Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  On the previous evening, Gerano had taken pains to see his daughter alone at her own house, on pretence of talking to her about business. With considerable skill he had led the conversation up to the required point, and had laid a trap for her.

  “Do you see much of the Ardens just now?” he asked.

  “No. We do not meet often,” answered Adele, with a little movement of the shoulders.

  “I wish you did. I wish you saw them every day,” observed the Prince, more gravely.

  “Do you, papa? Why?”

  “You might find out something that I wish very much to know. It would not be hard at all. We are rather anxious about it.”

  “What is the matter?” asked Adele, with sudden interest.

  “That is it. There is a disagreeable story afloat. More than one, in fact. It has reached my ears on good authority that Arden drinks far too much. You know what a brave girl Laura is. She hides it as well as she can, but she is terribly unhappy. Have you any idea whether there is any truth in all this?”

  Adele hesitated a moment, and looked earnestly into her teacup, as though seeking advice. The moment was important. Her father had brought her own story back to her for confirmation, as it were. It might be dangerous to take the other side now. Suddenly she looked up with a well-feigned little smile of embarrassment.

  “I would rather not say what I think, papa,” she said, with the evident intention of not denying the tale.

  “But, my dear,” protested her father, “you must see how anxious we are on Laura’s account. Really, my child, have a little confidence in me — tell me what you know.”

  “If you insist — well, I suppose I must. I am afraid there is no doubt about it. Laura’s husband is very intemperate.”

  “Ah me! I feared so, from what I had heard,” said the Prince, looking down, and shaking his head very sadly.

  “You see, the people first began to talk about it last year, when he was in such a disgraceful condition in your house, and Pietro Ghisleri had to take him home.”

  “Yes, yes!” Gerano still shook his head sorrowfully. “I ought to have known, but they told me it was a fainting fit. And the worst of it is, my dear Adele, that there are other stories, and worse ones, too, about Laura. I hear that she is seriously in love with Francesco. Poor thing! it is no wonder — she is so unhappy at home, and Francesco is such a fine fellow, and always so kind to her everywhere.”

  “No, it is no wonder,” assented Adele, who felt that she was launched, and must go to the end, though she had no time to consider the consequences.

  “I suppose there is really some evidence about Arden’s habits,” resumed the Prince. “Of course he will deny it all, and I would like to have something to fall back upon — to convince myself more thoroughly, you understand.”

  Adele paused a moment.

  “Arden has a Scotch servant,” she said presently. “It appears that he is very intimate with our butler, who has often seen him going into the Tempietto with bottles of brandy hidden in an overcoat he carries on his arm.”

  “Dear me! How shocking!” exclaimed the Prince. “So old Giuseppe has actually seen that!”

  “Often,” replied Adele, with conviction. “But then, after all — so many men drink. If it were not for Laura — poor Laura!”

  “Poor Laura, — yes, as I said, it is no wonder if she has fallen in love with Francesco — such a handsome fellow, too! She has shown good taste, at least.” The Prince laughed gently. “At all events, you are not jealous, Adele; I can see that.”

  “I?” exclaimed Adele, with indignant scorn. “No, indeed!”

  Gerano began to feel his pockets, as though searching for something he could not find. Then he rang the bell at his elbow.

  “I have forgotten my cigarettes, my dear, I must have left them in my coat,” he said.

  The old butler answered his summons in person, for Gerano knew the usage of the house and had pressed the button three times, unnoticed by Adele, which meant that Giuseppe was wanted.

  “I have left my cigarettes in my coat, Giuseppe,” said the Prince. Then as the man turned to go, he called him back. “Giuseppe!”

  “Excellency!”

  “I want you to do a little commission for me. I have a little surprise for Donna Laura, and I do not want her to know where it comes from. It must be placed on her table, do you see? Now Donna Adele tells me that you are very intimate with Lord Herbert’s Scotch servant—”

  “I, Excellency?” Giuseppe was very much astonished.

  “Yes — the man with sandy grey hair, and a big nose, and a red face — a most excellent servant, who has been with Lord Herbert since he was a child. Donna Adele says you know him very well—”

  “Her Excellency must be mistaken. It must have been some other servant who told her. I never saw the man.”

  “You said Giuseppe, did you not?” asked the Prince very blandly, and turning to Adele. She bit her lip in silence. “Never mind,” he continued. “It is a misunderstanding, and I will manage the surprise in quite another way. My cigarettes, Giuseppe.”

  The man went out, and Adele and the Prince sat without exchanging a word, until he returned with the case, Gerano all the time looking very gentle. When the servant was gone a second time, the Prince’s expression changed suddenly, and he spoke in a stern voice.

  “Now that you have sufficiently disgraced yourself, my daughter, you will begin to make reparation at once,” he said.

  Adele started as though she had been struck, and stared at him.

  “I am in earnest,” he added.

  “What do you mean, papa?” she asked, frightened by his manner. “Disgraced myself? You must be mad!”

