THE CLOSED DOOR
A way of escape! A way of escape! How often during the hours of that
endless day were those words in Maud's mind. They pursued her, they
mocked her, whichever way she turned.
To Jake she merely very briefly imparted the news of her uncle's
expected advent, and he received it without comment.
Bunny was much more speculative. He had been somewhat carried out of
himself by the trend of events. It was Jake who whispered to him the
amazing information of his sudden conquest, together with a very
strenuous injunction not to talk to Maud about it unless she started the
subject. And Maud, for some reason, could not start it. She went
through all the necessary arrangements for their removal as one in a
dream, scarcely speaking at all, responding very occasionally to Bunny's
eager surmises respecting the unknown great-uncle who had never before
taken the faintest interest in them, or shown himself so much as aware
of their existence. His coming did not seem to matter to her. If
indeed he were about to offer her a way of escape, it could not matter
to her now. The door that led thither had closed, closed in the night,
because her mother had been too tired to seek her out and tell her. The
irony of it! The bitter cruel irony! She dared not pause to think.
Jake spent a great part of the day with them, working with a will to get
them comfortably settled in their new quarters before the fall of the
early dusk. After that, he remained to tea; but he devoted almost the
whole of his attention to Bunny, who had in fact come to regard it as
his right.
He left soon after, refusing to remain for the game of chess for which
the lad earnestly pleaded.
"Not to-night, my son! Your brain has got to settle down. It's a deal
too lively at present."
He bent over Bunny at parting, and whispered a few words that were
inaudible to Maud. Then he turned to go.
She followed him to the outer door. The evening air smote chill and
salt upon her, and she shivered involuntarily. Jake stopped to light a
cigarette.
"I shan't be coming round to-morrow," he remarked then. "I shall be too
busy. But I'll look in on Saturday, and tell you what I've fixed up.
Will Sunday morning do all right if I can fix it?"
She shivered again. "Yes," she said.
"Say, you're cold," said Jake gently. "I mustn't keep you standing
here. But you really meant that Yes?"
He looked at her, and she saw that his eyes were kindly. She held out
her hand with a desperate little smile.
"Yes, I meant it."
His hand closed strongly, sustainingly, upon hers. "Guess there's
nothing to be scared of," he said. "I'll take care of you, sure."
She felt a sudden lump rise in her throat, and found she could not
speak.
"You're tired," said Jake softly. "Go and get a good night! It's what
you're wanting."
"Yes, I am tired," she managed to say.
He still held her hand, looking at her with those strange, glittering
eyes of his that seemed to pierce straight through all reserve and enter
even the hidden inner sanctuary of her soul.
"What's this relative of yours like now?" he asked unexpectedly.
She shook her head. "I don't know. I've never seen him."
"Think he's coming along to offer you a home?" asked Jake.
Her face burned suddenly and hotly. For some reason she resented the
question. "I don't know. How can I possibly know?"
"All right," said Jake imperturbably. "But in case he does, I'd like
you to know that you are at liberty to do as you please in the matter.
He'll tell you, maybe, that I'm not the man for you. That, I gather, is
your mother's attitude. I sensed it from the beginning. If he does,
and if you feel inclined to agree with him, you're free to do so,--free
as air. But at the same time, I'd like you to remember that if you
should accept anything from him and then not find it to your liking, you
can still come along to me and follow out the original programme. I'm
only wanting to make you comfortable."
He stopped; and in the pause that followed, Maud's other hand came out
to him, shyly yet impulsively. "You are--such a good fellow!" she said
with a catch in her voice.
"Oh, bunkum!" said Jake, in a tone of almost indignant remonstrance.
He held her two hands, and turning, spat forth his cigarette into the
night; an action of primitive simplicity that filled Maud with a
grotesque kind of horrified mirth, mirth so intense that she had a
sudden, hysterical desire to laugh. She restrained herself with a
desperate effort.
"Good night!" she said, with something of urgency in her voice. "It
isn't bunkum at all. It's the truth. You--I think you are the best
friend I ever had. But--but----"
"But--" said Jake.
She freed her hands with a little gasp. "Nothing," she said. "Good
night!"
It was a final dismissal, and as such he accepted it. She heard the
steady fall of his feet as he went away, and with his going she managed
to recover her composure.
There was an undeniable greatness about him that seemed to dwarf all
criticism. She realized that to measure him by ordinary standards was
out of the question, and as she reviewed all that he had done for her
that day a gradual warmth began to glow in her. There was no other
friend in all her world who would have extended to her so firm or so
comforting a support in her hour of adversity. And if her face burned
at the memory of her own utter collapse in his presence, she could but
recall with gratitude and with confidence the steadfast kindness with
which he had upheld her. She had gone to him in anguished despair, and
he had offered her the utmost that he had to offer. As to his motives
for so doing, she had a feeling that he had deliberately refrained from
expressing them. He wanted her and he wanted Bunny. Perhaps he was
lonely. Perhaps years of wandering had created in him a longing for
home and domestic comfort.
But she did not speculate very deeply upon that subject. She felt that
she could not. There was something in the man's nature, something
colossal of which she was but dimly aware, and which she had no means of
gauging, that checked her almost at the outset. She found herself
standing before a closed door, a door which she had neither the audacity
nor the desire to attempt to open. She was even a little fearful lest
one day that door should open to her of its own accord and she should be
constrained to enter whether she would or not.
But on the whole that talk with Jake had calmed her. The man was so
temperate, so completely master of himself, and withal so staunch in the
friendship he had established with her, that she could not but feel
reassured. There was a delicacy in his consideration for her that
warmed her heart. She knew by every instinct of her being that he would
take care of her as he had promised. And she wanted someone to take
care of her so badly, so badly.
She was so deadly tired of fending for herself.
She found Bunny in a mood of remarkable docility, and she managed to get
him to bed without much trouble. He also was worn out after two nights
of restlessness, and he fell asleep earlier than usual.
She herself sat for awhile in the little sitting-room with a book, but
she found she could not read. She was too tired to fix her attention,
and the thought of Jake kept intruding itself whenever she attempted to
do so. It was wonderful how she had come to rely upon him, knowing so
little of him. He had always been far more to Bunny than to her.
She was drifting into a kind of semi-doze, still with the memory of him
passing and repassing through her brain, when there came the sound of a
bell in the house, and almost immediately after, the opening of the
sitting-room door.
She started up in surprise to see her landlady usher in a little, spare
grey-whiskered man who walked with a strut and cleared his throat as he
came with a noise like the growling of a dog. He made her think
irresistibly of a Scotch terrier bristling for a fight.
He halted in the middle of the room, and banged with his umbrella on the
floor, as one demanding a hearing.
"Hullo!" he said. "My name's Warren. You, I take it, are Maud Brian.
If so, I'm your Uncle Edward."
Maud came forward, still feeling a little dazed. Since Jake's departure
she had almost forgotten the approaching advent of this relative of
hers.
"How do you do?" she said. "Yes, I am Maud Brian. Come and sit down!"
He took her hand, looking at her with small grey eyes that were keenly
critical.
"How old are you?" he demanded.
"I am twenty-five," said Maud, faintly smiling.
He uttered a grunting growl and sat down with a jerk. "I've come
straight from your mother to talk to you. She's a fool, always was. I
hope you're not another."
"Thank you," said Maud sedately.
He brought his shaggy grey brows together. "I've come the length of
England to see you, but I haven't any time to waste. I'm going back
to-morrow. That letter of yours--I meant to answer it, but business
pressed, and it had to stand over. Then I decided to come and see what
sort of young woman you were before I did anything further. I couldn't
stand a replica of your mother in my house. But--thank goodness--you're
not much like her. She tells me you're thinking of making a marriage of
convenience to get away from your step-father. Now, that's a very
serious step for a young woman to contemplate. It seems to me I've
turned up in the nick of time."
Maud, sitting facing him with her hands folded in her lap, still faintly
smiled. The bluntness with which he tackled the situation appealed more
to her sense of humour than to any other emotion. She realized that he
was actually about to offer her a way of escape, but, curiously, she no
longer felt any desire to avail herself of it. By his generous
assurance that she was at liberty to do as she would, Jake had somehow
managed to range her on his side. She did not want to escape any more.
Moreover, there was Bunny to be thought of. She knew well in what
direction his desires--and his welfare also--lay.
"It was very kind of you to come," she said. "But, as regards my
marriage, my mind is quite made up. He--the man I am going to
marry--understands everything. I have been quite open with him. He has
been most kind, most generous. I could not think of drawing back now."
"Pshaw!" said Mr. Warren. He sat forward in his chair, his hands
gripping the knob of his umbrella and surveyed her with growing
disapproval. "You're prepared to sell yourself to a man you don't love
in return for a home, hey?" he asked.
She winced sharply, and in a moment her tired young face was flooded
with colour. "Certainly not!" she said, her voice very low. "Most
certainly not!"
"Looks uncommonly like it," he maintained.
"It is not so!" she said, with low-toned vehemence. "I have told
you--he--understands."
"And is prepared to give all and receive nothing for his pains?" pursued
the old man relentlessly. "If so, he's a very remarkable young man; and
let me tell you for your comfort, it's an attitude he won't keep up for
long, not--that is--unless he's a blithering idiot? Is he an idiot?"
Maud almost laughed. "No, that he is not! But really--really--you are
wasting your time. If you had come this time yesterday, I would have
listened to you. To-night it is impossible."
"Why impossible?"
"Because I have promised."
"Tut! tut! He must release you."
"He would release me," Maud said slowly. "That is just it."
"Just what? Talk sense if you can!" It was evident that patience was
not Uncle Edward's strong point. He fidgeted his umbrella testily.
She looked at him with her clear, straight eyes. "That is just why I
will not ask for my release. In fact, I--don't want it."
"Don't want it! Then, young woman, you're in love with him. I've come
on a fool's errand, and I'll wish you good night."
He was on his feet with the words. Maud rose too. She laid a hand of
half-timid restraint upon his arm.
"I am not--in love with him, Uncle Edward," she said, her voice not
wholly steady. "Such a thing would be impossible. But at the same
time--though I can't give him everything--he shall not repent his
bargain. We are going to be--friends."
"Pshaw!" said Uncle Edward again. He gripped her hand unexpectedly,
staring up at her with his keen eyes. "Do you know how old I am?" he
said.
She shook her head.
"I'm eighty," he said. "I've seen a little of men in my time, and I've
been a man myself. So let me tell you this! There's not a man on this
earth who could be satisfied for long with that kind of farce. You've
got him on the leash now. He's tame and good. But there's a ravening
wolf inside us all, my dear, when we're thwarted, and the longer we're
thwarted the more savage we get. You can't bring up a wolf--not the
tamest wolf in the world--on bread and butter. Sooner or later he'll
begin to feel a bit empty, and whine for the real thing. And if you
still go on starving the brute till he's famished, he'll either break
away and go elsewhere for food, or else he'll round on you one day and
tear you in pieces. You'll be the sufferer either way. It's nature I
tell you, it's nature. You'll have to give all or drive him away at the
outset. There can't be half-measures with a man who is a man. If you
offer them you must expect trouble. And remember, it's always the woman
who pays in the end,--always the woman who pays."
He repeated the words with the impressiveness of a judge pronouncing
sentence.
Maud was trembling, though she tried to conceal the fact. "And then
there is Bunny to be thought of," she said.
"Bunny? Who is Bunny? Oh, your brother, is it? And he's a hopeless
cripple, I understand? Is it for his sake that you've hatched this mad
scheme?"
"In a great measure. You see, he and--and Jake Bolton are very fond of
one another."
"Pshaw!" the old man exclaimed. "So this Jake Bolton is to have the
boy, with you thrown in as a makeweight; is that it? And you think
you're all going to be happy together, do you? Never heard such a
tomfool scheme in my life. Where does this Jake Bolton hang out? I'll
go and have a talk to him."
"Oh, please don't!" Maud begged. "He'll think I sent you. And
really--really there is nothing to discuss."
"We'll see about that," he rejoined grimly. "Seems to me it's high time
somebody came along and interfered. Now, look here, what's your
name?--Maud! I'm going to get you out of this mess. You shan't marry a
man you don't love just because there was no other way out. There is
another way out, and you're to take it. You're to come and live with
me, do you hear? You and your precious Bunny too! And when I die, I'll
leave you both provided for. See? Come, I can't say fairer than that."
He was still gripping her hand, and looking at her with shrewd eyes
under their beetling brows as though prepared to beat down all
opposition. There was a look of Bunny about those eyes, Bunny in a
difficult mood. She recognized it with a sigh. It seemed her fate to
be continually doing battle with someone, and she felt wholly unfitted
for it. All she asked of life was peace and quietness.
"My home is a dingy one," said her uncle, "but you may be able to make
it more cheerful. I shan't interfere with either of you. Come, now,
you're going to be a sensible girl, hey? I'm sorry I didn't turn up
before. But the knot isn't tied, so I'm not too late. We must explain
the situation to the young man. Unless he's an absolute bounder, he'll
be amenable to reason."
But Maud shook her head. "I can't do it, Uncle Edward. I know you mean
to be kind. I am very grateful. But--I can't."
He rasped his throat aggressively. "That's nonsense," he said with
decision. "Plainly the man is beneath you. You say you don't love him,
and never could."
"I am not--altogether--sure that he is beneath me," she said rather
wistfully.
"But you don't love him?" her uncle insisted, scanning her piercingly.
She bent her head with an instinctive desire to avoid his eyes. "No."
"Or anyone else?" he pursued.
She made a small movement of protest.
"Ha!" he exclaimed, in the tone of one who has discovered something.
"Your mother hinted as much. And you think you're going to make things
better for yourself by marriage with a rank outsider. Is that it? Is
that it? Then take my word for it, you're going to make the biggest
mistake of your life. And if you persist in it, I've done with you. At
least, no, I haven't done; for I'm going straight to that young man of
yours to tell him the sort of bargain he's going to make."
He paused, for suddenly Maud had drawn herself up very straight and
proud. "If you wish to do so, you must," she said, and her pale face
was very regal and composed. "But it will not make the smallest
difference to either of us. Jake has my promise. I have his."
It was at this point that the door opened again to admit the landlady
with a note on a salver.
"Mr. Bolton's compliments," she said, "and will you be good enough to
send back an answer?"