Kitabı oku: «The Dust of Conflict», sayfa 25
XXXIV – THE RIGHT MAN
IT was on the Saturday morning the “Cunarder’s” passengers disembarked at Liverpool, and within an hour of the time the answer to the telegrams he despatched came to hand Appleby had started for Darsley. It was, however, late in the afternoon when he arrived there, and proceeded straight to Craythorne’s office. The clerk’s manner made it evident that he was expected, but he was a trifle astonished to find two other men beside the lawyer waiting him when he was shown into a lighted room.
Craythorne closed a little sliding window before he shook hands with him, and then turned to the others.
“This is Colonel Melton, appointed joint trustee with me by the will Anthony Palliser made the night he left for Cuba,” he said. “I think you have met Mr. Earle. He came here with the sanction of Colonel Melton, and Esmond Palliser, on behalf of Miss Wayne, in case anything you have to tell us concerns her. He will, of course, withdraw if you wish it, though both he and Colonel Melton have long been confidential friends of the Palliser family.”
Appleby greeted the two men, and then sat down with a little gleam in his eyes when Craythorne pointed to a chair.
“I should like to tell you that I left my business in New York and came here against my partner’s wishes because I felt it was a duty I owed Miss Wayne and my late comrade’s relatives,” he said. “That was my only motive, and it seems to me desirable that you should realize it.”
“You apparently do not know that you are a legatee under Anthony Palliser’s will,” said Craythorne.
“I was not even aware that he had made one, though he told me that he had made over Dane Cop to me.”
Colonel Melton looked at Earle, and Craythorne, who took a document from a drawer, passed it to Appleby.
“Then you will be astonished to hear that the personal estate scheduled here was bequeathed to you?”
“I certainly am. I am also not sure that Tony had exactly the right to leave this property to me. Traditionally, and, I think, ethically, it belongs to the estate, and should revert to Esmond Palliser.”
Colonel Melton appeared a trifle astonished, but Craythorne smiled dryly. “That is also Esmond Palliser’s opinion, and he informed me that he intends to act upon it.”
“He is, of course, at liberty”; and Appleby showed a trace of impatience. “His intentions do not, however, in the least concern me. Now, gentlemen, I have come here to tell you of my comrade’s death, and I have another appointment to keep this evening.”
Melton glanced at Craythorne, who nodded. “We will ask you to be as explicit as you can,” he said.
Appleby spoke for rather more than ten minutes, and when he came to the assault upon Santa Marta it was evident that Colonel Melton was listening with eager interest. He turned to Appleby abruptly with a trace of embarrassment.
“I knew your father, Mr. Appleby,” he said. “In fact, I once offended Godfrey Palliser by expressing my opinion of the fashion in which he treated him, and now I can only hope you will excuse the attitude I thought necessary when you came in. You did a thing not many drilled troops would have accomplished. A frontal attack in daylight, with a coverless strip to cross! They would have swept you out of existence with shrapnel.”
“They hadn’t any”; and Appleby laughed.
“Still, they had two quick-firers, and your attack was directed at one narrow entrance,” said Melton. “Now – ”
Craythorne raised his hand. “I fancy it would be advisable to discuss these points later on,” he said. “What we are immediately concerned with is the proof of Anthony Palliser’s death.”
“Precisely!” said Earle.
Melton flashed an angry glance at the lawyer, and Appleby’s face became a trifle grim.
“I have here the depositions of two men who saw him buried attested by a Spanish notary, and am willing to make another now before a commissioner for oaths,” he said. “My partner in New York will also testify to Tony’s connection with the Sin Verguenza.”
“And Miss Wayne, that he told her he was leaving for Cuba to find Mr. Appleby, if Craythorne is unwilling,” said Melton.
Craythorne smiled and opened the little window. “Ask Mr. Gordon, the notary, to come here at once,” he said.
“May we ask your partner’s name?” said Earle.
“Cyrus P. Harding, New York,” said Appleby.
Earle appeared astonished, and almost disconcerted. “I think that fact is sufficiently convincing,” he said. “I am sure you will understand that it was necessary for us to proceed circumspectly, Mr. Appleby.”
Again Craythorne smiled curiously. “I think Mr. Appleby understands the obligation placed on a trustee. In that respect alone our attitude was necessary.”
Appleby flushed a trifle. “Still,” he said, “I am glad you sent for a notary.”
“Well,” said Craythorne. “Dane Cop was not bequeathed to you in the event of his death by Anthony Palliser, but made over to you before he left for Cuba. It is yours absolutely, but in regard to the legacy it will be necessary to prove the will, and Esmond Palliser requested me to inform you that he purposed to contest your claim. I should suggest that you instruct a lawyer to confer with me.”
“It will not be necessary, since I waive any right I may have. I do not intend to live in England, but to go back to New York almost immediately.”
There was a murmur of astonishment, and Melton said, “I think that is unreasonably generous.”
“No,” said Appleby. “I scarcely fancy it is. Dane Cop is mine, and I shall hold on to it, but it would be difficult to get anything worth while out of the other property, which is after all of no great value, without personal supervision, and you may remember that there is still a warrant out for my apprehension.”
