MAURICE ST. MABYN'S GENEROSITY
Of what happened afterwards, and of the explanations which were given,
it is not for me to write. They do not come within the scope of this
history, and would be scarcely of interest to the reader. One thing,
however; specially interested me, and that was the large-heartedness of
Maurice St. Mabyn. He refused to allow his brother to attempt any
explanation, although I felt sure he understood what his brother had
done.
'Of course you could not help believing me dead, George,' he said with
a laugh. 'That fellow Springfield sent home and brought home all sorts
of circumstantial evidence, and you naturally took things over. No,
not another word. The fellow has gone, and I'll see that he stays
away.'
'But--but why didn't you write, Maurice?' stammered the other.
'Couldn't, my dear chap. For more than two years I was away from
civilization; for six months I was a prisoner among the Turks; and when
at length, after the taking of Baghdad I was released, I was too ill to
do anything, Besides, I thought Jack Carbis would have set your minds
at rest. But there, I shall have a great yarn to tell you later.'
To Norah Blackwater he was coldly polite. That she had become his
brother's fiancée within a few months of his reported death evidently
wounded him deeply, although he made not the slightest reference to it.
For my own part I was almost sorry for the girl. I do not believe she
had ever cared for George St. Mabyn, although there could be no doubt
of his fondness for her. Even when she had accepted him, her heart
belonged to Maurice, but being desperately poor, and believing George
to be the true heir to the St. Mabyn estates, she had given her
promise. But this is only conjecture on my part. Nevertheless, it was
impossible not to pity her. Her eyes, as she looked at Maurice, told
their own story; she knew that she loved him; knew, too, that she had
lost him for ever.
I was not present during the long conversation Maurice St. Mabyn and
Jack Carbis had together that night, but before I went to sleep the
latter came into my room.
'This has been a great night, Luscombe,' he said.
'Great night!' I repeated. 'I can hardly believe that I have not been
dreaming all the time.'
'But you haven't,' he replied with a laugh. 'All the same, I almost
believed I was losing my head when Maurice St. Mabyn came into the
room. Isn't he a splendid chap though? No noise, no bluster, no
accusations. But he understood.'
'Understood what?'
'Everything.'
'And you believe that Maurice knows of George's complicity in
Springfield's plans?'
'Of course he knows. But he'll not let on to George. He realizes that
Springfield played on his brother's weakness and made his life one long
haunting fear.'
'But what about Norah Blackwater?'
'Ah, there we have the tragedy!'
'Why, do you think Maurice cares for her still?'
'I'm sure she cares for him. But he's adamant. He'll never forgive
her, never. I wonder--I wonder----'
'What?'
He started to his feet and left the room.
I hadn't a chance of speaking with him the next day, for he left by an
early train with his father and mother. They had naturally insisted on
his returning to his home with them, and although they asked me to
accompany them, I was unable to do so, as I had to report myself to my
C.O. on the following day. I had arranged to catch the afternoon train
to London, and then motor to the camp in time for duty.
About eleven o'clock I saw Lorna Bolivick leave the house and make her
way towards a rosery which had been made some little distance away.
'Lorna,' I said, 'I have to leave directly after lunch; you don't mind
my inflicting myself on you, do you?'
She looked at me with a wan smile.
'It's splendid about Maurice St. Mabyn, isn't it?'
'It's wonderful,' she replied, but there was no enthusiasm in her tones.
There was a silence between us for some seconds, then I said awkwardly,
'His--his--coming was a wonderful vindication of my friend, wasn't it?'
'Did he need any vindication?' she asked.
'I imagined you thought so last night--forgive me,' I replied, angry
with myself for having blurted out the words.
I saw the colour mount to her cheeks, and I thought her eyes flashed
anger.
'It might seem as though everything had been pre-arranged,' I went on,
'but I'm sure he could not help himself. Never did a man love a woman
more than Edgecumbe--that is Jack Carbis, loves you. He felt it to be
his duty to you to expose Springfield. He knew all along that he was
an evil fellow.'
She did not speak, and again I went on almost in spite of myself.
'I have thought a good deal about what you said. Surely you never
thought of marrying him?'
'Yes, I did.'
'Because you loved him?'
She shook her head. 'No, I never loved him,' she replied quickly,
angrily. 'The very thought of----' she stopped suddenly, and was
silent for a few seconds; and then went on, 'I cannot tell you. It
would----; no, I cannot tell you.'
'I know it's no business of mine,' I continued,' and yet it is. No man
had a better friend than Jack, and--and--owing to the peculiar way we
were brought together perhaps, no man ever felt a deeper interest in
another man than I feel in him. That is why----; I say, Lorna, I'm
afraid he'd be mad with me for telling you, but--but--he'd give the
world to marry you.'
'I shall never marry him,' and her words were like a cry of despair.
'But--but----'
'I shall never marry him,' she repeated, still in the same tones.
At that moment we heard Sir Thomas Bolivick's voice, and turning, saw
him coming towards us with a look of horror on his face.
'I say, this is ghastly,' he said.
'What is it, dad?' asked Lorna anxiously.
'It's terrible, simply terrible,--and yet--you see--Maurice St. Mabyn
has just telegraphed me. He says he has just received a message from
Plymouth. That man Springfield was found dead an hour or so ago.'
'Found dead!' I gasped.
'Yes, in his room in the ---- Hotel. Committed suicide.'
I looked at Lorna's face almost instinctively. It was very pale, and
there could be no doubt but that she was terribly shocked by the news.
And yet I felt sure I saw a look on her face which suggested relief.
But beyond her quick breathing she uttered no sound.
'It's terrible,' went on Sir Thomas, 'but after--after last night I'm
not sure--it's--it's not a relief to us all. Evidently the fellow----;
but--but it's terrible, isn't it? Of course the hotel people wired St.
Mabyn, as he told them at the bureau that he had just come from his
house.'
'How did he die?' I asked.
'Poison,' replied Sir Thomas. 'He seems to have injected some sort of
Indian poison into his veins. Evidently he had it with him, as the
doctor says it is unobtainable anywhere in England. He left a letter,
too.'
'A letter? To whom?'
'I don't quite know. To George St. Mabyn I expect. Awful, isn't it?'
I saw him look at Lorna; but her face told him nothing. She appeared
perfectly calm, although I felt sure she was suffering.
'I am awfully sorry your visit should have ended like this, Luscombe,'
said Sir Thomas three hours later; 'but you must come down again when
you can get a day or two off. Don't wait for a formal invitation; we
shall always be glad to see you.'
'Thank you, I'll take you at your word, Sir Thomas; meanwhile you'll
keep me posted up with the news, won't you?'
'You mean about---- Yes, I'll let you know what happens. Where are
you going, Lorna?'
'I'm going with Major Luscombe to the station, if he'll let me,' was
her reply.
'You've something to tell me, Lorna,' I said when we had started.
She shook her head.
'You are sure? Has Springfield's death made no difference?'
'No,' she replied, then she hesitated, and repeated the word.
'Jack'll ask you again, Lorna. Of course he's not told me; but he
will. He is one who never gives up. Never.'
'It's no use,' she said wearily. 'It's impossible, everything's
impossible.'
'Nothing's impossible to a chap like Jack. You don't mean to say that
Springfield----'
'Don't,' she pleaded. 'You don't know; he--he doesn't know; if he
did----,' and then she lapsed into silence.
'I'm coming down again soon,' I said as I entered the train. 'I
promised your father I would.'
'Do, do,' and she held my hand almost feverishly.