When Margaret awoke the next morning her first impulse was to go away
for a time. She was disgusted with New York, and desired nothing so much
as the sensation of being free from Mr. Barker. A moment, however,
sufficed to banish any such thoughts. In the first place, if she were
away from the metropolis it would take just so many hours longer for the
Doctor's letters to reach her. There had been a lacuna in the
correspondence of late, and it seemed to her that the letters she had
received were always dated some days before the time stamped on the
Heidelberg postmark. He spoke always of leaving very soon; but though he
said many loving and tender things, he was silent as to his own doings.
She supposed he was occupied with the important matter he described as
the "other reason," and so in the two or three short notes she wrote him
she abstained from questioning any more.
Furthermore, she reflected that however much she might wish to be away,
it was most emphatically not the thing to do. On the whole, she would
stay where she was.
She was roused from her reverie by Clémentine, who entered in a halo of
smiles, as though she were the bearer of good news. In the first place
she had a telegram, which proved to be from Claudius, dated Berlin, and
simply announcing the fact that he would sail at once. Margaret could
hardly conceal her great satisfaction, and the colour came so quickly to
her face as she read the flimsy bit of paper from the cable office that
Clémentine made the most desperate efforts to get possession of it, or
at least to see the signature. But Margaret kept it under her pillow for
half an hour, and then burned it carefully by the taper, to Clémentine's
inexpressible chagrin.
Meanwhile, however, there were other news in the wind, and when the
artful Frenchwoman had succeeded in opening the window just so that a
ray of light should fall on madam's face, she fired her second shot.
"Monsieur le Duc is of return, Madame," she said, suddenly turning
towards her mistress.
"The Duke?" repeated Margaret innocently. "When did he come?"
"Ah, Madame," said the maid, disappointed at having produced so little
effect, "it is precisely what I do not know. I come from meeting
Monsieur Veelees upon the carrefour. He has prayed me to present the
compliments of Monsieur le Duc and to ask at what hour Madame la
Comtesse would be in disposition to see him."
"Ah, very well," said the Countess. "I will get up, Clémentine."
"Si tôt, Madame? it is yet very morning," argued the girl with a little
show of polite surprise.
"That is indifferent. Go, Clémentine, and tell Monsieur le Duc I will
see him at once."
"At once, Madame? I run," said Clémentine, going slowly to the door.
"Enfin--when I am dressed. Don't you understand?" said Margaret
impatiently.
"Parfaitement, Madame. I will speak with Monsieur Veelees." And she
vanished.
It was a bright November morning, and though there had been a slight
frost daring the night, it was fast vanishing before the sun. Margaret
went to the window and breathed the cool air. An indescribable longing
seized her to be out, among trees and plants and fresh growing
things--to blow away the dark dreams of the night, the visions of Barker
and Screw, and of the ballroom, and of that detestable Japanese boudoir.
She hurried her toilet in a manner that completely aroused Clémentine's
vigilant suspicion.
"Hélas," Clémentine used to say to Willis the Duke's servant, "Je ne lui
ai jamais connu d'amant. I had pourtant much hoped of Monsieur
Clodiuse." But she never ventured such remarks when old Vladimir was at
hand.
When the Countess was dressed she went out into her little drawing-room,
and found the Duke looking more sunburnt and healthy than ever, though a
trifle thinner. The rough active Western life always agreed with him. He
came forward with a bright smile to meet her.
"Upon my word, how well you look!" he exclaimed as he shook hands; and
indeed she was beautiful to see, for if the sleepless night had made her
pale, the good news of Claudius's coming had brought the fire to her
eyes.
"Do I?" said she. "I am glad; and you look well too. Your run on the
prairies has done you good. Come," said she, leading him to the window,
"it is a beautiful day. Let us go out."
