The Vagrant Duke

  CHAPTER XV

  SUPERMAN

  Of course Beth Cameron knew nothing of Russia's grand dukes. The onlyDuke that she had ever met was in the pages of the novel she had read inwhich the hero was named Algernon. That Duke was of the English variety,proud, crusty, and aged and had only made an unpleasant impression uponher because she had liked Algernon, who had fallen in love with thedaughter of the Duke, and the Duke had been very horrid to him inconsequence or by reason of that mishap. When she had said to Peter thathe reminded her of Algernon she had meant it, and that was really verynice of her, because she thought Algernon all that a self-respectinghero should be. It was true that Peter, though mostly an Englishman,didn't play polo and ride to hounds or swagger around a club and orderpeople about, because he was too poor and was obliged to work for hisliving.

  But he did remind her of Algernon somehow. He had a way with him, asthough if there _had_ been butlers and valets at Black Rock he _could_have swaggered and ordered them around if he'd had a mind to. He wasgood looking too. She had noted that even from the very first when shehad found him lugging his suitcase down on the road from Pickerel River.Then too he did say things to her, nicer things than any fellow had everknown how to say to her before, and he was much more polite than she hadever believed it possible for any one, to be without seeming queer. Butwhen, eavesdropping at McGuire's, she had heard Peter play the piano,she felt herself conducted into a new world which had nothing at all todo with glass factories and vineyards. Even the sartorial splendor ofMiss Peggy McGuire paled into insignificance beside the new visionswhich the music of Peter Nichols had invoked. He hadn't just lied toher. He _was_ a musician. He _could_ play. She had never heard anybodybring from a piano sounds like these. And he had said he wanted her tosing for him.

  Beth had sung always--just as she had always breathed--but she had neverheard any good music except on a talking machine at the boarding houseat Glassboro--an old record of Madame Melba's that they playedsometimes. But even that song from an opera ("Lay Boheem" they calledit), mutilated as it was, had shown her that there was something morewonderful than the popular melodies that the other people liked. Beth'staste for good music, like her taste for nice people, was instinctive.And she had found that in her walk of life the one was about asdifficult to find as the other. She had had her awakenings and herdisillusionments, with women as well as men, but had emerged from herexperiences of two winters in a factory town with her chin high and herheart pure--something of an achievement for one as pretty as Beth.

  All in all, she had liked Shad Wells better than any of the men she hadmet. He was rough, but she had discovered that good manners didn'talways mean good hearts or clean minds.

  It was this discovery that had made her look askance at Peter Nicholswhen she had first met him on the road, for he was politer than anybodyshe had ever met. If her philosophy was to be consistent this newsuperintendent would need watching. But his music disarmed her andcaptured her imagination. And then came the incident of the jealousShad and the extraordinary outcome of Mr. Nichols's championship of herrights. She had witnessed that fight from the shelter of the bushes. Ithad been dreadful but glorious. Peter's chivalry appealed to her--alsohis strength. From that moment he was superman.

  Then had followed the long wonderful weeks of music at the Cabin, inwhich she had learned the beginnings of culture and training. Hermusic-master opened new and beautiful vistas for her, told her of thegreat musicians and singers that the world had known, described theopera houses of Europe, the brilliant audiences, the splendid ballets,the great orchestras, and promised her that if she worked hard, shemight one day become a part of all this. She had learned to believe himnow, for she saw that as time went on he was more exacting with herwork, more sparing in his praise of her, and she had worked hard--indespair at times, but with a slowly growing confidence in her star ofdestiny.

  And all the while she was wondering why Peter Nichols was doing this forher and what the outcome of it all was to be. He spoke little of thefuture except to hint vaguely at lessons elsewhere when he had taughther all that he knew. The present it seemed was sufficient for themboth. His moods of soberness, of joy, of enthusiasm, were all catchingand she followed him blindly, aware of this great new element in herlife which was to make the old life difficult, if not impossible. Hetreated her always with respect, not even touching her arms or waist inpassing--an accepted familiarity of men by girls of her social class.Beth understood that it was a consideration due to a delicate situation,the same consideration which had impelled her always to call him Mr.Nichols.

