Читать книгу Miss Hurd: An Enigma - Anna Katharine Green - Страница 9

Table of Contents

“Fate is woven from unnoted threads.”

Bayard Taylor

Mr. Livermore was a man with a taste for curios. His house was filled with specimens of foreign art and workmanship. In the library especially there was a collection of Eastern swords and Japanese vases, fine enough to rouse cupidity in the breast of the most indifferent.

There was one small dagger in particular which attracted general attention, and when, later in the evening, a certain game was proposed in which this dagger was offered as a prize, not only myself, but all who were present became deeply interested in the venture, and sat down to play for this exquisite weapon with feelings little calculated to prepare any of us for its loss.

Miss Hurd was not present, but as there was one person lacking from the number necessary to make up a good game, she was speedily summoned, and I soon had the satisfaction of seeing her take her seat at the table.

As her chair was directly opposite my own, and at right angles to that occupied by Mr. Murdoch, her first glance naturally fell in my direction. This seemed to irritate him, for he moved uneasily and frowned so darkly for a man of his uniform amiability, that I became confident that the game would never reach its conclusion without some open show of jealousy on his part.

But I was mistaken in this, as in many other things connected with Miss Hurd, for never had I seen him more affable than through the progress of this game. When he did not laugh, he talked, and that in so cheerful and apt a way that I found no reason for obtruding any remarks of my own into a conversation that was at once so spontaneous and so entertaining.

Miss Hurd played cards as she did everything else, with an air of subdued fire and mysterious meaning; but there was lacking from her face those evidences of suppressed emotion, which had surprised me the day before, and I began to think I had exaggerated the tragic significance of her former expression and manner.

The game was an involved one and lasted for some time, but when, by the unexpected turning of a certain lucky card, the meed of victory became hers, the sudden silence that fell upon the players was of the most embarrassing nature. Miss Dalrymple rose, and Miss Clayton, with an obvious desire not to appear disappointed, drew up her slight form with a short laugh, cutting enough to hear, had Miss Hurd been in a mood to notice trifles.

But, as was evident to both Mr. Murdoch and myself, she was too much moved by the sight of the strange prize she had won to note the petty evidences of displeasure visible on every side.

Trembling violently, as it was thrust towards her hand, she started from her chair with an appearance of fright and repulsion that surprised us all, and murmuring in choked tones, “I have no liking for weapons of that nature,” stretched out her hand towards it, and then drew it back, with signs of agitation totally out of accordance with her grand physique and general air of power and physical daring.

“It is a very choice specimen of the armorer’s art,” remarked Mr. Murdoch, in a tone of kindly assurance.

But she shook her head with a sudden, quick glance of her eye in his direction, that for some reason or other gave me an uncomfortable shock, and quickly observing, “I cannot accept it,” folded her hands, as if to withdraw them from temptation. “I am sorry,” began Mr. Livermore. “You have won the prize—”

But here Mr. Murdoch’s calm voice was heard making the following somewhat remarkable proposition:

“If Miss Hurd does not like the dagger, and if she will allow me the pleasure of relieving her of it, I will gladly give her in exchange for it my check for fifty dollars.”

She was a woman of commanding presence, and though dressed more plainly than any other lady in the room, had that distinction of manner which we instinctively associate with extreme nicety of feeling and great personal pride. We therefore naturally expected to behold some explosion of anger on her part at an offer so indecorous and ill-judged, but to our astonishment she gave no evidence of displeasure, but, on the contrary, evinced positive relief, if not satisfaction. However, when she spoke, it was to ask a question.

“Is it worth that much?” she queried, casting a look at Mr. Livermore, in which she vainly tried to suppress a certain eagerness.

“It is worth more,” coolly returned that gentleman, naturally offended at the turn affairs were taking.

“I should not have dreamed it,” she remarked absently, evidently totally oblivious not only to Mr. Livermore’s displeasure, but to the unfortunate impression her lack of delicacy was making upon the rest of the company. “But if it is so, and if Mr. Murdoch seriously wishes this—this”—she stumbled over the word, but finally whispered, “toy, then I will take the money, and thank him. Do you want this dagger?” she suddenly asked, with marked emphasis, looking her secret but unavowed lover imperiously in the face.

Mr. Murdoch, who had grown slightly pale, bowed as he met her eye, and answered suavely:

“I do. Even without the added value which your temporary ownership has given to it, I should be glad to buy so beautiful a piece of work at even a greater price than I have offered you.”

“Then take it,” she impetuously cried, pushing it towards him with an excited gesture; and was going hurriedly away, when she impulsively paused and, without looking back or turning round, threw back at him these few words in a half inaudible whisper: “I will be obliged to you, if you will hand the money to Mr. Livermore.” And having said this she walked on.

But he was after her before she reached the door. “Wait,” he entreated, and we could imagine his smile, although we could not see it. “Will you not take it from my hand?”

She paused, stepped back, and glancing at the bill he held out, grew instantly severe in her aspect and quietly repellent.

“You said fifty,” she remarked; “you are hardly justified in proffering me more.”

“Pardon me,” said he, “I was but following Mr. Livermore’s suggestion.”

She bent her head with an icy dignity that restored her at once to her usual position of easy superiority.

“I cannot take your money,” said she. Then with a haughty lift of her head she quietly remarked: “I make you a present of the dagger,” and glided without further words from the room.

We were all so astounded at this scene for which no explanation offered itself, that we had none of us moved or spoken while it was going on. But when she had disappeared and we saw Mr. Murdoch’s face again turned our way, it was impossible for us not to betray some of the interest and excitement naturally awakened in us by this surprising episode.

But his manner, while perfectly courteous, nipped all such display of feeling in the bud. Handing a fifty dollar bill to Mr. Livermore, he quietly observed: “You will see that Miss Hurd gets this,” and then, embracing the whole crowd in his proud smile, he sat down and at once launched forth into a disquisition on the armorer’s art that was equally brilliant and instructive. But though he succeeded in diverting some and distracting the attention of others, he could not withdraw my thoughts from the occurrence which had just taken place. All the while he was speaking I was trying to settle in my own mind the nature of her feelings towards this rich man, and endeavoring to decide why she had so far forgotten herself as to openly dispose of an article in this mercenary manner, which had been publicly presented to her by a person of Mr. Livermore’s claims to respect. Was the sum which had been offered her so great that she found it impossible to refuse it? The glint in her eye at the first mention of money seemed to confirm this supposition, and yet how could I reconcile the existence of such cupidity with her general air of pride and her subsequent gift of the very object she had been so anxious to sell.

I began to realize that my doubts in her regard were increasing too rapidly for my comfort, and angry at myself that I was still so influenced by her beauty and force of character as to feel that the light had been extinguished in the room by her departure, I withdrew to my own apartment, with the fixed determination to leave the place on the morrow, and thus end the whole matter so far as I was concerned.

And thus closed my second day at Beech Grove.