CHAPTER XVI
A surprised and very doubtful maid admitted him to Mrs. Hammerton's tinyreception room and took his card; and he fidgeted there impatientlyuntil the maid returned to conduct him.
Mrs. Hammerton sat at coffee in the combination breakfast and diningroom of her pretty little apartment. He had never seen her wear glasses,but a pair, presumably hers, was lying across the morning paper on theedge of the table.
Windows behind her threw her face into shadow against the sunlight, andhe could not clearly distinguish her features. A canary sangpersistently in the sunshine; a friendly cat yawned on the window sill.
"Have some coffee, James?" she asked, without greeting him.
"Thanks, I've breakfasted."
"Very well. There's a chair." She motioned dismissal to the maid. "Andclose the door!" she added curtly.
The maid vanished, closing the door. Aunt Hannah poured more coffee forherself; now she began to browse on toast and bacon.
"Have you seen the papers?" he asked bluntly.
Her eyes snapped fire: "That was a brave thing _you_ did! I never knewany of the Desboros were cowards."
He looked at her in angry astonishment.
"Well, what do _you_ call it if it isn't cowardice--to slink off andmarry a defenseless girl like that!"
"Did you expect me to give you a chance to destroy me and poisonJacqueline's mind? If I _had_ been guilty of the thing with which youcharge me, what I have done _would_ have been cowardly. Otherwise, it isjustified."
"You have been guilty of enough without that particular thing to ruleyou out."
"If," he said, controlling his anger, "you really were appointed God'sdeputy on earth, you'd have to rule out the majority of men who attemptto marry."
"I'd do it, too," she remarked.
"Fortunately," he went on, "your authority for meddling is only selfdelegated. You once threatened me. You gave me warning like a fairadversary. But even rattlesnakes do that!"
He could see her features more plainly now, having become accustomed tothe light; and her scornful expression and the brilliant danger in herbeady eyes did not escape him. She darted at a bit of toast andswallowed it.
"So," he ended calmly, "I merely accepted the warning and actedaccordingly--if you call that cowardly."
"I see. You were much too clever for me. In other words, you forestalledme, didn't you?"
"Ask yourself, Aunt Hannah."
"No, I ask you. You _did_ forestall me, didn't you, Jim?"
"I think it amounts to that."
"Oh! Then why are you here at this hour of the morning, after yourwedding night?"
There was a silence. Presently she put on her glasses and glanced atthe paper. When he had his temper and his voice under absolute controlagain, he said very quietly:
"Somebody is trying to make my wife unhappy. May I ask if it is you?"
"Certainly you may ask, James. Ask as many times as you like." Shecontinued to scan the paper.
"I do ask," he insisted.
"'Why don't you ask your--wife?'"]
She laid aside the paper and took off her glasses:
"Very well; failing to obtain the desired information from me, why don'tyou ask your--wife?"
"I have asked her," he said, in a low voice.
"Oh, I see! Jacqueline also refuses the desired information. So you cometo inquire of me. Is that it?"
"Yes, that is it."
"You go behind your wife's back----"
"Don't talk that way, please."
"Indeed! Now, listen very attentively, James, because that is exactlythe way I am going to talk to you. And I'll begin by telling you plainlyjust what you have done. _You_--and you know what _you_ are--havemarried clandestinely a young, innocent, inexperienced girl. You, whoare not fit to decide the fate of a new-born yellow pup, have assumedthe irrevocable responsibility of this girl's future--arranged ityourself in the teeth of the eternal fitness and decency of things!_You_, James Desboro, a good-for-nothing idler, irresponsiblespendthrift, half bankrupt, without ambition, without a profession,without distinction except that you have good looks and misleadingmanners and a line of ancestors which would make an Englishman laugh.
