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CHAPTER XXIV
A VERY AWKWARD PREDICAMENT

Had Mrs. Roberts' interests not led her in another direction, she must have felt no small gratification at the effect which her speech produced. It was a great coup for any hostess, and of tremendous force, because absolutely unexpected.

A number of guests had been invited for this particular evening to swell the party, making a dinner of sixteen, and it was delightful to witness the manner in which they took the announcement. The men received it in silence, while the women broke instantly into a confused, joyous cackled exclamation, surprise and curiosity.

The Dowager was the person who probably derived the most satisfaction from the scene, for her work was over and she could survey it calmly; but Stanley, though the table and the guests whirled before his eyes, caught some lightning glimpses of various expressions, which he was destined never to forget.

He saw the Marchioness' satisfied smile, which said as plainly as words could: "There, what did I tell you? You see how successfully I have brought about this affair." He caught the glance of sympathy which his hostess shot at Miss Fitzgerald, and he caught the glance of vindictive rage which that young lady bestowed upon him, though he did not see the smile which followed it.

It needed no one to tell Miss Fitzgerald that she held the whip now, or to teach her how to use it. Her lover should smart for this.

One other glimpse the Secretary caught in that moment – a disgusted shrug of the shoulders from Kent-Lauriston, and this latter hurt him the most keenly of all. He wondered how all these people could be so stupid as not to see the ghastly mistake they were making, the awful position in which they were placing them both; and then he understood that Lady Isabelle's pallor and his own flushed face might as easily be traced to natural embarrassment as to utter confusion. What a shocking complication – but if it was so bad for him, what must it be for her? Thank Heavens, he was not to blame for it – he had only done what she had asked him. What would people say when they learned the truth? What would Inez think – what – Good Heavens! Why were all the men rising from their seats? He must rise too – to drink his health. He felt fairly dazed from agitation. They drained their glasses, he drank with them. The champagne served to steady him; he was himself once more, ready to do battle for his honour and hers. What was that they were saying – some idiot at the far end of the table was crying "Speech – Speech!" Stanley made a mental note that, despite laws against duelling, he'd run him through before breakfast to-morrow morning, or know the reason why. Now all the others were taking it up, every one was crying: "Speech! Speech! Speech!" Good Heavens, what could he say! Would it not be better to stand up and tell the truth of this miserable matter? One look at the bent head of Lady Isabelle, and her nervous fingers clutching the tablecloth, determined his course of action – he could not expose her to the criticism of this table of scandal-mongers. She sat there, almost fainting, hanging on his every word; chivalry, honour, manliness, left but one course open – he must sacrifice himself to save her. The future would decide itself – his duty lay clear before him. He saw that he must speak – and that he must by his words deceive the company, and yet not compromise either her or himself. He raised his hand to command attention; the rest sat down – it gave him thirty seconds for reflection, an infinitesimal amount of time in which to take action, but ample space in which to take thought: then he spoke: —

"My friends: —

"You have just done us the honour to drink a toast to our united happiness. I thank you for your kind intention. Those who are already married have, by drinking this toast, very gracefully assured me of my own future happiness, and those who are single have given me the opportunity to express a hearty wish that it may some day be my privilege to drink a similar toast to them."

Had Mr. Stanley never given other evidence of his fitness for a diplomatic career, this speech alone would have conclusively furnished it. He resumed his seat, and the look of gratitude which his companion gave him was sufficient reward.

How that dinner passed off the Secretary never knew. It was a horrible nightmare, and it seemed interminable; but it did come to an end at last, and he repaired to the smoking-room where even a worse purgatory awaited him. Kent-Lauriston distinctly avoided him, the rest evidently regarded him as their lawful prey. His over-taxed nerves were beginning to give way. He laughed hysterically, threw his cigar into the fireplace, and, begging to be excused, left the room. A burst of laughter followed him. He knew what it meant – every action of his must henceforth be misinterpreted.

His appearance in the drawing-room was the signal for a preparatory giggle, and then an, only too apparent, ignoring of his presence, accompanied by meaning glances towards the conservatory. He took the hint, and went in that direction, to find Lady Isabelle weeping her eyes out on a divan.

"There's no use crying over spilt milk," he said to her, cheerfully; "but you must admit it's a deuce of a mess."

"How can I ever sufficiently thank you, Mr. Stanley?" she exclaimed, looking up at him in undisguised admiration. "You were splendid."

"Oh, not at all – but I'll admit your mother's announcement rather staggered me."

"I tried to prepare you."

"I'm afraid you didn't succeed," he replied coldly, for he felt that he had been ill-used.

