CHAPTER III.
A RUSE DE GUERRE.
Colonel Dacre stood quite still for several minutes, holding Lady Gwendolyn’s letter in his hand, and so completely stunned by the misfortune that had come upon him, he could scarcely realize its magnitude as yet. Had Lady Gwendolyn’s accident been a mere pretense and blind? And, if so, had she any excuse for her deception?
These were the two questions he put to himself the moment he could reason. There was only one thing that could have justified such a course of action on Lady Gwendolyn’s part; and if she had had this motive, he was ready to forgive her. He would not judge her, then, until they had met and he had interrogated her, when, even if her tongue labored to deceive him still, he should know the truth by her eyes.
But he could not present himself at the Castle a second time that day, and he might have betrayed Lady Gwendolyn by so doing; as there was just the chance that she had been able to get home without Lord and Lady Teignmouth knowing anything about her little adventure.
He must wait, therefore, until the morrow for a solution of the double mystery, trying as the suspense was.
Before the household was astir he got up, plunged into a cold bath to freshen himself a little, and then went out into the lanes, which he paced up and down until breakfast-time.
The meal was a farce—he was much too excited to eat; but he thought it necessary to sit down to table, and help himself from one of the savory little dishes which the butler forced upon his notice. He did not care to set them gossiping in the servants’ hall; and Graham had already remarked, with the freedom of an old retainer, that “he feared his master must have had a bad night, since he had risen so much earlier than usual.”
To wait until the afternoon was beyond Colonel Dacre’s courage; and as he and Lord Teignmouth had been at Eton together as boys, he thought he might venture to make a morning call for once in a way. So he ordered his horse at a quarter to twelve, and got through the interval as best he could.
Lord Teignmouth was at home, and received him cordially in the library. He was a hearty, pleasant-mannered man, who managed to enjoy life vastly, although the countess was not reckoned, in the neighborhood, to be a very satisfactory wife. But, if frivolous and vain, her ladyship was sweet-tempered, and accorded as much liberty to her husband as she took herself; so that they kept on excellent terms—all the better, perhaps, that they were so seldom together.
It was purely an accident that they were both at the Castle now, as her ladyship had an engagement elsewhere; but a slight feverish attack had brought her down to Teignmouth for rest and fresh air, and she was as much charmed as surprised when she found her husband and sister-in-law ruralizing, also.
“It is so seldom one can manage to be quite en famille,” she said affably; “the world is such a tyrant, it is always claiming one. I am horribly tired of gaiety, but one must do as others do, you know.”
And when the earl laughed, as he always did at his wife’s logic, she opened her large blue eyes, and added innocently:
“Well, but mustn’t one, dear?”
Colonel Dacre asked after the countess’ health with great apparent solicitude, as he shook hands with his host, and was, of course, delighted to hear that she had entirely recovered from her recent indisposition. Then he added, with assumed nonchalance:
“I trust Lady Gwendolyn is equally well.”
“Oh! that’s where the land lies, is it?” thought the earl. But aloud he said, with a certain twinkle of the eye:
“I trust she is, too; but I haven’t seen her since last night.”
“No?” put in the colonel, waiting eagerly for further information.
“The fact is,” Lord Teignmouth went on, in a confidential tone, “girls are never of the same mind two days together. Yesterday morning Gwen was enchanted with Teignmouth, and declared she would give up all her engagements and stay here for the autumn; in the evening, at dinner, she suddenly announced that she was bored to death, and should leave by the first train in the morning.”
“And this morning she changed her mind for the third time, I presume?”
“Not a bit of it! I thought she would, of course, and quite expected to see her at breakfast; but when, on her not presenting herself, I made inquiries, I found that she had left Teignmouth by the first train.”
Colonel Dacre felt himself turn pale, but managed to say, with tolerable composure:
“I am sorry for that, as she was kind enough to lend me a book the other day, and I have not had the opportunity of returning it. But perhaps you will kindly give me her address, and then I can send it by post.”
“Her address. Let me see,” said the earl, with provoking deliberation. “I know it is somewhere in the North.”
“I am afraid that is rather vague.”
“I am afraid it is,” he answered, with his frank laugh. “But I have such a confoundedly bad memory. Pauline would remember, I dare say. She is generally my prompter. Supposing you go and ask her yourself?”
“Are you sure I should not be intruding on Lady Teignmouth?” inquired Colonel Dacre, whose eyes had suddenly brightened at the proposition.
“On the contrary, I am certain her ladyship will be delighted to see you.”
Lady Teignmouth was reclining on a lounge by the open window as Colonel Dacre entered, and her very attitude showed how thoroughly bored she was; but at the sound of his name she turned, with evident relief, and held out her hand.
“How very kind of you to take compassion on a poor recluse!” she said gaily. “I am literally dying of ennui! I do hope you have brought me some news.”
“On the contrary, I have come here for news,” he answered, seating himself in the chair her ladyship pointed out.
“Then you have been taken in, I am afraid. Nothing new ever happens at Teignmouth.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said, his voice trembling a little; “Lady Gwendolyn’s sudden departure is something new.”
