The week-end was a very quiet one, Lydon being the only guest. The
young man thought this might be due to Stormont’s delicacy, that he
felt it was only kind to allow the lovers to pursue their courtship in
comparative seclusion. But in the following week the phenomenon was
repeated. Nobody came down from London; none of the neighbours were
asked to luncheon or dinner.
Stormont occupied his time in pottering about the grounds and taking
long walks. But there was a certain restlessness about him, an air of
boredom which showed that this somewhat unusual isolation was not
agreeing with him. Leonard commented on it to his sweetheart.
Gloria shrugged her shoulders. “He’s always like that when he leads a
quiet life; he is never really happy unless he is surrounded by plenty
of people. He loves crowds.”
“Perhaps he is sacrificing himself for our sakes,” suggested Leonard.
The girl’s smile was good-humoured but sceptical. “Uncle Howard has a
heap of good qualities, but I don’t think self-sacrifice is
conspicuous amongst them. To tell you the truth, I think he is going a
bit slow because he is compelled to.”
They were walking in the beautifully-kept gardens which required a
small army of gardeners to keep in order, and must have cost a pretty
penny to maintain in such perfection.
Only one interpretation could be put upon her words. “You mean to
infer that he is a bit hard up,” said Lydon bluntly.
She nodded her pretty head. “Yes, from what auntie told me, he has
been spending a lot more than he ought, and has got to pull up for a
time. These sorts of crises occur now and again. We have had about a
dozen of them at least since we came here, and at such times
entertaining has to be cut down with a ruthless hand. In Curzon Street
I don’t suppose the outgoings were a quarter what they are here.
Auntie says he ought never to have bought the place, considering the
expense it entails. He gets a lot of enjoyment out of it, of course,
but he also gets a lot of worry.”
“And yet I suppose he is a shrewd business man?”
“He must be, or he could not make the money he does. But you see he
has got the spendthrift temperament. If he takes a fancy to a thing,
he will have it, whether he can afford it or not. And the fatal thing
about him, and it is that which worries my aunt more, he has no
hesitation about going into debt, if he hasn’t got ready money to pay
for his whims.”
“Your aunt does not share his extravagant ideas, then?”
“Oh, dear no. She has a nice little income of her own which she lives
up to, but I am sure she never exceeds it. And she has a most
wholesome horror of debt. I know she is awfully worried now because
some of the tradespeople’s accounts are overdue; they are getting a
bit pressing.”
Delightful as Effington was, and perfectly satisfying to the lover of
natural beauty, Lydon thought residence there was dearly purchased by
these crises to which she had alluded. So Mr. Stormont was behindhand
with the local tradespeople! What a horrible situation! They would
begin to gossip presently, and then the bubble would be burst amongst
the neighbours.
“There was a perfect orgy of spending for a couple of months just
before you paid us your first visit,” said Gloria after a short pause
during which her lover was ruminating on the hollowness of the
position at this splendid country residence. “A big dinner party
nearly every day in the week, on the usual lavish scale, and all this
time he was giving liberally, not to say ostentatiously, to all the
local charities. I suppose it was then he overran the constable. You
came in at the fag end of it. Since then the motto seems to have been
retrenchment all round, with a disastrous effect on my uncle’s
spirits.”
“These crises worry you a good bit, don’t they?” queried her lover.
“To tell the truth, they do. Much as I love the place--and nobody
could live at Effington without loving it--I often wish that we could
have a place that entailed smaller outgoings. And, of course, one is
always haunted by the fear that one day he will get himself into a
terrible mess from which he cannot extricate himself.”
Lydon thought this very possible. It was very likely the spendthrift
himself had some premonition of such a catastrophe, and that was the
reason he had almost thrown his niece at the young man’s head. In
spite of her fondness for Effington, perhaps Gloria herself would not
be sorry to exchange all this for a position of less magnificence and
greater security.
Had he not been convinced of her frank, open nature he might have
thought that the girl had been in league with her uncle to secure him.
But he was sure of her good faith and honesty of purpose. He
remembered her agitation when he had proposed to her in the avenue,
the love-light that had shone in her beautiful eyes. No woman, not
even the most practised coquette, can summon that light at will.
He did not see his sweetheart at all the following week. The stern
exigencies of his profession called him abroad. At Ryder Street, on
his return, he found a letter from Stormont awaiting him, asking him
to lunch the following day at the _Piccadilly_, as he wished to
consult him on a matter of some urgency.
Very curious as to what this matter of some urgency could be, Lydon
presented himself at the _Piccadilly_ at the hour appointed. He
noticed a decided change in Stormont in the short time he had parted
from him at his splendid country house. The man’s manner was restless
and jerky, and he looked anxious and worried.
