Kitabı oku: «The Master of the Ceremonies», sayfa 17
Volume Two – Chapter Thirteen.
Major Rockley’s Mistake
“Now, Barclay, you are a wicked flatterer,” said Lady Drelincourt, as she sat out in the balcony, with the money-lender leaning over her after leading her there and placing a chair.
“I shall risk being rude in my rough way,” said Barclay in a low voice, “and repeat my words. I said those lustrous diamonds would look perfect on your ladyship’s beautiful throat.”
“Now, you don’t mean it, Barclay. I am not so young as I was, and my throat is not beautiful now.”
“There, I’m a plain man,” said Barclay; “I’ve no time for fine sayings and polished phrases, and what I say is this: I know your ladyship must be forty.”
“Yes, Barclay, I am,” said Lady Drelincourt, with a sigh.
“I’m fifty-five,” he said, “and what I say is, how a woman with a skin like yours can utter such deprecatory sentiments is a puzzle. Why, half the women here would be proud of such a skin. Look how they paint. Pah!”
“They do, Barclay; they do. Are the diamonds of good water?”
“Look,” he said, holding them before him.
“No, no; some one in the room will see.”
“I’ll take care of that, my lady. Look at them. I daren’t tell you whom they once belonged to, but they came to me through accidents at the gaming-table. They are perfect in match and size. Lady Drelincourt, you would not be doing yourself justice if you did not buy them. I wish I dare clasp them on.”
“No, no; not now. How much did you say?”
“I am giving them away at four hundred guineas, Lady Drelincourt.”
“Oh, but that’s a terrible price, Barclay!”
“They will be worth more in a year or two, Lady Drelincourt.”
“Oh, but I could not spare so much money.”
“Pooh! what of that! If your ladyship likes the diamonds – ”
“I do like them, Barclay.”
“I should be happy to give your ladyship what credit you require.”
“Really, this is very naughty of me, Barclay; it is, indeed, but I suppose I must have them. There, slip them into my hand. You can send me the case to-morrow.”
“I will, my lady. You’ll never regret the purchase, and I am delighted that they will be worn by the queen of Saltinville society.”
“Go away, flatterer, and tell Sir Matthew Bray to bring me my salts. I left them on the chimney-piece.”
“I fly,” said Barclay; and he went through the rooms to perform his commission, Sir Matthew hurrying to get to her ladyship’s side, while Barclay turned to meet his wife who was just returning with their host.
“Hallo!”
“Oh, I am so much better now, Jo-si-ah. I was so faint.”
“Ah, Denville, I want a word with you,” said Lord Carboro’, coming up box in hand.
“I say, old lady,” whispered Barclay, “got that bracelet safe?”
“Oh, yes, that’s all right; but you can’t have it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s right down at the very bottom of my pocket, where there’s no getting at it at all. But you don’t want it now?”
“No. I’ve sold the diamond necklace.”
“No!”
“I have, to that old hag, Drelincourt.”
“Did she pay you?”
“No; but we’ve got deeds worth four times as much, and I shall charge her interest until she pays.”
“Then you’ve had a splendid night, Jo-si-ah.”
“Glorious!” he said, rubbing his hands.
“Then I want a rubber of whist, and I shall see if I can’t win a few guineas myself.”
“All right. I’ll get you to a table.”
“Denville, old fellow,” said Lord Carboro’, chatting with his host and taking snuff from the box given by the Prince, “I’ve a bad habit of seeing everything that goes on around me.”
“Your lordship is most observant.”
“I’m sorry to say I am; and whether we become relatives or not, Denville, I take an interest in you and your belongings.”
The Master of the Ceremonies looked up in alarm.
“Take a bit of good advice, Denville.”
“My lord!”
“And keep a tighter rein over your daughter.”
“Your lordship’s opinions seem to change easily,” said Denville bitterly. “The other day my daughter Claire – ”
“Pooh! Absurd, man! Stop. She is perfect. A princess could not have been a more charming hostess. I did not mean her. Look there!”
“Mrs Burnett with Sir Harry Payne?”
“Yes; the fellow’s a blackguard. The little woman married a fool – ”
“My lord!”
