Читать книгу Where Three Roads Meet - Ethel M. Dell - Страница 7

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Old Lady Aubreystone sat in her boudoir, very upright, unbendingly self-assured, facing her son who, somewhat stiff and ill at ease, sat opposite and smoked a cigarette.

They had been talking for some minutes, but a silence had fallen, and the mother was better at silences than the son. She conducted the present one with an air of magisterial equanimity which was weightier than any speech. She had very nearly—though not quite—said all that she had to say.

Of this Ivor Aubreystone was aware, but he knew better than to attempt to hurry her. Given plenty of time she would probably express herself with less acerbity.

She spoke, and he stirred in his seat as if he had found a thorn.

“I am sorry,” she said, “that your ambitions have not led you to look any higher than the daughter of an out-at-elbows pedagogue, but I suppose I should be grateful that your fancy has not directed you in any less desirable direction. I do think, however, that I might have been consulted before you actually brought this girl and her child on to the premises.”

Her son shifted his position again and cleared his throat. “As to that,” he said, “I should quite agree with you, Mother, if the circumstances were normal, but they are not. The poor girl was left with a choice of sleeping in a tiny cottage with her dead father lying in the sitting-room, or finding a lodging next door at a cheap and by no means commodious village inn. I could not have allowed that, for, as I have already told you, it is my full intention to make her my wife within the next week if possible; and in consideration of that, I thought it the most natural thing to do to bring her here to you for shelter.”

Lady Aubreystone bent her head slightly. “I can appreciate that, but as I scarcely know her, perhaps you also can appreciate that I am hardly in a position to receive her with enthusiasm. Of her antecedents—and of her previous marriage—I know nothing whatever. I hope that you have taken some steps to satisfy yourself upon these points.”

Ivor made another small movement and brought his grey eyes directly to hers. “I knew her father,” he said. “He was a gentleman of the old school—the scholarly type. I did not know her husband, as he did not live here. He was, I understand, the son of an old friend of her father’s, now dead. But the child is obviously of decent birth, and I only hope that I may some day possess a son as presentable.”

A quick gleam shone in his mother’s eyes at the words. He had sounded the right note. “In that respect,” she said, “I entirely agree with you. And for that reason alone I do not altogether condemn your idea of a hasty marriage. The matter is one of great urgency, and in these days of battle and murder, etc., it seems almost criminal to count upon the future. Even to-night, for instance, you might have been caught by that bomb—and you are the last of the line.”

“Quite so!” Ivor’s mouth twitched a little, but he had deliberately conducted the conversation into this channel and he could hardly take exception to a remark which he himself had intended to utter, had the necessity arisen. “I am glad you realize that,” he said. “We don’t want to risk a complete wipe-out like that. By the way, the bomb itself did no actual damage beyond knocking down the churchyard-wall. Mary’s father died of shock, not injury. But there is no knowing what might happen next time. As you say, we can’t count on anything. I am going to make that clear to Mary herself, for she is rather inclined to try to delay matters.”

“Indeed!” Lady Aubreystone suddenly became more upright. Her black brows met. “D’you mean to tell me that this girl—this little village nobody upon whom your choice has fallen—considers herself to be in a position to dictate terms—to you?”

Ivor smiled, and the tension went out of his attitude as he rose. “No, Mother, no! She will be most reasonable, and I am sure most grateful. But she is a faithful little soul, and still worships the memory of her dead husband—probably more than she would his actual presence if she had it. She will get over all that as soon as she has other things to think about. She would probably have forgotten it long ago if she had not been cooped up in such a narrow space and thrown back on herself at every turn. Her father was a dreamer and no help to her whatever, and the child is only just beginning to be old enough to be interesting. She must have other children—plenty of them. That will take her mind off back numbers.”

Lady Aubreystone smiled somewhat grimly. “I hope you are right,” she said, “and that she will at least be prepared to do her duty in that respect. For, frankly, Ivor, to my mind the situation is desperate. I could never give my consent to your marrying such a girl were it not that she would probably have greater health and strength for the production of children than anyone of your own standing. One puny heir is not enough. I should like to see you with at least four sturdy sons to your credit, and even they”—her voice trembled a little—“might not be enough.”

