“There was a time, Mr. Beaumirail, when I had reason to hope that you had gathered the fruits of a good experience from your affliction — but — but your present tone and conversation disappoint me.”
“I wont argue it any more than your friend Miss Gray will. I accept her version of charity, and her laws of war. I hesitate no longer, and I leave you, sir, a year to guess, and her to feel. Now from this den I shall weave my spells about her.”
CHAPTER XIII.
TEA.
THERE was disappointment at Guildford House, for the day had closed without bringing the expected visit of Mr. Dacre. Of that gentleman Miss Gray knew nothing, and yet there was an odd feeling or mortification in her mind, by reason of this unimportant neglect. Mrs. Wardell’s disappointment was now outspoken.
“If he had not proposed it, I should not have thought so much of it, although it would have been no more than a decent civility to have called and inquired for us to-day, under all the circumstances. But really, after his making such a flourish of trumpets about it, there’s no excuse; and I can view it in no other light than as a most illbred omission!”
It was dark now, but Miss Laura Gray chose the shutters and the curtains open, and liked, in twilight and moonlight, the look-out upon the circumscribed but singular little landscape, and, looking listlessly from the window, she said, “A lonely pair of women, we are this evening. Even Charles Mannering has failed us.”
“Yes, my dear Laura, don’t you see? this way of living is so intolerably dull that — — “
“Hush, a moment. The gate has opened, and, yes, here is a carriage,” said Miss Gray.
There were lights in the drawingroom, and she drew back as a brougham with a pair of horses approached at a rapid pace.
“Dear me, who can it be?” said old Mrs. Wardell, getting up and hesitating. “It can’t be Ardenbroke back again, nor Charles Mannering in a carriage, and it is such a very odd hour — can it be possible — there’s the knock; can it be Mr. Dacre, at such an hour?”
“It must be some one, and one visitor is nearly as odd as another,” said Miss Gray.
“I — I don’t know — should I go down at such an hour?” faltered Mrs. Wardell.
“Go down, certainly, you’ll see him, and do precisely as you and I planned. You are to do just as you would if it were three o’clock in the afternoon — there’s the hall-door open.”
“Oh, dear, so it is! but the idea of bringing him up here.”
“I don’t say you are to take him by the collar and bring him up here, whether he will or no, but if you find him so disposed let him come up, and take some tea.”
“But, my dear, it’s nine o’clock.”
“I don’t care; curiosity must be satisfied first, decorum afterwards; don’t dispute.”
The door opened — the servant entered.
“Mr. Dacre’s compliments, ma’am, and wishes to know particularly how you and Miss Gray are this evening.”
This was addressed to Mrs. Wardell.
“Is it a messenger?” inquired Miss Laura Gray.
It was Mr. Dacre himself.
The young lady glanced at Mrs. Wardell, and found Mrs. Wardell glancing at her. Their eyes met, and Miss Laura Gray smiled in spite of herself.
“I think, dear, you had better see Mr. Dacre for a moment,” said she to Mrs. Wardell.
Preternaturally grave, Mrs. Wardell arose, and told the servant to show Mr. Dacre into the library, and, after a glance in the mirror, she followed him downstairs.
Now, Miss Laura Challys Gray listened harshly, biting her under lip with a tiny edge of her pearly teeth, and smiling. “He’ll come, of course he’ll come — that face is full of the spirit of adventure, and I must say that old Wardell and I are behaving very indiscreetly, but it’s only for once, and I really could not allow him to escape — ha, is he coming or going? No. What is old Wardell saying, I wonder?” and she laughed quietly in spite of all she could do.
“I suppose we are behaving very oddly. What, I wonder, would my sober cousin, Charles Mannering, say of us, if he happened to drop in, and — here — here — yes; here they come.”
So it was, and, with a sudden reaction, her spirits sank, and she would gladly have been anywhere else. She had just time to place herself in her easy chair again, when the half-closed door opened, and good old Mrs. Wardell entered in high chat with the stranger.
