THE NEW EPOCH
Dr. Jerce looked at Clarice with a lowering face, and his expressive
eyes flashed with anger. He was a strong-willed man, accustomed to
having his own way in the face of all obstacles, and the merest hint
of opposition annoyed him. Having set his heart on marrying Miss
Baird, he was determined to bring about the match, and,
notwithstanding the hint of refusal which she had given him, while
Horran was alive, his determination remained unchanged. To be sure, he
had then been ignorant of her engagement with Ackworth, and had
calculated upon an easier conquest of her objections. But now that he
knew her affections were engaged, he saw clearly that it would be
extremely difficult for him to achieve his purpose. Clarice, as he
knew, was no weak girl, to be talked into surrender; but for all that,
Jerce attempted to bend her to his will.
The doctor was too clever a man to give way to bad temper, knowing
that such a weakness might lose him the prize he aimed at. Inwardly
angry, he was outwardly calm, and after that first swift look of
annoyance, he regained his suavity. "Does Captain Ackworth know that
you intend to marry him?" asked Jerce, politely.
Clarice threw back her head haughtily. "Certainly. He has proposed to
me, and we are engaged."
"Since when, may I ask?"
"You may ask, but I am not bound to answer."
"I am your oldest friend, Miss Baird, now that poor Horran is dead."
Clarice lifted her eyebrows. "Still I fail to see that being an old
friend gives you the right to cross-examine me about things which do
not concern you."
"It concerns me a great deal that you should be happy," said Jerce,
disconcerted by her calmness.
"Then you can set your mind at rest, doctor. I am happy."
Jerce looked down at his neat boots. "I should have thought that a
girl of your strong character would have chosen otherwise."
"Really," said Clarice, indifferently.
"In fact," stammered Jerce, flushing, "I thought of offering myself as
your husband."
"Oh, I saw that long ago, doctor."
"And you had no pity upon me?"
"Why should I have pity?" asked Clarice, with a perceptible smile. "I
have not played the coquette with you."
"No," said Jerce, bitterly; "I am bound to say that at the first hint
I gave you of my feelings, you recoiled, and have since held me at
arm's length."
"Seeing that I am engaged, that is as it should be."
Jerce bit his lips. It angered him that she should be so calm, and so
completely mistress of herself. "There is no hope for me, I suppose?"
he inquired, with great humility.
"None. Anthony is the man I love, and Anthony will be my husband."
"Perhaps," said Jerce, under his breath, but she heard him.
"Why do you say that?" she asked, abruptly.
"There's many a slip 'twixt cup and lip."
"That's a very well-known proverb, doctor, but it does not explain
what you mean."
"Then will you permit me to speak plainer?"
"If you are wise you will not," said Clarice, quietly. "We are good
friends, doctor; why should we become strangers?"
"I could never be a stranger to you," he said, fervently.
"Oh, I think so, if I chose."
"And would you choose?"
"Certainly, if you would not accept the situation."
"I cannot," cried Jerce, his emotions getting the better of his
judgment. "I am a man, and I feel like a man. For years I have loved
you, and for a long time I have wished to make you my wife. I spoke to
Horran, and he was agreeable that I should marry you."
"Indeed," cried Clarice, with a flush of anger. "Then permit me to
remind you, doctor, that Mr. Horran, much as I loved him, had not the
right to dispose of my hand. That goes with my heart."
"Which is possessed by Captain Ackworth," said Jerce, bitterly.
"Exactly. You leave nothing to be desired in the way of explanation."
"But Ackworth is not worthy of you," urged the doctor.
"Really, and in what way?"
Jerce was puzzled how to reply. He knew next to nothing about Captain
Ackworth. "He doesn't look as if he had brains."
"Ah! Looks are deceptive sometimes. Now you, doctor, look as though
you had common sense, yet your conversation at present doesn't reveal
that quality."
"You are hard, Clarice."
"I thought that you were not going to call me Clarice until you had
the right?"
"I wish to acquire the right."
"It is too late. Come, doctor," said Clarice, tired of this quibbling,
"it is useless to prolong this conversation. There are more important
things to talk about than my marriage, which, after all--as I have
reminded you--is entirely my own affair. Let us agree to be friends,"
and she held out her hand, smiling.
