"Do you think George noticed my confusion when I opened the door and saw
him here?" she asked anxiously.
"I think not," was my reply. "You so quickly recovered yourself."
"Ah! But you don't know how sharp his eyes are. He's really absurdly
jealous sometimes."
I smiled within myself to think that a woman so fond of admiration and
flattery should complain of her husband's jealousy.
"At any rate, in this affair, you'll have to act with the greatest
caution and discretion, Lady Stanchester," I said. "The man is here for
some sinister purpose--of that I feel quite sure. He arrived in
Sibberton a little while ago, tramping along the highway, tired and
hungry, a shabby wayfarer, upon whom Warr looked with suspicion. To-day
he is your husband's welcomed guest, to whom he expects you to act with
kindness and attention."
"Kindness!" she ejaculated. "Kindness to that man!"
"Is he such an enemy of yours?" I asked in a low tone. "Why don't you
take me further into your confidence, Lady Stanchester? Surely you can
rely upon my discretion?"
"I have taken you into my confidence as far as I dare," was her answer,
uttered in a tone of desperation. "I want you now to assist me in
combating this man's intentions, whatever they are."
"I promise to render you what assistance I can, but on one condition,
recollect," I said. "The condition is that what I do is in order that
you shall be afforded opportunity to convince George of your true
affection."
"I know, I know," she cried quickly. "I will adhere to my part of the
compact. Believe me, I will," and she stood before me a pale
apprehensive figure in her Norfolk jacket and short tweed skirt--a woman
whose attitude showed me that Keene's presence there held her terrified.
The truth of it all I could not guess. A vague suspicion arose of some
curious romance in the days prior to her marriage; of some skeleton in
her cupboard, which she feared must now be brought out to the light of
day before her husband's eyes. I saw written in her countenance, as she
stood before me, an all-consuming fear which seemed to hold her there
immovable.
"I'm wondering whether I ought not to make some excuse to go away on a
visit somewhere," she suggested after a pause. "I can't really stay
under the same roof with him, meet him each day at table, and be
compelled to chat with him. It's utterly impossible."
"But how can you leave all these people?" I asked. "Besides, if you
did, he might perhaps revenge himself--that is, if you are wholly in his
hands. Are you?"
"Utterly," she answered hoarsely, as though that confession were wrung
from her.
"You fear him, while he has no need to fear you. Is that so?"
She answered in the affirmative in the same hoarse unnatural tone.
"Then you must not run further risk by attempting to escape him," I said
decisively. "You must remain, act diplomatically, and endeavour to
maintain a bold front. Recollect that he is here in order to take
advantage of the first sign of apprehension on your part. Show no fear
of him," I urged. "Disclaim all knowledge of him if necessary. Assert
to his face that you have never met before, should he speak to you alone
and endeavour to recall the past. We live for the present or the
future, Lady Stanchester, not for the past--whatever it may have been.
Courage!" I said. "If you really love George and are now hounded by
this man, I will help you in every way."
"Ah!" she said gratefully. "I know you will, Mr Woodhouse. Believe
me, I am at this moment sorely in need of a friend. I know, alas! what
evil tongues have said of me, and what a reputation I have for giddiness
and flirtation. Yet every action of a woman of my age and position is
magnified and exaggerated in order that it may furnish food for gossips
and hints for scandal. But I tell you I am not so black as I am
painted. I still have a heart--and that heart is my husband's. He is
your friend, and if you assist me to defeat this man you will be
rendering him the greatest service one man can render to another--and
you will save me."
"I have promised," I answered. "You must go now and meet the man on
perfect equality, with perfect friendship. Your mind is blank regarding
the past, and you have never met him before in all your life. No matter
what he threatens to reveal, or what he tells you his revenge will be,
you must not admit that you have been previously acquainted."
"It will be difficult--terribly difficult," she said. "He can
unfortunately recall certain facts which--well, which I fear I cannot
deny."
"But you must," I urged. "Deny everything. Then he will expose his
hand, and we shall know how to deal with him in order to checkmate his
plans."
"Very well," answered the desperate woman. "I'll do my best. But if I
fail you must not blame me."
"You are clever, Lady Stanchester, and with your woman's diplomacy and
quick inventiveness I am sure you can face the difficulty and overcome
it. Go," I urged. "You must appear at dinner gay and merry, as though
you had not a serious thought in the world. Your careless attitude will
then puzzle him from the very outset. Act as I tell you, and if you
want advice at any moment, come to me."
She thanked me, and turning slowly went out to dress for the terrible
ordeal which she knew too well was before her. And when she had gone I
sat in my chair for a long time, plunged in thought.
The mystery was assuming even greater and more remarkable proportions.
The chief problem at the moment was the motive of the mysterious guest.
Who was this man Keene of whom both Lolita and Lady Stanchester were in
such deadly fear? What power did he possess over them?
Times without number had I asked myself that self-same question, but no
solution of the enigma presented itself. The mystery was now even more
dark and inscrutable than it had been at the outset. The puzzle was
maddening. So I rose with a sigh, and went up to my room to dress with
a distinct feeling precursory of some untoward event about to occur in
the Stanchester household, and a fervent hope that the young Countess
would hold her own successfully in the desperate fight with this man
whom she declared to be her very worst enemy.
The situation was surely a most grave and remarkable one, and her
position was certainly unenviable. Knowing her abject terror of the man
I felt apprehensive of the result, for I felt confident that one single
sign of weakness would give the desperate game entirely into his own
unscrupulous hands.
