Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [102]
He stood swaying unsteadily, his hand rubbing his chin. The fall had scarcely rumpled his elegant attire, but there was little of the English gentleman about him as he glared at Walter, his liquid black eyes hot with Latin rage.
“Two against one?” he inquired with a sneer. “Very sporting, gentlemen!”
“You are a fine one to talk of sportsmanship,” I exclaimed. “To strike an injured man—”
“He used terms I allow no man to use to me,” Lucas interrupted.
“I regret the terms,” Walter said in a low voice. “But not the emotion that prompted them. Miss Amelia—Radcliffe —if you had heard the things he said of Evelyn—the implications he was vile enough to make—”
“They were true,” Evelyn said.
All eyes turned toward Evelyn.
White as the lace at her throat, straight as a young birch tree, she faced the staring eyes without flinching. She stepped back—not in retreat, but in a deliberate movement that separated her from support. She waved me back with an irresistible gesture of command as I started toward her, expostulations rising to my lips.
“No, Amelia,” she said, in the same quiet voice. “I had, for a time, the cowardly hope of avoiding this. But in justice to Lucas—and to all of you—I cannot remain silent. In the heat of anger Lucas spoke the truth. Not only have I lost a woman’s most priceless jewel, I gave it up to a profligate, a wastrel, and a ruffian. I acted of my own free will. I abandoned an old man who loved me, and was only saved from the ultimate sin of taking my own life by Amelia’s charity. Now that you know the worst, you will no longer seek to detain me. And you will accept my thanks for saving me, in the nick of time, from the despicable act I was about to commit. I see now that I cannot injure Lucas by taking advantage of his noble offer of marriage. That would be a fine way to repay his kindness, would it not?”
“Evelyn, my dearest,” Lucas began.
She shook her head. It was a mild enough gesture, but even Lucas was convinced by the unalterable firmness of her expression. His outstretched hand fell to his side.
“I shall never marry. By devoting my life to good works and charitable undertakings I may one day partially redeem my ruined character.”
She had intended to say more; she was proceeding in fine dramatic style, poor young thing, carried away by the tragedy of it all, as the young are. But her emotions were too genuine, too painful; her voice broke in a sob. She continued to stand pilloried under the astonished gaze of—Walter. She had spoken as if to all of us; but it was Walter she had really addressed.
He looked like a man who has received a mortal wound and does not yet realize that he ought to fall down. Emerson’s countenance was as blank as the rock cliff behind him. Only his eyes were alive. They moved from Evelyn’s ashen face to the equally corpselike countenance of his brother; but that was the only movement he made; he did not speak.
Suddenly the color rushed back into Walter’s face, so hectidy that he looked fevered. His dull, blank eyes came alive. Stepping forward, he dropped to his knees before Evelyn.
I thought that the long-expected collapse was about to occur. It was with an indescribable thrill of emotion that I realized he had grasped Evelyn’s limp hand in his and was pressing his lips against it. I did not need to hear his words to know he had risen to heights I never really expected a man to reach.
“You are the noblest girl I have ever met,” he cried, raising his eyes to Evelyn’s astonished face. “The truest, the most courageous, the loveliest…. I don’t know many men who would have the strength to do what you have just done! But my dearest, sweetest girl….” he rose, still holding her hand and looking down at her with tender reproach. “Do you think so little of me that you suppose I would not understand your tragic story? Evelyn, you might have trusted me!”
For a moment she returned his gaze, her eyes wide, wondering, unbelieving. Then, with a tired little sigh, she closed her eyes