CHAPTER V.
After his rebuff by Lady Dimsdale, the Baronet made up his mind to set off home as soon as possible. He was stung as he had rarely been stung in his life before, and was in no humour for the company of any one. But before he could get away, an almost incredible rumour reached his ears that Mr Boyd’s long-lost wife had unexpectedly appeared at Rosemount. This was enough to induce Sir Frederick to change his plans, especially when backed up by the Captain’s pressing invitation to stay for dinner, for who could tell what unexpected turn events might now take? So he sent his groom in the dogcart to fetch his dress clothes, and made up his mind to remain where he was till the following morning.
Sir Frederick had easily discovered, by questioning one of the servants, in which particular room Mr Boyd and his wife had located themselves. It was the room next the library. So into the library went Sir Frederick, on the pretext of having some letters to write, and there he sat with the door a little way open—waiting. A certain strange idea was fermenting in his brain, which he could not get rid of till he had satisfied himself whether it had any foundation in fact or otherwise. The moment he saw Boyd pass the library door, he knew that the opportunity for which he had been waiting had come.
Sir Frederick advanced a step or two, and looked round, as if in search of some one. ‘Pardon my intrusion,’ he said with a bow; ‘but—Mr Boyd—is he not here?’
‘Mr Boyd has left the room for a few minutes. He will be back presently.’
The Baronet gave a well-simulated start at the first sound of Mrs Boyd’s voice. Then he seemed to regard her attentively for a moment or two, with his head a little on one side. ‘Pardon me,’ he said with a half-smile of inquiry, ‘but have I not the honour of addressing Mrs Boyd?’
At this question she seemed to freeze suddenly. Her eyes traversed him from head to foot before she answered him; then in cold clear tones she said: ‘I am the wife of Oscar Boyd.’
‘I thought I could not be mistaken,’ replied the Baronet, with his most insinuating smile.—‘I am Sir Frederick Pinkerton. But it is so long since I had the pleasure of seeing you last, that in all probability you have quite forgotten me.’
There was something about him that had evidently aroused her suspicions. She was at a loss to know what ground to take with him. ‘Yes—I cannot quite call you to mind,’ she said hesitatingly, after a little pause. ‘And yet? No. Tell me where I have seen you before.’
‘At New Orleans.’
‘Ha! I have not been at New Orleans for many years.’
‘I met you on two or three occasions in society, a few months after your marriage.’
‘Yes—I think I remember you now. But it is a long time ago, monsieur, and I was introduced to so many people about that time.’
‘I entertain a very distinct recollection of you, madam.’
‘I am indeed flattered, monsieur.’ She smiled a little set smile, which came and went as if it were produced by clockwork. She was evidently far from being at her ease.
‘Your unexpected appearance must have been a great surprise to Mr Boyd—a surprise and a pleasure in one. The return of a wife whom he believed to have been lost to him for ever several years ago! What a unique experience!’
‘An experience, monsieur, which very few husbands, I am afraid, would care to have brought home to themselves. You have an English proverb, “Out of sight, out of mind.” That is a very true proverb.’
‘Fie, fie! Mrs Boyd. You must not be so severe on us poor men. We are not all alike. Take your own case as an instance. You come back, from the tomb as it were, after I know not how many years, and find your husband still faithful to your memory.—Ah no; you must not malign us all.’
Was he mocking her, or what, this smiling, smooth-faced man? She was becoming more vaguely uneasy every minute, she scarcely knew why.
‘The sight of you this morning, Mrs Boyd,’ resumed the Baronet, ‘brings to my memory a certain little incident which I had all but forgotten. In those days, I was something of a traveller. About a year subsequently to my introduction to you, madam, I found myself in Mexico.’
Mrs Boyd could not repress a start, but she did not speak.
‘While there, singular to say, I made the acquaintance of a certain relative of yours, who inquired most particularly concerning your welfare.’
Mrs Boyd’s face might have been seen to pale even under its artificial colouring. She steadied her voice by an effort. ‘Of a relation of mine, monsieur! May I ask his name?’
‘Don Diego Riaz.’ He pronounced the name slowly, looking fixedly at her the while.
‘Ha!’ She fell back a step, as if some one had aimed a blow at her, and then one hand went up quickly to her heart. Both hatred and fear shone out of the eyes with which she stared at him.
‘By heavens! I have hit the mark,’ said the Baronet to himself.
‘Who can this man be? How much does he know?’ was her unspoken thought.
‘I am afraid you are ill, Mrs Boyd,’ remarked the Baronet.
‘A spasm; a mere nothing,’ she answered.—‘To return to what you were saying. I have neither seen nor heard anything of Don Diego Riaz for many years, and I hope neither to see nor hear anything of him in time to come. There was no love lost between him and me.’
‘His was a singular character, and strange tales were told of him. For instance, it was whispered that on one occasion when a certain member of his family left home without his knowledge or consent, he’——
‘Spare me the recital, I pray of you. The mere mention of that man’s name is hateful to me! utterly hateful!’ Her voice was charged with passion, her black eyes seemed to strike fire. She walked across to the window and then came back again.
Sir Frederick felt that he had pursued the topic as far as it was safe to do so. ‘’Tis she; I can no longer doubt,’ he murmured to himself. ‘I have not forgotten what I was told in Mexico.’
‘How much or how little does this man know?’ Estelle kept asking herself. She was seriously uneasy.
‘Do you purpose making a long stay in England, Mrs Boyd?’ asked the Baronet in his most matter-of-fact tone.
‘I think not, Sir Frederick. My husband talks about sailing for South America in a few days. He has lost nearly the whole of his fortune. N’est ce pas?’
‘I believe so. I was prodigiously sorry to hear of it.—Do you accompany your husband abroad, Mrs Boyd?’
‘Monsieur! Is it not a wife’s duty to accompany her husband anywhere and everywhere? And consider for how many years Oscar and I have been separated! He would not leave me behind him for the world.’
‘Yours must be a romantic story, Mrs Boyd. I hope we shall have the pleasure of hearing from your lips some particulars of your marvellous escape.’
At this moment Mrs Bowood entered the room. She could contain herself no longer. What was Mr Boyd about, that he did not at once introduce his wife to herself and the Captain? Then she was dying to apologise for her mistake of the morning; besides which, her sense of hospitality was outraged by the fact that Mrs Boyd had been all this time in the house without having been shown to her rooms or asked to partake of refreshments of any kind. Such a state of affairs must be put an end to forthwith.
Mrs Bowood came forward with her most genial smile. ‘I am come to apologise for my absurd mistake of this morning, though it was partly your own fault, my dear Mrs Boyd.’ She had hold of both Estelle’s hands by this time. ‘How do you do? How do you do? Allow me to welcome you to Rosemount.—Ah, Sir Frederick, you here?’ This was said with some surprise.
‘I had the honour of making Mrs Boyd’s acquaintance several years ago.’
‘Wonders will never cease.’ Then turning to Estelle, she went on: ‘Only to think that I mistook you for a French governess! But you ought to have let me know at first who you were, and then matters would have been set right at once.’
‘I wanted to surprise my husband,’ answered Estelle, with downcast eyes. ‘I wanted to see whether he would know me again, after so long a time.’
‘As if he could help knowing you and he your husband! I can imagine how overjoyed he must have been to see you again.’
‘Cher Oscar! He was distracted with joy. He could scarcely speak to me at first for emotion.’
Sir Frederick smiled cynically, but did not speak.
‘No chance for Laura now,’ said Mrs Bowood to herself. ‘How fortunate this woman did not come a day later.’
Mrs Bowood had left the room-door wide open, and at this juncture her eye caught sight of Lady Dimsdale, who was passing along the corridor on her way to the side-door that opened into the grounds. ‘Laura, Laura! come here,’ she called. ‘I want to introduce you to Mrs Boyd.’
‘The woman he kissed!’ muttered Estelle between her teeth.
‘Checkmate for my Lady Disdain,’ remarked Sir Frederick to himself with a shrug.
Lady Dimsdale hearing herself called by name turned back, and entered the room. She looked a little paler than ordinary, but was perfectly composed. Going straight up to Estelle, she held out her hand. ‘Mrs Boyd and I have met already,’ she said in her most matter-of-fact tone.
