The Missing Angel, Erle Cox [suggested reading TXT] 📗

dare not tell anyone, except, perhaps,

that Billy of yours, and that won’t matter.”

 

He waited for the comment she did not make, and continued, “Suppose you

tried to tell. Remember, I am Tydvil Jones, Merchant, reformer, a public

man of proved integrity. You and Billy are two of my employees. I should

be exceedingly sympathetic toward your extraordinary obsession, and would

generously make provision for you while you are under restraint, and

until you are released, happily cured.”

 

Forgetting herself for the moment, Geraldine exclaimed, “Tyddie, you’re a

devil!” Then, seeing the expression on his face, she said hurriedly, “Oh!

I beg your pardon, Mr. Jones, that just slipped out.”

 

Tydvil laughed heartily. “Please, please don’t spoil it by apologising—I

like it. You all call me Tyddie, I know.”

 

“But…”

 

“No buts! While we are together you must retain the Tyddie; aren’t we

fellow conspirators?”

 

She shrugged her shoulders. “You’re hopeless.” Then, after a moment, “But

what about the synthetic Billy and Mrs. Jones?”

 

Tydvil was rubbing the palm of his left hand absently, and looked up.

“I’m afraid, Geraldine, that that is a matter I cannot discuss with you.”

 

“Since we are being honest with one another,” she replied vigorously, “I

hope you get all you deserve out of that little plan. And I hope it will

be a shock.”

 

“If anyone gets a shock out of it, I don’t think I’ll be the one.”

 

“Maybe, but you’re the one who deserves it.”

 

“Shucks!” growled Mr. Jones. “Don’t babble, Geraldine.” Then, “Would you

like to meet my friend Mr. Senior?”

 

“I most certainly would not.”

 

“He admires you immensely. He warned me all along that you would bowl me

out.”

 

“If he were sitting in that chair,” Geraldine nodded to the visitor’s

armchair, “I’d tell him just what I think of him.”

 

“I shouldn’t be surprised if he had been sitting in that chair all the

time we’ve been talking.” Tydvil smiled at her.

 

Geraldine stared at the chair in alarm.

 

“Am I right, Nicholas?” Tydvil addressed the empty chair.

 

“Quite correct, Tydvil.” Nicholas in person smiled from one to the other

with engaging candour.

 

Geraldine was beyond speech. She stared, and hers was a hostile stare.

 

Mr. Senior’s eyes turned on her were quite friendly and conciliating.

“I’m afraid you will think my conduct unpardonable, Miss Brand,” he

began.

 

Geraldine suddenly found her lost voice and interjected, “It is! Quite

unpardonable!”

 

Nicholas disregarded the hostility and the interjection. “You see, I

could not resist the temptation of being present at your interview with

Tydvil.”

 

“It is a pity your courtesy is not as great as your curiosity,” retorted

the uncompromising Geraldine. “Geraldine!” exclaimed Tydvil in protest.

 

“You keep out of this, Tyddie,” snapped the girl, her claws bared for

battle.

 

The eyes of Nicholas sparkled with mirth as he glanced at Tyddie. “It’s a

private fight, Tydvil,” he chuckled.

 

“And we don’t want a referee, either,” added Geraldine. “Rafferty rules,”

conceded Nicholas.

 

“Now!” She turned on Nicholas, head high and battle in her eyes.

 

“What I wished to explain was, that I was not apparent because I thought

my presence might interfere with your freedom of speech.” His smile

deepened as he added, gently, “I admit, misjudging your diffidence.”

 

She let the jab go by unnoticed. “All I want to say to you is that I

think this abominable contract into which you have inveigled Mr. Jones is

entirely worthy of you and your reputation.”

 

Nicholas raised his eyebrows. “Have you heard Mr. Jones making any

complaint?”

 

“You know, as well as I do, that he has no idea of what he has done,” she

insisted.

 

“Dear lady,” his voice was aggravatingly patient, “don’t you think you

are rather overworking your sex’s congenital inconsistency?”

 

Geraldine began to see red. “Don’t you dare to address me as ‘Dear

lady’…”

 

He interposed: “The adjective is entirely respectful, and I trust you do

not reject the noun.”

 

“It is because I accept the noun, I have ref rained from calling you all

that you deserve—and are.” She pushed out a belligerent chin.

 

“I should feel more grateful for your restraint, Miss Brand, were I not

aware that it was the charge of inconsistency, and not the ‘Dear lady’

that caused you to boil over,” retorted the unabashed Nicholas. “It was

the major truth that hurt.”

 

“The charge of inconsistency is as false as your friendship with Mr.

Jones,” she came back at him.

 

“Out of your own mouth you prove me Tydvil’s friend.”

 

“You may fool him, but not me,” she retorted.

 

“And yet you, both with yourself and your fiance, have agreed that since

Tydvil has been released from his inhibitions through my agency, he is

much more human, much more likeable, and a much better and natural man.”

 

“That was when I was unaware of the price he had paid for his release.”

 

Nicholas shook his head slowly. “No, no, Miss Brand, be honest. Even with

that knowledge, you still like the new Tydvil better than the old.

