The Quest: A Romance

by Justus Miles Forman

  *CHAPTER IV*

  *OLD DAVID STEWART*

  It was Miss Benham's custom upon returning home at night from dinnerparties or other entertainments to look in for a few minutes on hergrandfather before going to bed. The old gentleman, like most elderlypeople, slept lightly, and often sat up in bed very late into the nightreading or playing piquet with his valet. He suffered hideously attimes from the malady which was killing him by degrees, but when he wasfree from pain the enormous recuperative power, which he had preservedto his eighty-six years, left him almost as vigorous and clear-minded asif he had never been ill at all. Hartley's description of him had notbeen altogether a bad one--"a quaint old beggar ... a great quantity ofwhite hair and an enormous square white beard and the fiercest eyes Iever saw----" He was a rather "quaint old beggar" indeed! He had lethis thick white hair grow long, and it hung down over his brows inunparted locks as the ancient Greeks wore their hair. He had veryshaggy eyebrows, and the deep-set eyes under them gleamed from theshadow with a fierceness which was rather deceptive but none the lessintimidating. He had a great beak of a nose, but the mouth below couldnot be seen. It was hidden by the moustache and the enormous squarebeard. His face was colourless, almost as white as hair and beard:there seemed to be no shadow or tint anywhere except the cavernousrecesses from which the man's eyes gleamed and sparkled. Altogether hewas certainly "a quaint old beggar."

  He had, during the day and evening, a good many visitors, for the oldgentleman's mind was as alert as it ever had been, and important menthought him worth consulting. The names which the admirable valet,Peters, announced from time to time were names which meant a great dealin the official and diplomatic world of the day. But if old David feltflattered over the unusual fashion in which the great of the earthcontinued to come to him he never betrayed it. Indeed it is quiteprobable that this view of the situation never once occurred to him. Hehad been thrown with the great of the earth for more than half acentury, and he had learnt to take it as a matter of course.

  On her return from the Marquise de Saulnes' dinner party Miss Benhamwent at once to her grandfather's wing of the house, which had its ownstreet entrance, and knocked lightly at his door. She asked theadmirable Peters, who opened to her--

  "Is he awake?" And being assured that he was, went into the vastchamber, dropping her cloak on a chair as she entered. David Stewartwas sitting up in his monumental bed behind a sort of invalid's tablewhich stretched across his knees without touching them. He wore overhis night-clothes a Chinese Mandarin's jacket of old red satin, waddedwith down, and very gorgeously embroidered with the cloud and batdesigns and with large round panels of the Imperial five-clawed dragonin gold. He had a number of these jackets, they seemed to be his onevanity in things external, and they were so made that they could beslipped about him without disturbing him in his bed, since they hungdown only to the waist or thereabouts. They kept the upper part of hisbody, which was not covered by the bedclothes, warm, and they certainlymade him a very impressive figure.

  He said--

  "Ah, Helen! Come in! Come in! Sit down on the bed there and tell mewhat you have been doing!" He pushed aside the pack of cards which wasspread out on the invalid's table before him, and with great carecounted a sum of money in francs and half-francs and nickel twenty-fivecentime pieces.

  "I've won seven francs fifty from Peters to-night," he said, chucklinggently. "That is a very good evening indeed. Very good. Where haveyou been, and who were there?"

  "A dinner party at the de Saulnes'," said Miss Benham, making herselfcomfortable on the side of the great bed. "It's a very pleasant place.Marian is, of course, a dear, and they're quite English andunceremonious. You can talk to your neighbour at dinner instead ofaddressing the house from a platform, as it were. French dinner partiesmake me nervous."

  Old David gave a little growling laugh.

  "French dinner parties at least keep people up to the mark in the art ofconversation," said he. "But that is a lost art anyhow, nowadays, so Isuppose one might as well be quite informal and have done with it. Whowere there?"

  "Oh, well--" she considered, "no one, I should think, who would interestyou. Rather an indifferent set. Pleasant people but not inspiring.The Marquis had some young relative or connexion who was quite odiousand made the most surprising noises over his food. I met a new man whomI think I am going to like very much indeed. He wouldn't interest youbecause he doesn't mean anything in particular--and, of course, heoughtn't to interest me for the same reason. He's just an idle pleasantyoung man, but--he has great charm. Very great charm. His name is Ste.Marie. Baron de Vries seems very fond of him, which surprised merather."

  "Ste. Marie!" exclaimed the old gentleman in obvious astonishment."Ste. Marie de Mont Perdu?"

  "Yes," she said. "Yes, that is the name, I believe. You know him then?I wonder he didn't mention it."

  "I knew his father," said old David. "And his grandfather, for thatmatter. They're Gascon, I think, or Bearnais, but this boy's motherwill have been Irish, unless his father married again.

  "So you've been meeting a Ste. Marie, have you? And finding that he hasgreat charm?" The old gentleman broke into one of his growling laughs,and reached for a long black cigar which he lighted, eyeing hisgranddaughter the while over the flaring match.

