Ever After (10 page)

Riding down the chestnut avenue, he looked back at the house just before a bend hid it from sight, and then rode on
thoughtfully
. Virginia was right. He had done that before. Strange how a little scatter-brain like Virginia could sometimes without even trying utter profundities. It was all familiar to him—the powerful horse between his knees, the damp smell of the spring day, the pale warmth of the English sun—even the odd little village, which was still half asleep when he came to it, though the ducks gleamed white on the water above the bridge, and a cow ambled down the right-hand road followed by a very small smocked child with a long stick. The child smiled bashfully at his greeting, and walked
crabwise
to watch him pass.

He went on through the village and turned into a grassy lane beyond it, letting the horse take its own pace. Soon they came to a place where the hedge left off and a stone wall had not yet begun and went through it, away from the lane, up a bare-sided hill towards the sun.

But you can’t see a world like this and not be happy, Bracken said within himself. You can’t dwell on past idiocies and future dreariness with the sun striking bang into your silly face like a gong. Or can you? Apparently you can. All right, then, suppose you have messed up your life till it can almost be said you haven’t got one at all. You knew everything there was to know, didn’t you? Nobody could tell you anything about women! You knew better than any of them, and Lisl was a misunderstood angel of light, a. blasphemed saint, a brand from the burning—and so on. Bosh. You knew better, even then. What you had for Lisl was a plain old-fashioned case of biology. You were too well brought up, that’s your trouble. You should have spent more time out on the tiles in your extreme youth. But you were a very self-righteous young man, and instead of coming out in boils you got married to Lisl, and it serves you right. Or does it? No, I don’t really think I deserved all this. I don’t really think in this case the punishment does fit the crime. I demand commutation of sentence. I shall appeal to a highter court. If I can find one. Hullo, somebody else can’t sleep, I wonder who it is.

Coming towards him at an angle to the sun was a small figure on a tall horse. Bracken turned to intercept it, for he always felt the need of company in these dark moods, and rode down the slope. It was a boy about twelve, he judged as they came nearer to each other—a boy wearing tweed knickers and jacket and shooting cap, with an excellent seat on a spirited bay hunter much too big for him.

“Good morning!” Bracken called as soon as he was within range.

“Good morning, sir,” the child replied rather primly. He had a strange, delicate face, with a sharp, clean jaw-line and very large, rather distrustful blue eyes.

“What’s on
your
conscience?” Bracken inquired easily, out of long confidence in his ability to make friends with any child and set it telling him the story of its life. He was rewarded by a wide smile, as the boy took his meaning and replied:

“Oh, I slept all right! But I have to get up early if I’m to wangle one of my brother’s horses. I’m not supposed to ride them.”

“Did you saddle that brute yourself?”

“I can, you know. All but getting the girth in. I made the stable boy give a pull on that.”

“You’ll get him sacked if you’re not careful,” said Bracken.

“I hope not. But Edward
would
be cross if he knew I had Thunderbolt out!” The boy’s hand stroked the glossy neck fondly, and his eyes ran over Bracken’s horse. “You must be staying at Farthingale. Are you the American who may take it for the
summer
?”

“I am. Name of Murray. Who are you?”

The boy hesitated a moment before he said, “Campion is my name. Lord Enstone is my father”

“I see.” Bracken recalled the Major’s remarks about the large family at the Hall. “Then your brother Edward is Lord Alwyn, I suppose.”

“Yes. Didn’t you sleep well? I’ve heard people don’t in a strange bed.”

“Well, no, I didn’t. I thought a ride might do me some good. Mind if I join you?” he asked rather wistfully.

“I’d be glad. That’s Sunbeam you’ve got there. She can go like the wind. Shall we let them out?”

The boy was off on the great racking horse, with a glance and a wave over his shoulder. Bracken tightened his knees and Sunbeam followed her stable-mate, her mane streaming. They pounded down the slope and through a wooded patch and came to a low stone wall which Thunderbolt took like a bird with Sunbeam close behind.

“Hi!” yelled Bracken. “Ought you to
jump him?”

The only answer was another wave of the boy’s hand, and the wild canter went on, across a field, over a brook, into another grassy lane and straight at a five-bar gate. There was some kind of fumble, Thunderbolt pecked badly, hit the top rail hard, and fell on the landing side, throwing his rider clear.

