THE CONTEST
Mackenzie sprang up and stood facing them. His face had changed in a
flash. It was not at all the face of a man who had been caught and was
ashamed; it was rather glad. Even his ill-made London clothes could not
at that moment disguise his magnificent gift of virility. So he might
have looked--when there was no one to see him--face to face with sudden,
unexpected danger in far different surroundings, dauntless, and eager to
wrest his life out of the instant menace of death.
Dick had a momentary perception of the quality of the man he had to deal
with, which was instantly obliterated by a wave of contemptuous
dislike--the dislike of a man to whom all expression of feeling, except,
perhaps, anger, was an offence. He had looked death in the face too, but
not with that air. Assumed at a moment like this it was a vulgar
absurdity. He met Mackenzie's look with a cool contempt.
But the challenge, and the reply to it, had occupied but a moment.
Cicely had looked up and cried, "O Dick!" and had tried to rise from her
chair to come to him, but could not. The tone in which she uttered that
appeal for mercy and protection made Jim Graham wince, but it did not
seem to affect her brother. "Go and get ready to come with us," he said.
Jim had never taken his eyes off Cicely since he had entered the room,
but she did not look at him. She sat in her chair, trembling a little,
her eyes upon her brother's face, which was now turned toward her with
no expression in it but a cold authority.
She stood up with difficulty, and Jim took half a step forward. But
Mackenzie broke in, with a gesture towards her. "Come now, Captain
Clinton," he said. "You have found us out; but I am going to marry your
sister. You are not going to take her away, you know." He spoke in a
tone of easy good humour. The air, slightly theatrical, as it had
seemed, with which he had faced their intrusion, had disappeared.
Dick took no notice of him whatever. "I am going to take you up to
Muriel," he said to Cicely. "There's a cab waiting. Have you anything to
get, or are you ready to come now?"
She turned to go to her room, but Mackenzie interposed again. "Stay
here, please," he said. "We won't take our orders from Captain Clinton.
Look here, Clinton, I dare say this has been a bit of a shock to you,
and I'm sorry it had to be done in such a hurry. But everything is
straight and honest. I want to marry your sister, and she wants to marry
me. She is of age and you can't stop her. I'm going to make her a good
husband, and she's going to make me the best of wives."
He still spoke good-humouredly, with the air of a man used to command
who condescends to reason. He knew his power and was accustomed to
exercise it, with a hand behind his back, so to speak, upon just such
young men as these; men who were socially his superiors, and on that
very account to be kept under, and taught that there was no such thing
as social superiority where his work was to be done, but only leader and
led.
But still Dick took no notice of him. "Come along, Cicely," he said,
with a trifle of impatience.
Mackenzie shrugged his shoulders angrily. "Very well," he said, "if
you've made up your mind to take that fool's line, take it and welcome.
Only you won't take _her_. She's promised to me. My dear, tell them so."
He bent his look upon Cicely, the look which had made her soft in his
hands. Dick was looking at her too, standing on the other side of the
table, with cold displeasure. And Jim had never looked away from her.
His face was tender and compassionate, but she did not see it. She
looked at Dick, searching his face for a sign of such tenderness, but
none was there, or she would have gone to him. Her eyes were drawn to
Mackenzie's, and rested there as if fascinated. They were like those of
a frightened animal.
"Come now," said Mackenzie abruptly. "It is for you to end all this. I
would have spared you if I could--you know that; but if they must have
it from you, let them have it. Tell them that I asked you to come away
and marry me, and that you came of your own accord. Tell them that I
have taken care of you. Tell them that we are to be married this
morning."
She hesitated painfully, and her eyes went to her brother's face again
in troubled appeal. He made no response to her look, but when the clock
on the mantelpiece had ticked half a dozen audible beats and she had not
spoken, he turned to Mackenzie.
"I see," he said. "You have----"
"Oh, let her speak," Mackenzie interrupted roughly, with a flashing
glance at him. "You have had your say."
"It is quite plain, sir," proceeded Dick in his level voice, "that you
have gained some sort of influence over my sister."
"Oh, that is plain, is it?" sneered Mackenzie.
"Excuse me if I don't express myself very cleverly," said Dick. "What I
mean is that somehow you have managed to _bully_ her into running away
with you."
They looked into one another's eyes for an instant. The swords were
crossed. Mackenzie turned to Cicely. "Did I do that?" he asked quietly.
"If I might suggest," Dick said, before she could reply, "that you don't
try and get behind my sister, but speak up for yourself----"
"Did I do that?" asked Mackenzie again.
"O Dick dear," said Cicely, "I said I would come. It was my own fault."
"Your own fault--yes," said Dick. "But I am talking to this--this
gentleman, now."
Mackenzie faced him again. "Oh, we're to have all that wash about
gentlemen, are we? I'm not a gentleman. That's the trouble, is it?"
"It is part of the trouble," said Dick. "A good big part."
