Lady Athlyne/Chapter 15
Under the shading trees the time flew fast. It is ever thus in the sylvan glades where love abides:
"… The halcyon hours with double swiftness run
And in the splendour of Arcadian summers
The quicker climb the coursers of the sun."
Athlyne and Joy sat in a gentle rapture of happiness. She had made him draw up his cushion close to her so that she could lean against him. They sat hand in hand for a while, and then one arm stole round her and drew her close to him. She came yieldingly, as though such a moment had been ordained since the beginning of the world. Her hand stole inside his arm and held him tight; and so they sat locked together, with their faces so close that their mouths now and again met in long, sweet kisses. More than once was asked by either the old question of lovers—which has no adequate or final answer: "Do you love me?" And at each such time the answer was given in the fashion which ruled in Eden—and ever since.
Presently Athlyne, drawing Joy closer than ever to him, said:
"Joy darling there is something I want to say to you!" He paused; she drew him closer to her, and held him tighter. She realised that his voice had changed a little; he was under some nervousness or anxiety. This woke the protective instinct which is a part of woman's love.
"We love each other?"
"I do!" As she spoke she looked at him with her great gray eyes blazing. He kissed her:
"And I love you, my darling, more than I have words to say. More than words can express. I am lost in you. You are my world, my hope, my heaven! Beyond measure I love you, and honour you, and trust you; and now that I feel you love me too … My dear! … my dear! the whole world seems to swim around me and the heavens to open …"
"Dear, go on. It is music to me—all music—that I have so longed for!"
"Darling! It seems like sacrilege to say anything just now—but—but—You know I love you?"
"Yes!" The simple word was stronger than any embellishment; it was of the completeness, the majesty, of sincerity in its expression.
"Then there is no need to say more of that now … But before I say something else which I long to hear—in words, dear, for its truth is already in my heart …"
"Darling!" she spoke the word lingeringly as though grudging that its saying must end …
"Before such time I must speak with your father!" He spoke the words with a gravity which brought a chill to her heart; her face blanched suddenly as does liquid in the final crystallization of frost. Her voice was faint—she was only a girl after all, despite her pride and bravery—as she asked:
"Oh, I hope it is nothing.…"
"Nothing, darling" he said as he stroked tenderly the hand that lay in his—he had taken his arm from her waist to do it—"except the courtesy which is due to an old man … and one other thing, small in itself—absolutely nothing in my own mind—which makes it necessary in respect to his … his … his convictions that I should speak to him before …" He stopped suddenly, remembering that if he went on he must betray the secret which as yet he wished to keep. Not on his own account did he wish to keep it. But there was Joy's happiness to be considered. Until he knew how Colonel Ogilvie would take the knowledge of his having introduced himself under a false name he must not do or say anything which might ultimately make difference between her and her father.
Joy erred in her interpretation of his embarrassment, of his sudden stopping. Again the pallor grew over her face which had under her lover's earlier words regained its normal colour. More faintly even than before she whispered:
"It is nothing I hope that would keep us …" He saw her distress and cut quickly into her question:
"No! No! No! Nothing that could ever come between you and me. It is only this, Joy darling. Your father belongs to another country from my own and an older generation than mine. His life has been different, and the ideas that govern him are very masterful in their convention. Were I to neglect this I might make trouble which would, without our wish or part, come between us. Believe me, dear, that in this I am wise." Then seeing the trouble still in her eyes he went on: "I know well, Joy, that it is not necessary for me to justify myself in your eyes." Here she strained him a little closer and held his arm and his hand harder "but my dearest, I am going to do it all the same. I want to say something, but which I mustn't say yet, so that you must be tolerant with me if I say unneeded things which are still open to me. Truly, darling, there is absolutely nothing which could possibly come between you and me. I have done no wrong—in that way at all events. There should be no more difference between you and me for anything that is now in my mind than there is between your soul and the blue sky above us; between you and heaven.…" She put her hand over his mouth:
Oh hush, hush, dear.… By the way what am I to call you—darling?" For the moment he was taken aback. To give her his own name as yet would be to break the resolution of present secrecy; to give her a false name now would be sacrilege. His native Irish wit stood him in good stead:
"That is the name for to-day—darling. There can be none like that—for to-day. We began with it. It took me on its wings up to heaven. Let me stay there—for to-day. For to-day we are true husband and wife—are we not?"
"Yes dear!" she answered simply. He went on:
"To-morrow … we can be grave to-morrow; and then I can give you another name to use—if you wish it!"
"I do!" she said with reverence. She accepted and returned, the kiss which followed. This closed the incident, and for a little space they sat hand in hand, his arm again round her whilst again she had linked her arm in his. Presently he said:
"And now Joy dear, won't you tell me all about yourself. You know that as yet you and I know very little about each other's surroundings. I want specially to know to-day dear, for to-morrow I want to see your father and it will be better to go equipped." Joy felt quite in a flutter. At last she was going to learn something about the man she loved. She would tell him everything, and he would … Her thoughts were interrupted by her companion going on:
"And then to-morrow when we have talked I can tell you everything.…"
"Everything!" then there was something to conceal! Her heart fell. But as the man continued, her train of thought was again interrupted:
"When you see him to-night you had better …"
Suddenly she jumped to her feet in a sort of fright. Seeing her face he too sprang up, giving, with the instinct of his campaigning a quick look around as though some danger threatened:
"What is it Joy? What is wrong?…" She almost gasped out:
"My father! He will be home by seven! It must be late in the afternoon now and we are more than a hundred miles from home!…" Athlyne in turn was staggered. In his happiness in being with Joy and talking of love he had quite overlooked the passing of time. Instinctively he looked at his watch. It was now close on four o'clock.… Joy was the first to speak:
"Oh do let us hurry! No one knows where I am; and if when Daddy gets home and finds I am not there he will be alarmed—and he may be upset. And Mother and Aunt Judy too!… Oh do not lose a moment! If we do not get home before they arrive … and Daddy finds I have been out all day with you … Oh, hurry, hurry!"
Athlyne had been thinking hard whilst she spoke, and his thoughts had been arranging themselves. His intelligence was all awake now. He could see at a glance that Joy's absence might make trouble for all. Colonel Ogilvie was a man of covenance, and his daughter's going out with him in such a way was at least unconventional. She must get back in time! His conclusion was reached before she had finished speaking. His military habit of quick action asserted itself; already he was replacing the things in the carriage. Joy saw, and with feverish haste began to help him. When he saw her at work he ran to the engine and began to prepare for starting. When that was ready he held Joy's coat for her and helped her into her seat. As he took the wheel he said as he began to back down the road which was hardly wide enough to turn in:
"Forgive me, dear. It was all my selfish pleasure. But we shall do all we can. Bar accident we may do it; we have over three hours!" He set his teeth as he saw the struggle before him. It would be a glorious run … and there was no use forestalling trouble.… Joy saw the smile on his face, recognised the man's strength, and was comforted.
They backed into the road and sprang southward. Without taking his eyes off his work, Athlyne said:
"Tell me dear as we go along all that I must bear in mind in speaking to your father of our marriage.…"
There! It was out unconsciously. Joy thrilled, but he did not himself seem to notice his self-betrayal. He went on unconcernedly:
"It may be a little uphill at first if we do not get in line in time." Joy looked under her lashes at the strong face now set as a stone to his work and kept silence as to the word. She was glad that she could blush unseen. After a little pause she said in a meek voice:
"Very well, dear. I shall tell you whenever we are on a straight bit of road, but I will be silent round the curves." They were then flying along the old coach road. The road was well-made, broad and with good surface and they went at a terrific pace. Athlyne felt that the only chance of reaching Ambleside was by taking advantage of every opportunity for speed. Already he knew from the morning's journey that there were great opportunities as long stretches of the road were level and in good order and were not unduly impeded with traffic. The motor was running splendidly, it seemed as if the run in the morning had put every part of it in good working order. He did not despair of getting to Ambleside in time. The train was not due at Windmere till seven. And it might be a little late. In any case it would take the arriving party a little while to get their things together and then drive to Ambleside. As they were sweeping down towards the bridge at Dalry he said to Joy without looking round:
"It will be all right. I have been thinking it over. We can do it!"
