MIXED MOTIVES.
Mr. Tremain had not been far wrong when he told Esther Newbold that the
arrest of so prominent and well-known a person as Miss Hildreth bid fair
to develop into an international question.
The charge entered against her was of too grave a nature not to excite
and sustain public attention. It certainly appeared to the community at
large a very arbitrary and high-handed proceeding that an American
citizen could be thus imprisoned at the request of a foreign Government.
Her offence being in no respect a political one, this loophole of escape
could not be urged in her favour, for in that case the foreign
Government interested in her committal would never have demanded her
arrest or expected her surrender into their hands. Doubtless had Miss
Hildreth been but a poor workwoman, on whom depended the support of her
family, no such strenuous efforts would have been put forth to
accomplish her arrest, or a precedence have been created to deal with
her position.
But being what she was, and controlling almost unlimited wealth and
influence, the case assumed potential proportions, and therefore it was
deemed expedient to allow an official inquiry to take place, and to
permit the greatest latitude in its operations, even to the calling of
witnesses.
To meet this position of affairs great exertions were made on the part
of Miss Hildreth's friends, foremost among whom stood Philip Tremain. He
had quitted Patricia's presence, at the conclusion of that first
interview, as undecided in his own mind as to her guilt or innocence as
he had been when he heard of her arrest. Her words, her insinuations,
her reticence, had all been so many damning factors against her, while
her manner, so light-hearted, so inconsequent, so trivial, were the only
elements in her favour.
To Philip, indeed, that very light-heartedness--which he called
flippancy--appeared the most suspicious feature of her behaviour. It
seemed to him that any woman, no matter how frivolous or hardened, must
have given vent to tears and protestations when brought so close to the
awful consequences of even supposed guilt; whereas, he found Miss
Hildreth even more composed--if that were possible--and more trivial
than at their parting in the flies on George Newbold's birthday night.
Good heavens, how long ago that seemed! And what a page of tragedy--or
was it melodrama? he had construed since then!
As he walked back to his rooms from Ludlow Street Jail that hot August
evening, his mind was very full of Patricia's farewell words:
"Fathom Adèle Lamien's motives, Philip, and you will lay bare the secret
of my arrest."
He had, indeed, in the sudden tumult and agitation of Dick Darling's
appearance and communication, lost sight of Mdlle. Lamien's claims upon
him; nor was it until Patricia spoke with that enigmatical smile that he
remembered them, or paused to consider what was likely to be her
attitude in the present complication of affairs.
He had neither heard from or of Mdlle. Lamien since their parting, and
while he held himself bound to her by honour, he could not help
reflecting upon the fact that no actual engagement existed between them,
and that she might so regard their equivocal position, and desire him to
understand her silence as an expression of her final refusal of his
suit. However that might be, he felt matters had reached such a crisis
as to make his seeing her an imperative duty, since, by so doing, he
might elucidate the true motive for Patricia's arrest. Recalling Adèle
Lamien's last words, and the note of victory in her voice--"surely this
should be triumph enough, even for me, to know that I have won you from
the remembrance, nay, from the very presence of Patricia Hildreth"--he
felt more than ever convinced that Vladimir Mellikoff had not only been
helped by a woman, but by this very woman.
Had not her own words betrayed her jealousy and dislike of her former
rival? What more natural than that she should join issue with Count
Mellikoff, and play into his hands, not realising perhaps the nature of
the train she set alight, or the gravity of the consequences?
Was she not a Russian, and had not Mellikoff himself enlightened him
regarding the system of that secret police, whose ranks were reinforced
by members of one's own household! According to the Count's black
note-book, the very people who ate your bread, who clasped your hand in
friendship, who instructed your children, were, one and all--if
Russian--banded against you, and ready to strike at you in the dark at
the word of command.
Separated from Mdlle. Lamien, and freed from the dominating influence of
her personality, Mr. Tremain realised how little his own volition had
had to do with his offer of marriage to her.
In looking back at their interview, it seemed to him he had been
possessed by some demon of evil who urged him on to his doom; and under
whose specious reasoning and cunning insinuations, his own stronger
sense and will had become but passive agents.
How gladly would he not now welcome any honourable means of escape from
the light fetters that bound him! He knew this, and acknowledged it
frankly; even while he also realised that, were he again to stand
before Adèle Lamien, and listen to her low suggestive voice, and look
upon her strangely familiar face, he would again yield to her influence
as he had yielded before, and be subjugated by that same nameless
_something_, to which he had succumbed before. It was not a pleasant
position for any man to accept, and yet he was obliged to accept it from
its very uncontrovertibleness.
