Chapter V: Rebellion

That letter from Saltash, written in French, contained the announcement of his approaching return. It was at her urgent written request that he had gone three months before. Somehow the very thought of him at the Castle had been intolerable after what had passed between them on the day of her return to her husband. But they had corresponded ever since. She could not refuse to receive and answer his letters. Her intimacy with Charlie was like a gem with many facets. He had an adroit fashion of flashing it before her hither and thither till, dazzled, she wondered if she had ever truly grasped its full value. Sometimes it seemed to her that it had been cut from the very bedrock of friendship, and at such times the realization of the sympathy that ever pulsed between them was a pure joy to her. At other times, remembering the strange impulses of the man, his sudden gusts of passion, swift misgiving would assail her and she would tell herself that she was making a terrible mistake. And then again she would catch a glimpse of his careless, butterfly temperament, and her doubts would vanish almost in spite of her. How could she take him seriously? His gay inconsequence made the hare notion seem ridiculous. They were pals, no more. True, he had offered to help her; but, knowing him through and through as she did, he was the last man in the world to whom she would really turn for help. And since she was so sure of herself, what had she to fear? Charlie was before all things a gentleman. There was nothing coarse or brutal about him. In his own words, where women were concerned, he did not take; he offered. For that very reason he was the harder to resist.

But she knew him to be safe. That was the foundation of her confidence. She had no fear of him; he had always set her at her ease. Without virtue he might be, yet was he not without a certain code of honour. He tempted; therein lay the subtle attraction of the man; but he never compelled. He was selfish; oh yes, he was selfish, but he was also strangely, whimsically kind at heart. In all her experience of him, she had never found him merciless.

And so she did not see why she should wholly deny herself the friendship which seemed to her to be the only good thing left in her life now. She had not wanted to see him, but now that he wrote to announce his return she found that she was glad. The first meeting with him might be a little difficult, but Charlie always knew how to deal with difficulties. He understood her; it would not be really hard. They would be friends again--just friends.

She slipped the letter away with a smile. He always allowed himself a little more latitude when he wrote in French. It was but natural. It meant nothing, she knew. How could anyone take him really seriously? His soul was as elusive as thistledown. It was only in the realms of music that she ever really saw his soul.

He did not say on what day he would return. She wondered if Jake knew, wondered if she could induce Bunny to ask him without betraying any interest in the subject herself. She was a little afraid of Bunny. His shrewdness embarrassed her. It was like a microscope, discovering things that otherwise would have escaped notice. She did not want to come under that microscope very often. There were some parts of her existence that would not bear it. She suspected that Bunny was already beginning to find out. She was sure that he was aware of a lack of sympathy between herself and Jake, and she wished she could have kept it from him.

With regard to her mother's affairs also, she would have been glad if the boy had not been drawn into the discussion. It was characteristic of Mrs. Sheppard to fling her burden upon the first shoulder that offered, but Maud was fashioned otherwise, and she wanted Bunny to throw off his precocities and become like other boys. The thought of his education was beginning to weigh upon her. She wanted to talk about it to Jake, but somehow she did not know how to broach the subject. She wondered if she should write to Uncle Edward, but hesitated to do so. Letters were never satisfactory.

She was pondering this matter as she undressed that night when a sudden thought struck her--a thought that darted through her like a flash, leaving a shining trail of possibilities behind. Why should they not accept the old man's invitation and go to him for a little while? He would be glad to see them, she was sure; and she would be glad--oh, unspeakably glad--to get away for a time. Face to face with him, she might even plead for her mother. She would infinitely rather be under an obligation to him than to Charlie.

The idea drew her more and more. She wondered it had not occurred to her before. In the end, finding it still early, she sat down at the table and began to scribble a hasty note. She determined that she would not tell Jake until Uncle Edward's reply reached her. She felt convinced that it would contain the invitation she was soliciting.

Feverishly she penned her appeal. Would he invite them to spend a few days? Bunny was well, or nearly so; she herself was feeling the heat, and would like a change. Jake--, no, she found she could not mention Jake. With trembling fingers she brought the note to an end.

She had scarcely finished addressing the envelope when she heard Jake's step on the stairs. Startled, she caught up letter and writing-case, and pushed them into a drawer. He seldom retired late, but she had not expected him so early as this. Swiftly she turned, shut the door that led into his room, blew out her lamp and slipped into bed.

But he did not pass on to his own room. He stopped at the door of hers, paused a second, then quietly opened it. She heard the creak of his gaiters as he entered. He had a candle in one hand; he put up the other to shield it from the draught, and the door blew gently to behind him.

Maud leaned against her pillow and watched him. Her heart was beating very fast. She wondered if he had heard her hasty movements of the past few moments.

He came to her side and set down his candle. "Say, Maud," he said, "I saw your light go out, so I guessed you weren't asleep."

Maud's eyes, blue-black and sombre, looked up to his. "What do you want?" she asked him coldly.

He stood squarely beside her. "I wanted just to speak to you," he said, "and I thought if I waited to undress, maybe you'd be asleep."

With the words he sat down rather heavily in the chair by her side, and there fell a silence, a dragging, difficult silence. Maud's heart was beating very fast. Had he come to talk about that letter from Saltash? Was he about to make a scene?

His stillness began to act upon her nerves. She turned towards him restlessly. "Oh, what is it?" she said, veiling her doubt with a show of impatience.

He stretched out a strong hand and took one of hers. "It's you, my girl," he said, and in his voice was a note of anxiety that partly reassured her. "You've not been yourself lately. Guess there's something the matter."

"There is nothing the matter," she said hastily.

He held her hand closely. "You've no call to be afraid of me," he said gently. "Maybe, I've been rough and rude at times. I've never meant it, my princess. I can't live up to you always; but I try,--God knows I try!"

A sudden tremor sounded in his voice; he became abruptly silent.

Maud's hand was hard clenched in his. She did not look at him; but the beating of her heart rose up between them--a hard, insistent drumming that she was powerless to control.

After a brief space he spoke again, his voice quite steady and controlled. "Reckon you're not happy. Reckon you're not well either. I've been thinking maybe you'd like to go away for a spell--you and the boy. If so, I'm willing to manage it. It'll be a bit of a rest for you."

He paused. The clenched hand he held had made a sharp, convulsive movement as if at a sudden twinge of pain. Maud lay breathing rapidly, her eyes fixed upon the flame of the candle.

He waited a few moments; then, "What do you think of the proposition, my girl?" he asked.

She turned her head slowly towards him. "Bunny and I alone?" she said.

"That's the idea," said Jake.

Her eyes met his resolutely, with a certain challenging directness. "As a matter of fact, I had thought myself that we might go to Uncle Edward for a little," she said.

He showed no surprise. "You would like that?" he asked.

"Yes." She spoke with instant decision.

"Then go!" said Jake. He set her hand free with the words, but he remained seated as if he had something further on his mind. "By the way," he said, after a moment, "I had a letter this evening."

She started. "A letter?"

"Yes." Very deliberately he answered her. "I met the postman and took it from him at the door."

"Ah!" It was scarcely more than a whisper. She shrank against her pillow with a gesture wholly involuntary.

Jake's eyes were upon her, alert, unswerving, dominating. "My letter came from Capper," he said quietly. "He is coming to us in a few days; he wants to see Bunny again before he leaves England."

"Oh, surely we needn't wait for him!" With a sudden rush the words came; she spoke with feverish vehemence. "If we really are going away, let us go soon!" she urged. "Why should we wait?"

"I thought maybe you'd like to say 'Thank you' to Capper before he goes," said Jake.

"But I needn't see him for that," she said, in growing agitation. "I'll write."

Jake was silent.

"He will very likely sail from Liverpool," she went on. "Be could come and see Bunny there."

Jake bent towards her. "Say, Maud," he said in his soft slow way, "don't be upset any. If you're not wanting to meet Capper, it's all one to me. But, my girl, there ain't anything he could tell me about you that I don't know already."

Her face flamed scarlet. For the moment she was furious with an indignation that burned intolerably. Her very soul felt on fire. It was more than she could bear.

"Oh, go away!" she cried out fiercely. "Go, I say! Go! You make me hate you more and more every day--every night!" He rose on the instant. For a few quivering moments she thought she had roused him to anger, for his eyes glowed in the dimness like a slow-burning fire. And then in utter silence he turned away. He went into his own room, and softly closed the door.