“Yes,” said Iain vaguely, and then he plucked up courage and added, “I wonder if Linda—if Mrs. Medworth is in.”
Mrs. Hetherington Smith smiled benignly. “Linda has gone down to the boat-house with Richard,” she told him. “They were going to have a picnic in the woods. You’re sure to meet them if you walk down towards the boat-house—why don’t you?”
“Perhaps I will,” said Iain, with assumed carelessness.
“I think you should,” his hostess told him, and then she laughed. “You needn’t pretend to me,” she said, shaking her head at him. “I could see last night that there was something in the wind—I’m not so blind as all that—and Sir Julius saw it too—he was furious—”
Iain blushed. “Linda and I—” he said confusedly . . .
“It’s all right,” said Mrs. Hetherington Smith. “It’s quite all right and natural. I thought when I saw you dancing together it was beautifully right. Linda is lovely, inside and out—she’ll be free soon—”
“I know,” said Iain. He got up and stood there looking down at her—she really was a dear, so kind and comfortable.
“Sir Julius is old,” continued Mrs. Hetherington Smith ruthlessly, “old and—and dull. He wouldn’t have had a chance, anyhow. Don’t worry about Sir Julius.”
“I’m not worrying about him.”
“What are you worrying about, then?”
“Linda is—afraid,” said Iain slowly. “She’s afraid of Medworth—afraid something will go wrong. And I—I’m afraid of shadows. It would be too wonderful, you see, too good to be true.”
She looked up at him and thought: He is nice—almost good enough for Linda. No man could be quite good enough. It’s nice to feel they wouldn’t have met if it hadn’t been for me. How lovely it will be for Linda living here in this beautiful place—she’ll be happy here, she’s just the right person. If it had been Greta it would have been a disaster—Greta would never settle down here, miles from everywhere. What a good thing he has fallen in love with the right one—men are so silly sometimes. “You shouldn’t be afraid,” she said aloud. “Everything will come right. Ardfalloch is a lucky place—it’s brought me luck anyhow.” It was Arthur she was thinking of—Ardfalloch had brought Arthur back to her arms; had weaned him from Business—that exigeant mistress of his. He might return to his mistress when they returned to London—that was possible, of course—but, meanwhile, Arthur was her very own, and, even if he was only temporarily hers, it was something. It showed that his heart, which she had feared was dead, was still alive and warm and beating. “Yes,” she said, “Ardfalloch has brought me luck and I’m sure it will bring Linda luck too.”
“I should like to think so,” said Iain gravely.
Mrs. Hetherington Smith’s mind travelled back to the first time she had met Linda at M. Gaston’s mannequin parade. We’ve come a long way since then, she thought. Fancy, if I hadn’t had the courage to speak to her! None of this would have happened; Linda wouldn’t have come here, and I would never have seen Richard—the darling thing—and this young man would never have met her—how queer it is I She said aloud, “Off you go, Mr. MacAslan—I know you’re longing to find her. I won’t ring the bell for you to be shown out, because it would be silly when it’s your own house—and we’re friends, now, aren’t we?”
“I should think we are friends,” he said fervently.
Iain left her and went out to find Linda. The day had clouded over and dark clouds were gathering over the hills. He could smell rain coming and he was not altogether sorry, for the country needed rain; but Linda and Richard would have to hurry home, or they would get wet.
He had not gone far when he saw Linda. She was standing near the boat-house talking to a boy with red hair—one of Alec MacNeil’s brood by the look of him. Linda looked up and saw Iain coming and came to meet him. He saw that she had a piece of paper in her hand. He saw, too, as he hurried to meet her, that she looked ghastly—her face was as white as a sheet, her hands were shaking.
“Linda!” he exclaimed. “My dear, what is the matter? Where’s Richard?” It’s Richard, he thought, something frightful has happened to the child.
“Richard is down at the boat-house,” she said tonelessly.
“Are you—are you ill, Linda?” he asked her.
She put the piece of paper into his hand. “Read it,” she said. “That boy has just brought it—just given it to me.”
Iain took the crumpled paper and smoothed it out. He read.
DEAR LINDA,—
I must see you. I have something to say to you. It is to your own interest to hear what I have to say. You’ll regret it if you refuse. Tell the red-haired boy when and where I can see you.
JACK.
Iain read it twice and then he looked at Linda. “Medworth!” he exclaimed. “So it was he—”
“Oh, Iain, what am I to do?”
“You had better let me see him for you,” Iain said, trying to speak calmly.
“No,” she said. “No, I must see him myself—there’s something—I must see what he wants—what he means to do. Anything is better than this ghastly uncertainty.”
“What can he have to say to you?”
“I don’t know,” she said, still in that queer expressionless voice. “I don’t know—but I feel—I feel it’s something horrible.”
Iain felt the same—the tone of the letter was threatening—but it was no use tormenting themselves with vain speculations. The only thing to be done was to see Medworth, and if Linda felt she must see him herself she must do so.
“You had better arrange to meet him at my cottage,” Iain said. “We can be undisturbed there—if you really feel you must see him yourself—”
“I must,” she said firmly. “Yes, your cottage will be the best place. Oh, Iain, I am sorry I have brought all this trouble upon you!”
