Sir George Tressady Volume I Part 24

George looked at her in surprise. Her little face was quivering under the suppressed energy of what she was going to say.

"No!--do you?"

"Yes!--I know all about it. I said to my maid last night--I hope, George, you won't mind, but you know Grier has been an age with me, and knows all my secrets--I told her she must make friends with your mother's maid, and see what she could find out. I felt we _must_, in self-defence. And of course Grier got it all out of Justine. I knew she would! Justine is a little fool; and she doesn't mean to stay much longer with Lady Tressady, so she didn't mind speaking. It is exactly as I supposed! Lady Tressady didn't begin speculating for herself at all--but for--somebody--else! Do you remember that absurd-looking singer who gave a 'musical sketch' one day that your mother gave a party in Eccleston Square--in February?"

She looked at him with eagerness, an ugly, half-shrinking innuendo in her expression.

George had suddenly moved away, and was sitting now some little distance from his wife, his eyes bent on the ground. However, at her question he made a sign of a.s.sent.

"You do remember? Well," said Letty, triumphantly, "it is he who is at the bottom of it all. I _knew_ there must be somebody. It appears that he has been getting money out of her for years--that he used to come and spend hours, when she had that little house in Bruton Street, when you were away--I don't believe you ever heard of it--flattering her, and toadying her, paying her compliments on her dress and her appearance, fetching and carrying for her--and of course living upon her! He used to arrange all her parties. Justine says that he used even to make her order all his favourite wines--_such_ bills as there used to be for wine! He has a wife and children somewhere, and of course the whole family lived upon your mother. It was he made her begin speculating. Justine says he has lost all he ever had himself that way, and your mother couldn't, in fact, '_lend'_ him"--Letty laughed scornfully--"money fast enough. It was he brought her across that odious creature Shapetsky--isn't that his name? And that's the whole story. If there have been any gains, he has made off with them--leaving her, of course, to get out of the rest.

Justine says that for months there was nothing but business, as she calls it, talked in the house--and she knew, for she used to help wait at dinner. And such a crew of people as used to be about the place!"

She looked at him, struck at last by his silence and his att.i.tude, or pausing for some comment, some appreciation of her cleverness in ferreting it all out.

But he did not speak, and she was puzzled. The angry triumph in her eyes faltered. She put out her hand and touched him on the arm.

"What is it, George? I thought--it would be more satisfactory to us both to know the truth."

He looked up quickly.

"And all this your maid got out of Justine? You asked her?"

She was struck, offended, by his expression. It was so cool and strange--even, she could have imagined, contemptuous.

"Yes, I did," she said pa.s.sionately. "I thought I was quite justified. We must protect ourselves."

He was silent again.

"I think," he said at last, drily, she watching him--"I think we will keep Justine and Grier out of it, if you please."

She took her work, and laid it down again, her mouth trembling.

"So you had rather be deceived?"

"I had rather be deceived than listen behind doors," he said, beginning in a light tone, which, however, pa.s.sed immediately into one of bitterness. "Besides, there is nothing new. For people like my mother there is always some adventurer or adventuress in the background--there always used to be in old days. She never meant any serious harm; she was first plundered, then we. My father used to be for ever turning some impostor or other out of doors. Now I suppose it is my turn."

This time it was Letty who kept silence. Her needle pa.s.sed rapidly to and fro. George glanced at her queerly. Then he rose and came to stand near her, leaning against the tree.

"You know, Letty, we shall have to pay that money," he said suddenly, pulling at his moustache.

Letty made an exclamation under her breath, but went on working faster than before.

He slipped down to the moss beside her, and caught her hand.

"Are you angry with me?"

"If you insult me by accusing me of listening behind doors you can't wonder," said Letty, s.n.a.t.c.hing her hand away, her breast heaving.

He felt a bitter inclination to laugh, but he restrained it, and did his best to make peace. In the midst of his propitiations Letty turned upon him.

"Of course, I know you think I did it all for selfishness," she said, half crying, "because I want new furniture and new dresses. I don't; I want to protect you from being--being--plundered like this. How can you do what you ought as a member of Parliament? how can we ever keep ourselves out of debt if--if--? How _can_ you pay this money?" she wound up, her eyes flaming.

"Well, you know," he said, hesitating--"you know I suggested yesterday we should sell some land to do up the house. I am afraid we must sell the laud, and pay this scoundrel--a proportion, at all events. Of course, what I should _like_ to do would be to put him--and the other--to instant death, with appropriate tortures! Short of that, I can only take the matter out of my mother's hands, get a sharp solicitor on my side to match _his_ rascal, and make the best bargain I can."

Letty rolled up her work with energy, two tears of anger on her cheeks.

"She _ought_ to suffer!" she cried, her voice trembling--"she _ought_ to suffer!"

"You mean that we ought to let her be made a bankrupt?" he said coolly.

"Well, no doubt it would be salutary. Only, I am afraid it would be rather more disagreeable to us than to her. Suppose we consider the situation. Two young married people--charming house--charming wife--husband just beginning in politics--people inclined to be friends.

Then you go to dine with them in Brook Street--excellent little French dinner--bride bewitching. Next morning you see the bankruptcy of the host's mamma in the 'Times.' 'And he's the only son, isn't he?--he must be well off. They say she's been dreadfully extravagant. But, hang it!

you know, a man's mother!--and a widow--no, I can't stand that. Sha'n't dine with them again!' There! do you see, darling? Do you really want to rub all the bloom off the peach?"

He had hardly finished his little speech before the odiousness of it struck himself.

"Am I come to talking to her like _this_?" he asked himself in a kind of astonishment.

But Letty, apparently, was not astonished.

"Everybody would understand if you refused to ruin yourself by going on paying these frightful debts. I am sure _something_ could be done," she said, half choked.

George shook his head.

"But everybody wouldn't want to understand. The dear world loves a scandal--doesn't really _like_ being amiable to newcomers at all. You would make a bad start, dear--and all the world would pity mamma."

"Oh! if you are only thinking what people would say," cried Letty.

"No," said George, reflectively, but with a mild change of tone. "d.a.m.n people! I can pull myself to pieces so much better than they can. You see, darling, you're such an optimist. Now, if you'd only just believe, as I do, that the world is a radically bad place, you wouldn't be so surprised when things of this sort happen. Eh, little person, has it been a radically bad place this last fortnight?"

He laid his cheek against her shoulder, rubbing it gently up and down.

But something hard and scornful lay behind his caress--something he did not mean to inquire into.

"Then you told your mother," said Letty, after a pause, still looking straight before her, "that you would clear her?"

"Not at all. I said we could do nothing. I laid it on about the house.

And all the time I knew perfectly well in my protesting soul, that if this man's claim is sustainable we should _have_ to pay up. And I imagine that mamma knew it too. You can get out of anybody's debts but your mother's--that's apparently what it comes to. Queer thing, civilisation!

Well now"--he sprang to his feet--"let's go and get it over."

Letty also rose.

"I can't see her again," she said quickly. "I sha'n't come down to lunch.

Will she go by the three-o'clock train?"

"I will arrange it," said George.

They walked through the wood together silently. As they came in sight of the house Letty's face quivered again with restrained pa.s.sion--or tears.

George, whose _sangfroid_ was never disturbed outwardly for long, had by now resigned himself, and had, moreover, recovered that tolerance of woman's various weaknesses which was in him the fruit of a wide, and at bottom hostile, induction. He set himself to cheer her up. Perhaps, after all, if he could sell a particular piece of land which he owned near a neighbouring large town, and sell it well,--he had had offers for it before,--he might be able to clear his mother, and still let Letty work her will on the house. She mustn't take a gloomy view of things--he would do his best. So that by the time they got into the drawing-room she had let her hand slip doubtfully into his again for a moment.

But nothing would induce her to appear at lunch. Lady Tressady, having handed over all Shapetsky's papers and all her responsibilities to George, graciously told him that she could understand Letty's annoyance, and didn't wish for a moment to intrude upon her. She then called on Justine to curl her hair, put on a blue shot silk with marvellous pink fronts just arrived from Paris, and came down to lunch with her son in her most smiling mood. She took no notice of his monosyllables, and in the hall, while the butler discreetly retired, she kissed him with tears, saying that she had always known his generosity would come to the rescue of his poor darling mamma.