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CHAPTER XXII
A LITTLE COMMISSION

Lady Isabelle and Lieutenant Kingsland sat on the lawn before the old manor house in the soft glow of an English afternoon, contemplating the inevitable. In this case the inevitable was represented by the Dowager, who was enjoying a peaceful nap not fifty feet away. Only fifty feet of faultlessly-kept turf separated them from the vials of a mother's wrath; and in spite of their supreme happiness of the morning, they felt the presence of this gathering storm which must now be faced – as soon as the Marchioness awoke – for to wake her would put her in a bad temper, and her rage promised to be violent enough without any external irritants.

But it happened that while the Dowager slumbered, Miss Fitzgerald, slipping around the corner of the house, appeared in the background, and signalling to the Lieutenant to come to her, where they could talk without awakening the Marchioness, gave him his telegram. He read its contents once, twice, and a third time, word by word, gave a sigh of unutterable relief, and then laughed joyously.

"Good news, apparently," commented Miss Fitzgerald.

"The best," he replied. "A crusty old relative, who is no good to anybody, lies dying in the north of England, and for some unknown reason has made me his heir – I must leave at once to see him out of this world in proper style – but it means I'm a rich man."

"I'm ever so glad. Must you start to-day?"

"I shall go up to London this afternoon, and on to-morrow."

"You'll spend the night in town, then?"

"Yes. I must go to my bank and draw some funds for my journey."

"Then you can do me a favour."

"A thousand, if you want them, after what you've done for me."

"Will you oblige me by taking charge of several chests of Mr. Riddle's stereopticon views; they're heavy, but fragile and very valuable, and I've promised him I'd find some one to take them up to town for him, and put them in safe keeping. Where do you bank?"

"Bank of England, Victoria Street branch."

"Will you leave it in their charge subject to my order?"

"Certainly. How many cases?"

"Five, and they're rather heavy."

"All right. Have the chests put in the luggage cart, and I'll look out for them. Now I must tell my – why, it's Kent-Lauriston!" and to their mutual astonishment, they beheld that gentleman standing close beside them.

"Good afternoon," he said. "You didn't expect to see me? I wired Mrs. Roberts."

"I know my aunt will be delighted," said Miss Fitzgerald. "Won't you come into the house?" and she led the way, calling back to the Lieutenant: "I'll see they're ready. Thank you so much."

Once in the hall, she wasted no time over the unexpected, and to her unwelcome, guest, but, consigning him to the butler, sped away to give directions as to the disposition of the chests, and was soon scurrying across the park to join the patient Secretary, who had had ample opportunity to smoke his two cigars.

The Lieutenant had in the meantime shown his despatch to Lady Isabelle, whose face at once assumed an expression very much in contrast to that of her liege lord's; her brows contracted in a frown, and tears sprang to her eyes.

"Oh, Jack!" she cried. "You won't leave me now – I can't spare you. Your poor uncle Benjamin!"

"But you don't understand!" he cried. "You don't see what it means! The Steward writes that I'll inherit his property, and that I should come and protect my interests."

"But he's not dead yet – only very ill," she argued, seeing the possibilities ahead – yet hoping against hope to win her husband from his better judgment.

"It's the same thing – they wouldn't have telegraphed for me if it wasn't the end."

"But it's so far off – nearly to the Scottish border."

"That's all the more reason for hurrying. I must take the first train for London."

"And leave me!"

"My darling, you must be brave, you must be sensible. If I inherit my uncle's property, I shall be a rich man, and your mother's scruples will be removed. It's vital that I should lose no chances – it means everything to us."

"But is there any danger of your doing so – doesn't the telegram expressly state that he means to make you his heir?"

"Yes, yes, but there are other relatives as near as I. They'll all be there, and if they suspect I'm chosen, will try and get him, at the last, to turn against me."

"But why should you be chosen?"

"Pure cussedness, I think, coupled with the fact that I've never troubled myself to be even civil to him. His other relatives have spent their time in fawning about him, and he has seen through it, and led them a lively dance in consequence. He lived in a beastly old hole of a place – dull as the water in his own moat. I was sent there as a boy, and when he tried to cane me for stealing his fruit, I pelted him with apples. Since I've been old enough to consult my own inclinations, I have entirely ignored him. I never supposed he'd leave me a penny, and I wouldn't have let him lead me a dog's life for it, if I had. Now that he has done so to spite the rest, I shall protect my own interests, never fear."

