Читать книгу The Veiled Man - Ambrose Pratt - Страница 12

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Lady Dorothy Foulkes and her father left Stayton for Scotland the morning after Lord Cawthorne paid his formal visit to the Marquis. They had been unexpectedly summoned to the bedside of the Duke of Firshire in order (as Lady Dorothy subsequently informed her friend Mrs. Toombes) "to witness another of his venerable Grace's marvellous recoveries from certain death."

During their absence the young Earl was elected a director of the Stayton Shipbuilding Company. He also made friends with Mrs. Toombes and Patrick Ellison.

Francine Toombes, like most of the well-to-do people in Stayton, owned shares in the company, and she cast her votes for Lord Cawthorne, an act of which she took care to inform him at the earliest opportunity. Her liveliness amused the Earl as much as her beauty delighted him. She was young—barely twenty eight—with brown heavy-lidden eyes, an adorable figure, and a thorough knowledge of the world.

Lord Cawthorne met Patrick Ellison at her house. As became his name the latter was an Irishman, but for an Irishman he was an anomaly because rich—almost beyond the dreams of avarice. He was not a particularly humorous figure, but everybody laughed at him and called him "Pat." He was a thin, weedy-looking man, thirty-five years of age, ugly and unconquerably good natured. For some months past he had made it the business of his life to follow Lady Dorothy Foulkes about with offers of marriage, which she declined to consider seriously, in common with himself. Mrs. Toombes, though seven years his junior, was his aunt, and at present his hostess. She had a comfortable income of her own, but Pat was very fond of her, and he made her an allowance of a thousand pounds a year, which she did not hesitate to duplicate by occasionally permitting him to pay her bills.

The widow was inordinately extravagant and dressed like a princess. Indeed, her wardrobe was the despair of female Stayton, and the envy of even Lady Dorothy, whose purse, said rumor, the Marquis kept more handsomely supplied than he could properly afford. Pat's other relations seriously disapproved of Mrs. Toombes, considering that she imposed upon her nephew's generosity; but they only gossiped among themselves, for the reason that they too—one and all—were frequent recipients of Pat's bounty. Pat, in fact was constitutionally unable to refuse any asker a gift or a loan; but he did not care particularly for his other relations, and did not pursue them with his favors, whence their jealousy of Francine Toombes. The Earl and the Irishman liked each other at first glance, and, the fancy ripened quickly into friendship. Lord Cawthorne's southern upbringing and Mr. Ellison's Irish blood had produced in each a contempt for the English convention of reserve that disposed them to an early interchange of confidence. On their second meeting, which occurred one morning in the main street of Stayton, the Earl invited "Pat" to take pot-luck at the Castle, and after lunch each considered the other a jolly good fellow.

The Irishman was the first to break ice. "I'm wondering at you burying yourself alive in a little place like this," he began. "You haven't the cut of a countryman, and there's a bit of a loose devil chained up in you somewhere, or I'm mistaken."

"I'm tied," replied the Earl, who was in no wise offended at the others outspokenness. "I'm a grateful man. My cousin saved my life, at more than the cost of his own."

"Who hasn't?"

"Just so. Well, Jack Deen is my mentor, and I'm not ashamed of the fact. He's the dickens of a straight-lace, and something cold-blooded to boot, but his fad is to make a proper man of me, and I'd rather die than hurt his feelings."

"It's a mighty strange position to be in."

"He can't live long," said the Earl. "Two years at most, the doctors say. I'd serve him ten cheerfully in a monastery—just to please him. But as it is I'm a teetotaller, and vowed to work hard and live respectably."

"For two years."

The Earl nodded, his eyes twinkling. "So far, my loose devil hasn't greatly troubled me, and anyhow I'm avowed to be hospitable. I intend to give a big house warming presently."

"What do you mean by working hard?"

"Jack classes idle men with parasites; I'm to learn the shipbuilding as soon as may be."

Pat sighed. "I never did a day's work in my life," he remarked. "What sort of a parasite would your cousin think me?"

"The worst."

"Humph! I don't want to meet him, and I wouldn't change places with you for a kingdom, for I have a sense of obligation, too, and I can understand your feelings."

"Question for question, Mr. Ellison. Why are you burying yourself alive in Stayton?"

"Oh, I'm fond of my aunt, don't you know. I often visit her."

Pat laughed shamefacedly, then added: "That's not quite candid, I'm afraid. Have you ever been in love, Lord Cawthorne?"

"Never."

"Then you haven't begun to live yet. I'm wanting to marry Lady Dorothy Foulkes."

The Earl looked surmised. "Oh," he said, "and she?"

"I wish I could tell you," groaned Pat.

"Why not ask her?"

"I have, more times than you have toes and fingers. She always says no, but I know she likes me and she drops the others she refuses like so many hot potatoes."

"A flirt."

Pat sat up. "Not at all," he cried indignantly. "Men make love to her because they can't help it. She's a lovely angel, and I'd like to see the clod that wouldn't worship her."

The Earl laughed lightly. "You make me anxious to meet her, even if it be to my undoing. Do you think I'll fall a victim to her charms, Ellison?"

"There's not a doubt of it," Pat replied, eyeing his companion with a sudden jealous scrutiny. A moment later he smiled. "You're big and devilish good-looking, but you'll have no chance," he said, with confidence.

"Why?"

"She hates blue-eyed men. She told me so a score of times."

"My cousin wants me to marry," said the Earl. "I did not think so, till last night, but he does. He has given me three months to choose a wife."

"Of course, you'll not allow him to dictate to you in that."

"Not in my choice, naturally."

"But in the matter of time?"

"I have promised;" the Earl spoke with an air of finality, but he smiled when he noted the look in Pat's eyes. "I'm a believer in scientific selection rather than in sentiment," he explained. "Does that shock you?"

"I dare say I'm old-fashioned." Pat was simply horrified.

Cawthorne shrugged his shoulders. "Each one to his taste. I have never been in love, and don't believe in it. As for the rest, one owes a duty to one's children; you'll admit that, I suppose. Would you marry a consumptive?"

"By God, yes—if I cared for her."

"Then you'd be taking a responsibility that I'd decline to handle. I'll want a clean bill of health with my wife."

Pat shaded his eyes with his hands. "What else?" he demanded.

"Oh, good looks and decent morals."

Pat could no longer contain himself. "You—puppy!" he shouted, starting up, his eyes ablaze. "I've a mind to hammer some sense into your numbskull. You—you——" he broke off, inarticulate with rage.

Cawthorne was unaffectedly delighted. "Go on," he said, "don't mind, me." But Pat's fury having effervesced, subsided quickly. He sank back into his chair too angry still to apologise, yet also considerably ashamed at his outbreak.

"You make me ill," he said petulantly, like a child. "Wait, wait! Man, you'll repent your arrogance one day in dust and ashes. And——"

"Yes—yes—go on!"

"And please fate, it will be a consumptive that will work your cure. No, no, I don't mean that."

Their eyes met. "I did not mean that," repeated Pat.

"No, certainly." The Earl's smile was almost joyous.

Pat was confused. "I'm afraid I was abominably rude," he muttered.

"Beautifully, beautifully," cried the Earl, "and convincing, besides; I no longer doubt the power of love, at any rate on Irishmen."

Pat accepted the jibe as a just punishment for his offence. "One for you," he muttered, with a rueful smile. "All the same, you wait; you're very young yet."

"I can only wait three months," the Earl reminded him.

"It will be long enough if Lady Dorothy gets hold of you. And I'm glad to remember she hates blue-eyed men."

"You lovers!" jeered the Earl.

Three days afterwards Cawthorne came upon Lady Dorothy and Mr. Ellison when riding from a duty call. Dorothy's grandfather had recovered from his illness in the meanwhile, and again bade fair to outlive his son, the Marquis, whose hopes of succeeding to the dukedom were now permanently dissipated. Dorothy had returned to Stayton that very morning, and although she had played the sick nurse for several days and was just come from a long journey, she looked as fresh as a rose. The encounter took place in the outskirts of the town, whither she had gone to dispense some private charities. Pat carried her basket and her sunshade. She was talking to an urchin in the middle of a narrow lane, and so absorbedly that she did not heed the Earl's approach, although his horse bravely clattered on the cobblestones. He nodded to the Irishman, and reined up to wait her pleasure, for he could not pass.

"A fine day, Ellison," he said.

Pat noted that his face was all aglow and wondered at the reason, for the Earl did not look at Lady Dorothy.

The girl was taken by surprise, and absolutely unprepared. She started at his voice, and involuntarily looked up. Pat stopped short in the middle of a meteorological platitude, for Dorothy's face, which was well within his range of vision, had shown a signal of distress. Her cheeks were as scarlet as two poppies.

Cawthorne looked past her at Ellison. "I wish you would present me to Lady Dorothy," he said, and sprang lightly to the ground. She recovered her composure while Pat performed the introduction, but not her usual careless grace of manner.

"I'm glad to meet you, Lord Cawthorne," she contrived to say, and the Earl thought the speech as stilted as any of her father's he had heard.

"I have been chasing a typist," he said calmly. "A Miss Fox who lives hereabouts, and who is supposed to be an expert with the instrument. But I cannot find her. Perhaps you might help me, Lady Dorothy."

The girl dared not meet his eyes. "I'm afraid not," she replied in prim tones, "I am almost a stranger in Stayton, Lord Cawthorne. But perhaps this little lad may know."

She turned to the urchin. "Charlie, does Miss Fox live anywhere about here?"

"Not as I knows on, ma'am," replied Charley.

Dorothy was quite herself again by this. She looked up at the Earl with a mocking smile. "Perhaps you have been misdirected."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "And yet I hardly think so." His face was quite expressionless.

Dorothy shook her head. "I must not keep my dear old ladies waiting. Good afternoon, Lord Cawthorne." She moved off, leading the urchin by the hand.

The men looked at each other. "You've met before," said Pat, acutely; his eyes were angrily agleam.

"In another sphere," declared the Earl.

"Bosh!" cried Pat, in a rage.

They exchanged a glance of open defiance, and then Cawthorne burst out laughing.

"I have blue eyes and you are a jealous Irishman," he said.