The Master of the Ceremonies

by George Manville Fenn

didn't give you any money when you asked me thismorning."

  "No, dear, you didn't. Give me some now, before you go. Don't go outand leave me without."

  "Not a shilling!" he cried, with an unpleasant cackling laugh.

  May stood with the pretty smile upon her face, a strange contrast to thepained classic sorrow upon her sister's better-formed features, amidperfect silence, till the front door closed, and Frank Burnett'sstrutting step was heard on the shingle walk leading to the gate, when achange came over the bright, flower-like countenance, which wasconvulsed with anger in miniature.

  "Ugh! Little contemptible wretch!" she exclaimed. "How I do hate you!Claire, I shall end by running away from the little miserable ape, if Idon't make up my mind to kill him. Ah!"

  She ended with an ejaculation full of pain, and turned a wondering,childish look of reproach on her sister, for Claire had crossed to her,and suddenly grasped her wrist.

  "Silence, May!" she cried.

  "Oh, don't!" said May, wresting herself free, and stamping her foot likea fretful, angry child. "And if you've come here to do nothing butscold me and find fault, you'd better go."

  "May--May! Listen to me."

  "No, I won't. I'll go up to my own room and cry my eyes out. You don'tknow; you can't imagine what a little wretch he is. I wish you weremarried to him instead of me."

  "May!"

  "I won't listen," cried the foolish little woman, stopping her ears."You bully me for caring for Sir Harry Payne, who is all that is tenderand loving; and I'm tied to that hateful little wretch for life, and hemakes my very existence a curse."

  "May, will you listen?"

  "I can see you are scolding me, but I can't hear a word you say, and Iwon't listen. Oh, I do wish you were married to him instead of me."

  "I wish to heaven I were!" cried Claire solemnly.

  "What?" cried May, the stopping of whose ears seemed now to be veryineffective. "You wish you were married to the little mean-spirited,insignificant wretch?"

  "Yes," said Claire excitedly, "for then you would be free."

  "What do you mean by that, Claire?"

  "Did you not tell me that Louis Gravani was dead?"

  "Yes, of course I did."

  "Why did you tell me that?"

  "Because he went to Rome or Florence--I am not sure which--and caught afever and died."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Well, dear, he never wrote and told me he was dead, of course," saidMay with a little laugh, "but he told me he had caught the fever, and henever wrote to me any more, so, of course, he died."

  "And, without knowing for certain, you married Frank Burnett?"

  "Don't talk in that way, dear. It's just like the actress at DruryLane, where Frank took me. You would make a fortune on the stage. Whatdo you mean, looking at me so tragically?"

  "May, prepare yourself for terrible news."

  "Oh, Claire! Is poor, dear papa dead?"

  "May, Louis Gravani is alive."

  "Alive? Oh, I am so glad!" she cried, clapping her hands. "Poor, dearlittle Louis! How he did love me! Then he isn't dead, after all, andI'm his wife, and not Frank's. Oh, what fun!"

  Claire caught at the back of a chair, and stood gazing wildly at hersister, utterly stunned by her childish unthinking manner.

  "May--May!" she cried bitterly; "your sin is finding you out."

  "Sin? How absurd you are! Why, what sin have I committed?"

  "That clandestine marriage, May."

  "Now what nonsense, dear. It wasn't my fault, as I told you before.You don't know what love is. I do, and I loved poor, dear little Louis.I couldn't help it, and he made me marry him."

  "Oh, May, May!"

  "I tell you, I was obliged to marry him. One can't do as one likes,when one loves. You'll know that some day. But, I am glad."

  "May!" cried Claire reproachfully.

  "So I am. Why, he'll come and fetch me away from my miserable tyrant,and we can have little pet blossom away from Fisherman Dick's, and takea cottage somewhere, and then I can sing and play to baby, while dearold Louis reads the Italian poets to me, and goes on with his painting."

