"Mydear," said Miss Selina Boyle, "I am in some trouble, and must seek your advice even at the risk of a confession."
Her exquisite face was half concealed by the shadow of her large black hat, but over her round chin and throat, over the radiant hair that flowed in glittering little curls on to her muslin bodice, the afternoon sun, pouring through the long French window, rested brightly.
She had come upon Miss Chressham at tea; the delicate china was set out on the tulip-wood table, and Susannah, pale and fair in lavender, had laid aside her tapestry frame.
"A confession!" she smiled.
But her visitor's face remained grave.
"It may come to that," she said, and her sweet lips trembled.
Susannah Chressham looked at her, thinking of nothing but the frail and endearing beauty she saw. Selina had taken off her black lace pelisse, and from head to foot was in white, fine lawn, that billowed round the gilt chair. Her silk parasol, of the blue of a forget-me-not, rested against her knee, and at her breast was a cream-tinted rose.
"You are very serious," said Miss Chressham tenderly.
"I think I have a serious matter to deal with," breathed Miss Boyle.
There was a moment's pause. Susannah poured out the tea; the pleasant sound of the cups as they touchedone another and the whispering of her silks filled the silence.
Then Miss Boyle spoke again, with an effort.
"My dear," she said pleadingly, "you must forgive me for coming to you. Had I had anyone else—But in town I know none, and I dare not go to my father or to—the persons concerned."
Miss Chressham set down the cup she held.
"Why, what is the matter?" she asked finally, startled at the other's tone.
Selina Boyle clasped her hands on her lap.
"What will you think of me?" she cried. "Do not let me entirely lose your good opinion; I am sufficiently distressed and humbled."
"I implore you to enlighten me," answered Miss Chressham. "You agitate me, Selina."
Miss Boyle opened her reticule and drew out a copy of theGazette.
"This was found by my maid this morning. What am I to do? WhatamI to do, Susannah?" She unfolded the paper and pointed to a paragraph on the front page. "Read it," she said in a voice almost inaudible.
"This duel between Mr. Markham and Captain Galton?" asked Miss Chressham, staring at the closely printed sheet.
"No, no! Below—look below."
Susannah obeyed, and read the following sentences:
"The next item from the Beau Monde has been Communicated to Us by a Lady of Fashion whose Authority is beyond Reproach. It concerns the Happy Advent of Miss S—l—a B——le ofBristolinto Town. The Cause of her Coming, it seems, is not that She may be, as her Friends expected, united to her Cousin, Sir Fr——is B——le. This Match has been Broken off, owing to the Lady's Affection for a Noble Lord who is well known forhis Success in Affairs of the Heart. His Lordship being so far Infatuated as to Request Miss S—l—a B——le in a Passionate Letter not to Marry her Cousin, she in a Reply equally Warm, gave the Desired Pledge, though it might have been supposed that His Lordship would allow the Lady the Liberty he had taken to Himself in making a Marriage of Convenience. The Friends of Miss S—l—a B——le and the Admirers of the Earl of L—dw——d Await with interest a Further Development of this Romance, the Course of which we Hope to be able to inform our Readers upon in a future Time."
"The next item from the Beau Monde has been Communicated to Us by a Lady of Fashion whose Authority is beyond Reproach. It concerns the Happy Advent of Miss S—l—a B——le ofBristolinto Town. The Cause of her Coming, it seems, is not that She may be, as her Friends expected, united to her Cousin, Sir Fr——is B——le. This Match has been Broken off, owing to the Lady's Affection for a Noble Lord who is well known forhis Success in Affairs of the Heart. His Lordship being so far Infatuated as to Request Miss S—l—a B——le in a Passionate Letter not to Marry her Cousin, she in a Reply equally Warm, gave the Desired Pledge, though it might have been supposed that His Lordship would allow the Lady the Liberty he had taken to Himself in making a Marriage of Convenience. The Friends of Miss S—l—a B——le and the Admirers of the Earl of L—dw——d Await with interest a Further Development of this Romance, the Course of which we Hope to be able to inform our Readers upon in a future Time."
Miss Chressham laid the paper down. Her eyes darkened and her cheeks blanched; she averted her glance from Selina Boyle.
"Well," she said unsteadily, "this is ugly malice; a pity you must notice it."
"But you understand that I cannot ignore it," breathed Miss Boyle entreatingly.
The other lady turned slowly and faced her.
"I do not know quite how much you mean me to understand," she said quietly, "nor why you should not take this paper to your father or Sir Francis."
"I cannot take it to them," answered Miss Boyle in a still way, "because what is said there is true."
"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Miss Chressham, touched to the heart.
"It is not an invention," continued Selina. "Whoever wrote that knows the truth." She bent forward until her hat concealed her drooping face and she clasped her slim hands tightly on her knees. "He wrote to me, as it says, and I answered, and—and that is the reason why I say no to my cousin."
"There is no need to tell me this," answered Susannah, trembling. "Why should you justify yourself to me, or speak to me of these things that are your own matter?I can believe you always right, Selina, without explanations."
"But I want you to hear," said Miss Boyle earnestly. "It has come to that point when someone must hear, and you are almost like his sister."
Miss Chressham winced and averted her eyes.
"It is near two years ago since I first met him," continued Miss Boyle in a low voice, "and from the very first we—he came to The Wells, and there spoke to me—" her words failed her; she pulled out her handkerchief and pressed it to her lips—"of the ruin that involved his fortunes."
"Why pain yourself to speak of this?" asked Miss Chressham. "Indeed, I have no right to know—hardly to listen."
Selina Boyle made an effort over her weakness.
"I entreat you, hear me! I deceived you, Susannah. I wrote to you, mentioning him lightly; I did not dare confide in you, and I was languishing for some word of him. We were then almost—secretly betrothed." She paused, struggling with her troubled breath. "He thought to go to Venice. Then he wrote to me about my lady and Mr. Lyndwood. I saw how hopeless and wrong it was. I—well, it was over."
Susannah regarded her with eyes of a startled tenderness.
"Some of this I guessed," she said; "but it was not for me to speak."
Miss Boyle looked up.
"You guessed!" she exclaimed. "What must you have thought of me?"
"I thought it was no wonder," she answered.
