The Chinese Shawl Read online

  Tanis took her up to her room after that. They took the right-hand turn of the stair and came by way of a short gallery to a corridor with doors on either side.

  “Aunt Agnes is at the end there, on the left. Her room is over the drawing-room. Her maid, Perry, has the dressing-room, and Aunt Lucy the room beyond. I’m opposite Aunt Agnes, next to the octagon tower. It is the only bit of the old house. That’s the door, at the end of the passage. It’s very convenient for Aunt Agnes, because, owing to the octagon shape and the very thick walls, they’ve been able to fit in a lift between my bathroom and the tower. It just takes her chair, and there are doors through to my sitting-room and the drawing-room on the ground floor. She can manage it all herself, which is what she likes to do with everything. Here you are—I hope you will be comfortable. Petra is just beyond you. There’s a bathroom between the two rooms—you won’t mind sharing it with her, will you? Aunt Agnes has put in bathrooms wherever she can, but it doesn’t quite run to one for every room. Miss Silver is over on the other side of the house, and so are Carey and the Maxwells. She’s a girl friend of Aunt Lucy’s. They were at school together. She started life as a governess—and does she look like one! Just wait till you see her! I believe she’s a detective or something now. Completely useless, I should think, but not a bad old thing. You’ll see her at tea. Her name is Maud! Can you find your way down all right?”

  Laura said she could. As a matter of fact only a mentally defective person could have failed to do so. She was very glad to be left alone. Her first overwhelming feeling that here was a house which she could love and which was friendly to her had given way to a lonely sense of estrangement. It was only the outside of the house which had any welcome for her. The inner self, the presence which lives in every habitation, was formidably antagonistic and aloof.

  The room in which she found herself, with its pale blue chintzes patterned with ivory scallop shells, was a stranger’s room. It was charming, and it charmed her, but it had nothing to do with Laura Fane. Like all the rest of the house, it rejected her.

  She went to the left-hand window and looked out. The curtains had been drawn. She put one of them back, noticing that it had been lined with black sateen to make it light-proof, and wondered whether they had had any raids down here. She looked out upon the courtyard. The dusk was gathering fast. There were shadows everywhere. The line of the ruined Priory church ran out on her left, with the last of the light coming over and through the shattered arches. She stayed looking at it for as long as she dared. Then she tidied herself in a hurry and went down.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE DRAWING-ROOM was full of people having tea. Lucy Adams was pouring out from an immense silver teapot. Laura went up to take her cup, and was introduced to “my friend Miss Silver.” She beheld a little middle-aged person with small, neat features and a great deal of mouse-coloured hair neatly disposed in a coiled plait at the back and severely restrained by a net in front. She received the impression that it was never let out even at night. She thought, “You couldn’t possibly take her for anything but a governess.” Only it was a governess of the early Edwardian days, or perhaps something earlier still. Aunt Theresa had possessed Victorian books, and Laura had been brought up on them.

  Miss Silver, like Cousin Lucy, wore glace shoes with bows, and strange thick stockings. She was dressed in one of those flowered garments which saleswomen press upon unresisting elderly ladies for summer wear. In Miss Silver’s case it consisted of a dark green dress lavishly patterned with a kind of Morse code of dots and dashes in orange, magenta, and green. The accompanying coatee was mercifully of a plain dark green. The collarless neck had been filled in with a twist of cotton lace, and was fastened by a heavy oval gold locket-brooch bearing in seed pearls the entwined initials of Miss Silver’s father and mother, now some forty years deceased.

  Laura had not time to do more than say how do you do before she was directed to a chair which had apparently been kept for her beside Agnes Fane. She was received with a surface tinge of graciousness and questioned about her work, her interests, her friends. It was a little alarming, because she had the strongest feeling of being explored, weighed, brought up for judgment.

  Presently Agnes Fane was talking of Tanis.

