Whither Thou Goest Part 23

But she was a soldier's daughter, and she braced herself to go through the ordeal, the most trying of all ordeals to affectionate hearts, the removal of the beloved dead.

She first sent a wire to Maurice Farquhar, asking him to come to her.

Then she sent another wire to the General's elder brother, the owner of the small family estates.

In two hours came back her cousin's answer.

"Am catching an early train."

The Squire's answer came back about the same time. "Will be with you to-morrow morning." And then she thought of a quite new, but very sincere friend. Lady Mary Rossett. She wired to her the sad news. To Guy she wrote a long letter. If she had sent him a wire, he might have rushed over, and neglected his duties. That would have rendered no service to the dead.

Lady Mary arrived first in her car--it was not a very long run from Ticehurst Park to Eastbourne. She explained that she had taken rooms at the "Queen's" for herself and her maid, and would see Isobel through this trying ordeal.

The two girls clung together. Mary said she would like to look upon the General for the last time. Isobel led her into the darkened chamber, and Mary imprinted a kiss upon the waxen brow.

"He was a most perfect gentleman," she said. "You will always be proud to remember that you were his daughter."

"He was the dearest and the best. He was--"

But Isobel could say no more, for fear she should break down.

A few moments after Mary's arrival came Farquhar, lumbering up from the station in a somewhat antiquated taxi.

Isobel welcomed him warmly. "How good of you, Maurice, to come so soon, and of course you are frightfully busy. I am afraid grief makes one very selfish."

"I don't think you were ever very selfish, Isobel," replied Farquhar in his grave, quiet tones. "I am, as you say, frightfully busy, but I have handed over all my briefs to a friend, and I am going to see you through all this sad business. I suppose you have wired to the Head of the Family?"

Isobel's lip curled a little. "Yes, I have wired to the Head of the Family. I have got his answer. He is coming down to-morrow. My true friends are here to-day, yourself, and Lady Mary Rossett. By the way, how remiss of me not to have introduced you."

Lady Mary rose, and held out her hand to the rising young barrister.

"But, dear Isobel, we have met before, on that well-remembered evening at the Savoy. You will no doubt recollect, Mr Farquhar, you were dining with a very dark-complexioned gentleman, evidently a foreigner."

"Of course, I remember perfectly. The man who was my guest is my old friend Andres Moreno, a very capable journalist."

Lady Mary looked approvingly at the grave young barrister. Her heart was, of course, buried in the grave of the young Guardsman, but she felt a pleasurable thrill in this new acquaintance. There was something in his sedate demeanour that appealed to her practical and well-ordered nature--a nature that was apt occasionally to be disturbed by tempestuous and romantic moods.

"Where are you putting up?" asked Lady Mary casually.

"At the `Queen's,'" answered Farquhar.

"Oh, so am I. I have taken a suite of rooms for myself and maid, while I am looking after dear Isobel. But it will be a little bit dull. Are you dining in the general room?"

"I certainly shall--unless--" Farquhar looked towards Isobel.

Poor Isobel looked very distressed. "You are both such darlings," she said, in her candid, impulsive way. "I should like to put you both up, to ask you to stay. But I shall be such poor company for you."

They both understood. The bereaved girl wanted to be left alone with her dead, for that day at least. She welcomed their sympathy, but they could not mourn with her whole-hearted mourning.

Farquhar and Lady Mary drove back in the car to the "Queen's." Farquhar suggested tea. Lady Mary accepted the invitation willingly. There was something about this serious young barrister that attracted her.

Over the teacups they chatted.

"Tell me, are you going to be Lord Chancellor some day? You have plenty of time."

It was Lady Mary who put the question. Farquhar caught the spirit of her gay humour.

"Oh, no, nothing so stupendous as that. In my wildest dreams, I have never aspired to be anything higher than Solicitor or Attorney-General.

I shall probably end by being a police magistrate, and cultivate a reputation for saying smart things."

"Oh, but I shall be quite disappointed in you if you don't become Lord Chancellor," persisted Lady Mary, in her most girlish vein. "How dreadfully ancient we shall both be when you reach that exalted position. And then, think of your wife, she will be the first female subject in the kingdom. The Archbishop of Canterbury's wife doesn't count at all, although the Archbishop goes before you. Isn't it comical?"

Farquhar fell in with her humorous mood. They had come from the house of mourning, but the poor old General had been very little to them. It was Isobel who stirred a generous chord of sympathy in their hearts.

And Isobel was young, she had a lover, and she would recover shortly.

The young do not mourn for ever after the old. Such is the inexorable law of nature.

They met again at dinner. The good understanding, begun at tea, was further cemented.

"You are going to be a sort of relation, in addition to being at least Attorney-General, or a police magistrate, or something of that sort,"

said Lady Mary at the conclusion of the meal. "Do you shoot?"

"I can account for a few," replied Farquhar, in his usual modest and cautious manner.

"Then you must come to Ticehurst Park in the autumn. I shall send you the invitation."

"And your friends will be welcomed by Lord Saxham?"

Lady Mary smiled quite a brilliant smile. "I may tell you in confidence that my dear old father is as wax in my hands. Are you satisfied with that?"

Yes, Farquhar felt quite satisfied. But he thought of the grief-stricken girl keeping her lonely vigil in that quiet home, and his heart was very sore for her.

Still the world went on, and here was a very charming woman, not perhaps quite so youthful as Isobel, who was showing very plainly that she had taken an interest in him. The world was a very pleasant place.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

The Head of the Family arrived next day. He was a very stolid and bucolic-looking person, a breeder of prize oxen and fat sheep. He commiserated with poor Isobel in a heavy fas.h.i.+on.

"Strange thing going off like that," he commented. "We are a very long-lived family. But your father was always a little bit different from the rest of us when he was a boy."

Isobel said nothing in reply. She had seen several members of her father's family at rare intervals, and she had not been greatly impressed by them. The only one she had really liked was Mrs Farquhar, the mother of her Cousin Maurice. She was a sweet, charming woman, the favourite sister of her dead father.

Mr Clandon fingered his moustache a little nervously. "I suppose you know all about his affairs, my dear? He has left you comfortably off, eh? He came into quite a tidy little bit when my father died."

Isobel smiled faintly. Mr Clandon wanted to be a.s.sured that he was not going to have a penniless niece thrust upon his hands. She knew all about her father's affairs. Had not the dear old General spent hours in instructing her as to the careful management of her small patrimony, when anything happened to him?

"Quite comfortably off, uncle, thanks to his loving care. With my simple wants, I shall be rich."

"Very relieved to hear it," said the bucolic Mr Clandon. "And, of course, you are going to marry a rich man. Lord Saxham, I understand, is one of the wealthiest peers in England."