Chapter XV
I was glad to discover that Ughtred Gascoyne had left all his little fortune, excepting such as did not return to the Gascoyne coffers, to Catherine Goodsall, and that she would be quite well off. She looked very woebegone when I saw her again, but she was not a pessimist, and soon pulled herself together; not that I believe she ever forgot him. She gave me a tie-pin that had belonged to him, because he had been very fond of me, and had often talked of me to her.
A Sunday or two afterwards I lunched with Sibella and her husband. The old hunger for her was beginning to grow on me, and impel me towards her.
They were for a wonder alone, and Lionel looked discontented. He had evidently reached the frame of mind peculiar to vulgar folk, who think that unless they are living at high pressure and constantly entertaining or being entertained by those they consider great they are dropping out of it. Great folk can afford their holidays, but such social climbers as Lionel Holland can have no respite from the treadmill of entertainment.
I think he was verily too stupid to see that it was his wife’s beauty and charm, lacking in depth though they were, to which they owed their improved position.
Sir Anthony Cross—who I knew was with them constantly—must have played a very clever game, a much cleverer game than I had imagined him capable of. To do Lionel justice, he was not the sort of man to play the complaisant husband for the sake of any position, and he had evidently not grasped that Sir Anthony’s presence at their house was solely and entirely due to admiration of his wife.
I was certain that so far Sir Anthony had not even been permitted to declare himself. Sibella was vain enough of his attention to keep him dangling after her, but she had no notion of making herself cheap to the men of a society the women of which she was anxious to propitiate.
I suppose Lionel thought that an old lover like myself, who had been discarded for years, was no possible danger. Possibly—for the minx was clever—he had absolute confidence in Sibella.
At any rate, after lunch he left us together. It was the first time we had been alone since her marriage.
It was a little awkward, but I exerted myself to free the situation from constraint.
“Things have changed,” I said, lighting another cigarette with a languid feeling of enjoyment at being alone with her, and conscious that the ménage I had contemplated had begun.
“You are wonderful, Israel. It is quite extraordinary how people talk about you, and quote what you say, and yet——” She paused, and I laughed.
“And yet I began life in a third-rate Clapham lodging-house, and am still only a clerk in a stockbroker’s office.”
“As far as that goes, I can’t quite see why people make such a fuss of us.”
“Can’t you? Then look in the glass.”
Sibella rippled with laughter. She loved flattery, and expected it.
“My dear child,” I said lazily, “everything finds its level. We were bound to rise. You and I, Sibella, are very wonderful people.”
“And Lionel?”
“Lionel is not in the least wonderful. He is good-looking, but by himself he would never have wheeled the shortest flight above the ordinary.”
“I won’t have you talking against my husband.”
“I am not talking against him. I have rather an affection for Lionel. He is your husband.”
“It is sometimes borne in upon me, Israel, and I cannot say why, that you are extraordinarily wicked.”
“What makes you think that?”
“There is something mysterious about you. There always was even as a boy, and it has grown with you.”
I did not like to hear this. Above all people, a secret murderer cannot afford to suggest the mysterious.
“Do you remember what a pretty little boy you were?” she asked.
“Perfectly.”
“Do you know, I’ve got a lock of your hair that I cut off at a children’s party. It’s such a dear, silky little curl. Quite black.”
“Let me see it.”
She rose and left the room. Returning, she unwrapped the covering of tissue paper and showed me the curl, as soft and sweet as the day it was cut.
“My hair is coarser than that now,” I laughed.
“It’s very nice hair, Israel.”
And then I took her in my arms and kissed her, which may seem rather premature, but there had been that in the conversation which had led up to the situation. Of course, Sibella would not have been a woman had she not declared that she would never forget that she was now Lionel’s wife, and that on a former occasion she must have been mad. She repeated that she always knew I was wicked, and that I had gained an ascendancy over her. She then proceeded to tell me that I was in love with Lady Pebworth, with whom she had lately had a coolness. That lady evidently thought that she had purchased by her introductions a perpetual right to the subservience of Sibella and her husband. She was now experiencing the utter callousness of Sibella’s disposition towards her own sex, a callousness she was exceedingly clever at masking till she had obtained what she wanted.
It was difficult to say where the weak point in Sibella’s armour came in. She was, of course, vain, but as a rule her vanity was not allowed to interfere with her interests. She was dominated to a great extent by looks. It was this passion for beautiful people that had made it a perfectly safe proceeding to introduce Sir Anthony Cross to her. I was sure that no man so destitute of pretensions to physical charm could ever win her suffrages. In fact, I was pleased to know that he was always to be seen near her, for his case was hopeless.
“Perhaps it is a very good thing we did not marry, Sibella. A strict barrier should always be preserved between the official and the sentimental roles.”
“My dear Israel, Lionel is much more sentimental than you are.”
