There was a silence that hurt. It was broken by two sounds, occurring simultaneously in different parts of the room. One was a gasp from Lady Caroline. The other was a crash of glass.
For the first time in a long unblemished career Keggs the butler had dropped a tray.
Chapter 24
Out on the terrace the night was very still. From a steel-blue sky the stars looked down as calmly as they had looked on the night of the ball, when George had waited by the shrubbery listening to the wailing of the music and thinking long thoughts. From the dark meadows by the brook came the cry of a corncrake, its harsh note softened by distance.
“What shall we do?” said Maud. She was sitting on the stone seat where Reggie Byng had sat and meditated on his love for Alice Faraday and his unfortunate habit of slicing his approach-shots. To George, as he stood beside her, she was a white blur in the darkness. He could not see her face.
“I don’t know!” he said frankly.
Nor did he. Like Lady Caroline and Lord Belpher and Keggs, the butler, he had been completely overwhelmed by Lord Marshmoreton’s dramatic announcement. The situation had come upon him unheralded by any warning, and had found him unequal to it.
A choking sound suddenly proceeded from the whiteness that was Maud. In the stillness it sounded like some loud noise. It jarred on George’s disturbed nerves.
“Please!”
“I c-can’t help it!”
“There’s nothing to cry about, really! If we think long enough, we shall find some way out all right. Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying!” The choking sound became an unmistakable ripple of mirth. “It’s so absurd! Poor father getting up like that in front of everyone! Did you see Aunt Caroline’s face?”
“It haunts me still,” said George. “I shall never forget it. Your brother didn’t seem any too pleased, either.”
Maud stopped laughing.
“It’s an awful position,” she said soberly. “The announcement will be in the Morning Post the day after tomorrow. And then the letters of congratulation will begin to pour in. And after that the presents. And I simply can’t see how we can convince them all that there has been a mistake.” Another aspect of the matter struck her. “It’s so hard on you, too.”
“Don’t think about me,” urged George. “Heaven knows I’d give the whole world if we could just let the thing go on, but there’s no use discussing impossibilities.” He lowered his voice. “There’s no use, either, in my pretending that I’m not going to have a pretty bad time. But we won’t discuss that. It was my own fault. I came butting in on your life of my own free will, and, whatever happens, it’s been worth it to have known you and tried to be of service to you.”
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
“I’m glad you think that.”
“The best and kindest friend any girl ever had. I wish …” She broke off. “Oh, well…”
There was a silence. In the castle somebody had begun to play the piano. Then a man’s voice began to sing.
“That’s Edwin Plummer,” said Maud. “How badly he sings.”
George laughed. Somehow the intrusion of Plummer had removed the tension. Plummer, whether designedly and as a sombre commentary on the situation or because he was the sort of man who does sing that particular song, was chanting Tosti’s “Good-bye”. He was giving to its never very cheery notes a wailing melancholy all his own. A dog in the stables began to howl in sympathy, and with the sound came a curious soothing of George’s nerves. He might feel broken-hearted later, but for the moment, with this double accompaniment, it was impossible for a man with humour in his soul to dwell on the deeper emotions. Plummer and his canine duettist had brought him to earth. He felt calm and practical.
“We’d better talk the whole thing over quietly,” he said. “There’s certain to be some solution. At the worst you can always go to Lord Marshmoreton and tell him that he spoke without a sufficient grasp of his subject.”
“I could,” said Maud, “but, just at present, I feel as if I’d rather do anything else in the world. You don’t realize what it must have cost father to defy Aunt Caroline openly like that. Ever since I was old enough to notice anything, I’ve seen how she dominated him. It was Aunt Caroline who really caused all this trouble. If it had only been father, I could have coaxed him to let me marry anyone I pleased. I wish, if you possibly can, you would think of some other solution.”
“I haven’t had an opportunity of telling you,” said George, “that I called at Belgrave Square, as you asked me to do. I went there directly I had seen Reggie Byng safely married.”
“Did you see him married?”
“I was best man.”
“Dear old Reggie! I hope he will be happy.”
“He will. Don’t worry about that. Well, as I was saying, I called at Belgrave Square, and found the house shut up. I couldn’t get any answer to the bell, though I kept my thumb on it for minutes at a time. I think they must have gone abroad again.”
“No, it wasn’t that. I had a letter from Geoffrey this morning. His uncle died of apoplexy, while they were in Manchester on a business trip.” She paused. “He left Geoffrey all his money,” she went on. “Every penny.”
The silence seemed to stretch out interminably. The music from the castle had ceased. The quiet of the summer night was unbroken. To George the stillness had a touch of the sinister. It was the ghastly silence of the end of the world. With a shock he realized that even now he had been permitting himself to hope, futile as he recognized the hope to be. Maud had told him she loved another man. That should have been final. And yet somehow his indomitable sub-conscious self had refused to accept it as final. But this news ended everything. The only obstacle that had held Maud and this man apart was removed. There was nothing to prevent them marrying. George was conscious of a vast depression. The last strand of the rope had parted, and he was drifting alone out into the ocean of desolation.
“Oh!” he said, and was surprised that his voice sounded very much the same as usual. Speech was so difficult that it seemed strange that it should show no signs of effort. “That alters everything, doesn’t it.”
“He said in his letter that he wanted me to meet him in London and—talk things over, I suppose.”
“There’s nothing now to prevent your going. I mean, now that your father has made this announcement, you are free to go where you please.”
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
There was another silence.
“Everything’s so difficult,” said Maud.
“In what way?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“If you are thinking of me,” said George, “please don’t. I know exactly what you mean. You are hating the thought of hurting my feelings. I wish you would look on me as having no feelings. All I want is to see you happy. As I said just now, it’s enough for me to know that I’ve helped you. Do be reasonable about it. The fact that our engagement has been officially announced makes no difference in our relations to each other. As far as we two are concerned, we are exactly where we were the last time we met. It’s no worse for me now than it was then to know that I’m not the man you love, and that there’s somebody else you loved before you ever knew of my existence. For goodness’ sake, a girl like you must be used to having men tell her that they love her and having to tell them that she can’t love them in return.”
“But you’re so different.”
“Not a bit of it. I’m just one of the crowd.”
“I’ve never known anybody quite like you.”
“Well, you’ve never known anybody quite like Plummer, I should imagine. But the thought of his sufferings didn’t break your heart.”
“I’ve known a million men exactly like Edwin Plummer,” said Maud emphatically. “All the men I ever have known have been like him—quite nice and pleasant and negative. It never seemed to matter refusing them. One knew that they would be just a little bit piqued for a week or two and then wander off and fall in love with somebody else. But you’re different. You … matter.”