Parlous Times: A Novel of Modern Diplomacy

But finally even the charms of the deer were exhausted, and as they turned about and began slowly to stroll homeward across the park, Lady Isabelle abruptly broached the subject which both of them had nearest at heart.

"I'm afraid," she began, "that I'm very prone to order the lives of my friends, from my own point of view."

"My life, for instance?" he asked.

"Mr. Stanley," she said, "I shan't be really happy till I have apologised for the way I spoke at Lady Rainsford's tea. I'd no right to do so, and I'm sure my judgment was hasty and ill-advised. I've been trusting to my eyes and ears rather than to the reports of other people, and I'm sure I've been mistaken. Do you know how Miss Fitzgerald spent part of yesterday?"

"I have not seen her to speak with to-day."

"Then I'll tell you. She was helping poor old Mr. Lambert trim the church for to-morrow. I think it was very nice of her."

"I'm afraid your commendation has come a trifle late. The fact is, I took it upon myself to counsel the young lady in question against a friend of hers – a Colonel Darcy."

"Not Colonel Robert Darcy?"

"The same."

"Do you know him?" she asked.

"No, but I know how he treats his wife, and his own character is none too good."

"It's curious," she said, a trifle sadly, "but I'm in just your position in regard to a dear friend of mine, and concerning the same man."

"Concerning Colonel Darcy?"

"Yes."

"And his intimacy with Lieutenant Kingsland?"

"How did you know?"

"'He that hath eyes to see – '" quoted the Secretary.

"They never even knew each other till a short time ago, but in the last few weeks they've been constantly together. I can't understand it."

Mr. Stanley thought he could, but forbore to say so.

"I don't know why I distrust Colonel Darcy, but I do," she continued, "and his sudden intimacy with Jack – Lieutenant Kingsland – makes me apprehensive. Do you think – "

"I think your friend is of too pliable a nature to be in the hands of so unscrupulous a rascal."

She sighed, and then feeling perhaps that she had said too much, hastened to revert to their original subject, saying:

"Don't tell me there's a misunderstanding between you and Miss Fitzgerald. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't for the world – that is, I almost feel as if I'd been to blame."

"You're not the only one of my friends who has misjudged her – I've done so myself – utterly."

"But surely this little difference will not be lasting – I hoped – "

"Would you wish me to marry Miss Fitzgerald, Lady Isabelle?"

"Well, perhaps I won't say that – but I should certainly not wish anything I might have said to prevent you from so doing. Of course, my only reason for interfering was prompted by a wish for your happiness."

"Do you think you understand what that comprises?"

"That's just the point I wanted to make clear," she said hastily, determined that he must understand, even at the expense of a slight indiscretion on her part, which she felt would be far preferable to the slightest misunderstanding of their relative positions, in view of any future action of her mother's.

"You see," she continued, "to put it frankly, what could I possibly know of the requirements which, in a woman, would go to make you happy. Of course, you and I are friends, great friends; but just that state of affairs, as far as we're concerned, makes any judgment of mine useless concerning the kind of woman you could love."

Stanley, who could scarcely help drawing his own inferences, was piqued that she should have felt it necessary to batter a self-evident fact into his brain in such a bald manner.

"I wish," he said, "that her Ladyship, your mother, was possessed of the same lucid views on kindred subjects."

"Poor mamma," murmured his companion, "she's a trifle conventional; but, of course, if you're not in sympathy with her, you can easily avoid her."

There, the cat was out of the bag at last, and both felt easier in consequence. Stanley threw himself into the breach at once, and took the burden of the conversation.

"I'm sure," he said, "I don't believe that half of the people in the world can tell for the life of them why they fall in love with a certain person and not with another. As we're talking confidentially, I don't mind telling you that I've decided that I'm in love with Miss Fitzgerald, and that the best thing I can do is to tell her so as soon as possible, though I'm afraid there is little chance of her having me."

"I can honestly say," rejoined his companion, "that, if that is how the case stands, I do hope you'll be successful."

Having arrived at this amicable and highly satisfactory conclusion, they realised that in the earnestness of their discussion they had not noticed the lapse of time.

