CHAPTER II

THE YOUNG GUEST

SHE led her into the back room which, to Mrs. Wharnecliffe's surprise, was as dainty and pretty a room as the other was dingy. The bed in the corner was covered with a striped silk rug, and great blue satin cushions were piled upon it. A piano was in a corner of the room, and open music was on it. Pretty watercolour sketches were pinned upon the walls, a Persian rug was underfoot, and flowers seemed to be everywhere.

"Yes, this is my room, where I live," said Gentian.

Her tones were soft now; she placed Mrs. Wharnecliffe in an easy chair; then took a stool near her, and looked up at her with a pathetic smile.

"Now I can talk. That grim-faced man with his critical eyes is away. You are a stranger, but you have a heart. I see it in your eyes. What is it you want me to do? I cannot and will not accept charity from strangers. Anything but that I will do my best to comply with. You see, do you not, that I must earn money, and earn it quickly before we come to starvation?"

Mrs. Wharnecliffe's eyes strayed to the piano.

"You love music?" she asked.

Gentian's blue eyes almost flashed fire.

"I adore it! I have wept cauldrons because I cannot sing; but at the convent school I played the big organ in the chapel, and was at peace."

"And what else can you do?"

"Drive cars."

Mischief lurked in the blue eyes again.

"Yes, dear, but that would be a perilous and uncertain occupation, whereas music has many delightful possibilities. Will you play to me?"

"Oh, I don't know that I'm in the mood for music now."

But she moved across to the piano, for a moment gazing into space, then dropping her fingers upon the keys, began playing. Her music was so soft, so weird, so unutterably sad, that after listening for nearly ten minutes, Mrs. Wharnecliffe begged her to stop.

"You will make me so depressed that you will soon reduce me to tears. What a strange child you are."

Gentian twisted herself round on the music-stool, and faced her visitor with grave, earnest eyes.

"Well, I ought to be sad," she said; "I am alone in a strange country without a relation in the world—and my only friend goes to beg from strangers for me, and they come to try to darken the only gleam of light in my horizon. Not a cheerful outlook is it?"

"But what is your gleam of light?" asked Mrs. Wharnecliffe, puzzled at this girl's quick change of mood.

"Raking in pound notes by the score from driving my taxi!" replied Gentian with a laugh so sunny and infectious that Mrs. Wharnecliffe smiled.

"You have a wonderful gift for music," she said; "you show it in your touch."

"But music is too sacred a subject with me to be bartered for sordid money," said Gentian growing grave once more. "Oh, I know I must have money to live. Waddy has saved, and can keep herself. I must learn to do the same. There was £500 in the bank after mother left me—her savings—the only thing she could leave me. I am getting through the first hundred now. You see, it is necessary for me to start working at once."

"And where do you mean to live?" asked Mrs. Wharnecliffe, humouring her.

"Not in London; I want to live away from houses and people—and yet I must be in touch with them. And I want to see and know England from end to end, as I know Italy."

"Will you come and stay with me till your plans are settled? I live in the country—in such a pretty part, and we are only an hour from town—very little more."

Gentian did not answer for a moment, then she said, "Do you live with Mr. Holt? Are you a relation of his?"

"Oh dear no, we are like brother and sister, we have known each other all our lives; but I live with my husband, who is a busy Member of Parliament. And we are hardly ever in town; we both prefer the country."

"Thank you very much. I will talk to Waddy about it. I think I should like to stay with you, if you will promise not to try to manage me—I think we had better go back to the others. I do not know what plots they may be hatching."

She stepped lightly across the room and opened the door. Mrs. Wharnecliffe followed her, wondering at the impulse that had made her offer this strange girl a temporary home.

Miss Ward and Thorold were still talking. The latter got up from his chair with rather a satisfied smile upon his face. Mrs. Wharnecliffe at once repeated her invitation, including Miss Ward, but that good lady shook her head.

"I should like to see a married sister of mine in Wiltshire. If you could have Gentian for a week or so, I should be very glad."

Gentian laughed gleefully, and her laughter was that of a happy irresponsible child.

"And that means, Waddy, that you hope a week or so in a grave, well-ordered, conventional English house, with some kind and sound common-sense drilled into me every day, will send me back to you in an amenable frame of mind. But you are very rash in resigning your precious charge into the hands of utter strangers. Why do you believe in them more than you believe in me?"

"I suppose," said Thorold dryly, "it is our grey hairs. I have a good many. It's an extraordinary thing, but when you get a few years older, you will actually place more reliance in the wisdom of the experienced than in the very young."

Gentian looked at him for the first time with interest.

"I should like to have a talk with you," she said; "I have had one with your friend, and Waddy has had her innings with you. It is my turn now."

Thorold turned to Mrs. Wharnecliffe.

"Don't you think we might go out to lunch somewhere? then we could become further acquainted with Miss Brendon."

There was some discussion. Finally Miss Ward elected to remain at home and Gentian accompanied her new friends to a quiet and comfortable little restaurant not very far away. She slipped into a fur coat, with a smart little blue velvet toque, and Mrs. Wharnecliffe again assured herself that she was dangerously attractive.

"I am a kind of cousin," said Thorold as he walked by her side. "I think it would be better and easier for us all if you were to consider me as such."

"And what do cousins do?" she asked mischievously. "I suppose they call each other by their Christian names. You can call me Gentian, what shall I call you?"

"Cousin Thorold," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe quietly.

Gentian's blue eyes turned to her.

"You are afraid that Thorold will be too familiar? I must put the cousin before it to show my respect and veneration."

"Oh, that is all immaterial," said Thorold, a slight impatience in his tone. "But being cousins, I am a relation, and so bound to look after you a little. And as I understand from Miss Ward the peculiarity of your circumstances, I shall do as she wants me to do, and regard you as a trust handed on by your godfather with all his other earthly goods and chattels."

Gentian's blue eyes opened their widest.

"So I'm a chattel, like his tables and chairs and books? Oh, thank you so very much. I should like to know what you intend to do with me."

Mrs. Wharnecliffe left Gentian's other side, to administer a quiet pinch to Thorold. As they were crossing a wide thoroughfare it was not noticed, though Thorold rubbed his arm a little ruefully. He understood the signal, and knew he was not to proceed quite so quickly.

"Oh," he responded carelessly, "I mean to take a fatherly interest in you. I can spread out certain plans for your future, for your refusal or acceptance. And you can use me as a buffer when occasion requires. A cousin in the background of a certain standing and respectability, is an important asset sometimes."

Gentian was silent, then as they came to the restaurant, and Mrs. Wharnecliffe led the way, she turned back towards Thorold.

"I might use you," she said slowly and thoughtfully, "till Mr. Paget—comes to England."

"And who is he?"

"The man who wants to marry me."

Then she followed Mrs. Wharnecliffe in without another word.

And Thorold did not know whether he felt relieved by her announcement or not. Relieved, he decided after a few minutes' reflection, for his guardianship might prove to be of very short duration.

Gentian now turned her attention to other things. She was full of interest in her surroundings; commented on the people around her, and asked Mrs. Wharnecliffe a hundred questions about London and its pleasures.

"I am tired of people and cities myself," she said; "but if you have to earn your livelihood as I mean to earn mine, you are dependent on them to support you. If I come to stay with you for a week or two, may I bring my car down? Have you one of your own?"

"We have, but you do not mean to say that you have bought one already?"

She nodded.

"I did it yesterday. At least I made up my mind which one I would have, and I am taking a few trial trips with it. They send an experienced man with you, so there is no fear. It is not a Ford, but one of these new American ones. The Americans are more up-to-date and less expensive than the British. I want Waddy to come with me to-morrow. I am going to run down to Richmond and back. I have never seen Richmond Park."

Mrs. Wharnecliffe looked at Thorold in a helpless fashion.

"Has Miss Ward seen this purchase of yours?" he asked.

"No. She's not much good in choosing cars."

"And may we ask the cost of it?" Mrs. Wharnecliffe asked.

"It will clear me out," she replied frankly; "but then, you see, it's like purchasing a business. I shall make the price of it over and over again. It's an investment. I know a lot about investments. I have heard men talk and I've made them explain it to me. I reckon this will return me 10 per cent. for my money. That's all right, isn't it?"

She looked so childish as she talked, that Mrs. Wharnecliffe could only smile at her. But Thorold seemed bent on asserting his authority.

"I should like to have a look at it," he said. "I know something about cars. Shall we go and see it now after lunch? We shall have time."

For a moment a frown settled over Gentian's bright face. Then she said with dignity:

"You may come and see it, if you say nothing. I don't want you to be countermanding my order, but you would not be so discourteous as that."

So after lunch, they took a taxi to the city, and when Thorold saw the contemplated purchase, he found to his surprise that he could find no fault with it. He had a talk with the head of the firm, and then they all returned to the Gower Street lodgings. But on the way there, he said gravely to Gentian:

"This is a very risky venture of yours. We don't want to throw water on your hopes, or prevent you from earning your livelihood, but will you let the final decision about it be postponed for a month from this date? Come down into the country and see what English country is like—Mrs. Wharnecliffe has invited you to be her guest."

"If my car doesn't come with me, I don't come," said Gentian with great determination.

"Then have it on trial. It may not prove a good one."

"I might do that."

And so a compromise was made, and an hour later Mrs. Wharnecliffe and Thorold were in the train for home, almost too bewildered by Gentian's personality to discuss her.

They felt that they and any others would be only ciphers in her life.

And Thorold said with a little laugh when he parted from Mrs. Wharnecliffe:

"She seems to have come into our life like a whirlwind and taken root at once. You know that neither of us need have anything to do with her."

"I foresee trouble ahead for you," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe with a smile and a little sigh; "because you will make other people's business your own. You always have."

"The prospective husband will come along."

"Oh, I don't believe in him—Miss Ward would have mentioned him had there been anything in it."

"Miss Ward is kept in the dark a good deal."

"Yes—well—the girl is coming to me next week, and I'll see what I can do with her. I'm really enjoying the prospect. She's so ridiculously young and fresh, and so world-old in her own opinion."

Gentian arrived at Oakberry Hall towards the end of a bright April afternoon. The gardens in front of the house were a blaze of colour. Daffodils, hyacinths, narcissus, and tulips were all in their prime. Mrs. Wharnecliffe had had a wire in the middle of the day to say that Gentian was coming down by road. And about five o'clock, a light, fawn-coloured car rolled up the drive. Gentian was driving it, and was absolutely alone. Two neat suitcases and a hat-box were in the tonneau behind. She wore a close-fitting little brown-leather cap, and a leather coat, which she shed in the hall, and she stepped into the drawing-room looking as fresh and dainty as if she had only just dressed for her journey.

"She's a little beauty. We've had no hitch, and I only went a couple of miles out of my way. You've very good roads from town. I've christened her 'Mousie.' I chose that colour because she doesn't show the dust. Have you a chauffeur? Will he look after her?"

"Yes, he will do all that's necessary. Come and have some tea. I'm alone to-day. My husband will be very late home from town. So we'll have a tête-à-tête dinner."

"And Cousin Thorold—I don't forget the 'cousin' you see—will not be here. I'm so glad. He's a little too interfering—means well, I dare say. I passed Winderball coming here, your nearest town, isn't it? I liked the look of it. It's quite big. I wonder if I could find an opening there. I should not mind settling near you, if you would leave me alone—I like you—no one could help liking you—you're so—so motherly."

She was sitting on a low chair close to Mrs. Wharnecliffe, and just for a moment she laid a slender hand on that lady's arm.

Mrs. Wharnecliffe's eyes grew misty. She thought of two small graves in the country churchyard close by. She had only had five years of motherliness, and then boy and girl had both left her in a virulent attack of scarlet fever.

