Presently Mr. Drelincourt quitted the library, and, traversing the entrance hall, went up the fine old oaken staircase at the farther end. But on reaching the spacious landing at the top, instead of turning to the right in the direction of his own and his late wife's apartments, he turned to the left, and after going some way down a corridor which gave access to sundry rooms, he came to a red baize covered door--the others were all of oak or walnut--with a bell pull pendent at one side of it. At this he gave a tug, which was responded to by a faint tinkle somewhere inside.
Half a minute later a little wicket in the door was drawn back, and a woman's face appeared at the opening. On perceiving who it was that had rung the bell, the face, an unusually grave one, for the most part, brightened perceptibly.
"Will you be kind enough to open the door," said Mr. Drelincourt. Sometimes he contented himself with asking a question or two at the wicket, and did not enter.
The woman nodded, and shut the wicket. Then from the bunch of keys at her waist she selected one, and with it opened the door, which was shut and relocked as soon as Mr. Drelincourt had crossed the threshold.
But at this point it may be as well to take leave of the master of Wyvern Towers for a while, and in order that the reader may have a due comprehension of what has yet to be told, make him acquainted, in as brief terms as may be, with certain particulars having reference to that person's family history, and to the relations which had existed between his father and himself.
The late Colonel Drelincourt had been twice married, and had left behind him two children--Felix, his son by his first wife, and Anna, his daughter by his second. At the time of the colonel's death the former was twenty three years old, and the latter thirteen. His second wife had predeceased him by a few years.
As a young man, Felix had serious differences with his father, whose pet project it was that his son should follow his own profession. This, however, Felix resolutely declined to do.
He had no taste whatever for soldiering; nor, on the other hand, did a political career hold out any attractions for him. He was a studious and bookishly inclined man, addicted to experimental chemistry, and with a strong liking for travel and exploration. Of sport, in the common acceptance of the term, he knew nothing and cared as little; but he had a fondness for horses, and was an intrepid rider.
The colonel, a military martinet of the old school, who held a blind obedience to one's superiors to be one of the main rules of conduct, never forgave his son's refusal to follow in the course he had prescribed for him. At his death it was found that, outside the entailed property, he had left everything he was possessed of to his daughter, to whom he had been passionately attached.
He had married her mother for love (like many another man, he had never touched even the fringe of romance till he was past his fortieth year), whereas he had married his first wife for her dowry. Thanks to certain arrangements made by his mother, Felix was in a measure independent of his father even before he became of age.
About three years prior to the colonel's death a terrible mischance befell his daughter, at that time in her tenth year.
It was Christmas week, at which season a certain amount of license is often winked at among the servants in country houses. In the dusk of afternoon, and in the gallery at the head of the stairs, Anna encountered what she took for an apparition, but which, in point of fact, was merely one of the servants dressed up in a sheet, and having her face whitened, on her way to join in some mummeries below stairs.
The child, who from her birth had been of a highly excitable temperament, with hysterical tendencies, gave one piercing scream, and fell to the ground in a fit, which was followed by several others, and for some days her life was despaired of.
Gradually, however, she regained her health, and everybody hoped--her father, of course, most of all--that the shock her system had undergone had left no ill effects behind it.
One of the colonel's first acts after his daughter's seizure had been to send for Mrs. Jenwyn, with whose services, only a little while before, he had seen fit to dispense. It was Mrs. Jenwyn who had nursed his wife through the long illness which had preceded her death, and it was in fulfilment of Mrs. Drelincourt's dying request that he had installed her in the dual position of nurse and governess to his motherless girl, who, in the course of time, had learned to love her almost, if not quite, as well as the parent she had lost.
Whether it was a feeling of jealousy that his child should care so much for any one but himself, or some other whim, which caused him to give Mrs. Jenwyn notice to leave, was known only to himself. In any case, Anna took the separation greatly to heart, far more so than her father was aware of, for the child's deepest moods were silent ones; of what she felt most she talked least, and the colonel was not skilled in reading below the surface.
Now, however, he blamed himself with undue severity for having sent Mrs. Jenwyn about her business. Again and again he told himself, most unreasonably, that had she been on the spot the mischance would never have happened. It was some consolation to him to witness the naïve and touching delight with which Anna welcomed Mrs. Jenwyn's return.
For all that, as he quitted the room, leaving them together, he could not help saying to himself, with a touch of bitterness, "She loves that woman better than she loves me."
Unfortunately, the colonel's fondly cherished hope that the shock to his daughter's system would entail no after consequences was not destined to be fulfilled. To all appearance, Anna had regained her health and strength in full measure, and her fright was a matter six months old, when, without any warning, so to speak, an unaccountable change came over her which found its physical expression in a state of irritability and low fever, supplemented by insomnia. Dr. Carew was called in, and prescribed, but declined to commit himself to any expression of opinion.
On the fifth day from the beginning of her attack, Anna fell into a deep, trance-like sleep which lasted eighteen hours. When at length she awoke, everything that had happened to her during the six months which had intervened since the date of her fright was lost to her memory. She went back and took up her life again at the point where consciousness had left her at the moment of her scare in the gallery.
All Mrs. Jenwyn had taught her in the interim was clean gone. A book half read at the time she now began afresh and finished, and she resumed the practice of a piece of music on which she had been engaged during the forenoon of that unfortunate day. The break in her memory was absolute and complete.
By Dr. Carew's recommendation, no attempt was made to enlighten her. Everybody about her accommodated themselves to circumstances as she believed them to be. The doctor trusted to time. It was all he could do.
Any attempt at a cure on his part, as he was not slow to recognize, might have been productive of more harm than good, and possibly have entailed consequences he would have been loath to face. He watched the case with the deepest interest, but beyond prescribing a harmless draft or two, he left nature to work after her own fashion.
At the end of a fortnight Anna fell into another trance-like sleep, and awoke from it her proper self. The two preceding weeks were blotted from her memory. She had merely had a longer and sounder sleep than ordinary, from which she had awaked feeling strangely refreshed.
From that time forward the same thing had happened to her, at irregular intervals, every three or four months. After certain preliminary symptoms, which hardly ever varied, she would fall into a deep sleep, always to awake at that moment of her life which preceded her meeting with the supposed apparition in the gallery. At the end of ten days or a fortnight, and after another sleep, she would become her normal self again.
She had been ten years old at the time of her first attack, and she was now eighteen. A lovely girl (but with no touch of resemblance to Felix), and of an affectionate and amiable disposition; bright and cheerful enough at times, but, for the most part, with a vague shadow of melancholy brooding over her, as of one who realized in all its bitterness the fact that there was about her a something which set her apart from her fellows; for long before now the full measure of her affliction had become known to her.
Mrs. Jenwyn had given Colonel Drelincourt her promise on his deathbed that she would never leave Anna while it was the latter's wish that she should stay with her. In order, however, to make assurance doubly sure, the colonel had left instructions in his will that the sum of two hundred guineas per annum should be paid to Mrs. Jenwyn out of his estate so long as she should retain her position by his daughter's side.
As already remarked, the colonel had bequeathed to Anna all that it was in his power to leave her. An ample sum was settled on her, under the control of trustees, during her minority, and when she should come of age she would find herself mistress of an income of twelve hundred a year, with absolute power over ten thousand pounds of the gross sum capitalized by her father.
About a year before his death, and when he had no prevision of that event being so near, Colonel Drelincourt had caused to be set aside, and specially arranged for their use, a suite of rooms in the left wing of the Towers, to which his daughter and Mrs. Jenwyn could retire whenever Anna's symptoms gave warning that one of her periodical attacks was imminent.
He had also caused a considerable space or ground on the same side of the house to be walled in, so as to form a private garden in which the two could obtain a sufficiency of fresh air and exercise without being overlooked or spied upon by any visitors at the house, or by any casual outsiders, there being a right of public footway through the park at the back of the Towers, as a consequence of which stragglers were sometimes found in those parts of the grounds where they had no business to be.
When, at his father's death, Felix Drelincourt came into the property, matters, so far as they related to his half sister, were in no wise changed. All he did was to cut down the staff of servants, and to request Mrs. Jenwyn to take upon herself the control of the establishment, he himself having no intention at that time of settling permanently at the Towers. Not till after his marriage, some three years later, did he make it his home.
When talking over future arrangements with his prospective wife, he had given Miss Ormsby clearly to understand that his marriage was to alter nothing so far as his half sister was concerned. Anna's home, as heretofore, would still be at the Towers, and the special suite of rooms in the left wing still be reserved for the occupancy of herself and Mrs. Jenwyn at certain seasons.
And now to revert to Mr. Drelincourt's visit to the left wing of the Towers on the day his wife came by her tragic end.
His first question, in a low voice, to Mrs. Jenwyn, after the baize covered door had been locked behind him, was: "You have heard the news?"
"I have, sir, and I need not tell you what a dreadful shock it was to me. Poor lady! Poor unhappy lady!"
Drelincourt bit his lip for a moment. Then, "You have not breathed a word about it to Anna?"
He had taken a chair, after motioning Mrs. Jenwyn to another.
"Certainly not, sir. I should not dream of doing so without your permission. Indeed, I am far from sure that just now it would be advisable to say anything to her about it."
"My own opinion exactly. The news must be kept carefully from her while she is as she is. It will be time enough to break it to her when she is herself again. Of course, her present attack has not yet run its course?"
"Oh, no, sir; it is only five days since she was taken. We may calculate on another week at the least."
"So much the better. By that time the funeral and other matters will be over and done with."
Drelincourt sat for a few moments without speaking, toying with his watch-guard. Mrs. Jenwyn knew better than to break the silence.
At this time, judging from appearances, she was somewhere about forty years of age. Her features were regular and refined, and she would still have been accounted a very handsome woman but for the abnormal pallor of her complexion, her sunken cheeks, and a certain worn and tired look about her keenly watchful eyes, with their slightly contracted lids, which might be the result of insomnia.
Like her hair, her eyes were of a brown so dark as in some lights to be hardly distinguishable from black. Although her face was essentially feminine in certain of its aspects, its dominant expression was one of innate resolution, and of an amount of will power rather unusual in one of her sex. "A woman of great force of character, who would do and dare much to gain her ends, whatever they might be," was Mr. Drelincourt's pithy summing up of her.
For all that, there must have been a sunny corner hidden somewhere under the husk of her almost frozen reserve, or Anna Drelincourt--so susceptible to chills of every kind--would not have learned to love her and cling to her as she did. Scarcely less dear had Anna's mother held her.
Beyond the fact that she was a widow, Drelincourt knew nothing of her history or antecedents, and did not seek to know anything. He had accepted her, so to speak, as a legacy from his father, and had soon learned to like and respect her for herself.
