THE TALE WHICH WAS TOLD
They were silent. To her it seemed that the silence shrieked aloud. He
looked at her with an expression on his face which she was destined
never to forget--as if he were hard of hearing, or fancied that his
senses played him a trick, or that she had indulged in some ill-timed
jest.
"What did you say?"
"I said that I am a wife already."
His look had become one of inquiry; as if desirous of learning if she
were really in earnest. She felt her heart beating against her ribs, or
seeming to--a habit of which it had been too fond of late. When it
behaved like that it was only with an uncomfortable effort that she
could keep a hold upon her consciousness; being fearful that it might
slip away from her, in spite of all that she might be able to do. When
he spoke again his tone had changed; as if he were puzzled. She had a
sudden feeling that he was speaking to her as he might have spoken to a
child.
"Do you know what you are saying? and do you mean what you say?"
"Of course I do."
"But--pardon me--I don't see the of course at all. Do
you--seriously--wish me to understand that you're--a married woman?"
"Whether you understand it or not, I am."
"But you are scarcely more than a child. How old are you?"
"I am twenty-two."
"And how long do you wish me to understand that you've been married?"
"Two years."
"Two years? Then--you were married before you came here?"
"Of course."
"Of course? But everyone here has always spoken to me of you as Miss
Arnott."
"That is because no one who knows me here knows that I am married."
He put his arms down to his sides, and drew himself up still
straighter, so that she had to look right up at him, and knit his
brows, as if he found himself confronted by a problem which was
incapable of solution.
"I believe that I am the least curious of men, I say it seriously; but
it appears to me that this is a situation in which curiosity is
justified. You made yourself known to me as Miss Arnott; as Miss Arnott
there have previously been certain passages between us; as Miss Arnott
you have permitted me to tell you that I love you; you have even
admitted that you love me. It is only when I take it for granted--as I
am entitled to do--that the mutual confession involves your becoming my
wife, that you inform me--that you are already a married woman. Under
the circumstances I think I have a right to ask for information at
least on certain points; as, for instance, so that I may know how to
address you--what is your husband's name?"
"Robert Champion."
"Robert Champion? Then--you are Mrs Champion?"
"I am."
"Am I to take it that Mr Champion is alive?"
"So far as I know."
"So far as you know? That does not suggest very intimate--or very
recent knowledge. When did you hear from him last?"
"I saw him twelve months ago."
"You saw him twelve months ago? That was not long before you came here.
Why did he not accompany you when you came?"
"He couldn't."
"He couldn't? Why?"
"He was in prison."
"In--" He stopped, looked at her with, in his eyes, an altogether
different expression; then, throwing his head back, seemed to be
staring straight at the moon, as if he were endeavouring to read
something which was written on her surface. Presently he spoke in an
entirely altered tone of voice. "Now I understand, or, rather, now I
begin to understand. It dawns on me that here is a position which will
want some understanding." As if seized with sudden restlessness he
began to pace to and fro, keeping to the same piece of ground, of which
he seemed to be making mental measurements; she meanwhile, watching
him, silent, motionless, as if she were waiting for him to pronounce
judgment. After a while he broke into speech, while he still continued
pacing to and fro. "Now I begin to see daylight everywhere; the meaning
of the things which puzzled me. Why you seemed to take no interest in
anything; why you were so fond of solitude; why, in the middle of a
conversation, one found that your thoughts had strayed. The life you
were living in public was not the one you were living to yourself. It's
not nice to be like that. Poor child! And I have laughed at you,
because I thought you were a character, and--you were. How many fools
escape being kicked just at those moments when a kicking would do them
good. It occurs to me, Mrs Champion--"
"Don't call me that!"
"But--if it's your name?"
"It's not my name to you; I wish you always to think of me as Miss
Arnott."
"Then--" He paused; ceased to walk; looked at her, and went and stood
with his back against the tree. "I fancy that what you stand most in
need of is a friend. I can be that to you, if I can be nothing else.
