Short Story

Lake County Press, Issue 2794, 17 July 1919, Page 7

Short Story

J'L’DLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.’ THE AMBASSADOR. By PHILLIPPA SOUTHCOMBE. CHAPTER I. Garry’s Mission. Garry left the P. and O. in a.: worse temper than that in which he hoarded her at Malta, which is say iug a good deal. During the voyage he had arrived • I two interesting conclusions: That Dick Travers was a fool, and that he himself was a bigger one—Dick’s •folly consisting of the breaking oil' of his engagement, and his own in consenting to impart the information to Dick’s sister, Hilda. For the same unkind fate that had made him the friend of the most irresponsible subaltern in the regiment had further decreed that Dick’s broken engagement should exactly coincide with Garry’s leave. “It’s so much more satisfactory than writing,’’ argued Dick persuasively. “I’m such a bally bad fist at that sort of thing.. I’m quite likely to say somethiug that’ll upset Hilda, and make her annoyed with Felicity ! I don’t blame Felicity in the least; we only got engaged because Hilda and the governor wanted us to. “Matter of fact,” he went on, “ I ’m jolly glad Felicity got first innings, and wrote that letter. Hilda won’t be, though! She’s been so dead on to it all along. But if you put it tactfully and explain things—and give her my love, and all that—it’s be quite all right. You’re a brick, Garry! On my soul, I’m awf’lly obliged to you!” And that was how Garry Carteret had been introduced to the role of ambassador. Ten days’ reflection on the difL culty of satisfactorily performing such a role had so seriously affected his temper that many of his fellowpassengers voted him the most disagreeable beggar they’d met, am’ the other half (the feminine portion) decided that the poor fellow had been jilted. They never guessed that he was merely suffering from a violent attack of repented generosity, and that hit? terror of feminity in general was | by no means lightened by Dick’s; evident awe of Miss Hilda Travers, f This frame of mind persisted un-j til the sunny autumn morning, two} later, when he found himsell . tramping over the long West Coun- \ try hills, with the enlivening pros | pect before him of blighting the j cherished hopes of an austere lady i he’d never seen. He realised as he reached the crest of the hill that his knowledge of Dick’s background was altogether rather hazy. i He knew that his father had died some years before, and that his sister lived alone in an old house at the farthest edge of a straggling West Country village; that she was several years older than Dick, and a good horsewoman. At which point in his reflections he came suddenly in sight of a long black-and-white house, wreathed to its squat chimneys with delicate 1 rails of flaming ampelopis, and realis'd further the absurdity of trusting to his memory of Dick’s directions as to finding his sister’s house. He was meditating a descent upon the nearest point of inquiry, when there appeared on the scene an old man, armed with a sickle and a stout stick. To Garry’s first inquiry he responded “that it was grand weather!” and to his second, “that he was going over to cut ferns.” With commendable patience Garry carried on; the ancient inclined his ear—this time with success—and indicated the black-and-white house as the abode of Miss Travers. At the gate Garry paused to furtively straighten his tie. Down the lane the ancient leant on his stick, and beamed encouragement. Two red setter puppies fled to meet him, and leapt in shrieking ecstasy beside him as he searched for a bell .among the knotted trails of the vines that wreathed the doorway. The door was wide open, and framed a tranquil glimpse of a dull, low-ceilinged room, with deep win-dow-seats and a round table bur- ■ dened with a jar of Michaelmas daisies and a heap of fishing tackle. Garry was summoning sufficient courage to thump upon the door, when a voice behind him said “Goodmorning !” The ambassador swung round -peedily, and ■so encountered hi? hostess, a Pomona vision with the sunlight on her ruffled brown hair and a great basket of apples in hei arms. “Did you want to see me?” slu inquired. Garry responded fervently that hj« did, and proceeded to introduce him self and his errand with such dis patch that he had actually got a far as Dick s affaire de coeur befor Pomona could intervene. She said : “Won’t you come in ? Or perhaj: you’d care to come into the orchard

j You sec, I’m picking apples ” ; He followed hex - across the grass, and, despite his all-absorbing nervousness, found time to note the lithe grace of her movements, and the warm peach tints of her oval face. ; She seated herself on a low bough and waited tranquilly. i Garry sat down on the handle of a wheel-barrow full of apple-baskets, and hurled himself to the attack. ; Exactly what he said he didn t ; know, but he must have acquitted ! himself with tolerable coherence, for j his hostess apparently found no diffij culty in grasping the purport of his ■i mission. ) Thee olour had deepened in her ’ cheeks and her eyes were very bright . I The ambassador sought desperately for a conciliatory sentence, and failed to find one. Then she said serenely: "I think I it’s the best thing that could have happened ! ’ ’ It is to Garry’s eternal credit that he remained seated on the wheelbarrow, for impulse directed him to fall at Miss Traevrs’s feet in transports of gratitude. Failing that, he merely looked so intensely relieved that she laughed. “I wonder what Dick told you!” she said demurely. For the moment Garry wondered too. It all seemed widely remote. Hut he stuck to his guns. ‘‘You’re not angry with Felicity?” he queried. She rearranged the apples in the basket beside her. ‘‘No. I’m not angry with Felicity ! ’ ’ ‘‘Nor with Dick?” he persisted. “Nor with Dick.” The ambassador plunged again : ‘ ‘ N or—with—me ? ’ ’ “Nor with you!” Her eyes were dancing. ‘‘Won’t you have an apple? They’re King’s Favourites.” The ensuing half-hour was of a nature whose like Garry had certainly never dreamed of experiecing. Having nerved himself to an interview of ceremonious and dignified unpleasantness, it was sufficiently amazing to sit on a wheelbarrow eating appless and dismissing a score of subjects that had nothing to do with Dick. In fact, the sole relative who intruded his presence into the conversation was an elderly and ecclesiastical uncle, whom Garry concluded must be staying with his niece, and of whose portly person, armed with a fishing-rod, Tie caught a brief glimpse as he said good-bye to his hostess at the gate. CHAPTER 11. A Disappointment. His solo comment on the success | of his errand was made to the land- f lord of the Cat and Fiddle, when he" got back to it. 1 And that was indirect. ‘ He merely remarked that, having j heard there was good hunting in the! neighbourhood, he though he might stay on a week or so, instead of going North immediately—an action which he justified to himself with the reflection that the Scottish cousin, at whose shoot he was due, always had too many guns. And so it happened that Garry, mounted on a chestnut hii'eling, whose owner had sworn him to be ‘‘the finest lepper in the three kingdoms,” jojisred through the. morning mist in company with a small and select field that did not include the lady from the black-and-white house on the hill. The M.F.H. was a square, fair man of between thirty and forty. He was not conversational, and the few remarks he made that were not addressed to his horse, his hounds, or his huntsman were to a tall, yel-low-haired lady riding a fidgety black mare—a lady whom Garry had a sudden apprehension of having met before. But from the fact that there was no recognition in the rather autocratic glance she bestowed upon him during a covex-fside wait he concluded that it was merely one of those odd memories whose foundation is a passing glance, and melted gratefully away. The chestnut hireling, if lie did not exactly justify his owner’s eulogies, at least made no glaring faults, and seemed possessed of a large and sober common sense that was decidedly soothing. At least it succeeded in soothing Garry for the moment. But when, on the second occasion of their comradeship, he watched the mustering of a precisely identical field, the influence waned distinctly. (They were jogging homewards in gloomy solitude when they overtook two red setters, a spaniel, a terrier and the lady of the black-and-white | house on the hill. : i Garry remembered suddenly thai , ‘ it had been quite a jolly day, v am ■ j dismounted speedily. I The three miles between this poim [ f and the black-and-white house 01 i \ the hill slid away imperceptibly. 