Читать книгу The Curse - Fergus Hume - Страница 7

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The Gurth family lived in a doll’s house on the outskirts of Hepworth village, and, on a small scale, their dwelling was quite one of the show-places of the neighbourhood. Never was there so perfectly appointed a house and never so neat a garden. This excellence was due to Jane, who presided over the establishment in quite an autocratic way, and who ruled her brothers with a rod of iron. She looked after the house herself with the assistance of one small servant, but made Edwin and Edgar work in the garden regularly. Miss Gurth was a most methodical tyrant and arranged everything so judiciously that certain things had to be done at certain times by her and the twins. She also had charge of the purse, and regulated the expenditure so precisely that there were never any outstanding accounts, and never any deviation from the sum set apart weekly for the living expenses. She was quite a jewel of a housekeeper, and the twins should have been grateful for her capable management of their domestic affairs. Strange to say they were not.

To outward appearance the Gurths were a most united trio, but such was not really the case. The house was divided against itself, which means that Edgar and Jane were always banded against Edwin. He was, so to speak, the cuckoo in the nest, as he greatly differed from the other two. Jane was byway of being a miser and Edgar was inclined to wasting money, while Edwin took the middle way, and was just, generous and judicious in his dealings. He did not approve of Jane’s mean nature, and disapproved of his twin’s spendthrift instincts, so the two disliking such an opinion, invariably made things uncomfortable for the third member of the household. Edgar also objected to his sister’s cheese-pairing, but sided with her as a rule, because he detested Edwin. It may seem queer that two brothers so closely connected should not get on well together, but such was the case, although it is only just to say that they would have tolerated each other’s peculiarities more had Jane not been the Atê of the doll’s house. The quiet demure young woman, who never raised her voice, or lost her temper, or forgot herself in any way, was an adept in causing trouble. Those who believed that the Gurths were a most united family would have changed their opinion had they been present at a Sunday-morning breakfast, which took place a fortnight after Minister’s arrival in Hepworth village.

The meal was ready at nine o’clock as usual, so as to give the twins and their sister plenty of time to prepare for church. By way of getting ready for the service they were quarrelling as they invariably did over Jane’s mean ways, Edgar’s wasteful habits, and Edwin’s provokingly calm reproofs in dealing with both. The breakfast-room was an extremely clean apartment, moderately well furnished, and tolerably comfortable as a rule. On this especial occasion it was not comfortable, since Jane had not lighted the fire. The twins came downstairs shivering in the raw misty October air and exclaimed loudly when they saw the grate without its cheerful glow.

“Upon my word, Jane, you might have a fire,” grumbled Edwin, usually so good-natured, “it’s a beastly morning.”

“It would be waste to light one,” rejoined his sister calmly, “we are going to church this morning and in the afternoon we go to the Manor. There is church again in the evening, and after supper we can go to bed at once.”

“I shan’t go to bed at once,” cried Edgar crossly, “hang it all Jane, you go too far. One would think we were paupers.”

“We very nearly are,” replied Miss Gurth, pouring out some very inferior tea which was cheap, “and if it wasn’t for me you boys would be in the workhouse.”

“I’d rather be there than here,” growled Edgar, “is this all the food there is: one rasher of bacon and one egg each?”

“It is all you can have this morning. If you want more, eat bread and butter and finish the jar of marmalade. Mrs Venery gave it to me, so there is no expense if we eat it.”

Edwin accepted the situation philosophically, as he invariably did, knowing that Jane was a mule who was not to be moved from any position she chose to take up. “But I should like to know,” he remarked smiling at the glowering face of his twin, “why you condemn us to this penury?”

“We must save money, Edwin,” declared Jane virtuously, “you don’t wish to come to want, do you?”

“There isn’t the slightest chance of our coming to want,” replied Edwin amiably, “both Edgar and I are not doing badly.”

“You have many expenses, Edwin. Your season-tickets to town, the rent of your offices, the far too many clothes you are always buying, your tobacco and amusements, and—”

“Stop! Stop I my dear girl,” Edwin threw up his hand, laughing, “all these things are the necessaries of life and not the luxuries.”

