Mr. Stanley's Chief was a grey, weazened little man, who had achieved distinction in diplomacy and in his country's councils, largely on account of his infinite capacity for holding his tongue. As a result he let fall little and learned much. His reticence, however, was not the reserve of impotence, but the reserve of power.
On this occasion he was busy at his great desk, which occupied the centre of the room, and merely glancing up at his Secretary's entrance, he resumed the piece of work on which he was engaged. Ten minutes later he put down his pen and gave his waiting subordinate an encouraging smile. It was his official permission to speak.
"I regret to say that I have got into a little scrape, sir, concerning which will you give me leave to clear myself?"
"Leave of absence or my approval, Mr. Stanley?"
"Both, your Excellency."
The Minister leaned back in his chair, rested his elbows on the arms, and bringing the first fingers of each hand together, held them at the level of his face and gazed attentively at their point ofcontact. It was a favourite attitude which the Secretary understood, and he at once gave a concise account of all the circumstances concerning Madame Darcy.
The Minister heard him out in perfect silence, and after taking a moment or two to ponder over his words, remarked quietly:
"It's a small world, Mr. Stanley."
"You mean the fact that Señor De Costa and my father were friends before they quarrelled, and that his daughter——"
"No, I do not mean that."
The Secretary thought it better policy not to ask what he did mean, though he much wished to know; and silence again reigned.
Presently the Minister sat up to his desk and ran his hand through the mass of papers upon it; finally unearthing one in particular, which he submitted to a careful scrutiny.
"Your report of your visit to the Foreign Office yesterday," he said—"a very important communication, Mr. Stanley."
If his Chief had a disagreeable trait, and he was on the whole an exceedingly amiable man, it was an assumed seriousness of speech and demeanour, which he intended for sarcasm, and which invariably misled his victims to their ultimate discomfiture.
Stanley, who was aware of this trait and not very proud of the report in question, hastened to disclaim any inherent excellence it might be supposed to contain.
"There's nothing in it, your Excellency, except that remark about 'parlous times.'"
"Which was just the thing I was most anxious to hear. It proves that the Foreign Office regards the accomplishment of the treaty as by no means certain."
Stanley, with difficulty, checked an exclamation of surprise, but he had learned to respect his Chief's little fads, and succeeded.
The Minister cleared his throat, an indication that this was one of the rare occasions on which he was about to speak at length, and on which he desired absolute attention and immunity from comment—and proceeded:
"For three hundred years a treaty has been pending between Great Britain and our own country, concerning the possession of an island lying at the mouth of the river X——. At first Spanish distrust of English aggression and, at a later period, the frequent changes of government to which our unfortunate country has been subjected, have prevented the successful termination of the negotiations.
"Matters have never been more favourable for its settlement than at the present time, and the immediate cession of the island to Great Britain, in return for a most satisfactory indemnity. For the last few weeks, however, we have noted an increasing opposition on the part of certain members of our own Ministry, to the acceptance of the English propositions, the cause of which has now been discovered. An influential manufacturingconcern, officered and financed by certain unscrupulous persons in this country, owns large mills on the island in question, for the production of an article of which they would be assured a monopoly, did the territory still remain in our hands, but which would be open to competition did it come into the possession of Great Britain. The company, in order to obtain a continuance of the monopoly, have raised £40,000 for distribution among a majority of the committee, who are to pass upon the treaty, thus practically insuring the failure of the negotiations.
"While there is no reasonable doubt that this unfortunate state of affairs exists, we have not been able to obtain actual proofs of the same, and it is very necessary to do so, in order that the Executive should be able, when the treaty comes up for consideration, six weeks hence, to inform the intending offenders that their intrigue is known. It is not the intention of our government to create any scandal in this matter, it being quite sufficient to insure the passage of the treaty, that the Executive should hold proof of the Minister's guilt, and be in a position to back up the threat of exposure and punishment.
"Now it is known that the English agent intrusted with the financial part of this disgraceful scheme, the man who is to take the money to be used in bribery and corruption from this country to ours, is the worst type of an adventurer, a thorough-going scoundrel, and clever enough to makea fortune in some honest way. His name is Colonel Robert Darcy."
The Secretary so far forgot himself as to draw in his breath sharply, and his Chief looked at him with a disapproving frown, and then continued:
"This is why I said that the world was small when you told me of your connection with this man. For the past few weeks I have had him carefully watched, and I have learned that he is to go down to Sussex almost at once, to receive the money for this dishonourable purpose from one of the heads of the firm, a silent partner, whose identity we have not yet discovered. This money is to be paid in gold, and after receiving it, and his private instructions, Darcy will return at once to London and sail for the scene of his mission. I cannot watch his course in Sussex personally, and I do not think it wise to risk publicity by putting the affair in the hands of the police. Before you told me of your association with this man and his wife, I had some thoughts of giving you the conduct of this important and delicate matter, now——"
"Now!" burst out the Secretary, unable in his chagrin longer to contain himself, "I have by my stupid blundering rendered myself unfit for the place, and lost a splendid chance!"
The Minister was visibly annoyed.
"I was about to say, sir, when you interrupted me (a very bad habit of yours, Mr. Stanley), that you had unconsciously so perfectly adapted yourselfto fill the position, that you have made it impossible for me to give it to anybody else."
Stanley gasped; he could not help it.
"A diplomat should never express anything," remarked his Chief severely, and continued his statement.
"The greatest triumph of art could never have placed you in the position you now occupy as a result of a fortuitous combination of events. You can go right to the ground where Darcy must operate, and any one of a dozen people can tell him that you have perfectly natural and innocent reasons for being there. Being only human and apparently very angry, he'll certainly seek you out, and you may depend on it that I'll see that he has definite information as to where you have gone and with whom you are staying. All you'll have to do is to associate yourself with him; he'll give you ample opportunity for doing so, and to keep your eyes open.
"I need hardly point out that, should you, during the next fortnight, be able to obtain in any way the required evidence, you would not only merit my approval but would put yourself in the sure way of promotion, and that for the best of all reasons, as one who has done a signal service to your country.
"Now, just a word of warning. Do not communicate with me unless it is absolutely necessary. Do not try to find out anything about Darcy; do not try to see him. Do not so much as breathe the treaty to anyone. Simply be yourself. He'sbound to suspect you at first, and it will only be as time passes and he becomes convinced from your manner of life—that you are young, inexperienced and wholly unfit to be trusted with a diplomatic secret—that he'll put himself off his guard. Then will be your opportunity. Seize it if possible. That's all; now go. No thanks, please; I trust you will deserve mine when you return. I'll manage everything for you here, and the Legation pays your expenses—your leave is for an indefinite period."
Stanley bowed silently, his heart was too full to speak, and he turned to leave the room.
"Stop!" came his Chief's voice. "You ought to know that Darcy has a confederate. One of the two is a masterhand, probably the Colonel; but see if you can find out the other; I've not been able to do so."
Stanley started, a vivid remembrance flashing through his mind of Kingsland's significant caution to Darcy at the tea. "Sh'. He's looking our way! He'll hear us."
The Ambassador noticed the involuntary movement of his subordinate, and a grim smile played about his lips.
"Deportment, Mr. Secretary, deportment," he said. "A diplomat should always appear at his ease. So; that is better. You can go."
Much has been written of the blessed state of them that go a house-partying in England, and certain it is that no pleasanter pastime has been devised by civilised man, and that in no other country in the world has it been brought to a like degree of perfection.
Two great canons govern these functions, which it would be exceedingly well did the hostesses of all lands "mark, learn and inwardly digest." The first is that all guests are on speaking terms of intimacy with each other from the time they arrive till they depart. My Lady may not know you next time you meet her in Bond Street, and the Countess perchance will have forgotten to put your name on her visiting list for the remainder of this or any other season, but during the blessed interval of your sojourn at that hospitable Hall in Berks, you knew them both, and they were very gracious and charming. The second rule is none the less framed for your comfort and convenience, and it reads: "Thou shalt be in all things thine own master."
Most admirable of rules. The amusements of the place, and most English country places areframed for some particular amusement, are put unreservedly at your disposal. Are you on the Thames? Boats and boatmen are at your beck and call. Are you North in the shooting season? A keeper waits your orders. Do you hunt? Grooms and horses are yours to command. But none of these things are you ever compelled to do. Should you fear the water, though you are on an island, no one will ever suggest to you the possibility of leaving it. While your ecclesiastical host, Bishop though he be, would never take it for granted that you were predisposed to week-day services and charity bazaars.
Mrs. Roberts was a perfect hostess, and there was no doubt that her house would shortly be a favourite on many lists.
I say, "would be," advisedly, for she had quite recently come into the possession of her own, which had been another's; a distant cousin, in short, the last of his branch of the family, who had the good sense to drink himself to death, shortly before the opening of this narrative, and leave his fine old Elizabethan manor house to his very charming relative, an action which did him no credit, because the estate was entailed, and he could not help it.
Roberts Hall had more than one attraction: indeed, it was blessed with an unusual number of delightful adjuncts for a country place, which does not pretend to be a demesne. For one thing, a number of miles intervened between the lodge gates and the Hall, and that, in England, isa great consideration. As long as one has plenty of land, the manner of one's habitation is of little account, while in America houses must be as large or larger than one can afford, and if when they are built they cover most of our land, we are none the worse off in our neighbour's estimation.
The estate, moreover, could boast of many fallow fields, and more than one avenue of fine old oaks, while it had a deer park of which many a larger place might have been proud. There was also a private chapel, for the use of the family and tenantry, boasting a great square family pew, fenced round on two sides with queer little leaden-paned windows, giving a view of the enclosure which contained the family monuments. It was farther enriched by a pretentious piece of carving in high relief, vigorously coloured, representing the resurrection, wherein generations of defunct Roberts were depicted popping up, with no clothes on, out of a pea-green field, much after the manner of the gopher of the prairie.
The gardens were extensive, including two artificial ponds, which for age and solidity might have been constructed from the beginning, tenanted by a number of swans, all very proud and controversial, and surrounded by an eight-foot hedge of holly which was a crimson glory in winter.
But if the place was fascinating without, it was still more so within. It had a long low entrance hall with a tesselated pavement, panelled to the ceiling with the blackest of oak, and boasting arail screen of the same material dividing the apartment, which many a church might have envied. There was moreover a library filled with a priceless collection of old volumes, chiefly perused, for some fifty years past, by the rodents of the establishment.
Mrs. Roberts was in the great hall when Stanley arrived, and so received him in person. She was a most vivacious little woman, to whom a long sojourn on the Continent, coupled with a diplomatic marriage, had given the touch of cosmopolitanism, which was all that had been needed to make her perfect.
"I'm awfully glad to see you, though you are the last comer," she said cordially. "The Marchioness and Lady Isabelle, under the escort of Lieutenant Kingsland, reached here in time for lunch, and Miss Fitzgerald came a few hours later, while Mr. Riddle has just driven over."
"Mr. Riddle," asked the Secretary, "who is he?"
"Oh, Arthur Riddle, don't you know him? He is one of our county magnates and a near neighbour. I hope you'll all like each other, but you must realise that you have come to the veriest sort of pot-luck. I haven't begun to get settled yet, or know where anything is."
"You speak as if you were a visitor," he said, laughing.
"Indeed, I feel so. I'm constantly getting lost in this rambling old house, and having to be rescued by the butler."
"Have you really never been here before?"
"It's my first appearance. It was quite impossible to visit here during the lifetime of the late owner. Why, I don't even know the traditions of the place, and it positively teems with them. I shall organise you all into an exploring party, with free permission to rummage from garret to cellar."
"I suppose there's plenty to discover?"
"Discover! My dear Mr. Secretary, this place is fairly alive with ghosts, and sliding panels, and revolving pictures; and there's a great tiled, underground passage leading off from the kitchens into the country somewhere, which everyone is afraid to explore, and which the last incumbent had nailed up because it made him nervous."
"I hope you've reserved a nice cork-screwy staircase with a mouldering skeleton at the top, for my especial discovery and delectation."
"First come, first served," she replied; "but there's something in this very hall that's worthy of your mettle, the greatest prize puzzle a hostess ever possessed, only I shan't forgive you if you solve it, for it's one of the standard attractions of the house, and has amused guests innumerable."
"Trot it out forthwith. I'm all impatience."
"I shall do nothing of the kind unless you treat it with more respect. An oaken door, studded with silver nails, that has not condescended to open itself for at least two centuries, cannot be 'trotted out'!"
