This House to Let

“Let us put it at this, Tommy. Mrs L’Estrange, being in somewhat straitened circumstances, supplements her meagre income by card-playing, at which I have no doubt she is an adept.”

And here, the usually placid Tommy interposed hotly: “You may say of Mrs L’Estrange what you like. But, if you propose to offer any derogatory remarks about Miss Keane, I would rather not listen to them.”

And Spencer kept a curb on his tongue. Was this fat, comical-looking little man, a most unromantic figure, violently in love with Miss Stella Keane, and her sworn champion? Far be it from him to disturb his faith in this seductive siren, if it were so.

“It’s all right, old chap,” he said quietly. “I am not going to make any remarks, derogatory or otherwise, about Miss Keane. I think I will adopt your suggestion. Let us adjourn to Mrs L’Estrange’s flat. If one loses fifty or a hundred one may have a good time.”

“You will see the most charming girl in London,” cried Esmond in enthusiastic tones. It struck Spencer, as a peculiar phase of his friend’s detachment, that, being in love with the girl himself, he should be so anxious to introduce her to a younger man, who might, presumably, be his rival.

For there could be no question of rivalry between the two men, apart from their ages. Spencer was tall, athletic, handsome: Tommy Esmond was – just Tommy Esmond – rotund, comical in appearance, and insignificant.

Moreover, Spencer had other qualifications which are not without their influence on the fair sex. He had a considerable fortune, and he was the next in succession to an ancient earldom. If the Earl of Southleigh, a widower, did not marry again, he would succeed to the title and estates. He was, in every sense of the term, an eligible parti.

The long, weary War was drawing to its close. The two men were dining at the fashionable “Excelsior” and were now about half-way through their dinner.

Spencer had the bearing of a soldier, and he would have been at the Front long ago, but no doctor could be found who would pass him. To all appearance, he possessed the thews and sinews of an athlete, but the stalwart, manly frame covered an incurably weak heart, which played him strange tricks at times. He was serving his country in the best way open to him, and doing good, sound clerical work in a Government Office.

“When do you suggest we should put in an appearance at Mrs L’Estrange’s?” he asked presently.

“It will take us another half-hour to get through this abundant meal. You will then have your coffee, and you will want a good and long cigar. We began rather late, you will remember. By the time you have got through your smoke, we will make a move. We shall then find them in full swing.”

Guy nodded, and went on with his dinner. He was quite willing to go to the L’Estrange flat: he had no other engagement this evening, and it would be something to do. But he was not greatly interested about meeting the most beautiful girl in London. In spite of his friend’s almost lyrical outbursts, he expected that Miss Stella Keane would prove a very ordinary young woman.

Suddenly Tommy Esmond uttered an exclamation. “Look, there they are,” he whispered excitedly across the table. “Mrs L’Estrange and her cousin. The man with them is Colonel Desmond, the man who won the Victoria Cross in the Boer War.”

Tommy’s round face was red with pleasurable emotion. Was there any doubt, thought Spencer, that the little man was tremendously smitten by the beautiful Miss Keane? Would it result in a marriage, he wondered? Tommy was well-off, and a person of some importance in his little social world. And if Miss Keane was as lovely as his fond imagination painted her, it was quite evident that she was poor. Penniless young girls have before now accepted the shelter of a safe home, even when offered by comical-looking little elderly men.

The three newcomers moved to a vacant table; Mrs L’Estrange, a woman of middle age, dressed rather more youthfully than was quite in good taste, their escort, a tall figure in khaki, very upright and soldierly in his bearing, in spite of his sixty years, and last, but by no means least, the beautiful Miss Keane.

Yes, at the first glance, the young man decided that she fully deserved his friend’s somewhat extravagant praise. If everybody in London was not raving over her, it was simply due to the fact that her cousin’s circle was not important, and that she had found nobody of sufficient social influence to launch her with the necessary cachet.

If she had made her début at one of the great houses, stamped with the approval of any one of London’s distinguished hostesses, Society journals would have gone into rhapsodies over her, and she would have been one of the reigning beauties of the hour, far, far beyond the aspirations of little Tommy Esmond.

