Part 7 (1/2)
Joyce's eyes dilated and the colour rose through her soft paleness, but she did not speak.
”It's always the way. Them most concerned gits wind of scandal last.
Even the brats have caught on before me. But once your father has both eyes open, folks better watch out.”
”Who do you mean by Myst.?” asked Joyce, and her strained voice sounded unnatural.
”Gaston, to be sure! I've got a wit of my own, Joyce. Myst.--short for Mystery. That's what Gaston is. No one knows a d.a.m.ned thing about him.”
”Well, that's to his credit, anyway.” Joyce flung up a defence now. She must fight, but she must keep herself out of sight.
Jared glared angrily. He did not like the tone.
”Oh! I ain't the one to object to you keeping your mouth shut,” he returned. ”Jammed logs”--the phrase stuck in his mind--”jammed logs don't creak any; but when it comes to joining forces, like two jams together for instance, there's got to be, in the nature of things, some demonstration. What I'm aiming at is this. Has this here Myst. meant business or has he not? I'm a man of the world--so is Gaston--he ain't never hoodwinked me. I had my reasons for coming here, and likewise, so has he. That's my business and his, by thunder! but when _he_ meddles in my affairs he's got to show his hand. Now is it, or ain't it, business 'twixt you and him?”
”What kind of business?” Joyce's voice was low and even. She was approaching her father cautiously and fearfully.
”Honourable--or otherwise?”
A silence followed. Something was born, and something died in the sunlighted room while that silence lasted.
The child's dependence upon its father fell, torn and quivering, before the new-risen self-protection of the pitiful girlhood.
For the first time, consciously, Joyce experienced the soul-loneliness for which there is no aid. Her deep eyes pleaded for help and mercy where there was no help, and alas! no mercy. Birkdale had his answer now, though no word had been uttered by those quivering lips.
”You can't be expected to act for yourself in these matters.” Jared put his pipe on the table and brought his chair to the floor. ”You ain't the first girl as has been game for such as Myst., but he's made a d.a.m.ned mistake if he thought two couldn't play at his game here in St. Ange.
We'll make something out of him no matter which way you put it.”
”Make something--out--of--what?” Joyce bent forward and real horror filled her eyes. Was even the security of Jude to be wrenched from her?
”Out of Myst. He's got money, It comes in letters--checks. Tate has ways of finding out. Myst. has a fat account over to Hillcrest. He thought we took him on trust. We knowed what we wanted to know.”
”And so, and so,” panted Joyce, ”what next?”
”Well, by the living G.o.d, if he wants to marry you, let him come out and say so, and I won't hold back my presence nor my blessing.”
It was quite plain now. Gaston was the target at which Jared aimed. In some way she must s.h.i.+eld him and s.h.i.+eld him so effectually that no harm could reach him. There was no escape for her. Every path was closed through which she had hoped to go free and happy.
”I ain't going, though,” Jared was whining in his semi-religious tone, ”to have my reputation smirched. Either he marries you, or he pays well, and we'll get out. See?”
”Oh, yes, I see!” Joyce s.h.i.+vered in the hot room; ”I see what you think, but _why_ do you suppose I'd marry Mr. Gaston if he _did_ want me?
Sometimes girls don't--marry--men even when they are asked. Books are full of such things.” A heavy sob came after the pitiful words.
”Oh! that's your dodge, eh?” Jared laughed comfortably from the secure position he had gained for himself from this misery. ”Trying to s.h.i.+eld him, eh? It won't do, Joyce. Your daddy's too much a man of the world for that. Now here it is in a nutsh.e.l.l: The boys at the tavern are back of me. How do I know? You leave that to me. Now I calculate that Gaston don't want any of the dust of his past stirred up by us. If he's been playing with you, it's for _you_ to say whether you'd rather have him forced to marry you, or have him pan out money enough to hush the matter up. I'm willing to sacrifice something for you, Joyce. I'm willing to go so far as to say I don't want the dust of _my_ past raised--I'm actually willing to sacrifice--anything.”
”Even me!” The words were a moan of fear and misery.
”Sure!” Jared did not catch the point. ”This is an opportunity that don't come often. Retribution for Myst., by thunder, and clear gain for me and you! Out beyond the high trees, girl, there's better diggings for us. G.o.d! how I've smothered, these long years. The end justifies the means--you will say so, too, when you see what lies down to the south.”
Jared laughed wildly as if the ambition of all the desolated years had been achieved. Joyce, compelled by his delirious words and excitement, almost felt a responsive sympathy; but her words, slow and hard, brought her and Jared down to the bleakness of St. Ange again.
”You are wrong, terribly wrong. Mr. Gaston never wanted to marry me, and I can take care of myself--I always have--taken care of myself!