Percy was riotously greeted by Scarfe's two friends. "Hullo, old man!"
cried one of them; "then you thought better of it, after all, and mean
to join us! That's the style!"
"Bring your handsome friend with you. More the merrier. There'll be
champagne enough for the lot."
"Look alive," said Percy; "you'll lose your train. Jeff and I aren't
coming."
"Why not?" said they.
"Because we're going the other way," replied Percy, who, when his mind
was made up, did not appreciate anybody's importunity. "I've not seen
Jeff for a week."
"Who is this precious Jeff?" said one of Scarfe's friends, pointing over
his shoulder to the librarian.
"He's a gentleman employed by the month to look after Percy's morals,"
said Scarfe, with a sneer.
"A parson! What a game! No wonder Percy draws in his horns a bit when
he comes home. Anyhow, we must save him from the paws of the lion if we
can. I say, Percy, you must come, old man. We made all the
arrangements for four, boat and everything; and if you don't want to
stay late we'll give up the supper. Only don't spoil our day, there's a
good fellow. You'll be able to see lots of your friend when we've
gone."
"You be hanged," observed Percy, now in an uncomplimentary mood;
"haven't I told you I'm not coming? What more do you want?"
"Oh, of course, if you're so taken up with this reverend thing of
beauty," said one of them sulkily, "we're out of it. I should have
thought he could have snuffled to himself for a day without wanting you
to help him."
Scarfe all this time stood by in a rage. The sight of Jeffreys was to
him like the dead fly in the apothecary's ointment. It upset him and
irritated him with everybody and everything. He had guessed, on
receiving no reply to his recent polite letter, that he had exposed his
own poor hand to his enemy, and he hated him accordingly with a double
hatred.
He contrived, however, to keep up an appearance of scornful
indifference.
"You are still reaping the rewards of virtue, pious homicide," he
sneered.
"I still envy the upright man who does his duty," replied Jeffreys,
scarcely less bitterly.
"What do you mean, you--"
"I mean what I say," said Jeffreys, turning on his heel, and taking
Percy's arm.
They walked home, and before Clarges Street was reached Percy had told
his friend an unvarnished story of the follies of the last few days, and
enlisted his support in his determination to pull up.
There was something touching in the mingled shame and anger of the proud
boy as he made his confession, not sparing himself, and full of scorn at
those who had tempted him. Jeffreys was full of righteous wrath on his
behalf, and ran up a score against Scarfe which would have astonished
that worthy, listlessly loafing about at Windsor, had he guessed it.
"I've promised to go and see the Boat Race with them," said Percy; "but
you must come too. I know you'll hate it, and so will they; but somehow
I can't do without a little backing up."
"I'll back you up, old fellow, all I can, I only wish," added he, for
the boy's confidence in him humiliated him, "I had a better right to do
it."
"Why, Jeff, I don't suppose you ever did a bad thing in your life."
"Don't say that," said Jeffreys almost appealingly, "I have!"
The boy looked up at him, startled for a moment by his tone. Then he
said, with a return of his old look of confidence--
"Poor old Jeff! That's what makes you so blue sometimes. If it weren't
for you, I'd have a precious good right to be in the blues too."
Jeffreys, who had not entered the house since his interview with Mrs
Rimbolt, felt anything but comfortable as he again set foot within it;
and had it not been for Percy's countenance, he would have felt it still
more of an ordeal.
He had, however, plenty to occupy his mind during the hour or two which
followed. Mr Rimbolt was waiting for him eagerly, to hear all about
the sale and the purchases which had been made.
"You've done a capital stroke of business for me, Jeffreys," said he,
when the report had been concluded. "Those three Caxtons I would not
have missed for anything. I am quite glad that business will take me
North next week, as I shall be able to run over to Wildtree and see some
of the treasures unpacked. I shall, however, leave them for you finally
to arrange when we all go back in June. You've seen Percy? I fancy he
has been racketing rather too much with these friends of his; but I
imagine Scarfe would see he went into no mischief. However, I am glad
you have come back, for the boy's sake, as you understand him. This
summer I think you should take him a little run in Normandy or
Switzerland. It would do him good, and you, too, to knock about abroad
for a week or two. However, there's time enough to talk about that.
