Delphi Works of Ford Madox Ford (Illustrated) (472 page)

“Oh, I know,” the Countess said contemptuously. “I’ve had the silliest sort of letter from Sergius Mihailovitch himself. He says it was some girl he picked up off the streets. But I know better than to believe that lie. I know Sergius Mihailovitch better than to believe that lie. I know Sergius Mihailovitch better. I know very well that you would come to me with that tale. But Sergius Mihailovitch isn’t the sort of man to pick up girls off the street.”

The Duke continued to look at the ground. “Any man,’ he said slowly,” is any sort of man, some time or other, you know.”

“But not Sergius Mihailovitch,” the Countess said firmly; “I know him better.”

“Then all I can say is,” Kintyre exclaimed, and he spoke for the first time quickly, “I don’t see, if you can idealise our friend Macdonald to that extent, why you can’t just go the whole way and see that Macdonald has had nothing whatever to do with Emily Aldington. I don’t see why you should want to play Macdonald’s game so thoroughly, or Emily Aldington’s game so thoroughly, supposing she really had a desire to poach your husband?”

“I don’t understand you,” the Countess said; “you appear to be talking nonsense.”

The Duke gave a negligent, side glance to Miss Dexter.

“If you would kindly ask your little friend,” he said,—”if you’d kindly ask her to go and ask your butler if he happens to have the
Morning Post
of the day after we came back from Wiesbaden...”

“This appears to be nonsense,” the Countess said.

“Oh no, it isn’t nonsense,” the Duke said; “butlers always read the
Morning Post.
They love it; they sleep with it under their pillows, and they always file it for reference. And if your young friend will get the
Morning Post
of the 14th of September, you will be able to read in it that amongst the guests at a dinner of fifty and a ball of two hundred that followed it on the 13th of September there are figured Lord and Lady Aldington.”

For just a moment the Countess hesitated, but then with vehemence she continued:

“Do you suppose that you can take me in with that lie? I tell you I knew it would happen. I felt it in Sergius Mihailovitch’s manner. I knew when he pushed me brutally into a cab and packed me off to Putney, that he was going to meet that woman. So I slipped out of the cab and waited outside his rooms, and I saw what I knew I was going to see.” She choked in her throat. “I hardly needed to use my eyes at all. I knew what I was going to see. It was the end of the world for me.”

Kintyre continued to stare at the ground. “You never used your eyes at all,” he said. “If you’ll send for the
Morning Post
you can read the names of two hundred and fifty people who can prove to you that your eyes were mistaken.”

And then suddenly the Countess appeared to wither. “That was all that was needed,” she said, and her voice shook with painful sobs.

“Wasn’t it enough that I’ve lost all I had in the world? Wasn’t it enough that they should meet? And now you’ve got up this conspiracy even to cheat me of my revenge. Of course you can get two hundred and fifty people to back you up in your lies. You all hang together. All you dissolute and idle people who have tricked my man away from me...”

The Duke suddenly stood up. “Look here,” he said. “I’m not going to listen to this sentimental flap-doodle. It’s not what I am here for. I’m not here for anything at all. But when you’re calling me a liar and I’m calling you an ass, it amuses me. Watering cans don’t amuse me. Besides, they don’t suit your queenly style. You’re a charming woman when you’re denouncing anybody. You look fine! But I’m not going to stop and see you at your second best, grizzling over a husband you haven’t lost at all. And that you won’t lose at all, if you don’t go on playing this silly fool game. So just send your little American friend for the
Morning Post
and convince yourself.”

Miss Dexter had sat all the time as still as a motionless mouse. But now she said pathetically:

“I guess you want me out of the room, Mr. Duke. I guess you want to say some things in private to Mrs. Macdonald. I guess I’ve got to go, but I wish I hadn’t to.”

Kintyre looked at her amiably. “My dear little girl,” he said, “I really guess you have guessed what I want. Of course, I ought not to be embarrassed by your presence.

I ought to be used to discussing the most intimate secrets of my family before outsiders. But I can’t. I am sorry. It’s class prejudice. It’s the misfortune of my birth, but I do wish you would run away.”

“I really don’t know why she should,” the Countess said. “Personally, I want the whole world to know how I deal with Sergius Mihailovitch.”

“Well, you can tell the young lady all about it in private afterwards,” Kintyre said amiably. “I don’t mind what you say. Only, I can’t talk with real equanimity before outsiders.”

“Oh, but Mr. Duke,” Miss Dexter said, “you’ve been talking just beautifully, though I dare say it’s nothing to what you can do. But
don’t
call me an outsider. I’m going, but
don’t
call me that. Why, I am in the very heart and soul of it. I’m just thrilling to know whether you will get him away from us, or whether we shall win him back. Isn’t it so, Mrs. Macdonald?”

“Well, that’s really touching,” the Duke said. “I understand that you side with the Countess and the Simple Life against us, who are — what is it? — the dissolute and idle Smart Set. And our friend Macdonald is a sort of Tannhaüser whose present address is the Venusberg? That’s about it, isn’t it? And the Countess is whatever the heroine’s name was, and you’re the heroine’s confidante? Well, it’s all very touching; but now run away. And the next time you see me, don’t call me Mr. Duke. Call me Duke. And after you’ve known me a fortnight, for propriety’s sake, call me Kintyre because I don’t like always hearing my title. But you just take my tip and call the Countess here Countess Macdonald all the time, because she’s a Socialist. And she likes to hear her title. That’s how people are built in this country.”