Jerce did not take it. "I can be nothing less than your husband," he
said, drawing down his long upper lip obstinately.
"In that case, doctor, we may as well part for ever."
"For ever?" Jerce started to his feet, much agitated. "Oh, Clarice,
you don't mean that. I love you--I adore you--I worship you. No doubt
it may seem ridiculous to you that a man of my age should speak like a
schoolboy, and should show his deepest feelings so plainly. But I
have had a lonely life, and you are all the world to me. Don't send me
away without hope. Only say that some day--in some sweet hour--I can
come and take your hand in mine."
Clarice rose also, and her eyes sparkled with anger. "You are mad to
talk in this way," she cried, passionately. "How can I say what you
want me to say, when I am engaged, and when I love?"
"I am rich," pleaded Jerce, eagerly. "I have a great name. I have
heard that my name will be included in the list of New Year's honours.
I shall be Sir Daniel Jerce, and you--"
"I shall be Mrs. Ackworth," interrupted Clarice, imperiously. "Not a
word more, doctor; my mind is made up."
"And so is mine," said Jerce, with a snarl, his face livid, and his
eyes hard. "You shall not marry this man."
"Who will prevent me?" asked Clarice, with superb disdain. "Who will
prevent me from becoming Anthony's wife?"
"I will. You shall become my wife."
"If there was not another man in the world, I would decline that
honour. And let me remind you that I am no school-girl to be
frightened by stage thunder. How dare you?--how dare you?" Clarice
stamped her foot, and clenched her hands. "Go away, and never come
near me again."
Jerce remained silent for one moment. Then, without a word, he took up
his hat and walked slowly to the door. Only when he had opened it, and
stood with the handle in his hand, did he speak. "I shall go away," he
said, with a steady look at the girl, "and I shall not return until
you summon me."
When the door closed, Clarice sank back in her seat, overwhelmed with
emotion. She had small sympathy for the doctor, since he had merely
cried like a child for the moon, which he knew was entirely beyond his
reach. But his last words impressed her with a sense of danger, and
she wondered what he meant by this sudden obedience. Had he defied
her, and remained to argue, she would have felt safer. Dr. Jerce--as
she knew--was too strong a man to give in without a struggle, and that
he should do so in this instance was ominous. In the words of the
French proverb, he had but recoiled to spring the higher; yet Clarice
could not see how he could harm her, or Anthony in any way. She was
now her own mistress, free from supervision of any kind; Horran's
death was no mystery, and although the murderer was still at large, he
would certainly be caught sooner or later; Ferdy--here Clarice rose
again, and her face grew white. What if Jerce could harm her by
harming Ferdy? Jerce knew all about the boy and his fast life, and
Jerce, if put to it, would not hesitate to sacrifice Ferdy, or anyone
else, to achieve his ends. But the question was--what did Jerce know
about Ferdy? While Clarice asked herself this, Ferdy himself entered,
looking very sulky.
"I do call it a shame, Clarry," he said, flinging himself into a
chair, and thrusting his hands into his pockets. "Why should Uncle
Henry have treated me in this beastly way?"
"I think Uncle Henry has acted very wisely," said Clarice, harshly.
The tone of her voice made Ferdy look up from his gloomy contemplation
of the carpet, and he was struck by the whiteness of her face.
"What's the matter with you?" he inquired, crossly. "I should think
that you ought to be satisfied, seeing that everything has come your
way, Clarry."
"Do you think that it is a pleasure for me to take your burdens upon
my shoulders?" asked Clarice, fiercely. "I would much rather that
Uncle Henry had named Dr. Jerce as your guardian, seeing that Dr.
Jerce knows so much about you."
Ferdy started to his feet, changing colour like a chameleon. "What has
Jerce been saying about me?" he demanded, with a sick look.
"Nothing. He did not even mention your name."
"Then what are you jawing about?" snapped Ferdy, sitting down again.
Clarice placed herself before him, and tried to make him meet her
eyes. But he would not, and kept them on the carpet, shuffling his
feet uneasily meanwhile. "Dr. Jerce asked me to marry him," she said,
in a clear voice. "I refused him. He has accepted my refusal so calmly
that I am certain he intends mischief."
