Stormont himself seemed quite taken aback by this almost savage
onslaught, almost as deprived of self-control as Newcombe himself.
“What are you complaining of?” he asked, in a voice that was scarcely
audible.
The man whom his accent declared to be a Colonial, answered in his
thick utterance: “I don’t say anything about not being asked to dine
with your swell friends, they’re not my kidney, and I’d rather have
their room than their company. But after they’d all gone, you might
have introduced me to your family.”
He pointed a shaking forefinger at the shrinking Gloria, who was
immensely afraid of a drunken man. Stormont was pretty liberal in his
potations, but he never got into anything approaching this condition.
“This pretty girl, I take it, is your niece. And this, I suppose, is
her young man you told me about. Looks a bit stuck-up, I fancy, like
the young feller who brought me my dinner. But I daresay I shall find
him a good sort when we’re better acquainted.”
He walked with his unsteady gait towards the table on which the
ever-thoughtful butler had placed refreshments.
The action seemed to rouse Stormont from his trance. “Stop it,” he
shouted in a voice of thunder. “Stop it. You’ve had more than you can
carry already.”
But he was too late, Newcombe had already filled a tumbler half-full
of raw whisky and tossed it down his throat as if it had been water.
Having done this, his manner seemed to change. From a mood very nearly
approaching ferocity, he lapsed into one of maudlin sentimentality. A
weak smile overspread his bearded countenance.
“Well, my boy, we mustn’t quarrel, we’ve been too dear old pals for
that.” He laughed with the disconcerting hilarity of a drunken man.
“Lord, what fine games we’ve had in our day, Howard, haven’t we? Do
you remember that glorious day we followed up old Billy Stiles----?”
Again Stormont’s voice rang out, and there was a note of almost agony
in it. “Stop, Newcombe, for Heaven’s sake stop. You forget there is a
woman present.”
The appeal seemed momentarily to sober the wretched man. He turned his
bleary eyes in the direction of Gloria. “Sorry, miss, I’m sure; I
forgot you were here. No offence meant, Howard, my dear old pal. I
haven’t said anything; you’ve noticed that.”
It was time to end the disgusting scene. Stormont turned to the young
man. “Very sorry, but you’d better take Gloria away. I’ll deal with
this drunken creature and get him to bed.”
As he spoke, he turned a very malevolent glance on the huddled-up
Newcombe, who had closed his eyes after his last speech, and appeared
to be falling asleep. There was positive hatred in that glance, Lydon
felt assured. And yet a few hours ago he had spoken of the man as a
splendid fellow, as one of the very best. The young man doubted if
there was much love lost on either side, in spite of Newcombe’s
reference to his friend as a dear old pal.
The lovers went into the drawing-room. Gloria still looked pale, and
not a little indignant. “What a perfect brute!” she cried. “Why has
uncle put up with him for five minutes? You could see the sort he was
at the first glance, a rough savage. Why did he not give him some
money, and make him go?”
Almost before he was aware of it, the words slipped out of her
sweetheart’s mouth, words that voiced his inmost thoughts.
“Depend upon it, dear, Mr. Stormont has some good reasons for not
wishing to offend this uncouth fellow.”
The girl looked up with a startled glance, one which had fear in it as
well as surprise. “Leonard, what is in your mind? Do you suggest”--her
voice faltered for a second--“that he knows anything to Uncle Howard’s
discredit?”
Lydon felt he had gone a bit too far at the present juncture. He
shrugged his shoulders and spoke in indifferent tones.
“I don’t suppose young men who go out to Australia and mix with a
rough crowd lead very saintly lives. I daresay Newcombe is acquainted
with a few episodes that would be better suppressed in your uncle’s
family circle. Don’t worry, darling.”
“But I can’t help it,” replied the ever-frank Gloria. “The whole thing
is so mysterious, and somehow uncle’s explanation seemed to me lame
and halting. Did it strike you in the same way?”
Leonard hesitated for a moment. It would be easy to say that he had
accepted that statement in perfect good faith, in short, to tell an
absolute lie. But he thought it better on the whole that Gloria should
be allowed to nurse her suspicions. The blow would fall lighter on her
when it had to come. He told her, therefore, that the same impression
had been made on him.
