TWO QUESTIONS
Kent-Lauriston fully realised that the strong hold which he possessed
over the Secretary rested, more than anything else, on the fact that his
opinions were entirely reliable; and it was most important that
Stanley's confidence in his friend's _dicta_ should remain unimpaired,
if that friend hoped to be able to guide him. Therefore, much as the
Englishman would have liked to voice his suspicions for the Secretary's
benefit, he determined to keep silence till he had full verification of
his conjectures, and for this purpose he sought out Madame Darcy.
He found her at home, and she welcomed him courteously.
"Will you think me very presuming," he said, "to have called on you in
the interests of a mutual friend of ours, Mr. Stanley?"
"Any friend of Mr. Stanley's can claim and receive friendship of me,"
she replied, a beautiful light coming over her expressive face, "for he
has done me kindnesses that I can never forget or repay."
"It is in virtue of that, that I've ventured to intrude myself upon you
this afternoon. You have, like myself, a great interest in his welfare,
I'm sure, and I am come to make common cause with you for his good."
"You could have come to no one more willing--but will you do me the
honour to accept a seat in the garden, where we can chat more at
leisure."
"I shall be charmed," he said, and she led the way to a rustic bench,
under the spreading branches of a gnarled, old apple-tree.
"Our friend makes no secrets of his own affairs from me, you must
understand," Kent-Lauriston began, after assuring himself that they were
alone, "and I imagine, from what he's said, that he's given you some
inkling of his heart troubles."
"Yes," she said, "he hinted to me in London that he had some affair
under consideration; but I do not think he felt deeply--as he should
have felt. I trust it's not turned out seriously."
"Not as yet, I'm glad to say--but he's in some danger; and, believe me,
you could not be doing him a greater service, than in helping to ward
off this peril, which would be the ruin of his life."
"Indeed, yes,--but what means have I?"
"I believe you have it in your power to prove that the woman who has
bewitched him, is unworthy of his love. Let him realise this and he is
saved."
"But, surely, you're not alluding to the lady who formed our topic of
conversation this morning?"
"I fear I am."
"But Mr. Stanley assured me that she was nothing to him."
"You were talking at cross purposes, and unintentionally deceiving each
other."
"How so?"
"Why, there are two versions of the story of that marriage. The version
Mr. Stanley had been told runs to this effect:--that Lieutenant
Kingsland married Lady Isabelle McLane."
"But the register----"
"Says she didn't. I know, I've seen it; but our young friend has not, or
had not when he last saw you."
"Then he thought I was referring to Lady Isabelle?"
"Exactly. No names were mentioned, he told me."
"True--but this is most unfortunate! Do you see my position?"
"Believe me, I'm fully informed on the matter, so that I'll not put you
to the pain of relating it."
She bowed her silent thanks, and then continued:--
"The fact of this lady's marriage ties my hands. Deeply as she has
wronged me, have I any right to ruin her husband's life by her exposure?
If she has reformed----"
"My dear Madame Darcy, pray disabuse your mind of two misconceptions:
the lady in question, Miss Fitzgerald, has not reformed, and I doubt if
the marriage is legal. There's some trick about it."
"What you've told me leaves me free to act where my own honour is
concerned; but I naturally feel a delicacy about interfering in Mr.
Stanley's private affairs."
"Believe me, I fully appreciate your hesitation; but that there may be
no misunderstanding between us regarding this important matter, let me
tell you something of my friend's present position. I ask you to accept
my word for it, that he's not as yet bound himself to Miss Fitzgerald;
but his high sense of honour may lead him to do so, if he knows nothing
definite against her."
"I see, and you want me to show him these letters?" and she took a
little packet from her bosom.
"No, I wouldn't subject you to such a trying ordeal. I ask you to let me
show the letters to him. Remember that you've told him that you have
them."
"Yes," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "I think you're right. You
assure me that he does not love her, and that there's positive danger
that he may marry her from a sense of duty."
"I assure you that such is the case."
"Then take them," she said, giving him the letters; "but promise me that
no one besides yourselves shall see them, and that they shall be safely
returned to me by to-morrow."
"I promise," he replied, "and take my assurance that in doing this
you've more than repaid him for any services he may have done you."
"You cannot persuade me to believe that; but I'm thankful to help where
I'm able, though it be only a little, and I am even more thankful that
he has such a strong champion in you."
Kent-Lauriston took her extended hand.
"Thank you," he said heartily. "Stanley's a good fellow; too good and
too unsophisticated for the people he's thrown with, and I'm going to
save him from himself if I can, both now and in the future."
She looked up at him with a wistful light in her eyes, saying:
"Perhaps you'll be wishing to save him from me--who've already one
husband too many."
"I don't know," replied Kent-Lauriston, with an English bluntness, of
which he was not often culpable.
She laughed merrily, answering:
"I hope you'll do so, if ever I give you cause."
"Madame," he returned, "what can I do? You've disarmed me, even before
the first skirmish."
* * * * *
The feelings of Stanley on looking at the marriage register were
difficult to describe. In the first shock of the discovery his brain
whirled. The mystery had become a maze, and he felt the imperative need
of a solution of the subject to steady his mind. Accordingly, he had
that evening a fixed purpose in view, which dominated all matters of the
moment; and though at dinner he talked about something, he knew not
what, during the greater part of the meal his eyes and thoughts were
almost continually on the amiable blundering, little old pastor, whom he
had marked out as his prey. When the ladies left the table, and the men
adjourned to the smoking-room, he never lost sight of him; but the
dominie, as if warned by some instinct, contrived to slip out of the
Secretary's grasp, to elude him in corners, and, smiling, vanquish him
in every attempt at an interview. At last, however, the opportunity
came--a move was made to the drawing-room. In a fatal moment, the parson
lingered for one last whiff of his half-smoked and regretfully
relinquished cigar, and the Secretary saw, with a sigh of relief, the
last coat-tail vanish through the door, which he softly closed.
The click of the latch brought the Reverend Reginald back to the present
with an uncomfortable start.
"Oh," he cried, tumbling out of his chair, "I didn't see the others had
got away so quickly. Very kind of you to wait for me, I'm sure--very--we
must lose no time in joining the ladies, must we, eh?"
"Only a little, a very little time, Mr. Lambert," replied the Secretary,
leaning squarely against the closed door, which formed the sole exit
from the room. "Just long enough to ask you one question."
"Really, I'm sure," said the little man, becoming flustered. "Another
time perhaps-- I should have the greatest pleasure----"
"You have, I know, performed the marriage ceremony in the last few
days," began Stanley calmly.
"To be sure--yes, certainly--but this--permit me to suggest, is hardly
the place to discuss my parochial duties."
"Of course anyone married from this house would have to be married by
you."
"I'm in charge of this living, Mr. Stanley, there is no one else."
"I know that, and also that your nearest colleague--excuse me if I use a
professional term--is some distance off."
"Fifteen miles. And now that I've answered all of your questions, let us
waste no more time before joining the ladies."
"Excuse me, Mr. Lambert, but I've not as yet asked you a question. I've
made a number of statements, and you've furnished me with a good deal of
gratuitous information, for which I'm deeply obliged. We now come to the
pith of the whole matter, which is simply this. Did you, or did you not,
marry Lady Isabelle McLane to Lieutenant Kingsland?"
"What! The lady to whom you're engaged?"
"Could I be engaged to a married woman, Mr. Lambert?"
"My dear sir, you may take my word for it, I did not. I shouldn't think
of such a thing. Let me assure you on the honour of my sacred office,
that Lady Isabelle is not, and cannot be married to Lieutenant
Kingsland."
"Ah, then Kingsland _is_ married."
The parson caught his breath in his relief at the escape from the
dreaded question, which he had supposed was inevitable. He had been too
confidential.
"I did not say so, sir," he replied with dignity.
"Quite true, Mr. Lambert, you did not say so," persisted his tormentor,
opening the door, "and so I suppose you'd prefer not to have me ask if
you married Miss Fitzgerald to Lieutenant Kingsland?"
"I would certainly prefer not to answer that question, and now I must
really go upstairs;" and without waiting for further parley, the little
man scuttled out of the room.
Stanley was preparing to follow him at his leisure, when the door
opened, and Kent-Lauriston entered.
"Kent-Lauriston!" he exclaimed. "You're the very man I want! I must
speak with you!"
"I know it," replied his friend, "but not before I've had my smoke."
"But this matter admits of no delay."
"Oh yes, it does. That's one of the fallacies of modern civilisation.
Every important question _admits_ of delay, and most matters are all the
better for it."
"But I've seen the register!"
"Of course you have, but you haven't seen a deduction that is as plain
as the nose on your face, or you wouldn't now be trying to ruin my
digestion. I'll meet you here at ten o'clock this evening and then, and
not an instant sooner, will I discuss your private affairs."
"You English are so irritatingly slow!"
"My dear fellow, we've made our history--you're making yours. You can't
afford to miss a few days; we can easily spare a few centuries. Now be a
good boy, and leave me to peace and tobacco. Join the ladies, and pay a
little attention to one of your _fiancees_."
So it was that Stanley found himself relegated to the drawing-room, and
feeling decidedly upset, he good-naturedly determined to see what he
could do towards upsetting the equanimity of the rest of the party. In
this, however, he was partially forestalled by the good parson, who had
not been wasting the few minutes of grace, which the Secretary's
conversation with Kent-Lauriston had allotted to him.
No sooner had Mr. Lambert entered the drawing-room, than he sought out
Miss Fitzgerald, and confided to her an astonishing discovery he had
made in the church register.
"Most careless of me, I assure you," he apologised. "I should have
noticed of course--people often make nervous mistakes at times like
those; but it was not till this morning that I discovered that Lady
Isabelle had written her name in the space reserved for the bride, and
you in the space reserved for the witness."
"Well?" asked Miss Fitzgerald, her voice ringing hard and cold as steel.
"Oh, it's all right, my dear," the old man quavered on. "Quite all
right, I corrected it myself. I can do a neat bit of work still, even if
my hands do tremble a little. I cut out the names, reversed them, and
put them back in their proper places, and I'd defy any but an expert to
see that they'd been tampered with. I'm sure that none of the people
who've seen the book since suspected the change."
"Who has seen the book?" she asked, frozen with horror.
"After I corrected the register?"
"Yes! Yes! Who?"
"Dear me--let me see! That was this morning. Now who was there? Ah!--I
remember. A strange lady in black, very beautiful, and Mr.
Kent-Lauriston."
Miss Fitzgerald shuddered.
"Dear, dear!" cried the parson. "You're cold--the draught from the
window--let me get you a wrap."
"No, no, I'm quite warm, thank you. You're sure that no one else saw the
register?"
"No one--except Mr. Stanley."
"You must excuse me, Mr. Lambert," she said. "I'm not feeling very
well."
"You are faint? Is there nothing I can do for you?"
"Nothing more, thank you," and she swept past him across the room, to
where Lady Isabelle was seated on a sofa.
"Nothing more," murmured the little man, after she had left him; "but I
hadn't begun to do anything; and she seemed quite faint. Dear, dear,
she looks strong, but to be so easily upset, I fear something must be
wrong--my daughter was never like that," and, shaking his head, he went
to join the Dowager, who had a _penchant_ for the clergy.
"You've heard nothing from your husband?" asked Miss Fitzgerald of Lady
Isabelle, as she seated herself beside her.
"Nothing beyond a telegram telling me of his safe arrival in London."
"But surely his uncle was _in extremis_. He cannot live long."
"I do not know," she replied, "but it's very awkward. Oh, why won't you
let me tell Mr. Stanley the truth?"
"Sh! He's coming," murmured Miss Fitzgerald, and, indeed, the Secretary
was advancing deliberately towards them; a thing suggestive in itself,
considering how he had striven to avoid them all day long.
"Miss Fitzgerald," he said very quietly, as he stood before them, "will
you permit me to ask you a question?"
"If it's a proper question to ask, Mr. Stanley."
"It is eminently proper and fitting," he replied, coldly.
"Would you rather that I went?" suggested Lady Isabelle, half rising.
"I would rather you stayed."
"Don't be so dreadfully mysterious, Jimsy!" cried Miss Fitzgerald, with
a forced laugh that grated on the ears of both her hearers. "Out with
your dreadful question. What is it?"
"It is this," he replied. "Are you Jack Kingsland's wife?"
For a moment there was absolute silence. The Secretary stood looking
straight in the face of the Irish girl, without moving a muscle. Lady
Isabelle gave a smothered exclamation, and gripped her companion's wrist
with all her force, flushing red as she did so. Miss Fitzgerald bit her
lip, and stared hard at Stanley for the fraction of a minute; then,
breaking into her hard metallic laugh, she cried:
"Why, you foolish boy! What can you be thinking of?"
"You've not answered my question," he replied.
"Why, what is there to answer?"
"I ask you-- Are you Lieutenant Kingsland's wife?" he repeated
harshly--betraying the first sign of temper he had so far evinced, which
Miss Fitzgerald saw and was quick to profit by. Whatever was
coming--there was, in Lady Isabelle's presence, but one course open to
her--she looked her accuser boldly in the face and said:
"No, I'm not Lieutenant Kingsland's wife."
"You are quite sure of what you are saying?"
"I repeat, I am not his wife. I have not married him, put it how you
please. Do you doubt my word? If you're so anxious to know whom
Lieutenant Kingsland married, ask your _fiancee_, Lady Isabelle; perhaps
she can tell you."
"It's not necessary to ask Lady Isabelle if she is Lieutenant
Kingsland's wife--because----"
"Because she has already told you so," broke in Miss Fitzgerald.
"Because," continued Stanley, in the same colourless, dogged tone,
"because Mr. Lambert, the one person who could have made Kingsland and
Lady Isabelle man and wife, has solemnly assured me that he did not
perform the marriage ceremony between them----" and he turned on his
heel and left the room.