CHAPTER XVIII
In the breaking up of the Benton home, there were no distressing leave-takings. The father was the first to go. Indeed, it cannot be said that he ever made The Castle his home again after the night he spent there preceding the inquest into the death of Templeton Druid and his son’s consequent indictment on the charge of manslaughter.
How much of this was due to Geraldine DeLacy’s influence it would be hard to say. The man himself would have denied that she in any way held sway over his movements, but the subtle suggestions she was able to throw out, always with words of love and with the persuasiveness of her own logic that Hugh must do things for his own sake, were balm to the man whose selfishness had grown so great that he was unable to see that there was anything paramount to his own desires.
So on the day following the tragic dénouement in the inquest room, Hugh Benton installed himself in a suite of rooms in one of the city’s most fashionable hotels. Elinor was enthusiastic when she learned where he had gone. It had always been her desire to live in just such a fashion, and she gleefully welcomed the opportunity of freedom it would give her. She knew that her father’s chaperonage would at no time be irksome.
“How wonderful, Daddy!” she exclaimed as she flew from one wide window of his sitting room to another to look out over the towering roofs of the humming city. “When may I come? And where are you going to put me?”
When her father took her into the adjoining suite he had reserved for her and led her into the blue silk-lined boudoir which was its crowning glory, her happiness knew no bounds. She forgot the tragedy that hung over her brother and mother, forgot everything save that she was to be a woman of the world, and live her life to please herself in such surroundings. Her father looked on with pleased eyes as he saw her rapture.
“It’s ready for you, baby, whenever you like, but do you think you should leave—just yet?” He was a little dubious about the proprieties. The lessons of years are not unlearned in hours.
Elinor pouted.
“What’s the use of staying with those others any longer?” she asked. “Why, Daddy, you have no idea how disagreeable it all is—how they look at me (if they do at all), as though I were the criminal, instead of——”
Hugh Benton turned on his heel. It grated to hear his son referred to as a criminal, even from his own daughter.
Shut up in her own rooms, the rooms where she had planned so many hours of happiness when son and daughter should be home, Marjorie Benton tried to shut her ears to the bustle of preparations for departure. But each thump of a trunk as she heard it carried from her daughter’s room made an added bruise on her lacerated heart—gave her a sense of loss that even all of Howard’s loving protection (he was the only one who came to break her solitude) could not entirely heal. Her baby was going away from her! It was her baby who had chosen to do this thing!
On the day that the girl’s father came for her to take her to her new hotel home, she met him outside the door. She flew into his arms with eagerness. But, with one foot on the running board of his car, her eyes turned backward for a moment. She looked up at Hugh for guidance.
“Do you think—do you think, Daddy,” she faltered, confused, “that I ought to say good-by?”
Hugh Benton’s thoughts were not on the daughter he was taking from home and mother. He had no time to discuss matters, nor to wait while Elinor made up her mind. He was to meet Geraldine DeLacy at their favorite little café for lunch in an hour (their regular daily meeting) and he was eager not to be late. He shrugged indifferently, as he held open the door of the limousine.
“Suit yourself, my dear,” he said, “but I can’t see——”
“Nor I!” Elinor leaped lightly into the machine. “What’s the use of good-bys? I’ve had enough of scenes—forever.”
And she turned her face resolutely toward the new life.
Geraldine DeLacy was kept waiting for a short time, but when she saw Hugh Benton’s tall familiar figure coming toward her, her mood of pettishness passed as though a hand had wiped out the lines from her face, and it was a smiling eager countenance with which she greeted him as he bent over her hand a moment before taking the chair opposite her in their favorite little corner in the downtown café. Geraldine DeLacy was a careful player. She knew there was yet much to lose by a false move, and she prided herself that never yet had anyone called to her, “Checkmate!” There was the Benton money, for instance. Something must be devised—It would never do to have Marjorie Benton come out victor there, and she knew quite well through her familiarity with the divorce proceedings that were already under way in less than two weeks after Hugh had gained Marjorie’s permission to start them, that Hugh intended to live up to the letter of his promise to his wife, given that night he had forced her hand.
So it was with no suggestion either of her discontent in this matter, nor of the bad temper that had spent itself over having been kept waiting that the young widow spoke softly to the man who apologized.
“Of course, it was long waiting, Hugh, dear,” she pouted prettily. “But it’s always an age if I have to wait for you a moment! And to think before I knew you I never thought I could miss anyone in the world!”
“I knew you would understand, little one,” he smiled tenderly, “you always do! But I was kept unconscionably late to-day for several reasons. First, Elinor—I told you I had installed her at the Alliston with me, did I not?” Geraldine nodded, but as she bent over her plate of oysters picking at them with the tiny fork, Hugh Benton could not see the annoyance in the dropped eyes. “Then,” he went on, “just as I was ready to leave the office, one of those new lawyers of mine dropped in. I’ll say I’m going to have trouble making them understand that they must make appointments like other people,—Hammond always understood such things so well—and they had a lot of questions to ask about that settlement of mine——”
Mrs. DeLacy showed signs of quickening interest, but her eyes were still upon her plate as she thought best how to inject some of her own ideas into the man’s reasoning.
“It’s all so maddening,” Hugh went on, “to be tied up in this manner over money! Here all I want in the world is you,—and you want me, I’m sure, little one,” Geraldine lifted her eyes to flash him a dazzling smile of happiness and understanding, “and they keep us——”
Geraldine DeLacy laid down her fork and leaned across the table toward her companion, gazing at him thoughtfully and consideringly, as though there were something vital she wished to say, but wanted to be sure of her ground. Hugh smiled tenderly.
“What’s on your mind, dear?” he laughed. “Come on—we’re not going to let you be serious as that without an explanation.”
“I was just thinking——”
“With any other woman, I’d say, ‘Be careful!’ ” he assured her, with a benignant grin. Hugh Benton still believed in the vast superiority of the masculine. But Geraldine did not answer his smile. It must be something serious she was considering.
“If I were to be very frank with you, Hugh,” she began hesitatingly, and her eyes held only a look of adoration, and something that seemed to tell his vanity that she feared to displease him by anything she might say, “would you consider me presuming or guilty of an unpardonable interference in your affairs?”
“My dear, how little you know me! You know I am always glad to listen to anything you may have to say.”
“Well, then,” she was most cautious, still hesitating, “does Marjorie know exactly how much you are worth? Have you always taken her into your confidence regarding your financial standing? Please do not think my asking these questions strange—you will soon see, dear, that I have only your interest at heart.”
“Why, no,” he answered, but puzzled at this new interest of the woman who had always so carefully refrained from the mention of money, “Marjorie doesn’t know anything about my affairs.”
The semi-lighting effects of the café and her large, drooping hat, prevented him from seeing the triumphant gleam in the woman’s eyes.
“When we first came to New York,” he explained, “we used to discuss all the transactions of the office, but that was only for a very short time. For years she has not shown the slightest interest in me or my doings. I have paid all the bills and given her a liberal allowance, nearly all of which she invested in charity.”
“How about Mr. Hammond? Does he happen to know just what you are worth?”
“My dear, I see that you know very little about business,” he replied laughingly, “or else you would understand that when one speculates as I do, no one knows—not even myself—just what I am worth.”
“You’re right—I know nothing whatever about business,” she pouted childishly. “I’m only trying, in my poor little way, to prevent you from doing yourself a great injustice.”
“An injustice?”
“Yes! Oh my dear! You’re so wonderful—so generous—that you never even stop to consider yourself for a moment! No, you mustn’t interrupt me,” as she leaned across the table, and gave him a gentle pat on the hand. “You’ve been an ideal husband and father all these years. It isn’t your fault if you have been misunderstood by your wife, and unappreciated by your son. Then why should you, at your time of life, beggar yourself so that your money may be recklessly squandered by an irresponsible boy?”
