AN AGREEABLE DINNER.
Maud’s birthday had come at last—the important four-and-twentieth
anniversary, which completed her long minority.
She had requested that there should be no great ‘fuss’ upon the day.
She did not want any festivities set on foot, or a number of guests
to entertain. It would be much more of a treat to her, she said, to
have ‘a good long day with Phil;’ and in the evening was the necessary
dinner-party, to which the Belassis household was invited, which was to
be followed by the reading of Mr. Debenham’s will.
Maud’s decision would be asked at the close, and it was generally
understood that her mind was made up, although opinions differed as to
what was the decision arrived at.
Mr. and Mrs. Belassis were distinctly anxious, now that the final
moment had come. They had terrible misgivings as to the validity of the
will which they were about to produce, and could not rid themselves of
the ghastly notion, that at the last moment their terrible nephew might
coolly produce a later document, and demand instant restitution of the
trust-money, principal and interest.
Mrs. Belassis was certain that no formal or public search had been made
in the library; but she could have no confidence, until the will was in
her own hands, that some evil chance might not discover it to the very
people whose knowledge of its existence was most to be deplored.
Increased uneasiness had fallen upon Mrs. Belassis, she hardly knew
why, by the knowledge that Miss Marjory Descartes was a guest at
Ladywell. Personally she was rather glad of this, for on thinking over
the conversation with her husband, she was not entirely satisfied
with the explanation he had given her of his connection with Whitbury
and she looked forward with a mixture of malice and curiosity to the
meeting between them, which she would now witness. Yet some instinct
warned her that Miss Marjory’s visit to her nephew boded them no good;
and she was made additionally uneasy by the hints dropped by her spy,
of the long consultations now going on in the house.
But Mrs. Belassis did not give way to dejection. She felt she had a
game offensive as well as defensive to play, and she believed that she
would find an able supporter in Signor Pagliadini.
‘Once let this decision be made, and I shall know how to act,’ she said
many times to herself. ‘If Maud refuses Lewis, then there is no longer
any reason to temporize. I shall worm the truth out of that Italian,
and then carry open war into the enemy’s quarters.’
Mr. Belassis was miserable and anxious, but he was not in his wife’s
confidence, and he did not know what schemes of vengeance were brewing.
He did not know the close proximity of his old friend Miss Marjory
Descartes; had he done so, he would have been tenfold more miserable
and cowed. His wife, by a little dexterous management, had contrived
that the names of the guests at Ladywell should not be mentioned in
his hearing, for she was anxious that the meeting with Miss Marjory
should take him unawares; besides which, she knew he was quite capable
of shamming illness, just to escape the encounter, if it was not to his
mind. The more she had thought about his behaviour when first he heard
Whitbury named, and the story he had told her of his doings there, the
more she grew convinced that she had not been told the whole truth.
Miss Marjory was delighted to think that she should at last be
brought face to face with the redoubtable Belassis. She knew all about
the theory of the destroyed will, and Mr. Debenham’s impoverished
fortunes, and was not at all prepared to spare him. Being a woman of
a business-like turn, and one who knew a good deal more than Tor did
of the ways of the world, she understood better than he had done, how
Belassis had managed to possess himself of Mr. Debenham’s money, and
enrich himself at his client’s expense; and she was inclined to think
that a lawsuit against him should be set on foot even now.
Tor, however, did not see where the needful evidence was to come from,
as Belassis had had the handling of all the papers; moreover, that was
a question for the real Phil to consider, not for him to settle; and in
this verdict Miss Marjory could not but agree.
‘It’s a sad pity you are not the real master here,’ she said. ‘I
believe you are twice the man that Phil of yours will turn out to be.
It will be too bad if that old scoundrel gets off scot-free. However, I
think I can touch him up a little. I shall certainly lay myself out to
be agreeable to him. Mind you put me opposite to him at table. I think
I can make the time pass very pleasantly for him.’
Tor was mean enough to feel a sort of amused compassion for Miss
Marjory’s prospective victim.
‘You will not let out about the first wife, will you, Miss Marjory?’ he
said. ‘I know he deserves everything you can give him; but there will
be the wife and family at table, and a dinner-party isn’t quite——’
‘Don’t be so dense, Philip Debenham. I hope I know what to say and
what to leave unsaid in a mixed company,’ interrupted Miss Marjory
sharply. ‘Do you suppose I want everyone to be covered with confusion?
