The Judas Kiss (3 page)

"You know, Pearl, I was terribly afraid of you all."

"Of us?" asked the girl. "Why?"

"George told me how clever you all were and I thought you would suppose I had trapped him in some way because I am rather younger than he is. That was a surprise? You thought I would be about his own age?"

"Well, he didn't tell us very much."

"I know. I wanted him to, but he thought it best to do things his way. I love him and I think I can make him happy, especially if you will help me. I want to be one of yourselves. Will Nan regard me as an intruder?"

Pearl hesitated. "She may be a little difficult at first, till she gets used to things. You see we have grown up with her, and she was devoted to Mummie."

"I understand. Will you please tell her from me that I want her to carry on as she has always done. I shall tell her so myself, but you may help to make her believe it. I am really a dreadfully lazy person, only too glad to be able to rely on her. I shall devote myself to George."

"You will not take him away from us?"

"Of course not, darling. But he told me you were all so full of your own affairs."

"I am not."

"But the others are? What do you do?"

"Nothing much. I am just the plain domestic type. I enjoy having a home and making it look nice. When Daddy did not want me I spent a good deal of my time with Nan. For one thing, I love cooking;"

"How splendid, though a little bit lonely? But you are not plain, you are very pretty. Have you any boy friends?"

Pearl blushed. "I have some friends."

"Of course you have. Please remember, darling, I want to help you in every way I can, if you will let me. I wish I had a little sister like you. I was lonely when my mother and father died. If George takes me about, as he talks of doing, you must come, too, sometimes."

"If he wants me."

"I am sure he will. It was a terrible shock to him when your mother died, but he had talked a lot about your independence and he rather felt he was no use to anyone. You and I must cure him of that."

They talked intimately for some time. Then Adelaide said she wanted to see Jasper. Did Pearl think he would mind?

"I am sure not," was the reply. "He has the top flat on the other side. Would you like me to tell him?"

"No. I will take my chance."

The open door to Jasper's private staircase proclaimed that he was at home. Adelaide mounted the stairs and tapped at what she knew must be his sitting-room door.

"Come in!"

She entered and found him in an easy-chair with a block on his knee, drawing.

"Am I disturbing anything?" she asked.

"Not at all," he said, rising to find her a seat. "As a matter of fact I was trying to do you. But it is no good." He tore it off and threw it into the fireplace.

"May I not see it?"

"Certainly not. We do not show our first impressions to our victims. I hope you will let me paint you properly."

"I should be honoured," she smiled.

The studio was untidy, as studios often are. On an easel stood a semi-nude almost completed and two or three canvases rested against the wall, only their backs being visible. On a throne lay a portfolio, presumably of sketches. Paints, palettes and brushes were strewn on table and shelves.

"What did you think of us last night?" Jasper asked.

"As someone once said, not half had been told me."

"Rather enigmatic. We might say the same. We were expecting someone, how shall I put it?, rather more mature?"

"Hence your disappointment?"

Jasper grinned. He thought they should get on well together. "Fishing?" he asked.

"Not at all. You needed mothering and I did not look equal to the task."

"You can but try. I had a wonderful idea before I got up how I would like to paint you."

"Tell me."

"It would be called 'Good Morning.' You are sitting up in bed, your arms stretched above your head, "

"And my mouth open in a big yawn?"

"Oh, no; just a sweet smile. Your nightie is slipping from your shoulder, "

"The further it slips the better, I suppose?"

"Yes," Jasper said eagerly. "Down to your waist, if you do not mind."

"I am afraid I do mind. What would your father say about it?"

"Dad appreciates art and beauty."

"That takes us both for granted, doesn't it?"

"He knows my work. As for you, I saw enough last night, "

"You mean my frock was too revealing? I am sorry about that. I put it on in your honour as it is the prettiest I possess."

"Let me paint you in that."

"If he agrees, I would love it." She glanced at the figure on the easel. "What do you generally do about models?"

"That is rather a snag. Plenty at the art schools, of course, but a devilish expense to get them down here."

"I hope you do not make love to them."

"No, Mamma," he mocked. "One soon grows out of that. You are interested in your job and the two things don't mix. A model, that is a professional model, is a shape without a soul. You pose her as you want her and don't think about her as a person. Pearl has helped me a lot. She sat for that."

He indicated the figure on the easel.

"She does not mind?"

"Why should she? I am her brother. She has nice limbs and is a good sport. Of course I put other faces to them."

Adelaide rose and examined the picture more closely. He was certainly good at his work; colour and drawing were excellent.

"Tell me about what you call your abstracts," she said.

"If you wanted to paint a picture of Grief," he replied, "how would you do it?"

"I might show a child crying over a broken toy. Or possibly a woman, utterly miserable, with a letter in her hand."

"You probably would. But they are examples of grief, not the thing itself."

"But how can you, ?"

"Look."

He took one of the canvases from the wall and put it on the easel in place of the nude. At first it seemed a formless mess of colour, blotches and spirals. But considering it more carefully, Adelaide saw that the lower portion was a blend of crimson and gold which grew more dim as it rose and then blended into a dull grey and finally black. It was some thing like an inverted bonfire.

"You mean," she said slowly, "the sunshine and gladness of life die away and give place to gloom and despair."

"Good! I thought you would understand. Anyone can paint a weeping infant, but to portray Grief you must think it out for yourself."

"The other way up you could call it Joy."

"Perhaps." Jasper was not quite so pleased. "I should work out something fresh for that."

"I think it is terribly clever," she assured him. "I hope they will be very successful. You must do a set, Love, Hatred, Malice, and things like that. Of course I am old-fashioned, but I do see what you mean. I will help you if I can."

"I will promise not to paint you with three square legs and eyes in odd places," he laughed. "I am not all that mad."

"I am sure you are not," she said. "What does Garnet think about them?"

"Works of the devil! He believes only in photography; landscapes or well-clad humans."

"I want to see him. Do you think I might?"

"He is downstairs. I expect you will find him in, preparing an address for a mothers' meeting or something of the sort. You might help him."

"I could try. Thank you, Jasper, for what you have shown me. I do wish you the greatest possible luck."

"Thank you, Mamma. Don't you kiss the child goodbye?"

"This is not goodbye," she laughed. "Only au revoir."

As she went down the stairs Garnet emerged from the lower flat. He was surprised to see her leaving his brother's rooms and seemed a little embarrassed.

"Oh, er, good morning," he muttered.

"Good morning, Garnet," she said. "I am trying to do a little in your line."

"In my line?"

"Calling on my parishioners in their own homes. I was coming to see you."

"I am going to Torbury."

"Is it far?"

"Four miles over the fields. Further by road."

"Walking?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps I could come part of the way with you."

"Rather rough going." She could see he did not want her, but she persevered.

"I have stout shoes," she said, raising her skirt a little higher that he might clearly see her neat, well-shod feet, not to mention her shapely ankles. "I want to talk to you. I am so interested in your work."

"I am rather late."

"Then we must walk quickly."

He did not reply and they crossed the garden which looked beautiful with the fresh colouring of spring. Not all of it was under cultivation, but the trees had been chosen for their foliage and the prunellas gave a fine display of colour. They did not speak until they reached a gate that opened on to a meadow rented by a neighbouring farmer.

"Is it a very beautiful church?" Adelaide asked.

"Indeed it is," he said. "There are many wonderful churches in this part of the country, far too big for the population of the villages. But things have changed."

"In what way?"

"At one time East Anglia was the centre of the wool industry. There were more people and the churches were alive." He stopped abruptly. Then he said, "I have been thinking about you. Are you a Roman Catholic?"

"Why do you ask?" Adelaide was defensive.

"You were married in that Cathedral."

"My mother was a Catholic."

"My father is not."

"Your father is a very wonderful man, Garnet," she said after a moment of hesitation. "He holds that religion is largely a matter of geography. If you are born in England you are probably brought up a Protestant. In France you are a Catholic. In Scotland a Presbyterian, and so on. He says God knows all about that and will not worry over creeds as we do. Is he not right?"

"It is a big subject, "

"Are you preaching to-morrow?"

"I do not think so."

"I must come and hear you when you do. If my ideas are wrong, you must tell me. Is it true that your vicar is old and leaves everything to you except the preaching?"

She had expertly changed the conversation and Garnet responded eagerly.

"There is truth in it," he said. "When I joined him the congregation had dwindled to a handful of old people. The place was dead! Practically no choir, no Sunday School, no parochial work of any kind. I want to make it live! A real live centre of Christian worship. The attendance is already better. We have a choir and are starting a Sunday School and Mothers' Meetings. But it is only a beginning."

He was speaking with more animation than he had ever shown before. The light of a zealot was in his eye.

"Does not Mr. Fortescue help you?" Adelaide asked.

"I will not say anything against him. He is old, he is tired, perhaps disheartened. But what use is it to get people to the church unless you have a message to give them when they come? Everything wants stirring up! We need a parish room, we need a new organ, we need surplices, we need, What is the good of talking? I talk to him but he just nods and says it cannot be done; he tried it years ago. It is like saying we should not repair the roof because he did it twenty years before I came."

"Does it leak badly?"

"Not now. I saw to that. My stipend is small but I spend it all there. Living at home and having a little money of my own, I do not need it."

"Won't he retire? Cannot he be made to?"

"He owns the living and provided services are held nothing can be done about it."

"What is his preaching like?"

"Dead! Mumbling and rambling. I am no orator but sometimes it is all I can do to prevent myself shouting. I got him to let me choose the hymns. That helps a little."

"Could you not go to another church where there is more life, more scope?"

"And leave these people to slip back to what they were before I came? No! I feel this is the work God has given me to do and I must do it with such power as I possess."

"I think you are splendid, Garnet," Adelaide said. "Thank you for what you have told me. I believe you will succeed. If I can help you I will. Now I must be going back or you may be late."

"Oh, thank you for listening. I don't know what made me say all I did. I, I don't often do it. But, but you seemed to understand."

His manner had changed. The fire had died down and he spoke with his usual hesitancy.

"I am on your side," she said. She held out her hand and he shook it. So they parted.

She thought of him as she made her way back to the house. She admired his earnestness, but no doubt it was difficult for him to show to advantage in his own home, with a brother and sisters who had known him all their lives and could not take him as seriously as they should. She must not fall into that error, but how different he was from Jasper. Jasper would flirt with anyone, even his stepmother!

When she reached the garden gate she met her husband, who had been looking for her.

"There you are, my dear," he said. "Been exploring on your own account?"

"No, darling. I walked a little way with Garnet. He does not seem very happy. Could you help him?"