Chapter X: A Successful Errand

IT was not the slightest use for Damaris to say she could not stay to dinner. Both Mrs. Bonnycott and her nephew would hear of no refusal.

"You are under no compulsion to dine at your boarding-house to-night," said Stuart, "Send a wire to them. Here is a form, and the hall porter will send it off."

"You are paralysing me," said Damaris with a nervous little laugh. But she took the form and wrote her wire.

As Stuart held out his hand for it, she hesitated.

"As a gentleman," she said, "I suppose I can take it for granted that you will not read it?"

"You are afraid I shall see the address? My dear Miss Hartbrook, of course I won't read it. But wild horses will not prevent me from seeing you home to-night. You can't help yourself. I have found you, and I do not intend to lose you again. Never!"

The colour ebbed and flowed in Damaris's cheeks. He took her wire and handed it to the porter. Mrs. Bonnycott took her upstairs to her room, chatting to her rather irrelevantly of London and of all she had come up to do.

When they returned to the private sitting-room, they found Stuart just opening the lid of the piano.

He looked at Damaris with one of his irresistible smiles.

"Having forcibly taken possession of you and being determined to keep you prisoner till it pleases us to let you go, I now proceed to soothe your ruffled pride and charm away all antagonism and hot temper. Take a comfortable chair and close your eyes. You have no idea what a heavenly frame of mind you will be in before long."

"Oh, if you are going to play, I can't talk," said Mrs. Bonnycott a little impatiently.

"Give me a quarter of an hour to disperse the wrinkles on Miss Hartbrook's brow."

"I shall write a letter. I ought to have written it before. Your music never impresses me, as I often tell you."

Mrs. Bonnycott moved to her writing-table, and Damaris was nothing loath to sit still and listen to Stuart's music.

She could not feel angry with him, but she was annoyed at his masterful manner. This was not the Stuart Maitland she had known at Marley.

"He thinks I am alone, and have no one belonging to me, so that he can treat me as he likes," was her first thought. And then she began wondering why he should trouble about her at all.

But he began to play; his liquid touch and wonderful technique excited her admiration at once. Then the melody of his music took full possession of her, and she listened as if in a dream.

Time passed, and Stuart was at the piano a good half-hour. He himself had no sense of the time when he was playing. At last, Mrs. Bonnycott, having finished her writing, interrupted him.

"I want to tell Miss Hartbrook a lot of things, and it will soon be dinner time. Have you nearly finished?"

Stuart crashed down his last chord and got up from the piano.

"And now you have forgiven me," he said to Damaris.

"You know your power as a musician," said Damaris, with a little laugh. "How I would like to hear music like yours every evening!"

"Thank you. But I can't play to order. There are days when I couldn't touch a note to save my life. I don't worry you for days together, eh, Aunt Kits?"

"No, no! I'm thankful you aren't always at it. You have too many irons in the fire."

The evening passed very pleasantly to Damaris. Mrs. Bonnycott was an amusing talker and Stuart seemed bent on drawing Damaris out. She found herself talking happily to both of them. But when the time for her departure came, she appealed to Mrs. Bonnycott.

"Will you ask your nephew not to see me home? If he puts me into a bus at the corner of the street. I can get to my boarding-house without a change. I am quite accustomed to go about alone. Every girl does it nowadays."

"My dear, do you think I have authority over Stuart? Long ago, I decided that if he and I were to live at peace together, we must go our own ways and be absolutely independent of each other. Occasionally we have words, but very seldom. And I think he ought to see you home. It is too late for you to be out alone."

"We'll have a taxi," said Stuart cheerfully.

Damaris was dumb. She felt helpless to offer any more resistance.

When she and he were driving off together, he dropped the bantering air he had adopted towards her and spoke very gravely.

"Now we can talk freely. I don't want my aunt to know of your connection with the Hall till it is made public. Tell me exactly why you want to hide yourself away from us all? Doesn't it look as if you are not sure of your facts?"

"No," said Damaris; "it is because I have lost all desire to own the Murrays as my relations. I need not make myself known to my grandfather. I feel I would rather not, now. They don't want me, and I don't want them."

