There was a big dinner party in the evening, somewhat to Leonard’s
disappointment. He had hoped they would have spent the first night by
themselves, so that he would have an opportunity of appropriating more
or less the charming Gloria. Instead of this, she would be lost to him
amidst a crowd.
Perhaps it was Howard Stormont’s way of impressing a new guest. Craig
had always said the man was a vulgarian at heart, and that the
vulgarity was always peeping through the thin veneer of a
lately-acquired refinement. Lydon was far from prepared to go this
length, but he did wish his host had avoided so much ostentation the
first time he sat at his table.
The house was run on very magnificent lines, and the rather
overpowering sense of wealth depressed him a little. In spite of her
frank and unaffected manners, it made Gloria seem very far away from
him. Even if she reciprocated his feelings, how could he dare to think
of taking her from such a splendid home as this to share his own very
moderate fortunes?
There were about a dozen people to dinner besides himself and the
Stormonts. The white-haired Duncan was assisted by four footmen. The
majority of the guests were neighbours, a few obviously with the stamp
of the county on them. Two married couples were London friends and had
come down to dine and stay the week-end like Lydon himself. The dinner
was a very lengthy affair, exquisitely cooked and served with the
utmost elegance. The wines and liqueurs were of unexceptionable
quality.
Lydon’s father, probably a man of greater wealth than Stormont, had
lived in much the same profuse style. But Leonard had not seen a great
deal of it; he had been away from home so much. His own tastes were
very simple, and he had no hankerings after luxury.
To judge by Howard Stormont’s beaming countenance, as he sat at his
end of the table, with a rather severe-looking “county” lady on his
right, he seemed to revel in it. Lydon did not think for a moment that
the man had been born to it; from many little signs he could deduce
the contrary. But possibly he was one of those ambitious souls to whom
magnificent surroundings seem a quite commonplace part of their
environment. What to Lydon seemed ostentation only appeared to the
other ordinary comfort.
And what about Gloria? Was all this wealth and luxury, these dainty,
never-ending dishes, this army of deftly-trained servants an absolute
necessity of her well-being, as it seemed to that of her uncle and the
richly-dressed Mrs. Barnard, who beamed as benignly on their guests as
her portly and rubicund brother?
Well, he did not know enough of her yet to decide. All he did know was
that she looked very beautiful in some soft shimmering fabric that
displayed to perfection the ivory white of her well-poised neck and
rounded arms. Now and then he caught a kindly glance, speaking of more
than ordinary acquaintance, from the soft, pretty blue eyes. Now and
again he caught her low, sweet laugh at some remark of her neighbour.
Lydon had for his partner one of the county people, a young married
woman, Mrs. Lycett, not very remarkable for good looks, but very
lively and voluble. He learned afterwards that she was a very
important person in her set, by reason of her various accomplishments.
She was a keen and prominent golfer, a daring and fearless rider to
hounds, an adept at every kind of sport.
As Lydon was no mean sportsman himself, he got on very well with this
voluble person, who chattered away to him about her prowess. But all
the same, Mrs. Lycett, with her vivid account of her feats in so many
departments of sport, could not make up to him for Gloria. She was an
athletic girl too, but she had not that slight touch of the masculine
which rather disfigured Mrs. Lycett, and, above all, Gloria did not
boast about her achievements. She was so distinctly feminine and
lovable. Long before the protracted meal was over, Leonard found
himself growing more than a little weary. He had not bargained for
being thrust so suddenly into a crowd of absolute strangers. He looked
back with pleasure on his two _sub-rosa_ meetings with the beautiful
girl, whose glance he only occasionally met across the big
dinner-table.
After dinner the men sat for a little time to smoke a cigarette and
then joined the ladies. Soon the large party split up into groups.
Some went to the billiard-room, most sat down to bridge. A few
clustered round the piano, where Gloria sang some very charming songs
in a well-trained voice. Lydon joined this particular group, not
because he was so keen on music, but from a desire to be as near to
Gloria as possible.
At a fairly early hour in the evening, carriages were announced, and
the neighbours departed, almost in a body. Only the house party was
left, and after a little while the ladies took their candles, and the
men adjourned to the smoking-room, a handsome apartment decorated in
the Moorish style, for a final chat. The two visitors from London were
elderly men, contemporaries of the host, and their conversation was
chiefly about general topics in which the three were interested.