Bracken pulled up, rather cold around the stomach, and leaped out of the saddle, vaulted the gate, and ran towards the small tweed figure on the ground. The cap had fallen off, revealing two plaits
of hair, reddish gold, which had been pinned up under it. The child was a girl.

She sat up slowly before he reached her, and her face was white and scared as she glanced round for her horse.

“Are you all right?” Bracken dropped to one knee beside her. “You must have tried to lift him too soon. It was a damn-fool thing to do, anyway. Are you all right?”

“It doesn’t matter about me. Get Thunderbolt up and see if he’s hurt.”

Bracken laid anxious hands on her, feeling the sharp little bones through the tweed jacket.

“But are you sure—”

“Edward will kill me if I’ve lamed his horse. Please get him up—”

Bracken went to Thunderbolt and at the second attempt the big horse got to his feet and stood breathing rather hard, with one
foreleg
bent at the knee.

“Look at his off-fore!” she gasped, still sitting where she had fallen, braced on one arm, watching them. “Oh, what
will
Edward say!”

“Probably only sprained.” Bracken ran an expert hand down to the fetlock and the horse nuzzled his shoulder inquiringly.

“He wants to be friends!” she said in surprise. “He doesn’t always take to people. You know horses, don’t you?”

“A little. He’ll be all right in a few days, I think.” He came back to her and knelt down beside her on the ground. “How about you, now? Lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

“Edward says I’m bound to some day. They keep saying I’m too young to hunt with them and then they say I’m too old to ride astride, and I don’t really know where I am. These are my brother Gerald’s shooting clothes. He’s quarantined at school with measles and can’t come home for Easter. Bad luck, isn’t it?”

Bracken sat back on his heels, looking at her. His face was very still, as though he listened to something a long way off. When he spoke his voice was low, as though someone near by was asleep.

“Frightful luck. How old are you?”

“I shall be sixteen soon.”

“Do you often do things like this? You’re practically a young lady now, you know.”

There was not a trace of coquetry or female awareness in the troubled glance she gave him. She was somehow neither child nor maiden, sexless, ageless, and remote in her odd clothes, like a
choirboy’s
voice. He thought he had never seen so unspoilt a creature, as lacking in self-consciousness as a bird. She had thick,
upward-curving
eyelashes, golden like her hair. Her mouth was perfect,
with long, coral-tinted lips, each exactly the same width, closing lightly, with a slight droop at the corners—not a merry mouth.

“That’s what Miss French thinks. She’s my governess,” she was saying.

“Miss French is dead right for once in her life. It won’t do, you know, you’ll have to give it up. Promise?”

“Just for fear I’ll break my neck?”

“Let’s say—just to please me,” he suggested carefully.” And Miss French, of course.” While inside him something raised a deafening shout: Because you’re
mine
, because you’re what I’ve been trying to find, because if anything should happen to you now I should truly have nothing to live for, because I want you for my own as I’ve never wanted anything in my life before—

“You look sort of green around the gills,” said the choirboy’s voice. “Did it give you a nasty turn when I went off?”

“It did. I’m frightened out of a year’s growth. Look.” He held up one hand in mid-air, making no effort to control its visible trembling. His heart laboured unbearably in his side, there was a thin singing in his ears. He had received some sort of cosmic shock, which he tried to use for her benefit. “You can’t lunge about the countryside scaring people to death like this,” he said, still speaking as though he had entered a cathedral during service. Not sixteen yet, you blithering fool, it’s against the law, his own thoughts ran—never mind, I can wait—two more years—three, perhaps—Lord, it will take me as long as that to get into the clear myself—I can wait—but not for ever—

“Well, don’t take it so hard, I’m all right,” she said
unsympathetically
. “Besides, you never saw me before in your life, why should you care so much?”

“Would
you
like to see anybody, even a perfect stranger, pitch on his head at a gate? Suppose it had been me, no doubt you’d have gone into gales of laughter?”

“No, but I don’t think I’d have got the shakes,” she remarked. “I’ve heard my father say that all Americans are a mass of nerves because they live at such a pace and never stop for tea or
weekends
.”

