ARCHIBALD TRAVERS PLAYS BRIDGE
The ayah put the last touches to Beatrice Cary's golden hair, drew back a
little to judge the general effect, and then handed her mistress the
handglass.
"Is that well so, missy?" she asked. "Missy look wonderful
to-night--wonderful!"
Beatrice examined herself carefully and critically, without any show of
impatience. Only a close observer would have noticed that her eyes had the
strained, concentrated look of a person whose thoughts are centered
elsewhere than on the immediate subject.
"Yes, that will do," she assented, after a moment. "You have done extra
well to-night. You can go."
"Not help missy with dress?"
"No, you can go. I shall only want you again when I come back."
The ayah fidgeted with the garments that lay scattered about the room, but
an imperative gesture hastened her exit, and she slipped silently from the
room, drawing the curtains after her.
Beatrice watched her departure in the glass, and then, turning in her
chair, looked at the languid, exhausted figure upon the couch.
"Now, if you have anything to say, mother, say it," she said. "We are
quite alone."
"I have a great deal to say," Mrs. Cary began, in a tone of extreme
injury, "and first of all, I must ask you not to interrupt me in the way
you did just now before the--the what-do-you-call-it?--the ayah. I can not
and will not stand being corrected before my own servants."
"I did not correct you," Beatrice returned coldly. "I stopped you from
making disclosures to ears which know enough English to understand more
than is good for either of us, and whose discretion is on a par with that
of our late friend, Mary Jane. It seems impossible to make you realize
that English is not a dead language."
"You are very rude to me!" Mrs. Cary protested, in high, quavering tones
that threatened tears. "Very rude! Beatrice, you ought to be ashamed--"
"I am not rude. I am only telling you the simple truth."
"Well, then, you are not respectful."
"Respectful!" The reiteration was accompanied with a laugh which
brought into use all the harsh, unpleasing notes in the girl's voice.
She turned away from her mother, and with one white elbow resting on
the dressing-table, began to play idly with the silver ornaments. "No,
I suppose I am not respectful," she went on calmly. "I think we are too
intimate for that, mother. We know each other too well, and have spoken
about things too plainly. People, I imagine, only retain the respect of
their fellow-creatures so long as they keep themselves and their projects
a haloed mystery. That isn't our case. There are no haloes or mysteries
between us, are there?"
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Mrs. Cary declared plaintively.
"There are moments, Beatrice, when I think you talk nonsense."
"I am sure you do!" An ironical smile played an instant round the small
mouth, then she went on calmly: "Let us put our personal grievances
against each other aside, mother. _Revenons a nos moutons._ You were
saying, when I interrupted you, that you were afraid of Mr. Travers. Why?"
"Why! You know as well as I do. I recognized him at once, and the sight of
his face nearly gave me a heart stroke. Of course you remember him. He
gave evidence against your poor, dear father when--"
Beatrice Cary held up her hand.
"That is one of the advantages of having discarded the mystery and halo,"
she said. "We do not need to go into any details concerning ourselves or
the past. I know quite well to what you refer. To be quite honest, I _did_
recognize him, only I did not let him see that I did."
"And then you ask why I am afraid!"
"I fail to see what harm he can do us."
"He can tell the truth."
Beatrice Cary rose and began to slip into the white silk dress which hung
across the back of her chair.
"The truth!" she said meditatively. "That is something, mother, of which,
I fear, you and I will never rid ourselves. It has chased us out of
England and out of all possible parts of Europe; and, large though India
is, it seems already to have tracked us down. It has a good nose for
fugitives, apparently."
Mrs. Cary sat up, mopping her florid face free from tears of irritability.
"You will drive me mad one of these days!" she cried. "You laugh at
everything. You laugh even at this, though it concerns our whole future
here--"
"Excuse me for interrupting you again. I take the matter very much to
heart--so much so that there are moments when I am thoroughly weary of it,
and feel inclined to write on a large placard: 'Here standeth Beatrice
McConnel, alias Cary, daughter of the--'"
"Be silent!" broke in the elder woman furiously. "Do you really want the
whole Station to be taken into our confidence?"
"I am sorry!" with half-sincere, half-mocking contrition. "I am as bad as
you are. But, as I say, there are times when I should like to shriek the
truth in the world's face, and see what it would do. I don't think
anything could be worse than our present life."
