A fortnight later Count Leven informed his wife that he was going home
on a short leave, but that she might stay in London if she pleased. An
aunt of his had died in Warsaw, he said, leaving him a small property,
and in spite of the disturbed state of his own country it was
necessary that he should go and take possession of the land without
delay.
Lady Maud did not believe a word of what he said, until it became
apparent that he had the cash necessary for his journey without
borrowing of her, as he frequently tried to do, with varying success.
She smiled calmly as she bade him good-bye and wished him a pleasant
journey; he made a magnificent show of kissing her hand at parting,
and waved his hat to the window when he was outside the house, before
getting into the four-wheeler, on the roof of which his voluminous
luggage made a rather unsafe pyramid. She was not at the window, and
he knew it; but other people might be watching him from theirs, and
the servant stood at the open door. It was always worth while, in
Count Leven's opinion, to make an 'effect' if one got a chance.
Three days later Lady Maud received a document from the Russian
Embassy informing her that her husband had brought an action to obtain
a divorce from her in the Ecclesiastical Court of the Patriarch of
Constantinople, on the ground of her undue intimacy with Rufus Van
Torp of New York, as proved by the attested depositions of detectives.
She was further informed that unless she appeared in person or by
proxy before the Patriarch of Constantinople within one month of the
date of the present notice, to defend herself against the charges made
by her husband, judgment would go by default, and the divorce would be
pronounced.
At first Lady Maud imagined this extraordinary document to be a stupid
practical joke, invented by some half-fledged cousin to tease her.
She had a good many cousins, among whom were several beardless
undergraduates and callow subalterns in smart regiments, who would
think it no end of fun to scare 'Cousin Maud.' There was no mistaking
the official paper on which the document was written, and it bore
the seal of the Chancery of the Russian Embassy; but in Lady Maud's
opinion the mention of the Patriarch of Constantinople stamped it as
an egregious hoax.
On reflection, however, she decided that it must have been perpetrated
by some one in the Embassy for the express purpose of annoying her,
since no outsider could have got at the seal, even if he could have
obtained possession of the paper and envelope. As soon as this view
presented itself, she determined to ascertain the truth directly, and
to bring down the ambassadorial wrath on the offender.
Accordingly she took the paper to the Russian clerk who was in charge
of the Chancery, and inquired who had dared to concoct such a paper
and to send it to her.
To her stupefaction, the man smiled politely and informed her that the
document was genuine. What had the Patriarch to do with it? That was
very simple. Had she not been married to a Russian subject by the
Greek rite in Paris? Certainly. Very well. All marriages of Russian
subjects out of their own country took place under the authority of
the Patriarch of Constantinople, and all suits for divorcing persons
thus married came under his jurisdiction. That was all. It was such a
simple matter that every Russian knew all about it. The clerk asked
if he could be of service to her. He had been stationed in
Constantinople, and knew just what to do; and, moreover, he had a
friend at the Chancery there, who would take charge of the case if the
Countess desired it.
Lady Maud thanked him coldly, replaced the document in its envelope,
and left the Embassy with the intention of never setting foot in it
again.
She understood why Leven had suddenly lost an aunt of whom she had
never heard, and had got out of the way on pretence of an imaginary
inheritance. The dates showed plainly that the move had been prepared
before he left, and that he had started when the notice of the suit
was about to be sent to her. The only explanation that occurred to her
was that her husband had found some very rich woman who was willing to
marry him if he could free himself; and this seemed likely enough.
She hesitated as to how she should act. Her first impulse was to go
to her father, who was a lawyer and would give her good advice, but a
moment's thought showed her that it would be a mistake to go to him.
Being no longer immobilised by a sprained ankle, Lord Creedmore would
probably leave England instantly in pursuit of Leven himself, and no
one could tell what the consequences might be if he caught him; they
would certainly be violent, and they might be disastrous.
Then Lady Maud thought of telegraphing to Mr. Van Torp to come to town
to see her about an urgent matter; but she decided against that course
too. Whatever her relations were with the American financier this was
not the moment to call attention to them. She would write to him, and
in order to see him conveniently she would suggest to her father to
have a week-end house party in the country, and to ask his neighbour
over from Oxley Paddox. Nobody but Mr. Van Torp and the post-office
called the place Torp Towers.
