ON EITHER SIDE OF THE road for the best part of a mile stood the Marlton beeches, which were among the glories of the Grange. This was one of the show drives for visitors staying in the neighborhood of Sheringham and Cromer; they came and admired these glorious beeches, with the tangle of fern and heather behind them, and mildly envied the fortunate possessor of Marlton Grange. Farther along the road a drive had been hewn out of what centuries ago had been a stone quarry, and here was a quaint thatch lodge built so far back as the time of Charles the Second. Beyond this was the park, with its herd of dappled deer and glimpses of the singular, twisted chimney-stacks of the Grange itself.
If the curious visitor asked—as was frequently the case—who lived there, the answer was to the effect that the place belonged to Mr. John Sairson, a London business man. He had purchased the property some five years ago, after Sir George Lugard, the last of his family, had been found dead in the library, with a revolver in his hand. If further details were needed, they were cautiously and grudgingly given. There were folk who said that Sir George had been badly treated. He had been robbed of his property by John Sairson in connection with some transaction. No; Mr. Sairson was not at the Grange very often. He kept up the property, but he did not shoot, or hunt, or play golf. He had a wife and daughters, and there was some talk of a son, but nobody seemed to be quite sure as to that. Mrs. Sairson appeared to be kind and generous, but the young ladies kept themselves to themselves, and practically there were no visitors at the Grange. Half the year Mrs. Sairson and her girls were abroad.
Now here was the making of a romance. Here was the grand house transferred at the end of three centuries from the old family to a new order with the mystery of a suicide hanging over the scene like some sinister shadow. Here were rich people deliberately avoided and shunned by neighbors who were quite ready in the ordinary way to hold out the right hand of friendship to trade itself. The Gilettes, for instance, owed everything to Leicester, and ready-made boots, and the Sylvesters were “in” provisions. Nevertheless, they had the freedom of the cover-side and the golf links and the ballroom, but the Sairsons remained beyond the pale. Nobody precisely knew why, nobody could lay a finger on anything definite, but such was the state of things. There are worse drawbacks than open scandal, and this was one of them.
Mansion and surroundings were very refined and beautiful. The grounds and gardens had never been so well kept, the splendid old furniture in the Grange was intact and undisturbed, a few good modern pictures had been added to the old ones, a new conservatory had been put up here and there. Sairson’s collection of enamelled armor stood in the great hall, possibly the finest specimens in Europe. The Grange was essentially the hiding-place of gentlefolk, and it must be confessed that the Sairsons, mother and daughters, were part of the picture.
The long grey front of the house slept in the misty sunshine, the velvet sheen of the lawn was pierced here and there by the crimson and gold and pallid blue of the flower beds. Beyond lay the park, a diaphanous study in emerald hues. Here and there were glimpses of the sea. The stone terrace was a tangled mass of yellow roses. Over all brooded that suggestion of mellowed peace and dignified detachment which one associates with age and happiness. Below the terrace, with its drip of bloom and wreath of foliage, Mrs. Sairson sat with some silken fancy-work in her hands.
She was not more than middle-aged, the masses of her hair were abundant, a beautiful grey, giving a note of distinction to the ivory tint of her face and the dark brown of her eyes. A quiet and delicate face it was, suggestive of resignation and suffering, mental more than physical. There was some trace of passion in the lines of the sensitive mouth, a reminiscence of tempestuous youth, of a soul that had fretted itself out against the bars of life. The slim hands were working restlessly and nervously, and the voice in which Mrs. Sairson spoke was clear and refined.
“My dear Nest,” she said, “what is the use of talking like that. I am sure you have a great deal to be thankful for. Your father——”
“Mummy, I believe there are times when I hate my father!”
Mrs. Sairson shuddered. A curious pallor increased, if possible, the whiteness of her cheeks, and a look of scorn crept into her eyes. She should have recoiled in horror from such an outburst. Glancing at the girl standing by her side, she could see, as in a glass dimly, the picture of herself some score of years before. Only two-and-twenty years! Surely, it must be longer than that! She saw a tall, slim girl, a defiant head poised under a mass of shining chestnut hair, a dark, wilful, beautiful face, tinged with exquisite coloring, a pair of sorrowful brown eyes, and a little mouth that quivered passionately. Here in the flesh was one of the reasons why Mrs. Sairson had learnt to control herself.
“My dear Nest,” she said, “I cannot permit you to talk like that.”
“Why not?” the girl went on rebelliously. “Don’t you hate him sometimes? If you were not the dearest, sweetest, most delightful old darling in the world——”
Mrs. Sairson smiled; She was not lacking in a sense of humor.
“I was exactly like you at your age.”
