The interview which he most dreaded in the morning was averted, or at
any rate postponed. His mother had had a very bad night and was unable
to get up--she might not be able to leave her bed for a week. Her
malady, though not actually dangerous, was disquieting because it was so
weakening, a bad attack frequently keeping her in bed for ten days or
a fortnight; and complete quiet was necessary for her recovery and long
afterwards.
Jack breathed again. He had been thinking of the revelation which he
had to make to his mother before many hours had passed, and the more he
thought of it the greater repugnance did he feel for the discharge of
this duty. He breathed more freely. She might not be in a position to
hear the story for several days, and what might happen in the meantime?
He could not of course make a suggestion as to what might happen; only
one happening might be looked for with certainty, and this was the visit
of Marcus Blaydon.
“He will not delay in striking his first blow,” said Priscilla. “You
will let me see him alone? I shall know what to say to him, Jack.”
But Jack felt that, clever and all though his wife was, he knew better
than she did how to deal with such men as Blaydon.
“Don’t think of such a thing,” said he. “You and I are one. We shall
face him together. I know that you have your fears for me. You need
have none. I can control myself. But that ruffian--one cannot take too
elaborate precautions. Such men are not to be depended on. Revolvers
are cheap, so is vitriol. I know that type of rascal, and I’ll make my
arrangements accordingly. I have met with blackmailers before now, but
I’ve not yet met one that adhered strictly to the artistic methods of
the profession; they never move without a revolver or a knife--in the
case of a woman they trust a good deal to vitriol.”
“I’m quite willing to submit to your judgment, Jack,” said she. “I’m not
afraid of him. If you say that I should not see him I’ll leave him to
you, but I think that I should face him with you by my side.”
“So you shall,” said he.
And so she did.
They had not rehearsed an imaginary scene with the man. They had not
exchanged views as to what to say to him. Each knew what was in the
other’s mind on the subject, so that any planning was unnecessary.
He came early--a man of good presence, he seemed to Jack to be probably
from thirty-five to forty years of age. His dark hair was somewhat
grizzled and so were his moustache and beard. Priscilla had thought
it strange that he had not shaved his face on getting out of gaol and
starting life afresh. He had always worn that short, square beard; but
it now appeared to her to be shorter and to have much more grey in it.
His eyes were queer, neither grey nor hazel; they were not bad eyes,
and they had a certain expression of frankness and good spirit at times
which was quite pleasing, until the man began to speak, and then the
expression changed to one of furtiveness, for he looked at the person
whom he was addressing with his head slightly averted so that the pupils
of his eyes were not in the centre but awry.
The thought that came to Jack Wingfield at the moment of the man’s
entrance was that he could easily understand how one might be imposed
on by him; but to Priscilla came the thought that she had been right in
distrusting him from the first.
He had been shown into the library by the order of Jack; the room was
empty; Jack kept him waiting for some minutes before he entered, saying:
“Good morning. Can I do anything for you, Mr. Blaydon?”
“You can,” said the other. “I came here for my wife, and I mean to have
her.”
And then Priscilla entered. The man threw out both hands in an
artificial, stagey way, and took a step or two toward her.
“Stay where you are,” said Jack imperatively. “You can talk as well
standing where you are. Don’t lay so much as a finger upon her. Now, say
what you have to say.”
“Isn’t it natural that I should cross the room to meet my own true
wedded wife, sir?” said the visitor. “She can’t deny it; if I know
anything of her she won’t deny it--we were married according to the
rites of God’s holy ordinance in the Church; and those that God hath
joined together--but I know she will not deny it.”
“You know nothing of her,” said Jack. “All that you knew of her--all
that you cared to know--was that her father had some money which you
hoped to get your hands on to cover up the consequence of your fraud.
But now you’re going to learn something of her. She escaped by a hair’s
breadth from your clutches, and believing you to be dead--the report of
your heroic death was another of your frauds, I suppose.”
“I escaped by the mercy of God, sir, and my first thought was for her.”
“Was it? Why was your first thought on getting out of gaol not for her?
How was it that you were aboard that vessel?”
“Circumstances beyond my control--but--ah! I wanted to begin life again
and not drag her down with me. I felt that I had it in me, sir; I know
that I had it in me.”
“You knew that the report of your death was published in the American
papers and you knew that it would appear in all the papers here. That
was nearly four months ago, and yet you took no steps whatever to have
that report contradicted. You wished everyone to believe that you were
dead.”
“What better chance could I have of beginning life afresh? It seemed as
if the hand of God----”
“Don’t trouble about the hand of God. You didn’t consider that it was
due to the girl whom you had linked to your career of crime, to mention
in confidence what your scheme was--to begin life again without being
handicapped by your previous adventures that had landed you in gaol?”
“I wanted to wait until I had redeemed the bitter past. I wanted to be
able to go to her, an honourable man, and say to her, ‘Priscilla, bitter
though the past may have been, yet by the mercy of God----’”
“Quite so. That was quite a laudable aspiration, and it shows that your
heart is in the right place.”
“All that I thought about was her happiness, sir. I said, ‘If I
have done her an injustice in the past, she shall find out I have
atoned----’”
“You thought of nothing but her happiness? Well, now that you come here
and find that she is happy, what more do you want?”
“I want her--my wife.”
“Because you think that she will be happy with you? Why didn’t you go
to her and tell her of your plans the very moment you were released from
gaol?”
“I hadn’t the courage to face her after what had happened, sir.”
“That was your only reason?”
“That was my only reason.”
The man bent his head in an attitude of humility, and Jack Wingfield,
who had spent six years of his life mingling with all sorts of men that
go to make up a world, and who had acquired a good working knowledge of
men of all sorts, looked at the man standing before him with bent head,
and said:
“You lie, sir; you went straight off to another woman.”
The man gave a start, and his humility vanished. His eyes revealed
unsuspected depths of shiftiness as he looked furtively from Jack to
Priscilla and back again to Jack.
“What do you know about it? Has Lyman been writing to you?”
“Never mind who has been writing to me: the fact remains the same, and
I think we have you in a tight place there, Mr. Blaydon,” said Jack,
smiling at the result of his drawing a bow at a venture.
“Look here,” cried the visitor. “I know just how I stand. I know what
my rights are--restitution of conjugal rights. I’ve been to the right
quarter to learn all that, and what’s more, I won’t stand any further
nonsense. What right have you to cross-question me--you? It is you who
have ruined the girl, not me.”
“Mr. Blaydon,” said Jack quietly, “you are a man of the world, and so am
I. You have said enough to show me that you are no fool. Now, speaking
as man to man, and without wishing to dispute the legality of your claim
or to throw away good money among bad lawyers, how much will you take in
hard cash to clear off from here and let things be as they are?”
“Not millions--not millions!” cried the man indignantly. “I’m no
blackmailer--don’t let that thought come to you. I don’t ask for money.
Good Heavens, sir! what have I done that you should fancy my motives
were of that character? No; all I ask is for my wife to come with me.”
“And supposing she went with you to-day, what could you do for her?”
said Jack. “Have you a home to which you could take her? What are your
prospects?”
“My prospects may be none of the brightest, Mr. Wingfield; I wasn’t born
so lucky as you; but I’m her husband, and it’s my duty to think of her
first. If she’s the woman I believe her to be, she will acknowledge that
her duty is to be with me.”
He looked toward Priscilla, but she remained silent; she made no attempt
to acknowledge his complimentary words.
Then Jack went to the mantelpiece, and drew a postcard from behind a
bronze ornament--a postcard addressed to himself.
“Take that card in your hand and tell me if you recognize the
handwriting,” he said, handing the card to the man who took it and
scrutinized the writing closely.
“I never saw that writing in all my life,” he said, and Jack took the
card from him smiling. The man looked at his fingers; the card had
evidently been leaning against a gum-pot and got a touch of the brush on
its border. He wiped his fingers in his pocket-handkerchief, while Jack
replaced the postcard where it had been standing.
“If you tell me you have never seen that writing before, I am
satisfied,” said he. “But I have a letter or two the writing on which
I fancy you would have no difficulty in recognizing. I will not produce
them just yet. Now, without wasting more time, Mr. Blaydon, I wish
to know from you in one word, now or never, if I offer you the sum of
twenty-five thousand pounds----”
Priscilla started up.
“Don’t you speak,” cried Jack, sternly. “I’m prepared to be liberal.
But mind, it’s now or never with you, my man; for I’ll swear to you
that I’ll never repeat my words--I say now, if I offer you the sum of
twenty-five thousand pounds to clear away from here, to go to, let us
say, Canada, and sign a paper never to return to England or to make any
further claim upon us--well, what do you say--yes or no?”
There was an appalling pause. A great struggle seemed to be going on in
the man’s mind, and so there was, but he pretended that it was in his
heart, but this was where he made a mistake. He overrated his gifts as
an emotional actor. His shifty eyes prevented his being convincing. He
turned his head away, and took out his handkerchief. Then he wheeled
sharply round and spoke firmly.
“Mr. Wingfield, I’ve told you that I have no thought except for the
happiness of my wife. I’ll take the money.”
“Will you indeed?” asked Jack, anxiously.
“I don’t want to stand between her and happiness. I will take the
money,” said the visitor.
“I thought that you would decide in that way,” said Jack, “and I’ll pay
it to you----”
“Never!” cried Priscilla, speaking for the first time.
“Thank you; that’s the word I was looking for,” said Jack. Then he
turned to the man.
“Take yourself away from here, and look slippy about it, my good
fellow,” he said. “You have shown yourself to be just what I guessed you
were. But I don’t think that you can say so much for us: we’re not just
the fools that you fancied, Mr. Blaydon. You thought you were a made man
when you learned that the girl you had tricked once had fallen a victim
to your second deception. You’ll need a bit of re-making before you can
call yourself a man. How much better would our position be if you were
to clear off without revealing the fact of your existence to anyone?
Our marriage would be legally still no marriage. And you thought that
in these circumstances we would hand you over a fortune. Now be off with
you, you impudent blackmailer, and do your worst. We shall fight you,
and get the better of you on all points. You may take that from me.”
“I have come for my wife, and I mean to have her. You allowed just now
that she was my wife,” cried the man, weakly reverting to his original
bluff.
“She refuses to go with you, Mr. Blaydon. How do you mean to effect your
purpose?”
“I have the law on my side. I know where I stand. Conjugal rights----”
“Two conjugal wrongs don’t make one conjugal right, and you’ll find
that out to your cost, my good fellow. We’ve had enough of you now, Mr.
Blaydon. I’ve been very patient so far, but my patience has its limits.
Go to the attorney or the attorney’s clerk who sent you here, and ask
him to advise you as to your next step.” He rang the bell, and the
footman had opened the door before he had done speaking.
“Show this person out,” said Jack, choosing a cigar from a box on the
mantelpiece, and snipping the end off with as great deliberation as is
possible with a snip. Priscilla had already gone out of the room by the
other door--the one which led into the dining-room.
The man looked at Jack, and then looked at the respectful but
unmistakably muscular footman.
“Good morning, Mr. Wingfield,” he said, picking up his hat.
“Good morning,” said Mr. Wingfield. “Fine weather for the harvest, isn’t
it?”
“Admirable,” responded the departing guest. “Admirable! Ha! ha!”
He made a very inefficient villain of melodrama in spite of his “Ha,
ha!” laugh.
Yes, but he occupied a very important position as an obstacle to the
happiness of Mr. and Mrs. Wingfield. He was legally the husband of the
young woman who called herself Mrs. Wingfield, and who had never called
herself by his name, and a legal husband is a quantity that has always
to be reckoned with. His position is a pretty secure one when considered
from the standpoint of English legality. In America he would do well not
to step on a slide.