"I beg its humble pardon," said the Secretary,approaching the door and putting his shoulder against it. "It's as steady as a rock."
"Oh, yes. Nothing but dynamite or the proper combination could ever move it the fraction of an inch."
Stanley regarded it as it stood framed in its low Saxon portal, a magnificent piece of black oak, sprinkled from top to bottom with at least a hundred huge, silver-headed nails, driven in without any apparent design. Another peculiarity was that neither lock, hinges, nor keyhole were visible.
"Does it lead anywhere?" he asked, greatly interested.
"To an unexplored tower," she replied. "To which this appears to be the only entrance; at least it has no windows."
"How interesting. I wonder how they ever got it open."
"Tradition says that this is the original of our modern combination lock. No human strength can move it; but once exert the slightest pressure on the proper combination of those silver nails, five I believe, one for every digit, and the portal swings open of itself."
"And discloses, what?"
"Open it and see," she answered.
"Are you sure the house won't tumble down if I do, or that you'll never smile again—or that some unpleasant ancestral prognostication isn't only awaiting the opening of that door to fall due and take effect?"
"I can't insure you," she replied, "and I wish you wouldn't talk such nonsense," and she shivered slightly.
"You surely don't believe, in the nineteenth century——" he began; but she interrupted him, saying almost petulantly:
"You'd grow to believe anything if you lived in a place like this. On the whole, I think you'd better leave the door alone," she added, as he began to finger the nails thoughtfully, "you're too clever, you might succeed."
"If I do," he assured her, "I'll promise to keep my discoveries to myself."
"You'd better confine your attentions to the library; it's much more worthy of your consideration," she replied, evidently wishing to change the subject.
"With pleasure," acquiesced Stanley, following her lead. "And what am I to discover there?"
"Nothing. Now I come to think of it, it's already pre-empted."
"Who are our literary lights?"
"Lady Isabelle McLane and Lieutenant Kingsland."
"I should never have suspected it of either of them," he replied, manifestly surprised, for Kingsland's literary tastes, as evidenced on the Thames, had not been of an elevated nature; and Lady Isabelle was too conventional and well-ordered a person to care to read much or widely.
"Nor should I," agreed his hostess; "but they remain glued to the bookcases, and to see themgoing into raptures over an undecipherable black letter volume, adorned with illustrations that no self-respecting householder would admit to his family circle, is, considering the young lady's antecedents at least, rather amusing. They've the room entirely to themselves."
"Oh!" said Stanley, and they both laughed.
"But the Marchioness is certain that it is literary enthusiasm," she assured him.
"My dear Mrs. Roberts," said the Secretary, "that is merely the wisdom of age." And they laughed again.
"And now," he added, "if you'll permit, I'll begin my tour of exploration, by finding where my belongings are bestowed."
As he spoke, a footman was at his side, and his hostess, nodding cheerfully to him, left him to his own devices.
Stanley's room was charming, and he was so busy examining its curiosities that the sound of the dressing-bell awoke him to the realities of the situation with a start of surprise that he could have unconsciously idled away so much time.
But then there was a fireplace, almost as large as a modern bedroom, ornamented with blue tiles of scriptural design, blatantly Dutch and orthodox; and the great logs resting on fire-dogs, that happened to be lions, which caused most of the guests to break the tenth commandment in thought, and neglect to break it in deed, only because they were unsuited both by weight and design for surreptitious packing in bags or boxes.Also there was the wall paper, rejoicing in squares of camels, and groves of palm trees, amidst which surroundings fully a hundred Solomons received a hundred blushing Queens of Sheba. Moreover, there was a huge four-poster into which you ascended by a flight of steps, and from the depths of whose feather-beds you were only rescued the following morning by the muscular exertions of your valet, which, as Kingsland aptly remarked at dinner, was a tremendous cinch for the family ghosts, as they could haunt you all night long if they liked, without your ever being able to retaliate.
Altogether, it is doubtful if Stanley would ever have remembered to dress for dinner, had not his meditations been interrupted by a series of astonishing sounds in the hall, which seemed to betoken the movements of great weights with strenuous exertions. Just at that moment the valet entered with his freshly brushed dress clothes, and a question as to the cause of the disturbance elicited the fact that:
"They was Mr. Riddle's chests, sir," and though it wasn't his place to say it, "he's a mighty queer old gentleman, gives magic lantern shows and entertainments free for charity, sir."
"From his luggage, I should imagine he was supporting an opera troupe."
"They was labelled 'stereopticon,' sir, but they was that heavy——"
"Thanks," broke in the Secretary. "That's quite sufficient."
He never approved of encouraging gossip, and was not interested in the description of the benevolent county magnate—still less in the weight of his chests—yet he smiled quietly to himself as he dressed for dinner.
The Lieutenant and Miss Fitzgerald were in the billiard-room, and the former was putting in the half-hour which must elapse before dinner by teaching the latter the science of bank-shots.
"I say," queried her instructor, in one of the pauses of the game, "do you know that little diplomatic affair of yours has turned up again? I saw it driving in from the station, half an hour ago.
"Jimsy Stanley, I suppose you mean?"
"The same,—and look here, you won't turn crusty, if I ask you a point-blank question?"
"No, Dottie."
"Don't call me that, you know I hate it."
"Isn't it your naval sobriquet?"
"Never mind if it is."
"But I do mind, and I shall call you what I please, for it suits you perfectly. Well, then, Dottie, I don't mind your asking me anything, if it's for a purpose, and not for idle curiosity."
"Oh, it's for a purpose fast enough."
"Go ahead, then. I'll try and bank that ball into the side-pocket, while you are thinking it out."
"It doesn't need thinking out. It's just this: Do you mean business with Little Diplomacy?"
"What affair is that of yours?" she asked, pausing in the act of chalking her cue.
"None, thank goodness; but I'd like to do a pal a good turn, and so——"
"Well?"
"If you'll accept a bit of advice."
"Out with it."
"Don't lose any time, if you do mean business. He's being warned against you."
"Aren't you clever enough to know the result of that?"
"Yes, if the advice comes from a woman—but supposing it's from a man?"
"Who?"
"Kent-Lauriston."
Miss Fitzgerald so far forgot herself as to whistle.
"How do you know?"
