“I suppose I must give him this,” continued Letty, reverting to the note. “But I shall wait a day or two, until he is really well, and so you may tell Celia. Oh, Jane, I hope she may not vent her spite on you! You must not stay there: why do you not come here? I know Mama would be pleased to have you for an indefinite stay, and as for myself — well, you know how I would feel, do you not? Do, please, leave that dreadful house, and come to us, dearest Jane!”
Jane was very firm in refusing this offer, while expressing her sense of Letty’s goodness in making it.
“It is quite absurd that you should be reduced to such straits, Jane, when your father gave his life for his country! And there is Celia Walbrook, who is an undeserving character if ever I saw one, surrounded by every luxury; while you, who never did anything but good to anyone, have not a penny to bless yourself with!”
“Oh, Letty, come, it is not as bad as that!” Jane had to laugh at her friend’s indignation. “As for Celia, believe me, I would not change places with her for all the Bordesley fortune,” she added more soberly.
“No, I suppose not: but life often seems most unfair. Well, at any rate, you will be able to look in and see me pretty often. I would call on you, but that I must see her also if I do; and I’ve never yet bothered to call on Celia Bordesley, and don’t mean to begin! You will come, won’t you? And not let yourself be deterred by any of those silly notions of yours about putting upon people? ’Pon rep, Jane, you are the most independent, diffident girl I’ve ever met, and I love you for it, but I could sometimes shake you!”
Jane laughed and promised that she would indeed call when she should be free to do so. On this note, the two friends parted.
Chapter IX. Return Of The Stranger
DURING THE next few days, Jane had ample opportunity of observing the truth of Celia’s prediction that the Earl would dance attendance on his wife. Indeed, Jane scarcely saw either of them. Bordesley bore Celia off to Bond St. in the afternoon of the day on which Jane had seen Letty, and they returned with a coach loaded with gowns and trinkets. The following morning, my lord drove Celia in the park arrayed in one of her new toilettes; in the evening, he accompanied her to a small private party where there was dancing. Jane found herself with a great deal of time on her hands, but she did not use it in visiting Letty, much as her inclinations ran that way. She did, however, pay a call on Mrs. Sharratt, who had expressed her desire of hearing how Jane went on in her new post. She was given a true account of the comforts provided, and the difficulties were glossed over. Thus Jane left the lawyer’s wife with a comfortable feeling concerning her welfare.
After showing an initial annoyance at Jane’s discreetly worded version of the message from Letty Carisbrooke, Celia had said no more of her delayed note to Sir Richard. Indeed, it had seemed to Jane that she betrayed a certain relief on hearing that the gentleman was ill. Perhaps, thought Jane, it was a connection which Celia began to find tedious; she hoped so, for Letty’s sake.
Three or four days after his quarrel with Celia, the Earl began to revert to his custom of calling in at the clubs during the day, instead of accompanying his wife everywhere. Celia seemed not to mind this, actually expressing relief to Jane. “Nothing can be more tedious than having one’s husband constantly at one’s side!” she confessed. “Of course, it’s very gratifying to have so many baubles given, but I’m not at all sure that it’s worth the price of seeing no one but Francis for days on end.”
This speech might have amazed Jane at one time; but a week in the Bordesley household had opened her eyes to marriage à la mode.
She and Celia were sitting together before the fire one morning, the Earl having left the house to meet one of his cronies, when a servant brought in a note for Celia. She glanced at the direction, then hastily tore it open. Its contents were short, but appeared to affect her powerfully. She jumped hastily to her feet, crumpled the letter and threw it on the fire.
“I have to go out at once, Jane!” she exclaimed. “If my lord should return in my absence, tell him I am gone to the Circulating Library — no, stay, you had better accompany me. I will leave a message for Francis with the porter.”
