A Fair Mystery: The Story of a Coquette

Lady Doris raised her head with the lofty air natural to her.

"You do not understand," she said. "The earl could not break his word, or persuade another person to break a promise. Noblesse oblige!"

"Ah, my dear," said the kindly woman, "you are far ahead of me – I never did quite understand you – you are clever and learned; you have speech of your own that I cannot follow: but however great or grand you may be, you will never find any one to love you so truly as Earle does."

"I am sure of that," she replied, then turned hastily away. She was growing tired of hearing of nothing but Earle. Surely they were all in a conspiracy, all plotting for Earle. Yet, despite her impatience, she owned to herself that all the love she had to give away was given to him.

CHAPTER LII

"BE KIND TO HER, AS THOUGH YOU WERE HER OWN CHILD."

The atmosphere seemed clearer to Lady Doris Studleigh when the kindly farmer and his wife were gone; she wanted nothing to remind her of what she chose to call that miserable period of her life. She was always vexed that the earl had spoken so frankly of them as her foster-parents. There was no need, surely, for all the house to know that she had been brought up at a farm. She would have been surprised if she could have known the amount of respect that the servants, one and all, felt for Mark Brace. No person could know him without feeling for him the greatest possible liking; his honesty, the simple, rugged grandeur of his character, attracted all. She, who measured men by the length of their pedigree and purses, was quite unable, even in her own mind, to do justice to Mark Brace. He might be as chivalrous as Bayard, self-denying as Sir Philip Sydney, brave as the Black Prince, but, for all that, he was only a farmer. Therefore it was a relief to her when he was gone. She felt more at ease in her father's house when they were gone.

When Lord Linleigh, after seeing them off from the station, had returned to the Court, he sent for his daughter to the library.

"Now, my darling," he said, "it is quite time we had a little serious talk together. How strange it seems to me to have a grown-up daughter like you. Sit down; I have so much to say to you. To begin with, do you find yourself at home?"

"I have never felt more at home in my life," she replied, calmly; "and I think it is because I am in my right place at last."

"Most probably so. Now, Doris, there are several things that you want, and must have at once – a Parisian waiting-maid, and a wardrobe suited to your position. Do you ride?"

"Yes; it is one of my favorite amusements."

"That is right; you must have a horse and groom; there will be a carriage also at your disposal. But over your wardrobe we must have some advice. You will require everything, just as though you were being married."

"That is certain," she replied, with a quiet smile; "but I do not think I shall need advice. I am quite competent myself to select what I want."

"But, my dear child, how can you be?"

"You forget that I went out as governess, and so had the opportunity of studying those things. Trust me and see. I shall go at once to Madame Francois, the head court milliner, and you will be satisfied, I am sure, with the result."

"I shall be delighted, I am sure, if that be the case," said the earl. "Then you will want jewels. Studleigh jewels are very fine ones – I suppose we have the finest jewels in the world."

"Why will they not do for me, then?" she asked.

"Because they must go to my wife. The family jewels are always the property of the reigning Countess of Linleigh."

"But, papa, there is no reigning Countess of Linleigh," she said, with a little laugh.

"No, my dear – not just at present; but I hope that there soon will be."

His face flushed slightly, and he looked confused for a few moments. Then he said:

"That is another of the things I want to speak to you about. I ought, perhaps, to tell you that I think of marrying again."

There was a few minutes of dead silence. She did not quite like it; it was not what she had expected. She had anticipated being mistress of Linleigh Court. The earl continued:

"It will be much happier for me, Doris, and decidedly better for you. You labor under great disadvantages at present, although I acknowledge your beauty, your grace, and your tact to be perfect; still, you require, before you make your debut in the great world, to spend some little time in the society of a well-trained woman of the world."

She was quick enough to know that this was perfectly true.

"You are right, papa," she said, and the admission pleased him.

