CHAPTER IV
SOMETHING CONCERNING JAMES FLOCKART
In the spreading dawn the house party had returned from Connachan andhad ascended to their rooms, weary with the night's revelry, the menwith shirt-fronts crumpled and ties awry, the women with hairdisordered, and in some cases with flimsy skirts torn in the mazes ofthe dance. Yet all were merry and full of satisfaction at what one youngman from town had declared to be "an awfully ripping evening." Allretired at once--all save the hostess and one of her male guests, theman who had entered the library by stealth earlier in the evening andhad called Gabrielle outside.
Lady Heyburn and her visitor, James Flockart, had managed to slip awayfrom the others, and now stood together in the library, into which thegrey light of dawn was at that moment slowly creeping.
He drew up one of the blinds to admit the light; and there, away overthe hills beyond, the glen showed the red flush that heralded the sun'scoming. Then, returning to where stood the young and attractive woman inpale pink chiffon, with diamonds on her neck and a star in her fairhair, he looked her straight in the face and asked, "Well, and what haveyou decided?"
She raised her eyes to his, but made no reply. She was hesitating.
The gems upon her were heirlooms of the Heyburn family, and in that greylight looked cold and glassy. The powder and the slight touch of carmineupon her cheeks, which at night had served to heighten her beauty, nowgave her an appearance of painted artificiality. She was undeniably apretty woman, and surely required no artificial aids to beauty. Aboutthirty-three, yet she looked five years younger; while her husband wastwenty years senior to herself. She still retained a figure so girlishthat most people took her for Gabrielle's elder sister, while in thematter of dress she was admitted in society to be one of the leaders offashion. Her hair was of that rare copper-gold tint, her featuresregular, with a slightly protruding chin, soft eyes, and cheeks perfectin their contour. Society knew her as a gay, reckless, giddy woman, who,regardless of the terrible affliction which had fallen upon thebrilliant man who was her husband, surrounded herself with a circle offriends of the same type as herself, and who thoroughly enjoyed her liferegardless of any gossip or of the malignant statements by women whoenvied her.
Men were fond of "Winnie Heyburn," as they called her, and always votedher "good fun." They pitied poor Sir Henry; but, after all, he wasblind, and preferred his hobbies of collecting old seals and dustyparchment manuscripts to dances, bridge-parties, theatres, aero shows atRanelagh, and suppers at the Carlton or Savoy.
Like most wealthy women of her type, she had a wide circle of malefriends. Younger men declared her to be "a real pal," and with some ofthe older beaux she would flirt and be amused by their flatteringspeeches.
Gabrielle's mother, the second daughter of Lord Buckhurst, had been deadseveral years when the brilliant politician met his second wife at agarden-party at Dollis Hill. She was daughter of a man named Lambert, apaper manufacturer, who acted as political agent in the town of Bedford;and she was, therefore, essentially a country cousin. Her beauty was,however, remarked everywhere. The Baronet was struck by her, and withinthree months they were married at St. George's, Hanover Square, theworld congratulating her upon a very excellent match. From the veryfirst, however, the difference in the ages of husband and wife proved abarrier. Ere the honeymoon was over she found that her husband, tied byhis political engagements and by his eternal duties at the House, wasunable to accompany her out of an evening; hence from the very firstthey had drifted apart, until, eight months later, the terribleaffliction of blindness fell upon him.
For a time this drew her back to him. She was his constant and dutifulcompanion everywhere, leading him hither and thither, and attending tohis wants; but very soon the tie bored her, and the attractions ofsociety once again proved too great. Hence for the past nineyears--Gabrielle being at school, first at Eastbourne and afterwards atAmiens--she had amused herself and left her husband to his dry-as-dusthobbies and the loneliness of his black and sunless world.
The man who had just put that curious question to her was perhaps herclosest friend. To her he owed everything, though the world was inignorance of the fact. That they were friends everybody knew. Indeed,they had been friends years ago in Bedford, before her marriage, forJames was the only son of the Reverend Henry Flockart, vicar of one ofthe parishes in the town. People living in Bedford recollected that theparson's son had turned out rather badly, and had gone to America. But ayear or two after that the quiet-mannered old clergyman had died, theliving had been given to a successor, and Bedford knew the name ofFlockart no more. After Winifred's marriage, however, London society--orrather a gay section of it--became acquainted with James Flockart, wholived at ease in his pretty bachelor-rooms in Half-Moon Street, and whosoon gathered about him a large circle of male acquaintances. Sir Henryknew him, and raised no objection to his wife's friendship towards him.They had been boy and girl together; therefore what more natural thanthat they should be friends in later life?
In her schooldays Gabrielle knew practically nothing of this man; butnow she had returned to be her father's companion she had met him, andhad bitter cause to hate both him and Lady Heyburn. It was her ownsecret. She kept it to herself. She hid the truth from her father--fromevery one. She watched closely and in patience. One day she would speakand tell the truth. Until then, she resolved to keep to herself all thatshe knew.
