Читать книгу The Counterstroke - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 7

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"YES, my Lord, though you at first mistook me," said Miss Elliott, with a pointed smile; her cheeks were scarlet; she looked straight at him, her eyes luminous as stars.

"I—I beg your pardon," stammered Cressingham, entirely discomfited.

"I have come to return a compliment. This afternoon you warned me of some danger which you believe is threatening me. It is now my turn to put you on your guard against a peril so real and imminent that I have disregarded hour and place."

"How good you are!" he muttered, still half-dazed with his surprise.

"It was after the concert. I went with some of my girls to call upon one who is ill and in want. It was at a tenement house in Soho, a very poor place indeed, where the rooms are small and have only thin partitions between them. While waiting by the sick bed for a surgeon for whom I had sent, I overheard a conversation between two foreigners in an adjoining room. They spoke in Swedish, and quite unreservedly, thinking I suppose that they incurred no risk of being understood. Luckily for you, my Lord, I spent two years in Stockholm. I think that they are Nihilists; at any rate, they are acting under orders given them by the head of some mysterious society whose enemy apparently you are. They spoke of a Madame Viyella and a man called Uljen—or something like that—first, and then mentioned your name. It seems that you were seen issuing late one night quite recently from a certain house in London, a house occupied by enemies of their society. This fact, taken in conjunction with your intimacy with Madame Viyella, has aroused the fears of their master, and your removal has been planned in consequence. This very night an attempt will be made to murder you. A forged letter will be brought entreating your immediate presence at the house I have mentioned, which house I gathered has now changed ownership and is under their control. If you go, you will be stabbed and your body buried in a cellar——"

A low tapping at that moment sounded on the outer door. Miss Elliott stopped speaking and looked at Cressingham inquiringly.

His face was white and miserable; he stood wringing his hands a moment, then turning to the girl muttered in a low passionate whisper: "Miss Elliott, I am accurst to-night; it would have been almost better that you had left me to my fate. There is one without there who if she sees you here would——My God! who can tell what she would do? Your fair name to-morrow—ah, what am I saying, what shall I do?"

"Who is it?" imperiously.

"Madame Viyella."

"Ah, the woman they spoke of!"

"You do not understand; it is the Countess of Hobenstein."

The girl turned scarlet, and hot tears glistened in her eyes. "I am properly punished," she muttered—then: "You must not let her see me—at least, not that. I should die of shame! Oh, I might have guessed, I might have guessed!"

The tapping recommenced. Lord Cressingham swiftly crossed the room and drew aside some curtains. "It breaks my heart," he almost groaned, "but I must ask you to wait here; it is my dressing-room."

"But—is there no other exit?"

"None."

"Through that door there."

"My bedroom; there is a man in it already."

"A man!"

"Ah, trust me a Little, Miss Elliott. I am less black than I appear."

She gave him a burning glance.

"Madame waits," she said, her voice full of bitter satire. He fell back, and she closed the door in his face. The tapping was louder now and more imperious. Drawing the curtains into place again he swiftly and noiselessly returned to his chair before the fire.

"Come in," he called in drowsy tones.

The handle was tried. "I can't," replied a voice without.

Cressingham got noisily to his feet, and stumbling to the door pushed aside the latch.

"A thousand pardons," he cried; "I fancy I must have been dozing."

"Dozing! you slept like the dead, my boy. I have been hammering there for quite a time."

Cressingham rubbed his eyes and pretended to yawn. "I'm awfully sorry," he said sleepily.

The Countess swept into the room and round it with long, undulating strides, shedding coat, cloak and wraps to the floor as she proceeded. The man leisurely followed her, picking up each article in turn. Madame was now apparelled like a queen. A splendid dress of shimmering jet work on a ground of black brocade enveloped her luscious figure tightly, and above it her alabaster shoulders and milk white bosom shone forth in bold relief. A single band of diamonds embraced the rounded column of her neck, and from her corsage swung a chain of brilliants almost to her knees.

Proudly conscious of her beauty, she faced the man as a queen might her subject; a moveless, faintly scornful smile upon her lips. "Well, my boy, I've taken the measure of your English baby-face."

