Even though the House stood prorogued for yet another ten days,
formidable packets of documents continually reached Dudley Chisholm from
the Foreign Office, sometimes through the post, and at others by special
messenger. England's relations with the Powers were, as usual, not very
reassuring, hence the Parliamentary Under-Secretary was kept busy, and
every moment he could snatch from his guests was spent in the library
among the heaps of papers with which his table was always littered.
Wrey, his private secretary, was absent on leave, for the holidays, and,
therefore, the whole of the work fell upon him.
Each night, after the men had finished their whiskey and their gossip in
the smoking-room, he would retire to the big, book-lined chamber, and
plunge into the work, often difficult and tedious, which the nation
expected of him.
Usually during the half hour before dinner some of the guests would
assemble in the great, brown, old room to gossip, and the cosy-corner
beside the big wood fire was a favourite resting-place of Muriel's. She
generally dressed early, and with one or other of the younger men would
sit there and chat until the dinner-bell sounded. The fine old chamber,
with its overmantel bearing the three water-bougets argent, its lining
of books, and its oaken ceiling was quiet and secluded from the rest of
the house, the ideal refuge of a studious man.
Dudley, having occasion to enter there on the second evening following
his conversation with Claudia, related in the foregoing chapter, found
Sir Henry's ward sitting alone in the cosy-corner, half hidden by the
draperies. The light from the green-shaded lamp, insufficient to
illuminate the whole place, only revealed the table with its piles of
papers, but upon her face the firelight danced, throwing her countenance
into bold relief. As she sat there in her pale-blue dress she made a
picture of a most contenting sort.
"What! alone!" he exclaimed pleasantly as he advanced to meet her,
settling his dress-tie with his hand, for he had just come in from a
drive and had slipped into his clothes hurriedly.
"Yes," she laughed, stretching forth her small foot coquettishly upon
the red Turkey rug before the fire. "You men are so long making your
toilette; and yet you blame us for all our fal-lals."
"Haven't you been out?"
"Yes," she answered; "I went this afternoon into Shrewsbury with Lady
Richard to do some shopping. What a curious old town it is! I've never
been there before, and was most interested."
"True it's old-fashioned, and far behind the times, Miss Mortimer," he
said, smiling, as he stood before her, his back to the fire. "But I
always thought that you did not care for the antique."
"The antique! Why, I adore it! This splendid castle of yours is
unique. I confess to you that I've slipped away and wandered about it
for hours, exploring all sorts of winding stairways and turret-chambers
unknown to any one except the servants. I had no idea Wroxeter was so
charming. One can imagine oneself back in the Middle Ages with men in
armour, sentries, knights, lady-loves and all the rest of it."
He laughed lightly, placed his hands behind his back, and looked
straight at her.
"I'm very glad the old place interests you," he replied. "Fernhurst is
comparatively modern, is it not?"
"Horribly modern as compared with Wroxeter," she said, leaning back and
gazing up at him with her clear blue eyes. "Sir Henry was sadly imposed
upon when he bought it three years ago--at least, so I believe."
Dudley was at heart rather annoyed at finding her there alone, for a
glance at his littered table caused him to recollect that among those
papers there were several confidential documents which had reached him
that morning, and which he had been in the act of examining when called
to go out driving with two of his guests. Usually he locked the library
door on such occasions, but with his friends in the house the act of
securing the door of one of the most popular of the apartments was, he
thought, a measure not less grave than a spoken insult.
He was suspicious of the fair-eyed girl. Although he could not account
for it in the least, the strange suspicion had grown upon him that she
was not what she represented herself to be. And yet, on the other hand,
neither in actions nor words was she at all obtrusive, but, on the
contrary, extremely popular with every one, including Claudia, who had
herself declared her to be charming. He wondered whether she had been
amusing herself by prying into the heap of papers spread upon his
blotting-pad, and glanced across at them. No. They lay there just in
the same position, secured by the heavy paper-weight under which he had
put them earlier in the afternoon.
And yet, after all, he was a fool to run such risks, he told himself.
To fear to offend the susceptibilities of his guests was all very well,
but with the many confidential documents in his possession he ought in
all conscience to be more careful.
As the evening was biting cold and the keen north-east wind had caught
his face while driving, in the warmth his cheeks were burning hot.
Muriel, practised flirt that she was, believed their redness to be due
to an inward turmoil caused by her presence. Hence she presumed to
coquet with him, laughing, joking, chaffing in a manner which displayed
her conversational, mobility to perfection. He, on his part, allowed
her to proceed, eager to divine her motive.
"We go south at the end of January," she said at last, in answer to his
question. "Sir Henry thinks of taking a villa at Beaulieu this season.
Last year we were in Nice, but found it too crowded and noisy at
Carnival."
"Beaulieu is charming," he said. "More especially that part known as
_La Petite Afrique_."
"That's where the villa is situated--facing the sea. One of those four
white villas in the little bay."
"The most charming spot on the whole Riviera. By the way," he added,
"one of my old friends is already in Cannes, Colonel Murray-Kerr. Do
you happen to know him? He was military attach at Vienna, Rome and
Paris until he retired."
A curious expression passed over her countenance as he mentioned the
name. But it vanished instantly, as, glancing up, she looked at him
with the frank look that was so characteristic.
"No. I don't think we have ever met. Murray-Kerr? No. The name is
not familiar. He was in the diplomatic service, you say?"
"Yes, for about fifteen years. I had hoped he would have been one of
the party here, but he slipped away a week ago, attracted, as usual in
winter, by the charms of Cannes."
"He gambles at Monte Carlo, I suppose?"
"I think not. He's, nowadays, one of the old fogies of the Junior
United Service, and thinks of nothing but the lustre of his
patent-leather boots and the chance of shooting with friends. But he's
so well known in town, I felt sure that you must have met him," added
Dudley meaningly.
"One meets so many people," she replied carelessly, "and so many are not
introduced by name, that it is difficult to recollect. We haven't the
least knowledge of the names of people we've known by sight for months.
And I'm awfully bad at recollecting names. I always remember faces, but
can't furnish them with names. The position is often extremely awkward
and ludicrous."
The false note in her explanation did not escape his sensitive hearing.
Her sudden glances of surprise and annoyance when he had mentioned the
colonel's name had roused suspicion in his mind, and he felt convinced
that she was well acquainted with the man who had warned him against her
in such mysterious terms.
"If I remember aright," he said, "the colonel once mentioned you."
"Mentioned me?" she exclaimed with undisguised surprise, and not without
an expression of alarm. In an instant, however, she recovered her
self-possession. "Did he say any nice things of me?"
"Of course," he laughed. "Could he say otherwise?"
"Ah! I don't know. He might if he was not acquainted with me."
"Then he is acquainted with you?" exclaimed Dudley quickly.
"No, why--how silly! I really do not know your friend. Indeed, I have
never heard of him. It seems that if what you tell me is correct I have
an unknown admirer."
Dudley smiled. He was reflecting upon the colonel's warning, and her
replies to his questions made it all the more plain that she was denying
knowledge of a man with whom she was well acquainted.
"Did he say when he had met me?" she asked.
"I don't really recollect. The conversation took place while several
other persons were talking loudly, and many of his words were lost to
me."
"He discussed my merits before we met at the duchess's, I presume?"
"Yes. As I had not at that time the honour of your acquaintance, I took
but little heed of the conversation."
She looked at him with a covert glance, and with her fingers turned one
of her rings round and round in a quick, nervous way. What, she was
wondering, had Colonel Murray-Kerr said about her? The fact that she
had been discussed by him was to her extremely disconcerting.
"Well," she exclaimed a moment later, with a forced laugh, "as long as
your friend did not speak ill of me, I suppose I ought not to complain
of having my personal points openly discussed! Most smart women court
the publicity of a smoking-room discussion."
"Yes," he replied in a hard voice, wondering whether her words were
directed against Claudia, "unfortunately they do. But there are smart
women and smart women. I trust, Miss Mortimer, that you have no desire
to develop into one of the latter."
