THE FORCE OF CALUMNY
As Hallam had surmised, one or two affairs of importance detained Alton
in Vancouver. The winter had been exceptionally rigorous, and he knew
that the claim was guarded securely by frost and snow. Having also, he
fancied, effectually silenced his indiscreet visitor by flinging him
down-stairs, he thought no more about that affair, and spent one or two
evenings pleasantly at Forel's house, where Alice Deringham greeted him
with slightly reserved cordiality.
She fancied she understood his reticence on the memorable evening when
he had stumbled on the stairway, and was not altogether displeased by
it. He had, it seemed, been over-sensitive, for he was but slightly
lame, while she had reasons for surmising that he would realize there
was no great necessity for the self-sacrifice in time. Alice Deringham
was not unduly vain, but she knew her power, and Alton had in his
silence betrayed himself again and again. Still, it seemed only
fitting that he should make the first advances, now the moment when she
might have done so had passed. She also fancied she understood the
motive which prompted his answer when her father spoke to him
respecting Carnaby.
"I can't go over now," he said. "Your lawyers and agents can look
after the place a little longer, and I needn't worry if you're content
with them. Anyway, all of it does not belong to me and we will see
what we can fix up between us when I go over by and by."
This was pleasant hearing to Deringham, who commenced to hope that he
would be able to give a satisfactory account of his stewardship when
the time came, and winced at the recollection of the folly which had
placed him in Hallam's grasp. Of late his health had given way again,
and that served as an excuse for remaining at Vancouver, which he had
scarcely the courage to leave.
Affairs were in this condition when Miss Deringham sat listening to the
conversation of other visitors in the house of a friend of Mrs. Forel's
one afternoon. Now and then a veiled allusion reached her, and at last
she glanced inquiringly at her hostess.
The lady smiled deprecatingly and shook her head. "It is really
indiscreet of Helen, but she seems to believe it is true," she said.
"These things do happen, even in the old country."
Alice Deringham laughed. "I am afraid I cannot controvert you if that
is uncomplimentary, because I don't know what you are alluding to."
Her hostess looked thoughtful. "Then you haven't heard it yet?" she
said. "Well, I am not the one to tell you, and it is quite possible
they haven't got the story correctly."
Miss Deringham was interested, but she asked no more questions, and had
changed her place when she once more heard a subdued voice she
recognized behind a great lacquered screen.
"One would be sorry for Hettie Forel, but her husband was always a
little unguarded. Opened his house to everybody, you know."
"It was the big bushman I saw there?" said another person, and Alice
Deringham felt a curious little quiver in her fingers as she waited the
answer.
"Yes. Hettie will feel it. She made such a fuss of him, but it mayn't
have been his fault altogether. He is quite a good-looking man, if he
is a trifle lame, and the girl may have thrown herself at him. They
sometimes do."
Alice Deringham set her lips and turned her head away from her
companion as one of the voices continued. "Hettie has not heard it
yet, and Tom did not seem sure about it when he told me. In fact,
Forel brought the man over to see us the night before, but it is quite
evident now the girl had been living there. Yes, Tom heard he had
rooms behind his office."
Miss Deringham had recovered her outward serenity, and the flush had
faded from her face, leaving it very colourless as she turned to her
companion.
"You heard that woman?" she said.
The lady beside her nodded, though there was a little pink tinge in her
cheeks. "I am sorry that you did, my dear."
Alice Deringham stood up, and looked down at her with a sparkle in her
eyes. "I know," she said, "that it cannot be true."
"We must hope so," said her companion, who appeared distinctly
uncomfortable. "Still, the story is being told all over the city, and
several of the houses Forel took the man to are closed against him
already."
Alice Deringham seemed to shiver a little. "But--it is impossible."
Her companion shook her bead. "My husband is a member of the company
which employed Miss Townshead, and as the man's business affairs were
antagonistic to theirs she was dismissed immediately."
Alice Deringham found it very difficult to conceal the effect of this
last blow, and was turning away when two women rose from a divan behind
the screen. "The tea is cold. Shall I ask for some more for you?"
said one of them. "Pleased to see you again, Miss Deringham."
She got no further, for the girl, who looked her full in the face,
passed on, and the other woman flushed a trifle.
"I'm afraid she must have heard you," said somebody. "Miss Deringham
is, I believe, a connection of Alton's, and Hettie Forel hinted there
was something more than that between them. It would be an especially
suitable match because of some property in the old country."
