The Mistress of Shenstone by Florence Louisa Barclay (fantasy novels to read TXT) 📕

door?' They all answered: 'When it is a jar!' quite unabashed; and Miss Eliza asked another! I believe Susie stands at her crack, in the darkness, in hopes of seeing you march by.... No, don't say naughty words. They are dears, all three of them; and we shall miss them horribly to-morrow. Oh, Jim--I've just had such a brilliant idea! I shall ask them to be my bridesmaids! Can't you see them following me up the aisle? It would be worse than the duchess giving Jane away. Ah, you don't know that story? I will tell it you, some day. Jim, say 'Good-night' quickly, and let me go."

"Once," said Jim Airth, tightening his grasp on her wrists--"once, Myra, we said no 'good-night,' and no 'good-morning.'"

"Jim, darling!" said Myra, gently; "on that night, before I went to sleep, you said to me: 'We are not alone. _God is here_.' And then you repeated part of the hundred and thirty-ninth psalm. And, Jim--I thought you the best and strongest man I had ever known; and I felt that, all my life, I should trust you, as I trusted my God."

Jim Airth loosed the hands he had held so tightly, and kissed them very gently. "Good-night, my sweetheart," he said, "and God bless you!" Then he turned away to the marble table.

Myra ran swiftly up the stairs and closed her door.

Then she knelt beside her bed, and sobbed uncontrollably; partly for joy, and partly for sorrow. The unanswered question commenced its reiteration: "Ah, was I right to keep him waiting?"

Presently she lifted her head, held her breath, and stared into the darkness. A vision seemed to pass across her room. A tall, bearded man, in evening clothes. In his arms a tiny dog, peeping at her through its curls, as if to say: "_I_ have the better place. Where do _you_ come in?" The tall man turned at the door. "Good-night, my dear Myra," he said, kindly.

The vision passed.

Lady Ingleby buried her face in the bedclothes. "That--for ten long years!" she said. Then, in the darkness, she saw the mutinous fire of Jim Airth's blue eyes, and felt the grip of his strong hands on hers. "How can I say 'Good-night'?" protested his deep voice, passionately. And, with a rush of happy tears, Myra clasped her hands, whispering: "Dear God, am I at last to know the Best?"

And up the stairs came Jim Airth, whistling like a nightingale. But, as a concession to Miss Murgatroyd's ideas concerning suitable Sabbath music, he discarded "Nancy Lee," and whistled:


"Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave;
Who bidst the mighty ocean deep,
Its own appointed limits keep,
O hear us, when we cry to Thee----"


And, kneeling beside her bed, in the darkness, Myra made of it her evening prayer.


CHAPTER XV


"WHERE IS LADY INGLEBY?"

When Jim Airth left the train on the following Tuesday afternoon, he looked eagerly up and down the platform, hoping to see Myra. True, they had particularly arranged not to meet, until after his interview with Lady Ingleby. But Myra was so charmingly inconsequent and impulsive in her actions. It would be quite like her to reverse the whole plan they had made; and, if her desire to see him, in any measure resembled his huge hunger for a sight of her, he could easily understand such a reversal.

However, Myra was not there; and with a heavy sense of unreasonable disappointment, Jim Airth chucked his ticket to a waiting porter, passed through the little station, and found a smart turn-out, with tandem ponies, waiting outside.

The groom at the leader's head touched his hat.

"For Shenstone Park, sir?"

"Yes," said Jim Airth, and climbed in.

The groom touched his hat again. "Her ladyship said, sir, that perhaps you might like to drive the ponies yourself, sir."

"No, thank you," said Jim Airth, shortly. "I never drive other people's ponies."

The groom's comprehending grin was immediately suppressed. He touched his hat again; gathered up the reins, mounted the driver's seat, flicked the leader, and the perfectly matched ponies swung at once into a fast trot.

Jim Airth, a connoisseur in horse-flesh, eyed them with approval. They flew along the narrow Surrey lanes, between masses of wild roses and clematis. The villagers were working in the hayfields, shouting gaily to one another as they tossed the hay. It was a matchless June day, in a perfect English summer.

Jim Airth's disappointment at Myra's non-appearance, was lifting rapidly in the enjoyment of the drive. After all it was best to adhere to plans once made; and every step of these jolly little tapping hoofs was bringing him nearer to the Lodge. Perhaps she would be at the window. (He had particularly told her _not_ to be!)

"These ponies have been well handled," he remarked approvingly to the groom, as they flew round a bend.

"Yes, sir," said the groom, with the inevitable movement towards his hat, whip and hand going up together. "Her ladyship always drives them herself, sir. Fine whip, her ladyship, sir."

This item of information surprised Jim Airth. Judging by Lord Ingleby's age and appearance, he had expected to find Lady Ingleby a sedate and stately matron of sixty. It was somewhat surprising to hear of her as a fine whip.

However, he had no time to weigh the matter further. Passing an ivy-clad church on the village green, they swung through massive iron gates, of very fine design, and entered the stately avenue of Shenstone Park. To the left, in a group of trees, stood a pretty little gabled house.

