Captain Desmond, V.C. Part 24

The clinging garment of mist, driven and dispersed by day's last flash of self-a.s.sertion, lay heaped and tumbled in the valleys, and the mountains stood knee-deep in an opalescent sea of foam. It was as though Nature, in a mood of capricious kindliness, had rent the veil, that mortals might share in the triumphal pa.s.sing of the sun, whose supremacy had been in eclipse these many days.

Above the deep-toned quiet of earth, blurred and ragged clouds showed every conceivable tone of umber and grey, from purest pearl-white to darkest depths of indigo. Only low down, where a blue-black ma.s.s ended with level abruptness, a flaming strip of day was splashed along the west--one broad brush-stroke, as it were, by some t.i.tanic artist whose palette held liquid fire. Snows and mist alike caught and flung back the radiance in a maze of rainbow hues; while beyond the bank of cloud a vast pale fan of light shot outward and upward to the very zenith of heaven. Each pa.s.sing minute wrought some imperceptible change of grouping, form, or colour; blurred ma.s.ses melted to flakes and strata on a groundwork of frail blue; orange deepened to crimson; and anon earth and sky were on fire with tints of garnet and rose.

Each several snow-peak blushed like an angel surprised in a good deed.

Splashes of colour sprang from cloud-tip to cloud-tip with invisible speed, till even the chill east glowed with a faint hue of life.

And in the midst of the transient splendour, enveloped by the isolation of the falling day, husband and wife sat silent, absorbed in strangely opposite reflections. Verily they dwelt in different planets, these two who had willed to be one, but whom forces more potent held it inexorably apart.

Desmond had long since pa.s.sed beyond the border-line of definite thought; while Evelyn's mind rapidly reverted to the more congenial atmosphere of things terrestrial. An unknown force was urging her to speak openly to her husband, to rid herself of the shadow that had begun to tarnish the bright surface of life. It would be easier to speak in dusk than in bald daylight--easier also before the bloom of reunion had been rubbed off by the prosaic trivialities of life. In her present position, too, it would be possible to avoid his gaze; and she found a singular difficulty in tampering with facts when Theo's eyes were on her face.

She watched him speculatively for a few moments, and wondered what change would come over him when her tale was told. Anger frightened and repelled her; and for all his hastiness she had seldom seen more than a mere spark of his inner fire.

He seemed to have forgotten her existence; and by way of gentle reminder she s.h.i.+fted her position.

"Theo," she said under her breath.

He felt the movement without catching the sound of his name, and turned to her quickly, impulsive speech upon his lips.

"By the way, Ladybird, there's something I want to tell you, and this is a good opportunity."

The coincidence so startled her that her own half-fledged impulse scurried back to its nest. Nor was she certain whether the sigh that escaped her expressed disappointment or relief.

"What is it?" she asked--"something nice?"

The characteristic question set him smiling.

"You must judge for yourself. It chiefly concerns the Boy. You're fond of him, aren't you?"

"Yes; he's nice enough. But why?"

"You wouldn't mind if we put ourselves out a little to get him out of a difficulty?"

"Well, that would rather depend on what we had to do." Her tone, though still pleasant, was guarded. "What kind of difficulty?"

"Money."

She turned her face away something suddenly, and felt very thankful that day was fading from the sky.

"Do you mean--lending him money?" she asked blankly.

"No--giving it. I prefer it that way. There's no need to tell you his troubles in detail; it would hardly be fair to him. They, are of a kind you can't know anything about; and I hope you never will."

In the fewest possible words he gave her an outline of Harry's story; of the parting with Roland, and the promise he had exacted in return for his help. He spoke throughout with such unfailing kindness that vexation p.r.i.c.ked and stung her, like thorns under the skin. She might have told him after all. He would not have been angry. Now she had been forestalled. She failed to perceive that the backslidings of his wife must of necessity touch him more nearly than those of his subaltern, and that to her own extravagance was added a host of petty evasions and deceits such as a man of his type would be little able to condone or understand.

"You see," he was saying when her mind harked back from the excursion into her own point of view, "the poor fellow has done all he can towards putting matters straight, and I am thankful I can manage the rest myself, so as to give him a fair start for the future."

"But how much is--_your_ share?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

"Rather more than eight hundred rupees."

"And you have actually--_done_ it, Theo?"

"Yes. You surely couldn't have wished otherwise?"

For a moment she hesitated, then her repressed bitterness brimmed over.

"Oh, I don't know. Only I think you might have considered _me_ a little first. I've more right to your money than he has; and if you can afford to throw away eight hundred rupees on a careless, extravagant subaltern, you could quite well let me go to Simla; or at least add something to my dress allowance. It's not so very easy to manage on the little you give me."

She spoke with averted face in a tone of clear hardness, and each word smote her husband like a small sharp stone.

"I am sorry you see it that way," he said, a new restraint in his voice, "and that you don't find your allowance sufficient. I give you all I can, and you seem to have pretty frocks enough, anyhow. If I had eight hundred rupees to throw away,--as you choose to express it,--I should hardly have spoken of putting ourselves out; in fact, I shouldn't have spoken at all. But you have been such good friends with the Boy all along that I hoped you would be ready to help give him a hand up. I can only manage such a sum by knocking two hundred off my pay for the next four months. This means cutting down expenses a little; but we can easily do it, Ladybird--_if_ we pull together."

At any other time such an appeal from Theo would have proved irresistible, would have drawn them into a closer union of thought and purpose than they had ever attained as yet. But the appeal came at the wrong moment, and Evelyn Desmond sat silent, her hands so fast interlocked that her rings bruised their delicate surface.

"I am thinking of the Boy's mother as well as himself, you see," her husband urged with increasing gentleness; "he is her only son, and she is wrapped up in him; and I know from experience what that means."

She lifted her head and faced him.

"You think a great deal too much about--those sort of stray people, Theo, and it's rather hard on me. Why am _I_ to be made uncomfortable on account of Mrs Denvil, when I've never even met her in my life?"

"If you can't see that for yourself, Ladybird, I'm afraid I can't tell you. I've no taste for preaching sermons."

"It would be rather a mercy if you had no taste for acting them either," she retorted, with a little laugh that failed to take the edge off her words. "_I_ don't much like them in any form. How are you going to cut down expenses?"

"Chiefly in ways that need not concern you. But to start with, I'm afraid I must take you and Honor down with me on the third of next month. I can do nothing while I am crippled by a double establishment.

You'll barely miss four weeks up here, and the heat is over earlier in Kohat than in the Punjab. Paul gets his leave when mine is up, and he will spend it here with the Boy, so as to take the last month of rent off my hands."

"So you've _settled_ it all without saying a word to _me_?"

"Yes. I had to fix things up before I left. It's a pity the difficulty includes Honor, but I don't think she'll mind when I tell her why."

"Oh dear, no; _Honor_ won't mind. I believe she's happier in Kohat,--but----"

"But _you_ are _not_?" he broke out abruptly, leaning forward and searching her face with anxious eyes.

The vehement question startled her.

"I never said _that_, Theo--and it isn't true. Only--I do hate the ugliness and the heat, and September's the loveliest month of all up here."

"Doesn't it make things any easier to feel you are helping the Boy by giving up these few weeks of enjoyment?"

"No--it doesn't. Not a bit."

Desmond frowned.

"Try and fancy yourself in a strait like that, Evelyn, and the thundering relief it would be to get out of it."

His words stabbed her unwittingly.

"I'm not good at fancying things, and I'm not good at cutting down expenses either--I was never taught. I hope you don't do these uncomfortable sort of things often, Theo. It seems to me you're too much inclined to rush in and help people without stopping to think of--of other people at all! It would have been much better for the Boy if you'd left him to get clear of his muddle, instead of upsetting every one by spending money on him that you can't really spare."