"Eh? Why?" asked Sir Peter, sitting on the seat in the summer-house and
making room for his friend beside him. Lord Otford produced a crumpled
letter from his pocket. "Here! Read this!" said he, thrusting it under
Sir Peter's nose.
"Can't," said the latter, curtly, "haven't my spy-glass on me!"
"Well, listen." Lord Otford read the letter aloud, with ill-suppressed
fury.--"'My lord--It is my painful duty to inform your Lordship that
your Lordship's son, the Hon. John Sayle, is carrying on a clandestine
love-affair with Mademoiselle Marjolaine Lachesnais, of Pomander
Walk--'"
The Admiral had grown purple in the face. "Belay, there!" he roared.
Lord Otford took no notice, but went on reading: "'Yesterday they were
together for an hour in the Gazebo--'"
The Admiral would have no more of it. "When did you get that, and who
sent it?" he roared. The fact that the information was true was quite
outweighed by the implication that an inhabitant of the Walk could have
been guilty of the lowest form of treachery.
"It's signed, 'Your true Friend and Well-wisher,'" said Lord Otford,
"and I had it on Sunday."
The Admiral could hardly speak. "Do you mean to say that damned,
anonymous, Sabbath-breaking rag came from Pomander Walk?"
"I presume so."
"Who sent it?" cried the Admiral, jumping up and walking to and fro in a
towering rage. "Show me the white-livered scoundrel, and by Jehoshaphat!
I 'll break every bone in his body!" He turned sharply towards Otford.
"Is it a man's writing, or a woman's?"
"It's vague: might be anybody's."
The Admiral was passing the houses of the Walk in review. "Can't be
Sternroyd--Brooke-Hoskyn--Pringle--We 're none of us anonymous
slanderers." His eye fell on the Eyesore with momentary suspicion.
"Was it the Eyesore?"
"The Eyesore?" repeated Lord Otford, not understanding.
"That scare-crow, fishing. No; of course not. He does n't know you, and
I don't believe he can write.--But, what of it, Jack? You're not
worried by that rubbish! Why, it's a pack o' lies!" (Oh, Admiral,
Admiral!) Lord Otford tried to speak. "Don't interrupt!--I'm here all
the time. Nothing happens in Pomander Walk that I don't know. Don't
interrupt!--I was here when Jack came last Saturday. He went back in
his boat before you could say 'Jack Robinson,' because Madame swooned!"
He wiped his brow, and had the grace to add "Lord, forgive me!" as a
silent prayer. After all, he had told no lie. He had only omitted to
say how long Jack had been there before he saw him. And as he did n't
know, what could he have said?
Otford found his opportunity of speaking at last. "Now, perhaps you 'll
allow me to say it's all true," he shouted.
The Admiral shouted louder. "Do you take this blackguard's word rather
than mine?" he roared, pointing to the letter. It was intolerable he
should be doubted, even if he were not telling the whole truth.
"You confounded old porcupine," Lord Otford roared back at him, "Jack 's
owned up to the whole thing!"
"What!" yelled the Admiral. "Don't shout like that! D' ye want the
whole Walk to hear?--Sit down. Tell me again: quietly!"
"When I 'd read this letter, I taxed him with it," said Lord Otford,
"and he owned up. He came here last Saturday: met the damned little
French gel--"
"Jack!" roared the Admiral, flaring up.
"I'll withdraw 'damned.' Sat an hour in this infernal
what-d'-ye-call-it, and thinks he 's in love with her." Sir Peter was
about to speak. "Don't interrupt!--You know the Sayles when their blood
's up. My blood was up. Jack's confounded blood was up. You can
imagine the scene we had. He's as pig-headed and obstinate as--as--"
"As his father," put in Sir Peter.
"Don't interrupt!" roared Lord Otford. "He's thrown over Caroline
Thring--won't hear of her." Sir Peter chuckled. "The utmost I could
get out of him was that he 'd wait a week to make sure of what he calls
his mind."
"Aha!" said Sir Peter, delighted.
"Mind! Puppy! All the week he's gone about like a bear with a sore
head! Had the impudence to refuse to speak to me! This morning he had
the impudence to speak! And what d' ye think he said?"
"Serves ye right, whatever it was!" cried Sir Peter.
Lord Otford didn't hear him. "He said, 'The week 's up, and I 'm going
to Pomander Walk!'"
"Good lad!" roared Sir Peter, slapping his thigh, and breaking into a
loud guffaw.
"What!" shouted Lord Otford, jumping up. "You're mad! Think of what's
at stake! Ninety-thousand acres!--For the daughter of a Frenchwoman from
the Lord knows where. Who was the gel's father?--Or, rather, who was
n't?"
"Jack!" roared the Admiral, in a burst of fury, jumping up in his turn
and facing Otford.
"I withdraw!" cried Otford. "But think of it!" He was looking at the
Walk. In the grey light of the coming shower the houses were certainly
not seen at their best. "Think of it!" he said with a sweep of his cane
condemning the whole Walk to instant annihilation. "An Otford taking
his wife from these--these--Almshouses!"
