Читать книгу: «Nobody's Child», страница 9

XIX
A BARGAIN

On the way back to Westmore that night, Garvin met Baird. Baird had been riding with Judith in the afternoon and had dined at Westmore and spent the evening there. When Garvin, saying that he must go to the village, had excused himself and had hurried to Ann, he had left Baird with Edward and Judith. Very soon Edward also had gone out, and Baird and Judith had spent the evening together, as was frequent of late.

Both Garvin and Baird were riding slowly, for both were engrossed by the subject to which, next to his struggle for existence, man gives his intensest interest; Baird had just parted from Judith, Garvin from Ann.

"Hello, Garvin – just back?" Baird asked.

"Yes… Baird, I think Will Prescott wants a machine. You know he's a sort of third cousin of ours by marriage."

Baird wondered if there was any one of their class in the southeastern states who was not, by marriage or otherwise, cousin to a Westmore. It was an effective argument he had used in persuading Edwin Carter and the others who were combining to form the automobile manufacturing company in which Baird meant to have a large interest, that Garvin would serve them well if given the city agency.

"Good!" he said. "Nail him – or any one else who comes your way. The commission'll be yours."

"How soon do you think I can get back into town and get to work?" Garvin asked. "Is the agency a sure thing?" It was the question to which he had been leading.

Baird had no intention of being hurried in the matter. He meant that Edward should give a guarantee for Garvin that would make his own position in the firm "a sure thing."

"I'll know that in a few days, Garvin. I have to see Edwin Carter again – I can tell you more then. I see no reason why the thing shouldn't go through. I'm going to make every effort to get it for you."

Garvin was forced to curb his impatience. "You're a brick, Baird."

"No – I think you're the man for the place."

They parted, each taking up thoughts that had little to do with business.

Garvin looked up at the long dim line of Westmore. Let Edward have the place if he wanted it; it was rightfully Edward's; it was Edward's money that had bought up the mortgages. He would take Ann and go. Go soon, even if he had to attach himself to Baird's firm merely as a traveling agent.

He unsaddled, stalled his horse, and let himself into the house. The lights were out; Edward and Judith must have gone to bed.

But he saw, as he came up the stairs, that Edward was still up. He was standing in his open door, evidently waiting for him. In his harassed condition, Edward was the last person he wanted to see.

"You up, Ed?" he said casually.

"Yes… Come in here – I want to speak to you."

Garvin knew instantly that something serious had happened; Edward's manner was so deadly quiet, his voice so ominously even. The apprehension that harried them all was the first thing that settled upon Garvin. "Well, what now?" he said. "Sarah again, I suppose."

Edward closed the door, then faced him. "No… I wish that every other irresponsible in our family was as safely guarded as poor Sarah is in the place to which I took her… Garvin Westmore, what's this thing you've been doing? Leading astray a girl who is no more than a child – meeting her at night! How far has it gone? By heaven! if you have harmed her – I'll – " Edward broke off, grasping at the self-control that was leaving him.

Garvin's brain had leaped from thought to thought. Who had spied upon him? How much did Edward know? He could not have been near them that evening. It was not possible for any one to come near the willows and he not detect it. Garvin was capable of perfect coolness, and at unexpected moments. "What girl are you talking about?" he demanded. "I've played with more than one girl on the Ridge – so did you, I reckon, in your time."

Edward drew an uneven breath. "I mean Ann Penniman."

"Yes, I've talked to Ann – what of it?"

"Answer my question! How far has this thing gone?" Edward repeated with such intense passion that Garvin recoiled, surprised rather than angered. Had he not been surprised, he would instantly have flared. "I've done Ann no harm!.. But what great difference should it make to you? What's Ann Penniman to you? Why the devil should you come at me in this fashion – even if I had gone the lengths! One would suppose I'd been poaching on your preserves! I'm my own master – neither you nor any other man shall question me about how or with whom I choose to amuse myself!" Garvin had flared finally.

Edward knew well what that sudden high note in Garvin's voice portended. He spoke quickly: "I apologize… I ought to have got at the thing differently… Sit down a moment – I want to talk of something else, first … this matter of your getting the agency… I've been consulting with Baird – about it… Sit down – "

Edward had talked with a certain haste, and yet with pauses, quieting his brother while he sought for his own self-control. It was almost beyond him; he had paused, laid hold on the thing, gone on, paused again. He ended with outward calm.

