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Copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary
gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and
federal imprisonment.

Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not

participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted
materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Coveted by Dragons
Academy of Fire and Ash Book 2
Copyright 2019 by Mazzy J. March
ISBN: 978-1-68361-386-2

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or
utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any
electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter
invented, is forbidden
without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing LLC

 Table of Contents

Academy Books from Decadent Publishing You Might Enjoy

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
An Excerpt from Betrayed by Dragons: Academy of Fire and Ash
Book 1
Still betrothed to two dragons I hate...
But there are two other dragons I’m falling hard for. I’m AJ, or
Angelica Jewel as the two dragons my parents plan on me marrying
call me. There are a lot of expectations to live up to in our family
and my wolf side is an embarrassment. Because I am half wolf.
Some of the bullies here call me a mutt.

But my wolf is the only side of me that works.

And if I don’t get a chance to shift and let her run soon, I worry that
even she won’t come out to play. Every day at this school the
tension grows, and I’ve recently learned of a plan to kill me. Not that
I can prove it. At my old school I only had to worry about exams.
And a demon…but that wasn’t really my issue.

I’m working on everything, and also on getting to know Benji and

Walden…those two dragons I mentioned falling for? If my former
roommate at The Lycan Academy can have four guys, maybe I can
handle two. If it’s destiny. And If they are okay with it sharing.

Either way, I’m learning a lot about myself, and what it means to be
a dragon, so if mine ever decides to put in an appearance, maybe I’ll
be ready
I wish I could fly!

Academy of Fire and Ash is a new series featuring AJ, a character

many readers have already met in The Lycan Academy. It is a slow-
burn why choose romance.
Academy Books from Decadent Publishing You
Might Enjoy
The Lycan Academy by Mazzy J. March
First Howling
Second Growl
Third Snarl
Jaded Love

The Academy of Fire and Ash by Mazzy J. March

Betrayed by Dragons
Coveted by Dragons
Mated to Dragons – Coming Soon

Alien Academy by Jenna M. Jett

First Contact
Second Sighting
Academy of Fire and Ash Book 2
Coveted by Dragons

By
Mazzy J. March
 Chapter One
You’ve got to be shitting me.
“I’m sorry. What did you say, bitch?” I spat back. I usually
wouldn’t have been so rude to someone else until I knew what she
said, but in this case, I was living on very little sleep, and you know,
the knowledge my betrothed men and a witch were trying to fucking
kill me was sort of rubbing me the wrong way.
The life of a student.
The girl, dressed in a pair of leather pants that probably cost
more than my dowry, sneered at me, her face only inches from
mine. Her artificially flame-red hair swished over her shoulders,
curtaining her angry face. She had pushed me into the wall, and I’d
stumbled a little while ironing the front of my skirt with my hands,
making sure the bitch cooties didn’t stick.
I was calming my wolf, who currently wanted to break right
through my sternum and fuck this girl up hard. She was barely
listening, snarling and clawing me.
“I said, how dare you? King and Draven are the most incredible
males at this school, and now they are in recovery from something
you did. Isn’t it bad enough your family has somehow swindled them
into marrying you? What? Not good enough for the mutt?”
Oh, I saw. This was a Draven and King groupie. Draking, for
short. I didn’t even know this girl’s name.
“I suppose that depends on how you define incredible,” I said,
tapping my chin. “And for the record, they burned each other. My
dragon is dormant, no smoke, no fire.”
She extended her fingers and touched my shoulder, shoving me
into the wall again, and I responded instantly with a right hook to
her chin. Bitch was on the floor in two seconds flat.
Oops. I hoped she wasn’t planning on saying anything
profound.
Wow, who knew I could punch so hard? Noted.
I crouched to see if she was okay when a foot slammed into my
ribs. My knees hit the marble floor with a thud. Damn, I didn’t
realize kneecaps could hurt.
“What did you do, you fucking mutt?”
Before I could react or remove myself from the situation, I was
down again, my face having an intimate meeting with the cold floor
as she’d taken her leather boot and shoved me down as I tried to
rise.
She was trying to beat me up over two of the most pampered
princes ever to live, didn’t think the duo cold fight their own battles?
She had to corner me in the fucking school like this?
“Enough. All of you. Stephanie, you get on the other side of the
hall.” I heard Cavender’s voice, but the petty side of me won the
fight over what to do next while I had the chance. I reached out
and, while Stephanie was trying to obey the headmistress’ orders, I
grabbed her ankle, yanked as hard as I could, and sent her flying to
the other side of the hall instead.
She got there. That had to count, right? Don’t smirk. Don’t
smirk. Oops.
“Angelica Kensington, you will stop right this instant.” Well, shit.
Headmistress’ voice raised above all the chaos and made me wince.
This time, the red-haired wench had come to and was prying
herself off the floor to get on all fours. She shook her head, and I
expected to hear the broken parts rattling around. I’d hit her hard.
Felt way too good.
“Layla, you, too. Everyone in my office.”
I stood and brushed off my knees, and the one named
Stephanie scoffed. “I’m sure you do that a lot, brushing off your
knees.” A few of the onlookers we’d attracted snickered at her lame
attempt at a blow-job joke.
“I learned it from you,” I said and winked. One side of her upper
lip rose in a sneer as she stomped.
Headmistress walked between Layla and me the entire way to
the office, with Stephanie strutting along in front—the best Cavender
could do to separate us temporarily. Students turned to glare and
snicker, whispering to each other, speculating about what had
happened.
 “In here. All of you.” I passed her as she muttered, “As if I
didn’t have enough to do.”
Inside, the three of us sat in her leather guest chairs, and all of
us crossed our legs at the same time. Cavender leaned back in her
seat. “Okay, what happened out there?”
Of course, all of us started to talk at the same time, each
blaming the others.
Cavender held up her palm, and we stilled. “Okay, Angelica, you
first. What happened?”
Layla and Stephanie grunted and threw themselves backward in
their chairs.
I managed to suppress my smirk this time. I didn’t think it
would gain me any sympathy or support, and the headmistress had
been kinder to me than almost anyone so far at this place. “I was
walking down the hall, minding my own business, when leather
pants here decided it would be a good idea to shove me into the
wall. I’m not the type to stand around and take shit without
defending myself.”
Cavender looked down her nose at me and then darted it
toward the others. “Why did you shove Ms. Kensington, Layla?”
Leather pants uncrossed and then re-crossed her legs the other
way then shrugged. “She deserves it for what she did to King and
Draven. Oh, I hope they don’t scar.”
Bitch seemed like she was more worried about their skin than
their actual health.
I twitched and rolled my eyes so hard I almost believed they
would stick that way. “I didn’t do jack shit to those two ass…” I
trailed off after seeing the major stink eye from the leader of the
school. “Those boys. I did nothing. They burned each other like
idiots.”
Layla stood. “But you were the cause for them to lose control of
their dragons. It was you!”
The gossip train around this place ran on schedule and was as
fast as a Japanese bullet train.
Still, not my fault.
 “Oh yeah, that makes sense.” I sat back and threw my hands
up. “I can make two guys who hate me shift into their dragons, act
like morons, and burn each other. Bravo.” I clapped a little for her
ridiculousness.
“No matter the reason, we do not condone violent acts toward
other students, Layla. And I saw what you did as well, Stephanie.
Both of you are suspended for the rest of the week. No make-ups
for any tests or assignments you miss either.”
Oh, great. Now they would blame their bad grades on me, too.
“She deserved it. Worth the punishment,” Stephanie sneered.
“Anything else, Jessica?”
“It’s Headmistress or Ms. Cavender, Stephanie. And yes, you are
free to go. Don’t stop and socialize. Don’t hang around. Leave this
office and go to your dorm room. This is the last time I want to hear
about any actions like this from either of you.”
I hadn’t been dismissed, so I sat while Layla and Stephanie
passed in front of me, chins in the air, huffing out their aggravation
and snarling. Just when I was satisfied they would be gone,
Stephanie’s hand jutted out and reached for my necklace, the
treasure Arnham had given me. I latched on to her wrist and jerked.
She fell to the side and flat on her ass.
“That’s it,” Cavender shouted and pointed to the door. “Out of
here. I will be on the phone with your parents tonight. Out. Now!”
The bitch had tried to snatch my treasure.
Stephanie shrugged one shoulder. Suspension probably meant
more time by the pool for the pampered princess.
Headmistress waited until they had finally left before she leaned
forward and rested her face on her palms. “Are you hurt?”
I’d thought I was going to get a lesson in tripping people, but
instead, her expression revealed true worry. “I’m not. Thanks.”
She nodded. “Arnham contacted me very early this morning and
asked your schedule be rearranged to include his class. You realize
the volume that speaks, don’t you? Arnham is…well, he’s dragon
legacy.”
I nodded and fingered the chain my gem hung from. “I am
really honored.”
 “Good. See that you treasure this opportunity, so to speak.
Here’s your new schedule, and AJ?”
I smiled to myself at hearing her use my nickname. “Yes?”
“Take care of yourself. Maybe have one of your men stay with
you between classes? Oh, yes, I have eyes everywhere. I already
know about the mates, plural. Now, go. I have more delinquents
waiting for me.”
I took the paper from her hand and saw none of my classes
were the same. Great. More studying.
 Chapter Two
While reading over the schedule and trying to decide if anything
at all I’d done so far this semester could carry over, I bumped head-
on into someone tall and muscular. “Excuse me.” I moved to the
side, noticing my class with Arnham came right after lunch, meaning
I could still attend today, and hit another hard body. This time I
lifted my head, a growl falling away from my lips as I saw who I’d
hit. Or rather both whos.
The concern on their faces nearly melted me, and I wobbled.
“Oh goddess! I’m sorry.”
Benji and Walden’s arms shot out, and each closed over one of
my shoulders, steadying me on my feet. Having both of them touch
me at the same time was like closing a circuit, something I’d studied
recently in science class—a class I no longer would be attending this
semester. Brushing the thought aside, I was immediately overtaken
by a swelling heat in my abdomen, and my wolf gave a little huff.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I’m coming down
with something.”
“Come sit down, AJ.” Benji started to guide me to a bench, but
Walden stayed put, and I was tugged between them for a moment.
“Walden? AJ needs to rest.”
“Yes.” He nodded but didn’t move. “But instead of just sitting
out here, why don’t we take her to lunch? Maybe she’s dizzy
because she needs to eat.”
“Okay, but first, she can sit a while.” Benji gave another little
yank. “Until she’s not dizzy.”
To my shock, they pulled and tugged a few more times, working
their way down until they were each holding one of my wrists while
arguing about what might be best for me until I got myself together
enough to shrug them both off.
“I am not a tug-of-war toy!” Letting out a whoosh of breath
warm enough to dry my lips, I fixed them both with a firm stare. “I
appreciate your help, but dislocating my shoulders is only going to
cause more issues. Now, I am going to lunch. Would either or both
of you like to join me?” I tossed my hair in a way the redheaded
bitch could only dream of doing and strode toward the cafeteria—
hips swaying just a little. Look who just found her womanly wiles,
teased my wolf. Our mates are following.
Shh. Not that I thought they could hear her, but I was using
every bit of bravado I had at the moment and didn’t need the
distraction. I’m working here.
Work it!
I didn’t giggle, I swear! But my wolf came as close to it as I’d
ever heard her.
I’d only gone a few steps when Benji and Walden flanked me.
They didn’t grab for my arms, which I appreciated because they had
stretched them a little more than was comfortable. I rolled my
shoulders to ease the ache. Was this a hint of what life was like for
those with more than one significant other? Nora must be a real
mess with four Volkovs. As we approached the lunch room, I calmed
down some. My wolf was proud to have these two as mates—she
seemed confident they both were even if I still struggled to reach
any conclusion. I liked them both. A lot. Maybe too much. And so
far, they had proven themselves to be kind, honorable, attentive
males. Being part of Walden’s family was beyond my wildest dreams.
I’d been on guard most of the time since leaving the Lycan
Academy. Adding Benji and Walden to the headmistress, Em, and
Arnham…not to forget Walden’s mom, Eve, my circle of friends and
supporters had made a huge difference in the loneliness and despair
that had threatened to take me down. Maybe take me out. I’d
struggled too hard to get the life I had at my previous school, and
my family had stripped me of it. Or at least done the best they could
to do so. Thanks to Benji, I had reconnected at least one time.
I needed to shrug off my morning, not Benji and Walden’s
touch. As I sat in the chair Benji pulled out for me and accepted a
tall glass of iced tea from Walden, I decided not to let those bitches
ruin what could be a very pleasant—seemed a low-key word for the
tumult their nearness put my body and mind into—lunch.
“It’s soup and sandwich day,” Benji said. “Would you like me to
get yours? I think they have tomato or broccoli and cheese soup to
choose from.”
“Mmm. They both sound so good.” I really was hungry. The
grumble from my belly was not my wolf. “Tomato I think. Last time it
was pretty delicious.”
“On it!” And he was gone to the soup kettles along the wall.
“Brie, apple, and bacon panini or I bleu cheese and pear?”
Walden stood by my side, a smile lifting the corners of his full,
sensual lips. If I ever had to pick one of these guys to kiss, I’d
mourn the loss of the other forever. They had skills.
“I can’t choose.” Crispy bacon and sweet apple with the tang of
brie? Or ripe, delicate pear with creamy bleu cheese? I’d get both,
but the girl in me insisted I not gobble two sandwiches in front of
the guys. Yet.
“I can get one of each and split them with you?” He looked so
hopeful, my heart gave a thud.
“Okay.” I hesitated then shoved the girl with her silly ideas
away. “Honestly, would you really only eat one sandwich?”
His chuckle was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard. “No, normally,
I’d eat two or three. How about I get several and we all split them?”
“Plan!” I held up my hand and high-fived him. Even that gave
me a tingle.
“Benji,” he called. “Get enough soup for all of us, and I’ll do
sandwiches.”
“Already done.” He turned to face us, holding a tray with a half
