Adrien Leroy

by Charles Garvice

CHAPTER XXI

On the night of that fateful trip, when Leroy returned to his chambers, he found Lady Constance's letter. Already tired with the events of the day, and the struggle in the water, this proved an overwhelming blow. The thought that he had spent the day in idle dalliance, when he might have been with the woman he truly loved--might have basked in the warmth of her presence, even though she would never be his, drove him almost to madness.

Jasper Vermont, who had followed him back to town by the first train obtainable, called in at Jermyn Court, and found him pacing up and down the room, more troubled and unhappy than he had ever been in the whole course of his pampered, shielded life. Vermont listened and sympathised, and stabbed afresh, with his artful accounts of Lady Constance's anger at the fancied slight. He was altogether delighted at the way in which things had turned out, though he did not know how Fortune had aided him still more at Waterloo Station.

On the following morning Leroy received a cypher note from Lady Merivale, saying that she had arrived home safely, and unnoticed; and, with a sigh of relief, he turned his attention to his own affairs. To Jasper's supreme annoyance, he insisted on going through a pile of papers which Vermont had only meant him to sign; and to that gentleman's chagrin he actually dared to interfere in the matter of rents and leases; which proceeding, naturally, did not tend to make Jasper feel the more kindly disposed to the world in general, and Adrien Leroy in particular.

When he had taken his departure, Adrien ordered the motor, and drove down to Barminster with the intention of offering an apology for his seeming discourtesy. He found all in confusion and excitement in view of the coming ball; and, whether by accident or design, he found it impossible to get a single word with Constance alone.

The two ladies received the explanation of his absence--a river-trip with a friend--with chilling indifference. To Miss Penelope nothing was of any importance except the decorations of the banqueting hall, while Lady Constance had the evidence of her own eyesight. He was compelled, therefore, to return to London the next day in the same unhappy state of mind. To distract his thoughts, he threw himself heart and soul into the preparations for the festive event; and even Jasper Vermont himself could not have worked harder.

The announcement of the fancy dress ball to be held at Barminster had made something like a sensation; for not only was the magnificence of the Castle well known, but the fact that it was so seldom used for festivities of any kind lent importance to the occasion, and had roused society, both in town and country, to the height of expectancy.

Preparations were carried on apace. The whole Castle was to be lighted and decorated, regardless of expense, while even the servants' dresses were to be manufactured by the masters of their craft, and approved of by heraldic authorities, in order that the right effect of the period, that of two hundred years back, might be maintained. Never had a ball been carried out with such a wealth of detail.

Throughout all this, and during the many visits which Adrien found necessary to make to Barminster, journeying backwards and forwards in his great car, Lady Constance maintained a smiling, gentle demeanour; but she allowed him no opportunity for explanation, seeming rather to avoid his presence. Even Lord Barminster, watching his two dear ones closely, was not blind to the gravity of the situation; but he trusted to Constance's love to make matters right in the end.

At last the eventful night came. The temporary stables which the village carpenters had been erecting close to the ordinary ones were rapidly filling. Cars and carriages stood side by side, as guests from town and the surrounding districts arrived; and the air resounded with the clatter and rattle of the horses' hoofs and carriage wheels, mingled with the hooting of motor horns.

Within the Castle all was light and mirth. Ripples of laughter and the buzz of conversation went on incessantly, as the guests arrived in their varied and gorgeous costumes.

The walls of the great reception rooms had all been covered with priceless tapestry, and as far as possible made to represent the ball-room of Antony Leroy, two hundred years ago. But the guests themselves had not been asked to keep to any period of history or fashion, and, therefore, it was the most incongruous crowd that had ever gathered within the walls of Barminster Castle. Never were dresses more regal or more magnificent, alike in materials, colour and decoration. Cavaliers in silks and satins, with plumed hats and jewelled swords; Crusaders in glittering mail and silver armour. Alsace peasant girls mingled with Carmelite monks and Sicilian nuns. Shakespeare's characters were legion--Portias, Cymbelines, Katherines and Shylocks, all laughed and jested together, their identity concealed beneath their black velvet masks. It seemed as if every character and fable had risen to throng the halls of Barminster Castle that night.

