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THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONE
“And why not?” asked Ezra, still leaning over the chair, with
an angry light beginning to sparkle in his dark eyes. “Why can you
never be my wife?”
“It is so, Ezra. You must not think of it. I am so sorry to grieve
you.”
“You can’t love me, then,” cried the young merchant hoarsely.
“Other women before now would have given their eyes to have had me.
Do you know that?”
“For goodness’ sake, then go back to the others,” said Kate, half
amused and half angry.
That suspicion of a smile upon her face was the one thing needed to set Ezra’s temper in a blaze. “You won’t have me,” he cried
savagely. “I haven’t got the airs and graces of that fellow, I suppose.
You haven’t got him out of your head, though he is off with another
girl.”
“How dare you speak to me so?” Kate cried, springing to her feet
in honest anger.
“It’s the truth, and you know it,” returned Ezra, with a sneer.
“Aren’t you too proud to be hanging on to a man who doesn’t want
you – a man that is a smooth-tongued sneak, with the heart of
a rabbit?”
“If he were here you would not dare to say so!” Kate retorted
hotly.
“Wouldn’t I?” he snarled fiercely.
“No, you wouldn’t. I don’t believe that he has ever been untrue
to me. I believe that you and your father have planned to make me
believe it and to keep us apart.”
Heaven knows what it was that suddenly brought this idea most
clearly before Kate’s mind. Perhaps it was that Ezra’s face, distorted with passion, gave her some dim perception of the wickedness
of which such a nature might be capable. The dark face turned so
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
much darker at her words that she felt a great throb of joy at her
heart, and knew that this strange new thought which had flashed
upon her was the truth.
“You can’t deny it,” she cried, with shining eyes and clenched
hands. “You know that it is true. I shall see him and hear from his
own lips what he has to say. He loves me still, and I love him, and
have never ceased to love him.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” snarled Ezra, taking a step forward, with
a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Your love may do him very little good.
We shall see which of us gets the best of it in the long run. We’ll –”
His passion was so furious that he stopped, fairly unable to articulate another word.
With a threatening motion of his hands he turned upon his heel
and rushed from the room. As he passed it chanced that Flo, Kate’s
little Skye terrier, ran across his path. All the brutality of the man’s
soul rose up in the instant. He raised his heavy boot, and sent the
poor little creature howling and writhing under the sofa, whence it
piteously emerged upon three legs, trailing the fourth one behind it.
“The brute!” Kate cried, as she fondled the injured animal and
poured indignant tears over it. Her gentle soul was so stirred by the
cowardly deed that she felt that she could have flown at her late
suitor were he still in the room. “Poor little Flo! That kick was meant
for me in reality, my little pet. Never mind, dear, there are bright
days coming, and he has not forgotten me, Flo. I know it! I know it!”
The little dog whined sympathetically, and licked its mistress’s hand
as though it were looking into its canine future, and could also discern better days ahead.
Ezra Girdlestone, fierce and lowering, tramped into the library,
and told his father brusquely of the result of his wooing. What occurred in that interview was never known to any third person. The
servants, who had some idea that something was afoot, have record-
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THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONE
ed that at the beginning of the conversation the bass voice of the
son and the high raucous tones of the father were heard in loud
recrimination and reproach. Then they suddenly sunk into tones
so low that there might have been complete silence in the room for
all that any one could tell from the passage outside. This whispered
conversation may have lasted the greater part of an hour. At the end
of it the young merchant departed for the City. It has been remarked
that from that time there came a change over both the father and the
son – a change so subtle that It could hardly be described, though
it left its mark upon them both. It was not that the grey, wolfish
face of the old man looked even greyer and fiercer, or that the hard,
arrogant expression of Ezra deepened into something even more
sinister. It was that a shadow hung over both their brows – a vague
indefinable shadow – as of men who carry a thought in their minds
on which it is not good to dwell.
During that long hour Kate had remained in the breakfastroom, still nursing her injured companion, and very busy with her
own thoughts. She was as convinced now that Tom had been true
to her as if she had had the assurance from his own lips. Still there
was much that was unaccountable – much which she was unable
to fathom. A vague sense of the wickedness around her depressed
and weighed her down. What deep scheme could these men have
invented to keep him away from her during these long weeks? Was
he, too, under some delusion, or the victim of some conspiracy?
Whatever had been done was certainly connived at by her guardian. For the first time a true estimate of the character of the elder
Girdlestone broke upon her, and she dimly realized that the pious,
soft-spoken merchant was more to be dreaded than his brutal son.
A shudder ran through her whole frame as, looking up, she saw him
standing before her.
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
His appearance was far from reassuring. His hands were clasped
behind his back, his head bent forward, and he surveyed her with
a most malignant expression upon his face.
“Well done!” he said, with a bitter smile. “Well done! This is
a good morning’s work, Miss Harston. You have repaid your father’s
friend for the care he has bestowed upon you.”
“My only wish is to leave your house,” cried Kate, with an angry
flash in her deep blue eyes. “You are a cruel, wicked, hypocritical old
man. You have deceived me about Mr. Dimsdale. I read it in your
son’s face, and now I read it in your own. How could you do it – oh,
how could you have the heart?”
