The New Warden Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  MORE THAN ONE CONCLUSION

  The Warden came slowly towards them over the wide space of carpetedfloor.

  Lady Dashwood, who knew every passing change in his face and manner(they were photographed over and over again in every imaginable style inher book of life), noticed that the sight of herself and May alone, thatis, without Gwen--had made him decide to come in. She drew her ownconclusions and smiled.

  "When you pass that ball of wool, pick it up, Jim," she said.

  She spoke too late, however, and the Warden kicked the ball with onefoot, and sent it rolling under a chair. It took the opportunity offlinging itself round one leg, and tumbling against the second. With itsremaining strength it rolled half way round the third leg, and then layexhausted.

  "I'm not going to apologise," said the Warden, in his most courteoustones.

  "You needn't do that, my dear, if you don't want to," said LadyDashwood. "But pick up the ball, please."

  "If I pick the ball up," said the Warden, "the result will be disastrousto somebody."

  He looked at the ball and at the chair, and then, putting his cigarbetween his teeth, he lifted the chair from the labyrinth of wool andplaced it out of mischief. Then he picked up the ball and stood holdingit in his hand. Who was the "somebody"? To whom did it belong? It wasobvious to whom it belonged! A long line of wool dropped from the ballto the carpet. There it described a foolish pattern of its own, and thenfrom one corner of that pattern the line of wool ran straight to Mrs.Dashwood's hands. She was sitting there, pretending that she didn't knowthat she was very, very slowly and deliberately jerking out the veryvitals of that pattern, in fact disembowelling it. Then the Wardenpretended to discover suddenly that it was Mrs. Dashwood's ball, andthis discovery obliged him to look at her, and she, without glancing athim, slightly nodded her head, very gravely. Lady Dashwood grasped herbook and pretended to read it.

  "I suppose I must clear up this mess," said the Warden, as articulatelyas a man can who is holding a cigar between his teeth.

  He began to wind up the ball.

  "How beautifully you are winding it!" said May Dashwood, without lookingup from her knitting.

  The Warden cleared the pattern from the floor, and now a long line ofwool stretched tautly from his hands to those of Mrs. Dashwood.

  "Please stop winding," she said quietly, and still she did not look up,though she might have easily done so for she had left off knitting.

  The Warden stopped, but he stood looking at her as if to challenge hereyes. Then, as she remained obstinately unmoved, he came towards herchair and dropped the ball on her lap.

  "You couldn't know I was winding it beautifully because you neverlooked."

  "I knew without looking," said May. "I took for granted that you dideverything well."

  "If you will look now," said the Warden, "you will see how crookedlyI've done it. So much for flattery."

  He stood looking down at her bent head with its gold-brown hair lit upto splendour by the electric light behind her. Her face was slightly inshadow. The Warden stood so long that Lady Dashwood was seized with anagreeable feeling of embarrassment. May Dashwood was apparentlyunconscious of the figure beside her. But she raised her eyebrows. Hereyebrows were often slightly raised as if inquiring into the state ofthe world with sympathy tinged with surprise. She raised her eyebrowsinstead of making any reply, as if she said: "I could make a retort, butI am far too busy with more important matters."

  The Warden at last moved, and putting a chair between the two ladies heseated himself exactly opposite the glowing fire and the portrait aboveit. Leaning back, he smoked in silence for a few moments lookingstraight in front of him for the most part, only now and then turninghis eyes to Mrs. Dashwood, just to find out if her eyebrows were stillraised.

  Lady Dashwood began smiling at her book because she had discovered thatshe held it upside down.

  "You were interested in Stockwell?" said the Warden suddenly. "He isdoing multifarious things now. He is an accomplished linguist, and wecouldn't manage without him--besides he is over military age by a longway."

  Lady Dashwood felt quite sure that his silence had been occupied by theWarden in thinking of May, so that his question, "You were interested,"etc., was merely the point at which his thoughts broke into words.

  "I was very much interested in him," said May. "It was like reading awitty book--only much more delightful."

  "Stockwell is always worth listening to," said the Warden, "but he issometimes very silent. He needs the right sort of audience to draw himout. Two or three congenial men--or one sympathetic woman." Here theWarden paused and looked away from May Dashwood, then he added: "I'mobliged to go to Cambridge to-morrow. You will be at Chartcote and youwill get some amusement out of Boreham. You find everybody interesting?"He turned again and looked at her--this time so searchingly that alittle colour rose in May Dashwood's cheek.