"By all means: but first I have some good news for you. Fitzdoggin has
telegraphed me that Claudius--I mean," he said, interrupting himself
and blushing awkwardly, "I mean that it is all right, you know. They
have arranged all your affairs beautifully." Margaret looked at him
curiously a moment while he spoke. Then she recognised that the Duke
must have had a hand in the matter, and spoke very gratefully to him,
not mentioning that she had received news direct, for she did not wish
to spoil his pleasure in being the first to tell her. To tell the truth,
the impulsive Englishman was rather in doubt whether he had not betrayed
the Doctor's secret, and seemed very little inclined to say anything
more about it.
"I wish," she said at last, "that we could ride this morning. I have not
been on a horse for ever so long, and I want the air."
"By Jove," cried the Duke, overjoyed at the prospect of breaking an
interview which seemed likely to lead him too far, "I should think so. I
will send and get some horses directly. The very thing, by Jove!" And he
went to the door.
"How are you going to get anything fit to ride in New York, at such
short notice?" asked Margaret, laughing at his impetuosity.
"There's a fellow here lends me anything in his stable when I am in New
York," he answered, half out of the room. "I'll go myself," he called
back from the landing, and shut the door behind him. "Upon my word," he
said to himself as he lighted a cigarette in the cab, and drove away to
his friend's stable, "she is the most beautiful thing I ever saw. I
almost let the cat out of the bag, just to please her. I don't wonder
Claudius is crazy about her. I will talk about the West when we are
riding, and avoid the subject." With which sage resolution his Grace
seemed well satisfied. When he returned, he found Margaret clad in a
marvellous habit, that reminded him of home.
"The horses will be at the Park by the time we have driven there," he
said. "We will drive up." He made no toilet himself, for being English
and to the saddle born, he cared not a jot how he looked on horseback.
In half an hour they were mounted, and walking their horses down the
broad bend of the road where it enters the Central Park. Margaret asked
about Lady Victoria, and the Duke, to make sure of not getting off the
track, immediately began talking about the journey they had just made.
But Margaret was not listening.
"Do you know?" she said, "it is very pleasant to feel I am not poor any
longer. I suppose it is a very low sentiment."
"Of course," said the Duke. "Beastly thing to have no money."
"Do you know--" she began again, but stopped.
"Well," said the Duke, following her first train of thought, "it always
seems to me that I have no money myself. I don't suppose I am exactly
poor, though."
"No," laughed Margaret, "I was not thinking of that."
"What is it?" he asked.
"I think I will confide in you a little, for you have always been such a
good friend to me. What do you know of Mr. Barker?"
"I am sure I don't know," said the Englishman, taken off his guard by
the question. "I have known him some time--in this sort of way," he
added vaguely.
"I believe," said the Countess bluntly, "that it was Mr. Barker who made
all this trouble for Dr. Claudius."
"I believe you are right," answered the Duke suddenly turning in his
saddle and facing her. "I wonder how he could be such a brute?"
Margaret was silent. She was astonished at the readiness with which her
companion assented to her proposition. He must have known it all along,
she thought.
"What makes you think so?" he asked presently.
"What are your reasons for believing it?" she asked, with a smile.
"Really," he began; then shortly, "I believe I don't like his eyes."
"Last night," said Margaret, "I was talking with him at a party. I
chanced to speak of the Doctor's coming back, and Mr. Barker laughed and
sneered, and said it was ridiculous."
The Duke moved angrily in his saddle, making the horse he rode shake his
head and plunge a little.
"He is a brute," he said at last.
"Your horse?" inquired Margaret sweetly.
"No--Barker. And pray what did you answer him? I hope you gave him a
lesson for his impertinence."
"I told him," said she, "that I had documents in my possession that
would establish his right as well as any he could get in Germany."
"Barker must have been rather taken aback," said the other in high glee.
"I am glad you said that."
"So am I. I do not imagine I shall see much of Mr. Barker in future,"
she added demurely.
"Um! As bad as that?" The Duke was beginning to catch the drift of what
Margaret was saying. She had no intention of telling him any more,
however. Bitterly as she felt towards Barker, she would not allow
herself the triumph of telling her friend she had refused to marry him.
"I know it is a very womanly fancy," she said, "but I want to ride fast,
please. I want exercise."
