Kitabı oku: «The Great Miss Driver», sayfa 22
"We've been having a little tea-party, but I shall soon be ready for business. Austin you know. This is my friend Miss Octon."
Fillingford came forward – slowly, but with no change of expression. He bowed gravely to Margaret, and gave me his hand with a limp pressure. "I hope you're well, Mr. Austin? We've met very little of late."
Margaret was regarding him with curiosity complicated by alarm. This was Amyas Lacey's father – and Amyas had given the impression that his father was formidable; there was a knowledge in her own heart which might well make him seem formidable to her, even had his bearing been far more cordial.
"I'm afraid I've come too soon," he said. "I interrupt your party."
"Sit down with us and have a cup of tea – Miss Octon will give you one."
He did not refuse the invitation, and sat down opposite Margaret. She ministered to him with a graceful assiduity, offering her timid services with smiles that begged a welcome for them. He remained gravely courteous, watching her with apparent interest.
"I hope Miss Driver is well?" he said to me with a carefully measured civility.
Very wisely Alison did not leave the pair he had brought together to entertain one another. Plunging again into the description of his work which had so won Margaret's interest before, he enabled Fillingford to see the gay charm which he himself could not elicit. Then, branching off to herself, he got her to describe the wonderful delights of her new existence – her horse, her dog, the little room that Jenny had given her for her own snuggery at the top of the house. "I can see your chimneys from the window!" she told Fillingford with a sudden turn toward him, followed by a lively blush – how came her interest in those chimneys to be so great? Fear kept her from Lacey's name; some instinct, I think, from more than casual reference to the donor of all the fine gifts which she catalogued and praised; little reference used to be made to Fillingford at Breysgate, and perhaps she had caught the cue thus given.
"But I haven't got enough work to do," she complained gayly to Alison. "And if you would let me come and work for you – "
"I'll find you plenty of work to do," he promised. "Lots of wicked old women to visit!" He smiled at us. "I might try you on the wicked young men, too," he added. "There are lots of them about. But plenty of very good fellows, too, if only we could really get hold of them."
"Try her on Mrs. Jepps," Fillingford suggested dryly; yet the smallest unbending, the least hint of a joke, from him seemed something gained.
"That's the old lady with the fat horses, isn't it? She looks very kind and nice."
"Hum!" said Alison. Fillingford gave a wintry smile. "Mrs. Jepps and I are considered the two ogres of the neighborhood," he said.
Her little hand darted impulsively across the table toward him, and was as quickly drawn back – one of her ventures, followed by her merry confusion. "You! Oh, nonsense! I don't believe that!"
"Ah, you haven't heard all the stories about me!"
"I've only heard that you're very – really very kind and – and just." She was summoning all her courage; she was full of deprecation and appeal.
"Who told you that?"
She cast a look of dismay at me, and I came to her rescue. "Your son, of course, Lord Fillingford. We see him sometimes at Breysgate."
"I know you do." He shot out the words and shut his lips close after them.
She looked distressed and rather puzzled; after thawing a little, he had relapsed into frost at the first mention of his son. Alison seemed to think a diversion desirable.
"Before you go, I should like to show you our chapel. We have a little one of our own here. We use it in the early mornings sometimes, and for prayers after supper."
She jumped at the proposal, both for its own sake, I think, and for a refuge from her embarrassment.
"We'll be back directly," said Alison, as they left Fillingford and myself together.
Fillingford sat in silence for some moments. Then he said slowly, "I didn't know that your newcomer at Breysgate was so attractive."
Jenny had not reckoned on my being left alone with him. I had no instructions, and had to choose my own course. "I thought that perhaps Lacey would have told you about her?"
He looked me in the face with his heavy deliberate gaze. "We don't often speak of his visits to Breysgate." He paused and then added, with something of restrained vehemence in his tone, "I don't care to ask either the number or the object of his visits – and he hasn't volunteered any information to me on either point."
"His visits are frequent," I remarked. "As to their object – "
"I don't think we need discuss that – you and I, Mr. Austin."
"I was only going to say that we could neither of us do more than guess at it."
For a moment he lost his self-control. "I hope to Heaven my guess is wrong – that's all," he said hotly.
Surprised out of reserve, he leaned forward toward me, with a sudden look of eagerness in his eyes. "I should like to know what you mean by that – if you're at liberty to tell me."
