Marry a Stranger (20 page)

Such a pity you didn’t make it up last night
(Vera had written).
Martin isn’t always easy to handle. Did you know that Fenella, his first wife, ran away with someone she fancied more than Martin and they were both killed in a car crash? So Martin doesn’t take
everything for granted these days. But then, would you?

Stacey sank down on a chair beside the door. She felt herself shaking a little. And she had let him go— without even saying goodbye! She had let him go thinking that she and Dick Hatherleigh
...

She crumpled Vera’s letter in her hand. She knew that there was something almost Machiavellian about the timing of that letter. Timed to be received after Martin had gone! Vera was certainly rather clever!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The d
ays dragged by. November gave place to December, and still Martin found himself too busy to spare time for a visit to Fountains Court. He wrote quite a friendly little note to Stacey, telling her that if possible he would spend Christmas at Fountains, but he couldn’t be absolutely certain that he would be able to get away. He hoped she was availing herself of the nearness of the Adens, and he thought it would be a good plan to let Beatrice Aden get on with the portrait she wanted to paint of her, Stacey. He sent his warm regards to Mrs. Elbe. To
Stacey he sent nothing more than a recommendation to get out as often as possible when the weather was suitable, and to take care of her health.

Stacey thought the recommendation was a little ironical, since it could scarcely matter to him—apart from the fact that he might take a kind of professional interest in her—if she was ill or well.

In point of fact, she felt a great deal better in health than she had felt for a long time, but her spirits were in a state of eclipse. She went often to the Adens. Beatrice had already begun her portrait, and to Stacey’s eyes it looked very promising, although she was quite certain it flattered her. She did not see herself with Beatrice’s eyes, otherwise she might have recognized the fact that there was something both enchanting and appealing about her wide eyes and her slightly wistful mouth, and the exquisite delicacy of her coloring.

With the approach of Christmas she began to want to make preparations, and to be certain that Martin would come for the festive season, at least. He
couldn
’
t
stay away all over Christmas. And when he came she would tell him the truth about Dick, and apologize to him because she had let him go away thinking the worst about her, and after that they would be friends once more. Her heart always leapt pathetically at the thought that, once she had cleared herself in his eyes, they would be friends again.

Mrs. Elbe entered quite wholeheartedly into the preparations for Christmas, but she felt secretly highly censorious where her employer was concerned, because she thought indignantly that he was neglecting his wife. Miss Fountain had no time at all for festivities of any kind, she regarded holly and mistletoe and evergreens from the garden as a sure means of making an untidy mess of the house.
Fenella had always seemed to be away for Christmas, either enjoying winter sports in Switzerland or Austria, or following the sun somewhere on the Riviera. And, therefore, Fountains was not famous for its Christmases—not since she was a child, anyway.

Stacey found Jane Fountain more and more difficult to get on with, and practically all the older woman’s evenings were passed upstairs in her own room, where she crouched over a small fire she always lighted and attended to herself, and burned candles instead of electric light. They were tall candles which she placed in old-fashioned, branching candelabra, and they cast strange shadows on the ceiling. But Miss Fountain seemed to prefer her evenings passed in this fashion, and when Stacey ventured to suggest to her that there was no real reason why she should isolate herself, and that it would be more normal for the two of them to bear one another company, Miss Fountain turned on her with almost a gleam of triumph in her eyes, and exclaimed delightedly: “Ah, so you
do
feel lonely in the evenings! And your precious husband doesn’t seem to mind very much, does he?”

Stacey caught her underlip between her teeth and said nothing. She wished that she had not been so unwise as to risk incurring Miss Fountain’s spiteful wrath, and she made up her mind that whatever happened she would leave her to her own resources in future.

Two days before Christmas Eve the gardener brought in a load of holly, and Hannah held the stepladder while Stacey stood on top of it and decked pictures and portraits with the brilliant green and bright scarlet berries. Mrs. Elbe, in the kitchen, supervised the making of mince pies and plum puddings, and the larder was stocked with seasonable
fare. If Martin arrived suddenly, Stacey thought, at least he should find everything in readiness for him, and she was even prepared for his suddenly ringing up and saying that he was bringing Vera, and possibly Dr. Carter or some other of his friends with him, and had the guest rooms aired and the beds made up in readiness.