"Thank God!" she exclaimed fervently. She too had been thinking.
"Stop!"
The voice rang out imperiously; and a policeman, stepping from behind the trunk of a great beech, held up his hand. Instinctively Athlyne began to slow. He shouted back "All right!" He had grasped the situation and as they were out of earshot of the policeman said quickly to Joy:
"We are arrested! Oh, I am sorry darling. If they won't let me pay a fine and go at once you must take the car on. I shall try to arrange that. But do be cautious dear—you are so precious to me. If you are delayed anywhere and can't make it in time wire to your father tell him you are motoring and have been delayed. It will soften matters, even if he is angry. I shall go on by train in the morning. And darling if you are not getting on as you wish, take a train the best you can—a special. Don't stop at any expense. But get on! And don't tell your name to any one, under any circumstances. Don't forget the telegram if delayed." As he was speaking the car was slowing and the panting policeman was coming up behind. When the car stopped, Athlyne jumped out and walked towards the officer; he wanted to be as conciliatory as possible.
"I am very sorry, officer. That beautiful bit of road tempted me; and being all quite clear I took a skim down it?"
"Ye did! Man, but it was fine! But I hae to arrest ye all the same. Duty is duty!"
"Certainly. I suppose the station is across the bridge?"
"Aye sir." The policeman, who at first sight had from his dress taken him for a chauffeur, had by now recognised him as a gentleman.
"Will you come in the car? It's all right. I'll go slow."
"Thank ye sir. I've had a deal o' walkin' the day!" When the man was in the tonneau Athlyne who had been thinking of what was to be done said to him affably:
"It was silly of me going at such a pace. But I wanted my wife to see how the new car worked." He had a purpose in saying this: to emphasise to Joy the necessity of not mentioning her name. It was the only way to keep off the subject when they should get to the station. Joy turned away her head. She did not wish either man to see her furious blushing at hearing the word. She took the hint; silence was her cue.
At the station Joy sat in the car whilst Athlyne went inside with the officer. The sergeant was a grave elderly man, not unkindly. He too recognised, but at once, that the chauffeur was a gentleman. There was an air of distinction about Athlyne which no one, especially an official, could fail to appreciate. He was not surprised when he read the card which Athlyne handed to him. He frowned a little and scratched his head.
"I fear this'll be a bit awkward my lord. Ye come frae o'er the Border and ye'll hae to attend the summons at New Galloway. I dinna want to inconvenience you and her ladyship but …"
"Will it not be possible to let the car go on. My wife V has to meet her father and mother who are coming up to Ambleside to-night, and they will be so disappointed. Her mother is an invalid and is coming from Italy. I shall be really greatly obliged if it can be managed."
The sergeant shook his head and said slowly:
"'Tis a fine car. A valuable commodity to take out of the jurisdiction and intil a foreign country." Athlyne had already taken out his pocket-book. Fortunately he had provided himself well with money before coming north.
"I paid a thousand pounds for the car. Will it not suit if I leave that amount in your custody." The official was impressed.
"Losh! man what wad I be daen wi' a thoosan poons in a wee bit station like this, or carryin' it aboot in me claes. Na! na! if ye'll de-po-sit say a ten poon note for the guarantee I'm thinkin' 'twill be a' reet. But how can the leddy get ava; ye'll hae to bide till the morn's morn."
"Oh that's all right, officer, she's a licensed driver. Unhappily she has not got her license with her. She left it in Ambleside as I was driving myself and had mine." He said this to avert her being questioned on the neglect; in which case there might be more trouble about the pace.