"Dear me, it must be getting late. I trust we're not far from the Hall," said Lady Isabelle.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know just where we are," he replied.

They were standing in a thick plantation at the time, through which meandered the little path they were following.

"There's rising ground ahead, however," he continued, "and, I think, a clearing."

This proved to be the case, and when they had gained the little knoll they saw, nearly in front of them, across a slight valley, bordered on either side by wide stretches of fields and pasture-land, the Hall.

"It doesn't look to be half a mile distant, but I doubt the wisdom of trying a short cut," he said, "We'd much better keep to our path."

Their prudence had its own reward, for they had not been walking five minutes before they encountered a peasant, who, with more good nature than brevity, directed their steps in a way that was too plainly not a short cut. However, there was nothing for it now but to push on, and though they walked rapidly, it was a long time before they reached the Hall.

Unkind fate prompted them on their arrival to venture into the drawing-room in search of a belated cup of tea, and, to their dismay, they found the apartment, which should have been deserted at this hour, tenanted solely by the Dowager, who had evidently been awaiting their return.

She was much too formally polite to make them feel at their ease, and with a word dismissed her daughter, on the plea of removing her wraps, thus leaving the Secretary to his fate.

Once they were alone, her Ladyship surveyed the young man deliberately through her lorgnettes, and when she had made him sufficiently nervous, remarked in a chilling tone that she trusted her daughter had caught no cold from walking so late in the park.

The Secretary acquiesced, and then the Marchioness opened the attack in earnest.

"We – my daughter – has had the pleasure of seeing a great deal of you lately, Mr. Stanley."

"Er, yes," he replied, scenting danger. "Of course it's been a great pleasure to me."

"Still," she continued, "it is not usual for a young lady, unchaperoned, to walk in the park with a gentleman at this hour; a gentleman who is, shall we say, a mere acquaintance."

"The matter was one of necessity," he replied shortly. "We lost our way."

"Mrs. Roberts has driven me over her grounds repeatedly, and it appears to me to be quite impossible for anyone to really lose his way."

"Deference to your Ladyship's opinion prevents me from saying more."

"It is certainly not pleasant," resumed the Dowager, ignoring his last remark, "to continue this conversation, and, were my late husband living, I should naturally have left the matter to him; as it is, my duty as a mother and my desire for dear Isabelle's welfare bids me – "

"Really, your Ladyship, am I to understand you to imply – "

"I can only say that I have heard your name associated with my daughter's in a manner – that was not – quite as I could wish. Dear Lady Wintern, a woman most interested in the good of her friends, spoke to me herself, and of course you, as a man of honour and a gentleman – "

"As a man of honour and a gentleman, I deeply regret that anything in my conduct should have led to a misconception in regard to my relations with Lady Isabelle, and in the future – "

"In the future, Mr. Stanley, you will of course see little or nothing of my daughter – unless – "

She paused, and for a moment neither spoke. Then the Secretary, who, whatever else may be said of him, was not a coward, seeing what was impending, determined to face the situation and have it over as soon as possible.

"Am I to understand," he inquired, "that you're asking me my intentions?"

Her Ladyship raised her eyebrows. If the French shoulder is expressive, the English eye-brow, feminine, speaks volumes.

"You do not make the situation easy for me," she replied. "Of course I speak only for myself. What my daughter may feel – "

"You don't suppose," he exclaimed, "that Lady Isabelle really thinks – "

"I know, Mr. Stanley, that my daughter thinks nothing and does nothing that would not be proper in a young lady of her position."

"Then I've only to apologise," he said, rising, "for what you force me to believe is my fault, however unintentional." And, bowing gravely to her, he quietly left the room.

CHAPTER XVI

MAN PROPOSES

As he dressed for dinner that evening, Stanley was still smarting with irritation at the undeserved attack which had just been made upon him by the Marchioness, and which through no fault of his own placed him in an exceedingly unpleasant and awkward position towards her daughter. The sooner he proposed to Miss Fitzgerald, and their engagement was announced, the better for all parties concerned. So seeking to justify himself by force of circumstances, he threw prudence to the winds and determined to speak that very night.

If, however, his private affairs had progressed rapidly to a crisis, the official interests which, he assured himself, were the real cause of his presence here, had not progressed at all, and he seemed no nearer the solution of the mystery, and the apprehension of the conspirators, than when he arrived.

True, Lady Isabelle's confession concerning Kingsland only served to strengthen his own conviction that the Lieutenant was Darcy's confederate; but Darcy himself, the prime mover of the plot, had not as yet put in an appearance, and till he arrived there was nothing to be done but to watch and wait.

Five minutes later the Secretary had joined the party in the drawing-room just as dinner was announced, and to his utter consternation his hostess whispered to him:

"I am sending you down with Lady Isabelle. I hear you and she are great chums."

"Great chums!" Stanley was tempted to plead sudden indisposition, and have his dinner in his room. Then a remembrance of his recent interview caused a wave of adverse feeling to sweep over him. Yes, he would take down Lady Isabelle. Was he to be badgered out of his dinner because a designing old woman could not leave well enough alone?

He could not indeed resist casting a look of amused triumph at the Dowager as he passed her with her daughter on his arm, but his conscience pricked him nevertheless, for he felt that his presence must be distasteful to his fair companion. That she really cared for him at all he could not bring himself to believe in the light of their conversation on the walk. Still, her frankness might have been assumed through pique at unreturned affection, and with a desire born of pride, to blind him to the true state of her feelings. The more he thought of this the more uneasy he became, and he could not help noticing that she was much more pale than he had as yet seen her, and seemed singularly abstracted. Moreover, he was certain that she was incurring her mother's displeasure, which would be to her a grave matter. He tried to make such atonement as lay in his power to make her feel at ease and to divert her mind. He told her his best stories, gave her his most brilliant conversation, but in vain. His endeavours fell hopelessly flat, and at last, after a dreadful pause, they spoke that which was in their hearts.

"Do you think it was nice of you to take me in to dinner?" she asked in that quiet conversational tone with which so many secrets have been told at dinners without arresting the attention of others.

"Really," he said, "I'd no option. Our hostess – "

"You managed to avoid it last night."

Stanley flushed.

"Do you mind so much?" he asked.

"Oh, no; but mamma."

"She didn't show me much consideration the last time we met."

"I was very sorry for you," she replied, "but as it had to come I thought I was better out of the way."

"Do you mean to say that you deliberately left me to my fate?"

"You mustn't be too hard on mamma. She wouldn't have thought she was doing right if she had not spoken."

"But," he continued relentlessly, "you – "

"Oh! I – ?"

"Yes, supposing I had – succumbed."

She paused a minute, and then looked shyly up at him.

"In that case," she began, when Mrs. Roberts rose, and gave the signal for the ladies to retire.

Stanley cursed the convention, yet perhaps it was fortunate, as the Dowager had been growing dangerously red and puffy in the face, owing to the fact that the two young people had, unconsciously, drawn closer together in the excitement of those unfinished words.

The cigars seemed interminable; but at last they were over, and the gentlemen were at liberty to seek the drawing-room.

There is generally a moment of indecision when the men come up from dinner. The ladies have appropriated the most comfortable and naturally the most isolated chairs, and their lords and masters huddle like sheep in the doorway, uncertain where to flee for refuge and the most desirable companion. The Secretary had studied this peculiarity of his sex, and had learned to choose his goal beforehand. One glance showed him that Lady Isabelle was absent; either she had retired, her mother was quite capable of ordering her off to bed to keep her out of harm's way, or else she was in the conservatory. He trusted that this last supposition was correct, and disappeared among the palms, when the Marchioness' attention was directed elsewhere.

"And in that case?" he said, as he stood beside her, recalling her last words at the table. "In that case?"

"In that case," she replied, flushing slightly, "I should probably have said something I might have regretted, had not Mrs. Roberts come to my rescue."

"And now?"

"Don't be stupid, Mr. Stanley. Surely you know that any well-brought-up girl would always obey her mother – and – and you ought to see that this conversation is impossible."

