Sir Richard hesitated. He did not wish to spread abroad the story of his loss of memory; he had already been obliged to confide it to Celia, and that was as far as he was prepared to go. His mind worked swiftly, accepting and discarding phrases.
“Within a mile or two of your house in Kent.” He had been over this subject in his mind many a time, and it seemed to him that this must be the truth. Memory could carry him no farther, and a strong instinct insisted that the attack had taken place there. “I did not see my attacker, but I have an inner conviction that it was your man — I don’t know the fellow’s name. I remarked that when he admitted me to the house he eyed me strangely; and when I left, there was no sign of him. Thinking it all over since, I have come to the conclusion that you must have warned him to ride ahead and waylay me on my homeward journey, so that you might recover the letter.”
He had taken a long chance, but it seemed to have come off: Summers’ glance grew keen, and he straightened up in his chair.
“Perkins! Yes, b’God, I believe you are right! But you must take my word for it that there has been no conniving on my part. Celia had the letter of me in fair barter, and I had no more notion of taking it back again, than I had of purloining another man’s trinkets.”
He paused. Sir Richard did not interrupt, but watched his face closely.
“Perkins is enamoured of that slut, my lady’s abigail,” went on Summers, musingly. “I know from experience that the wench listens at doors. Could it be possible, Carisbrooke, that she overheard Celia telling you of this letter?”
Sir Richard started.
“I suppose it’s always possible for servants to apply an ear to the keyhole if they’re so minded. She certainly admitted me on the night that I visited Celia.”
Summers nodded. “Then depend upon it, that is the explanation. She bears no love to my lady, I dare swear, and may have seen in this the chance to enrich herself at Celia’s expense. Damme if I don’t begin to think that I would have done better to have burnt that note! I seem to have helped kill the goose that lays the golden eggs.”
Sir Richard gave him a look of deep contempt.
“You and my lady are a pretty pair, b’God! But you seem very ready to suspect this servant of yours — do you know him to be dishonest? Why not fetch him down and question him?”
“I have good enough reason for suspicion now that I have heard your story; and unhappily, I an unable to summon him. The fact is that I have not set eyes on Perkins since the moment of your arrival on that day. In a word, he has vanished.”
Chapter XI. A Chance Encounter
“WHERE IS Miss Tarrant?” asked the Earl abruptly, coming into the boudoir on a morning two days later. He was wearing his driving coat, and carried a pair of tan leather gauntlets in his hand.
Celia looked up from a letter she was writing, faint surprise on her face.
“My dear Francis, how should I know? I sent her upon some errands an hour since — she should be back before long.”
“Errands?” queried my lord sharply, frowning. “Surely the servants would more properly execute such trivial matters?”
Celia swung round in her chair, challenge in her blue eyes.
‘We pay the girl’s wages, do we not? That being so, it is fitting that she should earn them. I find it difficult enough to keep her employed as it is; if she is not to go upon an errand now and then, I wish you will tell me how she may be employed, for I am sure I can think of nothing.”
“I meant her as a companion for you, Celia, not as an errand-girl. Will you please to make use of the abigails for such commissions in future?”
The Earl’s tone was uncompromising. Celia took fire.
“It is time we made an end of this farce!” she cried, rising from her chair indignantly. “I have no need of a companion, and even supposing I had, I would never have chosen Jane Tarrant for the post! Upon my word, I cannot think what possessed you ever to hit upon such a notion!”
She paused for breath; he said nothing, but stood watching her, his eyes cold.
“I tell you what it is, my lord!” she went on, whipping herself up into a fury. “You may very soon find yourself choosing between us, for if she stays here, I shall not!”
As soon as she had uttered the words, she regretted them. Had she not determined to avoid admitting that she had noticed the Earl’s interest in Jane? For once, her sense of drama had played her false: she must retract. But how? She studied his face. His expression was inscrutable.
“Is that an ultimatum?” he drawled.
“Nonsense!” she said, quickly. “All this fuss about a silly chit! I spoke but in anger; we are not to be quarrelling upon such a small matter, I trust. But you must allow me to find some employment for Jane — indeed, she herself does not care to be idle.”
A sardonic smile curved his lips. For a moment, she felt that he could almost see into her thoughts.
“We will speak of this again,” he said. “I am starting for Worcestershire at once, and expect to be absent some few days. I cannot be more definite at present.”
“Again?” pouted Celia, once more mistress of herself. “I am for ever alone since you came into the title, Francis. Almost I think that it is not worth being a Countess to be obliged to part with one’s husband so often!”
“Almost,” echoed my lord, drawing on his gloves. “I imagine you might cheerfully sustain a great deal more inconvenience on that account.”
“Cruel!” she answered, with a sob in her voice.
He caught her to him, pressing his lips fiercely on hers. She yielded, and for a moment they were locked together in a close embrace. At last, he raised his head, and looked searchingly into the hard blue eyes.
“Do you love me a little, I wonder?” he asked, softly; but it was as though he questioned himself.
“Dearest Francis, you know I do!” she replied in an intense tone which should have carried conviction. “Always we seem to quarrel over Jane Tarrant, but she is not worth it — nothing is, that can cause dissension between us! Do not be absent too long, my own, for I shall miss you so much!”
