One swift glance around the room assured him that none of its other contents had been disturbed. With a feeling of strong relief, he left the apartment.
When Joanna had gone out of the room, she had proceeded at once to her own bedchamber. Her feelings were in such confusion that for the moment she could not think coherently on any subject at all. She poured some cool water into a basin, and bathed her hot cheeks. Then she tidied her hair, pausing to study herself objectively in the glass.
She was not truly pretty, she decided: her mouth was too wide, her nose too long, and her hair not really black. Her teeth—well, she admitted reluctantly, perhaps her teeth were not so much to be deplored as the rest of her face.
At this point in her reflections, she dropped the comb she was holding poised uselessly in mid-air. She was only concentrating on her appearance to hold back other, more important, considerations, she told herself sternly.
It would not do: she must face the facts.
The most outstanding fact which required facing was that her worst suspicions were now confirmed. There could be no doubt that Dorlais was the French agent for whom Captain Jackson was seeking. If she had only known earlier that Masterman was working with Jackson, she might have spared herself all the trouble she had taken to find out this. But Masterman had been so very circumspect: he had not betrayed himself in any way. Thinking back over the past events, she realized all at once that when he had seen the open window and the bloodstains on the carpet on that occasion in Teignton Manor, he must have had a very good notion who it was who had been there. Had he guessed at once, when the Colonel and he had met the drunken Militia man on their way to the Manor that night, and heard his incoherent story? It was very likely, but if so, he had given no sign of it at any time. And was it possible that Jackson had been lurking in the grounds of the Manor on that occasion in the hope of seeing Masterman, knowing in some way that he and Colonel Kellaway were to spend the night there? Jackson had told her at that time that he had entered the grounds to escape from someone; that could have been only part of the truth.
Perhaps it was as well, after all, that she had been ignorant of Masterman’s complicity. Captain Jackson had been quite in the right when he had refused to divulge the secret of the identity of his helper in Shalbeare House. It was suddenly borne in upon her that, if she had been in the secret, she would almost certainly have betrayed it to the experienced eye of such a man as Guy Dorlais must be.
Her heart contracted as she thought of Kitty. Dear, pretty little elfin Kit, how would she bear it? But at least the breach had already begun; even now, Kitty was beset by doubts. Joanna knew that she must go to her friend and tell her the truth. It was an unpleasant task, but it must be faced. A long friendship brought responsibilities as well as pleasure.
A definite purpose helped to clear her mind of its confusion. She rose purposefully, donned a dark red pelisse trimmed with ermine, tied a bonnet of the same shade under her chin, and, snatching up a muff from her wardrobe, ran from the room.
On her way downstairs, she encountered her grandmother.
“Are you going out, Joanna? Then you surely cannot know that Algernon is here again. I have already spoken with him, and he is at present in the library with your grandfather, hearing all about that stupid affair; I expect he will be asking after you in a few minutes.”
Joanna did not expect any such thing, but she contented herself with saying that she had caught just a glimpse of Mr. Cholcombe on his way to see Lady Feniton.
“If anyone should want me, I shall be walking in the shrubbery with Kitty,” she concluded.
“Oh, very well! I suppose you are right in taking exercise, though the air is very bleak this morning. However, I observe that you are warmly clad. Do not stay out too long, child.”
Joanna promised, impatient to be gone. It was not long before she came across Kitty wandering aimlessly through the shrubbery. There were tears in her eyes, Joanna noticed at once. She took her friend’s arm.
“I judged you had been long enough alone, Kit. Besides, I wish to talk to you.”
“And I to you,” replied Kitty, despondently. “Oh, Jo, I have thought and thought until my head goes round like a whirlpool! I do not know what is to be done!”
“You will know, dearest, when I have told you what must be told,” said Joanna. Her voice was gentle, but firm, and she pressed the arm which rested on her own. “I mislike what I have to do, Kitty, but I have decided that it is only fair to acquaint you with something that at present is known only to myself—and one other, whom I shall come to presently,” she added, remembering Captain Masterman.
