She turned suddenly round.
“I quite forgot,” she said. “I must go into the village after all. I am
going to send a telegram.”
They retraced their steps in silence. As they entered the
telegraph-office Andrew was just leaving, and the postmistress was
wishing him a respectful farewell. He touched his hat as the two
entered, and stepped on one side. Jeanne, however, held out her hand.
“Mr. Andrew,” she said, “I am so glad to see you. I want to go out
again in that great punt of yours. Please, when can you take me?”
“I am afraid,” Andrew answered, “that I am rather busy just now. I–”
He stopped short, for something in her face perplexed him. It was
impossible for her, of course, to feel disappointment to that extent,
and yet she had all the appearance of a child about to cry. He felt
suddenly awkward and ill at ease.
“Of course,” he said, “if you really care about it, I should be very
pleased to take you any morning toward the end of the week.”
“To-morrow morning, please,” she begged.
He glanced towards his brother, who shrugged his shoulders.
“If Miss Le Mesurier is really inclined to go, Andrew,” the latter
said, “I am sure that you will take good care of her. Perhaps some of
us will come, too.”
She nodded her farewells to Andrew, and turned back with her host
toward the Hall. Cecil looked at her a little curiously. It was certain
that she seemed in better spirits than a short time ago. What a
creature of caprices!
“Will you tell me, Mr. De la Borne,” she asked, “why the postmistress
called Mr. Andrew ‘sir’ if he is only a fisherman?”
“Habit, I suppose,” Cecil answered carelessly. “They call every one sir
and ma’am.”
“I am not so sure that it was habit,” she said thoughtfully. “I think
that Mr. Andrew is not quite what he represents himself to be. No one
who had not education and experience of nice people could behave quite
as he does. Of course, he is rough and brusque at times, I know, but
then many men are like that.”
Cecil did not reply. A grey mist was sweeping in from the sea, and
Jeanne shivered a little as they turned into the avenue.
“I wonder,” she said pensively, “why we came here. My mother as a rule
hates to go far from civilization, and I am sure Lord Ronald is
miserable.”
“I think one reason why your mother brought you here,” Cecil said
slowly, “is because she wanted to give me a chance.”
She picked up her skirts and ran, ran so lightly and swiftly that
Cecil, who was taken by surprise, had no chance of catching her. From
the hall door she looked back at him, panting behind.
“Too many cigarettes,” she laughed. “You are out of training. If you do
not mind you will be like Lord Ronald, an old young man, and I would
never let any one say the sort of things you were going to say who
couldn’t catch me when I ran away.”
She went laughing up the stairs, and Cecil de la Borne turned into his
study. The Princess was playing patience, and the two men were in
easy-chairs.
“At last!” the Princess remarked, throwing down her cards. “My dear
Cecil, do you realize that you have kept us waiting nearly an hour?”
“I thought, perhaps,” he answered, “that you had had enough bridge.”
“Absurd!” the Princess declared. “What else is there to do? Come and
cut, and pray that you do not draw me for a partner. My luck is dead
out–at patience, anyhow.”
“Mine,” Cecil remarked, with a hard little laugh, “seems to be out all
round. Touch the bell, will you, Forrest. I must have a brandy and soda
before I start this beastly game again.”
The Princess raised her eyebrows.
“I trust,” she said, “that my charming ward has not been unkind?”
“Your charming ward,” Cecil answered, “has as many whims and fancies as
an elf. She yawns when I talk to her, and looks longingly after one of
my villagers. Hang the fellow!”
“A very superior villager,” the Princess remarked, “if you mean Mr.
Andrew.”
Forrest looked up, and fixed his cold intent eyes upon his host.
“I suppose,” he said, “you are sure that this man Andrew is really what
he professes to be, and not a masquerader?”
“I have known him,” Cecil answered, “since I was old enough to remember
anybody. He has lived here all his life, and only been away three or
four times.”
They played until the dressing-bell rang. Then Cecil de la Borne rose
from his seat with a peevish exclamation.
“My luck seems dead out,” he said.
The Princess raised her eyebrows.
“Possibly, my dear boy,” she said, “but you must admit that you also
played abominably. Your last declaration of hearts was indefensible,
and why you led a diamond and discarded the spade in Lord Ronald’s ‘no
trump’ hand, Heaven only knows!”
“I still think that I was right,” Cecil declared, a little sullenly.
The Princess said nothing, but turned toward the door.
“Any one dining to-night, Mr. Host?” she said.
“No one,” he answered. “To tell you the truth there is no one to ask
within a dozen miles, and you particularly asked not to be bothered
with meeting yokels.”
“Quite right,” the Princess answered, “only I am getting a little
bored, and if you had any yokels of the Mr. Andrew sort, with just a
little more polish, they might be entertaining. You three men are
getting deadly dull.”
“Princess!” Lord Ronald declared reproachfully. “How can you say that?
You never give any one a chance to see you until the afternoon, and
then we generally start bridge. One cannot be brilliantly entertaining
while one is playing cards.”
The Princess yawned.
“I never argue,” she said. “I only state facts. I am getting a little
bored. Some one must be very amusing at dinner-time or I shall have a
headache.”
She swept up to her room.
“I suppose we’d better go and change,” Cecil remarked, leading the way
out into the hall.
Forrest, who was at the window, screwed his eyeglass in and leaned
forward. A faint smile had parted the corner of his lips, and he
beckoned to Cecil, who came over at once to his side. On the top of the
sand-dyke two figures were walking slowly side by side. Jeanne, with
the wind blowing her skirts about her small shapely figure, was looking
up all the time at the man who walked by her side, and who, against the
empty background of sea and sky, seemed of a stature almost gigantic.
“Quite an idyll!” Forrest remarked with a little sneer.
Cecil bit his lip, and turned away without a word.
CHAPTER X
“I don’t think,” Engleton said slowly, “that I care about playing any
more–just now.”
The Princess yawned as she leaned back in her chair. Both Forrest and
De la Borne, who had left his place to turn up one of the lamps,
glanced stealthily round at the speaker.
“I am not keen about it myself,” Forrest said smoothly. “After all,
though, it’s only three o’clock.”
Cecil’s fingers shook, so that his tinkering with the lamp failed, and
the room was left almost in darkness. Forrest, glad of an excuse to
leave his place, went to the great north window and pulled up the
blind. A faint stream of grey light stole into the room. The Princess
shrieked, and covered her face with her hands.
“For Heaven’s sake, Nigel,” she cried, “pull that blind down! I do not
care for these Rembrandtesque effects. Tobacco ash and cards and my
complexion do not look at their best in such a crude light.”
Forrest obeyed, and the room for a moment was in darkness. There was a
somewhat curious silence. The Princess was breathing softly but
quickly. When at last the lamp burned up again, every one glanced
furtively toward the young man who was leaning back in his chair with
his eyes fixed absently upon the table.
“Well, what is it to be?” Forrest asked, reseating himself. “One more
rubber or bed?”
“I’ve lost a good deal more than I care to,” Cecil remarked in a
somewhat unnatural tone, “but I say another brandy and soda, and one
more rubber. There are some sandwiches behind you, Engleton.”
“Thank you,” Engleton answered without looking up. “I am not hungry.”
The Princess took up a fresh pack of cards, and let them fall idly
through her fingers. Then she took a cigarette from the gold case which
hung from her chatelaine, and lit it.
“One more rubber, then,” she said. “After that we will go to bed.”
The others came toward the table, and the Princess threw down the
cards. They all three cut. Engleton, however, did not move.
“I think,” he said, “that you did not quite understand me. I said that
I did not care to play any more.”
“Three against one,” the Princess remarked lightly.
“Why not play cut-throat, then?” Engleton remarked. “It would be an
excellent arrangement.”
“Why so?” Forrest asked.
“Because you could rob one another,” Engleton said. “It would be
interesting to watch.”
A few seconds intense silence followed Engleton’s words. It was the
Princess who spoke first. Her tone was composed but chilly. She looked
toward Engleton with steady eyes.
“My dear Lord Ronald,” she said, “is this a joke? I am afraid my sense
of humour grows a little dull at this hour of the morning.”
“It was not meant for a joke,” Engleton said. “My words were spoken in
earnest.”
The Princess, without any absolute movement, seemed suddenly to become
more erect. One forgot her rouge, her blackened eyebrows, her powdered
cheeks. It was the great lady who looked at Engleton.
“Are we to take this, Lord Ronald,” she asked, “as a serious
accusation?”
“You can take it for what it is, madam,” Engleton answered–“the truth.”
Cecil de la Borne rose to his feet and leaned across the table. His
cheeks were as pale as death. His voice was shaking.
“I am your host, Engleton,” he said, “and I demand an explanation of
what you have said. Your accusation is absurd. You must be drunk or out
of your senses.”
