The Scarlet Feather Part 30

Herresford mumbled and appealed until the door was closed; then, he seemed to recover his courage and his tongue.

"So, you're here again," he snapped. "What is it now--what is it now? Am I never to have peace?"

"I have strange news. d.i.c.k is alive."

"Not dead, eh! Humph! That does not surprise me. I expected as much. No man is dead in a war until his body is buried. So, he's come back, has he?"

"Yes, and that is why I'm here. The bank people will have him arrested."

There was a pause, which the miser ended by a fit of chuckling and choking laughter that maddened her.

"This is no laughing matter, father. Can't you see what the position is?"

"Oh, yes, it's a pretty position--quite a dramatic situation. Boy dead, shamefully accused; boy alive, and to be arrested for his mother's crime."

"Father, I've thought it all out. There is only one thing to do, and you must do it. You must pay that money to the bank, and compel them to abandon the prosecution by declaring that you made a mistake about the checks--that you really did authorize them."

"Add lie to lie, I suppose; and, according to your method of moral arithmetic, make two wrongs into one right. So, you want to drag me into it?"

"Father, if you have any natural feeling toward d.i.c.k--I don't ask you to think of me--you'll set this matter straight by satisfying the bank people."

"The bank people don't want to be satisfied. They've paid me my money--there's an end to it. You must appeal to Ormsby."

"But Ormsby hates d.i.c.k. He is marrying the woman d.i.c.k loves."

"And who is that, pray?" cried the old man, starting up and snapping his words out like pistol shots.

"Why, Dora Dundas, of course."

"Who's she?"

"The only daughter of Colonel Dundas, a wealthy man. His wealth, I suppose, attracted Ormsby. He will show d.i.c.k no mercy. You've met Colonel Dundas. You ought to remember him."

"Oh! the fool who writes to the papers about the war. I know him. What's the girl like? Is she as great an idiot as her father?"

"You've seen her. I brought her here with me one afternoon to see the gardens, and she came up and had tea with you. Don't you remember--about two years ago?"

The old man fingered the ta.s.sel of his cap, and chewed it meditatively for a few moments.

"I remember," he said, at last. "So, she's going to marry Ormsby, because d.i.c.k is supposed to be dead--and disgraced. Well, a sensible girl. Ormsby is rich. She knew that d.i.c.k would have money, lots of it, at my death; and, when she couldn't have him, she chose the next best man, the banker's son. Sensible girl, Dora Dundas. The question is--what's d.i.c.k going to do?"

"Father, d.i.c.k has behaved n.o.bly, but unfortunately he is ill at home; and at any moment may be arrested. That's why I want to be prepared to prevent it. He talks of going abroad--emigrating--when he's strong enough."

"What!" screamed the old man, in astonishment. "He's not going to stand up for his honor, my honor, the honor of the family? What's he made of?"

"Father, father, can't you understand? If he speaks, he denounces me, his mother. Am I not one of the family? Think what my position is. It was as much for his sake as for John's that I took the money. You wouldn't save us from ruin. I was driven to desperation, you know I was. It was your fault, and you must do what is in your power to avert the threatened disgrace. Father, the bank people cannot possibly prosecute, if you pay them the seven thousand dollars. I will repay it out of my allowance in instalments."

There was silence for a few moments, during which the old man surveyed the situation with a clear mental vision, superior to that of his daughter.

"And you think Ormsby is going to compound a felony, and at the same time bring back to the neighborhood a young man in love with his future wife?"

"If I confessed everything, father, do you think that Ormsby would spare me, d.i.c.k's mother! Oh, it's all a horrible tangle. It's driving me mad!"

"Ha! ha!" chuckled the old man. "You're beginning to use your brain a little. You're beginning to realize the value of money--and you don't like it. Well, you can unravel your own tangle. Don't come to me."

The sight of her distress seemed to whet his appet.i.te for cruelty. He rubbed salt into the open wounds with zest.

"Get your sky-pilot to help you out of it. I won't. Not a penny do I pay.

Seven thousand dollars!"

"Father, a hundred thousand could not make any difference to you," she cried. "You must let me have the money. Take it out of my mother's allowance."

"What allowance? Who told you anything about any allowance?"

"Father, you're an old man, and your memory is failing you. You know, I'm ent.i.tled to an allowance from my mother's money. You don't mean to say you're going to stop that?"

"Who's stopping your allowance? Trimmer! Trimmer!" he cried.

Something in his manner--a look--a guilty terror in his eyes, made itself apparent to the woman. The reference to her mother frightened him. She saw behind the veil--but indistinctly.

It had always been a sore point that her father conceded only an allowance of a few thousands a year, whereas her mother had brought him an income of many thousands. Mrs. Herresford had always given her daughter to understand that wealth would revert to her, but, as the girl was too young to understand money matters at the time of her mother's death, she had been entirely at the mercy of her father.

In her present despair, she was ready to seize any floating straw. The idea came to her that she might have some unexpected reversionary interest in her mother's money, on which she could raise something.

Trimmer put an end to the interview by answering his master's call. The miser was gesticulating and mumbling, and frantically motioning his daughter to leave the room.

"She wants to rob me!--she wants to rob me!" This was all that she understood of his raving.

"It is useless to talk to him now, Mrs. Swinton," said Trimmer, with a suggestive glance toward the door.

She departed without another word, full of a new idea. Her position was such that only a lawyer could help her; and she was resolved to have legal advice. It was a forlorn hope, but one not to be despised; and there was not a moment to lose. As if by an inspiration, she remembered the name of a lawyer who used to be her mother's adviser--a Mr. Jevons, who used to come to Asherton Hall before her mother died, and afterward quarreled with Herresford. This was the man to advise her. He would be sure to know the truth about the private fortune of Mrs. Herresford, which the husband had absorbed after his wife's death.

CHAPTER XXIII

DORA SEES HERRESFORD

Herresford recovered his composure very quickly after the departure of his daughter. A few harsh words from Trimmer silenced him, and he remained sitting up, staring out of the window. The next time Trimmer came into the room, he called him to his side, and gazed into his face with a look that the valet understood. Trimmer knew every mood, and there were some when the master ruled the servant and commands were not to be questioned.

"Trimmer, I have a commission for you. Go to the residence of Colonel Dundas. See his daughter, Dora. She has been here--you remember her?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"Pretty girl, brown hair, determined mouth, steady eyes, quietly dressed--no thousand-dollar sables and coats of ermine. Came to tea--and didn't cackle!"