DEEPENING WATERS
Nancy thought long and earnestly over her breakfast. She thought deeply
as she proceeded to her office. Even the business of again taking up the
thread of her work failed to absorb her.
Apprehension disturbed, and a certain sense of guilt weighed upon her.
The vision of the tall figure of Elas Peterman as it moved down the
dining-room at the Chateau remained with her. She had caught the glance
of his dark eyes. She knew he had recognised her; and there had been
neither smile nor recognition in the swift exchange that had passed
between them.
So she answered the usual morning summons of her chief without any
pleasant anticipation. She expected a bad time, and strove to prepare
herself for it.
But alarm vanished the moment she ushered herself into the man's
presence. He was not at his desk poring over his littered
correspondence. She found him standing before his favourite window,
gazing out reflectively upon the grey light of the early winter day. He
turned at the sound of her entry, and his smile of greeting lacked
nothing of its usual cordiality.
Had she observed him a moment before it must have been different. But
she had been spared all sight of the mood that had driven him to abandon
urgent correspondence in favour of the drab outlook beyond the window.
It was a bad expression. It was the expression of a man of fierce
cruelty. It was not an expression of open, hot anger, which flares up,
passes, and is forgotten like the fury of a summer storm. It was rather
the slowly banking clouds of winter, piling up for a climax that should
be devastating. And through it all he had smiled, smiled with angry eyes
that seemed to grow colder and harder every moment.
Nancy knew little of the world, and less of men and women. It could not
have been otherwise. Vital with a youthful optimism and strong purpose,
she had devoted herself to work to the exclusion of everything else. And
before that there had only been the scrupulous care of the good matrons
of Marypoint. A wider experience, a maturer mind would have yielded her
doubt as she beheld the man's smiling greeting now. She would have
reminded herself of her offence, and understood its enormity in the eyes
of a man. She would have had a better appreciation of her own
attractions, and would have long since understood this man's regard for
her.
As it was she snatched at the relief his smile inspired.
The man laughingly shook his head as the girl approached.
"Nancy, my dear, I hope Mr. Bull Sternford gave you as good a dinner as
I would have given you, and--as good a time generally. You look well
rested, anyway."
There was a sting in the words that all the man's care could not quite
shut out. But the tone was of intended good-nature. In a moment Nancy
was explaining.
"Oh, I know you must think me terribly mean," she cried impulsively.
"You must think I was just lying to you when you asked me to dine
yesterday. But it wasn't so. It surely wasn't. May I tell you about it?"
The man came back to his desk, and indicated the empty chair beside it.
"Sure, if you feel that way," he said, dropping into his seat while
Nancy took hers. "But I'm not angry. Truth I'm not." For a moment he
gazed smilingly into the girl's troubled eyes. "Here," he went on. "I'll
tell you just how I think. Maybe you won't figger it flattering, but
it's just plain truth. Now I'm a married man and you're a young girl.
Well, the Chateau isn't the sort of place for you and me to be seen
together in. I didn't think of it when I asked you. I just wanted to
hand you a good time for the good work you've done. Sort of prize for a
good girl, eh? I hadn't another thought about it. And when you refused
me, and I thought it over, I was kind of glad--I might have compromised
you, and I certainly would have compromised myself. You get that? You
understand me? Of course you do. That's what I like. You're so darn
sensible. Now you tell me--if you fancy to?"
Nancy sighed her relief. Her last cloud had passed away.
"Oh, yes," she began at once. "I do want to tell you. You see I think
it's all-important."
"Yes."
The man's smile was unchanged. But there was a dryness in his
monosyllable that only Nancy could have missed.
"Mr. Sternford 'phoned me after his interview with you."
"He had your 'phone number?"
"Surely, I gave him that before he left me after driving up from the
docks."
"I see. Of course. You drove up together after landing. I forgot."
Nancy laughed.
"I don't think I told you," she said. "But it doesn't matter, anyway.
Yes, he drove me up. And the whole of this affair was so interesting I
just had to hear the result of the interview with you. So I told him my
'phone number. Well, right after he'd seen you he rang me up. He told me
he couldn't speak over the 'phone the things that passed, and asked me
to dine. I just had to fall for that. You see, this thing meant so much
to me. It was the first big thing I'd handled, and--and I was so crazy
to make good for you. So I promised. And it wasn't till after it was all
fixed I realised the mean way I'd acted. You'll forgive me, won't you,
Mr. Peterman? I just hadn't a notion to be mean, and I was all tired to
death. But I had to hear about the things you'd fixed."
"And you heard?"
The man was leaning on the desk with one hand supporting his head. Not
one shadow of condemnation or resentment was permitted in voice or look.
And the girl was completely disarmed. But her smile died out and a swift
apprehension, that had no relation to herself, replaced it. In a moment
her mind had gone back to the declaration of war which was to involve
the two enterprises.
"Yes. He told me."
"And--?"
"Oh, it's all wrong. It's all foolish, and wrong, and just terrible,"
she broke in impulsively. Then she became calmly thoughtful, and her
even brows drew together in an effort to straighten out the things she
wanted to say. She shook her head. "I'm sure he can be handled," she
went on deliberately. "Oh, yes. In spite of the things they say of him."
"What's that?"
"Why he's as ready to fight as to laugh."
"Who says that?"
"That's the way they speak of him."
"Who speaks that way?"
Nancy laughed.
"It was just a queer sort of missionary who told me. I met him when I
was at Arden Laval's camp. A man they call Father Adam."
Peterman nodded.
"And you guess he can be handled?"
"I think so." Nancy spread out her hands. "Oh, it's not for me to talk
this way to you, Mr. Peterman, but--but--"
"Go on." The man was patiently reassuring as the girl hesitated. "It's
good to hear you talk. And then it was you who got him to listen to our
proposal at all."
The compliment had prompt effect. The girl's cheeks flushed, and a light
of something approaching delight shone in the hazel depths of her eyes.
"I don't know," she cried. "But it seems to me he's sort of reasonable.
He's kind of full of ideals and that sort of notion. He's out for a big
purpose and all that. But I don't believe he'd turn down any business
arrangement that would hand him the thing he wants--"
"Business arrangement?" Peterman sat up. The laugh accompanying his
words was full of amiable derision. He shook his head. "If he won't sell
he's got to be smashed. That's the only business arrangement that suits
us. We're far too big for compromise. No, my dear. He won't sell. He
asked to buy us. He--this darn fool man from Sachigo. He thinks to buy
the Skandinavia like he's buying up all the mills he can lay hands on.
But he bit off a chunk when he handed that stuff to me. He's as ready to
fight as to laugh. Well, I guess he's going to get all the fight he
needs. He'll get it plenty."
"Then you mean to--smash him?"
"Just as sure as it's started to snow right now," the man exclaimed,
pointing at the window.
Nancy's gaze followed the pointing finger. But it was not the snow she
was thinking of. It was the man whom she beheld staggering under the
tremendous weight of the Skandinavia's might. She felt pity for him. And
incautiously she permitted Elas Peterman to realise her pity.
"Can't anything be done?" she ventured gently. "Have you handled him? I
mean--Oh, I'm sure he's reasonable. Can't the offer be made--more
suitable? More--?"
Peterman's eyes suddenly hardened.
"What do you mean? I haven't handled him right? I've blundered? I--" He
laughed without any mirth. "See here, Nancy, my dear, you're a bright
girl, but don't hand me your worry for this darn fool. You're kind of
tender-hearted. You guess it's a pretty tough thing to see a good-looker
boy go down in a big commercial fight. That's because you're a woman.
This sort of thing's part of business. It's harsher, more ruthless than
even war on the battlefield with guns, and bombs, and stinking gas.
We're going to fight this thing just that way. There's no mercy for Mr.
Bull Sternford. He'll get all I can hand him just the way I know best
how to hand it. And the tougher I can make it the better it'll please
me. See? Now you just run right along and see to those things that are
going to make you big in the Skandinavia, and don't give a thought for
the feller who's handed me stuff I don't stand for in any man. There's
liable to be big work for you in this fight, and I'd say you'll make as
good in fight as in peace. You've got my goodwill anyway, my dear, just
for all it's worth. That's all."
* * * * *
The door had closed behind the girl. Elas Peterman was on his feet
pacing the thickly carpeted floor. There was no longer any attempt at
disguise. A surge of jealous fury was raging through his hot heart and
drove him mercilessly.
The picture of Nancy, radiantly beautiful, seated at dinner with Bull
Sternford had lit a fire of bitter hatred in his Teutonic heart. So he
paced the room and permitted the fierce tide to flood the channels of
sanity and set them awash with the ready evil of his impulse.
From the first moment of the girl's story of her successful effort with
this man, Sternford, this vaunting rival, Peterman had been bitterly
stirred. The man's change of plans at her bidding he had understood on
the instant. The man from Labrador had not changed his plans at the
bidding of the Skandinavia. It was the girl who had induced him. It was
she who had attracted him. Then the boat trip, and the girl's confession
of his having, perhaps, saved her life. What had preceded that incident?
What had followed it? And when Elas Peterman asked himself such
questions it was simple for him to find the answer. He had seen
Sternford, and had judged the position. He knew what would have happened
had he been in this man's place. Sternford wasn't the man to throw away
such chances, either. He had fallen for the girl, and she doubtless
had--The picture he had witnessed at the Chateau had left him without
any doubt. The driving up together from the docks, the telephone.
Sternford had taken her to her apartment. Oh, it was all as clear as
daylight. Then the girl's pity for the man who was to feel the weight of
the Skandinavia's wrathful might. She had said he was reasonable. She
had hinted that he, Peterman, had blundered. There was only one
reasonable interpretation to the position. And it did not leave him
guessing for one single moment.
Once he passed a fleshy hand up over his forehead and brushed back his
dark hair. Once he came to a pause before his window and stood gazing
out at the falling snow with hot eyes. No such fury of jealousy had ever
entered into his life before. Never had he dreamed before of the
tremendous hold this girl had obtained upon him. His claim on her had
all seemed so natural, so easy. He had looked upon her as property that
was indisputably his. He might have learned something from his feelings
when he had paraded her before Hellbeam. But he had not done so. Now he
knew. Now he knew the whole measure of them. And the bitterness of his
awakening was maddening.
Well, Bull Sternford should get away with no play of that sort at his
expense. He warned himself that he was no simple fool to be played with.
And if Nancy wanted the man--But he broke away from under the lash of
impotent fury, and turned to a channel of thought which was bound to
serve a nature such as his in his present mood.
He returned to his desk and flung himself into the chair. And after a
while his mind settled itself to the task his mood demanded. He sat
staring straight ahead of him, and presently the heat passed out of his
eyes, and they grew cold, and hard. Later, they began to smile
again--but it was a smile of cruelty, of evil purpose. It was a smile
more unrelenting in its cruelty than any frown could have expressed.
* * * * *
For the first time Nancy's eyes were open to the things of life as they
really were. She had tasted a certain bitterness in the early days of
her girlhood. But up till now the world had seemed something of a rose
garden in which it was a delight to labour. Up till now she had seen no
reverse to the picture of life as youth had painted it for her. Now,
however, it was borne in upon her that there was a reverse, a reverse
that was ugly and painfully distressing. It was this declaration of war
between her own people and the man from Labrador.
She lay in her bed that night thinking, thinking, and without any desire
for sleep. Strive as she would to search the position out logically, to
estimate the true meaning of it all, to fathom the chances of this war,
and to grasp the necessity for it, all these efforts only resulted in a
tangle of thought revolving about the picture of a youthful man of vast
stature, with eyes that were always clear-searching or smiling, and with
a head of hair that reminded her of a lion's mane. And as she gazed
upon this mental picture there were moments when it seemed to her there
was grave trouble in the clear depths which so appealed to her. The
smile in her eyes seemed to fade out, to be replaced by a look that
seemed to express the hurtful knowledge of a man disheartened, defeated,
crushed. They were in rival camps. They were at war. Each desired
victory. And yet the sight she beheld, the signs of defeat she
discovered in the man's eyes gave her no joy, no satisfaction.
She felt that the battle could end only one way. The might of the
Skandinavia was too great for anything but its complete victory. She was
sure, quite sure. Oh, yes. And she knew she would not have it otherwise.
But the pity of it. This creature of splendid manhood. To think that he
must go down--smashed. That was the word they used--smashed.
How she hated the word. The big soul of him with his ready kindliness.
Oh, it was a pity. It was a distracting thought. And why should it be?
For the life of her she could see no need. A little yielding on his
part. Just a shade less iron stubbornness. The whole thing could have
been avoided she was sure. The olive branch had been held out by the
Skandinavia. But he had deliberately refused it.
No. He had made himself their enemy. Then surely there could be no
complaint at the disaster that would overtake him. He was clearly to
blame. So why let the contemplation of it distract her?
She strove a hundred times to dismiss the whole thing from her mind. She
courted sleep in every conceivable way. But it was all useless. The
man's fine eyes and great body haunted her. They pursued her to her last
waking thought. And, at last, she fell asleep, thinking of the strong
supporting arms that had held her safe from the fury of Atlantic waves.