Part 19

Mrs. Hanson, standing at her own gate, tall, erect, and brown of face, beady of eyes, bobbed to him an exaggerated respectful curtsey.

Allan lifted his hat to her.

"Good morning!"

"And good morning to 'ee, sir," she said and treated him to another curtsey.

"I hope my maid du be conducting herself in a seemly manner and giving satisfaction to my lady, sir?"

"Yes!" Allan said; he felt confused before those keen bright eyes.

"A strange, wilful maid her be in many ways, sir, yet her heart be so good as gold."

"She is wonderfully pretty, your granddaughter, Mrs. Hanson!"

"Beauty be but a snare and likewise is but skin deep. I set no stores by such, 'tis the heart as tells, sir."

"But her heart is good, I am sure." He was talking for the mere sake of talking, for an idea bad come into his brain, a little dim and vague as yet, but yet an idea that possibly might mean a way to safety for them all.

"Good-hearted her may be, but most terribul obstinate and stubborn, a perilous obstinate maid, terribul contrairy and self willed her du be in many ways----"

"In--in what ways?"

"In marrying," said Mrs. Hanson, "I hev chose for she a good honest man as du walk upright in the sight of the Lord, a man as du keep hisself to hisself and du keep holy the Sabbath day, reading in the Bible and not with an eye to every maid, though there be many wishful of attracting his attention. Wonderful partial he be to my Betty tu, wonderful partial and keen and eager for she."

"And the man?"

"There bain't a better in all Sussex and yet that perilous obstinate maid will hev none of he!"

"Because she may dislike the man!"

"Dis-like, what hev that to do with it, sir? Why should Betty dis-like Abram Lestwick--a man earning his thirty-five shillings a week and with a cottage to himself and all keen set as he be----?"

"I have seen the man and can understand her dislike for him. He lays in wait for her, outside the gates; she is afraid to venture out of nights because of this man, whom she fears and hates. And you, can you not understand the child's aversion for such a man as Lestwick, Mrs. Hanson?"

"That I cannot and will not! A proper man be Abram and rare grateful and glad any maid should be attracting the like of he!"

"Betty is neither glad nor grateful, she goes in fear of him, hates him and is terrified by the very thought of him--it would be death--do you understand, death to the girl to force her into a marriage so shocking! Why are you so keen for it? Why do you seek to drive her against her own natural inclinations, why--why?" Allan cried hotly.

She eyed him with cold disfavour. What business was all this of his, of young Mr. Homewood of Homewood Manor House? She would have looked on him with some suspicion, yet there was something so open in his face, his anger was so honest, that she could not, even if she would, suspect him of an interest in pretty Betty, that reflected no credit on him.

"Abram hev thirty-five shillings a week and----"

"And for thirty-five shillings a week you would force this child to marry a man she hates, you would wreck and ruin her life, you would drive her perhaps--God knows--to death--to suicide! Can't you understand that it is not mere dislike she feels for him, it is hate and terror! Thirty-five shillings a week!" He laughed aloud in scorn, he flung his head back, his face was flushed, his eyes bright, and Mrs. Hanson stared at him in wonderment and with something of anger too.

"Listen to me," Allan said and his voice was more gentle and quiet, he looked into the keen, hard, old face. "Listen to me, Mrs. Hanson, you are Betty's grandmother. I believe you are her only living relative. If you think so highly of thirty-five shillings a week and of a cottage--I will make you an offer--" He paused, "I will undertake to pay to you as Betty's guardian, a sum that will equal the amount of Abram Lestwick's wages. I will find a cottage for you--not here--not near here even--and you shall have it rent free, so that Betty may live with you and that you shall not torment her further about this man Lestwick. Do you understand? I will give to you and to Betty all that Abram Lestwick could give, the money and the cottage! And you and the girl shall go away from here--away for good. She is young and she is beautiful, she will surely find many eager to marry her, and she shall choose and pick among them for herself. Do you understand, do I make myself plain?"

"Plain--aye, plain!" she said; under the black bodice the thin old breast rose and fell, she gripped the rails of the gate and stared into his face.

"And why--why are 'ee willing to do this, give this to Betty Hanson, Mr. Homewood?"

"To save her from marriage with a man I dislike and distrust, as much as she does--for that reason and that reason alone!"

"'Ee be mighty generous, Mr. Homewood!" Her hard voice quivered with suspicion, and yet--yet she looked him full in the eyes and he looked back at her and there was no shame, no confusion, nothing of the look of one who has something on his conscience.

"I--I do not understand--" she said slowly, "I do not understand!"

"No, I do not suppose you do understand. Shall we leave it at that? My offer holds good, accept it and make a happy home for the child--but not here."

"'Ee du seem mighty set on it not being here!" she said thoughtfully. "Mighty set 'ee du be. Does the maid know your intentions to she, sir?"

"No, I had no such intentions just now, the thought has only just come into my mind."

She nodded slowly. He had said that she could not understand and he was right. Whoever heard the like before? Thirty-five shillings a week and a cottage and all--all for nothing! Whoever heard the like before? Certainly not Mrs. Hanson.

"All bewildered I be," she said and said it aloud, though it was not intended for his ears. "All bewildered and wonder struck I du be!"

"Do you agree, answer me, do you agree to this? Tell me, Mrs. Hanson?"

"But the maid--you du say, sir, she hev not heard?"

"She has not heard, but if you agree, you can tell her yourself, tell her this evening and then you shall give me her and your answer."

"If the maid is willing," she said slowly, "though all the same I be partial to Abram."

"Her terror of him should have some weight with you. Take her away from this place to where she will never see him again, you will?"

She looked at him. "Send the maid to me to-night and I will talk of it wi' she."

She stood at the gate, staring down the road after him.

"Thirty-five shillings a week and a cottage--far away from here for Betty and for me and for nothing, for nothing! Very bewildered and wonderstruck I be!"

And Allan, hurrying homeward, was thinking--if this might be the solution, how easy it was after all, freedom for Betty from Abram Lestwick--a new life for the little maid among new faces--where soon--soon she would forget her dreams in the old garden and him.

And then, when all was done and Betty and her grandmother gone for good, he would tell Kathleen; it would be easy to tell her then and Kathleen would understand.

*CHAPTER XXXII*

*THE AWAKENING*

Bright eyes, the brightest he believed he had ever seen, greeted Allan. Eyes so kind, so bright and so tender that he knew before ever a word had been spoken that he had not offended, that Kathleen was not angry with him, not hurt.

He felt a great wave of relief and then the feeling passed and gave place to wonder, because in some subtle way Kathleen had changed. To others she was still the Kathleen he knew and loved and respected, but to him she had become another being, her eyes were misty and soft and tender, for him, there was a rich, rare colour in her cheeks. He felt his own heart respond. As they were passing into lunch he touched her hand--why?

There was no reason for it, it was just the impulse of the moment, yet he felt that he must do it, so he did and she turned and looked at him and it seemed to him that the colour deepened in her cheeks and the look in her eyes was more tender than ever.

And the touch of that little hand of hers made his heart leap. This was no mere friendship, this was no mere liking, no symptom of respect. He wondered at himself, wondered at its meaning and as a result he failed to hear Lord Gowerhurst, who was addressing himself particularly to Allan.

As a matter of fact Lord Gowerhurst, departing on the morrow, found himself woefully short of money. He was not in the cue to approach Sir Josiah and a timely loan of a comparatively small sum from Allan, a mere fifty or even twenty-five, would be agreeable to his lordship. Later on Sir Josiah's money bags must be properly besieged, with all due form and with a regard to detail for which there was no time at the moment.

"If, therefore, you could give me ah--ten minutes--some time most convenient to yourself, my dear Allan--" said his lordship with unwonted humility.

"Of course, delighted!" Allan murmured, and was thinking of Kathleen all the time.

Had he ever appreciated her properly? Had he ever realised the exquisite beauty of her face, a beauty that was spiritual, was of expression rather than of mere form and mould of feature. How sweetly gracious she was, how charming, not even the loquacious and boresome Coombe aroused irritability in her--how his old father worshipped her--what a strange, yet perfect understanding there seemed to be between them, the old City man of business, of plebeian origin and this young and gracious well born lady. Yet they were so obviously and so certainly friends, good, close, true friends, with a mutual understanding and a mutual love for one another.