"I'd sooner not. It would come better from your son, I think."
"I prefer not to talk to my son about the matter just now. I might wrong him. I have many worries just now – business and others – and I don't trust myself to discuss it with him with all the calmness which I should desire."
"I'm afraid I can do no more than venture to advise you not to come to any conclusion prematurely."
He broke out again; it was evident that he was living under a strain which taxed his endurance sorely. "But Amyas is always there! And she – !"
The sound of Alison's voice came from the hall. "Hush! They're just coming back. You must wait and see."
A light broke over his face. "You can't possibly mean that it's this girl?" There was undoubted relief in his tone – but utter surprise, too, and even contempt. "Oh, but that's on all grounds utterly ridiculous!"
They were in the room again. "Don't say so, don't say so," I had just time to whisper.
Margaret came in, laughing and merry, recovered from her confusion, delighted with the chapel, she and Alison one another's slaves. While she worshiped him, she had almost got to ordering him about; she laughed at her own airs, and he industriously humored them. They were a pretty sight together. The grave careworn man at my side watched them, as I thought, with a closer interest. But it was time for us to go – Lord Fillingford's business had been long awaiting – and Margaret began to make her farewells, extracting from Alison a promise that she should come again soon, and that he would come again soon to Breysgate. I think that this was the first Fillingford had heard of his having been at Breysgate at all; his eyes looked wary at the news.
Margaret came to him. "Good-by, Lord Fillingford," she said with shy friendliness.
He looked intently at her. "I'm glad to have met a friend of my son's," he said gravely. She blushed again; he turned to me with brows knit and eyes full of brooding question.
On the way home Margaret was silent for a while; then she asked, "Did Lord Fillingford know my father?"
"Yes, he knew him slightly."
"Were they friends?"
"Well, no, I don't think they were, particularly. Not very congenial, I fancy."
"No, they wouldn't be," she agreed. "Father would have thought him dull and pompous, wouldn't he? But I think I should get to like him and" – she smiled audaciously – "I believe I could make him like me. He looks sad, though, poor man! Though I suppose he's got everything!"
"A good many worries included, I think, Margaret."
"He spoke of Lord Lacey as if he was fond of him." The smile lingered on her lips. I think that she was day-dreaming of how, if he were fond of Lacey, he would be fond of what Lacey loved, and that so she might soothe him over his worries and take the lines out of his painful brow. "Anyhow I'm very glad I've met him."
I was glad of that, too – on the whole. The interview had gone as well as could be expected. Margaret had won no such sudden and complete victory as had attended the beginning of her acquaintance with Alison. Fillingford was not the man to yield a triumph like that; he was far too slow and wary in his feelings, too suspicious and afraid of efforts to approach him; he had, besides, a personal grudge against Breysgate that must needs go deeper than Alison's enforced but reluctant disapproval of the mistress of that house. His words had not been encouraging – "on all grounds utterly ridiculous!" Yet there had been kindness in his grave tones when he told her that he was glad to have met a friend of his son's. I wondered whether Jenny would be content with this somewhat mixed result – and what she would say to the share I had taken in the interview.
I got no chance of making my report to her till late at night, for Cartmell came to dinner – to talk business – and the two were busy discussing Oxley Lodge. Cartmell was still sore about the price, especially sore about that five hundred pounds to satisfy a mysterious whim for early possession. But Jenny was radiant over her new acquisition, and full of merriment at the story of Aspenick's sulky comments.
"Really I think they've every right to hate me – and I suppose they do. But I can't stand still just because the Aspenicks have stood still for six hundred years, can I? Anyhow I think he'll be quite safe about the wire. His new neighbors will probably be hunting people themselves."
Cartmell pricked up his ears. "Hunting people, will they? Well, that's good. I didn't know who – "
"No more do I yet – exactly," she laughed, obviously enjoying his baffled curiosity, and casting a glance across at me for my sympathy in the joke. "But I'll have people of a good class, Mr. Cartmell – no one to offend his high nobility! No tradesman's son at Oxley! Breysgate is bad enough!" Her eyes dwelt for a moment on Margaret. "And Margaret tells me that she's made a conquest of Mr. Alison, and, as a consequence, is going in for all manner of good works."
Cartmell did not follow the connection of her thoughts, and she laughed again at that.
