Читать книгу The Nether Millstone - Fred M. White - Страница 16

A feeling of almost physical sickness held Mary for the moment. She had dreaded this thing, and at the same time she had hoped against it--it had seemed almost impossible that such a calamity could happen to Dashwood Hall. Mary would have scoffed the idea that she regarded ordinary humanity as different clay to herself, but it was so all the same. It did not seem right that one in her station of life should be called upon to suffer an indignity like this.

And yet here it was, blatant and hideous, and so transparently vulgar! Mary knew the full significance of the disaster; she had seen something of it, two years before, in the house of one of the estate farmers who had fallen into the hands of a money-lender. She had seen the mother of the family bowed and distracted, whilst a gin-soddened wretch sat in a priceless oak chair and puffed some dreadful tobacco. And the man had been quite insolent when Mary had spoken to him.

That was bad enough, but to have the same thing at Dashwood was a thousand times worse. It seemed to Mary that she could catch the reek of that vile tobacco now. But something had to be done; it was useless to stand there idle.

"Have you spoken to the people?" Mary asked. "The servants----"

"Are all in bed except old Slight," Sir George whined. "Slight managed that. The other servants don't know anything for the present."

"Well, that is something gained. I have been to see Lady Dashwood. It was the most shameful moment of my life, but I managed to ask for the jewels. No, I did not get them--I don't believe that Lady Dashwood has them. I believe that she has some secret trouble of her own; I begin to believe that there is something terribly wrong with our family. There is no hope from Lady Dashwood."

Sir George whined in a feeble kind of way. Mary's heart overflowed with bitter contempt. This was the head of the family, the man to be relied upon to uphold the traditions of a long line of glorious ancestors! The girl steeled herself to face the inevitable; she knew now that she would have to rely solely on her own exertions. She passed through the open window into the drawing-room, which would never be quite the same to her again. Nothing appeared to be altered; the soft shaded lamps were here, the mellow subdued light playing on old furniture and pictures, and the flowers artistically arranged in their priceless vases. Surely sorrow and shame and humiliation would not touch the picture with chill fingers!

There he was, lounging back on a Chippendale couch, with his muddy boots on a hassock of Gobelin tapestry, his sullen face half-ashamed and half-defiant. His profession would have been apparent to anyone who had ever met one of the tribe before. Those men were of a race apart, idlers and loafers, who can face sorrow and suffering and the breaking up of homes without a spark of human feeling. The man looked up at Mary's pale haughty face, with a certain dumb admiration in his bleared eye.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" Mary demanded. "Tell me that."

"It's all right," the object said, without removing his pipe. "There's the docyment on that little marble table. Suit of Mayfield and Co., £5,193 17s. 4d., debt and costs. If you pay within seven days, all right; if you don't then the auctioneer comes in. No use making a fuss about it. Pay us and we go, don't pay us and we stay. Treat us well, and we'll treat you well. It isn't the first time I've been in swell houses like this."

The man was so coolly, unconsciously insolent that Mary could make no reply for a moment. It seemed incredible that she, who had always had the reverence of every man and boy in the village, could be treated like this. Nothing seemed to pierce the creature's dull hide.

"But you can't stay here," she said. "That is impossible. I suppose the idea is to see that nothing is taken away. Nearly all the furniture belongs to the family; most of the things are what are called heirlooms. We could not dispose of them if we wanted to. We could make you all comfortable in one of the empty lodges."

"Won't do," the man on the sofa said huskily. "Had that game tried on me lots of times. I sit up here all night, whilst my mates get a rest. We take it turn and turn about. Better keep your breath to cool your porridge. You can go to bed now without any fear of burglars. I'll see that nothing goes away from here."

Mary turned away, sore and helpless and sick at heart. She, who despised tears so heartily in others, felt like bursting into hysterical weeping now. The humiliation was almost more than she could bear. She would have welcomed any calamity that was likely to overwhelm the old house and lay it in grey ashes at her feet. Fiercely, angrily, she grasped her father by the arm and led him from the room. Sir George trotted along feebly, muttering in a small voice. He was as useless as a woman in a storm at sea. He sat down in the library with his hands folded in his lap, and looked anxiously for any suggestion from Mary.

"Is there nothing you can do?" she demanded impatiently. Could this feeble, white-faced creature be the same jaunty, debonnaire figure that had been so popular in the Paris salons? Mary asked herself. "Is there no way out of the difficulty?"

"I--I am afraid not," Sir George stammered. "I am so dazed and confused that I can think of nothing. Most unfortunate that business about Lady Dashwood and the diamonds. Wonder what she has done with them. Very selfish of her."

Mary suppressed a desire to scream. Ralph Darnley flashed into her mind suddenly, and she wondered why. Anyway she could not ask him to help her, even if he had the means to do so. She had repelled his advances more or less scornfully, and one does not borrow money from a man in conditions like that.

"Lady Dashwood is powerless to help us," she said with an effort. "Unless I am greatly mistaken, she has a sorrow far deeper than ours----"

"Impossible," Sir George said testily. "You are talking nonsense, my dear. What blow could be heavier or harder to bear than ours? But I trust that we shall meet it with proper dignity. Nothing can deprive us of our dignity."

Mary laughed aloud. The echo of her mirth came back mockingly in the silence and almost frightened her. Heavens! was it possible that Sir George had no idea of the pitiable figure he presented at that moment? He went on to suggest fortitude and calmness. He had heard of the same thing happening in the castle of a duke. Worse things had taken place in the chateaux of the aristocracy in the French Revolution.

"Ay, but they knew how to live and die like gentlefolk," Mary said bitterly. "I understand that you are going to sit down and tamely submit to this thing?"

"My dearest child, how impetuous you are! There is nothing else to do. By the end of the week I shall have more than enough for all my needs. Still I think, I think that there is a way to get out of the difficulty, without anybody being any the wiser. The remedy, however, lies in your hands. Of course, it requires a certain amount of self-sacrifice on your part. I am bound to confess that I could desire other channels for the amelioration of the situation. Still, as I said before----"

The voice was cringing and fawning; there was something mean and furtive on Sir George's face as he spoke his polished periods. A certain sickness of heart gripped Mary; she was conscious of a sensation of absolute fear.

"Pray do not be diplomatic with me," she said. "I have seen so much of that kind of thing in Paris. What are you concealing from me?"

"Your tone is not filial," Sir George complained. "I did not mean to tell you; I was going to spare you the pain. I thought perhaps you would agree with me that patience was the best line to take. But I see that you desire to strike a decisive blow; at any cost you long to get those impossible creatures out of the house. Our boats are not entirely burnt as you seem to imagine--one slender plank of safety remains. Not to elaborate the thing too much, I may say I have had a note from Mayfield. I should like you to read that note and consider its inner meaning carefully. Mayfield has come down from London in his car tonight, and is staying at his old fishing quarters at Swainson's farm. He more or less apologizes for the course that he has taken, and reminds me that friendship must not be mixed up with business. He does not allude to the way in which I so flagrantly assaulted him, which strikes me as being generous on his part----"

"But he has come here to gloat over our misfortune," Mary cried. "I see that my instinct did not play me false when I estimated the man."

"There you go, there you go," Sir George said testily. "I gather from the letter that Mayfield regrets his precipitate action. But, on the other hand, he fears to lose his money. He wants a substantial security for it. He says in his letter, which is an exceedingly gentlemanly one, that an amicable understanding is quite easy. He suggests that if you like to send for him and discuss the matter, he has no doubt that affairs may be arranged."

Mary started forward and laid a hand upon her heart. She was conscious of a fierce pain there, as if the organ of her being had suddenly stopped its beating. So this was the way out! She had only to smile, to raise one pink finger, and the horrid miasma in the drawing-room would fade like some unspeakable nightmare. Mary dropped into a chair shaking in every limb.