There was something about her self-contained character, with its reserve of quiet force, which appealed specially to him. She was the very woman--one out of a thousand--he told himself, for the peculiar post she occupied, and he was careful to treat her with every consideration.
Some little time passed before Mr. Drelincourt spoke again. To Mrs. Jenwyn he seemed to be debating some point with himself. At length he said:
"Contrary to what I had ventured to hope before they came together, my wife always seemed to be very fond of Anna, and to make much of her. That, at least, is how matters presented themselves to me. What is your opinion, Mrs. Jenwyn? You were in a position to observe things from a far more intimate point of view than I was."
His eyes were fixed on the matron; she could not choose but answer him. Her dark, prominent brows came together for a moment; a little wave of color tinged her pale cheeks for a second or two.
"A question so plainly put, Mr. Drelincourt, ought to be met by a plain answer. Is not that so?"
"Why, certainly, Mrs. Jenwyn."
"Now that Mrs. Drelincourt is unhappily no more, there seems to me no reason why I should any longer refrain from mentioning to you a certain conclusion which I could not help arriving at on the occasion of Mr. Guy Ormsby's visit at the Towers a few months ago."
Mr. Drelincourt sat up in his chair. "Go on, please," was all he said.
"To such an extent and so openly did Mrs. Drelincourt make it her business to throw Miss Anna and Mr. Guy together, that at length I could not help having my eyes opened to the ulterior object she had in view. What at first had been nothing more than suspicion was turned into certainty by a few words between brother and sister which I accidentally happened to overhear."
"And that object was--"
"The marriage--not just now, but after Miss Anna shall have come of age--of the two young people."
It was not often that Drelincourt was betrayed into an expression of surprise, but he was on this occasion.
"What!" he exclaimed. "Scheme to wed her brother to a girl mentally afflicted as my poor sister is? It would be nothing less than monstrous."
"Mrs. Drelincourt, sir, professed to believe, with Dr. Pounceby, the London specialist, that Miss Anna would grow out of her affliction in the course of a few years."
"An opinion, I am grieved to say, wholly opposed to that of an equally eminent man--Dr. Ferrers."
"And then, sir, it behooves Mr. Guy Ormsby, as a younger son without expectations, to look out for a wife with money."
"Why do you say that, Mrs. Jenwyn?"
"I am merely repeating Mrs. Drelincourt's own words to her brother."
"So!" Then to himself he added: "Evidently between my wife and this woman there was no love lost."
He seemed to consider for a few moments, and then he said: "But tell me this, Mrs. Jenwyn: Did Anna seem to take to young Ormsby in the way you think my wife would have liked her to do--that is to say, did he succeed in entangling her affections? For I have no doubt he was ready enough to follow up his sister's precious scheme."
"That is more than I can say, sir, with any degree of certainty. Sometimes I am inclined to think one thing, and sometimes another. Miss Anna is not an easy person to read."
"Not an easy person to read? One of the most transparent and simple minded girls in existence."
A thin smile flickered for a moment over Mrs. Jenwyn's bloodless features. She had a soft, level voice, which, while it fell soothingly on the ear, was not without a certain penetrative quality of its own.
"Excuse me, sir, but you don't know so much of her as I do, or you would scarcely say that. You think her transparent and easy to read, whereas there are depths in her character which not even I, who am with her every day and all day, have yet succeeded in sounding. You can never make sure beforehand of what she will either say or do in reference to any given subject. In short, Miss Anna is a law unto herself."
Drelincourt looked puzzled and only half convinced. It was not pleasant to him to be told that he had so completely misread the character of his seeming simple minded sister.
"It's a pity you did not give me a hint at the time of what was going forward," he remarked, after a momentary pause.
"Young Mr. Ormsby's visit had nearly come to an end before I had anything more than vague suspicions to go upon. And the next thing I heard was that his regiment was presently going abroad. After that it seemed to me all further danger was at an end, and I came to the conclusion that my wisest plan would be to keep my discovery to myself."
"I presume you have satisfied yourself that no correspondence has passed between Lieutenant Ormsby and Anna?"
"On that point I am quite satisfied."
"Does she talk much, or at all, about him?"
"I have not heard her even mention his name during the last month or more."
"Then I suppose all there is left me to do is to hope for the best, and to trust that no real harm has been done?"
"If signs go for anything, sir, I am certainly inclined to believe that Miss Anna is still heart whole and fancy free. But, as I have already remarked, her character is not an easy one to read. Of course, if Mr. Guy were to appear again on the scene, I could not answer for what might happen."
"There is not much fear of that--now," said Mr. Drelincourt significantly. "It is not at all likely that he and Anna will ever set eyes on each other again."
He rose and pushed back his chair.
"Will you not see Anna for a few minutes, sir, while you are here?" queried the matron. "She always seems brighter and better for some time after one of your visits; indeed, except myself, you are the only person from whose presence at these times she does not shrink with a sort of nervous dread, as though doubtful whether they might not be about to do her some bodily harm. It was rather singular, was it not, sir, that Mrs. Drelincourt's presence at these times always had a peculiarly disturbing effect upon her?"
If Drelincourt heard the question, he did not care to answer it. He was cogitating, with a finger pressed to his lips.
"Yes," he said presently. "I will see her. I have much to do, but I can spare her a few minutes."
