Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

He might stroll into a club or into the house of some old friend, and some one would be sure to offer him the tactless sympathy which goes about to betray secrets. Moreover, he had been told, in explanation of John’s protracted absence, that the latter had been obliged to go away on business, and he had enough memory and power of reasoning left to be surprised at receiving no letters. He was sure to make inquiries about John, if left to his own devices. Marion could not leave him. In the midst of her extreme anxiety she was obliged to pass the greater part of the day in reading to him, and in trying to divert his mind from the thought of John and his absence. His love and mistaken admiration for his son had been the strongest feelings in his life and continued to the end.

  Dolly Maylands would have been faithful to Marion under any imaginable consequences, with that whole-souled belief and trust which is girlhood’s greatest charm. On the last day of the trial she came in the morning and did not leave the house again. Brett appeared at intervals and told Dolly how matters were going.

  He was not a man like Vanbrugh, of very varied acquaintances and wide experience, but in certain quarters he had great influence, and on Marion’s behalf he exerted it to the utmost on the present occasion. Foreseeing that the verdict must inevitably be unfavourable, and knowing of Simon Darche’s great anxiety about his son’s absence, Brett succeeded in obtaining an order to bring John Darche to see his father before he should be taken back to prison after the conclusion of the trial. It was agreed that the police officers should appear dressed as civilians, and should be introduced with John to the old man’s presence as men of business accompanying his son. John would then have the opportunity of quieting his father’s apprehensions in regard to his future absence, and he could take leave of his wife if he wished to do so, though of course he would not be allowed to be even a moment out of his guardians’ sight. The order was ostensibly granted in consideration of Simon Darche’s mental infirmity, and of the danger to his health which any shock must cause, and which already existed in the shape of acute anxiety. In reality, the favour was granted as a personal one to Brett. When everything was arranged, he returned to Lexington Avenue. He found Dolly alone in the library and told her what he had done.

  It was very quiet in the room, and the dusk was stealing away the last glow of the sunset that hung over the trees and houses of Gramercy Park. Dolly sat near the window, looking out, her hands clasped upon one knee, her fair young face very grave and sad. Brett paced the floor nervously.

  “How kind you are!” Dolly exclaimed.

  “Kind?” repeated the young man, almost indignantly, and stopping in his walk as he spoke. “Who would not do as much if he could?”

  “Lots of people.”

  “Not of her friends — not of those who know her. It is little enough that I can do for any of them. Vanbrugh has done more than I — can do much more.”

  “What a fight he has made!” The ready enthusiasm rang in the girl’s clear voice. Then her tone changed as she continued. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “Marion is lucky to have such friends as you and Russell Vanbrugh.”

  “And you yourself, Miss Maylands.”

  “I? Oh, I do not count. What can a woman do on days like these? I can only stay here and try to make her feel that I am a comfortable pillow for her to lay her head upon, when she is entirely worn out. Poor Marion! She is the bravest woman I ever knew. But then—”

  She stopped, hesitating, and Brett, who was almost too much excited to follow all the words she spoke, was suddenly aware that she had not finished the sentence.

  “What were you going to say?” he asked, struggling desperately to remember what she had said already.

  “I hardly ought — I suppose,” objected Dolly. “But then — what can it matter? He is sure to be found guilty, is he not?”

  “Quite sure,” Brett answered slowly.

  “Well then — Marion must feel that when this last agony is over she will have much more peace in her life than she has enjoyed for a long time. I wonder whether it is very wrong to say such things.”

  “Wrong? Why? We all think them, I am sure. At least, you and Vanbrugh and I do. As for society, I do not know what it thinks. I have not had time to ask, nor time to care, for that matter.”

  “I suppose everybody sympathises with Marion as we do.”

  “Oh, of course. Do you know? I believe she will be more popular than before. Everything that has come out in this abominable trial has been in her favour. People realise what a life she has been living during all these years — without a complaint. Wonderful woman! That brute Darche! I wish he were to be hanged instead of sent to the Penitentiary!”

  “He deserves it,” answered Dolly with the utmost conviction. “I suppose Marion will get a divorce.”

  Again Brett stopped short in his walk and looked at her keenly. The idea had doubtless passed through his own mind, but he had not heard any one else express it as yet.

  “After all,” he said slowly, “there is no reason why she should not.”

  Then he suddenly relapsed into silence and resumed his walk.

  “And then I suppose,” said Dolly thoughtfully, “she would marry again.”

  Brett said nothing to this, but continued to pace the floor, glancing at the young girl from time to time, and meditating on the total depravity of innocence.

  “She might marry Russell Vanbrugh, for instance,” observed Dolly, as though talking to herself.

  This was too much for Brett. For the third time he stopped and faced her.

  “Why Vanbrugh, of all people?” he asked.

  “Of all people, Mr. Vanbrugh, I should think,” Dolly answered. “Think of what he has done, how devoted he has been in all this trouble. And then, the way she spoils him! Any one can see that she is ready to fall in love with him. If she were not as good as — as anything can be — as spring water and snow drops and angels’ prayers, so to say, she would be in love with him already. But then, she is, you know.”

  “I cannot imagine a woman being in love with Vanbrugh,” said Brett impatiently.

  “Oh, can’t you? I can. I thought he was your best friend.”

  “What has that to do with it? My best friend might be deaf and lame and blind of one eye.”

  “Also, he might not,” said Dolly with a smile.

  “Oh, well!” exclaimed Brett, turning away, “if you have made up your mind that Mrs. Darche is to marry Russell Vanbrugh, of course I have nothing to say. I daresay people would think it a very good match.”

  “With John Darche alive and in the Penitentiary?” inquired the young girl, instantly taking the opposite tack.

  “As though any one could care or ask what became of him!” cried Brett, with something like indignation. “Thank heaven we are just in this country! We do not visit the sins of the blackguard upon the innocent woman he leaves behind him. Fortunately, there are no children. The very name will be forgotten, and Mrs. Darche can begin life over again.”

  “Whoever marries her will have to take old Mr. Darche as an incumbrance,” remarked Dolly.

  “Of course! Do you suppose that such a woman would leave the poor old gentleman to be taken care of by strangers? Besides, he is a beggar. He has not so much as pocket-money for his cigars. Of course Mr. Darche will stay with them. After all, it will not be so bad. He is very quiet and cheerful, and never in the way.”

  Brett spoke thoughtfully, in a tone which conveyed to Dolly the certainty that he had already revolved the situation of Marion’s future husband in his mind.

  “Tell me, Mr. Brett,” she said, after a short pause, “will anybody say that she should have sacrificed her own little fortune?”

  “People may say it as much as they please,” answered the young man quickly. “No one will ever make me believe it.”

  “I thought conscientious people often did that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, they do. But this does not seem to me to be a case for that. The bogus certificates of stocks never really were on the market
. The first that were issued excited suspicion, and proceedings began almost immediately. Whatever John Darche actually stole was practically taken from the funds of the Company. Now the Company is rich, and it was its own fault if it did not look after its affairs. In some failures, a lot of poor people suffer. That is different. It has fortunately not happened here. The stock will be depreciated for a time, but the Company will continue to exist and will ultimately hold up its head again. The bonds are good enough. After all, what is stock? Lend me some money at your own risk and if I have anything I will pay you interest. If I have nothing, you get nothing. That is what stock means.”

  “I know,” answered Dolly, whose clear little brain had long been familiar with the meanings of common business terms. “Yes, you are quite right. There is no reason why Marion should give anything of her own.”

  “None whatever,” assented Brett.

  If Dolly drew any conclusions from what Brett had said, she kept them to herself, and a long silence followed, which was broken at last by the appearance of Russell Vanbrugh, looking pale and tired. He shook hands in silence and sat down.