"It's certainly unique."

"Don't you think we had better change the subject?"

"By all means, if you wish it, after I've asked you one more question. I trust you won't think me rude to persist, but – do you care for me, Lady Isabelle?"

"As a friend, yes."

"But in no other way?"

"In no other way."

"You're quite sure?"

"Quite, and I'm very sorry you asked me the question. I tried hard to prevent you."

"You've succeeded admirably," he said, laughing. "I was afraid you did care."

He held out his hand, and she took it, saying with a little constraint in her manner:

"You're certainly frank."

He was pleased to see that she was only piqued; the speech had been unfortunate; but Lady Isabelle had plenty of common sense, and she realised that his naïve confession had cleared the atmosphere, and made social intercourse possible.

He made another attempt to interest her in general conversation, this time succeeding admirably. And so an hour slipped by unnoticed, until the stern voice of the Dowager recalled them to the realities of life.

"Isabelle," she said coldly, "you are surely forgetting your duty to our hostess, and to me also, it seems."

"I'm coming, mamma," she replied, and left him with a quiet "Good-night."

Stanley felt immensely relieved. That was over; Lady Isabelle and he understood each other now, and his path was clear for – was it to be matrimony after all? He told himself he was a weak fool – that Miss Fitzgerald cared nothing for him; would not take him after last night; that he was under no real obligation and that he was a sentimental idiot – yet, he must see her – for his own sake – to justify himself – to – He resolutely shut his eyes to the future, and went in search of the lady in question.

Ten minutes later, Belle and he were alone in the most favourable place in the house for a tête-à-tête, a curious old corner, the two sides of which were converted into a capacious seat to which there was but one approach, screened by a heavy curtain on one side and a suit of armour on the other – safe from all observers.

"What a quaint old house this is!" he said. "We might almost suppose we were back in the sixteenth century."

"Yes," she replied dreamily. "We're out of place in these surroundings."

She was in a strange mood this evening, sad and thoughtful, yet lacking the repose which should have accompanied reverie. It was the only time that the Secretary had ever seen her nervous or distraite.

"What have you been doing all day?" he asked, hoping to lead the conversation to some more cheerful subject.

"Trying to forget myself," she replied.

"Surely it would be a pleasure to remember yourself, I should think."

"Should you? I fear not."

"Your ears must have burned this afternoon," he continued, unheeding her comment. "Pleasant things were being said about you."

"Did you say them?"

"Of course I said them, I always do; but I was referring to someone else – to Lady Isabelle."

"People only patronise me, when they think me unworthy of reproof."

"How can you say that!" he exclaimed. "I – " but she silenced him with a gesture.

"You've said it. That's why. I've never had one friend with whom there did not come a day, that he or she threw me over and cast my failings in my face. I'd believed it was different with you, I believed you trusted me; that you'd have trusted me through good and evil report – but no, you're like the rest. Society points its finger at me, and you accept its verdict, and you're right. You, secure in your social position, powerful, influential, you shall determine what is right and what is wrong, and I, – I must accept it without a murmur – I'm only a woman without a friend."

"No! no! no!" he cried vehemently. "You wrong me, you do not understand. No one can respect a woman more than I respect you. It's of some of your friends that I disapprove."

"A man is known by the company he keeps – how much more a woman. I'm like my friends – and you – you" – and for the moment she forgot to be meek and suffering, and her eyes blazed with passion – "you are the Pharisee of the nineteenth century, the hem of whose robe we outcasts are unworthy to touch!"

"How can you!" he cried, springing to his feet. "How can you do me so much wrong? It's not that you're like your friends. It is the fear that you may become so that moves me to speak as I do. But since you've seen fit to suspect me, you must allow me to justify myself. I know the affairs of this Colonel Darcy; know them as few others could, by virtue of my diplomatic position, and I assure you he has wronged and brutally treated one of the most beautiful and sweet-natured women I have ever seen. Treated her so badly that she was forced to flee to our Legation for assistance and protection. Imagine my feelings when you tell me that this man is your friend – when I hear your name coupled with his in the idle gossip of the smoking-room."

"I only know that Colonel Darcy was kind to me once upon a time," she replied, interrupting the flow of his eloquence.

"But what's that to do with this?"

"A man who can be kind to a woman in distress cannot be wholly bad."

"Why do you defend him?"

"Never mind why. Don't let us talk any more about it," she said wearily. "You cannot deny that you think worse of me for defending him; you can't take back your words of last night. I've been thinking it over carefully, and I've make up my mind. I'm of no use to anyone. I make my friends ashamed of me – I'm misunderstood and misjudged. It's the way of the world, but it's hard. My spirit's broken. I no longer have the wish to continue the battle. I'm going away."

"Going away! When?" he cried, in amazement.

"At once."

"And where?'

"I don't know; somewhere where I'm not known, where I've no friends to be annoyed at having to claim me as an acquaintance. Somewhere where people will take me for what I am, not for what I have been, for whom I know, for what I have done or left undone. Oh, I'm so tired, so sick of it all," and she bowed her head and wept.

The effect of all this on Stanley can hardly be over-stated. He supported her, he soothed her, he told her all that was in his heart, or all he thought was there. She should not go away alone; he would go with her; he had shockingly misjudged her; it should be his life task to make her forget that, to proclaim to all the world how great a heritage he had received in her love. They would triumph over all obstacles. He would show the world what a true, noble woman she really was; he would prove it in the best way possible by marrying her, if she would have him, if she would so far honour him. His heart was at her feet. She would be quite right in spurning it, but he besought her to be merciful, to give him his answer, and let that answer be consent.

And the lady, who, under these ministrations and protestations, had gradually recovered her self-control, ceased her passionate sobbing, rested her head contentedly on his shoulder, and allowed him, with but feeble resistance, to encircle her waist with a protecting arm – in short, everything seemed prepared for her success, when the curtain was pushed aside and there stood before them the figure of a man, which caused them both to spring to their feet, in time, as they fondly hoped, to escape detection; the Secretary with a smothered exclamation of rage; the lady, as she recognised the intruder, with a startled cry of:

"Colonel Darcy!"

CHAPTER XVII

HER HUSBAND

Even an unobserving man – and Colonel Robert Darcy was not that – could hardly have helped seeing that his presence was unwelcome, and that he had interrupted an important interview.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "I fear I've intruded."

The Secretary said nothing, and Miss Fitzgerald came to the rescue by declaring that she was very glad to see him, and that she had no idea he would be in Sussex so soon.

"The fact is, I particularly wanted to see you," he replied bluntly.

Thereupon Mr. Stanley did that most unpardonable thing in good society – lost his temper and gave evidence of the fact; a piece of egotism often noticeable in young men during their first years of social life, before a severe course of snubbing has taught them of how little relative importance they really are.

"Three's an impossible number for a tête-à-tête," he said stiffly, "so if you'll excuse me," and he started to leave her side.

Up to this point Belle had been in some doubt as to how she ought to act; but when the Secretary took the initiative, it at once gave her her cue, and she was quick to save the situation.

"There are no secrets between friends," she said hastily, "and you're both friends of mine, so I shall expect you to be friends of each other's."

"This is Colonel Robert Darcy, Jimsy – we call him Bob for short," she rattled on, laughing nervously. "And now, Bob, why have you arrived so unexpectedly in Sussex?"

"I think you've forgotten to introduce me to Colonel Darcy, Miss Fitzgerald," suggested Stanley.

"Dear me, I believe I have," replied that lady, calmly. "Bob, this is Jimsy; Jimsy, this is Bob – that'll do for the present. I'll tell you the rest of his names, titles and appurtenances when I've more time and less to talk about. So now we are friends and have no secrets from each other, therefore out with yours."

Darcy laughed.

"You see, Jimsy," continued Miss Fitzgerald, turning to the Secretary, "though I'm young and ignorant, men have always come to me for advice, or, perhaps, for the use of my intuition."

"I'm sure I trust Colonel Darcy will profit by it; but even our well-established friendship gives me no right to play third party to his confidences, and as I promised Kingsland a game of pool – "