Complete Works of Bram Stoker (273 page)

Leonard had printed in the names!  The feminine keenness of both women had made his intention manifest.  He did not wish for the possibility of his handwriting being recognised.  His punishment came quickly.  With a dazzling smile Stephen said to him:

‘But, Leonard, you have forgotten to put the addresses!’

‘Is that necessary?’

‘Of course it is!  Why, you silly, how is the money to be paid if there are no addresses?’

Leonard felt like a rat in a trap; but he had no alternative.  So irritated was he, and so anxious to hide his irritation that, forgetting his own caution, he wrote, not in printing characters but in his own handwriting, addresses evolved from his own imagination.  Stephen’s eyes twinkled as he handed her the paper: he had given himself away all round.

Leonard having done all that as yet had been required of him, felt that he might now ask a further favour, so he said:

‘There is one of those bills which I have promised to pay by Monday.’

‘Promised?’ said Stephen with wide-opened eyes.  She had no idea of sparing him, she remembered the printed names.  ‘Why, Leonard, I thought you said you were unable to pay any of those debts?’

Again he had put himself in a false position.  He could not say that it was to his father he had made the promise; for he had already told Stephen that he had been afraid to tell him of his debts.  In his desperation, for Miss Rowly’s remorseless glasses were full on him, he said:

‘I thought I was justified in making the promise after what you said about the pleasure it would be to help me.  You remember, that day on the hilltop?’

If he had wished to disconcert her he was mistaken; she had already thought over and over again of every form of embarrassment her unhappy action might bring on her at his hands.  She now said sweetly and calmly, so sweetly and so calmly that he, with knowledge of her secret, was alarmed:

‘But that was not a promise to pay.  If you will remember it was only an offer, which is a very different thing.  You did not accept it then!’  She was herself somewhat desperate, or she would not have sailed so close to the wind.

‘Ah, but I accepted later!’ he said quickly, feeling in his satisfaction in an epigrammatic answer a certain measure of victory.  He felt his mistake when she went on calmly:

‘Offers like that are not repeated.  They are but phantoms, after all.  They come at their own choice, when they do come; and they stay but the measure of a breath or two.  You cannot summon them!’  Leonard fell into the current of the metaphor and answered:

‘I don’t know that even that is impossible.  There are spells which call, and recall, even phantoms!’

‘Indeed!’  Stephen was anxious to find his purpose.

Leonard felt that he was getting on, that he was again acquiring the upper hand; so he pushed on the metaphor, more and more satisfied with himself:

‘And it is wonderful how simple some spells, and these the most powerful, can be.  A remembered phrase, the recollection of a pleasant meeting, the smell of a forgotten flower, or the sight of a forgotten letter; any or all of these can, through memory, bring back the past.  And it is often in the past that the secret of the future lies!’

Miss Rowly felt that something was going on before her which she could not understand.  Anything of this man’s saying which she could not fathom must be at least dangerous; so she determined to spoil his purpose, whatever it might be.

‘Dear me!  That is charmingly poetic!  Past and future; memory and the smell of flowers; meetings and letters!  It is quite philosophy.  Do explain it all, Mr. Everard!’  Leonard was not prepared to go on under the circumstances.  His own mention of ‘letter,’ although he had deliberately used it with the intention of frightening Stephen, had frightened himself.  It reminded him that he had not brought, had not got, the letter; and that as yet he was not certain of getting the money.  Stephen also had noted the word, and determined not to pass the matter by.  She said gaily:

‘If a letter is a spell, I think you have a spell of mine, which is a spell of my own weaving.  You were to show me the letter in which I asked you to come to see me.  It was in that, I think you said, that I mentioned your debts; but I don’t remember doing so.  Show it to me!’

‘I have not got it with me!’  This was said with mulish sullenness.

‘Why not?’

‘I forgot.’

‘That is a pity!  It is always a pity to forget things in a business transaction; as this is.  I think, Auntie, we must wait till we have all the documents, before we can complete this transaction!’

