Free The Partnership by Phyllis Bentley

home amongst them, and would have been content to remain there, pacing up and down beneath the clear blue August sky, admiring the silver beauty of the evening star, gazing pleasurably at the little patches of bright flame which glowed here and there on the crest of the opposing hill, and rejoicing that Wilfred was beside her. But Wilfred was not satisfied with the view; he assured his companion that the flames had looked far finer from the top windows of Boothroyd House. Lydia, who had utterly forgotten Annice, smiled vaguely and did not suggest that they should return there. Instead she followed Wilfred obediently as he tried various points of higher ground, and when he finally suggested that they should cross the valley to the moor itself, and gain a closer view, she eagerly agreed. The hill was farther than it looked, and by thetime they reached the fires the west was rosy with the threat of sunset, and the hills around were becoming silhouetted sharply against the sky. A good many other bold spirits had also come to view the flames, and Wilfred, who undoubtedly had the common touch if he could not walk with kings, strolled about amongst them collecting informative anecdotes about the fire’s origin. The young women who accompanied these other watchers of the flames looked with interest at Lydia, and Lydia was pleased to be so regarded. She was perfectly happy. The fires themselves, she thought, were less impressive here than from the other side of the valley—they flickered and were not so clear, and the acrid smoke made her cough—but then there was such an air of excitement, of romance, of friendliness, about the scene, that the walk was well worth while for that alone. Wilfred was at his best amongst these other men; she admired the hearty, cordial manner of his talk with them. On his side Wilfred was proud of Lydia’s light, cultivated tones, so superior to those of everybody else present; he was proud of the intelligence of her remarks, proud of the simple candour of her glance; and he swore to himself with great tenderness that it should always be his part to shield her high-mindedness from the world’s corrupting touch.
    They hardly knew when or why it was that they left the moor and wandered slowly down the stony path to the valley. As they climbed up the other side towards Hudley, Lydia becamepleasurably conscious that she was tired; and Wilfred, remorseful, put his hand beneath her elbow to help her up the slope. They reached the top to find the parade almost empty and twilight unmistakably falling; a sudden pang of conscience seemed to strike them both, and they struck out sharply for Cromwell Place.
    â€œI hope Annice has been all right,” murmured Lydia in a troubled tone.
    â€œSure to be,” said Wilfred comfortingly. “Besides, won’t Uncle Charles and Aunt be in before now?”
    â€œNo,” said Lydia, still more troubled. “He’s gone to preach, you know, and they’re being entertained afterwards to supper.”
    Number seven, however, when at last they reached it, looked so solid, so sedate, so like itself, that Lydia was reassured, and smiled at Wilfred as she pulled the old-fashioned bell. A long pause ensued. Lydia pulled the bell again. There was another pause. The house somehow changed its aspect and appeared silent and deserted. Lydia turned to her companion.
    â€œCan there be anything wrong?” she said, aghast.
    â€œWhy should there be?” said Wilfred sensibly. “Let
me
pull that bell.”
    â€œIt sounded before,” murmured Lydia unhappily, as he gave it a strong and experienced jerk.
    In the recesses of the house the bell jangled tremendously, and went on jangling and tinklingas though it would never cease. At last it died away; there was another pause; then at last there came a vague sound of footsteps; in the distance a door banged, causing Lydia to start nervously, and almost immediately Annice opened the front