“Who neglects her for drink and play. Don’t be offended, Denville. I am your friend. You have had scandal enough in your family; you must have no more.”
Denville drew a long breath.
“Your lordship is right; but you must not misunderstand my dear child.”
“Pretty, sweet, young, and most impressionable, Denville. Constant dropping will wear a stone. Don’t let the water drop on it any more.”
“My lord, you may trust me.”
“Stop, Denville. Another thing in confidence. You must get it back, treating it all as an error.”
“My lord, you alarm me. Get it back?”
“I can’t help it, Denville. Do you know that sometimes dashing fellows, ruined by play, have gone on the road mounted and masked, and, pistol in hand, have robbed?”
“Yes, my lord. But we have no highwaymen here.”
“Don’t be too sure. Did you know that Barclay, at my wish, brought some jewellery?”
“Yes, but not at my wish, my lord! I felt aggrieved – insulted.”
“Forgive him and me. It was at my request. I wanted to make an offering – a string of pearls – to your daughter; and, like the sweet true lady she is, she has refused to accept them.”
Denville flushed and turned pale as he glanced proudly at his child, where she stood talking to Colonel Mellersh.
“I saw Barclay give his wife a case with a diamond bracelet in it, to hold while he went to old Drelincourt.”
“Yes, my lord. What of that?”
“Mrs Barclay did not put it in her pocket, but let it slip down on the carpet.”
“Where was she seated, my lord?”
“Never mind; the diamond bracelet was found.”
“Thank goodness!” gasped Denville.
“By Major Rockley.”
“Who gave it back?”
“No; who has pocketed it, and will keep it; while Barclay will most likely credit you.”
“Impossible, my lord!”
“Possible, Denville. I tell you there must be no more robberies here. Hang it, man, stand up.”
“A sudden giddiness, my lord. I am better now. I will get the jewels back. But, one moment, my lord, are you really quite sure?”
“I am certain.”
“But Major Rockley may mean – ”
“Hush, Denville. What do you know of handsome Rockley? Do you think he will give the jewels back if he can get them away? Act; at once.”
“Suppose he is wrong,” said Denville to himself, as he went off on his painful task. “What an insult to an officer – the Prince’s friend.”
“I dare not do it,” he said after a pause. “It must be some mistake. Such an act would be the work of a common thief. He must be wrong.”
He shrank from his task, but he felt that it must be done, for how could he let it go forth that there had been another diamond robbery from his house. It was impossible.
As he hesitated he caught sight of Lord Carboro’ watching him. Barclay too was there, evidently about to speak to him, and he felt that he must. Better to offend Major Rockley than have another scandal.
He mingled among his guests with a word here and there, sending some downstairs, and interfering in a tête-à-tête between May and Sir Harry Payne, who had at last won a promise from the giddy little creature to whom he was paying court. He then went up to Rockley, snuff-box in hand, and addressed him as he was leaning against the chimney-piece.
“I’m afraid our little reunion has no charms for you, Major Rockley,” he said.
“On the contrary, my dear Denville, I am delighted.”
“But you have had no refreshment. Pray come down.”
“Without a lady?”
“Yes, without a lady. Or, no, I will speak now, and you can go afterwards. A little mistake, Major Rockley. You’ll pardon me; a little mistake.”
His heart sank as he spoke, and he trembled almost guiltily at the task he had in hand.
The Major’s dark eyes flashed as he scowled at him.
“If you mean, sir, that by addressing – ”
“No, no, Major Rockley; a little mistake. You thought you dropped your snuff-box.”
“I thought I dropped my snuff-box, sir? Are you mad?”
“You’ll pardon me, Major Rockley, no. You made a mistake; it is my duty to see the matter right. You imagined that you dropped your snuff-box, and you picked it up, when you were seated a little while ago.”
“Well, sir?”
If Lord Carboro’ had made a mistake, how dare he meet that man again?
“You do not seem to understand me, Major Rockley. The case you picked up was not a snuff-box, but contained jewels belonging to one of my guests.”
“I did not know your guests carried their jewels in cases, Mr Denville,” said the Major, with a forced laugh. “They seem to be wearing them.”