dozen cups of soup. “I want both kinds of sandwiches.”
Turned out they had Monte Cristos paninis as well, and the
three of us sat at our corner table with enough food for more than
three dragons. But we devoured it and saved room for the warm
chocolate chip cookies the chef sent out just as I popped the last bit
of crispy sandwich in my mouth.
“Oh my gosh, you must think I’m a total pig girl,” I gasped,
surveying the empty plates, cups, and the crumbs scattered over the
trays. “But I’m not sorry.”
“And you shouldn’t be,” Walden said, smiling but in a very
serious tone. “If your dragon is ever going to show up, you need to
eat enough food to help it happen. I know you’re used to your wolf’s
needs, and you grew up around dragons, but until you’ve felt the
hunger they instill in us, you can’t understand it.”
“I have always loved sweets,” I told him. “But never eaten as
much as anyone in my family.” And now that I thought about it, the
hunger I’d felt today wasn’t entirely new. “I think I have been
gradually upping my meals. I think…I hope…” No, I didn’t want to go
there. “Never mind.”
“Go ahead,” Benji insisted. “Say it.”
“I’ve been a wolf forever but never shown a sign of shifting to
dragon.” I blinked. “Except…”
Walden took my hand. “Except?”
The guilt I’d felt my whole life fell over our happy lunch like a
pall. “Except when I killed my mother being born. So I must have
been a dragon then, right?”
Benji reached for my other hand and enfolded it in his. “And
never shifted since? How odd. But strange things happen. Try not to
think about what may have happened when you were born. You had
no control over that.”
“Right.” Walden’s tone closed the subject. “So, what was the
paper you were reading when you bumped into us?”
My cheeks heated at the memory, but I pulled the papers out of
my pocket where I’d stuffed them after the embarrassing bumping.
“My new schedule. All my classes are changed.”
“Hey, let me see.” Benji scanned it then pushed it to Walden.
“We have several classes together.”
“Looks like you’re in a few of mine, too. Starting with the one
next.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “The one we’re about to
be late for, with Arnham. He really did get you in there fast.”
“He apparently made some suggestions,” I said, still amazed by
the interest such a venerable dragon showed in me.
“Well, I’m in there, too.” Benji stood and gathered our debris.
“Let’s get going. He doesn’t like tardiness.”
 Chapter Three
Arnham’s class wasn’t like the others. I didn’t stare at the clock
or let my mind wander to the other million troubles in my life or
scribble connecting bubbles on blank sheets of paper.
He was like the guy in Dead Poet’s Society. When he told a
story about a dragon and a sword, he stood on the desk, and he’d
brought an actual sword.
When he told the story of the original dragon scribe, he actually
took the antiquated leather-bound book from his briefcase and
passed it around the room. Let us touch it and gently flip the pages.
Every student in the class was absolutely enamored, not only
with his teaching methods, but with what he was teaching us.
He was that good.
“Do you have to go?” I asked Emily after basically gushing for
over an hour about Arnham and the class and everything I looked
forward to studying. I’d probably bored her to death.
“I do,” she said, putting a pair of leopard boots in her suitcase
she claimed she bought on eBay but that looked brand new. “It is
my grandparents’ anniversary, and their friends are throwing them a
surprise party. Believe me, I tried to get out of it. I don’t mind going.
They are still sweet to each other and hold hands and everything.”
I lay on my stomach on my bed and watched her pack the rest
of her things. She said she would be gone the entire weekend, and
the truth was, I would miss her. But I did need the rest, and the
study time in my room would be nice. We had a tendency to distract
one another, and my new schedule made distraction a very bad
thing.
She left on Friday afternoon. I walked to get some dinner but
didn’t see Benji or Walden there. Without Emily, I had no one to eat
with, and I hated to eat alone.
I grabbed a plate of enchiladas to go and made my way back to
my room where I could read and eat without wondering who was
looking at me or whether or not, in some way, I was offending the
assholes who still called themselves my betrotheds.
 Though they really wanted me dead.
I’d changed into my bunny pajamas and gotten into bed with a
book on the first dragon treasure when a plink sound made me jump
and put my book down. My first instinct was to scramble to Emily’s
bed to get away from the window, but I calmed myself with a few
deep breaths. This room was on the third level. No one could be
trying to get into the window.
But a dragon could land on the ledge and come in.
Just when I’d lowered my heart rate and didn’t feel like I would
scream, a knock made me do just that. I screamed bloody murder.
“Who is it?” I asked with my face pressed to the door.
“It’s me,” a muffled voice answered, but the scent confirmed the
person on the other side.
Benji. He could have flown up but instead took the tunnels…
How polite!
I flung the door open, and he lifted me up into a hug while
pressing his nose into the crook of my neck. “I missed you, female.”
He brought us inside and kicked the door shut behind us.
I giggled and wrapped my legs around his waist. “You just saw
me hours ago.”
He scrunched his nose and nipped my bottom lip. “Yeah, but we
were in class, and I couldn’t do this…” He kissed the hollow of my
throat right above my sternum. “Or this…” He grabbed the back of
my thighs and squeezed.
“What is that smell?” He sniffed the air, and I laughed. He might
be my mate, but he was still pure dragon.
“Oreos.”
Benji cocked his head to the side. “I’ve never had an Oreo, but
it smells divine. Almost better than you. No, not even close.”
I slapped at his chest. “What? You’ve never had an… I can’t
deal with this. The audacity of my mate not ever having an Oreo.
Come to my lab.”
I dragged my suitcase out from under my bed and opened it,
feeling like one of those men who used to sell things out of a
suitcase. Despite Emily’s newfound love of the cookies, I still had
plenty and some of each variety left. “Pick your poison.”
 “I had no idea.” I laughed as my mate was expressed his awe of
all the flavors. His mouth was open, and I was surprised he didn’t
drool. “You choose for me.”
“Wait,” I said, the pack of cotton candy-flavored cookies poised
in the air as I held them. “Was that you at the window earlier?”
He nodded and looked at the floor. “I was trying to be romantic,
throwing rocks at your window. You were supposed to look down
and open the window and I would fly up. It worked in my head and
it works on the movies. But then I threw the first rock and basically
saw you freak the fuck out and…well, here I am.”
Peeling back the paper on the package and handing him one, I
thought about what he said. No one had ever gone to any kinds of
lengths to be romantic for me. Not that I’d really ever had someone
I wanted to be romantic for me. “Well, next time, hold up a
boombox with my favorite song playing. That might get you
somewhere.”
He took a cookie from my outstretched hand and moaned with
the first bite. “Are you saying I won’t get anywhere tonight? Did
Walden get to kiss you?”
This boy.
“Why? Are you jealous?”
He sat on my bed and patted the spot next to him. “You know, I
thought I would be. I mean, my dragon called you mate, and so I
assumed I would be the only one. I thought the damned thing might
want to blast Walden for being near you, but he doesn’t really care.
I don’t really care. You are it for me even if it means sharing. And
Walden is okay.”
“You are both my mates,” I said, putting my hand on top of his.
“I know it’s a lot to figure out, but we will let it come naturally. It’s
meant to be.”
He nodded and ate the rest of his cookie while I listened to him
crunch. I knew it offended some people, but to me, crunching meant
nothing but happiness.
“So, you didn’t answer my question from before,” he said,
leaning toward me, his sweet breath fanning over my face.
“Which one?”
 A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he looked at mine.
“Am I gonna get anywhere with my mate tonight?”
 Chapter Four
Eating Oreos and giggling with Benji was a far cry from the
usual evening with Em. While I got the same amount of studying
done—zero—feeding him Oreos a crumb at a time while kissing in
between to “clear our palates” was way more fun. Sorry, Em. And
sitting on the edge of my bed together didn’t mean anything but
cookie eating was going to happen.
Of course not.
And I felt confident she’d understand. Encourage me. Be willing
to disappear for a while and leave us alone. But as it stood, she was
standing in a corner of the ballroom where her dragon grandparents
were celebrating their hundredth anniversary, too used to being
treated that way to mind. She’d said she wondered why they wanted
her there when she’d be ignored at best and taunted at worst. I’d
felt terrible for her, knowing just what being an outcast forced to
hang around was like. Quite a contradictory way to act.
And totally dragon like.
But not my problem right now. I held one of my favorite things
in my hands, Oreos. And one of my favorite people held my heart in
his hands while he proved his excellent taste in cookies. At first, it
was all lighthearted cookie eating, but then, halfway through a
sleeve of Double Stuf, the most romantic cookie in the world, his grin
faded, and he slid his hand around the back of my head, fingers
tangling in my hair and tugging at the roots. It stung but sent tingles
down my spine and back up again.
Walden was a hot librarian, but Benji, the computer geek who
made it possible for me to speak to my friends back at the Lycan
Academy on the Internet, had a whole other kind of sexy. His kisses
were smooth and built slowly in intensity, my lips parting to admit
his seeking tongue without my willing them to. His woodsy clean
scent wrapped around me, holding comfort and sensuality and a
desire to be together forever.
Mate meant something to me, to my wolf…and I had to assume
my dragon if I ever got to know her. It was not a term to be tossed
around uncaringly or applied to two snobby obnoxious dragons who
only wanted me for my dowry and the prestige of my father’s name.
As Benji’s smooth lips moved from mine to my earlobe, where
he paused to nibble, and down my throat to nuzzle, my heart rate
leapt into the danger zone. I’d never understood all the crazy bodily
reactions of characters in the romance novels Em and some of the
girls at Lycan liked to read, but as one of my mates pressed me back
into the mattress, it all made sense.
My pulse pounded under gentle sucking—a mark I’d have to
hide tomorrow if I didn’t want a war to break out, but one I totally
welcomed. My breathing was shallow and fast. His hand came up to
brush the side of my breast, and my nipples went on full alert,
sensitive and aching and demanding his touch.
I had to apologize to the authors of all those books. Here I was,
fully dressed, we’d exchanged just a few kisses, and I was already
soaking my pajamas. Pajamas…I’d invited him in while I was dressed
for bed. Sure, my pink bunny pj’s were anything but lingerie. It was
a onesie. With feet. These caves could get a little cool, and I favored
the fuzzy warmth. But for a romantic encounter? Not that I had a lot
of experience, but in every movie—and of course, all those novels—
the heroine wore short filmy nighties or tiny adorable shorts and
belly-baring tanks.
In not one instance I could remember did the heroine appear
looking like the kid from A Christmas Story in the outfit his aunt or
cousin or somebody had made for him. I was amazed Benji hadn’t
just looked at me and laughed.
But he was clasping the zipper pull as if it were the catch on a
lace bra. “AJ?” His question held all the questions.
“I’m not sure I…”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to do anything to make you
uncomfortable,” he said. “Is it all right if I lower it just to here?” He
tugged it an inch or less.
“Okay, yeah that’s fine.”
“Here?” Another inch, maybe two.
“Yes.” In fact, I wished he’d keep going, wanted things from him
I’d never experienced and never dreamed I would experience. And
my body was 100 percent onboard. My mind, I wanted him, I had no
doubt, but with two of them calling to me, I didn’t know how it
would play out. I had a vague idea the three of us needed to be in
the same room at the same time before…before…
Mating.
Benji had unzipped me to my navel before I placed my hand
over his to stop him. With a nod, he slid his palm back up over the
narrow strip of skin bared by the partially open zipper. Everywhere
he touched blazed to life, and when he pushed back the open sides
of my fuzzy pink pj’s, and when he buried his face in the revealed
cleavage, I’d never felt so alive.
“You smell amazing, AJ,” he said, inhaling deeply. “And your skin
is like satin.”
Without intending to, I arched my back, whimpering deep in my
throat. If he didn’t touch my breasts, I didn’t know what I’d do, but
before I had to beg, he’d pushed the top of the pajamas off my
shoulders, lifting me to lower it to my waist. The main event was still
covered up, but my breasts pointed skyward, nipples swollen and
hard.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, stroking over their curves then
lowering his head to lap at one while continuing to caress the other.
