The House of Discontent (24 page)

Charlie took her plate to the sideboard, and as soon as he came back Anthony got up without a word to her and went out of the room with the girl he had been talking to all through supper. Patricia could not even pretend to eat after that.

“I’m sorry,” she excused herself to Charlie. “I don’t feel very well. I feel rather faint I think I’ll just go up to my room and lie down for a moment.”

Anything to be by herself, anything to get rid of him and not to have to talk to him. If she could not talk to Anthony she did not want to talk to anyone.

Charlie fussed round her, asking whether there wasn’t something he could do or something he could get for her. He was so kind, but he did irritate her so. She got rid of him at the foot of the stairs and ran up to her room.

It was a tremendous relief to be by herself. Without a thought of crushing her dress, she flung herself face downwards on to the bed and abandoned herself to her misery.

She did not cry, but she wanted to. Anthony had not spoken one single word to her all through supper. Oh, what had she done? Why was he being like this, so cold and so indifferent?

If only, only, she could live over again those few moments alone with him in the library!

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SUDDENLY there was a tap at the door. Patricia sat up straight as Lady Brierleigh came into the room.

“What is the matter?” her hostess asked. “Charlie told me that you were feeling faint. Are you ill?”

She came in and closed the door behind her. She came up to the bed and took hold of Patricia’s wrist and felt her pulse.

“Charlie shouldn’t have worried you,” Patricia protested. “I’m quite all right. Really I am. Do go back. Thank you very much, but I’m really quite all right.”

“It’s no worry to me,” Lady Brierleigh said. She sat down on the bed beside Patricia as she spoke and put a cool hand on her forehead. “I’m not going down again, anyway. I’m on my way to bed. All the older people have left and I needn’t worry about the younger ones. I crept upstairs without saying good-night because I didn’t want to break up the party. I expect it will go on till three or four in the morning, and that’s a bit late for me. It’s long past my bed-time as it is ... Now, what’s the matter with you, my child? I expect you are tired. They have been working you too hard.”

For answer Patricia suddenly seized Lady Brierleigh’s hand and kissed it, and the tears which she had been trying so hard to control came to her eyes. She could not keep them back.

‘You are unhappy, darling,” Lady Brierleigh said. “What is it? What can I do to help you?”

For answer Patricia began to sob. She could not control herself, but even while she was crying she was bitterly ashamed of the way she was behaving. Lady Brierleigh put her arm round her and drew her head down to her shoulder. “There, there,” she soothed “There, there!”

“I’m so sorry,” Patricia sobbed. “So awfully sorry. I’m behaving so badly. I’m terribly sorry ...”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, but I wish there was something I could do to help you ... Is it Anthony? Is that why you are unhappy?”

Patricia said nothing. She was holding on as tightly as she could to her precious secret. She thought: “I mustn’t tell her; I mustn’t let her guess.”

Suddenly they heard Anthony’s voice. It was quite close, calling along the passage: “Mother—mother!”

Patricia straightened herself instinctively. “Don’t let him know I’m here. Don’t let him know I’ve been crying,” she said hastily. Without realizing it she had given away her secret completely.

Lady Brierleigh got up. “Wait here. I’ll come back to you,” she said.

Patricia could hear the murmur of their voices outside in the passage, but she could not hear what it was they were saying. She was more than ever ashamed of her outburst. She got up off the bed and went over to the dressing-table. She looked a sight, as she had expected she would. Her eyes and nose were red and swollen.

“It will be ages before I can go down again,” she said to herself. She went over to the wash-basin and bathed her eyes with cold water. The older one grew the longer it took for the traces of tears to disappear. A child could cry and show not the slightest sign of it two minutes afterwards.

Her head throbbed and her eyes smarted. She took two aspirins and then sat down to wait, as patiently as she could, for the signs of tears to disappear.

“I’m a fool to behave like this,” she told herself. “I’m too old to cry over nothing. I’m too old to behave like a perfect baby. I hope Lady Brierleigh doesn’t come back. I shan’t know what to say to her.”

She picked up a book, and although she began to read, it made no sense to her, but it did keep her mind away from Anthony, and whatever happened she must not think of him. If she thought of him she would begin to cry again.

The words on the page suddenly ran into a blur. The tears pricked in her eyes and her throat ached with the effort to control them. She dug the nails of one hand into the palm of another as hard as she could, and in few seconds the intense desire to cry passed, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

She could not hear the voices of Anthony and Lady Brierleigh any more. Either they had gone downstairs or else they had gone along to Lady Brierleigh’s room. All was quiet in the passage. Patricia could just hear the band playing downstairs.

Her head ached now intolerably, but she hoped that soon the aspirin would do its work. If Lady Brierleigh came back and asked what she had been crying about, she would tell her that she had been overwhelmed by a sudden wave of longing for her father. She hated to tell a lie, but anything was better than giving away her secret, and Lady Brierleigh was entitled to some sort of explanation.

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said. She expected it to be Lady Brierleigh, and told herself that she would not break down again now.

The door opened very slightly. It was Anthony. “Come and dance with me,” he said, only just putting his head in at the door.

“Oh,” she answered quickly, “I’m just tidying myself.”

“Hurry up then,” he said. “I’ll be waiting for you in the hall.”

Patricia’s heart began to pound. She went over to the glass and looked at herself searchingly. Did she still look as if she had been crying? She began to make up her face, but her hands were trembling so much that everything went wrong. Her lipstick slipped and was smeared half over her chin, and she had to wipe it off and start all over again.

A sudden thought struck her: had Lady Brierleigh asked him to be kind to her? Her heart froze at the idea. Yes, of course that was what it was. Lady Brierleigh had doubtless said to him: “Patricia is unhappy about something. She is crying in her room. Do go and fetch her out and be nice to her.”

Of course that was it, for if Lady Brierleigh had not told him, how did he know that she was in her room? She didn’t want to go down; she wouldn’t go down. She didn’t want him to pity her. She didn’t want him to dance with her just because he thought she was unhappy. She wouldn’t go down. She refused to be pitied. She might have behaved like a fool but she still had some pride left. She would go along to Lady Brierleigh’s room and find out what she had said to him. She couldn’t go down yet, anyway, because her eyes were still red, but it wouldn’t matter about Lady Brierleigh seeing her with red eyes because she already knew that she had been crying.

She left her room and went along the passage and knocked on the door of Lady Brierleigh’s room. Lady Brierleigh said, “Come in,” and Patricia went in. Lady Brierleigh was sitting at her dressing-table in her dressing-gown.

“My dear, I thought you had gone down or I would have come back to you again.”

“I can’t go down yet. I still look as if I had been crying.”

“No, you look quite all right again now,” Lady Brierleigh said. “Let me look at you properly. Yes, you look perfectly all right. No one would ever know.”

“But my dress is so creased,” Patricia said.

“Everyone’s dress is creased by this time. Yours looks rather fresh than most, and you have had the chance to re-do your face, so you will look a hundred times less wilted than any of the others. Even when I came up they were all beginning to show signs of wear and tear.”

“Do I really look all right?”

“Yes, I promise you you do. I give you my word that nobody would ever know that you had been crying. I wouldn’t let you go down otherwise. I can still remember what it was like to be young—how one hated the idea, even as a child, that anyone should see that one had been crying.”

“You didn’t tell Anthony?”

“I wouldn’t have told him for the world, but he heard you, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh!” Patricia gasped.

“But don’t worry about him.”

“Did you ask him to come and ask me to go down—to ask me to dance?”

“No, I did not ask him. It was entirely his own idea. Isn’t he waiting for you? Don’t you think you had better go down?”

“Yes, if you are sure I’m all right.”

“You are. I have given you my word.”

Patricia went to the door, but with her hand on the knob she paused. “Did he want to know why I was crying?” she asked.

“Yes, but I told him I didn’t know.”

“I’m awfully sorry I behaved so stupidly,” Patricia said. “It was a sudden wave of—homesickness, that was all, but I’m quite all right now.”

“I don’t want you to be homesick. I want you to consider this as your home.”

“You’re so sweet to me,” Patricia said, and she was just opening the door when Lady Brierleigh called her back. “My dear,” she said, “I just wanted to say a word to you ... I don’t think you understand Anthony. You probably think he is conceited. A lot of people think that—but he isn’t. As a matter of fact, he is extraordinarily diffident.” She stopped speaking and Patricia waited because she thought that she had something more to say, but evidently she had said all she wanted to, or, anyway, as much as she was going to say, because as Patricia still waited she said: “Run along now and enjoy yourself. Enjoy the rest of the party doubly to make up for the beginning.”

Patricia went downstairs wondering: “Now why did she tell me that about Anthony? What did she mean by it? I have never thought for a moment that he was conceited.”

Anthony was waiting for her impatiently in the hall. “What a time you’ve been,” he grumbled. She liked the impatience and annoyance in his voice. It made her feel better.

“It’s simply stifling in there,” he said, nodding his head towards the drawing-room. “Do you feel like going out and getting a breath of air? Everyone who isn’t enjoying themselves has gone home, so I don’t think I need bother to be dutiful any more.”

“Yes, let’s go out,” Patricia said quickly. It would be dark outside and he would not have to see her face.

“You’d better get a coat, I suppose,” he said.

“I’ll run up and get it,” she said.

“Oh, no, you don’t—and be gone for another half-hour. There are lots of coats hanging up here. You can have one of mother’s.”

He opened the door of a cupboard in the hall and took a coat off its hanger and handed it to her. It was a soft tweed coat.

“Won’t you want one?” she asked.

“No. I’m as warm as anything.”

