by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER XI
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
When he came to think of it, Medenham decided to return at once toSymon's Yat. It was advisable, however, to inform the proprietor ofthe hotel that the Earl's denunciation of Dale as a pilferer ofluggage was based on a complete misunderstanding of the facts. Withthat object in view he entered the office; another surprise awaitedhim there.
A lady bookkeeper, casting an appraising eye over his motoringgarments, asked instantly:
"Are you Mr. Fitzroy, driver of a Mercury car, Number X L 4000?"
"Yes," said he, prepared now to see his name and description blazonedacross the west front of the cathedral.
"You are wanted on the telephone. Miss Vanrenen wishes you to ring herup."
After a soul-chastening delay he heard Cynthia's voice:
"That you, Mr. Fitzroy?"
"Yes."
"I'm so glad I caught you before you hurried away again.... Er--thatis--I suppose you traveled rather fast, you and Mercury?"
He laughed. That was all. He did not intend to let her assume soreadily that he had missed the first thought which bubbled forth inwords. She well knew that he was not in Hereford from personal choice,but she had not meant to tell him that she knew.
"What are you sniggering at?" she demanded imperiously.
"Only at your divination," he answered. "Indeed, if a tire had notgiven out soon after I left Whitchurch I would now be well on my wayto the Yat."
Suddenly he recollected the singular outcome of the incident. Therewas some reasonable probability that it might exercise a materialeffect on the course of events during the next few days.
So, after a little pause, he added: "That is one reason; there areothers."
"Is something detaining you, then?" she asked.
"Yes, a trivial matter, but I shall be at the hotel long beforelunch."
"Mrs. Devar is much better.... She is so sorry I remained indoors thismorning."
"Mrs. Devar is cultivating angelic qualities," he said, but hemurmured under his breath: "The old cat finds now that she has made amistake."
"I want you to pay the hotel people for the rooms I reserved but havenot occupied. Then, perhaps, they will hand you any mail that mayhave been sent after me. And please give them my address at Chester.Will you do all that?"
"Certainly. There should be no difficulty."
"Is Hereford looking very lively?"
"It strikes me as peculiarly empty," he said with convincing candor.
"Shall we have time to see all the show places to-morrow?"
"We shall make time."
"Well, good-bye! Bring my letters. I have not heard from my fathersince we left Bournemouth."
"Ah, there I have the better of you. I heard of, if not from, myrevered dad since reaching Hereford."
"Unexpectedly?"
"Oh, quite."
"Nothing wrong, I hope?"
"The old gentleman's temper seems to be a trifle out of gear; thepresent attack is not serious; he will survive it--for many years, Itrust."
"You must not be flippant where your father is concerned. I believe heis annoyed because you came away with me, and so failed to keep theappointment fixed for Saturday in London. Eh? What did you say?"
"I said 'Well, I am surprised,' or words to that effect. As my name isGeorge I cannot tell a lie, so I must admit regretfully that you haveguessed right. Indeed, Miss Vanrenen, I may go so far as to suggest,by letter, that before my father condemns me he should first meet you.Of course, I shall warn him that you are irresistible."
"Good-by again," said Cynthia severely. "You can tell me all about itafter--oh, some time to-day, anyhow."
The Green Dragon proved to be most undragonish. No manner of doubt wascast on Medenham's good faith; he pocketed half a dozen letters forCynthia, and one, unstamped, bearing the crest of the Mitre, for Mrs.Devar. By the merest chance he caught sight of a note, addressed"Viscount Medenham," stuck in a rack among some telegrams. Thehandwriting was his father's. But how secure it without arousing quitereasonable suspicion? He tried the bold course.
"I may as well take that, too," he said offhandedly.
"Is Viscount Medenham also in your party?" inquired the bookkeeper.
"Yes."
Again no demur was raised, since the Earl's repeated demands forinformation as to Miss Vanrenen's whereabouts showed that some sort oflink must exist between him and the missing tourists.
