THE LOSS OF AN HEIRLOOM
THE poor Countess was now ill at ease; she reminded Adrienne of a mouse
under the fascination of the playful taps of a cat's paws.
Then Madame Bouverie proceeded to give her good news:
"A rich American, a client of my husband's, is anxious to give his
daughter, an only child, a little souvenir of his visit to Orleans.
He wants something antique, historic, with perhaps a little romance
attaching to it. He does not mind how much he gives, and we thought,
dear friend, of your great need, and cast our mind on your many
treasures. Suddenly I bethought myself of your beautiful watch set in
diamonds—the enamel one given to your family by Queen Marie Antoinette.
It is a rare chance; you will never have such another."
The Countess straightened herself in her chair:
"But, Madame," she said stiffly, "I told you that was an heirloom, not
to be taken out of the family. I have no desire, no power to sell that.
I told you so when you wished yourself to buy it from me."
"Oh, dear Madame, you have the power. Who can prevent you? Not your
stepson? To me he seems an amiable young man quite absorbed in his
farm, and indifferent to you and your Château. Well, well—I see my
husband coming up the drive, he will talk to you about it. It will
smooth out all your difficulties if you consent to part with it. Now,
Mademoiselle, shall we take a little walk together round the garden,
and leave these two to talk over business matters?"
Monsieur Bouverie had arrived. Adrienne was prepared to dislike him,
but as his dark, piercing eyes met hers, she felt a slight shiver down
her spine.
He reminded her of a snake's head lifted to strike. Though a smile
was upon his lips, unhidden under his very slight dark moustache, his
eyes seemed to hold both malice and power in them. He bowed as he was
introduced to her, but his eyes lingered—Adrienne felt he was asking
himself this question:
"Will this girl help me or hinder me?"
And she suddenly resolved there and then that, with all her might, she
would fight against him.
She felt herself drawn away by his wife. She had no trouble in talking
to her, for Madame Bouverie held the conversation in her own hands,
and Adrienne found herself listening, with an occasional assent or
exclamation.
"My poor husband! He is so devoted to your aunt's interests, and it is
so sad about her circumstances! No money to keep up the Château, and
the repairs and expenses of the property eating her out of house and
home! If it had not been for my husband, long, long ago the Château
would have been in the market to sell. He is so clever, so generous to
his clients, and he has such an affection for the family, that he would
sacrifice himself in their service.
"Do you know the young Count? So different to his father. Such a
silent, uncouth creature—so little to say! Of course, he likewise has
no money; he seems unable to relieve your aunt. She is such a dear,
helpless, irresponsible creature! She always has been. My husband puts
into her hand money that he has scraped together with the greatest
difficulty, rents from the tenants, sums by sales of timber and
pasture, and by his economy in every direction. It would last most
people quite a long time, but dear little Madame lets it flutter here,
there, and everywhere; she is always in debt, but nothing deters her
from buying. Has she shown you her wardrobe of Paris gowns? All too
grand for this poor village, but kept for her time in Orleans. And when
my husband comes next time, the money is all gone! And the poor lady
wringing her hands in despair!
"But we will not fill your young head with such dismal talk. I wonder
now if you could take me into the Château. I do so enjoy looking at the
pictures in the upper corridor."
Adrienne accordingly piloted her into the house. As she went upstairs,
she pointed out to Adrienne improvements that might be made.
"I should have a fountain and marble floor in the entrance hall, and
red felt carpet down this cold stone staircase. Ah well! Perhaps one
day this old Château will fall into the hands of those who can spend
upon it! It will be a happy thing for us when that occurs."
She was darting from side to side of the corridor by this time, looking
at the old cabinets, touching the velvet hanging to the windows, then
she paused beneath the portrait of a former Count de Beaudessert in
hunting dress with a falcon on his hand.
"Oh!" she said. "An artist who was staying here long ago told my
husband that this picture was worth a fortune. It is one of Van Dyck's.
Rather like the present Count, is it not?"
Adrienne glanced up at the handsome broad-shouldered man smiling down
upon them with lordly condescension.
"No, I don't think it is at all like Cousin Guy," she said. "He is
simpler, straighter, and not such a society man as this Count must have
been."
"Oh, you funny girl! I quite agree that the Count is not a society man.
Well, well, I must go! I am glad to have had a look at him again. I
dote upon good pictures; but then, though I do not paint myself, I am
an artist by nature."
As they were retracing their steps, they met the Countess coming
hastily out of her boudoir. She looked surprised at seeing them,
and Adrienne explained matters, but her aunt said nothing. She was
evidently uneasy and frightened.
Madame Bouverie occupied Adrienne's time and attention, till her
husband had finished his talk with Madame, and then they both took
their leave and rolled away in their car, Madame Bouverie with pleased
elation in her eyes. Adrienne guessed, without her aunt telling her,
that the valuable old watch had changed its owner. Of course she was
told all about it very soon, and the Countess cried like a child.