“I am neither drunk nor out of my senses,” Engleton answered, “nor am I
such an utter fool as to be so easily deceived. The fact that you, as
my partner, played like an idiot, made rotten declarations, and revoked
when one rubber was nearly won, I pass over. That may or may not have
been your miserable idea of the game. Apart from that, however, I
regret to have discovered that you, Forrest, and you, madam,” he added,
addressing the Princess, “have made use throughout the last seven
rubbers of a code with your fingers, both for the declarations and for
the leads. My suspicions were aroused, I must confess, by accident. It
was remarkably easy, however, to verify them. Look here!”
Engleton touched his forehead.
“Hearts!” he said.
He touched his lip.
“Diamonds!” he added.
He passed his fingers across his eyebrows.
“Clubs!” he remarked.
He beat with his fourth finger softly upon the table.
“Spades!”
Major Forrest rose to his feet.
“Lord Ronald,” he said, “I am exceedingly sorry that owing to my
introduction you have become a guest in this house. As for your
ridiculous accusation, I deny it.”
“And I,” the Princess murmured.
“Naturally,” Engleton answered smoothly. “I really do not see what else
you could do. I regret very much to have been the unfortunate means of
breaking up such a pleasant little house-party. I am going to my room
now to change my clothes, and I will trespass upon your hospitality,
Mr. De la Borne, only so far as to beg you to let me have a cart, or
something of the sort, to drive me into Wells, as soon as your people
come on the scene.”
Engleton rose to his feet, and with a stiff little bow, walked toward
the door. He, too, seemed somehow during the last few minutes to have
shown signs of a greater virility than was at any time manifest in his
boyish, somewhat unintelligent, face. He carried himself with a new
dignity, and he spoke with the decision of an older man. For a moment
they watched him go. Then Forrest, obeying a lightning-like glance from
the Princess, crossed the room swiftly and stood with his back to the
door.
“Engleton,” he said, “this is absurd. We can afford to ignore your mad
behaviour and your discourtesy, but before you leave this room we must
come to an understanding.”
Lord Ronald stood with his hands behind his back.
“I had imagined,” he said, “that an understanding was exactly what we
had come to. My words were plain enough, were they not? I am leaving
this house because I have found myself in the company of sharks and
card-sharpers.”
Forrest’s eyes narrowed. A quick little breath passed between his
teeth. He took a step forward toward the young man, as though about to
strike him.
Engleton, however, remained unmoved.
“You are going to carry away a story like this?” he said hoarsely.
“I shall tell my friends,” Engleton answered, “just as much or as
little as I choose of my visit here. Since, however, you are curious, I
may say that should I find you at any future time in any respectable
house, it will be my duty to inform any one of my friends who are
present of the character of their fellow-guest. Will you be so good as
to stand away from that door?”
“No!” Forrest answered.
Engleton turned toward Cecil.
“Mr. De la Borne,” he said, “may I appeal to you, as it is your house,
to allow me egress from it?”
Cecil came hesitatingly up to the two. The Princess, with a sweep of
her skirts, followed him.
“Major Forrest is right,” she declared. “We cannot have this madman go
back to London to spread about slanderous tales. Major Forrest will
stand away from that door, Lord Ronald, as soon as you pass your word
that what has happened to-night will remain a secret.”
Engleton laughed contemptuously.
“Not I,” he answered. “Exactly what I said to Major Forrest, I repeat,
madam, to you, and to you, sir, my host. I shall give my friends the
benefit of my experience whenever it seems to me advisable.”
Forrest locked the door, and put the key into his pocket.
“We shall hope, Lord Ronald,” he said quietly, “to induce you to change
your mind.”
CHAPTER XI
“Every one down for luncheon!” Jeanne declared. “What energy! Where is
Lord Ronald, by the by?” she added, looking around the room. “He
promised to take me out sailing this morning. I wonder if I missed him
on the marshes.”
The Princess yawned, and glanced at the clock.
“By this time,” she remarked, “Lord Ronald is probably in London. He
had a telegram or something in the middle of the night, and went away
early this morning.”
Jeanne looked at them in surprise.
“How queer!” she remarked. “I was down before nine o’clock. Had he left
then?”
“Long before then, I believe,” Forrest answered. “He is very likely
coming back in a day or two.”
Jeanne nodded indifferently. The intelligence, after all, was of little
importance to her.
“Has the luncheon gong gone?” she asked. “I have been out since ten
o’clock, and I am starving.”
Cecil led the way across the hall into the dining-room.
“Come along,” he said. “I wish we all had such healthy appetites.”
She glanced at him, and then at the others.
“Well,” she said, “you certainly look as though you had been up very
late last night. What is the matter with you all?”
“We were very foolish,” Major Forrest said softly. “We sat up a great
deal too late, and I am afraid that we all smoked too many cigarettes.
You see it was our last night, for without Engleton our bridge is over.”
“We must try,” Cecil said, “and find some other form of entertainment
for you. Would you like to sail again this afternoon, Princess?”
“I believe,” she answered, “that I should like it if I may have plenty
of cushions and a soft place for my head, so that if I feel like it I
can go to sleep. Really, these late nights are dreadful. I am almost
glad that Lord Ronald has gone. At least there will be no excuse for us
to sit up until daylight.”
“To-night,” Major Forrest remarked, “let us all be primitive. We will
go to bed at eleven o’clock, and get up in the morning and walk with
Miss Le Mesurier upon the marshes. What do you find upon the sands, I
wonder,” he added, turning a little suddenly toward the girl, “to bring
such a colour to your cheeks, and to keep you away from us for so many
hours?”
Jeanne looked at him for a moment without change of features.
“It would not be easy,” she said, “for me to tell you, for I find
things there which you could not appreciate or understand.”
“You find them alone?” Major Forrest asked smiling.
She turned her left shoulder upon him and addressed her host.
“Major Forrest is very impertinent,” she said. “I think that I will not
talk with him any more. Tell me, Mr. De la Borne, do you really mean
that we can go sailing this afternoon?”
“If you will,” he answered. “I have sent down to the village to tell
them to bring the boat up to our harbourage.”
She nodded.
“I shall love it,” she declared. “It will be such a good thing for you
three, too, because it will make you all sleepy, and then you will be
able to go to bed and not worry about your bridge. When is Lord Ronald
coming back?”
“He was not quite sure,” the Princess remarked. “It depends upon the
urgency of his business which summoned him away.”
“How odd,” Jeanne remarked, “to think of Lord Ronald as having any
business at all. I cannot understand even now why I did not hear the
car go. My room is just over the entrance to the courtyard.”
“It is a proof,” Major Forrest remarked, “that you sleep as soundly as
you deserve.”
“I am not so sure about that,” Jeanne said. “Last night, for instance,
it seemed to me that I heard all manner of strange sounds.”
Cecil de la Borne looked up quickly.
“Sounds?” he repeated. “Do you mean noises in the house?”
She nodded.
“Yes, and voices! Once I thought that you must be all quarrelling, and
then I thought that I heard some one fall down. After that there was
nothing but the opening and shutting of doors.”
“And after that,” the Princess remarked smiling, “you probably went to
sleep.”
“Exactly,” Jeanne admitted. “I went to sleep listening for footsteps. I
think it was very rude of Ronald to go away without saying good-bye to
me.”
“You would have thought it still ruder,” Cecil remarked, “if he had had
you roused at five o’clock or so to make his adieux.”
The Princess and Jeanne left the table together a few minutes before
the other two, and Jeanne asked her stepmother a question.
“How long are we going to stop here?” she inquired. “I thought that our
visit was for two or three days only.”
The Princess hesitated.
“Cecil is such a nice boy,” she said, “and he is so anxious to have us
stay a little longer. What do you say? You are not bored?”
“I am not bored,” Jeanne answered, “so long as you can keep him from
saying silly things to me. On the contrary, I like to be here. I like
it better than London. I like it better than any place I have been in
since I left school.”
The Princess looked at her a little curiously.
“I wonder,” she said, “whether I ought to be looking after you a little
more closely, my child. What do you do on the marshes there all the
time? Do you talk with this Mr. Andrew?”
“I went with him in his boat this morning,” Jeanne answered composedly.
“It was very pleasant. We had a delightful sail.”
The Princess shrugged her shoulders.
“Well,” she said, “one must amuse oneself, and I suppose it is only
reasonable that we should all choose different ways. I think I need not
tell even such a child as you that men are the same all the world over,
and that even a fisherman, if he is encouraged, may be guilty sometimes
of an impertinence.”
Jeanne raised her eyebrows.
“I have not the slightest fear,” she said, “that Mr. Andrew would ever
be guilty of anything of the sort. I wish I could say the same of some
of the people whom I have met in our own circle of society.”
The Princess smiled tolerantly.
“Nowadays,” she remarked, “it is perfectly true that men do take too
great liberties. Well, amuse yourself with your fisherman, my dear
child. It is your legitimate occupation in life to make fools of all
manner of men, and there is no harm in your beginning as low down as
you choose if it amuses you.”