  A piteous sigh escaped from Claire Denville's lips as she ferventlybreathed in wild appeal:

  "My God, help me!" And then--"It is too hard--too hard. What shall Ido?"

  A change came over the scene. The picture May Burnett had painteddissolved in the thin air, and she turned quickly upon her sister.

  "How do you know this, Claire? Has Louis written to you?"

  "No. He is here."

  "Here! In Saltinville?"

  "Yes, here in Saltinville. He would have been at this house, only Iprevailed upon him to stay till I had seen you--to prepare you."

  "Oh, Claire! Does he know I am married?"

  "No; he believes you have been as faithful to him as he to you."

  "Oh!"

  It was a wild cry; and a look of frightened horror came over the prettybaby face, as its owner caught Claire round the waist, and clung to her.

  "Claire, Claire!" she cried. "Save me! What shall I do? Louis is anItalian, and he is all love and passion and jealousy. I dare not seehim. He would kill me, if he knew. What shall I do? What can I do?Oh, this is terrible, Claire!" she cried. "Claire!" and she shook hersister passionately. "Why don't you speak? What shall I do?"

  Claire remained silent.

  "Why don't you speak, I say?" cried May with childish petulance.

  "I am praying for help and guidance, sister, for I do not know."

  May let herself sink down upon the carpet with her hands clasped, as shegazed straight at her sister, looking to her for advice and help, whileClaire remained with her eyes fixed, deeply pondering upon theirterrible position.

  "I can only think of one thing," she said at last. "I must see LouisGravani, and tell him all."

  "No, no; I tell you he will kill me."

  "He loves you, May; and I must appeal to him to act like a gentleman inthis terrible strait."

  "Don't I tell you that he is a passionate Italian, and that he wouldkill me. He always used to say that he felt as if he could stab anybodywho came between us. Oh, Claire, what shall I do? My poor life's fullof miserable troubles. I wish I were dead."

  "Hush, May, and try and help me, instead of acting in this childishway."

  "There, now you turn against me."

  "No, no, my poor sister. I want to help you, and give you strength."

  "Then you will help me, Claire?"

  "Help you!" said Claire reproachfully. "Did I spare my poor reputationfor your sake?"

  "Oh, don't talk of that now, only tell me, what shall I do?"

  "You must come with me."

  "With you, dear? Where?"

  "Home, to your father's roof; and we must tell him all. He will protectyou."

  "Come--home--tell poor papa? No--no--no, I cannot--I dare not."

  "You must, May. It were a shame and disgrace to stay here, now that youknow your husband is alive."

  "My first husband, Claire dear," said May pitifully.

  "Oh, hush, May; you'll drive me mad. There, go and dress yourself, andcome home."

  "I will not--I daren't," cried May; "and, besides, this is my home."

  "And Louis? Am I to tell him where you are?"

  "No, no. I tell you he would kill me. I must have time to think.Didn't you tell me he was going to wait, Claire? Look here, I dare notsee him. No, everything is over between us. You must see him, dear."

  "See him?" said Claire.

  "Yes, dear, yes. Oh, Claire, Claire!" she cried wildly, going upon herknees to her sister, "pray--pray, save me. Tell Louis I am not marriedto Frank. Tell him he must go away, and not come back till I write tohim."

  "May, how can you be so childish?" cried Claire piteously.

  "I am not childish. This is not childish. I know--I know--tell himthis, and he will go away."

  "Tell him this?"

  "Yes
, yes; don't you understand? He is very stupid; tell him I amdead."

  "May!"

  "Stop a moment; you said he was going to wait."

  "Till I can give him news of you."

  "Yes; then you must keep him quiet for a day or two, till I have hadtime to think."

  "There is no time."

  "Give me till to-morrow, Claire. Don't you see I am all confused, andmad with grief?"

  "Till to-morrow?" said Claire, gazing at her, for it was like a respiteto her as well, in her horrible doubt and confusion of intellect.