And I dare say you will be glad now to get a little rest after your
journey."
Jeffreys returned to his room very contentedly. The confidence Mr
Rimbolt reposed in him was soothing to his spirits, and went far to
obliterate the memory of that hideous interview last week.
Percy was out when, after washing and changing his travelling garb, he
came down to the morning-room, which he usually occupied during the
afternoon.
To his surprise, and even consternation, Raby was there, writing.
She rose, brightly, almost radiantly, as he entered.
"Oh, Mr Jeffreys, how glad I am to see you back! Poor Percy has been
in such want of you! These Oxford friends of his, I am certain, have
not been doing him any good. Have you seen him? I am so happy you have
come back!"
Jeffreys was not made of adamant, and a greeting like this, even though
it was offered on some one else's behalf, was enough to drive Mrs
Rimbolt completely out of his head.
"I am very fortunate to be able to make you happy so easily," said he.
"Yes, I have seen Percy, and heard all his troubles. How could any one
help being grateful for a confidence like his? You know, Miss Atherton,
I would do anything for him."
"I believe you," said she warmly. "You are good and unselfish."
"Do you mind my saying," said Jeffreys, colouring, "that it is an
additional pleasure to do what I can for Percy if it makes you happy?"
"I don't mind your saying it if it is true. It does make me happy."
And her face was the best witness to her sincerity.
Jeffreys was not the only person who saw that bright smile. Mrs
Rimbolt, entering the room at that moment, saw it too, and heard the
words which it accompanied.
She glared round witheringly on Jeffreys.
"So, Mr Jeffreys, _you_ are here. What brings you here?"
"Mr Jeffreys--" began Raby, feeling and looking very confused.
"Silence, Raby, I asked Mr Jeffreys."
"I came here not knowing the room was occupied. It was a pleasant
surprise to find Miss Atherton here, and she has been making me happy by
talking to me about Percy."
"Mr Jeffreys," said the lady, "allow me to say I do not believe you."
"Auntie!" exclaimed Raby, firing up in a manner unusual to her; "it is
true. Mr Jeffreys always tells the truth!"
"Raby, my dear, you had better leave the room."
"No, auntie!" exclaimed the girl. "You have no right to charge Mr
Jeffreys with saying what is not true. It's not fair--it's wrong--it's
wicked!"
"You forget, my dear, of all persons you should not address me like
this."
"No," said the girl, going to the door, which Jeffreys opened for her.
"I don't forget, and I shall not forget. You have no right to say it.
I wish father was home again, and would take me away!"
In the midst of his own indignation, Jeffreys could not help admiring
this outbreak of righteous indignation on the part of the spirited girl.
Mrs Rimbolt little guessed how much she herself was doing to defeat her
own ends.
"Mr Jeffreys," said she, after Raby had gone, "after our interview last
week, your conduct is both disgraceful and dishonourable. I should not
have believed it even of you."
"Pardon me, madam. You have charged me with telling you a lie just now.
Is that so?"
His tone was strangely peremptory. Mrs Rimbolt had never seen him like
this before--and for the moment it disconcerted her.
"What I heard as I entered the room had no reference to Percy," said
she.
"Excuse me--it had. Miss Atherton--"
"If it had, I must believe you. I wish to hear no more about it. But
after your promise last week--"
"I made no promise, and should decline to do so. I am quite aware of my
position here, and am ready to give it up when called upon. But while I
stay here and do my work, Mrs Rimbolt, I claim to be protected from
insult."
"It is useless to prolong this interview, Mr Jeffreys," said Mrs
Rimbolt, half-scared by the turn things had taken. "I never expected to
be addressed in this way in my own house by one who is dependent on my
husband for his living. You can leave me, sir."
Jeffreys bowed, and retired to his room, where he awaited as calmly as
he could what appeared to him the inevitable end of the scene--a notice
to quit.
But it did not come. Mrs Rimbolt knew herself to be in the wrong. Her
husband, she knew, if she laid the case before him, would judicially
inquire into its merits, and come to the same conclusion. In that case
her dominion would be at an end. Even the Mrs Rimbolts have an eye to
the better half of valour sometimes, and so Jeffreys was left sitting
for an ultimatum which did not come.
Raby had a still worse ordeal before her. At first her indignation had
reigned supreme and effaced all other emotions. Gradually, however, a
feeling of vague misery ensued. She longed to be away in India with her
dear soldier father; she wished Jeffreys had never come under the
Wildtree roof to bring insult on himself and wretchedness to her. She
dreaded the future for her boy cousin without his protector, and half
wished him dead and safe from temptation.
In due time her brave spirit came back. She despised herself for her
weakness, and, resolved boldly to face her aunt and every one, she came
down to dinner.
It was strictly a family party, with Mrs Scarfe added; for the other
three visitors had not yet returned from Windsor. Raby sought
protection from her aunt by devoting herself to Mrs Scarfe, and quite
delighted that good lady by her brightness and spirit. Mrs Scarfe took
occasion in the drawing-room afterwards to go into rhapsodies to her
young friend regarding her son; and when about ten o'clock the holiday-
makers arrived home, in high spirits and full of their day's sport, she
achieved a grand stroke of generalship by leaving the two young people
together in the conservatory, having previously, by a significant
pressure of her son's arm, given him to understand that now was his time
for striking while the iron was hot.
Scarfe was in an unusually gay mood, and still a little elevated by the
festivities of the day.
"I'm sure you missed us," said he, "didn't you?"
"The house was certainly much quieter," said Raby.
"Do you know," said he, "it's rather pleasant to feel that one is
missed?"
Raby said nothing, but began to feel a desire to be safely back in the
drawing-room.
"Do you know we drank toasts to-day, like the old knights, to our lady
loves?" continued Scarfe.
"Indeed," replied Raby, as unconcernedly as she could.
"Yes--and shall I tell you the name I pledged? Ah, I see you know,
Raby."
"Mr Scarfe, I want to go back to the drawing-room; please take me."
Scarfe took her hand. His head was swimming, partly with excitement,
partly with the effects of the supper.
"Not till I tell you I love you, and--"
"Mr Scarfe, I don't want to hear all this," said Raby, snatching her
hand away angrily, and moving to the door.
He seized it again rudely.
"You mean you don't care for me?" asked he.
"I want to go away," said she.
"Tell me first," said he, detaining her; "do you mean you will not have
me--that you don't love me?"
"I don't," said she.
"Then," said he, sober enough now, and standing between her and the
door, "there is another question still Is the reason because some one
else in this house has--"
"Mr Scarfe," said Raby quietly, "don't you think, when I ask you to let
me go, it is not quite polite of you to prevent me?"
"Please excuse me," he said apologetically. "I was excited, and forgot;
but, Raby, do let me warn you, for your sake, to beware of this fellow
Jeffreys. No, let me speak," said he, as she put up her hand to stop
him. "I will say nothing to offend you. You say you do not care for
me, and I have nothing to gain by telling you this. If he has--"
"Mr Scarfe, you are quite mistaken; do, please, let me go."
Scarfe yielded, bitterly mortified and perplexed. His vanity had all
along only supposed one possible obstacle to his success with Raby, and
that was a rival. That she would decline to have him for any other
reason had been quite beyond his calculations, and he would not believe
it now.
Jeffreys may not have actually gone as far as to propose to her, but, so
it seemed, there was some understanding between them which barred
Scarfe's own chance. The worst of it all was that to do the one thing
he would have liked to do would be to spoil his own chance altogether.
For Raby, whether she cared for Jeffreys or not, would have nothing to
say to Scarfe if he was the means of his ruin.
The air during the next few days seemed charged with thunder. Mrs
Rimbolt was in a state of war with every one, Mrs Scarfe was poorly,
the two Oxford visitors began to vote their visit slow, Scarfe was
moody, Raby was unhappy, Jeffreys felt continually half-choked, Percy
alone kept up his spirits, while Mr Rimbolt, happiest of all, went up
North to look at his old books.
No one was particularly sorry when the visits came to an end. Even the
Sports and Boat Race had failed to revive the drooping spirits of the
Oxonians, and on the Monday following it was with a considerable stretch
of politeness that they all thanked Mrs Rimbolt for a very pleasant
visit.
Scarfe, taking farewell of Raby, begged that some time, later on, he
might come to see her again, but was quite unable to gather from her
reply whether she desired it or not. Jeffreys wisely kept out of the
way while the departures were taking place, despite Mrs Rimbolt's
suggestion that he should be sent for to help the cabman carry out the
boxes.
The first evening after they were all gone the house seemed another
place. Even Jeffreys felt he could breathe, despite Mr Rimbolt's
absence, and the hostile proximity of his lady.
As to Raby and Percy, they made no concealment of the relief they felt,
and went off for a row on the river to celebrate the occasion.
Jeffreys judiciously excused himself from accompanying them, and went a
long walk by himself.
Two days later, after lunch, just as Percy and Raby had departed for a
ride in the park, and Jeffreys had shut himself up in Mr Rimbolt's
study to write, a letter was delivered by the post addressed to Mrs
Rimbolt, bearing the Oxford post-mark. It was from Scarfe, and Mrs
Rimbolt opened her eyes as she perused it:--
"Christchurch, _April_ 2."
Dear Mrs Rimbolt,--I reached here from home this morning, and hasten to
send you a line to thank you for the very pleasant visit I spent in
London last week. I should have written sooner, but that I was anxious
to write you on another and less pleasant subject, which I felt should
not be done hurriedly. You will, I dare say, blame me for not having
told you earlier what I now feel it my duty to tell, and I trust you
will understand the feelings which have prevented my doing so. John
Jeffreys, who is in Mr Rimbolt's employment, is, as you know, an old
schoolfellow of mine. I was surprised to see him at Wildtree last
Christmas, and took the trouble to inquire whether he had come to you
with a character, or whether you had any knowledge of his antecedents.
I imagined you had not, and supposed that, as he was only engaged as a
librarian, inquiries as to his character were not considered necessary.
But when I saw that he was being admitted as a member of your household,
and specially allowed to exercise an influence on Percy, I assure you I
felt uncomfortable, and it has been on my mind ever since to tell you
what I feel you ought to know. Jeffreys ran away from school after
committing a cruel act which, to all intents and purposes, was murder.
His victim was a small boy whom we all loved, and who never did him
harm. The details of the whole affair are too horrible to dwell upon
here, but I have said enough to show you what sort of person it is who
is at present entrusted with the care of your own son, and allowed to
associate on a footing of equality with your niece, Miss Atherton. I
can assure you it is very painful to me to write this, for I know how it
will shock you. But I feel my conscience would not give me peace till I
told you all. May I now ask one special favour from you? It is well
known, and you probably have noticed it yourself, that Jeffreys and I
naturally dislike one another. But I want you to believe that I write
this, not because I dislike Jeffreys, but because I like you all, and
feel that Percy particularly is in peril. What I ask is that if you
think it right to take any action in the matter, my name may not be
mentioned. It would be considered an act of spite on my part, which it
is not; and perhaps I may mention to you that I have special reasons for
wishing that Miss Atherton, at least, should not think worse of me than
I deserve. She would certainly misunderstand it if my name were
mentioned. I feel I have only done my duty, and I assure you it will be
a great relief to me to know that you are rid of one who cannot fail to
exercise a fatal influence on the pure and honest mind of my friend
Percy.
"Believe me, dear Mrs Rimbolt, most sincerely yours,--
"E. Scarfe."