John Girdlestone was fairly staggered by this blaze of feminine
anger in his demure and obedient ward. “God knows,” he said, “whatever my faults may have been, neglect of you has not been among
them. I am not immaculate. Even the just man falleth. If I have endeavoured to wean you from this foolish love affair of yours, it has
been entirely because I saw that it was against your own interests.”
“You have told lies in order to turn me away from the only man
who ever loved me. You and your odious son have conspired to ruin
my happiness and break my heart. What have you told him that
keeps him away? I shall see him and learn the truth.” Kate’s face was
unnaturally calm and rigid as she faced her guardian’s angry gaze.
“Silence!” the old man cried hoarsely. “You forget your position
in this house. You are presuming too much upon my kindness. As
to this girl’s fancy of yours, you may put all thought of it out of your
head. I am still your guardian, and I should be culpably remiss if
I ever allowed you to see this man again. This afternoon you shall
come with me to Hampshire.”
“To Hampshire?”
“Yes. I have taken a small country seat there, where we intend
to spend some months of the winter. You shall leave it when you
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have reconciled yourself to forget these romantic ideas of yours –
but not till then.”
“Then I shall never leave it,” said Kate, with a sigh.
“That will depend upon yourself. You shall at least be guarded
there from the advances of designing persons. When you come of
age you may follow your own fancies. Until then my conscience demands, and the law allows, that I should spare no pains to protect
you from your own folly. We start from Waterloo at four.” Girdlestone turned for the door, but looked round as he was leaving the
room. “May God forgive you,” he said solemnly, raising his lean
hands towards the ceiling, “for what you have done this day!”
Poor Kate, left to herself, was much concerned by this fresh misfortune. She knew that her guardian had power to carry out his plan,
and that there was no appeal from his decision. What could she do?
She had not a friend in the wide world to whom she could turn for
advice or assistance. It occurred to her to fly to the Dimsdales at
Kensington, and throw herself upon their compassion. It was only
the thought of Tom which prevented her. In her heart she had fully
exonerated him, yet there was much to be explained before they
could be to each other as of old. She might write to Mrs. Dimsdale,
but then her guardian had not told her what part of Hampshire
they were going to. She finally came to the conclusion that it would
be better to wait, and to write when she had reached her destination.
In the meantime, she went drearily to her room and began packing,
aided by the ruddy-cheeked maid, Rebecca.
At half-past three a cab drove up to the door, and the old merchant stepped out of it. The boxes were thrown upon the top, and
the young lady curtly ordered to get in. Girdlestone took his seat
beside her, and gave a sign to the cabman to drive on. As they rattled
out of the square, Kate looked back at the great gloomy mansion in
which she had spent the last three years of her life. Had she known
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
what the future was to bring, it is possible that she would have clung
even to that sombre and melancholy old house as to an ark of safety.
Another cab passed through Eccleston Square that evening –
a cab which bore a pale-faced and wild-eyed young man, who
looked ever and anon impatiently out of the window to see if he
were nearing his destination. Long before reaching No. 69 he had
opened the door, and was standing upon the step. The instant that
the cab pulled up he sprang off, and rang loudly at the great brass
bell which flanked the heavy door.
“Is Mr. Girdlestone in?” he asked, as Rebecca appeared at the
door.
“No, sir.”
“Miss Harston, is she at home?” he said excitedly.
“No, sir. They have both gone away.”
“Gone away!”
“Yes. Gone into the country, sir. And Mr. Ezra, too, sir.”
“And when are they coming back?” he asked, in bewilderment.
“They are not coming back.”
“Impossible!” Tom cried in despair. “What is their address, then?”
“They have left no address. I am sorry I can’t help you. Good
night, sir.” Rebecca closed the door, laughing maliciously at the visitor’s bewildered looks. She knew the facts of the case well, and having long been jealous of her young mistress, she was not sorry to find
things going wrong with her.
Tom Dimsdale stood upon the doorstep looking blankly into the
night. He felt dazed and bewildered. What fresh villainy was this?
Was it a confirmation of the German’s report, or was it a contradiction of it? Cold beads stood upon his forehead as he thought of the
possibility of such a thing. “I must find her,” he cried, with clenched
hands, and turned away heartsick into the turmoil and bustle of the
London streets.
CHAPTER XXXII
A CONVERSATION
IN THE ECCLESTONSQUARE
LIBRARY
Rebecca, the fresh-complexioned waiting-maid, was still standing behind the ponderous hall door, listening, with a smile upon
her face, to young Dimsdale’s retreating footsteps, when another
and a brisker tread caught her ear coming from the opposite direction. The smile died away as she heard it, and her features assumed
a peculiar expression, in which it would be hard to say whether
fear or pleasure predominated. She passed her hands up over her
face and smoothed her hair with a quick nervous gesture, glancing
down at the same time at her snowy apron and the bright ribbons
which set it off. Whatever her intentions may have been, she had
no time to improve upon her toilet before a key turned in the door
and Ezra Girdlestone stepped into the hall. As he saw her shadowy
figure, for the gas was low, he uttered a hoarse cry of surprise and
fear, and staggered backwards against the door-post.
