Devil's Dice Part 6

CHAPTER FIVE.

DORA'S ENGAGEMENT.

One night Jack dashed into my chambers and carried me off to a reception at the house of John Thackwell, the well-known Lancas.h.i.+re millionaire, at Hyde Park Gate. He would hear no excuses, for Dora was to be there, and he pointed out that I had not yet congratulated her upon her engagement. This fact alone induced me to accompany him, but, truth to tell, I had only once before accepted Thackwell's hospitality, and on that occasion had been terribly bored.

Thackwell had risen from a carding-hand to be sole proprietor of extensive mills at Oldham, and a dozen other great spinning mills in the neighbourhood of Manchester. This Lancas.h.i.+re cotton-king was bluff, honest, and una.s.suming, and still retained all the peculiarities of the dialect of his youth. He had tried to enter the gate of Society by the Parliamentary pathway, but the electors of Bamborough had returned a young sprig of the aristocracy by a narrow majority, notwithstanding the fact that the cotton-king had built a fresh wing to one of the hospitals, and presented the town with a brand new redbrick free library. In chagrin he had come to London, bought one of the finest mansions overlooking Hyde Park, and was now endeavouring to enter the charmed circle by entertaining all and sundry on a scale lavish even for millionaires.

Although the bluff old bachelor was fond of placing his "J.P." after his name, dropping his "h's," and referring on inopportune occasions to the fact that when a lad he had a.s.sisted to build his great mill at Oldham by carrying hods of mortar up a ladder, he was nevertheless popular among a certain set. Many scheming and impecunious mothers with t.i.tles and marriageable daughters coveted his wealth, and it was no secret that several of the men registered in "Debrett," who "looked in" at his monthly functions, were indebted to him for substantial financial a.s.sistance.

On arrival, we found the great magnificently-furnished rooms crowded almost to suffocation by a brilliant but decidedly mixed throng. Some of the men who nodded to us were high-priests of Mammon, officers who lounged in clubs without any visible means of subsistence, and idlers about town; but there was also a fair sprinkling of those leisurely well-dressed people who const.i.tute what is known as London, and I noticed at once that on the whole the guests were of a much better set than when I had before partaken of the millionaire's hospitality.

Society resembles a bal masque, where the women never unmask themselves.

At the moment we were announced, Thackwell, a burly, florid-faced, grey-bearded man in ill-fitting clothes, and with an enormous diamond solitaire in the centre of his crumpled s.h.i.+rt-front, was talking loudly with old Lady Stretton, who was congratulating him upon the completion of the beautiful frescoes by the Italian artists he had employed. As I approached, I heard the millionaire reply:

"It's shaping gradely weel, but after all I get no more pleasure out of life than when I wor a journeyman. Yet a chap with any spirit likes to get on, and when he has put his heart into a job, feels as if he would rayther dee than be bet. It's cost me a sight o' money, but it doesn't pay to scamp."

Then, noticing me, he gripped my hand heartily, and to Bethune cried:

"Well, Jack, lad, how goes it?"

"Jack, lad," smiled as he made polite reply, but did not seem to greatly admire this style of greeting, albeit the soldier-novelist knew the cotton-king intimately. Truly, old Thackwell was an incongruity in Society.

Lady Stretton smiled pleasantly, and bowed to us as we pushed our way forward among the crowd, and we were not long in discovering the Honourable Dora, Jack's adored, comfortably ensconced in a cosy-corner, chatting with three men we knew.

"Halloa, Ridgeway!" cried one, a club acquaintance. Then dropping his voice he added: "Unusual to find you in the cotton-palace, isn't it?"

"I've been here once before," I replied briefly, as, turning to Dora, I sank into a low chair near her and began to chat. Soon the others left, and Jack and I were alone with her. When I offered her my congratulations, she clutched my arm quickly, whispering:

"Don't let anyone overhear you. Remember, no announcement has yet been made, and Ma is quite inexorable."

"I'm looking for it in the Morning Post each day," I laughed, while as punishment she playfully tapped me with her ostrich-feather fan.

Though three years had elapsed since she had kissed the hand of her Sovereign, Society had not spoiled her. She was just as fresh, light-hearted, and ingenuous as I remembered her in her hoyden days at Blatherwycke, and as she sat talking with her lover and myself I saw how thoroughly charming and brilliant she was.

Her fund of vivacity was, I knew, inexhaustible. When she wished to do honour to a melancholy occasion, her vivacity turned any slight sorrow she had into hysterical weeping; when the occasion was joyful, it became a torrent of frivolity that is delightful when poured forth by a happy girl of twenty-two. This evening the occasion was distinctly joyful.

Men had complimented her upon her dress, and she had a large sense of success.

When she spoke to Jack there was a love-look in her dark brilliant eyes that was unmistakable, and she was altogether handsome and fascinating.

Small-featured, hers was a delicately-moulded oval face with pointed chin and pouting lips, while at the back of her well-poised head, her maid had deftly coiled her wealth of dark-brown hair, wherein a diamond aigrette glittered. Her smart gown was of pale pink chine silk, patterned in green and darker pink. The coat bodice of darker pink moire boasted diamond b.u.t.tons, kilted frills of ivory lace, the sleeves of kilted pale green chiffon, and a large bow of green chiffon with draped ends to the waist over a jabot of ivory lace.

Many turned and looked at her as they pa.s.sed. The glow of excitement and success burned brightly in her cheeks, and no one accused Dora of using rouge. Lady Stretton eyed us viciously once or twice; nevertheless, Jack held in conversation the girl he loved, and they laughed happily together. He was telling us of an amusing incident that had occurred during the exercise of the troopers on Hounslow Heath that morning, and I was feeling myself de trop when Dora, looking up suddenly, exclaimed:

"Why, here's Mabel!"