The lady she spoke to smiled somewhat sourly. "Then one would be a
trifle sorry for the rancher," she said.
It cost Miss Deringham a good deal to talk to her hostess until she
could depart without attracting attention, and she walked back to
Forel's house with a blaze in her eyes. As yet she could not think
connectedly, for the astonishment had left no room for more than vague
sensations of disgust and anger and a horrible rankling of wounded
pride. Mrs. Forel as it happened was busy, and the girl slipped away
to a room that was seldom occupied and sat there in the gathering
darkness staring at the fire. The story was, she strove to persuade
herself, utterly impossible, for she had probed the man's character
thoroughly, and seen that it was wholesome through all its
crudities--and yet it was evident the horrible tale must have some
foundation, because otherwise refutation would be so simple.
Almost incredible as it was, the belief that it was borne out by fact
was forced upon her, and too dazed to reason clearly she shrank with an
overwhelming sense of disgust. She had, it seemed, wilfully deceived
herself, and the man was, as she had fancied at the beginning, without
sensibility or refinement, brutal in his forcefulness, and swayed by
elementary passions. Then she writhed under the memory of the
occasions on which she had unbent somewhat far to him, and the
recollection of two incidents in the sickroom stung her pride to the
quick; while when the booming of a gong rolled through the house, she
rose faint and cold with an intensity of anger that for the time being
drove out any other feeling. It would have gone very hardly with Alton
had chance afforded her the means of punishing him just then.
As fate would have it the opportunity was also given her, for that
evening Deringham, who had heard nothing of the story, was able to
secure a few minutes alone with his daughter. He was, she noticed,
looking unusually pale and ill, and that reminded her that he owed all
his anxieties to Alton.
"Our kinsman is going back to Somasco very shortly, and then on into
the ranges. I wish he could be prevented," he said.
The girl laughed a little. "I think it would be difficult to prevent
Mr. Alton doing anything he had decided on."
"Yes," said Deringham. "He can be exasperatingly obstinate, but--and I
put it frankly--he might listen to you. The journey he contemplates
would be apt to prove perilous at this season."
Alice Deringham looked at her father with a smile the meaning of which
he could not fathom. He did not know that she had of late been
disturbed by unpleasant suspicions concerning his connection with
Hallam.
"I fancy you are mistaken. You are of course influenced by a desire
for his safety?"
Deringham winced, for he recognized the tone of sardonic scepticism,
but he was horribly afraid of Hallam, and could not afford to fail.
"Well," he said, with a gesture of weariness, "I am afraid I must make
an admission, I am hemmed in by almost overwhelming anxieties, and I
have come to no understanding yet with Alton respecting Carnaby. Now
if disaster overtook him in the ranges it would entail an investigation
of the Carnaby affairs, and the withdrawal of a good deal of money from
my companies, which would seriously hamper me. I have once or twice
had to slightly exceed my duties as trustee, and Alton would approve of
steps I have taken which a lawyer or accountant would consider
irregular. Of course, if you had any knowledge of business I could
make it more clear to you, but I can only tell you that I am anxious
about Alton's safety for my own sake as well as his."
Alice Deringham turned towards him with a trace of impatience. "We may
as well be honest, and I fancy Mr. Alton is used to risks," she said
quietly. "Whether he encounters more than usual just now or otherwise
is absolutely no concern of mine."
Deringham saw the change in her and wondered, but resolved to profit by
it.
"I want him kept here a little longer. It is important to me," he said,
The girl saw the hand of Hallam in this, and surmised that it would not
be to Alton's advantage if he postponed his journey, but she was
vindictively bitter against him then, and glanced at her father
inquiringly. It was evident that he was anxious and ill, and she was
sensible of a pity that had yet a trace of contempt in it for him.
"Still, I do not see how I could induce him to remain," she said.
"Well," said Deringham slowly, "there is a way. Forel will be here in
a minute--but if you would listen to me."
Deringham seemed to find a difficulty in commencing, and there was a
curious expression in his restless eyes, while once or twice he stopped
and proceeded somewhat inconsequently. He had made tools of a good
many men and befooled the public without any especial scruples, but
there was a shred of pride left him, and this was the first time he had
stooped to drag his daughter into his schemes. His story lacked
plausibility, and the girl was not deceived, but he was her father, and
it was his cause she was asked to further against the man who had
humiliated her and dispossessed him. She glanced away from him when he
had finished, but her voice was quietly even.
