 Section 6 of studies in love and in terror. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Studies in Love and in Terror by Marie Bellick-Lowns. The Child, One. It was close on 11 o'clock, the July night was airless, and the last of that season's great balls was taking place in Grovner Square. Mrs. Elwin's broom came to a sudden halt in Green Street, encompassed behind and before with close intricate traffic. The carriage swung stiffly on its old fashioned springs, responding to every movement of the fretted horse. Hugh Elwin, sitting by his mother's side, wondered a little impatiently why she remained so faithful to the old broom, which he could remember, or so it seemed to him, all his life. But he did not utter his thoughts aloud. He still went in awe of his mother, and he was proud, in a whimsical way, of her old fashioned austerity of life, of her narrowness of vision, of her dislike of modern ways in new fashions. Mrs. Elwin, after her husband's death, had given up the world. This was the first time since her widowhood that she and her son had dined out together. But then the occasion was a very special one. They had been to dinner with the family of Elwin's fiancee, Winifred Fanshawe. Hugh Elwin turned and looked at his mother as he saw in the half-darkness the outlines of a delicately pure profile, framed in gray bands of hair covering the ears, as it had been worn when Mrs. Elwin was a girl upwards of forty years ago. He felt stirred with an unwanted tenderness, added to the respect with which he habitually regarded her. Since leaving Cavendish Square, they had scarcely spoken the one to the other. The drive-home was a short one, for they lived in South Street. It was tiresome that they should be held up in this way, within a hundred yards of their own door. Suddenly the mother spoke. She put out her frail hand and laid it across her son's strong, brown fingers. She gazed earnestly into the good-looking face, which was not as radiantly glad as she would have wished to see it, as indeed she had once seen her son's face look, and as she could still very vividly remember her own husband's face had looked during their short formal engagement nearly fifty years ago. I could not be better pleased, Hugh, if I had myself chosen your future wife. Elwin was a little amused as well as touched. He was well aware that his mother, to all intents and purposes, had chosen Winifred. True, she had been but slightly acquainted with the girl before the engagement, but she had known all about her, and had been on terms of friendly acquaintance with Winifred's grandmother all her long life. Elwin remembered how his mother had pressed him to accept an invitation to a country house where Winifred's fanshow was to be, but Mrs. Elwin had never spoken to her son of her wishes until the day he had come and told her that he intended to ask Winifred to marry him, and then her unselfish joy had moved him and brought them very near to one another. When Hugh Elwin was in London, he had been a great wanderer over the earth. He lived with his mother, and they were outwardly on the closest, most intimate terms of affection. But then Mrs. Elwin never interfered with Hugh, as he understood his friend's mother so often interfered with them and with their private affairs. This doubtless was why they were, and remained, on such ideal terms together. Suddenly Mrs. Elwin again spoke, but she did not turn round and look tenderly at her son as she had done when speaking of his future wife. This time she gazed straight before her. Is not Winifred a cousin of Mrs. Belair? Yes. There's some kind of connection between the fanshaws and the Belairs. Hugh Elwin tried to make his voice unconcerned, but he failed, and he knew that he had failed. His mother's question had disturbed him, and taken him greatly by surprise. I wondered whether they are friends. I have never heard Winifred mention her, he said shortly. Yes, I have. I remember now that she told me the Belairs had sent her a present the very day after our engagement was in the morning post. Then I suppose you will have to seize something of them after your marriage? You mean the Belairs? Yes. No. I don't think that follows mother. Do you see anything of them now? No. He again hesitated, and again ate his word. That is, yes, I met them some weeks ago. But I don't think we are likely to see much of them after our marriage. He would have given the world to feel that his voice was betraying nothing of the discomfort he was feeling. I hope not, Hugh. Mrs. Belair would not be a suitable friend for Winifred, or for any young married woman. Mother! Elwin only uttered the one word, but anger, shame, and self-reproach were struggling in the tone in which he uttered that one word. You were wrong. Indeed, you were quite wrong. I mean, about Fanny Belair. My dear, she said gently, but her voice quivered. I do not think I am wrong. Indeed, I know I am right. Neither have I ever seen the other so moved. My dear. Again she said the two quiet words that may mean so much or so little. You know that I never spoke to you of the matter. I tried never even to think of it. And yet, Hugh, it made me very anxious, very unhappy. But tonight, looking at that sweet girl, I felt I must speak. She waited a moment, and then added in a constrained voice. I do not judge you, Hugh. No, he cried, but you judge her. And it's so unfair, Mother, so horribly unfair. He had turned round. He was forcing his mother to look at his now moody, unhappy face. Mrs. Elwin shrank back and closed her lips tightly. Her expression recalled to her son the look which used to come over her face when, as a pedid over cared for only child, he asked her for something which he believed it would be bad for him to have. From that look there had been, in old days, no appeal. But now he felt that he must say something more. His manhood demanded it of him. Mother, he said earnestly, as you have spoken to me of the matter, I feel I must have it out with you. Please believe me when I say that you are being unjust. Indeed, cruelly so. I was to blame all through, from the very beginning to the very end. You must allow me, she said in a low tone, to be the judge of that, Hugh. She added deprecatingly, this discussion is painful and very distasteful to me. Her son lent back and choked down the words he was about to utter. He knew well that nothing he could say would change or even modify his mother's point of view. But oh, why has she done this? Why has she chosen tonight, of all nights, to rend the veil which had always hung so decently between them? He had felt happy tonight, not madly, foolishly happy, no many men feel at such moments, but reasonably, decorously pleased with his present and his future. He was making a mariage de Covenants, but there had been another man on the list, a younger man than himself, and that had added a most pleasing zest to the pursuit. He, aided, of course, by Winifred Fanshawe's prudent parents, had won. Won a very pretty, well-bred, well-behaved girl to wife. What more could a man of forty-one who had lived every moment of his life ask of that Providence which shapes our ends? The traffic suddenly parted and the horse leapt forward. As they reached their own front door, Mrs. Elwin again spoke. Perhaps I ought to add, she did hurtly, that I know one thing to Mrs. Beller's credit. I am told that she is a most devoted and careful mother to that little boy of hers. I heard today that the child is seriously ill and that she and the child's nurse are doing everything for him. Mrs. Elwin's voice had softened curiously. She had an old-fashioned prejudice against trained nurses. Hugh Elwin helped his mother into the house. Then, in the hall, he bit down and just touched her cheek with his lips. Won't you come up into the drawing room just for a few minutes? She asked. There was a note of deep yearning disappointment in her voice and her face looked gray and tired, very different from the happy, placid air it had worn during the little dinner party. No, thank you, mother. I won't come up just now. I think I'll go out again for half an hour. I haven't walked at all today and it's so hot. I feel I shouldn't sleep if I turn in now. He was punishing his mother as he had seen other sons punishing their mothers, but as he himself had never before tonight been tempted to punish his. Nay, more as Hugh Elwin watched her slow ascent up the staircase. He told himself that she had hurt and angered him past entire forgiveness. He had sometimes suspected that she knew of that fateful episode in his past life, but he had never supposed that she would speak of it to him, especially not now, after years had gone by. And when, greatly to please her, he was about to make what is called a suitable marriage. He was just enough to know that his mother had hurt herself by hurting him, but that did not modify his feelings of anger and of surprise at what she had done. Of course, she thought she knew everything there was to know, but how much there had been that she had never even suspected those words, that admission. As to Fannie Beller being a good mother would never have passed Mrs. Elwin's lips. They would never even have been credited by her had she known the truth, the truth that is, as if the child to whom Mrs. Beller was so passionately devoted and who now it seemed was ailing. That secret, and Hugh Elwin thanked God, not irreverently, that it was so was only shared by two human beings, that is, by Fannie and himself. And perhaps Fannie, like himself, had managed by now almost to forget it. And when swung out of the house, he walked up South Street and so went to Park Lane and over to the Park Railings. There was still a great deal of traffic in the roadway, but the pavements were deserted. He began to walk quickly westward. The paths came back and overwhelmed him as with the great flood of mingled memories. And it was not, as his mother would probably have visioned it, a muddy spate filled with unclean things. Rather was it a flood of exquisite spring waters, instinct with the buoyant headlong rushes of youth and filled with clear happy shallows in which retrospectively he lay and sunned himself in the warmth of what had been a great love. Things such as Winifred Fanshawe with her thin, complacent nature would never bestow. The mother's imprudent words of unnecessary warning had brought back to her son everything she had hoped was now, if not obliterated, then repented of. But Elwin's heart was filled tonight with a vague tenderness for the half-forgotten woman whom he had loved a while, with so passionate and absorbing love, and to whom, under cover of that poor and wilted thing, his conscience he had ultimately behaved so ill. Hugh Elwin's mind traveled back across the years to the very beginning of his involved account with honor, that account which he believed to be now straightened out. Jim Belair had been Elwin's friend, first college friend and then favorite pal. When Belair had fallen head over ears in love with a girl still in the schoolroom, a girl not even pretty, but with wonderful, and wonderful, auburn hair and dark, startle-looking eyes, and had finally persuaded Cahold, badgered her into saying, yes, it was Hugh Elwin who had been Belair's rather sulky best man. Small wonder that the bridegroom had half-julkingly left his young wife in Elwin's charge when he had had to go half across the world on business that could not be delayed, while she