Parlous Times: A Novel of Modern Diplomacy

The door closed. He was gone.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE PRICE OF KNOWLEDGE

"I can never thank you sufficiently for all you've done, old man," said Stanley to Kent-Lauriston, as the latter stood beside him, a few moments later.

"Which means," said his friend, "that you are going to ask me to do you another favour."

"How well you understand human nature," replied the Secretary, smiling sadly. "Yes, it's quite true; I want you to go to —her– you understand, for me. I meant to go myself, but after what Darcy has told me, it's impossible."

"It's infinitely better to leave the affair in my hands. It will be easier for both of you."

"I'm sure of it. You once said to me, you may remember, that it required more skill to break than to make an engagement, and I'm certain that you'd do this with great tact, and that I should blunder. You'll make it as easy for her as you can, I know – perhaps she'll save you any awkwardness by breaking it off herself. From what she said yesterday, I should think it possible."

"I trust so."

"Here are her letters to me – you'll take them back."

"I will. Do you feel sure of yourself?"

"You need have no fears on that account. I think Madame Darcy was right when she told me once that she was certain that I'd never loved."

"What reason did she give for that statement?"

"Reason – that's just it, she said I'd reasoned about my love, therefore it couldn't be real."

"Madame Darcy is a very clever woman."

"And a very charming one."

"I fully agree with you, but of course she has her drawbacks."

"You think so?"

"Her present position is, to say the least, equivocal; and as a divorcée – "

"Oh, come, Kent-Lauriston, can't you let anyone alone? I never think of those things in connection with her. She's just Madame Darcy – that's all. She forms her own environment; one is so completely dominated by her presence, that other circumstances connected with her don't occur to one."

"In other words, you do not reason."

"Kent-Lauriston!"

"There, I won't say it – only you admit that so far I've known you better than you've known yourself. – Yes? – Well, do not forget what I once told you before. You can never love a woman whom you cannot respect, and no woman who respects herself would permit even a hint of a man's affections until she was free to receive them. Any such premature attempt would be fatal to his suit."

"Thank you," said Stanley, "I won't forget;" and then, with a touch of his old humour, which the responsibilities of the last few days had nearly crushed out, he added: "You're not going to try to save me again?"

"No, thank you, one experience of that sort has been quite enough," replied Kent-Lauriston, laughing.

"Now about this present matter," continued the Secretary. "I don't want you to think me callous or shallow, because I don't appear all broken up; it has hit me very hard. I admit I was a fool, that I took for real passion a sort of sentimentalism born of pity; but, nevertheless, I was honest in my self-deception, and I assure you, even though you may laugh at me, that could I restore her to the innocent girl I believed her to be a few days ago; could I even be assured that she'd join this conspiracy to help a friend, and not as a cold-blooded speculation; I'd gladly marry her with all her faults, and give up my life to leading her into better paths."

"I do not laugh at you, my boy," said Kent-Lauriston. "I respect you for it, I believe you, too; but, as I said in our first interview on this subject, you're too good for her; and she has underrated what she is not fitted to understand."

"There, go now," said the Secretary. "If I talk of this any more, I shall be unnerved, and I've need of all my self-control to-day. Go and do the best you can. Be gentle and tender for my sake. I suppose I ought to face the matter myself, but I can't bear to. I simply can't look her in the face – now I know – " and he bent his head, choking back a sob.

His friend pressed his hand silently, and left the room.

"Just one moment, if you please, Colonel Darcy," Kent-Lauriston had said, overtaking that officer as he was crossing the park, about an hour after his interview with Stanley.

"I can't stop just now, I'm in a hurry."

"Oh, yes, you can – you can spare me a minute – a minute for an old acquaintance, who knew you when you were only a Lieutenant, like our friend Kingsland; a Lieutenant in Derbyshire, who had aspirations for the hand of Lord – 's daughter."

"Which you frustrated, damn you! I haven't forgotten."

"Or the evidence which led to such an unfortunate result? Affairs of that sort are not outlawed by the lapse of years; you understand?"

"What do you want of me? Speak! My time is of value."

"Yes, I know – about forty thousand pounds."

