Ever After (11 page)

“Yes, Edward.”

Looking very white, Dinah started to slide cautiously from the saddle. Bracken stepped back to steady her as she reached the ground, and she glanced up at him, half in gratitude, half in a sort of warning.

“Did you thank Mr. Murray for coming to the rescue?” Alwyn inquired. His tone when he spoke to her was always half-way between what he might use to his dogs and to a child of six.

“Thank you, Mr. Murray,” said Dinah listlessly, and withdrew herself from Bracken’s hands. She took three or four uncertain steps and collapsed on the ground without a sound.

Quickly as Bracken moved, the big man was quicker, and Bracken stood watching while Alwyn stooped above his sister and raised her limp body across his arms.

“Well, I’m damned!” he said. “I thought the little beggar was shamming! Here, Arthur!” The groom looked out of the stable door, where he had led Thunderbolt away to unsaddle. “Take Lady Dinah into the house, will you, and ask the governess to send for a doctor. It’s the left knee. Probably wants nothing but hot applications and a bandage, but we’ll make sure.” With no more ceremony he transferred Dinah, still unconscious, to the groom’s outstretched arms and again dismissed her from his mind. “Being from Virginia, as I understand, you probably know all about horses,” he resumed to Bracken. “How does Sunbeam suit you? We’ll go in this way,” he added, starting towards the stables.

Bracken forced himself to follow without remonstrance, and for half an hour listened with appropriate comments to the life stories and virtues of the Viscount’s hunters. Dinah. Odd little name, for his darling. But so right, so essentially hers. Governess—groom—doctor—but wasn’t there anyone who
cared
? Wasn’t there anyone to hold her hand if it hurt, and make a bit of a fuss because she was so brave? There was a sister—the beautiful one the Major had mentioned. There was the Earl. Who loved Dinah around here, who petted her, to whom did she turn for comfort? He thought he knew the answer, after those few minutes in the stable-yard. There wasn’t anybody. And that was the reason for her pathetic dignity, the reason she held her small shoulders so straight, the reason her eyes were so watchful and grave. Dinah hadn’t anybody. But she would have, from now on. She would have Bracken Murray—

“No, really, I couldn’t possibly let you start back without some food in you,” Alwyn was saying, for Bracken’s apparent attention and a few knowing remarks had convinced him that here was a very sound man worth cultivating, and pleasant besides. “Breakfast will be going by now, I should think. You must come along in and meet my father.” He set a hand under Bracken’s elbow and piloted him firmly out of the stables.

Hoping for further news of Dinah, Bracken allowed himself to be persuaded, and accompanied Alwyn across the stable-yard to where a wrought-iron gate opened into the walled kitchen garden. Here there was some delay and confusion while the setter who was Alwyn’s privileged companion was separated from the rest of the dogs, who were not allowed in the house. But at last the gate closed heartlessly on canine protest in a dozen keys, and the two men and the setter proceeded across the kitchen garden, in which fat green shoots showed in tidy rows, and espaliered fruit trees bloomed. They passed through another iron gate and came out on the garden front, where the long lawns sloped to the river’s brim and white peacocks strutted in full display. Still talking horses,
they mounted the wide, shallow steps of the terrace which was on two levels, and entered the house by a door between tall Ionic columns.

The dining room at the Hall was in the baroque style. Bracken, who was not unaccustomed to grandeur, nevertheless received an impression that all of Farthingale could have been set down
comfortably
within its four walls, which were the colour of a duck’s egg. The tall mantelpiece repeated the elaborate plasterwork of the coved ceiling, and the heavily scrolled wall panels were picked out with gold. There were statues, nearly life-size and rather nude, in deep shell-niches. A crystal chandelier overhung the mahogany table which stood in the middle of the room, miles from the fire on one side and from the sunlight streaming in the long windows on the other. The hangings were of ivory brocade, the carpet was nearly as pale. The temperature of the room seemed entirely unaffected by the blazing fire, and was roughly the same as that of the stable-yard.

At the far end of the table, which was laid for four and would have seated twelve with ease, old Lord Enstone sat alone, drinking a last cup of tea behind
The
Times
, with an empty plate and
toast-rack
in front of him. The two fawn-coloured great Danes
couchant
beside his chair raised their heads alertly but made no other move as Bracken entered with Alwyn.

