The Hand in the Dark
"Is it?" responded the other doubtfully. "All writing is the same, isn't
it? Harry says Mr. Harland's articles are dreadfully clever. He
sometimes reads bits of them to me."
"Mrs. Weyne feels a little lonely sometimes," said Miss Heredith. "She
has been looking forward to meeting Violet again. It will be pleasant
for both of them to renew their acquaintance."
"I should think she and Violet would get on well together," remarked the
young lady with the short hair. "They both have a good many tastes in
common. Neither likes the country, for one thing." The other ladies
looked at one another, and the speaker, realizing that she had been
tactless, stopped abruptly. "How is Violet?" she added lamely. "Do you
think she will be well enough to go to-night?"
"I still hope she may be well enough to go," replied Miss Heredith. "I
will ask her presently. Will anyone have another cup of tea?"
Nobody wanted any more tea. The meal was finished; but the groups of
ladies at the little tables sat placidly talking, enjoying the peaceful
surroundings and the afternoon sun. Some of the girls produced
cigarette-cases, and lit cigarettes.
There was a sound of footsteps on the gravel walk. A tall, good-looking
young officer was seen walking across the garden from the house. As he
neared the tea-tables he smilingly raised a finger to his forehead in
salute.
"I've come to say good-bye," he announced.
The ladies clustered around him. It was evident from their manner that
he was a popular figure among them. Several of the younger girls
addressed him as "Dick," and asked him to send them trophies from the
front. The young officer held his own amongst them with laughing
self-possession. When he had taken his farewell of them he approached
Miss Heredith, and held out his hand with a deferential politeness which
contrasted rather noticeably with the easy familiarity of his previous
leave-taking.
"I am sorry you are compelled to leave us, Captain Nepcote," said Miss
Heredith, rising with dignity to accept his outstretched hand. "Do you
return immediately to the front?"
"To-night, I expect."
"I trust you will return safely to your native land before long, crowned
with victory and glory."
Captain Nepcote bowed in some embarrassment. Like the rest of his
generation, he was easily discomposed by fine words or any display of
the finer feelings. He was about twenty-eight, of medium height,
clean-shaven, with clear-cut features, brown hair, and blue eyes. At the
first glance he conveyed nothing more than an impression of a handsome
young English officer of the familiar type turned out in thousands
during the war; but as he stood there talking, a sudden ray of sunlight
falling on his bared head revealed vague lines in the face and a
suspicion of silver in the closely cropped hair, suggesting something
not altogether in keeping with his debonair appearance--secret trouble
or dissipation, it was impossible to say which.
"Will you say good-bye to Mrs. Heredith for me?" he said, after a slight
pause. "I hope she will soon be better. I have said good-bye to Sir
Philip and Phil. Sir Philip wanted to drive me to the station, but I
know something of the difficulties of getting petrol just now, and I
wouldn't allow him. Awfully kind of him! Phil suggested walking down
with me, but I thought it would be too much for him."
They had walked away from the tea-tables towards the bridge which
spanned the entrance to the moat-house. Miss Heredith paused by two
brass cannon, which stood on the lawn in a clump of ornamental foliage,
with an inscription stating that they had been taken from the
_Passe-partout_, a French vessel captured by Admiral Heredith in the
Indian Seas in 1804.
"It is hard for Phil, a Heredith, to remain behind when all young
Englishmen are fighting for their beloved land," she said softly, her
eyes fixed upon these obsolete pieces of ordnance. "He comes of a line
of great warriors. However," she went on, in a more resolute tone, "Phil
has his duties to fulfil, in spite of his infirmity. We all have our
duties, thank God. Good-bye, Captain Nepcote. I am keeping you, and you
may miss your train."
"Good-bye, Miss Heredith. Thank you so much for your kindness during a
very pleasant visit. I've enjoyed myself awfully."
"I am glad that you have enjoyed your stay. I hope you will come and see
us again when your military duties permit."
"Er--yes. Thank you awfully. Thank you once more for your kindness."
The young officer uttered these polite platitudes of a guest's farewell
with some abruptness, bowed once more, and turned away across the old
stone bridge which spanned the moat.
CHAPTER II
Miss Heredith turned her steps towards the house. The guests had
dispersed while she was saying farewell to Captain Nepcote, and nothing
further was expected of her as a hostess until dinner-time. It was her
daily custom to devote a portion of the time between tea and dinner to
superintending the arrangements for the latter meal. The moat-house
possessed a competent housekeeper and an excellent staff of servants,
but Miss Heredith believed in seeing to things herself.
On her way to the house she caught sight of an under gardener clipping
one of the ornamental terrace hedges on the south side of the house, and
she crossed over to him. The man suspended his work as the great lady
approached, and respectfully waited for her to speak.
"Thomas," said Miss Heredith, "go and tell Linton to have both motors
and the carriage at the door by half-past seven this evening. And tell
him, Thomas, that Platt had better drive the carriage."
The under gardener touched his cap and hastened away on his errand. Miss
Heredith leisurely resumed her walk to the house, stopping occasionally
to pluck up any weed which had the temerity to show its head in the trim
flower-beds which dotted the wide expanse of lawn between the moat and
the house. She entered the house through the porch door, and proceeded
to the housekeeper's apartments.