"When you did this thing you knew you were not fit to tie her shoes.You knew, too, that those who really love her and who might haveshielded her except for this--this treachery, had warned you to keepyour distance. You knew more than that; you knew that our littleJacqueline had all her life before her; that for the first time in herbrief career the world was opening its arms to her; that she was certainto be popular, sure to be welcomed, respected, liked, loved. You knewthat now she was going to have her chance; that men of distinction, ofattainment, of lofty ideals and irreproachable private lives--men wellto do materially, too--men of wealth, ambitious men, forceful men whocount, certainly would seek her, surround her, prefer her, give her whatshe had a right to have--the society of her intellectual peers--theexercise of a free, untrammeled judgment, and, ultimately, theopportunity to select from among real men the man most worthy of such awoman as she is."
Mrs. Hammerton laid one shapely hand on the table, fingers clenched,and, half rising, fairly glared at Desboro.
"You have cheated her out of what was her due! You have stolen herfuture! You have robbed her of a happy and worthy career to link herlife with your career--_your_ career--or whatever you call the futileparody on life which men of your sort enact, disgracing God that He knewno more than to create you! And my righteous anger against you is notwholly personal--not because you have swindled me alone--taken from methe only person I have really ever cared for--killed her confidence inme, her tenderness--but because you have cheated _her_, and the world,too! For she is a rare woman--a rare, sweet woman, James. And _that_ iswhat you have done to the civilisation that has tolerated you!"
He had risen, astounded; but as her denunciation of him became fiercer,and the concentrated fury in her eyes more deadly, a slightly dazedfeeling began to dull his own rage, and he found himself listening asthough a mere spectator at the terrible arraignment of another man.
He remained standing. But she had finished; and she was shaking a littlewhen she resumed her chair; and still he stood there, pallid, staring atspace. For several minutes neither of them stirred. Finally she said, ina harsh but modified voice:
"I will tell you this much. Since I have known that she is married Ihave not interfered. On the contrary, I have written her offering her mylove, my sympathy, and my devotion as long as I live. But it is aterrible and wicked thing that you have done. And I can see littlechance for her, little hope, and less of happiness--when she fullyrealises what she has done, and what you have done to her--when shereally understands how low she has stooped and to what level she hasdescended to find the man she has married."
He merely gazed at her without expression. She shook her head.
"Hers will become a solitary life, intellectually and spiritually. Thereis nothing in you to mate with it. Only materially are you of theslightest use--and I think I am not mistaken when I say your usefulnesseven there is pitiably limited, and that what you have to offer her willnot particularly attract her. For she is a rare woman, James--a speciesof being absolutely different from you. And it had been well for you,also, if you had been wise enough to let her alone. High altitudesdon't agree with you; and not even the merry company on MountOlympus--let alone the graver gathering higher up--are suitable for suchas you and your mundane kind."
He nodded, scarcely conscious of his mechanical acquiescence in what shesaid. Hat and stick in hand, he moved slowly toward the door. She,watching his departure, said in a lower voice:
"You and I are of the same species. I am no better than you, James.But--she is different. And you and I are capable of recognising thatthere _is_ a difference. It seems odd, almost ridiculous to find out atthis late date that it is not an alliance with fashion, wealth, family,social connections, that can do honour to Jacqueline Nevers, bourgeoisedaughter of a French shop-keeper; i
t is Jacqueline who honours the casteto which, alas, she has not risen, but into which she has descended. Godknows how far such a sour and soggy loaf can be leavened by such asshe--or what she can do for you! Perhaps----"
She checked herself and shook her head. He walked back to her, made hisadieux mechanically, then went out slowly, like a man in a trance.
Down in the sunny street the car was waiting; he entered and sat there,giving no orders, until the chauffeur, leaning wide from his seat andstill holding open the door, ventured to remind him.
"Oh, yes! Then--you may drive me to Mrs. Clydesdale's."
* * * * *
But the woman whose big and handsome house was now his destination, hadforbidden her servants to disturb her that morning; so when Desboropresented himself, only his card was received at the door.
Elena, in the drawing-room, hearing the bell, had sprung to her feet andstepped into the upper hall to listen.
She heard Desboro's voice and shivered, heard her butler say that shewas not at home, heard the bronze doors clash behind him.
