CHAPTER FOURTEEN
OF THINGS UNMENTIONABLE
I remained in that cosy, book-lined den for perhaps an hour--one wholehour of sweet, delightful ecstasy.
With her fair head buried upon my shoulder she shed tears of joy,while, time after time, I smothered her white brow with my kisses. Ah!yes, I loved her. I closed my eyes to all. I put away all my darksuspicions, and lived only for the present in the knowledge thatSylvia was mine--_mine!_
My hot, fevered declarations of affection caused her to cling to memore closely, yet she uttered but few words, and those half-incoherentones, overcome as she was by a flood of emotion. She seemed to haveutterly broken down beneath the great strain, and now welcomed thepeace and all-absorbing happiness of affection. Alone and friendless,as she had admitted herself to be, she had, perhaps, longed for thelove of an honest man. At least, that is what I was egotistical enoughto believe. Possibly I might have been wrong, for until that moment Ihad ever been a confirmed bachelor, and had but little experience ofthe fantastic workings of a woman's mind.
Like so many other men of my age, I had vainly believed myself to bea philosopher. Yet are not philosophers merely soured cynics, afterall? And I certainly was neither cynical nor soured. Therefore myphilosophy was but a mere ridiculous affectation to which so many menand women are prone.
But in those moments of ecstasy I abandoned myself entirely to love,imprinting lingering, passionate kisses upon her lips, her closedeyes, her wide white brow, while she returned my caresses, smilingthrough her hot tears.
Presently, when she grew calmer, she said in a low, sweet voice--
"I--hardly know whether this is wise. I somehow fear----"
"Fear what?" I asked, interrupting her.
"I fear what the future may hold for us," she answered. "Remember I--Iam poor, while you are wealthy, and----"
"What does that matter, pray? Thank Heaven! I have sufficient for usboth--sufficient to provide for you the ordinary comforts of life,Sylvia. I only now long for the day, dearest, when I may call youwife."
"Ah!" she said, with a wistful smile, "and I, too, shall be contentwhen I can call you husband."
And so we sat together upon the couch, holding each other's hand, andspeaking for the first time not as friends--but as lovers.
You who love, or who have loved, know well the joyful, carelessfeeling of such moments; the great peace which overspreads the mindwhen the passion of affection burns within.
Need I say more, except to tell you that our great overwhelming lovewas mutual, and that our true hearts beat in unison?
Thus the afternoon slipped by until, of a sudden, we heard a girl'svoice call: "Sylvia! Sylvia!"
We sprang apart. And not a moment too soon, for next second thereappeared at the French windows the tall figure of a rather prettydark-haired girl in cream.
"I--I beg your pardon!" she stammered, on recognizing that Sylvia wasnot alone.
"This is Mr. Biddulph," exclaimed my well-beloved. "Miss ElsieDurnford."
I bowed, and then we all three went forth upon the lawn.
I found Sylvia's fellow-guest a very quiet young girl, and understoodthat she lived somewhere in the Midlands. Her father, she told me, wasvery fond of hunting, and she rode to hounds a good deal.
We wandered about the garden awaiting Shuttleworth's return, for bothgirls would not hear of me leaving before tea.
"Mr. and Mrs. Shuttleworth are certain to be back in time," Sylviadeclared, "and I'm sure they'd be horribly annoyed if you went awaywithout seeing them."
"Do you really wish me to stay?" I asked, with a laugh, as we haltedbeneath the shadow of the great spreading cedar upon the lawn.
"Of course we do," declared Elsie, laughing. "You really must remainand keep us company, Mr. Biddulph. Sylvia, you know, is quite astranger. She's always travelling now-a-days. I get letters from herfrom the four corners of the earth. I never know where to write so asto catch her."
"Yes," replied my well-beloved, with a slight sigh. "When we were atschool at Eastbourne I thought it would be so jolly to travel and seethe world, but now-a-days, alas! I confess I'm already tired of it. Iwould give anything to settle down quietly in the beautiful country inEngland--the country which is incomparable."
"You will--one day," I remarked meaningly.
And as she lifted her eyes to mine she replied--
"Perhaps--who knows?"
The village rector returned at last, greeting me with some surprise,and introducing his wife, a rather stout, homely woman, who boretraces of good looks, and who wore a visiting gown of neat black, forshe had been paying a call.
"I looked in to see you the other day in town, Mr. Biddulph," he said."But I was unfortunate. Your man told me you were out. He was not rudeto me this time," he added humorously, with a laugh.
"No," I said, smiling. "He was profuse in his apologies. Old servantsare sometimes a little trying."
"Yes, you're right. But he seems a good sort. I blame myself, youknow. He's not to blame in the least."
Then we strolled together to a tent set beneath the cedar, whither themaid had already taken the tea and strawberries, and there we sataround gossiping.
Afterwards, when Shuttleworth rose, he said--
"Come across to my study and have a smoke. You're not in a great hurryto get back to town. Perhaps you'll play a game of tennis presently?"
I followed him through the pretty pergola of roses, back into thehouse, and when I had seated myself in the big old arm-chair, he gaveme an excellent cigar.
"Do you know, Mr. Biddulph," he said after we had been smoking someminutes, "I'm extremely glad to have this opportunity of a chat withyou. I called at Wilton Street, because I wished to see you."
"Why?" I asked.
"Well, for several reasons," was his slow, earnest reply. His facelooked thinner, more serious. Somehow I had taken a great fancy tohim, for though a clergyman, he struck me as a broad-minded man of theworld. He was keen-eyed, thoughtful and earnest, yet at the same timefull of that genuine, hearty bonhomie so seldom, alas! found inreligious men. The good fellowship of a leader appeals to men morethan anything else, and yet somehow it seems always more apparent inthe Roman Catholic priest than in the Protestant clergyman.
