Man and Maid

E >> Elinor Glyn >> Man and Maid

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"It is all very difficult!"--I sighed unconsciously--.

--"Are you in some mess, my son?" George asked concernedly.--"In your
case with Suzette, money can always smooth things--she has perhaps been
annoying?"

"I have entirely finished with Suzette--George, how a man pays for all
his follies--Have you, with all your affairs, ever got off scot free?"

George leaned back in his chair--his well cut face which expresses as a
rule a rather kindly whimsical cynicism grew stern--and his very voice
altered.

"Nicholas--one has to pay one's shot every time--A man pays in money, or
in jewels or in disgrace, or in regret and remorse--and he has to
calculate beforehand to what extent that which he desires is worth the
price which will become due--It is a brainless idiot who does not
calculate, or who laments when he has to stump up. I admit women are of
supreme interest to me, and their companionship and affection--bought or
otherwise--are necessary to my existence--So I resignedly discharged my
debt every time."

"How will you pay it then about Violetta whom you say is an angel, and
blameless?"

"I shall have some disgusting moments of discomfort and remorse--and
feel a moral Bluebeard--I shan't go scot free--."

"And she--? That won't help her."

"She will pay in tears for having been weak enough to love me--she will
feel the consolation of martyrdom--and soon forget me."

"And you don't think one incurs some kind of hoodoo--in indulging in
these things--I am thinking of Suzette--her shadow--almost one would say
projected by fate, is what is causing me trouble now, not any deliberate
action she is committing against me."

"Part of the price, my boy! You can't steal anything, or do anything
against the law, be it of man or of morals or of the spirit--that you
don't have to pay for it--and there is no use in haggling beforehand or
in squealing after. The thing is to learn early enough in life what is
worth while and what you really want, before you lay up for yourself
limitations."

"That is true--."

"Now let us analyse what gains and losses you have had in the Suzette
business. Let us take the gains first--You had a jolly little companion
during some months of pain and weariness--She helped you over a
difficult moment--You were not leading her astray. To be the friend of
war-heroes was her _metier_--you paid her highly in solid cash--You are
under no obligation to her--. But the law has decreed that man must have
no illicit relations, so the force of that current, or belief, or
whatever it is, makes you pay some price for having broken the
law--Accept it and get through with it--And if the price has been too
heavy decide not to incur such debts again. The whole bother occurs
because you don't look ahead, my boy! There was a case when I was a
youngster and just joined my Battalion of Guards which will illustrate
what I mean, of Bobby Bulteel, Hartelford's brother.--He cheated at
cards--He was a kind of cousin of my mother's so the family felt the
scandal awfully--He was kicked out of course, and utterly broke, and
Lady Hilda Marchant ran off with him, and left her husband. She adored
the fellow who had every charm--Well that was not worth while--The odds
are too heavy for anyone ever to have the ghost of a chance to pull
cheating off. He was simply a fool, you see. Take chances, but never
when the scales have gone beyond the angle of forty-five degrees!"--Then
having finished his cigar George rose in the best of tempers--.

"You may take it from me Nicholas--it sounds old fashioned--but to
behave like a gentleman and always be ready to discharge your
obligations, are the best rules for life.----Ta ta, dear boy--Shall
look in on you soon again--" and he went!

Of course his logic is unanswerable--So I had better accept the shadow
of Suzette falling upon my relation with Alathea, and try to gain my end
in spite of it--And what is my very end?

Not of course that I shall spend the rest of my life as Alathea's
husband-in-name-only, hungry and longing and miserable--but that after
securing her certain companionship I shall overcome her prejudices,
conquer her aversion, and make her love me.--But to have the chance to
do all this it is absolutely necessary that I shall be near her
always--So my idea of marriage is not so far-fetched after all!

And if she will accept me, someday, upon _any terms_--provided they do
not mean separation--I shall believe that half the battle is won--I feel
more cheerful already!--How sound reasoning does one good, even if it is
as baldly brutal as George's!

XVII

Burton gave forth some information this evening, as he was dressing me
for dinner. He had now discovered from Pierre how Suzette had behaved
when she intruded upon Alathea. She had entered the room--"Passing
Pierre without so much as asking his leave, and he with his wooden leg
not so nimble as might be!" She had gone to the writing table and
demanded my address. "An affair of business which must be attended to at
once," she had announced. Pierre standing at the door had heard all
this. Burton added "He said that Mam'zelle was that scented and that got
up, of course Miss Sharp must have known what she was."