“Don’t be afeared, Mister Ezra,” she said in a whisper; “it’s only me.”
“The devil take you!” cried Ezra furiously. “What makes you
stand about like that? You gave me quite a turn.”
“I didn’t mean for to do it. I’ve only just been answering of the
door. Why, surely you’ve come in before now and found me in the
hall without making much account of it.”
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“Ah, lass,” answered Ezra, “my nerves have had a shake of late.
I’ve felt queer all day. Look how my hand shakes.”
“Well, I’m blessed!” said the girl, with a titter, turning up the gas.
“I never thought to see you afeared of anything. Why, you looks as
white as a sheet!”
“There, that’s enough!” he answered roughly. “Where are the
others?”
“Jane is out. Cook and William and the boy are downstairs.”
“Come into the library here. They will think that you are up in
the bedrooms. I want to have a quiet word or two with you. Turn up
that reading lamp. Well, are they gone?”
“Yes, they are gone,” she answered, standing by the side of the
couch on which he had thrown himself. “Your father came about
three with a cab, and took her away.”
“She didn’t make a fuss?”
“Make a fuss? No; why should she? There’s fuss enough made
about her, in all conscience. Oh, Ezra, before she got between us
you was kind to me at times. I could stand harsh words from you six
days a week, if there was a chance of a kind one on the seventh. But
now – now what notice do you take of me?” She began to whimper
and to wipe her eyes with a little discoloured pocket-handkerchief.
“Drop it, woman, drop it!” cried her companion testily. “I want
information, not snivelling. She seemed reconciled to go?”
“Yes, she went quiet enough,” the girl said, with a furtive sob.
“Just give me a drop of brandy out of that bottle over there – the
one with the cork half out. I’ve not got over my start yet. Did you
hear my father say anything as to where they were going?”
“I heard him tell the cabman to drive to Waterloo Station.”
“Nothing more?”
“No.”
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“Well, if he won’t tell you, I will. They have gone down to Hampshire, my lass. Bedsworth is the name of the place, and it is a pleasant little corner near the sea. I want you to go down there as well
to-morrow.”
“Want me to go?”
“Yes; they need some one who is smart and handy to keep house
for them. There is some old woman already, I believe, but she is old
and useless. I’ll warrant you wouldn’t take long getting things shipshape. My father intends to stay down there some little time with
Miss Harston.”
“And how about you?” the girl asked, with a quick flash of suspicion in her dark eyes.
“Don’t trouble about me. I shall stay behind and mind the business. Some one must be on the spot. I think cook and Jane and William ought to be able to look after me among them.”
“And I won’t see you at all?” the girl cried, with a quiver in her
voice.
“Oh yes, you shall. I’ll be down from Saturday to Monday every
week, and perhaps oftener. If business goes well I may come down
and stay for some time. Whether I do or not may depend upon
you.”
Rebecca Taylforth started and uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“How can it depend upon me?” she asked eagerly.
“Well,” said Ezra, in a hesitating way, “it may depend upon
whether you are a good girl, and do what you are told or not. I am
sure that you would do anything to serve me, would you not?”
“You know very well that I would, Mister Ezra. When you want
anything done you remember it, but if you have no use for me, then
there is never a kind look on your face or a kind word from your
lips. If I was a dog you could not use me worse. I could stand your
harshness. I could stand the blow you gave me, and forgive you for
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ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
it, from my heart; but, oh! it cut me to the very soul to be standing
by and waiting while you were making up to another woman. It was
more than I can bear.”
“Never mind, my girl,” said Ezra in a soothing voice; “that’s all
over and done with. See what I’ve brought you.” He rummaged in
his pocket and produced a little parcel of tissue paper, which he
handed to her.
It was only a small silver anchor, with Scotch pebbles inlaid in
it. The woman’s eyes, however, flashed as she looked at it, and she
raised it to her lips and kissed it passionately.
“God bless it and you too!” she said. “I’ve heard tell as the anchor’s the emblem of hope, and so it shall be with me. Oh, Ezra, you
may travel far and meet them as can play and can sing and do many
a thing as I can’t do, but you’ll never get one who will love you as
dearly and well.”
“I know it, my lass, I know it,” said Ezra, smoothing down her
dark hair, for she had dropped upon her knees beside the couch.
“I’ve never met your equal yet. That’s why I want you down at Bedsworth. I must have some one there that I can trust.
“What am I to do down at Bedsworth?” she asked.
“I want you to be Miss Harston’s companion. She’ll be lonely,
and will need some other woman in the house to look after her.”
“Curse her!” cried Rebecca, springing to her feet with flashing
eyes. “You are still thinking of her, then! She must have this; she
must have that! Everything else is as dirt before her. I’ll not serve
her – so there! You can knock me down if you like.”
“Rebecca,” said Ezra slowly, “do you hate Kate Harston?”
“From the bottom of my soul,” she answered.
“Well, if you hate her, I tell you that I hate her a thousand times
more. You thought that I was fond of her. All that is over now, and
you may set your mind at ease.”
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