“Women are amazingly quick. Perhaps sentiment is the wrong word; I should have said romantic.”
“What is the difference?”
“There is all the difference. The sentimentalist has no sense of humour. The romanticist generally has too much. A romanticist may possess the salt of cynicism; a sentimentalist seldom.”
Sibella had something of an intellect, and I think, perhaps, that was also a weak point, for inasmuch as it was a poorly developed sort of affair it was easily dazzled, and she would at the merest flicker from an opposing mind credit it with much that it did not possess.
I had led the conversation away from Lady Pebworth, but she brought it back again, and flattered me by insisting on learning from my own lips that I had no affection for the lady.
Fortunately she only knew of Miss Gascoyne’s existence in a vague sort of way.
“What would you do, Sibella, if I married?”
“Forbid it.”
“You think that would be effective?”
“If it were not I should never speak to you again.”
“Ah, unfortunately it is forbidden to a discretion like yours to take such extreme measures.”
“Why?”
“Lionel would want to know why we had quarrelled.”
How she would act when it came to telling her that I was engaged to Miss Gascoyne—which I hoped would shortly be the case—I could not say. Miss Gascoyne’s extreme beauty and distinction would not help the matter.
I had my hands quite full, for I was working very hard at the office, and making myself as indispensable as possible to Mr. Gascoyne. The rest of the staff had ceased being jealous when they saw that I was determined to get what I wanted. Such remarks as “one of those damned Jews again,” unintentionally overheard by me, I ignored with the sublime cynicism of my race. Nothing was to be gained by being aware of them, less was to be gained by cherishing resentment. Jews are not good at revenge; it is not business. Shylock’s case was exceptional, and, given time, his common sense would have reasserted itself.
I was even treated as the natural heir to the business, for I had wisely thrown out veiled hints of a partnership to the managing clerk.
I was about this time somewhat scared by a suitor appearing for Miss Gascoyne’s hand, and such a suitor as must have made any mere business man tremble for his own chance.
I knew that Miss Gascoyne was constantly receiving the very best invitations, which she seldom accepted. I also knew that she and her uncle and aunt had dined with the Gascoynes, and I had heard mentioned, not, however, as a matter of any great consequence, that they had met there a Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie. I was therefore a little astonished on calling one Sunday afternoon to find Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie, a young man undeniably handsome and well-bred, in the drawing-room. I could not stay long, but even in the short time I was there it was obvious that the object of his visit was Miss Gascoyne. He was evidently rich, for outside the door was an exceedingly luxurious motor. I looked him up in the landed gentry, and found that he was one of the untitled nobility. He had a huge estate, and was related to half the peerage. His sisters were a duchess and two countesses, and his younger brother was already a distinguished member of Parliament. He was Lord-Lieutenant of his county, and altogether a notable person. It seemed as if, granting any inclination on Miss Gascoyne’s part, my fate was sealed.
The next time I called Mrs. Gascoyne said to me when we were alone:
“I am afraid my niece will not be with us much longer.”
“Indeed?”
I think she must have had some notion that I had dreamed of Miss Gascoyne as my wife, for there was an accent of kindliness in her voice.
“You have met Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie?”
“Oh, yes.” I almost gasped. Surely she was not going to tell me that Miss Gascoyne was engaged to him already.
“It will be a splendid match. She is quite the woman to take her place at the head of county society.”
“They are engaged?”
“Oh dear no, but anyone can see that there is a mutual attraction, and it is altogether so exactly suitable that we hope it will take place.”
I had never before considered Mrs. Gascoyne a fool.
Mr. Gascoyne came in soon after, and she began again. I think she believed it the kindest thing to do.
“I have just been talking to Israel about Edith and Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie.”
Mr. Gascoyne looked astonished, and gave me a side-long glance.
“Indeed? Don’t you think, my dear, we are a little premature?”
“There is no harm in discussing it.”
In a few minutes Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie and Miss Gascoyne came in.
I had never met Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie anywhere except at the Gascoynes’. He had all the unfailing and general courtesy of the absolutely exclusive. He was not a man who, as far as I could gather, went out much, but he entertained Royalty a good deal, having some of the finest shooting in England.
Of his manner to me I had certainly no reason to complain, but I think he was a little astonished when Mr. Gascoyne very pointedly introduced me as a cousin. I suppose my Semitic appearance had hardly prepared him for the news. Since, however, I was a relation he could not doubt my general authenticity.
Personally I would much sooner Mr. Gascoyne had not been so ready to insist on my being of Gascoyne blood.
I walked home wondering whether after all Mrs. Gascoyne was not mistaken.
I had studied Miss Gascoyne very carefully, and I could not detect any indications that she was likely to capitulate to Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie. At the same time, she was outwardly an impassive woman, and appearances might be deceptive.
I admired and desired her even beyond Sibella, certainly beyond Sibella now that I was sure of the latter. I was not in the least conscious of any absurdity in arranging my affections so as to dovetail with my love for two women. Even theoretical polygamy comes quite naturally to me, for all Jews are polygamists at heart, even if as a nation they find it convenient to disown it. King Solomon, with his enormous female collection, remains their typical domestic character.
I desired Miss Gascoyne, and was determined to run the risk of asking her to marry me, though I was perfectly aware that it was after marriage that the battle would begin. She was not a woman to endure tamely any insult to the conventions, and she was not likely to agree with Dr. Johnson’s dictum: ‘Why, sir, a wise woman does not trouble herself about her husband’s infidelities.’ Domestic life would be a different matter if this were a recognised rule, which woman was brought up to regard as a principle of life. It is a fact, however, which a wise woman learns early, that a man’s infidelities need not in any way affect his supreme devotion to a particular female. The objection that in that case a woman should have the same privilege is childish, and can of course be refuted on the most elementary utilitarian grounds. If she desired such liberty, a fact which I doubt in the case of the normal woman, I think matters would have been differently arranged, and a more elastic scheme of rearing the young in civilised communities established. I certainly was prepared to sustain my passion for both women, and if society made it difficult, why, I must meet society with its own weapons. I was not going to agree to forego one woman because to a slightly greater degree I desired the other.
I might find out when matters settled down, as I hoped one day they would, that I loved Sibella the better. At present she was at a disadvantage, as the woman possessed always must be, by the side of the woman unpossessed. It was not perhaps brains that lifted Miss Gascoyne above Sibella; it was character. Miss Gascoyne would have sacrificed everything for principle. I could not imagine Sibella sacrificing much, even for prejudice.
I lived for the next few weeks in the greatest suspense. Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie was constantly at the Gascoynes’, and I was startled by a false report that the engagement was arranged and about to be announced. I heard it at Lady Pebworth’s. Her ladyship was a sort of cousin of Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie’s. It turned out to be a false rumour, but I spent a sleepless night. I spoke to Mr. Gascoyne about it the next day at the office.
“I hear that Mr. Hibbert-Wyllie and Miss Gascoyne are engaged.”
“Good gracious, I’ve heard nothing about it.”
In my relief I laughed gaily. “Then there can’t be any truth in it.”
“Who told you?”
“I heard it at Lady Pebworth’s.”
“Then it is evidently expected. If it takes place it is a match of my wife’s making, but I shouldn’t wonder if after all she were disappointed.”
“It would be a splendid match,” I said, hypocritically.
He looked at me keenly.
“You are very clever at disguising your feelings, Israel. I had no idea you were so subtle.”
I had made a mistake, and appeared before him for one moment in my true character.
“Where a woman is concerned men discover unexpected attributes.”
“That is true.” He was too tactful to pursue the subject of my admiration for Miss Gascoyne further, and continued: “No one has a greater respect for rank and its obligations than my niece. At the same time, I don’t think a throne would tempt her to lie about her feelings.”
I was lunching with Grahame that day. We had not seen each other for some time, but his steady blue eyes met mine with no diminution of friendship. He was at the moment slave to a romance of a most inconvenient type. He had fallen in love with quite a common girl, and was unhappy when she was out of his sight. Luckily there was no question of his marrying her. Had it been necessary I verily believe he would have done so, for his heart compelled all sacrifices.
“We never see each other now, Israel.”
I knew how to appeal to Grahame.
“Does that matter with a friendship as strong as ours?”
“Of course it does not affect our friendship, but still one likes to see one’s friends now and then.”
“Has it been altogether my fault?”
“Well, I suppose not,” admitted Grahame.
“I’ll put you to the test. Let us go out of town from Saturday till Monday. I know a ripping little seaside hotel, and I love the sea in winter.” He coloured and looked confused, and I added quickly: “You can’t come?”
“Well, I——”
“Don’t prevaricate, Grahame. Of course you can’t come. In the first place, you have promised to take her to a theatre on Saturday evening. You are lunching with her on Sunday. You are driving her to the Star and Garter at Richmond to tea in the afternoon, and you are coming back to dine somewhere very luxurious with her in the evening.”
He laughed. “That’s very near it.”
“And in two years’ time, or even sooner, her face won’t stir a passing emotion in you.”
“Don’t, Israel, you hurt.”
“I’m sorry, but if you did come away you would be thinking of nothing but her the whole time.”
“I am afraid you are right.”
“You are a sentimentalist, Grahame, only, thank goodness, not a maudlin one, and sentimentalists are only possible during the entr’actes.”
“Thanks.”
My liking and friendship for Grahame were a proof of how sincere I could be if people did not stand in the way of my great design. I suppose I ought to have felt some remorse, considering that Sibella was his sister, but after all such relationships are purely accidental. The fact remains that Grahame might have asked for almost any sacrifice that did not interfere with my slow subterranean tunnelling to the Gascoyne peerage.