Jeanne walked deliberately away. The Princess laughed a little
uneasily. As she watched Jeanne ascend the stairs, Forrest and Cecil
came out into the hall. They all three moved together into the further
corner, where coffee was set out upon a small table, and it was
significant that they did not speak a word until they were there, and
even then Major Forrest looked cautiously around before he opened his
lips.
“Well?” he asked.
The Princess smiled scornfully at their white, anxious faces.
“What are you afraid of?” she asked contemptuously. “Jeanne suspects
nothing, of course. There is nothing which she could suspect. She has
not mentioned his name even.”
Cecil drew a little breath of relief. His face seemed to have grown
haggard during the last few hours.
“I wish to God,” he muttered, “we were out of this!”
The Princess turned her head and looked at him coldly.
“My young friend,” she said, “you men are all the same. You have no
philosophy. The inevitable has happened, or rather the inevitable has
been forced upon us. What we have done we did deliberately. We could
not do otherwise, and we cannot undo it. Remember that. And if you have
a grain of philosophy or courage in you, keep a stouter heart and wear
a smile upon your face.”
Cecil rose to his feet.
“You are right,” he said. “Are you ready, Forrest? Will you come with
me?”
Forrest rose slowly to his feet.
“Of course,” he said. “By the by, a sail this afternoon was a good
idea. We must develop an interest in country pursuits. It is possible
even,” he added, “that we may have to take to golf.”
The Princess, too, rose.
“Come into my room, one of you,” she said, “and see me for a moment,
afterwards. I suppose we shall start for our sail about three?”
Cecil nodded.
“The boat will be here by then,” he said.
“And I will come up and bring you the news, if there is any,” Forrest
added.
CHAPTER XII
The man who stood with a telescope glued to his eye watching the coming
boat, shut it up at last with a little snap. He walked round to the
other side of the cottage, where Andrew was sitting with a pipe in his
mouth industriously mending a fishing net.
“Andrew,” he said, “there are some people coming here, and I am almost
sure that they mean to land.”
Andrew rose to his feet and strolled round to the little stretch of
beach in front of the cottage. When he saw who it was who approached,
he stopped short and took his pipe from his mouth.
“By Jove, it’s Cecil,” he exclaimed, “and his friends!”
His companion nodded. He was a man still on the youthful side of middle
age, with bronzed features, and short, closely-cut beard. He looked
what he was, a traveller and a sportsman.
“So I imagined,” he said, “but I don’t see Ronald there.”
Andrew shaded his eyes with his hand.
“No!” he said. “There is the Princess and Cecil, and Major Forrest and
Miss Le Mesurier. No one else. They certainly do look as though they
were going to land here.”
“Why not?” the other man remarked. “Why shouldn’t Cecil come to visit
his hermit brother?”
Andrew frowned.
“Berners,” he said, “I want you to remember this. If they land here and
you see anything of them, will you have the goodness to understand that
I am Mr. Andrew, fisherman, and that you are my lodger?”
Andrew’s companion looked at him in surprise.
“What sort of a game is this, Andrew?” he asked.
Andrew de la Borne shrugged his shoulders and smiled good-naturedly.
“Never mind about that, Dick,” he answered. “Call it a whim or anything
else you like. The fact is that Cecil had some guests coming whom I did
not particularly care to meet, and who certainly would not have been
interested in me. I thought it would be best to clear out altogether,
so I have left Cecil in possession of the Hall, and they don’t even
know that I exist.”
The man named Berners looked up at his host with twinkling eyes.
“Right!” he said. “So far as I am concerned, you shall be Mr. Andrew,
fisherman. Will you also kindly remember that if any curiosity is
evinced as to my identity, I am Mr. Berners, and that I am here for a
rest-cure. By the by, how are you going to explain that elderly
domestic of yours?”
“He is your servant, of course,” Andrew answered. “He understands the
position. I have spoken to him already. Yes, they are coming here right
enough! Suppose you help me to pull in the boat for them.”
The two men sauntered down to the shelving beach. The boat was close to
them now, and Cecil was standing up in the bows.
“We want to land for a few minutes,” he called out.
“Throw a rope, then,” Andrew answered briefly. “You had better come in
this side of the landing-stage.”
The rope was thrown, and the boat dragged high and dry upon the pebbly
beach. The Princess, after a glance at him through her lorgnette,
surrendered herself willingly to Andrew’s outstretched hands.
“I am quite sure,” she said, “that you will not let me fall. You must
be the wonderful person whom my daughter has told me about. Is this
queer little place really your home?”
“I live here,” Andrew de la Borne said simply.
Jeanne leaned over towards him.
“Won’t you please help me, Mr. Andrew?” she said, smiling down at him.
He held out his arms, and she sprang lightly to the ground.
“I hope you don’t mind our coming,” she said to him. “I was so anxious
to see your cottage.”
“There is little enough to see,” Andrew answered, “but you are very
welcome.”
“We are sorry to trouble you,” Cecil said, a little uneasily, “but
would it be possible to give these ladies some tea?”
“Certainly,” Andrew answered. “I will go and get it ready.”
“Oh, what fun!” Jeanne declared. “I am coming to help. Please, Mr.
Andrew, do let me help. I am sure I could make tea.”
“It is not necessary, thank you,” Andrew answered. “I have a lodger who
has brought his own servant. As it happens he was just preparing some
tea for us. If you will come round to the other side, where it is a
little more sheltered, I will bring you some chairs.”
They moved across the grass-grown little stretch of sand. The Princess
peered curiously at Berners.
“Your face,” she remarked, “seems quite familiar to me.”
Berners did not for the moment answer her. He was looking towards
Forrest, who was busy lighting a cigarette.
“I am afraid, madam,” he said, after a slight pause, “that I cannot
claim the honour of having met you.”
The Princess was not altogether satisfied. Jeanne had gone on with
Andrew, and she followed slowly walking with Berners.
“I have such a good memory for faces,” she remarked, “and I am very
seldom mistaken.”
“I am afraid,” Berners said, “that this must be one of those rare
occasions. If you will allow me I will go and help Andrew bring out
some seats.”
He disappeared into the cottage, and came out again almost directly
with a couple of chairs. This time he met Forrest’s direct gaze, and
the two men stood for a moment or two looking at one another. Forrest
turned uneasily away.
“Who the devil is that chap?” he whispered to Cecil. “I’ll swear I’ve
seen him somewhere.”
“Very likely,” Cecil answered wearily, throwing himself down on the
turf. “I’ve no memory for faces.”
Jeanne had stepped into the cottage, and gave a little cry of delight
as she found herself in a small sitting-room, the walls of which were
lined with books and guns and fishing-tackle.
“What a delightful room, Mr. Andrew!” she exclaimed. “Why–”
She paused and looked up at him, a little mystified.
“Do the fishermen in Norfolk read Shakespeare and Keats?” she asked.
“And French books, too, De Maupassant and De Musset?”
“They are my lodger’s,” Andrew answered. “This is his room. I sit in
the kitchen when I am at home.”
His dialect was more marked than ever, and his answer had been
delivered without any hesitation. Nevertheless, Jeanne was still a
little puzzled.
“May I come into the kitchen, please?” she asked.
“Certainly,” he answered. “You will find Mr. Berners’ servant there
getting tea ready.”
Jeanne peeped in, and looked back at Andrew, who was standing behind
her.
“What a lovely stone floor!” she exclaimed. “And your copper kettle,
too, is delightful! Do you mean that when you have not a lodger here,
you cook and do everything for yourself?”
“There are times,” he answered composedly, “when I have a little
assistance. It depends upon whether the fishing season has been good.”
Berners came in, and threw himself into an easychair in the
sitting-room.
“Make what use you like of my man, Andrew,” he said. “I will have a cup
of tea in here afterwards.”
“I’m very much obliged, sir,” Andrew answered.
The Princess called out to him, and he stepped back once more to where
they were all sitting.
“It is a shame,” she said, “that we drive your lodger away from his
seat. Will you not ask him to take tea with us?”
“I am afraid,” Andrew answered, “that he is not a very sociable person.
He has come down here because he wants a complete rest, and he does not
speak to any one unless he is obliged. He has just asked me to have his
tea sent into his room.”
“Where does he come from, this strange man?” the Princess asked. “It is
all the time in my mind that I have met him somewhere. I am sure that
he is one of us.”
“I believe that he lives in London,” Andrew answered, “and his name is
Berners, Mr. Richard Berners.”
“I do not seem to remember the name,” the Princess remarked, “but the
man’s face worries me. What a delightful looking tea-tray! Mr. Andrew,
you must really sit down with us. We ought to apologize for taking you
by storm like this, and I have not thanked you yet for being so kind to
my daughter.” Andrew stepped back toward the cottage with a firm
refusal upon his lips, but Jeanne’s hand suddenly rested upon the arm
of his coarse blue jersey.
“If you please, Mr. Andrew,” she begged, “I want you to sit by me and
tell me how you came to live in so strange a place. Do you really not
mind the solitude?”
Andrew looked down at her for a moment without answering. For the first
time, perhaps, he realized the charm of her pale expressive face with
its rapid changes, and the soft insistent fire of her beautiful eyes.
He hesitated for a moment and then remained where he was, leaning
against the flag-staff.
“It is very good of you, miss,” he said. “As to why I came to live
here, I do so simply because the house belongs to me. It was my
father’s and his father’s. We folk who live in the country make few
changes.”
She looked at him curiously. The men whom she had known, even those of
the class to whom he might be supposed to belong, were all in a way
different. This man talked only when he was obliged. All the time she
felt in him the attraction of the unknown. He answered her questions
and remarks in words, the rest remained unspoken. She looked at him
contemplatively as he stood by her side with a tea-cup in his hand,
leaning still a little against the flag-staff. Notwithstanding his
rough clothes and heavy fisherman’s boots, there was nothing about his
attitude or his speech, save in its dialect, to denote the fact that he
was of a different order from that in which she had been brought up.
She felt an immense curiosity concerning him, and she felt, too, that
it would probably never be gratified. Most men were her slaves from the
moment she smiled upon them. This one she fancied seemed a little bored
by her presence. He did not even seem to be thinking about her. He was
watching steadily and with somewhat bent eyebrows Cecil de la Borne and
Forrest. Something struck her as she looked from one to the other.
“I read once,” she remarked, “that people who live in a very small
village for generation after generation grow to look like one another.
In a certain way I cannot conceive two men more unlike, and yet at that
moment there was something in your face which reminded me of Mr. De la
Borne.”
He looked down at her with a quick frown. Decidedly he was annoyed.
“You are certainly the first,” he said drily, “who has ever discovered
the likeness, if there is any.”
“It does not amount to a likeness,” she answered, “and you need not
look so angry. Mr. De la Borne is considered very good-looking. Dear
me, what a nuisance! Do you see? We are going!”
Andrew de la Borne took the cup from her hand and helped to prepare the
boat. With a faint smile upon his lips he heard a little colloquy
between Cecil and the Princess which amused him. The Princess, as he
prepared to hand her into the boat, showed herself at any rate
possessed of the instincts of her order. She held out her hand and
smiled sweetly upon Andrew.
“We are so much obliged to you for your delightful tea, Mr. Andrew,”
she said. “I hope that next time my daughter goes wandering about in
dangerous places you may be there to look after her.”
Andrew looked swiftly away towards Jeanne. Somehow or other the
Princess’ words seemed to come to him at that moment charged with some
secondary meaning. He felt instinctively that notwithstanding her
thoroughly advanced airs, Jeanne was little more than a child as
compared with these people. She met his eyes with one of her most
delightful smiles.
“Some day, I hope,” she said, “that you will take me out in the punt
again. I can assure you that I quite enjoyed being rescued.”
The little party sailed away, Cecil with an obvious air of relief.
Andrew turned slowly round, and met his friend issuing from the door of
the cottage.
“Andrew,” he said, “no wonder you did not care about being host to such
a crowd!”
There was meaning in his tone, and Andrew looked at him thoughtfully.
“Do you know–anything definite?” he asked.
Berners nodded.
“About one of them,” he said, “I certainly do. I wonder what on earth
has become of Ronald. He was with them yesterday.”
“Had enough, perhaps,” Andrew suggested.
Berners shook his head.
“I am afraid not,” he answered slowly. “I wish I could think that he
had so much sense.”
CHAPTER XIII
Cecil came into the room abruptly, and closed the door behind him. He
was breathing quickly as though he had been running. His lips were a
little parted, and in his eyes shone an unmistakable expression of
fear. Forrest and the Princess both looked towards him apprehensively.
“What is it, Cecil?” the latter asked quickly. “You are a fool to go
about the house looking like that.”
Cecil came further into the room and threw himself into a chair.
“It is that fellow upon the island,” he said. “You remember we all said
that his face was familiar. I have seen him again, and I have
remembered.”
“Remembered what?” the Princess asked.
“Where it was that I saw him last,” Cecil answered. “It was in Pall
Mall, and he was walking with–with Engleton. It was before I knew him,
but I knew who he was. He must be a friend of Engleton’s. What do you
suppose that he is doing here?”
Cecil was shaking like a leaf. The Princess looked towards him
contemptuously.
“Come,” she said, “there is no need for you to behave like a terrified
child. Even if you have seen him once with Lord Ronald, what on earth
is there in that to be terrified about? Lord Ronald had many friends
and acquaintances everywhere. This one is surely harmless enough. He
behaved quite naturally on the island, remember.”
Cecil shook his head.
“I do not understand,” he said. “I do not understand what he can be
doing in this part of the world, unless he has some object. I saw him
just now standing behind a tree at the entrance to the drive, watching
me drive golf balls out on to the marsh. I am almost certain that he
was about the place last night. I saw some one who looked very much
like him pass along the cliffs just about dinner-time.”
“You are frightened at shadows,” the Princess declared contemptuously.
“If he were one of Lord Ronald’s friends, and he had come here to look
for him, he wouldn’t play about watching you from a distance. Besides,
there has been no time yet. Lord Ronald only–left here yesterday
morning.”
“What is he doing, then, watching this house?” Cecil asked. “That is
what I do not like.”
The Princess raised her eyebrows contemptuously.
“My dear Cecil,” she said, “it is just a coincidence, and not a very
remarkable one at that. Lord Ronald had the name, you know, of having
acquaintances in every quarter of the world.”
Cecil drew a little breath.
“It may be all right,” he said, “but I am not used to this sort of
thing, and it gives me the creeps.”
“Of course it is all right,” the Princess said composedly. “One would
think that we were a pack of children, to take any notice of such
trifles. It is too early, my dear Cecil, by many a day, to look for
trouble yet. Lord Ronald always wandered about pretty much as he chose.
It will be months before–”
“Don’t go on,” Cecil interrupted. “I suppose I am a fool, but all the
time I am fancying things.”
Forrest moved away with a little laugh, and the Princess rose and
thrust her arm through Cecil’s.
“Silly boy!” she said. “You have nothing to be frightened about, I can
assure you.”
“I am not frightened,” Cecil answered. “I don’t think that I was ever a
coward. All the same, there are some things about this fellow which I
don’t quite understand.”
The Princess laughed as she swept from the room.
“Don’t be foolish, Cecil,” she said. “Remember that we are all here,
and that nothing can go wrong unless we lose our nerve.”
Forrest found the Princess alone a little later in the evening, waiting
in the hall for the dinner-gong. He drew her into a corner, under
pretext of showing her one of the old engravings, dark with age, which
hung upon the wall.
“Ena,” he said, “I suppose that you trust Cecil de la Borne? You
haven’t any fear about him, eh?”
The Princess shrugged her shoulders.
“No!” she answered. “He is a coward at heart, but he has enough vanity,
I believe, to keep him from doing anything foolish. All the same, I
think it is wiser not to leave him alone here.”
“He would not stay,” Forrest remarked. “He told me so only this
morning.”
“You suggested leaving?” the Princess asked.
Forrest nodded.
“I couldn’t help it,” he said, a little sullenly. “There is something
about these great empty rooms, and the silence of the place, that’s
getting on my nerves. I start every time that great front-door bell
clangs, or I hear an unfamiliar footstep in the hall. God! What fools
we have been,” he added, with a sudden bitter strength. “I couldn’t
have believed that I could ever have done anything so clumsy. Fancy
giving ourselves away to a fool like Engleton, a self-opinionated young
cub scarcely out of his cradle.”
He felt his damp forehead. The Princess was watching him curiously.
“Don’t be a fool, Nigel,” she said. “We underrated Engleton, that was
all. If ever a man looked an idiot, he did, and you must remember that
we were in a corner. Yet,” she added, leaning a little forward in her
chair and gazing with hard, set face into the fire, “it was foolish of
me. With Jeanne to play with, I ought to have had no such difficulties.
I never counted upon the tradespeople being so unreasonable. If they
had let me finish the season it would have been all right.”
Forrest walked restlessly across the room, and stood for a moment
looking out of the window. Outside, the wind had suddenly changed. The
sunshine had departed, and a grey fog was blowing in from the sea. He
turned away with a shiver.
“What a cursed place this is!” he muttered. “I’ve half a mind even now
to turn my back upon it and to run.”
The Princess watched his pale face scornfully.
“I thought, Nigel,” she said, “that you were a more reasonable person.
Remember that if we show the white feather now, it is the end of
everything–the Colonies, if you like, or a little cheap watering-place
at the best. As for me, I might have a better chance of brazening it
out, but remember that I could never afford to be seen in the company
of a suspected person.”
“It was the fear of losing you,” he muttered, “which made me so rash.”
