The Honour of the Clintons Part 27

It will be the same in the end."

"You are very good, father. But how can you do it without d.i.c.k's knowing?"

"d.i.c.k doesn't take part in all my affairs; only in matters that have to do with the land. I can raise it without affecting the estate accounts. He will know, probably, that something is being done, but he won't ask questions. d.i.c.k is very careful not to touch on my right to do what I please with my own."

At any other time Humphrey would have been interested in this statement. Like the sons of many rich men, he knew little of his father's affairs, and had only the vaguest ideas as to the amount and sources of his wealth. But he was only interested now in the fact that his father was able, and willing, to provide so large a sum as seven thousand pounds at once.

"It would be a tremendous relief to be rid of that burden," he said.

"If you can do it, I would pay you back what I don't spend out of my income."

"Yes, I can do it, and I will, as soon as possible. But, Humphrey, my boy, this money can't be sent anonymously."

"Why not?"

"I don't think you can be expected to see everything very clearly yet.

If you will think it over, you will see that we can't act in that way.

You mustn't expect me to do it."

Humphrey thought for a time. "What do you suggest?" he asked.

"Either you or I must make a clean breast of it to Sedbergh!"

"Oh, father!"

"Yes. That must be done. Our honour demands it. You will see it plainly enough if you think it over. I believe you were right in stipulating for secrecy on my part, as you did. Certainly I couldn't behave as I want to do to Susan, when the time comes, if I knew that others in the house besides myself knew her story. But this is different. We mustn't act like cowards."

"Isn't he annoyed with us--about Joan?"

"Not annoyed. He was sorry. So was I--though I'm not sure now. I think my first instinct was the right one. The sort of life that's lived in houses like Brummels--well, you see what it leads to."

It was the old familiar song; but set to how different a tune!

Humphrey, even in his pre-occupation, noted the change, and felt a sense of comfort and support in something stable, underlying the habitual crudities and inconsistencies in his father.

"Jim Sedbergh was a very intimate friend of mine," said the Squire, "many years ago. He is a friend still. We found we hadn't changed much to each other when he came here. I can trust him as I would trust myself. He will take the view I do, whatever it is. You had better let me see him, Humphrey. He'll keep whatever I tell him to himself."

They settled that he should go up to London the next day. That was all there was to settle for the present, and it was already very late.

"Well, good night, Humphrey, my dear boy," said the Squire. "You'll get through this great trouble. We shall all get through it in time.

You know where to go for help and comfort. I've been there already, and I've got what I went for. G.o.d bless you, my dear boy. He will, if you ask Him."

CHAPTER III

THE BURDEN

"My dear Edward, I am deeply sorry for you."

The Squire leant back in the big easy-chair and wiped his brow, which was beaded with perspiration. He had told his story, and it had been the bitterest task he had ever undertaken.

Lord Sedbergh's face was very serious. The two men had lunched together at his club, and were sitting in the inner upstairs library, with coffee and liqueurs at their elbows, by the window looking on to the green of the park--two men of substantial fortune and accredited position, entrenched in one of the rich retreats dedicated to the leisure of their exclusive kind.

But the Squire's curacoa was untouched, and his cigar had gone out.

The retired and tranquil luxury of his surroundings brought no sense of refuge; he felt naked before those others of his untroubled equals who, out of hearing in the larger room, would have looked up with reprehensive curiosity if they could have imagined what breath from the sordid outer world was tainting the temple of their comfort.

"I appreciate your courage in coming to tell me this; it must have cost you a deal. But I almost wish you hadn't."

The Squire sat forward again, and drank his liqueur at a gulp.

"I couldn't leave it as it was," he said.

"Perhaps not; though most men in your case would have been inclined to do so. Have another cigar, Edward. That one hasn't lighted well."

The Squire accepted this offer. The worst was over; and his friend had taken the disclosure with all the kindness he had expected of him.

"I couldn't do anything myself to stop its coming out," he said, when his wants had been supplied. "But I can't find it in my heart to blame Humphrey for what he did. You couldn't say that this money that has been paid to somebody who knows nothing about it, by somebody who knows nothing about it, is in any way hush-money."

Whether you could or not, Lord Sedbergh was not prepared to say it.

"No, no," he said comfortably, "you were quite right there, Edward.

You acted honourably--nothing to reproach yourself with. But what an astonis.h.i.+ng story it is! To think that we were wrong all the time!

And Susan Clinton, of all people! Did you say she was hidden in the room when my wife was talking about the secret?"

His mind was running on details which had long ceased to occupy the Squire. His curiosity had to be satisfied to some extent, and his surprise vanquished, before he was ready to consider the story in its actual bearings. Without intending to add to the pangs of his friend, he made clear by the way he discussed it, the position that Susan must occupy in the view of anyone not influenced by the fact of relations.h.i.+p. She was the thief, found out and condemned, to the loss of all reputation and right of intercourse with her equals. So had Mrs. Amberley been condemned, by the self-protective code of society.

The Squire saw Susan in Mrs. Amberley's place, more vividly and afflictively than he had seen her hitherto.

"She will be kept out of the way," he said, struggling against the hurt to his pride. "Humphrey is going to take her abroad. You don't think it is necessary for anyone else to know?"

"Oh no, no. Good heavens, no! What you have told me shall be kept absolutely sacred, Edward. I shouldn't breathe a word, or a hint, to any living soul."

The Squire breathed more freely. "We shall look after her," he said with a stronger feeling of the measure to be dealt out to the culprit than he had yet experienced. "She won't go scot-free. But exposure would bear so hard on the innocent--I couldn't have come to you, I believe--though I know it's the only right thing to do--if I hadn't been pretty sure that you would have felt that."

"Oh, of course, I feel it. It mustn't happen. It won't happen. It needn't happen."

"Thank you, Jim," said the Squire simply. "You were always a good friend of mine."

"Don't think any more of it, Edward. Lord, what a terrible time you must have gone through! Let's put it out of our minds, for good. You and I have done nothing wrong, at any rate. Why shouldn't we sustain ourselves with another----"

"There's a detail that has to be settled between us," interrupted the Squire, "before we can put it aside. What did you value that necklace at? Seven thousand pounds, wasn't it? I have been to my people this morning. I can let you have it within a week or ten days."

"That's a matter," said Lord Sedbergh after a pause of reflection, "that can only be considered with the help of some very old brandy. It hadn't occurred to me."

"Wonderful stuff this." Neither of them had spoken since the brandy had been ordered. "I don't believe you'll get anything like it anywhere else. Well now, my dear Edward, I think we shall have to leave that business alone."

"Oh, I couldn't do that. Humphrey doesn't want to, either. He mentioned it before I did. It is he who will pay it in the long run.

That's only fair. But I can provide the money now, and he can't."

"Well, I don't want the money; and I'm glad to be in the position of being able to say so. What could I do with it? Buy another necklace?

That would be running the risk of questions being asked that it might be difficult to answer."