“But I’m not making a settlement upon Howard. It’s Marjorie I’m——”
“Hugh! You’re as gullible as a child!” she smiled. “Don’t you know she will give every dollar she possesses to Howard, especially after you disinherited him because he sided with her.”
“I never thought of that,” he acknowledged comprehendingly. “You’re absolutely right. It is precisely what she would do.”
“Just how much did you promise to—give her?” she asked eagerly.
“I told her I would give her three-quarters of my possessions if she would consent to grant me my freedom.”
“You—you—” She dug her finger-nails deep into her palm. Rage flamed inwardly in spite of her efforts at self-control and her soft-spoken words—“liberal, big-hearted darling! That is just what I would have expected you to do—without once giving yourself a thought!”
“I would have given anything to be free—for you, darling—and I could afford to be generous. I feel more capable than ever of making many a fortune,” he replied, with great confidence.
“I haven’t the least doubt of your capabilities, dear. Only you happened to remark but an hour ago that this was one of the most precarious years frenzied finance has ever known. Therefore, I think,” she pleaded wistfully, “you should exercise your better judgment.”
“What is it you would advise me doing? Have you a suggestion to offer?”
“Y-e-es, I think so,” she hesitated, as though not sure of herself. “Of course, I know very little about business, as you know, but to me it seems a good one.” She leaned forward animatedly. “As long as Marjorie is entirely ignorant of just how much you are actually worth, why don’t you give her a great deal less, and allow her to think, she is getting—exactly what you promised her?”
“Why—why—” he stammered, “wouldn’t that be dishonest?”
“Not at all!” she replied emphatically. “Merely diplomatic.”
“Somehow, it doesn’t seem fair—my conscience,—why dear, what is the trouble?” he inquired anxiously, as Geraldine without warning placed her handkerchief to her eyes and began weeping silently.
“You—you don’t know how you hurt me, Hugh! Why—why—you as much as imply that I was suggesting to you an act of dishonesty, when the only thing that entered my mind was your welfare. As far as I am concerned, I told you once before, dear—that I’d marry you if you were a pauper.”
“Forgive me, dearest, and dry your eyes, I implore you. How can you imagine, for a moment, that I would intentionally offend you?”
“I’m such a baby,” she replied, drying her eyes obediently, “and my great love for you would carry me beyond all sense of reasoning. Of course, if you think there is anything wrong about my suggestion, why then——”
“I’m not trying to say there is anything wrong about it—only—I have always been open and above board in all my dealings,—” he toyed nervously with his own fork,—“I should feel rather uncomfortable about doing anything underhanded.”
But the plotter could see her victim was weakening. She hastened to make the most of it.
“Why, my dear, you couldn’t even harbor a dishonest thought! I can’t help wondering just a little how you, who are always so very considerate of others, have apparently forgotten all about Elinor.”
“Elinor? What has she to do with it?”
“A great deal, I think,” she replied. “You know, Elinor volunteered of her own free will to remain with you, therefore it does not seem fair to give so much to Marjorie and Howard, while Elinor will be compelled to depend solely upon your further success for her share. It is true that you have always been most fortunate—but my dear, we can never tell just when the tide may turn.”
“And what about you?” He looked at her admiringly. “You wonderful woman! All of your pleadings have been for me and for Elinor—never once have you mentioned yourself as deserving of a little consideration!”
“There isn’t a thing in the world that I need or want outside of your love,” she answered sweetly.
“That you shall always have,” he said fervently as he reached across the table and his big white hand crushed her small one tenderly. “And a great many things besides. You have made me view matters in an entirely different light. I shall act accordingly.”
So it was that when a few days later his lawyer handed Marjorie his check after the signing of the necessary documents, the divorced wife found it difficult to suppress her genuine surprise.
“Is there anything wrong, Mrs. Benton?” the lawyer inquired, noticing her peculiar expression.
“Well—I—I am a little surprised—at the amount!” She glanced at the paper in her hand again. “I have always been under the impression that Mr. Benton was a very wealthy man.”
“There was never a certain sum stipulated, was there?”
