‘And so you have kept your word, my lady,’ he said nonchalantly.
‘Had you any doubt that I should do so?’ she answered.
‘It would not have been the first time if you had broken it,’ was the
sarcastic rejoinder.
‘Now, look here Jack,’ said the woman, ‘you have not brought me here at
this time of night to upbraid me for the inevitable past, surely? You
must know that I run a fearful risk in coming here. You must know also
that only one object on earth would have brought me. Be merciful as you
are great, and don’t keep me fooling my time away in order to listen to
your platitudes. Isn’t the subject of our former relations with each
other rather stale?’
‘It will never be stale to me, Nora,’ replied Mr Portland; ‘and the
melancholy fact that you preferred Ilfracombe to myself is not likely
to make me forget it.’
‘_Ilfracombe!_’ thought Nell, from her post of observation, ‘can this
really be the countess? Oh, how grossly she must be deceiving him.
Prefer Ilfracombe to him! Why, of course it _must_ be she. I will hear
every word they say now, if I die for it.’
‘That is nonsense,’ resumed Nora, ‘you never really cared for me, Jack;
and if you did, the sentiment has died long ago. Don’t let us twaddle,
pray, but come to business.’
‘I thought the twaddle (as you call it) was part of our business, but I
am willing to let it drop. What has your ladyship to say next?’
‘I want to ask you something which I have been afraid to mention with
so many eavesdroppers as we have round us at the Hall. You knew that
_chère amie_ of Ilfracombe’s--Miss Llewellyn--of course.’
‘I did. Everyone who knew him knew her. What of it? Are you getting up
a little jealousy of the dead for future use?’
‘Don’t talk nonsense. Am I the sort of woman to go raving mad on
account of my husband’s former peccadilloes? But what became of her?’
At this juncture Nell became keenly attentive. She thrust her head as
far as she dared out of the window, and did not lose a single word.
‘By Jove! no,’ laughed Portland, ‘I cannot imagine your ladyship being
jealous of anything, or anyone who had not the power to take your
beloved coronet from you. But surely you know what became of the poor
girl? She is dead. She drowned herself when Ilfracombe sent home word
that he was about to marry you, and told old Sterndale to give her “the
genteel kick out.”’
‘Poor child,’ said the countess, compassionately, ‘it was very
terrible, if true. But what proofs were there of her doing so? Was the
body ever found?’
‘I believe not. But don’t talk of it, please. I had a sincere regard
for Miss Llewellyn, and the thought of her dreadful end makes me sad.’
‘_You_ feeling for anyone of your fellow-creatures, Jack?’ replied Nora
incredulously. ‘You must have been very hard hit. But I really want to
know if there was any doubt of her death. I have a particular reason
for asking.’
‘I heard there was no doubt. That is all I can tell you, Lady
Ilfracombe.’
‘What was she like, Jack?’ urged Nora.
‘Very handsome indeed, more than handsome, beautiful; with the most
glorious golden chesnut hair imaginable, and large hazel eyes, with
dark brows and lashes, and a straight nose and good mouth and chin.
A lovely figure, too, tall and graceful, though with large hands and
feet. A remarkable-looking young woman, Nora, and it is a feather in
your cap to have driven her memory so completely from Ilfracombe’s
heart.’
‘But I am not sure that I _have_ driven it. Ilfracombe is very touchy
on the subject now, and cannot bear her name to be mentioned. But I
tell you what, Jack, she is no more dead than I am, for I have seen
her.’
‘My God! Where?’ exclaimed Mr Portland excitedly.
‘Why, in this very house. Don’t you remember Sir Archibald telling us
that the young woman who stopped Lady Bowmant’s cobs must have been
one of the Llewellyns? I came over here the same afternoon to see her
and thank her more particularly than I had been able to do, and if the
girl I saw is not Nell Llewellyn, I’ll eat my hat. She answers to your
description exactly.’
‘You don’t mean to say so! It never entered into my calculations. I had
made so sure that she was gone. Have you mentioned your suspicions to
Ilfracombe?’
‘No fear. I’m not such a fool as I look. Why should I raise up all the
old feelings in him, just as he is settling down so nicely with me?
But I should like to know it is true, and to know for certain. It is
a dreadful thing to have a girl’s death at one’s door. So I thought I
would tell you, and you could find out for me.’
‘I will make a point of doing so, but I’m afraid you are labouring
under a mistake. There was so little doubt of Miss Llewellyn’s death.
The young woman you have seen may be a sister, or other relation. It is
worth while inquiring.’
‘But don’t compromise Ilfracombe in doing so. He particularly begged me
not to mention his name when I called here, in case they might be of
the same family. But I mustn’t stay longer, Jack, so please let me have
the letters.’
‘All right. But you must come and fetch them.’
‘Well, I am here, safe enough.’
‘Perhaps, but the letters are not here. They are in my despatch-box in
my room.’
‘Go and bring them then.’
‘The bargain was that _you_ were to fetch them, Nora.’
‘But not to enter your room, Jack. I cannot do that. It is impossible.
I refuse.’
‘Then you can’t fetch the letters, my lady.’
‘And have you brought me here to play me such an unfair trick as that?
You knew that I could not enter your room? It would be risking the
happiness of my whole future life. Supposing Mr Lennox were to return
suddenly, and find me closeted there with you? You want to ruin me. I
shall do no such thing.’
‘You know now that you are only quibbling, Nora--only fighting with the
inevitable. You will not rest till you have those letters in your own
hands. You have told me you would give half your fortune to get them,
and yet you refuse to pass the threshold of my room. What nonsense.
You must devise some others means by which to procure them then, for
I will not go back from my word. I said you should have them if you
would fetch them, and now that they are within your reach, you refuse
to stretch out your hand and take them. Very well, it is not my fault.
You must return without them.’
Nora thought a minute, and then said,--
‘What time is it?’
‘Half-past twelve,’ replied her companion. ‘They will not break up over
there for another hour and a half.’
She knew she was as much within this man’s power as if he held the
proofs of some great crime which she had committed. She did not
exactly remember what her foolish letters to him contained; but she
was sure there was sufficient love-sick folly in them which, aided by
his inuendoes, and even falsehoods, might bring everlasting disgrace
upon her, to say nothing of Ilfracombe’s serious displeasure which she
dreaded still more. To lose her husband’s trust and confidence and
respect--perhaps his love--was too terrible a contingency in the young
countess’s eyes. She had been guilty of a fearful social error in
going to the farm at all; she knew that, but now she was there, would
it not be better to comply with Jack Portland’s conditions, hard as
they might be, than to return to the Hall, having played her _escapade_
for nothing.
‘Where are the letters?’ was the next question she asked him.
‘I have told you. In my despatch-box.’
‘But where is the box?’
‘On a table just within the door.’
‘Will you go in first and get them out, and then I will cross the
threshold and take them from you.’
‘Are you so terribly afraid of me as all that, Nora?’
‘Not afraid of you or any man,’ she answered haughtily, ‘but afraid of
compromising my good name. It is too fearful a risk. Anything might
happen. Mr Lennox might return, or the people of the house come down,
or--or-- Oh, Jack, if you ever loved me the least little bit, don’t ask
me to do more than I have done.’
He appeared to be satisfied with her excuse, for Nell saw him leave
her side and disappear into the house. In another minute the countess,
who had stood looking anxiously after him, seemed to have received
his signal, for she cautiously followed him. Then there was a silence
of several minutes, during which Nell listened eagerly to hear what
passed, but no sound reached her ear. The next thing she saw was the
figure of Lady Ilfracombe, who left the house hurriedly, and, throwing
herself down on the grass, burst into tears. It was a rare occurrence
for Nora to lose command of herself, but to-night she felt utterly
worsted and broken down. She had built so many fair hopes on this
venture, and now she found herself as far from obtaining her wishes as
ever.
‘You are _a brute_!’ she exclaimed, as Jack Portland joined her;
‘a false and merciless brute! You have lured me here under false
pretences, and in order to get me only more surely in your toils. You
knew you were deceiving me--you knew the letters were not there--you
persuaded me to enter your room against all my better judgment, in
order that I may compromise myself, and be more your slave than
before. But there must be an end put to it some day. I will not go on
being laughed at by you for ever. I defy you to do your worst. Show
Ilfracombe those letters, as you have so often threatened, and I will
take good care the day you do so is the last you ever spend under any
roof of mine.’
‘Softly, softly, my lady,’ said Portland; ‘aren’t you going a little
too fast, and making a little too much noise over this business? I give
you my word of honour that I fully believed that interesting packet of
letters was in my despatch-box.’
‘Your word of _honour_!’ repeated Nora, disdainfully, as she rose from
her despairing attitude and stood up, wiping her wet eyes; ‘how long
have you possessed the article?’
‘Now, Nora, none of your sneers, if you please,’ said Jack Portland;
‘don’t be foolish, and make a regular quarrel of this matter. Let me
tell you this--that so long as you insult me on every occasion I shall
never give you back those letters. After all, they are legally mine,
and you have no right to demand their restoration. If I return them,
it will be as a favour; and people do not, as a rule, grant favours to
ladies who call them liars and scoundrels and cheats for their pains.
And now, had you not better go back to the Hall? I have shown you what
I can do by bringing you here, and I don’t mean to do anything more for
you to-night. When you have learned how to coax and wheedle a little,
instead of bully and storm, perhaps you may persuade me to give you
back those much-longed-for letters.’
The countess seemed to be perfectly subdued. To those who knew her as
she generally was, and especially to the man before her, the change in
her voice and demeanour would have seemed a marvel.
‘Yes, I will go,’ she replied in a meek tone; ‘but I should like to
have a few words with you first, Jack. I cannot think what has changed
you so; but you are not the same man you were at Malta. Still, I do not
think you can have quite forgotten that time when we first met, and
thought we loved each other. It was my father, Sir Richard Abinger, who
separated us, as you know well, and even if he had not done so, I do
not think you would have wished to marry me, for you had no income, and
I should only have been a great burden to you. So, is it quite fair, do
you think, to visit the fact of our parting on my head, especially now
that I am married to another man? Those letters of mine--written to you
when I considered we were engaged lovers--I daresay they are very silly
and spooney, and full of the nonsense people generally write under such
circumstances; but I cannot think there is anything compromising in
them, as you would lead me to believe. I feel sure, if I were to show
them to my husband, he would forgive and absolve me from all thought
of wrong. But will you not spare me such an act of self-humiliation?
Cannot you be man enough to forgive a girl who has never done you any
harm for having caused you a little mortification? Will you not do
so--for the sake of Malta and the time when you thought you loved me?’
Nora’s voice was so sorrowful, and yet so full of dignity, as she
pronounced these words, that Nell’s heart burned within her to listen
to them, and she longed to have the power to steal those letters and
restore them to her, spite of all Mr Jack Portland’s machinations. And
as she sat there she clenched her hands together and said to herself
that if it were to be done she would do it. She had not been unmindful
of Nora’s kindness when she visited her under the guise of Mrs Lumley,
though she had so ill-requited it, and now that she knew who she was,
and that it was Ilfracombe’s unloved wife who had had her ring and
money flung back in her face, Nell’s generous nature asserted itself,
and she inwardly vowed that if she could do her a good turn she would.
‘Why are you so very anxious to get these letters back, especially if
there’s nothing in them?’ asked Mr Portland. ‘It’s not because you’re
so deuced fond of Ilfracombe that you tremble for his peace of mind
surely? You’ve got your coronet out of him, and what on earth do you
want more? You are not going to stuff me up with any humbug about your
having fallen in love with him, because I sha’n’t believe it if you do.
You married him for a settlement--you never left him alone till you had
hooked him--and now you’ve got the poor gull fast, what harm can that
little packet of letters do him, or you, even if I should take it into
my head some day to bring you to order by showing them to him, eh?’
Even in the dim light of the starless sky Nell could see the countess
twisting her lace handkerchief nervously about in her hands as she
answered her tormentor.
‘Yes, you are right. I married Ilfracombe because I thought it a fine
thing to become a countess, and to be presented at Court and have a
large fortune and everything that I could require. But I don’t feel
like that now. I--I--love him.’
