I now made the great mistake of my career.
I had so far proceeded with extraordinary deliberation. I had from the
first realised the danger of hurry. For a time I forgot caution, and
that is why I, Israel Rank Gascoyne, Earl Gascoyne, Viscount
Hammerton, am writing my memoirs in a condemned cell instead of living
in almost feudal splendour in Hammerton Castle.
As Lord Gascoyne had said, he and his wife were young, and there was
every prospect of another heir. I had no time to lose. The way in
which all the heirs of the House of Gascoyne had died off was
beginning to attract attention. People had discovered that I was very
close to the succession, and I was now a welcome guest at many houses
which had hitherto been closed to me. Lady Branksome had evidently
taken back her remark about the synagogue, for she was sweetness
itself. Sibella appreciated my position fully, and began to regret her
marriage with Lionel, saying that she had made a great mistake, and
that she ought to have waited. She had long since told me that Lionel
bored her terribly.
“He isn’t even wicked or vicious,” she complained; “he is only weak.”
I said that I was astonished that she should have taken so long to
discover so obvious a fact.
She might have answered, had she been clever enough, that in a woman’s
eyes the fine animal will stand for a great many virtues, and that the
illusion has a habit of lasting a very long while. The truth of the
matter was, however, that the thoroughly unhealthy life which Lionel
led had quite destroyed any physical charm he had ever possessed. He
developed a capacity for middle age which was quite startling. He
might have possessed Jewish blood, judging by the speed of his
transition from slim boyishness to stale maturity. Sibella, who was
extraordinarily fastidious on the subject of physical beauty, noticed
it very soon. Considering that she was married to him, the discovery
did her credit. I have known so many people marry for beauty and
afterwards show the most extraordinary callousness to its decay. I
suppose the romantic resource of most people gives out after one
attack.
Sibella’s was not the kind of organisation to become phlegmatic.
Robbed of her essential food—excitement—she would have become
querulous and irritable, but she could never settle into the
easy-going. It was a proof of her opulent temperament that I verily
believe she had been somewhat in love with Lionel and myself at the
same time. Lionel now grated on her in proportion to the fascination
he had once exercised.
I was only afraid that she might find my divided attention all too
insufficient. Sir Anthony Cross had somewhat dropped off. The
pertinacity of the most fervid lover cannot withstand perpetual
disappointment, and he was beginning to realise that he had set his
heart on the moon. I think he realised also that I was laughing at him
for the effusive civility with which he had treated me whilst he
thought I was playing his game, a civility which had long since given
way to marked coolness. This I did not mind, for the time had now
passed when he could be useful to me. I should have attempted to
conciliate him if I had thought otherwise. I knew that in his heart of
hearts he had always disliked me, though at the same time my Jewish
blood taught me not to create one more enemy than was necessary.
My marriage drew near, and a cloud of family connections descended on
Miss Gascoyne. People who would some time before have denied that I
was in any way connected with the Gascoynes, thought it such a nice
thing that she was marrying one of the family, and though it was
improbable that dear Mr. Rank would ever succeed, still, one never
knew; whilst any reference to my Jewish blood was no doubt met with:
‘Oh, I don’t know; perhaps a very slight strain;’ which, considering
my appearance, was ridiculous.
I went the length of presenting myself with a wedding-gift from the
imaginary Parsons family. It was the sort of thing which I did not
like doing. It is always difficult to say how active deception in
small things will end, and no wise criminal encumbers himself with a
number of petty deceptions. They clog his footsteps, and, besides, the
trifles of life should be used to build up a reputation for veracity
and good fellowship. It is limiting to play for small stakes. An
attention to detail is imperative, but the detail must be essential
and not superfluous. Still, considering that I had made so much of the
Parsons’ devotion to me, it would have looked strange if they had not
sent me something, even from Canada.