Then, with death in her heart, she went back noiselessly into thedrawing-room where Mr. Waudle, who was squatting on a delicate Frenchchair, retaining his seat, coolly awaited a resumption of theinterrupted conference. As a matter of fact, he resumed it himselfbefore she was seated on the sofa at his elbow.
"As I was telling you," he continued, "I've got to make a living. Whyshouldn't you help me? We were friends once. You found me amusing enoughin the old days----"
"Until you became impudent!"
"Who provoked me? Women need never fear familiarity unless theyencourage it!"
"It was absolutely innocent on my part----"
"Oh, hell!" he said, disgustedly. "It's always the man's fault! When youpull a cat's tail and the animal scratches, it's the cat's fault. Allright, then; granted! But the fact remains that if you hadn't lookedsideways at me it never would have entered my head to make any advancesto you." Which was a lie. All men made advances to Elena.
"Leave it so," she said, with the angry flush deepening in her cheeks.
"Sure, I'll leave it; but I'm not going to leave _you_. Not yet, Elena.You owe me something for what you've done to me."
"Oh! Is _that_ the excuse?" she nodded scornfully; but her heart waspalpitating with fear, and her lips had become dry again.
He surveyed her insolently under his heavy eyelids.
"Come," he said, "what are you going to do about it? You are thefortunate one; you have everything--I nothing. And, plainly, I'm sick ofit. What are you going to do?"
"Suppose," she said, steadily, "that I tell my husband what you aredoing? Had you considered _that_ possibility?"
"Tell him if you like."
She shrugged.
"What you are doing is blackmail, isn't it?" she asked disdainfully.
"Call it what you please," he said. "Suit yourself, Elena. But there isa bunch of manuscript in the _Tattler's_ office which goes into printthe moment you play any of your catty games on me. Understand?"
She said, very pale: "Will you not tell me--give me some hint about whatyou have written?"
He laughed: "Better question your own memory, little lady. Maybe itisn't about you and Desboro at all; maybe it's something else."
"There was nothing else."
"There was--_me_!"
"You?"
"Sure," he said cheerfully. "What happened in Philadelphia, if putskillfully before any jury, would finish _you_."
"_Nothing_ happened! And you know it!" she exclaimed, revolted.
"But juries--and the public--don't know. All they can do is to hear thestory and then make up their minds. If you choose to let them hear_your_ story----"
"There was nothing! I did nothing! _Nothing_----" she faltered.
"But God knows the facts look ugly," he retorted, with smirkingcomposure. "You're a clever girl; ask yourself what you'd think if thefacts about you and young Desboro--you and me--were skillfully broughtout?"
She sat dumb, frightened, twisting her fingers; then, in the suddenanger born of torture:
"If I am disgraced, what will happen to _you_!" she flashed out--andknew in the same breath that the woman invariably perishes where the manusually survives; and sat silent and pallid again, her wide eyesrestlessly roaming about her as though seeking refuge.
"Also," he said, "if you sue the _Tattler_ for slander, there's Munger,you know. He saw us in Philadelphia that night----"
"What!"
"Certainly. And if a jury learned that you and I were in the same----"
"I did not dream you were to be in the same hotel--in those rooms--youmiserable----"
"Easy, little lady! Easy, now! Never mind what you did or didn't dream.You're up against reality, now. So never mind about me at all. Let thatPhiladelphia business go; it isn't essential. I've enough to work onwithout _that_!"
"'I do not believe you,' she said between her teeth"]
"I do not believe you," she said, between her teeth.
"Oh! Are you really going to defy me?"
"Perhaps."
"I see," he said, thoughtfully, rising and looking instinctively around.He had the quick, alert side-glance which often characterises lesseradepts in his profession.
Then, half way to the door, he turned on her again:
"Look here, Elena, I'm tired of this! You fix it so that your husbandkeeps those porcelains, or I'll go down town now and turn in thatmanuscript! Come on! Which is it?"
"Go, if you like!"
There ensued a breathless silence; his fat hand was on the door, pushingit already, when a stifled exclamation from her halted him. After amoment he turned warily.
"I'm desperate," he said. "Pay, or I show you up. Which is it to be?"
"I--how do I know? What proof have I that you can damage me----"
He came all the way back, moistening his thick lips, for he had playedhis last card at the door; and, for a second, he supposed that he wasbeaten.
"Now, see here," he said, "I don't want to do this. I don't want tosmash anybody, let alone a woman. But, by God! I'll do it if you don'tcome across. So make up your mind, Elena."
She strove to sustain his gaze and he leered at her. Finally he sat downbeside her:
"I said I wouldn't give you any proofs. But I guess I will. I'll proveto you that I've got you good and plenty, little lady. Will that satisfyyou?"
"Prove it!" she strove to say; but her lips scarcely obeyed her.
"All right. Do you remember one evening, just before Christmas, when youand your husband had been on the outs?"
She bit her lip in silence.
"_Do_ you?" he insisted.
"Perhaps."
"All right, so far," he sneered. "Did he perhaps tell you that he had anappointment at the Kiln Club with a man who was interested in porcelainsand jades?"
"No."
"Well, he did. He had an appointment for that night. I was the man."
She understood nothing.
"So," he said, "I waited three hours at the Kiln Club and your husbanddidn't show up. Then I telephoned his house. You and he were probablyhaving your family row just then, for the maid said he was there, butwas too busy to come to the telephone. So I said that I'd come up to thehouse in half an hour."
Still she did not comprehend.
"Wait a bit, little lady," he continued, with sly enjoyment of his ownliterary methods. "The climax comes where it belongs, not where youexpect it. So now we'll read you a chapter in which a bitter wind blowsheavily, and a solitary taxicab might have been seen outward boundacross the wintry wastes of Gotham Town. Get me?"
She merely looked at him.
"In that low, black, rakish taxi," he went on, "sat an enterprising manbent upon selling to your husband the very porcelains which hesubsequently bought. In other words, _I_ sat in that taxi. _I_ stoppedin front of this house; _I_ saw _you_ leave the house and go scurryingaway like a scared rabbit. And then I went up the steps, rang,
wasadmitted, told to wait in the library. I waited."
"Where?" The word burst from her involuntarily.
"In the library," he repeated. "It's a nice, cosy, comfortable place,isn't it? Fine fat sofas, soft cushions, fire in the grate--oh, a verycomfortable place, indeed! I thought so, anyway, while I was waiting foryour husband to come down stairs."
"It appeared that he had finally received my telephonemessage--presumably after you and he had finished your row--and had leftword that I was to be admitted. That's why they let me in. So I waitedvery, v--ery comfortably in the library; and somebody had thoughtfullyset out cigars, and whisky, and lemon, and sugar, _and_ a jug of hotwater. It _was_ a cold night, if you remember."
He paused long enough to leer at her.
"Odd," he remarked, "how pleasantly things happen sometimes. And, as Isat there in that big leather chair--you must know which one I mean,Elena--it is the fattest and most comforting--I smoked my cigar andsipped my hot grog, and gazed innocently around. And _what_ do yousuppose my innocent eyes encountered--just like that?"
"W--what?" she breathed.
"Why, a letter!" he said, jovially slapping his fat thigh, "a realletter lying right in the middle of the table--badly sealed, Elena--verycarelessly sealed--just the gummed point of the envelope clinging to thebody of it. Now, wasn't that a peculiar thing for an enterprising youngman to discover, I ask you?"
He leered and leered into her white face; then, satisfied, he went on:
"The writing was _yours_, dearie. I recognised it. It was addressed toyour own husband, who lived under the same roof. _And_ I had seen youcreep out, close the front door softly, and scurry away into the night."He made a wide gesture with his fat hands.
"Naturally," he said, "I thought I ought to summon a servant to callyour husband, so I could tell him what I had seen you do. But--there wasa quicker way to learn what your departure meant--whether you were atthat moment making for the river or for Maxim's--anyway, I knew therewas no time to be lost. So----"
She shrank away and half rose, strangling a cry of protest.