The Princess laughed very softly.
“My dear friend,” she said, “I do not believe you. I may seem to you
sometimes very foolish, but at least I understand this. Life with you
is self, self, self, and nothing more. You have scarcely a generous
instinct, scarcely a spark of real affection left in you.”
“And yet–” he began quietly.
“And yet,” she whispered, repulsing him with a little gesture, but with
a suddenly altered look in her face, “and yet we women are fools!”
She turned round to meet her host, who was crossing the hall, and
almost simultaneously the dinner gong rang out. Their party was perhaps
a little more cheerful than it had been on any of the last few
evenings. Forrest drank more wine than usual, and exerted himself to
entertain. Cecil followed his example, and the Princess, who sat by his
side, looked often into his face, and whispered now and then in his
ear. Jeanne was the only one who was a little distrait. She left the
table early, as usual, and slipped out into the garden. The Princess,
contrary to her custom, rose from the table and followed her. A sudden
change of wind had blown the fog away, and the night was clear. The
wind, however, had gathered force, and the Princess held down her
elaborately coiffured hair and cried out in dismay.
“My dear Jeanne,” she exclaimed, “but it is barbarous to wander about
outside a night like this!”
Jeanne laughed. Her own more simply arranged hair was blown all over
her face.
“I love it,” she explained. “You don’t want me indoors. I am going to
walk down the grove and look at the sea.”
“Come back into the hall one moment,” the Princess said. “I want to
speak to you.”
Jeanne turned unwillingly round, and her step-mother drew her into the
shelter of the open door.
“Jeanne,” she said, “you seem to meet your friend the fisherman very
often. If you should see anything of him to-morrow, I wish you would
inquire particularly as to his lodger. You know whom I mean, the man
who was on the island with him yesterday afternoon.”
Jeanne looked at her stepmother curiously.
“What am I to ask about him?” she demanded.
“Where he comes from, and what he is doing here,” the Princess said.
“Find out if you can if Berners is really his name. I have a curious
idea about him, and Cecil fancies that he has seen him before.”
Jeanne looked for a minute interested.
“You are not usually so curious about people,” she remarked.
The Princess lowered her voice a little.
“Jeanne,” she said, “I will tell you something. Lord Ronald, when he
left here, was very angry with us all. There was a quarrel, and he
behaved very absurdly. Cecil fancies that this man Berners is a friend
of Lord Ronald’s. We want to know if it is so.”
Jeanne raised her head and looked her stepmother steadily in the face.
“This is all very mysterious,” she said. “I do not understand it at
all. We seem to be almost in hiding here, seeing no one and going
nowhere. And I notice that Major Forrest, whenever he walks even in the
garden, is always looking around as though he were afraid of something.
What did you quarrel with Lord Ronald about?”
“It is no concern of yours,” the Princess answered, a little sharply.
“Major Forrest has had a somewhat eventful career, and he has made
enemies. It was chiefly his quarrel with Lord Ronald, and it was over a
somewhat serious matter. He has an idea that this man Berners is
connected with it in some way or other. Do find out if you can, there’s
a dear child.”
“I do not suppose,” Jeanne said, “that Mr. Andrew would know anything.
However, when I see him I will ask him.”
The Princess turned away from the open door, shivering.
“You are not really going out?” she said.
“Certainly I am,” Jeanne answered. “I suppose you three will play
cards, and it does not interest me to watch you. There is nothing which
interests me here at all except the gardens and the sea. I am going
down to the beach, and then I shall sit there behind the hollyhocks
until it is bedtime.”
The Princess looked at her curiously.
“You’re a queer child,” she said, turning away.
“It is not strange, that,” Jeanne answered, with a little curl of the
lips.
The Princess went back to the library. Coffee and liqueurs had already
been served, and the card-table was set out, although none of the three
had the slightest inclination to play. Jeanne walked along the beach
and then came back to her favourite seat, sheltered by the little grove
of stunted trees and the tall hollyhocks which bordered the garden. Her
eyes were fixed upon the darkening sea, whitened here and there by the
long straight line of breakers. The marshes on her right hand were hung
with grey mists, floating about like weird phantoms, and here and there
between them shone the distant lights of the village. She half closed
her eyes. The soft falling of the waves upon the sand below, and the
murmur of the wind through the bushes and scanty trees was like a
lullaby. She sat there she scarcely knew how long. She woke up with a
start, conscious that two men were standing talking together within a
few yards of her in the rough lane that led down to the sea.
CHAPTER XIV
The Princess was attempting a new and very complicated form of
patience. Forrest was watching her. Their host was making an attempt to
read the newspaper.
“In five minutes,” the Princess declared, “I shall have achieved the
impossible. This time I am quite sure that I am going to do it.”
A breathless silence followed her announcement. The Princess, looking
up in surprise, found that the eyes of her two companions were fixed
not upon her but upon the door. She laid down her cards and turned her
head. It was Jeanne who stood there, her hair tossed and blown by the
wind, her face ashen white.
“What is the matter, child?” the Princess demanded.
Jeanne came a little way into the room.
“There were two men,” she faltered, “talking in the shrubbery close to
where I was sitting behind the hollyhocks. I could not understand all
that they said, but they are coming here. They were speaking of Lord
Ronald.”
“Go on,” Forrest muttered, leaning forward with dilated eyes.
“They spoke as though something might have happened to him here,” the
girl whispered. “Oh! it is too horrible, this! What do you think that
they meant?”
She looked at the three people who confronted her. There was nothing
reassuring in the faces of the two men. The Princess leaned back in her
chair and laughed.
“My dear child,” she said, “you have been asleep and dreamed these
foolish things; or if not, these yokels to whom you have been listening
are mad. What harm do you suppose could come to Lord Ronald here?”
“I do not know,” Jeanne said, speaking in a low tone, and with the fear
still in her dark eyes.
“I told you,” the Princess continued, “that there was some sort of a
quarrel. What of it? Lord Ronald simply chose to go away. Do you
suppose that there is any one here who would think of trying to hinder
him? Look at us three and ask yourself if it is likely. Look at Major
Forrest here, for instance, who never loses his temper, and whose whole
life is a series of calculations. Or our host. Look at him,” the
Princess continued, with a little wave of her hand. “He may have
secrets that we know nothing of, but if he is a desperate criminal, I
must say that he has kept the knowledge very well to himself. As for
me, you know very well that I quarrel with no one. Le jeu ne vaut pas
la peine.”
Jeanne drew a little breath. Her face was less tragic. There was a
moment’s silence. Then Cecil de la Borne moved toward the fireplace. He
was pale, but his manner was more composed. The Princess’ speech, drawn
out, and very slowly spoken, of deliberate intent, had achieved its
purpose. The first terror had passed away from all of them.
“I will ring the bell,” Cecil said, “and find out who these trespassers
are, wandering about my grounds at this hour of the night. Or shall we
all go out and look for them ourselves?”
“As you will,” Forrest answered. “Personally, I should think that Miss
Jeanne has overheard some gossip amongst the servants, and
misunderstood it. However, this sort of thing is just as well put a
stop to.”
A sudden peal rang through the house. The front-door bell, a huge
unwieldy affair, seldom used, because, save in the depths of winter,
the door stood open, suddenly sent a deep resonant summons echoing
through the house. The bareness and height of the hall, and the fact
that the room in which they were was quite close to the front door
itself, perhaps accounted for the unusual volume of sound which seemed
created by that one peal. It was more like an alarm bell, ringing out
into the silent night, than any ordinary summons. Coming in the midst
of those tense few seconds, it had an effect upon the people who heard
it which was almost indescribable. Cecil de la Borne was pale with the
nervousness of the coward, but Forrest’s terror was a real and actual
thing, stamped in his white face, gleaming in his sunken eyes, as he
stood behind the card-table with his head a little thrust forward
toward the door, as though listening for what might come next. The
Princess, if she was in any way discomposed, did not show it. She sat
erect in her chair, her head slightly thrown back, her eyebrows a
little contracted. It was as though she were asking who had dared to
break in so rudely upon her pastime. Jeanne had sunk back into the
window, and was sitting there, her hands clasped together.
Cecil de la Borne glanced at the clock.
“It is nearly eleven o’clock,” he said. “The servants will have gone to
bed. I must go and see who that is.”
No one attempted to stop him. They heard his footsteps go echoing down
the silent hall. They heard the harsh clanking of the chain as he drew
it back, and the opening of the heavy door. They all looked at one
another in tense expectation. They heard Cecil’s challenge, and they
heard muffled voices outside. Then there came the closing of the door,
and the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall. Forrest grasped the table
with both hands, and his face was bloodless. The Princess leaned
towards him.
“For God’s sake, Nigel,” she whispered in his ear, “pull yourself
together! One look into your face is enough to give the whole show
away. Even Jeanne there is watching you.”