  "Oh, not everybody," she said. "I wish I could!"

  "My dear May," said Lady Dashwood, briskly seizing this brilliantopportunity of pointing the moral and adorning the tale, "even you can'tpretend to be interested in little Gwendolen, though you have done yourbest. Now that you have seen something of her, what do you think ofher?"

  "Very pretty," said May Dashwood, and she became busy again with herwork.

  "Exactly," said Lady Dashwood. "If she were plain even Belinda would nothave the impertinence to deposit her on people's doorsteps in the wayshe does."

  The Warden took his cigar out of his mouth, as if he had suddenlyremembered something that he had forgotten. He laid his hands on thearms of his chair and seemed about to rise.

  "You're not going, Jim!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "I thought you hadcome to talk to us. We have been doing our duty since dawn of day, andthis is May's little holiday, you know. Stop and talk nicely to us. Docheer us up!" Her voice became appealing.

  The Warden rose from his chair and stood with one hand resting on theback of it as if about to make some excuse for going away. Except forthe glance, necessitated by courtesy, that May Dashwood gave the Wardenwhen he entered, she had kept her eyes obstinately upon her work. Nowshe looked up and met his eyes, only for a moment.

  "I'm not going," he said, "but I find the fire too hot. Excuse me if Imove away. It has got muggy and warm--Oxford weather!"

  "Open one of the windows," said Lady Dashwood. "I'm sure May and I shallbe glad of it."

  He moved away and walked slowly down the length of the room. Goingbehind the heavy curtains he opened a part of the casement and then drewaside one of the curtains slightly. Then he slowly came back to them insilence.

  This silence that followed was embarrassing, so embarrassing that LadyDashwood broke into it urgently with the first subject that she couldthink of. "Tell May about the Barber's ghost, Jim."

  "Where does he appear?" asked May, interestedly, but without looking up."What part of the college?"

  "In the library," said the Warden.

  "And at the witching hour of midnight, I suppose?" said May.

  "Birds of ill omen, I believe, appear at night," said the Warden. "AllSouls College ought to have had an All Souls' ghost, but it hasn't, ithas only its 'foolish Mallard.'"

  "And if he does appear," said May, "what apology are you going to offerhim for the injustice of your predecessor in the eighteenth century?"

  The Warden turned and stood looking back across the room at the warmspace of light and the two women sitting in it, with the firelightflickering between them.

  "If I were to make myself responsible for all the misdemeanours of theReverend Charles Langley," he said, "I should have my hands full;" andhe came slowly towards them as he spoke. "You have only to look atLangley's face, over the mantelpiece, and you will see what I mean."

  May Dashwood glanced up at the portrait and smiled.

  "Do you admire our Custos dilectissimus?" he asked.

  The lights were below the level of the portrait, but the hard handsomeface with its bold e
yes, was distinctly visible. He was looking lazilywatchful, listening sardonically to the conversation about himself.

  "I admire the artist who painted his portrait," said May.

  "Yes, the artist knew what he was doing when he painted Langley," saidthe Warden. He seemed now to have recovered his ease, and stood leaninghis arms on the back of the chair he had vacated. "Your idea is a goodone," he went on. "I don't suppose it has occurred to any Warden sinceLangley's time that a frank and pleasant apology might lay the Barber'sghost for ever. Shall I try it?" he asked, looking at his guest.

  "My dear," said Lady Dashwood slowly, "I wish you wouldn't even jokeabout it--I dislike it. I wish people wouldn't invent ghost stories,"she went on. "They are silly, and they are often mischievous. I wish youwouldn't talk as if you believed it."

  "It was you, Lena, who brought up the subject," said Middleton. "But Iwon't talk about him if you dislike it. You know that I am not abeliever in ghosts."

  Lady Dashwood nodded her head approvingly, and began turning more pagesof her book.

  "I sometimes wonder," said the Warden, and now he turned his facetowards May Dashwood--"I wonder if men like Langley really believed in afuture life?"

  May looked up at the portrait, but was silent.