This hint of mystery momentarily diverted Kitty’s thoughts.
“What can you be talking of?” she wondered.
Quietly, Joanna told her story. She started with her first meeting with Captain Jackson, and worked down to their last encounter in the grounds of Shalbeare House. So far, she had been heard in a stunned silence; but when she spoke of Captain Jackson’s declaration of love, Kitty could contain herself no longer.
“Joanna! This is not at all like you! It is all so—so romantic!”
“I am not telling you this, Kitty, to stir your feelings for romance, but for quite another reason. The man Jackson can be nothing to me, as you will speedily realize: his declaration was the wildest piece of folly! But did you mark what he told me of this French agent who controls the activities of the others of his kind—and did you notice what I said concerning the way in which this man delivers his orders to Jackson?”
“Yes, to be sure,” said Kitty, with a shiver. “It sounds vastly unpleasant! This Captain Jackson must be a very brave man, Jo!”
“He is indeed,” replied Joanna, with a reminiscent smile. “But pray do pay particular attention now, Kitty. As I mentioned before, these orders were made up of words cut from a printed page, and stuck on to a sheet of letter paper.”
Kitty frowned. “It must be a tedious task—”
She broke off, staring at Joanna as a sudden thought struck her.
“Good Heavens, Jo! Your grandfather’s book!”
“Exactly,” said Miss Feniton, quietly. “That was how I came to realize that this French agent must be staying in my home as a guest.”
An odd expression came over Kitty’s face.
“Do you see what I am trying to tell you?” asked Joanna. “Piece together the evidence, Kitty, and you will be bound to come to the same conclusion as I have reached. And as if that were not enough, there is one final circumstance—”
She retailed the incident which had just taken place in Guy’s room. Kitty listened in complete silence, watching her friend’s face with considering eyes.
“So you see,” concluded Joanna, in a gentle tone, “there can be no mistake. Mr. Dorlais is undoubtedly the man, and it is perhaps for the best—”
“No!”
Joanna drew back a little, startled by the other’s unexpected vehemence.
“You are wrong, Joanna, wrong, wrong, wrong!” reiterated Kitty, passionately. “Don’t ask me for reasons, for I have none—and anyway, they are the stupidest things, and can prove nothing! I only know that Guy is good and honourable, and not a traitor! I know it with that special part of me that tells me when such a one is to be trusted, while another is not! I do not deny that he has acted strangely, for you are well aware that his behaviour has almost persuaded me that he no longer cares for me: but whatever the motive for his actions, I dare swear that it’s not the one you impute to him! No, there is something else which holds him back from me—I don’t know yet what it is, but I am confident that I shall do so in time. Meanwhile, I must simply trust in him!”
“Trust!” echoed Miss Feniton, dismayed. “You poor child, what is the use of hoodwinking yourself? You cannot continue to believe in him in face of all the evidence!”
“But that’s just what I can do, Jo, for that is what love means,” replied Kitty. She was quiet and confident now. “I should thank you, my dear, for
you have at last made me realize that I love Guy in spite of anything he may do! I have had my doubts, but they are over, thank God. I have only to wait patiently, and I know that he will make it all clear to me in time.”
It was in vain that Joanna tried to reason her friend out of this dangerous attitude of mind: Kitty was firm. Where before she had doubted, she now trusted implicitly. Joanna’s story had produced quite the opposite effect from what she had intended.
“You may as well give up, Jo, for you won’t change me,” Kitty advised her. “I know my own mind, now—but are you certain that you do?”
“In what way? If you are speaking of Mr. Dor—“
“I am not; I am. speaking of Captain Jackson.”
“Oh,” replied Joanna, and was silent.
“Are you quite sure, my dear, that you do not return his regard—just a little?”
“How could I do so?” asked Joanna, in surprise. “He is not of my world; he—he is not, as far as I am aware, a—a gentleman.”
“I understood you to say that you did not know his real identity?”
