Another Man's Shoes

by Victor Bridges

CHAPTER XIV

I suppose it was inevitable that even my best efforts at being pleasant should have failed to convince Lady Baradell that my feelings towards her had not changed. People do not as a rule choose quite such unconventional hours for calling except with the expectation of a considerably more enthusiastic welcome than I was prepared to offer.

I saw suspicion and anger gathering slowly in her face, and finally she stepped back and clenched her hands.

"Why are you trying to deceive me?" she broke out passionately. "There is someone else. Tell me the truth, Stuart, at once."

The truth being exactly what I didn't want to tell her, I remained in a state of embarrassed silence.

"Oh, there's no need for you to speak," she added bitterly; "I know you too well." Then rage, murderous, ungovernable rage, flamed suddenly into her eyes. "You fool! Do you think I am the sort of woman to be picked up and thrown aside at a man's whim? Did you imagine for one single moment that you could deceive me?"

"No," I admitted sadly, "I didn't."

She laughed—an unpleasant, mirthless laugh, and, throwing back her hair, stared me full in the face like some splendid tigress.

"I love you, Stuart," she said steadily; "I love you as I don't think many women have loved men; but I will see you dead before I let any other woman have you."

Then, without another word, she turned and left the room.

I stood for a moment where I was, looking at the door. I felt rather like a man who had unwittingly touched off a dynamite cartridge. Whatever might be the precise value of Lady Baradell's last threat, I knew that I had managed to make an enemy more dangerous than any Northcote had already bequeathed me. With a heartfelt deliberation I cursed my double and all his works.

Somewhat relieved by this outbreak, I again retired to bed. As a sleeping draught, however, I found that Lady Baradell was a distinct failure. For a couple of hours at least I must have tossed about restlessly, turning over in my mind every aspect of this new development which threatened to complicate still further my already harassed path. Indeed, it was only sheer physical fatigue that at last closed my eyes in a welcome unconsciousness.

Sleep, however brief, always has the excellent effect of restoring me to my natural cheerfulness. I woke up next morning as buoyant as though no midnight reception had interfered with my customary eight hours. The morning sun was blazing into my room through the open window, and a discreet-looking man-servant was laying out my bath.

"Would you like it hot or cold, sir?" he inquired.

"Cold, this weather, I think," said I. "What time is breakfast?"

"Nine o'clock, sir. It's just gone a quarter to eight now."

"Good," I observed approvingly. This gave me plenty of time to make my toilet like a gentleman and get out and see Billy in the roadway, before joining the rest of the party over their eggs and bacon.

It was exactly half-past, by the clock on the mantelpiece, as I left my room. I went downstairs quietly and quickly, for I had no wish to run into Maurice or anyone else, and made my way across the garden and out through a small side gate into the main road. The birds were singing gaily in the hedges, and out of a blue sky the sun shone down with the most comforting warmth. As the Yankees say, I "felt good"—distinctly good.

Billy was sitting on a bank just round the first corner, smoking his pipe. He waved me a cheerful greeting.

"They've not scragged you in the night, then," he said with satisfaction.

"On the contrary, Billy," I said, "I have met with nothing but affection and kindness." I seated myself beside him and sniffed critically. "I don't think much of your 'baccy," I added.

"It's the Plough's best," retorted Billy. "You're getting swelled head." Then he slapped me on the shoulder. "Jack," he said, "I've found my job in life—I can give Sherlock Holmes two stone and put him out in the first round."

Billy was not given to boasting, so I looked at him with interest.

"Proceed, William," I said encouragingly.

He stuffed the 'baccy down with his thumb and chuckled to himself. "Last night," he began, "I did a bit of scouting. I thought it would be just as well to sniff around and see how the land lay, so, as soon as I'd had some grub, I tootled along here as far as the lodge. I hung about outside for a bit, taking my bearings, and then, as there wasn't anybody about, I dropped in over the hedge and tracked up through the shrubbery till I got to the house. I'd been there about ten minutes, squatting down under a bush, when who should come up the drive but your old dot-and-carry-one friend!"

"Who?" I inquired.

"Why, the chap who doctored your butler's drink. At least, it was exactly like your description of him. A big, ugly, lopsided beggar he was, with one shoulder about an inch higher than the other."