And Garvin had quieted in the sudden way usual with him. Edward had motioned him to a chair, and he took it. Edward sat down opposite to him at the desk; he looked down while he talked. "It seems it depends on me whether Baird's firm will take you on or not. If I take stock in their company, they will give you the agency. I've – "

"I don't want you to sacrifice money on my account," Garvin interrupted. "I mean to go somewhere – away from here – and just as soon as I can. I'll look about for something else, that's all."

Edward continued steadily. "I shall not be doing that. I've looked into the matter – I've had my lawyer do it – for I'm no business man. He says it's a good investment, and I'm willing to go into it. I'd do almost anything to forward either your interests or Judith's. All I can do for Sarah is to see that she has every comfort it's possible to give her at a sanatorium. I made a mistake in taking her out and bringing her here, after she had been shut away from Westmore for twelve years. No wonder her poor brain went wild again and drove her to the Mine Banks. I learned my lesson. I'll never forget that night when you and the rest went after her and we waited here, all of us certain that she had done away with herself. We've Ben Brokaw to thank for having saved us that tragedy." He looked up at his brother. "You see, Garvin, the thing I'm living for now is the Westmore family. I don't want the family to go under. You have splendid blood in you – in spite of the unfortunate inheritance our father gave you. But if you don't give yourself all the help you can, you are done for. I'd give a good deal if you would take hold on life, use your will to create something of a future for yourself. I know how hard it is to do it in this environment, so I'd be glad to have you get out of it, and glad to help you do it."

"Would you advise me to marry and give Westmore an heir?" Garvin asked with bitter sarcasm.

Edward was silent.

"We can cut that possibility out of my future, then. All I want is a more normal sort of life than I've had, and I think I may get it away from here. I mean to get it – it'll save me if anything will. You happened to have been born before father started down hill – you and Judith are the fortunate ones – it's for you to give Westmore an heir." He ended more gravely than bitterly.

"All that lies in the future," Edward returned quietly. He straightened. "Garvin, I'm willing to give you your chance away from here – I'll arrange with Baird to have you go at the earliest possible moment – will you promise in return that you will give up this thing which you have assured me was nothing but play on your part, with Ann?"

Garvin was silent for a moment; then he said, "I want to go as soon as I can. But even if I have to wait around for a while, I promise I'll not go near Ann – that bit of play is ended."

Edward studied him; their eyes met fairly. "Very well," he said. "I will see Baird to-morrow," and he rose.

Garvin got up also, but at the door he stopped. "You've questioned me, Ed – before I go I'd like to ask a question or two."

"Very well."

"Who told you I met Ann?"

"I can't answer that question."

"Did Ann tell you?"

"No – certainly not."

"Then tell me this: What's your especial interest in Ann Penniman?"

Edward's face became expressionless, but he answered clearly, "Your own judgment ought to tell you why I'm horrified at this performance of yours. If Coats Penniman knew, he would draw the same conclusion I did, and he would shoot you on sight. You know how I feel toward the Pennimans, that they have been wronged by our family. Ann deserves the love of an honest man, and it's perfectly evident to me that your intentions do not come under that head. I'll tell you quite frankly that I mean to guard Ann from you – for both your sakes. So, if, in an irrational moment, you should forget your promise to me, I warn you that you will pay dearly for it."

"Save your threats," Garvin returned coolly. "I have no intention of seeing Ann. You seem to feel strongly on the subject, more so than the matter warrants. The best thing will be for me to get away from the Ridge as soon as possible and relieve you of worry," and he went out.

Left alone, Edward paced the floor; there were vivid enough passions beneath the quiet exterior Edward Westmore presented to the world. In his agitation he spoke aloud. "I can't be candid with him, as one would be with a man!" he said passionately. "But if I find he has lied to me! If he has harmed her – !"

XX
MARRY? YES

When Baird parted from Garvin, he had returned to the thoughts that Garvin's business talk had interrupted; he had been thinking of marriage and of Judith.