When the door had closed on Miss Dexter he walked straight upon the Countess and took both her hands, for he was quite decided that the only way to deal with that woman was the crudest and the harshest. And he had come to the conclusion that Macdonald never could have done anything with her at all, and never was going to, simply because he couldn’t be crude and he couldn’t be harsh.

“Now, look here!” he exclaimed. “What is it you want? Because you’re behaving atrociously.”

She tried to draw her hands away. But she left them where they were after a little, hardly noticeable, resistance.

“What the devil is it you want?” he asked again.

“You don’t want money. You don’t want to please. You just want to raise hell.”

“I want Sergius Mihailovitch back,” she said slowly; “if I don’t get him, I’ll ruin him, body and soul.”

“Oh, his soul’s all right,” the Duke said. “You can’t touch that. And I don’t exactly see how you’re going to ruin his body.”

“Well, I do,” she said. “He thinks he has done with me, but he hasn’t. I’ll beggar him. I’ve got ways to do it. And then when he’s beggared he’ll come back to me.”

“It sounds rather melodramatic,” the Duke said reflectively. “You might bring a divorce action against him over that girl. But that wouldn’t really damage him much. It doesn’t nowadays.”

“It would be a way of showing Lady Aldington that Macdonald
is
carrying on with another girl,” she said slowly.

“Yes, that would be pretty damnably cruel,” Kintyre commented.

“Cruel!” she exclaimed; “it isn’t cruel; it’s just simply treating these people as they deserve.”

“But wait a minute,” the Duke said; “perhaps he isn’t really carrying on with the girl. Perhaps she’s really only what they call a ‘sitter.’ Perhaps Emily and he have arranged it only so that you should be able to prove adultery against Macdonald. That would set him free. And she could divorce Aldington at any moment. How would that suit you?”

“It wouldn’t suit me at all,” she said coolly. “And it isn’t going to happen. I shall bring a divorce action against him so as to show to the whole world what an abominable, dissolute creature he is. It’ll open that woman’s eyes to him. And then when I’ve got the decree I shall never apply to have it made absolute. He’ll never be free.”

Kintyre exclaimed: “Oh, hang it all, that’s a bit too thick!”

“It’s what I shall do,” she said.

And in his real concern Kintyre exclaimed two or three times: “Oh, hell! Oh, hell!” And then once more he looked straight into her eyes. “You know,” he said, “that isn’t playing fair. That isn’t playing the game. If you have the fun of a divorce action you ought to give him his freedom. No, that isn’t fair; you ought to drop that. You’ll have to be made to drop that.”

“Who can make me?” she said defiantly.

“Oh, hang it all!” Kintyre exclaimed. “You’re really alienating all my sympathies. You may take it from me that I have an immense admiration for you — as immense as you could want. But Macdonald is a good chap, and I’ll tell you plainly that I should do the best I can to save him from you. I shall do the very best I can. I shan’t stick at anything.”

His hard, challenging eyes looked straight into hers, and hers, hard, challenging, and greenish, looked back at him with the sudden glare of the eyes of one of the great cats.

“Yes, an immense admiration!” he said. “But, all the same, I should do all I can to save him. I don’t understand what it is you want with him. You don’t care for him. You can’t care for him. He’s too soft! You can’t respect a man who’s as loveable as he is. And you can’t care for a man you don’t respect.”

“Who says I don’t care for him?” she said. “I want him back. I’ll ruin him if he doesn’t come back.”

“Ah, but only because he is a bit of your property that you don’t like losing. I tell you I shall do my best to save him.”

“Nothing can save him,” she said. Her voice was rather faint and her hands trembled.

“Ah, well, we’ll see,” Kintyre said. “There are ways and means you haven’t thought of. Ï don’t believe he cares for you. I don’t believe you care for him. I dare say he cares for Emily. And I dare say Emily cares for him. They’re awfully made for each other. Why don’t you give them a chance?”

She pulled both her hands fiercely from his and flattened her back against the door “Never!” she exclaimed. “Not for anything! Not for anybody! You’ve been talking of the sort of man Sergius Mihailovitch is! Well, let me tell you one thing. He’s the sort of man nothing can save. He’s the sort of man that is doomed from his birth.”

“Oh, that’s just talk,” Kintyre said. “We weren’t really talking about that. We were really talking about something quite different. We were talking about the means I shall have to adopt to save him.”

Again she looked at him with the hard, straight glance. “I don’t understand you,” she said in a low voice; and again he looked at her in return.

“Oh yes, you do,” he said slowly. He took his hat and his stick from the oak chest. “I shall come again,” he said slowly. “I shall come back and back again until you change your mind.”

“Nothing will make me change my mind,” she said.

“This afternoon I am going to file my petition, and Lady Aldington’s name will be in it.”

“Although you know perfectly well that she wasn’t the woman.”

“I know that,” she answered, “but it will discredit her enough just having to fight the petition. It will show the world the sort of person she is.”

“It will show the world,” Kintyre answered, “that she is a little spotless, white angel, and that you’re a terrific, gorgeous, flaunting fiend.”

“How do you know,” she asked, “that that isn’t what I want to have shown?”

“Ah,” he answered; “but why show it to everybody? Why not just keep it for you and me — for when I come back again?”

She didn’t answer, but she slowly put her hand on the door to open it for him.

He had got as far as the hall when it occurred to him that there was something that he still wanted to know. And he came back to ask: