should I have found you there, of all men in the world? Don't answer, for there is nothing to be said. If you want money, draw on me to any extent. Your Letter of Credit is practically unlimited."

"Why don't you come too?" asked Andrew in despair.

"If you wish to know, I'll tell you. Not for any of the reasons that I have given, but because my son does not want me. He dislikes me as much as you do yourself, and my presence would retard or destroy his chance of recovery."

Then Andrew understood all the tragedy of the life of this most successful man.

Retiring overwhelmed, he met Dr. Black, who had strolled a little way up the platform as though he were looking for some one, and was now returning to speak to his daughter.

"The Flower–garden don't appear," said the doctor, "which is odd, since I understood that she was coming."

Andrew wondered vaguely how or why he understood anything of the sort, but only said:

"So did I and everybody else. I suppose she has not met with an accident?"

"Good God!" said the doctor, starting, "I hope not."

"So do I," replied Andrew, fervently.

Then the guard ordered him into the train and everybody began to say good–bye, though their words were lost in the piercing howls to which the emotional Laurie at length gave vent.

Algernon nearly missed it after all. He had vanished. Just as the whistle blew he appeared running and waving a copy of the Sporting Times in triumph.

"I've got it," he said with a triumphant chuckle that ended in a cough. "Good–bye, Father. Keep your pecker up and your temper down, and don't forget to post it to me every week."

Lord Atterton stretched out his arm, perhaps to take his son's hand, perhaps to embrace him. In either case he was too late, for the guard pushed Algernon through the door as the train began to move, and slammed it behind him. Then they were off and the last of them that Andrew saw was Clara waving the very cleanest and most delicate of pocket–handkerchiefs and Mrs. Josky kissing one hand to him, while with the other with great vigour she shook the howling Laurie.

After this, Algernon having remarked: "Thank Heaven! That infernal business is over," went to sleep in one corner of the carriage, while Andrew sat in the other, brooding over the cruelty of fate which had prevented him from seeing Rose and racked with fears lest something should have happened to her.

At Dover his anxieties on this point were relieved, for when he entered the hotel where they had taken rooms for the night, a telegram was put into his hands. He tore it open in a fever of apprehension, to find it was from Dr. Black and read:

"Flower–garden all right. Picked a late Rose in the Strand and drove it home to be put in water in a Red vase. Had been detained selecting appropriate foliage, but found colours difficult to match. Good luck, and don't fall in love with tropical blooms which this climate never suits. Black."

From all which ponderous and characteristic joke Andrew gathered that Arabella was not far wrong when she suggested that Rose had gone to try on hats. Still, he could have wished that she had selected some other opportunity for that feminine entertainment. A shiver of doubt went through him as he reflected on this matter. If Rose loved him as much as he knew she did, how could she become so engrossed with clothes that she had missed him at the station—especially when he had given her a margin of an extra forty minutes?

Although he was not over–punctual, had their positions been reversed he could never have made such a mistake. But then women were different to men; he must always remember that women were extremely different, and that bright butterfly, Rose, flitting in the sunshine and herself filled with sweetness and light, also perhaps with dreams of which the thought thrilled him, naturally took little reck of such a common everyday thing as time. It was lucky that Dr. Black had found her, doubtless wandering bewildered in the crowd and probably being stared at by brutal men, for the Strand was not a place for her to frequent alone, also that he had been able to drive her home.

On second thoughts, was it so fortune? Now he came to think of it, how did the doctor know she was coming to the station? And generally why did he know everything about her? Not through Arabella he was sure, since, although they were living in the same house, nobody seemed to be quite so unacquainted with whatever had to do with Rose.

It never occurred to him that the drab–coloured and insignificant Angelica who did everything for Rose, possessed eyes and ears which she might be willing to put at the service of anyone who treated her kindly and generously, and that kindness and generosity were outstanding characteristics in the nature of Dr. Black. If he had thought of the matter at all, he would have concluded that Angelica was too fond of Rose and too faithful to her interests to "give her away" in any particular.

He disliked Angelica, a person who did not appeal to him because he thought her one of petty mind, and he knew that she disliked him although she pretended otherwise. Still, with the blind confidence of youth in love that believes itself to be loved, he never dreamt that Angelica would wish Rose to marry anyone but himself, or that she could conceive her cousin's true advantage to lie in another direction. Nor could he have held it possible that she told certain stories to Mrs. Josky which she knew would filter through to him with added point, in the hope that they might cause him to doubt Rose.

Yet in fact all these things were so, and Dr. Black found Sister Angelica quite useful in her way.

Truly "where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise."