CHAPTER VII.
A NOBLE SACRIFICE.
Through the lanes, swiftly, but ever so wearily, sped Lady Gwendolyn. Her eyes were dim with unshed tears—she had no time for womanly weakness—her lips were compressed, until they looked like a mere thread; her head drooped on to her bosom. She had never known what shame meant before, and she felt as if she should never be able to look her fellow creatures in the face again.
It took her half an hour only to reach Bridgton Hall—this morning. The stable clock was striking seven as she entered the grounds, and made her way hurriedly to the front door. Everything was very quiet, or seemed so to her, recalling the gay music and laughter that had filled the house a few hours back.
The butler was yawning in the hall, but did not appear at all surprised to see her. He was getting too much accustomed to the caprices and vagaries of fine ladies to be surprised at anything now.
“Lady Lenox was at breakfast,” he said, “and Miss Wyndham and three gentlemen were there; but he fancied Lady Teignmouth had gone to her room. However, he would inquire directly, if Lady Gwendolyn would step into the drawing-room for a moment.”
“Thank you, I need not trouble you,” her ladyship replied. “I know Lady Teignmouth’s room, and will go and see for myself.”
“Shall I tell Lady Lenox you are here, my lady?”
“It is not worth while, as I shall only stay a few minutes.”
And, hearing the breakfast-room door open, Lady Gwendolyn fled precipitately. The thing she could have least borne at this moment was an encounter with Lady Lenox, or any of her fast friends.
Knocking at her sister-in-law’s door, she was told to enter. Lady Teignmouth was reclining on a couch, her face as white as her embroidered peignoir, and she looked startled and surprised at this sudden apparition.
“Why, I thought you had gone back to the Grange!” she said.
“I did go back,” returned the other coldly; “but I simply changed my dress, and returned on foot, as I wished to speak to you.”
Lady Teignmouth knitted her brows, and did not seem overpleased.
“I can’t imagine what you can have to say to me of so much consequence as that, Gwen. But you do take very ridiculous notions into your head at times. However, now you are here you may as well have a cup of coffee. I sent Clémentine to get me something, and”—with evident relief—“here she comes. Now make us comfortable, Clémentine; I am dreadfully hungry. I hope you have brought enough for two.”
“There is half a chicken, and some ham, my lady.”
“And I shall take nothing but a cup of coffee,” put in Lady Gwendolyn.
“Nonsense, Gwen; it’s the greatest mistake in the world not to eat. When people lose their appetites they invariably lose their looks.”
“I’ll take my chance of that,” replied Lady Gwendolyn coldly. “Do you want Clémentine?” she added, in a lower voice. “It is really necessary that I should speak to you at once.”
“What, have you got mysteries as well as Colonel Dacre?” she exclaimed, with a levity that would have displeased Lady Gwendolyn at any time, and absolutely disgusted her now. “I am very unfortunate in my friends.”
“I think you are,” replied Lady Gwendolyn, with involuntary sternness.
Lady Teignmouth looked straight at her sister-in-law, flushed slightly, and then assumed a sulky air.
“At any rate, Reggie doesn’t complain,” she said at last. “And if he is satisfied no one else has a right to interfere.”
Lady Gwendolyn sipped her coffee, and was silent, waiting for Clémentine to go. But her sister-in-law evidently made work to detain her; not, perhaps, relishing the prospect of a tête-à-tête.
However, at last she could not find any further excuse for her presence, and dismissed her. Nothing loath, Lady Gwendolyn opened her mouth to speak, then, but Pauline stopped her nervously.
“I know you are going to say something disagreeable, that will spoil my appetite; and after being up all night, I really require support. Please, therefore, let me finish my breakfast before you begin.”
“I am afraid I can’t; every moment is precious.”
“I warn you fairly, I don’t believe you. However, I suppose you must have your own way,” returned Lady Teignmouth. And reaching out her hand for a silver flask that lay on the dressing-table, she poured half its contents into her coffee-cup, and drank it off like one well accustomed to potent drafts.