3 Above the tawny ridge of stubbL , land, an dthe dark fringe of a strag r gling holly and beech covei’t, the firs star blazed in a sky that was ver e cold and clear. There was a keenness in the ai e that had whipped a warm colour in i* to Pomona’s face, and led her t >- remark that she was afraid a fros is was going to check hunting. ■e' Blit to Garry’s quick inquiry i she meant to come out to-morrov she shook her head, xs ‘‘l hoped you were,” he said rm ? fully. ‘‘l hoped you were to-da;

and the day before yesterday ”i “1 don’t'—hunt,” she said. If Garry looed the amazed incredulity he felt, he may be pardoned. He could not but remember that remark of Dick’s—that he’d ! wager Hilda didn’t miss one run in forty, anyway, j ‘‘l haven’t a horse,” she added ’ simply. I There was an odd little pause. r The ambassador, rather red under his tan, and cursing himself ferociously for his blundering, put but run construction on the matter, anc | jumped to the conclusion that Dick’s I sister, reduced to poverty, was heroi- | cally concealing the fact from Dick ■ --a belief that caused him to ride j homewards in a most unreasoning anger with Dick, and a further determination to write the letter that he had for so long—in fact, for three days—determined on. lie wrote it that very night by the light of an abominably smoky lamp! in the Cat and Fiddle parlour. It was not a long letter, though it ! involved sitting up until past midnight and staring a good deal—-ap-: 1 parently foi inspiration—at the; dying fire, and at the lifelike pic-j tnres of Derby winners, advertising somebody’s whisky, that adorned the ■walls. The result, if not a literary achievement, was simple, strong, and to the point. It stated his intention of asking Dick’s sister to marry him. The frost which Pomona had predicted had powreded the world a sparkling white when at nine next morning Garry sat at breakfast in solitary state, with a letter in the pocket of his tweeds. The landlord, ever loquacious, was loud in his denunciations of the weather’s unkindness. ‘‘And there be no sign of a thaw, 1 sir. Mr. Graham’d be mortal vexed 1 if ’twasn’t for this marnin’s news ’ ——” He paused to arrange a dish ' of bacon, with a respectful chuckle. 1 Something—it may have been the ; brilliance of the morning—thawed 1 Garry’s reserve. He asked the quest tion he knew the old fellow wanted. £ ‘‘ ’Twas the postman told me,”j resumed that worthy with leisurely 1 \ enjoyment. “ ’Twas settled like only • s last night. But we’ve knowed it this 1 long time. ’Tis good news, too. He’s a fine gentleman, and a grand J rider, and she’s a fine young lady, i Been master of t’ hounds even since - t’ old Squire died, ’e has. An’ now] c him and Miss Hilda’s goin’ to get|"! married. ’Twill be a grand wedding, I ] sir. P’r’aps Master Dick’ll cornels home.” \ 1 When the door closed behind him i it left Garry staring straight in > ( front of him at the red geraniums in * ( the window. From outside came the 1 contented crooning of the Cat and Fiddle pigeons; the wood fire hissed 1 and crackled gaily. 1 1 Garry rose, took the letter from i nis pocket, and dropped it in the; dancing flames. ; When it was a black wisp he lit ( his pipe with care, and went out into the blue and white and gold bril- i liance of the morning. CHAPTER HI. Felicity. Half way through the village he j encountered Cleo, Miss Travers’s! water-spaniel, returning from an in-1 pendent tour of her own in the' neighbouring snipe bog. She rushed I upon him with the confidence of aj certain welcome, mitigating the! showers of muddy water she shook I over him by the adoration of her amber eyes, and utterly deaf to his stern commands to go ‘‘home.” She had apparently decided that this grim young man who stalked steadily alone required her escort, for she fell to heel and followed him unfalteringly up and down the wide hills and deep lanes, over the very ground they had covered in that good run last night, past the sandy fir copse where the big yellow dog-) fox had got to ground, past the very ■ bullfinch over which Garry and the : hireling had so nearly come to grief. “If we had broken our necks,” said Garry, with a sorry laugh, Cleo whined sympathetically. Then became suddenly very much alert. Garry looked up. A few yards down the lane were the drive gates of a square white house that stood at the exereme boundary of the parish, | and under the bronze-gold of the I great beech that shadowed them a j grey cob was snatching at the 1 rhododendrons, while his master, ini riding-dress, was kissing a lady good-] bye. i An idyllic picture, whose charm : was marred for Garry by the fact , that he was the M.F.H., and she i was the fair-haired lady Garry thought he’d seen before, b The cob ate another rhododendron I sprig, then the M.F.TT. mounted, and rode off down the lane. The b fair-haired lady kissed her hand to i him, and ran back up the drive. And Garry, without any hesitation at all, strode off in the wake of -| the rapid click of the grey cobh II hoofs. y j Cleo fell zealously to heel. Th« grim young man looked as if he r were going to murder someone. Api- parently Cleo’s mistress, with whom o| they came suddenly face to face ;tl round a bend in the lane, was of the same opinion, if She gave a little cry. "Oh, what in the world has happened?” "Why? Why should anything e- have happened ?” y, Garry’s valiant attempts at airy

wincing were spoilt somewhat by hi: I expression. She laughed rather breathlessly. “You—you look at if you were ■ going to kiss somebody.” * ‘‘l wish I were!” said Garry biti terly. ‘‘Garry!” Which had the perverse effect of imparting an added ferocity to Garry’s countenance. She stood looking at him, wide, eyed and lovely. Into the silenc« came the last echo of the grey cob’t leeing hoofs. “I—might be able to help,” she said seriously. Garry said with grim awkwardness that he was afraid she couldn’t. He wasn’t good at heroics, but if the M.F.H., peacefully jogging up his own drive, could have anticipated the physical and mental thrashing Garry was preparing for him, he ' would have found it something to I quail at. t Followed another pause. Pomona ■ was stroking Cleo. Then she looked 1 up defiantly. ? “I wanted to see you to-day,” she i said. j ‘‘Did you?”—dully. The poignant fact that he wanted to see her every day went ungallantly unre- j corded. With admirable valour she swept all dairyings aside. “I’m—not— Hilda,” said she. The very simplicity of it made it somehow absurdly fantastic. She proceeded to be explicit. “I’m not Hilda Travers. I’m not Dick’s sister. I’m Felicity.” ‘‘Good lord!” said Garry. “Felicity Trevor,” she said quietly. “Whoever directed you thought you said Trevor, I suppose. You—you started to explain things before 1 could correct you. And then I let you go on. I’m staying with Uncle Peter—at the Rectory, you know. Dick’s sister lives at the white house over there. She’s going to marry the M.F.H. When I saw you just now I thought you knew I wasn’t Hilda. And I did mean to tell you to-day—honestly, honestly,” she finished quaintly. Garry said nothing. All the world was reconstructing itself—for the , second time that morning—and the ■ fact required his attention. “Of course, you’re angry,” said j Felicity. “But—l’m going away to- j morrow, so you had to know. And : —and—anyway, it hasn’t made any difference—to you, I mean, has it ? , You see, Dick’s sister knows, because , I told her. And you can tell Dick she isn’t angry with Felicity. Goodbye.” She didn’t hold out her hand, but turned rather hurriedly to the gate of the wood-path, and found it barred by Garry. The grim young man no longer looked as if he wanted to kill somebody. (But he looked very determined, for all that. “Aren’t you going to let me say anything?” he demanded whimsically. It appeared that he said a good deal, for Cleo went off on a rabbit hunt that lasted an hour, and when she came back Felicity and the ambassador were sitting on the stone wall under the holly-tree. And Felicity had quite forgotten I to say good-bye. i (The End.) i _