Now he had parted for ever from that one true friend, and was following down another path a new life, alone. Yet not quite alone — the face of Nicholas Gaunt, strong and wise, kindly and steadfast, rose in his mind. Here was another friend, to whom he was bound, and would soon be bound even more closely, by the ties of common experience and secret knowledge shared.
Next he thought of his parents — of his mother, dead these five years. How often she must have sorrowed over his youthful follies and aimless existence. And his father, who had thought so little of him that, when his wife died, he had come alone to Kestrel. How happy those last few weeks had been, when the two had been reunited, before the old man’s tragic end.
He remembered his father’s last solemn charge — the trust he had placed in his son’s hands — to keep the curse of Kestrel from the world. How infinitely better than that he hoped to do! To banish it for ever from the face of earth. How proud his parents must be if they could see their son now! Never again would he shame their memory.
Tony turned his eyes away from the sorry sight of the wasted years behind and set his face steadfastly towards the future, still half hidden in a veil of mystery, but soon to be revealed in all its glowing wonder of knowledge, power, and limitless experience. Rapt in ecstasy, he fell asleep.
After an early breakfast the three crossed to Pentock in the launch. Lorrimer had been told to expect them back within three days. He had seemed surprised when his young master told him of the proposed journey to London “on business”, and had seemed on the point of making some observation, but had checked himself, and bowed in silence. Sitting in the rapidly moving boat, Tony wondered vaguely what could have been in the old servant’s mind, but he soon forgot the incident.
The sea was choppy and the sky overcast, but the voyage was accomplished in less than an hour. They had no luggage, save a dressing-case apiece, and made their way to the inn as soon as they had disembarked. Dykes, the landlord, led them through the yard to the stable where the cars were kept, and unlocking the door, helped to roll the great Bentley out. Rain threatened, so they put up the top of the coupé. They were engaged in this task, Vaughan being inside the car, screwing down the fastenings of the hood, when a slight figure in a black cassock turned into the yard. Dykes, who was closing the stable door, was the first to see the priest, and, hearing his greeting, Tony and the doctor turned.
“Good morning, Sir Anthony,” said the rector, “not a very promising day for a run.”
“Good morning, Mr. Bennett,” returned Tony. “We’re going up to Town on business; more convenient by road. You have met Dr. Gaunt, I think?”
They saluted each other, and at that moment Vaughan emerged from the car. At the sight of his gross figure the rector stiffened, and his face went deadly pale. Vaughan straightened himself, and their eyes met. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, broken by Tony saying:
“Er — Mr. Bennett, this is Mr. Vaughan.”
Neither made the least offer to shake hands, though Vaughan bowed slightly. The rector remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the other’s face with terrible intensity. At last he spoke, in a voice so unlike his own that Tony was almost shocked.
“I think we have met before, Mr. Vaughan,” he said slowly.
“I don’t think so, Mr. Bennett,” replied the other with a nervous laugh.
“No, I don’t suppose you would remember me,” answered the priest. “It is a long time ago, and I have changed a good deal, but I remember you very well.”
“You have the advantage of me, then. Good day to you, sir.”
And with this Vaughan went round the car and climbed into the back seat. Tony and Gaunt, who had stood motionless and decidedly uncomfortable during this short conversation, followed, Gaunt taking the wheel. A second later the engine roared into life, and further talk was impossible. The doctor let in his clutch, Tony waved a cheery farewell to the rector, and they swung out of the yard in a great flurry of dust.
Not until the throb of the exhaust had died away up the narrow street did the rector move, and when he tried to walk he staggered. In a moment Dykes, who was still in the yard, ran to him and caught his arm.
“Aren’t you well, Father?” he asked anxiously.
“A little faint — it’s nothing really,” the old priest murmured; but the worthy landlord would not be denied.
“Come inside and rest,” he urged. “Perhaps a spot of brandy wouldn’t be amiss, eh?”
The rector allowed himself to be led away, his face drawn with pain, and a dreadful bewilderment in his eyes.
Gaunt drove without a break to Salisbury, which they reached at four o’clock in the afternoon. After a short stop there for a meal Vaughan took over the wheel, and by eight o’clock they had reached Ealing and turned on to the North Circular Road for Hampstead. Inside an hour the great car swung into the open gates of the house on the Heath.
The same manservant who had admitted Hamilton, months before, had the door open, and was helping them out the moment the car stopped. After removing the stains of travel they sat down to a light dinner; after which they went to bed almost immediately, for both Gaunt and his colleague were very tired after their long drive, and the doctor insisted that Tony, though not so fatigued, must conserve his energies for the next day.
Smoking a last cigarette before turning out the light, Tony reflected how cramped his room seemed, in spite of its superficial size, after the great stone-walled chambers of the Abbey. The papered walls, the white ceiling, the electric lamps with their silk shades, all appeared flimsy, ephemeral, beside the solid strength which he had grown accustomed to during the past months. Never again would he be quite happy away from Kestrel; he understood now why his father had never come back; the air of London was close and flavourless after that salty tang.
He stubbed out his cigarette and clicked off the pendant switch. Why, there was no darkness, even, here! The rays of a distant street lamp found their way in through the wide sash-windows, flinging strange patterns on the walls. Save for the occasional sound of a passing car a profound silence enwrapped the house; the perpetual lullaby of the waves was absent. It was a long time before he fell asleep.
All Tony had for breakfast was a little fruit and a tumblerful of cold water. This was by Gaunt’s instructions, and would be his last meal for twenty-four hours. It was essential that his spiritual faculties should be at their keenest, and this was one means to that end. He was to spend the daylight hours in solitary meditation, and the doctor took him up to a small room, scarcely more than an attic, under the roof. It was furnished in Spartan simplicity with a table and one chair. There was no window, only a skylight of opaque glass. Here Tony was left, with no company save his thoughts, but so adept was he now at the arts of concentration and meditation that the hours slipped quickly by and he lost all count of time.