In the Year of Jubilee Part 39

I might go for December and January. Father didn't mean I was never to have change of air. Then there would be February and March at home. And then I might go away again till near the end of May. I'm sure we can manage it.'

She stopped, breathless. Tarrant, who had listened with averted face, turned and spoke judicially.

'There's one thing you're forgetting, Nancy. Do you propose that we shall never acknowledge the child? Remember that even if you were bold enough, after our second marriage, to acknowledge it in the face of scandal--that wouldn't be safe. Any one, if suspicion is aroused, can find out when we were actually married.'

'We can't think of that. The child may not live.'

Tarrant moved, and the movement startled Nancy. It meant that she had pained him, perhaps made him think of her with repugnance.

'I hardly know what I am saying. You know I don't wish that. But all I can think of now is to keep you near me. I can't bear to be separated from you. I love you so much more than you love me.'

'Let me just tell you what I had in mind, Nancy. Supposing the secret can be kept, we must eventually live abroad, that is to say, if our child is not to grow up a stranger to us, which neither you nor I could wish. Now, at Na.s.sau, the capital of the Bahamas, a lot of Americans always spend the winter. If I made acquaintances among them, it might be a very useful step, it would be preparing for the future.'

To Nancy this sounded far from convincing. She argued against it in a perfectly natural way, and as any one else would have done who knew Tarrant. More than once he had declared to her that he would rather die than drag out his life in one of the new countries, that he could not breathe in an atmosphere of commercialism unrelieved by historic a.s.sociations. Nancy urged that it would be better to make a home on the continent, whither they could go, at any moment, without a sense of exile.

'So it comes to this,' he interrupted, with an air of resignation.

'I must refuse Vawdrey's offer, and, in doing so, refuse an excellent chance of providing for our future, _if_--what is by no means improbable--the secret should be discovered. I must turn to journalism, or be a clerk. Well and good. My wife decrees it.'

And he began to hum an air, as if the matter were dismissed. There was a long silence.

'How long would you be away?' murmured Nancy, at length.

'I suppose two months at most.'

'November--December.'

'The second of those months you might be spending, as you said, away from London. Down in Devon, perhaps. I can't blame your thoughts about it; but it seems--doesn't it?--a trifle inconsiderate, when you think what may result from my journey.'

'Would you promise me to be back by the end of the year?'

'Not promise, Nancy. But do my best. Letters take fourteen days, that's all. You should hear by every mail.'

'Why not promise?'

'Because I can't foresee how much I may have to do there, and how long it will take me. But you may be very sure that Vawdrey won't pay expenses for longer than he can help. It has occurred to me that I might get materials for some magazine articles. That would help to float me with the editors, you know, if it's necessary.'

Nancy sighed.

'If I consented--if I did my best not to stand in your way--would you love me better when you came back?'

The answer was a pleased laugh.

'Why, there,' he cried, 'you've given in a nutsh.e.l.l the whole duty of a wife who wishes to be loved!'

Nancy tried to laugh with him.

CHAPTER 8

He must be a strong man whom the sudden stare of Penury does not daunt and, in some measure, debase. Tarrant, whatever the possibilities of his nature, had fallen under a spell of indolent security, which declared its power only when he came face to face with the demand for vigorous action. The moment found him a sheer poltroon. 'What! Is it possible that I--_I_--am henceforth penniless? I, to whom the G.o.ds were so gracious? I, without warning, flung from sheltered comfort on to the bare road side, where I must either toil or beg?' The thing seemed unintelligible. He had never imagined such ruin of his hopes.

For the first time, he turned anxious thoughts upon the money to which his wife was--would be--might be--ent.i.tled. He computed the chances of success in the deception he and she were practising, and knew with shame that he must henceforth be party to a vulgar fraud. Could Nancy be trusted to carry through this elaborate imposition--difficult for the strongest-minded woman? Was it not a certainty that some negligence, or some accident, must disclose her secret? Then had he a wife and child upon his hands, to support even as common men support wife and child, by incessant labour. The prospect chilled him.

If he went to the West Indies, his absence would heighten the probability of Nancy's detection. Yet he desired to escape from her.

Not to abandon her; of that thought he was incapable; but to escape the duty--repulsive to his imagination--of encouraging her through the various stages of their fraud. From the other side of the Atlantic he would write affectionate, consolatory letters; face to face with her, could he support the show of tenderness, go through an endless series of emotional interviews, always reminding himself that the end in view was hard cash? Not for love's sake; he loved her less than before she proved herself his wife in earnest. Veritable love--no man knew better--would have impelled him to save himself and her from a degrading position.

Was he committing himself to a criminality which the law would visit?

Hardly that--until he entered into possession of money fraudulently obtained.

In miserable night-watchings, he fell to the most sordid calculations.

Supposing their plot revealed, would Nancy in fact be left without resources? Surely not,--with her brother, her aunt, her lifelong friends the Barmbys, to take thought for her. She could not suffer extremities.

And upon this he blushed relief.

Better to make up his mind that the secret must inevitably out. For the moment, Nancy believed she had resigned herself to his departure, and that she had strength to go through with the long ordeal. But a woman in her situation cannot be depended upon to pursue a consistent course. It is Nature's ordinance that motherhood shall be attained through phases of mental disturbance, which leave the sufferer scarce a pretence of responsibility. Nancy would play strange pranks, by which, a.s.suredly, he would be driven to exasperation if they pa.s.sed under his eyes. He had no mind to be called father; perhaps even his humanity might fail under the test to which, as a lover, he had given scarce a casual thought. By removing himself, and awaiting the issue afar off, he gained time and opportunity for reflection. Of course his wife could not come to want; that, after all, was the one clearly comforting thought. Her old servant would take good care of her, happen what might.

He must taste of liberty again before sinking into the humdrum of married life. The thought of an ocean voyage, of the new life amid tropic splendours, excited his imagination all the more because it blended with the thought of recovered freedom. Marriage had come upon him with unfair abruptness; for such a change as that, even the ordinary bachelor demands a season preparative; much more, then, the young man who revelled in a philosophic sense of detachment, who wrote his motto 'Vixi hodie!' For marriage he was simply unfit; forced together, he and his wife would soon be mutually detestable. A temporary parting might mature in the hearts of both that affection of which the seed was undeniably planted. With pa.s.sion they had done; the enduring tenderness of a reasonable love must now unite them, were they to be united at all.

And to give such love a chance of growing in him, Tarrant felt that he must lose sight of Nancy until her child was born.

Yes, it had begun already, the trial he dreaded. A letter from Nancy, written and posted only an hour or two after her return home--a long, distracted letter. Would he forgive her for seeming to be an obstacle in the way of what he had proposed? Would he promise her to be faithful?

Would he--

He had hardly patience to read it through.

The next evening, on returning home about ten o'clock, he was startled by the sight of Nancy's figure at the foot of his staircase.

'What has happened?'

'Nothing--don't be frightened. But I wanted to see you tonight.'

She gripped his hand.

'How long have you waited? What! Hours? But this is downright madness--such a night as this! Couldn't you put a note for me in the letter-box?'

'Don't--don't speak so! I wanted to see you.' She hurried her words, as if afraid he would refuse to listen. 'I have told Mary--I wanted you to know--'

'Come in. But there's no fire, and you're chilled through. Do you want to be ill? What outrageous silliness!'

Her vitality was indeed at a low ebb, and reproaches made her weep.

Tarrant half carried her up to his room, made a light, and fell to his knees at fire-building.

'Let me do it,' Nancy exclaimed. 'Let me wait upon you--'

'If you don't sit still and keep quiet, you'll make me angry in earnest.'

'Then you're not _really_ angry with me? I couldn't help it.'