stayed behind to nurse her father who was ill. It was then, with mysterious uncanny suddenness that the mischief had begun. There had been something wild and untamed in Fanny Belair, something which had roused in Elwin the hunter's instinct, an instinct hitherto unslinked by over-easy victories, and then chance that great cynical goddess which plays so great a part in civilized life had flung first one opportunity and then another into his eager, grasping hands. Fanny's father had died, and she had been lonely and in sorrow. Careless friends, however kind, do not care to see much of those who mourn, but he, Hugh Elwin, had not been careless. Nay, he had been careful to see more, not less, of his friend's wife in this, her first great grief, and she had been moved to the heart by his sympathy. It was by Elwin's advice that Mrs. Belair had taken a house not far from London that lovely summer. That little house. Elwin could remember every bush, almost every flower that had flowered in the walled garden during those enchanted weeks. Against the background of his mind, every ornament, every odd piece of furniture in that old cottage stood out as having been the silent, it had seemed at the time, the kindly, understanding witnesses of what had by then become an exquisite friendship. He, the man, had known almost from the first where they too were drifting, but she, the woman, has slipped into love as a wanderer at night slips suddenly into a deep and hidden pool. In a storybook, they would both have gone away openly together, but somehow, the thought of doing such a thing never seriously occurred to Elwin. He was far too fond of Belair. It seemed absurd to say that now, but the truth, especially the truth of what has been, is often absurd. Elwin had contented himself with stealing Belair's wife. He had no desire to put public shame and ridicule upon his friend, and fortune, favoring him, had prolonged the other man's enforced absence. And then? And then at last Belair had come back and trouble began. As to many things, nay, as to most things which have to do with the flesh rather than the spirit, men are more fastidiously delicate than are women. There had come months of misery, of revolt, and, on Elwin's part, of dulling love. Then, once more, chance gave him an unlooked-for opportunity, an opportunity of escape from what had become to him an intolerable position. The war broke out, and Hugh Elwin was among the very first of those gallant fellows who volunteered during the dark November of 1999. By a curious irony of fate, the troopship that bore him to South Africa had Belair also on board. According to Elwin's secret decision, he was far the cleverer man of the two. He and his friend were no longer bound together by that wordless intimacy which is the basis of any close tie among men. By the time the two came back from Africa, they had become little more than cordial acquaintances. Marriage, so Belair sometimes told himself ruefully, generally plays the devil with the man's bachelor friendships. He was a kindly generous hearted soul who found much comfort in platitudes. That, alas, had not been the end. On Elwin's return home, there had come to him a violent, over-mastering revival of his passion. Again, he and Fanny met. Again, they loved. Then, one terrible day, she came and told him with stricken eyes, when he sometimes hoped, even now, had not been true, that she was about to have a child and that it would be his child. At that moment, as he knew well, Mrs. Belair had desired ardently to go away with him openly, but he had drawn back, assuring himself, in this time honestly, that his shrinking from that course, now surely the only honest course, was not wholly ignoble. Were he to do such a thing, it would go far to kill his mother. Worse, it would embitter every moment of the life which remained to her. For a while, Elwin went in deadly fear, lest Fanny should tell her husband the truth. But the weeks and months drifted by and she remained silent. And as he had gone about that year, he had it and made much of by his friends and acquaintances. For did he not bear on his worn, handsome face that look which wore paints on the face of your sensitive modern man? He heard whisper of the delightful news that after five years of marriage, kind Jim and dear Fanny Belair were at last going to be made happy. Happy in the good old way. Among the other memories of that hateful time, one came back tonight with a special vividness, herring home across the park one afternoon, seven years ago now, almost to a day. He had suddenly run up against Belair. They had talked for a few moments on indifferent things and then Jim had said shyly, awkwardly, but with a beaming look on his face. You know about Fanny? Of course I can't help feeling a bit anxious, but she's so healthy. Not like those women who have always something to matter with them. And he, Elwin, had gripped the other man's hand and muttered the congratulation which was being asked of him. That meeting, so full of shameful irony, had occurred about a week before the child's birth. Elwin had meant to be away from London, but Chance, so carelessly kind of friend to him in the past, at last proved cruel. For surely it was Chance and Chance alone that led him. On the very eve of the day he was starting for Norway, straight across the quiet square, composed of high Georgian houses where the Belair still lived. Tonight, thanks to his mother, every incident of that long agonizing night came back. He could almost feel the tremor of half fear, the excitement which had possessed him when he had suddenly become aware that his friend's house was still lit up in a stir and that fresh straw they heaped up in prodigal profusion in the road where a little past the door was drawn up a doctor's one horse broom. Even then he might have taken another way, but something had seemed to drive him on past the house. And there, Elwin, staying his dead foot steps, had heard float down to him from widely opened windows above, certain sounds, muffled moans, telling of a physical extremity which even now he went to remember. He had waited on and on, longing to escape and yet present between imaginary bounds within which he paced up and down, filled with an obscure desire to share in the measure that was possible to him, her torment. At last, in the orange, dusk-laden dawn of a London summer morning, the front door of the house had opened and Elwin had walked forward, every nerve quivering with suspense and fatigue, feeling that he must know. A great doctor, with whose face he was vaguely acquainted, had stepped out, accompanied by Belair. Belair with ruffled hair and red-rimmed eyes, but looking, if tired, then content even more. Triumphant. Elwin had heard him say the words, Thanks awfully. I shall never forget how kind you have been, Sir Joseph. Yes, I'll go to bed at once. I know you must have thought me rather stupid. And then Belair had suddenly seen Elwin standing on the pavement. He had accepted unquestioningly the halting explanation that he was on his way home from a late party, and it happened as it were that way. It's a boy, he had said exultantly, although Elwin had asked him no question. And then, of course, I'm awfully pleased, but I'm dog-tired. She's had a bad time, poor girl, but it's all right now, thank God. Come in and have a drink, Hugo. But Elwin had shaken his head, again he had gripped his old friend's hand as he had done a week before, and again he had muttered the necessary words of congratulation. Then, turning on his heel, he had gone home and spent the rest of the night in desultory packing. That was just seven years ago, and Elwin had never seen Fanny's child. He had been away from England for over a year, and when he came back, he learned that the Belairs were away, living in the country, where they had taken a house for the sake of their boy. As time had gone on, Elwin and his friends had somehow drifted apart, as people are apt to drift apart in the idleness of the life led by the fortunate Belairs and Elwins of this world. Fanny avoided Hugh Elwin, and Elwin avoided Fanny, but they too only were aware of this. It was the last of the many secrets which they had once shared. When he and Belair by chance met alone, all the old cordiality and even the old affection seemed to come back, if not to Elwin, then to the other man. And now the child, to whom it seemed not only Fanny, but Jim Belair also was so devoted, and he, Hugh Elwin, had been the last to hear of it. He felt vaguely remorseful that this should be so. There had been years when nothing that affected Belair could have left him indifferent, and a time when the slightest misadventure of befalling Fanny would have called forth his eager, helpful sympathy. How strange it would be, he quickened his footsteps, if this child, with whom he was at once remotely and intimately concerned, were to die, he could not help feeling deep down in his heart that this would be, if a tragic, then a natural solution of a painful and unnatural problem. And then, quite suddenly, he felt horribly ashamed of having allowed himself to think this thought, to wish this awful wish. Why should he not go now, at once, to Manchester Square and inquire as to the little boy's condition? It was not really late, not yet midnight, he could go and leave a message, perhaps even scribble a line to Jim Belair, explaining that he had come round as soon as he had heard of the child's illness. End of Section 6 Section 7 of Studies in Love and in Terror This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Melissa Green Studies in Love and in Terror by Marie Bella Glendas The Child Chapter 2 When Hugh Elwyn reached the familiar turning once he could see the Belair's high house, time seemed to have slipped back. The house was all lit up as it had been on that summer night seven years ago. Everything was the same, even to the heaped-up straw into which his half-reluctant feet now sank. There was even a doctor's carriage drawn up a little away from the front door, but this time it was a smart electric Brogham. As the door opened, Jim Belair suddenly came into the hall, out of a room which Elwyn knew to be the smoking-room, a room in which he and Fanny had at one time spent long hours and contented, nay in ecstatic dual solitude. I have come to inquire. I only heard tonight. He began awkwardly, but the other cut him short. Yes, yes, I understand. It's awfully good of you, Elwyn. I'm awfully glad to see you come in here and perforce he had to follow. The doctor's upstairs. I mean, Sir Joseph Pickston. Fanny was determined to have him, and he very kindly came, though, of course, he's not a child's doctor. He's annoyed because Fanny won't have trained nurses, but I don't suppose anything would make any difference. It's just a fight. A fight for the little chap's life. That's what it is, and we don't know yet who will win. He spoke in quick, short sentences, bearing with widely open eyes at his erstwhile friend as he spoke. Pneumonia. I suppose you don't know anything about it. I thought children never had such things, especially not in hot weather. I had a frightful illness when I was about your boy's age, said Elwyn eagerly. First thing I can really remember. They called it inflammation of the lungs. I was awfully bad. My mother talks of it now sometimes. Does she? Elwyn could do something. He went on, but you see the worst of it is that I can do nothing. Nothing. Fanny