Читать книгу The Rocks of Valpré - Ethel M. Dell - Страница 27

"Well, all I have to say is, 'Bravo, young un!'" Rupert Wyndham stretched out a careless arm and encircled his sister's waist therewith. She was perched on the arm of his chair, and she tweaked his ear airily in response to this encouragement.

"Oh, you're pleased, are you?" she said. "That's very nice of you."

"Pleased is a term that does not express my feelings in the least," he declared. "I am transported with delight. You are the last person I should have expected to retrieve the family fortunes, but you have done it right nobly. I'm told the fellow is as rich as Croesus. It's to be hoped that he is quite resigned to the fact that he is going to have plenty of relations when he marries. By the way, hasn't he any of his own?"

"None that count—only cousins and things. Such a mercy!" said Chris.

"And oh, Rupert, isn't it a blessing now that we never managed to sell

Old Park, or even to let it? We shall be able to live there ourselves and

turn it into a perfect paradise."

"He wants to buy it, eh?" Rupert glanced up keenly.

Chris nodded. "It's only in the clouds at present. He said something about giving it to me when we marry. But of course," rather hastily, "we're not going to be married for ever so long. It would have to belong to him till then. He is going to talk to you about it presently. You wouldn't object, would you? You are entitled to your share now, he says, and Max will come into his directly. But Noel's will have to go into trust till he is of age."

"An excellent idea!" declared Rupert. "I'm damnably hard up, as your worthy fiancé has probably divined. But why this notion of not getting married for ever so long? I don't quite follow the drift of that."

"Oh, don't be silly!" said Chris, colouring very deeply. "How could we possibly? Everyone would say I was marrying him for his money?"

"And that is not so?" questioned Rupert.

"Of course it isn't!" She spoke with a vehemence almost fiery. "I—I'm not such a pig as that!"

"No?" He leaned his head back upon the cushion and gazed up at her flushed face. "What are you marrying him for?" he asked.

Chris looked back at him with a hint of defiance in her blue eyes. "What do most people marry for?" she demanded.

He laughed carelessly. "Heaven knows! Generally because they're stupid asses. The men want housekeepers and the women want houses, and neither want to pay for such luxuries. Those are the two principal reasons, if you ask me."

Chris jumped off the arm of his chair with an abruptness that seemed to indicate some perturbation of spirit. She went to one of the long windows that looked across the quiet square.

"Those are not our reasons, anyhow," she said, after a moment, with her back to the cynic in the chair.

He turned his head at her words and smiled, a mischievous boyish smile that proclaimed their relationship on the instant.

"Ye gods!" he ejaculated. "Is it possible that you're in love with him?"

Chris was silent. She seemed to be watching something in the road below her with absorbing interest.

"You needn't trouble to keep your back turned," gibed the brotherly voice behind her. "I can see you are the colour of beetroot even at this distance. Curious, very! But I'm glad you are so becomingly modest. It's the first indication of the virtue that I have ever detected in you."

"You beast!" said Chris.

She whirled suddenly round, half-laughing, half-resentful, seized a book from a table near, and hurled it with accurate aim at her brother's head.

He flung up a dexterous hand and caught it just as the door opened to admit Mordaunt, who had been asked to dine to meet his future brother-in-law.

Rupert was on his feet in a moment. With the book pressed against his heart, he swept a low bow to the advancing stranger.

"You come in the nick of time," he observed, "to preserve me from my sister's fratricidal intentions. Perhaps you would like to arbitrate. The offence was that I accused her of being in love—with you, of course. She seems to think the assertion unwarrantable."

"Oh, Trevor, don't listen!" besought Chris. "He only goes on like that because he thinks it's clever. Do snub him as he deserves!"

"Pray do!" said Rupert. "Begin by asking him how old he is, and whether he knows his nine-times backwards yet. Also—"

"Also," broke in Mordaunt, with a smile, "if he can't find something more profitable to do than to tease his small sister." He extended a quiet hand. "I have been wanting to make your acquaintance for some time. In fact, I was contemplating running down to Sandacre for the purpose."

"Very good of you," said Rupert. He dropped his chaffing air and grasped the proffered hand with abrupt friendliness. There was something about this man that caught his fancy. "You would be very welcome at any time. It isn't much of a show down there, but if you don't mind that—"

"I shouldn't come for the sake of the show," said Mordaunt. "I'd sooner see a battalion at work than at play."

"Ah! Wouldn't I, too!" said Rupert, with sudden fire. "We hope to be ordered to India next year. That wouldn't be absolute stagnation, anyhow. I loathe home work."

Mordaunt looked at the straight young figure brimming with activity, and decided that the more work this boy had to do the better it would be for him morally and physically.

"Keeps you in training," he suggested.

"Oh, I don't know. One is apt to get unconscionably slack. It's a fool of a world. The work is all wrongly distributed; some fellows have to work like niggers and others that want to work never get a look in." Rupert broke off to laugh. "I'm a discontented beggar, I tell you frankly," he said. "But I don't expect any sympathy from you, because, being what you are, you wouldn't reasonably be expected to understand."

"My good fellow, I haven't always been prosperous," Mordaunt assured him. "I've had luck, I admit. It comes to most of us in some form if we are only sharp enough to recognize it. Perhaps it hasn't come your way yet."

"I'll be shot if it has!" said Rupert.

"But it will," Mordaunt maintained, "sooner or later."

"Oh, do you believe in luck?" broke in Chris eagerly. "Because there's the new moon coming up over the trees, and I've just seen it through glass. Don't look, Trevor, for goodness' sake! No, no, you shan't! Shut your eyes while I open the window. You shall see it from the balcony."

She sprang to the window, and Mordaunt followed with an indulgent smile.

Rupert scoffed openly. "Chris is mad on charms of every description. If she hears a dog howl in the night she thinks there is going to be an earthquake. You had better not encourage her, or there will be no end to it."

But Chris, with her fiancé's hand fast in hers, was already at the window.

"If you don't believe in it, don't come!" she threw back over her shoulder. "Now, Trevor, you've got to turn your money, bow three times, and wish. Do wish for something really good to make up for my bad luck!"

Mordaunt complied deliberately with her instructions, her hand still in his.

"I have wished," he announced at length.

"Have you? What was it? Yes, you may tell me as I'm not doing any. Quick, before Rupert comes!"

Her eager face was close to his. He looked into the clear eyes and paused. "I don't think I will tell you," he said finally.

"Oh, how mean! And you would have missed the opportunity but for me!"

He laughed quietly. "So I should. Then I shall owe it to you if it comes true. I will let you know if it does."

"You are sure to forget," she protested.

"No. I am sure to remember."

She regarded him speculatively. "I don't like secrets," she said.

"Haven't you any of your own?" he asked.

"No. At least—" she suddenly coloured vividly under his eyes—"none that matter."

He sat down upon the balustrade of the balcony, bringing his eyes on a level with hers. "None that you wouldn't tell me," he suggested, still faintly smiling.

She recovered from her confusion with a quick laugh. "I shouldn't dream of telling you—some things," she said.

Her hand moved a little in his as though it wanted to be free, but he held it still. He bent towards her, his grey eyes no longer searching, only very soft and tender.

"You will when we are married, dear," he said.

But Chris shook her head with much decision. "Oh, no! I couldn't possibly. You would disapprove far too much. As Aunt Philippa says, you would be 'pained beyond expression.'"

But Mordaunt only drew her nearer. "You—child!" he said.

She yielded, half-protesting. "Yes, but I'm not quite a baby. I think you ought to remember that. Shall we go back? I know Rupert is sniggering behind the curtain."

"I'll break his head if he is," said Mordaunt; but he let her go, as she evidently desired, and prepared to follow her in.

They met Rupert sauntering out "to pay his respects," as he termed it, though, if there were any luck going, he supposed that his future brother-in-law had secured it all.

"Thought you didn't believe in luck," observed Mordaunt.

"I believe in bad luck," returned Rupert pessimistically. "I only know the other sort by hearsay."

"Isn't he absurd?" laughed Chris. "He always talks like that. And there are crowds of people worse off than he is."

"Query," remarked her brother, with a shrug of the shoulders; but an instant later, aware of Mordaunt's look, he changed the subject.

They were a small party at dinner, for there remained but Hilda Forest to complete the number. She had only that afternoon returned to town. Mrs. Forest was dining out, to Chris's unfeigned relief. For Chris was in high spirits that night, and only in her aunt's absence could she give them full vent.

But, if gay, she was also provokingly elusive. Mordaunt had never seen her so effervescent, so sublimely inconsequent, or so naïvely bewitching as she was throughout the meal. Rupert, reckless and débonnaire, encouraged her wild mood. As his youngest brother expressed it, he and Chris 'generally ran amok' when they got together. And Hilda, the sedate, rather pensive daughter of the house, was far too gentle to restrain them.

It was impossible to hold aloof from such light-hearted merry-making, and Mordaunt went with the tide. Perhaps instinct warned him that it was the surest way to overcome that barrier of shyness, unacknowledged but none the less existent, that kept him still a stranger to his little fiancée's confidence. Her dainty daring notwithstanding, he was aware of the fact that she was yet half afraid of him, though when he came to seek the cause of this he was utterly at a loss.

When he and Rupert were left alone together after dinner, they were already far advanced upon the road to intimacy. It was the result of his deliberate intention; for though a girl might keep him outside her inner sanctuary, it seldom happened in the world of men that Trevor Mordaunt could not obtain a free pass whithersoever he cared to go.

Rupert tossed aside his gaiety with characteristic suddenness almost as soon as the door had closed upon his sister and cousin.

"I suppose you want to get to business," he said abruptly. "I'm ready when you are."

Mordaunt moved into an easy-chair. "Yes, I want to make a suggestion," he said deliberately. "But it is not a matter that you and I can carry through single-handed. I want to talk about it, that's all."

Rupert, his elbows on the table, nodded and stared rather gloomily into his coffee-cup. "I suppose it'll take about a year to fix it up. Anything with a lawyer in it does."

Mordaunt watched him through his cigarette smoke for a few seconds in silence, until in fact with a slight movement of impatience Rupert turned.

"I'm no good at fencing," he said, rather irritably. "You want Kellerton

Old Park, Chris tells me. Have you seen it?"

"No."

"Then"—he sat back with a laugh that sounded rather forced—"that ends it," he declared. "The place has gone to rack and ruin. You can't walk up the avenue for the thistles. They are shoulder high. And as for the house, it's not much more than a rubbish-heap. It would cost more than it's worth to make it habitable. We have been trying to get rid of the place ever since my father's death, but it's no manner of use. People get let in by the agent's description and go and see it, but they all come away shuddering. You'll do the same."

"I shall certainly go and see it," Mordaunt said. "Perhaps I shall persuade Chris to motor down with me some day. But in any case, if you are selling—I'm buying."

Rupert jumped up suddenly. "I won't take you seriously till you've seen it," he declared.

"Oh yes, you will," Mordaunt returned imperturbably. "Because, you see, I am serious. But we haven't come to business yet. I want to know what price you are asking for this ancestral dwelling of yours."

"We would take almost anything," Rupert said.

He had begun to fidget about the room with a restlessness that was feverish. Mordaunt remained in his easy-chair, calmly smoking, obviously awaiting the information for which he had asked.

"Almost anything," Rupert repeated, halting at the table to drink some coffee.

The hand that held the cup was not over-steady. Mordaunt's eyes rested upon it thoughtfully.

"I should like to know," he said, after a moment.

Rupert gulped his coffee and looked down at him. "Murchison said ten thousand when my father died," he said. "He would probably begin by saying ten now, but he would end by taking five."

"Murchison is your solicitor?"

"And trustee up to a year ago."

"I see." Mordaunt reached for his own coffee. "And you? You think ten thousand would be a fair price?"

Rupert broke again into his uneasy laugh. "I think it would be an infernal swindle," he said.

"I will talk it over with Mr. Murchison," Mordaunt said quietly. "I only wanted to be sure that you were quite willing to sell before doing so."

Rupert took a turn up the room. He looked thoroughly ill-at-ease. Coming back, he halted by the mantelpiece and began to drum a difficult tattoo upon the marble.

"I don't want you to be let in by Murchison," he said suddenly. "You will find him damnably plausible. If he thinks you really want the place he will squeeze you like a sponge."

"Thanks for the warning!" There was a note of amusement in Mordaunt's voice. He finished his coffee and rose. "You have done your best to handicap your man of business, but I think he will get his price in spite of it. You see, I really do want the place."

"Without seeing it!"

"Yes."

Rupert whizzed round on his heels, and faced him. "Sounds rather—eccentric," he suggested.

Mordaunt smiled in his quiet, detached way. "I can afford to be eccentric," he said. "And now look here, Wyndham. You said something just now about having to wait a year to fix things up. I don't see the necessity for that, situated as we are. Since you are willing that I should buy Kellerton Old Park, and since we are agreed upon the price, I see no reason to delay payment. I will write you a cheque for your share to-night."

"What?" said Rupert.

He stood up very straight, staring at the man before him as if he were an entirely novel specimen of the human race.

"Is it a joke?" he asked at length.

Mordaunt flicked the ash from his cigarette without looking at him.

Perhaps he felt that he had studied him long enough.

"No," he said. "I don't see any point in jokes of that sort. Of course, I know it's not business, but the arrangement is entirely between ourselves. I don't see why even Murchison should be let into it. We can settle it later without taking him into our confidence."

"It's a loan, then?" said Rupert quickly.

"If you like to call it so."

"May as well call it by its name," the boy returned bluntly. "You're deuced generous, Mr. Mordaunt."

"I know what it is to be hard up," Mordaunt answered. "And since we are to be brothers we may as well behave as such, eh—Rupert?"

Rupert's hand came out and gripped his impulsively. For a second he seemed to be at a loss for words, then burst into headlong speech.

"Look here! I think I ought to tell you, before you take us in hand to that extent, that we're a family of rotters. We're not one of us sound. Oh, I'm not talking about Chris. She's a girl. But the rest of us are below par, slackers. Our father was the same. There's bad blood somewhere. You are bound to find it out sooner or later, so you may as well know it now."

Mordaunt's grey eyes looked his full in the face. "Is that intended as a warning not to expect too much?" he asked.

Rupert's eyelids twitched a little under that direct look. "Yes," he said briefly.

"And if I don't listen to warnings of that description?"

"You will probably get let down."

Rupert spoke recklessly, yet almost as if he could not help it. Undoubtedly there was something magnetic about Trevor Mordaunt at times, something that compelled. He was conscious of relief when the steady eyes ceased to scrutinize him.

"Not by you, I think," Mordaunt said, with his quiet smile. "You may be a rotter, my boy, but you are not one of the crooked sort."

"I've never robbed anyone, if that's what you mean." Rupert's laugh had in it a note of bitterness that was unconsciously pathetic. "But I'm up to the eyes in debt and pretty desperate. If I could have persuaded Murchison to raise money on the estate, I'd have done it long ago. That's why this offer of yours seemed too good to be true."

Mordaunt nodded. "I thought so. It's foul work floundering in that sort of quagmire. I wonder now if you will allow me to have a look into your affairs, or if you prefer to go to the devil your own way."

Rupert coloured and threw back his shoulders, but he did not take offence. The leisurely proposal held none. "I'm not over keen on going to the devil," he said. "But neither am I going to let you pay my debts, thanks all the same."

Mordaunt glanced at him and smiled. "I think you will cancel that 'but,'" he said, "in view of our future relationship."

Rupert hesitated, obviously wavering. "It's jolly decent of you," he said boyishly. "You make it confoundedly difficult to refuse."

"You are not going to refuse," said Mordaunt. "No one knows better than I do that it's ten times pleasanter to give than to receive. But that—between friends—is not a point worth considering."

"I should think you have a good many friends," said Rupert.

"I believe I have."

"Well,"—the boy spoke with a tinge of feeling beneath his banter—"you've added to the list to-night, and I wish you joy of your acquisition! But don't say I didn't warn you."

"No," said Mordaunt quietly. "I won't say that." He added a moment later, as he dropped the end of his cigarette into his coffee-cup, "I believe in my friends, Rupert."

"Till they let you down," suggested Rupert.

"They never do."

"Then allow me to say that you are one of the luckiest fellows I have ever met."

"Perhaps."

"And the best," Rupert added impulsively.

There was a moment's silence, then, "Shall we join the ladies?" suggested

Trevor Mordaunt, in a tone that sounded rather bored.