A MORNING CALL
The Dowager was being created for the day. Created seems the only term
applicable to the process, for Lily, Marchioness of Port Arthur, as
finished by her Maker and her maid, were two entirely distinct and
separate articles. Stimson alone was initiated in these mysteries. Even
Lady Isabelle had never been allowed to see her mother as she really
was, and no one exactly knew how she was put together, though several
tradesmen in Bond Street might have been able to make shrewd guesses at
her component parts.
The Dowager never appeared in public until lunch time. She had, she told
her friends, earned the right to this little luxury now that the
struggle of life was nearly over. Doubtless her Ladyship knew best what
she had done to deserve such an indulgence. But, be that as it may, her
daily retirement gave her a much coveted opportunity for attending to
matters in the private life of other people, and one of these affairs
claimed her attention after the Secretary's arrival at Roberts' Hall.
Stimson had finished her morning's budget; that is, she had retailed to
her Ladyship all those things about which the Dowager declared
pathetically she had not the slightest desire to know, but which, had
the maid omitted to mention them, would have cost her her place.
"And so, as I was saying, my Lady," Stimson concluded her recital, "Mr.
Stalbridge, the butler, he tells me as there was a strange lady come to
Coombe Farm yesterday, a foreigner like."
"I do not know, Stimson, why you worry me with these trivialities," said
the Dowager, "in which I can have no possible interest. You say she was
a foreigner?"
"Yes, my lady. A Spaniard, Mr. Stalbridge thought, and her name----"
"You needn't trouble me to tell me her name, Stimson."
"No, my Lady. I shouldn't presume, my Lady. But, of course, when I heard
as it was Madame Darcy, I couldn't help thinking----"
"I do not employ you to think, Stimson. I understand you to say that the
lady's name was Madame Darcy? Surely my daughter met a Madame Darcy the
other night, somewhere?"
"Yes, my Lady, at Mr. Stanley's dinner."
"It is quite immaterial to me where Lady Isabelle met this person. But,
as you say, it _was_ at Mr. Stanley's dinner. So I infer she must be a
friend of his."
"She's not staying at the Hall, my Lady."
"No," said the Marchioness. "I shouldn't have supposed she would stay at
the Hall. Stimson, you may get me my bonnet and a light shawl."
"But I thought your Ladyship said as how you was not well enough to go
out this morning."
"I said, Stimson, that you could get me my bonnet and a light shawl.
Perhaps a little air will do me good."
"If your Ladyship was thinking of taking a little stroll, it's very
pretty towards the Coombe Farm, not ten minutes' walk across the Park to
the left of the house."
"As you very well know, Stimson," her mistress remarked with asperity,
"I am too nearly tottering on the brink of the grave to venture out of
the garden. Perhaps there is a side-door by which I can leave the house
and be alone. I shouldn't have the strength to talk to anybody."
"No, your Ladyship. I'll show you the way, and if Mrs. Roberts should
send to inquire for your Ladyship's health----"
"Say I have been obliged to lie down by a headache, and shall not appear
till lunch."
"But if anyone saw your Ladyship----"
"In that case," snapped the Marchioness, "I should be obliged to dismiss
you as being untruthful."
In a good cause the Dowager was only too apt to overtax her strength,
and this was probably the reason why, half an hour later, she was
obliged to sink down on a wooden bench outside the door of Coombe Farm
and request the privilege of resting herself for a few minutes. The
farmer's wife, who, like most people of her class, took a vast interest
in the guests at the Hall, knew intuitively that she was a Marchioness,
and having ducked almost to the dust, rushed into the house to get her
Ladyship a glass of fresh milk and impart the astounding intelligence to
her lodger. A moment later Madame Darcy appeared upon the scene.
"I am going to take the liberty of introducing myself, as I have the
pleasure of knowing your daughter," she said.
Her Ladyship was affable in the extreme.
"This is, indeed, a pleasure, Madame Darcy," she murmured. "Dear
Isabelle was so impressed with you the other night that she has done
nothing but talk of you since; but, of course, I could not have supposed
my walk would have had such a charming termination. Is not your coming
into the country rather unexpected?"
"Yes," replied Madame Darcy. "It is what you in this country call a
whim, is it not? I am not yet quite sure of your language."
The Marchioness smiled indulgently.