Thereupon Mrs. Jenwyn at once led the way to an inner room, which opened out of the first one. It was a large and sunny apartment, lighted by three windows, from which there was a view beyond the surrounding park of some miles of rolling, well timbered country. In the middle window hung a brass cage containing a couple of canaries. On a soft cushion reposed a Persian cat. From a brace of hooks in the ceiling was suspended a swing. Near at hand was a big rocking horse fitted with a side saddle. On the floor lay a pair of Indian clubs, a battledore and shuttlecock, and a hoop. In one corner was a small bookcase.
On a low chair near one of the windows sat Anna Drelincourt, busily engaged in sewing some lace on one of several dresses composing the wardrobe of a big wax doll which, seated limply on an opposite chair, its arms dangling loosely by its sides, seemed with its glassy, unwinking eyes to be watching every movement of her needle.
Occasionally Anna would look up from her work for a moment to nod her head and chirrup at Ninon, which was the doll's name; and possibly to her imaginative eyes that young person's fixed, vacuous smirk became endued, for a second or two, with a responsive meaning.
At this time, as already stated, Anna was eighteen years old. She had a slender figure of medium height, with glossy chestnut hair, and eyes of the darkest blue. Her face might have been called insignificant had not her features been so perfectly formed, and her complexion so almost dazzlingly fair.
Never was there a more April day face than Anna's, one liable to more swift changes of expression or that betrayed more ingenuously the thoughts and emotions--which sometimes ranged over a wide gamut--at work below.
This morning she was wearing a simple white frock, with her unbound hair, confined by a bit of blue ribbon, falling nearly to her waist. A tiny foot, on which dangled a bronze slipper, peeped from under the hem of her frock. She was humming softly to herself as she plied her needle.
As the door opened she glanced up, and at sight of Drelincourt sprang to her feet with a little cry of pleasure. Then running to meet him, she caught both his hands in hers, and held up her face to be kissed.
"I knew you would come and see me this morning," she said brightly. "The Voices told me so, and they never deceive. You don't know what a number of secrets they whisper to me, and whatever they bid me do that I am bound to do. It is not only that, if I were to refuse, I should run the risk of their displeasure, but because I cannot help myself. Oh, to disobey them would be terrible! The mere thought----"
"Anna!"
Merely her name pronounced by Mrs. Jenwyn, but its effect on the girl was instantaneous. She still had hold of Drelincourt's hands, and he was conscious of a momentary spasmodic twitching of her fingers, such as might have been caused by a slight electric shock. Then his hands were released; something seemed to catch her breath for a second or two, her eyes opened and shut quickly several times, and therewith her mood changed.
"What have I been rambling on about?" she asked, with a rippling, childlike laugh. "How silly of me! But whatever it was, it's all gone--all gone. And now, Felix, you must come and say 'Good morning' to Ninon, and ask her how she is. She is a good little thing on the whole, but sometimes I feel her temper rather trying." With that she drew him forward by the lapel of his coat. "Sit down," she said, "and nurse her for a little while. I fancy she looks slightly feverish this morning. I hope I shall not have to call in Dr. Carew."
Drelincourt did as he was told. The doll was placed in his arms, and was held by him as awkwardly as might be expected. A smile, which had in it as much of pathos as of humor, played round his lips, but the expression of his eyes was one of grave tenderness and pity for the unhappy girl.
Mrs. Jenwyn sat a little way apart, busy with her favorite crochet work, seeing everything without seeming to do so. It was evident that her presence acted powerfully on Anna as a restraining influence.
Drelincourt stayed a quarter of an hour longer, chatting as lightly and pleasantly with Anna as though he had not a thought or a care beyond those of the passing moment, although all the while that dread Object lying cold and stark in another room framed itself like a ghastly picture on the background of his consciousness.
* * * * * * *
It was a month later, when, on a certain afternoon, as Mr. James Ormsby was walking down the platform of one of the London terminal stations on his way to the train, he was startled by a tap on his shoulder.
On turning in his touchy way to ascertain who had ventured on such a liberty with him, he was pleasurably surprised to find that the offender was none other than Tom Thornswade, son of Squire Thornswade of Highcroft, whom he had known from the time he was short coated.
"Thought I couldn't be mistaken in your back, Mr. Ormsby, as you marched along in front of me," said Master Tom, with a merry laugh, as his hand met that of the elder man in a cordial clasp. "I must say I'm awfully glad to see you. Yours is the first face known to me that I've set eyes on since I landed at Southampton four days ago."
"Glad you've got back safe and sound, Tom. Your father told me all about your having to go out to the States to look after some property which has been left him there."
The two had many topics in common, and found much to say to each other, and it was not till the train was fairly under way that young Tom, with a sudden change of tone and manner, said: "I must really crave your pardon, Mr. Ormsby, for having omitted to give expression to my sincere regrets at the great and irreparable loss you have recently sustained. Poor dear Mrs. Drelincourt! I cannot tell you how shocked I was when I read the account of her terrible end in one of the newspapers sent me by my mother."
"Yes, it was indeed a tragical affair," replied Mr. Ormsby, with what he meant for a heartfelt sigh, and a sudden elongation of his visage. "I was her favorite brother, Torn--her favorite brother! What I have suffered God alone knows. I don't think I shall ever be quite my own man again. Poor Kate! Poor Kate!"
