Parlous Times: A Novel of Modern Diplomacy

"Of course, you're aware that Mr. Stanley cannot be engaged to me," Lady Isabelle began, after some hesitation, in which Belle gave her no help, for she knew this interview was her real punishment.

"I should hardly have supposed so," replied Miss Fitzgerald, and lapsed into silence.

"I" – Lady Isabelle began, covered with confusion – "I – the fact is – I asked him to propose to me."

"You asked him to propose to you?"

"I don't wonder you are surprised; but the facts of the case are these. My mother asked Mr. Stanley his intentions last evening. Being engaged to you, he naturally had none."

"Mr. Stanley is not engaged to me."

"I beg your pardon, I thought – "

"He has proposed to me, I admit; but I must say his conduct doesn't prejudice me in his favour."

"But you mustn't allow this to injure him, Miss Fitzgerald. Really you must not."

"A man who could accept a lady who had so far forgotten herself as to propose to him – "

"Pray let me state my case before judging me," pleaded her Ladyship, ready to sink through the floor with mortification.

"Proceed, Lady Isabelle," said her tormentor.

"Mr. Stanley told me of his interview with my mother, who, I knew, was very anxious to make a match between us. This morning I discovered that she intended to go to early service. You know what that would have involved."

Miss Fitzgerald nodded.

"I tried every means to deter her, but in vain. Then, as a last resort – I admit it was very wrong to do so – I asked Mr. Stanley to intercept my mother on her way to the church, and make her a proposal for my hand, as I knew this was the only way to detain her, telling him that I was about to be married, and that I would tell her the truth to-day."

Miss Fitzgerald drew a sharp breath.

"Then he knows that you're a married woman?"

"He knew that I was to be, before the ceremony."

The Irish girl gave a contented little sigh, and murmured to herself – "So he did know after all."

Then waking up to the immediate present, she continued, with exaggerated courtesy: —

"Your Ladyship has not, I think, finished your story. You promised Mr. Stanley that you would tell your mother the truth – but you have not done so."

"No, I have not, and for the following reasons. My husband, as you know, received a telegram apprising him of the fact that a relative, who was dying, intended leaving him a large fortune, and required his immediate presence. He forbade me to speak till he came back, and insisted that I must hold out the prospect of my engagement with Mr. Stanley as a bait to keep my mother here till he could return to me. She, however, pressed me for an answer, and on my refusing to commit myself either way, took matters into her own hands, as we have seen. I assure you entirely without the knowledge of Mr. Stanley or myself."

"I see. You feel it necessary to continue this bogus engagement, for the present."

"I'm between two fires, Miss Fitzgerald: obedience to my husband's commands, and the reparation I owe to you."

"What does Jimsy say?"

"Mr. Stanley has, of course, behaved like a gentleman, and left the matter for me to decide. I'm in a most dreadful position, either way I must wrong some one."

"I'll spare your conscience, Lady Isabelle. I shan't require you to break your engagement with the Secretary."

"But you'll forgive him, will you not? It was not his fault, really."

"You seem to forget that I've not accepted him as yet."

"But you'll not let this prejudice your ultimate decision. Promise me that?"

"Yes, I'll promise – for I don't think there's anything proved against him in this matter, except that he's weak, and I did not need you to tell me that."

"He's a very large heart, Miss Fitzgerald."

"He has," assented that lady. "Of which I've had ample evidence in the last few days."

"You've been so gracious to me in this matter," continued Lady Isabelle, "that unsuitable as the occasion is, I'm going to venture to ask you a favour.

"And what is that, your Ladyship?"

"Mr. Stanley doesn't know that you're aware of my marriage, and for some reason which I don't understand, my husband forbade me to tell him of the fact unless I had your permission; so he fancies that he's put himself in a worse position than is really the case. Do allow me to tell him the truth. Poor fellow, he's so unhappy."

"No," replied Miss Fitzgerald, a gleam of triumph lighting up her face, as she realised the power which Kingsland had placed in her hands. "Your husband is quite right; there are excellent reasons why he should not be told; besides he deserves to be miserable, he's treated me very badly."

"In that case," said Lady Isabelle, stiffly, rising to go, "I've nothing more to say."