"Ooh! aye. Then that's a' reet! A maun ax her masel forbye she mayn't hae the license aboot her. Wimmen is feckless cattle anyhow!"
"Do you think sergeant she may get away at once. It is a long drive, and the day is getting on. I shall be very grateful indeed if you can manage it!" The sergeant was still impressed by the pocket book.
"Weel A'll see what A can dae!" He went outside with Athlyne to the automobile, and touching his cap said:
"Yer pardon ma leddy, ye're the wife o' the defender?" Joy was glad that she had put on the motor veil attached to her cap.
"Yes! My husband told you, did he not?" she said. The thrill that came to her with the speaking of the word "husband" she kept for later thought. The sergeant answered respectfully:
"He did ma leddy. But as an offeecial o' the law I hae to make sure as ye're aboot to travel oot o' the jurisdiction. He says ye hae left yer licence at hame; but as ye hae answered me that ye are his wife I will accept it, an' ye may go. The defender remains here; but I'm thinkin' there's a chance that he may no hae to remain so lang as he's fearin! Ma service to ye ma leddy." He touched his cap and went back into the station.
Athlyne came forward and said in a low voice, for the policeman who had effected the arrest was now standing outside the door:
"You will be careful darling. You may be able to do it. But if you are late and your father be angry say as little as you can. Unhappily I must remain here, but I shall do all I possibly can to settle things quietly. I shall follow in the morning; but not too early. Don't forget to wire your father if you are delayed anywhere, or are certain to be late. For my own part I shall leave proof everywhere of my own presence as we shall be in different countries!" He said this as it occurred to him that if she should be delayed it might later avert a scandal. Then he spoke up for the benefit of the policeman:
"As the time is so short, and we have learned the lesson of the danger of going too fast, you might ask when you get to Carlisle whether it is not quicker to return by Penrith and Patterdale. That way is some miles shorter." The policeman who had heard—and had also seen the pocketbook—came close and said with a respectful touch of his cap:
"If A may make sae bold, the leddy can save a wheen o' miles by takin' the road to Dumfries by Ken Brig an' Crocketford up yon. A saw ye the morn comin' up there." Athlyne nodded and touched his pocket; the man drew back into the station. One last word to Joy:
"I wish you knew the machine darling. But we must / take chance for all going well." As he spoke he was turning the starting handle. Joy in a low voice said:
"Good bye my darling!" Resolutely she touched the levers, and the car moved off quietly to the "God bless you!" of each.
Athlyne watched the car as long as it was in sight; then he went back into the station. He spoke at once to the sergeant.
"Now sergeant is there nothing that can possibly be done to hasten the matter. You see I have done all I can to obey rules—once having broken them. I am most anxious to get back home as I have some very important business in the morning. I shall of course do exactly as is necessary; but I shall be deeply obliged if I can get away quietly, and double deeply to you if you can arrange it."
"Well ma lord I dinna think ye'll hae much trouble or be delayed o'er lang neither. For masel A canna do aught; but A'm thinkin that the Sheriff o' Galloway himsel will be here ony moment. He nearly always rides by when the fair at Castle Douglas is on, as it is to be in the morn. A'll hae a sharp look oot for him. He's a kind good man; an A'm thinkin that he'll no fash yer lordship. He can take responsibeelity that even a sargeant o' polis daurn't. So it's like ye'll get ava before the nicht."
Athlyne sat himself down to wait with what patience he could muster. Once again nature's pendulum began to swing in his thoughts; on one side happiness, on the other anxiety. The delight of the day wherein he had realised to the full that Joy indeed loved him, even as he loved her; the memory of those sweet kisses which still tingled on his lips and momentarily exalted him to a sort of rapture; and then the fear which was manifold, selfish and unselfish. She might get into any one of many forms of trouble if only from her anxiety to reach home before the arrival of her parents. She was, after all, not a practiced driver; and was in control of the very latest type of machine of whose special mechanism she could know nothing. If she should break down far from any town she would be in the most difficult position possible: a girl all alone in a country she did not know. And all this apart from the possibility of accident, of mischance of driving; of the act of other travellers; of cattle on the road; of any of the countless mishaps which can be with so swift and heavy a machine as a motor. And then should she not arrive in time, what pain or unpleasantness might there not be with her father. He would be upset and anxious at first, naturally. He might be angry with her for going out on such a long excursion with a man alone; he would most certainly be angry with him for taking her, for allowing her to go. And at such a time too! Just when everything was working—had worked towards the end he aimed at. He knew that Colonel Ogilvie was and had been incensed with him for a neglect which under the circumstances was absolute discourtesy. And here he bitterly took himself to task for his selfishness—he realised now that it was such—in wanting to make sure of Joy's love before consulting her father, or even explaining to him the cause of his passing under a false name. Might it not be too late to set that right now.… And there he was, away in Scotland, kicking his heels in a petty little police station, while she poor girl would have to bear all the brunt of the pain and unpleasantness. And that after a long, wearying, wearing drive of a hundred miles, with her dear heart eternally thumping away lest she might lose in her race against Time. And what was worse still that it would all follow a day which he did not attempt to doubt had been, up to the time of the arrest, one of unqualified happiness.
… nessun maggoir dolore
Che ricordasi del tempo felice
Nella miseria."
(" A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.")
The contrast would be terrible. He knew what the thought of it was to him; what would it be to her! Her sweet, gentle, loving heart would be hurt, crushed to the very dust.
He sprang to his feet and walked about the room, till noticing the sergeant was watching him with surprise and suspicion, he controlled himself.
He talked with the sergeant for a while genially. It was positively necessary that there should not be any doubt in the mind of the latter when the Sheriff should arrive. This episode took the strain from his mind—for a time. He expressed to the officer how anxious he was to get on and I interested the worthy man so much that he sent over to the hotel to borrow a time-table. There Athlyne learned that it would be practically impossible for him to get on to Ambleside that night. Not even if he could get a special train at Carlisle—there was no possibility of getting one from a nearer place. When he asked the sergeant his opinion, that grave individual condescended to smile:
"Losh! man they don't run specials on these bit lines. 'Tis as much as they can do to run a few trains a day. A'm thinkin' that if ye asked the stationmaster anywheer along the Dumfries and Kircudbright line for a special he'd hae ye in the daft-hoose, or he'd be there himsel!" Athlyne went back to his seat; once again the pendulum of his thoughts swung to and fro.
He was now face to face with one certainty amongst many possibilities: Whatever befel he could not give any immediate help to Joy. She, poor dear, must fend for herself and if need be, fight her battle alone. He could only try to make it up to her afterwards. And yet what could he do for her, what more give to her who had already all that was his! And here again he lost himself in memories of the immediate past; which presently merged into dreams of the future which has no end.
But again swung the pendulum with the thought of what he was next day to do which might help Joy. He began to realise out of the intensity of his thought, which was now all unselfish, in what a danger of misconception the girl stood already and how such might be multiplied by any accident of her arrival. In the eyes of her friends her very character might be at stake! And now he made up his mind definitely as to how he would protect her in that way. He could prove his time of leaving Ambleside by his chauffeur, the time of that swift journey would be its own proof; the time of his arrest was already proved. Likewise of Joy's departure for home. Henceforward till he should meet her father he would take care that his movements were beyond any mystery or suspicion whatever. In any case—even if she did not arrive at home till late—Joy would be actually in another country from that which held him, and the rapidity of her journey would in itself protect. He would stay in some hotel in a place where he could get a suitable train in the morning; and would arrange that his arrival and departure were noted.
Naturally the place he would rest for the night, if he should succeed in getting away, would be Castle Douglas; for here lines from Kirkcudbright, from Stranraer, and from Glasgow made junction so that he had a double chance of departure. If he were detained at Dalry the police themselves would be proof of his presence there.
He felt easier in his mind after this decision, and was able to await with greater patience the coming of the Sheriff.