"And the sad affair is still wrapped in mystery, is it not?" asked Tom, after a pause.
"It is."
"In the paper sent me there was an account of some man having been arrested on suspicion and examined before the magistrates, but who was afterwards set at liberty for want of sufficient evidence to bring the crime home to him."
"That is so. Gumley, the fellow in question, had been temporarily engaged as under gardner at the Towers, and although, thanks to the evidence of my brother in law, who--and I can't help saying so--acted very strangely throughout the affair, he was released, nothing will persuade me that in him we had not got hold of the murderer of my sister. Unfortunately there was a link wanting in the chain of evidence--only one, mind you. But some day it may be found. I do not despair. Time solves many mysteries and brings many a clue to light."
"It was a great blow to Mr. Drelincourt, was it not?"
"Um"--with a pursing out of his under lip. "That is a question which he could best answer--if he chose to do so. At any rate, it's one I don't feel called upon to answer for him."
"Not an ordinary sort of man, by any means, I should imagine, nor one easily bottomed, judging from what little I saw of him from time to time," remarked Tom, who was not without some grains of shrewdness.
"That's as it may be. A shallow fool is often mistaken for a deep one by those who don't know better. In any case, we are not likely to see much of Drelincourt for a considerable time to come. He has shut up the Towers, putting in a man and his wife as caretakers, and has gone abroad for an indefinite period."
"And Miss Drelincourt, his half sister, what has become of her?"
"Her chest is said to be delicate, and she and the person who has charge of her have gone to live for a time in Devonshire. She's a charming girl--leaving her mental affliction out of question--and my poor sister was greatly attached to her."
"And an uncommonly pretty girl, too," added Master Tomsotto voce.
Mrs. Drelincourt had been dead a year.
Anna and Mrs. Jenwyn were still at Combe Fenton, the Devonshire village to which they had retired shortly after the death of the mistress of Wyvern Towers.
On the particular morning to which we have now come, Anna set off for her customary after breakfast constitutional on the sands. It was her favorite walk, and one which she rarely missed in fine weather. She was accompanied by Fanny, a demure looking but rather pretty girl, and a native of Combe Fenton, who filled the post of maid and attendant to both the younger and the elder lady.
About a fortnight before this, Mrs. Jenwyn, while gathering ferns, had slipped and sprained her ankle so severely that she had not yet been able to use it for longer than a few minutes at a time for walking purposes. As a consequence, she had been under the necessity of substituting Fanny for herself as Anna's companion during the latter's outdoor rambles. In so doing no faintest suspicion entered her mind that she might be exposing her charge to a risk.
This morning, however, her eyes were destined to be opened.
After Anna's departure the housemaid wheeled her in her bath chair to a favorite spot in the grounds under a spreading beech, where she was in the habit of reading and working the time away till the girl's return. Here she had been some time engaged with her tatting, when she was startled by the appearance of a man who came suddenly from behind a thick clump of laurels and rhodendrons, and halting a few yards from her, took off his soft felt hat and made her a low bow.
He was young, and looked what he was, a superior mechanic. Before Mrs. Jenwyn could find her tongue he spoke.
"I crave your pardon, ma'am, for intruding upon you in this way," he began, "but I couldn't very well call upon you at the house, because the servants there all know me. And now, ma'am, I must ask you to excuse me if I put a certain question to you. Are you aware that the young lady who lives here with you is in the habit, morning after morning, of meeting a young gentleman on the sands of Carthew Bay?"
For a few seconds Mrs. Jenwyn could not speak, so utterly astounded was she.
Then she said, a little faintly, "No, I am certainly not aware of anything of the kind."
"That, however, is what takes place. The young gentleman is always there, waiting for her, and they walk up and down the sands together, or sit side by side on some of the big stones which are strewn about, for an hour at a time. Yesterday--excuse me, ma'am, for mentioning it--he kissed her twice before they parted."
"Do you happen to know how long these meetings have been going on?"
"This will make the eleventh day."
"You seem to have done your spying to some purpose to be able to tell me all this."
The young man merely screwed up his lips.
"Describe the young gentleman's appearance as nearly as you can."
"He's not so tall as I am by half a foot, but rather stiffly built; with sandy hair and a light mustache. In one eye he carries a glass."
"Guy Ormsby!" exclaimed Mrs. Jenwyn under her breath. "I felt nearly sure it must be he; and yet not eighteen months ago I heard him tell his sister that his regiment was ordered abroad." Aloud she said, "But how is it, I should like to know, that Fanny Davis has never said a word to me about these meetings at Carthew Bay?"
"Because, ma'am, she has no doubt been bribed not to tell. She just perches herself on a bit of rock out of the way of the others, and reads novelettes all the time they are together. Oh, she's a deep un, is Fan, and not to be trusted further than one can see her!" He spoke with a touch of bitterness not observable before.
Like most women, Mrs. Jenwyn was certainly not without her occasional intuitions.
Looking the young fellow straight in the eyes, she said: "You either are or have been in love with Fanny Davis, and she has jilted you."
He looked first amazed and then sulky, while his face turned the color of a peony. "Whether that's so or not," he said, after a brief pause, "I don't see that it has anything to do with what I came here to tell you."
"You are quite right," replied Mrs. Jenwyn pleasantly. "One thing has nothing whatever to do with the other. It was merely a guess on my part. By the way, what is your name? You need not be afraid of telling it me, because I shall not speak to any one about our interview."
