moist and foggy, the roads were wet and muddy. Her clothes, the hem of
her skirt, the state of her shoes---- But I will not ask you to play
the spy upon your friend, Miss Lorne."
"Nor would I do it!" she flashed back spiritedly; then stopped and gave
a little excited exclamation and laid a shaking hand upon Cleek's
sleeve. An automobile had swung suddenly into view in the drive leading
up from the gates to the house, and in it were two men: one white of
hair and snowy of beard but as erect as a statue; the other slim and
young and fashionably dressed, and so clearly of the order "Johnnie"
that he who ran might read. The General and his son had returned from
their visit to Gleer Cottage.
Miss Lorne made that fact clear to Cleek in a few words.
"Now we shall have the full account of everything in Harry Raynor's
original and detestable style," she whispered. "You are so shrewd in
guessing riddles, Mr. Cleek, tell me, if you can, why it is that lions
so often breed asses, and that heroes so often father clowns? If you
were to search the world you could find no truer gentleman, in speech,
in manner, in instincts, in everything, than dear old General Raynor;
and yet, if you were to search it thrice over, you could find no greater
cad than his son."
"From what I can see at this distance he certainly does look like a fine
example of the genus bounder, I must confess," said Cleek. "You do not
appear to have much of an opinion of the young man, Miss Lorne."
"I have not. I detest him! I never did care for 'scented' men; and when
they come down to the 'curling iron' and the 'dye stick' they are simply
abominable!"
"The 'dye stick'?"
"Yes. You mustn't be deceived by that waxed and delicately darkened
moustache of Mr. Harry Raynor's, Mr. Cleek. It would be as sandy as his
hair if the wretched little dandy didn't darken it with black cosmetic
because he is ashamed of the cow colour which nature so appropriately
bestowed upon it."
Cleek screwed round on his heel and looked at Mr. Harry Raynor with
renewed interest.
"I suppose I ought not to have said that," she continued, "but I do
detest him so. I think I had better run and tell Kathie that they have
come back, but I will not keep you waiting many minutes." She smiled
brightly at Cleek, and with a little nod ran lightly off, leaving him to
await her return.
But, despite his interest in Mr. Harry Raynor, Cleek dropped discreetly
out of sight and into one of the many winding paths with which the
grounds abounded. A few minutes' gentle stroll along this particular one
brought him to the rear of the house, and before he quite realized it he
found himself within the precincts of the stable. The yard itself was
deserted save for a single groom who was evidently hard at work
polishing a boot, and which, judging from the muddy appearance of its
companion, must have proved no easy task.
Cleek gave one look at the expensively cut article of footgear, then he
lounged across the yard.
"That's a pretty tough job, isn't it?" said he offhandedly. The groom
looked up, but meeting the visitor's disarming smile, only gave vent to
a grunt.
"Should think it is a tough job," he muttered. "They're his lordship's
boots, an' 'ow 'e comes to make 'em in such a state beats me to fits.
Fair caked with mud, and 'im in bed with a sprained ankle. It's that
valet of 'is, I s'pose----" He broke off, then looked questioningly at
Cleek.
"I've lost my way," he said, plunging his hand into his pocket. "I
strolled down a path from the lawns in front of the house. Which one
will take me back?"
"First path to the right, sir, and thank you," said the gratified groom,
and a minute later found Cleek back at the spot where Ailsa had left
him.
He certainly had to admit that the whole affair was most perplexing, and
he was still pondering over the various points of the case when Ailsa
Lorne returned, and for a few moments they paced the lawn in silence;
then Cleek turned with a little smile.
"I suppose we shall have to go and meet the General," said he serenely.
"Shall we meet Lady Katharine's father as well?"
"Oh, dear, no! The man's in bed with a sprained ankle. Can't put his
foot to the ground."
"Oh! Indeed? Then that explains it, of course. I wondered."
"Explains it? Explains what?"
"Why, his not being about at such a time--not appearing to take any
interest in his daughter's affairs, especially her deliverance from a
loveless marriage. It struck me as curious when I saw her. But I set it
down to the possibility of there being bad blood between them. Is
there?"
"No, there is not," said Ailsa, falling unconsciously into the trap.
"Kathie is not the kind of girl to hold a grudge against any one, Mr.
Cleek. She is intensely emotional, but she is also intensely loyal. The
very last person in the world she would be likely to treat spitefully
would be her father."
"I see. She is fond of him, then? Probably I have heard the wrong
version of the story. Have I? I was told that it was he who compelled
her, very much against her will, to accept the attentions of
the--er--Count de Louvisan and to become engaged to him. That she begged
her father to save her from marrying the man, but he would not--or could
not--consent."
"That is quite true. You have not been misinformed. She did just what
you have been told. Indeed, I happen to know that she even went so far
as to get down on her knees to Lord St. Ulmer and implore him to kill
her rather than to compel her to give up Geoff--and especially for a man
she loathed as she did the Count de Louvisan. It was useless, however.
That same night Lord St. Ulmer asked her to come to him alone in the
library at Ulmer Court. They were together for two hours. The next day
she accepted the Count de Louvisan."
"I see!" said Cleek. "Of course, his lordship told her something which
influenced her beyond her own will and desires. Do you happen to know
what that something was?"
"No. She has never told me one word beyond that she went into that
library with a breaking heart, and came out of it with a broken one."
"And in spite of all that, she still loves this father who compelled her
to give up all that life held, eh?"
"I didn't say that. I said that she was loyal to him, not that she loved
him. How could she love a father whom she had not seen since she was a
baby--whom she did not even know when he came back to claim her? Why,
she hadn't even a picture to tell her what he looked like, and in all
the years he was away he never wrote her so much as one line. A girl
couldn't love a father like that. She might like him, she might be
grateful to him, as Katharine is, for loading her with all the things
that money can buy; but to love him---- What is the matter, Mr. Cleek?
What in the world made you say 'Phew' like that?"
"Nothing! Do you happen to know if the late Count de Louvisan was ever
in Argentina, Miss Lorne?"
"No, I do not. Why?"
"Oh, mere idle curiosity, that's all. Turned up suddenly at Ulmer Court,
didn't he? Any idea from where?"
"Not the slightest. He called quite unexpectedly one evening after we
all--Kathie, his lordship, and I--had been over to the autumn races at
Fourfields. That was an unfortunate day altogether. We did not see the
conclusion of even the first race. Lord St. Ulmer was suddenly taken
ill, although he had been quite well a moment before, and was so bad
that we had to leave immediately. Nothing would do him but that we must
drive home as quickly as possible, so that he could consult our local
doctor."
Cleek glanced at her swiftly. "Hum-m-m! Bad as that, was he?" he asked.
"What did the local doctor think caused the illness? Or did his lordship
recover on the way home, and find it unnecessary to call him in at all?
Ah, he did, eh? Queer things those sudden attacks; you never know when
they will come on or when they will go off again. Possibly his present
illness came just as suddenly. Did it?"
"I don't know, I'm sure," replied Miss Lorne. "I wasn't there when it
happened. Nobody was. Kathie and I had just gone into the refreshment
room at the railway station for tea-- Lord St. Ulmer said he didn't care
for any, and would just step round to the news stall and get an
afternoon paper--and when we came out there he was, poor man, sitting on
a seat and groaning. He stepped on a banana peel, he said, and turned
his ankle. A few minutes later Count de Louvisan put in an appearance.
He had arranged to join us at Liverpool Street Station, and, no doubt,
would have done so, but at the last minute Lord St. Ulmer had made up
his mind to journey up to town by an earlier train than originally
arranged. Anyway, his lordship made him go and wire to General Raynor
that he was afraid our visit would have to be postponed indefinitely, as
he had met with an accident and was going direct to the Savoy Hotel. Of
course the General came with his motor, and wouldn't listen to his
stopping there; so we all came on, as agreed, to Wuthering Grange. That
was the day before yesterday, and Lord St. Ulmer has been in bed ever
since."
"Very neat, very neat indeed," commented Cleek. "Couldn't tell me, I
suppose, where I might get a peep at-- I--er--mean who is the doctor
attending to him?"
"He hasn't a doctor. He wouldn't have one. He is a very obstinate man,
Mr. Cleek, and simply would not allow General Raynor to call in the
local practitioner. Claims that he brought some wonderful ointment with
him from Argentina which, as he phrases it, 'beats all the doctors
hollow in the matter of sprains and bruises'; and simply will not allow
anybody to do anything for him."