“Why, no—Mr. Benton agreed to give me three-quarters of all he possessed, but if this amount is in accordance with that promise—then he is worth a great deal less than I ever imagined.”
“You know that Mr. Benton speculates in vast sums daily; his fortune is bound to fluctuate. Would you care to send a message to him?” he asked, as he reached for his hat.
“No, thank you. This is perfectly—satisfactory,” she replied.
But with the memory of that check in mind, and of the need of vast sums for the defense of her son in mind, Marjorie Benton, in making her own departure from The Castle, did not follow her husband’s example and install herself and her son in a fashionable, expensive hotel. Instead, she chose a much smaller one further uptown—a hostelry where exclusiveness superseded the pomp of the hotel home which housed her former husband and her daughter.
Marjorie could see that Howard was somewhat questioning at the move she made, though he said nothing. She was in a quandary. She would have liked to explain to Howard that she was not being penurious, not following the conservative bent which had so long been the cause of so much trouble in the Benton family, but she could not. She could not explain to him. He had lost all respect for his father as it was, and she felt she could not be the one to plant the seed of hatred in his heart.
Howard, on the other hand, had been deeply hurt when his mother had neglected to mention to him just what was the sum of the settlement upon her. The confidence she failed to place in him gave him the impression of not being trusted. But his pride would not permit him to question her; he feared she might misconstrue his motive, and consider his interest a selfish one.
Through all her travail Marjorie Benton had had one other consolation save her son. John Hammond had proven himself the friend he had offered to be on the morning he had told her he was no longer her husband’s, but her own and her son’s representative. Each day during the progress of the suit, he had called her up or seen her, and his gentle courtesy had done much to lighten her burden. Now he was busy with Howard’s affairs, and because of the lawyer’s deep interest and enthusiasm, the mother had laid aside much of her worry for Howard, believing that it was an assured thing that John Hammond would acquit him.
In a way, she was beginning to be more cheerful, to look at the future as not all dark, in spite of the fact that her resources were far from what she had believed they would be. However, she argued, if she and Howard lived as carefully as possible, they need never want until her son should himself be in a position to add to their income,—a prospect that was a surety with Marjorie since Howard had been speaking so earnestly about it. He had only to place himself—to find himself—and surely she and the boy themselves had enough influential friends to see that he got a start.
Hammond had called her up one morning to assure her that her son’s affairs were progressing rapidly, and to say that the case had been given a place on the calendar which would be reached in a week or two. She was so glad that it would soon be over.
All during her luncheon, which she ate alone—Howard had telephoned he would be detained in the city—she thought of the approaching trial, and her heart warmed as she pictured the great lawyer defending her son. What a man he was! What a friend he had proven! And, what was as much to Marjorie Benton in her straitened circumstances, how much it meant to both Howard and herself that John Hammond persisted in his purpose to handle the matter without fees.
She looked up from the book she had been idly scanning at her solitary meal to see her son standing in the door. So white and strained he was, so actually ill he seemed that the mother’s hand went to her throat to ease the choking lump that rose. What could have happened now?
“Howard!” she cried chokingly. “What is it, dear? What is wrong?”
Without a word, he crossed to his mother’s chair and laid before her the paper he held. The black type stared up at her, and for a moment, she could not take it in.
PROMINENT LAWYER KILLED IN STREET
AS AUTOS COLLIDE
JOHN HAMMOND, FORMER SENATOR
DIES INSTANTLY
Tears that had not come for so long to the eyes of Marjorie Benton, who had believed they had dried forever, gathered under the hot lids. She could not read further. She looked up at her son, standing there with his hopeless expression, and her arms went out to him as she hid her face on his rough coat.
“Oh, my dear! My dear!” she cried heart-rendingly, “it can’t be true! We’ve lost our best friend!”
Howard was tender as he stroked her head. But the stricken expression went from his eyes. He straightened himself, then leaned over his mother and lifted her head to look directly at her.
“No, mother,” he said gently. “We’ve lost a friend—a wonderful friend—but not our best friend while you or I live!”
