As happy as Derrick, Celia hurried back to the Hall. So suddenly had
come her happiness, so swiftly and unexpectedly had her life been
suffused by joy, that she was dazzled and bewildered, as one is dazzled
and bewildered by the bursting of the midday sunlight through a bank of
clouds. It seemed almost impossible to realise that he was back in
England, near at hand, that he loved her, that he had held her in his
arms; but the warmth of his kisses still lingered on her lips and helped
her unbelief.
As she entered the hall, Heyton sauntered out of the smoking-room; the
eternal cigarette was between his thick lips, his hands were thrust in
his pockets; the smile, which Celia so much disliked, greeted her
appearance, and his eyes roved over her with, the expression which
always raised Celia's resentment.
"Hallo!" he exclaimed, with an offensive familiarity. "Been for a walk?
By Jove! you look ripping, Miss Grant! Been enjoying yourself, to judge
by the look of you! I wish you would let me come with you; I might have
enjoyed myself too. I'm pretty well bored stiff; there's nothing to do
here, and the old place is dull as ditch-water; gives me the horrors.
But I say, you'll be late for dinner. Hurry up and come and dine with
us, won't you?"
"Thank you, Lord Heyton," said Celia, "but I dine alone in my own little
room."
"What nonsense that is!" he said, impatiently. "Here, Miriam"--turning
to his wife, as she came languidly down the stairs--"just tell Miss
Grant that she's got to dine with us to-night; she'll keep us from going
to sleep."
"Won't you?" asked Miriam, listlessly. "I wish you would; I'm sure Lord
Sutcombe would like you to."
"Thank you very much," said Celia, as she passed on; "but I would rather
dine alone. I've a great deal to do to-night and must not waste time
over dinner."
"Oh, look here----!" began Heyton; but at the moment the butler advanced
with a telegram. Heyton took it and looked at it, and his manner changed
instantly. He stared at the telegram; his face growing pale, his teeth
closing hard on the cigarette.
"What is it, Percy?" asked Miriam, as Celia passed into the library.
"Eh?" he said, with a start, as if waking up. "Oh, nothing! Yes, it is;
it's dam bad news, I can tell you."
"Money again!" she said, with an impatient shrug of her shoulders.
"Yes, money; and a lot of it," he retorted. "Look here, Miriam, I'm in a
hole, and a precious deep one this time. Hush! Here's the old man!" He
broke off warningly, as the Marquess came into the hall.
He looked weary and careworn, and his shoulders drooped in the way that
had become habitual with him of late; and he frowned slightly as he
glanced at the cigarette between his son's lips; for he disliked its
penetrating aroma as much as did Celia. Dinner was announced and they
went in; they talked in the desultory fashion which was customary with
them, and the Marquess, apparently lost in thought, did not notice
Heyton's pallor and the furtive glance which every now and then he
directed towards his father. As usual, Heyton did not refuse the
butler's offer of wine, and, after awhile, a hectic flush rose to his
cheek, and he began to talk with a strained and unnatural gaiety.
Miriam, who had been watching him, presently stretched out her hand
towards his glass with a significant frown; but her husband glared at
her and, reaching for the decanter, helped himself. Suddenly, apropos of
nothing, Heyton, addressing the Marquess, said:
"Have you noticed that pendant Miriam's wearing?"
The Marquess raised his eyes and smiled at her.
"Very pretty, my dear!" he observed.
"A present from Percy," she said, fingering it. "I'm glad you like it."
"A wedding present," said Heyton, with a sneer. "Not much of a present;
but it was the best I could afford. She's pretty enough to deserve a
complete fit-out of diamonds, don't you think so?"
The Marquess looked up again, half curiously, as if he wondered whether
there were any object in Heyton's remark; his lips moved as if he were
about to speak; but he closed them again and his eyes went back to his
plate. Miriam rose and went to the drawing-room, and almost immediately
afterwards, the Marquess left the table, saying, as he passed Heyton,
"That port is rather heavy, Percy; don't drink too much of it."
The weak and vicious face grew red and, with a sneer, Heyton retorted,
"Oh, if you begrudge me a glass of wine----" But he spoke under his
breath, and the Marquess apparently did not hear him.
Heyton finished the decanter and then, with a rather unsteady step,
betook himself to the smoking-room, fell into a chair and rang the bell
for coffee and cognac. He drank off the brandy, and took the telegram
from his pocket. It was still in his hand when Miriam came into the
room, closing the door behind her. She stood regarding him in silence
for a moment, with the look of the disappointed woman in her eyes. Not
for the first time did she realise the folly of her conduct; she had
thrown over Derrick Dene for title and position; they were hers now, but
to get them she had sold herself to a man whom she had learned to
despise.
"Phew!" she breathed. "The room reeks of brandy." She went to a window
and flung it open. "I should have thought you had had quite enough to
drink at dinner----"
"You may keep your thoughts to yourself, my lady," he said, with a
scowl. "What I drink is my own business. And, by George! you'd drink, if
you had as much on your mind as I have."
"You'd better tell me about it," she said; "you'd better tell me what
that telegram means. And--Percy, I want to know why you called your
father's attention to my pendant. You had some meaning, some object."
"Oh, you noticed it, did you?" he said, with a sneer. "I would scarcely
have given you credit for so much intelligence. Well, I had a meaning. I
wanted to call the old man's attention to the fact that you, his
daughter-in-law, had only a few trumpery trinkets to wear."
