The Black Benedicts (13 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

A
s
it happened, several weeks did actually pass away before Raife Benedict decided to return to a countryside that was now ablaze with midsummer, and in the interval Mallory found that life at Morven flowed along rather sluggishly. She and Serena spent a great deal of their time out of doors, especially when Serena
’
s pony arrived and they were able to take advantage of the sudden perfection of the weather. Serena had sat astride her first pony when she was not much more than three years old, and she would have been quite happy to ride Shamrock, the little chestnut mare, if her un
cl
e had given permission; but as it was it was Mallory who found Shamrock just right for her weight, and in worn jodhpurs and an open-necked blouse, with Serena looking like a small equestrian fashion-plate beside her, they roamed the lanes and explored the woods around the Grange, discovering favourite beauty spots and hidden nooks to which they returned again and again, occasionally persuading Mrs. Allardyce, the cook, to pack them up a picnic basket, and spending the whole of the day out of doors.

Other days they worked conscientiously in the school-room, a host of new books having been sent down from London to assist them in their studies after Mallory had approached her employer on the subject. With typical prodigality he had placed an order for a far larger number of text books, works of reference on all sorts of subjects, as well as some lighter reading matter, than they were ever likely to require—at least, not in the interval before Serena was placed in some sort of a scholastic establishment were sooner or later she would have to find herself.

In the meantime, she found Mallory a most pleasing companion, and a vast impro
v
ement on Darcy, who was beginning a retreat into a sulky shell where she found few sympathizers, for even Mrs. Allardyce had taken quite a fancy to the
‘
new young lady
’
and Mrs. Carpenter had approved of her from the very beginning.

It was the evenings when Mallory felt at her loneliest, and when she wished that there was someone with
w
hom she could share the long, frequently oppressive hours once her solitary evening meal bad been served to her and was over, and night like a stealthy mantle crept down over the tall trees in the park. It was at that hour that the old house, although so filled with luxury, seemed to come alive with a spirit of brooding
w
hich emphasized her aloneness, and when she looked back on that short period when the house had been filled all at once with the laughter and the movement of guests, and when lights had streamed from the drawing-room windows, and had spread across the velvet lawns, and even although she herself had been offered little part in the purely temporary festivities, it had been something to feel that others were enjoying themselves around her.

At least, that was what she told herself when she stood behind the heavy curtains in her room, listening to the lonely hooting of owls in trees crowding
cl
ose to the house, and watching the golden crescent of a young moon rise into the clear blue above the tops of those trees.

In reality, the picture she saw most often was the picture of a tall and rather elegantly spare man who moved with a pantherish ease, and looked at his best in regulation evening clothes, who stepped from the lighted windows with a slender figure in a golden gown keeping close to his side. And the two figures always moved across the terrace to the head of the time-worn steps which led down to the dimly-seen emerald lawn, and whether this picture gave her any satisfaction or not she could not tell—but for some reason it clung to her, and the hooting of the owls sounded lonelier than ever whenever she recaptured it.

Sometimes she caught the sound of Adrian entertaining himself throughout the long hours at his piano, and once or twice he sent down an invitation for her to join
him
in his room. She felt it was a slightly unconventional thing to do to sit there with him while his fingers glided tirelessly over the ivory keys of his piano; but
w
hen he elected to cease playing and sat instead in a chair quite near to her studying her in a fashion which always covered her in a certain embarrassment, while they talked desultorily of such things as music, then she felt that it was still more unconventional, for there was a look in his wonderful dark eyes which definitely disturbed her at times. It was a brooding look, a thoughtful look—and it seemed to take in so much of herself, with her soft hair and her smooth, soft cheek and slender throat, and the girlishly slim figure relaxed in something neat but cool as the evenings grew steadily warmer.