Cressingham shrugged his shoulders. "And then?"

"Bah, I am not jealous any more. She is pretty, yes, and good—good, all English women are pretty and good. She may be even a little more so than the rest, but she could not content you, Frank—for long. She is too cold, too sensible, too much always conscious of herself, too proud, too self-restrained. Did you ever think she could love you, Frank? Ha, ha, ha! My poor boy. It makes me laugh to think of you married to that woman. You would love her for a week, and then—bah, you would freeze and come to me to warm you back to life again. What does she know of love? I know her, I tell you, and her class. Bah! you are blushing like the girl herself if she could hear me. I tell you——"

"Stop. I forbid you——"

"Why should I stop? I am a woman of the world, and you—do you fear to hear these things? Do they shock your English prejudices? Ah, believe me, Frank—that girl, I tell you——"

"Katherin! be silent!"

The Countess stamped her foot. "I will speak. But there, after all, it is needless; why should I speak of her? Here are you and I alone together." She approached him in one long sweeping stride and put her hands upon his shoulders; "you have been so cold lately, Frank, so distant. It is not that girl, I shall not believe that, for you have not seen her until to day. It must be this cursed English climate. But I, Frank, look at me!"

He caught her by the wrists, but she maintained her hold.

"Look me in the eyes; tell me what you see there, dear one."

Cressingham vainly attempted to push her from him; he was near choking.

"Katherin," he muttered hoarsely, "think, think!"

"I have thought," she answered, smiling strangely, her bosom heaving with a sudden gust of passion. "I have thought and thought, but nothing alters me. You are mine, and I am yours, for my love is absolute. Frank, do you understand?"

"You are mad," he cried.

"Yes; I am mad—for love of you." She swayed towards him until her body touched his trembling limbs. "Frank," she whispered, her breath hot upon his face; "I love you; have you nothing to say to me?"

White-faced and desperate, he thrust her fiercely from him and fell back. She stood with parted lips, with sobbing breasts, gazing at him, a speechless but marvellously perfect picture, unable immediately to believe, to realize, he had rebuffed her.

Cressingham stared at the floor, a statue of misery and complete dejection. He felt that besides Madame's he was the centre of another woman's conjectures; he knew that Miss Elliott must have heard all, perhaps had seen all, for twice had the curtains slightly moved. With all his soul he longed that moment for freedom to disclose himself, to let this siren see how utterly her power was gone. But he was oath-bound, and, moreover, behind another door lurked the Count von Oeltjen, spy upon him and guardian of his trust. He had still a duty to perform, and to carry out that duty it now became his task to damn himself in the eyes of the woman he loved, since did he finally disdain the Countess all hope of tricking her was gone.

Madame watched him, her brain thronged with fevered thoughts and agonized suspicions. It was true, then, he loved this English girl and dared to be true to her! And yet, and yet! Perhaps he was jealous, perhaps he had learned some of her well-hidden secrets. No; impossible! And yet—was he mad or she? Formerly he had not seemed such an Antony. Was it her wild abandon that he feared? She was on the verge of tears. Strangling a hysterical sob, she drew herself erect, slowly, slowly, always staring at him.

"Frank!" she gasped at last.

He raised his eyes to hers, his mind at last resolved. It was necessary to play a part and sacrifice himself.

"Well!" he answered, gruffly and rudely.

"What do you mean?"

"I am not the fool you think me, that is all."

She caught her breath, and cried: "Explain!" one hand pressed tightly to her heart.

He answered her with brutal plainness, speaking the first words that occurred to him.

"It is you who should explain; you visit me and pretend to love me, but you have another lover who visits you."

Madame sighed deeply and breathed again, her mind at ease. "After all, he is only jealous," she told herself. And then she thought sharply, asking herself many questions. This jealousy must have a cause. He could not be jealous of the men usually about her; he must have seen something to arouse his suspicions. Perhaps he had seen—ah, that was it. She smiled the wonderful subtle smile with which she had known how to win to her so many hearts, and murmured: "Are you jealous, dear one. Then of whom?"

