A letter received from Pierce Winwood two days later made her inclined
to ask, as he did several times, in the course of three hurricane pages,
if inaction as a policy might not be pursued too long? Her father had
responded enigmatically to her hints that she thought if a Cabinet
Minister could not settle down in his seat in the course of two days he
must be singularly ill-adapted for a career of repose.
He had laughed heartily when she asked him again if Mr. West was not
ready for the time-fuse? or was it the time-fuse that was not ready for
Mr. West, but the questions were not further responded to; and now here
was Mr. Winwood saying that he would call this very day.
His announcement sounded like the tradesman’s threat which she had once
seen at the foot of a college bill of her brother’s to the effect that
the writer would call on such a day at such an hour and hoped that Mr.
Severn would find it convenient to have his money ready for him.
She found, on counting her loose change--all that she had got from her
father in response to her hints--that she had not enough to pay Pierce
Winwood--she would not even be able to give him something on account.
She had neither seen Josephine nor heard anything about her; and she
knew better than to fancy that the ardent lover would go away satisfied
with the parable of the time-fuse.
She had all the courage of her sex; but she could not face him. She
actually felt herself becoming nervous at the thought of his entering
the room and repeating in her ears the words which he had shouted into
his letter. His noisy letter had greatly disturbed her; so after an
interval--an uneasy interval, she rushed at paper and pens and scrawled
off a page in precisely the same style as that which he had made his
own, begging him for heaven’s sake to be patient, if it was possible,
for a few days still, and entreating him to be a man. (She knew that
this was nonsense: to be a man was to be wildly unreasonable and
absurdly impatient in simple matters such as waiting until a young woman
came to know her own mind.)
She was in the act of putting her avalanche letter in reply to
his hurricane pages, into its envelope when the door of the small
drawing-room where she was sitting at a writing-table was flung open and
Josephine swooped down on her, kissing her noisily and crying in her ear
the one word “saved--saved--saved!” after the style of the young woman
in the last popular melodrama--only much less graceful in pose.
“What--what--what?” cried Amber spasmodically within the encircling arms
of her friend.
Then they both rose, as it might be said, to the surface of their
overwhelming emotions, and stood facing each other breathless and
disordered.
Josephine went off in a peal of laughter, Amber, ever sympathetic though
burning with curiosity, followed her, and then they flung themselves on
the sofa--one at each end, and laughed again.
“I am saved--saved--and I come to you to tell you so,” cried Josephine,
catching one of Amber’s hands and swinging her arm over the cushions
that billowed between them.
“Saved--saved--is he dead--or--or--has he been found out?” whispered
Amber. “Clever men invaribly are found out.”
“Found out?--oh, I found him out long ago--the day he tricked me into
believing that I was still bound to him, though he had just pretended
to set me free. But to-day--before lunch time--by the way, I have had no
lunch yet!”
Both girls laughed as aimlessly as negresses at this point, it seemed so
ridiculous not to have had lunch.
“Before lunch--he came to you?” suggested Amber.
“Not he--not Launcelot but another--the other was a young woman--oh,
quite good-looking, and wearing a very pretty Parma-violet velvet hat
with ospreys, and a cashmere dress, with an Eton jacket trimmed with
diagonal stripes of velvet to match the hat--oh, quite a nice girl.
I had never seen her before--she had sent in her name--Miss Barbara
Burden--such a sweet name, isn’t it?”
“Quite charming! Who was she? I never heard the name.”
“I had never heard the name. I fancied that she had come about a bazaar
for the widows and orphans, so many strangers come about that, you
know--but she hadn’t. I saw her. It was most amusing; but she was quite
nice. She had the newspaper in her hand with that announcement--that
horrid announcement-----”
“I know--I know.”
“‘Do you love that man, Miss West?’ she began, pointing to the
paragraph.”
“Good gracious! That was a beginning--and a total stranger!”
“So I thought. Of course I became cold and dignified. ‘Have you not seen
that I am going to marry Mr. Clifton?’ I asked in as chilling a voice
as I could put on at a moment’s notice. ‘What I mean is this,’ said the
young woman; ‘if you tell me that you are about to marry him because
you love him, I will go away now and you will never hear anything of me
again. But if you cannot say truly that you do love him I will tell you
that the day you marry him I shall bring an action against him that will
go far to ruin his career and to make you unhappy for the rest of your
life unless you are very different from what I have heard you are, Miss
West.’”
“Heavens!”
“I looked at her and saw that she was quite nice. ‘I cannot tell you
that I love him,’ said I, ‘but I can tell you that I detest him, and
that I love somebody else. Is that good enough for you to go on with?’
‘Thank God!’ she cried quite fervently, and then she told me her story.