"I'm quite serious about it, Jenny," Margaret protested.
"Of course you are, my dear, I'm very glad of it. And I believe it would appeal even to Lady Aspenick!"
At last we were alone together – just before I said good night.
"Margaret has told me some of her impressions. What are yours?" she asked.
"I think that, on the whole, we did fairly well. I also think that Margaret and I between us pretty well let the cat out of the bag."
"Oh, you did! How was the animal liked?"
"It was pronounced ridiculous – on all grounds ridiculous!"
"Was it? We shall see." Jenny looked dangerous.
"But all the same it was thought better than – the fox."
"Ah!" she cried eagerly. "Better than the fox!" Her eyes sparkled. "Tell me all you can remember."
I told her my tale, not forgetting what had passed between Fillingford and myself when we were alone.
"Not so bad! I think we'll go ahead now!" said Jenny.
CHAPTER XXIV
A CHANCE FOR THE ROMANTIC
All was as ready as all could be made. The plans were laid, the approaches prepared, the battalions marshaled. For so much a commander must wait – a good one waits no longer. We went ahead. The Thursday which Jenny had forecasted as likely to be busy turned out to be busy in fact. One thing happened for which she gave the word – another which, as I am persuaded, did not surprise her very much. It had to come – it had better be over and done with. In all likelihood she gave the word for this second thing also.
How were these words given? Ah, there I am out of my depth. In our relations to the other sex we men are naturally on the aggressive. The man pursued of woman exists no doubt – but as an abnormality – a queer by-product of a civilization intent on many things non-natural. The normal man is on the attack, and ignorant, by consequence, of the minutiæ of the science of defense. Whether the intent be surrender, or whether it be that the moment has come for a definitive repulse of the main attack, there are, no doubt, preliminary operations. Scouts are called in, pickets withdrawn, skirmishes retired; all these have served their function – have given information, have foretold the attack, have felt the strength of the opposing forces, and held them in check while the counsels of the defense were taken and its measures perfected. The order is issued – Let them come on – and on they come, to their triumph or their overthrow. But all this is woman's campaigning – to be dimly understood in its outlines, vaguely grasped in its general principles; but how precisely those preliminary operations are performed man, when he has the best opportunity of discovering, is generally too flurried to observe nicely, too deeply engaged in developing his attack to see, more than half blindly, the maneuvers that allow him an open field for it.
Somehow then, on that Thursday, Jenny offered battle – and on two fronts. She threw her ally Margaret open to Lacey's assault; she accepted, on her own account, a direct attack from Dormer. She wished the offensive operations to be practically simultaneous, and substantially achieved the object. One took place before four in the afternoon – the other not later than nine o'clock at night.
Keenly recognizing the fact that I was not wanted at the Priory – I am not sure that Jenny's pointed remark that she would be glad to see me "after dinner" did not assist the recognition – I remained in my own quarters after returning from our couple of hours' morning work. I rather thought that I might be called into action again later on, but I was not concerned in the present operations.
At five in the afternoon Lacey came to me – in a state of the greatest agitation. He just strode in, without asking any leave, and plumped himself down by my hearthstone. His eyes were very bright, his hands and legs seemed quite unable to keep still. Obviously something decisive had happened.
"I've done it, Austin!" he said. "I never thought I should be so happy in my life – and I never thought I should feel such a beast either."
"Congratulations! And explanations? It sounds a curious frame of mind."
"Margaret's accepted me – and I'm on my way to Fillingford to tell my father. Miss Driver insisted on my doing it at once – said it was the only square thing. Otherwise – By Jove, I'd rather charge a battery!"
He got up and began to walk about the room; its dimensions were far too small, whether for his long legs or for his explosive state of mind.
"By gad, Austin, you should have seen how she looked!"
"Miss Driver?"
"No, no, man, Margaret. I was awfully doubtful – well, a fellow doesn't want to talk about his feelings nor about – about what happens on that sort of occasion, you know. Only if it hadn't been for Miss Driver, I couldn't have bucked myself up to it, you know. Taking away her friend – leaving her all alone again, too!" he paused a moment. "I tell you I did think of that," he added rather vehemently.
"Most men wouldn't have thought about that at all – perhaps oughtn't to have."
"Ah, but then what she is to both of us! Well, it went right, Austin, it went right, by Jove!"
His voice was exalted to the skies of triumph. In an instant it dropped to the pit of dismay. "And now I've got to tell the governor!"
"All this has happened thousands of times before," I ventured to remark urbanely, as I filled my pipe and watched his restless striding up and down.
That brought him to a stand – and cooled him into the bargain. "Not quite," he said. "Not quite, Austin." His voice had become more quiet. "You must see that there are elements in this case which – which make it a bit different? My father's been a good friend to me. Things aren't very flourishing with us, as I daresay you know. But I've always had everything – and I've spent all I had, too. The election was a squeeze for him; of course he wouldn't let me take any subscription – it was the honor of the family. He thought of putting things straight himself once – you know how. He'd sooner die than do that now. I'm doing what's pretty nearly as bad to his thinking – and not putting things straight at all! I daresay you don't sympathize with all this, but I've been brought up to think that there's such a thing as loyalty to the family – and not to be ashamed of it. Well, I've cut all that adrift. I couldn't help it. But I don't know whether we can go on. It may mean" – he threw out his hands – "a general break-up!"
"But you're set on it?" I asked.
"Isn't it a good deal too late to talk about that? When I've tried to make her love me – and – and she does?"
"Yes, it's late in the day now. You must go to your father."
"I think I'd sooner be taken home to him with a bullet in my head."
"You'll find it won't be quite so bad as you think. Bad, but not quite so bad, you know."
"Ah, you don't allow for – " He stopped. "Well, you remember Hatcham Ford?"
"It seems rather long ago, Lacey."
"Not to him: he broods. If only she wasn't – !"
"'Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo!'"
"That didn't end so deuced happily, did it?"
"Only because Romeo got back at the wrong moment! Miss Driver, you say, was pleased?"
"Yes – oh, more than that! But for her I don't believe I could have done it. Still it's my own job – and I'm ready to face it. These things must be meant to come, Austin."
I glanced at the clock. He laughed reluctantly and nervously. "Give a fellow five minutes more!" he said.
"With pleasure. Spend it in thinking not of yourself, nor even of your father – but of Margaret."
"Yes, that's right," he said eagerly. "That's the thing to think about. That'll carry me through." He gave another unwilling laugh. "If he'd only be violent, or kick me out, or something of that sort – like the silly old fools in the plays! Not he! He'll behave perfectly, be very calm and very quiet – particularly civil about Margaret herself! He'll tell me I must judge for myself – just as he did about coming to Breysgate. And all the while he'll be breaking his heart." He smiled at me ruefully. "Aunt Sarah'll do the cursing – but who cares for that?"
"A good many people besides Lady Sarah will have a word to say, no doubt."
"I don't care a damn for the lot of them – except my father," he said – and I was glad to hear him say it. It expressed – vigorously – my own feelings in the matter. "And don't you think I'm the happiest man on earth?" he added a moment later.
"Earth's not heaven. Try to let Lord Fillingford see what you've shown me."
"What do you mean, Austin?"
"You don't mind my saying it? It's another of those things that one generally doesn't care to talk about. Try to show him that you love her very much, and that next in order – and not quite out of sight either – comes your father. Don't treat it casually – as if you were telling him you were going to dine out – though I daresay that's the etiquette. Try the open heart against the hidden one. You appreciate his case. Show him you do. That's my advice."
"It's good advice. I'll try." He came to me holding out his hand. "And wish me good luck!"
"You've had as fine a slice of luck to-day as happens to most men. Here's to another!"
He wrung my hand hard. "I've made an ass of myself, I suppose!" That was homage to the etiquette. "I'll remember what you've said. He has a case, by Jove, and a strong one!" He smiled again. "Somehow Margaret's case won, though," he ended.
He went his way – a straight lad and a simple gentleman. He had no idea that any schemes had been afoot, that any wires had been pulled, either for him or against his father – if to get this thing done were indeed against Fillingford. Nor had he any idea that his scruples about family loyalty were to be annihilated by the intervention of a fairy godmother. Jenny had stuck to the romantic color of her scheme. She sent him forth to meet his father with no plea in extenuation, with no proffer of gold wherewith to gild the hated name of Octon. His fight was to be single-handed. So she chose to prove his metal – with, perhaps, a side-thought that the fairy godmother's intervention, coming later, might be more effective – and would certainly gain in picturesqueness! That notion, unflattering maybe, one could not easily dismiss when the workings of her mind were in question. Yet it might be that a finer idea was there – that it was not only Lacey's metal which was to be proved that night. She had said that she was ready to bribe, that she might have to bully – and implied that she was prepared to do both at once, if need be. But had it come across her thoughts that, by divine chance, she might have to do neither? She knew Fillingford's love for his son; she had sent Margaret to met Fillingford that he might see her as she was. She might be minded now to prove if love alone would not serve the turn. The battalions might all be held in leash – and the God of Love himself sent forth as herald to a parley. If Fillingford surrendered to that pleading, the victory would not be so purely Jenny's: but she would, I believed, have the grace to like it better. That it was a less characteristic mode of proceeding had to be admitted: but to-day there would be an atmosphere at the Priory which might incline her to it. She would not force Fillingford, if she need not – neither by threats nor by bribes. Being myself, I suppose, somewhat touched by Amyas Lacey's exaltation, I found myself hoping that she would try – first – the appeal of heart to heart. That she would accept it as final – I knew too much to look for that.
The case could not, in its nature, be so simple. With the appeal of love must come that relief from a greater fear which she had carefully implanted, on which she certainly reckoned. That was in the very marrow of her plan; no romantic fancies could get rid of it. The best excuse for it lay in the fact that it would certainly be useful, and was probably necessary. When things are certainly useful and probably necessary, the world is apt to exhibit toward them a certain leniency of judgment. Jenny did not set herself above the world in moral matters.
I went up to the Priory after dinner, availing myself of Jenny's strictly defined invitation. But up there I made a blunder. I blundered into a room where one person at least did not want me – I am not so sure about the other. Dormer had gone clean out of my head; more serious matters were to the front. Heedlessly I charged into the library; there were he and Jenny! Luckily I seemed to have arrived only at the tail-end of their conversation. "Quite final," were the words I heard from her lips as I opened the door. She was standing opposite Dormer, looking demurely resolute, but quite gentle and friendly. He was looking not much distressed, but most remarkably sulky.
I tried to back out, but she called me in. "Come in, Austin. You're just in time to bid Mr. Dormer good night."
He shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose I'd better be off. I'll pick up the car at the stables."
"Good night. We shall see you again some day soon?"
"I don't know about that. I may go away for a bit – and anyhow I expect to be pretty busy."
"Oh, yes, we shall see you again some day soon!" she said very kindly and persuasively. "You won't let it be too long, will you? And you will see Mr. Cartmell about that business, won't you?"
He nodded in an offhand surly fashion – but he might be excused for being a little out of temper. Evidently he was not going to get Jenny's land; apparently she was still to get what she wanted of his. "You'll have to pay for them!" he reminded her, almost threateningly.
"A fancy price for my fancy? Well, I'm always ready to pay that," said Jenny. "Good night and, mind you, quite soon!" Her tone implied real anxiety to see her friend again; under its influence he gave a half-unwilling nod of assent.
I escorted him as far as the hall door – further than that he declined my company. I held a match for him to light his cigar and gave him a stirrup-cup. "Good night, Austin!" Then his irritation got the better of him. "Damn it, does she want Lacey for herself, after all?" Evidently the great event of the day – from our point of view – had not been confided to him.
"Oh, no, you may be sure she doesn't."
"Then what the deuce she does want I don't know – and I don't believe she does!" With this parting grumble he slouched off sulkily toward the stable.
As a humane man, I was sorry for his plight; Jenny was still serenely ruthless.
"Annoyed, isn't he?" she asked when I rejoined her. "Really I was rather glad when you came in. He had got as far as hinting that I – he put a good deal of emphasis on his 'you' – ought to have jumped at him! It's quite possible that he'd have become more explicit – though it wouldn't have come very well from him under the circumstances."
"You've deluded the young man, you know."
"Oh, it'll do him good," she declared impatiently. "Didn't he deserve to be deluded? He wanted me for what I had, not for myself. Well, I don't so much mind that, but I tell you, Austin, he patronized me! I may be a sinner, but I'm not going to be patronized by Gerald Dormer without hitting back."
"Did you quarrel?"