  “She has been very glad to meet you. I am pleased that you were able to come down. It seemed such a good opportunity as the Maxwells and Petra were already coming, and of course Carey Desborough—but we hardly count him as a visitor. He is the son of a very old friend, and we hope he and Tanis will be announcing their engagement very soon. I don’t know if Tanis told you, but there is really no reason why there should be any secret about it.”

  Laura’s colour rose and failed. She had the sudden sickening sense of just what a trap she had walked into. No wonder her reluctance had warned her not to come. Whatever happened now between her and Carey was going to look like a repetition of the old story—And that’s how Tanis meant it to look.

  Lilian Ferrers had taken Oliver from Agnes Fane. Laura saw herself being pushed on to a lighted stage where she was to re-enact her mother’s part. Whatever happened, Agnes Fane wouldn’t believe that it wasn’t Tanis who had been outwitted and betrayed. The realization was the matter of an instant.

  “We’re so fond of him,” said Agnes Fane—“and so very anxious that Tanis should marry and settle down. I don’t at all like this talk of Hollywood. It would be a great grief to Lucy and myself. She’s been like a daughter to us, you know, and we would like to see her children here.” The dark eyes were bent on Laura. A sudden and quite charming smile changed the line of the lips. “I promised that I wouldn’t talk business to you—or no, I do not think I did promise anything of the sort, for after all that is why you are here, is it not? And I believe in frankness. It has never been my way to hint or beat about the bush. This has been my home since I was a child, and it has been Tanis’s home since she was a child. It is my dearest wish that it should be her children’s home.”

  She was still smiling as she finished speaking. It was the smile of the great lady who needs only to allow her wishes to be known.

  “And now I would like to talk to Alistair Maxwell for a little. Will you tell him?”

  When Alistair had been reluctantly detached from a group of which Tanis was the centre, Laura found herself being invited to a seat beside Miss Silver. When she had taken it she was looked at—kindly, firmly, thoroughly. It was exactly like arriving at school and being inspected by the headmistress. She felt that she might at any moment expect to be put on her honour and told that she must aim at being a credit to the school. Instead Miss Silver said in a precise, pleasant voice,

  “I knew your father and mother.”

  Laura flushed into warmth.

  “Oh, did you?” Her voice meant more than the words.

  Miss Silver nodded.

  “I was in the neighbourhood when they were here before their marriage. I was still engaged in the scholastic profession at the time, and I had a young charge at Fairholme Lacy, which is only a couple of miles from here. Your mother was friendly with my employer’s sister. I saw a good deal of her, and of your father. You are like them both.”

  “Not my mother.”

  “Not her colouring of course—she was so fair. But there are expressions—when you smile—and the turn of your head and the tone of your voice are exactly hers. I hope Miss Fane will show you the portraits which Amory did of her and your father. You could not very well ask to see them, but she may show them to you. They are in her bedroom.”

  Laura caught her breath. In her bedroom—through all those years of resentment—hanging there for her to see by night and by day....She said in a low voice,

  “How strange!”

  Miss Silver nodded.

  “For some people, but not for Agnes. She had commissioned the three portraits, and they are considered very fine.”

  “Three?”

  “He painted her too. Her portrait is hanging between those two end wind
ows. You can see it without moving.”

  Laura looked past the tea-table, past Tanis and Robin, past Carey Desborough who was laughing with Petra North, to the wide ivory panel which separated the two south windows with their heavy folds of violet brocade and their deep pelmets edged and fringed with gold. The canvas was long and narrow, set in a frame of tarnished gilt. It showed Agnes Fane bare-headed and in riding-clothes, coming down a flight of steps. A light switch dangled from one hand, and in the other she held an apple. The whole thing looked so natural that Laura was carried back a generation. This was Agnes Fane—this tall, handsome, imperious creature, coming down the steps to feed her horse, Black Turban perhaps, whom she had ridden over the quarry.

  Laura looked quickly away. She was very pale. Her thoughts clamoured. Why does she do it? Lilian and Oliver in her bedroom to look at always, and this picture here for everyone to see. It was a parading of something which should have been hidden, a wearing of tragedy as if it was a garment thrown on carelessly and worn for all the world to see. And with what pride, what stubborn determination, through how many bitter years. It hurt—it hurt dreadfully. To say something, she spoke falteringly.

