Part 7

"For how long?" Ben asked.

"Six months: an eternity. How can I keep away from her for six months? It's too dreadful! If I had any poison I'd take it; but I haven't. And chemists are so jolly careful since those Welsh cases."

"Six months isn't very long," said Ben; "only twenty-six Sundays. You can stand that. Didn't Viola say anything else? She is still fond of you, isn't she?"

"She said so, but I don't understand. If you're fond of anyone you want to be with them. At least, I do. I don't get this fondness that gives you the boot. She said," he went on, "that to be engaged to me was impossible until I had something to do. Her father would never allow it. If I could find something to do, with prospects of an income within six months, she would defy her father and marry me; but she couldn't as it is. Why she doesn't defy him now, I can't see."

"Well," said Ben. "I suppose that a father, as a father, has some rights--at least as long as his daughter is dependent on him."

"But Vi's earning her own living, isn't she?" Toby asked. "Don't you pay her a salary?"

"Not just yet," said Ben. "But we won't go into that. The point is, that she lives at home and Mr. Marquand is her father."

"I had a notion that all this father stuff was out of date," said Toby. "It is, in the novels I've read."

"Only if the children choose to rebel," said Ben. "And neither Viola nor you are going to. Besides, I think he's right. He's Viola's father; he's brought her up. Why should he allow her to become engaged to the first irresponsible young man who comes along?"

"Why do you call me irresponsible?" Toby asked.

"Well, aren't you? Where is your responsibility, anyway? You're only twenty, to begin with. You've only just left Oxford. What do you know?"

"I know my way about," said Toby.

"So does Dolly, my office boy," said Ben, "who's only sixteen. Probably much better than you, because he knows how many pennies there are in a shilling, which you certainly don't. But what do you _know_? What have you learnt?"

"I know a certain amount of Greek and Latin," said Toby.

"Yes, but how much? Not enough to be a schoolmaster?"

"No," said Toby.

"Do you know any French?"

"Enough to get through a French novel," said Toby.

"Yes, but not enough to explain anything to a custom house officer at Calais?"

"No," said Toby. "Emphatically not."

"What else do you know?"

"I know how to order a dinner."

"That's better," said Ben. "That's the first useful thing you've mentioned."

"And I know a lot of men," said Toby.

"That's good, too," said Ben.

"And I've been asked to play for Middlesex," said Toby. "And, by the way, Vi adores cricket. It's quite the thing now for a man when he's playing away from home to take his wife with him. Heaps of them do. Vi knows quite a lot about the game. You'd be surprised."

"I should forget all that," said Ben. "You can't play for a county and be worth five hundred a year in a short time. If you really want Vi while you're both young, you must think about work, and nothing but work. Do you want her as much as that? As much as to give up cricket?"

"Of course," said Toby. "Of course I do. I can't live without her."

"You mean," said Ben, "you dislike the thought of living without her; but you'll find yourself doing so, all right. And how much does _she_ want you?"

"I don't know," said Toby. "I don't see why she should want me at all; but she seems to. We seem to suit each other down to the ground."

"And you really and truly believe that you would like to become a married man and have a small house and go home every evening to dinner and play cricket only on Saturdays? You would look upon that as the perfect life?"

"Absolutely," said Toby.

"Very well then," said Ben, "you must act accordingly. You must remember those old fairy-tales we used to read, where the woodcutter's son, or whoever it was, had to perform all kinds of difficult tasks before he could win the princess. Your task is, as quickly as possible, to go into some business and make yourself indispensable. So far as I can see, all that Oxford has done for you, if you are to make money, is to give you an agreeable accent and nice cool manners. I fancy it's the times you've played truant in London or were at home in the vacations that have really been most useful. You couldn't learn at Oxford to order dinner."

"But what am I to do?" Toby asked. "That's the question. The governor wants me to go into Uncle Arthur's office in the city. But what's the good of that? He's got three partners as it is, all with sons. It would be years before I got a footing there."

"No," said Ben. "I shouldn't vote for that. You'd simply loaf and gamble. I'll talk to father about it."