  "The eighteenth century was not tormented with the question as we arenow!" said the Warden, and again he looked at the auburn head and thedark lashes hiding the downcast eyes. "Those who doubt," he said slowlyand tentatively, "whether after all the High Gods want us--those whodoubt whether there are High Gods--even those doubt with regret--now."He waited for a response and May Dashwood suddenly raised her eyes tohis.

  "There is no truculence in modern unbelief," he said, "it is a matter ofpassionate regret. And belief has become a passionate hope."

  Lady Dashwood knew that not a word of this was meant for her. Shedisliked all talk about the future world. It made her feel dismal. Herlife had been spent in managing first her father, then her brother, andnow her husband, and incidentally many of her friends.

  Some people dislike having plans made for them, some endure it, somepositively like it, and for those who liked it, Lady Dashwood madeextensive plans. Her brain worked now almost automatically in plans. Forherself she had no plans, she was the planner. But her plans were aboutthis world. To the "other world" Lady Dashwood felt secretly inimical;that "unknown" lurking in the future, would probably, not so long hence,engulf her husband, leaving her, alas! still on this side--with no heartleft for making any more plans.

  If she had been alone with the Warden he would not have mentioned the"future life," nor would he have spoken of the "High Gods." He knew hermind too well. Was he probing the mind of May Dashwood? Either he wasdeliberately questioning her, or there was something in her presencethat drew from him his inmost thoughts. Lady Dashwood felt a pang ofindignation at herself for "being in the way" when to be "out of theway" at such a moment was absolutely necessary. She must leave these twopeople alone together--now--at this propitious moment. What should shedo? She began casting about wildly in her brain for a plan of escapethat would not be too obvious in its intention. The Warden had neverbeen with May alone for five minutes. To-morrow would be a blankday--there was Chartcote first and then when they returned the Wardenwould be still away and very probably would not be visible that evening.

  She could see May's raised face looking very expressive--full ofthoughts. Lady Dashwood rose from her chair confident that inspiredwords would come to her lips--and they came!

  "My dear Jim," she heard herself saying, "your mentioning the High Godshas made me remember that I left about some letters that ought to beanswered. Horribly careless of me--I must go and find them. I'll only beaway a moment. So sorry to interrupt when you are just gettinginteresting!" And still murmuring Lady Dashwood made her escape.

  She had done the best she could under the circumstances, and she smiledbroadly as she went through the corridor.

  "That for Belinda and Co.!" she exclaimed half aloud, and she snappedher fingers.

  And what was going to happen after Belinda and Co. were defeated,banished for ever from the Lodgings? What was going to happen to theWarden? He had been successfully rescued from one danger--but what aboutthe future? Was he going to fall in love with May Dashwood?

  "It sounded to me uncommonly like a metaphysical wooing of May," saidLady Dashwood to herself. "_That_ I must leave in the hands ofProvidence;" and she went up to her room smiling. There she foundLouise.

  "Madame is gay," said the Frenchwoman, catching sight of the enteringsmile. "Gay in this sad Oxford!"

  "Sad!" said Lady Dashwood, her smile still lingering. "The hospitalsare sad, Louise, yes, very sad, and the half-empty Colleges."

  "Oh, it is sad, incredibly sad," said the maid. "What kind of city isit, it contains only grey monasteries, no boulevards, no shops. There isone shop, perhaps, but what is that?"

  Lady Dashwood had gone to the toilet table, for she caught sight of theletters lying on the top of the jewel drawers. She had seen them severaltimes that day, and had always intended tearing them up, for neither ofthem needed an answer. But they had served a good purpose. She hadescaped from the drawing-room with their aid. She took them up andopened them and looked at them again. Louise watched her covertly. Sheglanced at the first and tore it up; then at the second and tore thatup. She opened the third and glanced at it. And now the faint remains ofthe smile that had lingered on her face suddenly vanished.

  "My dear Gwen," (Lena badly written, of course).

  "I hope you understood that Lady Dashwood will keep you till the 3rd.You don't mention the Warden! Does that mean that you are making noprogress in that direction? Perhaps taking no trouble! The questionis----"

  Here Lady Dashwood stopped. She looked at the signature of the writer.But that was not necessary--the handwriting was Belinda Scott's.

  For a moment or two Lady Dashwood stood as if she intended to remain inthe same position for the rest of her life. Then she breathed ratherheavily and her nostrils dilated.

  "Ah! Well!" said Louise to herself, and she nodded her head ominously.

  Soon Lady Dashwood recovered herself and folded up the letter. Shelooked at the envelope. It was addressed to Miss Gwendolen Scott. Sheput the letter back into its envelope.

  Had she opened the letter and then laid it aside with the others,without perceiving that the letter was not addressed to her and withoutreading it? Was it possible that she, in her hurry last evening, haddone this? If so, Gwen had never received the letter or read it.

  Of course she could not have read it. If she had, it would not have beenlaid on the toilet table. If Gwen had read it and left it about, itwould have either been destroyed or taken to her room.

  "Does Madame wish to go to bed immediately?" asked Louise innocently.She had been waiting nearly twenty-four hours for something to happenabout that letter. She was beginning to be afraid that it might bediscovered when she would not be there to see the effect it had onMadame. Ah! the letter was all that Louise's fancy had painted it. Seethe emotion in Madame's back! How expressive is the back! Whatabominable intrigue! It was not necessary, indeed, to go to Paris tofind wickedness. And, above all, the Warden---- Oh, my God! Never, nevershall I repose confidence even in the Englishman the most respectable!

  "Presently," said Lady Dashwood, in answer to Louise's question.

  Lady Dashwood had made up her mind. She must have opened all threeletters but only read two of them. There was no other explanationpossible. What was to be done with Gwen's letter? What was to be donewith this--vile scribble?

  Lady Dashwood's fingers were aching to tear the letter up, but sherefrained. It would need some thinking over. The style of this letterwas probably familiar to Gwendolen--her mind had already been corrupted.And to think that Jim might have had Belinda and Co., and all thatBelinda and Co. implied, hanging round his neck and dragging himdown--till he dropped into his grave from the sheer dead weight of it!

  "Yes, immediately," said Lady
Dashwood. She would not go downstairsagain. It was of vital importance that Jim and May should be alonetogether, yes, alone together.

  Lady Dashwood put the letter away in a drawer and locked it. She musthave time to think.

  A few minutes later Louise was brushing out her mistress's hair--a massof grey hair, still luxuriant, that had once been black.

  "I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair," said Louise, asshe plied vigorously with the brush.

  Lady Dashwood made no reply.

  "I find that Oxford does not agree with Madame's hair at all, at all,"repeated Louise, firmly.

  "Is it going greyer?" said Lady Dashwood indifferently, for her mind wasworking hard on another subject.

  "It grows not greyer, but it becomes dead, like the hair of a corpse--inthis atmosphere of Oxford," said Louise, even more firmly.

  "Try not to exaggerate, Louise," said Lady Dashwood, quite unmoved.

  "Madame cannot deny that the humidity of Oxford is bad both for skin andhair," said Louise, with some resentment in her tone.

  "Damp is not bad for the skin, Louise," said her mistress, "but it maybe for the hair; I don't know and I don't care."

  "It's bad for the skin," said Louise. "I have seen Madame looking grave,the skin folded, in Oxford. It is the climate. It is impossible tosmile--in Oxford. One lies as if under a tomb."

  "Every place has its bad points," said Lady Dashwood. "It is importantto make the best of them."

  "But I do not like to see Madame depressed by the climate here,"continued Louise, obstinately, "and Madame has been depressed herelately."

  "Not at all," said Lady Dashwood. "You needn't worry, Louise; any onewho can stand India would find the climate of Oxford admirable. Now, assoon as you have done my hair, I want you to go down to thedrawing-room, where you will find Mrs. Dashwood, and apologise to herfor my not coming down again. Say I have a letter that will take me sometime to answer. Bid her good night, also the Warden, who will be withher, I expect."

  Louise had been momentarily plunged into despair. She had beenunsuccessful all the way round. It looked as if the visit to Oxford wasto go on indefinitely, and as to the letter--well--Madame wasunfathomable--as she always was. She was English, and one must notexpect them to behave as if they had a heart.

  But now her spirits rose! This message to the drawing-room! The Wardenwas alone with Mrs. Dashwood! The Warden, this man of apparentuprightness who was the seducer of the young! Lady Dashwood haddiscovered his wickedness and dared not leave Mrs. Dashwood, a widow andof an age (twenty-eight) when a woman is still young, alone with him. Soshe, Louise, was sent down, _bien entendu_, to break up the_tete-a-tete_!