The next day, Sunday, was, on the whole, quite enjoyable. Everybody
except one of the London men went to church in the morning. In the
afternoon, Leonard, to his great delight, got Gloria to himself, and
they went for a long walk from after lunch till close upon tea-time.
No other guests were present at dinner, for which the young man was
very grateful. The elderly people gravitated naturally to each other,
and left the young couple very much to themselves.
They carried on a low-toned conversation at the far end of the big
drawing-room. In the course of it, Leonard suggested they should soon
have another lunch in town, Gloria was quite willing. “I think you can
suggest it quite openly now,” she said. “As a matter of fact, you can
include auntie if you like, but she will be quite certain to refuse.
She has so many interests at Effington and she so loves the place,
that it is difficult to drag her up to London except when she wants
new clothes. And really you might pay Uncle Howard the compliment
also, and, ten to one, the result would be the same. He takes a good
many holidays, but when he does go to his business he works like a
horse, so at least he tells us, and has no time for frivolity.”
“Works hard and plays hard,” remarked Lydon. “So far as I can judge
from my short stay here, he seems to revel in the good things of
life.”
Miss Stormont smiled. “You have judged him quite accurately. My dear
old uncle is a perfect sybarite, a crumpled rose-leaf in his bed would
disturb him acutely. He likes the best of everything, ‘the best that
money can buy,’ as he puts it in his rather blunt fashion. The most
perfect food, the choicest cigars, the rarest wines. Of course he has
to dine out here a good deal, as he cannot affront his neighbours by
refusing. But the dear man really prefers entertaining to being
entertained.”
“When he entertains, he is sure of the quality, eh? He knows he won’t
be put off with the second best,” laughed Lydon. “Away from home he
might get an inferior vintage or an inferior cigar.”
“I am afraid he has that idea at the back of his mind,” admitted his
niece.
“Well, if he should accept my invitation to lunch, I will take him to
my best club and allow him to order the luncheon,” said Lydon,
speaking in the same light spirit. “Well, what about Mrs. Barnard? Is
she a sybarite like her brother?”
“Not in the least. Like me, her individual tastes are very simple, she
likes moderate comfort, but she has no hankering after luxury. She is
a frightfully energetic woman, busies herself in everything going on
in the neighbourhood, local charities and so forth, and writes letters
by the score. She would die of _ennui_ if her hands were not fully
occupied. And, of course, at her time of life, sport has no attraction
for her. She is rather devoted to bridge, but she never plays it till
the evening.”
Lydon was very pleased to hear that Gloria had simple tastes, that
luxury was not essential to her. Presently he said to her: “Do you
know, I have got a little whim that I should like to have just another
of those quiet little meetings before we take the others into our
confidence. I wonder if you would very much mind?”
Miss Stormont had one very delightful feminine trait, she was always
ready to admit the supremacy of the sterner sex, and give way to them
wherever it was consistent with her own dignity.
“If you very much wish it, I don’t mind in the least,” she answered
sweetly. “But I would like to know the reason of this whim.”
“I am afraid I cannot give a very lucid explanation,” said the young
man rather lamely. “Somehow, I seem to like you in a somewhat less
gorgeous setting than this. You are housed like a Princess.”
She looked at him with comprehending eyes. “Does it oppress you just a
little bit, this--this magnificence?” she asked.
“A tiny bit, I must confess,” he admitted, admiring her quickness.
She looked thoughtful. “I had rather the same feeling when I first
came to live with my uncle. My father has a good position in China,
but he is not of course a rich man, and our life out there was quite
simple compared to this. I am rather surprised though about you. From
what I am told, your father was quite a wealthy man, uncle says, much
richer than himself. You must have been used to it all your life.”
“Not quite. All the time we children were at school--and my dear
father gave us the best of educations, he thought that was the most
priceless asset a man could bestow upon his offspring--our home was
conducted upon a comfortable but perfectly modest scale. It was not
till after I left Oxford that he launched out into something like
this. And during those very fat years I was seldom at home. So I had
really no time to grow in love with luxury.”