"It's a pity you stopped me betting," said Toby. "If you hadn't, I should be rich to-day. That priceless boy of yours gave me a tip for a 100 to 8 winner, but I didn't do it. He's a marvel. He knows the whole thing--trainers, jockeys, pedigrees, courses--and he hears things too. Your friend Harford follows his advice like a baby."

"You promised," said Ben.

"I know," said Toby, "and I'll stick to it; but I think it was a mistake."

"No," said Ben, "it wasn't. But, anyway, we'll forget it and concentrate on the future. I'll go and see father first. After all, it's his job to see that you are started in something, and meanwhile don't be depressed. You ought to be proud to be put on your mettle for a girl like Vi. It makes a knight of you! You'll be happier now, won't you?"

And Toby promised.

XXVIII

But Colonel Staveley once again avoided a responsibility, for chance made me the solver of the problem.

The very next morning, as it happens, I had a letter from my old friend Marrable Leigh.

Marrable Leigh was one of those men who move amiably and quietly about on Tom Tiddler's ground picking up gold and silver. He was in no business and he was in all. He was on a Board here and a Board there, and he had a complimentary pass on every railway in the country: a privilege that is extended only to those who can afford to pay for it. To the rich shall be given, and Marrable Leigh was permitted as seldom as possible to pay for anything. Even his wine merchant implored his acceptance of a dozen, just to try, and theatrical managers were always sending him boxes. But he deserved his good luck, for he was a benign and philanthropic creature, and he had the softest white hair I ever saw.

"I wonder," he wrote, "if you know of a nice young man who could manage a county club. There's a very fine house and estate in Surrey going for a song, and I think it would be fun to make a residential place of it, with plenty of lawn-tennis courts and a golf links, billiard-rooms, and so forth. A young athletic man with brains, and plenty of friends, but not necessarily experience. The amateur is often best for this kind of thing. My idea is perhaps to live there myself and make a hobby of it as well as a home. You may come in on the ground floor if you like."

Following the line of least resistance, I took this letter at once to "The Beck and Call."

Ben read it and her excitement was intense. I never saw her look so animated and indeed beautiful: her colour was brilliant.

"Oh, dear!" she said, with a sigh that was sheer relief and content, "how amazing! And to come to-day too!"

She took the telephone and called for a number.

"Is that you, Price?" she asked. "Miss Ben speaking. Is Mr. Toby down yet? He's having breakfast. Well, tell him to come instantly to Motcombe Street. Very important. Call a taxi for him."

"Oh, dear, how happy I am!" she said. And then she told me about Toby and his affairs.

"Of course Toby's exactly what is wanted," she said. "He has heaps of friends at Oxford, and there are father's club friends, too. He's very good at games. He's mad to throw himself into something and prove that he isn't just a dud. And there's this love trouble to incite him to do more than his best. Don't you agree?"

"Well," I said, "it wouldn't matter if I didn't. Having come here for advice I shall take it. But, as it happens, I do agree. I think Toby ought to be splendid, and it is like Marrable Leigh's instinct to fasten on that type."

When Toby came in he took fire at once. "Of course I can do it," he said. "I'm used to managing. Although no one knew it I deputized for our bursar lots of times, behind the scenes. And I know of a ripping butler out of a job at this moment, at the Carterets' at Hurley, you know," he explained to his sister. "They're giving up their house. He's a nailer!"

Ben looked proudly at me.

"And if the governor was allowed to take a few shares it would be all to the good," Toby continued. "It would interest him in it."

Ben looked still more proud. "Not such a fool as you thought him, this boy," her expression seemed to say. And how true it is that opportunity so often makes the man!

"Couldn't we see Mr. Marrable Leigh now?" Toby asked.

"I think we might ring up," I said; and we did so and made an appointment.

Let it suffice to say that we spent a most amusing day motoring to Fairmile Towers, exploring the house and grounds, and motoring back.

That evening Toby dined with Marrable Leigh; and the next day Miss Marquand was again--under the rose--wearing his ring.

XXIX

"Look here, Ben," said Colonel Staveley, "something awful's happened and I want your help."

He was unusually smart in appearance, Ben noticed.

"Tell me quickly," she said.

"It's in this cable," said the Colonel. "Merrill's husband."

Ben read the message, which stated that the Rev. Egbert Bourne had died of pneumonia in Minneapolis a day or so before.