Gentian went on talking:

"Waddy has gone off to her sister. Isn't it strange how perfectly she trusts you? Before we came home, I had five or six different invitations in Italy, and she would let me accept none of them. There was the old Contessa De Nienti, she wanted me to stay with her, but Waddy said her only friends were men of doubtful reputation, and her house was not a fit one for a young girl. And one or two of my men friends wanted me to go and stay with their people, and there was a Mother Superior in the convent near. She wanted me as a guest, but Waddy would have none of them. I suppose it is because you're so English, and your home is an English one, like the story-books! Oh, it is sweet to-day! I think I shall be very happy here."

She paused, then added with twinkling eyes:

"I and Mousie—we shall enjoy ourselves. But you will not spoil me. I mean to be a working woman, a hard-working woman, and I must train for it. Out in all weathers—they say you have torrents of rain perpetually—and up early and many hours without food. I have thought it all out."

"You are not fit to rough it," said Mrs. Wharnecliffe, glancing at the slim, delicate-looking girl with perplexed eyes. "If you had an accident to your car, on a lonely road, what could you do?"

"A good deal. If it was a burst tyre, I could replace it; if the engine was too hot, I would cool it. If there were any strain or breakage of any part of the engine or valves, I would make for the nearest garage. I understand the making of the car. And I'm wiry and strong as iron—ask Waddy. I love machinery. If I had been a boy, I should have been a civil engineer."

Mrs. Wharnecliffe let her talk on all about herself. She wanted to get at the girl's mind. Every now and then she astonished her.

After tea she went out to the garage to speak to the chauffeur about her car, then she was taken to her room by her hostess, and she stayed there enjoying the dainty comfort of her surroundings till the dinner gong sounded.

There was no lack of conversation during the meal. Gentian talked amusingly about her first arrival in England and Mrs. Wharnecliffe proved herself a sympathetic listener. When it was over they went back to the drawing-room and at her hostess' request the girl went to the piano and began playing so softly and sweetly in the dusky twilight, that Mrs. Wharnecliffe was charmed.

"Oh," she said, "you ought to do something with your music. I should like you to come over one day to a blind friend of mine. He is a great musician and has an organ in his hall which he plays himself. I should like you to know him. Anyone can drive a car, but it is not every one who can play as you do."

"The Mother Superior wanted me to be their organist. They had such a lovely organ in their chapel, but though I went to a convent school, I never became a Roman Catholic. It does not appeal to me. Waddy says I have too modern a mind. I don't like anybody between me and God."

She spoke in a hushed voice.

"My little mother was not religious," she went on in that low voice; "not till she grew ill, and then she became frightened, and thought she had better turn, and have a priest. But I said 'No,' there was comfort and direction to be got out of the Bible, Waddy had always told me so, so I got it, and hunted about, and found out the most beautiful passages! They made me long to be on my sick-bed getting near the Gates of Paradise. And I read and read, and then I went to church to pray for her, and then I came back and found I could pray in her room, and we read and prayed, and prayed and read, till she was quite happy. She asked me to put over her grave:

"'Unto Him Who loved us and washed us from our sins in His Own Blood.'

"That was how she went to Paradise with those words upon her lips. I think no Roman Catholic could have died more happily."

Mrs. Wharnecliffe looked at her with soft sympathetic eyes.

"You'll be a happy girl, if you have a happy religion. I believe Christianity is meant to be so."

Then Gentian gave her soft little laugh.

"Waddy says it is not good to be always happy; there is a side of us which remains uncultivated—a waste bit of ground, but when one loses one's mother, one goes through enough anguish to last a lifetime. I think if I may, I will go to bed now. I am rather tired."

Mrs. Wharnecliffe accompanied her upstairs, saw that she had every comfort for the night, then came down and sat in deep thought before the blazing fire awaiting her husband's return.

He rallied her a little upon her extreme quietness.

"Your new charge's responsibility has a depressing effect perhaps?" he queried after he had come in and told her all his news.

"No—not depressing," was the quick reply; "but I'm wondering if trouble has been to my advantage or otherwise. I've lived very carelessly, Frank. Gentian has a deeper nature than I imagined. I'm intensely interested in her."

Then she relapsed into her usual gay tone, and did not mention Gentian again that night.