The Sign of the Stranger Part 15

"Because his death is common knowledge to those who--well, those who knew him," she replied lamely.

"I tell you that Richard Keene has eaten cold meat and drunk beer in the tap-room at the _Stanchester Arms_. He came to Sibberton to make inquiries regarding the Earl and the occupants of this house."

"He did!" she gasped aghast. "Are you quite certain of that?"

"I heard him with my own ears. He questioned Warr, who is not, however, very communicative to strangers, especially if they are not very well-dressed."

"How long ago?"

"On the evening of the tragedy."

"Ah!" she sighed, and the light died out of her countenance again. "But are you really certain that it was Richard Keene?--does Lolita know this?"

"Yes. He wrote to her."

"Wrote to her! Then there is no mistake that the fellow is still alive?" she cried, dismayed.

"None. He told Warr that he had only just arrived home from abroad.

And he looked very travel-stained and weary. He seemed to be on tramp."

"Without money?"

"On the contrary, he appeared to have plenty. It struck me that his penurious exterior was a.s.sumed for some purpose of his own."

"Then if he really has returned, he means mischief--serious mischief,"

exclaimed the Countess, still very pale. "The fact that he is not dead, as we had all supposed, alters entirely my theory regarding the crime and its motive."

"You believe then that he is the guilty one?"

"No. That could not be," was her quick reply.

"There are strong reasons--very strong reasons--why there can be no suspicion against him."

"Is he such a very estimable person, then?" I inquired, hoping to obtain some further facts from her.

"Estimable!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Why, he is the one person in all the world who--but no!" she added, suddenly breaking off. "You are George's friend!"

"And therefore I must not be told the truth," I remarked disappointedly.

"You must not know the secret of his sister Lolita," she answered quite calmly. "I cannot betray her confidence."

I felt a.s.sured that the real reason of her refusal to tell me was because she feared lest I might betray her to her husband, and not on account of Lolita at all. She and I had somehow never been very close friends. I distrusted all women of her stamp, and treated them with that same light airy irresponsibility with which they treated me. The Countess of Stanchester could not be taken seriously. She was one of those women who, though married, live for the admiration and flattery of the opposite s.e.x, and who indeed, according to her enemies, would court the admiration of her footman, provided no other male of higher status were available. Often she had set herself to win from me some complimentary speech, but had, probably to her chagrin, always found me blind to all her feminine blandishments. That she was amazingly handsome could not for a moment be denied, but the open manner in which she coquetted under her husband's nose filled me with anger and contempt.

How different she was from Lolita. The latter possessed all that calm, well-bred dignity, that inflexible moral principle which had ever been characteristic of the n.o.ble Catholic line of Stanchester. Her early years had been pa.s.sed with the good nuns of the Sacred Heart at Provins, in France, and even now she gave the impression of one who had pa.s.sed under the enn.o.bling discipline of suffering and self-denial; a melancholy charm tempered the natural vigour of her mind; her spirit seemed to stand upon an eminence and look down upon the world as though it were not of it; and yet when brought into contact with that world which she inwardly despised, she shrank back with all the timidity natural to her convent education.

Marigold, on the other hand, possessed all the worst traits of the Gordons of Glenloch, that ill-fated house whose men were gamesters and whose women had for two centuries been noted only for their personal beauty. Successions of Gordons had ruined the estates, now mostly in the hands of Jew mortgagees, and the present generation, still reckless and improvident, were consequently very poor. Lady Gordon had successfully schemed to marry her three das.h.i.+ng daughters to wealthy men as a means of saving the last remnant of the estate from pa.s.sing out of her husband's hands and of the trio of girls who, for two seasons in London, were the most admired and most courted, Marigold, now Countess of Stanchester, was perhaps the most confirmed flirt. She had set all the _convenances_ at naught then, just as she did now. The golden bond of matrimony never for a moment, galled her. She found the world most amusing, she declared, pouting if her husband reproved her, and surely she might be allowed to amuse herself!

She differed very little from thousands of other wives--women of our latter-day degenerate stock which has neither code of honour to husband nor to tradesmen. Debts trouble them not, they fear neither man nor G.o.d, but skip arm-in-arm with the devil down to ruin and disgrace. If, however, the husband chances to be wealthy and their extravagance makes no difference to his income, they will, strangely enough, instead of descending to destruction, rise to a pinnacle of notoriety, become popular leaders of Society, and have their daily doings chronicled by the papers as a.s.siduously as those of the princes of the earth. But, after all, conscience is the padlock that we try to put on our inclinations.

