CHAPTER XV.

_CLOUDS IN THE SKY._

"Desmond, dear, is it really necessary?"

"Of course it is necessary, you foolish child! Why, you have never spent a week in town in your life. You have not seen a London season, or been presented, or anything! You know it is part of the programme of the year. I think you will like the house I have chosen; but of course you can go up and inspect it, and see if there are any objections."

Odeyne looked at her husband with something of appeal in her eyes. As she did so she wondered again for the hundredth time whether it was her fancy that a change was slowly, but surely, passing over Desmond. She had fought all through the autumn against her growing fears. She had striven by every loving artifice in her power, and by the strength of her own true love, to keep him as far as possible the Desmond of old, the husband she had wedded with such hope and confidence two short years ago.

They had been gay during the past months; visiting other houses occasionally, more often entertaining a large house party at the Chase (an alternative greatly preferred by Odeyne, on account of little Guy), their domestic life had, of course, been much interfered with. They lived, as it were, in public, and had little time for confidential intercourse--a thing which Desmond appeared, if anything, rather to shirk--but Odeyne's patient love and tenderness never failed her, and seemed to act in a measure as a restraining influence upon her husband. She had striven to believe that things were well with him, that he was returning to those more legitimate occupations and interests which had once been his. She had rejoiced when the house emptied itself, and she was free from the obligation to associate with men whom in her heart of hearts she dreaded and disliked. She strove in all things to play the part of hostess courteously, but she heartily disliked and feared some of her guests, and was rejoiced to see them go.

Earnestly did she hope that now they might resume a life of quiet domestic happiness. Little Guy was just reaching the fascinating age when walking and talking begin to be attempted, and Odeyne looked forward to seeing the father taking a fond pride and delight in his beautiful boy.

Desmond was affectionate by nature. With all his faults he had never failed her there. She was sure that the little one would win his way, when once the father had time and opportunity to notice him. Of course he had not wanted the little fellow shown off and brought down with so many bachelor guests in the house. He dreaded being ridiculed as the fond father and doting parent, and had given pretty strict orders that little Guy was to be kept to his own quarters. Nor had Odeyne desired it otherwise with the company they had recently entertained. But, oh, how she had looked forward to the time when they would be alone together, with the bright spring days before them! How happy they would be then! Desmond was always different when he got away from the influences of those fast and loud-voiced fashionable people to whom he seemed to have taken such a fancy. Odeyne lived through the winter in the hopes of better days in store, and just when these seemed about to commence, up cropped the old talk of the London season, and although Odeyne had said all along that she did not desire to go in the least, and much preferred the quiet of the Chase, Desmond seemed to take no note of her words, although from time to time she hoped that the plan would fall to the ground.

He had not spoken of it all the last week, though he had been a great deal in town--up every day from early morning till quite the late evening train. Still he had not spoken of moving there until to-day, when he came home full of pride and delight in the house he had found, and the gay times they were to have.

Had he forgotten, or did he simply ignore what Odeyne had so often said on the subject? As she looked at him, asking herself the question, she was struck anew with the sense that Desmond had changed--was changing month by month--that she could no longer reckon upon influencing him, pleading with him, modifying his ideas by showing him how little they accorded with her own. The loving give and take which had characterised their early married life was slowly but surely giving place to the arbitrary rule of the husband, to which the wife must submit whether she would or no. Perhaps Odeyne had never realised this so keenly as at the present moment, and the pang it brought with it was sharp and deep.

"It is not likely that I shall find fault with any house you have chosen, Desmond," she answered gently, for she never permitted herself to speak a sharp or angry word to her husband. "You are a great deal more particular than I am. But you know I did not want to go to town at all. I have said so all along."

He laughed in the boisterous but mirthless way which had grown upon him of late.

"Oh, that is all nonsense, you know. You must have a London season and see the world. You must be presented and see something of life. One only vegetates down here."

"I have seen a good deal of life even down here latterly, Desmond, and as for being presented, and seeing a little of London Society, a visit to Beatrice would be amply sufficient. I am sorry that you are determined upon taking a house for ourselves. I think it is a needless expense."

"Oh, bother your everlasting talk about expense!" cried Desmond, more roughly than Odeyne had ever heard him speak before. "What does it matter to you so long as I have money to meet it? Your economical scruples are really rather trying, my dear."

"I am sorry you are vexed with them," answered Odeyne with quiet dignity. "But you know I was brought up so differently."

"Yes, but you need not for ever play the country parson's daughter! I wish you would brisk up and be a little more lively and _chic_--if you know what that means! One gets tired of hearing one's wife always dubbed the fair Puritan, or the uncloistered nun, or even the patient Griselda!"

Odeyne was more deeply hurt than she had ever been before. Something in her husband's tone and look cut her to the heart. It was with difficulty she was able to command her voice and to speak naturally. She would not attempt any reply to his last words; she went back to the question of the house.

"I hope there are pleasant rooms that will make into nurseries for Guy," she said. "I care more about that than anything. I am sorry for the child's sake that it is necessary to go to town at all; but if it must be, the great thing is to be sure that we have suitable quarters for him."

Desmond looked rather taken aback.

"Why, you don't think of taking the boy, do you?"

"Did you think of leaving him behind?"

"Why, yes, to be sure. Haven't you always said how bad London is for country-bred children?"

"I fear it is. But it is still worse for a child to be taken from his mo--from his parents for an indefinite time."

"Oh, nonsense! He would be much better down here."

"No, Desmond, he would not!" answered Odeyne, with unwonted firmness. "If things were as they used to be in this house, if we had our respectable, faithful servants--those whom your mother engaged for us at the outset, some of whom had lived in your family before--if our old household were here now, I might be able to consider the point with different feelings. As it is, it is out of the question. It was all Hannah could do to get along at all, just those few days we have been away at different times on our visits--never more than ten days at any one time. I told you when we came back what sort of goings on there were in our absence, but you only laughed and made light of it, and said it was the way of the world nowadays. You know that I cannot cope with it single-handed, when I have not the power to dismiss the ringleaders. I would no more leave Guy in the house when we are away, now that he is beginning to notice and understand, than I would put him in a den of wild beasts. Nor would Hannah bear it, if I wished to do it. If we go to London for the season the child must come too. I have given way to you so far in everything, as you well know; but in this I cannot and will not. I have my duties as a mother as well as those as a wife."

It was almost the first time that Odeyne had asserted herself in this way, and it was not without its effect upon Desmond. He did not gainsay her--perhaps he was a little ashamed at having the condition of his household so clearly set before him; he only shrugged his shoulders and said--

"Well, I think you will find a young child a great hamper and fetter in London, and if he gets ill you will only have yourself to thank. Why not send him to the mother and Maud, as Beatrice is going to send Gus?"

"Mamma would not have room for two children and two nurses," answered Odeyne. "Gus is quite sufficient of a handful alone, as Maud has said."

She did not like to add that Gus had learnt from his father and his father's associates words that she would not for anything hear from Guy's innocent little lips. It went to her heart to hear how the unconscious, sturdy little fellow rattled out his ugly vocabulary, with the air of one who expects his audience to laugh. Odeyne felt more like crying sometimes when she had the child in her company. Doubtless the best possible thing for him would be a residence under his grandmother's roof, with Maud's firm hand upon him. For since he had grown to the engaging and prattling age, Beatrice had suddenly become immensely proud of showing him off, and he had been outrageously spoiled all through the past winter. Neither parent, however, desired to be bothered with a young child in London, so he was to be sent to his grandmother's safe keeping, as the Vanboroughs had an offer of a tenant for Rotherham Park, and, let matters be never so well with them, the Hon. Algernon never refused an offer that would bring grist to the mill.

Odeyne went up to look at the town house next day. It was a very sumptuously furnished place, with a good hall and staircase, and fine reception-rooms. The other parts of the house were less to her liking, and it was not at all easy to find quarters for the child and his nurse, as Desmond was exceedingly averse to giving up any of the best bedrooms for that purpose. He and Odeyne came nearer to a real dispute upon that point than they had ever done in their lives before. It required all Odeyne's patience, tact, and firmness to get the matter settled without harsh words being spoken.

Fortunately Desmond quickly put away from him any vexed question, and, as he was very much delighted with the house, and with the prospect of his London season, he soon forgot his annoyance, and was quite merry and chatty as they sat at lunch in a fine shop, where he said the best meals in town were to be had.

"It will be such a capital thing to be so near to business!" he said. "It's all very well for you down at the Chase to talk of the delights of the country; but when one has to spend a couple of hours a day in a grilling railway carriage the joy is considerably modified, I can tell you. I do want to be in the City a good deal now. There are a great many very important things going on wanting my constant presence. I shall be exceedingly glad to be within half-an-hour's drive of the--of the office; and you have the Park so near that you will hardly feel cooped up at all. It's almost like living in the country."

