Such is love (18 page)

He laughed, but she knew how pleased he was. '

"Nothing else in the world to worry about?" he wanteu to know.

"Nothing," Gwyneth said firmly as she kissed him.

Afterwards, when she was lying awake in bed, thinking over the events of the evening, she half convinced herself that there was not so much to worry about as she had supposed.

Perhaps one grew almost used to living on the edge of a volcano, or, perhaps, it was just that the immediate terrible crisis was past and there was bound to be a sense of relief But—^whatever the reason—as she lay there listening to Van's quiet, even breathing, she felt her nervous tension^ relaxing, and very timidly her mind began to explore the^ less terrible possibilities in the present situation.

At least Toby was to be safely hers. Van wished it—for] her sake and also because, as she had hoped, the child had] made his own appeal.

To be sure, Terry had guessed Toby's real identity, ai nothing she could say now would shake his belief in tha^ She clenched her hands again nervously at the thought: But, on the other hand, he stood to gain nothing and lose everything if he disclosed what he knew. The possibility his betraying her had been a powerful threat in his hand^ —but only to be used in revenge, if she were responsible for spoiling his own plans.

And it seemed she could not be responsible. Paula simply would not listen to what she had said.

She had done her best, she assured herself. She had honestly done her best. Short of telling Paula the absolute truth and ruining the lives of Van and herself and Toby; there was nothing more that she could do. Paula must find

out for herself now. All that Gwyneth could do was to keep in close touch with her and try to anticipate any specially foolish step that she might take.

Gwyneth thought of what Terry had said about marrying Paula. At the time she had paid it no more than a contemptuous moment of notice, but now she recalled it more seriously.

He had said the dreadful woman who had been his wife was dead. With a shiver, Gwyneth wondered in what dreary, loveless, sordid surroundings she had met her end. Terry would not be much comfort to one at a time like that.

But now he was free, and the brutal truth was that not only his inclinations but also his material interests would be served by marrying Paula. Gwyneth knew that would make a great difference in Terry's behaviour. It was not impossible that, while conscience would never regulate his conduct, self-interest might.

She could not think without a shudder of Paula really married to Terry, and yet he would not be the first scoundrel to become a fairly honest man simply because honesty paid best. Paula would find out in time, of course, that he was not all she thought, but she might never have reason to find out his worst depths.

The qualities which fascinated her now might really continue to do so if Terry never had reason to tear the veil from her eyes himself.

"I'm trying to make it all sound sugary and touched with the happy-ever-after wand," thought Gwyneth guiltily. "But it could be something like that. It could be. God grant it is!"

She fell asleep at last, worn out with the strain of all that she had passed through, and yet comforted by the thought—illogical but persistent—that the worst was over.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Oddly enough, at breakfast the next morning Toby looked up suddenly and said:

"When do I have to go?"

"Go where, dear?" She was putting milk on his porridge and Van was absorbed in his morning post.

"Away from here. Back—there."

She thought how sad it was that he had never learned to use the word 'home'. And then she remembered—in future he would leam the word and it would mean her home.

"How would you like to stay here for a very long time?"

"With you?"

"Yes."

"And Mr. Van?"

Gwyneth laughed. "Yes."

Toby stared hard at his porridge, and she watched him rather anxiously. Presently, to her astonishment and dismay, she saw two tears begin to roll down his cheeks. She had never seen Toby cry before, not even when he had been frightened by the fire, and the sight moved her deeply.

"Darling, what is it?" She put her arms round him.

"I don't want to go at all," Toby sobbed. "I don't want to have white soap and no chocolate biscuits and not see you and Mr. Van any more."

"Oh, Toby dear!" She was terribly touched, not any the less because she came third on the list. "You shan't ever go away. I promise you shan't. We'll keep you always and always."

"Will you?"

"Of course. We want you."

He looked round her at Van, who had put down the letter he had been reading and was watching this scene with a complicated expression.

Toby scrambled down off his chair suddenly and ran to Van. It was odd how he always seemed to sense that, in some way, the last word lay with Van.