  "Well," he said, when the cigar was drawing, "they all have had charm.I should think there has never been a Ste. Marie without it. They're asort of embodiment of romance, that family. This boy's great-grandfatherlost his life defending a castle against a horde of peasants in 1799.His grandfather was killed in the French campaign in Mexico in '39--atVera Cruz, it was, I think; and his father died in a filibusteringexpedition ten years ago. I wonder what will become of the last Ste.Marie?" Old David's eyes suddenly sharpened.

  "You're not going to fall in love with Ste. Marie and marry him, areyou?" he demanded.

  Miss Benham gave a little angry laugh, but her grandfather saw thecolour rise in her cheeks for all that.

  "Certainly not!" she said with great decision. "What an absurd idea!Because I meet a man at a dinner party and say I like him, must I marryhim to-morrow? I meet a great many men at dinners and things, and a fewof them I like. Heavens!"

  "'Methinks the lady doth protest too much,'" muttered old David into hishuge beard.

  "I beg your pardon?" asked Miss Benham politely. But he shook his head,still growling inarticulately, and began to draw enormous clouds ofsmoke from the long black cigar. After a time he took the cigar oncemore from his lips and looked thoughtfully at his granddaughter whereshe sat on the edge of the vast bed, upright and beautiful, perfect inthe most meticulous detail. Most women when they return from a longevening out, look more or less the worse for it. Deadened eyes, palecheeks, loosened coiffure tell their inevitable tale. Miss Benhamlooked as if she had just come from the hands of a very excellent maid.She looked as freshly _soignee_ as she might have looked at eight thatevening instead of at one. Not a wave of her perfectly undulated hairwas loosened or displaced, not a fold of the lace at her breast haddeparted from its perfect arrangement.

  "It is odd," said old David Stewart, "you taking a fancy to young Ste.Marie. Of course it's natural too in a way, because you are completeopposites, I should think--that is, if this lad is like the rest of hisrace. What I mean is, that merely attractive young men don't as a ruleattract you."

  "Well, no," she admitted, "they don't usually. Men with brains attractme most, I think--men who are making civilisation, men who are rulingthe world or at least doing important things for it. That's your fault,you know. You taught me that."

  The old gentleman laughed.

  "Possibly," said he. "Possibly. Anyhow that is the sort of men youlike and they like you. You're by no means a fool, Helen. In fact,you're a woman with brains. You could wield great influence married tothe proper sort of man."

  "But not to M. Ste. Marie," she suggested,
smiling across at him.

  "Well, no," he said. "No, not to Ste. Marie. It would be a mistake tomarry Ste. Marie--if he is what the rest of his house have been. TheSte. Maries live a life compounded of romance and imagination andemotion. You're not emotional."

  "No," said Miss Benham slowly and thoughtfully. It was as if the ideawere new to her. "No, I'm not, I suppose. No. Certainly not."

  "As a matter of fact," said old David, "you're by nature rather cold.I'm not sure it isn't a good thing. Emotional people, I observe, areusually in hot water of some sort. When you marry you're very likely tochoose with a great deal of care and some wisdom. And you're alsolikely to have what is called a career. I repeat that you could wieldgreat influence in the proper environment."

  The girl frowned across at her grandfather reflectively.

  "Do you mean by that," she asked after a little silence, "do you meanthat you think I am likely to be moved by sheer ambition and nothingelse in arranging my life? I've never thought of myself as a veryambitious person."

  "Let us substitute for ambition, common sense," said old David. "Ithink you have a great deal of common sense for a woman--and so young awoman. How old are you, by the way? Twenty-two? Yes, to be sure. Ithink you have great common sense and appreciation of values. And Ithink you're singularly free of the emotionalism that so often plays hobwith them all. People with common sense fall in love in the rightplaces."

  "I don't quite like the sound of it," said Miss Benham. "Perhaps I amrather ambitious--I don't know. Yes, perhaps. I should like to playsome part in the world. I don't deny that. But--am I as cold as yousay? I doubt it very much. I doubt that."

  "You're twenty-two," said her grandfather. "And you have seen a gooddeal of society in several capitals. Have you ever fallen in love?"

  "'You're twenty-two. Have you ever fallen in love?'"]

  Oddly, the face of Ste. Marie came before Miss Benham's eyes as if shehad summoned it there. But she frowned a little and shook her head,saying--

  "No, I can't say that I have. But that means nothing. There's plentyof time for that.

  "And you know," she said after a pause, "you know I'm rather sure Icould fall in love--pretty hard. I'm sure of that. Perhaps I have beenwaiting. Who knows?"

  "Ay, who knows?" said David. He seemed all at once to lose interest inthe subject, as old people often do without apparent reason, for heremained silent for a long time, puffing at the long black cigar orrolling it absently between his fingers. After awhile he laid it down ina metal dish which stood at his elbow and folded his lean hands beforehim over the invalid's table. He was still so long that at last hisgranddaughter thought he had fallen asleep, and she began to rise fromher seat, taking care to make no noise, but at that the old man stirred,and put out his hand once more for the cigar.

  "Was young Richard Hartley at your dinner party?" he asked. And shesaid--

  "Yes. Oh, yes, he was there. He and M. Ste. Marie came together, Ibelieve. They are very close friends."

  "Another idler," growled old David. "The fellow's a man of parts--and aman of family. What's he idling about here for? Why isn't he inParliament where he belongs?"

  "Well," said the girl, "I should think it is because he is too much aman of family--as you put it. You see, he'll succeed his cousin, LordRisdale, before very long, and then all his work would have been fornothing, because he'll have to take his seat in the Lords. Lord Risdaleis unmarried, you know, and a hopeless invalid. He may die any day. Ithink I sympathise with poor Mr. Hartley. It would be a pity to build upa career for one's self in the lower House and then suddenly in themidst of it have to give it all up. The situation is rather paralysingto endeavour, isn't it?"

  "Yes, I dare say," said old David absently. He looked up sharply."Young Hartley doesn't come here as much as he used to do."

  "No," said Miss Benham, "he doesn't." She gave a little laugh.

  "To avoid cross-examination," she said, "I may as well admit that heasked me to marry him and I had to refuse. I'm sorry, because I likehim very much indeed."

  Old David made an inarticulate sound which may have been meant toexpress surprise--or almost anything else. He had not a great range ofexpression.

  "I don't want," said he, "to seem to have gone daft on the subject ofmarriage, and I see no reason why you should be in any haste aboutit--certainly, I should hate to lose you, my child, but--Hartley, as thenext Lord Risdale, is undoubtedly a good match. And you say you likehim." The girl looked up with a sort of defiance, and her face was alittle flushed.

  "I don't love him," she said. "I like him immensely but I don't lovehim, and after all--well, you say I'm cold and I admit I'm more or lessambitious, but, after all--well, I just don't quite love him. I want tolove the man I marry."

  Old David Stewart held up his black cigar and gazed thoughtfully at thesmoke which streamed thin and blue and veil-like from its lighted end.

  "Love!" he said in a reflective tone. "Love." He repeated the word twoor three times slowly, and he stirred a little in his bed.

  "I have forgotten what it is," said he. "I expect I must be very old.I have forgotten what love--that sort of love--is like. It seems veryfar away to me and rather unimportant. But I remember that I thought itimportant enough once, a century or two ago. Do you know, it strikes meas rather odd that I have forgotten what love is like. It strikes me asrather pathetic." He gave a sort of uncouth grimace and stuck the blackcigar once more into his mouth.

  "Egad!" said he, mumbling indistinctly over the cigar, "how foolish loveseems when you look back at it across fifty or sixty years!"

  Miss Benham rose to her feet smiling, and she came and stood near wherethe old man lay propped up against his pillows. She touched his cheekwith her cool hand, and old David put up one of his own hands and pattedit.

  "I'm going to bed now," said she. "I've sat here talking too long. Youought to be asleep and so ought I."

  "Perhaps! Perhaps!" the old man said. "I don't feel sleepy, though. Idare say I shall read a little." He held her hand in his and looked upat her.

  "I've been talking a great deal of nonsense about marriage," said he."Put it out of your head! It's all nonsense. I don't want you to marryfor a long time. I don't want to lose you." His face twisted a littlequite suddenly.

  "You're precious near all I have left, now," he said.

  The girl did not answer at once, for it seemed to her that there wasnothing to say. She knew that her grandfather was thinking of the lostboy, and she knew what a bitter blow the thing had been to him. Sheoften thought that it would kill him before his old malady could run itscourse.

  But after a moment she said very gently--

  "We won't give up hope. We'll never give up hope. Think! he might comehome to morrow. Who knows?"

  "If he has stayed away of his own accord," cried out old David Stewartin a loud voice, "I'll never forgive him--not if he comes to meto-morrow on his knees! Not even if he comes to me on his knees!"

  The girl bent over her grandfather, saying: "Hush! hush! You mustn'texcite yourself." But old David's grey face was working and his eyesgleamed from their cavernous shadows with a savage fire.

  "If the boy is staying away out of spite," he repeated, "he need nevercome back to me. I won't forgive him." He beat his unemployed handupon the table before him, and the things which lay there jumped anddanced.

  "And if he waits until I'm dead and then comes back," said he, "he'llfind he has made a mistake--a great mistake. He'll find a surprise instore for him. I can tell you that. I won't tell you what I have done,but it will be a disagreeable surprise for Master Arthur. You may besure."

  The old gentleman fell to frowning and muttering in his cholericfashion, but the fierce glitter began to go out of his eyes, and hishands ceased to tremble and clutch at the things before him. The girlwas silent because again there seemed to her to be nothing that shecould say. She longed very much to plead her brother's cause, but sh
ewas sure that would only excite her grandfather, and he was growingquieter after his burst of anger. She bent down over him and kissed hischeek.

  "Try to go to sleep!" she said. "And don't torture yourself withthinking about all this. I'm as sure that poor Arthur is not stayingaway out of spite as if he were myself. He's foolish and headstrong,but he's not spiteful, dear. Try to believe that! And now I'm reallygoing. Good-night!"

  She kissed him again and slipped out of the room. And as she closed thedoor she heard her grandfather pull the bell-cord which hung beside himand summon the excellent Peters from the room beyond.