"You are too gentle with me." Miss Boyle raised her hand to an agitated bosom and pressed her heart. "But, indeed, I never wrote to him again nor saw him save in public"—her voice was piteously humble—"until he sent me this letter, which—ah, I should not have answered it!But I could not have married Francis, you must understand. I told him so. I had no right." She turned her head away sharply. "And now it is chalked up for all the world to see!" she said in a muffled voice; "I shall be the talk of London—and, since it is true, what am I to do?"
"Rose or Sir Francis will see it, and the matter will be out of our hands, my dear."
"That is the least bearable thought," answered Miss Boyle, "that they should meet on my account—and over this."
Miss Chressham crossed to her chair.
"Do you then hope to conceal it?"
"If I could!"
"It is impossible," said Susannah firmly. "That was not put there to be overlooked; it will be repeated."
"If I could buy up the paper!" cried Selina frantically. "Who could be so wantonly cruel?"
"Do you not guess? Rose's wife."
"The Countess!"
"Who else? Only someone in his house could have this knowledge of his correspondence, and she is that manner of woman."
The outraged blood stormed Miss Boyle's cheeks.
"You mean—oh, Susannah, you cannot mean that she reads his letters!"
"I have no doubt at all," said Miss Chressham. "She and her maid spy on him, and on us, perpetually."
"You think she has read that letter of mine!" cried Selina faintly. "But it is not possible; he would never have left it about. What must she think of me? Oh, that I should come to tremble at what may be thought!"
"I see no cause to tremble," answered Susannah with resolution. "It is her shame, not yours. Who is she but an ill-bred spiteful woman?"
"Yet his wife," murmured Miss Boyle; "and I had noright—oh!"—with an accent of deep distress, "should I go to her, implore her not to think ill of me?"
Miss Chressham's eyes flashed.
"What are you thinking of, my dear? She would insult you."
"Indeed, I could not do it—discuss this—him—with his wife! This is terrible, and my fault!"
"It is Rose's fault," cried Susannah, with a heaving breast. "He had no right to do as he did. You and he considered it his duty; I never did. My lady was not penniless, and Marius could have taken his life in his own hands. Rose obeyed his own imprudence—his own recklessness—in marrying this woman; because of my lady's tears and the reproaches of Marius he sells himself on the instant to a tradesman's daughter, and brings into the family a creature that will surely ruin it!"
"Yet it was nobly done," murmured Selina.
"But wilful nobleness, and in any case a mistake," answered Miss Chressham; "a mistake we are all paying for in misery and bitterness. How dare he set this woman up as mistress of his house where she is in a position to work harm among all for whom he ever cared?"
"Maybe you are right, Susannah," she said faintly and wistfully, "but—ah, well, I know what they say of him, nor can I justify my heart to my reason. Yet, if it were certain sin, as it is certain pain, I could not forbear from caring."
"I am a fine one to preach," said Miss Chressham in a desperate way. "Do I not know that he is lovable?" She left her chair and hung over Selina. "Do not shed tears about it. We will find some way, indeed we will."
Miss Boyle turned and clung to her.
Susannah gathered the delicate fragrant loveliness into her arms and to her breast. She could feel the agitated heart beating close to hers and the wet cheek pressed on her shoulder.
"I wonder what she knows of him?" was her swift thought. "Perhaps it is better this way."
Selina sobbed like a child—in a helpless and stricken fashion, clinging tightly the while to Miss Chressham, desperately revolving some means of comfort and help.
But Miss Boyle was the first to speak.
"I want you to see him"—she steadied herself with an effort. "Will you?"
Susannah was silent. Miss Boyle withdrew from her embrace and mastered struggling sobs.
"I want you," she said humbly, pleading with wet eyes, "to show him—that," she pointed to the paper by the neglected tea-table, "before he sees it for himself, and to ask him—for—" She hesitated.
"For your sake," finished Miss Chressham, looking away. "Well?"
"To—to ignore it—to suppress it if he can; but to ignore it. Tell him that I am going away—if I can; but that I confide in him to make nothing of it. Oh, you know what to say!" She paused, then gathered strength again. "Will you do this, dear?"
"Yes," said Miss Chressham quietly. "I will send to him at once."
"Thank you," whispered Selina; her blurred eyes shone with gratitude. "You understand what I mean?"
"Yes, I understand." Susannah smiled sadly. "I am afraid it is rather a woman's way, dear, but I can conceive of no other course to take."
Miss Boyle fumbled among her voluminous skirts for her reticule, and pulled it open.
"He has only sent me three letters," she said breathlessly, "and you shall see them."
Susannah turned swiftly.
"What do you make me? Indeed, I will not look at them—and you have no right to show them."
Miss Boyle sat silent.
"I will do what I can," continued Susannah, "but I cannot answer for Rose, save that he must perceive for himself how any action of his would make the matter worse."
"Has he not possibly some influence with the gentleman who conducts the paper?" asked Selina.
"Ah, my dear, that was tried before in the Cathcart case, and was found useless! So there be but the thinnest veil over the names these papers may publish what they please."
Miss Boyle rose and wiped her eyes.
"I am ashamed to disturb you with my troubles," she murmured; "but the mere speaking of them has been a comfort."
"Do not thank me yet," said Susannah with a quick flush, "for though all I have and am is at your service, I am very helpless."
"But I have the greatest trust in you and him, and—and I must go before the candles come in." She caught Susannah by the shoulders and kissed her impulsively. "Oh, I shall cry again if I stay. I am a weak fool," she said in a breaking voice, "but—ah, well, good-bye!"
"Good-bye, dear," answered Miss Chressham. "I shall hope to send to you in the morning."
Miss Boyle caught up the blue parasol.
"I do not know what I am asking of you," she said in an agitated tone, "but I trust you, and if by any means you can persuade him——"
"What of Sir Francis?" asked Susannah suddenly.
"I think he is not likely to see the paper," replied Miss Boyle. She picked up the copy of theGazetteand thrust it into her bag. "Farewell again, and thank you—oh, thank you, Susannah!" They kissed again in the dusk that each was secretly so grateful for.
"Is your carriage below, dear?"
"It is waiting. Do not come down."
They parted; the door closed on the slight beauty of Selina Boyle, and Susannah crossed at once to the fireplace and pulled the bell-rope. Then she sank into a chair and pushed the fair locks back from her brow, and stared desperately into the twilight. She felt her cheeks becoming pale and her blood turning cold. A bitter exclamation left her lips, she beat her foot in anger at her own weakness, and when the servant entered rose and turned her back to the room.