"Sure I did!" he said coolly. "I read your note very carefully, thenlicked the envelope and resealed it, and put it into my pocket. Afterall, Mr. Desboro is a man. It was none of my business to interfere. So Ilet him have what was coming to him--and you, too." He shrugged andwaved his hand. "Your husband came down later; we talked jades andporcelains and prices until I nearly yawned my head off. And when it wastime to go, I slipped the letter back on the table. After all, you andDesboro had had your fling; why shouldn't hubby have an inning?"
He lay back in his chair and laughed at the cowering woman, who haddropped her arms on the back of her chair and buried her face in them.Something about the situation struck him as being very funny. Heregarded her for a few moments, then rose and walked to the door. Therehe turned.
"Fix it for me! Understand?" he said sharply; and went out.
As the bronze doors closed behind Mr. Waudle, Elena started and liftedher frightened face from her arms. For a second or two she sat there,listening, then rose and walked swiftly and noiselessly to the baywindow. Mr. Waudle was waddling down the street. Across the way, keepinga parallel course, walked the Cubist poet, his ankle-high trousersflapping. They did not even glance at each other until they reached thecorner of Madison Avenue. Here they both boarded the same car goingsouth. Mr. Waudle was laughing.
She came back into the drawing-room and stood, clasped hands twisting insheer agony.
To whom could she turn now? What was there to do? Since January she hadgiven this man so much money that almost nothing remained of herallowance.
How could she go to her husband again? Never had she betrayed theslightest sympathy for him or any interest in his hobby until his angerwas awakened by the swindle of which he had been a victim.
Then, for the first time, under the menacing pressure from Waudle, shehad attempted finesse--manoeuvred as skillfully as possible in theshort space of time allotted her, cleverly betrayed an awakeninginterest in her husband's collection, pretended to a sudden caprice forthe forgeries recently acquired, and carried off very well herastonishment when informed that the jades and porcelains were swindlingimitations made in Japan.
It had been useless for her to declare that, whatever they were, sheliked them. Her husband would have none of them in spite of his evidentdelight in her sudden interest. He promised to undertake herschooling in the proper appreciation of all things Chinese--promised tobe her devoted mentor and companion in the eternal hunt for specimens.Which was scarcely what she wanted.
But he flatly refused to encourage her in her admiration for theseforgeries or to tolerate such junk under his roof.
"What was she to do? She had gone half mad with fear"]
What was she to do? She had gone, half mad with fear, to throw herselfupon the sympathy and mercy of Jacqueline Nevers. Terrified, tortured,desperate, she had even thought to bribe the girl to pronounce theforgeries genuine. Then, suddenly, at the mere mention of Desboro, shehad gone all to pieces. And when it became clear to her that there wasalready an understanding between this girl and the man she had countedon as her last resort, fear and anger completed her demoralisation.
She remembered the terrible scene now, remembered what she had said--hershameless attitude--the shameful lie which her words and her attitudehad forced Jacqueline to understand.
Why she had acted such a monstrous falsehood she scarcely knew; whetherit had been done to cut the suspected bond between Desboro andJacqueline before it grew too strong to sever--whether it had been sheerhysteria under the new shock--whether it was reckless despair that hadhardened her to a point where she meant to take the final plunge andtrust to Desboro's chivalry, she did not know then; she did not knownow.
But the avalanche she had loosened that night in December, when shewrote her note and went to Silverwood, was still thundering along behindher, gathering new force every day, until the menacing roar of it neverceased in her ears.
And now it had swept her last possible resource away--Desboro. All herhumiliation, all her shame, the lie she had acted, had not availed. Thisgirl had married him after all. Like a lightning stroke the news oftheir wedding had fallen on her. And on the very heels of it slunk theblackmailer with his terrifying bag of secrets.
Where was she to go? To her husband? It was useless. To Desboro? It wastoo late. Even now, perhaps, he was listening scornfully to his youngwife's account of that last interview. She could see the contempt in hisface--contempt for her--for the woman who had lied to avow her owndishonour.
Why had he come to see her then? To threaten her? To warn her? To spurnher? Yet, that was not like Desboro. Why had he come? What she had saidand intimated to Jacqueline was done _after_ the girl was a wife. Couldit be possible that Jacqueline was visiting her anger on Desboro, havinglearned too late that which would have prevented her from marrying himat all?
Elena crept to the sofa and sank down in a heap, cowering there in onecorner, striving to think.
What would come of it? Would this proud and chaste young girl, acceptingthe acted lie as truth, resent it? By leaving Desboro? By beginning asuit for divorce--and naming----
Elena cringed, stifling a cry of terror. What had she done? Every forceshe had evoked was concentrating into one black cloud over her head,threatening her utter destruction. Everything she had done since thatDecember night was helping the forces gathering to annihilate her. EvenDesboro, once a refuge, was now part of this tempest about to beunloosened.
Truly she had sowed the wind, and the work of her small white hands wasalready established upon her.
Never in her life had she really ever cared for any man. Her caprice forDesboro, founded on the lesser motives, had been the nearest approach.
It had cost her all her self-control, all her courage, to play thediplomat with her husband for the sake of obtaining his consent to keepthe forged porcelains. And after all it had been in vain.
In spite of her white misery an
d wretchedness, now, as she sat there inthe drawing-room alone, her cheeks crimsoned hotly at the memory of herarts and wiles and calineries; of her new shyness with the man she hadnever before spared; of her clever attitude toward him, the apparentdawn of tenderness, the faint provocation in her lifted eyes--God! Itshould have been her profession, for she had taken to it like a woman ofthe streets--had submitted like one, earning her pay. And, like many,had been cheated in the end.
She rose unsteadily, cooling her cheeks in her hands and gazing vacantlyin front of her.
She had not been well for a few days; had meant to see her physician.But in the rush of events enveloping her there had been no moment tothink of mere bodily ills.
Now, dizzy, trembling, and faintly nauseated, she stood supporting herweight on a gilded chair, closing her eyes for a moment to let theswimming wretchedness pass.
It passed after a while, leaving her so utterly miserable that sheleaned over and rang for a maid.
"Order the car--the Sphex limousine," she said. "And bring me my hat andfurs."
"Yes, madame."
"And--my jewel box. Here is the key----" detaching a tiny gold one fromits chain in her bosom. "And if Mr. Clydesdale comes in, say to him thatI have gone to the doctor's."
"Yes, madame."
"And--I shall take some jewels to--the safe deposit--one or two pieceswhich I don't wear."
The maid was silent.
"Do you understand about the--jewels?"
"Yes, madame."
She went away. Presently she returned with Elena's hat and furs andjewel box. The private garage adjoined the house; the car rolled outbefore she was ready.
On the way down town she was afraid she would faint--almost wished shewould. The chauffeur's instructions landed her at a jeweler's where shewas not known.
A few moments later, in a private office, a grey old gentleman verygently refused to consider the purchase of any jewelry from her unlesshe knew her name, residence, and other essentials which she flatlydeclined to give.
So a polite clerk put her into her car and she directed the chauffeur toDr. Allen's office, because she felt really too ill for the moment tocontinue her search. Later she would manage to find somebody who wouldbuy sufficient of her jewelry to give her--and Mr. Waudle--the seventhousand dollars necessary to avoid exposure.
Dr. Allen was in--just returned. Only one patient was ahead of her.Presently she was summoned, rose with an effort, and went in.
The physician was a very old man; and after he had questioned her for afew moments he smiled. And at the same instant she began to understand;got to her feet blindly, stood swaying for a moment, then dropped as hecaught her.
Neither the physician nor the trained nurse who came in at his summonsseemed to be very greatly worried. As they eased the young wife andquietly set about reviving her, they chatted carelessly. Later Elenaopened her eyes. Later still the nurse went home with her in herlimousine.