WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS.
"Take especial care with my toilet this morning, Celine," drawled Miss
Arthur, as she sat before a mirror in her luxuriously appointed
dressing-room.
Wise Cora had seen the propriety of giving to this unwelcome
sister-in-law with the heavy purse, apartments of the best in the
newly fitted-up portion of the mansion.
"I want you to be _especially_ careful with my hair and complexion,"
Miss Arthur continued.
"Yes, mademoiselle," demurely. Then, as if the information might bear
upon the question of the toilet, "Does mademoiselle know that Monsieur
Davlin left an hour ago?"
"Certainly, Celine, but I expect a visitor. He may arrive at any time
to-day, and you must do your very best with my toilet."
"Mademoiselle _est charmante_; slight need of Celine's poor aid,"
cooed the little hypocrite, and the toilet proceeded.
At length, the resources of art having been exhausted, Miss Arthur
stood up, and approved of Celine's handiwork.
"I really do look nicely, Celine; you have done well, very. Now go
send me a pot of chocolate and a bit of toast."
"Yes, mademoiselle."
"And a bit of chicken, or a bird's wing."
"Oui."
"And a French roll, Celine, with perhaps an omelette."
"Pardonne, mademoiselle, but might I suggest we must not forget this,"
touching Miss Arthur's tightly laced waist.
"True, Celine, quite right; the toast, then. And, Celine, remain
down-stairs and when Mr. Percy comes," (her maid visibly started at
the name) "show him into the little parlor, and tell him I am
somewhere in the grounds--you understand? Then come and let me know. I
prefer to have him fancy me surprised, you see," smiling playfully.
"I see; mademoiselle has _such_ tact," and the French maid
disappeared.
"Mr. Percy?" muttered the French maid, in very English accents; "I
will certainly look for your coming, Mr. Percy. Can it be that I am to
meet you at last?"
Mrs. John Arthur was restless that morning. She fidgeted about after
the departure of her brother; tried to play the agreeable to her
husband, but finding this a difficult task, left him to his cigar and
his morning paper, in the solitude of his sanctum, and seizing her
crimson shawl, started out for a turn upon the terrace.
The "little parlor," as it was called, commanded a view of one end of
the terrace walk, but no portion of it was visible from the immediate
front of Oakley mansion, the terrace running across the grounds in the
rear of the dwelling, and being shut off from the front by a thicket
of flowering shrubs and trees.
The hall facing the front entrance to Oakley was deserted now, save
for the figure of Celine Leroque, who was ensconsed in one of the
windows thereof. She had been watching there for more than an hour,
and Cora had promenaded the terrace half that time, when a gentleman
approached the mansion from the front gate-way.
Celine's eyes were riveted upon the coming figure, as it appeared and
disappeared among the trees and shrubbery along the winding walk. At
length he emerged into open space and approached nearer.
Celine Leroque suppressed a cry of astonishment as she anticipated his
ring and ushered him in. A very blonde man, with the lower half of his
face covered with a mass of yellow waving beard; pale blue, searching,
unfathomable eyes; pale yellow hair; a handsome face, the face she had
seen pictured in Claire's souvenir!
Celine Leroque led the way toward the little parlor with a heart
beating rapidly.
"Miss Arthur is in the grounds," she said, in answer to his inquiry.
"I will go look for her;" and she turned away.
Mr. Percy placed his hat upon a little table and tossing back his fair
hair, said: "I think I can see her now."
Approaching the window he looked down upon the terrace.
Celine looked, too, and catching a gleam of crimson, said: "That is
not Miss Arthur."
"Stop a moment, my girl," the man exclaimed.
He was gazing down at Cora, who was walking away from them, with a
puzzled look. "Good God!" he ejaculated, as she turned and he saw her
face.
