There are hours in almost every life of which the memory is put away,
hidden, as far as may be, in an unfathomable pit. Blanche Farrow never
recalled to herself, and never discussed with any living being, the
hours which followed her talk with Lionel Varick.
Of the five people to whom she told the untrue tale so quickly and so
cleverly imagined by their host, only one suspected that she was not
telling the truth. That one--oddly enough--was Sir Lyon Dilsford. He
guessed that something was wrong, and in one sense he got near to the
truth--but it was such a very small bit of the truth!
Sir Lyon suspected that Varick had made an offer to Helen Brabazon, and
that she had refused him. But he was never to know if his suspicion had
been correct, for he was one of those rare human being who are never
tempted to ask indiscreet or unnecessary questions from even their
nearest and dearest.
In answer to Miss Farrow's apologies and explanations, everyone, of
course, expressed himself or herself as very willing to fall in with the
suggestion that they should all travel up to town together that day. It
also seemed quite natural to them all, even to Bubbles, that Blanche
should stay behind for the one night.
She was not the sort of woman to leave a task half done. She had engaged
the servants, and she would remain to settle up with them. The average
man--and most of them thought Varick an average man--is helpless in
dealing with so complicated a domestic problem as a number of job
servants.
As the hours of the early afternoon went by, Blanche more and more
marvelled at Varick's extraordinary powers of self-command. Excepting
that he was, perhaps, a little more restless than usual, he was at his
best as the courteous, kindly host, now parting with regret from a
number of well-liked guests.
He even succeeded in putting Helen Brabazon once more at her ease, for,
choosing his opportunity, he told her, in a few earnest words which
touched her deeply, that he had come to see her point of view, and to
acquiesce in her decision.
Blanche heard him making an appointment with Dr. Panton to lunch at the
Ritz on one of the days of the following week. He asked Sir Lyon to join
them there; and Blanche saw the look of real chagrin and annoyance which
passed over his face when Sir Lyon declined the invitation.
But even what was obviously sincere and real, seemed utterly insincere
and unreal to Blanche Farrow, during those tense hours. Thus, when she
overheard Donnington and Bubbles talking over the arrangements for their
wedding, their talk seemed to her all make-believe.
At last, however, there came the moment for which she had been longing
for what seemed to her an eternity.
Miss Brabazon, Sir Lyon, and Dr. Panton were the first to go off;
followed, after a few minutes' interval, Donnington, Bubbles, and the
luggage.
Blanche noticed that Lionel's parting with Bubbles was particularly
suave and cordial. But the girl was not at her best. When her host
touched her, accidentally, she shrank back, and his face clouded. And,
as the motor drove off, he turned to Blanche and said discontentedly: "I
wish Bubbles liked me better, Blanche!"
She hardly knew what to answer, for it was true that the girl did not
like Varick, and had never liked him. Yet it seemed such a strange thing
for him to trouble about that _now_. But Lionel, poor Lionel, had always
had an almost morbid wish to be liked--to stand well with people, so she
told herself with a strange feeling of pain at her heart.
They walked back together into the house, and Blanche, going over to the
fire-place, poured herself out another cup of tea.
In a sense she still felt as if she was living through a terrible,
unreal dream, and yet it was an unutterable relief to be no longer
obliged to pretend.
She glanced furtively at Varick.
He looked calm, cheerful, collected. "Will you excuse me for a few
moments? I have got several things to do," he said. "Then I think I will
go out and tramp about for a bit. It's been a strain for you as well as
for me, Blanche," he added sympathetically.
"Yes, it has," she answered almost inaudibly.
"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked. "Will you be quite
comfortable?"
She repeated, mechanically: "Quite comfortable, thank you, Lionel," and
then, as an after-thought: "I suppose we shall dine at the same time as
usual?"
"Certainly--why not?" He looked puzzled at her question. "Let me
see--it's not much after five now; I'll be back by seven."
He walked to the door, and from there turned round. "So long!" he cried
out cheerily, and she was surprised, for Varick seldom made use of any
slang or colloquialism.
