Читать книгу The Wilderness Mine - Harold Bindloss - Страница 12
ОглавлениеMRS. CREIGHTON REFUSES
After his interview with Stayward, Creighton drove home, weighing gloomily a half-formed plan. It would be hard to tell Janet, but she must be told and, if possible, persuaded to agree. The situation needed a desperate cure, and he nerved himself to make a plunge. Janet could help; in spite of her extravagance, she was clever and resolute. If she supported him, they might make a fresh start; but he knew his wife and doubted.
At dinner Creighton said nothing about his embarrassments, although he noted that Mrs. Creighton now and then looked hard at him. After the meal was over they went out on the terrace and he leaned against the low wall, on which red geraniums flowered. Mrs. Creighton occupied a neighboring bench.
The evening was calm, and the light was going; a smell of flowers floated across the lawn and one heard lambs crying on the hill. The dark firs were losing their sharpness and a little mist began to creep about the crest of the moor. Creighton was conscious of a curious pang. The serenity and beauty of the spot appealed to his love of ease. He shrank from effort and struggle, but his weakness and Janet's folly had banished him from this quiet retreat. He must go out and front the storm, but he feared disaster if he went alone.
"You are moody," Mrs. Creighton remarked. "I suppose something has gone wrong at the works?"
"All has gone wrong," said Creighton. "Stayward has found me out."
Mrs. Creighton moved abruptly, but next moment resumed her quiet pose, although her glance was keen.
"You're ridiculous when you're theatrical," she said. "What has Stayward found out?"
"That we have squandered his money and he has not enough to keep the ovens going. As you know, I have none. He has broken our partnership."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Creighton and was silent for a moment or two. Then she resumed: "From the beginning I disliked John Stayward. He is not our sort, but I thought he could help you. Now it looks as if he had cheated us."
Creighton laughed harshly. "Stayward is persuaded I have cheated him and he has some grounds, but we'll let this go. He has turned me out and we cannot live at Iveghyll on your income."
The color came into Mrs. Creighton's hard, pale face and her eyes sparkled.
"I don't know if you cheated Stayward, but you cheated me. You were not poor when I married you; you had talent and an occupation. I thought you might go far."
"I buried my talent. You were fastidious about the use I made of it, and when at length I dug it up it had rusted. Hard wear keeps one's talents bright. But you look impatient and to philosophize won't help much."
"How do you mean to help? It wouldn't be strange if you had a useful plan."
"We won't quarrel," said Creighton, and there was an appeal in the look he gave her. "I've been slack and perhaps your reproaching me is justified. We'll leave it there. We must make a fresh start and I have a plan."
Mrs. Creighton said nothing for a few moments. She had got a hard knock, but she had pluck and the hurt braced her and made her savage. She thought she had borne much for her husband's sake, but now the ambitions to which she had stubbornly clung were altogether gone. She must give up the high place she had fought for, her neighbors would no longer own her rule, and nobody would give her the deference she felt she was entitled to claim. A bankrupt's wife had no social claims.
"Well?" she said, coolly.
Creighton pulled himself together. He doubted if he could persuade Janet, but he must try. This was a duty he owed both; she was his wife and for her sake he must submit to the rules of civilization and earn by irksome labor the means to live. After all, he was rather a good chemist, and although his occupation had lost its charm, there was nothing upon which he could fall back if he gave it up.
But he needed Janet's support.
"We must leave Iveghyll," he said. "Your friends will drop me when they hear Stayward's tale; it's possible they will drop you. Your money will not support us and I cannot be a burden on my wife. Very well. Suppose we make a plunge, trust our luck, and start again in a new country? One has chances of making good in, for example, South Africa or Canada."
"What do you think of doing in South Africa?" Mrs. Creighton asked, in an ironical voice.
"There are posts at the mines," said Creighton, vaguely. "I know something about the analysis and refining of precious metals and would keep the post I got. I think I have enough skill for this, and when you have no other resources you stick to your job. In fact, I feel we have come to a turning and the way we turn is important. I'm getting old and can't go back when I've taken the new path."
"I think that is so," Mrs. Creighton agreed and pondered. Then she asked: "Where does your new path lead?"
"Up hill, I must admit. I've come down rather fast, and it's plainly time to stop. There's a rough climb in front, perhaps the struggle will be long, but, if you help, I think we'll reach smooth ground."
"A long struggle, in a rude country! Oh, I know in some of the towns they have big hotels, handsome offices, and modern clubs; but where would you find the grace and refinement we value in England?"
"It's possible we value our surface refinement too high," Creighton remarked. Then he laughed. "If we leave out your friends and people of their sort, I don't know if we have much refinement in the North. Stayward, for example, is as rude a type as one would expect to meet on the back-veldt."
"The back-veldt! Some of the mines are there, long distances from even a squalid Boer town. Life at such a place would be impossible. I cannot see myself keeping house in an iron shanty, with a savage Kaffir boy to help."
"No," said Creighton, smiling. "I cannot see you. Somehow, you don't fit into the picture. Well, it looks as if you don't like my plan. What is yours?"
"Mine provides for Ruth, whom I think you have forgotten," Mrs. Creighton replied. "She must stay in England and go on with her music. Perhaps she will be a famous player; it is possible she will make a good marriage. Since we are forced to give up Iveghyll, we will go to Beckfoot cottage. It ought to have been mine and I expect my cousin will let me have it for a very small rent. With a few alterations, Beckfoot might suit——"
She stopped and Creighton imagined she was thinking about enlargements and new furniture. It was obvious that she left him out of her plans, and on the whole he was resigned. Janet meant to go her way and he would go his. After all, he was something of a vagabond and had long chafed against conventional restraints and monotonous work. Perhaps he was not too old to taste adventure and indulge vague romantic longings he had controlled.
"Then there are your patent royalties. You must fight Stayward for your rights," Mrs. Creighton resumed.
"I'm going to see him in the morning. For all that, it wouldn't be prudent to reckon on the royalties."
"But we will need the money. You have none."
"I won't need much," said Creighton dryly. "Ruth must have her chance, and my stay in this country will embarrass you. Well, I think I'll try South Africa."
Mrs. Creighton looked hard at him and hesitated. Then she said thoughtfully: "Perhaps the plan has some advantages. After all, if you didn't get a good post, you could come back."
"That is so," Creighton agreed. "On the whole, I think the advantages outweigh the drawbacks."
He got up, lighted a cigarette, and strolled off across the grass with a feeling of half bitter amusement. Janet had chosen her path and he must take his alone. Well, she was not romantic and perhaps she was justified. For one thing, Ruth must have her chance. Creighton had never loved his wife as he loved his daughter. Yet it would be a pull to leave the dale and his thoughts were melancholy as he looked about.
The light had gone and the black moors cut against a pale green and orange sky. The firs had faded to dusky spires; moving sheep made blurred dots on the long slope of a hill, and the splash of the beck came drowsily across the evening calm. The calm soothed Creighton, although he knew he had enjoyed it too long. When he ought to have struggled he had loafed, and now the reckoning had come. One must pay for slackness and folly, but he did not mean to grumble. He could pay; his languid temperament made this easier. By and by he returned to the house and talked to Mrs. Creighton about altering Beckfoot cottage.
In the morning, she stated that she would go with him in the car to the mining village, and although Creighton did not know her object he agreed. It was about ten o'clock when she got down in the smoky street and Creighton drove to the office, where Stayward was waiting. The latter looked worn and stern and roughly signed Creighton to sit down.
"About your patent royalties," he said. "I see we have thirty pounds, in notes and gold, in the safe; it's all that you have left. If you will write me a receipt, I'll pay you the sum for the use of your invention."
"This is ridiculous!" Creighton exclaimed.
"Not at all. It's thirty pounds or nothing," said Stayward, who put a drawing on the desk, and Creighton noted that he used his ordinary colloquial English. When Stayward was cool and on his guard, he dropped the Cumbrian dialect. John was ominously cool now.
Creighton picked up the drawing and started, for he thought he saw the line Stayward meant to take. The plan showed some alterations to his distilling apparatus, and the new arrangement of the pipes would work.
"If I'd drawn that patent, I'd have made my specification tight," Stayward resumed. "I reckon yours wasn't worth the fees. Anyhow, I'm going to use it, and if you claim my modified process is an infringement, you can put your lawyers on my track." He paused and added with a grim smile: "Going to law's expensive. Perhaps you had better think before you begin."
Creighton durst not go to law, but the blood came to his face.
"It's robbery!" he declared.
"If we are going to talk about robbery, I have much to say," Stayward rejoined. "Better let it go! I'm getting old, but I've paid my debts since I began to work. I offer you thirty pounds for the use of a patent any man with brains can infringe. If our works had been larger and our stuff well known, somebody would have copied your plant before. Well, I'm ready to fight. Are you?"
It was obvious that Stayward could not be moved. Creighton knew he was just, as far as he saw, but very hard, and there was no use in begging for mercy that would be refused. Besides, unless he asked Janet for money, he would need the thirty pounds.
"You know I'm in your power," he said. "I'll take the money."
"Then write a clean receipt, giving me full use of the invention until the patent runs out."
Creighton did so, and Stayward, who examined the document carefully, counted out the sum. Then he got up, as if to indicate that the interview was over.
"That's done with and I've done with you," he said. "If there's anything you're not satisfied about, send your lawyers. The foreman will not let you through the gate again."
Creighton went out and found Mrs. Creighton waiting by the car. He saw she carried a small handbag.
"Where have you been?" he asked.
"I went to the bank," Mrs. Creighton replied. "I wanted to get there when it opened. You see, I had not used all the sum you gave me some time since."
"And you thought it prudent to draw the rest?"
"Of course," said Mrs. Creighton. "I imagined Stayward might be spiteful since you had quarreled. I meant to get to the bank first."
Creighton laughed. Janet's caution was typical, and she did not need him. One could trust Janet to secure all she thought was hers.
