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Authors: Anita Charles

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BOOK: The Black Benedicts
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CHAPTER NINETEEN

T
he
room in which she lay was light and bright with sunshine and an enormous quantity of flowers. They occupied vases on all sides of her, or so it seemed, and lying back against her piled up pillows, with a fleecy pink bed-jacket round her shoulders, over one of her own hand-made nightdresses, Mallory could hardly believe that they had all been intended for her. There were blue trails of larkspur, yellow roses, pink roses—and some very deeply scarlet ones on the little table beside her bed.

Mallory
put out a hand and touched them, gently, lovingly. She had done that several times that morning since she opened her eyes and discovered than there, almost touching her pillow. The day before the vase had contained crimson carnations, and the day before that some almost purplish red roses. But they were always glowing and palpitating with the same passionate colour, these fragrant smelling flo
r
al tributes that were placed so near to her face, where she couldn

t fail but be aware of them, and although she asked no questions about them Mallory felt a tranquil sensation of quiet happiness flooding through her every time she looked at them.

Mrs. Carpenter had been to see her and Rose. Serena, apparently quite recovered from her indisposition of the party night—which, it had been decided, was due to something she had eaten, possibly in too large quantities—asked questions about her, and sent her her dearest love, but was not allowed to visit her. Belinda, the dachshund,
and Mark Anthony, who seemed to have become her own property, also sent their love, according to the messages Mrs. Carpenter brought with her
w
hen she came. And she had come several times, sitting quietly by Mallory

s bed, smiling at her, looking secretly almost pleased about something, although there was a shadow at the back of her eyes, too—and Mallory knew why that was there.

Only Raife Benedict did not come, but Mallory felt sure he would before very long. The matron had told her that he telephoned every night and first
thing
every morning. He knew all about her and the rate of progress she was making. And after nearly a week in hospital she was to be allowed out very soon. By nothing short of a miracle she had sustained no serious injuries, and was largely suffering from shock and reaction.
A
nd even that was passing now. She was beginning to grow restless as she looked at her flowers.

Then one morning, when it looked very much
as i
f she would be discharged before the one person she longed to visit her would have a chance to do so, the door opened quietly, and he stood there looking across at her, The nurse who had conducted him to the room withdrew at once, returning silently along the corridor by the way she had come, and Mallory and the man who had called her

darling

and

sweetheart

and sounded as if his life would have had no more savour of any kind if she had not responded, were alone together at last for the first time since that dreadful night, which neither of them would ever
forget.

He brought her no flowers, and his hands were empty, and he crossed the room with silent strides and sat down on the side of the bed and took both
her hands in his. He looked at th
em
, fragile and white and flower-like, and then carried one of them up to his face and held it there, while everything she wanted to know looked at her out of his eyes, and for the first time there was not even a shadow of mockery in them.


Mallory,

he said, a little huskily.

Mallory, you do understand why I didn

t come before
...?”

She nodded, her grey eyes filled with sympathy.


You

ve had a dreadful time,

she whispered.


It wasn

t only that.

He looked down at her hands again, trying not to crush them too hard within his own.
“I
wanted everything to be over before—before I came.

Once again his eyes looked directly down at her, and the strange golden-brown depths were blazing with something that sent little shivers of ecstasy along her spine.

For one thing, I wanted you to be a little stronger
...


Why?

she barely whispered, hardly daring to meet his ey
e
s.

For the first time he smiled a little.


Can

t you guess?

She was about to say

No,

and shake her head, when the sudden realization of how unnecessary that was welled over her, and instead she bravely allowed her long eyelashes to lift and stared back fully into his eyes. He uttered a little sound of almost unbelievable happiness, and then, in spite of the fact that she looked like a piece of Dresden china, caught her by her slender shoulders and drew her close and hard into his arms, holding her so tightly against him that, as he buried shaking lips in her soft hair, she could feel the violent beating of his heart keeping pace with the violent beating of her own.


Dearest,

he breathed.

Oh, my little beloved
...
! If anything had happened to you that
night...”


But it didn

t,

she whispered back, managing to free her face and turning it up to his own. So
why not forget all about it?


But it was my fault! I meant to keep an almost continuous eye on you that night, because I didn

t trust Adrian, and Mrs. Carpenter promised to watch you, too—and then we both failed!

He groaned.

I deserved to have lost you
for good and
all!

She gazed at him a little wonder
in
gly.

But, you see,

she said, softly,

I had no idea at all that—that it would have hurt you very much if I

d been lost to you. In fact, I always thought you rather disapproved of me, that I annoyed you for some reason
...


Only because I could never be certain of you!

he answered.

In the very beginning I knew that you were the one woman out of all the world I wanted—
w
hom I meant to have somehow or other one day!—but you were such an independent little thing, and I formed the idea that you disliked me. I was very sure you disapproved of
me
sometimes I even thought you detested me!


If I did,

she replied, with a little unsteady laugh in her voice,

it was because I sometimes
thought
you detested me, too! And there was another thing,

she added, shyly bury
ing
her face,

and that was the real reason why I—why I
never even
dared to hope
...

“And what was that
?

he asked, curiously.


Miss Martingale!

she told him, in a muffled voice.

I was so certain you were going to many her—Mrs. Carpenter was certain—we were all certain
...


Then I,
apparently, was the only one who was not certain!

she heard him reply a little dryly.

And as I never had the remotest intention of marrying Miss Martingale, as I

ve never even thought about marrying Miss Martingale, and haven

t the faintest idea how she would respond if I asked her—then you were all just a little bit out in your certainties, weren

t you
?

But she was not altogether satisfied, and she kept her face p
e
rsistently hidden.


But you obviously admired her—she calls you

darling,

and whenever she came to Morven she was treated like a princess.

She put up a small, indignant face.

The best bedroom, even a ball arranged especially for her—what
else
did you expect any of us to think?

He laughed softly, and almost tr
i
umphantly, and as she dived for shelter again he put his fingers under her chin and held it firmly, so that
s
he could not wriggle away from his look. And his look was suddenly extremely amused.


I do believe you

re consumed with jealousy of Miss Martingale!

he exclaimed.

But, my darling child, I

ve known her for years—ever since she was a struggling dancer in her early

teens, and I

ve done a lot to help advance her career, because she

s a wonderful artist, and for that reason alone I

ve admired her.
I was able to pull strings—to help her in various ways, and for that reason I believe she has always been excessively grateful to me. But artists of her ability do not marry if they are wise, because invariably it upsets their career, and with Sonia
her career is everything. She is not the
least little bit in love with me, I assure you.

But Mallory, as she watched his lips coming nearer to hers, knew she would never be convinced of that. No woman in her senses...

And then his lips had closed down on hers, and for close upon a minute neither of them could have uttered a word even if they

d wanted to. And Mallory, in a kind of ecstasy, certainly didn

t want to. She wound her slim arms upwards about his neck and held him tightly, and when at last they drew apart both were trembling and a little pale because the wonder of it was almost too much.


And do you still believe,

he asked, rather sternly,

that I ever gave a serious thought to Miss Martingale?

Later he told her that the house party at Morven was now broken up, and that Sonia and her friends had returned to London. There had been other, less pleasant, duties, which he had had to see to over the past few days. They brought a tired, sad look to his face as he mentioned them, but he was not going to go into any detail with her about them until
she
said, her own face grave and sad, too:


You mean Adrian! I—I know about him—I asked...!

Again he possessed himself of her hands and held them tightly, as if they were a kind of comfort.


I didn

t want you to know until you were fit enough, but in a way, perhaps, it was not such a tragic thing for him
!
He was not—quite as other men are, since that other accident of his, and then he fell in love with you,

with a rather quivering sigh.

He wouldn

t have been happy.

Because it was still too much of a nightmare for her to recall, Mallory had been striving hard over the past few days to keep all thought of that hideous drive away from her. But of one thing she was now certain. Adrian, that
night, had not been entirely sane.


Was it—instantaneous?

she asked.


Not quite. He died in hospital, and Jill Harding was with him—she insisted on it! You see,

he explained,

When Harding came back from the village with the intelligence that you and Adrian had been searching for him because Serena had been taken ill, and instead of following the doctor back to the house, there was not any sign of your car, some sixth sense warned me that things
w
ere wrong. And I grabbed a car that was actually standing in the drive and came off after you—or, rather, I decided to try and cut you off, but succeeded in seeing you flash past when I arrived at the bottom of the lane.

Mallory shut her eyes tightly, and turned away her head, and he caught her instantly into his arms and held her comfortingly close.


It

s over now, my darling,

he assured her soothingly.

You don

t have
to t
hink of it any more.

But Mallory whispered:


I was thinking of Jill! She—she loved him!

BOOK: The Black Benedicts
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