Chapter 70
"Certain. I give you my word. What can have got into your head, Lady Hartledon?"
She gave a sigh of relief. "I thought it just possible--but I will not tell you why I thought it--that some claimant might be springing up to the t.i.tle and property."
Mr. Carr laughed. "That would be a calamity. Hartledon is as surely your husband's as this watch"--taking it out to look at the time--"is mine.
When his brother died, he succeeded to him of indisputable right. And now I must go, for my time is up; and when next I see you, young gentleman, I shall expect a good account of your behaviour. Why, sir, the finger's mine, not yours. Good-bye, Lady Hartledon."
She gave him her hand coolly, for she was not pleased. The baby began to cry, and was sent away with its nurse.
And then Lady Hartledon sat on alone, feeling that if she were ever to arrive at the solution of the mystery, it would not be by the help of Mr.
Carr. Other questions had been upon her lips--who the stranger was--what he wanted--five hundred of them: but she saw that she might as well have put them to the moon.
And Lord Hartledon went out with Mr. Carr in the inclement night, and saw him off by a Great-Western train.
CHAPTER x.x.x.
MAUDE'S DISOBEDIENCE.
Again the months went on, it may almost be said the years, and little took place worthy of record. Time obliterates as well as soothes; and Lady Hartledon had almost forgotten the circ.u.mstances which had perplexed and troubled her, for nothing more had come of them.
And Lord Hartledon? But for a certain restlessness, a hectic flush and a worn frame, betraying that the inward fever was not quenched, a startled movement if approached or spoken to unexpectedly, it might be thought that he also was at rest. There were no more anxious visits to Thomas Carr's chambers; he went about his ordinary duties, sat out his hours in the House of Lords, and did as other men. There was nothing very obvious to betray mental apprehension; and Maude had certainly dismissed the past, so far, from her mind.
Not again had Val gone down to Hartledon. With the exception of that short visit of a day or two, already recorded, he had not been there since his marriage. He would not go: his wife, though she had her way in most things, could not induce him to go. She went once or twice, in a spirit of defiance, it may be said, and meanwhile he remained in London, or took a short trip to the Continent, as the whim prompted him.
Once they had gone abroad together, and remained for some months; taking servants and the children, for there were two children now; and the little fellow who had clasped the finger of Mr. Carr was a st.u.r.dy boy of three years old.
Lady Hartledon's health was beginning to fail. The doctors told her she must be more quiet; she went out a great deal, and seemed to live only in the world. Her husband remonstrated with her on the score of health; but she laughed, and said she was not going to give up pleasure just yet.
Of course these gay habits are more easily acquired than relinquished.
Lady Hartledon had fainting-fits; she felt occasional pain and palpitation in the region of the heart; and she grew thin without apparent cause. She said nothing about it, lest it should be made a plea for living more quietly; never dreaming of danger. Had she known what caused her brother's death her fears might possibly have been awakened.
Lord Hartledon suspected mischief might be arising, and cautiously questioned her; she denied that anything was the matter, and he felt rea.s.sured. His chief care was to keep her free from excitement; and in this hope he gave way to her more than he would otherwise have done. But alas! the moment was approaching when all his
One spring afternoon, in London, he was in his wife's sitting-room; the little room where you have seen her before, looking upon the Park. The children were playing on the carpet--two pretty little things; the girl eighteen months old.
"Take care!" suddenly called out Lady Hartledon.
Some one was opening the door, and the little Maude was too near to it.
She ran and picked up the child, and Hedges came in with a card for his master, saying at the same time that the gentleman was waiting. Lord Hartledon held it to the fire to read the name.
"Who is it?" asked Lady Hartledon, putting the little girl down by the window, and approaching her husband. But there came no answer.
Whether the silence aroused her suspicions--whether any look in her husband's face recalled that evening of terror long ago--or whether some malicious instinct whispered the truth, can never be known. Certain it was that the past rose up as in a mirror before Lady Hartledon's imagination, and she connected this visitor with the former. She bent over his shoulder to peep at the card; and her husband, startled out of his presence of mind, tore it in two and threw the pieces into the fire.
"Oh, very well!" she exclaimed, mortally offended. "But you cannot blind me: it is your mysterious visitor again."
"I don't know what you mean, Maude. It is only someone on business."