"The reason I called to-day was because I thought you might wish tospeak to me," I said.
He rose and closed the French windows. Then, re-seating himself, heremoved his old briar pipe from his lips, and, bending towards me inhis chair, said very earnestly--
"I wonder whether I might presume to say something to you strictly inprivate, Mr. Biddulph? I know that I ought not to interfere in yourprivate affairs--yet, as a minister of religion, I perhaps am aslightly privileged person in that respect. At least you will, Itrust, believe in my impartiality."
"Most certainly I do, Mr. Shuttleworth," I replied, somewhat surprisedat his manner.
"Well, you recollect our conversation on the last occasion you werehere?" he said. "You remember what I told you?"
"I remember that we spoke of Miss Sylvia," I exclaimed, "and that yourefused to satisfy my curiosity."
"I refused, because I am not permitted," was his calm rejoinder.
"Since I saw you," I said, "a dastardly attempt has been made upon mylife. I was enticed to an untenanted house in Bayswater, and after acheque for a thousand pounds had been obtained from me by a trick, Inarrowly escaped death by a devilish device. My grave, I afterwardsfound, was already prepared."
"Is this a fact!" he gasped.
"It is. I was rescued--by Sylvia herself."
He was silent, drawing hard at his pipe, deep in thought.
"The names of the two men who made the dastardly attempt upon me wereReckitt and Forbes--friends of Sylvia Pennington," I went on.
He nodded. Then, removing his pipe, exclaimed--
"Yes. I understand. But did I not warn you?"
"You did. But, to be frank, Mr. Shuttleworth, I really did not followyou then. Neither do I now."
/> "Have I not told you, my dear sir, that I possess certain knowledgeunder vow of absolute secrecy--knowledge which it is not permitted tome, as a servant of God, to divulge."
"But surely if you knew that assassination was contemplated, it wasyour duty to warn me."
"I did--but you took no heed," he declared. "Sylvia warned you also,when you met in Gardone, and yet you refused to take her advice and gointo hiding!"
"But why should an innocent, law-abiding, inoffensive man be compelledto hide himself like a fugitive from justice?" I protested.
"Who can fathom human enmity, or the ingenious cunning of theevil-doer?" asked the grey-faced rector quite calmly. "Have you neverstopped to wonder at the marvellous subtlety of human wickedness?"
"Those men are veritable fiends," I cried. "Yet why have I arousedtheir animosity? If you know so much concerning them, Mr.Shuttleworth, don't you think that it is your duty to protect yourfellow-creatures?--to make it your business to inform the police?" Iadded.
"Probably it is," he said reflectively. "But there are times wheneven the performance of one's duty may be injudicious."
"Surely it is not injudicious to expose the methods of suchblackguards!" I cried.
"Pardon me," he said. "I am compelled to differ with that opinion.Were you in possession of the same knowledge as myself, you too,would, I feel sure, deem it injudicious."
"But what is this secret knowledge?" I demanded. "I have narrowlyescaped being foully done to death. I have been robbed, and I feelthat it is but right that I should now know the truth."
"Not from me, Mr. Biddulph," he answered. "Have I not already told youthe reason why no word of the actual facts may pass my lips?"
"I cannot see why you should persist in thus mystifying me as to thesinister motive of that pair of assassins. If they wished to rob me,they could have done so without seeking to take my life by thosehorrible means."
"What means did they employ?" he asked.
Briefly and vividly I explained their methods, as he sat silent,listening to me to the end. He evinced neither horror nor surprise.Perhaps he knew their mode of procedure only too well.
"I warned you," was all he vouchsafed. "Sylvia warned you also."
"It is over--of the past, Mr. Shuttleworth," I said, rising from mychair. "I feel confident that Sylvia, though she possessed knowledgeof what was intended, had no hand whatever in it. Indeed, soconfident am I of her loyalty to me, that to-day--yes, let me confessit to you--for I know you are my friend as well as hers, to-day,here--only an hour ago, I asked Sylvia to become my wife."
"Your wife!" he gasped, starting to his feet, his countenance pale anddrawn.
"Yes, my wife."
"And what was her answer?" he asked dryly, in a changed tone.
"She has consented."
"Mr. Biddulph," he said very gravely, looking straight into my face,"this must never be! Have I not already told you the ghastlytruth?--that there is a secret--an unmentionable secret----"
"A secret concerning her!" I cried. "What is it? Come, Mr.Shuttleworth, you shall tell me, I demand to know!"
"I can only repeat that between you and Sylvia Pennington there stilllies the open gulf--and that gulf is, indeed, the grave. In yourignorance of the strange but actual facts you do not realize your owndread peril, or you would never ask her to become your wife. Abandonall thought of her, I beg of you," he urged earnestly. "Take thisadvice of mine, for one day you will assuredly thank me for mycounsel."
"I love her with all the strength of my being, and for me that issufficient," I declared.
"Ah!" he cried in despair as he paced the room. "To think of the ironyof it all! That you should actually woo her--of all women!" Then,halting before me, his eye grew suddenly aflame, he clenched hishands and cried: "But you shall not! Understand me, you shall hateher; you shall curse her very name. You shall never loveher--never--I, Edmund Shuttleworth, forbid it! It must not be!"
At that instant the _frou-frou_ of a woman's skirts fell upon my ears,and, turning quickly, I saw Sylvia herself standing at the open Frenchwindows.
Entering unobserved she had heard those wild words of the rector's,and stood pale, breathless, rigid as a statue.
"There!" he cried, pointing at her with his thin, bony finger. "Thereshe is! Ask her yourself, now--before me--the reason why she can neverbe your wife--the reason that her love is forbidden! If she reallyloves you, as she pretends, she will tell you the truth with her ownlips!"
Hushed Up! A Mystery of London Page 16
