The Princess arranged her skirts so that they drooped gracefully, and
turned upon her companion with one of those slow mysterious smiles,
which many people described but none could imitate.
"Mr. De la Borne," she said, "I can talk to you as I could not talk to
your brother, because you are an older and a wiser man. You may not
have seen much of the world, but you are at any rate not a young idiot
like Cecil. Will you listen to me, please?"
"It seems to me," Andrew answered drily, "that I am already doing so."
"I am not going to ask you," she continued, "whether you are in love
with my little girl or not, because the whole thing is too ridiculous.
I have no doubt that she has some sort of a fancy for you. It is
evident that she has. I want you to remember that she is fresh from
school, that as yet she has not entered life, and that a few months ago
she did not know a man from a gate-post."
"An admirable simile," Andrew murmured.
"What I want you to understand is," the Princess continued, "that as
yet she cannot possibly be in a position to make up her mind as to her
future. She has seen nothing of the world, and what she has seen has
been the least favourable side. She has a perfectly enormous fortune,
so ridiculously tied up that although I am never out of debt and always
borrowing money, I cannot touch a penny of it, not even with her help.
Very soon she will be of age, and the amount of her fortune will be
known. I can assure you that it will be a surprise to every one."
Andrew bowed his head indifferently.
"Very possibly," he answered, "and yet, madam, if your daughter has the
wisdom to see that the matter of her wealth is after all but a trifle
amongst the conditions which make for happiness, why should you deny
her the benefits of that wisdom?"
"My dear friend," she continued earnestly, "for this reason--because
Jeanne to-day is too young to choose for herself. She has not got over
that sickly sentimental age, when a girl makes a hero of anything
unusual in the shape of a man, and finds a sort of unwholesome
satisfaction in making sacrifices for his sake. It may be that Jeanne
may, after all, look to what you call the simple life for happiness.
Well, if she does that after a year or so, well and good. But she shall
not do so with my consent, without indeed my downright opposition,
until she has had an opportunity of testing both sides, of weighing the
matter thoroughly from every point of view. Do you not agree with me,
Mr. De la Borne?"
"You speak reasonably, madam," he assented.
"Jeanne," she continued, "has perhaps charmed you a little. She is,
after all, just now a child of nature. She is something of an artist,
too. Beautiful places and sights and sounds appeal to her.
"She is ready, with her imperfect experience, to believe that there is
nothing greater or better worth cultivating in life. But I want you to
consider the effects of heredity. Jeanne comes from restless, brilliant
people. Her mother was a leader of society, a pleasure-loving, clever,
unscrupulous woman. Her father was a financier and a diplomat,
many-sided, versatile, but with as complex a disposition as any man I
ever met. Jeanne will ripen as the years go on; something of her
mother, something of her father will appear. It is my place, knowing
these things, to see that she does not make a fatal mistake. All that I
say to you, Mr. De la Borne, is to let her go, to give her her chance,
to let her see with both eyes before she does anything irremediable. I
think that I may almost appeal to you, as a reasonable man and a
gentleman, to help me in this."
Andrew de la Borne looked out through the wizened branches of his
stunted trees, to the white-flecked sea rolling in below. The Princess
was right. He knew that she was right. Those other thoughts were little
short of madness. Jeanne was no coquette at heart, but she was a child.
She had great responsibilities. She was turned into the world with a
heavy burden upon her shoulders. It was not he or any man who could
help her. She must fight her own battle, win or lose her own happiness.
A few years' time might see her the wife of a great statesman or a
great soldier, proud and happy to feel herself the means by which the
man she loved might climb one step higher upon the great ladder of
fame. How like a child's dream these few days upon the marshes, talking
to one who was no more than a looker-on at the great things of life,
must seem! He could imagine her thinking of them with a shiver as she
remembered her escape. The Princess was right, she was very right
indeed. He rose to his feet.
"Madam," he said, "I have not pretended to misunderstand you. I think
that you have spoken wisely. Your stepdaughter must solve for herself
the great riddle. It is not for any one of us to handicap her in her
choice while she is yet a child."
"You are going, Mr. De la Borne?" she asked.
He pointed to a brown-sailed fishing-boat passing slowly down from the
village toward the sea.
"That is one of my boats," he said. "I shall signal to her from the
island to call for me. I need a change, and she is going out into the
North Sea for five weeks' fishing."
The Princess held out her hand, and Andrew took it in his.
"You are a man," she said. "I wish there were more of your sort in the
world where I live."
The Princess stood for a moment on the edge of the lawn, watching
Andrew's tall figure as he strode across the marsh toward the village.
Never once did he look back or hesitate on his swift, vigorous way.
Then she sighed a little and turned away toward the house. After all,
this was a man, although he was so far removed from the type she knew
and understood.
Cecil was walking restlessly up and down the hall when she entered. He
drew her eagerly into the library.
"Look here," he said, "Forrest declares that he is going. He is
upstairs now packing his things."
"Your brother," the Princess answered, "scarcely left him much
alternative."
"That's all very well," Cecil answered, "but if he goes I go. I am not
going to be left here alone."
The Princess looked at him, and the colour came into his cheeks. It is
never well for a man when he sees such a look upon a woman's face.
"It isn't that I'm afraid," Cecil declared. "I can stand any ordinary
danger, but I am not going to be left shut up here alone, with the
whole responsibility upon me. I couldn't do it. It wouldn't be fair to
ask me."
"There is no fresh news, I suppose?" the Princess asked.
"None," Cecil answered gloomily. "If only we could see our way to the
end of it, I shouldn't mind."
The Princess was thoughtful for a few moments.
"Well," she said, "I don't know, after all, if Forrest need go just
yet. Your brother has made up his mind to go fishing for several weeks.
I think that he is going to start to-day."
"Do you mean it?" Cecil exclaimed, incredulously.
The Princess nodded.
"He has been philandering with Jeanne," she said, "and his magnificent
conscience is taking him out into the North Sea."
Cecil's features relaxed. After all, though he played at maturity, he
was little more than a boy.
"Fancy old Andrew!" he exclaimed. "Gone on a child like Miss Jeanne,
too! Well, anyhow, that makes it all right about Forrest staying,
doesn't it?"
"He shall stop," the Princess answered slowly. "Jeanne and I will stay,
too, until Monday. Perhaps by that time--"
"By that time," Cecil repeated, "something may have happened."
BOOK II
CHAPTER I
His Grace the Duke of Westerham stepped forward from the hearthrug, in
the middle of which he had been standing, and held out both his hands.
His lips were parted in a smile, and there was a twinkle in his eyes.
"My dear Andrew," he exclaimed, "it is delightful to see you. You seem
to bring the salt of the North Sea into our frowsy city."
Andrew grasped his friend's hands.
"I have been fishing with some of my men for three weeks," he said,
"off the Dogger Bank. The salt does cling to one, you know, and I
suppose I am as black as a nigger."
The Duke sighed a little.
"My dear Andrew," he said, "you make one wonder whether it is worth
while to count for anything at all in the world. You represent the
triumph of physical fitness. You could break me, or a dozen like me, in
your hands. You know what the faddists of the moment say? They declare
that brains and genius have had their day--that the greatest man in the
world nowadays is the strongest."
Andrew smiled as he settled down in the armchair which his friend had
wheeled towards him.
"You do not believe in your own doctrines," he remarked. "You would not
part with a tenth part of your brains for all my muscle."
The Duke paused to think.
"It is not only the muscle," he said. "It is this appearance of
splendid physical perfection. You have but to show yourself in a London
drawing-room, and you will establish a cult. Do you want to be
worshipped, friend Andrew--to wear a laurel crown, and have beautiful
ladies kneeling at your feet?"
"Chuck it!" Andrew remarked good humouredly. "I didn't come here to be
chaffed. I came here on a serious mission."
The Duke nodded.
"It must indeed have been serious," he said, "for you to have had your
hair cut and your beard trimmed, and to have attired yourself in the
garments of civilization. You are the last man whom I should have
expected to have seen in a coat which might have been cut by Poole, if
it wasn't, and wearing patent boots."
"Jolly uncomfortable they are," Andrew remarked, looking at them.
"However, I didn't want to be turned away from your doors, and I still
have a few friends in town whom I daren't disgrace. Honestly, Berners,
I came up to ask you something."
The Duke was sympathetic but silent.
"Well?" he remarked encouragingly.
"The fact is," Andrew continued, "I wonder whether you could help me to
get something to do. We have decided to let the Red Hall, Cecil and I.
The rents have gone down to nothing, and altogether things are pretty
bad with us. I don't know that I'm good for anything. I don't see, to
tell you the truth, exactly what place there is in the world that I
could fill. Nevertheless, I want to do something. I love the villager's
life, but after all there are other things to be considered. I don't
want to become quite a clod."
The Duke produced a cigar box, passed it to Andrew, and deliberately
lighted a cigar himself.
"Friend Andrew," he said, "you have set me a puzzle. You have set me a
good many since I used to run errands for you at Eton, but I think that
this is the toughest."
Andrew nodded.
"You'll think your way through it, if any one can," he remarked. "I
don't expect anything, of course, that would enable me to afford cigars
like this, but I'd be glad to find some work to do, and I'd be glad to
be paid something for it."
The Duke was silent for a moment. He looked down at his cigar and then
suddenly up again.
"Has that young idiot of a brother of yours been making a fool of
himself?" he asked.
"Cecil is never altogether out of trouble," Andrew answered drily. "He
seems to have taken bridge up with rather unfortunate results, and
there were some other debts which had to be paid, but we needn't talk
about those. The point is that we're jolly well hard up for a year or
two. He's got to work, and so have I. If it wasn't for looking after
him, I should go to Canada to-morrow."
"D----d young idiot!" the Duke muttered. "He's spent his own money and
yours too, I suppose. Never mind, the money's gone."
"It isn't only the money," Andrew interrupted. "The fact is, I'm not
altogether satisfied, as I told you before, with living just for sport.
I'm not a prejudiced person. I know that there are greater things in
the world, and I don't want to lose sight of them altogether. We De la
Bornes have contributed poets and soldiers and sailors and statesmen to
the history of our country, for many generations. I don't want to go
down to posterity as altogether a drone. Of course, I'm too late for
anything really worth doing. I know that just as well as you can tell
me. At the same time I want to do something, and I would rather not go
abroad, at any rate to stay. Can you suggest anything to me? I know
it's jolly difficult, but you were always one of those sort of fellows
who seem to see round the corner."
"Do you want a permanent job?" the Duke asked. "Or would a temporary
one fit you up for a time?"
"A temporary one would be all right, if it was in my line," Andrew
answered.
"We've got to send three delegates to a convention to be held at The
Hague in a fortnight's time, for the revision of the International
Fishing laws," the Duke remarked. "Could you take that on?"
"I should think so," Andrew answered. "I've been out with the men from
our part of the world since I was a child, and I know pretty well all
that there is to be known on our side about it. What is the convention
about?"
"There are at least a dozen points to be considered," the Duke
answered. "I'll send you the papers to any address you like, to-morrow.
They're at my office now in Downing Street. Look 'em through, and see
whether you think you could take it on. I have two men already
appointed, but they are both lawyers, and I wanted some one who knew
more about the practical side of it."