  "Yes, till to-morrow. I will shut myself up in my room till then, andtry and think out what will be best. There, go now. I can't talk toyou; I can't think; I can't do anything till you are gone; and I musthave time."

  Claire left her at last unwillingly, but with the understanding that Maywas to stay in her own room till the next day, and await her return.

  "It will all come right at last, Claire," said May, at parting. "Italways does, dear. There, don't fidget. It's very tiresome of him tocome now; but I don't know: perhaps it's all for the best."

  She kissed Claire affectionately at parting; and the latter sighed asshe hurried home, struggling with herself as to how she should make allthis known to her father.

  "He must know," she said; and she entered the dining-room at once, tofind that he was absent, though he had been home while she was away.

  "Master said he had some business to transact, ma'am, and would have achop at the Assembly Rooms. You were not to wait dinner."

  Claire went to her own room to think.

  May had, in accordance with her promise, gone to hers; then she hadwritten a brief note, ordered the carriage, and gone for a drive,closely veiled. One of her calls was at Miss Clode's, where sheentrusted her note, not to some volume to be sold, but to Miss Clode'sround-eyed, plump-cheeked niece, who promised to deliver it at once.

  END OF VOLUME TWO.

  Volume Three, Chapter I.

  MISS CLODE IS MYSTERIOUS.

  Richard Linnell had left his quiet, patient-looking father busilycopying a sheet of music, and joined Colonel Mellersh, who was waitingat the door ready for a stroll.

  Cora Dean's ponies were in the road, and that lady was just about tostart for a drive.

  Somehow, her door opened, and she came rustling down, closing her earsto a petulant call from her mother, and--perhaps it was an accident--sotimed her descent that it would be impossible for the gentlemen to avoidoffering to hand her to the carriage.

  They both raised their hats as they stood upon the step, and she smiledand looked at Richard Linnell, but he did not stir.

  "Come, Dick," said Mellersh, with a half-sneer; "have you forgotten yourmanners?"

  Linnell started, offered his arm, which was taken, and he led Cora downto the little carriage, the ponies beginning to stamp as the groom heldtheir bits, while the bright, smiling look of their mistress passedaway.

  "The ponies look rather fresh," said Richard Linnell, trying to beagreeable. "I should have their bearing reins tightened a little."

  "Why?" said Cora sharply, and with a glance full of resentment: and, atthe same moment, she noted that Mellersh was leaning against thedoor-post, looking on.

  "Why?" repeated Linnell, smiling in her face--but it was not the smileshe wished to see--"for fear of another accident, of course."

  "What would you care?" she said in a low whisper. "I wish there wouldbe another accident. Why didn't you let me drown? I wish I were dead."

  She gave her ponies a sharp lash, the groom leaped aside, caught theback of the carriage, and swung himself up into his seat, and away theydashed at a gallop, while Linnell stood gazing after them, till Mellershlaid a hand upon his shoulder.

  "Dick, Dick," he said banteringly, "what a fierce wooer you are! Youhave been saying something to offend the fair Cora. Come along."

  "Does it give you pleasure to banter me like this?"

  "Banter, man? I was in earnest."

  They walked along the parade in silence, and had not gone far beforethey met the Master of the Ceremonies, who raised his hat stiffly, inresponse to their salutes, and passed on.

  "Oh, man, man, why don't you take the good the gods provide you, insteadof sighing after what you cannot have."

  "Mellersh," said Richard, as if he had not heard him, "if I make up mymind to leave Saltinville, will you pay a good deal of attention to theold man?"

  "Leave--Saltinville?"

  "Yes; I am sick of the place. I must go right away."

  "Stop a moment! Hold your tongue! There is that scoundrel, Rockley,with his gang."

  In effect, a group of officers came along in the opposite direction,and, but for the disposition shown them to avoid a quarrel, theiroffensive monopolisation of the whole of the path would have resulted inan altercation.

