Upon Gerard the sounds of the disturbance came with a curious sense of
something long expected having come to pass. He scarcely felt so much
as a slight shock of surprise.
Being, therefore, in a condition to notice things, he looked round him
at the various faces in the music-room, and noted the effect the noise
had upon his companions.
Cora, who was singing at the piano to her own accompaniment, stopped
short with a low cry, and covered her face with her hands.
Arthur who was standing beside her, grew red and indignant, and called
Sir William by several uncomplimentary names.
Lady Sylvia and Delia, who were talking on a sofa, looked at each other
in horror, and rose, as if uncertain what to do.
Two men whom Gerard had previously seen at the Priory, and who were
staying in the music-room to listen to Cora’s singing in the intervals
of poker, muttered something to each other in an undertone, and
promptly went to the scene of the disturbance.
Gerard, having noticed these things, and hearing that the disturbance
in the card-room was growing louder instead of calming down, slipped
out of the room and across the next, and looked in at the third, where
the unpleasant scene was taking place.
As he passed through the intermediate room, he noticed that Mrs. Van
Santen, with her poor old face blanched with horror, was sitting alone
bolt upright in a corner, clasping her hands and apparently too much
alarmed to speak or to move.
In the card-room itself all was confusion. Sir William Gurdon, flushed,
excited, scarcely intelligible was glaring across the card-table at
Denver Van Santen, who had risen, like all the rest of the players,
and who was standing with his arms folded and with a proud look of
indignation on his handsome face, surrounded by men who were all
speaking at once, some addressing one of the disputants, and some the
other, and all failing in making themselves distinctly heard.
Harry Van Santen, who was the coolest man in the room, was the first
person to make himself clearly heard. Standing on the outskirts of the
crowd, he cried, in a thin, sharp, penetrating voice--
“Give him a chance. Make yourself understood, Sir William, if you’re
sober enough.”
At these words, which raised a fresh issue, and were met with a torrent
of incoherent words from the young baronet, and with murmurs from the
rest of the men, the ladies in the room, who had most of them drawn
away from the crowd of angry men, and gathered in a knot in a corner,
whispered to each other and made towards the door.
Harry Van Santen, who perceived this movement, hastened to open the
door, saying in a low voice to the most important lady of the group--
“Yes, that’s right. This is no scene for you ladies. The fellow’s
drunk.”
He shut the door when they had all gone out, and returned to the
card-table, where three or four of the men were now with difficulty
holding Sir William back from a personal assault upon Denver whose
calmly contemptuous attitude and tone were irritating him to madness.
The uproar continued, and indeed grew worse, as excited partisans on
either side tried to outshout the rest.
In the midst of the noise and the turbulent movements of the crowd
of men a figure flitted lightly past Gerard, followed immediately
by another; and Delia and Miss Davison, the former leading, the
other following close behind, made their way into the group with the
authority born of combined intelligence and experience, and at once
found a hearing.
“Gentlemen,” said Delia, “this scene is very distressing, and not
one of you can make himself heard or understood if you all speak at
once. Will you separate for a time, and all think calmly over what has
happened--or has not happened--and then come together to discuss the
matter like reasonable persons? If not for your own sakes, I think you
will do so for my mother’s and for ours, will you not?”
Manner, voice, tone, all were perfect, and one after another the men
fell back, acknowledging the justice of her speech, and willing to obey
her suggestion.
Sir William alone of the visitors was obdurate. While Denver merely
retreated a few steps, and then threw himself with an air of insolent
defiance on a sofa, the baronet maintained his position in the middle
of the room, and poured forth his woes as incoherently and volubly as
ever.
He paid no heed to Delia, who looked at Miss Davison with a little
gesture of despair.
Then Rachel came up to Sir William, and laying her hand on his sleeve,
said gently--
“Don’t you think, Sir William, you had better talk this over quietly
with someone--with me, if you like? And I will listen to all you have
to say, and will do anything I can to put the matter right.”
“You can’t put it right. I beg your pardon, Miss Davison, but really
this isn’t a thing I can discuss with a lady. I’ve been che--”
“Oh, hush, hush! Think what you’re saying.”
“I’ve been cheated, I say. I’m sorry to have had to make a disturbance,
but it doesn’t alter the fact that--”
“For the sake of the ladies of the family, won’t you be reasonable?
Wait a little; calm down a little, and then hear what there is to be
said on the other side.”
“There’s nothing to be said, Miss Davison, nothing, that is to say,
that I could listen to or believe. You must really excuse me. It’s with
the men of the family that I have to deal. Or at least with the fellow
Denver. But I suppose it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other,
and that while one cheats at poker, the other does at bridge!”
Under the influence of the lady’s gentle talk, Sir William had grown,
not only too coherent, but so definite and precise in his accusations,
so sweeping in his charges, that every ear was strained to catch what
he said, and Denver, lounging on the sofa, grew perceptibly redder as
he was forced to listen too.
But Miss Davison, determined to end this painful scene in her own way,
took the young baronet’s arm, almost as if she had been taking him
into custody, and insisted on his leading her--or more properly being
led by her--into the adjoining room, where Mrs. Van Santen, still the
picture of woe, was sitting in her high-backed chair, and receiving the
condolences of one or two of the ladies, while the others went into the
music-room, with the exception of Lady Sylvia, who, much disgusted at
the scene she had been forced to witness, had ordered her car round and
taken her departure.
“Say something nice to the old lady, do, Sir William,” pleaded Rachel
coaxingly in his ear.
“How can I say anything nice to her, when I know her son is a card--”
Miss Davison would not let him finish.
“You know nothing certainly,” she broke in quickly. “You suspect, but
that’s not enough. Do pray remember what you owe to all of us, and
whatever you may think or fancy, keep your suspicions to yourself until
you can talk things over quietly with another man.”
“But I’m certain--” began he again.
“Well, tell what you think to--to--let me see--Mr. Buckland and Mr.
Aldington. They saw everything. Let them judge.”
“Excuse me, they saw nothing,” persisted Sir William, who was now
speaking more quietly, but who was not in the least disposed to waver
in his statement as to what he had seen. “I don’t think they were even
in the room till the row had begun.”
She was leading him gently across the middle room, deeming it more
prudent not to let him speak to Mrs. Van Santen in his obvious state
of irritation. She made him take her, therefore, into the music-room,
where Cora and Arthur were conversing near the piano, and where two
or three other small knots of people were discussing the distressing
affair in low voices.
Gerard was sitting by himself not far from the piano, and Delia had
come in to do her usual work of smoothing things over in any direction
where she saw that her services would be useful. Miss Davison made
straight for Gerard.
“Do, Mr. Buckland,” said she, bending down to speak pleadingly, and
meanwhile looking at him with steady eyes eloquent of her anxiety,
“speak to Sir William, and try to persuade him to make some sort of
apology, to believe that he has made a mistake, a great and dreadful
mistake. I don’t want him to leave the house until he’s been brought to
listen to reason,” she added earnestly, speaking quickly, and in such a
low voice that only Gerard heard her.
For he had started to his feet at her first words, and was standing on
one side of her, while Sir William, still angry and stiff, was on the
other.
Gerard felt himself to be in a very difficult position. Of course he
believed implicitly that the baronet was right, that he had suddenly
found out the meaning of the constant and heavy losses at cards which
he had sustained when playing with the young Van Santens. It was
horrible to find Rachel taking the part of these men, whom he now
looked upon as little better than swindlers, knowing, as he did, that
she must be perfectly well aware of what had been going on.
And yet he did not like to refuse her request, especially as, even if
his suspicions and those of Sir William were correct, the baronet had
now had his lesson, and it was most desirable on all accounts to avoid
a scandal.
So, after a moment’s hesitation, he said, “All right. I’ll do what I
can,” and thrusting his hand through the young baronet’s arm, he led
him into the conservatory which opened from this room, and asked him to
tell him all about it.
Briefly and clearly--for he had now had time to collect his
thoughts--Sir William explained exactly what he had seen, and his
reasons for believing that he had been robbed.
Gerard listened attentively and without interruption, and was quite
sure that the young baronet was correct in his surmise, and that
Denver, having robbed him persistently and with ease, had at last grown
careless, and manipulating the cards without so much skill as usual,
had been found out.
“There,” said Sir William, when he had finished his recital, “that’s
what I saw; and whatever you tell me, I shall think the same, that I’ve
been cheated, and that to-night is probably not the first time.”
Gerard did not at once reply. Cora and Arthur Aldington were observing
them, and he saw the girl whisper something to Arthur, in response to
which he nodded, and leaving her, strolled over to join the two young
men.
“I hope you’ve changed your mind about what you fancied you saw,” said
he to Sir William, who laughed dryly and shook his head.
“Oh, no, I haven’t,” he said. “These Yankees have had me for a mug; and
I’ve no doubt, as I’ve just been saying to Buckland, that what I found
out to-night was really only the end of what had been going on for some
time, in fact ever since I was fool enough to come here first.”
Arthur looked angry.
“Really, Gurdon, I think you ought to measure your words a little more
carefully,” he said stiffly. “We are friends of these people, Buckland
and I, and we can’t allow such things to be said uncontradicted, can
we?”
Gerard shook his head.
“You see, Sir William, it’s impossible for you to be quite sure on such
a point. It would need some confirmation--”
“Confirmation! Do you doubt my word?”
“Of course not. What I do doubt is whether we ought to be sure without
proof stronger than the eyes of one person. No, no, don’t get angry
again. I mean that, supposing I had seen what you saw, and believed
what you believed, I should have thought twice about bringing such a
grave--such an awful accusation--in a room full of ladies--and should
have waited to discuss quietly with some other fellows what was the
best thing to be done.”
Sir William reddened. He himself had by this time begun to feel
considerable regret that he had been so rashly outspoken.
“It’s all very well,” he grumbled, “to give advice like that; but I
tell you, when you suddenly make a discovery like that--when you’re
absolutely sure, mind you, as I was and am--you forget all rules of
prudence, even perhaps of propriety, and you go for the swindler there
and then.”
“Sh--sh,” said Gerard.
Arthur reddened.
“Come, I say, Gurdon, you shouldn’t say things like that without a lot
more proof than you’ve got, that things are not on the square,” said
he, with excitement.
“By Jove! What better proof can a man have than the evidence of his own
eyes?” asked Sir William. “I’m convinced, as I tell you, that I’ve been
deliberately robbed. And the only reason why I’m allowing myself to be
persuaded to sit here quietly and to let things simmer down, instead
of leaving the house at once, is that the thing is too flagrant to be
passed over, and that I intend to give information about it to the
police.”
Both his hearers protested at once, incoherently, in a low voice.
“Nonsense,” said Arthur. “How on earth can you bring disgrace upon
the ladies by doing such a thing as that? How can you, after being
hospitably received by Mrs. Van Santen, give information against one of
her sons? It’s impossible.”
“I’m going to do it, though,” said Sir William, with ominous
tranquillity. “If I were not absolutely certain of what I saw, I need
not tell you I would never do such a thing. As it is, I’m convinced
I was only what you call hospitably received for the purpose of being
plundered; and, as I say, I’m not going to put up with it quietly.
I’m going to give information to the police. If there’s nothing in
my charge, it will be all right, of course. They will listen to me
quietly, and no more will be heard of it. But if, on the other hand,
the information I give chimes in with anything they know, or may know
in the future, about these people, then my evidence may prove useful,
and I shouldn’t hesitate to give it.”
He was so quietly determined that Gerard looked upon it as a hopeless
task to try to dissuade him from his purpose. Indeed, he was not sorry
to hear his intention. If the Van Santens were swindlers, it was time
they were brought to justice. And if, unhappily, Miss Davison were
mixed up with them, there was ample time to warn her of what was in
store for the family.
Arthur, however, could not take it so quietly. He was indignant at
the aspersions cast upon the Americans, and poured forth an eloquent
tribute to their charms, pointing out that he too had lost money at
cards there, but that he did not shriek out that he had been robbed,
but ascribed his losses to his own chuckleheadedness in playing with
people who openly said that they played a better game than he did.
All such sneers as these, however, were lost upon Sir William. And to
Arthur’s reminder that he would be making things very unpleasant for
the ladies who were among the visitors at the Priory, the baronet was
equally deaf. Indeed, he took this suggestion as the text for another
sermon.
“By the by,” he said to Gerard, “have you ever noticed that, although
the Van Santens get plenty of visitors, you never meet any of their own
countrymen here?”
Gerard himself had noticed the fact, and said so, adding, however, that
he believed it was usual with Americans to invite English people of
rank, whenever they could get them, in preference to their own people.
Sir William, however, persisted in seeing a sinister significance in
everything that concerned the Van Santens, and he turned to communicate
his doubts to another man, while Arthur, full of indignation, went back
to Cora, and bursting with anger, most indiscreetly let out the fact
that Sir William was going to complain about his supposed grievance to
the police.
Cora turned very pale, and uttered a little scream of horror.
“Then you may tell Sir William from me that he’s not a gentleman,”
she said, with flashing eyes. “Whatever he may think of himself and
his title, he’s just the meanest thing that breathes! When he’s been
received here so well, and has had such a good time! Oh, what will my
mother say? I must go and tell her!”
“I shouldn’t, if I were you, at least till the people are gone,” said
Arthur persuasively. “Remember, he can’t do you any harm. He can give
as much information as he likes; no notice will be taken of it, and he
will merely be informed that observation shall be kept upon the house.”
But the words inflamed Cora’s wrath still more.
“Observation kept upon our house!” she said indignantly. “Where people
of rank come every day! No, indeed, the police shall do nothing of
the sort. Let the fellow dare to bring an honest, open charge against
my brothers, and then see what evidence we shall bring on our side!
Observation indeed!”
And she left him, and ran, shaking with indignation, into the next
room, where she took Mrs. Van Santen aside, and poured into her ears
the story of Sir William’s cowardly attacks and threats.
The old lady, in great alarm, called for Delia and Miss Davison, and
hurriedly consulted them as to what was to be done. She was in a state
of the greatest anxiety, but showed more quiet good sense than might
have been expected from one so simple in the world’s ways.
“Isn’t one of you two girls clever enough,” she said, “to talk to this
young man and show him that he’s behaving as badly as a man can? What
have we done that he should insult us like this? Even if Denver had
not played fair--which we all know is ridiculous--it would be worse
behavior in this young man to insult us all as he wants to do, than it
would have been of Denver to do what he says he believed he saw him do.”
“He must be stopped,” said Delia firmly. “He must be made to see he’s
making an ass of himself. We can’t have a scandal made about us, and
all our English friends offended and made to stay away.”
She was addressing Rachel, whose face was very grave.
“Of course,” said Miss Davison, “it doesn’t much matter if he does
behave as he suggests. Everybody knows you and knows the sort of
society you receive.”
“And that you, who have lots of friends in the best society, actually
stay with us,” added Delia.
Miss Davison assented.
“I really don’t think you need distress yourself about this silly lad,”
she said. “He would harm no one but himself if he were to go to a
police-station and tell his absurd tale. He has already made half the
people here think him mad, and I’m going to tell him so.”
She swept across the floor and entered the music-room, where the
baronet was talking in a low voice, but with great excitement, to
two or three other men who had been witnesses of the scene at the
card-table.
She broke into the group and called him aside, and, in a voice which
was audible all over the room, protested strongly and energetically
against his behavior.
“I should have thought,” she said, with a haughty movement of her
handsome head, “that, if you had been undeterred by any other
consideration, the knowledge that I, a friend of so many of your own
friends, have been staying with the Van Santens, would have been enough
to convince you that such a thing as you imagine could not occur here.”
But the young man, who had appeared so good-humored and so easy to
manage on previous occasions, was now as firm and as stubborn as he had
before been gentle.
“It is because you, a young lady of known position and a friend of
so many others of position, have stayed with these people and made a
friend of them, that I and my friends have taken them up,” he retorted
shortly. “It makes them all the more dangerous that they’ve succeeded
in hoodwinking a lady as clever as you are.”
The word caused a movement of astonishment at his tenacity, in the
group of men who were within hearing.
“Really, Sir William, you talk as if you were in a den of thieves!”
said Miss Davison haughtily.
“Really, Miss Davison, I am inclined to think that I am,” retorted the
baronet, as he bowed and withdrew into the next room.
Rachel was left standing, pale, indignant, frightened, in the middle
of the music-room. The other men who had heard something of this
short passage of arms, came round her, apologizing for Sir William,
expressing the opinion that he had had too much champagne, and that
there was no other explanation of his conduct than that, or a sudden
attack of insanity.
Miss Davison received these remarks graciously, again expressing her
astonishment that Sir William could make himself so ridiculous.
Before she had finished speaking, the group was added to by two or
three more persons, one of whom was Gerard Buckland. With him she
presently walked away towards the conservatory, and when they were out
of hearing of the rest, she said in a low voice--
“If you can’t succeed in persuading Sir William not to carry out his
absurd intention, but to declare--before he leaves the house that he
has given it up, I advise you to look after him, Mr. Buckland.”
“To look after him! What do you mean?”
She raised her eyelids slowly, and looked at him with a strange,
arresting steadiness.
“Oh, I only mean, of course, that since it’s plain that he is scarcely
in his right senses, he ought to be--_closely watched_.”