I tried to ascertain the reason why the announcement of the man Keene's return should concern her so deeply, but she was far too clever to betray herself. From her manner, as soon as she grew calmer again after the first startling shock which the truth had given her, I saw that she was trying to exercise her blandishments upon me. She had some motive in this, I felt convinced. Was it that she was trying to win me over to her side as her friend?

"I really think the less we discuss the unfortunate affair, Mr Woodhouse, the better," she exclaimed at last, standing upon the hearthrug and facing me with her hands clasped behind her back. The lamplight caught the magnificent ornaments on her throat and bodice, causing them to dance with a thousand flas.h.i.+ng fires.

"You yourself approached the subject," was my cool response. "I quite agree that we may well leave the matter in the hands of the police."

"But there is one thing I would implore you, as Lolita's friend--for she is very fond of you, I know--and as my own friend also--and that is to keep this man Keene's return a profound secret from every one--more especially from George. Do you understand?"

"No, I don't," I answered. "At least I don't understand your reason for endeavouring to conceal the fact."

"Of course not," she exclaimed in quick earnestness. "Because you don't know the truth--you don't know what exposure means to me--or to Lolita."

"To you? Then you wish me to a.s.sist you in preserving the secret?"

"You have guessed aright, Mr Woodhouse. I confess that I am in fear lest George shall learn that this man Keene has been to Sibberton. He must be kept in ignorance of it at all hazards. Besides yourself, who knows of his return?"

"The innkeeper, Warr."

"Ah!" she gasped quickly. "Then you must see him and make him promise to say nothing--either to the police or to any person Whatsoever."

"I will act as you wish," I responded. "But Lolita has already told me of her own peril."

"Yes, she no doubt foresaw it, just as I do. If you will a.s.sist me in this matter, which is purely confidential between us, you will earn my everlasting grat.i.tude," she declared.

Then after a brief pause she turned from me, as though to hide her face, and said--

"I know quite well, Mr Woodhouse, that you hold me in little esteem. I daresay that if I dared I should be your open enemy, but knowing the friends.h.i.+p my husband has for you, I am prevented from acting as I would perhaps otherwise act. I confess to you, however, that no one is better aware of my own failings than I am myself. People believe that because I like to amuse myself, I am a woman without a heart. But I tell you that George is the only man I care for, even though I may laugh and allow others to pay court to me. George will not believe me when I say this, but some day I will show you, as I will show him, the strength of my love for him. I will, in a word, redeem my character as a woman worthy to bear his honourable name."

I was utterly dumbfounded at this sudden outburst of confidence. There was a strange catch of emotion in her voice by which I knew that the words came direct from her heart, that remorse had at last seized her, and she intended to make atonement for all the grief and pain she had caused the devoted man who was her husband.

"If I can a.s.sist you in any way in this, Lady Stanchester, I will willingly do so," I replied, deeply in earnest.

She turned her handsome countenance to me, and I saw that her grey eyes were dimmed by tears.

"I ought not, I suppose, to make you my confidant," she went on, "yet if you will really take pity upon me, a helpless woman, you can at least prevent the one thing I dread from becoming known--you can help me to show George that I love him fondly after all--that I will try to make him as happy as is my duty. You have no belief in me, that I know full well. You believe that if it suited my purpose I would betray any confidence of yours to-morrow, and laugh in your face for being such a fool as to trust me. That is my exact character, I admit; but if you will preserve the secret of Richard Keene's return and promise to act as my friend as well as Lolita's, I swear to you that I will keep faith with you and endeavour when the day comes--as it certainly must ere long--to show George my heart is his, and his alone."

I could scarcely follow her true meaning, except that she was in deadly fear that the Earl should learn of the stranger's presence at the _Stanchester Arms_.

I promised to remain secret and, if possible, to secure Warr's silence, yet in her words there was some hidden meaning that even then I could not fathom. She seemed to antic.i.p.ate an event in the near future by which her love for her husband would be sorely tried. How strange it was that she, gay and giddy woman that she was, had been seized by a genuine remorse on learning of the return of that dusty, down-at-heel stranger!

I looked at her and became convinced that the words she had spoken were by no means idle ones. Her slim white hand, laid upon the edge of my table, trembled, her pale lips were set, and in her grey eyes was a strange hard light as she said--

"Then I trust you, as you will trust me. In future, Mr Woodhouse, we will be friends, and I a.s.sure you that you will find your friends.h.i.+p has not been misplaced."

"Remember," I pointed out, "that I do not unite with you against the Earl."

"No, of course not," she cried in a low intense voice. "But by your silence you can give me a chance to atone for all the past--you--you can save me!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.