  "I shall have to cripple that fellow," said Mellersh, as they walked on,after turning out into the road in passing the group. "I wonder youngDenville does not shoot him for his goings on with his sister."

  "Mellersh!"

  "I can't help it, Dick; I must speak out. Rockley is indefatigablethere. The fellow is bewitched with her, and is always after her."

  "It's a lie!" exclaimed Linnell.

  "Call me a liar if you like, Dick, my lad. I shan't send you achallenge. Plenty of people will satisfy you as to the truth of what Isay, and I speak thus plainly because I am weary of seeing you soinfatuated with Claire Denville."

  Linnell tried to draw his arm away, but the Colonel retained it.

  "No, no, my dear boy, we cannot quarrel," he said. "It is impossible.But about this going away. Right. I would go. It will cure you."

  "Cure me?" said Linnell bitterly.

  "Yes, cure you. Dick, my boy, it makes me mad to see you so blind--tosee you let a woman who looks guileless lead you--Well, I'll say nomore. I cannot believe in Claire Denville any more than I can in herlittle innocent-looking jade of a sister."

  Linnell uttered an impatient ejaculation.

  "She goes about with a face as round-eyed as a baby's, and as smooth;while all the time I know--"

  Linnell turned to him a look so full of agony that he ceased on theinstant, but began again.

  "I cannot help it, Dick," he said. "It worries me to see you growing solistless over a passion for a woman who does not care a straw for you."

  "If I could believe that," said Linnell, "I could bear it; but I amtortured by doubts, and every friend I have seems to be bent uponblackening the reputation of a woman who has been cruelly maligned."

  Mellersh began to whistle softly, and then said, sharply:

  "What! going in here?"

  "Yes; will you come?"

  "No," said Mellersh, giving him a curious look. "Expect a letter?Tut-tut, man, don't eat me. You would not be the first man who made apost-office of Miss Clode's circulating library. What is it, then--fiddle-strings?"

  Linnell nodded.

  "Go in, then; you can join me presently. I shall be on the pier. Isay, Dick, the fair directress of this establishment ought to put up onher sign, `Dealer in heart-strings and fiddle-strings.' There, good-byefor the present."

  The Colonel went on, keeping a sharp look-out for Cora Dean'spony-carriage; but it did not meet his eyes; and Richard Linnell turnedinto the library, meeting Lady Drelincourt, who smiled and simpered asshe passed out, thrusting a book into her reticule.

  Miss Clode was just disappearing into the inner room, leaving round-eyedAnnie in charge; but as soon as that young lady caught sight of Linnell,she darted back to whisper loudly:

  "Auntie, auntie: here's Mr Richard Linnell."

  The latter saw no reason why little Miss Clode should flush and turnpale, and then look up at him in a wistful manner, almost with reproachin her eyes.

  "Why, it's quite a month since I've seen you, Mr Linnell," she said,"and--and you look quite pale and thin."

  "Do I, Miss Clode?" he said, smiling. "Ah, well, it's a healthy sign--of
robust health, you know. I want some--"

  "But you don't look well, Mr Linnell," she said hastily. "Annie, mydear, take this book to Mrs Barclay's, and make haste back."

  "Yes, auntie," said the girl, in an ill-used tone.

  "And make haste," cried Miss Clode. "Will you excuse me a minute, MrLinnell?"

  "Oh, of course," said the young man listlessly. "Give me the case withthe violin strings, and I'll select some."

  Miss Clode did not appear as if she heard him, but went to the back ofthe shop to hurry her niece away, to that young lady's great disgust,for she wanted to stare at Richard, whom she greatly admired, and hearwhat was said. Consequently, he was left turning over the books for afew minutes before Miss Clode returned, and, to his surprise, stoodgazing up at him wistfully.

  "Well, Miss Clode," he said with forced gaiety, "suppose somebody werewaiting for me to join in a