“Mmm.” Benji sucked one nipple into his mouth and used the same
skill he’d used to kiss me to suck and nibble and nip and lap at first
one breast then the other.
Time slowed, and heat coiled in my core. Was it possible for
someone to come simply because a man was lavishing such
attention on a girl’s chest? I didn’t know, but as he continued to
suckle my breasts, I began to believe.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him close so he wouldn’t
stop. I was close to either coming or ripping off my clothes and
begging him to take this all the way home when a rap came on the
door and we leapt apart as if we’d been caught doing something
wrong.
And there was nothing wrong with this.
And everything right.
 Chapter Five
The person at the door the night before was just a random
drunk dragon, trying to get into the wrong dorm room.
But the random knocking had been enough to break up the
make-out session.
Damned drunk dragons.
Benji left afterward, claiming it was a blessing we had been
interrupted since if it was up to him, he would’ve spent the night
and mated and marked me thoroughly.
I wasn’t sure I was ready for that—with either of my mates.
I mean, my body was ready, but I still had to wrap my heart
and mind around it first.
Plus, in my very deepest soul, I wanted the mating flight. The
one I’d have to be a dragon to do.
In a happy glow, I walked between classes the next day. Other
than King and Draven’s groupies giving me dirty looks, everything
was good.
Until I was grabbed by the neck and pulled into an alcove as a
gasp left my mouth.
King shoved me by the shoulders against the nearest wall, and
my bag fell to the floor.
“You’ve been busy, little mutt.” My eyes widened in response
since his push had knocked the wind out of me. “Oh, what? You
thought we wouldn’t find out?”
Draven peered at me over his shoulder, looking like he’d prefer
to be the one hurting me.
Still, once I got enough oxygen, I also summoned my snarky
self. I was thoroughly sick of both of them. “What part? I’ve been up
to so much mischief. You have to be more specific.”
That made both of them growl, and while I was feeling extra
feisty, I didn’t want to be turned into an AJ shish kebab, well grilled.
“The part where you scent like other males, plural. We thought
we made ourselves clear.” I’d never noticed before how shrill
Draven’s voice got when he was mad or whiny. Which seemed to be
most of the time.
I bucked up, for a moment not caring about whether or not they
lit me up right then. I’d rather go down in fire than to cower to these
bastards anymore. “Oh? Why? So that you can have a clear shot at
killing me? You think I’m just going to lie down and make it easy for
you?”
King chuckled, and the sound was as lifeless and hollow as him.
“You’ll lie down when and where we tell you to, bitch.”
I made a move to walk away, to get myself out of this corner
they’d put me in, but Draven shoved me against the wall again. This
time, the back of my head hit the wall. “You keep it up, and you’ll kill
me before you get the dowry. The goods must remain unharmed
until the wedding day or my dad won’t pay up.”
They looked at each other and shared some unspoken words.
Yeah, from the conversation we’d overheard with the witch, they
would need the money to pay for offing me. No girl, no dowry.
“I don’t remember that being one of the stipulations of the
contract, do you?” Draven asked King who shook his head.
Did they really think they could marry my dead body and take
the dowry? They were sicker than I’d believed.
“Me either. But Rasha won’t be happy if…never mind.” He
addressed me again, spittle splashing my cheek as he spoke. I
wanted to gag. “Look, mutt. You keep your paws to yourself, and
we’d better not hear of any more males coming into your room.”
“Can I go now?” I asked and made the attempt to leave where
they had me pinned. I faked a yawn and tried to act bored or tired,
which I was, both bored and tired of their collective bullshit.
“Do you promise to abide by the rules?”
I wanted to spit in their faces. You know, return the favor
“Please. Like you two abide by the rules. Hell, you probably don’t
know what the word means. I wonder if Headmistress knows you
are pinning me to the wall and threatening me.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Draven growled in my face. His eyes
flashed to green, revealing the fact his dragon was very close to the
surface.
 “Oh, I would. I have to protect myself, even from you two—
especially for you two.”
“Dude, we can’t get in any more trouble,” King muttered at my
other betrothed and again, they shared some kind of unspoken
conversation.
Their faces paled, and all of the sudden, the two men, trying to
look fearsome, almost looked scared.
Apparently, these two were riding a thin line with the
headmistress. There were limits even here, even for the dragon
princes. I’d have to remember that.
“Leave me the fuck alone,” I said and pushed against their
strength with my wolf backing me up.
My insides were shaking. The more I threatened them, the
more they would want me dead, but in the moment, I needed to get
away from them.
I needed to find a way not to ever get cornered by Draven and
King again.
 Chapter Six
As they walked away, heads close together, I straightened my
clothes and picked up my bag. Smoothing my hair, I came to a
sudden and surprising realization. I wasn’t all that upset by their
behavior. Determined to avoid more of it, but I’d succeeded in
learning something important about them. No matter how old their
lineage, apparently enough bad behavior could result in their being
tossed out on their wings and claws. Cool. But as I turned in the
opposite direction to head for the library, I stopped.
Did they have any other weaknesses I could use? While I never
wanted them to catch me alone again, I had a way to spy on them
that, in their arrogance, they’d never think of. The tunnels. Em and I
used them, and Benji just had when he came to my door and
knocked, being a sweet guy, but so far as I knew none of the other
dragons did. Just servants and repair people.
Draven and King would never lower themselves to reach the
other levels via the servant access. They always flew up to the ledge
entrances. And I’d heard the maids talking outside our suite—
through the closed door. They were not soundproof. I continued on
to the library, with a new and dangerous plan in mind.
Walden was on duty at the desk this Saturday which provided
both a welcome feeling of security and a distraction from my studies.
Luckily, the place was buzzing with exams on the horizon, and my
mate was busy helping students finding their materials. In this
library, that could mean ancient texts with flaking covers of leather
from extinct paranormal creatures or, on occasion, a parchment and
then babysitting them so they didn’t destroy irreplaceable things.
So while I was peeking at him every time he came into sight, for
a while, and he kept giving me surreptitious smiles and winks, for
the most part, I was able to settle down and actually study. Once I
got into the material, it was so complex and engrossing, the hours
flew by. Dragons, for all their snobbiness, were very serious about
learning. And my new, more advanced classes required all my focus
if I planned to pass, especially entering them mid-term as I had.
 “If I can’t compete with Dr. Kreisler’s treatise on the valuation of
hoards collected from the fourteenth to sixteenth centuries, I must
be losing my touch.”
I jumped, sending the six-book stack to my left tumbling toward
the floor.
Luckily, the librarian standing at my side had great reflexes and
caught every one before the delicate covers and pages could be
destroyed on the slate-tiled floor. He carefully placed them on the
table, while my cheeks burned. “I-I’m so sorry, Walden. I didn’t hear
you coming up behind me. I was…ummm.”
“You’re awfully cute when you blush.” He sat in the empty chair
beside me, his grin showing all those white teeth and his eyes
twinkling. “But it was my fault. And I shouldn’t tease. I get sucked
into all kinds of study, kind of glad my mate does, too.”
Just his use of the word mate gave me chills. Would it ever
come to sound ordinary? I hoped not. “Is it weird I’m fascinated by
this stuff? I know it’s dry reading, but I feel like I’m tapping into the
minds of people so long ago.” I grabbed the book from the top and
opened it carefully then turned to a page in the middle. “Like
Keisler’s, the one you mentioned. One dragon named…Arthete, I
think?” I pointed to a list, careful not to actually run my finger over it
and damage the pages with the oils. They should probably have
gloves here. “Yeah, that was his name. His entire hoard consisted of
stockings embroidered by a particular group of women on an island
off the coast of Scotland. Why stockings?”
“And have you looked online to see what they’d be worth now?”
“I don’t have Internet access, mostly.” I flushed again. “Except
when Benji helps me.”
“You don’t have Wi-Fi in your suite?” He looked so aghast I
wanted to laugh.
“Nope. I gather it’s part of the keep-AJ-isolated plan.”
Walden shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. But if you
want to come by my room later, we can look up some esoteric sorts
of things together.” He winked again.
“Is that what the kids are calling it now?” My giggle escaped
despite my efforts to don a serious expression. “I hear our parents
said something about coming up to see etchings.”
“Yeah, but I actually mean it. There’s so much to learn it can’t
be contained even by the best library, and dragon scholars are
posting new information every day on the Scaled-Net.”
“The what?”
“Oh, little girl, you have a lot to learn.”
I bristled at his term. “I am not a little girl.” Maybe I didn’t need
any mates if they were all going to treat me as a child or someone
who needed a keeper.
He looked so stricken I wanted to comfort him, especially with
what he said next. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know you haven’t had
a lot of experience in the dragon world, and if I can help, I want to
as much as possible.”
“What if I never shift?” He had to realize it was a real possibility.
I was already older than anyone I’d ever heard of taking wing for
the first time. “I wonder if I belong here.”
Walden gave me a soft, warm smile and reached to tuck a lock
of hair behind my ear. “Don’t worry, AJ. You are a dragon even if she
never chooses to emerge. She’s inside you. Why do you think you’re
so fascinated by the embroidered stockings of…what was his name
again?”
“Arthete, son of Kmlete. Isn’t it a weird name?”
His chuckle was about the sexiest thing I’d ever heard. “See?
Who but a dragon would be fascinated by all this stuff? But even if
you were half lizard and half amoeba, you’d still be my mate. It’s
you I love.”
And there it was.
The L word out there for everyone present to hear. I glanced
around, shocked to note there was nobody present to hear. We were
all alone. “The library is closed, isn’t it?” I asked in an unnecessary
whisper.
“It closed over an hour ago, but you were so involved in what
you were reading I didn’t want to bother you.”
“I-I love you, too.” My eyes burned with tears as I let myself be
vulnerable to this dragon. His lips came down on mine in a kiss as
sweet as it was sensual. The kiss of two beings who’d just
acknowledged their feelings for one another in the most important of
words. His kisses had always been amazing, but this one was more
so. While his tongue twined with mine and my arms moved around
his neck to pull him closer, the words rang in my head over and over.
I love him. He loves me. We love each other.
There was nothing simple or uncomplicated about this love. I
also cared for Benji, and how that would all work I had no idea, and
I wanted a real mating flight as badly as any human girl wants a
white-dress wedding.
As to the real elephant in the room, I’d have to put my plan to
spy on Draven and King into place and learn what I could to both
save my life and escape the betrothal. But for tonight, for now, I was
going to go back to Walden’s room and explore both the Scaled-Net
and his lips until dawn.
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 “Tell him,” said Dorothy, “that here in this country I hold your
hand. What does he want? Is he not always with you? Does he not
sleep across your door? What more does he want?”
Ernest translated her reply.
“Ow!” said the Zulu, with a grunt of dissatisfaction.
“He is a faithful fellow, Doll, and has stood by me for many years;
you must not vex him.”
But Dorothy, after the manner of loving women, was tenacious of
what she considered her rights.
“Tell him that he can walk in front,” she said, putting on an
obstinate little look—and she could look obstinate when she liked.
“Besides,” she added, “he cannot be trusted to lead you. I am sure
he was tipsy last night.”
Ernest translated the first remark only—into the latter he did not
care to inquire, for the Zulu vowed that he could never understand
Dorothy’s English, and Mazooku accepted the compromise. Thus for
awhile the difference was patched up.
Sometimes Dorothy and Ernest would go out riding together; for,
blind as he was, Ernest could not be persuaded to give up his riding.
It was a pretty sight to see them; Ernest mounted on his towering
black stallion, “The Devil,” which in his hands was as gentle as a
lamb, but with everybody else fully justified his appellation, and
Dorothy on a cream-coloured cob Mr. Cardus had given her, holding