"My name is John Clisby."
"Thank you. Then, Mr. Clisby, there are two more items of information which I should feel obliged by your obtaining for me. First of all, I should like to know the address of our young friend with the eyeglass--that is to say, at what place he has taken up his quarters for the time being; and, secondly, what name he is passing under."
"He's staying at the Golden Swan, at the other end of the village, and has been since he came here, nearly three weeks since. As for his name, I'll engage to find that out for you by tomorrow."
After a little further talk the young carpenter went his way, fully satisfied with his morning's work. He told himself that he had merely been playing a game of tit for tat. After leading him on and trifling with him for six months, Fanny had finally sent him about his business, and now he had done his best to be even with her.
"She'll get the sack as sure as her name's Fan D., and serve her jolly well right," he said to himself with a chuckle, as he took his way through the shrubbery.
Miss Drelincourt and her maid were back from the bay in time for luncheon; indeed, Anna's punctuality could always be depended on.
"How innocent and good they both look," said Mrs. Jenwyn to herself, as they entered the house. "As for the girl, I always misdoubted that demure face of hers--but Anna! And yet, why wonder? Did I not say to Mr. Drelincourt that she was a hard one to read? And now, I suppose, a new factor has come to complicate matters, and will have to be reckoned with. Oh, what a pity!--what a pity! I would rather Guy Ormsby were dead and buried than he should have found his way here."
But nothing of what she felt or thought was visible to the others. Anna was conscious of no change in her, and the day passed over as quietly and uneventfully as hundreds before it had done.
Next morning Anna and her attendant set out for their usual forenoon ramble, utterly unsuspicious that Mrs. Jenwyn had any knowledge of the magnet which drew the former's footsteps unerringly in the direction of Carthew Bay.
Half an hour later a note, which had been brought to the house by a boy, was put into Mrs. Jenwyn's hands. It contained two lines only:
The person we spoke about yesterday is passing under the name of Mr. Harold Vince, but his portmanteau is marked with the letters G. O.Your obedient servant,John Clisby.
The person we spoke about yesterday is passing under the name of Mr. Harold Vince, but his portmanteau is marked with the letters G. O.
Your obedient servant,
John Clisby.
When Miss Drelincourt, accompanied by Fanny, got back from her forenoon walk on the day following that of John Clisby's visit to Rosemount, she found that Mrs. Jenwyn had gone for a drive in the pony chaise they were in the habit of hiring from a jobmaster in the village; and, further, that she had left word Anna was not to wait luncheon for her, as she might possibly be rather late in returning.
It was such an unusual thing for Mrs. Jenwyn to drive out without her that the girl could not help speculating as to the nature of the errand which had taken her from home (why had she said no word of her intention at breakfast?), but no faintest suspicion of the truth entered her mind.
Mrs. Jenwyn went for a long country drive, and it was close upon two o'clock before Combe Fenton was reached on her return, by which time she felt pretty sure Guy Ormsby would be back from his usual appointment with Anna. Nor was she mistaken. She had requested her driver to stop at the Golden Swan Hotel, and on inquiring whether "Mr. Harold Vince" was indoors, she was told, to her satisfaction, that he was.
By this time her sprain was very much better, and with the driver's help, and that of a walking stick, she managed to alight and limp indoors. A minute later there was a tap at the door of "Mr. Vince's" sitting' room, and in response to his "Come in," it was opened by the landlady, who the same moment announced, "A lady to see you, sir."
Guy, who, with one leg thrown over the arm of his easy chair, was indulging in an after luncheon cigar, sprang to his feet, and on recognizing his visitor, which he did at the first glance, he stood staring at her for some seconds with a dropped jaw and a face which had faded to the color of an unripe lemon.
Mrs. Jenwyn waited till the door was shut behind the landlady before she spoke. Then she said pleasantly:
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ormsby. My intrusion upon you seems to have taken you a little by surprise, which, perhaps, is hardly to be wondered at. Still, although your natural timidity has hindered you from calling upon us at Rosemount, I have no wish to appear unneighborly, and I know of no reason why I should not call upon you. I trust that you left them all well at Denham Lodge."
Guy's smile was not a pleasant one to see. Flinging away what was left of his cigar, he said: "Will you not be seated, Mrs. Jenwyn? I may at once confess that your visit is a surprise, but not, let me add, an unwelcome one. May I be permitted to hope that Miss Drelincourt is quite well?"
He felt that he must talk, but he hardly knew what to say. One of his first thoughts at sight of her had been, "Can Anna have been such a fool as to tell this woman that she has agreed to a secret marriage?" It was a disquieting question.
"As you have had the pleasure of seeing Miss Drelincourt within the last two or three hours, you are in a better position to judge of the state of her health than I am, who have not seen her since breakfast time."
This was not a very promising beginning, as Guy could not but admit. "Hang it all!" he said to himself. "Where's the good of beating about the bush? Some specific purpose has brought her here. What is it? The sooner I find out the better."
After a brief pause, he said aloud: "I perceive, Mrs. Jenwyn, that you are not unaware that Miss Drelincourt and I have seen each other?"
Mrs. Jenwyn's reply was a grave inclination of the head.
"We have met more than once--several times, in point of fact--at Carthew Bay. I have no wish to deny that such is the case."
"It would be useless of you to attempt to do so."
"Am I right in assuming that your call upon me today is in reference to those meetings?"
"You are quite right in your assumption. As you are aware, Miss Drelincourt is here under my sole charge, and it rests with me to safeguard her by every means in my power. That being the case, I am fully justified in demanding of you with what purpose you have been at the trouble of tracing her to this remote village, and then of contriving stealthy meetings with her at a time when you knew I was laid up and not there to look after her. That, Mr. Guy Ormsby, is what I am justified in demanding to know."
There was no trace of excitement either in her voice or manner, but the very quietude of her demeanor lent her words an added impressiveness. Evidently Mrs. Jenwyn was not a woman to be trifled with.
Guy cleared his voice before replying. "Your demand, as you term it, Mrs. Jenwyn, certainly lacks nothing on the score of frankness," he said, "and I will endeavor to be equally frank in my reply to it. I have been at the pains of tracing Miss Drelincourt, and of following her to this place, because I am deeply and sincerely in love with her, and because it is my dearest hope to be able to win her for my wife."
This was probably no more than Mrs. Jenwyn had expected to be told; indeed, on the assumption that he was a man of honor, no other plea of justification was open to him.
"You know, as you must have known from the date of your visit to Wyvern Towers, if not before then, all about poor Anna's mental affliction, and yet in the face of this terrible visitation you tell me that you love her and would fain make her your wife! To me such a thing seems inconceivable. You must be very differently constituted from others of your sex, Mr. Ormsby--very differently indeed."
"Say what you please, Mrs. Jenwyn, think what you choose--I am perfectly sincere in what I have told you. I love Anna, and I am here with the purpose of winning her for my wife. Besides, I believe, with my poor dead and gone sister, that Anna will grow out of her affliction, as you call it. If I am not mistaken, that was the opinion of Dr. Pounceby, the celebrated specialist."
Mrs. Jenwyn shook her head sadly. "I wish I could discern any grounds for such a belief," she said, "but at present I see none whatever." Then, after a pause, "Tell me this, Mr. Ormsby: Seeing you were so bent on making love to Anna, why, after you had discovered her retreat, did you not come direct to Rosemount, send in your card, and ask to see her?"
A faint tinge of color flushed his cheeks for a moment, but he answered quite coolly, "I will tell you why, Mrs. Jenwyn. Because, if I had presented myself at Rosemount, I should not have been allowed to see Miss Drelincourt--at least, not alone. I should have had no opportunity afforded me of pressing my suit, or of saying a twentieth part of what I wanted to say to her. You, my dear madam, would have taken jolly good care of that. Such being the state of affairs, no course was open to me save to act as I did."
Mrs. Jenwyn's thin lips came together for a moment. "You are quite right, Mr. Ormsby. I should have opposed your suit by every means in my power. It would have been my duty to do so. Before coming near Rosemount, you ought to have gone to Mr. Drelincourt, or, at any rate, have written to him, asking him to sanction your suit with his sister."
"A sanction I should never have succeeded in obtaining--of that I am quite sure. Besides, Anna is only his half sister, and there's nothing in her father's will which gives him the least control over either her or her property."
"But surely, as her nearest living relative, he has a right to be consulted in so important a matter, more especially as Anna is still considerably under age."
"I fail to recognize any such right on his part. Besides, he would only flout me. I know him--curse him! The things he sometimes said to me at the Towers used to make me wild with rage, only there was never anything to lay hold of. He was too cunning for that."
"There are Miss Drelincourt's trustees, through whom her income is paid her while she is under age."
"SO there are. But why should I go near them? I suppose the old colonel had got it into his head that his daughter would never marry. At any rate, there's no clause in his will which empowers her trustees to alienate a shilling of her income, even should she marry under age and without their consent. On that point I've satisfied myself."
"You are not a very rich man, I believe, Mr. Ormsby?"
The hot color surged up to the roots of his hair. He half rose to his feet, and then sat down again as if remembering himself. "Faith, you're right there, Mrs. Jenwyn," he said, with a short laugh. "I am a poverty stricken beggar, and no mistake. I freely admit it."
"And of course it would be great pecuniary gain to you to marry any one with Anna's prospective income?"
"To be sure it would. I should be a fool to deny it. If I marry at all, I must marry money; that's absolutely essential. So, why should I not wed Anna? She is, or will be, fairly well off; and then she's a lovely girl and I'm awfully gone on her."
He finished with a self satisfied smirk and a twist of his mustache, and then sat staring at Mrs. Jenwyn through his monocle, with his other eye half shut, as implying that, so far as he was concerned, the last word had been said, and that the interview might be considered as at an end.
But Mrs. Jenwyn was by no means of the same opinion.
"Then, am I to understand, Mr. Ormsby, that it is your intention to persist in your suit, despite anything I can say or urge to the contrary?"
"That is what I certainly wish you to understand."
"Will nothing move you from your resolve?"
"Nothing whatever."
"What is there to hinder me from taking Anna away and placing her directly under the charge of Mr. Drelincourt? That is a possibility you seem to have lost sight of."
"Not at all. The question is, if you were to propose any such measure, would Anna agree to it? I affirm distinctly that she would not. The time has gone by, my dear madam, when your wishes were a law to her. Allow me to tell you this: I have Anna's distinct promise to marry me."
Under the circumstances, he might perhaps be excused the smile of exultation and gratified vanity which overspread his features; but, for all that, Mrs. Jenwyn felt a strong desire to slap his face vigorously with both hands.