Jane succeeded in understanding this speech better than it deserved. Evidently the note was responsible for Celia’s urgent need of visiting the Library, and she was taking Jane along as a chaperone, hoping thereby to satisfy the Earl that her errand was harmless. Jane hoped that she might fulfil her part more successfully than she had done on the occasion of their visit to the play, and wondered what clandestine encounter she was now to be privileged to witness. Would it again be the debonair Mr. Summers?
She had no leisure to wonder for long, for Celia was in a fever to be gone; and many a slap did her abigail earn for dilatoriness, before my lady was ready to depart, a vision in dove-grey and pink. Celia had not summoned the carriage, a circumstance which confirmed Jane’s suspicions about the nature of the errand. If my lady wished to be secret, she was wise not to travel in a vehicle which bore her husband’s crest on its panels. The two of them therefore walked the short distance to the Library.
Once arrived, they found a number of people standing about the large room in little groups, some idly chatting in low tones, others taking down and scanning volumes from the shelves. My lady nodded to one and another, but passed purposefully on, refusing to be drawn into conversation; until she reached a doorway which led to a smaller, more secluded room. There was only one person here, a gentleman, his back towards them, making some show of glancing through the volumes on the shelves immediately before him. Jane saw that he was tall, with broad shoulders encased in a superbly cut coat, and thick dark hair, brushed in a casual style. Some premonition seized her, and she began to tremble.
The man turned at Celia’s approach, and gave a curt bow. Jane looked full into his face, which was pale, with a suggestion of strain around the eyes.
It was the stranger from the Dartford road.
For a moment, she thought her senses would leave her. Every drop of blood seemed to ebb from her face, and she felt that the beating of her heart must be clearly audible to the others. There was a chair standing just a little way off: she groped her way there and sank thankfully on to it.
The gentleman glanced curiously at her, concern but no recognition in his look.
“Won’t you go to your friend?” he asked Celia, in a low tone. “She looks as though she’s about to swoon.”
Celia threw an impatient glance behind her towards Jane.
“She certainly does look pale,” she said wonderingly. “But she’s not my friend, only a hired companion. I expect she’ll be all right presently.”
She turned her back on Jane. “Never mind about her!” she continued impatiently. “Tell me, Richard, have you got my letter? I could not understand your note — it put me in such alarm!”
“No, I have not,” he answered ruefully.
“Not? But I don’t understand — Julian said —”
“So you’ve seen Summers, have you?” he asked grimly.
“Yes, we met quite by chance at the theatre — and a fine scene Bordesley enacted me in consequence! But that is by the way. Julian gave me to understand that he had given you the letter in exchange for the packet I sent with you; and now you say you haven’t got it, after all. Explain it to me, Richard, for I cannot make head or tail of it!”
“I’m damned if I understand the half of it myself,” he answered, bringing his heavy brows down in a frown. “I certainly did see that scoundrel, and had the letter of him; and how I left him without putting a bullet through his false heart, I don’t know. But you said no violence, so —” he broke off, with a helpless gesture of his hands.
“Yes, yes, but where is it?” hissed Celia, almost beside herself with anxiety. “If you had it then, you must have it now!”
He shook his head.
“This will sound odd, I know; it does even to myself. I had that letter of Summers, I put it in a secret place about me, and I rode off
for London.”
He broke off again, and looked through her into the middle distance.
“That much I remember clearly; and the next thing I remember is finding myself somewhere in a street down in the City with only a few shillings in my pocket, and all my possessions — wallet, watch, fobs, snuff box, quizzing glass — all gone!”
Celia stared at him for a moment without speaking; then an expression of contempt settled on her face.
“I wonder you should think to take me in with such a cock and bull story!”
“I know it does sound a trifle thin — that is why I have related it to no one else — but, believe it or not, it is the sober truth.”
“Then you must have been in your cups!” exclaimed Celia, in disgust.
