TWO LETTERS
Precisely as the clock struck ten, Kent-Lauriston entered the
smoking-room to find it in sole possession of Stanley, who stood leaning
against the mantelpiece, lost in thought--a cigar, long ago gone out,
hanging listlessly between his fingers.
"I'm afraid I'm late," said his genial adviser, glancing at the clock,
"but I was just finishing a game of cribbage with Mr. Riddle."
"I don't envy you his society," growled the Secretary, whose temper was
not improved by recent experiences.
"You misjudge him," replied Kent-Lauriston. "He's a very good fellow, in
more senses of the word than one--he's just given Mr. Lambert a thumping
big cheque, for the restoration of his little church."
"And made you the recipient of the fact of his generosity?"
"Far from it; our gossiping little parson did that, in direct violation
of a pledge of secrecy; for Riddle never wishes his good works to be
known--he's not that kind."
"I consider him a hypocrite," replied Stanley shortly.
"Then you do him a great injustice, my dear boy; and allow me to say,
you'll never make a good diplomat till you've arrived at a better
knowledge of human nature; it's the keystone of the profession. But, to
change the subject, how have you been spending the evening?"
"Oh, making a fool of myself, as usual."
"So I suppose. What particular method did you adopt this time?"
"First, I chivied our amiable parson from pillar to post, in this very
room, till I'd forced the admission of an important fact from him, and
the practical admission of another."
"And then," continued Kent-Lauriston, "you went and tried the effect of
your statements on the young ladies."
"I believe you're equipped with X-rays instead of eyes, Kent-Lauriston,
for you were smoking down here and couldn't have seen me!"
"No, but I saw the ladies--afterwards."
"To speak to?"
"Oh, no. One of them at least has a rooted aversion to me. I know too
much."
"What were they doing?"
"Pulling each other's hair out, I should judge, or its equivalent in
polite society. What did you learn from the parson?"
"That he had not married Kingsland to Lady Isabelle; that Kingsland had
been married to somebody; and a refusal to say that that somebody was
Miss Fitzgerald, which was tantamount to an admission of the fact."
"Exactly, and what did you say to the young ladies?"
"I asked Miss Fitzgerald if she was Lieutenant Kingsland's wife?"
"And she denied it?"
"Absolutely."
"What else?"
"I charged Lady Isabelle with not having married Kingsland."
"And what was her answer?"
"I didn't wait to receive it."
"Had you done so, she would have denied it likewise."
"You think so?"
"I am certain of it, and, if it's any satisfaction to you, I can tell
you that by your action you ensured Miss Fitzgerald one of the worst
quarters of an hour at her Ladyship's hands that she is likely to
experience for a very long time."
"But Mr. Lambert assured me solemnly, that he did not perform the
ceremony between Lady Isabelle and the Lieutenant."
"He was quite right in doing so."
"But they can't all be right!"
"My dear fellow," said Kent-Lauriston, "it is very seldom, in this
complex age, that anyone is wholly right or wholly wrong. All these
people, except Miss Fitzgerald, know a part of the truth, and have
spoken honestly according to their lights. She alone knows it all, and,
believe me, she is much too clever to tell a lie on so important a
point. If she told you she was not married to Lieutenant Kingsland, you
may implicitly believe her."
"Do you know that it is the truth?"
"Yes, because I telegraphed to the man who has charge of the issue of
special licences, and have received a line from him, to the effect that
one has been issued in the last few days, for Lieutenant Kingsland and
Lady Isabelle McLane."
"Then you convict Mr. Lambert of deception?"
"Not at all. If he told you he had not married Lady Isabelle to the
Lieutenant, he told you what he believed to be the truth."
"But is it possible that he could have married them without knowing it?"
"It seems that it was possible."
"How could he make such a mistake?"
"A man who never makes a mistake makes little or nothing in this world."
"And Miss Fitzgerald signed in the place of the bride, to divert
suspicion?"
"It seems impossible to suppose that she would commit herself in that
way," said Kent-Lauriston.
"But the register proves that she did," reported Stanley.
"Ye-es. It rather savours of the paradox. Perhaps we'd better content
ourselves with the facts that Lady Isabelle did marry Kingsland, and
Miss Fitzgerald did not. How it was accomplished does not immediately
concern us, and, as I fear no very creditable means were used, we'd
better not try to find out what they were, especially as we've more
serious matters to consider."
"You mean----"
"I mean the charge unconsciously made by Madame Darcy."
"I feared you were going to speak of that."
