A Dog with a Bad Name Part 47

Mrs Rimbolt little guessed how much she herself was doing to defeat her own ends.

"Mr Jeffreys," said she, after Raby had gone, "after our interview last week, your conduct is both disgraceful and dishonourable. I should not have believed it even of you."

"Pardon me, madam. You have charged me with telling you a lie just now.

Is that so?"

His tone was strangely peremptory. Mrs Rimbolt had never seen him like this before--and for the moment it disconcerted her.

"What I heard as I entered the room had no reference to Percy," said she.

"Excuse me--it had. Miss Atherton--"

"If it had, I must believe you. I wish to hear no more about it. But after your promise last week--"

"I made no promise, and should decline to do so. I am quite aware of my position here, and am ready to give it up when called upon. But while I stay here and do my work, Mrs Rimbolt, I claim to be protected from insult."

"It is useless to prolong this interview, Mr Jeffreys," said Mrs Rimbolt, half-scared by the turn things had taken. "I never expected to be addressed in this way in my own house by one who is dependent on my husband for his living. You can leave me, sir."

Jeffreys bowed, and retired to his room, where he awaited as calmly as he could what appeared to him the inevitable end of the scene--a notice to quit.

But it did not come. Mrs Rimbolt knew herself to be in the wrong. Her husband, she knew, if she laid the case before him, would judicially inquire into its merits, and come to the same conclusion. In that case her dominion would be at an end. Even the Mrs Rimbolts have an eye to the better half of valour sometimes, and so Jeffreys was left sitting for an ultimatum which did not come.

Raby had a still worse ordeal before her. At first her indignation had reigned supreme and effaced all other emotions. Gradually, however, a feeling of vague misery ensued. She longed to be away in India with her dear soldier father; she wished Jeffreys had never come under the Wildtree roof to bring insult on himself and wretchedness to her. She dreaded the future for her boy cousin without his protector, and half wished him dead and safe from temptation.

In due time her brave spirit came back. She despised herself for her weakness, and, resolved boldly to face her aunt and every one, she came down to dinner.

It was strictly a family party, with Mrs Scarfe added; for the other three visitors had not yet returned from Windsor. Raby sought protection from her aunt by devoting herself to Mrs Scarfe, and quite delighted that good lady by her brightness and spirit. Mrs Scarfe took occasion in the drawing-room afterwards to go into rhapsodies to her young friend regarding her son; and when about ten o'clock the holiday- makers arrived home, in high spirits and full of their day's sport, she achieved a grand stroke of generals.h.i.+p by leaving the two young people together in the conservatory, having previously, by a significant pressure of her son's arm, given him to understand that now was his time for striking while the iron was hot.

Scarfe was in an unusually gay mood, and still a little elevated by the festivities of the day.

"I'm sure you missed us," said he, "didn't you?"

"The house was certainly much quieter," said Raby.

"Do you know," said he, "it's rather pleasant to feel that one is missed?"

Raby said nothing, but began to feel a desire to be safely back in the drawing-room.

"Do you know we drank toasts to-day, like the old knights, to our lady loves?" continued Scarfe.

"Indeed," replied Raby, as unconcernedly as she could.

"Yes--and shall I tell you the name I pledged? Ah, I see you know, Raby."

"Mr Scarfe, I want to go back to the drawing-room; please take me."

Scarfe took her hand. His head was swimming, partly with excitement, partly with the effects of the supper.

"Not till I tell you I love you, and--"

"Mr Scarfe, I don't want to hear all this," said Raby, s.n.a.t.c.hing her hand away angrily, and moving to the door.

He seized it again rudely.

"You mean you don't care for me?" asked he.

"I want to go away," said she.

"Tell me first," said he, detaining her; "do you mean you will not have me--that you don't love me?"

"I don't," said she.

"Then," said he, sober enough now, and standing between her and the door, "there is another question still Is the reason because some one else in this house has--"

"Mr Scarfe," said Raby quietly, "don't you think, when I ask you to let me go, it is not quite polite of you to prevent me?"

"Please excuse me," he said apologetically. "I was excited, and forgot; but, Raby, do let me warn you, for your sake, to beware of this fellow Jeffreys. No, let me speak," said he, as she put up her hand to stop him. "I will say nothing to offend you. You say you do not care for me, and I have nothing to gain by telling you this. If he has--"

"Mr Scarfe, you are quite mistaken; do, please, let me go."

Scarfe yielded, bitterly mortified and perplexed. His vanity had all along only supposed one possible obstacle to his success with Raby, and that was a rival. That she would decline to have him for any other reason had been quite beyond his calculations, and he would not believe it now.

Jeffreys may not have actually gone as far as to propose to her, but, so it seemed, there was some understanding between them which barred Scarfe's own chance. The worst of it all was that to do the one thing he would have liked to do would be to spoil his own chance altogether.

For Raby, whether she cared for Jeffreys or not, would have nothing to say to Scarfe if he was the means of his ruin.

The air during the next few days seemed charged with thunder. Mrs Rimbolt was in a state of war with every one, Mrs Scarfe was poorly, the two Oxford visitors began to vote their visit slow, Scarfe was moody, Raby was unhappy, Jeffreys felt continually half-choked, Percy alone kept up his spirits, while Mr Rimbolt, happiest of all, went up North to look at his old books.

No one was particularly sorry when the visits came to an end. Even the Sports and Boat Race had failed to revive the drooping spirits of the Oxonians, and on the Monday following it was with a considerable stretch of politeness that they all thanked Mrs Rimbolt for a very pleasant visit.

Scarfe, taking farewell of Raby, begged that some time, later on, he might come to see her again, but was quite unable to gather from her reply whether she desired it or not. Jeffreys wisely kept out of the way while the departures were taking place, despite Mrs Rimbolt's suggestion that he should be sent for to help the cabman carry out the boxes.

The first evening after they were all gone the house seemed another place. Even Jeffreys felt he could breathe, despite Mr Rimbolt's absence, and the hostile proximity of his lady.

As to Raby and Percy, they made no concealment of the relief they felt, and went off for a row on the river to celebrate the occasion.

Jeffreys judiciously excused himself from accompanying them, and went a long walk by himself.

Two days later, after lunch, just as Percy and Raby had departed for a ride in the park, and Jeffreys had shut himself up in Mr Rimbolt's study to write, a letter was delivered by the post addressed to Mrs Rimbolt, bearing the Oxford post-mark. It was from Scarfe, and Mrs Rimbolt opened her eyes as she perused it:--

"Christchurch, _April_ 2."

Dear Mrs Rimbolt,--I reached here from home this morning, and hasten to send you a line to thank you for the very pleasant visit I spent in London last week. I should have written sooner, but that I was anxious to write you on another and less pleasant subject, which I felt should not be done hurriedly. You will, I dare say, blame me for not having told you earlier what I now feel it my duty to tell, and I trust you will understand the feelings which have prevented my doing so. John Jeffreys, who is in Mr Rimbolt's employment, is, as you know, an old schoolfellow of mine. I was surprised to see him at Wildtree last Christmas, and took the trouble to inquire whether he had come to you with a character, or whether you had any knowledge of his antecedents.

I imagined you had not, and supposed that, as he was only engaged as a librarian, inquiries as to his character were not considered necessary.

But when I saw that he was being admitted as a member of your household, and specially allowed to exercise an influence on Percy, I a.s.sure you I felt uncomfortable, and it has been on my mind ever since to tell you what I feel you ought to know. Jeffreys ran away from school after committing a cruel act which, to all intents and purposes, was murder.

His victim was a small boy whom we all loved, and who never did him harm. The details of the whole affair are too horrible to dwell upon here, but I have said enough to show you what sort of person it is who is at present entrusted with the care of your own son, and allowed to a.s.sociate on a footing of equality with your niece, Miss Atherton. I can a.s.sure you it is very painful to me to write this, for I know how it will shock you. But I feel my conscience would not give me peace till I told you all. May I now ask one special favour from you? It is well known, and you probably have noticed it yourself, that Jeffreys and I naturally dislike one another. But I want you to believe that I write this, not because I dislike Jeffreys, but because I like you all, and feel that Percy particularly is in peril. What I ask is that if you think it right to take any action in the matter, my name may not be mentioned. It would be considered an act of spite on my part, which it is not; and perhaps I may mention to you that I have special reasons for wis.h.i.+ng that Miss Atherton, at least, should not think worse of me than I deserve. She would certainly misunderstand it if my name were mentioned. I feel I have only done my duty, and I a.s.sure you it will be a great relief to me to know that you are rid of one who cannot fail to exercise a fatal influence on the pure and honest mind of my friend Percy.

"Believe me, dear Mrs Rimbolt, most sincerely yours,--

"E. Scarfe."