O
nce Jill Harding telephoned and ask
ed
he
r
to spend the evening at the d
oc
tor
’
s house in the village, and Mallory accepted gratefully, and for the first time for many weeks she felt that she was not utterly alone and unwanted when the sun went down. Jill was spending a long week-end with her parents, and she recalled the occasion when Mallory was to have had supper with them before, and when her employer
’
s unfortunate accident had cancelled the evening for her.

“
I always thought that brute Saladin was too much for even Raife Benedict,
”
Jill observed, when the two girls were sitting comfortably together in her sitting-room after they had helped to clear away the remnants of the evening meal—a much more homely evening meal than the one to which Mallory was now accustomed.
“
Tell me,
”
crushing the end of a cigarette into an ash-tray and immediately selecting and lighting another,
“
has that ballet-dancer got a hope of catching him, do you think?
”

Mallory was a little taken aback, and also this was not a subject she was altogether happy at hearing discussed—although why she should shrink from it she hadn
’
t really at that stage of her existence the least idea.

“
How would I know?
”
she asked, rather helplessly.
“
Mrs. Carpenter, I know, is a little afraid that—that
...
”

“
That she has?
”

Mallory made a small, barely noticeable movement with her slim shoulders.

“
Why, otherwise, does he bring her all the way to Morven
...?
And the best bedroom is always got ready for her, apparently, and he is very attentive
...
”
She was recalling the fact that, although he had obviously felt very much more like remaining in his bed and the seclusion of his own room, while recovering from the effects of the
tumble Saladin had occasioned him, Raife, the master of so much—and surely of his own inclinations?—had decided that he had better make an effort and rejoin his guests, otherwise one particular guest might take it amiss!

Jill shook her head, and stared at the glowing tip of her cigarette.

“
And yet I can
’
t believe it,
”
she said.
“
I can
’
t really believe that a man as case-hardened—as impervious, I always thought—as Raife Benedict would succumb quite easily to the rather obvious charms of a dancer. Admittedly she is lovely, and she dances like a dream, but
...
”
She shook her head again.
“
Somehow I can
’
t quite see the thing coming off.
”

She lay back in her chair and looked across at Mallory as if something—something far more urgent than the elder Benedict
’
s matrimonial concerns was occupying her mind, and whatever it was it made her pleasant brown eyes look shadowed, and Mallory had already decided that she was a nervous bundle of energy, who dared not relax because she was always seeking to escape the agitation of her own thoughts. And yet, at the same time, she looked so slim and elegant— so much the sophisticated London model with so much to occupy her time away from the limited horizon of her own home. It was difficult to believe that in an active and interesting life there was something else she desired.

“
Tell me—tell me about Adrian,
”
she said softly, all at once.
“
Is he—how is he?
”

Mallory looked at her in a slightly worried fashion. There was so little she could tell anyone about Adrian, save that he was apparently immersed in his music, and that nothing else—not
even his own daughter—made any real impact on his life. At least...

Jill said slowly, looking at her,
“
He likes you, doesn
’
t he? Mrs. Carpenter told Mother that you
’
re the first person he
’
s taken any real notice of for years, and that Raife was amazed because he displayed so much interest in you.
”
Her lips twisted a little wryly, and suspecting what she suspected Mallory felt as if she had been accused of a crime, and she looked uncomfortable.

“
I can assure you,
”
she answered, without any real conviction in her tones,
“
that if he
’
s interested in me it
’
s simply because—simply because of some link with Serena
...”

“
Nonsense!
”
Jill exclaimed, with gentle amusement.
“
Serena has had more than one governess in the past, and to the best of my knowledge Adrian has scarcely even acknowledged their existence. No,
”
her
s
m
ile at Mallory was wistful, but definitely kind and approving,
“
it
’
s something about yourself—something to
do
with yourself. You
’
re not an obvious beauty like Sonia Martingale, and possibly anyone as sophisticated as Raife would overlook it altogether. But Adrian, with his appreciation of music, and his strange, mystical mentality and need of something
real
and
comforting, and consoling—to him you
’
ve probably got something far more important than beauty.
”

She stood up as Mallory looked still more uncomfortable, even rather acutely embarrassed, and looked at the clock.

“
My dear; it
’
s getting late, and Daddy
’
s had to take the car out, and that means he can
’
t drive you home. You
’
d better let me walk back with you at least a part of the way, and we can thank
goodness it
’
s a moonlight night. And, in any case, I think I can do with, some fresh air.
”

But Mallory
declined to allow her to do more than walk to the end of the village street with her, and then
s
he cut across the park, which she knew would shorten her homeward journey by nearly three-quarters of a mile. And it was, as Jill had said, a moonlight night—a breathlessly beautiful moonlight night, with very little air and hardly a leaf stirring as
s
he walked beneath spreading branches that interposed a kind of canopy between her and the brilliantly clear June sky, sewn with far away stars like millions of tiny, twinkling jewels.

And the one thing which spoiled the peace and the loveliness of it all for her was the recollection of something Jill Harding had said
:

‘
You
’
re not an obvious beauty like Sonia Martingale,
and possibly anyone as sophisticated as Raife would overlook it altogether
...’
Whatever it was about her that Adrian found attractive, she was quite certain in her own heart that her employer was not in the least aware of it—and Jill had put that certainty into words
...
She had made her feel that she was very ordinary clay indeed, compared with Sonia Martingale...

She had emerged from one of the denser thickets, and had just arrived at the edge of the broad, well-cared for stretch of road which cut diagonally across the park and presently joined the main drive which led to the entrance of Morven Grange, when the head-lights of a car sent a sudden, dazzling beam across the whole width of the road, and the unmistakeable soft humming noise of the car itself fell on her ears.

There was no need for anyone to inform her that it was a powerful car, and that it was travelling at speed, and she drew back a little out of the glare of the lights and waited for it to sweep past her and onwards. But, considerably to her surprise, as she stood there like a shadow in
t
he gloom of the trees, there was a sudden harsh grinding of rather ruthlessly applied brakes, and the car
came
to a standstill a few yards ahead of her. The door beside the driver was flung open, and a man s voice called to her:

“
Miss Gower! What in the world do you think you
’
re doing wandering about the park at this
hour?
”

Her employer descended from his place behind the wheel, and she realized now that it was his long grey car in which she herself had once been driven from the Station, and that from the glimpse she had had of it as it swept past her he himself was its only occupant.

For no reason whatsoever that she could think of just then she felt all at once covered in guilt and confusion as he came striding purposefully towards her, and when he reached her she saw that he was hatless and wearing a light grey suit, and there was something almost intimidating in
his eyes.

“
Don
’
t tell me you
’
re taking a moonlight stroll
?”

“
No, I
”
—the sight of him affected her for a few moments,
so oddly that she found it difficult to conjure up a voice—
“
I
’
ve been spending the evening with the Hardings.
”

“
And couldn
’
t one of them have the decency to see you home?
”
His voice was harsh, and he sounded almost furious about coining upon her like this.

“
The doctor was called out, and—and there was only Jill
...”

He walked back to the car and went round and held open the door beside his own seat at the wheel.

“
Get in,
”
he said curtly.

And when she had obeyed him and he had also climbed back into his place and was in the act of engaging his gear, he looked sideways at her for a moment, and she could see that there was no softening of his expression.

“
Don
’
t you know that this is a very lonely walk at night, and that for young women like you it should be out of bounds after ten o
’
clock, even on a summer evening?
”
He thrust impatiently at the gear lever, although the gear wheels would have engaged easily without the slightest effort, and she could see his dark, strong hand gripping it almost violently.
“
Please bear it in mind that I don
’
t approve of you accepting invitations to other people
’
s houses unless they can give you a guarantee beforehand that in the event of it being late when you leave someone will see you back to Morven. Is that quite clear?
”

“
Y-yes—quite clear,
”
Mallory answered, in a very small and thread-like voice, and then subsided into complete silence beside him.