Joan Haste, H. Rider Haggard [e book reader free .TXT] 📗

die, and he may have done so. The

question that I want to ask, sir, if you will be so kind as to answer

it, is: You knew my father, so I suppose that you knew my mother also,

though she’s been dead these twenty years. How did she come by her

death, sir? I have heard say that she was drowned, but nobody seems

able to tell me any more about it.”

 

“I believe that your mother was found dead beneath the cliff opposite

the meres. How she came there is not known, but it is supposed that

she missed her footing in the dark and fell over. The story of her

drowning arose from her being found at high tide in the shallow water;

but the medical evidence at the inquest showed that death had resulted

from a fall, and not from suffocation.”

 

“My poor mother!” said Joan, with a sigh. “She was unlucky all her

life, it seems, so I dare say that she was well rid of it, and her

death must have been good news to some. There’s only one thing I’m

sorry for—that I wasn’t in her arms when she went over the edge of

that cliff. And now, sir, about the business.”

 

“Yes, about the business,” replied Mr. Levinger, with a hard little

laugh; “after so much sentiment it is quite refreshing to come to

business, although unfortunately this has its sentimental side also.

You must understand, Joan, that the parent whom you are so hard on,

and whose agent I chanced to be in bygone years, left me more or less

in a fiduciary position as regards yourself—that is to say, he

entrusted me with a certain sum of money to be devoted to your

education, and generally to your advancement in life, making the

proviso that you were not to be brought up as a lady, since, rightly

or wrongly, he did not think that this would conduce to your

happiness. Well, I have strained the letter of my instructions, and

you have had a kind of half-and-half education. Now I think that I

should have done better to have held closer to them; for so far as I

can judge, the result has been to make you dissatisfied with your

position and surroundings. However, that is neither here nor there.

You are now of age; the funds at my disposal are practically

exhausted; and I desire to wind up my trust by settling you happily in

life, if I can do so. You will wonder what I am driving at. I will

tell you. I understand that a very worthy farmer, a tenant of mine,

who is also a large freeholder—I mean Mr. Samuel Rock—wishes to make

you his wife. Is this so?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Very well. Don’t think me rude; but I should be glad to know if you

are inclined to fall in with his views.”

 

“On the whole, sir,” answered Joan composedly, “I think that I would

rather follow my mother’s example and walk over the cliff at high

tide.”

 

“That statement seems pretty comprehensive,” said Mr. Levinger, after

a pause; “and, to be frank, I don’t see any way round it. I am to

understand, then, that Mr. Rock is so distasteful to you that you

decline to have anything to do with him?”

 

“Absolutely, sir: I detest Mr. Rock, and I can scarcely conceive any

circumstances under which I would consent to marry him.”

 

“Well, Joan, I am sorry, because I think that the marriage would have

been to your advantage; but this is a free country. Still, it is a

pity—a great pity—especially, to be candid, as I have heard your

name pretty roughly handled of late; in a way, indeed, that is likely

to bring disgrace upon it.”

 

“You are forgetting, sir, that I have no name to disgrace. What I do,

or leave undone, can matter to nobody. I have only myself to think

of.”

 

“Really this is a most unfortunate tone for any young woman to adopt;

still, I did hope that, if you considered nobody else, you would at

least consider your own reputation. Perhaps you know to what I

allude?”

 

“Yes, sir; I know.”

 

“Might I ask you if there is any truth in it?”

 

Then for the first time Joan lied. So far as she was aware, she had

never before told a deliberate falsehood; but now she had entered on a

path in which falsehood of necessity becomes a weapon of self-defence,

to be used at all times and places. She did not pause to think; she

knew that she must protect herself and her lover from this keen-eyed,

plausible man, who was searching out their secret for some purpose of

his own.

 

“No, sir,” she said boldly, looking him in the face, “there is no

truth. I nursed Sir Henry Graves, and I tried to do my duty by him,

and of course people talked about us. For years past I never could

speak to a man but what they talked about me in Bradmouth.”

 

Mr. Levinger shrugged his shoulders.

 

“I have asked my question, and I have got my answer. Of course I

believe you; but even if the story were ever so true, I should not

have expected any other reply. Well, I am glad to hear that it is not

true, for it would have been much to the detriment of both yourself

and Sir Henry Graves—especially of Sir Henry Graves.”

 

“Why especially of Sir Henry, sir? I have always understood that it is

the girl who suffers if there is any talk, because she is the weaker.

Not that talk matters to one like me who has nothing to lose.”

 

“Because it might interfere with his matrimonial prospects, that is

all. As you may have heard, the affairs of this family are in such a

condition that, if Sir Henry does not marry advantageously, he will be

utterly ruined. He may as well commit suicide as attempt to take a

wife without money, however fond he might be of her, or however

charming she was,” Mr. Levinger said meaningly, watching Joan’s face.

 

She understood him perfectly, and did not hesitate as to her answer,

though it must have cost her much to speak it.

 

“I have heard, sir. I have a great regard and respect for Sir Henry

Graves, and I hope that he will settle himself well in life. I happen

to know, also, that there is a young lady who has fortune and is fond

of him. I trust that he will marry her, as she will make him a good

wife.”

 

Mr. Levinger nodded.

 

“I trust so too, Joan, for everybody’s sake. Thank you for your good

wishes. I was afraid, to speak frankly, that there was some truth in

these tales; that you might selfishly, though naturally enough, adopt

a course towards Sir Henry Graves which would be prejudicial to his

true interests; and that he would possibly be so foolish as to suffer

himself to be led away—as, indeed, any man might be without much

blame—by the affection of such a woman as you are, Joan.”

 

“I have given you my answer about it, sir. If you think for a minute

you will understand that, had there been any truth in these tales, the

more reason would there be that I should speak as I have done, seeing

that no true woman could wish to injure the man whom she—dearly

loves, no, not even if it broke her heart to part with him.”

 

And Joan turned her head, in a somewhat ineffectual attempt to hide

the tears that welled into her eyes.

 

Mr. Levinger looked at her with admiration. He did not believe a word

of her statement with reference to herself and Henry. Indeed, he knew

it to be false, and that her denial amounted merely to a formal plea

of “not guilty”

 

“Of course, of course,” he said; “but all the same you are a brave

girl, Joan, and I am sure that it will be made up to you in some way

or other. And now—what do you intend to do with yourself?”

 

“It was of this that I wished to speak to you, sir. I want to go away

from Bradmouth. I am not fit to be a governess: I don’t know enough,

and there are very few people who would care to take me. But I could

do as a shop-girl in London. I have a decent figure, and I dare say

that they will employ me to hang cloaks on for the ladies to look at,

only you see I have no money to start with.”

 

Mr. Levinger hesitated. Her plan had great advantages from his point

of view, and yet—

 

“I suppose that you really mean to seek honest employment, Joan?

Forgive me, but you know—you have been talking a little wildly once

or twice this afternoon as to your being without responsibilities to

anybody.”

 

“You need not be afraid, sir,” she said, with a sad smile; “I want to

earn my bread away from here, that is all. If there has been talk

about me in Bradmouth, there shall be none in London, or anywhere else

I may go.”

 

“I am glad to hear it, Joan. Without some such assurance, an assurance

in which I put the most implicit faith, I could never have helped you

in your plan. As it is, you shall not lack for money. I will give you

five-and-twenty pounds to put in your pocket, and make you an

allowance of five pounds a month for so long as you require it. If you

wish to go to London, I know a respectable woman who takes in girls to

lodge, mostly ladies in reduced circumstances who are earning their

living in one way or another. Here is the address: Mrs. Thomas, 13,

Kent Street, Paddington. By the way, you will do well to get a

certificate of character from the clergyman at Bradmouth; my name

would carry no weight, you see. But of course, if you fall into any

difficulties, you will communicate with me at once; and as I have said

I propose to allow you sixty pounds a year, which will be a sufficient

sum to keep you in comfort whether or no you succeed in obtaining

employment. Now for the money,” and he drew his cheque-book from a

drawer, but replaced it, saying, “No, perhaps gold would be more

convenient.”

 

Then he went to a small safe, and, unlocking it, extracted twenty-four

pounds in sovereigns, which, with the exception of some bank-notes,

was all that it contained.

 

“Twenty-four,” he said, counting them. “I dare say that I can make up

the other sovereign;” and he searched his pockets, producing a

ten-shilling bit and some loose silver.

 

“Why don’t you give me one of the notes, sir, instead of so much

money?” asked Joan innocently.

 

“No, no. I always like to make payments in gold, which is the legal

tender, you know; though I am afraid I must give you some silver in

this case. There you are, all but threepence. I shall have to owe you

the threepence. What, you haven’t got a purse? Then tie up the money

in the corner of your pocket-handkerchief, and put it in the bosom of

your dress, where it can’t fall out. I have found that the safest way

for a woman to carry valuables.”

 

Joan obeyed, saying, “I don’t know if I have to thank you for this

money, sir.”

 

“Not at all, not at all. It is a portion of your trust fund.”

 

“I thought you said that the amount was almost exhausted,