THE MARRIAGE REGISTER
On the morning which succeeded Stanley's midnight vigil, the Reverend
Reginald Lambert was early at the little chapel, which was his great
pride in life. The good old gentleman was never so happy as when he
could induce any of the visitors at the Hall to give him an hour of
their time to listen to his dissertations on the ecclesiastical history
of the building; to examine its fragments of "dog-tooth," and discuss
the meaning of that one "foliated capital," in a structure otherwise
severely Saxon. He was even writing a little book on all these things; a
volume which he fondly hoped might some day be given to the world. This
morning, however, he must have been engaged on some work of special
interest, in which he was so absorbed that time flew by unnoticed till
his task was finished. He was just preparing to return to his rectory,
when he received an unexpected visit from a lady, who requested
permission to examine the marriage register.
The lady was a stranger to him, and was evidently of foreign extraction.
She asked to see an old volume of the records, and took the occasion,
when his back was turned, to hastily glance at the last matrimonial
entry, for the marriage register lay open on the table, comparing the
same with a line of handwriting which she had with her, and evincing
surprise as well as satisfaction at the knowledge she derived therefrom.
A moment later, when the old man returned, she was, to all appearances,
absorbed in the contemplation of an extremely repellent gargoyle.
The entry she desired was not to be found, was probably in some
neighbouring parish, she suggested--a fact which the narrator thinks
unlikely. She nevertheless passed a profitable hour, allowing the good
parson to show her every nook and corner of his precious possession, and
displaying an intelligent interest, which was as rare as it was
gratifying.
But the morning had not yet revealed all its treasures to Mr. Lambert.
Scarcely had the strange lady's footsteps died away, when another
visitor, a new arrival at the Hall, put in an appearance; and avowed
himself such an ardent enthusiast in all matters ancient and
ecclesiastical, and, moreover, substantiated his pretensions to such a
degree, that the old parson declared afterwards he had never had such a
morning of perfect enjoyment in his life. Kent-Lauriston, for it was
none other, exerted himself to interest his _cicerone_, and succeeded
admirably. He possessed that rare gift of developing any topic that
might be suggested by the person to whom he was talking, of making it
his own, and at the same time causing his companion to believe that he
was contributing, in no small part, to the brilliancy of the
conversation. So, more than an hour slipped by, and Kent-Lauriston found
ample opportunity to consult the marriage register unobserved, and to be
much surprised at what he saw there--moreover he learned many things
besides the subject of Norman decoration and Saxon construction--among
the more important of which was the visit of the foreign lady, who
wanted to look up old volumes of the records.
"I have the honour to be invited to dine at the Hall this evening," said
Mr. Lambert, in parting with Kent-Lauriston. "I shall look forward to
the pleasure of continuing our conversation."
His visitor bowed, and left him.
It cannot be said of most of the members of the house party that they
passed the morning as usefully or happily as Kent-Lauriston. In the
Secretary's mind the problem was uppermost, of how to be alone from
breakfast to lunch. He was aided in the accomplishment of his intent by
the connivance of the three ladies whom he was most anxious to avoid.
The Dowager sent him a little note saying that she always spent the
morning in her room, and that her dear Isabelle would be quite free in
consequence. The "dear Isabelle" informed Stanley publicly, that she
should spend the morning in the library, and intimated privately, that
it would be well if he was supposedly with her, and in reality any where
else; while Miss Fitzgerald remarked, that she intended spending the
morning in the park, as she wished to be alone. As a result of these
obvious suggestions, the Secretary followed Lady Isabella into the
library, in full sight of the party at large, and crossing the room,
stepped out of one of the long, low windows on to the lawn, and by means
of a side staircase quietly gained his own apartment, where he spent the
morning in reading and meditation. His reading was confined to a
comprehensive volume on "Locks, Ancient and Modern," by Price, received
that morning from John. His meditations, on the other hand, were on an
entirely different subject.
The events of the night before, aided by Kent-Lauriston's suggestive
comments, had brought him face to face with a question to which he had
hitherto avoided giving an answer. _Was Miss Fitzgerald a party to the
conspiracy to defeat the treaty?_ He put it to himself in so many words.
Repugnant as was the task, the Secretary felt that he must, in the
interests of his country, put sentiment aside and face the facts.