"I think I shall be sorry for it ever afterwards, but I will do what
you ask," she said.
Deringham, who was slightly bewildered by something in her attitude,
sighed with relief, and then turned with the grotesque resemblance of a
smile in his face to greet Forel, who came in.
"Gillard has been called away south on business and has sent me word he
can let me have the places at the opera-house for both nights," he
said. "No doubt you have seen the great man in England with his
regular company, but a treat of the kind is appreciated here, and
Gillard bought up a row of places, the best in the house. My wife is
wondering who she should ask, and would like to know if Miss Deringham
has any preference."
Deringham glanced at his daughter, and then smiled at his host. "One
feels a little diffident about returning a favour at somebody else's
expense, but my kinsman Alton was very kind to us in the bush," he said.
Forel appeared a trifle embarrassed, and Alice Deringham felt her neck
grow warm as she watched him. "We can talk about it later, but I
scarcely think Mr. Alton would come just now if he was asked," he said.
The girl turned away, for she could comprehend Forel's discomfiture,
while as they followed him her father touched her.
"Get Mr. Alton there on the second night, and that is all I ask," he
said.
It was two days later, when Alton returned to his office in a somewhat
uncertain temper. He had called at Forel's house the previous evening,
and been informed that Mrs. Forel was not at home, though the blaze of
lights and music made it evident that she was entertaining a good many
guests. He had also waited a considerable time for a banker who had
been apparently willing to make him certain advances a few days
earlier, and when he came to complete the transaction, raised wholly
unexpected difficulties. Afterwards he called upon a dealer in tools
and sawmill machinery, who, after professing his willingness to deal
with him on usual easy terms, demanded a cheque with the order. Alton
fancied he recognized the hand of Hallam in this, but there was also
something else which troubled him. Some of the men he had business
with had been a trifle abrupt in their greetings, and others smiled
sardonically when they saw him.
As he strode down the corridor the keeper of the building signed to
him. "There was a young man here asking for you," he said. "Told me
he was Mr. Townshead, and he'd be back again."
Alton had scarcely reopened his office when a produce broker he had
dealings with came in. "I've worked off the first two car-loads, and
you can send some more along," he said. "Now, it's not quite my
business, but if you'll not stand out about the usual commission I can
put you on to a man who wants a hundred fat cattle."
"It's a deal," said Alton, glancing thoughtfully at his visitor, whom
he considered an honest man. "Now I think you know a good deal about
all that goes on in this city?"
"Oh, yes," said the other man, "I have to. Glad to be of any use to
you I can."
"Well," said Alton, "I've noticed men smiling at me kind of curiously,
and I want to know right off what's the meaning of it. There's nothing
especially humorous about me."
"You don't know?" and his visitor appeared to reflect when Alton shook
his head.
"Then to put it straight, there are folks who would not believe you.
No, stop a little, I mentioned nothing about myself. Have you done
anything lately, that might have hurt the susceptibilities of Mr.
Cartier?"
Alton laughed grimly. "Yes," he said, "I hope so. I hove him out of
this place one night and he fell downstairs."
"Well," said the other man, smiling, "that accounts for a good deal.
Do you happen to be on good terms with Mr. Hallam? Cartier is."
"No," said Alton dryly, "I don't. When Mr. Hallam and I feel at peace
one of us will be dead."
"Now, this thing is getting a little more clear to me. I wasn't
willing to believe all I heard, anyway."
"That," said Alton, "does not concern me. The question is what did you
hear?"
The other man appeared embarrassed and sat silent a space. "I think
it's only right that you should know," he said. "Well--according to
Cartier--there was a lady here when he came in close on midnight, and
he gave folks the impression that she stayed here altogether. That
wouldn't possibly have counted for so much, but it also got about that
she made use of her place to give you information that was worth a good
deal about the business of Hallam and the folks she worked for."
Alton's face grew almost purple, but the dark hue faded and left it
unusually pale again. "That," he said very slowly, "is a damnable lie.
The lady alluded to was here once only, and for at the most three
minutes."
The other man grew a trifle uneasy under his gaze. "Of course," he
said, "your word will do for me. Still, she was here, you see--and
it's difficult to rub out a lie with that much behind it. I'm afraid
you'll find it stick to you both like glue, especially as her employers
turned the girl out immediately. Anyway, I'll do what I can for you,
and now about that other car-load and the cattle?"
Alton brought his hand down crashing on the table. "The cattle? Oh,
get out and come back to-morrow or next month, when I feel less like
killing somebody!"
The other man appeared quite willing to accept his dismissal, and Alton
vacantly noticed that a black stream of ink was trickling across the
table. Mechanically he dabbled his handkerchief in it and then flung
it and the ink-vessel into the grate, after which he sat still with a
black stain upon the cheek that rested on his fist.
"The plucky little soul--and they've turned her out," he said. "Lord,
but somebody has got to pay for this!"
He did not move for at least ten minutes, while the clamour of the city
vibrated through the silent room, and when his first anger passed away
became sensible of a great pity for the girl who had risked so much for
him. It appeared only too probable that because of the modicum of
truth it was founded on the lie would stick to both of them, and now
when it was too late Alton regretted his folly. He had been fully
justified in kicking Cartier out of his rooms, but he knew that
everything that is legitimate is not advisable, and groaned as he saw
what the story must cost the defenceless girl who had a living to earn
and her father to maintain. There was so far as he could see no way
out of the difficulty yet--and the one that concerned himself was
almost as formidable, for he knew Alice Deringham's pride, and the
damning fact remained that he could not deny the whole story.
He had flung himself back wearily in his chair when there was a step in
the passage and a young man came in. He walked straight forward, and
stood with one hand on Alton's table looking down on him with wonder
and anger in his face. His eyes were unusually bright, and there was a
great contusion on his forehead.
"Jack," said Alton simply. "Well, sit down there, and I'll try to talk
to you. This is a devlish mess I've got into. Only heard about it ten
minutes ago."
Jack Townshead did not move at all. "I'll stand in the meantime." he
said harshly. "Unfortunately there are more concerned than you."
"Yes," said Alton wearily. "Don't rub it in. I know. Who was it told
you?"
"That's beyond the question," said the lad. "Still, last night one of
our men who'd been down here came in and was telling the story in the
boys' sleeping-shed. I knocked him down--that is, I meant to, and
started out by the first train. I'm at the mine on the south road now."
"You haven't been home?"
"No," said Townshead grimly. "I came straight to you, and in the first
place you're coming with me everywhere to deny this story."
Alton sat very still for a space, and the lad seemed to quiver as he
watched him. "I can't--that is, not all of it."
Every trace of colour faded from Jack Townshead's face. "Good Lord!
Damn you, Alton--it can't be true."
Alton rose up slowly and stretched his hand out, while the veins
swelled out on his forehead. Then he dropped it again.
"You'll be sorry for this by and by, Jack," he said. "Don't you know
your sister better--you fool? Now sit down there, and I'll tell you
everything."
The lad was evidently spirited, but he was a trifle awed by what he saw
in Alton's eyes, and did as he was bidden. The hoarse voice he
listened to carried conviction with it, but his face was almost haggard
when the story was concluded. "Now," said Alton very slowly, "that's
all, and for your sister's sake you dare not disbelieve me."
Jack Townshead groaned. "Thank God," he said, with a tremor in his
voice. "But, Harry, what is to be done? I simply can't tell the old
man--and there's Nellie. You can't deny sufficient to be any good--and
the cursed thing will kill her. Now I'm trying not to blame you--but
there must be a way of getting out somehow--and it's for you to find
it."
Alton leaned upon the table a trifle more heavily, his eyes
half-closed, and one hand clenched.
"Yes," he said slowly. "There is a way--and I'm beginning to see it
now. Get your hat, Jack, and in the first place we'll go right along
and see Mr. Cartier."
The lad rose, and then, possibly because he was over-strung and needed
relief in some direction, laughed harshly. "I think you had better
wash your face before you go," he said.
Twenty minutes later they entered an office together and Alton signed
to a clerk. "Tell Mr. Cartier I'm wanting to see him right now," he
said. "You know who I am."
The man smiled, for he probably also grasped the purport of Alton's
visit. "Then you had better come back in a week," he said. "He went
across to Victoria yesterday."
"That," said Alton grimly, "was wise of him."
They went out, and the lad glanced at his companion. "It is of the
least importance. There is more to be done!"
"Yes," said Alton simply. "You have my sympathy, Jack, but just now I
can't do with too much of you. Go right away--to anywhere, and don't
come back until you're wanted. I've got to think how I can best do the
thing that's right to everybody."