Читать книгу Where Three Roads Meet - Ethel M. Dell - Страница 10

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Afterwards, when it was all over, Molly used to wonder by what mystic means she was rendered so submissive. Up to her birthday she had been mistress of herself; after it, she became a mere puppet in the hands of others, forced into subjection by wills so dominating that her own gave way with scarcely a struggle. Always in her heart was the knowledge that she did not want to marry again, but she lacked the strength to act upon it. Somehow everything was taken for granted in such an irrevocable fashion that there seemed no possibility of turning back. She was as much a prisoner as if she had been kept under lock and key, and even if panic had urged her to flee from the situation, there was always Rollo to keep her where she was. For his sake she never dared to make the attempt.

As one in a dreadful dream she went through the ceremony of her father’s funeral, while yet she could not bring herself to realize his death. They had never been very close companions. He had led his life apart from her, immersed in his books, but he had constituted home to her, and without the familiar figure she felt lost and outcast.

When Ivor told her that he had made arrangements for their marriage two days later, she felt too stunned to protest. It had got to be. Like a slave sold in the market, she had no choice. There was no one to whom she could turn for deliverance, and there was Rollo—always Rollo—to provide for and protect.

Had she been even a little older, she might have held her own; but, worn down as she was, by a long struggle against pitiless odds, there was nothing left for her but to go the way she was driven. Her father’s small savings were gone, and she and Rollo were practically destitute. So, without further remonstrance, she accepted her lot and made ready for the sacrifice.

Ivor was very kind to her—but always from the possessive standpoint. He never let her lose sight of the fact that she was to be at his complete disposal, and without words he managed to convey to her that she was very fortunate to find so safe a harbourage. She began to suppose that she must be, and anyhow—shrink as she might from the life that lay before her—it was bound to be better for Rollo.

But she would not have him at her wedding. There for once, strangely, her wounded spirit asserted itself. She would go through it without raising the faintest difficulty, but it must be alone. Upon this point her resolution concentrated, and they let her have her way.

After all, as Caroline humorously put it, who wanted a squealing brat in church at a wedding which was supposed to be conspicuously quiet?

It was a quiet ceremony enough, but the old men and women of the village thronged to see it, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. It was an event not likely to be forgotten in the village where the pathetic bride was so familiar a figure, and they were unanimous in congratulating her upon her good luck. Some there were who were surprised that Lord Aubreystone did not look higher and wondered at the reason for his choice, but to most of them his motive was fairly obvious. Molly was already the mother of one robust child, and he needed an heir. The dwindling of the ancient line had caused something approaching to panic in the family. If he were to die childless the title would lapse. So upon mature consideration he had probably chosen wisely. It was no time for taking risks. No one could afford to do that, the Aubreystones least of all.

Yet it was generally conceded that he seemed very pleased with his bargain. It was only Molly with her strained smile and rather scared eyes who showed any lack of confidence. But this was as it should be in one so young scaling the social ladder with such unexpected rapidity.

“Poor dear! She’ll feel out of place up at the Castle,” was one woman’s verdict. “And the old lady and her daughter won’t make it any easier for her neither.”

“Well, she’s done better for herself than she did last time,” snapped back a neighbour. “That young man she married first time wasn’t nothing to boast about—and no money.”

“Money isn’t everything,” said gentle Miss Mason the postmistress. “I hope she hasn’t been induced to marry for it this time.”

The two other women smiled at one another. Miss Mason was known to be on the romantic side, but even she surely could scarcely have been proof against rank and money combined. Was there any woman living who could—especially now when times were so hard?

“Well, she won’t have to wait for her meat rations outside the butcher’s any more,” was their envious verdict, with which, at least, Miss Mason was obliged to agree.

And Molly went through it all as one lost. No further message had come to her out of the unknown, nor ever could again; for she had locked the door. She and Rollo had been left to fend for themselves, and she had taken the only possible course open to her. Her widow’s pension was totally inadequate to educate him as he must be educated; and for herself, what did anything matter now?

And yet, deep in her soul, she knew that what she was doing mattered intensely. She knew that the dreamy feeling would not last, and that she would awake and suffer acutely. She went through her wedding like an automaton, but within, her spirit waited in shrinking expectation of the anguish to come. She did not even see the gaping villagers as she walked down the churchyard path when it was over. She only saw her father’s grave with its little heaps of withering flowers, and the great gap that had been torn in the wall close by, where he had died. But, averting her eyes from these things, she saw nothing else; for the whole world seemed dark.

She was aware of Ivor putting her into the car at the gate, but she lacked the strength to take active notice of anything, and during the brief drive to the Castle she lay back as if unconscious.