"Do you know what I do with the _gentlemen_ who come worrying me for
jobs when I go on an expedition, Captain Clinton--the gentlemen who want
to get seconded from your regiment and all the other smart regiments, to
serve under me?"
"Shall we stick to the point?" asked Dick. "My cab is waiting."
Mackenzie's face looked murderous for a moment, but he had himself in
hand at once. "The point is," he said, "that I am going to marry your
sister, with her consent."
"The point is how you got her consent. I am here in place of my
father--and hers. If she marries you she marries you, but she doesn't do
it before I tell her what she is letting herself in for."
"Then perhaps you will tell her that."
"I will." Dick looked at Cicely. "I should like to ask you to begin with
when you first met--Mr. Mackenzie," he said.
"Dear Dick!" cried Cicely, "don't be so cruel. I--I--was discontented at
home, and I----"
"We met first at Graham's house," said Mackenzie, "when you were there.
I first spoke to her alone on Sunday afternoon, and she promised to come
away and marry me on Sunday night. Now go on."
"That was when you told Graham that you couldn't sleep, I suppose, in
the middle of the night."
"I walked over from Mountfield, and she came to me in the garden, as I
had asked her to. We were together about three minutes."
Dick addressed Cicely again, still with the same cold authority. "You
were discontented at home. You can tell me why afterwards. You meet this
man and hear him bragging of his great deeds, and when he takes you by
surprise and asks you to marry him, you are first of all rather
frightened, and then you think it would be an adventure to go off with
him. Is that it?"
"It's near enough," said Mackenzie, "except that I don't brag."
"I've got my own ears," said Dick, still facing Cicely. "Well, I dare
say the sort of people you're used to don't seem much beside a man who
gets himself photographed on picture postcards, but I'll tell you a few
of the things we don't do. We don't go and stay in our friends' houses
and then rob them. You belonged to Jim. You'd promised him, and this man
knew it. We don't go to other men's houses and eat their salt and make
love to their daughters behind their backs. We don't tell mean lies. We
don't ask young girls to sneak out of their homes to meet us in the
middle of the night. We respect the women we want to marry, we don't
compromise them. If this man had been a fit husband for you, he would
have asked for you openly. It's just because he knows he isn't that he
brings all his weight to bear upon you, and you alone. He doesn't dare
to face your father or your brothers."
Cicely had sunk down into her chair again. Her head was bent, but her
eyes were dry now. Mackenzie had listened to him with his face set and
his lips pressed together. What he thought of the damaging indictment,
whether it showed him his actions in a fresh light, or only heightened
his resentment, nobody could have told. "Have you finished what you have
to say?" he asked.
"Not quite," replied Dick. "Listen to me, Cicely."
"Yes, and then listen to me," said Mackenzie.
"What sort of treatment do you think you're going to get from a man who
has behaved like that? He's ready to give you a hole-and-corner
marriage. He wants you for the moment, and he'll do anything to get you.
He'll get tired of you in a few weeks, and then he'll go off to the
other side of the world and where will _you_ be? How much thought has he
given to _your_ side of the bargain? He's ready to cut you off from your
own people--_he_ doesn't care. He takes you from a house like Kencote
and brings you here. He's lied to Jim, who treated him like a friend,
and he's behaved like a cad to us who let him into our house. He's done
all these things in a few days. How are you going to spend your life
with a fellow like that?"
Cicely looked up. Her face was firmer, and she spoke to Mackenzie. "We
had begun to talk about all these things," she said. "I asked you a
question which you didn't answer. Did you know when you told me you were
going back to Tibet in a fortnight and there wasn't time to--to ask
father for me, that you weren't going until next year?"
"No, I didn't," said Mackenzie.
"When did he tell you that?" asked Dick.
"On Sunday."
"I can find that out for you easily enough. I shouldn't take an answer
from him."
Again, for a fraction of a second, Mackenzie's face was deadly, but he
said quietly to Cicely, "I have answered your question. Go on."
"You know why I did what you asked me," she said. "I thought you were
offering me a freer life and that I should share in all your travels and
dangers. You told me just before my brother came in that you didn't want
me for that."
"I told you," said Mackenzie, speaking to her as if no one else had been
in the room, "that you _would_ have a freer life, but that I shouldn't
risk your safety by taking you into dangerous places. I told you that I
would do all that a man could do to protect and honour his chosen wife,
and that's God's truth. I told you that I would make you happy. That I
know I can do, and I will do. Your brother judges me by the fiddling
little rules he and the like of him live by. He calls himself a
gentleman, and says I'm not one. I know I'm not his kind of a gentleman.
I've no wish to be; I'm something bigger. I've got my own honour. _You_
know how I've treated you. Your own mother couldn't have been more
careful of you. And so I'll treat you to the end of the chapter when you
give me the right to. You can't go back now; it's too late. You see how
this precious brother of yours looks at you, after what you have done.