"I assure you," she said, "if I'd had the remotest idea of what mamma intended doing, I would have faced all possibilities and told her the truth, rather than have exposed you to what has occurred. I can never, never forgive myself for it."

"It was really more my fault than yours. I gave your mother permission to announce our engagement whenever you gave your consent."

"I never gave it!" she cried.

"Of course," he continued, "I never supposed that your mother would so far forget herself as to force you."

"You mustn't be too hard on mamma."

"Under the circumstances you could hardly expect me to be lenient; I think we'd better agree to change the subject."

She bowed silently.

"There's one thing, however, that you can do to help me," he continued.

Lady Isabelle shivered as she saw the approach of the dreaded request, and asked:

"What is that?"

"You can go to Miss Fitzgerald and tell her the truth. No statement of mine, unsupported by you, would have any credence in her ears after what has passed. You're the only person whose word can right me in her estimation."

"Mr. Stanley," she replied slowly, and with evident exertion, "I cannot tell you the pain, the chagrin, which it gives me to refuse your request."

"You won't do it!" he cried, utterly amazed.

"I can't do it."

"But do you realise the position in which you place me with Miss Fitzgerald?" he protested, unwilling to believe his ears.

"Perfectly – only too keenly," she replied. "The knowledge that I've wronged you in her estimation is the bitterest part of the whole matter. I feel it much more than my own position in the affair."

"And knowing this you can still refuse to interfere in my behalf, when a word from you would set all right."

"I deeply regret it, Mr. Stanley, but I must."

He stood looking at her for a moment in the deepest scorn. Had he sacrificed himself for a woman like this?

"Don't think too hardly of me," she pleaded; "believe me, I have reasons."

"I've only this to say, Lady Isabelle," he replied coldly. "Until you absolve me from the unfortunate position in which your foolishness and weakness have placed me, my good name, my honour, and my future prospects are in your hands. Your conscience should tell you how far you have the right to trifle with them," and turning on his heel he left the conservatory.

After the departure of the Secretary, Lady Isabelle lost no time in seeking out Miss Fitzgerald, who had retired to her chamber.

To pursue a woman who believes that you have cruelly wronged her was a bold undertaking, but if she could not assure the Secretary that she would right him in his lady's eyes, her duty, under the circumstances, was all the more imperative to do so without delay; so summoning all her courage to her aid, she ascended to Miss Fitzgerald's chamber, and knocked timidly; so timidly, indeed, that at first she was not heard, and was compelled to knock again.

"Come in," called Belle.

Her Ladyship partially opened the door.

"It's I," she said.

"Lady Isabelle!" exclaimed Miss Fitzgerald, in unfeigned surprise, rising to receive her visitor. "You're the last person I expected to see!"

"I must beg your pardon for intruding upon your privacy, but I felt I must come to you the first moment that I was able."

"Really?"

"I owe you an explanation, Miss Fitzgerald."

Belle looked at her proudly and coldly, with the air of an insulted queen. It was not often she had the chance to triumph over a lady of title, and she enjoyed it thoroughly.

"You owe me more than an explanation," she said, and indicating a chair for her guest, they both sat down.

"Of course, you're aware that Mr. Stanley cannot be engaged to me," Lady Isabelle began, after some hesitation, in which Belle gave her no help, for she knew this interview was her real punishment.

"I should hardly have supposed so," replied Miss Fitzgerald, and lapsed into silence.

"I" – Lady Isabelle began, covered with confusion – "I – the fact is – I asked him to propose to me."

"You asked him to propose to you?"

"I don't wonder you are surprised; but the facts of the case are these. My mother asked Mr. Stanley his intentions last evening. Being engaged to you, he naturally had none."

"Mr. Stanley is not engaged to me."

"I beg your pardon, I thought – "

"He has proposed to me, I admit; but I must say his conduct doesn't prejudice me in his favour."

"But you mustn't allow this to injure him, Miss Fitzgerald. Really you must not."

"A man who could accept a lady who had so far forgotten herself as to propose to him – "

"Pray let me state my case before judging me," pleaded her Ladyship, ready to sink through the floor with mortification.

"Proceed, Lady Isabelle," said her tormentor.

"Mr. Stanley told me of his interview with my mother, who, I knew, was very anxious to make a match between us. This morning I discovered that she intended to go to early service. You know what that would have involved."

Miss Fitzgerald nodded.

"I tried every means to deter her, but in vain. Then, as a last resort – I admit it was very wrong to do so – I asked Mr. Stanley to intercept my mother on her way to the church, and make her a proposal for my hand, as I knew this was the only way to detain her, telling him that I was about to be married, and that I would tell her the truth to-day."

Miss Fitzgerald drew a sharp breath.

"Then he knows that you're a married woman?"

"He knew that I was to be, before the ceremony."

The Irish girl gave a contented little sigh, and murmured to herself – "So he did know after all."

Then waking up to the immediate present, she continued, with exaggerated courtesy: —

"Your Ladyship has not, I think, finished your story. You promised Mr. Stanley that you would tell your mother the truth – but you have not done so."

"No, I have not, and for the following reasons. My husband, as you know, received a telegram apprising him of the fact that a relative, who was dying, intended leaving him a large fortune, and required his immediate presence. He forbade me to speak till he came back, and insisted that I must hold out the prospect of my engagement with Mr. Stanley as a bait to keep my mother here till he could return to me. She, however, pressed me for an answer, and on my refusing to commit myself either way, took matters into her own hands, as we have seen. I assure you entirely without the knowledge of Mr. Stanley or myself."

"I see. You feel it necessary to continue this bogus engagement, for the present."

"I'm between two fires, Miss Fitzgerald: obedience to my husband's commands, and the reparation I owe to you."

"What does Jimsy say?"

"Mr. Stanley has, of course, behaved like a gentleman, and left the matter for me to decide. I'm in a most dreadful position, either way I must wrong some one."

"I'll spare your conscience, Lady Isabelle. I shan't require you to break your engagement with the Secretary."

"But you'll forgive him, will you not? It was not his fault, really."

"You seem to forget that I've not accepted him as yet."

"But you'll not let this prejudice your ultimate decision. Promise me that?"

"Yes, I'll promise – for I don't think there's anything proved against him in this matter, except that he's weak, and I did not need you to tell me that."

"He's a very large heart, Miss Fitzgerald."

"He has," assented that lady. "Of which I've had ample evidence in the last few days."

"You've been so gracious to me in this matter," continued Lady Isabelle, "that unsuitable as the occasion is, I'm going to venture to ask you a favour.

"And what is that, your Ladyship?"

"Mr. Stanley doesn't know that you're aware of my marriage, and for some reason which I don't understand, my husband forbade me to tell him of the fact unless I had your permission; so he fancies that he's put himself in a worse position than is really the case. Do allow me to tell him the truth. Poor fellow, he's so unhappy."

"No," replied Miss Fitzgerald, a gleam of triumph lighting up her face, as she realised the power which Kingsland had placed in her hands. "Your husband is quite right; there are excellent reasons why he should not be told; besides he deserves to be miserable, he's treated me very badly."

"In that case," said Lady Isabelle, stiffly, rising to go, "I've nothing more to say."

"Quite right, Lady Isabelle, and may I give you a parting word of caution? When your husband, Lieutenant Kingsland, advises a course of action, follow it blindly."

"Really, Miss Fitzgerald!" exclaimed her Ladyship, bridling up at the Irish girl's remark.

"Good-night, Lady Isabelle," murmured Belle in her silkiest tones, opening the door, and laughing softly to herself, as her visitor rustled away in the distance. Then she leaned over the staircase and listened. No sound met her ears, but her eyes beheld the disconsolate figure of the Secretary, standing alone in the hall below. She tripped noiselessly down, and, arriving within a few paces of him unnoticed, drew herself up haughtily, and said, in her most chilling tones: —

"Will you kindly permit me to pass, Mr. Stanley?"

"Belle – Miss Fitzgerald," he cried. "I must have a few words with you – I must explain."

"It's not necessary, Mr. Stanley. I've already heard a detailed account of the affair from Lady Isabelle's mother."

On the verity of the statement we will not attempt to pass judgment; suffice it to say, that it simply staggered the young diplomat.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "I – it's not true, believe me, it's not true."

"Do I understand you to insinuate that the Marchioness has prevaricated?"

"No, no, of course not; but it's all a mistake. I can explain – really."

"Mr. Stanley, answer me one question. Did you or did you not give the Marchioness to understand, in your interview with her this morning, that you wished to marry her daughter?"

"Why, yes – I suppose I did – but, then, you see – "

"That is quite sufficient. Good-night."

"If you'd only let me explain!"

"Good-night, Mr. Stanley," she repeated icily, and swept past him into the drawing-room.

CHAPTER XXV
THE RUSTLE OF A SKIRT

"You graceless young dog!" cried Kent-Lauriston, falling upon Stanley in a half-feigned, half-real burst of anger, as he entered the smoking-room after his encounter with Belle. "Do you know you've caused me to refuse invitations by the score, and dragged me down to this God-forsaken place, at the most impossible season of the year, on false pretences?"

"False pretences! How so?"