  “It’s—a wonderful portrait. We have copies of my father’s and mother’s at home. I don’t know who did them.”

  There were a great many questions she would have liked to ask, but Miss Silver picked up a brightly flowered knitting-bag from the floor beside her and got up.

  “I promised to show Agnes a new knitting stitch,” she said, and moved away towards the invalid chair.

  Laura joined Petra and Carey, but she had no sooner done so than Petra whisked round and went to meet Alistair, who had given up his place to Miss Maud Silver. It was the last thing that Laura would have planned, but having the opportunity thrust upon her, she had an overwhelming impulse to make use of it. She said low and quick,

  “Carey, it’s dreadful. Cousin Agnes has been talking to me, and she thinks you and Tanis are engaged.”

  He laughed, but his eyes were angry.

  “How do you know she thinks so?”

  “Because she told me. She said you would be giving it out almost at once.”

  “Oh, will we? She’ll have to think again!”

  Laura’s hands held one another tightly.

  “You mustn’t speak to me, or come near me, or—anything. Don’t you see how dreadful it is? Whatever happens, don’t you see, it’s going to look as if I had come between you— just like my mother did. Carey—”

  He said quickly, “Don’t get worked up.” Then, raising his voice, “You can see the end wall of the Priory from those windows. Come and have a look.”

  Laura said, “But it will be dark—” She was frightened and bewildered.

  Carey took her by the arm.

  “That’s the best way to see a ruin. There’s always some light from the sky. Come along!”

  Lucy Adams turned her head to say, “It’s much too cold to go outside.”

  Carey sent her a laughing, “Oh, we’re not going out.” He took Laura to the end of the room and, parting the curtains of the left-hand window, made way for her to pass between them. It was so quickly and publicly done that she could think of no way of holding back. He followed her and dropped the curtain behind them. They were alone, with darkness veiling the world beyond the window. An icy chill struck inward from the glass. Carey said, still in that raised voice,

  “You must give your eyes a minute or two, then they’ll begin to see again.” He dropped to something that was only just sound. “You’re not to worry—do you hear? It’s going to be all right.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  His arm was round her shoulders.

  “Well, I do. Tanis has got us into this mess—she must do something about it. I’ll have it out with her—tonight if I can.” His voice rose again. “Are you beginning to see anything? There’s the west end of the church on your right. A little later in the year the moon shines through what’s left of the rose window. It looks very fine.”

  Dark shapes began to emerge from the general gloom— the high shape of a broken wall, and a black heaped mass of trees. Carey’s arm held her close, and felt that she was trembling. His hand came under her chin, and his lips came down on hers in a long kiss. When he let her go he said in a hard, determined whisper,

  “That’s to remember me by. I’d kill anyone who came between us. You’re mine, and don’t you forget it.”

  The next moment he was holding the curtain again and they were coming back into the room.

  Laura felt dazed and shaken. She had the sensation of having been caught up in a sweeping tide which without any will or volition of her own was carrying her along. She had neither the wish nor the power to resist. She could not look at Carey, but she had to face the room. She saw Petra standing alone, looking at a book which she had taken up. With a feeling of relief she joined her.

  CHAPTER 12

  CAREY DESBOROUGH WALKED straight up to Tanis and said bluntly,

  “Can I see you for a moment? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  She and Alistair were over by the piano at the north end of the room. She threw him a queer look and said,

  “I was just going to sing.”

  Carey said nothing. His eyes, angry and determined, held hers.

  She said with a laugh, “I suppose the house won’t fall down if you have to wait.”

  “It might. Come along—you can sing afterwards.”

  They went out together. Alistair stared gloomily after them. Agnes Fane watched them go and turned to Miss Silver with an approving smile.

  “A handsome couple, Maud.”

  Miss Silver gave a slight deprecating cough.

  “Very handsome,” she said in a dry little voice.

