Scarfe descended to the drawing-room, where he found Mrs Rimbolt alone.
"I am so sorry you are going," said she. "Your visit has been greatly
spoiled, I fear. You must come to us at Easter, when we shall be in
London, you know."
"Thank you; I shall be glad to come. I hope to find Percy well again.
I went to wish him good-bye just now, but was pretty abruptly denied
admission, so I must ask you to say good-bye for me."
"Dear me, it is very annoying. I cannot understand the craze the boy
has taken for this companion of his. I am so sorry you should have been
annoyed."
"I assure you I am far more annoyed on Percy's account than my own. I
happen to know something of Jeffreys before he came to Wildtree. To
tell you the truth, Mrs Rimbolt, I don't think he is a safe companion
for Percy at all."
"I have long felt the same; but what is to be done, Mr Scarfe? Mr
Rimbolt has almost the same craze as Percy for this librarian of his,
and I have really no voice in the matter. He contrives to leave nothing
definite to lay hold of; I should be thankful if he did. But it is most
uncomfortable to feel that one's own son is perhaps being ruined under
this roof."
"It must be. It is no business of mine, of course, except that I am
fond of Percy, and should be sorry to see harm come to him; and knowing
what I do--"
At that moment Mr Rimbolt, with Mrs Scarfe, entered the room.
"What secrets are you two talking?" said the latter.
"Your son was just telling me how fond he is of Percy; and I am sure it
will be a great loss to Percy when he is gone. He has promised me to
come to see us in town at Easter."
"It is a satisfaction that you can leave with the assurance that Percy
is virtually well again," said Mr Rimbolt. "Really, I do not know how
we should have got on without Mr Jeffreys to nurse him. I never knew
such devotion. He has never wanted for a thing all the time; and
Jeffreys' influence is of the highest and manliest sort. Percy will be
able to reckon this illness among the blessings of his life."
Mr Rimbolt spoke feelingly and warmly.
Scarfe and Mrs Rimbolt exchanged glances; and the conversation shortly
afterwards turned to the journey before the travellers.
Scarfe had come down to the drawing-room resolved, cost what it would,
to settle scores with Jeffreys there and then by denouncing him to the
family on whose favour he was dependent; and had Mr Rimbolt's entrance
been delayed a few minutes, Mrs Rimbolt would have known all about
young Forrester. Once again, however, he was stopped in time, and a few
moments' reflection convinced him it was as well.
Raby, he knew, whatever she might think of Jeffreys, would never forgive
the informant who should be the means of turning him out of Wildtree,
still less would Percy. Nor was Mr Rimbolt likely to esteem his guest
more highly in the capacity of tale-bearer; and he decidedly wished to
"keep in" with all three.
And there was another reason still.
Scarfe was at the bottom of his heart not quite a villain, and much as
he detested Jeffreys, and longed to be revenged--for what injury do
certain minds feel half so much as that which one man commits in being
better than another?--he had an uncomfortable suspicion in his mind that
after all Jeffreys was not quite the miscreant he tried to imagine him.
That he was guilty in the matter of young Forrester there was no doubt;
but much as he should have liked to believe it, he could not be quite
sure that the accident at Bolsover was the result of a deliberate
murderous design, or indeed of anything more than the accidental
catastrophe of a blundering fit of temper--criminal, if you like, and
cowardly, but not fiendish. And his conscience made coward enough of
him just now to cause him to hesitate before plunging into ruin one who,
hateful as he was to him, was after all a poor wretch, miserable enough
for any one.
Not having done what he intended to do, Scarfe felt decidedly virtuous,
and considered himself entitled to any amount of credit for his
forbearance! It seemed a pity Raby should not know of this noble effort
of self-denial.
"Miss Atherton," said he, just as they were about to separate for the
night, "I'm afraid you will have forgotten all about me when you see me
next."
"You are very uncomplimentary, Mr Scarfe."
"I do not mean to be; and I'm sure I shall not forget you."
"Thank you. This has been a very eventful visit."
"It has; but I shall never regret that day on the ice, although I fear I
made one enemy by what I did."
