Читать книгу The Wilderness Mine - Harold Bindloss - Страница 13
ОглавлениеRUTH IS MOVED TO ANGER
Creighton had been nearly a year in Africa when Ruth came home, and on the evening of her arrival she sat with her mother in the cottage drawing-room. The ornaments and some of the pictures she had known at Iveghyll had gone, but the small room had been expensively decorated and Ruth thought it held too much furniture. She sat by an open window and, looking out on the garden, owned that Beckfoot had charm.
A copper beech spread its branches across the narrow lawn, flowers filled the borders by the clipped hedge, and in the distance the high fells lifted their rugged tops above the sweep of moor. Mountain-ashes dotted a ravine where a beck splashed in the fern, moisture trickled down the bright-green creeper on the wall, and although there were gleams of sunshine, gentle rain was falling. It was a typical evening in the misty North.
Ruth liked the smell of wet soil and the soothing murmur of the beck. She had come home hurt and disillusioned, but she loved the fells. So far, she had not given Mrs. Creighton all her confidence and she studied her quietly. Her mother looked tired and dissatisfied; her face was thin and her eyes were hard. One felt she was getting old sooner than she ought, but Ruth could account for this. Her father was in South Africa and her mother did not bear poverty well, although the poverty was not very marked. Ruth was sorry she had no comfort to bring but rather an extra load.
In the meantime, Mrs. Creighton saw her daughter had developed since she left home. She had not thought her beautiful; Ruth had not the charm that commands quick admiration, although her figure was graceful and her carriage was good. Her face was grave, her eyes were too calm and contemplative, and she had not much color. People had sometimes thought her dull. Now she had got a touch of dignity and although she was quiet, her smile was easy. Mrs. Creighton felt that the girl had, so to speak, awakened and become human. She had been absorbed by her music before.
"It must have hurt to leave Iveghyll, but I like Beckfoot," Ruth said presently. "I want you to tell me about father's quarrel with Mr. Stayward. You know I would have come home before he sailed, but you urged me to stay."
"His wish was you should get your year for study," Mrs. Creighton replied. "Then there was no time. He went by the first steamer after he resolved to go."
She mused for a few moments. To give up Iveghyll and own that she was poor had hurt much; moreover, she knew people blamed her husband for her poverty. She had not indulged Creighton while he was at home, but now she was his stanch and resolute defender. He had written to her, from Johannesburg, and again from a Boer dorp farther west on the Rand, but he did not tell her much, except that he had found employment for pay that met his needs.
"I will get you his last letter," she said.
Ruth studied the letter. It was careless, but she understood her father and thought his carelessness was forced. Things were not going very well with him, although she doubted if Mrs. Creighton knew, and hesitated to disturb her.
"Why did he quarrel with Stayward?" she asked.
Mrs. Creighton told her a moving tale. Enforced economy was hard, she missed her husband more than she had thought, and she blamed Stayward on both accounts. She was an obstinate woman with some skill for argument and by long brooding over her misfortunes had almost persuaded herself that Creighton was his partner's victim. It was a relief to pour her hatred into Ruth's sympathetic ears. The tale, however, was not altogether false. Mrs. Creighton saw when she must avoid exaggeration and when frankness helped plausibility. Studying her daughter, she saw the girl's eyes sparkle and the color come to her skin. Ruth, in fact, was getting angry, but wanted to be just.
"In a sense, the money we used was Stayward's," she remarked.
"No," said Mrs. Creighton firmly, "it belonged to the house, in which, of course, your father was a partner. This justified his using the money he needed, particularly since there was no stipulation that he must not do so. Then it's important that but for your father's invention Stayward could not have started the ovens; his patent enabled them to carry on the business. Making coke did not pay; they earned their profit by refining the tar."
Ruth was young and Mrs. Creighton's argument looked plausible. She allowed it to persuade her, but there was much she wanted to know, because she doubted if her mother would be frank again.
"The invention was father's," she agreed. "Why did he not make Stayward pay for using it after they broke the agreement?"
Mrs. Creighton saw her opportunity. She was on firm ground now.
"Ah," she said, "this is where one sees Stayward in his proper light. Your father trusted him and his patent was not very carefully worded. Stayward is unscrupulous and saw how he could copy the pipes and retorts."
"But could we not have stopped him if we had gone to law?"
"Going to law is expensive, particularly in a dispute about a patent. One must engage clever lawyers and get famous engineers to prove your antagonist's plan is an infringement of your rights. If we had been able to do so, we might have won, but Stayward knew your father had no money."
"So he robbed him because he was poor!" Ruth remarked in a hard voice.
"Yes," said Mrs. Creighton. "Something like that."
Ruth's eyes sparkled and her face got hot. She hated injustice and was moved to anger because her father, whom she loved, had suffered wrong.
"Stayward is a cruel, unscrupulous man. If we could punish him——" she said.
"I'm afraid he cannot be punished. He is very cunning and your father was careless," Mrs. Creighton replied.
Ruth said nothing for a few moments. Creighton's gay carelessness had long had a charm for her. She thought him trustful and generous, and to feel he had been victimized by his calculating partner hurt. But she wanted to know more.
"Why did father go away?" she asked, and hesitated. "Did Stayward try to prejudice people? I mean, did he tell them father ought not to have used his money?"
Mrs. Creighton pondered. So far as she knew, Stayward had said nothing about his grounds for breaking the partnership and she was puzzled by his reserve, but she did not want to talk about this. She meant to work on the girl's feelings until Ruth saw Stayward from her point of view.
"I think he durst not, and people would not have believed his statements," she replied. "After he stole the patent, we were poor. My small income would not meet our needs, but your father was resolved you should not give up your studies. He declared you must have your chance of making a career."
"Then, he really went away in order that I need not come home?" said Ruth, and tears came to her eyes. "But I knew he would do something like this. He was very generous. It hurts; you know how he loved the dale! Yet he went, for my sake——"
She paused and turned her head. When she turned again her look was strained.
"Mother," she said, with forced calm, "it's horrible to feel he gave up all he had—for nothing."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mrs. Creighton. "Why do you say for nothing?"
Ruth's face was very pale and the touch of red in her thick, brown hair emphasized the whiteness of her skin. Her gray eyes were wet and shone with changing lights as she struggled with confused emotion; pity for her father and pity for her much-tried mother, who must get another knock. There was not much pity for herself, because Ruth had pluck.
"I rather dreaded telling you, but you must be told," she said. "Well, you know my ambition. At Munich I found I could get mechanical cleverness, but I knew before I went this was not enough. I hoped I had the power that makes one's music live——"
She paused and with an effort forced herself to go on. "At the beginning, I was satisfied. I worked hopefully at painful exercises that stretch the finger muscles; I got control of the violin on the awkward shifts. My hands and ear were trained. I could feel the delicate shades of sound we call the nuances. Then I began to doubt. To stop the notes exactly true and give the strings the smooth vibration that thrills the wood and makes it sing is something, but after all it is not much. One can get this by study, but perseverance is not genius. Sometimes my masters looked thoughtful when I played and I got anxious and disturbed. However, perhaps what I mean's not very plain and I'm boring you?"
"No, I must try to understand."
"Well, I could develop pure tone and mark the rhythm, but I could not seize and reproduce the passion of a theme. Somehow it eluded me. I could not strike the spark that gives music fire. Mine was mechanical and cold. All the same, it was long before I would own the truth. I fought for my ambition; if I had not genius, I had resolve. I thought it might be possible to win the gift I wanted by stubborn work."
Ruth stopped for a moment and smiled, a brave but melancholy smile.
"It was all no use. If talent is not given you, you must go without, and at length I was forced to see. There was another girl; her hands were not trained, her muscles were weak, and her playing was marked by faults, but she had power. I knew work would take her where it would not take me. Then I went to the master and told him to be frank. He said I had taste and skill, but when I urged he owned that this was all."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Creighton dully. "Then, your study has been wasted? You cannot be a musician?"
"I can teach beginners. Perhaps I play well enough to get engagements for second-class concerts. Since I have no other occupation and mean to help you, I must try to be satisfied."
Mrs. Creighton was moved. She knew Ruth's tenacity and pictured her obstinate struggle and the bitterness of her disappointment. Mrs. Creighton, herself, found the disappointment hard to bear, because they were poor and she had hoped much from the girl's talent. All the same, she had, since Creighton went away, begun to see that her cold selfishness had gradually separated them, and she thought he left her without a pang. In a sense, she had lost her husband, but she did not mean to lose her daughter. One could not altogether go without love.
"My dear!" she said, beckoning, and when Ruth advanced drew her down and took her in her arms.
Ruth's forced calm gave way and resting her head on her mother's neck, she indulged in healing tears. After a time she got up and resolutely dried her eyes.
"You have helped me much; I wanted help," she said. "Now I must brace up, but it's hard. Father's going away haunts me." She crossed the floor and opened the long window. "The rain is stopping. I think I'll go out."
A few minutes later she crossed the lawn and went up the wet road. She had told her story and her mother had been kind. Ruth admitted, with a feeling of shame, that she had hardly hoped for this; somehow she had not expected Mrs. Creighton to sympathize. Well, the confession she had dreaded was done with, and she thought about her father with mournful tenderness. It hurt to feel his efforts to help her had been thrown away. Indeed, the futility of his sacrifice tempered her pity with a sense of humiliation. He was marked by a strange futility; he failed at all he tried, and so, she owned, did she.
Ruth, however, durst not dwell long on this, and it was a relief to weigh Stayward's part in their troubles and give her anger rein. Her father had, perhaps, been careless, but his partner had profited by his generous trust. She hated Stayward for his cunning and greed. Love for his victim had made her hard, but she did not know her mother had meant to work upon her grief and pity. Mrs. Creighton had, in fact, talked better than she knew.
After a time, Ruth tried to banish her anger. She must be practical. Since Stayward had robbed them, she must earn some money, and if she had no talent for music, she had skill. By and by she would look for pupils and small concert engagements, but not just yet. Keen disappointment had shaken her and left her dull; she must rest and gather strength to begin another struggle. Ruth was not beaten yet and meant to fight. Although she could not hope for high triumph, something might be won.