"Why? You shameless Lothario! Why? Because what's left of my conscience smote me for leaving a lamb amidst a pack of wolves, and wouldn't let me rest; nearly destroyed my digestion, I give you my word. I came down to pluck your innocence alive from the burning, and I've been a fool for my pains. Why, confound you, I not only find you épris with Madame Darcy, but engaged to both the Fitzgerald and Lady Isabelle."

"My dear Kent-Lauriston, pray soothe your ruffled feelings; your logic is excellent, but your premises are one and all false."

"What!"

"I say there's nothing between Madame Darcy and myself, and that I'm neither engaged to Miss Fitzgerald nor Lady Isabelle."

"But, my dear Stanley, I've heard – "

"But, my dear Kent-Lauriston, you've heard wrongly."

"What – isn't Madame Darcy here?"

"Yes."

"And haven't you seen her?"

"Yes."

"And walked with her early in the morning?"

"Yes."

"And breakfasted with her, tête-à-tête at a farmhouse?"

"Yes."

"And hasn't her husband challenged you to a duel on her account?"

"Yes."

"And didn't he, moreover, catch you in the act of proposing to Miss Fitzgerald?"

"Yes."

"And haven't you asked the Marchioness for Lady Isabelle's hand?"

"Yes."

"And in the face of all this – you attempt to deny – "

"In the face of all this – circumstantial evidence – I'm quite prepared to deny everything. Would you like to hear the facts of the case?"

"Rather!"

As will have been inferred, the two men had the smoking-room entirely to themselves, and the best part of an hour passed before the Secretary had finished his account of events with which the reader is familiar.

Kent-Lauriston heard him out with great interest, and after drawing a long breath, at the close of his recital, remarked: —

"I think I shall be fully repaid for any inconvenience to which I've put myself on your account. This whole affair is most interesting, and, believe me, there's more in it than appears on the surface."

"I feel the same way myself," replied the Secretary; "but let us hear your views on the subject."

"First," replied his friend, "you must assure me of how you yourself stand. Are you still in your unregenerate state, or have you yet begun to see the fruits of your folly?"

The young diplomat was silent for a long time, but finally he said, looking up into Kent-Lauriston's face with an almost appealing glance:

"I'm afraid you would think me awfully caddish if I told you the truth about it."

"About the state of your affections for Miss Fitzgerald, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Of course, I shouldn't think you justified in making a public declaration of a change of sentiment, because it might seem to reflect on the lady, but in my case it's very different. Having spoken so frankly and freely on the subject already, I might almost say that you owe it to me to continue to do so. Certainly I've given you no cause for reticence by anything I've done, and, as certainly, you must confide fully in me if you wish my help in the future."

"Well, then, the truth is," he blurted out, "that you were right and I was wrong, and I've found it out too late."

"I thought as much."

"But I'm not going back on my word. If I've made a mistake, I must suffer for it; and if Miss Fitzgerald accepts my proposal, which she now has under consideration, I shall live up to my part of the agreement; and if I can prevent it, she shall never suspect that I would have matters otherwise. If she should refuse me, however – "

"You'd make a fool of yourself just the same," continued Kent-Lauriston, "by jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire, and marrying Madame Darcy the instant she obtained her divorce."

"Kent-Lauriston," Stanley exclaimed, "you know a d – d sight too much!"

The Englishman laughed softly, and then resumed the thread of his discourse.

"Now that I understand your position – " he began.

"Do you understand it?"

"Better than you do yourself, I fancy; let me see if I can state it. You've proposed to Miss Fitzgerald, and she has taken the question of marrying you into consideration; since which time you have come to the conclusion, for reasons which we will not specify out of consideration for your feelings, that, if she refuses, or could be induced to refuse you, you'd accept the decision without an appeal. Am I correct?"

The Secretary nodded gloomily.

"Under the circumstances, do you give me permission to do what I can to effect your release?"

"Do what you please."

"I'll do my best. Now what induced you to propose to her against your better judgment? Did she lead you on?"

"No, certainly not – if you suppose – !"

"Well, something must have started you up."

"Charges were made against her. I thought it my duty to tell her what had been said – "

"How did she receive it?"

"She accused me of being a false friend, of not having defended her."

"And you proposed – when – that day?"

"No, the next night."

"I see, the next night; because you thought it your duty to protect her."

"Confound you. You read me like a book."

"An open page is easy reading. Now who made the charges?"

"Kingsland."

"I thought so. Whom did they concern?"

"Darcy."

"Exactly. And at the very moment that you were asking her to give you the right to protect her from men of Darcy's stamp – he turns up and proves you the worst of the lot."