"You don't understand Mr Jeffreys; he is very shy and proud."
"I understand him quite well, and wish for Percy's sake every one here
did too. But I am not going to disobey you, and talk of people behind
their backs, Miss Atherton. I am sure you will approve of that."
"I do; I never like it unless it is something nice of them."
"Then I certainly had better not talk to you about Mr Jeffreys," said
Scarfe with a sneer, which did him more damage in Raby's eyes than a
torrent of abuse from his lips. "Do you know you have never yet shown
me the telegram you had about your father's last battle? It came the
morning I was away, you know."
"Yes. I fancied perhaps you did not care to see it, as you never asked
me," said Raby, producing the precious paper from her dress, where she
kept it like a sort of talisman.
"How could you think that?" said Scarfe reproachfully, who had quite
forgotten to ask to see it.
He took the paper and glanced down it.
"Hullo!" said he, starting as Jeffreys had done. "Captain Forrester! I
wonder if that's poor young Forrester's father?"
"Who is poor young Forrester?" inquired Raby.
Scarfe read the paper to the end, and then looked up in well-simulated
confusion.
"Poor young Forrester? Oh--well, I dare say Jeffreys could tell you
about him. The fact is, Miss Atherton, if I am not allowed to talk of
people behind their backs it is impossible for me to tell you the story
of poor young Forrester."
"Then," said Raby, flushing, as she folded up the paper, "I've no desire
to hear it."
Scarfe could see he had gone too far.
"I have offended you," said he, "but really I came upon the name so
unexpectedly that--"
"Do you expect to be working hard this term at Oxford?" said Raby, doing
the kindest thing in turning the conversation.
It was hardly to be wondered at if she retired that night considerably
perplexed and disturbed. There was some mystery attaching to Jeffreys,
which, if she was to set any store by Scarfe's insinuations, was of a
disgraceful kind. And the agitation which both Scarfe and Jeffreys had
shown on reading the telegram seemed to connect this Captain Forrester,
or rather his son, whom Scarfe spoke of as "poor young Forrester," with
the same mystery. Raby was a young lady with the usual allowance of
feminine curiosity, which, though she was charity itself, did not like
to be baulked by a mystery.
She therefore opened a letter she had just finished to her father, to
add the following postscript:--
"Was this brave Captain Forrester who saved the guns a friend of yours?
Tell me all about him. Had he a wife and children? Surely something
will be done for them, poor things."
Early next morning Mrs Scarfe and her son left Wildtree.
Jeffreys, from Percy's window, watched them drive away.
"Very glad you must be to see the back of them," said Percy.
"I am glad," responded Jeffreys honestly.
"I'm not so frightfully sorry," said Percy. "Scarfe's a jolly enough
chap, but he's up to too many dodges, don't you know? And he's dead on
Raby, too. Quite as dead as you are, Jeff."
"Percy, a fortnight's congestion has not cured you of the bad habit of
talking nonsense," said Jeffreys.
"All very well, you old humbug, but you know you are, aren't you?"
"Your cousin is very good and kind, and no one could help liking her.
Everybody is `dead on her,' as you call it, even Walker."
Percy enjoyed this, and allowed himself to be led off the dangerous
topic. He was allowed to sit up for the first time this day, and held a
small _levee_ in his room.
Jeffreys took the opportunity to escape for a short time to the library,
which he had scarcely been in since the day on the mountain.
He knew Mrs Rimbolt would enjoy her visit to the sick-chamber better
without him, and he decidedly preferred his beloved books to her
majestic society.
Percy, however, was by no means satisfied with the arrangement.
"Where's old Jeff?" said he presently, when his mother, Raby, and he
were left alone. "Raby, go and tell Jeff, there's a brick. You can bet
he's in the library. Tell him if he means to cut me dead, he might
break it gently."
"Raby," said Mrs Rimbolt, as her niece, with a smile, started on his
majesty's errand, "I do not choose for you to go looking about for Mr
Jeffreys. There is a bell in the room, and Walker can do it if
required. It is unseemly in a young lady."
"One would think old Jeff was a wild beast or a nigger by the way you
talk," said Percy complainingly. "All I know is, if it hadn't been for
him, you'd all have been in deep mourning now, instead of having tea up
here with me."
"It is quite possible, Percy," said his mother, "for a person--"
"Person!" interrupted the boy. "Jeff's not a person; he's a gentleman.
As good as any of us, only he hasn't got so much money."
"I fear, Percy, your illness has not improved your good manners. I wish
to say that Mr Jeffreys may have done you service--"
"I should think he has," interrupted the irrepressible one.
"But it by no means follows that he is a proper companion for a good
innocent boy like you."
Percy laughed hilariously.
"Really, ma, you are coming it strong. Do you see my blushes, Raby?"
"You must make up your mind to see a great deal less of Mr Jeffreys for
the future; he is not the sort of person--"
"Look here, ma," said Percy, terrifying his parent by the energy with
which he sprang to his feet. "I'm jolly ill, and you'd be awfully sorry
if I had a fit of coughing and brought up blood, wouldn't you? Well, I
shall if you call Jeff a person again. Where _is_ Jeff, I say? I want
Jeff. Why don't you tell him, Raby?"
After this, for a season at any rate, Percy was allowed to have his own
way, and jeopardised his moral welfare by unrestricted intercourse with
the "person" Jeffreys.
They spent their time not wholly unprofitably. For, besides a good deal
of reading of history and classics (for which Percy was rapidly
developing a considerable taste), and a good deal of discussion on all
sorts of topics, they were deep in constructing the model of a new kind
of bookcase, designed by Percy, with some ingenious contrivances for
keeping out dust and for marking, by means of automatic signals, the
place of any book which should be taken from its shelf. This wonderful
work of art promised to eclipse every bookcase ever invented. The only
drawback to it was that it was too good. Percy insisted on introducing
into it every "dodge" of which he was capable, and the poor model more
than once threatened to collapse under the burden of its own ingenuity.
However, they stuck to it, and by dint of sacrificing a "dodge" here and
a "dodge" there, they succeeded in producing a highly curious and not
unworthy model, which Percy was most urgent that his father should
forthwith adopt for his library, all the existing bookcases being
sacrificed for firewood to make way for the new ones.
Mr Rimbolt diplomatically promised to give the matter his
consideration, and consult authorities on the subject when next in
London, and meanwhile was not unsparing in his compliments to the
inventor and his coadjutor.
So the time passed happily enough for Jeffreys, until about three weeks
after the Scarfes' departure, when the following amiable letter reached
him with the Oxford post-mark on the envelope:--
Christ Church, _February 20th_.
"Jeffreys,--You may have supposed that because I left Wildtree without
showing you up in your proper character as a murderer and a hypocrite,
that I have changed my opinions as to what is my duty to Mr Rimbolt and
his family in this matter. It is not necessary for me to explain to you
why I did not do it at once, especially after the blackguardly manner in
which you acted on the last evening of my stay there. You being Mr
Rimbolt's servant, I had to consider his convenience. I now write to
say that you can spare me the unpleasant duty of informing the Wildtree
household of what a miscreant they have in their midst by doing it
yourself. If, after they know all, they choose to keep you on, there is
nothing more to be said. You are welcome to the chance you will have of
lying in order to whitewash yourself, but either I or you must tell what
we know. Meanwhile I envy you the feelings with which I dare say you
read of the death of poor young Forrester's father in Afghanistan. How
your cowardly crime must have brightened his last hours!
"Yours,--
"E. Scarfe."
Jeffreys pitched this elegant specimen of polite Billingsgate
contemptuously into the grate. He was not much a man of the world, but
he could read through the lines of a poor performance like this.
Scarfe, for some reason or other, did not like to tell the Rimbolts
himself, but he was most anxious they should know, and desired Jeffreys
to do the dirty work himself. There was something almost amusing in the
artlessness of the suggestion, and had the subject been less personally
grievous, Jeffreys could have afforded to scoff at the whole business.