In the big white drawing-room where the visitors assembled before
dinner, the Countess appeared in a marvellous gown of pale turquoise and
cream, and wearing the diamond collar and bodice-ornament which was her
husband's wedding gift, and which cost a sum which to many a man would
have represented a fortune. Her coiffure was beautifully arranged
without a hair awry, and her white neck and arms seemed like alabaster.
Truly she was a magnificent woman, and well merited the description a
certain royal prince had once uttered of her--"Taking face and figure,
the prettiest woman who ever came to Court during the present reign."
She was laughing gaily with old Lord Cotterstock as she entered,
chaffing him about his sleepiness after luncheon and missing several
birds, and as her gaze met mine I saw that the manner she had reassumed,
that nonchalant air that she usually wore, was little short of
marvellous. One would hardly have recognised in her the white-faced,
terrified and despondent woman of half-an-hour before.
In the corner of the room stood Smeeton, a tall, commanding figure in
faultless dress clothes, and a small but fine diamond in his shirt,
chatting to two women, Lady Barford and the Honourable Violet Middleton,
to whom he had just been introduced. Her ladyship was of that
middle-aged type of stiff-backed lion-hunter who sought London through
to get the latest poet, painter or _litterateur_ to go to her weekly "At
Homes," and had already, it seemed, buttonholed the renowned hunter of
big game.
Old Slater appeared at the door, bowing with that formality acquired by
long service in that noble family, and announced in a voice loud enough
to be heard by all--
"Dinner is served, m'lady."
Then the Countess walked boldly up to Smeeton and asked to be taken in
by him, while I linked myself up with a rather angular girl in a pale
rose gown that had seen long service, the daughter of a Squire from a
neighbouring village who was this evening eating his annual dinner at
the Hall.
Through dinner her ladyship preserved an outward calm that was
remarkable. She chatted and laughed amiably with her guest seated at
her right hand, and as I watched narrowly I detected that he was already
amazed at her self-possession. That night she was even more brilliant
than ever. Her conversation sparkled with wit, and her remarks and
criticisms caused her guests in her vicinity to roar with laughter at
frequent intervals.
From where I sat little escaped my watchful eyes. Once or twice she
turned her gaze upon me, as though to ask whether she were acting her
part sufficiently well, then fired off some epigrammatic remark to one
or other of the gay crowd of well-dressed people around her.
Dinner ended, the ladies retired, the cloth was removed, the port was
circulated in decanters in silver stands along the bare table of
polished oak, in accordance with the custom that had obtained at
Sibberton ever since the Jacobean days. The Stanchester cellars had
always been celebrated, and assuredly there was not a finer port in the
whole country than that which they contained. Among the men, as they
drank their wine, the newly-arrived visitor became the centre of
attraction. Sportsmen all of them, Lord Stanchester had told them of
Smeeton's keenness after big game, and many questions were being put to
him regarding the practicability of shooting expeditions in East Africa.
At last an adjournment was made into the huge vaulted hall, the stained
glass and architecture of which reminded me of a church, where there was
music every evening. In the high roof hung those faded and tattered
banners carried by the Stanchesters in various battles historic in
English history, and around the walls stands of armour in long and
imposing rows.
Her ladyship was an excellent musician, and although in these days of
mechanical piano-playing music will, it is feared, soon be a neglected
art, she always played on the grand piano for the entertainment of her
guests. Some songs were sung--mainly from the comic operas, _San Toy_,
_The Geisha_, _The Country Girl_--and some even with a chorus heartily
joined in by those lords and ladies of illustrious name. It was Liberty
Hall, and in the evening the fun always grew fast and furious.
Presently the bridge tables were set, parties were made up, cards were
dealt and played, money rattled and very soon there were high stakes in
various quarters and a good deal of money began to change hands.
With two or three exceptions the whole party played bridge. Myself, I
could not afford to lose, and therefore never played. While among those
who declined the invitation was Smeeton, who remained an interested
onlooker at his hostess's table.
Only by the slight trembling of her bejewelled hands could I detect in
her any sign of fear, but when she rose as midnight chimed out from the
turret clock over the stables, as a signal for the ladies to retire to
their rooms, he had, I noticed, disappeared. Perhaps he wished to
obtain a secret interview with her, therefore I was quickly on the
alert, and succeeded in gaining a point at the junction of two corridors
that ran at right angles, and down which I knew she must pass. In order
to escape notice I slipped into one of the rooms and stood in the dark
with the door slightly ajar.
She came at last alone, her silken skirts sweeping with loud frou-frou,
her diamonds glistening in the light as she advanced. Her guests had
passed out into the new wing, but she habitually reached her room by
this corridor, which was a short cut and ran through a portion of the
vast mansion not generally used.
She had almost gained the doorway wherein I stood, when I heard hurrying
steps behind her, and next moment Smeeton caught her roughly by the
wrist, exclaiming in a quick determined whisper as he bent to her--
"Marigold! Marigold! Have I so changed that you don't know me? I told
you that I should return and here I am! You thought you could escape by
marrying this man--but you can't! The awkward little matter outstanding
between us still remains to be arranged, and I think you know Dick Keene
well enough to be aware that in an affair of this sort he's not a man to
be trifled with. So you know well enough what I'm here for, and what a
word from me to these fine friends of yours will mean to you. Do you
hear me?" he added, with a hard ring in his voice. "What have you to
say?"