"Then I will go and ask him his business," she said, moving to the door with angry resolve.
Val was too quick for her. He placed his back against the door, and lifted his hands in agitation. It was a great fault of his, or perhaps a misfortune--for he could not help it--this want of self-control in moments of emergency.
"Maude, I forbid you to interfere in this; you must not. For Heaven's sake, sit down and remain quiet."
"I'll see your visitor, and know, at last, what this strange trouble is.
I will, Lord Hartledon."
"You must not: do you hear me?" he reiterated with deep emotion, for she was trying to force her way out of the room. "Maude--listen--I do not mean to be harsh, but for your own good I conjure you to be still. I forbid you, by the obedience you promised me before G.o.d, to inquire into or stir in this matter. It is a private affair of my own, and not yours.
Stay here until I return."
Maude drew back, as if in compliance; and Lord Hartledon, supposing he had prevailed, quitted the room and closed the door. He was quite mistaken. Never had her solemn vows of obedience been so utterly despised; never had the temptation to evil been so rife in her heart.
She unlatched the door and listened. Lord Hartledon went downstairs and into the library, just as he had done the evening before the christening.
And Lady Hartledon was certain the same man awaited him there. Ringing the nursery-bell, she took off her slippers, unseen, and hid them under a chair.
"Remain here with the children," was her order to the nurse who appeared, as she shut the woman into the room.
Creeping down softly she opened the door of the room behind the library, and glided in. It was a small room, used exclusively by Lord Hartledon, where he kept a heterogeneous collection of things--papers, books, cigars, pipes, guns, scientific models, anything--and which no one but himself ever attempted to enter. The intervening door between that and the library was not quite closed; and Lady Hartledon, cautiously pushed it a little further open. Wilful, unpardonable disobedience! when he had so strongly forbidden her! It was the same tall stranger. He was speaking in low tones, and Lord Hartledon leaned against the wall with a blank expression of face.
She saw; and heard. But how she controlled her feelings, how she remained and made no sign, she never knew. But that the instinct of self-esteem was one of her strongest pa.s.sions, the dread of detection in proportion to it, she never had remained. There she was, and she could not get away again. The subtle dexterity which had served her in coming might desert her in returning. Had their senses been on the alert they might have heard her poor heart beating.
The interview did not last long--about twenty minutes; and whilst Lord Hartledon was attending his visitor to the door she escaped upstairs again, motioned away the nurse, and resumed her shoes. But what did she look like? Not like Maude Hartledon. Her face was as that of one upon whom some awful doom has fallen; her breath was coming painfully; and she kneeled down on the carpet and clasped her children to her beating heart with an action of wild despair.
"Oh, my boy! my boy! Oh, my little Maude!"
Suddenly she heard her husband's step approaching, and pus.h.i.+ng them from her, rose and stood at the window, apparently looking out on the darkening world.
Lord Hartledon came in, gaily and cheerily, his manner lighter than it had been for years.
"Well, Maude, I have not been long, you see. Why don't you have lights?"
She did not answer: only stared straight out. Her husband approached her.
"What are you looking at, Maude?"
"Nothing," she answered: "my head aches. I think I shall lie down until dinner-time. Eddie, open the door, and call Nurse, as loud as you can call."
The little boy obeyed, and the nurse returned, and was ordered to take the children. Lady Hartledon was following them to go to her own room, when she fell into a chair and went off in a dead faint.
"It's that excitement," said Val. "I do wish Maude would be reasonable!"
The illness, however, appeared to be more serious than an ordinary fainting-fit; and Lord Hartledon, remembering the suspicion of heart-disease, sent for the family doctor Sir Alexander Pepps, an oracle in the fas.h.i.+onable world.
A different result showed itself--equally caused by excitement--and the countess-dowager arrived in a day or two in hot haste. Lady Hartledon lay in bed, and did not attempt to get up or to get better. She lay almost as one without life, taking no notice of any one, turning her head from her husband when he entered, refusing to answer her mother, keeping the children away from the room.
"Why doesn't she get up, Pepps?" demanded the dowager, wrathfully, pouncing upon the physician one day, when he was leaving the house.
Sir Alexander, who might have been supposed to have received his baronetcy for his skill, but that t.i.tles, like kissing, go by favour, stopped short, took off his hat, and presumed that Lady Hartledon felt more comfortable in bed.