  “You know perfectly well what I mean,” answered her father. “I have been playing a little comedy with you, and I have found out the truth. You know as well as I that everything you have repeated to me this evening is absolutely untrue, and there is some reason to believe that you have invented these tales and set them going in the world out of jealousy, and for no other reason, with deliberate intention to do harm. Even if it were not you who began, it would still be disgraceful enough on your part to say such things even to me, and you have said them to others. That last vile little invention about the bottles was produced on the spur of the moment — I saw you hesitate. You are responsible for all this, and no one else. I will go into the world more in future than I have done hitherto, and will watch you. You are to make full reparation for what you have done. I insist upon it.”

  “And if I deny that I originated this gossip, and refuse to obey you, what will you do?” asked Adele, defiantly.

  “You are aware that under the present laws I can dispose of half my property as I please,” observed the Prince. “Laura has nothing—” He stopped significantly.

  Adele turned pale. She was terrified, not so much at the thought of losing the millions in question, but at the idea of the consequence to herself in her father-in-law’s house. Casa Savelli counted upon the whole fortune as confidently as though it were already theirs. She knew very well how she should be treated during the rest of her life, if one-half of the great property were lost to her husband’s family through her fault.

  “You are forcing me to acknowledge myself guilty of what I never did,” she said, still trying to make a stand. “What do you wish me to do?”

  “You will everywhere say nice things about Laura and her husband. You will say that you are now positively sure that Arden does not drink. You will say that there is no truth whatever in the report that Laura is in love with Francesco, and that you are absolutely certain that the Ardens are very happy together. Those are the principal points, I believe. You will also at once ask them to dinner, and you will repeat your invitation often, and behave to both in a proper way.”

  Adele laughed scornfully, though her mirth had something of affectation in it.

  “Say pretty things, and invite them to dinner!” she exclaimed. “That is not very hard. I have not the slight
est objection to doing that, because I should do it in any case, even if you had not made me this absurd scene.”

  “In future, my child, before you call anything I do or say absurd, I recommend you to think of the law regarding wills, to which I called your attention.”

  Adele was silent, for she saw that she was completely in her father’s power. Being really guilty of the social misdeeds with which she was charged, she was not now surprised by his manner. What really amazed her was the display of diplomatic talent he had made, while entrapping her into what amounted to a confession. She had never supposed him capable of anything of the kind. But he was a quiet man, much more occupied in dealing with humanity in the management of his property than most people realised. No genius — certainly, — for if he had been, he would not have told the whole story to his wife, as he had done on the previous evening, but possessing the talent to choose the wise course at least as often as not, which is more than can be said for most people. There was something of the old-fashioned father about him, too, and he showed it in the little speech he made before leaving Adele that evening.

  “And now, my dear daughter,” he said, rising and standing before her as he spoke, “I have one word more to say before I go. You are my only child, and, in spite of all that has happened, I love you very much. I do not believe that you have ever done anything of the kind until now, and I do not think you will fall into the same fault in the future. If you do all that I have told you to do, I shall never refer to the matter after this, and we will try and forget it. But you have learned a lesson which you will remember all your life. Jealousy is a great sin, and slander is not only vile and degrading, but is also the greatest mistake possible from a worldly point of view. Remember that. If you wish to be successful in society, never speak an unkind word about any one. And now good night, my dear. Do what I have bidden you, and let us think no more about it.”

  Having concluded his sermon, Gerano kissed Adele on the forehead, as he was accustomed to do. She bent her head in silence, for she was so angry that she could not trust herself to speak, and he left her at the door and went home. All things considered, she knew that she had reason to be grateful for his forbearance. She was quite sure that her father-in-law would have behaved differently, and the stories she had heard of old Prince Saracinesca’s temper showed clearly that the race of violent fathers was by no means yet extinct. She was not even called upon to make a formal apology to Laura in her father’s presence, which was what she had at first expected and feared. Nothing, in fact, was required of her except to avoid gossip and treat the Ardens with a decent show of sisterly affection. She could scarcely have got better terms of peace, had she dictated them herself.

  But she was far too angry to look at the affair in this light and far too deeply humiliated to forgive her father or the Ardens. If anything were necessary to complete her shame, it was the knowledge that she was utterly unable to cope with Gerano, who could disinherit her and her children of an enormous sum by a stroke of the pen, if he pleased; and he would please, if she did not obey him to the letter.

  With a trembling hand she wrote the invitation required of her and gave it to be taken in the morning. Then she sat down and tried to read, taking up a great French review and opening it hap-hazard. The article chanced to be one on a medical subject, written by a very eminent practitioner, but not at all likely to interest Adele Savelli. But she felt the necessity of composing herself before meeting her husband when he should come home from the club, and she followed the lines with a sort of resolute determination which belonged to her character at certain moments. It was very hard to understand a word of what she was reading, but she at last became absorbed in the effort, and ultimately reached the end of the paper.