  “And just what do you mean by that?”

  Miss Silver’s needles clicked above a cloud of pale pink wool.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Maud!”

  Miss Silver looked up placidly.

  “Well, I would not call them a couple.”

  “And pray, why not?”

  “Because I see no signs of their being in love with one another.”

  Miss Fane smiled in a superior manner.

  “Perhaps, my dear Maud, you will allow me to know a little more about that than you do.”

  Miss Silver smiled too.

  “I do not think so. You are too much interested—wishes are apt to be misleading. Let us change the subject. My niece Milly Rogers is expecting another baby. I was most fortunate in finding this pretty pink wool in Ledlington.”

  Miss Fane surveyed it with disfavour.

  “You should be knitting comforts for the troops.”

  Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

  “Babies must have vests,” she remarked in a mild but stubborn tone.

  Tanis Lyle led the way into the charming small sitting-room which had been her own from the time she had left school. The walls were panelled in some pale modern wood. The furniture was modern too—couch and chairs wide-armed cubes; pale green curtains; green cushions; pale coverings to match the walls; a clever use of ice-green glass for the fireplace and the pelmets—the whole thing an admirable setting for Miss Tanis Lyle.

  She had switched on the light in a heavy block of glass beside the couch, but Carey, following her, pulled down another switch. A bowl in the ceiling sprang into brilliance and flooded the room with light. She looked over her shoulder as if she were going to speak, but she said nothing, only turned, held out both her hands, and smiled. It was the smile which had enchanted many men. It had enchanted Carey once, but it would never enchant him again. She said, still smiling,

  “Well, darling—what is it? Don’t you want to kiss me?”

  Carey smiled too. He had an extraordinary sense of freedom, of release. Laura had set him free. He was completely and satisfyingly immune. He had no more desire to kiss Tanis than he had to kiss Lucy Adams—impossible to put it more strongl
y than that. He could say in quite a friendly tone,

  “I want to talk to you.”

  There was a green gleam between the black lashes. She went over to the couch, leaned against one of the wide ends, and said,

  “A bit cave-man, aren’t you, dragging me out of the drawing-room like this? What is it all about? My idea was that you wanted to make love to me and simply couldn’t wait another moment. Obviously a mistake. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Tanis, I want to talk to you.”

  “Yes—you said that before. You’ll end by boring me.”

  He came and stood over her, his eyes grimly amused.

  “Oh, no, I’m not going to bore you—you’ll be quite interested. Look here, Miss Fane seems to be under the impression that we’re engaged.”

  She looked up at him.

  “And aren’t we, darling?”

  “No, darling, we are not. You made yourself particularly clear on that point when I came out of hospital.”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t remember about that.” She laughed. “Who told you what Aunt Agnes thought—Laura?”

  Carey blundered.

  “She told her we were engaged.”

  “Meaning that Aunt Agnes told Laura, and that Laura told you. Quick worker, aren’t you, Carey? Well, where do we go from there? Do I tell anyone?”

  “You tell Miss Fane that we are not engaged.”

  “Really?”

  “And that we have no intention of being engaged.”

  “Do I?”

  “And that we are, in fact, nothing but very good friends.”

  “Are we?” Her eyes blazed suddenly with green fire. “Is that all?”

  “I think so. I should like you to do it at once. We are all in a false position.”

  Tanis straightened up.

  “You mean that Laura is in a false position. That is what you mean, isn’t it?”

  “I said all of us.”

  “But you meant Laura. And of course, my dear, how right!” Her face lit up suddenly with a smile which had no enchantment this time, but a kind of vivid mockery. “How completely, entirely, delightfully right! Laura is for it—she is the vamp who has separated two loving hearts! It’s a marvellous situation, isn’t it? And won’t the aunts just lap it up! It should go down particularly well with Aunt Agnes, you know. ‘Be thou chaste as ice and pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny.’ That’s what I learned at my school of dramatic art. And how true! In other words, darling Laura’s name is going to be mud. And she won’t even have had her fun first—or will she?”