You are just like a man; you think nothing can be said unless it is
regularly set down in black and white. Trust me. I will say nothing
which anybody else could take exception to. But I’ll just roast
Belassis.’
‘I believe you will,’ returned Tor. ‘Well, he’s too big a scoundrel to
waste pity on. I hand him over to your tender mercies.’
Miss Marjory smiled.
‘You and I can enjoy it—and he. Nobody else will understand.’ Then,
after a pause, she added: ‘Is it only a family party? or are any
strangers coming?’
‘I asked the Merediths, and their guest. I saw the old boy expected to
be included in a family gathering. He accepted at once, but now his
doctor has forbidden him to come, and Roma remains with him; but that
Italian fellow holds to his engagement. Odd, isn’t it?—sticking himself
into a party where he must know he is not wanted.’
‘Odd and significant,’ answered Miss Marjory thoughtfully. ‘I know
that man means mischief.’
‘I half think so, too,’ assented Tor. ‘I have been wondering how I
could win him over. He can’t have any very powerful motive for making
himself disagreeable to me. Do you think if I asked him to spend a few
days at Ladywell, it might bring him to a more amiable frame of mind?
As a guest in my house, he could hardly plot against me; and if he
could be won over, he might speak out, and in the end be taken into our
confidence.’
Miss Marjory considered this new idea.
‘I think it might do,’ she said. ‘I should like to see more of him, and
make out what manner of man he is. I am not at all satisfied about him;
and I don’t think it would be a bad move to have him here. We could
examine him at our leisure, and, as you say, if he has any feelings at
all of honour, he will hardly dare to make insinuations against you,
whilst partaking of your hospitality.’
This conversation took place early in the day. Half-past seven was
the hour fixed for dinner, and soon after seven the guests began to
assemble.
Matilda and Bertha were eager to see Maud’s presents, and went into
raptures over the costly and elegant trifles which stood upon a table,
‘on view.’
Mr. and Mrs. Belassis had brought a handsome dressing-case, as a sort
of peace-offering. It was certainly right for Maud to possess it, as it
had been her mother’s once; but she did not know that, and half shrank
from accepting anything so costly from people she liked so little.
Tor did not look quite pleased either; but Mrs. Lorraine was equal to
the occasion. She recognised the old heirloom—for an heirloom it was,
although it had been ‘done up like new,’ in the usual Belassis good
taste.
‘Our grandmother’s dressing-case!’ she exclaimed, with a look of
pleasure. ‘It was your mother’s too, dear Maud. I have been wondering
how it was that it was not restored to you before. I see now that it
was waiting for your majority. Ah, the dear old box! We do not see
things like it now. It was such a favourite with your mother, Maud.’
And after hearing this, Maud was able to turn and thank Mr. and Mrs.
Belassis for their gift, without any embarrassment.
The party was seated, and rather stiff talk was passing between the
relatives, who had not met in this friendly fashion for a long time.
Suddenly and quietly the door was opened, and Miss Marjory entered, her
amber satin, lace, and diamonds giving her an imposing appearance, in
spite of her short stature.
Maud thought she looked just like a fairy godmother, with her yellow
dress, bright eyes and resolute determined manner.
Mrs. Belassis eyed her curiously, not altogether liking the first
impression she received.
Mr. Belassis’ jaw dropped, and the florid colour faded slowly from his
face.
Tor advanced and introduced the guest to his aunt and uncle, and Miss
Marjory’s bow included the whole party, as she gracefully subsided into
a seat, and looked smilingly at the wretched Belassis.
‘Surely we are not strangers to one another, Mr. Belassis. I thought
the name was too uncommon to deceive me. A second Alfred Belassis, a
contemporary, would be too remarkable a phenomenon. I hope you are
quite well?’
‘Quite, thank you,’ muttered Belassis, feeling delightfully conscious
that his wife’s eye was upon him.
‘You have not visited Whitbury lately, I think?’ went on Miss Marjory
pleasantly.
‘N—no, not lately.’
‘I do not think I have seen you since you were quite a young man;
still, I am sure I should know you anywhere.’
People were just beginning to wake up to the consciousness that Mr.
Belassis was ill at ease, when the dinner was announced.
Signor Pagliadini had come two minutes earlier, and now offered his arm
to Miss Marjory. Tor took in Mrs. Belassis, Mr. Belassis paired off
with Maud, and gladly remained behind with her till the rest had gone.
