Читать книгу The Betrayal of John Fordham - Farjeon Benjamin Leopold - Страница 2

Were it not necessary I would make no mention of my child-life, but this record would be incomplete were I to pass it over in silence. All that I can do is to dwell upon it as briefly as possible.

My mother died a few weeks after I was born; my father waited but twelve months before he married again, and in less than two years his second wife was a widow. Thus I lost both my parents at too early an age to retain the slightest recollection of them. By his second marriage my father had one child, a boy; my half-brother's name was Louis, and by him and my stepmother I was regarded with aversion – by her, indeed, with a much stronger feeling, for when I was old enough to reason out things for myself I learned that she hated me.

My father had made a fortune by commerce, and in his will he behaved justly to those who had a claim upon him. Half of his fortune was left to his widow, without restriction of any kind except that she was to rear and educate me, and that her home was to be mine until I was twenty-one years of age; then I was to become entitled to my share, one-fourth, which was so securely invested and protected that she could not touch it. The remaining one-fourth was left to Louis in the same way. Two of my father's friends were appointed trustees, to see to the proper disposition of his children's inheritance.

In the conditions of this will my stepmother found a double cause for resentment. She was angry in the first place that the whole of the fortune was not bequeathed to her, and in the second place that she was not appointed trustee; and she visited her anger upon me, an unoffending child, who could have had no hand in what she conceived to be a plot against her. Upon her son she lavished a full measure of passionate love, while I was allowed to roam about, neglected and uncared for. Nothing was too good for Louis, nothing too bad for me. He had the best room in the house to sleep in, I the worst; he was always beautifully dressed, and I was made to wear his cast-off clothes. It was the breast of the fowl for Louis, the drumstick for me, and dainty dishes were prepared for him which I was not allowed to taste; my meals were measured out, and if I asked for more I was refused. He was taken to theatres and entertainments, I was left at home. His Christmas trees were at once a delight and a torture to me. They could not prevent me from looking and longing, but not a toy fell to my share. The heartless woman told me that I had robbed her and her son of their inheritance, and I have no doubt that she had nursed this grievance into a conviction. "You are nothing but a pest and a nuisance," she said. And as a pest and a nuisance I was treated. In these circumstances it would have been strange indeed if my child-life had been happy.

I was glad when I was sent to school, and I did not look forward to the holidays with any feeling of pleasure. Studious by nature, I did well at school, and good reports of my progress were sent home, which my stepmother tore up before my face. Notwithstanding this systematic oppression I strove to win affection from her and Louis, but every advance I made met with cold repulse, the result being that we became less and less friendly. At length I gave up the attempt, and suffering from a sense of injustice preserved my self-respect by an assertion of independence. Instead of bending meekly beneath the lash, I stood up boldly, and seized and broke it. This really happened. One scene, which lives in my memory, will serve as an illustration.

I do not say it in praise of myself, because these things come by nature, but I have a tender feeling towards all living creatures, and cannot bear to see them tortured. To Louis it was a delight, and even his pets did not escape when he grew tired of them. He had some white rabbits, and one day I saw him bind all the limbs of one of them round its body till it resembled a ball in form. Then he threw it high in the air again and again, and frequently failing to catch it the poor thing fell upon the gravel path in the garden till it was covered with blood. I was fourteen years of age at the time, Louis was twelve. I darted forward, and picking up the wounded animal was loosening its bonds, when he snatched it from me. I endeavored to take it from him, telling him it was cruel to torture the helpless creature. We had a struggle, and his screams brought his mother from the house. She fell upon me, and dragged me away.

"See what he has done," said Louis, pointing to the bleeding rabbit, which had fallen to the ground.

"You did it," I retorted.

"It's a lie," he screamed. "You did it, you did it."

It was not the first falsehood he had told by many to get me into trouble. Panting with rage, my stepmother ran back to the house, and returned with a cane she had often used upon me.

"I will punish you for the lie," she said. "How dare you say my darling would do such a cruel thing? You are a disgrace to the name you bear."

She flourished the cane; I stepped back.

"I have told the truth," I said, "and I don't intend to be punished any more by you for faults I do not commit."

"You do not intend!" she answered, advancing towards me. "I will teach you; I will teach you!"

Swish went the cane across my face; only once, for as she was about to repeat the blow I wrested it from her, broke it, and threw it over the garden wall. In a frenzy of ungovernable fury she seized the first weapon that caught her eye – a gardener's spade – and attacked me with it, and at the same moment Louis ran at me with a three-pronged rake. He slipped and fell, and in his fall wounded himself with the prongs. His cries of pain diverted his mother's attention from me; she flung away the spade, and caught him in her arms. Alarmed at the sight of blood dripping from his face I stepped forward to assist her.

"Keep off, you murderer!" she shrieked. "You have killed my boy! You will come to the gallows!"

She flew into the house with Louis, and I saw nothing more of her that day. Louis, as I afterwards learned, kept his room for a week; it was not till months had passed that we met again, and then I noticed a scar on his forehead which I was told he would carry with him to the grave. From that time I was made to feel that I had two bitter enemies in my father's house. Arrangements were made to keep me at school during holidays, and I was not sorry for it. Once a year only was I allowed to visit my home, and then I was shunned; my meals were served to me in a separate room, and not the slightest attention was paid to my wants. I grew to be accustomed to this, and took refuge in study, longing for the day to arrive when I should be free. I recall the conversation which took place on that day between my stepmother and me.

"You have made arrangements, I presume," she commenced, "for residing elsewhere?"

"I have been thinking what I had best do," I said.

"That is not what I asked you. It is perfectly immaterial to me what you have been thinking of. I presume your arrangements to live elsewhere are already made."

As a matter of fact they were not, but I could not pretend to misunderstand her.

"You wish me to leave the house soon?" I said.

"At once," she replied, "without a moment's unnecessary delay. You shall not eat another meal here. Your presence is hateful to me."

"I have known that all my life," I said, mournfully.

"Then why have you remained so long?" she asked, speaking with angry vehemence. "A man with a particle of spirit in him would have gone away years ago, but you, like the creature you are, have sponged upon me to the last hour. You are twenty-one to-day, and I am no longer legally obliged to keep you. Go, and disgrace yourself, as you are sure to do."

"I shall never do that."

"It has to be proved," she retorted. "As if any one knowing you would believe a word that passes your lips! We shall see your name in the papers in connection with some scandalous affair."

"You are mistaken. I bear my father's name, and I would suffer a hundred deaths rather than see it dragged through the mire."

"Swear it," she cried.

"I swear it. But, hating me as you do, why should you be so sensitive about my good name?"

"Your good name!" she said, scornfully. "It is only because I bear it, because Louis bears it, as well as you, that I exact the pledge from you. Otherwise, do you think I care what becomes of you?"

"Truly," I said, "I believe it would rejoice you to hear the worst."

"It would." %

"I hope to disappoint you. On my solemn word of honor nothing that I do shall ever make our name a theme for scandal or reproach."

"I hold you to that. We shall see whether there is any manhood in you, or the least sense of honor. Now, go!"

"Cannot we part without enmity?" I asked.

Persecuted and wronged as I had been, some touch of sentiment – of which I was not ashamed – moved me to the endeavor to soften the heart of my dead father's wife.

"No, we cannot," she answered. "To ask it proves your mean spirit. But do you think we shall forget you? We have something to remember you by Be sure – be sure that it will not be forgotten while there is blood in our veins."

"To what do you refer?"

"There is a scar on my Louis' face inflicted by you, which he will bear with him to the grave."

"No, no," I cried. "It is not true to say I did it. I deplore the accident, but it was caused by his own cruelty."

"How dare you utter the lie? It is not the first time; you said as much on the day you tried to kill him. Yes, you would have murdered him had I not been by. We shall remember you by that, and it shall be evidence against you if there is ever occasion for it. Cruelty! My darling Louis cruel! He has the tenderest heart. You coward – you coward! Had he been as old and strong as you you would not have dared to attack him. But that is the way with such as you – to strike only the weak. Time will show – time will show! You are going into the world; there is no longer a check upon you. There will be a woman, perhaps, whom you will beat and torture. Oh, yes, you will do it; and you will lie to the world and whine that the fault is hers. Let those who stand by her come to me and Louis – we will give you a character; you shall be exposed in your true light. I hate you – I hate you – I hate you! May your life be a life of sorrow!"

And she flung herself from the room.

The time was to come when these cruel words were to be used against me with cruel effect; there was something prophetic in their venom.

I did not see Louis before I left the house, and on that day I commenced a new life.