9
It became clear to me now that, incredible as it might seem, the thing thatailed William Oke was jealousy. He was simply madly in love with his wife,and madly jealous of her. Jealous--but of whom? He himself would probablyhave been quite unable to say. In the first place--to clear off anypossible suspicion--certainly not of me. Besides the fact that Mrs. Oketook only just a very little more interest in me than in the butler or theupper-housemaid, I think that Oke himself was the sort of man whoseimagination would recoil from realising any definite object of jealousy,even though jealously might be killing him inch by inch. It remained avague, permeating, continuous feeling--the feeling that he loved her, andshe did not care a jackstraw about him, and that everything with which shecame into contact was receiving some of that notice which was refused tohim--every person, or thing, or tree, or stone: it was the recognition ofthat strange far-off look in Mrs. Oke's eyes, of that strange absent smileon Mrs. Oke's lips--eyes and lips that had no look and no smile for him.
Gradually his nervousness, his watchfulness, suspiciousness, tendency tostart, took a definite shape. Mr. Oke was for ever alluding to steps orvoices he had heard, to figures he had seen sneaking round the house. Thesudden bark of one of the dogs would make him jump up. He cleaned andloaded very carefully all the guns and revolvers in his study, and evensome of the old fowling-pieces and holster-pistols in the hall. Theservants and tenants thought that Oke of Okehurst had been seized with aterror of tramps and burglars. Mrs. Oke smiled contemptuously at all thesedoings.
"My dear William," she said one day, "the persons who worry you have justas good a right to walk up and down the passages and staircase, and to hangabout the house, as you or I. They were there, in all probability, longbefore either of us was born, and are greatly amused by your preposterousnotions of privacy."
Mr. Oke laughed angrily. "I suppose you will tell me it is Lovelock--youreternal Lovelock--whose steps I hear on the gravel every night. I supposehe has as good a right to be here as you or I." And he strode out of theroom.
"Lovelock--Lovelock! Why will she always go on like that about Lovelock?"Mr. Oke asked me that evening, suddenly staring me in the face.
I merely laughed.
"It's only because she has that play of his on the brain," I answered; "andbecause she thinks you superstitious, and likes to tease you."
"I don't understand," sighed Oke.
How could he? And if I had tried to make him do so, he would merely havethought I was insulting his wife, and have perhaps kicked me out of theroom. So I made no attempt to explain psychological problems to him, and heasked me no more questions until once--But I must first mention a curiousincident that happened.
The incident was simply this. Returning one afternoon from our usual walk,Mr. Oke suddenly asked the servant whether any one had come. The answer wasin the negative; but Oke did not seem satisfied. We had hardly sat down todinner when he turned to his wife and asked, in a strange voice which Iscarcely recognised as his own, who had called that afternoon.
"No one," answered Mrs. Oke; "at least to the best of my knowledge."
William Oke looked at her fixedly.
"No one?" he repeated, in a scrutinising tone; "no one, Alice?"
Mrs. Oke shook her head. "No one," she replied.
There was a pause.
"Who was it, then, that was walking with you near the pond, about fiveo'clock?" asked Oke slowly.
His wife lifted her eyes straight to his and answered contemptuously--
"No one was walking with me near the pond, at five o'clock or any otherhour."
Mr. Oke turned purple, and made a curious hoarse noise like a man choking.
"I--I thought I saw you walking with a man this afternoon, Alice," hebrought out with an effort; adding, for the sake of appearances before me,"I thought it might have been the curate come with that report for me."
Mrs. Oke smiled.
"I can only repeat that no living creature has been near me thisafternoon," she said slowly. "If you saw any one with me, it must have beenLovelock, for there certainly was no one else."
And she gave a little sigh, like a person trying to reproduce in her mindsome delightful but too evanescent impression.
I looked at my host; from crimson his face had turned perfectly livid, andhe breathed as if some one were squeezing his windpipe.
No more was said about the matter. I vaguely felt that a great danger wasthreatening. To Oke or to Mrs. Oke? I could not tell which; but I was awareof an imperious inner call to avert some dreadful evil, to exert myself, toexplain, to interpose. I determined to speak to Oke the following day, forI trusted him to give me a quiet hearing, and I did not trust Mrs. Oke.That woman would slip through my fingers like a snake if I attempted tograsp her elusive character.
I asked Oke whether he would take a walk with me the next afternoon, and heaccepted to do so with a curious eagerness. We started about three o'clock.It was a stormy, chilly afternoon, with great balls of white clouds rollingrapidly in the cold blue sky, and occasional lurid gleams of sunlight,broad and yellow, which made the black ridge of the storm, gathered on thehorizon, look blue-black like ink.
We walked quickly across the sere and sodden grass of the park, and on tothe highroad that led over the low hills, I don't know why, in thedirection of Cotes Common. Both of us were silent, for both of us hadsomething to say, and did not know how to begin. For my part, I recognisedthe impossibility of starting the subject: an uncalled-for interferencefrom me would merely indispose Mr. Oke, and make him doubly dense ofcomprehension. So, if Oke had something to say, which he evidently had, itwas better to wait for him.
Oke, however, broke the silence only by pointing out to me the condition ofthe hops, as we passed one of his many hop-gardens. "It will be a pooryear," he said, stopping short and looking intently before him--"no hops atall. No hops this autumn."
I looked at him. It was clear that he had no notion what he was saying. Thedark-green bines were covered with fruit; and only yesterday he himself hadinformed me that he had not seen such a profusion of hops for many years.
I did not answer, and we walked on. A cart met us in a dip of the road, andthe carter touched his hat and greeted Mr. Oke. But Oke took no heed; hedid not seem to be aware of the man's presence.
The clouds were collecting all round; black domes, among which coursed theround grey masses of fleecy stuff.
"I think we shall be caught in a tremendous storm," I said; "hadn't webetter be turning?" He nodded, and turned sharp round.
The sunlight lay in yellow patches under the oaks of the pasture-lands, andburnished the green hedges. The air was heavy and yet cold, and everythingseemed preparing for a great storm. The rooks whirled in black clouds roundthe trees and the conical red caps of the oast-houses which give thatcountry the look of being studded with turreted castles; then theydescended--a black line--upon the fields, with what seemed an unearthlyloudness of caw. And all round there arose a shrill quavering bleating oflambs and calling of sheep, while the wind began to catch the topmostbranches of the trees.
Suddenly Mr. Oke broke the silence.
"I don't know you very well," he began hurriedly, and without turning hisface towards me; "but I think you are honest, and you have seen a good dealof the world--much more than I. I want you to tell me--but truly,please--what do you think a man should do if"--and he stopped for someminutes.
"Imagine," he went on quickly, "that a man cares a great deal--a very greatdeal for his wife, and that he finds out that she--well, that--that she isdeceiving him. No--don't misunderstand me; I mean--that she is constantlysurrounded by some one else and will not admit it--some one whom she hidesaway. Do you understand? Perhaps she does not know all the risk she isrunning, you know, but she will not draw back--she will not avow it to herhusband"--
"My dear Oke," I interrupted, attempting to take the matter lightly, "theseare questions that can't be solved in the abstract, or by people to whomthe thing has not happened. And it cer
tainly has not happened to you orme."
Oke took no notice of my interruption. "You see," he went on, "the mandoesn't expect his wife to care much about him. It's not that; he isn'tmerely jealous, you know. But he feels that she is on the brink ofdishonouring herself--because I don't think a woman can really dishonourher husband; dishonour is in our own hands, and depends only on our ownacts. He ought to save her, do you see? He must, must save her, in one wayor another. But if she will not listen to him, what can he do? Must he seekout the other one, and try and get him out of the way? You see it's all thefault of the other--not hers, not hers. If only she would trust in herhusband, she would be safe. But that other one won't let her."
"Look here, Oke," I said boldly, but feeling rather frightened; "I knowquite well what you are talking about. And I see you don't understand thematter in the very least. I do. I have watched you and watched Mrs. Okethese six weeks, and I see what is the matter. Will you listen to me?"
And taking his arm, I tried to explain to him my view of thesituation--that his wife was merely eccentric, and a little theatrical andimaginative, and that she took a pleasure in teasing him. That he, on theother hand, was letting himself get into a morbid state; that he was ill,and ought to see a good doctor. I even offered to take him to town with me.
I poured out volumes of psychological explanations. I dissected Mrs. Oke'scharacter twenty times over, and tried to show him that there wasabsolutely nothing at the bottom of his suspicions beyond an imaginative_pose_ and a garden-play on the brain. I adduced twenty instances, mostlyinvented for the nonce, of ladies of my acquaintance who had suffered fromsimilar fads. I pointed out to him that his wife ought to have an outletfor her imaginative and theatrical over-energy. I advised him to take herto London and plunge her into some set where every one should be more orless in a similar condition. I laughed at the notion of there being anyhidden individual about the house. I explained to Oke that he was sufferingfrom delusions, and called upon so conscientious and religious a man totake every step to rid himself of them, adding innumerable examples ofpeople who had cured themselves of seeing visions and of brooding overmorbid fancies. I struggled and wrestled, like Jacob with the angel, and Ireally hoped I had made some impression. At first, indeed, I felt that notone of my words went into the man's brain--that, though silent, he was notlistening. It seemed almost hopeless to present my views in such a lightthat he could grasp them. I felt as if I were expounding and arguing at arock. But when I got on to the tack of his duty towards his wife andhimself, and appealed to his moral and religious notions, I felt that I wasmaking an impression.
"I daresay you are right," he said, taking my hand as we came in sight ofthe red gables of Okehurst, and speaking in a weak, tired, humble voice. "Idon't understand you quite, but I am sure what you say is true. I daresayit is all that I'm seedy. I feel sometimes as if I were mad, and just fitto be locked up. But don't think I don't struggle against it. I do, I docontinually, only sometimes it seems too strong for me. I pray God nightand morning to give me the strength to overcome my suspicions, or to removethese dreadful thoughts from me. God knows, I know what a wretched creatureI am, and how unfit to take care of that poor girl."
And Oke again pressed my hand. As we entered the garden, he turned to meonce more.
"I am very, very grateful to you," he said, "and, indeed, I will do my bestto try and be stronger. If only," he added, with a sigh, "if only Alicewould give me a moment's breathing-time, and not go on day after daymocking me with her Lovelock."