Alathea apparently had answered with dignity, that she had received no
orders to give any address, but that letters would be forwarded.

"She took no more notice of Mam'zelle than if she was a chair," Pierre
had told him--who, having his own troubles with women, was prepared to
see a conflict! Suzette became nonplussed, and losing her temper a
little told Alathea that she hoped she would get as much out of the
situation as she herself had done! Alathea continued writing as though
she had not heard, and then told her quite politely in French, that if
she would kindly leave whatever letters were to be sent on, she would
see that they went that night, and had added:

"Now, I need not detain you longer." Suzette became furious, and
stamping, said she was "Mademoiselle la Blonde," and had more right
there than Alathea!

Pierre had here interfered, and catching hold of Suzette's arm, had
dragged her from the room.

I tingled with shame and wrath. That the person I respect most in the
world should have been exposed to such a scene--! Burton too was
horrified--.

I had the most awful sensation of discomfort--the very fact of having to
hear of all this through servants was sufficiently disgusting, without
the events themselves being so degrading.

What must Alathea think of me! And I cannot even allude to the subject.
How wonderful her dignity has been that she has allowed no extra
contempt to come into her manner.

How shall I have the pluck to ask her to marry me? I mean to do so
to-morrow when she comes.

* * * * *

_Saturday:_

I am going to write the events of these last days down without any
comment.

I came in to the sitting-room after Alathea had arrived. She was writing
at her desk in the little salon. I looked in and asked her if she would
come in and speak to me. Then I got to my chair. She entered obediently
with the block in her hand, ready to begin work.

"Will you sit down, please," I said, indicating a chair, where she would
face me and the light, so that no shade of her expression should be lost
upon me. (I shall become quite an expert in reading mouths. I am obliged
to study hers so closely!)

I felt less nervous than I have ever felt when with her. I thought there
was the faintest shade of alertness in her manner.

"I am going to say something which will surprise you very much, Miss
Sharp," I began.

She raised her head a little.

"I will put the case to you quite baldly--I am very rich as you know--I
am still horrid to look at--I am lonely and I want a companion who would
play the piano to me, and who would help me to write books, and who
would travel with me. I cannot have any of these simple things because
of the scandal people would make--so there is only one course open to
me--that is to go through the marriage ceremony--Miss Sharp--under those
terms will you marry me?"

Her attitude had become tense--her face did not flush, it became very
pale. She remained perfectly silent for a moment. I felt just the same
as I used to do before going over the top--a queer kind of excitement--a
wonder if I'd come through or not.

As she did not answer I went on. "I would not expect anything from you
except a certain amount of your company. There would not be any question
of living with me as a wife--I would promise even to keep in check that
side which you once saw and which I was so sorry about. I would settle
lots of money on you, and give anything to your family you might wish. I
would not bother you, you would be quite free--only I would like you to
take interest in my work in a way--and to play to me--even if you would
not talk to me."

My voice broke a little at the end of this; I was conscious of it, and
of how weak it was of me. Her hands clasped together suddenly--and she
appeared as though she was going to speak, then remained silent.

"Won't you answer me at all?" I pleaded.

"It is such a strange proposal--I would wish to refuse it at once----"

"It is quite bald, I know," I interrupted quickly. "I want to buy
you--that is all--you can name the price. I know if you consented it
would merely be for the same reason which makes you work. I presume it
is for your family, not for yourself; therefore, I am counting upon that
to influence you. Whatever you would want for your family I should be
delighted to give you."

She twisted her locked hands--the first sign of real emotion I have seen
in her.

"You would marry me--without knowing anything about me? It is very
strange--."

"Yes. I think you are extremely intelligent--if you would consent to
talk to me sometimes. I want to go into Parliament--when I am patched up
and more decent looking, and I believe you would be of the greatest help
to me."

"You mean the whole thing simply as a business arrangement?"

"I have already stated that."

She started to her feet.