"If you did anything of the sort, I should take poison," Mrs. Cary
declared.
"No, you wouldn't. We should move on to another continent, and try our
luck there, that's all. It's the very futility of truth-telling which
prevents me from experimenting in that direction. Perhaps, as you suggest,
Mr. Travers will take the task from my shoulders."
Mrs. Cary rose to her feet and came ponderously over to her daughter's
side. Her voice, when she spoke, was troubled with genuine emotion.
"Beatrice," she said, "I don't ask respect of you--I don't suppose it
would be any sort of good if I did. You haven't any respect in you. But at
any rate have some consideration for me. You needn't make my life worse
than it is. It's no use your saying to me, 'Give up the money, and hide
your head.' I can't. I never could hide my head, and at the bottom _I_
don't believe you could either. It's the way we are made. Ever since I was
a little child, and played about in my father's shop, I wanted people to
bow down to me and respect me. I meant that one day they should. When I
married they did--for a time at least. When the crash came, and--and all
the shame, I just ran away from it. I couldn't have done anything else.
Ever since then I have been trying to build things up elsewhere, and I had
to have money for it. You can't blame me, Beatrice. You aren't any better.
You always want to be first in your singing and your painting, you always
want the best of what's going. You always want to be admired and
successful in everything you do. You take after me in that." A note of
curious pride crept into her voice. "So it's just like this, Beatrice--I
can't live without position. I may not take poison, but I shall die all
the same if I can't play a part in the world. All I ask is that you help
me all you can. It's not much. I've been a pretty decent mother to you.
You can't say that there was ever a time when I grudged you a pretty frock
or a dance--" She stopped in her long speech, yielding to Beatrice's
irrepressible gesture of impatience.
"You needn't have gone into so much explanation," the girl said, fastening
a small diamond pendant round her white neck. "I know you and I know
myself. As to my gratitude, I am fully aware of what I owe you, and am
ready to pay. What do you want me to do?"
"Don't go against me."
"I haven't done so yet. I don't mean to. As far as I can recollect, I've
pulled us both out of as many scrapes as you have landed us into,"
Beatrice replied.
"I know. That's why I want you to do your best now."
"To do what?"
"To keep Marut tolerable for us."
"I can't prevent Mr. Travers gossiping if he wants to."
A smile flitted over Mrs. Cary's fat face, robbing it of its good-nature
and leaving it merely vulgarly cunning.
"You could if you wanted to."
"How?"
"Oh, you know! You have a way with men. You could shut his mouth."
Beatrice laughed outright.
"There are moments when you betray your origin in the most painful way,
mother," she said cruelly. "A remark like that in Mrs. Carmichael's
hearing, and we should find Marut too hot for us without any assistance
from Mr. Travers."
"I'm sorry," Mrs. Cary apologized humbly. "It slipped out. What I meant
was, that I am sure you could manage him. And you know you could,
Beatrice."
Beatrice looked at her reflection in the glass. There was little feminine
vanity in the glance--rather a cool judging and appraising, untempered
with any personal prejudice.
"I suppose I could," she admitted.
"Won't you?"
"Would it make you very happy?"
"It would be my first moment's real peace since I saw Mr. Travers at the
garden-party."
"Well, I'll do my best."
"You promise?"
"Yes, I'll promise if you want me to."
Mrs. Cary drew a deep sigh of relief.
"That's one thing about you, you keep your promises, Beatrice," she said.
"It is rather curious, under the circumstances, isn't it?" the younger
woman returned, submitting to the mother's grateful embrace with an
indifference which seemed to indicate more than an indifference--rather a
stoic, smothered antipathy. When it was over, and Mrs. Cary had once more
ensconced herself on the lounge, Beatrice shook her shoulders as though
thrusting something intensely disagreeable away from her.
"In any case, it may be too late," she said, putting the finishing touches
to her toilet. "If Mr. Travers meant to tell, he has probably done so
already. I shall be able to judge by Mrs. Carmichael's hand-shake
to-night."
"We must hope for the best," returned Mrs. Cary, with pious resignation.
The two women relapsed into silence. Beatrice hovered lightly about the
room, collecting her fan, handkerchief and gloves, every now and again
casting the same curious, unloving glance at herself in the long mirror.
Presently she went to the window and pulled aside the muslin curtain.
"Some one is driving up the avenue," she said. "It's a dog-cart. I wonder
who it is."
"A dog-cart!" Mrs. Cary repeated thoughtfully. "Now, who has a dog-cart in
Marut? Not many people, I fancy." A dull flush mounted her coarse cheeks.
"Why," she exclaimed, "I believe Mr. Travers has!"
Beatrice dropped the curtain back into its place.
"That would be a coincidence, wouldn't it?" she remarked, with a faint
irony from which her tone had never been wholly free.
A minute later the ayah entered the room.
"Travers Sahib is here," she announced. "He asks if missy drive with him
to the Colonel Sahib in his cart. Travers Sahib waiting."
Beatrice and her mother exchanged glances.
"Very well," Beatrice then said quietly. "Tell Travers Sahib I shall be
delighted. Paul need not bring round the carriage."
The ayah retired, and with an undisturbed calm Beatrice proceeded to slip
into her evening cloak.
"At any rate, he hasn't spoken yet," she said. "Fate seems to mean well
with you, mother."
"It all depends on you, Beatrice," the other returned impressively.
"Do you think so? Well, I have half-an-hour's drive before
me--tete-a-tete. I dare say I shall manage. Good night!" She patted her
mother lightly on the hand as she passed her on the way to the door.
"Good-by, my dear. Do your best, won't you?"
"Haven't I been brought up to do my best?" Beatrice answered with a laugh.
She hurried on to the verandah which faced out on the drive, the ayah
accompanying her with numerous wraps and shawls. Archibald Travers, who
had remained seated, greeted her with a cheerful wave of the whip.
"Please excuse my getting down, Miss Cary," he said. "My horse is in a
state of mind which does not allow for politeness. Can you trust yourself
to his tender care?"
"I am not in the least nervous," she answered, scrambling up to his side,
"and a drive through this lovely air is worth a few risks. I was dreading
the half-hour alone in our stuffy brougham."
"I'm glad I came, then," he said. "I heard that Mrs. Cary was ill and
could not go, but I was not sure whether you would care for it. There, are
you tucked in all right? Can we start?"
"Yes, by all means."
He cracked his whip, and immediately the impatient chestnut sprang forward
into the darkness. They swayed dangerously through the compound gates on
to the broad, straight highroad.
Beatrice laughed with excitement.
"That was splendid!" she exclaimed, pulling her cloak closer round her.
"How well you drive!"
"You seem to enjoy danger," he said, with an amused smile.
"Yes, I enjoy it," she answered, more gravely. "It is the only flavoring
which I have hitherto discovered in life. The rest is rather insipid,
don't you think?"
"You talk like a man," he said.
"I have been brought up to be independent and fight for myself," she
returned. "That sort of thing does away with the principal differences
between the sexes."
As she spoke they dashed suddenly into an avenue of high trees through
whose branches the moonlight played fantastic, uncanny shadows on the
white road. Travers' horse shied violently, and for some minutes his work
was cut out for him in pacifying the excited animal. When they were once
more bowling smoothly over the open plain, he glanced down at the girl
beside him.
She was smiling to herself.
"You have nerve!" he remarked admiringly.
"I have lots more when it is wanted," she answered, looking up at him. The
light struck full on their faces, and they could read each other's
expressions as clearly as if it had been midday.
"How much farther is it at the rate we are going?" she asked.
"Another twenty minutes."
"Another twenty minutes!" she repeated thoughtfully. "That is quite a long
time, isn't it?"
He flicked his whip across the horse's ears.
"Yes, and I'm glad," he said. "Otherwise, I shouldn't have seen much of
you. I happen to know that I am taking in Miss Caruthers to dinner, and
dinner takes up most of the evening at these functions."
"You are taking in Lois Caruthers!" she said, laughing. "I know of some
one who will be annoyed."
"Stafford, you mean?"
"And Lois herself."
He joined in her amusement.
"Yes, I suppose so."
"You have a good-natured hostess. I dare say the arrangement could be
altered if you wished it."
"But I don't. They happen to be _my_ arrangements, you see."
"Oh!" she ejaculated, somewhat taken back.
"On my left there will be Mrs. James, who, as you perhaps know, is stone
deaf," he went on calmly. "On Miss Caruthers' right will be Mr. James, who
from long custom never opens his mouth except to put something into it.
