The Spider and the Fly

"Who? the captain, or Ned?" said Leicester.

"Oh both," said Violet, with an arch smile.

And certainly the term would not have been altogether ill chosen; the captain did look well on horseback, and he sat on the old horse as if he had grown to his back.

"And here is another favorite," said Bertie, as the groom brought round a pretty white Arabian.

Leicester approached and held his hand, and when Violet placed her small foot in it, lifted her on to the saddle with that ease which is only acquired by practice.

For some time they rode all together, and the conversation was partly general, mutual inquiries after healths and remarks upon the weather filling up the first two miles.

Then the captain and Mr. Fairfax got into a conversation upon the merits of Bengal cheroots as weighed against Manilas, and Leicester and Violet were left to their own devices.

In due course they reached Coombe Lodge.

"Now for the proof of Lady Ethel's courage," said Captain Murpoint. "Here is Lord Fitz," he added, as his lordship came round from the stables dressed in a light summer tweed, which set off his slight, boyish figure to advantage.

"Well, does Lady Ethel shrink from the ordeal?" said Leicester, as they shook hands.

"No," he said, "she is getting ready. My mother is in the drawing-room."

But while he spoke Lady Lackland came on to the steps, and, with her parasol raised, walked carefully toward them.

She shook hands most graciously with the captain, and insisted upon kissing Violet, which caress Violet met with her usual gentle smile and blush. Indeed, her ladyship was gracious to the whole party, even including Mr. Fairfax, who modestly kept in the background until the other salutations were made – his frank, handsome face rather overshadowed by the knowledge that he was not a welcome sight to the countess.

Ethel appeared the next moment, and welcomed the party with grace and gentleness, and after the usual gossip, the captain helped her to mount.

"Are – a – all ready?" said Lord Fitz.

"No, wait a moment," said the countess. "My dear, will you come and dine with us to-morrow, and forgive so informal an invitation? I will drive over to the Park and call upon Mrs. Mildmay this afternoon, and upon Mrs. Dodson. You, gentlemen, will honor us?" and with an amiable good-by she bade them start.

Although the great lady had been very gracious and smiled her sweetest, all the young people felt an indescribable sense of relief when they had got clear of the great iron gates, and the formal avenue. Ethel, who always seemed quieter and more reserved in her parent's presence, broke into a merry laugh which almost matched that of Violet's, who was telling her some anecdote concerning Leo, who trotted by her side with his great tongue out and his faithful eyes turned up to her with a look of admiring devotion.

"And now for the cliffs," said the captain, raising his white hand toward the sea. "I long for a breath of salt air. Mr. Fairfax, shall we put the horses to a little spurt? Mr. Leicester and my lord, you will look after the ladies?"

And so, much to Mr. Bertie's annoyance, he divided the party.

"How beautiful the sea looks," Violet said.

"Yes, the cloth of the field of gold with the jewel side uppermost," said Leicester. "But you can get a better view of it from that promontory yonder. Will you come?"

"Yes," said Violet. "Will you, Lady Boisdale?"

"No," murmured Ethel, in a low voice. "Not if you call me Lady Boisdale, but I will go anywhere with you if you will call me Ethel."

"I will call you Ethel if you call me Violet."

"That I will," said Ethel, and the bargain was struck.

On the way homeward Captain Murpoint did a little expert maneuvering.

The captain, with infinite art, engaged Mr. Leicester in conversation, and, by dint of stopping every now and then to ask questions concerning, or to dilate upon, the beauty of the scenery, kept Leicester back while Lord Fitz and Violet went on in front.

Then he proposed that they should wait for the remainder of the party, and, when it came up, with the same tact he drew Bertie away from Lady Ethel, and compelled Leicester to escort her.

So he made two of our heroes intensely savage, but gained his point.

When they all came together for the parting Lord Fitz looked particularly happy and flustered; his boyish face was all smiles, and his yellow, flaxen hair was blown across his forehead like a donkey's twist.

"Jolly ride we've had," he said, looking round, "especially the ride home. It doesn't seem so hot."

"No," said Violet, who also looked particularly happy; "I have enjoyed it."

So had they all, they declared, and they parted at the crossroads amid laughter and with wishes for another expedition.