Medenham sat in his car outside and read:
MY DEAR GEORGE--If this reaches you, please oblige me by returning to town at once. Your aunt is making a devil of a fuss, and is most unpleasant. I say no more now, since I am not sure that you will be in Hereford before we meet.
Yours ever, F.
"I can see myself being very angry with Aunt Susan," he growled in thefirst flush of resentment against the unfairness of her attitude.
But that phase soon passed. His mind dwelt rather on Lady St. Maur'sbland amazement when she encountered Cynthia. He could estimate withsome degree of precision her ladyship's views regarding the eightymillions of citizens of the United States; had she not said in hishearing that "American society was evidently quite English--but withthe head cut off?"
That, and a sarcastic computation as to the difference between TenThousand and Four Hundred, constituted her knowledge of America.Still, he made excuses for her. It was no new thing for an aristocracyto be narrow-minded. Horace, that fine gentleman, "hated the vulgarcrowd," and Nicolo Machiavelli, fifteen centuries later, denounced thenobles of Florence for their "easy-going contempt of everything andeverybody"; so Lady St. Maur had plenty of historical precedent forthe coining of cheap epigrams.
The one person Medenham was really bitter against was MillicentPorthcawl. _She_ had met Cynthia; _she_ herself must have frownedat the lying innuendoes written from Bournemouth; it would give himsome satisfaction to tell Cynthia that the Porthcawl _menage_ oughtnot to figure on her visiting list. But there! Cynthia was toogenerous-minded even to avenge her wrongs, though well able to dealwith the Millicents and Mauds and Susans if they dared be spiteful.
Then the coming of Dale with various leather bags roused him from thereverie induced by his father's curt missive, and he laughed at thediscovery that he was fighting Cynthia's battles already.
The Mercury was raising a good deal of dust in the neighborhood ofWhitchurch when its occupants noticed a pair of urchins perched on agate, signaling frantically. It pleased Medenham to mystify Dale, whowas, if possible, more taciturn than ever since those heart-searchingexperiences at Gloucester and Hereford.
He pulled up some fifty yards or more down the road.
"You saw those boys?" he said.
"Yes, my lord, but they're only having a game."
"Nothing of the sort. Skip along and ask them if they have found outthe answer. If they say 'a day and five-sevenths,' hand them ashilling each. Any other reply will be wrong. Don't talk. Just runthere and back, and pay only on a day and five-sevenths."
Dale ran. Soon he was in his seat again.
"I gev' 'em a bob each, my lord," he announced, grave as an owl.
While they were running slowly down the winding lane that led to theYat Medenham determined to make sure of his ground with reference toMrs. Devar.
"I suppose you left no room for doubt as to my identity in the mindof the lady to whom you spoke over the telephone last night?" heinquired.
"None whatever, my lord. She wormed it out of me."
"Did you mention the Earl?"
"Like an ijjit, I began by giving his lordship's name. It was my onlychanst, I couldn't get to the post-office nohow. Why, I was ordered tobed at eight o'clock, so's his lordship could smoke in peace, as hesaid."
"Then my father was determined to stop you from communicating with me,if possible?"
"If his lordship knew that I crep' down a back stairs to the telephoneI do believe he'd have set about me with a poker,"
said Dale grimly.
"Strange!" mused Medenham, with eyes now more intent on the hotel thanon the road. "Influences other than Aunt Susan's must be at work. Myfather would never have rushed off in a fever from town merely becauseof some ill-natured gossip in a letter from Lady Porthcawl."
His mind flew to the Earl's allusions to Marigny, and it occurred tohim then that the latter had used his father's name at Bristol. Heturned to Dale again.
"Before this business is ended I shall probably find it necessary tokick a Frenchman," he said.
"Make it two of 'em, my lord, an' let me take it out of the otherone," growled Dale.
"Well, there _is_ a bottle-holder," said Medenham, thinking of Devar,"a short, fat fellow, an Englishman, but a most satisfactory subjectfor a drop kick."
"Say when, my lord, an' I'll score a goal with him."