"What rot," said Ferdy, uneasily; "as though a great man like Jerce
would bother his head over you."
"Oh," said Clarice, with a chill smile. "Perhaps it is King Cophetua
and the Beggar-maid."
"Bosh!"
"You are not polite, Ferdy," said his sister, restraining a strong
impulse to box his ears. "Now, you listen to me. But that you are my
brother and my twin, I should let you go your own way to ruin and
destruction."
"That's rather strong."
"But not too strong for your weakness," she persisted. "I know you
thoroughly, Ferdy. You are a charming, weak, impulsive boy, with many
attractions of person and manner, likely to lead you into undesirable
company. People like you, and, as liking with the majority means
selfishness, they will make use of you--perhaps in bad ways."
"What do you mean by bad ways?" asked Ferdy, crossly.
"Ways of pleasure--ways of folly--ways which do not lead to hard work
and an honoured name. You are the kind of person, neither good nor
bad, who goes dancing along the primrose path, out of sheer weakness,
because others dance beside you. If you were a wicked man, Ferdy, you
would be clever, as wickedness needs cleverness to aid its full
accomplishment. But you are merely weak, and that is dangerous to you
and to me."
"I don't know what you are talking about," said Ferdy, restlessly.
"But I do," cried Clarice, passionately. "I know you better than you
do yourself. I know that with your weakness you will bring disgrace on
yourself and on me. Were I selfish, as you are, I would decline this
guardianship, and let you have your money, to go your own silly, weak
way, which will lead to ruin. But I love you, and--"
"And so you bully me."
"I am not bullying you; I am talking sense, if you only have the brain
power to enter into my feelings. Because you are my brother and my
twin, I accept the responsibility laid upon me. If you were not I
should marry Anthony next week, and forget much of the past."
"What past are you referring to?"
"That which has just closed with the death of Uncle Henry. For years
you and I have gone with him down a long and pleasant lane. Now with
his death has come the turning, and another lane opens before us.
Whether it will be as pleasant remains with you."
"With me?"
"Yes. I could marry Anthony, as I say, and let you go alone. But I
love you too well to see you ruin yourself. I shall take a house in
London, and we will live there together. Then I shall be able to look
after you."
Ferdy rose, pale with anger. "And I am to be tied to your
apron-strings all my life."
"God forbid, as I have my own life to look after. Even for love, one
should not sacrifice one's whole life--that is, the kind of love, the
sisterly affection which I have for you. My love for Anthony is
different. I have no right to sacrifice him to you. But when you
are married to Prudence, my task will be ended. She will look after
you--she will take care of you, and I can then marry and be happy,
knowing that you are safe."
"And suppose I object to this scheme you have, of taking a London
house?" asked Ferdy, savagely. "In that case I'll stop your
allowance."
"You can't--you daren't."
"I can and I dare. I have complete power. There is only one other way.
If you will marry Prudence in a month or so, I'll allow you one
thousand a year. I can do that as guardian, although you will not come
in for your full income for two years."
"I'm sure I'd like to marry Prudence," said Ferdy, uneasily.
"You are engaged to her."
"Yes, but Mr. Clarke has been objecting."
"I don't see why he should. I'll see Mr. Clarke and sweep away his
objections. I can do that, seeing he is in my debt to the tune of one
thousand odd pounds. Well, then, will you come and live with me in
London, or marry Prudence, and get the money?"
Ferdy shuffled. "If I do neither?"
"I have already said what I would do. You can't live without money."
"Dr. Jerce will look after me," blurted out Ferdy, significantly.
Clarice shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps. He has the name of being a
philanthropist. But I should like to know if there is any chance of
Jerce threatening me through you?"
"What rubbish. Of course not."
"I am not so certain," said Clarice, dryly, and striving to read the
weak, handsome face before her. "Jerce is deeply in love with me, and
would give much to stop my marriage. He hinted as much. Now, I know
that he cannot hurt Anthony, or me, as both our lives are above
reproach. The sole trouble in my life is the death of Uncle Henry, and
the inquest has explained that. The motive for the crime undoubtedly
is robbery."
