Helen Vardon's confession
“I have called,” I said, “to enquire about Mr. Davenant. Is he in a
very serious condition?”
“He wasn’t when I saw him about an hour ago,” was the reply.
“Do you think he would be well enough to see me?”
The young man, whom I assumed to be Mr. Weeble, inspected me
critically, and then replied:
“I should say most emphatically that he would. But we needn’t leave it
at that. I can soon find out. Won’t you sit down?”
He rose briskly and hurried out of the office, and it was only when I
heard him ascending the uncovered stairs, two or three at a time, that
I remembered that I had given no name.
Mr. Weeble’s confident manner had lifted a load of anxiety from my
mind, but my agitation was little abated. My fears were relieved,
indeed, for evidently Jasper’s condition was not such as to occasion
alarm; but, as my anxiety subsided, other emotions made themselves
felt. I was actually going to see him. Within a couple of minutes we
should be together. The intolerable separation would be at an end. And
the ecstasy of this thought--the almost painful joy of
anticipation--brought home to me the intensity of my yearning to look
on him again.
The sound of Mr. Weeble’s footsteps descending the stairs set my heart
throbbing, and as he bustled into the office I stood up, trembling
with excitement.
“It’s all right,” said he. “Mr. Davenant will see you, if you’ll go
up. First floor, right hand side of the landing. I’ve left the door
open, and you’ll see his name above it.”
I did not go up the stairs at Mr. Weeble’s pace, but I went as rapidly
as the trembling of my knees would let me. On the first floor I saw a
forbidding, iron-bound door standing ajar, and above it the
well-beloved name, painted in white letters. I drew back the heavy
door, disclosing a lighter one, also ajar, which I pushed open as I
closed the massive “oak” after me. For a moment I stood on the
threshold looking into the quaint, old-world room, with its panelled
walls and the soft green light from the plane trees shimmering through
the windows. He was reclining by the fire on a low, wooden settle, and
held a book in his hand; and even in that instantaneous glance I could
see how changed he was--how pale and thin and weary-looking. But as I
stepped out from the shadow, the worn face lighted up; the book fell
to the floor, and he flung his arms out towards me.
“Helen!”
“Jasper!”
In a moment I was on my knees by his side. His arms were around me and
my cheek lay against his. And so for a while we rested with never a
word spoken and no sound in the room but the ticking of the clock and
the soft rustle of a swaying branch on the window panes. And so I
could have rested for ever; for at last my heart was at peace.
“Jasper, dear,” I said, at length, “how is it with you? Are you badly
hurt?”
“Not a bit,” he replied. “It is just a matter of a cracked rib and a
few bruises; and I’ve nearly recovered from those.”
“But why did you never send me a word? That wasn’t friendly of you,
Jasper.”
“How could I, dearest?” he protested. “A bargain is a bargain. The
month wasn’t up.”
“Jasper!” I exclaimed; “how could you be so silly? Of course you ought
to have sent me a message, and I would have come to you instantly.”
“I am sure you would, Helen,” said he, “which was an additional reason
for my keeping to our covenant. It would have seemed a shabby thing to
do; for, badly as I wanted you, I was never really in any danger. By
the way, how did you hear of my little mishap?”
I told him of my meeting with Miss Tallboy-Smith, and he chuckled
softly. “She was an old goose to frighten you with those lurid
stories, but I’m very grateful to her, all the same. I _have_ wanted
you, Helen.”
He drew me closer to him and stroked my hair fondly; and again we were
silent for a while. The clock ticked on impassively, the plane tree
rustled gently on the window, and I was filled with a quiet, restful
happiness that I was unwilling to interrupt even by speaking.
Presently Jasper bent down to my ear and whispered:
“Helen, darling, you haven’t anything to tell me, have you?”
I knew what he meant, of course; and the strange thing is that, though
the question came unexpectedly, and though I had not consciously given
the subject a moment’s thought, I found my mind completely and finally
made up.
“Yes,” I replied, “I have. Jasper, dear, I am your own. I can’t live
without you. The world must say what it will. I can do without the
world, but I can’t exist without you.”
He drew me yet closer to him and kissed me reverently.
“Dear heart,” he said softly, “sweet wife, I would try to thank you if
words could tell you what your precious gift means to me. But life is
before us, and mine shall be one long thanksgiving. You have given me
my heart’s desire; if love and worship and faithful service can in any
degree repay you, they shall be yours as long as our lives endure.”
Thus in a few moments were the long weeks of misery and despair
blotted out. We were reinstated, and, indeed, much more than
reinstated; we were admitted and accepted lovers. And, just as my mind
had, so to speak, made itself up without conscious thought on my part,
so now that I had entered into this new covenant it seemed quite
inevitable and satisfying. Its nonconformity with social conventions
left me completely undisturbed.
Presently Jasper made me draw up a low, rush-bottomed chair that I
might sit comfortably by his side while we talked. But, in fact, we
talked little; for there is a sort of telepathy born of perfect
sympathy that makes speech superfluous. We were both very happy and
very deeply moved; and it seemed more companionable to sit, hand
clasped in hand, and let our thoughts run on undisturbed by speech,
knowing that the thoughts of each were but a reflection of the
other’s.