“’Morning, Edward. Everybody late, as usual,” was the Earl’s greeting.

“Good morning, Father. I persuaded Mr. Murray to come in for a cup of tea before he rides back to Farthingale.”

Lord Enstone took another look around the edge of
The
Times
and perceived the stranger. Then he snatched off his pince-nez, which dangled from a black cord, and rose to extend a welcoming hand, proving to be even taller than his burly son.

“My dear fellow, you’re abroad early!” he said cordially. “Been trying the horses, eh?”

“I’ve got Sunbeam out, sir. She goes very kindly. I’m most grateful to you for the loan of her while I’m here.”

“Oh, nonsense, horses all eating their heads off with nothing to do! Glad if they can be of some use to you. Sit here, and Edward will bring you something to eat.” He pulled out the chair on his right, and resumed his own. “I can recommend the kedgeree this morning.”

“Kedge—kidneys—bacon—cold ham—what’ll it be?” Alwyn was lifting covers at the sideboard at the end of the room, where
spirit-lamps
burned under silver dishes beside a humming tea-urn, and a row of boiled eggs stood up-ended in their china cups with a tiny knitted cosy over each one.

Bracken said he would have kedge, thanks very much, with
perhaps
a spot of bacon alongside.

“Dinah has been at it again, sir,” Alwyn continued over his shoulder, filling a plate for Bracken and one for himself. “Mr. Murray found her down with a twisted knee, and what’s more she has gummed up Thunderbolt this time!

To Bracken’s surprise Lord Enstone only wheezed with
amusement
.

“It’s not really funny, Father. Some day she’ll smash up a good horse beyond repair. I say she’s still not too old for a thorough whacking. Promised it to her the last time.” Alwyn set down Bracken’s plate on the table before him with some emphasis and took the chair across from him. The setter lay down behind its master with a sigh and rested its head on its paws. The great Danes guarding Lord Enstone went back to sleep. Nash, the elderly butler, came in with hot toast in silver racks which he placed before Bracken and the Viscount, and Alwyn said, without looking up, “Tea, please, Nash.” The butler filled two cups from the urn and brought them to the table, stepping delicately around the dogs with an ease born of habit, and then began to lay another place beyond Alwyn. “What happened, anyway?” Alwyn was
demanding
of Bracken, as Bracken had feared all along that he might. “Did you see her come off?”

“Not very well. I was pretty far behind her. There was some sort of fumble at a gate, and she rolled clear.”

“Tried to lift him too soon,” Lord Enstone said, nodding. “She always does that. Good hands, though, what? Rides easy. When she was a little tyke Archie used to practise her with the straps of my field-glasses fastened to the back of a chair, till she learnt to use her wrists right.”

“Well, are you going to have a word with her, sir, or shall I use my own judgment?” Alwyn attacked his breakfast. “Ask them to make fresh tea, Nash, Lady Clare can’t drink this stuff when she comes down.”

“Dinah has wrenched her knee rather badly, I’m afraid,” Bracken asserted pointedly, to see what would happen. “I was more
concerned
about her than about Thunderbolt.”

“Keeled right over in the yard, sir,” Alwyn remarked to his father. “Knocked clean out, by Jove! I told them to send for a doctor. He’ll fix her up,” he added imperviously to their guest.

“Well, I’ll have her on the carpet again if you say so,” sighed Lord Enstone, bored. “Won’t do any good, though. She must be wheedling one of the grooms, you know, she could never manage the girth alone.”

“Find out who it is and sack him, that’ll stop it!” Alwyn
suggested
.
“Or lick the daylights out of Dinah, I don’t care which. We never had trouble like this with Clare.”

“Who said Clare?” cried a girl’s voice, and the beautiful one came in—tall, fair, full-bodied like her brother, a young Diana of a girl. She was followed by two tiny Yorkshire terriers, their
forelocks
done up in bows of pink ribbon.

Bracken rose, and was presented to her. While he was still on his feet a young man entered by the same door. He bore a faint resemblance to Dinah in his sharp jaw-line, fine blue eyes, and small-boned frame—her brother Archie. A handsome black-and-white cocker spaniel trotted at his heels and paused to sniff Bracken politely while its master shook hands. Archie went on to fill a plate for Clare at the sideboard along with his own, and Nash brought more toast and the fresh tea. The places at table were all full now, and Bracken perceived that Dinah was not expected to breakfast. Her escapade was again recounted, and Archie said, “Hurt herself?”

