MR. ALPENNY'S PROPOSAL
Shortly after Durban resumed work, Beatrice received a surprise which
rather pleased her. This was none other than an invitation to enter the
counting-house. She had always desired to do so, being filled with that
curiosity which led her grandmother Eve to eat apples, but hitherto
Alpenny had declined to admit her. Now the door of the dungeon was
open, and Alpenny, standing before it, beckoned that she should come
in. In the bright sunshine he looked more decrepit and wicked than
usual. He could not have been less than eighty years of age, and his
spare figure was bowed with Time. That same Time had also robbed him of
every hair on his head, and had even taken away eyebrows and eyelashes.
As the old man was clean shaven, his gleaming head and hairless yellow
wrinkled face looked rather repulsive. Nor did his dress tend to
improve his appearance, for it was a shepherd's-plaid suit cut in the
style of the early fifties, when he had been young, and presumably
something of a dandy. In spite of the antiquity of the clothes, there
was a suggestion of juvenility about them which matched badly with his
Methuselah looks. Like an aged ghost he beckoned in the sunshine, and
the white-painted erection behind him assumed, in the eyes of Beatrice,
the look of a tomb.
Wondering that she should be invited into Mammon's Shrine, the girl
walked across the lawn. In her white dress, with her beautiful face
shaded by a coarse straw hat, she appeared the embodiment of youth and
grace, contrasting markedly with the senile old villain, who croaked
out his orders.
"Come in," said Alpenny testily, and with the screech of a peacock, as
he pointed to the open door. "I wish to speak to you seriously."
Beatrice, ever sparing of words with crabbed age, nodded and entered
the counting-house, glancing comprehensively around to take in her
surroundings--as a woman always does--with a single look. The space
naturally was limited. All the windows had been boarded up save one,
which opened immediately over a rather large desk of mahogany which
was piled with papers. The walls were hung with faded red rep. In one
corner stood a large green-painted safe; in another stood a pile of
tin boxes which reached quite to the roof. A paraffin lamp dangled
by brass chains from a somewhat smoky ceiling; and at the far end of
the carriage, in front of a dilapidated bookcase, was an oil stove,
crudely set on a sheet of galvanised tin. A ragged carpet, disorderly
in colour and much faded, covered the floor; and there were only two
chairs, one before the desk, and another beside it, probably for the
use of clients. The one window was barred, but not covered with any
curtain; the others were sheathed in iron and barred strongly outside.
From without, as has been said, the carriage looked like a dungeon:
within, its appearance suggested the home of a recluse, who cared very
little for the pomps and vanities of civilisation. This barren room
represented very fairly the bare mind of the miser, who cared more for
money itself, than for what money could do.
Motioning Beatrice to the client's chair, Alpenny seated himself
before his desk, and from habit presumably, began to fiddle with some
legal looking documents. Apparently he had got over the shock caused
by Vivian's strange speech, and looked much the same as he always
did--cold, unsympathetic, and cunning as an old monkey. In the dungeon
Beatrice bloomed like a rose, while Alpenny resembled a cold, clammy
toad, uncanny and repulsive. He began to speak almost immediately, and
his first words amazed the girl. They were the last she expected to
hear from the lips of one who had always treated her with indifference,
and almost with hostility.
"Have you ever thought of marriage?" asked the usurer, examining his
visitor's face with two small sharp eyes, chilly and grey.
"Marriage!" she gasped, doubting if she had heard aright.
"Yes, marriage. Young girls think of such things, do they not?"
Wishing to find out what he meant, Beatrice fenced. "I have no chance
of marrying, father," she observed, regaining her composure.
"I grant that, unless you have fallen in love with Jerry Snow; and I
credit you with too much sense, to think you could love a fool."
"Mr. Snow is to marry Miss Paslow," announced Beatrice coldly, and kept
her eyes on the wizen face before her.
"Oh," sneered Alpenny, "Hunger wedding Thirst. And how do they intend
to live, may I ask?"
"That is their business, and not ours."
"Paslow hasn't a penny to give to his giggling sister, and very soon he
won't have a roof over his head."
"What do you mean by that, father?"
"Mean!" The usurer stretched out a skinny hand, which resembled the
claw of a bird of preys as he looked like. "Why, I mean, my girl, that
I hold Vivian Paslow there," and he tapped his palm.
"Still I don't understand," said Beatrice, her blood running cold at
the malignant look on his face.
"There is no need you should," rejoined her stepfather coolly. "He is
not for you, and you are not for him. Do you understand that?"
It was unwise for Alpenny to meddle with a maiden's fancies, for the
girl's outraged womanhood revolted. "I understand that you mean to be
impertinent, Mr. Alpenny," she said, with a flaming colour.
"'Mr. Alpenny'? Why not 'father,' as usual?"
"Because you are no father of mine, and I thank God for it."
He gave her a vindictive look, and rubbed his hands together, with the
croak of a hungry raven. "I brought you up, I educated you, I fed you,
I housed you, I----"
Beatrice waved her hand impatiently. "I know well what you have done,"
said she; "as little as you could."