"It will also be greatly to your advantage, Doris," he continued. "When you make your debut in the great world, you will find the chaperonage of a lady essential to you. Still, my child, although there are many advantages for you, do not let me mislead you. It is not for your sake I am going to marry; it is for my own, because I really love the lady who will soon, I hope, be Countess of Linleigh."

She made a violent effort to conquer herself. There was nothing to be gained, she knew, by opposition – everything by cheerful acquiescence. She went to him and clasped her arms around his neck, and kissed his face.

"I hope you will be happy, papa," she said – "I hope you will be very happy."

"Thank you," he replied, cheerfully; "I do not doubt it, darling. I think we shall all be happy together. Guess, Doris, who it is that I hope soon to bring here."

"I can't guess, papa. I do not know the ladies of your world."

"You know this one," he said, laughingly, while she, half-frightened, said:

"How can I?"

"You have been to Downsbury Castle, have you not?"

A sudden light came over her face, then she laughed.

"Can it be Lady Estelle Hereford?" she cried. "Oh, papa, you will never forgive me for calling her tame."

"I have forgiven you. Do you not think you will be very happy with her?"

"I am sure I shall like her very much; she is so fair, so well-bred, so gentle. How little I dreamed, papa, on that day I was sitting so near to her, that she would be my step-mother – that I should ever live with her. I am so glad!"

She did not understand why his face quivered, as with pain. He drew the bright golden head down to his breast.

"My darling," he said, gently, "you shall have all the love, the care, the affection that a father can show his child – you shall have everything your heart desires and wishes for, if you will do one thing in return."

"I will do anything in return," she said.

And for once there was something like deep feeling in her voice.

"I want you to be kind to this wife of mine, Doris. She is not very strong: she has been petted and spoiled all her life. Be kind to her as though – as though you were her own child, or her own younger sister. Will you, Doris? Promise me that, and you will give me the greatest happiness that it is in your power to confer upon me."

"I do promise," cried Doris. "I cannot say that I will love her as my mother, but I will be everything that is gentle and obedient."

"Thank you, my darling! Only do that, and you will see what return I will make to you. There is another thing, Doris, I wish to speak to you about. You heard and agreed with what I said to Mrs. Brace, that I wish your lover, Earle Moray, to understand that I shall consider the engagement between you as binding as though you had always remained at the farm."

"You are very kind, papa," she said; but this time there was no ring of truth and tenderness in her voice.

"It is but just, Doris. I shall make his advancement in the world my chief study. Money can be no object in your marriage – you will in all probability have a large fortune – still I should like the man you marry to hold some position in the world. From what you tell me of Earle Moray, I should imagine that he is a man of great talent. If so, there can be little difficulty."

"He has something more than talent," said Doris, proudly; "he has genius."

"My dear child, you will know, when you are as old as I am, that talent and industry are worth any amount of genius."

"I am sure that he has industry, papa," she said.

"Then, if he has industry and genius, his fortune is sure," said the earl. "As soon as we have a Countess of Linleigh to do the honors, we must ask Earle Moray to come and see us."

Of all things, that was what she desired most, that he should see her in her true place, surrounded by all the luxury and magnificence that belonged to her station. It was the strongest wish of her heart.

"Can we not ask him before then, papa?"

"No; there, you see, Doris, the laws of etiquette and ceremony step in. Until you have some lady to chaperone you, we cannot receive any young gentlemen visitors. That will be one convenience of a step-mother."

"Yes," she replied: "but the traditional step-mother generally interferes in the love affairs of the household. However, I feel quite sure Lady Estelle will never interfere with mine."

"The Duke of Downsbury goes to Paris this week," continued the earl, "with the duchess and Lady Estelle. I thought of following them."

"That will be very nice for you, papa," she said.

"It is really some comfort to have a daughter whom one can consult about such matters. I want to marry as soon as I can; but marrying a duke's daughter in England is a tremendous undertaking, Doris. The amount of ceremony and form to be gone through with is something dreadful. I should not mind about that; but, you see, the great embarrassment is this – the duke is very particular, and he would naturally think it too soon after the late earl's death for me to make any great public sensation – that is the difficulty."

"Yes, that is a difficulty," said Doris.

"All that would be obviated entirely if I went to Paris, and could obtain their consent to a quiet ceremony at the embassy, or something of that kind."

"It would be a very wise course, papa."

"So I think, my dear, and I shall start for Paris next week. I may be a month absent. Now comes the great difficulty of all, Doris – what is to be done with you?"

"I can remain here," she said.

"Not alone, my dear, not alone – it would not do. I thought if I were to ask that nice daughter of Mark Brace's she would stay with you; then I should feel quite at my ease."

"I should be much pleased," said Doris.

It would indeed be a triumph to show Mattie, upon whom she had always looked down, the difference that really existed between them.

"Then all our difficulties are silenced," said the earl. "I have often heard people say how difficult their daughters are to manage; but if they are like you, Doris, there cannot be such great difficulty."

She laughed, wondering to herself if he would say the same in a year's time.

"You understand, Doris, that it will not do for you to go into society at all just yet. You must neither receive or pay visits. No young lady does anything of that kind until she has been presented at court."

"When does my presentation take place, papa?"

"If all goes well, I think next May. Lady Estelle or the duchess will present you; then you may consider yourself fairly afloat – until then, solitude. You can spend the intermediate time in the acquisition of all kinds of little accomplishments; not that you are deficient, for you are a perfect wonder to me. The next thing to be done, Doris, is that you must choose a suit of rooms for yourself. I give you permission to choose which you will; and when we go to London, you shall go to Mantall & Briard's, the famous decorators and house-furnishers, and choose anything you like. It will amuse you during my absence to superintend the fitting-up of four rooms – it will give me a fair idea of your taste."

They went together through Linleigh Court. Until then Doris had no just idea of the immense extent of the place – she was amazed at it. And the rooms were all so light, so sunny, so bright, she was quite at a loss which to choose. One suit delighted her very much – four large, lofty rooms, with ceilings superbly painted, looking south, so that the warmth and brightness of the sun was always on them. The windows were built after the French fashion – long, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, and opening on to balconies filled with flowers. The great charm to Doris of these rooms was, that the boudoir opened on to a balcony, and a small flight of steps led from the balcony to the ground, so that she could go from her own rooms to the gardens without passing through the house.

"That is very nice," said the earl, "for young ladies who love the early dew and the flowers. Do you think it safe, Doris? Suppose you forgot to fasten the door leading on to the balcony?"

It was an evil fate that led Lady Doris to choose that suit of rooms.

CHAPTER LIII

A YOUNG LADY PLEASANTLY OCCUPIED

A few days afterward the Earl of Linleigh, with his daughter, went to London. He had decided not to go to his own house, which was one of the most beautiful mansions in Hyde Park – Hyde House. They were going simply on business, and would spend the greater part of their time driving from one store to another. The first visit, of course, was to Madame Francoise, to whom the earl explained that his daughter required, in one word, everything needful for a young lady of rank and position.

"It will take many hours, Doris," said the earl; "such things cannot be hurried. I can leave you here while I drive on to my lawyer's, to transact some business with him. Remember, my darling, you have carte blanche– every whim to be gratified."

Then he drove away, leaving her with Madame Francoise. How forcibly it recalled to her the time when Lord Vivianne had done the self-same thing.

"Truly," she laughed to herself, "history repeats itself. How little then did I foresee this."

So little that if even in a dream she could have been warned of it, she would never have spoken to Lord Vivianne.

"Never mind," she said to herself, with the light-hearted insouciance of her race. "Never mind, no one knows – nothing will come of it; but it would certainly be a relief to me to hear that Lord Charles Vivianne was dead."

The pity of it was that Lord Charles could not hear the remark; it would have given him a lesson that he would not have forgotten.

Madame wondered what had brought so grave an air of preoccupation over the beautiful young face. Surely, if any human being was to be envied, it was the young girl who had carte blanche in her elegant establishment.

"She must know what she is about, though," thought madame. "Dreaming is useless here."