"That is rather childish. Having started the ball rolling, you must continue to roll it till it reaches its destination! By that I mean you must go through with what you have begun. I think if you are willing to meet your grandfather, all will go smoothly.

"But I don't want to meet either of them until they are convinced that I am not an imposter. I won't do it. I warn you, if you do discover my address to-night, I shall just move my quarters to-morrow. I won't see either Sir Mark or Miss Murray. I am not going to own them as my relations until they own me."

"I see. Then we must get the last missing link in the chain. And I'll get that myself. I'll go right off to Florence to-morrow and get the register of your birth."

Damaris exclaimed—

"Why should you do such a thing? You're almost a stranger to me."

"But I'm not a stranger to Barbara. You shan't be molested till I come back, if you promise on your honour to stay where you are. Come now, be reasonable; wouldn't you like it all cleared up and made right? We want you back at Marley. You were making friends there before you went away. Of course you want to right yourself in Barbara's eyes. And the old man is longing to get hold of you even now."

"If I stay where I am, will you in your turn promise not to give them my address? I can't run the risk of having them come to interview me. It is useless until they have the proofs they want of my relationship to them."

"Very well. I'll promise not to tell where you are till I come back from Florence. Now, have you any idea where in that city you were born?"

"I have no idea, neither has Stevens; but I had an Italian nurse who went back to Italy when I was about six months old, and Stevens told me her name. It was Thérese Adalmi, and her father kept a tobacco shop rather near the church of Santa Croce. Some of the family may be living there now."

"This is first-rate," said Stuart, getting out his pocket-book and jotting down the names. "I've got a clue to work from. Don't you ever wish to visit your birthplace?"

"It has been the dream of my life," said Damaris enthusiastically.

"What a pity you can't come out with me? Shall we go together? Don't look so shocked! It's only convention that forbids us. But we'll wait. Perhaps one day—who knows—you and I may find ourselves there!"

When the cab stopped at the boarding-house, Stuart insisted upon accompanying her up to the door. Then he wished her good-bye.

"You shall be left in peace," he said; "only remember you have promised to lunch with my aunt next Monday. You won't see me for a week or so, and when I come back, I hope I shall be able to report success."

"You are not really going to Florence?"

"Yes; I start to-morrow."

"I shan't know how to thank you," murmured Damaris.

"If I'm unsuccessful, no thanks will be necessary. In any case, I'm pleasing myself, and travelling is never an effort to me. Good-bye. Will you wish me good luck?"

"I suppose so," said Damaris, looking up at him with troubled eyes. "I hardly know what I wish."

He stood for a moment looking down upon her almost tenderly.

"I admire your courage, Miss Hartbrook, but my wish for you is that you find a safe and sheltered harbour very soon. You don't know how roughly the sea can treat a light little unprotected craft like yours! Good-bye—or shall we say 'au revoir'?"

He was gone, and Damaris went in. She seemed to have been in a different world that afternoon. Quietly she slipped up to her room, for she did not want to meet any of her fellow-boarders that night.

The next morning she found herself pouring out the whole story to gentle Miss Hardacre. She could keep it to herself no longer, and the little lady listened with breathless interest.

"It is like a story in a book. My dear child, why did you not tell me about it before? I don't think you have acted quite wisely, and I wish you had some other person who would help you besides this young man. I don't quite like the sound of him."

"Don't you. He rather fascinates me. He is not really so rude as he sounds. He has a soft voice, and he is very courteous to women. He seems as if he is always looking out for something to do for them. But I confess he is trying to manage me now. For my own good, he would say. And I'm not so sure of that. Oh, dear Miss Hardacre, I can't tell you how I dread another uprooting! I have a presentiment that if I go to Marley Hall, I shall have a difficult time."

"Of course your grandfather will offer you a home there, and I shall lose you. We have just touched each other's lives, and then we pass on!" Miss Hardacre's tone was sad.

"I don't mean to lose you," said Damaris emphatically; "never! Nor Nellie either. And perhaps, after all, my grandfather may be content that I should lead my own life. He cannot coerce me. I can be perfectly independent, and yet pay him a visit occasionally if he would like to see me."

This was the course that Nellie advised when she heard the news. Damaris talked the whole matter over with her when she came to see them.

