“I WILL DARE DO ANYTHING”
Not long after, the wicked woman heard Isabel’s voice in the hall.
Hastily rising, she went to the door, unlocked it, though her hands
trembled so that it was with difficulty that she inserted the key in the
lock.
“Good gracious, mamma! what is the matter? You are as white as a ghost!”
she exclaimed, as she entered.
“Hush! Come in quick, and lock the door again; then I will tell you.”
Isabel obeyed, and then Mrs. Coolidge related all that had transpired
during the last half hour.
“Confound the girl! I had a wrangle with her myself just a little while
before,” Isabel exclaimed, angrily.
“Don’t, dear, use such language; you will forget yourself to your sorrow
some day. What if Sir Charles or Lady Randal should hear you!”
“I can’t help it, mamma; it does try my patience so to have her turn up
just now, when everything is going so lovely.”
“How do you suppose she happened to be here?” asked Mrs. Coolidge, to
whom the matter was still a mystery.
“Oh, she is that Miss Dundas, who is companion to Lady Ruxley. Since I
met her, a couple of hours ago, I have been making some judicious
inquiries, and it seems that, instead of going to the Washington Hotel
after leaving us, as she told Wilbur she intended to do, she got tipped
over in front of Lady Randal’s town house, broke her arm, and made such
an impression upon Lady Ruxley that she insisted upon taking care of
her; and finally nothing would do but she must have her for a companion.
You know I told you that I saw some one at the villa when we first came
here who looked like Miss Douglas, and I got quite a fright over it
until Lady Randal told me her name was Mabel Dundas, and that deceived
me.”
“It is very unfortunate just now, to say the least, when we are so
anxious to have everything go smooth,” complained her mother, wearily.
“That is so,” returned Isabel, with scowling brow. “You say she still
has the casket in there with her?”
“Yes.”
“Why under the sun didn’t you take it away from her by main force?”
“Because she was so haughty and defiant I did not dare touch her,” Mrs.
Coolidge admitted, with rather a crestfallen air. “Besides, she told me
she should appeal to Lord Dunforth if I did not let her go quietly; and
I knew, after what you had told me, that that would never do.”
“No, indeed; it is very evident that he knows too much about the jewels,
while we know too little. But how are we going to get out of this
abominable muss, anyhow?” and Isabel looked miserably anxious.
“Keep her in there until she gives up the box and promises secrecy,”
returned her mother, with a significant nod at the veiled door.
“Well, suppose she will not yield at all?”
“She must sleep, at all events; and, if we cannot catch her in a natural
sleep, there are things that will make her unconscious, and then we can
take the jewels away from her,” was the whispered reply.
“But she will be missed, meanwhile.”
“Well, we must wonder with the rest what has become of her. I am
confident no one saw her come in here, and so no one will suspect us in
the matter. I tell you, Isabel, we have a desperate game to play now, or
you will lose Sir Charles. Those jewels we must have, for their absence
will occasion endless inquiry and remark. If she won’t yield, we must
keep her shut up until after the wedding. When that is over, and you are
sure of your position, I do not care what becomes of them or her,” the
proud woman whispered, in concentrated tones, and with a desperate and
reckless air that almost frightened her daughter.
“Mamma, would you dare keep her in there so long?”
“Yes, I will dare anything, rather than that all your bright prospects
should be sacrificed. Just so sure as we let her out, she will reveal
everything, and we shall be ruined.”
“But you know we are all to go to Paris next week to be gone a
fortnight, and attend to my _trousseau_.”
“I know it was so arranged, but you and Lady Randal will have to go—I
shall be ill, and not able to go; then I can easily look after our
prisoner, and no one will be the wiser for it.”
“But is there no danger that she will be heard if she should scream, or
cry, or make a fuss?”
“Not the least in the world. The place seems to be made of solid
masonry; it has no other door but this, which is very thick, and, with
those heavy curtains dropped over it, no one could ever hear her.
Besides, I have no fear that she will make any disturbance—she is too
proud.”
“What if she should die in there, mamma?”
The two plotting women looked at each other with whitening faces for a
moment.
Mrs. Coolidge was the first to recover herself, however.
“Pshaw! what a foolish notion, Isabel. She is strong and well, and there
is no danger. I will take her plenty of good food every day, and we can
make her up a comfortable bed from our own, and she will do well
enough.”
“But mamma, the bare possibility of the thing gives me a dreadful
feeling. I am as weak as if I had just recovered from a swoon,” said
Isabel, shuddering.
“Don’t be a fool, child; only let us tide the next four or five weeks
over, and we shall be all right. However, if you say so, and are willing
to run the risk, we will let her out now,” returned Mrs. Coolidge,
impatiently.
“No, no; there is no other way as I see but to keep her shut up. Sir
Charles is so particular and conscientious that he would never forgive
the wrong we have done her; and, mamma, I am really very fond of him. I
believe it would upset me entirely if anything should happen to separate
us now, and I mean to try and be a better woman after I am married,”
Isabel returned, nervously, and with very crimson cheeks, as if ashamed
of the confession.