"Here's gratitude!"
"And common sense, Mr. Alpenny. I know nothing, save that you married
my mother and promised to look after me when she died."
"I promised nothing," snapped Alpenny.
"Durban says that you did."
"Durban is, what he always was, a fool. I promised nothing to your
mother--at all events, concerning you. Why should I? You are not my own
flesh and blood."
"Anyone can tell that," said Beatrice disdainfully.
"No impertinence, miss. I have fed and clothed you, and educated you,
and housed you----"
"You said that before."
"All at my own expense," went on the miser imperturbably, "and out
of the kindness of my heart. This is the return you make, by giving
me sauce! But you had better take care," he went on menacingly, and
shaking a lean yellow finger, "I am not to be trifled with."
"Neither am I," retorted Beatrice, who felt in a fighting humour. "I am
sorry to have been a burden to you, and for what you have done I thank
you; but I am weary of stopping here. Give me a small sum of money and
let me go."
"Money!" screeched the miser, touched on his tenderest point. "Money to
waste?"
"Money to keep me in London until I can obtain a situation as a
governess or as a companion. Come, father," she went on coaxingly, "you
must be sick of seeing me about here. And I am so tired of this life!"
"It's the wickedness in your blood, Beatrice. Just like your
mother--oh, dear me, how very like your mother!"
"Leave my mother's character alone!" said Beatrice impatiently, "she is
dead and buried."
"She is--in Hurstable churchyard, under a beautiful tomb I got
second-hand at a bargain. See how I loved her."
"You never loved anyone in your life, Mr. Alpenny," said the girl,
freezing again.
Alpenny's brow grew black, and he looked at her with glittering eyes.
"You are mistaken, child," he said, quietly. "I have loved and lost."
"My mother----?"
"Perhaps," said he enigmatically, and passed his hand over his bald
head in a weary manner. Then he burst out unexpectedly: "I wish I had
never set eyes on your mother. I wish she had been dead and buried
before she crossed my path!"
"She is dead, so----"
"Yes, she is dead, stone dead," he snarled, rising, much agitated, "and
don't think you'll ever see her again. If I----" He was about to speak
further; then seeing from the wondering look on the girl's face that
he was saying more than was wise, he halted, stuttered, and sat down
again abruptly, moving the papers with trembling hands. "Leave the past
alone," he said hoarsely. "I can't speak of it calmly. It is the past
that makes the future," he continued, drumming feverishly on the table
with his fingers, "the past that makes the future."
Beatrice wondered what he meant, and noticed how weary and worn and
nervous he seemed. The man did not love her; he had not treated her as
he should have done; and between them there was no feeling in common.
Yet he was old, and, after all, had sheltered her in his own grudging
way, so Beatrice laid a light hand on his arm. "Mr. Alpenny, you are
not young----"
"Eighty and more, my dear."
The term startled her, and she began to think he must indeed be near
the borders of the next world when he spoke so gently.
"Well, then, why don't you go to church, and feed the hungry, and
clothe the naked? Remember, you have to answer for what you have done,
some day soon."
Alpenny rose vehemently and flung off her arm. "I don't ask you to
teach me my duty, girl," he said savagely. "What I have done is done,
and was rightly done. Everyone betrayed me, and money is the only thing
that did not. Money is power, money is love, money is joy and life and
hope and comfort to me. No! I keep my money until I die, and then----"
He cast a nervous look round, only to burst out again with greater
vehemence. "Why do you talk of death? I am strong; I eat heartily. I
drink little. I sleep well. I shall live for many a long day yet. And
even if I die," he snapped, "don't expect to benefit by my death. You
don't get that!" and he snapped his fingers within an inch of her nose.
"I don't want your money," said Beatrice quietly; "Durban will look
after me. Still, you might let me have enough to keep me while I try to
find work."
"I won't!"
"But if you die, I'll be a pauper."
"Without a sixpence!" said Alpenny exultingly.
"Have I no relatives who will help me?"
"No. Your mother came from I know not where, and where she has gone I
don't exactly know. She married me and then died. I have kept you----"
"Yes--yes. But if my mother was poor and came from where you knew not,
why did you marry her?"
"My kind heart----"
"You haven't got one; it's in your money-chest"
"It might be in a woman's keeping, which is a much worse place."
Beatrice grew weary of this futile conversation, and rose. "You asked
me to see you," she said, with a fatigued air; "what is it you have to
say?"
"Oh yes." He seemed to arouse himself from a fit of musing. "Yes! I
have found a husband for you."
Beatrice started. He announced this startling fact as
though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"You--have--found--a--husband--for--me?" she drawled slowly.
"Yes. You won't have my money, and I may die." He cast a look over
his shoulder nervously. "I don't want to, but I may: one never knows,
do they? You will be poor, so I think it best to get you married and
settled in life."
"Thank you," she returned icily. "It is very good of you to take so
much trouble. And my future husband?"
