CHAPTER X

VANE'S AUNT

"I should have been killed to a certainty but for the way in which he got me out of the way," said Gwen to Mrs. Perage, when recounting her adventure, and speaking rather incoherently, for the same had shaken her nerves.

Mrs. Perage growled. She was a gaunt, dark-brewed old lady, with a formidable frown and a very determined character. "All's well that ends well," she said in a deep contralto voice, which suggested that of a man. "It might have been worse but for this hero of yours. Did you take the number of the car?"

"My goodness!" cried the girl pettishly. "How could I, when I was lying on my back in the ditch under the churchyard hedge? The car passed like a flash."

"Daresay," sniffed Mrs. Perage aggressively. "Having done wrong, the chauffeur got out of the way. We'll make inquiries and prosecute. I'd hang every one of those road-hogs if I had my way."

"Oh, I don't think it is worth making a fuss about," said Gwen quickly. "I am all right, and his ankle will soon be quite well. I fetched the doctor as soon as I got him to Mrs. Bell's, and there are no bones broken. He will be out and about in a few days."

"His--him--he," said Mrs. Perage sharply. "How indefinite you are. What's the name of your Achilles?"

"Hench. Mr. Hench. So Mrs. Bell told me, and he's been with her for nearly a whole week."

"Hench!" Mrs. Perage rubbed her beaky nose and reflected. "Why, that's the name of Jim's friend he wrote me about. There was a letter of introduction given. Hum! And he's been a week in Cookley without calling. That doesn't look as if he wished to make my acquaintance, Gwen."

"Perhaps he's down here on business," suggested the girl, "and did not wish to call on any one until he was free."

"Well, if he doesn't call on me, I'll call on him," said the old dame grimly; "if only to thank him for saving your life. Hum! Quite romantic the way in which the man's come into your little world, my dear. Quite romantic, I call it." Then, being very much the woman, in spite of her masculine appearance, Mrs. Perage asked a leading question. "Good-looking?"

"Oh!" Gwen clasped her hands. "He's a Greek god."

"So was Vulcan. Anything like that heavenly blacksmith?"

"No. He's tall and splendidly built, with brown hair and brown eyes; clean-shaven with clearly-cut features."

"Hum!" Mrs. Perage brought out the ejaculation with a boom. "You examined him pretty closely, young lady."

"Well, I had plenty of time to do so," retorted Miss Evans pertly. "I helped him to hobble to Mrs. Bell's house, and saw him again to thank him after the doctor had examined his poor ankle. I'm sure you will like him."

"That has yet to be seen. I don't like many people. However, Jim says that Mr. Hench is a thoroughly good fellow, and----"

"I'm sure he is. He saved my life."

"Consequently you intend to tumble head over heels in love with him?"

Gwen grew red. "I certainly don't. All the same he's very nice, and I'm sorry he's suffering pain."

"Pity is akin to love," quoted Mrs. Perage, apparently to the ceiling. The girl laughed and shook her head. "In spite of your matter-of-fact ways and the common-sense you pride yourself upon, you have an imaginative vein, Mrs. Perage. I am sure you see in this accident the beginning of a romance."

"If the young man is handsome, as you say, and a good sort as Jim Vane says, why not?" asked the old lady, smiling. "Besides, I don't believe in chance, as everything is ordained by Providence. I shouldn't be at all surprised if, in the long run, it was proved that Mr. Hench tumbled out of the clouds to be your husband. However, it's early days yet to talk. Wait and see!"

As the result of long experience, dating from the time when she was a small child in short frocks, Gwen knew that it was useless to argue with Mrs. Perage, so she left the room and went upstairs to change her dress. And as a matter of fact, she had been extremely struck with Hench's good looks, as a woman naturally would be. Also, he seemed to be excessively agreeable, and likewise she owed him her life, not forgetting that she was just at that age when girls begin to dream of marriage. Poor Gwen had not passed a very happy time with her cantankerous father, and was not averse to having a pleasant home and an aggressively devoted lover. So she looked at herself in the glass, pondering over Mrs. Perage's remarks, and blushed crimson to find that Hench was taking up much more of her thoughts than she considered altogether proper. That it was a case of love at first sight she would not admit, but on the whole her feelings had a great deal to do with the oft-quoted proverb.