She had taken a hansom to the Embassy, but she walked back to Charles
Street because she was angry, and she considered nothing so good for a
rage as a stiff walk. By the time she reached her own door she was as
cool as ever, and her clear eyes looked upon the wicked world with
their accustomed calm.
As she laid her hand on the door-bell, a smart brougham drove up
quickly and stopped close to the pavement, and as she turned her head
Margaret was letting herself out, before the footman could get round
from the other side to open the door of the carriage.
'May I come in?' asked the singer anxiously, and Lady Maud saw that
she seemed much disturbed, and had a newspaper in her hand. 'I'm so
glad I just caught you,' Margaret added, as the door opened.
They went in together. The house was very small and narrow, and Lady
Maud led the way into a little sitting-room on the right of the hall,
and shut the door.
'Is it true?' Margaret asked as soon as they were alone.
'What?'
'About your divorce--'
Lady Maud smiled rather contemptuously.
'Is it already in the papers?' she asked, glancing at the one Margaret
had brought. 'I only heard of it myself an hour ago!'
'Then it's really true! There's a horrid article about it--'
Margaret was evidently much more disturbed than her friend, who sat
down in a careless attitude and smiled at her.
'It had to come some day. And besides,' added Lady Maud, 'I don't
care!'
'There's something about me too,' answered Margaret, 'and I cannot
help caring.'
'About you?'
'Me and Mr. Van Torp--the article is written by some one who hates
him--that's clear!--and you know I don't like him; but that's no
reason why I should be dragged in.'
She was rather incoherent, and Lady Maud took the paper from her hand
quietly, and found the article at once. It was as 'horrid' as the
Primadonna said it was. No names were given in full, but there could
not be the slightest mistake about the persons referred to, who were
all clearly labelled by bits of characteristic description. It was all
in the ponderously airy form of one of those more or less true stories
of which some modern weeklies seem to have an inexhaustible supply,
but it was a particularly vicious specimen of its class so far as
Mr. Van Torp was concerned. His life was torn up by the roots and
mercilessly pulled to pieces, and he was shown to the public as a
Leicester Square Lovelace or a Bowery Don Juan. His baleful career was
traced from his supposed affair with Mrs. Isidore Bamberger and her
divorce to the scene at Margaret's hotel in New York, and from that
to the occasion of his being caught with Lady Maud in Hare Court by a
justly angry husband; and there was, moreover, a pretty plain allusion
to little Ida Moon.
Lady Maud read the article quickly, but without betraying any emotion.
When she had finished she raised her eyebrows a very little, and gave
the paper back to Margaret.
'It is rather nasty,' she observed quietly, as if she were speaking of
the weather.
'It's utterly disgusting,' Margaret answered with emphasis. 'What
shall you do?'
'I really don't know. Why should I do anything? Your position is
different, for you can write to the papers and deny all that concerns
you if you like--though I'm sure I don't know why you should care.
It's not to your discredit.'
'I could not very well deny it,' said the Primadonna thoughtfully.
Almost before the words had left her lips she was sorry she had
spoken.
'Does it happen to be true?' asked Lady Maud, with an encouraging
smile.
'Well, since you ask me--yes.' Margaret felt uncomfortable.
'Oh, I thought it might be,' answered Lady Maud. 'With all his good
qualities he has a very rough side. The story about me is perfectly
true too.'
Margaret was amazed at her friend's quiet cynicism.
'Not that about the--the envelope on the table--'
She stopped short.
'Oh yes! There were four thousand one hundred pounds in it. My husband
counted the notes.'
The singer leaned back in her chair and stared in unconcealed
surprise, wondering how in the world she could have been so completely
mistaken in her judgment of a friend who had seemed to her the best
type of an honest and fearless Englishwoman. Margaret Donne had not
been brought up in the gay world; she had, however, seen some aspects
of it since she had been a successful singer, and she did not
exaggerate its virtues; but somehow Lady Maud had seemed to be above
it, while living in it, and Margaret would have put her hand into the
fire for the daughter of her father's old friend, who now acknowledged
without a blush that she had taken four thousand pounds from Rufus Van
Torp.