“Luxuries,” sneered Edgar, who was now busy with the marmalade, “why I don’t know the meaning of the word. I’m sick of third-class carriages, and meals in A. B.C. shops, and this dull monotonous life alternating between town and country. I like the red carpet laid down when I go out: I want the flowers and the band, and the Mayoral addresses.”

“You can have all those things if you marry Ida,” said Jane coolly.

Edwin looked up sharply and his dark face became crimson. “I hope Edgar is a better man than you think, Jane. Surely he would never marry for money I—”

“I just would,” retorted Edgar sharply, “what’s the use of life without cash, you silly ass? I don’t want to marry at all, but as Ida will have two hundred thousand pounds when the old man goes I’m willing to put up with her as a wife.”

“Shut up, hang you,” cried Edwin rising and striking the table with his fist, “you shan’t speak of Ida in that way.”

“Oh, shan’t I? And who will prevent me?”

“Edwin will try to,” said Jane sweetly, “he is in love with Ida.”

“Yes, I am,” declared the elder twin boldly. “I love her for herself and not for her money. Dr Borrin likes me, and Ida does also. I am quite sure that if I proposed I should be accepted.”

“You conceited beast,” said Edgar furiously, “you think you are everyone. I have just as much chance with Ida as you have.”

Edwin laughed. “Try and see.”

“I intend to, this very day.”

Edwin sat down again to eat what his twin had left of the marmalade. “I don’t mind in the least what you do. Ida and I understand one another.”

“What vanity,” remarked Jane serenely, “Edgar is quite as clever and much better-looking than you, Edwin.”

“As to looks, we are twins and there isn’t the slightest difference between us, Jane. As to brains, I am quite content with what I have. But even if I didn’t love Ida I should be very sorry to see her married to a spendthrift who would neglect her and waste her money.”

“How do you know I would neglect her?” demanded Edgar, savagely.

“You say that you do not love her.”

“Nor do I. But I shall marry her for all that.”

“Don’t bind yourself unless you are sure she has the money, Edgar,” advised Jane, her face sharp with avarice.

“Oh she will have the money right enough,” said the young man with a shrug, “old Borrin has made his will, and, setting aside an annuity for Mrs Venery, Ida inherits everything. I wish the doctor would die!”

“What a cruel beast you are, Edgar,” burst out Edwin frowning. “Borrin is such a dear old fellow. Surely you don’t wish for his death?”

“Why shouldn’t he?” asked Jane, taking Edgar’s side as usual to provoke her brother. “Dr Borrin is over fifty, and is living a life like a cabbage. The money is of no use to him. Now if Edgar had it—”

“I’d have the time of my life,” interrupted Edgar enthusiastically. “I want to live in town and have all that money can buy. I’d give Ida five hundred a year to dress on, with bed and board,” he ended coolly.

“And would spend the rest of the money which rightfully should belong to her,” said Edwin sarcastically. “How generous. Why Dr Borrin’s investments bring in ten thousand a year and more.”

“Ten thousand a year and more,” murmured Jane, her face becoming crimson, as it always did when she was deeply moved by the mention of money, “and to think that Ida will have so much.”

“She will make good use of it.”

“I dare say, Edwin, according to your notions. She is the kind of girl who will spend it in charity, and if you marry her you will help her to waste it in that way. Oh!” she clenched her hand, “I wish I had it.”

“What would you do with it?”

“Keep it to myself, and invest, and invest, and invest until I doubled the income. I don’t want to spend money: I never did want. All I desire is to have thousands a year coming in.”

“What a miser you are, Jane,” said Edgar with a shrug, and lighting a cigarette, “as if anyone could get pleasure from keeping money and not spending it. I don’t believe that you are economical because you want to save Edwin’s pocket and mine. You just scrimp us so as to save what you can out of the housekeeping money.”

Jane who had a small hoard of her own glanced at him disdainfully. “I put aside something every week which you two boys will be glad of when you are bankrupt.”

“If we ever get what you put aside,” said Edwin tolerantly, “your one idea is to save money and gloat over it, Jane. I don’t envy Bally if he marries you. He will be stinted.”

“I’d look after him for his good,” said Jane with a pious look, “the waste that goes on at the Abbey is dreadful. And I could marry Mark if I liked.”

“Then why don’t you?” asked Edgar hastily. “He has a fine place and plenty of money and—”

“Has he?” inquired Jane in her turn very indifferently.

“Of course. Mark Bally is the master of the Abbey.”

“Is he?” she said, still indifferent.

Edwin looked at her searchingly. “You are thinking of that family mystery, Jane,” he remarked pointedly. “That rumour which states that Mark is only a kind of regent for the real owner in the person of his elder brother Alaric.”

“What nonsense,” burst out Edgar. “Why Mark told me himself that Alaric had died years ago. Mark owns the Abbey right enough. And if you are wise, Jane, you will marry him for his position and cash.”

“Not until I am certain that Alaric really is dead,” said Jane obstinately, “remember the rumour about the black cell.”

“What rubbish!”

“Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn’t,” said Miss Gurth tartly, “but there is certainly some doubt in my mind about the matter. Before I marry Mark, I must know the family secret, whatever it is.”

“You will never know it,” said Edwin positively, “plenty of people have tried to find out the secret but without success. For my part I don’t believe that there is any.”

“Ah, that is what Dr Borrin says,” put in Edgar, turning away from the window, “but Dr Minister thinks that there must be, and is determined to find it out.”

“Is he?” Jane turned her dark eyes on her brother. “I wish he would tell me, and then I might be certain that Mark’s title is not likely to be disputed. I would marry him then for his money; and you, Edgar, could marry Ida for her money. We’d be so happy.”

“Mark and Ida wouldn’t be happy, however,” said Edwin aghast at the intense selfishness of this speech, “and what about me?”

“Oh, you can look after yourself. Can’t he, Jane?”

“Yes,” said Miss Gurth malignantly, “you’re always setting yourself up for a paragon, Edwin, so a little taking down will do you good.”

“I’m not a paragon,” cried Edwin, seeing that his brother and sister were as usual banding together, “but I’m an honest man, and I shan’t see Ida or Mark sacrificed to you two greedy creatures.”

Jane, accustomed to compliments, rose quietly and rang the bell for the small servant to remove the remains of the breakfast. “It is time to dress for church,” she said calmly. “What is the use of calling names?”

There certainly was little use, as Jane was a block of ice, who could not be warmed into righteous anger, while Edgar cared very little what was said of him, so long as he had his creature comforts. When he followed in his sister’s wake to get ready for divine service, Edwin sighed and rested her head against the window-pane, to look out into the neat garden and consider his position.

It was a particularly disagreeable one. The young man was kind-hearted and affectionate, a lover of peace, and of a charitable disposition. In all this he was a contrast to Jane and Edgar, who were devoured by selfishness and who would have sacrificed the whole world for their own pleasure. The knowledge that Edwin was of a more generous nature made them hate him fervently, and they were only too anxious to hurt him in every possible way. It was strange that he should differ so largely in his views of right and wrong from the two other members of his family, and had he not so closely resembled Edgar, he might have doubted if he came of the same stock. But there was no question that Jane was his sister and Edgar was his twin, and that in common decency he would have to put up with both, until such time as they married. But he was determined that Edgar should not make Ida his wife.

“Even if he loved her I should make a fight for it,” thought Edwin, staring into the mists, “but as he says so brutally that he only wants her money I shall expose his hand to Dr Borrin if Ida accepts him. But I don’t think she will, as I am sure she looks kindly on me. As to Jane she can marry Bally or not as she chooses. But I don’t think that she is so certain of getting him as a husband as she thinks. There certainly is some secret about the family, which makes Mark act oddly. I wonder if Alaric Bally did die, and if Mark really owns the Abbey? Of course, the black cell is all buncombe, yet it is strange that it should be remembered after three hundred years. Well,” Edwin straightened himself and yawned, “if there really is a secret that old Minister is bound to find it out. He is dogged and persistent and looks more like a mammoth than a human being.”

Having finished his soliloquy he thought that he would get ready for church, but the conversation at the breakfast table did not tend to turn his thoughts towards religion, so he determined to stay at home. Jane, perfectly dressed, rebuked him as she went off with Edgar, but told those who inquired for the elder twin that Edwin had a bad headache and could not come out. She said this so sweetly and in such a motherly manner that everyone was deceived as usual, and applauded Jane for her beautiful nature. Edgar chuckled at the way in which his clever sister gulled the public.

“I wonder what they would say if they knew how we quarrelled?” he asked Jane, as they went home to the doll’s house.

“They would not believe it,” rejoined Miss Gurth calmly, “and after all I don’t quarrel, Edgar.”

“No you don’t. But you always manage to make Edwin and I have a fight.”

“It’s your fallen natures. I am of a contented disposition.”

“Bosh,” said Edgar vigorously, “you have your little ambitions like the rest of us, Jane, and want to get all the money you can lay hands on.”

“Do I?” questioned Jane quietly.

“Yes you do,” he retorted. “I can see your idea of Paradise: sitting on a pile of gold and watching other people grinding their teeth because they haven’t as much as you have. I don’t believe you’d give a farthing to a beggar.”

“I don’t believe in indiscriminate charity, Edgar. If you were more like me in that respect you would be better off.”

“Oh, I am like you there,” said Edgar carelessly. “I keep my money for my own pleasures. It is Edwin who is the ass in giving money to the dirty poor. If he marries Ida he will throw her fortune away on orphans and beggars and weeping widows.”

“Probably,” said Jane serenely; “do you intend to let him marry Ida?”

“No I don’t,” was the fierce response. “I’d strangle him first.”

“Oh, hush!” replied Miss Gurth in flute-like tones, “you mustn’t talk of your brother in that wicked way.”

“Oh, don’t be a hypocrite,” retorted Edgar crossly, “upon my word I am better than you are, Jane, as I don’t pretend to be other than I am.”

“Both you and Edwin may be better than I am,” said Jane less quietly than usual, and her cheeks flushed, “but you are neither of you so strong. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to get what I want.”

“Heaps and heaps of money?” sneered her brother.

“Yes, and heaps and heaps in addition, Edgar. Tell me,” she asked abruptly, “and tell me honestly—What are your chances with Ida?”

“Very good I think. She certainly,” admitted the young man, reluctantly, “does like to be in Edwin’s company.”

“I believe that she likes Edwin better than she does you, and so does Dr Borrin,” said Jane calmly, and getting at the absolute truth with the wonderful insight of a woman. “Propose carefully, Edgar, or she will refuse you. I perhaps could help you.”

“For love?” demanded her brother with a side-glance.

“Oh, no,” Jane opened her calm dark eyes at the preposterous suggestion, “but I could speak to Ida on your behalf, and perhaps might induce her to marry you, if you gave me an undertaking to pay me ten thousand pounds on the day of your marriage.”

“Upon my word that’s cool,” said Edgar, amazed at this blunt mercantile way of putting things, “but it’s worth consideration, as I know you have some kind of female influence with Ida.”

“I am very fond of Ida,” was the even response.

“Because she makes you presents and takes you drives in her motor and lets you have a good time,” scoffed Edgar, who knew his sister thoroughly.

“Of course,” admitted Jane readily, “although I would not say as much to anyone else. But you daren’t quarrel with me, Edgar, or betray me. I know too much about you.”

“What do you know?” Edgar’s dark face turned a trifle pale.

Jane laughed in quite a cheerful manner. “I know that you are not so pious as you pretend to be. You leave the house sometimes when Edwin thinks you are in bed. I’ve watched you coming and going.”

“Have you said anything to anyone?” he asked sharply.

“Oh, no. I never give anyone away unless there is some reason for it. I am perfectly sure that you go to young Yeoville’s house, where all the fast men of the neighbourhood congregate and play cards. I found a pack in your pocket on two occasions.”

Edgar cast a swift side-glance at her serene face, and seemed relieved at the interpretation she put on his doings. “I find life so dull here, and Yeoville is a good fellow,” he said apologetically. “I daren’t gamble openly, as Borrin would get to hear of it and then good-bye to my chances of making Ida my wife. You understand?”

“I understand,” said Jane delicately, “only I think you are a fool to gamble and lose money you can’t afford.”

“Ah, but I win much oftener than I lose.”

Jane’s nostrils expanded and she looked greedy. “How much do you win?”

“Oh, I’m not going to tell you that. Keep my counsel and don’t give me away to Edwin who is sneak enough to tell Borrin. Some day I’ll tell you how much money I have won.”

“Very good.” Miss Gurth shrugged her shoulders indifferently. “I am never in a hurry. I have my own ideas about things. Only be careful, or you will lose Ida.”

“And then—”

“And then I shouldn’t get the ten thousand pounds I mean to get from you by acting as your advocate,” said Jane coolly, “the game isn’t entirely in your own hands remember, Edgar.”

Her brother stopped and looked at her hard. “Where the deuce do you get your cunning nature?” he asked with strong distaste, for there was something about Jane’s speech that scared him.

“How rude you are. I am not cunning, only careful.”

“A pretty name for an ugly quality.”

“Well call it what you like, but if you had known father as well as you know me, you would not wonder that I am what I am. Father was clever, and I inherit his cleverness, as well as his strength of will which you and Edwin have not got. Father’s only fault was that he behaved too scrupulously towards Dr Borrin; otherwise he would have made better use of his handling that lot of money the doctor brought home from Peru.”

“I suppose you would have swindled him,” sneered Edgar uncomfortably.

“Oh, no. I never swindle anyone. But the labourer is worthy of his hire,” was Jane’s quiet reply, “we must live in this world, and I want money. As father failed to get the fortune I don’t see why you shouldn’t have it by marrying Ida: but remember you are not strong enough to get her without my help.”

“Not strong enough?” echoed the brother much puzzled.

“Perhaps I use the wrong word. Not clever enough. Ida isn’t the sort of girl to fall into your mouth like a ripe pear, remember. But if I talk to her—”

Edgar lost his temper at her assurance, being vain of his looks and tact, and dashing manner, which—he assured himself—took with all women. “I tell you what, Miss Jane, you are a confounded sight too pleased with yourself. I don’t see why I should give you ten thousand pounds if I do marry the girl, as I am perfectly well able to get her without your assistance.”

“As you please.” Jane shrugged her shoulders, and advanced more slowly towards the doll’s house, which was now in sight. “Try your luck and fail, for I tell you that Ida loves Edwin and not you.”

“We’ll see about that. I shall try this very afternoon. I shall try now. I shan’t lose a moment.” Edgar turned on his heel and walked swiftly away, but halted to come back and ask a question. “Do you intend to split about my going to Yeoville’s card-parties?” he asked anxiously.

“Oh, no. I won’t use that knowledge unless it is necessary. I want you to marry Ida, remember.”

“You won’t get the ten thousand pounds anyhow.”

“Oh, I think so. However, as you believe that you can manage without me, go and try your luck. When you come back we can talk over her refusal.”

“You can’t frighten me,” cried Edgar vaingloriously, and speaking much more defiantly than he felt. “I’m going to act as I think fit,” and he walked away with a resolute look and without a single backward glance.

Miss Gurth looked after him with a slight smile, and then entered the doll’s house to remove her smart dress and substitute a very plain one. She then descended to the kitchen to see that the frugal dinner which she allowed her brothers on Sunday was ready. It was, as the small servant knew too much about Jane’s methodical ways to dare to have the meal uncooked at the appointed hour. It was duly served up, and Jane took her seat at the table with Edwin facing her.

“Where is Edgar?” he asked, glancing round.

“He has gone to propose to Ida Venery,” replied Miss Gurth coolly, and was pleased to note that the speech took away her brother’s appetite. That loss made for economy and satisfied her miserly instincts.