He shrugged. “I wish I could think so: any other explanation is too deuced creepy. But you might know I wouldn’t drink with Summers; and as far as my recollection carries me, which is to within a mile or two of his place in Kent, I certainly didn’t stop for refreshment. I set out from his house with the intention of pushing on back to Town in spite of the weather, for it had come on to snow when I arrived there. Believe it or not, Celia, the next thing I recollect is standing in this street in the City! I looked at a nearby clock, and it wanted a few minutes to one. I felt confoundedly shaky, and reached home I know not how. I believe you must know that I’ve been laid up ever since, for my sister babbled something about having sent you a message to that effect when your note was delivered at the house. They handed that to me only this morning; I replied at once.”
“But this is fantastic!” exploded Celia.
He smiled mirthlessly. “I agree with you. However, I’ve been turning the business over in my mind, as you may imagine; and I fancy I’ve arrived at a possible explanation.”
“I shall be glad to hear it,” said Celia, in an acid tone. Julian’s suggestion crossed her mind, and she wondered if there could be any truth in it.
“There’s no doubt at all that I was robbed,” he said. “Though why the thief should have had the mercy to leave me my fare home, passes comprehension! However, my medico said that he thought my recent malady might have been caused by a severe blow on the head; and it’s just possible that such a blow would cause me to forget all that passed for a time afterwards. I didn’t question him on the point, because obviously I’m not anxious to advertise the fact that I am unaware of my actions from close on six o’clock of one evening until the following afternoon — and I rely on you, Celia, not to spread such a tale abroad.”
She gave him a scornful glance.
“I am not likely to do so; remember I have a stake in this affair! So you suppose that you were robbed? My letter would be taken with your other possessions, presumably, and therefore at this moment it may be anywhere. God, Richard, I cannot be easy until I have it in my hand! It spells my certain ruin if Francis should chance upon it! Is there nothing to be done to recover it?”
She seized his arm with these words, looking up imploringly into his face. He patted her hand reassuringly.
“Ah, but I think I know the identity of this robber, Celia. Never fear, I think we shall recover your letter!”
“What do you mean?” she asked, amazed.
“Who would be most likely to want to gain possession of that letter — who that knows of its existence, that is?” he countered.
A flash of illumination lit her face.
“You must mean Julian?”
She paused to consider the idea further, then shook her head.
“I don’t believe it; he has a fondness for me, after all. I only half credited that he would indeed ever make use of the letter in the way that I feared, but you must realise that I could not afford to take a chance. I truly believe, knowing him as I do, that he would play fair, and relinquish all claim to the note once he had obtained his price.”
It was his turn to look contemptuous.
“Upon my word, you have a very pretty idea of affection and fair dealing! I see now why I never made any headway with you!”
She gave him a guileless look from her deep blue eyes. “What makes you think you did not?” she asked softly.
He held her glance for a moment, then his eyes flickered uneasily away from her face.
“Well, I persist in thinking that he has it,” he said. “It all happened a deal too neatly for coincidence. It’s my belief he gave that man of his — a shifty-eyed individual if I ever saw one! — the tip to lie in wait for me along my road home. I was admittted to the house by the fellow, but there was no sign of him when I left; and all along, I have had the oddest notion that he is in some way connected with this affair. I cannot positively say that I remember being set upon, but it is obvious that I must have been; granted that, I would be ready to believe that he was the man who did it. Call it an inner conviction, and sneer at it if you will, but it is nevertheless very strong.”
“Can you really not remember being set upon?” asked Celia. “One would fancy you might at least recall that much.”
He shook his head. “I remember perfectly riding off down the drive and through the gates of Farrowdene on my way back. It was snowing hard, and the wind was keen. I found it rough going along the lane which joins the house to the main coaching road, and my mare was picking her way like a cat.”
He spoke slowly. It was evident that he was tracing the journey step by step in his mind.
“I turned into the main road, and we made better progress, though the snow was driving into my face so that I had my work cut out to see properly. I was thinking of that scoundrel I had left behind me, and of you, Celia — of the whole damned mess.”
