The Betrayal of John Fordham. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ have murdered him had I not been by. We shall remember you by that, and it shall be evidence against you if there is ever occasion for it. Cruelty! My darling Louis cruel! He has the tenderest heart. You coward – you coward! Had he been as old and strong as you you would not have dared to attack him. But that is the way with such as you – to strike only the weak. Time will show – time will show! You are going into the world; there is no longer a check upon you. There will be a woman, perhaps, whom you will beat and torture. Oh, yes, you will do it; and you will lie to the world and whine that the fault is hers. Let those who stand by her come to me and Louis – we will give you a character; you shall be exposed in your true light. I hate you – I hate you – I hate you! May your life be a life of sorrow!"

      And she flung herself from the room.

      The time was to come when these cruel words were to be used against me with cruel effect; there was something prophetic in their venom.

      I did not see Louis before I left the house, and on that day I commenced a new life.

      CHAPTER III

      For three years it was uneventful. I lived much alone, and made a few friends, with one or another of whom I took a holiday every year on the Continent. Then an event occurred which gave birth to the startling incidents and experiences of my life.

      Ten years ago this month Barbara Landor and I were married. I was twenty-four, and Barbara was three years my senior. To a young man in love – as I must have been at that time, though my feelings for my wife soon underwent change, and I look back upon them now with amazement – such a disparity is not likely to cause uneasiness. It did not cause me any. I was swayed entirely by my passionate desire to make the woman with whom I was infatuated my wife.

      I had known her only a short time before I proposed, and was accepted. Our engagement was of but a few weeks' duration, and during our courtship I observed nothing in Barbara's manner to disturb me. No one warned me; no friend bade me pause before I bound myself irrevocably to a woman who was to be my ruin. Occasionally her face was rather flushed, and she was eager and nervous, which I ascribed to the excitement of our engagement. Her sparkling eyes, her rapid speech, the occasional trembling of her hands – all this I set down to love. She confided to me that she had no fortune, and that she had thought of seeking employment as a governess or as a companion to a lady. She possessed great gifts, which, of course, I magnified; she was a good musician, could speak French, German and Italian fluently, and sang to me in those languages with a rich contralto voice.

      "Had it not been for you," she said, "I might even have got into the chorus at the opera."

      "Is not this better?" I asked, embracing her.

      "Much better," she replied, returning my embrace.

      She was a handsome woman, dark, tall, and commanding, and her nearest relative was a half-brother, Maxwell, much older than she, for whom I had no special liking. Naturally, after I had drawn from Barbara an avowal of her love, I addressed myself to him. He stood towards her in the light of a guardian, and she was living in his house. In reply to his questions I was very candid as to my worldly position and prospects, and he professed himself satisfied; but I remembered afterwards that when I came courting his sister he would look at me with an expression of amusement on his features, as though he was enjoying a joke he was keeping to himself. He was in the habit of boasting that he was a man of the world, and knew every trick on the board. It was chiefly at his urging that the marriage was precipitated.

      "Long engagements are a mistake," he said. "Don't you think so?"

      I replied that I was entirely of his opinion.

      "That simplifies matters," he said, "because I am going abroad. I shall not take a sister with me, you may depend upon that."

      It was a plain hint, and the wedding day was fixed. Soon after this, when I called to do my wooing, he told me that Barbara was not well enough to see me.

      "She has a frightful headache," he said, "and is not in a condition to see anybody."

      I was much distressed, and I asked if she had a doctor.

      "Not necessary," he said. "She will get over it. When she is in that state best leave her alone, old fellow. There's a hint for you in your matrimonial campaign. Barbara hates the sight of doctors; she is a delicate creature, very highly strung, something of the full-blooded racer about her, the kind of woman that requires managing."

      "I shall be able to manage her," I said confidently.

      "I should think you would," he said, with a mocking smile. "Barbara and you are going to have a high old time of it. By the way, can you lend me a tenner for a few days?"

      It was not the first time he had asked me for a loan, which was always to be paid in a few days; but he never returned a shilling of the money he borrowed from me. I gave him the ten pounds, and inwardly resolved to have as little as possible to do with him after my marriage.

      I debated with myself whether I should communicate the news of my engagement to my stepmother and Louis, and acting upon the advice of Barbara – to whom I gave a truthful relation of my child-life – I wrote to them in affectionate terms. To me no answer was returned, but Barbara received a letter which she told me she tore up the moment she read it.

      "Your stepmother must be an awful woman," she said, "but we can do without her and her beautiful son."

      It was very considerate of Barbara, I thought, not to show me the letter, the tenor of which it was not difficult to guess, but I could not help looking grave.

      "No long faces, you dear boy," cried Barbara. "Do you think I believe a word she says? Do you think I care for any one but you? If she hadn't been the meanest creature living she would at least have sent a wedding present."

      The wedding was a very quiet one. A friend acted as my best man, and a few other of my friends were present. On Barbara's side there was only Maxwell, who gave his sister away. She looked beautiful, and was in high spirits. The ceremony over we hastened to Maxwell's house, where I and my friends expected to sit down to a wedding breakfast. To my surprise there was nothing on the table but the bridecake and a couple of bottles of wine. It was not a time to ask for an explanation of this inhospitable welcome to the wedding guests, but I was deeply mortified, and I saw that my friends were angry and offended. Maxwell made light of the matter; he filled the glasses, and in a florid speech proposed the health of bride and bridegroom, to which I responded very briefly.

      "There is nothing else to wait for, I suppose," said my best man, in a sarcastic tone.

      No one answered him, and with shrugs and halfhearted wishes for happiness he and the other guests took their departure, leaving Barbara and me and Maxwell alone.

      "Don't quarrel with him," Barbara whispered to me; "he has the most awful temper."

      For her sake I put the best face I could upon the slight that had been passed upon me. Maxwell appeared to be unconscious that he had behaved in any way offensively; he drank a great deal of wine, and urged Barbara to drink, but she refused.

      "A glass with me, darling," I said. "To our future."

      She raised the glass to her lips, and set it down, untasted, with a shudder. I had noticed at the meals we three had together that she drank nothing but water.

      "You do not like wine?" I said.

      "I detest it," she replied.

      "I'll drink your share whenever you call upon me," shouted Maxwell. "She is quite right, isn't СКАЧАТЬ