Cleek puckered up his brows. Obviously it would be useless to represent
himself as an assistant to the local doctor, or even to make himself up
to pass muster for that doctor himself, for the purpose of examining a
man who would not see any medical man upon any pretext whatsoever. And
yet---- He gave a little toss of his shoulders, as if to throw away
these fresh ideas, and came back again to Lady Katharine. What other
proof could he secure? Why had she played the 'cello at all at such a
time? Was it to secure that very string? Was it but a cloak to hide her
designs? A swift idea flashed across his mind, as he recalled Lennard's
story of a lady in an ermine cloak. He turned suddenly to his companion.
"Miss Lorne," he asked, "did Lady Katharine bring her ermine cloak with
her when she came up from Suffolk?"
"No," said Ailsa in reply. "And for the very best of reasons: she hasn't
one."
"Oh, I see. Know anybody who has?"
"Yes, I have. Lady Chepstowe gave me hers when she went to India. Why?"
"Oh, just a fancy of mine, that's all," replied Cleek with apparent
offhandedness. "I seem to fancy that I heard something about Lady
Katharine having had her portrait painted wearing a very superb ermine
cloak. But, of course, if she hasn't one--or--yes, she might have
borrowed yours. You'd lend it to her, I know--lend it like a shot. Did
you?"
"I certainly did not. For one thing, she never in her life asked me to;
and for another, whoever told you that tale about her having her
portrait painted wearing one must be blessed with a very remarkable
imagination. She had no such portrait painted. And I never lent her the
cloak for any purpose at any time."
"I see. Couldn't have left it lying about where anybody might pick it
up, could you?"
"How like a man that is," she said gayly. "Fancy a girl, especially one
in my position, being possessed of so valuable a thing as an ermine
cloak, and then leaving it about like a fan or a garden hat! No, I did
not leave it about. Indeed, I couldn't if I had wanted to."
"Why?"
"For the very good reason that I sent it to the furrier's to have it
made into a muff and stole."
"May I ask when? Recently?"
"No; quite two months ago. They are storing it for me, and will make the
alterations in time for next winter's wear. As a cloak, of course, it is
quite useless to a girl in my position. But really, I must go now.
Kathie will think it very heartless of us if we do not fly to hear the
General's report. Wait for me here, please. I shall be back directly."
Then she hurried out of the summerhouse and taking a path which led
round to the rear of the Grange, passed from sight and left Cleek to his
own devices.
CHAPTER TEN
ANOTHER STRAND IN THE WEB
The arrival of Mrs. Raynor and the General upon the scene, with Harry
Raynor in their wake, gave a different atmosphere, so to speak, to
Cleek's thoughts, and he threw himself, heart and soul, into getting
into the good graces of the family. He did not much fancy Mr. Harry
Raynor, who was too self-assertive to be pleasant company to a matured
man of the world, and just at the age which may be best described in the
quotation, "young enough to know everything."
Nevertheless, he had made up his mind to secure an invitation to stay
overnight at Wuthering Grange, in order that he might have a peep at
Lord St. Ulmer, and he knew that it was only by making himself a boon
companion of the young man that he could hope to secure it. About three
and twenty, the idol of an adoring mother, if not of his father, that
gentleman was of the type that favour the ladies of the ballet with
their attentions, and prefer chorus girls, stage doors, and late suppers
to home amusements and the like; and it was not long before Cleek had
him nicely "managed" and in the desired frame of mind.
A casual remark about a certain dashing musical-comedy actress who had
sprung into sudden prominence set the ball rolling; then Cleek expressed
in confidence a burning desire to know the lady and deep disappointment
over the fact that he knew no one who was in a position to introduce
him; and in ten minutes' time he had his fish hooked.
"I say, you know, I'll give you an introduction to her like a shot, old
chap, if you really do want to know her," young Raynor imparted to him
in deep confidence as he led him outside and got him away from the
ladies. "Know her like a book! Rippin' sort! Introduce you any time you
like. My hat! yes!"
"Really?" said Cleek with every appearance of boundless delight. "You
know her--you actually know her?"
"Yes, rather! Know the whole blessed shoot of 'em from Flossie
Twinkletoes down. Get reams of letters from 'em and bushels of
photos--all autographed. I say, come up to my den and have a peep. You
never saw such a gallery!"
Cleek admitted to himself when he saw them that he never had, for the
room was literally smothered under photographs of actresses, gymnasts,
ladies of the music-hall persuasion, and public characters in general.
