The Hundredth Chance

by Ethel M. Dell

  CHAPTER XIV

  THE OPEN DOOR

  Not till she had been in her uncle's house for close upon four weeks didMaud brace herself to speak to him of her mother. She had been on theverge of doing so many times, but always, in his bluff fashion, he hadmanaged to convey to her that the subject was not to be broached.

  But for an urgent letter from Mrs. Sheppard herself, she would scarcelyhave summoned the courage to break through what was almost aprohibition, for Uncle Edward was not an easy man to resist; and even asshe did so, she knew with absolute conviction that her effort wasforedoomed to failure. She scarcely knew how to make it, souncompromising was the old man's attitude, and when at last it was made,when in desperation she forced herself to tell him of her mother'spitiable plight, she regretted it almost immediately so curtly was herinformation received. She saw that Uncle Edward was really angry thoughhe said but little. She also saw that what she said on her mother'sbehalf made not the smallest impression upon his will. He heard her outindeed, but so grimly that at length, feeling that she was presentingthe matter quite inadequately in face of his total lack of sympathy, shegave him her mother's hysterical appeal to read.

  He shook his head at first, but finally, as she pressed it upon himalmost tearfully, he took and read the letter. Then, while anxiously shewatched him, he tore it across and across and flung it back to her overthe table.

  "Pshaw!" he said. "The woman's a hypocrite--a confounded impostor. Iknow her. You don't. Leave her alone, and let her sink!"

  And with that he stumped angrily from the room with beetling brows andfiery eyes.

  Maud sat very still after his departure. She had known in her heartthat it was hopeless to appeal to him, but now that the appeal hadfailed she was utterly nonplussed. There was no doubt in her mind thatmatters were desperate. Her mother had made her realize that, and shefelt she could not write and tell her that she could do nothing. Slightas was the bond of sympathy between them, still were they mother anddaughter, and she could not fling her off as Uncle Edward recommended.In a fashion the old man's anger reacted in her mother's favour; for shewas conscious of indignation on her behalf. Whatever Mrs. Sheppard'sfaults might be--and it was quite possible that insincerity was amongthem--he had no right to abuse her to her daughter. It aroused her ownanger, and it aroused also that protective instinct which was never veryfar below the surface with her. When she rose at length, her face wasvery pale and determined. She had not wanted to write to Charlie, butit seemed that she had no choice.

  It was a still, warm afternoon in October. She went into thedrawing-room, a stiff apartment upholstered in gold brocade, and satdown at a writing-table in a window-recess to write.

  It was the most difficult letter she had ever composed, and yet she hadnever experienced the smallest difficulty in writing to him before. Shecould not express herself freely. Words would not come. She desired toavoid all reference to what had passed between them on that night ofwitchery on which they had last met. She wanted to blot it out of hermind and heart, to address him, to regard him, as only a friend. Eversince that Sunday evening, now nearly a week ago, she had kept herthoughts rigidly from straying in his direction. Had it been possibleshe would have put him altogether out of her life. It was not possible,and she knew it. But it was with the greatest reluctance that she setherself to write to him, and her reluctance displayed itself in everysentence.

  She sat over that letter for the greater part of the afternoon, and whenit was finished at last she felt utterly dissatisfied with it. She hadan urgent desire to tear it up. But she could not face the writing ofanother. With a weary sigh she closed and stamped the envelope.

  It was then that there fell a step outside the drawing-room door, andUncle Edward's discreet, elderly maidservant peeped in.

  Maud turned in her chair. "What is it, Martha?"

  Martha was about to explain, but broke off with a gasp and drew back.There was a muttered word in the doorway, and the next moment Martha haddisappeared, and a man's figure stood in the opening.

  "Hullo!" said Charlie, with a smile of gay effrontery. "May I come in?"

  Maud sat for a second or two as one in a trance and stared at him. Itwas as if the afternoon's labour had suddenly taken concrete form.

  He did not wait for her greeting, but came lightly forward with handsoutstretched. "Ah, queen of the roses," he said, "what a peculiarlyunbecoming setting you have chosen for yourself! Why--why--what isthat? A letter to me? How many times a day do you write them?"

  With a lithe, elastic movement, he drew her to her feet, held her amoment, looking at her, then bent his smiling, swarthy face to hers.

  "Greeting, queen of the roses!" he said.

  She awoke then, came out of her trance, drew swiftly back from him."Oh, Charlie, is it--is it really you?" she said rather incoherently."You--how you startled me!"

  He let her go, as always, at her desire, but with a faint, monkeyishgrimace of disapproval. "You were always easily shocked," he said."But on this occasion I assure you there is no need. I found myself inthe neighbourhood, and thought it would be the correct thing to pay youa morning call."

