Читать книгу The Passionate Quest - Edward Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 9

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Matthew entered in the midst of Rosina's almost tearful remonstrances. He drew off his overcoat, looking all the time at Philip with an air of disfavour. Philip, as a matter of fact, was not looking his best. His collar was soiled, his tie had wandered to one side, his clothes were crumpled and his hair unkempt. He seemed thinner than ever, and the single spot of colour in his cheeks was certainly not healthy. Yet there was a sort of grace about him as, with his elbow on the back of the sofa and his head resting upon his hand, he listened with a smile, half-apologetic and half-conciliatory, to Rosina's remonstrances.

"It's really no good being angry with me," he said. "I walked all the way down to the other side of Fleet Street to see a fellow who knows an editor. We went to several wine shops together to try and find him. My friend stood me two drinks. I'd rather he'd paid for something to eat, but I couldn't mention it, could I?"

"Why didn't you go out and get something when you reached home?" Rosina protested.

Philip looked at the shilling.

"That doesn't belong to me," he said. "My money has gone."

"I never heard such nonsense!" she exclaimed.

"It is not nonsense," Matthew intervened, lighting a cigarette. "The matter has to be faced. I have been looking into the accounts this evening. Your capital has gone, Philip—so has Rosina's. I am the only one who has paid all his share towards the housekeeping for the last three weeks, and I understand that Mrs. Heath has not been fully paid."

"What are you going to do about it?" Philip asked curiously.

"I am going to leave you," Matthew announced. "I am going to move into more suitable rooms in Bury Street to-morrow. I have been telling Rosina of my intention."

"Very wise of you," Philip observed sarcastically. "You might have been stuck for next week's rent."

"I shall pay my share of that, as I am leaving without notice, and that will be the end of my responsibility," Matthew rejoined. "Before I go, however, there is just a word I have to say."

"Get on with it," Philip invited.

"You have been in London seven months," Matthew proceeded deliberately, "during which time you have spent the whole of your savings. You have earned nothing. Consequently, you are at the moment penniless. Rosina has also spent her savings, although she, unlike you, has earned a trifle which has gone towards your support. We agreed to start life together, but we are in no sense of the word partners. I am leaving you to-morrow. How do you propose to live?"

The pent-up fury of months broke loose in Philip.

"What the hell business is that of yours?" he demanded.

"So far as you are concerned," was the cold reply, "it is neither my business nor my concern. There is Rosina, however, to be considered."

"Philip—Matthew—" she implored, turning to each in turn, "please don't let us quarrel. It isn't worth it. Matthew is quite right to go, if he feels that he must. We shall get along somehow."

"I shall be curious to know how," Matthew observed.

Philip slid from the sofa on to his feet, and stood by Rosina's side. He glowered at Matthew across the table.

"Damn you and your curiosity!" he exclaimed. "We sha'n't ask you for alms, anyhow."

"So far as you are concerned," Matthew assured him, "I should refuse you if you did. If ever you should come to your senses and be willing to start work at the bottom, as a junior clerk in a commercial house, I would do my best to find you a post. I should do this for you for old association's sake, but somewhat against my principles. As regards Rosina, the matter is different. If she chooses to come with me, she can have the shelter of my flat and food when she requires it. I have no doubt that she will be able to earn enough for her clothes, if she has only herself to think of."

A deep flush stained Philip's cheek. For a moment it seemed as though he would have sprung at his persecutor. Rosina linked her arm in his.

"Matthew, you are horrid!" she exclaimed indignantly. "Philip will soon be earning far more than I ever could. I am only too proud if I can help until that time comes."

Matthew shrugged his shoulders.

"You must make your own choice, Rosina," he said. "If you come with me, you certainly will not starve, you will have a roof over your head, and you will not need to pawn your clothes. If you decide to stay with Philip—well, God help you both!"

Rosina still clung to Philip.

"I dare say your offer is more kindly meant than it sounds, so I will thank you for it, Matthew," she declared. "Nothing, however, would induce me to leave Philip. I shall stay with him until he sends me away."

There was nothing in Matthew's face or manner to suggest that he was disappointed. He had at no time adopted any other tone than one of condescending invitation. Yet his silence was, in a way, ominous. He looked at the two for a moment with an unfathomable expression. Then he turned away and rang the bell.

"What's that for?" Philip demanded.

"I am going to have Mrs. Heath up," Matthew replied, "and acquit myself of all responsibility here. The flat I have taken is a service flat, and I entered into possession to-day. After I have explained matters to Mrs. Heath, I shall pack my bag and move in."

"Must you hurry away like this?" Rosina pleaded, a little timidly. "There are some socks of yours I haven't finished darning, and—"

"You can come round to my rooms and finish them whenever you like," Matthew interrupted. "My address will be 130a Bury Street."

Mrs. Heath bustled into the room. She was a thin, nervous woman, with a hard face, plentifully lined, and little untidy wisps of grey hair which seemed to defy restraint. She held her head a little on one side when she was listening, and she generally stood with her hands hanging down in front of her. It was understood that she had once been in service as a lady housekeeper.

"Mrs. Heath," Matthew began, "I must apologise for disturbing you at this hour, but there is a little matter I should like to put straight with you."

"It's a cruel number of stairs just to answer a bell," Mrs. Heath complained, "but I am here."

"My two friends and I are parting company," Matthew continued. "I have paid my rent up to last Saturday. I now wish to pay you my share until Saturday week, as I am leaving without notice."

Mrs. Heath extended her hand for the money which Matthew was counting out—a greedy hand, with bony fingers and big knuckles.

"If you paid for last week, I haven't had the money, sir," she declared anxiously.

"Then you must settle with these two," Matthew said. "I have paid my share, and that is an end of it so far as I am concerned. I am leaving to-night. You have no further claim upon me."

"I'm not so sure about that," she grumbled. "It's a sudden business, this, to throw the rooms on my hands."

"But we are staying," Rosina interposed. "Mr. Garth and I will keep the rooms on—except Mr. Garner's, of course."

Mrs. Heath coughed.

"Is the young gentleman in regular work, might I ask," she enquired, "or you, miss?"

Rosina checked the impatient exclamation which had sprung to Philip's lips.

"Mr. Garth is an author," she explained. "He does not need a regular post to be earning money. As you know, I have a little coming in for my typing."

"Could you make it convenient to settle for last week?" the landlady persisted.

Rosina shook her head.

"Not to-night, Mrs. Heath," she confessed.

Mrs. Heath took a gloomy view of the situation.

"I likes my lodgers," she announced, "to be in regular work—so much a week coming in for certain—and then we all knows where we are. But putting that aside, miss, may I ask if you and the young gentleman were thinking of living on here alone together like?"

"Of course," Rosina answered, with wide-open eyes. "Mr. Garner has just told you that he is going."

Mrs. Heath's cough appeared to become more troublesome.

"Without wishing to make myself in any way unpleasant," she said, "I simply puts it to you that you can't have the rooms. Mine's a respectable lodging house, and always has been."

Rosina was genuinely bewildered.

"But whatever do you mean, Mrs. Heath?" she exclaimed. "We are perfectly respectable people. We can get references, if you like."

"It isn't a matter of references," was the dogged reply. "I don't wish to make insinuations, being an honest and a careful woman myself, but I just tell you both that I can't let the rooms to a young man and young woman who aren't married, and, so far as I know, aren't thinking of it."

There was a curious silence in the room. Mrs. Heath, utterly ignorant of the thunderbolt which she had launched, began to back towards the door. Matthew, with sinister interest, watched the other two. Rosina had the air of a child whom something has terrified. For the second time that evening, a jarring chord had disturbed her serenity. Some one had intruded brutally and insistently into the most secret chambers of her consciousness. She looked a little timidly, a little helplessly, towards Philip. Then her head disappeared in her hands. This was not a battle which she could wage. Philip, to whom Mrs. Heath's attitude was less amazing but quite as unexpected, did his best to pull himself together.

"Look here," he protested stormily, "this is all nonsense! Miss Vonet and I were brought up together in the same house. We have lived like brother and sister always—the three of us have, in fact."

Mrs. Heath had reached the door. With her fingers upon the handle, she felt quite brave.

"I'm not one for insinuations, sir, as I said before," she concluded, "but I don't choose to let my rooms to a young lady and gentleman sharing a common sitting room, that aren't related. And Saturday will suit me, and if it could be Friday, to get a bit of cleaning done, I'd be glad. Good night, all!"

Mrs. Heath closed the door behind her and descended the stairs. Rosina's courage, proof against any ordinary disaster, seemed for the moment to have deserted her. She threw herself into the easy-chair and buried her face, still hidden by her hands, in the cushion. Philip had moved a little closer to Matthew.

"Look here, Matthew," he said, "when you asked Mrs. Heath to come up, had you any idea of what she might say?"

"I certainly did not think that she would consider you two very desirable lodgers," was the sneering reply.

Philip came a little nearer still.

"That isn't the point, damn you!" he continued. "We're a couple of babes in the wood, I suppose, but the other thing hadn't occurred to us. Had it occurred to you?"

"Yes," Matthew admitted.

"Then what did you mean when you asked Rosina to come and share your flat?" Philip demanded.

There was another silence. Rosina, who had been listening, raised her head. Her eyes, too, filled with dawning horror, were fixed upon Matthew. The pent-up sobs which had been shaking her body suddenly ceased.

"That is my business," Matthew answered slowly.

"You have made it mine!" Philip cried furiously, striking the first blow of his peace-loving life.

Matthew had reeled against the wall but saved himself from falling. He stood for a moment wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. He made no effort to return the blow, nor did Philip repeat it. Presently he hung his overcoat over his arm, picked up his hat and left the room, without a glance at either of them. Philip, who had been standing with clenched fists, watching him, listened until the sound of his retreating footsteps died away. Then he turned towards Rosina. In her eyes he seemed suddenly glorified. His passionate action, although subsequently, in her saner moments, she believed it ill-deserved, had somehow purged away the ugliness of the moment. He was the Sir Galahad of her dreams, on fire to stamp out the shadow of evil for her sake. She held out her arms and Philip sank down by her side. A species of exaltation was upon him.

"Dear Rosina," he whispered, "I hadn't meant to say a word yet—not until I had done something in the world—not until I had something to offer you. And now I can't help it. Perhaps it is the one thing needed to keep me going, to give me faith and hope."

Her arms held him tighter. They were both very young for the love which gathered them into its marvellous keeping—hers, in those early moments, perhaps, something of the mother love that desires to protect and encourage one a little weaker than herself. But it was very wonderful, and the magic of it lasted until they heard the bell of the Parish Church chiming the hour of eleven. Then Philip tore himself away, picked up his cap with a little laugh and showed her the shilling.

"For my night's lodging, sweetheart!" he exclaimed, as he made his way towards the door. "Wish me luck."

She called out after him, wanting to pack him a bag, reminding him of his sponges, pyjamas—all sorts of things he ought to have. There was no reply save the sound of his rapid footsteps descending the narrow stairs. She hurried to the window, watched him emerge from the shabby house, watched him cross the street. There was something new about him, new about his carriage, new about the way he held his head and swung his arms. Her heart beat with joy and pride as she looked downwards. For the first time, he was facing life like a victor.