in her right hand a steel guiding-rein linked to “The Devil’s” bit. In
this way they would wander all over the country-side, and
sometimes, when a good piece of turf presented itself, even venture
on a sharp canter. Behind them Mazooku rode as groom, mounted
on a stout pony, with his feet stuck, Zulu fashion, well out at right-
angles to his animal’s side.
They were a strange trio.
And so from week’s end to week’s end Dorothy was ever by
Ernest’s side, reading to him, writing for him, walking and riding with
him, weaving herself into the substance of his life.
 And at last there came one sunny August day, when they were
sitting together in the shade of the chancel of Titheburgh Abbey. It
was a favourite spot of theirs, for the gray old walls sheltered them
from the glare of the sun and the breath of the winds. It was a spot,
too, rich in memories of the dead past, and a pleasant place to sit.
Through the gaping window-places came the murmur of the
ocean and the warmth of the harvest sunshine; and gazing out by
the chancel doorway, Dorothy could see the long lights of the
afternoon dance and sparkle on the emerald waves.
She had been reading to him, and the book lay idle on her knees
as she gazed dreamily at those lights and shadows, a sweet picture
of pensive womanhood. He, too, had relapsed into silence, and was
evidently thinking deeply.
Presently she roused herself.
“Well, Ernest,” she said, “what are you thinking about? You are as
dull as—as the dullest thing in the world, whatever that may be.
What is the dullest thing in the world?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, awakening. “Yes, I think I do; an
American novel.”
“Yes, that is a good definition. You are as dull as an American
novel.”
“It is unkind of you to say so, Doll, my dear. I was thinking of
something, Doll.”
She made a little face, which of course he could not see, and
answered quickly:
“You generally are thinking of something. You generally are
thinking of—Eva, except when you are asleep, and then you are
dreaming of her.”
Ernest coloured up.
“Yes,” he said, “it is true; she is often more or less in my mind. It
is my misfortune, Doll, not my fault. You see, I do not do things by
halves.”
Dorothy bit her lip.
 “She should be vastly flattered, I am sure. Few women can boast
of having inspired such affection in a man. I suppose it is because
she treated you so badly. Dogs love the hand that whips them. You
are a curious character, Ernest. Not many men would give so much
to one who has returned so little.”
“So much the better for them. If I had a son, I think that I should
teach him to make love to all women, and to use their affection as a
means of amusement and self-advancement, but to fall in love with
none.”
“That is one of your bitter remarks, for which I suppose we must
thank Eva. You are always making them now. Let me tell you that
there are good women in the world; yes, and honest, faithful
women, who, when they have given their heart, are true to their
choice, and would not do it violence to be made Queen of England.
But you men do not go the right way to find them. You think of
nothing but beauty, and never take the trouble to learn the hearts of
the sweet girls who grow like daisies in the grass all round you, but
who do not happen to have great melting eyes or a splendid figure.
You tread them underfoot, and if they were not so humble they
would be crushed, as you rush off and try to pick the rose; and then
you prick your fingers and cry out, and tell all the daisies how
shamefully the rose has treated you.”
Ernest laughed, and Dorothy went on:
“Yes, it is an unjust world. Let a woman but be beautiful and
everything is at her feet, for you men are despicable creatures, and
care for little except what is pleasant to the senses. On the other
hand, let her be plain, or only ordinary-looking—for the fate of most
of us is just to escape being ugly—and you pay as much regard to
her as you do to the chairs you sit on. And yet, strange as it may
seem to you, probably she has her feelings, and her capacities for
high affection, and her imaginative power, all working vigorously
behind her plain little face. Probably, too, she is better than your
beauty. Nature does not give everything. When she endows a
woman with perfect loveliness, she robs her either of her heart or
her brains. But you men don’t see that, because you won’t look; so
in course of time all the fine possibilities in Miss Plainface wither up,
and she becomes a disappointed old maid, while my Lady Beauty
pursues her career of selfishness and mischief-making, till at last she
withers up too, that’s one comfort. We all end in bones, you know,
and there isn’t much difference between us then.”
Ernest had been listening with great amusement to Dorothy’s
views. He had no idea that she took such matters into her shrewd
consideration.
“I heard a girl say the other day that, on the whole, most women
preferred to become old maids,” he said.
“Then she told fibs; they don’t. It isn’t natural that they should—
that is, if they care for anybody. Just think, there are more than ten
hundred thousand of our charming sisterhood in these islands, and
more women being born every day! Ten hundred thousand restless,
unoccupied, disgusted, loveless women! It is simply awful to think
of. I wonder they don’t breed a revolution. If they were all beautiful,
they would.”
He laughed again.
“Do you know what remedy Mazooku would apply to this state of
affairs?”
“No.”
“The instant adoption of polygamy. There are no unmarried
women among the Natal Zulus, and as a class they are extremely
happy.”
Dorothy shook her head.
“It wouldn’t do here; it would be too expensive.”
“I say, Doll, you spoke just now of our ‘charming sisterhood’; you
are rather young to consider yourself an old maid. Do you want to
become one?”
“Yes,” she said sharply.
“Then you don’t care for anybody, eh?”
She blushed up furiously.
 “What business is that of yours, I should like to know?” she
answered.
“Well, Doll, not much. But will you be angry with me if I say
something?”
“I suppose you can say what you like.”
“Yes; but will you listen?”
“If you speak I cannot help hearing.”
“Well, then, Doll—now don’t be angry, dear.”
“O Ernest, how you aggravate me! Can’t you get it out and have
done with it?”
“All right, Doll, I’ll steam straight ahead this time. It is this. I have
sometimes lately been vain enough to think that you cared a little
about me, Doll, although I am as blind as a bat. I want to ask you if
it is true. You must tell me plain, Doll, because I cannot see your
eyes to learn the truth from them.”
She turned quite pale at his words, and her eyes rested upon his
blind orbs with a look of unutterable tenderness. So it had come at
last.
“Why do you ask me that question. Ernest? Whether or no I care
for you, I am very sure that you do not care for me.”
“You are not quite right there, Doll, but I will tell you why I ask it;
it is not out of mere curiosity.
“You know all the history of my life, Doll, or at least most of it. You
know how I loved Eva, and gave her all that a foolish youngster can
give to a weak woman—gave it in such a way that I can never have
it back again. Well, she deserted me; I have lost her. The best
happiness of my life has been wrecked beyond redemption; that is a
fact which must be accepted as much as the fact of my blindness. I
am physically and morally crippled, and certainly in no fit state to
ask a woman to marry me on the ground of my personal
advantages. But if, my dear Doll, you should, as I have sometimes
thought, happen to care about anything so worthless, then, you see,
the affair assumes a different aspect.”
 “I don’t quite understand you. What do you mean?” she said, in a
low voice.
“I mean that in that case I will ask you if you will take me for a
husband.”
“You do not love me, Ernest; I should weary you.”
He felt for her hand, found it, and took it in his own. She made no
resistance.
“Dear,” he said, “it is this way: I can never give you that passion I
gave to Eva, because, thank God, the human heart can know it but
once in a life; but I can and will give you a husband’s tenderest love.
You are very dear to me, Doll, though it is not in the same way that
Eva is dear. I have always loved you as a sister, and I think that I
should make you a good husband. But, before you answer me, I
want you to thoroughly understand about Eva. Whether I marry or
not, I fear that I shall never be able to shake her out of my mind. At
one time I thought that perhaps if I made love to other women I
might be able to do so, on the principle that one nail drives out
another. But it was a failure; for a month or two I got the better of
my thoughts, then they would get the better of me again. Besides,
to tell you the truth, I am not quite sure that I wish to do so. My
trouble about this woman has become a part of myself. It is, as I
told you, my ‘evil destiny,’ and goes where I go. And now, dear Doll,
you will see why I asked you if you really cared for me before I
asked you to marry me. If you do not care for me, then it will clearly
not be worth your while to marry me, for I am about as poor a catch
as a man can well be; if you do—well, then it is a matter for your
consideration.”
She paused awhile and answered:
“Suppose that the positions were reversed, Ernest; at least,
suppose this: suppose that you had loved your Eva all your life, but
she had not loved you except as a brother, having given her heart to
some other man, who was, say, married to somebody else, or in
some way separated from her. Well, supposing that this man died,
and that one day Eva came to you and said, ‘Ernest, my dear, I
cannot love you as I loved him who has gone, and whom I one day
hope to rejoin in heaven; but if you wish it, and it will make you the
happier, I will be your true and tender wife.’ What should you answer
her, Ernest?”
“Answer? why, I suppose that I should take her at her word and
be thankful. Yes, I think that I should take her at her word.”
“And so, dear Ernest, do I take you at your word; for as it is with
you about Eva, so it is with me about you. As a child I loved you;
ever since I have been a woman I have loved you more and more,
even through all those cold years of absence. And when you came
back, ah, then it was to me as it would be to you if you suddenly
once more saw the light of day. Ernest, my beloved, you are all my
life to me, and I take you at your word, my dear. I will be your wife.”
He stretched out his arms, found her, drew her to him, and kissed
her on the lips.
“Doll, I don’t deserve that you should love me so; it makes me feel
ashamed that I have not more to give you in return.”
“Ernest, you will give me all you can; I mean to make you grow
very fond of me. Perhaps one day you will give me everything.”
He hesitated a little while before he spoke again.
“Doll,” he said, “you are quite sure that you do not mind about
Eva?”
“My dear Ernest, I accept Eva as a fact, and make the best of her,
just as I should if I wanted to marry a man with a monomania that
he was Henry VIII.”
“Doll, you know I call her my evil destiny. The fact is, I am afraid
of her; she overpowers my reason. Well, now, Doll, what I am
driving at is this: supposing—not that I think she will—that she were
to crop up again, and take it into her head to try and make a fool of
me! She might succeed, Doll.”
“Ernest, will you promise me something on your honour?”
“Yes, dear.”
 “Promise me that you will hide from me nothing that passes
between Eva and yourself, if anything ever should pass, and that in
this matter you will always consider me not in the light of a wife, but
of a trusted friend.”
“Why do you ask me to promise that?”
“Because then I shall, I hope, be able to keep you both out of
trouble. You are not fit to look after yourselves, either of you.”
“I promise. And now, Doll, there is one more thing. It is somehow
fixed in my mind that my fate and that woman’s are intertwined. I
believe that what we are now passing through is but a single phase
of interwoven existence; that we have, perhaps, already passed
through many stages, and that many higher stages and
developments await us. Of course, it may be fantasy, but at any rate
I believe it. The question is, do you care to link your life with that of
a man who holds such a belief?”
“Ernest, I daresay your belief is a true one, at any rate for you
who believe it, for it seems probable that as we sow so shall we
reap, as we spiritually imagine so shall we spiritually inherit, since
causes must in time produce effects. These beliefs are not implanted
in our hearts for nothing, and surely in the wide heavens there is
room for the realisation of them all. But I too have my beliefs, and
one of them is, that in God’s great Hereafter every loving and
desiring soul will be with the soul thus loved and desired. For him or
her, at any rate, the other will be there, forming a part of his or her
life, though, perhaps, it may elsewhere and with others also be
pursuing its own desires and satisfying its own aspirations. So you
see, Ernest, your beliefs will not interfere with mine, nor shall I be
afraid of losing you in another place.
“And now, Ernest, my heart’s love, take my hand, and let me lead
you home; take my hand, as you have taken my heart, and never
leave go of it again till at last I die.”
And so hand in hand they went home together, through the lights
and shadows of the twilight.
 CHAPTER VII.
MAZOOKU’S FAREWELL

