Claire brought out this final statement with a mixture of anxiety and bravado.
“I know,” Leonie said with a sigh.
“You know?” Claire was plainly taken aback.
“But, in Kingsley’s own words, that’s irretrievably past now. He doesn’t want to marry you any more, Claire. He wants to marry me—because he thinks I, too, am a very wealthy girl, but, unlike you, I haven’t got a father who will prove difficult.”
“I don’t believe it!” Claire sprang to her feet, and for a moment she stood staring at Leonie, almost as though she would strike her.
“I’m sorry, dear. There’s no easy way of saying these things. But it’s absolutely true. That was what we were talking about when you saw us on deck.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Claire again. And before Leonie could stop her, she wrenched opened the stateroom door and went running along the corridor and up the stairs, presumably in search of Kingsley Stour.
Leonie, suddenly feeling drained and exhausted, dropped down into the chair which Claire had vacated.
She had hated every minute of that interview, but she would willingly have prolonged it rather than have Claire receive the final disillusioning blow at Kingsley Stour’s hands. Try as she would, she could not feel anything but a brute to have set such a train of events in motion.
She reminded herself that she had had proof after proof of Kingsley Stour’s worthlessness and his unscrupulous designs. She tried to imagine the sort of life from which Claire had really been rescued. But nothing could alter the fact that her sweet, disarming, affectionate companion was being dealt a cruel blow, and that she herself was responsible.
For a long time Leonie sat there, feeling unutterably dispirited, and longing nostalgically for her distant home, where, it seemed to her now, no emotional complications ever occurred.
Then at last she heard light, familiar footsteps returning, and she braced herself for the entry of a shattered Claire.
But although the door opened, and Claire stepped into the room, there was nothing shattered about her. She looked puzzled and angry, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. And what she said was—
“Leonie, why did you tell me that wicked story? I’ve been talking to Kingsley and I told him all about it. He says there isn’t a word of truth in it.”
CHAPTER NINE
If the floor of the cabin had opened and deposited her somewhere in the engine-room, Leonie could not have been more astounded. She stared at Claire in stupefaction, while the most dreadful chill of misgiving crept over her.
“N-not a word,” she stammered. “No truth in it? But of course there is! How dare he be like that! Not an hour ago he was begging me to marry him, and telling me that any feeling he had had for you—”
“Look here, dear; it’s no good trying to add these embarrassing details.” Claire spoke almost kindly, and in a much calmer tone than Leonie, who had believed that she would have to do the calming. “I don’t know what can have come over you, but I suppose we all do the craziest things at times. If you—if you’ve got a crush on Kingsley, as he says, I do understand, but it was terribly mean of you to—”
“Crush on him!” Leonie pounced on the offending phrase. “I can’t stand him, if you must know the truth. He’s nothing but a cheap, small-time adventurer, looking for a wealthy girl without too much parental trouble attached.”
“Leonie!”
“But it’s true! Do you suppose I’d have felt it my business to interfere and try to save you from him otherwise?”
“It was rather impertinent of you to have such ideas, anyway,” Claire retorted coldly.
“Oh, I know it sounds awful, put that way!”
Distractedly Leonie put up her hands and absently rubbed her cheeks, which felt and looked pale. Then, with a great effort, she made herself speak slowly and reasonably.
“Look, Claire—however interfering or impertinent it may sound, I was deeply worried about you, and felt I must try to let you see him in his true colors.”
“But you don’t know anything about his true colors. You don’t know him as I do, Leonie. I know you were prejudiced against him from the beginning, but it was quite unfair of you, because you simply didn’t know him until you came on board.”
“I knew about him,” Leonie said desperately.
“What did you know?” asked Claire sharply.
There was a moment’s hesitation. And then it seemed to Leonie that the time had come for complete candor. Even Sir James would surely absolve her at this moment.
“Your father told me he was worried about an attachment you had had, and he described the man in in less than complimentary terms. That very first night on board I happened to see you and Kingsley Stour together—”
“You mean you spied on us?” Claire’s lovely face was suddenly quite hard.
“No.” Leonie made a little gesture of protest. “It was quite by accident. But I couldn’t doubt who he was, when I saw you together—Please be fair to me, Claire. It was a perfectly odious position for me to be in. I simply didn’t know what to do.”
“It wasn’t necessary for you to do anything,” Claire said, but more quietly. “It wasn’t your business, Leonie. Can’t you see that?”
“Well, to a certain extent I did feel that. Certainly enough to keep me from letting your father know— particularly when we heard he was ill and must not be worried. But after the incident at Naples, when Kingsley Stour deliberately tried to have me left behind—”
“That’s another crazy idea of yours,” Claire interrupted impatiently. “Why should he, anyway?”
“Because I had told him I knew why he was on board,” said Leonie, looking straight at the other girl.
“O-oh—” For the first time Claire looked a trifle shaken. But she recovered again almost immediately and said angrily, “You told me you were satisfied that was all an accident, after all. You seemed to accept his explanation.”
“I only pretended to.”
“You’ve done rather a lot of pretending, it seems to me,” Claire said curtly.
“Yes,” Leonie agreed unhappily. “But you presented me with the best bit of pretence, you remember. The idea that I was a rich girl, travelling for pleasure. That was what really precipitated matters. When I found there was no way of arguing you into seeing Kingsley Stour as he was, I determined to make him show you himself.”
The other girl made an impatient little movement of her shoulders, but Leonie refused to be silenced.
“I embroidered your story about me. I let him think I was not only wealthy, but peculiarly without any hard-headed men-folk to interfere with my plans. I’m sorry, Claire—but from that day he began paying me quite extravagant court. It ended this evening, as I’ve told you, in his asking me to marry him.”
“But he denies it.”
“Then he is lying,” said Leonie coldly and flatly, and with such conviction that again Claire looked shaken.
There was a moment’s silence. Then she said, almost pleadingly.
“One of you is lying, Leonie. And—I’m sorry—but naturally I take the word of the man I love against yours.”
“Then you think I just built up a tissue of lies, because I want him myself?” Leonie looked incredulous. “You think I’m jealous and trying to make mischief? You can’t think that, Claire. You know me too well.”
“No, I don’t think that.” Claire spoke slowly, in a troubled tone. “I thought it for a moment, because I couldn’t imagine any other possible reason for your saying such things. But now you’ve told me about what Father said, I think I know what happened. I accept the fact that you genuinely felt you ought to do something. It was officious of you, and you were acting without knowing the truth about Kingsley, but—you felt you should. All right. But when you found your arguments didn’t affect me, you should have left it at that, Leonie. I think you’ve made up this tale this evening, in a last attempt to estrange me from Kingsley.”
“
Oh, Claire!”
“And though I’m willing to believe you feel you’re acting from excellent motives, I think it’s pretty mean of you.”
Leonie gave an angry little laugh and pushed back her hair with the back of her hand, in a weary gesture, for it had been an exhausting evening.
“I don’t know what else to say to you,” she said helplessly. “If you really suppose I should invent all that—”
“Why should Kingsley deny it? We always come back to that. If your story were true, Leonie, he would have regretfully admitted it. I gave him the opportunity to do so. If he really wanted to be free to marry you, why didn’t he say so?”
“I don’t know,” said Leonie unhappily.
“You see?”
“Unless—” Suddenly like a light in the darkness the explanation flashed into Leonie’s mind. “Claire, will you answer me something quite truthfully?”
“Ye-es.”
“Before you told Kingsley what I had said to you, did you tell him—did you even casually mention—that I was not at all what you had made me out to be? That I was just a girl in your father’s office?”
For perhaps half a minute there were signs of a struggle on Claire’s face. Then, true to her promise, she admitted reluctantly,
“Well, I—did, as a matter of fact. I suppose you think that was very mean?”
“Not necessarily. But—how did you put it?” asked Leonie curiously, because she simply could not imagine how this conversation could have gone.
“Why, you see—I couldn’t just rush up to him and tax him with proposing to you. At least, fortunately I didn’t make such a fool of myself. I said that I wanted to—to speak to him about you. And he said, ‘Oh? My friend Leonie?—the golden girl?’ and laughed.”
“Yes?” prompted Leonie, as Claire hesitated.
“I felt mad suddenly, particularly after what you had said, and—it was mean, as a matter of fact,” she added in objective parenthesis—”I instinctively tore away all the borrowed glamor and said, ‘She’s not a golden girl. She’s just a girl in my father’s office.’ I’m sorry, Leonie.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Leonie said gently. “It doesn’t matter a bit, as far as I am concerned. Only that was why he repudiated any proposal he had made.”
“Oh, Leonie, that’s not true!”
Claire’s denial was immediate and emphatic. But, for the first time, Leonie thought she detected a note of misgiving in the other girl’s voice, and wisely did not press her point. It was just possible, she supposed, that Claire’s own common sense and judgment might gradually accomplish what no further argument could do.
There was silence in the cabin for quite a long time. Then Leonie said,
“It’s been a horrible evening, hasn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever felt more exhausted or drained in my life. I’m going to bed, Claire.”
“But we haven’t—I mean, we can’t leave it like that. We haven’t settled anything.”
“We’ve arrived at an impasse,” Leonie replied. “As you said, either he or I must be lying. You prefer his word to mine, and you’re quite entitled to do so. That’s all there is to it.”
“But you—you won’t admit—” Claire hesitated.
“I’ve nothing to admit, Claire dear. Except that I interfered too enthusiastically, perhaps, in someone else’s affairs, and I’ve no one to blame but myself if I appear in a very unfavorable light.”
“And is that—all you have to say?” Claire sounded almost pathetically anxious to recapitulate her arguments to someone.
“Yes, and I’m going to bed,” Leonie said. “Goodnight, Claire.” And, without more ado she went into her own room and shut the door after her.
But the moment she was alone, she dropped down on the bed and buried her face in her hands. It had been the most odious, the most shattering experience of her life, and now that she no longer needed to keep up appearances, she found that she was actually shaking.
Never before had she attempted to measure herself against someone unscrupulous and quick-witted. And the speed and completeness with which he had turned the tables on her, and made her seem the liar, gave her the same sort of shock as if he had slapped her face.
“I ought never to have put myself in such a position,” she thought, much too late. “My instinct was sound when it prompted me to withdraw. When I felt that—that Mr. Pembridge would have thought poorly of the whole thing.”
Only—the Assistant Surgeon had offered her such a splendid opportunity, as it seemed, that evening. She had felt so sure that the moment for rescuing Claire had come. It would have been cowardly to refuse it.
“And it would have worked,” thought Leonie, “if only Claire hadn’t innocently blurted out the truth first. That must have been a shock for him!”
There was some slight consolation in that thought, even though of a somewhat unworthy variety. And, very faintly cheered by it, Leonie undressed and went to bed.
Sheer weariness kept her from lying awake. But her troubles seemed to follow her into her sleep, and she woke, unrefreshed, to the unpleasant realization that she would have to face an angry, disillusioned Kingsley Stour at the first surgery.
Not that he was in a position to upbraid her, of course. But the whole situation had now become so utterly distasteful to her that she wished with all her heart that she need never set eyes on him again.
It did not, however, occur to her to try to get out of the duties she had voluntarily assumed. And so, promptly on time, she presented herself at the surgery, and had everything in readiness by the time the Assistant Surgeon entered—cool, handsome and completely self-possessed, in his white uniform.
“Good morning, Nurse,” he said, addressing her thus for the first time.
“Good morning.”
“Looks like a busy morning. I see there are several of the crew already waiting outside.”
“Y-yes. I thought I heard them talking.”
“Better let the first ones in, and we’ll get going right away.”
“Very well, sir,” said Leonie, and went to summon their first patient.
She supposed he could not very well have staged any sort of scene, with several of the crew already waiting to come into the surgery for attention. But that he should say nothing—give no indication in his manner that they had passed through the most profound crisis since last meeting—seemed almost unbelievable.
He was treating her as he might have treated Nurse Meech. With rather more pleasant formality, if anything. Very much the busy Assistant Surgeon who appreciated his nurse’s presence, but only in a purely professional way.
She was divided between indignation and amusement.
This was the man who had declared passionate love to her the previous evening—who had, in fact, begged her to marry him. He must know that she knew him now for exactly what he was, for he could not suppose that Claire had kept silent on their conversation. And yet—he was apparently not even abashed.
As she noted down treatments, changed dressings, bandaged minor injuries, Leonie was thinking,
“Then this is how he deals with awkward situations. He just ignores them—puts a line under them. If I don’t say anything, I don’t believe he will. He simply relies on his bare-faced effrontery and his persuasive tongue—Oh, what shall I do with Claire?”
Between the crew surgery and the hour for the cabin-class passengers there was a slight pause.
“You might take those prescriptions along to the dispensary, Nurse. I’m going to step outside for a smoke,” said the Assistant Surgeon, without even glancing at her.
“Very well, sir. I suppose that does get you out of the awkward possibility of having to stay and explain yourself,” Leonie replied coolly.
She thought for a moment that he was even going to turn his back on that challenge. Then he raised his head and regarded her with a sardonic little smile which made him look a much older and harder man than he usually looked.
“What about doing some expl
aining yourself? he inquired scornfully.
“Do you think it’s necessary? I’m quite willing to do so, if you would really like me to put into words — She stopped, because footsteps were heard coming along the narrow corridor, and she recognized them for Mr. Pembridge’s. At this point, however, Kingsley Stour did not seem to think silence was called for.
“Perhaps you don’t need to explain, after all, he said coolly and distinctly. “But remember in future that any girl who passes herself off as something she is not runs the risk of getting her fingers pretty badly burnt. Isn’t that so, sir?” He turned with a grin to Mr. Pembridge, who had come in in time to hear most of this speech
“As a general principle—yes,” replied the Senior Surgeon, not appearing to notice that Leonie turned scarlet and then white with mortification. “But as applied to Nurse Creighton, it’s simply a piece of damned impertinence. I imagine you will want apologize, now you’ve had a moment to think it through.”
“On the contrary, I see no reason to apologize.”
“My mistake,” said Mr. Pembridge coldly. “I had supposed you were a gentleman. You have the outward appearance of one. But I see I was wrong.”
“Look here, sir!—if you knew half that I do about Nurse Creighton—”
“I know a great deal more about Nurse Creighton than you, my dear fellow, and I don’t intend to have her insulted while she’s working for me. Now kindly go and cool your heels somewhere else while I take the passengers’ surgery,” said Mr. Pembridge.
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