"A FAIRLY GOOD REASON."
Caspar Brooke's attitude stiffened. His features and limbs became
suddenly rigid.
"I must confess, Mrs. Trent," he said, "that I am unable to conceive the
possibility of _disgrace_ hanging over me or mine."
"That is because you are a man, and therefore blind to what goes on
around you," said Mary Trent, with sudden bitterness; "and I am a woman,
and can use my eyes and ears. There, I'd better tell you my tale at
once, and you can make what you like of it. Miss Lesley----"
"If you have anything to say about Miss Lesley, it had better be said in
her hearing," returned Caspar, in hot displeasure. He rose and laid his
hand upon the bell. "I want no tales about her behind her back."
"For mercy's sake, sir, stop," said the woman, eagerly. "It is only to
spare her that I ask it! It isn't that she is to blame--no, no, I don't
mean that; but she is in more danger than she knows."
Caspar's hand fell from the bell rope. His face had turned a trifle
pale, and his brows looked very stern.
"Tell me exactly what you mean. I do not wish to listen to anything that
Miss Lesley has not intended me to hear. I have perfect faith in her."
"Faith in her! She's one of the sweetest and truest-hearted ladies I
ever came across," said Mary Trent, indignantly; "but she may be on the
brink of a precipice without knowing it. Sir, what I mean is this. Mr.
Oliver Trent is in love with Miss Lesley, and is doing his best to get
her to run off with him. Yes, I know what you want to say--that she
would never do such a thing--but one cannot always say what a girl will
do under pressure; and, believe me or not as you please, Oliver Trent is
ready to throw over Miss Kenyon at any moment for the sake of your
daughter, Mr. Brooke."
"Do you know what you are saying?" thundered Caspar, now white to the
lips. "Do you know what an aspersion you are casting on my daughter's
character? Are you aware that Miss Kenyon's marriage with Mr. Trent is
to take place to-morrow morning? Your remarks are perfectly
unjustifiable--unless you are in ignorance of the facts of the case."
"I know all, and yet I warn you," said Mrs. Trent, perfectly unmoved by
this burst of anger. "I tell you what I have seen and heard for myself.
And I know Oliver Trent only too well. It was Oliver Trent who betrayed
my only sister, and brought her to a miserable death. She was a good
girl until she met him. He ruined her, and he had no scruples. He will
have more outward respect to Miss Lesley and Miss Kenyon, but he is no
more scrupulous about using his power, when he has any, than he was
then."
"After making this accusation you must not be surprised if I ask what
grounds you have for it," said Mr. Brooke.
He was calm enough to all appearance now, but even Mrs. Trent, not very
observant by nature, could tell that he was very much disturbed. For
answer, she proceeded to describe the scene that had taken place in the
very room in which they now stood, on the preceding Saturday night.
"I saw him follow Miss Lesley into this room," she explained. "And I'd
seen enough to make me fearful of what he was going to do or say. You
know there are folding-doors between this room and the next--screened by
curtains. The doors had been partly opened, and I slipped into the space
between them. I was covered by the curtain, and I could not hear all
that was said, because I had sounds from the other room in my ears as
well; but I heard a great deal, and I made up my mind to tell you there
and then. If I had not seen my husband that night you would have heard
my story before you slept."
Caspar Brooke's next question took her by surprise. He swung round on
one heel, so that his back was almost turned to her, and flung the words
over his shoulder with savage bitterness.
"What business had you to listen to my daughter's conversation with her
friends?"
This was a distinctly ungrateful speech, and Mrs. Trent felt it so. But
she replied, quietly--
"Miss Lesley's been kinder to me than any one I ever knew. And I had
suffered a good deal from Oliver Trent's wicked falseness. He is my
brother-in-law, as the law puts it, and I don't want to have any quarrel
with him: but he shall do no more harm than I can help."
By the time she had finished her speech Caspar had recovered himself a
little.
"You are quite right," he said, "and you have done me a service for
which I thank you. I don't for a moment suppose that my daughter is not
capable of taking care of herself. But other people are interested
beside Lesley. Miss Kenyon's brother is one of my closest friends, and I
should be very treacherous if I allowed her to marry this man, Oliver
Trent, after all that I have heard about him to-night--if it be true. I
don't want to throw doubt on your testimony, Mrs. Trent, but I suppose I
must have some further proof."
"Miss Lesley could tell you----"
"I shall not ask Miss Lesley, unless I am obliged. Did you not yourself
beg me to spare her? This other story of his heartless conduct to your
sister is quite enough to damn him in every right-minded woman's eyes. I
shall speak to him myself--I will have the truth from his own lips if I
have to wring it out by main force," said Caspar speaking more to
himself than to Mary Trent, and quite unaware how truculent an
appearance he presented at that moment to that quiet woman's eyes.
She smiled stealthily to herself. She had a great faith in Caspar
Brooke's powers for good or evil. To have him upon her side made her
support with equanimity the thought that she and Francis might suffer if
Oliver did not marry a rich wife. _He_ would see that they did not want.
And she should behold the darling wish of her heart gratified at last.
For had she not ardently desired, ever since the day of Alice's betrayal
and Alice's death, to see that false betrayer punished? Caspar Brooke
would punish him, and she should be the instrument through which his
punishment had come about.
"I should like to thrash the scoundrel within an inch of his life," said
Mr. Brooke.
"There is very little time before the wedding, if you mean to do
anything before then," said Mrs. Trent, softly.
Caspar started. "Yes, that is true. I must see him to-night. H'm"--he
stopped short, oppressed by the difficulties of the situation. Had he
not better speak to Maurice Kenyon at once? But, as he recollected,
Maurice had gone out of town, and would not be back until half an hour
or so before the hour fixed for his sister's wedding. The ceremony was
to be performed at an unusually early hour--ten o'clock in the
morning--for divers reasons: one being that Ethel wanted to begin her
journey to Paris in very good time. She had never been anxious for a
fashionable wedding, and had decided to have no formal wedding
breakfast, and there was no reason for delaying the proceedings until a
later hour. But, as Mr. Brooke reflected, unless he went to Ethel Kenyon
herself there was little time in which to take action. Indeed, it seemed
to him for a moment almost better to let the past sink into oblivion,
and to hope that Oliver would be kind and faithful to the beautiful and
gifted girl who was, apparently, the choice of his heart.
But it was not to Mrs. Trent's interest that this mood should last.
"Poor Miss Kenyon!" she said, in quietly regretful tones. "I'm sorry for
her, poor young lady. No mother or father to look after her, and no
friend even who dares to tell her the truth!"
The words stung Caspar. He thought of his own daughter Lesley, placed in
Ethel's position, and he felt that he could not let Ethel go unwarned.
And yet--could he believe Oliver Trent to be such a scoundrel on the
mere strength of this woman's story! It might be all a baseless slander,
fabricated for the sake of obtaining money. And there was so little time
before poor Ethel's wedding!
While he hesitated, Mary Trent saw her opportunity, and seized it.
"If you want to see Oliver Trent," she said, "he is coming to our
lodgings this very night. I have been to Mrs. Romaine's house to ask him
to come to my husband who wants a few words with him. If you'll
undertake to come there, I'll let you see what sort of a man Mr. Oliver
Trent is, and then you can judge for yourself whether or no he is a fit
husband for Miss Kenyon, or a fit lover for Miss Lesley Brooke."
Caspar raised his hand hastily as if to entreat silence. "Tell me where
you live," he said shortly, "and the hour when he will be there."
"Half-past nine o'clock this evening, sir. The place--oh, you know the
place well enough: it is in Whitechapel."
She gave him the address. He cast a keen, sharp glance at her face as he
took it down. "Not a pleasant neighborhood," he said gravely. "May I ask
why you have taken a room in that locality?"
She shook her head. "I did not take it," she said. "My husband took it
before I found him, and I was obliged to stay. Francis is ill--I cannot
get him away."
"Can I do anything to help----" Caspar was beginning but she interrupted
him with almost surprising vehemence.
"Oh, no, no. I would not take anything from you. I did not come for
that. I came to see if I could save Miss Lesley and Miss Kenyon from
misery, not to beg--either for myself or him."
The earnestness of her tone took from Mr. Brooke a certain uneasy
suspicion which had begun to steal over him: a suspicion that she was
using him as a tool for her own ends, that her real motives had been
concealed from him. Even when she had gone--and she went without making
any attempt to see Lesley or Miss Brooke--he could not rid himself
altogether of this suggestion; for with her sad voice no longer echoing
in his ears, with her deep-set eyes looking no longer into his face, he
found it easier to doubt and to suspect than to place implicit faith in
the story that she had told him.