hates my being up there, she thinks it upsets the boy. He's such a jolly little chap, Hugo. You know we called him Peter after Fanny's father. Elwyn moved towards the door. He felt dreadfully moved by the other's pain. He told himself that after all he could do no good by staying and he felt so ashamed such a cur. You don't want to go away yet. There was sharp chagrin, reproachful dismay in Belair's voice. Elwyn remembered that in all days Jim had always hated being alone. Won't you stay and hear what Paxton says? Or are you in a hurry? Elwyn turned round. Of course I'll stay, he said briefly. Belair spared him thanks but he began walking about the room restlessly. At last he went to the door and set it ajar. Sir Joseph comes down, he explained, and even as he spoke there came the sound of heavy slow footsteps on the stairs. Belair went out and brought the great man in. I've told Mrs. Belair that we ought to have birdly. He knows a great deal more about children than I can pretend to do and I propose with your leave to go off now myself and if possible bring him back. The old doctor's keen eyes wandered as he spoke from Belair's face to see Hugh Elwyn's dark one. Perhaps, he said, perhaps Mr. Belair you would get someone to telephone Dr. Bodley's house to say that I am coming. It might save a few moments. As Belair left the room the doctor turned to Elwyn and said abruptly I hope you'll be able to stay with your brother. Well, this is very hard on him. Mrs. Belair will scarcely allow him into the child's room and though that, of course, is quite right. I'm sorry for the man. And when Belair came back from accompanying the old doctor to his carriage there was a smile on his face. The first smile which had been there for a long time. Pickston thinks you're my brother. He said, I hope your brother will manage to stay with you for a bit. Now, I'll go up and see Fanny. Pickston is certainly more hopeful than the last man we had. Belair's voice had a confident ring. Elwyn remembered with a peying that Jim had always been like that. He believed, that is, that the best would come to pass. When left alone Elwyn began walking restlessly up and down much as his friend had walked up and down a few minutes ago. Something of the excitement or the fight going on above had entered into him. He now desired ardently that the child should live should emerge victor from the grim struggle. At last Belair came back. Fanny believes that this is the night of crisis. He said slowly all the buoyancy had left his voice. But, but Elwyn I hope you won't mind. The fact is she's set her heart on your seeing him. I told her what you told me about yourself. I mean your illness as a child. And it's cheered her up amazingly, poor girl. Perhaps you could tell her a little bit more about it. Though I like to think that if the boy gets through it his voice broke suddenly. She won't remember this this awful time. But don't let's keep her waiting. He took Elwyn's gun for granted and quickly the two men walked up the stairs of the high house on and on and on. It's a good way out whispered Belair. But Fanny was told that a child's nursery couldn't be too high. So he had the four rooms at the top thrown into two. They were now on the dimly lighted landing. Wait one moment, wait one moment to you go. Belair's voice had dropped to a low gruff whisper. Elwyn remained alone. He could hear slight movements going on in the room into which Belair had just gone and then there also fell on his ears the deep regular sound of snoring. Who could be asleep in the house at such a moment? The sound disturbed him. It seemed to add a touch of grotesque horror to the situation. Suddenly the handle of the door in front of him moved round and he heard Fanny Belair's voice unnaturally controlled and calm. I sent Nana to bed, Jim. The creature was absolutely worn out and then I would so much rather be alone when Sir Joseph brings back the other doctor. He admits, I mean Sir Joseph does, that tonight is the Christ. The door swung wildly open and Elwyn moving instinctively back visualized the scene before him very distinctly. There was a screen on the right hand, a screen covered, as had been the one in his own nursery, with a patchwork of pictures varnished over. Mrs. Belair stood between the screen and the pale blue wall. Her slim figure was clad in some sort of long white garment. And over it she wore an apron, which he noticed was far too large for her. Her hair, the auburn hair, which had been her greatest beauty and which he had once loved to praise and to caress, was fastened back, masked up in as small a compass as possible. That, and the fact that her face was expressionless, so altered her in Elwyn's eyes is to give him an uncanny feeling that the woman before him was not the woman he had known, had loved, had laughed, but a stranger only bound to him by the slender link of a common humanity. She waited some moments as if listening. Then she came out onto the landing and shut the door behind her very softly. The sentence of conventional sympathy half-formed on Elwyn's lips died into nothingness. As little could he have offered words of cheer to one who was being tortured. But in the dim light their hands met and clasped tightly. You go. She said, I wanted to ask you some. You told Jim just now that you were once very ill as a child. Ill like this. Ill like my child. I want you to tell me honestly if that is true. I mean, were you very, very ill? He answered her in the same way without preamble, boldly. It is quite true that I was very ill. So ill that my mother for one moment thought that I was dead. But remember, Fanny, that in those days they did not know nearly as much as they do now. Your boy has two chances for every one that I had then. Would you mind coming in and seeing him? Her voice faltered. It had become more human, more conventional in quality. Of course I will see him, he said. I want to see him, dear. She had suddenly become to him once more the thing nearest to his heart. Once more the link between them became of the closest, most intimate nature and yet, or perhaps because of its intensity, the sense of nearness which had sprung at her touch into being was passionless. The face which had been drained of all expression quickened into agonised feeling. She tried to withdraw her hand from his, but he held it firmly, and it was hand in hand that together they walked into the room. As they came round the screen behind which lay the sick child, Belaire went over to the farthest of the three windows and stood there with crossed arms staring out into the night. The little boy lay on his right side, and as they moved round to the edge of the large cot, Elwyn with a sudden tightening of the throat became aware that the child was neither asleep nor, as he in his ignorance had expected to find him, sunk in stupor or delirium. But the small dark face, framed by the white pillow, was set in lines deep on childlike gravity. And in the eyes which now gazed incuriously at Elwyn there was a strange watchful light which seemed to illumine that which was within rather than that which was without. As is always the case with a living creature near to death little Peter Belaire looked very lonely. Then Elwyn moving nearer still seemed, or so at least Fanny Belaire will ever believe, to take possession of the morbund child. Yielding him as he did so something of his own strength to help him through the crisis then imminent. And indeed the little creature whose forehead whose clenched left hand lying on the sheet were beginning to glisten with sweat, appeared to become merged in some strange way with himself. Merged not with the man he was today but with the Hugh Elwyn of thirty years back, who as a lonely only child had lived so intensely secret, imaginative a life, peopling the prim alleys of Hyde Park with fairies, imps, tricksy hobgoblins in whom he more than half believed and longing even then is ever after for the unattainable. Never carelessly happy as his father and mother believed him to be. Hugh Elwyn stayed with the Belaires all that night. He shared the sick suspense the hour of the crisis brought and he was present when the specialist said the fateful words, I think under God this child will live. When at last Elwyn left the house clad in an old light coat of Belaires in order that the folk earlier stir should not see that he was wearing evening clothes he felt happier more lighthearted than he had done in years. His life had been like a crowded lumber room full of useless and worn out things he had accounted precious while he had ignored the one possession that really mattered and that linked him not only with the future but with the greatest reality of his path. The inevitable pain which this suddenly discovered treasure was to bring was mercifully concealed from him as also the somber fact that he would henceforth go lonely all his life perforce obliged to content himself with the crumbs of another man's feast. For Peter Belaire high, strong, imaginative as he will ever be will worship the strong, kindly, simple man he believes to be his father but to that dear father's friend he will only yield the careless affection born of gratitude for much kindness. In the matter of the broken engagement Hugh Elwyn was more fairly treated by the men and women whom the matter concerned or who thought it concerned them than are the majority of recusant lovers. Hugh Elwyn has never been quite the same since the war and you know Winifred Fenshaw really liked the other man the best. So said those who spent an idle moment in discussing the matter and they generally added it's a good thing that he's spending the summer with his old friends the Belairs. They're living very quietly just now for their little boy has been dreadfully ill. So it's just the place for poor old Hugo to get over at all. 7. Recording by Melissa Green Section 8 of Studies in Love and in Terror Read by Graham Russ This is the LibriVox Recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Studies in Love and in Terror by Marie Belac Lownes St Catherine's Eve Part 1 In this matter of the railway James Mottram has proved a false friend a very traitor to me Charles Nagel's brown eyes shone with anger he looked luringly at his companions and they a beautiful young woman and an old man dressed in the sober garb of a Catholic ecclesiastic of that day glanced at one another apprehensively All England was then sharply divided into two camps the one composed of those who welcomed with enthusiasm the wonderful new invention which obliterated space the other of those who dreaded and abhorred the coming of the railroads Charles Nagel got up and walked to the end of the terrace he stared down into the wooded coom or ravine below and noted with a sullen anger the signs of stir and activity in the narrow strip of Woodwich till a few weeks before had been so still so entirely remote from even the quiet human activities of 1835 at last he turned round pirouetting on his heel with a quick movement and his good looks impressed anew each of the two who sat there with him 80 years ago beauty of line and colour were allowed to tell in masculine apparel and this young Dorset squad alighted in fine clothes though November was far advanced it was a mild day and Charles Nagel wore a bright blue coat cut as was then the fashion to show off the points of his elegant figure of his slender waist and his broad shoulders as for the