One by one the delicate candle flames sprang from the taper and a soft light illumined the pale rich chamber.
"A letter, madam," said the servant.
"For me?"
"No; for Captain Lyndwood, madam."
Miss Chressham gave a careless glance at the letter he placed on the mantelshelf.
"In half an hour I shall have a message to be taken to Lyndwood House."
"Yes, madam."
She was alone again, with the curtains shutting out the blue summer evening. She bit her lip and clenched her hands in her effort at control, then pulled open a drawer in the buhl cabinet and commenced to write to the Earl.
But words that would be sufficiently strong yet sufficiently cautious, phrases that should command yet appear careless were not easy to find, nor did her agitation allow her to search for the niceties of composition.
She flung down the pen and rose. As she paced distractedly across the room her eye was caught by the letter on the marble mantelshelf. It was in the Countess Lavinia's hand. Susannah stood still a second, then returned to the desk and sat down heavily.
The moment after, Marius entered. He noticed the untouched tea-table and his cousin's face as she turned to look at him.
"Is there anything the matter?" he asked, pausing inside the door.
"No," said Susannah, "no. There is a letter for you—from Lady Lyndwood." She marked the treacherous blood fly to his face and saw him turn from her gaze. "What does the Countess write to you about?" she asked.
Marius picked up the letter.
"How can I know," he answered, "before I have opened it?" His dark eyes challenged hers with a look at once defiant and pleading; the even pallor of her face did not change, nor did she lower her glance as he tore open the envelope. "A ticket for Grafton's mask to-morrow," he said, throwing it on a chair; the letter enclosing it he thrust back into the envelope carelessly.
"There was no need to obtain that from her," answered Susannah wearily and coldly.
"I shall not go," said Marius; "unless I might escort you there."
She faintly smiled.
"Did my lady send two tickets? No, I do not wish to go, Marius."
"Why will you not?" he demanded. "My lady will be going—and Rose, I doubt not."
"Indeed, I do not care for it."
"Ye take pleasure in evading my company and in refusing my requests!" said Marius fiercely, and, picking up the Countess's ticket and the Countess's letter, he left the room with an angry step.
Susannah Chressham remained in a reflective attitude. She was not thinking of Marius—indeed, she had hardly noticed the manner of his departure.
TheSt. James's coffee-house was nearly empty; the candles had burnt to their sockets and only a sickly lamplight revealed the three gentlemen who sat together at a table scattered with cards. They had finished playing. One who had lost rose up without a word and reached down his hat and coat from the shining wall. Rose Lyndwood, a second loser, lifted his eyes to glance at him.
A clock without struck three. A sleepy drawer was slowly clearing some of the other tables. The place, but a little while since so noisy, had an extraordinarily dreary look.
"Good-night," said Lord Sandys. He put on his hat and left the room with a firm step.
The Earl nodded. Cathcart, the winner, laughed.
"Sandys looks dashed," he remarked.
"Probably ruined," remarked my lord.
A fresh gust of air rushed in and stirred for a second the stale, smoke-laden atmosphere; then the door was closed again, and idle, heavy silence was unbroken.
The Earl pushed aside the backgammon board and the glasses, and leant his elbow on the table. He sat with his back to the door and opposite the shuttered window. He took his chin in his hand and stared at these blank shutters through half-closed eyes. He wore pearl-colour; at his throat was a large buckle of brilliants that sparkled with restless hues; his hair and his dress were tumbled, his face disfigured with a lazy expression of sneering distaste.At the corner of his mouth was the fantastic patch cut into the shape of a bat.
"You should have gone to Kensington to-night," said Cathcart, who was leaning back and smoking. "I'll wager you'll hear of it."
"Why should I have been there?" asked the Earl, without moving his eyes or changing his expression.
"You know, 'twas a Cabinet meeting, or some such foolery. But I am no agent of the Government."
"Why, then, 'tis no matter of yours," said Lord Lyndwood in the same tone.
"But something of yours," answered the other. "Lud, how you throw away your chances! Newcastle said you might have been Chancellor or a Secretary of State by now had you cared. Don't that fire you?" He laughed, then yawned.
"Why should I trouble about their soiled politics?" asked my lord indifferently. "What comes my way I'll see to. But what is this all about? A parcel of niggers on the coast of Coromandel—Coromandel! Good Lord!"
Cathcart laughed again.
"I see you have got in your man."
"My man?"
"Francis Boyle—to be Lord of the Bedchamber. I saw it to-day."
"I haven't looked at theGazette" answered Rose Lyndwood. "I hope he will be pleased," he added with a sneer. "It cost me more damned trouble than it was worth. Newcastle resisted, of course, and Pelham don't like me."
"Why did you do it?" asked Sir Thomas abruptly.
The Earl turned and fixed his eyes on him.
"I wonder," he said languidly.
Cathcart returned his gaze curiously.
"So you haven't seen theGazette?"
"No. What's in it now?"
"One of their paragraphs about you, my lord." Cathcart put down his pipe, stretched himself and yawned again.
"I do not find them amusing," smiled Rose Lyndwood.
Both fell on silence again. The door opened sharply, and a gentleman entered the coffee-house. My lord did not turn his head, but Sir Thomas looked with some surprise at the new-comer, who was not of a type common to taverns at this time of night.
He was a young man, alert, composed, graceful, with noticeable chestnut hair and eyes of the same hue; a peacock-blue mantle was wrapped about him. He took off his hat, spoke to the drawer and passed to the table behind the Earl, where the screen hid him from Cathcart's observation.
"Who is that spark?" asked my lord. "He has a business-like tread for three in the morning."
"I do not know him; 'tis no one I have seen here before." Sir Thomas called for his bill and shifted from one pocket to another the roll of paper and gold he had won from the Earl and Lord Sandys. "I'm going," he said, as he paid the drawer. "It is plaguy dull here, and late, too."
"I'm well enough," answered my lord, yawning. "Good-night."
"Good-night!"
Sir Thomas got into his cloak and swaggered off; the door banged after him. My lord yawned again, and called for a pint of wine. The sombre chimes struck half-past three. The Earl eyed under drooping lids the stained glasses and cards before him, the closed window, the flickering lamp. He drank his wine slowly, and with a brooding face propped on his hand fell into a gloomy silence of miserable thoughts.
A quick step roused him; he glanced up to see thegentleman in the peacock mantle coming round the screen. He sat up, and it was not pleasure that flushed his cheek. He saw, standing the other side of the dismantled table, the elegant figure, the fresh handsome face, the masterful eyes of a man he did not love.
"I had not thought to see you here," he said slowly.
"I followed your lordship," answered Sir Francis Boyle.
"Followed me?" queried the Earl.
"I called at your house, my lord, and was advised that you were at Carlisle House. I waited there an hour or more, when one told me he had seen you here."
"Is your business with me of such importance?"
"Yes."
The Earl leant back in his chair and idly fingered the stem of his glass. His eyes were not idle, but excited and bright, though his attitude was slack and his chin rested on his tumbled cravat.
"I have to thank your lordship for the promotion I was gazetted with to-day, have I not?" said Sir Francis in a low voice.
"I used my influence on your behalf," answered Rose Lyndwood. "I think you know it, Sir Francis."
"I wished to be confirmed, sir. I could not flatter myself it was my own merits. I decline the place, my lord. I can be under no obligation to your lordship."
"And your motive in this?" asked the Earl slowly. He roused himself with an indolent air and looked up at the other.
"What was your motive in doing me this favour?" demanded Sir Francis, his red-brown eyes darkening.
"I do not care to endeavour to understand you," said Rose Lyndwood, frowning. "I do not know what you have against me, nor is it worth while to inquire." He yawned and his lids drooped. "The time is inconvenient—and the place—for these discussions," he added.
"I have not studied your convenience or my own in coming here," answered Sir Francis haughtily. "I am not fond of taverns. But the matter I have in hand is imperative. Has your lordship seen theGazetteto-day?"
"It seems to have been an interesting sheet," said the Earl languidly but with watchful eyes. "Ye are the second has asked me that. Well, what of it?"
Sir Francis threw back his mantle and drew from the pocket of it a copy of the paper.
"Will you read this?" he said. "Afterwards I shall have to ask your lordship two questions."
Rose Lyndwood took the small, closely printed sheet and sat up, leaning heavily on the table, to read it. Sir Francis stood erect, his hand on his hip, observing him. There was not the slightest change in the even pallor of my lord's weary face—not the least alteration in his indifferent attitude. He laid down theGazetteand looked up.
"What are the two questions?" he asked.
Sir Francis drew his breath sharply.
"First, is there any truth in that paragraph? Secondly, what are you going to do?"
The Earl lowered his gaze to his fine hand lying idly across the paper.
"For the first, I will give you neither yes nor no, Sir Francis. For the second, how can I say yet what I shall do?"
"I am not contented with that," answered Sir Francis. "If what is stated there be true, I must know it, and you must answer for having permitted it to become public. If it be false, you and I, my lord, must track down the malice that dictated it."
Rose Lyndwood pushed his chair back.
"It is false," he said with sudden recklessness. "What should that lady be writing to me for, or I to her? Oh,be assured that it is false, Sir Francis. Do these damned scribblers ever write the truth?"
Sir Francis eyed him keenly.
"I do not take your mood, my lord. This cannot be ignored."
The Earl lifted his shoulders.
"Oh, if you like to challenge every hack in Grub Street!"
"I do not think one of those wrote that, Lord Lyndwood."
"Who else? There is no one in town who has not been so written of. I am well used to it; and as to the lady——"
"As to the lady?" Sir Francis took him up with a strained voice and his eyes narrowed and grew fiery.
"Am I her protector?" asked my lord. "By Gad, it would give a colour to it if I interfered, would it not?"
His tone was unpleasantly mocking. Sir Francis coloured swiftly.
"I do not like the manner of your speech, my lord."
Rose Lyndwood laughed.
"Upon my honour, I do not know why you have come to me. Why do you not marry the lady out of hand and give them the lie that way?"
"I do not think you understand me," said Sir Francis breathlessly.
My lord opened wide, insolent eyes.
"Has she jilted you? Are you sore on that? Well, you must not blame me. I know nothing of it, whatever they say in theGazette," he sneered.
"So you have answered my first question," said Sir Francis, keeping himself well in hand. "This"—he struck the paper lying before him—"is a malicious falsehood?"
"It is a paragraph in theGazette," answered Rose Lyndwood, raising his eyebrows.
"I will have the name of the man who coined it andhorsewhip him into an open confession!" exclaimed Sir Francis.
"Is it worth while?" smiled the Earl. "There are always the pamphlets and lampoons, and if you offend a penman they will kill you in a paper warfare."
"I have no care for that. I shall know how to act."
"Why did you come to me?" the Earl interrupted suddenly.
"To ask you if there were any truth in this libel."
"Which seems as if you suggest there might be, Sir Francis." His tone changed. "And had there been, do you think that you would have got it from me?" he laughed. "I suppose that you came here to force a meeting on me?"
"No," exclaimed Sir Francis, "no!"
"The matter is too delicate for speech," continued the Earl, "and one you and I can never cross swords over. What is the use of these words? We each know what we know." He glanced swiftly at the other. "Do what seems good to you. You need give no thought to me."
"Because I am helpless I came to you," answered Sir Francis in an agitated voice.
"And I can be no help."
"Will you not aid me to discover the writer of this?" Again he touched the paper.
"I have no clue to go upon," answered the Earl slowly, "and I think you make too much of it. What does any of it matter?"
His manner and his tone were devoid of meaning. Sir Francis Boyle, not knowing him, felt as if he dealt with a man of sand. Against his own conviction he believed the Earl was indifferent—to Miss Boyle, to everything; but he could not remain content.
They fell both into silence. The solitary drawer passed them in a noiseless weariness. Sir Francis picked up the paper and folded it mechanically, then he looked acrossthe table at my lord. A sharp exclamation left his lips, for he seemed to be looking at a dead man.
Against the murky background the face of Rose Lyndwood showed white in between the tumbled grey curls. There was a fixed smile on his colourless lips and a lifeless droop in his weary pose. The brilliants under his chin sparkled in an incongruous fashion.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
Sir Francis moved.
"It startled me," he said. "It is the dawn."
The drawer had opened the shutter of the window behind him, and the first ghastly grey light entering had showed him the worn face and fickle eyes of Lord Lyndwood.
"Yes, the dawn," repeated my lord. "It is ugly, is it not?"
Sir Francis turned away heavily.
"Good-night, then, my lord." He glanced back again in a fascinated way at the Earl.
"Good-night," answered Rose Lyndwood. He looked so ill in the cold unmerciful light that Sir Francis hesitated.
"Good-night," repeated my lord, with a deepening of his unnatural smile. He half roused himself to pour out the wine he had ordered before he had been interrupted.
Bewilderment and contempt gathered on the fresh countenance of Sir Francis. He gave the drawer his money impatiently and impatiently flung on his hat. His firm, angry step echoed the length of the dreary coffee-house and the heavy door fell to slowly behind him.
My lord did not turn his head nor in any way alter his attitude, though now there was no one to observe him save the man at the window, who yawned miserably at the eastern sky.
The Earl drank his wine; he also stared out at the grey gloom gathering strength above the hard dark line of the houses. The lamps burnt so palely in this new insistentlight that they became mere yellow specks of misty radiance. The drawer shuffled to the other windows and opened the shutters with a cumbrous slipping of bolts. An ignoble and yet solemn stillness hung over the dreariness. The scattered cards, backgammon boards, the glasses and bottles on the tables, the chairs pushed awry—each of these details became more distinct as the sky glowed into a melancholy faint gold and the blank windows filled with a cold increasing light.
My lord finished his wine and leant forward across the table, supporting his head by a hand thrust into his pomaded hair. The splendid dress he wore and his bright ornaments glimmered softly in contrast with his lifeless face. Presently the hush was rudely disturbed by the rumble of the market carts coming in to Covent Garden—the sound of the wheels over the cobbles, the clatter of the harness.
Lord Lyndwood rose and stepped to the window. Slowly he set it open and looked out. A waggon laden with country flowers was going past, and the clear early air was fresh with the perfume of the masses of blooms that lay close pressed in the wicker baskets. My lord watched these carts go by until the sun was above the chimney-pots and shining down the narrow street.
"Whereis Rose?" asked Miss Chressham anxiously.
"Ye are very impatient to find him," answered Marius. "And how may we know him in this throng?"
They stepped aside into an alcove set with card-tables, and Susannah gazed away from her companion and down the crowded ballroom.
"We came here to find him," she answered. "I told you that, Marius, when I desired you to bring me. You know that I must see him—that I endeavoured to gain speech with him last night. To-day——"
"But you have confided no further in me."
Miss Chressham replied sharply, almost angrily.
"Marius, you are quite unreasonable. You know that I want to speak with my lord on a matter not my own. I have a message for him, and one not easily put on paper."
"And you are unreasonable," retorted Marius gloomily, "to suppose we could ever find one in particular in this." He indicated the crowd that passed and repassed before them. Everyone was disguised in a fantastic, ridiculous, or gorgeous fashion, and everyone was masked. Of all the habits there he could only identify one—the scarlet and orange domino Lady Lyndwood had told him she would wear.
Miss Chressham sighed impatiently. She, like her cousin, wore a simple black cloak and mask.
"If I but knew what he was wearing," she said.
Marius blushed under his vizard. The Countess might know at least the colour of her husband's domino; but he would not admit to Miss Chressham that Lady Lyndwood had accompanied her invitation with a description of her dress, so he stood silent, staring resentfully at the yellow and red domino.
"I suppose they will unmask at midnight," continued Miss Chressham, "and if Rose be still here——"
From the musicians' gallery came the sound of fiddles. The great room slowly cleared; the precise and animating music of a gavotte came sharply across the laughter and talk. Four couples stood up to dance; the rest moved aside to watch them.
One of the dancers was the mask in red and yellow. It seemed to Marius that she looked straight across the ballroom at him, and that she knew him—at least, her head seemed always turned in his direction.
At the commencement of the second figure a lady in white detached herself from the spectators and approached towards the two by the empty card-tables. She passed Marius in a quick, agitated manner, and caught Miss Chressham by the hand.
"Susannah," she whispered, and pulled off her mask.
"Selina!"
The mask was replaced. Both ladies checked themselves and looked at Marius.
"My cousin," murmured Susannah. "You remember him?"
Miss Boyle curtsied.
"I knew you both; you are very poorly disguised." She forced a laugh. "Are you not dancing, Captain Lyndwood?"
"I am not in much of a holiday mood, madam," he replied. He was so watchful of Susannah, so sensitive to every change in her tone and manner, that he wasperfectly aware that she wished him to leave her alone with Miss Boyle. He made some excuse and moved away.
Selina Boyle sank on to one of the slender chairs by the card-table.
"You have not seen him?" she whispered.
"No; that is, therefore, why I am here to-night. Nothing has been done."
"Yet Francis knows; he affects to laugh, but I believe him furious. I fear he has come here to meet my lord." She paused, panting.
"I have done all that I could," answered Susannah. "I sent to Lyndwood House last night, but Rose was abroad. I sent again in the morning. He had returned, but was gone again. I was assured he would be at this masque. Marius had a ticket, and I took my lady's, who was weary."
"Ah, you are very good to me," murmured Miss Boyle. "If I were not so distracted—so agitated—I might make some shift to thank you. Had it not been for you I should have lost courage and fled from town."
"I entreat you," interrupted Susannah, "do not mock me, dear. And how are we to find Rose? I have no idea what he is wearing."
Selina looked desperately down the ballroom, and her glance fell on Marius.
"Doeshenot know," she asked—"Captain Lyndwood?"
"Oh, nothing, my dear. He never looks at the papers, and hardly sees anyone." Miss Chressham's eyes were bright through the holes of her mask. "He is drifting, I fear, like Rose—like all of them."
Miss Boyle hung her head and was silent.
The light and charming music of the gavotte repeated itself; the bright-hued dresses of the dancers formed graceful moving patterns on the polished floor; the glowof a thousand wax candles and the soft sound of laughing voices were diffused very pleasantly.
Marius glanced covertly at his cousin and Miss Boyle. They were conversing together in low, earnest tones, neither taking any heed of him. He moved still further away, so as not to appear to court their notice, and walked languidly down the ballroom.