  “I suppose it is all over?” said Dolly softly, in a tone of interrogation.

  “Yes, just as we feared.”

  “What has he got?” inquired Brett, lowering his voice as though he feared that Marion might overhear him, though she was not in the room.

  “Five years.”

  “Is that all?” asked the younger man almost indignantly.

  Vanbrugh smiled faintly at the question.

  “I am rather proud of it,” he answered, “considering that I defended the case.”

  “True, I forgot.” Brett began to walk up and down again.

  Dolly looked at Vanbrugh and nodded to him with a little smile as though in approval of what he had done. He seemed pleased and grateful.

  “You must be dreadfully tired,” she said. “Do let me give you some tea.”

  “Thanks — I should like some — but some one ought to tell Mrs. Darche. Shall I? Where is she?”

  “I will tell her,” said Brett stopping suddenly. “I will send a message and she will come down to the drawing-room.”

  He went out, leaving Dolly to comfort Vanbrugh with tea, for he was far too much excited to sit down or to listen to their conversation. The whole matter might be more or less indifferent to them, whose lives could not be affected directly by Mrs. Darche’s misfortunes, but he felt that his own happiness was in the balance. He knew also that, by the arrangements he had made, John Darche would be brought to the house in the course of the next hour, before being taken back to prison for the night, and it was necessary to warn Marion and to see that the old gentleman was prepared to receive his son.

  “How about old Mr. Darche?” inquired Dolly, when she and Vanbrugh were left alone.

  “Every one is sorry for him,” said Vanbrugh, “just as every one execrates John. I get very little credit for the defence,” he added, with a dry laugh.

  “How good you are!” exclaimed Dolly.

  “Am I? It seems to me it was the least I could do.”

  “It will not seem so to every one,” said Dolly.

  “I would do a great deal for Mrs. Darche,” said Vanbrugh.

  “Yes, I know you would. You — you are very fond of her, are you not?” She turned her face away as she asked the question.

  “I wish to be a good friend to her.”

  “And something more?” suggested Dolly, in a tone of interrogation.

  “Something more?” repeated Vanbrugh, “I do not understand.”

  “Oh nothing! I thought you did.”

  “Perhaps I did. But I think you are mistaken.”

  “Am I?” Dolly asked, turning her face to him again. “I wish — I mean, I do not think I am.”

  “I am sure you are.”

  “This is a good deal like a puzzle game, is it not?”

  “No, it is much more serious,” said Vanbrugh, speaking gravely. “This is certainly not the time to talk of such things, Miss Maylands. John Darche may come at any moment, and as far as possible his father has been prepared for his coming. But that isn’t it. Perhaps I had better say it at once. We have always been such good friends, you know, and I think a great deal of your good opinion, so that I do not wish you to mistake my motives. You evidently think that I am devoted — to say the least of it — to Mrs. Darche. After all, what is the use of choosing words and beat about the bush? You think I am in love with her. I should be very sorry to leave you with that impression — very, very sorry. Do you understand?”

  Dolly had glanced at him several times while he had been speaking, but when he finished she looked into the fire again.

  “You were in love with her once?” she said quietly.

  “Perhaps; how do you know that?”

  “She told me so, ever so long ago.”

  “She told you so?” Vanbrugh’s tone betrayed his annoyance.

  “Yes. Why are you angry? I am her best friend. Was it not natural that she should tell me?”

  “I hardly know.”

  A pause followed, during which Stubbs entered the room, bringing tea. When he was gone and Dolly had filled Vanbrugh’s cup she took up the conversation again.

  “Are you thinking about it?” she asked, with a smile.

  “About what?” Vanbrugh looked up quickly over his cup.

  “Whether it was natural or not?”

  “No, I was wondering whether you would still believe it.”

  “Why should I?” asked Dolly.

  “You might. In spite of what I tell you. You know very little of my life.”

