WHAT HAPPENED TO ADELE
THERE were moments when Adele Leamington had doubts as to her fitness
for the profession she had entered; and never were those periods of
doubt more poignant than when she tried to fix her mind upon the written
directions of the scenario. She blamed Michael, and was immediately
repentant. She blamed herself more freely; and at last she gave up the
struggle, rolled up the manuscript book, and, putting an elastic band
about it, thrust it under her pillow and prepared for bed. She had rid
herself of skirt and blouse when the summons came.
“From Mr. Knebworth?” she said in surprise. “At this time of night?”
“Yes, miss. He’s going to make a big alteration to-morrow and he wants
to see you at once. He has sent his car. Miss Mendoza is coming into the
cast.”
“Oh!” she said faintly.
Then she had been a failure, after all, and had lived in a fool’s
paradise for these past days.
“I’ll come at once,” she said.
Her fingers trembled as she fastened her dress, and she hated herself
for such a display of weakness. Perhaps Stella was not coming into the
cast in her old part; perhaps some new character had been written in;
perhaps it was not for “Roselle” at all that she had been re-engaged.
These and other speculations rioted in her mind; and she was in the
passage and the door was opened when she remembered that Jack Knebworth
would want the manuscript. She ran upstairs, and, by an aberration of
memory, forgot entirely where the script had been left. At last, in
despair, she went down to the landlady.
“I have left some manuscripts which are rather important. Would you
bring them up to Mr. Knebworth’s house when you find them? They’re in a
little brown jacket——” She described the appearance as well as she
could.
It was Stella Mendoza’s car; she recognized the machine with a pang. So
Jack and she were reconciled!
In a minute she was inside the machine, the door closed behind her, and
was sitting by the driver, who did not speak.
“Is Mr. Brixan with Mr. Knebworth?” she asked.
He did not reply. She thought he had not heard her, until he turned with
a wide sweep and set the car going in the opposite direction.
“This is not the way to Mr. Knebworth’s,” she said in alarm. “Don’t you
know the way?”
Still he made no reply. The machine gathered speed, passed down a long,
dark street, and turned into a country lane.
“Stop the car at once!” she said, terrified, and put her hand on the
handle of the door.
Instantly her arm was gripped.
“My dear, you’re going to injure your pretty little body, and probably
spoil your beautiful face, if you attempt to get out while the car is in
motion,” he said.
“Sir Gregory!” she gasped.
“Now don’t make a fuss,” said Gregory. There was no mistaking the
elation in his voice. “You’re coming up to have a little bit of supper
with me. I’ve asked you often enough, and now you’re going willy-nilly!
Stella’s there, so there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
She held down her fears with an effort.
“Sir Gregory, you will take me back at once to my lodgings,” she said.
“This is disgraceful of you!”
He chuckled loudly.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you; nobody’s going to hurt you, and
you’ll be delivered safe and sound; but you’re going to have supper with
me first, little darling. And if you make a fuss, I’m going to turn the
car into the first tree I see and smash us all up!”
He was drunk—drunk not only with wine, but with the lust of power.
Gregory had achieved his object, and would stop at nothing now.
Was Stella there? She did not believe him. And yet it might be true. She
grasped at the straw which Stella’s presence offered.
“Here we are,” grunted Gregory, as he stopped the car before the Towers
door and slipped out on to the gravel.
Before she realized what he was doing, he had lifted her in his arms,
though she struggled desperately.
“If you scream I’ll kiss you,” growled his voice in her ear, and she lay
passive.
The door opened instantly. She looked down at the servant standing
stolidly in the hall, as Gregory carried her up the wide stairway, and
wondered what help might come from him. Presently Penne set her down on
her feet and, opening a door, thrust her in.
“Here’s your friend, Stella,” he said. “Say the good word for me! Knock
some sense into her head if you can. I’ll come back in ten minutes, and
we’ll have the grandest little wedding supper that any bridegroom ever
had.”
The door was banged and locked upon her before she realized there was
another woman in the room. It was Stella. Her heart rose at the sight of
the girl’s white face.
“Oh, Miss Mendoza,” she said breathlessly, “thank God you’re here!”