She little knew Lady Doris. Going up to her with a book of patterns in her hand, she was almost startled by the clear, keen gaze that met her own – by the perfect judgment and cool, clear, calm sense of the earl's daughter.

"There will be some few things, madame," said the clear, haughty voice, "that you will understand far better than I do, others in which I shall prefer to please myself."

And madame found that Lady Studleigh had a taste and artistic sense of what is beautiful far superior to her own. The next few hours were delightful to Doris. The rarest and most costly laces, the most beautiful embroidery, the finest silk, the richest velvet – there never were such purchases made. She did not limit herself either as to quality or quantity, and nothing was forgotten – tiny slippers fit for Cinderella, dancing shoes, fans, gloves. She might have been a practiced old dowager, selecting a trousseau for her youngest daughter. The sum total was something enormous. Even madame, accustomed as she was to large accounts, looked slightly frightened.

"My Lord Linleigh placed no limit," she said to Doris.

"No, I must have all I require; I shall not return to town until the season begins," was the perfectly self-possessed reply.

Then Lord Linleigh returned, and madame watched his face intently as that wonderful account was placed before him.

"It takes four figures," he said, with a smile; "that is quite right, my darling. I hope that you have everything you want. To-morrow we will pay a visit to Storr & Mortimer's, the jewelers. These packages, madame, are all to be sent to Linleigh Court."

Doris was in the highest spirits. She said to herself – and it was probably true – that no girl in England, not even a royal princess, had such a trousseau; but she had too much good taste to show any undue elation over it. When they had dined she said to her father:

"Papa, you will not care to spend the evening here; it will be dull for you, and I cannot go out. Should you not like to go to your club?"

"Yes; but what of you, my dear?"

"I am tired, and shall be very glad to take a book and go to my own room with it."

"My dear Doris," said the earl, who had slightly dreaded the long, lonely evening, "you are a most sensible girl. If you treat Earle as you treat me, he ought to be the happiest husband in the world."

"I hope he will be, papa," was the quiet reply. And she wondered what her father, the Earl of Linleigh, would say if he knew from whom she had taken her early lessons in the art of managing men.

"If you want a man to be really fond of you, Doris," he used to say, "to feel at home with you, and never to be bored in your society, let him have his own way – offer him his liberty, even when he does not seem inclined to take it; suggest to him a game at billiards, a few hours at his club – you have no idea how he will appreciate you for it."

She had found the charm work perfectly in the case of Lord Charles, and now her father, too, seemed to admire the plan. What would he say if he knew who had instructed her?

She went to her room. Lady Doris never traveled without a pleasant little selection of light French literature – "it prevented her from forgetting the language," she said.

The earl, inwardly hoping his wife would be as sensible as his daughter, went off to spend a quiet evening at his club.

The day following was one of genuine delight to Lady Doris. The first visit the earl paid was to the establishment of Messrs. Storr & Mortimer; there she was to select for herself what jewels she would. She had glanced once wistfully at the earl.

"Jewels are not like dress, papa. It is a dangerous thing to leave me unlimited powers here."

"Lady Doris Studleigh must have jewels fitting her position," he said. "Dress wears out, but jewels last forever."

So Lady Doris stood in that most tempting place, almost bewildered, while sets of pearls, of diamonds, of rare emeralds, of pale pink coral, then case after case of superb rings, were placed before her. She thought of those so securely packed in her box, and wondered what would be thought if their history could be known.

She chose some magnificent pearls; there were none fairer, even in that place where the finest stones abound. Then she chose a set of emerald, golden-green in their beautiful light; a set of pearls and rubies mixed; rings until she had more than enough to cover the fingers of both hands; golden chains of rare workmanship and beauty; watches of great value; and when she could think of nothing else she could desire, she looked up in the earl's face with a smile.

"That is not bad, my dear, for a beginning," he said, laughingly – "not bad at all."

"You do not think I have purchased too much, papa?"

"No, my dear, you have not enough yet. I merely said it was very well for a beginning."

