THE FINAL INSULT
Olwen came downstairs the following day between eleven and twelve
o'clock.
It had been raining heavily since early morning, but was beginning to
clear, and the temperature was much milder than it had been when first
she arrived in that country.
From her window as she dressed she had noted that a soft purplish-brown
tint was beginning to overspread the woods on the further side of the
Guyseburn, and knew that this was a token of the budding of the leafless
boughs. Somehow the fact that spring was on its way was consoling and
made her feel more normal. She was schooling herself to believe that
Madam's talk had been, as it often was, unbalanced, and that she ought
not to take too much notice of it. Nothing could have been less
presuming than Ninian's manner overnight. He certainly had not worn the
air of one who knows that a girl is in his power.
As she descended the stairs she was considering the question of her own
departure. She could not decide whether it would be wise to say openly
that she was going to Liverpool to meet her father, and obtain
permission to stay at the Pele until the boat was almost due, so that
she could journey straight to Liverpool without returning to Bramforth.
She felt that this was far the best plan, if things could be so
arranged. It would give her a longer convalescence and save money and
travelling. If only the new and welcome addition to the party would
remain to keep the peace it might be done!
She wished that Dr. Balmayne had not chosen this inopportune moment to
fall ill. His advice would be invaluable, for, explain it away as she
might, something held her back from putting complete confidence in the
Guyse family. She knew that there was something odd in her
position--that they opened her letters and spied on her movements. It
was this which made her unwilling to divulge to them the contents of
what she was fairly certain was the only letter which had reached her at
the Pele uncensored.
She descended the stairs, and when she reached the hall, instead of
emerging into it and opening the door which led to the dining-room, she
continued along the passage, which, as has been said, was in the
thickness of the wall, and gave access to the dining-room behind the
tapestry. There was a door there, but it was most often open, as the
tapestry curtains were thick enough to keep out draught, and the
narrowness of the passage made it easier to move along, if the door were
laid back flat against the wall and secured by a staple.
Thus once more, and quite without intention, she overheard something
that was not meant for her ear. It was Ninian who was speaking, and he
spoke like a man at bay.
"Well, then, I say straight out, on those terms I'm damned if I marry
the child."
Wolf's voice replied almost immediately, "But you haven't got any
alternative, old man; and if my mother is to be trusted, no more has
Miss Innes."
Without a moment's pause, without reflecting an instant, with every
passion at white heat, Olwen flung aside the curtain and came
tempestuously into the room.
The brothers stood upon the hearth, side by side, almost the same
height, almost the same build, so alike--so unlike.
Their faces, as they confronted her, were a curious study.
"I am not an eavesdropper," said she, fury steadying her voice. "You
should not discuss me with the door open if you do not wish to be
overheard. There is no need for Mr. Guyse to suffer damnation. I have
not the slightest intention of marrying him, as he well knows. Now, Mr.
Wilfrid Guyse, perhaps you will kindly explain what you mean by saying
that I have no alternative but to marry your brother?"
Wilfrid and Ninian both stood for quite an appreciable moment dumb
before this crisis. Then Wilfrid laid down his pipe upon the stone
mantelpiece, turned to her, and said gently:
"I fear you have made some mistake, Miss Innes. What, if I may ask, did
you think that we said?"
"I heard quite plainly what you said. Mr. Guyse said he would be damned
if he would marry me, and you replied that you understood that neither
he nor I had any alternative. I want to know what you meant by that?"
"Ought you not," he asked with a mischievous smile, "to attack my
brother first? If he really said what you think you heard, it seems
that it is he who ought to answer for such a preposterous----"
"Not at all. What he said was perfectly justifiable. He said he wasn't
going to be pushed into marrying me. Well, that is just what I should
wish him to say. I hope you know," she went on, with just a perceptible
break in her voice as she turned to Ninian, "that I am completely in
sympathy with you in this matter? I have nothing to complain of--from
first to last you have acted just as you ought. Madam has made some
dreadful kind of mistake, but we both have such clear consciences that
we can afford to laugh at what people say. Oh, can't we? Can't we?"
The last words were a sudden appeal made with clasped hands; for as she
spoke, Nin's face, upon which had appeared his usual demon-like smile at
first, had slowly grown whiter and whiter. He was looking at her now as
though she had hit him desperately hard.
"_You_ can laugh, of course, at anything anybody may say; and I can
knock them down for saying it," he replied slowly, his hoarseness making
his voice sound a little strange to her.
"But, of course," she went on, too carried along by her subject to make
any very special note of the extent of his agitation, "of course your
brother is different. People who circulate lies can be knocked down;
but he ought to be told exactly what happened. Mr. Wilfrid Guyse, will
you let me speak to you? Will you let me tell you what has passed?"
"I shall be more than honoured," he replied, his eyes fixed in evident
interest upon her. He wheeled an armchair forward, but she made a
gesture of dissent, and remained standing, confronting him.
"It won't take long, there's not much to say, but you must be made to
understand how we came to be out all night. If, after all that your
brother went through, he were to be blamed ... it would be dreadful. He
has perhaps told you that I was stunned, knocked on the head by a bit of
rock which fell upon me as we were descending Duke's Crag. If I had
fallen I should have been killed, but Mr. Guyse was able to catch me.
He not only upheld me, but actually succeeded in bringing me step by
step back to the top, and it was a wonderful thing to do, for I was all
the time a dead weight. By the time he had accomplished that feat, and
we were in safety, you may guess that he was tired, but in spite of this
he carried me the best part of half a mile, through the fast falling
snow, to the only shelter there was for miles round. When we were once
there, there was nothing for it but to stay. By that time it was dark.
I was helpless--he had no brandy. He could not carry me further, the
nearest house was so far off that he might have been lost in the snow
before reaching it; and it was so cold that in case of his not returning
I should have frozen to death. Now do you understand? Do you see that
he had then most certainly--though it is not true to say so now--he had
then no alternative but to stay with me and take care of me until the
snow ceased to fall and we had some chance of finding our direction?"
Wolf's eyes rested upon the eager upturned face with sympathy and
something which seemed like admiration. "My brother has an eloquent
advocate," he said a little mischievously. "I own I am glad to hear
your account of the affair."
"Mr. Guyse and I had Madam's full permission to go upon our skating
expedition," she went on ardently. "Our being detained was sheer
accident, and all my life I shall look back with gratitude upon that
night and the thought of what your brother did for me--his patience and
consideration were alike wonderful." She broke off. For a moment she
thought that she had done. Neither of the two men, eyeing her silently,
almost breathlessly, moved or spoke; and suddenly she resumed, "One
thing more. I have heard--it has been hinted to me--that Mr. Guyse has
been accused of--of different conduct in--the sad affair which happened
here three years ago. I want to say," lifting her head proudly, "that,
judging by his behaviour to me the other night, it would take a great
deal to make me believe anything at all to his discredit in any other
case. That is all."
Silence fell upon the room as she uttered those words, which seemed to
be driven out of her by some inner force. She had not meant to say
this, had not even known that she felt it. Yet it came from her like
the cry of her inmost being. For a few instants the succeeding pause
was full of possibilities. It was broken by Ninian, who turned, walked
to the door, and went deliberately out, shutting it behind him with some
force. In her zeal of championship Olwen hardly noted his going, except
as it allowed her to speak more frankly to his brother.
"You cannot mean to tell me," she went on more quietly, "that you
consider, after what I have told you, that I have compromised myself, or
that any blame could be attributed to your brother?"
Wilfrid had turned rather suddenly to the fire and stood staring at the
flaming logs. "You are right, of course," he said in a low voice.
"Poor old Nin!"
There was a pause, during which he took up his discarded pipe, cleaned
and refilled it. "You know," he continued presently, when he had it
well alight, "I can't help being glad that you chanced to come in at
that moment. The situation was puzzling me a bit, and now I think I
have got the hang of it. Don't let anything my mother may have said
worry you. She is really extremely attached to you. I have not heard
her speak so warmly of anyone for some time. You and Ninian evidently
understand one another; and I think this will all blow over very soon.
It would be a pity, would it not, to let a--a sort of misunderstanding
interfere with the fine work you are doing here?"
She answered: "You are very kind. I cannot stay, however. I shall have
to leave in a few days' time."
"I hope you will reconsider that decision. After all, we must call it
careless of my brother to allow you to be scrambling up a cliff face in
February, when the rock is all rotten with the frosts. The least we can
do is to see that you are cured before leaving us. Wouldn't it be
rather heartless of you to shake off the dust of your feet against us?"
She laughed a little. "Oh," she said, with traces of embarrassment, "it
is not that I--I have to go home in any case. I," she hesitated,
wondering how to express it without mentioning her father, "I shall be
changing--I mean, I intend to change my occupation--I shall not be free
to take a post in future," she concluded stumblingly, not seeing at all
that to her listener this could have but one meaning. He must suppose
her to be contemplating marriage. His face fell.
"If that be so, we must make the most of your last few days," he
answered gracefully. "I got the postman to telegraph for a motor this
morning, and I propose to take you and my mother out for an airing this
afternoon. She has been shut up indoors for some weeks, Ninian tells me,
and it always makes her a bit capricious. Make allowances for her, Miss
Innes. She has had some bad times."
"Oh, I know. I am so sorry to think how much I have added to her
vexations, although most unintentionally."
He drew up a chair close to hers after this, and began to talk. By
insensible degrees they slipped away from all sore subjects, and found
themselves conversing on current topics, and comparing their taste in
fiction and the drama. Wolf was like a whiff of civilisation in the
savage solitude.
Neither Madam nor Ninian appeared until dinner-time, when the lady
entered; but Sunia, with a very reproachful glance at Olwen, said the
sahib had gone to Lachanrigg and would not be back until tea-time.
They had a charming drive, for it was the end of February, the sun did
not set until half-past five, and the clouds had all rolled away,
leaving the most brilliant sky that Olwen remembered to have seen since
her arrival. The setting of the scarlet sun in purple mist was a thing
to remember.
Owing to Wolf's thoughtfulness, tea had been ordered downstairs, to
spare Olwen any unnecessary exercise. After tea Madam went to her own
sitting-room to lie down; and after a while Wolf also sauntered off,
leaving Olwen alone by the fire. Ninian had not come in, and her whole
mind was racked with speculation as to the why and wherefore of his
mysterious behaviour.
"_I'm damned if I'll marry the child._"
All the afternoon the words had rung in her head. Could he really have
thought that she meant to catch him? The mere idea made her writhe.
Anyway, she had spoken out at last. He knew that she was not the Lily
Martin brand.
"I am glad," she reflected. "I wonder if I realise how glad I am about
father. Even if he is very trying, even if he still runs into debt,
even if people look down their noses at him, still he is somebody to
belong to. I shall not stand alone as I have stood, with everyone
saying, 'Poor child! She must earn her own living, for she has nobody
to do it for her!' Aunt Ethel won't speculate as to whether a really
eligible young man would overlook my having been a clerk in a bank.
Fred Holroyd will no longer feel moved by compassion to protect me. Dr.
Balmayne will no longer debate within himself as to the degree to which
he may push remonstrance!"
She would have a place in the world. It would be at her father's side.
She would also have a refuge from thought and memory, both of which were
scourging her cruelly just now.
She could not help remembering how happy she had been upon the fine
frosty morning when she and Ninian had driven together to the Crag
Lough. Now everything was changed.
The sound of Daff's barking outside made her prick up her ears. The
outer door banged, there was a scuffle of feet, some words in a deep
voice, and Ninian opened the door.
She sent him a welcoming glance from her chimney corner. "You are
late!" said she reproachfully.
He looked as if half inclined to bolt; Daffie, rushing against his legs
from behind, settled the question for him. He entered with a laugh and
a reckless swing, closing the door.
"If I'd remembered that teacher was about again, I should have hurried
more," said he, in almost his usual style.
Olwen's heart leapt.
"For a punishment only three lumps of sugar in the first cup," said she,
rising and going to the table; the tea-pot, which had been keeping hot
before the fire, in her hand.
He took a seat, not his usual place, at right angles to her, but at the
further end of the table, pushing aside Wolf's cup and plate in order to
sit there, so that she knew it to be intentional.
"How's the broken head?" he asked in a brazen sort of tone.
"Mending fast."
"That's right. Easier healed than a broken heart, isn't it?"
"Well, I don't think I ever tried."
"No, and I don't think you're likely to," he replied, eyeing her as it
were by stealth. "I wonder what kind of love-making _would_ melt you
down? Not sending you silk coats by post, I'll go bail."
The hot colour flamed to her face. She was at that moment wearing the
rose-coloured coat which Ben had sent.
"Ha!" cried Nin with glee. "Look at her cheeks, Daff! Some stray shots
go straight to the goal! It was a man, then?"
"I don't understand. You are speaking that unknown tongue which you
used when I first came."
"Yes. One can't always be on the high-brow tack, you know. I've
chucked it. I express myself far more easily in my own language," with
the one-sided smile and green light in the eyes which still made her
think of Mephistopheles.
She looked steadily at him for a moment, and then said, "Very well. It
would be a pity to bore you."
"Yes," he replied, helping himself to a piled spoonful of jam. "It is a
bore to tell lies; and I've told more since you came than ever in my
life before."
"Then the sooner I go the better," she swiftly cried; to which the
retort was instantaneous.
"Sure thing."
She sprang to her feet, snatched her shawl from the back of a chair and
put it on. "You won't mind pouring out your second cup?" said she.
"No, that'll be right enough, but before you go off in a naughty temper,
there is a little ceremony we ought to go through, isn't there?"
"I don't think so."
"But I do, and we may as well get it over." He leaned his two elbows on
the table, with his cup of tea supported in front of his lips in both
his hands. "Miss Innes, will you marry me?" he asked, and took a drink
immediately.
She stood looking at him for a long minute without speech, hardly
knowing whether to go on jesting or to let her anger have its way. At
last:
"I've a great mind--oh, I really _have_ a great mind to say 'Yes,' and
be revenged! Just to see what you would do! You go too far! You rely
too utterly upon my good manners. What _would_ you do, now, if I were
to say 'Yes'?"
He got to his feet, his eyes gleaming. "I should think, if you're not
an idiot, you know pretty well what I should do," he replied; and took a
step towards her.
She winced, as if her hurt had been physical. In her passion of
self-despising she could almost have shrieked. This was the man she had
championed, this the man who had, so she told him that morning only,
_from first to last acted just as he ought_!
She got to the door somehow. When she actually had the iron ring of it
in her hand she felt strength to speak. "I stood up for you," she said
gaspingly. "I--I don't think I have deserved that you should treat
me--like this!"
He turned an odd colour, but she was too absorbed in her own outraged
feelings to remark that. His voice was steady enough as he answered:
"Now you know what sort I am. Like nothing on earth, eh? But you
haven't answered. I've asked you to marry me, and you've almost
accepted me, you know."
"Accepted you? ... Accepted _you_?"
"Come! That's more like. Miserable caitiff, avaunt! Soil not the ear
of Vere de Vere with thy pernicious twaddle! But, I say, if I've
guessed right, and you are turning me down in a manner which might
perhaps be described as unmitigated, at least you'll let Madam and my
brother know that I did come up to the scratch, won't you? As for
Balmayne, I'll tell him myself that I asked you, but you wouldn't have
me."
She could not resist a last thrust. "Did you expect me to take your
damnation upon my hands?"
"You've come pretty near it. I'm more than half-way to hell at this
minute--put out your finger and I'll come the rest of the way!"
As he stood; his green eyes flickering like light upon steel, the idea
that he was the worse for drink flashed upon her for the first time.
Had that been the explanation of his devilry upon the occasion of their
first meeting? It was from the bar parlour of a tavern that he had
appeared upon her horizon. Was this--_this_--perhaps the real meaning
of Dr. Balmayne's hints?
As she fled from the room upstairs to her chamber she had but one
intention in her mind.
It was the intention to escape. She must leave this house, leave this
man with his unholy fascination, put all this degradation behind her,
and run to her father's arms as to a city of refuge.