The Rocks of Valpre by Ethel May Dell (best contemporary novels .txt) 📕

I don't want you to make me a present, old chap. I shall pay up some day. You shall have an I O U."
"Many thanks! I don't want one." Mordaunt began to smile. "Just keep straight and tell the truth," he said. "That's all the return I want."
"Really?" Noel's smile became a grin. "That's awfully decent of you. As a matter of fact, I don't believe even Chris could manage to deceive you. You're so beastly shrewd. But we'll call it a bargain if you like. You won't catch me trying to jockey you after this."
"Very well," Mordaunt said. "Then, on the strength of that, I want to know if you have ever had any money from Chris before."
"Why, of course I have!" Noel seemed surprised by the question. He spoke with the utmost frankness.
"How much?"
Mordaunt's smile had departed. He did not look altogether pleased, but Noel was quite unimpressed.
"Oh, goodness knows!" he said lightly. "She has my I O U's."
"Which she must find very satisfying," remarked Mordaunt. "Now look here, boy! There must be no more of this. You will have to keep within your allowance in future."
"My dear chap, it's all jolly fine--I can't!" protested Noel. "Why, I only get about twopence-halfpenny a term. It isn't enough to pay a cat's expenses, besides being always up to the eyes in debt."
Mordaunt heaved a sigh of resignation. "I suppose I had better look into your affairs. Write down as clear a statement of your debts as you can, and let me have it."
"I say--really?" Noel looked up eagerly. "You're not in earnest?"
"Yes, I am. And afterwards--you are to keep within your means, or if you don't I must know the reason why."
Noel grinned with cheery impudence. "You'll swish me, I suppose, to improve my morals? Wish I had as many sovereigns as I've had swishings. They would keep me in clover for a year."
Mordaunt laughed rather grimly. "I don't waste my time licking hardened sinners like you. I've something better to do."
Noel echoed his laugh with keen enjoyment. "You're rather a beast, but I like you. Have you paid Rupert's debts, too? He is always on the verge of bankruptcy. Shouldn't wonder if Max is as well, but he keeps his affairs so dark. I expect he is in the hands of the money-lenders--I know Rupert was years ago."
"I don't think he is now," Mordaunt said.
"Don't you? What's the betting on that? He could no more keep out of their clutches than he could fly over the moon. I say"--he suddenly burst into a peal of boyish laughter--"it's the funniest thing on earth to see you shouldering the family burdens. How you will wish you hadn't! And that French beggar you've adopted, too, who is safe to rob you sooner or later! Why don't you start a home for waifs and strays at once? I'll help you run it. I'll do the accounts."
Mordaunt laughed, in spite of himself. "Very kind of you! But I think there are enough of you for the present."
"All highly satisfactory," grinned Noel. "What a pity you didn't marry Aunt Philippa, I say! She would have been much more useful to you than Chris. Never thought of that, I suppose?"
"Never!" said Mordaunt.
"Poor old Aunt Phil!" Noel chuckled afresh. "She would have been in her element if you had only given her the chance. She hates us all like poison. I suppose you know why?"
"Haven't an idea," Mordaunt spoke repressively, "unless your general behaviour has something to do with it."
"Oh, very likely it has," Noel conceded. "But the chief reason was that our father diddled her out of a lot of money. He was hard up, and she was rolling. So he--borrowed a little." He glanced at Mordaunt with a queer grimace. "Most unfortunately he didn't live to pay it back. I shouldn't tell anyone this, but I don't mind telling you, as you are one of the family."
"And who told you?" Mordaunt inquired.
"Me? I overheard it."
"How?"
The question came sternly, but Noel was sublimely unabashed.
"The usual way. How does one generally overhear things? I hid behind a shutter once when Aunt Phil and Murdoch, our man of business, were having a talk. She pitched it pretty strong, I can tell you. I should have felt quite sorry for the old girl if I hadn't known that her husband had left her more than she could possibly know what to do with. As it was, I was rather glad than otherwise, for she's disgustingly mean over trifles. And people who can shell out and won't should be made to."
Mordaunt received this axiom in silence. As a matter of fact he was somewhat staggered by the information thus airily imparted. But he did not question the truth of it. He only wondered that he had never considered such a possibility before.
Another shout of merriment from the boy at his side made him look round. "Well? What's the joke?"
"You!" yelled the youngster, between his paroxysms. "I'm awfully sorry. You're such a good sort. But I can't help it. I say, Trevor--aren't you glad just--that you're one of the family?"
Mordaunt aimed a blow at him that he evaded with ease. "If you don't behave yourself I shall use the privilege in a fashion you won't care for," he said, "even if it is a waste of time."
At which threat Noel confidingly hooked his arm once more through that of his brother-in-law and begged him in a voice hoarse with laughter to stop rotting.


CHAPTER III
DISASTER

Chris and Noel set off in the motor that afternoon in excellent spirits to pay the projected call upon Mrs. Pouncefort.
They found the lady of the house at home, and spent an animated hour with her; for although she never appeared to welcome her visitors or to exert herself in any degree to entertain them, most of them seemed to find it difficult to get away.
When they departed at length they carried with them an invitation to a garden _fete_ which had been arranged for the following week. It included the whole party, to Chris's great satisfaction.
"It will be the very thing for Bertie," she said. "It is just what he needs."
Noel, who entertained a sweeping prejudice against all foreigners, was inclined to dispute this, and a lively argument ensued in consequence, which lasted during the greater part of the run home.
Chris was at the wheel, being a fairly experienced driver by that time, though Mordaunt was very insistent that she should always have someone responsible by her side. On this occasion, however, Holmes, who was acting as chauffeur, had been imperiously relegated to the back seat by Noel, who intended to have his turn before the end of the ride. He had driven twice before under his brother-in-law's supervision, and he considered himself an expert.
As soon as they were through the lodge-gates, therefore, he began to clamour to change places with Chris. The worried Holmes protested in vain. Chris, though firmly refusing to sit behind, was quite willing to give her place at the wheel to her brother; and the change was speedily effected, remonstrance notwithstanding.
"We can't come to any harm on our own drive," was the careless consolation she threw to the perturbed man behind her, who then and there solemnly swore to his inner soul that whatever the outcome of the venture he would never again trust himself or the car to the tender mercies of the Wyndham family.
Finding himself thus ignored, he stood up and leaned over the boy's shoulder to give directions in the face of any sudden emergency that might arise, though Noel was obviously in no mood to pay any attention to them. As he remarked later, when recounting the adventure, he knew in his bones that there was going to be an accident; but the nature of it he could hardly be expected to foresee.
In fact, for a brief space all went well. The motor buzzed merrily along the drive, and it almost seemed as if the escapade would end without mishap, when, as they rounded the bend that led to the house, Noel unexpectedly put on speed. They shot forward at a great pace under the arching trees, and forthwith suddenly came disaster. Swift as a lightning flash it came--too swift for realization, almost too swift for sight. It was only a tiny, racing figure that darted for the fraction of a second in front of the car, and then--with a squeal half-choked--was lost in the rush of the wheels. It was only Cinders chasing a rabbit which he was destined never to catch.
Chris's shriek of agony rang as far as the house. In another moment she would have thrown herself headlong from the car, but Holmes was too quick for her. Not in vain had Holmes been through a three-years' war; not in vain did he hold himself responsible for the young wife of the master whom that war had taught him to love. Almost before she had sprung from her seat he had caught her, forcing her down again, holding her by grim strength from her mad purpose. She struggled with him fiercely, hysterically; but Holmes's grip never relaxed. She bore the marks of it upon her arms for weeks after.
And while he held her, baffling her utmost efforts to free herself, he was giving directions to Noel, whose nerve had departed completely with the shock of the catastrophe, giving them over and over again--steadily, insistently, and very distinctly, till they took effect at last, though only just in time.
They were dangerously near the house before, in response to the boy's frantic efforts, the car slackened and finally, under Holmes's reiterated directions, ran to a standstill.
Chris, in a perfect frenzy by that time, wrenched herself free and sprang down. Her husband, who had rushed from the house at her cry, was close to her as she reached the ground, but she sped away without so much as seeing him.
Back up the drive she tore, back to the shadowing trees, back to the piteous little blot in the shadow that was the only thing her world contained in that hour of anguish.
When they reached her she was sunk on the ground beside her favourite, crying his name, while he, whimpering, strove to drag his mangled body into her lap. She tried to lift him, but he yelped so terribly at her touch that she was forced to let him lie.
"Oh, Cinders, Cinders!" she cried, in an agony. "My little darling, what shall I do?"
Someone stooped over her; a quiet hand lay upon her shoulder. "Chris," it was her husband's voice, very grave and tender, "come away, dear. You can't do anything. The poor little chap is past our help."
She lifted a dazed face, staring uncomprehendingly.
"Come away," he repeated.
But when he tried to raise her she resisted him. "And leave him like this? No, never, never! Oh, Trevor, look--look! He is dying! Can't we do something--anything? Oh, he never cried like that before!"
"My dear, there is nothing that you can do." Very gently he made answer. "He can't possibly live. There is only one thing to be done, and that is to put him out of his pain as quickly as possible. But I can't do it with you here. So come away, dear! It's the kindest--in fact, it's the only--thing you can do."
"Are you going to--kill him?" gasped Chris in horror.
He nodded, with compressed lips. "There is no alternative. We can't let him suffer like this."
"Oh no, no, no!" Chris cried.
She would have thrown her arms about her darling, but he stopped her. He caught her wrists and held her back.
"Chris, you