FRANK AMBERLEY’S ADVICE.
Captain Desfrayne was at first so eager and vehement, that Frank
Amberley found it a little difficult to disentangle the strange story
he had to tell.
The young lawyer did not find himself in an agreeable position. In the
secret depths of his heart he would have infinitely preferred that
Paul Desfrayne should remain bound. So long as his marriage was an
unalterable fact, there was no fear of his carrying off Lois. There was
scant hope for Frank himself, poor fellow; but he was asked to give
his best aid toward demolishing the great bar to her union with this
powerful rival. If she did not care for any one else--and he reflected
with a sigh that she cared little for himself--the probability was that
she would not raise any urgent objections toward fulfilling her dead
benefactor’s wishes.
But he was generous, and scorned to act a mean and dishonorable part.
The cloud was dissipated from his grave, kind face by a sad smile, and
he said:
“You wish to ask my advice and assistance how to proceed?”
“I shall be most thankful if you will give me your opinion as to how I
ought to act,” answered his visitor.
“Is there any chance of your being able to compel this--your--Madam
Guiscardini to confess whether she has or has not destroyed the stolen
register?”
“None that I can see. She is of a most stubborn nature. Even if there
were no particular object to be gained, I believe she would obstinately
refuse to do or say anything that did not suit or please her.”
“I am sincerely sorry for your cruel situation,” said Frank Amberley,
in a tone of profound feeling.
“Of that I am assured,” replied Paul Desfrayne; “and I come to you in
the full confidence that you will help me to the utmost of your power.”
“The register being, we will say, destroyed, there is no resource but
to trace out the priest who married Lucia to her peasant lover?”
“None.”
“But the expense would be something frightful. There would probably be
a great delay, and in the end perhaps the man might not be discovered.”
“Could you form any idea of what the search might cost?”
“It would necessarily depend on the persons employed. If I understood
you aright, you have not trusted your servant, Gilardoni, with the
secret of your own unhappy marriage?”
“I have not. For one reason, I could not bear to humiliate myself; for
another, I desired to consult you before moving a step or speaking a
word.”
“I am afraid you will be obliged to take him into your confidence. He
is master of the circumstances; he would have the strongest motive for
tracing out the missing person. He would probably be more economical
and more devoted than any stranger could be. Send him, and let him be
accompanied by a professional detective. Perhaps the search may not be
such a lengthened one as you fear.”
Paul Desfrayne reflected for a few moments.
“I had already resolved to abide by your advice,” he said. “Let it
be so. I would give all I have in the world to be free from the
consequences of my own mad folly. When could he set out?”
“As soon as he could make the necessary preparations. The sooner the
better, I should say.”
“What do you think the expenses would be likely to come to? It would be
a bitter disappointment should the search continue for a certain time,
and fail almost at the last for want of funds.”
“Gilardoni, having traveled a good deal on the Continent, as I
understand you have implied, and being accustomed to manage for himself
and others, would be able to give you a better estimate than I could
form. In his hands, I don’t think, after all, it would be so very
great. Say ten or fifteen pounds a week. Suppose it took him ten
months, or even fourteen or eighteen, the calculation is easy.”
“I will send him to you to-morrow, my dear friend,” said Paul
Desfrayne. “Heaven grant me a happy issue to this search. But--but the
suspense will be something unbearable.”
“Why, you will constantly hear how the affair is progressing,” urged
Frank Amberley. “Do you think I could aid you by insisting on an
interview with--with this woman?”
Paul shook his head.
“I fear it would be time wasted,” he answered. “She would, perhaps,
insult and annoy you----”
“Pshaw! Her most violent attack would only make me laugh, my dear
fellow,” interrupted Frank Amberley. “It would be amusing. In fact,
I should really like to see this lovely tigress in her own den. One
doesn’t often enjoy a chance of interviewing a beautiful fury.”
Paul Desfrayne grasped Frank’s hands, and looked earnestly into those
open, candid eyes that yet faithfully veiled the secret that their
owner was a noble, self-sacrificing hero, offering up a possible
gleam of happiness on the altar of duty. Paul saw nothing but a kind,
pleasant, genial man, who undertook a matter of business with the
genial air of a friend.
“I leave the affair entirely in your care,” he said, “knowing full well
that you will not neglect anything that may tend to free me from the
cruel burden that weighs me down.”
“You give me permission to speak as fully to this Italian valet as I
may find necessary?” asked Frank Amberley.
He lowered his gaze as he demanded this; his heart felt heavy and sad,
and he feared lest Paul Desfrayne might read his thoughts.
“Certainly. I give you carte blanche in every way.”
“You do not object to my visiting Madam Guiscardini?”
“I should be rejoiced if you undertook the unpleasant task, were it
only to hear what she has to say. It would be a very different matter
bullying a fellow like Gilardoni, and tackling a practised English
lawyer like yourself.”
“I should think so. Where is she to be found?”
“When I called at her house on Monday, I was informed that madam had
gone to Paris, and nobody knew when she would return. On consulting the
newspapers, however, I found she was advertised to appear on Friday
night----”
“To-morrow evening?”
“Yes. I have been told that she prides herself on never disappointing
the public, and that she has never failed once since her first
appearance to perform on the nights for which she is announced. Her
health is excellent, and she is passionately devoted to her art.”
“Then, if I find she refuses to see me at her house----By the way,
where does she live?”
“She did live in Porchester Square; but may change on her return, by
way of giving a little trouble to those who may want to see her when it
does not suit her to be visited. But here is the address.”
He scribbled down the number and name of the square on the back of one
of his own cards.
“Have you--did you--that is to say--I mean, has any explanation passed
between you and Miss Turquand?” inquired Frank Amberley, with some
embarrassment.
“I wished to speak to her--to tell her how unhappily I am situated,”
replied Paul Desfrayne hesitatingly.
“Did you give her any notion of the nature of this barrier?” asked
Frank Amberley.
“I scarcely know what I said; but I should imagine she could readily
guess to what I must allude. I accidentally traveled in her company
this morning.”
“Indeed! Has she returned to London?”
“Lady Quaintree received a telegram stating that her husband was
unwell----”
“Good heavens! Unwell? I must go to Lowndes Square this evening,”
exclaimed Frank, in great concern. “Do you know what is the matter with
him?”
Paul shook his head.
“Lady Quaintree was my informant, and she said that the telegram
stated simply the fact, without entering into detail.”
“I will go there directly office-hours are over. In case I see Miss
Turquand, and have any opportunity of speaking to her, is it still your
wish that I should enlighten her as to the state of your affairs?”
“It is essential that she should not be left in ignorance,” said Paul.
“It is my duty to inform her without delay, as my silence may be
injurious to her.” But he sighed heavily as he spoke.
“I will use my own discretion,” said Frank Amberley. “But I could not
take any important step without your special sanction. You will send
this Italian valet to me?”
“At once--early to-morrow morning.”
“We will set him to work directly he can make his own personal
arrangements. I will make a point of seeing madam. If I do not succeed
in obtaining an interview with her at her residence, I will endeavor to
surprise her at the opera-house. I think it best to defer engaging a
detective to accompany Gilardoni until I see him. You will not be able
to come up to-morrow?”
“I fear not. Besides, I could not endure to be present when you inform
him of my position.”
“Well, then, what I have to do is, firstly, this evening, to try to
find a chance of enlightening Miss Turquand; secondly, to-morrow
morning, to hold a consultation with and give instructions to this
Leonardo Gilardoni; thirdly, to-morrow evening, to endeavor to surprise
Madam Guiscardini into some kind of admission, and, if I do not see
her, I must make an opportunity of doing so on Saturday or Monday, or
some time next week. The way is plain enough. Whether it leads to a
happy harbor of rest remains to be seen.”
“It will be impossible for me ever to thank you sufficiently,” said
Paul Desfrayne.
“Do not speak of that,” replied Frank Amberley. “Are you obliged to
return to your quarters at once?”
“At once; yes.”
The two men clasped hands, and parted.
Lady Quaintree found that her husband’s illness was not of a seriously
alarming nature, but yet sufficiently grave to justify Gerald in
sending for her. The doctor had ordered the patient to bed; but it was
not necessary for any one to remain with him to watch. Her ladyship,
therefore, with her son and the two young ladies, was at liberty to
dine as usual.
It was not yet the hour fixed for dinner when Frank Amberley arrived at
the house.
“Mr. Gerald went out, sir, and has not come home yet, though he said
he’d be back to dinner,” the domestic said. “But the young ladies are
in the drawing-room.”
The servant threw open the door, announced Mr. Amberley, and then
retired.
Throughout the house the lamps had been lighted, but were all still
turned down to a mere spark; for the long summer days had only begun
to show signs of shortening. In the drawing-room, a soft, amber glow,
subdued and mellow, mingled its rays with the dreamy semitwilight.
At first, the profound, peaceful silence made Frank Amberley imagine
the apartment was uninhabited; but, as the door closed, a soft swish of
silken garments undeceived him.
For a moment his heart fluttered with pain and pleasure at the
thought that he was possibly alone with Lois; but instantly after the
unfamiliar figure of Blanche Dormer presented itself.
She had been reading one of the new magazines, nestling in a quiet
corner by one of the windows.
It was a sufficiently embarrassing situation, as neither knew what to
say. A formal salutation passed, and then Miss Dormer meditated for a
moment or two how she could best manage to beat a retreat.
Presently, however, these two forgot their embarrassment, and found
themselves chatting together as if they had been friends for a dozen
years.