The dance came to an end. The orange and red domino left her partner and came straight to Marius Lyndwood.
She held out her hand, and he could not pretend that he did not know her, but he gave her greeting of the coldest.
"I did not think to be here, Lady Lyndwood. Chance brought me."
"How eager you are to explain that!" she answered in her clear, scornful tone. "All the evening you have had that speech on your tongue: 'I did not come because you asked me, because you told me the colour of your dress, but—chance brought me!' Well, since you are here, it is much the same, is it not?"
"I came because Miss Chressham desired it," he answered stiffly, "and to see my lord. He is here?"
"Is it you or your cousin who wishes to see my lord?" asked the Countess. "Your cousin, of course." And she laughed.
"Is he here, my lady?" repeated Marius angrily.
"Oh yes, he is here—courting Miss Trefusis, who is quite the fashion now. But shall we not be remarked?" Her hand slipped under his domino and clung to his velvet sleeve. "Take me out of the ballroom."
She led him into an antechamber, a small place of mirrors and satin chairs, lit, not too brightly, with tall white candles.
"Why did you not come properly masked?" demanded the Countess, setting free his arm. "Anyone could know you."
"I had no object to serve in being disguised, madam."
"Oh, la!" cried Lady Lyndwood.
She flung herself along a pale-coloured settee, a mirror behind her, and loosened her domino, and took off her mask.
Her dress was purple, an enormous hoop ruched and frilled, a tight bodice cut low; her face showed an unnatural white, her lips an unshaded scarlet. On the cluster of violets at her bosom powder had fallen, whitening them; in her high-dressed hair were pearls.
Marius had never liked these bright colours that she wore, nor associated them with anything that was desirable in woman. He stared at her intently, thinking of muslins and a chip hat in the gardens of the Luxembourg, and brown curls blowing against fresh cheeks. He blamed Rose, something hotly, for this distortion of simple charm into attraction unnatural and fantastically, unhappily splendid; yet he himself found a fascination in her paint, her flaring colours, her scornful eyes. She did it very well, and he could not altogether ignore the fact that she had ransacked her armoury for his conquest. It was flattering, even if unworthy, that she should so well remember that childish romance.
He leant against the doorway and waited for her to speak. He was glad to keep on his own mask, and pleased she had removed hers.
"What does Miss Chressham want my lord for?" demanded the Countess.
"That is her own matter," he answered.
The fine dark eyebrows went up.
"So—she has not told you?"
He was no match for her, and knew it. He resorted to that directness she employed with such effect.
"What do you want to say to me, madam?"
She leant back, showing her high-heeled shoes under the purple frills. She opened her fan of black and gold, and held it over her mouth.
"What do you want me to say to you?"
Marius made an effort.
"I can think of nothing we have in common."
"No? Is that meant to be cruel?"
Her right arm lay along the top of the settee; her small hand was near to him; as he looked away from her face he saw it—the black velvet bracelet, the slack fine fingers. It was her right hand he had kissed once in Paris.
"I will tell you why Miss Chressham wants to see my lord," said the Countess.
He flushed quickly.
"It does not involve me, and if she does not herself inform me——"
Lady Lyndwood interrupted.
"But it involves me, and is hardly so private, since it is already in theGazette."
"In theGazette?"
"You have not seen it? I dare swear that you are the only one in town who has not."
Her keen eyes marked his ill-concealed agitation, and her mouth hardened.
"It is not about your cousin; she is only the ambassadress. It concerns her timid little friend, Selina Boyle."
"What have either to do with Rose?" demanded Marius.
"It is for me to ask that," she answered. "As for you, you must know something. He always admired her, did he not? He made her the toast at the Wells—before he married money. It is all very romantic. He asks her to keep single for his sake—he of all men!—and she refuses a good match, and it gets into the papers, this sentimental story."
With that my lady threw back her head and watched her darts take effect. He was openly restive under her scrutiny, uneasy too it seemed, and troubled.
"What has this to do with Miss Chressham?" he asked.
The Countess lifted her dead-white shoulders.
"She is the mediator—the friend of Miss Boyle. She hates me, of course. Why not?" A smile curled the thin vermilion lips. "And there is Sir Francis, a good youth, honestly in love. Is my lord too jaded to be goaded into a meeting? Perhaps not, so consultations, tears, and Susannah Chressham pledging herself to prevent bloodshed, Miss Boyle in despair, and the world laughing!"
Marius took a quick turn away from her, then back again. She sat forward, the flame-coloured domino falling apart over the purple dress, the black yet gleaming fan held across her knee like a weapon. The mirror behind reflected her heavy grey curls, the stiff bright roses in among the wreathed pearls and her bare white shoulders.
"ShouldIlaugh, Marius?" she asked, and her luminous eyes were wild.
"I do not know why you tell me this," he answered slowly, as if reluctant to speak to her at all; yet he was incapable of silencing her, of escaping her, or even of taking his eyes from her face.
"I suppose it seems nothing to you," continued the Countess, "but I am not one of these people—your people—and to me it is something."
"What matter can idle scandal like this be to any of us?" said Marius desperately.
"It is true," answered Lady Lyndwood. "As you know——"
"What have I to do with my lord's affairs?"
"Nothing, perhaps, and something, too, perhaps. At least, you know this is true. Were not their names coupled before his marriage?"
Marius was silent. The curious impersonal way in which she referred to her husband vexed and galled him, yet he felt a prick of indignation against Rose and against Selina Boyle. The Countess was his brother's wife,Marius Lyndwood had a strong sense of fairness, a keen instinct for justice and order.
"She hath been enamoured of him since they first met," said Lady Lyndwood; "and he, I suppose, is in love with her, or rather, I take it, he fancies an idyll as background to his amusements. Either way they scorn to think of me—Jack Hilton's daughter! The whole of the town knows now how they have exchanged their sentimentalities over my head."
"How did it get into the papers?" asked Marius heavily.
"I cannot tell." Her voice was contemptuous. "Some maid of hers not sufficiently bribed. What does it matter? I think it has been plain enough to everyone from the first."
"It will matter to Miss Boyle."
"Do you also think of her—not at all of me?"
He did not answer.
"She is a gentlewoman," said the Countess slowly. "But do you think she hath behaved honourably?"
"Why must I accuse her?" he asked, goaded.
