The Dark Tower

by Phyllis Bottome

  The Dark Tower

  Phyllis Bottome

  From The Project Gutenberg (http://www.gutenberg.org) eBook archive (#25829).

  Produced by David Edwards, Alicia Williams, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

  FictionBook (FB2.1) variant: DeKson Publishing.

  Phyllis Bottome

  The Dark Tower

  THE DARK TOWER

  BY PHYLLIS BOTTOME

  WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. H. GARDNER SOPER

  NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1916

  Copyright, 1916, by THE CENTURY CO.

  Published, September, 1916

  ◊◊◊

  Dauntless the slughorn to my lips I set, and blew “Child Roland to the dark tower came.”

  - Robert Browning

  To W. W. D. H.

  “God forbid that I should do this thing.

  If our time be come, let us die manfully for our brethren

  And let us not stain our honour.”

  I Maccabees, ix, 10.

  PART I

  CHAPTER I

  Winn Staines respected God, the royal family, and his regiment; but even his respect for these three things was in many ways academic: he respected nothing else.

  His father, Admiral Sir Peter Staines, had never respected anything; he went to church, however, because his wife didn’t. They were that kind of family.

  Lady Staines had had twelve children. Seven of them died as promptly as their constitutions allowed; the five survivors, shouted at, quarreled over, and soundly thrashed, tore themselves through a violent childhood into a rackety youth. They were never vicious, for they never reflected over or considered anything that they did.

  Winn got drunk occasionally, assaulted policemen frequently, and could carry a small pony under each arm. Charles and James, who were in the navy, followed in the footsteps of Sir Peter; that is to say, they explored all possible accidents on sea or ashore, and sought for a fight as if it were a mislaid crown jewel.

  Dolores and Isabella had to content themselves with minor feats and to be known merely as the terrors of the neighborhood, though ultimately Dolores succeeded in making a handsome splash by running away with a prize-fighting groom. She made him an excellent wife, and though Lady Staines never mentioned her name again, it was rumored that Sir Peter met her surreptitiously at Tattersall’s and took her advice upon his horses.

  Isabella, shocked and outraged by this sisterly mischance, married, in the face of all probability, a reluctant curate. He subsided into a family living given to him by Sir Peter, and tried to die of consumption.

  Isabella took entire control of the parish, which she ruled as if it were a quarter-deck. She did not use her father’s language, but she inherited his voice. It rang over boys’ clubs and into mothers’ meetings with the penetration and volume of a megaphone.

  Lady Staines heartily disliked both her daughters, and she appeared not to care very deeply for her sons, but of the three she had a decided preference for Winn. Winn had a wicked temper, an unshakable nerve, and had inherited the strength of Sir Peter’s muscles and the sledge-hammer weight of Lady Staines’s wit. He had been expelled from his private school for unparalleled insolence to the head master; a repetition of his summing up of that gentleman’s life and conduct delighted his mother, though she assisted Sir Peter in thrashing him for the result.

  It may have contributed to his mother’s affection for him that Winn had left England at nineteen, and had reached thirty-five with only two small intervals at home.

  His first leave had kept them all busy with what the Staines considered a wholly unprovoked lawsuit; a man whom Winn had most unfortunately felt it his duty to fling from a bus into the street, having the weak-minded debility to break his leg had the further audacity to claim enormous damages. The Staines fought the case en bloc with splendid zeal, and fiery eloquence. It would probably have resulted better for their interests if they had not defied their own counsel, outraged the respectable minds of the jury, and insulted the learned judge. Under these circumstances they lost their case, and the rest of Winn’s leave was taken up in the Family’s congenial pursuit of laying the blame on each other.

  The second and more fatal visit heralded Winn’s marriage. He had not had time to marry before. It would not be true to say that women had played no part in his experiences, but the part they had played was neither exalted nor durable. They figured in his imagination as an inferior type of game, tiresome when captured. His life had been spent mainly in pursuit of larger objects. He had been sent straight from Sandhurst to South Africa, where he had fought with violence and satisfaction for two years, winning the D. S. O., a broken nose, and a cut across the face. When the fighting was over, he obtained leave for a two-years’ exploring expedition into the heart of West Africa. Ten men had gone on this expedition, and two survived. Winn never talked of these experiences, but he once admitted to a friend that the early study of his sisters’ characters had saved him in many awkward moments. He had known how to appeal to female savages with the unerring touch of experience.

  From West Africa he was called to the Indian frontier, where he put in seven years in variegated and extremely useful service. He received his majority early, and disappeared for two years into Tibet, Manchuria, and China. After that he came back to England for polo, and met Estelle Fanshawe. She was lovely, gentle, intensely vain, and not very truthful.

  Lady Staines disposed of her at once as “a mincing ninny.” The phrase aggravated Winn, and his fancy deepened. It was stimulated by the fact that Estelle was the belle of the neighborhood and had a large supply of ardent admirers. It was almost like running a race with the odds against you. Winn was not a conceited man, and perhaps he thought the odds more against him than they actually were. He was the second son of a man who was immensely rich, (though Sir Peter was reported stingy to his children). Everybody knew who the Staines were, while the Fanshawes after every effort and with nearly every attraction had not become a part of public knowledge. Besides, Estelle had been made love to for some time, and Winn’s way was undeniably different from that of her other admirers.

  He met her at a dance, and insisted upon dancing with her the whole evening. He took her card away from her, and scored off all her indignant partners. In the interval of these decisive actions he made love to her in a steady, definite way that was difficult to laugh at and impossible to turn aside.

  When he said good-night to her he told her that he would probably come and see her soon. She went away in a flutter, for his words, though casual, had had a sharply significant sound; besides, he had very nearly kissed her; if she had been more truthful, she would have said quite.

  She didn’t, in thinking it over, know at all how this had happened, and she generally knew precisely how these things happened.

  Lady Staines told her son at breakfast a few mornings later what she thought of Miss Fanshawe.

  “She’s a girl,” she observed, knocking the top off her egg, “who will develop into a nervous invalid or an advanced coquette, and it entirely depends upon how much admiration she gets which she does. I hear she’s religious, too, in a silly, egotistical way. She ought to have her neck wrung.”

  Sir Peter disagreed; they heard him in the servants’ hall.

  “Certainly not!” he roared; “certainly not! I don’t think so at all! The girl’s a damned pretty piece, and the man’s one of my best tenants. He’s only just come, and he’s done wonders to the place already. And I won’t have the boy crabbed for fancying a neighbor! It’s very natural he should. You never have a woman in the house fit to look at. Who the devil do you expect your boys to marry? Negresses or bar-maids?”

  “Gentlewomen,” said Lady Staines, f
irmly, “unless their father’s behavior prevents them from being accepted.”

  Winn said nothing. He got up and began cutting ham at the sideboard. His mother hesitated a moment; but as she had only roused one of her men, she made a further effort in the direction of the other.

  “The girl’s a mean-spirited little liar,” she observed. “I wouldn’t take her as a housemaid.”

  “You may have to take her as a daughter-in-law, though,” Winn remarked without turning round from the sideboard.

  Sir Peter grunted. He didn’t like this at all, but he couldn’t very well say so without appearing to agree with his wife, a thing he had carefully avoided doing for thirty years.

  Lady Staines rose and gathered up her letters.

  “You’re of age,” she said to her son, “and you’ve had about as much experience of civilized women as a European baby has of crocodiles, and you’ll be just about as safe and clever with them. As for you, Peter, pray don’t trouble to tell me what you think of the Fanshawes in a year’s time. You’ve never had a tenant you haven’t had a lawsuit with yet, and this time you’ll be adding Winn’s divorce proceedings to your other troubles. I should think you might begin to save toward the damages now.”

  Sir Peter’s oaths accompanied his wife across the dining-room to the door, which her son opened ceremoniously for her. Their eyes crossed like swords.

  “If I get that girl, you’ll be nice to her,” Winn said in a low voice.

  “As long as you are,” replied Lady Staines, with a grim smile. He did not bang the door after her, as she had hoped; instead, he went to see the girl.

  CHAPTER II

  It was eleven o’clock when Winn arrived at the Fanshawes. Estelle was barely dressed, she always slept late, had her breakfast in bed, and gave as much trouble as possible to the servants.

  However, when she heard who had called to see her, she sent for a basket and some roses, and five minutes later strolled into the drawing-room, with her hat on, and the flowers in her hands.

  Her mother stayed in the garden and nervously thought out the lunch.

  Winn seized the basket out of Estelle’s hands, took her by the wrists, and drew her to the window.

  She wasn’t frightened of him, but she pretended to be. She said, “Oh, Major Staines!” She looked as soft and innocent as a cream-fed kitten. Winn cleared his throat. It made him feel rather religious to look at her. He did not of course see her as a kitten; he saw her approximately as an angel.

  “Look here,” he said, “my name’s Winn.”

  “You’re hurting my wrists,” she murmured. He dropped them. “Winn,” she said under her breath.

  “I say,” he said after a moment’s pause, “would you mind marrying me?”

  Estelle lifted her fine China blue eyes to his. They weren’t soft, but they could sometimes look very mysterious.

  “Oh,” she said, “but, Winn – it’s so sudden – so soon!”

  “Leave’s short,” Winn explained, “and besides, I knew the moment I looked at you, I wanted you. I don’t know how you feel, of course; but – well – I’m sure you aren’t the kind of girl to let a fellow kiss you, are you, and mean nothing?”

  Estelle’s long lashes swept her cheeks; she behaved exquisitely. She was, of course, exactly that kind of girl.

  “Ah,” she said, with a little tremble in her voice, “if I do marry you – will you be kind to me?”

  Winn trembled, too; he flushed very red, and suddenly he did the funniest, most unlikely thing in the world: he got down on his knees beside her, and taking both her hands in his, he kissed them.

  “I’ll be like this as much as ever you’ll let me,” he said gravely.

  He had a great craving for sweetness, delicacy, and gentleness; he began to tell her in little short, abrupt sentences how unworthy he was of her, not fit to touch her really – he was afraid he’d been horribly rough – and done lots of things she would have hated (he forgot to mention that he’d ever done anything worth doing as well); he explained that he didn’t know any women a bit like her; there weren’t any, of course, really like – but she knew what he meant. So that he expected she’d have to teach him a lot – would she – if she didn’t mind, and overlook his being stupid?

  Estelle listened thoughtfully for a few minutes, then she asked him if he didn’t think eight bridesmaids would be better than four?

  He got up from his knees then.

  He didn’t like discussing the wedding, and he got bored very soon and went away, so that Mrs. Fanshawe didn’t need to have the special lunch she had ordered, after all.

  They were to have a very short engagement, and Estelle decided on four bridesmaids and four pages; she was so small herself that children would look prettier and more innocent.

  There was something particularly charming about a young wedding, and they were to have a celebration first – Estelle was most particular about that – and a wedding breakfast afterwards of course. Winn was extraordinarily kind to her; he let her settle everything she liked and gave her exactly the ring she wanted – an immense emerald set with diamonds. He wasn’t in the least particular about where they spent the honeymoon, after making a very silly suggestion, which Estelle promptly over-ruled, that they might go to the East Coast and make a study of fortifications.

  He agreed that London would do just as well, with theaters, and he could look up a man he knew at the War Office. Certainly they should go to the Ritz if Estelle liked it; but it was rather noisy.

  The one point he did make was to have a young officer he liked, who had been with him in China, Lionel Drummond, as his best man, instead of his cousin Lord Arlington. His brothers were out of the question, as he couldn’t have one without having a row with the other. Estelle wanted Lord Arlington, but when she pressed the point, Winn gave her a most extraordinary sharp look and said, “I thought I told you I wanted that boy Drummond?” It was a most peculiar and disconcerting look, well known in the Staines family. Trouble usually followed very quickly upon its heels. Estelle shivered and gave in and was rewarded by a diamond brooch.

  This showed her how important shivering was going to be in her married life.

  The only really disagreeable time Estelle had during her engagement was the short half hour in which Lady Staines fulfilled her maternal duties.

  It was a rainy day and Lady Staines had walked two miles across the fields in what looked like a cricket cap, and a waterproof.

  She cleaned her boots as carefully as she could in the hall. They were square-toed and hob-nailed and most unsuitable for a drawing-room.

  Mrs. Fanshawe literally quailed before them. “You shouldn’t have parquet floors,” Lady Staines remarked, holding out her hand; “in the country, it’s the ruin of them unless you wear paper soles,” she glanced searchingly at Mrs. Fanshawe’s and Estelle’s feet. “And that of course is the ruin of your feet. Probably you’ve lived in London all your lives?”

  Mrs. Fanshawe found herself in the position of apologizing for what had hitherto been her proudest boast. Lady Staines looked tolerantly around her. “London’s a poor place,” she observed, “and very shoddy. When my friends the Malverns lived here, they had old oak and rather nice chintzes. I see you go in for color schemes and nicknacks. I hope Estelle won’t find Staines uncomfortable; however, she probably won’t be with us often.”

  She turned to her future daughter-in-law. “You are Estelle, my dear, ain’t you?” she demanded. “And I dare say you can’t speak a word of French in spite of your fine name. Can you?”

  Estelle hesitated and blushed. “Not very much, I’m afraid,” she truthfully murmured. It flashed through her mind that with Lady Staines you must be truthful if there was any possible chance of your being found out.

  “Hum!” said Lady Staines thoughtfully. “I can’t see what people spend so much on education for nowadays. I really can’t! And you’re going to marry my second son, ain’t you?” she demanded. “Well, I’m sure it’s very kind of you. Al
l the Staines have tempers, but Winn’s is quite the worst. I don’t want to exaggerate, but I really don’t think you could match it in this world. He generally keeps it, too! He was a nasty, murderous, little boy. I assure you I’ve often beaten him till he was black and blue and never got a word out of him.”

  Mrs. Fanshawe looked horrified. “But my dear Lady Staines,” she urged, “surely you tried kindness?”

  Lady Staines shook her head. “No,” she said, “I don’t think so, I don’t think I am kind – very. But he’s turned out well, don’t you think? He’s the only one of my sons who’s got honors – a ‘D.S.O.’ for South Africa, and a C.B. for something or other, I never know what, in China; and he got his Majority extraordinarily young for special services – or he wouldn’t have been able to marry you, my dear, for his father won’t help him. He doesn’t get drunk as often as the other two boys, either; in fact, on the whole, I should call him satisfactory. And now he’s chosen you, and I’m sure we’re all very grateful to you for taking him in hand.”

  Mrs. Fanshawe offered her visitor tea; she was profoundly shocked, but she thought that tea would help. Lady Staines refused it. “No, thank you very much,” she said. “I must be getting back to give Sir Peter his. I shall be late as it is, and I shall probably hear him swearing all down the drive. We shall all be seeing more than enough of each other before long. But there’s no use making a fuss about it, is there? We’re a most disagreeable family, and I’m sure it’ll be worse for you than for us.”

  Estelle accompanied her future mother-in-law to the door. She had not been as much shocked as her mother.

  Lady Staines laid her small neat hand on the girl’s arm. She looked at her very hard, but there was a spark of some kind, behind the hardness; if the eyes hadn’t been those of Lady Staines, they might almost have been said to plead.