It was not only Marrion Paul whose night had been disturbed. Lord
Drummuir, brought thereto by many days' indiscretions, Perigord pie at
supper, and perchance his hot though transient anger at the finale to
the _fandango_, fell a victim to the sharpest attack of gout he had
had since Christmas and kept his side of the house awake with his
curses on things in general, and his valet in particular.
And, on the other side of the south wing, Fantine Le Grand, _alias_
Fanny Biggs, sat till dawn, staring at herself in the looking-glass
and ciphering out the effect of something, new yet old, which had
unexpectedly come into her life. She had sent her maid to bed, but
felt no inclination for her own, until the disturbing element had been
thoroughly reckoned with; for she was eminently practical and shrewd.
So she sat, her elbows on the dressing-table, her fingers cramped in
her loosened hair, taking stock of the pretty painted face which had
been the loadstar of her life. It was beginning to show age. She had
admitted that to herself for some time past, and had told herself it
was time for her to draw in her horns. But now had come this
disturbing factor. Only that morning she had remorselessly plotted to
turn Marmaduke out of the house by fair means or foul. Now she was
clear-sighted enough to admit that she would much rather keep him
beside her.
Strange that one dance, one delicious abandonment of herself to his
directions should have revived her youth--made her think of the gouty
old man with positive loathing.
"You are a fool," she murmured to her reflection in the glass; but the
reflection answered back--"It is your last chance. Why miss it?"
She thought and thought, only one thing coming to her with certainty.
To play with Marmaduke, as she had proposed to do, would be to play
with fire. Was she prepared for this?
At last, wearied out, she rose, poured out a double dose of sleeping
drops, and put off further considerations for the morning, since no
matter at what decision she arrived, she could not afford to be
haggard. She woke, late as usual, to feel, with the usual buoyancy
of perfect health and practically no conscience, that she had been
making a mountain out of a molehill; but the first glance at the
breakfast-table laid in her little boudoir sent a thrill through her
which reminded her that there were indeed pitfalls ahead. For on it
lay a huge bunch of red, red roses, tied together somewhat clumsily
with a red silk officer's scarf, and in it was tucked away a boyish
note: "Excuse tie, I hadn't any other ribbon. Hope you aren't tired
after our wonderful dance. My love to you."
So it was real, tangible; and something must be settled one way or the
other. She frowned over her breakfast and then, untying the bouquet,
disposed the roses about the room, since Lord Drummuir, of whose
illness she had not yet heard, might come in at any moment. The tie
she set aside, its fate being not yet decided.
After a while Colonel Compton, as usual, lounged in, a cigar in his
mouth.
"By George, Fan," he said admiringly, "that was a treat you gave us
last night! Upon my soul, if I'd known you had so much spunk left in
you, I'd never have advised your going on the shelf! If you could only
get that young fellow as a co, you'd take the town by storm."
"Should I?" she answered, with a half yawn; but her mind seized
instantly on a new idea.
"Of course you would," he went on, "and I've done a bit of
_impresario_ work in my time. Marks, if he'd seen it, would have
offered you fifty sovs a night on the spot. The old man is no mean
judge, and you saw how it angered him."
She burst into a little laugh.
"But he soon got over it. You see he has a sense of humour; if he
hadn't, I could not stand him, I really couldn't!"
"Don't know about getting over it. He's down to-day with a real bad
fit of the gout----"
"Is he?" she remarked coolly. "Then I shall have a holiday." As she
said the words her mind travelled over the possibilities of even a few
days. "Compton," she said suddenly, "I never quite understand the
position of affairs in regard to Drummuir's sons. The estate's
entailed, isn't it?"
"Heir male of the body," replied the colonel. "That is why I warned
you to look out lest Marmaduke should worm money out of his father. So
long as the old man lives you're all right; but when he dies you will
only have the cash and the savings--and the title. The rest all goes
to Pitt--after him, as he has no children, and isn't likely to have
any--to Marmaduke as heir presumptive. After him to Peter, but
Marmaduke is sure to marry; he's really a very good-looking
fellow----"
She interrupted him curtly; she did not need to be told that.
"Thanks. I quite understand, only I wished to be sure."