"But you'll tell mamma before you go?"

"Most certainly not," replied the Lieutenant, glad of any valid excuse for putting off what promised to be a rather trying interview. "I should have to go at once in any event, and I certainly couldn't leave you to face your mother's wrath alone; besides, now I come to think of it, your late father was one of uncle's pet detestations, politically, and if a rumour of my secret marriage were to reach him before the end, it would be all up with my prospects, and you can easily see what splendid capital it would be for his precious relatives."

"But mamma might be trusted?" queried Lady Isabelle, feeling that she was venturing on untenable ground.

"Those who don't know won't tell; besides, my position will be much stronger as the heir in possession than the heir prospective. Now I must be off to make my excuses to Mrs. Roberts, and to pack up my belongings, or some of them, for I don't expect to be gone more than two or three days at the most, and till then everything depends on keeping the secret."

"But, Mr. Stanley," she expostulated.

"Oh, pshaw! I forgot him."

"But we mustn't forget him. You know we promised him that we would tell at once."

"Circumstances alter cases. You must arrange it between you somehow. You can stave off the evil day with your mother. Say you need time to think it over."

"You don't know mamma as well as I do, Jack."

"Then refuse absolutely."

"She'd take me away at once, abroad perhaps. She's made up her mind to this match."

"You must hold it off and on, that is all there is about it. Let her think you are going to consent, but that you mustn't be hurried."

"But think of Mr. Stanley's position. How would you feel in his place?"

"Now, what's the use of arguing suppositious cases when I'm pressed for time? Stanley has accepted the position, and he must make the best of it."

"But if he's afraid Miss Fitzgerald may learn of his proposal to me, and misunderstand."

"Not much danger of that, as she saw you married this morning."

"But Mr. Stanley doesn't know that Miss Fitzgerald was present at our wedding. Now, if I could tell him so – "

"Um!" murmured the Lieutenant thoughtfully. "On the whole, I don't think I would. It wouldn't be quite fair to Belle."

"To Miss Fitzgerald?"

"To Miss Fitzgerald. At least you must gain her consent first."

"But why should she object?"

"Well, to speak quite frankly, her own position in the matter was open to question. You see, she had some difficulty in arranging the private marriage, and, out of friendship to me, she did and said certain things of which an over-conscientious person, like our friend the Secretary, might disapprove."

"Jack!" she cried, frightened. "Tell me the truth. Swear to me that our marriage was a true marriage – was legal."

"I swear it, my darling. Hadn't you the special licence to prove it? My remarks only referred to the means she used to induce the parson to keep his mouth shut. Not discreditable at all, you understand, and some day, when I'm at liberty to explain it, you'll see – but we owe it to her to keep quiet about the whole affair."

"I don't like it, dear – it doesn't sound honest."

"Well, I can't help it. It is all fair and square as far as you are concerned, and if you like you may tell Miss Fitzgerald all about Stanley's position, so that he can't injure himself in her eyes. But to him you must say nothing without her consent – absolutely nothing."

"But this does not settle the matter of the engagement."

"You must manage that as best you can. Stanley can't really be engaged to you, because you are a married woman; and Belle can't be jealous if she knows the truth."

"But poor Mr. Stanley – consider his feelings – how needlessly you are making him suffer. He'll think that Miss Fitzgerald will never forgive him."

"And a good thing, too, for he's treated her very badly; he deserves to be made uncomfortable."

"What has he done?"

"Never mind. It's not a story for polite society. But he'll deserve all he gets, take my word for it. Now run along to the library and see if you can find our place in that old black letter book of the 'Lives of the Saints.' It'll be positively necessary for me to look up a reference or two before starting, to fortify myself for my journey;" and so saying he entered the house, feeling that in giving Belle the whip hand over the Secretary, he had more than compensated her for all she had done for him. But Lieutenant Kingsland was destined to find out that a whip – especially one with so long a lash – is apt to be a dangerous instrument in unqualified hands, and may even include the giver in its whistling sting.

