Читать книгу A Shadowed Love - Fred M. White - Страница 18

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Molly held Dick tightly by the arm. She was not exactly frightened, but recent events were getting on her nerves. She and Dick seemed to have drifted into the heart of a great mystery from whence there appeared to be no avenue of escape. The air was full of a suggestion of tragedy, at every turn the grim phantom loomed. If there had been anything definite to go upon, Molly would have cared less. She was like a young soldier pressing on the enemy in the dark, with the danger all about her and no point at which to strike.

"I shall dream about that face," she said.

"Perhaps the sudden glare illuminated its bad points," Dick said. "And no doubt you would have thought less of it had not Greigstein gone off in so mysterious a manner. I'd give sixpence to know who that chap really is."

"But he was greatly upset," Molly urged. "He was almost frightened. Dick, I think we had better go home."

Dick hesitated. The artistic temperament is never without its strong leaven of curiosity, and he was anxious to know more. At any rate, they might finish their walk by way of the shrubbery. It was a private path, but they had always been allowed to use it in the days of the late rector. Molly caught Dick's arm again and hastened him on.

They were almost under the shadow of the house by now. The house loomed above them, the windows were filled with lights. It was hot and still, and the casements were wide open to catch the breeze. Dick lingered, pleased with the artistic beauties of the picture. There was the dining-room with its oak and silver and artistic confusion of dessert upon the table, the shaded lamps flooding the banks of flowers, the glow of red wine in cut-glass vessels.

"It's all a picture," Dick murmured. "There is nothing in the world more artistic and refined than a well-appointed English home. Look how those paintings—"

He paused as Molly gripped his arm.

"Look at the end of the table," the girl said. "Who stands there talking to somebody who is smoking a cigar and reclining in an armchair? His face is in the shadow just for a moment. Ah! now he has moved."

Dick looked attentively for a moment, then he caught some of Molly's excitement.

"I can guess," she said, "my instinct tells me. Dick, who was that we saw this afternoon talking to our German friend?"

"Why, Martlett, of course," Dick replied.

"Well, it is Mr. Martlett who is in that armchair. I can only see his hands, but I feel quite certain that I am right. Depend upon it, Mr. Martlett is down here to meet that man who seems to be so little at his ease. I should not wonder if he came to see Lady Stanmere and found the family lawyer instead. I wonder if the cloud of mystery and misery will ever lift from this unhappy family?"

Dick said nothing, he was taking in the scene before him with all his eyes. It was quite wrong, of course, but it suggested many possibilities in the way of a story. Dick looked along the whole facade of the house, past the blank spaces to the drawing-room, the windows of which were open, but nobody appeared to be there.

"You are quite right, Molly," he said. "It looks perfect, a place to be envied, a place to dream about; but, in our quiet way we are much happier than the poor people here. The larger the house the greater the skeleton. No wonder Lady Stanmere is fond of the quiet harbor by the lake."

"I am sorry for Lady Stanmere," said Molly. "If I could help her—"

She paused and started as a figure came apparently out of nowhere. It was impossible to distinguish the outline for a moment after gazing at the lights ahead.

"No occasion for alarm," Greigstein said. "I have made an absurd mistake. The man we saw was not coming here at all; in fact—"

"You are wrong," Dick said, coolly. "The fellow is at present in the dining-room yonder, and unless I am greatly mistaken, is having a bad quarter of an hour at the hands of our friend Mr. Martlett."

"Oh!" the discomfited Greigstein replied. "Bless me, is that so? Under the circumstances of the case we cannot do better than to leave him there. It is no concern of ours."

"Certainly not of mine!" Dick retorted. "But as to yourself, that seems to be quite another matter. There is too much mystery for my taste here—too much of a suggestion that I am being made use of. You have been a good friend of mine, and I am not ungrateful. But if there is anything wrong—"

"I swear to you that there is nothing wrong," Greigstein cried. "I swear that I am doing my best for a good and honorable family. I would speak if I only dared, but the secret is not my own. More I can't say."

"Not even to enlighten us as to your own past?"

"My past is my own, and I am not ashamed of it," Greigstein said, stiffly. "My dear boy, do not let us quarrel; it would be a great grief to me if there was any coldness between us. You may not believe me, you don't believe in me, but your opinion is not shared by Miss Molly."

"I am sure you are our good friend," Molly said, sweetly.

Greigstein bowed. He was silent for a moment, but not for long. There were some trees by the lake that he must positively visit. Then they would go home to supper and spend a pleasant evening. It was impossible to resist Greigstein's good humor and to refuse a laugh over his enthusiasm.

"But there is far too much noise," the professor said. "We will collect our spoil and examine it in the summer-house by the lake. I love these expeditions; they make one feel like a poacher. Most people have sympathy with poachers."