His own special taste rather inclined towards fair women, his cousin, Lady Nina, of whom he was very fond, being a charming specimen of that type. But he was no bigot in the matter of feminine beauty, and he was prepared to admit that there were some dark women who could compare favourably with their blonde sisters.

But Stella Keane was not very dark. She had soft brown eyes, glossy dark hair, and a beautiful creamy complexion, a mouth like Cupid’s bow, revealing when she smiled, teeth of a dazzling ivory. Her figure would have been pronounced perfect by the most critical and fastidious artist.

“What do you think of her?” asked the delighted Tommy, after he had given his friend a decent time for his inspection.

Tommy was a man whose friends had got into the habit of smiling at him, even when they agreed with him. Spencer smiled at him quite as often as any of his acquaintance, but at this moment he was perfectly grave.

“You are quite right, old man, this time,” he said quietly. “She is really beautiful, and her carriage is splendid. She looks like a young Empress – or, rather, she fulfils one’s idea of what a young Empress should be.”

Tommy beamed. He drank in the words of unstinted praise like wine. The little blue eyes, usually devoid of expression, seemed suffused with a soft emotion. There was something pathetic in his devotion to this radiant young woman who looked like a youthful Empress.

“And she is as good and sweet as she looks,” he murmured in a voice that he could not keep steady. “When she talks to you seriously and lets you know what she really thinks and feels, by gad, Spencer, it makes a battered old worldling like myself feel unworthy to be in her presence. For she has a beautiful soul and mind as well as a beautiful body.”

Spencer could only look sympathetic. Poor little Tommy, he certainly seemed to talk like a lover. And what did Miss Keane think of it all? She must have more than a mere tolerance for him, or she would not have allowed him those peeps into her mind and soul to which he alluded with such unrestrained rapture.

It was some time before Esmond’s intense gaze attracted the attention of the party, and when it did, he was rewarded with a most affable smile from Mrs L’Estrange, and one of quite pronounced friendliness from Miss Keane. The Colonel also bestowed a genial nod.

After a pause, Tommy spoke somewhat ruefully. “I’m afraid this rather upsets our little plans. Mrs L’Estrange is a most conscientious diner: she will be here, at the lowest calculation, for an hour and a half, counting the coffee and cigarettes. They won’t be back at the flat under a couple. You wouldn’t care to wait so long.”

He looked rather wistfully at his companion. He, for his own part, would have waited half the night.

“Don’t let us commit ourselves, old man, but await events. We haven’t finished our dinner yet, and the service is deucedly slow. We can put in a lot more time. You can pay your respects at a fitting moment, and perhaps they will ask us to their table. I must confess I should like to see Miss Keane at closer quarters, and talk to her. Although I don’t expect she will reveal as much to me as she does to you.”

Tommy looked pleased again; he was very bent upon introducing Spencer to his beautiful young friend. It would come about presently: if not here, in the lounge. Already, Mrs L’Estrange had sent a few covert glances in the direction of their table. There was little doubt she knew who his companion was, and would be quite pleased to number him amongst her acquaintance.

“Has Miss Keane many admirers? She should have,” remarked Spencer presently. He noticed that Esmond’s eyes were always turned in the direction of that particular table.

“Not any serious ones, I fancy. A few young fellows send her flowers, but nothing more. It is quite an unsuitable ménage for a girl of her attractions. The majority of the habitués are middle-aged men who go there simply to gamble. The few young ones come for a flutter, and disappear when they have had enough.”

“Does the young lady play?”

“I have never seen her. She has told me scores of times that she loathes gambling. Her father ruined himself by it. I believe she is really very unhappy there. And I gather Mrs L’Estrange has not the best of tempers, particularly when she has had bad luck.”

“Hobson’s choice, I expect,” suggested Spencer sympathetically. Miss Keane was facing him, giving him ample opportunity to examine the beautiful countenance, and it struck him that there was an underlying expression of sadness on the perfect features, especially when in repose.

“I fear so,” was Esmond’s answer. “She is very reticent about her own affairs, as any gentlewoman would be. But from certain things she has let drop, I make out her own means are very slender, and her cousin’s hospitality is a boon to her.”

Half an hour passed, and Spencer lit a big cigar. The two men chatted on various topics. Mrs L’Estrange and the Colonel were still doing full justice to the excellent dishes offered them. Miss Keane was apparently satisfied, and sat quietly watching her companions, and throwing in an occasional remark.

And suddenly came the loud sound of maroons. Everybody started. A few seconds later the clamour and roaring of our own guns burst forth. There was no doubt as to what was happening. The Germans were making one of their unwelcome visits.

“By heavens, it’s a raid, and we are in the thick of it,” cried Tommy Esmond, rising excitedly. He was a nervous little man, and his face had grown a shade pale at the sound of the first boom.

In a few moments there was a stampede from the dining-room. The guests hurried as fast as they could to the basement and cellars.

Tommy, in his progress, was impeded by two burly men who were making their way leisurely. Spencer was a few feet in front of him, making for the crowd that surged round the doors. As he looked around the deserted tables, he saw Miss Keane standing alone, her eyes almost rigid with terror, her hands clutching convulsively at the back of the chair on which she had been sitting. It was evident that the Colonel had quickly removed Mrs L’Estrange from the scene of danger, and she had been too panic-stricken to follow them.

He crossed over to her. “Excuse me,” he said gently – “I am a friend of Mr Esmond’s. How is it you are alone? Did your companions desert you?”

“Colonel Desmond took my cousin, and told me to keep close behind them. When I got up, my limbs seemed unable to move. I feel as if I were paralysed.”

He took her arm and put it through his. It was evident she had been rendered immobile by terror.

“I will take care of you,” he said soothingly. “Downstairs you will be quite safe. But we will let this crowd get through first.”

Tommy Esmond came bustling up, all anxiety. Truth to tell, he did not feel over brave, but his anxiety for himself was lost in the contemplation of her white face and stricken eyes.

Slowly, cheered by the presence of the two men, a little colour flowed back into her cheeks, and she smiled wanly.

“I am a fearful coward,” she explained. “I go all to pieces in even the mildest thunderstorm.”

And it was in this wise, amid the crash of falling bombs, and the roar and clamour of our own guns, that Guy Spencer made the acquaintance of Stella Keane.

Chapter Nine

They found shelter in one of the big cellars of the Restaurant, and Miss Keane by degrees got back some of her courage. There were about twenty other persons in the same refuge, and she probably derived fortitude from their temporary companionship, and common danger. Tommy Esmond recovered himself very quickly, and hastened to observe the conventions.

“It is a queer time and place in which to make introductions,” he remarked genially. “But even in times of peril, one should preserve the usages of good society. I don’t suppose you know the name of your gallant rescuer. Let me make you known, in a formal fashion. Mr Spencer – Miss Keane.”

The beautiful Stella bowed her dark head, and the ghost of a smile flitted over her still pale face.

“I know Mr Spencer very well by sight. When I have recovered my wits, I will thank him properly and prettily. Perhaps he will come and see us at my cousin’s flat.”

“I was bringing him on there to-night, as a matter of fact,” explained Esmond. “But I presume all that is knocked on the head, even supposing we get out of this disgusting hole in reasonable time. Mrs L’Estrange won’t be in a mood to receive visitors, after this disquieting experience, I am sure.”

“I am afraid you don’t know Mrs L’Estrange,” replied the girl, with a little mocking laugh. Her tones were not yet quite steady, but she was rapidly recovering herself. “The card-tables were laid before we started, and we intended to be back early. If we get out safely from this disgusting hole, as you call it, my cousin will resume her ordinary pursuits, as if nothing had occurred to disturb them.”

Desultory conversation, the irresponsible chatter of the drawing-room kind, was almost impossible under the circumstances. And although Miss Keane did her best to assume a brave front, it was easy to see that she was inwardly quivering. At every roar of the guns, she shivered all over, and her cheek alternately flushed and then grew deadly pale with her inward terror.

“Poor child,” whispered Spencer to his companion; “she must be a bundle of nerves. Every second, she is experiencing the pangs of death in anticipation. By the way, the gallant Desmond doesn’t seem to have troubled himself much about her. If I hadn’t taken her forcibly away, I believe she would be rooted to that chair now.”

Esmond shrugged his shoulders. “Of course, a chap like Desmond doesn’t know the meaning of fear, and he can’t understand the sensation in others. The other woman took possession of him, and dragged him away. No doubt, he thought she was following. Mrs L’Estrange, so far as I can judge, would never think of anything but number one.”

And as Spencer’s glance stole to the fair face, he felt a strange feeling of pity for her. The poignant happenings of the last few moments had revealed to him her loneliness, the tragedy of her dependence upon others. In a supreme moment of peril, she, who ought to have lovers and friends by the score, was left by herself, and thrown upon the compassion of a stranger.

An anxious half-hour passed, and then messengers came down with tidings of a reassuring nature. The raiders had been driven off, after inflicting considerable damage. Gay London was free to pursue its natural course of pleasure.

At once the tension was relaxed. Drooping forms resumed an erect carriage, the roses bloomed again in the pale cheeks of the women. There was a flutter, a stir. They all moved away from the refuge which had been so welcome, and now had become unbearable.

In the hall they encountered the Colonel, cool and collected, as if he were on parade, Mrs L’Estrange fluttering and full of protestations.

“Oh, my poor Stella! I have been distracted about you. Why did you not follow us? I thought you were close behind us all the time, till we got to one of these abominable cellars, and looked back to find you were missing.”

The Colonel pulled at his moustache a little nervously.

“I shall never forgive myself, Miss Keane, not to have assured myself you were with us at the start. I would have come back to search for you, but Mrs L’Estrange was in such a nervous state I could not leave her.” Miss Keane answered him very coldly, and to her cousin she did not vouchsafe any reply.

“Please do not apologise. It was a question of sauve qui peut. Fortunately, I found some kind friends who took compassion on a forlorn damsel, shaking and terror-stricken.” She turned to Mrs L’Estrange. “Mr Esmond is, of course, an old friend. But you do not know Mr Spencer who got to me first.”

Mrs L’Estrange was quite equal to the occasion; she extended her perfectly-gloved hand with an air of effusive cordiality.

“A thousand thanks to you both. My darling Stella was fortunate in finding such protectors. We are both terrible cowards, I don’t know which is the greater.”

“I, without question,” flashed out Miss Keane. “Otherwise I should have had the sense to scurry away like yourself. We were both frightened rabbits, but you could run to a place of safety while I stood paralysed.”

Mrs L’Estrange turned away the awkward thrust with a charming smile. “I have made up my mind to one thing,” she remarked with an air of conviction. “Never, so long as the War lasts, will I dine out of my own home. This night’s experience has taught me a lesson. I don’t want a second one.”

At this juncture, Tommy Esmond interposed. “I was going to bring my friend Spencer round to you to-night. But I suppose you feel a bit too shattered, eh? You would like to get home and rest.”

“Oh dear, no!” replied the lady vivaciously. “I never alter my habits for anything or anybody. Let us all go along at once. I will go with Colonel Desmond. You and Mr Spencer can continue your charge of Stella.” But Guy had a small duty to perform. “I think if you will excuse me, I will join you a little later. I want to go round to inquire after my uncle and cousin. He is a very old man, and I should like to know he is quite safe.”

So it was arranged. The others drove off to Mrs L’Estrange’s flat, and Spencer, finding he would have some time to wait for a taxi, walked to Carlton House Terrace, where Lord Southleigh had his town house.

The footman who opened the door informed him that his lordship and Lady Nina were still in the dining-room with a small party. The earl had taken it all very calmly, and his daughter, who, unlike poor Stella Keane, was a young woman of remarkable courage, had not been disturbed at all.

“Are they alone, Robert?”

“No, sir, two old friends of his lordship’s came to dinner to-night and are still with them. But, of course, they will be glad to see you.”

However, his duty being performed, and learning that all was satisfactory, Spencer thought he might, as well get along to the flat. He had been strangely attracted by the beautiful girl, whom even her obvious terror and lack of self-control could not deprive of her charm.

“No, I won’t come in. Tell them I called round to make sure they were all safe. And say to her ladyship I will look in to-morrow afternoon about tea-time.”

He went into his club for a few moments to see if there were any letters, and half an hour later was at Mrs L’Estrange’s door.

She occupied the first floor of an imposing block of flats, recently erected in one of the semi-fashionable quarters of London. She might not be in very affluent circumstances, as Esmond had hinted, but she would have to pay a very handsome rent for her abode.

The door was opened by a decorous-looking butler, with the air of one who had served in good families. A man passed out as Spencer entered. He was a good-looking young fellow of about twenty-five, in khaki. Spencer knew him well by sight as the eldest son and heir of a rich brewer.

His face did not wear a very happy expression. It did not require a Sherlock Holmes to surmise that his visit had been an expensive one, and that he was hurrying away to avoid further temptation.

In the centre of a rather spacious hall, Stella Keane and Tommy Esmond stood chatting.

She greeted the newcomer with a bright and friendly smile. She no longer looked pale, in fact he thought there was a slight suspicion of rouge on the fair cheeks. She was too good-looking to need the aid of art, but perhaps she wanted to conceal the ravages inflicted on her beauty by that terrible time at the “Excelsior.”

“You are not very long after us. I conclude you found your friends were quite safe.”

She had gathered from the garrulous Tommy what she had not known before, that Spencer was next in succession to the earldom, also that Lord Southleigh had a very pretty daughter, who was an accomplished young sportswoman, a daring rider to hounds, an adept at golf, fishing, and other pastimes of a strenuous nature.

She had pricked up her ears at mention of the cousin. Artfully she pumped Tommy as to whether there was any tender feeling between the relatives.

But Tommy could give no information on this point. Spencer was a very reticent man about his private affairs, he explained. Personally, he should not consider him particularly susceptible to female influence. But he had heard that the old earl, who had a shockingly weak heart, and was likely to go off at any moment, would have viewed a marriage between the cousins with favour.

She mused over his words. He did not think him particularly susceptible to female influence. And yet she was sure there was admiration, open, undisguised admiration, in the glances he had bestowed upon her to-night. He was evidently not deeply in love with his pretty sporting cousin, or she would have been Mrs Guy Spencer before now, assuming, of course, that she was ready to obey her father’s wishes.

It was after a short silence that Miss Keane put a somewhat abrupt question to him: “Are you fond of play, Mr Spencer? Everybody is who comes here.”

“Not really. I am a very lukewarm gambler. I don’t mind a little flutter now and then, as a diversion. I always enjoy a small gamble at Monte Carlo, for example, but I never get carried away. When I have lost enough, I stop. Nothing could induce me to stake another sou.”

“Can you stop as easily when you are winning? That, I fancy, is where the self-control comes in. But I think I am rather glad you are not one of the infatuated ones. I was brought up in an atmosphere of gambling.”

There was a pathetic shadow in the beautiful brown eyes as she spoke. Spencer’s interest in her, a girl he had only known for a couple of hours, quickened. The glance he turned on her was full of sympathy, although he did not utter a word. It said as plainly as if he had spoken: “Tell me more about yourself, you will find an attentive listener.”

“My father and mother were both desperate gamblers. They staked and lost everything they had at cards, on the race-course, at Monte Carlo. My poor cousin, Mrs L’Estrange, has the same fever in her veins.”

Now that he had invited her confidence, he was a little embarrassed by it. He did not know her well enough to condole with her. By way of relieving the tension, he uttered a few trite remarks on the subject of gambling generally.

“Very sad when people are bitten by it to that extent. In my small experience, and I am only speaking of cards, I have found that, at the end of twelve months, you leave off pretty well where you started, good players or bad. You lose a hundred this week, you win a hundred the next, and so on, and so forth. If you are a good player, you get bad cards; if a duffer, you get good cards. And so the bad player has a pretty even chance with his more skilful opponent.”

Miss Keane threw aside her momentary sadness, and laughed at his scientific exposition.

“You have evidently thought it all out,” she said brightly. “But please don’t inflict these cheerful theories on my cousin. She is a most tragic being when she loses. She thinks herself, and I believe is, one of the most scientific bridge-players in England, and she cannot be brought to understand why the duffers should have a look in.”

At this juncture Tommy Esmond interposed. It may have occurred to him that they were wasting precious time. They had come here for the special purpose of gambling.

“What do you say to joining the others? We are in the very temple of gambling, and I know my young friend would like a little flutter.”