“I am so accustomed to these strange caprices of hers, they never seem new to me,” replied Lady Teignmouth, hardening a little. “It is a great misfortune when a mere girl has such a horror of anything like control. I am going away to-morrow myself, and she might as well have waited and traveled with me as far as town, but she would not listen to my proposition. She preferred to be quite free, she said; and so she is gone off, goodness knows where, in spite of everything I could say.”
“Lord Teignmouth told me she had left you her address,” hazarded the colonel timidly.
The countess gave him a sudden, keen look right in the eyes, and then shook her head.
“You know poor dear Reginald always does make blunders, Colonel Dacre. Gwen said something about letting us know shortly where she was to be found, but I think it was only a parting civility to which it would not do to attach much importance.”
“But what motive could she have for concealing her whereabouts?”
“I never profess to understand Gwen’s motives for anything, Colonel Dacre; nor do I, as a rule, interfere in her plans. The best thing that could happen to her would be to get a husband who would keep her in order, for what little authority Teignmouth might have as her guardian he never exercises, so that she is getting more and more lawless every day.”
“Lady Gwendolyn may consider that she is justified in pleasing herself so long as Lord Teignmouth does not remonstrate; he is the only person who has a right to take this tone with her as yet.”
“Oh! I never interfere, if that is what you mean,” responded her ladyship, smiling that sweet, stereotyped smile of hers which imposed upon so many. “I have no right, as you say.”
Colonel Dacre had not said exactly this, but he let it pass, and observed, after a pause:
“Then you cannot give me any idea where Lady Gwendolyn is to be found?”
“Not the faintest. But she may write in a day or two, and then I will let you know, if you like.”
“Thank you very much,” he said; and then he added, with assumed carelessness: “She was quite well, I hope, when she went away?”
“Perfectly,” answered Lady Teignmouth, opening her eyes very wide, as if she were surprised at the question.
“She did not complain of her foot at all?”
“Why should she?”
“Oh! I thought she might possibly have sprained her ankle,” he said evasively. “She walked so much more here than she is accustomed to do.”
“She pleased herself; there was a carriage always at her disposal. You ought to know, Colonel Dacre, that my husband is absurdly weak, so far as Gwen is concerned, and would try to get her a slice of the moon if she wanted one.”
“It is a very amiable weakness,” said the colonel, smiling.
“But not always a convenient one for his wife.”
Colonel Dacre began to understand the countess better now. She was jealous of her beautiful sister-in-law. She never made the faintest effort to retain her husband’s affection; still she did not want him to care for anybody else, and was never so near losing her temper as when anything reminded her of the good understanding that existed between the brother and sister.
Then, again, although a pretty woman, the countess was quite eclipsed by Lady Gwendolyn, which was another reason why she should not regard her with much favor. However, she did not care for an outsider to know exactly the terms they were on, for she added, in an indulgent tone:
“I dare say it is very natural, after all. There are only two of them left now, and their mother left Gwen in Reginald’s charge, so that he looks upon her as a sacred legacy. Only, of course, she is but young, and it would be better if he looked after her a little more, would it not?”
“Perhaps it would,” he admitted. “But it is just possible Lady Gwendolyn would not submit to be dictated to.”
“In that case she ought to marry, and take the responsibility off our shoulders, Colonel Dacre,” replied the countess, with more decision than she usually infused into her company manner. “I am sure you would hardly believe how worried I was by her numerous flirtations last season.”
“I should have fancied there was safety in numbers,” remarked her listener dryly.
“For her, perhaps; but I am afraid it only made it more dangerous for them. If this were a dueling age, Gwen would have a good many on her conscience, I fancy.”
“But, you see, men do not always care to risk their lives for a woman whom they know is trifling with them,” said Colonel Dacre slowly.
“Well, you speak very philosophically of love, as if it were a light feeling that helped you through a few idle hours, but was not likely to take any deeper hold.”
“You quite misunderstand me, I assure you. I think love a terrible thing, and pity those who fall into it, with all my heart.”
“While taking warning by their example,” insinuated Lady Teignmouth, smiling.
A quick flush passed over the colonel’s face. The significance of her manner made him tremble for his secret, which he feared was in very unsafe keeping. He hastened to deny the “soft impeachment” in self-defense.
“Exactly. As a mere looker-on I can judge the question dispassionately, which would not be the case, supposing my feelings were implicated.”
This time her ladyship laughed outright. She evidently thought his logic rather defective. Then, becoming suddenly grave, she said:
“If love is a terrible thing under ordinary circumstances, what must it be under extraordinary circumstances?”
“What do you mean by extraordinary circumstances?”
“Well, if you cared for a coquette—we will say?”
“I hope I never should, Lady Teignmouth.”
“I hope not, too, for your own sake. And, unfortunately, I have seen so many poor moths consumed in a certain flame that I tremble now for every one that approaches. The only chance, so far as my experience goes, is to keep out of the way.”
“On the principle that ‘prevention is better than cure,’” he answered lightly. “I agree with your ladyship there, up to a certain point; still, if one were always on the lookout for painful possibilities, life would not be worth living, would it?”
The countess yawned demonstratively.
“Is it now, do you think?”
“Yes,” he answered, with decision. “I find it so.”
“You really surprise me;” and she leaned back on her couch with an air of extreme languor. “Do you know, Colonel Dacre, I often wonder what some people are made of—nothing seems to trouble them.”
“Possibly those are just the people who feel things the most. Real suffering is generally quiet.”
She turned on him abruptly.
“Is that why you are so quiet now?”
“I cannot think why your ladyship will persist in attributing to me a secret sorrow or passion,” he retorted. “Do I look very Byronic?”
“No,” she answered readily; “but you see I have got quite into the way of looking upon every man I have seen with Gwen as one of her victims, and you have been very often with her of late.”
“So have half a dozen others. I suppose they were my companions in misfortune?”
“Don’t jest upon such a serious subject,” she said, with her malicious smile.
“Anyhow,” he observed, rising, “however hard hit I may be, I shall know it is not of any use appealing to your ladyship for sympathy—Lady Gwendolyn’s ‘victims’ seem to make excellent sport for you?”
“When they don’t bore me. You know it is too much to expect one woman to sit and listen to another’s praises for two or three hours together. That is occasionally my fate; and I must frankly confess that I dislike it extremely. If I were to show the least sign of weariness, I should be looked upon as a monster, for every one ought to enjoy the capitulation of Gwen’s marvelous perfections. Do you know I sometimes quite wish I were her mother; I suppose I should like all this vastly then, especially if they had the tact to refer now and then to my past triumphs, and insinuate that my daughter was just what I must have been at her age. But—you are surely going to stay to luncheon, Colonel Dacre? My husband won’t forgive me if I don’t keep you, and I am sure you would not like to be the cause of our first conjugal difference, would you?”
“Nothing would distress me more; but Lord Teignmouth is too just to lay my fault at your door.”
“But, really, Colonel Dacre, you must stay. A man without home-ties has no excuse for refusing an invitation of any sort. I look upon bachelors as public property myself. Come,” she added persuasively, “I will make a bargain with you. Stop and lunch with us, and I will tell where I think it probable you may find Lady Gwendolyn—supposing you really wish to see her?”
“Would your ladyship mind telling me why you so particularly want me to stay?” said the colonel; led by the countess’ manner to suspect some trick.
“Certainly; we are quite alone to-day, and I have private reasons of my own for avoiding a tête-à-tête with my husband. Are you satisfied with my explanation?”
Colonel Dacre bowed silently. He was not satisfied, by any means, but it was rather difficult to say so.
“Then you will stay?” added Lady Teignmouth, after a minute’s silence.
“With pleasure.”
A smile, so full of malicious triumph, shone in the countess’ eyes, that if Colonel Dacre had only seen it before, it would have served as a warning to him. But having accepted, he could not retract now, although he was more than ever persuaded that the countess was playing him a trick.
This idea was confirmed when, just as he was pocketing the card on which his companion had written the address he wanted, the Handley drag drove up to the door, and emptied its living freight into the hall, which swept on up the wide staircase, laughing and talking. But Lady Teignmouth was equal to the occasion. She looked straight at her guest, without so much as a blush on her cool, pink cheek.
“It is the Handley party come to luncheon—how very kind of them. No fear of a matrimonial tête-à-tête now.”
“Then I am not wanted any longer, Lady Teignmouth?”
“On the contrary, you are wanted more than ever. You know how difficult Clara Handley is to amuse.”
“I am afraid I can’t be facetious to order, Lady Teignmouth.”
“You can pay compliments, and that is all Clara cares about,” responded the countess, who had by no means a high opinion of her own sex. Then she went forward to greet the young lady herself with great affection, kissing her on both cheeks, and congratulating her upon the effect of her new hat, leaving the colonel quite bewildered and pained in his heart, for he had always had a chivalrous respect for women, and it grieved him to know that even one could be so false.
He had to take Clara Handley into luncheon, and exerted himself to be agreeable, but his thoughts were elsewhere, and he was glad when the meal was over. When the whole party adjourned to the grounds to play lawn-tennis, he shook hands with Lord Teignmouth, and slipped quietly away.
He was just congratulating himself upon having paid Lady Teignmouth a little trick as anticipative vengeance for the one he suspected her of having planned for him, when he suddenly found himself face to face with the countess herself.
“I just ran away for a minute from the others to wish you good-by, and bon voyage,” she said, her whole face in a glitter of malicious delight. “I am sure you will enjoy yourself up there, the country is so picturesque. Give my love to Gwen, and tell her that directly she is tired of solitude, I shall be happy to chaperon her anywhere.”
Shaking himself to get rid of the disagreeable impression her ladyship had left behind, Colonel Dacre rode rapidly toward home, and scarcely felt safe from Lady Teignmouth’s shafts until he found himself once more in the library of Borton Hall.