A TEMPTING OFFER.
Naturally, under the pressure of Ida's imploring letter, Colonel
Towton was not anxious to remain inactive in London. He wished to go
to Bowderstyke himself and learn the exact truth. Maunders said one
thing and Ida another, so if the two were confronted the absolute
facts of the case would certainly come to light. Towton assuredly
believed Ida rather than Maunders, but it seemed strange to him that
Miss Hest should champion Constantine, and strange also that Maunders
should wish him to come down to Gerby Hall, where, if Ida spoke
correctly, his presence would not be welcome either to Miss Hest or
her co-conspirator. And Maunders was far too clever a man to do
anything without having some object in view. What that object might be
Colonel Towton as yet could not fathom.
For this last reason, and because his rival so pointedly advised him
to go to Gerby Hall, the Colonel remained in London. Whatever
Maunders' plans might be, they would assuredly be thwarted by the
absence of Towton, and, later, the Colonel determined to go, even
before Vernon lured Diabella from her hiding-place. Meanwhile, as
Maunders had stated that he was himself going to Gerby Hall on the
invitation of Miss Hest, the Colonel sought the young man's rooms on
Sunday afternoon in order to see if he had kept his promise, as he
fancied that the proposed visit might be some trick. On inquiry,
however, the Colonel learned that Constantine had departed on the
previous day and had left notice with the caretaker of his chambers
that he would not return until an entire week had elapsed. Evidently
he had meant what he said, namely, to accept Miss Hest's hospitality.
This knowledge, however, only made Towton the more anxious to go also,
as the idea that Maunders was having it all his own way and was
subjecting Ida to persecution made him restless. He wished to ride
forth like a knight of old to rescue his lady-love, who certainly, if
her letter was to be believed, seemed to be in great peril. It said a
great deal for Towton's disciplinarian instincts that he obeyed
Vernon, as one more professionally clever at such cases, rather than
his own desires. In the meantime, having satisfied himself with regard
to Maunders' whereabouts, the Colonel took up his usual life for, at
all events, a week. He relieved his mind by writing to Ida saying that
he would come down to The Grange at the termination of that period.
Vernon had not thought fit to impart to Towton how he proposed to
inveigle Diabella into the open for the very simple reason that he was
puzzled himself how to act. Several times he had been to the Bond
Street rooms, only to find that they were in the hands of decorators,
rapidly transforming the weird Egyptian hall into a cosy English
cottage. Mrs. Hiram G. Slowcomb was already advertising that "Granny!"
would foretell the future after the fashion of the renowned Mother
Shipton, and already had seen several of Diabella's old clients,
desirous of novelty. To these she told wonderful things in a strong
American accent, which did not suit the thrum cap or the tartan shawl
or the general looks of an ancient rustic dame. However, she was
succeeding very well, and there was no doubt that when her
_mise-en-scene_ was prepared that she would become the fashion for a
few months. She professed to know nothing of Diabella, and as she was
quite frank in answering questions Vernon saw no reason why he should
not believe a story which certainly appeared, on the face of it, to be
true. The lawyer of the landlord still refused to say anything about
Isabella Hopkins since Vernon declined to state why the knowledge was
required. And, of course, as he was suspicious rather than certain he
could say absolutely nothing.
In this dilemma, and wondering how he was to come face to face with
the woman, Vernon decided, on the Sunday when Towton went to seek
Maunders, to pay an afternoon call. This errand took him into the
luxurious drawing-room of Lady Corsoon. By this time the month of
grace allowed by The Spider was nearing its end, and Vernon, having
accomplished nothing definite, considered it necessary to reassure the
millionaire's wife. Naturally, he expected to find her haggard and
hysterical, but was truly surprised to behold a perfectly composed
person, comely and content. Her brown eyes sparkled when the footman
announced the newcomer, and she swept forward--the word is necessary
to exactly describe Lady Corsoon's imposing gait--to welcome him with
ill-concealed eagerness.
"How are you, Mr. Vernon?" she asked in her best society manner, and
then dropped her voice to a confidential whisper, "I should have
called at your office to-morrow had you not come."
"I am quite well, thank you," replied Vernon, for the benefit of the
surrounding guests, and lowered his voice likewise: "Any news, good or
bad?"
"Yes; both. Wait till everyone goes," she said softly, and again spoke
gracefully in her character of hostess. "You poor man, you really must
have a cup of tea. Go to Lucy and ask nicely."
Vernon needed no second command, but thrust his way through a crowd of
well-dressed people to find a bamboo table covered with tea-things,
over which a pretty, fresh-coloured damsel presided. She received him
with a shy blush, which made her look like a dewy rose. Lucy Corsoon
could not be called lovely, nor would she have attracted attention in
any marked degree. A bright, sweet English girl was all she claimed to
be, and, having the bloom of youth, she really appeared more charming
than she really was. In a very plain white frock and without a single
ornament, she looked like a modest violet, almost hidden by its
leaves. The ardent gaze in her lover's dark eyes made her blush more
than ever as she handed him a cup of tea.
"Without sugar," she said in a gentle voice; "I know your tastes."
"Who else should?" inquired Vernon smiling, and sipped his Bohea.
"This tea is delightful and exactly what a thirsty man requires."
"I hope you are hungry also. Mr. Hest, please pass the cakestand to
Mr. Vernon."
The lover wheeled when the name was mentioned, to find himself facing
the counterpart of Ida's companion. He would have guessed the
relationship even if Lucy had held her peace. Mr. Hest smiled at the
amazed look of the young man, and swung forward the bamboo cakestand
with a soft laugh.
"Don't say what you are going to say, Mr. Vernon," he remarked
pleasantly. "I know exactly how astonished you are to see that I am so
like my sister."
"You are indeed," breathed Vernon, mechanically taking bread and
butter. "I should have taken you for Miss Hest in disguise but
for----" he hesitated.
"But for this scar?" finished Hest, laying a finger on a cicatrice
which ran in a thin crimson line from the right temple to the corner
of the mouth. "I got that in Paris years ago; the knife of an Apache
scored me in this way. It is just as well, if only to distinguish me
from Frances. I rarely come to London, but when I do everyone stares
at me, as you did." Mr. Hest shrugged his shoulders. "It's rather a
nuisance being a twin."
"You are not so tall as your sister," ventured Vernon, while Lucy
laughed at the idle jest of the Yorkshire squire.
"There's very little difference. Frances looks taller because she
wears petticoats. If I dressed in her clothes and could hide this," he
laid his finger again on the scar, "you would not be able to tell the
difference."
"Your voices are different," said Vernon after a pause.
"I really begin to think you must be a detective, Mr. Vernon, since
you are so very observant. Yes, our voices are different and in the
wrong way."
"The wrong way?"
"Ah, you are not so observant as I thought. Yes; Frances has a deep
contralto voice, somewhat heavy for a woman, whereas my voice, as you
hear, is rather thin in quality. Nature mixed up the voices as we are
twins, maybe."
It was as he said. Hest's voice had not the volume or the richness of
his sister's, but it certainly had a less serious note. Vernon,
recalling what Towton had told him of Ida's remark in her letter as to
Francis being dismal and misanthropic, wondered that she could have
been so mistaken. He was really more cheerful than Frances, and did
not seem to treat life in her aggressively sober manner. Besides, that
he was a philanthropist was in itself an argument against his being of
a gloomy disposition. Vernon judged that Mr. Hest was much more of an
optimist than was his sister, and that he lacked in some measure that
sterling common sense which, to put it plainly, made her company
rather dull. If Frances had been the man and Francis had been the
woman their temperaments would have suited the change of sex ever so
much better. But, perhaps, as Mr. Hest had just observed, since the
two were twins nature had got mixed.
Vernon would rather have spoken to Lucy, but could not do so, and
every now and then fresh guests came to be served. He was therefore
left to the society of Hest, and took advantage of the opportunity to
learn if the man was in love with Ida. "Did you leave Miss Dimsdale in
good health?" he asked.
"Oh, yes. She is ever so much brighter, Mr. Vernon. The air of our
Yorkshire moors has picked her up wonderfully and has brought colour
to her cheeks."
"And your sister?"
Hest shrugged his shoulders again. "Oh, Frances is always in robust
health, Mr. Vernon. I find her company too exhausting for my health.
She always wants me to be doing something or saying something, and is
never at rest."
"You do a good deal yourself in the way of philanthropy?"
"Well, I do," said Hest, his dark face lighting up, "but it is really
selfish on my part. There is nothing I love so well as to help the
unfortunate. I have quite changed the parish of Bowderstyke, and
instead of being a Rip Van Winkle sort of place it is now in lively
touch with the twentieth century. If you are ever down our way, Mr.