"Do you mean that you wanted him to buy me some, to give me a present?"
she inquired, with a puzzled frown.
"No, not buy you some," he replied slowly, his eyes evading hers.
"There's no need to buy any. I'm thinking of the family diamonds;
there's any amount of them already; a tiara, necklaces, bracelets--and,
I remember, a string of pearls as good as any in the country. What's the
use of them, locked up in the strong room at the bank? Why doesn't he
give them to you; they're yours; by right, as you might say."
She seated herself on a chair at a little distance from him and looked
at him intently; her face had become flushed at his rough description of
the Sutcombe jewels.
"What made you think of them to-night?" she asked.
"I've often thought of them," he answered, evasively.
"But you almost asked Lord Sutcombe to give them to me," she persisted.
"He must have known what you meant; I could see it by his face. But you
were foolish, Percy, to think that you'd get them that way."
"What other way of getting them is there?" he asked, sullenly.
"I don't know," she said. "You should have waited."
"Waited!" he repeated, with an oath. "I tell you I want those diamonds;
and I must have them, and at once."
"_You_ want them?" she said, as if mystified; then her face grew crimson
for an instant, but paled again as she leant forward. "You mean--you
can't mean, Percy, that you would _sell_ the diamonds? Oh, I see what
that telegram means; you've been betting again! You promised me you
wouldn't. But a promise isn't much to you. You've been betting again,
and you've lost a great deal of money."
"You've guessed it right the very first time," he said, with an attempt
at a laugh; but the sweat had gathered on his forehead and he wiped it
away with a shaking hand. "It's Skylark. He was a dead certainty; I got
the tip straight from the stable; they must have pulled him; they must
have sold me. But I've got to pay up; I've _got_ to. Do you hear? If I
can't find the money by Monday week, I shall be posted. I suppose you
know what that means?"
"You'll be ruined," she said in a low voice.
"Cut by everybody; chucked out of every club, marked for life. Yes;
sounds pretty black, doesn't it?"
"Is there no other way of getting the money?" she asked, wearily.
He shook his head. "If you knew anything at all, you'd know there
isn't," he said, sullenly. "The old man has just paid some biggish debts
for me. That was what the row was about the other night. He warned me
that it was the last I'd have from him for some time, and he'll keep his
word. Curse him!"
Miriam, accustomed as she was to his bad language, shrank.
"Percy! Your own father!" she whispered, with a shudder.
"Oh, don't go into heroics!" he said. "You'd curse everything and
everybody, if you were in the plight I am. And look here, you've got to
help me. You and the old man have been getting on better than I
expected; if he hasn't taken a downright fancy to you, he's got used to
you and treats you civilly. Can't you give him a hint about the
diamonds? See here!" He leant forward, his hand gripping the table, the
sweat gathering on his face again, his weak eyes bulging in his terrible
eagerness. "I could raise money enough on the things to tide me over
this bit of bad luck until I struck a winner. Directly he'd given them
to you, we'd go up to town; he wouldn't know whether you were wearing
them or not. But there! if it comes to that, we could easily get them
copied in paste; they imitate them so closely you can't tell the real
from the sham. Fact. Why, half the women in London are wearing shams,
and nobody's any the wiser."
She rose, her hand clutching at the lace on her bosom.
"I--I can't do it, Percy! Besides, it wouldn't be any use. It's strange
how little you know of the Marquess; you, his own son! Why, even I, who
have known him so short a time, know that to ask for them, to hint for
them, would be of no use. They are the family diamonds; they're
something more than jewels in his eyes--don't you understand that?--he
will have to grow to like me a good deal better than he does before he
gives them to me. It's no use, Percy. You must think of something else."
"There is no other way," he said.
He dropped back, his head sunk on his breast, his teeth gnawing at the
projecting under-lip; and she stood looking down at him, though scarcely
seeing him. Suddenly he glanced up at her, his lips twitching; a certain
furtive gleam in his light eyes.
"Oh, well, never mind, old girl!" he said, with an affectation of
concurrence. "Perhaps you're right. We'll give it up. Don't worry; after
all, I dessay I shall find another way out. Here! you'd better go back
to the old man. Go and play to him; he likes you to." As she moved
towards the door, he called to her in a cautious undertone. "Here!
Miriam, come back. Now I come to think of it, I'm sure you're right as
to not giving him a hint. Don't do it; in fact, if he says anything
about the diamonds, say that you'd rather not have them at present. You
can say that we're likely to be moving about, and that you'd rather wait
until we've settled down. You might lose 'em, don't you know."
Miriam looked at him, as if puzzled by this sudden _volte-face_; then,
with a slight shrug of her shoulders, went out of the room. When the
door had closed on her, Heyton rose and began to move about the room
unsteadily. His narrow forehead was contracted, as if he were thinking
deeply; his lips worked, his hands closed and unclosed in his pockets in
which they were thrust, and he glanced from side to side furtively. So
might a criminal look while plotting a coup more than usually risky and
dangerous. Presently he came alongside the table on which the footman
had placed the spirit-bottles and syphons. Heyton mixed himself a stiff
glass of whisky and soda, drank it almost at a draught, then nodded at
the reflection of himself in the mirror opposite him.
"I think I could work it," he muttered. "Yes, I think I could work it."