The Scarlet Feather Part 20

I have been very wretched since our last interview, when you judged me unfairly and said many hard things, the worst of which was your dismissal, and your wish that I should not again enter your father's house. He has invited me to come, and I am feverishly looking forward to your permission to accept the invitation.

I am not jealous now of a dead man, nor do I wish to press my suit at such a time. But I desire to set myself right. You have no doubt learned by this time that the lies of which you accused me were painful truths. The hard things you said were not justified, and I only ask to be received as a visitor, for my life is colorless and miserable if I cannot see you.

There is one other matter I must discuss with you in full. It is, briefly, this: Mr. Herresford has withdrawn his account from our bank, of which I am a director and a partner, and demands the rest.i.tution of seven thousand dollars taken by poor d.i.c.k Swinton.

My co-directors blame me for not acting at once when I suspected the first check. But they are not disposed to pay the money, and a lawsuit will result. You know what that means--a public scandal, a full exposure of my fellow-officer's act of folly, a painful revelation concerning the affairs of the Swinton's and their money troubles. All this, I am sure, would be most repugnant to you. For your sake, I am willing to pay this money, and spare you pain. If, however, you persist in treating me unfairly and breaking my heart, I cannot be expected to make so great a sacrifice to save the honor of one who publicly insulted me by striking me a cowardly blow in the face because I held a smaller opinion of him than did other people, and thoughtlessly revealed the fact by an unguarded remark.

I never really doubted his physical courage, and he has rendered a good account of himself, of which we are all proud. But seven thousand dollars is too dear a price to pay without some fair recognition of my sacrifice on your behalf."

"Father," cried Dora, starting up, and reading no more, "I want you to let me have seven thousand dollars."

"What!" cried the colonel, staring at her as though she had asked for the moon.

"I want seven thousand dollars. I'll repay it somehow, in the course of years. I'll economize--"

"Don't think of it, my girl--don't think of it. That miserly old man, who starves his family and washes his dirty linen in public, is going to have no money of mine."

"But, father, give it to me. It'll make no real difference to you. You are rich enough--"

"Not a penny, my girl--not a penny. Let Ormsby pay the money. Thank heaven, it's his business, not ours. Your animosity against him is most unreasonable. Because you had a difference of opinion over a lad who couldn't hold a candle to him as an upright, honorable man--"

"You sha'n't speak like that, father."

"But I shall speak! I'm tired of your pale face, and your weeping in secret, turning the whole house into a place of mourning. And what for? A man who would never have married you in any case. His grandfather disowned him, he wouldn't have gained my consent, and the chances are a hundred to one you would have married Ormsby. But, now, you suddenly insult my friend--you see n.o.body--we can't talk about the war--and, d.a.m.n me! what else is there to talk about? You call yourself a soldier's daughter, and you're going to break your heart over a man who couldn't play the straight game. Why, his own father and mother can't say a good word for him. Yet, Ormsby's willing to pay seven thousand dollars to stifle a public exposure, just for your sake. Why, girl, it's magnificent! I wouldn't pay seven cents. Ormsby is coming here, and you'll have to be civil to him. Write and tell him so."

"Very well, father," sighed Dora, to whom the anger of her parent was a very rare thing. There was some justice in his point of view, although it was harsh justice. For d.i.c.k's sake, she could not afford to incense Ormsby. She swallowed her pride and humbled her heart, and, after much deliberation, wrote a reply that was short and to the point.

"Miss Dundas expects to receive Mr. Ormsby as her father wishes."

CHAPTER XVI

MR. TRIMMER COMES HOME

"Mr. Trimmer is back."

The words went around among the servants at Asherton Hall in a whisper; and everybody was immediately alert, as at the return of a master.

Mr. Trimmer was old Herresford's valet, who had been away for a long holiday--the first for many years. Trimmer was a power for good and evil--some said a greater power than Herresford himself, over whom he had gained a mental ascendency.

Mr. Trimmer was sixty at least. Yet, his face bore scarce a wrinkle, his back was as straight as any young man's. His hair was coal black--Mrs.

Ripon declared that he dyed it. And he was about Herresford's height, spare of figure, and always faultlessly dressed in close-fitting garments with a tendency toward a horsey cut. His head was large, and his thick hair suggested a wig, for two curly locks were brushed forward and brought over the front of the ears, and at the summit of the forehead was a wonderful curl that would not have disgraced a hair-dresser's window block. Faultless and trim, with glistening black eyes that were ever wandering discreetly, he was the embodiment of alert watchfulness. He could efface himself utterly at times, and would stand in the background of the bedchamber, almost out of sight, and as still as if turned to stone.

Interviews with Herresford were generally carried on in Trimmer's presence, but, although the old man frequently referred to Trimmer in his arguments and quarrels, the valet acutely avoided a.s.serting himself beyond the bounds of the strictest decorum while visitors were present.

But, when they were gone, Trimmer's iron personality showed itself in a quiet hectoring, which made him the other's master. Mr. Trimmer was financially quite independent of his employer's ill humors. He was wealthy, and his name was mentioned by the other servants with 'bated breath. He was the owner of three saloons which he had bought from time to time. In short, Mr. Trimmer was a moneyed man. His was one of those strange natures which work in grooves and cannot get out of them. Nothing but the death of Herresford would persuade him to break the continuity of his service. His master might storm, and threaten, and dismiss him. It always came to nothing. Mr. Trimmer went on as usual, treating the miser as a child, and administering his affairs, both financial and domestic, with an iron hand.

Never before had he taken a holiday, and on his return there was much anxiety. The servants at the Hall had hoped that he was really discharged, at last. But no, he came back, smiling sardonically, and, as he entered the front door--not the servants' entrance--his eye roved everywhere in search of backsliding. Mrs. Ripon met him in the hall with a forced smile and a greeting, but she dared not offer to shake hands with the great man.

"Anything of importance since I have been away?" asked Mr. Trimmer.

"Yes, Mr. Trimmer. Mr. Herresford has changed his bedroom."

"Humph! We'll soon alter that," murmured Trimmer.

"That's what I told him, Mr. Trimmer. I said you'd be annoyed, and that he'd have to go back when you returned."

"Just so, just so! Any trouble with his family?"

"Mr. d.i.c.k--I daresay you have heard."

"I've heard nothing."

"Dead--killed in the war."

"Dead! Well, to be sure."

"Yes, poor boy--killed."

"Dear, dear!" murmured Mr. Trimmer, growing meditative.

Mrs. Ripon knew what he was thinking--or imagined that she did. There was no one now to inherit Herresford's money but Mrs. Swinton, and she believed that Trimmer was wondering how much of it he would get for himself; for it was a popular delusion below stairs that Mr. Trimmer had mesmerized his master into making a will in his favor, leaving him everything.

"How did Mr. d.i.c.k get away?" asked Mr. Trimmer. "Surely, his creditors wouldn't let him go."

"Ah, now you have touched the sore point, Mr. Trimmer. The poor young man swindled--yes, swindled the bank, forged checks in his grandfather's name."

Mr. Trimmer allowed some human expression to creep into his stone face.

He puckered his brows, and his usually marble-smooth forehead showed unexpected wrinkles.

"It was the very last thing we'd have believed, Mr. Trimmer; it was for seven thousand dollars."

"Tut, tut!" exclaimed Mr. Trimmer, sorrowfully. "That comes of my going away. I ought to have locked up the check-book. I suppose the young man came here to see his grandfather and stole the checks."

"No, he never came--at least only once, and just for a moment. Then, his grandfather was so insulting that he only stayed a few minutes. That was when he came to say good-bye. But Mrs. Swinton came, trying to get money for the boy."

"I must see Mr. Herresford about this." Trimmer walked mechanically upstairs to the former bedroom, quite forgetting that his master would not be there. He came out again with a short, sharp exclamation of anger, and at last found the old man in the turret room.

Herresford was reading a long deed left by his lawyer, and on a chair by his bedside was a pile of doc.u.ments.

"Good morning, sir," said Trimmer, in exactly the same tone as always during the last forty years, and he cast his eye around the untidy room.

"Oh, it's you? Back again, eh?" grunted the miser. "About time, too! How long is it since valets have taken to doing the grand tour, and taking three months' holiday without leave of their masters?"

"I gave myself leave, sir," replied Trimmer, nonchalantly.

"And what right have you to take holidays without my permission?"