The Secret Places of the Heart (17 page)

Sir Richmond recalled that little speech now as he returned from
Salisbury station to the Old George after his farewell to Martineau. He
recalled too the soft firmness of her profile and the delicate line of
her lifted chin. He felt that this time at any rate he was not being
deceived by the outward shows of a charming human being. This young
woman had real firmness of character to back up her free and independent
judgments. He smiled at the idea of any facile passion in the
composition of so sure and gallant a personality. Martineau was very
fine-minded in many respects, but he was an old maid; and like all old
maids he saw man and woman in every encounter. But passion was a thing
men and women fell back upon when they had nothing else in common. When
they thought in the pleasantest harmony and every remark seemed to weave
a fresh thread of common interest, then it wasn't so necessary. It might
happen, but it wasn't so necessary.... If it did it would be a secondary
thing to companionship. That's what she was,—a companion.

But a very lovely and wonderful companion, the companion one would not
relinquish until the very last moment one could keep with her.

Her views about America and about her own place in the world seemed
equally fresh and original to Sir Richmond.

"I realize I've got to be a responsible American citizen," she had said.
That didn't mean that she attached very much importance to her recently
acquired vote. She evidently classified voters into the irresponsible
who just had votes and the responsible who also had a considerable
amount of property as well. She had no illusions about the power of the
former class. It didn't exist. They were steered to their decisions by
people employed, directed or stimulated by "father" and his friends and
associates, the owners of America, the real "responsible citizens." Or
they fell a prey to the merely adventurous leading of "revolutionaries."
But anyhow they were steered. She herself, it was clear, was bound
to become a very responsible citizen indeed. She would some day, she
laughed, be swimming in oil and such like property. Her interest in
Sir Richmond's schemes for a scientific world management of fuel was
therefore, she realized, a very direct one. But it was remarkable to
find a young woman seeing it like that.

Father it seemed varied very much in his attitude towards her. He
despised and distrusted women generally, and it was evident he had made
it quite clear to her how grave an error it was on her part to persist
in being a daughter and not a son. At moments it seemed to Sir
Richmond that she was disposed to agree with father upon that. When Mr.
Grammont's sense of her regrettable femininity was uppermost, then he
gave his intelligence chiefly to schemes for tying her up against the
machinations of adventurers by means of trustees, partners, lawyers,
advisers, agreements and suchlike complications, or for acquiring a
workable son by marriage. To this last idea it would seem the importance
in her life of the rather heavily named Gunter Lake was to be ascribed.
But another mood of the old man's was distrust of anything that could
not be spoken of as his "own flesh and blood," and then he would direct
his attention to a kind of masculinization of his daughter and to
schemes for giving her the completest control of all he had to leave her
provided she never married nor fell under masculine sway. "After all,"
he would reflect as he hesitated over the practicability of his life's
ideal, "there was Hetty Green."

This latter idea had reft her suddenly at the age of seventeen from
the educational care of an English gentlewoman warranted to fit her for
marriage with any prince in Europe, and thrust her for the mornings and
a moiety of the afternoons of the better part of a year, after a swift
but competent training, into a shirt waist and an office down town. She
had been entrusted at first to a harvester concern independent of Mr.
Grammont, because he feared his own people wouldn't train her hard. She
had worked for ordinary wages and ordinary hours, and at the end of the
day, she mentioned casually, a large automobile with two menservants
and a trustworthy secretary used to pick her out from the torrent of
undistinguished workers that poured out of the Synoptical Building. This
masculinization idea had also sent her on a commission of enquiry into
Mexico. There apparently she had really done responsible work.

