Читать книгу Whither Thou Goest - William Le Queux - Страница 6

Table of Contents

The evening shadows were falling softly as the Earl of Saxham stepped into one of the small drawing-rooms of that palatial residence, Ticehurst Park, in the county of Sussex.

Ticehurst Park was a magnificent domain, deeply mortgaged. Out of its fair revenues, there were two or three heavily-pensioned dowagers who had to be provided for, there were a heap of relations who had to draw their small annual stipends.

On paper, the Earl of Saxham was a very wealthy nobleman. When he had deducted the interest on mortgages, and the yearly stipends and marriage settlements, he was quite poor. Out of every sovereign he received, he retained about ten shillings.

A less even-tempered man would have cursed his bad luck, that he should have been saddled with three dowagers, and a host of other cormorants.

Archibald, tenth Earl of Saxham, was a delightful optimist. He had come into the title by a series of fortunate accidents, and he was disposed to think that, on the whole, Providence had arranged things very agreeably. Before he took up the mantle of his fathers he had been trying to make both ends meet on a small private fortune of seven hundred a year, with but indifferent success. He had now, those irksome deductions apart, several thousands a year—in fact, a still very considerable income.

He fitted into the position as easily as a glove. His wife, a woman of noble birth like himself, assisted him ably. They speedily became the most popular couple in Sussex, a county which boasts of many noble families.

He came into his inheritance at the age of thirty. Ten years after his beautiful and beloved wife died, leaving him with three children, Eric Viscount Ticehurst, Guy Rossett, and Mary Rossett. He was so devoted to the memory of his wife that he did not marry again.

Mary Rossett, the youngest of the three, was sitting in the small drawing-room when he entered this particular evening.

She was a handsome young woman of about twenty-five years, tall and slender. Her demeanour was a little staid, suggesting a woman some five years her senior.

Truth to tell, Mary Rossett had experienced a bitter romance when she was at the age of twenty. Her heart was buried in the grave of a young officer of the Guards, who had died suddenly a few days before the date of their wedding.

From that fatal day, she had said good-bye to love, in a measure to youth. No other man would ever charm back the lovelight into the eyes of Mary Rossett.

But fate, which had stricken her so sorely, did not deprive her of her sweet and womanly qualities. She was the beloved companion of her brothers, the idol of her widowed father; and she was adored by all the villagers on the estate, to many of whom she was often a ministering angel.

The Earl of Saxham, as he entered the small drawing-room, was smiling in a peculiar manner. His daughter recognised that peculiar smile. Her father was very pleased with himself over something. But she knew what that something was.

“So Guy has come,” he cried cheerfully. “Well, Mary, don’t you give it away when he tells us the good news, or it will spoil it all.”

Lady Mary rose, and laid an affectionate hand on his arm.

“No need to caution me, dearest. You know I never give myself away. Keep a guard on yourself. Don’t smile too much, or look at me too meaningly when he is telling us, or he’ll spot it. You know, you are a little indiscreet at times.”

The Earl smiled genially.

“I know, I know, Mary. There is no fool like an old fool, they say. But this is really a great thing. I wrung it out of old Greatorex. And, once in Spain, we shall get him out of the reach of that young minx, Isobel Clandon.”

Mary’s brows contracted into a slight frown: Love had left her stranded, but she was still very sympathetic to young lovers.

“Why are you so hard on poor Isobel, father?” she asked in her clear, kind voice. “I know she is poor, but she is a lady and well-born.”

Her voice faltered a little, as she added, “Hugh was poor, when you gave your consent that I should marry him. Why do you make this distinction with Guy?”

The Earl looked a little embarrassed.

“My dear Mary, you are a sensible girl, and you must see that the circumstances are totally dissimilar. Hugh was the younger son of a house as noble as our own. True he was poor, but I could have helped you.”

“And if you were ready to help me, you can help Guy and Isobel,” flashed Lady Mary quickly.

The Earl spoke a little irritably.

“It is very strange you can’t see it. Isobel Clandon is, I admit, quite a lady in the technical sense of the term. But Guy must look beyond that. He must marry in his own rank. Failing that, he must marry a woman with money.”

Lady Mary spoke with an equal irritation.

“You are unjust, father, unjust both to Guy and Isobel. You have no right to ruin these two young lives with your prejudices and your old-world notions.” Her voice dropped into a half-sob as she concluded. “What is there in the world better than real love? And these two love each other devotedly.”

The Earl was about to reply angrily, for he was a somewhat obstinate old man, and hated being thwarted. But, before he could utter a word, the door opened to admit Guy Rossett.

Guy was a very handsome young fellow, with a winning and genial expression. He advanced and shook his father’s hand warmly, and kissed his sister with equal affection.

The Earl beamed upon him. Guy was his favourite of the two sons. Ticehurst was a languid young man about town, who did not appeal greatly to his more robust father.

