He spoke in a thin and shrilling whisper, leaning towards the young men:
“I’ve kept up with matters. You two have large blocks of stock in Johnnie’s firm and subsidiares. Very large. Your ladies have received them from their Papa, for birthday and Christmas and other presents. Very large blocks. Makin’ up to thirty percent of the stock. That is correct, ain’t it?”
Patrick did not move. But Rufus nodded carefully.
“And I,” continued Mr. Wilkins, “have another thirty percent.”
He paused. Rufus and Patrick sat immobile. The veins sprang out more sharply on Rufus’ gripping hands. Patrick’s face was tense and white.
“Sixty percent all together,” said Mr. Wilkins, in a soft and loving voice. “And Jay Regan has another ten. Seventy percent. Think wot that means, gentlemen.”
But the young men did not speak.
“You’ll get Johnnie away,” said Mr. Wilkins, so softly, so balefully. “But before he goes, you’ll get ’im to give you, Mr. Rufus, power of attorney, with all actions to be approved by Mr. Patrick. You’ll negotiate, then, in your own names. Wilkins is behind you. Regan is behind you. You’ll begin to buy in the open market, too.” He looked from one to the other, and laughed gently. His tongue thrust itself out and lapped his fat under lip, and his eyes were swimming with evil laughter.
“You two gentlemen will enter into a secret partnership agreement. Then, you’ve got things by the tail, and swingin’ them.”
“You mean,” said Rufus, almost inaudibly, “that you’ll throw your shares in with us?”
“Exactly,” beamed Mr. Wilkins, with an artless look.
Rufus and Patrick looked at each for a long time, while Mr. Wilkins watched them with ecstatic cunning. He had not underestimated them.
Patrick had to clear his throat several times before he could speak, and then his voice was thick and hoarse. “You know what that means, Mr. Wilkins? Mr. Turnbull will be out. For all time. Completely done in. Everything he possesses is in his companies. He’ll have nothing left. Is that what you want?”
Mr. Wilkins leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands placidly on his round belly. He looked from Rufus to Patrick very slowly, and his eyes were shining with malefic radiance.
“That’s wot you gentlemen want, ain’t it?” he asked, tenderly.
Rufus smiled slightly. His malignant expression was equal to Mr. Wilkins’. “I wouldn’t mind,” he said, easily. “I’ve always hated him. He’s a fool. Without you, sir, he’d have gotten nothing. He’s had a handsome life, with your help. It’s enough for a man.”
But Patrick’s face turned black and heavy, the ruddy folds thickening and swelling. His big meaty fists clenched.
“Wait a moment,” he said, with ominous quiet. “I’ve got a word to say. it’s not going to be that bad, for the Old Man. I’m not a complete snake. I want to do this with you, Rufus, and with you, Mr. Wilkins. I’ll do it. But the Old Man is going to have a nominal income. I’ll insist on that.”
Mr. Wilkins exchanged a subtle wink with Rufus. He turned to Patrick. He shook his head slowly and ponderously. Now his look was lethal, and Patrick saw all his Satanic wickedness, open and unembarrassed.
“Mr. Patrick, I commends your sentiments. But I’ve got a word to say abaht this. You’ll go all the way with me, or none of the way. That’s my final word.” He shrugged. “Of course, I’m not one to interfere with private arrangement, Mr. Patrick. You can spare Johnnie somethin’ from your own pocket. I won’t interfere.”
Patrick sank back into black silence, gnawing his under lip savagely. Rufus gave him a bland and amused look, then said to Mr. Wilkins:
“Of course, you have something in mind for yourself? You aren’t going to be so magnificently generous without some personal gain?”
“Certainly not,” said Mr. Wilkins, simply. “’Aven’t I told you that I’ve got to protect myself? I’m an old man, now.” He paused, then continued: “This is my first and final suggestion. Take it or leave it, gentlemen. I demands sixty thousand a year clear for meself, and thirty-five thousand a year for Miss Adelaide Turnbull. For Miss Adelaide, as is my goddaughter.”
Had the room suddenly dissolved into fire and smoke, and had Mr. Wilkins suddenly emerged, dancing in flames in accordance with his true character, the two young men could not have been more astounded, more taken aback, more shaken and confused. They gazed at him with distended eyes and gaping mouths. There was a long and ringing silence in the room, in which the dropping of the coals in the grate could be heard distinctly, and the whisper of autumn leaves drily rustling on the window sills.
Then all at once Patrick burst into a shout of wild laughter. He bent almost double, shaking his black head until his thick dark waves of hair were greatly agitated. But Rufus sat, pale and frozen, in his chair, and tried to stare Mr. Wilkins down.
“Little Addy!” shouted Patrick. “Holy Mother! So, that’s it!”
Rufus was white with rage and hatred. But Patrick was convulsed with his obscene delight. He threw himself back in his chair, stretched out his legs and literally screamed with rapture.
“That’s impossible, of course,” said Rufus, ignoring his obstreperous brother-in-law’s immense laughter. He spoke with a slight dry gasp. “Sixty thousand a year clear for you, Mr. Wilkins. That is reasonable. But not thirty-five thousand for that—that livid little monster. We’ll go further with you. Make it seventy-five thousand for you. You can’t refuse that.”
Mr. Wilkins slowly clasped his hands again. His expression was grave and thoughtful. “Miss Adelaide is my goddaughter,” he repeated, in a sorrowful tone. “It’s thirty-five thousand for her, me lads. Or nothing for either of you. You can’t do nothin’ without me. I’ve got the upper hand. It’s time to be frank. You’ll do as I say, or go about your business.”
Now he smiled sweetly. “And don’t think you’ll act on my suggestions and get power of authority from Johnnie on your own. I’ll spike that. I’ll go to Johnnie tomorrow and tell ’im the whole plot. Where’ll you be, then?” He shook his head gently. He continued in the most benign tone, as if the two young men were beloved sons. “Don’t think I won’t do it. I will. You’ll never get the upper hand of Johnnie, then.”
Patrick was choking and coughing violently, as he tried to control himself. He attempted to speak, but his voice was a dwindled squeal. He finally gave up, and gave himself up to raucous peals of mirth, throwing himself about in his chair. But Rufus still looked at Mr. Wilkins with helpless malignance.
Mr. Wilkins rose, and went to a chest of drawers near by, and withdrew from it a long page of foolscap. He returned to his chair, and eyed the printed characters on it with great love.
“It’s all here,” he said. “The whole agreement between you gentlemen and meself. Written out clear like. To the last item. You’ll sign it tonight. Then I’ll tuck it away where it’ll be all cosy and safe. Not to be used unless necessary.” He looked at Rufus with sweet meaning. “And you’ll not go back on your agreement. Not one inch. Or Johnnie sees the paper.”
Patrick found his voice. He cried out with a squeaking sound: “Mr. Wilkins, don’t tell me that you don’t trust us! You’re breaking our damned hearts!”
Mr. Wilkins regarded him thoughtfully. “Mr. Patrick,” he said, in a meaning voice, “I’ve operated on one principle in me life: ‘Trust no one. Signed and sealed, only.’ And I’ve never found reason to doubt my judgment.”
Rufus compressed his white lips. His eyes were a bitter green gleam. He held out a steady hand. “We’ll sign it,” he said.
“That’s the ticket, lads!” cried Mr. Wilkins, jovially, rising with great alertness to get pen and ink. “I’m one as likes to do business with sensible men.”
He dipped the pen in the ink. Rufus took it. With steady fingers he signed the agreement, after glancing briefly at the contents of the paper. Patrick watched him, silent now, but with open grinning mouth.
Then Rufus extended the pen to Patric
k. Patrick stared at it, then at his brother-in-law’s haggard and malevolent face, so fixed and deadly. He seemed about to burst into laughter again, but controlled himself. Shaking his head from side to side, he signed the paper.
The business done, Mr. Wilkins suggested, with fine and exuberant ardour, that they all “’ave a drink on it!”
Rufus accepted, but drank steadily in sullen and brooding silence. But Patrick drank wildly, laughing with great violence quite frequently. As for Mr. Wilkins, he sipped at his glass, beaming on each of them impartially.
It was almost midnight before they left him. He closed the door softly after them. Then he slipped silently to a window, and looked after them until the darkness of the night obliterated their figures.
Then he shook with lewd and silent laughter, his tongue lapping his lips. He performed a brief hornpipe with an agility remarkable for his age. Once or twice he paused to shake his fist exultantly at the ceiling. And in those moments his large pink face was quite frightful to see.
CHAPTER 45
On the morning of this, her wedding day, Adelaide awoke with a strange disoriented sensation, confused and aching. There was a beating pain in her head, which her throbbing heart chorused, and a nameless malaise in her body impelling listlessness and yet, a feverish excitement. The excitement mounted as she came to full consciousness in her bed, so that all her flesh seemed incandescent with heat; her head swam alarmingly. When she looked in her mirror, she was vaguely alarmed to see the dull scarlet in her cheeks. Her eyes were sunken and heavy, with dark and graven lines under them. She put icy hands to hot forehead, and then had to press those hands quickly on the back of her chair to keep herself from falling in a wave of giddiness. Now the malaise was stronger. She alternately shivered with paralyzing cold and burned with fever. Did all these symptoms assail every bride? she wondered.
She was sick with fear and dread, also, and these almost overcame the brief and vivid ecstasy that occasionally flooded her. She determined not to think, only to act. Later, there was enough time for thought and plan.
She could eat nothing of her breakfast but some hot tea. Her body was one long tremor in the quite brown broadcloth frock and jacket in which she had dressed herself. A dreamlike thought floated through her mind: later, she would slip out to the greenhouse and clip enough blossoms for a nosegay for her jacket. The still dining-room floated in vague shadow. Outside, torrents of spring rain dashed themselves like cataracts against the windows. Adelaide ate alone. Her parents had not yet come down to breakfast. Her sisters would have trays later in their own apartments. It was Adelaide’s duty to carry the tray to Lavinia and Louisa, for neither would presume to ask their French maids to do this homely duty, and there was a household feud below stairs between the house servants and those elegant young ladies who served the Mesdames Hastings and Brogan.
The cook, herself, stout, short and florid, brought in Lavinia’s tray to the dining-room and plumped it down irately near Adelaide, who was holding her tea cup in a trembling hand. Adelaide was a great favourite with Mrs. Courtney, who declared, in the kitchen, that it was a “sickening sin and shame” that the girl had to wait upon her sisters like a common servant.
Adelaide looked at the tray of hearty breakfast, and had to grip the edge of the table to hold back a plunge of nausea that seized her stomach. The odours of hot fresh rolls, strips of bacon, two eggs, oatmeal and coffee made her violently ill. She closed her eyes.
“Miss Lavinia’s,” said Mrs. Courtney, regarding the breakfast with a grim eye, as if she would have liked to have included ground glass among the viands. “And how a lady that’s soon to have a baby can eat all those victuals’s beyond me.”
Adelaide compressed her lips as she endeavoured to control her physical sensations. Then she rose and took up the heavy clanking tray and climbed the stairs to Lavinia’s apartments. She found Lavinia lolling luxuriously in bed, yawning over a yellow-backed French novel, while her maid lovingly brushed and combed the thick black curls. Lavinia, dressed in a beribboned and belaced cambric gown, was a handsome sight on her ruffled pillows. A fire had been lit against the chill of the wet spring morning. The curtains were looped back to show the wide quiet stretch of the drenched avenue.
Lavinia smiled with eager pleasure as the fragrance of her breakfast was wafted to her. She stared at it avidly the while Adelaide disposed it on her knees. The maid deftly straightened silken sheet, plumped up the pillows. Then Lavinia became aware that there was something strange about her sister. She buttered a roll thickly and stuffed part of it in her mouth. Then she widened her large black eyes at Adelaide.
“What!” she exclaimed, her articulation somewhat impeded by the buttered roll. “You’re dressed up. You don’t intend to go out this morning, do you?”
“Yes,” said Adelaide briefly, turning away.
“But you can’t,” remarked Lavinia, crossly. “You promised to finish putting the lace on the christening dress. Besides, there is so much mending to do. You really can’t go, Addy, so you might as well take off those clothes.”
Adelaide had turned back a moment, near the door. Now Lavinia saw her feverish face and dull sunken eyes. She sat up, the better to scrutinize her sister.
“What’s the matter with you?” she demanded. “You look ill.”
Adelaide pressed the back of her cold hand against her burning cheek. “I’m not too well this morning,” she admitted.
Lavinia scowled. “Good God. I hope you aren’t sickening for something, Addy. With the baby soon coming, and everything. Dr. Burney will be here presently. He’d better see you, so he can reassure me.”
“I’m not sickening,” answered Adelaide, curtly. She drew a deep breath. Her heart was a fixed knife in her chest.
She closed the door after her, went downstairs again for Louisa’s tray, a more dainty affair, and less heavy. Nevertheless, by the time Adelaide had reached Louisa’s apartments, she was drenched in cold sweat, and the smooth roll of her hair was wet near her neck.
Louisa’s apartments were less flamboyant than Lavinia’s, and in much better and more discreet taste. She sat on a chaise longue near the window, a vision in floating white lace and yellow flowing hair. A small fire burned on the marble hearth. The maid puttered about, rearranging flowers in jade green bowls, and smoothing the white, lace-hung poster bed.
Louisa smiled with languid sweetness at her sister, and thanked her graciously for the tray. She inspected the coffee, rolls and marmalade which composed her breakfast, poured cream and sugar into the cup. Then she, too, noticed Adelaide’s strangeness.
“An errand?” she murmured. “On such a morning? What a shame. I suppose Linny’s forgotten something as usual. Will you be long? I wanted to use Mama’s victoria. Are you using it?”
“No,” said Adelaide, moving towards the door.
“Do wait, darling,” said Louisa. “While you are out, will you stop at Britton’s and get me a box of those candied fruits? I simply crave them all the time.”
“Yes,” answered Adelaide.
“Are you ill?” asked Louisa, with sudden sharpness, like an acid under the honey of her voice. “You look very peculiar, Adelaide. And there’s so much typhoid about. You have quite a fever, it appears.”
“I’m not ill,” said Adelaide, with bitterness. She turned at the door and looked at her sister with wide dark eyes full of contempt and pain. For a long moment the two young women regarded each other across the dainty expanse of the room. Louisa’s blue eyes narrowed with cunning acuteness. She tapped her lips with a white finger.
“Well, you are certainly not yourself, Adelaide,” she said. She paused. “On second thought, please don’t go out. There is my nightgown to finish, and I do wish the baby’s blankets to be completed with that satin ribbon. No, you really must notgo out.”
The bitterness and hatred swelled in Adelaide’s heart. She came closer to her sister, and her eyes were no longer dull, but were flashing with fire.
“I suppo
se it never occurs to either of you that I might have errands of my own to do,” she said, in a quick and breathless voice. “It never occurs to you that I’m not your slave, not your hired servant. I am going out. What I have to do is no concern of yours.”
Again, there was silence in the room. Then Louisa smiled gently.
“Do forgive me, dearest,” she said, in her sweet and contrite tone which she could use so effectively on occasion. “I am so thoughtless. You are quite right. I was only just a little worried because you appeared slightly ill, and it is no morning for one to be out who might be coming down with a cold or chill. Won’t you wear my furs over your jacket? Please?”
But Adelaide did not reply. She swung about and left the room.
By the time she had reached the lower hall she was swaying, and there were dark floating clouds of mist before her eyes. She put on her bonnet and gloves, which she had left on a chair in readiness. She heard her father’s step on the upper reaches of the stairs, and she turned and fled through a passageway to the kitchen. There was no time now to requisition a carriage. She snatched up Mrs. Courtney’s umbrella in the kitchen closet, and stepped out into the areaway. The rain had now increased in violence. Adelaide hurried to the street, holding up her heavy brown skirts. Near the corner she found a hansom, and stepped into it. She sank back on the seat, trying to control the laboured pain of her breathing. Once or twice she coughed tightly, and at each cough she winced and shivered with cold. The drone of the rain on the roof and windows took on a nightmare quality. Long brown rivers of water washed down the avenue. There was hardly a soul about at this time, which was ten o’clock.
She reached a little gray church on Broadway, standing lonely and streaming in the rain. The door was open. And in the doorway stood Anthony, waiting and smiling. Despite the rain, he ran down the steps to meet her, and when he clasped her hands and looked down into her eyes, she forgot everything in the sudden brilliant rapture and joy which assailed her.
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