Читать книгу The Honour of his House - Fred M. White - Страница 8

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Lady Edna protested against the whole thing indignantly. There was reproach even in the way she handed her father his breakfast coffee. Sherringborne had passed a restless night, and, in consequence, made no appearance at the breakfast table until the others had finished. Already Philip Saltburn had set out to explore the park, so that father and daughter were alone.

"I think it is great presumption on Sir James's part," Lady Edna said coldly. "Of course, one is always glad to see him and Mr. Grant and Mr. Featherstone. But, really, Sir James had no right to ask that other man down. It is not fair to me. Fancy expecting me to entertain Mr. Saltburn."

"There are worse catastrophes," Sherringborne said wearily.

"My dear father, this isn't a catastrophe, it's an outrage. It has always been our boast that no people of that sort have ever entered the doors of Borne Abbey—at least, I don't mean it is exactly a boast, because the Cranwallises are not given to that kind of thing. We have simply ignored people of Mr. Saltburn's type."

"You don't understand," Sherringborne said with an air of one who is addressing an intelligent child. "There is a serious crisis which may have an effect on the Government itself. There is trouble in Tortina and El Murid, the only man we could trust there, has committed suicide."

"Oh, I am grieved," Lady Edna said. "Such a nice man, too. And quite an Englishman in his way. The last time he was here he was telling me of some boyish adventures you and he had together when you were at Eton. He was such a splendid shot, too. But why do you look at me like that? Surely there is nothing really wrong?"

"I am afraid so," Sherringborne murmured.

"It looks to me very like a big disgrace. Murid was bold and over sanguine—just the sort of man who would deliberately take his chances and reckon on his revolver in the case of failure. He was a fatalist, too. I am afraid, Edna, there is going to be a great deal of trouble over this. Of course, you don't understand business, but there are many millions of English money in Tortina securities which most people will now regard as hopelessly lost. It is a hopeless tangle, and I can't explain to you how this new bother between the United States and Japan is likely to seriously affect many innocent people in England. I suppose that is why Pallisser is bringing Saltburn down here. For the most part we are perfect children in such matters, and I expect Saltburn is going to explain."

Lady Edna was silent, if not convinced. After all said and done, her father occupied a great public position, and it was no more than his duty to see that these poor people were not robbed; but, on the other hand, the more thought of William Saltburn's presence there was an outrage on her dignity and self respect.

She had seen the man once in a London drawing-room, she had been repelled by his strong, heavy face, and the boom of his voice. He had seemed to dominate everybody there, he had held the whole room with a magnetism of a strong, and, so Edna thought, brutal nature. He had been a new type to this haughty young aristocrat, a repellant, fascinating kind, in form something between a shark and a tiger. She had wondered why one born to the purple like the Duchess of Cantyre could possibly have tolerated such a creature as Saltburn. And now he was actually coming down here, to Borne Abbey, above all places in the world.

"Very well, father," she said with proud humility. "Of course, I will do my best to make myself civil to the man. It will only be for a few hours at the outside. It is very fortunate that there are no women guests here, so that there will be no necessity for me to come in to dinner. As the dinner will be more or less political, you won't want me."

Sherringborne accepted the compromise eagerly enough. His career as a statesman had taught him the value of the compromise, and he was in no mood then for anything in the nature of a fight.

It was past the luncheon hour; indeed, it was nearly tea-time before two motor cars drew up under the great archway of the Abbey and the expected guests alighted. Lady Edna stood in the hall to receive them, smiling and gracious, so far as Pallisser and his colleagues were concerned. She swept Saltburn a frigid bow, and did not appear to see his outstretched hand. But she noticed the blunt, thick fingers clearly enough, she saw the coarse nails that had been bitten to the quick, and the fact was not lost upon her that Saltburn's palm was none too clean.

But if he felt anything he gave no sign, but stood there, a short square figure, with a hard red face and grim mouth, smiling with a certain cynical approval that had something of the auctioneer about it.

"Nice place you've got here, Sherringborne," he said. "Ah, Phil, how are you? Enjoying yourself, my lad? After all said and done, there's nothing like a fine old English home. I should like to wash my hands, Sherringborne, I suppose I can."

Lady Edna shivered. A wave of crimson swept over her face. She set her little teeth together with her eyes on Philip Saltburn. She noticed he was smiling to himself as if something amused him. She made a gesture in the direction of the bell.

"Oh, don't ring on my account, missie," Saltburn said. "I can find my way. There is a lavatory at the back of the great staircase, isn't there?"

"How do you know that," Sherringborne asked. "You've never been here before."

Just for a moment Saltburn showed signs of confusion.

"Oh, I must have read about it, I suppose," he said. "Once show me a house, and I could go over it blindfold a year after-wards. Come along with me, Phil, and give me a lead in case I make a mistake."

Philip Saltburn followed obediently enough. He stood while Saltburn stripped off his coat and bared a pair of arms that would have done justice to a navvy. He plunged his red face into the marble basin, and scrubbed himself until that coarse skin of his shone again. Then he turned to his son with a certain unmistakable pride and affection. He was proud of Philip, proud of his style and his manner, and of the friends that he made. But it was characteristic of the man that he never said so.

"Well, how are you getting on?" he asked. "Topping place this, isn't it? Handsome gel, too. That's the type of woman you want, old chap; that's the class you've got to marry into. Get hold of one of the first flight and settle down and found a family. You needn't worry about money—I'll see to that. You'll find her devilish stand-offish, of course, but I like that sort—dash it, there is an atmosphere about the whole place you can't buy. No change whatever in the last fifty years, except the electric light, and that is an improvement."

Philip looked inquiringly at his father.

"But you've never been here before," he said.

"Oh, haven't I?" the financier said. "It's a dead secret, my boy, but you had to know it sooner or later, and that's one of the reasons why I came down here to-day. Fifty years ago I was in the kitchen here. I cleaned the boots, my son. I used to regard the butler in those days as a much bigger man than Sherringborne. But that's all between you and me, and need never go any further. Look here, Phil, when I was a boy here I was a bit of a poacher. Only a rabbit or two, for the sport of the thing, but they got hold of me, and they gave me six months. That turned me against the whole tribe. When I came out I swore I'd be even with them some day, and, by the Lord Harry! it's coming true. I've got Sherringborne and Borne Abbey in the hollow of my hands. I can smash 'em like an eggshell if I like. But that's not my game. When you were born I swore that you should some day marry the present man's daughter, and, by Heaven, you shall. When I saw you and Lady Edna side by side just now that old dream came back. We'll humble her pride, my boy, we'll show her what a power William Saltburn is. Bring her nose down to the grindstone and make her grateful to know that a fine young chap like Philip Saltburn is ready to pick her up again. But, of course, if you've got your eye on somebody else—"

Philip Saltburn smiled.

"That's just like you," he said. "You think that you and your money can do everything."

"By Gad, you're right there," the financier cried. He worried his thick mat of hair with a pair of brushes; his coarse features shone as if they had been varnished. "You can do anything with money. But what do you think of the young woman? Is it good enough? Will she do?"

"My dear father," Philip protested. "You speak as if I was going to buy a horse."

"Well, it's much the same thing, isn't it? You'll have to put it on a business footing or the girl won't look at you. Oh, I know these swells. It'll have to be a bargain, my boy, and one she can't possibly wriggle out of. That's the way we do things in the city."

Philip listened with disgust and a feeling of despair. He knew it was almost impossible to bring his father round to his own view, but, at any rate, he must try, unless the ruins of his hopes were to lie about his feet.

"Lady Edna is charming," he said. "It isn't only her beauty that attracts me, it's her mind as well. She's a class apart, a survival, if you like, but an exquisite survival, and if I am fortunate enough to win her for my wife I shall regard myself as one of the luckiest of men."

William showed his strong teeth in a grin. "Then, dash it all, you shall marry her," he said. "Never mind what she says, I shall come in at the proper time."