“It is so easy to make a mistake, Major Rockley,” continued the MC, on finding that it was more simple to attack than he had expected.
“I never make mistakes, sir,” said the Major haughtily.
“I should not have spoken to you like this, sir, if the act had not been seen,” said Denville, angrily now.
“Act? Seen? Good heavens, sir! Do you take me for a thief?” said Rockley, in a hoarse whisper. “Do you think – why – confound! I am astounded!”
He had been angrily thrusting a hand into first one and then another pocket, bringing out a snuff-box, then a handkerchief, and lastly the little morocco case.
“That must be it, Major Rockley,” said the MC coldly; and their eyes met with a curiously long stare.
“As you say, Mr Denville, mistakes are so easily made. I am in your debt for this – I shall never forget it. You will excuse me now, I am sure. The little matter has agitated me more than I should care to own.”
The MC bowed.
“Seen, you said, I think? Was it you who saw me pick up that case – by accident?”
“No, sir.”
“Would you oblige me with the name of the person?”
“It is not necessary,” said Denville. “I am master of the ceremonies, sir, of my own house. This affair, I may tell you, will be kept private by us both.”
Major Rockley bowed and turned to gaze round the room, to see if he could select Denville’s informant; but there was no one whom he felt ready to blame but Richard Linnell – Barclay he knew it could not be – or was it that handsome Cora Dean?
He turned again close by the door, and tried to catch Claire Denville’s eyes; but she was talking gravely to Linnell, so, half bowing to Denville, he said quietly:
“Thank you for excusing me. Of course, I rely upon the discretion of yourself and friend. Adieu.”
“Adieu,” and he left with curses and deadly threats in his breast.
“Had man ever such luck!” he hissed, as he strode by the house, glancing up at the well-lit balcony and drawing-room, from which he turned with an involuntary shudder. “Curse the old idiot, but I’ll serve him out for this presently. I wonder whether the old dancing-master cares for his girl and boy? Well,” he added, with a peculiar smile, “we shall soon see.”
Volume Two – Chapter Fourteen.
At the Card-Table
“Friends?” Richard Linnell was saying, as he stood looking earnestly at Claire. “Nothing more?”
“No,” she said, in a low, sad voice; “always, come what may, your grateful friend.”
She turned to her sister, who was watching her, and met her with:
“Claire dear, you’re going mad. That man hasn’t a penny.”
“Well?” said Claire gravely. “And you are encouraging him.”
“As you are encouraging Sir Harry Payne? No, May; you are mistaken.”
“I declare if you are going to insult me I will not stay,” cried May, turning scarlet. “It is disgraceful. It is cruel. If I could only find Frank – ”
Just then a loud burst of angry voices came from one of the card-tables. It was eleven o’clock; there had been refreshments; the room was very hot, and the play, for ladies, high; and now the voice of the Master of the Ceremonies was heard in protest.
“Ladies – ladies – I beg – I must request – ”
“Order my carriage directly, Sir Matthew. It serves me right for coming to such a place,” cried Lady Drelincourt.
“Yes; you had no business here,” cried Mrs Barclay.
“And mixing with such low people,” cried Lady Drelincourt.
“Low people? Better be low than not honest.”
“Oh! oh! – Denville, are you going to allow this insult to my face – from such a woman as that?” cried Lady Drelincourt.
“Hush, ladies! Pray – pray!” cried Denville.
“Hold your tongue and come away, old lady,” said Barclay, in a croaking whisper.
“I won’t, Jo-si-ah; not till she pays me my four guineas, I declare,” cried Mrs Barclay aloud. “She’s been doing nothing but cheat and rook ever since I sat down to play.”
“Sir Matthew Bray, my carriage.”
“And gone on shameful, and pretending it was all mistakes. I declare it’s abominable.”
“Ladies – ladies!”
“Will you be quiet, old girl? Hold your tongue.”
“I will not, Josiah,” cried Mrs Barclay, who, like many good-tempered, amiable women, took a great deal to make her angry, but when she was really excited, was not to be suppressed. “What I say is – ”
“Oh – oh – oh – oh!”