The papers were all loud in their praise of the prominent man. They spoke of him in terms of profound respect and admiration. He had won a great name and enviable reputation for himself, by his many acts of benevolence and absolute integrity in all his dealings. There were many he had befriended who mourned him sincerely.
But there were none who felt his loss as keenly as Marjorie and Howard Benton. They knew they had lost a friend who could not be replaced.
With the tragedy occurring so near the beginning of Howard’s trial, the days were busy ones that followed. New counsel had to be procured, and when, through friends, Monroe Garden, a celebrated trial lawyer, had been called into the case, they found that the work of weeks had to be gone over. With a sinking heart, too, Marjorie Benton found that it would strain her resources if the matter should be long delayed.
And delayed it was. Mr. Garden’s ideas were different from Hammond’s. The latter had been all for rushing the matter through. He fought for delay upon delay, explaining to his impatient clients that it was the best thing to do.
Perhaps he was right. For after several months of anxiety and nerve-racking suspense, Howard was acquitted!
The strain upon Marjorie had been frightful—both upon her mentality and her bank account. There had been one expense after the other, and as she already knew, the lawyer’s fee was exorbitant. She was so overjoyed at the verdict, though, that she paid him gladly, and it was not until it was all over, that she realized to the full extent how terribly her funds had been depleted.
But it was with a heart full of thankfulness, a deep sigh of relief that she had her son—that he stood free and cleared of intent of crime before the world—that Marjorie Benton turned to take up the slackened thread of her life. There was so much to hope for. And surely all that could possibly happen had happened, and there must now be some peace and happiness awaiting her.
It was with a ruder shock than any that had preceded that the mother was awakened from her new dream. Ever since his acquittal Howard had seemed listless, not entirely himself. She had put this down to the strain, however, knowing well how it had affected her, too. Howard would soon be himself, and they would have a wonderful life together.
She was preparing to leave her room for the dining room in the hotel one morning—(she always breakfasted early with him these days) when word was brought her that her son was ill. She rushed into his room to find that the boy had collapsed as he tried to leave his bed. The physician who was hastily summoned advised an immediate removal, and before an hour had passed, Howard Benton was in a small room in a sanitarium, tossing in the feverish delirium of typhoid. The weeks he laid there passed into months; one complication on another set in, for his constitution was in a badly run-down condition, owing to the months of anxiety he had been obliged to endure during his trial.
There was something martyrlike in the way Marjorie managed to bear up under her heavy cross. She grew haggard and pale as she hovered near the bedside of her boy day and night. It was only when the doctor threatened to bar her from the room entirely, that she consented to go home for a few hours’ rest at night. But even then she didn’t rest. She either paced the floor in her anguish and despair, or she knelt beside her bed praying to God not to take her beloved boy from her now—now that she had just found him.
And God in His great mercy, heard her prayers, for Howard began slowly to fight his way back again to health and strength. It was then, in these days of convalescence that the wonderful devotion between mother and son became noticeable to everyone connected with the sanitarium.
Outside of going to her room for a few hours at night, she never left him for a minute. She read to him by the hour, played all sorts of games with him, such as a small boy might have enjoyed, and when he was able to be taken out a bit, she wheeled him up and down the corridor, or out into the garden without ever tiring.
On his part, he was never happy unless she was beside him. He wouldn’t go to sleep at night without holding her hands, and in the morning, if she was delayed ten minutes in arriving, he would insist upon the nurse telephoning to find out whether anything had happened.
It was beautiful—this great love—to all who witnessed it. Especially was it so to Marjorie herself. She fairly reveled in it. Her soul, love-starved for so many years, reached out passionately for this new-found joy.
In Howard’s presence she was always smiling and cheerful. Never for a moment did she permit him to think that there was anything wrong. No matter how hard she would be obliged to struggle, she would never reveal to him the true state of their affairs until he had completely recovered.
It was amazing to her the way her money seemed to diminish as if by magic. There wasn’t anyone she could appeal to. Hugh and Elinor had left for Paris a few days after the trial ended, and even if Hugh had not gone, she would have died before appealing to him. He had treated her shamefully all through the trial, coming into court day after day, without once speaking to her, or even noticing her. Of course, she never guessed that he was really ashamed to look at her. Conscience is a difficult tormentor at times.
