Читать книгу Craven Fortune - Fred M. White - Страница 5

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Wilfrid would have remonstrated, but Freda gave him no opportunity. She vanished in ghostly fashion from the conservatory, so that Wilfrid could not have followed her if he would. The whole thing seemed wild and ridiculous to a degree. Here was Freda, earning barely enough to keep her father and herself, talking of finding two hundred pounds as if they had been as many pennies. Just for a moment the grotesque idea that Freda was going to borrow it from one of the Morrison girls crossed his mind.

He was very uneasy and very uncomfortable. The shadow of tragedy seemed to loom vaguely but large before his eyes and the atmosphere of wealth by which he was surrounded appeared about to stifle him. The tropical luxuriance of the flowers suggested something false and artificial.

And, moreover, Wilfrid was heartily ashamed of himself. He had promised that money to an old school-fellow and friend to get him out of a grave difficulty. Wilfrid had drawn the money from the bank that afternoon for that very purpose. He would have found it difficult to explain why he had carried it here in his pocket. Anyway, it was gone now and a young life stood to be ruined, because the late owner of those notes had not enough strength of mind to decline a proposal of high stakes.

"What a criminal fool I have been!" Wilfrid muttered as he strode up and down between the banks of bloom. "I should have refused; what do the taunts of a blackguard like Horace Bentley matter? And I should have asked for time to pay. I should have had to submit to a few more gibes from Bentley and a suggestion that I did not pay my debts of honour, but better that than that poor old Frank should be disgraced. But it is too late now--too late!"

The words were none the less bitter because they were true. Wilfrid was still cogitating in the same sad strain when Freda returned. The girl was taking a great risk for the sake of her lover--she was perilling her reputation in the eyes of the Morrisons, who would not have scrupled to act had they only known what was taking place. And the girl had a father more or less dependent upon her.

Freda had uttered no protest; her eyes were still sweet and loving as she looked up at Wilfrid. Her face was flushed, but a suggestion of triumph played about her mouth.

"I told you I could manage it--and I have!" she said. "You must take this, Wilfrid. Sell it for me and pay the money to Frank Saxby. I believe the trinket is a valuable one. In one of his fits of generosity my uncle gave it to me, taking it from a box full of such things. I put it by for a rainy day. Do you think it will fetch the money?"

Mechanically Wilfrid held out his hand for the thing that Freda offered. It was a small brooch with an exquisite miniature in the centre, the whole surrounded by two rows of diamonds. Wilfrid had a love for beautiful things like this, and he had some little knowledge of them, too.

"It is lovely!" he said. "I never saw anything more perfect. I am pretty certain that the miniature is by Watteau; anyway, the setting is an old one. If I were asked to give an idea of its value I should say that four hundred pounds----"

"So much as that!" Freda cried. "I had no idea it was worth so much. Sell it, Wilfrid, and keep the balance of the money for me."

Wilfrid made no reply for a moment. The pure delight of the gem held him to the exclusion of more material things. Then he resolutely placed the thing in Freda's palm and closed her little pink fingers very tightly over it.

"My darling!" he said--"my dearest, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I cannot express what I feel when I think of your confidence in me. You ought to be hard and cold with me; as it is you heap coals of fire upon my head. But I can't take your brooch. If I could see the smallest prospect of paying you back I would not hesitate. But your poor afflicted father is dependent upon you. Suppose you fell ill, or found yourself out of a situation, you would then have nothing to fall back upon. And if I thought that I had been the cause of your suffering in a case like that----"

Wilfrid paused, feeling he had said enough. There were tears in Freda's eyes as she looked up at her lover. She liked him none the less for this refusal, though it was evident that it filled her with pain.

"It is not the time to think of oneself!" she said. "If ever there are times when one's bread should be cast on the waters, this is one of them. And your honour is at stake, Wilfrid."

Wilfrid inclined his head sadly. He was feeling the humiliation of the bitter truth. The temptation was a strong one, but he kept firm.

"Put it away, darling," he said. "I must bear my own burden. Why do you waste your favours and love on an object so unworthy as myself?"

Freda's only reply was an unsteady smile, but it was more eloquent than words. She laid down the brooch on the rustic seat by the fountain, so that the light might play upon its facets. For some little time both stood looking at it.

"It seems a pity," Freda said sadly, "especially as there is such an easy escape from the difficulty in that little thing there. My dear Wilfrid, what was that?"

A sudden snap close at hand caused them both to jump. Their nerves were at high tension. Wilfrid looked round him, but could see nothing. Just for a moment it seemed to him that somebody had crept into the conservatory and was spying on their movements. Wilfrid looked round, but could see no signs of anybody.

"We must have imagined it," he said. "My dear child, please put that in your pocket and go to bed. If you were found here with me like this----"

Wilfrid had no occasion to complete the suggestion. Freda's pretty face flamed.

"I quite understand," she said. "And yet there is no harm whatever. We are going to be married some day, and we love each other dearly. Wilfrid, I want to save you; I want to show you what a girl can do for the sake of the man she loves. Never mind me, think only of your duty to Frank Saxby."

The pleading wistfulness of the girl's voice assailed Wilfrid like a fierce temptation, but he managed to crush it down. It all seemed so strange and unreal to him; those lovely flowers mingling their sweet scent with the odour of cigarettes; the silence of the house broken every now and then by a voice from the library, where the card-playing was still going on.

"Once more I am forced to say no," Wilfrid replied. "Please put your diamond brooch away and----"

Wilfrid broke off suddenly and started. Somebody was calling him loudly from the library. There was a shuffle of feet and the sound of a disturbance. Some dispute seemed to have taken place over the cards, and one or two excited players came into the hall. Wilfrid was man of the world enough to know that Freda must not be found with him there. And those men in the hall were demanding his presence emphatically. As far as Wilfrid could see there was only one avenue of escape for Freda. At the far end of the conservatory was a door leading to the garden. Wilfrid could see that the key was in the door. He crossed over and opened it.

"Go outside," he whispered. "My dear child, don't hesitate. There is no harm in your being here with me, but these men will not appreciate the situation. Step into the garden whilst I go into the hall. They are calling for me as if they wanted my blood. I will return soon as possible."

Freda nodded; she understood perfectly well. With a smile she vanished into the garden, whilst Wilfrid strolled into the hall with a cigarette in his mouth, as if he had been half asleep amongst the flowers.

"It is a great tribute to my popularity, this," he smiled. "What has gone wrong?"

Half a score of excited voices began to babble. It appeared that Jackson had done something wrong. It was almost more than evident that Jackson had been drinking too much wine. He was understood to accuse Bentley of something like cheating.

"If he were sober I would pitch him out of the house," Bentley said with gleaming eyes. "As it is, I will ask him to pay up his losses like a gentleman. Eh, Wilfrid?"

Wilfrid flushed with annoyance. Bentley had never called him by his Christian name before and he resented it. When he spoke his voice was cold and cutting.

"The less one says about the ethics of this dispute the better," he remarked. "Jackson may not be behaving like a gentleman, but seeing that he is hardly in a fit state to play cards, it is strange you are so anxious to take his money. I do not suggest that it is sharping, but I would rather starve than take money from a man in Mr. Jackson's present condition."

Bentley started back as if somebody had stung him. He grew white to the lips. The thing was so true, the sarcasm so cold and cutting, that it touched to the quick.

"We can't all belong to your class," he sneered. "That kind of thing is decidedly fine in old families, however decayed they may be, but does not pay in business. And after the way that Jackson lost your money to-night----"

"That has nothing whatever to do with it," Wilfrid said. "I ought not to have allowed myself to be drawn into a game with so reckless a hand as Mr. Jackson. At any rate, he did not take an unfair advantage of any weakness of mine."

A murmur of approval from the other guests followed and Bentley turned away. But there was a glitter in his eyes that boded no good to Wilfrid. Bentley loved money and hated to be deprived of his plunder, however shabbily it was obtained.

"I'll tear up Jackson's I.O.U.," he said. "Come and play again, boys."

There was a general move in the direction of the library again. The host looked at Wilfrid in an inquiring kind of way. He had all the rich man's contempt for poverty, but did not forget that Wilfrid was the son of a baronet and his lead socially was worth following.

"I'll come directly I've finished my cigarette," Wilfrid said. "I'm looking at your flowers. But I will not play again this evening."

In a casual way Wilfrid returned to the conservatory. He had no fear of further molestation; they were settled at their game once more excepting Jackson, who had gone comfortably off to sleep in an armchair. Wilfrid meant to call Freda back and send her to bed at once. It would never do for these men to know anything of what had taken place. They were not the right class to understand the situation.

As Wilfrid opened the door he heard the flutter of Freda's skirts. She came in smilingly, though the look of trouble was still in her eyes. The look vanished as she turned her face towards the rustic bench where they had been sitting.

"Oh, I'm so glad," she whispered, "so pleased that you have changed your mind, Wilfrid. You put the diamond brooch in your pocket after all? I left it on the bench, you recollect, when I was outside. I am so glad."

Wilfrid stared at the bench and then at Freda in blank astonishment.

"Do you mean to say you did not put it in your pocket?" he asked.

"Of course not," Freda said. "I had no time. I left it to you. If you picked it up----"

"But I didn't," Wilfrid said, hoarsely. "Somebody must have crept in and stolen it."