Iain paid no attention to her outburst—the only way to help her was to be strictly business-like. He made her write on the back of the note that she would see Medworth at the cottage at three o’clock the following afternoon. Then he folded the note and gave it to the reel-haired boy.
“Where is the gentleman living?” Iain asked.
“He is living at MacTaggart’s,” the boy replied. “He did be giving me a sixpence to be taking the letter to the lady.”
“Here is another sixpence for you,” Iain said. “Take the answer straight back to the gentleman.”
The boy thanked him and ran off, well pleased with his afternoon’s work.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE INTERVIEW
Everything was prepared for Linda’s interview with Medworth. Mrs. MacAslan and Janet had been sent out to have a picnic in the woods. Iain was hanging about, waiting for Linda to arrive. He had gone to the door for the fourth time to peer up the path, when he heard steps coming from the opposite direction, and saw James Middleton coming towards him through the trees. Iain was annoyed, he did not want strangers prowling round while the interview was taking place.
“Hullo!” he said, not very cordially. “Do you want the boat?”
“Not to-day, thank you.”
“I’m sorry I can’t ask you in,” said Iain frankly.
“I’m expecting some people on business—”
“You’re expecting me,” Middleton replied.
The two men looked at each other for a few moments in silence.
“So you’re Medworth!” Iain said at last. He thought—I might have guessed—and yet how could I? The swine has been here all the time spying on Linda.
They were still standing there, when Linda emerged from the woods and came quickly down the slope. She was dressed in a grey Shetland cardigan and skirt, and a small red hat. Iain glanced at her anxiously; she was even paler than usual, but she seemed quite calm and composed. They all went into the sitting-room.
“You’re looking rather pale, Linda,” said Medworth, with mock solicitude. “Haven’t you been enjoying your holiday?”
Linda sat d
own by the table and drew off her gloves. She said quietly, “You didn’t ask me here to discuss my looks.”
“Not altogether,” Medworth replied. “But your looks are your strong point, you know, and I haven’t seen you for a long time.” He sat down at the table opposite to her and stared at her impudently.
Iain lingered near the window, he would have liked to strangle the man, but he knew that he must not interfere. Linda had agreed to his being present at the interview, but had impressed upon him that she was to be allowed to manage it in her own way. I mustn’t interfere, Iain told himself firmly, not at first, anyway—not until we see what line he is going to take. Linda knows him—perhaps she can manage him . . .
“Come to business, please, Jack,” Linda said. “If you have anything to say—”
“I’ve got a lot to say,” replied the man with a breezy laugh. “A bibful—as the Yanks put it.”
Linda waited quietly—she was rather wonderful, Iain thought; there was something almost frightening about her. He had never seen her like this before—cold as ice—an ice maiden. He saw that she was undermining the man’s confidence by her silence and composure.
“Well, it’s like this,” Medworth began in a blustering voice. “I want my son, and I’m damn well going to have him. The judge gave him to you—I know that, so you needn’t stuff that down my throat. He gave you the child because he thought you were a fit person to have him—but are you? That’s what I want to know.”
He waited for Linda’s reply, but none came. She was still waiting, looking at him with a kind of cold disdain, waiting for him to state his case.
“Supposing we had another little party at the Divorce Court,” continued Medworth. “How would you like that, eh? You might not come out of it so well this time.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Linda said.
“You know quite well what I mean, but I’ll put it baldly if that’s what you want. You’re supposed to behave yourself for six months after your divorce, or you don’t get your decree absolute. Well, you haven’t been behaving yourself. You’ve taken a lover, haven’t you—”
Iain started up—he would have to interfere—he would have to speak. He was silenced by a look from Linda.
“You are wrong,” she said to Medworth. “I haven’t taken a lover.”
Medworth laughed in a sneering way. “So you say—you would say that, of course, but you can’t kid me. You had plenty of opportunities. If you didn’t take them you’re more of a fool than I thought.”
“You judge other people by yourself,” Linda said. “Other people—”
“See here, Linda,” he interrupted. “I don’t care whether you went all the way or not—it’s nothing to me—get that. I’ve got enough evidence to convince any ordinary-minded man that you and MacAslan are lovers—that’s all I want.”
“Evidence!” exclaimed Linda.
“Evidence,” he repeated. “I’ve found out a good deal about your goings on in spite of the way MacAslan has bribed the villagers not to give you away—”
“Bribed the villagers!” Iain exclaimed in amazement.
Medworth turned his head and looked at Iain. “Yes, bribed the villagers,” he said in a sneering voice. “I suppose you thought I wouldn’t find out the way you had bribed them. Why, the very first moment I set foot in the village you were at your little game.”
Iain gazed at him, thoroughly bewildered by the accusation.
“Oh, you’re clever enough,” Medworth allowed, “but that innocent expression won’t wash in a Court of Law. When I came into MacTaggart’s that first day you were bribing Alec MacNeil—it was the first thing I heard you say—‘Keep your mouth shut and you’ll get what you want’ you said to him. Those were your very words. I thought there was something pretty fishy about it and I wasn’t far wrong. I soon found that everybody in the place is bribed to keep their mouth shut. I’ve only got to mention your name and they shut up like clams.”
Iain said, “My God! So that’s how evidence is made.”
“But it doesn’t matter a damn,” continued Medworth. “That’s the beauty of it—I don’t need the villagers’ evidence. I’ve got enough evidence without them.”
“You can’t have evidence of something that doesn’t exist,” said Linda with a touch of spirit.
“I have got evidence,” Medworth replied loudly, “quite enough to make the King’s Proctor sit up and take notice. What about that night on the island—the night of the 11th August. You spent the whole night alone with MacAslan on the island.”
“We were wrecked,” said Linda. She was beginning to lose her ice-cold composure under the strain.
“That was very unfortunate for you,” Medworth said mockingly. “Very unfortunate indeed. I wonder how you spent the night.”
“I will tell you how we spent the night,” cried Iain, goaded beyond endurance. “We sat on a bench in front of the fire and talked all night—you are not likely to believe that, I suppose.”
“You are perfectly right,” agreed Medworth, smiling at Iain. “I am not likely to believe that—nor the judge either. We will now pass on to the next piece of evidence,” he continued, putting on a mock-lawyer manner that was indescribably galling to his hearers. “On the night of the 19th August the defendant visited the co-defendant’s house at 10.30 p.m. and stayed there with him alone in the house for about an hour. They came out of the house together about 11.30 p.m. (she clinging lovingly to his arm) and walked back very slowly and reluctantly to Ardfalloch House.”
“My God!” Iain cried, taking a step towards him. “So it was you prowling about the place that night—it was you—”
“It certainly was,” laughed Medworth. “We had a little game of hide-and-seek together, hadn’t we? Rather tactless of me to butt in like that and interrupt you, I’m afraid.”
“There was nothing—” Iain cried hotly.
“Please be quiet,” Linda said, stopping him with a movement of her hand. “Iain, please be quiet. You’re doing no good. Can’t you see how hopeless it is to make him understand?” She turned back to Medworth. “Go on,” she said. “Is that all the ‘evidence’ you have managed to collect.”
“No,” he said, “that’s not all. The other night at the ball you were upstairs together for three-quarters of an hour. Greta Bastable saw you disappear and she saw you return looking half dazed. Greta is quite prepared to tell her little story if necessary, and I think the King’s Proctor might find it interesting. It was strange behaviour in the middle of a ball, wasn’t it? Perhaps you were exploring the house—Oh no, I forgot, MacAslan knows the house already—”
“We went up to see Richard,” said Linda.
“Really? And was Richard awake at that hour? No? Dear me, you sat and doted on the sleeping Richard for three-quarters of an hour—what a charming picture!”
“You swine!” said Iain softly. “If Linda were not here—”
Linda stopped him again with the same quieting movement of her hand. She raised her eyes and looked Medworth full in the face. “What do you want?” she asked. “What are you doing it for? What are you going to get out of it for yourself?”
“I am going to get Richard,” replied Medworth firmly.
There was a little silence in the room. Linda’s breast rose and fell hurriedly; for the first time during the interview she was really frightened, really discomposed.
“I want Richard,” Medworth continued. “And I’m going to have him. There are two ways. Either you can give him up to me voluntarily and we’ll say no more about it, or else I shall drag you through the courts—as you dragged me. In either case I shall get Richard.”
“But you don’t like Richard,” Linda said, striving to steady her voice. “You aren’t fond of him, Jack.”
“He’s my son,” Medworth replied sullenly. “He’s my son and I want him. I want him brought up properly. I don’t want my son to grow up a mother’s darling, a namby-pamby nincompoop. He bears my name and he’s part of me. Su
rely the child must have some guts somewhere in him.”
“But Jack—I don’t understand you. Why do you want to be bothered with him? Who would look after him when you were away?”
“Never you mind,” he replied. “I’ll put him to school—he’ll be well looked after, you may be sure. I’ll give him the chance of growing up into a man—”
“You don’t understand Richard,” Linda said, struggling to control her tears.
“Nonsense, of course I understand him. I’ll soon lick the little rabbit into shape when I get him to myself—”
“Look here, Medworth,” Iain said, coming over to the table and trying to speak calmly and sensibly. “The whole thing is a mistake—a misunderstanding. Can’t we come to an arrangement? I’ll do anything you say. You can’t take the boy away from Linda—you can’t do it. The whole thing is a mistake. Linda and I . . . there’s been nothing between us. I’ve never even kissed her. . . . I’ll swear it if you like—”
“I don’t care a damn,” cried Medworth, striking the table with his clenched fist. “I don’t care a damn what there is between you—or isn’t between you. You can both go to hell for all I care—get that. I’m through with Linda—through—you can take her if you like icebergs in your bed. Personally I like something a bit more human. I don’t pretend to be a saint and I don’t expect other people to be saints. What I want is my son, and I’m going to have him. All I want to know is this—will you give him up, or must I drag you through the Law Courts to get him?”
“I won’t give him up,” said Linda brokenly. “I can’t believe—there must be some justice—I haven’t done anything—anything wrong. Justice—there must be justice.”
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