You'll be sorry if you throw yourself into _his_ hands again. Show some
pluck and send him about his business. You can trust yourself to me. You
won't regret it."
The shadow of his spell was over her again. She hesitated once more and
Dick's face became hard and angry. "Before you decide," he said, "let me
tell you this, that if you do marry this fellow you will never come to
Kencote again or see any of us as long as you live."
"You won't see your eldest brother," said Mackenzie. "I'll take care of
that. But you _will_ see those you want to see. I'll see to that too.
It's time to end this. I keep you to your word. You said you were mine,
and you meant it. I don't release you from your promise."
Cicely's calm broke down. "Oh, I don't know what to do," she cried. "I
did promise."
"I keep you to your promise," said Mackenzie inexorably.
Then Jim, who had kept silence all this time, spoke at last. "Cicely,"
he said, "have you forgotten that you made _me_ a promise?"
"O Jim," she said, without looking at him, "don't speak to me. I have
behaved very badly to you."
"You never wanted to marry him," said Mackenzie roughly. "He's not the
husband for a girl of any spirit."
Jim made no sign of having heard him. His face was still turned towards
Cicely. "It has been my fault," he said. "I've taken it all for granted.
But I've never thought about anybody else, Cicely."
Mackenzie wouldn't allow him to make his appeal as he had allowed Dick.
"He has had five years to take you in," he said. "He told me so. And he
hasn't taken you because he might have less money to spend on himself,
till he'd paid off his rates and taxes. He told me that too. He can
afford to keep half a dozen horses and a house full of servants. He
can't afford a wife!"
He spoke with violent contempt. Dick gazed at him steadily with
contemptuous dislike. "This is the fellow that invited himself to your
house, Jim," he said.
"Let me speak now, Dick," said Jim, with decision. "He can't touch me,
and I don't care if he does. He's nothing at all. I won't bother you.
Cicely, my dear. I've always loved you and I always shall. But----"
"No, he won't bother you," interrupted Mackenzie with a sneer. "He's
quite comfortable."
"But you will know I'm there when you are ready to be friends again. If
I haven't told you before I'll tell you now. I've kept back all I've
felt for you, but I've never changed and I shan't change. This won't
make any difference, except that----"
"Except that he's lost you and I've won you," Mackenzie broke in. "He's
had his chance and he's missed it. You don't want to be worried with his
drivel."
Cicely looked up at Mackenzie. "Let him speak," she said, with some
indignation. "I have listened to all you have said."
Mackenzie's attitude relaxed suddenly. After a searching glance at her
he shrugged his shoulders and turned aside. He took up his grey kid
gloves lying on the table and played with them.
"I don't blame you for this--not a bit," said Jim, "and I never shall.
Whatever you want I'll try and give you."
"O Jim, I can't marry you now," said Cicely, her head turned from him.
"But you are very kind." She broke into tears again, more tempestuous
than before. Her strength was nearly at an end.
"I've told you that I shan't worry you," Jim said. "But you mustn't
marry this man without thinking about it. You must talk to your
mother--she'll be heart-broken if you go away from her like this."
"Oh, does she want me back?" cried Cicely.
"Yes, she does. You must go up to Muriel now. She'll want you too. And
you needn't go home till you want to."
"I shall never be able to go home again," she said.
Mackenzie threw his gloves on to the table. "Do you want to go home?" he
asked her. His voice had lost that insistent quality. He spoke as if he
was asking her whether she would like to take a walk, in a tone almost
pleasant.
"I want to go away," she said doggedly.
"Then you may go," said Mackenzie, still in the same easy voice. "I
wanted you, and if we had been in a country where men behave like men, I
would have had you. But I see I'm up against the whole pudding weight of
British respectability, and I own it's too strong for me. We could have
shifted it together, but you're not the girl to go in with a man. I'll
do without you."
"You had better come now, Cicely," said Dick.
Mackenzie gave a great laugh, with a movement of his whole body as if he
were throwing off a weight.
"Shake hands before you go," he said, as she rose obediently. "You're
making a mistake, you know; but I don't altogether wonder at it. If I'd
had a day longer they should never have taken you away. I nearly got
you, as it was."
Cicely put her hand into his and looked him squarely in the face.
"Good-bye," she said. "You thought too little of me after all. If you
had really been willing for me to share your life, I think I would have
stayed with you."
His face changed at that. He fixed her with a look, but she took her
hand out of his and turned away. "I am ready, Dick," she said, and again
he shrugged his broad shoulders.
"I wish I had it to do over again," he said. "Well, gentlemen, you have
won and I have lost. I don't often lose, but when I do I don't whine
about it. You can make your minds easy. Not a word about this shall pass
my lips."
Dick turned round suddenly. "Will you swear that?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, if you like. I mean it."
Dick and Cicely went out of the room. "Well, Graham, I hope you'll get
her now I've lost her," said Mackenzie.
Jim took no notice of him, but went out after the other two.