"Certainly not," she answered in all earnestness.
Half rising, she put her hand into her dress pocket, ostensibly to
obtain her handkerchief, but in reality to place there a small piece of
paper which she had crushed into her palm and held concealed when Dudley
entered.
Her deft movement as she hid the paper was so swift that it entirely
escaped his notice, while at the same moment Claudia, accompanied by two
of the male guests, came into the library, thus putting an end to their
_tete-a-tete_.
Dudley, still standing before the burning logs, continued chatting to
Sir Henry's ward, but, owing to the arrival of his other guests, it was
no longer possible to keep the conversation in the same channel.
As he sat at dinner he could not prevent his eyes from wandering across
to Muriel and from allowing strange thoughts to flit through his mind.
At what had the colonel hinted in that very room months ago, when he had
warned him to beware of her? He knew Murray-Kerr to be an easy-going
cosmopolitan, whose acquaintance with diplomatic Europe was perhaps more
extensive than that of any other living man, yet what possible object
could he have had in urging him to be careful when he met that
innocent-looking woman scarcely out of her teens?
Why Claudia had invited a woman who might become her rival in his
affections was another enigma which was puzzling. There was some
distinct object in this policy, but its real nature he was quite unable
to fathom.
That night there was, as usual, a dance in the old banqueting hall, the
high-roofed chamber that had long ago echoed to the boisterous
merrymaking of those armoured knights whose coats of mail now stood
round, and whose tattered banners hung above. Until half a century
back, the old stone flooring, worn hollow by the tramp of generations of
retainers, still existed, but Dudley's grandfather had had an oak
flooring placed over it, and it now served as the ballroom, even though
at one end was the enormous hearth, where an ox could be roasted whole,
while the wooden benches, at which the banqueters used to hold revel,
served as seats for those who did not dance.
Few of the guests, however, refrained from the waltzing, so delightful
were the attendant circumstances. Once during the evening Dudley found
himself taking a turn with Claudia.
"I've wanted to speak to you for nearly an hour past," she whispered to
him, so low that none could overhear. "Some man, apparently an
undesirable person, has called to see you."
"To see me--at this hour? Why, it's past midnight!" he exclaimed in
astonishment.
"He will not give any details regarding his business," she went on. "He
only expressed a desire that none of the guests should be aware of his
presence, and that he might have an interview alone with you."
"A rather curious request at this time of night," her companion
observed. She noticed that he had turned pale, and that the hand
holding hers perceptibly trembled. Their glances met, and he saw in her
dark and brilliant eyes the love-look of old that was so unmistakable.
Upon her countenance there was a look of concern, and this he strove at
once to dispel by saying airily:
"I suppose it is some one who wants assistance or something. Where is
he?"
"In your secretary's room. I had him shown there, in order that his
wish regarding the secrecy of his visit should be respected."
"Then you have seen him?"
"Yes. You were not to be found at the moment, so, hearing the message
he had given the servant, I saw him myself. He's middle-aged, and
rather shabbily dressed. From the state of his clothes I should think
that he's walked over from Shrewsbury. He told me that the matter on
which he desired to see you was of the greatest urgency, and apologised
for calling at such an hour."
"Well," he answered, "I suppose I'd better go and see the fellow,
whoever he is. He may be some political crank or other. There are so
many about."
"Yes," Claudia urged; "if I were you I'd go at once, and get rid of him.
It appears that Riggs told him you could not be seen until the morning,
but he absolutely refused to be sent away."
"Very well, I'll go and see who he is," replied the Under-Secretary,
only remaining calm by dint of the most strenuous effort. Then, leading
his partner to a seat, he bowed, took leave of her, and slipped away
from the ball through several arched doors and down the two long
corridors until he came to a door at the end.
He was in the east wing of the castle, a part to which the visitors did
not penetrate, for to do so it was necessary to cross the kitchen.
Before the closed door he paused, held his breath, and placed his hand
instinctively upon his heart, as though to still its beating. He dared
not advance farther.
Who, he wondered, was his visitor? Could it be that the blow which he
had expected for so long had at length fallen?