"Quite right, Lady Isabelle, and may I give you a parting word of caution? When your husband, Lieutenant Kingsland, advises a course of action, follow it blindly."

"Really, Miss Fitzgerald!" exclaimed her Ladyship, bridling up at the Irish girl's remark.

"Good-night, Lady Isabelle," murmured Belle in her silkiest tones, opening the door, and laughing softly to herself, as her visitor rustled away in the distance. Then she leaned over the staircase and listened. No sound met her ears, but her eyes beheld the disconsolate figure of the Secretary, standing alone in the hall below. She tripped noiselessly down, and, arriving within a few paces of him unnoticed, drew herself up haughtily, and said, in her most chilling tones: —

"Will you kindly permit me to pass, Mr. Stanley?"

"Belle – Miss Fitzgerald," he cried. "I must have a few words with you – I must explain."

"It's not necessary, Mr. Stanley. I've already heard a detailed account of the affair from Lady Isabelle's mother."

On the verity of the statement we will not attempt to pass judgment; suffice it to say, that it simply staggered the young diplomat.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "I – it's not true, believe me, it's not true."

"Do I understand you to insinuate that the Marchioness has prevaricated?"

"No, no, of course not; but it's all a mistake. I can explain – really."

"Mr. Stanley, answer me one question. Did you or did you not give the Marchioness to understand, in your interview with her this morning, that you wished to marry her daughter?"

"Why, yes – I suppose I did – but, then, you see – "

"That is quite sufficient. Good-night."

"If you'd only let me explain!"

"Good-night, Mr. Stanley," she repeated icily, and swept past him into the drawing-room.

CHAPTER XXV

THE RUSTLE OF A SKIRT

"You graceless young dog!" cried Kent-Lauriston, falling upon Stanley in a half-feigned, half-real burst of anger, as he entered the smoking-room after his encounter with Belle. "Do you know you've caused me to refuse invitations by the score, and dragged me down to this God-forsaken place, at the most impossible season of the year, on false pretences?"

"False pretences! How so?"

"Why? You shameless Lothario! Why? Because what's left of my conscience smote me for leaving a lamb amidst a pack of wolves, and wouldn't let me rest; nearly destroyed my digestion, I give you my word. I came down to pluck your innocence alive from the burning, and I've been a fool for my pains. Why, confound you, I not only find you épris with Madame Darcy, but engaged to both the Fitzgerald and Lady Isabelle."

"My dear Kent-Lauriston, pray soothe your ruffled feelings; your logic is excellent, but your premises are one and all false."

"What!"

"I say there's nothing between Madame Darcy and myself, and that I'm neither engaged to Miss Fitzgerald nor Lady Isabelle."

"But, my dear Stanley, I've heard – "

"But, my dear Kent-Lauriston, you've heard wrongly."

"What – isn't Madame Darcy here?"

"Yes."

"And haven't you seen her?"

"Yes."

"And walked with her early in the morning?"

"Yes."

"And breakfasted with her, tête-à-tête at a farmhouse?"

"Yes."

"And hasn't her husband challenged you to a duel on her account?"

"Yes."

"And didn't he, moreover, catch you in the act of proposing to Miss Fitzgerald?"

"Yes."

"And haven't you asked the Marchioness for Lady Isabelle's hand?"

"Yes."

"And in the face of all this – you attempt to deny – "

"In the face of all this – circumstantial evidence – I'm quite prepared to deny everything. Would you like to hear the facts of the case?"

"Rather!"

As will have been inferred, the two men had the smoking-room entirely to themselves, and the best part of an hour passed before the Secretary had finished his account of events with which the reader is familiar.

Kent-Lauriston heard him out with great interest, and after drawing a long breath, at the close of his recital, remarked: —

"I think I shall be fully repaid for any inconvenience to which I've put myself on your account. This whole affair is most interesting, and, believe me, there's more in it than appears on the surface."

"I feel the same way myself," replied the Secretary; "but let us hear your views on the subject."

"First," replied his friend, "you must assure me of how you yourself stand. Are you still in your unregenerate state, or have you yet begun to see the fruits of your folly?"

