The Love Child, page 19
“Oh no, you really mustn’t, really you must not,” he said, his dark eyes focused persuasively upon her, his hand reaching instinctively to clasp hers.
She withdrew it as soon as he touched her. “Your mother is watching us,” she murmured. “Sometimes I think she will die of vexation—truly, such things have been known to happen.”
“You may be certain nothing will kill my mother until she has seen her successor safely installed,” said Karr grimly, sending a glance toward his resolute progenitrix. “Her ghost would never rest.”
“Ah! Speaking of ghosts,” Lotta took up, “Miss Cawley has told me the most peculiar story.” She went on to relate to Karr exactly what she had heard from Jessica, and included her own suspicions as she spoke. She concluded, “She is determined to avenge herself, you know.”
“Someone ought to warn Algernon.”
“You do not seem very surprised,” Miss Chilton observed, ever quick. “I don’t suppose you knew of the plot already—did you?”
His Grace of Karr produced something very like a blush. “I am afraid I did,” he admitted, after a moment.
“Did you!” Miss Chilton was genuinely astonished: it seemed quite unlike Karr to condone such nonsense. “You did not—you can not have helped, can you?” she added an instant later.
His blush deepened. “I did,” he said faintly.
Miss Chilton felt only the most authentic incredulity. “I protest, I don’t believe I know you very well after all! I should never have thought it of you—in fact, I should have gone to my death denying it! First you ask me to marry you, then you play tricks at mid-night to frighten women—you really are mad, aren’t you?”
“I hope not,” said Karr, smiling. “Besides, it was the other way round.”
“What was?”
“The tricks and the offer. I agreed to assist Algie more than half a year ago.”
“Indeed? Has the scheme been so long in preparation?”
“No, not in preparation; but the sentiments which motivate it date from then.”
“And those sentiments are—?”
“Why, Mr. Longstreth’s response to his portrayal in Miss Cawley’s last novel, of course. It appeared mid-season, you know, and caused Algie more embarrassment than anything else might have done.”
She took this in. “I can see where it would be somewhat painful—a ridiculous portrait, and so forth—but so painful as that…” Her voice trailed off doubtfully.
“But you don’t know the other side of the tale,” Karr said. “Longstreth meant to offer for Jessica.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh yes; not many knew it, of course, but for the few that did…well, you may imagine how poor Algernon felt!”
Indeed, Miss Chilton felt that she could imagine. “You were among those who know?”
“I guessed, if I did not precisely know. I watched him calling on the Cawleys nearly every afternoon; he was supposed to be looking for Roger, but nothing was more evident to me than his affection for that gentleman’s sister. He moved slowly, naturally, since Jessica’s dislike of suitors is quite well-known—but he was preparing to offer for her, I am certain of it.”
“And then her book appeared,” Lotta filled in, speaking rather slowly.
“And then it appeared,” her companion agreed, “and with it as unflattering a picture of Longstreth as anyone might have hoped to draw. Poor fellow, he scarcely kept his countenance the first time someone mentioned it in public. I was with him.”
“And later he asked you to help him with his revenge, is that it?” she guessed.
“I am afraid so,” Karr confessed. “Of course I was not acquainted with the precise nature of his scheme until two months ago.”
“My dear sir, this is most interesting,” said Lotta, tapping her chin in a reflective fashion with the end of her ivory fan.
Karr attempted to look contrite, but burst into a sudden laugh in spite of himself. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s only—well, it has been capital fun, watching Miss Cawley fall into the trap. She is dreadfully bold, you know—sometimes she fairly begs for such a trimming as this. Anyway, it does not appear to have injured her seriously; in fact, she looks brighter than ever. I shall tell you who really does worry me, however, and that is Lady Stanton. Lord Stanton too, for that matter. She has never seemed quite well to me since that night when she fainted at whist, and he is certainly preoccupied by something.”
“Naturally it is difficult for me to guess at her health,” Lotta replied. “I am unacquainted with her except in her present state. I will say, however, that she does not look like a well woman to me.”
He nodded, his countenance troubled. “She is pale, is not she?”
“Rather pale. Of course, some women are naturally so,” Lotta was silent for some while; then she added, very slowly, “Do you know, I have the strangest feeling…I feel as if I knew Lady Stanton well. I haven’t a notion why—and yet…” She fell silent again, then roused herself with a little shake. “It’s silly, isn’t it? Though I suppose it is possible I met her somewhere before.”
“Yes, perhaps,” said Karr, who had not been listening closely. “In any case, Stanton is in some sort of a muddle. He nearly killed a beater the other day, when we were out shooting. The man was standing right before him, clear as day, but Stanton appeared not to see him at all! Decidedly, there is something on his mind.”
“Miss Amabel, perhaps? If I were about to marry my daughter to Lord Wyborn, I should expect to be preoccupied,” Lotta affirmed.
“You sound as if you disapprove of the match.”
“Perhaps I do. I disapprove of throwing Christians to lions as well, you know.”
“Lord Wyborn is not such a lion,” said Karr mildly.
“Only because some of his teeth are falling out,” said Lotta. “Otherwise he would be quite ferocious.”
His Grace sighed. “Possibly you are right. And yet, if Lord Stanton did not favour the match, I wonder he consented to it.”
“Maybe you only imagine something is amiss,” said Lotta lightly, spreading out her fan. “The ways of women—and men—are mysterious,” she added, smiling and looking up at him archly.
Karr smiled, but still appeared troubled. He was nearly certain that all was not well with the Stantons, and felt obliged to concern himself with their difficulties since they were under his roof. Lady Anne was not a fretful woman, so far as he had ever known; why then was she so afflicted with sudden fits and pallors? He was not to learn the complete answer to this question for some while; however, a scene upon which he happened that very night transformed his suspicions regarding the Stantons into positive conviction. It was after the ball was over; nearly all the guests had retired to their chambers. Miss Chilton had steadfastly refused to dance again with her gallant admirer. She had refused, similarly, to promise she would not quit Grasmere. Karr had succeeded, however, in eliciting from her a promise that she would discuss her plans on that head with him the following morning, before she had come to any decision. His Grace had watched reluctantly while she moved smoothly up the stairs, away from him and toward her unattractive little bed-chamber, then turned back to do his duty to his other guests, and to his mother (such courtesies as were necessary between these two were performed these days with the most rigid correctness possible). When at last everyone seemed to have been taken care of, His Grace took his own way up the great stair-case, musing, as he went, on just what he should say to Miss Chilton on the morrow. His thoughts were interrupted as he turned into a long corridor and perceived ahead of him a couple, proceeding very slowly, the lady seeming to falter and lean heavily upon the gentleman. He at once recognized the pair as the Stantons, and moved forward rapidly to see if he might assist them. As he neared them he heard Lady Stanton speak.
“She will squeeze us dry, then discard us!” she said. Karr scarcely knew her voice, so choked and bitter was her tone. He was on the point of saying something, to advise the Stantons they were not alone, when Lord Stanton forestalled him.
“My dear,” he said gently, “you must try to maintain your tranquillity, truly. You will fall ill if—”
“She has no more pity than a stone,” her ladyship broke in, and began directly to sob.
“No, she hasn’t; no, she has not,” Lord Stanton agreed sadly. His Grace by this time had changed his mind about approaching them: it was too late for him to make his presence known to them without causing embarrassment and dismay on all sides, and though it was equally true that he had heard much more (he was sure) than the Stantons could have liked, he decided to retire without notifying them of his having been there at all. Accordingly, he dropped behind, still silent. He heard the heavy door to their apartments open and close, then took himself off to his own suite. He sat many minutes there, puzzling vainly over what he had heard, before he at last went to sleep. His pondering had brought no solution, of course; he could not know that the Contessa di Tremini had marched boldly up to Lady Stanton that night, much less that she had pressed a note into her hand, still less that the note contained a demand for a ruinous sum of money. The contessa and her victims were the only ones who could know this—and the latter, Lord and Lady Stanton, felt that they knew it only too well.
10
The morrow dawned drear and chill, “Just the proper sort of day,” as Jessica Cawley remarked to her breakfast companion, “for a haunting.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Algernon Longstreth, who was the person thus addressed.
“I say, if a ghost were ever to walk a gallery, he ought to chuse today. Odiously cold outside—have you been out?” Jessica smiled—with some difficulty, it might be noted, since the very sight of Mr. Longstreth set her pride to aching—and desired her neighbour to send the butter down her way.
“Not this morning,” said Longstreth. He watched, as if fascinated, while Miss Cawley buttered slice after slice of toast, briskly and methodically, ate each one with obvious relish. Mr. Longstreth himself ate very sparingly: it would not do for a man of his slight frame to grow corpulent and sluggish.
“Not even to say good-bye to your mother?” Jessica asked, her enunciation somewhat impaired by a mouthful of toast.
“My mother has not left yet.”
“Hasn’t she? How very fortunate! I shall adore to see her again; really, she is a most estimable woman.”
“Did you meet her?” Algie inquired, somewhat uneasily, as he recalled his cock-and-bull story about the Stepneys.
“Oh yes! We had the most delightful conversation,” she assured him. She was silent for a moment, buttering still another slice of bread; then she added abruptly, as if struck, “Perhaps she will watch for the ghost with us tonight! Do you suppose she might?”
Algernon eyed her warily. “I believe she means to depart before dinner,” he said.
“Ah! What a disappointment, don’t you agree?” cried Miss Cawley. “I know she must take a vast interest in spirits, or else how should you have done so? A belief in ghosts is something one inherits from one’s progenitors, don’t you think? Like the ghosts themselves.”
“Actually, I am not the least bit certain my mother—ah—thinks of ghosts one way or the other,” said Algernon, who was beginning to suspect something was up. Cosmo Remington had told him nothing of Jessica’s discovery: he had sworn to her he would not. His Grace had likewise been silent, out of deference to Miss Chilton. Mr. Longstreth, therefore, could know nothing—but he could sense some new element in Miss Cawley’s attitude.
“Really? Then I must ask her about them as soon as she comes down.”
“I don’t believe she means to come down, as it were,” said Longstreth nervously. “She despises to talk to anyone in the morning; it quite oversets her. She always takes breakfast alone—as you see, she is not here—and prefers to make her entrances and exits without fanfare.”
“What a shame!” exclaimed Jessica. “But she must come down sooner or later, if only for a moment. And I so long to speak to her again—at least to say farewell.” Of course it was utterly indifferent to Miss Cawley whether she ever saw Lady Eliza again or not; she only insisted upon it because she could see it distressed Mr. Longstreth.
“Ah! Well then, you—ah…might I find some more toast for you, Miss Cawley?” Algernon replied in confusion.
“Oh, please!” said she, who had continued to eat ravenously. “I adore a bit of toast!”
Miss Cawley was so fortunate as to have further opportunity to annoy Mr. Longstreth a few hours later. By a simple process of hovering continually near the great front hall, she was able to make an unheralded appearance in that imposing apartment just as Lady Eliza was leaving. People constantly came and went at Grasmere; very little formality was attached to such movements by the owners of the castle. In consequence only Mr. Longstreth and his mother—besides the servants—were there for Jessica to interrupt; and interrupt them she did.
“Ah, Lady Eliza,” she cried, coming forward with a gay, light step. “How sad that you are leaving so quickly! I hope nothing displeased you here?”
“No, indeed, my dear,” said her ladyship, in her slightly anxious, high-pitched voice. “Not at all. The play was splendid. Only I must go.”
“What a pity you have not a more beautiful day for travelling, too,” said Jessica. “Not but what you will be very safe—I am certain it is a fine day for driving—only the vistas will not be half so pleasant as they might have been on a sunnier morning.”
Lady Eliza gave a quick smile, but said nothing.
“Oh, my dear!” said Jessica suddenly, clapping a neat hand to a round mouth. “Here I am chattering on and on when Mr. Longstreth was just telling me—how can I have forgot?—you detest to be spoke to of a morning!”
Lady Eliza looked in mild surprise from the lady to Algernon. “Indeed?” she murmured vaguely.
“Oh, you needn’t pretend for my sake,” Jessica assured her. “I quite understand; some people are like that. Only do forgive me, pray—I’ll run away directly, I promise.”
“Miss Cawley, I’m afraid you must have misunderstood my son,” said the good woman. “I am always at my most cheerful at the start of the day. I quite wilt at sunset, and am invariably fatigued in the evening. Algernon, what have you been saying to Miss Cawley?”
“Dear ma’am—dear Miss Cawley,” said Algernon, much discomposed, “this is some misunderstanding, as you say, ma’am.” He inclined his head toward his mother, then toward Jessica. “Truly, you mustn’t think my mother is—”
“Pray, I pray you!” cried Jessica, making a gesture as if to refuse all explanations. “It is enough, it is sufficient. I am honoured to know you, Lady Eliza, and I shall take the liberty of hoping to see you again.” And with this, and a curtsy, she bounded away, leaving Longstreth to explain to his mother why he had been telling Miss Cawley such tales.
The master of the castle, having made certain early that morning that Lady Eliza’s coach and horses would be properly prepared in time for her departure, was now free to pursue his affairs, the most interesting of which was the interview promised to him last night by Miss Chilton. They were to meet in the Oval Saloon, and Lotta rustled into that apartment to discover His Grace sitting idly at the harpsichord, running his fingers over the keys at random, though not striking any one of them with sufficient force to produce a tone. She nodded to him and seated herself immediately in a cream-and-gilt armchair, her fingers toying with a gold locket suspended on a narrow red riband round her neck. Karr turned round to face her; his expression was anxious. “You are charming to look upon,” he said. “You warm the room as much as the fire in the grate—more, indeed.”
“More, forsooth?” she echoed dryly. She tilted her chin up, causing her plaited hair to glint richly in the fire-light.
“More,” he affirmed, with a slight bow. “And that beautiful, intelligent light in your eye—surely that is intended to tell me you are too wise, too good, too kind to leave Grasmere?”
“Surely not,” said she promptly, “since that is precisely what I think I must do.”
“Ah!” he cried, genuinely dismayed. “You promised you would take no decision until we had talked today.”
“I have not taken a decision, precisely…and yet none needs to be taken, I may say. It is Christmas; I am not employed; I ought to go home. You will not find purer reason than that.”
“I am not looking for pure reason,” he told her. “On the contrary, in fact, I am looking for sentiment, for passion.”
Lotta met his gaze with her own. “You seem to be forever looking for things in the wrong places,” she said gently.
“Oh, no—you will not persuade me you are the wrong place to look for sentiment!” he answered. “That is my mother’s mistaken belief—not mine.”
“Your mother’s conviction is deep,” said Lotta. “I am afraid she feels I am entirely heartless.”
“Do you desire to make me join her in that belief? You have only to abandon me here as you threaten to, and I will.”
Lotta paused for a moment. “It would be better for you to believe me heartless than to persist in this ill-advised romance,” she brought out at length.
“Ah, not this again!” he exclaimed, throwing up his hands in a helpless gesture.
“This always,” she contradicted. “This continually, this eternally. No matter how I think of it, no matter how I twist my heart, my thoughts, my conscience, I cannot pretend that a duke (that is you) and a servant (that is me) do well to fall in love with one another. I am very sorry, my lord; I am more sorry than you know, indeed; but I must go home.” Miss Chilton spoke evenly, quietly, and yet with a distinct fierceness. His Grace regarded her soberly.
“You pretend to be better than I am,” he accused her at last.
“I pretend to be nothing of the sort,” she denied. “If you look into your own conscience, you will see what I have said writ precisely as large.”
“I look into my conscience,” he retorted, “but I see no such thing. I only see that love is not given to many, and that it is shameful to refuse it when it is bestowed. Do you deny we are in love?”
