Blake's Burden

"A nervous temperament, held well in hand," Mrs. Chudleigh suggested. "But go on; I'm sorry I interrupted you."

"There was a challenge, a yell from the stabbed sentry, and the beggars were upon us. No time to think; the face of the hill swarmed with them. The gunners only fired one round before they were cut down, and the mine did not explode. It was a thick, dark night, and we were horribly outnumbered, but the orders were to hold on – we could send for support if very hard pressed, but we mustn't yield a yard of ground. It was hot work in front of the trench upon the ridge – they poured into it at one end, but for a time we stayed as well. Then – "

Walters broke off and looked at his companion with appeal. "I've been talking too freely; said more than I should have done, in fact. You had better admit that you don't find all this interesting."

"It wouldn't be true," Mrs. Chudleigh declared, determined not to be put off. "I'm extremely interested, and you must keep your promise. Tell me all you can."

He made a gesture of resignation. "Well, there was an order given – in a white man's voice – and the bugle called us off. Somebody had ventured to disobey instructions, and after that the fight was over; we got away as best we could. They rolled over us like a wave as we went downhill and there were not many of us when we reached the bottom. Then some Gurkhas came up and held them a bit with the steel, a gun opened, and somehow the main camp was saved, though our ranks were thin at the next muster."

"There was an inquiry, of course. Did you give evidence?"

"I had to," said Walters ruefully. "I confined my answers as much as possible to 'Yes, sir,' and 'No,' but one can make a good deal out of these if the questions are judiciously framed. The bugler was killed, so they could learn nothing from him, but Watson was forced to declare that the order came from near the ravine where Blake should have fired the mine. After some badgering from the Colonel I had to admit that that was my opinion. There were other points against Blake and he did not try to clear himself. It was a very bad business, and I remember that Challoner broke down after his examination."

"But Blake was not cashiered."

"No; to tell the truth, I think some influence was at work. Colonel Challoner was known and respected on the frontier and he had powerful friends, though, of course, that sort of thing is not supposed to count. Anyhow, the official verdict was, 'Not guilty,' but nobody had much confidence in it and Blake had to leave us. In spite of everything, I was sorry for the man and felt that he might have made things look better if he had tried."

"It was very sad," said Mrs. Chudleigh. "You have my thanks for the story. I can understand that it was painful to tell."

Then she changed the subject and soon afterwards a man came in and claimed her for a dance.

CHAPTER XVI

MRS. KEITH ENTERS THE FIELD

A day or two after the dance Mrs. Chudleigh was sitting with Lieutenant Walters in a recess of the big hall when she heard a car coming up the drive. It stopped, a voice she thought familiar rose from the vestibule, and her face hardened as Foster came in with Mrs. Keith and Millicent Graham. Then Mrs. Foster, who did not notice that there was anybody else about, moved forward to meet the newcomers and led them through the hall.

"You looked surprised," Walters remarked when the others had disappeared. "Didn't you know these people were coming?"

"I think you meant displeased, and you were right," said Mrs. Chudleigh, who was capable of boldly correcting a mistake. "We made such a pleasant friendly party here that I felt the presence of anybody else would be rather a nuisance." She laughed as she went on: "Of course it was a very selfish view to take, especially as I know Mrs. Keith, and, now I recollect, Mrs. Foster did say some friends were coming down, though she didn't tell me who they were."

Walters left her by and by, but she sat still to think. It was most likely by chance that Mrs. Keith had decided to visit Hazlehurst just then, but there was a possibility that it was due to design. During their conversation on the Canadian river boat she had incautiously mentioned that she was going to Shropshire, and Mrs. Keith was an intimate friend of the Challoners. Mrs. Chudleigh had no wish to be subjected to the keen old woman's observation, but after all Mrs. Keith had no knowledge of her plans and would accordingly find it difficult to interfere with them. Still, she must be careful and avoid any cause for suspicion.

