The Second Latchkey Part 19

Constance was p.r.i.c.ked with curiosity. "You might tell me what the woman said!" she exclaimed.

"You haven't told me what message she had for you."

"I've just said that she prophesied we should be robbed again."

"That's only one thing. What about the rest?"

"Oh! A lot of stuff which wouldn't interest _you_!"

"You can keep your secret. And I'll keep mine," remarked d.i.c.k Annesley-Seton, aggravatingly. "Anyhow, for the present. We'll see how it works out."

"See how _what_ works out?" his wife echoed.

"The series."

CHAPTER XIII

THE SERIES GOES ON

After all, Annesley had not written to her friends, Archdeacon Smith and his wife, on leaving Mrs. Ellsworth's, to tell the surprising news of her engagement. She had asked Mr. Ruthven Smith not to speak of it to his cousins, because she would prefer to write. But then--the putting of the news on paper in a way not to offend them, after their kindness in the past, had been difficult.

Besides, there had been little time to think out the difficulties, and find a way of surmounting them. There had been only one whole day before the wedding, and that day she had spent with Knight, buying her trousseau. It had been a wonderful day, never to be forgotten, but its end had found her tired; and when Knight had said "good-bye" and left her, she had not been equal to composing a letter.

Nevertheless, she had tried, for it had seemed dreadful to marry and go away from London without letting her only friends know what had happened, what she was doing, and why she had not invited them to her wedding.

Ah, _why_? In explaining that she confronted the great obstacle. She had not known how to exonerate herself without hurting their feelings, or--telling a lie.

The girl hated lying. She could not remember that in her life she had ever spoken or written a lie in so many words, though, like most people who are not saints, she had prevaricated a little occasionally to save herself or others from some unpleasantness.

In this case no innocent prevarication would serve. Even if she had been willing to lie, she could think of no excuse which would seem plausible.

Tired as she had been that last night as Annesley Grayle, and throbbing as she was with excitement at the thought of the new life before her, she did begin a letter.

It was a feeble effort. She tore it up and essayed another. The second was worse than the first, and the third was scarcely an improvement.

Discouraged, and so nerve-racked that she was on the point of tears, the girl put off the attempt. But days pa.s.sed, and when no inspiration came, and she was still haunted by the thought of a duty undone, she compromised by telegraphing from Devons.h.i.+re. Her message ran:

Dear Friends--

I beg you to forgive me for seeming neglect, but it was not really that. I am married to a man I love. It had to be sudden. I could not let you know in time, though I wanted to. I shall not be quite happy till I've seen you and introduced my husband. Say to your cousin he may explain as far as he can. When we meet will tell you more. Coming back to London in fortnight to take house in Portman Square and settle down.

Love and grat.i.tude always. My new name is same as yours.

Annesley Smith.

To this she added her address in Devons.h.i.+re, feeling sure that, unless the Archdeacon and his wife were hopelessly offended by her neglect and horrified at Ruthven Smith's story, they would write.

She cared for them very much, and it would always be a grief, she thought, that she and Knight had not been married by her old friend.

Every night she prayed for a letter, waking with the hope that the postman might bring one: and five days after the sending of her telegram her heart leaped at sight of a fat envelope addressed in Mrs. Smith's familiar handwriting.

They forgave her! That was the princ.i.p.al thing. And they rejoiced in her happiness. All explanations--if "dear Annesley wished to make any"--could wait until they met. The kind woman wrote:

Cousin James Ruthven Smith was loyal to his promise, and gave us no hint of your news. We did not, of course, know of the promise till after your telegram came, and we showed it to him. Then he confessed that he was in your secret; that he had been witness of a scene in which poor Mrs. Ellsworth made herself more than usually unpleasant; and that you had asked him to let you tell us the glad tidings of your engagement and hasty wedding.

I say "poor Mrs. Ellsworth" because it seems she has been ill since you left, and has had other misfortunes. The illness is not serious, and I imagine, now I have heard fuller details of her treatment of you, that it is merely a liver and nerve attack, the result of temper. If she had not been confined to bed, and very sorry for herself, I am sure nothing could have prevented her from writing to us a garbled account of the quarrel and your departure.

As it turned out, I hear she rang up the household after you went that night, had hysterics, and sent a servant flying for the doctor. He--a most inferior person, according to Cousin James--having a sister who is a trained nurse, put _her_ in charge of the patient at once, where she has remained since. In consequence of the nurse's tyrannical ways, the servants gave a day's notice and left in a body.

Three temporary ones were got in as soon as possible from some agency; and last night (four days, I believe, after they were installed) a burglary was committed in the house.