"I should think," Andrew remarked, "that this is my job down to the
ground. What's the fee?"
"The fee's all right," the Duke answered. "You won't grumble about
that, I promise you. You'll get a lump sum, and so much a day, but the
whole thing, of course, will be over in a fortnight. What to do with
you after that I can't for the moment think."
"We may hit upon something," Andrew said cheerfully. "What are you
doing for lunch? Will you come round to the 'Travellers' with me? It's
the only London club I've kept going, but I dare say we can get
something fit to eat there."
"I'm jolly sure of it," the Duke answered, "but while you're in London
you're going to do your lunching with me. We'll go to the Athenaeum and
show these sickly-looking scholars and bishops what a man should look
like. It's almost time for luncheon, isn't it?"
"Past," Andrew answered. "It was half-past twelve when I got here."
"Then we will leave at once," the Duke declared. "I have nothing to do
this morning, fortunately. You don't care about driving, I know. We'll
walk. It isn't half a mile."
They turned into the street together.
"By the by," the Duke asked, "what has become of your brother's
friends? I mean the little party that we broke into so unceremoniously."
"The Princess and Miss Le Mesurier are, I believe, in London," Andrew
answered. "I was very surprised to hear this morning that Forrest was
still down at the Red Hall with Cecil. By the by, Ronald has turned up
again, of course?"
The Duke hesitated for so long that Andrew turned towards him, and
noticed for the first time the anxious lines in his face.
"Since the day he left the Red Hall," the Duke said, "Ronald has
neither been seen nor heard from. I forgot that you had been outside
civilization for nearly a month. Although I have tried hard, I have not
been able to keep the affair altogether out of the papers."
Andrew was thunderstruck.
"Good God!" he exclaimed. "Why, Berners, this is one of the strangest
things I ever heard of. What are you doing about it?"
"I am employing detectives," the Duke answered. "I do not see what else
I could do. They have been down to the Red Hall. In fact I believe one
of them is still in the vicinity. Your brother's story as to his
departure seems to be quite in order, although no one at the railway
station is able to remember his travelling by that train. They seem to
remember the car, however, which is practically the same thing, and
several people saw Major Forrest bringing it back early in the morning."
"Did any one," Andrew asked slowly, "see Lord Ronald in the car on his
way to the station?"
"Not a soul," the Duke answered.
Andrew was honestly perplexed. Jeanne's statement that she had seen
Forrest leaving the Red Hall with the car empty except for himself, he
had never regarded seriously. Even now he could only conclude that she
had been mistaken.
"Have any large cheques been presented against your brother's account?"
he asked.
The Duke shook his head.
"Not one," he answered.
"Have the detectives any clue at all?"
"Not the ghost of one," the Duke answered. "Ronald had a few harmless
little entanglements, but absolutely nothing that could have proved of
any anxiety to him. He had several engagements during the last ten days
which I know that he meant to keep. Something must have happened to
him, God knows when or where! But here we are at the club. Andrew, I
see that you have no umbrella, so I need not repeat the old joke about
the bishops."
"What a selfish fellow I am!" Andrew remarked, as they seated
themselves at a small table in the luncheon room. "Here have I been
bothering you about my affairs, and all the time you have had this
thing on your mind. Berners, I want you to tell me something."
"Go ahead," the Duke answered.
"Have you any idea in your head that Ronald has come to any harm at the
Red Hall?"
The Duke shook his head.
"No!" he answered decidedly. "Frankly, if he had been there with
Forrest alone, that would have been my first idea, but with your
brother there, and the Princess, it is impossible to suspect anything,
even if one knew what to suspect. The only possible clue as to his
disappearance which is connected in any way with the Red Hall is that I
understand he was paying attentions to Miss Le Mesurier, which she was
disinclined to accept."
Andrew nodded.
"I think," he said, "that is probable."
"On the other hand," the Duke continued, "Ronald isn't in the least the
sort of man to make away with himself or hide, because a girl, whom he
could not have known very well, refused to marry him."
"Have you seen anything of the Princess in town?" Andrew asked, a
little irrelevantly.
"I met her with her stepdaughter at Hereford House last night," the
Duke answered. "The Princess was looking as brilliant as ever, but the
little girl was pale and bored. She had a dozen men around her, and not
a smile for one of them. Dull little thing, I should think."
Andrew said nothing. He was looking out of the window upon Pall Mall,
but his eyes saw a little sandy hillock with blades of sprouting grass.
Behind, the lavender-streaked marsh; in front, the yellow sands and the
rippling sea. The sun seemed to warm his cheeks, the salt wind blew in
his face. Westerham wondered for a moment what his friend saw in the
grey flagged street to bring that faint reminiscent smile to his lips.
A messenger from the hall outside came in, and respectfully addressed
the Duke.
"Your Grace is wanted upon the telephone," he announced.
The Duke excused himself. He was absent only for a few minutes, and
when he returned and took his place he leaned over towards Andrew.
"My message was from the detective," he said. "He wants to see me. In
fact, he is coming round here directly."
CHAPTER II
Cecil came face to face with his brother in the room where refreshments
were being dispensed by solemn-looking footmen and trim parlour-maids.
He stared at him for a moment in surprise.
"What on earth are you doing here, Andrew?" he asked.
"Exactly what I was wondering myself," Andrew answered, setting down
his empty glass. "I met Bellamy Smith this afternoon in Bond Street,
and he asked me to dine, without saying anything about this sort of
show afterwards. By the by, Cecil," he added, "what are you doing in
town? I thought you said that you were not coming up until the late
autumn."
"No more I am, for any length of time," Cecil answered. "I am up for
the day, back to-morrow. There were one or two things I wanted, and it
was easier to come up and see about them than to write."
"Is Forrest still with you?" Andrew asked.
Cecil hesitated, and his brother had an unpleasant conviction that for
a moment he was uncertain whether to tell the truth or no.
"Yes!" Cecil answered, "he is still there. I know you don't like him,
Andrew, but he really isn't a bad sort, and he's quite a sportsman."
"Does he play cards with you?" Andrew asked.
"Never even suggested it," Cecil declared eagerly. "Fact is, we're out
shooting all day, duck shooting, or fishing, or motoring, and we go to
bed soon after dinner."
"You can't come to much harm at that," Andrew admitted. "By the by, do
you know that Engleton has never turned up?"
"I have heard so," Cecil admitted. "I am not so surprised."
"Why not?" Andrew asked.
Cecil raised his eyebrows in a superior manner.
"Well," he said, "I know he was very sick about his brother looking too
closely into his concerns. He has a little affair on just now that he
wants to keep to himself, and I think that that is the reason he went
off so quietly."
"His brother is very upset about it," Andrew remarked.
"Oh! the Duke was always a heavy old stick," Cecil answered. "I see
you've been doing your duty to-night," he added, making a determined
effort to change the conversation.
Andrew nodded.
"Do I look so hot?" he asked. "I am not used to these close rooms, or
dancing either. Unfortunately they seem short of men, and Mrs. Bellamy
Smith had me set."
Cecil grinned.
"That's the worst of dining before a dance," he remarked. "You're
pretty well cornered before the crowd comes. Upon my word, old chap,"
he added, looking his brother up and down with an air of kindly
patronage, "you don't turn out half badly. Country tailor still, eh?"
"Mind your own business, you young jackanapes," Andrew answered. "Do
you think that no one can wear town clothes except yourself?"
Cecil laughed. After all, considering everything, Andrew was a
good-natured fellow.
"By the by," he said, "do you know who is here this evening?"
Andrew demolished another sandwich.
"Every one, I should think," he answered. "I never saw such a crowd in
my life."
"The Princess and Jeanne are here," Cecil said. "I don't suppose we
shall either of us get near them. People are getting to know about
Jeanne's little dot, and they are fairly mobbed everywhere."
Andrew stood for a moment quite still. His first emotion was one of
dismay, and Cecil, noticing it, laughed at him.
"You can go ahead with your little flirtation," he remarked. "I had
quite forgotten that. You needn't consider me. I haven't a chance with
Miss Jeanne. She's too cranky a young person for me. I like something
with a little more go in it."
Cecil drifted away, and Andrew glanced at his card. There were two
dances for which he was still engaged, and he made his way slowly back
to the ballroom. There was a slight block at the entrance, and he had
to stand aside to let several couples pass out. One of the last of
these was Jeanne, on the arm of young Bellamy Smith. Andrew stood quite
still looking at her. He saw her start for a moment as she recognized
him, and her eyes swept him over with a half incredulous, half startled
expression. She drew a little breath. And then Andrew saw her suddenly
and instinctively stiffen. She looked him in the face and bowed very
slightly, without the vestige of a smile.
"How do you do, Mr. De la Borne?" she said as she passed on, without
taking the slightest notice of the hand, which, forgetting where he
was, he had half extended towards her.
Andrew went on into the ballroom, found his partner, and danced with
her. As soon as he could he made his adieux and hurried off to the
cloakroom. His coat was already upon his arm when Cecil discovered him.
"What are you bolting off for, old man?" he asked.
"I've had enough," Andrew answered. "I can't stand the atmosphere, and
I hate dancing, as you know. See you to-morrow, Cecil. I want to have a
talk with you. I am going away for a few weeks."
"Right oh!" Cecil answered. "But you can't go just yet. Mademoiselle Le
Mesurier sent me for you. She wants to speak to you at once."
Andrew hesitated.
"Do you mean this, Cecil?" he asked.
"Of course I do," Cecil answered. "I haven't been rushing about looking
into every corner of the place for nothing. Come along. I'll take you
to where she is."
Andrew handed back his coat and hat to the attendant, and followed
Cecil into the ballroom. In a passage leading to the billiard-room,
where several chairs had been arranged for sitting out, Jeanne was
ensconced, with two men leaning over her. She waved them away when she
saw who it was coming. Without a smile, or the vestige of one, she
motioned to Andrew to take the vacant seat by her side.
"I have executed your commission, Miss Le Mesurier," Cecil said, bowing
before her. "I will claim my reward when we meet again."
He sauntered away, leaving them alone. Jeanne turned at once towards
her companion.
"I am sorry," she said, "if my sending for you was in any way an
annoyance. I understand, of course, you have made it quite clear to me,
that our little friendship, or whatever you may choose to call it, is
at an end. But I do insist upon knowing what it was that you and my
stepmother were discussing for nearly half an hour in the gardens of
the Red Hall. The truth, mind. You and I should owe one another that."
"We talked of you," he answered. "What other subject can you possibly
imagine your stepmother and I could have in common?"
"That is a good start," she answered. "Now tell me the rest."
"I am not sure," he answered, "that I feel inclined to do that."
She leaned forward and looked at him. Unwillingly he turned his head to
meet her gaze.
"You must tell me, please," she said. "I insist upon knowing."
"Your stepmother," he said, "was perfectly reasonable and very candid.
She reminded me that you were a great heiress, and that as yet you had
seen nothing of the world. I do not know why she thought it necessary
to point this out to me, except that perhaps she thought that in some
mad moment I might have conceived the idea that you--"
"That I?" she repeated softly, as he hesitated.
He set his teeth hard and frowned.
"You know what I mean," he said coldly. "Your stepmother is a clever
woman, and a woman of the world. She takes into account all
contingencies, never mind how improbable they might be. She was afraid
that I might think things were possible between us which after all must
always remain outside serious consideration. She wanted to warn me.
That was all. It was kindness, but I am sure that it was unnecessary."
"You are not very lucid," she murmured. "It is because I am a great
heiress, then, that you go off fishing for three weeks without saying
good-bye; that you leave our next meeting to happen by chance in the
last place I should have expected to see you? What do you think of me,
Mr. Andrew? Do you imagine that I am of my stepmother's world, or ever
could be? Have the hours we have spent together taught you nothing
different?"
"You are a child," he answered evasively. "You do not know as yet to
what world you will belong. It is as your stepmother said to me. With
your fortune you may marry into one of the great families of Europe.
You might almost take a part in the world's history. It is not for such
as myself to dream of interfering with a destiny such as yours may be."
"For that reason," she remarked, leaning a little towards him, "you
went fishing in a dirty little boat with those common sailors for three
weeks. For that reason you bow to me when you meet me as though I were
an acquaintance whom you barely remembered. For that reason, I suppose,
you were hurrying away when your brother found you."
"It was the inevitable thing to do," he answered. "You may think to-day
one thing, but it is for others who are older and wiser than you to
remember that you are only a child, and that you have not realized yet
the place you fill in the world. If it pleases you to know it, let me
tell you that I am very glad indeed that you came to Salthouse. You
have made me think more seriously. You have made me understand that
after all the passing life is short, that idle days and physical
pleasures do not make up the life which is worthiest. I am going to try
other things. For the inspiration which bids me seek them, I have to
thank you."
She touched his great brown hand with the delicate tips of her fingers.
"Dear Mr. Andrew," she said, "you are very big and strong and
obstinate. You will have your own way however I may plead. Go, then,
and strike your great blows upon the anvil of life. You say that I am
passing the threshold, that as yet I am ignorant. Very well, I will
make my way in with the throng. I will look about me, and see what this
thing, life, is, and how much more it may mean to me because I chance
to be the possessor of many ill-earned millions. Before very long we
will meet again and compare notes, only I warn you, Mr. Andrew, that if
any change comes, it comes to you. I am one of the outsiders who has
looked into life, and who knows very well what is there even from
across the borders."
He rose at once. To stay there was worse torture than to go.
"So it shall be," he said. "We will each take our draught of
experience, and we will meet again and speak of the flavour of it. Only
remember that whatever may be your lot, hold fast to those simple
things which we have spoken of together, and the darkest days of all
can never come."
She gave him her hand, and flashed a look at him which he was not
likely to forget.
"So!" she said simply. "I shall remember."
CHAPTER III
The Princess was enjoying a few minutes of well-earned repose. She had
lunched with Jeanne at Ranelagh, where they had been the guests of a
lady who certainly had the right to call herself one of the leaders of
Society. The newspapers and the Princess' confidences to a few of her
friends had done all that was really necessary. Jeanne was accepted,
and the Princess passed in her wake through those innermost portals
which at one time had come perilously near being closed upon her. She
was lying on a sofa in a white negligee gown. Jeanne had just brought
in a pile of letters, mostly invitations. The Princess glanced them
through, and smiled as she tossed them on one side.
"How these people amuse one!" she exclaimed. "Eighteen months ago I was
in London alone, and not a soul came near me. To-day, because I am the
guardian of a young lady whom the world believes to be a great heiress,
people tumble over one another with their invitations and their
courtesies."
Jeanne looked up.
"Why do you say 'believes to be?'" she asked quickly. "I am a great
heiress, am I not?"
The Princess smiled, a slow, enigmatic smile, which might have meant
anything, but which to Jeanne meant nothing at all.
"My dear child," she said, "of course you are. The papers have said so,
Society has believed them. If I were to go out and declare right and
left that you had nothing but a beggarly twenty thousand pounds or so,
I should not find a soul to believe me. Every one would believe that I
was trying to scare them off, to keep you for myself, or some one of my
own choice. Really it is a very odd world!"
Jeanne was looking a little pensive. Her stepmother sometimes
completely puzzled her.
"Who are the trustees of my money?" she asked, a little abruptly.
The Princess raised her eyebrows.
"Bless the child!" she exclaimed. "What do you know about trustees?"
"When I am of age," Jeanne said calmly, "which will happen sometime or
other, I suppose, it will interest me to know exactly how much money I
have and how it is invested."
The Princess looked a little startled.
"My dear Jeanne," she exclaimed, "pray don't talk like that until after
you are married. Your money is being very well looked after. What I
should like you to understand is this. You are going to meet to-night
at dinner the man whom I intend you to marry."
Jeanne raised her eyebrows.
"I had some idea," she murmured, "of choosing a husband for myself."
"Impossible!" the Princess declared. "You have had no experience, and
you are far too important a person to be allowed to think of such a
thing. To-night at dinner you will meet the Count de Brensault. He is a
Belgian of excellent family, quite rich, and very much attracted by
you. I consider him entirely suitable, and I have advised him to speak
to you seriously."
"Thank you," Jeanne said, "but I don't like Belgians, and I do not mean
to marry one."
The Princess laughed, a little unpleasantly.
"My dear child," she said, "you may make a fuss about it, but
eventually you will have to marry whom I say. You must remember that
you are French, not English, and that I am your guardian. If you want
to choose for yourself, you will have to wait three or four years
before the law allows you to do so."
"Then I will wait three or four years," Jeanne answered quietly. "I
have no idea of marrying the Count de Brensault."
The Princess raised herself a little on her couch.
"Child," she said, "you would try any one's patience. Only a month or
so ago you told me that you were quite indifferent as to whom you might
marry. You were content to allow me to select some one suitable."
"A few months," Jeanne answered, "are sometimes a very long time. My
views have changed since then."
"You mean," the Princess said, "that you have met some one whom you
wish to marry?"
"Perhaps so," Jeanne answered. "At any rate I will not marry the Count
de Brensault."
The Princess' face had darkened.
"I do not wish to quarrel with you, Jeanne," she said, "but I think
that you will. Whom else is it that you are thinking of? Is it our
island fisherman who has taken your fancy?"
"Does that matter?" Jeanne answered calmly. "Is it not sufficient if I
say that I will not marry the Count de Brensault."
"No, it is not quite sufficient," the Princess remarked coldly. "You
will either marry the man whom I have chosen, or give me some definite
and clear reason for your refusal."
"One very definite and clear reason," Jeanne remarked, "is that I do
not like the Count de Brensault. I think that he is a noisy, forward,
and offensive young man."
"His income is nearly fifty thousand a year," the Princess remarked,
"so he must be forgiven a few eccentricities of manner."
"His income," Jeanne said, "scarcely matters, does it? If my money is
ever to do anything for me, it should at least enable me to choose a
husband for myself."
"That's where you girls always make such absurd mistakes," the Princess
remarked. "You get an idea or a liking into your mind, and you hold on
to it like wax. You forget that the times may change, new people may
come, the old order of things may pass altogether away. Suppose, for
instance, you were to lose your money?"
"I should not be sorry," Jeanne answered calmly. "I should at least be
sure that I was not any longer an article of merchandise. I could lead
my own life, and marry whom I pleased."
The Princess laughed scornfully.
"Men do not take to themselves penniless brides nowadays," she remarked.
"Some men--" Jeanne began.
The Princess interrupted her.
"Bah!" she said. "You are thinking of your island fisherman again. I
see by the papers that he has gone away. He is very wise. He may be a
very excellent person, but the whole world could not hold a less
suitable husband for you."
Jeanne smiled.
"Well," she said, "we shall see. I certainly do not think that he will
ever ask me to marry him. He is one of those whom my gold does not seem
to attract."
"He is clumsy," the Princess remarked. "A word of encouragement would
have brought him to your feet."
"If I had thought so," Jeanne remarked, "I would have spoken it."
The Princess looked across at her stepdaughter searchingly.
"Tell me the truth, Jeanne," she said. "Have you been idiot enough to
really care for this man?"
"That," Jeanne answered, "is a subject which I cannot discuss with any
one, not even you."
"It is all very well," the Princess answered, "but whatever happens, I
must see that you do not make an idiot of yourself. It is very
important indeed, for more reasons than you know of."
Jeanne looked up.
"Such as--?" she asked.
The Princess hesitated. There were two evils before her. It was not
possible to escape from both. She found herself weighing the chances of
each of them, their nearness to disaster.
"Well," she said, "great fortunes even like yours are not above the
chances of the money-markets. Your fortune, or a great part of it,
might go. What would happen to you then? You would be a pauper."
Jeanne smiled.
"I can see nothing terrifying in that," she answered, "but at the same
time I do not think that a fortune such as mine is a very fluctuating
affair."
"You are right, of course," the Princess said. "You will be one of the
richest young women in the country. There is nothing to prevent it. It
is a good thing that you have me to look after you."
Jeanne leaned a little forward in her chair, and looked steadfastly at
her stepmother.
"I suppose," she said, "that you are right. You know the world, at any
rate, and you are clever. But often you puzzle me. Why at first did you
want me to marry Major Forrest?"
The Princess' face seemed suddenly to harden.
"I never wished you to," she said coldly. "However, we will not talk
about that. For certain reasons I think that it would be well for you
to be married before you actually come of age. That is why I have
invited the Count de Brensault here to-night."
Jeanne's dark eyes were fixed curiously upon the Princess.
"Sometimes," she said, "I do not altogether understand you. Why should
there be all this nervous haste about my marriage? Do you know that it
would trouble me a great deal more, only that I have absolutely made up
my mind that nothing will induce me to marry any one whom I do not
really care for."
The Princess raised her head, and for a moment the woman and the girl
looked at one another. It was almost a duel--the Princess' intense,
almost threatening regard, and Jeanne's set face and steadfast eyes.
"My father left me all this money," Jeanne said, "that I might be
happy, not miserable. I am quite determined that I will not ruin my
life before it has commenced. I do not wish to marry at all for several
years. I think that you have brought me into what you call Society a
good deal too soon. I would rather study for a little time, and try and
learn what the best things are that one may get out of life. I am
afraid, from your point of view, that I am going to be a failure. I do
not care particularly about dances, or the people we have met at them.
I think that in another few weeks I shall be as bored as the most
fashionable person in London."
A servant knocked at the door announcing Major Forrest. Jeanne rose to
her feet and passed out by another door. The Princess made no attempt
to stop her.
CHAPTER IV
The Princess looked up with ill-concealed eagerness as Forrest entered.
"Well," she asked, "have you any news?"
Forrest shook his head.
"None," he answered. "I am up for the day only. Cecil will not let me
stay any longer. He was here himself the day before yesterday. We take
it by turns to come away."
"And there is nothing to tell me?" the Princess asked. "No change of
any sort?"
"None," Forrest answered. "It is no good attempting to persuade
ourselves that there is any."
"What are you up for, then?" she asked.
He laughed hardly.
"I am like a diver," he answered, "who has to come to the surface every
now and then for fresh air. Life down at Salthouse is very nearly the
acme of stagnation. Our only excitement day by day is the danger--and
the hope."
"Is Cecil getting braver?" the Princess asked.
"I think that he is, a little," Forrest answered.
The Princess nodded.
"We met him at the Bellamy Smiths'," she said. "It was quite a reunion.
Andrew was there, and the Duke."
Forrest's face darkened.
"Meddling fool," he muttered. "Do you know that there are two
detectives now in Salthouse? They come and go and ask all manner of
questions. One of them pretends that he believes Engleton was drowned,
and walks always on the beach and hires boatmen to explore the creeks.
The other sits in the inn and bribes the servants with drinks to talk.
But don't let's talk about this any longer. How is Jeanne?"
"We are going," the Princess said quietly, "to have trouble with that
child."
"Why?" Forrest asked.
"She is developing a conscience," the Princess remarked. "Where she got
it from, Heaven knows. It wasn't from her father. I can answer for
that."
"Anything else?" Forrest asked.
"It is a curious thing," the Princess replied, "but ever since those
few days down at that tumbledown old place of Cecil de la Borne's, she
seems to have developed in a remarkable manner. I don't know how much
nonsense she talked with that fisherman of hers, but some of it, at any
rate, seems to have stuck. I am sure," she added, with a little sigh,
"that we are going to have trouble."
Forrest smiled grimly.
"So far as I'm concerned," he remarked, "the trouble has arrived. I've
a good mind to chuck it altogether."
The Princess looked up. Worn though her face was, she possessed one
feature, her eyes, which still entitled her to be called a beautiful
woman. She looked at Forrest steadily, and he felt himself growing
uncomfortable before the contempt of her steady regard.
"I wonder how it is," she said pensively, "that all men are more or
less cowards. You shield yourselves by speaking of an attack of nerves.
It is nothing more nor less than cowardice."
"I believe you are right," Forrest assented. "I'm not the man I was."
"You are not," the Princess agreed. "It is well for you that you have
had me to look after you, or you would have gone to pieces altogether.
You talk of giving up cards and retiring to the Continent. My dear man,
what do you propose to live on?"
He did not answer. He had bullied this woman for a good many years. Now
he felt that the tables were being turned upon him.
"What has become of the De la Borne money?" she asked. "I never thought
that you would get it, but he paid up every cent, didn't he?"
Forrest nodded.
"He did," he admitted, "or rather his brother did for him. I lost four
hundred at Goodwood, and there were some of my creditors I simply had
to give a little to, or they would have pulled me up altogether. You
talk about nerves, Ena, but, hang it all, it's enough to give anyone
the hum to lead the sort of life I've had to lead for the last few
years. I'm nothing more nor less than a common adventurer."
"Whatever you are," the Princess answered steadily, "you are too old to
change your life or the manner of it. One can start again afresh on the
other side of forty, but at fifty the thing is hopeless. Fortunately
you have me."
"You!" he repeated bitterly. "You mean that I can dip into your purse
for pocket-money when you happen to have any. I have done too much of
it. You forget that there is one way into a new world, at any rate."
The Princess smiled.
"My dear Nigel," she said, "it is a way which you will never take.
Don't think I mean to be unkind when I say that you have not the
courage. However, we will not talk about that. I sent for you to tell
you that De Brensault is really in earnest about Jeanne. He is dining
here to-night. I will get some other people and we will have bridge. De
Brensault is conceited, and a bad player, and what is most important of
all, he can afford to lose."
Forrest began to look a little less gloomy.
"You were fortunate," he remarked, "to get hold of De Brensault. There
are not many of his sort about. I am afraid, though, that he will not
make much of an impression upon Jeanne."
The Princess' face hardened.
"If Jeanne is going to be obstinate," she said, "she must suffer for
it. De Brensault is just the man I have been looking for. He wants a
young wife, and although he is rich, he is greedy. He is the sort of
person I can talk to. In fact I have already given him a hint."
Forrest nodded understandingly.
"But, Ena," he said, "if he really does shell out, won't you be sailing
rather close to the wind?"
She shrugged her shoulders.
"I am not afraid," she said. "I know De Brensault and his sort. If he
feels that he has been duped, he will keep it to himself. He is too
vain a man to allow the world to know it. Poor Jeanne! I am afraid, I
am very much afraid that he will take it out of her."
"I do not quite see," Forrest said reflectively, "how you are going to
make Jeanne marry any one, especially in this country."
"Jeanne is French, not English," the Princess remarked, "and she is not
of age. A mother has considerable authority legally, as I dare say you
are aware. We may not be able to manage it in England, but I think I
can guarantee that if De Brensault doesn't disappoint us, the wedding
will take place."
Forrest helped himself to a cigarette from an open box by his side.
"I think," he said, "that if it comes off we ought to go to the States
for a year or so. They don't know us so well there, and those people
are the easiest duped of any in the world."
The Princess nodded.
"I have thought of that," she remarked. "There are only one or two
little things against it. However, we will see. You had better go now.
I have some callers coming and must make myself respectable."
She gave him her hands and he raised them to his lips. Her eyes
followed him as he turned away and left the room. For a few moments she
was thoughtful. Then she shrugged her shoulders.
"Well," she said, "all things must come to an end, I suppose."
She rang the bell and sent for Jeanne. It was ten minutes, however,
before she appeared.
"What have you been doing?" the Princess asked with a frown.
"Finishing some letters," Jeanne answered calmly. "Did you want me
particularly?"
"To whom were you writing?" the Princess demanded.
"To Monsieur Laplanche for one person," Jeanne answered calmly.
The Princess raised her eyebrows.
"And what had you," she asked, "to say to Monsieur Laplanche?"
"I have written to ask him a few particulars concerning my fortune,"
Jeanne answered.
"Such as?" the Princess inquired steadily.
"I want to know," Jeanne said, "at what age it becomes my own, and how
much it amounts to. It seems to me that I have a right to know these
things, and as you will not tell me, I have written to Monsieur
Laplanche."
The Princess held out her hand.
"Give me the letter," she said.
Jeanne made no motion to obey.
"Do you object to my writing?" she asked.
"I object," the Princess said, "to your writing anybody on any subject
without my permission, and so far as regards the information you have
asked for from Monsieur Laplanche, I will tell you all that you want to
know."
"I prefer," Jeanne said steadily, "to hear it from Monsieur Laplanche
himself. There are times when you say things which I do not understand.
I have quite made up my mind that I will have things made plain to me
by my trustee."
The Princess was outwardly calm, but her eyes were like steel.
"You are a foolish child," she said. "I am your guardian. You have
nothing whatever to do with your trustees. They exist to help me, not
you. Everything that you wish to know you must learn from me. It is not
until you are of age that any measure of control passes from me. Give
me that letter."
Jeanne hesitated for a moment. Then she turned toward the door.
"No!" she said. "I am going to post it."
The Princess rose from her chair, and crossing the room locked the door.
"Jeanne," she said, "come here."
The girl hesitated. In the end she obeyed. The Princess reached out her
hand and struck her on the cheek.
"Give me that letter," she commanded.
Jeanne shrank back. The suddenness of the blow, its indignity, and
these new relations which it seemed designed to indicate, bewildered
her. She stood passive while the Princess took the letter from her
fingers and tore it into pieces. Then she unlocked the door.
"Go to your room, Jeanne," she ordered.
Jeanne heard the sound of people ascending the stairs, and this time
she did not hesitate. The Princess drew a little breath and looked at
the fragments of the letter in the grate. It was victory of a sort, but
she realized very well that the ultimate issue was more doubtful than
ever. In her room Jeanne would have time for reflection. If she chose
she might easily decide upon the one step which would be irretrievable.
CHAPTER V
The Count de Brensault was a small man, with a large pale face. There
were puffy little bags under his eyes, from which the colour had
departed. His hair, though skilfully arranged, was very thin at the
top, and his figure had the lumpiness of the man who has never known
any sort of athletic training. He looked a dozen years older than his
age, which was in reality thirty-five, and for the last ten years he
had been a constant though cautious devotee of every form of
dissipation. Jeanne, who sat by his side at dinner-time, found herself
looking at him more than once in a sort of fascinated wonder. Was it
really possible that any one could believe her capable of marrying such
a creature! There were eight people at dinner, in none of whom she was
in the least interested. The Count de Brensault talked a good deal, and
very loudly. He spoke of his horses and his dogs and his motor cars,
but he omitted to say that he had ceased to ride his horses, and that
he never drove his motor car. Jeanne listened to him in quiet contempt,
and the Princess fidgetted in her chair. The man ought to know that
this was not the way to impress a child fresh from boarding-school!
"You seem," Jeanne remarked, after listening to him almost in silence
for a long time, "to give most of your time to sports. Do you play
polo?"
He shook his head.
"I am too heavy," he said, "and the game, it is a little dangerous."
"Do you hunt?" she asked.
"No!" he admitted. "In Belgium we do not hunt."
"Do you race with your motor cars?"
"I entered one," he answered, "for the Prix des Ardennes. It was the
third. My driver, he was not very clever."
"You did not drive it yourself, then?" she asked.
He laughed in a superior manner.
"I do not wish," he said, "to have a broken neck. There are so many
things in life which I still find very pleasant."
He smiled at her in a knowing manner, and Jeanne looked away to hide
her disgust.
"Your interest in sport," she remarked, "seems to be a sort of
second-hand one, does it not?"
"I do not know that," he answered. "I do not know quite what you mean.
At Ostend last year I won the great sweepstakes."
"For shooting pigeons?" she asked.
"So!" he admitted, with content.
She smiled.
"I see that I must beg your pardon," she said. "Have you ever done any
big game shooting?"
He shook his head.
"I do not like to travel very much," he answered. "I do not like the
cooking, and I think that my tastes are what you would call very
civilized."
The Princess intervened. She felt that it was necessary at any cost to
do so.
"The Count," she told Jeanne, "has just been elected a member of the
Four-in-Hand Club here. If we are very nice to him he will take us out
in his coach."
"As soon," De Brensault interposed hastily, "as I have found another
team not quite so what you call spirited. My black horses are very
beautiful, but I do not like to drive them. They pull very hard, and
they always try to run away."
The Princess sighed. The man, after all, was really a little hopeless.
She saw clearly that it was useless to try and impress Jeanne. The
affair must take its course. Afterwards in the drawing-room the Count
came and sat by Jeanne's side.
"Always," he declared, "in England it is bridge. One dines with one's
friends, and one would like to talk for a little time, and it is
bridge. It must be very dull for you little girls who are not old
enough to play. There is no one left to talk to you."
Jeanne smiled.
"Perhaps," she said, "I am an exception. There are very few people whom
I care to have talk to me."
She looked him in the eyes, but he was unfortunately a very spoilt
young man, and he only stroked the waxed tip of a scanty moustache.
"I am very glad to hear you say so, mademoiselle," he said. "That makes
it the more pleasant that your excellent mother gives me one quarter of
an hour's respite from bridge that we may have a little conversation.
Have you ever been in my country, Miss Le Mesurier?"
