Читать книгу On the Brink of a Chasm: A record of plot and passion - L. T. Meade - Страница 7

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Two or three days later Pelham received a note from Barbara Evershed.

“Dearest Dick, come and see me at once,” she wrote. “Something most wonderful and unexpected has happened.”

Pelham, who was just attending to his first brief, started up with an exclamation, put on his hat, and in half an hour had arrived at Mrs. Evershed’s house in Mark Place. He was admitted at once, and ran up to the drawing-room, where Barbara was waiting for him.

“Dear old Dick,” she cried, “I am about the happiest girl on earth!”

“But what has happened? I never saw you look so excited before.”

“I have reason to be excited. We can be engaged now quite openly. Oh, how happy I am!”

“And so am I, Barbara, if it is true; but has your mother given her consent?”

“Yes, it is all right now. Everything has come right, and in such a wonderful, marvelous way.”

“Tell me the story.”

“I must begin at the beginning. You know I hinted to you about poor mother’s money difficulties?”

“Yes, Barbara.”

“Well, they are all put right; and so suddenly, so unexpectedly. And who do you think has done it? Why, Dr. Tarbot—the man I almost hated. He has lent mother ten thousand pounds, and on such easy terms that it will be possible for her to repay it all by degrees.

“He says he doesn’t mind when the capital is returned, and she is only to pay four per cent. interest. You can’t imagine what a relief it is. The poor dear had been getting into most awful trouble, and those horrid money-lenders were getting her into their clutches.

“She told me only yesterday that unless I engaged myself to Lord Selwyn—(Dick, Dick, think of it, that old horror! that dreadful, withered-up old creature!)—she said that unless I could bring myself to accept his proposals she would have to try to borrow money from the Jews, and they would charge twenty or thirty per cent. interest. She said we might keep on for another few weeks and then we must go under.

“Oh, Dick, if it hadn’t been for you, I must have yielded, for, after all, she is my mother, and I love her dearly! She spoke of the awful scandal, the disgrace, the debts, the angry creditors, her appearance in a public court. Oh, it nearly broke my heart!”

“There, don’t cry, my dearest girl,” said Pelham, for Barbara, overcome by her emotions, had laid her head on his shoulder and burst into a passion of tears.

“I am all right now,” she said, quickly recovering herself. “It is over, and Dr. Tarbot has done it all. He is our blessing, our good angel.”

Pelham was silent.

“It happened last night. Mother and I had a long conversation, and at last I told her I would think over matters, and let her know my decision within an hour. I never meant to yield, Dick, so you need not look at me so reproachfully, but it was my only chance to gain time, and just then Dr. Tarbot was announced.

“I went out of the room, for I did not want to see him. Little I knew what he had come about, ungrateful girl that I was. He and mother sat together and had a long, long conversation, and I went up to my room. I thought everything was lost. And then at last I heard Dr. Tarbot go. The next instant mother rushed up-stairs, opened my door, came up to me, and clasped me in her arms.

“‘Darling, darling, we are saved!’ she cried.

“‘What can you mean?’ I answered.

“‘It is all Dr. Tarbot’s doing; he has proved our good angel,’ said mother. ‘He will lend me ten thousand pounds within a week from now. Oh, Barbara, he is doing it so handsomely, so splendidly!

“‘Barbara child, you ought to marry him. He loves you, he told me how he loved you; he said it was on your account he was doing it. He didn’t press that you should engage yourself to him. On the contrary, he seemed quite hopeless about it. But, Barbara, he is a man in a thousand.’

“‘I am greatly obliged to him,’ I said. ‘I think he is quite splendid; I didn’t know it was in him; but, mother dear, I cannot show my gratitude in that way—I can never marry him.’

“‘My darling, he makes no conditions. He said you were not to be persecuted on his account. I almost think he would have preferred your not knowing that he has behaved so well to me. Now, Barbara, you queer girl, have you nothing to say to me, no secret you are keeping from me? I have rather suspected it for the last few days.’

“Dick, that was my opportunity. I could not help it—I burst out with everything. I told mother all about my great, great passionate love for you. She was so kind to me, and so relieved about her money affairs, that she consented to my becoming engaged to you.

“She even said she thought Dr. Tarbot would like it. Just imagine it, Dick! Could you for a moment have believed that it was in that man to be so generous? Oh, how bitterly I have misjudged him! I should like to go on my knees to him.

“Well, mother told me I must write to you early this morning, and ask you to stay to lunch, and we can be engaged now before all the world. As soon as you have a little home for me, Dick, however humble, I will come to it with delight.”

To this exciting narrative Pelham made short replies. He said he was very glad, but his enthusiasm with regard to Tarbot was not what the girl had expected. On the contrary, whenever Tarbot’s name was mentioned Pelham’s face became grave and stern.

“What is the matter, Dick?” said Barbara at last. “Why do you look like that?—you have such a queer expression in your eyes.”

“Have I, Barbara? I ought to have a delighted expression—the thought of winning you is enough to make any man happy.”

“But are you not grateful to Dr. Tarbot?”

“Don’t question me. I have an unreasonable—no, perhaps it is not unreasonable—but I have a very strong dislike to him.”

“Surely that is unkind. I own, until yesterday I quite shared your feeling, but how can I think it any longer? I almost believe that I could love him. At least I must tell him how very grateful I am for what he has done.”

Pelham looked stern.

“Dick, what is the matter?”

“Don’t say too much about him, Barbara. I must tell you plainly that I do not like this. It seems to me as if I owed you to Tarbot’s action. It all sounds very generous, but then you are not behind the scenes. I don’t want to be in debt to Tarbot for anything. Oh, there, there, dear,” for Barbara’s face had clouded and then became very white. “It is all right now, and it is a blessed relief, and we’ll be married as soon as we can, little woman. I was attending to my first brief when your fascinating little note arrived.

“I rushed off to you, of course, for what are briefs to me when you want me? But now I shall attend to business with a will. I have about three hundred a year of my own—a mere nothing, of course—but we might be married in the autumn. We could begin in a small way, and hope for the time when I shall earn enough to give you the comforts you ought to have, my darling.”

“I don’t want comforts, or luxuries,” said Barbara. “I just want to be with you. Yes, we’ll be married in the autumn, Dick. I don’t wish to wait. I don’t care how poor you are. Oh, that is mother’s step. Now, Dick darling, be kind to her, she has gone through a great deal. Money troubles are enough to take the heart out of any one. Be very nice to her, dearest. Be as grateful as you can.”

As Barbara uttered the last words the drawing-room door was opened and Mrs. Evershed came in. She was a handsome woman, tall and stately. There were hard, worn lines round her mouth, but her relief was expressed in the eyes, which were still shining as if through recent tears, and in the mouth, which smiled, notwithstanding its tenseness. Pelham went up to her eagerly.

“Is what Barbara tells me true, Mr. Pelham?” said Mrs. Evershed.

“It is perfectly true,” replied the young man. “I love Barbara with all my heart. She has promised to marry me, but we should both like your consent.”

“That means,” said Mrs. Evershed, “that you would marry without it.”

“I should,” was the quick response; “but I doubt whether Barbara would yield to my entreaties.”

“I don’t know what I should have done if I had been tried,” said Barbara, “but luckily it is not necessary. Mother consents, don’t you, mother—you consent to make me happy in my own way?”

“Yes, my child, I cannot refuse my consent. I have been relieved of a great load of care, Mr. Pelham, and it behooves me to be good to others. I may as well say frankly that I had more ambitious views for Barbara, although, of course, I like you personally very much.”

As Mrs. Evershed said the last words she held out her hand.

“I give my consent, Dick,” she said softly. The young man grasped the hand she offered.

“You are more than good,” he said. “You make me happier than I have words to express.”

“Well, come down and have lunch with us now. I shall have much, of course, to talk to you about afterwards. Yes, I allow the engagement, but the marriage need not take place for some time.”

“We can talk that over by and by, mother,” said Barbara. “Come, Dick; come to lunch. I am so hungry.”

They had just assembled in the dining-room when there came a ring at the front door, and a moment later Tarbot appeared. He entered the room hurriedly, shook hands with Mrs. Evershed, nodded to Pelham, and then approached Barbara’s side. When she saw him her face grew white. She looked round her eagerly; the servant had withdrawn. She held out both her hands then and clasped Tarbot’s.

“I must thank you here and now,” she said. “I do so with a full heart. I did not know it was in you. You are the most generous man in the world.”

A queer look came into Tarbot’s face. His eager eyes looked into the girl’s; they glittered with suppressed emotion. He tried to say something, but no words would come. Barbara’s girlish thanks unnerved him. Pelham was watching him intently. The next moment the little party were seated at the luncheon table.

Just as the servant was handing an entrée, Tarbot glanced at Mrs. Evershed and spoke quietly.

“This is very sad about Piers Pelham.”

“What about him?” asked Mrs. Evershed.

Pelham dropped his knife and fork. Barbara looked up with interrogation and alarm in her eyes.

“I am sorry to say that the child is dangerously ill. I have been obliged to consult Williamson. He thinks badly of the case. All depends on the next few days, but at the present moment his life hangs in the balance.”