On the following morning, as Adrien stood before a mirror, putting the
finishing touches to his toilet, carefully supervised by Norgate, his
thoughts went back to Jessica. The idea of the child wandering about the
streets, homeless and penniless, filled him with a supreme pity. He had
meant to have spoken to Jasper about it, but he felt half ashamed;
besides, he rather dreaded to see Vermont's cynical smile at the idea of
his turning philanthropist to street-waifs.
He had just finished his breakfast when a servant appeared, with a
dainty little note marked "Immediate."
The envelope bore no crest; for Lady Merivale used none in her
correspondence with Adrien Leroy, from prudential motives. But he
recognised the handwriting, and the faint Oriental scent her ladyship
invariably used, and hastened to open it, fearing a lengthy epistle full
of hysterical reproaches. To his intense relief he found that it
contained but two lines.
"DEAR ADRIEN,--I shall spend the day with Aunt Rose at Hampton. Do you
care to accompany me as you promised?"
"Indeed I do," murmured Adrien.
He recollected that on the day of the race he had promised Lady Merivale
that, when next she visited her aunt, Lady Rose Challoner, at Hampton
Court, he would meet her there, and row her to some of the pretty
islands further up the stream, and there spend the day in delicious
idleness.
So far, engagements on both sides had prevented this plan being carried
out; but now Lady Merivale was evidently free, and he decided to cancel
any existing arrangements, and fulfil his promise. Accordingly, sitting
down at his desk, he dashed off a note:
"DEAR LADY MERIVALE,--I am motoring down to Hampton, and will gladly
meet you there. I shall wire for the skiff and lunch. Au revoir."
Having despatched this, he gave instructions to Norgate with regard to
all his engagements, and ordered the car.
It was a splendid spring morning, just bright and hot enough to make the
vision of the cool, broad river particularly tempting; and Adrien
determined to put aside all cares, and take the day as it came. Lady
Merivale had evidently decided to set at rest her jealous fears; and, he
told himself, as Constance was not to be his, there was nothing else to
do but to pass the time as best he might.
Whatever happened, he was glad to be done with Ada Lester. He had tired
of her almost before the first month of their so-called friendship; but
he had not had the courage--or rather the energy--necessary to relieve
himself of her.
At any rate, Eveline's day should not be spoiled. It should be one to be
marked with a white stone. He little thought with what danger the trip
was to be fraught, or that it would prove the most momentous one of his
pleasure-filled life.
Directly the motor appeared, Leroy dismissed the chauffeur, preferring
to drive himself, as procuring greater safety against a breath of
scandal touching her ladyship's name.
Through the crowded streets Leroy went steadily enough; but once clear
of them, he put on speed, exhilarated by the rush through the pure
morning air. So fast was the run that, on reaching Hampton Court, he
found it would be a good half-hour before Lady Merivale was even due to
arrive; and as punctuality was not one of her ladyship's strong points,
he knew he had almost an hour to spare.
Having put up the motor at a local garage, he strolled down to the
river, where he found his dainty little skiff, Sea Foam, ready and
waiting for him. It was just big enough to contain two, and its
upholstery of cream leather gave it the light effect which rendered its
name so appropriate.
In order to while away the time, he rowed gently down to Richmond and
back, and on his return found Lady Merivale awaiting him on the steps
that led to the Court. She was exquisitely gowned, as usual, and in her
favourite colour, pale blue, which suited her delicate colouring to
perfection. She greeted him brightly and unrestrainedly. Evidently she
had put all thoughts of Lady Constance from her mind, and, like Adrien
himself, was determined to have the memory of at least one happy day.
"How is Lady Rose?" asked Leroy, when he had assisted his fair companion
into the boat.
She smiled at him. As a matter of fact, she had barely spent five
minutes with that invalid lady.
"Oh, just the same as usual," she replied. "It is quite safe; I told her
I was going further up the river to visit some friends; so we'll enjoy
our day--such a beautiful one, too. I am so happy! It was good of you to
come, Adrien."