"True, it is an unpleasant business; but you must remember that you owe
it to Miss Fitzgerald to ask her for a definite answer, or to give her
some explanation for declining to do so."
"You think there's no escape from it?"
"None that a gentleman can take."
"What do you advise me to do?"
"Find out where you stand in the first place."
"How I stand?"
"Yes. At least one serious charge has been made against the woman whom
you propose to make your wife. If true--for your own sake, for your
father's sake, you must surrender her. If false, you are equally bound,
by honour and chivalry, to disprove it."
"How can I do this?"
"The charge to which I refer is based on the direct evidence of certain
letters. See them, and judge for yourself."
"That is easier said than done."
"Here they are," replied Kent-Lauriston, handing him a little packet.
"You have seen Madame Darcy?"
"Yes."
"And she has given you these letters, knowing they would be shown to
me?"
"Yes, on my representation, that if they substantiated her charges, she
would be doing you the greatest kindness in her power."
Stanley bowed, and opened the little packet. For a few moments there was
silence in the room, broken only by the occasional crackle of paper, as
he turned a page. Most of the dozen or so documents he read through
quickly, and laid upon the table at his side. A couple he re-read
several times. Finally he looked up, saying simply:--
"You've read these letters?"
"Yes. I was given permission to do so."
"What do you think of them?"
"Two of them are suggestive."
"The two most recent?"
"Yes, they bear dates, you will observe, within the last three days."
"And the others----?"
"The others merely show the existence of some relationship between
Colonel Darcy and Miss Fitzgerald, which they wished kept secret. I
don't remember the exact wording. There's a letter which she writes from
London to him at his home, begging him to come to town and 'leave his
tiresome wife,' as they have 'matters of more importance' to attend to;
and again she writes that she cannot meet him at 5 P. M., 'because she
must account for her time to her "dragon,"'--alluding, I infer, to her
aunt--but that he must manage to 'meet her accidentally and take her
down to supper' at a party she is attending that night, 'so as not to
arouse suspicion.'"
"All this proves nothing."
"Perhaps not--but the extracts are significant. Now take the two most
recent."
"They were written from here. How were they obtained?"
"That doesn't concern us if they are genuine."
"One is certainly in Miss Fitzgerald's hand."
"The other was evidently torn from Darcy's letter-book. Read it."
Stanley did so, with evident effort.
"DEAREST BELLE:
"I did not know, till after I had seen you the other
night----"
"The night you proposed," interjected Kent-Lauriston.
The Secretary nodded, and resumed his reading.
"--the other night, how cleverly you got my letter out of
the Secretary's clutches. It quite retrieves your losing it
at the Hyde Park Club, and now I have lost it under the
secret door in the Hall, as you will probably have heard. If
A. R. cannot get a duplicate, which is doubtful, the door
must be opened.
"I have entrusted you with all I hold most dear. You know
what that is. If my plans go well, it will mean a happy
future for us both.
"Your affectionate old
"BOB."
"Now read the other," commanded Kent-Lauriston; and, sick at heart, the
Secretary complied:
"YOU OLD STUPID:
"Is the report really true that you have lost that letter
under the secret door? There is no time to duplicate it, so
it must be recovered. Why didn't you write and tell me you
had lost it?----"
"But he did," commented the reader.
"Both letters were intercepted before delivery, I imagine," said
Kent-Lauriston, "but finish the note."
"--Do not try to see me again," read Stanley; "it might
arouse suspicion, and you know how necessary it is for me to
play the role of the innocent. I am more afraid of Inez than
anyone else. I am sure she suspects there is something
between us. There is no danger in Little Diplomacy; he is
young enough to believe he knows everything, and that is a
great safeguard. I have found a trusty messenger for our
affairs in Jack Kingsland.
"As ever,
"BELLE."
The Secretary stopped reading; his throat was very dry. He took a glass
of Apollinaris, and then said:--
"These letters are not incriminating--in the way _you_ mean."
"No, perhaps not in so many words; but you must ask yourself two
questions concerning them. Are they letters that an honourable or
refined woman would write to or receive from a married man, at any time,
and particularly when she herself was practically engaged?"
"May I ask to what you imagine Darcy's expression, 'all I hold most
dear,' refers?"
"Oh, his heart, or his love, or some such sentimental rubbish."
"So I supposed; it hasn't occurred to you to take it in a more literal
sense?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, say that all he holds most dear refers to the five chests of
sovereigns."
"You believe this?"
"I know it to be so--and have known it all along--the fact that I tell
you confidentially, that I'm acting under secret instructions in this
matter, will, I'm sure, suffice not only to seal your lips, but to make
you understand that, for the present, you must be contented not to know
more."
Kent-Lauriston nodded.
"You'll see, then," continued the Secretary, "that what you supposed was
an intrigue turns out to be--shall we say--a commercial transaction."
Kent-Lauriston shrugged his shoulders, remarking:--
"I'd better return the letters to Madame Darcy at once then?"
"No, leave that to me, I shall ask her to let me keep them, if she
will; they may be useful--as evidence."
"But, surely, any woman who could connect herself with so dishonourable
an affair, as I imagine this to be, is no fit wife for you. Give me your
word you'll break with her once and for all."
"I've sources of information about Darcy which, as I have said before,
I'm not at liberty to reveal, but forty-eight hours may loose my tongue.
If I could tell Miss Fitzgerald what I know, she might throw him over
even now, for I still hope she's only his dupe. Give me two days to
prove her innocent; if I fail--I'll do what you please."
Kent-Lauriston reluctantly acquiesced, and Stanley, putting the
incriminating letters carefully in an inside pocket, bade him
good-night, and left the smoking-room. In the hall he met Lady Isabelle.
"I don't know what you'll think of me for coming to you, Mr. Stanley,"
she said, "after what has passed this evening."
"I think myself an infernal ass, for I've found out the truth of the
matter since I left you, and I think you're very good to overlook it,
and very condescending to speak to me at all."
"Do not let us talk of that," she said.
"Agreed," he replied. "Only permit me to say, I'd the parson's solemn
assurance that he'd not married you, and, however unadvisedly I may have
spoken, I spoke in good faith."
"I quite understand," she returned. "But now you know the truth."
"I do, and I'm very much ashamed of myself."
She smiled, a trifle sadly, and changed the subject abruptly, saying:--
"I've come to ask you a great favour. In the face of the past I almost
hesitate to do so, but there's no one else to whom I can turn--and
so----"
"Anything I can do----" he began.
"I only want to ask you a question."
"Only a question!"
"Yet, I hesitate to ask even that--because it concerns a lady in whom
you're interested."
"Miss Fitzgerald?"
"Yes."
"You need have no hesitation," he said coldly.
"I'm sure you will not misunderstand me," she continued.
He bowed silently.
"After you left us, I questioned Miss Fitzgerald about the part she'd
played in my marriage."
Stanley nodded.
"You can understand that I was very angry. Whose feelings would not have
been outraged at discovering that they'd been so played upon? I'm sure
that my husband was as innocent of the deception as I."
She paused a second, but the Secretary did not speak, and she continued,
afraid, perhaps, that he might say something to overthrow her theory.
"I dare say I forgot myself--in fact I'm sure I did--and said things
that I now regret; but in the heat of the argument she taunted me with
the fact that she had it in her power to have my husband cashiered from
the navy, if she chose to tell what she knew. Is this true?"
"Did she specify what he'd done?" asked Stanley, the horrid suspicion
that Belle was not innocent once more reasserting itself with increased
force.
"No, but she said it was something he'd done in London, during his
present absence."
"My God!" murmured the Secretary, as the full force and meaning of this
avowal became apparent to him, and he saw that Belle must be fully
cognisant of the plot.
"Don't tell me it's true!" cried Lady Isabelle.
"I'm afraid it is," he replied.
"But that my husband could be guilty of----"
"I didn't say that," he interjected. "He may be merely an innocent
instrument; but he might have difficulty in proving it, if the charges
were made."
"But what are the charges?"
"Ah! That you must not ask me."
"You know?"
"Perhaps, but you must be content to be sure that, had I the right to
tell you, I would do so."
"But what is to be done?"
"Nothing. The threat is an empty one. Miss Fitzgerald will make no
charges against your husband; I will guarantee that, and it may
transpire that the Lieutenant has done nothing worse than deliver some
cases, of the contents of which he was ignorant, to oblige a friend."
"But if she could prove that he _did_ deliver them, he might be charged
with complicity?"
"Exactly."
"Can I not warn him?"
"No, Lady Isabelle, you owe it to me to keep silence, at least for the
next few days. In telling you this, to relieve your anxiety, I have
exceeded my instructions, and placed my honour in your hands."
"It shall be held sacred; but who is to warn my husband?"
"I'll do so, if you wish."
"I can never be sufficiently grateful, if you will."
"Then we'll consider that settled," he said.
"You've been a true friend to me," she replied, taking his hand, "and
I've ill repaid you for your kindness."
"Don't think of that," he said, and turned away, heavy-hearted; for now
he fancied he knew the worst.