"Humph! Go on, will you. I'll tell you what you want, only be quick about it."

"I merely want to know the exact and real truth of Miss Fitzgerald's connection with this bribery and corruption business."

"I told your friend, the Secretary."

"I know what you told him, he's just retailed it to me; but you will pardon me, if I state that, as an observer, of human nature, I don't believe it."

"I've said what I've said," replied the Colonel, surlily.

"Let us see if we can't arrive at a mutual understanding," continued Kent-Lauriston, suavely. "You wish to injure the girl and make her marriage with my friend impossible, because you think she's betrayed you. I wish to render the marriage impossible, because I don't care to see this young man make a fool of himself by marrying a girl who's after his money, and who has nothing to offer in return. Our ends are identical, our motives only are different. Do you follow me?"

The Colonel nodded.

"Now," resumed Kent-Lauriston, "you've told a very clever circumstantial story, which has ruined her in Stanley's eyes, and has stopped the match, as we both wished. Its only flaw lies in the fact that it is not true. If he finds this out, he'll marry her in spite of us; but he is much less likely to find it out if I know the real state of the case, and, as a corollary, the weak points of your narrative, and so am able to prevent the discovery. Do you believe me?"

"I never knew you to tell a lie – it's not in your line."

"Quite so. Therefore, will you tell me the truth?"

"The truth, then, is that Belle didn't instigate the plot. I got her out of a scrape some years ago, and she was grateful, and lent me a hand with this, purely out of friendship. She doesn't expect to get a penny in reward. It was her idea, however, of using Kingsland to forward the stuff."

"Kingsland knew nothing about it?"

"Nothing at all. He thought the chests contained stereopticon slides."

"That's the real truth then?"

"Yes, but if you blow it to Stanley, I'll tell him your share in this little arrangement."

Kent-Lauriston looked at him, coldly. "You said you were in a hurry, Colonel Darcy," he remarked. "Don't let me detain you."

"I consider it providential," said the Marchioness.

Mrs. Roberts said nothing. It was this trait that rendered her so admirable as a hostess and a friend.

"Of course," continued her Ladyship, "I had long known that there was some sentiment between my dear Isabelle and Lieutenant Kingsland, and if I had supposed there was anything serious, they would at once have had my blessing, and – er – a wedding in St. George's, and – everything that religion requires. Their secret marriage was childish and ridiculous – because it was not opposed."

Mrs. Roberts still held her peace.

"I say," continued the Dowager, "that it was not opposed; of course Mr. Stanley – "

"Ah," said her hostess, seeing that she was expected to intervene: "Mr. Stanley – what of him?"

"Well, you see, my dear Mrs. Roberts, he's a most excellent young man; but he comes from a Catholic country – and – er – the influence is so insidious, that, on consideration, I didn't really feel – that my duty as a mother would permit me to countenance the match further."

Mrs. Roberts said nothing, she had been ill-used in this particular, she felt, and withheld her sympathy accordingly.

The Dowager appreciated the position, and acted promptly.

"Your dear niece, Miss Fitzgerald, such a charming girl," she continued, "doubtless feels as I do. Her throwing Stanley over unreservedly was most commendable, and reflected much credit on your influence, dear Mrs. Roberts."

Her hostess was mollified, and showed it. The Dowager's position promised to turn defeat into triumph.

"You're most kind, I'm sure," she murmured. "Belle was naturally guided by me," and then changing a dangerous subject, she continued, "It is so sad that Lieutenant Kingsland's honeymoon should be darkened by his uncle's death."

Her Ladyship dried an imaginary tear, and added: —

"If one believes in Providence, one must of course believe that these things are for the best."

"Here comes the Secretary," said Mrs. Roberts. "Does he know?"

"I must tell him," replied the Dowager. "It's my painful duty."

Mrs. Roberts precipitately left the room.

"Dear Mr. Stanley," murmured the Dowager, "I was just on the point of sending for you; you've come most opportunely. I feel I must speak to you about my dear daughter. She is a sadly wilful girl, and I fear – "

"Don't speak of it, your Ladyship. I know, that is, I've heard; and permit me to offer my congratulations on your daughter's recent marriage to Lieutenant Kingsland," he said, throwing into his voice what he trusted might pass for a note of resignation.