A series of wild, hysterical cries from a couch in the front room, and Claire ran gladly from the painful scene to where her sister was in a violent hysterical fit, which, with the exit of Lady Drelincourt on Sir Matthew Bray’s arm, after a withering glance round, quite stopped Mrs Barclay’s vituperative attack.
“Think of that now,” cried the latter lady. “Me again. I ought not to come out.”
“That you oughtn’t,” growled Barclay. “Next thing will be you’ve lost that bracelet.”
“Nonsense, Josiah. Let me help you, Claire dear. I am so sorry, but that wretched cheating old woman was either kicking me under the table in mistake for that Sir Matthew Bray, or else cheating. I am so – so sorry. It’s ’sterricks, that’s what it is.”
“Yes, that’s what it is,” said Mrs Dean; “and if I might say a word, I should tell Mr Denville that he couldn’t do better than behave like Lady Macbeth.”
“Oh, mother!” whispered Cora impatiently.
“Now what’s the good of you ‘oh mothering’ me, my dear? What could be better than for Mr Denville to say to his guests, ‘Don’t be on the order of your going, but go at once’?”
“Miss Dean,” said Sir Harry, “your mamma speaks the words of wisdom. It is the wisest thing. Come, gentlemen, we can be of no service here. By Jove, she does it to perfection.”
Mrs Dean’s words broke up the party, and the visitors had nearly all gone, when, in answer to cold bathing and smelling-salts, Mrs Burnett began to recover; and just then Frank Burnett, who had been, no one but Isaac knew where, came up to make a fresh scene as he threw himself upon his knees beside the couch, imploring in maudlin tones his darling May to speak and tell him what it was.
“Oh, my head, my head!” sobbed the stricken wife. “My head, my head!”
“You’d better let her be, Mr Burnett, sir,” said Mrs Barclay. “It’s my belief that quiet’s the thing.”
“Yes, and we’ll go,” said Mrs Dean. “Good-night, Miss Denville. Good-night, Mr Denville, and thank you so much. Come, Cora, love.”
Cora Dean glanced at Richard Linnell and Mellersh as she advanced to say good-night; for they were going to the same house, and it was possible, as the distance was short, that they would see them home.
“Good-night, Mr Denville,” she said.
“We will say good-night too,” said Mellersh, “unless we can be of any use.”
“Oh, no,” said their host. “She will soon be better – a mere trifle.”
“Yes, please let me be,” said Mrs Burnett. “I shall soon be better now.”
“Good-night,” said Cora, holding out her hand to the woman she told herself she hated with all her heart.
But it was in a spirit of triumph, for Richard Linnell was going to walk home with her.
“Good-night,” said Claire, smiling in her face with a calm ingenuous look. “I am glad we have met.”
How it came about they neither of them knew, but it was Claire’s seeking; she was suffering so from that heart hunger – that painful searching for the love and sympathy of some woman of her age, while Cora Dean’s handsome face was so near to her, and she kissed her as one sister might another.
“Well, I never,” muttered Mrs Dean as she went down the stairs. “Think of that, and you as don’t like her.”
The next minute Cora Dean and her mother were walking along the Parade with Linnell and Mellersh on either side, chatting about the evening.
“One cigar, Dick, before we go to bed,” said Mellersh, when they had been sitting together in his room for some time, after parting from their upstairs neighbours.
“I’m willing,” said Linnell, “for I feel as if I could not sleep.”
They lit their cigars, let themselves out, strolled down to the edge of the water, walked along by it in front of the Parade, and went upon the cliff again, to go back silently along the path till they neared the house where they had passed the evening, walking very slowly, and ending by stopping to lean over the cliff rails and gaze out to sea.
How long this had lasted they did not know, but all at once, as Mellersh turned, he gripped Richard Linnell by the arm and pointed.
Linnell saw it at the same moment: the figure of a man climbing over a balcony; and as they watched they could just see the gleam of one of the windows as it was evidently opened and he passed in.
“Dick!” whispered Mellersh; “what does that mean?”
“The same as the night that poor old woman was slain. Quick! Come on!”
“Stop!” said Mellersh. “Here’s another!”
Volume Two – Chapter Fifteen.
Mrs Burnett’s Seizure
“I think we had better go too,” said Mrs Barclay at last. “But are you quite sure we can do no good?”
“No: indeed no, Mrs Barclay; and I am so much obliged to you for staying,” replied Claire.
“It was the least I could do, my dear, after making all that miserable rumpus about a few paltry guineas. Your papa will never forgive me.”
“Indeed, there is nothing to forgive, my dear Mrs Barclay. It was natural that you should be indignant,” said Denville politely.
“Thank you very much for saying so, but it’s always the way if I go out, and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if there’s something else wrong,” cried Mrs Barclay piteously. “I’m a most unfortunate creature.”
“There, put on your things and let’s go,” said Barclay huffily. “Give me that case. I’ll carry it now, or you’ll lose that.”
Mrs Barclay began to thrust her hand into her pocket, and Denville was talking to his son-in-law at the other end of the room, while Claire bent over and kissed her sister.
“Are you better now, dear?”
“No-o! Oh, my head! – my head!”
“My darling!” cried Burnett, coming back and bringing with him a strong smell of cigars and bad wine.
“Don’t, Frank. Don’t you see how ill I am?”
“Yes, yes, my own, but the carriage is waiting. Let me help you down, and let’s go home.”
“Oh! My gracious! Oh!” shrieked Mrs Barclay.
“Oh! – oh! – oh! – oh!” sobbed May Burnett, again in a worse fit than before.
“Now you’ve done it again,” cried Barclay angrily. “There never was such a woman. Here, come along home.”
“The case – the bracelet, Jo-si-ah!”
“Well. What about it?”
“I knew something would happen. I felt it coming.”
“Stop! Where’s that diamond bracelet, woman?”
“It’s gone, Jo-si-ah. I’ve lost it. It’s gone.”
“A two hundred pound bracelet, and gone!” roared Barclay. “Eh, what? Thank ye, Denville. How did you come by it?”
Denville, who was standing in a graceful attitude, smilingly offering the case, explained that Mrs Barclay had let it fall beneath the seat when she thought that she was placing it in her pocket.
“Oh, Mr Denville,” cried Mrs Barclay, “you are a dear good man!”
“Denville! Thank ye!” said Barclay, shaking hands. “You might have stuck to that, and I should have been no wiser. I shan’t forget this. Good-night, old man, good-night.”
“Coarse, but very kindly,” said Denville, after Mrs Barclay had made Claire’s face wet with tears and kisses, and he had seen the pair to the door.
“Yes,” said Burnett; “they’re a rough couple. Come, May, no nonsense. Get up. I’m not going to have my horses kept waiting all night.”
May made an effort to rise, but sank back, sobbing hysterically:
“My head! – my head!”
“Here, give her some brandy, Claire,” cried Burnett.
“No, no, no. It makes it worse.”
“Well, it will be better to-morrow. Come along.”
“No, no, I cannot bear it. Oh, my head! – my head!”
“Let me bathe it with the eau de Cologne,” said Claire tenderly.
“No, no. I cannot bear it.”
“Then come home,” cried Burnett.
“No, no,” moaned his wife. “I’m so ill – so ill. Papa – couldn’t I stay here to-night – my own old little room?”
“Yes, yes, my darling,” said Denville tenderly.
“I am so ill, papa. My head throbs so if I move it.”
“Let her stay, Frank,” said Claire sympathisingly.
“Not I. What! go home without her? I’ll be hanged if I do!” cried Burnett pettishly. “She’ll be all right as soon as she gets out into the air. Now, May, jump up.”
He caught her by the arm, but May uttered a wail.
“Frank, dear, you are cruel,” said Claire.
“You mind your own business,” said the irritable little fellow sharply. “She has got to come home with me.”
“I – I – I can’t, Frank. I am so ill.”
“Nonsense! Sick headache. I often have them. You’ve taken too much wine.”
“She has not had any, Frank,” said Claire indignantly.
“Then she ought to have had some. That’s the reason. You hold your tongue. Now, madam, jump up.”
The MC had stood looking on, with his face working, but saying no word till now that Burnett caught his wife roughly by both hands and tried to pull her to her feet.
“Stop!” he cried firmly. “Really, Frank Burnett, you are ungentle in the extreme.”
“Here, I know what I’m doing,” he retorted. “She’s my wife.”
“And she’s my daughter, sir,” cried Denville haughtily; “and while I am by no half-tipsy man shall insult her.”
“Half-tipsy? Who’s half-tipsy? This is the result of coming here, sir.”
“Where I have been on thorns for the last two hours, lest my guests should see what a state you were in.”
“State? What do you mean?”
“I will not expose you more before your young wife,” said Denville quietly. “We are both angry, and had better say good-night. May, do you feel well enough to go home?”
“No; oh no, papa.”
“You hear, Frank Burnett. Claire, you can easily get her bedroom ready.”
“Look here, I shan’t stay,” cried Burnett. “I shan’t stay here.”
“Well, go home then. We will take care of her, you may depend.”
“It’s all nonsense. She shall come home.”
“My child is not well enough to go home,” retorted Denville.
“Frank dear, don’t be obstinate, for May’s sake,” said Claire. “There, go home, dear. I’ll get her to bed soon, and she’ll be better in the morning.”
Burnett looked from one to the other with his teeth set, and was about to burst out into an angry tirade; but he met the firm, cold gaze of his father-in-law fixed upon him, and it was irresistible. It literally looked him down; and, with an impatient curse, he left the house and banged the door.
Directly after they heard the rattle of carriage-wheels, and May uttered a sigh of relief as she watched the MC walk round the room extinguishing the candles.
“Oh, papa dear,” she sobbed, “he does behave so badly to me!”
“My child!” said Denville sadly, as he bent down and kissed her. “You are weary and excited to-night. Pray say no more.”
He left the room, and went downstairs to bid the servants leave everything till morning, and go to bed; and as the door closed Claire knelt down beside her sister, and laid her hand upon her burning forehead.
“That’s nice,” sighed May; and then she sat up suddenly, glanced round, and flung her arms round Claire’s neck to hide her face in her breast, and burst into a passionate fit of sobbing.
“Oh, hush, hush, May, my darling,” whispered Claire tenderly, as she kissed and caressed the pretty little head, which was jerked up again in an angry, spasmodic way.
“You saw – you heard,” she cried, with her face flushed and her eyes flashing, as she talked in a quick, low, excited manner. “You blamed me for loving poor Louis. Why, he was all that was gentle and kind. He loved me in his fierce Italian way, and he was so jealous that he would have killed me if I had given him cause. But so tender and loving; while this nasty, hateful little Frank – ”
“May: oh, hush!”
“I won’t hush. I hate him. I despise him. A mean, shabby, spiteful little wretch! You saw him to-night. He pinched me, and wrung my wrists. He often hurts me.”
“May! – May!”
“It’s true. He strikes me, too; and I tell you I hate him.”
“May! Your husband, whom you have sworn to honour and love!”
“And I don’t either, and I never shall,” cried May sharply.
“You must, you must, May, my darling. There, there; you are flushed and excited with your head being so bad, and Frank was not so gentle as he might have been. He was vexed because you had turned ill.”
“Nasty, fretful wretch!”
“May!”
“I don’t care; he is,” cried the little foolish thing, looking wonderfully like an angry child as she spoke.
“Hush! I will not let you speak of your husband like that, May.”
“Husband! A contemptible little tipsy wretch who bought me of papa because I was pretty. I loathe him, I tell you. Papa ought to have been ashamed of himself for selling me as he did.”
“May! May! little sister!” said Claire, weeping silently as she drew her baby head to her bosom, and tried to stay the flow of bitter words that came.
“Horses and carriages, and servants and dresses, and nothing else but misery. I tell you – I don’t care! If he ever beats me again I’ll run away from him, that I will.”
“No, no, little passionate, tender heart,” said Claire lovingly. “You are ill and troubled to-night. There, there. You shall sleep quietly to-night under the old roof. Why, May dear, it seems like the dear old times, and you are the little girl again whom I am going to undress and put to bed. There, you are better now.”
“Old times? What, of misery and poverty and wretchedness, and having servants that you cannot pay, and struggling to keep up appearances, and all for what?”
“Oh, hush, hush, little May!” said Claire, holding her to her breast, and half sadly, half playfully, rocking herself to and fro.
“You don’t know what trouble is. You don’t know what it is to have your tenderest feelings torn. You never knew what it was to suffer as I have. I hate him.”
She could not see Claire’s ghastly face, nor the agonised twitching of the nerves about her lips which her sister was striving to master.
“No one knows what I have had to suffer,” she went on; “and it’s too hard – it’s too hard to bear. No one loves me, no one cares for me. It’s all misery and wretchedness, and – and I wish I was dead.”
“No, no, no, darling,” said Claire, as she drew the sobbing little thing closer to her breast; “don’t say that. I love you dearly, my own sister, and it breaks my heart to see you unhappy. But there, there, you are so weary and ill to-night that it makes everything look so black. I suffer too, darling, for your sake – for all our sakes, and now I will not scold you.”
“Scold me?” cried May, in affright.
“No, not one word; only pray to you to be careful of your dear, sweet little self. My darling, I am so proud of my beautiful little sister. You will not be frivolous again, and give me so much pain?”
“N-no,” sighed May, with her face buried in her sister’s breast.
“Frank – ”
“Don’t – don’t speak of him.”
“Yes, yes; he is your husband, and you must try to win him over to you by gentleness, instead of being a little angry tyrant.”
“Clairy!”
“Yes, but you can be,” said Claire playfully, as she pressed her lips upon the soft, flossy hair. “I can remember how these little hands used to beat at me, and the little tearful eyes flash anger at me in the old times.”
Just then Denville entered the room softly, with a weary, dissatisfied air; but, as he stood in the doorway unnoticed, his whole aspect changed, and the tears stood in his eyes.
“God bless them!” he said fervently; and then, as he saw May raise her head, and look excitedly in her sister’s face, he stepped forward.
“Well, little bird,” he said, bending down to kiss May’s forehead, “back once more in the old nest?”
Claire looked searchingly at him as she rose from her knees; and then she sighed as she saw May fling herself into her father’s arms.
“There, there, I shall make the head ache again,” he said, with a calm, restful smile upon his lips, such as Claire had not seen for months.
“How he loves her!” she thought; and then another idea flashed through her breast. Suppose May knew!
“Claire, my child, is her room ready?”
“Yes; Morton’s room is prepared in case he came back. She will sleep there unless – May, will you come to me?”
“Yes, yes,” cried the little girlish thing, in a quick excited way. “No, no; I’ll be alone. Let me go now – at once.”
Claire fetched and gave her a lighted candle, finding her clinging passionately to her father, looking, as it seemed to the thoughtful woman, like some frightened child.
She kissed him hastily, and seemed to snatch the candle from her sister’s hand.
“Good-night, Claire,” she cried, holding up her face, and clinging tightly to her sister’s arm.
“I am going with you, dear – as I used to in the old times,” said Claire, smiling; and they left the room together.
“Without one word to me,” said Denville, as he stood with clasped hands gazing at the door. “Well, why should I be surprised? What must I be in her sight? Her father! Yes, but a monster without pity – utterly vile.”
He heaved a piteous sigh, as he sank into a chair.
“No,” he said to himself, “I will not influence her in any way. I will not stir. It would be too cruel. But if – if she should lean towards him – who knows? – women have accepted the wealth and position such as he offers. No, I will not stir.”
He sighed again, walked to the drawing-room window to see that the bar was across the shutter; and, this done, he turned hastily and gazed back into the room that had been Lady Teigne’s chamber, and as he did so the dew stood upon his forehead, for he seemed to see the bed with its dragged curtains, the empty casket on the floor, and by it the knife that he had picked up and hidden in his breast.
Yes, there it all was, and Claire standing gazing at him with that horrified look of suspicion in her beautiful face, as the thought came which had placed an icy barrier between them ever since. Yes, there she was, staring at him so wildly, and it was like a horrible nightmare, and —
“Father – are you ill?”
“Claire! Is it you? No, no; nothing the matter. Tired; wearied out. So long and anxious an evening. Good-night!”
