The Wicked Marquis Read online

  CHAPTER XXVII

  The Marquis, with several account books and Mr. Merridrew, who hadridden over from his office on a motor-bicycle, had settled down to alaborious evening. The former, for no particular reason, was enjoyinga slight relapse into his customary optimism.

  "I am not without expectation," the Marquis commenced by explaining tohis agent, "that at the end of the next two months I may find myself inpossession of a large sum of money. Under those circumstances, it willnot be a purposeless proceeding to work out what is really required inthe way of repairs on the various farms. It will be a great pleasurefor me to meet my tenants in any way possible. On the whole, Iconsider that they have been very reasonable and loyal."

  Mr. Merridrew agreed with his lordship, agreed with him fervently.

  "Some of them," he confessed, "have been very troublesome. A few ofthem have been driven to make some slight repairs themselves, but onthe whole, your lordship, it would be a great relief if one were ableto assist them so far as regards positive dilapidations."

  The Marquis dipped his pen in the ink and settled down to his task. Atthat moment, however, Gossett knocked at the door, opened it andadvanced towards his master with a card upon a salver.

  "The gentleman is staying at Fakenham, I believe, sir, and has motoredover."

  The Marquis lifted the card. "Mr. James Borden" at first conveyednothing to him. Then he felt a sudden stab of memory.

  "The gentleman wishes to see me?" he enquired.

  "He begs to be allowed a short interview with your lordship," Gossettreplied.

  "You can show him into the library," was the brief direction. "Mr.Merridrew," he added, turning to the agent, "you can proceed with theabstract without me. I shall return in time to go through the totalsand learn the family records of the various tenants--I refer, ofcourse, to those with which I am not acquainted."

  Mr. Merridrew was quite sure that he could manage alone and settleddown to his task. The Marquis presently left him and crossed the greathall, one of the wonders of Mandeleys, the walls of which were stillhung with faded reproductions, in ornate tapestry, of mediaevalincidents. From somewhere amongst the shadows came Gossett, whogravely took up his stand outside the library. As though with somecurious prescience of the fact that this was an unwelcome visitor, hisbow, as he threw open the door, was lower even than usual.

  "Shall I light the lamp, your lordship?" he asked.

  The Marquis glanced towards the oriel windows, through which the lightcame scantily, and at the figure of James Borden, advancing now fromsomewhere in the dim recesses of the room--an apartment which remainedmarvellously little altered since the days when it had contained thelaboriously collected books of a Franciscan order of Monks.

  "Perhaps it would be as well, Gossett," his master assented. "You wishto see me?" he added, turning towards his visitor.

  James Borden had come posthaste from London, acting upon an impulsewhich had swept him off his feet. All the way down he had been theprey to turbulent thoughts. A hundred different ways of conductingthis interview had presented themselves before him with such facilitythat he had come to look upon it as one of the easiest things on earth.Yet now the moment had arrived he was conscious of an unexpectedembarrassment. The strange tranquillity of the house and this statelyapartment, the personality of the Marquis himself--serene, slightlycurious, yet with that indefinable air of good-breeding which magnifiesthe obligations of a host--had a paralysing effect upon him. He wastongue-tied, uncertain of himself. All the many openings which hadcome to him so readily faded away.

  "My name is Borden," he announced. "I have come here, hoping for ashort conversation with you."

  The Marquis made no immediate reply. He watched the lighting of a hugelamp which Gossett silently placed in the middle of an ebony blackwriting table, to the side of which he had already drawn up twohigh-backed chairs.

  "Is there anything else your lordship desires?" the man asked.

  "Not at present, Gossett. I will ring."

  The Marquis pointed towards one of the chairs, and seated himself inthe other.

  "I shall be very glad to hear of your business with me, Mr. Borden," hesaid courteously.

  His visitor had lost none of his embarrassment. The Marquis, in hisold-fashioned dinner clothes, his black stock, the fob which hung fromhis waistcoat, his finely chiselled features, and that mysterious airof being entirely in touch with his surroundings, had him at adisadvantage from the first. Borden was wearing the somewhat shabbyblue serge suit in which he had travelled all day, and which he hadneglected to brush. He had been too much in earnest about his missionto do more than make the most hasty toilet at the hotel. Thehigh-backed chair, which suited the Marquis so well, was an unfamiliararticle of furniture to him, and he sat upon it stiffly and withoutease. Nevertheless, he reminded himself that he was there--he must saywhat he had come to say.

