 | VI Steadfast Falters |  |
6. VI
The sultry atmosphere that had enveloped the Crosby household during dinner lasted throughout the next morning, but Elizabeth did not suspect that she was even remotely the cause of it. Accustomed to her aunt's moods, which succeeded one another with such frequency and rapidity that Betty had learned to regard them with a more or less amused tolerance, she avoided Mrs. Crosby by spending the morning at the Red Cross rooms. But when the feeling of oppression lasted through luncheon, she began to fear that Norman had confided her rebuff of him to his parents, and that their changed attitude toward her was the evidence of their resentment.
When the meal was over she followed her uncle into his den, where he was generally to be found at times of domestic unrest.
"Uncle George," she began, pausing on the threshold.
"Come in, Betty," he replied from the depths of his leather chair. "Come in — I want to talk to you."
Betty dropped down among the cushions on the window-seat.
"That sounds nice!" she said with her bright smile.
Her uncle's likeness to her father had increased as the younger man lost weight, and with it his air of indolent ease; and in the months she had passed in his home, when she had learned something of the burden under which he labored, her affection for him had increased fourfold.
She watched him fondly as he reclined in his big chair, his head resting against the back, his half-closed eyes following the rings of smoke from the cigar that he had just taken from his mouth. Betty waited for him to begin; but as he did not seem inclined to open the conversation she remarked quietly:
"Uncle George, will you please give me five hundred dollars?"
The hand that held the cigar dropped nervelessly on the arm of the chair, and the cigar fell to the floor. Muttering something about inexcusable carelessness, her uncle stooped down and picked it up. When he straightened, and Betty saw his face, she was shocked at its appearance.
"Uncle, are you ill?" she asked, coming to him and bending solicitously over him.
"I'm all right, thank you," he replied huskily, and reached with a trembling hand for the match-box.
Betty leaned against the edge of the table beside him, and watched him doubtfully as he unsteadily applied the light to his cigar. Then she went on:
"Mrs. Maitland Andrews, the chairman of our Red Cross branch, is raising money for an ambulance to be sent to France, and I promised her five hundred dollars."
Betty made the announcement with the calm assurance of one who, never having been denied money in reasonable amounts, did not consider a refusal possible. George Crosby settled even deeper in his chair.
"Betty, I'm sorry," he began at last, but until I get your father's affairs straightened out, I'm — I'm afraid — it's impossible, quite impossible for — me to let you have so — much money."
Betty looked at him, her blue eyes round with wonder.
"But, uncle," she expostulated, " father told me just before he died that he always kept several thousand dollars on deposit for emergencies, and that he never drew on that account."
"There have been some pretty heavy drafts on it lately, however — funeral expenses and outstanding bills that you asked me to pay at once," he reminded her.
"Yes, I know, Uncle George, but they couldn't have exceeded a couple of thousand dollars, and there must have been some income from the estate during the past months."
George Crosby's eyes fell before the girl's steady gaze. He examined the end of his cigar carefully.
"Betty," he said at last in a strained, hard voice, "I've been meaning to tell you about it for a long time, but I thought I would wait until — well, until you had got your strength back after the shock and grief of your father's death. There isn't any estate."
"No estate!" echoed Betty incredulously, bending toward him the better to see his face.
Her uncle shook his head, his eyes still fixed on his cigar.
"No," he went on. "Your father made unfortunate investments before he died, and practically his entire fortune was lost. It was thought that the shock and disappointment, and all that, were the cause of his death."
He replaced the cigar between his lips and drew deeply on it.
"I can't see how it is possible!" exclaimed Betty, clasping her hands piteously.
"My dear child" — George Crosby turned his haggard, twitching face toward her — "when you've lived as long as I, you'll realize that in the financial world it's generally the impossible that happens, especially in times such as these. Your father had the reputation of being a clever, hard-headed business man, but since I've been going over his affairs I've been surprised, and I may say shocked, to find the number of wildcat investments he made. Of course, in time some of them may be worth something, but at present — " He paused significantly, and for a fleeting instant his eyes sought hers.
"Then I'm a — pauper" faltered Betty, her face white and frightened.
