The House of Discontent (19 page)

As he spoke he took out his pocket-book and extracted from it the photograph of Camilla which he handed to Mrs. Grey.

Mrs. Grey looked wonderingly from the photograph to his face. “That is Camilla,” she said. “I remember this photograph well. It was taken at Queen Charlotte’s Ball last year.”

Patricia looked at Mary, longing to help her, feeling horribly sorry for her.

Mary’s face was crimson. “I had no right to send it to you,” she said in a low voice. “I’m most awfully sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I don’t know why I did it. I’ve never stopped regretting it.”

“I don’t think I understand even now,” Mrs. Grey said.

“Did you send him that photograph of Camilla pretending it was yourself?” Johnny asked Mary in a hard voice.

Mary’s “Yes” was almost inaudible. She looked as if she might burst into tears. Patricia all at once felt very angry with everyone. She longed to protect and help Mary. It wasn’t fair to put her through this. Whatever foolishness she had committed, she was certainly being punished for it now, and punished far more than she deserved. Patricia couldn’t bear it for her. That it should all have come out like this in front of Johnny made it so much worse for her. And there was Camilla, radiant and triumphant, looking as if she was very much enjoying the situation.

And yet it was Camilla who came to Mary’s rescue now.

“I’m very glad you did it, Mary,” she said. “If you hadn’t I should have missed one of the most exciting afternoons of my life.” And she cast up her eyes coquettishly at Jim from beneath her long lashes. “Captain Ossory is very impetuous. He quite terrified, me.” And she gave a little, low laugh.

“And then you found out the truth, I suppose?” Mary asked.

“Yes I found out that he had been writing to you.”

“But you knew I was coming here this evening ...” Mary began.

“Yes, and so did Jim, and he was delighted. Naturally he has been longing to meet you.”

“I think it was horrid of you,” Mary flung at her, the tears rushing to her eyes.

“So do I,” Johnny put in.

“Mary, I’m most awfully sorry,” Jim Ossory said, suddenly contrite. “I didn’t think it would upset you like this. Of course, I’ve been wanting to meet you, and I thought this would be rather a good surprise—rather a good joke, in fact. But I see now how it was. I am awfully sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Then you must forgive me, too, about the photograph,” Mary said.

“Of course I forgive you.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Mrs. Grey said. “Now I hope you are all friends again.”

“You did think it a joke when you came in,” Camilla said, “because you laughed yourself. I’m awfully sorry, though.”

Patricia felt like saying to her sharply: “For goodness’ sake leave the subject alone. Don’t go on torturing her.”

Mrs. Grey evidently shared this sentiment, for she exclaimed: “Now that’s all over and done with. Dinner’s ready. Don’t let’s waste any time. I for one am extremely hungry.”

Camilla and Jim did most of the talking at dinner. Johnny was oddly silent. Mary kept stealing glances at him, trying to catch his eye, but he would not respond to her. She tried talking to him, but he answered her questions stiffly, yes or no, and made no effort to carry on any conversation with her. He looked like a sulky schoolboy.

Mary became more and more miserable, her face betraying her innermost feelings. It was so obvious to Patricia at that moment that Johnny cared for her that she felt like crying out: “You ought to be happy, Mary, not miserable. He is only behaving like this because he loves you. Don’t you see? Where is your precious intuition? He is jealous. That ought to make you glad. He’s terribly upset because you never told him about Jim—but that’s only jealousy. It just shows you how much he cares.”

Mary’s and Johnny’s evident unhappiness throughout dinner made the meal a most uncomfortable one, in spite of the fact that Jim and Camilla kept up a constant flow of light and amusing badinage.

Patricia, for one, was glad when the meal was over, and she could have hugged Mrs. Grey in gratitude when, back in the drawing-room again, the latter gave Mary and Johnny the chance to slip away by themselves.

“Do you play bridge, Captain Ossory?” she asked, and when he said that he did, she went on: “That will be splendid. Johnny, you and Mary don’t play, so why don’t you take her into the billiard-room? The backgammon board is in there, and the ping-pong table if you want it.”

“Oh, yes,” Mary said quickly, springing up. “Let’s go and play ping-pong.”