‘I did not know you knew Miss Marjory Descartes. Is she not delightful?’
‘Oh, very!—yes, quite so—delightful! I only knew her a little, and that
was ages ago.’
‘She seems to remember you very well,’ said Maud innocently. ‘You must
have made a great impression.’
Mr. Belassis coughed and stumbled, as he followed the company
downstairs.
Miss Marjory’s tongue did good service in making conversation flow
freely at table that day. It was an oddly-assorted company, and an
effort was needed before the appropriate air of festivity could be
attained.
Mr. and Mrs. Belassis distrusted one another, and were at all but open
enmity with their hosts. Signor Pagliadini was a stranger, a foreigner,
and a supposed spy. Miss Marjory was just the one woman upon earth
Belassis most feared to meet. Lewis was awaiting dismissal at Maud’s
hands in the course of the evening. Almost everyone at table had good
cause to fear or distrust some one or more of the company; and with all
these conflicting elements, it was not easy to make talk run smoothly.
Miss Marjory, however, was not to be daunted by any such trivial
difficulties as these, and Tor backed her up boldly. When the ice was
once broken, there was not the same necessity for exertion. People
began to talk to their neighbours, and a pleasant hum took the place of
the first silence, and grew louder as time went on. Miss Marjory felt
at liberty to talk to her neighbours, and to amuse herself, now that
she had accomplished her more difficult task.
‘You understand English remarkably well, Signor,’ she observed suddenly
to her partner. ‘It is very odd that you do not speak it.’
She spoke in English herself; but his answer was in French.
‘Madame flatters me!’
‘Stuff and nonsense! I never flatter anybody. Anyone can see by your
face that you can understand every word that passes.’
‘Pardon, Madame——’
‘And what’s more,’ continued Miss Marjory relentlessly, ‘I don’t
believe you’re an Italian at all!’
‘Mais, Madame——’
‘Now don’t be affected, and don’t tell me lies. If you don’t choose
to speak the truth, you’d better keep quiet. I detest mysteries and
heroics! Why can’t you speak out at once, and say who you are, and what
you’ve come for?’
Signor Pagliadini looked tremendously taken aback by this sudden and
most unexpected attack. He was silent, and the little deprecatory
shrug he gave, foreign as it was, produced no impression upon Miss
Marjory.
‘I believe he’s an Englishman,’ she said to herself. ‘A foreigner would
always have something to say. No Frenchman nor Italian would be shut
up like that, nor take an accusation so quietly. Who in the world can
he be? Can some family lawyer have got an inkling of the truth, and
have sent a spy into the camp? I don’t believe lawyers out of novels do
things like that. I wonder if the Belassis party are at the bottom of
it? I begin to think they must be. Well, I will make it warm for them
if they are troublesome.’
With her most agreeable smile, Miss Marjory now looked across at her
opposite neighbour.
‘Have you never paid Whitbury a visit all these past thirty years, Mr.
Belassis?’ she asked sweetly. ‘Surely you cannot have forgotten us so
utterly as that? You were so enthusiastic about the place when you were
there. Have you never been there since?’
‘No—in fact—you see, I had very much to occupy my time;’ and he looked
at Miss Marjory with a sort of helpless entreaty, which she was
hard-hearted enough to enjoy.
‘You left so suddenly, too, without even making your adieux! There
was quite an excitement about your sudden flight and expected return.
Nobody dreamed you had gone for good.’
‘There was no particular—reason—why I should return,’ hesitated
Belassis, trying to put a bold face upon the matter.’
‘Indeed!’ returned Miss Marjory significantly; ‘I should have thought
there was an excellent reason.’
Belassis was silent, and his plate stood before him untouched. What
would not that dreadful woman say next? He was ready to wish that the
earth would open and swallow him up! The earth, however, as is usual in
such cases, showed no disposition to espouse him or his cause.
People had a way of listening when Miss Marjory spoke, and her last
observation had been heard by one or two, who seemed idly waiting for
what would follow. Miss Marjory was quite equal to the occasion.
‘I fancied, perhaps, you had relatives there,’ she went on carelessly.
‘There is a Belassis living in the town, but it may be another family,
of course. He is in trade, and doing a good business.’
Mr. Belassis had turned so yellow that even Miss Marjory thought she
had gone far enough. Most likely he knew at once to what family that
other Belassis belonged, and it was not to be wondered at if the news
gave him a new pang of terror.
‘Must be another family,’ he muttered hoarsely. ‘I’ve no—no—no
relations in Yorkshire.’
‘No? Ah, then it is a mere coincidence. Hardly likely to be anything
more.’
Having wreaked some of her vengeance upon Belassis, Miss Marjory was
able to turn her attention to the foreigner, who had now recovered from
his momentary confusion.
It was he who opened the conversation, and he seemed inclined to be
aggressive.
‘Madame has done me the honour to doubt my word. Will Madame tell
me her reason? Is it merely because I understand English, although
I cannot speak it with any fluency? Surely there are many in a like
case.’
‘I dare say there are; but I have other reasons for what I said,’
answered Miss Marjory boldly, on the ‘nothing-venture, nothing-have’
principle, going a good deal farther than she had any warrant. ‘I know
more about you than you think.’
A look of uneasiness flitted across the young man’s face, which his
bland smile did not disguise.
‘Madame is mysterious. May I not hear what it is that you have learned
of me?’
‘I’m not sure that you may,’ answered Miss Marjory, wondering how far
she had better go.
‘My curiosity is burning,’ he went on in a low eager tone. ‘Madame is
cruel to make accusations which she will not substantiate.’
Miss Marjory looked at him sharply.
‘What accusations have I made?’
He hesitated somewhat, and then said:
‘You tell me I am not what I seem to be.’
‘Well, can you look me in the face, and tell me that you are?’
Signor Pagliadini did not even attempt to do this. He merely said:
‘That is a grave charge to bring against a man.’
‘If it comes to that,’ retorted Miss Marjory boldly, ‘I could bring a
graver one if I chose.’
‘Will you explain farther?’
‘I am not sure that I will; but I don’t mind telling you that you are
playing a risky game, and may get yourself into trouble one of these
days.’
‘How so?’
He looked so ill at ease that Miss Marjory felt her attempt to frighten
him had been unexpectedly successful.
‘You have come here bent on mischief; you know that as well as I do.
You won’t succeed in what you mean to do, and you stand a good chance
of finding yourself in a very unpleasant position.’
He gazed at her with an earnestness and anxiety which told her that
her words had produced an impression. She had not chosen them with
any special care. Her object had been, if possible, to alarm him, and
induce him to keep as quiet as he would on the subject of the secret
he had discovered. From the expression his face had assumed, she
imagined that her random shaft had struck home.
‘He is not very bold,’ she thought. ‘I must make him nervous.’
‘I have not come bent on mischief, Madame,’ he answered gravely, but
not timidly. ‘Madame is in error there. I have come to put right a
wrong—that is all—to do justice to the helpless and oppressed. If
Madame knew all that I do, she would not speak as she now does.’
‘I imagine I know a great deal more than you do, Signor,’ answered
Miss Marjory severely; ‘and I am sure I know a great deal more than
you think. I know pretty well what idea you have got in your head, and
it is entirely wrong. My friend and our host, Mr. Philip Debenham, is
the soul of honour. You do not and you cannot understand him. I will
give you this assurance, and also this warning. Do not attempt to carry
out this plan of yours, for you will never be able to do it. Give it
up with a good grace whilst there is yet time, and do not bring upon
yourself the ignominy of defeat.’
The dark face looked more dark than ever—more in bewilderment, it
seemed, than in anger.
‘Who will defeat me?’ he asked slowly.
‘I will!’ answered Miss Marjory, with all the reckless daring of her
nature.
‘You!’ he echoed, looking very hard at her. ‘Why, what can you do?’
‘I can generally do anything I have a mind to,’ answered Miss Marjory
significantly. ‘You had better not make an enemy of me.’
He still looked hard at her—as if he would read her very soul.
‘And you are a staunch supporter of—of—our host—of Philip Debenham’s?’
‘I am,’ she answered coolly; ‘and I am as firm a friend as I am an
enemy. Any cause I take up generally prospers.’
Maud’s health was now being proposed, and all private conversation
had suddenly to be suspended; but when Miss Marjory sailed away with
the other ladies into the drawing-room, it was with the comfortable
assurance that she had made profitable use of her time, and had given
Signor Pagliadini a good scare.
Miss Marjory had enjoyed the dinner-party, if nobody else had.