Everitt made his way home in happy unconsciousness of the discovery that
followed his departure. To tell the truth, he troubled himself less
than he might have done--for he was not without suspicions that Miss
Aitcheson had penetrated his disguise further than he liked--because his
thoughts were running persistently on one subject: how to see Miss
Lascelles again, and quickly.
The most direct way was to get hold of Mrs Marchmont, and induce her to
take him; but he had the grace to determine that, in telling her his
wishes, he would tell her all, and be guided by her advice. If she were
in favour of a frank confession, he was quite ready to undertake it. It
must be owned that he did not imagine that in personating the
disreputable Italian he had committed a very unpardonable fault; he did
not, at any rate, so imagine it now, when it appeared to hint he had
been far more inexcusable in suggesting that such a model as Giuseppe
should sit for Kitty Lascelles.
He would go to Mrs Marchmont that afternoon.
So full was he of these thoughts that he neglected precautions, and very
nearly blundered into the arms of the irrepressible Jack, who was
diverting himself by strolling up and down the passage, and imparting a
more truculent expression to the countenance of a grimy marble lion
which stood on guard. He came into Everitt's studio by-and-by with his
curiosity very much alive.
"Hill swears no one has been here, but I can swear--harder--that twice
to-day I've seen Giuseppe, or his double, and I believe he ran to earth
in here."
"I've not seen the fellow," said Everitt, coolly.
"Well, you may take my word for it he's been here. Do you mean to tell
me I don't know that old sun-burnt cloak of yours?"
"I mean to tell you nothing, except that I've not seen Giuseppe."
"Where's the cloak?"
"Where it always is, I presume. Look for yourself."
Jack investigated the cupboard. There was the cloak certainly, also the
red waistcoat, also the brown hat with the crossed ribbons, also the
sandals, with--and this was strange--a stain or two of fresh mud. He
brought them to Everitt triumphantly.
"They've been worn this morning; how do you account for that?"
The other man looked black.
"For pity's sake, Jack, leave the thing alone! You want to know if
Giuseppe's been here, and I tell you no. That's enough. You're so
abominably inquisitive!"
Jack stared at him meditatively for a few moments; then he flung himself
into an armchair, stretched out his legs, and burst into a vociferous
peal of laughter. It lasted long enough for Everitt to get red, try to
look stern, and finally to break into an accompanying laugh himself.
"What a fool you are!" he said presently, by way of compensation.
"Oh, I say!" cried Jack, when he could speak; "if this doesn't beat
everything! I knew there was something up, but I never thought of
anything so rich as this. My very reverend, grave, and sober Mentor!"
"Shut up!"
"I'd have given all I have in the world to have been there," Jack
continued, springing up in the ecstasy of his feelings. "A precious bad
bargain she must have had! _You_ stand for a model! You couldn't, my
dear fellow, to save your life. I say, aren't you stiff? Everitt?"
"Well?"
"I believe it was the duke's daughter put it into your head?"
"It's true enough I get my folly from you," said the elder man, not
ill-humouredly.
"Oh, no more speeches of that sort! I've the whip-hand of you for a
good while," said Jack, triumphantly. "You can't say I ever dressed up
as a model to get into a house."
"To get into a house!" Everitt frowned. "Certainly that was not my
motive."
"What then?" demanded the imperturbable Jack.
"Merely that that brute came drunk, and I had promised to send some
one."
"Oh!"
"What do you mean by your `oh'? it was, I tell you--hotly. I dare say.
But it won't look like it to them when they find it out."
"What do you mean?"
"Only what I say. You'll be run in, somehow, of course; you're not the
sort of fellow to do it under the rose. Well, when it comes out they
won't believe but that you had some object in view."
"Go on, Jack; you're a marvel of precocious wisdom! I tell you, I'd
never seen or heard of them before."
"Not Miss Aitcheson?"
"Oh, Miss Aitcheson! I'm sure I never want to see Miss Aitcheson
again."
"Was she there?"
"Yes."
"And don't you suppose she recognised you?"
"Shouldn't wonder."
"Well, you have put your foot in it."
"What's the harm? I promised a model; he failed, and I went myself."
"Oh, no particular harm," said Jack, coolly; "no harm at all, I dare
say; only if I had happened to do such a thing--"
"You!" repeated Everitt, looking at Jack. Put in this manner, the idea
certainly appeared intolerable. "You! Oh, you're different."
"I should say I was. I shall never pull up to your heights of audacity,
that's certain. What's your next move? Are you going again?"