"All right," said the Duke, and they put their horses into a canter. The
Countess felt safe now that her friends had returned and that Claudius
had telegraphed he was about to sail. She felt as though her troubles
were over, and as if the world were again at her feet. And as they
galloped along the roads, soft in the warm sun to the horses' feet,
breathing in great draughts of good clean air, the past two months
seemed to dwindle away to a mere speck in the far distance of her life,
instead of being entangled with all the yesterdays of the dark season
just over.
And Claudius--the man who made all this change in her life, who had
opened a new future for her--how had he passed these months, she
wondered? To tell the truth, Claudius had been so desperately busy that
the time had not seemed so long. If he had been labouring in any other
cause than hers it would have been insupportable. But the constant
feeling that all he did was for her, and to her advantage, and that at
the same time she was ignorant of it all, gave him strength and courage.
He had been obliged to think much, to travel far, and to act promptly;
and for his own satisfaction he had kept up the illusion that he was in
Heidelberg by a cunning device. He wrote constantly, and enclosed the
letters to the old notary at the University, who, with Teutonic
regularity, stamped and posted them. And so it was that the date of the
letter, written in St. Petersburg, was always two or three days older
than that of the postmark. For Claudius would not put a false date at
the head of what he wrote, any more than, if Margaret had written to
ask him whether he were really in Heidelberg or not, he would have
deceived her in his answer. Probably he would not have answered the
question at all. The letters were merely posted in Heidelberg; and
Margaret had trusted him enough not to notice or be willing to comment
upon the discrepancy.
And, by dint of activity and the assistance of the persons to whom he
had letters, he had succeeded in bringing the Countess's business to a
satisfactory conclusion. He found it just as Mr. Bellingham had told
him. In an autocratic country, if you are to have justice at all, you
will have it quickly. Moreover, it was evident to the authorities that a
man coming all the way from America, and presenting such credentials as
Claudius brought, deserved to be attended to at once--the more so when
his whole appearance and manner were such as to create a small _furore_,
in the Embassy circles. Claudius went everywhere, saw every one, and
used every particle of influence he could obtain to further the object
of his visit. And so it was that, at the end of a month or so, a special
_ukase_ provided for the payment in perpetuity to herself and her heirs
for ever of the jointure-money first decreed to the Countess Margaret
for life only from the estates of her late husband, Count Alexis of the
Guards. This was even more than Claudius had hoped for--certainly more
than Margaret had dreamt of. As for Nicholas, Claudius cared nothing
what became of him, for he probably thought him a foolish Nihilist, and
he knew enough of the Countess's character to be sure she would never
let her brother suffer want, whatever his faults.
So when he had concluded the affair he hastened to Berlin, telegraphing
from thence the news of his immediate return. In less than a fortnight,
at all events, he ought to be in New York. The thought gave him infinite
relief; for, since he had finished his business in Petersburg, the
reaction which in strong natures is very sure to follow a great effort,
for the very reason that strong natures tax their powers to the utmost,
recklessly, began to make itself felt. It seemed to him, as he looked
back, that he had heard so little from her. Not that he complained; for
he was fully sensible of her goodness in writing at all, and he
treasured her letters as things sacred, even to the envelopes, and
whatsoever had touched her hand. But he felt keenly that he was in total
ignorance of her doings; and one or two references to Barker troubled
him. He too had his suspicions that the scheming American had been
concerned in the sudden fit of caution developed by Messrs. Screw and
Scratch. He too had suspected that his quondam friend had been
insincere, and that everything was not as it should be. But he was
neither so wise as Margaret, who would have told him not to soil his
hands with pitch, nor so supremely indifferent as the Duke, who would
have said that since he had got the money it didn't matter in the least
if Barker were a brute or not. On the contrary, Claudius promised
himself to sift the evidence; and if he discovered that Barker was
guilty of any double-dealing, he would simply break his neck. And as
Claudius thought of it, his teeth set, and he looked capable of breaking
any number of necks, then and there.