“No more do I. But it is obvious, from all manner of little things—”
“Does it really matter?”
“Matter? My dear Kitty, whatever can you mean?”
“Only that you must take love where you find it. That may not always be where you expect—or wish—to find it.”
“Oh, if you are to speak in riddles, I have done!” exclaimed Joanna, with a touch of anger. “As you are so ready to persist in nourishing an affection for a traitor, I suppose you think it nothing that I should entertain one for a nameless smuggler!”
“No more do I,” said Kitty, sticking out her chin. “And if we are to remain friends, Miss Feniton, you will say no more of traitors, if you please!”
“Oh, Kit!” exclaimed Joanna, contritely. “We must not quarrel—we are each other’s only confidante. And besides, we are the proper complement each of the other. I need your romanticism—and you, my dear, need my common sense!”
They looked into each other’s faces, and laughed.
“Well, that’s very true,” said Kitty, taking her friend’s arm once more. “But do you know, Jo, I think we each possess more of the other’s chief characteristic than we have ever realized until now!”
They walked in silence for a little while.
“Can I say nothing to make you change your mind?” asked Joanna, timidly.
“Nothing,” was the firm reply. “But we are not to quarrel on that account. Let’s decide never to mention this subject again.”
“Very well,” replied Joanna, with a sigh. “It must be as you wish.”
“Good! Then let us return to the house. I had not thought of it before, but I am pretty near frozen to death! There should be a good fire in the morning room, too, by now.”
They turned towards the house, arms closely linked together.
SIXTEEN - Mr. Cholcombe Makes a Declaration
Guy Dorlais did not return for luncheon, but his absence was felt by no one except Kitty. Joanna was thankful for the opportunity of postponing a meeting with the man whom she now knew to be a traitor: as for the rest of the party, they were too much occupied in discussing the subject which claimed so much of Sir Walter’s thoughts.
“Well, there you are!” pronounced Sir George Lodge. “I’m tolerably certain that the servants know nothing of the matter, Walter. One cannot escape the conviction that the offence must have been committed some time since—perhaps years ago.”
“Certainly it is some years since last I opened that book—”
“I should think it is!” interrupted his wife. “I’m sure it would not signify if no one ever opened it! Such a to-do about a book which could not have cost more than a few shillings at most! Your guests must find it more than a little tedious, Feniton!”
“Not at all,” said Mr. Cholcombe, in his pleasant drawl. “Mysteries are always entertaining, do you not agree, Masterman?”
Captain Masterman nodded briefly, but did not speak. Miss Masterman was more voluble, saying that for her part she dearly loved a mystery.
“So you see, ma’am,” remarked Cholcombe to his hostess, with a smile, “you need have no fears on that score.”
He turned to Sir Walter. “I myself have not seen the book, sir. Tell me, are you sufficiently acquainted with the text to know what the missing word would be? Was it perhaps—could it be”—he smiled deprecatingly—“something which was removed so that it could not offend the eyes of, let us say, a female reader?”
Sir Walter looked a trifle impatiently at the speaker.
“My dear young man, I imagine there is nothing particularly offensive about the name of a village.”
“So that is what it was!” exclaimed Georgina Masterman. “How very odd, to be sure!”
“I believe I told you that the book was a traveller’s account of various districts of England and Wales,” explained Sir Walter. “The particular page which was damaged”—his voice shook a little with anger—“dealt with our own county of Devon. The missing word was ‘Babbacombe’.”
There was a lengthy silence. Lady Feniton was the first to break it, determined to change the subject. She turned to Mr. Cholcombe.
“I collect that you, also, have the intention of renewing acquaintance with some of the officers whose ships are just arrived in the Bay?” she asked him.
He bowed. “I thought of walking down there this afternoon, and seeing if I could run across anyone I know.”
“Then perhaps you will like to bring some of them back with you to dinner? Sir Walter and I generally offer hospitality to any officers who may put in here; we are always glad to see company at Shalbeare House. With Captain and Miss Masterman leaving us, we shall be but a small party; and I have a strong conviction that we would all benefit from a change of conversation.”