  Louise put down the brush and smiled to herself as she went down to thedrawing-room.

  She, through her devotion to duty, had become an important instrument inthe hands of Providence.

  When Lady Dashwood found herself alone, she took up her keys and jingledthem, unable to make up her mind.

  She had only read the first two or three sentences of Belinda's letter;she had only read--until the identity and meaning of the letter hadsuddenly come to her.

  She opened the drawer and took out the letter. Then she walked a fewsteps in the room, thinking as she walked. No, much as she despisedBelinda, she could not read a private letter of hers. Perhaps, becauseshe despised her, it was all the more urgent that she should not readanything of hers.

  What Lady Dashwood longed to do was to have done with Belinda and neversee her or hear from her again. She wanted Belinda wiped out of theworld in which she, Lena Dashwood, moved and thought.

  What was she to do with the letter? Jim was safe now, the letter washarmless--as far as he was concerned. But what about Gwen? Was it notlike handing on to her a dose of moral poison?

  On the other hand, the poison belonged to Gwen and had been sent to herby her mother!

  The matter could not be settled without more reflection. Perhaps somedefinite decision would frame itself during the night; perhaps she wouldawake in the morning, knowing exactly what was the best to be done.

  She put away the letter again, and again locked the drawer. She wasputting away her keys when the door opened and she heard her maid comein.

  There was something in the way Louise entered and stood at the door thatmade Lady Dashwood turn round and look at her. That excellentFrenchwoman was standing very stiffly, her eyes wide and agitated, andher features expressive of extreme excitement. She breathed loudly.

  "What's the matter?" demanded Lady Dashwood.

  "Madame Dashwood was not visible in the drawing-room!" said Louise, andshe tightened her lips after this pronouncement.

  "She had gone up to her bedroom?"

  "Madame Dashwood is not in her bedroom!" said Louise, with everdeepening tragedy in her voice.

  "Did you look for her in the library?" demanded Lady Dashwood.

  "Madame Dashwood is not in the library!" said Louise. She did not movefrom her position in front of the door. She stood there looking thepersonification of domestic disaster, her chest heaving.

  "Mrs. Dashwood isn't ill?" Lady Dashwood felt a sudden pang of fear ather heart.

  "No, Madame!" said Louise.

  "Then what is the matter?" demanded Lady Dashwood, sternly. "Don't be afool, Louise. Say what has happened!"

  "How can I tell Madame? It is indeed unbelievably too sad! I did not seeMadame Dashwood but I heard her voice," began Louise. "Oh, Madame, thatI should have to pronounce such words to you! I open the door of thedrawing-room! It is scarcely at all lighted! No one is visible! I standand for a moment I look around me! I hear sounds! I listen again! I hearthe voice of Madame Dashwood! Ah! what surprise! Where is she? She ishidden behind the great curtains of the window, completely hidden! Why?And to whom does she speak? Ah, Madame, what frightful surprise, whatshock to hear reply the voice, also behind the curtain, of Monsieur theWarden! I cannot believe it, it is incredible, but also it is true! Istop no longer, for shame! I fly, I meet Robinson in the gallery, but Ipass him--like lightning--I speak not! No word escapes from my mouth! Icome direct to Madame's room! In entering, I know not what to say, I saynothing! I dare not! I stand with the throat swelling, the heartoppressed, but with the lips closed! I speak only because Madameinsists, she commands me to speak, to say all! I trust in God! I obeyMadame's command! I speak! I disclose frankly the painful truth! Iimpart the boring information!"

  While Louise was speaking Lady Dashwood's face had first expressedastonishment, and then it relaxed into amusement, and when her maidstopped speaking for want of breath, she sank down upon a chair andburst into laughter.

  "My poor Louise?" she said. "You never will understand English people.If Mrs. Dashwood and the Warden are behind the window curtains, it isbecause they want to look out of the window!"

  Louise's face became passionately sceptical.

  "In the rain, Madame!" she remarked. "In a darkness of the tomb?"

  "Yes, in the rain and darkness," said Lady Dashwood. "You must go downagain in a moment, and give them my message!"