So Allan did not make the most agreeable of companions at that meal and his lordship felt uneasy.

"I wonder if the fellow suspects I'm going to ask a small loan, a mere trifle till I get back to town? Confound it, it's deuced unpleasant for a man in my position to--er--place himself under an obligation to a mere stripling like this! I can't ask Scarsdale, there's something deuced standoffish about the fellow; I almost wish I hadn't taken Scarsdale up again, I've got an idea that Scarsdale lets bygones rankle. By George, though, I did give him a dressing down in those days, and by George he deserved it--asked for it--begad, and got it too!"

Just for a moment Allan had an opportunity for a word with Kathleen when lunch was over.

"You--you are not angry with me?"

"Angry?"

Was she a woman of twenty-nine almost, or only a maiden of nineteen that suddenly her eyes dropped before his, that suddenly a deep rich colour came flaming her face.

"Kathleen--Kathleen!" He caught her hand, he was suddenly in a strange tremble, and then in on them burst Mr. Coombe.

"Wistaria, not westeria, Jobson, my boy, if you'd done the gardening I've done at Tulse Hill--I--I beg pardon!" stammered Mr. Coombe, taken aback.

Kathleen smiled. "You are quite right, Mr. Coombe, it is wistaria!" she said.

"I've got one over my house at Tulse Hill," said Mr. Coombe, "with a stem, if you'll believe me, as thick as my body!" Which was an exaggeration, as Mr. Coombe's body was of no ordinary thickness.

Allan turned away.

"Oh, I forgot--" he said, and his eyes and Kathleen's met. "I saw Mrs. Hanson at her gate as I passed and she says if you can spare her granddaughter this evening, Kathleen, she would be glad."

"I will send Betty," Kathleen said, "though the old woman was not very kind to her, still she is old and alone. Yes, I will see that Betty goes!"

His lordship secured his quiet ten minutes with Allan.

"Most foolish and stupid of me, forgot to bring my cheque book, I can't think what possessed me--I assure you, Allan, I was astounded at my oversight. Of course one can draw a cheque on a sheet of note paper, but my Bank don't like it--no, they don't like it, sir--and so--so----"

"I shall be only too pleased to be of service to you," said Allan promptly, so promptly that his lordship was a little taken aback.

Yet Allan seemed so ready, so willing--it would be a shameful waste of opportunity to make the amount so small as he had originally intended.

"If--if--er--a couple of hundred wouldn't put you to inconvenience----"

"With pleasure," Allan said. "I'll send Howard over to Stretton in the car, he'll be able to get to the Bank just in time."

Never in the whole course of his experience, and it had been large, had his lordship had such a request granted with such alacrity and willingness.

"My dear Allan, 'pon my soul now, 'pon my soul, it is very good of you--I take a pleasure, sir, a pleasure in being under an obligation to you, even though it is only a temporary one. You're a good fellow, Allan, a deuced generous, open-handed good fellow and--and I honour you, sir, and your father too, and it's a pleasure and a relief to me, be Gad, to think that my girl has entered your family--a family of--of gentlemen, be gad!"

"Poor old chap!" Allan thought. "It must be hard for a man in his position and of his rank to have to lower himself and demean himself to borrow money--" He sighed, and then smiled in wonder at himself that he should feel so kindly towards Lord Gowerhurst, for whom he had previously felt nothing but aversion and contempt.

But then Lord Gowerhurst was Kathleen's father and for some reason to-day that made just all the difference in the world to Allan. So, having lent Lord Gowerhurst two hundred pounds, Allan resolved that he would say nothing to his own father about it.

Custance claimed Allan that afternoon and when Custance had done with him there was barely time to reach home and dress for dinner, so he did not see Kathleen till they met at the dinner table. And to-night she was looking her loveliest and her best. Even Coombe remarked her heightened colour and tried to pay her a clumsy compliment on her looks and meeting Lord Gowerhurst's cold stare when half way through his speech, faltered and broke down and burst into profuse perspiration.

But Kathleen smiled on him and thanked him and told him in a little confidential whisper, that highly pleased Coombe, that she was getting to be an old, old woman. In less than eighteen months she would be thirty years of age, and though she had not found a grey hair as yet, no doubt she soon would.

"Old, my dear--" said Mr. Coombe, and then blushed crimson, "I beg your pardon----"

"You have nothing to beg my pardon for--Sir Josiah's friends are mine--and if one of them is kind enough to call me my dear, it only proves that he likes me and I like to be liked, Mr. Coombe, by my friends!"

"And so you are, so you are, and as for getting old, never, you'll never be old, you'll be young to the last day of your life, if you live to be eighty, and please God you will!" And Mr. Coombe turned deliberately and stared Lord Gowerhurst full in the face with an expression that said as plain as words--"If you don't like the way I am behaving and if you don't like my paying compliments to your daughter--then you can go to the deuce and go as soon as you like, my Lord, and be hanged to you!"

Among that company of gentlemen Harold Scarsdale was inconspicuous. That he was better bred than Mr. Coombe and Mr. Jobson was obvious, that he could talk a good deal better than any of them Allan at least knew, but it pleased Scarsdale to hold his tongue and keep himself much in the background. From that background he watched Kathleen and the more he watched the less did he seem to understand her.

He remembered the passion of the old days, he remembered that scene by the lake only two short days ago, how during those two days had she changed. She greeted him with a friendly smile, she held out her hand to him, she wished him good morning and good night and talked to him of trivial, every day things, listening with interest to the few remarks he made and that was all.

But she was a woman and he knew little of women, but had read much and so had obtained a false impression. She was clever, she was hiding her feelings and doing it successfully. When the time came, and it would come, then she would fling all pretence to the winds, she would be his, he would open his arms to her, the ten years of hunger would be ended.

To-night he sat in his corner and listened to everyone and said little, but he was watchful and presently he saw Allan go out and, waiting for a time, Scarsdale too rose and sauntered to the window and stepped out into the garden.

Allan, however, had not gone to the garden. He remembered that Betty was going to her grandmother's to-night.

She would be sure to leave the old woman's cottage by nine. He counted on that. He wanted to see her, he wanted to see how she had taken what her grandmother would say to her, he wanted to know that Betty would realise how sensible the arrangement was and how it would be for her own good and happiness in the long run. She was young, a mere child, in some far away little village she would begin a new life, unmolested by Abram Lestwick, the terror of his presence and his pretensions removed for ever from her mind. And far away amid new surroundings, she would surely forget in time--perhaps not at once--yet in time, all those strange happenings and that strange tie that had drawn Betty and himself so closely together.

Allan was not vain, he did not for one moment believe that it was his own personality that had attracted Betty, or that he himself--the man he was now, had ever awakened any feelings of tenderness and love in that little heart.

It was the glamour, the strange mystery, the unsolvable mystery, those visions that she--and he too--had seen, that dimly uncertain memory of 'something' that had been, in the buried and unknown past; it was that that had appealed to her as of course it had appealed to him.

So Allan lighted his pipe and strolled away down the dusky road and strangely enough had not gone ten paces before he was thinking of Kathleen, rather than of her he had come to meet.

* * * * *

Mrs. Hanson sat upright on her stiff old chair, her hands were folded primly on her narrow lap, her eyes were fixed in an unwavering stare on the closed door.

She was expecting Betty, she had been expecting the girl for the past hour. For an hour Mrs. Hanson had sat there listening for coming footsteps but hearing only the steady persistent 'tick-tock' of the long cased clock.

During that hour Mrs. Hanson had been thinking, she had been asking of herself questions, and as the minutes passed the stern old face grew graver and grimmer.

Why should he be willing to give to Betty and herself such a mort of money. Why should he be wishful of sending Betty to some far off place. Why should Mr. Allan Homewood interest himself in the very least with the future of Betty Hanson at all?

Questions that Mrs. Hanson could not answer satisfactorily.

"A very pleasant and outspoken young gentleman he du seem--and yet----" Mrs. Hanson shook her head. "And yet----"

But the long expected footsteps were sounding, there came a tapping on the door. That in itself was unfamiliar. In the old days Betty lifted the latch and came in.

Betty came to-night as a visitor, and Mrs. Hanson realised the difference.

"Come in," she said, and rose stiffly to receive her visitor. Betty came in nervously; she looked at her grandmother, hesitated and then came forward and offered a soft cheek.

"You will hev had your tea?"

"Yes grandmother."

