Family Gathering Page 6

  Flashlight displayed equal affection for Lucille and Jeremy and nodded his head in a knowing way at Natalie. It was a charming picture and Natalie thought that only two things were needed to make it perfect— Helen’s presence, and the substitution of Duncan for Philip Bellamy.

  The riders were about to mount and Natalie was drawing away from the plunging horses when a loud shout rent the air. From far away, round the distant curve of the drive, came a horse and cart, the driver of which appeared to be protesting to his passenger that horses and carts did not usually approach Romescourt by this route and that they had far better turn back again.

  Another loud hail followed the first, and the four on the drive strained their ears to distinguish the sounds.

  “What’s he shouting?” asked Jeremy.

  Nobody knew. The cart came nearer, and soon it was seen that, besides the driver and the passenger, it contained cases of some kind. The passenger stood up, heedless of the swaying and jolting, and shouted once more.

  “Can’t make out a word,” commented Philip. “Russian or Chinese, perhaps—or Gaelic.”

  The last word, carelessly spoken, had a curious effect on the three listeners. Jeremy’s eyes narrowed and he stared at the oncoming cart with a new, intent look; Lucille’s brows went up slightly and Natalie, fear and horror creeping into her heart, sent a questioning look towards Flashlight, who nodded sadly.

  Three more minutes and there could be no further doubt. Jeremy spoke evenly.

  “It’s Duncan,” he announced.

  There was a slight pause, and Philip turned towards Lucille.

  “What,” he inquired, “is the fellow doing down here?”

  Lucille’s blue eyes were wide.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I did write to him, but perhaps he didn’t get the letter. I gave it to Jeremy to post.”

  Three pairs of eyes turned upon Jeremy in inquiry, accusation and, finally, in just anger. Even Lucille’s eyes clouded, and Jeremy, for the first time in Natalie’s knowledge of him, looked at a loss. He turned to his sister.

  “I’m sorry, Lu,” he said. “I forgot every damn bit about it.”

  Chapter 5

  The cart lumbered up and the driver reined in his horse, but before it could stop, Duncan Macdonald had leapt lightly to the ground. He took four long, unhesitating strides towards Lucille, folded her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

  “You didn’t write,” he said reproachfully. “I got worried.” He released her and held out a hand to Natalie, who took it speechlessly. “ ’Lo, Mrs. Rome,” he greeted her, and turned to address Jeremy. “Look, Jeremy,” he said in a different tone, “when I come and stay with people, they come and meet me. I stood on that exposed piece of ground for more than an hour. The cart,” he ended simply, “will cost six and six. Pay it.”

  Jeremy, glad to have something to do, walked to the cart, lifted out Duncan’s suit-cases and paid the driver. Duncan looked expectantly at Philip and waited for Lucille to effect an introduction, and Lucille gave a gentle little sigh.

  “I’m so sorry, Duncan,” she began, in the tone which others would use in commenting on the dullness of the weather. “I’m so sorry—I did write to you, but the letter—well, it didn’t get posted.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” said Duncan simply. “I’m here.”

  “Yes,” said Lucille. “Yes.” She stopped and turned to Jeremy with a look of appeal.

  “You tell him, Jeremy,” she said.

  “Tell him yourself,” said her brother. “And tell him—don’t just stand there—tell him.”

  Philip, weary of being a spectator, spoke in cold tones.

  “Perhaps I can introduce myself,” he said, addressing Duncan. “I’m Lucille’s—”

  “The fact is, Duncan,” broke in Jeremy, “that there’s been a hell of a mix-up. When Lucille came to London she was more or less engaged to—to Phil Bellamy, who’s standing beside you. She came back engaged to you, fixed things up again with Phil and wrote to tell you it was off.”

  “What was off?” asked Duncan calmly.

  “The engagement,” said Jeremy. “The one between you and Lucille, I mean. She wrote to tell you, but I’ve been carrying the letter about in my pocket and so all this mess is really my fault.”

  It was said. Natalie looked at Jeremy with pride and thought that nobody could have done it more quickly and more kindly. It was over and poor Duncan—

  Duncan turned and faced Philip Bellamy. Beginning at the blond head, he ran his eyes slowly and carefully over his rival. Nobody could mistake his expression. It was neither contemptuous nor belligerent; he was up against something and he was merely measuring the odds. This was the other man, and Duncan wished to know what manner of man he was. When the brief scrutiny was over, it was clear to everybody present— and especially clear to Mr. Bellamy—that Duncan had seen nothing to disturb him.

  “If you’re ready, Lucille,” said Philip, rallying, “I think we ought to go.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Duncan informed him, “and neither is Lucille. As her fiancé, I—”

  “I’m extremely sorry for you,” broke in Philip abruptly, “and I can quite understand how you feel, but there’s nothing to be gained by making everybody uncomfortable, and the only decent thing you can do is to—to leave.”

  Duncan eyed him calmly.

  “Lucille, as I understand it,” he said, “knew you for a good many years and couldn’t make up her mind at the end of that time that she wanted to marry you. She made up her mind about me in three days. I was her first fiancé and I’m going to be her last. Now the only decent thing you can do is to—to push off.”

  Philip’s mouth closed in an ugly line and he took a step forward. Jeremy stepped between the antagonists and addressed Philip.

  “Leave it to me, will you?” he asked. “We can’t start brawling.”

  “It’s been left to you,” returned Philip, “twice too often. The fellow—”

  He came to an abrupt halt. The fellow, taking advantage of the lull in hostilities, had enfolded Lucille in his arms once more and was rubbing his cheek gently against hers.

  “You see that?” said Philip furiously. “If you don’t want to kick him back to wherever he came from, get out of my way and let me do it.”

  “Yes, let him,” said Duncan, tucking one of Lucille’s curls neatly into place.

  “Oh—please,” broke in Natalie. “We mustn’t stand here and argue like this. Shouldn’t we go inside and—and talk it over?”

  “Yes, we should,” agreed Jeremy. “You can’t,” he went on to Philip, “blame him for coming here—that’s my fault, not his. And he can’t pick up his suit-cases and walk all the way back to Dummerton West or Hunnytor, can he?”

  “As far as I’m concerned,” said Philip, “he can walk all the way back to—”

  There was an interruption. The dogs sprang up and dashed eagerly towards Lady Rome, who had come round the house and was approaching the little group. She wore her rubber boots, a thick tweed suit and a large black straw hat trimmed with bunches of red and white cherries.

  “Hello, hello, how nice, how nice to see you all just back,” came the familiar bellow. “Natalie, my dear, you oughtn’t to be out on a chilly day like this without some kind of covering on your head—you ought to see to it, Jeremy. And how do you do, Philip? Isn’t that one of old Hawke’s horses? You mustn’t let him overcharge you—he’s a dreadful old swindler and you’d much better ride something of Lucille’s. I don’t seem to know you,” went on Lady Rome, looking at Duncan, “but—”

  “This is Mr. Macdonald, Granny,” murmured Lucille.

  “How nice, how nice, how very nice,” said Lady Rome. “Macdonald. That’s an odd thing, because whenever I see that particular shade of red hair I tell myself that it’s either Scotland or bad temper.”

  “In my case,” said Duncan, “it’s both.”

  “You’re fortunate, very fortunate,” said Lady Rom
e. “Everybody should have a bad temper. My grandfather had a very bad temper, and he told me that it had got him everything he wanted in life. If people said no, he just got very violent and then they were obliged to give in to him. His hair wasn’t red, of course—it was grey, but perhaps that was because I only remember him as a very old man. I see you’ve got luggage—how very nice. These children never tell me anything, you know, and nobody told me that you were coming to stay. You’ve chosen a very good time—I think early spring is the nicest possible time to see a place. Have you been in Devonshire before? You must ask Jeremy to drive you out to some of our beauty spots—he has a dreadfully uncomfortable little car, but you mustn’t mind. Philip would really be better at showing you places—he doesn’t distort all the facts, as Jeremy does. Philip, my dear boy, you must take Mr. Macdonald to see the country—you ought to get on very well together, you two. Mr. Bellamy’s mother is Scottish, Mr. Macdonald, so you and Philip ought to have a lot in common. Jeremy, where are you going to put your friend?”

  “As a matter of fact, Granny, ’’said Jeremy, “Duncan came to see Lucille.”

  “Of course, of course,” shouted Lady Rome. “I should have known—I should have known at once. That’s why poor Mr. Macdonald is standing in this chilly air with his luggage and nobody to see to anything. It means only one thing—Lucille has simply forgotten again. I’m extremely sorry, Mr. Macdonald—she forgets everything—time, messages, engagements. They go right out of her head.”

  “They do,” agreed Duncan.

  “Well, you must go inside and see them at once, Lucille,” ordered Lady Rome, “and make them put Mr. Macdonald into St. Francis of Assisi. Philip, will you take the horses round as you’ve finished your ride? Now come, Mr. Macdonald.”

  Duncan made no movement. After studying the gravel for a few moments he raised his head and looked into Lady Rome’s eyes with a steady and candid gaze.

  “There’s just one thing, Lady Rome,” he said. “I’m the fellow Lucille got engaged to in London and when I came here I didn’t know there’d been any—any misunderstanding. Lucille wrote to me, but I didn’t get the letter. So if you feel—if you’d like me to go away—”

  Lady Rome looked at him in surprise and concern. “My dear Mr. Macdonald,” she said, “you can’t possibly go away before you’ve come, can you? This isn’t the first time Lucille has forgotten to post her letters and I’m quite certain it won’t be the last. Don’t stand there, my dear young man—we’re all getting chilly and it can’t be very far off luncheon and poor little Mrs. Rome hasn’t got a thing on her head and it’s so bad for people.”

  Duncan was immovable.

  “Mr. Bellamy here”—he indicated Philip by a nod of his head—“Mr. Bellamy thinks that he’s still engaged to Lucille. He—”

  “Of course he does, of course he does,” agreed Lady Rome. “Do you blame the poor man? Hasn’t Lucille been telling him so—telling us all so? It’s quite impossible to sort these things out and I always find that if nobody fusses, everything always gets straightened out again. Don’t you agree, Philip?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” said Philip. “I’d like it to be clearly understood that I—I am Lucille’s fiancé.”

  “Haven’t I just said so, my dear boy?” inquired Lady Rome. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find several more of Lucille’s fiancés driving up throughout the afternoon. The silly little thing forgets and puts everybody to a great deal of trouble. We’ll just have to wait until she remembers what she said to each one and then we shall arrive at the solution. Now run along, there’s a dear boy, and don’t let old Hawke swindle you—and give my love to your mother,” she added to the departing lover. “My best love. Good-bye. Now, Mr. Macdonald, come inside—come along, Lucille. Natalie, you’ve got nothing on your head and if you catch cold, William will blame me. You must look after her, Jeremy. Run on, Lucille, my dear, and tell them about St. Francis.”

  Lucille went into the house and Lady Rome led Duncan after her at a more leisurely pace, leaving Jeremy to follow with Natalie. Duncan looked at his hostess with a mixture of curiosity and gratitude.

  “It’s nice of you to—to let me stay,” he said. “I thought you might think it—awkward.”

  “Everything’s always awkward, don’t you find?” asked Lady Rome. “But it doesn’t do to fuss. When they’ve got St. Francis ready we shall put you in and then we shall all be comfortable. Did you have a good journey? I do wish Lucille didn’t forget so. One gets into such tangles. Only the other day, when Mrs. Rome arrived, she told me she had met one of Lucille’s fiancés in London—didn’t you, Natalie, my dear?—we were quite at cross purposes for a time, don’t you remember? —Scotland must be very cold now—they have such late springs, don’t they? Don’t you find everything very forward, here, Mr. Macdonald? Until a week ago, when Mrs. Rome came, we were very much behind, but things are looking up now. Have you been in Devonshire before?”

  “No, I haven’t,” said Duncan. His gaze went round the beautiful old hall and came to rest on the ceiling. “That’s lovely,” he said.

  “You like it?” said Lady Rome, the cherries bobbing with pleasure. “How nice, how very nice. So many people admire the fireplace and the gallery and don’t recognize the Gothic wood-ceiling—if you asked them if they liked the carved ribs, they’d think you were talking about food. You must ask Jeremy to show you some of the other ceilings—or go round yourself. You’ll find most of the rooms shut up, but you can go into them all if you want to. You’ll find a lovely one in St. Mark—plasterwork—Charles I. You must do it slowly— you mustn’t dream of hurrying off after having come so far. Have you been in England very much?”

  Mr. Macdonald, shame making his cheeks crimson, said he had been educated at an English school.