Dale seemed to be speaking feelingly, but his master paid slight heedto him then. A girl in muslin, wearing a rather stylish hat--now,where did Cynthia get a hat?--had just sauntered to that end of thehotel's veranda which gave a glimpse of the road.
"Make yourself comfortable in one of the cottages hereabouts," wasMedenham's parting instruction to his man. "I don't suppose the carwill be needed again to-day, but you might refill the petrol tank--onthe off chance."
"Yes--my lord."
Dale lifted his cap. The ostler who had helped in the cleaning of thecar overnight was standing near the open doors of the coach-house. Hemight not have heard the words, but he certainly saw the respectfulaction. His eyes grew round, and his lips pursed to give vent to animaginary whistle.
"_I_ knew," he told himself. "He's a toff, that's wot he is. Mum's theword, Willyum. Say nothink, 'specially to wimmen!"
Bowing low before his smiling goddess, Medenham produced the packet ofletters. It happened that the unstamped note for Mrs. Devar layuppermost, and Cynthia guessed some part, at least, of its contents.
"Poor Monsieur Marigny!" she cried. "I fear he had a cheerless eveningin Hereford. This is from him. I know his handwriting.... While fatherand I were in Paris he often sent invitations for fixtures at theVelo--once for a coach-drive to Fontainebleau. I was rather sorry Imissed _that_."
Medenham thanked her in his heart for that little pause. No printedpage could be more legible than Cynthia's thought-processes. Howdelightful it was to feel that her unspoken words were mirrored in hisown brain!
But these lover-like beatitudes were interrupted by a slight shriek.She had glanced curiously at a postmark, ripped open an envelope, andwas reading something that surprised her greatly.
"Well, of all the queer things!" she cried. "Here's father in London.He started from Paris yesterday afternoon, and found he had just timeto send me a line by paying a special postal fee at Paddington....What?... Mrs. Leland going to join us at Chester!... Wire if I getthis!..."
She reread the letter with heightened color. Medenham's heart sank tohis boots while he watched her. Whosoever Mrs. Leland might be--andCynthia's first cry of the name sent a shock of recognition throughhim--it was fully evident that the addition of another member to theparty would straightway shut him out of his Paradise. Mrs. Devar, inthe role of guardian, had been disposed of satisfactorily, but "Mrs.Leland" was more than a doubtful quantity. For some kindred reason,perhaps, Cynthia chose to turn and look at the sparkling Wye when nextshe spoke.
"I don't see why Mrs. Leland's unexpected appearance should make anyreal difference to our tour," she said in the colorless tone of onewho seeks rather than imparts conviction. "There is plenty of room inthe car. We must take the front seat in turn, that is all."
"May I ask who Mrs. Leland is?" he asked, and, if his voice wasominously cold, it may be urged in extenuation that in mattersaffecting Cynthia he was no greater adept at concealing his thoughtsthan the girl herself.
"An old friend of ours," she explained hurriedly. "In fact, herhusband was my father's partner till he died, some years ago. She is acharming woman, quite a cosmopolitan. She lives in Paris 'most all thetime, but I fancied she was at Trouville for the summer. I wonder...."
She read the letter a third time. Drooping lids and a screen of heavyeyelashes veiled her eyes, and when the fingers holding thatdisturbing note rested on the rail of the veranda again, still thoseradiant blue eyes remained invisible, and the eloquent eyebrows werenot arched in laughing bewilderment but straightened in silentquestioning.
"Mr. Vanrenen gives no details," she said at last, and seldom, indeed,did "Mr. Vanrenen" replace "father" in her speech. "Perhaps he waswriting against time, though he might have told me less about the postand more of Mrs. Leland. Anyhow, he has a fine Italian hand in somethings, and may be this is one of them.... But I must telegraph atonce."
Medenham roused himself to set forth British idiosyncrasies on thequestion of Sunday labor. He remembered the telephone, however, andCynthia went off to try and get in touch with the Savoy Hotel. Hewithdrew a little way, and began to smoke a reflective cigar, for heknew now who Mrs. Leland was. In twenty minutes or less Cynthia cameto him. It was difficult to account for her obvious perplexity, thoughhe could have revealed some of its secret springs readily enough.