  His queer eyes mocked her openly as he made the explanation. She feltdiscomfited, painfully embarrassed, and withal conscious of an almostdesperate longing to tell him to go.

  But she knew she could not do that. Too much hung in the balance.

  "Sit down!" she said, mustering her dignity with an immense effort."And I will tell you why I have been writing to you."

  "Wouldn't it save trouble to show me the letter?" he suggested, witheasy audacity. "Or have you decided--now that you have had a furtheropportunity of considering my personal charms--that you really can't?"

  She flushed at the implied suggestion. "You can read the letter if youlike," she said somewhat stiffly. "It is on business."

  She held it out to him, and he sank upon one knee to receive it.

  "_Merci, ma belle reine_! Do you wish me to read it in your augustpresence?"

  "Please!" she said.

  He sat facing her, and read it.

  She watched his mobile brows as his eyes travelled over the page. Shesaw amusement turn to humour and humour to merriment on his face. Whenhe looked up at her at length he was laughing.

  "You write as a serf appealing to a feudal lord," he said. "Did youmean to write like that?"

  She shook her head at him gravely. "It is not a laughing matter," shesaid.

  "What I am laughing at is," he rejoined, still smiling with a hint ofderision. "By the way, have you heard from our worthy cow-puncherlately?"

  She flinched sharply, before she was aware. Her whole body tingled witha sudden, burning blush.

  And Saltash laughed again wickedly. "I saw him yesterday. He was in afiendish temper for some reason or other. Naturally I asked after you,when he was expecting you back. What do you think he said?"

  "What?" Maud breathed the word through lips that panted. Her heart wasbeating violently she knew not why.

  Saltash's dark face seemed to exult over her agitation. "He said,--youknow his soft, drawly way--'I guess I shall go--shortly--and fetch herback, my lord.' I wondered if you were aware of his amiable intention.There was the most deadly air of determination about him. I thought youmight like to know."

  Maud's face was no longer burning; she was white to the lips. But sheturned from the subject with composure. "How did you know where to findme?"

  He laughed teasingly. "You are curiously curious, Maud of the roses.Don't you yet realize that I always know everything? For instance, Iknow exactly why you are treating me to this wet-blanket reception. Butyou would be angry if I told you; so I won't. I also know--" he pausedsuddenly. "Shall I say it? No, perhaps I had better not."

  She smiled faintly. "Perhaps it is beside the point, Charlie. Do youmind coming back to the subject of that letter? It is that that istroubling me now more than
anything else."

  "Really?" he said. "But why should you be troubled? It wouldn't troubleme to see my arch-enemy in dire straits."

  "It is my mother I am anxious about," she said. "If Giles Sheppard goesunder, she will go too."

  Saltash raised his brows in amused interrogation. "Oh, does thatfollow? I should abandon the sinking ship if I were Mrs. Sheppard. Shehas nothing to gain by sticking to it."

  Maud received the remark in silence. He leaned forward, his dark facestill smiling.

  "Do you know I love you for that?" he said. "_Chere reine des fleurs_,lady of the golden silences! Do you ever say what you really think?"

  She shook her head. "Charlie, I am learning--very slowly--a hardlesson. Don't--please--make it any harder for me!"

  "What?" he said. "You are really going back to him?"

  She put up a hand to her face, almost as if she would hide it from him."I don't know--yet--what I shall do. But I do know that it would bewrong not to go back."

  "_Mais vraiment!_" he protested. "Is life so simple as that? How doyou arrive at that conclusion? Do you follow always the easy path ofvirtue?"

  She looked at him quickly. "It is not easy!" she said.

  He lifted his shoulders. "No? But it is--safe at least. And you do notpossess the adventurous soul. You like to be--safe, _ma belle_, even atthe sacrifice of your very heart. Do you remember that night ofmoonshine? But of course you do. Do you know that I prowled in thegarden half the night for your sake--just in case you should deem itworth while to be true to that poor heart of yours? You went through agood deal that night, my Maud." His voice changed subtly; thehalf-scoffing note went out of it, a faint warmth of pity took itsplace. "And yet you endured it all in silence. Why didn't you breakfree and come to me? You knew--and so did he--that I was waiting,--oryou might have known."

  Maud's head was bent; she did not attempt to answer him.

  He got up abruptly and came to her. "Good-bye, Maud of the roses!"

  She started slightly. "You are going?"

