Читать книгу The Altar of Honour - Ethel M. Dell - Страница 5

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“Well, young Rory! And how may you be feeling on the morning after the day before?”

Pat Deloraine looked up comfortably from an ample plateful of ham and eggs as his visitor entered the room. His own contented countenance showed no signs of wear and tear. Pat lived uncomplainingly on his wife’s income, and made no bones about it.

“Sure, if she’s got the means and the will to support a husband, why shouldn’t she?” was his amiable philosophy. His own income had always been a minus quantity, which was the only fact regarding him upon which Rory in his young sufficiency could not bring himself to look with favour. Pat had never worked for his living. He was a born loafer, as pathetically harmless and inoffensive as a drone.

“I’m all right,” said Rory, pausing at the sideboard to peer under several covers before making a selection. “What a mob there was last night, Pat! I think Aunt Eileen ought to raise the age-limit, or else engage an army of nursemaids to look after ’em.”

“Why should she,” said Pat, with a snigger, “when she’s got you?”

“Well, I’m dead beat,” declared Rory. “I shan’t do it again.”

“The gay Lothario wants more time for his own amusements, eh?” suggested Pat, still sniggering. “Well, my young bantam, I can only say to you what I’m for ever saying to myself. Why bother when nobody asks you to?”

“But you can’t have the floor littered with crying kids!” protested Rory. “Even Aunt Eileen must see that.”

“My lad,” said Pat, becoming solemn, “your Aunt Eileen never sees anything at all beyond the ace, king, queen, and jack, always excepting when she’s after enjoying a run with the hounds. And I’m not blaming her for it. For why should she? And if it comes to that, why should you or any one of us?”

“I don’t know,” said Rory. “But there is such a thing as responsibility, I suppose, and anyhow it was her party.”

He turned from the sideboard with a plate in each hand, at sight of which Pat smiled anew.

“You’re not doing yourself too badly this morning,” he observed. “Any more than you did last night—unless my eyes played me false. I saw you were dancing all the last part of the time with the prettiest little colleen in the room.”

Rory betrayed no embarrassment at this insinuation. He sat down with complete unconcern and began his breakfast.

“She’s English,” he said. “Old Audley’s youngest daughter from Malahide. You know them, I suppose?”

“Yes, I know ’em,” said Pat. “She’s a lovely child, that;—the very image of her mother, unluckily for her.”

“Why do you say that?” said Rory.

Pat took up his paper. “I don’t know. She was a bit on the rapid side, the mother. She galloped over the cliff, you know, a year ago, up Ballybeg way. There were a good many who thought it wasn’t quite such an accident as it looked, for she was a superb rider and knew every inch of the ground.”

“Great Scott!” said Rory.

“Shouldn’t mention that to the child if I were you,” recommended Pat. “Not that you’re very likely to see her again. She’s kept like a dog on a chain. Only came last night because Eileen called her Cinderella in front of the two sisters. They can’t stand chaff, and Eileen is always getting at ’em.”

“It’s a rotten shame!” declared Rory with heat. “What’s she done to be treated like that?”

“She? Nothing except get born when nobody wanted her,” said Pat, “and have the effrontery to be pretty into the bargain. Fairly serious offences, both of ’em. Old Audley’s as poor as a church-mouse, and to be saddled with a woman like Griselda for a daughter must be a bit of a handicap. There’s some chance for the second one—Sylvia. She’s quite passable, and may marry yet, if she’s quick about it. But Griselda—ye gods!”

“Well, what’s Griselda like?” asked Rory, rapidly demolishing his breakfast. “She sounds a sort of she-dragon, from all accounts.”

Pat chuckled. “She’s a woman of iron, my son, whom, I confess, I would not like to tackle single-handed—a great raw-boned creature who strides about the place in riding-breeches and sets everyone by the ears. Oh, she’s a holy terror, I can tell you. I bet the second Mrs. Audley had never seen her when she agreed to marry the old man.”

“And she’s teaching Charmaine!” said Rory, gulping down his food with a species of condensed fury.

“Oh, she told you that, did she?” said Pat. “Yes, it’s a damn’ shame that they don’t give the child a decent education, but the old man won’t cut down his hunters, or Griselda won’t let him. Poor little thing! She nearly pined herself into the grave when her mother died, but nobody cared.”

Rory looked up, his Irish eyes ablaze. “It is—a damn’ shame, Pat!” he declared hotly. “Isn’t there anyone in this perishing world that can do anything in a case like that?”

Pat shrugged his shoulders. “No good getting excited, young feller,” he said. “The child’s their own flesh and blood. Besides, it won’t do her any harm in the long run to be licked into shape a bit now. Life’ll come all the easier to her afterwards.”

A comfortable reflection which provoked a remark from Rory’s lips of which the easy-going Pat had not believed him capable!

He glanced up from his paper with the half-formed intention of administering a mild reproof, but was checked by the entrance of his wife, attired in a morning wrapper which trailed, somewhat depressingly, on the floor behind her.

“Good morning, everybody!” she said in a weary drawl that somehow matched the wrapper. “Don’t talk to me! I’ve got the very devil of a headache. I’m sure I don’t know why, for my brain was as clear as crystal when I went to bed. Ah, Rory darlin’, I wish you’d boil me an egg. You naval people always know how to do things. Now, Pat, put away your paper like a dear boy, and make me the blackest cup of coffee that you’ve ever seen! Ah yes, you will, because I’ve got such a head on me I can’t do anything for myself at all.”