Her knock at the door was answered by a very pretty girl, tall and dark,
who flushed at the sight of Miss Heredith, and stood aside for her to
enter. A middle-aged woman, with a careworn face and large grey eyes,
dressed in black silk, was seated by the window sewing. She rose and
came forward when she saw her visitor. She was Mrs. Rath, the
housekeeper, and the pretty girl was her daughter.
"How are you, Hazel?" said Miss Heredith, offering her hand to the girl.
"It is a long time since I saw you. Why have you not been to see us
lately?"
The girl appeared embarrassed by the question. She hesitated, and then,
as if reassured by Miss Heredith's gracious smile, murmured that she had
been so busy that she had very little time to herself.
"I thought they gave you an afternoon off every week at your place of
employment," pursued Miss Heredith, seating herself in a chair which the
housekeeper placed for her.
"Not always," replied Hazel. "At least, not lately. We have had such a
lot of orders in."
"Do you like the millinery business, Hazel?"
"Very much indeed, Miss Heredith."
"Hazel is getting on nicely now," said her mother.
"I am very glad to hear it," responded Miss Heredith, in the same
gracious manner. "You must come and see us oftener. I take a great
interest in your welfare, Hazel. Now, Mrs. Rath."
There are faces which attract attention by the expression of the eyes,
and the housekeeper's was one of them. Her face was thin, almost meagre,
with sunken temples on which her greying hair was braided, but her large
eyes were unnaturally bright, and had a strange look, at once timid and
watchful. She now turned them on Miss Heredith as though she feared a
rebuke.
"Mrs. Rath," said Miss Heredith, "I hope dinner will be served
punctually at a quarter to seven this evening, as I arranged. And did
you speak to cook about the poultry? She certainly should get more
variety into her cooking."
"It is rather difficult for her just now, with the food controller
allowing such a small quantity of butcher's meat," observed Mrs. Rath.
"She really does her best."
"She manages very well on the whole, but she has many resources, such as
poultry and game, which are denied to most households."
When Miss Heredith emerged from the housekeeper's room a little later
she was quite satisfied that the dinner was likely to be as good as an
arbitrary food controller would permit, and she ascended to her room to
dress. In less than half an hour she reappeared, a rustling and
dignified figure in black silk. She walked slowly along the passage from
her room, and knocked at Mrs. Heredith's door.
"Come in!" cried a faint feminine voice within.
Miss Heredith opened the door gently, and entered the room. It was a
spacious and ancient bedroom, with panelled walls and moulded ceiling.
The Jacobean furniture, antique mirrors, and bedstead with silken
drapings were in keeping with the room.
A girl of delicate outline and slender frame was lying on the bed. She
was wearing a fashionable rest gown of soft silk trimmed with gold
embroidery, her fair hair partly covered by a silk boudoir cap. By her
side stood a small table, on which were bottles of eau-de-Cologne and
lavender water, smelling salts in cut glass and silver, a gold cigarette
case, and an open novel.
The girl sat up as Miss Heredith entered, and put her hands mechanically
to her hair. Her fingers were loaded with jewels, too numerous for good
taste, and amongst the masses of rings on her left hand the dull gold of
the wedding ring gleamed in sober contrast. Her face was pretty, but too
insignificant to be beautiful. She had large blue eyes under arching
dark brows, small, regular features, and a small mouth with a petulant
droop of the under lip. Her face was of the type which instantly
attracts masculine attention. There was the lure of sex in the depths of
the blue eyes, and provocativeness in the drooping lines of the
petulant, slightly parted lips. There was a suggestion of
meretriciousness in the tinted lips and the pretence of colour on the
charming face. The close air of the room was drenched with the heavy
atmosphere of perfumes, mingled with the pungent smell of cigarette
smoke.
Miss Heredith took a seat by the bedside. The two women formed a
striking contrast in types: the strong, rugged, practical country lady,
and the fragile feminine devotee of beauty and personal adornment, who,
in the course of time, was to succeed the other as the mistress of the
moat-house. The difference went far beyond externals; there was a wide
psychological gulf between them--the difference between a woman of
healthy mind and calm, equable temperament, who had probably never
bothered her head about the opposite sex, and a woman who was the
neurotic product of a modern, nerve-ridden city; sexual in type, a prey
to morbid introspection and restless desires.
The younger woman regarded Miss Heredith with a rather peevish glance of
her large eyes. It was plain from the expression of her face that she
disliked Miss Heredith and resented her intrusion, but it would have
needed a shrewd observer to have deduced from Miss Heredith's face that
her feeling towards her nephew's wife was one of dislike. There was
nothing but constrained politeness in her voice as she spoke.
"How is your head now, Violet? Are you feeling any better?"
"No. My head is perfectly rotten." As she spoke, the girl pushed off her
boudoir cap, and smoothed back the thick, fair hair from her forehead,
with an impatient gesture, as though she found the weight intolerable.
"I am sorry you are still suffering. Will you be well enough to go to
the Weynes' to-night?"
"I wouldn't dream of it. I wonder you can suggest it. It would only make
me worse."