  And yet it was this very consideration of Peter's that vexed her. Itwasn't an air of superiority, for she couldn't have stood that. It wasjust discretion, maybe, or something else, she couldn't decide what. ButBeth didn't want to be put in a glass case like the wax flowers at home.Her voice was a mere mechanical instrument, as he had taken pains sooften to tell her, but he seemed to be making the mistake of thinking_her_ a mechanical instrument too. She wasn't. She was very much alive,tingling with vitality, very human under her demure aspect during thesinging lessons, and it had bothered her that Peter shouldn't know it.His ignorance, his indifference affronted her. Didn't he see what shelooked like? Didn't he see that she might be worth making love to ...just a little, a very little ... once in a while?

  The clouds had broken suddenly, almost without warning, when he hadtalked like a professor--about sentiment--apologized--that was what hehad done--_apologized_ for not making love to her! Oh!

  And then things had happened swiftly--incredible, unbelievable things.The lightning had flashed and it had shown an ugly Mr. Nichols--adifferent Mr. Nichols from anything that she could have imagined of him.The things he had said to her ... his kisses ... shameful things! Ahundred times she had brushed them off like the vision of him from hermind. And still they returned, warm and pulsing to her lips. And stillthe vision of him returned--remained. He _had_ been so nice to herbefore....

  * * * * *

  Now Beth sat in the big chair opposite Peter in the Cabin by the logfire (for the evenings were getting cool) while he finished telling herabout the death of Ben Cameron, of the murder and of Jonathan K.McGuire's share in the whole terrible affair. It was with somemisgivings, even after swearing her to secrecy, that he told her what hehad learned through Kennedy and McGuire. And she had listened,wide-eyed. Her father of course was only the shadow of a memory to her,the evil shade in a half-forgotten dream, and therefore it was not griefthat she could feel, not even sorrow for one who in life had been sovile, even if his miserable death had been so tragic--only horror anddismay at the thought of the perpetrator of the infamy. And not untilPeter had come to the end of the story did she realize what thisrevelation meant, that the very foundation of McGuire's great fortunewas laid upon property which belonged to her.

  "Out of all this evil must come some good, Beth," he finished soberly."That copper mine was yours. McGuire took it and he is going to pay youwhat he owes."

  Beth had already exhausted all the expletives of horror and amazement,and now for a moment this last information staggered her and she staredat him unbelieving.

  "Pay me? I can't believe----"

  "It was your property by every law of God and man, and I mean that youshall have it." He paused and smiled softly. "You see, Beth, you won'tneed to depend on me now for your training."

  "Oh--then this was what you meant----"

  "What I meant when I said that you should owe me nothing--that I----"

  "But I _will_ owe you--everything. I shall still owe you everything."And then, wonderingly, "And just to think of my livin' here all thistime so near the man--and not knowin' about----" Her words trailed offinto silent astonishment.

  "Yes. And to think of his making his fortune on money that belonged toyou! Millions. And he's going to pay you what he got out of theTarantula mine--every dollar with interest to date."

  "But how can you make him do that?" she cried eagerly. "W
hat proof haveyou got?"

  He smiled grimly into the fire as he poked a fallen log into the blaze.

  "Blackmail is an ugly word, Beth. But it shouldn't be blackmail, ifsilence is the price of getting what really belongs to you. McGuire isusing your money--and he must give it to you. It's your money--not his.If he won't give it to you of his own free will, he will give it againsthis will."

  "But how can you make him do that?" asked Beth timidly.

  "By saving him from Hawk Kennedy. That's my price--and yours."

  "But how can you?"

  "I don't know. I've got to fight Kennedy with his own weapons--outwithim. And I've thought out a plan----"

  "But he's dangerous. You mustn't take any further risks with a man likethat for me."

  Peter only smiled.

