A PATRON OF CHARITY
Lady Sybil Crotin was not a popular woman. She was conscious that she
had married beneath her--more conscious lately that there had been no
necessity to make the marriage, and she had grown a little soured. She
could never mix with the homely wives of local millionaires; she
professed a horror of the vulgarities with which she was surrounded,
hated and loathed her lord and master's flamboyant home, which she
described as something between a feudal castle and a picture-palace; and
openly despised her husband's friends and their feminine relatives.
She made a point of spending at least six months of the year away from
Yorkshire, and came back with protest at her lot written visibly upon
her face.
A thin, angular woman, with pale green eyes and straight, tight lips,
she had never been beautiful, but five or six years in an uncongenial
environment had hardened and wasted her. That her husband adored her and
never spoke of her save in a tone of awe was common property and a
favourite subject for local humour. That she regarded him with contempt
and irritation was as well known.
In view of Lady Sybil Crotin's unpopularity, it was perhaps a great
mistake that she should make herself responsible for the raising of
funds for the local women's hospital. But she was under the impression
that there was a magic in her name and station which would overcome what
she described as shyness, but which was in point of fact the frank
dislike of her neighbours. A subscription list that she had opened had a
weak and unpromising appearance. She had with the greatest difficulty
secured help for the bazaar, and knew, even though it had been opened
by a duchess, that it was a failure, even from the very first day.
Had she herself made a generous contribution to the bazaar fund, there
might have been a hope; but she was mean, and the big, bleak hall she
had chosen as the venue because of its cheapness was unsuitable for the
entertainment she sponsored.
On the afternoon of the second day, Lady Sybil was pulling on her
gloves, eyeing her husband with an unfriendly gaze as he sat at lunch.
"It was no more than I expected," she said bitterly. "I was a fool ever
to start the thing--this is the last time I ever attempt to help local
charities."
Mr. Crotin rubbed his bald head in perplexity.
"They'll come," he said hopefully, referring to the patrons whose
absence was the cause of Lady Sybil's annoyance. "They'll come when they
hear what a fine show it is. And if they don't, Syb, I'll come along and
spend a couple of hundred pounds myself."
"You'll do no such thing," she snapped; "and please get out of that
ridiculous habit of reducing my name to one syllable. If the people of
the town can't help to support their own hospital, then they don't
deserve to have one, and I'm certainly not going to allow you to waste
our money on that sort of nonsense."
"Have your own way, love," said Mr. Crotin meekly.
"Besides," she said, "it would be all over the town that it was your
money which was coming in, and these horrid people would be laughing at
me."
She finished buttoning her gloves and was looking at him curiously.
"What is the matter with you, John?" she asked suddenly, and he almost
jumped.
"With me, love?" he said with a brave attempt at a smile. "Why, there's
nothing the matter with me. What should there be?"
"You've been very strange lately," she said, "ever since you came back
from London."
"I think I ate something that disagreed with my digestion," he said
uneasily. "I didn't know that I'd been different."
"Are things well at your--factory?" she asked.
"At mills? Oh, aye, they're all right," he said. "I wish everything was
as right as them."
"As they," she corrected.
"As they," said the humble Mr. Crotin.
"There's something wrong," she said, and shook her head, and Mr. Crotin
found himself going white. "I'll have a talk with you when I've got this
wretched bazaar business out of my head," she added, and with a little
nod she left him.
He walked to the window of the long dining-hall and watched her car
disappearing down the drive, and then with a sigh went back to his
_entremets_.
When Colonel Dan Boundary surmised that this unfortunate victim of his
blackmail would be worried, he was not far from the mark. Crotin had
spent many sleepless nights since he came back from London, nights full
of terror, that left him a wreck to meet the fears of the days which
followed. He lived all the time in the shadow of vengeful justice and
exaggerated his danger to an incredible degree; perhaps it was in
anticipating what his wife would say that he experienced the most
poignant misery.
He had taken to secret drinking too; little nips at odd intervals, both
in his room and in his private office. Life had lost its savour, and now
a new agony was added to the knowledge that his wife had detected the
change. He went to his office and spent a gloomy afternoon wandering
about the mills, and came back an hour before his usual time. He had not
the heart to make a call at the bazaar, and speculated unhappily upon
the proceeds of the afternoon session.
It was therefore with something like pleasure that he heard his wife on
the telephone speaking more cheerfully than he had heard her for months.
"Is that you, John?" she was almost civil. "I'm bringing somebody home
to dinner. Will you tell Phillips?"
"That's right, love," said Mr. Crotin eagerly.
He would be glad to see some new face, and that it was a new face he
could guess by the interest in Lady Sybil's tone.
"It is a Mr. de Silva. Have you ever met him?"
"No, love, I've not. Is he a foreigner?"
"He's a Portuguese gentleman," said his wife's voice; "and he has been
most helpful and most generous."
"Bring him along," said Crotin heartily. "I'll be glad to meet him. How
has the sale been, love?"
"Very good indeed," she replied; "splendid, in fact--thanks to Mr. de
Silva."
John Crotin was dressing when his wife returned, and it was not until
half an hour later that he met Pinto Silva for the first time. Pinto was
a man who dressed well and looked well. John Crotin thought he was the
most impressive personality he had met, when he stalked into the
drawing-room and took the proffered hand of the mill-owner.
"This is Mr. de Silva," said his wife, who had been waiting for her
guest. "As I told you, John, Mr. de Silva has been awfully kind. I don't
know what you're going to do with all those perfectly useless things
you've bought," she added to the polished Portuguese, and Pinto
shrugged.
"Give them away," he said; "there must, for example, be a lot of poor
women in the country who would be glad of the linen I have bought."
At this point dinner was announced and he took Lady Sybil in. The meal
was approaching its end when she revived the question of the disposal of
his purchases.
"Are you greatly interested in charities, Mr. de Silva?"
Pinto inclined his head.
"Both here and in Portugal I take a very deep interest in the welfare of
the poor," he said solemnly.
"That's fine," said Mr. Crotin, nodding approvingly. "I know what these
poor people have to suffer. I've been amongst them----"
His wife silenced him with a look.
"It frequently happens that cases are brought to my notice," Pinto went
on, "and I have one or two cases of women in my mind where these
purchases of mine would be most welcome. For example," he said, "I heard
the other day, quite by accident, of a poor woman in Wales whose husband
deserted her."
Mr. Crotin had his fork half-way to his mouth, but put it down again.
"I don't know much about the case personally," said Pinto carelessly,
"but the circumstances were brought to my notice by a friend. I think
these people suffer more than we imagine; and I'll let you into a
secret, Lady Sybil," he said, speaking impressively. He did not look at
Crotin, but went on: "A few of my friends are thinking of buying a
mill."
"A woollen mill?" she said, raising her eyebrows.
"A woollen mill!" he repeated.
"But why?" she asked.
"We wish to make garments and blankets for the benefit of the poor. We
feel that, if we could run this sort of thing on a co-operative basis,
we could manufacture the stuff cheaply, always providing, of course,
that we could purchase a mill at a reasonable figure."
For the first time he looked at Crotin, and the man's face was ghastly
white.
"What a queer idea!" said Lady Sybil. "A good mill will cost you a lot
of money."
"We don't think so," said Pinto. "In fact, we expect to purchase a very
excellent mill at a reasonable sum. That was my object in coming to
Yorkshire, I may tell you, and it was only by accident that I saw the
advertisement of your bazaar and called in."
"A fortunate accident for me," said Lady Sybil.
Crotin's eyes were on his plate, and he did not raise them.
"I think it is a great mistake to be too generous with the poor," said
Lady Sybil, shaking her head. "These women are very seldom grateful."
"I realise that," said Pinto gravely. "But I am not seeking their
gratitude. We find that many of these women are in terrible
circumstances owing to no fault of their own. For example, this woman in
Wales, whose husband is supposed to have deserted her--now, there is a
bad case."
Lady Sybil was interested.
"We found on investigation," said Pinto, speaking slowly and
impressively, "that the man who deserted her has since married and
occupies a very important position in a town in the north of England."
Mr. Crotin dropped his knife with a crash and with a mumbled apology
picked it up.
"But how terrible!" said Lady Sybil. "What a shocking thing! The man
should be exposed. He is not fit to associate with human beings. Can't
you do something to punish him?"
"That could be done," said Silva, "it could be done, but it would bring
a great deal of unhappiness to his present wife, who is ignorant of her
husband's treachery."
"Better she should know now than later," said the militant Lady Sybil.
"I think you do very wrong to keep it from her."
Mr. Crotin rose unsteadily and his wife looked at him with suspicion.
"Aren't you feeling well, John?" she asked with asperity.
It was not the first time she had seen her husband's hand shaking and
had diagnosed the cause more justly than she was doing at present, for
John Crotin had scarcely taken a drink that evening.
"I'm going into the library, if you'll excuse me, love," he said.
"Maybe, Mr.--Mr. de Silva will join me. I'd--I'd like to talk over the
question of that mill with him."
Pinto nodded.
"Then run along now," said Lady Sybil, "and when you've finished
talking, come back to me, Mr. de Silva. I want to know something about
your charitable organisations in Portugal."
Pinto followed the other at a distance, saw him enter a big room and
switch on the lights and followed, closing the door behind him.
Mr. Crotin's library was the most comfortable room in the house. It was
lighted by French windows which opened on to a small terrace. Long red
velvet curtains were drawn, and a little fire crackled on the hearth.
When the door closed Crotin turned upon his guest.
"Now, damn you," he said harshly, "what's thy proposition? Make it a
reasonable sum and I'll pay thee."