He sat down on the impulse of the moment and dashed off the following
reply:--
"Dear Scarfe,--Would it not be a pity that your sense of duty should not
have the satisfaction of doing its own work, instead of begging me to do
it for you? I may be all you say, but I am not mean enough to rob you
of so priceless a jewel as the good conscience of a man who has done his
duty. So I respectfully decline your invitation, and am,--
"Yours,--
"J. Jeffreys."
Having relieved himself by writing it, he tore the note up, and tried to
forget all about it.
But that was not quite so easy. Scarfe's part in the drama he could not
forget, but the question faced him, not for the first time. Had he any
right to be here, trusted, and by some of the family even respected?
Was he not sailing under false colours, and pretending to be something
he was not?
True, he had been originally engaged as a librarian, a post in which
character was accounted of less importance than scholarship and general
proficiency. But he was more than a librarian now. Circumstances had
made him the mentor and companion of a high-spirited, honest boy. Was
it fair to Percy to keep a secret what would certainly shut the doors of
Wildtree against him for ever? Was it fair to Mr Rimbolt to accept
this new responsibility without a word? Was it fair to Raby, who would
shrink from him with detestation, did she know the whole story?
Scarfe would have been amply satisfied had he been present to note the
disquietude which ensued for some days after the arrival of his letter.
Jeffreys felt uncomfortable in his intercourse with Mr Rimbolt; he
avoided Raby, and even with Percy he was often unaccountably reserved
and pensive.
"What are you in the blues about?" demanded that quick-sighted young
gentleman on the first day out of doors after his illness. "Are you
sorry I'm all serene again?"
"Rather," said Jeffreys; "it's not been a bad time."
"No more it has; but I must say I don't mind feeling my legs under me.
I shall soon be ready for the top of Wild Pike again. But, I say,
aren't you well? I expect you've been knocking yourself up over me?"
"Not a bit of it; I'm as well as anything." Percy, however, was not
satisfied. He had a vague idea that young gentlemen in love were as a
rule sickly, and by a simple process of reasoning he guessed that
Jeffreys and Raby "had had a row." He therefore took an early
opportunity of mentioning the matter to his cousin, greatly to that
young lady's confusion.
"Raby, I say, look here!" he began, a day or two afterwards, as he and
his cousin were walking together. "What makes you so jolly down on
Jeff?"
"I down on Mr Jeffreys? What do you mean?"
"Well, he's so dismal, I'm certain he's eating his heart out about you!
Why don't you back him up? He's a good enough chap and no end of a
brick, and say what you will, he meant to fish you out that day on the
ice. He went off like a shot directly after the ice cracked."
"Percy, you ridiculous boy!" said Raby, biting her lips; "how can you
talk such nonsense?"
"Oh! but he did," persisted the boy.
"I'm not talking about the ice," said she. "Mr Jeffreys and I are very
good friends; chiefly on your account, too," added she, with a vague
idea of qualifying her admission.
"Oh, ah, that won't wash, you know," said Percy. "Anyhow, it's nonsense
you being so precious stiff with him; I'm sure he's as good as Scarfe."
"Percy, if you cannot talk sense," said Raby, nearly crying with
vexation, "I shall not listen to you."
"Oh, all serene!" responded Percy. "Of course you're bound to make out
it's all humbug, but I know better. Come, don't be in a rage, Raby; you
forget I'm an invalid."
So they made it up on the spot, and Percy flattered himself he had done
a great deal to make things right for Jeffreys.
Jeffreys, however, was still harassed by perplexity, and was gradually
veering round to the conclusion that he must at all costs relieve his
mind of his secret to Mr Rimbolt. He put the task off day after day,
shrinking from the wrench of all the ties which made his life happy.
One day, however, finding himself alone with Mr Rimbolt in the library,
he suddenly resolved then and there to speak out.
"Oh, Jeffreys," began Mr Rimbolt, "I am very anxious to get those books
from the Wanley Abbey sale looked through and catalogued within the next
few days if you can manage it. We all go up to London, you know, next
week, and I should be glad to have all square before we start."
"I have no doubt they can all be gone through before then."
