MADAME DE MELBAIN
Punctually at half-past seven the carriage arrived to take Wrayson to the
château. A few minutes' drive along a road fragrant with the perfume of
hay, and with the pleasant sound of the reaping machines in his ears, and
the carriage turned into the park through the great iron gates, which
opened this time without demur. By the side of the road was a clear trout
stream, a little further away a herd of deer stood watching the carriage
pass. The park was uncultivated but picturesque, becoming more wooded as
they climbed the hill leading to the chateâu. Wrayson smiled to himself
as he remembered that this magnificent home and estate belonged to the
woman who was his neighbour at Battersea, and whom he himself had been
more than half inclined to put down as an adventuress.
A major-domo in quiet black clothes, who seemed to reflect in his tone
and manner the subdued splendour of the place, received him at the door,
passing him on at once to a footman in powdered hair and resplendent
livery. Across a great hall, whose white stone floor, height, and
stained-glass windows gave Wrayson the impression that he had found his
way by mistake into the nave of a cathedral, he was ushered into a
drawing-room, whose modernity and comparatively low ceiling were almost a
relief. Here there were books and flowers and music, some exquisite
water-colours upon the white walls, newspapers and magazines lying about,
which gave the place a habitable air. A great semicircular window
commanded a wonderful view of the park, but Wrayson had little time to
admire it. A door was opened at the further end of the room, and he heard
the soft rustling of a woman's gown upon the carpet. It was Louise who
came towards him.
She was dressed in white muslin, unrelieved by ornament or any suggestion
of colour. Her cheeks were unusually pale, and the shadows under her eyes
seemed to speak of trouble. Yet Wrayson thought that he had never seen
her look more beautiful. She gave him her hand with a faint smile of
welcome, and permitted him to raise it to his lips.
"This is very, very foolish," she said softly, "and I know that I ought
to be ashamed of myself."
"On the contrary," he answered, "I think that it is very natural. But,
seriously, I feel a little overpowered. You won't want to live always in
a castle, will you, Louise?"
She sighed, and smiled, and sighed again.
"I am afraid that our castle, Herbert," she murmured, "will exist only in
the air! But listen. I must speak to you before the others come in."
"I am all attention," he assured her.
"It is about Madame de Melbain," she began, a little hesitatingly.
He waited for her to continue. She seemed to be in some difficulty.
"I want you to watch and do just what we others do," she said, "and not
to be surprised if some of our arrangements seem a little curious. For
instance, although she is the elder, do not give her your arm for
dinner. She will go in first alone, and you must take me."
"I can assure you," Wrayson said, smiling, "that I shall make no
difficulty about that."
"And she doesn't like to be talked to very much," Louise continued.
"I will humour her in that also," Wrayson promised. "She is a good sort
to let me come here at all."
"She is very kind and very considerate," Louise said, "and her life has
been a very unhappy one."
Wrayson moved his chair a little nearer.
"Need we talk about her any more?" he asked. "There is so much I want to
say to you about ourselves."
She looked at him for a moment, a little sadly, a little wistfully.
"Ah! don't," she murmured. "Don't talk about definite things at all. For
to-night--to-night only, let us drift!"
He smiled at her reassuringly.
"Don't be afraid," he said. "I am not going to ask you any questions. I
am not going to ask for any explanations. I think that we have passed all
that. It is of the future I wanted to speak."
"Don't," she begged softly. "Of the past I dare not think, nor of the
future. It is only the present which belongs to us."
"The present and the future," he answered firmly.
She rose suddenly to her feet, and Wrayson instinctively followed her
example. They were no longer alone. Two women, who had entered by a door
at the further end of the apartment, were slowly approaching them. The
foremost was tall and dark, a little slim, perhaps, but with an elegant
figure, and a carriage of singular dignity. Her face was youthful, and
her brown eyes were soft and clear as the eyes of a girl, but her dark
hair was plentifully streaked with grey, and there was about her whole
appearance an air of repressed sadness.
"This is Mr. Wrayson, is it not?" she asked, in a very sweet voice, but
with a strong foreign accent. "We have so few visitors that one can
scarcely make a mistake. You are very welcome."
She did not offer to shake hands, and Wrayson contented himself with
a low bow.
"You are very kind," he murmured.
"Monsieur le Baron," she remarked, turning to an elderly gentleman who
had just entered, "will doubtless find your coming pleasant. The
entertainment of three ladies must have seemed at times a little trying.
Let me make you gentlemen known to one another, Monsieur Wrayson,
Monsieur le Baron de Courcelles. And Ida," she added, turning to her
companion, who had moved a few steps apart, "permit that I present to
you, also, Mr. Wrayson--Mademoiselle de Courcelles."