"Don't say that, dear child! You'll always have a home with us, of course, and the best we can give you; but I'm afraid five-hundred-dollar subscriptions will have to be cut out for the present at least. You understand, I know, that it isn't because I
He rose and put his arm around the drooping figure. Betty raised her white face to him.
"Thank you, Uncle George," she whispered tremulously. "You've always been very good to me, and I'm very grateful; but what hurts me" — her voice broke — "is that any one should think that father was involved in transactions that weren't — quite — "
"Don't let that worry you, my dear. The world is so used to heavy jolts after men die that such a thing is no longer even a nine days' wonder."
"Oh, but — but father was — different!" interrupted Betty almost fiercely. "He was not like that! Any one who knew him at all must have realized that he wasn't that kind of man. Why, he had the biggest heart and soul of any one I knew!"
"Bigness of heart and soul don't necessarily mean fulness of pocket, though," her uncle hastened to assure her, with a dubious shake of his head. "Quite the reverse! Well, I'll do the best I can, and perhaps, as I say, some of the investments will turn out better than we anticipate; but in the mean time we'll have to go a bit slow."
As if in a dream, Betty crept up to the seclusion of her room and sank into a rocking-chair in the deep bay window. She gazed out at the expanse of water roughened into whitecaps under the lash of a strong south wind. Benumbed and heavy-limbed, she watched the gulls as they poised against the currents of air, hanging suspended and almost motionless for an instant, and then with unerring precision swooping down into the dark water and reappearing with their prey dangling in their beaks.
Hour after hour she sat as motionless as if a freezing breath had turned her into ice. The shadows crept across the lawn to the water's edge, and still she sat with the look of pain deepening in her eyes.
It was almost dark when Mrs. Crosby knocked at the door, and without waiting for Betty's "Come in!" opened it and entered the room. She had just returned from a bridge-party at Mrs. Peyton Grenville's, and an air of antagonism emanated from her, as if the afternoon had not been a profitable one.
Mrs. Crosby was one of those people who lay their winnings to their own skill and their losings to the malice of fate, against which they protest long and loudly. This afternoon luck had been decidedly against her. She had come directly from the motor to her niece's room, and was unaware of Elizabeth's interview with her husband; but she had definitely made up her mind that the only way out of the difficulties which were closing in about them was through the marriage of Elizabeth and Norman. As Betty had long since learned, it was not well to frustrate Mrs. Crosby's plans.
"I want to talk to you a little, Betty," she began, sinking into the chair that her niece drew up for her and pulling off her long, white gloves.
Betty fixed her great eyes on her aunt's face in an almost visible effort to concentrate on her words. Inwardly she shrank from what she realized was in store for her; for Mrs. Crosby's face had the implacable look that meant:
"There's only one path to follow, and that follows me!"
"It's about Norman, dear," Mrs. Crosby went on. She was trying to untie the dotted veil which so cunningly hid the marks that time and worry had left on her face, and Betty jumped to her assistance. "Thank you, dear; you're such a helpful little daughter!"
She patted the girl's hand as she took the veil from her. Then she continued: "You know that boy is simply infatuated with you, child; he talks of nothing else, and this afternoon, before I left for Mrs. Grenville's, he told me again how much your influence has done for him."
"I'm very glad, Aunt Maude," murmured Betty dully.
"Men are strange creatures, Betty," her aunt went on. "Although they call us the weaker sex, it seems as if we women are continually obliged to make allowance for their failings, and to strengthen them in their hours of temptation. And, Betty dear, I don't suppose there is any higher vocation for a woman than that of saving a man from the purgatory in which he would end if it were not for her help." She stopped to study the serious face before her, and added playfully: "Don't look so solemn, child! A man's love ought to bring joy, happiness, and not sadness!"
The lines of Betty's face obediently relaxed into a pitiful attempt at a smile.
"I am glad, Aunt Maude," she reiterated.
"Then will you let me tell the dear boy so, Betty?" asked Mrs. Crosby, an exultant look stealing over her face. "He thinks you don't care. In fact, he told me so; and I should love to be the one to bring him the news that he's wrong!"
"He knows that I care for him, aunt, but — "
"But what?"
The question was like the crack of a gun.
"But" — it seemed as if the girl's white lips could not frame the words, but after a pleading look into her aunt's relentless face Betty went on desperately — "Norman asked me to marry him, and I — I can't!"
"Why not?"
Mrs. Crosby's voice was like ice.
"Oh, aunt!" Betty clasped her trembling hands piteously. "It's quite impossible — quite; you must see that!"
"I see nothing," answered her aunt uncompromisingly, "except that the boy loves you, and you are the one woman who could save him from — ruin!"
Mrs. Crosby's voice broke over the last word. This sign of unwonted emotion brought a throb of pity into Betty's throat and made her task even more difficult.
"But, Aunt Maude," she faltered, "before he — died, father made me promise that I would never marry a man I wasn't sure of or that he wouldn't have approved of. I don't think — in fact, he would not have I'm quite certain that wanted me to marry Norman."
"Your father was hardly one to assume the position of judge of men, my dear!"
The words came with a cutting emphasis that pierced the girl's brain like a knife.
"What do you mean?" she asked hoarsely.
"Just what I say. Your father's life was not so exemplary that he could afford to criticise those who were simply entering on the paths that he had already trod!"
Betty shrank back as if seared by a flame.
"Do you mean to insinuate that my father was dishonorable?"
"I insinuate nothing. I state" — Mrs. Crosby paused for an instant so that the full force of her words should strike home — "that Randolph Crosby, before he died, was publicly cut by his most intimate friends!"
As if unable fully to grasp the import of her aunt's words, Betty stared wide-eyed into her face.
"My, father?" she gasped at last, a quiver of incredulous pain passing over her ashen face. "I don't believe it!"
Mrs. Crosby looked at her curiously. Such suffering as the girl exhibited at the assault on her father's name was incomprehensible to her. After all, what did it matter? But she was quick to see the advantage it gave her, and she followed it up with ruthless celerity.
"Well, whether you believe it or not, the fact remains that after Steadfast was so disgracefully beaten for the Withers Stake there was a great deal of talk about foul play, and I myself saw Humphrey Welsh and several others refuse to speak to your father. It was suspected that he had won a great deal of money on the race — much more than enough to offset the loss of the purse!"
All the rancor of the past months over her loss on the race, for which she had always blamed Randolph Crosby, came out in the bitterness of Mrs. Crosby's words.
Elizabeth drooped further into her chair, and the line of pain between her eyebrows deepened. As a flash of lightning reveals a scene in the darkness of the night, the picture of the club enclosure after the race rose before her. She recalled her own and Fairfax Cary's doubts as to Steadfast's running, and her father's tense face when he came back from his interview with Pat.
As a logical sequence came the remembrance of Mrs. Hunnewell's peculiar behavior when Trixie had joined them, and her insistence that the girl should return to her at once. There was evidently some truth behind her aunt's words, but that her father was in any way connected with anything that bore the least resemblance to crookedness she resolutely refused to believe.
Mrs. Crosby evidently realized that she had said enough, for her manner softened almost to tenderness.
"Forgive me, child, if I've hurt you," she said gently; "but your words struck me in a very vulnerable place. When her only son is attacked, a mother naturally resents it. Your reflections on Norman's character goaded me into doing what I long ago decided I would never do — let you know the estimation in which the world
She smiled sweetly at the girl; but Betty, her face drawn and rigid, continued staring fixedly at her aunt. She did not relax when the older woman rose, and, laying her hand on her niece's shoulder, leaned over her and said:
"Well, may I take a little ray of hope to the dear boy?"
In a voice that sounded as if it came from a great distance, Betty responded:
"I shall never marry any one — now!"
Mrs. Crosby raised her eyebrows despairingly. She withdrew her hand and moved toward the door.
"I hope in time you'll feel differently," she remarked. "By the bye, Mrs. Goodhue has just returned from Lawrence, and she told me this afternoon that your little friend Trixie Hunnewell is engaged to Fairfax Cary."
Betty did not reply, so Mrs. Crosby passed out into the hall, the perplexed frown lingering around her eyes.
| VI Steadfast Falters | |