The Independence of Claire Part 30

"More than the pupils--hey?" chuckled Mrs Fanshawe shrewdly. "Don't try to pretend that you are a model school-mistress. I know better! I knew you were not the type when I saw you on that journey, and after a year's trial you are less the type than ever." She screwed up her eyes and looked Claire over with deliberate criticism up and down, down and up. "No, my dear! Nature did _not_ intend you to be shut up in a girls' school!" Suddenly she swerved to another topic. "What a journey that was! I nearly expired. If it hadn't been for you, I should never have survived. I told my son you had saved my life. That was my son who met me on the platform!"

Was it fancy that an expression of watchfulness had come into the gay eyes? Claire imagined that she recognised such an expression, but, being prepared for some such reference, had herself well in command.

Not a nicker of embarra.s.sment pa.s.sed over her face as she said quietly--

"Yes, I knew it was your son. I met Captain Fanshawe here one evening last winter, so I have been introduced."

Mrs Fanshawe waved her _lorgnon_, and murmured some vague words which might, or might not, have been intended as an apology.

"Oh, yes. So nice! Naturally, that morning I was worn-out. I did not know what I was doing. I crawled into bed. Erskine told me about meeting you, and of your pretty performance. Quite a professional _siffleuse_! More amusing than school teaching, I should say. _And_ more profitable. You ought to think of it as a profession. Erskine was quite pleased. He comes here a great deal. Of course--"

Mrs Fanshawe's smile deepened in meaning fas.h.i.+on, then suddenly she sighed. "Very delightful for them, of course; but I see nothing of him.

We mothers of modern children have a lonely time. I used to wish for a daughter, but perhaps, if I'd had one, _she_ would have developed a fancy to fly off to India!"

That was a hit at Claire, but she received it in silence, being a little touched by the unaffected note of wistfulness in the other's voice as she regretted her lonely estate. It _was_ hard to be a widow, and to see so little of an only child, especially if that only child happened to be so altogether charming and attractive!

Mrs Fanshawe glanced across at the tea-table where Janet and her cavalier were still busy ministering to the needs of fresh arrivals.

"I asked Janet Willoughby to take pity on me for a few weeks this summer, but she's too full up with her own plans. Says so, at least; but I dare say it would have been different if-- Well, well! I have been young myself, and I dare say I shouldn't have been too keen to accept an invitation to stay in the country with only an old woman as companion. Enjoy yourself while you are young, my dear. It gets more and more difficult with every year you live."

Claire made a protesting grimace.

"Does it? That's discouraging. I've always flattered myself that it would grow easier. When one is young, everything is vague and unsettled, and naturally one feels anxious about what is to happen next.

It is almost impossible to be philosophical about the unknown, but when your life has shaped itself, it ought to be easy to settle down and make the best of it, and cultivate an easy mind."

Mrs Fanshawe laughed.

"Well reasoned, my dear, well reasoned! Most logical and sound. And just as futile in practice as logical things usually are! You wouldn't believe me if I told you that it is the very uncertainty which makes the charm of youth, or that being certain is the bane of old age, but it's the truth, all the same, and when you are sixty you will have discovered it for yourself. Well! so my letter to Mrs Willoughby was of some use after all? She did send you a card!"

Claire looked across the room to where Mrs Willoughby sat. Hero- wors.h.i.+p is an instinct in hearts which are still fired with youth's enthusiasm, and this stout, middle-aged woman was Claire's heroine _par excellence_. She was _kind_, and to be kind is in good truth the fulfilment of Christ's law. Among Claire's favourite books was Professor Drummond's "The Greatest Thing in the World," with its wonderful exposition of the thirteenth chapter of 1st Corinthians. When she read its pages, her thoughts flew instinctively to this rich woman of society, who was not puffed up, thought no evil, was not easily provoked, suffered long, _and was kind_.

The girl's eyes were eloquent with love and admiration as they rested on the plain, elderly face, and the woman who was watching felt a stab of envy at the sight. The old crave for the love of the young, and cherish it, when found, as one of their dearest possessions, and despite the natural gaiety of her disposition there were moments when Mrs Fanshawe felt the burden of loneliness press heavily upon her.

"She has done much more than send me a card!" Claire said deeply. "She has been a friend. She has taken away the terrible feeling of loneliness. If I were in trouble, or needed any help, I _know_ that she would give it!"

"Oh, yes, yes, naturally she would. So would any one, my dear, who had the chance. But she's a good creature, of course; a dear creature. I'm devoted to her, and to Janet. Janet and I are the best of friends!"

Again the meaning look, the meaning tone, and again in Claire's heart the same sweet sense of certainty mingled with a tender compa.s.sion for Janet, who was less fortunate than herself. It was a help to look across at the tea-table, and to realise that consolation was waiting for Janet if she chose to take it.

Suddenly Mrs Fanshawe switched off on to yet another topic.

"And where are you going to spend your summer holidays, my dear?"

"In September I am probably going to a farmhouse near the sea."

"And in August?"

"In town, I think. I have an invalid friend--"

Mrs Fanshawe swept aside the suggestion with an imperious hand.

"Nonsense! Utter nonsense! _n.o.body_ stays in town in August, my good child. The thing's impossible. I've pa.s.sed through once or twice, _en route_ for country visits, and it's an unknown place. The wierdest people walking up and down! Where they come from I can't conceive; but you never saw anything more impossible. And the shops! I knew a poor girl who became engaged at the end of July, and had to get her trousseau at once, as they sailed in September. She was in despair. _Nothing_ to be had. She was positively in tears."

"I shall get engaged in June," Claire said firmly, "and take advantage of the summer sales. I call it most thoughtless of him to have waited till the end of July."

But Mrs Fanshawe was not attending; her eyes had brightened with a sudden thought; she was saying to herself, "Why not? I should be alone.

There would be no danger of complications, and the child would be a delightful companion, good to look at, plenty to say for herself, and a mind of her own. Quite useful in entertaining, too. I could play off some of my duty debts, and she could whistle to us after dinner. Quite a novelty in the country. It would be quite a draw... A capital idea!

I'll say a week, and if it works she can stay on--"

"No, my dear, you cannot possibly endure town in August, at least not the entire month. Run down to me for a break. Quite a short journey; an hour and a half from Waterloo, and the air is delightfully fresh. I shall be alone, so I can't offer you any excitement, but if you are fond of motoring--"

The blood rushed into Claire's face. She was so intensely, overpoweringly surprised, that, for the moment, all other feelings were in abeyance. The last thing in the world which she had expected was that Erskine's mother should invite her to visit her home.

"I don't know if you care for gardening. I'm mad about it myself. My garden is a child to me. I stand no interference. The gardeners are paid to obey me, and carry out my instructions. If they get upsetting, off they go. You'd like my garden. It is not cut out to a regulation pattern; it has a personality of its own. I have all my meals on the verandah in summer. We could get you some tennis, too. You wouldn't be buried alive. Well? What do you say? Is it worth while?"

"It's exceedingly kind. It's awfully good of you. I--I am so completely taken by surprise that I hardly know--I shall have to think."

"Nonsense, my dear; what is there to think about? You have no other engagement, and you need a change. Incidentally also _I_ want a companion. You would be doing me a good turn as well as yourself. I'm sure your mother would wish it!"

No doubt about that! Claire smiled to herself as she realised how Mrs Judge would rejoice over the visit; turning one swallow into a summer, and in imagination beholding her daughter plunged into a very vortex of gaiety. She was still smiling, still considering, when Janet came strolling across the room, and laid her hand affectionately on Mrs Fanshawe's shoulder.

"I haven't had a word with you all afternoon! Such a rush of people.

You had tea comfortably, I hope: and you, too--Claire!" There was just a suspicion of hesitation before the Christian name.

"I have just been asking Miss Gifford to take pity on my loneliness for part of August. She is not knee-deep in engagements, as you are, my dear, and that precious son of mine; so we are going to amuse each other, and see how much entertainment we can squeeze out of the countryside!"

"But I haven't--I didn't--I'm not sure," stammered Claire, acutely conscious of the hardening of Janet's face, but once again Mrs Fanshawe waved aside her objections.

"But _I_ am sure! It's all settled, my dear--all but the day. Put your address on this silly little tablet, and I'll write as soon as I've looked over my dates. Now, Janet, I'm ready for a chat. Take me out to the balcony, away from this crowd."

"And I must go, I think. I'll say good-bye." Claire held out her hand to the daughter of the house. "I hope you may have a delightful summer."

"Oh, thanks so much. Oh, yes, yes, I'm quite sure I will," Janet answered mechanically. She touched Claire's hand with her fingers, and turned hastily aside.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

ERSKINE FANSHAWE'S HOME.

Claire dreaded Mary Rhodes' curiosity on the subject of her proposed visit, but in effect there was none forthcoming. Cecil was too much engrossed in her own affairs to feel anything but a pa.s.sing interest.

"Some one you met at the Willoughbys'? Only the old lady? Rather you than me! Nice house though, I suppose; gardens, motors, that kind of thing. Dull, but luxurious. Perhaps you'll stay on permanently as her companion."

"That," Claire said emphatically, "will never happen! I was thinking of clothes... I am quite well-off for evenings, and I can manage for afternoons, but I do think I ought to indulge in one or two 'drastic bargains' for morning wear. I saw some particularly drastic specimens in Knightsbridge this week. Cecil ... could you--I hate asking, but _could_ you pay me back?"

Cecil's stare of amazement was almost comical under the circ.u.mstances.

"My--good--girl! I was really pondering whether I dare, I'm horribly hard up, and that's the truth. I've had calls..."