“I don’t know that I am really in love with it. I mean it would cause
me no pain to descend to a much lower standard of living. But to uncle
all this is the breath of his nostrils; he is naturally one of the
most reckless and extravagant of men. He scatters money with an
absolutely lavish hand. I am sure that auntie, who, of course, knows
more about his affairs than I do, is often frightfully worried about
it. She has often tried to dissuade him from some contemplated
extravagance, but to no purpose.”
These remarks gave rise to a new train of thought in Lydon’s mind.
Were things quite satisfactory at Effington? Was this army of servants
of all descriptions, footmen, gardeners and chauffeurs, perfectly
justifiable? If Howard Stormont was living within his income, why
should his sister be worried? Was the man one of those you so often
meet with, who can make money but cannot hold it? Was he living up to
the hilt, and might some sudden turn of fortune’s wheel bring him
headlong to the ground? He would have liked to question Gloria a
little closely on the subject, but their acquaintance was too recent
for him to take such a liberty. No doubt he would learn more later on.
But if it was the fact that, in his selfish desire for luxury, he was
spending money as fast as he made it, and putting by nothing for a
rainy day, something that had puzzled Lydon became easily capable of
explanation. In this case, Gloria would not be an heiress, and her
uncle had not formed any grandiose plans for her future. He would be
content if she could marry a man who would keep her comfortably, and
not expect any fortune with her.
And, as a result of this hypothesis, Howard Stormont fell distinctly
in his estimation. He was simply living for his own gratification,
oblivious of those he left behind; in Lydon’s opinion, the most
contemptible conduct any man could be capable of.
On Monday morning the two elderly couples departed. The young man
would have gone also, but on the Sunday night Stormont took him on one
side and pressed him to stop another day, if his business engagements
would permit.
“I very rarely go up on a Monday myself, unless there is something
very urgent,” he had said. “And, at my age, I think I may be permitted
to allow myself a little latitude. I simply love pottering about this
dear old place; although I have had it for some time now, it is still
a new toy to me, after being pent up in cities nearly the whole of my
working life. Stop till Tuesday morning, and we will go up together.”
Lydon, nothing loath, agreed to the pleasing proposition. The Monday
was the happiest day of his visit. Soon after breakfast Stormont went
off on his own. Mrs. Barnard was fully occupied during the morning and
afternoon, and he had Gloria practically to himself until it was time
to dress for dinner.
That evening in the smoking-room Lydon told his host what Hugh had
disclosed in that letter which the solicitor, Shelford, had handed to
him. He fancied that Stormont did not take very much interest in the
matter. This, however, was hardly to be wondered at, as Hugh had
always treated the man with a certain _hauteur_ which he could not
have helped observing, had he been a much less intelligent person than
he was. When the story was finished, Lydon learned a piece of the
Clandon family history that was unknown to him.
“A very remarkable family, the Clandons; I know a little about them,”
he remarked.
It was by no means the first time the young man had noticed that
Stormont always seemed to know a good deal about everybody who was of
any importance in the world. According to what Gloria had let drop, he
knew that Lydon’s father had been a man of considerable wealth. He
rather wondered where this information was procured. Stormont of
course knew a great many people about Effington, but so much gossip of
the big world would hardly filter there. He had never heard him speak
of numerous acquaintances in London, and so far as Leonard knew, he
did not belong to any London club, a circumstance which in a man of
his apparent wealth seemed rather peculiar.
“A very remarkable family, the Clandons,” repeated the genial,
rubicund man. “Remarkable in this respect, that for some generations
they have transmitted to their descendants a very high order of
intelligence. They have never produced any first-class brains, it is
true. They have never boasted a Prime Minister, a great general, a
distinguished lawyer, but several of them have filled second and
third-rate posts with some distinction. This poor chap who killed
himself after trying to murder the girl, for example. I don’t suppose
he would have been a Stratford de Redcliffe, or a von Bieberstein, but
he would no doubt have developed into a quite respectable diplomatist
of the average order.”
It hurt Lydon to hear him speak of his old friend in such a slighting
manner. But Hugh had certainly taken no pains to conceal his dislike
of “the aggressive profiteer,” and Stormont was human. The next words
startled him greatly.