  "It will amuse me, Beth. And besides----" He bent forward to tend thefire, his face immediately grave again. "Besides--I think I owe youthat, now."

  She understood what he meant and thrilled gently. Her joy had come backto her with a rush. All through the music lesson and through the recitalof the tale of mystery she had hung breathlessly on his words andwatched the changing expression on his features as he talked into thefire. This was _her_ Mr. Nichols who was speaking now, her friend andmentor, who wanted her to understand that this was his way of atonement.But she ignored his last remark, to Beth the most important of theentire conversation.

  "How--how much will the--the money amount to?" she asked timidly.

  Peter laughed.

  "Figure it out for yourself. Half a million--six per cent--fifteenyears----"

  "Half a million dollars----!"

  "A million--or more!"

  "A million! God-a-mercy!"

  Peter recognized one of Aunt Tillie's expressions, Beth's vocabularybeing inadequate to the situation.

  "But you haven't got it yet," he said.

  "And I daren't think of gettin' it. I won't think of it. I'd get mybrain so full of things I wanted it would just naturally _bust_. Ohlordy!"

  Peter laughed.

  "You do want a lot of things, don't you?"

  "Of course. A silk waist, a satin skirt, some silk stockings--but mostof all, a real sure enough piano," she gasped. And then, as though inreproach of her selfishness, "And I could pay off the mortgage on AuntTillie's farm back in the clearing!"

  "How much is that?"

  "Three thousand dollars. I've already paid off three hundred."

  "There ought to be enough for that," said Peter soberly.

  "Oh, Mr. Nichols. I hope you don't think I'm an awful fool talkin' thisway."

  "Not unless you think _I_ am."

  "But it _is_ nice to dream of things sometimes."

  "Yes. I do that too. What do you dream of, Beth?"

  "Oh, of bein' a great singer, mostly--standin' on a stage with peoplelookin' up and clappin' their hands at me."

  "What else?"

  "Oh," she laughed gayly, "I used to dream of marryin' a prince--allgirls do. But there ain't any princes now to marry."

  "No, that's true," he assented. "The old world hasn't any use forprinces now." And then, "But why did you want to marry a prince?" heasked.

  "Oh, I don't know. It's just fairy tales. Haven't you ever lived in afairy tale and loved a princess?"

  "Yes, I've lived in a fairy tale, but I've never loved a princess."

  "I guess if everybody knew," said Beth with conviction, "the princes inEurope are a pretty bad lot."

  "Yes," said Peter slowly, "I guess they are."

  She paused a moment, looking into the fire. And then, "Were you everacquainted with any princes in Europe, Mr. Nichols?"

  Peter smiled. "Yes, Beth. I did know one prince ratherintimately--rather too intimately."

  "Oh. You didn't like him?"

  "No, not much. He was an awful rotter. The worst of it was that he hadgood instincts and when he went wrong, he went wrong in spite of 'em.You see--he was temperamental."

  "What's temperamental?"

  "Having the devil and God in you both at the same time," muttered Peterafter a moment.

  "I know," she said. "Satan and God, with God just sittin' back a littleto see how far Satan will go."

  He smiled at her. "You don't mean that you have temptations too, Beth?"

  She ignored his question, her face sober, and went back to her subject.

  "I guess your prince wasn't any better or any worse than a lot of otherpeople. Maybe he didn't give God a chance?"

  "No. Maybe not," said Peter.

  "It seems to me he must have been kind of human, somehow," Bethcommented reflectively. "What's become of him now?" she asked, then.

  "Oh, he's out of it," replied Peter.

  "Dead?"

  "Yes. His country has chucked all the nobility out on the dust heap."

  "Russia?"

  "Yes."

  "Did they kill him?"

  "They tried to, but couldn't."

  "Where is he now?"

  "A wanderer on the face of the earth."

  "I'm so sorry. It must be terrible to have to eat pork and beans whenyour stomach's only used to chocolate sundaes."

  Peter grinned.