elaborately frilled waistcoat it terminated in an Indian Muslim stock wound many times around his neck he looked a foppish Londoner rather than what he was an honest country gentleman who had not journeyed to the capital for some six years and then only to see a great physician it was the most unneighbally act on the part of James he knows it well enough for we hardly see him now he addressed his word more particularly to his wife and he spoke them more gently than before the old priest his name was Doryforth looked uneasily from his host to his hostess he felt that both these young people whom he had known from childhood and whom he loved well had altered during the few weeks which had gone by since he had last seen them rather he mentally corrected himself it was the wife Catherine who was changed Charles Nagel was much the same poor Charles would never be other for he belonged to the mysterious company of those who physically sound are mentally infirm and shunned by their more fortunate fellows but Charles Nagel's wife the sweet young woman who for so long had been content, nay glad to share this pitiful exile seemed now to have escaped if not in body then in mind from the place where her sad wife had been she did not at once answer her husband but she looked at him fixedly her hand smoothing nervously the skirt of her pretty gown Mrs Nagel's dress also showed a care and research unusual in that of the country lady of those days this was partly no doubt owing to her French blood her grandparents had been emigre and to the fact that Charles liked to see her in light colours the gown she was now wearing on this mild November day was a French flowered silk gown the spoil of a smuggler who pursued his profitable calling on the coast hard by the short high bodice and puffed sleeves were draped with a scarf of Buckinghamshire lace to which left as was the fashion of those days the wearer's lovely shoulders bear James Motrim she said at last and with a heightened colour believes in progress Charles it is the one thing concerning which you and your friend will never agree friend he repeated moodily friend James Motrim has shown himself no friend of ours and then I had rights in this matter am I not his heir at law I could prevent my cousin from touching a stone or felling a tree at the eep but his indifference to my feelings that angers me so why I trusted the fellow as if he'd been my brother and James Motrim said the old priest authoritatively has always felt the same to you Charles never forget that in all but name you are brothers were you not brought up together had I not the schooling of you both as lads he spoke with a good deal of feeling he had noticed and the fact disturbed him that Charles Nagle spoke in the past tense when referring to his affection for the absent man but surely sir you cannot approve that this iron monster should invade our quiet neighbourhood exclaimed Charles impatiently Mrs. Nagle looked at the priest intriguingly did she by any chance suppose that he would be able to modify her husband's violent feeling if I am to say the truth Charles said Mr. Doraforth mildly and you would not have me conceal my sentiments then I believe the time will come when even you will be reconciled with this marvellous invention those who surely know declare that thanks to these railroads our beloved country will soon be all cultivated as is a garden, nay perhaps others of our faith will settle here strangers repeated Charles Nagle somberly I wish no strangers here even now there are too many strangers about he looked round as if he expected those strangers of whom the priest had spoken to appear suddenly from behind the you-hedges which stretched away enclosing Catherine Nagle's charming garden to the left of the plateau on which stood the old manor house nay nay he repeated returning to his grievance never had I expected to find James not from a traitor to his order as for the folk about here they were witched they believed that this puffing devil will make them all rich I could tell them different but as you know there are reasons why I should not the priest bent his head gravely the catholic gentry of those days were not on comfortable terms with their neighbours in spite of the fact that legally they were now emancipated any malicious person could still make life intolerable to them the railway mania was at its beginnings and it would have been especially dangerous for Charles Nagle to take in an active sense the unpopular side in other parts of England far from this dorset countryside railroads had brought with them a revival of trade it was hoped that the same result would follow here and a long strip of James Motrim's estate had been selected as being peculiarly suitable for the laying down of the iron track which was to connect the nearest town with the sea unfortunately the land in question consisted of a wood which formed the boundary line where Charles Nagle's property marched with that of his kinsmen and co-religionist James Motrim and Nagle had taken the matter very ill indeed he was now still suffering in a physical sense from the effects of the violent fit of passion which the matter had induced and which even his wife Catherine had not been able to allay as he started walking up and down he was caged in patient steps she watched him with an uneasy anxious glance he kept shaking his head with a nervous movement and he stared angrily across the ravine to the opposite hill where, against the skyline the large mass of Eep Castle James Motrim's dwelling place stood four square to the high winds which swept up from the sea suddenly he again strode over to the edge of the terrace I think I'll go down and have a talk to those railroad fellows he muttered uncertainly Charles knew well that this was among the forbidden things the things he must not do yet occasionally Catherine who was, as the poor fellow dimly realized his mentor and guardian as well as his outwardly submissive wife would allow him to do that which was forbidden but today such was not her humour oh no Charles she said decidedly you cannot go down to the wood you must stay here and talk to Mr. Doriforth they were making hellish noises all last night I had no rest at all Nagel went on inconsequently they were running their puffing devil up and down the bird-port wonder that's what they call it Reverend sir he turned to the priest Catherine again looked up at her husband and their old friend saw that she bit a lip as if checking herself in impatient speech was she losing the sweetness of her temper the evenness of disposition the priest had ever admired in her and even reverenced Mrs. Nagel knew that the steam engine had been run over the line for the first time the night before for James Motriman she had arranged that the trial should take place then rather than in daytime she also knew that Charles had slept through the long dark hours those hours during which she had lain awake by his side listening to the strange new sounds made by the bird-port wonder and doubtless one of the servants had spoken of the matter in his hearing she frowned then felt ashamed Charles she said gently would it not be well for me to go down to the wood and discover when these railroad men are going away? they say in the village that their work is now done yes he cried eagerly a good idea love and if they're going off at once you might order that a barrel of good ale be sent down to them to get done this very day now I've no wish that James should appear more generous than I Catherine Nagel smiled the indulgent kindly smile which a woman bestows upon a loved child who suddenly betrays a touch of that vanity which is in a child so pardonable she went into the house and in a few moments returned with a pink scarf wound about her soft dark hair hair dressed high turned back from her forehead in the old pre-revolution French mode and not as was then the fashion arranged in stiff curls the two men watched her walking swiftly along the terrace till she sank out of their sight for a row of stone steps led down to an orchard planted with now leafless pear and apple trees and surrounded with a quick set hedge a wooden gate with a strong lock to it was set in this closely clipped hedge it opened on a steep path which after traversing two fields terminated in the beachwood where now ran the iron track of the new railroad Catherine Nagel unlocked the orchard gate and went through onto the field path and then she slackened her steps for hours, nay, for days she had been longing for solitude and now, for a brief space solitude was hers but, instead of bringing her peace this respite from the companionship of Charles and of Mr. Doraforth brought increased tumult and revolt she had ardently desired the visitation of her husband she had ardently desired the visit of the old priest but his presence had bestowed instead of solace fret and discomfort when he fixed on her his mild penetrating eyes she felt as if he were dragging into the light certain secret things which had been so far closely hidden within her heart and concerning which she had successfully dulled her once sensitive conscience the waking hours of the last two days had each been veined with torment her soul sickened as she thought of the morrow St. Catherine's Day that is, her feast day the emigre Mrs. Nagel's own people had in exile jealously kept up their own customs and a Charles Nagel's wife the 25th day of November had always been a day of days what her birthday is to a happy English woman even Charles always remembered the date and in concert with his faithful manservant Collins sent to London each year for a pretty jewel the house folk all of whom had learnt to love their mistress and who helped her loyally in her difficult sometimes perilous task also made of the feast a holiday but now, on this St. Catherine's Eve Mrs. Nagel told herself that she was at the end of her strength and yet, only a month ago so she now reminded herself piteously all had been well with her she had been strangely pathetically happy a month since content with all the conditions of her singular and unnatural life suddenly she stopped walking as if in answer to a word spoken by an invisible companion she turned aside and, stooping picked a weed growing by the path she held it up for a moment to her cheek and then spoke aloud were it not for James Mottram she said slowly and very clearly I too should become mad then she looked round in sudden fear Catherine Nagel had never before uttered or permitted another to utter aloud in her presence that awful word but she knew that their neighbours were not so scrupulous one cruel enemy and what was especially untoward a close relation, Mrs. Felwake own sister to Charles Nagel's dead father often uttered it this lady desired her son to reign at Edgecombe it was she who in the last four years had spread abroad the notion that Charles Nagel in the public interest should be assailant in his own house and among his own tenants the slander was angrily denied when Charles was stranger more suspicious, moodier than usual those about him would tell one another that the squire was ill today or that the master was ailing that he had a mysterious illness was admitted had not a famous London doctor told him that it would be dangerous for him to ride even to walk outside the boundary of his small estate in brief, to run any risks which might affect his heart he had now got out of the way of wishing to go far