"Always sport my oak, you know," said the young man with a laugh and a
wink, as he locked the door behind him. "Pater might see 'em, and then
there would be a time of it. Awful old muff, the pater; good sort, you
know, but he'd have this lot in the fire in less than no time if he
knew. Fearful old fossil. Flowers, fruits, rubber at whist, pipe, and an
old army friend--that's his idea of life."
Cleek felt like taking him by the back of the neck and kicking him. He
didn't, however. He had other fish to fry; and he succeeded so well that
before he left that room he had an invitation to stop the night, and as
he had brought no evening clothes with him, the offer of a suit to meet
the emergency.
"Look here, I'll tell you what, Barch," said Raynor when this invitation
and this offer were accepted, turning round as he spoke--he was at a
window which overlooked the drive up from the gates of the Grange "chaps
like us don't want to sit in a drawing-room and waste time with a pair
of prunes and prisms like Lady Katharine Fordham and that prig of a
Lorne girl. If you're in for a lark, we'll slip out and I'll show you a
bit of life on the sly. I like you-- I'm blest if I don't; so if you're
game for a kick up, I'll let you into a secret and give you the time of
your life. Now, then, listen here, old chap."
He stopped abruptly as a sudden grating sound of wheels rose from the
drive, and looking down, he saw that a vehicle had swung in through the
gates and was advancing toward the house.
"Oh Lord! that settles it; now we're in for a visitation!" he said with
an expression of deep disgust. "There's that prig of a chap, Geoff
Clavering, driving in. Can't stick that fellow at any price!"
Geoff Clavering! Cleek rose as he heard the name, walked to the window,
and looked out. So, then, he had not been so far out in his reckoning
after all. Geoff Clavering had come at last to seek an interview with
the girl of his heart.
Why the boy had delayed until now Cleek could not guess, unless it was
because of a shrinking dread of going abroad anywhere at such a time;
but that he had nerved himself to come at last for something more than a
mere call was apparent at first glance; for his face was white and
strained, and it was evident, even from this distance, that he was
labouring under strong excitement.
Undoubtedly there would be, as he had surmised, a private interview
arranged between those two people, and undoubtedly he must manage to
overhear it. What a pity that this should have happened at this
particular time, that young Clavering should have arrived while he was
up here, out of the way of seeing what happened when Geoff and Lady
Katharine first met!
A glance, a movement, a hundred different things, might tell him what he
wanted to know if he were there at that moment of first meeting. But
perhaps it was not yet too late. The carriage hadn't reached the
entrance of the house as yet; perhaps, if he hurried, if he went at
once----
"I say, let's go down, Raynor," he said desperately. "I don't know
what's come over me, but my head's suddenly begun to swim, and I'm
afraid I shall keel over if I don't get out in the air. We can let the
lark you were speaking of rest until afterward. Come on, will you? By
Jove! you know, I'm in a fearful way."
And from the effort to carry out the impression of extreme giddiness a
curious thing came:
Clapping his hand to his head, and wheeling staggeringly round to make
his way to the door, he had the good or ill fortune to blunder against a
little table, upon which stood what was undoubtedly an earthenware
tobacco jar, and to send it crashing to the ground. Instantly and out of
it there rolled, on top of the quantity of spilled tobacco which had
originally been used to cover it, a little silver box, which flew open
as it fell and disgorged a photograph, a couple of letters in a woman's
hand, and a fragment of pink gauze.
Cleek had just stooped to pick these things up and to lay them back upon
the table, when a yet more curious thing happened.
"I say! You let those things alone!" snapped young Raynor excitedly; and
springing forward, whisked them out of his hand. But not before Cleek
had made a rather startling discovery: the letters were written in a
woman's hand--a hand he recognized the instant he saw it--and the
picture which accompanied them was a photograph of Margot. He had no
longer a desire to hurry downstairs.
The rudeness of his act and of his manner of speaking seemed to dawn
upon young Raynor almost as he snatched the photograph and letters, and
he hastened to apologize.
"I say, don't think me stable-bred, Barch," he said, a flush of
mortification reddening his face. "Didn't mean to rip out at you like
that, b'gad! Fact is, I was a bit excited; forgot for a moment that
you're a pal. So don't get your back up, please."
"I haven't the slightest intention of doing so, dear chap," replied
Cleek, who, it must be confessed, was a little shaken by the discovery.