He walked all the way from Ludlow Street to his up-town chambers with
such reflections for his only companions; it was not to be wondered at,
therefore, that he felt himself out of tune with his surroundings, or
that the light-hearted gaiety apparent in those he met, whose labours
over for the day, were evidently on pleasure bent, jarred upon him as
exuberant examples of positive callousness. Just so would they laugh and
smile and jest, even though the worst predictions came true; and she,
counted guilty, had already set sail across the ocean of destiny to meet
her fate--alone, in a land where neither his skill nor his love could
avail her anything. He reached his rooms at last, exhausted in body and
mind; he found them in the most scrupulous order, Harris, the
invaluable, having reduced everything to the level of every-day
commonplace. Not a trace of last night's emotional interview remained,
even Miss Dick's little glove had been neatly folded and lay upon the
table, with the faded rose-bud from her corsage placed on top of it.
With a sigh, Mr. Tremain threw himself down upon a couch drawn up
against an open window, and passed his hand wearily over his forehead.
The silence and coolness and half darkness were absolute rest and
refreshment to him after the heat and glaring sunshine, and conflicting
experiences of the day; it was a physical relief to sink into a state of
semi-apathy and to pass from the tense excitation of feeling into a
corresponding insensibility.
Philip could not have told how long he remained in this state of
suspended activity; he was aroused at length by the slamming to of the
heavy outer door, and with this ordinary sound he reawakened to the
exigencies of the immediate situation. He got up wearily and struck a
match, not with any definite object in view, but because he felt he must
be doing something, and that something could be better accomplished in
the light.
The slowly igniting candles on his writing-table threw but a faint
aureola into the darkness, sufficient, however, to reveal to Philip's
eyes the pile of unopened letters, across the topmost one of which was
written that under-scored _immediate_.
He took it up indifferently. "It is Mainwaring's writing," he thought
listlessly, and had almost a mind to put it by until a more propitious
moment--until he had written that letter to Adèle Lamien demanding an
interview, upon the wording of which it had taken him so long to
decide. John Mainwaring's communication could not possibly be of such
importance as to demand instant attention; it had waited several days as
it was, it might wait a few hours longer without disaster.
And so it is with the wisest and most sagacious of us. We pray on bended
knees, and with streaming eyes, for one, only one chance, one
opportunity more wherein to work out our salvation; and then when the
grace is given we reject it because, forsooth, it comes to us in so
accustomed and natural a guise we cannot believe in its efficacy.
How should Philip, hesitating and uncertain, holding Mainwaring's letter
in his hand, guess that within the long business envelope lay the
solution of all that was most enigmatic to him--the key to what was now
a locked book to his perceptions?
Do any of us ever know the exact moment when we stand upon a mental
precipice, or realise how far our next step may carry us on to our
doom?
He broke the seal at last, more from habit than impatience, and glanced
carelessly down at the page as he unfolded it. It was not a long letter,
only a few lines written hastily across one side; but had it been a
printed folio of engrossing depth it could not have riveted Philip's
attention more closely. The candles, flaming up with a sudden assured
brilliancy, shone full upon his face, and upon the startled, excited,
incredulous expression which spread over it as he read.
It was a long time, many moments, that he stood thus, reading and
re-reading John Mainwaring's hurried lines, and when at last he raised
his head and threw back his shoulders, he took a long deep breath as of
one who, but lately spent and exhausted, sees opening before him a fair
plain, smiling and verdant, wherein his tired nature may refresh its
weary faculties.
"If this is true," he said, half aloud, "why then----" and finished his
soliloquy with a smile.
Half an hour later Mr. Tremain was ringing the bell at Mrs. Newbold's
door, and somewhat astonished the servant by the vehemence of his demand
for her mistress.
"Tell her I must see her," he said, "it is of the utmost importance;"
then he pushed by the maid and made his way to Esther's boudoir.
He found the room empty, though traces of late occupancy were apparent
in a book tossed carelessly down on the tumbled cushions of the couch,
and a long strip of artistic needlework, in which the needle was
standing upright, and a tiny gold thimble, that had fallen down and lay
beside a "Kate Greenaway" picture book.
He had scarcely time to note these particulars before the door was
opened, and Esther came towards him quickly, looking a little pale and
excited, her fair hair tumbled about her face, and the long train of her
_négligé_ making a slight rustle as she moved. She came close up to him
and raised her eyes to his; they caught the reflection of the hopeful
gladness therein, and her cheeks flushed suddenly, as she cried, putting
out her hand and touching his arm:
"Philip, oh, Philip, you have news--good news?"
Her voice had a ring of expectancy in it that did not escape Philip.
"Esther," he replied, looking down at her steadily, and speaking
gravely, "I have come to you at this late hour for one reason only--to
ask you one question. Will you be frank and honest in your answer?"
"Ah," she exclaimed, "there are both reproach and reflection in your
words. Ask me the question first, Philip, and judge of my veracity by my
reply."
She turned and walked to the couch, seated herself, and, taking up the
strip of embroidery, examined it attentively.
Mr. Tremain followed her.
"It is all very well, your trying to parry my thrust, Esther; but it is
useless. I shall oblige you to give me a direct answer."