Something over an hour later, the Lieutenant having been duly fortified, and dispatched on his journey, Lady Isabelle found herself closeted with her mother in the midst of a most trying scene. The Dowager had placed before her the manifest advantages of a union with the young diplomat, and her daughter, incautiously following her husband's short-sighted advice, had not only seemed to acquiesce in favour of the suit, but had even overdone the part, in the hopes of thereby inducing such amiability in her mother, as would lead her to be lenient concerning the final decision. The result of this was that Lady Isabelle had not, figuratively speaking, left herself a leg to stand on, and having admitted all her mother's arguments with a complaisance which could only argue their ultimate acceptance, came to a standstill the moment a definite answer was demanded. She agreed to all her mother said, but could not of herself say yes – or no.

Lady Port Arthur could only attribute her daughter's hesitation to one of two reasons, either maidenly modesty which prevented her acceding to her requests – "A most becoming motive, my dear" – the Dowager assured her – "and one that does you infinite credit, but which, in this instance, must give way to my superior wisdom, or else – ." Here the Marchioness expressed herself with a heat and bitterness which it would be hardly fair to put on record for cool and sober reading; referring to an "inherited obstinacy," which she assured her daughter had come direct from the late Lord Port Arthur, and had led to a certain amount of friction in her marital life, and concluding by remarking that – "this (obstinacy) I have determined to nip in the bud, and crush out with a stern hand."

She therefore requested an immediate answer. Lady Isabelle, not being of a strong nature, nor daring to brave her mother's wrath by a direct refusal, and feeling the impossibility of assent, replied that she had nothing further to say. This equivocal position proved to be most disastrous – for it left her mother free to lay down the law, which she proceeded to do.

"If," she said, "your refusal to answer is due to a foolish access of modesty, I shall reply in the affirmative for you, and Mr. Stanley will see the propriety of your attitude, and will, I am sure, excuse its apparent childishness. If, on the other hand, your motive is due to obstinacy, I consider myself privileged to interfere in order to save you from the results of your own foolishness, and I shall still accept for you. Should you so far forget yourself as to oppose my wishes, I shall feel that seclusion and rigorous measures will be necessary – we will leave to-morrow for a six months' course of mud baths in Northern Bavaria, which will be highly beneficial to me, and will give you ample time for reflection on the sins of undutifulness and obstinate pride."

The Dowager paused to watch the effect of her threat. It was all she could have desired.

Lady Isabelle knew Snollenbad by reputation; knew that it was a stuffy, dull, German, provincial town; loathed mud baths; longed for the gaieties of the world as a girl longs who has only had one season; and, worst of all, realised that the settlement of estates and the limitations of leave would make it a six months' exile from her husband. She hesitated, and the Dowager, relying on the proverb, felt that she had won.

"Give me half an hour to consider," she asked.

"There is nothing to consider," replied her mother. "You know what my course of action will be; the future will depend on yours; but you had better retire to your room and think matters over;" and she dismissed her with a gesture.

In spite of her words, however, the Dowager did not feel perfectly secure, and determined to clinch matters in a manner which, had her daughter suspected it, would have moved even that vacillating nature to rebellion. As it was, Lady Isabelle contemplated a confession to Stanley on his return from the drive, in direct disobedience to her husband's commands; which, at the eleventh hour, would have sealed her mother's lips by apprising her of the truth. But fate ordained otherwise, and the Secretary and Miss Fitzgerald were disgracefully late; giving them barely time to rush to their rooms, hurry into evening clothes, and appear in the drawing-room, flushed and breathless as the butler announced dinner.

CHAPTER XXIII
FORTY THOUSAND POUNDS

As the Secretary sat in the governess' cart finishing his second cigar, he reflected that if he had any strength of character he would never have lent his aid in countenancing a secret marriage between one of his best friends, and a man, who, he believed, could be proved guilty of something very nearly approaching treason to the Sovereign whose uniform he wore; nor, for that matter, would he be waiting for a girl who had insulted him by her suspicions of the evening before, and who had capped the climax by taking the refusal of him at her own valuation.