"Well?" asked the man with the soft-pleated shirt-front and whitewaistcoat smeared with cigarette-ash. "What have you decided?" he askedagain.
"I've decided nothing," was her blank answer.
"But you must. Don't be a silly fool," he urged. "You've surely had timeto think over it?"
"No, I haven't."
"The girl knows nothing. So what have you to fear?" he endeavoured toassure her.
Lady Heyburn shrugged her shoulders. "How can you prove that she knowsnothing?"
"Oh, she has eyes for nobody but the old man," he laughed. "To-night isan example. Why, she wouldn't come to Connachan, even though she knewthat Walter was there. She preferred to spend the evening here with herfather."
"She's a little fool, of course, Jimmy," replied the woman in pink; "butperhaps it was as well that she didn't come. I hate to have to chaperonthe chit. It makes me look so horribly old."
"I wish to goodness the girl was out of the way!" he declared. "She'ssharper than we think, and, by Jove! if ever she did know what was inprogress it would be all up for both of us--wouldn't it? Phew! think ofit!"
"If I thought she had the slightest suspicion," declared her ladyshipwith a sudden hardness of her lips, "I'd--I'd close her mouth veryquickly."
"And for ever, eh?" he asked meaningly.
"Yes, for ever."
"Bah!" he laughed. "You'd be afraid to do that, my dear Winnie," addedthe man, lowering his voice. "Your husband is blind, it's true; butthere are other people in the world who are not. Recollect, Gabrielle isnow nineteen, and she has her eyes open. She's the eyes and ears of SirHenry. Not the slightest thing occurs in this household but it is toldto him at once. His indifference to all is only a clever pretence."
"What!" she gasped quickly; "do you think he suspects?"
"Pray, what can he suspect?" asked the man very calmly, both hands inhis trouser-pockets, as he leaned back against the table in front ofher.
"He can only suspect things which his daughter knows," she said.
"But what does she know? What can she know?" he asked.
"How can we tell? I have watched, but can detect nothing. I am, however,suspicious, because she did not come to Connachan with us to-night."
"Why?"
"Walter Murie may know something, and may have told her."
"If so, then to close her lips would be useless. It would only bring aheavier responsibility upon us--and----" But he hesitated, withoutfinishing his sentence. His meaning was apparent from the wry face shepulled at his remark. He did not tell her how he had, while she had beendancing and flirting that n
ight, made his way back to the castle, or howhe had compelled Gabrielle to go forth and speak with him. His actionhad been a bold one, yet its result had confirmed certain vaguesuspicions he had held.
Well he knew that the girl hated him heartily, and that she was inpossession of a certain secret of his--one which might easily result inhis downfall. He feared to tell the truth to this woman before him, forif he did so she would certainly withdraw from all association with himin order to save herself.
The key to the whole situation was held by that slim, sweet-faced girl,so devoted to her afflicted father. He was not quite certain as to theactual extent of her knowledge, and was as yet undecided as to whatattitude he should adopt towards her. He stood between the Baronet'swife and his daughter, and hesitated in which direction to follow.
What did she really know, he wondered. Had she overheard any of thatserious conversation between Lady Heyburn and himself while they walkedtogether in the glen on the previous evening? Such a _contretemps_ wassurely impossible, for he remembered they had taken every precautionlest even Stewart, the head gamekeeper, might be about in order to stoptrespassers, who, attracted by the beauties of Glencardine, tried topenetrate and explore them, and by so doing disturbed the game.
"And if the girl really knows?" he asked of the woman who stood theremotionless, gazing out across the lawn fixedly towards the dawn.
"If she knows, James," she said in a hard, decisive tone, "then we mustact together, quickly and fearlessly. We must carry out that--that planyou proposed a year ago!"
"You are quite fearless, then," he asked, looking straight into her fineeyes.
"Fearless? Of course I am," she answered unflinchingly. "We must get ridof her."
"Providing we can do so without any suspicion falling upon us."
"You seem to have become quite white-livered," she exclaimed to him witha harsh, derisive laugh. "You were not so a year ago--in the otheraffair."
His brows contracted as he reflected upon all it meant to him. The girlknew something; therefore, to seal her lips was imperative for their ownsafety. She was their enemy.
"You are mistaken," he answered in a low calm voice. "I am just asdetermined--just as fearless--as I was then."
"And you will do it?" she asked.
"If it is your wish," he replied simply.
"Good! Give me your hand. We are agreed. It shall be done."
And the man took the slim white hand the woman held out to him, and amoment later they ascended the great oak staircase to their respectiverooms.
The pair were in accord. The future contained for GabrielleHeyburn--asleep and all unconscious of the dastardly conspiracy--onlythat which must be hideous, tragic, fatal.
The House of Whispers Page 4