Unknown (12 page)

From the Rectory they not only got
pince-nez
but also the bead antimacassar and an artificial rose, somewhat battered but none the less authentic. A Coronation mug was unearthed with some difficulty and reluctance by the woman who sold mineral waters on the Common, and then their luck failed them with twenty articles still to be found.

“A last year’s calendar, a stuffed bird and a pair of kippers!” Desmond moaned. “It just isn’t possible!”

“It is, you know,” Judith said thoughtfully, thoroughly excited now by the chase. “Because one of the conditions is that whoever made out the list knew that everything could be found—if one looked in the right place! Oh—the only way the person who made out the list could know about the kippers would be if they had some in their own house!”

“The Hannay’s house, then,” Desmond said, letting in the clutch.

“No!” Judith shook her head. “They haven’t got a refrigerator, and this weather—her best friend, Mrs. Dallas!”

“That’s inspired!” Desmond declared, and they were off.

But Judith’s inspiration was never put to the test. They had hardly gone more than a few hundred yards when, without warning, a lorry turned out of a narrow lane just ahead of them. If Desmond had not reacted, instinctively to the danger, they must have crashed into the back of it. As it was, he slewed the wheel over sharply and they shot across to the other side of the road. But the road was narrow, and before he had time to straighten out they had mounted the low grass verge and had dipped into the ditch. Fortunately it was not a very deep one and fortunately, too, the brakes on Desmond’s car were in good order, if nothing else was. None the less, they were both shot forward and Judith’s head hit the wind-screen with considerable violence.

She gave a little cry, and as soon as Desmond could extricate himself from behind the wheel he helped her out.

“Here, sit down on the grass,” he suggested, realising that she was clinging dizzily to him. “That was something of a bump you got. Let me see!”

She turned her face up to him, and already a large lump was coming up on her forehead.

“I say, I am sorry!” he said with genuine regret.

“It wasn’t your fault—” Judith began, and swayed towards him again. “Desmond, I think I’m going to faint.”

It was not quite as bad as that, but it was some little time before she felt well enough to smile wanly at him.

“I’m sorry,” she began, but Desmond interrupted her.

“No need to be. If it weren’t for the, fact that you are in pain, I’d be getting quite a kick out of being the strong supporting male!”

Instantly Judith stiffened.

“Girls are just as strong as men!” she insisted defensively.

“I expect they are, love,” he agreed pacifically. “Stronger, perhaps! But anybody, male or female, who has had a crump like that is likely to be a bit woozly, so you had better let me look after you!”

And, indeed, Judith was not sorry to let him. It was, of course, only because of the accident that it was suddenly pleasant to feel the strength of Desmond’s arm round her and to lean her head against his shoulder.

It was very quiet, for they were some distance from any houses and no more traffic passed. Judith, content just to remain still, did not look up at Desmond’s face, or she would have seen an unusual look of determination gradually increase as if he were coming to some decision. And suddenly he spoke.

“Judith!”

She looked up instantly, startled by the queer, broken note in his voice.

“Oh, Des!” she said anxiously. “Are you hurt? You should have said ”

His arm tightened.

“No, it isn’t that. It’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a long time.”

“Ask me?” she said, puzzled. “But why ever did you put it off? What is it?”

“It’s something that may—surprise you,” he said slowly, wondering even now if he was making a mistake. “It’s this—will you marry me, Judith?”

She turned in his grasp so that she could look into his face and he saw with a sinking heart that he had no chance of a favourable reply. There was utter surprise and consternation written all over the expressive little face.

“But why?” she gasped. “I don’t understand.”

She was very sweet and very appealing at that moment in her youth and inexperience, and Desmond was stirred as he had never been before by her nearness. He had always been fond of Judith, and marriage to her had seemed an easy way out of all his troubles. But now, quite genuinely, he wanted to be the man who awakened her, who taught her what love and life meant.

His arm tightened round her, and with his other hand he turned her face up to his.

“Because I love you,” he said hoarsely.

She did not stir, and that alone told Desmond the degree of his failure. To her he was still the old friend whom she had known and trusted all her life and whom she need never fear.

A soft sigh fluttered between her parted lips and her eyes grew troubled.

“Oh, Des, I didn’t know!” she said pitifully. “I’m sorry.”

He let her go so abruptly that she stumbled a little and had to clutch at his arm again.

“Sorry, Judith,” he said mechanically. And then, “Is it—quite hopeless?”

Regretfully she nodded.

‘I've just never thought,” she faltered.

He managed to smile reassuringly.

“Never mind!” he said with an effort. “And don’t look so worried! It isn’t your fault, you know!”

“No, but—but—won’t it make a difference?” she asked anxiously.

“To us being friends?” He shook his head. “No, it isn’t going to do that, Judith! But—tell me one thing. Have you turned me down because there is someone else?”

“No!” she said vehemently. “Oh no—who could there be?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Desmond said rather drily. “But if that is so, then—I’m not going to give up hoping!”

“Oh, but you mustn’t—” Judith began, and then suddenly became aware that a car was stopping just by them.

It was Charles and Linda.

Charles was out in a moment.

“Anything serious?” he asked, gripping her shoulders.

“No!” Judith said quickly. “Just a bump that made me silly for a little while!”

With a nod Charles turned to Desmond.

“What happened?” he demanded, and feeling uncomfortably like a small boy who has been caught out by a master, Desmond explained.

“Perhaps we can get it back on to the road,” Charles suggested. “Judith, go and sit in my car until we see what we can do about it!”

Judith went slowly over to Charles’s two-seater and got in beside Linda. Linda looked at her critically.

“That will be black and blue by the morning!” she commented without much sympathy.

Judith flushed.

“I expect so,” she agreed, and lapsed into silence.

With the help of a passing farm hand the men succeeded in getting Desmond’s car back on to the road. Apart from a crumpled fender and a lamp that was bent up at an angle, it did not seem to have sustained much damage.

“Good!” Charles said briefly, dusting off his hands. “Well, Enstone, you’d better carry on with your sister. I’ll take Judith back home. The sooner she is resting the better!”

“But I’m quite all right,” Judith protested.

Charles did not reply. He opened the door for Linda to get out and, to her intense annoyance, she found herself meekly obeying.

But when Charles had driven off with Judith, she turned to her brother and worked her spleen off on him.

“You’ve made a nice mess of it!” she said vindictively.

Desmond said nothing. He was rather of the same opinion himself.

For the first time in her life Judith had to give in. By the time they reached Windygates her head was throbbing unbearably. She felt sick, too, and when Miss Harriet suggested that she should go to bed for a time, she had no fight left in her.

Except that, just as he was leaving, she turned to Charles and said rather grudgingly:

“I suppose I ought to thank you.”

Charles grinned in genuine amusement.

“I shouldn’t, if it hurts you,” he said, and strolled off before she had time to reply.

JUDITH passed the strangest night that she had ever experienced. Miss Harriet had insisted that she should take two aspirins, and for once Judith, who had inherited all of her father’s scorn for even the mildest of drugs, did not refuse. But though the effect of them was to send her off to sleep very quickly, she woke an hour or so later and after that found it difficult to go properly off again. She lay in a semi-stupor through which waking dreams passed in a ceaseless procession. Sometimes she lived over again things that had actually happened and sometimes she seemed to be puzzling over the problems of a stranger who was yet herself.

In her mind she heard Desmond’s proposal all over again and came to greater consciousness to hear herself muttering regrets that she could not give him the answer that he wanted. But mainly it was Charles’s face—and Linda’s—which floated nebulously in the queer, half-lit world she was in. Again she heard Linda’s gay “Yes, of course, I’m taking part!” as if she was quite determined not to be left out. And then, later: “That will be black and blue by the morning!” as she regarded the bump on Judith’s forehead. Judith stirred restlessly on her hot pillow. Suddenly, it seemed that Linda was a different person from the one whom she had known so long. Unfriendly, grasping—no, that was nonsense! Why should she be unfriendly to a girl who could never possibly rival her own charm and beauty? Or feel that Judith had something which she wanted to possess? And yet, with that strange clear-sightedness that comes in a wakeful night, Judith knew that it was so.

Or perhaps it was that Linda had resented Charles’s insisting on being the one who took control and ordered her into her brother’s car while he himself took Judith home. Perhaps she had misinterpreted that, whereas actually, of course, it had only been because it was necessary for her to get home as quickly as possible and Desmond’s car might easily have broken down on the way—one could not tell what damage had been done with nothing more than a cursory look.

Charles had been very helpful, even kind, and she had been grateful and yet, when it came to thanking him, she had found it difficult. She must have sounded ungracious—and Charles had been amused. He had made allowances for her, treated her like a child as he so often did. She hated that. It robbed her of her self-confidence and left her feeling puzzled and muddled in her mind.

So often she had felt like that lately. As if everything that had been familiar was vanishing, and with it something of herself. And in the place of the old personality with whom she had been on such good terms a stranger was intruding. A stranger who seemed to take control and make her do things that, only a little while ago, she would never have done. Like buying all those dresses—a thing she had never wanted to do before. And, being almost painfully honest, she admitted to herself that she had wanted to get them. She had made the excuse of her forthcoming travels, but actually she had been conscious of some almost primitive urge to buy fine feathers.

And then she stopped puzzling about herself any more and thought of what she had bought. Those plain linen dresses that had suited her so well, the soft, flowery silk dresses and above all, that lovely white dress. She indulged in what is perhaps the most feminine day-dream of all—she saw herself in her pretty dress. But whereas another girl who had had a more natural upbringing would have dreamed also of a perfect companion who looked at her with adoration in his eyes, Judith was conscious only of a knowledge that, when she wore that dress, everything would be all right.

Shortly after, she fell into a deep sleep. But though she woke late she did not feel particularly refreshed, and when she went downstairs she experienced a lethargy which was entirely foreign to her. Miss Harriet looked up as she came in but made no comment. She poured out a cup of coffee as Judith sat down at the table, but did not offer any food, for which Judith was thankful. She had no desire at all to eat, but she would have done so rather than enter into an argument about it.

After a while Miss Harriet said:

“Charles came up to enquire after you. I told him that you were still sleeping and he left a message for you. He said that there was no need for you to worry about anything if you were feeling under the weather, but he would send Joe up later for any orders you might want to give.”

Judith frowned, and was all the more annoyed with Charles because the action made her headache worse. Perhaps it was the headache which made it impossible for her to know for sure whether she was most irritated by the calm way in which he made it quite clear that he could do without her, or by his assumption that she would never be content if she could not give orders.

“I’ll go down later,” she said shortly, and Miss Harriet, who had doubted the wisdom of Charles’s message, made no comment.

It was unusual for Judith to be in the house at this time of day, and she wandered restlessly from one room to another looking at her possessions with eyes that were perhaps more seeing than usual. There were many examples of her aunt’s handiwork ^bout the place. Embroidered cushions,
gros-point
chair covers, long embroidered bell-pulls. Things that Ravensdale women of every generation had always done. Things that she never had. But then, of course, they were not really Ravensdales. It was only that they had married into the family. And yet, she realised for the first time, she had their blood in her veins as well as that of her father’s family. And even her father was not entirely Ravensdale. His mother had been a Grandon and neither of her parents, of course, had been Ravensdales. Odd that when there was all that family pride, actually one owed only a small amount of one’s personality to the family whose name one bore. That must be so, and yet it was something that she had never thought of before. She walked slowly round the big drawing-room looking intently at the portraits. Her father and mother—she could not remember her mother, but she had picked up some of her father’s scorn for the woman who had disappointed him so much. Now she looked with deeper vision and saw that her mother had a mouth that was made for laughter—and that her eyes were bitterly sad. She sighed and passed a generation back to her grandfather and his wife. Edwardians. Her grandfather, rather too stout and immensely complacent. Her grandmother— with a sense of shock, she looked closer. Strange she had never realised before what a dominating face it was. Slightly full in the lips as—she glanced across the room —her father had been. There was the same obstinate line to the chin as well.