Leroy's face lightened at her words, for he had expected sulks, tears,
and remonstrances, and here were only smiles and thanks. He did not
appreciate Lady Merivale's ability. Had she been a general, never a
battle would have been lost through wrong tactics. She knew Adrien too
well to attempt to hold his allegiance by force; hers were silken
strings with which to chain him to her side. She recognised well enough
that any abuse or jealousy of Lady Constance Tremaine would only send
him further from her.
Responding to these tactics, Leroy took up the sculls, and with the long
swinging strokes which had gone so far towards helping the crew of his
college to win their contests, sent the little boat quickly up the
river.
Few men of his temperament and training could yet boast of such
proficiency as this man seemed to possess. Rowing, skating, dancing,
riding, and just lately motoring; at all he excelled, yet no living
being had ever heard him pride himself on what he could do.
About an hour after Adrien had started, Jasper Vermont ascended the
staircase to his chambers, to be informed by Norgate that his master was
out for the day, and all arrangements were to be cancelled.
"Oh!" said Jasper quietly, inwardly irritated that his dupe should be
absent, even for a day, without telling him of his intention and plans.
"Oh! Where has he gone? He did mention it last night, but I have
forgotten." He put his hand to his forehead as if trying to recall it to
his mind.
But Norgate was too sharp to be caught by this time-honoured manoeuvre.
He knew very well that the whole outing had been too hurriedly decided
upon for Jasper to have been told on the preceding night; and he had no
intention of allowing his master, to whom he was sincerely attached, to
be worried by Mr. Vermont.
"I don't know, sir," he replied stolidly. "He did not leave word."
As the letter had been brought round quite openly by one of the Merivale
servants, needless to say, he could have given Jasper a very fair idea
of where he had gone; but he preferred to keep his own counsel.
"Oh, very well. I'll just go up and write a few letters, Norgate," said
Jasper, making a pretence of indifference; and he passed into the study,
Norgate returning to his own quarters.
Mr. Vermont waited until his retreating footsteps had died away, then
with a quick hand and a keen eye he turned over the letters which lay
where Adrien had carelessly thrown them. Amongst them was one which had
been evidently overlooked, for it was unopened. It bore the Barminster
postmark, and Jasper's eyes shone. Could he but learn its contents? He
picked it up; turning it over and over in his hand. To his intense
delight it was but lightly sealed, and by dint of a little care the
letter was safely opened, uninjured and unsoiled.
It was from Lady Constance, stating that she and Miss Penelope were to
spend the day shopping in London, and would be at Barminster House at
eleven o'clock.
It was quite a short note, and Jasper, smiling wickedly, sealed it up.
He knew there was no fear of discovery, for there was not a more
unsuspicious man living than Leroy. His mind was working rapidly,
seeking to mature a plan by which he could separate Leroy and Lady
Constance still further.
First of all, he continued to search through the letters, pocketing
those which were obviously bills. He looked at the last one with a sigh.
"Not here," he mused. "I should know her handwriting in a moment. Yet I
am positive he has gone with her. She must have let him know by letter
this morning. Can he have taken it with him?"
His eye caught a scrap of torn paper in the fireplace. Like a bird of
prey, he pounced on it, and untwisting it, his small eyes glittered as
he read.
"Ah!" he muttered. "Lit his cigar with it, and burned all save one
corner--Hampton. Yes, that's it; under cover of Lady Rose they've
betaken themselves to the river. Now what shall I do? Follow them, or
see Lady Constance, or do both?"
Placing the scrap of paper carefully in his pocketbook he left the flat,
and made his way to Barminster House. He had called presumably in order
to see after some slight alterations then being made, and his surprise
on finding Miss Penelope and Lady Constance established there was
beautiful to witness.
On his entry into the drawing room, Lady Constance sprang up eagerly,
regarding him as the forerunner of the man she loved; and Jasper smiled
as he greeted them respectfully.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, Lady Constance," he exclaimed. "I had
no idea you were coming to town."