"And she – I wonder she didn't refuse me out of hand."

"I wonder she didn't accept you – but let that pass. All I wish to point out to you is this: – Kingsland drove you by the charges he made against Darcy to propose to Miss Fitzgerald. What was his motive for doing so?"

"Friendship for Miss Fitzgerald."

"Would that be likely to induce him to make serious charges against her?"

"Friendship for me."

"Nonsense! I know the man. He did it because it paid him to do it."

"How was that possible?"

"I can suggest one motive. The removal of the obstacles preventing Lady Isabelle's secret marriage. Now who could have effected this? Not Lady Isabelle, she never had the audacity to carry out such a scheme; not Kingsland, he hasn't brains enough; our hostess is above suspicion; in fact there's only one person who could have conceived and carried out the plan to its successful conclusion – namely, Miss Fitzgerald."

"What grounds have you for proving it?"

"Was she with the parson at all, before the ceremony?"

"I knew you'd ask that question!"

"Then she was."

"Twice, on the days just preceding – to my knowledge."

"That's sufficient."

"Not for me."

"Then I'll tell you where we can find the missing link of evidence."

"Where?"

"In the marriage register of the church. Find the names of the witnesses, and you'll find the people who have carried it through. If you'll kindly leave it in my hands, I'll verify my statements to-morrow morning. I'd prefer that you did not do it yourself."

"As you please. But even admitting you're right, it doesn't give the cause for the motive."

"Oh, yes, it does – Miss Fitzgerald's intervention in this matter was the price of Kingsland's egging you on to propose."

"Nonsense!"

"I'll lay you a thousand to one on it."

Stanley shrugged his shoulders, saying: —

"But your own arguments defeat you, my dear fellow. If Miss Fitzgerald was such a calculating person, why should she put herself out, and run the risk of compromising herself, merely to induce the Lieutenant to play upon my jealousy, when, as you've already shown, and I've admitted, I was so weak as to make such strategy unnecessary."

"Perhaps that was not the only favour Miss Fitzgerald looked for, and the Lieutenant's hands – "

"What do you mean?"

"Well, taking five chests for her to London."

"Oh," said the Secretary, much relieved, "I know all about that. I quite assure you it has nothing to do with Miss Fitzgerald."

"But I heard her asking Kingsland to take them up for her this afternoon, and to put them in his bank."

"Look here, Kent-Lauriston, your dislike for poor Belle must have got the better of your common sense. You certainly misinterpreted what she said. Those chests belong to Mr. Riddle."

Kent-Lauriston changed the subject.

"What is Colonel Darcy here for?"

"He says, to watch his wife."

"What is she here for?"

"She says she has letters written to her husband by some member of this household, which have aroused her suspicions."

"That sounds more promising. Who is this person?"

"A woman of course – but she only knows her Christian name."

"And that is?"

"She will not tell me."

"Ah!" said Kent-Lauriston drily.

"I've sources of information about Darcy, which I'm not at liberty to give you," resumed Stanley, "but you're not on the right track, believe me."

"Time will prove the correctness of some of my theories, at least," replied his mentor, "and I shall be better able to talk when I've seen the marriage register. Now let's have something to drink, and go to bed;" and he pressed the bell.

An interval having elapsed without an answer, he rang again, but no servant appeared.

"It must be later than I thought. We'll have to shift for ourselves. There'll be something going in the billiard-room."

"Hark!" said Stanley. "There's somebody in the hall; it's probably the butler shutting up for the night."

They both listened, and a peculiar, shuffling, scraping sound became audible.

"That's a curious noise," said the Secretary. "Let's see what it means," and, suiting the action to the word, he threw open the smoking-room door.

The light in the hall was turned out, and the sombre black oak panelling made the great apartment seem darker than it really was. Absolute stillness reigned. It was, to all appearance, empty.

"Must have been rats," said the Secretary. "Everyone seems to have retired."

"Have they?" said Kent-Lauriston.

"Listen!"

And both could have sworn that they heard, far up the hall, the dying rustle of a skirt. But there were some things that Stanley had no wish to know, and he set his face and his steps towards the stairs, continuing: —

"As I was saying, we are the only people up.

"Then we'd better go to bed."

"By all means."

"Shall I turn out the electric lights in the smoking-room?"

"Yes, we're evidently the last."

A moment later they stood on the upper landing about to separate for the night.

"The woman was behind that screen at the foot of the stairs," said Kent-Lauriston.

"Yes, I know," replied the Secretary.

"Good-night, my dear Stanley."

"Good-night, old man. You possess a rare talent."

"Yes?"

"You know when not to ask questions."