She subsided in a chair by the fire and pushed a bare foot in a dilapidated satin slipper towards the glow while her husband and nephew applied themselves to the tasks allotted to them.

“I wish you’d tell Micky not to cut up the peat so small,” she resumed, after a moment. “It burns like hell and only gives out half the heat, instead of going further as he seems to expect. Oh, and, Pat dear, what do you think I did last night? I found the letter I sent asking the two elder Audleys and their father to come as well hadn’t been sent at all. There it was under my jewel-case, and goodness knows how it got there. I’m sure I don’t. I asked the little girl why they weren’t with her, and she said she didn’t know; and then I forgot all about them till I went to bed, and then I found it. So vexing, because I hate having them, and I shouldn’t have minded last night as they would have been lost in the crowd! Now I shall have to ask them separately, which is such a bore. You see, I asked the little girl when I met them in the road, but I had a formal invitation for the elders. So very vexing! I don’t know why these things happen; just to aggravate one, I suppose. Well, Rory boy, and how did you enjoy yourself?”

“He’s feeling a trifle exhausted too,” said Pat. “Sure, he worked like the very devil to make everybody happy against their will, so it’s not surprising.”

“Shut up!” said Rory, intent over his job. “I didn’t.”

“Oh, I know. I saw him,” said his aunt. “It was utter waste of time. It always is. People will amuse themselves in their own way whatever you do, so why worry? I saw him dancing with Charmaine Audley once, and the child looked quite happy, for a wonder.”

“Once!” grinned Pat. “Why, I never saw him dancing with anyone else the whole evening—made himself quite conspicuous and her too. A good thing Griselda’s eagle eye wasn’t on her, or she’d have been clapped in irons by this morning!”

“Oh, chuck it!” said Rory, without turning.

“Burned with hot irons more likely,” supplemented Eileen. “I can’t think what’ll happen in another six years when that child grows up a brilliant beauty, as she will, and the wretched Griselda already getting more hideous every day. It’s a vindictive wolf of a woman she is. She’ll make her pay with her life, just as she made the mother.”

“I say, Eileen!” Even the easy-going Pat was momentarily shocked. “You’ll get burnt yourself if you talk like that. We all know the woman’s a vixen, but——”

“Ah, sure now, Pat,” she broke in unperturbed, “it’s the truth I’m telling you, and you know it. Everyone knows that Verena Audley was driven to end her life in sheer desperation. Of course she couldn’t stand her home, and of course she found distractions elsewhere! I would myself—sure and I would—if I had to live with Griselda. And of course she was bound to overstep the mark sooner or later—a lovely creature like that! Remember that young Overton? He was madly head over ears in love with her. Everybody knew it. It was common talk everywhere, so you needn’t try to hush me up. Then there was that Rafferty man too. He wasn’t so obvious as young Overton, but he wasn’t the sort to be kept at a distance for long. And there were heaps of others too—plentiful as peas in a pod. Griselda knew it, as we all did, and just bided her time. Then when she’d got her little adjustments ready she snapped the string and the mouse was caught. I don’t blame poor Verena—never did—for taking the shortest way out; but I was always rather sorry for the mare. She was the finest jumper I’ve ever seen, and if Verena had only left her behind, I’d have made a decent bid for her. She’d have carried my weight to perfection. And by the same token, Pat, did you tell Micky that I’d be riding the Jerusalem Artichoke this morning? You didn’t? Well, will you go and tell him, please? Rory can see to the coffee. No, dear, no! I didn’t tell you, but you might have guessed. I always do ride after a night at cards. It’s the only way to get the beastly things out of my head. The Proudfoot woman had all the luck. How I hate the creature! Almost as much as she hates me! I must get her for a partner next time or be ruined entirely. Oh, Pat, wait—wait now! I haven’t finished. Tell Micky to be round at eleven! No, I shan’t want him, of course, but p’raps Rory would like to come. Would you, Rory? You can ride Erin if you like—so long as you don’t talk to me. But I can’t stand any talk to-day. As I say, my head’s the very devil.”

“Thanks very much, Aunt Eileen, I won’t to-day if it’s all the same to you,” said Rory.

“Won’t!” She turned in her chair. “Why, what’s the matter with the boy? I’ve never known you refuse a mount before.”

“He’s got a previous engagement,” grinned Pat. “That’s about the size of it, eh, Rory? Now don’t you go asking questions, Eileen, and spoiling everything! Let the boy please himself!”

Rory stood up abruptly. His face was red, but he had himself under good control. “As a matter of fact, that is the size of it,” he said. “Don’t you worry about me, Aunt Eileen! I’m going to enjoy myself in my own way if nobody minds. I shall turn up for dinner to-night all right.”

“Well, did you ever?” said Eileen, “I suppose it’s human nature. You’d better get Biddy to put you up some grub, and p’raps you won’t forget to eat it if you’ve got it with you. Pat darlin’, would it be asking too much of yourself to come and ride with your wife for once? I’ve got to go round and explain to the rest of the Audleys why they didn’t get asked to my party.”

She threw a glance at Rory as she made this announcement, then, as he betrayed no discomfiture, passed it on to her husband with a wink of some significance.

Pat broke into a laugh and departed, without explanation.