The Black Abbot
am in the position of being able to retire from my profession--your
brother has probably told you that I am a fairly wealthy man.”
Something in his tone focussed her attention. Her heart beat a little
faster, and for the first time she was conscious of being alone with
him.
“I am not an old man--fifty I regard as the prime of life--and I think
I have the capacity for making any woman happy.”
She met his eyes steadily.
“I hope we shall have the pleasure of meeting your wife,” she said.
He made no reply to this, and she grew hot and cold under the scrutiny
of those merciless gray eyes. And then, before she realized what was
happening, his two big hands had closed about her arms and he was
holding her away from him, peering into her face.
“There is one woman in the world for me,” he said, and his voice was
husky with emotion; “one face that fills my eyes day and night!
Leslie, all these months you have not been out of my sight or mind!”
“Let me go!” she cried, struggling to free herself.
“I want you! I’ve worked for you, I’ve schemed for you! Leslie, I love
you as you will never be loved again! I want you--I want you!”
He was drawing her nearer and nearer, his eyes, like coals of fire,
fascinated her to a queer listlessness that was almost quiescence. She
found no reserve to combat him, and could only stare helplessly at the
hard face----
There was a knock at the door. He pushed her aside, his face convulsed
with rage.
“Who is that?” he asked harshly, and the voice of the maid replied:
“Mr. Richard Alford to see you, sir!”
XIV
Dick Alford, waiting in the pretty drawing-room and wondering
exactly how he should introduce what promised to be a very unpleasant
discussion, saw the door flung open and a white-faced girl ran in.
“Oh, Dick, Dick!” she sobbed.
In a moment she was in his arms, her face against his breast.
“For God’s sake, what has happened? How did you come here?” he asked,
bewildered.
Before she could reply, the big figure of Fabrian Gilder filled the
doorway. The man did not speak, but the smouldering rage in his eyes
was eloquent.
“Well, what do you want?” he boomed.
Dick put the girl gently from him.
“Why are you here, Leslie?”
“Arthur brought me,” she gasped. “I’m awfully sorry to make such a
fool of myself, but----”
Dick looked from the girl to the man in the doorway and began dimly to
understand.
“Arthur brought you here?” he said slowly. “And left you alone--with
this man?”
She nodded.
“Is he a friend of yours?”
She shook her head.
“I only met him to-day.”
Gradually the explanation of her distress was beginning to dawn upon
him, and a cold rage filled his heart. An unfortunate moment for
Arthur Gwyn to return. Dick heard the tinkle of a bell, quick
footsteps in the hall, and saw the white face of the lawyer, made
hideous by the smile he forced.
“Hullo, old girl! What’s the trouble?” he asked.
He did not look at his host: this Dick noticed with gathering fury.
“I think you had better take Leslie home,” he said. “I have a little
business to do with Mr. Gilder.”
Gilder had recovered something of his command of himself and his
feelings; the situation, awkward as it was, had brought him violently
into the circle about which so far he had revolved. It were better to
be considered as an undesirable suitor than to be denied consideration
as a factor at all in Leslie Gwyn’s life.
“May I ask by what right you dispose of my guests?” he demanded, but
Dick took no notice of him.
“Look after your sister, Gwyn,” he said, and there was a scarcely
veiled menace in the words. “I will give myself the pleasure of
calling on you this evening.”
He took the girl’s hand in his; she was still white and shaking, but
smiled into his face.
“I’ve made myself rather ridiculous, haven’t I?” she said, in a low
tone that only he could hear. “Dicky--perhaps I’m getting a little
jumpy, and I may have taken offence----”
He patted her hand gently and walked with her past Gilder into the
hall, Arthur following. It was Dick who opened the door, and stood
patiently until they had gone, then he turned to face the enraged
owner of the flat.
“I had some real business to do with you, Gilder, but that can wait.
First of all, I would like to ask, what have you said to Miss Gwyn?”
“That is entirely my business,” said Gilder. His gaze was steady;
again he was completely master of himself, if not of the situation.
“My business also,” said Dick, without heat. “You are aware that Miss
Gwyn is engaged to my brother?”
Gilder licked his dry lips.
“That doesn’t really interest me,” he said. And then, after a second’s
thought: “I’m going to be frank with you, Alford--we may as well clear
the air. I have asked Miss Gwyn to be my wife.”
“Oh, indeed?” said Dick softly. “And what had Miss Gwyn to say to
that?”
“You didn’t give her an opportunity of replying,” said the other, “but
I rather think that there will be no difficulty in the matter.”
Dick did not conceal his smile. A shrewd judge of men, he had rightly
understood the situation when he had seen Arthur’s face on his return
to the flat.
“You mean there will be no difficulty so far as Mr. Gwyn is concerned?
I admit you have an historical precedent. You are not the first lawyer
who wished to marry into his master’s family.”
If Dick had not been angry he would not have said this; immediately
the words were out he was sorry. But Gilder took up the point quickly.
“I am not a Uriah Heep,” he said, with a grim smile. “I am neither
humble nor lowly.”
“I’m sorry, but really I don’t think that matters very much, Gilder.
Whatever Mr. Gwyn’s attitude may be, there will be a considerable
difficulty in respect to Miss Gwyn--and to me.”
