At love's cost

by Charles Garvice

CHAPTER XXXI.

In obedience to Miss Falconer's command, Howard presented himself at Clarendon House at a comparatively early hour that evening. There were some guests staying in the house, amongst them Lady Clansford, who was still obliging enough to play the part of presiding genius; but they were all resting, or dressing for the ball, and the drawing-room, into which a couple of superbly liveried footmen showed Howard, was empty. But presently he heard the frou-frou of satin, and Maude Falconer swept in; her beauty, the splendour of her dress, the flashing of the diamonds in her hair and on her neck and arms, her queenly presence, almost made Howard catch his breath.

She came in with a languid grace, the air of hauteur which suited her so well, but as she saw that Howard was alone, the languor and the hauteur almost disappeared, and she came forward and gave him her hand, and he saw a look on her face which reminded him of that upon the ill-fated Italian, though it did not resemble it. For the first time he noticed a shade of anxiety on the level brow, something like a pathetic curve in the perfectly moulded lips; and he fancied that the gloved hand, which he held for a moment, quivered.

"Is Stafford not with you?" she asked. "I thought he was coming early.
His father expected him."

"No, I came alone," replied Howard. "But, no doubt, Stafford will be here presently."

She stood, calm and statuesque, but with her eyes downcast for a moment, then she raised them and looked at him. "About this cotillon," she said; then she broke off: "Do you know what is going to happen to-night? It is a secret, but—but I feel as if I must tell you, though I am betraying Sir Stephen's confidence. He tells me everything—more than he tells even Stafford. Strange as it may seem, he—he is fond of me."

"That does not seem strange to me," said Howard, with a little bow.

She made a slight gesture of impatience.

"It seems strange to me," she said, with a touch of bitterness. "So few persons are fond of me."

Howard smiled.

"For once I must be guilty of contradicting a lady," he said. "When I reflect that to-night I shall form one of a band of devoted courtiers who will throng round you in the hopeless pangs of despair—"

She repeated the gesture of impatience.

"Have you seen Stafford to-day?" she asked, looking down.

"I saw him a few hours ago," he replied, "at his rooms."

"At his rooms," she repeated, with a slight frown and a quick glance at him. "He promised to come to Richmond. Why did he not do so? Is he—ill?"

"Ill?" said Howard, raising his brows and smiling, for he knew the meaning of loyalty to a friend. "I never saw him in better spirits in my life, he was quite hilarious."

Her eyes flashed upon him keenly, but he met them with his slow, cynical smile.

"He must have been very different to what he usually is," she said. "I have not seen him laugh since—since we left Bryndermere." Her lips came tightly together, and she looked at him and then away from him. "Mr. Howard, you are his friend, his closest friend. I want you to tell me—But, no; you would not speak if you were on the rack, would you? No one sees, no one speaks; it is only I who, always watching him, see that there is something wrong. And I—I am so helpless!"

The outburst was so unlike her, the dropping of the mask of pride and self-possession was so sudden that Howard was startled; but no sign of his emotion revealed itself upon his placid face, upon which his serene smile did not waver for an instant.

"I think you are availing yourself of a lady's privilege and indulging in a fancy, Miss Falconer," he said. "Stafford is perfectly well, and, of course, is perfectly happy—how could he be otherwise?" He bent his head slightly. "Perhaps he may be a little tired. Alas! we are not all endowed with the splendid energy which the gods have bestowed on you and Sir Stephen; and the heat is enough to take the backbone out of anyone less gifted."

She checked a sigh, as if she understood that it was useless to appeal to him, and after a pause Howard said:

"You haven't told me the great secret yet."

She seemed to wake from a reverie, and said, listlessly:

"It will not be a secret for many hours. Sir Stephen is expecting the peerage to-night. The official intimation should have reached him by midday; but the prime minister did not return to London till this afternoon and the formalities were not completed. I think it will be announced to-night."

Her eyes shone and a spot of colour started to her cheeks.

"You are glad?" Howard said, with a smile of sympathy that had something of mockery in it, for your worldly cynic is always amused by worldliness in others.

"Yes, I am glad; but not for my own sake. You think I am pining for a coronet? I do not care—it is for Stafford's sake that I am glad. Nothing is too good for him, no title too high!"

"Do you think Stafford cares?" asked Howard.

She flushed and her eyes fell before his.

"No," she said, with a deep sigh. "I do not think he cares. He seems quite indifferent. All the time Sir Stephen and I have been working—"

"Have you been working?" said Howard, raising his eyebrows.

She laughed a little wearily.

"Indeed, yes. I have been—what do you men call it?—log-rolling for weeks. It is I who have found out what is wanted by the people who can help us. And it is generally, always, in fact, money. Always money! I get 'tips' from Sir Stephen and my father, and whisper them to the lords and ladies who have influence in the political drawing-rooms and clubs."

"And Sir Stephen?"

She laughed.

"His task is much simpler and easier than mine. He just goes down to his political club and subscribes so many thousand pounds towards the party expenses. The other night he gave them—but I must not tell the secrets of the Tories even to you, Mr. Howard. But it was a very large sum. It is always done that way, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," he assented. "It must be; for, come to think of it, a man isn't made a peer simply because he brews good beer; and a great many of our peers were and are good brewers, you see. Oh, it's all right, it pans out very satisfactorily, as the miners say. And so Stafford will be the future Earl of—"

"Earl of Highcliffe," she said. "He has declined anything less than an earldom. He has given so much. Sir Stephen owns some land there, and—and some of his people come from there."

Howard laughed.

"I see. Been there since they came over with the Conqueror. The
Herald's College will have no difficulty in finding a coat-of-arms.
Something with a Kaffir and a railway in it."

She smiled tolerantly.

"You always make fun of everything, Mr. Howard. If only Stafford would care—"

She sighed, and a moment afterwards her hand went to her lip with the gesture of a nervous school-girl. She had heard Stafford's voice in the hall.

He came in and greeted her gravely, and, Howard being present, merely took her hand.

"You two conspiring as usual?" he said, with a smile, with the smile which indicates a mind from which mirth has been absent for some time.

"Yes," said Howard; "we have been plotting the cotillon and very properly arranging that the prize shall go to the wisest, the nicest, and best-looking man in the room. I need not tell you his name?" He spread his hand on his heart, and bowed with mock complacency. "And now I will go and find Sir Stephen and get a cigarette before the battle begins. Au revoir."

When he had gone, almost before the door had closed on him, Maude moved closer to Stafford, and with a mixture of shyness and eagerness, put her arm round his neck.

"How good of you to come so early!" she murmured, in the voice which only a woman in love can use, and only when she is addressing the man she loves. "You did not come to Richmond? Never mind! Stafford, you know that I do not wish to hamper or bind you, do you not?—Are you well?" she broke off, scanning his face earnestly, anxiously. "Quite well," he responded. "Why do you ask, Maude?"

"I thought you looked tired, pale, that you have looked so for some weeks," she said, her eyes seeking his.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I am quite well. The hot weather makes one feel rather limp, I suppose. At any rate, there is nothing else the matter with me but a fit of laziness."

"As if you were ever lazy!" she said, with a smile.

"There is a large party to-night?" he said, presently.

She nodded.

"Yes: immense. The biggest thing we—I mean Sir Stephen—has done." Her eyes fell for a moment. "You will dance with me to-night—twice, Stafford?"

"As many times as you like, of course," he said. "But I shall not get so many opportunities. You will be too much sought after, as usual."

She sighed.

"That is the one disadvantage of being engaged to you," she said.
"Twice, then. The second and the eleventh waltz."

He nodded, and stood with the same absent preoccupation in his eyes; and she drew a little closer to him still; and as her eyes dwelt on his face with love's hunger in them, she whispered:

"You have not kissed me yet, Stafford."

He bent and kissed her, and her lips clung to his in that most awful of appeals, the craving, the prayer from the soul that loves to the soul that refuses love in return.

"Ah, Stafford, if—if it were all over, and we were away in the country somewhere?"

"Why don't we go?" he asked, with absolute indifference to the social plots and schemes which were being woven round him.

She laughed.

"In a little while! Sir Stephen wants a change; he is looking rather fagged—"

"I'm not surprised!" said Stafford. "It seems to me that my father rests neither night nor day—"

"Ah, well, it will soon be over—perhaps before you expect," she said, smiling mysteriously. "Hush! Here he comes! You bad boy, you have spoilt my hair,"—she herself had disarranged it as she pressed against his breast. "I must run away and have it put straight."

Sir Stephen entered a moment after she had left the room. He looked fagged to-night, as she had said; but his face lit up at sight of Stafford.