"I have only travelled through it," Jeanne answered; "but I am afraid
that you did not understand what I meant just now. I said that there
were very few people with whom I cared to talk. You are not one of
those few, Monsieur le Comte."
He looked at her with a half-open mouth. His eyes were suddenly like
beads.
"I do not understand," he said.
"I am afraid," Jeanne answered, with a sigh, "that you are very
unintelligent. What I meant to say was that I do not like to sit here
and talk with you. It wearies me, because you do not say anything that
interests me, and I should very much rather read my book."
The Count de Brensault was nonplussed. He looked at Jeanne, and he
looked vaguely across the room at the Princess, as though wondering
whether he ought to appeal to her.
"Have I offended you?" he asked. "Perhaps I have said something that
you do not like. I am sorry."
"No, it is not that at all," Jeanne answered sweetly. "It is simply
that I do not like you. You must not mind if I tell you the truth. You
see I have only just come from boarding-school, and there we were
always taught to be quite truthful."
De Brensault stared at her again. This was the most extraordinary young
woman whom he had ever met in his life. Had not the Princess only an
hour ago told him that although he might find her a little difficult at
first, she was nevertheless prepared to receive his advances. He had
imagined himself dazzling her a little with his title and possessions,
gracefully throwing the handkerchief at her feet, and giving her that
slight share in his life and affection which his somewhat continental
ideas of domesticity suggested. Had she really meant to be rude to him,
or was she nervous? He looked at her once more, still with that
unintelligent stare. Jeanne was perfectly composed, with her pale
cheeks and large serious eyes. She was obviously speaking the truth.
Then as he looked the expression in his eyes changed. She was gradually
becoming desirable, not only on account of her youth and dowry--there
were other things. He felt a sudden desire to kiss those very shapely,
somewhat full lips, which had just told him so calmly that their owner
disliked him. Already he was telling himself in his mind that some day,
when she was his altogether, for a plaything or what he chose to make
of her, he would remind her of this evening.
"I am sorry," he said, "that you do not like me, but that is because
you are not used to men. Presently you will know me better, and then I
am sure it will be different. As for you," he continued, looking at her
in a manner which he felt should certainly awaken some different
feeling in her inexperienced heart, "I admire you very much indeed. I
have seen you only once or twice, but I have thought of you much. Some
day I hope that we shall be very much better friends."
He leaned a little toward her, and Jeanne calmly removed herself a
little further away. She turned her head now to look at him, as she sat
upright upon the sofa, very slim and graceful in her white gown.
"I do not think so," she said. "I do not care about being friendly with
people whom I dislike, and I am beginning to dislike you very much
indeed because you will not go away when I ask you."
He rose to his feet a little offended.
"Very well," he said, "I will go and talk to your stepmother, who wants
me to play bridge, but very soon I shall come back, and before long I
think that I am going to make you like me very much."
He crossed the room, and Jeanne's eyes followed his awkward gait with a
sudden flash of quiet amusement. She watched him talk to her
stepmother, and she saw the Princess' face darken. As a matter of fact
De Brensault felt that he had some just cause for complaint.
"Dear Princess," he said, "you did not tell me that she was so very
farouche, so very shy indeed. I speak to her quite kindly, and she
tells me that she does not like me, and that she wished me to go away."
The Princess looked across the room towards Jeanne, who was calmly
reading, and apparently oblivious of everything that was passing.
"My dear Count," she said, tapping his hand with her fan, "she is very,
very serious. She would like to have been a nun, but of course we would
not hear of it. I think that she was a little afraid of you. You looked
at her very boldly, you know, and she is not used to the glances of
men. At her age, perhaps--you understand?"
The Count was not quite sure that he did understand. He had a most
unpleasant recollection of the firmness and decision with which Jeanne
had announced her views with regard to him, but he looked towards her
again and the look was fatal. Jeanne was certainly a most desirable
young person, quite apart from her dowry.
"It may be as you say, Princess," he said. "I must leave her to you for
a little time. You must talk to her. She is quite pretty," he added
with an involuntary note of condescension in his tone. "I am very
pleased with her. In fact I am quite attracted."
"You will remember," the Princess said, dropping her voice a little,
"that before anything definite is said, you and I must have a little
conversation."
De Brensault twirled his moustache. He looked up at the Princess as
though trying to fathom the meaning of her words.
"Certainly," he answered slowly. "I have not forgotten what you said.
Of course, her dot is very large, is it not?"
"It is very large indeed," the Princess answered, "and there are a
great many young men who would be very grateful to me indeed if I were
willing even to listen to them."
De Brensault nodded.
"Very well," he said. "We will have that little talk whenever you like."
The Princess nodded.
"I suppose," she said, "we must play bridge now. They are waiting for
us."
De Brensault looked behind to where Jeanne was still sitting reading.
Her head was resting upon a sofa pillow, deep orange coloured, against
which the purity of her complexion, the delicate lines of her eyebrows,
the shapeliness of her exquisite mouth, were all more than ever
manifest. She read with interest, and without turning her head away
from the pages of the book which she held in long, slender fingers. De
Brensault sighed as he turned away.
"Certainly," he said. "We will go and play bridge. But I will tell you
what it is, my dear Princess. I think I am very near falling in love
with your little stepdaughter."
CHAPTER VI
Forrest crossed the room and waited his opportunity until the Princess
was alone.
"Let me take you somewhere," he said. "I want to talk to you."
She laid her fingers upon his arm, and they walked slowly away from the
crowded part of the ballroom.
"So you are up again," she remarked looking at him curiously. "Does
that mean--?"
"It means nothing, worse luck," he answered, "except that I have
twenty-four hours' leave. I am off back again at eight o'clock
to-morrow morning. Tell me about this De Brensault affair. How is it
going on?"
"Well enough on his side," she answered. "The amusing part of it is
that the more Jeanne snubs him, the keener he gets. He sends roses and
chocolates every day, and positively haunts the house. I never was so
tired of any one."
"Make him your son-in-law quickly," he said grimly. "You'll see little
enough of him then."
"I'm not sure," the Princess said reflectively, "whether it is quite
wise to hurry Jeanne so much."
"Wise or not," Forrest said, "it must be done. Even supposing the other
affair comes out all right, London is getting impossible for me. I
don't know who's at the bottom of it, but people have stopped sending
me invitations, and even at my pothouse of a club the men seem to have
as little to say to me as possible. Some one's at work spreading
reports of some sort or another. I am not over sensitive, but the
thing's becoming an impossibility."
"Do you suppose," she asked quietly, "that it is the Engleton affair?"
He nodded.
"People are saying all sorts of things," he answered. "I'd go abroad
to-morrow and leave De la Borne to look out for himself, but I haven't
even the money to pay my railway fare."
The Princess shrugged her shoulders expressively.
"Oh, I'm not begging!" he continued. "I know you're pretty well in the
same box."
"That," the Princess remarked, "scarcely expresses it. I am a great
deal worse off than you, because I have a houseful of unpaid servants,
and a mob of tradespeople, who are just beginning to clamour. I see
that you are looking at my necklace," she continued. "I can assure you
that I have not a single real stone left. Everything I possess that
isn't in pawn is of paste."
"Then don't you see, Ena," he said, "that this thing really must be
hurried forward? De Brensault is ready enough, isn't he?"
"Quite," she answered.
"And he understands the position?"
"I think so," the Princess answered. "I have given him to understand it
pretty clearly."
"Then have a clear business talk with him," Forrest said, "and then
have it out with Jeanne. You could all go abroad together, and they
could be married at the Embassy, say at Paris."
"Jeanne is the only difficulty," the Princess said. "It would suit me
better, for upon my word I don't know where I could get credit for her
trousseau."
"It isn't any use waiting," Forrest said. "I have watched them
together, and I am sure of it. De Brensault isn't one of those fellows
who improve upon acquaintance. Look, there they are. Nothing very
lover-like about that, is there?"
De Brensault and Jeanne were crossing the room together. Only the very
tips of her fingers rested upon his coat-sleeve, and there was a marked
aloofness about her walk and the carriage of her head. He was saying
something to her to which she seemed to be paying the scantiest of
attention. Her head was thrown back, and in her eyes was a great
weariness. Suddenly, just as they reached the entrance, they saw her
whole expression change. A wave of colour flooded her cheeks. Her eyes
were suddenly filled with life. They saw her lips part. Her hands were
outstretched to greet the man who, crossing the room, had stopped at
her summons. Both the Princess and Forrest frowned when they saw who it
was. It was Andrew de la Borne.
"That infernal fisherman!" Forrest muttered. "I saw in the paper that
he had returned this afternoon from The Hague."
The Princess made an involuntary movement forward, but Forrest checked
her.
"You can do no good," he said. "Wait and see what happens."
What did happen was very simple, and for the Count de Brensault a
little humiliating. Jeanne passed her arm through the newcomer's and
with the curtest of nods to her late companion, disappeared through an
open doorway. The Belgian stood looking after them, twirling his
moustache with shaking fingers. His face was paler even than usual, and
he was shaking with anger.
"Leave him alone for a few minutes," Forrest said to the Princess. "You
will do no good at all by speaking to him just now. Ena, it is
absolutely necessary that you make Jeanne understand the state of
affairs."
"I think," the Princess said thoughtfully, "that it will be best to
take her away from London. Lately I have noticed a development in
Jeanne which I do not altogether understand. She has begun to think for
herself most unpleasantly. She plays at being a child with De
Brensault, but that is simply because it is the easiest way to repulse
him."
Meanwhile Jeanne, whose face was transfigured, and whose whole manner
was changed, was sitting with her companion in the quietest corner they
could find.
"It is delightful to see you again," she said frankly. "I do not think
that any one ever felt so lonely as I do."
He smiled.
"I can assure you that I find it delightful to be back again," he said,
"although I have enjoyed my work very much. By the by, who introduced
you to the man whom you were with when I found you?"
"My stepmother," she answered. "He is the man, by the by, whom I am
told I am to marry."
Andrew looked as he felt for a moment, shocked.
"I am sorry to hear that," he said quietly.
"You need not be afraid," she answered. "I am not of age, and I was
brought up in a country where one's guardians have a good deal of
authority, but nothing in the world would ever induce me to marry a
creature like that."
His face cleared somewhat.
"I am very surprised," he said, "that your stepmother should have
thought of it. He is an unfit companion for any self-respecting woman."
"I do not understand," Jeanne said quietly, "why they are so anxious
that I should marry quickly, but I know that my stepmother thinks of
nothing else in connection with me. Look! They are coming through the
conservatories. Let us go out by the other door."
They came face to face with a tall, grave-looking man, who wore an
order around his neck. Andrew stopped suddenly.
"I should like," he said to Jeanne, "to introduce you to my friend. You
have met him before down at the Red Hall, and on the island, but that
scarcely counts. Westerham, this is Miss Le Mesurier. You remember that
you saw her at Salthouse."
The Duke shook hands with the girl, looking at her attentively. His
manner was kind, but his eyes seemed to be questioning her all the time.
"I am very glad to know you, Miss Le Mesurier," he said. "My friend
Andrew here has spoken of you to me."
