The Wicked Marquis
Page 7
CHAPTER VII
Marcia Hannaway called upon her publisher during the course of thefollowing day. She found the ready entree of a privileged client--withscarcely a moment's delay she was ushered into the presence of JamesBorden, the person who for some years now had occupied the second placein her thoughts and life.
"Anything happened, Marcia?" he enquired, after their quiet butfamiliar greeting. "You look as though you were bringing Fate withyou."
She made herself comfortable in the easy-chair which he had drawn up tothe fire. Outside, an unexpectedly cold wind made the sense of warmthdoubly pleasant. She unfastened her simple furs and smiled at him alittle dolefully.
"Just this," she replied, handing him a letter.
He spread it out, adjusted his eyeglasses and read it deliberately:
94, GROSVENOR SQUARE, Thursday.
_My dear Marcia:_
I have made enquiries with reference to the non-payment of yourallowance for the last two quarters, and now enclose cheque for theamount, drawn by my agent in Norfolk and payable to yourself. I thinkI can promise you that no further irregularities shall occur.
I look forward to seeing you to-morrow afternoon, and I must tell youof a financial operation I am now conducting, which, if successful, mayenable me to pay off the mortgages which render the Norfolk estates sounremunerative.
I trust that you are well, dear. I have ordered Carlton White's tosend in a few flowers, which I hope will arrive safely.
Yours, REGINALD.
James Borden read the letter carefully, glanced at the small coronet atthe top of the paper, and folded it up.
"I'm sorry, Marcia," he said simply.
She made a little grimace.
"My dear man," she confessed, "so am I. After all, though, I am notsure that the money makes all the difference. You see, if he reallywere too poor--or rather if his lawyers couldn't raise the money tosend to me--I fancy that I should feel just the same."
The publisher turned his chair round towards the fire. He was a man ofbarely middle age, although his black hair was besprinkled with greyand growing a little thin at the temples. His features were good, buthis face was a little thin, and his clothes were scarcely as tidy, orthe appointments of his office so comfortable as his name and positionin the publishing world might have warranted. Marcia, who had beenlooking at him while he read, leaned forward and brushed the cigaretteash from his coat sleeve.
"Such an untidy man!" she declared, straightening his tie. "I am notat all sure that you deserve to have lady clients calling upon you.Were you late last night?"
"A little," he confessed.
"That means about one or two, I suppose," she went on reprovingly.
"I dined at the club and stayed on," he told her. "There was nothingelse to do except work, and I was a little tired of that."
"Any fresh stuff in--interesting stuff, I mean?"
He shook his head.
"Three more Russian novels," he replied, "all in French and wanttranslating, of course. The only one I have read is terribly grim andsordid. I dare say it would sell. I am going to read the other twobefore I decide anything. Then perhaps you'll help me."
"Of course I will," she promised. "I do wish, though, James, youwouldn't stay at the club so late. How many whiskies and sodas?"
"I didn't count," he confessed.
She sighed.
"I know what that means! James, why aren't you a little more human?You get heaps of invitations to nice houses. Much better go out andmake some women friends. You ought to marry, you know."
"I am quite ready to when you will marry me," he retorted.
"But, my dear man, I am bespoke," she reminded him. "You know thatquite well. I couldn't possibly think of marrying anybody."
"What are you going to do with that money?" he demanded.
"I think I shall keep it," she decided. "Not to do so would hurt himterribly."
"And keeping it hurts me damnably!" he muttered.
She shook her head at him.
"We've had this over so often, haven't we? I cannot leave Reginald aslong as he wants me, relies upon me as much as he does now."
"Why not?" was the almost rough demand. "He has had the best of yourlife."
"And he has given me a great deal of his," she retorted. "For nineteenyears I have been his very dear friend. During all that time he hasnever broken a promise to me, never told a falsehood, never said asingle word which could grate or hurt. If he has sometimes seemed alittle aloof, it is because he really believes himself to be a greatperson. He believes in himself immensely, you know, James--in theprivileges and sanctity of his descent. It seems so strange in thisworld, where we others see other things. If I only dared, I wouldwrite a novel about it."
"But you don't care for him any more?"
"Care for him?" she repeated. "How could I ever stop caring for him!He was my first lover, and has been my only one."
"Let me ask you a question," James Borden demanded suddenly. "Don'tyou ever feel any grudge against him? He took you away from a veryrespectable position in life. He ruined all sorts of possibilities.He was fifteen or twenty years older than you were, and he knew theworld. You pleased him, and he deliberately entrapped your affections.Be honest, now. Don't you sometimes hate him for it?"