^'Do you want me always, too?" he asked anxiously. And Van caught h»m up and kissed him as affectionately as Gwyneth had done.

"I wouldn't part with you," he said, "for all the green soap and chocolate biscuits in the world."

It didn't seem that there would be any great complications in the matter of making Toby theirs for ever. Van offered to go down to Greystones and see Dr. Kellaby himself, but Gwyneth said:

"I think I'd like to come with you. Mrs. Kellaby was so very kind to me. I should like her to knojw how happily it has all turned out"

So they both went down to Greystones, and though it was a very cold day—much, much colder than either of the days when she had made the journey before, Gwyneth felt warm all through. And the warmth had little to do with the fur coat she was wearing.

"I thought it would turn out like that," Mrs. Kellaby declared. "If we hadn't got something like ninety-five others left, I don't think I could bear to part with Toby, myself."

"He is a dear child," Dr. Kellaby said, "and a good child. On one side, at least, he comes from excellent people. That I do know. The mother was a girl of very good family."

"Was she?'* Van looked only slightly interested.

"Was she?" Gwyneth repeated, and felt herself go cold all over.

"Yes. I didn't know the full circumstances of the story, but I think it must have been the old story of a rather innocent sort of girl being led away by a bounder. She was very young, I understand. The girl's mother brought Toby here. A most unusual type of woman. A great deal of surface charm, I remember, and yet somehow unlikeable. A very cold-hearted woman, I should say."

Gwyneth sat there dumb. It was impossible either to stop the story being told or to make any suitable comments. And then, as though it were a horrid dream in which she could only watch helplessly, unable to wake, she heard Dr. Kellaby say:

"The records are very meagre, I'm afraid. It was quite a mysterious case, but I expect, since you are taking Toby permanently, you would like to see what information we have got."

He had already risen and begun to unlock the safe in his study when Van spoke again.

"Do you know, Kellaby, I almost think I prefer not to

see anything there is. I don't know how my wife feels

about it, but personally, I feel that the less we associate

' Toby with any other actual people, the more he will seem

like our own. What do you think, Gwyn?"

With a tremendous effort, Gv^neth snatched at this extraordinary, last-minute reprieve.

"I agree entirely," she said with perhaps a little more

fervour than was strictly necessary. "I—I feel Toby is ours. I don't want to think of him as—as having any people except us. We shall be bringing him up as our own child. In fact, I want him to regard us as his father and mother. Don't you, Van?"

She was speaking rather too quickly and breathlessly, she knew, but Van didn't seem to notice that.

"Yes," he agreed, "that's exactly how I feel. I think we can leave it at that."

"It's unusual for adopters to feel as you do," Dr. Kella-by said with a smile, "but I've known it happen before. And, as a matter of fact, I'm not at all sure that it isn't the wisest way in the end."

"I'm certain of it," Van said firmly. And, scarcely able to believe her good fortune, Gwyneth realized she was safely past what was probably the last dreadful danger point.

Even when they were alone again in the car oa the way home. Van didn't seem inclined to speak of Toby's meagre past history. It was Gwyneth herself, unable to feel that the whole question was so simply closed, who referred to it.

"I think it is really the best way to let Toby come to us as quite a little unknown. I shouldn't have thought of being so strong-minded as to refuse to see the records, but since you did it, I am very glad to have it so."

"He feels more like our own child that way," Van said.

"Ye-es." Something in the way he said that reminded her very strongly of their conversation on this same road months ago, when he had refused to consider the idea of their interesting themselves in Toby.

"Van " He glanced at her and smiled, so that she

instinctively moved a little closer to him. "I don't know whether there is any need for me to put this into words, but—please don't ever fed that Toby is instead of a child of our own. I should love it if one day we did have one. I—I'm so afraid you'll feel that in a way I've cheated you."

"And I'm so glad," Van said, "that we've really decided to adopt Toby."

"But why? I mean, why specially at this moment?"

"Because you say "thank you" so sweetly. No one ever' says it as you do, Gwyn. And—I know—you've been

sitting there wondering what you could give me that would please me as much as this has pleased you, weren't you?"

"I—suppose so." She smiled.

"Well, I want Toby as much as you do, darling, but I hope—just as you do—that one day there will be another baby, too. One thing is certain—there shall never be the slightest scrap of difference made between them. We owe that to Toby for his having given us so much happiness."

She didn't answer that with anything beyond a smile, but it was so tremulously happy that it was more eloquent than words. She sat very still beside him after that, her eyes brilliant and tender. For Van had said, in so many words, that her child should be regarded as his child.

There followed an amazingly happy week or two for Gwyneth. She could really allow herself to revel in the happiness of having her child in her home, and she and Van taught him, with very little trouble, to regard them and speak of them as his parents. ,

"I never had a mummy and daddy before," he informed them. "We didn't have any at Greystones." But he gave them to understand, in no uncertain way, that he was very well satisfied with the two who had fallen to his lot now.

When it came to writing home to tell her parents of what they had done, Gwyneth wondered how she was going to put it to them. Her mother, of course, could scarcely be kept from guessing the real truth, but Gwyneth decided it was best not to commit any real information to paper.

In the end, she addressed the letter to both her parents, and carefully made it the kind of letter which any daughter might have addressed to her parents when she had qmite unexpectedly decided to adopt a child who had no connection with her at all.

Almost by return of post, they replied to her—separately. And each reply was quite characteristic.

Her father wrote four pages in his beautiful, flowing handwriting, expatiating upon the happiness and responsibility of having a little child in one's home. He said he was slightly surprised that, at such an early date, they had decided to take a homeless waif (disregarding the excellent conditions at Greystones) into their home, rather than wait for the gift of a child of their own. But, in an agree-

able finale, he came to the conclusion that his daughter's heart was 'large enough to shelter this little unfortunate' as well as any children that might come to them. "And I have," he added, "the greatest confidence in Van's considered judgment in this, as in most other matters."

Then Gwyneth turned to her mother's letter.

Following Gwyneth's own admirable caution, Mrs. Vil-ner gave not the slightest hint of having read anything into her daughter's letter which had not been expressly set down there, and every word of her own short reply could be read with equal safety by either Gv/yneth or Van.

I am sure you both know your own minds best (she wrote), and so it would be quite absurd of other people to generalize about adopted children versus one's own, and that soit of thing. I suppose Toby is the child to whom you gave the jug, and so I take it the liking for him was not just a momentary impulse.

He sounds a very nice child, and as soon as possible I shall take the opportunity of spending a day or two in London in order to make his acquaintance myself. I don't know that anything will persuade your father to come, too—I doubt it, for you know how hard it is to drag him away from his beloved books—but perhaps, later on, you might like the idea of spending Christmas or New Year down here, and he and Toby can meet each other then.

Gwyneth smiled slightly as she read the letter. It was a model of what a tactful, affectionate parent should write, and the kindly, half rueful reference to her studious father was perfectly in character. No one could have visualized from that letter the woman Dr. Kellaby had described as 'very charming but somehow unlikeable'. Mother really did these things splendidly.

However, although she might give no sign of having read between the lines, there was no doubt in Gwyneth's mind that she had done so. And when, a very little while later, Mrs. Vilner wrote to say she was coming to London for a day or two, Gwyneth steeled herself for rather disagreeable explanations. and, perhaps, a certain amount of disapproval.

She scarcely minded. Her extreme happiness with Toby nowadays made her more confident, and less inclined to dread the future.

The bond between Van and the child was a very real one by now. It was not that Van just tolerated him because she wanted him and he was a good child anyway. He would often take a great deal of time and trouble to satisfy Toby's many inquiries, and if he were so late home that Toby had gone to bed—as sometimes happened—he always inquired after the child the first thing, and smiled rather indulgently over whatever she had to tell of the day's happenings.