He broke off, and was silent for a space.
“That’s all,” he finished. “I’ve been over it many a time in my mind, and there is nothing more I can recall. It’s as though I suddenly fell asleep there in the midst of it all.”
There was a conviction in his voice that impressed even Celia’s incredulity. She stared at him for a moment without speaking, then lightly shrugged her shoulders.
“You may be right; it is possible Julian has the letter. But why did he give me no hint of it when I saw him at the theatre?”
“Perhaps he means to wait a little,” said Richard grimly, “until he has exhausted his ill-gotten profits. Then he will apply to you once more.”
“I must say,” said Celia, tartly, “you are both ready to believe the worst of each other. He suggested that you might be playing the same game.”
“The damned scoundrel!”
“Perhaps; we shall soon know. I will ask him if he has it,” said Celia, decisively.
His face hardened. “No, I’ll do that. It will be a pleasure.”
“Richard, I’ve told you before that you cannot call him out!” exclaimed Celia, laying a hand on his arm.
“We can find a good enough excuse. I don’t care for his waistcoats — never have done, as a matter of fact!”
“Do you think anyone is deceived by such shifts? They have been smoked out before,” replied Celia, scornfully. “And I won’t take the chance of the affair coming to Bordesley’s ears — I dare not!”
He reflected for a moment.
“There’s only one thing for it, then!” he said. “To recover that letter in spite of Mr. Julian Summers.”
“How will you set about that?” she asked, curiously.
“Quite simply: two can play at robbers, you know. If indeed it is robbery to seek to recover one’s own property. It’s not only your letter which the fellow has got, Celia, but everything that was in my pockets that day; including a watch given me by my father, and a snuff box which belonged to my grandfather. I’ll be damned if I’ll let him get away with it!”
“Servants can sometimes be bribed,” said Celia, thoughtfully. “You mentioned Julian’s man — I think I remember him, and, as you say, he looks none too honest. Why do you not approach him?”
“You may safely leave this to me,” said Richard, guardedly. The idea of bribin
g a servant did not commend itself to him. “What I want to know is where I may see you in case of need.”
“Francis will be away for a few nights, soon,” replied Celia. “You may come as you did before. A note, or a word to my abigail first, just to make quite certain —”
An expression of distaste crossed his face.
“I mislike this hole and corner business, Celia! Are you quite sure that it’s impossible to tell Bordesley the whole?”
“Are you mad? You must see that it is out of the question. We went through all this before, you may remember, and nothing has happened since to change the situation. Even now, I am foolish to be staying here all this time with you. That companion of mine may carry tales to Francis, for all I know.”
Sir Richard glanced consideringly in Jane’s direction.
“She has not the air of a person of that stamp. There is too much sweetness in the countenance. Have I encountered her before? There’s something vaguely familiar about her.”
“No, for she is but just arrived with us.”
“Did I understand you to say as your hired companion? That is a new start, is it not?”
His tone was lightly contemptuous. Celia fired up.
“It is no notion of mine, but of Bordesley’s! I don’t want the silly chit, you may be sure! But I must go; if Francis should return, he will think it odd that I should be all this time at the Circulating Library. There is no bearing with his suspicions, I assure you!”
Her tone changed, and she placed her hand gently on his sleeve.
“Dear Richard; you are so good to me!”
He made no answer to this, but bowed and took his leave, moving quickly towards the door. As he passed Jane’s chair, he inclined his head slightly with a smile: Jane returned the civility with as much composure as she could muster. It was evident that he did not recognise her.
When he had gone, Celia turned petulantly upon Jane.
“Upon my word, you look like a ghost! I only hope you do not mean to swoon, for I tell you plainly that I’ve no fancy to act the part of nurse! But perhaps you only meant to look pale and interesting in order to catch Sir Richard’s eye: if so, you will no doubt be pleased to hear that he did remark your apparent indisposition.”
The Jewelled Snuff Box Page 8
