The Other Linding Girl (9 page)

The glow of satisfaction faded slightly, and was replaced by a slight chill of nervousness, when she came into the drawing-room to find her uncle sitting in a chair by the fire, his cheek leaning on his very beautiful hand, in a picturesque attitude entirely natural to him.

He looked up as Rachel entered and held out his hand to her.

“Ah, my dear, come here. It does me good to see your bright face in these dark days.”

Rachel came across at once and put her hand into his. There was really nothing else to do. But it is extraordinarily difficult to go on holding someone’s hand for no special reason. At the same time, it is hard to disengage oneself without appearing to break the line of sympathy. Sir Everard was much given to these gestures, intrinsically telling, but difficult either to maintain or terminate with graciousness. So, feeling at a disadvantage right away, Rachel stood there holding his hand and said resolutely,

'‘Uncle, I want to talk to you about something—”

“My dear, you have an excellent opportunity.” Sir Everard solved her immediate difficulty at this, by releasing her hand of his own free will and indicating the chair opposite. “Tell me all about it,” he said in his mellow voice, as Rachel sat down, feeling rather like a valued patient about to enumerate her symptoms.

‘It’s about Nigel,” she heard herself say, with a bluntness in distressing contrast to her uncle’s well-considered periods and fine gestures.

“Nigel?” Sir Everard frowned, and for a moment she was afraid he was actually going to say that the name was never to be mentioned in his house again. Instead he enquired, with indignant protectiveness, “How has
he
been troubling you?”

“He hasn’t been troubling me at all,” stated Rachel, in her most matter-of-fact tone. “But his absence is troubling Paula, and I feel I must speak to you about it.”

‘Paula? Paula’s only a child! It’s
no
business of hers who comes to this house or does not come,” stated Paula’s father somewhat unrealistically.

“I’m afraid it is,” replied Rachel, almost as surprised as Sir Everard to find herself contradicting him flatly. “Paula is an affectionate, intelligent child, with few companions. She is deeply devoted to those she has, and among them Nigel is a favourite. Whether you like it or not,” she added, as her uncle made a gesture of protest

“I do
not
like it,” Sir Everard stated. “Anyway, I have forbidden Nigel my house, for good and sufficient reasons.”

Rachel controlled her rising temper with difficulty. “They may seem good and sufficient reasons to you, Uncle. But to Paula the whole thing is simply a mystery—and a very distressing one. How is one to explain to her that, quite suddenly, she simply doesn’t see her uncle anymore?”

“She’ll get over it after awhile,” dedared Sir Everard irritably.

“At the moment she is very much upset about it,” returned Rachel firmly, “She was crying when I went to say good-night to her, and I found that it was because she couldn’t understand her uncle’s non-appearance. I don’t think she is a child who cries easily, and I felt you should know about it” “Well—of course,” agreed Sir Everard “Crying, was she?” He frowned, for he loved his Paula when he remembered her existence. “But are you sure it was about Nigel? Wasn’t it because she misses her mother?”

“No” Rachel resolutely disposed of this explanation which would so obviously have been much more acceptable to her uncle. “I thought that too, at first, But she isn’t at all worried about Hester—”

“Then she should be,” interrupted Sir Everard indignantly. “What’s the matter with the child? Has she any natural feelings?”

“That’s nothing to do with it," Rachel pointed out. “We all went to the greatest trouble to see that she should
not
be worried. It seems we succeeded, What you—what we have not guarded against is the very natural distress and anxiety over her uncle’s prolonged absence.”

“Really, Rachel, you’re an extraordinarily obstinate girl!” declared her unde, with something less than his usually urbane air. “You’re just like your father. Robert never could let a point go until he’d worried it thin What do you expect me to do about Nigel? Invite him back into my house when I know he halfkilled my wife?”

Only by biting her lip and silently counting ten and thrusting the image of the guilty Keith Elman right out of her mind, did Rachel control herself. She took a deep breath and then said, in her most pacific tone,

“Uncle, I do understand your anger and distress. But do think—Nigel also loves Hester. She’s his sister. And, however much you may think he is to blame, the whole thing
was
an accident.”

She quite expected a fresh outburst at this. But, to her surprise, her uncle was silent for several seconds. Then he sighed and said heavily,

“It’s queer you should say this just now. I’ve just come from my poor Hester, and that’s what
she
kept on saying. ‘It was an accident’ And, ‘I won’t have Nigel blamed. ’”

“She said—that?” Rachel felt a momentary quiver of alarm, as she wondered what else Hester might have said, on hearing that her brother was being blamed. But then she recalled that Oliver Mayforth had been seeing her daily. He would undoubtedly have seen to it that, as soon as she was in a state to hear it, a full explanation had been given to her.

“She is so generous—so forgiving,” said poor Sir Everard, obviously believing from the bottom of his heart that Hester was. And Rachel saw no reason to query this estimate of her young aunt’s character. Instead, she seized adroitly on the tribute and said earnestly,

“Then, Uncle, is it really for us—for you—to be less generous? Anyway, what is to be the practical outcome of all this? You couldn’t forbid Nigel your house indefinitely unless Hester agreed. You wouldn’t want to hurt her like that. And wouldn’t it be better for you to give way gracefully now, instead of being urged to it later by Hester?”

She realised immediately that he disliked the expression “give way”. On the other hand, “gracefully” had a pleasing implication about it. There was quite a long silence once more. Then he repeated irritably, ‘You’re just like your father!” But he added, “Well, what do you want me to do? I can’t telephone cordially or apologetically to him. And I’m certainly not going to-write to him—”

“Perhaps I could phone to him,” suggested Rachel, amazed at the feeling of elation which suddenly came over her. “It might come more—more easily from me. I could explain that Paula was missing him, and that you felt—”

“Don’t let him think he’s
welcome
,” interrupted her uncle categorically. “Just
tolerated
.”

“ I’ll do my best to—to give the right impression,” Rachel promised, “Shall I—would it be a good idea if I telephoned now?”

“As good a time as any for an unwelcome event” replied her uncle in a tone as near to ungracious as Rachel had ever heard from him.

She laughed. Then, remembering that he had not a great sense of humour, she dropped a kiss on his cheek as she passed his chair and said,

“Dear Uncle—I’m sure Hester will be very pleased.”

“I hope so,” replied Sir Everard drily. But he looked after his niece with a faint smile as she went out of the room.

Rachel kept on telling herself that it was for Paula that she was so glad—and for Hester—and for the ends of pure justice. But when she heard Nigel

Seton’s voice answer her on the tdephone, she knew that she was glad for herself, and anyone and anything else came a long way afterwards.

“Why, Rachel.” He sounded both pleased and surprised. “I’ve got some news for you.”

“You have? Well, I’ve got some news for you too.” She laughed. “Who begins?”

“You do. You made the call.”

So she explained then, very carefully and fairly, about Paula’s distress at not seeing him, and Hester’s insistence that he should not be blamed, and finally her uncle’s decision that he should be made free of the house again.

A long silence followed. Then he asked, in an odd sort of tone,

“Who was the active agent in all this?”

“How do you mean?”

“Who got busy, and saw that Sir Everard was made to take full note of Paula’s anxiety and Hester’s attitude, and generally persuaded him to this somewhat unexpected reaction?”

“Well, I suppose I did. I was worried about Paula, and the whole situation seemed silly—and sad, and— anyway” she told him lightly, “perhaps I missed you too.”

“ like to think so, Rachel.” He
sounded
perfectly serious, but one could not tell, of course, without seeing those laughing eyes. “Thank you. You’re a dear girl.”

“That’s all right.” She tried not to sound genuinely moved. ‘Now tell me your news.”

“My news? Oh, it’s not as sensational as yours. Though I suppose it might become so. I’m being permitted to entertain Miss McGrath tomorrow evening, and put my case to her. Wish me luck, Rachel.”

“Oh, I do—from the bottom, of my heart!” Rachel told him. “I hope the old lady proves to be putty in your hands—”

“Rachel” said Sir Everard’s voice behind her, “I did say there was no need to overdo the welcome. Surely you’ve had time to make the situation clear by now?”

“Oh; yes—Yes, indeed, Uncle.” Rachel spoke with some confusion And then, as her uncle went on standing there, she added hastily into the telephone, “Well, that’s quite clear, then. I must go now, Nigel. Good-night.” She though he returned her good-night in an amused tone, and she supposed he must have found the interruption funny. Anyway, none of that mattered now. He would be coming to the house again as a regular visitor.

She could tell Paula as much tomorrow. And the thought made her so happy that even her uncle’s somewhat admonishing air, as he said good-night, could not quench her spirits.

The next morning, she gave Oliver Mayforth an expurgated account of what had happened, and he seemed unusually amused.

“You’re really very clever,” he declared with a laugh, “and you have a very nice talent for mimicry.”

“For mimicry?” Rachel was rather shocked.

“Certainly. Didn’t you realise that you reproduced your uncle’s voice and characteristic wording almost exactly?”

“Well, I don’t know that I meant to do that, quite. I just told you because I—I thought you’d better let Hester know. So that she won’t go on worrying about her brother.”

“I’ll tell her, of course,” the assistant surgeon promised. “But I don’t think she was doing much worrying on Seton’s account. She was quite confident of being able to have things to suit herself, as soon as she returned home. Still, this was a much better way. I do congratulate you.”

‘Thanks,” Rachel smiled. “I felt almost like a celebration, myself.”

“Then let us have one!” Oliver Mayforth said unexpectedly. “Come out with me tonight, Rachel Let’s dine and do a theatre.”

“With the idea of meeting your ex-fiance and discomfiting her once more?” enquired Rachel, with a touch of irony, for the thought of that newspaper photograph still rankled.

“Meeting—? No, certainly not!” The assistant surgeon actually coloured slightly. “For the sheer pleasure of your company and— Oh, I can’t make speeches like Sir Everard! Do come, Rachel.”

There was no gainsaying that. And anyway, the idea of a dinner and theatre was extraordinarily pleasant, after the quiet evenings which had been inevitable in her uncle’s house of late. So Rachel agreed, with real pleasure —and had the added satisfaction of earning her uncle’s approbation in the process.

“I’m delighted,” he declared, when she told him she was going out with his assistant. “Simply delighted. He is a man in a thousand. Nay—” for Sir Everard actually did use that remarkable monosyllable occasionally—“in a million. He has taken a bad knock recently, poor fellow, and nothing would please me better than that—”

“Well, Uncle dear,” interrupted Rachel firmly, before he could develop his theme to embarrassing proportions, “I’m glad you’re pleased. I must run up

and get dressed now.”

They dined at a quiet and extremely attractive place, where the food and wine were excellent and the service impeccable. To her surprise, she found it not at all difficult to make conversation with him. For, away from his work, he was a much more relaxed and lively person. And unquestionably the loss of his Thea was beginning to weigh less heavily upon him.

He asked Rachel quite a lot about her home, and she was only
too
happy to tell him about the family and to relive, with enjoyable nostalgia, the days which were already beginning to seem a very different life. She had an amusing way of describing things and people, and she made him laugh a good deal over Hazel’s pranks and Elizabeth’s conquests.

“It isn’t that Elizabeth is a flirt or at all heartless,” she explained. “She just can’t help being beautiful. And when she opens her great blue eyes and looks soulful, strong men go weak at the knees. They’re not to know that she’s really wondering what we should have for lunch on Sunday or if Christine remembered to check the laundry before putting it away.”

“She sounds irresistible,” Oliver Mayforth laughed.

“Oh
she is. They both are-and I miss them a lot,” Rachel sighed involuntarily. “But it was better I should go.”