“Wrenched a knee,” Alwyn replied indifferently. “Not enough to teach her.”

Bracken returned to Farthingale in a state of indignation and described with some bitterness at his second breakfast-table that morning the heartlessness of Dinah’s family.

“But, darling, that’s the way English girls are brought up!” Virginia assured him. “Until you’re out, you’re absolutely the dust beneath everybody’s chariot wheels, especially if you have an older sister! How old do you think this Dinah is?”

“She’s fifteen.”

“Well, there you are, she’s still in the schoolroom! You know perfectly well you wouldn’t see her at breakfast with the family. She and the governess have their meals upstairs. You remember how furious I used to get over here when I was that age, being treated like a child and not allowed in the drawing room except for tea! All Mother’s English friends thought I was most
frightfully
spoilt and forward for my age, and all the girls wanted to go and live in America when I told them how different things were.”

“Oh, dear, women’s rights again,” murmured the Major, slicing the top off his boiled egg with a single stroke. “At what age do young ladies in America begin to take their meals in the dining room, then?”

“As soon as we stop dribbling, unless there’s company!” said Virginia wilfully, and the Major laughed. “And when there is company we sit on the stairs and peek through the bannister. But then, of course, I’m not an earl’s daughter,” she added, Bracken thought rather unkindly.

“These big sporting families are rather hard on their young,
I suppose,” the Major conceded. “The poor little beggars are put up on ponies before they can walk. And then the girls are made to ride side-saddle, which is an invention of the devil. I never can see
how
they stay on!”

“Oh, that’s quite simple, really,” put in Sue, who had done it all her life. “It’s a much safer seat than riding astride. You just hook your knee—”

“So I’ve been told, my dear, but we have some very nasty accidents all the same,” said the Major.

“Would you have us wear
breeches
?” inquired Virginia,
fluttering
her eyelashes.

“No, but I’d have you not hunt, I think.”

“But think of the fun we’d never have!” she objected.

“And the broken collar-bones! You mustn’t take Alwyn amiss,” he added to Bracken. “He’s no end of a fine fellow, I believe, and very popular with the tenantry. They like a good firm hand, you know, and he won’t stand any nonsense from anybody. He’s
devoted
to Clare, too, and very choosy about who comes courting her.”

“Yes, tell us about the beautiful Clare,” Virginia teased. “You’re only going on about this Dinah to throw us off the scent. What’s Clare like?”

“Taller than you are—fair—lovely skin—good teeth—”

“You needn’t sound as though she was a horse, darling! Is she nice to know?”

“Well, give me time,” he hedged cautiously. “You can’t tell much at breakfast.” He considered this with a quizzical eyebrow. “Or
can
you?”

“A woman who attracts you at breakfast is surely good for the other twenty-four hours!” the Major remarked with a give-away glance at Sue.

“He’s just pretending,” said Virginia, eyeing Bracken shrewdly. “He
can’t
wait to see her again, and he hopes we won’t notice! I can tell!”

Bracken made an effort to meet her half-way.

“
How
can you tell?” he demanded, allowing a certain crafty embarrassment to show.

“You look sort of dazed,” said Virginia, who often came uncomfortably close to reading his mind. “And your appetite is gone.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, not very convincingly. “I’m full of Lord Enstone’s kedge.”

And so Alwyn was devoted to Clare, he thought. Who is
devoted
to Dinah, then? I am. They can have their Clare, Dinah is mine. I’ll get her out of there as soon as possible, and give her a good time. Andromeda in Gloucestershire. What ho, dragons,
here I come!—But with a broken lance, he thought ruefully. We’ll have to get on with that divorce business as fast as possible now. I’ll talk to Partridge. I’ll write to Father. Maybe also I’d better pray to God.

T
HE
ensuing day was a long, bemused interval of time which must be got through before he could do anything about seeing Dinah again. To a household as casual and callous as the one at the Hall, any inquiry about her injury within twenty-four hours was bound to seem officious or else stark mad.

In the afternoon he went up to his room and began a letter to Cabot, tore it up and began another. They had been all over it so many times before, but until now only as it were theoretically. There had been no particular rush or reason for a divorce, except to put Lisl and all she stood for behind him. But now there was Dinah. Now there was a reason.