He drew up a chair as he spoke, and, as he sat down, took from his
pocket a note-case.
"Will you oblige me by reading this letter?" he said, handing her
Mainwaring's communication.
She took it with a deprecatory shrug of her shoulders, and read the few
lines it contained with an absolutely expressionless face.
"Well?" asked Philip, after several moments had passed.
"Well?" she echoed, folding the letter with exactness and handing it
back to him, but avoiding his eyes.
"Esther," he said, bending forward and forcing her to look at him,
"Esther, the news contained in that letter is no news to you."
Still she did not reply; she had again taken up the strip of embroidery,
and her fingers trembled a little as she drew out the needle. Mr.
Tremain put out his hand and took it from her.
"My dear Esther," he said once more, in the same measured tones he had
used from his first greeting of her, "you can at least answer a direct
question. Did you know of this before?"
"Since you put it in that way--yes," she replied.
"For how long--all the time?"
"Yes, all the time."
"And you have kept it to yourself--why?"
But to this she made no answer.
"Why did you keep it from me?" he asked, more sternly. "Do you think you
had any right to do so?"
"Yes, I do," she answered, quickly, stung by the reproach in his voice.
"I think so still. A promise should always be sacred."
"A promise--and to whom?"
"If you consider that a necessary question, I do not," she answered,
with a touch of asperity in her voice. "You surely have lost somewhat of
your customary acumen, Philip, to ask it."
"Then let me put it in another form," he replied, not in the least
disturbed by her show of temper. "Did you promise--_her_?"
She looked at him for a moment, before she spoke, and the rebellious
blood dyed her cheeks scarlet, her blue eyes flashed.
"I am not compelled to answer you," she said mutinously, "but I will do
so. Yes, I promised _her_."
"But why, Esther, why? What induced you to make so absurd a promise?
And, having made it, why, when such extraordinary circumstances arose,
did you still keep your lips closed? Why did you not tell me that
evening, when I came to you, and when you were in such grief and
anxiety? Surely you must have known it would have greatly simplified
matters."
But Mrs. Newbold was obstinately silent. She shut her lips firmly
together and looked at Philip beneath a decided frown.
"Do you mean to tell me," he continued, a trifle impatiently, "that you
could believe such a matter was not of vital importance? Do answer me,
Esther, I beg; what motive can I have save to help----"
"Oh, if you will look at it in that light," interrupted Mrs. Newbold,
quickly, "why then I must say, I don't see what great difference your
having known this would have made. It couldn't stop the arrest, you
know."
"I know nothing of the kind," he replied shortly; "I am not at all sure
that it might not have done so. It is always far more difficult to
rectify a blunder than to prevent one. I cannot but feel that you have
treated me badly in this matter, Esther; at such a time and under such
circumstances the utmost candour should have been shown."
He did not speak angrily, but with so much of sadness in his voice,
Esther felt compunction stealing over her and absorbing her late
vehemence and impatience.
"I should much prefer your being angry with me, Philip," she said,
wistfully, "or that you shook me; it's much more awful to see you look
so hurt and pained. But can't you believe me, can't you understand? It
was her wish--her demand--from the very beginning. She made me solemnly
swear that no one should know--least of all--you."
"Ah, yes--I least of all," he replied, half sadly. "Very well, my dear
Esther, I will ask you no more questions. You shall not be tempted
further to break your promise. Let us only hope that this unfortunate
secrecy may not in the end prove our greatest stumbling-block. I do not
see the way any clearer before me because of this unexpected document,
but I shall do my best to use it to our advantage. After all, what a
truly womanly bit of _finesse_ it was--and is!"
As Philip spoke the door was again thrown open, and Dick Darling came
in, followed by little Marianne carrying a basket filled with roses. She
ran up to her mother, holding out the basket to her, and crying:
"They've only just come, Mumsey. Perkins brought them up himself. Oh,
they do smell puffeckly 'licious!"
Esther took the flowers from her little daughter's hand.
"You can guess whom they are for," she said to Philip, smiling a little.
"Dick and I intend taking them early to-morrow morning."
Mr. Tremain took up one of the fragrant blossoms, and, bending down
towards Esther, said, in a half undertone:
"And is Miss Dick also a sharer in this secret?"
Esther shook her head.
"Not through me," she answered.
"And Mainwaring, how did he become a conspirator?"
"I do not know," she replied, looking down again. "I do not know--how
should I?"
He made no answer for a moment, during which his eyes never left the
downcast face before him.
"Good-bye," he said simply, at last, and including Miss Darling in his
leave-taking by a half bow, passed out of the room, carrying the red
rose-bud with him.
It was a distinct source of pleasure to him, as he contemplated the
little flower, to remember for whom its sister roses were destined. The
tiny blood-red blossom seemed to put him in touch once more with his old
life--that life which antedated his visit to the Folly--when Adèle
Lamien was still unknown to him.