Book: The Vanished Messenger

E >> E. Phillips Oppenheim >> The Vanished Messenger




She turned a little in her place and looked at him steadfastly.

"Mr. Hamel," she said, "tell me - what of your mission? You have
had an opportunity of studying my uncle. You have even lived under
his roof. Tell me what you think."

His face was troubled.

"Miss Fentolin," he said, "I will tell you frankly that up to now
I have not succeeded in solving the problem of your uncle's
character. To me personally he has been most courteous. He lives
apparently a studious and an unselfish life. I have heard him even
spoken of as a philanthropist. And yet you three - you, your mother,
and your brother, who are nearest to him, who live in his house and
under his protection, have the air of passing your days in mortal
fear of him."

"Mr. Hamel," she exclaimed nervously, "you don't believe that! He
is always very kind."

"Apparently," Hamel observed drily. "And yet you must remember that
you, too, are afraid of him. I need not remind you of our
conversations, but there the truth is. You praise his virtues and
his charities, you pity him, and yet you go about with a load of
fear, and - forgive me - of secret terror in your heart, you and
Gerald, too. As for your mother -"

"Don't!" she interrupted suddenly. "Why do you bring me here to
talk like this? You cannot alter things. Nothing can be altered."

"Can't it!" he replied. "Well, I will tell you the real reason of
my having brought you here and of my having made this confession.
I brought you here because I could not bear to go on living, if not
under your roof, at any rate in the neighbourhood, without telling
you the truth. Now you know it. I am here to watch Mr. Fentolin.
I am going on watching him. You can put him on his guard, if you
like; I shan't complain. Or you can -"

He paused so long that she looked at him. He moved a little closer
to her, his fingers suddenly gripped her hand.

"Or you can marry me and come away from it all," he concluded
quietly. "Forgive me, please - I mean it."

For a moment the startled light in her eyes was followed by a
delicious softness. Her lips were parted, she leaned a little
towards him. Then suddenly she seemed to remember. She rose with
swift alertness to her feet.

"I think," she said, "that we had better play golf."

"But I have asked you to marry me," he protested, as he scrambled up.

"Your caddy has found your ball a long time ago," she pointed out,
walking swiftly on ahead.

He played his shot and caught her up.

"Miss Fentolin - Esther," he pleaded eagerly, "do you think that I
am not in earnest? Because I am. I mean it. Even if I have only
known you for a few days, it has been enough. I think that I knew
it was coming from the moment that you stepped into my railway
carriage."

"You knew that what was coming?" she asked, raising her eyes
suddenly.

"That I should care for you."

"It's the first time you've told me she reminded him, with a queer
little smile. "Oh, forgive me, please! I didn't mean to say that.
I don't want to have you tell me so. It's all too ridiculous and
impossible."

"Is it? And why?"

"I have only known you for three days."

"We can make up for that."

"But I don't - care about you. I have never thought of any one in
that way. It is absurd," she went on.

"You'll have to, sometime or other," he declared. "I'll take you
travelling with me, show you the world, new worlds, unnamed rivers,
untrodden mountains. Or do you want to go and see where the little
brown people live among the mimosa and the cherry blossoms? I'll
take you so far away that this place and this life will seem like
a dream."

Her breath caught a little.

"Don't, please," she begged. "You know very well - or rather you
don't know, perhaps, but I must tell you - that I couldn't. I am
here, tied and bound, and I can't escape."

"Ah! dear, don't believe it," he went on earnestly. "There isn't
any bond so strong that I won't break it for you, no knot I won't
untie, if you give me the right."

They were climbing slowly on to the tee. He stepped forward and
pulled her up. Her hand was cold. Her eyes were raised to his,
very softly yet almost pleadingly.

"Please don't say anything more," she begged. "I can't - quite bear
it just now. You know, you must remember - there is my mother. Do
you think that I could leave her to struggle alone?"

His caddy, who had teed the ball, and who had regarded the
proceedings with a moderately tolerant air, felt called upon at last
to interfere.

"We'd best get on," he remarked, pointing to two figures in the
distance, "or they'll say we've cut in."

Hamel smote his ball far and true. On a more moderate scale she
followed his example. They descended the steps together.

"Love-making isn't going to spoil our golf," he whispered, smiling,
as he touched her fingers once more.

She looked at him almost shyly.

"Is this love-making?" she asked.

