Читать книгу Judith of the Red Hand - J. Monk Foster - Страница 14

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"My dear Blackwood! This is indeed a pleasure. I was more than half afraid you would not be able to come; and I take it as a great compliment to myself and party that you are here. And how have you been enjoying yourself?"

"Very nicely, thank you, Mr. Ackersleigh. But your worship will be kind enough to understand that it was after midnight when I arrived, and—well, the fact is that a goodly number of your friends and guests are not at all well known to me."

"That, sir, is a matter which we can easily remedy. Not a few of the ladies and gentlemen present will be glad to know the coming man of Saxilham, eh? And that reminds me, Mr. Blackwood, that one fair dame in especial has already asked me to introduce you to her. But that will keep for a little while. Now, suppose we have a glass of wine together?"

"With pleasure, your worship."

Gabriel Blackwood and the Mayor of Saxilford strolled arm-in-arm from the big, well-lighted, and gaily decorated ballroom. At the refreshment bar they sipped their wine together, nodding one or the other to those about them they knew, and meanwhile they cast an eye over the music-flooded place and the crowd of pleasant-looking, well-to-do folk who filled it.

It was mid-January and the occasion was the Mayor of Saxilford's ball. Such gentry as the borough could muster were now assembled here. A local banker or two were present; owners of cotton-mills, mines, and workshops, were hob-nobbing in the hall; prosperous tradesmen, of the better class only, with their wives, sons, and daughters, were taking their pleasure, not sadly but with a relish; and the body of the hall, set apart for dancing, was now swaying under the gliding feet of a hundred and fifty couples.

"And this fair dame in especial, Mr. Ackersleigh," Blackwood resumed, presently, "who was kind enough to desire my acquaintance. Some local lady, eh?"

"Of course; and if you do not know her already, you will know her by repute. She it was who first drew my attention to you; and her comment then would have made many a young fellow's heart dance if applied to him."

"I am not vain, my dear Ackersleigh, but you stir my curiosity," quoth Blackwood. "But her comment?"

"Was that you were the handsomest man she had ever seen. Then I told her who you were, and the rest you know."

"And the lady?"

"Is Mrs. Warren Lathom."

"Mrs. Warren Lathom!" And Gabriel Blackwood made no attempt to hide his surprise. "Yes," he went on more calmly, "I have heard of the lady. A great beauty, I believe, with a most romantic history behind her."

"That is so. But there's a vacant corner over there, Blackwood. (A small bottle of cham, Sanders.) And now, my dear fellow, we can talk comfortably." The sparkling wine had been emptied into the wide-mouthed glasses, and mayor and mine-master had toasted each other ere the former returned to the subject.

"Mrs. Warren Lathom is a really fine woman, Blackwood; and as you suggest, her history is quite romantic. She was a mill girl first, I understand, in this very town; and after that became head barmaid at the Royal Hotel. It was there old Warren Lathom, the factory master, met her. You would know him, of course? No? Well, he was an old curmudgeon of a bachelor; and he quite lost his head over this woman; who, by the way, was a girl of one or two and twenty then. That was eight or nine years ago, and she has been a widow nearly two years.

"But this is what I wanted to tell you. Old Warren Lathom—he was thirty years her elder—married the girl, made a lady of her, showered every manner of luxury upon her, and when he died left her every penny he possessed. That was just what most people expected—for he had no near relatives, and was too hard-fisted to give a copper to any public institutions. When he was gathered to his fathers he left a widow, young, beautiful, with some dozen thousand pounds at her back and the Old Victoria Cotton Mill. That is the lady who wishes to make your acquaintance, Mr. Gabriel Blackwood."

"I am eager to pay her my compliments, Mr. Ackersleigh."

"So you shall. Half-a-score young men in town would jump at the chance of giving Mrs. Warren Lathom a new name, but she is witch enough to tell them all frankly that she means to marry for love next time. Hello! the dance has finished. Now, my dear fellow let us seek the charming widow."

A few minutes later Gabriel Blackwood and Mrs. Warren Lathom were made known to each other. From the first moment the young mine-owner was strongly impressed by the marked beauty and individuality of his latest acquaintance. The widow was a magnificent brunette of the regal type, cast in the mould of the heroines of classic story, with massive white arms, throat and bust, a clear, olive complexion, and piled masses of ebon hair.

The good impression seemed mutual. Mrs. Warren Lathom was charmingly naive and frank; one soft, ungloved hand had clasped his warmly, her big languorous black eyes had melted and flashed as they rested approvingly on his own for an instant; his worship had glided away, she had made room beside her on the red plush-covered couch, and in a minute the young widow and widower were chatting together with the ease and pleasure of old friends.

Then the strains of a lovely waltz floated through the ballroom; Gabriel begged for the dance, and it was instantly given to him, though promised to another gallant an hour before; and presently the big, handsome man and his stately partner were footing it neatly, with the throng, their height and comeliness making them the cynosure of many scores of eyes.

A little later our two friends were sitting in the quietest corner of the curtained space set apart for the refreshment of the revellers. Mrs. Warren Lathom was daintily consuming an ice Blackwood had brought her; he was sipping a glass of wine and closely following every movement, word, and look of the glorious creature at his side.

"Do you know, Mr. Blackwood," she remarked, frankly, "that I have heard ever so much of you and your doings out there at Saxilham, quite lately? That made me desire to know you; and when his worship pointed you out I begged him to bring you to me."

"That was very fortunate for me," he said, pleasantly. "I also have heard much of your charming self of late; and if there was one lady in our neighbourhood whom I desired to see, meet, and know, more than another, it was Mrs. Warren Lathom."

"That was very nice of you—if quite true, Mr. Blackwood," she murmured, as their eyes met and their looks challenged each other for an instant.

"It is quite true, and I don't mind telling you so."

"My doubt has vanished," and she smiled amiably, showing twin rows of perfect white teeth. "Besides, it is so easy to understand why we should take such an unusual interest in each other."

His look of mild wonder was a question she made haste to answer.

"There is so much in our histories so singularly alike, you know," she explained. "A year or two ago you were working at the mine; and not so many years since I was in the mill, and later a barmaid. Marriage altered our lives and made us both, I think."

"That is quite true—at least, of me!" he answered gravely.

"More true of me," she cried, with a saucy laugh. "And there is one other point of resemblance in our experiences, Mr. Blackwood, which strikes me. But I dare not tell you what that is. With all my audacious frankness I shrink from mentioning it, because I fear your disapproval."

"I am not easily shocked. Pray tell me!"

"Confidence for confidence, then?"

"I shall only be too happy to exchange anything with you, my dear madam."

"It's a bargain, then! Now what I mean is this. You must have heard why Mr. Warren Lathom married me, just as I have heard why Miss Nancy Haliburton married you. Shall we tell one another?"

"We will!" he cried, laughingly.

"Your confidence first then!" and her big black orbs flashed with merry mischief.

"Well, I have been told, madam," he said gravely, "that Mr. Warren Lathom was won over from his miserable bachelordom by his wife's wondrous beauty and charm."

"And I, sir, have heard it whispered," she answered with dancing eyes, "that Miss Haliburton would have died a spinster had she never set eyes on the big, strong, manly comeliness of the man who managed the colliery. Confession is good for the soul, they say, so I plead guilty to your charge."

"So do I to yours."

"But I promise never to repeat the offence, Mr. Blackwood," she went on with charming audacity. "Whenever, if ever, I wed again it will be for love!"

"That thought has been in my mind some months now," he responded, his tones so thoughtful, his face so grave that she watched him closely. He was thinking then of a younger and fairer woman; a woman he loved—Judith Trafford. It needed the alluring widow's voice to rouse him from his involuntary fit of meditation.

"Let us hope we shall succeed in our enterprise," she lightly cried. "And now, Mr. Blackwood, I wish to beg a favour. In a week or two I am having a party at my house—The Limes, you know. May I hope that you will make it convenient to come. Say yes, please!"

"My dear Mrs. Warren Lathom," he whispered gallantly, as he bent towards his companion and looked fixedly into her deep dark eyes, "I think that if you were at the end of the world and you asked me to come, I should be bound to join you there."

"Be careful!" she whispered back. "I may ask you to do that some day." Then the merriment left her face as she added in a fresh voice, "Oh, what a nuisance! Here comes my partner for the next dance; and I've just disappointed him by giving you his waltz. Now, pardon me. But I shall hold you to your promise, mind."

With a nod of her queenly head and a wave of her hand she was off on the arm of the young gentleman who had come to claim her. Blackwood sat there for some minutes, watching her disappear amidst the throng, and mentally comparing, contrasting the fine woman he had met that night with the fair girl he had so long known.