The conversation for a moment or two followed the obvious lines. Madame
de Melbain and Louise had drawn a little apart; a few remarks as to the
beauty of the chateâu and its situation passed between Wrayson and the
Baron. The name of its owner was mentioned, and Wrayson indicated his
acquaintance with her. At the sound of her name, Madame de Melbain
turned somewhat abruptly round, and seemed to be listening; but at that
moment the door was thrown open, and the major-domo of the household,
who had received Wrayson, announced dinner. He directly addressed Madame
de Melbain.
"Madame is served," he murmured respectfully.
The little procession arranged itself as Louise had intimated. Madame de
Melbain led the way, ushered by the major-domo and followed immediately
by the Baron and Mademoiselle de Courcelles. Wrayson, with Louise,
brought up the rear. They crossed the white flagged hall and entered an
apartment which Wrayson, although his capacity for wonder was
diminishing, felt himself compelled to pause and admire. It was of great
height, and again the curiously shaped windows were filled with stained
glass. The oak-panelled walls, black with age, were hung with portraits,
sombre and yet vivid, and upon a marble pedestal at the end of the room,
lifelike, and untouched by the centuries, stood a wonderful presentation
of Ralph de St. Étarpe, the founder of the house, clad in the armour of
his days. The dinner table, with its brilliant and modern appurtenances
of flowers and plate, standing in the middle of the floor, seemed like a
minute and yet startling anachronism. The brilliant patches of scarlet
geranium, the deep blue livery of the two footmen, the glitter of the
Venetian glass upon the table, were like notes of alien colour amongst
surroundings whose chief characteristic was a magnificent restraint, and
yet such dignity as it was possible to impart into the everyday business
of eating and drinking was certainly manifest in the meal, which
presently took its leisurely course.
Wrayson, although no one could accuse him of a lack of _savoir faire_,
found himself scarcely at his ease. Madame de Melbain; erect; dignified,
and beautiful, sat at the head of the table, and although she addressed
a remark to each of them occasionally, she remained always
unapproachable. The Baron made only formal attempts at conversation, and
Mademoiselle de Courcelles was absolutely silent. Wrayson was unable to
divest himself of the feeling of representing an alien presence amongst a
little community drawn closely together by some mysterious tie. Louise
was his only link with them, and to Louise he decided to devote himself
entirely, regardless of the apparent demands of custom. His position at
the table enabled him to do this, and very soon he discovered that it was
precisely what was expected of him. The conversation between the others,
such as it was, lapsed into German, or some kindred tongue. Wrayson found
himself able presently to talk confidentially with Louise.
"Remember," he said, after a slight pause, "that I have finished
altogether with the role of investigator. I no longer have any curiosity
about anything. Still, I think that there is something which I ought to
tell you."
She smiled.
"You may tell me as much as you like," she said, "as long as you don't
ask questions."
"Exactly! Well, there is another Englishman staying at the _Lion d'Or._
He appears to be a decent fellow, and a gentleman. I am not going to talk
about him. I imagine that he is harmless."
"We have heard of him," Louise murmured. "It certainly appears as though
he were only an ordinary tourist. Has any one else arrived?"
"Yes!" Wrayson answered, "some one else has arrived, and I want to tell
you about him."
Louise was obviously disturbed. She refused a course a little
impatiently, and turned towards Wrayson anxiously.
"But the landlord," she said in a low tone, "has orders to receive no
more guests."
"This man arrived to luncheon to-day," Wrayson answered. "The landlord
could not refuse him that. He wished for a room and was told that he
could not be taken in."
"Well, who is he, what is he like?" she demanded.
"He is a miserable sort of bounder--an imitation cockney tourist, with
ready-made English clothes, a knapsack, and a camera. I should have felt
suspicious about him myself, but the other fellow whom I told you about,
who is staying at the inn, recognized him. He had seen him abroad, and
what he told me seems decisive. I am afraid that he is a spy."
Wrayson cursed himself for a moment that he had been so outspoken, for
the girl by his side seemed almost on the point of collapse. Her eyes
were full of fear, and she clutched at the tablecloth as though overcome
with a spasm of terror.
"Don't be alarmed," Wrayson whispered in her ear. "I am sure, I am quite
sure that he is not here for what you may fear. I don't believe he is an
Englishman at all."
The girl recovered herself amazingly.
"I was not thinking of myself," she said quietly; and Wrayson noticed
that her eyes were fixed upon the pale, distinguished face of the woman
who sat with a certain air of isolation at the head of the table.