Anon came Mr. Weeble, stamping slowly up the stairs like an infirm
coal-porter and making such a prolonged to-do about inserting the
latch-key into the outer door that we both laughed. A very discreet
man was Mr. Weeble.
“I’ve just come to see if I can do anything,” said he, when Jasper had
introduced me. “I generally make his tea and straighten out his
bandages. Shall I make the tea now or are you taking charge, Mrs.
Otway?”
“I will make the tea,” said I, “but while you are tidying up the
bandages I will run out and get some fresh cakes.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Weeble, “that would be a good idea. Our stock is
rather low and a trifle old and fruity. And talking of cakes, that
reminds me that an old rooster called a day or two ago and left one. I
put it in a spare deed-box and forgot all about it. I’ll go and fetch
it up.”
“A rooster, you say, Weeble,” said Jasper. “May we assume that you are
speaking figuratively?”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Weeble. “Elderly party with an automatic smile and
the rummiest name I ever heard. Now what was her name? Something
double-barrelled--Bigboy-Jones, was it?”
“Tallboy-Smith, I expect,” said Jasper.
“That was it. I sent her a letter of thanks the same day in your
handwriting and signed it with your name. Are you starting now, Mrs.
Otway? You’ll find a very good cake-shop in Fetter Lane near the top
on the left-hand side.”
I took a brief bag of Jasper’s and his latchkey and sallied forth into
Fetter Lane by the postern gate; and as I walked up the quaint, old
street I found myself looking into the homely shops and inspecting the
ancient timber houses with a queer sort of proprietary air, as if I
belonged to the neighbourhood. I found the cake-shop--it was really an
old-fashioned baker’s shop, such as one might find in a country
town--and as I made a selection of the wares, based on experience of
Jasper’s tastes, I found myself almost unconsciously considering the
merits of the establishment as a source of supply for a family of two.
If the change in my mental state was sudden, it was certainly
complete; as I sauntered back down Fetter Lane with my bag of
provisions, care-free and filled with a delightful sense of
emancipation, loitering to look into shop windows or to peer up
strange courts and alleys that I might not return prematurely; I could
not but contrast my condition with that in which I had set forth in
the morning, hopeless, heart-weary, despondent.
When I arrived at Jasper’s chambers, Mr. Weeble had already gone; but
he had filled the kettle and set it to boil on the gas-stove in the
kitchen, where I found it murmuring placidly and breathing out little
clouds of steam. That kitchen was a delightful absurdity. About the
magnitude of a good-sized china cupboard, it suggested, with its
ranges of shelves and little chemical sink, a doctor’s dispensary or
a chemist’s laboratory. Yet it was very orderly and quite convenient,
and it had the advantage that, while I was engaged in the preparations
for the meal, my heart singing in unison with the kettle’s song, I
could look out of a tiny window on the moss-grown garden, or through
the open door see Jasper watching me with a smile of ecstasy, and
receive his instructions as to where the various articles were to be
found. It was all very pleasant and intimate, and every little, homely
detail helped to bring home to me the reality of my happiness.
During the very leisurely tea we gradually approached the subject of
our future arrangements, which had evidently been very carefully
thought out by Jasper.
“I’m not quite such a graven image as I look,” said he. “I don’t
believe it’s necessary for me to keep so immovable. But that is the
doctor’s business. I just do as I’m told. However, my bandages are
coming off in a few days, and I understand that I shall be practically
well in a fortnight. Until I am well, we had better let things remain
as they are; and I think it would be better for you not to come and
see me again in the interval.”
“Do you mean that I am to leave you, a helpless invalid, all alone and
no one to look after you?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Of course, I shall want you dreadfully, but as to
my being alone and helpless, that is merely a sentimental view of the
case. You can see for yourself that I am quite comfortable and well
cared-for. Weeble never forgets me for an instant. And I think it most
necessary that, until we are definitely married, we should have the
most scrupulous regard for the conventions. We can’t get the sanction
either of the Law or the Church to our marriage; therefore, it is the
more necessary for us to treat it ourselves with the utmost respect
and seriousness. We are not going to enter into a casual and
irresponsible relationship. We are going to contract a marriage; and
I propose that we do so publicly and with proper formalities suited to
the dignity and importance of the transaction.”
“But,” I asked, “what formalities are possible?”
“My proposal,” he replied, “is this: we shall appoint a day and a time
to meet here, and have two witnesses in attendance. Weeble could be
one and the Inn porter, Mr. Duskin, the other. In the presence of
those witnesses we shall formally agree to take one another as husband
and wife. Each of us shall make a written declaration to the same
effect, reciting the circumstances which render the unusual procedure
necessary, and, in your case, denouncing and repudiating your marriage
with Otway. These declarations we shall respectively read to the
witnesses--who will also read them--and we shall each sign our
declaration in the presence of the witnesses. I am not quite clear
whether it would be legal for them to counter-sign as witnesses. If
not, we shall add a note stating that the signatures were made in
their presence. Then we shall exchange declarations and we shall
notify Mr. Otway and whosoever else may be concerned, or whom we wish
to inform, of what has taken place. Does that meet with your approval,
Helen?”