Chapter 67
"Why not?"
"I have a reason. My dear, won't you oblige me in this?"
"Tell me the reason, and perhaps I will; not otherwise."
"I will tell it you another time. Trust me, I have a good one. What is it, Hedges?"
The butler had come up to his master in the un.o.btrusive manner of a well-trained servant, and was waiting an opportunity to speak. He said a word in Lord Hartledon's ear, and Lady Hartledon saw a s.h.i.+ver of surprise run through her husband. He looked here, looked there, as one perplexed with fear, and finally went out of the room with a calm face, but one that was turning livid.
Lady Hartledon followed in an impulse of curiosity. She looked after him over the bal.u.s.trades, and saw him turn into the library below. Hedges was standing near the drawing-room door.
"Does any one want Lord Hartledon?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know, my lady. Some gentleman."
She ran lightly down the stairs, pausing at the foot, as if ashamed of her persistent curiosity. The well-lighted hall was before her; the dining-room on one side; the library and a small room communicating on the other. Throwing back her head, as in defiance, she boldly crossed the hall and opened the library door.
Now what Lady Hartledon had really thought was that the visitor was Mr.
Carr; her husband was going to steal a quiet half-hour with him; and Hedges was in the plot. She had not lived with Hartledon the best part of a year without learning that Hedges was devoted heart and soul to his master.
She opened the library-door. Her husband's back was towards her; and facing him, his arms raised as if in anger or remonstrance, was the same stranger who had caused some commotion in the other house. She knew him in a moment: there he was, with his staid face, his black clothes, and his white neckcloth, looking so like a clergyman. Lord Hartledon turned his head.
"I am engaged, Maude; you can't come in," he peremptorily said; and closed the door upon her.
She went slowly up the stairs again, not choosing to meet the butler's eyes, past the drawing-rooms, and up to her own. The sight of the stranger, coupled with her husband's signs of emotion, had renewed all her old suspicions, she knew not, she never had known, of what. Jumping to the conclusion that those letters must be in some way connected with the mystery, perhaps an advent of the visit, it set her thinking, and rebellion arose in her heart.
"I wonder if he put them in the ebony cabinet?" she exclaimed. "I have a key that will fit that."
Yes, she had a key to fit it. A few weeks before, Lord Hartledon mislaid his keys; he wanted something out of this cabinet, in which he did not, as a rule, keep anything of consequence, and tried hers. One was found to unlock it, and he jokingly told her she had a key to his treasures. But himself strictly honourable, he could not suspect dishonour in another; and Lord Hartledon supposed it simply impossible that she should attempt to open it of her own accord.
They were of different natures; and they had been reared in different schools. Poor Maude Kirton had learnt to be anything but scrupulous, and really thought it a very slight thing she was about to do, almost justifiable under the circ.u.mstances. Almost, if not quite. Nevertheless she would not have liked to be caught at it.
She took her bunch of keys and went into her husband's dressing-room, which opened from their bedroom: but she went on tip-toe, as one who knows she is doing wrong. It took some little time to try the keys, for there were several on the ring, and she did not know the right one: but the lid flew open at last, and disclosed the two letters lying there.
She s.n.a.t.c.hed at one, either that came first, and opened it. It happened to be the one from Mr. Carr, and she began to read it, her heart beating.
"Dear Hartledon,
"I think I have at last found some trace of Gorton. There's a man of that name in the criminal calendar here, down for trial to-morrow; I shall see then whether it is the same,
Should it be our Gorton, I think the better plan will be to leave him entirely alone: a man undergoing a criminal sentence--and this man is sure of a long period of it--has neither the means nor the motive to be dangerous. He cannot molest you whilst he is working on Portland Island; and, so far, you may live a little eased from fear. I wish--"
Mr. Carr's was a close handwriting, and this concluded the first page.
She was turning it over, when Lord Hartledon's voice on the stairs caught her ear. He seemed to be coming up.
Ay, and he would have caught her at her work but for the accidental circ.u.mstance of the old dowager's happening to look out of the drawing-room and detaining him, as he was hastening onwards up the stairs. She did her daughter good service that moment, if she had never done it before. Maude had time to fold the letter, put it back, lock the cabinet, and escape. Had she been a nervous woman, given to being flurried and to losing her presence of mind, she might not have succeeded; but she was cool and quick in emergency, her brain and fingers steady.
Nevertheless her heart beat a little as she stood within the other room, the door not latched behind her. She did not stir, lest he should hear her; and she hoped to remain unseen until he went down again. A ready excuse was on her lips, if he happened to look in, which was not probable: that she fancied she heard baby cry, and was listening.
Lord Hartledon was walking about his dressing-room, pacing it restlessly, and she very distinctly heard suppressed groans of mortal anguish breaking from his lips. How he had got rid of his visitor, and what the visitor came for, she knew not. He seemed to halt before the washhand-stand, pour out some water, and dash his face into it.
"G.o.d help me! G.o.d help Maude!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, as he went down again to the drawing-room.
And Lady Hartledon went down also, for the interruption had frightened her, and she did not attempt to open the cabinet again. She never knew more of the contents of Mr. Carr's letter; and only the substance of the other, as communicated to her by her husband.
CHAPTER XXIX.
CROSS-QUESTIONING MR. CARR.
Not until the Sunday morning did Lady Hartledon speak to her husband of the stranger's visit. There seemed to have been no previous opportunity.
Mr. Carr had arrived late on the Friday night; indeed it was Sat.u.r.day morning, for the trains were all detained; and he and Hartledon sat up together to an unconscionable hour. For this short visit he was Lord Hartledon's guest. Sat.u.r.day seemed to have been given to preparation, to gaiety, and to nothing else. Perhaps also Lady Hartledon did not wish to mar that day by an unpleasant word. The little child was christened; the names given him being Edward Kirton: the countess-dowager, who was in a chronic state of dissatisfaction with everything and every one, angrily exclaimed at the last moment, that she thought at least her family name might have been given to the child; and Lord Hartledon interposed, and said, give it. Lord and Lady Hartledon, and Mr. Carr, were the sponsors: and it would afford food for weeks of grumbling to the old dowager.
Hilarity reigned, and toasts were given to the new heir of Hartledon; and the only one who seemed not to enter into the spirit of the thing, but on the contrary to be subdued, absent, nervous, was the heir's father.
And so it went on to the Sunday morning. A cold, bleak, bitter morning, the wind howling, the snow flying in drifts. Mr. Carr went to church, and he was the only one of the party in the house who did go. The countess-dowager the previous night had proclaimed the fact that _she_ meant to go--as a sort of reproach to any who meant to keep away.
However, when the church-bells began, she was turning round in her warm bed for another nap.
Maude did not go down early; had not yet taken to doing so. She breakfasted in her room, remained toying with her baby for some time, and then went into her own sitting-room; a small cosy apartment on the drawing-room floor, into which visitors did not intrude. It looked on to Hyde Park, and a very white and dreary park it was on that particular day.
Drawing a chair to the window, she sat looking out. That is, her eyes were given to the outer world, but she was so deep in thought as to see nothing of it. For two nights and a day, burning with curiosity, she had been putting this and that together in her own mind, and drawing conclusions according to her own light. First, there was the advent of the visitor; secondly, there was the letter she had dipped into. She connected the two with each other and wondered WHAT the secret care could be that had such telling effect upon her husband.
Gorton. The name had struck upon her memory, even whilst she read it, as one a.s.sociated with that terrible time--the late Lord Hartledon's death.
Gradually the floodgates of recollection opened, and she knew him for the witness at the inquest about whom some speculation had arisen as to who he was, and what his business at Calne might have been with Lord Hartledon and his brother, Val Elster.
Why should her husband be afraid of this man?--as it seemed he _was_ afraid, by Mr. Carr's letter. What power had he of injuring Lord Hartledon?--what secret did he possess of his, that might be used against him? Turning it about in her mind, and turning it again, searching her imagination for a solution, Lady Hartledon at length arrived at one, in default of others. She thought this man must know some untoward fact by which the present Lord Hartledon's succession was imperilled. Possibly the late Lord Hartledon had made some covert and degrading marriage; leaving an obscure child who possessed legal rights, and might yet claim them. A romantic, far-fetched idea, you will say; but she could think of no other that was in the least feasible. And she remembered some faint idea having arisen in her mind at the time, that the visit of the man Gorton was in some way connected with trouble, though she did not know with which brother.
Val came in and shut the door. He stirred the fire into a blaze, making some remark about the snow, and wondering how Carr would get down to the country again. Maude gave a slight answer, and then there was silence.
Each was considering how best to say something to the other. She was the quicker.
"Lord Hartledon, what did that man want on Friday?"
"What man?" he rejoined, rather wincing--for he knew well enough to what she alluded.
"The man--gentleman, or whatever he is--who had you called down to him in the library."
"By the way, Maude--yes--you should not dart in when I am engaged with visitors on business."
"Well, I thought it was Mr. Carr," she replied, glancing at his heightened colour. "What did he want?"
"Only to say a word to me on a matter of business."
"It was the same person who upset you so when he called last autumn. You have never been the same man since."