The young diplomat was silent for a long time, but finally he said, looking up into Kent-Lauriston's face with an almost appealing glance:

"I'm afraid you would think me awfully caddish if I told you the truth about it."

"About the state of your affections for Miss Fitzgerald, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Of course, I shouldn't think you justified in making a public declaration of a change of sentiment, because it might seem to reflect on the lady, but in my case it's very different. Having spoken so frankly and freely on the subject already, I might almost say that you owe it to me to continue to do so. Certainly I've given you no cause for reticence by anything I've done, and, as certainly, you must confide fully in me if you wish my help in the future."

"Well, then, the truth is," he blurted out, "that you were right and I was wrong, and I've found it out too late."

"I thought as much."

"But I'm not going back on my word. If I've made a mistake, I must suffer for it; and if Miss Fitzgerald accepts my proposal, which she now has under consideration, I shall live up to my part of the agreement; and if I can prevent it, she shall never suspect that I would have matters otherwise. If she should refuse me, however – "

"You'd make a fool of yourself just the same," continued Kent-Lauriston, "by jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire, and marrying Madame Darcy the instant she obtained her divorce."

"Kent-Lauriston," Stanley exclaimed, "you know a d – d sight too much!"

The Englishman laughed softly, and then resumed the thread of his discourse.

"Now that I understand your position – " he began.

"Do you understand it?"

"Better than you do yourself, I fancy; let me see if I can state it. You've proposed to Miss Fitzgerald, and she has taken the question of marrying you into consideration; since which time you have come to the conclusion, for reasons which we will not specify out of consideration for your feelings, that, if she refuses, or could be induced to refuse you, you'd accept the decision without an appeal. Am I correct?"

The Secretary nodded gloomily.

"Under the circumstances, do you give me permission to do what I can to effect your release?"

"Do what you please."

"I'll do my best. Now what induced you to propose to her against your better judgment? Did she lead you on?"

"No, certainly not – if you suppose – !"

"Well, something must have started you up."

"Charges were made against her. I thought it my duty to tell her what had been said – "

"How did she receive it?"

"She accused me of being a false friend, of not having defended her."

"And you proposed – when – that day?"

"No, the next night."

"I see, the next night; because you thought it your duty to protect her."

"Confound you. You read me like a book."

"An open page is easy reading. Now who made the charges?"

"Kingsland."

"I thought so. Whom did they concern?"

"Darcy."

"Exactly. And at the very moment that you were asking her to give you the right to protect her from men of Darcy's stamp – he turns up and proves you the worst of the lot."

"And she – I wonder she didn't refuse me out of hand."

"I wonder she didn't accept you – but let that pass. All I wish to point out to you is this: – Kingsland drove you by the charges he made against Darcy to propose to Miss Fitzgerald. What was his motive for doing so?"

"Friendship for Miss Fitzgerald."

"Would that be likely to induce him to make serious charges against her?"

"Friendship for me."

"Nonsense! I know the man. He did it because it paid him to do it."

"How was that possible?"

"I can suggest one motive. The removal of the obstacles preventing Lady Isabelle's secret marriage. Now who could have effected this? Not Lady Isabelle, she never had the audacity to carry out such a scheme; not Kingsland, he hasn't brains enough; our hostess is above suspicion; in fact there's only one person who could have conceived and carried out the plan to its successful conclusion – namely, Miss Fitzgerald."

"What grounds have you for proving it?"

"Was she with the parson at all, before the ceremony?"

"I knew you'd ask that question!"

"Then she was."

"Twice, on the days just preceding – to my knowledge."

"That's sufficient."

"Not for me."

"Then I'll tell you where we can find the missing link of evidence."

"Where?"

"In the marriage register of the church. Find the names of the witnesses, and you'll find the people who have carried it through. If you'll kindly leave it in my hands, I'll verify my statements to-morrow morning. I'd prefer that you did not do it yourself."

"As you please. But even admitting you're right, it doesn't give the cause for the motive."

"Oh, yes, it does – Miss Fitzgerald's intervention in this matter was the price of Kingsland's egging you on to propose."

"Nonsense!"

"I'll lay you a thousand to one on it."