  "Some of 'em were glad enough to get off with stomachs to put beans andpork into. Oh, you needn't waste your pity, Beth."

  "I don't. I read the papers. I guess they got what they deserved. Theworkin' people in the world ain't any too keen on buyin' any morediamond tiaras for loafers. I reckon it was about time for a new dealall around without the face cards."

  "Perhaps, Beth. But there's always the ten spot to take the deuce."

  "I hadn't thought of that," said Beth reflectively. "People aren'treally equal--are they? Some apples _are_ better than others. I guess,"she sighed, "that the real trouble with the world is because there ain'tenough friendship in it."

  Peter was silent for a moment.

  "Yes, that's true," he said, "not enough friendship--not enough love.And it's all on account of money, Beth. There wouldn't have been anyEuropean war if some people hadn't wanted property that belonged tosomebody else."

  "I hope wanting this money won't make me hate anybody or make anybodyhate me. I don't want to make Mr. McGuire unhappy or Miss McGuire----"

  "You needn't worry," said Peter dryly. "You see, it's your money."

  Beth gave a deep sigh.

  "I can't help it. I _would_ like to have a sport coat and a _cerise_veil like Peggy wears."

  "You shall have 'em. What else?"

  "Some pretty patent leather shoes with rhinestone buckles----"

  "Yes----"

  "And a black velvet hat and nice _lingerie_----" (Beth pronounced itlingery).

  "Of course. And the piano----"

  "Oh, yes. A piano and books--lots of books."

  "And a red automobile?"

  "Oh, I wouldn't dare wish for that."

  "Why not? It's just as easy to wish for an automobile as a piano."

  "Yes, I suppose so." She became immediately grave again. "But I can'tseem to believe it all. I'm afraid."

  "Of what?"

  "Of Hawk Kennedy. I feel that he's going to make trouble for us all, Mr.Nichols. I'm afraid. I always seem to feel things before they happen.Any man who could do what he did--murder!"

  "There will be some way to get around him."

  "But it's dangerous. I don't feel I've got the right to let you do thisfor me."

  "Oh, yes, you have. I'd do it anyhow. It's only justice."

  "But suppose he--suppose----"

  "What----?"

  "He might kill you, too."

  Peter laughed. "Not a chance. You see, I wasn't born to die a violentdeath. If I had been, I'd have been dead months ago."

  "Oh--the war, you mean?" she asked soberly.

  "Yes--the war. Everything is tame after that. I'm not afraid of HawkKennedy."

  "But there's danger just the same."

  "I hope not. I won't cross that bridge until I come to it."

  Beth was silent fo
r a long moment and then with a glance at the clock onthe mantel slowly gathered her music, aware of his voice close at herear.

  "And if I do this, Beth,--if I get what belongs to you, will you believethat I have no motive but friendship for you, that I care for you enoughto want you to forgive me for what has happened?"

  He had caught her fingers in his own but she did not try to releasethem.

  "Oh, don't speak of that--_please_! I want to forget you--that day."

  "Can't you forget it more easily by remembering me as I am now, Beth?See. I want you as much now as I did then--just as much, but I cannothave you until you give yourself to me."

  What did he mean? She wasn't sure of him. If marriage was what he meant,why didn't he say so? Marriage. It was such an easy word to say. Herfingers struggled in his.

  "Please, Mr. Nichols," she gasped.

  "You mean that you won't--that you don't care enough----?"

  "I--I'm not sure of you----"

  "I love you, Beth----"

  "You _say_ so----"

  "I do--better than anything in the world."

  "Enough to--enough to...?"

  She was weakening fast. She felt her danger in the trembling of herfingers in his. Why didn't he finish her question for her? Marriage. Itwas such a little word. And yet he evaded it and she saw that he meantto evade it.

  "Enough to have you almost in my arms and yet hardly to touchyou--enough to have your lips within reach of mine and yet not to takethem. Isn't that what you wanted, Beth? Gentleness, tenderness----"

  She flung away from him desperately.

