The Vision of Desire
arrangements made with regard to the shutting up of Mon Rêve. Last, but not
least, there was the packing up of Ann's own personal belongings, which, in
the course of the last six months, seemed to have strayed away into various
odd corners of the villa, as is the way of things.
But it was all accomplished at last, and close on midnight the little party
of four travellers stood on the deserted platform at Montricheux, watching
the great Orient Express thunder up alongside. Followed a hurried gathering
together of hand-baggage, a scramble up the steep steps of the railway
coach, a piercing whistle, and the train pulled out of the station and went
rocking on its way through the starry darkness of the night.
CHAPTER IX
OLDSTONE COTTAGE
The journey from Montricheux to London accomplished, Ann was speeding
through the familiar English country-side once more and finding it doubly
attractive after her six months' sojourn abroad. The train slowed down to
manipulate a rather sharp curve in the line as it approached Silverquay
station, and she peered eagerly out of the window to see the place which
was henceforth to mean home to her. She caught a fleeting glimpse of white
cliffs, crowned with the waving green of woods, of the dazzling blue of a
bay far below, and of a straggling, picturesque village which climbed the
side of a steep hill sloping upward from the shore. Over all lay the warm
haze of early July sunshine. Then the train ran into the station and she
had eyes only for Robin's tall, straight figure as he came striding along
the platform to meet her.
Brother and sister resembled each other but slightly. In place of Ann's
tempestuous coppery hair Robin was endowed with sober brown, and for her
golden-hazel eyes, with their changeful lights, nature had substituted in
him a pair of serious greenish-brown ones. But they were attractive eyes,
for all that, with a steady, "trustable" expression in them that reminded
one of the eyes of a nice fox terrier.
"Robin!" Ann sprang out of the railway-carriage and precipitated herself
upon him with unconcealed delight. "Oh, my dear, how are you? Let me have a
good look at you!"
She pushed him a little away from her and her eyes flashed over his face
and figure searchingly. Then she nodded as though satisfied with her
inspection. Whereas when she had last seen him he had limped a bit as a
consequence of his wound, to-day he had crossed the platform with the old,
easy, swinging stride of the pre-war Robin, and although his face was still
rather on the thin side, it had lost the look of delicacy which, a year
ago, had worried her considerably.
"Isn't this all simply splendid, Robin?" she said gaily, as, after giving
her luggage in charge of a porter, they made their way out of the station.
"Never tell me dreams don't come true after this--if you dream them hard
enough!"
He smiled down at her. Her spontaneous enthusiasm was infectious.
"It certainly looks as if they do," he agreed. "Here's our trap. Jump in!"
She regarded the smart ralli-cart and bright bay cob with interest. The
latter, held with difficulty by a lad Robin had left in charge, was dancing
gently between the shafts, impatient to be off.
"_Our_ trap?" queried Ann.
"Yes. It goes with the cottage," explained Robin. "Coventry's been awfully
decent over everything. Of course, he provides me with a gee to get about
on, but as soon as he heard I had a sister coming to live with me he sent
down this pony and cart from his own stables. Naturally, I told him that
that kind of thing wasn't included in the bond, but he shut me up with the
remark that no woman could be expected to settle down at the back of beyond
unless she had something to drive."
"He must be an extremely nice young man," commented Ann, as she settled
herself in the trap.
Robin gathered up the reins and they set off, the sleek little cob at once
breaking into a sharp trot which carried them swiftly along the leafy
country road.
"Coventry's not very young," observed Robin, as they sped along. "Must be
six or seven and thirty, at least. And I don't think _you_ would describe
him as 'nice' if you'd met him. He's very brusque in his manner at times,
and I don't fancy women figure much in his scheme of existence."
"Oh, well, he's of no importance beyond being the source of a perfectly
topping billet for you." Ann brushed the owner of Heronsmere off the map
with an airy wave of her hand. "He's quite at liberty to enjoy his
womanless Eden as far as I'm concerned. Men--other than extremely nice
brothers, of course!--are really far more bother than they're worth.
They're--they're so _unexpected_"--with a swift recollection of the
upsetting vagaries of mood exhibited by a certain member of the sex.
Robin threw her a brief glance, then, drawing his whip lightly across the
cob's glossy flanks, he asked casually:
"And how did you leave the Brabazons?"
"They're both looking very fit after three months in Switzerland, of
course, but I think Tony found it a bit boring compared with Monte Carlo.
They came straight on to Montricheux from Mentone, you know."
"Tony still gambles as much as ever, then?"
Ann's face clouded.
"I'm afraid he does," she acknowledged. "At least, whenever he gets the
chance."
"Well, he won't get much chance down at Lorne," remarked Robin
philosophically.
"They're not going down to Lorne yet. They go back to Audley Square till
the end of this month. That's quite long enough for Tony to get into
trouble"--ruefully. "Lady Susan says he plays a lot in her nephew's
set--that's the Brett Forrester Tony sometimes speaks of as such a fine
bridge player."
"I've heard of Forrester from other people," observed Robin. "He's got the
reputation of being one of the most dare-devil gamblers in London--in every
shape and form. Cards, horses, roulette--anything you like as long as it's
got the element of chance in it."
