Dean?"
"Hang him, no," said the Colonel pettishly. "Perhaps so, though. Ihope not, or we shall have your father calling us idiots--deservedlyso--for our pains. Wrong, Dick; the old man will sleep in peace. Willit be Drelincourt?"
"Madame Pontardent, perhaps."
"No, no, no, my lad; he's going straight along. How lovely the sealooks!"
"And how refreshing it is after that hot, noisy room."
"Insufferable. What fools men are to sit and drink when they might playwhist!"
"And win money," said Linnell drily.
"To be sure, my lad. Oh, you'll come to it in time. Where the dickensis he going? Who can the lady be?"
The Major evidently knew, for he was walking smartly ahead, in earnestconverse with half a dozen more. Then came the Colonel and hiscompanion, and three more of the party brought up the rear.
The Major's course was still by the row of houses that faced the sea,now almost without a light visible, and Richard Linnell was dreamilywatching the waves that looked like liquid gold as they rose, curvedover and broke upon the shingle, when all the blood seemed to rush atonce to his heart, and then ebb away, leaving him choking and paralysed,for the Colonel suddenly said aloud:
"Claire Denville!"
And he saw that their host of the night had stopped before the house ofthe Master of the Ceremonies.
The blood began to flow again, this time with a big wave of passionaterage in Richard Linnell's breast. He was furious. How dared thathandsome libertine profane Claire Denville by even thinking of her? Howdared he bring him there, to play beneath the window--the window he hadso often watched, and looked upon as a sacred temple--the resting-placeof her he loved.
He was ready to seize the Major by the throat; to fight for her; to sayanything; to dash down the instrument in his rage; to turn and flee; butthe next moment the cool, calm voice of the Colonel brought him to hissenses, and he recalled that this was his secret--his alone--this secretof his love.
"I did not know the Major was warm there. Well, she's a handsome girl,and he's welcome, I dare say."
Linnell felt ready to choke again, but he could not speak. He must getout of this engagement, though, at any cost.
As he was musing, though, he found himself drawn as it were to where theMajor and his friends were standing in front of the silent house, andthe Colonel said:
"Come, my lad, let's run through the piece, and get home to bed. I'mtoo old for such tom-fool tricks as these."
"I will not play! It is an insult! It is madness!" thought RichardLinnell; and then, as if in a dream, he found himself the centre of agroup, fuming at what he was doing, while, as if in spite of his rage,he was drawing the sweet echoing strains from the violin, listening tothe harmonies added by his friend, and all in a nightmare-like fashion,playing involuntarily on, and gazing at the windows he had so oftenwatched.
On, on, on, the notes poured forth, throbbing on the night air, soundingpensive, sweet and love-inspiring, maddening too, as he tried to checkhis thoughts, and played with more inspiration all the while till thelast bar, with its diminuendo, was reached, and he stood there,palpitating, asking himself why he had done this thing, and waitingtrembling in his jealous rage, lest any notice should be taken of thecompliment thus paid.
Did Claire Denville encourage the Major--that libertine whose amourswere one of the scandals of the place? Oh, it was impossible. Shewould not have heard the music. If she had she would have thought itfrom some wanderers, for she had never heard him play. She would notnotice it. She would not heed it. In her virgin youth and innocency itwas a profanation to imagine that Claire Denville--sweet, pure ClaireDenville--the woman he worshipped, could notice such an attention. No,it was impossible she would; and his eyes almost started as he gazed atthe white-curtained windows, looking so solemn and so strange.
No, no, no; she would not notice, even if she had heard, and a strangefeeling of elation came into the jealous breast.
"Come," he said hoarsely, "let us go."
"One moment, lad. Ah, yes," said the Colonel. "Gloriana has heard theserenade, and is about to respond to her lover's musically amatory call.Look, Dick, look."
Richard Linnell's heart sank, for a white arm drew back the curtain, andthen the catch of the window fastening was pressed back, and a chord inthe young man's breast seemed to snap; but it was only the spring of thewindow hasp.