But for all his wrath and his suspicions, the real cause of Barker's
strange behaviour never presented itself to his mind. It never struck
him that Barker could aspire to Margaret's hand; and he merely
concluded that the young man had laid a plot for getting his money. If
any one had related to Claudius the scene which took place at Mrs. Van
Sueindell's the very night when he sent his telegram, he would have
laughed the story to scorn in perfect good faith, for he could not have
believed it possible. Nor, believing it, would he have cared. And so he
rushed across Europe, and never paused till he had locked himself into
his stateroom on board the steamer, and had begun a long letter to
Margaret. He knew that he would see her as soon as a letter could reach
her, but that made no difference. He felt impelled to write, and he
wrote--a letter so tender and loving and rejoicing that were it to
appear in these pages no lover would ever dare write to his lady again,
lest she chide him for being less eloquent than Claudius, Phil.D. of
Heidelberg. And he wrote on and on for many days, spending most of his
time in that way.
Meanwhile, the Duke and Margaret cantered in the Park, and talked of all
kinds of things; or rather, the Duke talked, and Margaret thought of
Claudius. Before they returned, however, she had managed to let the Duke
know that the Doctor was on his way back; whereat the Englishman
rejoiced loudly. Perhaps he would have given a great deal to know
whether they were engaged, to be married; but still Margaret gave no
sign. It was far from her thoughts; and the fact had only presented
itself in that form to her on the spur of the moment, the preceding
evening, as likely to prove a crushing blow at once to Mr. Barker's
plotting and Mr. Barker's matrimonial views. But while the Duke talked,
she was thinking. And as the situation slowly unfolded its well-known
pictures to her mind, she suddenly saw it all in a different light.
"I must be mad," she thought. "Barker will tell every one; and the Duke
ought not to know it except from me!"
"Speaking of Dr. Claudius--" she began; the Duke was at that moment
talking earnestly about the Pueblo Indians, but that was of no
importance. "Speaking of the Doctor, you ought to know--I would rather
that no one else told you--we are going to be married."
The Duke was so much surprised--not so much at the information as at her
manner of imparting it--that he pulled up short. Seeing him stop, she
stopped also.
"Are you very much astonished?" she asked, pushing the gray veil up to
her hat, and looking at him smilingly out of her deep, dark eyes. The
Duke spoke no word, but leapt from his horse, which he left standing in
the middle of the path, surprised into docility by the sudden desertion.
There were a few wild-flowers growing by the road, which here led
through a wooded glade of the Park; they were the flowers called
Michaelmas daisies, which bloom until November in America. He picked a
great handful of them, and came running back.
"Let me be the first to congratulate you, my dear friend," he said,
standing bareheaded at her stirrup, and offering the flowers with a
half-bashful smile that sat strangely on a man of his years. It was a
quick, impulsive action, such as no one could have expected from him who
did not know him intimately well--and few could boast that they did.
Margaret was touched by his look and manner.
"Thanks," she said, bending over her saddle-bow, and taking the daisies
as he held them up to her. "Yes, you are the first--to congratulate me,"
which was true. He still stood looking at her, and his hand would
hardly let go the flowers where his fingers touched hers. His face grew
pale, then ashy-white and he steadied himself against her horse's neck.
"What is the matter? are you ill? have you hurt yourself?" asked
Margaret in real alarm, for he looked as though he were going to faint,
and it was a full minute since he had come back to her from the
roadside. Then he made a great effort and collected himself, and the
next instant he had dashed after his horse, which was wandering away
towards the trees.
"I did feel queer for a minute," he said when he was once more in the
saddle and by her side. "I dare say it is the heat. It's a very hot day,
now I think of it. Would you allow me a cigarette? I hate to smoke in
public, you know, but it will make me all right again." Margaret
assented, of course, to the request; it was morning, in the recesses of
the Park, and nobody would see. But she looked strangely at him for a
minute, wondering what could have produced his sudden dizziness.
They rode more slowly towards the entrance of the Park, and the
Countess's thoughts did not wander again. She talked to her companion on
every subject he broached, showing interest in all he said, and asking
questions that she knew would please him. But the latter part of the
ride seemed long, and the drive home interminable, for Margaret was in
haste to be alone. She was not sure that the Duke's manner had changed
since he had turned so strangely pale, but she fancied he spoke as if
making an effort. However, they reached the hotel at last, and
separated.
