Читать книгу The Curse - Fergus Hume - Страница 8

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Edgar was usually fond of his creature-comforts, therefore should have enjoyed the excellent dinner at the Manor, which was so different to the frugal meal provided by Jane. But on this occasion he ate very little, much to the distress of Mrs Venery, who always thought that a young man was sick if he did not act the part of a good trencherman. And Edgar was sick—sick with love, not of Ida herself, but for the money she would inherit from her uncle. He knew that he had stolen a march on his twin, and dreaded lest Edwin should make his appearance, and spoil the chance of a Sunday proposal. Therefore he did his best after dinner to inveigle Ida into the garden on the plea that it was better in the sunshine than indoors. The girl herself saw very plainly what was in his mind, and anxious to put an end to his philanderings which had annoyed her of late, she agreed to take a walk in the orchard.

Minister was present at the midday meal, and with his usual blundering interference proposed to accompany the young couple, quite forgetting that he was elderly and a nuisance. But Mrs Venery with the quickness of a woman guessed the truth and chained the big doctor to her side by asking wholly unnecessary questions concerning her health. She liked Edgar who was wily enough to flatter her, and was not averse to having him as a son-in-law. He had a good profession, he was industrious, and—so far as she knew—a clean and wholesome young man. What more could she desire for Ida? Certainly he was not so rich as he might have been, but Mrs Venery, knowing that her brother had made a will in Ida’s favour, did not object to the suitor’s want of money. His good looks also had something to do with Mrs Venery’s approval, since in this respect she was very feminine indeed.

“I do think you are stupid, Theo,” she said with a deep reproach when the two lovers vanished, “can’t you see?”

“See what, Lavinia?”

“Well, can you see?” asked Mrs Venery turning to her brother.

“See what, Lavinia?”

Mrs Venery looked at the two learned men, large and small, with deep disdain—the disdain of the quick-witted female for the stupid male. “Well you are dull, both of you,” she exclaimed, shrugging her elegant shoulders, “why it is a case; anyone can see that.”

“A case?” growled Minister, bending his black brows. “Explain yourself!”

“How dense you men are. Why, Edgar wants to propose to Ida. That is why he is taking her into the garden. And if I hadn’t stopped you, Theo, you would have gone with them to spoil sport.”

“Ha! Ha!” rumbled Minister, his brow clearing, “so that is the game Gurth is after, is it?”

“It is the game both the Gurths are after,” said Borrin seriously, “but I am sorry that it isn’t Edwin instead of Edgar. Never mind, Ida won’t have him. You may make your mind easy on that point. I am very glad as I much prefer the elder twin to the younger.”

“The twin with the blue scarf to the twin with the red scarf,” said Minister, “well for my part I don’t see any difference between them.”

“Physically there isn’t, Theo. But I am quite sure that Edwin is the better man of the two.”

“What do you say, Lavinia?”

“I like Edgar the best,” replied Mrs Venery promptly, “he is much more polite and attentive.”

“Much more artful you mean,” said Borrin sharply. “I am not so blind as you think I am, Lavinia. I tell you Edgar is not as good a man as Edwin, and will not make Ida so good a husband. For one thing, he is too friendly with that scampish young Yeoville, who contains within himself all the vices of mankind.”

Mrs Venery shrugged her shoulders again. Like most women she had a fondness for scamps, and considered that a thoroughly good young man was a bore. “I am sure Mr Yeoville is not so wicked as people say. He is so good-looking and well-dressed—”

“That he must be an angel,” finished her brother with angry sarcasm. “How like a woman! Why, Theo, this beauty has a fine country house two miles away, and near the Abbey, which is a perfect pandemonium. He collects all the idle young men in the country, and they play cards there till the dawn. People of the most disreputable description come from town to assist at these devil-parties.”

“Theo! Theo! Such language!”

“I beg your pardon, Lavinia, but it is useless to mince matters. I don’t admire that rascal Yeoville and his gang, and if Edgar has anything to do with them, as I suspect he has, he shall never marry Ida. I am not going to have a fine fortune dissipated by a spendthrift husband.”

“Edwin your favourite may be just as big a spendthrift as Edgar, who after all is not a spendthrift,” said Mrs Venery incoherently.

“How lucid,” said Borrin grimly, rising to go to the library, “well we shall see, Lavinia. If Ida refuses Edgar, Edwin shall have his chance. I don’t know how it is, but somehow I think that Edwin is as true as Edgar is false.”

“Why they are twins and are alike in every way,” snapped Mrs Venery, standing up for her favourite.

“In looks, yes; in personality, no.”

“You have no reason to—”

“I am quite aware that I have no reason,” said Dr Borrin with dignity, “but straws show which way the wind blows. One day when out with the twins, Edwin carried a bundle of wood which was too heavy for a little child, and gave the urchin sixpence when he set down the bundle at the brat’s house. Edgar laughed at his brother as a simpleton. Now that shows me the difference in nature between the two. Edwin is kind and helpful; Edgar is selfish and wholly indifferent to the needs of humanity.”

“Oh, my dear Josiah, what nonsense.”

“By no means,” cried Minister suddenly, “both twins being off their guard it is a very good illustration of their innate dispositions. As I am fond of Ida I shall make it my business to watch these two young men, and you may be sure that shortly I shall be able to say which one is the better of the two. So far I have not been observant.”

“I like Edgar,” said Mrs Venery obstinately, “because he is attentive to me.”

“Edwin is also attentive,” said Borrin shrewdly.

“Oh yes, in a way. But—”

“But he doesn’t flatter you, and Edgar does. Another proof that the elder twin is the more honest of the two.”

Finding no more arguments in support of Edgar’s perfections, Mrs Venery retreated with great dignity, remarking that time would show who was right, and adding that if Ida chose Edgar she would be better pleased than if she became the wife of Edwin, “who is dull,” ended Mrs Venery, opening the door.

“He is by no means dull,” said Borrin dryly, “and let me point out to you, Lavinia, that if I don’t approve of the husband Ida chooses, it is very easy for me to tear up my present will which leaves her all, and make another one.”

“Oh Josiah—”

“You had better say no more, Lavinia”; and Lavinia being more discreet than one would suppose, did say no more, but retreated with surprising celerity.

“Now, Theo,” said Borrin briskly, “come to the library and I shall show you the bottle of the juice which I extracted from the roots we got from the Indians.”

“Do you mean to try an experiment?” asked Minister eagerly.

“Well yes, but not on you or on myself or on any human being. We can paralyse a cat or a dog, since a scratch will not hurt either. Then you can see if it is possible to revive the paralysed animal with your antidote.”

Minister nodded and his deep-set eyes gleamed. “I can get the leaves boiled and the antidote extracted to-morrow,” he said, following his little friend to the door, “and if we are successful with a cat or a dog, surely you will not object to trying the injection on a human being, either you or myself? Or I tell you what,” said Minister struck with a bright idea. “Let us submit one of the twins to the test, and whichever one consents shall have Ida.”

“Certainly not,” cried Borrin vehemently. “Ida shall choose for herself,” and without further words he led the way into the library, where with Minister he was soon discussing the properties of the root and the leaves.

Ida was choosing for herself, and not in a way of which Edgar approved. When they left the house she led the young man through the more public part of the garden, pointing out the autumnal beauty of the grounds. But Edgar wished to reach the orchard, which was more secluded, and insensibly guided the girl’s footsteps in that direction. Ida smiled covertly to herself, as she guessed what Edgar intended to do, and made no objection, since she was anxious to tell him plainly that she did not love him. Quite unaware that his proposal was answered even before he made it, Edgar walked by the girl’s side down the narrow orchard walks bordered by tall lush grass which seemed well-nigh to smother the fruit trees. The pears had already been gathered, the plums also, but there remained a crop of red-cheeked apples, which glowed vividly amongst the yellow and fast-falling leaves. Round the orchard ran a mouldering wall of mellow red bricks, against which peach trees and apricot trees were trained, so that the place was as shut out from the world as the palace of the Sleeping Beauty. The idea occurred to Edgar, but if he believed that his Judas kiss which was given for money instead of for love could awaken this princess he was vastly mistaken. He learned this truth more speedily than he liked.

“I have much to say to you, Ida,” he began sentimentally, and tried to take her hand, an effort which she thwarted dexterously.

“Dear me, Edgar,” her eyebrows went up and she looked at him frankly, “what can you have to say to me more than you have already said? We meet three or four times a week and must have exhausted the ordinary topics of conversation.”

“But not the extraordinary ones,” replied Edgar swiftly and looking very handsome and eager as he spoke. “I am about to ask you something unusual.”

“Don’t,” advised Miss Venery, who had submitted to be led to the orchard to hear what he had to say, “you may receive an unusual answer so that all may be in keeping.”

“You are trifling with me, Ida. My heart is hungry for—”

“Hungry! Are you hungry after the enormous luncheon you ate?”

“I ate nothing, if you only had looked,” said Edgar, rather sulkily.

“Why should I look? Your eating doesn’t interest me. But if you are hungry, Edgar,” she added mischievously, picking an apple, “take this!”

He took it. “Can you give me nothing else, Ida?”

“What else can I give you?”

“Your heart,” said the young man so sentimentally that she laughed, and shook her head positively.

“My heart must remain in my possession.”

“But is it in your possession?” demanded Edgar jealously.

Ida’s face grew cold and imperious. “At least it is not in yours and is not likely to be,” she said quietly.

“But I want it.”

“Really! Want must be your master then.”

“See here Ida—dear Ida,” he seized her hands and held them firmly, “you know quite well that I love you. We have, so to speak, grown up together; at least we have known each other intimately as boy and girl, and young man and young woman for quite ten years.”

Ida wrenched away her hands and a red spot burned on either cheek. “Perhaps it would have been better for you had we not known each other so intimately, Edgar,” she said, striving to speak calmly, which was difficult, “for then you might have received a different answer.”

“You have not answered yet,” he reminded her.

“I have not been asked any question yet,” she retorted, fencing.

“I ask it now, and will go down on my knees to ask it if you like. I love you, and I ask you to be my wife.”

“That is explicit. Well then I am flattered by your proposal but I don’t see my way to accepting it.”

“You refuse me?” Edgar started back in dismay.

“It looks like it.”

“But, Ida, don’t answer in a hurry. I spoke to your mother, and she likes me.”

“I dare say. But I am not my mother. It is I who have to live with you if I consent, and not my mother.”

“Then you—”

“I say no. Ten times over I say no.”

“Oh you are cruel,” moaned Edgar, dejectedly, and furiously angry at seeing two hundred thousand pounds take wings to themselves to fly away.

“I am sensible. Look here, Edgar, do you think a woman can’t tell if a man is really and truly in love with her? If you think that, you are wrong. I am a woman, and I can read between the lines. You really don’t love me.”

“Then why should I propose?”

Ida looked at him deliberately. “I don’t think the answer to that question would please you,” she said in a low voice. “Suppose Uncle Josiah left his money to a charity instead of to me?”

“There’s no chance of that,” cried Edgar rashly, and falling into the trap, “he has made his will and you inherit everything save the sum set aside to buy an annuity for your mother.”

“Oh,” Ida flushed into sudden rage, as the mask fell from his face, “so it is the money you are after and not me!”

“No! No! No! A thousand times no,” he exclaimed vehemently.

“If you said no ten thousand times I would not believe you, Edgar. You seem to be so well acquainted with Uncle Josiah’s will—”

“Everyone knows how the money is left.”

“I dare say, and knowing that I am an heiress you ask me to be your wife. I decline, and if you were the only man in the world I should still decline.”

“Oh,” Edgar grew white with thwarted rage, “then there is another man?”

“You have no right to say that.”

“I shall say it. You have played fast and loose with my heart.”

“Have I? It is the first time that I knew you possessed a heart.”

“You want to marry Mark Bally and be mistress of the Abbey.”

The suggestion was so preposterous that Ida laughed. “Do I, indeed? You know me better than I know myself.”

“Heartless girl—”

“Oh, nonsense!” Ida took the arm of her rejected lover. “Don’t be silly, you foolish boy. I like you well enough as a friend, and not well enough to be your wife. Let this proposal of yours be as though it had never been and things can go on in an agreeable fashion as they have done all these years.”

“They can’t.” Edgar pulled himself free and scowled. “I don’t see why you object to me. I am young and I have a good profession. I work hard and am not a scallywag. Ask Jane?”

“I don’t need to ask Jane. Beyond the fact that you are too friendly with Dick Yeoville, I have nothing against you.”

“Yeoville isn’t a bad fellow.”

“I’m with you there, Edgar. He is his own worst enemy. But he is by way of being profligate, and can afford to be so, as he has money. You haven’t, and you are very silly to be with him so much. He will lead you into bad ways.”

“I am not so easily led as you seem to imagine,” cried Edgar furiously, “and whether I go with Yeoville or not is my own business.”

“Entirely! I beg your pardon for referring to it,” and she turned away.

“Ida! Oh, I say, Ida—”

“Don’t say anything more,” the girl whose patience was fast wearing out, stamped her foot and turned wrathfully on this persistent lover. “I won’t marry you. So there.”

“I believe you want to marry Edwin,” blurted out Edgar recklessly.

Ida restrained herself by a strong effort and attempted to laugh off the pointed remark. “Edwin hasn’t asked me yet.”

“But he will.”

“Oh, will he?” her face lighted up and she turned impulsively. “That is— oh I don’t know what you are talking about. Go away and leave me,” she stamped again furious at having betrayed her secret.

“I shan’t leave you.” Edgar came close up to her, and his eyes flashed angrily. “I am not going to be put off by your silly scruples. Edwin is a sneak and shan’t marry you. You are to be my wife and I shall kiss you now to prove it.”

Before Ida could retreat he seized her in his arms and tried to find her lips with his own. The girl swerved and pushed him back indignantly. “Are you mad? Are you crazy?”

“I am in love—in—”

He had no time to repeat the word. Two strong arms caught him by the shoulders and whirled him away from the girl to toss him on to a heap of withered leaves. “You reptile,” shouted Edwin who had thus come to the rescue, “if you dare to approach Ida again I shall break your neck.”

“Oh Edwin! Edwin!” the girl with all her emotions on the surface clung to the new-comer, who had already thrown his arm round her drooping form.

Edgar rose with an expression that a devil might have envied. “So that’s it, is it?” he said choking with anger. “I am to be thrown aside for that worthless sneak, am I?”

Edwin calmly knocked his twin down with his disengaged arm. “Do you want a thrashing?” he asked coolly, but quivering with wrath.

“Leave him alone, let him go,” sobbed Ida, quite overcome. “Oh Edwin! Edwin I—”

“I’ll be even with you for this,” growled the fallen twin rising once more but not attempting to resent his fall, “you think you will have your own way, Edwin. I swear that you shall pay for robbing me of my wife.”

“I refuse to be your wife,” cried Ida hysterically. “I refused before and I refuse again. I shall tell Uncle Josiah of your insulting behaviour and he will never allow you to come to the Manor again.”

“Oh you and Edwin will make up a good lie between you,” sneered Edgar, feeling himself very much at a disadvantage, and scarcely knowing what he said.

His brother allowed Ida to sink on to the seat under an apple tree and advanced towards Edgar. “I have had enough of this,” he said quietly, and controlling himself by a great effort, “you have acted in a way which makes me ashamed to call you brother. Ida is perfectly free to choose her own husband, and to attempt to force her as you have done—”

“Oh you want her money, do you?” taunted Edgar with an ugly look.

“I want herself, and if she came to me as a pauper I should take her gladly as you know very well.”

“I shall put you to the test,” said a grave voice behind the young people, and they all turned to see Dr Borrin looking at them sedately.

Ida rose suddenly and went to her uncle. “He has insulted me,” she said in a low voice, and shaking with anger.

“My dear girl, you must make allowance for a young man who has lost a prize,” observed Borrin quietly. “I have only this moment arrived in time to hear Edwin’s last speech, so I do not know what has taken place. Stop,” he threw up his hand, “I don’t wish to know. Let us give both these young men a fair chance.”

“I wouldn’t marry Edgar for the world,” cried Ida vehemently.

“Don’t be in a hurry,” said Borrin judicially, “there may be more good in Edgar than you give him credit for.”

Edgar looked up hopefully at this speech as it seemed as though Borrin was on his side. His sullen face cleared. “Thank you, sir. If I have been unduly pressing in my attentions to Ida I am very sorry. But I love her so much that I lost my head for the moment.”

“You have behaved shamefully,” sobbed Ida, turning away to get nearer Edwin.

“I am very sorry. I can’t say more, can I? And as Edwin has knocked me down without my resenting it surely that makes a difference?”

“Yes it does,” cried the girl turning on him a look of contempt, “if you had hit Edwin back I should have admired you more.”

“Oh, that is easily remedied,” said Edgar, dashing forward, and would have struck his twin in the face, but that Dr Borrin flung himself between the two young men. “Let me get at him,” cried Edgar, struggling furiously.

“No, no!” said the doctor and held back the angry lover with a strength of which he did not seem capable, considering his size. “I make every allowance for your disappointment, but you must be reasonable. Come now, listen. I have something to say.”

The twins and Ida looked at the doctor in surprise, as they were greatly astonished by his calm tones. His quiet and even speech brought them to their senses, and they were all rather ashamed of indulging in the prehistoric passions which had caused such a scene. With a nod of approval the doctor continued:

“I have made a will in favour of Ida,” he said serenely, “and, with the exception of a certain sum set aside to purchase an annuity for my sister, she inherits everything. This is no secret, as everyone knows of my intention. But I have observed that young people who inherit money rarely benefit so far as their natures are concerned. I think that I should be acting more sensibly towards Ida by letting her marry without a single penny. Only in this way she will find a husband worthy of her, as he will have to work hard to give her the luxuries to which she has been accustomed. Now I intend shortly to alter my will, and leave everything save my sister’s annuity to a charity. I shall give Ida her trousseau, and one thousand pounds. Whosoever takes her must take her on these terms. I am not joking. I speak in earnest.”

“But it’s not fair,” blurted out Edgar, greatly dismayed.

“What do you think, Ida?” her uncle asked with a slight smile.

“Well, I don’t like to be poor,” said the girl, who looked somewhat dismayed; “but I can understand what you mean, Uncle Josiah. After all, any man who loves me can support me, and you have taught me to live very simply.”

“And your opinion, Edwin?” Borrin turned to the elder twin.

“I love Ida, and I am willing to marry her without getting a penny,” said Edwin simply. “I can say no more than that.”

“I don’t ask you to say more. You have justified my confidence in you. Well, Edgar, what do you say?”

“You are joking,” said Edgar once more, “it isn’t fair.”

“I am not joking, and Ida admits it is fair. Well, do you still wish to marry my niece?”

“No,” said Edgar bluntly; “I’m not a fool. I earn enough for one, but not for two, and I don’t want to drag Ida down to poverty.”

“That is noble of you. Well, as the question is settled, had you better not go, my friend?”

Edgar stood irresolute for the moment; then, recognising that he had burnt his boats, he turned on his heel and stalked gloomily away. Ida looked after him with contempt, and then glanced at Edwin. He drew her to his breast, “Will you be my wife, dear?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she replied, and the betrothal was sealed with a kiss.

“Good,” said Borrin cheerfully, “but remember, I mean what I say. Paupers you are, and paupers you remain.”