“Well, as I told you, I know some things about the Clandon family, one
a fact not at all generally known. By the light of that knowledge,
your friend’s act can be accounted for. There was insanity on both
sides, the mother’s and the father’s.”
“You astound me,” cried Lydon in genuine amazement. “I never had a
suspicion of this. But then how should I have? Even if Hugh was
acquainted with the fact, which it is more than likely he was, he
would scarcely reveal it even to his best friend.”
“Quite so,” assented Stormont. “Men don’t speak of these painful
things as a rule. But you can rest assured that what I have told you
is quite true. The uncle of the present holder of the title, Hugh
Craig’s father, a man of good fortune, endowed with all the blessings
of life, cut his throat in his bath one morning without any apparent
reason or motive; this man’s sister, Lord Clandon’s aunt, died a
raving lunatic. On the mother’s side, Lady Clandon has a younger
brother who has been in a private asylum for the last twenty-five
years. It is not generally known outside the family. My sources of
information happened to be rather exclusive. So you see the taint
suddenly developed in this poor chap as soon as he got an overpowering
shock.”
So the family history accounted for poor Hugh’s sudden aberration. The
mysterious malady of madness that sometimes passes a whole generation,
to break out with virulence in the next one!
On the Tuesday morning Leonard travelled up with his host. They parted
at Waterloo Station, as Stormont said his offices were in the City,
while those of Leonard were in Victoria Street. The young man was
warmly pressed to pay another visit to Effington at an early date.
Obviously this genial uncle was not going to put any obstacle in the
way of increased intimacy between the young people. The very
significant facts admitted by Gloria seemed to solve what might
otherwise have proved a puzzling problem. Mr. Howard Stormont had
apparently made up his mind to live for the day, and to say with the
French monarch, “Après moi le déluge.”
A few days later he met Gloria at the luncheon which she had agreed
should be a secret one. She was very sweet and amiable, but evidently
her conscience pricked her, for when they parted she told him firmly
it must be the last under such conditions.
“There is really no longer any necessity for it,” she said. “Uncle
likes you very much, and he has now made you free of Effington. If he
disapproved of our friendship, he would not ask you to his home.”
“You are quite right,” admitted Lydon. “It was a foolish sort of whim
of mine. I could not quite get it out of my mind that if I took such a
liberty with the niece of the owner of such a splendid place as
Effington Hall, he would send me to the right-about.”
Gloria laughed, told him that he seemed an exceedingly modest young
man, and hoped he would always remain so. It was evident that Stormont
desired his friendship, for on the following Friday he rang him up,
and inquired if he would go down with him to Effington the next day.
Of course, the young man was only too pleased to go. He had not
ventured to hope that he would see Gloria again so soon. Stormont was
at the station awaiting him, and with him was a tall, thin man of
about the same age as himself, whom he introduced as Mr. Whitehouse.
This gentleman was a quiet, reserved sort of person, and Lydon did not
feel particularly attracted to him. Stormont added an explanation that
they were very old friends, and did a good deal of business together.
As he said this, Leonard remembered that he had never heard the nature
of Stormont’s business either from himself or his niece.
This visit was quite a different one from the last. No big dinner
party at night with the army of well-trained servants in attendance;
just a cosy meal in a smaller apartment, half morning-room, half
dining-room. Mr. Whitehouse seemed well known to the household, but he
was not by any means a great talker. Probably he had come down to
discuss business matters with his host.
After dinner the two elder men retired to Stormont’s study. Lydon went
with the ladies into the drawing-room, Stormont excusing his absence
with the genial remark that they were treating him as one of the
family.
After Gloria had played and sung a little, she proposed that they
should adjourn for billiards, a game at which she was no mean
performer. The billiard-room was next to Stormont’s study, the door of
which was open, and as they went in Lydon heard these words uttered in
Whitehouse’s rather deep voice:
“Yes, it is most unfortunate that the thing should have happened at
the moment it did. She is absolutely essential to this particular
scheme. We can’t start it without her.”
These words made the young man wonder a good deal. What possible
business could it be, to the prosecution of which a certain woman was
essential?