They remained talking together for some minutes, until, in fact,
Forrest and the Princess, who were in pursuit of them, appeared. The
Princess looked curiously at the Duke, and Forrest frowned heavily when
he recognized him. There was a moment's almost embarrassed silence.
Then Andrew did what seemed to him to be the reasonable thing.
"Princess," he said, "will you allow me to present my friend the Duke
of Westerham. The Duke was staying with me a few weeks ago, as you
know, and at that time he had a particular reason for not wishing his
whereabouts to be known."
The Duke bowed over the Princess' hand, which was offered him at once,
and without hesitation, but his greeting to Forrest was markedly cold.
Forrest had evidently lost his nerve. He seemed tongue-tied, and he was
very pale. It was the Princess alone who saved the situation from
becoming an exceedingly embarrassing one.
"I have heard of you very often, Duke," she said. "Your brother, Lord
Ronald, took us down to Norfolk, you know. By the by, have you heard
from him yet?"
"Not yet, madam," the Duke said, "but I can assure you that it is only
a matter of time before I shall discover his whereabouts. I wonder
whether your ward will do me the honour of giving me this dance?" he
added, turning to her. "I am afraid I am not a very skilful performer,
but perhaps she will have a little consideration for one who is willing
to do his best."
He led Jeanne away from them, and Andrew, after a moment's stereotyped
conversation, also departed. The Princess and Forrest were alone.
"This is getting worse and worse," Forrest muttered. "He is suspicious.
I am sure that he is. They say that young Engleton was his favourite
brother, and that he is determined--"
"Hush!" the Princess said. "There are too many people about to talk of
these things. I wonder why the Duke took Jeanne off."
"An excuse for getting away from us," Forrest said. "Did you see the
way he looked at me? Ena, I cannot hang on like this any longer. I must
have a few thousand pounds and get away."
The Princess nodded.
"We will go and talk to De Brensault," she said. "I should think he
would be just in the frame of mind to consent to anything."
The Duke, who was well acquainted with the house in which they were,
led Jeanne into a small retiring room and found her an easy chair.
"My dear young lady," he said, "I hope you will not be disappointed,
but I have not danced for ten years. I brought you here because I
wanted to say something to you."
Jeanne looked up at him a little surprised.
"Something to me?" she repeated.
He bowed.
"Andrew de la Borne is one of my oldest and best friends," he said,
"and what I am going to say to you is a little for his sake, although I
am sure that if I knew you better I should say it also for your own.
You must not be annoyed or offended, because I am old enough to be your
father, and what I say I say altogether for your own good. They tell me
that you are a young lady with a great fortune, and you know that
nowadays half the evil that is done in the world is done for the sake
of money. Frankly, without wishing to say a word against your
stepmother, I consider that for a young girl you are placed in a very
difficult and dangerous position. The man Forrest--mind you must not be
offended if he should be a friend of yours--but I am bound to tell you
that I believe him to be an unscrupulous adventurer, and I am afraid
that your stepmother is very much under his influence. You have no
other relatives or friends in this country, and I hear that a man named
De Brensault is a suitor for your hand."
"I shall never marry him," Jeanne said firmly. "I think that he is
detestable."
"I am glad to hear you say so," the Duke continued, "because he is not
a man whom I would allow any young lady for whom I had any shade of
respect or affection, to become acquainted with. Now the fact that your
stepmother deliberately encourages him makes me fear that you may find
yourself at any moment in a very difficult position. I do not wish to
say anything against your friends or your stepmother. I hope you will
believe that. But nowadays people who are poor themselves, but who know
the value and the use of money, are tempted to do things for the sake
of it which are utterly unworthy and wrong. I want you to understand
that if any time you should need a friend it will give me very great
happiness indeed to be of any service to you I can. I am a bachelor, it
is true, but I am old enough to be your father, and I can bring you
into touch at once with friends more suitable for you and your station.
Will you come to me, or send for me, if you find yourself in any sort
of trouble?"
She said very little, but she looked at him for a moment with her
wonderful eyes, very soft with unshed tears.
"You are very, very kind," she said. "I have been very unhappy, and I
have felt very lonely. It will make everything seem quite different to
know there is some one to whom I may come for advice if--if--"
"I know, dear," the Duke interrupted, rising and holding out his arm.
"I know quite well what you mean. All I can say is, don't be afraid to
come or to send, and don't let any one bully you into throwing away
your life upon a scoundrel like De Brensault. I am going to give you
back to Andrew now. He is a good fellow--one of the best. I only wish--"
The Duke broke off short. After all, he remembered, he had no right to
complete his sentence. Andrew, he felt, was no more of a marrying man
than he himself, and he was the last person in the world to ever think
of marrying a great heiress. They found him waiting about outside.
"I must relinquish my charge," the Duke said smiling. "You will not
forget, Miss Le Mesurier?"
"I am never likely to," she answered gratefully.
CHAPTER VII
The Count de Brensault had seldom been in a worse temper. That Jeanne
should have flouted him was not in itself so terrible, because he had
quite made up his mind that sooner or later he would take a coward's
revenge for the slights he had been made to endure at her hands. But
that he should have been flouted in the presence of a whole roomful of
people, that he should have been deliberately left for another man, was
a different matter altogether. His first impulse when Jeanne left him,
was to walk out of the house and have nothing more to say to the
Princess or Jeanne herself. The world was full of girls perfectly
willing to tumble into his arms, and mothers only too anxious to push
them there. Why should he put himself in this position for Jeanne,
great heiress though she might be? But somehow or other, after he had
tossed off two glasses of champagne at the buffet, he realized that his
fancy for her was a real thing, and one from which he could not so
readily escape. If she had wished to deliberately attract him, she
could scarcely have chosen means more calculated to attain that end
than by this avowed indifference, even dislike. He sat by himself in a
small smoking-room and thought of her--her slim girlish perfection of
figure and bearing, her perfect complexion, her beautiful eyes, her
scarlet lips. All these things came into his mind as he sat there,
until he felt his cheeks flush with the desire to succeed, and his eyes
grow bright at the thought of the time when he should hold her in his
arms and take what revenge he chose for these slights. No! he would not
let her go, he determined. Dignified or undignified, he would pursue
her to the end, only he must have an understanding with the Princess,
something definite must be done. He would not run the risk again of
being made a laughing-stock before all his friends. Forrest found him
in exactly the mood most suitable for his purpose.
"Come and talk to the Princess," he said. "She has something to say to
you."
De Brensault rose somewhat heavily to his feet.
"And I," he said, "I, too, have something to say to her. We will take a
glass of champagne together, my friend Forrest, and then we will seek
the Princess."
Forrest nodded.
"By all means," he said. "To tell you the truth I need it."
De Brensault looked at him curiously.
"You are very pale, my friend," he said. "You look as though things
were not going too well with you."
"I have been annoyed," Forrest answered. "There is a man here whom I
dislike, and it made me angry to see him with Miss Jeanne. I think
myself that the time has come when something definite must be done as
regards that child. She is too young to be allowed to run loose like
this, and a great deal too inexperienced."
"I agree with you," De Brensault said solemnly. "We will drink that
glass of wine together, and we will go and talk to the Princess."
They found the Princess where Forrest had left her. She motioned to De
Brensault to sit by her side, and Forrest left them.
"My dear Count," the Princess said, "to-night has proved to me that it
is quite time Jeanne had some one to look after her. Let me ask you.
Are you perfectly serious in your suit?"
"Absolutely!" De Brensault answered eagerly. "I myself would like the
matter settled. I propose to you for her hand."
The Princess bowed her head thoughtfully.
"Now, my dear Count," she said, "I am going to talk to you as a woman
of the world. You know that my husband, in leaving his fortune entirely
to Jeanne, treated me very badly. You may know this, or you may not
know it, but the fact remains that I am a very poor woman."
De Brensault nodded sympathetically. He guessed pretty well what was
coming.
"If I," the Princess continued, "assist you to gain my stepdaughter
Jeanne for your wife, and the control of all her fortune, it is only
fair," she continued, "that I should be recompensed in some way for the
allowance which I have been receiving as her guardian, and which will
then come to an end. I do not ask for anything impossible or
unreasonable. I want you to give me twenty thousand pounds the day that
you marry Jeanne. It is about one year's income for her rentes, a mere
trifle to you, of course."
"Twenty thousand pounds," De Brensault repeated reflectively.
The Princess nodded. She was sorry that she had not asked thirty
thousand.
"I am not a mercenary woman," she said. "If I were not almost a pauper
I would accept nothing. As it is, I think you will call my proposal a
very fair one."
"The exact amount of Mademoiselle Jeanne's dot," he remarked, "has
never been discussed between us."
"The figures are altogether beyond me," the Princess said. "To tell you
the truth I have never had the heart to go into them. I have always
thought it terribly unfair that my husband should have left me nothing
but an annuity, and this great fortune to the child. However, as you
are both rich, it seems to me that settlements will not be necessary.
On your honeymoon you can go and see her trustees in Paris, and you
yourself will, of course, then take over the management of her fortune."
De Brensault looked thoughtful for a moment or two.
"Perhaps," he said, "it would be better if I had a business interview
with her trustees before the ceremony."
"Just as you like," the Princess answered carelessly. "Monsieur
Laplanche is in Cairo just now, but he will be back in Paris in a few
weeks' time. Perhaps you would rather delay everything until then?"
"No!" De Brensault said, after a moment's hesitation. "I would like to
delay nothing. I would like to marry Mademoiselle Jeanne at once, if it
can be arranged."
"To tell you the truth," the Princess said, "I think it would be much
the best way out of a very difficult situation. I am finding Jeanne
very difficult to manage, and I am quite sure that she will be happier
and better off married. I am proposing, if you are willing, to exercise
my authority absolutely. If she shows the slightest reluctance to
accept you, I propose that we all go over to Paris. I shall know how to
arrange things there."
De Brensault smiled. The prospect of winning Jeanne at any cost became
more and more attractive to him. The Princess, who was looking at him
through half closed eyes, saw that he was perfectly safe.
"And now, my dear Count," she said, "I am going to ask you a favour. I
am doing for you something for which you ought to be grateful to me all
your life. For a mere trifle which will not recompense me in the least
for what I am giving up, I am finding you one of the most desirable
brides in Europe. I want you to help me a little."
"What is it that I can do?" he asked.
"Let me have five thousand pounds on account of what you are going to
give me, to-morrow morning," she said coolly.
De Brensault hesitated. He was prepared to pay for what he wanted, but
five thousand pounds was nevertheless a great deal of money.
"I would not ask you," the Princess continued, "if I were not really
hard up. I have been gambling, a foolish thing to do, and I do not want
to sell my securities, because I know that very soon they will pay me
over and over again. Will you do this for me? Remember, I am giving you
my word that Jeanne is to be yours."
"Make it three thousand," De Brensault said slowly. "Three thousand
pounds I will send you a cheque for, to-morrow morning."
The Princess nodded.
"As you will," she said. "I think if I were you, though, I should make
it five. However, I shall leave it for you to do what you can. Now will
you take me out into the ballroom. I am going to look for Jeanne."
They found her at supper with the Duke and Andrew and a very great
lady, a connection of the Duke's, who was one of those few who had
refused to accept the Princess. The Princess swept up to the little
party and laid her hand upon Jeanne's shoulder.