There was no mistaking him. The handsome hero of the opera was before her; the oval face and small peaked beard; the delicate mouth and moustache, and the great singular eyes, which lighted upon her with a sudden and gloomy splendour that startled her.
A stately, very low bow he made her, as Mrs. Wardell said —
“This is Mr. Dacre, my dear, you remember, who was so kind as to lend us his carriage; he has been so good as to call to inquire, and I asked him to come up.”
“I asked Mrs. Wardell’s leave, yesterday, which she was good enough to give me. I have to make my apologies, however, for calling at so awkward an hour; but I was detained by business, from which I could not escape, in the country, and returning this way I could not deny myself, late as it is, the honour of calling to learn how you were.”
“We are so much obliged; quite well. We have quite got over our little fright, and we had no idea what a service you had done us till this morning. We should have been delayed more than an hour.”
Mr. Dacre seemed very much pleased. He was very handsome: it was pleasant to see him pleased. But there was, or Miss Gray fancied it something ever so slight that was bitter and cynical in the stealthy gaze with which he watched her as she spoke. But there was the smile, and there were those splendid eyes, dark and fiery. Where was this sinister light? Where were those lines and curves of cruelty which gave, in her eyes, to his beauty an anguine and dangerous character — subtle, sinuous, baleful?
His bow had been ceremonious and very grave; but there remained not the least trace of stateliness in his air, or countenance; he was chatting now very easily and gaily. He addressed Mrs. Wardell for the most part, but Laura Gray thought his conversation was intended for her. He was going now. He had set down his tea-cup. He had just told them a very odd story, which turned on an anonymous letter, the author of which, by a curious combination of evidence, he had discovered.
“Had fortune placed me in the detective service, I dare say I should have risen to be an eminent catch-thief; I should almost embrace the profession for the pleasure of tracing up that sort of villainy to its source.”
The story was well told and very curious. Miss Laura Challys Gray listened to it with that kind of attention which is observant, if not suspicious, of the relator himself, as well as curious about the narrative. Her fancy, that he might be the author of the letter with the locket enclosed, had fast melted away. That Mr. Dacre was an early intimate of Ardenbroke’s and that Ardenbroke should have spoken of him as he did, were reassuring circumstances. But Mr. Dacre’s manners were winning, respectful, and quite charming, and now, by one of those chances that establish or overthrow a theory in a moment, he had lighted upon the very subject, and had spoken of that kind of treachery with a point and bitterness which ended all controversy.
His visit was not altogether a quarter of an hour, and in those agreeable minutes they had grown to feel so curiously intimate, as if they had known him for years.
“We are very lonely here, Mr. Dacre but if you would sometimes look in upon a very dull house it, would be goodnatured of you,” said Mrs. Wardell, at parting.
“I am only too much honoured; nothing would give me so much pleasure; but I’m so unfortunate, my stay in this part of the world is so very uncertain, and I’m obliged to go twelve miles out of town every morning, to meet people on business, and there my whole day is unavoidably passed, and I never get away, in fact, earlier than I did this evening.
There was a little pause here; Miss Gray fancied it seemed to invite a repetition of the same hospitality, so did Mrs. Wardell, who stole a little gl
ance at Laura, and seeing in her face nothing to discourage she said —
“If you happened to be passing again tomorrow evening, and would come in and take some tea, it is probable that our cousin, Mr. Mannering — do you know him? — may be here.”
“You are very kind; I shall be most happy, but, may I venture to tell you the business which detains me for some little time in London is, as I explained to Lord Ardenbroke, of a nature that makes it desirable, and almost necessary, that I should not be known to be here; such are my instructions, as I may call them; and in fact it might defeat the object of my visit, which is of some importance, if I were seen, or if my name were so much as mentioned as having been seen in London, I should, therefore, as a matter of conscience and honour to others deeply interested in my mission, avoid meeting any one who might disclose the fact of my being here. I am telling you quite frankly how I am circumstanced. I also confess that I can’t resist the temptation of coming, and throw myself on your mercy to spare me the risk, I may say, the serious injury of being recognised.”