Come, tell me all about it--it will ease your mind."
"I've wanted to tell someone all the time; but I've told no one. I
couldn't."
"I know what you mean; and I think I know what it feels like. Tell
me--you'll find me an excellent father confessor."
"I shall have to begin at the beginning."
"Do. If I am to be of any assistance, and it's possible I may be, I
shall have to understand it all quite clearly."
"My father died first, and then my mother, and when she died I was left
with only quite a little money."
"And no relations?"
"No--no relations."
"And no friends?"
"No--no friends."
"Poor child!"
"You mustn't talk like that, or I sha'n't be able to go on, and I want
to go straight on. I wasn't yet eighteen. There wasn't anything to be
done in the country--we had lived quite out of the world--so I went to
London. I was strange to London; but I thought I should have more
chance there than in Scarsdale, so I went. But, when I got there, I
soon found that I wasn't much better off than before, I'm not sure I
wasn't worse. It was so lonely and so--so strange. My money went so
fast, I began to be afraid, there seemed to be no means of earning
more--I didn't know what to do. Then I saw an advertisement in a paper,
of a shop where they wanted models in the costume department; they had
to be tall and of good appearance. I didn't know what the advertisement
meant; but I thought I was that, so I went, and they engaged me. I was
to have board and lodging, and a few shillings a week. It was horrible.
I had to keep putting on new dresses, and walk up and down in them in
front of strange women, and sometimes men, and show them off. I had
always been used to the open air, and to solitude; sometimes I thought
I was going mad. Then the food was bad--at least, I thought it was
bad--and, there were all sorts of things. But I had come so close to my
last few shillings--and been so afraid--that I didn't dare to leave.
There was one girl, who was also a model, whom I almost trusted; now
that I look back I know that I never did quite. I used to walk about
with her in the streets; I couldn't walk about alone, and there was
nowhere else to walk, and I had to have some fresh air. She introduced
me to a friend of hers--a man. She said he was a gentleman, but I knew
better than that. She made out that he was very rich, and everything he
ought to be. Directly he was introduced he began to make love. I so
hated being a model; and I saw no prospect of doing anything else,
and--besides, I wasn't well--I wasn't myself the whole of the time. She
laughed when I said I didn't like him, and, therefore, couldn't be his
wife. She declared that I was throwing away the best chance a girl in
my position ever had; and said he would make the most perfect husband I
could possibly want. He promised all sorts of things; he said we should
live in the country, he even took me to see a house which he said he
had taken. I grew to hate being a model more and more; I was miserable
and ill, and they all made fun of me. At last, after he had asked me I
don't know how many times, I said yes. We were married. We went to
Margate for our honeymoon. Within four-and-twenty hours I knew what
kind of a man he was."
She stopped; putting her hands up before her face. He could see her
trembling in the moonlight, and could only stand and watch. He dared
not trust himself to speak.
Presently she went on.
"I lived with him twelve months."
"Twelve months!"
"When I think of it now I wonder why I didn't kill him. I had chances,
but I daren't even run away. All the life had gone out of me, and all
the spirit too. I didn't even try to defend myself when he struck me."
"Struck you?"
"Oh, he often did that. But I was a weak and helpless creature. I
seemed to myself to be half-witted. He used to say that he believed I
had a tile loose. I had, then. Then they locked him up."
"What for?"
"He put an advertisement in the paper for a person to fill a position
of trust. When someone applied he got them to make what he termed a
'deposit' of a few pounds. Then he stole it. Of course there was no
position of trust to fill. That was how he made his living. I always
wondered where he got his money from. After he was arrested I
understood."
"And he was sentenced?"
"To twelve months' hard labour."
"Only twelve months' hard labour? Then his term of imprisonment will
soon be drawing to a close."
"To-morrow."
"To-morrow! You poor child!"
"Now you perceive why I hurried back from Lake Como to say good-bye."
"I hope I need not tell you, in words, how intensely I sympathise with
you."
"Thank you, I would rather you didn't; I know."
"We will speak of such matters later. In the meantime, obviously, what
you want is a friend; as I guessed. As a friend, let me assure you that
your position is not by any means so hopeless as you appear to
imagine."
"Not with my husband coming out of prison to-morrow? You don't know
him."
"If you can do nothing else, you can keep him at arm's length."
"How do you mean?"
"You have money, he hasn't. You can at least place yourself in a
position in which he can't get at you."
"Can't he compel me to give him money?"
"Emphatically, no. He has no claim to a penny of yours, not to a
farthing. The marriage laws are still quite capable of being improved,
but one crying injustice they have abolished. What a woman has is her
own, and hers only, be she married or single. If Mr Champion wants
money he will have to earn it. He has not a scintilla of right to any
of yours, or anything that is yours. So, at anyrate, you should have no
difficulty in placing yourself beyond his reach. But there is something
more. You should experience no trouble in freeing yourself from him
altogether. There is such a place as the divorce court. Plainly, it
would be easy to show cruelty, and probably something else as well."
"I don't know. I knew nothing of what he did, and cared nothing, so
long as he left me alone."
"Quite so. This is a matter which will be better managed by other hands
than yours. Only--there are abundant ways and means of dealing with a
person of his kind. What I want you to do now is not to worry. One
moment! it's not a counsel of perfection! I see clearly what this means
to you, what it has meant, but--forgive me for saying so--the burden
has been made much heavier by your insisting on bearing it alone."
"I couldn't blurt out my shame to everyone--to anyone!"
"Well, you have told me now, thank goodness! And you may rely on this,
that man sha'n't be allowed to come near you; if necessary, I will make
it my business to prevent him. I will think things over to-night; be
sure that I shall find a way out. To-morrow I will come and tell you
what I've thought about, when the conditions are more normal."
"Rather than that he should again be able to claim me for his wife,
even for an hour, I would kill him."
"Certainly; I will kill him for you if it comes to that. I have lived
in countries where they make nothing of killing vermin of his
particular type. But there'll be no necessity for such a drastic
remedy. Now, I want you to go home and promise not to worry, because
your case is now in hands which are well qualified to relieve you of
all cause for apprehension of any sort or kind. I beg you will believe
it. Good-night."
She hesitated, then put her hands up to her temples, as if her head was
aching.
"I will say good-night to you. You go, I will stay. My brain's all in a
whirl. I want to be alone--to steady it."
"I don't like to leave you, in such a place, at such an hour."
"Why not? While I've been abroad I've sometimes spent half the night in
wandering alone over the mountains. Why am I not as safe here as
there?"
"It's not a question of safety, no doubt you're safe enough. But--it's
the idea."
"Be so good as to do as I ask--leave me, please."
"Since you ask me in such a tone. Promise me, at least, that you won't
stay half the night out here; that, indeed, you won't stay long."
"I promise, if my doing so affords you any satisfaction. Probably I'll
be in my own room in half an hour, only--I must be alone for a few
minutes first. Don't you see?"
"I fancy that I do. Good-night. Remember that I'm at least your
friend."
"I'll remember."
"By the way, in the morning where, and when, shall I find you?"
"I shall be in the house till lunch."
"Good, then before lunch I'll come to you, as early as I can.
Good-night again."
"Good-night. And"--as he was moving off--"you're not to stop about and
watch me, playing the part of the unseen protector. I couldn't bear the
thought of being watched. I want to be alone."
He laughed.
"All right! All right! Since you've promised me that you'll not stay
long I promise you that I'll march straight home."
He strode off, his arms swinging at his sides, his head hanging a
little forward on his chest, as his habit was. She followed him with
her eyes. When she saw that he vanished among the trees on his own
estate, and did not once look back, she was conscious of an illogical
little pang. She knew that he wanted her to understand that, in
obedience to her wishes, he refused to keep any surveillance over her
movements, even to the extent of looking back. Still she felt that he
might have given her one backward glance, ere he vanished into the
night.