MARIUS APPEALS
The heavy coach rolled cumbrously over the cobbled streets, and the
fitful flame of the lamp that lit the handsome interior showed the
wan, troubled face of Susannah Chressham, colourless between the folds
of bright hair, and the clouded countenance of Captain Lyndwood who
sat opposite to her, wrapped in what seemed a passionate and seething
silence.
She, sitting up, and gathering her mantle together over her low blue
dress with a mechanical gesture, was the first to speak.
"I regret I could not find Selina again," she said. "I was sorry to
leave without speaking to her--" She broke off; Marius was not in her
confidence, nor indeed much in her thoughts, and she paused, wondering
what she should reveal and what keep back.
He half startled and half relieved her by his abrupt answer.
"It was concerning that paragraph in the _Gazette_ you wished to see
Rose, was it not?"
"How did you imagine it?" she queried faintly.
"The Countess informed me."
This remark brought Miss Chressham to glance at him closely and to
notice that he was flushed and frowning, obviously ill at ease and
striving for control.
"The Countess informed you!" she echoed.
He beat his foot impatiently on the floor of the coach.
"She had seen it, of course. She concluded you would wish to prevent a
meeting between Rose and Sir Francis." He checked himself, then added
in a lower tone, "She has no doubt it is true."
Miss Chressham coloured in sheer anger.
"She dared to put it so to you!" The sad grey eyes darkened with
wrathful scorn. "Did she wish to enlist you as her champion?"
"Is it surprising that she was angry?" he answered defiantly. "If it be
true----"
"It is true and she knows it," broke in Miss Chressham. "She hath good
cause to know it. Selina wrote to my lord, and she--this woman--stole
her letter and composed, from that and what she further knew or
imagined, this paragraph in the _Gazette_."
"The Countess!" cried Marius. "The Countess--that paragraph! Susannah,
I do not believe it!"
Miss Chressham answered with weary passion.
"Believe it or no, it is true, true--and it was an action of a
meanness, a vulgarity----"
"I do not credit it," he interrupted vehemently. "After what she said
to me."
Susannah gave him a swift look.
"She had no right to speak to you."
The dusky blood flooded his agitated, handsome face.
"Hath she no wrongs?" he asked desperately. "How have we behaved to
her, any of us? And it has always been her money. Rose and Miss Boyle
are in the wrong."
"I was well advised in not making you my confidant sooner, if this is
how you take it," cried Miss Chressham angrily. "Oh, you understand
none of it, none; but at least be silent, do not defend the Countess
Lavinia to me."
"How you hate her," he answered, in a breathless way.
Susannah's fair white hand made a gesture as if she put aside the
semblance of something hideous.
"I do not care to talk of her. This is the first time that my speech
has meddled in my lord's affairs"--she drew herself together, as if her
mental effort braced her body; "but it becomes no less than my duty
now, Marius, to bid you take care."
Marius leant forward and caught hold of the red silk window blind.
"Of what?" he asked hoarsely.
His obvious unease and agitation did not reassure Susannah.
"Of the Countess Lavinia," she answered. "Do you think Rose will endure
it? Whatever he is, he is not that manner of man." Her voice held an
odd note of pride.
Marius moistened his lips.
"Has he said anything?"
"To me, this evening, he warned me. I think you had better leave for
Paris."
"Because of the Countess Lavinia?" Marius spoke unsteadily.
Something in his troubled, distracted bearing touched her; a kinder
look came into her passionate eyes.
"Oh, Marius, there was the old wretched mistake; Rose must remember it.
You wooed her first, after all; well, when he sees you together--you
must respect his pride."
Marius drew back against the leather cushions and unaccountably laughed.
"The Countess Lavinia," he said wildly, "I loathe her."
He clenched his hand and brought it down with vehement force on the
seat beside him.
"Then you will go away?" Susannah spoke softly.
"No, I cannot do that." The lace and diamonds at his throat heaved
with his unequal breathing, and his lips quivered.
"The Countess means to do us all a mischief," said Susannah, faint and
shuddering with the effort of putting these things into words. "Cannot
you see it, Marius, that she will find in this fashion her amusement
and her revenge? Are you going to lend yourself to it? Go away."
He looked up with brilliant eyes.
"I shall stay," he answered passionately; "but not because of the
Countess."
"Ah, you think yourself very strong and courageous," returned Miss
Chressham wearily, "but she is, in her way, a clever woman."
"Do not talk of her," cried Marius roughly.
Susannah made no reply.
A little longer and the coach jolted to a standstill.
Miss Chressham sprang up with a nervous little exclamation; the heavy
door was opened on to the dark silent street and the summer fragrance,
that clung even about the Haymarket with a sweet suggestion of things
stirring, growing, breathing, animals, flowers and men, beneath the
rising moon.
They went into the house; the coach swung off up the street and the
delicate stillness fell again.
Marius slowly closed the door, replaced the key in his pocket and flung
off his domino. The wide hall was lit by one lamp that cast a pale glow
and heavy shadows. Miss Chressham stood still a moment, gazing before
her in an absorbed fashion.
"Can I speak to you a while?" asked Marius on a rebellious breath.
She forced herself to listen, to comprehend.
"Of course," she thrust aside her thoughts. "It must be still
early--maybe my lady is up. Let us go into the withdrawing-room."
They discovered that it was not yet midnight, but the Countess Agatha
was in bed, and Susannah's woman in charge. Miss Chressham ordered
candles beyond the few left burning, and wine and cakes.
"I tasted nothing at the mask," she said, smiling to cover her
distraction, "and I vow I am quite hungry."
Marius, struggling with some deep and tumultuous feeling, heeded
nothing, but paced to and fro the gay and beautiful chamber until the
servant had left them.
The window stood open on the mute city and winking stars, a beau-pot
of white roses on the work-table gave forth a lingering and exquisite
perfume; Miss Chressham, near as pale as they, and drooping, as if
with fatigue, had seated herself on a low brocade settee; her rich and
glittering hair rolled in full curls over her dark domino, rounded
throat and turquoise gown; beside her lay her mask and her fan.
"What did you wish to say, Marius?" she asked.
He poured her out a glass of the delicate white wine; she thanked him
with a smile and drank it. There was still that absent look in her deep
eyes that showed her thoughts were not at all absorbed with Marius;
but he did not notice it, being too completely engrossed in his own
passions.
"You think that I have behaved unworthily," he said, moving towards the
window.
Susannah roused herself with a half sigh; it was like Marius to take
everything heavily. She looked at him kindly; he leant against the
window frame and gazed out at the night; a persistent breeze ruffled
the pomaded curls on his forehead and the lace at his throat.
"I had no right to speak to you, of anything," she answered. "Only Rose
mentioned it and I ventured. Marius, the Countess is not to be trusted."
He answered in a muffled voice.
"Do you think Rose has been impeccable?"
Had he had her in view he could not have failed to mark the swift
expression of anguish that passed over her face; but her settee had its
back to the window, and though he had turned his head towards the room
he could see only her bent neck and shining curls.
"My lord made this mad marriage for your sake," she said. "At the time
you did not consider it strange or ignoble that he, as everyone, should
marry money; 'twas only on discovering who the lady was----"
Marius interrupted.
"Then I cared for her no more, that was dead on the instant;" he spoke
vehemently, "From then onwards the whole thing was ugly, sordid. I
think we behaved all of us in a miserable fashion, I, and she and Rose."
"What other than you did could you have done?" she asked, faintly
surprised that he should refer to this with so much passion.
But Marius continued unheeding.
"We turned on her that night--well, we have been living on her money
ever since, Rose is again on the verge of ruin, and what has her life
been? He has behaved to her as to his servant."
Susannah straightened herself.
"I fear I can look at none of it from the Countess's point of view."
"She is indifferent to _me_," he struck in quickly. "But I have her on
my conscience."
He moved forward suddenly and stood behind the settee.
"She was so different once--what have we made of her? I have no right
to scorn her as I did, and now it seems that she appeals to me.
Susannah, tell me what I ought to do."
Miss Chressham was startled by the tense note in his voice; she glanced
up at him over her shoulder.
"Oh, Marius! why do you come to me?" she murmured weakly.
He leant his arms on the top of her seat and rested his head in his
right hand; his frowning eyes gazed before him, and he spoke in a voice
that she hardly knew for his.
"I want to be better than any of it, I should like to live differently
from Rose--from any of them." As he jerked out the words the colour
rose and receded in his earnest young face. "I started wrong, I never
really cared for her, but I did not know. And then there was always the
money. I thought I should never need for that; but things have changed
so, in this last year. I--I want to get out of it, I want you to help
me."
He came to an end, very pale, and Susannah sat silent. She felt with a
sense of shock that he was making an effort to reveal his very soul to
her; she saw his emotion, and wondered dimly that it did not touch her.
She was angry with herself that her only desire was to silence him,
to escape from the effort of striving to understand him; she was very
tired, and her inner thoughts were far from Marius.
"When I was abroad," he continued, "I--I used to think of it and could
find no way; but I must escape it. I--do you believe in Heaven and
Hell, Susannah?"
"'Tis what we are taught," she answered; "what makes you speak in this
fashion, Marius?"
His breath came passionately, he did not look at her.
"Ah, I want to do something worth while; I do not want to be damned
through ignoble foolish vices. You know, you remember, in the ballads
we used to read--" He broke off, then added huskily, "Do you not
understand, Susannah?"
She was frightened.
"Oh, not to-night! do not speak of this to-night," she cried. "I am
very weary."
"I must speak when I can. I am appealing to you, do not you see? You
are the only person I would say this to. I speak very awkwardly. I am
not worth----"
"Oh, Marius!" again weakly she tried to stop him.
His speech became almost incoherent; she caught only the burden of it,
"Do you not understand?"
"Some day, if I tried with this before me, I might be in an honourable
position; you cared a little to write to me, did you not? It might be
all honest and worth while, and splendid, Susannah."
She rose, shuddering.
"I fear you have mistaken me, Marius. I--I can be no help to you."
He gripped the top of the settee.
"Do you mean that?" he leant towards her. "I speak like a fool, I know;
but I am trying to tell you."
"Marius!" she entreated, overwhelmed, surprised, in no way moved with
anything save pity. "Please do not say anything more now."
Again came his desperate passionate question. "Do you not understand
me? I want you--some day when I am not penniless--to be my wife."
Susannah made an effort over herself; her own emotions were in no way
touched, but she was desperately sorry and a great deal startled;
always she had considered him as very young.
"I have never thought of this, Marius," she said simply, pale as was
he, but composed. "And I am honoured that you should care; but ah! my
dear, you do not quite mean what you say."
He coloured furiously.
"By Heaven, I love you."
She looked away.
"I hope you do not mean that," she answered, "because----"
He half laughed.
"Because you do not care for me?"
"Not in that way, Marius," she said gently.
He put his hand to his brow in a dazed way.
"Then it is over, impossible?"
"Yes." Miss Chressham was still not looking at him. "And I am sorry,
oh, very sorry!"
"Is there not a chance, some day?" His tone was piteously incredulous.
But Susannah, strengthened by an intense and hidden feeling, answered
with a finality calm to cruelty.
"No, I could never, Marius; I beg of you not to speak of this again. If
I have hurt you I am grieved; but it is impossible."
Silence followed, and now she ventured to look at him; he stood quite
still, frowning, with downcast eyes; the fire and flash had died from
his demeanour, which was that of a man utterly humiliated. Susannah
sickened at herself for having had to repulse him, what he had offered
was something she might have been proud to accept, and a sense of guilt
stole into her heart.
Marius was speaking, quietly.
"Forgive me, it was all my fault, I had no right to presume."
Remorse flushed her face, since he was taking it so well.
"I would give anything it had not happened," she murmured.
"It shall not recur;" he straightened himself and moved from the
settee. "I was a fool--when does a man meet such fortune as I hoped
for? Forget it, and good-night."
He smiled, giving her the sudden impression of someone older, and
weightier, and turned towards the door.
Impulsively she held out her hand, then, seeing his instant flush,
withdrew it.
"Good-night," she murmured.
"Good-night, Susannah."
He was gone, and she gave a great sigh of exhaustion and relief; she
had not thought of this from him, and he was in earnest too; well, it
eased her mind with regard to the Countess. He had appealed to her, she
could have done anything with him had she responded--now. Why could she
not have cared for him, he was a finer man than--ah, for whose sake was
she refusing him?
She sank across the settee and hid her face in her hands.
The feeling that had been the background of her life ever since she
could remember, strong, intense, always, but always under control
and hidden, broke all restraint and shook her from head to foot; she
clasped her moist hands tightly and pressed them against her brow with
a shiver. She asked herself what would become of Marius, and answered
herself--nothing.
He was drifting, like my lord, and she could put out no hand to save
either, or did not. It seemed that no action was to redeem these last
annals of their house. Marius would do nothing. Rose would do nothing,
she would do nothing; the Countess wasted her malice, there was no fire
to be struck out of the Lyndwoods.
Miss Chressham had seen the Earl with Miss Trefusis on his arm. Sir
Francis was appeased. Selina, most fortunate of all of them, could wrap
her heart in dreams and go about smiling; she did not know him, at
least not as his cousin did.
There was Marius--poor Marius; his longings, his half-stifled
aspirations had passed by her like the breeze that blew in from the
dark town, but she knew that they had been real; even while she could
not rouse herself to understand his mood she had hated herself that
she must send him away bitter, unsatisfied.
She rose and put out the candles. The two churches, St.
Martin's-in-the-Fields and St. James's, struck the chiming quarters,
and then the hour--one.
Susannah, protected by the dark, made an uncontrollable movement of her
locked hands to her bosom.
"Oh Rose, Rose!" she murmured; then, with a shudder crushed the name
back into her heart, and went softly through the silent beautiful house
to her chamber.