He did not worry her. Perhaps he realized that she was incapable of further effort for the moment. But when they reached his home, he did not wait for his mother and sister who were in another car immediately behind, but led her straight through the hall and gave her wine.

That restored her somewhat, and she looked at him with misty eyes of gratitude. “I must go and see if my Rollo is all right,” she said.

He made no demur, though he frowned slightly at the suggestion. Rollo had been left in the charge of a girl from the village under the supervision of Mrs. Pitson, the housekeeper. Ivor followed his bride as she hastened to Mrs. Pitson’s room, and was in time to hear her boy’s shout of welcome as he sprang into her arms.

Molly held him very tightly, covering his round baby-face with kisses. He had a lot to tell her in his eager inarticulate way. Both Mrs. Pitson and his temporary attendant, Rose, had been superlatively kind to him, but he scorned them both. He wanted only Molly, and firmly refused even to look at the tall man behind her whom he knew quite well but had never very greatly liked.

But Ivor wanted Molly, too, and after a discreet pause, he made his desire known.

“Let him be taken out into the garden!” he said. “We must go back to my mother.”

“Can’t I bring him too?” murmured Molly.

Ivor negatived the idea instantly, though not unkindly. “I think not, dear. A little later on, perhaps. But we must consider my mother. I can’t have her worried.”

So Molly caressed her baby tenderly once more and put him down. He sought to follow her and set up a shriek of disappointment when he was frustrated by Rose.

Molly stopped short and would have turned back, but in a moment the indomitable encompassed her once more. Ivor put a firm arm around her and drew her away.

“Don’t spoil the child!” he said. “He can see you again later. We must be sensible.”

He led her with quiet compulsion from the scene, and Rollo’s yells of impotent indignation pursued them until they were out of earshot.

Molly made no resistance, but her face was set to endure the first stab of returning sensibility. It was for Rollo that she had taken this step, and there could be no return.

They joined Lady Aubreystone who, with Caroline, was entertaining a few guests from the neighbourhood who had attended the ceremony, and there followed a subdued buzz of congratulations to which Ivor made suitable reply.

No, they were not contemplating a honeymoon. He had not been able to get leave at such short notice, but he hoped a little later on perhaps—anyhow, duty first! And Molly, straining her ears and imagining that she still heard Rollo’s cries in the distance, scarcely answered at all.

Her mother-in-law treated her with punctilious kindness, and Caroline scarcely noticed her. The dream was turning into a terrible nightmare, the awakening from which would be the most intolerable of all. An insane longing to break away from the little gathering of local magnates, snatch up her son and flee, possessed her, but she kept it under control, conscious of the iron wills around her and her own powerlessness through all. Already she was subdued and held in check by the very atmosphere she breathed, and sometimes an inner fear shook her which she dared not even face. It was being silently but very persistently borne in upon her that she would never be her own mistress again.

The dreadful function came to an end at last. Tea was brought in and partaken of, and the handful of guests departed.

Molly threw a nervous glance around. Surely now she might escape and go to Rollo! She began to edge towards the door, and Ivor, entering, met her and took her by the arm.

“Now,” he said, “we’ll have a little time to ourselves. Poor child! Don’t look so scared! They’re not so formidable as they look, and they all mean well. Have you had enough tea? Come along then! We’ll sit in the study.”

“I was wondering—if I might just go to Rollo for a little while,” she pleaded anxiously. “You know, he is never away from me night or day, and I’m sure he’ll be fretting.”

He smiled at her, but it was the implacable smile she was beginning to know and dread. “You can see him afterwards,” he said. “Let them put him to bed! The girl will sit with him till he’s asleep. She is to spend the night with him, by the way. I don’t believe you have even seen your new room yet.”

She had not, nor was she interested, for consternation was at her heart. She had a sudden vision of Rollo waking up in the morning and looking in vain for his mother’s face. Absurd of course! He would get used to it. He was such a baby. But her heart tore at the thought notwithstanding.

“Please let me see him,” she begged, “if it’s only for a moment!”

He shook his head laughingly. “Later, my dear, later! I know what it would mean. You would want to stop and bath him yourself, and then I should see nothing more of you till dinner-time. He would never consent to part with you again if you went near him now, and I am sure he’s perfectly happy. I’ll send and ask if you like.”

He was not to be moved. She realized it with a hopeless sigh. Rollo and she were both to be trained by quiet degrees to do without one another. It was the inevitable, and she yielded as she was bound to yield. Ivor had the right to demand her submission now.

She heard a curt laugh from Caroline as they went away together, and knew that she had overheard her brother’s calm assertion of authority and was exulting over it. That inner fear made her quiver again. There was something so cruel about the situation that she was almost panic-stricken. And yet on the surface all was calm, if not conventional.