Feeling all at once utterly exhausted and spent, she drew a deep chair
forward to the fire and lay back in it. Her mind seemed completely to
empty itself of thought. She neither remembered the past nor considered
the future, and very soon she slipped off into a deep sleep--the sleep
of exhaustion which so often follows a great mental strain.
* * * * *
It must have been over an hour later that Blanche seemed to awaken to a
perception that the big oak door behind her, which gave access to the
deep-eaved porch, had opened and closed.
She looked round; and, in the candle-light, for the fire had died down,
she saw Varick, looking neither to the right nor to the left, walk
quickly across the long room and slip noiselessly through the door
leading to the interior of the house.
Then it was seven o'clock? Nearly three-quarters of an hour before she
must go up and dress for dinner.
Almost at once she was asleep again, to be, however, thoroughly awakened
a few moments later by the opening and the shutting of a door.
It was the old butler, a man Blanche had come to like and to respect.
He held a salver in his hand, and on the salver was a letter. "Mr.
Varick asked me to give you this note at a quarter-past seven, ma'am. I
understood him to say that he might be late for dinner to-night as he
had to go up to the Reservoir Cottage."
Blanche sat up, all her senses suddenly on the alert.
"Mr. Varick came in some minutes ago," she said, "at least, I think he
did."
She was beginning to wonder if Lionel had really come in, or if she had
only dreamt that he had done so.
"I don't think he came in, ma'am, for I've been in the dining-room, with
the door open, for a long time. I would have heard him if he had come
through and gone upstairs."
"You might see if he is in," she said quietly.
She took the letter off the salver, but did not break the seal till the
old man had come back with the words: "No, ma'am, Mr. Varick is not in
the house."
He lingered on for a moment. "I hope you will forgive me, ma'am, for
mentioning that Mr. Varick told us we could all go off early to-morrow
morning if we liked, instead of next Monday. He paid us up after the
visitors had gone away, and he also gave us the bonus he so kindly
promised. I never wish to serve a more generous gentleman. But the chef
and I decided that we would ask you, ma'am, if it is for your
convenience that we leave early to-morrow?"
"Anything that Mr. Varick has arranged with you will suit me," she said
quickly. "As a matter of fact, I think he would like you to leave by the
train I shall be going by myself."
As the man turned away she looked down at Varick's letter. On the
envelope was written in his good, clear handwriting: "The Hon. Blanche
Farrow, Wyndfell Hall." But no premonition of its contents reached her
still weary, excited brain.
Written on a large plain sheet of paper, the letter ran:
"My dear Blanche,--I fear I am going to give you a shock--for, by
the time this reaches you, there will have been another
accident--one very similar to that which befell poor little
Bubbles. But this time there will be no clever, skilful Panton to
bring the drowned to life.
"I suggest that you begin to feel uneasy about a quarter past
eight. I leave to your good sense the details of the sad discovery.
I have but one request to make to you, kindest and truest of
friends; that is, that you remember what I asked you to do with
reference to Panton's appointment to-morrow morning. If you can get
a telegram or telephone message through to Gifford to-night, I
think that appointment will be postponed indefinitely. You will
perhaps think me a sentimental fool for wishing to keep Panton's
good opinion, but such is my wish.
"I am distressed at the thought of the trouble and worry to which
you must inevitably be exposed to-night. On the other hand, much
more trouble and worry in the future will thus have been saved,
even to you.
"Yours ever,
"Lionel Varick.
"I trust to your friendship to destroy this letter as soon as
read."
Blanche read the letter once again, right through, then she held out the
big sheet of paper, and dropped it into the heart of the fire.
For the second time that day she burst into tears, shaken to the depths
by the extraordinarily complicated feelings which filled her heart and
mind, feelings of horror and of pain--and yet of intense, immeasurable
relief!
Then she pulled herself together, and prepared to act, for the second
time that day, her part in a tragi-comedy in which where there had been
two characters there was now but one.