Melton looked at his companions, and it was evident that they concurred with Craythorne when he said, “In the event of a trial you could clear yourself.”
“Yes,” said Appleby quietly, “I believe I could, but I have reasons for deciding not to run any risk of being compelled to do so. My partner, who is acquainted with them, does not consider it necessary, and it is more than probable that the police have no longer any expectations of tracing me.”
“You understand what you are purposing to do?” said Craythorne.
“It is, of course, quite clear to me. Still, I intend to remain in America.”
There was a curious silence, and then Melton, moving forward, shook hands with Appleby.
“I have seldom heard of a finer thing than your decision, though after what I had seen of your father’s life I should have expected it from you,” he said. “With all respect to the Pallisers, none of them ever made so good a match as the one who married the ranker. While you remain at Northrop you will stay with me.”
Earle smiled a little. “I must tell you, Mr. Appleby, that we understand your reasons – and appreciate them. Colonel Melton has, however, anticipated my intentions of offering you hospitality.”
“You have evidently heard more than I hoped you would have done,” said Appleby quietly.
“No,” said Melton. “I, at least, know nothing, but I surmise a good deal. If I had not been your father’s friend I should, however, never have grasped your motive.”
Then the notary was shown in, and Earle rose. “We will wait in the other room,” he said. “Mr. Appleby will no doubt have affairs to talk over with Craythorne.”
It was half an hour later when Appleby came out, and found them waiting still. “I understand you are going on to see Miss Wayne, and I should be glad to drive you over,” said Melton. “Then as you can’t get back here to-night you will have to decide which of us shall have the pleasure of entertaining you. I don’t wish to be unfair to Earle, but I think I am entitled to a preference.”
Appleby felt curiously grateful to the gray-haired officer, but he smiled a little.
“I wonder if you realize what you are taking upon yourself, sir?” he said.
“If everybody at Northrop heard you were staying with me I should be especially pleased,” said Melton gravely.
“Still, in case you did not consider that convenient we will contrive to arrange it differently.”
Appleby went with him, and an hour or two later was shown into Mrs. Wayne’s drawing-room. He waited a little, with unpleasant misgivings, and his heart beating a trifle more rapidly than usual, and then felt a slight relief when Violet and her mother came in. The girl was dressed in a long robe of black that emphasized her pallor, but Appleby was reassured when he noticed her quiet composure.
“I felt that you would wish to see me, though I am afraid I can only cause you distress,” he said.
Mrs. Wayne pointed to a chair. “You have come a long way,” she said. “We appreciate the consideration for us that brought you.”
“I had business with Mr. Craythorne,” said Appleby, with a trace of embarrassment.
Then there was a silence he felt horribly unpleasant until Violet Wayne turned her eyes upon him.
“Will you tell us – everything – from the time you met Tony in Cuba? There is so much we wish to know,” she said quietly.
Appleby, who wished that the obligation had not been laid on him, commenced abruptly in disjointed sentences, but the memories crowded upon him as he proceeded, and he became oblivious of everything but the necessity of making the most of Tony’s part in them. The scenes he pictured became almost more real to him than when they were happening. He was once more in Cuba, and made his listeners see the sun-scorched hacienda, the long column crawling in the moonlight down the dim white road, the waves of dusky cane, and the glaring streets of Santa Marta. He felt they realized with him the tension of the silence until the rifles flashed, the flitting shadow that brushed through the cane, the tramp of weary feet, and the exultant shouts of the Sin Verguenza.
In the meanwhile the color appeared and faded in the girl’s face, while now and then her lips would tremble and again set tight. Then as he came to the last struggle on the veranda he saw a glow in her eyes, and felt her intent gaze draw the picture out of him. At last she sank back in her chair with a little gasp, and Appleby, who knew he had never spoken in that fashion before, felt suddenly nerveless and embarrassed. For almost a minute he sat staring vacantly in front of him, and then straightened himself with a little abrupt movement.
“I am afraid I have distressed you – but it seemed due to Tony that I should tell you this,” he said.
Violet slowly raised her head, and looked at him with hazy eyes. “I think we shall always be grateful – and you must have felt it – you were his friend,” she said. “I can’t ask the questions I wish to know – you will come back again?”
Appleby rose, and Mrs. Wayne, who went out with him, turned to him in the hall.
“Are you staying any time at Darsley, Mr. Appleby?” she said. “We shall be pleased to see you.”
“It was good of you to permit me to come once, madame,” said Appleby. “It will be a week, at least, before I can get away, but I think a little reflection will convince you that it would be better if I did not come here again.”
Mrs. Wayne looked at him quietly. “There is no reason why you should not. You will, of course, understand that Violet told me Miss Harding’s story.”
Appleby did not remember what he answered, but he drove away with a curious feeling of content, and Mrs. Wayne went back to the room where her daughter sat very still in her chair. Stooping down she kissed her gently.
“Did it hurt very much, Violet?” she said.