“To you?” Gilder’s eyebrows went up and his lips curled. “Are you the
lady’s--er----”
“I am not engaged to Miss Gwyn, but my brother is,” said Dick evenly.
“But that is not the point. I am a friend of Leslie Gwyn’s, and even
if she changed her mind about marrying into my family, that would not
affect the issue.”
Gilder was about to speak, but Dick went on:
“I don’t know what pull you have with Gwyn or what dire threats you
are holding over his head.”
He saw the man start, and laughed.
“That went very near the mark?” he said. “But whatever influence you
have, Gilder, you are not going to marry Leslie Gwyn.”
Gilder’s eyes narrowed.
“Is that a threat?” he asked.
“You can take it as a threat or as a pleasant compliment, or any old
way you choose,” said Dick, with that impish smile of his. “And now,
if you don’t mind, we’ll come to business. You’ve bought a property of
ours--Red Farm. You’ve paid thirty-five hundred pounds to Leonard. I
have come to ask you to call off your bargain and to take five hundred
profit.”
“In other words, you want to buy it back, eh? Well, there’s nothing
doing!” said Gilder harshly. “I intend living at Red Farm, and there
isn’t a law in the land that can stop me. You may not like my
presence, but that is neither here nor there. I am not living at
Chelfordbury for the pleasure of seeing you every day of my life.”
Dick nodded.
“I wondered why you wanted to live there at all, but now I think I
understand,” he said. “The offer I have made to you is without
prejudice to any action I may take. Unfortunately for you, Leonard has
no power to re-transfer the property without my brother’s
consent--which means my consent, for I hold his power of attorney.
Leonard may hold the property, but you cannot. You’re a lawyer and it
is not necessary for me to explain the intricacies of a copyhold
lease, and that was all Leonard was buying. If you decide to fight the
case, I’ll take you into court, and you know that I shall get a
verdict against you. I am offering you a chance of settling the matter
amicably.”
“Which I refuse,” said the other promptly.
Dick inclined his head.
“Very good. You will probably, on considering the matter in a calmer
atmosphere, take a different view.”
He walked from the room, swinging his hat. In the doorway he turned.
“As for Miss Leslie Gwyn, you will be well advised to reconsider that
question also.”
“And suppose I don’t?”
Again that unfathomable smile.
“You are going to be sorry,” said Dick cryptically.
XV
Not a word did Leslie say about her interview with Gilder, and her
brother seemed just as anxious to avoid the topic as she. They drove
down from town, and all the time he kept up a ceaseless flow of talk
about affairs which he thought might interest her. He was nervous, and
once, when she woke him from a reverie with a question, he started and
turned red.
“Sorry!” he stammered. “I was thinking of something.”
“And something unpleasant, Arthur,” she said gently.
He was staring straight ahead of him.
“Yes, something damnably unpleasant!”
They were nearing Chelfordbury now, and she put the question that had
trembled on her lips throughout that long journey.
“Arthur, do you know what Mr. Gilder asked me?” And, when he did not
reply: “He proposed to me,” she said.
Still he avoided her eyes.
“Did he?” he asked awkwardly. “Well, that’s an extraordinary thing for
him to do!”
“Arthur, did you know he was going to propose to me when you left us
alone?”
“He isn’t a bad fellow,” said Arthur Gwyn lamely. “Of course, the idea
is preposterous. But, after all, it is no sin for a fellow to fall in
love with a girl and want to marry her--I mean, one can see his point
of view.”
Leslie was a little shocked; she was more than a little angry. But she
kept a tight rein on her tongue.
“But, Arthur, you wouldn’t agree to that? You know I am engaged to
Harry--why, you told me that it was the dream of your life to see me
wearing a coronet! Not that I want to wear the beastly thing, but that
was what you said.”
Ordinarily, Arthur Gwyn was possessed of a ready tongue and a nimble
wit. He had lied his way out of many an embarrassing situation with
more worldly wise people than Leslie. But, somehow, in her presence
his brain refused to function, and his witticisms were banal and
vulgar even to himself.
“My dear little girl,” he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness, “it
really doesn’t matter to me whom you marry so long as you’re happy.
Gilder is a very solid man; he has a considerable private fortune.”
This time she swung round on her seat and faced him.
“Arthur, why do you insist upon the fortune? Where is my money?”
The question came point-blank and was not to be fenced with. He roused
himself to meet a situation which had never before arisen.
“Your money? Why, invested, of course!”
He tried very hard, but he could not produce that convincing note
which was so necessary.
“Your fortune is in all sorts of shares and bonds. What a queer
question to ask me, girlie!”
“How much money have I?” she demanded ruthlessly.
“About a quarter of a million--a little more or a little less. For
goodness’ sake don’t talk about money, my dear.”
“But I _will_ talk about it,” she said. “Arthur, have I any at all?”
His laughter did not carry conviction. And usually people accepted his
word. Harry Chelford had asked him only a week before in what stocks
was his late mother’s fortune invested. And Arthur had replied glibly
enough. It was the Miriam Chelford Trust that had occupied his mind
through the journey. Something must be done there. Dick Alford had
started to ask questions, and Dick had a memory like a recording
machine. As for Leslie and her tiresome questions:
“What a silly kid you are! Of course you’ve got money! I wish to
heaven I had half your wad! You’re a very rich little girl, and you
ought to be a very happy little girl.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t think I have a penny,” she said, and his heart sank.