by Anthony Hope
CHAPTER IX
DOCTOR MARY'S ULTIMATUM
Even Captain Alec was not superior to the foibles which beset humanity.If it had been his conception of duty which impelled him to take a highline with Beaumaroy, there was now in his feelings, although he did notrealize the fact, an alloy of less precious metal. He had demanded anordeal, a test--that he should see Mr. Saffron and judge for himself. Thetest had been accepted; he had been worsted in it. His suspicions werenot laid to rest--far from it; but they were left unjustified andunconfirmed. He had nothing to go upon, nothing to show. He had beenbaffled, and, moreover, bantered and almost openly ridiculed. In fact,Beaumaroy had been too many for him, the subtle rogue!
This conception of the case colored his looks and pointed his words whenTower Cottage and its occupants were referred to, and most markedly whenhe spoke of them to Cynthia Walford; for in talking to her he naturallyallowed himself greater freedom than he did with others; talking to herhad become like talking to himself, so completely did she give him backwhat he bestowed on her, and re-echo to his mind its own voice. Suchperfect sympathy induces a free outpouring of inner thoughts, andreinforces the opinions of which it so unreservedly approves.
Cynthia did more than elicit and reinforce Captain Alec's opinion; shealso disseminated it--at Old Place, at the Irechesters', at DoctorMary's, through all the little circle in which she was now a constant anda favorite figure. In the light of her experience of men, so limited andso sharply contrasted, she made a simple classification of them; theywere Cransters or Alecs; and each class acted after its kind. PlainlyBeaumaroy was not an Alec; therefore he was Cranster, and Cranster-likeactions were to be expected from him, of such special description as hiscircumstances and temptations might dictate.
She poured this simple philosophy into Doctor Mary's ears, vouchingAlec's authority for its application to Beaumaroy. The theory was toosimple for Mary, whose profession had shown her at all events somethingof the complexity of human nature; and she was no infallibilist; shewould bow unquestioningly to no man's authority, not even to Alec's, muchas she liked and admired him. There was even a streak of contrariness inher; what she might have said to herself she was prone to criticize orcontradict, if it were too confidently or urgently pressed on her byanother; perhaps, too, Cynthia's claim to be the Captain's mouthpiecestirred up in her a latent resentment; it was not to be called ajealousy; it was rather an amused irritation at both the divinity and hisworshiper. His worshipers can sometimes make a divinity look foolish.
Her own interview with Beaumaroy at the Cottage had left her puzzled,distrustful--and attracted. She suspected him vaguely of wanting to useher for some purpose of his own; in spite of the swift plausibility ofhis explanation, she was nearly certain that he had lied to her about thecombination knife-and-fork. Yet his account of his own position in regardto Mr. Saffron had sounded remarkably candid, and the more so because hemade no pretensions to an exalted attitude. It had been left to her todefine the standard of sensitive honor; his had been rather that ofsafety or, at the best, that of what the world would think, or even ofwhat the hated cousins might attempt to prove. But there again she wasdistrustful, both of him and of her own judgment. He might be--it seemedlikely--one of those men who conceal the good as well as the bad inthemselves, one of the morally shy men. Or again, perhaps, one of themorally diffident, who shrink from arrogating to themselves highstandards because they fear for their own virtue if it be put to thetest, and cling to the power of saying, later on, "Well, I told you notto expect too much from me!" Such various types of men exist, and they donot fall readily into either of Cynthia's two classes; they are neitherCransters nor Alecs; certainly not in thought, probably not in conduct.He had said at Old Place, the first time that she met him, that the warhad destroyed all his scruples. That might be true; but it was hardly theremark of a man naturally unscrupulous.
She met him one day at Old Place about a week after Christmas. TheCaptain was not there; he was at her own house, with Cynthia. With therest of the family Beaumaroy was at his best; gaily respectful to Mrs.Naylor, merry with Gertie, exchanging cut and thrust with old Mr.Naylor, easy and cordial towards herself. Certainly an attractive humanbeing and a charming companion, pre-eminently natural. "One talks oftaking people as one finds them," old Naylor said to her when they wereleft alone together for a few minutes by the fire, while the otherschatted by the window. "That fellow takes himself as he finds himself!Not as a pattern, a failure, or a problem, but just as a fact--apsychological fact."
"That rather shuts out effort, doesn't it? Well, I mean--"
"Strivings?" Mr. Naylor smiled. "Yes, it does. On the other hand, itgives such free play. That's what makes him interesting, makes youthink about him." He laughed. "Oh, I dare say the surroundings helptoo--we're all rather children--old Saffron, and the Devil, and CaptainDuggle, and the rest of it! The brain isn't overworked down here; welike to find an outlet."
"That means you think there's nothing in it really?"
"In what?" retorted old Naylor briskly.
But Mary was equal to him. "My lips are sealed professionally," shesmiled. "But hasn't your son said anything?"
"Admirable woman! Yes, Alec has said a few things; and the young ladygives it us, too. For my part, I think Beaumaroy's just drifting. He'lltake the gifts of fortune if they come, but I don't think there's muchdeliberate design about it. Ah, now you're smiling in a superior way,Doctor Mary! I charge you with secret knowledge. Or are you puffed up byhaving superseded Irechester?"
"I was never so distressed and--well, embarrassed at anything in mylife."
"Well, that, if you ask me, does look a bit queer. Sort of fits in withAlec's theory."
Mary's discretion gave way a little. "Or with Mr. Beaumaroy's? Which isthat I'm a fool, I think."
"And that Irechester isn't?" His eyes twinkled in good-humored malice."Talking of what this and that person thinks of himself and of others,Irechester thinks himself something of an alienist."
Her eyes grew suddenly alert. "He's never talked to me on that subject."
"Perhaps he doesn't think it's one of yours. Perhaps your studies haven'tlain that way? After all, no medical man can study everything!"
"Don't be naughty, Mr. Naylor" said Doctor Mary.
"He tells me that, in cases where the condition--the condition I thinkhe called it--is in doubt, he fixes his attention on the eyes and thevoice. He couldn't give me any very clear description of what he found inthe eyes. I couldn't quite make out, anyhow, what he meant, unless it wasa sort of meaninglessness, a want of what you might call intellectualfocus. Do you follow me?"
"Yes, I think I know what you mean."
"But with regard to the voice I distinctly remember that he used the word'metallic.'"
"Why, that's the word Cynthia used--"
"I dare say it is. It's the word Alec used in describing the voice inwhich old Mr. Saffron recited his poem, or whatever it was, in bed."
"But I've talked to Mr. Saffron; his voice isn't like that; it's a littlehigh, but full and rather melodious."
"Oh, well then--" He spread out his hands, as though acknowledging acheck. "Still, the voice described as metallic seems to have been Mr.Saffron's; at a certain moment at least. As a merely medical question ofsome interest, I wonder if such a symptom or sign of--er--irritabilitycould be intermittent, coming and going with the--er--fits! Irechesterdidn't say anything on that point. Have you any opinion?"
"None. I don't know. I should like to ask Dr. Irechester." Then, with asudden smile, she amended, "No, I shouldn't!"
"And why not, pray? Professional etiquette?"
"No, pride. Dr. Irechester laughed at me. I think I see why now; andperhaps why Mr. Beaumaroy--" She broke off abruptly, the slightestgesture of her hand warning Naylor also to be silent.
Having said good-bye to his friends by the window, Beaumaroy wassauntering across the room to pay the like courtesy to herself andNaylor. Mary rose to her feet; there was an air of decision abo
ut her,and she addressed Beaumaroy almost before he was within speaking distanceas it is generally reckoned in society.
"If you're going home, Mr. Beaumaroy, shall we walk together? It's time Iwas off, too."
Beaumaroy looked a little surprised, but undoubtedly pleased. "Well, now,what a delightful way of prolonging a delightful visit. I'm trulygrateful, Dr. Arkroyd."
"Oh, you needn't be!" said Mary with a little toss of her head.
Naylor watched them with amusement. "He'll catch it on that walk!" he wasthinking. "She's going to let him have it! I wish I could be there tohear." He spoke to them openly: "I'm sorry you must both go, but, sinceyou must, go together. Your walk will be much pleasanter."
Mary understood him well enough, and gave him a flash from her eyes. ButBeaumaroy's face betrayed nothing, as he murmured politely: "To me, atall events, Mr. Naylor."
Naylor was not wrong as to Mary's mood and purpose. But she did not findit easy to begin. Pretty quick at a retort herself, she could oftenforesee the retorts open to her interlocutor. Beaumaroy had providedhimself with plenty: the old man's whim; the access to the old man sowillingly allowed, not only to her but to Captain Alec; his own candorcarried to the verge of self-betrayal. Oh, he would be full of retorts,supple and dexterous ones! As this hostile accusation passed through hermind, she awoke to the fact that she was, at the same moment, regardinghis profile (he, too, was silent, no doubt lying in wait to trip up heropening!) with interest, even with some approval. He seemed to feel herglance, for he turned towards her quickly--so quickly that she had notime to turn her eyes away.
"Doctor Mary"--the familiar mode of address habitually used at the housewhich they had just left seemed to slip out without his consciousness ofit--"You've got something against me; I know you have! I'm sensitive thatway, though not, perhaps, in another. Now, out with it!"
"You'd silence me with a clever answer. I think that you sometimes makethe mistake of supposing that to be silenced is the same thing as beingconvinced. You silenced Captain Naylor--oh, I don't mean you've preventedhim from talking!--I mean you confuted him, you put him in the wrong, butyou certainly didn't convince him."
"Of what?" he asked in a tone of surprise.
"You know that. Let us suppose his idea was all nonsense; yet yourimmediate object was to put it out of his head." She suddenly added, "Ithink your last question was a diplomatic blunder, Mr. Beaumaroy. Youmust have known what I meant. What was the good of pretending not to?"
Beaumaroy stopped still in the road for a moment, looking at her with arueful amusement. "You're not so easily silenced, after all!" he said,starting to walk on again.
"You encourage me." To tell the truth, Mary was not only encouraged, shewas pleased by the hit she had scored, and flattered by hisacknowledgment of it. "Well, then, I'll put another point. You needn'tanswer if you don't like."
"I shall answer if I can, depend on it!" He laughed, and Mary, for abrief instant, joined in his laugh. His sudden lapses into candor seemedsomehow to put the serious hostile questioner ridiculously in the wrong.Could a man like that really have anything to conceal?
But she held to her purpose. "You're a friendly sort of man, you offerand accept attentions and kindnesses, you're not stand-offish, orhaughty, or sulky; you make friends easily, especially, perhaps, withwomen; they like you, and like to be pleasant and kind to you. There aremen--patients, I mean--very hard to deal with; men who resent being ill,resent having to have things done to them and for them, who especiallyresent the services of women, even of nurses--I mean in quite indifferentthings, not merely in things where a man may naturally shrink from theirhelp. Well, you don't seem that sort of man in the least." She looked athim, as she ended this appreciation of him, as though she expected ananswer or a comment. Beaumaroy made neither; he walked on, not evenlooking at her.
"And you can't have been troubled long with that wound. It evidentlyhealed up quickly and sweetly."
Beaumaroy looked for an instant at his maimed hand with a critical air;but he was still silent.
"So that I wonder you didn't do as most patients do--let the nurse, or,if you were still disabled after you came out, a friend or somebody, cutup your food for you without providing yourself with that implement." Heturned his head quickly towards her. "And if you ask me what implement Imean, I shall answer--the one you tried to snatch from the sideboard atTower Cottage before I could see it."
It was a direct challenge; she charged him with a lie. Beaumaroy's faceassumed a really troubled expression, a thing rare for it to do. Yet itwas not an ashamed or abashed expression; it just seemed to recognizethat a troublesome difficulty had arisen. He set a slower pace andprodded the road with his stick. Mary pushed her advantage. "Your--yourimprovization didn't satisfy me at the time, and the more I've thoughtover it, the less have I found it convincing."
He stopped again, turning round to her. He slapped his left hand againstthe side of his leg. "Well, there it is, Doctor Mary! You must make whatyou can of it."
It was complete surrender as to the combination knife-and-fork. He wasbeaten, on that point at least, and owned it. His lie was found out."It's dashed difficult always to remember that you're a doctor," he brokeout the next minute.
Mary could not help laughing; but her eyes were still keen andchallenging as she said, "Perhaps you'd better change your doctor again,Mr. Beaumaroy. You haven't found one stupid enough!"
Again Beaumaroy had no defense; his nonplussed air confessed thatmaneuver, too. Mary dropped her rallying tone and went on gravely:"Unless I'm treated with confidence and sincerity, I can't continue toattend Mr. Saffron."
"That's your ultimatum, is it, Doctor Mary?"
She nodded sharply and decisively. Beaumaroy meditated for a fewseconds. Then he shook his head regretfully. "It's no use. I daren'ttrust you," he said.
Mary laughed again, this time in amazed resentment of his impudence. "Youcan't trust me! I think it's the other way round. It seems to me that theboot's on the other leg."
"Not as I see it." Then he smiled slowly, as it were tentatively. "Orwould you--I wonder if you could--possibly--well, stand in with me?"
"Are you offering me a--a partnership?" she asked indignantly.
He raised his hand in a seeming protest, and spoke now hastily and insome confusion. "Not as you understand it. I mean, as you probablyunderstand it, from what I said to you that night at the Cottage. Thereare features in the--well, there are things that I admit have--havepassed through my mind, without being what you'd call settled. Oh, yes,without being in the least settled. Well, for the sake of your helpand--er--co-operation, those--those features could be dropped. And thenperhaps--if only your--your rules and etiquette--"
Mary scornfully cut short his embarrassed pleadings. "There's a good dealmore than rules and etiquette involved. It seems to me that it's a matterof common honesty rather than of rules and etiquette--"
"Yes, but you don't understand--"
She cut him short again. "Mr. Beaumaroy, after this, after yoursuggestion and all the rest of it, there must be an end of all relationsbetween us--professionally and, so far as possible, socially too, please.I don't want to be self-righteous, but I feel bound to say that you havemisunderstood my character."
Her voice quivered at the end, and almost broke. She was full of agrieved indignation.
They had come opposite the cottage now. Beaumaroy stopped, and stoodfacing her. Though dusk had fallen, it was a clear evening; she could seehis face plainly; obviously he was in deep distress. "I wouldn't haveoffended you for the world. I--I like you far too much, Doctor Mary."
"You imputed your own standards to me. That's all there is about it, Isuppose," she said in a scornful sadness. He looked very miserable.Compassion, and the old odd attraction which he had for her, stirred inher mind. Her voice grew soft, and she held out her hand. "I'm sorry too,very sorry, that it should have to be good-bye between us."
Beaumaroy did not take her proffered hand, or even seem to notice it. Hestood qu
ite still.
"I'm damned if I know what I'm to do now!"
Close on the heels of his despairing confession of helplessness--for suchit undoubtedly seemed to me--came the noise of an opening door, a lightfrom the inside of the Cottage, a patter of quick-moving feet on theflagged path that led to the garden gate. The next moment Mary saw thefigure of Mr. Saffron, in his old gray shawl, standing at the gate. Hewas waving his right arm in an excited way, and his hand held a largesheet of paper.
"Hector! Hector, my dear, dear boy! The news has come at last. You can beoff tomorrow!"
Beaumaroy started violently, glanced at his old friend's strange figure,glanced once, too, at Mary; the expression of utter despair which hisface had worn seemed modified into one of humorous bewilderment.
"Yes, yes, you can start tomorrow for Morocco, my dear boy!" cried oldMr. Saffron.
Beaumaroy lifted his hat to her, cried, "I'm coming, sir!" turned on hisheel, and strode quickly up to Mr. Saffron. She watched him open the gateand take the old gentleman by the arm; she heard the murmur of his voicespeaking soft accents as the pair walked up the path together. Theypassed into the house, and the door was shut.
Mary stood where she was for a moment, then moved slowly, hesitatingly,yet as though under a lure which she could not resist. Just outside thegate lay something that gleamed white through the darkness. It was thesheet of paper. Mr. Saffron had dropped it in his excitement, andBeaumaroy had not noticed.
Mary stole forward and picked it up stealthily; she was incapable ofresisting her curiosity or even of stopping to think about her action.She held it up to what light there was, and strained her eyes to examineit. So far as she could see, it was covered with dots, dashes, lines,queerly drawn geometrical figures--a mass of meaningless hieroglyphics.She dropped it again where she had found it, and made off home withguilty swiftness.
Yes, there had been, this time, a distinctly metallic ring in old Mr.Saffron's voice.