  "No--no. I want nothing--nothing. Please! You don't want to understand."And then with an effort she found her poise. "Things must be as theyare. Nothing else. It's getting late, I must go."

  "Beth--Not yet. Just a minute----"

  "No."

  But she did not go and only stood still, trembling with irresolution. Heknew what she wanted him to say. There could be no middle ground forBeth. She must be all to him or nothing. Marriage. It was the Grand DukePeter Nicholaevitch who had evaded this very moment while Peter Nicholshad urged him to it. And it was Peter Nichols who knew that any wordsspoken of marriage to Beth Cameron would be irrevocable, the Grand DukePeter (an opportunist) who urged him to utter them, careless ofconsequences. And there stood Beth adorable in her perplexity, conjuringboth of him to speak.

  It was Peter Nichols who met the challenge, oblivious of all counsels ofpride, culture, vainglory and hypocrisy. This was his mate, a sweeterlady than any he had ever known.

  "Beth," he whispered. "I love you. Nothing in the world makes anydifference to me but your happiness."

  He came to her and caught her in his arms, while she still struggledaway from him. "I want you. It doesn't matter who I am or who you are. Iwant you to----"

  Beth suddenly sprung away from him, staring at a figure which stood inthe doorway as a strident, highly pitched voice cut in sharply onPeter's confession.

  "Oh, excuse _me_! I didn't mean to intrude."

  It was Miss Peggy McGuire in her _cerise_ veil and her sport suit, withhard eyes somewhat scandalized by what she had seen, for Peter wasstanding awkwardly, his arms empty of their prize, who had started backin dismay and now stood with difficulty recovering her self-possession.As neither of them spoke Miss McGuire went on cuttingly, as she glancedcuriously around the Cabin.

  "So this is where you live? I seem to have spoiled your party. And may Iask who----" and her eyes traveled scornfully over Beth's figure,beginning at her shoes and ending at her flushed face--"I think I'veseen you before----"

  "Miss McGuire," said Peter quietly, "This is Miss Cameron----"

  "Oh, yes--the kitchen maid."

  "Miss Beth Cameron," insisted Peter frigidly, "who has just done me thehonor of promising to marry me."

  "Oh! I see----"

  Beth stared from one to the other, aware of the meaning of the visitor'smanner and of Peter's reply.

  "That is not true," she said very quietly, her deep voice vibrant withemotion. "I come here often. Mr. Nichols is teaching me music. I am veryproud of his friendship. But I did not promise to marry him."

  Peggy McGuire turned on her heel.

  "Well, it's almost time you did," she said insultingly.

  Peter, now pale and cold with fury, reached the door before her andstood blocking the passageway. "Miss McGuire, I'll trouble you to bemore careful in addressing my guests," he said icily.

  "Let me pass----"

  "In a moment."

  "You'd dare----?"

  "I would like you to understand that this cabin is mine--while I am inBlack Rock. Any guest here comes at my invitation and honors me byaccepting my hospitality. But I reserve the privilege of saying whoshall come and who shall not. I hope I make myself clear----" And Peterbowed low and then moved aside, indicating the door. "Good-night," hefinished.

  Miss Peggy McGuire glared at him, red as a young turkey cock, herfinishing school training just saving her from a tirade. "Oh, you! We'llsee about this----" and dashed past him out of the door and disappearedinto the darkness.

  Peter followed her with his angry gaze, struggling for his self-control,and at last turned into the room toward Beth, who now stood a smilingimage turned into stone.

  "Why did you deny what I said, Beth?" he pleaded.

  "It wasn't the truth. I never promised to marry you. You never asked meto."

  "I _would_ have asked you. I ask you now. I _was_ asking you when thatlittle fool came in----"

  "Maybe you were. Maybe you weren't. Maybe I'm a little hard of hearin'.But I'm not goin' to make _that_ an excuse for my bein' here----"

  "I don't understand----"

  "It's just that I came here because I wanted to come and because youwanted me. People have been talkin'. Let them talk. Let _her_ talk----"

  "She will. You can be pretty sure of that."

  Peter was pacing up and down the room, his hands behind him. "If she'dbeen a man----" he was muttering. "If she'd only been a man."

  Beth watched him a moment, still smiling.

  "Oh, I got what she meant--she was just tryin' to insult me."

  She laughed. "Seems as if she'd kind of succeeded. I suppose I ought tohave scratched her face for her. I think I would have--if she'd juststayed a minute longer. Funny too, because I always used to think shewas so sweet."

  Peter threw his arms wildly into the air and exploded.

  "Sweet! Sweet! _That_ girl! Yes, if vinegar is. She'll tear yourreputation to shreds."

  Beth had stopped smiling now and leaned against the wall, her chinlowered.

  "I reckon it serves me right. I hadn't any business to be comin'here--not at night, anyway."

  "Oh, Beth," he pleaded, catching her hands. "Why couldn't you have letthings be?"

  She struggled a little. And then, "Let _her_ think I was _engaged_ toyou when I wasn't?" she gasped.

  "But we are, Beth, dear. Say we are, won't you?"

  "Not when we're not."

  "Beth----!"

  "You should have spoken sooner, if you'd really meant it. Oh, I knowwhat it is. I've always known there's a difference between us."

  "No--not unless you make it."

  "Yes. It was there before I was born. You were brought up in a differentkind of life in a different way of thinkin' from mine----"

  "What has that got to do with it?"

  "Everything. It's not my fault. And maybe I'm a little too proud. ButI'm straight----"

  "Don't, Beth----" He put his arm around her but she disengaged herselfgently.

  "No, let me finish. Maybe you wanted me. I guess you did. But not thatmuch--not enough to speak out--and you were too straight to lie to me.I'm thankful for that----"

  "But I _have_ spoken, Beth," he insisted, taking her by the elbows andholding her so that he could look into her eyes. "I've asked you to--tobe my wife. I ask you now. Is that clear?"

  Her eyes evaded him and she laughed uneasily.

  "Yes, it's clear
--and--and your reason for it----"

  "I love you----"

  "A little, maybe. But I'll marry no man just to save my face--and his."

  But he caught her close to him, finding a new joy in his momentousdecision. She struggled still, but he would not be denied.

  "Yes, you will," he whispered. "You've got to marry me whether you wantto or not. You're compromised."

  "I don't care."

  "Oh, yes, you do. And you love me, Beth."

  "I don't love you----"

  "You do. And I'm going to marry you whether you want it or not."

  "Oh, _are_ you?"

  "Yes."

  "When?"

  "Soon."

  He kissed her. She didn't resist him. Resistance was useless. He hadwon.

  "Beth, dear," he went on. "I couldn't lie to you. I'm glad you knewthat. And I couldn't hurt you. I think I've always loved you--from thefirst."

  "I too--I too," she whispered. "I couldn't help it."

  "I think I knew that too----"

  "No, no. You couldn't----"

  "Yes. It was meant to be. You've given a new meaning to life, torn fromits very roots a whole rotten philosophy. Oh, you don't know what Imean--except that nobility is in the mind, beauty in the heart. Nothingelse matters."

  "No. It doesn't," she sighed. "You see, I--I do believe in you."

  "Thank God! But you know nothing of me--nothing of my past----"

  "I don't care what your past has been or who you are. You're good enoughfor me. I'm satisfied----"

  He laughed joyously at the terms of her acquiescence.

  "Don't you want to know what I've been--who I am----?"

  "No. It wouldn't make any difference--not now."

  "I'll tell you some day."

  "I'll take a chance on that. I'm not afraid."

  "And whatever I am--you'll marry me?"

  "Yes. Whatever--you--are----"

  While he smiled down at her she straightened in his arms and gentlyreleased herself, glancing guiltily at the clock.

  "I--I must be going now," she whispered.

  And so through the quiet forest they went to Black Rock village, hand inhand.