"Merrill's got to be told," said the Colonel.

"Of course," said Ben. "You'll go down at once, won't you?" She reached for the "A.B.C."

"Well, the fact is," said the Colonel, "I can't. Most unfortunate, but I've got an old engagement for to-day and I can't get out of it. One of those postponed things which it's idiotic to put off any more. For three years now I've promised to go to Ascot and each time something has occurred."

"But surely Belle wouldn't mind--considering everything," said Ben.

"Belle?" replied her father. "Oh, yes! But it isn't Belle. Belle doesn't care about racing. It's Lady Dunster. I should take Belle too, of course, if she wanted; feel it my duty to; but she doesn't care about racing, and it would be too absurd to disappoint Lady Dunster again. On such a fine day, too. And, after all, it isn't as if he died here. All those thousands of miles away! So I thought you'd be the good, kind girl you always are and just nip down to Astingham. I don't think it will be so very painful. Merrill never seemed to me to care much for him."

"I've got a taxi waiting," he went on, "so I'd better not stay any more. Of all forms of wasting money, letting a taxi tick up while it's standing still is the silliest."

And he was gone.

Ben's lips shaped themselves to whistle, but no sound came. "It's lucky for us that mother had some nice feelings," she permitted herself to think.

She called Jan.

"I've got to go down to the country," she said, "and I may stay the night. Tell Miss Marquand to open everything and act as if she were me."

"No one could do that," said the loyal Jan.

"Well, as nearly as possible then," said Ben. "This is my address if you want anything special," and she hurried off.

At the station she sent a telegram to Merrill to announce her imminence, and then she settled down in the compartment to consider the situation.

Poor old Egbert, she thought. What an arid life! To a large extent wasted, with the kind of waste that is going on on all sides. What did he marry for? He thought he was in love, or, at any rate, in need of Merrill. But he wasn't. He no sooner acquired her than he forgot her; she became furniture; all he wanted was himself and the opportunity to get on with his foolish book, which didn't matter to anyone. Everything was sacrificed to that; his blood turned to ink; he ceased to be interested in actual present-day life; his sympathy changed to a pedantic curiosity; he gave what was meant for his fellow-creatures to a Biblical tribe that had been dead for thousands of years.

And how many other men were like him? They didn't all write about the Hittites, but they had their absorbing Hittites all the same, whether business Hittites or play Hittites, and so their altar promises became scraps of paper and the precious hours slipped away. What a muddle! What a muddle!

And Merrill? Fortunately she was of a more equable nature than so many a neglected wife; fortunately she had no great depths, or, at any rate, if she had, no man had discovered them. Egbert had been lucky in his choice. Many another woman would have taken things into her own hands and have secretly saved something from the wreck. But Merrill was too light-hearted, too simple. And now perhaps she would marry again--she was only a little over thirty--and be happy: marry a plus-four man, with a taste for dancing and the theatre, who, if he ever thought of the Hittites at all, thought of them as a Central African race who made bearers for hunters of big game.

That was Merrill's right husband, and they would have a large house in the country, and two or three children, and come to town for the season, and if he did any work at all it would be purely as a J.P.

There was nothing to meet Ben at the station, and when she reached the Vicarage the first thing she saw was her unopened telegram on the hall table.

Mrs. Bourne was playing golf, said the maid.

Poor Merrill, what ought to be done? Ben wondered. Was it fair to spoil her game? But, on the other hand, was it fair to let her go on and give a chance to malicious tongues?

Ben decided to walk to the links, and no sooner did she get there and observe Merrill and her partner than she realized that in all probability the plus-four man had already arrived.

Merrill, under the solicitous tuition of this tall and very good-looking country gentleman, was about to dig out the ball with a heavy iron when she caught sight of her younger sister.

At first she could not believe it, and then, "Ben, you darling!" she exclaimed, flung away the club and was in her arms.

"Whoever thought of seeing you here!" she went on. "But how splendid! Let me introduce Captain Andrews."

After a few conventional words, the Captain, who had tact as well as good looks, said that since Ben was there he would ask Mrs. Bourne to release him from his engagement to lunch with her; nor would he take any refusal.

For this Ben was very grateful to him, and it set him high in her estimation.

