Ainslee's Magazine//The Gem Collector/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V.
“How are you, Molly?”
“Quite well, thank you, Jimmy.”
A pause.
“You're looking very well.”
“I'm feeling very well. How are you?”
“Quite well, thanks. Very well, indeed.”
Another pause.
And then their eyes met, and at the same moment they burst out laughing.
“Your manners are beautiful, Jimmy. And I'm so glad you're so well! What an extraordinary thing us meeting like this. I thought you were in New York.”
“I thought you were. You haven't altered a bit, Molly.”
“Nor have you. How queer this is! I can't understand it.”
“Nor can I. I don't want to. I'm satisfied without. Do you know before I met you I was just thinking I hadn't a single friend in this country. I'm on my way to stay with a man I've only known a few days, and his people, whom I don't know at all, and a bunch of other guests, whom I've never heard of, and his uncle, who's a sort of human icicle, and his aunt, who makes you feel like thirty cents directly she starts to talk to you, and the family watchdog, who will probably bite me. But now! You must live near here, or you wouldn't be chasing horses about this road.”
“I live at a place called Corven Abbey.”
“What Corven Abbey? Why, that's where I'm going.”
“Jimmy! Oh, I see. You're Spennie's friend. But where is Spennie?”
“At the abbey by now. He went in the auto with his uncle and aunt.”
“How did you meet Spennie?”
“Oh, I did a very trifling Good Samaritan act, for which he was unduly grateful, and he adopted me from that moment.”
“How long have you been living in England, then? I never dreamed of you being here.”
“I've been on this side about a week. If you want my history in a nutshell, it's this. Rich uncle. Poor nephew. Deceased uncle. Rich nephew. I'm a man with money now. Lots of money.”
“How nice for you, Jimmy. Father came into money, too. That's how I come to be over here. I wish you and father had got on better together.”
“Your father, my dear Molly, has a manner with people he is not fond of which purists might call slightly abrupt. Perhaps things will be different, now.”
The horse gave a sudden whinny.
“I wish you wouldn't do that sort of thing without warning,” said Jimmy to it plaintively.
“He knows he's near home, and he knows it's his dinner time. There, now you can see the abbey. How do you like it?”
They had reached a point in the road where the fields to the right sloped sharply downward. A few hundred yards away, backed by woods, stood the beautiful home which ex-Policeman McEachern had caused to be builded for him. The setting sun lit up the waters of the lake. No figures were to be seen moving in the grounds. The place resembled a palace of sleep.
“Well?” said Molly.
“By Jove!”
“Isn't it?” said Molly. “I'm so glad you like it. I always feel as if I had invented everything round here. It hurts me if people don't appreciate it. Once I took Sir Thomas Blunt up here. It was as much as I could do to induce him to come at all. He simply won't walk. When we got to where we are standing now, I pointed and said: 'There!'”
“And what did he do? Moan with joy?”
“He grunted, and said it struck him as rather rustic.”
“Beast! I met Sir Thomas when we got off the train. Spennie Blunt introduced me to him. He seemed to bear it pluckily, but with some difficulty. I think we had better be going, or they will be sending out search parties.”
“By the way, Jimmy,” said Molly, as they went down the hill. “Can you act?”
“Can I what?”
“Act. In theatricals, you know.”
“I've never tried. But I've played poker, which I should think is much the same.”
“We are going to do a play, and we want another man, The man who was going to play one of the parts has had to go back to London.”
“Poor devil! Fancy having to leave a place like this and go back to that dingy, overrated town.”
The big drawing-room of the abbey was full when they arrived. Tea was going on in a desultory manner. In a chair at the far end of the room, Sir Thomas Blunt surveyed the scene gloomily through the smoke of a cigarette. The sound of Lady Blunt's voice had struck their ears as they opened the door. The Maxim gun was in action with no apparent prospect of jamming. The target of the moment was a fair, tired-looking lady, with a remarkable resemblance to Spennie. Jimmy took her to be his hostess. There was a resigned expression on her face, which he thoroughly understood. He sympathized with her.
The other occupants of the room stared for a moment at Jimmy in the austere manner peculiar to the Briton who sees a stranger, and then resumed their respective conversations. One of their number, a slight, pale, young man, as scientifically clothed as Sir Thomas, left his group, and addressed himself to Molly,
“Ah, here you are, Miss McEachern,” he said. “At last. We were all getting so anxious.”
“Really?” said Molly. “That's very kind of you, Mr. Wesson.”
“I assure you, yes. Positively, A gray gloom had settled upon us. We pictured you in all sorts of horrid situations. I was just going to call for volunteers to scour the country, or whatever it is that one does in such circumstances. I used to read about it in books, but I have forgotten the technical term. I am relieved to find that you are not even dusty, though it would have been more romantic if you could have managed a little dust here and there. But don't consider my feelings, Miss McEachern, please.”
Molly introduced Jimmy to the newcomer. They shook hands, Jimmy with something of the wariness of a boxer in the ring. He felt an instinctive distrust of this man. Why, he could not have said. Perhaps it was a certain subtle familiarity in his manner of speaking to Molly that annoyed him. Jimmy objected strongly to any one addressing her as if there existed between them some secret understanding. Already the mood of the old New York days was strong upon him. His instinct then had been to hate all her male acquaintances with an unreasoning hatred. He found himself in much the same frame of mind, now.
“So you're Spennie's friend,” said Mr. Wesson, “the man who's going to show us all how to act, what?”
“I believe there is some idea of my being a 'confused noise without,' or something.”
“Haven't they asked you to play Lord Algernon?” inquired Wesson, with more animation than he usually allowed himself to exhibit.
“Who is Lord Algernon?”
“Only a character in the piece we are acting.”
“What does he do?”
“He talks to me most of the time,” said Molly.
“Then,” said Jimmy decidedly, “I seem to see myself making a big hit.”
“It's a long part if you aren't used to that sort of thing,” said Wesson.
He had hoped that the part with its wealth of opportunity would have fallen to himself,
“I am used to it,” said Jimmy. “Thanks.”
“If that little beast's after Molly,” thought Jimmy, “there will be trouble.”
“Come along,” said Molly, “and be introduced, and get some tea.”
“Well, Molly, dear,” said Lady Jane, with a grateful smile at the interruption, “we didn't know what had become of you. Did Dandy give you trouble?”
“Dandy's a darling, and wouldn't do anything of the sort if you asked him to. He's a kind little 'oss, as Thomas says. He only walked away when I got off to pick some roses, and I couldn't catch him. And then I met Jimmy.”
Jimmy bowed.
“I hope you aren't tired out,” said Lady Jane to him. “We thought you would never arrive. It's such a long walk. It was really too careless of Spennie not to let us know when he expected you.”
“I was telling Spencer in the automobile,” put in Lady Blunt, with ferocity, “that my father would have horsewhipped him if he had been a son of his. He would.”
“Really, Julia!” protested Lady Jane rather faintly.
“That's so. And I don't care who knows it. A boy doesn't want to forget things if he's going to make his way in the world. I told Spencer so in the automobile.”
Jimmy had noticed that Spennie was not in the room. He now understood his absence. After the ride he had probably felt that an hour or two passed out of his aunt's society would not do him any harm. He was now undergoing a rest cure, Jimmy imagined, in the billiard room.
“I can assure you,” said he, by way of lending a helping hand to the absent one, “I really preferred to walk. I have only just landed in England from New York, and it's quite a treat to walk on an English country road again.”
“Are you from New York? I wonder if if”
“Jimmy's an old friend,” said Molly. “We knew him very well indeed. It was such a surprise meeting him.”
“How interesting,” said Lady Jane languidly, as if the intellectual strain of the conversation had been too much for her. “You will have such lots to talk about, won't you?”
“I say,” said Jimmy, as they moved away, “who is that fellow Wesson?”
“Oh, a man,” said Molly vaguely.
“There's no need to be fulsome,” said Jimmy. “He can't hear.”
“Mother likes him. I don't.”
“Mother?”
“Hullo,” said Molly. “there's father.”
The door had opened while they were talking, and Mr. Patrick McEachern had walked solidly into the room. The ornaments on the Chippendale tables jingled as he came. Secretly he was somewhat embarrassed at finding himself in the midst of so many people. He had not yet mastered the art of feeling at home in his own house. At meals he did not fear his wife's guests so much. Their attention was in a manner distributed at such times, instead of being, as now, focused upon himself. He stood there square and massive, outwardly the picture of all that was rugged and independent, looking about him for a friendly face. To offer a general remark, or to go boldly and sit down beside one of those dazzling young ladies, like some heavyweight spider beside a Miss Muffet, was beyond him. In his time he had stopped runaway horses, clubbed mad dogs, and helped to break up East Side gang fights, when the combatants on both sides were using their guns lavishly and impartially; but his courage failed him here
“Why,” said Jimmy, “is your father here, too? I didn't know that.”
To himself he reviled his luck. How much would he see of Molly now? Her father's views on himself were no sealed book to him.
Molly looked at him in surprise.
“Didn't know?” she said. “Didn't I tell you the place belonged to father?”
“What!” said Jimmy, “This house?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“And—by gad, I've got it. He has married Spennie Blunt's mother.”
“Well, I'm—surprised.”
Suddenly he began to chuckle.
“What is it, Jimmy?”
“Why—why, I've just grasped the fact that your father—your father, mind you—is my host. I'm the honored guest. At his house!”
The chuckle swelled into a laugh. The noise attracted McEachern's attention, and, looking in the direction whence it proceeded, he caught sight of Molly.
With a grin of joy, he made for the sofa.
“Well, father, dear?” said Molly nervously.
Mr. McEachern was staring horribly at Jimmy, who had risen to his feet.
“How do you do, Mr. McEachern?”
The ex-policeman continued to stare.
“Father,” said Molly in distress. “Father, let me present—I mean, don't you remember Jimmy? You must remember Jimmy, father! Jimmy Pitt, whom you used to know in New York.”