The Admiral was livid--apoplectic--hysterical. Words failed him. His
voice failed him. He could only gasp, "Almshouses!--Pomander
Walk!--Almshouses!"
Lord Otford was alarmed at the effect his words had produced. "There!
there!" he cried, almost conciliatorily, "I withdraw 'Almshouses!'"
"Withdraw more, sir!" said the Admiral, and for all his almost grotesque
rage, there was a ring in his voice which compelled respect. "How dare
you come here, abusing the sweetest, brightest, most winsome--"
"I believe you 're in love with her yourself!" cried Otford.
"And, damme, why not?--Take care how you talk about innocent ladies you
've never set eyes on!"
"That's it!" cried Otford, glad to get on safer ground. "That's why I
'm here. You are to present me to this Madame--whatever her confounded
name is."
"In your present temper?" roared Sir Peter, whose own temper was at
boiling point. "I'll walk the plank first!" He pointed to Madame's
house. "There's her house: the white paint. Go and pay your respects."
He came close up to Otford, and spoke straight into his face. "Your
respects, Jack! You 'll find you have to!"
"I can't force my way into the house, unaccompanied, and you know it!"
"Then stay away, and be hanged!"
Lord Otford was nonplussed. He caught sight of the Gazebo. "I 'll stay
here," he said doggedly, sitting down like a man who means never to move
again, "and if Jack shows his nose--!"
The Admiral had begun to stride towards his house. He came back and put
his red face round the side of the Gazebo. "I shall be watching, sir!"
this with blood-curdling calmness. "And if you dare raise a disturbance,
I 'll--" he could not think of anything bad enough. "I 'll--damme! I
'll set the Eyesore at you!"
He stumped off towards his home again, while Lord Otford sank back in
his seat, folded his arms, and said, "Ha!" with grim determination.
At that moment Jack came hurrying round the corner and ran straight into
the Admiral's arms. At that fateful moment also Madame must needs come
out of her house. Fortunately she was preoccupied and did not see the
frantic pantomime with which Sir Peter tried to explain to Jack that his
father was hidden in the Gazebo. Madame called, "Marjolaine!
Marjolaine!" As we know, Marjolaine was with the Misses Pennymint, and
Madame received no answer. Lord Otford heard her from his hiding-place.
"Aha!" he said to himself, "the mother!" and he sat up at attention.
"Gobblessmysoul!" whispered the Admiral, hoarsely. "The father here,
and the mother there! Jack! Get away!"
Madame had turned to her house and was calling her old servant.
"Nanette!"
Jack refused to budge. What he said I do not know; but Sir Peter grew
still more frantic. Nanette appeared at the upstairs window. "Quoi,
Madame?"
"I 'll be hanged if I stir!" said Jack.
"Ou est donc Mademoiselle?" said Madame.
"Je ne sais pas, Madame." Madame went back into her little garden, and
looked into the ground-floor window.
"Come inside, then!" said Sir Peter to Jack. But Jack saw the Eyesore,
who was placidly fishing, and a broad grin spread all over his face.
"No! Better idea!" he chuckled. He imparted the idea to the horrified
Admiral in a whisper.
Madame spoke to Nanette again. "Vite! Allez voir si son chapeau est
dans sa chambre!"
Nanette disappeared from the window, and Madame stood impatiently
looking up at it awaiting her return.
Whatever Jack had said to the Admiral was of such a nature as to fill
that ancient salt with horror. He threw up his arms, cried, "I wash my
hands of it!" and dashed into his house. Jack quickly said something to
the Eyesore which caused the latter to fling his rod down with alacrity,
and, amazing to relate, he and Jack hurried round the corner and out of
sight together.
Nanette reappeared with a huge Leghorn straw hat. "Oui, Madame, voila
le chapeau de Mademoiselle." Then, pointing to the Gazebo,
"Mademoiselle doit etre au pavillon."
"Non," said Madame, "je viens de l'appeler." But a sudden suspicion
flashed across her mind. Could Marjolaine be there with Jack, and afraid
to show herself? "Serait-il possible?"--she cried, and came hurriedly
towards the summer-house.
Lord Otford had heard her conversation with Nanette, and had risen; so
that Madame found herself abruptly face to face with her faithless
lover.
*CHAPTER IX*
*IN WHICH OLD LOVERS MEET, AND THE
CONSPIRACY COMES TO A HEAD*
[Illustration: Chapter IX headpiece]
Madame knew him at a glance. To some extent she had been prepared for
his coming by Jack's previous visit. As Jack was acquainted with Sir
Peter, it was quite likely Lord Otford was also, and nothing was more
probable than that he should come to look up his old friend.
Nevertheless this sudden confrontation startled her, and she could not
suppress a little "Oh!" of surprise.
Lord Otford, on his part, was too much occupied with his own anger, his
outraged dignity, to pay more than very superficial attention to her.