However, his reflections were cut short by the appearance of Miss Fitzgerald herself, who had not hurried so much as to be flushed or out of breath, and who had arrived with the fixed intention of keeping the Secretary away from the Hall during the entire afternoon.

"I'm awfully sorry to have kept you waiting so long," she said, mounting to the seat which faced him, he driving under her direction. "But you shall have your reward – for I've two bits of good news for you."

"That's encouraging," he replied, praying inwardly that one of them was the announcement of Lady Isabelle's marriage.

"In the first place, your friend Mr. Kent-Lauriston has arrived."

The Secretary's face did not express any excess of joy.

"Won't you be glad to see him?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied.

"He's an old friend of yours?"

"My oldest in England."

"How nice that he's here!" she said, a slight frown clouding her brows. "His coming will mean so much to you."

"Yes," said the Secretary meditatively, "I don't know how much," and there was silence between them for a while.

"And your second piece of news?" he asked suddenly, recollecting himself.

"Is, that your pet detestation is going away."

"You refer to Colonel Darcy?"

She nodded.

"Away from here?"

"Away from England."

"Really."

"You know so much about him, I thought you might have heard of it."

"Where is he going?"

"Abroad somewhere."

"Does he take his wife with him?"

She laughed light-heartedly, as though relieved from some oppression.

"No, I fancy not – in fact I think it is rather to escape her."

"Oh!" he said, and relapsed into silence. Then suddenly reverting to his original train of thought, which Darcy's name suggested, he spoke abruptly: —

"Why did you ask me to drive with you this afternoon?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you – no, I didn't – I wanted you to talk to me."

"About last night?"

"Yes."

"But it's impossible – if you can believe – !" he cried hotly.

"What Bob said, about you and his wife?" she interjected. "I don't, but it made me very angry just the same. You see, up to last night, you had been an ideal to me. Then suddenly you proposed to change all our relations; and just at that moment Bob came in and made those charges, which, though untrue, showed me how very human you would have to be to me if I accepted you, and I was bitter and lost my head."

"But if you didn't believe them, why did you refuse to give me a definite answer?"

"Because you'd brought me face to face with new conditions. I wanted to readjust myself to them."

"But if you love me – Do you love me?" he said earnestly.

"Yes, Jim," she replied, with a quiet seriousness that carried conviction to him, "I do love you."

"Really, love me?"

"Really, more than I have loved any man – ever."

"But then, how can you doubt?" and he turned impulsively towards her.

"You'd better keep both hands on the reins – the pony is only just broken. As I was saying – I love you – in my way – but that's not all, it's merely the beginning. If I only had to meet you for the rest of our lives at afternoon tea and dinner, and we had on our best clothes and our company manners, there would be no question – but you see there are breakfasts and luncheons to be considered. Suppose after our honeymoon was over I was to discover that you wanted to live at West Hempstead, or dined habitually at the National Liberal Club, or wore ready-made suits – it might wreck my life's happiness."

Her sincerity had disappeared, and her change in manner grated on him. He was certain she did not mean what she was saying, but he forced a laugh in replying: —

"Diplomats are not allowed to belong to political clubs, in the first place," he said, "and I've been told that well-cut clothes may be met with even at the N. L. C. Besides, if you loved me, it wouldn't really matter."

"Ah! But it might, and that's just the point. Either I love you, the real, imperfect, human you– and nothing else counts – or else I love the Secretary of the – Legation, in a frock coat or a dress suit, and everything does count. I've got to determine which. My feminine intuition will tell me that in an instant some day, and then I can answer you."

"Let us hope that your feminine intuition will make up its mind to act quickly then, for I must be getting back to London in a few days."

"Why?" she cried. "What have you to do?"

What indeed, when the canny old messenger the night before had told him that this beautiful girl was the main spring of the conspiracy he was here to crush? He did not believe that, but the whole conversation had revolted him – it was not decent somehow to discuss the most serious things of life flippantly. His face showed his feelings.

She was quick to take the cue.