Up in the gallery above the great ball-room a famous orchestra poured forth melody, and the guests were awaiting the entrance of their host as a signal to start dancing.

The last visitor had arrived, when Lord Barminster and his sister came from the entrance hall, where they had stood so long. The old man had merely donned a domino over his evening dress and carried his mask in his hand; but Miss Penelope had had her elaborate dress copied from a picture of Lord Antony's wife, which hung in the Picture Gallery. The gown was composed of soft grey satin, over which hung a veil of gold chiffon embroidered with pearls. An embroidery of gold wheat-ears sown with pearls decorated the bodice and the long, grey satin train; this, together with the family diamonds, made Miss Penelope an imposing figure, even in that bevy of fair women and gorgeous gowns.

Immediately behind them came Adrien and Lady Constance. The latter had chosen to represent "Miranda," and her loveliness seemed almost supernatural. The pale gold of her hair and the perfect shell-pink of her complexion were set off to advantage by her gown, which, simple as it was, yet showed by that very simplicity the hand of the master by whom it had been designed. It was of palest green satin, edged with chiffon in such a way as to represent the crested waves, relieved here and there by pink sea-shells and tiny wreaths of seaweed; while her only ornaments were pearls, the gifts of her guardian. It was little wonder that Adrien had been unable to express the admiration he felt, when he looked upon her fair beauty, which was now, however, covered by a velvet mask.

He himself had taken the character of Charles the First, and, with his dark, deep eyes and melancholy face, fully looked the part of the unhappy monarch. There was a faint murmur of admiration as he entered, for every detail had been so carefully copied, from the lace collar to the jewelled order across his breast, that it was as if Van Dyck's famous picture itself had stepped down from its frame.

Unconscious of the attention they provoked, Adrien led Lady Constance out to the first dance, and opened the ball with her.

Miss Penelope was in the seventh heaven of delight, when some little time later Adrien came up to her.

"What a magnificent sight, is it not, Adrien?" she said excitedly. "I knew it would be a success; but really the dresses are wonderful. Then the mystery is so delightful. I can't recognise any one now under the masks. Look, who is that?" She glanced towards a lady dressed as Undine, who seemed to float by them, so light were her movements, on the arm of a Mephistopheles.

"That," said Adrien, whose quick eyes readily penetrated the majority of the disguises, "that is--yes, I cannot be mistaken--Ev--Lady Merivale."

His voice dropped slightly as he spoke the name; for he had not expected that she would accept Miss Penelope's invitation, and was surprised by her presence.

"Who is the Mephistopheles?" asked his aunt.

Adrien glanced after the couple rather puzzled.

"I don't know," he admitted frankly.

"It is something, a shadow only, like Mr. Vermont," suggested Miss Penelope.

"It cannot be he," said Adrien, "he is not coming to-night."

Lord Barminster, who had approached in time to hear this speech, looked affectionately at his son, and Adrien caught the glance and understood it. But without making any comment, he went in search of his partner for the next waltz.

Meanwhile, Undine and Mephistopheles had seated themselves in the deep recess of one of the alcoves.

"May I get you an ice, madam?" asked the Mephistopheles in a queer, strained voice.

Undine turned her face towards him, and her eyes flashed curiously through the mask.

"You may," she replied, also disguising her voice, "if you will tell me who you are."

"That I dare not," was the guarded reply. "My name is never mentioned in ears polite, you know."

Undine smiled.

"Since you will not tell me your name, perhaps you can tell me mine without the asking."

"I can, madam. You are--Lady Merivale, who is so fond of the river."

Undine started, her face turning suddenly pale.

"I--what do you mean? Who are you?" she asked, as she peered at him with straining eyes, seeking to pierce the clever disguise.

"Mephistopheles!" was the calm retort. Then, as if to turn the subject, he continued lightly: "It is a fair scene, and a fabulous one."

Undine began to have a slight suspicion as to whom her companion might be, and was far from comfortable in her mind. The hit at the river might have been only a chance one; but this was doubtful, if Mephistopheles turned out to be either Mortimer Shelton or Jasper Vermont, as she half feared.

She strove to conceal her uneasiness.

"The best should be happy and satisfied to-night," she said; "it is a great success."

"Yes, happy!" agreed the demon, nodding his horned head, "but not satisfied. That will never be till he sees the marriage of his beloved son----" He stopped short.

"With Lady Constance Tremaine," finished Lady Merivale, in a low voice, from which all attempt at disguise had gone.

Mephistopheles nodded again.

"You have guessed aright, my lady," he said. "See! there they are together. A handsome pair; an admirable match. Yet it is sad to think----" He stopped again.

"What?" cried Lady Merivale, grasping his scarlet-clad arm in a fierce grip.

"It will never be!"

His companion trembled with suppressed eagerness.

"What do you meant?" she exclaimed. "Can you prevent it?"

"I both can and will," was the quiet answer. "But, come, let us seek a more retired spot."

He drew her almost forcibly out of the recess into the shadow of some palms, as Adrien Leroy, with a partner on his arm, approached the alcove.

"Oh! Mr. Leroy," said Lady Chetwold, as they passed, "can you tell me who this latest arrival is?"

"I have not seen her," said Adrien rather wearily; his eyes were bent on Lady Constance, who had left him and was now dancing with Lord Standon.

"Oh, there she is!" exclaimed his voluble little companion. "Such a magnificent Cleopatra, isn't she?"

She drew his attention to a tall lady who was looking rather anxiously and constrainedly about her. Her dress certainly deserved the name of magnificent. It was made for the greater part of apricot-coloured satin, with gauze and tinselled chiffon fulled over it; from the shoulders was suspended a long train of imperial purple velvet, on which was embroidered in dull green, various Egyptian symbols. Her jewels too, which were abundant, consisting chiefly of diamonds and large emeralds, made her a regal, though almost theatrical figure. Yet, as her eyes met the steady regard of Adrien's, she looked nervously round as if to make her escape.

Lady Chetwold felt Adrien give a slight start, and looking up, she saw that his lips had grown stern, and even through the mask detected the angry gleam in his eyes.

"Do you know her?" she whispered.

"Yes!" he said. "But it would be a breach of confidence to betray her, Lady Chetwold."

At the close of the dance he surrendered the little lady her next partner, and went in search of the Cleopatra. He soon espied her, seated in one of the recesses, and strode across to her. She started to her feet as Adrien approached, then sinking back into her chair, she looked up at him defiantly.

At that moment the band struck up the music for the cotillion, and the mass of colours shifted in dazzling movement, as, amid the rustle of silks and the ripple of laughter, the dance commenced.

Adrien was engaged to Lady Constance for it; but in the height of his anger he had forgotten the fact.

"Ada!" he exclaimed in a low voice full of suppressed indignation. "What is the meaning of this intrusion? You've no business here."

"No business here! Oh, haven't I?" she answered harshly, her bosom heaving, and her bejewelled hands clenching.

"No," he continued, standing in front of her so that she should not be seen by the dancers. "You know that as well as I do. How did you come?"

"On my legs," retorted the lady defiantly. "They're good for something else besides dancing in your theatre, Adrien. You're an unfeeling brute to speak to me like that after the way you've treated me. Do you think I'm going to be thrown aside like a worn-out glove, just because you want to marry that grand swell of a cousin."

"Silence!" said Adrien in a tense whisper, and grasping her arm almost savagely. "Keep your mask on, and come with me. If you are discovered, I will not answer for the consequences."

She rose sullenly, but abashed by his unusual vehemence, for never yet had she seen him moved from his polite calm; and opening the door at the end of the room, he led her away from the brilliant ball-room.

"Now," he said as he closed the door and removed the mask from his face, "what does this mean? There is something more in your presence than I can understand. Whether I marry or not, it can be nothing to you, Ada; you have the money, which is all you care for."

"No, I haven't," she retorted loudly, "and you know it!"

He held up his hand with a gesture of contemptuous command.

"Speak quietly, if you can," he said, "or I leave you at once. Do you mean to tell me you have not received the deeds?"

"I do," she replied sulkily. "It ain't no use your carrying it off in this high-handed way, because I ain't going to be deceived by it! You promised me that you'd make me an allowance of a thousand a year, and give me the theatre when you left me. Well, you've left me right enough, but where's the money? That's what I want to know."

"I gave the deed to Jasper," said Adrien, looking down upon her with distaste, and vaguely wondering how he could ever have endured such a woman near him.