Leonard was seriously alarmed.  If the matter of the loan were not gone on with at once the jeweller’s bill could not be paid by Monday, and the result would be another scene with his father.  He turned to Stephen and said as charmingly as he could, and he was all in earnest now:

‘I’m awfully sorry!  But these debts have been so worrying me that they put lots of things out of my head.  That bill to be paid on Monday, when I haven’t a feather to fly with, is enough to drive a fellow off his chump.  The moment I lay my hands on the letter I shall keep it with me so that I can’t forget it again.  Won’t you forgive me for this time?’

‘Forgive!’ she answered, with a laugh.  ‘Why it’s not worth forgiveness!  It is not worth a second thought!  All right!  Leonard, make your mind easy; the bill will be paid on Monday!’  Miss Rowly said quietly:

‘I have to be in London on Monday afternoon; I can pay it for you.’  This was a shock to Leonard; he said impulsively:

‘Oh, I say!  Can’t I . . . ‘  His words faded away as the old lady again raised her lorgnon and gazed at him calmly.  She went on:

‘You know, my dear, it won’t be even out of my way, as I have to call at Mr. Malpas’s office, and I can go there from the hotel in Regent Street.’  This was all news to Stephen.  She did not know that her aunt had intended going to London; and indeed she did not know of any business with Mr. Malpas, whose firm had been London solicitor to the Rowlys for several generations.  She had no doubt, however, as to the old lady’s intention.  It was plain to her that she wanted to help.  So she thanked her sweetly.  Leonard could say nothing.  He seemed to be left completely out of it.  When Stephen rose, as a hint to him that it was time for him to go, he said humbly, as he left:

‘Would it be possible that I should have the receipt before Monday evening?  I want to show it to my father.’

‘Certainly!’ said the old lady, answering him.  ‘I shall be back by the two o’clock train; and if you happen to be at the railway station at Norcester when I arrive I can give it to you!’

He went away relieved, but vindictive; determined in his own mind that when he had received the money for the rest of the debts he would see Stephen, when the old lady was not present, and have it out with her.

CHAPTER XIX  —  A LETTER

On Monday evening after dinner Mr. Everard and his son sat for a while in silence.  They had not met since morning; and in the presence of the servants conversation had been scrupulously polite.  Now, though they were both waiting to talk, neither liked to begin.  The older man was outwardly placid, when Leonard, a little flushed and a little nervous of voice, began:

‘Have you had any more bills?’  He had expected none, and thus hoped to begin by scoring against his father.  It was something of a set-down when the latter, taking some papers from his breast-pocket, handed them to him, saying:

‘Only these!’  Leonard took them in silence and looked at them.  All were requests for payment of debts due by his son.

In each case the full bill was enclosed.  He was silent a while; but his father spoke:

‘It would almost seem as if all these people had made up their minds that you were of no further use to them.’  Then without pausing he said, but in a sharper voice:

‘Have you paid the jewellers?  This is Monday!’  Without speaking Leonard took leisurely from his pocket folded paper.  This he opened, and, after deliberately smoothing out the folds, handed it to his father.  Doubtless something in his manner had already convinced the latter that the debt was paid.  He took the paper in as leisurely a way as it had been given, adjusted his spectacles, and read it.  Seeing that his son had scored this time, he covered his chagrin with an appearance of paternal satisfaction.

‘Good!’  For many reasons he was glad the debt was paid He was himself too poor a man to allow the constant drain his son’s debts, and too careful of his position to be willing have such exposure as would come with a County Court action against his son.  All the same, his exasperation continued.  Neither was his quiver yet empty.  He shot his next arrow:

‘I am glad you paid off those usurers!’  Leonard did not like the definite way he spoke.  Still in silence, he took from his pocket a second paper, which he handed over unfolded.  Mr. Everard read it, and returned it politely, with again one word:

‘Good!’  For a few minutes there was silence.  The father spoke again:

‘Those other debts, have you paid them?’  With a calm deliberation so full of tacit rudeness that it made his father flush Leonard answered:

‘Not yet, sir!  But I shall think of them presently.  I don’t care to be bustled by them; and I don’t mean to!’  It was apparent that though he spoke verbally of his creditors, his meaning was with regard to others also.