  “Oh, I know a great deal,” said the young girl with much conviction. “I know all about you. You are successful, and rich and popular and happy, and lots of things.”

  “Am I?” asked Vanbrugh rather sadly.

  “Yes. Everybody knows you are.”

  “You are quite sure that I am happy?”

  “Unless you tell me that you are not.”

  “How oddly people judge us,” exclaimed Vanbrugh. “Because a man behaves like a human being, and is not cross at every turn, and puts his shoulder to the wheel, to talk and be agreeable in society, everybody thinks he is happy.”

  “Of course.” Dolly smiled. “If you were unhappy you would go and sit in corners by yourself and mope and be disagreeable. But you do not, you see. You are always ‘on hand’ as they call it, always ready to make things pleasant for everybody.”

  “That is because I am so good-natured.”

  “What is good nature?”

  “A combination of laziness and vulgarity,” Vanbrugh answered promptly.

  “Oh!”

  “Yes,” said Vanbrugh. “The vulgarity that wishes to please everybody, and the laziness that cannot say no.”

  “You are not a lawyer for nothing. But you are not lazy and you are not vulgar. If you were I should not like you.”

  “Do you like me?” asked Vanbrugh quickly.

  “Very much,” she answered with a little laugh.

  “You just made me define good nature, Miss Maylands. How do you define liking?”

  “Oh, it is very vague,” said Dolly in an airy tone. “It is a sort of uncly, auntly thing.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “Uncles and aunts sometimes marry, do they not?”

  “What an idea? They are always brothers and sisters.”

  “Unless they are uncles and aunts of different people,” suggested Vanbrugh.

  At this point they were interrupted by the entrance of Stubbs. That dignified functionary had suffered intensely during the last few days, but his tortures were not yet over. So far as lay in his power he still maintained that absolute correctness of appearance which distinguished him from the common, or hirsute “head man”; but he could not control the colour of his face nor the expression of his eyes. He had been a footman in the house of Marion’s father, in that very house in fact, and had comple
tely identified himself with the family. Had he considered that he was in the employment of Simon and John Darche, he would have long since given notice and sought a place better suited to his eminent respectability. But having always waited upon Marion since she had been a little girl, he felt bound by all the tenets of inherited butlerdom — and by a sort of devotion not by any means to be laughed at — to stand by his young mistress through all her troubles. By this time his eyes had a permanently unsettled look in them as though he never knew what fearful sight he might next gaze upon, and the ruddy colour was slowly but certainly sinking to the collar line. It had already descended to the lower tips of his ears.

  “Beg pardon, Miss Maylands,” he said in a subdued tone, “beg pardon, sir. Mr. John has come with those gentlemen.”

  Both Dolly and Vanbrugh started slightly and looked up at him. Vanbrugh was the first to speak.

  “Do you not think you had better go away — to Mrs. Darche?” he asked. “She may want to see you for a minute.”

  Dolly rose and left the room.

  “I suppose they will come in here,” said Vanbrugh, addressing Stubbs.

  “Yes, sir,” answered the butler nervously, “they are coming.”

  “Well — let us make the best of it.”

  A moment later John Darche entered the room, followed closely by three men, evidently dressed for the occasion, according to superior orders, in what, at police head-quarters, was believed to be the height of the fashion, for they all wore light snuff-coloured overcoats, white ties, dark trousers and heavily-varnished shoes, and each had a perfectly new high hat in his hand. They looked about the room with evident curiosity.

  Darche himself was deathly pale and had grown thinner. Otherwise he was little changed. As soon as he caught sight of Vanbrugh, he came forward, extending his hand.

  “I have not had a chance to thank you for your able defence,” he said calmly.

  “It is not necessary,” answered Vanbrugh coldly, and putting his hands behind him as he leaned against the mantelpiece. “It was a matter of duty.”

  “Very well,” said John Darche stiffly, and drawing back a step. “If you do not want to shake hands we will treat it as a matter of business.”