The Coward Behind the Curtain
Copyright© 2024 by Richard Marsh
Chapter 24: Tidings
There was a garden to that house. Jim Vernon and Dorothy Gilbert were walking side by side down one of the paths. Sir Derwent Dewsnap had gone over to Newcaster, to perform that operation; and Mr Plashett had gone with him, in order that he might be close at hand, and ready for any eventuality. It was an hour which seemed big with fate to Dorothy; and the youth would whistle. She bore with the sound till it could be borne no longer. Had he been an observant youth he would have seen what she was suffering; but observation of that kind was not his strongest point. So at last she was constrained to drop him a hint.
“I should be so much obliged if you wouldn’t make that noise.”
“Noise? What noise?”
“I suppose you call it whistling.”
“Suppose I call it whistling? It is whistling, isn’t it?”
“Then, if it is, please don’t. If you only knew how I keep thinking of what that man is doing.”
“What man?”
“Sir Derwent Dewsnap.”
“Isn’t he a freak? My hat, I shouldn’t care to have him cut chunks off me; it gave me the creeps only to hear him chatter.”
“If his hand were to slip; if anything were to happen; if he were to make the least mistake; life would be all over for me; and I’m only just beginning to understand what it means.”
“Tuppence!”
She looked at him in righteous indignation.
“Pray what do you mean by saying that?”
“That’s about the value of the remark you made; if it’s worth as much. It won’t make one farthing’s worth of difference to you if Dewsnap cuts him into six good-sized pieces. Why should it?”
“You don’t understand.”
“That’s where you’re wrong--you don’t understand; I do. The only person it might affect is Arnecliffe--and I wouldn’t mind getting three months myself if I had a chance of doing what he did.”
“I am sorry to hear you talk like this.”
“You’re not--really? Why, robbing a bank is nothing compared to what Emmett did. He stole a nice, clean, simple little girl; all because of her money--and, all because of her money, he tried to jockey her into marrying him--and all he got for it was a crack on the head with a bottle. If he chooses to croak in consequence that’s his fault, nobody else’s. Don’t you see that yourself?”
“I certainly do not see what you pretend to.”
“I say, are you liverish?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then, take my tip, and don’t feign a vice if you haven’t got it. Strikes me that you take yourself, and every other jolly thing, too seriously. You mayn’t guess it, but I’m betting that in about five years’ time you’ll be looking back at this episode as if it were a regular rare old spree. People do have so few real adventures nowadays. Look at me! I haven’t had one in the whole of my life--and you’ve had one already!--a tip-topper, too! It’s an asset--mind you, it’s an asset; something you can put in the bank and draw upon. Why, I consider that little tiddley-bit, when you were behind the curtain, and saw the whole jolly show, was worth no end.”
“It only proves that you haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about.”
“That remark only proves that you don’t know where you are. Why, you’re only--I don’t know what your age is.”
“Never mind my age.”
“Well, there can’t be much of it to mind. I believe Frances is older than you, and she’s only a kid.”
“Mr Vernon----”
“You needn’t call me Mr Vernon; you can call me Jim.”
“Thank you; I prefer to call you Mr Vernon.”
“Very well, Miss Gilbert. I was about to observe, when you interrupted me, that, already, at your age, you’re set up with a stock of A1 stories which will last you the rest of your life; you’ll only be able to appreciate what that means when you arrive at years of discretion. When you’ve married--if you ever do marry; and a girl with your money is pretty nearly sure to find someone who’ll have her--you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren----”
“My grandchildren!”
“Or someone else’s, it makes no odds--you’ll be able to tell them tale after tale, and they’ll love you for it; children always love grandmothers who tell them stories; and yours needn’t be lies either, because they’re such first-class ones in themselves that they’ll need no embroidering. What an advantage that will be in your declining years you’ve no conception, or you’d be more truly grateful for what has lately happened to you than at present you are.”
“I think you’re the most ridiculous person I ever met; and the rudest. Are all boys like you?”
“Boys? Well! You’re younger that I am.”
“I shouldn’t have thought it possible that anyone could be that.”
“My dear Miss Gilbert, in knowledge of the world, compared to you, I’m a grandfather. You ought to treat me with respect.”
“Ought I? Do the other boys with whom you associate?”
“Miss Gilbert, you misunderstand the situation. I am at the university; and so are most of the men of my acquaintance.”
“Is that so? I didn’t know they took them so young.”
He looked at her as if he could have said a great deal; but he said nothing--he drew a long breath instead. Presently he began again to whistle. She bore it in silence for a second or two; then she asked innocently:
“Do all the other boys you know make a noise like that, and call it whistling?”
He looked at her again, but he attempted no reply; he continued to whistle. Presently Frances came towards them, down one of the side paths. Dorothy waited for her; Jim strolled on, whistling as he went. When she came to Dorothy, Frances glanced at his back, as he went whistling on.
“Has Jim been entertaining you?”
“Very much--more even than he meant.”
“Isn’t he droll?”
“Extremely--I never thought anyone could have been so droll.”
Frances surveyed her friend with doubt in her eye.
“Have you and he been having a discussion?”
“I don’t know that it can be called a discussion; he’s so droll. Frances, are all boys like Jim?”
Frances looked round as if she were afraid of eavesdroppers; then said, in lowered tones, as if she were delivering herself of an announcement of the most mysterious and amazing significance:
“Dorothy, I’m beginning to think that they are.”
“How odd! and at the convent we used to think that they were such heroes.”
“I’m inclined to think that they assume more heroic proportions when they’re at a distance.”
“But when do they cease to be boys?”
“I’m commencing to wonder. None of Jim’s friends are as old as that.”
“Your cousin’s not a boy.”
Frances glanced at Dorothy; but Dorothy happened at that moment to be looking in an entirely different direction, so their glances didn’t meet.
“You mean Strathmoira? No, he’s a dear.”
“What do you mean by ‘he’s a dear’?”
“Well--hasn’t he been a dear to you?”
“If you mean that he’s been kind, no one could have been kinder. What would have happened to me if it hadn’t been for him I dare not think. I don’t know how I ever shall repay him.”
“Oh, you’ll find it easy, with all that money. Fancy your being a millionairess after all!”
“I’m not a millionairess.”
“You’ve got heaps and heaps of money--because Mr Arnecliffe as good as told me so; and as he really and truly is your guardian he ought to know.”
“I suppose your cousin’s very rich.”
“Lord Strathmoira, my dear, is my mother’s cousin; not mine. He’s not poor; but then earls, my dear, are not like common people. You need such a deal of money if you want to play the part properly, if you are an earl; and I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if he could do with more. Is Mr Arnecliffe rich?”
“I haven’t a notion.”
“There’s been a story in his life.”
“How do you know?”
“I can see it in his face.”