"Never," she answered without hesitation. "I was, as you say, mostrespectably placed--a teacher at a village school--and I might havemarried a young farmer, or bailiff's son, or, with great luck, astruggling young doctor, and lived a remarkably rural life, but, as youhave observed, in great respectability. My dear James, I should havehated it. I was, I think, nineteen years old when Reginald, in a mostcourtly fashion, suggested that I should come to London with him, and Ihave exactly the same feelings to-day about my acceptance of hisproposal as I had then."
"You are a puzzle," he declared. "You wouldn't be, of course, onlyyou're such a--such a good woman."
"Of course I am, James," she laughed. "I am good, inasmuch as I amfaithful to any tie I may make. I am kind, or try to be, to all myfellow creatures, and I should hate to do a mean thing. The onlydifference between me and other women is that I prefer to choose whattie I should consider sacred. I claimed the liberty to do that, and Iexercised it. As to my right to do so, I have never had the faintestpossible shadow of hesitation."
"Oh, it all sounds all right when you talk about it," he admitted, "butlet's come to the crux of this thing now we are about it, Marcia. I ameating my heart out for you. I should have thought that one of thegreat privileges of your manner of life was your freedom to change, ifyou desired to do so. Change, I mean--nothing to do with infidelity.You may have the nicest feelings in the world towards your Marquis, butI don't believe you love him any more. I don't believe you care forhim as much as you do for me."
"In one sense you are perfectly right," she acknowledged. "In anotheryou are altogether wrong."
"And yet," he continued, almost roughly, "you have never allowed me totouch your fingers, much more your lips."
"But, my dear man," she remonstrated, "you must know that those thingsare impossible. I would kiss you willingly if you were my friend, andif you were content with that, but you know it would only be hypocrisyif you pretended that you were. But listen," she went on. "I, too,sometimes think of these things. I will be very frank with you. Iknow that I have changed lately, and I know that the change hassomething to do with you. Reginald is sometimes a little restlessabout it. A time may come when he will provoke an explanation. Whenthat time comes, I want to answer him with a clear conscience."
Mr. James Borden brightened up considerably.
"That's the most encouraging thing I've heard you say for a long time,"he confessed.
She smiled.
"There are all sorts of possibilities yet," she said. "Now fetch aclothes brush and let me give you a good brushing, and you can take meout to lunch--that is to say, if you can find something decent to wearon your head," s
he went on, pointing to a somewhat disreputable lookinghat which hung behind the door. "I won't go out with you in that."
"That," he replied cheerfully, "is easily arranged. I can change myclothes in five minutes, if you prefer it."
She shook her head.
"You look quite nice when you're properly brushed," she assured him."Send upstairs for another hat, and we'll go into the grill room at theSavoy. I want a sole colbert, and a cutlet, and some of those littleFrench peas with sugar. Aren't I greedy!"
"Delightfully," he assented. "If you only realised how much easier itis to take a woman out who knows what she wants!"
They lunched very well amidst a crowd of cosmopolitans and lingeredover their coffee. Their conversation had been of books and nothingbut books, but towards the end Marcia once more spoke of herself.
"You see, James," she told him, "I have the feeling that if Reginaldreally does succeed in freeing the estates from their mortgages, hewill have any quantity of new interests in life. He will probably belord-lieutenant of the county, and open up the whole of Mandeleys.Then his town life would of course be quite different. I shallfeel--can't you appreciate that?--as though my task with him had comenaturally and gracefully to an end. We have both fulfilled ourobligations to one another. If he can give me his hand and let mego--well, I should like it."
She looked so very desirable as she smiled at him that Borden almostgroaned. She patted his hand and changed the conversation.
"Very soon," she continued, "I am going to undertake a painful duty. Iam going down to Mandeleys."
"Not with him?"
She shook her head.
"My father is back in England," she explained. "He has come back fromAmerica and is living in the cottage of many lawsuits. I must go downand see him."
"Has the boy returned, too?" he enquired.
"I have heard nothing about him," Marcia replied. "He was verydelicate when he was young, and I am not even sure whether he is alive.My father probably doesn't want to see me in the least, but I feel Iought to go."
"You wouldn't like me to motor you down, I suppose?" Borden suggesteddiffidently. "The country is delightful just now, and it would do usboth good. I could get away for three days quite easily, and I couldbring some work with me to peg away at whilst you are being dutiful."
"I should love it," she declared frankly, "and I don't see the leastreason why we shouldn't go. You won't mind," she went on, after asecond's hesitation, "if I mention it to Reginald? I am sure he won'tobject."
James Borden bit through the cigarette which he had just lit, threw itaway and started another.
"You must do whatever you think right," he said. "Perhaps you willtelephone."
"As soon as I know for certain," she promised him.