The Duchess of Wrexe Part 55

"Perhaps, Lady Rachel," she said slowly, "I'm not a very emotional kind of woman. If one's worked, as I have, since one was small--had to earn one's living and fight for one's place--it makes one perhaps rather self-reliant and independent of other people--Our lives have been so different, I'm afraid," she added with a little laugh, "that I'm a dried-up, unsatisfactory kind of person--I know that my mother and sister have always found me so."

"Yes," Rachel said, "our lives _have_ been different. Perhaps if mine had been a little more like yours--perhaps if _I_ had had to work for my living--I...."

She broke off--a little catch was in her voice--she rose from her chair and went to the window and stood there, with her back to Lizzie, gazing into the darkening garden.

She knew that Lizzie had repulsed her; she was hardly aware why she had made her appeal, but she was now frightened of Lizzie and to her overstrung brain it seemed that she could now see Lizzie and Roddy in league against her.

She heard a step and turning round found Peters, the butler, large, square, of an immense impa.s.sivity.

"Please, my lady, might I speak to you a moment?"

She went out.

Lizzie, left in the darkening room, could think now only of the letter.

The sight of that handwriting had stirred in her pa.s.sions that she had never before imagined as hers--that first pathetic appeal of Roddy and then the sight of that letter!

Her brain, working feverishly, showed her the words that that letter would contain--the pa.s.sion, the pa.s.sion! There in the very face of her husband, Rachel was receiving letters from her lover, letters that she could not wait a moment to read, but must go instantly and open _them_.

This hour brought to a crisis Lizzie's agony. Had such a letter been written to her!

She tortured herself now with the picture of him as he sat there in his room in Saxton Square writing it! It appeared to her now as though they two--there in the very throne of their triumphant love--had plotted this insult, this snap of the fingers, to show her, Lizzie Rand, how desolate, how lonely, how neglected and unwanted she was!

That then, after this, Rachel should appeal to her for friends.h.i.+p! The cruel insult of it.

She felt as she heard the fast drops of rain lash the window-frames, that no revenge that she could secure would satisfy her thirst for it.

V

Roddy, meanwhile, had gone out to the stables. That little talk with Lizzie had determined a resolution that had been growing now within him for many weeks.

That little woman, with her a.s.sured air and neat little ways, knew what she was about--knew moreover what others were about. She had watched and had given him the tip--He would take it.

Roddy's mind was of far too simple an order to admit of more than one point of view at a time. He saw Rachel now as a dog or horse, of whom he was very fond, who needed, nevertheless, stern discipline. He wondered now how it was that he had allowed himself for so long to remain indecisive.

"London muddles a feller," he concluded; "the country's the place for clear thinkin'."

He looked at his horses with great satisfaction, they were in splendid condition--he had never known them better. He also was in splendid condition--never been better.

As he walked away from the stables and turned towards the end of the garden bounded by the gryphons and the stone gate, he felt his body at its most supreme perfection. He thought, on that afternoon, that he was strong enough for anything, and perhaps never before in his life had he been so conscious of the glories of physical things; of all that it meant to have fine muscles and a strong heart and lungs of the best and thews and sinews as good as "any feller's."

"I'm strong enough for anythin'----" He turned back his arm and felt his muscle. He c.o.c.ked his head with a little conceited gesture of satisfaction--"I was gettin' a bit fat in London--got rid of all that."

To walk, to ride, to fight, to swim, to eat and sleep, to love women and drink strong drink! G.o.d! what a world!

And then, beyond it all, Rachel, Rachel, Rachel! He had her now--she should be under his hand, she should be his as she had never been since the first week of their marriage.

"No more nonsense, by G.o.d!" he said triumphantly to himself--"no more nonsense."

He leaned on the stone gate and looked out over the fields--The gryphons regarded him benevolently.

He was conscious, as he stood there, of the d.u.c.h.ess--what was the old lady doing? He'd like to see her. He felt more in sympathy with her than he had been for a long time past. "She's right after all. You've got to stand up and run people. No use just lettin' them handle you."

There was a storm coming up. The white lights of the higher sky were being closed down by black blocks of cloud that spread, from one to another, merging far on the horizon above the hills into driving lines of rain. The white chalk hollows above Lewes stood out sharp and clear; the dark green of the fields was now a dull grey, the hedges were dark and a thin stream that cut the flat surface of the plain was black like ink.

Roddy welcomed the storm. Had he been superst.i.tious the physical energy that now pervaded him might have frightened him. He felt as though with one raising of his arm he could hold up those black clouds and keep them off. The rain and the wind had not more force than he--

Life was a vast paean of strength--"The weak must go"--He was, at this hour, Lord of Creation.

As he went back to the house the rain met him and whipped his cheek.

"By Gad, I'd like to find the old lady sittin' in the house, waitin' for a chat," he thought.

When he came down to dinner, he came as one who rules the world. That simple clear light was in his eyes that was always there when he had found the solution to something that perplexed him. His expression too was one that belonged to Rachel's earlier experience of him, one that she had not seen on his face for a long time past. His strong but rather stupid mouth had somewhere in its corners the suspicion of a smile. His chin stuck out rather obstinately--the light in the eyes, the smile, the set lips, these things revealed the old Roddy.

After dinner Lizzie went off to her room.

For a while Roddy and Rachel sat there--She read some book, her eyes often leaving the page and staring into the fire.

Then she got up and said good night. She came over and bent down and kissed him. He caught her arm and held her.

"I say, old girl, it's time we had the same room again--much more convenient." He heard her catch her breath and felt her tremble. She tried to draw her arm away, but he held her.

"Oh! but soon, Roddy--Yes--but not just now--I----"

"Yes--now. I'll see about it to-morrow." She stepped back from him, dragging herself away, and then put her hand to her forehead with a desperate gesture.

"No, no--not----"

He got up and smiling, swaying a little, faced her--

"Yes--I've made up my mind--all this business has got to come to an end--Been goin' long enough."

"What business?"

"Seein' nothing of you--nothing from mornin' till night. You know, old girl, it isn't fair--if we didn't care about one another----"

"Yes, I know--but don't let's discuss it to-night. I'm tired, headachy--this storm----"

He said nothing--She looked at him and at the steady stare in his eyes and the smile at his mouth turned away.

She moved towards the door--He said nothing, but his eyes followed her.

"Good night," she said, turning round to him--but he still said nothing, only stood there very square and set.

For a long time he sat, looking into the fire--Then he went up to his room and very slowly undressed. Afterwards he came out, carefully closing the door behind him, then, in dressing-gown and pyjamas, went down the pa.s.sage to Rachel's door.