Odeyne smiled, without exactly agreeing to the proposition, but answered that if Desmond had business that required a sojourn in town, she would do her best to be happy.

"When you put it on the ground of amusement, well I know that I should be happier at home; but if your duties require more of your time, why, that is another thing altogether."

"Well, they really do," answered Desmond eagerly. "I don't bother you with details, you know."

"No, sometimes I wish you would tell me a little more. Everything that you do would be interesting to me."

"Oh, you wouldn't understand details. They are only for men. But I assure you I have a great many things going on that need much personal overlooking. It doesn't do to be too far away. Not even Garth and the telegraph can do all that is necessary. It will be an immense boon to be so near the spot. You will have your reward, little wife. If you don't like London so very much, you will like to think that your husband is growing to be a really wealthy and important man of business!"

Odeyne smiled a little sadly.

"I do not think that wealth and happiness have a very close connection, Desmond, dear. Sometimes looking back, it seems to me that we were happier before we were so rich. The old days were very sweet, and we had all that we could want then."

For a moment a shadow fell across Desmond's face, and then he turned to Odeyne with something like the old look in his eyes.

"Little wife, I'm not sure but what you're right," he said, with sudden energy. "But look here, let's make a sort of bargain. You go through this one season my way, and leave me a free hand with my undertakings. Then at the end of that time we will go home; and if things have turned out as I expect, I shall be able to retire upon my laurels, and not trouble myself with money-grubbing any more! If we are not millionaires we shall be rich enough for all practical purposes; and we will settle down like staid married people, and turn over a new leaf--or rather, perhaps, turn back to the old one, and make that our model."

Odeyne felt the tears very near to her eyes as she said--

"Oh, Desmond, if we only could!"

"Well, why not? I declare we will! This sort of thing is a tremendous strain. I couldn't stand too much of it. I might even lose my nerve, and that would be fatal. No, no! we will go through with it this time, and then we will retire from the world, and live for one another--and the boy!"

Storm clouds had long been hanging in Odeyne's sky, but as she heard these words, and felt indeed that Desmond was sincere in speaking them, she trusted that the sunshine was not far away, and that if she could but be hopeful and brave better times might yet be in store for them.

She went home happier than she had started out, although the three months' residence in town was an inevitable thing.

* * * * * *

"You have heard of the master's latest idea?" said Walter Garth a few days later, coming in upon his wife after the close of his day's work.

Alice looked up with a rather troubled face. She had altered a good deal of late. Her pretty face had grown pale and rather thin. In her eyes there was often a startled, hunted look, as though she were suffering from some undefined terror. She was still dainty and pretty, with a lady-like air and way of speaking, but she had laid aside a good deal of her old archness and affectation. She looked as though she had other matters to think of than just the adornment of her own person.

Walter Garth had changed very little in outward appearance, save that he looked increasingly respectable and gentleman-like. His manner was still very quiet, but it had acquired an ease and decision which showed that he was accustomed to give advice and to meet with respectful hearing. He dressed well, and spent his evenings now almost invariably in reading, and in the study of some foreign language.

Alice used to wonder at this, and ask what good it was to him: but she never got anything from him but a rather sardonic smile, and the reply that foreign travel was often a pleasant relaxation, and that when he had made his fortune he might like to show his wife something of the world.

Truth to tell, Alice had grown just a little bit afraid of her husband of late. She was certain that he had plans and projects in his head of which he never consciously spoke. He was affectionate and indulgent to her in his way, but she always felt that one half of his life was a sealed book to her.

The only glimpses she ever got of it were at night sometimes, when he would talk in his sleep, and utter mysterious phrases, the import of which she never fully understood, but which filled her with a vague sense of dismay.

He appeared at these times to be like a man walking on the verge of a precipice, or upon ice so dangerously thin that it may at any moment give way beneath the feet.

How she obtained this idea she never could actually say, for it is always strangely difficult to recall the words of a person speaking in sleep, when once the moment has passed by. Here and there a phrase would remain with Alice, and once she asked Walter if he could tell her what it meant; but he gave her such a strange, stern, startled look, and asked her so sharply where she had picked up the words, that she never dared repeat the experiment, and had to make up some false explanation of having seen them in a newspaper; and even so she was certain that he was only partially satisfied.

Yet there was one sentence, often repeated, that always stayed with her, do as she would to forget it. He often spoke it in his sleep, when evidently troubled by bad dreams, and lying tossing to and fro.

"And at worst there are always the jewels--always the jewels!" he would keep saying; and Alice, as she heard him, would shiver all over, and ask herself timidly what he could mean. So a certain reserve had grown up between the pair, and Alice was not the proud and happy wife she had once been.

At her husband's question she looked troubled and said--

"Do you mean about going to London with them? But you won't do that, will you, Walter?"

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked quickly.

"Why, we live here, and you can go up every day. What does the master want beyond that?"

Alice could hardly have said herself why she dreaded the idea of anything which would bring Walter into closer relations with his master, but dread it she did. She had hoped that the move to London would break that constant intercourse, and transform him more to the office clerk again, and keep him away from Desmond St. Claire; but it seemed that it was not to be.

"We can live anywhere where my work lies, for that matter," he answered rather curtly, "and my work is where Mr. St. Claire is. In point of fact he rather begins to want a private secretary, and there is nobody who could do the work for him half so well as myself."

"But you belong to the office, Walter."

He gave a little dry laugh.

"I belong, if you like to employ that phrase, to Mr. St. Claire, and have done this long while. The office has seen precious little of us these last months, I can assure you. We have business on hand of which the office knows nothing, although we keep up a sort of attendance there."

Alice looked troubled and perplexed, though she remained silent. She was a little afraid of questioning Walter.

"The long and the short of it, Alice, is that Mr. St. Claire can't do without me. He is going the pace altogether too fast, and it is all he can do to keep his nerve. He is wonderfully quick and clever, but he lacks stamina, if you know what I mean. He can set things going, but they would often go to pieces if I were not at his elbow to look after him, and see that he forgets nothing. If he would be content to give himself unreservedly to the business, he might do a lot, but he is a bit of a fool too, and he will have his pleasures. He will burn his candle at both ends. I've spoken till I'm tired of speaking. He's a man that will go his own way; but he knows that he can't do without me, and now he wants me to give up everything else and live in the house as his private secretary, and really I believe I must do it, at least if things are to have any chance of pulling through. I can tell you it is not child's play that is before us these next weeks; but if we can pull through we shall land a big fish, and no mistake!"

"And if you can't?" asked Alice, her face growing rather pale at the thought.

Walter slightly shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, we don't think about that--it's better not. We want all our wits and our nerve. Now, Alice, don't you babble about these things to anybody in this world, least of all to Mrs. St. Claire. You know how many times I've told you that men have been ruined before this by the gossiping tongues of foolish wives."

"I shall not say a word, Walter, you may be quite sure of that," answered Alice a little bitterly. "Mrs. St. Claire has quite enough troubles of her own without my adding to them. But if you go with the family to London, what am I to do?"

"Well, that you can arrange with your lady. If she likes you to come too, so much the better. I am not a proud man. I never profess to be other than I am. I have married a lady's-maid, and if my wife likes, under the circumstances, to go on with her attendance upon her mistress, I shall not interfere."

"If you go, I would rather be with you," said Alice; and in her heart she felt that she would rather be near her mistress if trouble were to fall upon them than anywhere else in the world.

Of late Alice had begun to cling more and more closely to her lady. Odeyne was the one person in the world in whom she felt a perfect confidence and trust. She was always the same--always kind and considerate, and the girl was acute enough to see that there were troubles and clouds at the great house as well as those at her own home.

It was an extra trouble to Odeyne to leave the Chase just now, because Guy's wedding with Cissy was to take place soon, and she felt that Desmond should have postponed the London visit till afterwards.

But Desmond seemed to think it absurd to pay any heed to that event. They would run over for it if possible; and of course Guy and any of his family might make what use they liked of the Chase in the absence of its owners. But as for making any sacrifice of his own personal convenience, that plainly never entered into his head.

It hurt Odeyne to have to write home with nothing better than the offer of an empty house for the home party; but perhaps Edmund had prepared them beforehand, for they made no lamentations or remonstrances; and yet Odeyne felt that she would almost sooner they had done so. It seemed so strange to feel that a little barrier of reserve had crept up between them. Yet how could either she or they speak words which should cast any reflection upon Desmond?

It was a comfort to Odeyne to hear that Alice could and would accompany her as maid. She had feared that Garth would think it derogatory to his wife's dignity that she should continue in this capacity.

Alice and Hannah, the nurse, were fully to be trusted where little Guy was concerned, and Odeyne, who knew her life would be a very full one, was greatly relieved that Alice would be near to Hannah when she had to leave the child.

"It is only for three months, Alice," she said, trying to speak cheerfully. "We country people do not like the thought of London; but the days will go by very fast, and then we shall come home and settle for good, and forget all the disagreeables, and be happy again!"