"Gainsborough told me. He said he overheard an awful long confab between them at the St. James, two days ago, and Diplomacy said he'd write a letter to our hostess, sending his regrets."
"No such letter has been received."
"Probably he changed his mind,—but——"
"Then he'll make a clean breast of it to me, but I'm much obliged just the same, and I won't forget it."
"I'll see he owns up to it."
"You won't do anything of the sort, you'll bungle it, and there's an end of things."
"Have I generally bungled your affairs with Little Diplomacy?"
"No. You were a trump about that launch party. Now I mustn't keep you from her Ladyship—run along, and remember if I can be of any help—just call on me."
"You can be—and I want you to——"
She broke in with a merry laugh.
"I knew it."
"Why?"
"Because Lieutenant Kingsland doesn't generally put himself out to oblige his friends, unless he expects them to make return with interest."
The gentleman in question looked sheepish and shrugged his shoulders.
"Come now," she continued briskly. "Let me hear it, and don't go blundering about for an explanation; the facts are sufficient. I've been alone with you long enough. I don't wish to set myself up as a rival to Lady Isabelle."
"It's about her I want your help."
"Of course, I know that. Go on."
"You don't ask if I mean business."
"I don't need to. I know the amount in consols which she received from her grandmother."
"Don't be so damned mercenary!"
"Why not say a thing as well as mean it? Let's be honest for once in a way. Besides, you're not to swear at me, Lieutenant Kingsland—please remember I'm not married to you."
"No. By Gad! I wish you were."
"Oh, no, you don't. I haven't silver enoughto cross the palm of my hand. But to come to business. Doesn't your affair progress swimmingly?"
"Why, it has so far—as long as the Dowager fancied there was danger from Little Diplomacy's quarter, I was used as a foil. Now that she learned about your claims she breathes again, and gives me the cold shoulder in consequence."
"I suppose you haven't been wasting your time?"
"Rather not."
"It's all right then?"
"Yes, I think so; but the old lady'll never allow it."
"Marry without consulting her."
"That's what I mean to do."
"Where?"
"Why, here. Haven't we got the parson and the church attached? What could be more convenient?"
"Nothing, if the Marchioness doesn't suspect?"
"But I'm afraid that she does."
"What—not that——"
"Only that my intentions are serious."
"Transfer them to me then—temporarily."
"Won't do. Devotion to Lady Isabelle is the tack. Why won't you lend me your little affair?"
"What, Jimsy?"
"Yes. I fancy the old lady has a mistaken idea that he's poverty-stricken. Of course, I know that can't be the case if you——"
"Do not finish that sentence, Lieutenant Kingsland; I'm quite willing to oblige you—by mentioning to the Dowager the amount of Mr. Stanley's income—if I know it."
"She'll accept your word for it, even if you don't, and once her attention is turned to him, I'll have a clear field."
"Is that the help you wanted?"
"No, I want you to square the parson."
"Oh, I see; that's a more difficult matter. When do you wish to command his services?"
"If I need 'em at all it'll be in about three days. To-day's Thursday—say Sunday."
"I'll do what I can."
"You're a brick. Oh, by the way, I spoke to Darcy about that letter you gave me at the Hyde Park Club."
"And he told you to keep a still tongue in your head and leave it to me."
"How did you know that?"
"It's good advice," she continued, ignoring his question, "and I'll give you some more. If I make any suggestion after dinner, advocate it warmly—put it through."
"You mean to get that letter to-night?"
"I must get it to-night."
"But suppose he's left it in London?"
"Then I must find it out this evening, and take steps to procure it there."
"You wouldn't have his rooms searched?"
"I must have that letter—that's all," she replied. "You don't know what it means to me?"
"I don't know anything about it. But why not ask him for it?"
"Tell him it was mine, and that I sent it to Darcy," she exclaimed, incredulously.
"I say," he ventured to expostulate—"you know I am no milksop—but don't you think that you and the Colonel are getting a trifle thick? He's a married man, you know, and——"
She flushed angrily, and then controlling herself, said quietly:
"Oblige me by going to the drawing-room at once, Lieutenant Kingsland. We've been here too long already."
He bit his lip, looked at her, laughed shamefacedly, and thrusting his hands into his trousers' pockets, went out.
Having given him time to make his escape, she slowly followed his footsteps.
Stanley dreaded meeting his friends, as a man does who stands convicted of having done something foolish, and while he was wondering whom he had better encounter first, Lady Isabelle settled the question for him by meeting him in the great hall.
"This is indeed unexpected," she said. "After what you told me at Lady Rainsford's tea, it's naturally the last place where I should have thought of seeing you."
"I don't suppose our hostess considered it necessary to mention that I was coming, after all."
"I believe that she did say something at luncheon about receiving a telegram from you; but as you had assured me that you were not to be here, and as I was much engaged——"
"In literary pursuits with Lieutenant Kingsland," he said, finishing her sentence for her, at which termination her Ladyship flushed, and the Secretary felt that in the first round at least he had given as good as he had received.
"But I want you to understand the reason of my coming," he said, leading her to a seat in a little alcove. "I feel that I owe you some explanation."
"I don't see why you should," she replied coldly. "I'm sure you have a perfect right to do one thing and say another without consulting me."
Lady Isabelle was nettled, for she felt he had trifled with the serious side of her nature. She had offered him good advice which he had pretended to accept, and straightway her back was turned, he had unblushingly belied his words.
"I beg your pardon," he said humbly. "I shouldn't have presumed to suppose that you could have felt any real interest in my affairs."
"Oh, but I do," she replied, somewhat mollified. "A deep interest, the interest of a friend."
She made it a point to qualify any statement that might be open to possible misconstruction.
"I see I shall have to throw myself on your mercy, and tell you the whole truth," said Stanley,which he proceeded not to do. "I intended to write a letter."
"It isn't necessary. I would accept your word——"
"But you'd still have a lingering suspicion of me in your heart. As I was saying—I intended to write to Mrs. Roberts, declining her invitation, and forgot to do so till this morning, and then I made a virtue of necessity, and as it was too late to refuse, telegraphed my hour of arrival."
Had the light been a little stronger, he would have noted the quiet smile which played about Lady Isabelle's face, though her silence was, in itself, suggestive of the fact that she did not believe him.
"I probably shan't stay more than a few days, long enough to do the proper thing, you know."
"Have you seen your friend?"