But Christmas Eve arrived, and the telephone message had not been received. One or two stray parcels and Christmas cards had arrived, and she placed the latter on the mantelpiece in the library, and thought that the room really did begin to appear transformed. When she first saw it the room had struck her as chill and comfortless, but by her efforts it had gradually assumed a more lived-in air, and now it positively glowed with warmth and comfort. It was one little corner of Fountains Court that did not, she felt, any longer resent her. She could even sit in it quietly in the evening and watch the flames from the huge logs blazing up the chimney, and the shadows dancing on the walls, and think that after all it was her home, and as her home she must give it some portion of her heart. Even an inanimate thing, such as a house or a room, could not return affection if none was poured out over it.

Yes; she supposed that in time she might even come to be really fond of the whole of Fountains, but that day would only dawn when there was no longer any Miss Fountain—and when she and Martin were friends again!

By evening it was snowing outside, and she could see the flakes whirling down, large and white and utterly silent, when she parted the curtains to look out. A feeling as cold as the snow touched at her heart, for if Martin was on his way the car might get stuck in a drift, or something equally fatal. And what would happen to him then? How would he get to Fountains if he found himself isolated in some strange countryside, miles from anywhere, and with no one to assist him?

The thought shook her considerably, and when Mrs. Elbe came in to know whether she would start dinner, she looked at the housekeeper with such large, shadow-haunted eyes that Mrs. Elbe made up her mind for her, and insisted also that she had a glass of sherry before the meal.

“It’s no use you worrying about the master,” she said, in her comfortable, practical voice. “He’s bound to be on his way here, and he’s quite capable of looking after himself. You’ve had no letter from him, have you, to say that he’s not coming? And he hasn’t rung up? Well, then, of course he’s on his way!”

Stacey felt almost cheered by this common-sense way of looking at the matter, and when Mrs. Elbe served her with a portion of roast goose, accompanied by apple sauce, she even discovered an appetite. The goose was followed by a savory that was one of Mrs. Elbe’s “specials”, and then she had coffee served to her in the library, and sat with her ears cocked for either the telephone or the grating of wheels on the drive outside.

But the snow continued to fall softly, and at ten o’clock it was piling up outside the windows. And the telephone did not ring, and the white world without was undisturbed by any noise such as an approaching car.

Stacey began to pace up and down the library. She felt almost in a state of panic. What had happened? Where was Martin? Why had he not written? Why had he not telephoned? Why did he not come?

Carollers sang softly outside in the porch, and she instructed Mrs. Elbe to give them money. Mrs.
Elbe looked at her face when she came back into the library. It was white, and the eyes were a trifle wild.

And then at last the telephone rang, shrilly, in the hall, and, almost running past Mrs. Elbe, Stacey reached the instrument with her knees all but knocking together. This was it! This was news of an accident, she felt sure. Martin had, after all, got stuck in a drift, or he couldn’t proceed, or his car had overturned, or
...

"Hello?” she said, her voice sounding quite unnatural as she spoke into the mouthpiece.

“A merry Christmas, Stacey!” came Martin’s perfectly controlled and even cheerful reply. "I'm afraid it’s a bit late to ring you, but I was called out this evening, and I didn’t think you’d have gone to bed yet. If you had I’d have given you another ring tomorrow morning.”

“Then you’re not
—
?” Stacey could not get
out the words, but he knew what she meant, and he answered at once, with the merest tinge of regret in his tones.

“Coming to Fountains? No; I’m sorry, my dear, but I’ve made up my mind that I just can’t spare the time. It’s a long journey, for one thing, and I could only stay for a couple of days, at most, and I understand that some of the roads are already blocked
—
”

“Oh!” Stacey exclaimed, and clung to the table on which the telephone stood.

“Are you all right?” he exclaimed, a little more sharply.

“
Yes, yes,” she assured him, speaking quickly, feverishly, “I’m perfectly all right, Martin!”

He was silent for a moment, and then he said: “I’ve sent you off a present, Stacey—I’m sorry it will arrive late, but I wasn’t absolutely certain that I couldn’t get away. I’ll try and snatch a weekend in the New Year, and in the meantime enjoy yourself as much as you can—I expect you’ll go to the Adens
...
?”