"What house is that?" asked Jim Airth, quickly.

"The Lodge, sir."

"Who lives there?"

"Mrs. O'Mara, sir."

"Has Mrs. O'Mara returned?"

"I don't know, sir. She was up at the house with her ladyship this morning."

"Then she _has_ returned," said Jim Airth.

The groom looked perplexed, but made no comment.

Jim Airth turned in his seat, and looked back at the Lodge. It was a far smaller house than he had expected. This fact did not seem to depress him. He smiled to himself, as at some thought which gave him amusement and pleasure. While he still looked back, a side door opened; a neatly dressed woman in black, apparently a superior lady's-maid, appeared on the doorstep, shook out a white table-cloth, and re-entered the house.

They flew on up the avenue, Jim Airth noting every tree with appreciation and pleasure. The fine old house came into view, and a moment later they drew up at the entrance.

"Good driving," remarked Jim Airth approvingly, as he tipped the little groom. Then he turned, to find the great doors already standing wide, and a stately butler, with immense black eyebrows, waiting to receive him.

"Will you come to her ladyship's sitting-room, sir?" said the butler, and led the way.

Jim Airth entered a charmingly appointed room, and looked around.

It was empty.

"Kindly wait here, sir, while I acquaint her ladyship with your arrival," said the pompous person with the eyebrows, and went out noiselessly, closing the door behind him.

Left alone, Jim Airth commenced taking rapid note of the room, hoping to gain therefrom some ideas as to the tastes and character of its possessor. But almost immediately his attention was arrested by a life-size portrait of Lord Ingleby, hanging above the mantelpiece.

Jim Airth walked over to the hearthrug, and stood long, looking with silent intentness at the picture.

"Excellent," he said to himself, at last. "Extraordinarily clever. That chap shall paint Myra, if I can lay hands on him. What a jolly little dog! And what devotion! Mutual and absorbing. I suppose that is Peter. Queer to think that I should have been the last to hear him calling Peter. I wonder whether Lady Ingleby liked Peter. If not, I doubt if she would have had much of a look-in. If anyone went to the wall it certainly wasn't Peter."

He was still absorbed in the picture, when the butler returned with a long message, solemnly delivered.

"Her ladyship is out in the grounds, sir. As it is so warm in the house, sir, her ladyship requests that you come to her in the grounds. If you will allow me, sir, I will show you the way."

Jim Airth restrained an inclination to say: "Buck up!" and followed the butler along a corridor, down a wide staircase to a lower hall. They stepped out on to a terrace running the full length of the house. Below it, an old-fashioned garden, with box borders, bright flower beds, a fountain in the centre. Beyond this a smooth lawn, sloping down to a beautiful lake, which sparkled and gleamed in the afternoon sunshine. On this lawn, well to the right, half-way between the house and the water, stood a group of beeches. Beneath their spreading boughs, in the cool inviting shadow, were some garden chairs. Jim Airth could just discern, in one of these, the white gown of a woman, holding a scarlet parasol.

The butler indicated this clump of trees.

"Her ladyship said, sir, that she would await you under the beeches."

He returned to the house, and Jim Airth was left to make his way alone to Lady Ingleby, guided by the gleam among the trees of her brilliant parasol. Even at that moment it gave him pleasure to find Lady Ingleby's taste in sunshades, resembling Myra's.

He stood for a minute on the terrace, taking in the matchless beauty of the place. Then his face grew sad and stern. "What a home to leave," he said; "and to leave it, never to return!"

He still wore a look of sadness as he descended the steps leading to the flower garden, made his way along the narrow gravel paths; then stepped on to the soft turf of the lawn, and walked towards the clump of beeches.

Jim Airth--tall and soldierly, broad-shouldered and erect--might have made an excellent impression upon Lady Ingleby, had she watched his coming. But she kept her parasol between herself and her approaching guest.

In fact he drew quite near; near enough to distinguish the ripples of soft lace about, her feet, the long graceful sweep of her gown; and still she seemed unconscious of his close proximity.

He passed beneath the beeches and stood before her. And, even then, the parasol concealed her face.

But Jim Airth was never at a loss, when sure of his ground. "Lady Ingleby," he said, with grave formality; "I was told to----"

Then the parasol was flung aside, and he found himself looking down into the lovely laughing eyes of Myra.

To see Jim Airth's face change from its look of formal gravity to one of rapturous delight, was to Myra well worth the long effort of sitting immovable. He flung himself down before her with boyish abandon, and clasped both herself and her chair in his long arms.

"Oh, you darling!" he said, bending his face over hers, while his blue eyes danced with delight. "Oh, Myra, what centuries since yesterday! How I have longed for you. I almost hoped you would after all have come to the station. How I have grudged wasting all this time in coming to call on old Lady Ingleby. Myra, has it seemed long to you? Do you realise, my dear girl, that it _can't_ go on any longer; that we cannot possibly live through another twenty-four hours of separation? But