Stanley shrugged his shoulders, saying: —

"But your own arguments defeat you, my dear fellow. If Miss Fitzgerald was such a calculating person, why should she put herself out, and run the risk of compromising herself, merely to induce the Lieutenant to play upon my jealousy, when, as you've already shown, and I've admitted, I was so weak as to make such strategy unnecessary."

"Perhaps that was not the only favour Miss Fitzgerald looked for, and the Lieutenant's hands – "

"What do you mean?"

"Well, taking five chests for her to London."

"Oh," said the Secretary, much relieved, "I know all about that. I quite assure you it has nothing to do with Miss Fitzgerald."

"But I heard her asking Kingsland to take them up for her this afternoon, and to put them in his bank."

"Look here, Kent-Lauriston, your dislike for poor Belle must have got the better of your common sense. You certainly misinterpreted what she said. Those chests belong to Mr. Riddle."

Kent-Lauriston changed the subject.

"What is Colonel Darcy here for?"

"He says, to watch his wife."

"What is she here for?"

"She says she has letters written to her husband by some member of this household, which have aroused her suspicions."

"That sounds more promising. Who is this person?"

"A woman of course – but she only knows her Christian name."

"And that is?"

"She will not tell me."

"Ah!" said Kent-Lauriston drily.

"I've sources of information about Darcy, which I'm not at liberty to give you," resumed Stanley, "but you're not on the right track, believe me."

"Time will prove the correctness of some of my theories, at least," replied his mentor, "and I shall be better able to talk when I've seen the marriage register. Now let's have something to drink, and go to bed;" and he pressed the bell.

An interval having elapsed without an answer, he rang again, but no servant appeared.

"It must be later than I thought. We'll have to shift for ourselves. There'll be something going in the billiard-room."

"Hark!" said Stanley. "There's somebody in the hall; it's probably the butler shutting up for the night."

They both listened, and a peculiar, shuffling, scraping sound became audible.

"That's a curious noise," said the Secretary. "Let's see what it means," and, suiting the action to the word, he threw open the smoking-room door.

The light in the hall was turned out, and the sombre black oak panelling made the great apartment seem darker than it really was. Absolute stillness reigned. It was, to all appearance, empty.

"Must have been rats," said the Secretary. "Everyone seems to have retired."

"Have they?" said Kent-Lauriston.

"Listen!"

And both could have sworn that they heard, far up the hall, the dying rustle of a skirt. But there were some things that Stanley had no wish to know, and he set his face and his steps towards the stairs, continuing: —

"As I was saying, we are the only people up.

"Then we'd better go to bed."

"By all means."

"Shall I turn out the electric lights in the smoking-room?"

"Yes, we're evidently the last."

A moment later they stood on the upper landing about to separate for the night.

"The woman was behind that screen at the foot of the stairs," said Kent-Lauriston.

"Yes, I know," replied the Secretary.

"Good-night, my dear Stanley."

"Good-night, old man. You possess a rare talent."

"Yes?"

"You know when not to ask questions."

CHAPTER XXVI

FACE TO FACE

When Kent-Lauriston had disappeared in his bedroom, and closed the door, the Secretary, extinguishing his own candle, turned on his heel, and walked slowly back to the head of the stairs. It was easy to preserve an unruffled demeanour before his friend, but he was far from being as calm as he appeared.

All was not right in the house, he knew. Some mischief was afoot, and he meant to find out what it was, even though he dared not admit to himself some of the possibilities which it suggested.

He softly descended the stairs. Everything was silent. He moved the screen; the space behind it was vacant. Suddenly, his eye fell upon the smoking-room door, and he drew in his breath softly. There was a line of light showing under the crack. Yet he could have sworn that Kent-Lauriston had turned off the switch, and while he stood hesitating as to what it was best to do, a soft breath of wind upon his cheek caused him to make another discovery. The great front door was open. He stepped softly down the hall, and going out under the porte-cochère, cast his eyes over the driveway. No one was in sight. He was about to return to the house when he heard light steps coming down the hall. Drawing back into the shadow to escape observation, he waited. Someone was evidently leaving the house. A moment later, a hand was lightly laid upon the door, and it was closed behind him, before he could realise what was happening. He was shut out into the night.

His first impulse was to ring sharply for assistance. Second thoughts showed him the foolishness of such an attempt. It would be merely apprising the intruders of his presence, and long before a servant could be aroused and the bell could be answered, they would have made their escape.

The Secretary judged that shutting him out was unintentional. The persons, whoever they were, had hidden somewhere, till he had gone upstairs, had then slipped into the smoking-room, probably to arrange their plans, and coming out while he was on the lawn, and seeing the door ajar, had closed it, quite unconscious that by so doing they were putting their pursuer in a very awkward predicament.

However, the Secretary told himself that there was nothing to prevent him from seeing what was going on in the hall, and he hastened to make his way round to the side of the house where there were several large windows opening into that apartment. He had picked his way across several flower-beds, and was just turning the corner to approach the house when he was startled by seeing a dark figure loom up beside him, and feeling a hand lightly laid on his shoulder, and a whispered word of caution to be silent. Almost involuntarily, however, he exclaimed: —

"Inez! You here, and at this hour."

"Sh!" she said, "There are listeners. I, like you, am watching."

"Who are you watching?" he asked, softly.

"My husband."

"Your husband?"

"Yes," she replied. "Why has he entered this house secretly every night since he has been here?"

"You amaze me," said the Secretary. "How has it been possible for him to get in?"

"He has been aided by someone who opens the door for him."

"A man?"

"No, a woman."

The Secretary whistled softly.

"Well," he said, "we'll probe this mystery to the bottom. I, too, have heard suspicious noises in the passages to-night, and, coming down, after I had retired, to find out what they were, I was shut out from within, though I don't think they were aware of my presence. We must go round on the outside and see what we can through the windows."

"You can't," she said. "The approaches are protected by an iron fence with spikes."

"But surely there's a gate?"

"Yes, but it's always padlocked."

"We'll have a look at it, any way," he replied; and they approached and examined it closely.

The Secretary rattled the lock cautiously and found it old and shaky.

"I think I could smash this with a couple of bits of flint," he said, "and if I have a new lock put on at my own expense, my hostess will, under the circumstances, probably forgive me." And suiting the action to the word, he managed, by a few judicious blows, with two bits of stone, picked up from the driveway, to bend the hasp of the lock sufficiently to release it.

There being no further impediment to their progress they hastened through the gardens, and a moment later were standing outside one of the great hall windows whose lower panes were on a level with their faces. They could distinctly see three people, but their glances were riveted on a circle of light farther up the hall, a circle that shifted and danced over the surface of the secret door, flashing on the heads of the silver nails; a circle that was made by the lens of a small bull's-eye lantern, held in the grasp of a crouching figure whose back was turned towards them. By his side were two others, apparently a man and a woman, who seemed to be directing him at his work. For several minutes the little group presented their backs to the spectators, but at an incautious step of the Secretary's, which caused a dry twig to crackle, they all turned sharply round, the owner of the lantern throwing its rays full on the window outside which they were standing. The watchers drew back, in time evidently to escape detection, for the absence of footsteps and the recurrence, after a moment, of the curious sounds which Stanley had noticed from the smoking-room, assured him that they had once more returned to their work. The lantern, however, though it had failed to discover them, had, for a brief second, illumined the faces of the intruders, and both the Secretary and Madame Darcy recognised the trio. The man at work on the door was the Colonel; his assistants were Mr. Riddle and Miss Fitzgerald. The Secretary's worst suspicions were confirmed, and a smothered sob at his side told him that the discovery had inflicted no less keen a pang on his companion. She slipped down in a little heap on the ground, and he dropped on his knees beside her, whispering such consolation as he could without running the risk of being overheard.

"I knew it must be so," she said, "and yet I hoped against hope that he was not guilty of this last infamy."

Suddenly another thought seemed to have occurred to her.

"You knew," she said. "You must have known, and yet you did not tell me."

"My dear Inez," he said. "How could I, when my suspicions were directed against your own husband?"

"But why do I think of myself?" she said. "I am nothing. But it is you – you, that my heart bleeds for. I, too, concealed my suspicions for your sake."