Telling fibs to me is a most unprofitable pastime.”

 

“I’m not telling fibs, as you call them,” she asserted angrily.

 

“Oh, Geraldine! Geraldine!” said Mr. Senior reprovingly.

 

“Mr. Senior can read your thoughts, Geraldine,” warned Tydvil from across

the table.

 

Geraldine sat up. There was consternation in her face, over which a deep

flush spread. “Oh, you…” she gasped. Then, recovering herself, she

said defiantly, “Well, if you can read my thoughts, I hope you liked

them.”

 

“I must confess that I did not like them very much,” Nicholas admitted.

“They were very rude, and it is surprising, even to me, how such a nice

girl could even think of such words. But I can be tolerant and make

allowances for your unjust prejudices. You see, Miss Brand, despite your

conviction to the contrary, I am quite truthful.”

 

“Prejudices! Indeed!” Geraldine bridled.

 

“And yet you owe me something, Miss Brand,” said

 

Nicholas.

 

“I owe you something!”

 

He nodded. “Your Mr. Brewer was, in justice and in law, my property, and

you stepped in and took him out of my hands without as much as ‘by your

leave’.”

 

“I’m delighted to hear it,” said Geraldine sincerely. “Well, I was very

much annoyed,” admitted Nicholas. “And I am more delighted still to hear

that.”

 

“So I am aware.” He was smiling almost derisively. “And if I can grab

Tyddie from you, I’ll do that, too!” she said with spirit.

 

Nicholas turned to Tydvil. “Jove, Tydvil! There’s nothing in humanity

like the flaming zest of these redheads for a fight.” Then, to

Geraldine, “Miss Brand, it’s refreshing to meet an honest fighter who

comes out into the open. My old opponents, the churchmen, who resort to

poison gas and more poisonous propaganda, have never fought fairly. I

admire your spirit.”

 

“Flattery now!” said Geraldine wrinkling her dainty nose. “That reminds

me of a saying of my grandfather which amused the family when he became

excited.”

 

“May we hear it?” Mr. Senior enquired.

 

“Certainly,” replied Geraldine politely. “In moments of stress the old

boy always exclaimed: ‘May the devil admire me!”

 

“Personalities apart, Geraldine,” commented Nicholas, “there are not may

of the race that I do admire.”

 

“If you don’t like personalities, Mr. Senior, please refrain from remarks

about the colour of my hair, as for the rest, I do not echo, nor ever

have echoed, my grandfather’s peculiar wish.”

 

Nicholas laughed. “I’ve known millions of your sisters who have not

agreed with you.”

 

“Poor mutts!” replied Geraldine flatly.

 

“And,” said Nicholas regretfully, “I was hoping that apart from our

sentimental animosities, we could call a truce and be friends.”

 

“Well, that’s a hope you can forget. There’s nothing doing, Mr. Senior,”

she replied decisively.

 

“Couldn’t I induce you and Mr. Brewer to dine with me and Mr. Basil

Williams at Menzies this evening?” Nicholas coaxed.

 

She shook her red mane emphatically.

 

“Because,” and a mischievous smile danced round the corners of her mouth,

“there was never a spoon made long enough for my needs in such

circumstances.”

 

The two men laughed heartily at the thrust. Said Nicholas, when he had

recovered his gravity, “Do you know what I think, Miss Brand?”

 

“Not having your peculiar gift, I don’t,” replied Geraldine.

 

“Well,” said Nicholas, “I think there may be times after your marriage

when Billy may regret that he slipped out of my hands.”

 

“Should I ever catch him hankering after the world, the flesh and you, I

can promise you that he will.”

 

There was such a ring of sincerity in her voice, that Mr. Senior felt a

twinge of pity for Billy.

 

“Then it is war?” he smiled.

 

She looked steadily into the compelling, luminous eyes. “Yes! War!”

 

She stood up and gathered her baskets in her arm. “And I’m wasting my

time, and you’re about the only one who could make me do that.”

 

Nicholas bowed ironically. “You flatter me, Miss Brand.”

 

She took no notice of the remark, but walked round the table and stood

beside Tydvil, looking down on him. “Well?” he said, turning his face up.

 

She placed her disengaged hand affectionately on his shoulder. “Oh,

Tyddie! Tyddie,” she said gently, “you have been an ass! But I

understand.”

 

“Friends?” asked Tydvil.

 

“Always!” she nodded.

 

She walked towards the door, and Nicholas started to his feet and opened

it for her. Head up and defiant, she paused on the threshold, “And if I

don’t make you discount that infernal bill of yours, it won’t be for want

of trying.”

 

“That, I am sure of.” He bowed as to royalty and closed the door on her

exit.

 

Nicholas resumed his seat and the two regarded one another with smiles.

 

“Not much change out of her,” was Tydvil’s comment.

 

“You know,” said Nicholas thoughtfully, “it’s fortunate for me that there

are not more like her. But, dash it all, Tydvil, I like her.”

 

“She’ll make Billy Brewer a good wife,” ventured Tydvil. “She’ll make him

a far better husband,” chuckled Nicholas.