She wanted to say: “Let’s hurry, I’m so afraid someone will come and talk to you and prevent you going out with me.”

He helped her on with the coat. The lining of the sleeve was torn and she put her arm in the tear instead of in the proper place, but she did not say anything about it because she was so impatient to be out in the night alone with him. She wrapped the coat round her with one hand (her other hand was down inside the lining) and made for the door.

He was just opening it when a voice hailed him.

“Oh, I knew we would get caught,” she said to herself in an agony of impatience.

It was Charlie. He was holding a girl by the hand.

“You’re not going out, are you?” he said. “We’re just thinking of playing some musical games, and we shall need you.”

(“Oh, don’t go back, don’t go back!” she whispered to Anthony in her heart.)

“We shan’t be long,” Anthony said. “We’re just going out for a breath of air. You start your games, and we’ll be back soon.”

(“Oh, thank you, thank you,” she whispered to him silently.)

He opened the door again, and she passed out in front of him. “Mind the step,” he said, but his warning came too late. She slipped, and as she had no free hand that side with which to support herself she fell painfully on to her elbow. She was hurt, but she felt more foolish than hurt when he helped her up.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.

“No, no, not a bit. I’ve got this coat on all wrong.” She took her arm out of the sleeve and put it on again—properly this time. Her arm gave her an agonizing twinge as she moved it, and she cried out.

“You
are
hurt,” he said.

“No, it’s nothing. Please don’t worry about it.”

He took her by the elbow, and the pressure of his fingers hurt her because her elbow was sore, but this time she made no outcry. She was terrified that he might want to go back to the house to see how much she had hurt herself. She had strained her arm and bruised her elbow, that was all. It was hardly hurting her at all now, but she did not believe that even if she had been in agony she would have told him about it, so much did she want to keep him to herself.

“You’re not good at seeing in the dark,” Anthony said. ‘You had better shut your eyes and let me guide you. I’m rather good at seeing in the dark, and besides I know the lay of the land here.”

“All right; I’ll shut my eyes,” she said. He held her arm closer, and with her eyes shut she found it necessary to lean against him a little. There was something wonderful in thus allowing him to guide her. She had no temptation to open them. Her trust in him was implicit.

“I’ll tell you if we come to another step,” he said.

“Where are we going?” Patricia asked.

“Down to the lake.”

“You won’t let me fall in?” she asked jokingly.

“No, I won’t,” he replied seriously. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes, are you?”

“Yes. The air feels wonderful after the heat of the house. You’re not opening your eyes, are you?”

“No, I haven’t opened them since you told me to shut them.”

They walked on a little way in silence, and suddenly he said: “Take three steps up now ... One, two, three. That’s right.” They were wooden steps, she could tell that, and now there was a wooden floor beneath her feet. “Where are we?” she asked.

“In the summer-house by the lake.”

She could see quite well, she found. It was not nearly so dark as she had imagined. The sky was white with stars. There was a wooden seat running round the wall of the summer-house, and he drew her down on to it. They looked out over the lake. She could see him only as a dim outline, but she was conscious of his closeness in every fibre of her being. This seemed to be the first time that they had ever been alone together.

The night was very still, and they did not speak. They remained silent, listening to the silence all around them. “What a lovely night.” Patricia said at last.

“Why were you crying just now?” he asked abruptly. She immediately became confused.

“When? I wasn’t crying,” she said.

“You
were
crying, and I want to know why.”

“I was homesick,” she said. “I had a sudden wave of homesickness.”

“Nonsense,” he retorted. “Why were you crying?”

“I have told you and you don’t believe me,” she said hotly.

“Don’t you think it is time you stopped lying to me?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you mean. When have I lied to you?”

“Why were you crying?” he persisted.

“Because I was unhappy; because I was a fool.”

“What made you unhappy?”

“Why should you force it out of me? Why should I tell you? You tell me nothing.”

“You
are
to tell me,” he said.

“I told you—because I was unhappy. Isn’t one allowed to be unhappy?”

“
You
are not,” he replied. “You are not when you are with me.”

“It was you who made me unhappy,” she replied.

“I?” he questioned.

“Yes,” she went on, “but it was not your fault. I’ve already told you, I was a fool.”

“What had I done?” he asked. “What had I said?”

“Oh, why must you go on with this? Why must you force it out of me?”

“Why did I make you unhappy?” he asked with a dogged persistency.

“It was nothing you said, or did,” she replied.

“Then why was it?”

“It was what you didn’t say, what you didn’t do.”

“Ah,” he said, “now we are getting somewhere. It was something I didn’t do that offended you. What did I not do?”

“Oh, do stop it,” she cried out. “Please stop it. You have got no right to force it out of me like this. I was not offended. I was unhappy, but that’s quite different. And it wasn’t your fault. I just made a fool of myself, that’s all.”

“Tell me exactly what I didn’t do or didn’t say,” he commanded.