"It's only for the day, Mr. Vermont," she returned as calmly as
possible. "But I wrote to Adrien, for auntie, telling him all about it."
"Dear, dear!" ejaculated Mr. Vermont sympathetically. "I have just come
from his chambers. I learned that he had gone out for the day."
"For the day," said Miss Penelope, "after reading our letter!"
"Perhaps he didn't get it in time," suggested Lady Constance.
"Poor Adrien," said Jasper with apparent reluctance. "I'm afraid I
cannot even allow him that excuse; he had evidently taken away all his
correspondence this morning."
"Oh, it's of no consequence," said the girl lightly, though her face was
pale, and her eyes shone, as if through a mist of tears. "We are only
going shopping for the ball, and that is dull work for a man."
"Can I be of any assistance, Miss Penelope?" enquired Mr. Vermont. "Do
let me help; I love shopping!" But this neither of the ladies would
allow; and with a parting shot on the subject of Adrien's whereabouts,
Vermont took his leave.
His next move was to Waterloo Station, where he took a train to Hampton;
and a little after noon, Jasper Vermont was strolling along the side of
the river, smoking his cigar.
Very amiable he looked, and exceedingly interested in the boats, and
therefore it was not surprising that the man who let them out on hire
readily answered his questions as to the best season of the year, the
approximate number of customers, etc., all leading up to the main
question, had a boat with a lady and gentleman gone out that day?
"No," the man said. "Curiously enough, sir, no boat has gone out to-day
with a lady and a gentleman in it, like what you describe."
"Oh," said Mr. Vermont. "It was my mistake. I thought I saw a gentleman
rowing a lady down the river--rowing very well, too, in a light skiff."
"Ah!" said the man, puffing a cloud of smoke from his rough clay pipe,
"I know who you mean, now; a gentleman--regular swell, and a lady in
blue. Lor' bless yer, that ain't one of mine, that's a private boat
that's kept up at the Court, I think. Oh, yes, he's all right; gone up
stream, they have, and a nice day they've got."
This was what Jasper needed; and after strolling about among the boats
for a few minutes more he started off along the bank, keeping at such a
distance from the stream that, though he could see all who passed in the
boats, no one on the river could see him.
The beauty of the day, the shimmer and sparkle of the river, with the
soft lap of its waters, the singing of the birds over his head, all had
no effect on him. His dark, beady eyes noted nothing but the boats that
passed, none of which, as yet--though the afternoon was waning
fast--contained Adrien and Lady Merivale.
Yet he knew that he had not missed them, for he had taken his lunch on
the balcony of an inn commanding a view of the river, which he had kept
under survey from the time he had reached Hampton earlier in the day.
Steadily, with the persistence of a bloodhound tracking its prey, he
walked on and on, until he came to a village, or rather a collection of
homesteads. Very small it was, consisting only of an inn, a house, half
cottage and half shop, and a few red-tiled cottages wherein the bargemen
lived, when they were at home, which was seldom. In the bright sunlight,
the blue sky overhead and the shining river in the foreground, it formed
a pretty enough picture.
In the little shop parlour now sat a woman and her husband, at their
five-o'clock tea.
"John Ashford, Grocer," was the inscription over the shop door; and
these were John Ashford and his wife Lucy. They had two children, now
playing by the river side; and were, as the bargemen's wives expressed
it, "doing comfortable."
The man's face was a good-humoured one, round, honest in expression, and
commonplace. His wife was not so ordinary; a fair-haired, small-figured
little woman, she showed traces of having been a "village beauty" in her
young days, of the pink-and-white, shallow type. But in her eyes, and
along the corners of her somewhat weak-looking mouth, there were signs
of an ever-present fear.
Even now, as she sat pouring out her husband's tea, her habitual
nervousness showed itself in the restless movements of her unoccupied
hand, and the sudden start with which she would greet the slightest
unexpected sound, or the knocking of a customer on the little counter.
