The Delafield Affair by Florence Finch Kelly
CHAPTER XXIII
LOVE TO THE RESCUE
A clerk brought the morning mail, and as Alexander Bancroft took thehandful of letters, his eye caught the handwriting of RutherfordJenkins. Apprehension seized him. Had that creature found some new screwhe could turn? His hand trembled as he tore open the envelope. For amoment he felt distinct relief when he found nothing more than a demandfor additional money. Jenkins reminded him that the first of August wasapproaching, and added that he was obliged to ask for double the amounthe had previously received on the first of the month. The feeling ofthankfulness that the letter contained nothing worse passed quickly, ashe realized that he would be afraid to refuse the demand, that he wouldnot dare to refuse anything Jenkins might ask. The full weight of hischains was upon him, and he swore between set teeth as he tore theletter angrily into bits and dashed them into the waste-basket.Impotent rebellion was still smouldering in his eyes when a knock cameat his door and Dellmey Baxter entered. The Congressman's round, smoothface was beaming and his fat hand grasped Bancroft's with heartygreeting. But the droop of his left eyelid was marked and his gray eyeswere cold and hard. They had a prolonged conference about the variousenterprises in which they were jointly interested, and about theprogress and prospects of Baxter's campaign in the southern part of theTerritory, where Bancroft was his chief lieutenant.
"I tell you, Aleck, you're handling it fine," said Baxter finally, withfriendly enthusiasm. "You're bringing Silverside and the whole southright into line in great shape! I'm free to say, Aleck, that you'redoing better for me than I could do for myself. You have a remarkableknack for handling people, and everybody has confidence in you. We'vegot the party in this Territory where we want it now, and if I decide toquit Congress after another term or two, as it's likely I shall, I'llsee to it, Aleck, that you step into my shoes if you want to." He wenton to ask what certain of his supporters and his opponents were doing,and presently inquired:
"And your young friend Conrad--does he still think I have horns andhoofs? He came to see me in Santa Fe recently, and apologized for havingaccused me of being at the bottom of that Mexican's attack on him. Fromwhat he said to me," the Congressman went on, regarding Bancroftattentively, "I think it's likely the greaser will get the worst of itif he keeps up that racket."
The banker moved uneasily, then took cigars from the box on top of hisdesk. "By the way, Aleck," said Baxter carelessly between whiffs ofsmoke, "you've been around this Territory considerably and mixed withmining men a good deal." His cold eyes were watching his companion fromunder their shaggy brows. "Do you remember ever running across a chapnamed Delafield?"
The time had been when Bancroft could hear that name without the quiverof a lash or the tremble of a nerve. But those days of cool self-controland impassive seeming had gone by. For many weeks he had been on therack of constant apprehension, the nervous strain of conflictingemotions concerning Conrad had been great, and recently the fear ofsudden exposure had grown into a secret, abiding terror. He started,dropped his cigar, and his face paled.
"Delafield?" he repeated in a low voice. "I do not remember thename--and I have a pretty good memory for names, too." The desire seizedhim to know whether Baxter was speaking out of knowledge or ignorance."What about him?" he went on. "Is he supposed to be living here?"
"I don't know much about it," Baxter rejoined, "but I believe the peoplewho are trying to locate him make the guess that he is. A party asked meabout him not long ago, but I wasn't able to place the name, although ithas a familiar sound. I told him it wasn't any use looking for his manunder that name--it's too easy to pick up a new one out here for anybodyto keep an old one that's got dirty."
When the door closed upon the portly figure and cherubic smile of theCongressman, Bancroft sat still and stared dully at the wall. "Dellknows," was the conviction that had gone straight to his wretched heart."Dell knows. He knows the whole story. And now I've got to do whateverhe says." Apprehension leaped quickly forward. If Baxter knew, was thestory out? Was it already going from mouth to mouth? Second thoughtbrought reassurance. No; for in that case Baxter would not have sodiscreetly veiled his hint. But how had he found out? Could Jenkins--no,not likely, for Jenkins was making too good a thing out of it as asecret. Baxter said Conrad had been to see him--then did Curtis know bythis time? His heart took quick alarm, and he had a moment ofdesperation. Then he recalled the young man's repeated declaration thathe meant to lose no time in facing Delafield after learning the man'sidentity. He soon decided that a little time was still left to himbefore that encounter could take place and--Gonzalez was yet at theranch. Doubtless Conrad had talked with Baxter about the case, perhapstold him of his own search and asked for information about the men hesuspected. Finally, knowing well the Congressman's mental habits, hecame to the conclusion that Baxter had put things together and made ashrewd guess.
"But he knows, all right," Bancroft owned to himself in impotent anger,"and that means another chain on me." Another obstacle had risen in hispath that would have to be overcome, one way or another, before he couldreach that longed-for security. A little before, safety had seemed sonear, and now it was further away than ever! He should have to fight forit, that was plain--and fight he would, to the last inch, Conrad andJenkins and Baxter. They had pushed him to the wall, but that should notbe the end. He would not let them wreck everything if--no matter nowwhat he might have to do to protect himself.
He spent an anxious forenoon, unable to keep his mind off his owntroubles and impending dangers, thinking and scheming, trying to workout effective means of defence and counter-attack. When he left the bankfor luncheon at home, it was with a lively sense of how restful andpleasing he should find its atmosphere of love, respect, and confidence.He bought a box of candy for Lucy and a magazine for Louise, andhastened up the hill.
Never before had home seemed to him so delightful. Lucy was gay ofspirit, piquant, rosy of cheek and bright of eye, lovingly solicitousfor his comfort. Louise was paler than usual, with a touch ofwistfulness in her manner. Lucy explained that she had a bad headache,and they agreed that it was probably due to the day's peculiaratmospheric conditions. It was hot and still; a thin, gray, luminoushaze veiled the sky and made the sunshine, usually clear and white, lookpalely yellow; the air was charged with electricity, whose janglingeffect upon the nerves only the soundest could withstand. Louise saidshe felt it acutely. As always, she was gentle and sympathetic, andBancroft felt her influence at once. Her presence never failed tosoothe, tranquillize, and encourage him.
She saw the anxiety in his eyes, and at once divined a new cause fortrouble. With renewed alarm and indignation in her heart her thoughtsturned to Conrad. Had there been some new development? The fires of loveand solicitude for her friend and of hatred for his enemy were burningbrightly in her secret thoughts and shone now and then in her eyes.Bancroft caught their glow, and his heart rose to be warmed in it. Whata sweet woman she was, how adorable! His arms ached with the longing toenfold her and press her dearness to his breast. But no!--with suchdangers thickening about him, he must not think of it. It angered himthe more that he must thus repress the feeling which was struggling tomake itself understood, which he felt certain she would welcome. Forhalf an hour after luncheon they lingered on the veranda. As if drawnirresistibly by secret cords of feeling, Bancroft and Miss Dent keptconstantly near each other; once, when she accidentally touched hishand, his fingers closed quickly upon hers in a moment's warm grasp.
After he had gone, Louise walked restlessly up and down, her nervesstrung to the highest tension by her love and anxiety for Bancroft andher hatred of Conrad. Her headache grew rapidly worse, and her heart wasbeating like a trip-hammer. She and Lucy agreed that the electricalcondition of the atmosphere had become more trying. The sunshine, too,was more dingily yellowish. They noticed that heavy, dark clouds, likehuge, sleeping beasts, were lying behind the summits of the MogollonMountains.
"My head is throbbing so I can hardly see," said Louise finally, "and Ithin
Lucy sat on the veranda with the magazine and the box of candy herfather had brought; but one lay unopened in her lap and the otheruntouched on the table beside her, while her eyes wandered across thetree-embowered streets of the town and far over the plain, where, beyondthe horizon, were the green groves of the Socorro Springs ranch.
"I've got to do it," she whispered to herself, decision in her wrinklingbrow. "There's no other way, and I must. Daddy is looking wretched--I'venever seen him look so anxious and disturbed as he does to-day. I've gotto do it, right away."
She had not seen Curtis Conrad since the barbecue. Daily had she watchedfor him, hoping always to see him climbing the hill, longing greatly tolook upon his face, and feeling that she must reveal her secret and soput an end, as she firmly believed she could, to her father's trouble.But he came not; instead, Homer's visits increased in length andfrequency, and she, still hurt and angered by the memory of Curtis'sattentions to Mrs. Ned Castleton at the barbecue, recklessly continuedher flirtation with Homer, plunging him more and more deeply in love.She did all this without thought of what was going on in Homer's breast,wishing only to dull the pain in her own aching heart. Finally, when sherealized what was happening, she changed her demeanor in suddengirl-panic, only to precipitate the young man's proposal, by which shehad been both surprised and vexed.
She was quite sure, by this time, that Curtis Conrad did not care forher at all, and she had ceased expecting him to come to their house. Yetshe never went out upon the veranda without letting her eyes wanderwishfully down the street. They were there now, scanning the long, steephill. But they saw only a little, bare-legged Mexican boy toiling slowlyup the grade. No, she decided, only one thing was left for her to do:she would have to write and ask him to come and see her. Her heartrebelled at first, and she unconsciously tossed her head and her eyesflashed. "But it's for daddy," she presently told herself, "and there'sno other way. I've got to do it." Of course, it would be a humiliation;but so was the whole hateful business, and what was one little thingmore or less?
Looking toward the street again she saw that the little Mexican lad wascoming to her gate. His baggy, ragged overalls were held by a singlestrap over his shoulder, and his small, brown face, under his miniature,torn sombrero, was hot and dirty. He peered at her through the palings,and she exclaimed, "Why, it's little Pablo Melgares!" She went down tothe gate, saying in Spanish, "Do you want anything, Pablo?"
Gravely and silently he gave her a letter he had been carrying in hishat. Although she had seen the handwriting but once before, her heartleaped and a delicious thrill ran through her veins as she read theaddress.
"Is there an answer?" she asked, tremulously.
"_Si, senorita_," said the boy.
"Then you sit down here on the steps and eat candy until I come back,"she said as she poured the contents of her box into the child'ssombrero.
She ran lightly up the stairs to her room and closed the door beforeopening the note. It said only:
"Will you go to ride with me this afternoon up the canyon? I have something particular I want to say. Please send me word by the boy if I may come up at once."
She devoured it with shining eyes, and pressed it to her face, her lips,her heart. Her woman's instinct divined what the "something particular"must be, and she laughed softly and joyously, while the color mounted toher brow. But presently, as she donned her riding habit, her look grewserious and grave. For a few minutes she had forgotten what it was shehad to do.
"I must tell him," she thought, "and then that will be the end ofeverything." The brown eyes filled with tears, and she choked back alittle sob. "But I've got to do it," she repeated with determination."He won't love me then, but poor daddy will be safe. And I wouldn'tmarry him anyway, because I'm not going to marry anybody. I won't lethim say anything to me about--about anything; I'll tell him about daddybefore he has a chance. But I won't have to tell him right away--when weare coming back, maybe." Her fingers were busy with her collar in frontof the mirror. "Dear me, I'm dreadfully tanned! But he told me once heliked the healthy brown skins the girls all get down here. No; I shallnot let him have the least idea that I care anything about him; but--"and the smiles and dimples were chasing each other across her face asshe started down the stairs. On her way she slipped softly into MissDent's darkened room. Louise was awake, and Lucy stood beside her bed,stroking her forehead with affectionate fingers.
"Poor Dearie! Can't I do something for you before I go out? Do you thinkyou can sleep? Then you won't mind my going, will you? Mr. Conrad hascome to take me to ride. We are going up the canyon. Wasn't it jolly ofhim to think of it this stupid, yellow afternoon?"
"Yes; certainly, dear, I'm glad you're going, and I hope you'll have adelightful ride. Don Homer is always so thoughtful."
Lucy was settling her hat in front of the mirror. "Oh, it isn't DonHomer! It's his brother."
Miss Dent started up. "Curtis Conrad! You're not going with him!"
Lucy looked at her with surprise. "Why, yes, Dearie. Why not?"
"Lucy, darling! You must not go!"
Louise was sitting up now, her hands at her temples. Lucy bent over herwith an arm about her neck. "You surprise me very much, Dearie. Ithought you liked him."
"Yes; of course. But you must not go with him this afternoon. It willnot do."
The girl sat down on the bed beside her. "But I've said I would, Dearie,and he's already here, waiting for me with the horses. And I must go,Dearie. It would be awfully rude and horrid to try to get out of itnow."
Sudden apprehension filled Miss Dent's mind. It was not like Lucy tohold so persistently to anything that was against her wish. Her intensefeeling against Curtis Conrad swept over her excited, tingling nervesand filled her mind with the conviction that she must keep Lucy awayfrom him. Things jigged and swam before her eyes, as her thoughtswhirled dizzily through her brain. "Lucy, dear child!" she exclaimed, "Iwish you would not go. Indeed, you must not go!"
Lucy arose, clad in a new womanly dignity that sent a half-realizeddismay through the turmoil of Miss Dent's mind. Vaguely, with an achingsense of loss, she felt that Lucy had become a woman who wouldhenceforth direct her life for herself. With her hands holding herthrobbing head, through which excruciating pains were darting, Louisestrove to steady her thoughts.
"I don't understand," said Lucy, gently, "why you speak in this way, orwhy you wish me to be rude to Mr. Conrad. If there is any good reasonwhy I should not go to ride with him this afternoon, and you will tellme what it is, so that I can judge for myself, I can beg him to excuseme, because you are not well--and--ask him to stay to dinner instead."
New alarm seized Miss Dent. In her excitement she tried to rise, only todrop back trembling upon the bed. For the moment her one thought wasthat this man must be kept out of the house. "Lucy," she pleaded,despair in her voice, "you do not understand. He is not our friend now.He is your father's enemy--and is trying to kill him."
She stopped in sudden panic at having said so much, and Lucy startedback amazed.
"Oh, Dearie--you don't know, do you--and daddy--you don't know aboutdaddy?"
Louise looked up, her face white and drawn, astonishment veiling thepain in her eyes.
"Lucy, Lucy! Do you know--about your father--and this man--and yet youwill go with him?"
Lucy's curly head was high as she answered deliberately: "Yes, Dearie! Iam going so that I can save daddy from any further trouble. I shall tellMr. Conrad who daddy is."
Miss Dent gasped and her mouth worked for a moment before she couldspeak. "Oh, child, you don't know what you are doing! I beg of you,Lucy, don't go--don't do it! If you love me, if you love your father,don't tell him! He will kill--"
The girl drew herself up proudly. "Indeed, Dearie, you don't know CurtisConrad as well as I do, if you think he will do the lea
Louise fell back, exhausted, as Lucy kissed her forehead and ran fromthe room.