*CHAPTER XVI*
The morning came, the white-rimed marshland glittered in the morningsun, kittiwake and plover renewed their battle with the wind. Thedaylight faded and was gone, a glow of pink and yellow appeared in thewest, green of sky deepened to blue, the sound of unseen wings clove theviolet dusk overhead, and dim shapes stole phantom-like across the moon.The first day of the new life was past, and the gloom was not lightenedbut had become deeper, ever deeper, with the flitting of the hours.
With Hector's coming, the peace and happiness reigning over that Norfolkhome had spread their wings and fled. There was something wrong, andeveryone knew it, despite Lucy's strivings after concealment; but theinstinct of the servant class is a hard thing to baffle, and, ignore itas she might, only too well did the mistress know that there was not onemember of the household but was fully aware that between her and themaster all was not harmony.
Further, she knew--and to Lucy's proud soul this was perhaps the hardestof all to bear--that, with one exception, they were with her and againstHector. The exception, of course, was the nurse, who maintained stoutlythat they were all a pack of fools, and if misunderstanding there were,though for her part she could not see it, it was the fault of themistress, to whom in consequence her manner became somewhat cold anddistant. And for this Lucy loved her, and hated her self-constitutedallies, snubbing their advances on all occasions and showeringunnecessary favours on the haughty nurse. In vain, however, for in bothdirections did she fail: her allies continued to smile and sympathise;the enemy declined to be mollified.
Day by day the clouds thickened, and she realised that that which shehad thought but a rift between her and Hector--an ugly rent maybe andone that, though healed, must ever leave a scar behind--was in reality achasm, the depths of which she was unable to fathom. Hard though shefought to bridge it and cross over to where he was standing, it was allin vain; for the planks she stretched out fell uselessly from thefarther edge, receding as they touched it, and the figure on the otherside grew daily smaller and more indistinct. And Lucy might hope tocross that yawning chasm in vain, for that which lurked within it,pushing its sides asunder, was a lie unconfessed. If Hector would onlyconfess and pluck the lie from the depths, no longer would the gulfwiden, but remain fixed for her to bridge, could she but find the plank.If it were left, however, like an iron wedge it would sink lower,ripping and rending as it sank.
Of such a confession from Hector there was little hope now: the lie wasalmost out of sight already, and he wished it so buried. His brainreeled at the thought of further explanations, every jangling nerveclamoured for peace--peace; for that odd paralysis, which had seizedupon his will the first night, had not lifted, as he had hoped, in themorning, rather had it tightened its hold, till now all power ofresistance had left him and he had fallen to drifting without mast oroars on a grey, horizonless sea. Something would happen; it was forthat he lived now; not for ever could he wander on like this; land mustbe viewed at last; and at the thought a ray of hope would glimmer abovethe grey monotony, and its beam for an instant strike warm on his heart.
Yes, sooner or later the end would come; Lucy would see and insist onhis going, and not only offer to let him go, as she had done before. Heforgot, in his own blindness, that Lucy too could not see, for hehimself had taken away her sight. The days dragged on, grey andpurposeless, and at last Lucy also began to despair. Do what she would,it was all useless. Unhappiness, unkindness even, she had been preparedfor and would have known how to meet, but this dull apathy, this totallack of interest in life, it was that which crushed her.
He was so changed, too, from the husband of former years; his wholenature and tastes seemed to have undergone some strange transformation.All his assertiveness and intolerance had left him: she might advancewhat views she liked now--and often she did in the vain hope ofawakening the old Hector--it was all to no purpose; he nevercontradicted or opposed. Even the laudation of newspapers, from whichonly had Lucy learnt of a certain event on board the _Dunrobin Castle_,was ignored by its object, and it was she, not Hector, as it would havebeen in former years, who sent for every paper dealing with the subject,and having read their contents to the assembled household, cut out theparagraphs, and, tying them up with stout ribbon, put them carefullyaway with a certain honours' list and other treasures.
The shooting also, from which she had anticipated such joy, failed toarouse any enthusiasm, and the peace of marsh and pool remained almostundisturbed by the bang of the Purdys. True, on one or two occasions hehad gone out in answer to her frequent urgings, but he was all the timeobviously thinking of other things, and screeching snipe and quackingmallard flew away only too often unscathed, even unseen, by theerstwhile vigilant eyes. Then, while the sun was yet high in theheaven, he would suggest a return home, and, once there, would shuthimself up in his room, and read uninterruptedly till dinner, and afterthat silent meal till well into the night.
This, perhaps, was the most disquieting change of all, thetransformation of the former restless, energetic Hector into a bookworm.Such books too: no less than three works on the doings of anuninteresting and seemingly insane person called Suvarov; a collectionof medical works, or such they appeared to Lucy; and another, one shehad found on his dressing-table one morning, a thin daintily-boundvolume called "The Heifer of the Dawn." What a strange name, shethought and, taking it up, opened it, and then stood rigid, with hereyes fixed on the title-page. For a moment she remained looking, thenwith sudden passion tore the book across, and, thrusting the halves intothe fire, stamped them into the burning coals with her foot.
"Oh, it's no use--no use at all," she thought drearily, and from thatday abandoned the struggle and left it to be fought out by Ruby. And inno better hands could she have entrusted it, for indifferent to all elseas Hector had become there was yet one who, whatever his mood, wasalways sure of a glad welcome, that one being his small daughter.
"Miss Ruby, sir," the nurse would say, breaking in upon him withoutceremony, "and she's much better to-day, sir. I declare she's gettingquite strong now her father's come home," and down would go Schopenhaueror Lombroso, and Hector, springing up, would rush at the little figuregroping its way towards him, and, placing her on his knee, invent lameand improbable fairy stories, or carry her off to the stables forinspection--if such it could be called when one could not see--of thewhite pony and a certain grey rabbit, bought for her by him in thevillage.
At other times, when the black mood was on him, she would lie quitestill in his arms, her hand now and again stroking his face, while shemurmured words of sympathy and encouragement. For Ruby always knew andunderstood, and in those baby fingers lay a strength and power, whichwere rapidly growing, till in time they might have torn away Stara'sgrip on his heart, had the battle been left to her and Fate notinterfered. As it was, she made a good fight for it, and very nearlywon; for Hector, even thus early, had begun to ask himself the question,"Ruby or Stara?" And though the balance was still down on the one side,yet daily the other was drawing up.
At last, one bitter January morning, as the two sat in his room by thefire, she on his knee, the knowledge awoke within him, that, quivering,the scales hung level, and, knowing, for a moment he pondered, and thenspoke.
"Ruby," he said. At his voice the child looked up quickly, for therewas something tremendous coming, and she knew it at once.
"'Oo's frightened, daddy, 'oo's frightened at something. Tell Ruby."Her hands groped their way to his face and rested there. The balancewent clashing down.
"Would you like me to stay with you always, Ruby, just you and I, andmother, and Peter?" Peter was the rabbit.
"James"--the yellow plush monkey--"too, daddy, and 'Iteing."
"James too, of course, and Whiting. Would you like it, Ruby, or ...shall I go away?"
"You're my daddy; I'se not let you go. Oh, daddy, daddy," and the thinarms were wound tightly round his neck, and the sightless eyes filledwith tears, "you can't go,
you shan't go. It's my burfday soon, and youpromised to have tea wiv me, you and muvver."
"But, Ruby, dear."
"Oh, daddy, oh, daddy, 'oo promised."
Graeme rose and put her gently down. His face had grown ashen, but inhis eyes shone a light such as none, not even Stara, had seen therebefore, a light that none ever saw again.
"I'll keep my promise, Ruby," he said, an odd ring in his voice. "I'llgo now and tell mother. You wait here, dear, and take care of Jamestill I come back," and Hector left her, and went on his way to tell"mother."
She was not in the house, the maid said; she thought she was in thegarden. The girl looked rather hostile as she told him, more so thanusual, he thought; but he paid no heed, for all that was to be at an endnow, and passed out into the frozen garden, at the far end of which afigure could be seen pacing slowly up and down the gravel path. A bittereast wind was blowing, but neither hat nor wrap had Lucy, and, for thefirst time since his home-coming, Hector noted such things; a pang ofself-reproach struck him, and he hurried on.
"Lucy dear," he said, drawing near, "you're mad to be out in the coldlike this; come into the house and sit with me over the fire. I've gotsomething to tell you, something I hope you'll be glad to hear. I'vebeen blind, Lucy, but----"
"So have I been blind," and at the words Hector stopped, staring, forsurely this was not the gentle Lucy, this white-faced woman, whose blueeyes glared at him?
"You liar! ... You unutterable liar!..." she went on in low, tremblingtones. "Oh, don't speak, but look at that," thrusting out a slip ofpaper towards him. It was a cheque for L150, undated, and made out tothe name of Miss Selbourne.
"Where did you find this?"
"In the pocket of one of your coats, the one you were wearing yesterday.Like a fool, I was looking over your things as ... as I used to do.That fell out."
"Lucy, this ... this is nothing."
"Nothing? You send this creature money, or were going to send it, it'sthe same thing, from here, your wife's house. You--you cad, Hector!"
A flame of anger appeared for a second in the man's eyes, his face grewwhite, but he mastered himself, and answered quietly enough:
"I was not going to send it, Lucy; that cheque was written six weeksago. I forgot to date it, as I usually do my letters or cheques. Themoney was refused."
"Forgot? Refused? That sort of woman refuse money? You expect me tobelieve a wild, improbable tale like that. Oh, but I understand, thoughyou think any lie is good enough for a poor trusting fool of a wife tobelieve. And it was, Hector, but--but not now."
"Wait, I've not finished. It's true that cheque was refused, but Iinsisted, and wrote another the same night, did not forget the date, andthis time it ... was accepted."
"And you tell this to me, you stand there and own your vileness?"
"Yes, for I wish to tell you the truth, Lucy."
"Spare yourself the trouble. I don't believe you."
"As you please then, I don't care. Five minutes ago I did, but now----"He stopped suddenly and, turning away, stood with his back towards her,and then, the devil fought under, tried once more: "Lucy, won't you hearme, if not for my sake, then for ... Ruby's? I did lie to you thatfirst night, or rather I let you believe what was not true, but mynerves were all to pieces, and I couldn't think or speak. I'll tell youthe whole story now. It was for that I came out here."
"Yes, now that you're found out and caught."
The devil conquered. "Found out," before the fury in his voice Lucy'sdied, and fear sprang to life, "what do I care what you find out? I dolove this woman. I thought just now I did not, but I was a fool, I do.I love her as I've never loved you, and--and I'm going back to her now."
"Hector, you're mad. You can't, you shall not--Hector?"
"You're too late, I came out with the full intention of telling you all,and, cur that I was ... giving her up. Oh, it was not for your sake,don't think it; it was for..." A spasm contorted his face for a moment,but in an instant passed, and he went on:
"Yes, for the first time in my life I was weak, but of that weaknessyou've cured me, and given me back my strength, and for that, my wife, Ithank you. No more puling sentiment now for me; no more 'mummy anddaddy'--hell's curse on you all!--but love ... life..."
"A life of sin, Hector, for, as God hears me, I'll never set you freenow. Had you been honest with me from the first, as I implored you tobe, I would have done it, but now--no!"
"Lucy, take care."
"Take care, why should I take care? What have I to care for now? Killme if you like, Hector, it's the only way. I swear it. What stops you,my husband? You did it once before, and..."
"Twice."
"I dare say fifty times, and for far less reason. Kill me, I ask you,I'm not afraid to die. You won't? Then ... go." And Hector went.
At the hall door an uncouth figure was standing, awaiting him; it wasTom, bearing news of widgeon in the marshes and woodcock in the spinny,blown in by the gale last night, but the story was cut short. "Bringthe cart round at once. Damn the widgeon!" answered his master, andhurried within. There was barely time to catch the train, but the devilwas aiding him now, and ten minutes later dressing-case and portmanteauhad been carried below and thrown into the waiting cart; and he was leftstanding in the room he was leaving behind for ever.
Dully his eyes rested upon the new guns reposing in their leather case,the wild grasses on the mantelpiece, and on his bed the yellow plushfigure of James. For a moment he stood staring at the monkey, and then,snatching it up, thrust it away out of sight in his pocket, and hurriedfrom the room. Down the stairs he went, through the black-and-whitetiled hall, creeping like a thief past a certain closed door, and theninto the cart and away at a gallop.
Rocking and swaying, they flew through the narrow lanes, roundingcorners on one wheel, and shaving heavily-laden country carts. Onthrough the village, scattering children and flocks of frightened geese,till at last the station was reached. Only just in time too, for thetrain was already on the move, but one push from the gleeful devil andHector was across the platform and into the train; and three minuteslater was lying a huddled heap in the corner, the flat green landscapearound him sliding away into the past.
Tom sat gazing after him, with a look on his face that few had ever seenthere before. He climbed slowly down, and, taking out a blanket, spreadit carefully over the white pony's quarters, streaked with rivulets ofsweat. For a moment he stood contemplating his quivering charge, andthen his eyes fell on the golden sovereign lying in his hand.
"Curse your dirty money!" he said violently, and flung it far over anadjacent hedge into the field beyond.
* * * * *
Lucy remained, where they had parted, in the frost-blighted garden, herheart as numb and cold as the ground on which she stood. With stonyeyes she gazed out over the marshland, shining in the winter sunlight;she saw the foam-flecked, cloud-shadowed sea, and heard the scream ofgull and quavering cry of speeding curlew, and knew that as she loved itall once so she hated it now. For here, where she had looked forward toperfect happiness and union with one beloved, she had found nothing buta broken heart and faith shattered beyond recall.
As she stood there, a little figure came stumbling towards her, its faceblue with the east wind and a wild terror in the sightless eyes.
"Daddy, daddy," she wailed, "'oo's gone, and 'oo's promised to stay wivme," and, still calling and running blindly on, she struck an iron hoopguarding the border and fell headlong, her cries dying to a feeblemoaning.
Passionate indignation against Hector shook Lucy at the sight, and,running forward, she lifted the child and held her close against herheart.
"Daddy's left us, Ruby," she said, "but you have me, your mother, still.Oh, darling, why did you come out here in the bitter cold? It was verywrong of you, Ruby," and Lucy hurried away, her burden clutched tightlyin her arms.
"I want daddy! I want daddy!" And strive as she
might, no effort ofLucy's could still those cries, which later became feebler, running offinto snatches of song and prayers to God.
"Send for her father, ma'am," implored the nurse, her ruddy face whitewith anxiety. "You ought to, ma'am; it's criminal not to, and I say it,though I am only a servant."
Lucy bade her hold her tongue and not interfere, opposing the samesullen obstinacy to the doctor when he came.
"You're taking a very great responsibility on yourself then, madam," hesaid, being an outspoken man, though fond of little children, and,seating himself beside the cot, he fixed his keen eyes on the baby'sface.
Then, at last, terror conquering pride, Lucy wrote out a telegram andsent it off, only to receive it back an hour later--it was too late, andthe office closed.
A message, nevertheless, was next morning delivered to where Hector wassitting in his dingy hotel bedroom, a yellow plush monkey in his arms,and the devil vanquished at last. The message ran:
"Ruby died last night.--LUCY."
Hector stood looking at it, and then suddenly laughed, high-pitchedlaughter, long and loud, till with a crack it ended, and he fell forwardon to the floor, where he lay motionless. And the devil beside him oncemore raised his head, came nearer, bent down, and began to whisper fastand low in his ear.
Hector Graeme Page 16