He came across to her and patted her shoulder. “That’ll be all right, Mother. Don’t fret or be anxious on that score! Mary knows my wishes, and I have no fear that she will not be able to supply them. But you will be kind to her, Mother, won’t you? She is shy and unused to grandeur. I had great difficulty in persuading her to come here. In fact, I almost brought her by force.”

“She will have to do as she is told,” said Lady Aubreystone with firmness.

“Yes, of course,” agreed her son patiently. “I know you will find her very amenable and get very fond of her. But please be kind to her now, for she is in very great trouble! And I think a good deal depends upon your attitude in getting her to agree to the immediate marriage which we both think desirable. She wants to stop and think. But, Mother, there is no time for that. She must take life as it is and make the best of it. Everyone has to now.”

“But of course!” said Lady Aubreystone. “And she ought to consider herself very lucky into the bargain. Surely she realizes that you are doing her a very great honour!”

“Yes, yes, I am sure she does. But she is scared. Goodness knows she has had enough to frighten her, poor child! I want you to guide her, Mother, to help her and advise her. When we are married, it will all be very much easier, but until then—oh, don’t you see she may be frightened away altogether?” Ivor’s voice had a note of urgency.

His mother looked sardonic. “Very unlikely, I should say!” she remarked. “But I see your point. If it must be this girl, and you certainly haven’t been in a hurry to marry till now, I will see what I can do to further your wishes. Heaven alone knows what is going to happen to us all, but it is no good thinking of that. We can only act for the best.”

“And quickly,” said Ivor with emphasis. “Thank you, Mother. I am very grateful to you.”

He turned to the window and stood looking out over the valley and winding river below the Castle garden, his brows slightly drawn as though the situation had not developed entirely in the direction he desired.

His mother’s voice came after a pause from behind him. “Well, there’s no more to be said, except that I remain the mistress here—which seems superfluous.”

Ivor barely turned his head. “My dear Mother, of course! No one ever suggested anything else. You will find her most unassuming. All she has ever done hitherto has been to run her father’s cottage and look after her baby.”

Lady Aubreystone sniffed a little. “She sounds an absolute rustic, but we may be able to make something of her if she is willing to learn. Have her in if you like, and I will speak to her!”

He turned round. “Mother, don’t—please—treat her like that, or I shall have to take her away! I intend to marry her, and I also intend that she shall be happy. But if I can’t count upon your helping me to make her so——”

“And have I refused to do so?” His mother’s voice was stiff with righteous indignation. “Have I done anything whatever to obstruct your wishes? You have expressed your desires—or should I say your intentions?—and I have so far done my best to fall in with them. But, my dear Ivor, there are limits, and you are very nearly approaching them. I may remind you that, but for the absolutely exceptional circumstances, nothing would have induced me to agree to the type of alliance which you are about to make. It is wholly against the principles which I have observed throughout my life.”

“I quite understand,” said Ivor, and he also spoke stiffly though with a certain wariness. “But we are agreed that circumstances have altered this particular case, so there is no need to go into it again. All I do say is that in her present frame of mind it would take very little to scare her away entirely, and I must beg you to consider her feelings and to treat her as a guest and not an interloper.”

“As to that,” said his mother, “I reserve to myself the right to treat her exactly as I choose. I have never been dictated to by any of my children before, and I am not going to submit to such a state of affairs now.”

Ivor swallowed back all rejoinder with an obvious effort. There was a note in Lady Aubreystone’s voice that warned him that he could not afford to lose any further ground. He had never loved her, having always been aware that her feeling for him was of a very tepid description. It was only of late that he had entered into her scheme of life at all. Who could have foreseen that a fourth son would ever inherit the family title and honours? He had been a mere adjunct for the greater part of his existence. But he could not afford to quarrel with her, nor had he any wish to do so. He was not naturally aggressive, and he liked a quiet life.

So after a few moments he walked quietly to the door with the remark, “I will see if I can find her.”

And Lady Aubreystone was left to contemplate her approaching dowagerhood in solitude.