"You believe that?"
"After what Mr. Barras explained, I do, although," added Clarice, in a
thoughtful manner, "I never would have taken Uncle Henry to be a
miser. Chalks might know something about that money, if Uncle Henry
really had it concealed in his room. I'll speak to him. However, you
can see that there is no reason why I should be afraid of Dr. Jerce.
Now, is there any reason why you should fear him?"
"No," said Ferdy, earnestly, and, turning a frank face to his sister,
"I have been reckless and fast. Jerce has helped me with money, and I
have run up bills for motor-cars, and suppers, and tailors, and
flowers, and such-like things. But if you will pay these bills, Jerce
can say nothing against me."
"How much do the bills amount to?"
"Two thousand pounds."
Clarice sat down gasping. "Two thousand pounds and in one year," she
said, utterly bewildered, "Ferdy, you--you fool."
"There," said the young man, bitterly. "I make a clean breast of it
because you want me to, and then you bullyrag me. But here," he pulled
a sheaf of papers out of his breast pocket, "I had intended to give
these to Barras when the will was read, thinking that I would get my
own money, and that Barras would be able to arrange for the payment.
But when I spoke to him just now, he referred me to you as my
guardian. Here is a list of my debts with the bills attached. If you
will pay these off, Clarry, I swear to turn over a new leaf. You
needn't look so angrily at me. I am no worse than other chaps."
"My poor boy," said Clarice, mournfully; "I am not angry, but only
sorry for your weakness. But I am forced to be strong, since I
have to deal with a reed. I shall take these"--she reached for the
bills--"and they will be paid, as soon as I can arrange--on
conditions."
"Conditions." Ferdy began to gloom again. "What conditions?"
"Firstly, that you have nothing more to do with Zara Dumps. I am quite
sure that she has led you into spending money."
"There's nothing wrong about her," grumbled Ferdy, wincing; "Zara is
perfectly respectable."
"I dare say, seeing that I have heard how she wishes to make a good
marriage. All the same, she is not averse to making use of you to
amuse her, and her amusements are expensive. You must give her up."
"Oh, I'm quite agreeable," said Ferdy, readily; then added, in a most
candid manner, "the fact is, Clarry, I must give her up, as she has
chucked me."
"I see," said Clarice, rather disgusted, "you make a virtue of
necessity. Still, so long as you give her up, I don't ask for your
reason."
"Well, then, you have it without asking," retorted Ferdy, airily; "and
the other condition?"
"You must marry Prudence Clarke in two months--that will be a
sufficiently long time after Uncle Henry's death, and I want you to be
settled as soon as possible."
Ferdy looked at her very straightly, and then dropped his eyes on the
carpet. "I'll marry Prudence, if she'll marry me."
"She's engaged to you; she loves you."
"As I said before, her father--"
"I'll interview Mr. Clarke," interrupted Miss Baird, quickly. "He was
delighted when your engagement was announced, and I do not see why he
should change his mind. If he refuses to permit the marriage--"
"Yes!" said Ferdy, hastily, "if he refuses."
"You must agree to live with me in London for two years--that is until
you get your money."
"I don't know what Jerce will say."
"Say? What should he say? You are not bound to him in any way."
"No. But he is famous, and can help me a lot when I become a doctor."
"Rely on your own brains, Ferdy," said Clarice, quickly, "and not on
the patronage of any influential person. Besides, you can attend your
classes, and to your studies all the same, while we live together."
"Very well," assented the boy, sullenly, "if you don't pull the
strings too tightly."
"Of the money bags, do you mean?" asked Clarice, smiling. "You need
have no fear, Ferdy; I am not stingy."
"You're a good sort, Clarry," said her brother with sudden emotion.
"I-I--I'll do whatever you like, and--and I'll always come to you in
trouble, dear."
Hastily kissing her, he fairly ran out of the room, leaving Clarice
much puzzled. She had rarely seen Ferdy so moved, and wondered why he
had left so suddenly. Clarice may have been unduly suspicious, but she
did not think that the new epoch was opening auspiciously. And yet, so
far, she had got everything her own way.