On his side, Owain had no doubts whatever on the subject, strange as it may seem, considering that hitherto he had never been in love. His cousin's lovely face, her sympathetic kindness, together with the undeniable fact that he had saved her life, created in him a number of tumultuous feelings, which he spent the night in analysing. To be sure, he told himself that he did so because the pain of his ankle kept him wide awake, and because thoughts in this direction took his mind off his aching bones. But when the dawn came, he was tolerably certain that he was in love. The feeling he now experienced was wholly different to that with which he had regarded Zara. He had admired the dancer in a cool, reflective, judicious way, seeing that she had faults as well as virtues. But in Gwen he could see no faults, and never paused to consider that he could scarcely know her character from the little he had seen of her.

Sensible as Hench usually was, some power--he presumed it was the power of love---swept him off his feet, and he credited the girl with all the virtues of the angels, and with their beauty also. He was glad that he had saved her, as she would be grateful; he was glad that he had hurt himself, as she would pity him; and he was decidedly glad that he had concealed the relationship. Now, at least, there was every chance that he would be able to make a friend of her. Not that he wanted to halt at friendship. He was now firmly bent upon making her his wife, and thus would be able to fulfil Mr. Gilberry's prophecy and end the family feud in quite an agreeable and romantic way. All the night Owain was building castles in the air, and when the dawn came they were still firm. Only on the arrival of the doctor to examine his ankle did the young man descend from these Olympian heights. Then, with a sudden and very natural reaction, he began to think that he had been too premature in his building.

The result of this was disastrous to Gwen. She called at mid-day to see how he was getting on, and he received her coldly, while lying on the slippery horse-hair sofa in Mrs. Bell's tiny sitting-room. The girl, flushed with the romance of the whole adventure and struck anew with the splendid looks of her preserver, felt chilled by his calm politeness. The two talked in a more or less formal way and parted very soon. Gwen went back to tell Mrs. Perage that her hero was horrid, and her hero remained on his sofa trying to assure himself that he had rescued only an ordinary girl. But it was all of no use, for Nature would have her way. During the next few days the two met under the chaperonage of the widow Bell, and gradually became aware that the feelings they entertained towards one another were more than those of mere friendship. Of course this knowledge made them more stiff and formal than ever in their intercourse, as their conversation was confined to commonplace subjects, not likely to awaken emotion. Hench was anxious to ask his cousin about her father, but as she said nothing, he did not venture to broach the matter. Still, remembering that she had been clothed in white on the day of the accident, and seeing that her frocks since, beyond black ribbons, did not suggest mourning in any great degree, he came to the conclusion that she had not been particularly attached to her father, although he could not be quite sure. But all doubts on this question were set aside by Mrs. Perage, who placed matters very plainly before him, according to her somewhat grim custom.

The old lady did not call for a few days, although she sent creams and jellies, books and flowers, by the hands of Gwen. Owain was very grateful for these kind attentions, and asked Miss Evans to take back his letter of introduction, which she did. Etiquette thus having been complied with, one day, instead of the fairy vision of Gwen, the patient beheld a tall and lean old dame stalk into his room. By this time he was able to get about with a crutch, and rose to greet her, upon which she thrust him back into his armchair with a pair of very capable hands.

"Not so," said Mrs. Perage, when he was again seated and taking a chair opposite, where she kilted her black stuff dress to show a pair of large boots. "Stay where you are, young man. Hum! You look better than I expected."

"I'm quite well now, thank you, Mrs. Perage. And I must apologise for not having presented Jim's letter before."

"Jim sent another letter, and I know all about you," said the old lady sharply.

"Oh, I don't think you do," said Hench, rather alarmed, as he feared that Vane might have been indiscreet.

"Why not?" Mrs. Perage bent her sharp old eyes on his perturbed face, the good looks of which she secretly approved of. "There's nothing wrong about you, I hope and trust?"

"Not what you would call wrong," said Hench evasively.