What he had just told her did not surprise her greatly. From the moment John Clisby stated that he had seen Ormsby kiss Anna she had known that matters must have come to a serious pass between them.
She sat for a few moments as if considering. Then she said: "If Anna has indeed given you such a promise as you say she has, the matter at once assumes a very different complexion. All the more needful is it that Mr. Drelincourt should at once be communicated with, in order that either he or her trustees may be in a position to decide where and with whom Anna's home shall be during the remaining term of her minority."
"Pardon me, my dear madam, but there will be no need whatever for either you or any one else to enter into any such arrangements with regard to Miss Drelincourt's future. In less than a month from now her home will be with me. The dear girl has consented to make me the happiest of men as soon as the needful arrangements for our marriage can be concluded."
He rose and pushed back his chair.
"We love each other; why, then, defer our happiness till she shall be of age?"
There was a touch of bluster in his way of asking the question, as though he anticipated some further opposition on Mrs. Jenwyn's part.
Not without a little dismay did that lady learn that matters had gone so far between the young people.
"It is all the fault of my accident," she said to herself. "But for that, I should have had her constantly under my eye, and he would have had no opportunity of meeting her except in my presence, which would not have suited his purpose at all. But the harm is done, and I am driven to my last intrenchment. Oh, Anna, Anna, where are your eyes, that you cannot see through this shallow, selfish pretender--a cad at heart, if ever there was one--who cares no more for you than for the flower in his buttonhole, who seeks you only for your money, and who would break your heart when once he had made you his wife, as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow morning! But you shall be saved in your own despite, my poor darling, even if your foolish little heart should be cracked in the process. There is no help for it--none!"
She had ample time for these and other thoughts while Ormsby crossed to a corner cupboard, from a decanter in which he poured out a "Thimbleful" of neat spirits and drank it off, wondering to himself meanwhile how much longer his unwelcome visitor was going to intrude her presence upon him. But Mrs. Jenwyn had not done with him.
"Sit down in that chair, Mr. Ormsby," she said, as he turned from the cupboard, speaking in a tone so peremptory that he could not repress a start. After staring at her for a second or two, he did as he was told.
It was not the chair he had occupied before, but one drawn up close to the narrow table on the opposite side of which she was seated. Leaning forward, with her arms resting on the table, and her face within a yard of his, she said: "Listen, Guy Ormsby. I have something to say to you, the telling of which you have brought on yourself by your own persistent folly."
Then, after a backward glance, as if to assure herself that the door was really shut, with lowered voice, and eyes which compelled his to confront them whether they would or no, she went on to speak to him for the next five minutes without a break or ever hesitating for a word. It was evident that she spoke from a heart fully charged, and while her utterance was so impressive, that which she had to tell him was of a nature so singular that when she had come to an end Guy might be excused if for a few seconds he felt rather uncertain whether he was standing on his head or his heels.
Various emotions had chased themselves across his face during the telling--simple surprise deepening into wide eyed amazement, and lurking incredulity ripening into a conviction of the truth of what he was being told, which for a little space left his cheeks nearly as bloodless as those of the woman opposite him, whose cold, incisive tones seemed to cut into his consciousness like a surgeon's knife.
Presently he drew a long, deep breath, like that of a person coming round after an operation. Then, in a voice as guarded as Mrs. Jenwyn's own, he said: "And you are prepared to swear that what you have just told me is the truth?"
"I swear it before Heaven!"
A brief space of silence ensued, which Mrs. Jenwyn was the first to break.
"And now, Mr. Ormsby, may I ask whether you are still in the same mind with regard to Miss Drelincourt? Are you still as firmly determined as before to persist in your suit?"
"No, that I am not," responded Guy, with some emphasis. "What I have just learned has put that notion wholly out of the question. I'm sorry for poor dear Anna that matters have gone so far between us; but what can I do, Mrs. Jenwyn? Tell me that. It's not altogether my fault--now, is it?--that things have come to the pass they have."
"Certainly not, Mr. Ormsby. You are merely one more victim to the force of circumstances. You have already admitted that pecuniarily your position is not a very flourishing one. Of course, you have your regimental pay, but am I right in assuming that outside that your income is--what shall I call it?"
"Call it strictly limited, Mrs. Jenwyn, and then you will be absolutely right," replied Guy, with a little jarring laugh. "In point of fact, as you have seen fit to tell me so much, I don't mind admitting to you that I haven't even my regimental pay to fall back upon. In other words, I've thrown up my commission, and am now a private gentleman at large, with empty pockets, and a hankering after the fleshpots of Egypt which I have no longer the means of gratifying."
"That must be a very uncomfortable state of affairs for you."
"It is; it is."
"Well, now, I have a certain proposition to make to you," said Mrs. Jenwyn. Guy pricked up his ears and became all attention. "In the first place, you shall give me your solemn promise never to reveal to any one the secret which I have just confided to your keeping; and, in the second place, you shall write Anna a couple of notes which I will dictate to you. That is all. In return, if you care to accept of a little present of a hundred pounds, you will be very welcome to it."
"If I care to accept it! My dear--my very dear--Mrs. Jenwyn! In the present state of my finances a hundred pounds will be like---- But never mind that. I am yours to command. There are writing materials on the side table, so that----"
"I am quite ready, Mr. Ormsby."
The first note, dictated by Mrs. Jenwyn and written by Guy, ran thus: