The Explorer Page 8

  'Nonsense,' smiled Lady Kelsey. 'They're my only relations in the world, except Bobbie, who's very much too rich as it is, and I love Lucy and George as if they were my own children. What is the good of my money except to make them happy and comfortable?'

  Mrs. Crowley remembered Dick's surmise that Lady Kelsey had loved Fred Allerton, and she wondered how much of the old feeling still remained. She felt a great pity for the kind, unselfish creature. Lady Kelsey started as she heard the street door slam. But it was only George who entered.

  'Oh, George, where have you been? Why didn't you come in to luncheon?'

  He looked pale and haggard. The strain of the last fortnight had told on him enormously, and it was plain that his excitement was almost unbearable.

  'I couldn't eat anything. I've been walking about, waiting for the damned hours to pass. I wish I hadn't promised father not to go into court. Anything would have been better than this awful suspense. I saw the man who's defending him when they adjourned for luncheon, and he told me it was all right.'

  'Of course it's all right. You didn't imagine that your father would be found guilty.'

  'Oh, I knew he wouldn't have done a thing like that,' said George impatiently. 'But I can't help being frightfully anxious. The papers are awful. They've got huge placards out: County gentleman at the Old Bailey. Society in a Bucket Shop.'

  George shivered with horror.

  'Oh, it's awful!' he cried.

  Lady Kelsey began to cry again, and Mrs. Crowley sat in silence, not knowing what to say. George walked about in agitation.

  'But I know he's not guilty,' moaned Lady Kelsey.

  'If he's guilty or not he's ruined me,' said George. 'I can't go up to Oxford again after this. I don't know what the devil's to become of me. We're all utterly disgraced. Oh, how could he! How could he!'

  'Oh, George, don't,' said Lady Kelsey.

  But George, with a weak man's petulance, could not keep back the bitter words that he had turned over in his heart so often since the brutal truth was told him.

  'Wasn't it enough that he fooled away every penny he had, so that we're simply beggars, both of us, and we have to live on your charity? I should have thought that would have satisfied him, without getting locked up for being connected in a beastly bucketshop swindle.'

  'George, how can you talk of your father like that!'

  He gave a sort of sob and looked at her with wild eyes. But at that moment a cab drove up, and, he sprang on to the balcony.

  'It's Dick Lomas and Bobbie. They've come to tell us.'

  He ran to the door and opened it. They walked up the stairs.

  'Well?' he cried. 'Well?'

  'It's not over yet. We left just as the judge was summing up.'

  'Damn you!' cried George, with an explosion of sudden fury.

  'Steady, old man,' said Dick.

  'Why didn't you stay?' moaned Lady Kelsey.

  'I couldn't,' said Dick. 'It was too awful.'

  'How was it going?'

  'I couldn't make head or tail of it. My mind was in a whirl. I'm an hysterical old fool.'

  Mrs. Crowley went up to Lady Kelsey and kissed her.

  'Why don't you go and lie down for a little while, dear,' she said. 'You look positively exhausted.'

  * * *

  'I have a racking headache,' groaned Lady Kelsey.

  'Alec MacKenzie has promised to come here as soon as its over. But you mustn't expect him for another hour.'

  'Yes, I'll go and lie down,' said Lady Kelsey.

  George, unable to master his impatience, flung open the window and stood on the balcony, watching for the cab that would bring the news.

  'Go and talk to him, there's a good fellow,' said Dick to Robert Boulger. 'Cheer him up a bit.'

  'Yes, of course I will. It's rot to make a fuss now that it's nearly over. Uncle Fred will be here himself in an hour.'

  Dick looked at him without answering. When Robert had gone on to the balcony, he flung himself wearily in a chair.

  'I couldn't stand it any longer,' he said. 'You can't imagine how awful it was to see that wretched man in the dock. He looked like a hunted beast, his face was all grey with fright, and once I caught his eyes. I shall never forget the look that was in them.'

  'But I thought he was bearing it so well,' said Mrs. Crowley.

  'You know, he's a man who's never looked the truth in the face. He never seemed to realise the gravity of the charges that were brought against him, and even when the magistrate refused to renew his bail, his confidence never deserted him. It was only to-day, when the whole thing was unrolled before him, that he appeared to understand. Oh, if you'd heard the evidence that was given! And then the pitiful spectacle of those two men trying to throw the blame on one another!'

  A look of terror came into Mrs. Crowley's face.

  'You don't think he's guilty?' she gasped.

  Dick looked at her steadily, but did not answer.

  'But Lucy's convinced that he'll be acquitted.'

  'I wonder.'

  'What on earth do you mean?'

  Dick shrugged his shoulders.

  'But he can't be guilty,' cried Mrs. Crowley. 'It's impossible.'

  Dick made an effort to drive away from his mind the dreadful fears that filled it.

  'Yes, that's what I feel, too,' he said. 'With all his faults Fred Allerton can't have committed such a despicable crime. You've never met him, you don't know him; but I've known him intimately for twenty years. He couldn't have swindled that wretched woman out of every penny she had, knowing that it meant starvation to her. He couldn't have been so brutally cruel.'

  'Oh, I'm so glad to hear you say that'

  Silence fell upon them for a while, and they waited. From the balcony they heard George talking rapidly, but they could not distinguish his words.

  'I felt ashamed to stay in court and watch the torture of that unhappy man. I've dined with him times out of number; I've stayed at his house; I've ridden his horses. Oh, it was too awful.'

  He got up impatiently and walked up and down the room.

  'It must be over by now. Why doesn't Alec come? He swore he'd bolt round the very moment the verdict was given.'

  'The suspense is dreadful,' said Mrs. Crowley.

  Dick stood still. He looked at the little American, but his eyes did not see her.

  'There are some people who are born without a moral sense. They are as unable to distinguish between right and wrong as a man who is colour blind, between red and green.'

  'Why do you say that?' asked Mrs. Crowley.

  He did not answer. She went up to him anxiously.

  'Mr. Lomas, I can't bear it. You must tell me. Do you think he's guilty?'

  He passed his hands over his eyes.

  'The evidence was damnable.'

  At that moment George sprang into the room.

  'There's Alec. He's just driving along in a cab.'

  'Thank God, thank God!' cried Mrs. Crowley. 'If it had lasted longer I should have gone mad.'

  George went to the door.

  'I must tell Miller. He has orders to let no one up.'

  He leaned over the banisters, as the bell of the front door was rung.

  'Miller, Miller, let Mr. MacKenzie in.'

  'Very good, sir,' answered the butler.

  Lucy had heard the cab drive up, and she came into the drawing-room with Lady Kelsey. The elder woman had broken down altogether and was sobbing distractedly. Lucy was very white, but otherwise quite composed. She shook hands with Dick and Mrs. Crowley.

  'It was kind of you to come,' she said.

  'Oh, my poor Lucy,' said Mrs. Crowley, with a sob in her voice.

  Lucy smiled bravely.

  'It's all over now.'

  Alec came in, and she walked eagerly towards him.

  'Well? I was hoping you'd bring father with you. When is he coming?'

  She stopped. She gave a gasp as she saw Alec's face. Though her cheeks were pale before, now their pallor was
deathly.

  'What is the matter?'

  'Isn't it all right?' cried George.

  Lucy put her hand on his arm to quieten him. It seemed that Alec could not find words. There was a horrible silence, but they all knew what he had to tell them.

  'I'm afraid you must prepare yourself for a great unhappiness,' he said.

  'Where's father?' cried Lucy. 'Where's father? Why didn't you bring him with you?'

  With the horrible truth dawning upon her, she was losing her self-control. She made an effort. Alec would not speak, and she was obliged to question him. When the words came, her voice was hoarse and low.

  'You've not told us what the verdict was.'

  'Guilty,' he answered.

  Then the colour flew back to her cheeks, and her eyes flashed with anger.

  'But it's impossible. He was innocent. He swore that he hadn't done it. There must be some horrible mistake.'

