The Mistress of Shenstone, Florence Louisa Barclay [if you liked this book .TXT] 📗

time to lose."

* * * * *


Twenty-four hours later, the doctor called at Shenstone Park. He had telegraphed his train requesting to be met by the motor; and he now asked the chauffeur to wait at the door, in order to take him back to the station.

"I could only come between trains," he explained to Lady Ingleby, "so you must forgive the short notice, and the peremptory tone of my telegram. I could not risk missing you. I have something of great importance to communicate."

The doctor waited a moment, hardly knowing how to proceed. He had seen Myra Ingleby under many varying conditions. He knew her well; and she was a woman so invariably true to herself, that he expected to be able to foresee exactly how she would act under any given combination of circumstances.

In this undreamed of development of Lord Ingleby's return, he anticipated finding her gently acquiescent; eagerly ready to resume again the duties of wifehood; with no thought of herself, but filled with anxious desire in all things to please the man who, with his whims and fancies, his foibles and ideas, had for nine months passed completely out of her life. Deryck Brand had expected to find Lady Ingleby in the mood of a typical April day, sunshine and showers rapidly alternating; whimsical smiles, succeeded by ready tears; then, with lashes still wet, gay laughter at some mistake of her own, or at incongruous behaviour on the part of her devoted but erratic household; speedily followed by pathetic anxiety over her own supposed short-comings in view of Lord Ingleby's requirements on his return.

Instead of this charming personification of unselfish, inconsequent, tender femininity, the doctor found himself confronted by a calm cold woman, with hard unseeing eyes; a woman in whom something had died; and dying, had slain all the best and truest in her womanhood.

"Another man," was the prompt conclusion at which the doctor arrived; and this conclusion, coupled with the exigency of his own pressing engagements, brought him without preamble, very promptly to the point.

"Lady Ingleby," he said, "a cruel and heartless wrong has been done you by a despicable scoundrel, for whom no retribution would be too severe."

"I am perfectly aware of that," replied Lady Ingleby, calmly; "but I fail to understand, Sir Deryck, why you should consider it necessary to come down here in order to discuss it."

This most unexpected reply for a moment completely nonplussed the doctor. But rapid mental adjustment formed an important part of his professional equipment.

"I fear we are speaking at cross-purposes," he said, gently. "Forgive me, if I appear to have trespassed upon a subject of which I have no knowledge whatever. I am referring to the telegram received by you yesterday, which led you to suppose the report of Lord Ingleby's death was a mistake, and that he might shortly be returning home."

"My husband is alive," said Lady Ingleby. "He has telegraphed to me from Cairo, and I expect him back very soon."

For answer, Deryck Brand drew from his pocket-book two telegrams.

"I am bound to tell you at once, dear Lady Ingleby," he said, "that you have been cruelly deceived. The message from Cairo was a heartless fraud, designed in order to obtain money. Billy Cathcart had reason to suspect its genuineness, and brought it to me. I cabled at once to Cairo, with this result."

He laid two telegrams on the table before her.

"The first is a copy of one we sent yesterday to a detective out there. The second I received three hours ago. No one--not even Billy--has heard of its arrival. I have brought it immediately to you."

Lady Ingleby slowly lifted the paper containing the first message. She read it in silence.

Watch Cook's bank and arrest man personating Lord Ingleby who will
call for draft of money. Cable particulars promptly.

The doctor observed her closely as she laid down the first message without comment, and took up the second.

Former valet of Lord Ingleby's arrested. Confesses to despatch of
fraudulent telegram. Cable instructions.

Lady Ingleby folded both papers and laid them on the table beside her. The calm impassivity of the white face had undergone no change.

"It must have been Walker," she said. "Michael always considered him a scamp and shifty; but I delighted in him, because he played the banjo quite excellently, and was so useful at parish entertainments. Michael took him abroad; but had to dismiss him on landing. He wrote and told me the fact, but gave no reasons. Poor Walker! I do not wish him punished, because I know Michael would think it was largely my own fault for putting banjo-playing before character. If Walker had written me a begging letter, I should most likely have sent him the money. I have a fatal habit of believing in people, and of wanting everybody to be happy."

Then, as if these last words recalled a momentarily forgotten wound, the stony apathy returned to voice and face.

"If Michael is not coming back," said Lady Ingleby, "I am indeed alone."

The doctor rose, and stood looking down upon her, perplexed and sorrowful.

"Is there not some one who should be told immediately of this change of affairs, Lady Ingleby?" he asked, gravely.

"No one," she replied, emphatically. "There is nobody whom it concerns intimately, excepting myself. And not many know of the arrival of yesterday's news. I wrote to Jane, and I suppose the boys told it at Overdene. If by any chance it gets into the papers, we must send a contradiction; but no explanation, please. I dislike the publication of wrong doing. It only leads to imitation and repetition. Beside, even a poor worm of a valet should be shielded if possible from public execration. We could not explain the extenuating circumstances."