Lady Gwendolyn watched her with rising horror and dismay. The other laughed defiantly, pretending to be vastly amused at the effect she saw she had created.
“I thought I should shock you,” she said; “but, really, I have such miserable nerves, I could not get on without stimulants. Now, you may talk as much as you like; only you will try and be a little more interesting, won’t you? You have no idea how prosy you have grown of late.”
“I am afraid you will think me worse than prosy before I have done, Pauline; but I cannot compromise with my conscience. You must know the exact truth——”
“I hate truths,” interrupted Lady Teignmouth petulantly.
“I dare say; nevertheless, you must listen to me. You are my brother’s wife, and for his sake I will spare you if I can. But you must leave Bridgton directly; do you hear?”
“Yes, I hear,” replied Pauline obstinately; “but I have no intention of obeying.”
“Not if your safety depends upon it?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I am quite safe here.”
“Yon know better, Pauline.”
“Indeed I do not. I was never good at guessing riddles.”
“Listen to me! You must and shall go at once. I am no hypocrite, and, therefore, I do not pretend to care much what becomes of you personally; but I love my brother with all my heart, and would not have a shadow of dishonor to fall on his name.”
“He knew perfectly well that I was coming to Bridgton,” answered Lady Teignmouth, in a sulky, aggrieved tone.
“Possibly; but he did not know whom you had come to meet.”
“One can’t help people following. I don’t suppose you invited Colonel Dacre to Turoy; but he is there.”
“That is quite a different thing. I am not a married woman, neither have I given Colonel Dacre secret meetings in the wood. I did not come here to accuse, but to warn you, Pauline. You must leave the neighborhood at once, for Mr. Belmont is dead.”
Lady Teignmouth uttered a faint cry, and put out her hand for the flask mechanically; but Lady Gwendolyn took possession of it, adding resolutely:
“You shall not stupefy yourself, for you will want all your wits. An inquest will be held on the body at about two o’clock, and you know best what may come out. I shall be silent, for my poor brother’s sake; but others who have not the same motive for shielding you that I have, may have seen something, and be quite willing to give all the information they can. You are safe, so far as Colonel Dacre is concerned; for, though he knows all, you have managed things so cleverly that he thinks I am the wrong-doer.”
Something very like a smile moved Lady Teignmouth’s pale lips. Even at this supreme moment she could enjoy the triumph of having hoodwinked and deceived a man of the world like Colonel Dacre.
If she had injured her sister-in-law at the same time, and destroyed all her hopes in life, what did it matter so long as she herself escaped? It was a principle with Pauline never to trouble herself about other people’s affairs, and to shift her own burden off her own shoulders to somebody else’s whenever she could.
“If that is the case, I see no reason why I should disturb myself in any way. The affair is sure to blow over comfortably if we keep quiet; and, of course, you won’t say anything, for Reggie’s sake.”
The tranquil egotism of this speech roused Lady Gwendolyn at last, and she turned upon her angrily.
“You are right—it is Reggie, and Reggie only, I consider in this matter. You have spoiled his life, poor fellow! but you shall not drag his honor through the mire if I can help it.”
“You rave like a tragedy queen,” observed Lady Teignmouth insolently. “Dragging your husband’s honor through the mire is only done now on the stage.”
“I find, to my sorrow, that it is still possible in real life,” replied Lady Gwendolyn, with a strong effort at self-control.
“Because you are romantic, my dear. When once you get married you will look at things in a more matter-of-fact light. Reggie and I are tied to each other, but neither of us has a mind to make our chains too heavy. He goes his way, and I go mine. I do not call him to account for anything he may have done during our separation, and claim a like indulgence from him. I should not in the least object to his having a little flirtation, if it amused him; and I don’t really believe that he wishes to deprive me of a similar distraction.”
“And you call that a flirtation?” exclaimed Lady Gwendolyn indignantly.
“Certainly. The moment I found Mr. Belmont was taking me too much au sérieux, I told him I would have nothing more to say to him. Even if he had not died so suddenly, I should never have spoken to him again.”