"Will you be seated?"

Betty sat down, her nervousness increasing.

Mrs. Hanson stared at the childish pretty face, it was the face of most perfect innocence, yet Mrs. Hanson looked with eyes of suspicion.

"The weather be holding up," she remarked, she was a woman who never came straight to the matter in hand, as Betty well knew.

"Grandmother 'ee sent for I?"

It was like carrying the war into the enemy's camp.

"True I did send for 'ee," Mrs. Hanson frowned.

"I hev had from young Mr. Allan Homewood an offer with which I be greatly surprised."

"From--from----" the colour deepened in the pretty cheeks, a fact that Mrs. Hanson's keen eyes did not miss.

"And why pray should 'ee blush at the mention of the gentleman's name."

"I bean't blushing, grandmother."

"And now 'ee be lying as well, Betty Hanson."

Betty hung her head.

"Very distrustful and uneasy I be in my mind, very distrustful. Betty Hanson, look me in the eye and answer me this: what be there between 'ee and Mr. Allan Homewood?"

"Oh! oh grandmother--there----" Betty was silent, she pressed her hands against her breast. "Be-between I and Mr. Homewood grandmother, what--what should there be?"

"There should be nothing Miss, but there be! there be, I see it. What be he to thee?"

"Nothing, nothing, nothing. Oh grandmother, why do 'ee worry I so? I wish--I wish--I hadn't come!"

"If so be as your mind were at rest and your conscience clear, Betty Hanson, 'ee wouldn't hev said that! Now answer, answer me and speak the truth for I be your dead father's mother and your only living relative I be. What be Mr. Allan Homewood to 'ee?"

"Nothing," the girl whispered, "he bain't nothing to I--nothing, and if anyone hev told 'ee contrairywise he be a liar!"

"The truth I will hev! nor shall 'ee leave this place----"

Mrs. Hanson rose, she crossed the room to the door and turned the ponderous key. "The truth will I hev before I shall allow 'ee to depart, what be Mr. Allan Homewood of Homewood Manor House, to 'ee, Betty Hanson?"

Betty did not answer. She sat with bowed head, she wrung and twisted her hands.

"I--I did see he--of nights of moonlight--nights in--in the old garden," she whispered.

Mrs. Hanson bristled, she sat upright: "'Ee did see him of nights in the old garden! Oh! shame on 'ee shame----

"So this be the meaning of your perilous bad conduct, slipping away out of the cottage of nights to--to meet--a man, a man! Terribul deceitful and deceiving 'ee've been all this while, terribul and shameful and perilous Betty Hanson."

"'Twasn't a man I went to see," Betty cried, "Grandmother 'twere no man."

"No man and 'ee said with your own lips----"

"Grandmother, 'ee can never, never understand--it--were a--a ghost----"

Mrs. Hanson fell back on her chair, her black eyes blazed in indignation.

"'Ee've said enough, either 'ee be daft or the greatest liar as I ever did hear on, a Ghost! 'ee wicked deceitful maid, a ghost indeed!"

"Grandmother, 'ee could never, never understand. I'll try and make 'ee, but I know----" Betty shook her head, "'ee never will. 'Twasn't Allan----"

"Allan," Mrs. Hanson lifted her two hands.

"'Twasn't Allan, I did see in the old garden, but a ghost I see him and others, fine ladies and gentlemen all in strange clothing, Grandmother, and Allan he were for ever digging, he in his old brown suit wi' the brass buckles to his shoes and----"

"Betty Hanson, stop, stop, this minit; not another word will I sit here and listen to, I hev made up my mind.

"This day, this man, this Allan, as 'ee do so shamelessly call him, made an offer to me. A fine offer that I did greatly mistrust. 'Tis this--take the child--away he said, take her far away, don't worrit her wi' Abram Lestwick, and I will allow 'ee and her tu, the thirty-five shillings a week, the same as Abram's money and a cottage all for nothin' so as 'ee du take she far away from Homewood."

"Oh! oh! he said that?"

"Aye he did, my maid, which du mean as he be tired of 'ee, tired, 'ee hear me, tired as men du tire of women like 'ee."

Betty lifted her head slowly, she looked at the grandmother and her pretty face blazed with sudden anger. She rose: