Читать книгу A Crime On Canvas - Fred M. White - Страница 10

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LAWRENCE HATTON'S first impulse was to laugh. He felt a hysterical grip at his throat. There was something almost humorous in this meeting. For here was the very last person in the world that he expected to see; the last person whom he would have desired to see had the matter been left to his own free choice. Of all the folk he would have chosen to share his solitude and give him the encouragement he needed, no persons were more remote than those with whom he had been associated in the old days when he was a happy youth with all the world before him. He checked the impulse. A physical weakness had suddenly caught him and held him firm. All his strength and manhood seemed to have departed from him. Just for the time being he had forgotten that the hour was getting late, and that he had not yet breakfasted. He sat on the seat, feeling very much like a child that has lost itself in some fierce, selfish crowd. He did not in the least look like a man who had been an athlete in his day. Even yet he did not fully realize that he was in the open sunshine. He could not grasp the exquisite beauty of the tender spring green. The subtle fragrance of the lilacs touched him not at all. If the roar of the traffic in the distant Strand caught his ear, it was drowned by the dreadful clamour of a remorseless bell. He could still hear the echo of iron heels on flagged pavements, and the never-ending click of keys in ceaseless locks. Yet it seemed impossible to believe that he had only come out of gaol that morning, and that, not two hours before, the doors of Wandsworth Gaol had closed upon him. It was nearly three years since he had last looked upon a green tree or a tender blossom. He was trying to understand what it all meant. Then the feeling of weakness came over him again and he closed his eyes as if in sleep.

It seemed to the girl standing opposite him that there was no suggestion of the prison taint on Lawrence Hatton. To Ethel he looked more like a man who was just recovering from some dangerous illness. She could not fail to notice the sadness in his eyes. Thank Heaven, he had not been spoilt by his penance. There was no shadow of the criminal outcast at war with society here, no revengeful being smarting under the sense of unmerited punishment.

Lawrence had carefully schooled himself against that. He knew that no one would have believed his assertion that he was innocent. The judge had been dead against him from the first, and the jury had given their verdict without leaving the box. Well, he had paid his penalty, and now he was free. He had lost position, friends, everything that goes to make up the sum of life. And here, when things looked just at their lowest ebb, something had happened that was in the nature of a miracle.

"Did you come to look for me?" he asked.

Ethel blushed painfully. Lawrence hungrily noted the delicate flower-like beauty of her face. In his eyes it was a sweet, refined, thoughtful face, lighted by deeply-sympathetic eyes, and a mouth that told of gentleness and sympathy. For the rest, the girl had an air of true breeding—she was exactly what Lawrence Hatton had pictured. She was exactly as he would have described her had he had occasion to do so. And she had come in search of him and was glad to see him once more, or her eyes belied her.

"This is extraordinary," Lawrence murmured. "A most amazing thing. I left gaol this morning expecting to find a friend awaiting me, who fails to turn up. Then a stranger brings me here and tells me to wait with what patience I possess till somebody comes along who is about to befriend me."

"There is somebody else, then?" Ethel asked.

"It certainly looked like it," Lawrence said with a ghost of a laugh. "But, with your permission, we will let my anonymous friend take care of himself for the moment. I cannot permit an opportunity like this to slip. Here was I a minute or two ago praying to Heaven for one friend to clasp me by the hand, for just one kindly voice in my ear—anybody who had sympathy for those in suffering and distress—and, behold, I have found you. My dear Ethel, I did not hope my prayer would be granted thus. But I forget myself. I forget the gulf that three years has placed between us. Still, be that as it may, it is very good of you, Miss Blantyre——"

"Don't, Lawrence," Ethel whispered. The tears were falling from her eyes. The long purple lashes were wet with them. "Oh, if you only knew how you hurt me when you speak like that."

Impulsively she held out her hand to Lawrence, and just for a moment he held it in a rigid clasp. He could feel the soft, loving caress of those fingers, and their touch brought balm to his scarred spirit. He felt strangely uplifted and strong.

"And so you believe in me still, Ethel?" he asked.

"Oh, my dear Lawrence, yes," the girl said. "Black as things always looked, I never wavered in my belief in your innocence. It was a great grief to me when I discovered that I could do nothing to help you. But you know my grandfather and his family pride; how no one was good enough to associate with the Blantyres of Glenallan. The fact that you were a gentleman counted for nothing. But, of course, all the time I knew that you were innocent. Many of us knew it. And even my grandfather is convinced. And that brings me to the point of my presence here this morning. It was only by the sheerest good luck in the world that I found you. Unfortunately I reached the prison too late, or I should have been with you before. You will be surprised to hear that I have come here with a message from my grandfather. But I knew, too, that you would be glad to see me if only for my own sake."

Once more the little fingers pressed Hatton's lovingly. He had forgotten all his troubles. Everything had gone from him but the exquisite joy of the moment. The past had been bridged over in the last few minutes, and the pretty girl whom he had called his sweetheart in the old days met him now as if it had not existed and as if there were a perfect understanding between them. Small wonder, then, that he forgot everything but the joy and happiness of the present.

"I shall be able to speak coherently by and by," he said. "I shall be able to grasp the fact that you have not forgotten me, that we are still a little more than friends. But why were you anxious to find me?"

"It was my own idea," Ethel said with a little colour in her cheeks. "For some time a great trouble has been coming over the fortunes of the Blantyres. Don't ask me what it is, because I do not know. And even if I did, I am afraid I could not tell you. My grandfather has aged terribly of late. He has lost a deal of his self-reliance and has taken me to some extent into his confidence. He told me that he was in need of a friend who would give himself up heart and soul to assist in some scheme that he has on hand, and I ventured to suggest your name to Sir Arthur. That is why I came to see you this morning, and perhaps that is why I am so fortunate as to find you here. I came this way, because I wanted to walk and think, and to my mind this is one of the prettiest spots in London. My grandfather will be pleased to know I was not too late. He thought you would be too proud to look up old friends, and that probably when you were a free man you would drift abroad."

"So I should," Lawrence smiled. "I was just thinking out the best way when you spoke to me. And now let us move a little farther on before my mysterious friend turns up. I shall feel quite justified in giving him the slip, seeing that I have found real friends, and in any case I mistrusted his messenger. And now, can't you tell me in a few words what your grandfather requires?"

"I am coming to that point as quickly as possible. I should say that Sir Arthur wants something in the way of a secretary. I should say, too, that the work will be hard and there may be danger attached to it. You will have to be discreet and silent, and the less you are seen in the world the better. But, of course, Sir Arthur will tell you all about that himself. And now, are you ready to come with me? Are you willing to throw in your lot with ours and help us to lift this cloud from our house?"

"I should be ungrateful if I refused," Lawrence said quietly. "It is very kind and thoughtful of Sir Arthur to trust me so implicitly after what has happened. You may rely upon me to do the best I can; only I should like to get away for a day or two to some quiet place until I have control of my nerves. And now, don't you think you could manage to take me to Sir Arthur at once?"

Ethel waited to hear no more. It was exactly what she required. Her heart was flowing with tenderness.

"We will do our best to make you happy with us," she murmured. "We are going to trust you implicitly, and we hope that that trust will be mutual. And however black things may seem, you must never lose faith in the Blantyres. I am certain that we shall come out happy and triumphant in the end."

Ethel appeared as if about to say more, then suddenly checked herself. It was some time later that the girl turned into a gate leading to a house set back from the road and bordered by a strip of lawn. It was one of those houses to the north of Regent's Park—the quiet secluded quarter which seems at times to be in the country. Ethel smiled a welcome.

"Here we are," she said. "For the time being, this is our hiding-place; though why we are here, and how long we are going to stay is only known to Sir Arthur."