"You gave it to Jasper, did you?" said Ada, pulling or rather tugging off her mask viciously, as she spoke. "Hang me if I didn't think so all the time!" she exclaimed with a sudden change of tactics. "That Jasper's a thief. I heard you say something about those deeds, and Jasper told me a long rigmarole that you wouldn't sign them. Whether that's true or not, Heaven only knows. Jasper's a bad one, an' he's sold me. He's got the coin, and I'll split on him, as I threatened. No, it's no use your trying to make me hush up, I will speak out. I'll show you what a fool he's made of you, you who have been so good to him; I'll tell you a thing or two as will open your eyes a bit wider than they are now. I'll--"

"Be quiet!" said Adrien. "Not another word--there is some mistake. Jasper has forgotten, he has some reason for not giving it to you. He shall explain directly I can reach town. You shall have the money and the theatre, that I promise you; you know I have never broken my word yet. Now you must go. Every moment you stay increases your danger. My father is old-fashioned perhaps, but he would regard this as the greatest insult, and would punish it severely. You are no fool, Ada. How could you have done such a mad thing? Hush! slip on that domino." He pointed to a black masque cloak, and rang the bell. "Get away as quickly as possible," he went on as, now thoroughly subdued, she put on the cloak. "You shall have the money, I swear it."

On the servant entering, he hastily gave directions for her to be driven to the station; then without another word to her, he returned to the ball-room, just as his father's voice was heard inquiring for him.

"Ah! there, you are, my boy. I wondered if anything had gone wrong. Are you ill?" He gazed keenly at Adrien's pale, unmasked face.

"No, sir, it is rather hot though in this dress," he returned hurriedly, hating even the very semblance of a lie. "I believe Constance is waiting for me," he continued. "Ah, yes, there she is. The ball is going off well, don't you think so?"

His father nodded.

"Yes," he said, "your friends are pronouncing it to be a success. Mr. Paxhorn declares it is a vision of the period. But Constance is waiting."

Replacing his mask, Adrien made his way to his cousin, who, as usual, was surrounded by a small group of courtiers. She glanced up as he approached and, with a smile to the rest, took his proffered arm. As he looked at her sweet face, a thrill ran through him at the purity of her beauty--so great a contrast to that of the woman he had just dismissed that he loathed the very thought of ever having touched her hand. In that moment, the love he bore Constance welled up passionately in his heart, refusing to be suppressed, and again he tore off the velvet mask.

When the girl raised her calm eyes to his face, the ardent look in his startled her, and she determined to at least listen to any explanation he wished to give her. "Where have you been, Adrien?" she said gently. "I thought you had forgotten me."

"No!" he answered sharply, "that would be impossible; but I was called away. Do you care for this dance? Or, would you give me just a few moments with you alone on the terrace?"

Her eyes softened.

"Yes, if you like, Adrien," she said gently. "I am really tired now, and longing for the air."

"Come, then," he said; and catching up a silken wrap that lay on one of the seats, he threw it tenderly over her.

Together they passed out on to the terrace, and seemed to have slipped into another world, so great a contrast was the peaceful moonlit valley beneath them to the brilliant, heated ball-room they had just left.

As the curtained door swung behind them, Jasper Vermont, alias Mephistopheles--his scarlet costume now changed to ordinary evening dress, and covered with a long black domino, similar to that which Ada had donned--shot a sharp glance after them; then, with a sinister smile, he left the room by another exit, and made his way into the grounds. Keeping well within the shadow of the trees and shrubs, he crouched down, directly under the terrace where Adrien had led Constance; here, motionless and scarcely breathing, he listened with eager ears.

"It is hot," said Constance, removing her mask, and letting the wrap fall back from her shoulders.

"All the more reason you should be careful," said Adrien, replacing it gently.

She smiled, as she gazed up at him.

"You look very tired," she said softly. "This ball has been a strain on you, has it not?"

"Not more than usual," he returned. "At any rate, it will be my last for some time to come."

"Your last!" she echoed, looking up at him with wide, startled eyes. "What do you mean, Adrien?"

"I am going away after to-night," he said hoarsely; for the sight of her beauty was goading him almost to despair.