The shock which this astounding communication gave to Mrs Rimbolt can
be more easily imagined than described. It explained everything--her
instinctive dislike of the man from the first, his moroseness and
insolence, and the cunning with which he had insinuated himself first
into her husband's and then into Percy's confidence! How blind she had
been not to see it all before! She might have known that he was a
villain! Now, however, her duty was clear, and she would be wicked if
she delayed to act upon it a moment. If Mr Rimbolt had been at home,
it would have fallen on him to discharge it, but he was not, and she
must do it for him.
Whereupon this worthy matron girded herself for the fray, and stalked
off to the study.
Jeffreys was busy transcribing some bibliographical notes which he had
brought away with him from Exeter. The work was not very engrossing,
and he had leisure now and then to let his mind wander, and the
direction his thoughts took was towards Mr Rimbolt's little plan of a
run on the Continent for Percy and himself this summer. Jeffreys had
been afraid to acknowledge to himself how much the plan delighted him.
He longed to see the everlasting snows, and the lakes, and the grand old
mediaeval cities, and the prospect of seeing them with Percy, away from
all that could annoy or jar--
He had got so far when the door opened, and Mrs Rimbolt stood before
him.
The lady was pale, and evidently agitated beyond her wont. She stood
for a moment facing Jeffreys, and apparently waiting for words. The
librarian's back went up in anticipation. If it was more about Raby, he
would leave the room before he forgot himself.
"Mr Jeffreys," said the lady, and her words came slowly and hoarsely,
"I request you to leave this house in half an hour."
It was Jeffreys' turn to start and grow pale.
"May I ask why?" he said.
"You know why, sir," said the lady. "You have known why ever since you
had the meanness to enter Wildtree on false pretences."
"Really, Mrs Rimbolt," began Jeffreys, with a cold shudder passing
through him, "I am at a loss--"
"Don't speak to me, sir! You knew you had no right to enter the house
of honest, respectable people--you knew you had no right to take
advantage of an accident to insinuate yourself into this family, and
impose upon the unsuspecting good-nature of my husband. No one asked
you for your character; for no one imagined you could be quite so
hypocritical as you have been. You, the self-constituted friend and
protector of my precious boy--you, with the stain of blood on your hands
and the mark of Cain on your forehead! Leave my house at once; I desire
no words. You talked grandly about claiming to be protected from insult
in this house. It is we who claim to be protected from a hypocrite and
a murderer! Begone; and consider yourself fortunate that instead of
walking out a free man, you are not taken out to the punishment you
deserve!"
When Jeffreys, stunned and stupefied, looked up, the room was empty.
Mechanically he finished a sentence he had been writing, then letting
the pen drop from his hand, sat where he was, numbed body and soul.
Mrs Rimbolt's words dinned in his ears, and with them came those old
haunting sounds, the yells on the Bolsover meadows, the midnight shriek
of the terrified boy, the cold sneer of his guardian, the brutal laugh
of Jonah Trimble. All came back in one confused hideous chorus, yelling
to him that his bad name was alive still, dogging him down, down,
mocking his foolish dreams of deliverance and hope, hounding him out
into the night to hide his head indeed, but never to hide himself from
himself.
How long he sat there he knew not. When he rose he was at least calm
and resolved.
He went up to his own room and looked through his little stock of
possessions. The old suit in which he had come to Wildtree was there;
and an impulse seized him to put it on in exchange for the trim garments
he was wearing. Of his other goods and chattels he took a few special
favourites. His Homer--Julius's collar--a cricket cap--a pocket compass
which Percy had given him, and an envelope which Raby had once directed
to him for her uncle. His money--his last quarter's salary--he took
too, and his old stick which he had cut in the lanes near Ash Cottage.
That was all. Then quietly descending the deserted stairs, and looking
neither to the right hand nor the left, he crossed the hall and opened
the front door.
A pang shot through him as he did so. Was he never to see Percy again,
or _her_? What would they think of him?
The thought maddened him; and as he stood in the street he seemed to
hear their voices, too, in the awful clamour, and rushed blindly forth,
anywhere, to escape it.