afield contentedly he would pace up and down for hours on the long terrace which overhung the wood talking, talking, talking with Catherine on his arm but he was unselfish sometimes take a walk, dear heart with James, he would say and then Catherine Nagel and James Motron would go out and make their way to some lonely farmhouse or cottage where Motron had a state business yet during these expeditions they never forgot Charles so Catherine now reminded herself sorely nay, it was then that they talked to him the most discussing him kindly, tenderly as they went Catherine walked quickly on her eyes on the ground with the feeling of a pressed pain she recalled the last time she and Motron had been alone together bound for a distant spot on the coast they had gone on and on for miles almost up to the cliffs below which lay the sea ah how happy, how innocent she had felt that day then they had come to a style Motron had helped her up helped her down and for a moment her hand had lain and fluttered in his hand during the long walk back each had been very silent and Catherine she could not answer for her companion when she had seen Charles waiting for her patiently had felt a pained, shamed beat of the heart as for James Motron he had gone home at once scarce waiting for good nights that evening Catherine remembered it now with a certain comfort she had been very kind to Charles she was ever kind more kinder than usual and he had responded by becoming clearer in mind than she had known him to be for a long time for some days he had been the old Charles tender, whimsical gallant the Charles with whom, at a time when every girl is in love with love she had a lack fallen in love then once more the cloud had come down shadowing a dreary waste of days dark days of oppression and of silence with sudden bursts of unreasonable and unreasoning rage James Motron had come and come frequently during that time of misery but his manner had changed he had become restrained as if watchful of himself he was no longer the free, the happy the lively companion he had used to be Catherine scarcely saw him out of Charles presence and when they were by chance alone they talked of Charles, only of Charles in of his unhappy condition to better it and now James Motron had given up coming to Etchcom in the old familiar way or rather, and this galled Catherine shrewdly he came only sufficiently often not to rouse remark among their servants and humble neighbours Catherine Nagel was on the edge of the wood and looking about her she saw with surprise that the railway men she had come down to see had finished work for the day there were signs of their immediate occupation a fire was still smouldering the door of one of the shanties they occupied was open but complete stillness reigned in this kingdom of high trees to the right and left as far as she could see stretched the twin lines of rudine rails laid down along what had been a car track as well as a short cut between Etchcom Manor and Eep Castle a done drift today's harvest of dead leaves had settled on the rails even now it was difficult to follow their course as she stood there about to turn and retrace her steps Catherine suddenly saw James Mottram advancing quickly towards her and the mingled revolt and sadness which had so wholly possessed her gave way to a sudden overwhelming feeling of security and joy she moved from behind the little hut near where she had been standing and a moment later they stood face to face James Mottram was as unlike Charles Nagel as two men of the same age of the same breed and of the same breeding could well be he was shorter and of sturdier build than his cousin and he was plain whereas Charles Nagel was strikingly handsome also his face was tanned by constant exposure to sun, salt wind and rain his hair was cut short, his face shaven the very clothes James Mottram wore were in almost ludicrous contrast to those which Charles Nagel affected for Mottrams were always of serviceable homesbun but for the fact that they and he were strupulously clean the man now walking by Catherine Nagel's side might have been a prosperous farmer or bailiff instead of the owner of such large property in those parts has made him in spite of his unpopular faith lord of the little world about him on his plain face and strong sturdy figure Catherine's beautiful eyes dwelt with unconscious relief she was so weary of Charles's absorption in his apparel and of his interest in the 101 fallows which then delighted the cosmopolitan of fashion a simple almost childish gladness filled her heart conscience but just now so insistent and disturbing a familiar vanished for a space, nay more assume the garb of a meddling busybody who seeks to discover harm where no harm is was not James Mottram Charles's friend almost as the old priest had said Charles's brother had she not herself deliberately chosen Charles in place of James when both young men had been in ardent pursuit of her James's pursuit almost wordless Charles's conducted with all the eloquence of the poet he had then set out to be Mottram seeing her in the wood uttered a word of surprise she explained her presence there their hands scarce touched in greeting and then they started walking side by side up the field path Mottram carried a stout ash stick had the priest been there he could have perchance noticed the man's hand twitching and moving restlessly as he swung his stick about but Catherine only became aware that her companion was preoccupied and uneasy after they had gone some way when however the fact of his unease seemed forced upon her at notice she felt suddenly angered there was a quality in Mrs. Nagel that made her ever ready to rise to meet and conquer circumstance she told herself with heightened colour James Mottram should and must return to his old ways to his old familiar footing with her anything else would be nay, was intolerable James she turned to him frankly why have you not come over to see us lately as often as you did Charles misses you sadly and so do I prepare to find him in a bad mood today but just now he distressed Mr. Doriforth by his unreasonableness touching the railroad she smiled and went on lightly he said that she were a false friend to him a traitor and then Catherine Nagel stopped and caught her breath God, why had she said that but Mottram had evidently not caught the sinister word and Catherine in haste drove back conscience into the lair whence conscience had leapt so suddenly to her side maybe I ought in this matter of the railroad he said musingly to her human Charles I am now sorry I did not do so after all Charles may be right and all we others wrong the railroad may not bring us lasting good Catherine looked at him in surprise James Mottram had always been so sure of himself in this matter but now there was dejection, weariness in his voice and he was walking quickly more quickly up the steep incline the Mrs. Nagel found agreeable but she also hastened her steps telling herself with wondering pain that he was evidently in no mood for her company Mr. Doriforth has already been here two days she observed relevantly I know that it was to see him I came today and I will ask you to spare him to me for two or three hours indeed I propose that he should walk back with me to the heap I wish him to witness my new will and then I may as well go to confession for it is well to be shriven before a journey though for my part I feel ever safer on sea than land Mottram looked straight before him as he spoke a journey Catherine repeated the words in a low questioning tone there had come across her heart a feeling of such anguish that it was as though her body instead of her soul were being wrenched asunder in her extremity she called on pride and pride ever woman's most loyal friend flew to her aid yes he repeated still staring straight in front of him I leave tomorrow for Plymouth I have had letters from my agent in Jamaica which make it desirable that I should return there without delay he dug his stick into the soft earth as he spoke James Mottram was absorbed in himself in his own desire to carry himself well in his fierce determination to avoid betraying what he believed to be his secret but Catherine Nagel knew nothing of this she almost thought him indifferent they had come to a steep part of the incline and Catherine suddenly quickened her steps and passed him so making it impossible that he could see her face she tried to speak but the commonplace words she desired to say were strangled at birth in her throat he would not have missed me as he would have missed me before this unhappy business of the railroad came between us Mottram said lamely she still made no answer instead she shook her head with an impatient gesture her silence made him sorry after all he had been a good friend to Catherine Nagel so much he could tell himself without shame he stepped aside onto the grass and striding forward turned round and faced her the tears were rolling down her cheeks but she threw back her head and met his gaze with a cold almost defiant look he was startled me greatly she said breathlessly and took me so by surprise James I am grieved to think how Charles nay how we shall both miss you it is of Charles I think James it is for Charles I weep as she uttered the lying words she still looked proudly into his face as if daring him to doubt her but I shall never forget I shall ever think with gratitude of your great goodness to my poor Charles two years out of your life that's what it's been James too much, too much by far she had regained control over her quivering heart and it was with a wan smile that she nodded but we shall miss you dear kind friend her smile stung him Catherine he said sternly I go because I must because I dare not stay you are a woman and a saint I a man and a sinner I've been a fool and worse than a fool you say that Charles today called me false friend traitor Catherine Charles spoke more truly than he knew his burning eyes held her fascinated the tears had dried on her cheeks she was thirstily absorbing the words as they fell now slowly now quickly from his lips but what was it that he was saying Catherine do you wish me to go on oh cruel cruel cruel to put this further weight on her conscience but she made a scarcely perceptible movement of ascent and again he spoke years ago I thought I loved you I went away as you know well because of that love you had chosen Charles Charles in many ways the better fellow of the two I went away thinking myself sick with love of you but it was false only my pride had been hurt I did not love you as I loved myself and when I got clear away in a new place among new people he hesitated and reddened darkly I forgot you I vowed that when I came back I was cured cured if ever a man was it was of Charles not of you Catherine that I thought on my way home to me Charles knew had become one I swear it he repeated to me you and Charles were one he waited a long moment then more slowly he went on as if pleading with himself with her you know what I found here in place of what I had left I found Charles a Catherine Nagel shrank back she put up her right hand to ward off the word and motrum seizing her hand held it in his with a convulsive clasp it was not the old feeling that came back to me that I again swear Catherine it was something different something infinitely stronger something that at first I believed to be all noble he stopped speaking and Catherine Nagel uttered