“Certainly, Mr. Dacre, you may depend upon it, I shan’t endanger your incognito,” said Mrs. Wardell.
Had her curiosity been a degree less, Miss Gray would have interposed, I think, and suggested that, considering the circumstances, it would hardly be fair to ask Mr. Dacre to run a risk, and so have withdrawn the slight invitation.
But a new theory had shaped itself in her mind, and till this new conjecture was either established or overthrown she could find no rest.
That old, ugly, harsh face, the long gray head, that had appeared beside Dacre in the box at the opera. Was its owner a kinsman of his? Could he be the writer of the anonymous letter that troubled her with an hourly increasing fever? Might not he be that connecting link, the relation of Dacre, also a relation of De Beaumirail’s — and Ardenbroke had described that degree of connexion between Dacre and Beaumirail; and could she rest till that guess at least were answered?
That hard, white head, might hold no end of ugly schemes. And was there not in the letter something of the pedantry of old age lecturing youth.
She would sift this speculation to its conclusion if possible, and therefore the acquaintance of Mr. Dacre must be cultivated, and from him, ultimately, she might secure its solution.
Mr. Dacre took his leave, and his carriage drove away, and, said Miss Gray, suddenly, to her companion —
“My dear Julia Wardell, what have we — done? I assure you we are getting on at such a pace. I am quite stunned and hardly know myself.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Mrs. Wardell, with perfect simplicity.
“Here, we have invited a young man — without an introduction — without, in fact, knowing anything about him, except that he is an acquaintance of Ardenbroke’s, and given him a, sort of promise that he is not to find my cousin, Charles Mannering, here, when he comes to tea. I am annoyed at myself; what will Ardenbroke think of us — what must Mr. Dacre think of us?”
“I’m not the least uncomfortable about it. We have every reason to conclude that he is an unexceptionable acquaintance, and I really can’t see, considering that I am here to take care of you, the slightest oddity in asking him to take a cup of tea here.”
“It is odd — I know it’s odd — so do you; and what a ridiculous termination to those plans of seclusion I had formed. How Charles Mannering and Ardenbroke will laugh! And I really think, with your experience, you ought to guard me against such absurd mistakes.”
This was certainly unreasonable, considered as an attack upon Mrs. Wardell, who had simply done what Miss Gray, could she have been secretly consulted, would have insisted upon. But is it not always pleasant to lay a part of our burdens upon other shoulders, and the entire pack, even, if it be practicable?
Mrs. Wardell was huffed, and she said —
“There has been no mistake, and nothing odd; but as you fancy there is, we can easily arrange to go to tea tomorrow evening to poor old Lady Ardenbroke; you promised Ardenbroke that you would some evening, and it would be a cheer; and I’ll leave our apologies with the servant to say to Mr. Dacre where we were obliged to go, and so we shall get rid of all trouble about him.”
“Yes; perhaps that will do. It is a little awkward, you know,” said Laura.
But Mrs. Wardell did not help her by a single word; thinking, I dare say, that she would not on any account miss Mr. Dacre’s visit.
“Yes,” resumed Laura, “I believe that is the best thing we can do.”
Another silence followed, but no step was taken, I am bound to confess, to carry out this little evasion, either that evening or next morning.
CHAPTER XIV.
ANOTHER VISIT.
NEXT day, at about three o’clock, Charles Mannering looked in. The ladies received him, he thought, a little oddly. Had his cousin heard, he speculated, of the conversation, so urgent and dolorous, with which, yesterday evening, the good clergyman, Mr. Parker, whom he had accidentally met, had favoured him upon the inexhaustible subject of the prisoner De Beaumirail.
True, he was resolved not to open this unwelcome theme again to his cousin, uninvited. But how else was he to account for the perceptible constraint of her manner — the apparent embarrassment, indeed of both ladies, and those long silences that were so unusual in that easy society?
