CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
FOUND OUT.
The man with the good-natured, interesting face bowed to Claire with thealacrity which the normal man shows at an introduction to a pretty girl;Claire stared blankly, recovered herself, and returned his bow in formalmanner. Erskine looked from one to the other in undisguised surprise.
"I thought you had met... You told me you had met Carew in town!"
"Not _this_ Major Carew!" Claire could not suppress a tone of regret.With all her heart she wished that the man before her had been Cecil'sfiance.
"It was the same name, but--"
"Not the same man? It's not an unusual name, I expect there are severalof us knocking about," the present Major Carew said smilingly. "Do youhappen to know his regiment?"
Claire knew it well, but as she pronounced the name, the hearer's facecrinkled in confusion.
"But that is my own regiment! There _is_ no other Carew! There's somemistake. You have mixed up the names."
"Oh no. I've heard it a hundred times. It is impossible to bemistaken. His Christian name is Frank."
"_My_ name is Frank!" the strange man said, and stared at Claire inincreasing perplexity. "There is certainly not another Frank Carew inthe M---. There is something wrong about this. I don't understand!"
"He is a member of the --- Club, and his people live in Surrey. He hasan old father who is an invalid, and the name of the house is `TheMoat'--"
Major Carew's face turned a deep, apoplectic red, his light eyes seemedto protrude from his head, so violent was his anger and surprise.
"But--that's _me_! That's my club, my father, my home! Somebody hasbeen taking my name, and passing himself off under false colours forsome mysterious reason. I can't imagine what good it is going to dohim."
He broke off in alarm, and cast an appealing look at Erskine as Clairesuddenly collapsed on the nearest chair, her face as white as her gown.
"I say, this is a bad business I'm most awfully sorry. I'm afraid MissGifford is distressed--"
Erskine's lips were set in a fury of anger. He glanced at Claire andturned hurriedly away, as though he could not trust himself to look ather blanched face. To see the glint of his eye, the set of the firmjaw, was to realise that it would fare badly with the masquerader shouldhe come within reach. There was a moment of tense, unhappy silence,then Erskine drew forward two more chairs, and motioned to the Major tobe seated.
"I think we shall have to thresh this out! It is naturally a shock, butMiss Gifford's acquaintance with this person is very slight. She took aviolent dislike to him at first sight, so you need not fear that shewill feel any personal distress. That is so, isn't it? That's the realposition?"
Claire nodded a quick assent.
"Yes, yes. I met him twice, and I hated him from the first; but myfriend believes..." Her voice broke, and she struggled for composure,her chin quivering with pitiful, child-like distress. "He is engaged tobe _married_ to my friend!"
A deep murmur of anger came simultaneously from both hearers. The realMajor Carew straightened himself with an air of determination.
"Engaged to her? Under my name? This is too strong! And in the nameof wonder, what for? I'm nobody. I've nothing. I'm the mostinsignificant of fellows, and chronically hard up. What had he to gainby taking my name?"
"You are a gentleman, and he is not. Everything is comparative. Hewanted to impress my friend, and he knew you so well that it was easy topretend, and make up a good tale. He _said_ he was hard up. He--he--borrowed money!"
"From the girl?" Again came that deep murmur of indignation. "What anunspeakable cur, and--excuse me, what a poor-spirited girl to haveanything to do with him after that! Could you do nothing to prevent hermaking such a fool of herself?"
"Nothing. I tried. I tried hard, but--"
Erskine looked at her with his keen, level glance.
"And she borrowed from you to supply his needs? No, never mind, I won'task any more questions, but I know! I know!" His eyes hardened againas he turned towards the other man. "Carew, this is pure swindling! Weshall have to worry this out!"
"I believe you, my boy!" said the Major tersely. He turned to Claireand added more gently, "Tell us some more about this fellow, MissGifford! Describe him! Would you recognise him if you met again?"
"Oh, yes. At once. He is tall and dark, good-looking, I suppose,though I detest his type. Very dark eyes. Large features."
The Major ruminated, finding apparently no clue in the description.
"Tall. Dark. Large features! I know about a hundred men to whom thatdescription might apply. Could you think of anything more definite?"