“He’s wrong,” Bracken said defensively. “I always have tea, and I’m on a week-end this minute. You know, we’re sitting in
something
of a bog and it’s all over your jacket. Stand up and I’ll brush you off a bit.”

“Well, as a matter of fact,” she said, making no move to obey him, “I’m afraid I’ve hurt my knee, rather.”

“Which? Where? Let’s see—” His hands gently explored the knee-cap and the hard tendon behind. She winced, but he could find nothing wrong. She could bend it, with a painful effort,
her mouth set and drawn. She bore it all in silence, without complaint or exclamation.

“We must get you home,” he decided. “You can ride Sunbeam and I’ll lead your horse. You’ll have to show me the way, I’m new here.”

“It’s just at the other end of the lane. Do you think you had better come with me?”

“I can’t think why not. Can you?”

She sighed.

“Edward will read the riot act,” she said.

“Then I’d better be there, to jolly him up a bit.”

“It won’t do any good. He warned me the last time.”

“Not your first offence, eh?” he grinned. “Well, come on, let’s get it over with.” He opened the gate, led Sunbeam through, and closed it behind them. Then he returned to her, holding out his hands. “I’ll lift, and you take your weight on the other foot. Ready?”

She came up very lightly, between his hands. The golden-red hair brushed his chin, soft and cool. Mine—mine from the moment I saw her, else why did I wait to see who it was?—I never knew it could happen like this, with one of you completely unaware—I must be very careful—she musn’t be made to think twice about it—I must try and behave like a rather fatuous uncle or something until she gets used to me—I must go very slowly—God knows I’ll need time—do earls allow their daughters to marry divorced men?—this one will—I haven’t much to offer, have I—but she’s mine, some day she’ll see that too—and she doesn’t weigh a hundred pounds—

She stood leaning against him, her shoulder on his chest.

“If you’ll lend me Sunbeam I can manage quite well by
myself
,” she was saying resolutely “Only that would leave you stranded, wouldn’t it? Come on, then—” She moved towards Bracken’s horse, gasped and staggered when her weight came on the injured knee, and he caught her round the waist.

“Take it easy,” he said, and lifted her bodily into the saddle. Not a hundred pounds.

“Thank you,” she said, gripping the pommel. “I—must have wrenched it.”

“Is it pretty bad?” He handed her the cap and stood looking up into her face. Her beautiful lips were a thin line, tears stood in her eyes.

“It’s all right. If you’ll just—lead her for me.”

He took both bridles and led the horses into the lane beyond the gate. They made the short journey in silence, came into the stable-yard at the Hall from behind, and found Viscount Alwyn already there. He was wearing riding clothes, and stood knee-deep in dogs,
talking to a groom in the morning sunlight. He swung round as they approached—a big, handsome man, well over six feet tall, with massive shoulders and a heavy, obstinate chin. His stone-grey eyes took in everything at a glance, as though he was expecting something of the sort and was not surprised. You got the impression that Lord Alwyn was never surprised.

“Oh, God save us, don’t tell me you’ve had another spill!” he said with more irritation than concern. “Thunderbolt is limping! Dinah, for the last time—”

“This is Mr. Murray, Edward. He’s staying at Farthingale.”

“How do you do?” Alwyn gave Bracken his hand rather
perfunctorily
, his mind obviously on Thunderbolt’s injury. “It’s very good of you to bring my sister in. I suppose you found her in pieces somewhere in the world. What has she done to my horse?”

“Just a strain, I think. A few days’ rest should put him right.”

Alwyn bent and ran his hand down Thunderbolt’s leg.

“Arthur!” he said over his shoulder to the groom. “Come and see to this at once. Very well, Dinah, I’ll attend to you later. Go and change your clothes.” He turned his back on her in dismissal—she was still in Sunbeam’s saddle—and gave his attention to her companion. “Sir Gratian mentioned that you were coming down, and my sister Clare intends to call. Would you care to look round the stables, now that you’re here?”

“I’d like it very much,” said Bracken politely. “But your sister Dinah has a bad knee from the fall, and will need some help—”

“Oh, please don’t bother, Dinah’s always taking headers. Get down at once, Dinah, and go and make yourself presentable. Gerald won’t thank you for mucking up his jacket like that. You had better have it cleaned and then put it back in his wardrobe and leave it there, do you hear?”