Anne reached home again in time to preside over preparations for dinner.
Manston came in half-an-hour later. The lamp was lighted, the shutters
were closed, and they sat down together. He was pale and worn--almost
haggard.
The meal passed off in almost unbroken silence. When preoccupation
withstands the influence of a social meal with one pleasant companion,
the mental scene must be surpassingly vivid. Just as she was rising a
tap came to the door.
Before a maid could attend to the knock, Manston crossed the room and
answered it himself. The visitor was Miss Aldclyffe.
Manston instantly came back and spoke to Anne in an undertone. ‘I should
be glad if you could retire to your room for a short time.’
‘It is a dry, starlight evening,’ she replied. ‘I will go for a
little walk if your object is merely a private conversation with Miss
Aldclyffe.’
‘Very well, do; there’s no accounting for tastes,’ he said. A few
commonplaces then passed between her and Miss Aldclyffe, and Anne went
upstairs to bonnet and cloak herself. She came down, opened the front
door, and went out.
She looked around to realize the night. It was dark, mournful, and
quiet. Then she stood still. From the moment that Manston had requested
her absence, a strong and burning desire had prevailed in her to know
the subject of Miss Aldclyffe’s conversation with him. Simple curiosity
was not entirely what inspired her. Her suspicions had been thoroughly
aroused by the discovery of the morning. A conviction that her future
depended on her power to combat a man who, in desperate circumstances,
would be far from a friend to her, prompted a strategic movement to
acquire the important secret that was in handling now. The woman thought
and thought, and regarded the dull dark trees, anxiously debating how
the thing could be done.
Stealthily re-opening the front door she entered the hall, and advancing
and pausing alternately, came close to the door of the room in which
Miss Aldclyffe and Manston conversed. Nothing could be heard through the
keyhole or panels. At a great risk she softly turned the knob and
opened the door to a width of about half-an-inch, performing the act so
delicately that three minutes, at least, were occupied in completing it.
At that instant Miss Aldclyffe said--
‘There’s a draught somewhere. The door is ajar, I think.’
Anne glided back under the staircase. Manston came forward and closed
the door. This chance was now cut off, and she considered again. The
parlour, or sitting-room, in which the conference took place, had the
window-shutters fixed on the outside of the window, as is usual in the
back portions of old country-houses. The shutters were hinged one
on each side of the opening, and met in the middle, where they were
fastened by a bolt passing continuously through them and the wood
mullion within, the bolt being secured on the inside by a pin, which was
seldom inserted till Manston and herself were about to retire for the
night; sometimes not at all.
If she returned to the door of the room she might be discovered at any
moment, but could she listen at the window, which overlooked a part
of the garden never visited after nightfall, she would be safe from
disturbance. The idea was worth a trial.
She glided round to the window, took the head of the bolt between her
finger and thumb, and softly screwed it round until it was entirely
withdrawn from its position. The shutters remained as before, whilst,
where the bolt had come out, was now a shining hole three-quarters of
an inch in diameter, through which one might see into the middle of the
room. She applied her eye to the orifice.
Miss Aldclyffe and Manston were both standing; Manston with his back to
the window, his companion facing it. The lady’s demeanour was severe,
condemnatory, and haughty. No more was to be seen; Anne then turned
sideways, leant with her shoulder against the shutters and placed her
ear upon the hole.
‘You know where,’ said Miss Aldclyffe. ‘And how could you, a man, act a
double deceit like this?’
‘Men do strange things sometimes.’
‘What was your reason--come?’
‘A mere whim.’
‘I might even believe that, if the woman were handsomer than Cytherea,
or if you had been married some time to Cytherea and had grown tired of
her.’
‘And can’t you believe it, too, under these conditions; that I married
Cytherea, gave her up because I heard that my wife was alive, found that
my wife would not come to live with me, and then, not to let any woman
I love so well as Cytherea run any risk of being displaced and ruined in
reputation, should my wife ever think fit to return, induced this woman
to come to me, as being better than no companion at all?’
‘I cannot believe it. Your love for Cytherea was not of such a kind
as that excuse would imply. It was Cytherea or nobody with you. As an
object of passion, you did not desire the company of this Anne Seaway
at all, and certainly not so much as to madly risk your reputation
by bringing her here in the way you have done. I am sure you didn’t,
AEneas.’
‘So am I,’ he said bluntly.
Miss Aldclyffe uttered an exclamation of astonishment; the confession
was like a blow in its suddenness. She began to reproach him bitterly,
and with tears.
‘How could you overthrow my plans, disgrace the only girl I ever had any
respect for, by such inexplicable doings!... That woman must leave this
place--the country perhaps. Heavens! the truth will leak out in a day or
two!’
‘She must do no such thing, and the truth must be stifled
somehow--nobody knows how. If I stay here, or on any spot of the
civilized globe, as AEneas Manston, this woman must live with me as my
wife, or I am damned past redemption!’
‘I will not countenance your keeping her, whatever your motive may be.’
‘You must do something,’ he murmured. ‘You must. Yes, you must.’
‘I never will,’ she said. ‘It is a criminal act.’
He looked at her earnestly. ‘Will you not support me through this
deception if my very life depends upon it? Will you not?’
‘Nonsense! Life! It will be a scandal to you, but she must leave this
place. It will out sooner or later, and the exposure had better come
now.’
Manston repeated gloomily the same words. ‘My life depends upon your
supporting me--my very life.’
He then came close to her, and spoke into her ear. Whilst he spoke he
held her head to his mouth with both his hands. Strange expressions came
over her face; the workings of her mouth were painful to observe. Still
he held her and whispered on.
The only words that could be caught by Anne Seaway, confused as her
hearing frequently was by the moan of the wind and the waterfall in
her outer ear, were these of Miss Aldclyffe, in tones which absolutely
quivered: ‘They have no money. What can they prove?’
The listener tasked herself to the utmost to catch his answer, but it
was in vain. Of the remainder of the colloquy one fact alone was plain
to Anne, and that only inductively--that Miss Aldclyffe, from what he
had revealed to her, was going to scheme body and soul on Manston’s
behalf.
Miss Aldclyffe seemed now to have no further reason for remaining,
yet she lingered awhile as if loth to leave him. When, finally, the
crestfallen and agitated lady made preparations for departure, Anne
quickly inserted the bolt, ran round to the entrance archway, and down
the steps into the park. Here she stood close to the trunk of a huge
lime-tree, which absorbed her dark outline into its own.
In a few minutes she saw Manston, with Miss Aldclyffe leaning on his
arm, cross the glade before her and proceed in the direction of the
house. She watched them ascend the rise and advance, as two black spots,
towards the mansion. The appearance of an oblong space of light in the
dark mass of walls denoted that the door was opened. Miss Aldclyffe’s
outline became visible upon it; the door shut her in, and all was
darkness again. The form of Manston returning alone arose from the
gloom, and passed by Anne in her hiding-place.
Waiting outside a quarter of an hour longer, that no suspicion of any
kind might be excited, Anne returned to the old manor-house.