Oh, there was nothing wicked in it. She is the daughter of a doctor in
a town where he lived before he came to London. Her father was a man of
influence in the town and Mr. Clifton became engaged to the girl--but
in secret--no one was to know anything about it until he should find
himself in a position to get her father’s consent.”
“A country doctor: Mr. Clifton must have been in a small way even then.”
“So he was--he hoped to better himself by marrying her, however. She
showed me several letters that he had written to her--clever letters,
but still such letters as would be received with laughter, in brackets,
if read in a court of law. Well, he left that town and went to a larger,
and having worked himself into a better position, he found that to marry
the girl would be to marry beneath him--that was the girl’s phrase--‘to
marry beneath him’--so he engaged himself--also in secret--to a girl
above him in social position; but in the meantime he had worked himself
up and up until he came to London and was a sufficiently important
person to get me to engage myself to him--in secret too--and--that’s the
whole story the young lady had to tell only--yes, I forgot: before
he met her he had actually engaged himself to a girl in Lynnthorpe--a
grocer’s daughter in the town--Miss Burden found that out also. Was
there ever anything so amusing heard since the world began--such a
comedy of courtships! He had been gradually working himself up through
the whole gamut of the social scale until he reached the dizzy height
represented by me--me! But there is a sublimer height even than me, and
now he shall have his chance of reaching it.”
“And we have always thought him so clever!”
“So he is. But the cleverest men that have ever lived have had
their weaknesses. His little weakness seems to have been the secret
engagement. It appears that he has never been able to resist it. He
has gone from one girl to another like a butterfly. He will marry the
daughter of a Duke now.”
“You believed the girl--Miss Burden?” said Amber in a tone that
suggested suspicion.
Josephine laughed and patted her hand.
“He came into the room while we were together,” she said.
“Oh!”
“He had not been to see me since Tuesday, and to-day is Saturday; he
thought it better on the whole to let me get accustomed to the situation
which was the natural sequel to the announcement in the papers. But
he came to-day. He met the other girl--one of the other girls--face to
face. You never saw anything so funny. For a moment I thought that he
would make the attempt to strangle her as the villain on the stage does.
But he did nothing of the sort. ‘I have just been telling Miss West that
the day you marry her, I shall bring up an action against you and give
the leader writers of the Opposition a chance of showing off their
cleverness in dealing with the case of Burden v. Clifton,’ said she
quite nicely. And he was dumb--absolutely dumb! ‘But Miss West has too
high a regard for Mr. Clifton to precipitate such an event,’ said I, and
then my father came into the room.”
“More comedy!”
“I felt equal to playing my rôle. He looked from me to Mr. Clifton, and
from Mr. Clifton to Miss Burden. ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I forgot that you don’t
know Miss Burden, papa. This is my father, Miss Burden. Miss Burden is
the young lady whom Mr. Clifton promised to marry four years ago. It
is a nice question, and one which no doubt will have to be decided in
a Court of law, but it really seems to me that he is still engaged to
marry Miss Burden. But of course there were other girls and other secret
engagements.’”
“You said that? How neat! And your father?”
“He said ‘Don’t be a fool, Josephine. What nonsense is this, Clifton?’
‘I think I should like five minutes alone with Miss Burden; I think I
could bring her to see that nothing would be gained by----’ ‘I do not
want such an interview with you,’ said Miss Burden. ‘I am here and if
Mr. West wishes to ask me any question--Mr. West or Miss West--I shall
answer it in your presence, Ernest.’ I pitied my father--I really did.
‘Clifton,’ said he, ‘do you mean to tell me that you were not a free man
when you made your proposal to my daughter?’ ‘A free man? that girl is
a fool--an utter fool!’ said Mr. Clifton. ‘Good heavens! Because a man
happens--psha! it was four years ago. There is nothing criminal in the
business!’ ‘Oh, no,’ said I, ‘nothing criminal--only ridiculous; but for
my part I have no intention of allowing my name to be associated
with the brackets in the newspaper reports enclosing the words “Great
laughter in the court,” and I cannot believe that my father anticipates
such a destiny for me.’ Then my father did a foolish thing. He said,
‘Madam, what damages do you hope for in this matter? Do you fancy that
any jury would award you more than a thousand pounds? That would be
ridiculous. But at the same time--I have my cheque-book here--supposing
we say fifteen hundred pounds?’”
“He fancied that she would take it? Was he deceived by the ospreys in
her Parma-violet hat, do you think?”
“He couldn’t have been, they were quite simple. But anyhow the girl
walked straight to the door and was out before any one could say a
word.”
“How good!”
“I ran after her and caught her up on the landing. I kissed her,
and--well, I didn’t think it worth while returning to the drawing-room.
But when I was putting on my hat to come to you, my father met me and
said, ‘Don’t you fancy that because this business has gone astray for a
while there is the smallest chance of your getting my consent in regard
to--to that fellow from Australia. Perhaps it is as well for us to be
clear of Clifton--such men have no sense of honour; but don’t you think
for a moment that this Winwood man--Clifton told me all about him--will
get my consent.’ So you see, my dear, although I have escaped from
Ernest Clifton... oh, how horribly I talked when you came to see me...
But you knew that I cared for Pierce--you knew that I had given him my
promise--you knew that he----”
And at this point Mr. Pierce Winwood was announced and Amber Severn
rushed past him as he entered the room.
*****
“My dear West,” said Sir Creighton Severn when after church the next
day, he found himself seated opposite to the new Minister of the
Annexation Department in Mr. West’s library. “My dear West, so old a
friend as I am should be the first to offer you congratulations. You see
that your ambition was not the foolish impulse that so many people in
the old days said that it was. You had the stuff in you.”
“I knew that you would be the first, my dear Severn,” said the new
Minister. “We have both done very well for ourselves since those old
days--those cruel old days, Severn. Ah, we had both ambitions of the
right sort. We knew how to make the most of our opportunities, you and
I. Yes, we have done pretty well for ourselves.”
“And we have done pretty well for others too--if people only knew it,”
said Sir Creighton.
“Yes, yes, the world is the happier for our having lived in it--you in
particular, Severn--you in particular. Your inventions--where are they
going to end? that’s what some one was saying to me the other day--a man
at the Admiralty--we had been hearing the result of the trial of that
boat of yours. Ah, you are fortunate, Severn. Your work is recognised
freely; whereas the labours of one who aspires to be thought a
statesman--ah, how few appreciate the life of perpetual self-sacrifice
which we are compelled to lead. People talk of the sweets of
office--sweets?--Do you know, Severn, I feel greatly inclined sometimes
to relinquish forever all this worry of political life--all this
noise--the clamour--the--the _strepitum_--that is the word--the
_strepitum_--and settle down to enjoy the life which is nearest to my
heart--the home life--the home--the hearth.”
“Not yet--not yet, my friend,” said Sir Creighton, shaking his head
sadly. “You are not your own master now. Your duty may be an onerous
one, but there are too few statesmen in England for you to think of
retiring yet awhile.”
“Well, perhaps one should not look at such a matter from the standpoint
of one’s private feelings. You do not see so much of me nowadays as
you once did, Severn; if you did you would know that the home--the
hearth--ah--ah!”
“We do not see so much of each other; but our children--our girls, you
know that they are inseparable--West,--you are the father of a girl whom
I have come to understand, and to understand such a nature as hers is to
love her. I love her as I do my own child; and I am here to talk to you
about her.”
“Ah, Severn, she is a good girl--a noble girl, but--well, frankly, I am
rather glad that this affair with Clifton has come to an end. It will
be years before Clifton is anything but the merest wire-puller--a
paltry provincial sort of jobbing jerrymander--that was--he will be--not
without his uses, of course--those organisms have their uses to us; but
I think that my daughter has every right to look for some one--some
one, in short, more in her own rank in life. You heard, of course, that
Clifton had been a fool--that it would be impossible for us to entertain
any longer the idea of----”
“I saw Josephine yesterday. I am quite of your way of thinking in this
matter. Clifton behaved badly from the first--inducing her to do an
underhand thing--I know that her better nature recoiled from it. I
cannot understand how you ever came to give your consent, West.”
“Well, you see, my dear Severn, I believed that she loved him, and a
girl’s heart--ah, Severn, Severn, when the prospect of one’s daughter’s
happiness----”
“That is what I want to talk to you about, West--her future
happiness--and yours.”
“If you are going to talk to me about that man from Australia--or is
it New Zealand?--whom she fancies she loves, you may spare yourself
the trouble, my dear friend--I decline to discuss a man so
obviously--flagrantly ineligible.”
“I have found out a good deal about him during the past month, and I
have heard nothing except what is good.”
“Good--good--what signifies goodness--I mean, of course, that my
daughter is now in a very different position from that she occupied six
months ago. The best families in the land might receive her with open
arms. But a Colonial--well, of course, they did very well in the war,
the Colonials, and the mother country is proud of them--yes, quite proud
of them. But for my daughter to marry a man who does not know his own
father----”
“I know all about his father, though he does not.”
“I don’t want to know, anything, West. His father may have been the
Archbishop of Canterbury for all I care; but the chances are that he was
a convict--or a descendant of convicts.”
“You have not guessed very wide of the mark; his father was a convict.”
“What; and you are here to suggest that--that--good lord, Severn, are
you mad--oh, you must be mad?”
