CONFESSION
Fielden was not enjoying his game of billiards. It was a favourite game
of his, and one which he had not had much opportunity of exercising
lately, but he would have given something for an excuse to get out of
it. The reason was obvious why Raymond Copley had made an excuse to get
May out of the room. His instinct told him what was going on, and if he
had had any lingering doubt on the subject it would have been dispelled
by the most casual glance at Sir George.
For Haredale had lost all geniality. He became silent and depressed.
From time to time he glanced anxiously towards the door. If such a thing
were possible to a man of his position, and with a record like his, it
might be said that he looked as if he had been committing some crime and
was in deadly fear of being found out.
There was no longer room for hesitation in Fielden's mind. There was a
conspiracy between Sir George and Copley against May Haredale's
happiness. Fielden was boiling. It seemed incredible that a man like Sir
George could deliberately become a party to such a scheme as this. And
so the game went on, with two people at least not taking the faintest
interest in it. Then the door opened and May Haredale entered.
Fielden shot a swift glance in her direction. He saw how pale her face
was, how rigidly haughty and set were her features. There were traces of
tears in her eyes, but so far as Fielden could see he had no cause to
despair. Whatever had been said or done, Copley had not gained much. His
face showed that. Defeat was written all over it. He was not the man to
put up with disaster without showing it, and Fielden knew in that moment
that so far, at any rate, things had not gone well with his host. Sir
George saw it, too, for his jaw dropped, and he turned almost a guilty
face towards Copley. For a moment there was an awkward silence.
"It is getting very late," May said. "Don't you think we had better be
going?"
Haredale looked at Copley as if waiting for a lesson.
"It is not so very late," he remarked.
"Well, it seems so to me," May said. "Besides I am very tired. I am sure
Mr. Copley will excuse me."
Copley murmured something more or less appropriate. He was not used to
taking the trouble to disguise his humiliation.
"If you must go, you must," he said. "I'll come round after breakfast
and see you to-morrow morning, Sir George. I have something important
to say to you. Perhaps you will be there, too, Mr. Fielden. I fancy I
can put something in your way. I want some one to take a general
superintendence of my stables. Sir George tells me you are thoroughly
up to the work, and that I can place every confidence in you. You seem
to be the sort of man I am looking for, and, though I am interested in
racing, I have very little time to spare to look into the details."
It was hard work to return thanks for this ungracious speech, but
Fielden managed it somehow. He was feeling strangely elated, and hoped
that nothing of his emotions found expression on his face. He was glad
enough to find himself at length seated in the brougham with his friends
on the way back to Haredale Park. It was a singularly silent ride, for
May never spoke a word the whole time and Sir George was ill at ease.
When they reached home May turned to Fielden.
"I hope you will excuse me a moment or two, Harry," she said. "I have
something to say to my father. It won't take many minutes. Perhaps you
will wait for us in the library. I think you will find everything you
want there."
Sir George stood nervously in the hall shuffling from one foot to
another. It seemed to take him a long time to get out of his overcoat.
He turned to May testily.
"Surely, there is nothing you have to say to me to-night," he said. "It
will keep till to-morrow."
Without reply May turned towards the drawing-room and Sir George
followed. He closed the door carefully behind him. She crossed to the
fireplace and stood facing her father. Her face was firm, though her
lips trembled slightly, and the task before her was by no means a
pleasant one.
"I hardly know how to begin," she said. "It is so difficult for me in my
unfortunate position. I have never ceased to regret the death of my
mother, but I cannot remember feeling the want of her so much as I do
now. I suppose you can guess what happened to-night. You know what Mr.
Copley said to me."
Sir George shook his head. His attempt to appear unconcerned was so
grotesque a failure that, in spite of her unhappiness, May could not
repress a smile.
"You are very transparent," she cried. "You make a bad conspirator,
father. You know perfectly well what happened to-night. You know why we
were asked to dine with Mr. Copley. He has done me the honour to ask me
to be his wife. Now don't pretend to be surprised, because Mr. Copley
had your full sanction; in fact, he told me he had discussed the matter
with you more than once."
"And you accepted him?" Sir George asked eagerly.
"We will come to that presently. Now let me ask you a question. Suppose
that your position was as good as it was twenty years ago, that there
were no mortgages on the estate. In that case, what would you have said
to Mr. Copley if he had expressed a wish to become your son-in-law? You
wouldn't have turned him out of the house, because we don't do things
like that. But your reply would have been no less unmistakable. You
would have made Mr. Copley feel the absurdity of his ambition. He would
never have been asked to come here again. Now isn't that so?"
Sir George shuffled about uneasily.
"Other times, other methods," he answered. "You see the condition of
things is quite altered. Really, some of our best women marry rich men
who have nothing particular to boast of in the way of pedigree. I can
call a dozen cases to mind."
"Yes," May retorted. "And I can call a dozen cases to mind where you
have expressed the strongest indignation with parents who have
encouraged marriages of that sort. You have stigmatized the thing as a
sale. Why, you refused to shake hands with Lord Middlebourne when he
told you that his daughter was going to marry young Blackley. Yet, in
the face of all this, you entered into a conspiracy with Mr. Copley, a
conspiracy which you must know would be fatal to my happiness."
"You, you didn't refuse him?" Sir George gasped.
"Refuse him! Of course I did. I hope I did not say too much. But I let
him know that the thing was impossible. I told him that in no
circumstances could I become his wife. I have felt that this was coming
for some time, and I blame myself for permitting things to go so far.
Mr. Copley took it very badly. He lost his temper. He threatened me. He
even went so far as to say that, unless I thought better of my reply, he
would turn us out of Haredale Park."
Sir George turned a white and anxious face towards his daughter.
"Did he say that?" he asked hoarsely.
"I have already told you so. But, of course, this is ridiculous. You
would never have been so foolish as to place yourself in the power of a
man like Mr. Copley. It is very well to know such people, and I daresay
you have found him useful in business. But as to the rest---- Why do you
look at me like that? You don't mean to say that his story is actually
true?"
Sir George seemed to have some difficulty in speaking. When at length
the words came they were free enough.
"It is true," he said. "My dear child, you must not blame me unduly. I
have been terribly unfortunate of late. Everything I have touched has
gone wrong. I am almost afraid to look at my betting book, and if the
Blenheim colt does not win the Derby, then I shall be something worse
than a pauper. You don't know what hopes I build upon this. If it comes
off all right we shall be rich and prosperous. But it has been an awful
struggle to keep my head above water so far, and when Copley offered to
help me in an open-handed way, I dared not refuse. Of course, I had not
the least idea then that he had given you even more than a passing
thought. It never occurred to me that he was lending me this money
merely to have a hold upon me, and I thought it possible you might care
for him. There is always the chance----"
"Oh, you didn't. I cannot believe you would ever think so meanly of me
as that."
"Well, I don't know," Sir George said, stung into retort. "Anyhow, it is
unfortunate that Harry Fielden should come back just now."
The hot blood flamed into May's face.
"That is unjust and ungenerous," she cried. "In any case, my reply would
be just the same. I never did care for anybody but Harry Fielden, and I
never will. You know that. There is not the slightest chance of his ever
being in a position to keep a wife. But we are talking in a circle. I am
more than sorry to hear what you say, but if the worst comes to the
worst we shall have to dispose of everything and leave Haredale Park.
For nothing shall induce me to marry Raymond Copley."
"Well, there's an end of it all," Sir George said. "This makes a beggar
of me. But don't decide like that. Think it over and give me your final
answer in the morning."