They walked together from the eighteenth green towards the
club-house. A curious silence seemed suddenly to have enveloped
them. Hamel was conscious of a strange exhilaration, a queer
upheaval of ideas, an excitement which nothing in his previous
life had yet been able to yield him. The wonder of it amazed him,
kept him silent. It was not until they reached the steps, indeed,
that he spoke.

"On our way home -" he began.

She seemed suddenly to have stiffened. He looked at her, surprised.
She was standing quite still, her hand gripping the post, her eyes
fixed upon the waiting motor-car. The delicate softness had gone
from her face. Once more that look of partly veiled suffering was
there, suffering mingled with fear.

"Look!" she whispered, under her breath. "Look! It is Mr. Fentolin!
He has come for us himself; he is there in the car."

Mr. Fentolin, a strange little figure lying back among the cushions
of the great Daimler, raised his hat and waved it to them.

"Come along, children," he cried. "You see, I am here to fetch you
myself. The sunshine has tempted me. What a heavenly morning!
Come and sit by my side, Esther, and fight your battle all over
again. That is one of the joys of golf, isn't it?" he asked,
turning to Hamel. "You need not be afraid of boring me. To-day
is one of my bright days. I suppose that it is the sunshine and
the warm wind. On the way here we passed some fields. I could
swear that I smelt violets. Where are you going, Esther?

"To take my clubs to my locker and pay my caddy," she replied.

"Mr. Hamel will do that for you," Mr. Fentolin declared. "Come and
take your seat by my side, and let us wait for him. I am tired of
being alone."

She gave up her clubs reluctantly. All the life seemed to have gone
from her face.

"Why didn't mother come with you?" she asked simply.

"To tell you the truth, dear Esther," he answered, "when I started,
I had a fancy to be alone. I think - in fact I am sure - that your
mother wanted to come. The sunshine, too, was tempting her. Perhaps
it was selfish of me not to bring her, but then, there is a great
deal to be forgiven me, isn't there, Esther?"

"A great deal," she echoed, looking steadily ahead of her.

"I came," he went on, "because it occurred to me that, after all,
I had my duties as your guardian, dear Esther. I am not sure that
we can permit flirtations, you know. Let me see, how old are you?"

"Twenty-one," she replied.

"In a magazine I was reading the other day," he continued, "I was
interested to observe that the modern idea as regards marriage is
a changed one. A woman, they say, should not marry until she
is twenty-seven or twenty-eight - a very excellent idea. I think
we agree, do we not, on that, Esther?"

"I don't know," she replied. "I have never thought about the
matter."

"Then," he went on, "we will make up our minds to agree.
Twenty-seven or twenty-eight, let us say. A very excellent age!
A girl should know her own mind by then. And meanwhile, dear Esther,
would it be wise, I wonder, to see a little less of our friend Mr.
Hamel? He leaves us to-day, I think. He is very obstinate about
that. If he were staying still in the house, well, it might be
different. But if he persists in leaving us, you will not forget,
dear, that association with a guest is one thing; association with
a young man living out of the house is another. A great deal less
of Mr. Hamel I think that we must see."

She made no reply whatever. Hamel was coming now towards them.

"Really a very personable young man," Mr. Fentolin remarked,
studying him through his eyeglass. "Is it my fancy, I wonder, as
an observant person, or is he just a little - just a little taken
with you, Esther? A pity if it is so - a great pity."

She said nothing, but her hand which rested upon the rug was
trembling a little.

"If you have an opportunity," Mr. Fentolin suggested, dropping his
voice, "you might very delicately, you know - girls are so clever
at that sort of thing-convey my views to Mr. Hamel as regards his
leaving us and its effect upon your companionship. You understand
me, I am sure?"

For the first time she turned her head towards him.

"I understand," she said, "that you have some particular reason for
not wishing Mr. Hamel to leave St. David's Hall."

He smiled benignly.

"You do my hospitable impulses full justice, dear Esther," he
declared. "Sometimes I think that you understand me almost as well
as your dear mother. If, by any chance, Mr. Hamel should change
his mind as to taking up his residence at the Tower, I think you
would not find me in any sense of the word an obdurate or exacting
guardian. Come along, Mr. Hamel. That seat opposite to us is quite
comfortable. You see, I resign myself to the inevitable. I have
come to fetch golfers home to luncheon, and I compose myself to
listen. Which of you will begin the epic of missed putts and
brassey shots which failed by a foot to carry?"