An hour later Lady Ruxley’s bell rang a furious peal. It had been nearly
three hours since Brownie left her. Such a thing had never happened
before, and she did not know what to make of it. She was getting so
attached to her gentle and lovable companion that she missed her sadly
if she were absent an hour.
Presently Minnett came in.
“Minnett, find Miss Dundas, and ask her to please come to me,” she said,
shortly.
Minnett retired, was gone another half hour, while the old lady grew
furious at the delay, then returned and said Miss Dundas could not be
found.
She forthwith angrily commanded to go and find Miss Dundas, and not
return until she did.
Minnett meekly withdrew again, and her ladyship sat another hour, fuming
and raging, first against her maid, then at Lady Randal, whom she
believed to be at the bottom of it all, to serve some purpose of her
own, and lastly her ire turned upon Brownie herself for allowing herself
to be detained so long.
Finally, her patience completely wearied out, she marched down into the
drawing-room, ready to berate the first person she met.
Here she found everybody in a great state of excitement over the
non-appearance of Miss Dundas.
One, two, three hours more passed, and still no light was thrown upon
the mystery. Lady Ruxley became nearly distracted, Lady Randal was very
much disturbed, while the guests, who had remarked Brownie’s beauty and
refinement, began to whisper of an elopement, or something equally
romantic.
In the midst of the excitement, Viola and Alma appeared upon the scene
and, upon being told that Miss Dundas was missing, the former asked what
sort of a looking person she was.
Sir Charles immediately gave a very accurate description of Brownie,
whereupon both girls exclaimed:
“Why, that is our Miss Douglas, and we met her only a few hours ago, as
she was going out!”
Mrs. Coolidge and Isabel were confounded at this speech.
They had not thought of such a thing as the girls meeting her, and had
fondly hoped they should not be drawn into the matter any more than to
wonder, with the other guests, what could have become of her.
Everybody gathered around the young girls at once, eager to hear more.
“She was with us an hour or more,” Viola further explained, “then she
said she must return to the Hall, and the last we saw of her she came
this way.”
“And who is ‘our Miss Douglas,’ and what connection has she with Lady
Ruxley’s companion?” asked Sir Charles, coming forward and looking very
grave.
“She was our governess until about two months ago, when—when——”
Viola stammered, and got very red in the face.
Her heart prompted her to stand up loyally for the teacher whom she so
dearly loved, but she stood somewhat in awe of her mother, who was
regarding her with sternest displeasure, and whose eye she had just
caught.
Mrs. Coolidge hastened to the rescue.
“What is this you are saying about Miss Douglas, Viola?” she asked, in
well-assumed surprise, at the same time giving her daughter a warning
glance.
Viola repeated what she had already said, adding some further account of
what had transpired in the park.
When she had concluded, her mother turned to Sir Charles, with a grave
and sorrowful face.
“I really fear, Sir Charles, that your aunt has been grossly imposed
upon. This Miss Douglas, of whom Viola speaks, came over with us from
America as governess to the girls. I began to suspect at the very first
that she was not just the person I could desire, but I put up with her
until about two months ago, when her very unbecoming conduct made it
necessary that I should dismiss her immediately.”
“What did she do,” demanded Lady Ruxley, sharply, “that was so
dreadful?”
“Really, I am very sorry to be drawn into this very disagreeable matter
thus. I dislike to say anything derogatory to any one, but, since you
ask, I will say that she took things which did not belong to her, and
made herself offensively free with my son, who is now in Germany,”
replied Mrs. Coolidge, with every appearance of sorrow that she was
obliged to make the confession.
“You’ll have to be older than you are now to make me believe that,”
muttered the old lady, indignantly, in an undertone, as she eyed Isabel,
and her mother suspiciously, while Viola and Alma looked the daggers
they dare not use to defend their beloved Miss Douglas.
The date of her accident and advent into Lady Randal’s house was
identical with that of her leaving Mrs. Coolidge, their description of
her was the same, and Isabel recalled to Sir Charles the evening of
their ramble, when they had seen her at the villa, and she had
questioned him regarding the companion.
Every one was convinced now of Brownie’s unworthiness, and believed that
she had taken herself out of the way because she feared an exposure on
the part of Mrs. Coolidge, and dare not meet it; or that she had eloped,
but who with, was the question.
All but Lady Ruxley.
Her confidence was unshaken yet.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” she said to Lady Randal, as she assisted
her to her room.
“But, aunt, it must be so. Mrs. Coolidge’s word is indisputable.”
“Maybe you think so,” retorted her ladyship, irritably.
“The evidence is so clear, too,” resumed her niece, unheeding her
remark. “I have feared from the first that you were being imposed upon.
That’s always the way with these girls who have no recommendation; they
are all adventuresses. I only hope you won’t find that she has helped
herself from your belongings.”
“Shut up, Helen! You are always ready to believe the worst of everybody.
I tell you I believe that there has been foul play in this matter, and,
if the girl has gone away, she has been driven away in some underhanded
manner. I can read the signs of the times, if I am a superannuated, and
I shall not rest until I know more of this matter,” and the crusty old
lady actually shed tears over the absence of the patient, gentle girl,
to whom she was becoming deeply attached.
“The very fact of her giving a false name goes against her,” persisted
Lady Randal.
“That was not just the thing, of course,” was the rather subdued reply.
Then she added, as if a new thought struck her: “I believe that I was to
blame for that, after all. I had a bad cold at that time, and was as
deaf as a post. I am convinced now that she gave me her name correctly,
and I misunderstood her, and she, having had trouble with those folks,
let it go so.”
“She had no business to do that,” returned Lady Randal, with an
expression of righteous indignation.
“If she never does anything worse than give an assumed name, she’ll be
better than some folks whom I know. I reckon you’ve some sins on your
conscience, Helen, blacker than any that poor girl ever thought of,”
said Lady Ruxley, spitefully.
Notwithstanding the general belief that Miss Douglas, as she was now
called, had absconded, Sir Charles gave orders that the search should be
kept up a while longer.
Something might have happened to her, he reasoned, and he would give her
the benefit of the doubt.
About eight o’clock Adrian Dredmond was announced. He had been to Lady
Ruxley’s villa, but, upon being told that she and her companion were at
the Hall, he drove immediately thither.
Lady Randal met him in the hall on her return from Lady Ruxley’s
apartments.
She greeted him cordially, and then, taking his arm, led him into the
drawing-room, where he was received with loud acclamation, for he was a
favorite wherever he went.
The conversation ran in a new channel for a few moments after his
entrance, but the all-absorbing topic was soon resumed, and Brownie’s
character was most unmercifully picked to pieces again, while with a
terrible sinking at his heart, Adrian soon learned something of what had
transpired, and it was with great difficulty that he maintained his
composure, hoping to learn more.
But he could not bear the aspersions cast upon his betrothed, and after
a terribly scathing remark upon Brownie’s virtue from Isabel, followed
by a bitter denunciation from Mrs. Coolidge, his indignation burst
forth.
He arose, and, with a flushed face and blazing eyes, demanded of the
latter:
“Of whom do I understand you to be speaking?”
“Of Miss Douglas, Mr. Dredmond—the governess who came to England with
us, and who has turned out so sadly,” she replied, serenely, and all
unconscious of the terrible storm hovering over her head.
“Perhaps you know who is accountable for Miss Douglas’ misfortunes since
she came abroad?” he returned, meaningly, and with a look that made
Isabel’s heart quake, for she knew he had seen Brownie lately, and it
was possible he, too, knew all the story of their abuse.
But Mrs. Coolidge was, as usual, equal to the occasion.
“Really, no. She told me she knew no one in this country,” she returned,
with raised eyebrows, and in surprised tones.
“I know something of Miss Douglas, and that she is undeserving a word of
the censure which you have heaped upon her this evening; and I demand
that you retract every word you have said—all of you!” he said, in tones
which could not be mistaken.
There was a sudden hush among the company, while all eyes were fixed
upon the young man, towering so proudly in his haughty strength before
them.
Mrs. Coolidge felt by no means as easy as she appeared; but hers was a
desperate case, and it would not do to relax in the least her vigilance.
So she glowered disapprobation and surprise upon him, while Isabel tried
to curl her trembling lips in scorn.
“Really, Adrian,” soothingly said Lady Randal, who began to be afraid of
a quarrel, “I am sorry to see you so excited over this unfortunate
affair. I know you are very philanthropic, but I am afraid you are
allowing yourself to become quixotic regarding this very singular young
person.”
His fine lips curled, and he turned and bowed slightly, as he replied:
“If it is quixotic to defend a pure and lovely girl in her absence from
such abuse as you have heaped upon her here to-night, then I plead
guilty to the charge. I met Miss Douglas several months ago in the
United States. I know that she is as well-born as most of you in this
room, and few possess the cultivation and accomplishments which she is
mistress of. At the time of which I speak she was believed to be the
heiress of more than a million, and moved in circles equal to our own,
but sudden misfortune reduced her to the necessity of becoming a
governess.”
“Why, Adrian, I am astonished! I did not suppose that you knew aught
concerning Miss Douglas,” replied Lady Randal, beginning to regard the
companion rather more leniently.
“Nor I, that he was so interested in the poor but misguided girl,” added
Mrs. Coolidge, with sarcastic commiseration.
She had never forgiven Adrian’s preference for the beautiful governess
that night at the opera, and could not now conceal her spite.
He wheeled upon her in an instant.
“I am deeply interested in her, madam. Miss Douglas is my betrothed
wife; and I warn you to be very careful how you speak of her in the
future. I could say much more, but”—with a glance from Isabel to Sir
Charles—“existing circumstances compel me to be silent.”