Vernon, come and stop at the Hall and you shall see my _opus
magnus_--the Bolly Reservoir. Miss Dimsdale was quite amazed when she
beheld the strength of the dam."
"I have heard of that great work from your sister. She was quite
enthusiastic over the enterprise."
"What! Frances enthusiastic over anything of that sort? You surprise
me, Mr. Vernon, you do, indeed. Frances cares nothing about such
things. Poetry and society and a general aimless life is her idea of
living, But then she is a woman, and we must not be hard on women."
"It's strange," said Vernon, musingly, with his eyes on Hest.
"What is, if I may ask?"
"The life you mention would suit your nature rather than hers, I
should think, considering what I have seen of both of you. You are not
so serious as Miss Hest, so far as I can judge."
Hest laughed. "Well, you see, Frances takes her pleasures seriously
and in a very ponderous manner. I take my work lightly and as a hobby.
That is all the difference, save that I am sure I get more amusement
out of life than she does. Wait till you hear us argue."
"You are stopping in town long?"
"Only for a few days. I may go to Paris or I may return to Gerby Hall.
It all depends upon Miss Dimsdale."
Vernon looked surprised. "On Miss Dimsdale? In what way?"
"Well," Hest hesitated, "it's rather a private matter to----"
"Oh, I beg your pardon."
"Not at all. You know Frances and Miss Dimsdale so very well that I
don't mind telling you. The fact is my sister thinks that I ought to
be married at my age--I shan't tell you how old I am because that
would give away Frances, who, like all women, doesn't want her age to
be known. But the long and short of it is that she wants me to marry
Miss Dimsdale. I saw very plainly that Miss Dimsdale didn't want to
marry me, so I ran away."
This explanation appeared to be clear enough, and Vernon drew a long
breath of relief. Ida had been right; Frances had wished her brother
to marry the girl and secure the fortune. Now that Francis declined to
entertain the idea Miss Hest had invited Maunders down to try his
luck. But Vernon could not see what interest the former could have in
bringing about the marriage with the latter. He lifted his eyes from
the carpet to again address his companion, but found that Mr. Hest had
slipped away to talk to an old lady with an ear-trumpet.
"You might speak to _me_," hinted a low voice at his ear, and he
turned to smile at Lucy's injured face.
"You are so busy."
"There is a lull now in the tea-drinking. Why haven't you been to see
me lately, Arthur?"
"I have been very busy, also I have been out of town."
"You should be with me--always," pouted Miss Corsoon.
"What would your mother say to that?" he asked, smiling broadly.
"She would be annoyed," returned Lucy promptly.
Vernon started. "Surely you are mistaken," he said anxiously, stopping
to almost whisper in her ear. "Your mother gave her consent, and when
I was last here she said in your presence that she did not mind
my----"
Lucy interrupted with a flush. "I think she has another opinion now.
For some time she appeared to be pleased that we should marry, but the
day before yesterday she hinted that there might be obstacles."
"Ah, your father?"
"No. Mother can manage father in any way not connected with money.
Mother has changed her mind on her own account."
"But for what reason?" asked Vernon, much perplexed.
"I wish you could find out," mourned Miss Corsoon. "She refuses to
tell me in any way. But I love you, and I won't give you up. I'd run
away with you if you were not so poor."
"Shortly I'll be poor no longer," said Vernon quickly, "and then we
can run away whenever you like."
"You will be poor no longer?" questioned Lucy doubtfully.
"No, dear. My uncle, Sir Edward Vernon, of whom we spoke when I was
here last, has become reconciled to me and has made me his heir. I
shall have the title and something like three thousand a year."
"Oh, how delightful. But perhaps it's wrong to say that since it means
your uncle's death."
"I think Sir Edward will be glad to go," replied Vernon candidly. "He
has lived a long life, and the latter part of it is very weary and
dreary. He told me himself that he was looking forward to the great
release."
"And then you will be rich?"
"Yes; and you will be Lady Vernon."
"It seems too good to be true."
"I don't think so, dear. Even your father can scarcely object to our
marriage when I have an assured position."
Lucy looked down at the tea-cups. "It's mother I'm thinking about."
"I shall see Lady Corsoon before I leave," said Vernon compressing his
lips, and sending a glance in the direction of his hostess. She caught
his eye and smiled graciously: so graciously indeed that he bent again
down to Lucy.