"Ruck! Major Ruck--Major Simon Ruck, a retired army officer, and a
handsome man of fifty, very well preserved, and with a fine fortune."
"How alluring! And suppose I refuse?"
"You can't--you daren't!" He grasped her arm entreatingly. "Don't be
a fool, my dear. Ruck is handsome and well off. He is coming down on
Saturday to see you. This is Wednesday, so you will have time to think
over the matter. You must marry him--you must, I tell you!" and he
shook her arm in his agitation.
Beatrice removed her arm in a flaming temper. "Must I indeed?" said
she, flashing up into righteous anger. "Then I won't!"
"Beatrice!"
"I won't. I have never seen the man, and I don't wish to see him.
You have no right to make any arrangements about my marriage without
consulting me. You are neither kith nor kin of mine, and I am of age. I
deny your right to arrange my future."
"Do you wish to be left to starve?"
"I shall not starve; but I would rather do so, than marry a man of
fifty, whom I have never set eyes on."
"If you don't marry Ruck, you'll be a pauper sooner than you expect, my
girl. Marry him for my sake?"
"No! You have done as little as you could for me: you have always hated
me. I decline."
Alpenny rose in his turn--Beatrice had already risen to her feet--and
faced her in a black fury, the more venomous for being quiet. "You
shall marry him!"
"I shall not."
They faced one another, both angry, both determined, both bent upon
gaining the victory. But if Alpenny had an iron will, Beatrice had
youth and outraged womanhood on her side, and in the end his small
cruel eyes fell before her flashing orbs.
"I want you to marry Ruck--really I do," he whimpered piteously.
"Why?"
"Because"---- he swallowed something, and told what was evidently a
lie, so glibly did it slip out. "Because I should be sorry to leave you
to starve."
"I shall not starve. I am well educated, and can teach. At the worst I
can become a nursery governess, or be a companion."
"Better marry Major Ruck."
"No. It is foolish of you to ask me."
"If you don't marry him I shall be ruined. I shall be killed. No"--he
broke off suddenly--"I don't mean that. Who would kill a poor old man
such as I am? But"--his voice leaped an octave--"you must marry the
husband I chose for you."
"I chose for myself."
"Ah!"--the miser was shaking with rage--"it's Vivian Paslow: no
denial--I can see he is the man; a penniless scoundrel, who is at my
mercy!"
"Don't dare to speak of him like that," flamed out Beatrice. "As to
marrying him--he has not asked me yet."
"And never will, if I can stop him. I know how to do so--oh yes, I do.
He will not dare to go against me. I can ruin him. He----" At this
moment there came a sharp rap at the door, which made Alpenny's face
turn white and his lips turn blue.
"Who is there?"
"A telegram," said the voice of Durban; and Alpenny, with a smothered
ejaculation of pleasure, went to open the door. As he did so, Beatrice
noticed on the wall near the desk two keys, one large and one small.
The little one she knew to be the key of the postern gate, and without
hesitation she took it down and slipped it into her pocket. As Alpenny
turned round with the telegram and no very pleasant expression of
countenance, she felt that she would at least be able to see Vivian
Paslow on that evening without arousing the suspicions of her
stepfather. It was unlikely that any one would come that night, and he
would not miss the key, which she could get Durban to replace the next
day. As this thought flashed into her mind, she saw the face of the
servant at the door. He looked puzzled, but probably that was because
he beheld her in the sanctum of his master, hitherto forbidden ground
both to him and to her. The next moment Alpenny had closed the door,
and Durban went away.
"This telegram is from Major Ruck," said Alpenny. "He is coming down on
Saturday, so be ready to receive him."
"I shall leave the place if he comes."
"You won't: you'll wait and see him--and accept him also. If you don't,
I'll make things hot for Vivian Paslow."
This was, as Beatrice conceived, a game of bluff; so she replied boldly
enough, "Mr. Paslow is able to look after himself. I decline to speak
to Major Ruck, whosoever he may be, or even to see him."
"Saturday! Saturday!" said Alpenny coldly, and opened the door. "Now
you can go. If you leave The Camp, or if you refuse Ruck as your
husband, Vivian Paslow will reap the reward of his crimes." And he
pushed her out, locking the door after her with a sharp click.
Crimes! Beatrice stood in the sunlight, stunned and dazed. What did
Alpenny mean? What crimes could the man she loved have committed?
Almost before she could collect her thoughts she felt a light touch on
her shoulder, and turned to behold Durban.
"Wasn't master in his counting-house all this afternoon?" asked the
servant. "You should know, missy, as the parlour is opposite."
"Yes, he was," she replied with an effort. "I never saw him come out."
Durban wrinkled his dark brows. "Then how did he send the telegram, to
which he has just now had an answer?" he demanded.
"How do you know that this wire is an answer, Durban?"
"The reply was prepaid, missy. How did master do it?"
Beatrice was equally puzzled. Alpenny had not been away from The Camp
all the afternoon, yet had contrived to send a telegram, and prepay the
reply.