"No," curtly. "To-morrow I shall send Jackson."
Jack had a good many more jests to cut, which the other endured with
what meekness he could muster. It was annoying that the young fellow
should have made the discovery, for it would inevitably serve as a means
for plaguing Everitt whenever the artist tried to get Master Jack into
steady work. Moreover, the way in which he looked at it made Everitt a
little uneasy; it had not before struck him that others might regard it
in that attitude, which had, indeed, been far enough from his own point
of view.
In the afternoon he went to his cousin's in Hans Place. She welcomed
him with excessive cordiality and some surprise.
"For a wonder I find you alone," he said.
"That sounds," she said, "as if you were in the habit of trying to find
me. Shall we go into dates, or would you rather throw yourself on my
mercy?"
"Much rather. Indeed, I am afraid this is going to be an afternoon of
confessions."
She glanced at him and then at a letter which the servant had given her
when Everitt came in.
"Will you excuse me," she said, "if I read my letter?"
It contained no more than a few lines, but Mrs Marchmont took an
unusual time in reading them. When she had finished, she refolded the
note and laid it by her side.
"Confessions!" she said. "They will have a great air of novelty from
you. What have you been about, Charlie? Forgetting your engagements?"
"No. Only carrying them out too faithfully. You remember that I
undertook to supply a model for your friend, Miss Lascelles?"
Mrs Marchmont took the letter she had laid down again into her hand.
"Yes," she answered. "And you carried out your undertaking. Has
anything happened?"
"Why?" he asked quickly.
"Because you told me you had a confession to make, and because this note
may have something to do with it. It is from Mrs Lascelles."
"What does she say?" Everitt demanded, with interest.
"Well, she begs me to let you know that they do not want the model
again. There is something odd in that, because Kitty was so very keen
for him. What is the mystery? Has the man turned out too much of a
ruffian, or too little?"
"Judge for yourself," he said. "I was the ruffian."
"You!" she exclaimed. "You!"
"The man failed me, and I couldn't think of any way of escaping your
displeasure but by taking the character myself."
"You went to the Lascelles' as a model!"
"I did. I begin to believe now that it was a blunder."
"It was a blunder," she said, gravely. "It certainly was a blunder."
He looked at her.
"At least," he said, eagerly, "you will understand that my motives were
very simple."
"Yes, I can understand; I am afraid other people may not credit them
with such simplicity. It was dreadfully imprudent, Charlie! It was
more what I should have expected from your friend Mr Hibbert." Then
she began to laugh. "But it must have been very comic. And did they
find you out?"
"I don't know. I don't know that they did. But, Mary--"
"Well?"
"I want you to tell them, and to square things."
She shook her head.
"They won't be at all easy to square, as you call it. You had better
leave them alone, and trust to the fates not to bring you across any of
the Lascelles family again."
An odd expression crossed Everitt's face.
"That won't do," he said, getting up and standing with his back to the
fireplace. "I want to see them again; at least, I want to see your
friend."
"Kitty? Oh!" exclaimed Mrs Marchmont, in blank amazement. "This is
too exciting! Do you really mean it?"
"I mean that I should like to see her again," repeated Everitt. "You
may take that for what it's worth."
"Oh, I am delighted!" she cried; "delighted! Charlie, I would do
anything in the world if I thought. But there, we needn't say anything.
You just want to be introduced?"
"Yes; and they'd better know. I won't have that hanging over my head."
"I'll manage everything. They have a garden-party on Monday; I shall
propose to bring you, and I will go and see them meanwhile. One
couldn't write all that about the model."
Everitt left her, not ill-satisfied. He had said rather more than he
had intended, but it had been necessary to enlist his cousin, and he
knew she would act in the friendliest fashion.
He waited impatiently.
On Thursday, Jack Hibbert, who tormented him unmercifully, informed him
that he had an invitation for the Lascelles'.
"Hope they'll never find out I've any connection with you," he remarked,
audaciously.
"Hope not, for my sake," growled Everitt.
Finding that nothing came from Mrs Marchmont, on Friday morning he
started for the Park, and strolled along the Row till he caught sight of
his cousin riding a bay mare, and surrounded by friends. The first time
of passing, she did not see him; but as she came down again she caught
sight of Everitt, and rode up to the railings.
"Well?" he said, eagerly.
She shook her head.
"I'm dreadfully disappointed. I've done my very best, but they won't
hear of it. I've been there, and I've seen Mrs Lascelles and Kitty,
and said everything I could think of."
"Has it annoyed them so much?" said Everitt, flushing.
"I don't know about annoyed. They are not angry, and I think they
understand how it was done; but--perhaps it's natural, Charlie--they
don't fancy an acquaintance begun in that fashion. It _would_ be
awkward, you must allow, just at first. Kitty wouldn't know whether she
was talking to her model or to you yourself. I think by-and-by we might
get over it quietly; but just at present I really don't see what to do."
Everitt stared gloomily at a group beyond him.
"You understand how it is, don't you?" said his cousin, anxiously.
"Oh, it's clear enough, you needn't fear. I made a fool of myself, and
yet I can't regret it." He looked at Mrs Marchmont, and suddenly burst
out laughing. "Do you think any one was ever in such a ridiculous
position?"
"I am partly responsible," she said. "What will you do?"
"Get right again somehow," he replied, briefly. "Do you mean you will
give it up?"
"I mean that if I can I shall marry Miss Kitty Lascelles."
"Oh, Charlie," said Mrs Marchmont, drawing a deep breath, "I like you
ever so much! Tell me how I can help."
"Here are the others," said Everitt, standing upright. "I'll let you
know, Mary, when I've thought it out."
The day was grey and showery; the changing silvery lights bringing out
the colours of the great banks of rhododendrons massed together in the
Park. Everitt walked for some time up and down under the trees, trying
to see his way out of his absurd difficulties. They were absurd, but
they were not pleasant. To have your acquaintance declined is to
receive something very like a slap in the face; the next step forward
does not present itself very naturally. However, he was not the man to
flinch at an obstacle.
He made his next move on Sunday. The chapel of the old Hospital is open
to strangers, and Everitt went off in good time to secure his vantage
post. It was a wet, gusty day, full of growth and softness, a southerly
wind blowing across the river, the trees washed into lovely tender
greens, the red of the building beautiful against the grey clouds. The
birds were singing as usual; the old men encourage them, and they take
full advantage of the safe shelter they find. Just a few people were
turning in at the gates, and lingering on their way to the clock-tower
to look up at the solid walls, when Everitt made his way into the
circular hall facing the fine quadrangle. The old soldier who acted as
verger was not disinclined for a little chat. That was the governor's
stall, the second in command there, and the other officers round, as he
saw. Captain Lascelles? Yes, just before him. If he were a friend of
the family, he might like to go into their pew, or next to them? No?
Well, where would the gentleman like? Everitt indicated a spot
opposite, where he would be fully in sight, and the old man promptly
conducted and shut him in.
It was early, and Everitt looked round him with a good deal of interest.
The chapel, with its plaster ceiling and its high panelling of oak, was
ugly enough, but there was enough in its details to be suggestive. The
old soldiers came dropping in, with fine furrowed faces, and an air of
pride over their medals and their clasps, which stand out in brave
relief against their blue coats. Here is one quite blind, carefully
_led_ in by a comrade; there is another with an old, gentle face and
snow-white hair, with four medals and quite a procession of clasps on
his hollow chest. They file in soon in larger numbers, filling up by
hundreds the body of the church. And overhead hang the old tattered
remnants of flags taken in glorious battle, older many of them than the
oldest men, held together by network, colours faded, substance gone--not
a shred left on the Blenheim poles. There are the Waterloo eagles,
there the republican cap of liberty still flaunts itself; but nowhere in
the whole proud array is anything more pathetic than on one of the
Indian flags, where, looking closely, you may see on the dull surface
the print of a hand, the dead man's hand whose faithful clasp is marked
upon his trust for ever.
By the time Everitt had been there for a quarter of an hour, he was
watching the door very carefully. Already a lady and two or three
children had gone into the Lascelles' pew, but it was only a minute or
two before the service began that Kitty and her mother presented
themselves. She noticed him before long. Perhaps some consciousness of
the intentness of his gaze touched her and drew her eyes to his; at any
rate, he saw an immediate and troubled look of recognition cross her
sweet face. Nor did she glance at him again. He had no encouragement
of this sort; but as his former means of studying her had been of an
unusual kind, so now it appeared to him as if she gained a fresh charm
from the simplicity and gravity of her surroundings--the old men sitting
upright, attentive, the old flags slowly waving backwards and forwards
over their heads, the solemn words of the familiar service.
When it was finished, Everitt remained in his seat until the Lascelles
had left the church. He looked eagerly round when he got out, but the
whole family had disappeared; the pensioners chatted in groups, the sun
shone out between the clouds on the grass of the quadrangle, and on a
few white sea-birds which had come up the river.
Everitt went home dissatisfied.