one word a curious word when she asked and more urgently again she whispered long before I knew he said hoarsely at first I called the passion that possessed me by the false name of friendship but that poor hypocrisy soon left me a month ago Catherine I found myself wishing I'll say this for myself it was for the first time that Charles was dead and then I knew for sure what I had already long suspected that the time had come for me to go he dropped her hand and stood before her abased in his own eyes but one who if a criminal had had the strength to be his own judge and pass heavy sentence on himself and now Catherine now that you understand why I go you will bid me Godspeed and more he looked at her and smiled riley if you are kind as I know you to be kind you will pray for me for I go from you a melancholy as well as a foolish man she smiled a strange little wavering smile a motrum was deeply moved by the gentleness with which Catherine Nagel had listened to his story he had been prepared for an averted glance for words of cold rebuke such words as his own long dead mother would surely have uttered to a man who had come to her with such a tale they walked on for a while and Catherine again broke the silence by a question which disturbed her companion then your agent's letter was not really urgent James the letters of an honest agent always call for the owner he muttered evasively they reached the orchard gate Catherine held the key in her hand but she did not place it in the lock instead she paused a while then there is no special urgency she repeated and James forgive me for asking it are you indeed leaving England because of this this matter of which you have just told me he bent his head in answer then she said deliberately your conscience James is too scrupulous I do not think there is any reason why you should not stay when Charles and I were in Italy she went on in a toneless monotonous voice I met some of those young nobleman who in times of pestilence go disguised to nurse the sick and bury the dead it is that work of charity dear friend which you have been performing in our unhappy house you have been nursing the sick nay more you have been tending she waited then in a low voice she added the dead the dead that are yet alive Mortrum's soul leapt into his eyes then you bid me stay for the present she answered I beg you to stay but only so if it is indeed true that your presence is not really required in Jamaica I swear Catherine that all go sufficiently well there again he fixed his honest ardent eyes on her face and now James Mortrum was filled with a great exultation of spirit he felt that Catherine's soul incapable of even the thought of evil shamed and made unreal the temptation which had seemed till just now one which could only be resisted by flight Catherine was right he had been overscrupulous there was proof of it in the blessed fact that even now already the poison which had seemed to possess him that terrible longing for another man's wife had left him vanishing in that same wife's pure presence it was when he was alone alone in his great house on the hill that the devil entered into him whispering that it was an awful thing and as was Catherine sensitive intelligent and in her beauty so appealing should be tied to such a being as was Charles Nagel poor Charles whom everyone accepting his wife and one loyal kinsman called mad and yet now it was with this very Charles that Catherine asked him to stay for the sake of that unhappy distraught man to whom he James Mortrum recognized the duty of a brother we will both forget what you have just told me she said gently and he bowed his head in reverence they were now on the last step of the stone stairway leading to the terrace mrs. Nagel turned to her companion he saw that her eyes were very bright and that the rose red color and her cheeks had deepened as if she had been standing before a great fire as they came within sight of Charles Nagel and the old priest Catherine put out her hand she touched Mortrum on the arm it was a fleeting touch but it brought with beating hearts to her stand James she said and then she stopped for a moment a moment that seemed to contain aeons of mingled rapture and pain one word about Mr. Dorriforth a commonplace word to drop them back to earth did you wish him to stay with you till tomorrow that will scarcely be possible for tomorrow is st. Catherine's day well I know he said quickly I will not take him home with me tonight all my plans are now changed my will can wait he smiled at her and so can my confession no no she cried almost violently your confession must not wait James I but it must he said and again he smiled I am in no mood for confession Catherine he added in a lower tone you've purged me of my sin my dear I feel already shriven shame of a very poignant quality suddenly seared Catherine Nagel's soul go on you she said breathlessly though to his ears she seemed to speak in her usual controlled and quiet tones I have some orders to give in the house join Charles and Mr. Dorriforth I will come out presently James Mottram obeyed her he walked quickly forward good news Charles he cried these railway men whose presence so offends you go for good tomorrow reverence her accept my hearty greeting Catherine Nagel turned to the right and went into the house she hastened through the rooms in which year in and year out she spent her life with Charles as her perpetual her insistent companion she now longed for a time of recollection and secret communion and so she instinctively made for the one place where no one not even Charles would come and disturb her walking across the square hall she ran up the broad staircase leading to the gallery after which opened the doors of her bedroom and of her husband's dressing room but she went swiftly past these two close doors and made her way along a short passage which terminated abruptly with a faded red base door giving access to the chapel long, low, ceilinged and windowless the chapel of Edgecombe Manor had remained unaltered since the time when there were heavy penalties attached both to the celebration of the sacred rites and to the hearing of mass the chapel depended for what fresh air it had on a narrow door opening straight on a ladder like stairs leading down directly and out onto the terrace below it was by this way that the small and scattered congregation gained access to the chapel when the presence of a priest permitted of mass being celebrated there Catherine went up close to the altar rails and sat down on the armchair placed there for her sole use she felt that now when about to wrestle with her soul she could not kneel and pray since she had been last in the chapel acting sacristan that same morning life had taken a great stride forward dragging her along in its triumph and wake a cruel and yet a magnificent conqueror hiding her face in her hands she lived again each agonised an exquisite moment she had lived through as there had fallen on her ears the words of James Motrim's shamed confession once more her heart was moved to an exultant sense of happiness that you should have said these things to her of happiness and shrinking shame but soon other thoughts other and sterner memories were thrust upon her she told herself the bitter truth not only had she led James Motrim into temptation but she had put all a woman's wit to the task of keeping him there it was a woman's wit but Catherine Nagel called it by a harsher name which had enabled her to make that perilous rock on which she and James Motrim now stood heart to heart together that appeared to him at least a spot of sanctity and safety it was she not the man who had gazed at her with so ardent belief in her purity and honour who was playing traitor a traitor to one at once confiding and defenceless then strangely this evocation of Charles brought her burdened conscience relief Catherine found sudden comfort in remembering her care, her tenderness for Charles she reminded herself fiercely that never had she allowed anything to interfere with her wifely duty never? alas she remembered that there had come a day at a time when James Motrim's sudden defection had filled her heart with pain when she had been unkind to Charles she recalled his look of bewildered surprise and how he, poor fellow had tried to sulk only a few hours later to come to her as might have done a repentant child with the words have I offended you, dear love and she who now avoided his caresses of her own accord with tears and cried no no Charles you never offend me you are always good to me there had been a moment today just before she had taunted James Motrim with being overscrupulous when she had told herself that she could be loyal to both of these men she loved and who loved her giving to each a different part of her heart but that bargain with conscience had never been struck while considering it she had found herself longing for some convulsion on earth which should throw her and Motrim in each other's arms James Motrim traitor that was what she was about to make him be Catherine forced herself to face the remorse the horror, the loathing of himself which would ensue it was for Motrim's sake far more than in response to the command laid on her by her own soul that Catherine Nagel finally determined on the act of renunciation which she knew was being immediately required of her when Mrs. Nagel came out on the terrace ceremoniously she glanced at Charles even now her first thought and her first care his handsome face was overcast with the look of gloomy preoccupation which she had learnt to fear though she knew that in truth it signified but little at James Motrim she did not look for she wished to husband her strength for what she was about to do making a sign to the others to sit down she herself remained standing behind Charles' chair it was from there that she at last spoke instinctively addressing her words to the old priest I wonder she said if James has told you of his approaching departure he has heard from his agent in Jamaica that his presence is urgently required there Charles Nagel looked up eagerly this is news indeed he exclaimed lucky fellow why you'll escape all the trouble that you've put on us with regard to that puffing devil he spoke more cordially than he had done for a long time to his cousin Mr. Dorriforth glanced for a moment up at Catherine's face then quickly averted his eyes James Motrim rose to his feet his limbs seemed to have aged he gave Catherine a long probing look forgive me he said deliberately you mistook my meaning the matter is not urgent Catherine as you thought he turned to Charles I will not desert my friends at any rate not for the present I'll face the puffing devil with those to whom I have helped to acquaint him but Mrs. Nagel and the priest both knew that the brave words were a vain boast Charles alone was deceived and he showed no pleasure in the thought that the man who had been to him so kind and so patient a comrade and so trusty a friend was after all not leaving England immediately I must be going back to the heap now Motrim spoke heavily again he looked at Mrs. Nagel with a strangely probing pleading look but I'll come over tomorrow morning to Mass I've not forgotten that tomorrow is St. Catherine's Day that this is St. Catherine's E Charles seemed to wake out of a deep abstraction yes yes he said heartily tomorrow is the great day and then after we've had breakfast I shall be able to consult with you James about a very important matter that knew well they're plaguing me to sink in the village for the moment the cloud had again lifted Nagel looked at his cousin with all his old confidence and affection and in response James Motrim's face worked with sudden emotion I'll be quite at your service Charles he said quite at your service Catherine stood by I will let you out by the orchard gate she said no need for you to go round by the road they walked silently side by side and down the stone steps when in the leafless orchard and close to where they were to part he spoke you bid me to go? at once? Motrim asked the question in a low even tone but he did not look at Catherine instead his eyes seemed to be following the movements of the stick he was digging into the ground at their feet I think James that would be best even to herself the words Mrs. Nagel uttered sounded very cold best for me he asked then he looked up and with a sudden passion Catherine he cried believe me I know that I can stay forget the wild and foolish things I said no thought of mine shall wrong Charles I swear it solemnly Catherine do not bid me leave you cannot you trust my honour his eyes held hers by turns they seem to become beseeching and imperious Catherine Nagel suddenly threw out her hands with a piteous gesture ah James she said I cannot trust my own and as she thus made surrender of her two most cherished possessions her pride and her womanly reticence Motrim's face the plain featured face so exquisitely dear to her became transfigured he said no word he made no step forward and yet Catherine felt as if the whole of his being was calling her to him suddenly they rang through the still air a discordant cry Catherine Catherine Mrs. Nagel sighed a long convulsive sigh it was as though a deep pit had opened between herself and her companion that was Charles she whispered poor Charles calling me I must not keep him waiting God forgive me Motrim said huskily and bless you Catherine for all your goodness to me he took her hand in farewell and she felt the firm kind graphs to be that of the kinsmen and friend not that of the lover then came over her a sense of measureless and most woeful loss she realised for the first time all that his going away would mean to her of all that it would leave her bereft he had been the one human being to whom she had been able to bring herself to speak freely Charles had been their common charge the link as well as the barrier between them you'll come tomorrow morning she said and she tried to withdraw her hand from his his impersonal touch hurt her I'll come tomorrow morning and rather early Catherine then I'll be able to confess before mass he was speaking in his usual voice but he still held her hand and she felt his grip on it tightening bringing welcome hurt and you'll leave for Plymouth tomorrow afternoon he said briefly he dropped her hand which now felt numbed and maimed and passed through the gate without looking back she stood a moment watching him as he strode down the field path it had suddenly become from day night high time for Charles to be indoors forgetting to lock the gate she turned and retraced her steps through the orchard and so made her way up to where her husband and the old priest were standing awaiting her as she approached them she became aware that something going on in the valley below was absorbing their close attention she felt glad that this was so there it is cried Charles Nagel angrily I told you that they begin their damned practice again tonight slowly through the stretch of open country which lay spread to their right the bird port wonder went puffing its way lanterns had been hung in front of the engine and as it crawled sinuously along it looked like sub huge monster with myriad eyes as it entered the wood below the dark barrel-like body of the engine seemed to give a bound, a lurch forward and the men that manned it laughed out suddenly and loudly the sound of their uncouth mirth floated upwards through the twilight James his ale has made them merry exclaimed Charles wagging his head and he, going through the wood will just have met the puffing devil I wish him the joy of the meeting End of Section 8 Recording by Graham Russ Section 9 of Studies in Love and in Terror Read by Graham Russ This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Studies in Love and in Terror By Marie Bellock-Lowns St Catherine's Eve Part 2 It was five hours later Mrs. Nagel had bitten her reverend guest good night and she was now moving about her large barely furnished bed-chamber waiting for her husband to come upstairs The hours which had followed James Motrin's departure had seemed intolerably long Catherine felt as if she had gone through some terrible physical exertion which had left her worn out, stupefied she could not rest Even now her day was not over Charles often grew restless and talkative at night He and Mr. Doraforth were no doubt still sitting talking together downstairs Mrs. Nagel could hear her husband's ballet moving about in the next room and the servant's proximity disturbed her She waited a while and then went and opened the door of the dressing-room You need not sit up, Collins she said The man looked vaguely disturbed I fear that Mr. Nagel, Madam has gone out of doors, he said Catherine felt dismayed The winter before Charles had once stayed out nearly all night Go to bed, Collins, she said I will wait up till Mr. Nagel comes in and I will make it right with him He looked at her doubtingly Was it possible that Mrs. Nagel was unaware of how much worse than Nusel had mastered had been the last few days? I fear Mr. Nagel is not well today He ventured He seems much disturbed tonight Your master is disturbed because Mr. Mottram is again leaving England for the Indies Catherine forced herself to say the words She was dally surprised to see how quietly news so momentous to her was received by her faithful servant That may be it said the man consideringly But I can't help thinking that the master is still much concerned about the railroad I fear that he has gone down to the wood tonight Catherine was startled Oh, surely he would not do that, Collins She added in a lower tone I myself locked the orchard gate If that is so, he answered Obviously relieved Then with your leave, madam I'll be off to bed Mrs. Nagel went back into her room and sat down by the fire And then, sooner than she had expected to do so, she heard a familiar sound It came from the chapel for Charles' fond of using that strange and secret entry into his house She got up and quietly opened her bedroom door From the hall below was cast up the dim light of the oil lamp which always burnt there at night And suddenly Catherine saw her husband emerge from the chapel passage and begin walking slowly round the opposite side of the gallery She watched him with languid curiosity Charles Nagel was treading softly his head bent as if in thought Suddenly he stayed his steps by a half-moon table on which stood a large Chinese bowl filled with potpourri And into this he plunged his hands seeming to leave them in the dry rose leaves Catherine felt no surprise She was so used to his strange ways and more than once he had hidden things magpie fashion in that great bowl She turned and closed her door noiselessly Charles much disliked being spied on At last she heard him go up into his dressing room Then came the sounds of cupboard doors being flung open and the hurried pouring out of water but long before he could have had time to undress She heard the familiar knock She said feebly come in and the door opened It was as she had feared her husband had no thought, no intention of going yet to bed Not only was he fully dressed but the white evening waistcoat he had been wearing had been changed by him within the last few moments not seen before Though she had heard of its arrival from London It was of Kashmir the latest freak of fashion She also saw with surprise that his Nanking trousers were stained as if he had been kneeling on damp ground He looked very hot His wavy hair lay damply on his brow and he appeared excited oppressively alive Catherine He exclaimed, hurrying up to the place where she was standing near the fire The witness that I was always a most positively averse to the railroad being brought here He did not wait for her to answer him Did I not always say that trouble would come of it? Trouble to us all? Yet sometimes it's an ill thing to be proved right Indeed it is Charles She answered gently But let us talk of this tomorrow It's time for bed, my dear I am very weary He was now standing by her staring down into the fire Suddenly he turned and seized her left arm He brought her unresisting across the room Then dragged aside the heavy yellow curtains which had been drawn before the central window Look over there Catherine He said menacingly Can you see the eep? The moon gives but little light tonight but the stars are bright I can see a glimmer at Yon window They must still be waiting for James to come home I see the glimmer you mean She said dully No doubt they leave a lamp burning all night as we do James must have got home hours ago Charles She saw that the cuff of her husband's coat was also covered with dark damp stains and again she wondered uneasily what he had been doing out of doors Catherine Charles Nagel turned around urgently and forced her to look up into his face Have you ever thought what would be like to live at the eep? The question startled her She roused herself to refute what she felt to be an unworthy accusation No Charles, she said looking at him steadily God is my witness that at no time did I think of living at the eep Such a wish never came to me Not to me! he cried Not to me Catherine All the long years that James Motron was in Jamaica the thought never once came to me that he might die and I survive him After all we were much of an age he had but two years the advantage of me I always thought that the boy my aunt's son Curse him would get it all Then had I thought of it and I swear I never did think of it I should have told myself that any day James might bring a wife to the eep He was staring through the leaded pains with an intent eager gaze It is a fine house Catherine and commodious larger area than ours though perhaps colder he added thoughtfully cold I always found it in winter when I used to stay there as a boy colder than this house You prefer Edgecombe Catherine if you were given a choice is it here that you would live he looked at her as if impatient for an answer Every stone of Edgecombe our home is dear to me she said solemnly I have never admired the eep it is too large too cold for my taste it stands too much exposed to the wind it does, it does there was a note of regret in his voice he let the curtain fall and looked about him rather wildly and now Charles she said shall we not say our prayers and retire to rest if I had only thought of it I might have said my prayers in the chapel but there was much to do I thought of calling you Catherine for you make a better sacrifice than I then I remembered Boney the little bony crushed by the miller's tray and how you cried all night though I promised you a far finer cleverer dog than that poor old friend had never been Colin said why sir you should have hid the old dog's death from the mistress till the morning a worthy fellow Collins he meant no disrespect to me at that time do you remember Colin had only been in my