'I suppose it would go against me even in an English court,' said Lady
Maud in a tone of reflection. 'It looks so badly to take money, you
know, doesn't it? But if I must be divorced, it really strikes me
as delightfully original to have it done by the Patriarch of
Constantinople! Doesn't it, my dear?'
'It's not usual, certainly,' said Margaret gravely.
She was puzzled by the other's attitude, and somewhat horrified.
'I suppose you think I'm a very odd sort of person,' said Lady Maud,
'because I don't mind so much as most women might. You see, I never
really cared for Leven, though if I had not thought I had a fancy for
him I wouldn't have married him. My people were quite against it. The
truth is, I couldn't have the husband I wanted, and as I did not mean
to break my heart about it, I married, as so many girls do. That's my
little story! It's not long, is it?'
She laughed, but she very rarely did that, even when she was amused,
and now Margaret's quick ear detected here and there in the sweet
ripple a note that did not ring quite like the rest. The intonation
was not false or artificial, but only sad and regretful, as genuine
laughter should not be. Margaret looked at her, still profoundly
mystified, and still drawn to her by natural sympathy, though
horrified almost to disgust at what seemed her brutal cynicism.
'May I ask one question? We've grown to be such good friends that
perhaps you won't mind.'
Lady Maud nodded.
'Of course,' she said. 'Ask me anything you please. I'll answer if I
can.'
'You said that you could not marry the man you liked. Was he--Mr. Van
Torp?'
Lady Maud was not prepared for the question.
'Mr. Van Torp?' she repeated slowly. 'Oh dear no! Certainly not! What
an extraordinary idea!' She gazed into Margaret's eyes with a look of
inquiry, until the truth suddenly dawned upon her. 'Oh, I see!' she
cried. 'How awfully funny!'
There was no minor note of sadness or regret in her rippling laughter
now. It was so exquisitely true and musical that the great soprano
listened to it with keen delight, and wondered whether she herself
could produce a sound half so delicious.
'No, my dear,' said Lady Maud, as her mirth subsided. 'I never was in
love with Mr. Van Torp. But it really is awfully funny that you should
have thought so! No wonder you looked grave when I told you that I was
really found in his rooms! We are the greatest friends, and no man was
ever kinder to a woman than he has been to me for the last two years.
But that's all. Did you really think the money was meant for me? That
wasn't quite nice of you, was it?'
The bright smile was still on her face as she spoke the last words,
for her nature was far too big to be really hurt; but the little
rebuke went home sharply, and Margaret felt unreasonably ashamed of
herself, considering that Lady Maud had not taken the slightest pains
to explain the truth to her.
'I'm so sorry,' she said contritely. 'I'm dreadfully sorry. It was
abominably stupid of me!'
'Oh no. It was quite natural. This is not a pretty world, and there's
no reason why you should think me better than lots of other women. And
besides, I don't care!'
'But surely you won't let your husband get a divorce for such a reason
as that without making a defence?'
'Before the Patriarch of Constantinople?' Lady Maud evidently thought
the idea very amusing. 'It sounds like a comic opera,' she added. 'Why
should I defend myself? I shall be glad to be free; and as for the
story, the people who like me will not believe any harm of me, and the
people who don't like me may believe what they please. But I'm very
glad you showed me that article, disgusting as it is.'
'I was beginning to be sorry I had brought it.'
'No. You did me a service, for I had no idea that any one was going to
take advantage of my divorce to make a cowardly attack on my friend--I
mean Mr. Van Torp. I shall certainly not make any defence before the
Patriarch, but I shall make a statement which will go to the right
people, saying that I met Mr. Van Torp in a lawyer's chambers in
the Temple, that is, in a place of business, and about a matter of
business, and that there was no secret about it, because my husband's
servant called the cab that took me there, and gave the cabman the
address. I often do go out without telling any one, and I let myself
in with a latch-key when I come home, but on that particular occasion
I did neither. Will you say that if you hear me talked about?'
'Of course I will.'
Nevertheless, Margaret thought that Lady Maud might have given her a
little information about the 'matter of business' which had
involved such a large sum of money, and had produced such important
consequences.