“I do not consider that he is anything the worse for being the son of
a convict, West. There is always the possibility of a convict being
innocent.”
“Oh, they all affirm their innocence, of course. Now, that is all I want
to hear about either father or son. You will stay to lunch, I hope--oh,
yes, you must stay to lunch. The Marquis may drop in afterwards; his son
is certainly coming. You know Lord Lullworth--a promising young fellow,
Severn--quite promising. Come upstairs; Lady Gwendolen will be pleased.”
“One moment, my dear West. I happen to know that the convict father of
Pierce Winwood, as he calls himself, was innocent of the crime for which
he suffered.”
“Then comfort the son with that information. He will be glad to believe
it, I am confident.”
“Shall I add to that information the name of the criminal on whose
behalf he suffered?”
“You may add the names of all the heroes of the Newgate Calendar, if you
please, my dear friend.”
“I will not offer him so interesting a catalogue. But come with me--I
have taken the liberty of bringing him here with me: he is upstairs--I
will give him the name of the real criminal in your presence and in the
presence of the Marquis and the Marquis’s son and also present him with
the proofs, which I have in my pocket, that I have not made a mistake.”
Sir Creighton took a step towards the door.
Mr. West did not move. His jaw had fallen. He had grasped the back of a
chair.
The gong sounded for luncheon filling up the long pause with its hum.
“For God’s sake--for God’s sake,” whispered the Cabinet Minister.
“I tell you the truth, West,” said Sir Creighton. “The son of Richard
Gaintree, the man who was in your father’s works with myself and with
you--the man who in that strange way when we thought he was at the
point of death confessed to the crime which you committed and so saved
you--the man whom you saw go cheerfully to prison, without speaking a
word to save him--that man is the father of Pierce Winwood as certain as
we stand here.”
Mr. West gazed at Sir Creighton Severn for some minutes, and then with
an articulation that was half a cry and half a groan, dropped into
the chair in front of him, and bowed his head down to his hands on the
table.
For a long time his visitor did not speak--did not stir. At last he went
to him and laid his hand on his shoulder.
“‘God moves in a mysterious way,’--you remember that hymn at the Chapel
in the old days, Julian?” he said in a low voice. “Though we have
drifted away from the chapel, we can still recognise the truth of that
line. I know that for years you have thought and thought if it might be
possible for you to redeem that one foolish act of your life--to redeem
your act of cowardice in sending that man to suffer in your place. Well,
now, by the mysterious working of Providence, the chance is offered to
you.”
“And I will accept it--I will accept it as I did the offer of Richard
Gaintree,” cried West, clutching at his friend’s arm. “Thank God I can
do it--I can do it. But he need not know--the son need not know--you say
he does not know?”
“He knows the story--the bare story, but his father hid the names from
him. He need never know more than he does now.”
“Send them to me--send them to me, quick, Severn, quick--I may die
before I have accomplished the act of restitution.”
Sir Creighton put out his hand, the other man put his own right hand
into it for a moment.
Sir Creighton went upstairs to the drawing-room where Josephine and
Pierce were sitting with Lord Lullworth and Amber. Lady Gwendolen was
still in her dressing-room.
Josephine started up at his entrance. She looked eagerly--enquiringly at
him.
“He is in his study. He wants to see you both. Dear child, you have my
congratulations--and you too, Winwood.”
Josephine was in Sir Creighton’s arms before he had finished speaking.
“We are starving. What has happened?” cried Amber with some awe in her
voice, when Josephine and Pierce had disappeared.
“The time-fuse has burnt itself down--that’s all,” said her father.
“Listen: you can almost hear Mr. West telling his daughter that his
fondest wish has always been for her happiness, and that he is ready to
sacrifice all his aspirations and ambitions in order that she may marry
the man whom she loves. That is what he is saying just now.”
And, sure enough, that was exactly what Mr. West was saying at that
moment.
“But the time-fuse?” said Amber.
“Time-fuse--the time-fuse,” said Lord Lullworth. “Ah, that reminds
me--well, I may as well get it over at once, Sir Creighton. The fact is
that I--I have--well, I gave myself a time-fuse of six months to fall in
love with your daughter, but the explosion has come a good deal sooner
than I expected. She says that she thinks that she may come to think
about me as I do of her, in about four months.”
“Oh, less than four months, now,” cried Amber. “It was four months half
an hour ago. Half an hour of the time-fuse has burnt away. And it’s
not the real Severn time-fuse, I know, for I’ve no confidence that the
climax may not be reached at any time.”
“You are a pair of young fools,” said Sir Creighton. “And yet--well, I
don’t know. You may be the two wisest people in the world.”
“Great Queen of Sheba! we can’t be so bad as all that,” said Lord Lull
worth.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg’s According to Plato, by Frank Frankfort Moore