Kitabı oku: «Blind Policy», sayfa 13

Chapter Twenty Seven.
Under the Beeches

It was a lovely morning in the sylvan solitude by The Towers, and leaving Mrs James and Mrs Dennis Clareborough in the drawing-room, Marion took her sunshade and a book, to wander away across the lawn to the gate in the ring fence, and then along the path at the edge of the beech wood, ostensibly to find a seat in the shade of one of the great spreading trees, and have a calm, quiet read.

But ere she had gone a couple of hundred yards the fever in her blood and the throbbing of her temples told her that the idea of calm and rest was the merest farce.

She had hailed the departure of the gentlemen for Paris, as they had said, as a relief from the quiet, insidious siege laid to her by James Clareborough, who rarely spoke but on the most commonplace topics, and was always coldly polite; but there were moments when she met his eyes and read plainly enough that his intentions were unaltered, and that sooner of later he would again begin to make protestations of his love.

Her position seemed harder than she could bear. His wife hated her with a bitter, jealous hatred, but she was too much crushed down and afraid of her fierce lord to show her dislike more openly, though there were times when she seemed ready to break out into open reproach.

“Oh, if I could only end it all!” thought Marion again and again. “Will Rob never break with them?

“Never,” she said to herself, despairingly; “they would never let him go. And yet surely the world is wide enough, and somewhere surely he might find peace.

“No, he would never settle down to another life. It is fate. There is neither peace nor happiness now for me.”

She had wandered on for quite a mile before, feeling hot and wearied, she seated herself on one of the great gnarled mossy buttresses of a beech and leaned her head upon her hand, thinking of him whom she could not keep out of her thoughts, but still only in despair. Then her thoughts turned once more to James Clareborough, and, brave and firm as she was, a thrill of horror ran through her at the dread which oppressed her and set her heart throbbing wildly.

What if this Parisian journey was only a ruse and James Clareborough were back on purpose to try and gain a meeting with her while her brother was not by her side?

The thought was horrible, and it grew more intense, her cheeks flushing and then growing ghastly white from her emotion.

“What madness to come out here alone!” she thought. “He would have been watching for me, and be ready to read it as an invitation.”

She looked round wildly, and started as a sharp tap was heard close at hand.

“Am I growing such a nervous, feeble coward,” she said, “that I am afraid of a rabbit? What have I to fear from him?”

She laughed at her weak folly, and to prove to herself that she was no longer under the influence of dread she took her book and opened it at random, but did not read a word, for her musings began again.

“It is excusable,” she thought. “All these years of dread of discovery, of some end coming to their plans, and for the sake of what? A miserable gilded life of luxury that is hateful to me and makes me shiver when I look into his pleading eyes. He loves me and would marry me to-morrow in his ignorance; and then what would he say when he knew the truth? I cannot bear it; there must – there shall be an end. It is not life; it is one miserable nightmare of fear.”

She sprang to her feet, uttering a faint cry of horror, and turned to run. For there was some truth in her suspicions; she had been followed. There was a quick step behind, and she had run some little distance before, glancing back, she saw that it was not James Clareborough, but Chester, standing beneath the trees which had sheltered her, and now gazing after her with a look of anger and despair.

She stopped, and he came up to her side.

“Have I grown so hateful to your sight?” he said bitterly.

“No, no!” she cried, holding out her trembling hand, which he seized and pressed passionately to his lips. “I thought it was James Clareborough.”

“Then he has dared to insult you again?” said Chester, angrily.

“No, no; indeed, no,” she cried.

“But you live in fear of him. Oh, Marion, Marion, how long is this weary life to last? Once more let me plead. Would not a quiet life with my devotion be a happier one than this miserable luxury, where you are constantly persecuted by a scoundrel?”

“Oh, hush, hush!” she murmured. “I have told you it can never be.”

“Yes, but these are words. Your woman’s honour forbids you to stay.”

“Hush, for pity’s sake! You torture me,” she cried. “Must I explain, but you must see and know that I am tied down to it, that I cannot leave my brother – that he would never let me go.”

“I cannot – I will not believe but that all this is imaginary,” said Chester, firmly. “Will you not trust me? Will you not tell me what it all means, and let me, a man, be the judge?”

“No,” she said, mastering her emotion and speaking calmly now. “Once more, I cannot, I will not explain. Why have you come down here?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“You know,” he said. “Where should I be but near the woman who is my very life?”

“But it is madness – it is misery and torture to me.”

“Poor wretch that I am,” he said bitterly. “Still, I cannot help it.”

“But,” she cried imploringly, “your life would not be safe if they knew of your being here.”