Dorothy and Ernest got back to Dum’s Ness just in time to dress
for dinner, for since Ernest and Jeremy had come back, Dorothy,
whose will in that house was law, had instituted late dinner. The
dinner passed over as usual, Dorothy sitting between Ernest and her
grandfather, and attending to the wants of those two unfortunates,
both of whom would have found it rather difficult to get through
their meal without her gentle, unobtrusive help. But when dinner
was over and the cloth removed, and Grice had placed the wine
upon the table and withdrawn, an unusual thing happened.
Ernest asked Dorothy to fill his glass with port, and when she had
done so he said:
“Uncle and Jeremy, I am going to ask you to drink a health.”
The old man looked up sharply. “What is it, Ernest, my boy?”
As for Dorothy, she blushed a rosy red, guessing what was
coming, and not knowing whether to be pleased or angry.
“It is this, uncle—it is the health of my future wife, Dorothy.”
Then came a silence of astonishment. Mr. Cardus broke it:
“Years ago, Ernest, my dear nephew, I told you that I wished this
to come to pass; but other things happened to thwart my plans, and
I never expected to see it. Now in God’s good time it has come, and
I drink the health with all my heart. My children, I know that I am a
strange man, and my life has been devoted to a single end, which is
now drawing near its final development; but I have found time in it
to learn to love you both. Dorothy, my daughter, I drink your health.
May the happiness that was denied to your mother fall upon your
head, her share and your share too! Ernest, you have passed
through many troubles, and have been preserved almost
miraculously to see this day. In Dorothy you will find a reward for
everything, for she is a good woman. Perhaps I shall never live to
see your happiness and the children of your happiness—I do not
think I shall; but may the solemn blessing I give you now rest upon
your dear heads! God bless you both, my children. All peace go with
you, Dorothy and Ernest!”
“Amen!” said Jeremy, in a loud voice, and with a vague idea that
he was in church. Then he got up and shook Ernest’s hand so hard
in his fearful grip that the latter was constrained to holloa out, and
lifted Dolly out of her chair like a plaything, and kissed her
boisterously, knocking the orchid-bloom she wore out of her hair in
the process. Then they all sat down again and beamed at one
another and drank port-wine—at least the men did—and were
inanely happy.
Indeed, the only person to whom the news was not satisfactory
was Mazooku.
“Ou!” he said, with a grunt, when Jeremy communicated it to him.
“So the Rosebud is going to become the Rose, and I shan’t even be
able to lead my father to bed now. Ou!” And from that day forward
Mazooku’s abstracted appearance showed that he was meditating
deeply on something.
Next morning his uncle sent for Ernest into the office. Dorothy led
him in.
“O, here you are!” said his uncle.
“Yes, here we are, Reginald,” answered Dorothy; “what is it? Shall
I go away?”
“No, don’t go away. What I have to say concerns you both. Come
and look at the orchids, Ernest; they are beautiful. Ah!” he went on,
stammering, “I forgot you can’t see them. Forgive me.”
“Never mind, uncle, I can smell them;” and they went into the
blooming-house appropriated to the temperate kinds.
 At the end of this house was a little table and some iron chairs,
where Mr. Cardus would sometimes come and smoke a cigarette.
Here they sat down.
“Now, young people,” said Mr. Cardus, wiping his bald head, “you
are going to get married. May I ask what you are going to get
married on?”
“By Jove,” said Ernest, “I never thought of that! I haven’t got
much, except a title, a mansion with ‘numerous and valuable’
heirlooms, and one hundred and eighty acres of park,” he added,
laughing.
“No, I don’t suppose you have; but, luckily for you both, I am not
so badly off, and I mean to do something for you. What do you think
would be the proper thing? Come, Dorothy, my little housewife, what
do you reckon you can live on—living here, I mean, for I suppose
that you do not mean to run away and leave me alone in my old
age, do you?”
Dorothy wrinkled up her forehead as she used to as a child, and
began to calculate upon her fingers. Presently she answered:
“Three hundred a year comfortably, quietly on two.”
“What!” said Mr. Cardus, “when the babies begin to come?”
Dorothy blushed, old gentlemen are so unpleasantly out-spoken,
and Ernest jumped, for the prospect of unlimited babies is alarming
till one gets used to it.
“Better make it five hundred,” he said.
“Oh,” said Mr. Cardus, “that’s what you think, is it? Well, I tell you
what I think. I am going to allow you young people two thousand a
year and pay the housekeeping bills.”
“My dear uncle, that is far more than we want.”
“Nonsense, Ernest! it is there and to spare; and why should you
not have it, instead of its piling up in the bank or in investments?
There are enough of them now, I can tell you. Everything that I
have touched has turned to gold; I believe it has often been the
case with unfortunate men. Money! I have more than I know what
to do with, and there are idiots who think that to have lots of money
is to be happy.”
He paused awhile and then went on:
“I would give you more, but you are both comparatively young,
and I do not wish to encourage habits of extravagance in you. The
world is full of vicissitudes, and it is impossible for anybody to know
how he may be pecuniarily situated in ten years’ time. But I wish
you, Ernest, to keep up your rank—moderately, if you like, but still to
keep it up. Life is all before you now, and whatever you choose to go
in for, you shall not want the money to back you. Look here, my
children, I may as well tell you that when I die you will inherit nearly
all I have got; I have left it to be divided equally between you, with
reversion to the survivor. I drew up that will some years back, and I
do not think that it is worth while altering it now.”
“Forgive me,” said Ernest, “but how about Jeremy?”
Mr. Cardus’s face changed a little. He had never got over his
dislike of Jeremy, though his sense of justice caused him to stifle it.
“I have not forgotten Jeremy,” he said, in a tone that indicated
that he did not wish to pursue the conversation.
Ernest and Dorothy thanked the old man for his goodness, but he
would not listen, so they went off and left him to return to his letter-
writing. In the passage Dorothy peeped through the glass half of the
door which opened into her grandfather’s room.
There sat the old man writing, writing, his long iron-gray hair
hanging all about his face. Presently he seemed to think of
something, and a smile, which the contorted mouth made ghastly,
spread itself over the pallid countenance. Rising, he went to the
corner and extracted a long tally-stick on which notches were cut.
Sitting down again, he counted the remaining notches over and over,
and then took a penknife and cut one out. This done, he put the
stick back, and, looking at the wall, began to mutter—for he was not
quite dumb—and to clasp and unclasp his powerful hand. Dorothy
entered the room quickly.
“Grandfather, what are you doing?” she said sharply.
 The old man started, and his jaw dropped. Then the eyes grew
dull, and his usual apathetic look stole over his face. Taking up his
slate, he wrote, “Cutting out my notches.”
Dorothy asked him some farther questions, but could get nothing
more out of him.
“I don’t at all like the way grandfather has been going on lately,”
she said to Ernest. “He is always muttering and clinching his hand,
as though he had some one by the throat. You know he thinks that
he has been serving the fiend all these years, and that his time will
be up shortly, whereas you know, though Reginald had no cause to
love him, he has been very kind to him. If it had not been for
Reginald, my grandfather would have been sent to the madhouse;
but because he was connected with his loss of fortune, he thinks he
is the devil. He forgets how he served Reginald; you see even in
madness the mind only remembers the injuries inflicted on itself, and
forgets those it inflicted on others. I don’t at all like his way.” “I
should think that he had better be shut up.”
“Oh, Reginald would never do it. Come, dear, let us go out.”
It was a month or so after Mr. Cardus’s announcement of his
pecuniary intentions that a little wedding-party stood before the altar
in Kesterwick Church. It was a very small party, consisting, indeed,
only of Ernest, Dorothy, Mr. Cardus, Jeremy, and a few idlers, who,
seeing the church door open, had strolled in to see what was going
on. Indeed, the marriage had been kept a profound secret; for since
he had been blind, Ernest had developed a great dislike to being
stared at. Nor, indeed, had he any liking for the system under which
a woman proclaims with loud and unseemly rejoicings that she has
found a man to marry her, and the clan of her relations celebrate her
departure with a few outward and visible tears and much inward and
spiritual joy.
But among that small crowd, unobserved by any of them, quite
close up in the shadow of one of the massive pillars, sat a veiled
woman. She sat quite quiet and still; she might have been carved in
stone; but as the service went on she raised her thick veil, and fixed
her keen brown eyes upon the two who stood before the altar. And
as she did so, the lips of this shadowy lady trembled a little, and a
mist of trouble rose from the unhealthy marshes of her mind and
clouded her fine cut features. Long and steadily she gazed, then
dropped the veil again, and said beneath her breath:
“Was it worth while for this? Well, I have seen him.”
Then this shadowy noble-looking lady rose, and glided from the
church, bearing away with her the daunting burden of her sin.
And Ernest? He stood there and said the responses in his clear
manly voice; but even as he did so there rose before him the
semblance of the little room in faraway Pretoria, and of the vision
which he had had of this very church, and of a man standing where
he himself stood now, and a lovely woman standing where stood
Dorothy his wife. Well, it was gone, as all visions go—as we, who are
but visions of a longer life, go too. It was gone—gone into that limbo
of the past which is ever opening its insatiable maw and swallowing
us and our joys and our sorrows—making a meal of the atoms of to-
day that it may support itself till the atoms of to-morrow are ready
for its appetite.
It was gone, and he was married, and Dorothy his wife stood
there wreathed in smiles and blushes which he could not see, and
Mr. Halford’s voice, now grown weak and quavering, was formulating
heartfelt congratulations, which were being repeated in the gigantic
echo of Jeremy’s deep tones, and in his uncle’s quick jerky
utterances. So he took Dorothy his wife into his arms and kissed her,
and she led him down the church to the old vestry, into which so
many thousand newly married couples had passed during the course
of the last six centuries, and he signed his name where they placed
his pen upon the parchment, wondering the while if he was signing
it straight, and then went out, and was helped into the carriage, and
driven home.
Ernest and his wife went upon no honeymoon; they stopped
quietly there at the old house, and began to accustom themselves to
their new relationship. Indeed, to the outsider at any rate, there
seemed to be little difference between it and the former one; for
they could not be much more together now than they had been
before. Yet in Dorothy’s face there was a difference. A great peace,
an utter satisfaction which had been wanting before, came down
and brooded upon it, and made it beautiful. She both looked and
was a happy woman.
But to the Zulu Mazooku this state of affairs did not appear to be
satisfactory.
One day—it was three days after the marriage—Ernest and
Dorothy were walking together outside the house, when Jeremy,
coming in from a visit to a distant farm, advanced, and, joining
them, began to converse on agricultural matters; for he was already
becoming intensely and annoyingly technical. Presently, as they
talked, they became aware of the sound of naked feet running
swiftly over the grass.
“That sounds like a Zulu dancing,” said Ernest, quickly.
It was a Zulu; it was Mazooku, but Mazooku transformed. It had
been his fancy to bring a suit of war finery, such as he had worn
when he was one of Cetywayo’s soldiers, with him from Natal; and
now he had donned it all, and stood before them, a striking yet
alarming figure. From his head a single beautiful gray feather, taken
from the Bell crane, rose a good two feet into the air; around his
waist hung a kilt of white ox-tails, and beneath his right knee and
shoulder were small circles of white goat’s hair. For the rest, he was
naked. In his left hand he held a milk-white fighting shield made of
ox-hide, and in his right his great “bangwan,” or stabbing assegai.
Still as a statue he stood before them, his plume bending in the
breeze; and Dorothy, looking with wondering eyes, marvelled at the
broad chest scarred all over with assegai wounds, and the huge
sinewy limbs. Suddenly he raised the spear, and saluted in sonorous
tones:
“Koos! Baba!”
“Speak,” said Ernest.
 “I speak, Mazimba, my father. I come to meet my father as a man
meets a man. I come with spear and shield, but not in war. With my
father I came from the land of the sun into this cold land, where the
sun is as pale as the white faces it shines on. Is it not so, my
father?”
“I hear you.”
“With my father I came. Did not my father and I stand together
for many a day? Did I not slay the two Basutus down in the land of
Secocoeni, chief of the Bapedi, at my father’s bidding? Did I not
once save my father from the jaws of the wild beast that walks by
night—from the fangs of the lion? Did I not stand by the side of my
father at the place of the Little Hand, when all the plain of
Isandhlwana was red with blood? Do I dream in the night, or was it
so, my father?”
“I hear you. It was so.”
“Then when the heavens above smelt out my father, and smote
him with their fire, did I not say, ‘Ah, my father, now art thou blind,
and canst fight no more, and no more play the part of a man. Better
that thou hadst died a man’s death, O my father! But as thou art
blind, lo! whither thou goest, thither will I go also and be my father’s
dog.’ Did I not say this, O Mazimba, my father?”
“Thou didst say it.”
“And so we sailed across the black water, thou Mazimba and I and
the great Lion, like unto whom no man was ever born of woman,
and came hither, and have lived for many moons the lives of women,
have eaten and drunken, and have not fought or hunted, or known
the pleasure of men. Is it not so, Mazimba, my father?”
“Thou speakest truly, Mazooku; it is even so.”
“Yes, we sailed across the black water in the smoking ship, sailed
to the land of wonders, which is full of houses and trees, so that a
man cannot breathe in it, or throw out his arms lest they should
strike a wall; and, behold! there came an ancient one with a shining
head wonderful to look on, and a girl Rosebud, small but very sweet,
and greeted my father and the Lion, and led them away in the
carriages which put the horses inside them, and set them in this
place, where they may look for ever at the sadness of the sea.
“And then, behold, the Rosebud said, ‘What doth this black dog
here? Shall a dog lead Mazimba by the hand? Begone, thou black
dog, and walk in front or ride behind; it is I who will hold Mazimba’s
hand.’
“Then my father, sinking deep in ease, and becoming a fat man,
rich in oxen and waggons and corn, said to himself, ‘I will take this
Rosebud to wife.’ And so the Rosebud opened her petals, and closed
them round my father, and became a Rose; and now she sheds her
fragrance round him day by day and night by night, and the black
dog stands and howls outside the door.
“And so, my father, it came to pass that Mazooku, thy ox and thy
dog, communed with his heart, and said: ‘Here is no more any place
for thee. Mazimba thy chief has no longer any need of thee, and
behold in this land of women thou, too, shalt grow like a woman. So
get up and go to thy father, and say to him, “O my father, years ago
I put my hand between thy hands, and became a loyal man to thee;
now I would withdraw it, and return to the land whence we came;
for here I am not wanted, and here I cannot breathe.”’ I have
spoken, O my father and my chief.”
“Mazooku, umdanda ga Ingoluvu, umfana ga Amazulu” (son of
Ingoluvu, child of the Zulu race), answered Ernest, adopting the Zulu
metaphor, his voice sounding wonderfully soft as the liquid tongue
he spoke so well came rolling out, “thou hast been a good man to
me, and I have loved thee. But thou shalt go. Thou art right: now is
my life the life of a woman; never again shall I hear the sound of the
rifle or the ringing of steel in war. And so thou goest, Mazooku. It is
well. But at times thou wilt think of thy blind master Mazimba, and
of Alston, the wise captain who sleeps, and of the Lion who threw
the ox over his shoulder. Go, and be happy. Many be thy wives,
many thy children, and countless thy cattle! The Lion shall take thee
by the hand and lead thee to the sea, and shall give thee of my
bounty wherewith to buy a little food when thou comest to thine
own land, and a few oxen, and a piece of ground, or a waggon or
two, so that thou shalt not be hungry, nor want for cattle to give for
wives. Mazooku, fare thee well!”
 Mazooku’s Farewell.