  'I wish to God there were,' said Alec.

  'You don't think he's guilty?' she cried.

  He did not answer, and for a moment they looked at one another steadily.

  'What was the sentence?' she asked.

  'The judge was dead against him. He made some very violent remarks as he passed it.'

  'Tell me what he said.'

  'Why should you wish to torture yourself?'

  'I want to know.'

  'He seemed to think the fact that your father was a gentleman made the crime more odious, and the way in which he had induced that woman to part with her money made no punishment too severe. He sentenced him to seven years penal servitude.'

  George gave a cry and sinking into a chair, burst into tears. Lucy put her hand on his shoulder.

  'Don't, George,' she said. 'You must bear up. Now we want all our courage, now more than ever.'

  'Oh, I can't bear it,' he moaned.

  She bent down and kissed him tenderly.

  'Be brave, my dearest, be brave for my sake.'

  But he sobbed uncontrollably. It was a horribly painful sight. Dick took him by the arm and led him away. Lucy turned to Alec, who was standing where first he had stopped.

  'I want to ask you a question. Will you answer me quite truthfully, whatever the pain you think it will cause me?'

  'I will.'

  'You followed the trial from the beginning, you know all the details of it. Do you think my father is guilty?'

  'What can it matter what I think?'

  'I beg you to tell me.'

  Alec hesitated for a moment. His voice was very low.

  'If I had been on the jury I'm afraid I should have had no alternative but to decide as they did.'

  Lucy bent her head, and heavy tears rolled down her cheeks.

  VII

  Next morning Lucy received a note from Alec MacKenzie, asking if he might see her that day; he suggested calling upon her early in the afternoon and expressed the hope that he might find her alone. She sat in the library at Lady Kelsey's and waited for him. She held a book in her hands, but she could not read. And presently she began to weep. Ever since the dreadful news had reached her, Lucy had done her utmost to preserve her self-control, and all night she had lain with clenched hands to prevent herself from giving way. For George's sake and for her father's, she felt that she must keep her strength. But now the strain was too great for her; she was alone; the tears began to flow helplessly, and she made no effort to restrain them.

  She had been allowed to see her father. Lucy and George had gone to the prison, and she recalled now the details of the brief interview. The whole thing was horrible. She felt that her heart would break.

  In the night indignation had seized Lucy. After reading accounts of the case in half a dozen papers she could not doubt that her father was justly condemned, and she was horrified at the baseness of the crime. His letters to the poor woman he had robbed, were read in court, and Lucy flushed as she thought of them. They were a tissue of lies, hypocritical and shameless. Lucy remembered the question she had put to Alec and his answer.

  But neither the newspapers nor Alec's words were needed to convince her of her father's guilt; in the very depths of her being, notwithstanding the passion with which she reproached herself, she had been convinced of it. She would not acknowledge even to herself that she doubted him; and all her words, all her thoughts even, expressed a firm belief in his innocence; but a ghastly terror had lurked in some hidden recess of her consciousness. It haunted her soul like a mysterious shadow which there was no bodily shape to explain. The fear had caught her, as though with material hands, when first the news of his arrest was brought to Court Leys by Robert Boulger, and again at her father's flat in Shaftesbury Avenue, when she saw a secret shame cowering behind the good-humoured flippancy of his smile. Notwithstanding his charm of manner and the tenderness of his affection for his children, she had known that he was a liar and a rascal. She hated him.

  But when Lucy saw him, still with the hunted look that Dick had noticed at the trial, so changed from when last they had met, her anger melted away, and she felt only pity. She reproached herself bitterly. How could she be so heartless when he was suffering? At first he could not speak. He looked from one to the other of his children silently, with appealing eyes; and he saw the utter wretchedness which was on George's face. George was ashamed to look at him and kept his eyes averted. Fred Allerton was suddenly grown old and bent; his poor face was sunken, and the skin had an ashy look like that of a dying man. He had already a cringing air, as if he must shrink away from his fellows. It was horrible to Lucy that she was not allowed to take him in her arms. He broke down utterly and sobbed.

  'Oh, Lucy, you don't hate me?' he whispered.

  'No, I've never loved you more than I love you now,' she said.

  And she said it truthfully. Her conscience smote her, and she wondered bitterly what she had left undone that might have averted this calamity.

  'I didn't mean to do it,' he said, brokenly.

  Lucy looked at his poor, wearied eyes. It seemed very cruel that she might not kiss them.

  'I'd have paid her everything if she'd only have given me time. Luck was against me all through. I've been a bad father to both of you.'

  Lucy was able to tell him that Lady Kelsey would pay the eight thousand pounds the woman had lost. The good creature had thought of it even before Lucy made the suggestion. At all events none of them need have on his conscience the beggary of that unfortunate person.

  'Alice was always a good soul,' said Allerton. He clung to Lucy as though she were his only hope. 'You won't forget me while I'm away, Lucy?'

  'I'll come and see you whenever I'm allowed to.'

  'It won't be very long. I hope I shall die quickly.'

  'You mustn't do that. You must keep well and strong for my sake and George's. We shall never cease to love you, father.'

  'What's going to happen to George now?' he asked.

  'We shall find something for him. You need not worry about him.'

  George flushed. He could find nothing to say. He was ashamed and angry. He wanted to get away quickly from that place of horror, and he was relieved when the warder told them it was time to go.

  'Good-bye, George,' said Fred Allerton.

  'Good-bye.'

  He kept his eyes sullenly fixed on the ground. The look of despair in Allerton's face grew more intense. He saw that his son hated him. And it had been on him that all his light affection was placed. He had been very proud of the handsome boy. And now his son merely wanted to be rid of him. Bitter words rose to his lips, but his heart was too heavy to utter them, and they expressed themselves only in a sob.

  'Forgive me for all I've done against you, Lucy.'

  'Have courage, father, we will never love you less.'

  He forced a sad smile to his lips. She included George in what she said, but he knew that she spoke only for herself. They went. And he turned away into the darkness.

  * * *

  Lucy's tears relieved her a little. They exhausted h
er, and so made her agony more easy to bear. It was necessary now to think of the future. Alec MacKenzie must be there soon. She wondered why he had written, and what he could have to say that mattered. She could only think of her father, and above all of George. She dried her eyes, and with a deep sigh set herself methodically to consider the difficult problem.

  * * *

  When Alec came she rose gravely to receive him. For a moment he was overcome by her loveliness, and he gazed at her in silence. Lucy was a woman who was at her best in the tragic situations of life; her beauty was heightened by the travail of her soul, and the heaviness of her eyes gave a pathetic grandeur to her wan face. She advanced to meet sorrow with an unquailing glance, and Alec, who knew something of heroism, recognised the greatness of her heart. Of late he had been more than once to see that portrait of Diana of the Uplands, in which he, too, found the gracious healthiness of Lucy Allerton; but now she seemed like some sad queen, English to the very bones, who bore with a royal dignity an intolerable grief, and yet by the magnificence of her spirit turned into something wholly beautiful.

  'You must forgive me for forcing myself upon you to-day,' he said slowly. 'But my time is very short, and I wanted to speak to you at once.'

  'It is very good of you to come.' She was embarrassed, and did not know what exactly to say. 'I am always very glad to see you.'

  He looked at her steadily, as though he were turning over in his mind her commonplace words. She smiled.

  'I wanted to thank you for your great kindness to me during these two or three weeks. You've been very good to me, and you've helped me to bear all that--I've had to bear.'

  'I would do far more for you than that,' he answered. Suddenly it flashed through her mind why he had come. Her heart gave a great beat against her chest. The thought had never entered her head. She sat down and waited for him to speak. He did not move. There was a singular immobility about him when something absorbed his mind.

  'I wrote and asked if I might see you alone, because I had something that I wanted to say to you. I've wanted to say it ever since we were at Court Leys together, but I was going away--heaven only knows when I shall come back, and perhaps something may happen to me--and I thought it was unfair to you to speak.'