Читать книгу The House of Mammon - Fred M. White - Страница 9

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To John Sairson, Philip Gosway was no more than a useful tool who was badly paid for a more than adequate service. It was necessary to have a man of good address and appearance, and Gosway fulfilled those requirements. He had fallen low in the world, but retained a measure of self-respect, and his clothes were neat if well worn. In some strange way he contrived to throw off the suggestion of the city once he turned his face homeward, in Sairson's presence he was usually humble, not to say meek, and gave no impression of being still something of an athlete. By the time he had crossed London Bridge his shoulders squared and his step became more elastic. Sairson imagined Gosway as the type of broken-down fellow who loiters about saloon bars when funds permitted. As a matter of fact it was years since Gosway had tasted intoxicants. The great tragedy of his life had come that way, and there had been a time when Philip Gosway swore he would never touch the dread poison again.

Of his inner life John Sairson knew nothing. He had never heard of the quaint cottage tucked away in the quadrangle behind St. Cedric's Church on the other side of the water. He could not have imagined Gosway fresh and gleaming from his bath, and the subsequent vigorous dumb-bell exercise, as he came whistling gaily down to breakfast on the same Saturday morning on which the trap was baited for Lord Laurisdale. The little sitting-room with the mullioned windows and fine stained glass had once formed part of a monk's refectory, the old oak furniture of the later Middle Ages still remained. Outside was a grass forecourt with a pair of lime trees, where the pigeons came for food from Sybil Gosway's own hand. Here was the secret of Philip Gosway's tardy repentance, the restraining force that had prevented him at the crisis of his life from going headlong to perdition.

Sybil made a pretty figure as she stood there in her white cotton dress, while grey and brown wings fluttered about the shining masses of her hair. She was dainty and sweet enough to have come out of one of Marcus Stone's pictures, the typical daughter of the squire. There was no hint of meanness about her, though she lived amongst poor folk and helped to get her own living with her typewriter. Friends in the common acceptance of the term she had none; she was happy in her daily toil and the company of her father and her books and music in the evenings. Who the Gosways were and whence they came she did not know; she accepted the mystery—if any there were—of her position without demur.

Gosway's eyes lighted tenderly as he contemplated the picture through the curved frame of the doorway. The oval table was laid out for breakfast, but the kettle on the open hearth was not boiling yet, and Gosway had a few moments for other matters. By the side of his plate lay one letter—a letter on thick grey paper, with a monogram and coronet on the back. Gosway hesitated just a moment with a glance at Sybil before he picked up the letter and opened it. The printed heading conveyed the fact that the missive came from Laurisdale Castle.

"Dear Phil," the letter ran, "Quite by chance I happened to see Sybil in Bond-street last week. I couldn't stop because I was motoring with Patricia. It struck me that the child looked pale and run down—in need of a change, in fact. Send her to me directly you get this, and on the off chance I'll meet the 3.40 at Sheringham. Don't say 'No,' Phil; you can't imagine how lonely I am. Let me have Sybil for a fortnight, at any rate. We shall have the place to ourselves as Laurisdale is not here. Don't trouble to wire, but send Sybil on here.

'Yours affectionately,

"Blanche Laurisdale."

Very thoughtfully Gosway tore the letter into strips and tossed them on the fire. He would be terribly lonely without Sybil but, on the other hand, the child would be the better for the change. These occasional visits to Laurisdale Castle were the one bright spot in her life. She was puzzled to know how they had come about; possibly the Gosways might have been friends of the castle people in the past—but as to this Sybil asked no questions. She had an instinctive feeling that they would be wasted.

She emptied the last scrap from the basket and came cheerfully into the house. Bidding her father a cheerful good-morning she set about making the tea. A little maid-of-all-work would come in presently and tidy up. Meanwhile the toast was made, the eggs were boiled, and breakfast stood confessed.

"Are you going to leave at 1 o'clock to-day, daddy?" Sybil asked.

"I'm afraid not," Gosway said. "The company is very busy just now. My services are wanted."

Gosway always spoke of his employer as the "company." In a way they were supposed to be connected with shipping. Sybil's sunny face cleared; she had planned a long Saturday afternoon in the country. It was not difficult for Gosway to read what was passing in the girl's mind.

"I'm rather glad," he said. "We are so busy now that I shall be late every night for the next fortnight or so. It means a good deal of extra money, of course, which is a consideration. But, seeing that you will not be here, I shall welcome the overtime."

"What do you mean by that cryptic remark?"

"Oh! didn't I tell you? How careless of me! But you saw the letter from Blanche this morning—and—and——"

Sybil pretended not to hear. It was by no means the first time that her father had incautiously spoken of Lady Laurisdale as Blanche. All this only added piquancy to the mystery.

"I saw that you had a letter from Lady Laurisdale," the girl said demurely.

"Yes, yes, to be sure. She is alone at Laurisdale, and wants you to stay with her for a fortnight. She will meet the 3.40 at Sheringham if you can get away in time. You can easily manage that, or course. This has fallen out very conveniently, as I may have to sleep at the office one or two nights."

Sybil kissed her father lovingly. There was a perfect understanding between the two. Her father would miss her greatly, but she loved him all the more that he should speak so cheerfully. And the prospect was tempting. Laurisdale Castle would be lovely in this beautiful weather, and she drew in a deep breath of delight as she thought of the wide blue of the sea and the sunshine on the woods. Lady Laurisdale was something of a goddess in her eyes. If it could only be managed!

"You surprise me," she said. "Oh, dad! I should like to go! I have saved up a pound or two on the off-chance that we could go away together before long."

"Oh! the money is all right," Gosway said, with a careless gesture. "At any rate you can have four pounds. I shall have more before long. Now get your traps together whilst I write a letter or two."

Sybil lingered, woman-like, to ask a few questions. She would have liked to know what was the connection between her father and the mistress of Laurisdale Castle.

"How did you first meet Lady Laurisdale?"

"Haven't I told you?" Gosway asked innocently. "She came to me on business. There is a slight connection between the Gosways and her family; not the kind of thing one talks about, of course, because in our position it would be snobbish. You see, when I was in the service—good gracious! it's 9 o'clock. Run away and pack. With a bit of luck I may be able to come as far as Liverpool-street and see you off."

Sybil went her way smilingly. Times out of number her father had passed her questions in this way. Still, there was a certain flavor of romance about it that was delightful. It was nice to think that there was some real connection with the good people.

With a certain pleasure Gosway took out sovereigns from the little hoard that he kept locked in a despatch-box and threw them carelessly over to Sybil. How handsome and upright she looked!

How fond the company must be of him! Sybil thought, as she watched him out of sight. Perhaps they would take him into partnership some day and make things easier for him. Her heart was very bright and joyous as she packed her trunk, placing in it the one precious evening dress she wore when her father suggested a night at the theatre. There were times when tickets came to Gosway—permits from needy actors seeking assistance, or from quondam acquaintances, who tossed them to him contemptuously. But he pocketed his pride for Sybil's sake and the pleasure these treats gave her.

"I wonder what she would say if she knew," Gosway asked himself as he turned cityward. "Some day or another she will have to know. Well, I'll keep the truth from her as long as possible. It's good for a man's self-respect to know one person in the world who believes in him. Blanche will look after the little girl if anything happens to me—provided Laurisdale has not got through everything first. I wonder what Sairson would say if he knew! What a strange world it is!"

Gosway saw Sybil off, all smiles and laughter, and returned to his drudgery. It was a bad day for him, a day of degradation, and his very soul recoiled from it before the work was done. He was sick and tired of the trickery and deceit. Juggle with his conscience as he might, he could not absolutely disassociate himself from it. But for Sybil he would have thrown it up long ago.

He was finished with Sairson's business at last, and he was at liberty to turn his face homewards. It would be lonely enough without Sybil but he had his books and the quietness of the tiny cottage was reposeful. It seemed to him that he had managed to avert the danger so far as Sairson was concerned, and at any rate he would be free till Monday morning. A long tramp in the country on the morrow would do him good.

As he turned to cross London Bridge, a figure accosted him. A tall, hungry-looking man with a ragged moustache and beard barred his way. Despite the man's shabby and gaunt appearance and air of dissipation, there was something about him that spoke of better days.

"Well, what is it, Molliss?" Gosway asked. "Won't it keep till Monday? I've had a day that has sickened me of the whole dirty business. Who is the victim this time?"

"Oh! it's not the Captain," the man called Molliss said huskily. "It's about Barr."

"Barr has gone home. There is no occasion for Mr.——, well, for anybody to fear poor Barr for the present. I happen to know that he has only a few pence in his pocket. But for that Vanburg I might have been compelled to take other steps. If you get any kitchen gossip, for heaven's sake postpone it till Monday morning."

A queer, unsteady laugh came from the lips of the other man.

"Fancy you and me talking like this!" he said. "Do you remember the last night at Sandhurst, and how we talked of what we were going to do? And, my God, what we have done? Look at me and think of me as I used to be! You've managed to hold on to the skirt of respectability, but as for me! Lend me a shilling, Phil; I've not had a meal to-day."

"What is it you really want?" Gosway asked, as he passed over the coin.

"Well, as to that Barr," the other proceeded. "Please forget what I said just now, Mr. Gosway. I was not myself for a moment. It's men like Blaydon who make us what we are. Well, to go on, I made a mistake about Barr. He got money from somewhere. I was at Liverpool-street shadowing that Russian Count you told me to keep my eye on, and I saw Barr take a ticket for Cromer by the express. I didn't like the look of him at all. I was going to drop you a postcard."

A minute or two later and Gosway retraced his footsteps. Mentally he was counting up his money. He had just enough to procure what his humble wants called for.

"I'll go down by the last train," he said. "I must. If I don't, murder will be done. What a world it is! oh, what a strange world it is!"