"Miss Fitzgerald? On my word, I haven't laid eyes on her. The fact is, I've quite decided to follow your advice. You must be my guardian angel."
Her Ladyship looked dubious at this, though the rôle of guardian angel to an attractive young man has ever been dear to the feminine heart. However that may be, her ultimate decision was perforce relegated to another interview, by the appearance before them of the subject of their conversation—Miss Belle Fitzgerald.
This much discussed lady was dressed in the apparent simplicity which tells of art. Her costume, the very finest of white muslins, suggestedthe lithe movements of the body it encased, with every motion she made, and her simple bodice was of the fashion of thirty years ago, a fashion which always inspired wonder that the clothes stayed on, and awe at the ingenuity with which that miracle must have been accomplished. A broad frill of the same material, caught with a knot of white ribbon at her breast, framed her dazzling throat and neck, and a yellow sash, whose end nearly touched the floor, encircled her waist; a sash whose colour just matched the tint of that glorious hair, which, astonishing to relate, hung loose down her back, and was surmounted by a very tiny white bow, which was evidently a concession to the demands of conventionality, as it could have been of no possible use in retaining her tresses. That Miss Fitzgerald was able not only to adopt this style, but to carry it off with unqualified success, and the approval of all unprejudiced observers, was its own justification.
"I always wear my hair like this in the country," she had said at lunch. "It is so much easier, and I'm really not old enough to paste it over my forehead and go in for a bun behind"—this with a glance at Lady Isabelle, which caused the Dowager Marchioness to exclaim, quite audibly, that it was scandalous for that young person—she was sure she had forgotten her name—to wear her hair as if she wasn't yet eighteen. Lady Isabelle, it may be remarked, could lay no claim to anything under twenty.
But certainly in this case, the end justified thedeed, and Miss Fitzgerald, rejuvenated, was one of the most simple, blithesome and gay young maidens that the sun shone on.
Possibly this was the reason that she never saw or comprehended the meaning of Lady Isabelle's uplifted eyebrows and steely glare, as she drew up before the couple and violated the first rule of fair and open warfare by interrupting their tête-à-tête.
"Well, Jimsy," she said, using a form of address that the rack would never have wrung from his companion, "How are you? Feeling fit?"
He smiled uneasily, and, for the sake of saying something, since her Ladyship preserved an ominous silence, remarked:
"There's no need of putting that question to you."
"Rather not. Once I'm in the country, I'm as frisky as a young colt," she rattled on. "I'm going to have such fun with you and Kingsland, and I expect to be, as usual, quite spoiled. Now, how are you going to begin?"
"Really," he faltered, rising in an access of agitation, for Lady Isabelle's expression was fearful to behold.
"You shall run along with me to Mrs. Roberts," she continued, not giving him an opportunity to flounder, "and tell her that she must send us down to dinner together. Because you're a diplomat and will have a post of honour, and the butler has given me the tip that we're to have just one round of '80 champagne before the dessert,and you know we really must have the first of the bottle, there is sure to be sediment farther down."
"You must excuse me, but you see— Lady Isabelle," and he indicated that stony personage.
"Oh, I beg Lady Isabelle's pardon—it was so dark I didn't see her!" she cried in a fit of demure shyness, and added—"If I have said anything indiscreet, do explain it, there's a dear, good Jimsy."
"It's not necessary," came the icy tones of his companion. "I shouldn't think of keeping you, Mr. Stanley, from such congenial society."
"At least, let me escort you to the drawing-room."
"Don't trouble yourself, I beg. I dare say I shall find some people there who are contented to wait till their proper precedence has been allotted to them," and she turned away.
"Oh, yes," the irrepressible Belle called after her. "I just sent Kingsland up there. He's been showing me bank notes in the billiard-room. I thought I'd never get rid of him."
If her Ladyship heard this information she betrayed no sign of the fact, and Miss Fitzgerald returned to more congenial fields.
"You behaved disgracefully," said Stanley, as they went in search of Mrs. Roberts, "and I shall have to spend most of this evening in trying to make my peace with Lady Isabelle."
"Poor, proper Jimsy! Was he shocked? But I really couldn't help it, you know—she's such a funny old thing."
The Secretary wisely changed the subject.
When they discovered Mrs. Roberts she assured them that their proposed arrangement at table suited her exactly, but could not forbear whispering in her niece's ear:
"I shouldn't think you'd have thought it necessary to ask. Of course, I'd arranged it that way."
To which Miss Belle whispered in return:
"Don't be stupid!"
When the Secretary entered the drawing-room he received a distinct shock of surprise.
The one person in the party unknown to him was Mr. Riddle. Yet those high cheek-bones, that prominent nose between the deep-set, restless eyes, peering out under their shaggy eyebrows, were strangely familiar. He had seen them once before when they and their owner occupied a cab together with his fair dinner partner. He was on the point of saying so to her, but restrained himself, he hardly knew why, in deference, perhaps, to his diplomatic training, which forbade him ever to say anything unnecessary.
Fate placed him next to the Dowager Marchioness, who was manifestly displeased at his presence, and lost no time in making him feel thoroughly uncomfortable.
"I had always supposed," she began, before he was fairly seated at the table, "that at this season of the year there was a great deal of activity in the diplomatic world."
"There is," answered Stanley hastily, scenting danger, and anxious to turn the conversationfrom his own affairs. "Most countries have a little leisure, and, like Satan, expend the time in making and finding mischief."
"That is, of course, a matter of which I am no judge, Mr. Stanley, but I should have supposed, under the circumstances, you would naturally be much occupied."
"We are," he replied, a trifle flippantly. Flippancy, he had noticed, was the one thing that drove the Marchioness to the verge of desperation. "My Minister and my colleagues are working like draught-horses."
"While you——" began her Ladyship.
"I'm working also—hard," and he turned himself and the conversation to the fair Miss Fitzgerald, while the Dowager said things in a loud tone of voice about youthful diplomacy to Mr. Lambert, the local incumbent, who had taken her down to dinner.
The Secretary was no more fortunate with his dinner partner. Not that she rated him; far from it; but she was evidently making conversation, and he could not help feeling that the cordial good fellowship which had hitherto existed between them was now lacking, and that a restraint had taken its place, which, to say the least, did not promote their mutual ease. But there, he would have a talk with her when opportunity offered, and they would understand each other and be as good friends as ever; nothing more. He knew himself now. He was sure she had never been so foolish as to suppose for an instant that theirintimacy could mean anything further. She would probably laugh at him if he proposed to her—which he would not do, of course—but all the same he must make some sort of an explanation, and—what was she saying?—he had not spoken for a whole course—what must she be thinking of him? He pulled himself together, and rattled on, till his hostess gave the signal for the ladies to leave the table.
The interval for rest, refreshment, and tobacco promised to be somewhat wearisome, for Kingsland seemed moody and abstracted, and Riddle and the Reverend Reginald Lambert offered, to Stanley's mind, little hope of amusement.
The good pastor was a bit of an archæologist, an enthusiast on the subject of early ecclesiastical architecture, and the nominal duties of his living left him much spare time for the exploitation of this harmless fad. He was possessed of considerable manual dexterity and a certain nicety in the manipulation of whatever he undertook, whether it were the restoration of parchments or the handling of leaden coffins, but apart from his hobby he was as prosy as the most typical member of his calling.
As the Secretary could not tell a nave from a chapter house, a very few minutes served to exhaust his interest in the good old gentleman, and he turned to Mr. Riddle in sheer desperation. Stanley had conceived a dislike for the stranger from the first moment he had heard he was a fellow-guest, either from his reputationfor beneficence or his mysterious acquaintance with Miss Fitzgerald. He had at once put him down as a hypocrite, and his attitude towards him was reserved in consequence. This sort of man, he told himself, takes a pride in his good deeds, and can be most easily approached on that subject. Accordingly he drew up his chair and opened the conversation with some allusion to the chests of stereopticon fittings.
"Yes, they're bulky," replied Mr. Riddle, "and I was almost ashamed to bring them with me— I trust they've not annoyed you."
"On the contrary, I was hoping we might be favoured with a view of their contents."
"Oh, no," he said, his face lighting up with a frank smile, which appealed to the Secretary in spite of his prejudices. "I never inflict my fads on my friends. I'd promised to send them on to a man in London, and, as I was coming in this direction, brought them part way myself. You see, the average porter cannot understand that a thing may be heavy and yet fragile—if a chest weighs a great deal—and you'd be surprised how heavy a case of slides can be—he bangs it about regardless of labels and warnings; so I generally try to keep an eye on them, or put them in the charge of some trusty friend."
"You are much interested in these things?"
"The slides? Oh, yes,—collecting them becomes quite absorbing, and now these clever scientists of ours are able to photograph directly on them, it increases our field immensely."
"Of course the good you can do with them must be their chief charm to you——" began the Secretary, sententiously.
The answer surprised him.
"Not at all. On the contrary, my charities, if theyarecharities, are of a very selfish sort. I suppose you've some kind of amusement which you turn to in your hours for relaxation? Golf, tennis, hunting, what not. These little entertainments are—mine. I thoroughly enjoy them. The fact is, I'm passionately fond of children, and not having any of my own, I've adopted everybody else's for the time being. But it's selfish, purely selfish. Some benighted idiots call me a philanthropist—I'd like to have them come pressing their claims for lazy heathen in my bank parlour, they'd find out what sort of business man I was." And this queer specimen doubled up his fists, and broke into a roar of laughter, which was too hearty to have been assumed. "I'll tell you what it is," he continued, "if it wasn't for our good dominie there, I'd admit to you that I hate a real professional philanthropist—ten to one he's a humbug."
The parson held up his hands, and Stanley laughed nervously—the man was actually voicing his own thoughts.
"As for charity— Bah! Charity begins at home. It doesn't go racing over the country with magic lantern shows—that's real downright, selfish egotism."
Then, evidently feeling that the conversationhad proceeded far enough in this direction, he broke off suddenly, remarking:
"They tell me that you're a diplomat."
"Yes," said the Secretary. "Perhaps you know my chief?"
"I've not that honour. Indeed I've never had any dealings with your countrymen but once, and then I'd reason to regret it."
"Really? I'm sorry to hear that."
"It was with a large manufacturing company," he continued, and mentioned the name of the concern which had such a sinister reputation in regard to the treaty.
"Oh," said the Secretary, at once alert for any information he might pick up. "You mustn't judge my countrymen by that concern—anyway I understand that it's really owned in England."
"Ah, is it so? I can't say how that may be, I'm sure; but I know they kept so closely to the letter of their contracts with my bank, that it almost crossed the border line from strict business to sharp dealing."
"I'm sorry you should have been annoyed, but I know nothing about it. We—my father, is interested in sugar, and that, as you see, wouldn't bring us into any connection with their line of business."
"No, of course not. Do you happen to know whoarethe heads of the firm in this country?"
"I haven't any idea," the Secretary answered, very tersely. "I fancy they're in the nature ofsilent partners. But I dare say they might be known in business circles."
"Oh, the matter doesn't interest me—except as I've mentioned. It was recalled to my mind by some notice of a treaty I saw the other day in the papers—which I should fancy would rather cripple their resources, if it went through."
The Secretary held his peace, and silence falling upon the room, the Reverend Reginald deposited the butt of his cigar tenderly in the ash-tray, and blew his nose lustily, as a preparatory signal for a retreat to the upper regions. The others obeyed the hint, and a moment later were on their way to the drawing-room.
Miss Fitzgerald's resentment towards the Lieutenant had been short-lived, and she was quite ready to aid and abet him to the extent of her power, the more so as his success would upset the most cherished plans of the Marchioness, who was, for the time being, the Irish girl's pet detestation. Accordingly she took up her station near that matron, who descended on her forthwith.
"I suppose, my dear," said the Dowager, with an assumption of friendly interest that was even more terrible to behold than the coldness of her wrath, "Icanonly suppose, from what I could not help observing at table this evening, that you are soon to be a subject of congratulations."
"Really I don't understand."
"Of course, I shouldn't think of forcing your confidence, but when an engagement is unannounced there's a degree of uncertainty."
"Oh, but I think you're mistaken," said Miss Fitzgerald, lifting her liquid blue eyes to the Dowager's face, with an expression of innocence, which was the perfection of art. "I'm much too young to think of such things—besides, who'd have me, with no dower except my beauty, such as it is, which, as your Ladyship knows, is not lasting."
The Marchioness fairly snorted with rage. She had been a Court belle in her time.
"Some country parson, perhaps," continued Miss Fitzgerald reflectively; "but then I fear I should not make a good parson's wife."
"I should doubt it," assented the Dowager with asperity.
"No millionaires would think of me for a moment."
"I did not know there were any such here."
"What, not Mr. Stanley?"
"Mr. Stanley?"
"Why, to be sure. He's worth millions they say. Stanley & Son, South American sugar. Anyone in the city would confirm my statements, but you don't know the city of course— Lieutenant Kingsland could tell you more about him if you cared to hear it," and she moved away as the gentlemen entered the room, and running up to Stanley, exclaimed:—
"You've been an interminable length of timeover your cigars. Men are so selfish and I'm simply dying for a game of hearts."
"You play it so much I should think you would tire of it," he said, smiling.
"Tut! tut! naughty man! This is serious business. Sixpence a heart, and you mustn't win, for I'm quite impoverished. You'll be one of the party, Jack," she continued, turning to Kingsland, who had just come up.
"Nothing I should like better. I always approve of assisting the undeserving," replied the Lieutenant, and added: "I'll get Lady Isabelle to join us." A very valuable piece of assistance, as her Ladyship would hardly have done so on Miss Fitzgerald's unsupported invitation; and since it was manifestly an affair of the young people, this deflection might have ruined all.
The Lieutenant's request, however, had due weight, and she graciously consented to join the party, which was further augmented by Mr. Riddle, who declared that "young people" meant anyone who felt young, and so he did not intend to be excluded.
The cards were accordingly shuffled, but during the deal, Belle discovered that though she had a pencil, no paper for scoring was anywhere obtainable.
"Oh, any old scrap will do," she said. "Surely some of you gentlemen have an old envelope on which we can keep tally. Jack? Mr. Riddle?"
Both gentlemen professed to an utter absence of any available material.
"You, Jim—then?" she queried, turning to the Secretary.
"I don't generally carry my correspondence round in my evening clothes," he protested, laughing.
"Idiot!" she retorted, with an affected depth of scorn. "How can you tell unless you've looked?"
"Oh well," he replied, "to please you——" and thrust his hand into the pocket of his coat. "Why," he exclaimed, "here is something! I declare, it's that mysterious letter which I intercepted at the Hyde Park Club night before last. Let me see, Kingsland, I think it dropped from the ceiling into your hands."
"The letter belongs to me," came the keen voice of Mr. Riddle.
"To you!" said Stanley, in genuine surprise.
"Yes. I gave it to Lieutenant Kingsland at the Hyde Park Club."
"But surely," contended the Secretary, "Lieutenant Kingsland told me, only that morning, that he didn't know who you were."
Silence fell on the little company. The Lieutenant flushed and moved uneasily in his seat, and Miss Fitzgerald leaned forward with a strained look in her face, while the keen, restless eye of Mr. Riddle swept round the table, taking in all present at a glance.
Then he spoke, with quick decision.
"Quite true. I did not till to-day have the pleasure ofknowingLieutenant Kingsland. Isaw him leaving the room at the club, however, and though he was a stranger, ventured, as I was unable to leave my party, to ask him to do me the favour to post a letter for me, handing him two-pence for the stamp. I had, it seems, very carelessly forgotten to address it."
"Yes," broke in the Lieutenant, catching his breath. "You remember I told you I didn't know who had given it to me."
"You will notice," continued Mr. Riddle, "that the envelope is sealed with the initials A. R. inclosed in scroll work. Here"—detaching it from his watch chain—"is the seal with which the impression was made."
A cursory glance assured Stanley that it was the same.
"If you doubt my statement," continued Mr. Riddle affably, "we can procure some wax and make a duplicate——"
The Secretary hastened to disclaim any such intention. Why should he doubt this gentleman's word? Kingsland corroborated his story, and the letter was no concern of his, anyway. Indeed, as he said, in handing it over to its owner, he felt that he owed him an apology for his unwarrantable interference in the matter.
At this point Miss Fitzgerald resumed the conversation.
"There!" she cried. "You and your stupid letter have lost me the deal, for I don't know where I left off. Take the cards and deal for me— I'll run downstairs and get a clean sheet of paper,and come in on the next hand," and suiting the action to the word, she pushed the pack over to Stanley, and ran from the room.
A moment later the game was in progress. Mr. Riddle was the life and soul of the party, and his irresistible mirth and good humour put every one at his ease.
The impoverished, it is perhaps needless to say, were duly remunerated; and the Secretary, after a round of whiskies and sodas, retired to his room, feeling that the evening had been a triumphant success, and reflecting ruefully that he was yet very young, for a little brief authority had made him suspicious of everybody. Had he not put down Mr. Riddle as a hypocrite, when that gentleman was one of the most open, whole-hearted and mirthful personages in existence? As for the letter it was an unfortunate incident, very successfully brought to a close. Something was wrong with Belle, however. She had left him with a shrug and laugh, saying: "Oh, there is no real gambling in a mere game of cards. Try life!"
The Dowager was being created for the day. Created seems the only term applicable to the process, for Lily, Marchioness of Port Arthur, as finished by her Maker and her maid, were two entirely distinct and separate articles. Stimson alone was initiated in these mysteries. Even Lady Isabelle had never been allowed to see her mother as she really was, and no one exactly knew how she was put together, though several tradesmen in Bond Street might have been able to make shrewd guesses at her component parts.
The Dowager never appeared in public until lunch time. She had, she told her friends, earned the right to this little luxury now that the struggle of life was nearly over. Doubtless her Ladyship knew best what she had done to deserve such an indulgence. But, be that as it may, her daily retirement gave her a much coveted opportunity for attending to matters in the private life of other people, and one of these affairs claimed her attention after the Secretary's arrival at Roberts' Hall.
Stimson had finished her morning's budget;that is, she had retailed to her Ladyship all those things about which the Dowager declared pathetically she had not the slightest desire to know, but which, had the maid omitted to mention them, would have cost her her place.
"And so, as I was saying, my Lady," Stimson concluded her recital, "Mr. Stalbridge, the butler, he tells me as there was a strange lady come to Coombe Farm yesterday, a foreigner like."
"I do not know, Stimson, why you worry me with these trivialities," said the Dowager, "in which I can have no possible interest. You say she was a foreigner?"
"Yes, my lady. A Spaniard, Mr. Stalbridge thought, and her name——"
"You needn't trouble me to tell me her name, Stimson."
"No, my Lady. I shouldn't presume, my Lady. But, of course, when I heard as it was Madame Darcy, I couldn't help thinking——"
"I do not employ you to think, Stimson. I understand you to say that the lady's name was Madame Darcy? Surely my daughter met a Madame Darcy the other night, somewhere?"
"Yes, my Lady, at Mr. Stanley's dinner."
"It is quite immaterial to me where Lady Isabelle met this person. But, as you say, itwasat Mr. Stanley's dinner. So I infer she must be a friend of his."
"She's not staying at the Hall, my Lady."
"No," said the Marchioness. "I shouldn't have supposed she would stay at the Hall. Stimson,you may get me my bonnet and a light shawl."
"But I thought your Ladyship said as how you was not well enough to go out this morning."
"I said, Stimson, that you could get me my bonnet and a light shawl. Perhaps a little air will do me good."
"If your Ladyship was thinking of taking a little stroll, it's very pretty towards the Coombe Farm, not ten minutes' walk across the Park to the left of the house."
"As you very well know, Stimson," her mistress remarked with asperity, "I am too nearly tottering on the brink of the grave to venture out of the garden. Perhaps there is a side-door by which I can leave the house and be alone. I shouldn't have the strength to talk to anybody."
"No, your Ladyship. I'll show you the way, and if Mrs. Roberts should send to inquire for your Ladyship's health——"
"Say I have been obliged to lie down by a headache, and shall not appear till lunch."
"But if anyone saw your Ladyship——"
"In that case," snapped the Marchioness, "I should be obliged to dismiss you as being untruthful."
In a good cause the Dowager was only too apt to overtax her strength, and this was probably the reason why, half an hour later, she was obliged to sink down on a wooden bench outside the door of Coombe Farm and request the privilege of restingherself for a few minutes. The farmer's wife, who, like most people of her class, took a vast interest in the guests at the Hall, knew intuitively that she was a Marchioness, and having ducked almost to the dust, rushed into the house to get her Ladyship a glass of fresh milk and impart the astounding intelligence to her lodger. A moment later Madame Darcy appeared upon the scene.
"I am going to take the liberty of introducing myself, as I have the pleasure of knowing your daughter," she said.
Her Ladyship was affable in the extreme.
"This is, indeed, a pleasure, Madame Darcy," she murmured. "Dear Isabelle was so impressed with you the other night that she has done nothing but talk of you since; but, of course, I could not have supposed my walk would have had such a charming termination. Is not your coming into the country rather unexpected?"
"Yes," replied Madame Darcy. "It is what you in this country call a whim, is it not? I am not yet quite sure of your language."
The Marchioness smiled indulgently.
"Yes," she said, "that's quite right. It is very clever of you."
"I do not like your London," pursued the stranger. "It suffocates me, and I wish to run away into the country."
"And how did you know of this charming spot?" said her Ladyship, still angling on general principles.
"Oh, I have heard it mentioned."
"By Mr. Stanley, perhaps?" suggested the Dowager. "You knew he was to be here."
"Oh, yes," rejoined Madame Darcy, judging it better to be frank. "But I came here to be quite alone. I need rest and quiet."
"I see," said the Marchioness, who was quite bewildered. "But you and Mr. Stanley are very old friends, are you not?"
"Our fathers were. We have not met often recently."
"Yes, yes, of course," said the Marchioness. "Mr. Stanley told me. He's such a nice young fellow. We often see him at our house. I take quite an interest in him. And how pleasantly he is situated, too. Diplomacy is such a delightful profession. But then"—and here she sighed gently—"like other delightful things in this world it must require a very long purse."
If Madame Darcy had had any knowledge of English manners and customs, the Dowager's method of attack would have put her on her guard at once. But being totally unversed in the ways of British matrimonial diplomacy, she took the Marchioness' remarks to mean nothing more than an expression of kindly interest in the young man's welfare, and did not hesitate to inform her that the Secretary was amply able to afford any position he chose to take.
"Oh, yes," said the Dowager. "His father's greatly interested in sugar, I believe. Or is it salt? I am very ignorant about these matters. Which do you grow in your country?"
Madame Darcy repressed a smile and informed her guest that Mr. Stanley's father grew sugar, and was one of the most wealthy planters in that section of the world.
"Well, I must be going now," said the Marchioness. "I have had such a pleasant little chat, and I shall certainly ask Mrs. Roberts to call on you."
"Oh, pray don't," returned Madame Darcy. "That is—excuse me, I did not mean to be rude—but I have come down here for absolute rest, and do not feel in the mood for any gaiety."
"I quite understand," said the Dowager, "and will respect your feelings. Indeed, I will not mention having met you at all, and then no one need be the wiser. No, thanks. I shall be quite able to go by myself. Perhaps we may meet again in London. You must ask Mr. Stanley to bring you to call on me. Such a nice young fellow! He ought to be married to keep him out of mischief." And the Marchioness returned to her room to complete her headache.
Scarcely fifteen minutes had elapsed since the Dowager's departure, when, just by accident, Stanley strolled by, and lifting his eyes caught sight of Madame Darcy's face at the cottage window.
"What!" he exclaimed. "You here!" and stood silent a moment as a wave of feeling rushed over him, the first pleasure of seeing her sad sweet face being swept away by consternation at the thought of how she had played into her husband's hands by following him to this place.
She read what was in his mind, saying, with that charming accent which appealed to him so strongly:
"You should not express your thoughts so clearly in your face. You are thinking—but it is not of me—it is of yourself—in this part of the world men think only of themselves—in my country they think of us." And she gave a sigh.
"You are, what you English call 'put out' at my coming—you think it will compromise you—strange country where the men consider that they will be compromised. You do not think of me, not one little bit—eh? I am right?"
"I'm afraid so," he said. "You see, nowadays, chivalry doesn't exist far north or south of the equator."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I carry my own climate, my own atmosphere," she said.
The Secretary bowed.
"No? You are not convinced? I had thought better of you."
"You see," he said, feeling it wiser to be blunt, feeling that he must, if possible, bring this wayward, entrancing, fantastic creature within the limits of practical common sense. "You see, your precious husband has been making trumped-up charges against me, on your account, which are highly unpleasant."