Kitabı oku: «Love Works Wonders: A Novel», sayfa 8
CHAPTER XX.
CAPTAIN LANGTON DESPERATE
A short period of calm fell upon Darrell Court. Miss Darrell's passion seemed to have exhausted itself.
"I will never believe," she said one day to Miss Hastings, "that Sir Oswald meant what he said. I am beginning to think it was merely a threat – the Darrells are all hot-tempered."
But Miss Hastings had heard more than she liked to tell her pupil, and she knew that what the baronet had said was not only quite true, but that preparations for the marriage had actually commenced.
"I am afraid it was no threat, Pauline," she said, sadly.
"Then let the new-comer beware," said the girl, her face darkening. "Whoever she may be, let her beware. I might have been a good woman, but this will make me a wicked one. I shall live only for revenge."
A change came over her. The improvement that Miss Hastings had so fondly noticed, and of which she had been so proud, died away. Pauline seemed no longer to take any interest in reading or study. She would sit for hours in gloomy, sullen silence, with an abstracted look on her face. What was passing in her mind no one knew. Miss Hastings would go to her, and try to rouse her; but Pauline grew impatient.
"Do leave me in peace," she would say. "Leave me to my own thoughts. I am framing my plans."
And the smile that came with the words filled poor Miss Hastings with terrible apprehensions as to the future of her strange, willful pupil.
The captain was still at the Court. He had had some vague idea of rushing off to London; but a letter from one of his most intimate friends warned him to keep out of the way until some arrangement could be made about his affairs. More than one angry creditor was waiting for him; indeed, the gallant captain had brought his affairs to such a pass that his appearance in London without either money or the hope of it would have been highly dangerous.
He was desperate. Sir Oswald had hinted to him, since the failure of their plan, that he should not be forgotten in his will. He would have borrowed money from him but for that hint; but he did not care to risk the loss of many thousand pounds for the sake of fifteen hundred.
Fifteen hundred – that was all he wanted. If he could have gone back to London the betrothed husband of Pauline Darrell, he could have borrowed as many thousands; but that chance was gone; and he could have cursed the girlish caprice that deprived him of so splendid a fortune. In his heart fierce love and fierce hate warred together; there were times when he felt that he loved Pauline with a passion words could not describe; and at other times he hated her with something passing common hate. They spoke but little; Miss Darrell spent as much time as possible in her own rooms. Altogether the domestic atmosphere at Darrell Court had in it no sunshine; it was rather the brooding, sullen calm that comes before a storm.
The day came when the Court was invaded by an army of workmen, when a suit of rooms was fitted up in the most superb style, and people began to talk of the coming change. Pauline Darrell kept so entirely aloof from all gossip, from all friends and visitors, that she was the last to hear on whom Sir Oswald's choice had fallen. But one day the baronet gave a dinner-party at which the ladies of the house were present, and there was no mistaking the allusions made.
Pauline Darrell's face grew dark as she listened. So, then, the threat was to be carried out, and the grand old place that she had learned to love with the deepest love of her heart was never to be hers! She gave no sign; the proud face was very pale, and the dark eyes had in them a scornful gleam, but no word passed her lips.
Sir Oswald was radiant, he had never been seen in such high spirits; his friends had congratulated him, every one seemed to approve so highly of his resolution; a fair and gentle wife was ready for him – one so fair and gentle that it seemed to the old man as though the lost love of his youth had returned to him. Who remembered the bitter, gnawing disappointment of the girl who had cared so little about making herself friends?
The baronet was so delighted, and everything seemed so bright and smiling, that he resolved upon an act of unusual generosity. His guests went away early, and he retired to the library for a few minutes. The captain followed the ladies to the drawing-room, and, while pretending to read, sat watching Pauline's face, and wondering how he was to pay his debts.
To ask for the loan of fifteen hundred pounds would be to expose his affairs to Sir Oswald. He must confess then that he had gambled on the turf and at play. If once the stately old baronet even suspected such a thing, there was no further hope of a legacy – the captain was quite sure of that. His anxiety was terrible, and it was all occasioned by that proud, willful girl whose beautiful face was turned resolutely from him.
Sir Oswald entered the room with a smile on his face, and, going up to Aubrey Langton, slipped a folded paper into his hands.
"Not a word of thanks," he said; "if you thank me, I shall be offended."
And Aubrey, opening the paper, found that it was a check for five hundred pounds.
