Читать книгу Mr. Marx's Secret - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 12

Table of Contents

Mr. Ravenor sat like a man stunned by a sudden shock, while the shrill ringing grew more and more imperative. Then suddenly, when I least expected it, he spoke, and the fact that his calm, even tone betrayed not the slightest sign of agitation or anything approaching to it, was a great relief to me. After all, his silence might have meant indifference.

“Go over there,” he said, pointing to the corner of the room from which the sound came.

I did so and saw just before me what seemed to be a dark mahogany box let into the wall.

“Touch that knob,” he commanded, “and put your ear to the tube.”

I had scarcely done so when a quick, agitated voice, which I recognised as the voice of the man who had admitted me at the lodge gate, began speaking. I repeated his words to Mr. Ravenor.

“I am very sorry, sir; but while I stepped in here to announce her, Lady Silchester has driven through. She is alone.”

Mr. Ravenor made no sign of annoyance or surprise. I could not tell whether the news was a relief to him, or the reverse.

“Is there any answer, sir?” I inquired.

“Yes. Tell him to come to the steward for his wages in an hour’s time and be prepared to leave this evening.”

I hesitated and then repeated the words. Mr. Ravenor watched me keenly.

“You are thinking that I am a stern master,” he said abruptly.

It was exactly what had been passing through my mind and I confessed it. He shrugged his shoulders.

“I like to be obeyed implicitly, and to the letter,” he said. “If a quarter of the people who present themselves here to see me were allowed to pass through to my Castle, my leisure, which is of some value to me, would be continually broken in upon. Anderson has been careful hitherto, however, and this must be a lesson to him. You can tell him as you go out that I will give him one more chance.”

I rose, with my cap in hand, but he waved me back.

“I have a letter to write to your mother,” he said, drawing some notepaper towards him. “Wait a minute or two.”

I strolled over to the high French windows and looked out upon the grey twilight. I had scarcely stood there for a moment when the sound of horses’ feet and smoothly rolling wheels coming up the broad drive told me that Mr. Ravenor’s visitor was at hand, and immediately afterwards a small brougham flashed past the window and, describing a semi-circle, pulled up in front of the hall door. A footman leaped down from the box and several servants stood on the steps and respectfully saluted the lady who had alighted from the carriage. A moment or two later there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” answered Mr. Ravenor, without looking up, or even ceasing his writing, for I could hear the broad quill dashing away without a pause over the notepaper.

A servant threw open the door and announced “Lady Silchester,” and a tall woman, wrapped from head to foot in dark brown furs, swept past him and entered the room.

A single glance at the slim, majestic figure, and at the classical outline of her face, told me who she was and told me rightly. It was Mr. Ravenor’s sister.

Mr. Ravenor rose and, without putting his pen down, welcomed Lady Silchester with cold, frigid courtesy, which she seemed determined, however, not to notice.

“Quite an unexpected visit, this, isn’t it?” she exclaimed, sinking into an easy chair before the fire with a little shiver. “I never was so cold! These autumn mists are awful, and I’ve had a twelve-mile drive. What a dreary room you have made of this!” she added, looking round with a little shrug of her shoulders and putting her hands farther into her muff. “How can you sit here in this ghostly light with only one lamp—and such a fire, too?”

He smiled grimly, but it was not a smile which heralded any increase of geniality in his manner.

“I am not in the habit of receiving ladies here,” he remarked, “and I did not expect you. Where have you come from? I thought you were in Rome.”

She shook her head.

“I wish we were. We came back last week and I went straight down to the Cedars—Tom’s place at Melton, you know. I don’t think I’ve been warm since I landed in England. Just now I’m nearly frozen to death.”

“I think you would find one of the rooms in the other wing more comfortable,” he said, after a short pause; “besides which I am engaged at present. You dine here, of course?”

“By all means,” she answered. “You wouldn’t send me back to Melton dinnerless, would you, even if I have come without an invitation? I am dying for a cup of tea.”

“Mrs. Ross shall send you anything you want,” he said. “I will ring for her.”

She rose and shook out her skirts. Her eyes fell upon me.

“You have a visitor,” she remarked. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

She looked at me fixedly as I moved a few steps forward out of the deep shadows which hung about the further end of the apartment. Then she turned from me to Mr. Ravenor, who was holding open the door for her. He met her gaze steadily, with a calm, inquiring look in his deep eyes, as though wondering why she lingered.

“Won’t you introduce your visitor?” she asked slowly.

He appeared wishful for her to go, yet resigned.

“Certainly,” he answered, “if you wish it. Cecilia, let me present to you Mr. Philip Morton, the son of a former neighbour of mine. You may be interested to hear that Mr. Morton is about to complete his education with Dr. Randall. Morton, this is my sister, Lady Silchester.”

Lady Silchester held up a pair of gold eye-glasses and looked at me steadily. I was not used to ladies, but Lady Silchester’s manner did not please me, and, after a very slight bow, I drew myself up and returned her gaze without flinching. She turned abruptly away.

“Yes, I am interested—a little surprised,” she said, in a peculiar tone. “Let me congratulate you, my dear brother, on——”

“Did I understand you to say that you would be ready in a quarter of an hour, Cecilia?” he interrupted calmly. “Permit me to order your horses to be put up.” And he moved across the room towards the bell and rang it.

She hesitated, bit her lip, and turned towards the door without another word. A servant stood upon the threshold, summoned by the bell.

“Let Mrs. Ross attend Lady Silchester at once,” Mr. Ravenor ordered. “Her ladyship will take tea in her room, and will dine with me in the library at half-past eight.”

“Very good, sir.”

The door was closed and we were alone again. Mr. Ravenor returned to his letter, with his lips slightly parted in a quiet smile. I stood still, hot and uncomfortable, wondering in what possible manner I could have offended Lady Silchester. The meaning of the little scene which had just taken place was beyond my comprehension. But I knew that it had a meaning, and that I was somehow concerned in it.