"Every man has a right to cut up a bit rough when he thinks some other
fellow is going to pry into his secrets. And I reckon this is one of
your pet mashes--eh, what?"
"Yes, something like that. The latest--and a ripper. French, you know.
That's what rattled me for the moment. The dad loathes French women. I'm
extra careful to keep this one's picture out of sight. I say! Don't know
what you'll think about my manners, but I forgot all about your asking
to go down and get out into the air. Sorry, old chap! Come along! Take
my arm, and I'll help you."
As the breaking of the tobacco jar had deprived Raynor of again making
use of that as a means of hiding the little silver box and its contents,
he had, while speaking, crammed the letters, the photograph, and the
scrap of pink gauze into an inside pocket of his coat, and now came
forward and took Cleek's arm with the amiable intention of leading him
from the room.
There was, of course, in the circumstances nothing for it but to go,
much as Cleek would have preferred to stop and trace the connection
between young Raynor and Margot; but he was far too careful in his
methods to cast any doubt regarding the genuineness of that sudden
attack of a moment before by pretending that it had begun to abate, and
therefore yielded himself to the inevitable.
But he had this consolation in doing it: not only would he now be
enabled to witness the meeting between Geoff Clavering and Lady
Katharine Fordham after all, but as a man who is ill is always more or
less an object of sympathy and attention upon the part of women, he
foresaw that he might induce Lady Katharine to hover round him, and thus
bring Geoff Clavering within close range for easy and careful studying.
Nor did he fear that he had lost all opportunity for pursuing the
subject of Harry Raynor's acquaintance with Margot. The mere fact that
that young man had the contents of the little silver box upon his person
might easily cause an apprehensive inquiry regarding the risk of
carrying them about where they might be dropped, and so brought to his
father's attention; and from that inquiry it would be simple work
getting back to the subject itself without exciting any suspicion
regarding his keen interest in it. He therefore allowed young Raynor to
lead him from the room.
"Fearfully groggy, old chap, fearfully," he said in answer to young
Raynor's inquiry regarding how he felt as they went down the dim passage
toward the staircase; "head going round like a teetotum; hope I don't
keel over and spoil the evening's sport by having to be put to bed like
a kid. Don't want two sick men on one floor, do you, eh? Or is it on
this floor that Lord St. Ulmer's room is situated?"
"Yes, that one over there--second door from the wing staircase. Speak
low, old chap, or you may disturb him. Sleeps like a cat, they say--one
eye and both ears always open. Doesn't do anything but sleep, I imagine,
day and night, from the way he keeps to his room. Hullo! I say! What's
it? Aren't going to crumple up, Barch, are you?"
This, because Cleek had suddenly lurched against the bannister at the
head of the stairs, and swung clean round until his back was resting
against it.
"No--that is, I hope not; but I do feel rotten, old chap," replied he.
"Just half a second, will you?"
He lolled back his head, gave a sort of groan, and rapidly and silently
began to count the doors and to make sure of the location of Lord St.
Ulmer's room. "All right; only a passing spasm, I reckon, old chap," he
went on as soon as he had discovered that his lordship's door was the
third from the end of the passage, and that his window would, therefore,
be the second from the angle of the wing in the outer wall of the house.
"Come on--let's go down." And leaning heavily upon young Raynor, he
descended to the dining-room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE CLOUDBURST
The delay, trifling though it was, occasioned by the smashing of the
tobacco jar and the discovery of the photograph, served to interfere
with the smooth progress of events, as it fell out that Cleek did not,
after all, rejoin the party below in time to witness the first meeting
between Geoffrey Clavering and Lady Katharine Fordham, for the carriage
had arrived at the entrance to the house before he put in an appearance,
and the General and Mrs. Raynor, Ailsa and Lady Katharine, were out on
the veranda talking excitedly with young Clavering when Harry and Cleek
came upon the scene.
There is a subtle magic in love that dispels all other emotions, and
despite the gravity of the situation, a look of happiness radiated from
Lady Katharine's face, reflected, though in a far lesser degree, upon
Geoffrey Clavering's; indeed it did not need an over-keen eye to detect
that the young man was seriously ill at ease, and general conversation
languished.
Cleek's entry, therefore, with young Raynor's announcement of his sudden
attack of faintness, not only drew all attention, but, as he had
foreseen, he became an object of extreme solicitude upon the part of
the ladies.