He ordered a very sumptuous lunch, the most expensive food and wine on
the list. Lydon found it far too sumptuous; he was not accustomed to a
heavy meal in the middle of the day, in fact, was not very keen on the
pleasures of the table at any time. Stormont drank by far the greater
portion of the champagne, and finished up with a couple of liqueurs of
the finest brandy. During the progress of the meal he talked fitfully,
and it was easy to see he had something weighing on his mind; but he
made no allusion to the subject on which he wanted the young man’s
advice. It rather looked as if he were justifying himself before he
could approach it.
When they had finished, he led the way into the smoking-room, where he
selected a quiet corner suitable for private conversation, and ordered
refreshment. Lydon would take nothing but a cup of coffee. For himself
he ordered a large whisky and soda. When he had taken a deep draught,
he unburdened himself, not without a considerable tinge of
embarrassment in his manner.
“I am afraid you will think I am taking an infernal liberty, Leonard,
so early in our acquaintance. But the fact is, at the moment I am in a
bit of a hole, and hardly know where to turn.”
Lydon had an idea of what was coming, by the man’s fidgetiness and
embarrassment, which had been patent from the moment they met. He
murmured some conventional words of condolence, and waited for further
details.
“I’m expecting a sum of five thousand pounds in a week at the latest,
in fact I may receive it any day between now and then. In the meantime
there are some pressing things I ought to pay. Would it be possible
for you to lend me a thousand pounds for a week, at a fair interest,
of course?”
It was rather a cool request, even to a man who was about to enter his
family. Leonard was by no means a parsimonious man, but he rather
resented it. Why the deuce did he not manage his finances properly,
curb his extravagance, instead of sponging upon somebody apparently
much poorer than himself?
He spoke rather coldly; he thought that if he made it too easy, Mr.
Stormont would be encouraged to fall back upon him at any time he
thought fit. “It’s a bit inconvenient, but if you can’t get it
anywhere else, I must do it. Won’t your bank do it?”
Stormont shook his head. “The manager is a very cross-grained chap,
puts every obstacle in the way of doing you a favour. And, to tell you
the truth, I am just a trifle overdrawn. It is not the most propitious
time to ask for even a short loan.”
This admission revealed a terrible state of things, thought Lydon.
Just a trifle overdrawn! He had probably drawn his last cheque to pay
for the unnecessarily expensive lunch, unless he had borrowed the
money from his sister. The solid fact emerged that Howard Stormont,
who had driven up to the _Piccadilly_ in his Rolls-Royce, the supposed
man of wealth, the owner of that lordly pleasure-house, Effington
Hall, was at the present moment as hard up as anybody could be. And he
appeared to have no credit, no husbanded resources. He was awaiting
that five thousand which was to come not later than a week, which
might come earlier, which, for all the young man knew, might never
come at all. That request for a thousand pounds might be the last
throw of a desperate gambler.
Still, if he was going to run the risk, he might as well do the thing
gracefully. “Can you deposit anything in the way of security, in case
of unforeseen accidents?” he inquired casually. He was fairly certain
of what the answer would be, but he wanted to make quite sure as to
whether or not Stormont had any resources.
Again the financier shook his head. “Nothing that you could call
absolute security,” he replied, his rubicund face growing a shade
redder as he made the damaging admission. “I could, of course, show
you papers proving there is a lot of money coming to me. But as the
accommodation is for so short a time, I should suggest my note of hand
for the amount, plus interest.”
“I don’t want any interest,” said the young man hastily. “I am not a
money-lender. I am doing this in a friendly way. Well, I’ve a busy
afternoon before me, so, if you don’t mind, we’ll settle this affair
as soon as possible. Drive me round to my rooms in Ryder Street and I
will give you my cheque; I have as much lying at the bank which I was
intending to invest. We can get a bill at the nearest post-office as
we go along.”
But there was no necessity for this; Stormont had a bill of the
required amount in his case. He explained that he always carried bill
stamps with him, as they were so frequently used in his business
dealings. Lydon did not quite believe this. He thought the man had
taken his acquiescence for granted, and had come prepared.
They drove to Ryder Street, and in five minutes the transaction was
completed. The rubicund Stormont put the cheque in his pocket, it
being too late in the afternoon to pay it in, and drove back to
Effington in his opulent-looking car, leaving Lydon wondering whether
he should ever see his money back, whether that five thousand pounds
was a myth invented for the occasion.
It was on the Tuesday that this affair took place, and it was
understood that Lydon would go down to Effington on the following
Friday. His confidence in Stormont was now so rudely shaken that he
was prepared for anything unexpected to happen in the meantime. He
would not have been surprised to receive a frantic letter from him to
the effect that he was flying the country, that Mrs. Barnard and
Gloria were seeking refuge in some suburb round London, and that
Effington Hall was up for sale.
Lydon rather wondered what was his position with regard to this
splendid mansion. Originally he must have been able to put his hands
on a considerable sum of money for its purchase. In all probability it
was now mortgaged up to the hilt.
Happily, nothing of such a disturbing nature happened. On his arrival
at Guildford Station, Gloria met him in the car. She was, of course,
delighted to see him again after his brief absence; but her lover
fancied there was just a shade of embarrassment in her manner, the
reason of which he presently learned as they drove along.
“There is a renewal of festivities which are such an abiding joy to my
uncle’s soul,” she said, speaking in a hard voice. “To-night we’ve a
dinner-party of a dozen people, all neighbours; nobody is staying in
the house but you.”
So the rubicund Stormont had resumed his extravagant habits the moment
he found himself in possession of a bit of money. He had no doubt paid
off some pressing old debts, and was feverishly incurring new ones.
The young man had no desire to face a lot of strangers, but perhaps
this dinner-party was, in a way, a healthy sign. Even Stormont would
not have been so rash as to fritter away his last shilling if he were
not sure that salvation was close at hand. Lydon was relieved to think
that this five thousand pounds was not a myth, but a solid fact.
Gloria went on in low and embarrassed tones: “I cannot say how ashamed
and humiliated I am that he should have come to you. I only heard it
this morning from my aunt, who thought I ought to be told. When he
mentioned to her that he was going to apply to you, she did all in her
power to dissuade him from making such a request, but all to no
purpose. The fact of it is, he is not a man who feels any shame in
borrowing.”
He could see plainly that she was very much distressed, and he
hastened to console her. “My darling, there is really nothing for you
to worry about. I am sorry your uncle was put about, but he made it
clear to me it was quite a temporary embarrassment, and I was very
pleased to be of service to him. Such a thing might happen to
anybody--might have happened to myself.”
The girl spoke with some heat. “It is very sweet of you to try and
restore my self-respect, but it would never have happened to you. You
are the last man in the world to spend your money on riotous living
and then go with a pitiful tale to a friend. Why did he not go to one
of his business friends, if he was forced to borrow, or, better still,
sell some of the valuable things he has got at Effington?”
She was evidently stung to the quick that her happy-go-lucky uncle had
exploited the young man’s affection for herself in order to replenish
his exhausted exchequer. Lydon himself could not help thinking it was
a mean thing to do, in spite of his making light of it to her.
The dinner-party was a great success. Stormont beamed on his guests as
genially as ever, and was in the highest spirits. As he sat at the
table he gave the impression of a man who had not a care in the world.
Lydon could hardly understand such a swift alteration of mood, of the
change from the haggard, harassed man of a few days ago to this jovial
creature who laughed and joked with the greatest ease. But then he did
not comprehend the mercurial temperament of the incurable spendthrift.
The Saturday was to be a comparatively quiet day, Gloria told him,
there being only two guests expected. The taciturn Mr. Whitehouse was
bringing down his niece, Zillah Mayhew, to lunch. But their visit
would not be a very long one. They were returning to London by an
afternoon train.
The words that he had overheard that night when he had passed the door
of Stormont’s study recurred to him at the mention of Miss Mayhew’s
name. Was this the woman whose co-operation was essential to some
business there was on hand? “What sort of a girl is she?” asked the
young man. “Not as gloomy as her uncle, I trust?”
Gloria smiled. “She is the exact opposite, most bright and vivacious,
really quite charming. I haven’t seen her more than half a dozen times
in my life, but I took a great fancy to her.”
“Does she live with the solemn Whitehouse?”
“Not permanently. Uncle has never told me much about her history, but
I know that her parents are dead, that she has a little income of her
own, and lives now with one relative, now with another. She passes a
great deal of her time abroad, where she has several friends and
connections.”
Lydon began to feel rather interested in the young woman. When the
time came for them to be met at the station, he noticed a rather
peculiar thing. Stormont dispensed with the services of the chauffeur
and drove the car to Guildford himself, a most unusual proceeding on
his part. The young man was convinced by this circumstance that his
suspicions were correct. Stormont wanted to be alone to have a quiet
chat with Whitehouse and his niece.
The lovers went for a walk, and on their return a few minutes before
luncheon the visitors had arrived. Lydon shook hands with Whitehouse,
and was introduced to Miss Mayhew, a tall, dark, handsome girl, with
splendid eyes, and the complexion of the brunette. She spoke English
without the faintest trace of accent, but there was a foreign air
about her.
He looked at her very attentively, and his scrutiny revealed two very
strange things. On the back of her neck was a blemish partially
concealed by powder, and she wore as a pendant a magnificent sapphire
carved in the shape of a closed lotus flower.
His memory flew back to that day when he had stood in the drawing-room
of the Villa des Cyclamens, and called the attention of Madame Makris
to a similar jewel which was lying unheeded on the table.