‘When will they be paid?’  As his son hesitated, he went on:

‘I am alluding to those who have written to me.  I take it that as my estate is not entailed, and as you have no income except from me, the credit which has been extended to you has been rather on my account than your own.  Therefore, as the matter touches my own name, I am entitled to know something of what is going on.’  His manner as well as his words was so threatening that Leonard was a little afraid.  He might imperil his inheritance.  He answered quickly:

‘Of course, sir, you shall know everything.  After all, you know, my affairs are your affairs!’

‘I know nothing of the sort.  I may of course be annoyed by your affairs, even dishonoured, in a way, by them.  But I accept no responsibility whatever.  As you have made your bed, so must you lie on it!’

‘It’s all right, sir, I assure you.  All my debts, both those you know of and some you don’t, I shall settle very shortly.’

‘How soon?’  The question was sternly put.

‘In a few days.  I dare say a week at furthest will see everything straightened out.’

The elder man stood, saying gravely as he went to the door:

‘You will do well to tell me when the last of them is paid.  There is something which I shall then want to tell you!’  Without waiting for reply he went to his study.

Leonard went to his room and made a systematic, though unavailing, search for Stephen’s letter; thinking that by some chance he might have recovered it from Harold and had overlooked it.

The next few days he passed in considerable suspense.  He did not dare go near Normanstand until he was summoned, as he knew he would be when he was required.

* * * * *

When Miss Rowly returned from her visit to London she told Stephen that she had paid the bill at the jeweller’s, and had taken the precaution of getting a receipt, together with a duplicate for Mr. Everard.  The original was by her own request made out as received from Miss Laetitia Rowly in settlement of the account of Leonard Everard, Esq.; the duplicate merely was ‘recd. in settlement of the account of  —  ,’ etc.  Stephen’s brows bent hit thought as she said:

‘Why did you have it done that way, Auntie dear?’  The other answered quietly:

‘I had a reason, my dear; good reason!  Perhaps I shall tell you all about it some day; in the meantime I want you not to ask me anything about it.  I have a reason for that too.  Stephen, won’t you trust me in this, blindfold?’  There was something so sweet and loving in the way she made the request that Stephen was filled with emotion.  She put her arms round her aunt’s neck and hugged her tight.  Then laying her head on her bosom she said with a sigh:

‘Oh, my dear, you can’t know how I trust you; or how much your trust is to me.  You never can know!’

The next day the two women held a long consultation over the schedule of Leonard’s debts.  Neither said a word of disfavour, or even commented on the magnitude.  The only remark touching on the subject was made by Miss Rowly:

‘We must ask for proper discounts.  Oh, the villainy of those tradesmen!  I do believe they charge double in the hope of getting half.  As to jewellers . . . !’  Then she announced her intention of going up to town again on Thursday, at which visit she would arrange for the payment of the various debts.  Stephen tried to remonstrate, but she was obdurate.  She held Stephen’s hand in hers and stroked it lovingly as she kept on repeating:

‘Leave it all to me, dear!  Leave it all to me!  Everything shall be paid as you wish; but leave it to me!’

Stephen acquiesced.  This gentle yielding was new in her; it touched the elder lady to the quick, even whilst it pained her.  Well she knew that some trouble must have gone to the smoothing of that imperious nature.

Stephen’s inner life in these last few days was so bitterly sad that she kept it apart from all the routine of social existence.  Into it never came now, except as the exciting cause of all the evil, a thought of Leonard.  The saddening memory was of Harold.  And of him the sadness was increased and multiplied by a haunting fear.  Since he had walked out of the grove she had not seen him nor heard from him.  This was in itself strange; for in all her life, when she was at home and he too, never a day passed without her seeing him.  She had heard her aunt say that word had come of his having made a sudden journey to London, from which he had not yet returned.  She was afraid to make inquiries.  Partly lest she might hear bad news  —  this was her secret fear; partly lest she might bring some attention to herself in connection with his going.  Of some things in connection with her conduct to him she was afraid to think at all.  Thought, she felt, would come in time, and with it new pains and new shames, of which as yet she dared not think.

One morning came an envelope directed in Harold’s hand.  The sight made her almost faint.  She rejoiced that she had been first down, and had opened the postbag with her own key.  She took the letter to her room and shut herself in before opening it.  Within were a few lines of writing and her own letter to Leonard in its envelope.  Her head beat so hard that she could scarcely see; but gradually the writing seemed to grow out of the mist: