Читать книгу The Law of the Land - Fred M. White - Страница 8

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With a great effort Ralph collected himself. His shivering fit bad passed, but he had no need of anybody to tell him that he had suffered from a severe mental delusion. He went as far as the library and wrote his letter to Enid. It surprised him to see how firm and steady his handwriting was. He was by no means well, he explained, and could not come over to-day. Would Enid come to see him instead, and bring Dick along? As Ralph was sealing the letter, Barca came in. He carried no more than a handbag; he was taking nothing away with him.

"I hope to be back to-night," he said. "A few more hours and my experiment will be finished. Then I shall take myself off altogether and leave you to your teacups and your Phyllis, who, I understand, is in future to be your only joy. You are luckier than you deserve, Kingsmill. If I had half your money I would be famous before long. You are very, very fortunate."

Ralph laughed grimly. He wondered what Barca would have said had he known everything. The latter passed out of the house, striking into the park on his way to the station. His eyes gleamed and his smile was not quite pleasant to see. Barca slackened his pace; he seemed to be engrossed in some profound mental problem as he walked along. He came presently to a stile, leading to a stretch of woodland which formed a short cut to the station. A dainty white figure in a picture hat tripped towards him. The vision looked delightfully cool and refreshing for so hot a day, and Barca raised an admiring glance in her direction as she passed. Then a dazzling smile broke over the stranger's face.

"Good heavens!" Barca cried. "Well, I have had some surprises in my life, but never anything to equal this. Would you mind telling me what it all means and what you expect to gain by turning up in this Arcadian spot? I daresay I can give a pretty shrewd guess, but I would rather have it from your own lips."

The stranger gave a dazzling smile, though, at the same time, she looked very shrewdly into Barca's eyes. A close observer might have been justified in saying that she was weighing her chances, but if she was, she was gaining nothing from her scrutiny of Barca's puzzling face.

"You have heard the story of 'Mary and the little lamb,'" she said.

"Precisely," Barca said grimly. "But it is so long ago, in the tender days of my youth, that I have almost forgotten how the poem goes. But all this is beside the point. To begin with, even if I had more imagination than I possess, I could hardly picture you as the simple-hearted maiden who takes a passionate delight in lambs, unless it may be lamb daintily cooked and served up with mint sauce. I asked you just now what you were doing down here, and, as they say in the House of Commons, I pause for a reply. I should tell the truth if I were you, not necessarily because it is the proper thing to do, but because it will not pay you to try to deceive me. Once more, what are you doing here?"

The woman looked up into the man's face almost timidly, her smile was soft and tender as it she wished to beseech his favour. Her eyes grew misty and luminous.

"You did not expect to see me here?" she said. "You are surprised, Richard?"

Barca made no reply for a moment. A look of amazing tenderness came over his hard, shrewd face, and the deepest affection filled his eyes. And there was reason for his admiration, for the stranger was a seductive vision of blue and gold beauty. Her figure was slight but of exquisite proportions, her expression almost saint-like in its purity. Nobody could have looked into the tender depths of those blue eyes and remained unmoved by their charm and rare pathos. There was something very inviting about the childishness of the perfect face.

"I am glad to meet you anywhere," Barca said at length. "I am just as ready to commit a crime or cut a throat for you as over, Kate. Oh, you may smile, I know what a fool I am where you are concerned. To think that any woman should have so fair a face and cold a heart as you have! I don't think you have a heart at all. I wonder why God made you. And here am I with all the world at my feet wasting my time on you, loving you with a passion that you little dream of—but it is idle to talk like that. Kate, what are you doing here?"

Barca spoke with a passion that rendered his tones harsh and almost inaudible. The soft heavenly smile did not change on the pretty flower-like face; the sweet expression never altered.

"Surely you have no need to ask," the woman said. "I have been in Paris, as you know. Only yesterday I heard of Ralph Kingsmill's good fortune. I came down here to surprise him; I got sick of London streets and London conventions."

"And thought you would try the Arcadian role," Barca said with the suggestion of a sneer. "Upon my word, you look the part to perfection. Dressed as you are, you might pass for my Lady Bountiful. I can see the cottagers come to the doors for the sake of your smile, and bless you as they pass. It seems to you a good thing to be mistress of Abbey Close and play Virginia to Kingsmill's Paul. And how dreadfully tired of it you would be in a week!"

Kate Lingen laughed pleasantly. Nobody had ever seen her put out or disturbed, no line of anger had ever crossed that childlike face. The woman's utter want of heart kept her young beyond her years, which were surprisingly more than appeared on the pink and white surface.

"You give me credit for no feeling," she said. "Why are you so candid with me, Richard?"

"Because I know you so well," Barca said bluntly. "Oh, I know my weakness for you. I know that you fascinate me, that in your presence all my strength dissolves, and you know I would sacrifice the whole future for one kiss of your lips. It is a kind of madness, a mixture of the animal and sentimental that lies beneath the surface of the coldest man. At the same time, I know you have no heart and no feeling, that you are a pure and simple adventuress, that the very clothes you wear are not paid for, that some day you will step over the line and stand in the dock charged with the frauds that you have hidden so carefully. I am not blind to your failings, my dear. But you are going to do no good here. It was your fancy once to play at Platonics with Ralph Kingsmill, 'the pretty boy,' who wrote you those exquisite love letters. But the 'pretty boy' found you out, and he would have no more of you. In his romantic way he is the best of the lot of us. And so you have come down here to try to whistle the dog back again, eh?"

Kate Lingen laughed again; she was not in the least annoyed.

