‘Yes, I think he did.’
‘It’s my only consolation that in the short time there was given to him, he did nothing that was small or mean, and that in everything he was honourable, upright, and just dealing.’
‘Yes, he was all that.’
‘And in his death?’
It seemed to Alec that something caught at his throat. The ordeal was more terrible than he expected.
‘In his death he was without fear.’
Lucy drew a deep breath of relief.
‘Oh, thank God! Thank God! You don’t know how much it means to me to hear all that from your own lips. I feel that in a manner his courage, above all his death, have redeemed my father’s fault. It shows that we’re not rotten to the core, and it gives me back my self-respect. I feel I can look the world in the face once more. I’m infinitely grateful to George. He’s repaid me ten thousand times for all my love, and my care, and my anxiety.’
‘I’m very glad that it is not only grief I have brought you. I was afraid you would hate me.’
Lucy blushed, and there was a new light in her eyes. It seemed that on a sudden she had cast away the load of her unhappiness.
‘No, I could never do that.’
At that moment they heard the sound of a carriage stopping at the door.
‘There’s Aunt Alice,’ said Lucy. ‘She’s been lunching out.’
‘Then let me go,’ said Alec. ‘You must forgive me, but I feel that I want to see no one else to-day.’
He rose, and she gave him her hand. He held it firmly.
‘You haven’t changed?’
‘Don’t,’ she cried.
She looked away, for once more the tears were coming to her eyes. She tried to laugh.
‘I’m frightfully weak and emotional now. You’ll utterly despise me.’
‘I want to see you again very soon,’ he said.
The words of Ruth came to her mind: Why have I found grace in thine eyes, that thou shouldst take knowledge of me, and her heart was very full. She smiled in her old charming way.
When he was gone she drew a long breath. It seemed that a new joy was come into her life, and on a sudden she felt a keen pleasure in all the beauty of the world. She turned to the great bowl of flowers which stood on a table by the chair in which she had been sitting, and burying her face in them, voluptuously inhaled their fragrance. She knew that he loved her still.
XIV
The fickle English weather for once belied its reputation, and the whole month of May was warm and fine. It seemed that the springtime brought back Lucy’s youth to her; and, surrendering herself with all her heart to her new happiness, she took a girlish pleasure in the gaieties of the season. Alec had said nothing yet, but she was assured of his love, and she gave herself up to him with all the tender strength of her nature. She was a little overwhelmed at the importance which he seemed to have acquired, but she was very proud as well. The great ones of the earth were eager to do him honour. Papers were full of his praise. And it delighted her because he came to her for protection from lionising friends. She began to go out much more; and with Alec, Dick Lomas, and Mrs. Crowley, went much to the opera and often to the play. They had charming little dinner parties at the Carlton and amusing suppers at the Savoy. Alec did not speak much on these occasions. It pleased him to sit by and listen, with a placid face but smiling eyes, to the nonsense that Dick Lomas and the pretty American talked incessantly. And Lucy watched him. Every day she found something new to interest her in the strong, sunburned face; and sometimes their eyes met: then they smiled quietly. They were very happy.
One evening Dick asked the others to sup with him; and since Alec had a public dinner to attend, and Lucy was going to the play with Lady Kelsey, he took Julia Crowley to the opera. To make an even number he invited Robert Boulger to join them at the Savoy. After brushing his hair with the scrupulous thought his thinning locks compelled, Dick waited in the vestibule for Mrs. Crowley. Presently she came, looking very pretty in a gown of flowered brocade which made her vaguely resemble a shepherdess in an old French picture. With her diamond necklace and a tiara in her dark hair, she looked like a dainty princess playing fantastically at the simple life.
‘I think people are too stupid,’ she broke out, as she joined Dick. ‘I’ve just met a woman who said to me: “Oh, I hear you’re going to America. Do go and call on my sister. She’ll be so glad to see you.” “I shall be delighted,” I said, “but where does your sister live?” “Jonesville, Ohio,” “Good heavens,” I said, “I live in New York, and what should I be doing in Jonesville, Ohio?”’
‘Keep perfectly calm,’ said Dick.
‘I shall not keep calm,’ she answered. ‘I hate to be obviously thought next door to a red Indian by a woman who’s slab-sided and round-shouldered. And I’m sure she has dirty petticoats.’
‘Why?’
‘English women do.’
‘What a monstrous libel!’ cried Dick.
At that moment they saw Lady Kelsey come in with Lucy, and a moment later Alec and Robert Boulger joined them. They went in to supper and sat down.
‘I hate Amelia,’ said Mrs. Crowley emphatically, as she laid her long white gloves by the side of her.
‘I deplore the prejudice with which you regard a very jolly sort of a girl,’ answered Dick.
‘Amelia has everything that I thoroughly object to in a woman. She has no figure, and her legs are much too long, and she doesn’t wear corsets. In the daytime she has a weakness for picture hats, and she can’t say boo to a goose.’
‘Who is Amelia?’ asked Boulger.
‘Amelia is Mr. Lomas’ affianced wife,’ answered the lady, with a provoking glance at him.
‘I didn’t know you were going to be married, Dick,’ said Lady Kelsey, inclined to be a little hurt because nothing had been said to her of this.
‘I’m not,’ he answered. ‘And I’ve never set eyes on Amelia yet. She is an imaginary character that Mrs. Crowley has invented as the sort of woman whom I would marry.’
‘I know Amelia,’ Mrs. Crowley went on. ‘She wears quantities of false hair, and she’ll adore you. She’s so meek and so quiet, and she thinks you such a marvel. But don’t ask me to be nice to Amelia.’
‘My dear lady, Amelia wouldn’t approve of you. She’d think you much too outspoken, and she wouldn’t like your American accent. You must never forget that Amelia is the granddaughter of a baronet.’
‘I shall hold her up to Fleming as an awful warning of the woman whom I won’t let him marry at any price. “If you marry a woman like that, Fleming,” I shall say to him, “I shan’t leave you a penny. It shall all go the University of Pennsylvania.”’
‘If ever it is my good fortune to meet Fleming, I shall have great pleasure in kicking him hard,’ said Dick. ‘I think he’s a most objectionable little beast.’
‘How can you be so absurd? Why, my dear Mr. Lomas, Fleming could take you up in one hand and throw you over a ten-foot wall.’
‘Fleming must be a sportsman,’ said Bobbie, who did not in the least know whom they were talking about.
‘He is,’ answered Mrs. Crowley. ‘He’s been used to the saddle since he was three years old, and I’ve never seen the fence that would make him lift a hair. And he’s the best swimmer at Harvard, and he’s a wonderful shot — I wish you could see him shoot, Mr. MacKenzie — and he’s a dear.’
‘Fleming’s a prig,’ said Dick.
‘I’m afraid you’re too old for Fleming,’ said Mrs. Crowley, looking at Lucy. ‘If it weren’t for that, I’d make him marry you.’
‘Is Fleming your brother, Mrs. Crowley?’ asked Lady Kelsey.
‘No, Fleming’s my son.’
‘But you haven’t got a son,’ retorted the elder lady, much mystified.
‘No, I know I haven’t; but Fleming would have been my son if I’d had one.’
‘You mustn’t mind them, Aunt Alice,’ smiled Lucy gaily. ‘They argue by the hour about Amelia and Flemi
ng, and neither of them exists; but sometimes they go into such details and grow so excited that I really begin to believe in them myself.’
But Mrs. Crowley, though she appeared a light-hearted and thoughtless little person, had much common sense; and when their party was ended and she was giving Dick a lift in her carriage, she showed that, notwithstanding her incessant chatter, her eyes throughout the evening had been well occupied.
‘Did you owe Bobbie a grudge that you asked him to supper?’ she asked suddenly.
‘Good heavens, no. Why?’
‘I hope Fleming won’t be such a donkey as you are when he’s your age.’
‘I’m sure Amelia will be much more polite than you to the amiable, middle-aged gentleman who has the good fortune to be her husband.’
‘You might have noticed that the poor boy was eating his heart out with jealousy and mortification, and Lucy was too much absorbed in Alec to pay the very smallest attention to him.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Mrs. Crowley gave him a glance of amused disdain.
‘Haven’t you noticed that Lucy is desperately in love with Mr. MacKenzie, and it doesn’t move her in the least that poor Bobbie has fetched and carried for her for ten years, done everything she deigned to ask, and been generally nice and devoted and charming?’
‘You amaze me,’ said Dick. ‘It never struck me that Lucy was the kind of girl to fall in love with anyone. Poor thing. I’m so sorry.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Alec wouldn’t dream of marrying. He’s not that sort of man.’
‘Nonsense. Every man is a marrying man if a woman really makes up her mind to it.’
‘Don’t say that. You terrify me.’
‘You need not be in the least alarmed,’ answered Mrs. Crowley, coolly, ‘because I shall refuse you.’
‘It’s very kind of you to reassure me,’ he answered, smiling. ‘But all the same I don’t think I’ll risk a proposal.’
‘My dear friend, your only safety is in immediate flight.’
‘Why?’
‘It must be obvious to the meanest intelligence that you’ve been on the verge of proposing to me for the last four years.’
‘Nothing will induce me to be false to Amelia.’
‘I don’t believe that Amelia really loves you.’
‘I never said she did; but I’m sure she’s quite willing to marry me.’
‘I think that’s detestably vain.’
‘Not at all. However old, ugly, and generally undesirable a man is, he’ll find a heap of charming girls who are willing to marry him. Marriage is still the only decent means of livelihood for a really nice woman.’
‘Don’t let’s talk about Amelia; let’s talk about me,’ said Mrs. Crowley.
‘I don’t think you’re half so interesting.’
‘Then you’d better take Amelia to the play to-morrow night instead of me.’
‘I’m afraid she’s already engaged.’
‘Nothing will induce me to play second fiddle to Amelia.’
‘I’ve taken the seats and ordered an exquisite dinner at the Carlton.’
‘What have you ordered?’
‘Potage bisque.’
Mrs. Crowley made a little face.
‘Sole Normande.’
She shrugged her shoulders.
‘Wild duck.’
‘With an orange salad?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t positively dislike that.’
‘And I’ve ordered a souffle with an ice in the middle of it.’
‘I shan’t come.’
‘Why?’
‘You’re not being really nice to me.’
‘I shouldn’t have thought you kept very well abreast of dramatic art if you insist on marrying everyone who takes you to a theatre,’ he said.
‘I was very nicely brought up,’ she answered demurely, as the carriage stopped at Dick’s door.
She gave him a ravishing smile as he took leave of her. She knew that he was quite prepared to marry her, and she had come to the conclusion that she was willing to have him. Neither much wished to hurry the affair, and each was determined that he would only yield to save the other from a fancied desperation. Their love-making was pursued with a light heart.
At Whitsuntide the friends separated. Alec went up to Scotland to see his house and proposed afterwards to spend a week in Lancashire. He had always taken a keen interest in the colliery which brought him so large an income, and he wanted to examine into certain matters that required his attention. Mrs. Crowley went to Blackstable, where she still had Court Leys, and Dick, in order to satisfy himself that he was not really a day older, set out for Paris. But they all arranged to meet again on the day, immediately after the holidays, which Lady Kelsey, having persuaded Lucy definitely to renounce her life of comparative retirement, had fixed for a dance. It was the first ball she had given for many years, and she meant it to be brilliant. Lady Kelsey had an amiable weakness for good society, and Alec’s presence would add lustre to the occasion. Meanwhile she went with Lucy to her little place on the river, and did not return till two days before the party. They were spent in a turmoil of agitation. Lady Kelsey passed sleepless nights, fearing at one moment that not a soul would appear, and at another that people would come in such numbers that there would not be enough for them to eat. The day arrived.
But then happened an event which none but Alec could in the least have expected; and he, since his return from Africa, had been so taken up with his love for Lucy, that the possibility of it had slipped his memory.
Fergus Macinnery, the man whom three years before he had dismissed ignominiously from his service, found a way to pay off an old score.
Of the people most nearly concerned in the matter, it was Lady Kelsey who had first news of it. The morning papers were brought into her boudoir with her breakfast, and as she poured out her coffee, she ran her eyes lazily down the paragraphs of the Morning Post in which are announced the comings and goings of society. Then she turned to the Daily Mail. Her attention was suddenly arrested. Staring at her, in the most prominent part of the page, was a column of printed matter headed: The Death of Mr. George Allerton. It was a letter, a column long, signed by Fergus Macinnery. Lady Kelsey read it with amazement and dismay. At first she could not follow it, and she read it again; now its sense was clear to her, and she was overcome with horror. In set words, mincing no terms, it accused Alec MacKenzie of sending George Allerton to his death in order to save himself. The words treachery and cowardice were used boldly. The dates were given, and the testimony of natives was adduced.
The letter adverted with scathing sarcasm to the rewards and congratulations which had fallen to MacKenzie as a result of his labours; and ended with a challenge to him to bring an action for criminal libel against the writer. At first the whole thing seemed monstrous to Lady Kelsey, it was shameful, shameful; but in a moment she found there was a leading article on the subject, and then she did not know what to believe. It referred to the letter in no measured terms: the writer observed that prima facie the case was very strong and called upon Alec to reply without delay. Big words were used, and there was much talk of a national scandal. An instant refutation was demanded. Lady Kelsey did not know what on earth to do, and her thoughts flew to the dance, the success of which would certainly be imperilled by these revelations. She must have help at once. This business, if it concerned the world in general, certainly concerned Lucy more than anyone. Ringing for her maid, she told her to get Dick Lomas on the telephone and ask him to come at once. While she was waiting, she heard Lucy come downstairs and knew that she meant to wish her good-morning. She hid the paper hurriedly.
When Lucy came in and kissed her, she said:
‘What is the news this morning?’
‘I don’t think there is any,’ said Lady Kelsey, uneasily. ‘Only the Post has come; we shall really have to change our newsagent.’
She waited with beating hear
t for Lucy to pursue the subject, but naturally enough the younger woman did not trouble herself. She talked to her aunt of the preparations for the party that evening, and then, saying that she had much to do, left her. She had no sooner gone than Lady Kelsey’s maid came back to say that Lomas was out of town and not expected back till the evening. Distractedly Lady Kelsey sent messages to her nephew and to Mrs. Crowley. She still looked upon Bobbie as Lucy’s future husband, and the little American was Lucy’s greatest friend. They were both found. Boulger had gone down as usual to the city, but in consideration of Lady Kelsey’s urgent request, set out at once to see her.
He had changed little during the last four years, and had still a boyish look on his round, honest face. To Mrs. Crowley he seemed always an embodiment of British philistinism; and if she liked him for his devotion to Lucy, she laughed at him for his stolidity. When he arrived, Mrs. Crowley was already with Lady Kelsey. She had known nothing of the terrible letter, and Lady Kelsey, thinking that perhaps it had escaped him too, went up to him with the Daily Mail in her hand.
‘Have you seen the paper, Bobbie?’ she asked excitedly. ‘What on earth are we to do?’
He nodded.
‘What does Lucy say?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I’ve not let her see it. I told a horrid fib and said the newsagent had forgotten to leave it.’
‘But she must know,’ he answered gravely.
‘Not to-day,’ protested Lady Kelsey. ‘Oh, it’s too dreadful that this should happen to-day of all days. Why couldn’t they wait till to-morrow? After all Lucy’s troubles it seemed as if a little happiness was coming back into her life, and now this dreadful thing happens.’
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Bobbie.
‘What can I do?’ said Lady Kelsey desperately. ‘I can’t put the dance off. I wish I had the courage to write and ask Mr. MacKenzie not to come.’
Bobbie made a slight gesture of impatience. It irritated him that his aunt should harp continually on the subject of this wretched dance. But for all that he tried to reassure her.
‘I don’t think you need be afraid of MacKenzie. He’ll never venture to show his face.’
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 125