Stafford will be right at the other end of the table."
"You are malicious," she said.
"Not a bit. I only go hard for what I want, that's all." He chuckled to
himself and then went on: "I've confided to you my subtle underground
plans--why, goodness knows. I'm not usually of a confiding nature. But
really, Miss Cary, I feel as though I had known you all my life."
"We have already plotted together," she said. "Possibly that forms some
sort of link between us."
He glanced down at her, and this time, as she did not return his gaze, he
was free to study her calm, undisturbed profile.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, half under his breath, "I don't blame the young
fool for being taken in."
Her brows contracted sharply.
"Thank you. I suppose that is a compliment."
"It is meant for one. By the way, are you really sure of your success?"
"Perfectly sure."
"That's a good thing. We shall have the laugh over old Stafford and his
grandmother's ideas if it comes off. All I fear is that the youth's
impressionable mind may lose its impressions as quickly as it receives
them."
"I don't think so. He did not seem that sort."
"Besides," added Travers, with a sudden drawl, "your face is not one that
a man forgets easily, Miss Cary."
She stirred very slightly in her seat. It was the instinctive movement of
a woman bracing herself secretly for a coming shock.
"Really?"
"Yes, really. That was what I meant to tell you the other day, but there
was no fitting opportunity. I recognized you at once."
"And I you," she returned.
He whistled.
"So we recognized each other and didn't recognize each other. Rather a
queer thing, eh?"
Again there was that scarcely noticeable stiffening of her whole body.
"I see nothing queer about it. We were both taken aback, and after the
first shock we realized that to acknowledge a previous meeting was not to
either of our advantages. You were ashamed; and I--well, you can guess my
reasons."
"By Jove! You know, you really are plucky!" he burst out, with genuine
admiration.
"Thank you. You have intimated that to me already, and, as a matter of
fact, there is no question of pluck. I'm taking the bull by the horns
because I must. Mr. Travers, I can't live in the same place with you and
not know if you are going to explode the mine under our feet or not. I may
have nerve, but I haven't got nerve enough for that."
"I see. You want to know whether I am going to gossip or hold my tongue.
Is that it?"
"Yes, that's it."
"Suppose I gossip?"
"I see no reason why you should be our enemy, so I don't mind admitting to
you that it would spoil our plans."
"What may they be?"
"Firstly, to get clear of everything that has happened. We've tried to do
that in different places all over Europe, without success. Something or
somebody has always cropped up and driven us away. It was just as though
every one least concerned in the matter had made up their minds to track
us down. At last mother thought of India, and of Marut in particular. My
father held a small post somewhere about here before we left for England,
and we make out that it is tender associations and all that sort of thing.
Of course, we might be found out any day, but perhaps people are not so
curious out here, and it gives us a rest."
"Might I ask why you take all this trouble?"
"I was going to tell you. Because my mother wants what she calls
position--she wants to mix with the best. We couldn't do that in England,
for the reasons I have given you. As for me--I fulfil my destiny. I am
seeking a suitable husband."
He drew in his breath in something that was not unlike a gasp.
"My dear Miss Cary, do you know what the world--particularly the woman
world--would call you?"
"_Does_ call me, you mean? Of course. An adventuress."
"To be quite frank, you've hit it. But I don't. I call you a jolly
extraordinary and clever woman."
"Please don't pay me compliments," she said coldly. "My cleverness--if I
have any--is not more than that of any hunted animal who seeks cover where
best he can. As to my being extraordinary, I do not see that you have any
reason to call me so. You might as well say that it is extraordinary when
a weed springs up where a weed has been sown--"
"Or a flower," he interposed suavely.
She sank back in her seat, saying nothing. Her silence was a weary sort of
protest.
Travers pulled out his watch with his free hand.
"We have only five minutes more," he said. "We are splendidly up to time.
I tell you what, Miss Cary--you can eat Colonel Carmichael's dinner in
peace." She looked quickly at him. "I mean that I shall hold my tongue. I
don't know that I ever intended doing anything else. I am not responsible
to society, and in any case, no direct blame for the past can attach
itself to you. As it is, after your confidence, I give you my word that
I'll do my best to see you through here. You deserve it, and I have always
had a sneaking sympathy for the hunted fox and the much-abused weed. You
can be quite easy in your mind."
