THE HUSBAND AT KENSINGTON GORE.
TO a woman who rules by right of beauty it is a terrible thing to see
her empire slipping from her grasp by reason of gray hairs and wrinkles.
What desperate efforts does she make to protract her sway, how she dyes
and paints and powders and tight laces--all to no end, for Time is
stronger than Art, and finally he writes his sign-manual too deep to be
effaced by cosmetics. Mrs. Hilliston was not yet beaten in the fight
with the old enemy, but she foresaw the future when she would be shamed
and neglected close at hand.
Perhaps it was this premonition of defeat that made her so unamiable,
sharp, and bitter on the night when Claude came to dine. She liked
Claude and had stood in the place of a mother to him; but he was a man,
and handsome, so when she saw his surprised look at her changed
appearance all the evil that was in her came to the surface.
Yet she need not have felt so bitter a pang, had she taken the trouble
to glance at her image in the near mirror. It reflected a tall, stylish
figure, which, in the dim light of the drawing room, looked majestic and
beautiful. It was all very well to think that she appeared barely thirty
in the twilight, but she knew well that the daylight showed up her
forty-seven years in the most merciless manner. Velvet robes, diamond
necklaces, and such like aids to beauty would not make up for lack of
youth, and Claude's ill-advised start brought this home to her.
Ten years before she had married Hilliston in utter ignorance of the
house at Hampstead. Though she did not know it she was not unlike her
rival. There was the same majesty, the same imperious beauty, the same
passionate nature, but Mrs. Bezel was worn and wasted by illness,
whereas Mrs. Hilliston, aided by art, looked a rarely beautiful woman.
People said she had not done well to marry Hilliston. She was then a
rich widow from America, and wanted to take a position in society. With
her looks and her money, she might have married a title, but handsome
Hilliston crossed her path, and, though he was then fifty years of age,
she fell in love with him on the spot. Wearied of Mrs. Bezel, anxious to
mend his failing fortunes, Hilliston accepted the homage thus offered.
He did not love her, but kept that knowledge to himself, so Mrs.
Derrick, the wealthy widow, secured the man she idolized. She gave all,
wealth, beauty, love, and received nothing in return.
During all their married life her love had undergone no abatement. She
loved her husband passionately, and her one object in life was to please
him. At the time of the marriage she had rather resented the presence of
Claude in Hilliston's house, but soon accepted him as an established
fact, the more so as he took up his profession shortly afterward, and
left her to reign alone over the heart of her husband. When the young
man called she was always kind to him, she constantly looked after his
welfare, and playfully styled herself his mother. Claude was greatly
attached to her, and spoke of her in the highest terms, but for the life
of him he could not suppress that start, though he knew it wounded her
to the heart. During his five years of absence she had aged greatly, and
art seemed rather to accentuate than conceal the truth.
"You find me altered, I am afraid," said she bitterly; "age is robbing
me of my looks."
"By no means," answered Claude, with a desire to please her; "at the
worst, you are only growing old gracefully."
"Small comfort in that," sighed Mrs. Hilliston. "I do not want to grow
old at all. However, it is no use fighting the inevitable, but I hope
I'll die before I become a hag."
"You will never become one."
"I'm not so sure of that. I'm one of those large women who turn to bones
and wrinkles in old age."
"In my eyes you will always be beautiful, Louise," said Hilliston, who
entered at this moment. "You are an angel ever bright and fair."
"You have not lost the art of saying pretty things, Francis," replied
his wife, greatly gratified; "but there is the gong. Claude, take your
mother in to dinner."
The young man winced as she said this, thinking of his real mother who
lay sick and feeble at Hampstead. Hilliston saw his change of
countenance, and bit his lip to prevent himself remarking thereon. He
guessed what Claude was thinking about, and thus his thoughts were
turned in the same direction. At the present moment the memories thus
evoked were most unpleasant.
During dinner Mrs. Hilliston recovered her spirits and talked freely
enough. No one was present save Claude and her husband, so they were a
very pleasant party of three. While in the full flow of conversation,
Claude could not help thinking that Tait was unjust to suspect the
master of the house of underhand dealings; for Hilliston was full of
smiles and geniality, and did his best to entertain his guest. Could
Claude have looked below the surface he would have been considerably
astonished at the inward aspect of the man. Yet a hint was given him of
such want of concord, for Hilliston showed the cloven hoof before the
meal ended.
"So you are going to Eastbourne," said Claude, addressing himself to
Mrs. Hilliston. "I hope you will come over to Thorston during your
stay."
"It is not unlikely," replied the lady. "Francis intends to make
excursions all round the country."
"Only for your amusement, my dear," said Hilliston hastily. "You know
how dreary it is to pace daily up and down that Parade."
"I think Eastbourne is dreary, in any case. It is solely on your account
that I am going."
Hilliston did not answer, but stole a glance at Claude to see what he
thought. The face of the young man was inscrutable, though Claude was
mentally considering that Tait was right, and Hilliston's journey to
Eastbourne was undertaken to interview Jenny Paynton.
"I don't like your English watering-places," continued Mrs. Hilliston
idly. "They are so exasperatingly dull. In America we can have a good
time at Newport, but all your south coast is devoid of amusement.
Trouville or Dieppe are more enjoyable than Eastbourne or Folkestone."
"The fault of the national character, my dear Louise. We English take
our pleasures sadly, you know."
For the sole purpose of seeing what effect it would produce on the
lawyer Claude purposely introduced the name of the town where his father
had met his death.
"I wonder you don't try an inland watering-place, Mrs. Hilliston," he
said calmly; "Bath or Tunbridge Wells or--Horriston."
Hilliston looked up quickly, and then busied himself with his food.
Discomposed as he was, his iron will enabled him to retain a quiet
demeanor; but the effect of the name on the wife was more pronounced
than it was on the husband. Her color went, and she laid down her knife
and fork.
"Ah, I don't know Horriston," she said faintly. "Some inland----Ah, how
hot this room is. Open the window," she added to the footman, "we want
fresh air."
Rather astonished at the effect thus produced, Claude would have spoken
but that Hilliston forestalled him.
"The room is hot," he said lightly, "but the fresh air will soon revive
you, Louise. I am glad we are going to Eastbourne, for you sadly need a
change."
"The season has been rather trying," replied his wife, resuming her
dinner. "What were you saying about Horriston, Claude?"
"Nothing. I only know it is a provincial town set in beautiful scenery.
I thought you might wish to try a change from the fashionable seaside
place."
"I might go there if it is pretty," answered Mrs. Hilliston, who was now
perfectly composed. "Where is Horriston?"
"In Kent," interposed Hilliston quickly, "not very far from Canterbury.
I have been there myself, but as it is a rather dull neighborhood, I
would not advise you to try it."
Despite her denial Claude felt certain that Mrs. Hilliston was
acquainted with Horriston, for on the plea of indisposition she left the
table before the dinner was ended. As she passed through the door she
playfully tipped Claude on the shoulder with her fan.
"Don't forget to come and see us at Eastbourne," she said vivaciously,
"and bring Mr. Tait with you. He is a great favorite of mine."
This Claude promised to do, and, when she left the room, returned to his
seat with a rather puzzled expression on his face. Hilliston saw the
look, and endeavored to banish it by a hasty explanation.
"You rather startled my wife by mentioning Horriston," he said, in an
annoyed tone. "I wish you had not done so. As it is connected with the
case she naturally feels an antipathy toward it."
"What! Does Mrs. Hilliston know about my father's death?" asked Claude,
in some surprise.
"Yes. When we married, she wanted to know why you lived in the house
with me, so I was forced to explain all the circumstances."
"Do you think that was necessary?"
"I do. You know how suspicious women are," replied Hilliston lightly;
"they will know the truth. But you can trust to her discretion, Claude.
No one will hear of it from her."
At this moment a footman entered the room with a message from Mrs.
Hilliston.
"My mistress wants to know if you have the third volume of 'A Whim of
Fate,' sir?" said the servant.
"No," replied Hilliston sharply. "Tell your mistress that I took it to
my office by mistake. She will have it to-morrow."
Claude thought this strange, and when the footman retired Hilliston made
another explanation equally as unsatisfactory as the first.
"I am so interested in that book that I could not leave it at home," he
said quickly; "and now that I have met the author I am doubly interested
in it."
Another proof of Tait's acumen. Hilliston was the first to introduce the
subject of John Parver.