"Thanks, so much," she said; "it has been such a delightful morning."
"It has indeed," said he, "and--let me congratulate you once more.
Claudius is a gentleman in every way, and--I suppose he is as worthy of
you as any one could be," he added quickly, in a discontented voice, and
turned away, hat in hand. She stood looking after him a moment.
"I wonder," she said to herself as she entered her room and closed the
door. "Poor man! it is not possible, though. I must be dreaming. Ah me!
I am always dreaming now, it seems to me;" and she sank down in a chair
to wait for Clémentine.
And so it is that some women go through life making far more victims
than they know of. There are some honest men who will not speak, unless
they have a right to, and who are noble enough to help those who have a
right. The Duke had known Margaret ever since she had married Alexis, as
has been said. Whether he had loved her or not is a question not so
easily answered. Certain it is that when she told him she was going to
be married to Claudius he turned very pale, and did not recover the
entire use of his mind for a whole day.
Nevertheless, during the succeeding fortnight he devoted himself
sedulously to Margaret's amusement, and many were the things that he and
she and Lady Victoria, and the incomparable Miss Skeat, who always
enjoyed everything, planned and carried out together. Margaret did not
shun society or shut herself up, and more than once she saw Barker in
the street and in the crowds at parties. The houses in America are so
small that parties are always crowded. But he had the good sense to
avoid her, and she was not troubled by any communication from him.
Clémentine, indeed, wondered that so few flowers came, for a day or two,
and old Vladimir pondered on the probable fate of Mr. Barker, who, he
supposed, had been sent to Canada in chains for some political offence,
seeing that he called no longer. But these faithful servitors could not
ask questions, and sources of information they had none. Barker,
however, as Margaret had anticipated, had been active in spreading the
news of her engagement; for, before very long, callers were plenty, and
flowers too, and many were the congratulations that poured in. Then she
saw the wisdom of having informed the Duke of her position before any
officious acquaintance could do it for her. The Duke, indeed, saw very
few people in New York, for he hated to be "entertained," but he knew a
great many men slightly, and some one of them would probably have
obliged him with the information.
One morning as he and the Countess were about to drive up to the Park
for their daily ride, which had become an institution, the servant
presented a card, saying the gentleman was anxious to see her ladyship
at once, if possible. The card was that of Mr. Screw, of Screw and
Scratch.
"Very well," said the Countess, who was pulling on her gloves, and
holding her riding-stick under one arm as she did so. "Ask him to come
up." The Duke moved to withdraw.
"Don't go, please," said Margaret; and so he remained. A moment later
Mr. Screw's yellow head and small eyes appeared at the door.
"The Countess Margaret?" he inquired deferentially.
"Yes. Mr. Screw, I believe?"
"The same, Madam. A--pardon me, but--I desired to speak with you alone,"
stammered the lawyer, seeing that the Duke did not move.
"I have asked the--this gentleman, who is my friend, to remain," said
Margaret calmly. "You may speak freely. What is your business with me,
sir?" She motioned him to a chair, and he sat down opposite her, hat in
hand. He would have liked to hook his legs into each other and put his
hands into his pockets, but he was too well bred for that. At last he
took courage.
"Frankly, Madam, I have come to discharge a moral duty, and I will speak
plainly. I am informed on credible authority that you are engaged to
marry a gentleman, calling himself Dr. Claudius--a--a tall man--fair
beard?"
"Your information is correct, Mr. Screw," said Margaret haughtily, "I am
engaged to be married to Dr. Claudius."
"As one of the executors of the late Mr. Gustavus Lindstrand, deceased,"
proceeded Mr. Screw slowly, "I feel it my duty, as an honest man, to
inform you that there are serious doubts as to whether the gentleman who
calls himself Dr. Claudius is Dr. Claudius at all. The person in
question disappeared two months ago, and has not been heard of since, as
far as I can make out. I have no interest in the matter as far as it
concerns yourself, as you may well imagine, but I have thought it right
to warn you that the gentleman whom you have honoured with a promise of
marriage has not established his claim to be the person he represents
himself."