He bowed again, and undertook to carry her invitation to his friends.
At the conclusion of the meal, Captain Masterman and his sister rose to take their leave.
“Do you expect to be able to return to us later on?” Lady Feniton asked the Captain. “It will be dull for you at home without your sister, you know, and you are very welcome here.”
He thanked her politely, and said that it must all depend upon Colonel Kellaway. If he should find himself free nothing would make him happier than to return to Shalbeare House.
“Of course. we realize that you have important work to do,” replied Lady Feniton. “But do not stand upon ceremony with us. If you should be at liberty for as little as one day—either you or the Colonel, or both—do pay us a call. I shall keep your room ready, in the hope of seeing you back with us before long.”
He thanked her again, the final farewells were said, and the Mastermans departed.
Miss Feniton had been unable to take any particular leave of the Captain, though there was much she would have liked to say to him privately, many questions she could have asked. She consoled herself with the thought that he would know just what to do concerning Dorlais, however: there was no longer any need for her to take action in that matter. She felt it highly probable that he would return to them in a few days; his eyes had seemed to promise this when he was taking leave of her. It did not escape her notice that Mr. Cholcombe had appeared to be observing them both very narrowly at that particular moment: she wondered if he was thinking of the encounter in Guy Dorlais’s room. Did he mean to make any reference to that, she asked herself? So far, he had been given no opportunity of private speech with her since that occasion. They had been always in company with the rest.
She and Kitty passed a quiet afternoon with the two dowagers. By common consent, nothing more was said between the friends on the subject of Guy Dorlais. Some copies of La Belle Assemblée were scanned, and the latest fashions debated. Lady Feniton waxed indignant over the wearing of pink silk stockings, which she categorically declared to be scandalous.
“It is all of a piece,” she proclaimed, “with thes
e disgracefully filmy gowns which are all the go at present! Why, when I was at an Assembly in Exeter last year, there was an abandoned female there who could not have been wearing a stitch under her gown, so close did it cling to her form! You must remember, Joanna, for I pointed her out to you at the time,” she added, turning to Miss Feniton.
Joanna nodded. “Yes, I do recollect it; I believe she had most likely damped the gown slightly, grandmama, to make it cling like that.”
“Damped?” asked Lady Lodge, in horror, “My dear child, you surely cannot mean that young women do such foolish things? I can’t imagine what the young are coming to—only think of the risk of taking a chill!”
Both young ladies permitted themselves a laugh. “That is a small price to pay for being in the first stare of fashion!” said Kitty. “All the same, I do not quite like to follow so extreme a vogue.”
“I should think not, indeed,” declared Lady Feniton. “As for pink silk stockings, I hope I shall never see either of you wearing them!”
Joanna and Kitty exchanged guilty glances. Then Miss Feniton, bolder than her friend, lifted the hem of her dress just enough to allow her grandmother’s eye to rest upon her ankles.
“Well, of all things!” exclaimed the outraged dowager. “You must go at once, and put on something more modest, Miss!”
“Oh, please, ma’am!” Kitty produced her most charming smile, and at the same time unveiled her own pink ankles. “Dear Lady Feniton, it’s all the go, and one simply must be in the fashion, you know! Mama actually sent all the way to London for these, and I gave Joanna those she is wearing.”
Lady Feniton eyed her friend severely. “I should not have thought it of you, Letitia—” she began, in a moralizing tone.
“Oh, well, girls will be girls!” replied Lady Lodge, hurriedly, avoiding her friend’s eye. “And I must say that when we were young, we did not like to be dowdy, now did we, Augusta?”
This brave speech produced the desired effect. Lady Feniton, after an expressive snort, said no more about Joanna’s going to change the offending articles of clothing, and instead launched herself into a bitter attack on the latest novel which had been conveyed to them from the Circulating Library in Exeter.
The Guinea Stamp Page 19
