Back to Billabong Part 7

Cecilia found her temper rising.

"My father may have the power to say that--I do not know," she said.

"But you have none, Mrs. Rainham."

"I'll let you see whether I have the right!" her stepmother blazed. "For two pins, young lady, I'd lock you up."

Cecilia laughed outright.

"Ah, that's not done now," she said. "You really couldn't, Mrs.

Rainham--especially as I have done nothing wrong." She dropped her voice--pa.s.sers-by were looking with interest at the elder woman's face. "Why not let me go? You do not approve of me--let me find another position."

"You'll stay in your father's house," Mrs. Rainham said. "We'll see what the law has to say to your leaving with your precious Bob. Your father's your legal guardian, and in his control you stay until you're twenty-one, and be very thankful to make yourself useful. The law will deal with Bob if he tries to take you away--you're a minor, and it'd be abduction." The word had a pleasantly legal flavour; she repeated it with emphasis. "Abduction; that's what it is, and there's a nice penalty for it. Now you know, and if you don't want to get Bob into trouble, you'd best be careful."

Cecilia had grown rather white. The law was a great and terrible instrument, of which she knew nothing. It seemed to have swallowed up Aunt Margaret's money; it might very well have left her defenceless. Her stepmother seemed familiar with its powers, and able to evoke them at will; and though she did not trust her, there was something in her glib utterance that struck fear into the girl's heart. She did not answer, and Mrs. Rainham followed up her advantage.

"We'll go home," she said. "And you make up your mind to tell me what was in that telegram, and not to have any secrets from me. One thing I can tell you--until you decide to behave yourself--Bob shan't show his nose in my house, and you shan't go out to meet him, either. He only leads you into mischief; I don't consider he has at all a good influence over you. The sooner he's away somewhere, earning his own living in a proper manner, the better for every one; and it'll be many a long day before he can give you as good a home as you've got now." She paused for breath. "Anyhow, he's not going to have the chance," she finished grimly.

CHAPTER V

THE TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEL

"Is Mr. M'Clinton in?"

The clerk, in a species of rabbit hutch, glanced out curiously at the young flying officer.

"Yes; but he's very busy. Have you an appointment?"

"No--I got leave unexpectedly. Just take him my card, will you?"

The clerk handed the card to another clerk, who pa.s.sed it to an office-boy, who disappeared with it behind a heavy oaken door. He came back presently.

"Mr. M'Clinton will see you in ten minutes, if you can wait, sir."

"I'll wait," said Bob, sitting down upon a high stool. "Got a paper?"

"To-day's Times is here, sir." He whisked off, to return in a moment with the paper, neatly folded.

"You'll find a more comfortable seat behind the screen, sir."

"Thanks," said Bob, regarding him with interest--he was so dapper, so alert, so all that an office-boy in a staid lawyer's establishment ought to be. "How old might you be?"

"Fourteen, sir."

"And are you going to grow into a lawyer?"

"I'm afraid I'll never do that, sir," said the office-boy gravely. "I may be head clerk, perhaps. But--" he stopped, confused.

"But what?"

"I'd rather fly, sir, than anything in the world!" He looked wors.h.i.+ppingly at Bob's uniform. "If the war had only not stopped before I was old enough, I might have had a chance!"

"Oh, you'll have plenty of chances," Bob told him consolingly. "In five years' time you'll be taking Mr. M'Clinton's confidential papers across to Paris in an aeroplane--and bringing him back a reply before lunch!"

"Do you think so, sir?" The office-boy's eyes danced. Suddenly he resumed his professional gravity.

"I must get back to my work, sir." He disappeared behind another part.i.tion; the office seemed to Bob to be divided into water-tight compartments, in each of which he imagined that a budding lawyer or head clerk was being brought up by hand. It was all rather grim and solid and forbidding. To Bob the law had always been full of mystery; this grey, silent office, in the heart of the city, was a fitting place for it.

He felt a little chill at his heart, a foreboding that no comfort could come of his mission there.

The inner door opened, after a little while, and a woman in black came out. She pa.s.sed hurriedly through the outer office, pulling down her veil over a face that showed traces of tears. Bob looked after her compa.s.sionately.

"Poor soul!" he thought. "She's had her gruel, evidently. Now I suppose I'll get mine."

A bell whirred sharply. The alert office-boy sprang to the summons, returning immediately.

"Mr. M'Clinton can see you now, sir."

Bob followed him through the oaken door, and along a narrow pa.s.sage to a room where a spare, grizzled man sat at a huge roll-top desk. He rose as the boy shut the door behind his visitor.

"Well, Captain Rainham. How do you do?"

Bob gripped the lean hand offered him--it felt like a claw in his great palm. Then he sat down and looked uncomfortably at the lawyer.

"I had thought to have seen you here before, Captain."

"I suppose I should have shown up," said Bob--concealing the fact that the idea had never occurred to him. "But I've been very busy since I've been back to England."

"And what brings you now?"

"I'm all but demobilized," Bob told him, "and I'm trying to get employment."

"What--in this office?"

"Heavens, no!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Bob, and at once turned a fine red. "That is--I beg your pardon, sir; but I'm afraid I'm not cut out for an office. I want to get something to do in the country, where I can support my sister."

"Your sister? But does not your father support her? She is an inmate of his house, is she not?"

"Very much so," said Bob bitterly. "She's governess, and lady-help, and a good many other things. You couldn't call it a home. Besides, we have always been together. I want to take her away."

"And what does your father say?"

"He says she mustn't go. At least, that's what my stepmother says, so my father will certainly say it too."

"Your sister is under age, I think?"

"She's just nineteen--I'm over twenty-two. Can my father prevent her going with me, sir?"