The man made an effort. Even as the footsteps drew near he dashed some
brandy into a tumbler and drank it off. Cecil de la Borne entered,
followed by the man who had been Andrew’s guest and another, a small
dark person with glasses, and a professional air. Cecil, who had been a
little in front, turned round to usher them in.
“I cannot keep you out of my house, gentlemen, I suppose,” he said,
“although I consider that your intrusion at such an hour is entirely
unwarrantable. I regret that I have no other room in which I can
receive you. What you have to say to me, you can say here before my
friends. If I remember rightly,” he added, “your name is Berners, and
you are lodging in this neighbourhood.”
The man who had called himself Berners bowed to the Princess and Jeanne
before replying. His manner was grave, but not in any way threatening.
His companion stood behind him and remained silent.
“I have called myself Berners,” he said, “because it is more convenient
at times to do so. I am Richard Berners, Duke of Westerham. A recent
guest of yours–Lord Ronald–is my younger brother.”
The silence which reigned in the room might almost have been felt. The
Duke, looking from one to the other, grew graver.
“I suppose,” he continued, “I ought to apologize for coming here so
late at night, but my solicitor has only just arrived from London, and
reported to me the result of some inquiries he has been making. Ronald
is my favourite brother, although I have not seen much of him lately. I
trust, therefore,” he continued, still speaking to Cecil de la Borne,
“that you will pardon my intrusion when I explain that from the moment
of quitting your house my brother seems to have completely disappeared.
I have come to ask you if you can give me any information as to the
circumstances of his leaving, and whether he told you his destination.”
Cecil de la Borne was white to the lips, but he was on the point of
answering when the Princess intervened. She leaned forward toward the
newcomer, and her face expressed the most genuine concern.
“My dear Duke,” she said, “this is very extraordinary news that you
bring. Lord Ronald left here for London. Do you mean to say that he has
never arrived there?”
The Duke turned towards his companion.
“My solicitor here, Mr. Hensellman,” he said, “has made the most
careful inquiries, and has even gone so far as to employ detectives. My
brother has certainly not returned to London. We have also wired to
every country house where a visit from him would have been a
probability, without result. Under those circumstances, and others
which I need not perhaps enlarge upon, I must confess to feeling some
anxiety as to what has become of him.”
“Naturally,” the Princess answered at once. “And yet,” she continued,
“it is only a few days ago since he left here. Your brother, Duke, who
seemed to me a most delightful young man, was also distinctly peculiar,
and I do not think that the fact of your not being able to hear of him
at his accustomed haunts for two or three days is in any way a matter
which need cause you any anxiety.”
The Duke bowed.
“Madam,” he said, “I regret having to differ from you. I beg that you
will not permit anything which I say to reflect upon yourself or upon
Mr. De la Borne, whose honour, I am sure, is above question. But you
have amongst you a person whom I am assured is a very bad companion
indeed for boys of my brother’s age. I refer to you, sir,” he added,
addressing Forrest.
Forrest bowed ironically.
“I am exceedingly obliged to you, sir,” he said, “for your amiable
opinion, although why you should go out of your way to volunteer it
here, I cannot imagine.”
“I do so, sir,” the Duke answered, “because during the last two or
three days cheques for a considerable amount have been honoured at my
brother’s bank, bearing your endorsement. I may add, sir, that I came
down here to see my brother. I wished to explain to him that you were
not a person with whom it was advisable for him to play cards.”
Forrest took a quick step forward.
“Sir,” he exclaimed, “you are a liar!”
The Duke bowed.
“I do not quote my own opinion,” he said. “I speak from the result of
the most careful investigations. Your reputation you cannot deny. Even
at your own clubs men shrug their shoulders when your name is
mentioned. I will give you the benefit of any doubt you wish. I will
simply say that you are a person who is suspected in any assembly where
gentlemen meet together, and that being so, as my brother has
disappeared from this house after several nights spent in playing cards
with you, I am here to learn from you, and from you, sir,” he added,
turning to Cecil de la Borne, “some further information as to the
manner of my brother’s departure, or to remain here until I have
acquired that information for myself.”
The Princess rose to her feet and laid her hand upon Forrest’s
shoulder. The veins were standing out upon his forehead, and his face
was black with anger. He seemed to be in the act of springing upon the
man who made these charges against him.
“Nigel,” she said, “please let me talk to the Duke. Remember that,
after all, from his own point of view, what he is saying is not so
outrageous as it seems to us. Cecil, please don’t interfere,” she added
turning towards him. “Duke,” she continued, speaking firmly, and with
much of the amiability gone from her tone, “you are playing the modern
Don Quixote to an extent which is unpardonable, even taking into
account your anxiety concerning your brother. Lord Ronald was a guest
here of Mr. De la Borne’s, and to the best of my knowledge he lost
little more than he won all the time he was here. In any case, on Major
Forrest’s behalf, and as an old friend, I deny that there was any
question whatever as to the fairness of any games that were played.
Your brother received a telegram, and asked to be allowed the use of
the car to take him to Lynn Station early on the following morning. He
promised to return within a week.”
“You have heard from him since he left?” the Duke asked quickly.
“We have not,” the Princess answered. “Only yesterday morning I
remarked that it was slightly discourteous. Your brother left here on
excellent terms with us all. You can interview, if you will, any member
of the household. You can make your inquiries at the station from which
he departed. Your appearance here at such an untimely hour, and your
barely veiled accusations, remind me of the fable of the bull in the
china shop. If you think that we have locked your brother up here, pray
search the house. If you think,” she added, with curling lip, “that we
have murdered him, pray bring down an army of detectives, invest the
place, and pursue your investigations in whatever direction you like.
But before you leave, I should advise you, if you wish to preserve your
reputation as a person of breeding, to apologize to Mr. De la Borne for
your extraordinary behaviour here to-night, and the extraordinary
things at which you have hinted.”
The Duke smiled pleasantly.
“Madam,” he said, “I came here to-night not knowing that you were
amongst the difficulties which I should have to deal with. I wish to
speak to Mr. De la Borne. You will permit me?”
The Princess shrugged her shoulders and turned away.
“I have ventured to speak for both of them,” she remarked, “for the
sake of peace, because I am a woman and can keep my temper, and they
are men who might have resented your impertinence.”
The Duke remained as though he had not heard her speech. He laid his
hand upon Cecil’s shoulder.
“De la Borne,” he said, “you and I are scarcely strangers, although we
have never met. There have been friendships in our families for many
years. Don’t be afraid to speak out if anything has gone a little wrong
here and you are ashamed of it. I want to be your friend, as you know
very well. Tell me, now. Can’t you help me to find Ronald. Haven’t you
any idea where he is?”
“None at all,” Cecil answered.
“Tell me this, then,” the Duke said, his clear brown eyes fixed
steadily upon Cecil’s miserable white face. “Were there any unusual
circumstances at all connected with his leaving here?”
“None whatever,” Cecil answered, with an uneasy little laugh, “except
that I had to get up to see him off, and it was a beastly cold morning.”
The lawyer, who had been standing silent all this time, drew the Duke
for a moment on one side.
“I should recommend, sir,” he whispered, “that we went away. If they
know anything they do not mean to tell, and the less we let them know
as to whether we are satisfied or not, the better.”
The Duke nodded, and turned once more to Cecil.
“I am forced to accept your word, Mr. De la Borne,” he said, “and when
my brother confirms your story I shall make a special visit here to
offer you my apologies. Madam,” he added, bowing to the Princess, “I
regret to have disturbed your interesting occupation.”
Forrest he completely ignored, turning his back upon him almost
immediately. Cecil went out with them into the hall. In a moment the
great front door was opened and closed. Cecil came back into the room,
and the perspiration stood out in great beads upon his forehead. Now
that the Duke had departed, something seemed to have fallen from their
faces. They looked at one another as the ghosts of their real selves
might have looked. Forrest stumbled toward the sideboard. Cecil was
already there.
“The brandy!” he muttered. “Quick!”
CHAPTER XV
Bareheaded, Jeanne walked upon the yellow sands close to the softly
breaking waves. Inland stretched the marshes, with their patches of
vivid green, their clouds of faintly blue wild lavender, their sinuous
creeks stealing into the bosom of the land. She climbed on to a grassy
knoll, warm with the sun’s heat, and threw herself down upon the turf.
She turned her back upon the Hall and looked steadily seawards, across
the waste of sands and pasture-land to where sky and sea met. Here at
least was peace. She drew a long breath of relief, cast aside the book
which she had never dreamed of reading, and lay full length in the
grass, with her eyes upturned to where a lark was singing his way down
from the blue sky.
Andrew came before long, speeding his way out of the village harbour in
his little catboat. She watched him cross the sandy bar of the inlet,
and run his boat presently upon the beach below where she sat. Then she
shook out her skirts and made room for him by her side.