"I know what life in London costs," said Sir Oswald; "and you are my old friend's son."
Five hundred pounds! He was compelled to look exceedingly grateful, but it was difficult. The gift was very welcome, but there was this great drawback attending it – it was not half sufficient to relieve him from his embarrassments, and it would quite prevent his asking Sir Oswald for a loan. He sighed deeply in his dire perplexity.
Still smiling, the baronet went to the table where Pauline and Miss Hastings sat. He stood for some minutes looking at them.
"I must not let you hear the news of my good fortune from strangers," he said; "it is only due to you that I should inform you that in one month from to-day I hope to have the honor and happiness of making Miss Elinor Rocheford my wife."
Miss Hastings in a few cautious words wished him joy; Pauline's white lips opened, but no sound escaped them. Sir Oswald remained for some minutes talking to Miss Hastings, and then he crossed the room and rang the bell.
"Pauline, my dearest child!" whispered the anxious governess.
Miss Darrell looked at her with a terrible smile.
"It would have been better for her," she said, slowly, "that she had never been born."
"Pauline!" cried the governess. But she said no more.
A footman entered the room, to whom Sir Oswald spoke.
"Go to my study," he said, "and bring me a black ebony box that you will find locked in my writing-table. Here are the keys."
The man returned in a few minutes, bearing the box in his hands. Sir Oswald took it to the table where the lamps shone brightly.
"Aubrey," he said, "will you come here? I have a commission for you."
Captain Langton followed him to the table, and some remark about the fashion of the box drew the attention of all present to it. Sir Oswald raised the lid, and produced a diamond ring.
"You are going over to Audleigh Royal to-morrow, Aubrey," he said; "will you leave this with Stamford, the jeweler? I have chosen a new setting for the stone. I wish to present it to Miss Hastings as a mark of my deep gratitude to her."
Miss Hastings looked up in grateful wonder. Sir Oswald went on talking about the contents of the ebony box. He showed them many quaint treasures that it contained; among other things he took out a roll of bank-notes.
"That is not a very safe method of keeping money, Sir Oswald," said Miss Hastings.
"No, you are right," he agreed. "Simpson's clerk paid it to me the other day; I was busy, and I put it there until I had time to take the numbers of the notes."
"Do you keep notes without preserving a memorandum of their numbers, Sir Oswald?" inquired Aubrey Langton. "That seems to me a great risk."
"I know it is not prudent; but there is no fear. I have none but honest and faithful servants about me. I will take the numbers and send the notes to the bank to-morrow."
"Yes," said Miss Hastings, quietly, "it is better to keep temptation from servants."
"There is no fear," he returned. "I always put the box away, and I sleep with my keys under my pillow."
Sir Oswald gave Captain Langton a few directions about the diamond, and then the ladies withdrew.
"Sir Oswald," said Captain Langton, "let me have a cigar with you to-night. I must not thank you, but if you knew how grateful I feel – "
"I will put away the box first, and then we will have a glass of wine, Aubrey."
The baronet went to his study, and the captain to his room; but in a few minutes they met again, and Sir Oswald ordered a bottle of his choicest Madeira. They sat talking for some time, and Sir Oswald told Aubrey all his plans – all that he intended to do. The young man listened, with envy and dissatisfaction burning in his heart. All these plans, these hopes, these prospects, might have been his but for that girl's cruel caprice.
They talked for more than an hour; and then Sir Oswald complained of feeling sleepy.
"The wine does not seem to have its usual flavor to-night," he said; "there is something wrong with this bottle."
"I thought the same thing," observed Aubrey Langton; "but I did not like to say so. I will bid you good-night, as you are tired. I shall ride over to Audleigh Royal early in the morning, so I may not be here for breakfast."
They shook hands and parted, Sir Oswald murmuring something about his Madeira, and the captain feeling more desperate than ever.
CHAPTER XXI.
MYSTERIOUS ROBBERY
The sun shone on Darrell Court; the warmth and brightness of the day were more than pleasant. The sunbeams fell on the stately trees, the brilliant flowers. There was deep silence in the mansion. Captain Langton had been gone some hours. Sir Oswald was in his study. Pauline sat with Miss Hastings under the shade of the cedar on the lawn. She had a book in her hands, but she had not turned a page. Miss Hastings would fain have said something to her about inattention, but there was a look in the girl's face that frightened her – a proud, hard, cold look that she had never seen there before.