Tea was being brought in when Mrs. Keith and Millicent returned to the hall and for a few moments Mrs. Chudleigh sat watching the girl. The house was old and the dark panelling formed a good background for Millicent's delicate beauty, which was of the blonde type. Mrs. Chudleigh had to admit that she was pretty, and though she tried to think of her as unformed, there was something in her face that hinted at strength of character. Foster, who was as a rule indifferent to women's society, obviously found her interesting, for he was talking to her with animation, and Mrs. Chudleigh realized that the girl was capable of exciting the admiration of well-matured men. For all that, she did not consider her a dangerous rival, because she knew there was a cold, calculating vein in Sedgwick which would prevent his indulging unduly in romantic weaknesses. Self-interest bound him to her and she tried to overlook his occasional sentimental vagaries. Indeed, the indifference he now and then displayed strengthened his hold on her. Then she rose to meet Mrs. Keith, who was coming her way.

"We shall have an opportunity of renewing a pleasant acquaintance," she said. "You are looking well, and Miss Graham is as fresh and pretty as when I last saw her."

Mrs. Keith glanced at Millicent. "Yes," she said, "I think so, and she is really a very nice girl." Then her eyes twinkled with dry amusement. "I'm not sure that you expected to see me."

It was obvious to Mrs. Chudleigh that she had betrayed her feelings on her companion's arrival. Nothing seemed to escape Mrs. Keith's attention.

"I did not," she admitted. "Indeed, I'll confess that I was somewhat startled when you came in. You see, I imagined that you were still in Canada."

"I didn't stay very long after you. One or two things turned up that brought me back."

"But you have no family ties, have you?"

"I have some old friends. Now and then I'm vain enough to believe that one of them needs me."

As they spoke Mrs. Foster joined them.

"Colonel Challoner is eager to see you, Margaret," she interposed. "He excused himself for not coming this evening because Greythorpe is staying with him for a day or two, but he made me promise to bring you over to-morrow." She turned to Mrs. Chudleigh. "You must join us. Have you met Greythorpe? He's down here now and then."

It seemed to Mrs. Chudleigh that fortune was favouring her. After a long parliamentary career during which he had been distinguished by his sound sense and the moderation of his views, Greythorpe had been entrusted with an office in connexion with the administration of Colonial affairs. What was more to the purpose, he seemed to be a friend of Colonel Challoner's, whose assistance Mrs. Chudleigh thought she had means of securing in the plan she was working out.

"I should be delighted," she declared. "I don't know Mr. Greythorpe except by reputation and, as it happened, I hadn't an opportunity of speaking to Colonel Challoner on the evening when he was here, though I once met him."

Seeing that Mrs. Keith was watching her, she was glad of the chance of explaining that she had not renewed her acquaintance with the Colonel. As she had now spent a fortnight with Mrs. Foster, who knew him well, this should disarm any suspicion that Mrs. Keith might entertain.

"I don't know why we're standing when there's room for all of us in the recess," said their hostess, who led the way towards it, and they dropped into casual conversation when tea was brought them.

The evening passed pleasantly, for Mrs. Chudleigh who possessed some charm of manner, exerted herself to be agreeable to the newcomers. Nevertheless she was looking forward to the next day's visit with eagerness and wondering how she could best make use of the opportunity.

At Sandymere, three miles away, Colonel Challoner spent the evening in his library with his guest. It was a large and simply furnished room, but there was a tone of austere harmony in all its appointments. The dark oak table, rows of old books in faded leather bindings, antique lamps, and straight-backed chairs were in keeping with the severe lines of the sombre panels and the heavy, square moulding of the ceiling. Two or three wax candles in an old silver holder stood on a small table by the wide hearth on which a cheerful wood fire burned, but most of the room was shadowy.

The sense of empty space and gloom had, however, no effect upon the two elderly men who sat with a cigar box and decanter in front of them, engaged in quiet, confidential talk. Challoner was white-haired, straight, and spare, with aquiline features and piercing eyes; Greythorpe broad-shouldered and big, with a heavy-jawed, thoughtful face. They had been fast friends since they had met a number of years ago when Challoner was giving evidence before a parliamentary commission.

"So you have not heard from Blake after the day he came here," Greythorpe said by and by.

"Never directly," Challoner replied. "On the whole, it is better so, though I regret it now and then. A weakness on my part, perhaps, but I was fond of Dick and expected much from him. However, it seems that Bertram and Margaret Keith met him in Montreal, and she is coming here to-morrow."

