THE GOLD AND THE TREASURE
Old Mr. Naylor called on Mary two or three days later--at an hour when,
as he well knew, Cynthia was at his own house--in order to hear the
story. There were parts of it which she could not describe fully for
lack of knowledge--the enterprise of Mike and Big Neddy, for example;
but all that she knew she told frankly, and did not scruple to invoke
her imagination to paint Beaumaroy's position, with its difficulties,
demands, obligations--and temptations. He heard her with close
attention, evidently amused, and watching her animated face with a keen
and watchful pleasure.
"Surprising!" he said at the end, rubbing his hands together. "That's to
say, not in itself particularly surprising. Just a queer little
happening; one would think nothing of it if one read it in the
newspaper! Things are always so much more surprising when they happen
down one's own street, or within a few minutes' walk of one's garden
wall--and when one actually knows the people involved in them. Still I
was always inclined to agree with Dr. Irechester that there was
something out of the common about old Saffron and our friend Beaumaroy."
"Dr. Irechester never found out what it was, though!" exclaimed Mary
triumphantly.
"No, he didn't--for reasons pretty clearly indicated in your narrative."
He sat back in his chair, his elbows on the arms and his hands clasped
before him. "If I may say so, the really curious thing is to find you in
the thick of it, Doctor Mary."
"That wasn't my fault. I couldn't refuse to attend Mr. Saffron. Dr.
Irechester himself said so."
He paid no heed to her protest. "In the thick of it--and enjoying it so
tremendously!"
Mary looked thoughtful. "I didn't at first. I was angry, indignant,
suspicious. I thought I was being made a fool of."
"So you were--a fool and a tool, my dear!"
"But that night--because it all really happened in just one night--the
chief mourners, as Mr. Beaumaroy always calls them, were no more
than----"
"Just a rather amusing epilogue--yes, that's all."
"That night, it did get hold of me." She laughed a little nervously, a
little uneasily.
"And now you tell it to me--and I must say that your telling made it
twice the story that it really is--now you tell it as if it were the
greatest thing that ever happened to you!"
For a moment Mary fenced. "Well, nothing interesting ever has happened
in my humdrum life before." But old Naylor pursed up his lips in
contempt of her fencing. "It did seem to me a great--a great experience.
Not the burglars and all that--though some of the things, like the
water-butt, did amuse me very much--but our being apart from all the
world, there by ourselves--against the whole world in a way, Mr.
Naylor."
"The law on one side, the robbers on the other--and you two alone
together!"
"Yes, you understand. That was the way I felt it. But we weren't
together, not in every way. I mean--we were fighting between ourselves
too--right up to the very end." She gave another low laugh. "I suppose
we're fighting still; he means to face me with some Radbolt villainy,
and make me sorry for what he calls my legalism--with an epithet!"
"That's his idea, and my own too, I confess. Those chief mourners will
find the money--and some other things that'll make 'em stare. But
they'll lie low; they'll sit on the cash till the time comes when it's
safe to dispose of it; and they'll bilk the Inland Revenue out of the
duties. The remarkable thing is that Beaumaroy seems to want them to do
it."
"That's to make me sorry; that's to prove me wrong, Mr. Naylor."
"It may make you sorry--it makes me sorry, for that matter; but it
doesn't prove you wrong. You were right. My boy Alec would have taken
the same line as you did. Now you needn't laugh at me, Mary. I own up at
once--that's my highest praise."
"I know it is; and it implies a contrast?"
Old Naylor unclasped his hands and spread them in a deprecatory gesture.
"It must do that," he acknowledged.
Mary gave a rebellious little toss of her head. "I don't care if it
does, Mr. Naylor! Mr. Beaumaroy is--my friend now."
"And mine. Moreover I have such confidence in his honour and fidelity
that I have offered him a rather important and confidential position in
my business--to represent us at one of the foreign ports where we have
considerable interests." He smiled. "It's the sort of place where he
will perhaps find himself less trammelled by--er--legalism, and with
more opportunities for his undoubted gift of initiative."
"Will he accept your offer? Will he go?" she asked rather excitedly.
"Without doubt, I think. It's really quite a good offer. And what
prospects has he now--or here?"
Mary stretched her hands towards the fire and gazed into it in silence.
"I think you'll have an offer soon too, and a good one, Doctor Mary.
Irechester was over at our place yesterday. He's still of opinion that
there was something queer at Tower Cottage. Indeed he thinks that Mr.
Saffron was queer himself--in his head--and that a clever doctor would
have found it out."
"That he himself would, if he'd gone on attending----?"
"Precisely. But he's not surprised that you didn't; you lacked the
experience. Still he thinks none the worse of you for that, and he told
me that he has made up his mind to offer you partnership. Irechester's a
bit stiff, but a very straight fellow. You could rely on being fairly
treated, and it's a good practice. Besides he's well off, and quite
likely to retire as soon as he sees you fairly in the saddle."
"It's a great compliment." Here Mary's voice sounded quite
straightforward and sincere. An odd little note of contempt crept into
it as she added, "And it sounds--ideal!"
"Yes, it does," old Naylor agreed, with a private smile all to himself,
whilst Mary still gazed into the fire. "Quite ideal. You're a lucky
young woman, Mary." He rose to take his leave. "So, with our young folk
happily married, and you installed, and friend Beaumaroy suited to his
liking--why, upon my word, we may ring the curtain down on a happy
ending--of Act I, at all events!"
She seemed to pay no heed to his words. He stood for a moment admiring
her; not a beauty, but a healthy comely young woman, stout-hearted, and
with humanity and a sense of fun in her. And, as he looked, his true
feeling about the situation suddenly burst through all restraint and
leapt from his lips. "Though, for my part, under the circumstances, if I
were you, I'd see old Irechester damned before I accepted the
partnership!"
She turned to him--startled, yet suddenly smiling. He took her hand and
raised it to his lips.
"Hush! Not another word! Good-bye, my dear Mary!"
The next day, as Mary, her morning round finished, sat at lunch with
Cynthia, listening--or not listening--to her friend's excusably eager
chatter about her approaching wedding, a note was delivered into her
hands:
"The C.M.'s are in a hurry! She's back! The window is boarded up
again! Come and see! About 4 o'clock this afternoon. B."
Mary kept the appointment. She found Beaumaroy strolling up and down on
the road in front of the cottage. The Tower window was boarded up again,
but with new strong planks, in a much more solid and workman-like
fashion. If he were to try again, Mike would not find it so easy to
negotiate, without making a dangerous noise over the job.
"Such impatience--such undisguised rapacity--is indecent and revolting,"
Beaumaroy remarked. He seemed to be in the highest spirits. "I wonder if
they've opened it yet!"
"They'll see you prowling about outside, won't they?"
"I hope so. Indeed I've no doubt of it. Mrs. Greeneyes is probably
peering through the parlour window at this minute and cursing me. I like
it! To those people I represent law and order. If they can rise to the
conception of such a thing at all, I probably embody conscience. When
you come to think of it, it's a pleasant turn of events that I should
come to represent law and order and conscience to anybody--even to the
Radbolts."
"It is rather a change," she agreed. "But let's walk on. I don't really
much want to think of them."
"That's because you feel that you're losing the bet. I can't stop them
getting the money in the end--that's your doing! I can't stop them
cheating the Revenue--which is what they certainly mean to do--without
exposing myself to more inconvenience than I am disposed to undergo in
the cause of the Revenue. Whereas if I had left the bag in the
water-butt----! All your doing! Aren't you a little sorry?"
"Of course there is an aspect of the case----" she admitted, smiling.
"That's enough for me! You've lost the bet. Let's see--what were the
stakes, Mary?"
"Come, let's walk on." She put her arm through his. "What about this
berth that Mr. Naylor's offering you? At Bogota, isn't it?"
He looked puzzled for a moment; then his mind worked quickly back to
Cynthia's almost forgotten tragedy. He laughed in enjoyment of her
thrust. "My place isn't Bogota--though I fancy that it's rather in the
same moral latitude. You're confusing me with Captain Cranster!"
"So I was--for a moment," said Doctor Mary demurely. "But what about
the appointment, anyhow?"
"What about your partnership with Dr. Irechester, if you come to that?"
Mary pressed his arm gently, and they walked on in silence for a little
while. They were clear of the neighbourhood of Tower Cottage now, but
still a considerable distance from Old Place; very much alone together
on the heath, as they had seemed to be that night--that night of
nights--at the cottage.
"I haven't so much as received the offer yet; only Mr. Naylor has
mentioned it to me."
"Still you'd like to be ready with your answer when the offer is made,
wouldn't you?" He drew suddenly away from her, and stood still on the
road, opposite to her. His face lost its playfulness; as it set into
gravity, the lines upon it deepened, and his eyes looked rather sad.
"This is wrong of me, perhaps, but I can't help it. I'm not going to
talk to you about myself. Confessions and apologies and excuses, and so
on, aren't in my line. I should probably tell lies if I attempted
anything of the sort. You must take me or leave me on your own judgment,
on your own feeling about me, as you've seen and known me--not long, but
pretty intimately, Mary." He suddenly reached his hand into his pocket
and pulled out the combination knife-and-fork. "That's all I've brought
away of his from Tower Cottage. And I brought it away as much for your
sake as for his. It was during our encounter over this instrument that I
first thought of you as a woman, Mary. And, by Jove, I believe you knew
it!"
"Yes, I believe I did," she answered, her eyes set very steadily on his.
He slipped the thing back into his pocket. "And now I love you, and I
want you, Mary."
She fell into a sudden agitation. "Oh, but this doesn't seem for me! I'd
put all that behind me!--I----" She could scarcely find words. "I--I'm
just Doctor Mary!"
"Lots of people to practise on--bodies and souls too--in the moral
latitude I'm going to!"
Her body seemed to shiver a little, as though before a plunge into deep
water. "I'm very safe here," she whispered.
"Yes, you're safe here," he acknowledged gravely, and stood silent,
waiting for her choice.
"What a decision to have to make!" she cried suddenly. "It's all my life
in a moment! Because I don't want you to go away from me!" She drew near
to him, and put her hands on his shoulders. "I'm not a child, like
Cynthia. I can't dream dreams and make idols any more. I think I see you
as you are, and I don't know whether your love is a good thing." She
paused, searching his eyes with hers very earnestly. Then she went on,
"But if it isn't, I think there's no good thing left for me at all."
"Mary, isn't that your answer to me?"
"Yes." Her arms fell from his shoulders, and she stood opposite to him,
in silence again for a moment. Then her troubled face cleared to a calm
serenity. "And now I set doubts and fears behind me. I come to you in
faith, and loyalty, and love. I'm not a missionary to you, or a
reformer. God forbid! I'm just the woman who loves you, Hector."
"I should have mocked at the missionary, and tricked the reformer." He
bared his head before her. "But by the woman who loves me and whom I
love, I will deal faithfully." He bent and kissed her forehead.
"And now, let's walk on. No, not to Old Place--back home, past Tower
Cottage."
She put her arm through his again, and they set out through the soft
dusk that had begun to hover about them. So they came to the cottage,
and here, for a while, instinctively stayed their steps. A light shone
in the parlour window; the Tower was dark and still. Mary turned her
face to Beaumaroy's with a sudden smile of scornful gladness.
"Aye, aye, you're right!" His smile answered hers. "Poor devils! I'm
sorry for them, upon my soul I am!"
"That really is just like you!" she exclaimed in mirthful exasperation.
"Sorry for the Radbolts now, are you?"
"Well, after all, they've only got the gold. We've got the treasure,
Mary!"
* * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
A CHANGE OF AIR
A MAN OF MARK
THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO
PHROSO
SIMON DALE
THE KING'S MIRROR
QUISANTE
THE DOLLY DIALOGUES
A SERVANT OF THE PUBLIC
TALES OF TWO PEOPLE
THE GREAT MISS DRIVER
MRS. MAXON PROTESTS
A YOUNG MAN'S YEAR
End of Project Gutenberg's Beaumaroy Home from the Wars, by Anthony Hope