"Ah, my boy!" he exclaimed, holding Stafford's hand for a moment or two and scanning him with his usual expression of pride and affection. "We are going to have a big night: the greatest crush we have had. Didn't I hear Maude's voice?"

Stafford said that she had just gone out. Sir Stephen nodded musingly, and glanced at Stafford's grave face.

"I suppose the hurly-burly will be over presently," he said, "and we can go down to the country. Where would you like to go?"

Stafford shrugged his shoulders, and Sir Stephen eyed him rather sadly and anxiously. This indifference of Stafford's was quite a new thing.

"Don't mind? What do you say to Brae Wood, then?"

Stafford's face flushed.

"Not there—Wouldn't it be rather hot at Bryndermere, sir? Why not
Scotland?"

Sir Stephen nodded.

"All right. Wherever you like, my boy. We've still got some years of the Glenfare place. We'll go there. And, Stafford—do you ever remember that I am getting old?"

Stafford laughed and looked at the handsome face affectionately and with the admiration and pride with which a son regards a good-looking father.

"Yes; I suppose you must be nearly thirty, sir!"

Sir Stephen laughed, not ill-pleased at the retort.

"Seriously, Staff, I'm older than you think, and—er—Ah, well, we're all mortal! Do you think you could oblige me in a little matter—"

He paused.

Stafford looked at him with a half smile.

"Sounds as if you wanted to borrow money, sir. Anything I can do—"

Sir Stephen laughed.

"No, I'm not in want of money: but I'm in want of a daughter-in-law, of grandchildren to sit upon my knee—" He laughed again, as if he were a little ashamed of the touch of sentiment. "Seriously, Staff, is there any reason for waiting? I know that the engagement is a short one; but, well why should you and Maude not be happy? I can make arrangements," he went on, eagerly. "There is Brae Wood. I'll make that over to you—"

Brae Wood again! Stafford's face grew set and impassive.

—"Or there is that place I bought in Warwickshire. But, there, perhaps you and Maude would like to find a place for yourselves. Very natural! Well, there's no difficulty! Come, Staff! Why delay! 'Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,' you know! Why shouldn't the marriage take place directly the House rises and we leave London?"

Stafford turned away so that his father might not see the sudden pallor of his face.

"I'll—I'll speak to Maude, sir," he said, trying to make his tone cheerful, if not enthusiastic.

Sir Stephen laid his hand upon Stafford's broad shoulder.

"Thank you, my boy!" he said. "You are always good to me! Always! God bless you, Staff!"

His voice was husky, there was a moisture in his eyes which almost made Stafford's grow dim; then, with a swift return to his usual alert and sanguine manner, Sir Stephen withdrew his hands and swung round.

"I must be off: Maude likes me to be in the room when the people come: and, by George! Staff, I find myself doing what she likes all the time!"

His laugh rang out as he hurried with his brisk step from the room.

He was there at his post, when the guests began to arrive; and not far from him stood Maude in the splendour of her beauty; not tremulous now, as Howard had seen her, but statuesque and calm, and gracious with a stately graciousness which was well suited to the coronet which all knew would some day glitter on the bronze-gold hair.

Every now and then as the crowd increased her eyes would wander in search of Stafford, and she noticed that though he took his part, did his duty, the listless, half-wearied expression was still on his face, and a pang shot through her. Was it possible that he was still thinking of that girl at Bryndermere—She thrust the thought, the sickening dread, from her and forced the conventional smile to her face.

She danced the first dance with a popular duke who stood high in the government, and a word or two he let drop: "Sir Stephen: a man worthy of the highest honors," made her heart beat with anticipatory triumph.

The second waltz came, and—Ah, well, with Stafford's arm round her, with her head almost pillowed on his shoulder she was happy, and her fears, her vague doubts and presentiments fell from her.

"Ah, that was good," she said, with a sigh. "Do not forget—the eleventh, dearest! Take me to the prince—he is over there."

She dropped her curtsey to his royal highness, and Stafford left her with him. As he made his way to the end of the room he saw Griffenberg and several of the other financiers in a group, as usual; and they were talking with even more than their ordinary enthusiasm and secretiveness. Griffenberg caught his arm as he was passing.

"Heard the news, Mr. Orme?" he asked.

"No; what is it?" said Stafford.

Griffenberg smiled, but rather gravely.

"They say that the peerage will be announced to-night."