‘_You love him!_’ echoed Portland, with a coarse laugh; ‘that’s the
best joke I ever heard in my life. Do you suppose he cares for you?
Why, he only married you because his people were always after him to
get rid of poor Miss Llewellyn, and settle down respectably.’
‘Oh, no, no, don’t say that!’ cried the countess in a tone of
unmistakable anguish.
‘But I do say it, and I could bring forward dozens of fellows to
corroborate my statement. Ilfracombe adored Nell Llewellyn--so did she
him. Do you suppose she would have committed suicide else? Would _you_
risk your precious life, or still more precious coronet, for any man on
earth?’
‘Yes, I could--for Ilfracombe,’ she answered tremblingly.
‘I can put all that in my eye and see none the worse,’ continued
Portland; ‘but, at any rate, your devotion is thrown away. His lordship
cares more for Miss Llewellyn’s memory than he does for your living
self. You may represent his station in life to him--perhaps, his
prospective family--but _she_ was his love.’
‘You are very cruel to me,’ faltered Nora, ‘though perhaps I have
deserved your contempt and irony. But no one could live with Ilfracombe
and not love him. He is so generous--so considerate--so unselfish,
that a woman would be insensible to every good influence not to feel
grateful to him in return. And as for poor Miss Llewellyn, you are
mistaken if you imagine you have been the first to tell me of his
esteem for her, and sorrow for her untimely loss. He has told me all
about it himself, and I have sympathised deeply with him. My husband
has no secrets from me, as I earnestly desire not to have any from
him. Were it not for these unfortunate letters I should have none. But
you have tortured me too far, Jack. I throw up the sponge. I shall
tell Ilfracombe on the first opportunity of the boasted hold you have
over me, and beg him to end it one way or the other. Let him read the
letters and do his worst. It can never be as bad as yours. You have
made my married life a torment to me by your unmanly threats.’
She turned away from him as she concluded, and commenced to toil up the
steep acclivity that led to the gate. But Jack Portland sprang after
her.
‘I am not going to let you go alone,’ he said. ‘Come, Nora, let us part
better friends than this. Forgive me for being a little amused at the
idea of you and old Ilfracombe having a quiet “spoon” together, and
trust me that he shall never trace any annoyance that may accrue from
your former little follies to my door.’
The countess did not appear to make any answer to this harangue, and
Nell watched them ascend the hill together and pass out of the white
gate.
‘And how long is Jack Portland to be trusted?’ she thought, as they
disappeared. ‘Just as long as it suits him, and then he will hold
his unmanly threats over that poor woman’s head again. Well, I’ve no
particular reason to love her, heaven knows, but I can do her this
kindness in return for hers, and I will, if only to keep _his_ name
unstained by the tongue of such a scoundrel as Jack Portland. They
have gone to the Hall, and he will probably not be back for another
hour. Now’s the time? If I wait till daylight mother will be about, and
liable to break in upon me at any moment. I will slip down at once.’
She lighted a taper, and, shading it with her hand, crept softly down
the stairs that led to the bricked passage, and so into the lodgers’
rooms. That occupied by Mr Portland lay to the left. The door was ajar.
Nell had only to push it gently open in order to enter. She set her
light down on a table and glanced around her. All was in perfect order,
except the much-talked-of dispatch-box, which had been left open with
its contents tumbled over. Nell did not believe that the packet of
letters was not there. It was very unlikely that Jack Portland would
not know what was in his box, or what was not. He had intended to hand
it to the countess, but changed his mind at the last moment. She looked
carefully through the contents of the box, but found no packet. She had
replaced the papers carefully, and was about to search the remainder
of the apartment, when, to her horror, she heard a footstep enter the
narrow passage that divided the two rooms and approach the one which
she occupied. It was useless to extinguish her light. The newcomer had
already perceived her.
‘Halloa!’ he exclaimed, ‘and what pretty burglar have I here?’
She turned to confront him, and his tone changed to one of terror.
‘My God, _Nell_!’ he cried, ‘are you dead or living?’
She stood face to face with Jack Portland.