"I doubt if you really know yourself," she continued. "Suppose Madame Darcy were unmarried – I have sometimes thought – "

"Suppose the impossible," he interrupted. "Suppose you should decide to drop her husband – "

"I wonder," she said, ignoring his petulant outburst, "if you would mind my asking you a very frank question?"

"About the Colonel?"

"Yes. You see I've been thinking a good deal of what you said the other night, but of course one can't throw over old friends without good cause – merely for marital infelicity – there are always two sides to those stories, you know. I was wondering if there was anything else – anything about him which you knew and I wouldn't be likely to – I've sometimes thought – that perhaps – " she paused and looked inquiringly at him.

The Secretary longed to tell her the truth; but remembering his Chief's instructions, and chastened by his late reverse, hardened his heart.

"As for that," he replied guardedly, "he doesn't bear an altogether savoury reputation, I've understood, but as my personal knowledge of his affairs dated with his wife's visit to me two or three days ago – my information is comparatively recent."

She smiled contentedly, and changed the subject, by suggesting that they should get out and walk. A long hill was before them, and since from the construction of governess carts the tendency of an up-grade is to put all the weight at the rear, it seemed advisable to descend.

"To give the pony a fighting chance," as the Secretary suggested.

Miss Fitzgerald complained that it was hot, and, barring the fact of cruelty to animals, a nuisance to have to climb the hill; saying which, she took off her hat, giving an unobstructed view of her hair.

If there is any excuse for the fact that the Secretary forgot his good resolutions, it must lie in the heart of the reader, who perhaps has been young some time himself, and had the exquisite pleasure of driving during a long, perfect English afternoon, through glorious wooded lanes, and all the picturesque antiquity which England alone knows, with a winsome Irish girl, with a peaches-and-cream complexion, a ravishing laugh, bewitching blue eyes, and golden hair loose upon her shoulders, which a madcap wind whipped in his face.

"I think it's glorious," said Stanley, reverting to the landscape, a little later, when the conversation had turned to less serious topics, "There's no country like England – but it's comparable to the little girl of the nursery rhyme —

 
"When it is good, it is very very good,
And when it is bad, it is horrid."
 

"I'm glad to see you appreciate it at its true worth. Isn't this scene perfect – but think of it in a November fog," she said.

"Think of those people wasting their afternoon on the lawn at the Hall, drinking bitter tea and eating heavy cake."

"I dare say some of them are above those things," replied Belle.

"Lady Isabelle and the Lieutenant?" queried the Secretary.

"Lady Isabelle and the Lieutenant," she acquiesced. "I wonder if there is really anything serious in that affair?"

She said this to probe Stanley, and, as a result, she put him on his guard.

"What do you think?" he asked cautiously. "I imagine the Dowager could never be induced to approve of it."

"The Marchioness!" cried Belle scornfully, as, having reached the summit of the hill with a long, downward slope before them, they remounted into the cart. "She doesn't count."

"Oh, doesn't she?" said the Secretary. "She counts a great deal, as" – he added half to himself – "I ought to know."

They had already turned homewards and were rattling down the hill, and at that moment they swung at top speed round a corner, to come upon a wrecked luggage cart, which blocked the whole road. Without hesitation, Stanley pulled the pony up on its haunches, bringing them to a stop with a tremendous jerk, within three feet of the obstacle; nearly throwing them out, and driving, for the time being, all thoughts of their interrupted conversation from the Secretary's head.

"Why, Tim!" he said, recognising the driver as one of Mrs. Roberts' servants. "You've had a spill!"

"Axle broke, sir. That's what it is, and if it hadn't been as the carrier" – indicating a second cart on the further side – "had happened to come up just now, I don't know as Mister Kingsland would have got his luggage."

"Lieutenant – Kingsland – is he going away?"

"Why, didn't you know that, sir? Called sudden on the death of his uncle – Miss Fitzgerald there – she – "

"Don't spend all the afternoon gossiping, Tim," broke in that young lady, sharply – "but attend to your work. Drive round somehow, can't you?" – she continued, addressing the Secretary – "or we shall be late for dinner?"

"Don't you see it's impossible? Besides I want to help Tim."

"Nonsense, turn round and we'll drive back – some other way. Tim and the carrier can help themselves," she cried petulantly.

