A ROLLING STONE
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
DIANA BARRINGTON
A BIRD OF PASSAGE
BEYOND THE PALE
HER OWN PEOPLE
THE CAT’S-PAW
THE COMPANY’S SERVANT
KATHERINE THE ARROGANT
BABES IN THE WOOD, ETC.
A
ROLLING STONE
BY
B. M. CROKER
“L’amour est un vrai recommenceur.”--BUSSY-RABUTIN
LONDON
F. V. WHITE & CO. LTD.
17 BUCKINGHAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1911
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. LADY KESTERS 1
II. BROTHER AND SISTER 12
III. THE LAST WORD GOES BEGGING 29
IV. LEILA’S IDEA 37
V. PLANS AND THREATS 45
VI. FIRST IMPRESSIONS 49
VII. MRS. HOGBEN AT HOME 58
VIII. OTTINGE-IN-THE-MARSH 72
IX. THE NEW CHAUFFEUR 77
X. AS HANDY MAN 86
XI. THE TRIAL TRIP 97
XII. THE DOGS’ HOTEL 107
XIII. THE DRUM AND ITS PATRONS 120
XIV. LIEUTENANT WYNYARD 132
XV. BY WATER 139
XVI. TWO PRISONERS 146
XVII. LADY KESTERS HAS MISGIVINGS 155
XVIII. THE REASON WHY 166
XIX. OWEN THE MATCHMAKER 174
XX. SUDDEN DEATH 184
XXI. BY THE SUNDIAL 200
XXII. AUREA’S REFLECTIONS 209
XXIII. AN HOUR OF LIBERTY 212
XXIV. ON YAMPTON HILL 217
XXV. LADY KESTERS AT THE DRUM 226
XXVI. THE OBSTACLE 234
XXVII. SCANDAL ABOUT MISS SUSAN 243
XXVIII. A NEW SITUATION 251
XXIX. TOTTIE TOYE 261
XXX. MASHAM--THE MOTORIST 267
XXXI. TAKING RISKS 274
XXXII. AN EXPLANATION 284
XXXIII. SITUATION THE FOURTH 289
XXXIV. SIR RICHARD AS CHAPERON 294
XXXV. REINSTATED 300
XXXVI. BY MOONLIGHT 306
A ROLLING STONE
A ROLLING STONE
CHAPTER I
LADY KESTERS
After a day of strenuous social activities, Lady Kesters was enjoying a
well-earned rest, reposing at full length on a luxurious Chesterfield,
with cushions of old brocade piled at her back and a new French novel
in her hand. Nevertheless, her attention wandered from Anatole France;
every few minutes she raised her head to listen intently, then, as a
little silver clock chimed five thin strokes, she rose, went over to a
window, and, with an impatient jerk, pulled aside the blind. She was
looking down into Mount Street, W., and endeavouring to penetrate the
gloom of a raw evening towards the end of March.
It was evident that the lady was expecting some one, for there were two
cups and saucers on a well-equipped tea-table, placed between the sofa
and a cheerful log fire.
As the mistress of the house peers eagerly at passers-by, we may avail
ourselves of the opportunity to examine her surroundings. There is
an agreeable feeling of ample space, softly shaded lights, and rich
but subdued colours. The polished floor is strewn with ancient rugs;
bookcases and rare cabinets exhibit costly contents; flowers are in
profusion; the air is heavily scented with white lilac; and a multitude
of magazines and papers lie scattered about in careless abundance. _The
Hibbert Journal_, the _Clarion_, _Le Revue des deux mondes_, and the
_Spectator_ indicate a Catholic taste; but we look in vain for a piano,
a pet dog, or a workbasket.
As Lady Kesters turns from the window, it is seen that she is tall
and slim, with dark, expressive eyes, a delicate, tip-tilted nose,
and remarkably square chin; her figure, which is faultless, shows to
admirable advantage in a simple gown of clinging black material.
And whilst she once more subsides into her sofa and book, we may
venture to introduce a little sketch of her personal history.