  In the meantime, Francesco Savelli had spent his day in deliberately thinking over the situation, and he had determined, very wisely, that it would be a great mistake to speak to his wife on the subject. He went over in his mind all the men of his acquaintance whom he might consult with safety and with some prospect of obtaining a truthful answer to his question, and he saw that they were by no means many. Wisdom and frankness are rare enough separately, but rarer still in combination in the same person, though a few are aware that the truest wisdom is the most consistent frankness. Most of those of whom Savelli thought were men considerably older than himself, and not men with whom he had any great intimacy. The Prince of Sant’ Ilario and his cousin, the Marchese di San Giacinto, Spicca, the melancholy and sarcastic, and perhaps Pietro Ghisleri — there were not many more, and the last named, who was the nearest to him in point of age, was not, as Savelli thought, very friendly to him. On the whole, he determined to wait and bide his time, watching Adele carefully, and collecting such evidence as he could while studiously keeping his own counsel. He saw very little of his wife on that day, and when he next spoke to her about the Ardens, her manner was so cordial and apparently sincere, that he at once formed an opinion in her favour, as indeed he desired to do, though it was more for the sake of his family as a whole, than for her own.

  “I have asked them to dinner,” she said, “because we never see anything of them, any more than if they were not in Rome. Shall we have my father and the Princess, too? It will make a family party.”

  “By all means,” answered Savelli, who did not enjoy the prospect of having the Ardens as the only guests, after what had recently passed between himself and Lord Herbert. “By all means — a family party — a sort of rejoicing over Arden’s recovery.”

  “Dear Arden!” exclaimed Adele. “I like him now. I used to have the greatest antipathy for him because he is a cripple, poor fellow! I suppose that is natural, but I have quite got over it.”

  “I am very glad,” observed Francesco. “You and Laura were brought up like sisters — there ought never to be any coldness between you.”

  “Oh, as for Laura, there never has been the least difference since we were children. We are sisters still, just as we used to be when you first came to the house. Do you remember, Francesco — four years ago? I used to think you liked Laura better than me. Indeed I did! It was so foolish, and now you are always so good to me that I see how silly I was. It never was true, carissimo, was it?”

  “No, indeed!” answered Savelli, with an awkward laugh, and turning away his face to hide the colour that rose in his cheeks.

  “Of course not. And as for Laura, she is so much in love with her husband that I believe she was dreaming of him even then, before she had ever seen him, and long before she was old enough to think of marrying any one. How she loves him! Is it not wonderful?”

  Francesco glanced at his wife, and he believed that he was not mistaken in her. There was a look of genuine admiration almost amounting to enthusiasm in her face. He suppressed a slight sigh, for he still loved Laura in his helpless and hopeless way.

  “Yes,” he said, “it is wonderful, all things considered.”

  “But then,” concluded Adele, “with Arden’s beautiful character — well, I am not surprised.”

  CHAPTER IX.

  ADELE SAVELLI WAS a very good actress, and she deceived her husband without much trouble, making him believe that she had never felt ill-disposed towards Laura, and that the repulsion she had felt for Arden had depended upon his deformity, to which she had now grown accustomed, as was quite natural. She had aways been careful not to speak out her mind upon the subject to Francesco, and had been more than cautious in other respects. She was far too clever a woman to let him hear the gossip she had originated except through outsiders, in the way of general conversation, and now she found it easy to change her tactics completely without doing anything to rouse his suspicion. She seemed very much preoccupied, however, in spite of her efforts to seem cheerful and agreeable during the two days which preceded the dinner party her father had obliged her to give. There were domestic details, too, which gave her trouble, and she had more than enough to occupy her. Her maid had been very ill, too, and was barely beginning to recover. Ever
y woman of the world knows what it means to be suddenly deprived of a thoroughly good maid’s services just at the opening of the season. That was one more annoyance among the many she encountered, and, in her opinion, not the smallest.

  There was, of course, no open humiliation in what she was now forced to do, but she felt the shame of defeat very keenly whenever she thought of her interview with her father. It was not surprising that her hatred of the Ardens should suddenly take greater proportions under circumstances so favourable to its growth. And she hated them both with all her heart, while preparing herself to receive them with open arms and protestations of affection. But she did everything in her power to make the meeting effective. She even went so far as to buy pretty little gifts for the Prince and Princess of Gerano, and for Laura and Arden, which she took the trouble to conceal with her own hands in the folds of each one’s napkin just before dinner; pretty little chiselled silver sweetmeat boxes for the two ladies, and tiny matchboxes for the men. Both the elder Savelli being away at the time, she arranged everything according to her own taste, which was excellent, thus taking advantage of her position as temporary mistress of the house. There were flowers scattered on the table, a form of decoration of which the old butler disapproved, shaking his head mournfully as he carried out Adele’s directions.

  She did not over-act her part when the evening came, for she knew how to be very charming when she pleased, and she meant on the present occasion to produce a very strong impression upon every one present at dinner. She succeeded well. The Ardens themselves were surprised at the pleasant feeling which seemed to pervade everything. Gerano looked at his daughter approvingly, repeatedly smiled, nodded to her, and at last drank her health. Don Francesco was delighted, for he saw in his wife’s manner the strongest refutation of all that Arden had told him two days earlier. Moreover, he had Laura Arden on his left and was at liberty to talk to her as much as he pleased, which was in itself a great satisfaction, especially as she herself was more than usually cordial, being determined not to betray herself. Francesco looked across the table at Arden more than once, with a significant glance, and inwardly congratulated himself upon having said nothing to his wife about the difficulty.