"Going away!" she hardly breathed the words; her face had paled in the moonlight, till it looked almost unearthly. "Why?"

"You ask me why?" he murmured, his forehead damp with the force of his emotion. "You, who know how I love you--worship your very shadow!"

She trembled under the passion of his gaze.

"Adrien!" she exclaimed, in low, reproachful tones. "Why do you speak to me like that, when I know how little your words really mean?"

"Little!" he cried with suppressed passion. "Ah, Constance, why are you so cruel to me? Why do you so misjudge me, when I would gladly die to serve you?"

The earnestness in his tones was unmistakable; but she kept her face turned from him, and he knew only from the quick-drawn breath that she had heard him.

"Constance," he pleaded, "look at me, dear. Give me this one chance. I shall never trouble you again."

"You have no right----" she began tremulously.

"No right to tell you I love you. Do you think I don't know that?" he burst out. "It is just that very knowledge which has burnt itself into me, and seared my very soul."

"What knowledge?" she asked, forgetful, in the suddenness of his attack, the tactics she had adopted with regard to Lord Standon.

"The knowledge of your engagement," he answered hoarsely. "Ah, Constance, be merciful. Surely not even Standon himself would grudge me these last few moments."

"What has Lord Standon to do with me?" she asked, looking him full in the face with steadfast eyes.

He stared at her in amazement.

"Is he not your accepted lover?"

His voice betrayed his agony of spirit; and, hearing this, she relented. Holding up her left hand, the third finger of which was bare of rings, she said quietly, almost, indeed, demurely:

"This does not look like it, does it?"

The light of hope, new-born, flashed into his face. He sprang forward eagerly.

"Constance!" he cried. "My darling! You will try to care for me then----?" He would have taken her in his arms; but she held him off at arm's length.

"No! no, Adrien," she interrupted sadly. "Because I am not engaged to Lord Standon, is that any reason why I should love one who treats me so lightly?"

"I treat you lightly, you--the one woman I have ever truly loved? Constance, whatever sins I may have committed, you are my first love, and you will be my last. I am not worthy to touch your hand, as pure as it is white, but will you not forgive me the folly of my past life, and let me live in hope that I may do better? I swear from this day forth to cast off the old life, with all its emptiness and folly, and lay the future at your feet."

As his passionate words ceased, she turned to him.

"Adrien, I do not know what to think," she said in low, troubled tones. "I wrote to you last month--that day we came up to London, believing that perhaps you had learned to care a little for me; but when you deliberately spent the day with another woman, sooner than with me, what am I to think?"

"What do you mean?" he asked hoarsely.

"I saw you," she returned simply, "when we were at the station, auntie and I, on the twenty-second----"

"The twenty-second!" he echoed, through blanched lips.

"Yes, you were at Waterloo Station with some one, I did not see her face. But what does it matter now? If you had cared----" She stopped abruptly.

"I do care," he reiterated passionately. "Heaven above knows that; but I do not hope to make you believe me. Constance, I can give neither you nor any living being the explanation of that awful day. But I swear to you that the meeting was unsought by me. I could not help myself. I do not know how all this has come about. I understood from Standon that--that he was engaged to----"

"Muriel Branton," interrupted Constance softly. "He told me himself."

For a moment Adrien stared at her in stupefaction.

"If I had known we were at cross-purposes!" he exclaimed. "I see it all now--when it is too late," and sinking down on the stone seat he buried his face in his hands.

For a minute there was silence, broken at last by the rustle of Lady Constance's dress as she came timidly towards him.

"Adrien," she murmured, very low indeed, but not so low that he did not hear.

He looked up, gave one swift glance at her blushing face, then, with an incoherent cry of delight, caught her in his arms.

"My darling!" he cried. "I love you. Believe that, though I failed you so."

No further words were spoken--none were needed; then Adrien said gently:

"Darling, before we return, tell me, just once--let me hear it from your own lips, that you love me; for I can scarcely believe I am awake."

"It is no dream, Adrien," she said, her face flushing and quivering with pent-up emotion. "I love you, dear."

Again he clasped her in his arms and neither heard a step behind them. It was not until a warning cough roused them, that Adrien started, and became aware of the presence of Mr. Jasper Vermont.