Leila Wynyard and her brother Owen were the orphan children of a
dashing cavalry officer, who was killed at polo, leaving family
and creditors to the benevolence of his relations. Sir Richard,
his brother, undertook charge of the boy, the girl--some years his
senior--fell to the lot of a maiden aunt who lived in Eaton Terrace,
and maintained considerable dignity in a small house, on an income to
correspond. Leila had lessons and masters, her teeth, complexion, and
deportment were objects of anxious solicitude; at eighteen she was
brought out and presented, and hopes were entertained that, in her
first or second season, she would make a suitable match, and secure
a husband and a home. The girl carried herself with grace, had fine
dark eyes, and fine fashionable connections; these latter combined to
take her into society, and exhibit her at Ascot and Hurlingham, as
well as balls and the opera. She visited historical country seats and
notable Scottish moors, and was, so to speak, passed along from one
house-party to another; and yet, despite her friends’ exertions, Leila
Wynyard failed to “go off.” Perhaps the truth lay in the simple fact
that the lady herself was disinclined to move on; and often joked over
her social failure with her Aunt Eliza, who had a keen sense of humour
and no mind to lose the light of her old age.
On the other hand, Leila Wynyard was known to be penniless! (for what
is a hundred a year?--it scarcely keeps some women in hats) had no
surpassing accomplishments to lift her out of the ruck; it was also
whispered that she had an independent character, and a sharp tongue!
No one could deny that Miss Wynyard’s air was distinguished. Some men
considered her a brilliant conversationalist, and extraordinarily
clever--but these are rarely the attributes of the women they marry!
Time sped along, Miss Wynyard had been out for nine seasons, was spoken
of in the family as “poor Leila,” and now relegated to the worst spare
room, expected to make herself useful, “do the flowers,” write notes,
and take over the bores. In short, she was about to step into the
position of permanent poor relation, when, to the amazement of the
whole connection, Leila married herself off with triumphant success!
Alone she did it! Her uncle, Sir Richard Wynyard, owner of the family
title and estates, was an old bachelor, who lived in a gloomy town
house in Queen’s Gate, but spent most of his time at his club. At
uncertain intervals he repaid hospitalities received, and entertained
his friends at dinner under his own roof--he scorned the fashionable
craze of assembling one’s guests at a restaurant. These banquets were
well done--wine, ménu, and attendance being beyond criticism. They
would also have been insupportably dull, but for the officiating
hostess; and, thanks to Miss Wynyard’s admirable supervision, they were
usually an enviable success.
The company were of a respectable age--the host’s contemporaries--old
club friends or City folk, with their sedate and comfortable wives.
Miss Wynyard introduced an element of youth and vivacity into the
gathering, selected flowers for the table decoration, had a word about
the savouries and dessert, and, on the evening itself, radiant and
well dressed, enjoyed herself prodigiously--for Leila had the flair of
the born hostess--a gift that had no opportunity for expanding in the
limited space at home.
On one of these occasions, a certain Martin Kesters sat on Miss
Wynyard’s right hand--a plain, elderly man, of few words and many
thoughts, with rugged features, grizzled whiskers, and a made tie!--a
melancholy and reluctant guest who rarely dined abroad, and had
martyrised himself to please and appease his old schoolfellow, Dick
Wynyard.
The brilliant Leila, who adored playing hostess and giving her talents
full scope, drew him out with surprising subtlety, listened to his
opinions with flattering deference, put him at his ease and in good
humour with himself, and won, so to speak, his heart! She was not aware
that Mr. Kesters was a wealthy widower, and mainly responsible for the
enormous increase in her uncle’s fortunes; but this would not have
made an atom of difference. Her attention would have been precisely
the same had he been a penniless curate; she could see that he was
overpowered by his partner--a magnificent matron who talked exclusively
of royalties--his answers were short and gruff;--evidently he was bored
to death and longing to be at home; and she instantly made up her mind
to capture his interest and rivet his attention.
Leila was on her mettle that night, and achieved a notable success.
How she shone! Even Sir Richard was amazed--he was proud of, and not
a little afraid of, his clever niece; as for Mr. Kesters, he watched
her furtively, noted her upright grace, her animation, her delightful
smile, her art of saying the right thing--and saying it well--her
insidious dexterity in leading the conversation into interesting
channels, yet never obtruding her own personality. It was _not_ the
excellence of the champagne that made every one at the table feel
themselves unusually shining and brilliant. No, poor souls! they were
but the pale reflection of this luminous star.
Then the girl’s appearance--she was a girl to his fifty-six years--of
superb health and vitality. What an inmate for a dull, drab home--what
a stimulating companion for a lonely man!
It was a cosy little party of eight, and at a sign from the hostess,
three matrons arose and preceded her up to the ghostly drawing-room,
there to feel depressingly flat and to sip very superior coffee. After
some devastating comments on the British climate and the British
domestic, two of the quartette retired, whispering, to a sofa, in order
to discuss a cure--leaving Miss Wynyard and Lady Billing _tête-à-tête_.
“This room is rather a dreadful specimen of Early Victorian,” said
Leila, waving an apologetic spoon. “I fought so hard for these loose
chintz covers and lamp-shades; but everything else is as it was in
grandmamma’s time--there she is, between the windows, in yellow satin
and ringlets! The venerable servants who still survive will not hear of
a change. Do look at the carpet; it must be fifty years of age. How old
things _wear_!”
“I wonder Sir Richard does not live in a flat near his club,” suggested
her ladyship in diamonds and velvet; “so much more comfortable and
up-to-date.”
“Yes; but then this is the family town house, and he is never quite
sure that he won’t marry.”
“Marry!” repeated Lady Billing, “what an idea!”
“It is his favourite threat”--and Leila laughed--“if the cooking is
bad, the coal indifferent, or the servants too autocratic.”
“But isn’t your brother his heir?” opening her eyes to their widest
extent. “How would he like that?”
“Oh, I really don’t think Owen would care a straw; he is rather
happy-go-lucky, and never thinks of the future. After all, Uncle Dick
is not an old man, and I don’t see why he should not please himself. I
may dance at his wedding yet!”
“I suppose there is no particular lady in the case?” inquired the other
judicially.
Miss Wynyard smiled, and shook her head.
“Do you know, my dear, that you have made an important conquest this
evening?” Then, in answer to Miss Wynyard’s gaze of amazement, “Mr.
Kesters,” she added, with impressive solemnity.
“Mr.--_Kesters_?” repeated Leila.
“Your neighbour at dinner, you know. He was simply swept off his
feet--any one could see that!” and she flourished a puffy hand.
“Well, I hope he has recovered his equilibrium by now. Why, we never
met till eight o’clock.”
“He rarely goes anywhere. He is just a money-spinner--enormously
rich--he can make money, but he does not know how to spend or enjoy it.”
“That’s easily learnt,” declared the young lady, with a gay laugh; “I’d
give him lessons with pleasure.”
“Oh, my dear, it is not so easy to spend, when you have the habit of
years of economy. His wife was terribly close; they say she counted the
potatoes and matches! She was his cousin, and had a nice fortune.”
“So, then, he is a widower?”
“Yes, this five years; he lives alone in Eaton Square--such a frowzy
house--it has never known a spring cleaning! Mrs. Kesters and I
exchanged calls. She would not allow the windows to be opened; loved
King Charles dogs (horrid things) and parrots; dressed on thirty pounds
a year; and her only extravagance was patent medicines. The premises
simply reeked of them! Latterly, she was a helpless invalid, and since
her death Mr. Kesters goes nowhere, just occupies a couple of rooms,
and devotes himself to business. Business is his pleasure. He is a
mighty man in the City--though he is so shy and reserved in society. I
declare you quite woke him up to-night; I’ve known him for years, and I
never saw him so animated.”
“I suppose I hit on a lucky topic--he told me such interesting things
about mining and minerals.”
“_Gold_ especially; they say everything he touches turns to that! My
husband and he are rather friendly, and once or twice he has dined with
us, scarcely uttered a word, and looked as if he was going to sleep.
Oh, here they are!” as the door opened, and the two ladies on the sofa
suddenly concluded a mysterious and confidential conversation, and sat
expectant and erect. But the men as one man made straight for Miss
Wynyard.
Later, as the guests departed, Mr. Kesters lingered to the last, and
his host said fussily--
“I say, look here, Martin, I suppose you have your carriage, and you
may as well take my niece home; you are going in her direction.”
“My dear uncle, why should you victimise Mr. Kesters?” she protested;
“I shall return as I came, in a hansom.”
But Mr. Kesters intervened with unexpected gallantry, and declared
that to escort Miss Wynyard was an honour that he could not forgo.
Subsequently he conducted her down to a shabby, “one-horse”
brougham--the coachman’s legs were wrapped in a specially odoriferous
stable rug--and conveyed her to Eaton Terrace. As he took leave of her
at the hall door, he ventured to put a timid question.
He was such a near neighbour--might he come and call?
“Yes, of course,” assented the lady; “Aunt Eliza will be delighted to
see you--we are always at home on Sundays, four to six.”
Subsequently Mr. Kesters became a regular visitor, and met with Aunt
Eliza’s approval; and, before many Sundays had elapsed, a paragraph
concerning the names of Wynyard and Kesters appeared in the _Morning
Post_.
And so poor Leila became rich Leila! and, from being an insignificant
relation, a person of considerable social importance. Until her
marriage few had discovered Mrs. Kesters’ beauty--her cleverness had
never been disputed. Now, as the result of a visit to Paris, armed with
a cheque-book, she glorified her appearance, wore charming frocks and
exquisite jewels, and, with her fine air and admirable figure, it was
impossible “to pass her unnoticed in a crowd.”
Mrs. Kesters organised changes other than personal: the gloomy abode
in Eaton Square was sold, its contents dispatched to an auction
room--including two old stuffed parrots, and the mangy remains of her
predecessor’s King Charles; another house was taken and furnished
regardless of expense, a motor purchased, and a staff of experienced
servants engaged. In a surprisingly short time Mrs. Martin Kesters
of 202 Mount Street, Grosvenor Square, had become a popular member
of society. Her little dinners and luncheons were famous, not alone
for the quality of the menu, but also of the guests. Martin, too,
had been transformed as by a wand! His whiskers disappeared, he was
persuaded to change his tailor, and given a good conceit of himself.
He felt ten years younger, brisk, energetic, prepared to enjoy his
money and the Indian summer of his life. Instead of being taciturn,
he talked; instead of going to sleep after dinner, he patronised
the theatre; he learnt to play bridge and golf. In the society of
ladies his manners had become assured, and he no longer was at a
helpless loss to know what to say, or stumbled clumsily over their
trains. For all these new accomplishments he had to thank Leila; and
he was devoted to his brilliant and charming wife. She was more or
less in touch with political people, and clever men, and women that
mattered. The fascinating Mrs. Kesters was successful in drawing-room
diplomacy and the delicate art of pulling strings; and, to her
husband’s astonishment, he had found himself a K.C.B., and elected to
an exclusive club--sitting on important committees, dining in stately
houses, and entertaining notable guests.
Lady Kesters’ connections held up their hands, cast up their eyes,
and declared that “Leila was _too_ wonderful!” She had changed a
dull, plodding, City man into a well-turned-out, agreeable, bland
individual--who was her abject slave--and she had become a leader in
her own particular set. Her relatives repeated, “Who would have thought
Leila had it _in_ her?” But Leila had, so to speak, always “had it
in her.” “It” represented brains, tact, a passion for affairs and
managing, a hidden and ambitious spirit, and an active and impatient
longing to taste responsibility and power.
* * * * *
The clock pointed to a quarter past five. Lady Kesters took up the
silver caddy and was proceeding to ladle out tea, when the door opened,
a servant announced “Mr. Wynyard,” and a remarkably good-looking young
man entered the room.
Before he could speak, Lady Kesters turned to the butler, and said--
“Payne, if any one should call, I am not at home.”
“Very good, my lady,” he replied, and softly closed the door.
A maid, who happened to be on the landing, witnessed the recent arrival
and overheard the order, now winked at Payne with easy impudence, and
gave a significant sniff.
“I don’t know what you’re sniffing about,” he said peevishly. “I
suppose you will allow her ladyship to receive her own brother in peace
and comfort, seeing as he is just back from South America, and she
hasn’t laid eyes on him for near a year.”
“Oh, so that’s her brother, is it?” said the young woman; “and an
uncommonly fine young chap--better looking than her ladyship by long
chalks!”
“You go down to your tea and leave her ladyship’s looks alone. I don’t
know what you’re doing hanging about this landing at such an hour of
the day.”
Payne was an old servant in the Wynyard family, and he was aware it had
been generally said that “Master Owen had the looks and Miss Leila the
brains.” Master Owen was always a wild, harum-scarum young fellow, and
it wasn’t at all unlikely that he had got into one of his scrapes. With
this conviction implanted in his mind, Payne deliberately descended the
stairs, issued an edict to one of the footmen, and retired into his
lair and the evening paper.