Turning quickly I found her elder sister, the Countess of Fyneshade, in a marvellous creation in yellow, leaning over my chair.

"I've come across to talk to you, Mr Ridgeway," she exclaimed, smiling.

"I saw that Jack had quite monopolised Dora. Their public love-making is really becoming a scandal." Then she seated herself in a dimly-lit corner close by, and motioned me to a chair near her.

CHAPTER SIX.

THE COUNTESS OF FYNESHADE.

Three years Dora's senior, the Countess was dark, strikingly handsome, an accomplished horsewoman, and accredited one of the smartest women in Society. Wedded to an elderly peer, she flirted outrageously, and always had one or two younger cavaliers in her train. Fyneshade was scarcely ever seen with his wife, and many were the stories afloat regarding the serious differences existing between them. Outwardly, however, the Countess was always gay, witty, and brilliant. She displayed exquisite taste, and men voted her "capital company." It is true that beside her pretty women seemed plain and middle-aged, and well-dressed women looked dowdy, but since her marriage she had become just a trifle too smart for my taste.

Dora was no doubt pleased that her sister had taken me off, so that she might exchange confidences with Jack, but I confess I was not one of the drivelling crowd that admired Fyneshade's wife.

When I had known her at Blatherwycke, in the days before her presentation, she had been as frank and merry as her sister, but since her union with the Earl she had sadly changed, acquiring an artificiality and a penchant for flirtation, apparently living only to be flattered and admired. True, she moved in one of the most select circles, and no really smart house-party was complete without her; but, knowing her as intimately as I did, it was not surprising perhaps that I had long ago arrived at the conclusion that her gaiety and recklessness were feigned, and I felt some sorrow for her.

She was lounging back talking nonsense at the highest possible speed, for ever exchanging greetings and salutations in the same breath, and as I calmly contemplated her I wondered whether her domestic unhappiness was the sole cause of the secret trouble which she strove to mask.

"Jack and Dora are really too absurd," she was saying, glancing over to them. "They are childishly fond of one another, but what the result will be I dread to think."

"The result? Why, marriage," I said laughing.

She shrugged her shoulders, causing the diamonds at her white throat to sparkle, elevated her dark arched brows, and exclaimed:

"Of course Jack is popular, and has a fair income, and everybody likes him, but Ma is absolutely determined that Dora shall marry a t.i.tle."

"Which means a loveless union with an elderly husband, and no happiness within her own home--eh?"

She looked at me inquiringly, and her lips quivered slightly.

"You are cruel, Stuart," she answered seriously. "You mean that I am an ill.u.s.tration of the victim of a loveless marriage."

I nodded. Then I said: "We are such old acquaintances, Mabel, that I feel myself permitted to speak candidly. I have watched you for a long time, and I know that you do not, you cannot love Fyneshade; you are unhappily married, and all the pleasure of life lies beyond your own home. Gossips' tongues try to wound your reputation--well, that's not my affair, but--"

"Gossips' tongues!" she echoed hoa.r.s.ely. "What care I for the lies of scandalmongers? True, men admire me, flatter me, and say pretty things that please me, but surely I am mistress of my own actions? If I chose to flirt with my coachman it would be of no concern to anybody except Fyneshade."

"You misconstrue my meaning," I said quietly. "It was my intention to ask you whether you would desire Dora to lead a life similar to yours, or whether you would allow her to seek happiness with the man she loves."

In hesitation she opened and closed her fan. At last, in a harsh, strained voice, quite unusual to her, she answered:

"Now that you have spoken so plainly, Stuart, I am compelled to admit the truth," and with a sigh she continued: "You are quite right when you say that mine was a loveless marriage, but even you cannot imagine how bitter is my misery. Once I was as happy as my sister there, and believed that I could love a man as devotedly as she does Jack, but my mother led me to believe that wealth brought love, and I sacrificed myself to rescue her from her creditors. The result has been three long years of wretchedness and duplicity, of sorrow, misery, and despair.

Wealth and luxury are mine, it is true, and my diamonds are the envy of the feminine half of London, but--but I have no happiness, no object in life, no love. I hate everything, and most of all I hate myself."

"And why do you hate yourself?" I asked sympathetically.

"For reasons known only to myself," she answered evasively. "Ah! you little dream, Stuart, what a life mine is--at least, the life I am leading now. Another year of it will kill me, or drive me mad."

"Am I then to understand by your words that there is truth in this gossip about Prince Starikoff and yourself at Royat?" I asked seriously.

She drew a deep breath and bit her lip. I saw I had approached a delicate subject. Her words had aroused my suspicions that there was some foundation for the scandal freely circulated regarding a fracas that had taken place at the little French watering-place of Royat, a month or so before, between Fyneshade and a Russian Prince named Starikoff.

"You have no right, Stuart, to question me upon my private affairs," she said frigidly. "_Les calomnies n'ennuient jamais_. I know the Prince, it is true, but I had no intention that my words should convey the meaning you choose to put upon them, and I have no wish that we should pursue the subject further."

"I bow to your desire, of course," I said. "My sole object in speaking to you thus was to urge you to plead Jack's cause with your mother. I know well enough that Lord Wansford admires Dora, and that Lady Stretton looks upon him with favour. But surely his is an unenviable reputation.

If you were a man I could speak more plainly, but to you I can only say that I would never allow a sister of mine to become his wife. I would rather see her marry an honest working man."