"Go on, Billy," I said. "This is getting exciting."

"Well, he crawled up in a hang-dog sort of way, and sat down on the balustrade just in front of where I was hiding. I thought he was expecting somebody, and sure enough, he hadn't been there many minutes when out came a fellow in evening-dress—your cousin, I should reckon, by the cut of his jib."

"Maurice did take a little air after dinner," I observed. "He said he wanted to see the keeper."

"Did he?" drawled Billy. "Well, he saw him all right. They stood there jawing for the best part of twenty minutes, and all about you, my son."

"Was it interesting?" I asked.

"What I heard was, but I only got on to about every tenth word. They were doing the whispering act most of the time. Seemed to me they were fixing up something for to-day—something about you and the sea wall, as far as I could get it."

I nodded. "There's going to be an accident at our shooting party this afternoon, unless I'm much mistaken," I said.

"Looks like it," answered Billy grimly. "They seemed cursedly pleased with themselves, anyhow. The only other thing I heard was about your girl with the pistol—what's her name—Mercia."

"Mercia!" I echoed. "What were they saying about her?"

Billy grinned in a very aggravating manner. "I like to see you getting interested, Jack," he said. Then, removing his pipe, he knocked out the ashes against the bank.

"Billy," I said, "you're playing with death. Get on."

"I only heard her name," he chuckled. "The lop-sided gentleman trotted it out and repeated it about four times. I think he was annoyed with her over something, from the way he was speaking. Your cousin seemed to be rubbing it in."

A sudden uneasiness about Mercia's safety flashed through my mind. I had excellent proof that we were dealing with a pretty reckless gang, and if it was known that she had warned me against coming to Ashton she might well be in as grave danger as myself.

Billy evidently read my thoughts. "I think she's all right at present," he said, "for the simple reason that the whole gang seem to be hot on your track. I've not told you the best part yet, Jack. I've actually had the luck to run 'em to earth."

He sat back and looked at me proudly.

"By Jove, Billy!" I cried. "You're a wonder! How did you do it?"

"Well, after the little confab was over, and your cousin had cleared off into the house, I gave old Dot-and-carry-one time to get back into the road, and then I followed him. I had to give him a couple of hundred yards or so, or he might have tumbled to it. He went straight back to Woodford, and, as luck would have it, I was just in time to see him turn into a pub.—not the Plough; another one this side of it. I followed him in, and found him shifting raw brandy. He's a Dago right enough—there's no question about it."

"Did you speak to him?" I asked.

Billy shook his head. "I thought it best to lie low. The landlord, who was a talkative sort of ass, seemed to know him, so I waited a bit, and, after our pal had cleared off, I asked who he was. 'Oh,' said the landlord, 'that's an Eyetalian gentleman, Moosyer Berretti. He's just taken the Hollies, Colonel Paton's house, for some months. Moved in yesterday, I believe. Nice, pleasant-spoken gent he is, too."

"There's room for all opinions," I said, with a laugh. "Milford didn't fancy him at all."

"The landlord thought no end of him," said Billy. "In fact, he got quite confidential. His brother, it seems, was gardener at the Hollies, so of course he knew all about it. There's Dot-and-carry-one, and a lady he calls his wife, and another chap who arrived to-day. I asked whether he had a broken nose, and he said no; so it can't be Francis."

"I expect it's the gentleman I owe this stiff shoulder to," I said. "Nice little family party, anyway. Where is the Hollies?"

Billy jerked his head up the road. "Quite close," he said, "just outside Woodford. A small white house on the left. I mean to inspect it to-night." Then he paused. "Jack," he said, "I'm not quite happy about this shooting business."

"Neither am I," I answered truthfully.

"Why do you go? Can't you make some excuse?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "What's the use? It only means they'll try some other way. At least I know what to expect this afternoon."

"Yes, there's that," said Billy. "Look here, I've got an idea. Suppose I get hold of a boat and cruise around outside the sea wall while you're shooting. I might be of use some way or another—one never knows."

"Right you are, Billy," I said. "There's nothing like having command of the sea." Then I looked at my watch. "I ought to be trotting back," I added; "it's just on nine. I'll let you know about meeting you to-morrow, if we don't run across each other this afternoon. We're due down on the marsh about half-past five, I think."