  “How nice, how very nice,” said Lady Rome. “When I went up to see Jeremy, I used to think that the Scottish boys looked splendid on Sundays in their jolly kilts—they made the other boys look quite drab, don’t you know. Do go, Jeremy, and tell them about St. Francis—it won’t be ready, I dare say, until Mr. Macdonald has had luncheon, but you must show him where he can wash, and look after him.” She went towards the stairs. “I shall see you at luncheon,” she called. “Natalie, my dear, cover your head.”

  Natalie, left with the two young men, looked from one to the other a little helplessly. The situation confused her, but she could find nothing on which to fix her feeling of distress. Lucille was looking as serene as usual; Duncan was being installed in what Natalie knew was one of the finest guest rooms and Mr. Bellamy was going home to his lunch. Instead of being distressed she ought, she thought, to be feeling more elated than she had done earlier that morning, for Duncan—far from pining in Scotland—was closer to Lucille than his rival. She looked at him and found him regarding her with an intent look.

  “Do you think I should stay here?” he asked.

  Natalie scarcely hesitated.

  “Yes, I think I do,” she said. “You couldn’t go back to Scotland at—”

  “Nothing,” Duncan told her gravely, “will take me back to Scotland or to anywhere else until Lucille comes with me. She isn’t, as you see,” he explained, “the kind of girl you can leave. I’m in Dummerton to stay, but if you thought I ought to stay somewhere else—get rooms in the village—”

  “Oh no,” said Natalie. “I’m sure it’s right for you to be here and”—she spoke more hesitatingly—“I’m very glad to see you here.”

  Jeremy gave her an odd glance.

  “Taking sides?” he asked.

  “Yes. She’s on mine,” Duncan informed him. “What about you?”

  Jeremy waited before replying.

  “I find myself,” he said at last, “in a pretty tricky position. I’m responsible for this highly inflammable situation. I’ve known Phil nearly all my life and, if it really came down to weighing all the evidence, I’d say he had a prior claim.”

  “You’re wrong there,” said Duncan quietly, �
��but go on.”

  “On the other hand,” proceeded Jeremy, “you got more response out of Lu in a brief time than Phil got in a lifetime and if you’d had a bit more time you might have got things on to a sounder footing. But speaking as one man to another, Canny,” he went on earnestly, “don’t you think that marrying Lucille will be rather like trying to hang on to a piece of soap in your bath? I like the girl, mark you, but it seems to me that her husband will have a pretty anxious time. But that’s your show—at least, I hope so. I won’t take sides,” he ended, “but I’d like to see you pull it off.”

  “So—so would I,” said Natalie.

  Duncan Macdonald looked at his supporters.

  “I’ll pull it off,” he promised.

  Chapter 6

  Natalie went down to breakfast the following morning feeling uneasy. She had lain awake for some time during the night worrying over the uncomfortable position in which Duncan was placed and hoping that no violence would shatter the peaceful atmosphere of Romescourt.

  There was no violence in the breakfast room. Lady Rome was alone at the table wearing a soft straw hat trimmed with birds’ wings. Natalie learned that the other members of the party had already finished the meal. Sir Jason had gone into Hunnytor on business; Jeremy had gone to his Flying Club, taking Duncan with him, and Lucille was riding with Philip.

  “And he’s riding Moonlight this morning,” added Lady Rome. “So much more sensible than hiring one of old Hawke’s dreadful old nags, for the man’s nothing but a swindler. There’s a sort of sausage there, my dear —no taste, but nothing has any taste nowadays—if you can’t bring yourself to have one, perhaps you’d like some of that egg mixture with the little pieces of bacon—so little bacon, but your father won’t keep a pig because he says the Government fusses. Take some more milk in your coffee, my dear Natalie. You’re too thin, much too thin, and William will be so cross and say we didn’t feed you. Here’s The Times, my dear, if you like reading while you eat. No, thank you, I’ve got mine here—your father won’t allow anybody to touch his papers and I cannot behave like my poor Cousin Gwyneth, who waits until her husband announces that he’s finished with the papers and then has to sort them into their proper folds, because although people tell you that women tumble a paper, it’s really men, don’t you know, who throw aside all the pages that don’t interest them and get them all into the wrong order. Put some more milk into your coffee, my dear—it’s so good for you and I don’t know what William will say if he finds you looking peaked. He gave Lucille a great many directions about looking after you properly, but you know what the silly little thing is like. I wish I could teach her to remember—it’s so necessary to remember everything, but the poor little thing has got no head.” She broke off and addressed the butler, who had entered the room. “Yes, Parton, what is it?”