  "Yes, I am going. I have received my discharge. My faithful service isat end--unless--or may I say until?--that message comes to call meback." He bent towards her. "Even I cannot wait for ever." he said."Do you know I stood by the orchard-gate in the rain for two hours onthe day of the races? You had a visitor, and so I would not intrudeupon you. But you, _chere reine_,--you knew I was going to be there.And yet you never came."

  She raised her head sharply, moved by something in his tone. "But howcould I? How could I?" she said. "Besides,--Jake knew."

  He laughed. "Yes, Jake knew. He saw me that night of moonshine. Henearly challenged me. And then he changed his mind and passed on. Iconclude it didn't suit him to quarrel with me. But what of that? Hewas bound to know some day."

  She clasped her hands tightly together. "If he knew all--he would shootyou," she said, with a sudden hard shudder.

  But Saltash only laughed again, and touched a wisp of her hair. "Oh, Idon't think so, queen of the roses. I think he would have pity on myinnocence--if he knew all. But that isn't the point, you know. Thepoint is that you choose bondage with him rather than freedom with me.And that being so, I can only bow to your ruling. Once more--good-bye!"

  She parted her hands with an effort, and gave him one of them. "Whatabout--my mother, Charlie?" she said.

  He pressed her fingers lightly. "I commend her to the kind care of herworthy son-in-law."

  She raised her eyes to his almost incredulously. "You are going to--tolet them be ruined?"

  He smiled at her, flashing his strange eyes. "It wouldn't do for you tobe under an obligation--a personal obligation--to me, would it?Jake--you know--Jake might object."

  She rose quickly and stood facing him. "Charlie, please don't jest!"she urged him, her voice low and very earnest.

  His smile became a grimace. "It rests with you," he said, "whether Ijest my way to the devil or whether I live a godly, righteous and soberlife for evermore. If it is to be the latter, then I am quite preparedto fulfil my virtuous devoirs to my prospective mother-in-law. But ifthe former is to be my portion--well, I don't think even St. Peterhimself would have saddled himself with anyone else's. That is theposition, _chere reine. Tu comprends maintenant_?"

  Yes, she understood. There was nothing complex in the situation. Shestood looking at him her hand still in his.

  "Then I cannot look upon you as--a friend?" she said at last, almostunder her breath.

  He smiled upon her--a sudden, baffling smile. "But ask yourself thatquestion, Maud of the roses!" he said. "You will find the answer therein your own heart, if you seek for it."

  She quivered at the words, feeling the subtle attraction of the man evenagainst her will.

  "You have refused to help me," she said.

  He bent towards her, his dark face glowing. "I offer you--all I have,"he said. "It is your own, to do with as you will. But you must takeall or leave all. Maud, Maud," his speech quickened to suddenvehemence, "you love me! Why do you cling to your prison when the dooris standing wide? Now is your time to escape, if ever. I will take allyour cares--all your burdens. You shall be free as air. Only--now thatthe door is open--come!"

  "Yes. I should shut the door another time if I were you," a gruff voicecommented behind them. "It's a rash thing, young man, to leave the dooropen when you're talking confidences. What are you doing in this house,I wonder? Did you come in at the door?"

  Both Maud and Saltash had faced round at the first sentence, she with asharp exclamation, he with a laugh.

  Uncle Edward, his eyes very bright under the beetling brows, stumped upto them with the air of an old watchdog investigating the presence of asuspicious stranger. He rasped his throat ferociously as he came.

  "Who may you be?" he demanded.

  "I?" Saltash was laughing still, facing the situation with his hands inhis pockets, the soul of careless effrontery. "I don't suppose you haveever heard my name before. I am Saltash."

  "Who?" Uncle Edward turned for explanation towards his niece.

  "Lord Saltash," she said, in a low voice.

  "Oh! Lord Saltash!" The old man turned back to him with a sound like asnarl. "Yes, I have heard of you before. You were co-respondent in theCressady divorce case a few years back."

  Saltash laughed again with easy nonchalance. "You have a good memory,sir. If it serves you as it should, you will also recall the fact thatthe case was dismissed."

  "I remember--all the facts," said Uncle Edward, with ominousdeliberation, "And as it is not my custom to admit men of your stampinto my house, you will oblige me by quitting it without delay."

  Saltash turned to Maud. "I am sorry you have been caught in such badcompany," he said. "Pray explain that I came uninvited! I shall be atBurchester for the present. When you come back, you and your husbandmust come and dine. Good-bye!"

  With the unabashed smile still on his ugly face, he turned to go, movingwith the easy arrogance of the ruling race, royally incapable ofdiscomfiture.

  Uncle Edward followed him to the door, and grimly watched his exit.Then still more grimly he came tramping back. "And now to pick a bonewith you, my niece!" he said.