She went with Ivor to the study, but he had scarcely closed the door upon them when an interruption came from the telephone, delivered by Bridges, the ancient butler, ceremonious and apologetic.

Ivor turned back at once. “You stay here, my dear, and amuse yourself! There are plenty of books. I shan’t be long.”

But the moment he was gone, the ache at Molly’s heart suddenly asserted itself and became unbearable. She could not leave Rollo in the hands of strangers any longer. He had said that he had no intention of separating them. That meant apparently that they would continue to live under the same roof, and no more. Her very soul cried out against it. Rollo—who had been with her always, for every minute of his life! Rollo—who was probably at this very moment crying for her! Or was he already learning to do without her?

Something swelled in her throat and her eyes were suddenly full of tears. What a dreadful day it had been—a crushing, unforgettable day! But she dashed the tears away. Now was her chance—now or never! She made a spring for the door.

It opened before she reached it, and Caroline stood looking at her with eyes of contemptuous amusement. Molly fell back a step in confusion. She had almost collided with her.

Caroline came forward with a quiet determined step and shut the door with finality behind her.

“Now,” she said, “let me have my share! I’ve hardly spoken to you yet. Ivor has had a call from the War Office, I hear.”

Molly was trembling. She felt cold and curiously clammy, as if she were standing in a vault that chilled her to the bone.

“I don’t know where it was from,” she said. “He didn’t tell me.”

Caroline nodded. There was something behind the amusement in her eyes; they held a sort of detached determination—the look of the cat that plays with the fluttering bird it means to kill.

“Yes, it was the War Office,” she said. “I hope it doesn’t necessitate his going up to town to-night. If so, you will have to go too, I suppose.”

“Oh no!” said Molly quickly, and it was as if her heart spoke rather than her lips. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t!”

Caroline’s firm brows went up. “My dear girl, I scarcely see how you could do otherwise on your wedding-day,” she said. “If it weren’t for this job of his you’d be off already on your honeymoon.”

Molly locked her hands together. Time was passing, and time was precious. Ivor would be back before she could escape. She threw a piteous glance at the inflexible figure that barred the way. “I couldn’t,” she said in a stifled voice, “I couldn’t possibly leave Rollo.”

“Really!” said Caroline, and there was more than contempt in her voice this time; it had a cold inflection of anger. “So—Rollo—is to come before—your husband, is he!”

“My—husband!” Molly felt as if even her lips had turned to ice; and surely ice was being pressed against her heart, freezing her blood at the very source! She tried to say more, but could not.

Caroline repeated the words in her slow hard voice, driving them pitilessly home. “Your husband—yes, your husband. I don’t think you quite realize—yet—that Ivor is—your husband, and that he has a perfect right to control all your actions. You will have to realize it, and the sooner the better.”

Molly said nothing. She had retreated another step and was supporting herself against the back of an armchair. The frozen feeling prevented speech, and this woman with her dominant features and relentless strength of purpose was a force against which she had no power to assert herself.

The grim voice went on speaking, and Molly could only stand and listen, with that awful coldness at her heart.

“And there is another thing which you will have to realize, and that is that Ivor has shown an almost quixotic generosity in adopting your child, and—if for that reason alone—you owe it to him to give your very utmost in return, and also to acknowledge that he has earned the right to control the child’s future and upbringing. You will be very ill-advised if you attempt to interfere in this, Mary, and will probably do untold harm both to yourself and the boy.”

She paused, but Molly still said nothing; only stood there waiting, wondering how long it could possibly last.

“Well?” Caroline said at length. “Am I making any impression?”

Molly caught her breath. Impression! When her very soul was quivering in an almost intolerable anguish! But—suddenly it came to her—how could this grim sister of Ivor’s possibly understand all that she had suffered, was still suffering, for the sake of her dead hero? Had Caroline ever stooped to learn the meaning of love? She was certain that she never had, and for that reason she could never know the heights or the depths. It was hard to believe that she had even been created for these things.

Caroline waited inexorably, her back to the door through which she was shrewdly aware that Molly was yearning to escape. If Molly had burst into tears she might have been moved into some sort of compassion, but that white-faced silence had the appearance to her of sheer idiocy. She hoped that Ivor had not married a half-wit.

“Well?” she said again in a voice that implied that her patience was running out. “Are these subjects of so little interest to you that you have nothing to say about them?”

Molly moved sharply, throwing out her hands with a gesture curiously like that of a drowning person. Her voice came stifled, as though indeed deep waters surged around her. “Oh, I feel—so funny,” she said. “Do—do let me go!”

With the words she tottered, feeling vaguely for support; and, blindly missing the chair against which till then she had leaned, she fell, crumpling downwards, in a huddled heap at Caroline’s feet.