"Pooh, young man. How do you know anything about my standard of morality. I don't suppose it's what you'd call a high one," added Mrs. Perage, rubbing her nose. "I always make allowance for fools, and most of those who dwell in this world, which is much too good for them, are fools."

Hench laughed. He liked Mrs. Perage, who was quite a character. In her young days she had been a great beauty, although she was now old and weather-beaten, careless of her attire, and quite manly in her manner. Since the death of her husband, some thirty years ago, she had managed her estates herself, for being childless she had little else to do, and had long since outgrown the toys which amuse Society. For a woman she was uncommonly tall, and with her aquiline nose, her swart complexion and dark eyes, she resembled a gipsy. In spite of her coarse dress so carelessly worn, there was an air of good-breeding about her, and also a shrewd look on her fierce face. Owain stared hard at her Amazonian looks, considering that here was a woman who should have been the mother of heroes to gird armour on them and send them forth to the fray. She was quite out of place in a peaceful community.

"Well, young man," said Mrs. Perage roughly, "you'll know me again, I daresay, if staring goes for anything. What are your thoughts?"

Hench told them and suggested how unfit she was for a peaceful world where a policeman stands at every corner. "I can't see you anywhere, Mrs. Perage, but in some Norse hall, worshipping Odin and urging men to battle."

"Perhaps going to battle myself," said the old dame grimly, yet very pleased with the strange compliment. "Hum! You are right, the world is tame now-a-day, and a long life has bored me with the petty concerns of baby folk. You seem to have ideas in your head, Master Owain." Hench stared and fear clutched at his heart. If she knew this much, she might know more. "Who told you my Christian name?" he faltered.

"My own common sense, man alive! I have lived here all my life and knew your grandfather, Mynydd Evans, aye and your father, and Madoc also. Hench was the name Owain took when he was outlawed. See, my boy, how naturally I use the Norse word, after your suggestions of my being a modern Valkyrie."

"Does my cousin know who I am?" asked the young man anxiously. "No. I wanted to see you first before I told her."

"Don't tell her, Mrs. Perage."

"Why not. Hum!"--her eyes were as piercing as spears--"there is some reason for you masquerading as Hench."

"Hench was the name adopted by my father, and until a few days ago I quite believed that it was my true name. But certain papers which he left with our family lawyers explained matters."

"Did they explain that you inherit Cookley Grange and ten thousand a year?"

"Yes."

"Hum!"--Mrs. Perage rubbed her nose again and looked puzzled. "Then, knowing that you were the heir, why did you not come and see your uncle after the death of your father? I know he died in Paris five years ago, as Madoc told me."

"I did not know that I was the heir until my twenty-fifth birthday on the tenth day of this month. My father left instructions with Gilberry & Gilberry that they were not to give the papers to me until then. I have already told you, Mrs. Perage, that only lately did I learn my true name."

The old dame nodded absently, thinking deeply for a few minutes. "I think your father was wise to keep you thus in ignorance until you were older and had some experience of the world. A man of twenty-five could have managed Madoc better than a boy of twenty. Yes, Owain was wise, knowing Madoc's character."

"The late Squire does not appear to have had a very good one," remarked Hench dryly. "He was unpopular, I am told by Mrs. Bell."

"He was a wicked, selfish, greedy, miserly old scoundrel," retorted Mrs. Perage, aggressively blunt. "And if that's speaking evil of the dead, I don't care. I am quite sure that Madoc fed your grandfather's anger when it was directed towards Owain, who, after all, was not so very evil, although selfish enough. Still, your father would never have been cut out of the will but for Madoc. And if Madoc had met you, young man, he would have tried to settle your hash in some way, you may be certain."

"Oh!" Hench started, and was on the point of revealing the story of the advertisement and his adventure, when he checked himself prudently and made quite a different remark. "But if Uncle Madoc was such a rotter, why is Gwen such a nice girl, and I am sure a good girl?"

"She is all that," endorsed Mrs. Perage heartily. "And if your father was such a selfish profligate--I don't wish to hurt your filial feelings, but he was--why are you such a nice young man?"

Hench coloured at the compliment. "I may be a profligate also."