"You see, I look at it from a working point of view. This is a strenuous time for our country. Everyone ought to be up and doing. What is this Mr. Stuart's profession?"

"He has none; he helps his aunt on her small property and looks after two or three farms she has. But he is very gifted; he plays and writes and paints, and can turn his hand to anything!"

Nellie tossed her head.

"I know the sort. They just play at farming, and have a jolly easy life of it. That kind of man ought to be swept out of existence!"

"My dear Nellie!"

"I mean it. Every life ought to be full of service for their country and its needs. It is an abomination to live a purposeless existence. I should like to talk to him. Oh, there's so much that wants doing!"

Damaris laughed at her enthusiasm.

"Mr. Maitland's life is full of service for individuals," she said; "that is his 'forte.' He befriends every one he comes across. Mrs. Patch told me, when I was staying at Marley that he was kindness itself to anyone in trouble, and that all the villagers loved him. You can't deal with mankind 'en masse.' And I am leading a comparatively idle life, yet you have never scolded me."

"I am wondering when you will wake up," said Nellie, looking at her with a friendly smile. "You have plenty of time for thinking over your needlework. I hope your thoughts will lead to action sooner or later. But it's men I am talking about. Look at my brother! He's going to be married soon, and then he'll settle down in idleness somewhere, just spending his money on luxuries to keep him comfortable! I think there ought to be a law in England that every British citizen should contribute something towards the improvement of the State, either by his personal brain power and work, or by his property and money."

"What have I to give?" murmured Miss Hardacre.

"You, my little dear, can give your good advice and sound counsel to the young and ignorant around you. I think that teaching and educating the masses is sound good work. But they don't only want to be taught arithmetic and history and geography, and all the ordinary ologies in the schools. They want to be made to understand the laws and rights and privileges of the British constitution, and of what a unit ought to be. Oh, you can laugh at me, you two. But I'm one of the working class, remember, and I see what a ferment the whole working class is in, from the farm labourer to the bank clerk. Half of them don't know the meaning of responsibility and patriotism. Their circle begins and ends with self. And they want to be taught. They want to be shown points of view from every side, not only from their own. They want to be taught political economy—well, I won't go on. I get rather hot when I am on my pet subject. If I were a rich woman, I would go round the country as a lecturer. I think I would have a motor caravan, and visit the country villages as well as the towns."

"Would you be another agitator?" questioned Damaris, who was seeing her cousin in a new light, and hardly understood her.

"I am going to shut up," said Nellie determinedly. "But when I think what opportunities some of these rich idle men are losing, it makes me furious!"

"We started from Mr. Maitland, but he is neither rich nor idle," said Damaris quietly.

Nellie would say no more until just as she was leaving, and then she kissed Damaris affectionately, saying, in Miss Hardacre's words—

"We are going to lose you. Only don't settle down in your luxurious life and do nothing. You will be ten times more responsible for your opportunities then than you are now."

"Responsible to whom?" asked Damaris. "Do you believe we are responsible to God? You always say you are not religious."

"Responsible to your country," said Nellie, hesitating for a moment.

Damaris shook her head.

"No—responsible to God. I met a Mrs. Dashwood at Marley. I should like you to know her. Her gospel is work, but she has no vague ideas about our responsibilities. She says we have each our life work, and if we miss it, we shall have bitter regret later on. It is strange that you and she should meet on one point, for you are not a bit alike in most things."

"For that I'm devoutly thankful," said Nellie, laughing.

"You wouldn't say that if you saw her. And as regards your losing me, I am never going to lose touch with you, if I can help it. Why should I? We are relations."

Nellie smiled.

"I am not envious of you. But isn't it strange that fortune favours some so much more than others? You and I were both brought up by old relatives who led us to expect that we should be well provided for at their deaths. We were disappointed, and cheated of our expectations—left almost penniless, weren't we? And I am almost penniless now—just earning enough to house myself and dress like a labourer's daughter. You have fallen on your feet after a very short interim of discomfort. Your future will be as comfortable and luxurious as your past. Even more so. Well! I am not envious, as I say. I think I am better fitted to knock round town than you are. I am not so sensitively formed. And I know my environment is more stimulating than yours will be."

