A Terrible Secret, May Agnes Fleming [best book clubs .TXT] 📗

Trixy so confidently looked forward to never came. The very morning after their arrival came one of the boys in uniform with another sinister orange envelope for the head of the family. The head of the family chanced to be alone in his dressing-room. He took it with trembling hand and bloodshot eyes, and tore it open. A moment after there was a horrible cry like nothing human, then a heavy fall. Mrs. Stuart rushed in with a scream, and found her husband lying on the floor, the message in his hand, in a fit.

* * * * *

Captain Hammond had made an appointment with Charley to dine at St. James Street that evening. Calling upon old friends kept the gallant captain of Scotch Grays occupied all day; and as the shades of evening began to gather over the West End, he stood impatiently awaiting his arrival. Mr. Stuart was ten minutes late, and if there was one thing in this mortal life that upset the young warrior's equanimity, it was being kept ten minutes waiting for his dinner. Five minutes more! Confound the fellow--would he never come? As the impatient adjuration passed the captain's lips, Charley came in. He was rather pale. Except for that, there was no change in him. Death itself could hardly have wrought much change in Charley. He had not come to apologize; he had not come to dine. He had come to tell the captain some very bad news. There had been terrible commercial disasters of late in New York; they had involved his father. His father had embarked almost every dollar of his fortune in some bubble speculations that had gone up like a rocket and come down like a stick. He had been losing immensely for the past month. This morning he had received a cable message, telling him the crash had come. He was irretrievably, past all hope of redemption, ruined.

All this Charley told in his quietest voice, looking out through the great bay window at the bustle and whirl of fashionable London life, at the hour of seven in the evening. Captain Hammond, smoking a cigar, listened in gloomy silence, feeling particularly uncomfortable, and not knowing in the least what to say. He took out his cheroot and spoke at last.

"It's a deuced bad state of affairs, Charley. Have you thought of anything?"

"I've thought of suicide," Charley answered, "and made all the preliminary arrangements. I took out my razor-case, examined the edges, found the sharpest, and--put it carefully away again. I loaded all the chambers of my revolver, and locked it up. I sauntered by the classic banks of the Serpentine, sleeping tranquilly in the rays of the sunset (that sounds like poetry, but I don't mean poetry). Of the three I think I prefer it, and if the worst comes to the worst, it's there still, and it's pleasant and cool."

"How do your mother and sister take it?" Captain Hammond gloomily asked.

"My mother is one of those happy-go-lucky, apathetic sort of people who never break their hearts over anything. She said 'O dear me!' several times, I believe, and cried a little. Trix hasn't time to 'take it' at all. She is absorbed all day in attending her father. The fit turns out not to be dangerous at present, but he lies in a sort of stupor, a lethargy from which nothing can rouse him. Of course our first step will be to return to New York immediately. Beggars--and I take it that's about what we are at present--have no business at Langham's."

Captain Hammond opened his bearded lips as though to speak, thought better of it, replaced his cigar again between them in moody silence, and stared hard at nothing out of the window.

"I called this afternoon upon the London agent of the Cunard ships," resumed Charley, "and found that one sails in four days. Providentially two cabins remained untaken; I secured them at once. In four days, then, we sail. Meantime, old fellow, if you'll drop in and speak a word to mother and Trix, you will be doing a friendly deed. Poor souls! they are awfully cut up."

Captain Hammond started to his feet. He seized Charley's hand in a grip of iron. "Old boy!" he began--he never got further. The torrent of eloquence dried up suddenly, and a shake of the hand that made Charley wince finished the sentence.

"I shall be fully occupied in the meantime," Charley said, taking his hat and turning to go, "and they'll be a great deal alone. If I can find time I'll run down to Cheshire, and tell my cousin. As we may not meet again, I should like to say 'good-by.'" He departed.

There was no sleep that night in the Stuart apartments. Mr. Stuart was pronounced out of danger and able to travel, but he still lay in that lethargic trance--not speaking at all, and seemingly not suffering. Next day Charley started for Cheshire.

"She doesn't deserve it," his sister said bitterly; "I wouldn't go if I were you. She has her lover--her fortune. What are we or our misfortunes to her? She has neither heart, nor gratitude, nor affection. She isn't worth a thought, and never was--there!"

"I wouldn't be too hard upon her, Trix, if I were you," her brother answered coolly. "You would have taken Sir Victor yourself, you know, if you could have got him. I will go."

He went. The long, bright summer day passed; at six he was in Chester. There was some delay in procuring a conveyance to Powyss Place, and the drive was a lengthy one. Twilight had entirely fallen, and lamps glimmered in the windows of the old stone mansion as he alighted.

The servant stared, as he ushered him in, at his pale face and dusty garments.

"You will tell Miss Darrell I wish to see her at once, and alone," he said, slipping a shilling into the man's hand.

He took a seat in the familiar reception-room, and waited. Would she keep him long, he wondered--would she come to him--_would_ she come at all? Yes, he knew she would, let him send for her, married or single, when and how he might, he knew she would come.

She entered as the thought crossed his mind, hastily, with a soft silken rustle, a waft of perfume. He rose up and looked at her; so for the space of five seconds they stood silently, face to face.

To the last hour of his life Charley Stuart remembered her, as he saw her then, and always with a sharp pang of the same pain.

She was dressed for a dinner party. She wore violet silk, trailing far behind her, violet shot with red. Her graceful shoulders rose up exquisitely out of the point lace trimmings, her arms sparkled in the lights. A necklace of amethysts set in clusters, with diamonds between, shone upon her neck; amethysts and diamonds were in her ears, and clasping the arms above the elbows. Her waving, dark hair was drawn back off her face, and crowned with an ivy wreath. The soft, abundant waxlights showered down upon her. So she stood, resplendent as a queen, radiant as a goddess. There was a look on Charley Stuart's face, a light in his gray eyes, very rare to see. He only bowed and stood aloof.

"I have surprised you, I am sure--interrupted you, I greatly fear. You will pardon both I know, when I tell you what has brought me here."

In very few words he told her--the great tragedies of life are always easily told. They were ruined--he had engaged their passage by the next steamer--he had merely run down as they were never likely to meet again--for the sake of old times, to say good-by.

Old times! Something rose in the girl's throat, and seemed to choke her. Oh, of all the base, heartless, mercenary, ungrateful wretches on earth, was there another so heartless, so ungrateful as she! Poor--Charley poor! For one moment--one--the impulse came upon her to give up all--to go with him to beggary if need be. Only for one moment--I will do Miss Darrell's excellent worldly wisdom this justice--only one.

"I see you are dressed for a party--I will not detain you a second longer. I could not depart comfortably, considering that you came over in our care, without informing you why we leave so abruptly. You are safe. Your destiny is happily settled. I can give to your father a good account of my stewardship. You have my sincerest wishes for your health and happiness, and I am sure you will never quite forget us. Good-by, Miss Darrell." He held out his hand. "My congratulations are premature, but let me offer them now to the future Lady Catheron."

"Miss Darrell!" When, in all the years that were gone, had he ever called her that before? She arose and gave him her hand--proud, pale.

"I thank you," she said coldly. "I will send Lady Helena and Sir Victor to you at once. They will wish to see you, of course. Good-by, Mr. Stuart Let us hope things may turn out better than you think. Give my dearest love to Trix, if she will accept it. Once more, good-by."

She swept to the door in her brilliant dress, her perfumed laces, her shining jewels--the glittering fripperies for which her womanhood was to be sold. He stood quite still in the centre of the room, as she had left him, watching her. So beautiful, so cold-blooded, he was thinking; were all her kind like this? And poets sing and novelists rave of woman's love! A half smile came over his lips as he thought of it. It was very pretty to read of in books; in real life it was--like this!

She laid her hand on the silver handle of the door--then she paused--looked back, all the womanliness, all the passion of her life stirred to its depths. It was good-by forever to Charley. There was a great sob, and pride bowed and fell. She rushed back--two impetuous arms went round his neck; she drew his face down, and kissed him passionately--once--twice.

"Good-by, Charley--my darling--forever and ever!"

She threw him from her almost violently, and rushed out of the room. Whether she went to tell Lady Helena and Sir Victor of his presence he neither knew nor cared. He was in little mood to meet either of them just then.

Five minutes later, and, under the blue silvery summer night, he was whirling away back to Chester. When the midnight stars shone in the sky he was half way up to London, with Edith's farewell words in his ears, Edith's first, last kiss on his lips.


CHAPTER XVIII.

THE SUMMONS.

The sun was just rising over the million roofs and spires of the great city, as Charley's hansom dashed up to the door of Langham's hotel. He ran up to his father's room, and on the threshold encountered Trix, pale and worn with her night's watching, but wearing a peculiarly happy and contented little look despite it all. Charley did not stop to notice the look, he asked after his father.

"Pa's asleep," Trix replied, "so's ma. It's of no use your disturbing either of them. Pa's pretty well; stupid as you left him; doesn't care to talk, but able to eat, and sleep. The doctor says there is nothing at all to hinder his travelling to Liverpool to-day. And now, Charley," Trix concluded,