Stafford nodded. And Griffenberg after a stare at Stafford's impassive face which evinced no flush of exultation, glanced at the others curiously, seemed about to add something, then checked himself and turned away, and as Stafford went on, said in a low voice to Wirsch:

"Do you think he has heard? Looked rather glum, didn't he?"

The baron shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't know. He's a shtrange sheentleman. He keeps himself to himself doesh Mishter Shtafford."

Stafford went on, and at one of the anterooms came upon Mr. Falconer. He was standing looking on at the dancing with a grim countenance, and seemed lost in thought; so much so that he was almost guilty of a start when Stafford spoke to him.

"Yes! Great crowd. Just come in? Father all right?"

"Quite well, thanks," said Stafford, rather surprised by the question.

At that moment a servant brought a foreign cablegram to Falconer.
Falconer tore it open, glanced at it, and went pale.

"Anything the matter?" asked Stafford.

Falconer looked at him fixedly and curiously, then with a shake of his head moved away.

Stafford smoked a cigarette and sauntered back to the ballroom. He passed the group of city men again, and caught a word or two in the baron's gruff voice:

"I want to know how we shtand! The plow will shmash him; but the rest of us—us who are in de shwim. If de natives have risen—"

But Stafford paid little heed—forgot the words as soon as he had heard them; and went in search of his partner. While he was dancing, he was aware of that peculiar stir, that flutter and wave of excitement which agitates a crowd when something momentous is happening. He looked round and saw his father standing in the centre of a group of persons, men and women, who all seemed excited. There was loud talking, and sudden and spasmodic movements as fresh auditors to the restless group came up hurriedly and curiously.

"What is the matter, Mr. Orme?" asked the girl with whom he was dancing.

As she spoke he saw Maude detach herself from the group and approach them.

"Stafford—forgive me, Lady Blanche! but will you let him come to Sir
Stephen? He has just heard news—"

They followed her, and Sir Stephen seeing Stafford, held out his hand.
The old man was flushed and his dark eyes sparkled.

"Stafford!" he said, and his rich voice shook. "I have just heard—they have just brought me—"

He held up an official-looking paper with the great red seal on the envelope.

"It is from the prime minister—it is the peerage," said Maude, in a voice thrilling with restrained triumph.

Stafford shook his father's hand.

"I congratulate you, sir," he said, trying all he knew to force congratulation, rejoicing, into his voice.

Sir Stephen nodded, and smiled; his lips were quivering.

"Congratulations, Sir Stephen!" said a man, coming up. "I can see the good news in your face."

"Not Sir Stephen—Lord Highcliffe!" said another, correctingly.

Maude slid her arm in Stafford's, and stood, her lovely face flushed, her eyes sparkling, as she looked round.

"And no title has been more honourably gained," a voice said.

"Or will be more nobly borne!" echoed another.

Stafford, with all a man's hatred of fuss, and embarrassment in its presence, drew nearer to his father.

"Won't you come and sit down—out of the crowd?" he added, in a low voice.

Sir Stephen nodded, and was moving away—they made a kind of lane for him—when a servant came up to him with a cablegram on a salver. As he did so, Howard stepped forward quickly.

"Take it into the study!" he said, almost sharply, to the man; then to
Stafford he whispered: "Don't let him open it. It is bad news.
Griffenberg has just told me—quick! Take it!"

But before Stafford, in his surprise, could take the cablegram, Sir Stephen had got it. He stood with his head erect, the electric light falling on his handsome face: the embodiment of success. He opened the telegram with the smile still on his lips, and read the thing; then the crowd of staring—shall it be written, gaping?—persons saw the smile fade slowly, the flushed face grow paler, still paler, then livid. He looked up and round him as if he were searching for a face, and his eyes, full of anguish and terror, met Stafford's.

"Stafford—my boy!" he cried, in accents of despair.

Stafford sprang to him.

"Father—I am here!" he said, for Sir Stephen's gaze grew vacant as if he had been stricken blind.

The next moment he threw up his arms and, with a gasp, fell forward. Stafford caught him as a cry of terror rose from the crowd which fell back as if suddenly awed by some dreadful presence; and forcing his way through it a famous doctor reached the father and son.

There was a moment of awful suspense, then—the music sounded like a mockery in the silence—all knew, though no word had been spoken, that the great Sir Stephen—pardon! the Right Honourable the Earl of Highcliffe—was dead.