The truth was that she must tell her nothing, until all was over, accomplished, decided.Whatsoever there was to be "over," whatsoever the action finally taken, must be a matter lying as far as possible between her father and herself.
Mrs.Vanderpoel's trouble would be too keen, her anxiety too great to keep to herself, even if she were not overwhelmed by them.She must be told of the beauties and dimensions of Stornham, all relatable details of Rosy's life must be generously dwelt on.Above all Rosy must be made to write letters, and with an air of ******* however specious.
A knock on the door broke the thread of her reflection.It was a low-sounding knock, and she answered the summons herself, because she thought it might be Rosy's.
It was not Lady Anstruthers who stood outside, but Ughtred, who balanced himself on his crutches, and lifted his small, too mature, face.
"May I come in?" he asked.
Here was the unexpected again, but she did not allow him to see her surprise.
"Yes," she said."Certainly you may."
He swung in and then turned to speak to her.
"Please shut the door and lock it," he said.
There was sudden illumination in this, but of an order almost whimsical.That modern people in modern days should feel bolts and bars a necessity of ordinary intercourse was suggestive.She was plainly about to receive enlightenment.She turned the key and followed the halting figure across the room.
"What are you afraid of?" she asked.
"When mother and I talk things over," he said, "we always do it where no one can see or hear.It's the only way to be safe.""Safe from what?"
His eyes fixed themselves on her as he answered her almost sullenly.
"Safe from people who might listen and go and tell that we had been talking."In his thwarted-looking, odd child-face there was a shade of appeal not wholly hidden by his evident wish not to be boylike.Betty felt a desire to kneel down suddenly and embrace him, but she knew he was not prepared for such a demonstration.He looked like a creature who had lived continually at bay, and had learned to adjust himself to any situation with caution and restraint.
"Sit down, Ughtred," she said, and when he did so she herself sat down, but not too near him.
Resting his chin on the handle of a crutch, he gazed at her almost protestingly.
"I always have to do these things," he said, "and I am not clever enough, or old enough.I am only eleven."The mention of the number of his years was plainly not apologetic, but was a mere statement of his limitations.There the fact was, and he must make the best of it he could.
"What things do you mean?"
"Trying to make things easier--explaining things when she cannot think of excuses.To-day it is telling you what she is too frightened to tell you herself.I said to her that you must be told.It made her nervous and miserable, but I knew you must.""Yes, I must," Betty answered."I am glad she has you to depend on, Ughtred."His crutch grated on the floor and his boy eyes forbade her to believe that their sudden lustre was in any way connected with restrained emotion.
"I know I seem queer and like a little old man," he said.
"Mother cries about it sometimes.But it can't be helped.
It is because she has never had anyone but me to help her.
When I was very little, I found out how frightened and miserable she was.After his rages," he used no name, "she used to run into my nursery and snatch me up in her arms and hide her face in my pinafore.Sometimes she stuffed it into her mouth and bit it to keep herself from screaming.Once--before I was seven--I ran into their room and shouted out, and tried to fight for her.He was going out, and had his riding whip in his hand, and he caught hold of me and struck me with it--until he was tired."Betty stood upright.
"What! What! What!" she cried out.
He merely nodded his head shortly.She saw what the thing had been by the way his face lost colour.
"Of course he said it was because I was impudent, and needed punishment," he said."He said she had encouraged me in American impudence.It was worse for her than for me.She kneeled down and screamed out as if she was crazy, that she would give him what he wanted if he would stop.""Wait," said Betty, drawing in her breath sharply." `He,'
is Sir Nigel? And he wanted something."
He nodded again"Tell me," she demanded, "has he ever struck her?""Once," he answered slowly, "before I was born--he struck her and she fell against something.That is why I am like this." And he touched his shoulder.
The feeling which surged through Betty Vanderpoel's being forced her to go and stand with her face turned towards the windows, her hands holding each other tightly behind her back.
"I must keep still," she said."I must make myself keep still."She spoke unconsciously half aloud, and Ughtred heard her and replied hurriedly.
"Yes," he said, "you must make yourself keep still.That is what we have to do whatever happens.That is one of the things mother wanted you to know.She is afraid.She daren't let you----"She turned from the window, standing at her full height and looking very tall for a girl.
"She is afraid? She daren't? See--that will come to an end now.There are things which can be done."He flushed nervously.
"That is what she was afraid you would say," he spoke fast and his hands trembled."She is nearly wild about it, because she knows he will try to do something that will make you feel as if she does not want you.""She is afraid of that?" Betty exclaimed.
"He'd do it! He'd do it--if you did not know beforehand.""Oh!" said Betty, with unflinching clearness."He is a liar, is he?"The helpless rage in the unchildish eyes, the shaking voice, as he cried out in answer, were a shock.It was as if he wildly rejoiced that she had spoken the word.
"Yes, he's a liar--a liar!" he shrilled."He's a liar and a bully and a coward.He'd--he'd be a murderer if he dared --but he daren't." And his face dropped on his arms folded on his crutch, and he broke into a passion of crying.Then Betty knew she might go to him.She went and knelt down and put her arm round him.