“One word, Mazimba, my father, and I will trouble thine ears no

more, since for thee my voice shall be silent for ever. When the time
has come for thee to die, and thou dost pass, as the white men say,
up ‘into the heavens above,’ and thy sight dawns again, and thou art
once more a man eager for battle, then turn thee and cry with a
loud voice: ‘Mazooku, son of Ingoluvu, of the tribe of the Maquilisini,
where art thou, O my dog? Come thou and serve me!’ And surely, if
I still live, then shall I hear thy voice, and groan and die, that I may
pass to thee; and if I be already dead, then shall I be there at thy
side even as thou callest. This thou wilt do for me, O Mazimba, my
father and my chief, because, lo! I have loved thee as the child loves
her who suckled it, and I would look upon thy face again, O my
father from the olden time, my chief from generation to generation!”
“If it be in my power, this I will do, Mazooku.”
The great Zulu drew himself up, raised his spear, and for the first
and last time in his life gave Ernest the royal salute—to which, by
the way, he had no right at all—“Bayte, Bayte!” Then he turned and
ran swiftly thence, nor would he see Ernest again before he went.
“The pain of death was over,” he said.
As the sound of his footsteps grew faint, Ernest sighed.
“There goes our last link with South Africa, Jeremy, my boy. It is a
good thing, for he was growing too fond of the bottle; they all do
here. But it makes me very sad, and sometimes I think that, as
Mazooku says, it is a pity we did not go under with Alston and the
others. It would all have been over now.”
“Thank you,” said Jeremy, after reflecting; “on the whole, I am
pretty comfortable as I am.”
 CHAPTER VIII.
MR. CARDUS ACCOMPLISHES HIS
REVENGE