They were not offended with him. There was no affront, and their looks and manner implied nothing of the kind. But Laura Gray said nothing of “to-day,” and invited him instead “tomorrow,” to dinner, and seemed put out, and a little vexed, though not with him. And Mrs. Wardell, who was less scrupulous about her yea being strictly yea, and her nay nay, then Miss Gray murmured something about their intending to pass that evening with old Lady Ardenbroke, at which Miss Laura Gray, under her breath, uttered an impatient “oh!” tossing her head with a little glance at Julia Wardell, who returned it with a “h’m!” blushing a little, as her pretty cousin rose and walked to the window.
Altogether, Charles Mannering did not know what to make of them, and went away a great deal sooner than he had intended, more vexed and puzzled than he would have had any other living creature know.
That day moved slowly away. How was this agreeable Mr. Dacre acquiring the sombre influence which he had begun to exercise?
Partly it was due to this, that Miss Gray had resolved that, even at the risk of adding a new item to the eccentricities of their dealing with this stranger, she would, if possible, test his complicity with the author of the letter — if, in truth, he knew anything about it, and. should he prove quite innocent, then she would, if need be, cease to trouble him, and drop that singular acquaintance.
Upon this oldfashioned suburb, and throng of tufted trees and old brick houses, the sun went down, and threw his dusky red over the landscape, transforming the steep roofs and chimneys in the distance into fiery domes and minarets, that faded at last in the dark gray twilight.
Tedious were the hours as those which separate the young heir from the glories of his succession, and never did day die so slowly as that one for Laura Gray.
Night came; candles or lamps were lighted in the drawingroom, and the ladies sat there, rather silently, expecting their visitor.
Miss Gray was vexing herself with doubts and scruples. Was the step she was taking dignified, or even decorous? She could not deceive herself. If it were not for the fancy that he could throw an important light upon the question of the authorship of the letter, she would not have dreamed of inviting Mr. Dacre to tea, and actually getting her kinsman, Charles Mannering, out of the way for the occasion.
“I really am growing quite ashamed again, Julia, as the time approaches, and I almost wish we had not permitted this visit. There’s no use thinking now of it; but we could have got Ardenbroke to bring him here and introduce him, and the thing would then have been quite different.”
“You forget, my dear, that my presence, having been a married woman, and he knows that I am Mrs. Wardell — he has called me so — an
d your kinswoman, is quite sufficient protection; there really is nothing at all odd; and, as you said yourself this morning, he might not choose to come here with Ardenbroke. If Ardenbroke saw him here, and heard us call him by his name, he would conclude that there was no longer any secret — it was you who thought of that, and of course, Mr. Dacre has thought of it also; and, I don’t see any harm, and there really is no harm, and there really is no oddity, in giving that young man a cup of tea, knowing that Ardenbroke knows him so intimately.”
“I will suppose you are right,” said Laura, listlessly, taking a seat by the open window, through which the soft air was gently stealing.
A carriage drove by, upon that quiet road, and, after a momentary silence, Miss Gray said —
“I don’t think he’s coming. I dare say he’s tired, and gone home; or gone to the opera, perhaps, or anywhere but here; it must be so tiresome, and, somehow, so unmeaning; and, to tell you the truth, I think we should look very like three fools sitting in a circle.”
“I don’t think any such thing. I think, on the contrary, he’s very much taken with you, my dear; and I saw him stealing a look now and then, when he thought neither you nor I observed him. I think his visit interests him very much, and I never saw anyone more pleased to be invited.”
Laura Gray, as she leaned back in her chair, smiled faintly at the carpet before he at these words; and then, raising her head, looked through the open window and the darkened air towards the gate, now invisible.
A carriage had stopped there. And now — yes — the clang of the gate was audible, and two carriage lamps came sailing up the short avenue, under the trees.
Tranquilly Miss Laura Gray leaned back in her low chair, and in a few moments more Mr. Dacre was announced, and came into the drawingroom.
Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu (Illustrated) Page 445