She passed to the window and looked out. Peter, as usual surrounded
by a perfect pack of silly, silky spaniels--they suited him exactly
with his wide weak mouth, long fair hair, and general exuberance of
dress--was on the lawn talking to Marmaduke. The latter looked up, saw
her, and bowed. She kissed her hand to him and returned to her seat,
her mind still confused, but her will steady.
"Well," she said lightly, "I suppose by and by I shall have to go in
and cheer up my fiance, but I shan't be sorry for a few days'
holiday."
She told Marmaduke so also when she appeared, exquisite and dainty,
declaring that, as she was useless at home, since his father, poor
dear, could not even bear the sight of her for more than five minutes,
she thought it would be a fine opportunity to see a little more of the
place than she had hitherto been able to; and would Marmaduke tell her
where to go.
The result of which innocent interrogatory being that in the full
glory of a summer afternoon, the sea calm as a mill pond, Marmaduke
found himself sitting in a boat as it drifted idly beneath the old red
sandstone cliffs facing the North Sea with his arm round La Fantine's
waist and a curious mixture of desire and disdain in his heart.
"You see, my dear boy," she was saying, "I dare say you think ill of
me."
"I don't, I don't indeed!" he protested.
"Well, you did think ill of me," she continued, with a heavenly smile;
"but I really have all the Christian virtues. That is the worst of it.
I hate giving pain, or seeing people suffer. And I like doing my best
for people, if I can. Now my proposition sounds rather impossible,
but it really is quite feasible. I'm not going to talk about our
feelings, Duke. We both of us remember last night, so we will leave
them out of the question. But you are a young man, you have a future
before you--that is to say, if you play your cards properly. You want
to be a soldier----"
"I don't mean to be anything else," interrupted Marmaduke decidedly,
"so your plan of my making money by dancing with you is out of the
question."
"Not on six months' sick leave, under an assumed name? Now, Duke,
listen and don't interrupt. If you and I join forces and run away from
here, I will engage to get the money for your majority. I tell you any
manager would advance two thousand on the _fandango_ alone--or Jack
Jardine could finance one half--as he always does, and I the other.
Then you could join, get leave, disappear, have a real stunning six
months with me--London, Paris, Vienna perhaps. You don't know what the
life is like, Duke--and I'm not jealous or exacting. I like to amuse
myself, and so should you."
He looked at her admiringly.
"What an imagination you have!" he said. "And you settle everything so
quickly. You remind me----" And here the thought of Marrion Paul made
him suddenly shift back to the thwart and begin to scull once more.
"We are nearing the current," he said apologetically, "and she needs
steering--and so do I!" he added, with a charming smile, "so go on,
please, with your imaginations."
She gave him a sharp look, saw he had still some fight left in him,
and like a good fisherman let him have his head a bit.
"Of course it is all imagination," she assented, "and it depends on
whether you think it worth while to pay the price I ask for all this.
I am five years older than you are, Duke" (in reality she was fifteen,
but under a rose-lined sun hat years disappear), "but I am still
attractive."
She said the word so cunningly that he laid on his oars and bent
forward till his burning eyes were close to hers.
"Attractive!" he echoed. "You're more than that, and you know it--at
any rate, I do!"
"I am glad of it," she assented, "for it makes it easier for both of
us; but, as I said, I don't want to dwell on our feelings, they are
too recent to be--er--reliable. It is purely as business that I put it
to you. I want to get back to the old life, if I can do it with any
chance of success. Last night showed me I could. But I also want to be
Lady Drummuir. You want to get your majority, and also--there is no
use in mincing words--to spite your father for not giving you the
money. Now all these desires can be combined----"
The grating of the keel on a shingly shore interrupted her, and
Marmaduke stood up, shipped his oars, and held out both his hands.
"Let's leave it for the time, little lady, or you'll persuade me out
of my persuasion that you're right. There's the most ideal spot for
lovers just round that rock. Let's go there and forget everything and
everybody except that I am the most delightful man in the world, and
you are the most delightful--and attractive--woman!"
The hint of artificiality in his tone made her frown, but there was
frank sensual admiration in his look as he set her down after lifting
her from the boat.