He checked himself, and withdrawing hastily from the window, took up
his hat as if about to depart. Approaching the window once again, he
looked cautiously forth, and seeing Cora still pacing the terrace in
evident unconcern, he muttered to himself, but quite audibly, "Thank
goodness, she did not see me."
Then turning to Celine: "Girl, who is that woman?"
The girl approached the window: "That, monsieur, is Madame Cora
Arthur."
"A widow, eh?"
"Oh, no, monsieur. Mr. Arthur is the master of Oakley."
"Oh! and madame--how long has she been his wife?"
"She is still a bride, monsieur."
"Still a bride, is she? How exceedingly pleasant." Mr. Percy had
evidently recovered from his panic. "Was she a miss when she married
the master of Oakley?"
"Oh, no, monsieur; a widow."
"Widow?" stroking his whiskers caressingly. "What name?"
"Madame Torrance, monsieur."
"Madame Torrance, eh? Well, my good girl, take this," offering a bank
note. "I really thought that Madame Torrance, I mean Arthur, was an
old friend; however, it seems I was mistaken. Now, my girl, go and
tell that lady that a gentleman desires to see her, and do not
announce me to Miss Arthur yet. May I depend upon you?" glancing at
her keenly.
"You may, monsieur."
Taking the offered money, she made an obeisance, and withdrew.
The little parlor had but one means of egress--through the door by
which Mr. Percy had entered. This door was near the angle of the room;
so near that, as it swung inward, it almost grazed against a huge
high-backed chair, stiff and grim, but reckoned among the elegant
pieces of furniture that are always, or nearly always, uncomfortable.
This chair occupied the angle, and behind its capacious back was
comfortable room for one or two persons, should they fancy occupying a
position so secluded. The act of opening the door completely screened
this chair from the view of any person not directly opposite it, until
such time as the door should be again closed.
As Celine Leroque opened the door and disappeared one might have
fancied, had they been gazing at that not-very-interesting object,
that the high-backed chair moved ever so little.
Celine flew along the hall and down the stairway, tearing viciously at
something as she went. Once in the open air, the brisk autumn breezes
caught something from her hand, and sent little fragments whirling
through space--paper scraps, that might have been dissected particles
of a bank note.
Cora listened in some surprise to the messenger, who broke in upon her
meditations with a trifle less of suavity than was usual in Miss
Arthur's maid.
"A gentleman, to see me! Are you quite sure, Celine?"
Mrs. Arthur, for various reasons, received but few friends, and Celine
thought now that she looked a trifle annoyed.
"Well, Celine, where is the gentleman? Stop," as if struck by a sudden
thought, and changing color slightly, "tell him I am out, but not
until I have got up-stairs," she said; "not until I have had an
opportunity to see him, myself unseen," she thought.
"But, madame," hesitated Celine, "he is in the little parlor. He saw
madame at the upper end of the terrace."
"Confusion! What did he say, girl?" excitedly.
"He said, madame, that he wished to speak with you; that he was an old
friend."
"Well, go along," sharply. "I will see the man."
Celine turned about and Cora followed her almost sullenly. She had
some apprehension as to this unknown caller, but he had seen her, and
whoever he was she must face him, for Cora was no coward.
Celine tripped along thinking intently.
"This man is Edward Percy--Edward Percy, the lover of two women. He
was frightened when he saw this Mrs. Arthur, and my words reassured
him; why? At the mention of a strange caller, she must needs see him
before she permits him an interview--for that is what she meant. Do
they know each other? If so, the plot thickens."
Edward Percy had certainly been agitated at sight of Mrs. Arthur, and
had as certainly recovered when assured that the lady _was_ Mrs.
Arthur. He looked the image of content now, as he lounged at the
window. Under the blonde mustaches, a smile of cunning and triumph
rested; but his eyes looked very blue, very, very calm, very
unfathomable.
"Madame Arthur, sir."
Celine opens the door gently, and admits the form of Cora. Then, as
the two face each other in silence, the door quietly closes, neither
one having glanced toward the girl, who has disappeared.