“Were you really, dearest? And yet to look at you now! What am I saying! But when I get restless and miserable, as I am to-day, I am ready to say anything. What is the matter with us, mother? Anyone can see that you are a lady, and I’m sure there is nothing the matter with Angela and myself. Why does everybody avoid us as if we had the plague? Why does nobody call? Why don’t you go and see some of the new people? Why does everyone stare at us in that furtive way when they meet us in the road. If father had ever been in gaol——”
“Your father has never been in gaol,” Mrs. Sairson smiled.
“Well, prosecuted, perhaps, escaped by the skin of his teeth; mixed up in some shady business in that horrid city where he spends most of his time!”
“I have never heard anything so absurd,” Mrs. Sairson answered.
“Well, if you say so, of course,” Nest admitted. “All the same, you are keeping something from me. You don’t know how sad and weary you look at times. And I am convinced that Angela knows. If there is any trouble, I have a right to share it. I’m twenty, remember, and haven’t forgotten what happened to Angela and Captain Barr three years ago.”
“Angela has not been alluding to her—her disappointment?”
“She his never said a word to me, mummy. I was seventeen at the time. I daresay you thought I was quite a child at that date, but I wasn’t. When you live under a cloud, as we do, you get—well, precocious; and if ever I saw real happiness it was that night Angela told me she was to marry Jack Barr. They were going to live at Dower House, and all kinds of good times were before me. I was in the drawing-room the night Jack came to see father. I shall never forget his face as long as I live—a sort of sad sternness, as if he had been told that his life was over. Angela, as white as a ghost, told me afterwards that it had all been a great mistake, and that she was not going to be married ever. She said she was glad, and cried herself to sleep as it was getting light. Mother, what does it all mean?”
There were tears in Mrs. Sairson’s eyes as she bent over her fancy work.
“Why did Jack Barr behave so badly?” said Nest, cruelly insistent.
“My dear, he did not behave badly at all. There—there was no alternative. The fault was entirely mine. I have never ceased to regret it. My child, why cannot you be content to leave well alone? You are happy, you are under no shadow——”
“Under no shadow, mother! Why, we live in the shade. It is only when we go abroad that we can be said to have any time at all. But for these few months every summer I should go melancholy mad. Then we see other people and exchange ideas. But nothing ever happens here.”
A neat parlor-maid, dainty in her black and white uniform, came out with a telegram on a salver. Mrs. Sairson read it with a certain vexed amusement in her eyes.
“There is no answer, Palgrave,” she said. “Here is a change for you, at any rate dear. You father telegraphs from London that he has found a prospective tenant for the Dower House. The gentleman will be here to lunch and will stay the night. Your father will be back in time for dinner. It will be a change for you.”
“It sounds promising,” Nest said dubiously. “But I must not build any hopes. Probably the new tenant will be middle-aged and devoted to business. What is his name?”
“It looks like Lugard,” said Mrs. Sairson, consulting the telegram. “Yes, it is Lugard, Cecil Lugard. Strange it should be the same name as the old family who——”
“Not at all,” Nest interrupted eagerly. “Probably a relative of the family who wants to come back to the old neighborhood. Well, I shall be glad to see him, anyway. It is possible he may be an interesting person, a good talker. If he is young, so much the better. I like the name of Cecil. It does not suggest a fat city man in a white waistcoat.”
“You can never tell,” Mrs. Sairson said sapiently. “Mr. Lugard will arrive about half-past twelve, your father tells me, and I am to send the car for him. Afterwards he will probably want to look over the Dower House, and you can take him.”
It was nearly one o’clock when Nest crossed the terrace in the direction of the drawing-room, with an eager curiosity she felt just a little ashamed of. She could hear someone talking easily and pleasantly in a mellow, baritone voice. She stepped through the open window and stood there for a moment, a pretty and graceful picture.
“This is my daughter, Nest,” Mrs. Sairson said. “Mr. Lugard.”
The stranger held out his hand. His expression was at once pleased and puzzled.
“I fancy we have met before,” he observed. “Have you forgotten me, Miss Nest?”
“At Berne,” Nest said with a dazzling smile. “But you did not call yourself Lugard then?”
“No, I was a Franklin at that time. But there was money, you see, if I took the family name. It is very delightful to see you again—and in such a lovely old place as this!”
THE IVORY PALLOR OF MRS. Sairson’s face deepened, and she raised her hand to her heart as if conscious of some physical pain there. The beauty of the place, the wide sweep of the lawns, the deer in the park, all seemed to mock her. In a sense Marlton Grange was a prison. There were times when its very grandeur oppressed and saddened her. Hitherto she could console herself that the prison was her own. Escape might be impossible; but, on the other hand, it was not possible for others to get in. And here was the intruder she had always dreaded. He came in desirable shape—in the form that all mothers who love their girls pray for—yet he filled Mrs. Sairson’s soul with dread. She marked the look of pleasure in Lugard’s face, the keen delight and admiration of his eyes. She saw the flush on Nest’s face, the smiling curves of her lips. She began to see with a startling clearness the hidden meaning of certain incidents when they had met this young man at Berne some time ago. Like all true women, she scented the delicate flavor of romance, but the mere suggestion of it filled her heart with terror.