Greigstein grabbed the spoil from the trees dexterously. There was one large white moth that moved him to a high degree of excitement. No specimen of that kind had been taken to England for eleven years. Greigstein was diffuse, and dwelt on the subject as the trio moved to the summer-house.

"Now to give you a lesson," the little German cried. "Hand over the lantern. Dick, will you kindly throw those rays this—Lady Stanmere!"

The great white moth dropped to the floor, fluttered its wings, and was gone. The light of the lantern fell on the white face and grey hair of Lady Stanmere. She had been sitting there in the darkness all alone. The sorrowful features were a little hard and set just now; the eyes had a haughty look in them.

"Von Wrangel," she said. There was a painful confusion on Greigstein's face. "Why do you come here? Am I never to be left alone?"

"I assure you," Greigstein stammered, "I assure you that it was the merest accident. I did not dream anyone would be here to-night. I merely came here to have a look at my specimens. We will go at once—with the deepest of apologies we will retire without delay."

There was a scarlet flush on the speaker's face; he turned abruptly with a suggestion of bustling his young friends out of the summer-house. Even to a less astute mind than Lady Stanmere's the intention was painfully obvious.

"Stay a moment," she said. There was a ring of command in her voice. "I am quite certain that nobody is to blame. I was startled and angry for the moment. It is one of my whims to come here on a fine evening—my husband was fond of the place. But I am not quite the recluse you take me for; for instance, I am not so shut up that I fail to recognise these young people as old acquaintances of mine. And we have met before. My dear child, come here."

Greigstein groaned, and Dick heard him with a certain cynical amusement. The German's confusion and his wild attempt to get them away had not been lost on the astute young man. Molly crossed over to Lady Stanmere, who kissed her tenderly.

"You have a sweet face," she said, "beautiful and amiable like your mother's, and a certain firmness that suggests your father. I lost a good friend the day he died. So you have come back again here?"

Molly explained. Dick was now in a position to live in the country again; a thing they had always regretted was dear old Stanmere.

"You must come and see me," Lady Stanmere said. "I am a lonely old woman, and it will be a pleasure to have somebody young about me again. I am glad you came here to-night. To me it seems like Providence."

As she spoke she glanced at Greigstein. He looked down quietly at the moths that seemed no longer to interest him. Lady Stanmere rose and placed her arm in that of Molly.

"It is getting quite chilly," she said. "My dear, you are going to help me as far as the house. I may keep you there for a little chat for half an hour or so, because I go to bed very early. When I am asleep I can forget. Your brother can wait for you by the laurel gate."

The two disappeared together. By the light of the lantern Dick studied his companion's face. A schoolboy caught stealing apples, a fisherman with a broken line, something of that sort Greigstein might have sat for.

"A penny for your thoughts," said Dick, dryly.

"Extravagant!" Greigstein growled. "Young man, I am in a dangerous mood, as most people are when they take themselves to be wise and find themselves dolts instead. You chaff me any more and I take that handsome curly head of yours and bang him against the wall. I have lost my big moth, I have lost—no, there he is. Give me the lantern quick. You come this way. So."

"I give you up," Dick laughed. "You are too strange a mixture for any man to properly understand. And yet at the same time," he concluded, sotto voce, "I am not going to forget that Lady Stanmere called you Von Wrangel."

But Greigstein was ahead and in hot pursuit of the white moth. There was a gurgle of satisfaction as the specimen was captured. For the next half hour Greigstein talked a scientific jargon that Dick made no pretence of understanding. It seemed to him that Greigstein was talking for the sake of making speech, as if he dreaded questions on quite another topic. It might have been a sigh of relief or a sigh of pleasure that he gave when Molly's white dress loomed in sight.

"You found her ladyship charming?" he asked.

"As ever," Molly replied. "You seem to forget that I have been at Stanmere before. Lady Stanmere used to spoil me dreadfully when I was a child. Now, let us get along to supper—it's past ten o'clock."

But Greigstein regretted that he must change his plans. He had meant to stay till the last train, but he had forgotten an important letter he had to write. If he hurried to the station he would catch the 11.15. He was desolate; but there was no help for it, he must go at once.

He started hard down the road for a little way, then stopped, listening intently. A moment later he was back in the park again with his face in the direction of the house.

Molly was a little silent on her homeward walk.

"You are very quiet," Dick said at length.

"Am I?" Molly asked. "Dick, I have made a discovery. Do you remember the photograph of Mary Gay you brought home that night?"

"I am not likely to forget it," Dick said, quietly.

"Well, it's a strange thing, but a large portrait of Mary hangs in Lady Stanmere's drawing-room."