Johnny feigned reluctance, but he went with her quite quickly out of the room. Patricia thought to herself: “A lot of ping-pong they will play! I expect the explanations and apologies will start at once.”

She felt as relieved for them being able to get away by themselves and make up their quarrel as if she had been involved in it herself. Mrs. Grey was obviously quite aware of the situation. She was a wise woman, and Patricia loved her for helping them.

When they had gone out of the room Mrs. Grey said to Camilla: “I think it was very unkind of you, darling, putting Mary through it like that.”

“It was entirely my fault, Mrs. Grey,” Jim said quickly. “I take all the responsibility and all the blame. I realize now that it was a caddish thing to do. But this afternoon has been rather a shock to me, I must confess, and I did feel a little angry. You see, I have carried this photograph about with me night and day ever since I received it, and I must have looked at it thousands of times—and I thought I knew the person it portrayed pretty well from her letters—and now I find I don’t know her at all. So, you see, I have some slight excuse.”

“Perhaps it will be more exciting not knowing her at all,” Camilla said in a demure voice, looking at him sideways again from under her lashes.

“No, I should like to know her,” he replied. “I should like to know her very well indeed.”

“Would you like to see some more photographs of her then as a first step towards it?” Camilla asked.

“Yes, I should, very much.”

“I’ve got albums full in the sitting-room, if you’d like to come and see them.”

Patricia found herself thinking: “Thank Heaven Mary doesn’t still care for him.” Aloud she said to Mrs. Grey, as the others left the room: “I’m afraid you won’t get your bridge, after all.”

“I didn’t really want to play,” Mrs. Grey replied, “but I did want those two unhappy children to make it up again. My heart was bleeding for them all through dinner.”

“So was mine,” Patricia said.

“They care for each other so very much, poor darlings, or perhaps I should say lucky darlings.”

“You do like her, don’t you?” Patricia asked.

“My dear, I love her. I simply love her. There is no one I would rather have as a daughter-in-law. And I know her very well by this time.”

“You don’t think she is too young, then?”

“Well, of course she is young, and Johnny is much too young; but if they want to get engaged I shall give them my blessing. I am sure they will be sensible and agree to wait a year or so before getting married.”

“You are so kind,” Patricia said.

“I’m afraid there is very little virtue in being kind to those one loves. It is all too easy. Their happiness is one’s own. And that, of course, is particularly true of one’s children. One feels their happiness as one’s own, but unfortunately one feels their pain, too ... At the moment it is not Johnny but Camilla who is worrying me. She came back so depressed and disgruntled from her visit, and look at her now! She has found a new toy to play with. I know that light in her eyes so well, and it frightens me. It is a sign that someone will get hurt. Usually the other person. Camilla doesn’t often get hurt herself—in fact, I think it has only happened to her once, and that was over Anthony.”

At the mere mention of his name the blood rushed to Patricia’s head.

“Did she—does she care for him?” she asked.

“She
did
care for him,” Mrs. Grey said, “but whether she still does I don’t know. And how much she ever cares I don’t know, either. Johnny, now, I know inside out; I can read him like a book, but with Camilla it’s different. I am not sure how far she is capable of real feeling. She is such a dreadful little flirt. Look at her now with this young man—Mary’s young man, too!”

“But Mary doesn’t want him,” Patricia put in hastily.

“Oh, I know that or I wouldn’t allow it But the terrible thing about Camilla is that it wouldn’t stop her from flirting with him if he attracted her, even if she knew that Mary did care for him. I’m afraid that’s a terrible indictment of my own daughter, but I have never been blind to my children’s faults, much as I love them. It is a kind of game with her, I believe. She likes to test her power.”

“Was she just testing her power with Anthony Brierleigh?” Patricia could not resist asking.

“I think so—in the beginning, anyway. To be told that a man was a woman-hater would be a sure way of making Camilla go after him. But afterwards I think she genuinely did grow very fond of him and has been made very unhappy by it. Naturally, I don’t like her being unhappy, but I couldn’t help feeling that it was a good thing for her to be the one to suffer for once. She has a very sweet nature in a lot of ways, but it needs deepening, and she is too careless of the feelings of others. I am afraid she has a lot to learn, poor Camilla.”

“I suppose she found that Anthony Brierleigh really was a genuine woman-hater?” Patricia asked,

“Yes, I think he must be, because in the ordinary way Camilla is not easy to resist. I say it, although perhaps I shouldn’t, but she is very attractive to men.”

“I’m sure she is,” Patricia replied, and her heart felt chilly.

“I don’t know why I am saying all this to you,” Mrs. Grey began suddenly. “You must think me dreadful, boasting of my children’s attractions like this. I don’t know what’s come over me. It seems absurd to think that you are younger than Camilla.. I can’t help looking on you as belonging almost to my own generation, and talking to you as one mother to another! Isn’t it absurd?”

“I think it is very nice of you,” Patricia said.

“You are very old for your age, aren’t you, my dear?”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Or perhaps old is the wrong word. Mature, I should say. You are very mature for your age. Perhaps that comes from living so long in the East. You have absorbed much of the proverbial wisdom of the East.”

“It’s nice to hear you say so, but I’m afraid I’m not wise at all,” Patricia said, thinking of Anthony.

“Perhaps it is on account of being on your own like this,” Mrs. Grey went on, pursuing her own train of thought. “It is a wonderful education to be on one’s own, to be independent, to have to fend for and rely on oneself. I don’t think that the girls who live the most sheltered lives are the happiest by any means. The reverse very often. To be sheltered gives them a sense of false security ... But my dear,” she exclaimed suddenly, “I’m afraid this is a very dull evening for you. You should have a young man of your own.”

“I have no time for young men,” Patricia replied.

“You should have time for them at your age. You are almost too well balanced. I can’t imagine you losing your head over anyone or anything.”

Patricia laughed suddenly. “Can’t you really?” she said “I’m afraid you don’t know me very well.”

“No, I don’t think I do, but then unfortunately I haven’t had very many opportunities of getting to know you.”

“You are a dear,” Patricia said warmly. “I hope Camilla will be here for the dance,” she added, changing the subject rattier clumsily. She found this personal conversation embarrassing. She was not accustomed to compliments, and never knew quite how to take them.

“I hope so, too. I think Mary is making a great mistake in not telling her mother about the dance, and I have told her so dozens of times, but she is so obstinate, bless her. She thinks her mother will try to put a stop to the party because it is Lady Brierleigh who is giving it, and Mrs. Leslie has some extraordinary prejudice against Lady Brierleigh. But as I have told Mary, by keeping her mother in the dark about the whole thing she will give her real and justifiable cause for annoyance.”

“I agree with you,” Patricia said, “but she will know quite soon because the invitations are going out this week.”

“I’m afraid poor little Mary will be in for a storm.”

“Poor little Mary” was the last epithet that seemed to apply to Mary when she and Johnny came back into the drawing-room a few minutes later. Her cheeks were glowing, her eyes shining, and she looked really beautiful. Johnny also seemed to be transfigured. They both looked so young and so happy that it brought a sudden lump to Patricia’s throat.

“Mary’s rather tired,” Johnny said as casually as he could, “so I’m going to take her home.” Patricia had never seen anyone looking less tired than Mary at that moment!

“All right,” Mrs. Grey said with a smile. Patricia noticed that she and Mary gave each other a tight hug when they said good-night.

Mary and Johnny went off together. They did not even seem to have noticed that Camilla and Jim were not in the room.

“Bless them, they do look happy,” Mrs. Grey said.

“I must also be going,” Patricia said. “Lady Brierleigh said I could telephone for the car whenever I wanted it. Do you mind if I telephone?”

“Of course not, but I’m sorry you have to go.”

While Patricia was telephoning, Camilla and Jim reappeared. There was almost the same air of resplendence about them as there had been about Johnny and Mary. Jim seemed unable to take his eyes off Camilla, but Camilla carefully avoided looking at him.

“Mother, I’ve asked Jim to come and stay tomorrow,” Camilla said. “It will be all right, won’t it?”

“Yes, I should be delighted. Can’t you stay tonight, Captain Ossory?”