“Well, Guy, my dear boy, delighted to see you. Have you brought us any news?”

Mary shot a warning glance at her father. Lord Saxham was always preaching reticence to other people, but he never observed it himself. If Guy had been just a little more subtle than he was, he would have smelt a rat at once.

Guy spoke in his frank, almost boyish voice.

“Splendid news, sir, but so good that I want to keep it to myself for a little bit. Shall we say till after dinner, when the servants have gone, and we are quite by ourselves.”

“By all means.” It was Mary’s sweet, gentle voice that answered. “I am sure I should like to keep very good news to myself for a time; hug it as it were. After dinner, Guy!”

Later on, they went into the dining-room. The meal was a somewhat tedious and long repast. Lord Saxham, who was a bit of a gourmet, liked to take a small portion of several dishes. Guy was a hearty trencherman.

Poor Lady Mary, whose thoughts inclined towards a convent, would have been satisfied with a cup of tea and a slice of bread and butter, but she had to preside over these prolonged meals.

When the ponderous banquet—no lesser word could describe it—had drawn to a close, the footman withdrew. It was a family party, the two men sat round the table and smoked. Lady Mary waited to hear the great news. And then Guy unburthened himself.

“The biggest stroke of luck in the world, sir. After fooling about in the Foreign Office for all these years, Greatorex sent for me to go into his private room. A very short interview: Greatorex doesn’t waste words. I am to go to the Embassy at Madrid.”

Lady Mary preserved her sweet calm. The Earl did not move an eyelid. He lifted his glass of port.

“Success to you, my boy. You have got a chance now. And I am sure you will make good.”

The young man drained his glass also.

“Yes, I think I shall make good. What I just wanted was a chance.”

Mary shot a warning glance at her father. It was just on the cards that he might have blurted out something that would have hurt his son’s pride, led him to understand that it was his father’s secret influence that had got him this post.

But, fortunately, at this stage the Earl’s mental faculties were not very acute. He was already beginning to nod over his port.

A few moments later, Lord Saxham’s somnolent faculties became more fully developed. Mary pointed to the terrace which was approached by the dining-room windows. She leaned across the table and whispered.

“Shall we take a stroll? I would like to talk all this over with you.”

Guy nodded and rose. They went noiselessly to the terrace, and sat down on one of the numerous seats, overlooking the lovely gardens beneath.

Mary opened the conversation at once.

“Is this—this good news—going to make any difference to you, Guy?”

There was just a note of anxiety in her voice.

Guy looked at her squarely.

“What do you mean, Mary? Difference in what way?”

“Difference between you and Isobel?” answered Mary, in a voice that shook a little. “You love each other so dearly. I would hate to think that anything could come between you.”

Guy laughed his hearty, boyish laugh.

“Dear old girl, you know I have always told the truth to you. I would sooner go to the devil with Isobel Clandon, than to heaven with some delightful bride that our dear old dad had chosen for me. As soon as I am on my feet, Isobel will be my wife.”

Mary patted his hand affectionately.

“I am so delighted to hear you say that. But one never quite knows men. There is father, in a way sentimental, but on certain things he can be as hard as granite.”

Guy Rossett frowned.

“Oh, I know. He hates the idea of my marrying Isobel. I suppose when I do he will forbid me the house, and cut me off with a shilling, eh?”

Mary looked at him, with a soft gleam in her kind, beautiful eyes.

“Oh, no, he will not do that. And if he wanted to, I should not let him. You know, I have more influence over him than anybody.”

“Except, perhaps, Ticehurst?” suggested Guy, in a tone that was not quite free from bitterness. He was not over-fond of his elder brother.

Mary shook her head.

She was fond of both her brothers, but she was not oblivious of Ticehurst’s faults.

“Don’t worry about that, dear old boy. Eric has no influence over him at all. And when the dreadful deed is done, and Isobel is your wife, dear old dad will rage and fume, and all that. But he will come round in the end, and finish by loving Isobel as much as he does me. Don’t worry. Go on with it.”

Guy kissed her.

“By Jove, you are a pal, Mary. Then I can count on you to back me up.”

“Of course,” was Mary’s confident reply.

There was silence between them for a little while, while Guy puffed at his cigarette, and his sister was cogitating as to her next method of attack. Brought up in a household of three men, she knew it was somewhat difficult to storm the masculine citadel.

Presently she spoke.

“And what about finance, Guy? Are things easy there?”

The boyish look disappeared from the young man’s face. Her question had seemed to disturb his equanimity. He was quite frank.

“That’s the devil of it, Mary. You know my old friend Jackson?”

Mary gave a little sigh. Yes, she had heard of Jackson from both brothers. He was a high-class moneylender, who accommodated young men of good family.

“Yes, I know all about Jackson. How much do you owe him?”

Her brother reflected.

