CHAPTER XVI
CONSEQUENCES
The dinner-party at Little Beeding was a small affair. There were but tenaltogether who sat down at Mr. Hazlewood's dinner-table and with theexception of the Pettifers all, owing to Dick Hazlewood's insistence,were declared partisans of Stella Ballantyne. None the less Stella cameto it with hesitation. It was the first time that she had dined abroadsince she had left India, now the best part of eighteen months ago, andshe went forth to it as to an ordeal. For though friends of hers would bepresent to enhearten her she was to meet the Pettifers. The redoubtableAunt Margaret had spoilt her sleep for a week. It was for the Pettifersshe dressed, careful to choose neither white nor black, lest they shouldfind something symbolic in the colour of her gown and make of it anoffence. She put on a frock of pale blue satin trimmed with some whitelace which had belonged to her mother, and she wore not so much as a thingold chain about her neck. But she did not need jewels that night. Themonths of quiet had restored her to her beauty, the excitement of thisevening had given life and colour to her face, the queer little droop atthe corners of her lips which had betrayed so much misery and bitternessof spirit had vanished altogether. Yet when she was quite dressed andher mirror bade her take courage she sat down and wrote a note of apologypleading a sudden indisposition. But she did not send it. Even in thewriting her cowardice came home to her and she tore it up before she hadsigned her name. The wheels of the cab which was to take her to the bighouse rattled down the lane under her windows, and slipping her cloakover her shoulders she ran downstairs.
The party began with a little constraint. Mr. Hazlewood received hisguests in his drawing-room and it had the chill and the ceremony of aroom which is seldom used. But the constraint wore off at the table. Mostof those present were striving to set Stella Ballantyne at her ease, andshe was at a comfortable distance from Mrs. Pettifer, with Mr. Hazlewoodat her side. She was conscious that she was kept under observation andfrom time to time the knowledge made her uncomfortable.
"I am being watched," she said to her host.
"You mustn't mind," replied Mr. Hazlewood, and the smile came back to herlips as she glanced round the table.
"Oh, I don't, I don't," she said in a low voice, "for I havefriends here."
"And friends who will not fail you, Stella," said the old man. "To-nightbegins the great change. You'll see."
Robert Pettifer puzzled her indeed more than his wife. She was plain toread. She was frigidly polite, her enemy. Once or twice, however, Stellaturned her head to find Robert Pettifer's eyes resting upon her with aquiet scrutiny which betrayed nothing of his thoughts. As a matter offact he liked her manner. She was neither defiant nor servile, neitherloud nor over-silent. She had been through fire; that was evident. But itwas evident only because of a queer haunting look which came and went inher dark eyes. The fire had not withered her. Indeed Pettifer wassurprised. He had not formulated his expectations at all, but he had notexpected what he saw. The clear eyes and the fresh delicate colour, herfirm white shoulders and her depth of bosom, forced him to think of heras wholesome. He began to turn over in his mind his recollections of hercase, recollections which he had been studious not to revive.
Halfway through the dinner Stella lost her uneasiness. The lights, theripple of talk, the company of men and women, the bright dresses hadtheir effect on her. It was as though after a deep plunge into darkwaters she had come to the surface and flung out her arms to the sun. Sheceased to notice the scrutiny of the Pettifers. She looked across thetable to Dick and their eyes met; and such a look of tendernesstransfigured her face as made Mrs. Pettifer turn pale.
"That woman's in love," she said to herself and she was horrified. Itwasn't Dick's social position then or the shelter of his character thatStella Ballantyne coveted. She was in love. Mrs. Pettifer was honestenough to acknowledge it. But she knew now that the danger which she hadfeared was infinitely less than the danger which actually was.
"I must have it out with Harold to-night," she said, and later on, whenthe men came from the dining-room, she looked out for her husband. But atfirst she did not see him. She was in the drawing-room and the widedouble doors which led to the big library stood open. It was throughthose doors that the men had come. Some of the party were gathered there.She could hear the click of the billiard balls and the voices of womenmingling with those of the men. She went through the doors and saw herhusband standing by Harold Hazlewood's desk, and engrossed apparently insome little paper-covered book which he held in his hand. She crossed tohim at once.
"Robert," she said, "don't be in a hurry to go to-night. I must have aword with Harold."
"All right," said Pettifer, but he said it in so absent a voice that hiswife doubted whether he had understood her words. She was about to repeatthem when Harold Hazlewood himself approached.
"You are looking at my new pamphlet, Pettifer, _The Prison Walls mustCast no Shadow_. I am hoping that it will have a great influence."
"No," replied Pettifer. "I wasn't. I was looking at this," and he heldup the little book.
"Oh, that?" said Hazlewood, turning away with disappointment.
"Yes, that," said Pettifer with a strange and thoughtful look at hisbrother-in-law. "And I am not sure," he added slowly, "that in a shorttime you will not find it the more important publication of the two."
He laid the book down and in his turn he moved away towards thebilliard-table. Margaret Pettifer remained. She had been struck by thecurious deliberate words her husband had used. Was this the hint forwhich she was looking out? She took up the little book. It was a copy of_Notes and Queries_. She opened it.