"I'm sorry I shall not be able to take that walk, Mr. Fitzroy," shesaid, frankly recognizing the tacit pact between them. "We have a longday before us to-morrow, and we must make Chester in good time, asMrs. Leland is coming alone from London. Meanwhile, I must attend tomy correspondence."
"Ah. You have spoken to Mr. Vanrenen, then?"
"No. He was not in the hotel, but he left a message for me, knowingthat I was more likely to 'phone than wire."
She was troubled, disturbed, somewhat resentful of this unforeseenchange in the programme arranged for the next few days. Medenham couldhave chosen no more unhappy moment for what he had to say, but duringthose twenty minutes of reflection a definite line of action had beenforced upon him, and he meant to follow it to the only logical end.
"I am glad now that I mentioned my own little difficulty at Hereford,"he said. "Since alterations are to be the order of the day at Chester,will you allow me to provide another driver for the Mercury there? Youwill retain the car, of course, but my place can be taken by atrustworthy man who understands it quite as well as I do."
"You mean that you are dropping out of the tour, then?"
"Yes."
She shot one indignant glance at his impassive face, for he held inrigid control the fire that was consuming him.
"Rather a sudden resolve on your part, isn't it? What earthlydifference does the presence of another lady in our party make?"
"I have been thinking matters over," he said doggedly. "Would you mindreading my father's letter?"
He held out the note received at the Green Dragon, but she ignored it.
"I take it for granted that you have the best of reasons for wishingto go," she murmured.
"Please oblige me by reading it," he persisted.
Perhaps, despite all his self-restraint, some hint of the wild longingin his heart to tell her once and for all that no power under that ofthe Almighty should tear him from her side moved her to relent. Shetook the letter, and began to read.
"Why," she cried, "this was written at Hereford?"
"Yes. My father waited there all night. He left for town only a fewminutes before I entered the hotel this morning."
She read with puzzled brows, smiled a little at "Your aunt is making adevil of a fuss," and passed quite unheeded the solitary "F." in thesignature.
"I think you ought to go to-day," she commented.
"Not because of any argument advanced there," he growled passionately.
"But your aunt ... she is making a--a fuss. One has to conciliateaunts at times."
"My aunt is really a most estimable person. I promise myself someamusement when she explains the origin of the 'fuss' to you."
"To me?"
"Yes. Have I not your permission to bring her to see you in London?"
"Something was said about that."
"May I add that I hope to make Mr. Vanrenen's acquaintance onTuesday?"
She looked at him in rather a startled way.
"Are you going to call and see my father?" she asked.
"Yes."
"But--why, exactly?"
"In the first place, to give him news of your well-being. Letters aregood, but the living messenger is better. Secondly, I want to find outjust why he traveled from Paris to London yesterday."
The air was electric between them. Each knew that the other wasstriving to cloak emotions that threatened at any moment to throw offthe last vestige of concealment.
"My father is a very clever man, Mr. Fitzroy," she said slowly. "If hedid not choose to tell you why he did a thing, you could no moreextract the information from him than from a bit of marble."
"He has one weak point, I am sure," and Medenham smiled confidentlyinto her eyes.
"I do not know it," she murmured.
"But I know it, though I have never seen him. He is vulnerable throughhis daughter."
Her cheeks flamed into scarlet, and her lips trembled, but she strovevaliantly to govern her voice.
"You must be very careful in anything you say about me," she said witha praiseworthy attempt at light raillery.
"I shall be careful with the care of a man who has discovered somerare jewel, and fears lest each shadow should conceal an enemy till hehas reached a place of utmost security."
She sighed, and her glance wandered away into the sun-drowned valley.
"Such fortresses are rare and hard to find," she said. "Take my owncase. I was really enjoying this pleasant tour of ours, yet it isbroken in two, as it were, by some force beyond our control, and theseverance makes itself felt here, in this secluded nook, a retreat noteven marked on our self-drawn map. Where could one be more secure--asyou put it--less open to that surge of events that drives resistlesslyinto new seas? I am something of a fatalist, Mr. Fitzroy, though thephrase sounds strange on my lips. Yet I feel that after to-morrow weshall not meet again so soon or so easily as you imagine, and--if Imay venture to advise one much more experienced than myself--the waythat leads least hopefully to my speedy introduction to your aunt isthat you should see my father, before I rejoin him. You know, I amsure, that I look on you rather as a friend than a mere--a mere----"
"Slave," he suggested, trying to wrench some spark of humor out of theiron in their souls.
"Don't be stupid. I mean that you and I have met on an equality that Iwould deny to Simmonds or to any of the dozen chauffeurs we haveemployed in various parts of the world. And I want to warn you ofthis--knowing my father as well as I do--I am certain he has askedMrs. Leland's help for the undertaking that others have failed in.I--can't say more. I----"
"Cynthia, dear! I have been looking for you everywhere," cried adetested voice. "Ah, there you are, Mr. Fitzroy!" and Mrs. Devarbustled forward cheerfully. "You have been to Hereford, I hear. Howkind and thoughtful of you! Were there any letters for me?"
"Sorry," broke in Cynthia. "I was so absorbed in my own news that Iforget yours. Here is your letter. It is only from Monsieur Marigny,to blow both of us up, I suppose, for leaving him desolate last night.But what do you think of _my_ budget? My father is in London; Mrs.Leland, a friend of ours, joins us at Chester to-morrow; and Fitzroydeserts us at the same time."
Mrs. Devar's eyes bulged and her lower jaw fell a little. She couldhardly have exhibited more significant tokens of alarm had each ofCynthia's unwelcome statements been punctuated by the crash ofartillery fired in the garden beneath.
During a long night and a weary morning she had labored hard at thebuilding of a new castle in Spain, and now it was dissipated at abreath. Her sky had fallen; she was plunged into chaos; her brainreeled under these successive shocks.
"I--don't understand," she gasped, panting as if she had run acrossvast stretches of that vague "everywhere" during her quest of Cynthia.
"None of us understands. That is not the essence of the contract.Anyhow, father is in England, Mrs. Leland will be in Chester, andFitzroy is for London. He is the only real hustler in the crowd.Unless my eyes deceived me, he brought his successor in the car fromHereford. Really, Mr. Fitzroy, don't you think you ought to skate bythe next train?"
"I prefer waiting till to-morrow evening if you will permit it," hesaid humbly.
Cynthia was lashing herself into a very fair semblance of hot anger.She felt that she was trammeled in a net of deception, and, like thefreedom-loving American that she was, she resented the toils none theless because their strands remained invisible. Seeing Medenham'screstfallen aspect at her unjust charge with reference to Dale'spresence, she bit her lip with a laugh of annoyance and turned on Mrs.Devar.
"It seems to me," she cried, "that Count Edouard Marigny has beentaking an interest in me that is certainly not warranted by anyencouragement on my part. Open your letter, Mrs. Devar, and see if he,too, is on the London trail.... Ah, well--perhaps I am mistaken. I wasso vexed for the moment that I thought he might have telegraphed tofather when we did not turn up at Hereford. Of course, that is sheernonsense. He couldn't have done it. Father was in England beforeMonsieur Marigny was aware of our failure to connect with Hereford.I'm sure I don't know what is vexing me, but something is, orsomebody, and I want to quarrel with it, or him, or her, real bad."
Without waiting for any opening of Marigny's note she ran off to herroom. Medenham had turned to leave the hotel when he heard a gurglingcry:
"Mr. Fitzroy--Lord Medenham--what does it all mean?"
Mrs. Devar's distress was pitiable. Snatches of talk overheard inParis and elsewhere warned her that Mrs. Leland would prove anunconquerable foe. She was miserably conscious that her own letter,posted overnight, would rise up in judgment against her, but alreadyshe had devised the plausible excuse that the very qualities whichwere excellent in a viscount were most dangerous in a chauffeur.Nevertheless, the letter, ill-advised though it might be, could notaccount for Peter Vanrenen's sudden visit to England. She mighttorture her wits for a year without hitting on the truth, since thesummoning of the millionaire to the rescue appeared to be the lastthing Count Edouard Marigny would dream of doing. She actually held inher hand a summary of the telegrams he had dispatched from Bristol,but her mind was too confused to work in its customary grooves, andshe blurted out Medenham's title in a frantic attempt to gain hissupport.
"It means this," he said coolly, resolved to clear the groundthoroughly for Mrs. Devar's benefit; "your French ally is resorting tothe methods of the blackmailer. If you are wise you will cut yourselfentirely adrift from him, and warn your son to follow your example. Ishall deal with Monsieur Marigny--have no doubt on that score--and ifyou wish me to forget certain discreditable incidents that havehappened since we left London you will respect my earnest requestthat Miss Vanrenen shall not be told anything about me by you. I meanto choose my own time and place for the necessary explanations. Theyconcern none but Miss Vanrenen and myself, in the first instance, andher father and mine, in the second. I have observed that you can be ashrewd woman when it serves your interests, Mrs. Devar, and now youhave an opportunity of adding discretion to shrewdness. I take it youare asking for my advice. It is simple and to the point. Enjoyyourself, cease acting as a matrimonial agent, and leave the rest tome."
The residents in the hotel were gathering in the veranda, as theluncheon hour was approaching, so Mrs. Devar could not press him to bemore explicit. In the privacy of her own room she read Marigny'sletter. Then she learnt why Cynthia's father had hurried across theChannel, for the Frenchman had not scrupled to warn him that hispresence was imperative if he would save his daughter from a rogue whohad replaced the confidential Simmonds as chauffeur.
Forthwith, Mrs. Devar became more dazed than ever. She felt that shemust confide in someone, so she wrote a full account of events atSymon's Yat to her son. It was the worst possible thing she could havedone. Unconsciously--for she was now anxious to help instead ofhindering Medenham's wooing--some of the gall in her na
ture distilleditself into words. She dwelt on the river episode with all the slyrancor of the inveterate scandalmonger. She was really striving todepict her own confusion of ideas when stunned by the discovery ofMedenham's position, but she only succeeded in stringing together aseries of ill-natured innuendoes. Sandwiched between each paragraph ofthe story were the true gossip's catchwords--thus: "What was I tothink?" "What would people say if they knew?" "My dear, just pictureyour mother's predicament when midnight struck, and there was nonews!" "Of course, one makes allowances for an American girl," and therest.
Though this soured woman was a ready letter-writer, she was no reader,or in days to come she might have parodied Pope's "Epistle to Dr.Arbuthnot":
Why did I write? What sin to me unknown Dipped me in ink?--my parents', or my own?
Not content with her outpouring to Devar she dashed off a warning toMarigny. She imagined that the Frenchman would grin at his brokenfortunes, and look about for another heiress! And so, abandoning ameal to the fever of scribbling, she packed more mischief into an hourthan any elderly marriage-broker in Europe that day, and waddled offto the letterbox with a sense of consolation, strong in the beliefthat the morrow would bring telegrams to guide her in the fray withMrs. Leland.
Medenham sent a short note to his father, saying that he would reachLondon about midnight next day and asking him to invite Aunt Susan tolunch on Tuesday. Then he waited in vain for sight of Cynthia until,driven to extremes by tea-time, he got one of the maids to take her averbal message, in which he stated that the climb to the summit of theYat could be made in half an hour.
The reply was deadening.
"Miss Vanrenen says she is busy. She does not intend to leave thehotel to-day; and will you please have the car ready at eight o'clockto-morrow morning."
Then Medenham smiled ferociously, for he had just ascertained that thelocal telegraph office opened at eight.
"Kindly tell Miss Vanrenen that we had better make a start some fewminutes earlier, because we have a long day's run before us," he said.
And he hummed a verse of "Young Lochinvar" as he moved away, therebyprovoking the maid-servant to an expression of opinion that some folkthought a lot of themselves--but as for London shuffers and theirmanners--well there!