"It is no good, my chérie," she said, "what can I do? The bailiffs will
be in possession unless I pay some of my bills. This watch will bring
me a nice little sum. Two hundred and fifty pounds in English money is
not to be despised."
"Have you got the money?" Adrienne could not refrain from asking.
"Oh, no, no, but in a few days I shall receive it. My dear, I think
we could take the car to Orleans and do a little shopping. I want to
call at my flat, and you would like to see the old town, would you
not? We will give ourselves some pleasure. A little ready money is so
acceptable in these bad times."
"I wish you need not have parted with the watch," said Adrienne.
"Yes, I refused absolutely at first, but somehow Monsieur Bouverie
always persuades me against my will. When he is looking at me and
talking in his pleasant, smiling way, I feel absolutely in his power.
And he does reason things out so. And it is very true that Guy does
not care about these things, and as Monsieur Bouverie says—for whom
am I keeping them? When I die, they will be sold in a sale for mere
bagatelles!"
Adrienne was silent; she felt that things were going wrong, but that
she was unable to right them. And she had a longing desire that her
cousin might know about this latest exploit of Monsieur Bouverie's.
She was not surprised in a few days' time, when she came into her
aunt's room, to find her once more in tears.
"Oh, my dear, such a disappointment! Monsieur Bouverie has only sent me
a hundred francs for that watch!"
"What a villain he must be!" ejaculated Adrienne.
"No, no, he has explained it all. It appears that the big account for
repairing one of our small farms was overlooked. I certainly thought
I had paid it; but my memory is not good, and I forget so. And the
builder is pressing for the money, and Monsieur Bouverie has settled
it up, and this hundred francs is the balance left. Of course, he
congratulates me upon having this heavy bill settled, but I really had
forgotten its existence; and it seems that I have lost my watch, and
am no richer than I was. I fear our little visit to Orleans must be
given up, unless—well—I will speak to Guy about it. He dines here this
evening. Oh, what a miserable thing it is to be so poor!"
"Never mind Aunt Cecily. I am quite happy here. I don't want to go to
Orleans. I love the country at this time of year."
"But not if it rains, as it is doing now," said her aunt, looking out
at the rain which was driving against the windows; "it has kept us in
now three days, and prevented us from going to Madame Nicholas."
"We'll have a game of 'Colorado' together," said Adrienne cheerfully.
She was an adept at games from "Chess" to "Snap." She had even tried
to entice her aunt into the billiard-room, which was an unused, dreary
apartment, but this the Countess had firmly declined to enter. She did
not mind an occasional game of any sort, but "Bridge" was her hobby,
and she could not very often get the requisite number for it.
Adrienne's sunny temper and habitual cheerfulness was having a good
effect upon her; she was altering her sedentary life, and was really
taking an interest in the garden. Adrienne was making many improvements
to the flower part of it, digging and weeding and planting; and the
Countess looked on at first with some amusement, and then with dawning
interest.
The days did not seem so long now with this bright young niece, and it
was only after a visit from the notary, that she was plunged into tears
and depression.
Upon this particular evening they had a very bright dinner table.
Adrienne began telling her aunt about her Uncle Tom's aversions to wet
days, and the guiles and wiles with which she beset him to keep him
happy. Guy was reminiscent too, and his experiences in an old Indian
bungalow during the monsoon made Adrienne very merry.
When they adjourned to the salon they gathered round the wood fire, and
then the Countess said to her stepson:
"I want Adrienne to see Orleans; she would like to see it too. Only for
a few days; don't you think it could be managed? We ought to let her
see something of our country. Of course it is a question of expense—but
it would not cost much for a short time."
"I think we can manage it," said Guy, smiling across at Adrienne.
The girl's cheeks flushed.
"Oh, no," she cried, "I am content with this, Aunt Cecily. I will not
put you to any extra expense. It would make me miserable."
"Not at all," said Guy cheerfully; "your aunt has plenty of ready money
at present. It is a good opportunity."
The Countess looked at him with startled eyes:
"What do you mean?" she said falteringly. "You are quite mistaken."
"What?" he said, and his voice was a little stern. "Did you give away
our watch, ma mère? I can hardly believe that much."
The Countess's hands trembled. She fidgeted with her watch-chain, then
looked across at Adrienne reproachfully.
Adrienne spoke at once:
"I have never told him, Aunt Cecily. Believe me, I have not. I think he
must be a wizard."
"It is a pity, ma mère, you do not take me a little more into your
confidence, for I could assuredly prevent a good deal of robbery going
on. Now will you kindly tell me how much you received for that, one of
our most precious heirlooms?"
The Countess's ready tears rose to her eyes.
"Tell him all, Adrienne. I cannot. I am always in the position of a
convicted naughty child."
So Adrienne, with her frank, sweet eyes fixed on Guy's imperturbable
face, gave a short account of the shabby transaction.
And when she had finished, the Countess sobbed out:
"A hundred francs, only a hundred francs!" Guy produced a notebook and
pencil from his pocket in a business-like manner.
"Have you the receipt from this builder which Monsieur Bouverie has
paid?" he asked the Countess.
She shook her head.
"He keeps the bills; he does all my accounts, Guy: I have told you so,
again and again."
"Do you know if it is La Firmant Farm which he mentioned?"
"Yes."
Guy dotted it down and replaced his notebook in his pocket.
Then he gave a little smile.
"I walked into Bouverie's study to-day. It opens into their salon, as
you know. He kept me waiting, and I just happened to glance up at the
sun shining in there, and it caught the diamonds. The watch has already
been hung up above the fireplace in a place of honour. I can fancy what
a pleasure it is to Madame Bouverie."
"But," cried the Countess, "it was an American who bought it. Don't
tell me that Madame Bouverie is keeping it for herself?"
"She has got it for a hundred francs," said Guy gravely; "I do not
think, ma mère, that it is good to give away our heirlooms in such a
manner."
"What abominable thieves!" cried Adrienne. "Oh, Cousin Guy, I hope you
are going to get it back."
He shook his head.
"I never interfere with your aunt's proceedings. If I did, it would
only return again to the Bouveries later on."
There was a dead silence.
The poor Countess was white with horror and agitation.
"To think that he should have dared to deceive me so! And she, she
has robbed me! I could bear anything rather than this! Don't look at
me like that, Guy! I didn't want to part with it, but you will never
understand how hard pressed I am."
"I think I could, if you were to tell me," suggested Guy quietly.
But the Countess began to sob bitterly, and Adrienne knew that nothing
would induce her to be perfectly frank with her stepson.
At last she was so overcome with anger and misery that she said she
would retire to bed.
Adrienne accompanied her, and when she had helped her with her toilette
and seen her comfortably in bed, she went back to the salon for a book
which she had left there. To her surprise she found Guy still sitting
by the fire, apparently lost in thought. He looked up when she came in,
then got up from his chair.
"Well, I must be going. Your pauvre tante," he said with a tender note
in his tone. "She is her own worst enemy, did she but know it."
"Oh," said Adrienne passionately, "we must do something, Cousin Guy.
You seem half asleep, quite indifferent to the frauds of this wicked
little man. I'd like to tell you something, but I have promised not.
Aunt Cecily must be freed somehow from his clutches."
"I again repeat that you can tell me little that I do not know. I
suppose you are alluding to the mortgage he holds of this place, and of
his resolve to foreclose as soon as possible."
"You know, then? How did you discover it? You are quite wonderful."
Guy very slowly and deliberately drew out a pocketbook from his coat
pocket.
"Here," he said, "are about twenty pages of his frauds, as you call
them. I have them all verified. I have spared no trouble or time in the
doing of it. The watch is the last item."
"But oh, if you know, can't you relieve Aunt Cecily's mind? Is there no
way of paying up the mortgage?"
"Your aunt is what we may term difficile. Were I to pay off the
mortgage to-day, and settle all her debts, she'd have a glorious time
of contracting new ones, and of borrowing on the security of the
Château afresh to-morrow. I honestly think that no one in this wide
world could keep her out of debt. She's made that way. She can't help
it."
"It seems awful to me. Her brothers would be horrified. Poor Aunt
Cecily. I do feel so sorry for her. Are you going to let the Château
slip away from her?"
"Ah! That requires consideration. Sometimes I think it would be best,
for she would then settle down in her town flat and have no notary
plaguing her life out."
"But that would be allowing the wicked to prosper on stolen gains!"
said Adrienne passionately. "And if you won't stop him, I will. I feel
inclined to go off to his house at once, and confront Madame Bouverie.
She said in my presence that the watch was for an American. I suppose
that that bill for the farm had been already paid?"
Guy turned over the pages.
"At all events he had the money to settle it, as long ago as last
November. I have the date and the amount."
"But you mean to bring him to account, surely?"
"Yes, sooner or later I think I shall."
Then he smiled at her.
"Justice is always slow," he said; "don't be impatient. I have learnt
that to make haste means mistakes, and mistakes spell failure."
Then Adrienne smiled up at him. Relief and a sense of confidence in him
crept into her heart.
"Good night," she said; "now I shan't have a flutter of despondency or
fear for Aunt Cecily's future."
She left the room, and slept peacefully that night.
Her aunt was also sleeping from sheer exhaustion.
Guy was the only one who till the small hours of the night was pacing
his room in the farm.
But strangely enough his thoughts were not centred upon his stepmother
nor upon her business affairs, but wholly and entirely upon Adrienne.