Claire ruminated in her turn; recalled the image of Cecil's lover, andtried to remember the details of his appearance.
"He has very thick hair, and brushes it straight across his forehead.His eyebrows are very short. He has a high colour, quite red cheeks."
Major Carew made a short, choking sound; lay back in his chair, andstared aghast. This time it was evident that the description awoke adefinite remembrance, but he appeared to thrust it from him, to find itdifficult to give credence to the idea.
"Impossible!" he murmured to himself. "Impossible! High colour, yousay; short eyebrows. When you say `short,' what exactly do you mean?"
"They begin by being very thick, then they stop abruptly. They don'tfollow the line of the eye, like most eyebrows. They look--unfinished!"
Major Carew bounced upon his chair.
"Erskine, I have an idea.--It seems almost incredible, but I'm bound tofind if it is correct! There is a man who is in our camp now. I'llmake an excuse, and send him over to-night, if you can arrange that MissGifford sees him when he comes. I'll give him a message for you."
"_Send_!" repeated Erskine sharply; then he glanced at Claire, and senta frowning message towards the other man. "That can easily be arranged.We'll leave it till evening, then. We can't get any further now, and Imust get back to my duties. The mater is scowling at me. Go and sootheher like a good fellow, but for your life--not a word of this to her!"
Major Carew rose obediently, perfectly aware that his company was notwanted, and Erskine bent towards Claire with a few earnest words.
"Don't worry! If this man is an impostor, the sooner it is found out,the better. He _is_ an impostor, there's no getting away from that, andhe is making a dupe of that poor girl for his own ends. If we had notmade this discovery, he would have stuck to her until he had bled her ofher last penny, and then would probably have disappeared into space.She knows nothing of his real name or position, so it would have beendifficult to trace him, and probably nothing to be gained, if he _were_found. One reads of these scoundrels from time to time, but I've neverhad the misfortune to meet one in the flesh. I'd like to horsewhip thefellow for upsetting you like this!"
"Oh, what does it matter about me?" Claire cried impatiently. "It'sCecil I'm thinking about--my poor, poor friend! She's not young, andshe is tired out after twelve years of teaching, and it's the _second_time! Years ago a man pretended to love her, it was only pretence, andit nearly broke her heart. She has never been the same since then. Itmade her bitter and distrustful."
"Poor creature! No wonder. But that was some time ago, and now she isengaged to this other fellow. Is she in love with him, do you suppose?"
Claire shrugged vaguely.
"I--don't--know! She is in love with the idea of a home."
"And he? You have seen them together. He is a cur, there's no gettingaway from that, but he might be attached to the girl all the same. Doyou think he is?"
"Oh, how can I tell?" Claire cried impatiently. "She thinks he is, butshe thought the same about the other man. It doesn't seem possible totell! Men amuse themselves and pretend, and act a part, and then laughat a girl if she is so foolish as to believe--"
Captain Fanshawe bent forward, his arm resting on his knees, his faceupraised to hers; a very grave face, fixed and
determined.
"Do you believe that, Claire? Do you believe what you are saying?"
The grey eyes looked deep into hers, compelling an answer.
"I--I think many of them--"
"Some of them!" the Captain corrected. "Just as some girls encourage aman to gratify their own vanity. They are the exceptions in both cases;but you speak in generalities, condemning the whole sex. Is it what youreally think--that most men pretend?"
The grey eyes were on her face, keen, compelling eyes from which therewas no escape. Claire flushed and hesitated.
"No! No, I don't. Not most. But there are some!"
"We are not concerned with `some'!" he said quietly, and straighteninghimself, he cast a glance around.
The guests were standing about in little groups, aimless, irresolute,waiting to be broken up into twos and fours, and drafted off to theempty lawns; across the deserted tea-tables his mother's eyes met his,coldly reproachful. Erskine sighed, and rose to his feet.
"I must go. These people need looking after. Don't look so sad. Ithurts me to see you sad."