"Yes," she said, "that's quite right. It is very clever of you."
"I do not like your London," pursued the stranger. "It suffocates me,
and I wish to run away into the country."
"And how did you know of this charming spot?" said her Ladyship, still
angling on general principles.
"Oh, I have heard it mentioned."
"By Mr. Stanley, perhaps?" suggested the Dowager. "You knew he was to be
here."
"Oh, yes," rejoined Madame Darcy, judging it better to be frank. "But I
came here to be quite alone. I need rest and quiet."
"I see," said the Marchioness, who was quite bewildered. "But you and
Mr. Stanley are very old friends, are you not?"
"Our fathers were. We have not met often recently."
"Yes, yes, of course," said the Marchioness. "Mr. Stanley told me. He's
such a nice young fellow. We often see him at our house. I take quite an
interest in him. And how pleasantly he is situated, too. Diplomacy is
such a delightful profession. But then"--and here she sighed
gently--"like other delightful things in this world it must require a
very long purse."
If Madame Darcy had had any knowledge of English manners and customs,
the Dowager's method of attack would have put her on her guard at once.
But being totally unversed in the ways of British matrimonial diplomacy,
she took the Marchioness' remarks to mean nothing more than an
expression of kindly interest in the young man's welfare, and did not
hesitate to inform her that the Secretary was amply able to afford any
position he chose to take.
"Oh, yes," said the Dowager. "His father's greatly interested in sugar,
I believe. Or is it salt? I am very ignorant about these matters. Which
do you grow in your country?"
Madame Darcy repressed a smile and informed her guest that Mr. Stanley's
father grew sugar, and was one of the most wealthy planters in that
section of the world.
"Well, I must be going now," said the Marchioness. "I have had such a
pleasant little chat, and I shall certainly ask Mrs. Roberts to call on
you."
"Oh, pray don't," returned Madame Darcy. "That is--excuse me, I did not
mean to be rude--but I have come down here for absolute rest, and do not
feel in the mood for any gaiety."
"I quite understand," said the Dowager, "and will respect your feelings.
Indeed, I will not mention having met you at all, and then no one need
be the wiser. No, thanks. I shall be quite able to go by myself. Perhaps
we may meet again in London. You must ask Mr. Stanley to bring you to
call on me. Such a nice young fellow! He ought to be married to keep him
out of mischief." And the Marchioness returned to her room to complete
her headache.
Scarcely fifteen minutes had elapsed since the Dowager's departure,
when, just by accident, Stanley strolled by, and lifting his eyes caught
sight of Madame Darcy's face at the cottage window.
"What!" he exclaimed. "You here!" and stood silent a moment as a wave of
feeling rushed over him, the first pleasure of seeing her sad sweet face
being swept away by consternation at the thought of how she had played
into her husband's hands by following him to this place.
She read what was in his mind, saying, with that charming accent which
appealed to him so strongly:
"You should not express your thoughts so clearly in your face. You are
thinking--but it is not of me--it is of yourself--in this part of the
world men think only of themselves--in my country they think of us." And
she gave a sigh.
"You are, what you English call 'put out' at my coming--you think it
will compromise you--strange country where the men consider that they
will be compromised. You do not think of me, not one little bit--eh? I
am right?"
"I'm afraid so," he said. "You see, nowadays, chivalry doesn't exist far
north or south of the equator."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I carry my own climate, my own atmosphere," she said.
The Secretary bowed.
"No? You are not convinced? I had thought better of you."
"You see," he said, feeling it wiser to be blunt, feeling that he must,
if possible, bring this wayward, entrancing, fantastic creature within
the limits of practical common sense. "You see, your precious husband
has been making trumped-up charges against me, on your account, which
are highly unpleasant."
"He is a beast!"
"Quite so, but as far as circumstantial evidence goes, he has some cause
on his side. Your arrival at my private apartments in London was most
unfortunate; but your following me here was simply the worst sort of
foolishness."
The Secretary was aggrieved and showed it; but the result of his plaint
was most unexpected.
His fair companion sprang to her feet and gave him a flashing glance,
that startled him out of the fancied security of his egotism.
"I come here to follow you! How dare you?"
"Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to be rude, really; but I
naturally inferred----"
"No!" she cried. "Why should I come for you?-- Bah! I come for _her_!"
"For whom?"
"For _her_," she cried, pointing towards the Hall.
"For her?" inquired Stanley, somewhat dazed by this unexpected change of
base. "But who is she?"
"I do not know. I do not care; but she writes to my husband--she makes
appointments with him."
"Oh, the nameless friend."
"Now you understand why I have come?"
"Yes, I see. Still I think it lays you open to misconstruction. You had
better return to London. I suppose you know you were followed to my
house?"
She snapped her fingers airily.
"I care just that for being followed. What of it?"
"My dear Inez, you forget that you're not in our native country. We
can't fight duels galore in this part of the world, and cut the throats
of inconvenient witnesses. People will talk; there are the newspapers;
and--the dowagers; and the nonconformist conscience to be considered.
You don't know what you are letting me--I mean yourself, in for."
"I tell you, I must confirm my suspicions. I must see your--what you
call it--your visitors' book--which they have in great houses-- I must
compare the handwriting of the guests with the handwriting of these
letters. When I have proved my case I will return to London--not one
moment before. You are my friend, you will help me."
"Of course I will help you; but I assure you there is no one in the
house who could be suspected for a moment."
"At least, you will help me to prove myself wrong?" and she shot at him
one of those unsettling glances.
"Of course--with all my heart--and then you'll go back to London and
take Mr. Sanks' advice, won't you?"
"You are very anxious to have me go," she said, piqued.
"No, no!" he assured her hastily. "Far from it; but can't you see--that
it is for your sake that I urge it. Supposing anyone saw us now; what
would they think, what could they think--an early morning rendezvous."
"They would say that you were making a report to me of your progress in
discovering the plot against the treaty between England and our
country."
He looked at her dumbfounded and said nothing. Indeed there was nothing
he could say without risking some imprudent disclosure.
"Ah," she cried, laughing merrily at his discomfiture. "You see, you
diplomats do not know everything. It is true I only write supervised
letters home, but that does not prevent my receiving letters from my
country first hand, and my father has written much about this treaty. It
seems they are going to try and bribe the Senators to defeat it, with
money raised here, and some cowardly scoundrel has been engaged as
go-between."
Stanley stood looking at her in horrified astonishment. Was it possible
that if she knew so much she did not know that she was condemning her
own husband? But her next words proved to him that such must be the
case.
"My father writes me," she continued, "that on proving the identity of
this go-between, the success or failure of the plot depends, and so far,
the government have been at a loss to identify him."
The Secretary, who held the key to the situation, could see excellent
reasons why the Executive had kept Senor De Costa in the dark; what
Madame was saying was evidently what everybody knew. Of the truth she
had not the remotest inkling.
"Well," she cried gaily, "why don't you speak?"
"I have nothing to say," he replied.
"Diplomatic to the end, I see," she retorted. "But you can't expect to
share my confidences unless you give me yours. Now tell me, have you
discovered any of the conspirators yet?"
"I can truthfully say," he replied, "that as far as I know, there is
nobody at Roberts' Hall connected with the conspiracy to which you
allude."
"So you've come down here at the busiest season of your year on
indefinite leave just to pay a country-house visit."
"How did you know that?" he asked.
"Randell," she replied.
"Good Heavens!" he cried, "you haven't been to my rooms again."
"Naturally not," she returned coldly. "Your servant brought a pair of
gloves to my hotel, which I left at your rooms."
The Secretary bit his lips and changed the conversation, and made a
mental note of the fact that if Randell was becoming talkative, he would
have to go.
"You asked me," he said, "if I had discovered one of the agents of this
mysterious treaty of which you seem to know so much. Perhaps you will
tell me if you have?"
"Yes," she said, smiling.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Ah!" she cried. "I thought I should break down your reserve."
"Well," he said sheepishly, "what have you to say?"
"Nothing," she replied. "I only exchange confidences for confidences.
Tell me whom you suspect, and I will tell you whom I know."
"What you ask is impossible," he replied, feeling that he could never
wound her by admitting his suspicions of her husband.
"So be it," she said gaily, giving him her hand, and added, "Come and
see me again when you can spare a little time from your detective work."
The Secretary saw she was laughing at him, and took his leave
discomfited. Madame Darcy watched him go, and sighed gently as she
turned to re-enter the house. She also had felt that she would not have
dared to wound him by mentioning her suspicions.