After breakfast on the following morning I contrived to make an
appointment with the Countess to meet her at a short distance from the
house in what was known as the Saints' Garden.
Her ladyship's habit was to walk in the garden for half an hour after
breakfast, and I deemed that the Saints' Garden, being at a secluded
spot down near the lake, and little frequented either by the gardeners
or visitors, was a good place of meeting. The gardens at Sibberton were
noted for their beauty. There was an old lavender garden; one for
bulbs; another for roses, and--most charming of all, Lolita's pride--the
Saints' Garden, the flowers of which were supposed to blossom on the
days set apart for certain saints. In it were veronicas, lilies,
Christmas roses, and a wild tangle of old-world flowers.
I waited in patience in this little "garden of the good," encompassed by
its dark thick box hedges. The morning was bright, the dew glistened
everywhere in the sunlight, and the flowers filled the air with their
fragrance. It was a peaceful spot where Lolita loved to linger, and
where we had often walked and talked in secret.
She came at last--the reckless, handsome woman who held my love's life
in her hands.
Her fair face was smiling as she came along in her neat short skirt and
fresh morning blouse, and greeted me saying--
"Really, Mr Woodhouse, I hardly think it was wise of you to meet me
here. One of the gardeners or some one may see us and gossip," and she
turned her eyes upon me with that look which had made many a man's head
reel.
"We are safer from observation here, Lady Stanchester, than in my room,"
I answered in a rather hard tone, I fear. She glanced at me quickly,
apparently in wonder that I was in no mood for trifling. She was, of
course, unaware that I had overheard all that had passed between her and
the man Richard Keene. Nevertheless she said--
"As I anticipated, he claimed acquaintanceship with me last night--
stopped me in the Panelled Corridor and addressed me by my Christian
name."
"Well."
"I flatly denied ever having met him before. It took him back
completely. He wasn't prepared for it," she laughed.
"And you were able, I hope, to sustain the fiction until the end?" I
asked, looking straight at her.
"Well," she answered, rather uneasily, "I managed to so confound him
that I don't think he'll carry out what was his intention. As a matter
of fact, I fancy he'll curtail his visit. George has taken him to shoot
over at Islip." She made no explanation of his urgent appeal to her to
save Lolita, of his threats or of her own declaration that if they were
to be enemies then she would bring upon him an overwhelming disaster.
She was keeping the truth to herself, suspecting my love for Lolita.
"He threatened you, of course?" I said, leaning upon the grey old
weather-worn sundial and looking at her as though I were waiting for her
explanation.
"Threats?" she laughed. "Oh! yes. He was full of them. But you were
quite right; my denial utterly upset all his bluster. He can't make out
my intentions, and therefore will hesitate to do me harm, for he doesn't
know the extent of my knowledge. Really, Mr Woodhouse, you very
cleverly foresaw the whole affair. I admit that I was very hard pressed
for a few moments. But now--" and she paused.
"And now?" I asked.
"Well, I've met him with his own weapons. He won't dare to speak,
because at heart he's afraid of me."
"Then you think he'll leave very soon?"
"Ah! I don't know. He's playing a very clever game, as he always does.
Think how he has come here as George's friend, and at the same time as
my bitterest enemy! His audacity is surely unequalled!"
"But is he really your enemy?" I queried, fixing her with my gaze.
"Are you not his?"
She looked at me somewhat puzzled. I had put a meaning note into my
voice, yet I did not intend that she should be aware that I knew the
truth of her secret hatred of my love, or that I had ascertained that
the name of the young man who had fallen the victim of an assassin's
hand was Hugh Wingfield.
"Perhaps I am his enemy," she laughed lightly. "I have surely need to
be."
"Why?"
"With a man of his stamp one must act with firmness and disregard all
scruples. He will ruin me if he can. But I don't intend that he shall.
Before he does that I'll give information against him myself--
information that will be a revelation to certain persons in this house."