Margaret, who, after the first words, had foreseen what Mr. Screw had
come to say, and who believed that very respectable and honest man to be
concerned in the plot against Claudius, was naturally angry, but she had
the good sense to do the right thing.
"Mr. Screw," she said in her commanding voice, icily, "I am deeply
indebted to you for your interference. Nevertheless, I am persuaded that
the gentleman to whom I am engaged is very really and truly the person
he represents himself to be. A fact of which my friend here will
probably be able to persuade you without difficulty." And she forthwith
left the room. The Duke turned upon the lawyer.
"Look here, Mr. Screw," he said sharply, "I am the--well, never mind my
name, you can find out from the people downstairs. I am an English
gentleman, and I know who Dr. Claudius is. I knew his father; I brought
him to this country in my yacht. I am prepared to go into court this
minute and swear to the identity of the gentleman you are slandering.
Slandering, sir! Do you hear me?" The ducal anger was hot. "And except
for the fact that Dr. Claudius will be here to speak for himself the day
after to-morrow morning, I would take you into court now by main force
and make you hear me swear to him. Do you hear me, sir?"
"My dear sir," began Mr. Screw, who was somewhat taken aback by this
burst of wrath.
"Don't call me 'your dear sir,'" said the nobleman, moving towards
Screw.
"Sir, then," continued the other, who had not an idea to whom he was
speaking, and perhaps would not have cared had he known, being such an
honest man, "I cannot conceive why, if you are so certain, you have not
come forward before, instead of allowing your friend to go to Europe in
order to procure evidence he might have obtained here."
"I am not going to argue with you," said the Duke. "Dr. Claudius would
have gone to Europe in any case, if that is any satisfaction to you.
What did you come here for?"
"Because I thought it right to warn an unsuspecting lady of her danger,"
answered Mr. Screw boldly.
"Is that true? Do you really believe Claudius is not Claudius?" asked
the Duke, coming close to the lawyer and looking him in the eyes.
"Certainly, I believe him to be an impostor," said the other returning
his gaze fearlessly.
"I suppose you do," said the Duke, tolerably satisfied. "Now then, who
sent you here?"
"No one sent me," answered Screw with some pride. "I am not in the habit
of being sent, as you call it. It was in the course of a conversation I
had with Mr. Barker, the other day--"
"I thought so," interrupted the Englishman. "I thought Mr. Barker was at
the bottom of it. Will you please to deliver a message to Mr. Barker,
with my compliments?" Screw nodded solemnly, as under protest.
"Then be kind enough to tell him from me that he is a most infernal
blackguard. That if he attempts to carry this abominable plot any
further I will post him at every one of his clubs as a liar and a cheat,
and--and that he had better keep out of my way. As for you, sir, I would
advise you to look into his character, for I perceive that you are an
honest man."
"I am obliged to you, sir," said Mr. Screw, with something of a sneer.
"But who are you, pray, that ventures to call my clients by such ugly
names?"
"There is my card--you can see for yourself," said the Duke. Screw read
it. His anger was well roused by this time.
"We have small respect for titles in this country, my Lord Duke," said
he stiffly. "The best thing I can say is what you said to me, that you
impress me as being an honest man. Nevertheless you may be mistaken."
"That is a matter which will be decided the day after to-morrow," said
the other. "Meanwhile, in pursuance of what I said, I thank you very
sincerely indeed"--Mr. Screw smiled grimly--"no, I am in earnest, I
really thank you, on behalf of the Countess Margaret, for the honourable
part you have endeavoured to perform towards her; and I beg your pardon
for having mistaken you, and supposed you were in the plot. But give my
message to Mr. Barker--it is actionable, of course, and he may take
action upon it, if he likes. Good-morning, sir."
"Good-morning," said Screw shortly, somewhat pacified by the Duke's
frank apology.
"I think I settled him," said the peer to Margaret, as they got into the
cab that was to drive them to the Park. And they cantered away in royal
spirits.