"Well, be careful, old son," said Billy, gripping my hand. "By the way, have you heard anything about Milford?"

I shook my head. "I left my address with the cook, and told her to write if he turned up; but there was nothing from her this morning. It beats me altogether. I could understand their trying to shift him in order to plant 'Francis' on me; but after that little business failed, what on earth could their game be?"

"Lord knows," said Billy. "But they've got him, evidently. Perhaps he was more in with Northcote than we think. Anyhow, it's no use worrying. Keep your eyes skinned this afternoon, and give me a hail if there's any trouble."

He went off up the road, and, after waiting for a minute until he had rounded the corner, I set off back to the house.

As I came across the garden, I saw Maurice and York standing outside, on the terrace.

"Hullo!" cried the latter, "you've beaten us all. I thought I was down first."

"It was too fine to lie in bed," I explained. "I've been inspecting the country."

If Maurice had any suspicions, he kept them to himself. "I should never have accused you of laziness," he answered. "Come along in and let's have some breakfast. The gong's just gone."

We entered the dining-room, where Aunt Mary was occupying herself with making the tea, and had scarcely settled into our places when we were joined by Miss York and Lady Baradell, who came in together.

If I had not genuinely admired the latter before, I should certainly have done so now. Far from there being any trace of embarrassment in her manner, she appeared to be the most cheerful and unconcerned person in the entire party.

"Dear me! How terribly energetic everyone is!" she said, looking quizzically round the room. "Even Mr. Northcote down! I thought he always breakfasted in bed."

York laughed. "Down!" he echoed. "Why, he's been out catching butterflies."

"The early bird," I said, "is improving in his taste."

"Well, what are we all going to do this morning?" inquired Aunt Mary briskly. "I suppose you won't be shooting till this afternoon, will you, Maurice?"

The latter shook his head. "We might pick up a few rabbits if anyone wants to," he answered; "but it's no good trying for duck till later. What do you think, Stuart?"

"The duck will do for me all right," I said. I didn't see any reason for running myself into unnecessary danger.

"Let's have some tennis this morning," said Miss York. "We haven't tried the lawn yet. You play, don't you, Mr. Northcote?"

Having never touched a tennis racquet in my life, I was reluctantly driven to lie.

"I think I'll look on and applaud," I said. "The car back-fired the other day, and my wrist's still reminding me of it."

There was a general murmur of sympathy, which Maurice capped by inquiring, I thought a little anxiously, whether I was sure I felt up to shooting.

"Oh yes," I said; "I can still hold a gun straight."

After some discussion, it was agreed that Miss York and Maurice should take on her brother and Vane. Vane, it appeared, was the duffer of the party, while York, having played for the army, was evidently a cut above the others.

The tennis lawn lay at the side of the house, and after breakfast was over, and we had had a look at the morning papers, we took out some chairs and placed them in the shadiest spots we could find which commanded a view of the court. I was just settling myself down when I saw Aunt Mary coming towards me.

So far I had had very little conversation with my hostess, her manner at our first meeting, though courteous enough superficially, having plainly showed me that I was by no means a welcome guest from her point of view. Since then, however, she had perceptibly thawed, and on the present occasion she came up to me with a smile on her kindly, rather worried, face.

"I want to have a little talk with you, Stuart," she said as I pulled round a chair for her.

"By all means," I answered, wondering what she might be leading up to. "We've hardly had the chance of a chat since I came."

She looked at me thoughtfully. "You seem to me to have changed a great deal lately."

This was in the nature of a frontal attack, but I met it calmly. "Yes," I said, "I have changed."

"And for the better," she added. "Stuart, when you first came back from South America, I disliked you intensely."

I bowed. "You were quite justified in doing so," I said.

"I don't know what your life out there had been," she went on, "so it's not fair that I should judge you, but all my instincts seemed to tell me that you were bad—bad through and through. I dreaded your influence over Maurice."

She paused. The idea of anyone demoralising Maurice, if my judgment of that young man was anything like correct, struck me as bordering on the humorous. However, Aunt Mary's penetration into Northcote's character was sufficiently startling to prevent my smiling.