Only fancy, _poor Ruthven_! He was afraid to stay even with us in our quiet house, when he came to London, because once, years ago, we were robbed! You know how reticent he is about his affairs, and how he never says anything concerning business. One might think that to _us_ he would show some of the beautiful jewels he is supposed to buy for the Van Vrecks.

But no, he never mentions them. We should not have known why he came to England this time, after a shorter interval than usual, or that he had valuables in his possession, if it had not been for this burglary. As he was obliged to talk to the police, and describe to them what had been stolen from him (I forgot to mention that he as well as Mrs.

Ellsworth was robbed, but you would have guessed that, from my beginning, even if you haven't read the morning papers before taking up my letter), there was no reason why, for once, he should not speak freely to us.

He has been lunching here and has just gone, as I write, but will transfer himself later to our house, as it has now become unbearable for him at Mrs. Ellsworth's. I fancy _that_ arrangement has been brought to an end! Your presence in the _menage_ was the sole alleviation.

James, it appears, came to London on an unexpected mission, differing from his ordinary trips. You may remember seeing in the papers some weeks ago that an agent of the Van Vreck firm was robbed on s.h.i.+pboard of a lot of pearls and things he was bringing to show an important client in England--some Indian potentate. James tells us that _he_ procured the finest of the collection for the Van Vrecks, and as he is a great expert, and can recognize jewels he has once seen, even when disguised or cut up, or in different settings, he was asked to go to London to help the police find and identify some of the lost valuables.

Also, he was instructed to buy more pearls, to be sold to the Indian customer, instead of those stolen from the agent on s.h.i.+pboard. James had not found any of the lost things; but he _had_ bought some pearls the day before the burglary at Mrs. Ellsworth's.

Wasn't it _too_ unlucky? I have tried to give the poor fellow a little consolation by reminding him how fortunate it is he hadn't bought _more_, and that the loss will be the Van Vrecks' or that of some insurance company, not _his_ personally. But he cannot be comforted. He says that his not having ten thousand pounds' worth of pearls doesn't console him for being robbed of _eight_ thousand pounds' worth.

James has little hope that the thieves will be found, for he feels that the Van Vrecks are in for a run of bad luck, after the good fortune of many years. They have lost the head of the firm--"the great Paul," as James calls him--who has definitely retired, and occupies himself so exclusively with his collection that he takes no interest in the business.

Then there was the robbery on the s.h.i.+p, which, in James's opinion, must have been the work of a masterly combination. And now another theft!

The poor fellow has _quite_ lost his nerve, which, as you know, has for years not been that of a young man. His deafness, no doubt, partly accounts for the timidity with which he has been afflicted since the first (and only other) time he was robbed. And now he blames it for what happened last night.

He's trained himself to be a light sleeper, and if he could hear as well as other people, he thinks the thief would have waked him coming into his room. Once in, the wretch must have drugged him, because the pearls were in a parcel under his pillow. But how the man--or men--got into the house is a mystery, unless one of the new servants was an accomplice.

_Nothing_ was broken open. In the morning every door and window was as usual. Of course the servants are under suspicion; but they seem stupid, ordinary people, according to James.

As for Mrs. Ellsworth, he says she is making a fuss over the wretched bits of jewellery she lost, things of no importance. She, too, slept through the affair, and knew what had happened only when she waked to see a safe she has in the wall of her bedroom wide open.

It seems that in place of her jewel box and some money she kept there was an _insulting_ note, announcing that for the first time something belonging to her would be used for a good purpose. To James this is the one bright spot in the darkness.

When Annesley had read this long letter with its many italics, she pa.s.sed it to Knight who, in exchange, handed her a London newspaper with a page folded so as to give prominence to a certain column. It was an account of the burglary at Mrs. Ellsworth's house, which he had been reading.

Generous with money as "Nelson Smith" was, he was not a man who would allow himself to be "done," and in some ways the Annesley-Setons were disappointed in the bargain they arrived at with him. He appeared delighted with the chance of getting their London house, and of having them come to stay, in order to introduce his wife and himself to the brightest, most "particular" stars in the galaxy of their friends.

Yet, when it came to making definite terms he seemed to take it for granted that, as the Annesley-Setons would be living in the house as guests, they would not only be willing, but anxious, to accept a low price.

This had not been their intention. On the contrary, they had meant their visit and social offices to be a great, extra favour, which ought to raise rather than lower the rent. In some mysterious way, however, without appearing to bargain or haggle, Nelson Smith, the young millionaire from America, made his bride's relatives understand that he was prepared to pay so much, and no more. That they could take him on his own terms--or let him go.