The day before they sailed, Elinor called her on the ’phone.
“We’re leaving for Europe to-morrow, mother,” she announced. “May I come out to see you before we go?”
“I really can’t see why you should wish to see me, Elinor,” she answered as coolly as her daughter had spoken, but her heart was beating madly.
“Well, I’m going a long ways from here, and somehow—I should like you—to wish me luck.” There was a little sob in her voice.
“I do wish you the best luck in the world—always,” Marjorie replied heartily; “only I don’t feel as if I could stand seeing you just yet.”
“I’m sorry, mother. Good-by.”
Marjorie heard the receiver click at the other end of the line.
Elinor and Hugh had passed out of her life.
When she discovered her funds dwindling away to almost nothing, she endeavored to economize in every possible way. She gave up their rooms in the hotel where Howard had fallen ill, and moved into a back-room in a private dwelling close to the sanitarium, explaining to Howard that she had made the change in order to be nearer him.
One morning, she entered Howard’s room, expecting to find him sitting up in bed finishing his breakfast as usual. To her great surprise, he rushed toward her and grabbed her in his arms. He was dressed for the street, while his suitcase stood in the corner, packed and strapped.
“Hello, dearest!” he cried, kissing her fondly, “what do you think of your boy now?”
“Why, darling—what does this mean?” She struggled out of his embrace and looked about her in surprise.
“It means that I’m perfectly well, mother—and able to go home with you now.” He kissed her again. “I knew all about it yesterday, but I begged Doctor Simpson and Miss Sanders not to tell you. I wanted the pleasure of surprising you myself. Are you happy, dear?”
“Happy to see you well and able to leave here? Why, darling, you know how happy I am, only—only—” she stammered helplessly, “I—I wish you had told me yesterday.”
“But why, mother? I can’t see why it was necessary to tell you in advance? All you have to do is to call a taxi and take me home.”
“Well—you see, dear—” she hesitated slightly, “I wanted to know a day or two in advance so that I could look for a small apartment, or else engage another room—in the house—where I am now living.”
“Another room? Why, dearest, do you mean to say that you have only one room?”
“Why yes—you see——”
“I can’t understand it! Surely you knew I wasn’t going to remain here forever! You should have remained in your comfortable room at the hotel. You could have easily taken a taxi back and forth from here.”
“Well I—I—” The tears she had held back in his presence for those long months suddenly gushed forth. She had reached the end of her strength. Sobs shook her.
“Dearest, what is it? Sit here and tell me all about it.” Howard placed her tenderly in the rocker, and drew a chair for himself close beside her.
“No—no—it’s nothing at all.” She tried hard to check her tears as she protested, but unavailingly. “I’ll tell you as soon as you’re well and strong, but now——”
“I’m well and strong now! Why Doctor Simpson says I’m in a better physical condition than I’ve ever been since I was a boy. I insist upon your telling me just exactly what it is that is troubling you, mother,” he said firmly.
“Very well, dear.” She realized it was useless to refuse.
So she told him everything,—just what amount of money Hugh had given her and exactly how much of it had been spent.
“Oh, mother, dear, if you had only mentioned it to me at the time,” he reproached her gently. “You can’t imagine how hurt I was because you failed to tell me. I thought it was because you didn’t trust me enough.”
“No, no, it wasn’t that,” she hastened to assure him. “I didn’t wish you to feel more embittered toward your father.”
“I’d have gone to him at the time and told him plainly just what I thought of him!” he exclaimed indignantly. “He cheated you, mother—that’s what he did—and all because of that miserable creature!”
“Hush, dear, you’re only exciting yourself needlessly,” she cautioned him, “and it won’t do a bit of good. The thing is this—just what are we going to do?”
“We are not going to do anything, dearest.” He put his arms tenderly about her. “I’m going to do it all. I’m going to work, and take care of you the rest of your life!”