CHAPTER III
THE PARIAH
Joan suddenly threw up her head. There was resentment in the violetdepths of her eyes, and her whole expression had hardened. It was asthough something of her youth, her softness, had passed from her.
"You must tell me, auntie," she demanded in a tone as cold as theother's. "I--I don't understand. But I mean to. You accuse me with theresponsibility of--this. Of responsibility for all that has happenedto those others. You tell me I am cursed. It is all too much--or toolittle. Now I demand to know that which you know--all that there is toknow. It is my right. I never knew my father or mother, and you havetold me little enough of them. Well, I insist that you shall tell methe right by which you dare to say such things to me. I know you arecruel, that you have no sympathy for any one but--yourself. I knowthat you grudge the world every moment of happiness that lifecontains. Well, all this I try to account for by crediting you withhaving passed through troubles of which I have no knowledge. But itdoes not give you the right to charge me with the things you do. Youshall tell me now the reason of your accusations, or I will leave thishome forever, and will never, of my own free will, set eyes on youagain."
Mercy's thin lips parted into a half-smile.
"And I intend that you shall know these things," she replied promptly."You shall know them from my lips. Nor has any one more right to thetelling than I." The smile died abruptly, leaving her burning eyesshining in an icy setting. "I am cruel, eh?" she went on intensely."Cruel because I have refused to bend beneath the injustice of myfellows and the persecutions of Fate. Cruel because I meet the worldin the spirit in which it has received me. Why should I have sympathy?The world has robbed me of the only happiness I ever desired. Whatobligation, then, is mine? You are right. I have no sympathy for anyliving creature--none!"
Joan offered no comment. She was waiting--waiting for the explanationshe had demanded. She was no longer the young girl just returnedflushed with the healthy glow of her morning ride. Life had taken on afresh tone for her since then. It seemed as if years had suddenlypassed over her head and carried her into the middle of life.
"You shall have your explanation," Mercy went on after a moment'spause. "I will give it you from the beginning. I will show you how itcomes that you are a pariah, shedding disaster upon all men who comeunder your influence."
"A pariah!"
Joan's eyes suddenly lit with horror at the loathsome epithet.
"Yes. Pariah!" There was no mistaking the satisfaction which the useof the word seemed to give the other woman. In her eyes was achallenge which defied all protest.
As Joan had no further comment she went on--
"But they were all blind--blind to the curse under which you wereborn--under which you live. You shall have your wish. You shall knowthe right which I have for charging these things at your door. And theknowledge of it will forever shatter the last castle of yourday-dreams."
Something of awe took hold of the listening girl. Something of terror,too. What was the mystery into which she was blindly delving? Knowingher aunt as she did, she felt, by her manner, that her words were theprelude to disclosures that meant disaster to herself. And as theother proceeded her half-frightened eyes watched her, fascinated bythe deliberateness of manner and the passionate sincerity underlyingevery word of the story she told.
"Listen," she said, checking her voice to a low, even monotone. "Youare the child of disaster if ever woman was. Your father was a poor,weak fool, a big, handsome, good-hearted fool whom Nature had endowedwith nothing more than a perfect exterior. He was a Wall Street man,of a sort. One of those gamblers who live on the fringe of the bigfinancial circles, and most of whom gather their livelihood from thecrumbs falling from the rich man's table, but are ready to steal themwhen the fall is not sufficient to fill their hungry mouths. For threeyears he and I were engaged to be married."
She paused, and her hot eyes dropped to the crystal in her lap. Thenshe went on, with harsh sarcasm breaking the level of her tone--
"For three years we waited for the coming of that trifling luck whichwould enable us to marry. For three years I worked silently, joyfully,to fill the wonderful bottom drawer which never failed to inspire mewith courage and hope. You see I--loved your father."
Again she paused, and Joan forgot something of her own trouble as shenoted the evident pain these memories gave to her aunt.
"The luck came. It was small enough. But with the little money I hadit was just sufficient. The license was procured. The wedding wasfixed. And I--well, God was good, the world was good, and life was ajoy beyond all dreams. You see I, too, was young then. My onlyrelative was a younger sister. She was a beautiful girl with red-goldhair. And she was in business in California. I sent for her to come tothe wedding."
Joan gave a tense sigh. She knew what was to follow. The red-gold hairtold its own story. Mercy Lascelles raised a pair of stony eyes, andher thin lips were smiling.
"I can see you understand," she said, without emotion. "Yes, she came,and she stole your father from me. Oh, yes! she was handsome enough tosteal any man. She was even more beautiful than you are. It was justbefore we were to be married. Less than a week. A good time to stealhim from me--after three years of waiting." She laughed bitterly. "Shestole him, and I--I cursed her. Oh, I didn't cry out! I simply cursedher, I cursed her offspring, and burned every garment I had made orbought for the wedding in my parlor stove. I sat by and watched thefire as it hungrily devoured each record of my foolish day-dreams. Andas each one vanished in cinder and smoke I cursed her from the verybottom of my heart."
The woman laughed again, and Joan could not repress a shudder at thesound.
"Twelve months she had of him. And during those twelve months both heand she nearly drove me mad in their efforts to make me marry yourfather's great friend and fellow gambler. His name doesn't matter. Hewas a brown-haired creature, who was, if possible, a greater gamblerthan your father. But unlike your father his luck was phenomenal. Hegrew rich whilst Charles Stanmore, with every passing week, grewpoorer. And for twelve long months he persecuted me with hisattentions. He never left me alone. I sometimes think he was crazy inhis desire to marry me. He knew the whole of my wretched story, yet itmade no difference. He swore to me in his mildly deliberate way that Ishould marry him. Perhaps I ought to have read the real character ofthe man underlying his gentle manner, but, poor fool that I was, Ididn't. It was left to later events to open my eyes, events which wereto teach me that under the guise of friendship he hated CharlesStanmore, because--because, in spite of everything, I still loved him.
"At the end of those twelve months my cup of bitterness was filled tooverflowing. You were born. You, with your deep-blue eyes and red-goldhair. You, Charles Stanmore's child--but not mine."
Her voice died out, and Joan understood something of the passion inthis strange woman's soul. But the next moment a hard laugh jarred hernerves. It was a laugh that had no mirth. Only was it an audibleexpression designed to disguise real feelings.
"Oh, I had no grudge against you. You--you with your crumpled face andbig blue eyes. You could make no difference to my life as I saw it.And yet you did." The woman's fingers suddenly clutched the crystal inher lap with a force that left the thin tips of them white andbloodless. "You did. A difference that in my maddest dreams I couldnever have hoped for. You brought with you the curse of disaster fromwhich there was no escape for those to whom you belonged.
"I can see it all now," she went on exultingly. "I can see it as I sawit then, every detail of it. Your father's gambling had brought himdown to something like want. A week before you were born his home wassold up, and he and your mother took shelter in a tiny three-roomedapartment for which they had no money to pay the rent. In desperationhe came to _me_--to _me_ for help. And I gave it him. The day beforeyou were born I gave him the money for the expenses of your birth andto tide him over for three months. It was almost all I had in theworld." Again came that mirthless laugh. Then she hurried on. "But thetemptation
was too much for Charles Stanmore, gambler that he was. Hesuddenly found himself with money in his pocket and hope in hisfoolish soul. There was a big wheat operation going on at the moment,and every penny of the money, along with all the credit he couldprocure, he plunged into it."
"And lost it all?" Joan whispered.
The other shook her head.
"No. The influence of your strange fate was at work. On the day thatyou saw light Charles Stanmore was a comparatively rich man. And yourmother--was dead."
Joan breathed a deep sigh.
"Yes, wheat went up by leaps and bounds, and your father was deliriouswith joy. He stood over you--I can see him now--and talked at you inhis foolish, extravagant way. 'You're the brightest, happiest,luckiest little hoodlam that ever came into the world,' he cried. 'Andyour name is "Golden," my little Golden Woman, for if ever there wasa golden kiddie in the world you are she. Gold? Why, you've showeredit on me. Luck? Why, I verily believe if you'd been around you'dhave brought luck to Jonah when he got mixed up with the whale'sinternals.' And then, just as he finished, the bolt fell. The doctorcame in from the next room and took him aside. Your mother was dead."
A sob broke from the listening girl, a great sob of sympathy for thekindly, weak, irresponsible father she had never known.
"Your father's disaster looked like my blessing. I had no regrets forthe woman," Mercy went on. "He was mine now by every right. The thiefhad come by her reckoning. So I seized the opportunity that was thrustin my way. Mine was the right to care for him and help him in histrouble, nor have I shame in saying that I took it.
"But the curse of your life was working full and sure. But for yourexistence I should never have taken that step. But for that step othermatters would never have occurred. When your father's--frienddiscovered what I had done his fury knew no bounds. His insults wereunforgettable--at least by me. But I persisted. For a great hope wasat work within me that now your mother was gone eventually CharlesStanmore might come back to his allegiance, and I might step into herplace. It was a foolish hope, but--I loved your father.
"Bah!" she went on impatiently. "It is no use raking amongst thoseashes. The details don't matter to you. Those things are dead. Andonly is their effect alive to-day. My hopes were never to befulfilled. How should they be with the curse of your father's goldengirl involving us all in disaster. Let me cut the wretched history asshort as I can. At first money was plentiful enough, and luck in thatdirection seemed to border on the marvelous. To give you an instanceyour father--imbecile that he was--swore he would test it in your owninterests. He hunted round till he found the most hair-brained,wildcat company ever floated for the purpose of robbing moneyed fools,and invested ten thousand dollars in it as a life-dowry for you. Itwas the joke of all his gambling friends. It was like pitching dollarbills into the Hudson. And then in a month the miraculous happened.After a struggle the company boomed, and you were left with acompetence for life. Yes, at first money was plentiful enough, butyour father never got over his shock of your mother's death. SometimesI used to think his brain was weakening. Anyway, he plunged into awild vortex of gambling. He drank heavily, and indulged himself inexcesses from which he had always kept clear up to that time. He tookto cards in a manner that frightened even me, used as I was to hisweaknesses. And in all these things his friend encouraged and indulgedhim.
"The end was not far off. How could it be? Your father's luck wanedand his debauches increased. He grew nervous and worried. But hepersisted in his mode of life. Then, in a little while, I knew that hewas borrowing. He never touched your money. But he was borrowingheavily. This man whom I had come to regard as his evil geniusundoubtedly lent him money--much money. Then came a particularly badtime. For two days Charles Stanmore went about like a madman. What thetrouble was I never knew--except that it was a question of money. Andthis terminated in the night of disaster toward which everything hadbeen driving."
Mercy Lascelles' voice dropped to a low, ominous pitch, and she pausedas though to draw all the threads of memory into one firm grasp. Herlook, too, changed. But it was a change quite unnoticed by Joan.
"It was one night in the apartment. I had gone to bed. They, yourfather and his--friend, were in the parlor. They had quarreled duringthe evening over some money affairs which I did not understand. Yourfather was headstrong, as he always was, and the other, well, herarely raised his voice--he was one of those quiet men who disguisetheir purposes under a calm atmosphere--as a rule. However, on thisoccasion high words had passed, and I knew that stormy feelings wereunderlying the calm which finally ensued. At last, when they sat downto a heavy game of baccarat, I crept away to bed.
"I don't know how long I had been in bed when it happened. I know Iwas asleep, for I wakened suddenly with a great sense of shock, andsat up trying to realize what had happened. It took me some moments. Iknow my mind ran over a dozen things before I decided what to do. Iremembered that we were alone in the place. The servants had beendismissed more than a week before. There was only you, and yourfather, and me in the place. Then I remembered that his friend wasthere, and I had left them playing cards. Instantly I got out of bed.I slipped on a dressing-gown and crept out into the passage. I movedsilently toward the door of the sitting-room. It was wide open. I hadleft it shut. The gas was full on. I reached the door and cautiouslypeered in. But there was no need for caution. Your father had fallenforward in his chair, and lay with his head, face downward, upon thetable. He was dead and--the other had gone. I ran to the dead man'sside and raised him up. It was too late. All--all I had or cared forin the world had been taken from me by the hand of the murderer."
"Murdered?" Joan whispered in horrified tones.
"Yes, murdered!" came the swift, vehement retort. "Shot--shot throughthe heart, and in the stomach--and his murderer had fled. Oh, God,shall I ever forget that moment!"
The woman fell back in her chair, her whole withered body shaking withemotion. Then with an effort she pulled herself together and went onmore calmly--
"I hardly know what I did. All I remember is that I gave the alarm,and presently had the police there. I told them all I could, and gavethe name and description of--the man who had done the deed. But it wasuseless. He had gone--bolted. Nor was he ever seen or heard of again.The curse had worked out. You, your father's golden girl, were leftorphaned to the care of the woman to whom your very existence was anineradicable wrong, and who, through your coming, had been robbed ofall that made life possible."
She raised her crystal and held it poised on the gathered finger-tipsof one hand. And when she spoke again her voice had gained strengthand tone.
"Since those days I have learnt to read the words that are written bythe hand of Fate. And here--here is the open book. It is all here. Thestorm of disaster that brought you into the world will dog yourfootsteps. You are cursed with the luck that leads to disaster.Wherever you go men will bless your name, and, almost in the samebreath, their blessings shall turn to the direst curses. It is not Iwho am speaking. My tongue utters the words, but the writing of Fatehas been set forth for me to interpret. Wherever you go, wherever yoube, you cannot escape the destiny set out for you. I tell you you area leper, a pariah, whom all men, for their own safeguarding, mustshun."
All through the final pronouncement Joan sat transfixed with horror. Aleper! A pariah! Nor, in the light of those things which to her ownknowledge had happened, could she doubt the hideous denunciation. Shehad heard and understood that ill-luck could and did pursue itsvictims. But this! Oh, it was too terrible--too cruel! For an instantshe thought of the doctor and his words of warning. But one glance atthe bowed figure, again intent upon her crystal, and the thoughtpassed. The story she had listened to was too real, too full of thosethings which had driven her poor aunt to her present unyieldingattitude toward the world to be the ravings of an insane mind. Andsuddenly panic gripped her, that panic which, in a moment of weakness,so easily tends toward self-destruction.
"Is--is there no hope, auntie?" she asked helplessly.
Mercy Lascelles looked up from the crystal. She eyed her niecesteadily, as though to read all there was hidden behind the desperateblue eyes.
Slowly she shook her head.
Again came that spasm of panic, and Joan seemed to hurl her wholeyoung strength into denial.
"But there is. There must be," she cried, with a fierceness that heldthe other in something like astonishment. "There must be," shereiterated desperately. "No God could be so cruel--so--so wicked.What have I done to deserve this? The injustice is demoniacal. Farbetter go and throw myself before a passing train than live to carrysuch a pestilence with me wherever I go through life. If you can readthese things--read on. Read on and tell me, for I swear that I willnot live with this curse forever tied about my neck."
"You will live--you must live. It is written here." Mercy pointed atthe crystal. Then she laughed her cold, mirthless laugh. "There wasone power that served me, that helped me to save my reason through allthose early days. God knows how it may help you--for I can't see. Iloved your father with a passion nothing, no disaster could destroy. Iloved him so that I could crush every other feeling down, subservientto my passion. Go you, child, and find such a love. Go you and find alove so strong that no disaster can kill it. And maybe life may stillhave some compensations for you, maybe it will lift the curse fromyour suffering shoulders. It--it is the only thing in the world thatis stronger than disaster. It is the only thing in the world that isstronger than--death."
Joan had no answer. She stared straight ahead of her, focusing sometrifling detail of the pattern on the wall paper. Her face wasstony--stony as the face of the woman who was watching her. Themoments passed rapidly. A minute passed, and neither spoke.
Then at last the girl abruptly rose from her seat. Almost mechanicallyshe moved over to a mirror, and, removing her hat, deftly patted herbeautiful hair till it assumed its wonted appearance. And quitesuddenly she turned about.
"I have nearly fifty thousand dollars, auntie. I am going to realizethat capital. I am going to leave this house--I am going to leave itforever. I shall change my name, and cover up my tracks, for I intendgoing where I am not known. I am going where men cannot figure in mylife, which I intend to begin all over again. The burden Fate hasimposed upon me is too great. I am going to run from it."
She laughed. And her laugh was as mirthless as her aunt's had been.
The Golden Woman: A Story of the Montana Hills Page 3