Lesley had heard of Kingston's reappearance, and was very much surprised
to find that she was not called upon to interview her runaway attendant.
Still more was she surprised when at last she heard the front door shut,
and learned from Sarah that the woman had gone without a word. So much
amazed was she, that shortly before dinner she stole into her father's
study and attempted to cross-examine him, though with small result.
"Father, Sarah says that Kingston has been to see you."
"Yes, she has," said Caspar, briefly. He was writing away as if for dear
life, with his left hand grasping his beard, and his pipe lying unfilled
upon the table--two signs of dire haste, as Lesley had by this time
learned to know. She remained silent, therefore, feeling herself an
intruder.
"What do you want to know, my dear?" said her father at last, in a
quiet, business-like tone. He went on writing all the time.
"Is she coming back to us?"
"No."
"Why did she go away?"
"I cannot tell you just now. She had a--a--fairly good reason."
"I thought she must have had that," said Lesley, brightening. "And did
she come here to explain?"
"Partly."
"But why not to us?"
Caspar laid down his pen suddenly, and laughed. "Oh, the insatiable
curiosity of women! I thought you were wiser than most, Lesley, but you
have all the characteristics of your sex. I can't satisfy your
curiosity, to-day, but I will, if I can, in a short time. Will that do?"
Lesley seemed rather hurt. "I don't think I asked questions out of mere
curiosity," she said. "I always liked Kingston."
"And she likes you, my dear--so far you were perfectly right," said her
father, rising, and patting her on the arm. "To use your feminine
parlance, she is quite as 'fond' of you as you can reasonably desire."
"I don't like to hear so much about 'feminine' ways and
characteristics," said Lesley, smiling, and recovering her spirits. "I
always fancy somebody has vexed you when you talk in that cynical
manner."
"That remark is creditable to your penetration," said Mr. Brooke, in his
accustomed tone of gentle raillery, "and, you cannot say that it is not
a very harmless way of letting off steam."
"Who has vexed you then?" said Lesley, looking keenly into his face. It
was a bold question, but her father did not look displeased.
"Suppose I said--you yourself?" he queried, with a certain real gravity
which she was not slow to discover.
The color rushed into her face. She thought of Maurice Kenyon, and the
mistake that he had made. She had long been conscious of her father's
disappointment, but had not expected him to speak of it. She made an
effort to be equal to the situation.
"If you are vexed with me, it would be kinder to tell me of it than to
sneer at all womankind in general," she said, with spirit.
"Right you are, my girl. Well--why have you refused Kenyon?"
Her eyes drooped. "I would rather you did not ask me that, father."
"Nonsense, Lesley. A plain answer to a plain question is easy to give.
Are you in love with any one else?"
"No, indeed," she answered, vehemently; "I am not----"
And then, for some inexplicable reason, she stopped short.
"'Not in love with any one' was what she was going to say," said Caspar
to himself, as he watched with keen eyes the changes of color and
expression in her face. "And she does not dare to say it after all. What
does that mean?" But he did not say this aloud.
"You don't care for Maurice, then?" he asked her.
She drew herself away from him and colored hotly, but made no other
reply.
"My dear," said Caspar, half jestingly, half warningly, "you must let me
remind you that silence is usually taken to mean consent."
And even then she did not speak.
"Really, of all incomprehensible creatures, women are the worst. Well,
well! Tell me this, at any rate, Lesley: you have not given your heart
to Oliver Trent?"
"Father! how can you ask?"
"Have you anything to complain of with respect to him? Has he always
behaved to you with courtesy and consideration?"
"I would rather not say," Lesley answered, bravely. "He--spoke as I did
not like--once--or twice; but it is his wedding-day to-morrow, and I
mean to forget it all."
"Once or twice! When was the last time, child? On Saturday? Here in this
room? Ah, I see the truth in your face. Never mind how I know it. I want
to know nothing more. Now you can go: I am busy, and shall probably have
to be out late to-night."
With these words he led the girl gently out of the room, kissed her on
the forehead before he shut the door, and then returned to his work. He
did not dine with his sister and daughter, but sent a message of excuse.
Later in the evening, Sarah reported to Miss Brooke that "Master had
gone out, looking very much upset about something or other; and he'd
taken his overcoat and his big stick, which showed, she supposed, that
he was off to the slums he was so fond of." Sarah did not approve of
slums.