"Pooh!" said Mrs. Perage with supreme contempt, "don't you think that I am able to read faces? Yours is a good one and so is Gwen's. The decency of you both comes in each case from the mother's side, I expect, for both your fathers were--what they were. Children of Old Nick, I call them. You had a bad time with that father of yours, I'll be bound?"

"Well"--Hench winced--"he was not a very amiable parent, I must admit, although I wouldn't say that to any one save you."

Mrs. Perage bent her keen old eyes on him, read between the lines, and laughed in a short rasping manner after the style of a fox barking. "Just as I thought, young man. Owain was a selfish, cruel animal, and so was Madoc. He gave you as bad a time as Madoc did Gwen."

"I rather gathered from Gwen's absence of mourning that she had no great love for her father," remarked Hench musingly. "Your powers of observation are great, Owain. Gwen and her father got on about as well together as a ferret and a rabbit; she being the last and he the first. But for me I don't know what the poor girl would have done. She would have run away from home, I expect. However, she always came to me when her father was particularly trying, and now she has come to me altogether. With me she will stay, until you take her away."

Hench raised himself on his elbow and blushed in a delightfully youthful manner. "What makes you say that?" he asked confusedly.

"Am I a fool?" queried Mrs. Perage grimly. "Doesn't a cat love cream, and is not a young man likely to fall in love with one whose life he has saved, provided that one is charming and good. Go to, my boy." She spoke quite in the style of her nephew Jim. "I can see through a brick wall, I suppose. But all this doesn't explain why you are masquerading here under your father's false name. Come now, tell me all about it."

Hench did not do as she asked him, even though she was such a sensible old lady, for he thought that the time was not yet ripe for him to speak freely about his Gipsy Stile adventure. Therefore he told her the same story that he had told to Mr. Gilberry. "And you see I was right to meet my cousin under a feigned name," he concluded, "for had I come as Owain Evans she would have been prejudiced against me."

"Well, I don't know." Mrs. Perage again rubbed her nose thoughtfully. "As you may guess, Madoc always spoke ill of you, saying you were the true son of your wicked father, which was a case of the pot calling the kettle black, I rather think. But, you see, Madoc hated the idea of your getting the property."

"He wanted Gwen to get it?"

"Not a bit. So long as you didn't succeed he would have been content to let an hospital have it. He cared nothing for his daughter, and being such a bad father she naturally disbelieved anything he said. Far from thinking you the rascal Madoc said you were, Gwen fancied that you were quite a nice agreeable young man, which you are. I think she would have welcomed Owain Evans just as kindly as she has welcomed Owain Hench. All the same, if you win her heart as a disguised prince the romance of it will appeal to her when she learns the delightful truth."

Hench laughed, feeling greatly relieved. "Mrs. Perage, I don't believe you are a Norse goddess. You are much too romantic."

"Perhaps, young man. I am an old fool."

"You are one of the most charming people I have ever met," said Hench warmly.

"Pooh!" retorted Mrs. Perage, pleased with the compliment. "Don't make love to me, or you'll break Gwen's heart."

"Has she a heart to break--on my account, that is?"

"Young man,"--Mrs. Perage rose until her head nearly touched the low ceiling, and she assumed her grand manner,--"you don't expect one woman to tell the secrets of another woman. All the same, a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse. And you are blind, being in love."

"Am I in love?"

"Something tells me that you are--and with Gwen. But if you are already engaged, or if there is any other girl in the question, I tell you, young man, that I won't have it. Gwen is much too good a girl to be trifled with."

"Oh, I assure you, I am not going to trifle with her."

"Good. If you do, you'll have me to reckon with," said the old woman grimly. "I am quite Norse enough to twist your neck if you repeat in your own person the very objectionable character of your father. Tell me plump and plain, if you please: do you love Gwen?"

"I think so."

"Think so! Then you don't love her. No man worth a woman's affection can be in doubt on that point."

"Well, you see, I'm a bit of an ass as regards women," confessed Hench, flustered by her imperious insistence. "I have never been in love before."

"All the better!" cried Mrs. Perage sharply. "But I thought I was."