It was a small periodical magazine made up of printed questions whichcontributors sent in search of information and answers to those questionsfrom the pens of other contributors. Mrs. Pettifer glanced through theleaves, hoping to light upon the page which her husband had beenstudying. But he had closed the book when he laid it down and she foundnothing to justify his remark. Yet he had not spoken without intention.Of that she was convinced, and her conviction was strengthened the nextmoment, for as she turned again towards the drawing-room Robert Pettiferlooked once sharply towards her and as sharply away. Mrs. Pettiferunderstood that glance. He was wondering whether she had noticed what inthat magazine had interested him. But she did not pursue him withquestions. She merely made up her mind to examine the copy of _Notes andQueries_ at a time when she could bring more leisure to the task.
She waited impatiently for the party to break up but eleven o'clock hadstruck before any one proposed to go. Then all took their leave at once.Robert Pettifer and his wife went out into the hall with the rest, lestothers seeing them remain should stay behind too; and whilst they stood alittle apart from the general bustle of departure Margaret Pettifer sawStella Ballantyne come lightly down the stairs, and a savage furysuddenly whirled in her head and turned her dizzy. She thought of all thetrouble and harm this young woman was bringing into their ordered familyand she would not have it that she was innocent. She saw Stella with hercloak open upon her shoulders radiant and glistening and slender againstthe dark panels of the staircase, youth in her face, enjoyment sparklingin her eyes, and her fingers itched to strip her of her bright frock, hergloves, her slim satin slippers, the delicate white lace which nestledagainst her bosom. She clothed her in the heavy shapeless garments, thecoarse shoes and stockings of the convict; she saw her workingdesperately against time upon an ignoble task with black and brokenfinger-nails. If longing could have worked the miracle, thus at this hourwould Stella Ballantyne have sat and worked, all the colour of her fadedto a hideous drab, all the grace of her withered. Mrs. Pettifer turnedaway with so abrupt a movement and so disordered a face that Robert askedher if she was ill.
"No, it's nothing," she said and against her will her eyes were drawnback to the staircase. But Stella Ballantyne had disappeared and MargaretPettifer drew her breath in relief. She felt that there had been dangerin her moment of passion, danger and shame; and already enough of tho
setwo evils waited about them.
Stella, meanwhile, with a glance towards Dick Hazlewood, had slipped backinto the big room. Then she waited for a moment until the door opened andDick came in.
"I had not said good-night to you," she exclaimed, coming towards him andgiving him her hands, "and I wanted to say it to you here, when we werealone. For I must thank you for to-night, you and your father. Oh, I haveno words."
The tears were very near to her eyes and they were audible in her lowvoice. Dick Hazlewood was quick to answer her.
"Good! For there's need of none. Will you ride to-morrow?"
Stella took her hands from his and moved across the room towards thegreat bay window with its glass doors.
"I should love to," she said.
"Eight. Is that too early after to-night?"
"No, that's the good time," she returned with a smile. "We have the dayat its best and the world to ourselves."
"I'll bring the same horse round. He knows you now, doesn't he?"
"Thank you," said Stella. She unlatched the glass door and opened it."You'll lock it after me, won't you?"
"No," said Dick. "I'll see you to your door."
But Stella refused his company. She stood in the doorway.
"There's no need! See what a night it is!" and the beauty of it creptinto her soul and stilled her voice. The moon rode in a blue sky, a discof glowing white, the great cedar-trees flung their shadows wide over thebright lawns and not a branch stirred.
"Listen," said Stella in a whisper and the river rippling against itsbanks with now a deep sob and now a fairy's laugh sang to them in notesmost musical and clear. That liquid melody and the flutter of a bird'swings in the bough of a tree were the only sounds. They stood side byside, she looking out over the garden to the dim and pearly hills, hegazing at her uplifted face and the pure column of her throat. Theystood in a most dangerous silence. The air came cool and fresh to theirnostrils. Stella drew it in with a smile.
"Good-night!" She laid her hand for a second on his arm. "Don'tcome with me!"
"Why not?"
And the answer came in a clear whisper:
"I am afraid."
Stella seemed to feel the man at her side suddenly grow very still."It's only a step," she went on quickly and she passed out of the windowon to the pathway. Dick Hazlewood followed but she turned to him andraised her hand.
"Don't," she pleaded; the voice was troubled but her eyes were steady."If you come with me I shall tell you."
"What?" he interrupted, and the quickness of the interruption broke thespell which the night had laid upon her.
"I shall tell you again how much I thank you," she said lightly. "I shallcross the meadow by the garden gate. That brings me to my door."
She gathered her skirt in her hand and crossed the pathway to the edge ofthe grass.
"You can't do that," exclaimed Dick and he was at her side. He stoopedand felt the turf. "Even the lawn's drenched. Crossing the meadow you'llbe ankle-deep in dew. You must promise never to go home across themeadow when you dine with us."
He spoke, chiding her as if she had been a mutinous child, and with somuch anxiety that she laughed.
"You see, you have become rather precious to me," he added.
Though the month was July she that night was all April, half tears, halflaughter. The smile passed from her lips and she raised her hands to herface with the swiftness of one who has been struck.
"What's the matter?" he asked, and she drew her hand away.
"Don't you understand?" she asked, and answered the question herself."No, why should you?" She turned to him suddenly, her bosom heaving, herhands clenched. "Do you know what place I fill here, in my own county?Years ago, when I was a child, there was supposed to be a pig-faced womanin Great Beeding. She lived in a small yellow cottage in the Square. Itwas pointed out to strangers as one of the sights of the town. Sometimesthey were shown her shadow after dusk between the lamp and the blind.Sometimes you might have even caught a glimpse of her slinking late atnight along the dark alleys. Well, the pig-faced woman has gone and Ihave taken her place."
"No," cried Dick. "That's not true."
"It is," she answered passionately. "I am the curiosity. I am the freak.The townspeople take a pride in me, yes, just the same pride they took inher, and I find that pride more difficult to bear than all the aversionof the Pettifers. I too slink out early in the morning or late afternight has fallen. And you"--the passion of bitterness died out of hervoice, her hands opened and hung at her sides, a smile of tendernessshone on her face--"you come with me. You ride with me early. With you Ilearn to take no heed. You welcome me to your house. You speak to me asyou spoke just now." Her voice broke and a cry of gladness escaped fromher which went to Dick Hazlewood's heart. "Oh, you shall see me to mydoor. I'll not cross the meadow. I'll go round by the road." She stoppedand drew a breath.
"I'll tell you something."
"What?"
"It's rather good to be looked after. I know. It has never happened to mebefore. Yes, it's very good," and she drew out the words with a low laughof happiness.
"Stella!" he said, and at the mention of her name she caught her hands upto her heart. "Oh, thank you!"
The hall-door was closed and all but one car had driven away when theyturned the corner of the house and came out in the broad drive. Theywalked in the moonlight with a perfume of flowers in the air and the bigyellow cups of the evening primroses gleaming on either side. They walkedslowly. Stella knew that she should quicken her feet but she could notbring herself to do more than know it. She sought to take into her heartevery tiniest detail of that walk so that in memory she might, yearsafter, walk it again and so never be quite alone. They passed out throughthe great iron gates and turned into the lane. Here great elms overhungand now they walked in darkness, and now again were bathed in light. Atwig snapped beneath her foot; even so small a thing she would remember.
"We must hurry," she said.
"We are doing all that we can," replied Dick. "It's a longway--this walk."
"You feel it so?" said Stella, tempting him--oh, unwisely! But the spellof the hour and the place was upon her.
"Yes," he answered her. "It's a long way in a man's life," and he drewclose to her side.
"No!" she cried with a sudden violence. But she was awake too late. "No,Dick, no," she repeated, but his arms were about her.
"Stella, I want you. Oh, life's dull for a man without a woman; I cantell you," he exclaimed passionately.
"There are others--plenty," she said, and tried to thrust him away.
"Not for me," he rejoined, and he would not let her go. Her strugglesceased, she buried her face in his coat, her hands caught his shoulders,she stood trembling and shivering against him.
"Stella," he whispered. "Stella!"
He raised her face and bent to it. Then he straightened himself.
"Not here!" he said.
They were standing in the darkness of a tree. He put his arms about herwaist and lifted her into an open space where the moonlight shone brightand clear and there were no shadows.
"Here," he said, and he kissed her on the lips. She thrust her head back,her face uplifted to the skies, her eyes closed.
"Oh, Dick," she murmured, "I meant that this should never be. Evennow--you shall forget it."
"No--I couldn't."
"So one says. But--oh, it would be your ruin." She started away from him.
"Listen!"
"Yes," he answered.
She stood confronting him desperately a yard or so away, her bosomheaving, her face wet with her tears. Dick Hazlewood did not stir.Stella's lips moved as though she were speaking but no words wereaudible, and it seemed that her strength left her. She came suddenlyforward, groping with her hands like a blind person.
"Oh, my dear," she said as he caught them. They went on again together.She spoke of his father, of the talk of the countryside. But he had anargument for each of hers.
"Be brave for just a li
ttle, Stella. Once we are married there will be notrouble," and with his arms about her she was eager to believe.
Stella Ballantyne sat late that night in the armchair in her bedroom, hereyes fixed upon the empty grate, in a turmoil of emotion. She grew coldand shivered. A loud noise of birds suddenly burst through the openwindow. She went to it. The morning had come. She looked across themeadow to the silent house of Little Beeding in the grey broadeninglight. All the blinds were down. Were they all asleep or did one watchlike her? She came back to the fireplace. In the grate some tornfragments of a letter caught her eyes. She stooped and picked them up.They were fragments of the letter of regret which she had written earlierthat evening.
"I should have sent it," she whispered. "I should not have gone. I shouldhave sent the letter."
But the regret was vain. She had gone. Her maid found her in the morninglying upon her bed in a deep sleep and still wearing the dress in whichshe had gone out.