"I do not suppose the news has become widely known," said the doctor. "Your household heard it, of course?"

"Yes," replied Lady Ingleby. "Ah, that reminds me, I must stop operations in the shrubbery and plantation. There is no object in little Peter having a grave, when his master has none."

This was absolutely unintelligible to the doctor; but at such times he never asked unnecessary questions, for his own enlightenment.

"So after all, Sir Deryck," added Lady Ingleby, "Peter was right."

"Yes," said the doctor, "little Peter was not mistaken."

"Had I remembered him, I might have doubted the telegram," remarked Lady Ingleby. "What can have aroused Billy's suspicions?"

"Like Peter," said the doctor, "Billy had, from the first, felt very sure. Do not mention to him that I told you the doubts originated with him. He is a sensitive lad, and the whole thing has greatly distressed him."

"Dear Billy," said Lady Ingleby.

The doctor glanced at the clock, and buttoned his coat. He had one minute to spare.

"My friend," he said, "a second time I have come as the bearer of evil tidings."

"Not evil," replied Myra, in a tone of hopeless sadness. "This is not a world to which we could possibly desire the return of one we love."

"There is nothing wrong with the world," said the doctor. "Our individual heaven or hell is brought about by our own actions."

"Or by the actions of others," amended Lady Ingleby, bitterly.

"Or by the actions of others," agreed the doctor. "But, even then, we cannot be completely happy, unless we are true to our best selves; nor wholly miserable, unless to our own ideals we become false. I fear I must be off; but I do not like leaving you thus alone."

Lady Ingleby glanced at the clock, rose, and gave him her hand.

"You have been more than kind, Sir Deryck, in coming to me yourself. I shall never forget it. And I am expecting Jane Champion--Dalmain, I mean; why do one's friends get married?--any minute. She is coming direct from town; the phaeton has gone to the station to meet her."

"Good," said the doctor, and clasped her hand with the strong silent sympathy of a man who, desiring to help, yet realises himself in the presence of a grief he is powerless either to understand or to assuage.

"Good--very good," he said, as he stepped into the motor, remarking to the chauffeur: "We have nine minutes; and if we miss the train, I must ask you to run me up to town."

And he said it a third time, even more emphatically, when he had recovered from his surprise at that which he saw as the motor flew down the avenue. For, after passing Lady Ingleby's phaeton returning from the station empty excepting for a travelling coat and alligator bag left upon the seat, he saw the Honourable Mrs. Dalmain walking slowly beneath the trees, in earnest conversation with a very tall man, who carried his hat, letting the breeze blow through his thick rumpled hair. Both were too preoccupied to notice the motor, but as the man turned his haggard face toward his companion, the doctor saw in it the same stony look of hopeless despair, which had grieved and baffled him in Lady Ingleby's. The two were slowly wending their way toward the house, by a path leading down to the terrace.

"Evidently--the man," thought the doctor. "Well, I am glad Jane has him in tow. Poor souls! Providence has placed them in wise hands. If faithful counsel and honest plain-speaking can avail them anything, they will undoubtedly receive both, from our good Jane."

Providence also arranged that the London express was one minute late, and the doctor caught it. Whereat the chauffeur rejoiced; for he was "walking out" with Her ladyship's maid, whose evening off it chanced to be. The all-important events of life are apt to hang upon the happenings of one minute.


CHAPTER XXIV


MRS. DALMAIN REVIEWS THE SITUATION

"So you see, Jane," concluded Lady Ingleby, pathetically, "as Michael is not coming back, I am indeed alone."

"Loving Jim Airth as you do--" said Jane Dalmain.

"Did," interposed Lady Ingleby.

"Did, and do," said Jane Dalmain, "you would have been worse than alone if Michael had, after all, come back. Oh, Myra! I cannot imagine anything more unendurable, than to love one man, and be obliged to live with another."

"I should not have allowed myself to go on loving Jim," said Lady Ingleby.

"Rubbish!" pronounced Mrs. Dalmain, with forceful decision. "My dear Myra, that kind of remark paves the way for the devil, and is one of his favourite devices. More good women have been tripped by over-confidence in their ability to curb and to control their own affections, than by direct temptation to love where love is not lawful. Men are different; their temptations are not so subtle. They know exactly to what it will lead, if they dally with sentiment. Therefore, if they mean to do the right thing in the end, they keep clear of the danger at the beginning. We cannot possibly forbid ourselves to go on loving, where love has once been allowed to reign supreme. I know you would not, in the first instance, have let yourself care for Jim Airth, had you not been free. But, once loving him, if so appalling