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A Prince of Sinners, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Part 3 - Chapter 1. An Aristocratic Recruit |
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_ PART III CHAPTER I. AN ARISTOCRATIC RECRUIT An early spring came with a rush of warm west wind, sunshine, and the perfume of blossoming flowers. The chestnuts where out at the Park fully a week before their time, and already through the great waxy buds the colour of the coming rhododendrons was to be seen in sheltered corners of the Park. London put out its window boxes, and remembered that it had, after all, for two short months a place amongst the beautiful cities of the world. 'Bus conductors begun to whistle, and hansom cab drivers to wear a bunch of primroses in their coats. Kingston Brooks, who had just left his doctor, turned into the Park and mingled idly with the throng of people. For the first time for many months he suffered his thoughts to travel over a wider range than usual. The doctor's words had been sharp and to the point. He must have instant change--change, if not of scene, at least of occupation. Scarcely to be wondered at, Brooks thought to himself, with a faint smile, when he thought of the last twelve months, full to the brim of strenuous labour, of ceaseless striving within a herculean task. Well, he was in smoother waters now. He might withdraw his hand for a while, if necessary. He had gone his way, and held his own so far against all manner of onslaught. Just then he heard himself called by name, and, looking up, found himself face to face with Sybil Caroom. "Mr. Brooks! Is it really you, then, at last?" He set his teeth hard, but he could not keep the unusual colour from his cheeks. "It is really I, Lady Sybil. How do you do?" Sybil was charming in a lilac-coloured dress and hat as fresh and dainty as her own complexion. She looked straight into his eyes, and told him that he ought to be ashamed of himself. "Oh, it's not the least use your looking as though you were going to edge away every moment," she declared, laughing. "I am going to keep you for quite a long time, and make you tell me about everything." "In which case, Lady Sybil," her escort remarked, good-humouredly, "you will perhaps find a better use for me at some future time." "How sweet of you," she answered, blandly. "Do you know Mr. Brooks? Mr. Kingston Brooks, Lord Bertram. Mr. Brooks is a very old friend, and I have so many questions I want to ask him." Lord Bertram, a slim, aristocratic young man, raised his hat, and glanced with some interest at the other man. "The Mr. Kingston Brooks of the East End? Lavvy's friend?" he asked, politely. Brooks smiled. "I am afraid," he said, "that I am the person who is being exposed--isn't that the word? I warn you, Lady Sybil, that I am a questionable character." "I will take the risk," she answered, gaily. "I think you may safely do so," Lord Bertram answered, raising his hat. "Good-morning, Lady Sybil--morning, Mr. Brooks!" She led him towards the chairs. "I am going to take the risk of your being in an extravagant frame of mind," she said, "and make you pay for two chains--up here, on the back now. Now, first of all, do you know that you look shockingly ill?" "I have just come from-n my doctor," Brooks answered. "He agrees with you." "I am glad that you have had the sense to go to him," she said. "Tell me, are you just run down, on is there anything more serious the matter? "Nothing serious at all," he answered. "I have had a great deal to do, and no holiday during the past year, so I suppose I am a little tired." "You look like a ghost," she said. "You have been overworking yourself ridiculously. Now, will you be so good as to tell me why you have never been to see us?" "I have been nowhere," he answered. "My work has claimed my undivided attention." "Nonsense," she answered. "You have been living for a year within a shilling cab ride of us, and you have not once even called. I really wonder that I am sitting here with you, as though prepared to forgive you. Do you know that I have written you three times asking you to come to tea?" He turned a very white face upon her. "Won't you understand," he said, "that I have been engrossed in a work which would admit of no distractions? "You could find time to go down to Medchester, and make speeches for your friend Mr. Bullsom," she answered. "That was different. I was deeply indebted to Mr. Bullsom, and anxious to see him returned. That, too, was work. It is only pleasures which I have denied myself." "That," she remarked, "is the nicest--in fact, the only nice thing you have said. You have changed since Enton." "I have been through a good deal," he said, wearily. She shuddered a little. "Don't look like that," she exclaimed. "Forgive me, but you made me think--do you remember that night at Enton, when Lord Arranmore spoke of his work amongst the poor, how the hopelessness of it began to haunt him and weigh upon him till he reached the verge of madness. You had something of that look just now." He smiled faintly. "Believe me, it was fancy," he answered, earnestly. "Remember, I am a little out of sorts to-day. I am not discouraged; I have no cause to be discouraged. A good many of the outside public misunderstand my work, and Mr. Lavilette thinks I make money out of it. Then, of course, all the organized charities are against me. But in spite of all I am able to go on and increase day by day." "It is wonderful," she declared. "I read everything in the papers about you--and I get the monthly reports, for of course I am a subscriber--so is mother. But--that brings your shameful neglect of us back into my mind. I wrote to you begging to be allowed to inspect one of your branches, and all I got back was a polite reply from your secretary to the effect that the general public--even subscribers--were never allowed in any of the branches as sightseers, and that all I could see was the stores and general arrangements, for which he enclosed a view-card." "Well," Brooks said, "you don't think that poor people who come to you for help should be exposed to the casual inspection of visitors who want to see how it is done, do you? I have always been very particular about that. We should not allow the Prince of Wales in the room whilst we were dealing with applicants." "Well, you might have written yourself, or come and seen us," Sybil declared, a little irrelevantly. "Why couldn't I be an occasional helper?" "There is not the slightest reason why you should not," he answered. "We have seventeen hundred on the books, but we could always do with more, especially now we are opening so many more branches. But, you know, we should expect you to come sometimes, and how would Lady Caroom like that?" She laughed. "You know how much mother and I interfere with one another," she answered. "Besides, I have several friends who are on your list, and who are sent for now and then--Edie Gresham and Mary Forbrooke." "It is rough work," he said; "but, of course, if you like, my secretary shall put your name down, and you will get a card then telling you what week to come. It will be every afternoon for a week, you know. Then you are qualified, and we might send for you at any time if we were short." "I should come," she said. A coach passed by, with its brilliant load of women in bright gowns and picture hats, and two or three immaculate men. They both looked up, and followed it with their eyes. "Lord Arranmore," Sybil exclaimed, "and that is the Duchess of Eversleigh with him on the box. It doesn't seem--the same man, does it?" Brooks smiled a little bitterly. "The same man," he repeated. "No!" They were silent for a few moments. Then Sybil turned towards him with a little impetuous movement. "Come," she said, "let us talk about yourself now. What are you going to do?" "To do?" he repeated, vaguely. "Why--" "About your health, of course. You admitted a few minutes ago that you had been to see your doctor." "Why--I suppose I must ease up a little." "Of course you must. When will you come and dine quietly with us in Berkeley Square, and go to the theatre?" He shook his head. "It is kind of you," he said, "but--" "When will you come and have tea with me, then?" He set his teeth. He had done his best. "Whenever you choose to ask me," he answered, with a sort of dogged resignation. She looked at him half curiously, half tenderly. "You are so much changed," she murmured, "since those days at Enton. You were a boy then, although you were a thoughtful one--now you are a man, and when you speak like that, an old man. Come, I want the other Mr. Brooks." He sat quite still. Perhaps at that moment of detachment he realized more keenly than ever the withering nature of this battle through which he had passed. Indeed, he felt older. Those days at Enton lay very far back, yet the girl by his side made him feel as though they had been but yesterday. He glanced at her covertly. Gracious, fresh, and as beautiful as the spring itself. What demon of mischief had possessed her that she should, with all her army of admirers, her gay life, her host of pleasures, still single him out in this way and bring back to his memory days which he had told himself he had wholly forgotten? She was not of the world of his adoption, she belonged to the things which he had forsworn. "The other Mr. Brooks," he murmured, "is dead. He has been burned in the furnace of this last wonderful year. That is why I think--I fear it is no use your looking for him--and you would not wish to have a stranger to tea with you." "That," she said, "is ingenious, but not convincing. So you will please come to-morrow at four o'clock. I shall stay in for you. "At four o'clock," he repeated, helplessly. Lady Caroom waved to them from the path. "Sybil, come here at once," she exclaimed, "and bring Mr. Brooks with you. Dear me, what troublesome people you have been to find. I am very glad indeed to see you again." She looked Brooks in the face as she held his hand, and With a little start he realized that she knew. "You most quixotic of young men," she exclaimed, "come home with us at once, and explain how you dared to avoid us all this time. What a ghost you look. I hope it is your conscience. Don't pretend you can't sit with your back to the horse, but get in there, sir, and--James, the little seat--and make yourself as comfortable as you can. Home, James! Upon my word, Mr. Brooks, you look like one of those poor people whom you have been working for in the slums. If starvation was catching, I should think that you had caught it. You must try my muffins." Sybil caught his eye, and laughed. "Mother hasn't altered much, has she?" she asked. _ |
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