CHAPTER XXIV

Hamel sat alone upon the terrace, his afternoon coffee on a small
table in front of him. His eyes were fixed upon a black speck at
the end of the level roadway which led to the Tower. Only a few
minutes before, Mr. Fentolin, in his little carriage, bad shot out
from the passage beneath the terrace, on his way to the Tower.
Behind him came Meekins, bending over his bicycle. Hamel watched
them both with thoughtful eyes. There were several little incidents
in connection with their expedition which he scarcely understood.

Then there came at last the sound for which he had been listening,
the rustle of a skirt along the terraced way. Hamel turned quickly
around, half rising to his feet, and concealing his disappointment
with difficulty. It was Mrs. Seymour Fentolin who stood there, a
little dog under each arm; a large hat, gay with flowers, upon her
head. She wore patent shoes with high heels, and white silk
stockings. She had, indeed, the air of being dressed for luncheon
at a fashionable restaurant. As she stooped to set the dogs down,
a strong waft of perfume was shaken from her clothes.

"Are you entirely deserted, Mr. Hamel?" she asked.

"I am," he replied. "Miss Esther went, I think, to look for you.
My host," he added, pointing to the black speck in the distance,
"begged me to defer my occupation of the Tower for an hour or so,
and has gone down there to collect some of his trifles."

Her eyes followed his outstretched hand. She seemed to him to
shiver for a moment.

"You really mean, then, that you are going to leave us?" she asked,
accepting the chair which he had drawn up close to his.

He smiled.

"Well, I scarcely came on a visit to St. David's Hall, did I?" he
reminded her. "It has been delightfully hospitable of Mr. Fentolin
to have insisted upon my staying on here for these few days, but I
could not possibly inflict myself upon you all for an unlimited
period."

Mrs. Fentolin sat quite still for a time. In absolute repose, if
one could forget her mass of unnaturally golden hair, the forced
and constant smile, the too liberal use of rouge and powder, the
nervous motions of her head, it was easily to be realised that
there were still neglected attractions about her face and figure.
Only, in these moments of repose, an intense and ageing weariness
seemed to have crept into her eyes and face. It was as though she
had dropped the mask of incessant gaiety and permitted a glimpse of
her real self to steal to the surface.

"Mr. Hamel," she said quietly, "I dare say that even during these
few days you have realised that Mr. Fentolin is a very peculiar man."

"I have certainly observed - eccentricities," Hamel assented.

"My life, and the lives of my two children," she went on, "is devoted
to the task of ministering to his happiness."

"Isn't that rather a heavy sacrifice?" he asked. Mrs. Seymour
Fentolin looked down the long, narrow way along which Mr. Fentolin
had passed. He was out of sight now, inside the Tower. Somehow
or other, the thought seemed to give her courage and dignity. She
spoke differently, without nervousness or hurry.

"To you, Mr. Hamel," she said, "it may seem so. We who make it know
of its necessity."

He bowed his head. It was not a subject for him to discuss with her.

"Mr. Fentolin has whims," she went on, "violent whims. We all try
to humour him. He has his own ideas about Gerald's bringing up.
I do not agree with them, but we submit. Esther, too, suffers,
perhaps to a less extent. As for me," - her voice broke a little -"
Mr. Fentolin likes people around him who are always cheerful. He
prefers even a certain style - of dress. I, too, have to do my
little share."

Hamel's face grew darker.

"Has it ever occurred to you," he demanded, "that Mr. Fentolin is a
tyrant?"

She closed her eyes for a moment.

"There are reasons," she declared, "why I cannot discuss that with
you. He has these strong fancies, and it is our task in life to
humour them. He has one now with regard to the Tower, with regard
to you. You are, of course, your own master. You can do as you
choose, and you will do as you choose. Neither I nor my children
have any claim upon your consideration. But, Mr. Hamel, you have
been so kind that I feel moved to tell you this. It would make it
very much easier for all of us if you would give up this scheme of
yours, if you would stay on here instead of going to reside at the
Tower."

Hamel threw away his cigarette. He was deeply interested.

"Mrs. Fentolin," he said, "I am glad to have you speak so plainly.
Let me answer you in the same spirit. I am leaving this house
mainly because I have conceived certain suspicions with regard to
Mr. Fentolin. I do not like him, I do not trust him, I do not
believe in him. Therefore, I mean to remove myself from the burden
of his hospitality. There are reasons," he went on, "why I do not
wish to leave the neighbourhood altogether. There are certain
investigations which I wish to make. That is why I have decided to
go to the Tower."

"Miles was right, then!" she cried suddenly. "You are here to spy
upon him!"

He turned towards her swiftly.

"To spy upon him, Mrs. Fentolin? For what reason? Why? Is he a
criminal, then?"

She opened her lips and closed them again. There was a slight frown
upon her forehead. It was obvious that the word had unintentionally
escaped her.

"I only know what it is that he called you, what he suspects you of
being," she explained. "Mr. Fentolin is very clever, and he is
generally at work upon something. We do not enquire into the
purpose of his labours. The only thing I know is that he suspects
you of wanting to steal one of his secrets."

"Secrets? But what secrets has he?" Hamel demanded. "Is he an
inventor?"

"You ask me idle questions," she sighed. "We have gone, perhaps,
a little further than I intended. I came to plead with you for all
our sakes, if I could, to make things more comfortable by remaining
here instead of insisting upon your claim to the Tower."

"Mrs. Fentolin," Hamel said firmly. "I like to do what I can to
please and benefit my friends, especially those who have been kind
to me. I will be quite frank with you. There is nothing you could
ask me which I would not do for your daughter's sake - if I were
convinced that it was for her good."

Mrs. Seymour Fentolin seemed to be trembling a little. Her hands
were crossed upon her bosom.

"You have known her for so short a time," she murmured.

Hamel smiled confidently.

"I will not weary you," he said, "with the usual trite remarks. I
will simply tell you that the time has been long enough. I love
your daughter."

Mrs. Fentolin sat quite still. Only in her eyes, fixed steadily
seawards, there was the light of something new, as though some new
thought was stirring in her brain. Her lips moved, although the
sound which came was almost inaudible.

"Why not?" she murmured, as though arguing with some unseen critic
of her thoughts. "Why not?"

"I am not a rich man," Hamel went on, "but I am fairly well off.
I could afford to be married at once, and I should like -

She turned suddenly upon him and gripped his wrist.

"Listen," she interrupted, "you are a traveller, are you not? You
have been to distant countries, where white people go seldom;
inaccessible countries, where even the arm of the law seldom reaches.
Couldn't you take her away there, take her right away, travel so fast
that nothing could catch you, and hide - hide for a little time?"

Hamel stared at his companion, for a moment, blankly. Her attitude
was so unexpected, her questioning so fierce.

"My dear Mrs. Fentolin," he began -

She suddenly relaxed her grip of his arm. Something of the old
hopelessness was settling down upon her face. Her hands fell into
her lap.

"No," she interrupted, "I forgot! I mustn't talk like that. She,
too, is part of the sacrifice."

"Part of the sacrifice," Hamel repeated, frowning. "Is she, indeed!
I don't know what sacrifice you mean, but Esther is the girl whom
sooner or later, somehow or other, I am going to make my wife, and
when she is my wife, I shall see to it that she isn't afraid of
Miles Fentolin or of any other man breathing."

A gleam of hopefulness shone through the stony misery of the woman's
face.

"Does Esther care?" she asked softly.

"How can I tell? I can only hope so. If she doesn't yet, she shall
some day. I suppose," he added, with a sigh, "it is rather too soon
yet to expect that she should. If it is necessary, I can Wait."

Mrs. Fentolin's eyes were once more fixed upon the Tower. The sun
had caught the top of the telephone wire and played around it till
it seemed like a long, thin shaft of silver.

"If you go down there," she said, "Esther will not be allowed to
see you at all. Mr. Fentolin has decided to take it as a personal
affront. You will be ostracised from here."

"Shall I?" he answered. "Well, it won't be for long, at any rate.
And as to not seeing Esther, you must remember that I come from
outside this little domain, and I see nothing more in Mr. Fentolin
than a bad-tempered, mischievous, tyrannical old invalid, who is
fortunately prevented by his infirmities from doing as much mischief
as he might. I am not afraid of your brother-in-law, or of the
bully he takes about with him, and I am going to see your daughter
somehow or other, and I am going to marry her before very long."

She thrust out her hand suddenly and grasped his. The fingers were
very thin, almost bony, and covered with rings. Their grip was
feverish and he felt them tremble.

"You are a brave man, Mr. Hamel," she declared speaking in a low,
quick undertone. "Perhaps you are right. The shadow isn't over
your head. You haven't lived in the terror of it. You may find a
way. God grant it!"

She wrung his fingers and rose to her feet. Her voice suddenly
changed into another key. Hamel knew instinctively that she wished
him to understand that their conversation was over.

"Chow-Chow," she cried, "come along, dear, we must have our walk.
Come along, Koto; come along, little dogs."

Hamel strolled down the terrace steps and wandered for a time in
the gardens behind the house. Here, in the shelter of the great
building, he found himself suddenly in an atmosphere of springtime.
There were beds of crocuses and hyacinths, fragrant clumps of
violets, borders of snowdrops, masses of primroses and early
anemones. He slowly climbed one or two steep paths until he reached
a sort of plateau, level with the top of the house. The flowers
here grew more sparsely, the track of the salt wind lay like a
withering band across the flower-beds. The garden below was like a
little oasis of colour and perfume. Arrived at the bordering red
brick wall, he turned around and looked along the narrow road which
led to the sea. There was no sign of Mr. Fentolin's return. Then
to his left he saw a gate open and heard the clamour of dogs.
Esther appeared, walking swiftly towards the little stretch of road
which led to the village. He hurried after her.

"Unsociable person!" he exclaimed, as he caught her up. "Didn't
you know that I was longing for a walk?"

"How should I read your thoughts?" she answered. "Besides, a few
minutes ago I saw you on the terrace, talking to mother. I am only
going as far as the village."

"May I come?" he asked. "I have business there myself."

She laughed.

"There are nine cottages, three farmhouses, and a general shop in
St. David's," she remarked. "Also about fifteen fishermen's
cottages dotted about the marsh. Your business, I presume, is with
the general shop?"

He shook his head, falling into step with her.

"What I want," he explained, "is to find a woman to come in and
look after me at the Tower. Your servant who valets me has given
me two names.

Something of the lightness faded from her face.

"So you have quite made up your mind to leave us?" she asked slowly.
"Mother wasn't able to persuade you to stay?"

He shook his head.

"She was very kind," he said, "but there are really grave reasons
why I feel that I must not accept Mr. Fentolin's hospitality any
longer. I had," he went on, "a very interesting talk with your
mother."

She turned quickly towards him. The slightest possible tinge of
additional colour was in her cheeks. She was walking on the top
of a green bank, with the wind blowing her skirts around her. The
turn of her head was a little diffident, almost shy. Her eyes were
asking him questions. At that moment she seemed to him, with her
slim body, her gently parted lips and soft, tremulous eyes, almost
like a child. He drew a little nearer to her.

"I told your mother," he continued, "all that I have told you, and
more. I told her, dear, that I cared for you, that I wanted you to
be my wife."

She was caught in a little gust of wind. Both her hands went up to
her hat; her face was hidden. She stepped down from the bank.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said quietly.

"Why not?" he demanded. "It was the truth."

He stooped forward, intent upon looking into her face. The mystic
softness was still in her eyes, but her general expression was
inscrutable. It seemed to him that there was fear there.

"What did mother say?" she whispered.

"Nothing discouraging," he replied. "I don't think she minded at
all. I have decided, if you give me permission, to go and talk to
Mr. Fentolin this evening."

She shook her head very emphatically.

"Don't! " she implored. " Don't! Don't give him another whip to
lash us with. Keep silent. Let me just have the memory for a few
days all to myself."

Her words came to him like numb things. There was little expression
in them, and yet he felt that somehow they meant so much.

"Esther dear," he said, "I shall do just as you ask me. At the
same time, please listen. I think that you are all absurdly
frightened of Mr. Fentolin. Living here alone with him, you have
all grown under his dominance to an unreasonable extent. Because
of his horrible infirmity, you have let yourselves become his
slaves. There are limits to this sort of thing, Esther. I come
here as a stranger, and I see nothing more in Mr. Fentolin than
a very selfish, irritable, domineering, and capricious old man.
Humour him, by all means. I am willing to do the same myself.
But when it comes to the great things in life, neither he nor any
living person is going to keep from me the woman I love."

She walked by his side in silence. Her breath was coming a little
quicker, her fingers lay passive in his. Then for a moment he felt
the grip of them almost burn into his flesh. Still she said nothing.

"I want your permission, dear," he went on, "to go to him. I
suppose he calls himself your guardian. If he says no, you are of
age. I just want you to believe that I am strong enough to put my
arms, around you and to carry you away to my own world and keep you
there, although an army of Mr. Fentolin's creatures followed us."

She turned, and he saw the great transformation. Her face was
brilliant, her eyes shone with wonderful things.

"Please," she begged, "will you say or do nothing at all for a
little time, until I tell you when? I want just a few days peace.
You have said such beautiful things to me that I want them to lie
there in my thoughts, in my heart, undisturbed, for just a littl
time. You see, we are at the village now. I am going to call at
this third cottage. While I am inside, you can go and make what
enquiries you like. Come and knock at the door for me when you are
ready."

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