"I'm not so sure of that," drawled the driver. "Them chests are powful heavy – for all the Lieutenant said they contained glass picture slides – it's more like lead."

"Mr. Riddle's slides, eh?" said Stanley, jumping down, despite his fair companion's remonstrances. "Then we mustn't let Lieutenant Kingsland go without them;" and he seized the handle of one of the boxes, and pulling it off the partially overturned cart, dragged it along the road, while Miss Fitzgerald sat holding the pony, and biting her lips in ill-disguised vexation.

"Gad! They are heavy!" admitted the Secretary, as, with the carrier's help, he swung it into the cart, and returned for another.

Four were transported safely, but in lifting the fifth chest, whose cover seemed a trifle loose, Stanley turned his foot on a round stone, and losing his grip on the handle, the chest fell to the ground bottom side up.

"No great harm done, we'll hope," he said, righting it, and helping the carrier to lift it beside the others.

"Why, bless me," ejaculated that official, "if there ain't a bran new sovereign lying in the dust!"

The Secretary regarded it critically, and plunging his hands into his trousers pockets, fished out a lot of loose change, which he examined carefully, saying:

"I must have dropped it in bending over; thank you for finding it. There's a shilling for your trouble." And straightening up, he realised that Miss Fitzgerald was regarding him intently.

Half an hour later the wreck was sufficiently cleared for them to resume their homeward way.

The remainder of the afternoon was not a success, including, as it did, a drive home in the teeth of a wind which had suddenly sprung up; which, finding them hot and dusty, left them at their destination cold and cross, and utterly fagged out; Stanley with a twinge of rheumatism, devoutly hoping that Lady Isabelle had got it over, and Miss Fitzgerald with a splitting headache, realising that she had lost a move in the game.

They both looked forward to dinner as a salve for all evils, though when they entered the drawing-room just in time to go down, they were naturally surprised, Miss Fitzgerald at being committed to the charge of Kent-Lauriston, and the Secretary to Lady Isabelle – for the latter of which arrangements the Dowager was directly responsible – indeed, she had held an interview with her hostess a few minutes before, which had left that lady very much excited.

As soon as they were seated at table, he noticed that he was separated from Miss Fitzgerald as far as might be, so he lost no time in putting Lady Isabelle at her ease by engaging her in conversation. Knowing what he did, he felt that to give her a chance to talk about her husband would be most acceptable to her, and probably useful to him; so, noting his absence, he told her of accidentally hearing of his departure.

"I suppose," he said, "that as he was carrying so much of value, he'll stop in London before going north?"

"Of value," she said. "I do not understand."

"Why, five cases of stereopticon slides for Mr. Riddle. I helped the carrier to reload them, and very heavy they were."

"He said nothing to me of it," she replied; "but he certainly is going to stop in London one night."

"I wish I'd known, I'd have asked him to cash a cheque for me. It's so hard to do that sort of thing in the country, and I imagine we bank at the same place."

"He banks at the Victoria Street branch of the Bank of England. I'm sure he would have been glad to have done it for you."

"Thanks, but it really doesn't matter," replied Stanley, who, having thus learned the probable destination of Mr. Riddle's chests of sovereigns was contented to change the subject, saying: "I do hope that the Lieutenant unburdened his soul to your mother before he left."

She then told him all the events of the afternoon, even the interview with her mother, the whole in a conversational tone of voice. The Secretary sat dazed as the magnitude of what he had let himself in for dawned upon him; and her Ladyship's eager explanations and apologies, which presently died down to a whisper, as there came a lull in the conversation, fell unheeded on his ears. Suddenly he became intuitively aware that everyone was looking at him – no, at them. His hostess was making a feeble attempt to smile at him from far down the table – he felt a horrible premonition of coming catastrophe; he looked at Lady Isabelle, she was white to the lips.

"My friends," came Mrs. Roberts' voice, trembling a little, "Lady Port Arthur has just told me some interesting news, with the request that I would transmit it to you all; so I am going to ask you to drink your first glass of champagne this evening in honour of the engagement of Lady Isabelle McLane and Mr. Aloysius Stanley."