‘Ah, oui,’ answered Estelle with a shrug, as she took the proffered hand for a moment and then let it drop.
‘Met before!’ exclaimed Mrs Bowood in amazement.
‘A couple of hours ago,’ said Lady Dimsdale.
‘For one minute only,’ explained Estelle.
‘Then I must introduce you.—This is Lady Dimsdale, one of my dearest friends.—Laura—Mrs Boyd.’
‘I am enchanted to make the acquaintance of Lady Dimsdale.’
‘’Tis a pity Lady D. cannot return the compliment,’ muttered Sir Frederick to himself.
Mrs Bowood turned to him. ‘By-the-bye, Sir Frederick, have you seen the Captain since luncheon?’ With that the two crossed over to the window and began to talk together.
‘Mrs Boyd, I feel that some explanation is due to you,’ said Lady Dimsdale in a low voice to the other.
‘I have not asked for any explanation, Lady Dimsdale.’
‘I repeat that one is due to you.’
‘As you please,’ answered the other, with a little lifting of her shoulders; and with that she sat down and yawned unmistakably behind her handkerchief.
‘Mr Boyd and I were acquainted many years ago, before he went abroad,’ began Lady Dimsdale. ‘He was a frequent visitor at my father’s vicarage. After he went away, I never saw him again till yesterday. This morning, fully believing that you had been dead for many years, he asked me to become his wife.’
‘You did not say No,’ sneered Estelle.
‘At that moment you entered the room.’
‘It was very bad taste on my part, I confess. Had I known how you were engaged, I would have waited five minutes longer.’
‘With all my heart, I wish that you had come an hour sooner!’
‘I told you that I did not require any explanation. Now that you have chosen to press one on me, what is the value of it? Absolument rien! The world is wide, and one kiss more or less is of little consequence.’ She rose, and crossed to the table and opened a book of photographs.
‘And that woman is Oscar Boyd’s wife!’ said Lady Dimsdale to herself as she looked after her. Her heart was very, very bitter.
Mrs Bowood turned as Estelle crossed to the table. ‘I am afraid you will think us all very inhospitable, Mrs Boyd,’ she said; ‘but it is your husband’s fault that you did not come in to luncheon. However, a tray will be ready for you in a few minutes. By-the-bye, has any one shown you your rooms?’
‘My rooms, madame! We—that is, my husband and I—are going to London by the next train. At least, that is what Oscar says.’
‘Going away by the next train! Mr Boyd had promised to stay a week, and why need he go away because you have arrived?’
‘I only know, madame, that he told me he was going away.’
‘That will never do. I must talk to him; and Captain Bowood must talk to him; and you, Lady Dimsdale, and you, Sir Frederick, must add your persuasions to ours to induce Mr Boyd not to run away from us in this sudden fashion. Next week we have two picnics and an archery meeting—and Mrs Boyd has been so long away from England!’
‘I am sure Mr Boyd can’t be hard-hearted enough to resist all our entreaties,’ said the Baronet. ‘The influence of Lady Dimsdale alone might’——
‘You rate my influence too highly, Sir Frederick,’ interrupted Laura hastily, while a warm flush mounted to her cheek. ‘In a matter like this, Mr Boyd probably knows his own business better than any one.’
The Baronet, in nowise disconcerted, turned to Estelle: ‘To run away from us so soon would be cruel indeed.’ Then to Mrs Bowood: ‘I am sure we are all anxious for the pleasure of Mrs Boyd’s further acquaintance. We want to know her better—we want to hear the story of her adventures, of her wonderful escape from shipwreck.’
‘A dangerous man this—I hate him!’ muttered Estelle between her teeth.
‘Yes—of course—the story of the shipwreck,’ cried impulsive Mrs Bowood. ‘I had forgotten that for the moment. We are all dying to hear it.’
Estelle’s eyes were on Lady Dimsdale. ‘The woman he kissed says nothing,’ was her unspoken comment. Then turning to Mrs Bowood, she said: ‘The shipwreck? O yes, I will tell you all about the shipwreck—but not to-day. I am a little tired.’
‘I am sure you must be, and hungry too. We have all been very remiss,’ replied the mistress of Rosemount. Then putting her arm into that of Estelle, she added: ‘But your tray will be ready by this time, and Mr Boyd must join you when he comes down. Meanwhile, I want to introduce you to Captain Bowood.—Laura, dear, you are coming?’
‘I will join you in a few minutes,’ was Lady Dimsdale’s reply. She wanted to be alone.
Mrs Bowood and Estelle quitted the room together. Sir Frederick lingered behind for a moment.
‘What a happy man our friend Boyd must be to-day.—Don’t you think so, dear Lady Dimsdale?’ he said with a smirk.
‘Very happy, Sir Frederick,’ answered Laura, looking him steadily in the eyes. ‘Who can doubt it?’
‘Lucky dog! lucky dog!’ ejaculated the Baronet as he followed the other ladies from the room.
Lady Dimsdale sank into an easy-chair. ‘His wife! His wife!’ How the words kept ringing in her brain. ‘Thank heaven she came at the moment she did, and not five minutes later! And yet if she had come an hour sooner, that would have been better still. Would it? I don’t know. I cannot tell. His words were so sweet to me! Did I answer him? No. He looked into my eyes and read his answer there. And now I must never see him or think of him more! Oh, my darling—the love of my girlhood—the only love of my life—it is hard to bear, hard to bear!’ She felt as if her heart were surcharged with tears; they glistened in her eyes.
At this moment Oscar Boyd entered the room. He gave a little start when he saw who was in it. He had not expected to find her there. From the head of the staircase, just as he was on the point of coming down, he had seen his wife and Mrs Bowood enter the dining-room, and he guessed what had happened during his absence. The hard set look on his pale face softened inexpressibly as his eyes rested on Lady Dimsdale. ‘Laura!’ he said, pausing for an instant with the handle of the door in his hand.
She neither looked up nor answered him; for a moment or two she was afraid to trust either her eyes or her voice.
He shut the door, and went forward and took one of her hands. ‘Laura!’ he said again, and there was a world of tenderness in the way he pronounced that one little word.
Then she looked up, and he saw the tears shining in her eyes. ‘Oscar!—I may call you so for the last time—we ought to have parted without another word.’
‘I could not have gone away without seeing you again, if only for a few minutes.’
‘You are going away?’
‘By the next train.’
‘It is better so.’
‘Laura! when I spoke to you this morning, it was in the full belief that I was a free man—that no tie existed on earth to debar me from saying the words I said then.’
‘I know it—I know it.’
‘The woman—my wife—whom I had every reason to believe had died long ago, will accompany me when I leave this place. But to-morrow she and I will part for ever. Her future will be duly cared for, and after that I shall never see her again. Laura! you and I may never meet again after to-day. Think of me sometimes when I am far away.’
‘Always—always.’
‘O heavens, when I think how happy we might have been! And now!’ Strong man though he was, it was all he could do to keep himself from breaking down. He was possessed by an almost irresistible impulse to fling his arms round her and press her passionately to his heart.
Love’s fine instinct told Laura something of what was passing in his breast. She stood up and laid one hand softly on his arm. ‘You had better go now,’ she said very gently. ‘No more words are needed between you and me. We know what we know, and no one can deprive us of that knowledge.’
He felt the wisdom of her words. To delay that which was inevitable was merely to prolong her misery and his own. Besides, his wife might enter the room at any moment. And yet—and yet it was so hard to have his treasure torn from him at the very moment he had made it his own!
Laura had a rose in the bosom of her dress. She took it out and fixed it in his button-hole. ‘Now go. Not another word,’ she whispered.
‘I shall write to you once before I sail,’ he said.
‘No—no; better not.’
He did not dispute the point, but took each of her hands in one of his. For the space of a few seconds they stood heart to heart, as it were, gazing into each other’s eyes. Then Oscar lifted first one hand and then the other, and pressed them to his lips with a sort of reverent passionate tenderness. ‘Farewell, my darling, farewell!’
The words struck a chill to her heart. They were the last anguished cry of love and happiness lost for ever.