Cora stands before him, the folds of the crimson shawl falling away
from the plump, graceful shoulders, and mingling with the sweep of her
black cashmere wrapper in rich, graceful contrast. One fair hand
gathers up the crimson fabric and, instinctively, the other thrusts
itself out in a repellant gesture, as the soft voice utters, in tones
of mingled hate and fear: "_You!_"
He laughs softly. "Yes, I. I knew you would be delighted." All the
time he is gazing at her critically, apparently viewing her loveliness
with an approving eye.
And now the woman feels through her whole being but the one
instinct--hate. She has forgotten all fear, and stands before him
erect, pallid, but with eye and lip expressing the bitterness that
rages within her.
"You won't say you are glad to see me? Cruel Alice," he murmurs,
plaintively. "And after all these years, too; how many are they, my
dear?"
"No matter!" fiercely. "They have given the devil ample time to claim
his own, and yet you are upon earth!"
"Yes," serenely; "both of us."
"Both of us, then. How dare you seek me out?"
"My dear wife, I never did you so much honor. I came to this house for
another purpose, and Providence, kind Providence, has guided me to
you."
The woman seemed recalled to herself. Again the look of fear
overspread her face, and looking nervously about her, she said. "For
God's sake, hush! What you wish to say say out, but don't let your
voice go beyond these walls."
"Dear Alice, my voice never was vulgarly loud, was it? recollect, if
you please," in an injured tone.
"Well! well! what do you want with me? Percy Jordan, I warn you--I am
not the woman you wronged ten years ago."
"No; by my faith, you are a handsomer woman, and you carry yourself
like a duchess. Why didn't you do that when you were Mrs.--"
"Hush!" she cried; "you base liar, it did not take me long to find you
out, even then. Don't forget that you have lived in fear of me for ten
long years."
"Just so," serenely; "haven't they been long? But they are ended now,
my dear; my incubus is dead and--"
"But documents don't die," she interrupted; "don't forget that!"
"Not for worlds. For instance, I remember that in a certain church register
may be seen the marriage lines of Alice Ford and--ahem--myself. And
somewhere, not far away, there must be on record the statement that Mr.
Arthur, of Oakley, has wedded the incomparable Mrs. Torrance, a blonde
widow--ahem. Where did you go, my dear, when you left my bed and board so
very unceremoniously?
"'What had I done, or what hadst thou,
That through this weary world till now
I've walked with empty arms.'"
He stretched out those members tragically.
"And I don't forget that I was never legally your wife, as you had
another living," cried Cora, ignoring the latter part of his speech.
"No; of course not. Does Mr. John Arthur know that you were once my--"
"Dupe? no," she interrupted. "Come, time passes; tell me what you
know, and what you want."
"Softly, softly, Mrs. Arthur. I know enough to insure me against being
turned out of Oakley by you; and I want a wife and a fortune."
"I don't understand you."
[Illustration: "The soft voice utters, in tones of mingled hate and
fear, '_You?_'"--page 149.]
"Possibly not, Madame Arthur." Then, with mock emotion: "Might I,
dare I, ask you to give to my keeping, that incomparable maiden, that
houri of houris, your young and lovely sister-in-law, Miss Ellen
Arthur?"
The woman looked at him in silence for a time, and then, flinging
herself upon a couch, burst into a peal of soft laughter. She
understood it all now.
"So you are the expected lover!" she ejaculated, laughing afresh; "and
she is up-stairs, in bright array, waiting for you."
"And I am down here, pleading for permission to address this pearl of
price."
Cora arose and gathered her crimson wrap about her shoulders. "And how
is it to be between us?" she asked coolly.
"My sweet Alice, if you were John Arthur's widow instead of John
Arthur's wife, it should be as if the past ten years were but a
dream."
"Indeed--provided, of course, I were John Arthur's heiress as well."
"Certainly!"
