Part 3 — CHAPTER I BOXING NIGHT

The Boxing Night Ball at Bode was in full swing. It was regarded by a good many as one of the most important local functions of the season, scarcely indeed second to the Hunt Ball which took place a little later. The subscription was a high one which kept it select, and since it was in aid of the Bode Cottage Hospital, there were a good many county families who brought house-parties to dance at it. The fact that fancy-dress was worn was a considerable attraction, and a military band from a not-far-distant depôt combined with an excellent dancing-floor to make it what Percy had described as a "regular swell affair."

Every year saw the Boxing Night Ball increase in magnificence. All the local magnates attended it, and in many circles it was the chief topic under discussion for weeks beforehand. It was the one night in the year in which the whole of Bode awoke to life and became transformed from a normal and somewhat sleepy market-town to a buzzing hive of excitement. Hotels and inns were full, and the Town Hall itself was elaborately illuminated and threw a blaze of light over the whole of the market-place which was turned for the occasion into a parking-ground for cars.

The whole atmosphere was one of general festivity of the type that penetrates through closed doors, refusing to be ignored. The King's Head in particular seemed to have caught the Boxing Night fever, probably on account of the fact that it stood practically next-door to the Town Hall. Market-day was usually its only busy time, but that Boxing Night more than eclipsed the busiest market-day that had ever happened. The place was full from attic to cellar, and a state of merry confusion prevailed which was almost reminiscent of the departed glory of old coaching-days. The fact that snow was falling thickly and promised to be deep ere morning was mainly accountable for this, and, as old Bill Roper the landlord, brother of the veterinary-surgeon, said, it had come just in the nick of time. It did not often fall to his lot to turn would-be guests from his doors, but on this occasion if he had displayed a notice of "House Full" quite early in the evening it would have saved a considerable amount of trouble.

He said as much, chuckling, to the only guest who had engaged a room for more than that one hectic night, one Richard Graves whom Bill Roper regarded as "something of a card," mainly because he did not know what he was. Of course he might have been an artist. They were always queer fish, but it was not the time of year for artists. And this man had an unfamiliar hang about him. He really might have been anything. A dark man with iron-grey hair and reticent manner, yet not without a hint of humour when the merry-faced landlord claimed his sympathy!

"You'd better make hay while the sun shines," was his comment. "Put up your prices!"

"And I'd get it too, sir," said Bill Roper, still chuckling. "But I dunno. I says to the missis, 'It's making capital out of the weather,' I says. 'And that's a thing I don't hold with. You never know but what your turn may come next.'"

"That's an idea," said Richard Graves. "But I don't see why you should stick at taking advantage of the weather, even if your turn does come next."

"Well, I dunno, sir," said Bill Roper, puckering his honest forehead. "But it's handed straight out to us from God Almighty, and I don't think He'd like me for to put my prices up in consequence. It's a matter of opinion as you might say, sir. But that's how it appears to me."

"A very decent point of view!" said his guest. "And all the better for me, I suppose. What time does this hurly-burly begin?"

"Lor' bless you, sir, it began nearly an hour ago," said Bill Roper. "But people keeps on coming. Why, there's a young gentleman downstairs now, brought a young lady with him, and she wants somewhere to dress in. I don't know where to put 'em, but it seems un-Christian-like to turn 'em away just for that. It isn't as if they wanted to sleep. That I couldn't do. I'm sleeping in the kitchen myself to-night."

"Have you turned them away?" said Graves.

"No, sir. Haven't even seen 'em. They were talking to Jim at the door as I came upstairs. He may think of some corner where she could get into her finery. I don't like disappointing people, you know, sir. But what am I to do? The house isn't made of elastic, as you might say. And I'd be afraid of its busting if it was, for it's stretched as full as it can go now."

"Oh, look here!" said Graves abruptly. "If it's only to dress in, the lady can have this room. I'll come down to the parlour. You go and tell them while I clear my things out of the way!"

"Well, there now, sir," said the landlord. "That is a kind act if you like. And a nice fire burning too! I'll tell her she isn't to take more than twenty minutes, and you can get back to it."

He spoke with feeling, for his guest had rather a pinched, gaunt look as if the severe weather were not exactly such as he enjoyed.

But Graves pulled him up. "You won't do anything of the kind," he said. "She can take as long as she likes."

"Which won't be very long with all that clatter going on in the Town Hall!" chuckled the landlord. "D'yer hear it, sir? Funny noise, isn't it, what they calls dance-music nowadays?"

Graves smiled somewhat sardonically. "Doubtless it suits the mentality of those for whom it was created," he observed. "You go and find those would-be dancers while I tidy up!"

Roper departed, still chuckling. He had conceived a liking for "that Mr. Graves," and he thoroughly enjoyed his rather caustic remarks which appealed to a vein of humour within himself which was seldom reached in every-day life.

At the end of about a couple of minutes a tap came upon the door of Graves's room, and going to it he discovered a chambermaid with some hot water.

"The young lady is just coming upstairs now, sir," she announced.

He gave a final glance around. "All right. I'll go. Tell her there's no hurry!"

He walked out into the passage with the words and deliberately turned in the opposite direction to the stairs to avoid meeting the late arrival for whose benefit he was sacrificing his comfort. The sardonic look still lingered about his thin lips as he went. He had not the air of a man who would do much for his fellow-beings.

When he deemed the coast was clear, he turned about and went back. Down in the hall a fire was burning and a few dilapidated chairs stood about. He pulled one of them up to the hearth and picked up a paper. There was a cheery noise in the bar that mingled with the machine-like music of the fox-trot that was wafted from the Town Hall. There was the raw cold of falling snow in the atmosphere.

Only one other person was in the hall—a young man clad in a heavy overcoat who sat near the entrance smoking a cigarette with a kind of restless alertness and glancing now and then with impatient eyes towards the stairs.

He paid no attention to Graves who was presently joined by the landlord who came to the fire, rubbing his hands.

"It's a bitter cold night," he observed. "There'll be a deep fall by morning. Thought you were going into the parlour, sir. There's a decent fire in there."

"This is good enough for me, thanks," said Graves.

Bill Roper continued to rub his hands for a space; then he stood up and looked across at the young man near the door.

"Won't you come and get warm?" he said genially.

The new-comer remained in his seat. "I'm all right, thanks. It'll probably be too hot dancing. Anyhow, I'm warm enough."

He spoke with the faintest hint of hauteur, as though he did not desire to encourage attention. The man in the chair threw him a brief glance over his shoulder.

Bill Roper was wholly undiscouraged. "I suppose you're in fancy-dress, sir," he remarked tentatively. "It's optional of course, but I expect all the young ones are."

His curiosity was not gratified. The object thereof merely lit another cigarette without replying.

Bill Roper turned back to the fire. "I wonder you don't go in for a fling, sir," he said to Graves. "If it's only to watch, they say it's worth seeing."

"I think your fireside is more attractive," said Graves.

Bill Roper warmed his hands for a little longer and went back to the bar. Graves studied his paper in complete silence, and his companion continued to smoke with suppressed energy.

Suddenly there came a sound close at hand—the tap of a light foot on the winding oak stair. The young man by the door sprang up; the other half-grudgingly turned in his chair.

A figure came into view—an eager, swift-moving figure, clad in white from head to foot with a bridal veil of heavy lace completely covering the face and held in place by a band of seed pearls worn like a wreath.

"By Jove!" ejaculated Percy Hudson, throwing away his cigarette.

A peal of merry laughter answered him. She advanced, trailing a long satin train behind her.

"Do you like me?" she said ingenuously. "It's fearfully old of course, but rather pretty, don't you think?"

"Like you!" said Percy. "You're exquisite!"

There was an odd, unexpected tremor in his voice. He stood staring at her, as if he hardly believed his senses.

The other man had risen, and he also was staring at the dainty, veiled bride who stood laughing in the middle of the hall. Something of incredulity was on his face also, a wonder that was almost pain; but he spoke not a word, merely stood and watched the little drama that was being enacted before him, so motionless that the actors therein scarcely realized his presence.

"Lift up that veil thing!" the boy was saying. "I want to see you."

But the bride only laughed tantalizingly and held the thick folds about her.

"No, no, Percy! They never used to turn it back till after the ceremony. It was the sign for the kissing to begin. Now come along! We've wasted enough time as it is. You'll have to carry me if the snow is thick. I've got nothing but satin slippers."

"Oh, I'll carry you all right," he laughed back. "But that train is going to be a nuisance. You'll never dance in it."

"Oh yes, I shall carry it over my arm," said the bride, with cheery unconcern. "Do let's go! I'm longing to get there. Just listen to that music! Isn't it gorgeous? You are ready, aren't you, Percy?"

She spoke with some impatience, for he still seemed inclined to stand and gaze at her rather than ring up the curtain and let the fun begin.

"Yes, yes, I'm ready," he said. "But I say, I'm not living up to this. I'm not in bridegroom kit."

"Silly! You're not the bridegroom," she retorted light-heartedly.

He took fire at her challenge, carelessly as it was uttered. "Ho! Don't you be too sure of that! I'm in command of this expedition anyhow."

Her laughter rang through the hall with reckless gaiety. "My dear Percy, you're only the juvenile lead! What are you wearing, by the way? I hope you've got something decent under that ugly old coat of yours."

"Oh, don't bother about that! I'm decent enough," he declared. "And look here, Rosemary, none of your pranks with me to-night! You've just got to stick to me. See?"

"'Till death us do part'," mocked Rosemary. "What a dreadful thought, Percy! Fancy you and me going on and on and on together for the rest of our lives!"

She suddenly became aware of the silent attention of the stranger standing on the hearth, and returned his scrutiny for a second or two with a dainty bravado. Then with a swing she wheeled back to her cavalier, who was meditating a suitable riposte for her latest thrust, and pushed her hand through his arm.

"Come along! Let's go! Do let's go! Isn't it a shame to waste time like this? And I expect there's a prince waiting if we only knew it. Let's go and find him!"

"We'll stick him under the fifth rib if we do," declared Percy not wholly in jest, pulling open the door.

An icy wind rushed in with some glittering flakes of snow. The bride gave a cry of mingled delight and dismay.

"You'll have to carry me! I said you would! Percy, look out! Percy, I'm not ready!"

The door clanged on her protest followed a laughing struggle, sounds of which came back to the motionless watcher for a few seconds, and then ceased. There remained only the jigging music of the distant band and the savage whistling of the wind.

He moved at last, stiffly, almost like a man coming out of a trance, walked across the hall to the stairs, paused a moment, then went quietly up and back to the room he had vacated.