"I think," he said softly, as he held out a finger bleeding from the
prick of a pin, "you are the daintiest, thorniest thing I ever
touched. You're like the roses I gave you this morning, all colour,
sweetness and scent, and--thorns."
Whereat they both laughed as they made their way to the ideal spot for
lovers. To their surprise and discomfiture they found it already
occupied by Margaret Muir, who was looking sentimentally out to sea
with the Reverend Patrick Bryce's arm round her waist.
"Meg!" cried Marmaduke, aghast.
"Oh, Marmaduke! Why? How did you come?" wailed his sister, jumping up
and looking round as if for escape.
The Reverend Patrick Bryce, however, stood his ground. He was a small
spare man of about fifty, dapper and spruce, his curling grey hair
having the appearance of a wig under his low crowned hat, his clear,
starched clerical bands natty to a degree.
"Captain Marmaduke Muir, I presume," he said, with a bow of a marquis.
"I regret much exposing my dear Miss Margaret Muir to this
unpleasantness, but I beg you to believe that, as my affianced wife, I
am ready to defend her to the uttermost."
Marmaduke looked from one to the other of the delinquents.
"You don't mean to say, Meg," he said at last, "that you wish to marry
the minister?"
The very idea seemed to him preposterous, absurd; he almost laughed at
it.
The Reverend Patrick Bryce gave her no time for reply.
"She not only desires to marry me, sir, but she is going to do so,
please God, before long. Yes, sir, I propose to take her away from a
demoralising atmosphere, and give her, to the utmost of my power, the
love and affection she deserves."
He looked very gallant as he made his little speech, and Marmaduke
acknowledged to himself that he played the gentleman well. Still, he
turned again to his sister in incredulity.
"You can't do it, Meg. To begin with, if the Baron----"
"Baron Drummuir, sir, will have nothing to say to it," interrupted the
little minister once more. "The Honourable Margaret Muir is of age,
and if she chooses to marry a man of birth equal to her own--I do not
care to boast of my ancestry, sir, but Bryce and Bruce are the same,
and my family tree shows Robert of Scotland to be my immediate
ancestor--she is at liberty to do so."
"That is for Lord Drummuir to decide," said Marmaduke grimly. "Of
course, I shall tell him, Meg, what I've seen."
Margaret clasped her hands in entreaty.
"Oh, please, don't, Duke--please, please!"
"Margaret," interrupted the minister sharply, "oblige me by not
entreating your brother to silence. Let him speak if he chooses. We
are not ashamed of ourselves."
All this time Mdlle. Le Grand had been watching the scene with her
sharp eyes, and her acute little brain had been working out any
advantage to herself. Now she saw her way and slipped forward with a
smile.
"My dear Marmaduke," she said, as the two men stood glaring at each
other, "live and let live is a valuable motto. You must remember that
Margaret can also tell on us. Silence on both sides is the best way
out of the difficulty. Don't you think so, Miss Muir?"
Margaret gave a frightened look at her brother.
"Ah, Duke," she cried, "you don't mean to say you----"
Fantine Le Grand interrupted her with perfect aplomb.
"That has nothing to do with it, my dear young lady; but you know as
well as I do what would happen if your father got wind of this
excursion of ours. So, as I said, silence is wise. Don't you agree
with me, sir?"
The Reverend Patrick Bryce once more made the bow of a marquis.
"I reserve the right to speak if I choose----"
"And so do I," she retorted sweetly, "only we won't choose. Come,
Marmaduke, it is time we were going back. Had we not better take your
sister with us? It will look better--for both sides."
And here she gave a delightful tinkle of a laugh.
She kept up the role so well on the return journey that simple
Margaret Muir was quite fascinated, and when, artfully, the suggestion
was made that Marmaduke should see his sister home to the Dower House,
the latter took the occasion to remark, as the former had hoped she
would, on her surprise at finding Mdlle. Le Grand so agreeable and so
well mannered.
"She is very charming," replied Marmaduke, a trifle gloomily, "and
very clever."
He felt vaguely that he had been played with, and that he had had no
more responsibility in the game than a pawn at chess. He felt also
that the compact of silence with his sister brought imaginings nearer
to reality.
And the idea of that six months on the Continent was a temptation;
anyhow, he would have another go at the old man first.
If he still refused--well, on his head be it!