"It will be Maurice's own fault," I said bluntly, "if he comes to any harm through me."

She laid her hand on my arm. "I believe you, Stuart," she said. "Since you have been down here this time, I seem, somehow, to have reversed all my previous opinions of you. It's curious, because, as a rule, my first impressions never alter."

"I am glad to provide the exception," I said. "And I'm glad, too, that Maurice has someone who takes an interest in him."

"Ah!" she said; "it's about Maurice that I want to speak to you." Then she hesitated a moment. "I am afraid Maurice is getting into bad hands," she went on. "There is something on his mind—something that has changed him terribly the last few months. It may be his money affairs—I know he has been betting very heavily on horses—but I can't help thinking that there's some other trouble as well."

I thought that I had a pretty shrewd notion what the other trouble was.

"There is no one I can speak to about it except you, Stuart," she added unhappily. "You at least are our nearest relative, and you have seen a great deal of life. You know the temptations that a young man like Maurice may get into. I want you, if you will, to try and help him. With all his faults, he is dear Alice's boy. If it is only a matter of money, we might be able to put things right between us, perhaps; only I don't like to question him myself. He would take it so much better from you."

I felt intensely sorry for the poor lady. Maurice was evidently very dear to her; and although I believed firmly that the young blackguard was scheming to murder me, I had no wish to bring any more lines of sorrow into her care-worn face.

"I give you my word," I said simply, "that I'll do anything I can to keep Maurice out of trouble."

She gave me a faint but very genuine smile of gratitude. "Thank you, Stuart," she said. "I am sorry I misjudged you so." Then she got up from her chair, just as the tennis party came, laughing and talking, out of the billiard-room door which led into the garden. "I must go and look after my house," she added: "I haven't even ordered the dinner yet. By the way, if you're duck-shooting, I suppose you will all be late. I must ask Maurice."

The latter, looking very cool and supercilious, in white flannels, was just advancing across the lawn. Aunt Mary went up to him, and after a moment's conversation continued her way to the house.

Miss York waved her racquet at me. "We shall expect lots of applause, Mr. Northcote," she said gaily. "You needn't bother to clap if your wrist's bad, but you must cheer like anything."

"The tennis-court shall echo with it," I returned encouragingly.

Miss York laughed. "That's right," she said. "Here's Lady Baradell coming to help you."

Even if I had wished to retreat, it would have been too late. Graceful and beautifully dressed as ever, Lady Baradell was coming across the garden towards the spot where I was sitting.

"You have made yourself comfortable, I see," she said, smiling.

"Oh, trust Northcote for that," put in Vane, with a chuckle, as he hung up a wonderfully coloured blazer in the tree behind.

"You've got the best of it, anyway," added Maurice languidly. "I think we are all mad to play tennis in this sun."

"Well, let's hope there will be some method in your madness," replied Lady Baradell. "As spectators, we shall be very critical."

She sank down into the chair which Aunt Mary had lately vacated, fanning herself slowly with a big palm-leaf which she was carrying in her hand.

"Stuart," she said, when the others had taken their places in the court, "I wonder what you think of me?"

"At the present moment," I said, "I think that you are the most beautiful woman in Suffolk."

She laughed, looking up at me sideways out of her curious golden eyes. "I think I was a little hysterical last night," she said softly. "But you were rather cruel, Stuart, you know. There are several ways of breaking bad news. Who is she?"

I hesitated a moment. "I wonder if you would believe me," I said, "if I told you the truth."

"Game—love!" There came a triumphant cry from Miss York, as Vane with misdirected energy sent a ball soaring into the kitchen garden.

"Game—love," repeated Lady Baradell, staring out over the lawn with half-shut eyes. "Ah, yes, Stuart, I shall believe you."

I leaned forward and looked at her steadily. "In a month's time," I said, "you will forgive me everything for the sake of last night."

There was a short silence. Then she answered in a low voice: "There can be no question of forgiveness between you and me."

Even as she spoke, I saw the door of the billiard-room open, and Aunt Mary, accompanied by a tall, grave-looking man in dark clothes, came out on to the lawn.

Lady Baradell laughed gently. "My husband," she said, "has all the virtues—even punctuality."