“Something between five and six hundred,” he said, after a pause.

Mary spoke decidedly.

“You must clear that off before you go to Spain—you must have a clean sheet.”

She reflected also, before she spoke again.

“I can let you have two hundred and fifty out of what I have saved.”

Guy interrupted.

“You sweet little soul, you never spend anything except in charities.”

“I know,” answered his sister quietly. “Anyway, there is my two hundred and fifty, and I must coax the rest out of dad. You must go to Spain with a clean sheet. That is absolutely essential.”

Guy answered with his boyish laugh and with his boyish exuberance.

“It is too awfully dear and kind of you, and you can guess how I appreciate it. But I am not going to let my sister waste her money on two graceless scamps like Ticehurst and myself. And I don’t sponge on my father, either.”

Mary protested gently.

“Oh, Guy, how unjust of both yourself and Eric. You know that is not my opinion of either of you.” Guy took her slender hand in his own.

“You dear old girl, you are only just a little bit lower than the angels; you have always had wings growing since you were a wee toddler. But I am going to see this thing through on my own. Jackson is an old scoundrel of course, but he never presses one very hard. I shall square him all right.”

Mary said no more on the subject. Both her brothers inherited the paternal obstinacy. When they had once made up their minds, nothing could move them.

But she sighed a little. It would have been so much better if Guy could have got rid of this odious moneylender, and have landed in Spain with a clean sheet. He would have been free from any pecuniary worries, and, therefore, in a better mood to attend to his work.

Jackson was done with, but there was another subject which she wanted to broach before this interview was ended. And it was a rather delicate one. It was some little time before she spoke again.

“And how about that woman, Violet Hargrave? Are you quite clear of her? It is not fair to Isobel that you should keep up even a semblance of friendship with such an odious person.”

Guy laughed, but this time his laugh did not ring clear and boyish; it betrayed uneasiness.

“Oh, come, Mary, you are a bit uncharitable, aren’t you. Violet Hargrave is generally considered a charming, not an odious, person.”

His sister spoke a little sternly for her.

“I don’t pretend to have a man’s knowledge of the world, but I have not been brought up in a nursery. I know her type, and it is one from which any pure woman, and any decent man, ought to shrink. Have you given her up?”

Guy looked her squarely in the face.

“Honestly, Mary, I have, just after I met Isobel. Of course, a man can’t throw a woman over in a second, but I have cooled down gradually. At the present moment, I think the fascinating widow hates me.”

Mary rose and spoke decidedly.

“I am glad to have your assurance of that. If it had not been so, I might have felt it my duty to warn Isobel. She is too sterling a girl to be played with.”

Her brother rose too, half resentful, half admiring. It was not the first time that Lady Mary had spoken salutary words of wisdom to him.

“By Jove, Mary, you are uncompromising. Do you mean to say you would give me away to Isobel—me, your own brother?”

“Of course,” answered Mary firmly. “To Isobel, or any other woman, if I thought you were unworthy of her.”

Admiration conquered. He tucked her arm in his, as they returned to the house.

“You dear old girl, you are one out of a million. But you know you are a little uncomfortable at times, and when you are inclined that way, you have a knack of making a fellow feel a bit of a worm.”

Mary laughed pleasantly.

“So good for you feeling that, dear old boy, and equally good for Eric. I expect dad has woken up by now, and wondering where we have got to.” They found the Earl wide-awake. The doze of a few minutes over his port had refreshed him immensely. He fell at once to discussing Spain, a country he knew well.

In his youth, Lord Saxham had been an attaché at the Spanish Court, and he knew the ropes. Guy listened respectfully to his father.

The old man concluded his somewhat rambling remarks with a final exhortation.

“And remember, my dear boy, always to keep on the right side of Greatorex. He is the Foreign Office. Secretaries, mere figure-heads, come and go with different Governments. Greatorex remains there, permanent, unchangeable. Get into his good graces, and your fortune is made.”

Guy promised that he would do his best to propitiate the all-powerful Greatorex. Two days later he left. He undertook to pay them a farewell visit before he started for Spain.

The Earl and his daughter watched the car flying down the avenue. The old man turned to his daughter with a grunt.

“Might have given us another couple of days, I think. But I know what’s in his mind. He is running down to Eastbourne after that minx.”

He always alluded to Isobel Clandon as “that minx,” owing to his unreasonable prejudice against her.

Mary spoke with spirit.

“Very natural under the circumstances, I should think. He would want to see something of the girl he loves before he left.”

Lord Saxham turned on her angrily.

“Mary, I have always thought you a sensible woman. Do you mean to tell me you are going to aid and abet him in his folly.”

Lady Mary answered him in a few words.

“I don’t call it folly, father.”

She walked out of the room, with a resolute expression on her face, and uplifted chin. She would have been the last to admit it, but she had inherited no small share of the family obstinacy.