He released her abruptly, and taking his leave hastily, quitted the room. My lady stared after him for a moment; then, with a light shrug, settled once more to her writing.
Meanwhile, Jane Tarrant was walking homewards through the Park. It was a brisk morning, in spite of bright sunshine, and she stepped out in a lively manner, observing with pleasure all the signs of coming Spring. The grass was taking on that fresh hue which it wears in London only for a few short months of the year; there were buds on the black branches of the trees, and birds were singing. Life looked less dark than it had done on that evening two days since in her bedchamber: almost she felt happy, carefree. A song came to her lips.
A curricle pulled up beside her. She looked up, and the song died away.
“Miss Tarrant, is it not?”
The gentleman who was driving removed his hat, allowing the breeze to disorder his thick, dark hair.
“My name is Carisbrooke; I believe you are acquainted with my sister. Can I have the pleasure of driving you anywhere, madam?”
For a moment, Jane was unable to speak. During the last few days, she had succeeded in banishing all thoughts of this man, and recapturing her usually sanguine frame of mind. His sudden appearance brought back the past. She clasped her hands firmly together in the obscurity of the muff which she carried, and tried to speak lightly.
“How do you do, Sir Richard? I believe I need not put you to so much trouble. I have but a step to go, and am enjoying the walk.”
“I assure you there is no trouble in the case,” he asserted, swiftly. “You are bound for Grosvenor Square, I collect? It lies in my way.”
With a quick flick of his wrists, he gave the reins into the keeping of the stable-lad who rode behind him, and vaulted down. His hand was under her arm, and she was up in the seat beside him before she could open her mouth to protest.
“A pleasant morning,”
he said conversationally, as he once more took the reins, and the vehicle started forward.
Jane agreed in an absent tone. She was conscious of a slight feeling of indignation. She had determined to put this man out of her thoughts, and had been succeeding tolerably well. Why, then, must a perverse fate make him choose to force his company upon her?
“Are you usually so overbearing, sir?” she asked, with a smile which robbed the remark of any offence.
He threw her a startled glance, then laughed.
“Am I? Why do you say so?”
“Because you chose to ignore my refusal of your kind offer.”
He shrugged, his eyes twinkling. “My sister tells me that you are the most difficult person in the world to persuade to accept a service. I thought to save my breath.”
“Dear Letty!” Jane’s smile was affectionate. “But you cannot believe all she tells you of me; she is too partial an observer. Truly, I was enjoying my walk. It is such a lovely morning.”
“Then perhaps after all I had better set you down again?” he asked teasingly, making as if to rein in the horses.
“On no account,” she replied in the same vein. “Since you have been put to the trouble of getting me up here, the least I can fairly do is to stay until we reach the Square.”
He bowed ironically, and for a moment his dark eyes rested on her face. Jane lowered her glance. She felt very conscious of his presence, the more so because there was not much room on the seat of the curricle, and occasionally their elbows touched. She was determined, however, not to allow him to overset her composure, and to treat him exactly as she would any other gentleman of her acquaintance whom she might have chanced upon in the Park. She began to speak of the weather, discussing the dilatoriness of Spring.
He replied absently to her remarks, though he seemed to be listening intently enough. Presently he interrupted her abruptly.
“You have a pleasant voice, Miss Tarrant. Where have I heard it before this?”
With difficulty, Jane suppressed a start. Could it be possible that he was beginning to remember? She was uncertain what answer to make, and therefore kept silent.
“You may perhaps have visited with us when you were at school with my sister?” he persisted. “It is unpardonable of me to have forgotten, I confess, but —”
Jane shook her head. “No, I was never at your home. Not for lack of invitations, however.”
He sighed. “No? Well, I suppose I must have imagined it —” he broke off; after a moment’s pause continuing — “Speaking of invitations, are you at liberty to call upon my sister this morning? Nothing could give her greater pleasure, I know, and I will gladly take you there if you but say the word.”
Jane knew a moment’s regret. So he did not remember, after all. Perhaps it was as well, she reflected: she had no wish to be an object of gratitude to him. Somehow a way must be found to return the snuff box without ever allowing him to guess her part in the affair. She would speak to Mr. Sharratt about it. She dismissed the thought hastily, and replied to his question.
“I am very sorry, but it is quite out of my power at present. I’ve already been absent some time, and my lady Bordesley —”
“She, too, was a schoolfellow of yours, was she not?” he asked, quickly.
She assented, a certain resentment rising within her. Mention of Celia recalled the meeting in the Circulating Library, and her own unhappiness following it. She did not wish to dwell on that.
He glanced swiftly into her face.
“I am sorry,” he said, awkwardly. “Your situation cannot be a happy one —”
He broke off, evidently embarrassed.
“I imagine,” he went on, after a pause, “that you could not have been aware when you accepted the post, that you were to come to an old schoolfellow?”
Jane shook her head.
He glanced at her again, seemed about to speak, then changed his mind. For a few moments, he appeared to be labouring under some inner conflict. At last, he burst out, “You ought not to be there!”
Amazement showed momentarily on Jane’s face.
“Why not?”
“Celia Bordesley is no fitting companion for a young lady such as you!” he said vehemently, as though the words were torn from him.
Jane raised her brows. She turned to face him, a challenge in her grey eyes.
“Yet she is a friend of yours,” she stated calmly.
“That is different,” he answered curtly.
“I do not see why.” Jane was coldly obtuse, but her heart was beating fast. Why should he show this sudden, almost impertinent interest in her concerns?
“I have been about the world a little,” he answered, impatiently, “and, moreover — but my dear Miss Tarrant, this is absurd! You must see that there can be no parallel between the two cases.”
She decided that it was high time to introduce a lighter note to the conversation. They were getting into deep waters.
“So I am absurd, am I?” she asked, tilting her chin. “I thank you, sir!”
“Forgive me,” he answered, impetuously. “I had no right — I should not have spoken as I did —”
He broke off, and glanced sharply at her too demure countenance.
“I do believe you are roasting me!” he accused. “ ’Pon my word, it’s too bad of you!”
Jane laughed, revealing an unexpected dimple.
“We cannot be quarrelling, Sir Richard, without even the benefit of a formal introduction. Say no more on the subject, and let us be friends.”
His dark eyes held hers for a moment, and a frown creased his brows.
“It is impossible!” he said, softly.
“That we should be friends?” she asked, teasingly.
“No, not that, of course! But that we should not have met before —”
He stopped, and looked earnestly into her face. She coloured, and turned her eyes away.
“In any event, I am arrived at my destination. I must thank you, sir, for a pleasant ride.”
He looked up, and saw that they had indeed arrived at the entrance to the Square.
“I will take you directly to the door,” he said.
“No,” Jane answered quickly. “If you will be so good as to set me down here —”
He saw that she did not wish him to be observed taking her home, and did not persist. He jumped down, and assisted her to alight. Her colour was heightened, and she avoided his eyes, but she bade him goodbye calmly enough, and sent a message for Letty.
After she left him, he stood still in the road for a minute or two, looking after her, his dark brows down in a puzzled frown. The fidgeting of the horses and a faint cough from the stable-lad recalled him at last to his surroundings; he swung himself back into his seat and once more took up the reins.
Chapter XII. Unaccountable Behaviour Of My Lord
LADY BORDESLEY yawned, and stretched herself with the lazy grace of a cat. She glanced at Jane, who was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, busily plying her needle at a cushion-cover of which my lady had tired.
“God, I’m bored! Do you not find life inexpressibly dull, Jane?”
The other looked up for a moment from her work, holding the needle poised.
“Not dull, precisely; no, never dull. There are too many variations for that, don’t you agree?”
“I cannot think why you, of all people, shouldn’t find it so,” remarked Celia, with a touch of malice.
“Why myself more than another?” enquired Jane, going on with her task.
“Obliged always to be at the beck and call of others, never to have anything exciting happen to you; always to be dressed in the cheapest clothes — to pinch and scrape, to smile and make the best of it — bah! I tell you, it would drive me so distracted I should most likely put poison in the milk of my charges, or scratch out my employer’s eyes!”
She put so much expression into her face whilst uttering these words, that Jane was constrained to laugh.
“It’s f
ortunate, then, that these things have fallen to my lot rather than yours. But truly, Celia, you dramatise my life; it is not so very bad. Sometimes, perhaps, I am not quite content. For instance, I must confess to a fondness for pretty clothes that so far I’ve not been able to gratify. But you’re mistaken when you say that nothing exciting ever happens to me; things of that kind are happening all the time to everyone, in all walks of life. In any case, you are possessed of all those things which you say I lack: do you find yourself any happier, or less bored on that account?”
Celia stared, then burst out laughing.
“Oh, well done, Jane! Touché! I suppose I am not. Oh, I’m happy enough at a grand Assembly, or when I have a new gown; but for the most part, my life is insipid, tedious!”
Jane set a stitch carefully before replying.
“Perhaps that might be because you have never learnt to centre it on another,” she said.
Celia’s lips twisted.
“True love, again? Come, Jane, who is this man? For I’m convinced there is one!”
Jane kept her head bent over her work, but made no answer.
“I wonder now,” said Celia, musingly, “why you were so overcome in the Circulating Library the other day? Did you see him there, by any chance?”
“It was close in there after the cool air of the street,” replied Jane, as carelessly as she was able. “I am often similarly afflicted in hot rooms.”
“I haven’t before observed it,” said Celia, eyeing her narrowly. “Let me see, now, whom did we pass on our way in? They were mostly females, if my recollection serves me rightly. Oh, there was Mr. Verrett, of course, with that silly sister of his — could it be he, Jane? But surely not; he is obese, and has a squint in one eye! Lord Symmons, then: it is no use to set your cap at him, Jane, for he is married already, and has a daughter older than you. Of course, a liaison is always possible, but I do not much fancy your chances beside an Opera dancer. One could not precisely call you a little bit of muslin, you know, and men prefer their pastimes to be empty of head and morals alike. Your worst enemy could not say that of you; perhaps that is what makes you so inordinately dull!”
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