"Because I think you are not like the others—or thought so once. Can you not look at it straightly? He married me for my money, not even troubling to disguise his contempt of me, his liking for another. For a year he exchanges regretful sighs with this other, and the money goes, and the hate increases, and she writes to him. Well——"
"The money!" said Marius quickly. "Is Rose in difficulties?"
"What do you imagine?" answered the Countess. "You see how he lives? I do not know how long my father can or will endure. My lady is not sparing of her demands."
"Do not speak like that," interrupted Marius hotly. "'Tis my family, madam."
She laughed.
"Have I no right to speak? I shall be a pauper also. Have I no right to say that I bought my title too dear?"
He admitted that she had; that she had been miserably wronged. He despised his brother and Miss Boyle together, but he would not say so much to her.
"Are you not a little sorry for me?" she asked, gazing at him intently.
"I am sorry for all of us," he answered bitterly.
The Countess rose, holding her opened fan against her chin.
"You cannot guess what my life is," she said slowly; "nor quite how I hate him."
Marius shuddered.
"I think that you have brought a curse upon us all," he said, with a dreary laugh. "You could wish no greater vengeance than you have, madam, in seeing us worthy of your scorn."
The bright silk skirts of the Countess rustled as she moved a little away.
"You need not couple yourself with your brother, Marius. I do not hate you."
"Why should you, madam?" he asked.
She laughed to think he did not remember the very good cause she had to hate him, and caught the gaudy domino together across her breast.
"What do you mean to do in this business?" she said. "Drift—drift, like all your noble house?"
Then she was suddenly quiet, and Marius turned in the direction of her narrowed glance.
In the tall doorway stood the Earl, wrapped in a pink domino, with a mask in his hand.
"Is that you, Marius?" he asked, in a weary tone, and did not even glance at his wife, shrinking away from him.
Marius strode up to his brother.
"I have been searching for you. Susannah wishes to speak to you."
My lord lifted his grey eyes and smiled insolently.
"Where is she?"
"I will show you where I left her," answered Marius briefly.
They moved away in silence, two erect figures, much of a height, each with grey curls flowing under the knot of black velvet, and the graceful domino caught over the sword.
Neither had given her a word or a look as they left. She crouched against the wall and stared after them.
Hesitatingly came the first bars of the melody of a minuet.
"Whois the lady who has just left you?" asked the Earl as he greeted his cousin; and he glanced over his shoulder at the white domino disappearing in the throng.
Susannah found in this her cue.
"Miss Boyle," she said. "And it is about her that I wish to speak to you."
Lord Lyndwood stepped into the alcove; Marius had departed; they, although on the edge of a great crowd, enveloped by music and laughter, were alone and unnoticed.
"Did you not guess the subject on which I desired to see you?" questioned Susannah.
The Earl looked at her smilingly, and flung himself into a chair.
"Gad, but I'm tired," he said. "Well, I suppose you have seen the paragraph in theGazette?"
Miss Chressham gave him a keen glance from behind her mask.
"Yes," she answered. "And Miss Boyle has seen it."
The faintest tinge of colour came into my lord's weary face.
"Also her fire-eating cousin; her father, too, I dare swear, and half London"—he kept his shadowed grey eyes on her face.
"Well, are you Miss Boyle's deputy, Susannah?"
"Yes," said Miss Chressham, sitting erect, with a hand clasped on a swiftly heaving breast. "I have been tryingto gain a word with you since yesterday afternoon, when she, Selina, came to me."
Lord Lyndwood interrupted.
"With what object?" he asked, and his foot lightly beat time to the measure of the minuet.
"Can you not imagine?" Susannah paused a moment striving with distaste for her task. "I am her close friend—she hath confided in me——"
"Ah, what?"
Miss Chressham lowered her agitated voice.
"That theGazettegives only the truth."
The Earl shrugged his shoulders.
"A rarity! truth in theGazette! no one will suspect it, my dear; I think Miss Boyle frightens herself for nothing."
His languid eyes roved over the ballroom, his indolent handsome profile was towards his cousin, who flushed unseen under her mask, accusing him of lack of frankness and friendliness in thus dealing with her.
"You resent my interference," she said in a low tone, "and, of a surety, I put myself in an ungracious position, but do we not know each other well enough—and, and like each other well enough, Rose, for me to venture to speak to you as Miss Boyle's mouthpiece?"
"You do us both an honour," answered my lord. "Only, I cannot see that the affair calls for comment from anyone, even from Miss Boyle;" he slightly raised his fair brows. "Surely these things are better ignored?"
And still he looked at the ballroom, and still Miss Chressham had the sense that he was not with her, not moved or even interested by what she said; yet she must be mistaken; hewasinterested, vitally, and his seeming indifference was but the reserve he chose to show her, so she told herself; but either way, this manner of his made it difficult for her.
"I think you take it too lightly, Rose," she said. "If you could have seen Miss Boyle's distress."
Again that faint flush in his averted face; he tapped his mask against his knee.
"What was her actual message to me?"
"There was none, she is going away if she can; she trusted me to see you, her wish was to prevent a meeting between you and Sir Francis."
"I saw him last night."
"Last night? On this matter?"
The Earl looked at his cousin now; inscrutable still, however, the veiled expression of his beautiful eyes.
"Yes, he came to the St. James's to throw up his appointment because of this; he is a foolish romantical fellow; perhaps he wished to force a duel on me, I cannot tell."
Miss Chressham was silent. It seemed curious that Rose could speak in this fashion; folly, romance, and fire, were they all dead in his breast? He spoke of Sir Francis as an old man might of a boy, and he not much more than five-and-twenty himself.
"And for Miss Boyle's sake you refrained?" she asked.
"Why should I meet him?" he answered evasively. "I suppose she will marry him now; I think he is a good fellow."
"Oh, Rose!" cried Susannah impatiently. "Why do you seek to put me off? She told me what you had written to her—you know, as I know, that she will never marry him."
My lord was silent, and not all her sharp glances could discern from his immobile face what was passing in his mind.
"Sir Francis is impetuous," she continued; "but his situation is maddening, and he thinks, hopes, the thing is a lie."
The Earl smiled, half turning his face to her.
"Sir Francis stands excused, by me at least, though he flung back my favour at me like a fool, and so has given me some trouble for nothing."
Miss Chressham twisted her fine fingers together.
"We have not come to discuss Sir Francis. I think of Selina, and of the fact that she asked me to help her."
"How help her?" asked my lord slowly. "Have you not said Sir Francis believes the paragraph a lie?"
"There are those believe it true."
Rose Lyndwood shrugged his shoulders.
"There is not a lady of fashion in town, nor any who has had the name of a belle, who has not been flicked at in theGazette."
Susannah answered impatiently.
"Oh, Rose, because ye are jaded with pamphleteers, and it is nothing to you what any say of you—cannot you understand her feelings?"
My lord pressed his handkerchief to his lips.
"I think you both, like women, make too much of it," he answered lightly, with a steady glance under drooping lids.
Miss Chressham felt herself colour angrily.
"Then I think you must take a woman's point of view of this matter, too, Rose; remember that she can blame you that the affair ever became public."
"In what way?" he asked.
Susannah, goaded into direct speech by what seemed to her his wilful slowness, answered with the blood still hotter in her cheeks.
"In this way: firstly, that you wrote to her at all; secondly, that you lost her letter."
The minuet had come to an end, the ballroom was emptying of all but a few couples who promenaded the shining floor; the tall distant windows were open on to gardens where the moonlight revealed the forms of trees and the lamps swung in their branches lit the revellers beneath; the Earl looked down the room, and made no answer to Miss Chressham's accusation, but she had a swift feeling that he was moved now; touched to theheart; as they had no longer music or laughter or the tumult of the throng to cover their speech, she lowered her voice and spoke in an added embarrassment.
"Ah, Rose, could you not have kept a better guard on it?"
He answered quietly.
"I' faith, it was there in the desk when I looked again, after Sir Francis spoke to me; I know not whom to accuse."
Susannah pulled off her mask, as if the fret of it was beyond bearing, and gave him a glowing look.
The Earl paled a little under her gaze.
"Can it be possible you do not guess?"
"A servant, of course."
Miss Chressham rose.
"The Countess, of course; she stole the letter, and she wrote that paragraph; it is horrible to even mention it, but it is true and best that you should know it."
He drew his breath sharply between his parted lips.
"By Gad!" he said softly. "So you think so? Well, I thought of it." He laughed, to Susannah's surprise, almost in an amused manner: "But I could not credit that my lady had enough affection or enough dislike to me to be at the trouble——"
"I am sorry that you should smile," she answered hotly, "to think what this woman you have married has brought on those you care for."
He straightened himself, and flung back the pink domino.
"What do you—what does she—want me to do?"
Susannah could not say; it did not seem to her that it mattered what he did, so long as it was of his own conception, decisive, swift, carried to a conclusion; of all things this was the last she desired, that he should ask her what his action was to be. Could not his love for Selina (a thing in which she could not remotely meddle) guidehim? She pressed her hand to her brow, looked on the floor and was silent.
"Here is a woman's coil of gossip and slander!" cried my lord, and his tone was slightly mocking. "Neither you nor I can straighten it out, my dear"—he looked at her languidly; "take no heed of it, 'twill, by Gad, hurt no one."
But his eyes, dark and fiery, belied his speech and encouraged her to endeavour to penetrate the guard of his indifferent manner.
"You have no right to take this action of Lavinia's with a smile," she said.
"Have you any proof of it?" he asked curiously.
Susannah gave a short laugh.
"None, I know."
He gave her a flashing glance.
"So do I," he said quickly.
Susannah made a movement of despair and desperation.
"Your marriage was unforgivable, Rose," she cried bitterly. "You know always she was 'bourgeoise,' and worse—and now—what have you come to that you laugh at your wife—yourwifedoing this unspeakable thing?"
"What am I to do if I do not laugh?" asked my lord. "Again, what is your wish?"
"That you should decide for yourself," answered Susannah quickly. "In a manner I have been forced to interfere, I have also been forced to speak to you now, at this unseasonable time, in this foolish place, and I cannot say all that might come into my mind"—she paused and bit her lip; "as for her—that was all her message to you, Rose, that you should, for her sake, keep quiet. I do not know if she was right or not."
My lord considered her curiously.
"Would you have me provoke a duel, Susannah?"
Her expression suddenly and painfully changed.
"I would have youwantto, Rose," she answered withsubdued vehemence; "but my feelings are not in the question, only, perhaps, I know you better than she does, and I am sorry——"
"For me?" inquired the Earl, smiling.
Miss Chressham pushed the locks back from her forehead.
"For all of it"—she was very pale, her lips seemed to move stiffly; "and there is another question, which, since I get no other chance, I must ask in this half public manner: what of the money, Rose? My lady is very extravagant. I do what I can, but she has no thought for expense, and I hear Mr. Hilton's fortune hath been damaged."
The Earl gave his soft pleasant laugh.
"Mr. Hilton is insolent; is it already a matter of comment, my difficulties?"
"Then you are—entangled," said Susannah breathlessly. "Oh, no, I never heard any mention of it—who should to me?—but from my own observation."
Rose Lyndwood lifted his shoulders.
"Is it not inevitable?" He turned his face away. "After all," he said irrelevantly, "how can life be dull when one has always the thought of death?"
Susannah Chressham stood still, fingering her mask.
"You have resolved that you will not be frank with me, that I must not understand you, and I can scarcely plead with you to be plain; nor have I any right nor any power to be your monitor; you sacrificed yourself once, to Marius and my lady, and I think it was insane nobility; now, well, I must either unlock my heart and frighten you or be silent, so, I am silent."
She turned to leave the alcove, but my lord rose and put himself before her.
"One moment," he spoke softly. "You have mentioned Marius."
She looked up into his beautiful face, and caught her breath, hesitating, with her domino clasped together on her bosom with a trembling hand.
"What of him?" she asked, and shook back the heavy brown curls on to her shoulders.
"I think he had better go to Paris," said the Earl.
"Yes," answered Miss Chressham. "But he will not. I have tried to persuade him."
"You must still endeavour to persuade him," said my lord; "for all our sakes."
She was agitated, frightened.
"What do you mean? I have no influence with Marius."
"He adores you," replied the Earl, bending his great eyes on her. "And are you not the guardian angel of our house?" He smiled in a light bitterness. "You are hard worked, I know, my dear, but I must ask you to save Marius."