The Bars of Iron - Ethel May Dell (top novels .txt) 📗

for cruelty. Do you hear that?"
Mr. Lorimer, who had been waving a protesting hand throughout this vigorous denunciation, here interposed a lofty: "Sir! You forget yourself!"
"Not I!" flung back Tudor. "I know very well what I'm about. I spoke to you once before about your wife, and you wouldn't listen. But--by Heaven--you shall listen this time, and hear the straight truth for once. Her life has been a perpetual martyrdom for years. You've tortured her through the children as cruelly as any victim was ever tortured on the rack. But it's got to stop now. I don't deal in empty threats. What I've said I shall stick to. You may be the Vicar of the parish, but you're under the same law as the poorest of 'em. And if anything more of this kind happens, you shall feel the law. And a pretty scandal it'll make."
He paused a moment, but Mr. Lorimer stood in frozen silence; and almost immediately he plunged on.
"Now as regards Mrs. Denys; I heard you give her notice just now. That must be taken back--if she will consent to stay. For Mrs. Lorimer literally can't do without her yet. Mrs. Lorimer will be an invalid for some time to come, if not for good and all. And who is going to take charge of the house if you kick out the only capable person it contains? Who is going to look after your precious comfort, not to mention that of your wife and children? I tell you Mrs. Denys is absolutely indispensable to you all for the present. If you part with her, you part with every shred of ease and domestic peace you have. And you will have to keep a properly qualified nurse to look after your wife. And it isn't every nurse that is a blessing in the home, I can assure you."
He stopped again; and finding Mr. Lorimer still somewhat dazed by this sudden attack, he turned and began to pace the room to give him time to recover.
There followed a prolonged silence. Then at last, with a deep sigh, the Vicar dropped down again in his chair.
"My good, doctor," he said, "I am convinced that your motives are good though your language be somewhat lacking in restraint. I am sorely perplexed; let me admit it! Mrs. Denys is, I believe, a thoroughly efficient housekeeper, but--" he paused impressively--"her presence is a disturbing element with which I would gladly dispense. She is continually inventing some pretext for presenting herself at the study-door. Moreover, she is extremely injudicious with the children, and I am bound to think of their spiritual welfare before their mere bodily needs."
He was evidently anxious to avoid an open rupture, so perhaps it was as well that he did not see the look on Tudor's face as he listened to this harangue.
"Why don't you pack them off to school?" said Tudor, sticking to the point with commendable resolution. "Peace in the house is absolutely essential to Mrs. Lorimer. All the elder ones would be better out of it--with the exception of Jeanie."
"And why with the exception of Jeanie, may I ask?" There was a touch of asperity in Mr. Lorimer's voice. He had been badly browbeaten, and--for some reason--he had had to submit. But he was in no docile mood thereafter.
Tudor heard the note of resentment in his tone, and came back to the hearth. "I have been awaiting a suitable opportunity to talk to you about Jeanie," he said.
"What next? What next?" said Mr. Lorimer fretfully.
Tudor proceeded to tell him, his tone deliberately unsympathetic. "She needs most careful treatment, most vigilant watching. There is a weakness of the lungs which might develop at any time. Mrs. Denys understands her and can take care of her. But she is in no state to be entrusted to strangers."
"Why was this not mentioned to me before?" said Mr. Lorimer querulously. "Though the head of the house, I am always the last to be told of anything of importance. I suppose you are sure of what you say?"
"Quite sure," said Tudor, "though I should be absolutely willing for you to have another opinion at any time. As to not telling you, I have always found it difficult to get you to listen, and, as a rule, I have no time to waste on persuasion." He looked at the clock. "I ought to be going now. You will consider what I have said about sending the other children away to school? You'll find it's the only thing to do."
Mr. Lorimer sighed again with deep melancholy.
Tudor squared his shoulders aggressively. "And with your permission I'll tell Mrs. Denys that you have reconsidered the matter and hope she will remain for a time at least, if she can see her way to do so."
He paused very definitely for a reply to this. Mr. Lorimer's mouth was drawn down at the corners, but he looked into the fire with the aloofness of a mind not occupied with mundane things.
Tudor faced him and waited with grim resolution; but several seconds passed ere his attitude seemed to become apparent to the abstracted Vicar. Then with extreme deliberation his eyelids were raised.
"Excuse me, doctor! My thoughts were for the moment elsewhere. Yes, you have my permission to tell her that. And--I agree with you. It seems advisable to remove the elder children from her influence without delay. I shall therefore take steps to do so."
Tudor nodded with a shrug of the shoulders. It did not matter to him in what garb his advice was dressed, so long as it was followed.
"Very well," he said. "I am now going to settle Gracie, and I shall tell her you have issued a free pardon all round, and no more will be said to anyone. I was told one of the boys was in hot water too, but you can let him off for once. You're much more likely to make him ashamed of himself that way."
Mr. Lorimer resumed his contemplation of the fire without speaking.
Tudor turned to go. He was fairly satisfied that he had established peace for the time being, and he was not ill-pleased with his success.
He told himself as he departed that he had discovered how to deal with the Reverend Stephen. It had never occurred to him to attempt such treatment before.
To Avery later he gave but few details of the interview, but she could not fail to see his grim elation and smiled at it.
"I am to stay then, am I?" she said.
"If you will graciously consent to do so," said Tudor, with his brief smile.
"I couldn't do anything else," she said.
"I'm glad of that," he said abruptly, "for my own sake."
And with that very suddenly he turned the subject.