"You are taking too much for granted," cried Damaris, with a distressed look in her grey eyes. "I am not owned yet, and if I ever am, I doubt if I shall be welcomed. I daresay I shall soon find myself back in London again, from choice. I do not know what will happen to me. But I do know that I have you and Miss Hardacre in my heart, and there you both shall stay."

"Dear child!" murmured Miss Hardacre.

Nellie stopped and kissed them both, and then took her departure.

"I am heartily and sincerely glad about it, Damaris, dear; but we shall miss you out of this bit of the world, I can tell you that!"

Those were her parting words, and Damaris said—

"I really do wish that it was you to claim relationship with them, and not myself. I am content to be here."

She went to see Mrs. Bonnycott several times, and then one day they received news of Stuart. He wired to his aunt:—

"Returning on Tuesday. Book room for me at hotel."

To Damaris he wrote a letter:—

"DEAR MISS HARTBROOK,—Will you be glad to see me or sorry? For I have been successful in my search. Your old nurse is still alive, and helped me to discover where you were registered. Enclosed pale pink roses were picked by me at the Villa Rosini this morning. It is empty. You will have to come out and stay in it one day. I hope you will give me a smiling welcome.

"Yours most sincerely,

"STUART MAITLAND."

Damaris drew a long breath as she read this. Was she glad or sorry, she wondered. Did it mean a complete change of life to her? She was glad that she would be vindicated in her aunt's eyes, but would her aunt receive her with delight? She shivered in anticipation of their meeting. Outwardly she was very quiet and calm, but Miss Hardacre, who watched her with loving eyes, saw that the two days of waiting were a great strain to her.

Tuesday came and passed. Damaris was glad that Stuart had not rushed round to her directly on arrival.

But about half-past ten the next morning, she was told that a gentleman had called to see her.

The drawing-room was empty. Miss Hardacre had gone to her room to get ready for her daily walk. Stuart was shown up, and Damaris met him with a quiet handshake.

She was in a grey cloth gown. He thought he had never seen her look so spirituelle and dreamy.

"I do thank you with all my heart for the trouble you have taken," she said.

"It was no trouble," he said simply. "I felt when I started on the quest that I had a fair chance of winning through. I have come round to ask you what you intend doing?"

Damaris looked at him with a little smile.

"Ah! That is better," she said; "I was afraid you had come round to manage me again. Will you tell me what you have done? I suppose you have written to Miss Murray."

"Yes, at once. And she and Sir Mark are here. They are at the Grosvenor Hotel. They want to see you, but I have not given them your address."

Damaris looked round the shabby room.

"It is no good my seeing them here, there is no privacy. I suppose I had better go to them?" There was an appealing note in her voice.

"Of course, you might come to my aunt's rooms at the Langham, and they could meet you there; but I fancy you would find her rather in the way. She would naturally be very excited about it."

"I would rather not do that."

"Then let me get a taxi, and we'll drive straight to the Grosvenor. I should get it over as soon as possible, if I were you."

"Yes," said Damaris slowly, "I will."

The door opened at this juncture, and Miss Hardacre appeared.

"Damaris, dear, I am ready-oh, I beg your pardon!" She shrank back, but Damaris led her forward.

"Miss Hardacre, you know everything; may I introduce Mr. Maitland to you. He has come to tell me that Sir Mark Murray and his daughter are in town; and I am going to them now."

Stuart gave a little courteous bow.

Damaris turned to him.

"This is one of my greatest friends. I don't think I could have stayed here without her. She has been most awfully kind to me."

Miss Hardacre's eyes filled with tears. She looked a pathetic little figure as she stood there.

But Stuart's whole face softened as he addressed her.

"Then as a friend, you will rejoice in Miss Hartbrook's discovery of her relations," he said.

"Yes," said Miss Hardacre, "even though it will take her from us, I am sincerely glad for her to have a happy home."

Damaris left the room to dress for the occasion. She felt that now the time had come for her to meet her grandfather, the sooner it was over the better.

She re-entered the drawing-room in a very few minutes. A grey straw hat with a mauve wreath of flowers round it was on her head. As she drew her grey gloves on, Stuart thought she was the picture of dainty sweetness. She stooped and kissed Miss Hardacre.

"I shall soon be back, and then I'll tell you all about it," she said. And then she and Stuart left the house together.