The Bars of Iron by Ethel May Dell (top rated books of all time .txt) 📖

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"I don't know," said Piers, becoming extremely blunt and British. "I'm certainly keen, but so are dozens of others." He bowed to Miss Whalley with stiff courtesy. "Pleased to meet you," he said formally.
Miss Whalley acknowledged the compliment with a severe air of incredulity. She had never approved of Piers since a certain Sunday morning ten years before when she had caught him shooting at the choir-boys with a catapult, during the litany, over the top of the squire's large square pew.
She had reported the crime to the Vicar, and the Vicar had lodged a formal complaint with Sir Beverley, who had soundly caned the delinquent in his presence, and given him half a sovereign as soon as the clerical back had been turned for taking the punishment like a man.
But in Miss Whalley's eyes Piers had from that moment ceased to be regarded as one of the elect, and his curt reception of the good Vicar's patronage did not further elevate him in her esteem. She made as brief a response to the introduction as politeness demanded, and crossed the room to Jeanie.
"I must be off," said Piers. "I've stayed longer than I intended already."
"Pray do not hurry!" urged Mr. Lorimer. "The festivities are but just beginning."
But Piers was insistent, and even Jeanie's wistful eyes could not detain him. He waved her a careless farewell, and extricated himself as quickly as possible from surroundings that had become uncongenial.
Descending the stairs somewhat precipitately, he nearly ran into Avery ascending with a troop of children, and stopped to say good-bye.
"You're not going!" cried Gracie, with keen disappointment.
"Yes, I am. I can't stop. It's later than I thought. See you to-morrow!" said Piers.
He held Avery's hand again in his, and for one fleeting second his eyes looked into hers. Then lightly he pressed her fingers and passed on without further words.
On the first landing he encountered Mrs. Lorimer. She smiled upon him kindly. "Oh, Piers, is it you?" she said. "Have you been having tea in the schoolroom?"
He admitted that he had.
"And must you really go?" she said. "I'm sorry for that. Come again, won't you?"
Her tone was full of gentle friendliness, and Piers was touched. "It's awfully good of you to ask me," he said.
"I like to see you here," she answered simply. "And I am so grateful to you for your kindness to my little Jeanie."
"Oh, please don't!" said Piers. "I assure you it's quite the other way round. I shall certainly come again since you are good enough to ask me."
He smiled with boyish gallantry into the wistful, faded face, carried her fingers lightly to his lips, and passed on.
"Such a nice boy!" Mrs. Lorimer murmured to herself as she went up to the nursery.
"Poor little soul!" was Piers' inward comment as he ran down to the hall.
Here he paused, finding himself face to face with Lennox Tudor who was taking off his coat preparatory to ascending.
The doctor nodded to him without cordiality. Neither of them ever pretended to take any pleasure in the other's society.
"Are you just going?" he asked. "Your grandfather is wanting you."
"Who says so?" said Piers aggressively.
"I say so." Curtly Tudor made answer, meeting Piers' quick frown with one equally decided.
Piers stood still in front of him. "Have you just come from the Abbey?" he demanded.
"I have." Tudor's tone was non-committal. He stood facing Piers, waiting to pass.
"What are you always going there for?" burst forth Piers, with heat. "He doesn't want you--never follows your advice, and does excellently well without it."
"Really!" said Tudor. He uttered a short, sarcastic laugh, albeit his thick brows met closely above his glasses. "Well, you ought to know--being such a devoted and attentive grandson."
Piers' hands clenched at the words. He looked suddenly dangerous. "What in thunder do you mean?" he demanded.
Tudor was nothing loth to enlighten him. He was plainly angry himself. "I mean," he said, "if you must have it, that the time you spend philandering here would be better employed in looking after the old man, who has spent a good deal over you and gets precious little interest out of the investment."
"Confound you!" exclaimed Piers violently. "Who the devil are you to talk to me like this? Do you think I'm going to put up with it, what? If so, you're damned well mistaken. You leave me alone--and my grandfather too; do you hear? If you don't--" He broke off, breathing short and hard.
But Tudor remained unimpressed. He looked at Piers as one might look at an animal raging behind bars. "Well?" he said. "Pray finish! If I don't--"
Piers' face was very pale. His eyes blazed out of it, red and threatening. "If you don't--I'll murder you!" he said.
And at that he stopped short and suddenly wheeled round as he caught the swish of a dress on the stairs. He looked up into Avery's face as she came swiftly down, and the blood rose in a deep, dark wave to his forehead. He made no attempt to cover or excuse his passionate outburst, which it was perfectly obvious she must have heard. He merely made way for her, his hands still hard clenched, his eyes immovably upon her.
Avery passed him with scarcely a glance, but her voice as she addressed Lennox Tudor sounded a trifle austere. "I heard you speaking," she said, "and ran down to fetch you upstairs. Will you come up at once, please? The ceremony is just beginning."
Tudor held out a steady hand, "Very kind of you, Mrs. Denys," he said. "Will you lead the way?" And then for a moment he turned from her to Piers. "If you have anything further to say to me, Evesham, I shall be quite ready to give you a hearing on a more suitable occasion."
"I have nothing further to say," said Piers, still with his eyes upon Avery.
She would not look at him. With deliberate intention, she ignored his look. "Come, doctor!" she said.
They mounted the stairs together, Piers still standing motionless, still mutely watching. There was no temper nor anger in his face. Simply he stood and waited. And, as if that silent gaze drew her, even against her will, suddenly at the top she turned. Her own sweet smile flashed into her face. She threw a friendly glance down to him.
"Good-night, Mr. Evesham!" she called softly. "A happy Christmas to you!"
And as if that were what he had been waiting for, Piers bowed very low in answer and at once turned away.
His face as he went out into the night wore a very curious expression. It was not grim, nor ashamed, nor triumphant, and yet there was in it a suggestion of all three moods.
He reached his car, standing as he had left it in the deserted lane, and stooped to start the engine. Then, as it throbbed in answer, he straightened himself, and very suddenly he laughed. But it was not a happy laugh; and in a moment more he shot away into the dark as though pursued by fiends. If he had gained his end, if he had in any fashion achieved his desire, it was plain that it did not give him any great satisfaction. He went like a fury through the night.


CHAPTER XV
THE SCHEME

"Look here, boy!" Very suddenly, almost fiercely, Sir Beverley addressed his grandson that evening as they sat together over dessert. "I've had enough of this infernal English climate. I'm going away."
Piers was peeling a walnut. He did not raise his eyes or make the faintest sign of surprise. Steadily his fingers continued their task. His lips hardened a little, that was all.
"Do you hear?" rapped out Sir Beverley.
Piers bent his head. "What about the hunting?" he said.
"Damn the hunting!" growled Sir Beverley.
Piers was silent a moment. Then: "I suggested it to you myself, didn't I?" he said deliberately, "six weeks ago. And you wouldn't hear of it."
"Confound your impertinence!" began Sir Beverley. But abruptly Piers raised his eyes, and he stopped. "What do you mean?" he said, in a calmer tone.
Very steadily Piers met his look. "That's a question I should like to ask, sir," he said. "Why do you want to go abroad? Aren't you well?"
"I am perfectly well," declared Sir Beverley, who furiously resented any enquiry as to his health. "Can't a man take it into his head that he'd like a change from this beastly damp hole of a country without being at death's door, I should like to know?"
"You generally have a reason for what you do, sir," observed Piers.
"Of course I have a reason," flung back Sir Beverley.
A faint smile touched the corners of Piers' mouth. "But I am not to know what it is, what?" he asked.
Sir Beverley glared at him. There were times when he was possessed by an uneasy suspicion that the boy was growing up into a manhood that threatened to overthrow his control. He had a feeling that Piers' submission to his authority had become a matter of choice rather than of necessity. He had inherited his Italian grandmother's fortune, moreover,--a sore point with Sir Beverley who would have repudiated every penny had it been left at his disposal--and was therefore independent.
"I've given you a reason. What more do you want?" he growled.
Piers looked straight at him for a few seconds longer; then broke into his sudden boyish laugh. "All right, sir. When shall we start?" he said.
Sir Beverley stared. "What the devil are you laughing at?" he demanded.
Piers had returned to the peeling of his walnut. "Nothing, sir," he said airily. "At least, nothing more important than your reason for going abroad."
"Damn your impudence!" said Sir Beverley, and then for some reason he too began to smile. "That's settled then. We'll go to Monte Carlo, eh, Piers? You'll like that."
"Do you think I am to be trusted at Monte Carlo?" said Piers.
"I let you go round the world by yourself while you were still an infant, so I almost think I can trust you at Monte Carlo under my own eye," returned Sir Beverley.
Piers was silent. The smile had left his lips. He frowned slightly over his task.
"Well?" said Sir Beverley, suddenly and sharply.
"Well, sir?" Piers raised his brows without looking up.
The old man brought down an impatient fist on the table. "Why can't you say what you think?" he demanded angrily. "You sit there with your mouth shut as if--as if--" His eyes went suddenly to the woman's face on the wall with the red lips that smiled half-sadly, half-mockingly, and the eyes that perpetually followed him but never smiled at all. "Confound you, Piers!" he said. "I sometimes think that voyage round the world did you more harm than good."
"Why, sir?" said Piers quickly.
Sir Beverley's look left the smiling, baffling face upon the wall and sought his grandson's. "You were so mad to be off the bearing-rein, weren't you?" he said. "So keen to feel your own feet? I thought it would make a man of you, but I was a fool to do it. I'd better have kept you on the rein after all."
"I should have run away if you had," said Piers. He poured himself out a glass of wine and raised it to his lips. He looked at Sir Beverley above it with a smile half-sad, half-mocking, and eyes that veiled his soul. "I should have gone to the devil if you had, sir," he said, "and--probably--I shouldn't have come back." He drank slowly, his eyes still upon Sir Beverley's face.
When he set the glass down again he was openly laughing. "Besides, you