_Click_!
Volume One, Chapter VII.
AFTER THE STORM.
The "ghastly serenade" it was called at Saltinville as the facts becameknown.
That night Richard Linnell was standing with his teeth set, his throatdry, and a feeling of despair making his heart seem to sink, watchingthe white hand that was waved as soon as the sash was opened. Halfblind with the blood that seemed to rush to his eyes, he glared at thewindow. Then a sudden revulsion of feeling came over him as a familiarvoice that was not Claire's cried, "Help!--a doctor!" and then thespeaker seemed to stagger away.
The rest was to Richard Linnell like some dream of horror, regardingwhich he recalled the next morning that he had thundered at the door,that he had helped to carry Claire to her room, and that he hadafterwards been one of the group who stood waiting in the dining-roomuntil the doctor came down to announce that Miss Denville was better--that Lady Teigne was quite dead.
Then they had stolen out on tiptoe, and in the stillness of the earlymorning shaken hands all round and separated, the Major remaining withthem, and walking with Colonel Mellersh and Richard Linnell to theirdoor.
"What a horror!" he said hoarsely. "I would not for the world havetaken you two there had I known. Good-night--good-morning, I shouldsay;" and he, too, said those words--perhaps originated thesaying--"What a ghastly serenade!"
Nine days--they could spare no more in Saltinville, for it would havespoiled the season--nine days' wonder, and then the news that a certainroyal person was coming down, news blown by the trumpet of Fame with herattendants, raised up enough wind to sweep away the memory of the horroron the Parade.
"She was eighty if she was a day," said Sir Matthew Bray: "and it wasquite time the old wretch did die."
"Nice way of speaking of a lady whose relative you are seeking to be,"said Sir Harry Payne. "Sweet old nymph. How do you make it fit, Matt?"
"Fit? Some scoundrel of a London tramp scaled the balcony, they say.Fine plunder, the rascal! All those diamonds."
"Which she might have left her sister, and then perhaps they would havecome to you, Matt."
"Don't talk stuff."
"Stuff? Why, you are besieging the belle. But, I say, I have my owntheory about that murder."
"Eh, have you?" cried the great dragoon, staring open-mouthed.
"Egad! yes, Matt. It was not a contemptible robbery."
"Wasn't it? You don't say so."
"But I do," cried Sir Harry seriously. "Case of serious jealousy on thepart of some lover of the bewitching creature. He came in the dead o'night and smothered the Desdemona with a pillow. What do you say,Rockley?"
The Major had strolled across the mess-room and heard these words.
"Bah! Don't ridicule the matter," he said. "Change the subject."
"As you like, but the feeble flame only wanted a momentary touch of theextinguisher and it was gone."
At the house on the Parade there had been terrible anguish, and ClaireDenville suffered painfully as she passed through the ordeal of theexamination that ensued.
But everything was very straightforward and plain. There were the marksof some one having climbed up the pillar--an easy enough task. Thewindow opened without difficulty from without, a pot or two layoverturned in the balcony, a chair in the drawing-room, evidently thework of some stranger, and the valuable suite of diamonds was gone.
The constable arrested three men of the street tumbler and wanderingvagrant type, who were examined, proved easily that they were elsewhere;and after the vote of condolence to our esteemed fellow-townsman, StuartD
enville, Esq, which followed the inquest, there seemed nothing more tobe done but to bury Lady Teigne, which was accordingly done, and theprincipal undertaker cleared a hundred pounds by the grand funeral thattook place, though it was quite a year before Lady Drelincourt would paythe whole of his bill.
So with Lady Teigne the horror was buried too, and in a fortnight theevent that at one time threatened to interfere with the shopkeepers' andlodging-letters' season was forgotten.
For that space of time, too, the familiar figure of the Master of theCeremonies was not seen upon the Parade. Miss Denville was very ill, itwas said, and after the funeral Isaac had to work hard at answering thedoor to receive the many cards that were left by fashionable people,till there was quite a heap
The Master of the Ceremonies Page 9