"A very sad affair." Greythorpe mused. "A promising career cut short and a life ruined by a moment's failure of nerve. The price paid for it was a heavy one. Still, I found the matter difficult to understand, because, so far as I could tell, there was nothing in Blake's character that made such a failure possible. Then it's known that personal courage was always a characteristic of your family."

"His mother was my sister. You have seen her portrait."

Greythorpe made a sign of assent. He knew the picture of the woman with the proud, determined face.

"And the other side? Was the strain equally virile?" he asked.

"You shall judge," said Challoner. "You and Margaret Keith are the only people to whom I have ever spoken freely of these things. I am sure of your discretion and sympathy."

He crossed the floor and opening a cabinet came back with a photograph, which he gave to his companion.

"Dick's father. He was famous as a daring rider across an Irish, stone-wall country, and was killed when taking a dangerous leap."

Greythorpe studied the face, which was of Irish type, with bold eyes in which a reckless twinkle showed. On the whole, it suggested an ardent and somewhat irresponsible temperament.

"No sign of weakness there," he said. "Though he might be careless and headstrong, this man would ride straight and stand fire. I can't hint at an explanation of his son's disaster, but I imagine that one might have been found if it had been diligently searched for. My opinion is that there's something hidden, but whether it will ever come out is another matter. But your nephew hasn't forfeited my liking. If I can ever be of any service."

"Thanks; I know," said Challoner. "It looks as if he meant to cut loose from all of us, and while I'm sorry for this I can't say that he's wrong or that it's not a proper feeling. And now I think we'll let the subject drop." He lighted a cigar before he resumed: "You look rather jaded, and I understand that your responsibilities have been added to. What have you done about the African appointment you mentioned when last here? To be candid, I never thought the man lately invalided home was in his right place."

"He was hardly decided enough," Greythorpe answered thoughtfully. "So far, we haven't filled the post, though two or three names have been suggested. We have a man out there now who has shown some enterprise and ability, and are inclined to leave him informally in charge while we consider things."

"In view of our friendly relations with the French, one would imagine that the appointment needs careful thought. It's easy for undesirable disputes to crop up, when you have turbulent native subjects to keep in hand along another power's frontier."

"That's true. Our territory adjoins theirs for some distance, but, as it happens, our respective fields of influence outside the recognized boundaries have not been very clearly defined. Now there's reason to believe that part of the unclaimed neutral belt would be valuable to us, and I needn't point out that the Imperial expansionists have made their influence felt."

"It's a pity the Government seems able to resist it," Challoner drily remarked.

Greythorpe smiled, for he and his host took different sides in party politics, though they often agreed on points that concerned their country's foreign policy.

"I think they're wise in their moderation, but I've had plain hints about the desirability of extending our influence in Africa, which is why we attach some importance to the appointment in question. Its holder must be a man of tact, able to keep on friendly terms with the French officials, and yet bold enough to secure us any advantage that may offer in the unoccupied belt. In fact, though the post is not highly paid, he must have exceptional talent."

"Men of that kind are hard to pick up."

"Very true. None of the candidates quite satisfies us, but when we have investigated their qualifications fully I may ask you what you think. It would be premature just now."

"Always glad to be of service," Challoner replied. "But the men you'll have to choose among have grown up since my day."

"That is not important. It's largely a question of personal character, and you're a judge of that when it must be coupled with military skill."

Challoner smiled in a sombre manner. "I used to think so, but I've come to doubt it. I made a grave mistake about my nephew. However, there's a matter you were speaking of this morning and a point has since occurred to me."

Greythorpe said he would be glad to hear it, and they talked over the subject until they went to bed.

The next afternoon was bright and mild, and soon after Mrs. Foster and her party arrived Challoner offered to show them his winter shrubbery.

"I have lately planted a number of new specimens which you and Margaret have not seen," he said. "Your friends may be interested to learn what effects can be got by a judicious mingling of bushes remarkable for the beauty of their berries and branch-colouring among the stereotyped evergreens."

They went out and Mrs. Chudleigh thought the front of the old house with its mullioned windows, heavy, pillared coping, and angular chimney stacks, made a picturesque background for the smooth-clipped yew hedges and broad sweep of lawn. Behind it a wood of tall beeches raised their naked boughs in pale, intricate tracery against the soft blue sky. The shrubs proved worth inspection, for some were rich with berries of hues that varied from crimson to lilac and the massed twigs of others formed blotches of strong colouring. The grass was dry and lighted by gleams of sunshine, the air only cold enough to make movement pleasant, and Mrs. Chudleigh felt content as she paced a sheltered walk with Colonel Challoner, whom she unobtrusively studied.

He looked rather stern and worn, and his soft grey tweed showed the leanness of his figure, but his expression and bearing indicated force of will. In his conversation with women he was marked by an air of old-fashioned gallantry, and though his wit was now and then ironical his companion found him attractive. She had cleverly appropriated and separated him from the rest soon after they entered the garden, but she was too clever to approach too soon the object she had in view. First of all, she must ingratiate herself with him, and she saw that he liked her society, though she made one or two mistakes about the shrubs in which she professed a keen interest.

"I'm afraid you don't quite grasp my meaning," he said with a smile. "It's a difference between varieties, not between species. They are not the same thing."

"I should have remembered," Mrs. Challoner [Transcriber's note: Chudleigh?] replied. "I must own that I'm not a botanist, but one can appreciate the beauty of plants without knowing all about them. Perhaps the same applies to beauty in any form."

"No doubt. Harmonies of outline, and concords of colour make an unconscious appeal, but in Nature's products knowledge adds to admiration. The deeper you probe, the more you reveal, until you come to mysteries beyond our solving." He added with some dryness: "It's often otherwise with man's work; knowledge means disillusion. You see how the trick is done."

"Must it always be a trick?"

"Oh! no; not necessarily. There is a sincerity of effort that leads to lasting and beautiful work, but perhaps it's not common."

"I'm afraid you're a pessimist."

"I wouldn't like to think so, but I have lived a long time and insisted on using my eyes, even when clearsightedness may not have been a benefit. There's a penalty attached to the habit of close observation; one sees things that hurt."

He spoke with dry humour, but his words had their effect on his companion, who was by no means philosophical. When she studied human weaknesses it was with the object of turning them to her advantage, but the shrewd, upright soldier saw them as things to avoid or recognize with scorn. He, however, plucked a bunch of crimson berries which he gave her.

"This," he said, "is in my opinion an exceptionally beautiful bush. Mrs. Keith sent it me from the Tyrol some years ago."

"You are old friends then?"

"Our friendship is of forty years standing, which I should imagine is a severe test, but in many ways we are alike, and Margaret Keith knows enough about me to make allowances. We are both well-seasoned and strong-willed, and sometimes we differ, but I must confess that whenever the point has been one of importance time has proved her right."

Mrs. Chudleigh looked up at him, smiling. "That is a handsome admission, because I shouldn't imagine you easily changed your mind."

"No; as one grows older one's ideas are apt to fall into a groove. It requires an effort to force them out of it."

She said nothing for a few minutes, though his confession had its significance, since she must sooner or later persuade him to abandon one fixed idea.

"After all, none of us find that easy," she remarked.

He glanced across the lawn, where Millicent was talking to Greythorpe. "That girl has a very attractive face. I don't merely mean that it's pretty."

"What do you call it then?"

He seemed to ponder. "I think I could best say it looks untainted, though that is rather vague. There's purity in it, by which I don't mean the guilelessness of inexperience."

"That could hardly be, considering who Miss Graham's father was, and that she has earned her living for some years."

There was a hint of surprise in the look Challoner gave her and she saw that she had made a mistake.

"A few people have natures which can't be spoiled," he said. "To them knowledge brings pity or shrinking instead of temptation. I think Miss Graham is to be numbered among these, and she is in good hands with my old friend."

Two or three minutes afterwards, Mrs. Keith resolutely crossed the lawn towards them, but her determined expression softened as she approached Challoner.

"Do you know that I feel neglected?" she said. "Where are those American azaleas you promised to show me?"

Challoner made her an apologetic bow. "Have I been remiss? I saw you with Greythorpe, and understood you found him interesting."

