CHAPTER XXVII
BETRAYS THE BOND
The girl hurried on, her heart filled with wonder, her eyes brimmingwith tears of indignation. The one thought occupying her whole mind waswhether Walter really wished to see her again. Had Flockart spoken thetruth? The serious face of the man she loved so well rose before herblurred vision. She had been his--his very own--until she had sent offthat fateful letter.
In five minutes Flockart had again overtaken her. His attitude wasappealing. He urged her to at least see her lover again even if sherefused to write or return to her father.
"Why do you come here to taunt me like this?" she cried, turning uponhim angrily. "Once, because you were my mother's friend, I believed inyou. But you deceived me, and in consequence you hold me in your power.Were it not for that I could have spoken to my father--have told him thetruth and cleared myself. He now believes that I have betrayed hisbusiness secrets, while at the same time he considers you to be hisfriend!"
"I am his friend, Gabrielle," the man declared.
"Why tell me such a lie?" she asked reproachfully. "Do you think I tooam blind?"
"Certainly not. I give you credit for being quite as clever and asintelligent as you are dainty and charming. I----"
"Thank you!" she cried in indignation. "I require no compliments fromyou."
"Lady Heyburn has expressed a wish to see you," he said. "She is stillin San Remo, and asked me to invite you to go down there for a fewweeks. Your aunt has written her, I think, complaining that you are notvery comfortable at Woodnewton."
"I have not complained. Why should Aunt Emily complain of me? You seemto be the bearer of messages from the whole of my family, Mr. Flockart."
"I am here entirely in your own interests, my dear child," he declaredwith that patronising air which so irritated her.
"Not entirely, I think," she said, smiling bitterly.
"I tell you, I much regret all that has happened, and----"
"You regret!" she cried fiercely. "Do you regret the end of thatwoman--you know whom I mean?"
Beneath her straight glance he quivered. She had referred to a subjectwhich he fain would have buried for ever. This dainty neat-waisted girlknew a terrible secret. Was it not only too true, as Lady Heyburn hadvaguely suggested a dozen times, that her mouth ought to be effectuallysealed?
He had sealed it once, as he thought. Her fear to explain to her fatherthe incident of the opening of the safe had given him confidence that noword of the truth regarding the past would ever pass her lips. Yet hesaw that his own machinations were now likely to prove his undoing. Theweb which, with her ladyship's assistance, he had woven about her wasnow stretched to breaking-point. If it did yield, then the result mustbe ruin--and worse. Therefore, he was straining every effort to againreinstate her in her father's good graces and restore in her mindsomething akin to confidence. But all his arguments, as he walked on ather side in the gathering gloom, proved useless. She was in no mood tolisten to the man who had been her evil genius ever since herschool-days. As he was speaking she was wondering if she dared go toWalter Murie and tell him everything. What would her lover think of her?What indeed? He would only cast her aside as worthless. No. Far betterthat he should remain in ignorance and retain only sad memories of theirbrief happiness.
"I am going to Glencardine to-night," Flockart went on. "I shall jointhe mail at Peterborough. What shall I tell your father?"
"Tell him the truth," was her reply. "That, I know, you will not do. Sowhy need we waste further words?"
"Do you actually refuse, then, to leave this dismal hole?" he demandedimpatiently.
"Yes, until I speak, and tell my father the plain and ghastly story."
"Rubbish!" he ejaculated. "You'll never do that--unless you wish tostand beside me in a criminal dock."
"Well, rather that than be your cat's-paw longer, Mr. Flockart!" shecried, her face flushing with indignation.
"Oh, oh!" he laughed, still quite imperturbed. "Come, come! This isscarcely a wise reply, my dear little girl!"
"I wish you to leave me. You have insulted my intelligence enough thisevening, surely--you, who only a moment ago declared yourself myfriend!"
Slowly he selected a cigarette from his gold case, and, halting, lit it."Well, if you meet my well-meant efforts on your behalf with openantagonism like this I can't make any further suggestion."
"No, please don't. Go up to Glencardine and do your worst for me. I amnow fully able to take care of myself," she exclaimed in defiance. "Youcan also write to Lady Heyburn, and tell her that I am still, and that Ialways will remain, my blind father's friend."
"But why don't you listen to reason, Gabrielle?" he implored her. "Idon't now seek to lessen or deny the wrongs I have done you in the past,nor do I attempt to conceal from you my own position. My only object isto bring you and Walter together again. Her ladyship knows the wholecircumstances, and deeply regrets them."
"Her regret will be the more poignant some day, I assure you."
"Then you really intend to act vindictively?"
"I shall act just as I think proper," she exclaimed, halting a momentand facing him. "Please understand that though I have been forced in thepast to act as you have indicated, because I feared you--because I hadmy reputation and my father's honour at stake--I hold you in terror nolonger, Mr. Flockart."
"Well, I'm glad you've told me that," he said, laughing as though hetreated her declaration with humour. "It's just as well, perhaps, thatwe should now thoroughly understand each other. Yet if I were you Iwouldn't do anything rash. By telling the truth you'd be the onlysufferer, you know."
"The only sufferer! Why?"
"Well, you don't imagine I should be such a fool as to admit that whatyou said was true, do you?"
She looked at him in surprise. It had never occurred to her that he,with his innate unscrupulousness and cunning, might deny herallegations, and might even be able to prove them false.
"The truth could not be denied," she said simply. "Recollect the cuttingfrom the Edinburgh paper."
"Truth is denied every day in courts of law," he retorted. "No. Beforeyou act foolishly, remember that, put to the test, your word would standalone against mine and those of other people.
"Why, the very story you would tell would be so utterly amazing andstartling that the world would declare you had invented it. Reflect uponit for a moment, and you'll find, my dear girl, that silence is goldenin this, as in any other circumstance in life."
She raised her eyes to his, and met his gaze firmly. "So you defy me tospeak?" she cried. "You think that I will still remain in this accursedbondage of yours?"
"I utter no threats, my dear child," replied Flockart. "I have never inmy life threatened you. I merely venture to point out certaindifficulties which you might have in substantiating any allegation whichyou might make against me. For that reason, if for none other, is it notbetter for us to be friends?"
"I am not the friend of my father's enemy!" she declared.
"You are quite heroic," he declared with a covert sneer. "If you reallyare bent upon providing the halfpenny newspapers with a fresh sensation,pray let me know in plenty of time, won't you?"
"I've had sufficient of your taunts," cried the girl, bursting into aflood of hot tears. "Leave me. I--I'll say no further word to you."
"Except to forgive me," He added.
"Why should I?" she asked through her tears.
"Because, for your own sake--for the sake of your future--it will surelybe best," he pointed out. "You, no doubt, in ignorance of legalprocedure, believed that what you alleged would be accepted in a courtof justice. But reflect fully before you again threaten me. Dry youreyes, or your aunt may suspect something wrong."
She did not reply. What he said impressed her, and he did not fail torecognise that fact. He smiled within himself when he saw that he hadtriumphed. Yet he had not gained his point.
She had dashed away her tears with the little wisp of lace, annoyed withherself at betray
ing her indignation in that womanly way. She knew him,alas! too well. She mistrusted him, for she was well aware of howcleverly he had once conspired with Lady Heyburn, and with whatingenuity she herself had been drawn into the disgraceful and amazingaffair.
True it was that her story, if told in a criminal court, would prove soextraordinary that it would not be believed; true also that he would, ofcourse, deny it, and that his denial would be borne out by the womanwho, though her father's wife, was his worst enemy.
The man placed his hand on her shoulder, saying, "May we not be friends,Gabrielle?"
She shook him off roughly, responding in the negative.
"But we are not enemies--I mean we will not be enemies as we have been,shall we?" he urged.
To this she made no reply. She only quickened her pace, for the twilightwas fast deepening, and she wished to be back again at her aunt's house.
Why had that man followed her? Why, indeed, had he troubled to comethere? She could not discern his motive.
They walked together in silence. He was watching her face, reading itlike a book.
Then, when they neared the first thatched cottage at the entrance to thevillage, he halted, asking, "May we not now become friends, Gabrielle?Will you not listen, and take my advice? Or will you still remain buriedhere?"
"I have nothing further to say, Mr. Flockart, than what I have alreadysaid," was her defiant response. "I shall act as I think best."
"And you will dare to speak, and place yourself in a ridiculousposition, you mean?"
"I shall use my own judgment in defending my father from his enemies,"was her cold response as, with a slight shrug of her shoulders, sheturned and left him, hurrying forward in the darkening twilight alongthe village street to her aunt's home.
He, on his part, turned upon his heel with a muttered remark and set outagain to walk towards Nassington Station, whence, after nearly an hour'swait in the village inn, he took train to Peterborough.
The girl had once again defied him.