  "I am venturing to address you, Lord Mandeleys," he began, "upon apersonal subject."

  The Marquis raised his eyebrows gently. It was perhaps a suggestion ofsurprise that a personal subject should exist, lending itself todiscussion between him and this visitor.

  "And before I go any further," the latter continued, "I want to make itclear that I am here at my own initiative only--that the other personinterested is entirely ignorant of my visit."

  Mr. Borden paused, and the Marquis made no sign whatever. He wassitting quite upright in his chair, the fingers of his right handtoying lazily with an ancient paper knife, fashioned of yellow ivory.

  "Nevertheless," the speaker went on, "I wish to tell you that my visitis a sequel to a conversation which I had last night with Miss MarciaHannaway, a conversation during which I asked her, not for the firsttime, to be my wife."

  The Marquis's fingers ceased to trifle with the paper knife.Otherwise, not a muscle of his body or a single twitch of the featuresbetrayed any emotion. Nevertheless, his visitor realised for the firsttime that all his life he had had a wrong conception of this man. Heknew quite well that he had altogether underrated the difficulties ofhis task.

  "I am taking it for granted," he proceeded, "that you are broad-mindedenough, Lord Mandeleys, to admit that we can discuss this, or any othermatter, on terms of equality. I am unknown to you. My father was aDean of Peterborough; I was myself at Harrow and Magdalen."

  The Marquis's fingers stretched out once more towards the paper knife.

  "You mentioned, I believe," he said, "the name of a lady with whom I amacquainted."

  "I am coming to that," was the eager reply. "I only wanted to have itunderstood that this was a matter which we could discuss as equals, asman to man."

  "I am so far from agreeing with you," the Marquis declared calmly,"that I prefer to choose my own companions in any discussion, and myown subjects. It happens that you are a stranger to me."

  Borden checked a hasty retort, which he realised at once would haveplaced him at a further disadvantage.

  "Lord Mandeleys," he said, "I was at first Miss Hannaway's publisher.I have become her friend. I desire to become her husband. Her wholestory is known to me, even from the day when you brought her away fromthe Vont cottage and chose her for your companion. I have watched theslow development of her brain, I know how much she has benefitedintellectually by the forced seclusion entailed upon her by theconditions of your friendship. I realise, however, that the time hascome when in justice to her gifts, which have not yet reached fruition,it is necessary that she should come into closer personal contact withthe world of which she knows so little. She can attain that positionby becoming my wife."

  "Really!" his listener murmured, with a faint note of unruffledsurprise in his tone.

  Borden set his teeth. The task which had seemed to him so easy waspresenting now a very different appearance. Nevertheless, he kept aniron restraint upon himself.

  "I do not wish to weary you," he went on, "by making a long story ofthis. I am forty-one years old and unmarried. Marcia Hann
away is thefirst woman whom I have wished to make my wife, and I wish it becauseI--care for her. I have been her suitor for nine years. During allthat time she has given me no word of encouragement. I have neveronce, until these last few days, been permitted to dine alone with her,nor been allowed even the privilege of visiting her at her home. Therestrictions upon our intercourse have been, I presume, in obedience toyour wishes, or to Marcia's interpretation of them."

  "If we could come," the Marquis said gently, "to the reason for thisvisit--"

  The words supplied the sting that Borden needed.

  "I believe," he declared, "that Marcia Hannaway in her heart wishes tomarry me. I believe that she cares enough to marry me. Only a shorttime ago she admitted it, and within twelve hours I received a note,retracting all that she had promised."

  There was a deep silence throughout the great room. The faces of thetwo men--a little closer now, for Borden had moved his chair--were bothunder the little circle of lamplight. For a single second somethinghad disturbed the imperturbability of the Marquis's countenance--itseemed, indeed, as though some strange finger had humanised it, hadsoftened the eyes and drawn apart the lips. Then the moment passed.

  "Are we nearing the end of this discussion, Mr. Borden?"

  "Every word brings us nearer the end," was the ready reply. "I amgoing to tell you the truth as I feel it in my heart. Marcia would beat her best in the life to which I should bring her. Mentally,spiritually and humanly, as my wife she would be happier. She hasrefused me out of loyalty to you."

  "Are you suggesting," the Marquis enquired, "that I should intervene infavour of your suit?"

  Borden struck the table with the flat of his hand.

  "Damn it," he exclaimed, "can't you talk of this like a man! Don't youcare enough for Marcia to think a little of her happiness? I want youto let her go--to let her believe, whether it is the truth or not, thatshe is not, as she seems to think, necessary to your life. Come! Lifehas its sacrifices as well as its compensations. You've had the bestpart of a wonderful woman's life. I am not saying a word about theconditions which exist between you. I don't presume. If I did, Ishould have to remember that Marcia speaks always of your treatment ofher with tears of gratitude in her eyes. But your time has come.Marcia has many years to live. There is something grown up within herwhich you have nothing to do with--a little flame of genius which burnsthere all the time, which at this very moment would be a furnace butfor the fact of the unnatural life she is forced to lead asyour--companion. Now you ask what I've come for, and you know. I wantyou to forget yourself and to think of the woman who has been yourfaithful and sympathetic companion for all these years. She hasn'tcome to her own yet. She can't with you. She can with me. Write andthank her for what she has given you, and tell her that for the futureshe is free. She can make her choice then, unfettered by theseinfernal bonds which you have laid around her."

  The Marquis turned the lamp a little lower with steady fingers. Thenecessity for his action was not altogether apparent.

  "You suggest, Mr. Borden, if I understand you rightly," he said, "thatI am now too old and too unintelligent to afford Marcia the stimulatingcompanionship which her gifts deserve?"

  "There can't be a great sympathy between you," the other declared,"and, to be brutal, the place in life which she deserves, and to whichshe aspires, is not open to her under present conditions."

  "You allude, I presume," the Marquis said, "to the absence of any legaltie between Miss Hannaway and myself?"

  "I do," Borden assented. "The world is a broad-minded place enough,but there are differences and backwaters--I am not here to explain themto you. I don't need to. Marcia Hannaway, married to her publisher,going where she will, thinking how she will, meeting whom she will,would be a different person to Miss Marcia Hannaway, living inisolation in Battersea, with nothing warm nor human in her lifeexcept--"

  "Precisely," the Marquis interrupted, with a little gesture which mighthave concealed--anything. "I am beginning to grasp your point of view,Mr. Borden."

  "And your answer?"

  "I have no answer to give you, sir. You have made certain suggestions,which I may or may not be prepared to accept. In any case, matters ofso much importance scarcely lend themselves to decisions betweenstrangers. I shall probably allude to what you have said when I see orwrite Miss Hannaway."

  "You've nothing more to say to me about it, then?" Borden persisted, alittle wistfully.

  "Nothing whatever! You may possibly consider my attitude selfish," theMarquis added, "but I find myself wholly indifferent to your interestsin this matter."

  "I should be able to reconcile myself even to that," was the grimreply, "if I have been able to penetrate for a single moment thataccursed selfishness of yours--if I have been able to make you think,for however short a time, of Marcia's future instead of your own."

  The Marquis rose without haste from his place, and rang the bell.

  "You will permit me, Mr. Borden," he invited, "to offer you somerefreshments?"

  "Thank you, I desire nothing."

  The Marquis pointed to the door, by which Gossett was standing.

  "That, then, I think, concludes our interview," he said, with icycourtesy.

  Mr. Borden walked the full length of the very long apartment, sufferedhimself to be respectfully conducted across the great hall, out on tothe flags and into the motor-car which he had hired in Fakenham. Itwas not until he was on his way through the park that he opened hislips and found them attuned to blasphemy. At the top of the gentleslope, however, where the car was brought to a standstill while thedriver opened the iron gate, he turned back and looked at Mandeleys,looked at its time-worn turrets, its mullioned windows, the Normanchapel, the ruined cloisters, the ivy-covered west wing, the beautifulElizabethan chimneys. A strange, heterogeneous mass of architecture,yet magnificent, in its way impressive, almost inspiring. He looked atthe little cottage almost at its gates, from which a thin, spiralcolumn of smoke was ascending. Perhaps in those few seconds, and withthe memory of that interview still rankling, he felt a glimmering ofreal understanding. Something which had always been incomprehensibleto him in Marcia's story stood more or less revealed.