The Twickenham Peerage Part 20

As a matter of fact I welcomed neither Edith nor Violet. I had far rather they both of them had kept away. The business on hand was one with which I desired that they should have no sort of connection. It was bad enough that I should be entering, with my eyes wide open, into such a sea of falsehood. That they should soil even the hem of their skirts by standing, unwittingly, upon the edge was a notion I did not fancy. They were stainless: above reproach. It was my business to keep them so. It did not matter so much for me.

Yet I did not see how I could prevent them coming if they chose to come, even into that atmosphere of foul fraud and lying; especially if my friend, the dying man, desired their presence. The motive which had brought Edith I could understand. After all, Twickenham had been the playmate of her childish days. And he had wooed and won her dearest friend, who still waited, in full confidence, his coming. But why Violet? The man had not even a pseudo-sentimental attraction for her.

I turned to the waiter.

'Tell the ladies I will be with them directly.'

The dying man was not to be balked. He evinced a degree of vigour which was altogether beyond anything he had previously shown.

'Let them come! Let them come!' he repeated.

He stretched out his hand, from which the pen dropped out unused, in such a condition of tremulous agitation that Hanc.o.c.k promptly laid him back upon the pillow.

'Gently! Gently! Don't excite yourself, my lord; be calm! What does he mean?' he asked me. I perforce explained.

'Miss Desmond is below, and wishes to know if she may come up.'

'Let her come!' gasped the invalid.

'Better humour him,' murmured Hanc.o.c.k.

'I will go down and speak to her.'

But when I prepared to go the patient shook his head at me in a frenzy of excitement; struggling all the while for breath in a fas.h.i.+on which it was not agreeable to witness. Hanc.o.c.k strove to soothe him.

'Gently, my lord, gently.'

'He's--he's not--to--go. Let them--let them--come.'

'It appears, Mr. Howarth, that his lords.h.i.+p would like Miss Desmond to come without your going to fetch her. Can you not send a message through the waiter?' He added, _sotto voce_, 'Better do as he wishes; she'll get no harm.'

I had my doubts; but I directed the waiter as Hanc.o.c.k desired. As soon as he was gone Foster returned to the charge.

'Now, if your lords.h.i.+p will be pleased to attach your signature.'

The sick man would have none of him. He merely continued to mumble:

'Let them--come! Let them--come!'

It was clear that the completion of that will would have to be postponed. Foster's chagrin was obvious. To his legal mind form and precedent were everything. What does it matter if we die, so long as our affairs are left in order? To have been so near the attainment of his wishes--for it had looked as if the wily sinner was about to sign--only to be disappointed after all, was a severe trial to his sense of professional propriety. For my part, on that point at least, I was at ease. I was persuaded that Reggie would not find so many thorns in his path as his man of business predicted.

While the sick man mumbled, I regarding him askance, with half an eye on Foster's discomfiture, in came Edith, with Violet at her heels. I had not meant that Violet should come, too, and made a half-step forward to request her to withdraw. But both Reggie and Hanc.o.c.k were in front of me. Reggie made a dash towards Vi, the physician appropriating Edith. Indeed he a.s.sumed command of both; his remarks being addressed to the pair. He spoke in a sort of stage aside; his words being perfectly audible to me.

'My dear Miss Desmond! My dear Lady Violet! Our long-lost friend is in a sad way; very, very sad. At any moment the end may come. But he expresses such a desire to see you, and shows so much impatience at the idea of your being kept from him that I thought we might venture.

Only be careful not to agitate him.'

'Our long-lost friend' showed impatience then and there.

'What's he--what's he--gabbling about? ---- the man! Let them come!'

Hanc.o.c.k shrugged his shoulders; he dropped his voice.

'You hear?--Such language! But you mustn't mind.' He brought them forward. 'Here, my dear lord, are two ladies who have come to see you--Miss Desmond and Lady Violet Howarth.'

'Edith?' He hit upon her surname; he alone knew how. 'You're an old woman--aren't you?'

That was a civil thing to say,--particularly from a man in his position. I could have shaken him again. Edith only smiled.

'I'm not so young as I was. But you're not an old man, and I'm younger than you.'

'Old?--I am old. Rotten. Done. I feel a thousand. The years lie heavy--on me. I was--never--young.'

The thing was curiously true of Twickenham. He never had been young.

Mentally, physically, and morally, he had been born old. As a boy he had all an old man's vices. As Edith perceived what a wreck the creature seemed I saw that tears were in her eyes.

'I am sorry to meet you, after all these years, like this. Poor Leonard!'

She stretched out her hand to touch his brow. I could have s.n.a.t.c.hed it back. He lay perfectly still, staring up at her with fixed, unseeing eyes.

'Why--sorry?'

'I had hoped it would all have seemed so different.'

'It's all right. I've had enough. Glad it's over.'

'Are you in pain?'

'Pains of h.e.l.l.'

He said this, in his tremulous, croaking tones, with a depth of sincerity which impressed even me. The fellow was a past master of his art, or in possession of unholy powers. Edith's hand visibly trembled.

'Poor Leonard!'

'Soon--over. Who's the girl?'

'This is Violet Howarth--Douglas's sister. Vi, you remember Twickenham? This is Reggie's brother.'

Vi said nothing; possibly because she had nothing to say. She surveyed the object in front of her with looks which were a blend of pity, curiosity, and, unless I err, disgust. She had, perhaps, more than her share of the severity of youth, and I knew what she had thought of the man she supposed herself to be looking at. He spoke to her, with the same request which he had made to Reggie.

'Come--closer; lean--down.'

I believe that Vi rebelled; but when Edith touched her on the shoulder she did as he asked. Whereupon he went through the same performance with which he had favoured Reggie; putting up his hand, and examining her features with his finger-tips.

'You're a pretty girl--but ---- hard.'

It was not surprising that the blood flamed through her skin, although, saving the perhaps unnecessary vigour of the adjective, the thing was true enough. When she likes she can be as hard as nails.

'Why don't you--marry--Reggie?'

'I'm going to, when you're dead.'