Mr. de Talor owed his great wealth not to his own talents, but to a
lucky secret in the manufacture of the grease used on railways
discovered by his father. Talor pre had been a railway-guard till his
discovery brought him wealth. He was a shrewd man, however, and
on his sudden accession of fortune did his best to make a gentleman
of his only son, at that date a lad of fifteen. But it was too late; the
associations and habits of childhood are not easily overcome, and no
earthly power or education could accomplish the desired object.
When his son was twenty years of age, old Jack Talor died, and his
son succeeded to his large fortune and a railway-grease business
which supplied the principal markets of the world.
This son had inherited a good deal of his father’s shrewdness, and
set himself to make the best of his advantages. First he placed a
“de” before his name, and assumed a canting crest. Next he bought
the Ceswick Ness estates, and bloomed into a country gentleman. It
was shortly after this latter event that he made a mistake, and fell in
love with the beauty of the neighbourhood, Mary Atterleigh. But
Mary Atterleigh would have none of him, being at the time secretly
engaged to Mr. Cardus. In vain did he resort to every possible means
to shake her resolution, even going so far as to try to bribe her
father to put pressure upon her; but at this time old Atterleigh,
“Hard-riding Atterleigh,” as he was called, was well off, and resisted
his advances, whereupon De Talor, in a fit of pique, married another
woman, who was only too glad to put up with his vulgarity in
consideration of his wealth and position as a county magnate.
Shortly afterwards three events occurred almost simultaneously.
“Hard-riding Atterleigh” got into money difficulties through over-
gratification of his passion for hounds and horses; Mr. Cardus was
taken abroad for the best part of a year in connection with a
business matter and a man named Jones, a friend of Mr. de Talor’s
staying in his house at the time, fell in love with Mary Atterleigh.
Herein De Talor saw an opportunity of revenge upon his rival, Mr.
Cardus. He urged upon Jones that his real road to the possession of
the lady lay through the pocket of her father, and even went so far
as to advance him the necessary funds to bribe Atterleigh; for
though Jones was well off, he could not at such short notice lay
hands upon a sufficient sum in cash to serve his ends.
The plot succeeded. Atterleigh’s scruples were overcome as easily
as the scruples of men in his position without principle to back them
generally are, and pressure of a most outrageous sort was brought
to bear upon the gentle-minded Mary, with the result that when Mr.
Cardus returned from abroad he found his affianced bride the wife of
another man, who became in due course the father of Jeremy and
Dolly.
This cruel and most unexpected bereavement drove Mr. Cardus
partially mad, and when he came to himself there arose in his mind
a monomania for revenge on all concerned in bringing it about. It
became the passion and object of his life. Directing all his
remarkable intelligence and energy to the matter, he early
discovered the heinous part that De Talor had played in the plot, and
swore to devote his life to the unholy purpose of avenging it. For
years he pursued his enemy, trying plan after plan to achieve his
ruin, and as one failed fell back upon another. But to ruin a man of
De Talor’s wealth was no easy matter, especially when, as in the
present instance, the avenger was obliged to work like a mole in the
dark, never allowing his enemy to suspect that he was other than a
friend. How he ultimately achieved his purpose the reader shall now
learn.
 Ernest and Dorothy had been married about three weeks, and the
latter was just beginning to get accustomed to hearing herself called
Lady Kershaw, when one morning a dogcart drove up to the door,
and out of it emerged Mr. de Talor.
“Dear me, how Mr. de Talor has changed of late!” said Dorothy,
who was looking out of the window.
“How? Has he grown less like a butcher?” asked Ernest.
“No,” she answered; “but he looks like a used-up butcher about to
go through the Bankruptcy Court.”
“Butchers never go bankrupt,” said Ernest; and at that moment Mr
de Talor came in.
Dorothy was right; the man was much changed. The fat cheeks
were flabby and fallen, the insolent air was gone, and he was so
shrunken that he looked not more than half his former size.
“How do you do, Lady Kershaw? I saw Cardus ’ad got some one
with him, so I drove round to pay my respects and congratulate the
bride. Why, bless me. Sir Ernest, you ’ave grown since I saw you
last! Ah, we used to be great friends then. You remember how you
used to come and shoot up at the Ness” (he had once or twice given
the two lads a day’s rabbit-shooting). “But, bless me, I hear that you
have become quite a fire-eater since then, and been knocking over
the niggers right and left—eh?”
He paused for breath, and Ernest said a few words, not many, for
he disliked the man’s flattery as much as in past years he used to
dislike his insolence.
“Ah,” went on De Talor, looking up and pointing to the case
containing the witch’s head, “I see you’ve still got that beastly thing
your brother once showed me; I thought it was a clock, and he
pretty well frightened me out of my wits. Now I think of it, I’ve
never ’ad any luck since I saw that thing.”
At this moment the housekeeper Grice came to say that Mr.
Cardus was ready to see Mr. de Talor if he would step into the office.
Dorothy thought that their visitor turned paler at this news, and it
evidently occupied his mind sufficiently to cause him to hurry from
the room without bidding them good-bye.
When Mr. de Talor entered the office he found the lawyer pacing
up and down.
“How do you do, Cardus?” he said jauntily.
“How do you do, Mr. de Talor?” was the cold reply.
De Talor walked to the glass door and looked at the glowing mass
of blooming orchids.
“Pretty flowers, Cardus, those, very. Orchids, ain’t they? Must have
cost you a pot of money.”
“They have not cost me much, Mr. de Talor; I have reared most of
them.”
“Then you are lucky; the bill my man gives me for his orchids is
something awful.”
“You did not come to speak to me about orchids, Mr. de Talor.”
“No, Cardus, I didn’t; business first, pleasure afterwards—eh?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Cardus, in his soft, jerky way. “Business first,
pleasure afterwards.”
Mr. de Talor fidgeted his legs about.
“Well, Cardus, about that mortgage. You are going to give me a
little more time, I hope?”
“On the contrary, Mr. de Talor, the interest being now eight months
overdue, I have given my London agents orders to foreclose, for I
don’t conduct such business myself.”
De Talor turned pale. “Foreclose! Good God, Cardus! it is not
possible—on such an old friend too!”
“Excuse me, it is not only possible, but a fact. Business is
business, even where old friends are concerned.”
“But if you foreclose, what is to become of me, Cardus?”
“That, I imagine, is a matter for your exclusive consideration.”
His visitor gasped, and looked like an unfortunate fish suddenly
pulled out of the water.
 “Let us recapitulate the facts. I have at different periods within the
last several years lent you sums of money secured on your landed
estates at Ceswick’s Ness and the neighbourhood, amounting in
all”—referring to a paper—“to one hundred and seventy-six
thousand five hundred and thirty-eight pounds ten shillings and
fourpence; or, reckoning in the overdue interest, to one hundred and
seventy-nine thousand and fifty-two pounds eight shillings. That is
so, I think.”
“Yes, I suppose so, Cardus.”
“There is no supposition about it. The documents prove it.”
“Well, Cardus?”
“Well, Mr. de Talor; and now, as you cannot pay, I have instructed
my London agents to commence an action in Chancery for the sale
of the lands, and to buy in the property. It is a most desirable
property.”
“O Cardus, don’t be rough on me! I am an old man now, and you
led me into this speculation.”
“Mr. de Talor, I also am an old man; if not very old in years, at
least as old as Methuselah in heart.”
“I don’t understand it all, Cardus.”
“It will give me the greatest pleasure to explain. But to do so I
must go back a little. Some ten or twelve years ago, you may
remember,” he began, sitting down with his back to the light, which
struck full on the wretched De Talor’s face, “that a firm named
Rastrick and Codley took out a patent for a new railway-grease, and
set up an establishment in Manchester not far from the famous De
Talor house, which was established by your father.”
“Yes, curse them!” groaned De Talor.
Mr. Cardus smiled.
“By all means, curse them. But what did this enterprising firm do,
Mr. de Talor? They set to work, and sold a grease superior to the
article manufactured by your house, at about eighteen per cent.
cheaper. But the De Talor house had the ear of the markets, and the
contracts with all the leading lines and Continental firms, and for
awhile it seemed as though the new house must go to the wall; and
if they had not had considerable capital at command, they must
have gone to the wall.”
“Ah, and where did they get it from? That’s the mystery,” said De
Talor.
“Precisely; that was the mystery. I shall clear it up a little
presently. To return. After awhile the buyers began to find that
Rastrick and Codley’s grease was a better grease and a cheaper
grease, and as the contracts lapsed, the companies renewed them,
not with the De Talor house, but with the house of Rastrick and
Codley. Doubtless you remember.”
Mr. de Talor groaned in acquiescence, and the lawyer continued:
“In time this state of affairs produced its natural results—De Talor’s
house was ruined, and the bulk of the trade fell into the hands of
the new firm.”
“Ah, I should just like to know who they really were—the low
sneaks!”
“Would you? I will tell you. The firm of Rastrick and Codley were—
Reginald Cardus, solicitor, of Dum’s Ness.”
Mr. de Talor struggled out of his chair, looked wildly at the lawyer,
and sank down again.
“You look ill; may I offer you a glass of wine?”
The wretched man shook his head.
“Very good. Doubtless you are curious to know how I, a lawyer,
and not otherwise connected with Manchester, obtained the
monopoly of the grease trade, which is, by the way, at this moment
paying very well. I will satisfy your curiosity. I have always had a
mania for taking up inventions, quite quietly, and in the names of
others. Sometimes I have made money over them, sometimes I
have lost; on the whole, I have made largely. But whether I have
made or lost, the inventors have, as a rule, never known who was
backing them. One day, one lucky day, this railway-grease patent
was brought to my notice. I took it up and invested fifty thousand in
it straight off the reel. Then I invested another fifty thousand. Still
your firm cut my throat. I made an effort, and invested a third fifty
thousand. Had I failed, I should then have been a ruined man; I had
strained my credit to the utmost. But fortune favours the brave, Mr.
de Talor, and I succeeded. It was your firm that failed. I have paid all
my debts, and I reckon that the railway-grease concern is worth,
after paying liabilities, some two hundred thousand pounds. If you
should care to go in for it, Messrs. Rastrick and Codley will, I have
no doubt, be most happy to treat with you. It has served its
purpose, and is now in the market.”
De Talor looked at him with amazement. He was too upset to
speak.
“So much, Mr. de Talor, for my share in the grease episode. The
failure of your firm, or rather its stoppage from loss of trade, left you
still a rich man, but only half as rich as you had been. And this, you
may remember, made you furious. You could not bear the idea of
losing money; you would rather have lost blood from your veins than
sovereigns from your purse. When you thought of the grease which
had melted in the fire of competition, you could have wept tears of
rage. In this plight you came to me to ask advice.”
“Yes; and you told me to speculate.”
“Not quite accurate, Mr. de Talor. I said—I remember the words
well—‘You are an able man, and understand the money market; why
don’t you take advantage of these fluctuating times, and recoup
yourself for all you have lost?’ The prospect of gain tempted you, Mr.
de Talor, and you jumped at the idea. You asked me to introduce you
to a reliable firm, and I introduced you to Messrs. Campsey and Ash,
one of the best in the City.”
“Confound them for a set of rogues!” answered De Talor.
“Rogues! I am sorry you think so, for I have an interest in their
business.”
“Good heavens! what next?” groaned De Talor.
“Well, notwithstanding the best efforts of Messrs. Campsey and
Ash on your behalf, in pursuance of such written instructions as you
from time to time communicated to them, and to which you can no
doubt refer if you please, things went wrong with you, Mr. de Talor,
and year by year, when your balance-sheet was sent in, you found
that you had lost more than you gained. At last, one unlucky day,
about three years ago, you made a plunge against the advice, you
may remember, of Messrs. Campsey and Ash, and lost. It was after
that, that I began to lend you money. The first loan was for fifty
thousand; then came more losses, and more loans, till at length we
had reached the present state of affairs.”
“O Cardus, you don’t mean to sell me up, do you? What shall I do
without money? And think of my daughters: ’ow will they manage
without their comforts? Give me time. What makes you so rough on
me?”
Mr. Cardus had been walking up and down the room rapidly. At De
Talor’s words he stopped, and going to a despatch-box, unlocked it,
and drew from a bundle of documents a yellow piece of stamped
paper. It was a cancelled bill for ten thousand pounds in the favour
of Jonas de Talor, Esquire. This bill he came and held before his
visitor’s eyes.
“That, I believe, is your signature,” he said quietly, pointing to the
receipt written across the bill.
De Talor turned almost livid with fear, and his lips and hands
began to tremble.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
Mr. Cardus regarded him, or rather all round him, with the
melancholy black eyes that never looked straight at anything, and
yet saw everything, and then answered:
“Among your friend Jones’s papers. You scoundrel!” he went on,
with a sudden change of manner, “now perhaps you begin to
understand why I have hunted you down step by step: why for thirty
years I have waited, and watched, and failed, and at last succeeded.
It is for the sake of Mary Atterleigh. It was you who, infuriated
because she would have none of such a coarse brute, set the man
Jones on to her. It was you who lent him the money with which to
buy her from old Atterleigh. There lies the proof before you. By the
way, Jones need never have repaid you that ten thousand pounds,
for it was marriage-brokage, and therefore not recoverable at law. It
was you, I say, who were the first cause of my life being laid waste,
and who nearly drove me to the madhouse, ay, who did drive Mary,
my betrothed wife, into the arms of that fellow, whence, God be
praised! she soon passed to her rest.”
Mr. Cardus paused, breathing quick with suppressed rage and
excitement; the large white eyebrows contracted till they nearly met,
and, abandoning his usual habit, he looked straight into the eyes of
the abject creature in the chair before him.
“It’s a long while ago, Cardus; can’t you forgive, and let bygones
be bygones?”
“Forgive! Yes, for my own sake, I could forgive; but for her sake,
whom you first dishonoured and then killed, I will never forgive.
Where are your companions in guilt? Jones is dead; I ruined him.
Atterleigh is there; I did not ruin him, because, after all, he was the
author of Mary’s life; but his ill-gotten gains did him no good; a
higher power than mine took vengeance on his crime, and I saved
him from the madhouse. And Jones’s children, they are here too, for
once they lay beneath her breast. But do you think that I will spare
you, you coarse arrogant knave—you, who spawned the plot? No,
not if it were to cost me my own life, would I forego one jot or tittle
of my revenge!”
At that moment Mr. Cardus happened to look up, and saw through
the glass part of the door of his office, of which the curtain was
partially drawn, the wild-looking head of Hard-riding Atterleigh. He
appeared to be looking through the door, for his eyes, in which there
was a very peculiar look, were fixed intently upon Mr. Cardus’s face.
When he saw that he was observed, he vanished.
“Now go,” said the lawyer sternly to the prostrate De Talor; “and
never let me see your face again!”
“But I haven’t any money; where am I to go?” groaned De Talor.
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