Part 41 (1/2)

Your dear mother and I have talked it all over. There's nothing to be done but bide our time. It will pa.s.s over.”

There was a distinct change in his att.i.tude towards his eldest son. He was accustomed to greet his other sons with that fatherly, ”Well, my boy!” but not d.i.c.k. d.i.c.k had the master-head. He never presumed on it to set up authority where it would be hurtful to his father's self-complacency, but he was accustomed to rule, none the less, and the Squire to rely on him to decide in every difficulty. But now he had decided for himself. d.i.c.k was his much-admired and trusted son, but not, in this matter, his director, nor even his adviser.

”He got the better of you, I suppose,” said d.i.c.k, seating himself at the table.

”I suppose he did. I don't know. Is that how you would put it, Nina?”

”Your father saw,” said Mrs. Clinton, ”when it came to the point, that it meant, if he was to clear himself, he must heap all the blame upon Susan, and in a lesser degree on Humphrey. If he had done that he must have satisfied Lord Cheviot. But he would not do it.”

”Rather rough on Joan,” said d.i.c.k with a slight frown.

”I have told Joan everything,” said Mrs. Clinton, ”and she sees it as we do. She is content to wait.”

”Read that,” said the Squire, taking the fateful letter from his pocket. ”That is what we have to face. I didn't see my way to deny it, so I left his Lords.h.i.+p to attend to the affairs of the nation.”

”But it isn't true!” said d.i.c.k, when he had read it. ”It looks like the truth, but it isn't. You could have denied every word of it, except the first statement--about Susan.”

The Squire looked at his wife with a smile. ”d.i.c.k sees it at once,” he said. ”It took you and me half the night to get at it, Nina; and I should never have got at it by myself. Well, it isn't true, d.i.c.k, as far as it puts blame on me which I don't deserve. But it's true about Susan. I couldn't tell him the story; so I came away.”

”And he will tell Inverell that he showed you this letter and you could make no reply to it.”

”Yes, I suppose so.”

d.i.c.k looked deeply disturbed. ”I wish I had been there,” he said.

”If you had been there, d.i.c.k,” said Mrs. Clinton, ”I think you would have done just the same as your father did. Have you ever faced the necessity of bringing the charge against Susan with your own lips? I don't think you could do it, if it came to the point.”

d.i.c.k rose and went to the window. ”We could not deny it if they brought us to the point,” he said. ”No; but that is different.”

He thought for a moment, swinging the ta.s.sel of the blind. ”It seems to me,” he said, ”to have come to the point where Humphrey ought to speak--ought to be sent for. _We_ can't do it. No; perhaps you are right; until we are pushed to a point where we shall have to do it.

But he could; and it ought to be done. Why should father be made to suffer these indignities? Why should poor little Joan lose her happiness in this way? I'm not sure that it isn't our duty to speak out, even now, however much we should dislike having to.”

”I can't see it in that way, d.i.c.k,” said the Squire. ”As I said to you once before, Susan was one of us. We should have had to share her disgrace, as a family, if she had been alive; and a very terrible disgrace it would have been, though we might have been shown to be free of blame ourselves. We can't cut ourselves off from her now she is dead. To put it on the lowest ground, it wouldn't do us any good.

n.o.body would respect us more for it. They would say that we could keep silence about it to save our own skins, but put it all on to her directly it became known. I wouldn't mind what they said, if I didn't feel the same myself. I am not going to mind for the future what anybody says. Let them say what they like. We know that we have done nothing wrong--or very little--and that must be enough for us.”

d.i.c.k returned to the letter in his hand. ”They want us to go for them,” he said. ”Cheviot must have seen that.”

”He did,” said the Squire. ”I told him I should consider what was to be done.”

”Have you considered it?” d.i.c.k looked at him as if ready to hear a decision, not to advise on one.

”Your mother and I think we had better take no steps, for the reason I have already given.”

”It's plain enough what it means,” said d.i.c.k. ”They want the story out. They think they will gain, even though it also comes out that she asked you for money. We put too much faith in that weapon. She would give the same reasons that she gave to you. They would sound plausible enough. They have chosen their ground well. I thought they would have spread lies, which we couldn't have proved to be lies, without taking action. I've no doubt that Colne thinks this is the truth, and finds it serves their purpose best. It has certainly served it here.”

”For the time,” said Mrs. Clinton.

”Well, say you take no notice of this. Are they going to stop at this?