Man and Maid

  XVII

  Burton gave forth some information this evening, as he was dressing mefor dinner. He had now discovered from Pierre how Suzette had behavedwhen she intruded upon Alathea. She had entered the room--"PassingPierre without so much as asking his leave, and he with his wooden legnot so nimble as might be!" She had gone to the writing table anddemanded my address. "An affair of business which must be attended to atonce," she had announced. Pierre standing at the door had heard allthis. Burton added "He said that Mam'zelle was that scented and that gotup, of course Miss Sharp must have known what she was."

  Alathea apparently had answered with dignity, that she had received noorders to give any address, but that letters would be forwarded.

  "She took no more notice of Mam'zelle than if she was a chair," Pierrehad told him--who, having his own troubles with women, was prepared tosee a conflict! Suzette became nonplussed, and losing her temper alittle told Alathea that she hoped she would get as much out of thesituation as she herself had done! Alathea continued writing as thoughshe had not heard, and then told her quite politely in French, that ifshe would kindly leave whatever letters were to be sent on, she wouldsee that they went that night, and had added:

  "Now, I need not detain you longer." Suzette became furious, andstamping, said she was "Mademoiselle la Blonde," and had more rightthere than Alathea!

  Pierre had here interfered, and catching hold of Suzette's arm, haddragged her from the room.

  I tingled with shame and wrath. That the person I respect most in theworld should have been exposed to such a scene--! Burton too washorrified--.

  I had the most awful sensation of discomfort--the very fact of having tohear of all this through servants was sufficiently disgusting, withoutthe events themselves being so degrading.

  What must Alathea think of me! And I cannot even allude to the subject.How wonderful her dignity has been that she has allowed no extracontempt to come into her manner.

  How shall I have the pluck to ask her to marry me? I mean to do soto-morrow when she comes.

  * * * * *

  _Saturday:_

  I am going to write the events of these last days down without anycomment.

  I came in to the sitting-room after Alathea had arrived. She was writingat her desk in the little salon. I looked in and asked her if she wouldcome in and speak to me. Then I got to my chair. She entered obedientlywith the block in her hand, ready to begin work.

  "Will you sit down, please," I said, indicating a chair, where she wouldface me and the light, so that no shade of her expression should be lostupon me. (I shall become quite an expert in reading mouths. I am obligedto study hers so closely!)

  I felt less nervous than I have ever felt when with her. I thought therewas the faintest shade of alertness in her manner.

  "I am going to say something which will surprise you very much, MissSharp," I began.

  She raised her head a little.

  "I will put the case to you quite baldly--I am very rich as you know--Iam still horrid to look at--I am lonely and I want a companion who wouldplay the piano to me, and who would help me to write books, and whowould travel with me. I cannot have any of these simple things becauseof the scandal people would make--so there is only one course open tome--that is to go through the marriage ceremony--Miss Sharp--under thoseterms will you marry me?"

  Her attitude had become tense--her face did not flush, it became verypale. She remained perfectly silent for a moment. I felt just the sameas I used to do before going over the top--a queer kind of excitement--awonder if I'd come through or not.

  As she did not answer I went on. "I would not expect anything from youexcept a certain amount of your company. There would not be any questionof living with me as a wife--I would promise even to keep in check thatside which you once saw and which I was so sorry about. I would settlelots of money on you, and give anything to your family you might wish. Iwould not bother you, you would be quite free--only I would like you totake interest in my work in a way--and to play to me--even if you wouldnot talk to me."

  My voice broke a little at the end of this; I was conscious of it, andof how weak it was of me. Her hands clasped together suddenly--and sheappeared as though she was going to speak, then remained silent.

  "Won't you answer me at all?" I pleaded.

  "It is such a strange proposal--I would wish to refuse it at once----"

  "It is quite bald, I know," I interrupted quickly. "I want to buyyou--that is all--you can name the price. I know if you consented itwould merely be for the same reason which makes you work. I presume itis for your family, not for yourself; therefore, I am counting upon thatto influence you. Whatever you would want for your family I should bedelighted to give you."

  She twisted her locked hands--the first sign of real emotion I have seenin her.

  "You would marry me--without knowing anything about me? It is verystrange--."

  "Yes. I think you are extremely intelligent--if you would consent totalk to me sometimes. I want to go into Parliament--when I am patched upand more decent looking, and I believe you would be of the greatest helpto me."

  "You mean the whole thing simply as a business arrangement?"

  "I have already stated that."

  She started to her feet.

  "The bargain," I went on, "would be quite a fair one. I am offering tobuy a thing which is not for sale--therefore, I am willing to paywhatever would tempt the owner to part with it. I am not mixing up anysentiment in the affair. I want the brain of you for my scheme of life,and the laws of the quaintly civilized society to which we belong, donot permit me to hire it--I must buy it outright. I put it to younet--is there any way we can effect this deal?"

  Her lips were quivering--.

  "You would say this, no matter what you might hear of my family?"

  "I am quite unconcerned as to their history. I have observed you, andyou possess all the qualities which I want in the partner who can helpme to live my new life. For me you are just a personality--" (thus Ilied valiantly!) "not a woman."

  "Can I believe you?" she asked a little breathlessly.

  "You are thinking of that day when I kissed you--" her lips told me bytheir sudden drawing in, that she was agitated.

  "Well--I expect really that you know men well enough, Miss Sharp, toknow that they have sudden temptations--but that a strong will canovercome them. I was very much moved about your grief that afternoon,and the suppressed emotion, and the exasperation you had caused me,unbalanced me--I am quite unlikely ever to feel again--if you will marryme, I will give you my word I will never touch you, or expect anything,of you except what you agree to give in the bargain. You can lead yourown life--and I can lead mine."

  I felt suddenly that these last words were not very wise--for theyaroused in her mind the thought that I should go on having friends likeSuzette. I hastened to add--

  "You will have my deepest respect, and as my wife shall be treated withevery courtesy and honour."

  She sat down again and raised her hands to her eyes as though to removeher glasses, and then remembered and dropped them.

  "I see that you would rather not answer to-day, Miss Sharp--you mightprefer to go now and think about it?"

  "Thank you." She turned and walked back into the little salon without aword more, and when she went I closed my eye exhausted with the greatstrain.

  But I did not feel altogether hopeless until Burton came in to tell melunch was ready and said that Alathea had gone.

  "The young lady said as how she would not be back she expected, and shetook her own pens and things in her bag. She was as white as a lily,give you my word, Sir Nicholas."

  I am ashamed to say that I felt a little faint then. Had I oversteppedthe mark, and should I never see her again?

  A whole party of the fluffies were coming to dinner, and we were to havea very gay evening. I ordered my one horse Victoria and went for a drivein the _Bois_, to calm myself, and the trees with their early autumnti
nts seemed to mock at me. I could see too much beauty in them, and ithurt. Everything hurt! This was certainly the worst afternoon I have hadto bear since I came to on No-Man's Land near Langemarke. But I supposeat dinner I played the game, for Coralie and the rest congratulated me.

  "Getting quite well, Nicholas! And of a _chic_! _Va!_"

  We played poker afterwards and the stakes were high, and I was thewinner the whole time, until I could see anxiety creep into more thanone eye (pair of eyes! I have got so accustomed to writing of eyes inthe singular that I forget!) We had quantities of champagne and someexotic musicians Maurice had procured for me, and a nude Hindoo dancer.

  Everyone went more or less mad.

  They left about four in the morning, all rather drunk, if one must writeit. But the more I had drunk the more hideously sober and filled withanguish I seemed to become, until when I had called the last cheerygood-night and was at last alone in my bed, I felt as if the end hadcome, and that death would be the next and only good thing which couldhappen to me.

  I have never before had this strange detached sense in such measure asthis night. As of a hungry agonized spirit standing outside its wretchedbody, and watching its feeble movements, conscious of their futility,conscious of being chained to the miserable thing, and only knowingrebellion and agony.

  Burton gave me a sleeping draught, and I slept far into the next day toawake more unhappy than ever, obsessed with self-contempt anddegradation.

  In the afternoon, I received a note from Maurice, telling me that he hadinadvertently heard that a fellow in the American Red Cross had seenMiss Sharp's passport, when she had been sent down to Brest for them,and the name on it was Alathea Bulteel Sharp, and judging that thesecond name sounded as if it might be a well-known English one, hehastened to tell me, in case it should be a clue. I could not thinkwhere I had heard it before, or with what memory it was connecting in mybrain. I had a feeling it was something to do with George Harcourt. Ipuzzled for a while, and then I looked back over the pages of myjournal, and there found what I had written of his conversation--BobbyBulteel--Hartelford's brother--cheating at cards--and married to LadyHilda Marchant----

  Of course!--The whole thing became plain to me! This would account foreverything. I hobbled up and got down the peerage. I turned to theHartelford title, and noted the brothers--the Hon'bles--John Sinclair,Charles Henry, and Robert Edgar. This last must be "Bobby" Then I readthe usual things--"Educated at Eton and Christchurch, etc., etc." "Leftthe Guards in 1893." "Married in 1894--Lady Hilda Farwell, only daughterof the Marquess of Braxted (title extinct) and divorced wife of WilliamMarchant, Esquire." "Issue--"

  "Alathea--born 1894, John Robert born 1905, and Hilda born 1907."

  So the whole tragic story seemed to unfold itself before me.

  Alathea is the child of that great love and sacrifice of her Mother--Iread again the words George had used: "She adored the fellow who hadevery charm." All the world might cast him out, but that one faithfulwoman gave up home and name and honour, to follow him in his disgrace.That was love indeed, however misplaced! I looked again at the dates andmade a calculation of the time divorces took then, and I saw that mylittle darling girl could only have escaped illegitimacy by perhaps afew hours!

  What had her life been? I pictured it. They must have hidden diminishedheads in hole and corner places during the dreary years. Such a man asBobby Bulteel must have been, as George said, a weakling. TheHartlefords were poor as church mice, and were not likely to assist ascapegrace, who had dishonoured them. I remembered hearing that on theold Lord Braxted's death years ago, Braxted was sold to theMerrion-Walters, Ironfounders from Leeds. No doubt the old man had cuthis daughter off without the traditional shilling, but even so, somehundreds a year must have been theirs. What then did the poverty ofAlathea suggest? That some constant drain must be going on all the time.Could the scapegrace still be a gambler, and that could account for it?This seemed the most probable explanation.

  Then all over me there rushed a mad worship for my little love. Hersplendid unselfishness, her noble self-sacrifice, her dignity, herserenity. I could have kissed the ground under her feet.

  I made Burton spend untold time telephoning to the Embassy, and then toVersailles to Colonel Harcourt--would he not dine with me? He was sorryhe was engaged but he would lunch the next day. Then when the longevening was in front of me alone--I could hardly bear it. And, driven todesperation at last, when Burton was undressing me, I said to him:

  "Did you ever know anything of the Hartlefords, Burton--Bulteel is thefamily name?"

  "Can't say as I did personally, Sir Nicholas," he answered, "but ofcourse, when I was a young boy taking my first fourth-footman's place,before I came to your father, Sir Guy, at Her Grace of Wiltshire's, Icould not help hearing of the scandal about the cheating at cards. Thewhole nobility and gentry was put to about it, and nothing else wastalked of at dinner."

  "Try and tell me what you remember of the story."

  So Burton held forth in his own way for a quarter of an hour. There hadbeen no possible doubt of the crime, it was the week after the Derby,and Bulteel had lost heavily it was said. He was caught red-handed andgot off abroad that night, and the matter would have been hushed upprobably but for the added sensation of Lady Hilda's elopement with him.That set society by the ears, and the thing was the thrill of theseason. Mr. Marchant had been "all broken-up" by it, and delayed thedivorce so that as far as Burton could remember, Captain Bulteel couldnot marry Lady Hilda for more than a year afterwards. All this coincidedwith what I already knew. Lord Braxted too, "took on fearful," and diedof a broken heart it was said, leaving every cent to charity. The entailhad been cut in the generation before and the title became extinct athis death.

  I did not tell Burton then of my discovery, and lay long hours in thedark, thinking and thinking.

  What did the Duchesse's attitude mean? In the eyes of the Duchesse deCourville-Hautevine, _nee_ Adelaide de Mont Orgeuil--to cheat at cardswould be the worst of all the cardinal sins. Such a man as Bobby Bulteelmust be separated from his kind. She knew Lady Hilda probably (theDuchesse often stayed in England with my mother) and she probably felt adisapproving pity for the poor lady. The great charity of her mind wouldbe touched by suffering, if the suffering was apparent, and perhaps shehad some affection for the girl Alathea. But no affection could bridgethe gulf which separated the child of an outcast from her world. Thesins of the father would inevitably be visited upon the children by anunwritten law, and although she might love Alathea herself, she couldnot countenance her union with me. The daughter of a man who had cheatedat cards should go into a convent. I instinctively felt somehow thatthis would be her viewpoint.

  Does Alathea know this tragedy about her father? Has she had to livealways under this curse? Oh! The pity of it all.

  Morning found me more restless and miserable than I have ever been, andit brought no sign of my love!