What the amount of the bill was, or how many figures it took, she never knew. The earl had said good-naturedly to himself that it did not matter – he had many thousands to spare.

"There is yet another place," he said; "we must go to Parkins & Gotto's. You require many things from there. You must have a dressing-case, a lady's writing-table, and all kinds of knickknacks for your rooms."

The day following was spent at Mantall & Briard's, where Lady Doris gave such orders for the fitting up of her four rooms as made even those gentlemen open their eyes in undisguised wonder. Nothing was spared – no luxury, no comfort; and that evening, when they sat together, Lady Doris said to her father:

"I wonder if, in all the wide world, there is another girl in my position."

"What position?" he asked.

"Why, it is a positive fact that I have not one single wish left ungratified. If a fairy were to come and ask me to try and find one out, I could not – I have not one."

He stooped down to kiss the beautiful face.

"I am glad to hear it," he replied. "I certainly do not think any one else could say quite as much. I could not."

It was not of herself alone that Doris had thought that day. She had been with the earl to give orders respecting the steam-plow; she had chosen such a dress, such a shawl and cap for Mrs. Brace, that she knew would bring tears of delight into that lady's eyes; she had chosen a box full of millinery, with pretty ornaments, for Mattie; she had chosen for Earle a box full of books such as she had often heard him long for. And Lord Linleigh, while he admired her goodness of heart, her affectionate memory, never for one moment thought that her quick study of him had led her to do these different things. She longed for the hour in which she should return to Linleigh; she wanted to see all the magnificent purchases she had made placed at her own disposal. The Parisian waiting-maid was found and one bright, clear, frosty morning they returned to the Court.

"It looks like home," said Lady Doris. Her heart warmed to it, and beat faster with a thrill of pride. It was her own home, from which nothing could dislodge her!

She had had one fright in London; and though her nerves were strong, her courage high, it had been a fright.

She was driving with the earl through New Bond Street, when on the pavement she saw Gregory Leslie. There was no avoiding him – their eyes met. His were filled with recognition and surprise – hers rested on him with calm nonchalance, although her heart beat high. Then he smiled, bowed, and half stood still; but the calm expression of her face never wavered.

"Is it some one who knows you?" asked the earl.

"It is some one who has made a great mistake," she replied.

And then they passed out of sight – not, however, before Gregory Leslie had seen the coronet on the panel.

"What a mistake I have made," he said to himself. "I certainly thought that was my beautiful 'Innocence.' How like her! It cannot be such an uncommon type of face, after all, when there are three now that different people have seen – all so much alike. What would my 'Innocent' do in an earl's carriage? – that is, if all be well with her; and Earle said all was well."

She would not recognize him, for the simple reason that she feared to do so. He was a man of the world, always in London, familiar with all the little rumors at the clubs, and she dreaded what he might say afterward. If by chance she should meet him when she was with the earl and countess, she would recognize him, but not just then.

"It was an unfortunate thing for me," she said to herself, "having that picture painted. If I had known then what I know now, it never would have happened. Mark Brace and his wife were foolish to allow it."

But she had forgotten the whole matter when they reached Linleigh Court. All the packages were there, and she was as happy as a queen superintending the arrangements, the unpacking, the stowing away in beautiful old wardrobes made of cedar.

Even the Parisian waiting-maid, who rejoiced in the name of Eugenie, owned to herself that not one of the great ladies with whom she had lived had a wardrobe like Lady Doris Studleigh's!

Then came the day for the earl's departure – he would not go until Mattie had arrived.

"You cannot be left alone, my dear," he said, so decidedly that Doris had not dared to urge the matter.

Mattie came, and was delighted. She cried a little at first, for, despite all her faults, she had most dearly loved the young girl she believed to be her sister. The story of Doris had been a great trouble to her, and she had felt it bitterly; but after a time she forgot her grief in the wonder excited by the magnificence of Linleigh Court. Lady Doris was very kind to her; nothing of patronage or triumph was to be detected in her manner.