"You best know that."

"Ah, Frank, you need not be. I love none but you!"

"Liar!"

Still she smiled.

"Frank, dear, you are wrong; really you are wrong. I think I know what you mean; you saw me last Thursday night——"

Cressingham seized upon the chance: "Yes; last Thursday night, Madame. Little did you dream that I was by."

"You saw me bid farewell to a man at my own door; was that wrong of me?"

"But at what an hour, Madame!"

"It was late——"

"Morning, Madame!"

"Even so. Frank, dear, presently you will go on your knees to me and ask me to forgive you; and I——"

"And you, Madame?"

"Will not forgive you, dear, unless you trust me now."

He folded his arms, biting his lips to force himself to keep up the cursed comedy. "I cannot."

"Then ask me what you wish."

"Who was the man?"

Madame facing him, always smiling that strange mysterious smile, caught up her cloak from the chair beside her and threw it on her shoulders, then her wrap, while Cressingham stood idle, stiff, and still.

"The man"—Madame glided slowly to the outer door—"was my own father." She paused.

Cressingham uttered a queer choking cry, so great was his surprise: "Your father!"

"I have said it."

Cressingham threw out his hands. "I don't believe you!" he said brutally.

Madame still smiled. "I love you, Frank, but do not try me too far. I shall go now. No; don't come near me; your touch would burn. I am almost hating you. Remember, you have called me liar—twice. To-morrow, come to me with your apology. Perhaps I shall forgive." She gave a great sob. "Ah, Frank, how could you—how could you dare insult me so?"

With a swift movement she threw open the door, passed, and was gone. Cressingham listened dumbly in the silence to the patter of her footsteps on the passage. He heard her falter on the stairway, fumble with the latch below, and presently the street door's crashing close. Then he staggered, rather than walked, to his bedroom.

Oeltjen was standing just within the threshold. "I shall show you to your room now, if you please."

"Very well, my Lord," said Oeltjen. "I should, however, tell you that I have been listening to your conversation."

"Indeed, and you approve?" Cressingham spoke very loudly, hoping that Miss Elliott would hear. He had conceived the sudden wild hope of attempting to exculpate himself in her eyes thus.

"I think that you went a little too far. Your acting, however, was on the whole superb."

"Thanks," drily. "My fear is, however, for the morrow."

"You fear what?"

"That in a colder moment she will know better how to guard her secrets. Even to-night she was careful to disclose no name. She said 'my father,' only 'my father.'"

"True."

Cressingham thought for a while. "It is a terrible part for me to play," he said at last. "Do you know, Oeltjen, although I know the woman is bad, I feel an awful ruffian at tricking her like this."

"Ach Himmel! she loves you, that is plain! But" (in a whisper) "where is the other woman, the first, my Lord, the one that warned you?"

Cressingham turned pale. "That is my business!" he said curtly.

"I beg your pardon."

Cressingham bowed. "Let us go," he said.

But a loud knock sounded on the door as they approached it. Cressingham pushed aside the latch, and his servant, in slippers and pyjamas, entered, a letter in his outstretched hand; he seemed half asleep.

"For you, my Lord."

"Who brought it?"

"A cabman."

"Wait a moment, John, and you can show the Count to his room." He opened the letter, and presently passed it in silence to Oeltjen. It was a card inscribed with certain hieroglyphics.

The Count glanced at it, and whispered meaningly: "Already the path grows dangerous, my Lord. It is perhaps my turn next."

Cressingham shrugged his shoulders and pocketed the card. "Perhaps. Good night."

"Sleep well!" said the German, and smiling satirically he departed in the servant's wake.

Cressingham shut the door, and turned to face his greatest task. Miss Elliott stood between the parted curtains of the dressing-room, her face pale, but self-possessed and calm.

"It was, oh, so cold in there, and dark," she muttered, shivering a little.

He pointed to the fire. "You had better wait a moment and warm yourself. Presently the passage will be clear."

She crossed the room and spread out her hands to the blaze, her back turned to the man. He stood irresolutely a moment, nervously gnawing at his under lip, then, growing desperate at her silence, spoke.

