Only a Girl's Love, Charles Garvice [a book to read .txt] 📗

name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]

"Mr. Etheridge!" he asked.

Frank replied in the affirmative.

The old man nodded.

"All right, sir; the brougham is waiting;" then he looked round expectantly, and Frank went and got Stella out.

The old man just glanced at her, not curiously, but in a mechanical sort of way, as if he were a machine, and he turned toward the carriage and took up the bags.

Stella laid her hand on Frank's arm with a questioning gesture; it was not exactly one of fear or of suspicion, but a strange, instinctive commingling of both sensations.

"Ask him, Frank!" she murmured.

Frank nodded, understanding her in a moment, and stopped the strange old man.

"Wait a moment," he said; "you come from——"

The man looked round.

"Better not mention names here, sir," he said. "I am obeying my orders. The brougham is waiting outside."

"It is all right," answered Frank; "he knows my name. He is quite right to be careful."

They followed the man down the stairs; a brougham was in waiting, as he had said, and he put the bags inside and held the door open for them to enter.

Stella paused—even at that moment she paused with the same instinctive feeling of distrust—but Frank whispered, "Be quick," and she entered.

The old man closed the door.

"You know where to drive," said Frank, in a low voice.

"I know, sir," he said, in the same expressionless, apathetic fashion, and mounted to the box.

Stella looked at the crowded streets through which they drove at a rapid pace, and a strange feeling of helplessness took possession of her. She would not own to herself that she was disappointed at Leycester's not meeting her, but his absence filled her with a vague alarm and disquietude, which she mentally assured herself were foolish and unwoman-like.

But the vastness and strangeness of the great city overwhelmed her.

"Do you know where Bruton street is?" she asked, in a low voice.

"No," said Frank; "but it must be in the West-end somewhere, of course. He must be going to Leycester's rooms. I wonder what prevented him from meeting us."

Stella wondered too, little dreaming that Leycester was pacing up and down the platform at Waterloo at that moment, and impatiently awaiting the arrival of the train that was, he thought, to bring his love.

"I expect," said Frank, "that something turned up at the last moment—something to do with the ceremony."

A sudden dash of color came into Stella's face, but it went again the next moment, and she leant back and watched the people hurrying along the streets, with eyes that scarcely saw them.

[191]

The brougham, a well appointed one, driven by a man in plain livery, seemed to wind about a great deal and cover a long stretch of ground, but at last it drove under an archway and into a quiet square, and stopped before one of a series of tall and dingy-looking houses.

Frank let down the window as the old man opened the door.

"Is this Bruton street?" said Frank.

"Yes, sir," said the man, quietly.

Frank stepped out and looked around.

"These are lawyers' offices," he said.

"Quite right, sir," was the response. "The gentleman is waiting for you."

"You mean——" said Frank, inquiringly.

"Lord Leycester Wyndward," he replied.

Frank turned to Stella.

"It is all right," he said, in a low voice.

Stella got out and looked round. The air of quietude and gloomy depression seemed to strike her, but she put her hand on Frank's arm, and then followed the man into the doorway.

"Come as gently as you can, sir," he muttered. "It's better the young lady shouldn't be seen."

Frank nodded, and they passed up the stairs. Frank threw a glance at the numerous doors.

"They are lawyers' chambers," he said, in a low voice. "I think I understand; it is something—some deed or other—Leycester wants you to sign."

Stella did not speak. The chill which had fallen on her as she alighted seemed to grow keener.

Suddenly the man stopped before a door, the name on which had been covered over with a sheet of paper.

Could they have seen through it, and read the name of Jasper Adelstone, there would have been time to draw back, but unsuspectingly they followed the man in, the door closed, and unseen by them, was locked.

"This way, sir," said Scrivell, and he opened the inner door and ushered them in.

"If you'll take a seat for a moment, sir," he said, putting two chairs forward, and addressing Frank, "I will tell him you have arrived," and he went out.

Stella sat down, but Frank went to the window and looked out, then he came back to her restlessly and excitedly.

"I wonder where he is—why he does not come?" he said, impatiently.

Stella looked up; her lips were trembling.

"There, don't look like that!" he exclaimed, with a smile. "It is all right!"

As he spoke he drew near the table aimlessly, and as aimlessly glanced at the piles of papers with which it was strewn.

"I am making you nervous with my excitement——" he stopped suddenly, and snatched up one of the papers. It was a folded brief, and bore upon its surface the name of Jasper Adelstone, written in large letters.

He stared at it for a moment as if it had bitten him, then,[192] with an inarticulate cry, he flung it down and sprang toward her.

"Stella, we have been trapped! Come! quick!"

Stella sprang to her feet, and instinctively moved to the door: but before she had taken a couple of steps the door opened, and Jasper Adelstone stood before them.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Jasper Adelstone closed the door behind him, and stood looking at them.

His face was very pale, his lips were tightly compressed, and there was that peculiar look of decision and resolution which Stella had often remarked.

True it struck her as ominous—a chill, cold and awesome, ran through her—but she stood and confronted him with a face that, though as pale as his own, showed no sign of fear; her eyes met his own with a haughty, questioning gaze.

"Mr. Adelstone," she said, in low, clear, indignant tones, "what does this mean?"

Before he could make any reply, Frank stepped between them, and with crimson face and flashing eyes confronted him.

"Yes! what does this mean, Mr. Adelstone?" he echoed. "Why have you brought us here—entrapped us?"

Jasper Adelstone just glanced at him, then looked at Stella—pale, beautiful and indignant.

"I fear I have offended you," he said, in a low, clear voice, his eyes fixed with concentrated watchful intentness on her face.

"Offended!" echoed Stella, with mingled surprise and anger. "There is no question of offense, Mr. Adelstone. This—this that you have done is an insult!"

And her face flushed hotly.

He shook his head gravely, and his hands clasped themselves behind his back, where they pecked at each other in his effort to remain calm and self-possessed under her anger and scorn.

"It is not an insult; it was not intended as an insult. Stella——"

"My name is Etheridge, Mr. Adelstone," Stella broke in, calmly and proudly. "Be good enough to address me by my title of courtesy and surname."

"I beg your pardon," he said, in slow tones. "Miss Etheridge, I am aware that the step I have taken—and I beg you to mark that I do not attempt to deny that it is through my order that you are here——"

"We know all that!" interrupted Frank, fiercely. "We don't wish for any verbiage from you; we only want, my cousin and I, a direct answer to our question, 'Why have you done this?' When you have answered it, we will leave you as quickly as possible. If you don't choose to answer, we will leave you without. In fact, Stella"—and he turned with a glance of contempt and angry scorn at the tall motionless figure with the pale face and compressed lips—"in fact, Stella, I don't think we[193] much care to know. We had better go, I think, and leave it to someone else to demand an explanation and reparation."

Jasper did not look at him, took no notice whatever of the boyish scorn and indignation: he had borne Stella's; the boy's could not touch him after hers.

"I am ready to afford you an explanation," he said to Stella, with an emphasis on the 'you.'

Stella was silent, her eyes turned away from him, as if the very thought of him were distasteful to her.

"Go on, we are waiting!" exclaimed Frank, with all a boy's directness.

"I said that I would afford 'you,' Miss Etheridge," said Jasper. "I think it would be better if you were to hear me alone."

"What!" shouted Frank, drawing Stella's arm through his.

"Alone," repeated Jasper. "It would be better for you—for all of us," he repeated, with a significance in his voice that sank to Stella's heart.

"I won't hear of it!" exclaimed Frank. "I am here to protect her. I would not leave her alone with you a moment. You are quite capable of murdering her!"

Then, for the first time, Jasper noticed the boy's presence.

"Are you afraid that I shall do you harm?" he said, with a cold smile.

He knew Stella.

The cold sneer stung her.

"I am not afraid of those I despise," she said, hotly. "Go, Frank. You will come when I call you."

"I shall not move," he responded, earnestly. "This man—this Jasper Adelstone—has already shown himself capable of an illegal, a criminal act, for it is illegal and criminal to kidnap anyone, and he has kidnapped us. I shall not leave you. You know," and he turned his eyes reproachfully on Stella, "I am responsible for you."

Stella's face flushed, then went pale.

"I know," she said, in a low voice and she pressed his arm. "But—but—I think it is better that I should listen to him. You see"—and her voice dropped still lower and grew tremulous, so that Jasper Adelstone could not hear it—"you see that we are in his power; we are his prisoners almost; and he will not let us go till I have heard him. It will be more prudent to yield. Think, Frank, who is waiting all this time."

Frank started, and appeared suddenly convinced.

"Very well," he whispered. "Call me the moment you want me. And, mind, if he is impertinent—he can be, you know—call at once."

Then he moved to the door, but paused and looked at Jasper with all the scorn and contempt he could summon up into his boyish face.

"I am going, Mr. Adelstone; but, remember, it is only because my cousin wishes me to. You will say what you have to say, quickly, please; and say it respectfully, too."

[194]

Jasper held the door for him calmly and stolidly, and Frank passed out into the outer office. There he put on his hat and made for the door, struck by a sudden bright idea. He would drive to Bruton Street and fetch Lord Leycester. But as he touched the door old Scrivell rose from his seat and shook his head.

"Door's locked, sir," he said.

Frank turned purple.

"What do you mean?" he exclaimed. "Let me out at once; immediately."

The old man shrugged his shoulders.

"Orders, sir; orders," he said, in his dry voice, and resumed his work, deaf to all the boy's threats, entreaties, and bribes.

Jasper closed the door and crossing the room laid his hand on a chair and signed respectfully to Stella to sit down, but without a word she drew a little away and remained standing, her eyes fixed on his face, her lips tightly pressed together.

He inclined his head and stood before her, one white hand resting on the table, the other thrust into his vest.

"Miss Etheridge," he said, slowly, and with intense earnestness, "I beg you to believe that the course which I have felt bound to adopt has been productive of as much pain and grief to me as it can possibly have been to you——"

Stella just moved her hand with scornful impatience.

"Your feelings are a matter of supreme indifference to me, Mr. Adelstone," she said, icily.

"I regret that, I regret it with pain that amounts to anguish," he said, and his lips quivered. "The sentiments of—of devotion and attachment which I entertain for you, are no secret to you——"

"I cannot hear this," she said, impatiently.

"And yet I must urge them," he said, "for I have to urge them as an excuse for the liberty—the unpardonable liberty as you at present deem it—which I have taken."

"It is unpardonable!" she echoed, with suppressed passion. "There is no excuse—absolutely none."

"And yet," he said, still quietly and insistently, "if my devotion were less ardent, my attachment less sincere and immovable, I should have allowed you to go on your way to ruin and disaster."

Stella started and looked at him indignantly.

He moved his hand, slightly deprecatory of her wrath.

"I will not conceal from you that I knew of your destination, of your appointment."

"You acted the spy!" she articulated.

"I acted rather the guardian!" he said. "What kind of love, how poor and inactive that would be, which could remain quiescent while the future of