"Hum! Well, and why not; one must gain experience. How many times?"

"Once only. I admired this girl but she loved another man, so I went away."

"Hum!" said Mrs. Perage once more. "Is your heart broken?"

"Oh Lord, no. I soon got over it."

"Then you haven't been in love. But with regard to Gwen"--Mrs. Perage suddenly sat down and laughed heartily--"aren't we rather silly to talk in this way? We are only weaving ropes of sand, for I know nothing certain about the state of your affections or those of Gwen. I think I had better let you two manage things in your own way, and as Mother Nature--who has a large experience--dictates. All I say is, act honestly towards the girl, or you'll have me to deal with. Understand?"

"I understand." Hench laughed. "You can trust me."

Mrs. Perage went away very well satisfied with the state of affairs. At heart she was romantic like every woman, and like every woman she was quite a matchmaker. There was no young man in Cookley worthy of Gwen, so far as she knew, and this swain--so her thoughts ran--had been brought by Providence in the nick of time to save the girl from being an old maid. She longed to speak as freely to Miss Evans as she had spoken to her cousin, but did not dare to do so, lest she should frighten her into banishing the dawning feeling of love. Mrs. Perage had seen much harm come from meddling, so decided to refrain from throwing the young people too violently at one another's heads. But she certainly threw them gently, for when Hench was nearly all right a few days later, she sent him an invitation to dinner. This he accepted with great delight, and the more eagerly as Gwen had ceased her visits since he became convalescent. At the dinner he would have a chance of seeing her again, and perhaps an opportunity of hinting at his feelings. For by this time he had proved the truth of the saying that "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," and was very sure that he really and truly loved her with all the power that was in him. And this was the genuine passion of man for woman--not the counterfeit one which had led him to seek Zara Alpenny.

By this time, since the Hungarian lady was not making trouble, Hench began to think that she would leave him alone altogether. Surely, he thought, if she intended to scheme for her daughter's marriage with him, she would have made some advance before now. Her silence lifted a weight off his mind, and he arrayed himself in purple and fine linen for the dinner, feeling that the sun of prosperity was beaming on him. He went to Mrs. Perage's house, believing that the fine weather would continue, and quite forgot the adage about the treacherous calm before the storm. But when he got to the door, and the door was opened by a small smart page with a freckled face and red hair, he was reminded that it did not do to trust wholly to appearance. The sight of the boy gave him quite a shock, and an uncomfortable one, reminding him as he did of Bethnal Green.

"Bottles!" he said, stepping into the hall and staring at the lad.

"No, sir; no, Mr. Hench. I'm Peter!" grinned the boy, and began to help Hench off with his overcoat.

Then Owain remembered how Simon Jedd had told him he had a brother in service in the country--the same he had gone to see. But he never expected to find that brother in Cookley and in the service of Mrs. Perage. "You know my name?" he said hesitatingly, and wondering if the imp was to be trusted.

"Oh yes, sir. Simon has spoken heaps heaps of times to me about you, saying how kind you were to him. Knew your name, sir, the minute Miss Gwen said as you'd saved her life."

"Simon came down to see you some weeks ago?"

"Yes, sir!" Peter spoke eagerly, and was evidently about to say much, when he suddenly shut his wide mouth and said no more than the two words.

Hench settled his coat and his tie, pondering over the situation. The sight of the boy, who was connected with Bottles, revived his anxiety, and he feared lest the lad should write to London and say where he was. In that case Madame Alpenny might find him out, and then there would be trouble. But then Simon, if he did write, would do so to his brother, and Bottles was entirely to be trusted. Still, Hench would have liked to give this page a hint, yet could not do so, as it would be undignified. Peter noted his lingering and hesitation.

"Simon wants to see you, sir. It's all right."

"What's all right?" asked Hench sharply.

The page wriggled uneasily. "Simon will tell you, sir. I don't know nothing, I don't, Mr. Hench."

Owain felt uneasy at the implied mystery, but judged it wise to affect careless confidence. "Simon can come and see me when he likes," he said, and entered the drawing-room, considerably annoyed by the encounter.