"The idea is wholly mine. Of my own feelings I have said nothing. I
have not alluded to the terrible grief and disappointment that this
thing has been to me. To think that a son of mine could so far forget
himself--but it is useless to go into that. I am tired and worn out,
and this interview has tried me more than I thought. And there is
another element in the drama of which as yet you know nothing. It may
surprise you to hear that Mr. John Charlock himself is under this roof."
"He came to see you?" Arnold cried.
"Yes, but under the impression that your folly had ceased. You can
imagine how distressing it was when the discovery was made. And now,
how am I to get out of this dilemma? You will agree that one of you
must go. It only remains for you to make up your mind which it is to
be."
"I am prepared to do anything you ask," Arnold said. "But what about
Mrs. Charlock? What can we do with her?"
Mrs. Rent could only look at her son with troubled eyes.
"It is very strange how perverse women are," Arnold went on. "One would
almost think you are wilfully misunderstanding me. Do you realise how
much the woman sacrifices, and how little the man gives in return? It
has always been a fancy of yours to regard me as a saint. Let me tell
you now that I am nothing of the sort. When I first saw Mrs. Charlock,
when I first understood how unhappy she was in her domestic life, when I
found what that woman really was, it was a revelation to me, and from
that moment I laid aside all my selfish aims and ambitions, and I was
prepared to make any sacrifice to save her from trouble and affliction.
She is good and pure as Ethel Hargrave, and I want you to befriend her
for her own sake, if not for mine. To all intents and purposes,
Charlock has deserted her. He has been guilty of legal cruelty by
turning her out of the house and compelling her either to leave him or
to degrade herself by menial work. His next folly will give her the
chance of appealing to the law to release her altogether. And then I
shall be in a position to make her my wife."
"Mistress of Alton Lee?" Mrs. Rent stammered.
A gleam came into Rent's eyes. There was something almost threatening
in his attitude.
"Ay, I mean that," he murmured. "Nothing less. And the sooner you
understand it the better."
*CHAPTER XXIII*
*BEHIND THE VEIL*
In the purple stillness of the night, Kate Charlock could hear all that
was taking place in the drawing-room. It did not occur to Arnold or his
mother that there was any chance of the cause of all the trouble playing
the eavesdropper. Indeed, the whole situation was so strange, so full
of dramatic surprises, that it was impossible to think of anything but
the word and the moment.
Kate Charlock had come back to herself with a start as her husband's
name was flung at her, so to speak, from the drawing-room. Thitherto
she had been listening in a vague sort of way, her mind too full of
plans for the future to take much heed. Even now she had not given
everything up for lost. She followed with satisfaction Mrs. Rent's
declaration of what might happen if only the object of Arnold's
infatuation proved to be anything like the woman he declared her to be.
It would not be difficult to break down this wall of opposition when she
was Arnold's wife. On the whole, it was worth while to take the risk.
The struggle might be a long one. On the other hand, Kate Charlock
remembered that perpetual dropping wears away the stone. It would be no
fault of hers if she were not mistress of Alton Lee at the end of a
year. Doubtless she would eat the hard bread of adversity in the
interval. But the milk and honey to come would make up for all that.
Surely a place like Alton Lee was cheaply bought at the price of a
year's poverty.
Then the edifice suddenly crumbled and broke as John Charlock's name was
mentioned. There was no mistaking the significance of Mrs. Rent's
words. At that very moment Charlock was under the same roof as his wife.
But why had he come? What scheme lay at the back of his mind? It
seemed impossible he had come to fetch her away. For a moment it
flashed across the woman's mind that Charlock had journeyed to
Devonshire hot-foot for revenge. He was just the kind of man to shoot
Arnold Rent and then take his own life. He would probably leave a long
statement behind him detailing his troubles from his own point of
view--the sort of statement that the press glories in and publishes in
prominent type. If that happened, then, indeed, would she be a marked
woman for the remainder of her days. The rest of her years would be
spent like those of the heroine of the _Scarlet Letter_.
But it was not for long that these distracting thoughts gripped Kate
Charlock. Then she smiled at her own folly. Charlock was a guest. He
had partaken of Mrs. Rent's hospitality. No, there must be something
deeper and more subtle in his movements than this. And there were other
things to think about. It was impossible that she and Arnold Rent and
her husband could all sleep at Alton Lee that night. One or two of them
would have to go. The air would have to be cleared.