"You must be mistaken, darling," he whispered. "Your mother is quite
friendly, and I am sure will not object in any way."
"She has changed her mind," answered Miss Corsoon obstinately, "at
least, she told me not to count on marrying you."
"Strange. She gave no explanation?"
"None, and was quite cross when I asked for one."
This view of Lady Corsoon's attitude was supported by the fact that on
seeing Vernon conversing so earnestly with Lucy she called to the girl
to come to her. Ostensibly this was to present her daughter to a
fashionable countess who had lately arrived, but Vernon guessed that
she really wished to end the _tête-à-tête_. This was curious,
considering the conversation which he had held with his proposed
mother-in-law at the office of Nemo. It was evident that she had
changed her mind once more, and as Lady Corsoon was not a weathercock,
Vernon wondered what powerful cause could have brought about the
alteration. However, he gave up speculation as he wandered about the
room, speaking to his friends, and promised himself a full explanation
when the company departed. As Lady Corsoon had asked him to remain it
was evident that she intended to let him know what was the matter. And
Vernon determined not to leave the house until he _did_ know. Shortly
the young man was captured by a flippant lady, voluble and somewhat
silly, who gave him a surprising piece of information. "Oh, Mr.
Vernon, I am so glad to see you," she babbled gushingly, "you really
must come to the--the bazaar--the great bazaar."
"Never heard of it, Mrs. Crimer."
"You silly man; don't you read the papers? One of the Princesses is to
have a stall, and no end of actresses and society people. It's to be
held at The Georgian Hall in aid of Homeless Hindoos."
"Really!" said Vernon idly, "why are they homeless?"
"Oh, I don't exactly know," gushed Mrs. Crimer vaguely; "it's a flood,
or a fire, or a blizzard."
"I don't think they have blizzards in India."
"Perhaps they don't; how clever you are, Mr. Vernon. But all I do know
is that the poor things want money, and we hope to make heaps by this
bazaar. There will be lovely things sold, and games and flower stalls
and sweets and fortune-telling," babbled the flippant lady
incoherently.
"Fortune-telling?" Vernon, paying little attention, only caught the
last word with any degree of clearness. "Of course. What would bazaars
be without fortune-telling? And this time it's really genuine.
Diabella----"
"What!" Vernon spoke so loudly that several people jumped, and the
flippant Mrs. Crimer put her gloved hands to her ears with a pretty
gesture of pain.
"You dreadful man, how you bellow! Yes; Diabella has a tent in the
grounds at the back of The Georgian Hall--we hope it will be a sunny
afternoon, you know--and intends to charge everyone ten shillings. You
know, she usually charges a guinea, but we think we'll get more by
asking less."
"But I thought," Vernon carefully commanded his voice, "I thought,
that Diabella had retired from business?"
"So she has. That delightful Granny has taken her business. I'm going
to see her and ask about my Affinity."
"Your husband?"
"Oh, no," said Mrs. Crimer airily; "he's only my husband, you know.
But I must have an Affinity: someone who is a spiritual lover. And
Granny----"
Vernon ruthlessly cut her short. "How did you get Diabella?"
"Really, I don't know," murmured Mrs. Crimer vaguely. "Someone asked
her, or she asked herself. I don't know which. But she is to be there
in her Egyptian dress and wearing an Egyptian mask and in an Egyptian
tent. Do go and have your fortune told."
"I shall," said Vernon grimly, and inwardly rejoicing over the chance
that was placing Diabella in his power. "And do you----"
"No." Mrs. Crimer spread out her hands with a shrug. "I really can't
talk to you any more. Everyone is going and I have heaps and heaps of
dear, delightful people to see. Good-bye! so glad you will come to the
bazaar. Quite angelic it will be--quite--quite." And the flippant lady
babbled her way to the hostess, who was now taking rapid leave of her
various guests. Lucy had disappeared, as Vernon soon learned by a
glance round the room, so he sat down and waited until Lady Corsoon
could give him her promised ten minutes' explanation. He would have
liked to have had a chat with Sir Julius, if only to enlist him in
favour of the marriage by dropping a hint regarding the expected
inheritance. But the financier rarely put in an appearance at his
wife's "At Homes," finding them far too frivolous for a man of his
capacity. So Vernon decided that if Lady Corsoon's explanation did not
prove satisfactory he would interview Sir Julius and formally ask for
the hand of Lucy. With the credentials of a soon-coming title, a
lordly mansion and three thousand a year, he hoped to have his
proposals well received. At a former interview the baronet had scoffed
at his pretensions; but now things were changed for the better, and
the chances were that all would go well.
"Now, Mr. Vernon," said Lady Corsoon, when the last guest had shaken
hands and departed, "we are alone and can have a talk. What news of
your search?"
"I have no news," replied Vernon placing a chair for the lady. "The
Spider cannot be found."
"Only seven days remain and I must give my answer then, Mr. Vernon.
You know the terms: either I pay two thousand pounds or my husband,"
she winced, "is informed that I sold those family jewels to pay my
Bridge debts."
"I am sorry, Lady Corsoon, but as yet I have not caught the man." She
made a gesture of despair. "Oh, what is the good of being sorry? I
came to you as a practised detective," this time it was Vernon who
winced; "at least, Mr. Maunders assured me that you were," she
hastened to say.
"Very kind of Mr. Maunders," said Vernon sarcastically. "Go on."
"Well, I came to you for assistance, and you have done nothing."
"I have done everything that I could do," said Vernon drily, "but The
Spider is too clever for me. As he has baffled the entire police force
it is no shame for me to confess as much."
"What do you intend to do?"
"I can't say," said Vernon, thinking of a possible meeting with
Diabella at The Homeless Hindoos' Bazaar. "In a few days I may have
news."
Lady Corsoon shook her head. "I can't afford to wait, since the time
is so short. Of course, you know that your marriage with Lucy depends
upon your getting me out of this unpleasant position?"
Vernon felt inclined to say that she had placed herself in the said
position, but he restrained himself, as it was useless to make an
enemy of her, and merely bowed.
"Very good," went on the lady sharply, "if you don't catch this Spider
and close his mouth and regain those jewels which he got from the
pawnshop you don't marry Lucy. In any case you are not a good match."
"I am now, Lady Corsoon. My uncle has been reconciled to me and has
made me his heir. Soon I shall be Sir Arthur Vernon, with a good
income."
"Oh, my dear man," Lady Corsoon waved a jewelled hand impatiently,
"there are plenty of baronets and knights with moderate incomes who
would be glad to marry Lucy for herself, let alone her expectations
from her father. My conditions are that you should get me out of this
trouble. Can you?"
"I shall try; I can say no more."
"Then listen to me," said the lady firmly. "A few days ago I received
a letter from The Spider."
"Ah!" Vernon nursed his chin and swung his leg. "So that is why you
have changed your mind with regard to my wooing of Lucy?"
"Who told you that I had changed my mind, sir?" she asked abruptly.
"Lucy hinted something, and then I saw that you separated us in----"
"There, there! I understand." Lady Corsoon waved her hand again. "You
are right. I have changed my mind, as The Spider has given me another
chance; but, of course, if you can catch him and make him hold his
peace and can recover the family jewels I pawned, I am willing to keep
to my agreement with you and support you in marrying my daughter."
"The Spider has given you another chance," repeated Vernon sitting up.
"And what may that be? Have you the letter?"
"It's locked away. As I did not expect you to-day I did not put it in
my pocket. But I can tell you what he says."
"The Spider?"
"Yes, of course," said Lady Corsoon quickly. "He tells me that if I
will pay him ten thousand pounds in twelve months he will place me in
receipt of that amount a year by proving that I am entitled to my late
brother's money. Strange, is it not, since my niece Ida is Martin's
daughter?"
"Very strange," replied Vernon mechanically. This news proved to him
more conclusively than ever that Diabella was connected with The
Spider, and, if not the blackmailer herself, worked in concert with
him. But until he could lay hands on the woman he determined to say
nothing to Lady Corsoon about the matter. "How long does he give you
to answer this new demand?"
"Two months," said Lady Corsoon, triumphantly; "so at least I have
gained time, and much may happen."
"As you say, much may happen. How does he propose to place you in
possession of this income. Does he say?"
"No." Lady Corsoon wrinkled her brows. "He simply makes the offer.
Certainly Ida inherits as next-of-kin, but it may be that this
Spider--who seems to know everything--has found a will giving the
income to me. Then," she hesitated, "there is another condition."
"What is it?"
"One you won't like. If I get this money I am to consent to the
marriage of Lucy with--with----"
"With whom?" asked Vernon jumping up. "Don't keep me in suspense."
"With Constantine Maunders," said Lady Corsoon coolly.