From where she sat she could see her children, and once or twice she
smiled gently as she waved her hand to them, where they were playing
with an elder girl who was in charge of them.
"I say, Lucy," said John, as he drank his tea noisily, "how's the girl
going on? Getting over her shyness a bit, ain't she?"
His wife started; but he was evidently too accustomed to this to notice
her.
"Yes," she said, reaching out for his cup. "Poor girl, she's seen some
trouble, I'll be bound; and for one so young, too, and innocent. The
world's a hard place!"
"Yes, indeed," agreed John Ashford, with a glance through the window,
where the little group of three were playing. "Let me see, she's been
here a matter of four weeks, hasn't she--since I went over to Walton.
Rum thing me finding her at all. If I hadn't come across the moor
instead of along the road, she'd 'ave been in that furze bush still."
Mrs. Ashford shuddered at the suggestions of his words.
"She hasn't given us no account of herself now," he continued in his
hearty, good-tempered voice. "Not even her name, 'cept--what d'ye call
it?"
"Jessica," put in his wife. "I call her Jessie, sounds more homelike."
"And hasn't she told you anything more as to why she tramped out of
London?"
"No, nothing more," said his wife, "except that she couldn't bear the
crowds. I haven't asked her either, John. She's a good girl, you can see
that; and penniless as well as homeless. I should hate to send her to
the workhouse, or perhaps worse," she half whispered. "If she's got a
secret in her heart, we'll let her keep it, dear. Perhaps we all have a
little corner in our hearts marked 'Private,'" she added in a low voice.
"Excepting you and me, my dear!" said John, wiping his mouth as he rose
from the table, and coming round to kiss her.
She started again and paled a little.
"Of course, dear," she said; "I wasn't thinking of us."
"We've no secrets," said the good-natured grocer, as he took down his
hat and coat from behind the door. "Our hearts are open like them
clocks, with all the works outside, eh, Lucy, my dear?" Laughing at his
own simile, he kissed her again.
"If you'll take care of the shop," he went on, as he opened the door,
"I'll just run over to Richmond for those jams and things. Old Tucker's
cart is going over, and he'll lend me a hand."
"Get along, then," replied his wife, "and don't forget we want some more
spices."
"Right you are," said the husband, and with a wave of his hand to her he
went down the path, the two children running to meet him.
Lucy Ashford stood at the door and looked after him wistfully.
"Poor John," she murmured, as she went back to clear away the
tea-things. "What would he do to me, if he knew?"
Her thoughts went back to the great secret of her life. It was that
which caused her strange nervousness. She had repented of the past truly
enough, and no better wife could have been found throughout the kingdom;
but the secret had eaten into her life. She strove now to put it away
from her; for she knew she was in reality safe enough. Only her father
and Mr. Vermont knew--and the latter she had not seen for years.
Now, therefore, she put away her cups and saucers and called gaily to
the children, as they came running back. The girl who had been playing
with them came too; and as she approached the cottage she raised her
head and smiled. Lucy Ashford stooped to kiss the children, then said
kindly to Jessica--for it was indeed she:
"I expect you are tired with them now, my dear. Come and sit down with
me for a little while."
Jessica raised her dark eyes gratefully.
"No, ma'am, thank you. I'm not tired. I love the children; they are so
good to me."
Lucy's eyes shone. What mother does not believe that her children are
the best in the world? She had been like an angel of mercy to the tired
girl when her husband had brought her into the little home. She had put
her to bed, fed her, and clothed her in old things of her own; and she
had neither questioned nor worried her since.
Jessica, only too thankful to find a home for the present, and realising
the hopelessness of her strange passion for Adrien Leroy, had done what
she could to repay her benefactress by helping her in the little shop,
and playing with and taking care of the children. Now, at their request,
she took them back to the river side again, while Lucy sat down at the
table before a pile of sewing.