But upon the question of labour Mr. Grammont was fierce, even for an
American business man, and one night at a dinner party he discovered
his daughter displaying what he considered an improper familiarity
with socialist ideas. This had produced a violent revulsion towards the
purdah system and the idea of a matrimonial alliance with Gunter Lake.
Gunter Lake, Sir Richmond gathered, wasn't half a bad fellow. Generally
it would seem Miss Grammont liked him, and she had a way of speaking
about him that suggested that in some way Mr. Lake had been rather
hardly used and had acquired merit by his behaviour under bad treatment.
There was some story, however, connected with her war services in Europe
upon which Miss Grammont was evidently indisposed to dwell. About that
story Sir Richmond was left at the end of his Avebury day and after his
last talk with Dr. Martineau, still quite vaguely guessing.

So much fact about Miss Grammont as we have given had floated up in
fragments and pieced itself together in Sir Richmond's mind in the
course of a day and a half. The fragments came up as allusions or by way
of illustration. The sustaining topic was this New Age Sir Richmond
fore shadowed, this world under scientific control, the Utopia of fully
developed people fully developing the resources of the earth. For a
number of trivial reasons Sir Richmond found himself ascribing the
project of this New Age almost wholly to Dr. Martineau, and presenting
it as a much completer scheme than he was justified in doing. It was
true that Dr. Martineau had not said many of the things Sir Richmond
ascribed to him, but also it was true that they had not crystallized out
in Sir Richmond's mind before his talks with Dr. Martineau. The idea of
a New Age necessarily carries with it the idea of fresh rules of conduct
and of different relationships between human beings. And it throws
those who talk about it into the companionship of a common enterprise.
To-morrow the New Age will be here no doubt, but today it is the hope
and adventure of only a few human beings.

So that it was natural for Miss Grammont and Sir Richmond to ask: "What
are we to do with such types as father?" and to fall into an idiom that
assumed a joint enterprise. They had agreed by a tacit consent to a
common conception of the world they desired as a world scientifically
ordered, an immense organization of mature commonsense, healthy and
secure, gathering knowledge and power for creative adventures as yet
beyond dreaming. They were prepared to think of the makers of the
Avebury dyke as their yesterday selves, of the stone age savages as
a phase, in their late childhood, and of this great world order Sir
Richmond foresaw as a day where dawn was already at hand. And in such
long perspectives, the states, governments and institutions of to-day
became very temporary-looking and replaceable structures indeed. Both
these two people found themselves thinking in this fashion with an
unwonted courage and freedom because the other one had been disposed to
think in this fashion before. Sir Richmond was still turning over in
his mind the happy mutual release of the imagination this chance
companionship had brought about when he found himself back again at the
threshold of the Old George.

Sir Richmond Hardy was not the only man who was thinking intently about
Miss Grammont at that particular moment. Two gentlemen were coming
towards her across the Atlantic whose minds, it chanced, were very
busily occupied by her affairs. One of these was her father, who
was lying in his brass bed in his commodious cabin on the Hollandia,
regretting his diminishing ability to sleep in the early morning now,
even when he was in the strong and soothing air of mid-Atlantic, and
thinking of V.V. because she had a way of coming into his mind when it
was undefended; and the other was Mr. Gunter Lake on the Megantic,
one day out from Sandy Hook, who found himself equally sleepless and
preoccupied. And although Mr. Lake was a man of vast activities and
complicated engagements he was coming now to Europe for the express
purpose of seeing V.V. and having things out with her fully and
completely because, in spite of all that had happened, she made such an
endless series of delays in coming to America.

Old Grammont as he appeared upon the pillow of his bed by the light of a
rose-shaded bedside lamp, was a small-headed, grey-haired gentleman with
a wrinkled face and sunken brown eyes. Years of business experience,
mitigated only by such exercise as the game of poker affords, had
intensified an instinctive inexpressiveness. Under the most solitary
circumstances old Grammont was still inexpressive, and the face that
stared at the ceiling of his cabin and the problem of his daughter
might have been the face of a pickled head in a museum, for any
indication it betrayed of the flow of thought within. He lay on his back
and his bent knees lifted the bed-clothes into a sharp mountain. He was
not even trying to sleep.