“Really, Mr. Andrew,” she said, resting her chin upon her hands, and
looking up at him with her full dark eyes, “you are becoming almost
gallant. Until now, when I have been weary, and have wished to talk to
you, I have had almost to come and fetch you. To-day it is you who come
to me. That is a good sign.”
“It is true,” he admitted. “I have kept my telescope fixed upon the
sands here for more than an hour. I wanted to see you.”
“You have something to tell me about last night?” she asked gravely.
“No!” he answered, “I did not come here to talk about that.”
“Did you know,” she asked, “who your lodger really was?”
“Yes,” he said, “I guessed! I will be frank with you, Miss Jeanne, if
you will allow me. I do not like your stepmother and I do not like
Major Forrest, but I think that the Duke is going altogether too far
when he suspects them of having anything to do with the disappearance
of his brother.”
She drew a little sigh of relief.
“Oh! I am glad to hear you say that,” she declared. “It is all so
horrible. I could not sleep last night for thinking about it.”
“Lord Ronald will probably turn up in a day or two,” Andrew said
gravely. “We will not talk any more about him.”
She settled herself a little more comfortably, and smoothed out her
skirts. Then she looked up at him with faintly parted lips.
“What shall we talk about, Mr. Andrew?” she said softly.
“About ourselves,” he answered, “or rather about you. It seems to me
that we both stand a little outside the game of life, as your friends
up there understand it.”
He waved his large brown hand in the direction of the Hall.
“You are a child, fresh from boarding-school, too young to understand,
too young to know where to look for your friends, or discriminate
against your enemies. I am a rough sort of fellow, also, outside their
lives, from necessity, from every reason which the brain of man could
evolve. Sometimes we outsiders see more than is intended. Is the
Princess of Strurm really your stepmother?”
“Of course she is,” Jeanne answered. “She was married to my father when
I was quite a little girl, and she has visited me at the convent where
I was at school, all my life, and when I left last year it was she who
came for me. Why do you ask so strange a question?”
“Because,” he said, “I should consider her about the worst possible
guardian that a child like you could have. Tell me, what is it that
goes on all day up at the Hall there–or rather what was it that did go
on before Engleton went away?–eating and drinking, cards, and God
knows what sort of foolishness! Nothing else, nothing worth doing, not
a thing said worth listening to! It’s a rotten life for a child like
you. They tell me you’re an heiress. Are you?”
She smoothed her crumpled skirts, and looked steadily at the tip of her
brown shoe.
“One of the greatest in Europe,” she answered. “No one knows how rich I
am. You see all the money was left to me when I was six years old, and
it is so strictly tied up that no one has had power to touch a single
penny until I am of age. That is why it has gone on increasing and
increasing.”
“And when are you of age?” he asked.
“Next year,” she answered.
“By that time, I imagine,” Andrew continued, “your stepmother will have
sold you to some broken-down hanger-on of hers. Haven’t you any other
relations, Miss Jeanne?”
She laughed softly.
“You are a ridiculous person,” she said. “I am very fond of my
stepmother. I think that she is a very clever woman.”
“Bah!” he exclaimed in disgust. “A clever woman she may be, but a good
woman, no! I am sure of that. You may judge a person by the company
they keep. Neither she or this man Forrest are fit associates for a
child of your age.”
She laughed softly.
“They don’t do me any harm,” she said. “Mr. De la Borne and Lord Ronald
have asked me to marry them, of course, but then every young man does
that when he knows who I am. My stepmother has promised me at least
that I shall not be bothered by any of them just yet. I am going to be
presented next season, we are going to have a house in town, and I am
going to choose a husband of my own.”
It was Andrew now who looked long and steadily out seawards. She
watched him covertly from under her heavily lidded eyes.
“Mr. Andrew,” she said softly, “I wish very much–”
Then she stopped short, and he looked at her a little abruptly.
“What is it that you wish?” he asked.
“I wish that you did not wear such strange clothes and that you did not
talk the dialect of these fishermen, and that you had more money. Then
you too might come and see me, might you not, when we have that house
in London?”
He laughed boisterously.
“I fancy I see myself in London, paying calls,” he declared. “Give me
my catboat and fishing line. I’d rather sail down the home creek, with
a northeast gale in my teeth, than walk down Piccadilly in patent
boots.”
She sighed.
“I am afraid,” she admitted, “that as a town acquaintance you are
hopeless.”
“I am afraid so,” he answered, looking steadily seawards. “We country
people have strong prejudices, you see. It seems to us that all the sin
and all the unhappiness and all the decadence and all the things that
mar the beauty of the world, come from the cities and from life in the
cities. No wonder that we want to keep away. It isn’t that we think
ourselves better than the other folk. It is simply that we have
realized pleasures greater than we could find in paved streets and
under smoke-stained skies. We know what it is to smell the salt wind,
to hear it whistling in the cords and the sails of our boats, to feel
the warmth of the sun, to listen to the song of the birds, to watch the
colouring of God’s land here. I suppose we have the thing in our
bloods; we can’t leave it. We hear the call of the other things
sometimes, but as soon as we obey we are restless and unhappy. It is
only an affair of time, and generally a very short time. One cannot
fight against nature.”
“No!” she answered softly. “One cannot fight against nature. But there
are children of the cities, children of the life artificial as well as
children of nature. Look at me!”
He turned toward her quickly.
“Look at me!” she commanded, and he obeyed.
He saw her pale skin, which the touch of the sun seemed to have no
power to burn or coarsen. The clear, wonderful eyes, the delicate
eyebrows, the masses of dark hair, the scarlet lips. He saw her white
throat swelling underneath her muslin blouse. The daintiness of her
gown, airy and simple, yet fresh from a Paris workshop. The stockings
and shoes, exquisite, but strangely out of place with their high heels
buried in the sand.
“How do I know,” she demanded, “that I am not one of the children of
the cities, that I was not fashioned and made for the gas-lit life, to
eat unreal food at unreal hours, and feed my brain upon the unreal
epigrams of the men whom you would call decadents. Two days here, a
week–very well. In a month I might be bored. Who shall guarantee me
against it?”
“No one,” he answered. “And yet there is something in your blood which
calls for the truth, which hates the shams, which knows real beauty.
Why don’t you try and cultivate it? In your heart you know where the
true things lie. Consider! Every one with great wealth can make or mar
many lives. You enter the world almost as a divinity. Your wealth is
reckoned as a quality. What you do will be right. What you condemn will
be wrong. It is a very important thing for others as well as yourself,
that you should see a clear way through life.”
A moment’s intense dejection seized upon her. The tears stood in her
eyes as she looked away from him.
“Who is there to show it me?” she asked. “Who is there to help me find
it?”
“Not those friends whom you have left to play bridge in a room with
drawn curtains at this hour of the day,” he answered. “Not your
stepmother, or any of her sort. Try and realize this. Even the weakest
of us is not dependent upon others for support. There is only one sure
guide. Trust yourself. Be faithful to the best part of yourself. You
know what is good and what is ugly. Don’t be coerced, don’t be led into
the morass.”
She looked at him and laughed gaily. Her mood had changed once more
with chameleon-like swiftness.
“It is all very well for you,” she declared. “You are six foot four,
and you look as though you could hew your way through life with a
cudgel. One could fancy you a Don Quixote amongst the shams, knocking
them over like ninepins, and moving aside neither to the right nor to
the left. But what is a poor weak girl to do? She wants some one, Mr.
Andrew, to wield the cudgel for her.”
It was several seconds before he turned his head. Then he found that,
although her lips were laughing, her eyes were longing and serious. She
sprang suddenly to her feet and leaned towards him.
“This is the most delightful nonsense,” she whispered. “Please!”
She was in his arms for a moment, her lips had clung to his. Then she
was away, flying along the sands at a pace which seemed to him
miraculous, swinging her hat in her hands, and humming the maddening
refrain of some French song, which it seemed to him was always upon her
lips, and which had haunted him for days. He hesitated, uncertain
whether to follow, ashamed of himself, ashamed of the passion which was
burning in his blood. And while he hesitated she passed out of sight,
turning only once to wave her hand as she crossed the line of
grass-grown hillocks which shut him out from her view.
CHAPTER XVI
“To-morrow,” the Princess said softly, “we shall have been here a
fortnight.”
Cecil de la Borne came and sat by her side upon the sofa.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that leaving out everything else, you have
been terribly bored.”
“I have been nothing of the sort,” she answered. “Of course, the last
week has been a strain, but we are not going to talk any more about
that. You prepared us for semi-barbarism, and instead you have made
perfect sybarites of us. I can assure you that though in one way to go
will be a release, in another I shall be very sorry.”
“And I,” he said, in a low tone, “shall always be sorry.”
He let his hand fall upon hers, and looked into her eyes. The Princess
stifled a yawn. This country style of love-making was a thing which she
had outgrown many years ago.
“You will find other distractions very soon,” she said, “and besides,
the world is a small place. We shall see something of you, I suppose,
always. By the by, you have not been particularly attentive to my
stepdaughter during the last few days, have you?”