Here was a situation that the turning of a hair might transform into
farce or hideous tragedy. The elements of both were strongly in
evidence. Something would have to be done, and that swiftly. But if John
Charlock was in the house, where was he? Most of the windows of the
living-rooms were open. The lamps were lighted, so that it was possible
to pass along the terrace in the darkness and examine the various
apartments without being seen. Here were the billiard-room, and the
dining-room, the library and the morning-room, but all were empty. It
was rather disappointing, because Kate Charlock was missing that
fascinating conversation in the drawing-room, without any compensating
advantage in return. She stepped back swiftly behind a clump of azaleas
as two figures came up the steps leading from the rose garden and paused
close to her. One was the tall, slender figure of a girl, whom Kate
Charlock knew instinctively must be Ethel Hargrave. The other she saw,
with a sudden thrill, was her own husband. It was not too dark for her
to make out his features. She saw John Charlock hold out his hand,
which the girl took reluctantly.
"It seems a pity," the latter murmured, "but, as you say, there is
nothing else to be done."
"Of course there isn't," Charlock said in his grim, level tones.
"Believe me, had I known what was going to happen, I should never have
come near Alton Lee. But who could picture anything so repulsive as
this?"
"It is very, very dreadful," the girl murmured. "But what are you going
to do? I see you have made up your mind not to stay here a moment
longer, but it is impossible for you to sleep out of doors, even on a
night like this."
"Sleep!" John Charlock said bitterly. "I feel that I shall never want
to sleep again. When I am thinking out a new picture I often walk for
hours at a time. I cannot rest. But now that I am thinking out a new
life, it is infinitely more serious. Believe me, it would be torture to
shut me up in four walls to-night. When I leave here I shall walk as
far as Exeter. I shall probably reach there to-morrow evening, by which
time my plans will be made. But I am sorry that circumstances have
prevented me from painting your portrait. I never saw a face that
appealed to me so much before."
Kate Charlock drew a deep breath of relief. Now she understood for the
first time what had brought her husband at this perilous moment to
Devonshire. He had come to execute a commission, ignorant of the fact
that matters with Arnold Rent had gone so far. The thing was a cruel
coincidence, but John Charlock was doing his best to clear the
situation.
"You will say good-bye to your aunt for me," he said. "I thought at
first that I would see her and give her my decision. But, on the whole,
it would be much kinder simply to disappear. I will write and let you
know where to send my things. And now I will say good-bye. And when, in
the future, you come to take the woman's part, as you inevitably will,
try to look upon me as not altogether a monster. Try to think the best
of me."
"I shall always do that," Ethel murmured. "You have not said much, but
I know you are a man who has been deeply wronged. I am certain that I
shall never take any other view."
"Oh, yes, you will," Charlock said grimly. "You have no idea what a
subtle force you will have to contend with. Beauty and tears are more
efficient weapons than strength and courage. You heard what Mrs. Rent
said to-night. She would be strong and resolute. She was going to put
the woman who had humbled her pride and broken her heart through an
ordeal of fire. She meant what she said, honestly meant every word of
it. But within a year from now Arnold Rent and his wife will be master
and mistress of Alton Lee as sure as I am speaking to you at this
moment. The thing is inevitable. And then I will ask you to think of
me and my prophecy. As for me, I will know how to act."
Charlock lifted Ethel's fingers to his lips and turned away abruptly.
The girl called to him softly as he strode down the terrace, but he gave
no heed. Ethel stood there, quiet and thoughtful, until the last echo
of Charlock's footsteps died away. Then she turned towards the house.
She would have entered one of the open windows leading to the
morning-room had not Kate Charlock stepped out from her hiding-place and
laid a detaining hand upon the girl's arm. She started back violently
and a wave of colour rushed over her cheeks as she saw the woman. There
was an involuntary shrinking, a dislike and loathing in her eyes that
brought a corresponding glow into the face of Kate Charlock. The
lamplight streaming through the open windows picked out the features of
each so that there was no disguise.
With all her hatred and repugnance for the author of this mischief,
Ethel could not deny the sweetness and beauty and purity of the woman's
face. It was the face of an angel, pleading, timid and humble; the
tears in her eyes heightened their loveliness and stole like diamonds
down her cheeks. Her whole attitude was one of supplication, of appeal
to womanliness and pity, and yet so natural and spontaneous that there
was not the slightest suggestion of acting.
"You know who I am?" the woman whispered.
"I can guess," Ethel said, still studiously cold. "You are Mrs.
Charlock. Is there anything that I can do for you?"
"Ah, there are many things that you can do for me," Kate Charlock
whispered. "Oh, my child, I know how you feel. My feelings would be
just the same if our positions were reversed. It is always the rich man
who is hardest upon the want of honesty in his poorer brother. It is
always the woman who has never known trouble or temptation who most
reviles her sister who has fallen in the gutter. You think I am wrong.
Well, perhaps I am, but I wish I could tell you of my life. I wish I
could make you understand how the torment of a whole existence can be
crammed into the space of a single month. If I had only had one friend
like yourself----"
The voice broke and trembled. The long, slim hands were pressed to the
streaming eyes. The ice round Ethel's heart melted suddenly.
Impulsively she came forward and held out her hands.
*CHAPTER XXIV*
*MISTRESS OF HERSELF*
Without looking up, Kate felt the girl coming. The capitulation had been
even more swift than she had expected. She knew now that she had made a
powerful friend in Mrs. Rent's household. In those brief moments the
recollection of John Charlock's trouble and the words that he had spoken
were wiped clean from Ethel Hargrave's memory. This was not in the
least like the picture she had conjured up of Mrs. Charlock. Beauty and
grace she had expected, but either the hard, cold beauty of the
calculating woman, or the sensuous loveliness of the Circe. And here
was a very woman, broken and bent by trouble, who had fallen into dire
folly because she could stand the strain no longer. And, after all, it
was only natural that any woman should give her heart to Arnold Rent.
"I hope I did not appear to be hard," Ethel murmured. "But, you see,
this is really a dreadful business. Nothing of the kind has ever come
to Alton Lee before. We never dreamt that Arnold would do anything that
was not right and proper. Perhaps we are a little old-fashioned and
inclined to take an exaggerated view of the situation. I daresay, in
time, when we come to know you better----"
"Please don't say any more," Kate Charlock replied. "It is enough for
me that I have your sympathy. You are acquainted with my husband;
indeed, I saw you together just now. Perhaps a little knowledge of him
would be the best excuse I could have. It was unfortunate he should
have come here at this time, but I will do him the justice to say that
he could not have known----"
"Oh, he didn't," Ethel cried. "And he has gone. He could not remain at
Alton Lee----"
"No, no, I understand. And therefore he has gone. We may leave him out
of our reckoning for the present. But that does not make things any the
easier for me. I begin to see that it was wrong for me to come here at
all. I started on the spur of the moment, not realising till just a
short time ago that my presence under this roof is little less than an
outrage. Indeed, Mrs. Rent as good as told me so. I could fall at your
feet and die of shame when I think how indelicate this must seem to you.
And as I stood here just now I could not help overhearing certain words
which passed between Arnold and his mother. Her dictates of hospitality
are too fine for her to turn us out to-night. But one of us will have
to go, and that one must be me."
Ethel murmured something sympathetic. She saw the speaker's point and
liked her all the better for it.
"Of course, it must be Arnold," she said. "Indeed, there is no other
alternative. There is no accommodation for you in the village. You are
a stranger here. Won't you come into the drawing-room with me? and I
will do my best to set matters straight."
Kate Charlock shuddered and shrank back as if the mere idea were
abhorrent to her. Tears were still in her eyes.
"I think not," she said. "I have been too sorely tried to-night to be
able to stand any more, and Mrs. Rent doubts me. Do you know what she
is going to do? From to-morrow Arnold practically ceases to be her son.
She turns him out into the world to shift for himself. We are to face
the future as best we can. Perhaps at the expiration of four or five
years, when I have proved my single-mindedness and sincerity, we may be
taken back to the fold again. Just as if there were need for doubt, as
if the love of a man like Arnold were not enough for any woman."
The words were spoken with sincerity and passion, but they cut into
Ethel's heart like a knife.
"I must be loyal to my dear aunt," she said. "It seems to me that she
has done quite right, though I am sure it will be a bitter wrench, for
she is acting against every impulse of her kindly nature. And if you can
show her that she is wrong, why, then, it will be a great triumph for
you. It will go far to bring the happiness back to Alton Lee again.
And now, if you will come with me into the drawing-room----"
"No, no," Kate cried. "Let me know how you have settled it, and then
perhaps you will be so kind as to find me somewhere to sleep, for I am
weary and worn out. Let me go into the library and wait till you come
back."
There was no more to be said. Kate Charlock flung herself back in an
armchair and closed her eyes. When she opened them again she was alone.
Her tears had vanished. The fatigue she had spoken of seemed to fall
from her like a garment. She crossed rapidly over to the writing-table,
and in her clear, bold hand began a letter. It was a fairly long
letter, but it was finished at length and addressed to Mrs. Rent. Kate
proceeded to put it in a conspicuous place and very quietly passed into
the hall and took down her hat and long travelling wrap. A few moments
later she was walking rapidly down the avenue in the direction of the
road. Her face was clear and bright. There was something like a smile
in her starry eyes; her heart was free from fear.
Meanwhile, the conference in the drawing-room was finished. Arnold was
standing pale and stern by the side of his mother as Ethel entered. He
hardly appeared to notice her at all, beyond a sullen nod which brought
the blood flaming to the girl's face. Very quietly she made her
explanation.
"Oh, we have settled that," Arnold laughed bitterly. "It is I who am
going away. I can walk as far as the station and stay in the
waiting-room for the early express. Then, to-morrow, Mrs. Charlock must
do as she pleases. I am certain that she will lose no time in ridding
you of her detestable presence."
"I do not like to hear you speak like that," Mrs. Rent said. "Ethel,
will you go and ask the lady if she will come this way for a moment? I
should like her to feel----"
There was an uncomfortable pause for a few moments till Ethel came back
with a letter in her hand.
"I cannot understand it at all," she said. "Mrs. Charlock has
disappeared. Her wraps have vanished from the hall, too. She seems to
have left this letter behind, which is addressed to you, aunt. After the
way she spoke to me just now I am not surprised to find that she has not
felt equal to the ordeal of staying here even for a single night."
"It was a fatal mistake," Arnold said hoarsely. "I see it all now. Only
it is too late to rectify matters."
Mrs. Rent reached for the letter and slowly broke the seal. She read
aloud so that the others could hear:
"All I can say is, forgive me. It was wrong to come, and I can stay no
longer. Though I am without friends, I am not without resources, for I
have a little to assist me. And yet I am glad to have seen you all,
even if it has been only to convince you that I am not the hard, brazen,
calculating creature you took me to be. I am going away till I am free.
I shall not look upon any of you again till I am ready to send for
Arnold. I want no money or favour now, nor in the future. I want to
show that I have given my heart to one who will be able to support me
without help from anyone. To be in receipt of your favours would ruin
the whole romance of the situation. Perhaps later, when I have proved
myself, it may be possible--but I can write no more."
The paper slipped from Mrs. Rent's fingers and lay upon the carpet. The
eyes that she turned upon her son were troubled and haggard. He turned
away with a passionate gesture.
"Ah, yes," he murmured hoarsely, "she was right to go. All the same,
mother, you have done a cruel thing."
After all, Mrs. Rent was a woman. She had lived long enough as My Lady
Bountiful in that quiet country village to have become imbued with the
idea that hospitality and generosity were two of the leading virtues
which led directly to the reward of heaven. She had never before
listened unmoved to a tale of distress. She had never refused food or
shelter to the most undeserving object. And now she had more or less
deliberately turned a human being out of her own house to face the
night, unaided and alone. And, to make things worse, she had acted with
studied cruelty to a woman who, whatever her faults might be, was
defenceless.
"I could not have expected this," she murmured. "To confess freely, I
had not looked for such pride and independence of spirit. You are
right, Arnold."
"Of course I am," Rent said grimly. "But perhaps you will tell me what
is to be done."
"You must try to find her," Mrs. Rent went on. "Bring her back here and
do your best to induce her to see that I have a point of view as well as
herself. There will be plenty of time in the morning to decide as to
the future; indeed, it is always well to sleep upon troubles like
these."
Arnold Rent waited no more. He strode from the room and out into the
darkness of the night, leaving his mother to commune with her own
anxious thoughts. She was distracted and torn this way and that. A
thousand doubts assailed her.
"What could I have done else?" she murmured. "What other way was there
out of this bitter trouble?"
*CHAPTER XXV*
*A PLAUSIBLE SCOUNDREL*
We left Ephraim Bark on the landing-stage at Cowes expressing his joy at
his good fortune in meeting Tanza once more. But, despite his
appearance of engaging candour, the little man seemed to have some
difficulty in swallowing a large lump which had risen at the back of his
throat. His muddy features had turned pale. He glanced about him as if
looking for some avenue of escape, presenting at the same time a
ludicrous resemblance to a jackdaw recently encaged. On the other hand,
Tanza appeared to be enjoying the interview. His features beamed with
good-nature. There was a kindly smile upon his face. But, as a great
many criminals had discovered to their cost, this was just one of the
moments when the Italian was most dangerous.
"You fill me with pleasure," he said. "It is always a happy thing to
find an old acquaintance so ready to resume friendship. But come along,
we are wasting time. We shall be much more comfortable and sociable on
board the yacht."
Bark protested that there was nothing he would like better.
Nevertheless, his bluster was forced, his air dejected, and, for the
time being, he had lost all his swagger. Even when he found himself
seated in a luxurious cabin chair, with a famous brand of cigar in his
mouth and a well-filled glass by his side, he presented the same
apologetic appearance. There was very little resemblance to the man who
had accosted Malcolm Grey so shortly before. Tanza beamed on his guest.
"Now we are going to be really happy and comfortable," he said. "Let us
talk about old times. Have you been in Paris lately? And, if so, how
are the old people? The last time I was in Paris a most extraordinary
thing happened. It chanced that one night, as I was walking along----"
"Oh, drop it," Bark broke out suddenly. "Never was a gentleman like
you. You play and play with a chap, and just when he thinks everything
is nice and snug you drop down upon him and he doesn't know where he is.
Reminds me of a boy with a cockchafer on a pin, it does. I've never
done you any harm, and I am ready to answer any questions you like. But
don't sit there smiling in that friendly way just as if you've got
nothing on your mind. I can stand punishment, but I like to know where
it is coming from. Just say what you want to say and get it over."
"That's candid, at any rate," Tanza smiled. "Very well. If you are
ready to take it lying down, we'll come to the point at once. There are
certain matters going on here that interest me greatly, and on those
matters I am sure you can throw some light. I shouldn't have identified
you with the business, only my friend Mr. Grey told me that he met you
at Mr. Rent's office. Just now Mr. Rent and his doings fascinate me.
How long have you known him?"
"I'll tell you everything," Bark said. "On and off, I've known him for
the last five years. And, between ourselves, he isn't a bit better than
he ought to be. A regular mixture of a man, I call him. One day he is
going to give up the world and go into a monastery, and the next day you
find him enjoying himself in some fast set as if he had been accustomed
to it all his life. I never knew a man who was more guided by the
feelings of the moment. But this last game of his beats all. Fancy a
man who has ten or fifteen thousand a year before him running the risk
of losing the lot simply for a woman who cares no more for him than the
cigar I've got in my hand."
"You are speaking of Mrs. Charlock," Tanza said quietly.
"That's right enough. Not that it is any business of mine, but there
are ways and means of doing things which even I don't approve of. Rent
is a clever fellow, but no man can manage to make love to two women at
the same time without getting into trouble."
Tanza's eyes gleamed.
"Ah, now you are speaking about that French maid?" he exclaimed. "I
mean the poor woman who was called Hortense."
Bark glanced at the speaker with unfeigned admiration. It was not for
him to know that Tanza's quick mind had grasped the point like a flash
of lightning, but, for aught he could tell, Tanza might have been
working on the problem for some time.
"Quite right," he said. "Between ourselves, Rent is a bit of a
blackguard. He has never put his foot into it because there never has
been any occasion. He has always had more money than he needed, or you
may be sure that he would have gone to the dogs long ago. But he is not
a bad fellow as men go. He would stick at nothing as far as his
interests were concerned. A clever chap, too, and one who, with any
luck, will make his mark in the world of science. But he is cruel and
vindictive. He is making a fool of himself over Mrs. Charlock now. He
has got a rare handful to deal with there. Still, it is a brazen thing
to be making love to the mistress and the maid at the same time. That's
what he was up to."
"Oh, ho," Tanza said gently. "We are getting along. I suppose this is
where you come in. What do you know about this lady's maid?"