“I wonder what he was going to say when he was stopped!” she remarked,
after a brief pause. “When he was going to tell something about a man
they had followed up. Uncle seemed in an agony of apprehension. I
almost wish it had come out; I shall only be speculating what it was.
I do hope he is not making an indefinite stay here.”
But on this point Lydon thought he could see his way to give her some
comfort. Stormont was much too clever a man to allow Newcombe to
exhibit himself to his neighbours; he had been disturbed quite enough
by the fact that he had been seen by the family and servants.
“Your uncle is a resourceful man, Gloria, I am sure he will soon see a
way of getting rid of him without hurting his feelings. And when the
fellow gets sober again I daresay he will have the sense to perceive
that Effington Hall is hardly a fit _milieu_ for him.”
The next morning the Colonial did not come down to breakfast; probably
it was too severe a task after the potations of the previous evening.
He appeared in Stormont’s study about twelve o’clock, Lydon and the
ladies having gone to church. What passed between the pair, they had
no means of knowing. Newcombe lunched with them, and his demeanour was
very chastened. He ate heartily, but drank very sparingly. Perhaps his
host had given him a lecture on the fatal effects of intemperance. And
during the meal he scarcely opened his lips.
Gloria and her sweetheart went out for their afternoon walk. When they
came back to tea, neither Stormont nor Newcombe was visible. Mrs.
Barnard said that her brother had driven the visitor up to London,
where he intended to find a lodging.
Lydon drew a breath of relief: had the Colonial stayed, there might
have been another disagreeable scene. Gloria openly expressed her
satisfaction. “Loathsome creature, I hope he has gone for good,” she
ejaculated fervently. “Have you ever seen him before, aunt?”
“Never, my dear, nor do I want to see him again. It must have amazed
your uncle very greatly. Of course in a wild place such as he went to
as a young man, you cannot pick and choose the people you are forced
to associate with. But it is distinctly unpleasant when they turn up
in after life and remind you of the old acquaintance.”
Had Stormont told her the same tale he had told to them, or did she
know more about that sinister visitor than they did? Nothing in her
demeanour enabled Lydon to determine the point.
Stormont returned in time for dinner, having deposited his visitor
somewhere. No further allusion was made to him by any member of the
party, but his advent had created an uncomfortable feeling which was
not wholly allayed by his departure.
Leonard guessed that Mr. Newcombe had taken away with him either a
good sum in cash or a substantial cheque. He had no doubt in his own
mind that the Colonial knew something damaging about Stormont, and
that his visit had been made for the purpose of extorting hush-money.
If so, there was a grim irony in the situation. The man who, according
to all the present evidence, was a blackmailer, was being blackmailed
himself, and maintaining his position as the opulent owner of
Effington by the grace of this rough and down-at-heel Colonial.
After dinner Stormont shut himself up in his study. During dinner he
had been very quiet, quite unlike his usual genial, rather boisterous
self; it was evident that Newcombe had left a disturbing influence
behind him. Mrs. Barnard went to her own particular sanctum, and the
young people had the drawing-room to themselves.
“It may have been my fancy,” remarked Gloria, “but I thought I
detected a subtle difference in Duncan’s manner to-day. I saw his face
drop in the hall when that creature spoke of himself as being an old
pal of uncle’s. I shouldn’t wonder if he has made up his mind that it
is no longer a respectable establishment to remain in and intends to
give notice.”
She had diagnosed the state of the dignified butler’s feelings
correctly, for the next day Duncan intimated his wish to leave. When
pressed for a reason, he murmured something evasive about his desire
for a change. It was a decided shock to his employer, as it showed him
what an unfavourable impression had been created by the unwelcome
visit of this rough stranger.
Lydon did not know this when he left. Duncan had not delivered his
bombshell till later in the morning. There had been considerable
excitement at the breakfast-table. Something had happened which
temporarily drove Mr. Newcombe out of the minds of every member of the
family. Stormont had received a letter from his brother Jasper, dated
from the _Hotel Cecil_.
Gloria’s father and mother were staying there, having arrived in
London early on the Sunday. They had given no previous intimation of
their intended visit, as they wanted it to come as a complete surprise
to their relatives. Would they come and see them on the Monday if they
had no previous engagement which it was impossible to put off? Of
course they would dine with them, and in this invitation Leonard was
included. Gloria must stay with them at least a week if not longer.
The unpleasant atmosphere created by the late happenings seemed very
much cleared by this pleasant news. Stormont and his sister seemed
quite pleased, in spite of the fact that the brothers had not been
very great friends in their youth. He remarked with a touch of his
former geniality that it would be very pleasant to see good old Jasper
again, a sentiment fully endorsed by Mrs. Barnard. Gloria clapped her
hands together in her frank delight.
“How lovely!” she cried. “It was on the tip of my tongue to say I wish
they had let us know beforehand. But I think I am rather glad they
have taken us by surprise. It is such a sensation.”
She turned impetuously towards her sweetheart. “I am sure you will
like my father very much, Leonard. He is one of the dearest men, and
very fond of young people, who all take to him. He is awfully liked
out there by everybody, and he has the highest reputation for
integrity and highmindedness.”
Did Howard Stormont look just a little glum as he listened to this
sincere praise of his elder brother, or was it Lydon’s fancy? Had the
man’s conscience, deadened as it must be, suddenly awakened to fresh
life and pricked at him as he thought of the difference between
Gloria’s father and himself?
Lydon was pleasurably excited at the prospect of meeting with Jasper
Stormont, of whom his daughter had always spoken with love and the
greatest respect. She had often told him how attached to him she had
been as a child, and what grief she had suffered at parting from her
parents. And time and the generous treatment of her aunt and uncle had
never weakened that early affection.
When the young man met them in the hall of the _Cecil_, a few minutes
before the time fixed for dinner, he was very favourably impressed by
the appearance of both mother and father. Mrs. Stormont was a very
handsome woman, and her slim elegant figure made her look remarkably
young. She had preserved herself wonderfully, and might have passed
for her daughter’s elder sister. It was easy to see the husband was
very proud of his youthful-looking wife.
In appearance, Jasper Stormont was quite unlike his younger brother,
his junior by two years. He was tall and spare, with an aristocratic
bearing. His face, if not exactly handsome, was pleasant to look upon
and his features were refined. His manner was quietly genial, without
that bluff boisterousness which distinguished the so-called financier.
It exhaled an air of old-world courtesy which stood out in marked
contrast to some modern manners.
He welcomed the young man with a cordiality that was perfect under the
circumstances, not too effusive or overdone. Lydon was prepared to
think that everything about the man was genuine; he seemed a perfect
type of the commercial aristocracy.
“Delighted to see you, Mr. Lydon; later on I shall come to the more
familiar Christian name. But to such a long exile--we have been over
only once before since I left England--everything seems strange, and
in some cases I must confess, of course not in the present one, a
little out of tune. I am glad to see my little girlie looking so well;
certainly her uncle and aunt have taken great care of her and made her
very happy. She is staying here with us for a week, and at the end of
that my brother Howard insists that we must shift our quarters to
Effington.”
There was something a little formal in his words, in his diction, that
Lydon rather liked. There was also about the man an ease, an
unconscious air of authority that pleased him. Beside him his brother,
Howard Stormont, with his supposed great wealth, appeared plebeian.
He learned afterwards from Gloria that the elder brother was much the
superior in mentality. He might not have the money-making instinct so
strongly developed, but he had taken far greater advantage of the good
education their father had bestowed upon them. He was a very
cultivated man, passionately fond of art and music and an omnivorous
reader. Howard was essentially a man of the world and nothing more;
the arts did not interest him, and the daily newspapers were almost
his sole literature.
It was a very pleasant dinner. Jasper Stormont was an exceedingly good
talker, but he led the conversation without any attempt to monopolize
it, giving everybody a chance to contribute to the common fund of
entertainment.
Howard Stormont and his sister were staying the night at the hotel,
returning to Effington on the morrow. Leonard left early, good taste
suggesting that he should not intrude himself too long on what was a
family conclave. There must be many things they would wish to discuss
alone.
The liking between the two men seemed mutual. Jasper Stormont shook
Leonard’s hand very warmly when they parted. “As I told you, Gloria is
going to give herself to us for a week, and I should like you to come
very often. To dinner every night if you can.”
He gave him a very charming smile when the young men protested that
this was taking undue advantage of his position. “Not at all, my dear
young friend. I am afraid my motive is a rather selfish one. I want to
become well acquainted with my future son-in-law.”
Gloria saw him off; the others with commendable tact did not intrude
upon the tender farewell of the lovers.
“You like my dear old dad, don’t you, Leonard? He has a heart of
gold,” asked Gloria as they said good night.
And Leonard was able to say honestly that he had taken a great liking
to Jasper Stormont. He was quite convinced, even on this short
acquaintance, he was a white man through and through.
It followed that, being so pressed, the young man did dine at the
_Cecil_ every evening of that week. The Stormonts had a small private
sitting-room, but Jasper often took Lydon down into the smoking-room
for a private chat. He had openly avowed his wish to become better
acquainted with his future son-in-law, and these informal intimate
conversations would help him quickly to that knowledge.
He told Leonard first of his future plans. He expected to retire in
about five years from now and would come back to spend his declining
years in England. He was nothing like so rich a man as his brother
Howard, so he said, but he would be able to live comfortably on the
interest of what he had saved.
He went on to speak of Gloria’s childhood, and the unhappy time when
they had to part with her.
“It was one of the greatest griefs of our life,” he said in his
simple, straightforward way. “But there was no help for it. We had the
best medical advice, and the verdict was unanimous, she could not live
in the East. My other child, a son, has thrived there--difference of
constitution, of course.”
He paused a moment, before resuming this portion of his daughter’s
history, a good deal of which the young man had gathered from his
sweetheart.
“Just to go back a moment. Howard and I had not been very attached
brothers in our youth, I should hesitate to say with whom the fault
lay. Enough that with regard to most things we did not see eye to
eye.”
Jasper Stormont did not say what those things were. And Lydon, dearly
as he would have liked to know, did not think it seemly to ask him.
“But we kept up a rather desultory, if brief correspondence. When this
trouble came upon us, I wrote to him in an agony of spirit as it were,
telling him that we had to part with one of our beloved children. In
writing that letter, I had no ulterior motive in my mind. From what I
knew of my brother’s character, I should have considered him the last
man in the world to consider anything but his own comfort, to disturb
the mode of life which he had mapped out for himself.”
Lydon gathered this much from those words: namely, that Howard
Stormont was judged to be, in reality, a selfish creature, who lived
for himself, who only studied himself.
“To my intense surprise, I received an answer which caused me to take
a totally different view of him. He wrote me that having remained a
bachelor so long, there was practically no chance of his exchanging
his estate. He had prospered greatly in the world; he lived with our
widowed sister, Maud Barnard, who had a small income of her own. The
house was at times a bit dull; he thought it would be brightened by
the presence of a child, in whom they could take an interest and find
an object of affection. He offered to adopt Gloria, and make her
welfare his solemn charge. Anyway, let the experiment be tried, for
say a couple of years. If, at the end of that time, Gloria found she
was not happy, her father could make other arrangements.”
Jasper Stormont paused a little time before he resumed. “But,
fortunately, that did not happen. They spoiled the girl from the day
she went into her new home, and the spoiling has gone on, but I think
I can say my dear girl is none the worse for it. And now, my dear
Leonard, I come to a somewhat delicate topic.”
“I think I can guess the nature of it,” interjected Lydon.
“Ah, of course Gloria has told you. I gathered as much from her.
Naturally, grateful as she is to her uncle for his care of her, his
kindness and generosity, she would conceal nothing from us. She has
told me of that loan of a thousand pounds, which of course throws a
very clear light upon my brother’s financial position. We are both men
of business; it tells the same story to both. I know nothing of the
nature of Howard’s business, but it must be a very precarious one,
since he is up to-day and down to-morrow. I don’t suppose he will
leave anything behind him.”
“I feel quite certain he will not,” Lydon agreed. “But when I asked
Gloria to be my wife, I never took any expectations of that sort into
account.”
“I quite believe you; you loved my dear daughter for herself. Well,
Leonard, I should like to tell you this. When I and her mother die,
whatever I may have to leave will be divided equally between my
children. Gloria will not be an heiress, but neither will she be a
pauper.”
Leonard bowed his head in acknowledgment of this intimation, conveyed
with such delicacy and courtesy.
Howard Stormont might be a scoundrel, a mover in crooked ways, as his
connection with Elise Makris proved, but his brother was certainly an
honest man.