She smiled. "No. I'm never going to quarrel any more. He'll be back here in no time – and have another try most likely! You see, I'm going into training – a course of amiability, so as to be ready for Lady Sarah." She sprang to her feet. "Do you know that this is a most exciting evening?"
"Oh, yes, I can imagine that. I've had a long talk with Lacey."
"Have you? Isn't he splendid, poor boy? You should have seen his face when I sent him to her! He thought of nothing but her then – but I like him for thinking of his father now. And I've brought it off, Austin! He thinks there may be just a pretty wedding present – a trousseau check, perhaps!" She came up to me. "This is a good thing I've done – to set against the rest."
"I think it is. But the boy feels horribly guilty."
She nodded. "I know – and so does poor Margaret. I'm afraid she's crying up in her own den – and that's not right for to-night, is it?"
"Love's joy and woe can be simultaneous as well as alternate, I'm afraid."
"I can't stand it much longer." She looked at the clock. "He's to send word over to-night, if he can – by a groom – how he's got on – breaking the news, you know. Let's go out into the garden and wait for this important messenger. But, whatever he says, I believe I shall have to put my oar in to-morrow. I can't have my poor Margaret like this much longer. She knows now why she was taken to Mr. Alison's, and does nothing but declare that she behaved atrociously!"
We were a silent pair of watchers. Jenny's whole soul seemed absorbed in waiting. She spoke only once – in words which betrayed the line of her thoughts. "If I'd thought it would be as bad as this – for her, I mean – I believe I'd have brought her here under another name, in spite of everything, and perpetrated a fraud! I could have told them after the wedding!"
I was afraid that she would have been quite capable of such villainy where Margaret was in question, and not altogether averse from a dénoûment so dramatic.
"Either Lacey's shirked the interview – or it's been a very long one," I remarked, as the clock over the stables struck half-past ten. "Poor Dormer's home by now – to solitude!"
"Oh, bother Mr. Dormer and his solitude! Listen, do you hear hoofs?"
"I can't say I do," I rejoined, lighting my pipe.
"How you can smoke!" she exclaimed scornfully. Really I could not do anything else – in view of the tension.
A voice came from above our heads: "Jenny, are there any signs?"
"Not yet, dear," called Jenny, and waved her arms despairingly. "Ah!" She held up her hand and rose quickly to her feet. Now we heard the distant sound of hoofs. "I wonder if he's written to me or to her!" She started walking toward the drive.
"To you, I'll be bound!" I answered as I followed.
In a few moments the groom rode up. Jenny was waiting for him, took the letter from him, and opened it.
"No answer," she said. "Thank you. You'll ask them to give you a glass of beer, won't you?"
The man thanked her, touched his hat, and rode off to the servants' quarters.
"In old days the bearer of bad tidings wouldn't have got a glass of beer," I suggested.
"The tidings are doubtful." She gave me the letter: "He is terribly cut up. He promises me an answer to-morrow. I haven't told him yet that I must stick to it anyhow. That's for to-morrow, too, if it must come. My love to her. – Amyas."
"It'd be so much better if he never had to say that," Jenny reflected thoughtfully.
Certainly it would. If the thing could be managed without a rupture, without defiance on the one side or an unyielding posture on the other, it would be much more comfortable for everybody afterwards.
"Still, you know, he's ready to do it if he must." Her pride in her romantic handiwork spoke again.
Suddenly Margaret was with us, out of breath from her run downstairs, gasping out a prayer for the letter. Jenny gave it to her, and she read it. She looked up to Jenny with terrified eyes.
"He mustn't do it for me. I must give him up, Jenny," she murmured, woefully forlorn.
Very gently, just the least scornfully, Jenny answered, "We don't give things up at Breysgate." She stooped and kissed her. "Go and dream that it's all right. It will be by this time to-morrow. Austin and I have a little business to talk over."
Having thus dismissed Margaret (who carried off the precious distressful letter with her), Jenny led me back into the library, bidding me to go on smoking if I really must. She sat down, very thoughtful.
"It's delicate," she said. "Of course I'm trying to bribe him, but I don't want to seem to do it. If I make my offer before he decides, that looks like bribing. If he decides against us, and we make it then – bribery still! But in addition to bribery, there'll be the bad feeling between Amyas and him. No, we must do it before he decides! Only you'll have to be very diplomatic – very careful how you do it."