Why, he meditated, had V.V. stayed on in Europe so much longer than she
need have done? And why had Gunter Lake suddenly got into a state of
mind about her? Why didn't the girl confide in her father at least
about these things? What was afoot? She had thrown over Lake once and
it seemed she was going to turn him down again. Well, if she was an
ordinary female person that was a silly sort of thing to do. With her
fortune and his—you could buy the world. But suppose she was not all
ordinary female person.... Her mother hadn't been ordinary anyhow,
whatever else you called her, and no one could call Grammont blood all
ordinary fluid. ... Old Grammont had never had any delusions about Lake.
If Lake's father hadn't been a big man Lake would never have counted for
anything at all. Suppose she did turn him down. In itself that wasn't a
thing to break her father's heart.

What did matter was not whether she threw Lake over but what she threw
him over for. If it was because he wasn't man enough, well and good. But
if it was for some other lover, some good-looking, worthless impostor,
some European title or suchlike folly—!

At the thought of a lover for V.V. a sudden flood of anger poured across
the old man's mind, behind the still mask of his face. It infuriated
him even to think of V.V., his little V.V., his own girl, entertaining
a lover, being possibly—most shameful thought—IN LOVE! Like some
ordinary silly female, sinking to kisses, to the deeds one could buy
and pay for. His V.V.! The idea infuriated and disgusted him. He fought
against it as a possibility. Once some woman in New York had ventured
to hint something to him of some fellow, some affair with an artist,
Caston; she had linked this Caston with V.V.'s red cross nursing in
Europe.... Old Grammont had made that woman sorry she spoke. Afterwards
he had caused enquiries to be made about this Caston, careful enquiries.
It seems that he and V.V. had known each other, there had been
something. But nothing that V.V. need be ashamed of. When old Grammont's
enquiry man had come back with his report, old Grammont had been very
particular about that. At first the fellow had not been very clear,
rather muddled indeed as to how things were—no doubt he had wanted
to make out there was something just to seem to earn his money. Old
Grammont had struck the table sharply and the eyes that looked out of
his mask had blazed. "What have you found out against her?" he had asked
in a low even voice. "Absolutely nothing, Sir," said the agent, suddenly
white to the lips....

Old Grammont stared at his memory of that moment for a while. That
affair was all right, quite all right. Of course it was all right. And
also, happily, Caston was among the dead. But it was well her broken
engagement with Lake had been resumed as though it had never been broken
off. If there had been any talk that fact answered it. And now that Lake
had served his purpose old Grammont did not care in the least if he was
shelved. V.V. could stand alone.

Old Grammont had got a phrase in his mind that looked like dominating
the situation. He dreamt of saying to V.V.: "V.V., I'm going to make
a man of you—if you're man enough." That was a large proposition; it
implied—oh! it implied all sorts of things. It meant that she would
care as little for philandering as an able young business man. Perhaps
some day, a long time ahead, she might marry. There wasn't much reason
for it, but it might be she would not wish to be called a spinster.
"Take a husband," thought old Grammont, "when I am gone, as one takes a
butler, to make the household complete." In previous meditations on his
daughter's outlook old Grammont had found much that was very suggestive
in the precedent of Queen Victoria. She had had no husband of the lord
and master type, so to speak, but only a Prince Consort, well in hand.
Why shouldn't the Grammont heiress dominate her male belonging, if it
came to that, in the same fashion? Why shouldn't one tie her up and tie
the whole thing up, so far as any male belonging was concerned, leaving
V.V. in all other respects free? How could one do it?

The speculative calm of the sunken brown eyes deepened.

His thoughts went back to the white face of the private enquiry agent.
"Absolutely nothing, Sir." What had the fellow thought of hinting?
Nothing of that kind in V.V.'s composition, never fear. Yet it was a
curious anomaly that while one had a thousand ways of defending one's
daughter and one's property against that daughter's husband, there was
no power on earth by which a father could stretch his dead hand between
that daughter and the undue influence of a lover. Unless you tied her up
for good and all, lover or none....