MR. HALE EXPLAINS
When Lesbia returned to Rose Cottage, after her unlucky visit to The
Court, she found that her father had never been near the place. Tim,
who was alone in the house when she arrived, explained that Hale had
gone to London within an hour of Lesbia's departure with Lady
Charvington in the motor car. There was nothing in this to surprise
the little Irishman, as Hale's comings and goings were always more or
less abrupt. But he was amazed and startled when he heard what Lesbia
had to tell; the revelation being occasioned by Tim's distressed
remark on the girl's pallor.
"Ah now, Miss, an' what hey ye bin doin' wid yer purty silf at all, at
all? Sure the face av ye's as white as a carpse."
Lesbia burst into tears. "Oh Tim, I sometimes wish that I was one, for
I feel so very miserable. George will have nothing to do with me; Lady
Charvington hates me, and my father, my father----"
"Phwat av him?" asked Tim anxiously.
"Can't you guess?" asked Lesbia, drying her eyes, and wondering how
much or how little the man knew of Hale's rascalities.
Tim's face remained passive, but he could not keep a certain amount of
anxiety out of his eyes. "Sure, the masther isn't a good man," he said
in a hesitating manner, "he trates ye like a brute baste, Miss."
"It's worse than that," sobbed Lesbia, breaking down again.
The servant changed colour and raised his hands in mute despair. When
he did find his voice, it was to ask a leading question. "An' how much
do ye know, me dear?"
"I know that my father is a thief."
"Augh! the shame av it," muttered Tim, but did not contradict.
Lesbia noticed that he was less surprised than he should have been.
"You knew that."
"Mary be good to us all!" said Tim sadly. "But I know a mighty lot I'd
rather not know, me dear. But are ye sure, Miss?"
Lesbia sat up, dried her eyes, and detailed all that had happened. Tim
listened in dismayed silence with his sad eyes on her pale face, and
she heard him grind his teeth when it came to an account of Lady
Charvington's accusation. When she ended he still kept silence.
"What do you think of it all, Tim?" asked his mistress, anxious to
hear what he had to say.
"It's black lies that woman spakes," cried Tim vehemently. "Ye nivir
knew av the masther's wrongdoin'."
"Did you, Tim?"
"I knew a trifle, an' guessed a mighty lot. Nivir ask me, miss, phwat
I know till his lardship--an' sure he's a good man--spakes the wurrd.
But I know wan thing, me dear heart, that the blackest clouds have the
blissid sun behint thim."
"There is no sun behind these clouds," said Lesbia, sighing.
"An' there yer wrong, Miss," said Tim briskly. "Sure, whin them clouds
do let the blissid sun sind out th' light av him, ye'll foind pace an'
happiness an' joy galore. Lave things to his lardship. The crass began
the throuble, an' the crass will end that same."
"Tim! Tim, what do you know about the cross?"
"Ah, nivir ask me phwat I know," croaked Tim again. "There's whales
within whales, me dear, an' me mouth's bin saled fur many a year. But
whin his lardship spakes I spake, and thin ye'll be as happy as thim
who dwell in Tirnanoge."
"What's that, Tim?"
"The land av youth where ye and Masther Garge shud be, an' will be,
whin the blissid saints in glory let ye come into ye'r own." And after
delivering himself of this agreeable prophecy, Tim shuffled away to
prepare dinner.
Lesbia was much astonished at the hints thus given, and also much
perplexed. Tim seemed to know of the significance of the amethyst
cross, of the rascality of her father, and also he appeared to know
about Lord Charvington as a possible _deus ex machina_, who would make
the crooked quite straight. Later in the evening she questioned the
little man persistently, but Tim, as wily as an otter, evaded a direct
reply, only insisting that everything would come right in a most
unexpected way. With this Lesbia would scarcely have been content, but
that her attention was taken away from the future to deal with the
present.
Urged by Tim, and now feeling more hopeful as she recalled
Charvington's promise to stand by her, Lesbia made a moderately good
dinner. While Tim was washing up in the kitchen, she sat near the
window of the tiny parlour reading the first book that came to hand.
But the pages did not interest her and, moreover, it soon grew too
dark to read without lights. Lesbia did not call for these, as she
liked the pensive twilight, and so dreamed of George and future
happiness in the gloaming. There was just light enough to see across
the room, so she started with surprise and indignation when she saw
her father suddenly appear in the doorway. He looked much the same as
usual, but then the light was not strong enough to permit her to see
the shame which must certainly have appeared on his face.
"Why have you come here?" asked Lesbia, rising indignantly.
"I have assuredly a right to enter my own house," retorted her father.
"It is not your house," she replied boldly. "Lord Charvington told me
that it belonged to him, and declared that you would come here no
more."
"Ah!" Hale lounged into the room, and dropped with a sigh of fatigue
into a chair. "Charvington proposed more than he could perform; he
always did."
"How did you come in?"
"By the back door, which was open. I rowed up from Cookham."
"You can't stop here," said Lesbia firmly.
"You can't prevent me," said her father, with a sneer.
"I can leave the house, and I will."
"Where will you go?"
"To Mrs. Walker; she will protect me. I will throw myself on her
mercy. But I refuse to remain under the same roof as you."
Hale winced at the scorn in her tones. "You seem to forget that you
are speaking to your father," he said in an icy manner.
"God help me!" cried the girl, with a gesture of despair; "I wish I
could forget. You have brought shame upon me."
"Oh, rubbish," said Hale crossly. "I received a letter from
Charvington in London just before I came down to Cookham which stated
that if I restored the jewels everything would be hushed up."
"And you will do so?"
"I have to," said Hale grudgingly. "It's an infernal nuisance after
all my trouble, but Charvington says that he will set the police on my
track if I don't act square. I shall return the jewels to-morrow, and
then everything will be put right. There is no disgrace to you."
"Isn't there?" said Lesbia, with a bitter laugh. "You appear to have
forgotten that Bertha, the maid, heard my recognition of you, and told
her mistress. Lady Charvington accused me of being your accomplice,
and but that our cousin made her hold her tongue and silenced the
maid, I should have been arrested as knowing your rogueries and
sharing in them."
Hale muttered an oath between his teeth. "Upon my word that's too
bad," he said half apologetically. "The woman had no right to speak of
you in that way, as you are as innocent as a babe. However, if
Charvington has hushed that up also, there is no harm done."
"Father," cried Lesbia, moving forward to confront him, "can you think
that I will consent to live with you, now that I know of your
wickedness?"
"What do you know, other than that I took Lady Charvington's jewels?"
asked her father, defiantly.
"I know that you stole Mr. Tait's jewels by his direction."
"Who dares to say that?" demanded Hale, starting fiercely to his feet.
"Mr. Canning----"
"Mister," sneered Hale, savagely, "since when has he earned such
respect."
"Mr. Canning is a gentleman and Captain Sargent's brother," said
Lesbia in calm, easy tones. Now that she had come to close grips with
her father she felt singularly cool.
Hale muttered a second oath. "I knew that The Shadow had betrayed us,"
he said ominously; "well, he shall pay for his treachery. His silly
gratitude to you for nursing him has made him dishonourable to us."
"Dishonourable!" cried Lesbia, scornfully.
"Why not?" scoffed her father, "There is honour amongst thieves."
"And _you_ are a thief."
"I am," said Hale, shamelessly. "I was driven to such courses because
I wanted money. You may as well know the worst, for I----"
"Oh!" Lesbia threw up her hand, feeling sick at heart. "Don't tell me
any more. Leave this house and never see me again."
Hale settled himself firmly in his chair. "I will do nothing of the
sort," he declared; "this is my house, whatever Charvington may say.
Here I am and here I rest. There's a French soldier's saying for you,"
he sneered.
"Oh," Lesbia sighed as she looked up, "will nothing make this man
ashamed?"
"Nothing!" Hale put his legs up on another chair, "absolutely
nothing."
At this moment there came a sharp ring of the front door bell. Hale
started to his feet with an ejaculation, and Lesbia could guess that
his shameless face had turned white in the shadowy twilight.
Apparently he expected the police, as she gathered from his broken
mutterings. "But it is impossible," he breathed, clenching his hands;
"Charvington said that he would say nothing if the jewels were sent
back. I shall send them to-morrow, and if there is a--ah!"
The two listening in the half-dark room heard Tim shuffle along the
narrow passage and open the door. A moment later and Mrs. Walker's
voice, cold and haughty, struck on their ears. Hale wiped his face and
heaved a sigh of relief. "Don't betray me to that woman," he
whispered.
"I shall not," said Lesbia, quietly, "after all, bad as you are, I
cannot forget that you are my father."
Even as the last word dropped from her mouth, the door opened and Mrs.
Walker was ushered into the room. Behind her came Tim bearing high a
lamp to light her way. The radiance revealed Lesbia white and
shrinking and the defiant face of Walter Hale.
"The masther, howly saints!" muttered Tim, setting down the lamp; then
he addressed Lesbia, quietly: "Will I bring more lights, Miss, av ye
plase?"
"No thank you, Tim, this lamp will be enough. Shut the door."
Without a single glance at his master, Tim departed and left the trio
together. Mrs. Walker, standing just within the room, had said
nothing. Only when the door was closed did she speak. "I did not
expect to find you here, Mr. Hale," she said with contempt and
scarcely concealed surprise.
"And where should I be, save in my own house?" he asked, lightly.
"In gaol," she snapped, "and there you would be, had I my way."
Hale raised his eyebrows. "I do not understand," he remarked, coolly.
"Yes, you do, and you will understand completely when I tell you that
Lady Charvington came to see me to-day." Hale uttered an exclamation
of rage and vexation. "Yes, you may well swear, for she told both
George and myself about the robbery at The Court. What do you say to
that, you detected scoundrel?" she asked, sternly.
"Hush!" he muttered, gruffly, "my daughter is present."
"I am glad she is, I want her to know what you are."
"I do know," faltered Lesbia, weakly, "and oh!"--she covered her face
to sink in a passion of tears on the sofa--"it is shameful: shameful."
Mrs. Walker looked at Hale, still defiant and hard-faced. "I would
have spared you this for the girl's sake," she breathed, "but she
caught you red-handed, so there is nothing to conceal." With a stern
look at him, she glided to the sofa and took the shrinking, fragile
form of the unhappy girl in her strong arms: "Lesbia, my love," she
said tenderly, and the change in her voice was extraordinary, "I have
come to stand by you. That man is not fit to have charge of you. Come
with me, to-night, to Medmenham."
"Oh no--no--George----"
"George knows all that you know, that I know. He was present when Lady
Charvington came to tell us of what had taken place."
"And George despises me," wept Lesbia, burying her face in Mrs.
Walker's bosom.
"Don't be ridiculous, child, don't be foolish. How can he despise you
when you are innocent and he loves you?"
"Loves me--loves me," Lesbia looked up startled; "but he refused to
renew our engagement although I abased myself to the dust to regain
him."
"I think George will be able to explain why he acted in that way," she
whispered. "In a few minutes you will meet George under the chestnut
tree where he proposed to you. It's an idea of his that he should
explain himself there and there renew the engagement. We both arranged
to come here to-night and were to drive over. But at the last moment
George took to his boat and is now rowing down the river to meet you
under the trysting-tree. I drove over."
"Oh!" Lesbia sat up, smiles breaking through her tears. This was a
gleam of sunshine indeed. "George is coming back."
"He will hold you in his arms very shortly," said Mrs. Walker, her
hard face becoming strangely tender. "You poor dear child, how cruelly
you have been treated. But the worst is over: you shall marry my
George and be happy."
"Indeed," said Hale in an acrid, thin voice. "I am not to be consulted
then?"
Mrs. Walker placed Lesbia tenderly back on the sofa and arranged the
cushion. Then she turned, hard and harsh once more to the delinquent.
"You are not to be consulted about Lesbia," she said calmly, "as you
are unfit to have anything to do with her. But I have come to consult
you about the amethyst cross."
"I know nothing about it," said Hale, starting and biting his nether
lip.
"That's a lie," said Mrs. Walker fiercely. "Lady Charvington found the
cross in her husband's library, where he had left it, and thinking
that he had bought it for her, placed it in her jewel-case. As you
stole the case you must have the cross. Give it to me at once. I want
it."
"I know nothing about it," said Hale doggedly and raising his heavy
eyes, "you are wrong--the cross was not with the jewels. I shall send
them back to Lord Charvington to-morrow, as only by my restoring them
will he agree not to prosecute. Charvington will show you the case,
and you will see that there is no cross amongst them."
"I quite believe that," said Mrs. Walker, scornfully, "because you
intend to keep it back. What use it is to you I can't say, as in no
way can you obtain my sister's money."
Hale scowled and, stretching out his legs, slipped his hands into his
pockets. He was perfectly dressed as usual in a cool tweed suit, and
looked in the half light a very handsome and presentable man. No one
would have taken him for a sordid thief. "I have not the cross," was
all he could say, "it was not with the jewels. I don't know where it
is."
"Lord Charvington----"
"If he had it in his library he must have robbed your cottage to get
it, and also must have assaulted your son. I wonder you can stand
that," said Hale with a sneer, "especially since you have a score
against the man as it is. But then you are so forgiving."
"You will not find me so," said Mrs. Walker caustically. "As to
Charvington, I believe he was more sinned against than sinning. I
shall speak of that when we meet. As it is, my feelings towards him
have relented so far as to permit my son to see him to-morrow."
"What!" asked Lesbia, who had sat quietly during this passage of arms,
"is George going over to The Court?"
"Yes. Lord Charvington sent him a message asking him to call. What he
wishes to see him about I cannot guess."
"I know: I know," cried the girl joyfully. "I told him about George
and how George had lost his situation through a false accusation. Lord
Charvington said that he would see George and get him something to do,
so that we might marry."
"Oh that's it, is it?" said Mrs. Walker, smiling and smoothing the
girl's hair.
"Will you let your son accept favours from Charvington?" asked Hale
sneeringly, "from the man who----"
"That is quite enough," said Mrs. Walker, imperiously. "I will have an
explanation with Lord Charvington. I believe from the bottom of my
heart that you were the cause of all the trouble between us. But it
strikes me," Mrs. Walker gathered her mantle round her and sat with
folded arms like a grim and pitiless Fate, "that you are nearing the
end, Mr. Walter Hale. Destiny has been kind to you so far: she will be
kind no longer. I see," Mrs. Walker stared at Hale's twitching face;
"I see imprisonment: I see death: I see----"
"Oh damn your Witch of Endor rubbish," shouted Hale, jumping to his
feet with the perspiration beading his brow, for he was impressed by
the absolute conviction with which she spoke. "You talk nonsense,
infernal nonsense. And see here, you shall not interfere between my
daughter and----"
"I will do as I please and so shall Lesbia," said Mrs. Walker,
interrupting the vehement speech. "You forget that you are only at
large because of Lord Charvington's refusal to prosecute. If you
meddle with this marriage as you have done, he will lay you by the
heels. Yes, you and your gang."
"My gang?" Hale swallowed something and laughed uneasily, "my gang?"
"You and Tait and Maud Ellis and Sargent and that miserable
opium-smoking brother of his. You are all rogues and thieves and----"
"You can prove nothing of all this," interrupted Hale, now quite
livid.
"George can," said Mrs. Walker nodding significantly. "He has seen the
man Canning, whom you call The Shadow, although his real name is
Arthur Sargent."
"Oh!" Lesbia rose quickly, "Has Mr. Canning seen George?"
"Yes, and he has told much which your precious father would like to be
hidden," said Mrs. Walker quietly.
Hale laughed and wiped his brow. "All the same," he said, wetting his
dry lips, "I am Lesbia's father after all. If you disgrace me, you
disgrace her, so I am quite safe."
"That is right, hide behind a woman's petticoats," said Mrs. Walker
bitterly, "it was always your custom. Now you come with me," she rose.
"I have something to say to you and it must be said out of doors.
Lesbia, go into the garden and see George."
"I'll come," said Hale promptly enough, "I am not afraid of arrest; I
know too much. After you, madam," and he held the door open mockingly.