But when Bertie and Leicester turned up the road which led to the Cedars, a dissatisfied, disappointed expression seemed to settle upon both their faces, even on jovial, light-hearted Bertie's.

The countess was as good as her word, and called at the Park and the Cedars with her invitation.

Mrs. Mildmay received her with her usual good-breeding, which covered a considerable amount of satisfaction, and accepted her invitation for herself and Violet.

At the Cedars, where she was received with a little more ceremony, she was quite as gracious, and entertained Mrs. Dodson with an account of the various admirable qualities of Ethel. There was no end to be gained by praising Lord Fitz, so the wily mother said nothing about him.

That evening the Lackland skeleton kept very discreetly in its cupboard, and no one, looking at the magnificent rooms and appointments, would ever have guessed that there was a skeleton at all there.

There were the evidences of wealth everywhere, spacious saloons and snug anterooms, splendid furniture in the best taste, magnificent plate, noiseless and well-liveried servants; and over and above all that nameless tone of rank and high breeding.

The Mildmays were late.

Leicester, who had enough confidence and cool determination to perform many acts which would seem impossible to smaller minds, had, in the drawing-room before dinner, determined upon escorting Violet in to dinner, and his intention was so palpable that Lady Lackland bowed to it, but she so maneuvered that Ethel should be seated on his other side, and that Bertie Fairfax should be separated from them by three others.

The dinner was not nearly so successful a one as that which Mr. Dodson had given.

Lady Lackland was particularly gracious, and talked to all in turns. The captain also exerted himself, but Leicester was either silent or devoted himself to the ladies on either side, and the rest of the company followed in the wake of any conversation like timid sheep.

It was not until the ladies had left the room that Bertie roused himself to be amusing.

The gentlemen got all together, and passed the Lackland port about with alacrity, for now they felt that they were free to please themselves, and would not be disposed of by Lady Lackland like a set of children at a form round a table.

Bertie and the captain made Leicester and Lord Fitz laugh, and Mr. Dodson drank the port for half an hour, then went into the drawing-room.

Two pairs of eyes were raised with something like a welcome: Ethel's and Violet's.

The two girls were seated very close together, talking in a low voice. Violet was telling Ethel the ghost story, and Ethel was trying to convince her that she was the victim of a delusion.

As the gentlemen entered Violet said, quickly and with a slight flush:

"Hush! do not let us talk about it any more."

"Why?" said Ethel.

"Because," said Violet, with her usual candor and openness. "I promised Mr. Leicester Dodson I would try and forget it."

Leicester dropped into the vacant seat beside Violet without any hesitation.

Bertie, taking courage from Leicester, sauntered up to Lady Ethel, and the two pairs were now very comfortable and happy. But their delight was of short duration.

The captain, as he entered, had passed the quartet on the sofa and had stroked his mustache to hide the evil, malicious smile which crossed his face.

Then he went up to Lady Lackland, and in his soft tones laid himself out to please her.

He praised in a delicate, well-bred way the beauty and grace of Ethel, the cleverness and horsemanship of Lord Fitz, and when her ladyship, who had been rather suspicious of him at first, was beginning to think him rather nice and distinguished, he glided from Fitz and Ethel to Violet and Leicester.

"Miss Mildmay," he said, after a sigh, "is, as you are, my lady, no doubt aware, the daughter of my dearest friend! Poor John! he consigned his darling to my care, and I am sorely tempted to take upon myself the post of guardian in the literal sense of the word. I would pray for no other task than that of watching over and protecting her. She is all soul, my dear countess, all soul, as simple, as innocent, as single minded as a child. Just the nature to be misled by seeming heroism, to fancy all sorts of wild, improbable things, to be deceived in matters of the heart. Look at her now. Have you ever seen a more absorbed and trustful face than that turned up to Mr. Leicester Dodson?"

Lady Lackland did not require to be directed. All the while the captain had been running on in his smooth way she had been watching the pair and Ethel and Bertie beside them, and she felt as if she could have dragged Mr. Fairfax away and thrust Leicester in his place while she pushed Fitz beside the ingenuous Violet.

"Mr. Leicester, too, if he will permit me to say so," continued the captain, "is one of those disinterested men who follow the bent of their passing fancy without thought or reflection. Immensely rich, my dear madam, immensely! He should marry rank. Rank is what he wants – so does Violet. It would never do for Violet to marry one of her own class – never! Poor John would rise from his grave to forbid it. Hundreds of times he has said to me 'Howard, my girl must be a countess!' Poor John!"

Lady Lackland sighed sympathetically, and her voice was less cold than it had been hitherto toward the captain when she said:

"She is beautiful and well bred enough for any rank."

The captain bowed.

"Did I hear that Lord Fitz sang?" he said, softly. "If so, I wish we could induce him to sing a duet with Violet."

"I'll try," said Lady Lackland, instantly acting on the hint, and she went over to Violet.

"Miss Mildmay, will you sing a duet with my son? Please do; we are dying for a little music."

Violet, ever ready to give pleasure, rose and laid down her fan.

Lord Fitz, who had vainly been trying to interest Mr. Dodson in the next likelihoods for the coming race meetings, came forward with a blush of pleasure, and Lady Lackland had the satisfaction of seeing Lord Fitz and Violet at the piano.

Then the captain went up to Bertie and in his pleasantest manner said:

"Mr. Fairfax, there is a sketch here you ought to see. I have never seen such color and tint in so simple an effect."

Bertie looked up at him as if he could have pitched him out of the window, but he rose and with as good a grace as he could assume went with the artistic captain to inspect the sketch.

Leicester and Ethel were left alone, and they fell to talking of violets.

The song ended, and there were the usual thanks and requests for more.

Violet turned to Ethel and Leicester with a smile.

"Enjoyed it, did you?" she said, echoing his words. "How can you say so? I heard you talking the whole while!"

"Yes," said Fitz, who was radiant and eager to sing another in the same company, "it was too bad, and there's no escaping Mr. Leicester's voice."

"Thank you," said Leicester. "No one would wish to escape yours. Sing another, pray."

"Do you not sing, Mr. Leicester?" said Lady Lackland. "No? Mrs. Dodson, perhaps. Ethel, if Miss Mildmay is too hot, will you sing?"

Ethel rose obediently, and Leicester, in duty bound, led her to the piano.

So by clever maneuvering the countess had secured another ten minutes of happiness for Lord Fitz.

The song ended, Leicester stayed a little while at the piano, and then, after talking a few moments with Lady Lackland, strode back to Violet.

But Lord Fitz seemed to have taken possession of her, and Leicester sank back on the lounge in profound silence.

At last Mrs. Dodson dropped her fan. Fitz sprang across the room to pick it up, and Leicester regained his seat.

"It is very warm," said Violet.

"Come on to the terrace," said Leicester, with great coolness; "Lady Ethel is going, I think. Yes, there is Captain Murpoint opening the door."

Violet put her hand upon his arm, and Leicester took her out.

"How beautiful!" she said. "I wish all the nights were moonlight."

"We cannot see the moonlight here; it is ruined and marred by the light from the room. Let us move a few feet lower down."

Violet allowed him to take her out of the glare of the room.

"We cannot see the sea," she said. "We have the advantage over the Lacklands, the only one I expect, for they are mighty people, are they not?"

"Very," said Leicester, coolly. "With one disadvantage."

"Pray what is that?" said Violet.

"That the great age of the blood has turned the heads of the family to stone."

"Oh, how can you say so?" said Violet. "Lady Lackland seems quite kind."

"The moon appears quite near," said Leicester, significantly. "But don't let us quarrel over Lady Lackland's temperature; I was going to ask you if you would persuade Mrs. Mildmay to try a little yachting."

Violet was about to reply when a smooth voice, the low, hateful one of Captain Murpoint, said behind them:

"Miss Mildmay, I am the reluctant censor. This night is dangerous after a warm room, and your aunt has commissioned me to break into a pleasant tête-à-tête and carry you from the probability of cold."

Violet smiled, and was about to put her hand upon his arm, but Leicester, whose face had set with that hard, cold look which some of his friends had seen when he was about to punish insolence or was suppressing his feelings by a great effort, took her hand and laid it on his own arm.

"Allow me to take you to Mrs. Mildmay and offer my excuses, Miss Mildmay," he said.

And as he passed the captain he looked him full in the face with the cold, icy stare.

The captain met the look of contemptuous suspicion and defiance with the sweetest smile, which lingered upon his face until the pair had quite passed, then it deepened to a grin, and the wreathed lips muttered:

"Soh! Now comes the tug of war. My lord, the grand duke, King Leicester means fighting. So be it. Howard, my boy, you have had a nice little rest, now set to work!"

CHAPTER XIII

"WHEN ROGUES LIE AWAKE."

Up to this time the captain had been making holiday. He had been resting after his exertions for his country in the stone quarries at Portland, enjoying a little quiet repose amid the luxuries and beauties of the Park. But while he had been reposing he had not allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security.

He was fully aware that the position which he occupied at Penruddie was intangible and untenable.

He was, though John Mildmay's oldest and best-loved friend, only a visitor at the Park, and a guest of Mrs. Mildmay.

But the captain had determined from the first to change the position from that of a guest on sufferance to one of power and possession.

Captain Murpoint, as he leaned back in the carriage returning to the Park, watched from between his half-closed lids the thoughtful, pensive face of the girl who was usually so light-hearted, careless, and talkative.

"Is she in love with him?" he asked himself. "What a pity it is one cannot pick the secret chamber of a woman's heart as he picks a doorlock! I hope she may be; love is blind for all but the adored one, and Miss Violet's eyes will have no regard for me in my little game while they are fixed on the brave and stoical Leicester."

Poor Violet, it was not until some time afterward that she knew how cunning a spider was the considerate and well-bred Howard Murpoint.

Both the ladies were tired when they reached home, and ascended to their rooms, to which Captain Murpoint insisted upon carrying their silver candlesticks. Then, when he had heard the key turned in their respective chambers, he glided off to his own.

On the sofa sat Jem fast asleep, his head on his arm, and his thick, muscular hands – which still above the wrists bore the marks of the gang-chain – clinched at his side.

The captain looked down upon him, and then laid his white hand – which also, under the broad wristband, bore the telltale mark – upon Jem's shoulder.

Jem started up with an exclamation and an expression of fear so palpable that Captain Murpoint looked at him with some attention.

"Asleep, man," he said, rallying him in a soft, mocking voice. "You have been asleep for some weeks, my friend. It is time you, and I also, woke up. There is work to do."

"I'm glad of it," said Jem, with an oath and with a transient gleam of interest.

"Jem, you used to be able to climb. I have seen you cling to the cliffs like a bat, with your eyebrows. Have you lost that art?"

Jem shook his head.

"No," he said. "I'm pretty strong in this arm and I ain't lost my cheek, captain. They used to call me the monkey, and p'r'aps I deserved it."

"Then I think we'll test your power to-night," said the captain. "Can you get down to the stable?"

"Yes," said Jem, with a frown, "if it wasn't for the dog. He's a beast, and we hates each other like poison!"

"That's natural," smiled the captain. "Nevertheless you must get down, Jem. Reach me two or three pairs of those thick shooting stockings from that drawer."

Jem wonderingly obeyed.

"Now then, put two pair on over your shoes."

"Now creep down," said the captain, "and bring me a coil of rope from the large stable. I saw it there yesterday, hung above the corn bin. Here's a key. It fits it, for I tried it. There's a lantern, too, I shall want – a dark one. You'll find one in one of the stables, for I saw the groom trimming it."

Jem, whose spirits seemed to rise at the prospect of congenial employment, was about to start, but paused, and with a little hesitation said:

"But suppose I'm nabbed, captain? Rather awkward to be cotched in muffled boots shuffling round the stables."

The captain thought for a moment, then drew off a ring and handed it to him.

"If any one turns up go down on your hands and knees and say you are looking for my ring which I lost to-day. While they are looking on or helping, pick it up. That will avert all suspicion."

"'Pon my soul, it's wonderful; that's what it is!" said Jem, with ecstatic admiration of the captain's cleverness, and he departed.

After the lapse of half an hour the captain's quick ears caught the dull, muffled sound of the stockinged feet, and he sprang up as Jem entered with the coil of rope and the lantern.

"You alarmed no one?" said the captain.

"Not a soul," said Jem, with great triumph.