"And how is it that you are once more fortune hunting? Five years ago
you inherited wealth sufficient for your every need."
The elegant Mr. Percy went through the pantomime of shuffling and
dealing cards, then looked at her with a grimace.
"All?" she inquired, as if the action had been words.
"Every ducat," solemnly. "So what is to be my fate, fair destiny?"
Cora mused, then laughed again. "After all, you may prove a friend in
need," she said. "I shan't interfere between you and Miss Arthur; be
sure of that."
Then they fell to settling the preliminaries of a siege upon the heart
of Miss Arthur, together with other little trifles that occurred as
they talked. They had both thrown off their air of hostility, and
were seated opposite each other, conversing quite comfortably, when
the door swung open, and Miss Arthur stood before them; Miss Arthur,
in the full glory of snowy cashmere, with cherry satin facings; Miss
Arthur, with curls waving, and in all her war-paint.
The two plotters arose, and saluted her with much empressement.
Miss Arthur advanced a step and stood beside the high-backed chair,
one hand still resting upon the door. Percy came toward her with
outstretched hands.
"Ah-h-h!" screeched the spinster, "what was that?"
Turning quickly she encountered nothing more formidable than her
French maid, who had evidently hurried to the spot, for she breathed
rapidly, and said, in an anxious manner:
"Pardon, mademoiselle, it is I,--did mademoiselle ring? I thought so."
"You stepped on my dress, girl," said Miss Arthur, sharply. "No, I did
not ring; perhaps Mrs. Arthur did."
"I did ring, Ellen," lied Cora, sweetly, wondering what lucky
providence sent the girl to the door just then. "I rang for you, as
Mr. Percy here, in whom I have discovered a Long Branch acquaintance,
would hardly treat me civilly, so impatient has he been to see Miss
Arthur."
Miss Arthur looked somewhat appeased. "You may go, Celine," she said,
with her most stately air.
Thus she sailed forward to meet Mr. Percy.
Celine departed, smiling an odd little smile. She went to her own room
and sitting down upon the bedside, meditated. Presently she arose, and
walking over to her mirror, gazed at her reflected image, and shaking
her head at it, murmured:
"What a nice little maid you are, Celine Leroque--and how these
people will love you by and by! You now hold in your hands the thread
that will unravel this mixture of mystery, and when the reckoning
comes, it will not be you that falls."
Thoughtfully she paced the little apartment. By and by she threw
herself upon the bed and closed her eyes, still thinking. If she could
only know just how these two had separated--Edward Percy and Cora
Arthur; and what part Lucian Davlin had played in that separation
drama. Did Cora know Lucian ten years ago--did Percy know him for his
rival? Suddenly the girl sprang up, and smiting her two palms
together, exclaimed:
"If these two men were rivals, then we may yet find a reason why
Lucian Davlin should attempt the life of Edward Percy!"
And now what should she do?
Claire Keith's bright face rose before her as she asked herself the
question. Claire must be warned and saved; but how? The girl's brow
darkened.
"She will scorn the man," she muttered, between pale lips, "and then
she will learn to value that other. She will grieve for a time,
perhaps, but not for long; then--then she will become _his_ wife,
while I--What right has she to all the blessings?"
The girl stood motionless, with hands tightly clasped. The conflict
lasted but a moment when, in a firm, clear voice she continued:
"It would be base not to save her from this wretch--and save her I
will; and I will restore to Olive Girard her husband; is that not
payment enough for all they have done for me? But he, Clarence, my
hero--why must I yield him up without a struggle? She does not love
him; she never will love him if I say the word; she is as generous
as--as I am base, I think. No, it is not base to love him, to try to
win him. And why not? I must think, think, think."
All that day and night the girl pondered deeply. In the morning she
arose weary, unrefreshed.
"I will save Claire Keith from the suffering that befell me," she
said. "But she shall not have all the good things of this life, and I
none."