The Imaginary Marriage Part 45

"I came to discuss money with you, not--not impossibilities."

"So--so that is it, is it? I am impossible, am I?"

"To me--utterly. I have only one feeling for you, the deepest scorn. I don't hate you, because you are too mean, too paltry, too low a thing to hate. I have only contempt for you."

He writhed under the cold and cutting scorn of her words and her voice, the evil temper in him worked uppermost.

"So--so that's the talk, is it?" he cried with a foul oath. "That's it, is it? You--you two-penny ha'penny--" He choked foolishly over his words.

"You!" he gasped, "what are you? What have you been? What about you and--"

Again he was silent, writhing with rage.

"Money--yes, it is money-talk, then, and by thunder I'll make you pay!

I'll bleed you white, you cursed--" Again more foolish oaths, the clumsy cursing of a man in the grip of pa.s.sion.

"You shall pay! It's money-talk, yes--you shall pay! We will talk in thousands, my girl. I said five thousand. It isn't enough--what is your good name worth, eh? What is it worth to you? I could paint you a nice colour, couldn't I? What will this fellow Everard say when I tell him what I can tell him? How the village fools will talk it over in their alehouse, eh? And in the cottages, how they will stare at Miss Meredyth of Starden when she takes her walks abroad. They'll wink at one another, won't they. They'll remember! Trust 'em, they'll never forget!"

She felt sickened, faint, and horrified, yet she gave no sign.

"Money you said!" he shouted, "and money it shall be! Ten thousand pounds, or I'll give you away, so that every man and woman in Starden will count 'emselves your betters! I'll give you away to the poor fool you think you are going to marry! There won't be any wedding. I'll swear a man couldn't marry a thing--with such a name as I shall give you!

Money, yes! you'll pay! I want ten thousand pounds! Not five, remember, but ten, and perhaps more to follow. And if you don't pay, there won't be many who will not have heard about your imaginary marriage to that dog, Hugh Alston."

The girl drew a deep shuddering sigh. She pressed her hands over her breast. From the shadows about the old barn a deeper shadow moved, something vaulted the gate lightly and came down with a thud on the ground beside Mr. Philip Slotman.

"Joan," said a voice, "you will go away and leave this man to me. I will attend to the paying of him."

Slotman turned, his rage gone, a cold sweat of fear bursting out on his forehead; his loose jaw sagged.

"A--a trap," he gasped.

"To catch a rat! And the rat is caught! Joan, go. I will follow presently."

No word pa.s.sed between the two men as they watched the girl's figure down the road. She walked slowly; once she seemed to hesitate as though about to turn back. And it was in her mind to turn back, to plead for mercy for this man, this creature. Yet she did not. She flung her head up. No, she would not ask for mercy for him: Hugh Alston was just.

So in silence they watched her till the darkness had swallowed her.

"So you refused to accept my warning, Slotman?"

"I--I refuse to have anything to do with you. It is no business of yours, kindly allow me--"

Slotman would have gone. Hugh thrust out a strong arm and barred his way.

"Wait!" he said, "blackmailer!"

"I--I was asking for a loan."

"A gift of money with threats--lying, infamous threats. How shall I deal with you?" Hugh frowned as in thought. "How can a man deal with a dog like you? Dog--may all dogs forgive me the libel! Shall I thrash you? Shall I tear the clothes from your body, and thrash you and fling you, bleeding and tattered, into that field? Shall I hand you over to the Police?"

"You--you dare not," Slotman said; his teeth were chattering. "It will mean her name being dragged in the mud, the whole thing coming out.

You--you dare not do it."

"You are right. I dare not, for the sake of her name--the name of such a woman must never be uttered in connection with such a thing as yourself. How, then, shall I deal with you? It must be the thrashing, yet it is not enough. It is a pity the duel has gone out, not that you would have fought me with a sword or pistol, Slotman, still--Yes, it must be the thrashing."

"If you touch me--"

Hugh laughed sharply. "If I touch you, what?"

"I shall call for help. I shall summon you. I--"

"Put your hands up."

"Help! help! help!"

Down the road the tired chauffeur slumbered peacefully on the seat of the shabby car. He heard nothing, save some distant unintelligible sounds and the cooing of a wood-pigeon in an adjacent thicket.

And then presently there came down the road a flying figure, the figure of a man who sobbed as he ran, a man from whom the clothes hung in ribbons, a man with wild staring eyes, and panting, labouring chest. He stumbled as he ran, and picked himself up again, to fall again. So, running, stumbling, falling, he came at last to the car and shrieked at the driver to awaken.

CHAPTER XL

"IS IT THE END?"

Lady Linden, wearing a lilac printed cotton sunbonnet, her skirts pinned up about her, was busy with a trowel, disordering certain flower-beds that presently the gardeners would come and put right.

"Idle women," said her ladyship, "are my abomination. How a woman can moon about and do nothing is more than I can understand. Look at me, am I not always busy? From early morning to dewy eve I--Curtis!"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Come here at once," said her ladyship. "I have dug up a worm. I dislike worms. Carry the creature away; don't hurt it, Curtis. I dislike cruelty even to worms. Ugh! How you can touch the thing!"

Curtis, under-gardener, trudged away with a large healthy worm dangling from thumb and forefinger, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Those creatures have none of the finer feelings," thought her ladyship.

"Yet we are all brothers and sisters according to the Bible. I don't agree with that at all. Curtis, come back; there is another worm."

Marjorie stood at the window, watching her aunt's operations, yet seeing none of them. Her face was set and white and resolute, the soft round chin seemed to be jutting out more obstinately than usual.

For Marjorie had made up her mind definitely, and she knew that she was about to hurt herself and to hurt someone else.

But it must be. It was only fair, it was only just. Silence, she believed, would be wicked.

The door behind her opened, and Tom Arundel came into the room. He was fresh from the stable, and smelled of straw.

"Why, darling, is there anything up? I got your note asking me to come here at once. Joe gave it to me just as we were going to take out the brute Lady Linden has bought. Of all the vicious beasts! I wish to goodness she wouldn't buy a horse without a proper opinion, but it is useless talking to her. She said she liked the white star on its forehead--white star! black devil, I call it! But I'll break him in if I break my neck--doing it. But--I am sorry. You want me?"