"Thank you," she said without much warmth.
"I have only one condition--" he went on, and then hesitated.
"I was waiting for that," she said.
He laughed good-naturedly.
"You know me very well already."
"I know men," she retorted.
"Well, then, I have a condition. Please don't look upon me as a sort of
blackmailer. If you don't choose to agree to the condition, you needn't. I
shan't on that account go round gossiping about your affairs. At the same
time, I expect you would rather drive a fair and square bargain with me
than be in any way in my debt."
"You are quite right," she said quickly.
"My condition is merely this: I want you, if the time and opportunity ever
present themselves, to lend me a hand with my plans. I confess privately
to you I have one or two irons in the fire up at Marut, and that it is
pretty hard work single-handed. You are a clever woman, say what you like,
and your help would be invaluable."
"In what way?"
"I will put it as short as possible. You know, Miss Cary, I am not a rich
man, but I have got some big ideas and one at least of them requires
wealth to be carried out. I have every reason to believe that considerable
mineral treasure lies buried under the native Bazaar in Marut, but I can
do nothing unless some one comes to my assistance both with authority and
money. The Rajah is the very man, if only I can get him interested in my
project. Will you help me?"
"As I have gone so far I might as well go on," she assented indifferently.
"Thanks. Then there is something else--I want to marry Lois Caruthers."
Beatrice started and looked up at him as though she thought he might be
joking. His face had indeed undergone a change, but there was something
stern, resolute, almost brutal in the hard-set profile.
"Indeed? Will that not be more difficult? There is Stafford in the way,
and Stafford--"
"Stafford must be cleared out of the way," he interrupted, with a cool
decision which his expression partly belied. "I believe she is fond of him
and he of her in a Platonic sort of fashion which might lead to marriage
and might not. He is not the danger. There is a fellow, Nicholson,
though--"
He stopped short and seemed for an instant to be plunged in his own
thoughts.
"Who is this Nicholson?" she asked curiously. "I have heard his name
constantly since I have been here. People talk of him as though he were a
demigod. Why are you afraid of him?"
"Just because of his godlike qualities," Travers explained, with a laugh.
"In earlier ages, no doubt, he would have been a god and among the natives
he is one. In reality, he is an ordinary mortal blessed with an
extraordinary influence. I believe he is a captain in some native regiment
on the frontiers and has done grand work there. I heard today that he is
coming down to Marut on leave."
"Oh--?"
"He was Lois' old playfellow," Travers added pointedly.
"And so you are afraid of him?"
"All women adore heroes of that type," he remarked without mockery or
bitterness, "and when Nicholson appears I have a fair idea that Stafford
and I will have to be content with the back seats in Lois' affections. You
see, they were great friends, and moreover the Carmichaels have their
matrimonial eye on him. So it's now or never as far as I am concerned."
"And Stafford--?"
He looked down at her with a jolly laugh.
"He must find consolation elsewhere. I thought he would do for you, Miss
Cary."
"Thanks!"
"Don't be ungrateful. Rich, good position, good family, worthy character,
a trifle slow, not to say stupid--what more do you want?"
"You talk as though--"
"--As though he were being given away with a pound of tea? Well, so he is
to all intents and purposes. One can do anything with an honest,
pig-headed man like that if only one takes him the right way. He would
suit you clear down to the ground, and if you will help me I will help
you. Is that a bargain?"
They were now in sight of their destination, and he pulled his horse into
a walk.
"Well, what do you say, Miss Cary?"
He tried to look into her face, but it was turned resolutely away, and all
he could see was a grave profile which might have belonged to a much older
woman.
"Well?" he repeated.
They were entering the drive which led up to the brightly lighted bungalow
before she answered.
"It's a bargain then," she said. "I promise."
He pressed her hand with his left.
"That's all right," he said cheerily. "You won't find yourself
overburdened. The case is just this: we're partners, you and I, with some
good cards between us. Just at present it's my call, and your hand goes
down. Do you understand?"
"Pretty well," she answered.
They pulled up at the open doorway, and flinging the reins to the waiting
syce, Travers sprang to the ground.
"By the way, I believe you go in to dinner with Stafford," he remarked
casually as he helped her to alight. "I hope you will get on well
together."