"You have guessed it," she said, with the most melting smile. It seemed strange that one so fair and innocent-looking could be so deep and full of guile. "Ralph was foolish. He did not understand the largeness of my sympathies for other men."

"To put it bluntly and plainly, he found you out, Kate."

"Well, you may express it in that coarse way, if you please. I always liked Ralph better than any of you. He chose to part, and I let him go. But I did not give him back his freedom, because if I ever do marry again, I should rather choose Ralph than anybody. And I keep those dear letters of his, not from any sordid reason, but because—"

"Oh, indeed! You kept the letters for their literary flavour and charm. Not to hurt your feelings unduly, I presume they would make the basis of a very pretty breach of promise case. The sort of letters that would be remembered with roars of laughter in court—the kind of comedy that would drive a sensitive man like Kingsmill almost to madness. And now he has a fine estate and L10,000 a year. He should be good for a round sum of money, eh, Kate? And one or two of your tradesmen have been worrying you lately. When you buy a diamond trinket on credit and pawn it the same day, you are putting that lovely neck of yours inside the noose of the law. Don't deny what I say, because I know what I am talking about. I have a much better plan than yours, but I see that you mean to go your own way in the matter. You will get a rather cold surprise presently, and then you will come to me for assistance. When the body of Ralph Kingsmill comes to be cut up you will not be the only bird of prey there, I promise you."

"What do you mean?" the woman asked, quickly. "There never was a man yet—"

"Whom you could not twist round your little finger—quite so. Why, you can do it with me. But we will not go into that at present. You are going to call on Ralph to-day?"

"Indeed, yes, I came down for that very purpose. I inquired my way, and walked over from the station. And such a lovely walk, Richard. Is that Ralph's house facing through the trees yonder? It has always been my dream to have a little paradise on the Thames up Cookham way, but I did not go so far as this. Let me get along without further parley. And when everything is settled, there will always be a welcome waiting for you at Abbey Close, Richard."

Barca laughed silently as if something amused him. His cynical bitterness was none the less because he realised to the full his weakness where this woman was concerned.

"That is very kind of you. Your success with men has blinded your reason, Kate. The only thing to your credit is that no breath of scandal has touched you. But there are other girls in the world beautiful as yourself, and far more worthy of an honest man's affection. Did it never strike you that, so to speak, there is another Richmond in the field, that Kingsmill might have given his heart elsewhere?"

"Is that really a fact?" Kate Lingen asked sweetly. "Ralph is engaged."

"He is. I take positively great satisfaction in telling you the fact. Kingsmill is going to marry Miss Enid Charteris, who lives close by. I had it from the lips of our young friend last night."

"This is very unkind," the girl said in the same sweet, level tones. "Very disturbing for the lady. I presume she cares for him very much; in fact, any girl must, seeing that Ralph is so handsome and makes love so charmingly. Still, she will get over it in time."

The speaker waved her hand and passed on, leaving Barca to pursue his way filled with a sense of defeat and grudging admiration. As if nothing had happened to disturb her, Kate Lingen tripped along the wooded path and then into the park that led to Abbey Close. Her red lips were parted in a smile, her blue eyes were filled with tender admiration. At that moment she was touched with something akin to womanly feeling. How lovely it all looked, how peaceful was the old house in the sunshine! As Kate approached the house a tall figure rose from a large seat under a cedar tree and came towards her. Ralph had been seeing visions all day. This lovely one did not surprise him in the least.

But all the same he was disturbed and uneasy. Joicey had come back with a reply to his note. Enid was very sorry to hear that her lover was not well; she would follow her letter and come over with Dick without delay. She might arrive at any time now. And here was the woman who had caused all the trouble, the person that Ralph had the most reason to dread in the whole world. Truly his sin was finding him out now. A bolt had fallen from the blue that threatened to crush all the sweetness and marrow out of life.

"Mrs. Lingen!" he gasped, as he hardly touched the eager outstretched hand, "this—this is quite an unexpected pleasure! But when we parted some year or so ago it was understood—"

"It was foolish of us," the woman said, with a soft sweep of her long lashes. "You were hasty, my dear boy, and perhaps I was careless. But I have never forgotten. Those dear letters of yours have proved to be one of the great consolations of my life."

"Oh, this is going too far," Ralph protested. "Our parting was complete and definite. And you gave me your promise to destroy those letters."

"I couldn't, dear," the woman pleaded. "I honestly tried to. But I had not the heart to do it. When I came back to London everything reminded me of you; it was too painful. And I could not stand it any longer; I wanted to be by your side, and ask your forgiveness. Oh, Ralph, if you had not loved me you would not have written to me as you did. And love like that does not come and go at a moment's notice. When I look into your face—"

The speaker paused, for they were no longer alone. A tall, slender figure in a wide straw hat stood under the cool shadow of the cedar; her blue eyes were looking anxiously into Ralph's pale, haggard face. But Kate Lingen was not in the least put out. She rose and regarded Enid Charteris in her sweetest manner, the childlike smile on her lips.

"Some visitors of yours, Ralph," she said. "Pray, introduce me."

Enid bowed a little coldly. She did not extend her hand. Ralph wondered miserably if she had overheard any of that impassioned speech of Kate's.

"I have heard your name before," Kate said. "Perhaps we shall know one another better when we are near neighbours. Has not Ralph told you, Miss Charteris? Naughty boy! He has not told you that for the last two years we have been engaged to be married. And such an ideal lover, too, so sweet and tender and poetic a letter-writer."

Enid's slender figure seemed to freeze, her lips turned pale as ashes. Then her eyes, like frosty fires, turned mutely to Ralph for an explanation.