Except on the rare occasions when he was touched by depression, Nickolas Baird had always thought of his immunity from family bonds with satisfaction. But to-night he had realized, somewhat suddenly, that he was about to give up his hitherto much-prized freedom, and that Judith Westmore would not object to his doing so.

It had come about so naturally, that intimacy of theirs. He was fully accepted now, on the Ridge; more than that, he was welcomed by Ridge society with the hospitality characteristic of southern people when assured. The night spent at Westmore, when he had borne himself well, had won for Baird the support of every Westmore, and they were a numerous clan. Colonel Dickenson had put Baird forward at the Fair Field Club and in the city. "A gentleman, suh, an' a born financier," was his introduction, "a great friend of my cousins, the Westmores." Baird had the faculty of interesting men much older than himself: business men by his pronounced level-headedness, convivials like the colonel by his apparently inexhaustible supply of anecdotes, related simply and with a humorous zest that was captivating because in no way assumed.

And Baird had not neglected his opportunities. The establishment of an automobile factory important enough to compete with the largest in the United States was now an assured thing. Joseph Dempster, an Indiana near-millionaire, was the nucleus about which Baird had woven his web. Dempster already had an interest in a motor company, and it was Baird who had suggested to him the easy possibility of enlarging the Dempster factory so that it would be one of the biggest concerns in the States. It was he who had pointed out that Edwin Carter's steel interests made him the most eligible man to approach. Dempster had little of Baird's persuasive ability, and knew it, and he also had a high opinion of Baird's gift; the young fellow carried a middle-aged man's head on his shoulders – in matters of business. Baird had been sent east to interest Carter and had captured him.

Baird's reward was to be a high-salaried position and an interest in the company; Dempster had guaranteed him that. Baird regarded his interest in the company as the important thing. He had very little money of his own, the disastrous two years in South America had cleaned him out, so, while he spent the mornings in Carter's office going over Dempster's plans and specifications for the new factory and took charge of the correspondence connected with it, he had been considering ways and means of pushing his own interests.

He wanted a larger interest in the company. Dempster and Carter meant to keep the controlling interest in their own hands, but they would welcome sums of which they might have the handling, additions to the company of men like Edward Westmore who would be content simply to draw dividends and interfere in no way with the management of the concern. If he could capture for them several such men as Edward Westmore, his own reward would be an increased interest in the company. Just let him once get on his feet, have some negotiable paper at his command, and he would outdistance both Dempster and Carter; he had a better business brain than either of them. Baird was not in the least modest about his own capability, and he had learned the wisdom of going slowly.

The two hunt clubs had seemed to him a good field for operations; certainly the best he could command. He would meet there just the sort of men who would be useful to him. Though unacquainted with Baird's reasons, Edwin Carter had willingly put him up at the Ridge Club, and his recommendation of the young man was genuine enough. Baird's good sense had both surprised and pleased him. The young fellow had the qualities of a winner; most young men with the attractions of a city open to them would not care to sleep where the whip-poor-wills held sway.

Things were working out well for Baird. At the Fair Field Club he had secured one man for his company, and when Edward Westmore came forward with his guarantee for Garvin he would present them both to Carter with the certainty of accrued interest in the company.

But Baird was not thinking of business when he rode away from Westmore that night. For the first time he was thinking really seriously of a woman. Until he met Judith Westmore, women had been merely incidents to him, and to-night he had been brought face to face with marriage, the thing he had not intended to consider for years to come.

He and Judith had seen each other frequently during the last weeks. They had ridden together, spent long evenings together, been bidden together to all the Ridge gatherings. And yet, throughout, Judith had maintained a certain distance, attracting him, and yet restraining him. He had struggled against her dominance, as he would always struggle to conquer anything that eluded him. Judith had hovered just beyond his reach, and he had been forced into an impassioned deference, been held to it so determinedly that his capturing instinct had been fully aroused. The eight years' difference in their ages had vanished from his consideration. Was she playing with him, or was she not? What he wanted was a more satisfying response to his love.

For Baird had decided that for the first time in his life he was in love. For the first time a woman had interested him completely, stirred all that was decentest in him, held him to deference while she showed herself supremely attractive. When he had come upon Ann that afternoon, he had been wondering what Judith would say or do if he should suddenly lift her from her horse and kiss her; tell her that he loved her? How much would he learn of the real Judith?

He had been on the very verge of some such avowal when he had looked up and seen Ann. Their little episode had long since been relegated to the background which was studded by such careless incidents; he felt no particular self-consciousness at the sight of Ann, but it did strike him as unnecessarily cruel of Judith to cut the girl. Ann was so appealingly pretty as she stood there, wide-eyed and startled, then so lovely when radiated by her eager smile. "Damn their stupid family quarrel!" had been Baird's inward comment.

The thing had chilled him, and they had ridden in silence until Judith asked brightly, "Who is that pretty girl we just passed? She gave you a brilliant smile, Mr. Baird."

Baird had been surprised into saying, "Ann Penniman – but it was you she was speaking to – she gave me only the tail of her eye," and his annoyance at Judith made him add, "I think she is the prettiest girl I've met on the Ridge."

"Ann Penniman? Why, I don't know her – I never spoke to a Penniman in my life," Judith had returned with a faintly questioning, half-amused, half-regretful note. "If she is the little girl who belongs to the farm beyond the woods there, she has grown up quickly. I'm sorry if I was really included in that smile and didn't realize it."

Judith had done her feminine best to nullify her act and at the same time convey to Baird the status of Ann Penniman. Baird had not fathomed her, or guessed the swift jealousy that had instantly struck at Ann. Ann's smile was certainly meant for Judith, but if Judith had not realized it, it was all right enough. Garvin had told him that no Penniman ever bowed to a Westmore. The odd thing was that Ann should have risked being cut. But why should he think twice about the thing – he had no interest either in their quarrels or their attempts at reconciliation.

Baird promptly forgot the incident, for, throughout the afternoon, Judith was so utterly charming to him. They had had the club to themselves; it was a little as if he were entertaining her at his own house, a new sensation to Baird – every step of his intimacy with Judith had been a new experience.

They had ridden slowly back to Westmore then, through the tender green of the woods, both the languor and the stir of spring having their way with him, his eyes saying to Judith the things his lips did not. Then Westmore had deepened, as it always did, the impression of unattainability that Judith gave. Their walk on the terrace after dinner had softened the impression. Judith had talked about herself, and one admission she made had impressed Baird more than anything she had ever said; she was speaking of Westmore and of Edward:

"I have been mistress of Westmore for a long time, but I realize that Edward will probably marry – he is only thirty-nine… In a way, it will be a relief to me, and yet I shall feel a little desolate."

"But you will marry," Baird had said.

"If I love a man enough, I will."

Baird did not know why he had not spoken, then and there. Why the thing had come suddenly and in the way in which it had – when his horse had been brought to the front door and Judith stood beside him as he was about to mount. He had tested the saddle, Judith was afraid that it might be loose, they stood together, their hands touching, and suddenly her nearness had pervaded him. He had caught her to him, held her for the instant of yielding, and then their lips had met.

It was a woman's kiss he had received; a woman's clinging embrace, as passionate as the pressure of his own arms – for the long moment before withdrawal. He had tried to keep her. "Judith, we love each other – " he said, but the arms that held him off were like steel.

"It's – Edward – " she whispered breathlessly. "You must let me go – " When he loosed her, she gained the portico. She had heard when he had not Edward's approach around the side of the house.

When Edward came up, Baird stood back to his horse, his grasp already on a degree of composure. He had been conscious that Edward had spoken absently, that he stood absently beside Judith while Baird told Judith that he would see her the next day. He had lifted his cap and ridden away, with only the one very clear impression, that before he saw Judith again he would settle something that was a chaotic uncertainty in his mind.

He was trying to settle it when Garvin met him, and took it up again when they parted: was he ready to marry – even for love? There were minor considerations that occurred to Baird: he had gone far, and Judith was not a woman to be played with; she would be a superb wife; she loved him and he loved her, but did he love her enough to give up his beloved freedom? to settle down to home-building?.. He thought he did.

Baird shouldered the thing finally, with an all-pervading sense of responsibility; went soberly to bed with it.