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

property--of which, in truth, you have never been deprived. With your permission, I will finish. On the night of the fireworks, the night you were in London, I--betrayed myself. I cannot tell you how it happened. I know only that my love became suddenly a flame that I could not hide. She had been in danger, and me--I lost my self-control. The veil was withdrawn, I could hide my love no more. I showed her my heart just as it was, and--she showed me hers."
Bertrand rose with none of his customary impetuosity and stood in front of Mordaunt, meeting the steady eyes with equal steadiness.
"I tell you the truth," he said. "We understand each other, and we love each other. But you--you are even now more to her than I have ever been. She has need of you as she has never had of me. You are the reality in her life. I"--he spread out his hands--"I am the romance."
He paused as if to gather his strength, then went rapidly on. But his face was grey. He looked like a man who had travelled fast and far. "Monsieur," he said very earnestly, "believe me, I do not stand between you. I love her--I love you both--too much for that. My one desire, my one prayer, is for her happiness--and yours. Do not, I beseech you, make me an obstacle. You are her protector. Do not leave her unprotected!"
Again for an instant he paused, seeming to strive after self-control. Then suddenly he relinquished the attempt. He flung his dignity from him; he threw himself on his knees at the impassive Englishman's feet. "Mr. Mordaunt," he cried out brokenly, "I have told you the truth. As a dying man, I swear to you--by God--that I have hidden nothing. Monsieur--monsieur--go back to her--make her happy--before I die!"
His voice dropped. He sank forward, murmuring incoherently.
Mordaunt stooped sharply over him. "Bertrand, for Heaven's sake--" he began, and broke off short; for the face that still tried to look into his was so convulsed with agony that he knew him to be for the moment beyond the reach of words.
He lifted the huddled Frenchman to a chair with great gentleness; but the paroxysm did not pass. It was terrible to witness. It seemed to rack him from head to foot, and through it he still strove to plead, though his speech was no more than broken sound, inexpressibly painful to hear, impossible to understand.
Mordaunt bent over him at last, all his hardness merged into pity. "My dear fellow, don't!" he said. "Give yourself time. Haven't you anything with you that will relieve this pain?"
Bertrand could not answer him. He made a feeble gesture with his right hand; his left was clenched and rigid.
Mordaunt began to feel in his pockets; his touch was as gentle as a woman's. But his search was unavailing. He only found an empty bottle. Bertrand had evidently taken the remedy it had contained earlier in the evening.
He turned to get some brandy, but Bertrand clutched at his sleeve and detained him. "Max is here," he gasped. "Find Max! He--knows!"
His hand fell away, and Mordaunt went to the door. Holmes had returned to his post in the passage. He came forward as the door opened.
"Mr. Max Wyndham is somewhere here," Mordaunt said. "Go and find him, and bring him back with you--at once."
Holmes nodded comprehension and went.
Mordaunt turned back into the room. Bertrand had slipped to the floor again, and was lying face downwards. His breathing was anguished, but he made no other sound.
Mordaunt poured out some brandy and went to him. He knelt down by his side and tried to administer it. But Bertrand could not drink. He could only gasp. Yet after a moment his hand came out gropingly and touched the man beside him.
Mordaunt took it and held it.
"You--believe me?" Bertrand jerked out.
"I believe you," Mordaunt answered very gravely.
"You--you forgive?"
Painfully the question came. It went into silence. But the hand that had taken Bertrand's closed slowly and very firmly.
"_Et la petite--la petite--_" faltered Bertrand.
The silence endured for seconds. It seemed as if no answer would come. And through it the man's anguished breathing came and went with a dreadful pumping sound as of some broken machinery.
At last, slowly, as though he weighed each word before he uttered it, Mordaunt spoke.
"You may trust her to me," he said.
And the hand in his stirred and gripped in gratitude, Bertrand de Montville had not spent himself in vain.


CHAPTER VII
THE MESSENGER

"Roses!" said Chris. "How nice!"
She held the white blossoms that Jack had sent her against her face, and smiled.
It was a very pathetic smile, a wan ghost of gaiety, possessing more of bravery than mirth. She lay on a couch by the window, looking out under the sun-blinds at the dusty green of the park. Though October had begun, the summer was not yet over, and the heat was considerable. It seemed oppressive after the fresh air of the moors, and Hilda watched her cousin's languor with some anxiety. For her face had scarcely more colour than the flowers she held.
"Is the paper here?" asked Chris.
She also was closely following the progress of the Valpre trial. Though she never discussed it, Hilda was aware that it was the only thing in life in which she took any interest just then.
She gave her the paper containing the last account that Mordaunt had written, and for nearly an hour Chris was absorbed in it. At last, with a sigh, she laid it down, and drew the roses to her again.
"It's very dear of Jack to send them. Hilda, don't you want to go out? You mustn't stay in always for me."
"I want you to come out too, dear," Hilda said.
"I? Oh, please, dear, I'd rather not." Chris spoke quickly, almost beseechingly. She laid a very thin hand upon Hilda's. "You don't mind?" she said persuasively.
Hilda took the little hand and stroked it. "Chris darling," she said, "do you know what is the matter with you?"
The quick blood rushed up over the pale face, spread to the temples, and then faded utterly away. "Yes," whispered Chris.
Hilda leaned down, and very tenderly kissed her. "I felt sure you did. And that's why you will make an effort to get strong, isn't it, dear? It isn't as if it were just for your own sake any more. You will try, my own Chris?"
But Chris turned her face away with quivering lips. "I think--and I hope--that I shall die," she said.
"Chris, my darling--"
"Yes," Chris insisted. "If it shocks you I can't help it. I don't want to live, and I don't want my child to live, either. Life is too hard. If--if I had had any choice in the matter, I would never have been born. And so if I die before the baby comes, it is the best thing that could possibly happen for either of us. And I think--I think"--she hesitated momentarily before a name she had not uttered for weeks--"Trevor would say the same."
"My dear child, I am quite sure he wouldn't!" Hilda spoke with most unaccustomed vigour. "I am quite sure that if he knew of this, he would be with you to-day."
"Oh no, indeed!" Chris said. She spoke quite quietly, with absolute conviction. "You don't know him, Hilda. You only judge him from outside. If he knew--well, yes, he might possibly think it his duty to be near me. But not because he cared. You see--he doesn't. His love is quite dead. And"--she began to shiver--"I don't like dead things; they frighten me. So you won't let anyone tell him; promise me!"
"But, my dear, he would love the child--his child," urged Hilda softly.
"Oh, that would be worse!" Chris turned sharply from her. "If he loved the child--and--and--hated the mother!"
"Chris! Chris! You are torturing yourself with morbid ideas! Such a thing would be impossible."
"Not with him," said Chris, shuddering. "He is not like Percy, you know. You think him gentle and kind, but he is quite different, really. He is as hard--and as cold--as iron. Ah, here is Noel!" She broke off with obvious relief. "Come in, dear old boy. I've been wondering where you were."
Noel came in. He usually haunted Chris's room during the day. The Davenants had done their utmost to persuade him to go to school, but Noel had taken the conduct of his affairs into his own hands, and firmly refused.
"I shan't go while Chris is ill," he declared flatly. "We'll see what she's like at the mid-term."
Jack's authority was invoked in vain, for Jack was on the youngster's side.
"I've squared him," said Noel, with satisfaction. "Of course, I'm sorry to be a burden to you, Hilda, but I'll pay up when I come of age."
Which promise invariably silenced Hilda's protests, and made Lord Percy chuckle.
Aunt Philippa was still absent upon her autumn round of visits, a circumstance for which Noel was openly and devoutly thankful. Not that her influence was by any means paramount with him, but her presence might of itself have been sufficient to drive him away. The only person who could really manage him was his brother-in-law, but as he had apparently forgotten Noel's very existence, it seemed unlikely that his authority would be brought to bear upon him. Meanwhile, Noel swaggered in and out of his sister's presence, penniless but content, and Chris plainly liked to have him.
On the present occasion he interrupted their conversation without apology, pushed Chris's feet to one side, and seated himself on the end of the sofa.
"Do you mind if I smoke?" he said to Hilda.
"Yes, I do," said Hilda.
"All right, then. You'd better go." He pulled a clay pipe out of his pocket, and an envelope that contained tobacco. "I know Chris doesn't mind," he said, with a twinkling glance in her direction. "Also, my cousin, someone wants you in the next room."
"Who is it?" said Hilda.
"Don't ask me," said Noel.
She hesitated momentarily. "Well, I suppose I must go. But mind, Noel, you are not to smoke in here."
"Say please!" said Noel imperturbably.
"Please!" said Hilda obediently.
He rose and accompanied her to the door. "Madam, your wishes shall be respected."
He opened the door with a flourish, bowed her out, closed it, and softly turned the key.
Then he wheeled round to his sister with gleaming eyes. "That's done the trick, I bet. Trevor has just turned up with Jack. But you needn't be afraid. I shan't let him in."
"What!" said Chris.
She started up, uttering the word like a cry.
Noel left the door swiftly, and came to her. "It's all right, old girl. Don't you worry yourself. We'll hold the fort, never fear. He shan't come in here, unless you say the word."
Chris's hands clutched him with feverish strength. Her face was deathly. "Oh, Noel!" she breathed. "Oh, Noel!"
He hugged her reassuringly. "It's all right, I tell you. Don't get in a blue funk for nothing. He's not coming in here to bully you."
But Chris only clung faster to him, not breathing. The sudden shock had sent all the blood to her heart. She felt choked and powerless.
"There! Lie down again," said Noel. "I'm here. I'll take care of you. I knew he would turn up again; it's what I've been waiting for. But I swear he shan't come near you against your will. That's enough, isn't it? You know you are safe with me."
She could not answer him, but she crouched back upon the sofa in response to his persuasion. She was shaking from head to foot.
Noel sat solidly down beside her. "Don't be