"But I want you to know my sister," said Merrill.

"And I want to know her," he said; "but to-day, I am sure, you have much to talk about. I'll order the car and drive you home."

It was while Merrill was in the club-house that Ben had an opportunity of speaking to the Captain.

"That was very thoughtful of you," she said; and she told him the nature of her errand.

"Good God!" he exclaimed, but in accents, she fancied, more of surprise, or even relief, than of sorrow. "Good God! I think," he added, after a moment, "I'll send my shover with you. Perhaps you will be so kind as to make my apologies to your sister," and he walked away.

"Is Captain Andrews married?" Ben asked, as they whirled along.

"No," said Merrill.

"Does he live near here?"

"Yes," said Merrill. "Between Petersfield and Midhurst. He's got a beautiful place. And now you darling," she said, "tell me truly why you came down. Much as you love my _beaux yeux_ I know it wasn't for them."

"It was to fill them with tears," said Ben.

"What do you mean?" Merrill asked anxiously. "What has happened?"

"Egbert," said Ben.

"Egbert? Not dead?" said Merrill.

"Yes," said Ben. "In America, pneumonia."

"Merciful heavens!" Merrill exclaimed.

Grief and joy can inhabit amicably a very small house. But in Merrill's case grief was rather more like pity, and joy a consciousness of release. Only a dazed consciousness, though, at the moment.

"Poor Egbert, poor old Egbert," she murmured. "He didn't have much fun." And then, "Poor Egbert, what a long way to go to die!"

She was silent for a long while.

"I suppose I ought to do things," she said.

"Of course," said Ben. "There is so much to do. You must write to his relations. No one knows but you, I believe. You must write to the Bishop about the living. You will have to get clothes."

"I suppose so," said Merrill. "Yes, of course, clothes."

"And you ought to cable to America."

"What about?" Merrill asked.

"Well, what do you want done with--with Egbert? Sometimes they embalm----"

"Oh, no, he must be buried there," said Merrill. "Not here. Dying so far away, he must be buried far away. He had no real interest in this place. Some day, perhaps, I might go over there and see his grave. Where was it?"

"Minneapolis," said Ben.

"Yes, he was to lecture there," said Merrill.

"Some day--oh," she exclaimed, "I must let Captain Andrews know!"

"He does know," said Ben. "I told him."

Merrill looked at her. "That's why he sent the chauffeur," she said. "I see." Her perplexity gave way for a moment to a smile.

XXX

"Say," said the American, addressing Mr. Jack Harford, and stooping to pat that casual tradesman's inseparable companion, "is this a dog fancier's or a book store?"

"We sell books and water-colours," said Jack; "or, at least, we keep a stock of books. But this spaniel belongs to me and is not for sale."

"I'm sorry," said the American. "I was looking for a flea-trap. But what about this 'Beck and Call' sign. How can I get there? I've got some questions to ask. Is it a good place?"

"Very," said Jack. "The office is run by a Miss Staveley, and she seems to give satisfaction. But it depends rather on what you want. Through the shop and up the stairs."

"I'll try," said the American. "These chancey things often pan out best."

He ascended the stairs, and after Jan had, in Dolly's phrase, passed the rule over him, he was admitted to Ben.

"My name's Barclay Corbet," he began. "I see you solve Domestic Problems, so perhaps you can solve mine. This is what I'm becking and calling about: I want to spend a few weeks in real England. Not the England that most of my countrymen are shown, but something that you'd call essentially 'old world.' Don't mention a cathedral," he added hastily; "I've had all the cathedrals I want and all the vergers. Don't mention a watering place, or the Dukeries, or anything like that. Don't mention Oxford or Cambridge. And above all don't mention Stratford-on-Avon. I want retirement. What I want is a place where there's no railway within miles, no corrugated iron roofs, no waiters in clawhammer coats, but pretty waiting-maids named Kate and Lucy instead, and no boys calling winners. And I want there to be a saddler in it making saddles in the midst of the smell of leather, and a churchyard with the graves all crooked and all over moss. And spaniels; yes, there must be spaniels. And another thing, a rookery. Can you do this?"

Ben furrowed her forehead.