Just those few, hastily-spoken words and he was gone, and Clairestrolled off in an opposite direction, anxious to screen herself fromobservation among the crowd. She ached with pity for Cecil, but throughall her distresses the old confidence lay warm at her heart. There wasone man in the world who towered high above the possibility of deceit;and between that man and herself was a bond stronger than spoken word.The future seemed full of difficulties, but Claire did not troubleherself about the future. The present was all-absorbing, full oftrouble; full of joy!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was seven o'clock before the last of the guests had departed, andMrs Fanshawe saw to it that her son was fully engaged until it was timeto dress for dinner. Her keen eyes had noticed signs of agitation asthe two young people sat together at tea. And what had Erskine beentalking about with that tense expression on his face? And what hadhappened to the girl that she looked at one moment so radiant, and atthe next so cast-down? Mrs Fanshawe's affections, like those of mostselfish people, were largely influenced by personal considerations. Aweek before she had felt quite a warm affection for the agreeablecompanion who had rescued her from the boredom of lonely days, now hourby hour, she was conscious of a rising irritation against the girl whothreatened to interfere with her own plans. The verdict of othersconfirmed her own suspicions as to Erskine's danger, for during theafternoon half a dozen intimate friends referred to Claire withsignificant intonation. "Such a graceful creature. No wonder Erskineis _epris_!" ... "Miss Gifford is quite charming." ... "_So_interested to meet Miss Gifford!" Eyes and voice alike testified to theconviction that if an engagement were not already arranged, it was acertainty in the near future. Mrs Fanshawe set her lips, anddetermined by hook or crook to get Claire Gifford out of the house.
That evening at nine o'clock the parlour-maid announced that MajorCarew's soldier servant wished to see Captain Fanshawe on a message fromhis master, and Erskine gave instructions that he should be sent roundto the verandah, and stepped out of the window, leaving Claire wonderingand discomfited. What had happened? Was the impostor not to be found?In her present tension of mind any delay, even of the shortest, seemedunbearable.
The murmur of voices sounded from without, then Erskine stepped backinto the room, and addressed himself pointedly to Claire, but withoutusing her name.
"Would you come out just for two minutes? It's some plan for to-morrow."
Claire crossed the room, acutely conscious of Mrs Fanshawe'sdispleasure, stepped into the cool light of the verandah and beheldstanding before her, large and trim in his soldier's uniform, Cecil'slover, the man who had masqueraded under his master's name.
For one breathless moment the two stood face to face, staring, aghast,too petrified by surprise to be able to move or speak. Claire caughthold of the nearest chair, and clutched at its back; the florid colourdied out of the man's cheeks, his eyes glazed with horror and dismay.Then with a rapid right-about-face, he leapt from the steps, and speddown the drive. Another moment and he had disappeared, and the two whowere left, faced each other aghast.
"His servant! His _servant_! Oh, my poor Cecil!"
"The scoundrel! It was a clever ruse. No need to invent details: hehad them all ready to his hand. The question is, what next? The gameis up, and he knows it. What will be his next move?"
Claire shook her head. She was white and shaken. The reality was evenworse than she had expected, and the thought of Cecil's bitterness ofdisillusion weighed on her like a nightmare. She tried to speak, buther lips trembled and Erskine drew near with a quick word ofconsolation--
"Claire!"
"What is this plan, Erskine? Am I not to be consulted? Remember thatyou are engaged to lunch with the Montgomerys to-morrow."
Mrs Fanshawe stood in the doorway, erect, haughty, obviously annoyed.Her keen eyes rested on Claire's face, demanding a reason for herembarrassment. Erskine made a virtue of necessity, and offered a shortexplanation.
"A disagreeable thing has happened, mother. Miss Gifford has discoveredthrough Major Carew that a friend is in serious trouble. It has beenrather a shock."
"Dear me. Yes! It would be. Perhaps you would like to go to yourroom, my dear. I'm tired myself, and shall be glad to get to bed. I amsure you must wish to be alone. Shall we go?"
Claire said good night to the two men and went wearily upstairs. Atthis moment even her own inward happiness failed to console. Whencontrasted with her own fate, Cecil's seemed so cruelly unfair!
The Independence of Claire Page 22
