Читать книгу Secret of the River - Fred M. White - Страница 4

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NEVIL turned his back on Ashdown Croft half an hour later in a very dejected frame of mind. It seemed hard upon a man, who had just achieved what appeared to be the height of his ambition and was on the verge of stepping back into the property which he had worked so strenuously to regain to lose something that he valued still more highly. During the last month or two, he had fallen headlong in love with Angela Murray, and there were times when he had felt certain that he was by no means indifferent to her. Times when she was gay and free in her manner, times when mutual sympathy drew them close together, and she had listened with heightened colour and sparkling eyes to the tales of his struggles in America and how he had overcome all his difficulties.

And then, when everything appeared bathed in golden sunshine, there were occasions when Angela almost turned her back upon him and at any rate, treated him with a coldness and indifference as if she had discovered some discreditable incident in his past and had resolved to keep him severely at a distance. There were occasions, too, when Angela was dull and listless, and once Nevil had found her seated in the park with tears in her eyes.

And yet, outwardly, at all events, there was no apparent occasion for the swift gamut of the emotions. That Angela was in the best of health, there could be no question. She had a luxurious home, the apparent command of whatever she needed, and a father who seemed to dote upon her. And yet, with it all, it was clear that there was something radically wrong somewhere. And when this theatrical show was over, Nevil vowed that he would not rest until he got to the bottom of it.

In the meantime, he put the problem resolutely out of his mind and devoted all his time to the coming performance. It was to take place in the village hall and people from far and near were coming to witness it. All the village, of course, and everybody of importance within twenty miles. When the night arrived, despite the fact that there was something like twenty degrees of frost and rumours that the river was actually frozen over, the hall was packed. Nevil, peeping through a hole in the curtains could see that there was not a vacant seat anywhere. The front seats showed quite a dazzling array of women in evening dress, some of them sparkling with jewels, and men in gleaming shirt fronts and black ties.

"Quite a society gathering," the leading lady laughed, as she took a glance over the audience. "We shall have to do our best or be disgraced for ever. I don't mind telling you, Nevil, that I am feeling most horribly nervous."

"Of course you are," Nevil laughed, "and I am very glad to hear it. There never was an actor or an actress yet who was worth a hand who didn't know the meaning of nervousness."

He turned to Angela, who was standing by his side. "And you," he asked, "how do you feel."

Angela looked up at him with sparkling eyes. There was a quick vivacity and alertness about her to-night that he had never noticed before. In addition, all the old friendliness was back, and ever and again, the fleeting expression in those clear, beautiful grey eyes that told Nevil a flattering tale. If he could only have had her alone with himself then, it seemed to him that he could have broken down that wall of indifference for ever.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know how I feel. Not nervous, exactly, but as if something unexpected were going to happen. I don't mean anything tragic, but just tense. Oh, I don't know how to express it. I am eager enough, and ready enough to go on, but, at the same time——"

"Oh, well," Nevil said, "it won't be long now. And once you cease to be afraid of the sound of your own voice, everything will be beautiful in the garden. I know, I went through it years ago. And though I have played in our present piece a hundred times, I verily believe that I am more nervous than either of you. Very encouraging, ain't I?"

It was just as Nevil had prophesied. Once the actors and actresses had got over the first awful two or three minutes, the show went with a swing that was mainly owing to the chief character himself. With his experience of such matters, he could play his part to the life and yet, at the same time, watch the other performers and study them much as if he had been in a drawing room. And, to his great delight, Angela was carrying off her part splendidly. It was a comedy part with a touch of pathos in it and she reverted from mood to mood without the slightest trace of that strangeness he had noticed so often of late. And when, finally, the curtain came down midst a storm of applause, he made his way back to the men's dressing room with a feeling of relief.

There a good many of the guests had gathered, prominent amongst them Everard Murray, in his cheeriest mood. Few men who were strangers to that part of the world had achieved such a degree of popularity as he. Hospitable, generous, always ready to subscribe to any deserving object, he was welcome wherever he went and all were delighted to meet him.

"Topping show, old chap!" he said, slapping Nevil on the back heartily. "And, upon my word, though I say it myself, nobody came through it better than my little girl."

"There is no reason why you shouldn't say it, sir," Nevil replied, "because it is absolutely true. I shouldn't say so unless I had had so much experience myself, but won't all you people come along and help clear the stage? We want twenty or thirty chairs brought up from the hall so as to seat our guests. Lady Londmead is looking after the ladies."

It was all bustle and confusion behind the somewhat limited stage, and quite a long time before it was cleared and chairs placed around tables which had been brought in for the occasion. A couple of rooms in the village hall behind the stage had been transformed into dressing rooms for the lady guests; the men had been left to shift for themselves.

It was in the midst of this bustle and confusion that Nevil, moving swiftly from place to place, found himself almost in collision with one of the lady guests. She was a well-known figure in the hunting field and essentially a hunting woman, which was a class that Nevil cordially detested. Nevertheless, she was handsome and aristocratic, and there were not a few gossips in the neighbourhood who declared that Miss Diana Longworth would not be averse to finding herself mistress of Ashdown Croft. Moreover, she was by way of being an heiress in her own right, so that, from a worldly point of view, it might be no bad thing for a young man in the very early thirties, who was ambitious still further to push the fortunes of his family.

"I am awfully sorry," Nevil stammered. "I am afraid I trod on your foot. Did I hurt you?"

"I am not so easily hurt," the young woman said brusquely. "Too tough for that."

But, as she spoke, she put up her hand to her throat, and Nevil saw that she was wearing a sort of collar of pearls which, apparently, the shock of the meeting had disturbed.

"I really am frightfully sorry," he said. "I might have dragged that necklace from your throat."

"Oh, no, the fact is, the fastening is a bit weak, and I ought to have had it looked to before I wore the thing to-night."

It was on the tip of Nevil's tongue to tell her she ought not to have worn it at all, being much too ostentatious for a village hall entertainment. But he wisely refrained from such a comment, and went his way along an ill-lighted passage that led to the men's dressing-room. Like most of the performers, he had not removed his stage dress, but the grease paint on his face was irritating him, and his intention was to remove the greater part of it before joining the gathering now assembled on the stage. He could hear already the popping of the champagne corks and the little gush of laughter that came echoing down the corridor. He was the last to leave the dressing-room, and, as he did so, he saw, at the end of the corridor, nearest the stage and close to the dressing-room door, the Junoesque figure of Miss Longworth, who was just emerging from the seclusion of the room and striding manfully along towards the stage.

And then a strange thing happened.

Out of the shadows a figure appeared, the slim, exquisite figure of a girl. Nevil could not make out for a moment who it was, and would have been at a loss to explain why he stood there quietly watching to see what the girl was going to do. Then a gust of cold air set the oil lamps in the corridor flaring, and Nevil could see, plainly enough, Miss Longworth's pearl collar lying on the floor. A moment later the girl had picked it up and hidden it in her dress. She gave one quick glance behind her, and, with a start, Nevil recognised who she was.

Angela Murray, beyond the shadow of a doubt! Angela a thief! The furtive air, and quick concealment. Nevil stood there with the perspiration pouring down his face.