"I do not want to hurry you, dear," she said, "but when you have
finished supper I should be glad to go. We have to go on to Dorchester
House, you know."
Jeanne sighed. She had been enjoying herself very much indeed.
"I am ready now," she said, standing up, "but must we go to Dorchester
House? I would so much rather go straight home. I have not had such a
good time since I have been in London."
The Duke offered her his arm, ignoring altogether Count De Brensault,
who was standing by.
"At least," he said, "you will permit me to see you to your carriage."
The Princess smiled graciously. It was bad enough to be ignored, as she
certainly was to some extent, but on the other hand it was good for De
Brensault to see Jeanne held in such esteem. She took his arm and they
followed down the room. The Duke was bending down and talking earnestly
to Jeanne; this surprised the Princess.
"I wonder," she remarked, more to herself than to her companion, "what
he is saying."
De Brensault shrugged his shoulders.
"I do not care," he said. "We will keep to our bargain, you and I. In a
few days it will be my arm that she shall take, and nobody else's.
Perhaps I shall be a little jealous. Who can say? In a little time she
will not mind."
"Remember," the Duke was saying, as he drew Jeanne's hand through his
arm, "that I was very much in earnest in what I said to you just now. I
have seen a good deal of the world, and you nothing at all, and I
cannot help believing that the time when you may need some one's help
is a good deal nearer than you yourself imagine."
"I wonder," she asked, a little timidly, "why you are so kind to me?"
"I accept you upon trust," the Duke said, "for the sake of my friend
Andrew. I know that he lives out of the world, and has not much
experience in judging others, but I do believe that when he has made up
his mind about anybody, he is generally right. Frankly, from what I
have heard, and a little that I know, I am afraid that I should have
been suspicious about even a child like you, because of your
associates. But because I believe in you, I am all the more sure that
very soon you are going to find yourself in trouble. It is agreed,
remember, that when that time comes you will remember that I am your
friend."
"I will remember," she murmured. "I am not likely to forget. Except for
you and Mr. De la Borne, no one has been really kind to me since I left
school. They all say foolish things, and try to make me like them,
because I am a great heiress, but one understands how much that is
worth."
The Duke looked at her, and seemed half inclined to say something.
Whatever it may have been, however, he thought better of it. He
contented himself with taking her hand in his and shaking it warmly.
"Good night," he said, "little Miss Jeanne, and remember, No. 51,
Grosvenor Square. If I am not there, I have a very nice old housekeeper
who will look after you until I turn up."
"No. 51," she repeated softly. "No, I shall not forget!"
CHAPTER VIII
The Princess and Jeanne drove homewards in a silence which remained
unbroken until the last few minutes. The events of the evening had been
somewhat perplexing to the former. She scarcely understood even now why
a great personage like the Duke of Westerham had shown such interest in
her charge.
"Tell me, Jeanne," she asked at last, "why is the Duke of Westerham so
friendly with your fisherman?"
Jeanne raised her eyebrows slightly.
"'My fisherman,' as you call him," she answered, "is, after all, Andrew
de la Borne! They were at school together."
"That is all very well," the Princess answered, "but I cannot see what
possible sympathy there can be between them now. Their stations in life
are altogether different. You talked with the Duke for some time,
Jeanne?"
"He was very kind to me," Jeanne answered.
"Did he give you any idea," the Princess asked, "as to why he was
staying down at Salthouse with Mr. Andrew?"
"None at all," Jeanne answered.
"You know very well," the Princess continued, "of what I am thinking.
Did he speak to you at all of Major Forrest?"
"Not a word," Jeanne answered.
"Of his brother, then?"
"He did not mention his name," Jeanne declared.
"He asked you no questions at all about anything which may have
happened at the Red Hall?"
Jeanne shook her head.
"Certainly not!"
"You do not think, then," the Princess persisted, "that it was for the
sake of gaining information about his brother that he talked with you
so much?"
"Why should I think so?" Jeanne asked. "He scarcely mentioned any of
your names even. He talked to me simply out of kindness, and I think
because he knew that Mr. Andrew and I were friends."
The Princess smiled.
"You seem," she remarked, "to have made quite a conquest. I
congratulate you. The Duke has not the reputation of being an easy man
to get on with."
The carriage pulled up before their house in Berkeley Square, and the
Princess did not pursue the subject, but as Jeanne left her for the
night, her stepmother called her back.
"To-morrow morning," she said, "I should be glad if you would come to
my room at twelve o'clock, I have something to say to you."
Jeanne slept well that night. For the first time she felt that she had
lost the feeling of friendlessness which for the last few weeks had
constantly oppressed her. Andrew de la Borne was back in London, and
the Duke, who seemed to have some sort of understanding as to the
troubles which were likely to beset her, had gone out of his way to
offer her his help. She felt now that she would not have to fight her
stepmother's influence unaided. Yet when she sought her room at twelve
o'clock the next morning she had very little idea of the sort of fight
which she might indeed have to make.
The Princess had already spent an hour at her toilette. Her hair was
carefully arranged and her face massaged. She received her stepdaughter
with some show of affection, and bade her sit close to her.
"Jeanne," she said, "you are now nearly twenty years old. For many
reasons I wish to see you married. The Count de Brensault formally
proposed for you last night. He is coming at three o'clock this
afternoon for his answer."
Jeanne sat upright in her chair. Her stepmother noticed a new air of
determination in the poise of her head, and the firm lines of her mouth.
"The Count might have spared himself the trouble," she said. "He knows
very well what my answer will be. I think that you know, too. It is no,
most emphatically and decidedly! I will not marry the Count de
Brensault."
"Before you express yourself so irrevocably," the Princess said calmly,
"I should like you to understand that it is my wish that you accept his
offer."
"In all ordinary matters," Jeanne answered, "I am prepared to obey you.
In this, no! I think that I have the right to choose my husband for
myself, or at any rate to approve of whomever you may select. I--do not
approve of the Count de Brensault. I do not care for him, and I never
could care for him, and I will not marry him!"
The Princess said nothing for several moments. Then she moved toward
the door which led into her sleeping chamber, where her maid was still
busy, and turned the key in the lock.
"Jeanne," she said when she returned, "I think it is time that you were
told something which I am afraid will be a shock to you. This great
fortune of yours, of which you have heard so much, and which has been
so much talked about, is a myth."
"What do you mean?" Jeanne asked, looking at her stepmother with
startled eyes.
"Exactly what I say," the Princess continued. "Your father made huge
gifts to his relatives during the last few years of his life, and he
left enormous sums in charity. To you he left the remainder of his
estate, which all the world believed to amount to at least a million
pounds. But when things came to be realized, all his securities seemed
to have depreciated. The legacies were paid in cash. The depreciation
of his fortune all fell upon you. When everything had been paid, there
was something like twenty-five thousand pounds left. More than half of
that has gone in your education, and in an allowance to myself since I
have had the charge of you. There is a little left in the hands of
Monsieur Laplanche, but very little indeed. What there is we owe for
your dresses, the rent of this house, and other things."
"You mean," Jeanne interrupted bewildered, "that I have no money at
all?"
"Practically none," the Princess answered. "Now you can see why it is
so important that you should marry a rich man."
Jeanne was bewildered. It was hard to grasp these things which her
stepmother was telling her.
"If this be true," she said, "how is it that every one speaks of me as
being a great heiress?"
The Princess glanced at her with a contemptuous smile.
"You do not suppose," she said, "that I have found it necessary to take
the whole world into my confidence."
"You mean," Jeanne said, "that people don't know that I am not a great
heiress?"
"Certainly not," the Princess replied, "or we should scarcely be here."
"The Count de Brensault?" Jeanne asked.
"He does not know, of course," the Princess answered. "He is a rich
man. He can afford quite well to marry a girl without a DOT."
Jeanne's head fell slowly between her hands. The suddenness of this
blow had staggered her. It was not the loss of her fortune so much
which affected her as the other contingencies with which she was
surrounded. She tried to think, and the more she thought the more
involved it all seemed. She looked up at last.
"If my fortune is really gone," she said, "why do you let people talk
about it, and write about me in the papers as though I were still so
rich?"
The Princess shrugged her shoulders.
"For your own sake," she answered. "It is necessary to find you a
husband, is it not, and nowadays one does not find them easily when
there is no DOT."
Jeanne felt her cheeks burning.
"I am to be married, then," she said slowly, "by some one who thinks I
have a great deal of money, and who afterwards will be able to turn
round and reproach me for having deceived him."
The Princess laughed.
"Afterwards," she said, "the man will not be too anxious to let the
world know that he has been made a fool of. If you play your cards
properly, the afterwards will come out all right."
Jeanne rose slowly to her feet.
"I do not think," she said, "that you have quite understood me. I
should like you to know that nothing would ever induce me to marry any
one unless they knew the truth. I will not go on accepting invitations
and visiting people's houses, many of whom have only asked me because
they think that I am very rich. Every one must know the truth at once."
"And how, may I ask, do you propose to live?" the Princess asked
quietly.
"If there is nothing left at all of my money," Jeanne said, "I will
work. If it is the worst which comes, I will go back to the convent and
teach the children."
The Princess laughed softly.
"Jeanne," she said, "you are talking like a positive idiot. It is
because you have had no time to think this thing out. Remember that
after all you are not sailing under any false colours. You are your
father's daughter, and you are also his heiress. If the newspapers and
gossip have exaggerated the amount of his fortune, that is not your
affair. Be reasonable, little girl," she added, letting her hand fall
upon Jeanne's. "Don't give us all away like this. Remember that I have
made sacrifices for your sake. I owe more money than I can pay for your
dresses, for the carriage, for the house here. Nothing but your
marriage will put us straight again. You must make up your mind to
this. The Count de Brensault is so much in love with you that he will
ask no questions. You must marry him."
Jeanne drew herself away from her stepmother's touch.
"Nothing," she said, "would induce me to marry the Count de Brensault,
not even if he knew that I am penniless. If we cannot afford to live in
this house, or to keep carriages, let us go away at once and take rooms
somewhere. I do not wish to live under false pretences."
The Princess was very pale, but her eyes were hard and steely.
"Child," she said, "don't be a fool. Don't make me angry, or I may say
and do things for which I should be sorry. It is no fault of mine that
you are not a great heiress. I have done the next best thing for you. I
have made people believe that you are. Be reasonable, and all will be
well yet. If you are going to play the Quixote, it will be ruin for all
of us. I cannot think how a child like you got such ideas. Remember
that I am many years older and wiser than you. You should leave it to
me to do what is best."
Jeanne shook her head.
"I cannot," she said simply. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but I shall
tell every one I meet that I have no money, and I will not marry the
Count de Brensault."
The Princess grasped her by the wrist.
"You will not obey me, child?" she said.
"I will obey you in everything reasonable," Jeanne said.
"Very well, then," the Princess answered, "go to your room at once."
Jeanne turned and walked toward the door. On the threshold, however,
she paused. There were many times, she remembered, when her stepmother
had been kind to her. She looked around at the Princess, sitting with
her head resting upon her clasped hands.
"I am very sorry," Jeanne said timidly, "that I cannot do what you
wish. It is not honest. Cannot you see that it is not honest?"
The Princess turned slowly round.
"Honest!" she repeated scornfully. "Who is there in our world who can
afford to be honest? You are behaving like a baby, Jeanne. I only hope
that before long you may come to your senses. Will you obey me if I
tell you not to leave your room until I send for you?"
Jeanne hesitated.
"Yes!" she said. "I will obey you in that."
"Then go there and wait," the Princess said. "I must think what to do."
CHAPTER IX
The Count de Brensault called in Berkeley Square at three o'clock
precisely that afternoon, but it was the Princess who received him, and
the Princess was alone.
"Well?" he asked, a little eagerly. "Mademoiselle Jeanne is more
reasonable, eh? You have good news?"
The Princess motioned him to a seat.
"I think," she said, "we had forgotten how young Jeanne really is. The
idea of getting married to any one seems to terrify her. After all, why
should we wonder at it? The school where she was brought up was a very,
very strict one, and this plunge into life has been a little sudden."
"You think, then," De Brensault asked eagerly, "that it is not I
personally whom she objects to so much?"
"Certainly not," the Princess answered. "It is simply you as the man
whom it is proposed that she should marry that she dislikes. I have
been talking to her for a long time this afternoon. Frankly, I do not
know which would be best--to give up the idea of anything of the sort
for some time, or to--to--"
"To what?" De Brensault demanded, as the Princess hesitated.
"To take extreme measures," the Princess answered slowly. "Mind, I
would not consider such a thing for a moment, if I were not fully
convinced that Jeanne, when she is a little older, would be perfectly
satisfied with what we have done. On the other hand, one hesitates
naturally to worry the child."
"She will not see me?" De Brensault asked. "It is possible that I might
be able to persuade her."
"You would do more harm than good," the Princess answered decidedly.
"She is terrified just now at the idea. She is in her room shaking like
a schoolgirl who is going to be punished. Really, I don't know why I
should have been plagued with such a charge. There are so many things I
want to do, and I have to stay here to look after Jeanne, because she
is too foolish to be trusted with any one else. I want to go to
America, and a very dear friend of mine has invited me to go with her
and some delightful people on a yachting cruise around the world."
"Then why not use those measures you spoke of?" De Brensault said
eagerly. "I shall make Jeanne a very good husband, I assure you. I
shall promise you that in a fortnight's time she will be only too
delighted with her lot."
The Princess looked at him thoughtfully.
"I wonder," she said, "whether I could trust you."
"Trust me, of course you could, dear Princess!" De Brensault exclaimed
eagerly. "I will be kind to her, I promise you. Be sensible. She would
feel this way with any one. You yourself have said so. There can be no
more suitable marriage for her than with me. Let us call it arranged.
Tell me what it is that you propose. Perhaps I may be able to help."
"Jeanne is, of course, not of age," the Princess said thoughtfully,
"and she is entirely under my control. In England people are rather
foolish about these things, but abroad they understand the situation
better."
"Why not in Belgium?" De Brensault exclaimed. "We might go to a little
town I know of very near to my estates. Everything could be arranged
there very easily. I am quite well-known, and no questions would be
asked."
The Princess nodded thoughtfully.
"That might do," she admitted.
"Why not start at once?" De Brensault suggested. "There is nothing to
be gained by waiting. We might even leave to-morrow."
The Princess shook her head.
"You are too impetuous, my dear Count," she said.
"But what is there to wait for?" he demanded.
"I must see my lawyers first," she answered slowly, "and before I leave
London I must pay some bills."
The Count drew a cheque book from his pocket.
"I will keep my word," he said. "I will pay you on account the amount
we spoke of."
The Princess opened her escritoire briskly.
"There is a pen and ink there," she said, "and blotting paper. Really
your cheque will be a god-send to me. I seem to have had nothing but
expenses lately, and Jeanne's guardians are as mean as they can be.
They grumble even at allowing me five thousand a year."
De Brensault twirled his moustache as he seated himself at the table.
"Five thousand a year," he muttered. "It is not a bad allowance for a
young girl who is not yet of age."
The Princess shrugged her shoulders.
"My dear Count," she said, "you do not know what our expenses are.
Jeanne is extravagant, so am I extravagant. It is all very well for
her, but for me it is another matter. I shall be a poor woman when I
have resigned my charge."
De Brensault handed the cheque across.
"You will not find me," he said, "ungrateful. And now, my dear lady,
let us talk about Jeanne. Do you think that you could persuade her to
leave London so suddenly?"
"I am going up-stairs now," the Princess said, "to have a little talk
with her. Dine with me here to-night quite quietly, and I will tell you
what fortune I have had."
De Brensault went away, on the whole fairly content with his visit. The
Princess endorsed his cheque, and with a sigh of relief enclosed it in
an envelope, rang for a maid and ordered her carriage. Then she went
up-stairs to Jeanne, whom she found busy writing at her desk. She
hesitated for a moment, and then went and stood with her hand resting
upon the girl's shoulder.
"Jeanne," she said, "I think that we have both been a little hasty."
Jeanne looked up in surprise. Her stepmother's tone was altered. It was
no longer cold and dictatorial. There was in it even a note of appeal.
Jeanne wondered to find herself so unmoved.
"I am sorry," she said, "if I have said anything unbecoming. You see,"
she continued, after a moment's pause, "the subject which we were
talking about did not seem to me to leave much room for discussion."
"There is no harm in discussing anything," the Princess said, throwing
herself into a wicker chair by the side of Jeanne's table. "I am afraid
that all that I said must have sounded very cruel and abrupt. You see I
have had this thing on my mind for so long. It has been a trouble to
me, Jeanne."
Jeanne raised her large eyes and looked steadily at her stepmother. She
felt almost ashamed of her coldness and lack of sympathy. The Princess
was certainly looking worn and worried.
"I am sorry," Jeanne said stiffly. "I cannot imagine how you could have
supported life for a day under such conditions."
Her stepmother sighed.
"That," she said, "is because you have had so little experience of
life, and you do not understand its practical necessities. Children
like you seem to think that the commonplace necessaries of life drop
into our laps as a matter of course, or that they are a sort of gift
from Heaven to the deserving. As a matter of fact," the Princess
continued, "nothing of the sort happens. Life is often a very cruel and
a very difficult thing. We are given tastes, and no means to gratify
them. How could I, for instance, face life as a lodging-house keeper,
or at best as a sort of companion to some ill-tempered old harridan,
who would probably only employ me to have some one to bully? You
yourself, Jeanne, are fond of luxuries."
It was a new reflection to Jeanne. She became suddenly thoughtful.
"I have noticed your tastes," the Princess continued. "You would be
miserable in anything but silk stockings, wouldn't you? And your ideas
of lingerie are quite in accord with the ideas of the modern young
woman of wealth. You fill your rooms with flowers. You buy expensive
books," she added, taking up for a moment a volume of De Ronsard, bound
in green vellum, with uncut edges. "Your tastes in eating and drinking,
too," she continued, "are a little on the sybaritic side. Have you
realized what it will mean to give all these things up--to wear coarse
clothes, to eat coarse food, to get your books from a cheap library,
and look at other people's flowers?"
Jeanne frowned. The idea was certainly not pleasing.
"It will be bad for you," the Princess continued, "and it will be very
much worse for me, because I have been used to these things all my
life. You may think me very brutal at having tried to help you toward
the only means of escape for either of us, but I think, dear, you
scarcely realize the alternative. It is not only what you condemn
yourself to. Remember that you inflict the same punishment on me."
"It is not I who do anything," Jeanne said. "It is you who have brought
this upon both of us. All this money that has been spent upon luxuries,
it was absurd. If I was not rich I did not need them. I think that it
was more than absurd. It was cruel."
The Princess produced a few inches of lace-bordered cambric. A glance
at Jeanne's face showed her that the child had developed a new side to
her character. There was something pitiless about the straightened
mouth, and the cold questioning eyes.
"Jeanne," the Princess said, "you are a fool. Some day you will
understand how great a one. I only trust that it may not be too late.
The Count de Brensault may not be everything that is to be desired in a
husband, but the world is full of more attractive people who would be
glad to become your slaves. You will live mostly abroad, and let me
assure you that marriage there is the road to liberty. You have it in
your power to save yourself and me from poverty. Make a little
sacrifice, Jeanne, if indeed it is a sacrifice. Later on you will be
glad of it. If you persist in this unreasonable attitude, I really do
not know what will become of us."
Jeanne turned her head, but she did not respond in the least to the
Princess' softened tone. There was a note of finality about her words,
too. She spoke as one who had weighed this matter and made up her mind.
"If there was no other man in the world," she said, "or no other way of
avoiding starvation, I would not marry the Count de Brensault."
The Princess rose slowly to her feet.
"Very well," she said, "that ends the matter, of course. I hope you
will always remember that it is you who are responsible for anything
that may happen now. You had better," she continued, "leave off writing
letters which will certainly never be posted, and get your clothes
together. We shall go abroad at the latest to-morrow afternoon."
"Abroad?" Jeanne repeated.
"Yes!" the Princess answered. "I suppose you have sense enough to see
that we cannot stay on here for you to make your interesting
confessions. I should probably have some of these tradespeople trying
to put me in prison."
"I will tell Saunders at once," Jeanne said. "I am quite ready to do
anything you think best."
The Princess laughed hardly.
"You will have to manage without Saunders," she answered. "Paupers like
us can't afford maids. I am going to discharge every one this
afternoon. Have your boxes packed, please, to-night. Your dinner will
be sent up to you."
The Princess left the room, and Jeanne heard the key turn in the lock.
CHAPTER X
Jeanne's packing was after all a very small matter. She ignored the
cupboards full of gowns, nor did she open one of the drawers of her
wardrobe. She simply filled her dressing-case with a few necessaries
and hid it under the table. At eight o'clock one of the servants
brought her dinner on a tray. Jeanne saw with relief that it was one of
the younger parlour maids, and not the Princess' own maid.
"Mary," Jeanne said, taking a gold bracelet from her wrist and holding
it out to her, "I am going to give you this bracelet if you will do
just a very simple thing for me."
The girl looked at Jeanne and looked at the bracelet. She was too
amazed for speech.
"I want you," Jeanne said, "when you go out to leave the door unlocked.
That is all. It will not make any difference to you so far as your
position here is concerned, because your mistress is sending you all
away in a few days."
The girl looked at the bracelet and did not hesitate for a moment.
"I would do it for you without anything, Miss Jeanne," she said. "The
bracelet is too good for me."
Jeanne laughed, and pushed it across the table to her.
"Run along," she said. "If you want to do something else, open the back
door for me. I am coming downstairs."
The girl looked a little perplexed. The bracelet which she was holding
still engrossed most of her thoughts.
"You are not doing anything rash, Miss Jeanne, I hope?" she asked
timidly.
Jeanne shook her head.
"What I am doing is not rash at all," she said softly. "It is
necessary."
Five minutes later Jeanne walked unnoticed down the back stairs of the
house, and out into the street. She turned into Piccadilly and entered
a bus.
"Where to, miss?" the man asked, as he came for his fare.