CHAPTER XXI
THE ENCHANTED LAND

At ten o'clock that night, Avery went round to bid each child good-night. She found Gracie sleeping peacefully with her bed pushed close to Jeanie's. The latter was awake and whispered a greeting. On the other side of the room Olive slept the sleep of the just. Avery did not pause by her bed, but went straight to Jeanie, who held her hand for a little and then gently begged her to go to bed herself.
"You must be so tired," she said.
Avery could not deny the fact. But she had arranged to sleep in Mrs. Lorimer's room, so she could not look forward to a night without care. She did not tell Jeanie this, however, but presently kissed her tenderly and stole away.
She visited the younger boys, and found them all asleep; then slipped up to the attic in which the elder lads slept.
She heard their voices as she reached the closed door. She knocked softly therefore, and in a moment heard one of them leap to open it.
It was Ronald, clad in pyjamas but unfailingly courteous, who invited her to enter.
"I knew it must be you, Mrs. Denys. Come in! Very pleased to see you. Wait a second while I light a candle!"
He did so, and revealed Julian sitting up in bed with sullen defiance writ large upon his face. But he smiled at sight of her, and patted the side of his bed invitingly.
"Don't sit on the chair! It's untrustworthy. It's awfully decent of you to look us up like this,--that is, if you haven't come to preach."
"I haven't," said Avery, accepting the invitation since she felt too weary to stand.
Julian nodded approval. "That's right. I knew you were too much of a brick. I'm awaiting my next swishing for upsetting my cup at breakfast in your defence, so I hardly think I deserve any pi-jaw from you, do I?"
"Oh, I'm not at all pi, I assure you," Avery said. "And if it was done for my sake, I'm quite grateful, though I wish you hadn't."
Julian grinned at her, and she proceeded.
"I don't think you need wait any longer for the swishing. Your father has decided, I understand, not to carry the matter any further."
Julian opened his eyes wide. "What? You've been at him, have you?"
Avery smiled even while she sighed.
"Oh, I'm no good, Julian. I only make things worse when I interfere. No, it's not due to me. But, all the same, I hope and believe the trouble has blown over for the present. Do--do try and keep the peace in the future!"
Her weariness sounded in her voice; it quivered in spite of her.
Julian placed a quick, clammy hand on hers and squeezed it affectionately.
"Anything to oblige!" he promised generously. "Here Ron! Shy over those letters! She wants something to cheer her up."
"Letters!" Avery looked round sharply. "I had forgotten my letters!" she said.
"Here they are!" Ronald came forward and placed them in her hand. "I picked 'em up this morning, and then when you sent me off for the doc, I forgot all about 'em. I'm sorry. I only came across them when I was undressing, and you were busy in the mater's room, so I thought I'd keep them safe till to-morrow. I hope they are not important," he added.
"I don't suppose so," said Avery; yet her heart jerked oddly as she slipped them into her dress. "Thank you for taking care of them. I must be going now. You are going to be good?"
She looked at Julian, who, still feeling generous, thrust a rough, boyish arm about her neck and kissed her.
"You're a trump!" he said. "There! Good-night! I'll be as meek as Moses in the morning."
It was a definite promise, and Avery felt relieved. She took leave of Ronald more ceremoniously. His scrupulous politeness demanded it. And then with feet that felt strangely light, considering her fatigue, she ran softly down again to Mrs. Lorimer's room.
In the dressing-room adjoining, she opened and read her letters. One of them--the one with the Australian stamp, characteristically brief but kind--was to tell her that the writer, a friend of some standing, was coming to England, and hoped to see her again ere long.
The other, bearing the sinister Evesham crest, lay on the table unopened till she was undressed and ready to join Mrs. Lorimer. Then--for the first time in all that weary day of turmoil--Avery stole a few moments of luxury.
She sat down and opened Piers' letter.
It began impetuously, without preliminary. "I wonder whether you have any idea what it costs to clear out without a word of farewell. Perhaps you are even thinking that I've forgotten. Or perhaps it matters so little to you that you haven't thought at all. I know you won't tell me, so it's not much good speculating. But lest you should misunderstand in any way, I want to