As Stafford rode homewards he wondered whom the strange pair could be.
It was evident they were not going to stay at the Villa, or they would
have driven straight there; but it was also evident that the gentleman
had heard of Sir Stephen's "little place," or he would not have asked
where it was; but, as Stafford reflected, rather ruefully, it would be
difficult for any traveller passing through the neighbourhood not to
see the new, great white house, or to hear something, perhaps a very
great deal, of the man who had built it.
Howard sauntered down the hall to meet him.
"Good heavens, how wet you look, and, needless to add, how happy. If
there is anything in the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, my
dear Stafford, your future embodiment will be that of a Newfoundland
dog. Such an extremely strong passion for cold water is
almost--er--indecent. I've had a lovely morning in the library; and
your father is still at work with his correspondence. I asked him what
he thought of Lord Palmerston's aphorism: that if you left your letters
unanswered long enough they answered themselves; and he admitted it was
true, and that he had sometimes adopted the plan successfully. There is
a secretary with him--a dark and silent man named Murray, who appears
to have an automatic, double-action brain; anyway he can write a letter
and answer questions at the same time. And he watches your father's
lips as if he--the secretary, not Sir Stephen--were a dog waiting for a
stone to be thrown. It is interesting to watch--for a time; then it
gets on one's nerves. May I ask where you have been?"
"Oh, just for a ride; been trying the new horse: he's a clinker! The
governor couldn't have got hold of a better if he'd searched all
Arabia, and Hungary to boot. I'll just change and get some lunch. I
hope you haven't waited?"
"Your hope is not in vain, young man," replied Howard, suavely; "but I
will come and sit beside you while you stoke."
With Measom's aid Stafford was soon into dry clothes and seated at
lunch, and, as he had promised, Howard drew a chair to the table, and
contemplated him with vicarious enjoyment.
"What an appetite you have!" he drawled, admiringly. "I imagine it
would stand by you, even if you were in love. As a specimen of the
perfectly healthy animal you stand preeminent, my dear Stafford. By the
way, shall I spoil your lunch if I read you out a list of the guests
whom we are expecting this afternoon? Sir Stephen was good enough to
furnish me with it, with the amiable wish that I might find some friend
on it. What do you say to Lord and Lady Fitzharford; the Countess of
Clansford; the Baron Wirsch; the Right Honourable Henry Efford; Sir
William and Lady Plaistow--"
Stafford looked up and smiled.
"Any more?"
"Oh, yes. There are the two Beltons and George Levinson, to say nothing
of Mr. Griffinberg, the railroad king."
Stafford stared at his claret glass.
"I wonder why the governor has asked such a crowd?" he said, musingly.
"A perfectly arranged symphony in colours, I call it," said Howard.
"Fashion is represented by the Fitzharfords and old Lady Clansford;
politics by Efford and the Beltons, and finance by Plaistow and Wirsch.
That Griffinberg is coming is a proof that Sir Stephen has got 'a
little railway' in his mind; there are several others who seem to have
been thrown in, not to increase weight, but to lighten it. It will be
rather amusing--a kind of menagerie which, under less skilful guidance
than Sir Stephen's, might be sure to disagree and fight."
Stafford sighed.
"Oh, you'll be all right," he said; "but I don't quite see where I
shall come in."
Howard laughed.
"My dear Stafford, there are some extremely pretty girls with whom you
can flirt, and I've no doubt some of the men will join you in your
eccentric attempts to drown yourself or break your neck. _Is_ that the
sun coming out, and is it going to clear?"
"I hope so," said Stafford, laughing. "For I prophesied a fine evening,
and a lady was weak enough to take my word for it. Let us go and rake
my father out of the library, and get him into the garden with a
cigar."
"You may venture upon such an audacity, but not I," said Howard, with
simulated fear. "I'll wait for you on the terrace."
Sir Stephen looked up with a frown as Stafford entered, and the
dark-faced secretary stared aghast at the intrusion; but Sir Stephen's
face cleared as he saw who it was.
"Back, Stafford?" he said. "What? Come into the garden--cigar?
Certainly! You can finish up, can't you, Murray? Thanks!" He looked at
his watch as they went through the hall. "I suppose some of the people
will be here before long. Did Mr. Howard show you the list? Do you know
any of them. Stafford?"
"Yes, I've met Lady Clansford and the Fitzharfords, of course; but most
of them are too great and lofty. I mean that they are celebrated
personages, out of my small track. One doesn't often meet Sir William
Plaistow and Mr. Griffinberg at at homes and afternoon teas." Sir
Stephen laughed.
"Oh, well, you mustn't let them bore you, you know, my boy. You must
consider yourself quite free to cut off and amuse yourself some other
way whenever you get tired of them."
"And leave it all to you, sir!" said Stafford, with a smile; but as he
spoke he drew a breath of relief; he should be free to help the
beautiful, lovely girl of Herondale.
A few hours later the visitors arrived, and before dinner the superb
drawing-room was, if not crowded, sufficiently well filled with the
brilliant company.
Nearly all the guests were extremely wealthy, most of them were
powerful, either in the region of politics or finance; and the
fashionable world was represented by some beautiful women with dresses
and diamonds above reproach, and some young men whose names stood high
at Hurlingham and Prinses.
Stafford stood beside his father as Sir Stephen went from group to
group, greeting one and another in his frank and genial yet polished
manner, which grew warm and marked by scarcely repressed pride, as he
introduced Stafford.
"My son, Lady Fitzharford. I think he has had the pleasure of meeting
you? I scarcely know who are his friends: we have been separated so
long! But we are restored to each other at last, I am happy to say!
Lady Clansford, you know my boy? Ah, he has had the advantage of me all
these years; he has not had to rush all over Europe, but has been able
to bask in the sunshine of grace and beauty. Griffinberg, I want my son
to know you. You and I are such old friends that you won't mind me
showing that I am proud of him, eh?" and he laid his hand on Stafford's
shoulder with an air of pride and affection.
"What a lovely place Sir Stephen has made of this, Mr. Orme," said Lady
Clansford; "we were quite startled as we drove up, and simply
bewildered when we got inside. This room is really--oh well, I'm
beggared for adjectives!"
Stafford went about, listening to the encomiums on his father or the
house, and making appropriate responses; but he was rather relieved
when the butler announced dinner.
The dining-room received its meed of praise from the guests, and the
elaborate _menu_ caused some of the men to beam with inward
satisfaction. It was a superb dinner, served with a stateliness which
could not have been exceeded if royalty had been amongst the guests.
The plate was magnificent, the flowers arranged by an artist's hand, in
rich and yet chaste abundance. Stafford, as he looked from the bottom
of the table to Sir Stephen at the head, felt with a thrill of pride
that his father was the most distinguished-looking man of them all; and
he noticed that in the tone of both the men and the women who addressed
him there was that subtle note which indicates respect and the
consideration which men and women of the world pay to one who has
achieved greatness.
And yet, he noticed also, that not one of them was more perfectly at
his ease than Sir Stephen, who laughed and talked as if his only aim
was that of enjoyment, and as if he had never "planned a plan or
schemed a scheme." Every now and then Stafford caught his father's eye,
and each time he did so, Sir Stephen smiled at him with that air of
pride and affection which he made no attempt to conceal or check. Once
or twice Howard, too, caught his eye and smiled significantly as if he
were saying, "How is this for a successful party?"
The dinner went swimmingly, and when the ladies had retired Sir Stephen
begged the men to close up, and passed the wine freely. The talk was of
everything but politics or business--Stafford remarked that not a word
was said of either topic; and Sir Stephen told one or two stories
admirably and set the laughter going.
"What sort of a night is it, Stafford?" he asked, presently.
Stafford drew the curtain from the open French window, and the
moonlight streamed in to fight with the electric lamps.
"Shall we go out on to the terrace?" said Sir Stephen. "Quite warm
enough, isn't it?"
They went out; servants brought coffee and cigars, and some of the
gentlemen sauntered up and down the terrace, and others went down into
the garden. Sir Stephen linked his arm in Stafford's, and they walked a
little apart along one of the smooth paths.
"Not bored, I hope, my boy?" he asked.
"Good gracious, no, sir!" replied Stafford. "I don't think I remember a
more successful dinner. Why should I be bored?"
"That's all right!" said Sir Stephen, pressing his arm. "I was afraid
you might be. They are not a bad set--the men, I mean--if you keep them
off their hobbies; and we managed to do that, I think."
"Yes, I noticed you managed them very well, sir," said Stafford. "What
a lovely night." They had reached a gate opening on to the road, and
they stood and looked at the view in silence for a moment, listening to
a nightingale, whose clear notes joined with the voices and laughter of
the guests.
Suddenly another sound came upon the night air; a clatter of horses'
hoofs and the rattle of wheels.
"Someone driving down the road," said Sir Stephen.
"And coming at a deuce of a pace!" said Stafford. He opened the gate
and looked up the road; then he uttered an ejaculation.
"By George! they've bolted!" he said, in his quiet way.
"What?" asked Sir Stephen, as he, too, came out. The carriage was
tearing down the hill towards them in the moonlight, and Stafford saw
that the horses were rushing along with lowered heads and that the
driver had lost all control of them.
As they came towards the two men, Stafford set off running towards
them. Sir Stephen called him; Stafford took no heed, and as the horses
came up to him he sprang at the head of the nearer one. There was a
scramble, a scuffing of hoofs, and a loud, shrill shriek from the
interior of the carriage; then the horses were forced on to their
haunches, and Stafford scrambled to his feet from the road into which
he had been hustled.
The driver jumped down and ran to the horses' heads, the carriage door
was flung open and the gentleman of the inn leapt out. Leapt out almost
on to Sir Stephen, who ran up breathless with apprehension on
Stafford's account. The two men stood and looked at each other in the
moonlight, at first with a confused and bewildered gaze, then Sir
Stephen started back with a cry, a strange cry, which brought Stafford
to his side.
At the same moment, the girl he had seen in the sitting-room at the
inn, slipped out of the carriage.
"Are we safe?" she asked faintly. "How did we stop? Who--"
She stopped abruptly, and both she and Stafford stared at the two men
who were standing confronting each other. Sir Stephen was as white as a
ghost, and there was a look of absolute terror in his dark eyes. On the
face of the other man was an enigmatical smile, which was more bitter
than a sneer.
"You are all right?" said Stafford; "but I am afraid you were very much
frightened!"
The girl turned to him. "You!" she said, recognising him. "Did you stop
them?"
"Yes; it was easy: they had had almost enough," he said.
While they were speaking, the two elder men drew apart as if
instinctively.
"_You_, Falconer?" murmured Sir Stephen, with ashy lips.
"Yes," assented the other, drily; "yes, I am here right enough. Which
is it to be--friend or foe?"
Sir Stephen stood gnawing his lip for a moment, then he turned to
Stafford.
"Stafford, this--most extraordinary--this is an old friend of mine.
Falconer, this is my boy, my son Stafford!"