That she must leave the Panelled Parlour at her usual hour, or attract
attention by doing that to which her household was unaccustomed, she well
knew, her manner of life being ever stately and ceremonious in its
regularity. When she dined at home she and Anne partook of their repast
together in the large dining-room, the table loaded with silver dishes
and massive glittering glass, their powdered, gold-laced lacqueys in
attendance, as though a score of guests had shared the meal with them.
Since her lord's death there had been nights when her ladyship had sat
late writing letters and reading documents pertaining to her estates, the
management of which, though in a measure controlled by stewards and
attorneys, was not left to them, as the business of most great ladies is
generally left to others. All papers were examined by her, all leases
and agreements clearly understood before she signed them, and if there
were aught unsatisfactory, both stewards and lawyers were called to her
presence to explain.
"Never did I--or any other man--meet with such a head upon a woman's
shoulders," her attorney said. And the head steward of Dunstanwolde and
Helversly learned to quake at the sight of her bold handwriting upon the
outside of a letter.
"Such a lady!" he said--"such a lady! Lie to her if you can; palter if
you know how; try upon her the smallest honest shrewd trick, and see how
it fares with you. Were it not that she is generous as she is piercing
of eye, no man could serve her and make an honest living."
She went to her chamber and was attired again sumptuously for dinner.
Before she descended she dismissed her woman for a space on some errand,
and when she was alone, drawing near to her mirror, gazed steadfastly
within it at her face. When she had read Osmonde's letter her cheeks had
glowed; but when she had come back to earth, and as she had sat under her
woman's hands at her toilette, bit by bit the crimson had died out as she
had thought of what was behind her and of what lay before. The thing was
so stiffly rigid by this time, and its eyes still stared so. Never had
she needed to put red upon her cheeks before, Nature having stained them
with such richness of hue; but as no lady of the day was unprovided with
her crimson, there was a little pot among her toilette ornaments which
contained all that any emergency might require. She opened this small
receptacle and took from it the red she for the first time was in want
of.
"I must not wear a pale face, God knows," she said, and rubbed the colour
on her cheeks with boldness.
It would have seemed that she wore her finest crimson when she went forth
full dressed from her apartment; little Nero grinned to see her, the
lacqueys saying among themselves that his Grace's courier had surely
brought good news, and that they might expect his master soon. At the
dinner-table 'twas Anne who was pale and ate but little, she having put
no red upon her cheeks, and having no appetite for what was spread before
her. She looked strangely as though she were withered and shrunken, and
her face seemed even wrinkled. My lady had small leaning towards food,
but she sent no food away untouched, forcing herself to eat, and letting
not the talk flag--though it was indeed true that 'twas she herself who
talked, Mistress Anne speaking rarely; but as it was always her way to be
silent, and a listener rather than one who conversed, this was not
greatly noticeable.
Her Ladyship of Dunstanwolde talked of her guests of the afternoon, and
was charming and witty in her speech of them; she repeated the _mots_ of
the wits, and told some brilliant stories of certain modish ladies and
gentlemen of fashion; she had things to say of statesmen and politics,
and was sparkling indeed in speaking of the lovely languisher whose
little wrist was too delicate and slender to support the loaded whip.
While she talked, Mistress Anne's soft, dull eyes were fixed upon her
with a sort of wonder which had some of the quality of bewilderment; but
this was no new thing either, for to the one woman the other was ever
something to marvel at.
"It is because you are so quiet a mouse, Anne," my lady said, with her
dazzling smile, "that you seem never in the way; and yet I should miss
you if I knew you were not within the house. When the duke takes me to
Camylotte you must be with me even then. It is so great a house that in
it I can find you a bower in which you can be happy even if you see us
but little. 'Tis a heavenly place I am told, and of great splendour and
beauty. The park and flower-gardens are the envy of all England."
"You--will be very happy, sister," said Anne, "and--and like a queen."
"Yes," was her sister's answer--"yes." And 'twas spoken with a deep in-
drawn breath.
After the repast was ended she went back to the Panelled Parlour.
"You may sit with me till bedtime if you desire, Anne," she said; "but
'twill be but dull for you, as I go to sit at work. I have some
documents of import to examine and much writing to do. I shall sit up
late." And upon this she turned to the lacquey holding open the door for
her passing through. "If before half-past ten there comes a message from
Sir John Oxon," she gave order, "it must be brought to me at once; but
later I must not be disturbed--it will keep until morning."
Yet as she spoke there was before her as distinct a picture as ever of
what lay waiting and gazing in the room to which she went.
Until twelve o'clock she sat at her table, a despatch box by her side,
papers outspread before her. Within three feet of her was the divan, but
she gave no glance to it, sitting writing, reading, and comparing
documents. At twelve o'clock she rose and rang the bell.
"I shall be later than I thought," she said. "I need none of you who are
below stairs. Go you all to bed. Tell my woman that she also may lie
down. I will ring when I come to my chamber and have need of her. There
is yet no message from Sir John?"
"None, my lady," the man answered.
He went away with a relieved countenance, as she made no comment. He
knew that his fellows as well as himself would be pleased enough to be
released from duty for the night. They were a pampered lot, and had no
fancy for late hours when there were no great entertainments being held
which pleased them and gave them chances to receive vails.
Mistress Anne sat in a large chair, huddled into a small heap, and
looking colourless and shrunken. As she heard bolts being shot and bars
put up for the closing of the house, she knew that her own dismissal was
at hand. Doors were shut below stairs, and when all was done the silence
of night reigned as it does in all households when those who work have
gone to rest. 'Twas a common thing enough, and yet this night there was
one woman who felt the stillness so deep that it made her breathing seem
a sound too loud.
"Go to bed, Anne," she said. "You have stayed up too long."
Anne arose from her chair and drew near to her.
"Sister," said she, as she had said before, "let me stay."
She was a poor weak creature, and so she looked with her pale
insignificant face and dull eyes, a wisp of loose hair lying damp on her
forehead. She seemed indeed too weak a thing to stand even for a moment
in the way of what must be done this night, and 'twas almost irritating
to be stopped by her.
"Nay," said my Lady Dunstanwolde, her beautiful brow knitting as she
looked at her. "Go to your chamber, Anne, and to sleep. I must do my
work, and finish to-night what I have begun."
"But--but--" Anne stammered, dominated again, and made afraid, as she
ever was, by this strong nature, "in this work you must finish--is there
not something I could do to--aid you--even in some small and poor way. Is
there--naught?"
"Naught," answered Clorinda, her form drawn to its great full height, her
lustrous eyes darkening. "What should there be that you could
understand?"
"Not some small thing--not some poor thing?" Anne said, her fingers
nervously twisting each other, so borne down was she by her awful
timorousness, for awful it was indeed when she saw clouds gather on her
sister's brow. "I have so loved you, sister--I have so loved you that my
mind is quickened somehow at times, and I can understand more than would
be thought--when I hope to serve you. Once you said--once you said--"
She knew not then nor ever afterwards how it came to pass that in that
moment she found herself swept into her sister's white arms and strained
against her breast, wherein she felt the wild heart bounding; nor could
she, not being given to subtle reasoning, have comprehended the almost
fierce kiss on her cheek nor the hot drops that wet it.
"I said that I believed that if you saw me commit murder," Clorinda
cried, "you would love me still, and be my friend and comforter."
"I would, I would!" cried Anne.
"And I believe your word, poor, faithful soul--I do believe it," my lady
said, and kissed her hard again, but the next instant set her free and
laughed. "But you will not be put to the test," she said, "for I have
done none. And in two days' time my Gerald will be here, and I shall be
safe--saved and happy for evermore--for evermore. There, leave me! I
would be alone and end my work."
And she went back to her table and sat beside it, taking her pen to
write, and Anne knew that she dare say no more, and turning, went slowly
from the room, seeing for her last sight as she passed through the
doorway, the erect and splendid figure at its task, the light from the
candelabras shining upon the rubies round the snow-white neck and
wreathed about the tower of raven hair like lines of crimson.