"I wonder," she said, "if Shaftesbury would do? It's in Dorset; very old, very quiet and self-contained, and high up on a hill like an Italian town, like Siena."

"That settles it," said Mr. Corbet. "If it's high on a hill, it's no good to me. I've had all the climbing I want. And if it's like anything Italian, it can fade away into the back seats. I've done with macaroni. No," he went on, "think again. Think of something where there's a river to loaf beside and a water mill."

"A water mill! Oh, I know," exclaimed Ben--"Bibury!"

"You seem mighty struck on places ending in 'bury'," said her client.

"It was you who insisted on a churchyard," Ben retaliated.

"So it was," said the American, "but for æsthetic purposes only. Still, tell me about this Bibury."

"Bibury is a dream," said Ben. "It's all grey stone, and every house looks as if it grew there. But they're beautiful too, and even the tiniest cottages have mullioned windows and delicious gables. The barns are like cathedrals--without," she added hastily, "any vergers--and the cattle-sheds are like cloisters. It's in Gloucestershire. It's miles from a station, and there's a trout stream, and--if you value that, but of course you don't--the people still touch their caps and the little girls curtsy. And when I was there last there certainly weren't any waiters--only nice girls, even if they weren't named Kate and Lucy. But their caps were white. And there are millions of rooks, and if you were very lucky you might see a kingfisher."

"It's too good to be true," said the American. "Show it me in the 'A.B.C.'"

"I can't," said Ben. "It isn't there. You have to go to Cirencester."

"Better and better," said the American. "Places not in the 'A.B.C.' have a special appeal for me. And bury or no bury, I'll go there. Is the food good?"

"Didn't I say it was a fishing inn?" Ben replied.

"Well, young lady," said the American, "you've put me wise to what sounds like a very good thing. Tell me how I pay you."

"I don't think you do," said Ben. "Not this time. You must come again and let me do something more practical for you."

"It's a bet," said the American. "I'm very much obliged to you, young lady. You're the brightest thing I've struck in this country yet. _Au revoir!_ We shall meet again."

On his way through "The Booklovers' Rest" he paused to ask Jack if he knew a place called Bibury.

"Know it?" said Jack. "I should think I do. It's one of the most beautiful spots in England."

"Bully," said the American; but he had sufficient native scepticism to ask if the bright girl upstairs did not have an interest in the inn.

"Because she's been recommending it?" Jack asked.

"I just wondered," said the American. "No offence," he added quickly, as Jack's face darkened.

"It's just as well you said that," Jack replied, "or by jingo----" His fists relaxed.

"Now look here, young man," said the American, "forgive me. I meant no harm. And I like you for your feelings. I'll insure my life and come here again."

A few weeks or so later Mr. Barclay Corbet, who was as good as his word, was again announced by Jan.

"Miss Beck," he said, greeting Ben, "I've come to thank you for your advice about an English village and to ask you to help me some more. But this time it's a real business proposition. I've bought Bibury Grange and I want you to furnish it for me as a place should be furnished and find me some good servants. Will you?"

Ben collected her startled wits. "Of course," she said. "When do you want to go in?"

"In three weeks to the minute," said Mr. Corbet, looking at his watch.

"Three weeks!" Ben gasped.

"Yes. I can't wait any longer. I'm going over to New York for a day or two to settle some affairs, and I want when I return in exactly three weeks to find the house ready for me to live in. I want to go straight there and settle down and be happy. Will you do it?"

"But----" Ben was beginning.

"No 'buts,' Miss Beck," said the American. "Here's a plan of the house, every room measured up. Take it and get busy. And here's a cheque that will more than cover everything, and the bank is ready to let you have more on your signature, if you'll kindly write one out for me for reference. I haven't a minute now. The signature, please."

He rose.

"But I don't know your taste," said Ben.

"It's yours," said the American; "or rather, I should like it to be."

"Do you want a butler and a footman or only women?" Ben called after him.

"Nice women, named Kate and Lucy and Alice and things like that," he replied, as he left the room.

"And what about wall-paper?" she remembered to ask at the top of her voice.

"White distemper," he called back, and was gone.

XXXI

With plenty of money one can acquire most of the less important things of life; and Ben was not stinted there. So we had three terrific weeks. I say "we" because I was in it.