“I see; he was becoming a nuisance, and you decided to get rid of him by fair means or foul.”
“What on earth do you mean? Of course, if I declined his further acquaintance, he had no alternative but to accept his dismissal.”
“It is no use talking to me in this way. I know all,” answered Lady Gwendolyn gloomily. “Mr. Belmont confessed the truth with almost his last breath.”
“What truth? I wish you would not be so enigmatical, Gwen. When I can’t understand people directly they always bore me.”
“Very well, since you will have it, he said he had been poisoned.”
“Poisoned!” echoed Lady Teignmouth, in a tone of incredulity that was unmistakably genuine. “I don’t believe it! He was with me for nearly an hour, and though he threatened all sorts of foolish things—as men do under those circumstances—I am sure he never dreamed of carrying them out.”
“Pauline!” cried her sister-in-law, “will you swear that you had no hand in Mr. Belmont’s death?”
“I? Why, really, Gwen, you must be mad!” And Lady Teignmouth looked at her anxiously. “How could I possibly have had anything to do with it?”
“He was in your way,” said Lady Gwendolyn, so much impressed by the other’s manner, that she actually began to believe in her innocence.
“Not at all. I never allow any one to be in my way. If he and I had both lived to be a hundred years old, I should not have spoken to him again.”
“But he might have spoken to you.”
“I don’t think he would, for, with all his faults, he was a gentleman. You may depend upon it,” she added argumentatively, “that he died of heart-disease. Those strong-looking men often have some secret malady that carries them off suddenly.”
“But I told you that he said he had been poisoned—and a dying man does not lie.”
“Really, I hardly know how to believe it.” And Lady Teignmouth looked her companion steadily in the eyes.
There was a minute’s silence, and then she added quietly:
“Do you think that Colonel Dacre killed him?”
“What motive could he have for even wishing him dead?” inquired Lady Gwendolyn, flushing.
“According to your own showing he took him for a rival.”
“I never said that.”
“Well, he fancied it was you who had met him in the wood; and that would naturally anger him, since he loves you himself.”
“Has he told you so, pray?”
“Not in so many words; but I have been aware of the fact for over a year now.”
“And, therefore, you gave him my address at Turoy?”
Lady Teignmouth colored.
“Why not?” she asked evasively. “Colonel Dacre would be an excellent match. He is heir presumptive to a baronetcy; and has now a fine place and ten thousand a year. You might go farther and fare worse.”
“Still, there might have been drawbacks of which you knew nothing. Even if I had been engaged to Mr. Belmont, Colonel Dacre would have had no right to resent it.”
“You had refused him, then?” inquired the other curiously.
“Certainly not; he had never asked me.”
“Then it was your own fault.”
Lady Gwendolyn was silent. Lady Teignmouth was the last person in the world of whom she would have made a confidante.
Pauline peered into her face for a minute as if she would read her thoughts. But finding no enlightenment in the impassible face before her, she added:
“Anyhow, you will never persuade me that you might not have married Colonel Dacre had you chosen. Upon one point I claim to be infallible—I always know when a man is in love.”
“Do you, indeed? You must have studied the subject very carefully,” replied her sister-in-law.
“I don’t see how one is to help it, if one is tolerably good-looking. Men are so troublesome, you know.”
“Do you think so? I never knew one yet who would not take a ‘No.’”
“Really!” And the countess smiled deceitfully. “I suppose I wasn’t sufficiently firm; for no man ever took my ‘No.’ I refused Reggie four times.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Gwendolyn indignantly. “My brother was not the kind of man to repeat an offer, if it had been once refused. However,” she added, cooling down suddenly, “I did not come to discuss such questions with you. Mr. Belmont has not died a natural death, I am afraid; and at the inquest everything must come out. Forewarned is forearmed, and you can do as you think proper now.”
“And I think proper to stay quietly where I am,” returned Pauline coolly. “No one can do me any harm, excepting you; and though I am quite aware that you would not spare me for my own sake, I hardly think you will try to break your brother’s heart. With all my faults, he is foolish enough to care for me a little still; but he cares for his honor still more; and if the least shadow were cast upon that, the consequences would be terrible.”
“And do you suppose nobody witnessed your meetings with Mr. Belmont?”
“I naturally took care about that.”
“In fact, you made use of the Grange, and of my servants, in order to cover your faults, counting upon the very mistake that Colonel Dacre made.”
“Exactly. Why not? Nothing of this sort could harm you, as you were not a married woman; and, so far as your servants were concerned, I merely told them that you would arrive home so tired you would not care to see any one; and they immediately inferred from this that your visitor was in some way objectionable. I told Hannah to say ‘Not at home,’ which would have simplified the matter, and saved a good deal of breath; but she assured me neither she nor her husband would tell a lie, and they should know what to say quite well if I left them alone.”
“But I was not in the house, surely, when Colonel Dacre called?”
“The first time——”
“Then he came twice?” interrupted her sister-in-law.
“Or even three times; he was so very determined to see you, and so fully persuaded that you were deceiving him.”
Lady Gwendolyn lowered her head thoughtfully. All these complications harassed her. She began to wonder if Colonel Dacre had carried his determined spirit so far as to rid himself of a supposed rival. And yet his horror and indignation when he accused her had seemed so natural she hardly knew how to distrust him. Anyhow, better it should be him than Pauline—since Pauline’s destinies were bound up in those of her brother—and she loved Reggie so dearly.
She looked up presently and said:
“I am sorry I did not see him, it might have been better for us all. But it is no use talking of ‘might have beens!’—my chief concern is the present. I wish you would leave Bridgton, Pauline. You know perfectly well that if you are identified as the lady Mr. Belmont met in the wood, Reggie will never forgive you.”
“I wish you would give me credit for a little common sense, Gwendolyn. I don’t mean to be identified as any lady in particular. Not a soul knew that I was at Turoy excepting Hannah and her husband, and I have bought their silence. Moreover, they are fully convinced that I left Turoy exactly two hours before I really did. You see, you may always trust me to guard poor Teignmouth’s honor. I was obliged to see Mr. Belmont; but I took care to manage the affair in a way that would compromise me as little as possible.”
“I think you might have told me what use you were going to make of my house, Pauline.”
“That would have been very wise, wouldn’t it? since you would have taken good care that our meeting did not come off.”
“All the better.”
“Allow me to tell you, Gwen, that with all your cleverness, there are some things you do not at all understand.”
“You are perfectly right, and I have reason to be thankful that it is so,” retorted Lady Gwendolyn, as she finished her coffee and rose to her feet. “Anyhow, you know the truth now, Pauline; and let me tell you this much before I go: I will hide your faults and follies this once, at any sacrifice, for my brother’s sake; but the next time such a thing happens you must take your chance. It is enough that I have lost the respect of a man whose good opinion is worth having, for you. I will not aid you further. If you have not profited by the terrible lesson you have received, the sooner you and Reggie separate the better for him; and I shall do nothing to hinder it.”
“You cross, disagreeable child!” exclaimed her ladyship cheerfully. “You don’t suppose I shall get into another scrape in a hurry, do you?”
“I don’t know. You have such terrible vanity, Pauline——”
“Did you ever know a woman yet who had not? I really like Reggie immensely, but he has entirely got out of the way of paying compliments, and making himself agreeable; and, really, it is quite necessary to go into the world to hear that one is pretty. Before I have been shut up three days with my husband at Teignmouth I feel like an unmitigated fright.”
“Would you have him always flattering you?”
“Well, no, not exactly, because I should want a little sleep. Still, it is the sort of thing one cannot easily have too much of.”
Lady Gwendolyn looked at her with ill-concealed contempt; and, feeling that she might lose her temper and say more than she ought to say if she remained any longer, she wished her a curt good morning, and left the room.
She went down-stairs as softly as she could, being anxious, above all things, to escape the attention of Lady Lenox and her guests; but, as luck would have it, just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the door of the breakfast-room suddenly opened, and she found herself face to face with the gay Irish widow, Mrs. O’Hara.