The girl seemed to shiver. “No,” she said in a strained voice. “Not so much as I expected – in the way you mean. It was a splendid reparation Tony made.”
Mrs. Wayne laid her hand caressingly on her daughter’s hair. “You have told me very little, Violet – and people with your reserve find their troubles the harder to bear.”
For a moment or two the girl gazed at the fire. “Mother. I must talk at last. I have almost a horror of myself,” she said. “I was wickedly hard to Tony when Nettie Harding told me, and I felt very bitter against him when he went away. I could not overcome the feeling, though I tried – and now when I should ask it of him – he cannot forgive me.”
Mrs. Wayne did not appear altogether astonished. “And yet I think he understood that you would marry him when he came back.”
“I made him an implied promise – and I would have kept it. I am glad I did so now.”
“It would have been difficult? Still, you loved him once.”
Violet turned her eyes away, and once more seemed to shiver. “No,” she said with a little quaver in her voice. “I seem to have realized since he went away that I never did. Still, until Nettie Harding told me, I fancied I did – and I believed in him. He was so generous, and light-hearted – and, though I am wickedly exacting, I am not hard all through. I can’t shake off the horror I feel because I am not more sorry now.”
Mrs. Wayne bent down and kissed her again. “My dear, I do not think the right man would find you hard,” she said. “Still, I am afraid you will die single. You expect too much.”
Appleby, who saw Violet and her mother twice before the week was out, found that the negotiations for an extension of building sites and water rights at Dane Cop which Craythorne had undertaken would delay him another week. The lawyer had urged him to wait in London, and pointed out the risk of recognition or an encounter with Sergeant Stitt; but Colonel Melton lived at a distance of several miles from Northrop, and Appleby for no very apparent reason preferred that vicinity. Then when the affair was decided, and there was nothing to delay his sailing for New York, he set out on foot on a farewell visit to Mrs. Wayne’s house, and, as it happened, did not find her or her daughter in. He went on to Low Wood, and discovering that Hester Earle half expected Violet spent an hour there in fierce impatience. The afternoon was rapidly wearing through, and as he had taken his passage by the “Cunarder” to sail from Liverpool on the following day it was essential that he should leave Darsley that night.
Still, Violet did not come, and he was proceeding ruefully towards Colonel Melton’s when he overtook her walking home. The light was growing dim, but he almost fancied that she started when she saw him. Her voice was, however, as quiet and low as usual when she greeted him.
“I am very glad I met you, because I could not find you at home, and I am going away to-night,” he said.
There was the slightest trace of astonishment and concern in the girl’s eyes. “Then you will come back with me,” she said.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Appleby, with a glance at his watch. “Still, with your permission, I will walk a little of the way with you.”
They went on together, and it was not because they desired it that Tony Palliser held a leading place in their thoughts, and twice at least Appleby mentioned him. Then the girl said slowly, “I have heard from Mr. Earle that you do not mean to clear yourself. That is very generous but – one must mention it – is it wise?”
Appleby showed a trace of disconcertion. “I do not know why he told you, but as I shall, I think, spend most of my life in America it could do me little good to vindicate myself,” he said. “Only a few people know the truth, and they will keep my confidence, while the rest would not believe it. Tony made reparation for the wrong he did me, and if he had not risked the cazador’s bayonet I do not think I should be here now.”
“Still, did it never occur to you that you might marry?”
Appleby stopped without intending it, and both stood still. The saffron and green of the sunset was shining low down between the bare branches of a copse close by, and there was still a little light in the sky, and the man, lifting his eyes, looked at his companion. It was evident that she had spoken without reflection and was sorry for it, for he could see a tinge of color in her face, but it was the vague apprehension in her eyes that seized his attention. For a moment he stood silent, and felt his heart beating. Then an impulse which rose from the depth of his nature swept restraint away.
“Yes,” he said almost grimly. “Still, that may never happen. I have too great aspirations, you see – and if it ever came about the woman would understand my motives.”
“Then you have seen her – she is not a fancy?”
Violet had not meant to say this, but the words seemed forced on her, and it was almost with a sense of confusion she realized that they had escaped her. Still, she stood looking at the man quietly, and saw the little quiver that ran through him. Then it was with a strenuous effort she preserved her tranquillity, for she knew.
“Yes,” he said in a strained voice, “I have seen her. Her face was with me on many a weary march in Cuba – though I tried to drive it away.”
The color was a trifle more evident in the girl’s cheeks. “You found it difficult? But would not the stain of an offence you did not commit prove an insuperable barrier?”
“No,” said Appleby with a quietness that cost him an effort, “I do not think it would. The story would not be known in America.”
There was silence for a space, and while both stood very still the truth was plain between them. Then it was the girl who spoke.
“You have great faith,” she said.
Appleby made a little forceful gesture. “It is warranted,” he said. “I am going away to-morrow. You know why it is necessary – but if I come back again will you listen to what I shall have to tell you?”
Violet Wayne regarded him with eyes that shone softly.
“Yes,” she said very quietly.
Then with a grasp of her hand Appleby turned away, and Violet went on slowly down the dusky lane.