"Miss Elliott."

She slowly turned her head, and looked at him across her shoulder.

"You heard?"

She nodded. "Everything."

"What can you think of me?"

"I scarcely know just yet; indeed, I haven't really thought of you. I am trying still to realize how it is that a woman can so degrade herself. How she threw herself at you!"

"Spare me," he groaned.

She gave a little rippling laugh. "I almost begin to fear you, Lord Francis; you must possess some dangerous magic fatal to my sex. And yet, how deaf you were to her entreaties, but that was because you had an audience perhaps?"

"Miss Elliott, I assure you on my honour——"

"Spare me, my lord," she interrupted icily; "I have already seen you act to-night. What time is that?"

A clock was chiming somewhere in the City, its tones reaching them in muffled melancholy. Cressingham glanced at his watch. "Half-past two!"

"Luckily I have a latch-key," said the girl. "Don't you think the coast is clear by now?"

"One moment!" He hurried into the dressing-room and a second after came out with hat and coat. The girl regarded him with much contempt.

"Do you think I should accept your escort farther than the street?" she queried bitterly. His lips tightened, but without reply he opened the door for her to pass, and in unbroken silence they trod the passage and descended the stairs. There he paused, but she passed on and stood by the door, attempting herself to open it. With a hopeless little laugh he assisted her, and she glided through into the street. Two men, standing not a yard from the door, peered rudely into her veiled face. She drew back with a little gasp, an involuntary cry for help. Cressingham sprang out at once, but the men slunk off quickly down the street.

"Thank you," said Miss Elliott. "It was nothing, but seeing them so close and suddenly, they frightened me for a second."

"At least, let me put you in a cab," he said imploringly. "Really, the streets are not always safe at this hour. It may be the last favour I shall ever ask of you."

"Very well, then."

He walked with her a few steps down the street and whistled. Instantly a four-wheeler standing in the shadows of some houses not far distant moved out into the light and came quickly towards them. To Cressingham it seemed that the cab must have been waiting by appointment, so swift was its response, but another matter now engrossed his mind. A few, a very few seconds remained to him during which he might fight for his happiness. Silence might be more dignified, but at any rate he could not possibly hurt himself more by speech than he was harmed already.

"Francine," he muttered suddenly, "you wrong me in your thoughts. I'm not so black as you think me. I'm in an awful mess, and the curse of it is I can't explain. But on my honour, Francine, I'm not the loose fellow you think me. I couldn't be, for I love you, you, you with all my soul, and that alone would keep me straight."

Miss Elliott, watching him from behind the thick meshes of her veil, thought how handsome he looked standing in the lamplight there, his eyes so bright, his face so passionately eager: a quaint thought entered her mind, and an impulse.

"Really, my Lord," she said, "you should never wear that monocle of yours, you look so much better without." Her laugh rippled out like the pealing of a silver bell.

Cressingham opened the carriage door, a black frown on his face.

"Where shall I tell the man to drive you?"

"Bruton Street, please. Good night!"

Cressingham made one last appeal. He held the door open, and standing close beside it whispered: "Francine, I'm the most miserable man on earth."

She muttered back from the darkness; "Is that my fault?"

"It is not altogether mine. Ah, for heaven's sake, believe me!"

Miss Elliott did a strange thing. Cressingham's left hand was leaning lightly against the glass of the window. Stretching forth her own she took it gently to her and drew from his third finger the ring which she had returned him yesterday; then she dropped his hand, and said: "You shall have one more chance; are you content?"

For a second he stood dazed, but a happy light came presently into his eyes, and, stooping, he caught and passionately kissed a portion of her gown.

"More, much more than content," he whispered huskily. "May I hope to see you soon?"

"To-morrow, if you like, at four."

"Heaven bless you, dear. Good night!"

The cab rattled off, and Cressingham, watching it with loving eyes, saw soon after it had turned the corner the forms of two men running in the same direction. The occurrence gave him a moment's vague uneasiness, but it soon departed altogether from his mind.