In about ten minutes Lois appeared, and Blanche did not then think it
necessary to run away. Miss Turquand was, of course, quite unconscious
that Frank Amberley had any special communication to make, and totally
unaware that he took any particular interest in Captain Desfrayne.
When Lady Quaintree came down, she found the three young people sitting
near one of the windows, engaged in what seemingly was an agreeable and
almost lively conversation. As she stood for a moment at the door, an
odd thought struck her for the first time.
“What a charming wife for Frank Blanchette would make!” she said to
herself.
She pressed Frank to stay to dinner, and he very gladly accepted her
invitation.
Although saddened by the absence of the master of the house, the little
dinner-party was extremely pleasant. Gerald returned just in time
to meet his mother, the young ladies, and his Cousin Frank, in the
drawing-room before they went down-stairs.
As Frank was a member of the family, he had every right and excuse,
though not living in the house, to linger after dinner. He felt
loath to depart. Not only was every moment spent in the presence of
Lois exquisitely sweet to him; but it might be long before he could
conveniently obtain so favorable an opportunity for speaking to her as
he should probably find this evening. He was right in staying; for the
moment came at last.
Lady Quaintree was up-stairs, Gerald and Miss Dormer were talking
together, and there seemed no immediate fear of interruption.
Then Frank Amberley braced up his nerves, and prepared himself for the
duty he had undertaken.
He thought it best to inform Lois of the entire story, as far as he
was master thereof, withholding the name of the lady, however, and the
fact that she had been already married when she became the wife of Paul
Desfrayne. He thought that if the search for the Padre Josef should
prove unsuccessful, as it probably might do, it would not be well
either to unsettle Lois’ mind, or to fix an additional brand on Captain
Desfrayne.
Lois listened in dead silence, pulling out the lace of her handkerchief
mechanically. It was not until the close of the little history that she
made any comment. Frank ended at the stormy departure of the signora
on the morning of her marriage with Captain Desfrayne.
“It is a sad story,” she said, in a low, faint tone. “I am deeply
sorry for him; and I am--I am sorry that--that his name should have
been--been linked with mine in--in Mr. Vere Gardiner’s will.”
“I rely upon you not to let any one have a suspicion of this
unfortunate affair,” urged Frank Amberley.
Lois assured him she would keep the matter a profound secret. She
longed to get away to the solitude of her own chamber, there to reflect
on what she had heard; but could think of no excuse. A strange,
unaccountable sinking of the heart oppressed her.
“Why do I thus think about one who is a stranger to me, and can never
be aught else?” she asked herself. “I must dismiss the subject from my
mind forever after this night.”
And yet she caught herself wondering when she should again meet Paul
Desfrayne, and planning how she should behave to him.
Frank Amberley watched her face with all the eager devotion of a man
hopelessly, irretrievably in love, utterly unconscious that the bright
eyes of the pretty country girl in white muslin and blue ribbons
wandered many times his way. It was with difficulty that he restrained
a passionate, plainly worded avowal of his love and adoration, and
resisted the desire to ask Lois if there was any chance of his being
able to win the slightest return of his all-engrossing passion.
He was pretty confident that up to this time she had not cared
specially for any one, and he believed it to be perfectly impossible
that any other human being could love her as deeply, as truly as he did.
A few moments more, and he might have tempted his fate, and might have
gained some answer leading him to hope; but the door of the center
drawing-room opened, and Lady Quaintree came through the silken archway
between the two salons.
Her ladyship was ill pleased to see Lois and Frank together, and
dissatisfied to notice that Gerald appeared much taken with the
lively, piquant Blanche Dormer, who was playing with a not altogether
unskilful hand at the pleasant game of flirtation. It would not suit
the inclination of Lady Quaintree did Gerald fall in love with and
marry this young girl, even if she did carry twenty thousand pounds as
her dot.
Without appearing inhospitable--nay, she seemed to be sorry to break up
the little party--she made it apparent to Frank that it would be only
kind and considerate of him to take an early departure, in order that
the ladies might rest after their hurried journey.
Turn which way she would, Lois could not rid herself of the haunting
figure of Paul Desfrayne. When she gained her own room, she sat down at
the foot of her bed to think.
“I am glad, I know,” she whispered to herself. “Oh! I am sorry for
him, though I fear he scarcely deserves that any one should pity him,
when he was guilty of such folly. He ought to have had more sense--he
ought not to have allowed himself to be carried away by such a foolish
fancy. Yet it seems a heavy punishment for a passing folly. They say:
‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’ Lifelong unhappiness, poor fellow!
No wonder he seems strange, and different from other people. He is
quite different from any one I ever saw. How wicked and ungrateful this
girl must have been! It is inconceivable that any creature could have
behaved so vilely toward him. He seems so good, so kind, so----What
nonsense am I running off into, when I know nothing about him!”