“Indeed? Well, what of it? My presence is a torture to you. I am a torture and misery to myself. They would not dare to kill me. I don’t know, though,” he said, with a mocking laugh, “by accident, perhaps.”

“Dr Chester,” cried Marion, appealingly, “does it please you to inflict this agony upon me?”

“No, no,” he said, snatching at her hand. “I would give my life to save you pain.”

“Then go. Leave me and forget me. I am not the true, innocent woman you think. I am not fit to be your wife.”

“What!” he cried, turning ghastly pale, while as she saw his agony her face grew convulsed and she half raised her hands to him pleadingly, but let them fall.

He saw the movement and snatched them to his breast.

“It is not true,” he cried proudly. “Some false sentiment makes you say this. I will not believe it of the woman I love.”

She did not resist until he tried to take her to his heart. Then she shrank away.

“No,” she said. “You must not touch me like that. Once more, believe me, all this must end. You must think of me no more – you must go at once, and we must never meet again.”

“You have told me that before,” he said, “but I am not a free agent. I was obliged to come. I have been here these three days past, watching for an opportunity to speak to you; and when I do you once more cast me off – you drive me away. Well, I have borne it so long; I can go on bearing it till you relent, or – I die,” he added softly.

She looked at him wildly for a moment, and his hopes rose, for the relenting seemed close at hand, but she was stern and cold again directly.

“And your betrothed wife,” she said. “What of her?”

He was silent for a few moments, and then he made a deprecating sign with his hands.

“What do you know of her?” he said.

“Everything,” she replied. “How basely and cruelly you have behaved to her. Is this your honour as a man?”

He heard a deep sigh.

“I have only one thing to say in my defence,” he said slowly. “I believed that I loved her; but then I had not seen you. I was not under this spell.”

“It is no spell,” she said firmly. “Go to her, and forget me. I tell you that I am not worthy to be your wife, and that such a union is impossible for reasons which I dare not explain. You hear me?”

“Yes,” he said sadly, “I hear you.”

“Then good-bye for ever.”

She turned from him, but a piteous moan escaped her lips, and the next moment he had clasped her to his heart.

“Marion, my own!” he whispered, as he pressed his lips to hers; “then you do love me!”

“Yes,” she said, as she clung to him, and for a moment or two returned his embrace. “You know I love you and shall never love another, but go now, for Heaven’s sake! I tell you it is impossible. Good-bye – good-bye.”

She tore herself from his grasp and fled through the wood, not daring to turn her head to see if he followed, lest in her woman’s weakness she should give way and dare everything for his sake.

Chapter Twenty Eight.
Caught Once More

Marion did not check her pace till, hot and breathless, she was forced to rest for a few minutes. Her brain was in a state of bewildering confusion, and had Chester been there then to plead his cause, her heart would have made but a poor defence. She would have been his, and his alone.

But in a few minutes she began to grow calmer; the dangers of such a course were more and more apparent, and at last, as she walked on towards The Towers, her thoughts of the future assumed their wonted current, and she began to plan.

She was not long in deciding what to do. Chester was evidently staying somewhere near at hand; he would grow more and more persistent, and she could see nothing in the future but his presence being discovered by James Clareborough or his brother, and then some terrible mischief would arise, and fresh misery ensue.

There seemed to be but one course open, and that was to escape from Chester’s pursuit and to this end she went quietly into her own room to try and grow more composed, joined the others at lunch, and then in the most quiet, matter-of-fact way ordered the pony carriage to be round directly after for a drive.

“You will not go with me, I suppose, Di?” she said to James’s wife.

“I? No, thank you, Marion. I am not well to-day,” said the lady, flushing.

“Will you come, Hester?” she continued.

“I can’t; I am going over to the Ellistons’ to tennis,” was the reply.

“Then I’ll have my little drive alone,” said Marion, smiling; and shortly afterwards she stepped into the phaeton, the boy groom sprang up behind, and the spirited little ponies started off along the park drive at a rapid pace.

“How nice Marion always looks,” said Mrs Dennis, “and how well she drives.”

“Yes,” said her sister-in-law, bitterly; “everyone admires her. It is always Marion, Marion! Why did he not marry her? He would if I died. How long does it take, Hester, to break a woman’s heart?”

“Oh, hush, hush, dear!” whispered her sister-in-law, soothingly. “I know how sad it is, but you ought not to be so cold to poor Marion. I honestly believe that she absolutely hates James.”

“Hates? when she does all that she can to lure him on?”

“That is not true, dear,” said Mrs Dennis, gravely. “I know Marion better than you do, because you have always shut your heart against her.”

“Well, can you wonder?”

“Yes and no. It is a terrible position, and I pity you, dear; but believe me, James’s advances fill Marion with disgust and shame, and some day you will find this out.”

“I’d give the world to believe it,” sobbed the wretched woman, “but I cannot, and I am certain that she has gone to keep some appointment with him now.”

“You are unjust, Di dear,” said Mrs Dennis, kissing her lovingly.

“I am a miserable, unhappy woman, ill-treated and scorned by the man who swore to love me. What else can you expect? Why did I ever enter this wretched family?”

“Dazzled as I was by the wealth and show, I suppose,” said Mrs Dennis, coldly. “But we are their wives, and must bear our lot.”

“It is easy for you, Hester,” said Mrs James, clinging to her sister-in-law now. “Paddy is always manly and kind. He is never like James.”

“No,” said the lady addressed. “I could not – No, no, don’t let’s talk about that. There, there, dear; believe me, it would be best to try and wean him from her. Some day there may be a great change. I believe that sooner or later Rob and Marion will break away.”

“Or James and Marion,” said her sister-in-law, bitterly.

“No, no. Try and be just, dear, and do all you can to win Jem from his wretched madness. We want no more terrible quarrels. Next time someone else might suffer from a pistol shot, and then – ”

“You mean James,” cried his wife, with a spasmodic movement of her hand to her breast.

“Yes,” said Mrs Dennis, “I mean James. Rob would certainly resent it fiercely.”

The unhappy wife turned pale, and shivered as she walked away. Meanwhile, in accordance with her plans, Marion drove by a cross road to the pleasant little Kentish town half a dozen miles away, pulled up at the station, and on alighting handed the reins to the young groom, told him to wait for an hour, and if she were not back by the next train to drive home.

Then entering the station she took a ticket for London, too deeply intent upon her own thoughts to notice who followed her into the office; and as soon as the train drew up, she stepped into an empty compartment and drew up the glasses, to go on thinking out her further proceedings, for her mind was now made up.

She had ample means, her brother having well provided her with a banking account of her own, and her intention was to go straight to the town house, pack up a couple of trunks, and take the night boat for Dieppe, and thence go on to Switzerland, where she could extend her projects, though where she went mattered little so long as she could avoid another meeting with her pursuer.

The train was gathering speed for its straight run on to the terminus, and she was congratulating herself upon her decision, and then thinking that there was only one difficulty in her way – the opposition which might arise on the part of the old housekeeper. But she concluded that a little firmness would suffice; if not, a frank avowal of the dangers she foresaw would win the old woman to her side, and then, once free from the trammels which surrounded her, she would perhaps regain her peace of mind, so broken since that terrible night when she fetched Chester to her brother.

“And he will soon forget me and return to her who is his by right, and then – ”

She uttered a wild cry of alarm and shrank back for a moment or two in the corner of the compartment, for, in spite of the great speed at which they were going, the carriage window on her left was suddenly darkened, the door thrown open, and a man climbed in, fastening the door again, and then sinking panting upon the opposite seat.

“You here?” she cried wildly. “Oh! what madness!”

“Yes, hardly the work of a sane man, with a train going at express speed.”

“You might have been killed!” cried Marion, trying hard to be firm, and descending to commonplaces.

“Yes, it seemed very likely once, for the carriages were a good way apart; but if I had been, what then? Not the first man who has died for a woman’s sake.”

“Why have you come?” she said hurriedly.

“Why have I come?” he replied contemptuously. “You ask that! Well, let me tell you; because I knew that sooner or later you would try to elude me; and I have watched night and day to prevent that. Correct me if I am wrong; my heart tells me that you are going up to town to avoid me, and are then going further to be where I cannot find you. Am I correct?”

“Yes, quite,” she replied gravely. “I did not know that I was so weak. I know it now, and, as I have told you, we must never meet again.”

“I will not argue with you,” he said, “only tell you once more that you take a woman’s view of imaginary danger. I take that of a man determined to sacrifice life sooner than lose sight of you again – a poor stake, perhaps, for without you it is a worthless thing, but it is all I have.”

She sighed and he saw that her face grew harder, as she avoided his gaze and sat looking out of the window in silence.

“Do I understand you,” she said at last, “that you mean to follow me?”

“To the world’s end,” he cried.

“Is his manly, to force yourself upon a helpless woman?”

“No; it is despicable perhaps, but I am lost now to reason. You are everything to me; to be near you is to live – to lose sight of you is to die. You are my fate, and you draw me to your side.”

“To your ruin, perhaps to your death,” she said wildly. “You must have grasped what kind of men my relatives are. You must have seen what risk you run.”

“Yes, I have seen and thought out all this, but it is as nothing to your love.”

“And would you see me suffer through your folly and imprudence?”

“I would give anything to spare you suffering.”

“Then leave me before my agony becomes too great to bear.”

“I – can – not!” he cried. “Drive me from you, and when I find that all hope is gone, then I will seek for rest.”

“What!” she cried.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I am no boasting boy,” he said sadly. “Everything to make life worth living will be gone, and an easy painless death beckoning me on. I am a doctor, I have but to go home, and there it is, to my hand.”

She said nothing, but sank back in the corner of the carriage, covering her face with her hands; and he saw that her breast was heaving with the painful sobs struggling for exit.

He bent over towards her, and touched her arm.

“Marion,” he whispered.

She started from him as if she had been stung, and her eyes flashed as her hands fell into her lap.

“Don’t touch me!” she said wildly. “You are mad.”

The train sped on rapidly, taking them nearer and nearer to their fate, as both sat back in silence now – she trembling, battling with her heart in her struggle to devise some means of escaping him, he sinking into a dull, stolid state of determination, for, come what might, he was resolved never to leave her now.

At last the train slowed up to the station where the tickets were taken, and Marion handed hers.

“I have no ticket,” said Chester, quietly, handing the man a sovereign. “I had not time to go to the booking-office. I got in at Bineleigh. This lady will bear me out.”

The man quickly wrote a receipt and handed it with the change. Then the train glided on once more, and in a few minutes they were in the great terminus.

“You have no carriage waiting?” Chester asked.

“No,” she said quietly; “I’ll take a cab.”

Chester summoned one, and handed her in.

“Where do you wish to be driven?” he said.

“Home.”

“May I come with you, or must I follow in another cab?” he asked.

“I am at your mercy, Dr Chester,” she replied sadly.

He hesitated for a moment, then told the driver the name and number of the street, and sprang in.

Marion drew a deep catching breath as he took his seat by her side, and then remained silent till they reached the familiar doorway. Here, in the most matter-of-fact way, Chester alighted and handed out his companion and they walked up to the door together, Chester reaching out to pull the bell.

“No,” she said, speaking in a quick, startled tone of voice, and he looked at her wonderingly, for she opened the door with a latch-key, stepped in, holding the door with one hand and extending the other.

“Now,” she said firmly, “good-bye.”

For answer he stepped forward with a smile, but not to take her hand. He pressed the door gently, but with sufficient force to make her give way, and his foot was on the step.

“No, no, for pity’s sake!” she almost moaned; “it may mean your death.”

“Well, better that than an empty life,” he cried, as she slowly gave way, mastered by the force that held her in its strange power. The next minute the door was closed, and they stood together in the great, dim hall.

He saw that she was struggling to be firm, but a wave of triumphant joy carried him on, for he knew that he had won.

“My own!” he whispered passionately; “at last! at last!” and he clasped her in his arms.

“No, no!” she cried, making one last effort for the supremacy; and, thrusting him violently away, she turned and fled towards the end of the hall, darted through the open doorway into the great darkened dining-room and tried to shut the door.

But he was too close, and this time he caught her in his arms, raised her from the carpet, to bear her to the couch that had borne her wounded brother for so long, and there, letting her sink down, dropped upon his knees at her feet.

The room was very dim, the electric light being only slightly raised, but he could see her half-closed eyes and trembling lips, as she bent over towards him now till her brow rested upon his shoulder.

“This is not death, but life,” he whispered passionately. “Tell me, you were going to escape from me?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you going?”

“Abroad – Switzerland.”

“When?”

“To-night.”

“Yes, to-night,” he said softly, “and I with you, dearest. Your slave – yourself – one with you always. Marion, we must never part again.”

“Never part again,” she whispered back, as his lips sought hers. “You have mastered. I can resist no more; take me, dearest – I am yours. But we must go at once. At any moment they may return.”

“Who may? Your brother and James Clareborough?”

“Yes. Come away.”

“To the world’s end with you,” he whispered, but she uttered a cry and sprang to her feet.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Didn’t you hear? Come.”

She led the way quickly into the hall, and the voices her preternaturally sharpened hearing had detected came from below.

Marion caught Chester’s hand and ran with him towards the great front door, which they had almost reached, when there was a sharp, quick rattling sound before them and the dull movement of feet upon the stone step.

The next moment the door was opening towards them.

Hemmed in, with peril on either hand.