Ernest carried her over to the couch. ‘Anna, my love,’ he cried brokenly, ‘forgive me, oh forgive me.’
Rubin towered above him. ‘Get out,’ he thundered, ‘get out.’
Radenstone pulled Ernest to his feet as the door opened and Claire Mansall hurried in.
‘Oh,’ she cried hysterically. ‘Anna, my love, what is it? Ernest, what do you wish here? Rubin, help me quick. Oh Anna, Anna.’
She bent down and, helped by her husband, carried their daughter out of the room.
Ernest almost ran after them but Rubin had taken his precaution. Cadenlike, his manservant, politely showed them the door.
There was nothing for it but to go. As Radenstone pushed his young charge into a cab, he heartily cursed himself for his own clumsiness.
Ernest was beside himself with grief. ‘Father told me to be prudent,’ he cried. ‘Oh, what have I done to her? She will hate me.’
Radenstone tried to soothe him. At the door of the Ledwhistle house he paid the cabbie and helped the young man up the steps.
As soon as Ernest was over the threshold, helped by old Wishlock, he turned and disappeared down the street. ‘Fool that I am,’ he groaned. ‘Oh Robert, Robert, where are you?’
CHAPTER 12
Richard faced old Steinhouse with a cold smile.
‘I know that I am young and foolhardy,’ he said, ‘but I also know that you are old and behind the times. These sums you invest in the Stock Exchange are too small to be of any profit to us. All I have done is to invest £700 in shares. When the shares go up, you will see whether I am prudent or not.’
Old Steinhouse was silent. He knew it was no use arguing with this young devil. He was too go-ahead, too reckless. If anything were to happen – he shuddered at the thought.
Back in the office which he shared with his partner, Richard took Ernest by the shoulder. Ernest’s raised face was completely devoid of colour.
‘Ernest,’ said Richard gently, ‘you can’t go on like this. You’ll be ill.’
‘I’ve not seen Anna since that day last week,’ replied the young man in distress. ‘I’ve written, but I received no reply. Oh Martin, I must see her, I must know.’
‘All right,’ said Richard, ‘you shall know. I shall make a point of seeing Miss Anna and arranging for her to see you. If need be I shall bring her here.’ He swung on his heel.
‘Where are you going, Martin?’ cried Ernest.
‘To visit Miss Mansall,’ replied his partner. ‘I shan’t be long.’ He gave Ernest a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry. She loves you as much as ever, I’m sure.’ And with this Ernest was well content.
Richard walked briskly down the street. He liked Ernest, and was sorry for him. He could afford to be good to the young man, he thought. For yesterday, much to Jacob Steinhouse’s disturbance, he had invested a considerable amount of money in the ship Pirate’s Fancy, which was bound for the West Indies. He was confident that the money would be trebled, and step by step he would invest more and more, till the crash came.
He rang the bell of Anna Mansall’s house, and was admitted into the hall. Soon Anna joined him, and led him into the sitting-room.
‘How is Ernest?’ she begged him, as soon as they were out of earshot of the maidservant.
‘He is very stricken,’ replied Richard, ‘for he thinks by revealing the truth about your father’s – “retirement”, shall we call it? – that you will never forgive him.’
‘Oh, tell him I do, I do with all my heart,’ cried Anna. ‘I know he has written, but Papa took all the letters and burnt them privately.’
‘When can you see him?’ asked Richard. ‘He is beside himself with remorse.’
‘It is I that is beside myself with shame,’ said Anna in a whisper. ‘To think that Papa should rob dear Mr Ledwhistle and nearly ruin him.’
Richard patted her hand in sympathy. ‘Does your mother know?’
‘I fear she does,’ Anna answered. ‘She has never left her room for 3 days. I do believe Papa is being sorely punished.’
‘Well, I must leave you now,’ said Richard at length.
‘When can I see Ernest?’ cried his hostess wildly.
‘You shall see him tomorrow,’ resolved Richard. ‘I shall call for you at 11 in the morning.’
Murmuring her thanks, Anna wished him goodbye and, with a lighter heart than the one she had carried for the past week, fled upstairs to the sanctity of her room and wept.
Meanwhile Richard was talking to Ernest.
‘Oh Martin, Martin,’ cried the young fellow, searching his friend’s face with flashing eyes.
‘The forgiveness, she says,’ enlightened Richard, ‘is entirely on her part. She is to come here tomorrow, and told me to assure you that her heart is yours for ever.’
Ernest sank back in his chair.
‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘thank you, Martin.’
CHAPTER 13
It was a sunny morning when Anna Mansall hurried up the stairs, to fall into the arms of her lover. It was still the same bright morn when Old Ledwhistle climbed the same steps and found his old partner’s daughter in his son’s arms. His eyes twinkled as they drew apart.
‘My dear Anna,’ he said. ‘Can you forgive me?’
‘Oh, yes, yes,’ cried Anna, ‘a thousand times.’
‘What of your mother?’ asked Andrew as he placed his stick by the door.
‘I am afraid she is very much humbled by my father’s disgrace,’ Anna sighed, ‘and I think papa is being punished. He is quite cast down.’
While this conversation was going on Robert Straffordson followed his father down through the city. His eyes were thoughtful as he saw the broad shoulders and weak head before him. He quickened his footsteps. He wondered what he should do. Would Victor Radenstone be pleased to own him? In a way he doubted it.
As he crossed the road he saw a cab bearing down on his father. He flung himself on the burly figure. There was a shout, a hoarse cry from the cabman, and Robert saw the shining blackness of the horses’ hooves before the ground rushed with sickening force towards him.
CHAPTER 14
Robert lay on the bed, his brow furrowing as the June sun sought his eyes. He was in a large room with warm gold fittings. The boy heard the sound of cabs’ wheels in the road below. He lay there languid and looked at his hands. They were thin and white and veined. A bell was on a small table by the side of him. He picked it up and shook it, while his wrist bent with the weight.
At once the door opened and a woman came into the room. She wore a white apron, and from her stringed cap peeped a fuzzy grey curl. She smiled at him and felt his pulse.
Robert said nothing, but watched her drowsily. He watched her move to the door and heard her footsteps on the stairs. Then he heard other footsteps, strong ones, slightly loping. The door opened and Robert saw his father.
‘Robert,’ cried Radenstone. ‘Oh Robert.’ He fell forward and kissed his son.
Straffordson felt suddenly tired and happy. His hand was once more in that well-loved big one.
As he slept, his father wept. ‘Robert,’ he said over and over again. As he felt the thin fingers tighten their grasp on his he thanked the good God for his mercy. Yet was it really mercy? His son would never walk again, for his legs had been amputated.
He stayed there all through the day and when finally Robert awoke supported him with his arm.
‘Father,’ said Straffordson, ‘I’m frightened. I keep feeling for my legs but they’re not there. There’s only spaces, Father. Oh, what has happened?’
Briefly, his throat threatening to choke his words, Radenstone related the accident.
Robert nodded dumbly. He struggled a second, then lay back quite still.
‘Don’t leave me,’ he said faintly. ‘Don’t ever leave me, Father.’
Then, as the shadows lengthened, they lay together, father and son, all barriers swept aside, and Robert slept.
CHAPTER 15
Fanny Ledwhistl
e stared dully up at the young man who was picking up the parcel that had slipped from her short fingers. Her mother smiled brightly and thanked him profusely. He was an immensely tall and thin young man, with huge, black-rimmed spectacles and nervous blinking eyes. His mouth hung open, while his wrists protruded well below his coat sleeves.
‘The pleasure is entirely mine, Ma’m,’ he returned, and he spoke with a pronounced American accent.
Fanny wondered absentmindedly if his voice had broken yet, or was just in the stages of doing so. One minute it was cracked and boyish, next it was lost in the depths of bass manhood.
‘My name’s James Coney,’ he volunteered.
‘Oh, indeed,’ replied Mrs Ledwhistle. ‘Well, thank you once again. Good morning.’
Stammering and blinking alternately, Mr James Coney was dismissed and Mrs Ledwhistle swept on majestically. ‘Well,’ she said to Fanny, ‘I’ve heard these foreigners are forward, but Mr Coney is beyond himself.’
Fanny said nothing. She was already in the stages of a great romance, in which Mr Coney, whose voice was by this time broken, rescued her gallantly from drowning.
‘Fanny,’ cried Mrs Ledwhistle irritably, ‘I’ve spoken to you 3 times, what is the matter?’
At their house, Jane was busily playing the piano, and Fanny was quite lost in admiration at the way in which her sister’s sensitive fingers lingered over the mellow keys. Old Andrew was leaning back in his usual armchair, beating time with his foot. As his wife took off her shawl and, bonnet, he chuckled.
‘Andrew,’ said Mary, ‘what is making you laugh?’
‘Young Andromikey invested £700 in a ship bound for the West Indies about 3 months ago,’ replied Old Andrew happily, as he took his wife’s hand in his. ‘And furthermore our money has been doubled, for the trip proved highly successful.’
‘I am glad,’ cried Mary smiling, ‘for I know your heart and soul is in the firm.’
‘My heart and soul belongs to you, my dear,’ replied Old Andrew huskily. ‘You and our fine girls and sons.’
‘As you know, Andrew,’ related Mary, ‘Fanny dropped her parcel and a most peculiar young American picked it up. He seemed very taken with Fanny – hardly took his eyes off her the whole time. But he was very forward.’
Jane giggled, and Charlotte tried to control herself also.
Fanny flamed an ugly red and Mrs Ledwhistle wished she wasn’t so plain and stout. Still, that young fellow had seemed more than usually attracted. Now if it had been Jane, she mused. She looked hard at the girl at the piano, at the auburn hair and slight figure. Now that would be sensible, but Fanny!
Old Andrew smiled at his wife’s expression. ‘Wondering where Ernest is?’ he asked.
Mrs Ledwhistle shook her head. ‘No, I know where he is already. Rubin invited him for lunch.’
Charlotte put her head on one side. ‘You know, Papa, Uncle Rubin has altered a great deal. Why, before 3 or 4 months ago he hardly ever came here, or invited us there.’
Old Andrew winked slyly at his wife. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘Rubin’s changed, but for the best. Have you finished your embroidery yet for your brother’s wedding? You have not much time, you know.’
Charlotte sighed. ‘It’s very strange,’ she said, ‘but the threads seem to knot and break. Whatever I do, I doubt if Anna will ever use it.’
Mary Ledwhistle laughed in agreement. ‘Come along, Fanny,’ she called. ‘Come and take your outdoor attire off.’
Fanny dutifully followed her mother out into the hall.
‘Mary,’ Old Andrew’s voice floated up to them, ‘don’t forget that the Mansalls and Victor Radenstone and his son are coming tonight to dine.’
‘Oh,’ cried Mrs Ledwhistle incredulously, ‘I’d quite forgotten. Where on earth did I put the key to the linen cupboard?’
Jane sat all through the afternoon at her beloved piano. Many a time Old Andrew would look in wonder at her, for the notes that she played seemed to hang clean in the air, till they dropped tinkling and sparkling into the mind.
‘Father,’ asked Jane suddenly, stopping her playing and laying her soft head on his knee. ‘What do we say to poor Mr Straffordson?’
Old Andrew stroked her hair with gentle fingers as he puffed contentedly at his pipe. ‘We just act as if nothing had happened,’ he advised. ‘You see, he is only young – little over 20 I should say – and like all young things he is very proud. Now do not worry your silky head, but play for me.’
As the dreamy melodies once more waved about his ears Old Andrew thought sagely, yes, like all young things, he is very proud. So’s young Andromikey. I’m worried about him. He’s so aloof, as if he resented any charity on our part. When he is 27, I shall most certainly give him his money. I warrant I’ll have to convince him of its legality before he’ll take it. He chuckled quietly, and Jane on her stool smiled.
Later that evening they all sat round the fire – Rubin, Radenstone and Old Andrew with glasses of good wine before them, and Robert and Ernest pulling rather self-consciously at their pipes. Robert was in a chair with a gay rug over his unsightly trunk. He was quite content with his lot. Later on, when he was stronger, he was to be fitted with two wooden legs. Mrs Mansall talked untiringly to her friend Mary Ledwhistle, while Jane sat quietly by her brother, her hands folded on her lap. Robert, whenever he looked at her, felt restful and tranquil. Once she looked at him, and found his eyes resting on her. She smiled, coloured and looked the other way. Radenstone kept close to him, for he did not wish ever to be away from his son again. Robert too liked him near, for Victor radiated protection and the love he craved.
Soon – ah, all too soon – the evening drew to its close, and the Radenstones and Mansalls bade them good-bye. Jane, as Robert bowed over her hands, felt more and more attracted to him. Then there was a slamming of doors, a crack of a whip, and he was gone.
CHAPTER 16
James Coney peered shortsightedly at the shop-window. He wondered if he could afford to buy that very important-looking hat. It would look so elegant, he mused. As he glanced up and down the street to see if anyone was watching him as he took out his wallet, he saw Fanny panting in his direction. He whistled softly, put his notecase hurriedly back, and bowed. Fanny was very taken aback when the very stranger who had been the central figure in her dreams for some time past accosted her. She blushed and gave a shy smile. James felt he had scored.
‘Would you care to honour me by letting me walk a little way back with you?’ he drawled.
‘Well – I – er, that is –’ gasped the flattered Fanny.
But her admirer had already taken her arm and was steering her across the street. ‘You know, Miss, Miss –’ Here James faltered affectedly.
‘Ledwhistle,’ interposed Fanny with more intelligence than was her wont.
‘Miss Ledwhistle,’ continued James, ‘I couldn’t get you out of my mind yesterday.’
Fanny felt as if she could cry, and nearly did when James added: ‘I hope you don’t think I am being a nuisance, but you see I got the instinctive feeling – I hope I do not presume – that you were drawn just the teeniest bit to me as well.’ Here he cast a shy glance at Fanny, who stared at him stupidly, her mouth hanging open.
‘Oh yes, yes indeed, Mr Coney,’ she gasped. ‘That is – oh dear, what have I said?’
‘My dear Miss Ledwhistle,’ cried James, ‘let me say I much admire you.’
Fanny did not know what to say.
When she was bidding James Coney goodbye later on, she was both flustered and breathless. What would her mother say about her meeting a young man like that, and freely admitting her love for him? But Mrs Ledwhistle, when Fanny confusedly told her, just laughed and said it was about time one of her daughters got married.
That night Richard came to dine, and Old Andrew congratulated him on his successful venture. ‘But of course, Martin,’ Old Andrew told him, ‘you must not repeat your action. It’s too reckless, you know.’
Ernest spoke slo
wly, from his seat by the table. ‘I don’t agree, Father,’ he said. ‘You were very pleased when all this money came in now, were you not?’
‘But Ernest,’ choked his father. ‘You can’t put the same sums into unsteady gambles for the rest of your days. Why, it would mean ruin.’
His son waved his hand in an impatient gesture. ‘But Papa, life is one gamble itself. Everyone takes risks. At your age, Father, there’s nothing left for you but to take risks.’
Old Andrew shook his head heatedly. ‘You’re wrong, boy,’ he stuttered. ‘Where do you think the firm would be today if I had gambled in my time? No, no, it’s too dangerous, too unsteady.’
He cleared his throat testily, and Ernest was wise enough to hold his silence.
Richard, however, was not to be subdued. ‘Sir,’ he said distinctly, ‘does not this firm belong now to Ernest and me?’
Old Andrew could not but guess the intrusion behind this bald fact. He coloured, and Ernest sprang angrily to his feet.
‘How dare you, Martin,’ he thundered. ‘I think you’d better go.’
‘Now, now,’ soothed Old Andrew. ‘He’s right, you know, my boy – only my whole soul’s wrapped up in the firm, and I can’t quite realise I do not have a hand in its workings any longer.’
It was Richard’s turn to colour. ‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ he said, quietly. ‘You know best, but I do want to build up the name of the Ledwhistle and Andromikey.’ And as he said this Richard felt more of a hypocrite than he should have done.
When the two young men had gone, Old Andrew sat awhile in his chair. Finally, he got up and crossed to the window. The larches surrounding the Moleson house swayed darkly, and all the street seemed shrouded in the dark and unending drift of sleep. The lamp-lighter had visited here long ago, and the yellow glow shone and swam in the gutter below. Up above, a crescent moon brightly rested among his blue-black train of clouds. A cruel wind was rising, and Old Andrew shivered slightly. Yes, he was getting old. His hand trembled as he turned away. Ah well, he couldn’t complain. He’d lived his years, and if his maker saw fit to call him – why, he’d go willingly. He chuckled. He couldn’t very well do anything else. He puffed at his pipe, and brought once more his diary out. He was glad the feud between him and Rubin had ended – better for all sides, he thought, as his pen scratched away. Ernest was to be married soon, and he and Mary were delighted. Anna was a good girl. Why, when Young Martin married he would give him his money and his blessing.
Collected Stories Page 22
