DISGRACE
Next morning, Lesbia was sitting in her bedroom, thinking over the
terrible event of the previous night. She had remained in a faint for
a considerable time, and had recovered consciousness to find herself
lying on her bed. At once she had desired to see Lady Charvington, but
her hostess sent up a message asking that Lesbia should wait until the
arrival of Lord Charvington, who had been wired for. From the somewhat
pert behaviour of the maid who brought the message, the unfortunate
girl felt that she was in disgrace, and did not dare to resent it.
Having recognised her father in the man whose mask she had torn off,
she fancied that the whole household knew of the matter. But in this
she was wrong, as she learned, when Agatha, the elder of the girls,
came by stealth to her room about eleven o'clock at night.
"I don't know what is the matter with mother," said Agatha speaking in
a whisper and keeping a watchful eye on the door, "she told Lena and I
that we were not to see you, or speak to you."
"Why?" stammered Lesbia, feeling sick with shame.
"I don't know. I suppose mother is angry at the loss of her jewels.
But my father always told her that she would lose them."
"Have they caught the thieves?"
"No. Lena and I screamed, and everyone came rushing, up. They found
Bertha lying half stunned on the floor, and you in a faint. The two
men had a motorcar at the gate and got away."
Lesbia turned even whiter than she was. "Do they know who the men
are?"
"Of course they don't. They wore masks, you know," said Agatha, "but
one mask was found on the floor. Bertha said that you pulled it off
the man who was struggling with her. Did you know his face?"
"No," muttered Lesbia. The lie choked her, but she could not denounce
her own father, evil as he was.
"I expect when I fainted he jumped from the window after his
companion, and managed to reach the motorcar. Has your father
returned, Agatha dear?"
"No," answered the girl softly, "he is coming back in the morning.
Mother has brought in the police from Maidenhead, but I heard her tell
the chief man that you were too ill to be questioned until the
morning. Mother seems to be very angry with you, Lesbia. I wonder
why?"
"I don't know, dear," said the girl, and indeed she did not. If the
names of the thieves were unknown, Lady Charvington could have nothing
against her. "But if your mother doesn't want you to speak to me,
Agatha, you must go back to bed. When the morning comes I shall see
your mother and ask what is the matter."
"See father," said Agatha, pattering across the room with bare feet,
"he is fond of you: he told me so. Mother is always jealous of anyone
father likes and she will only be disagreeable. I waited till Lena was
asleep, then came here. But I'll go now," she returned to kiss Lesbia,
"good-night, dear, and don't worry. Everything will be right when
father comes back."
Lesbia thought so also. She had implicit faith in Lord Charvington as
his daughter had, and knew that he would understand when he heard the
truth. But could she tell him the truth? Could she say that the man to
whom he allowed an annuity had crept into the house to steal the
jewels? And then Canning had said particularly that the two thieves
were the same that had robbed Tait's strong-room by Tait's direction.
In that case, her father was doubly a villain, as he was not only a
thief, but had tried to throw the blame of the first burglary on
George Walker in order to bring about a separation between them. Now
he had added a second crime to the first, and had robbed his
benefactor and cousin at the very time that his own daughter was a
guest in the house. Canning must have known of her father's guilt and
so, in his letter--for Lesbia's sake no doubt--had advised that the
police should not be brought in. But would Charvington keep the affair
quiet when his wife had lost her jewels? And in any case would he not
send from the house in anger the daughter of such a villain? It was
all terrible, shameful, disgraceful, and poor Lesbia sobbed herself to
sleep at the horror of it all.
Next morning she could eat no breakfast, but after a cold bath to
freshen her up, dressed and sat by the window waiting for Lord
Charvington's arrival. At first she was inclined to see her hostess
and ask why she behaved so oddly. But the fancy was strong within her,
that Lady Charvington in some way must have learned the identity of at
least one of the thieves, and so was visiting the shame of the father
on the head of the innocent daughter. But then Lesbia could not
conjecture if this was true. As Lady Charvington had not entered her
bedroom until Hale escaped, she could not have recognised him, and as
Hale had escaped the truth would never become known unless Lesbia
spoke. This she did not intend to do, unless to Lord Charvington, whom
she could trust. She therefore waited patiently. At all events, as she
gathered from Agatha's report, whatever Lady Charvington suspected she
certainly had not informed the household, in spite of the demeanour of
the pert servant. Nevertheless, the very forbidding of the two girls
to see Lesbia pointed to doubts and hatred and knowledge of the worst
on Lady Charvington's part.
As Lesbia sat there looking out on to the beautiful garden with
tear-filled eyes, she recalled many circumstances in her father's life
which brought home to her forcibly his wicked vocation. The sordid
persons who came by stealth to Rose Cottage must have been thieves and
fences who received stolen goods. Her father's mysterious actions and
frequent absences were accounted for by the fact, for when away he
probably had been robbing with his shameful associates. No wonder he
had laughed when George had proposed to leave Tait's office and join
him in business. And Tait also was a rogue and a scoundrel, belonging
to the gang of which Walter Hale was a member. Sargent might be a
thief also--but of this Lesbia could not be certain. Nevertheless, she
began to suspect that Canning _alias_ The Shadow had something to do
with the robberies. That would explain why a gentleman would descend
to being a spy. Canning was under Hale's thumb and would have to do
what he was told to do. Then she recollected how he had stated that
for telling her about Tait's scheme he would have to go into hiding.
There could be no doubt about it. Canning belonged to the gang and out
of gratitude had betrayed his sordid associates.
Thinking thus Lesbia grew sick and faint. The thought of the
wickedness that surrounded her made her shiver. How could she expect
George to marry her when she was the daughter of a thief? And she
would be forced to tell him, since she could not marry him and keep
silent upon such an important point. To marry George without telling
him the truth would be to place herself in the power of her father.
And now knowing what her father was, Lesbia felt certain that to put
money into his pocket he would not stop short of blackmail. No, she
would have to tell what she had discovered to George and to Lord
Charvington, and thus in one moment she would lose the only two
friends she possessed. Tim remained and Lesbia knew that, come what
might, she could always depend upon the fidelity of the Irishman; she
felt sure that Tim was as innocent as herself of this dreadful
knowledge which had come to ruin her life. In all wide England there
was no more miserable girl than the unfortunate Lesbia, as she sat
weeping by the window and bidding farewell to happiness and
respectability.
Towards noon a message was brought that Lord Charvington wished to see
her in the library, and Lesbia after washing away all traces of the
bitter tears she had shed descended the stairs. She was pale and worn,
but held herself proudly, for whatever might be known, she was
determined to face the worst. Several people were in the hall, and she
saw a policeman near the door. But no one looked at her in any way
suggesting that the terrible truth was known, so Lesbia entered the
noble library with a hope that her father had escaped recognition by
all save herself.
Only two people were in the library, Lord Charvington and his wife.
The former was walking to and fro with a worried expression on his
kind face, but the latter seated in an arm-chair near the window
looked red with anger and apparently had been engaged in a furious
argument: "If you don't tell, I shall," she was saying when Lesbia
entered.
"You shall say nothing," said Lord Charvington sternly. "Hold your
tongue as you have done. Hitherto you have displayed sense in keeping
silence and in silencing Bertha. Continue to behave and----"
"Here's the girl," snapped Lady Charvington, interrupting as Lesbia
came silently into the room and closed the door.
"Why do you speak of me in that way?" asked Lesbia, up in arms at
once. Knowing herself innocent, she did not intend to stand insult.
"You will soon learn," retorted the other, curling her lip. "I wonder
you are not ashamed of yourself. And after all my kindness too, and
my----"
"Silence, Helen," said Lord Charvington imperiously. "How dare you
talk to Miss Hale so insolently?"
"Miss Hale," sneered his wife. "Why not call her Lesbia, as you have
done?"
"I have every right to; she is my cousin." Lord Charvington made an
angry gesture to impose silence on his indignant wife, and turned to
the girl who stood pale and motionless. "My poor Lesbia, don't look so
woe-begone. I will stand by you whatever my wife may say."
"What does she say?" asked Lesbia quietly.
"You had better hear her when she is more composed," said Lord
Charvington with a glance at his wife, thereby arousing her to fresh
fury. "She will probably say something in the heat of the moment for
which she will be sorry. Helen, had you not better go and lie down?"
Lady Charvington arose with a red spot burning on either cheek, and
her eyes glittered like those of an angry cat. "How dare you speak to
me like this in my own house, Charvington?" she cried in a shrill
voice. "I don't leave this room until you turn that shameless girl out
of doors."
"What do you mean?" demanded Lesbia indignantly; but with a sinking
heart.
"Mean," screamed the infuriated woman; "I mean that Bertha heard you
calling the masked man who attacked you, 'Father!' And you cannot deny
it. See, Charvington," she pointed tauntingly to the agonised girl,
"she dare not deny it. Oh you--you daughter of a thief; you accomplice
of a thief."
"Helen, Helen; be silent."
"I shall not be silent. When Bertha told me the truth I ordered her to
hold her tongue until you returned, Charvington. I have held my peace
myself and neither the police nor the servants nor our friends know
that this horrid girl is the daughter of a thief. Why you take such an
interest in the minx I don't know, but surely after what we have
discovered you will pack her off to gaol."
"To gaol; to gaol," Lesbia drew herself up, pale, but fearless. As
Lady Charvington hurled her accusations, the girl's spirit rose to
defend herself. After all, guilty as her father might be, she at least
was innocent. "How dare you speak to me in this way?" she said again.
"And how dare you face me, you cat?" snarled Lady Charvington, looking
much more like a cat herself. "You arrange with your abominable father
to rob me of my jewels, you enter my house to----"
Before Lord Charvington could put out his hand to stop her--for he was
afraid to think what these two angry women might do--Lesbia glided
past him, and stood face to face with her enemy. "You lie," she
breathed in such a low, fierce voice that the other woman fell back
into her chair with a gasp of fear. "I knew nothing of this. I had no
wish to rob you of your jewels."
"Yes, you had, and I know why!"
"Explain then. I dare you to explain."
Lady Charvington cast a swift glance at her husband. "I know what I
know."
"You know that I am innocent," said Lesbia, clenching her hands; "I
dare you to say that I am not."
"You are your father's accomplice."
"That is untrue," broke in Lord Charvington smoothly, "Lesbia warned
me that the jewels would be stolen."
"Of course," scoffed his wife triumphantly, "she knew!"
"If I had been in league with my father would I have given the
warning?"
"Yes," said Lady Charvington, rising to confront Lesbia, who had asked
the question. "My husband showed me the letter purporting to come from
some man in London. It said that the burglary was arranged for
Thursday, and by telling my husband that, he thought he might safely
leave the house and go to London to engage a detective, while your
father robbed the house on Wednesday. It's a well-arranged business."
"I don't know why the burglary took place on Wednesday," said Lesbia
steadily; "the letter I gave Lord Charvington is perfectly true. I
can't explain further than I have done."
"Because you can't; because you can't," taunted Lady Charvington, "but
you shall leave my house in disgrace."
Lord Charvington caught his wife's wrist. "Lesbia shall return to her
home this day," he said imperiously, "because I won't have her
stopping here to be insulted by you. Bertha will say nothing of what
she overheard, as I have forbidden her to speak on the pain of instant
dismissal. You also, Helen, shall hold your tongue."
"I will do nothing of the sort," breathed Lady Charvington
vindictively.
"You shall. I will not permit you to ruin an innocent girl. Knowing
that Hale has stolen your jewels, I can get them back, and have
already communicated with him."
"The police----"
"The police can do nothing. Hale and his accomplice got away cleverly
in their motorcar and cannot be traced. If the jewels are returned
intact--which they will be, as I can force Hale to return them--the
police will not move further in the matter, as I can stop them. Then
this painful episode will be a thing of the past."
"I want that girl disgraced as an accomplice," said the elder woman,
grinding her teeth and pointing towards Lesbia.
Charvington put his arm round Lesbia's waist or she would have fallen.
"I shall not allow it, Helen," he said quietly. "Lesbia is innocent.
Woman, have you no pity for the poor thing; surely she is suffering
enough already, in finding out that her father is a thief."
"Her father," jeered Lady Charvington insultingly. "Oh, yes, her
father," she moved swiftly towards the library door. "If you get back
my jewels I shall hold my tongue, for reasons which you may guess,
Charvington. But don't let that creature come near me, or I shall--I
shall--oh." Lady Charvington could scarcely contain herself. "How I
hate you; hate you. I wish you were dead with all my heart and soul,
you--you----"
What she was about to say in her furious anger Lesbia could not guess.
But whatever it was she never uttered the epithet. Charvington
suddenly moved towards his wife and towering above her glared into her
eyes. "If you say another word I'll kill you."
Lady Charvington quailed. "You are quite capable of doing so," she
breathed undauntedly; "I'm not afraid of you. But clear my house of
that," and with a jeering laugh, she pointed at the trembling girl and
left the room.
"What--what does she mean?" gasped Lesbia, sinking into a chair, her
courage all gone. "What have I done? How can I help my father--my
father--oh Lord Charvington!" and she broke down weeping bitterly.
"Hush! hush!" He stood over her, patting her heaving shoulder. "She
doesn't know what she is saying. I'll see that she holds her tongue
and Bertha also. Nothing will ever be known of your father's
complicity in this crime."
"But what does it mean?" asked Lesbia, lifting a tear-stained face.
"God knows," muttered Charvington moodily, "I have been mistaken in
your father, my dear."
"But--but you don't blame me?"
"No," he declared emphatically, "a thousand times no. My dear, I love
you as if you were my own child, and I shall never, never believe any
harm of you in any way. I can keep my wife's tongue silent, but I can
do no more. You must return to Marlow, until such time as I can
arrange further about your marriage with George Walker."
"Oh," Lesbia wailed and stretched her arms, "I cannot marry him now.
Who would marry the daughter of a thief? Father was one of the thieves
who robbed Mr. Tait's strong-room."
"At Tait's request remember," interpolated Charvington quickly.
Lesbia brushed away the speech. "Oh, what does it matter even if they
are all thieves. But George must have known the dreadful truth and so
he will not renew our engagement. I did not understand him before; I
do now."
"There! there!" Charvington patted her shoulder again, "don't worry.
All will come right, I am sure, and in a way which you do not expect."
Lesbia looked up with sudden hope. "You know of something."
"Yes," said the man gloomily. "I know of something. Don't ask me any
further questions just now, but go back to Marlow. The motorcar is
already at the door with your box on it. As all our other guests have
left the house, your departure will cause no surprise."
"But the police. Will they not want to question me?"
"I'll attend to that. I told the inspector that if necessary he could
question you at Rose Cottage. But as I hope to make your father give
back the jewels, the prosecution will be dropped. Remember, the police
do not know that your father is guilty. Being thus ignorant, they can
do nothing. Go away in peace, my dear, and leave everything to me."
Lesbia rose shuddering. "How can I go back to my father, knowing what
I now know?" she murmured, shivering.
"You go back to the cottage," explained Charvington distinctly. "It is
my cottage, as I pay the rent; the furniture also is mine. I have
supported your father for years and this is the way he repays me.
However, the cottage is yours. I promise you that your father will not
come near you."
"I trust not! I trust not. I could not face him. And you?"
"I shall come over and see you shortly. But go away, contented to know
that all is well. There will be no scandal, and not a word will be
said about this burglary. Your father is safe and you are safe. Later,
I shall see about getting your father to go to Australia, and then you
can marry Walker."
"If he will have me," sighed the unfortunate girl.
"Lesbia," Charvington took her face between his two hands and looked
into her eyes; "I swear that you shall marry him. There! Let the dead
past alone and dream of future happiness," and he kissed her solemnly.