"Dear Mr. Stanley," said the Dowager, infinitely relieved, "you are so tactful, so generous – "

"I hope she'll be happy."

"Oh yes – yes – we must hope so." And her Ladyship sighed deeply. "You, of course, know what I wished from my heart."

"I'm going away," he said abruptly, "this afternoon in fact. I'm assigned on a diplomatic service, which, for the present, may take me out of England, so you'll make my adieux to Lady Isabelle, will you not?"

"I – er – trust you do not contemplate doing anything – foolish?"

"You may set your mind at rest on that score."

"You relieve me immensely – you'll excuse me if I'm too frank. I've come so near being a – er – mother to you, I feel a peculiar interest in your welfare. May I venture to express the hope, that you'll not commit yourself with that young Irish person?"

"Your ladyship may feel quite easy – Miss Fitzgerald and I have never been more than friends, and in the future – "

"Of course one must be kind; but a young man cannot be too careful. I assure you in regard to the young woman in question, that I was told in strict confidence – the most shocking – "

"Pardon me," he interrupted, "but I couldn't think of violating your strict confidence," and he passed by her out of the room.

"That young man," said the Dowager, in summing him up to a friend, "has tact, but lacks reserve."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE PRICE OF LOVE

"Have you come to insult me, Mr. Kent-Lauriston?"

Isabelle Fitzgerald stood in a wooded recess of the park, beside a young sapling; the one no more fair and tall and glorious with the joy of living than the other. Kent-Lauriston was beside her, hat in hand, with just the trace of a cynical smile about his parted lips; but serious enough with it all, well realising the gravity of the task he had undertaken, and pitying from his heart the fair girl who stood white and scornful before him, her garden hat hanging from its ribbon, unconsciously held in her hand.

"Have you come to insult me, Mr. Kent-Lauriston?" She said it defiantly, as if it were a gage of battle.

"I have come to apologise to you," he replied quietly.

"You tell me that he has sent you to me. Well, I know what that means. I knew why you came to the Hall, I would have stopped you if I could. You were my enemy, I felt it the moment I saw you. I knew you would have your way then. What chance had an unfortunate girl, whose only hope rested in the love of the man she loved, as against one who has made hundreds of matches, and broken hundreds of hearts? You owe me an apology you think – it is very good of you, I appreciate it deeply," and she made him an obeisance.

"I've not come to apologise to you for any point that I've gained, but for the means I must employ to gain it."

"Really," she said, her eyes blazing. "This is a condescension. Are not any means good enough to cope with an adventuress like myself – a young woman who is deterred by no conventions, and no maidenly reserve; whose every art and wile is strained to lure on to their fate weak and unsuspecting young men. Is it possible that such a person has any rights that need be respected?"

"Really, Miss Fitzgerald," said Kent-Lauriston, placidly, "you surprise me. In addition to the numerous virtues, which I'm confident you possess, I'd added in my own mind that paramount one, of cool clear-headedness. This lady, I had told myself, is at all events perfectly free from hysteria or nervous affections; she can discuss an unpleasant subject, if necessary, in its practical bearings, without flying into a fit of rage, and wandering hopelessly from the point. It appears that I was mistaken."

"No," she replied brusquely, "you are not; You've summed up my character very well, but you must remember that you've nothing to gain or lose in this matter. You're merely playing the game – directing the moves of the pawns. The problem is interesting, amusing, if you like, but whether you win or lose, you've nothing wagered on the result. But the pawn! Its very existence is at stake – a false move is made, and it disappears from the board."

"Quite true! But the pawn has a better chance of life, if the moves are considered calmly, than if played at random; it is then inevitably lost."

"You're right," she said, seating herself on a grassy bank near by: "perfectly right. Let us talk this matter over calmly. I shan't forget myself again."

He seated himself beside her.

"Now frankly," she continued, "before you saw me, or spoke to me, you'd made up your mind to save your friend from my clutches, had you not? I beg your pardon – doubtless, you'd disapprove of such an expression – we'll say, you had determined to prevent him from marrying me."

"Frankly speaking, yes, I had."

"But you knew nothing about me; you could know nothing about me, except on hearsay."

"Pardon me – I knew your late father, and I was at Colonel Belleston's, when you ran off with his heir-apparent, and were not found till half the country-side had been searched, and the dinner quite spoiled."

"But Georgie Belleston was only eight, and I scarcely twelve. We had determined, I remember, to join a circus – no, he wanted to fight Indians; but it was childish nonsense."

"The spirit was there, nevertheless. But in the present case I was considering Mr. Stanley, I must confess, rather than yourself. The world, my dear young lady, is an open market, a prosaic, mercantile world."

"Don't you suppose I know that?"

"I'm willing to believe it if you wish me to do so. It will help us to understand the commonsense proposition that marriageable young men, like cabbages, have a market value, and that a young man like our friend, who has a great deal to offer, should – shall I be perfectly plain, and say – should expect a pretty handsome return for himself."

"And you didn't think that I'd much to offer," she said, laughing. "In other words, that you'd be selling your cabbages very cheap. Eh?"

Kent-Lauriston said nothing, but she saw the impression she had produced, and bit her lips in mortified rage. She wished at least to win this man's respect, and she was showing herself to him in her very worst light.

"I had, as you say," she continued, "nothing to offer Mr. Stanley but my love; but I dare say you don't believe in love, Mr. Kent-Lauriston."

"Not believe in love? My dear young lady, it forms the basis of every possible marriage."

"Does it never form the whole of such a union?"

"Only too often, but these are the impossible marriages, and ninety-nine per cent. of them prove failures, or worse."

"I can't believe you – if one loves, nothing else counts."

"Quite true for the time being, but God help the man or woman who mistakes the passion aroused by a pretty face or form for the real lasting article, and wagers his life on it."

"You've never married; you can, therefore, talk as you please."

"My dear Miss Fitzgerald, if I'd ever married, I should probably not talk at all."

"You don't regard our affair as serious?"

"Not on Mr. Stanley's side?"

"And on mine?"

"That we shall see later on; but my young friend is in his salad days, and he's not responsible, but he is almost too honest."

"I suppose you'll say I tempted him."

"N-o – but you let him fall."

"However, you were at hand to rescue him. I wonder you should have wasted your valuable time in going through the formality of consulting me over so trivial an affair."

"But it's not trivial. I thought it was till this morning, now I've changed my mind. It's very serious. I've a right to save my friend from making a fool of himself, when he only is the real sufferer; but it's a very different question when the rights of another person are involved, especially when that person is a woman."

"So you've come to me?"

"To persuade you, if possible, to relinquish those rights."

"For his sake?"

"No, for your own."

"Really – that's a novel point of view to take of the matter."

"You think so. I only want you to see the affair in its true light, to realise that the game isn't worth the candle."

"I think you'll find it difficult to prove that."

"We shall see. Suppose I state the case. Here are you, a charming young lady of good family, but no means, thrown on your own resources; in a word, with the opportunity of marrying a – shall we say, pliable– young man, of good official standing, and an undoubtedly large income and principal; who is infatuated – thinks he's fallen in love with you, and whom you really love. There, have I stated the case fairly?"

"So fairly, that you'll find it difficult to prove your point."

"Let me continue. Suppose you're married; grand ceremonial, great éclat, delighted friends and relatives, handsome presents, diamonds and all – he'd do the thing well – honeymoon, say, the Riviera – limit, three months – what next? Where are you going to live? London? It won't do. Property – that property you're so interested in – can't take care of itself; the young heir of those broad plantations must go home and learn the business. Your practical mind shows you the necessity of that. Do you know the life of his native country? No? Your nearest neighbours thirty miles away, and deadly dull at that; your climate a damp, sultry fog; your amusements, sleeping in a hammock two-thirds of the day, when the mosquitoes will let you, and your husband's society, as sole company, the rest of the time. After two or three years, or perhaps four or five – long enough to ruin your matchless complexion, and cause you both to be forgotten by all your friends, except those who can't afford to do so – you come back to London for a nice long visit – say three months. How you will enjoy it! Let me see, what do you most like? Horses, riding, hunting? Ever heard the Secretary's ideas on hunting?"

She laughed nervously, and Kent-Lauriston pursued his subject.

"Then he's so indefatigable at balls and parties; I've known him to stay half an hour, when he's been feeling fit! His friends, too, such dear old fogies, like your esteemed aunt, not like your friends – you know how fond he is of them. The Kingslands and Darcys of your acquaintance would simply revel in the house of a man who never plays cards for money, and can't tell an eighty from a ninety-eight champagne – and he'd be master in his own house, too – you received an ultimatum yesterday. A man who will do that to a woman to whom he isn't even quite engaged will command his wife and see that she obeys him. You would have before you the choice of living in an atmosphere and associating with people entirely uncongenial to you, or living wholly apart from your husband; either would be intolerable. Have I proved my point?"

"You've forgotten to include in your charming sketch that I should still have the comforts of life, and, what is more important, a house to cover me, enough to eat and drink, and clothes to wear – things which I have sometimes in the past found it pretty difficult to obtain."

"True, but you'd be paying too high a price for them, much too high. Take my word for it, again and again you'd long to be back in your present state; yes, and in harder straits than you are now."

"What you say to me could be equally well applied to Mr. Stanley, in reverse."

"Quite so; it sums up in the mere fact, that you two have nothing in common except passion and sentimentality, very frail corner stones on which to build a life's happiness. You're not even companionable. What are you going to talk about for the rest of your lives? It's an appalling prospect. I want to save you both from making a very bad bargain."

"I don't agree with you," she cried vehemently, springing to her feet, "not at all; but what difference does it make? I know well enough I'm not really to be consulted as to the issue; you'd never have had the effrontery to speak to me as you have done, if you were not already sure of the game. To use a commercial phrase, you've cornered the market, and can make what terms you please. I must accede to them."

"You entirely mistake the situation, Miss Fitzgerald," he said, calmly rising, and facing her. "It is you who have cornered the market, and it is I who must buy at your price."

"Explain yourself! What do you mean?" she cried, a gleam of hope, almost of triumph, lighting up her face.

Kent-Lauriston was now playing a bold game.

"I mean," he replied, "that circumstances have rendered me powerless to prevent Mr. Stanley's marrying you, if you allow him to do so."

"Tell me! – " she exclaimed abruptly.

"It's for that purpose that I've sought you out."

She nodded. She was watching him guardedly.

"I've admitted that our young friend was in love with you. I don't say you encouraged him, but you certainly excited his pity, a very dangerous proceeding with a person of his nature."

"What's all this to do with my position?"

"A great deal," resumed Kent-Lauriston. "You see, I want you to understand your hold over Mr. Stanley – it's really because he pities you." The girl flushed painfully. "Excuse me if I speak things which are unpleasant, but you most understand your weakness, and your strength. You've nearly ruined yourself by being too clever, and now, by the wildest stroke of luck, you're in a very strong position."

"Would you mind speaking plainly?"

"Certainly. In a word, the situation is just this. Within the last few days, Mr. Stanley has made three discoveries about you, which have gone far to destroy his sympathy for you, and make him believe that his pity or his love, as he chooses to call it, has been misplaced. Two of these discoveries I believe to be true; one – the worst – I know to be false. If he discovers how shockingly you've been maligned, he'll probably forget the past, and, in a burst of contrition at having so misjudged you, will do what his common sense forbids – I mean, marry you."

"You're really becoming interesting. I had underrated your abilities. Pray be more explicit," she said, quite at her ease at these reassuring words, and putting Kent-Lauriston down, mentally, as a fool for giving the game away, when he need only have kept silent to have had it all in his own hands.

He read her thoughts and smiled quietly, for, by her expression, he could gauge the depth of her subtlety. She was no match for him, if she were innocent enough to believe him capable of such folly.

"You compliment me," he returned, "but to go on – in the first place, he learned of your connection with Lady Isabelle's marriage. It opened his eyes somewhat."

"She told him?"

"She did. You forced her to do so, by your threat against her husband."

Miss Fitzgerald bit her lip, and said nothing.