“She gives me very little chance,” he answered, in a slightly aggrieved
tone.
“She is very young,” the Princess said, “too young, I suppose, to take
things seriously. I do not think that she will marry very early.”
Cecil bent over his companion till his head almost touched hers.
“Dear lady,” he said, “I am afraid that I am not very interested in
your stepdaughter while you are here.”
“Absurd!” she murmured. “I am nearly twice your age.”
“If you were,” he answered, “so much the better, but you are not. Do
you know, I think that you have been rather unkind to me. I have
scarcely seen you alone since you have been here.”
She laughed softly, and took up her little dog into her arm as though
to use him for a shield.
“My dear Cecil,” she said earnestly, “please don’t make love to me. I
like you so much, and I should hate to feel that you were boring me.
Every man with whom I am alone for ten minutes thinks it his duty to
say foolish things to me, and I can assure you that I am past it all. A
few years ago it was different. To-day there are only three things in
the world I care for–my little spaniel here, bridge, and money.”
His face darkened a little.
“You did not talk like this in London,” he reminded her.
“Perhaps not,” she admitted. “Perhaps even now it is only a mood with
me. I can only speak as I feel for the moment. There are times when I
feel differently, but not now.”
“Perhaps,” he said jealously, “there are also other people with whom
you feel differently.”
“Perhaps,” she admitted calmly.
“When I came into the room the other day,” he said, “Forrest was
holding your hand.”
“Major Forrest,” she said, “has been very much upset. He needed a
little consolation. He has some other engagements, and he ought to have
left before now, but, as you know, we are all prisoners. I wonder how
long it will last.”
“I cannot tell,” Cecil answered gloomily. “Forrest knows more about it
than I do. What does he say to you?”
“He thinks,” the Princess said slowly, “that we may be able to leave in
a few days now.”
“Then while you do stay,” Cecil begged, “be a little kinder to me.”
She withdrew her hand from her dog and patted his for a moment.
“You foolish boy,” she said. “Of course I will be a little kinder to
you, if you like, but I warn you that I shall only be a disappointment.
Boys of your age always expect so much, and I have so little to give.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Because it is the truth,” she answered. “You must not expect anything
more from me than the husk of things. Believe me, I am not a poseuse. I
really mean it.”
“You may change your mind,” he said.
“I may,” she answered. “I have no convictions, and my enemies would
add, no principles. If any one could make me feel the things which I
have forgotten how to feel, I myself am perfectly willing! But don’t
hope too much from that. And do, there’s a dear boy, go and stop my
maid. I can see her on her way down the drive there. She has some
telegrams I gave her, and I want to send another.”
Cecil hurried out, and the Princess, moving to the window, beckoned to
Forrest, who was lounging in a wicker chair with a cigarette in his
mouth.
“Nigel,” she said, “how much longer?”
Forrest looked despondently at his cigarette.
“I cannot tell,” he answered. “Perhaps one day, perhaps a week,
perhaps–”
“No!” the Princess interrupted, “I do not wish to hear that
eventuality.”
“You know that the Duke is still about?” Forrest said gloomily. “I saw
him this morning. There has been a fellow, too–a detective, of
course–enquiring about the car and who was able to drive it.”
“But that,” the Princess interrupted, “is all in our favour. You were
seen to bring it back up the drive about ten o’clock in the morning.”
Forrest nodded.
“Don’t let’s talk about it,” he said. “Where is Jeanne? Do you know?”
The Princess pointed toward the lawn to where Cecil and Jeanne were
just starting a game of croquet. Forrest watched them for a few minutes
meditatively.
“Ena,” he said, dropping his voice a little, “what are you going to do
with that child? I have never quite understood your plans. You promised
to talk to me about it while we were down here.”
“I know,” the Princess answered, “only this other affair has driven
everything out of our minds. What I should like to do,” she continued,
“is to marry her before she comes of age, if I can find any one willing
to pay the price.”
“The price?” he repeated doubtfully.
The Princess nodded.
“Supposing,” she continued, “that her fortune amounted to nearly four
hundred thousand pounds, I think that twenty-five thousand pounds would
be a very moderate sum for any one to pay for a wife with such a dowry.”
“Have you any one in your mind?” he asked.
The Princess nodded.
“I have a friend in Paris who is making some cautious inquiries,” she
answered. “I am expecting to hear from her in the course of a few days.”
“So far,” he remarked, “you have made nothing out of your guardianship
except a living allowance.”
She nodded.
“And a ridiculously small one,” she remarked. “All that I have had is
two thousand a year. I need not tell you, my dear Nigel, that that does
not go very far when it has to provide dresses and servants and a home
for both of us. Jeanne is content, and never grumbles, or her lawyers
might ask some very inconvenient questions.”
“Supposing,” he asked, “that she won’t have anything to do with this
man, when you have found one who is willing to pay?”
“Until she is of age,” the Princess answered, “she is mine to do what I
like with, body and soul. The French law is stricter than the English
in this respect, you know. There may be a little trouble, of course,
but I shall know how to manage her.”
“She has likes and dislikes of her own,” he remarked, “and fairly
positive ones. I believe if she had her own way, she would spend all
her time with this fisherman here.”
The Princess smoothed the lace upon her gown, and gazed reflectively at
the turquoises upon her white fingers.
“Jeanne’s father,” she remarked, “was bourgeois, and her mother had
little family. Race tells, of course. I have never attempted to
influence her. When there is a great struggle ahead, it is as well to
let her have her own way in small things. Hush! She is coming. I
suppose the croquet has been a failure.”
Jeanne came across to them, swinging her mallet in her hand.
“Will some one,” she begged, “take our too kind host away from me? He
follows me everywhere, and I am bored. I have played croquet with him,
but he is not satisfied. If I try to read, he comes and sits by my side
and talks nonsense. If I say I am going for a walk, he wants to come
with me. I am tired of it.”
The Princess looked at her stepdaughter critically. Jeanne was dressed
in white, with a great red rose stuck through her waistband. She was
paler even than usual, her eyes were dark and luminous, and the curve
of her scarlet lips suggested readily enough the weariness of which she
spoke.
The Princess shrugged her shoulders and gathered up her skirts.
“Do what you like, my dear,” she said. “I will tell Cecil to leave you
alone. But remember that he is our host. You must really be civil to
him.”
She strolled across the lawn to where Cecil was still knocking the
croquet balls about. Jeanne sank into her place, and Forrest looked at
her for a few moments attentively.
“You are a strange child,” he said at last.
She glanced towards him as though she found his speech an impertinence.
Then she looked away across the old-fashioned, strangely arranged
garden, with its irregular patches of many coloured flowers, its
wind-swept shrubs, its flag-staff rising from the grassy knoll at the
seaward extremity. She watched the seagulls, wheeling in from the sea,
and followed the line of smoke of a distant steamer. She seemed to find
all these things more interesting than conversation.
“You do not like me,” he remarked quietly. “You have never liked me.”
“I have liked very few of my stepmother’s friends,” she answered, “any
more than I like the life which I have been compelled to lead since I
left school.”
“You would prefer to be back there, perhaps?” he remarked, a little
sarcastically.
“I should,” she answered. “It was prison of a sort, but one was at
least free to choose one’s friends.”
“If,” he suggested, “you could make up your mind that I was a person at
any rate to be tolerated, I think that I could make things easier for
you. Your stepmother is always inclined to follow my advice, and I
could perhaps get her to take you to quieter places, where you could
lead any sort of life you liked.”
“Thank you,” she answered. “Before very long I shall be my own
mistress. Until then I must make the best of things. If you wish to do
something for me you can answer a question.”
“Ask it, then,” he begged at once. “If I can, I shall be only too glad.”
“You can tell me something which since the other night,” she said, “has
been worrying me a good deal. You can tell me who it was that drove
Lord Ronald to the station the morning he went away. I thought that he
sent his chauffeur away two days ago, and that there was no one here
who could drive the car.”
Forrest was momentarily taken aback. He answered, however, with
scarcely any noticeable hesitation.
“I did,” he answered. “I didn’t make much of a job of it, and the car
has been scarcely fit to use since, but I managed it somehow, or rather
we did between us. He came and knocked me up about five o’clock, and
begged me to come and try.”
She looked at him with peculiar steadfastness. There was nothing in her
eyes or her expression to suggest belief or disbelief in his words.
“But I have heard you say so often,” she remarked, “that you knew
absolutely nothing about the mechanism of a car, and that you would not
drive one for anything in the world.”
He nodded.
“I am not proud of my skill,” he answered, “but I did try at Homburg
once. There was nothing else to do, and I had some idea of buying a
small car for touring in the Black Forest. If you doubt my words, you
can ask any of the servants. They saw me bring the car up the avenue
later in the morning.”
“It was being dragged up,” she reminded him. “The engine was not going.”
He looked a little startled.