"Then you may keep the ring," said the captain, and he stopped Jem's thanks by adding:

"Now for the gymnastics. Next to this room," and he touched the wall with his white forefinger, "there is an empty room which has been closed, screwed up, for years. I want to find a way of getting into that room on the quiet. I want to creep in there one night and out of it like a ghost – Why, what in the name of Jupiter is the matter with you?" he broke off to exclaim, for Jem's face had got as white as the supernatural phenomenon he, the captain, wished to imitate, and his eyes were fixed with horror and disquietude. "What's the matter with you, you idiot?"

"Captain, I'd climb the cliff, or walk a hundred miles, or – or – anything you'd ask me, but I can't go near that room! I've seen – there, never mind what I have seen! I won't go near it, and that's flat!"

The captain rose and walked to his bureau, from the drawer of which he took a neat little revolver.

Then, as if Jem had offered no objection he continued, in a smooth voice:

"I want you, Jem, to drop from this window onto the ivy beneath and to climb up to the window of the empty room. I will hold the one end of the rope, the other you shall tie round your waist. When you get to the window – which has no shutters – you will throw the light from the lantern all round the room and ascertain in what direction the door lies, what furniture the room contains, and its condition. In fact you shall give me a complete description of it. Do you go?"

"No," said Jem, with an oath. "I know what I've seen, and don't go interfering where a human being shouldn't. I don't go, captain."

The captain took out his watch and chain and dropped them on the floor.

"Very good," he said, raising the revolver with calm but suppressed passion, "this is the only thing I have asked you to do in return for all I have done for you. You cur, I saved you from the chain-gang. I have fed you, clothed you, made a man of you, and like an overfed dog you turn, do you? Move a step" – for Jem, stung by the truth in the taunt, had with a scowl advanced a step – "move an inch and I'll shoot you without further parley! I'll shoot you as it is," he continued, taking accurate aim.

"If you dare to disobey me, I'll shoot you and summon the house to hear me tell you attacked me for my watch. The watch lies there, where it fell during our struggle; my ring, which you stole from my finger while I slept, is in your pocket; you are muffled like a burglar, and you have burglarious instruments in your hands. You see, Jem, you die, shot through the head, and everybody believes I shot you in self-defense."

Jem gradually grew white with mingled awe and fear.

He flung his hand down upon the table with an oath.

"I'll do it," he swore. "You're worse than a ghost, captain; you're worse than the very fiend himself. Sometimes I do believe you are him. I'll do it; I can't stand agin you, it's no use; ghost or no ghost I must cave in. Ring, watch, these 'ere stockings on – s'welp me, you planned it all!"

The captain smiled, but instead of retort uncoiled the rope, and by a gesture bade his tool fasten it round his waist. Then he oiled the window sashes so that the window might go up easily, lit the lantern, and after a long, breathless pause of listening motioned to Jem to let himself down.

With intense interest, which was perfectly hidden under a calm, almost indifferent bearing, the captain watched his accomplice, as Jem, with monkeyish agility, dropped onto the thick boles of the ivy and clung to the stems as they in turn clung to the old walls.

Then he saw him rise hand over hand toward the window.

He gained the broad window ledge and, summoning all his doglike courage, dashed the cold perspiration from his brow and turned the light of the lantern full into the empty haunted room.

There was, however, nothing supernatural or ghostly to be seen.

It was an ordinary sized room, smaller than most of the modern rooms in the Park, and furnished in the style of a study or library.

There was a large old-fashioned bureau, an iron safe, half a dozen heavy, leather-backed, oak chairs and some shelves loaded with books.

A waste-paper basket stood under the table, and on the blotting paper upon the desk were some papers, as if they had been left by some one who intended returning within half an hour.

Upon all, table, desk, chairs, bureau, safe, lay the dust scattered by the hand of time, half an inch thick.

Jem took in all the details and then turned to descend.

In another moment the captain held out his hand and helped him into the room.

Jem, at first sullenly, but presently with some interest, described the room.

The captain asked question after question, all the while drawing on a piece of paper. At last when he had got all the information which Jem could possibly give he held out the piece of paper.

"Is that like it?" he said, with a smile.

Jem stared.

"It's the very room!" he exclaimed, wonder struck. "The furniture ain't quite like, but every bit on it shows in the proper place, and, s'welp me, captain, you must be Old Nick!"

"Perhaps," said the captain, with a smile. "And now you may go to bed."