Pauline Darrell was not herself that morning. Miss Hastings had told her so several times. She had asked her again and again if she was ill – if she was tired – and she had answered drearily, "No." Partly to cheer her, the governess had suggested that they should take their books under the shade of the cedar tree. She had assented wearily, without one gleam of animation.
Out there in the sunlight Miss Hastings noticed how cold and white Pauline's face was, with its hard, set look – there was a shadow in the dark eyes, and, unlike herself, she started at every sound. Miss Hastings watched her keenly. She evinced no displeasure at being so watched; but when the elder lady went up to her and said, gently:
"Pauline, you are surely either ill or unhappy?"
"I am neither – I am only thinking," she returned, impatiently.
"Then your thoughts must be very unpleasant ones – tell them to me. Nothing sends away unpleasant ideas so soon as communicating them to others."
But Miss Darrell had evidently not heard the words; she had relapsed into deep meditation, and Miss Hastings thought it better to leave her alone. Suddenly Pauline looked up.
"Miss Hastings," she said, "I suppose a solemn promise, solemnly given, can never be broken?"
"It never should be broken," replied the governess. "Instances have been known where people have preferred death to breaking such a promise."
"Yes, such deaths have been known. I should imagine," commented Pauline, with a gleam of light on her face, "that no Darrell ever broke his or her word when it had been solemnly given."
"I should imagine not," said Miss Hastings.
But she had no clew to her pupil's musings or to the reason of her question.
So the noon-day shadows crept on. Purple-winged butterflies coquetted with the flowers, resting on the golden breasts of the white lilies, and on the crimson leaves of the rose; busy bees murmured over the rich clove carnations; the birds sang sweet, jubilant songs, and a gentle breeze stirred faintly the leaves on the trees. For once Pauline Darrell seemed blind to the warm, sweet summer beauty; it lay unheeded before her.
Miss Hastings saw Sir Oswald coming toward them; a murmur of surprise came from her lips.
"Pauline," she said, "look at Sir Oswald – how ill he seems. I am afraid something is wrong."
He drew near to them, evidently deeply agitated.
"I am glad to find you here, Miss Hastings," he said; "I am in trouble. Nay, Pauline, do not go; my troubles should be yours."
For the girl had risen with an air of proud weariness, intending to leave them together. At his words – the kindest he had spoken to her for some time – she took her seat again; but the haughty, listless manner did not change.
"I am nearly sixty years of age," said Sir Oswald, "and this is the first time such a trouble has come to me. Miss Hastings, do you remember that conversation of ours last night, over that roll of notes in the ebony box?"
"I remember it perfectly, Sir Oswald."
"I went this morning to take them from the box, to take their numbers and send them to the bank, and I could not find them – they were gone."
"Gone!" repeated Miss Hastings. "It is impossible! You must be mistaken; you must have overlooked them. What did they amount to?"
"Exactly one thousand pounds," he replied. "I cannot understand it. You saw me replace the notes in the box?"
"I did; I watched you. You placed them in one corner. I could put my finger on the place," said Miss Hastings.
"I locked the box and carried it with my own hands to my study. I placed it in the drawer of my writing-table, and locked that. I never parted with my keys to any one; as is my invariable rule, I placed them under my pillow. I slept soundly all night, and when I woke I found them there. As I tell you I have been to the box, and the notes are gone. I cannot understand it, for I do not see any indication of a theft, and yet I have been robbed."
Miss Hastings looked very thoughtful.
"You have certainly been robbed," she said. "Are you sure the keys have never left your possession?"
"Never for one single moment," he replied.
"Has any one in the house duplicate keys?" she asked.
"No. I bought the box years ago in Venice; it has a peculiar lock – there is not one in England like it."
"It is very strange," said Miss Hastings. "A thousand pounds is no trifle to lose."
Pauline Darrell, her face turned to the flowers, uttered no word.
"You might show some little interest, Pauline," said her uncle, sharply; "you might have the grace to affect it, even if you do not feel it."
"I am very sorry indeed," she returned, coldly. "I am grieved that you have had such a loss."
Sir Oswald looked pacified.
"It is not so much the actual loss of the money that has grieved me," he said; "I shall not feel it. But I am distressed to think that there should be a thief among the people I have loved and trusted."
"What a solemn council!" interrupted the cheery voice of Aubrey Langton. "What gloomy conspirators!"
Sir Oswald looked up with an air of great relief.
"I am so glad you are come, Aubrey; you can advise me what to do."
And the baronet told the story of his loss.
Captain Langton was shocked, amazed; he asked a hundred questions, and then suggested that they should drive over to Audleigh Royal and place the affair in the hands of the chief inspector of police.
"You said you had not taken the numbers of the notes; I fear it will be difficult to trace them," he said, regretfully. "What a strange, mysterious robbery. Is there any one you suspect, Sir Oswald?"
No; in all the wide world there was not one that the loyal old man suspected of robbing him.
"My servants have always been to me like faithful old friends," he said, sadly; "there is not one among them who would hold out his hand to steal from me."
Captain Langton suggested that, before going to Audleigh Royal, they should search the library.
"You may have made some mistake, sir," he said. "You were tired last night, and it is just possible that you may have put the money somewhere else, and do not remember it."
"We will go at once," decided Sir Oswald.
Miss Hastings wished them success; but the proud face directed toward the flowers was never turned to them. The pale lips were never unclosed to utter one word.
After the gentlemen had left them, when Miss Hastings began to speak eagerly of the loss, Pauline raised her hand with a proud gesture.
"I have heard enough," she said. "I do not wish to hear one word more."
The robbery created a great sensation; inspectors came from Audleigh Royal, and a detective from Scotland Yard, but no one could throw the least light upon the subject. The notes could not be traced; they had been paid in from different sources, and no one had kept a list of the numbers.
Even the detective seemed puzzled. Sir Oswald had locked up the notes in the box at night, he had kept the keys in his own possession, and he had found in the morning that the box was still locked and the notes were gone. It was a nine days' wonder. Captain Langton gave all the help he could, but as all search seemed useless and hopeless, it was abandoned after a time, and at the end of the week Captain Langton was summoned to London, and all hope of solving the mystery was relinquished.
CHAPTER XXII.
FULFILLING THE CONTRACT
The preparations for the wedding went on with great activity; the rooms prepared for the bride were a marvel of luxury and beauty. There was a boudoir with rose-silk and white-lace hangings, adorned with most exquisite pictures and statues, with rarest flowers and most beautiful ornaments – a little fairy nook, over which every one went into raptures except Pauline; she never even looked at the alterations, she never mentioned them nor showed the least interest in them. She went on in her cold, proud, self-contained manner, hiding many thoughts in her heart.
"Miss Hastings," she said, one morning, "you can do me a favor. Sir Oswald has been saying that we must call at the Elms to see Lady Hampton and Miss Rocheford. I should refuse, but that the request exactly suits my plans. I wish to see Miss Rocheford; we will drive over this afternoon. Will you engage Lady Hampton in conversation while I talk to her niece?"
"I will do anything you wish, Pauline," returned Miss Hastings; "but, my dear child, be prudent. I am frightened for you – be prudent. It will be worse than useless for you to make an enemy of the future Lady Darrell. I would do anything to help you, anything to shield you from sorrow or harm, but I am frightened on your account."
Caresses and demonstrations of affection were very rare with Pauline; but now she bent down with a softened face and kissed the anxious brow.
"You are very good to me," she said. "You are the only one in the wide world who cares for me."
And with the words there came to her such a sense of loneliness and desolation as no language could describe. Of what use had been her beauty, of which her poor father had been so proud – of what avail the genius with which she was so richly dowered?
No one loved her. The only creature living who seemed to enter into either her joys or her sorrows was the kind-hearted, gentle governess.
"You must let me have my own way this time, Miss Hastings. One peculiarity of the Darrells is that they must say what is on their minds. I intend to do so now; it rests with you whether I do it in peace or not."
After that Miss Hastings knew all further remonstrance was useless. She made such arrangements as Pauline wished, and that afternoon they drove over to the Elms. Lady Hampton received them very kindly; the great end and aim of her life was accomplished – her niece was to be Lady Darrell, of Darrell Court. There was no need for any more envy or jealousy of Pauline. The girl who had so lately been a dangerous rival and an enemy to be dreaded had suddenly sunk into complete insignificance. Lady Hampton even thought it better to be gracious, conciliatory, and kind; as Elinor had to live with Miss Darrell, it was useless to make things disagreeable.
So Lady Hampton received them kindly. Fruit from the Court hothouses and flowers from the Court conservatories were on the table. Lady Hampton insisted that Miss Hastings should join her in her afternoon tea, while Pauline, speaking with haughty grace, expressed a desire to see the Elms garden.