Moreover she had changed a great deal more than he. He had left her, a
mere strip of a girl, and now she was a dignified and very beautiful
woman. He was not thinking of Lucy Pryor at all at the moment, while
her thoughts, if the truth must be told, were full of the Jack Sayle of
old days. So they began their little duel with unequal weapons. Madame
was absolutely self-possessed: Otford could not suppress a certain
amount of nervousness in the presence of this calm and stately lady who
was so utterly different from anything he had expected. However, he
pulled himself together and put on his grandest and most overwhelming
manner.
"I am the trespasser," he said, with a condescending bow, in answer to
her startled cry. She inclined her head very slightly, and turned to go.
"May I detain you a moment?" said he, quickly.
She stopped and half turned towards him. "I am at a loss--" she said
coldly, with raised eyebrows.
He explained. "I heard you calling your daughter." Then, very stiffly,
"I presume you are Madame--ah--" he made pretence to consult the
anonymous letter; this haughty person should know she was not of
sufficient importance for him even to remember her name, "Madame
Lachesnais."
Madame bowed almost imperceptibly and something very like a mischievous
smile lurked in the corners of her lips.
"I am Lord Otford--" he gave his name quite simply, as a gentleman
should, yet he managed to convey that it was a great name and that he
expected the announcement of it to make its effect.
Madame made a slight movement with her hand as if she were brushing away
something of no moment whatever; as if she declined to receive a name
which could have no importance for her; as if she did n't care whether
his name were Otford or Snooks. This disconcerted him. It was a new
experience, and it was unpleasant. For the sake of something to say he
pointed to the seat under the tree. "Ah--pray be seated." Madame saw
the advantage she had already gained. She spoke as she might have
addressed a poor beetle: "What you have to say can be of so little
consequence--"
Lord Otford flushed angrily. Here was he, a great nobleman with a
grievance, and this totally insignificant woman was treating him like a
child! He spoke with some warmth. "I beg your pardon! What I have to
say is of the utmost consequence."
"I shall be surprised," said Madame--"and I am waiting."
Lord Otford was still fuming. Her manner was really most disconcerting.
"You--you make it somewhat difficult, ma'am," he blustered.
Nothing could stir her calmness. "Then why give yourself the trouble?"
she said; and again moved as if to go.
"Pray wait!" cried he, hastily. All the fine outworks of sarcasm and
irony which he had elaborately prepared against this meeting had
vanished before the icy blast of her imperturbable coolness. He was
hot; he was uncomfortable. He could only stammer, "The fact is--my
foolish son--"
Madame held up a delicate hand and stopped him. "Ah!" she said, with a
well-bred rebuke of his excitement, "I can spare you any further
discomfort. Your son forced his acquaintance on my daughter in my
absence a week ago. Be assured we are willing to overlook his lack of
manners. The circumstance need not be further alluded to."
Here was a nice thing! In those few words she had turned the tables on
him. Instead of metaphorically grovelling in the dust at his feet and
entreating his pardon, she had become the accuser, and he now found
himself forced to speak on the defensive.
"It must be alluded to! I must explain!" he cried.
"No explanation or apology is required," she went on implacably, "since
under no circumstances shall we allow the acquaintance to continue."
Was he on his head or his heels? These were practically the very words
he had meant to use. This was the shell he had meant to hurl into the
enemy's camp, and here it was, exploding under his own feet!
"But my son has pledged his word to come again, and--"
Again she interrupted him. "Make yourself easy on that score," she
said; and now there was even a note of contempt in her voice. "He has
broken his word."
"That was my doing!" cried Lord Otford, almost apologetically. "I
persuaded him to wait a week. I regret to say he means to come to-day."
"Well," answered Madame, with the utmost indifference, "Pomander Walk is
public, and we cannot prevent him."
"But he 'll see your daughter!"
"I think not. Unless he breaks into the house."
"Upon my soul, I believe he 'll go that length!" What Lord Otford had
intended should be a menace, turned to an appeal. "That is where I ask
for your co-operation."
Madame looked him up and down with indignant protest. Really, he might
have been poor Snooks. "Pardon me," she said, "not co-operation." She
drew herself up and her eyes flashed. "But I shall defend my own."
She laid a peculiar stress on the word "defend," which arrested his
attention.
"'Defend'?" said he, with amazement. "What do you mean?"
She looked him straight in the face, and spoke with intense feeling. "I
mean, that no member of your family is likely to cross my threshold."
There was something so threatening, so avenging in her voice, that he
fell back a pace and said, hushed, "You speak as though you nursed a
grudge against my family!"
Madame smiled scornfully. "Oh! no grudge whatever." Then she added
slowly and very quietly, "But I remember!"
"Remember what?" cried he, more and more bewildered.
For a moment she did not answer. Then she turned to him and spoke. "Am
I so changed--Jack Sayle?"
He stared. "Indeed, ma'am--" then suddenly he saw and remembered. He
could only exclaim, "Good God!"
"Are you still puzzled?" she asked, with that mysterious smile of hers.
"Lucy!"
"Lucy Pryor," she assented. She bowed and turned away.
Lord Otford was stunned. "No--no," he stammered. "Stop!--this alters
the case entirely!"