service a few months it was an hour later from where she lay in bed Catherine Nagel with dry aching eyes stared into the fire watching the wood embers turn from red to grey by her side his hand in hers Charles slept the dreamless heavy slumber of a child scarcely breathing in her anxiety lest he should wake she loosened her hand and with a quick movement slipped out of bed the fire was burning low but Catherine saw everything in the room very clearly and she threw over her nightdress a long cloak and wound about her head the scarf which she had worn during her walk to the wood it was not the first time Mrs. Nagel had risen thus in the still night and sought refuge from herself and from her thoughts in the chapel and her husband had never missed her from his side as she crept round the dimly lit gallery she passed by the great bowl of potpourri by which Charles Nagel had lingered and there came to her the thought that it might perchance be well for her to discover before the servant should have a chance of doing so what he had doubtless hidden there Catherine plunged both her hands into the scented rose leaves and she gave a sudden cry of pain for her fingers had closed on the sharp edge of a steel blade then she drew out a narrow damasky knife one which her husband taken by its elegant shape had purchased long before in Italy Mrs. Nagel's brow furrowed in vexation Colin should have put the dangerous toy out of his master's reach slipping the knife into the deep pocket of her cloak she hurried on into the unlit passage leading to the chapel say for the hanging lamp which since Mr. Doryforth had said mass there that morning signified the presence of the blessed sacrament the chapel should have been in darkness but as Catherine passed through the door she saw with sudden uneasy amazement the farther end of the chapel in a haze of brightness below the altar striking upwards from the floor of the sanctuary gleamed a corona of light Charles she could not for a moment doubt that it was Charles's doing had moved the six high heavy silver candlesticks which always stood on either side of the altar and had placed them on the ground there in a circle the wax candles blazed standing sentinel wise about a dark round object which was propped up on a pile of altar linen carefully arranged to support it fear clutched at Catherine's heart such fear as even in the early days of Charles's madness had never clutched it she was filled with a horrible dread and a wild incredulous dismay what was the thing at once so familiar and so terribly strange that Charles had brought out of the November night in place with so much care below the altar but the thin flames of the candles now shooting up now guttering low blown on by some invisible current of strong air gave no steady light staying close to the door she sank down on her knees and desiring to shut out obliterate the awful sight confronting her she pressed both her hands to her eyes but that availed her of nothing suddenly there rose up before Catherine Nagel a dreadful scene of that great revolution drama of which she had been so often told as a child she saw with terrible distinctness the severed heads of men and women born high on iron pikes these blood-streaked livid faces was that of James Motrim the wide-open sightless eyes his eyes there also came back to her as she knelt there shivering with cold and anguish the story of a French girl of noble birth who, having brought her lover's head from the executioner, had walked with it in her arms to the village near Paris where stood his deserted chateau slowly she rose from her knees and with her hands thrown out before her she groped her way to the wall and there crept along as if a precipice lay on the other side at last she came to the narrow oak door which gave on to the staircase leading into the open air the door was ajar it was from there that blew the current of air which caused those thin, fantastic flames to flare and gutter in the awful stillness she drew the door to and went on her way round to the altar in the now steadier light Catherine saw that the large missile lay open at the office for the dead she laid her hands with a blind instinct upon the altar and felt a healing touch upon their palms henceforth and Catherine Nagel was fated to live many long years she remained persuaded that it was then that they had come to her a shaft of divine light piercing the dark recesses of her soul for it was at that moment that they came to her the conviction and one which never faltered that Charles Nagel had done no injury to James Mottram and there also came to her then the swift understanding of what others would believe were there to be found in the private chapel of Edgcomanna that which now lay on the ground behind her close to her feet so understanding Catherine suddenly saw the way open before her and the dread thing which she must do if Charles were to be saved from a terrible suspicion one which would undoubtedly lead to him being taken away from her and from all that his poor atrophied heart held dear to be asylumed with steps that did not falter Catherine Nagel went behind the altar into the little sacristy there to seek in the darkness an altar cloth holding the cloth up before her face she went back into the lighted chapel and kneeling down she uncovered her face and threw the cloth over what lay before her and then Catherine's teeth began to chatter and a mortal chill overtook her she was being faced by a new and to her a most dread enemy for till tonight she and that base physical fear which in the coward's foe had never met pressing her hands together she whispered the short simple prayer for the faithful departed that she had said so often and she now felt so unmeaningly even as she uttered the familiar words base fear slunk away leaving in its place her soul's old companion courage and his attendant peace she rose to her feet and opening wide her eyes forced herself to think out what must be done by her in order that no trace of Charles's handiwork should remain in the chapel snuffing out the wicks Catherine lifted the candlesticks from the ground and put them back in their accustomed place upon the altar then, stooping she forced herself to wrap up closely in the altar cloth that which must be her burden till she found James Mottram's headless body where Charles had left it and placing that same precious burden within the ample folds of her cloak she held it with her left hand and arm closely pressed to her bosom with her right hand she gathered up the pile of stained altar linen from the ground and going once more into the sacristy she thrust it into the oak chest in which were kept the lint and furnishings of the altar having done that and walking slowly, lest she should trip and fall she made her way to the narrow door Charles had left open to the air and going down the steep stairway was soon out of doors in the dark and windy night Charles had been right the moon gave but little light enough however so she told herself for the accomplishment of her task she sped swiftly along the terrace keeping close under the house and then more slowly walked down the stone steps where last time she trod them Mottram had been her companion his living lips as silent as were his dead lips now the orchard gate was wide open and as she passed through there came to Catherine Nagel the knowledge why Charles on his way back from the wood had not even latched it he also, when passing through it had been bearing a burden she walked down the field path and when she came to the steep place where Mottram had told her that he was going away the tears for the first time began running down Catherine's face she felt again the sharp poignant pain which is then cold and measured word to delta and the blow this time fell on her bruised heart with a convulsive gesture she pressed more closely that which she was holding to her desolate breast at night the woodland is strangely curiously alive Catherine shuddered as she heard the stuffless sounds the tiny rustlings and burrowings of those wild shy creatures whose solitude had lately been so rudely invaded and who now of man's night made their day their myriad presence made her human loneliness more intense than it had been in the open fields and as she started walking by the side of the iron rails her eyes fixed on the dark drift of dead leaves which dimly marked the path she felt solitary indeed and beset with vague and fearsome terrors at last she found herself nearing the end of the wood soon would come the place where what remained of the cart track struck sharply to the left up the hill towards the heap it was there close to the open that Catherine Nagel's quest ended and that she was able to accomplish the task she had set herself of making that which Charles had rendered incomplete complete as men considering the flesh count completeless within but a few yards of safety James Mottram had met with death a swift, merciful death due to the negligence of an engine driver not only knew to his work but made blindly marry by Mottram's gift of ale Charles Nagel woke late on the morning of St. Catherine's Day and the pale November sun fell on the fully dressed figures of his wife and Mr. Dorriforth standing by his bedside but Charles absorbed as always in himself saw nothing untoward in their presence I had a dream he exclaimed a most horrible and gory dream this night I thought I was in the wood James Mottram lay before me Mottram lay before me done to death by that puffing devil we saw slithering by so fast his head nearly severed allergillotine you understand my love from his poor body there was a curious secretive smile on Charles Nagel's pale, handsome face Catherine Nagel gave a cry a stifled shriek of horror the priest caught her by the arm and led her to the couch which stood across the end of the bed Charles, he said sternly this is no light matter your dream, there's no doubt of it was sent you in merciful preparation for the awful truth your kinsman, your almost brother Charles was found this morning in the wood dead as you saw him in your dream the face of the man sitting up in bed stiffened was it with fear or grief they found James Mottram dead in an uneasy glance in the direction of the couch where crouched his wife and his head most reverence, sir what of his head? James Mottram's body was terribly mangled but his head answered the priest solemnly was severed from his body as you saw it in your dream, Charles a strangely clean cut it seems I said Charles Nagel that was in my dream too if I said nearly severed, I said wrong Catherine was now again standing by the priest's side Charles, she said gravely you must now get up Mr. Doriforff is only waiting for you to say mass for James's soul she made the sign of the cross and then with her right hand shading her sunken eyes she went on my dear, I entreat you to tell no one the faithful collins of this awful dream we want no such tales spread about the place she looked at the old priest intriguingly and he at once responded Catherine is right Charles we of the faith should be more careful with regard to such matters than are the ignorant and superstitious but he was surprised to hear the woman by his side say insistently Charles if only to please me vow that you will keep most secret a dreadful dream I fear that if it should come to your aunt Felway's ears then I swear it shall not said Charles sullenly and he kept his word end of section 9