"I should like you to come to town, too," said Mr Rimbolt. "Percy sets
great store by your companionship; besides which, there are some very
important book sales coming on in which I shall want your help."
"I had been going to ask you--" began Jeffreys, feeling his temples
throbbing like two steam-engines.
"Oh, by the way," interrupted Mr Rimbolt, taking a letter from his
pocket, "did not you tell me you were at a school called Bolsover?"
"Yes," faltered Jeffreys, wondering what was coming.
"It's very odd. I have a letter from an old Oxford acquaintance of
mine, called Frampton, who appears to be head-master there, and whom I
have never heard of for about sixteen years. He is fond of books, and
writes to ask if he may come and see the library. I've asked him to
stay a night, and expect him here to-morrow. I dare say you will be
glad to meet him. Perhaps he knows you are here?"
"No, I don't think so," said Jeffreys.
"Ah, then I dare say you will be glad to see one another again."
Jeffreys was considerably staggered by this unexpected announcement, but
it relieved him of all present perplexity as to speaking to Mr Rimbolt
of young Forrester. He would at least wait till Mr Frampton came, and
put himself in his hands.
Mr Frampton came, as young and fresh as ever. He was taking a three
days' run in the Lake country during a term holiday, and, determined to
do and see all he could, had decided to visit his old college friend,
and look over the now famous Wildtree library.
His surprise at meeting Jeffreys was very considerable; and at first it
seemed to the quondam pupil that his old master was shy of him. This,
however, was explained as soon as they were alone, and had to do with
the seven pounds, which had burned holes in Mr Frampton's pockets ever
since he received them, but which, not knowing Jeffreys' address, he had
never been able to return.
"I was never more pained than when I received this money," said he.
"Your guardian was written to by the clerk in ordinary course, but I
never imagined the bill would be passed on to you."
Jeffreys had nothing for it but to take the money back, much as he
disliked it. Until he did so, Mr Frampton was too fidgety to be
approachable on any other subject.
The morning after his arrival, they went up Wild Pike together--the
first time Jeffreys had been on the mountain since the death of Julius.
They had a fine day and no difficulty; but the long talk which beguiled
the way amply made up to Jeffreys for the lack of adventure.
Mr Frampton told him much about Bolsover, and of how it was at last
beginning to thrive and recover from the dry-rot; how this winter the
football team had got up a name for itself; how the school discussion
society was crowded with members; how the cricket prospects were
decidedly hopeful; and how two fellows had lately gained scholarships at
Oxford. Then he began to ask Jeffreys about himself, and got from him a
full account of all that had befallen him since he left school. Mr
Frampton was a most sympathetic listener, and the poor "dog with a bad
name," who had almost forgotten the art of speaking his mind fully to
any one, warmed insensibly to this friend as they talked, and reproached
himself for the pride and shortsightedness which had induced him to shut
himself out so long from his friendship.
Then they talked of young Forrester. Mr Frampton made no attempt to
gloss over the wickedness of that unhappy act of passion. But he showed
how fully he made allowances for the poor blundering offender, and how
he, at least, saw more to pity than to upbraid in it all.
He knew nothing of young Forrester's fate. He had seen in the papers
the notice of Captain Forrester's death, from whom, months before, he
had had a letter of inquiry as to his son's whereabouts, and to whom he
had written telling all he knew, which was but little.
Then Jeffreys unfolded his present uncomfortable dilemma, and his
intention of speaking to Mr Rimbolt, and they talked it over very
seriously and anxiously. At last Mr Frampton said,--
"Let me speak to Mr Rimbolt."
"Most thankfully I will."
So Mr Frampton spoke to Mr Rimbolt, and told him frankly all there was
to tell, and Mr Rimbolt, like a gentleman who knew something of
Christian charity, joined his informant in pitying the offender.
"Jeffreys," said he, the day after Mr Frampton's departure, "your
friend has told me a story about you which I heard with great sorrow.
You are now doing all that an honest man can do, with God's help, to
make up for what is past. What I have been told does not shake my
present confidence in you in any way, and I need not tell you that not a
single person in this house beyond yourself and me shall know anything
about this unhappy affair."