"The bargain," I went on, "would be quite a fair one. I am offering to
buy a thing which is not for sale--therefore, I am willing to pay
whatever would tempt the owner to part with it. I am not mixing up any
sentiment in the affair. I want the brain of you for my scheme of life,
and the laws of the quaintly civilized society to which we belong, do
not permit me to hire it--I must buy it outright. I put it to you
net--is there any way we can effect this deal?"

Her lips were quivering--.

"You would say this, no matter what you might hear of my family?"

"I am quite unconcerned as to their history. I have observed you, and
you possess all the qualities which I want in the partner who can help
me to live my new life. For me you are just a personality--" (thus I
lied valiantly!) "not a woman."

"Can I believe you?" she asked a little breathlessly.

"You are thinking of that day when I kissed you--" her lips told me by
their sudden drawing in, that she was agitated.

"Well--I expect really that you know men well enough, Miss Sharp, to
know that they have sudden temptations--but that a strong will can
overcome them. I was very much moved about your grief that afternoon,
and the suppressed emotion, and the exasperation you had caused me,
unbalanced me--I am quite unlikely ever to feel again--if you will marry
me, I will give you my word I will never touch you, or expect anything,
of you except what you agree to give in the bargain. You can lead your
own life--and I can lead mine."

I felt suddenly that these last words were not very wise--for they
aroused in her mind the thought that I should go on having friends like
Suzette. I hastened to add--

"You will have my deepest respect, and as my wife shall be treated with
every courtesy and honour."

She sat down again and raised her hands to her eyes as though to remove
her glasses, and then remembered and dropped them.

"I see that you would rather not answer to-day, Miss Sharp--you might
prefer to go now and think about it?"

"Thank you." She turned and walked back into the little salon without a
word more, and when she went I closed my eye exhausted with the great
strain.

But I did not feel altogether hopeless until Burton came in to tell me
lunch was ready and said that Alathea had gone.

"The young lady said as how she would not be back she expected, and she
took her own pens and things in her bag. She was as white as a lily,
give you my word, Sir Nicholas."

I am ashamed to say that I felt a little faint then. Had I overstepped
the mark, and should I never see her again?

A whole party of the fluffies were coming to dinner, and we were to have
a very gay evening. I ordered my one horse Victoria and went for a drive
in the _Bois_, to calm myself, and the trees with their early autumn
tints seemed to mock at me. I could see too much beauty in them, and it
hurt. Everything hurt! This was certainly the worst afternoon I have had
to bear since I came to on No-Man's Land near Langemarke. But I suppose
at dinner I played the game, for Coralie and the rest congratulated me.

"Getting quite well, Nicholas! And of a _chic_! _Va!_"

We played poker afterwards and the stakes were high, and I was the
winner the whole time, until I could see anxiety creep into more than
one eye (pair of eyes! I have got so accustomed to writing of eyes in
the singular that I forget!) We had quantities of champagne and some
exotic musicians Maurice had procured for me, and a nude Hindoo dancer.

Everyone went more or less mad.

They left about four in the morning, all rather drunk, if one must write
it. But the more I had drunk the more hideously sober and filled with
anguish I seemed to become, until when I had called the last cheery
good-night and was at last alone in my bed, I felt as if the end had
come, and that death would be the next and only good thing which could
happen to me.

I have never before had this strange detached sense in such measure as
this night. As of a hungry agonized spirit standing outside its wretched
body, and watching its feeble movements, conscious of their futility,
conscious of being chained to the miserable thing, and only knowing
rebellion and agony.

Burton gave me a sleeping draught, and I slept far into the next day to
awake more unhappy than ever, obsessed with self-contempt and
degradation.

In the afternoon, I received a note from Maurice, telling me that he had
inadvertently heard that a fellow in the American Red Cross had seen
Miss Sharp's passport, when she had been sent down to Brest for them,
and the name on it was Alathea Bulteel Sharp, and judging that the
second name sounded as if it might be a well-known English one, he
hastened to tell me, in case it should be a clue. I could not think
where I had heard it before, or with what memory it was connecting in my
brain. I had a feeling it was something to do with George Harcourt. I
puzzled for a while, and then I looked back over the pages of my
journal, and there found what I had written of his conversation--Bobby
Bulteel--Hartelford's brother--cheating at cards--and married to Lady
Hilda Marchant----

Of course!--The whole thing became plain to me! This would account for
everything. I hobbled up and got down the peerage. I turned to the
Hartelford title, and noted the brothers--the Hon'bles--John Sinclair,
Charles Henry, and Robert Edgar. This last must be "Bobby" Then I read
the usual things--"Educated at Eton and Christchurch, etc., etc." "Left
the Guards in 1893." "Married in 1894--Lady Hilda Farwell, only daughter
of the Marquess of Braxted (title extinct) and divorced wife of William
Marchant, Esquire." "Issue--"

"Alathea--born 1894, John Robert born 1905, and Hilda born 1907."