Lady Hampton was not sorry to have an hour's gossip with Miss Hastings, and she desired Elinor to show Miss Darrell all their choicest flowers.
Elinor looked half-frightened at the task. It was wonderful to see the contrast that the two girls presented – Pauline tall, slender, queenly, in her sweeping black dress, all passion and magnificence; Miss Rocheford, fair, dainty, golden-haired, and gentle.
They walked in silence down one of the garden-paths, and then Miss Rocheford said, in her low, sweet voice:
"If you like roses, Miss Darrell, I can show you a beautiful collection."
Then for the first time Pauline's dark eyes were directed toward her companion's face.
"I am a bad dissembler, Miss Rocheford," she said, proudly. "I have no wish to see your flowers. I came here to see you. There is a seat under yonder tree. Come with me, and hear what I have to say."
Elinor followed, looking and feeling terribly frightened. What had this grand, imperious Miss Darrell to say to her? They sat down side by side under the shade of a large magnolia tree, the white blossoms of which filled the air with sweetest perfume; the smiling summer beauty rested on the landscape. They sat in silence for some minutes, and then Pauline turned to Elinor.
"Miss Rocheford," she said, "I am come to give you a warning – the most solemn warning you have ever received – one that if you have any common sense you will not refuse to heed. I hear that you are going to marry my uncle, Sir Oswald. Is it true?"
"Sir Oswald has asked me to be his wife," Elinor replied, with downcast eyes and a faint blush.
Pauline's face gleamed with scorn.
"There is no need for any of those pretty airs and graces with me," she said. "I am going to speak stern truths to you. You, a young girl, barely twenty, with all your life before you – surely you cannot be so shamelessly untrue as even to pretend that you are marrying an old man like my uncle for love? You know it is not so – you dare not even pretend it."
Elinor's face flushed crimson.
"Why do you speak so to me, Miss Darrell?" she gasped.
"Because I want to warn you. Are you not ashamed – yes, I repeat the word, ashamed – to sell your youth, your hope of love, your life itself, for money and title? That is what you are doing. You do not love Sir Oswald. How should you? He is more than old enough to be your father. If he were a poor man, you would laugh his offer to scorn; but he is old and rich, and you are willing to marry him to become Lady Darrell, of Darrell Court. Can you, Elinor Rocheford, look me frankly in the face, and say it is not so?"
No, she could not. Every word fell like a sledge-hammer on her heart, and she knew it was all true. She bent her crimson face, and hid it from Pauline's clear gaze.
"Are you not ashamed to sell yourself? If no truth, no honor, no loyalty impels you to end this barter, let fear step in. You do not love my uncle. It can give you no pain to give him up. Pursue your present course, and I warn you. Darrell Court ought to be mine. I am a Darrell, and when my uncle took me home it was as his heiress. For a long period I have learned to consider Darrell Court as mine. It is mine," she continued – "mine by right, for I am a Darrell – mine by right of the great love I bear it – mine by every law that is just and right! Elinor Rocheford, I warn you, beware how you step in between me and my birthright – beware! My uncle is only marrying you to punish me; he has no other motive. Beware how you lend yourself to such punishment! I am not asking you to give up any love. If you loved him, I would not say one word; but it is not a matter of love – only of sale and barter. Give it up!"
"How can you talk so strangely to me, Miss Darrell? I cannot give it up; everything is arranged."
"You can if you will. Tell my uncle you repent of the unnatural compact you have made. Be a true woman – true to the instinct Heaven has placed in your heart. Marry for love, nothing else – pure, honest love – and then you will live and die happy. Answer me – will you give it up?"
"I cannot," murmured the girl.
"You will not, rather. Listen to me. I am a true Darrell, and a Darrell never breaks a word once pledged. If you marry my uncle, I pledge my word that I will take a terrible vengeance on you – not a commonplace one, but one that shall be terrible. I will be revenged upon you if you dare to step in between me and my just inheritance! Do you hear me?"
"I hear. You are very cruel, Miss Darrell. You know that I cannot help myself. I must fulfill my contract."
"Very well," said Pauline, rising; "then I have no more to say. But remember, I have given you full, fair, honest warning. I will be revenged upon you."
And Miss Darrell returned to the house, with haughty head proudly raised, while Elinor remained in the garden, bewildered and aghast.
Two things happened. Elinor never revealed a word of what had transpired, and three weeks from that day Sir Oswald Darrell married her in the old parish church of Audleigh Royal.