"I've nothing against the man, and he never bores one, but he's a friend of yesterday by comparison; it's only six years since I first met him."

"Ah!" said Challoner; "the old ties are strongest."

Mrs. Keith insisted on examining the azaleas, though they were dry and leafless, and Mrs. Chudleigh, seeing no further opportunity of a quiet talk with Challoner, left them. When she had gone, Mrs. Keith looked at her companion with a twinkle.

"Well," she said, "what do you think of Mrs. Chudleigh?"

"You'll allow me to say that I find her charming? It's a comprehensive word."

"And means anything or nothing. But I understand. You're often only conventional when you think yourself gallant."

"It's possible, but what would you have me say? She's attractive, a pleasant talker, and I think intelligent."

"Highly intelligent," Mrs. Keith remarked pointedly "Do you think she's to be trusted?"

"It doesn't enter into the question. I don't see that either of us is required to trust her."

"I'm inclined to think that's fortunate," Mrs. Keith rejoined.

For the next half hour she kept Challoner at her side and then left him with Mrs. Foster. It was hard to resist Margaret Keith when she had made up her mind, and Challoner had no wish to do so. Moreover he was glad to talk to Mrs. Foster, whom he liked, but he had other guests to whom he owed some attention and he felt as if he were being gently but firmly kept away from them. Mrs. Chudleigh and Millicent, however, seemed to be content with Greythorpe's society, and finding it difficult to leave Mrs. Foster he acquiesced.

Presently she suggested that he should show her friends his pictures, but he said that as it was near sunset and the gallery was badly lighted it would be better if she brought her party back in a day or two. Having promised to do so she summoned the others, and they were driven home.

CHAPTER XVII

THE PICTURE GALLERY

Mrs. Foster brought her guests back to Sandymere, and when Challoner had shown them the best bits of the old carved oak with which the house was decorated and some curious works of art he had picked up in India, he took them to the picture gallery which ran round the big square hall. A lantern dome admitted a cold light, but a few sunrays struck through a window looking to the south-west and fell in long bright bars on polished floor and sombre panelling. On entering the gallery, Challoner took out a case of miniatures and placing it on a small table brought a chair for Mrs. Keith.

"You know the pictures, but this collection generally interested you, and I have added a few examples of a good French period since you were last here," he said.

Mrs. Keith sat down. She was fond of miniatures, and though she would have preferred to accompany her host she had kept him away from Mrs. Chudleigh since their arrival and thought she must be content with that. She seldom overdid anything and had no wish to make her object too plain; Geoffrey Challoner was by no means a fool. As she expected, Mrs. Chudleigh found an opportunity of joining him after a time and diverted his attention from Mrs. Foster, who left him to talk to his sister. Mrs. Keith watched the manoeuvre, which was cleverly carried out, with ironical amusement, though she was troubled by a faint uneasiness. She felt that her old friend was threatened, but she could not see where the danger lay, and, sitting with the miniatures before her, she tried to formulate her suspicions.

In the first place, she had unwisely given Mrs. Chudleigh to understand that it was doubtful whether Richard Blake had merited his disgrace. Then the former had met Lieutenant Walters, who had fought in the frontier action, and had gained his confidence. It was possible that she had led him on to talk about the affair with injudicious freedom, and now she had met Greythorpe and seemed desirous of cultivating his acquaintance. All this had an ominous look, because the woman was ambitious and scheming, besides being in love with Sedgwick, who was something of an adventurer. She would no doubt seize upon any opportunity of securing his promotion.

Margaret's Keith's suspicions were justified, for Mrs. Chudleigh was then cleverly clearing the ground for future action. She had some knowledge of art and the row of family portraits, hung between suits of armour and trophies of Eastern weapons, interested her, while Challoner was gratified by the way she listened as he spoke of them. One or two were by well-known artists, and the faces of the old Challoners, some of whom wore wigs and rich court dress, and some obsolete uniforms, fixed her attention. The resemblance between them all was recognizable, and she thought the family strain must be unusually strong. They had obviously been stern, masterful men, practical rather than imaginative and not likely to be troubled by any emotional weaknesses. Then she glanced at the picture of a young woman with a face of singularly delicate beauty. Its expression was gentle and pensive.