So the whole tragic story seemed to unfold itself before me.

Alathea is the child of that great love and sacrifice of her Mother--I
read again the words George had used: "She adored the fellow who had
every charm." All the world might cast him out, but that one faithful
woman gave up home and name and honour, to follow him in his disgrace.
That was love indeed, however misplaced! I looked again at the dates and
made a calculation of the time divorces took then, and I saw that my
little darling girl could only have escaped illegitimacy by perhaps a
few hours!

What had her life been? I pictured it. They must have hidden diminished
heads in hole and corner places during the dreary years. Such a man as
Bobby Bulteel must have been, as George said, a weakling. The
Hartlefords were poor as church mice, and were not likely to assist a
scapegrace, who had dishonoured them. I remembered hearing that on the
old Lord Braxted's death years ago, Braxted was sold to the
Merrion-Walters, Ironfounders from Leeds. No doubt the old man had cut
his daughter off without the traditional shilling, but even so, some
hundreds a year must have been theirs. What then did the poverty of
Alathea suggest? That some constant drain must be going on all the time.
Could the scapegrace still be a gambler, and that could account for it?
This seemed the most probable explanation.

Then all over me there rushed a mad worship for my little love. Her
splendid unselfishness, her noble self-sacrifice, her dignity, her
serenity. I could have kissed the ground under her feet.

I made Burton spend untold time telephoning to the Embassy, and then to
Versailles to Colonel Harcourt--would he not dine with me? He was sorry
he was engaged but he would lunch the next day. Then when the long
evening was in front of me alone--I could hardly bear it. And, driven to
desperation at last, when Burton was undressing me, I said to him:

"Did you ever know anything of the Hartlefords, Burton--Bulteel is the
family name?"

"Can't say as I did personally, Sir Nicholas," he answered, "but of
course, when I was a young boy taking my first fourth-footman's place,
before I came to your father, Sir Guy, at Her Grace of Wiltshire's, I
could not help hearing of the scandal about the cheating at cards. The
whole nobility and gentry was put to about it, and nothing else was
talked of at dinner."

"Try and tell me what you remember of the story."

So Burton held forth in his own way for a quarter of an hour. There had
been no possible doubt of the crime, it was the week after the Derby,
and Bulteel had lost heavily it was said. He was caught red-handed and
got off abroad that night, and the matter would have been hushed up
probably but for the added sensation of Lady Hilda's elopement with him.
That set society by the ears, and the thing was the thrill of the
season. Mr. Marchant had been "all broken-up" by it, and delayed the
divorce so that as far as Burton could remember, Captain Bulteel could
not marry Lady Hilda for more than a year afterwards. All this coincided
with what I already knew. Lord Braxted too, "took on fearful," and died
of a broken heart it was said, leaving every cent to charity. The entail
had been cut in the generation before and the title became extinct at
his death.

I did not tell Burton then of my discovery, and lay long hours in the
dark, thinking and thinking.

What did the Duchesse's attitude mean? In the eyes of the Duchesse de
Courville-Hautevine, _nee_ Adelaide de Mont Orgeuil--to cheat at cards
would be the worst of all the cardinal sins. Such a man as Bobby Bulteel
must be separated from his kind. She knew Lady Hilda probably (the
Duchesse often stayed in England with my mother) and she probably felt a
disapproving pity for the poor lady. The great charity of her mind would
be touched by suffering, if the suffering was apparent, and perhaps she
had some affection for the girl Alathea. But no affection could bridge
the gulf which separated the child of an outcast from her world. The
sins of the father would inevitably be visited upon the children by an
unwritten law, and although she might love Alathea herself, she could
not countenance her union with me. The daughter of a man who had cheated
at cards should go into a convent. I instinctively felt somehow that
this would be her viewpoint.

Does Alathea know this tragedy about her father? Has she had to live
always under this curse? Oh! The pity of it all.

Morning found me more restless and miserable than I have ever been, and
it brought no sign of my love!

XVIII

George Harcourt was called suddenly to Rome that morning and so even
hearing him talk further about the Bulteels was denied me for the time.
I passed some days of the cruelest unrest. There was no sign of Alathea.
I allowed Maurice to drag me out into the world and spent my evenings
among my kind.

A number of my old pals have been killed lately, such an irony when the
war seems to be drawing to a close! There is still an atmosphere of
tension and unrestfulness in the air, though.

After an awful week George Harcourt came back and dropped in to see me.
I opened fire at once, and asked him to tell me all that he knew of the
Bulteels, especially his old brother officer Bobby.

"I have a particular reason for asking, George," I said.

"Very curious your speaking of them, Nicholas, because there has just
been the devil of a fuss in the French Foreign Legion about that
infernal blackguard; it came to my knowledge in my work."

"Has he been cheating at cards again?"

George nodded.

"Tell me from the beginning."

So he started--many of the bits I already knew. Lady Hilda had been a
great friend of his and he dwelt upon the life of suffering she had
had.

"There were a few years of frantic love and some sort of happiness, I
expect, and then funds began to give out, and Bobbie's insane desire to
gamble led him into the shadiest society, at Baden-Baden and Nice, and
other warm spots. Poor Hilda used to go about with him then in a shamed,
defiant way, running from any old friend, or staring over his head. I
happened upon them once or twice in my wanderings; then I lost sight of
them for some years, and the next thing was someone told me the poor
woman had broken down and was a nervous wreck, and two children had been
born in quick succession, when the first one was about eleven years old,
and the whole family were in miserable straits. I think relations paid
up that time--with the understanding that never again were they to be
applied to. And since then I have heard nothing until the other day it
came to my ears that the eldest girl--she must be over twenty now, was
supporting the entire family. One of the children died lately, and now
Bobby has put the cap on it. I am sorry for them, but Bobby is
impossible."

Oh! My poor little girl, what a life! How I longed to take her out of
it!

He went on.

"Strange how certain instincts show themselves under every condition.
Bobby was no physical coward, and to talk to and mix with casually, the
most perfect gentleman you ever met. Awfully well read and a topper at
classics and history, and sang like a bird. He had the grand manner,
and could attract any woman, though to give the devil his due--I believe
for some years he was faithful to Lady Hilda."

"I should think so!" I said indignantly. "After accepting her great
sacrifice!"

"Nothing lasts, my dear boy, that is not fundamental. Bobby was a rotter
through and through, and so he couldn't even behave decently to the
woman who had given up everything for him, once her charm went.
But--that something in human beings which is unaccountable, when they
are well bred, made him join the French Foreign Legion immediately war
broke out, and behave with great gallantry."

"What brought on the last episode?"

"He was probably bored in the dull post where he was, with not much
fighting to do lately, and resorted to his old game to cover up losses,
which he could not pay, and had the bad luck to be caught for the second
time. I told you he was a fool and did not know how to calculate the
price of his follies."

"When did you hear of this?"

"Only last night on my return, and there will be a disgusting scandal,
and the old story will be raked up and it is pretty beastly for
Englishmen."

"Can money keep it quiet, George?"

"I expect so, but who would be fool enough to pay for such a fellow?"

"I would, and will, if you can manage it without letting my name
appear."

"My dear boy, how does it interest you? Why should you do such a
quixotic thing? It is twenty-five thousand francs."

"Only twenty-five thousand francs! I'll give you the cheque this minute
George, if you can, in your own way, free the poor devil."

"But Nicholas--you must be mad my dear boy!--Or you have some strong
motive I do not know of."

"Yes, I have--I want this chap freed from disaster, not for his sake,
but for the sake of the family. What must that poor lady have gone
through, and that poor girl!"

George looked at me with his whimsical cynical eye.

"It's awfully decent of you, Nicholas," was all he said though, and I
reached for my cheque-book, and wrote a cheque for thirty thousand
francs with my stylo.

"You may need the extra five thousand, George--to make sure of the
thing, and I count on you to patch it up as soon as you can."

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