“I expect so,” she answered mechanically.

“Well, convey my wishes to them, and tell Jane to get rid of that chip on her shoulder and join you in a glass of something exciting. I recommend rum punch! And you can tell Mrs. Elbe
—
”

But suddenly Stacey put down the receiver, and sank on to a chair beside the table. She felt cold—cold at heart, and cold physically, and for once she didn’t care what he thought of her for ringing off. She didn’t care about anything any more. Christmas! And he was telling her to enjoy it alone
—
passing her off on to the Adens, who would think his behaviour quite extraordinary—even suggesting that she and his ex-cousin-in-law got together!

She stood up and returned, walking stiffly, to the library. Mrs. Elbe took one quick anxious glance at her and knew that something was very wrong indeed.

“He’s not—coming?” she asked quietly, fumbling with a sprig of holly which had just tumbled down from behind a picture, and which she had picked up. Its sharp prickles drew blood from her fingers.

“No,” Stacey answered, and walked to the table and picked up the neatly wrapped box, tied with bright tinsel ribbon, which contained the present she had made for Martin. It was a pullover, beautifully knitted, with a high polo collar, in a shade of primrose yellow, which she knew he liked to wear with country tweeds. She had decided on it because she didn't know what else to give him.

“I’ll have to post this to him after Christmas,” she said mechanically. “It won’t reach him now.”

“No,” Mrs. Elbe agreed. “But if he can’t come
—
”

And then the telephone rang again, insistently. “Don’t answer it!” Stacey ordered sharply, turning to the housekeeper. “I don’t want it answered.”

“But if it’s the doctor—he may even have
changed his mind
—
”

“It doesn’t matter if he has,” Stacey replied, in a tone that was absolutely colorless. “But I don’t want you to answer the telephone. Whoever it is can go on ringing!”

Mrs. Elbe watched her ascend the stairs to her room. In the morning Stacey appeared at her normal time for breakfast, and she appeared to be in her normal frame of mind again. She presented Mrs. Elbe with the little gift she had for her, and she brought quite a radiant smile to Hannah’s eyes by giving her two pairs of really fine nylon stockings. Hannah had already received a powder compact from Mrs. Elbe, and a lily-of-the-valley brooch from Mrs. Moss, and she thought that Christmas had entirely lived up to all her expectations.

After breakfast Stacey decided to write letters to the few friends who had remembered her with cards and good wishes, and she spent the better part of the morning in the library dealing with her correspondence. Just before lunch Beatrice Aden rang up to wish her the compliments of the season, and also to invite both her and Martin to dine with them on Boxing Night. But when Stacey informed her in a completely emotionless voice that Martin had not managed to get away from London for Christmas, Beatrice almost gasped.

“But, my dear!
...
Surely he could have managed
...
?” And then she broke off. “Well, in that case, you’ll come and have dinner with us today.
You will, won’t you, Stacey? You mustn’t have Christmas dinner by yourself.”

But, although Beatrice tried everything from persuasion to argument, and finally attempted to insist that she joined them, Stacey remained politely firm and declined every attempt to lure her from her home. She was not in the mood for anyone’s company but her own on that day of all days in the year, and she was determined that no pitying looks should be hers. She was very fond of Beatrice, but she would not have her trying to make up to her for what she was missing in her own home.

“Then you’ll come over tomorrow? Promise?” Mrs. Aden insisted, and Stacey at last agreed to appear at her festive board on Boxing Day. But in the meantime she was spending Christmas Day by herself.

Or not quite by herself.

In the afternoon, Miss Fountain made an unexpected appearance, and they had tea together in front of a small fire in the drawing room. Miss Fountain’s expression was almost as bleak as usual, but her tongue was not quite so acid. Perhaps because there was something about Stacey’s grave, self-contained appearance, in one of her more subdued dresses, which struck even the self-centred Jane Fountain as not altogether natural for a girl of her age, she started to talk about her past life, and the kind of Christmas she had enjoyed when she was a very young girl. Stacey listened with a feeling that the case of the hardened and rather sour spinster was one that called for more sympathy than she ever received, and she resolved that in future she would try to make a few more allowances for her.