It was not to be supposed because he had made the mistake of taking pity
for love, in the case of the lady, that he was any the less indifferent
to her fate. He still considered himself bound to her, should she ask
the redemption of his promise; he had championed her purity and
innocence in the face of all opposition; and it was inexpressibly
shocking to him to find himself forced to consider even the possibility
of her being connected with such a nefarious transaction.
Yet he felt it only just to face the evidence against her, and seek to
the best of his ability to rebut it.
What reasons were there for supposing her to be connected with the plot
to defeat the treaty? He placed them in order of their occurrence.
1. He had seen her driving with Mr. Riddle on the day after his dinner.
2. She had denied her acquaintance with Darcy, in his presence, to that
gentleman's wife, though she had since been proven to be very intimate
with him.
3. She had proposed a game of cards, and suggested Stanley's using an
old letter to score on, which proposal and suggestion had led to the
restoration of the secret instructions to Mr. Riddle.
4. Kent-Lauriston said she had asked Kingsland to take the chests
containing the money to London.
5. She had been in the hall late the night before, assisting Darcy to
break open the door.
This was all the evidence against her. Did it prove that she was a
partner to the plot?
No, he told himself. It did not.
Did it prove that she was a dupe of these men? An innocent instrument in
the furtherance of their vile conspiracy?
He was forced to admit the possibility of this, though he told himself
he knew her too well to believe for an instant that she had any
knowledge of the plot itself, or the desperate game her friends were
playing. It now became his duty to save the Irish girl from the
consequences of her own folly; to open her eyes to the true character of
her friends. He could only do this by proving their complicity. The
destruction of the plot, and her salvation alike, hung on the recovery
of that lost letter, for in the light of the events of the past night,
it seemed fair to assume that this paper had an important bearing on the
conspiracy, and was necessary to its success.
The money had been sent, the time was short, but Darcy still remained.
Why did he do so, unless it was to attempt a recovery of the document?
It must, then, be of vital importance.
Having arrived at these conclusions, Stanley found himself committed to
one of two courses of action: either to play the spy on the movements of
his friends, or to effect the opening of the door with the silver nails.
The first was repugnant to his spirit as a gentleman, and he instantly
chose the second, believing that within the portal lay the only real
clue he had so far obtained. This plan also had the added recommendation
of placing in his hand evidence which would not involve the introduction
of Miss Fitzgerald's name in the matter.
Having thus mapped out his course of action, and finding there was still
an hour before lunch, he descended to the lawn, and made a preliminary
inspection of the exterior walls of the old manor house. It might be
possible to enter in some other way than by the oaken door which
remained so obstinately closed. The building was of stone, and two
stories in height, though most irregular in form, having been added to
and altered during succeeding generations, as suited the taste of the
owner of the period. The north-east end, however, instead of having a
corner, was slightly rounded, and above the level of the roof assumed
the shape of a circular tower, rising some forty feet higher than the
rest of the structure, and surmounted by crumbling battlements. Even an
inexperienced eye might detect that the door with the silver nails gave
entrance to this tower, which Stanley was sure did not assume, in the
lower storey at least, a space commensurate with its diameter above.
Probably the door communicated with a narrow winding stair for the
first, and perhaps the second, floors, the real space of the structure
being contained in the portion which arose detached. This conjecture
could easily be verified by measuring. At the first convenient
opportunity he determined to make these preliminary investigations. It
was said that the tower possessed no windows, and certainly this was the
case, unless they gave on the leads; for, from the ground, it presented
everywhere a blank wall of solid masonry, to which here and there
strands of ivy clung.
"But they must have got their light from somewhere," he said to himself.
"Perhaps from the roof, in which case there is probably some antique
form of scuttle by which entrance could be had. If one could only get up
there to see--but it's not a likely place for climbing. There should be
the remains of an old flag-staff or cresset, or something of that
nature----" and he walked slowly backwards across the lawn, hoping to
reduce the visual angle sufficiently to see any slight projection above
the battlements, but in vain; and he was about to abandon his backward
course and return to the house, when a soft voice murmured at his
elbow:--
"Star-gazing by daylight?" and he turned, to find himself close beside
Madame Darcy.
"Oh, good-morning," he said, lifting his hat. "I beg your pardon, but I
was trying to discover the remains of some superstructure on those
battlements."
"Why not go up and see?"
"That is what many people have wished to do for the last two hundred
years, but the only door of entrance is shut, and no man knows the
secret of the lock."
"And do you mean to discover it?"
"I'm afraid it would only be a waste of time, for probably the whole
thing is so disgustingly simple that everyone has overlooked it.
However, the present, as represented by you, is infinitely more
interesting; let the old tower guard the secret it has kept so long; who
wants to know it?"
"My husband!" she replied.
"Quite so," said the Secretary. "And that reminds me, I hope you reached
home quite safely last night, and have felt no ill effects from it."
"None in body," she returned sadly, "but, of course, what I saw could
not but add to my distress of mind. Tell me what happened after I left."
"Nothing particular," said Stanley. "We all kept our tempers and were
very polite."
"Then there was no disturbance?"
"None whatever; the Colonel was quite amenable to reason and went away
quietly."
"But Mr. Kent-Lauriston?"
"Oh, he's too much a man of the world not to know when to hold his
tongue."
"You will not tell your hostess? Promise me that. Badly as he has
treated me, I am still his wife, and his honour is yet mine."
"I will keep your secret. If he is discovered in the house, someone else
must do it."
"Oh, you're indeed my friend!" she cried impulsively. "I can never
forget your goodness to me. There are, I'm sure, few men like you in the
world."
The Secretary flushed under her praise, and disclaiming any inherent
superiority to the other members of his race, hastened to change the
subject by saying:--
"Tell me, are you succeeding any better with your proofs against your
husband on another charge?"
"I've made a discovery this morning which has greatly disturbed me. I do
not know how to act."
"What have you found?"
"I've compared the handwriting of the letters I hold, with the
handwriting of the most recent entry in the marriage register of this
church."
"Good Heavens! It surely can't tally----!"
"It does, and with the name of the bride."
The Secretary was simply staggered,--Lady Isabelle--it was impossible on
the face of it.
"You're mistaken," he said coldly. "Such charges against the lady to
whom you refer are impossible."
"You know of this marriage then?"
"Yes--I'm even popularly supposed to be engaged to the bride!"
"But you are not--tell me you are not."
"Of course I'm not--I've never had the slightest interest in her, except
as a friend."
"You relieve me immensely. To lay such charges at the door of one you
loved--to break your heart-- I could not have done it."
"You could not do it in any event--to a woman of her nature such things
would be impossible. I assure you, it is some grievous mistake."
She shook her head.
"Why should my husband be a witness to this secret marriage?"
"Was he----?"
"Sh!" she said, "he is coming," and disappeared so silently into the
bushes that she seemed to fade away from his sight. A moment later, the
dry leaves crackled under a man's foot, and Colonel Darcy stood before
him.
"We have not had our little meeting yet, Mr. Stanley," he said
abruptly.
"When do you leave this vicinity, Colonel Darcy?" asked the Secretary,
ignoring the other's remark.
"When you do. Till then I remain here to guard my honour."
"You surely are not trying to live up to that absurd fable!"
"Why not, when my wife has this moment left you?"
"You have sharp eyes, Colonel," replied the Secretary, turning on his
heel, and walking towards the house.
"I need to have, Mr. Stanley," remarked the other, as he watched him go.
* * * * *
"Kent-Lauriston," said the Secretary, when they were alone after lunch,
"affairs have taken a startling turn since I last saw you."
"I think so myself."
"Have you been making discoveries?"
"I don't know that they can be dignified by that name; but tell me of
yours."
"Madame Darcy assures me that the letters which she holds, and on which
she bases her case against her husband, are in the same handwriting as
the name of Lady Isabelle, in the parish register."
"Lady Isabelle!"
"Yes. It's absurd, isn't it?"
"Perfectly so--you may take my word for it. But do you assure me that
she said 'Lady Isabelle'?"
"We mentioned no names, of course. She said that the bride's signature
corresponded--it's the same thing."
"Ah, I see. I think you've made a little mistake about this affair, my
boy. I've seen the register myself."
"Good Heavens! You don't mean--you can't----!" exclaimed Stanley, a
sickening suspicion dominating his mind.
"I mean," replied Kent-Lauriston, "that the maiden name of the bride, as
written there, is not Isabelle McLane, but Isabelle Fitzgerald."