CHAPTER XV
THE GREAT CRUSADE
"I was in Great Beeding this morning," said Dick, as he sat at luncheonwith his father, "and the blinds were up in Aunt Margaret's house."
"They have returned from their holiday then," his father observed with atremor in his voice. He looked afraid. Then he looked annoyed.
"Pettifer will break down if he doesn't take care," he exclaimedpetulantly. "No man with any sense would work as hard as he does. Heought to have taken two months this year at the least."
"We should still have to meet Aunt Margaret at the end of them," saidDick calmly. He had no belief in Mr. Hazlewood's distress at the overworkof Pettifer.
A month had passed since the inauguration of the great Crusade, andthough talk was rife everywhere and indignation in many places loud, acertain amount of success had been won. But all this while Mrs. Pettiferhad been away. Now she had returned. Mr. Hazlewood stood in some awe ofhis sister. She was not ill-natured, but she knew her mind and expressedit forcibly and without delay. She was of a practical limited nature; shesaw very clearly what she saw, but she walked in blinkers, and hadneither comprehension of nor sympathy with those of a wider vision. Shewas at this time a woman of forty, comfortable to look upon and the wifeof Mr. Robert Pettifer, the head of the well-known firm of solicitors,Pettifer, Gryll and Musgrave. Mrs. Pettifer had very little patience tospare for the idiosyncrasies of her brother, though she owed him a gooddeal more than patience. For at the time, some twenty years before, whenshe had married Robert Pettifer, then merely a junior partner of thefirm, Harold Hazlewood had alone stood by her. To the rest of the familyshe was throwing herself away; to her brother Harold she was doing a finething, not because it was a fine thing but because it was an exceptionalthing. Robert Pettifer however had prospered, and though he had reachedan age when he might have claimed his leisure the nine o'clock trainstill took him daily to London.
"Aunt Margaret isn't after all so violent," said Dick, for whom she kepta very soft place in her heart. But Harold shook his head.
"Your aunt, Richard, has all the primeval ferocity of the average woman."And then the fires of the enthusiast were set alight in his blue eyes."I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll send her my new pamphlet, Richard. Itmay have a humanising influence upon her. I have some advance copies.I'll send her one this afternoon."
Dick's eyes twinkled.
"I should if I were you, though to be sure, sir, we have tried that planbefore without any prodigious effect."
"True, Richard, true, but I have never before risen to such heights asthese." Mr. Hazlewood threw down his napkin and paced the room. "Richard,I am not inclined to boast. I am a humble man."
"It is only humility, sir, which achieves great work," said Dick, as hewent contentedly on with his luncheon.
"But the very title of this pamphlet seems to me calculated to interestthe careless and attract the thoughtful. It is called _The Prison Wallsmust Cast no Shadow_."
With an arm outstretched he seemed to deliver the words of the titleone by one from the palm of his hand. Then he stood smiling,confident, awaiting applause. Dick's face, which had shown the highestexpectancy, slowly fell in a profound disappointment. He laid down hisknife and fork.
"Oh, come, father. All walls cast shadows. It entirely depends upon thealtitude of the sun."
Mr. Hazlewood returned to his seat and spoke gently.
"The phrase, my boy, is a metaphor. I develop in this pamphlet my beliefthat a convict, once he has expiated his offence, should upon his releasebe restored to the precise position in society which he held before withall its privileges unimpaired."
Dick chuckled in the most unregenerate delight.
"You are going it, father," he said, and disappointment came to Mr.Hazlewood.
"Richard," he remonstrated mildly, "I hoped that I should have had yourapproval. It seemed to me that a change was taking place in you, that theplayer of polo, the wild hunter of an inoffensive little white ball, wasdeveloping into the humanitarian."
"Well, sir," rejoined Dick, "I won't deny that of late I have beenbeginning to think that there is a good deal in your theories. But youmustn't try me too high at the beginning, you know. I am only in mynovitiate. However, please send it to Aunt Margaret, and--oh, how I wouldlike to hear her remarks upon it!"
An idea occurred to Mr. Hazlewood.
"Richard, why shouldn't you take it over yourself this afternoon?"
Dick shook his head.
"Impossible, father, I have something to do." He looked out of the windowdown to the river running dark in the shade of trees. "But I'll goto-morrow morning," he added.
And the next morning he walked over early to Great Beeding. His auntwould have received the pamphlet by the first post and he wished to seizethe first fine careless rapture of her comments. But he found her in amood of distress rather than of wordy impatience.
The Pettifers lived in a big house of the Georgian period at the bottomof an irregular square in the middle of the little town. Mrs. Pettiferwas sitting in a room facing the garden at the back with the pamphlet ona little table beside her. She sprang up as Dick was shown into the room,and before he could utter a word of greeting she cried:
"Dick, you are the one person I wanted to see."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Sit down."
Dick obeyed.
"Dick, I believe you are the only person in the world who has any controlover your father."
"Yes. Even in my pinafores I learnt the great lesson that to controlone's parents is the first duty of the modern child."
"Don't be silly," his aunt rejoined sharply. Then she looked him over."Yes, you must have some control over him, for he lets you remain in thearmy, though an army is one of his abominations."
"Theoretically it's a great grief to him," replied Dick. "But you see Ihave done fairly well, so actually he's ready to burst with pride. Everysentimental philosopher sooner or later breaks his head against his owntheories."
Mrs. Pettifer nodded her head in commendation.
"That's an improvement on your last remark, Dick. It's true. And yourfather's going to break his head very badly unless you stop him."
"How?"
"Mrs. Ballantyne."
All the flippancy died out of Dick Hazlewood's face. He became at oncegrave, wary.
"I have been hearing about him," continued Mrs. Pettifer. "He has madefriends with her--a woman who has stood in the dock on a capital charge."
"And has been acquitted," Dick Hazlewood added quietly and Mrs. Pettiferblazed up.
"She wouldn't have been acquitted if I had been on the jury. Aparcel of silly men who are taken in by a pretty face!" she cried,and Dick broke in:
"Aunt Margaret, I am sorry to interrupt you. But I want you to understandthat I am with my father heart and soul in this."
He spoke very slowly and deliberately and Mrs. Pettifer wasutterly dismayed.
"You!" she cried. She grew pale, and alarm so changed her face it was asif a tragic mask had been slipped over it. "Oh, Dick, not you!"
"Yes, I. I think it is cruelly hard," he continued with his eyesrelentlessly fixed upon Mrs. Pettifer's face, "that a woman like Mrs.Ballantyne, who has endured all the horrors of a trial, the publicity,the suspense, the dread risk that justice might miscarry, should haveafterwards to suffer the treatment of a leper."
There was for the moment no room for any anger now in Mrs. Pettifer'sthoughts. Consternation possessed her. She weighed every quiet firm wordthat fell from Dick, she appreciated the feeling which gave them wings,she searched his face, his eyes. Dick had none of his father'sflightiness. He was level-headed, shrewd and with the conventions of histimes and his profession. If Dick spoke like this, with so much certitudeand so much sympathy, why then--She shrank from the conclusion with asinking heart. She became very quiet.
"Oh, she shouldn't have come to Little Beeding," she said in a low voice,staring now upon the ground. It was to herself she spoke, but Dickanswered her, and
his voice rose to a challenge.
"Why shouldn't she? Here she was born, here she was known. What elseshould she do but come back to Little Beeding and hold her head high? Irespect her pride for doing it."
Here were reasons no doubt why Stella should come back; but they did notinclude the reason why she had. Dick Hazlewood was well aware of it. Hehad learnt it only the afternoon before when he was with her on theriver. But he thought it a reason too delicate, of too fine a gossamer tobe offered to the prosaic mind of his Aunt Margaret. With what ridiculeand disbelief she would rend it into tatters! Reasons so exquisite werenot for her. She could never understand them.
Mrs. Pettifer abandoned her remonstrances and was for dropping thesubject altogether. But Dick was obstinate.
"You don't know Mrs. Ballantyne, Aunt Margaret. You are unjust to herbecause you don't know her. I want you to," he said boldly.
"What!" cried Mrs. Pettifer. "You actually--Oh!" Indignation robbed herof words. She gasped.
"Yes, I do," continued Dick calmly. "I want you to come one night anddine at Little Beeding. We'll persuade Mrs. Ballantyne to come too."
It was a bold move, and even in his eyes it had its risks for Stella. Tobring Mrs. Pettifer and her together was, so it seemed to him, to mixearth with delicate flame. But he had great faith in Stella Ballantyne.Let them but meet and the earth might melt--who could tell? At the worsthis aunt would bristle, and there were his father and himself to see thatthe bristles did not prick.
"Yes, come and dine."
Mrs. Pettifer had got over her amazement at her nephew's audacity.Curiosity had taken its place--curiosity and fear. She must see thiswoman for herself.
"Yes," she answered after a pause. "I will come. I'll bring Robert too."
"Good. We'll fix up a date and write to you. Goodbye."
Dick went back to Little Beeding and asked for his father. The oldgentleman added to his other foibles that of a collector. It was theonly taste he had which was really productive, for he owned a collectionof miniatures, gathered together throughout his life, which would haverealised a fortune if it had been sold at Christie's. He kept it arrangedin cabinets in the library and Dick found him bending over one of thedrawers and rearranging his treasures.
"I have seen Aunt Margaret," he said. "She will meet Stella hereat dinner."
"That will be splendid," cried the old man with enthusiasm.
"Perhaps," replied his son; and the next morning the Pettifers receivedtheir invitation.
Mrs. Pettifer accepted it at once. She had not been idle since Dick hadleft her. Before he had come she had merely looked upon the crusade asone of Harold Hazlewood's stupendous follies. But after he had gone shewas genuinely horrified. She saw Dick speaking with the set dogged lookand the hard eyes which once or twice she had seen before. He had alwaysgot his way, she remembered, on those occasions. She drove round to herfriends and made inquiries. At each house her terrors were confirmed. Itwas Dick now who led the crusade. He had given up his polo, he wasspending all his leave at Little Beeding and most of it with StellaBallantyne. He lent her a horse and rode with her in the morning, herowed her on the river in the afternoon. He bullied his friends to callon her. He brandished his friendship with her like a flag. Love me, lovemy Stella was his new motto. Mrs. Pettifer drove home with every fearexaggerated. Dick's career would be ruined altogether--even if nothingworse were to happen. To any view that Stella Ballantyne might hold shehardly gave a thought. She was sure of what it would be. StellaBallantyne would jump at her nephew. He had good looks, social position,money and a high reputation. It was the last quality which would give hima unique value in Stella Ballantyne's eyes. He was not one of thechinless who haunt the stage doors; nor again one of that more subtlydecadent class which seeks to attract sensation by linking itself tonotoriety. No. From Stella's point of view Dick Hazlewood must be theideal husband.
Mrs. Pettifer waited for her husband's return that evening with unusualimpatience, but she was wise enough to hold her tongue until dinner wasover and he with a cigar between his lips and a glass of old brandy onthe table-cloth in front of him, disposed to amiability and concession.
Then, however, she related her troubles.
"You see it must be stopped, Robert."
Robert Pettifer was a lean wiry man of fifty-five whose brown dried faceseemed by a sort of climatic change to have taken on the colour of thebinding of his law-books. He, too, was a little troubled by the story,but he was of a fair and cautious mind.
"Stopped?" he said. "How? We can't arrest Mrs. Ballantyne again."
"No," replied Mrs. Pettifer. "Robert, you must do something."
Robert Pettifer jumped in his chair.
"I, Margaret! Lord love you, no! I decline to mix myself up in the matterat all. Dick's a grown man and Mrs. Ballantyne has been acquitted."
Margaret Pettifer knew her husband.
"Is that your last word?" she asked ruefully.
"Absolutely."
"It isn't mine, Robert."
Robert Pettifer chuckled and laid a hand upon his wife's.
"I know that, Margaret."
"We are going to dine next Friday night at Little Beeding to meet StellaBallantyne."
Mr. Pettifer was startled but he held his tongue.
"The invitation came this morning after you had left for London,"she added.
"And you accepted it at once?"
"Yes."
Pettifer was certain that she had before she opened her mouth toanswer him.
"I shall dine at Little Beeding on Friday," he said, "because Haroldalways gives me an admirable glass of vintage port"; and with that hedismissed the subject. Mrs. Pettifer was content to let it smoulder inhis mind. She was not quite sure that he was as disturbed as she wishedhim to be, but that he was proud of Dick she knew, and if by any chanceuneasiness grew strong in him, why, sooner or later he would let fallsome little sentence; and that little sentence would probably be useful.
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