Ann's brows drew together.
"That may be all right for Mr. Forrester. As Lady Susan says, he can afford
to throw money away if he chooses. Tony can't, you know. Sir Philip's
pretty strict over his allowance."
"I'm rather anxious to meet your Lady Susan," said Robin. "It was very
decent of her to let you leave her almost at once like that."
"Lady Susan always _would_ do the decent thing, I think," returned Ann,
smiling. "The other thing doesn't seem to occur to her. You'll meet her
before long, as she comes straight home from Paris. Isn't it strange that
you should get this berth and that we should come to live quite close to
her?"
"Rather a coincidence." Robin, occupied in restraining a sudden
tendency on the part of the pony to frolic a little as they neared home,
replied somewhat abstractedly. He was a good whip, and under his quiet
handling the cob soon steadied down to a more reasonable gait and finally
pulled up decorously at a green-painted gateway. A diminutive and hugely
self-important young urchin, whom Ann learned later to know as Billy
Brewster, the odd-job boy, appeared simultaneously and flew to the pony's
head, grasping his bridle with as much promptitude as if there were
imminent danger of his bolting at sight. Billy's ultimate ambition in life
was to be a groom--he adored horses--and although, at present, the
exigencies of fate ordained that boots, coals, and knives should be added
to his lot, he proposed to lose no opportunity of acquiring the right touch
of smartness requisite for his future profession.
Ann laughed as she passed through the gate which Robin held open for her,
while Billy touched his hat rapturously for the third time.
"Who is that fascinating imp?" she asked. "Is he one of our retainers,
Robin?"
He nodded, smiling.
"That's Billy. He does everything Maria doesn't choose to do, in addition
to grooming the horses. You will observe he is the complete groom--minus
livery!"
Ann's eager glance swept the low, two-storied cottage which faced her. It
was a cosy, home-like looking little house, approached by a wide flagged
path bordered with sweet, old-fashioned country flowers. One of its walls
was half concealed beneath a purple mist of wistaria, while on the other
side of the porch roses nodded their heads right up to the very eaves of
the roof. From the green-clothed porch itself clustered trumpets of
honeysuckle bloom poured forth their meltingly sweet perfume on the air.
And framed in the green and gold of the honeysuckle, her face wreathed in
smiles, stood the comfortable figure of Maria Coombe.
Ann was conscious of a sudden tightening about her throat. The sight of
Maria, with her shrewd, kindly eyes smiling above her plump pink cheeks,
and her hands thrust deep into the big, capacious pockets of her snowy
apron, just as she remembered her in the long-ago nursery days at Lovell,
brought back a flood of tender memories--of the old home in Devon which she
had loved so intensely, of Virginia, frail and sweet, filling the place of
that dead mother whom she had never known, of all that had gone to make up
the happy, care-free days of childhood.
"Maria!" With a cry Ann fled up the flagged path, and the next moment
Maria's arms had enveloped her and she was coaxing and patting and hugging
her just as she had done through a hundred childish tragedies in years gone
by, with the soft, slurred Devon brogue making familiar music in Ann's
ears.
"There now, there now, miss dear, don't 'ee take on like that. 'Tis a cup
of tea you be wanting, sure's I'm here. An' I've a nice drop of water
nearing the boil to make it for you."
She drew Ann into the living-room--a pleasant sunshiny room with a huge
open hearth that promised roaring fires when winter came--and whisked away
into the back regions to brew the tea.
Ann smiled up at Robin rather dewily.
"Oh, Robin, we ought to be awfully happy here!" she exclaimed. As she
spoke, like a shadow passing betwixt her and the sun, came the memory of
the morning at Montricheux, when she had been waiting for Lady Susan's
coming and some vague foreboding of the future had knocked warningly at the
door of her consciousness. For a moment the walls of the little room seemed
to melt away, dissolving into thick folds of fog which rolled towards her
in ever darker and darker waves, threatening to engulf her. Instinctively
she stretched out her hand to ward them off, but they only drew nearer,
closing round her relentlessly. And then, just as she felt that there was
no escape, and that they must submerge her utterly, there came the rattle
of crockery, followed by Maria's heavy tread as she marched into the room
carrying the tea-tray, and the illusion vanished.
"There's your tea, Miss Ann and Master Robin, an' some nice hot cakes as
I've baked for you." Maria surveyed her handiwork with obvious
satisfaction. "And I'm sure I wish you both luck and may a dark woman be
the first to cross your threshold."
"You superstitious old thing, Maria!" laughed Robin. "As if it could make
twopenny-worth of difference whether a blonde or brunette called upon us
first!"
"I don't know nothing about blondes and brunettes, sir," replied Maria,
with truth. "But they do say 'twill bring you luck if so be a dark woman's
the first to cross your threshold after the New Year's in, and it seems
only reasonable that 'twould be the same when you go into a new house."
Unfortunately Maria's hopes were not destined to be fulfilled, as the first
person to cross the threshold of Oldstone Cottage after Ann's arrival was
Caroline Tempest, the rector's sister. "Miss Caroline," as she was
invariably called by the villagers, was a flat-chested, colourless
individual with one of those thin noses which seem to have grown
permanently elongated at the point in the process of prying into other