“Mammy, aren’t you going to say something more to Mr. Lugard?” Nest asked.
A graceful phrase or two came from Mrs. Sairson’s lips. It was pleasant to meet Mr. Lugard again. They had been very agreeable days at Berne. Nest often spoke of them.
Lugard smiled as he wondered whether Nest had remembered everything—had mentioned everything. He was under the impression that Mrs. Sairson had deliberately spirited her girls away. He had not connected Mr. John Sairson with his charming acquaintance at Berne; he had dismissed the chance with a smile. The name was the same, of course, but John Sairson did not suggest the proud father of a lovely daughter. He suggested nothing but money.
“Positively I had no idea I was to have this delightful surprise,” Lugard said. “Quite by chance I saw that the Dower House was to let. It occurred to me as a good idea to take it. Though this used to be the family seat, I have never seen it before. I saw that a certain Mr. Sairson was the owner, and I went to see him. That is why I am here.”
“Your idea is to settle in the neighborhood?” Mrs. Sairson asked.
“I think so, dear lady. I want an old house with some shooting and fishing. As a Lugard on my mother’s side I am pretty sure of a welcome here. I’m not a millionaire, but I daresay I could manage to be comfortable at the Dower House.”
Mrs. Sairson hoped so; indeed she could say nothing less. She could like this young man with the frank and handsome face in ordinary circumstances. But there could be no ordinary circumstances here; there could be nothing but trouble and humiliation and despair. And the worst of it was that nothing could be done. .. Nest was full of pleased associations; she chatted gaily. There were so many things to admire about the house, and Lugard admired them frankly. The view from the big west window of the drawing-room attracted him greatly.
Angela Sairson watched the pair from under the fringe of her long lashes. Her beauty was purer than that of her sister, the white, subdued sadness of her face suited the perfect profile. She had all the softness and sweetness of the nun—there was a suggestion that the world was hard for her—and her pose one of resignation. It was such a lovely face, too—a face that poets and painters would have raved over. A tender, wistful smile crossed her face as she watched Nest and her companion in the window with the sunshine on them.
“Poor mother!” she murmured. “Poor mother! Did you think you could stop it.”
“And poor, poor little Nest! We would have both died to save her if we could.”
“God knows, we would,” Mrs. Sairson sighed. “But, perhaps, after all, we are anticipating——”
“No, we are not, mother. I saw it coming at Berne. That is why I was anxious to get away before it was too late. We might have saved Nest if Fate had not played this trick upon us. Don’t interfere, mother; don’t blame yourself for the inevitable.”
Mrs. Sairson brushed the tears from her eyes. It seemed to her that she was drifting hopelessly. Yet it was good to hear the brightness of Nest’s laughter. She was but a child, and perhaps Providence would provide a way out of the situation which threatened to become tragic. As the gong was sounded in the hall, the sun shone brightly out of doors. Cecil Lugard came forward and offered his arm with an old-fashioned grace and chivalry.
“What a lovely place this is!” he exclaimed, as he unfolded his napkin. “My mother used to tell me what a delightful room this was. The carvings exceed my expectations. I am not surprised my poor old uncle was fond of it. It was very hard times to be cheated out of the place by a scoundrel of a money-lender.”
“I—I don’t quite follow you,” Mrs. Sairson gasped.
“Oh, that was before your time, of course,” Lugard went on. “I am talking of the period before that rascal disposed of the property to Mr. Sairson. It had nothing to do with your husband, who doubtless paid a fair price for the estate. But that man, John Blaydon, the money-lender, is one of the most loathsome reptiles that was ever allowed to live. I have heard things about him that make my blood boil. Such a shameless villain, too. Well, my dear lady, he got hold of my uncle and fleeced him of everything. My lawyer says that if my uncle had not lost his nerve he could have prosecuted that scamp for conspiracy and saved everything. The unhappy man committed suicide instead—murdered, really, by John Blaydon. But I have not done with that reptile yet.”
Mrs. Sairson sat white and still, while Angela listened with her eyes cast down. Only Nest looked frankly and admiringly into the face of the speaker. There was something in his set face and the determination of his square jaw that moved her to admiration.
“I like to hear a man talk like that,” she cried. “You have my good wishes for your success, Mr. Lugard. If there is one creature on earth more detestable than another it is a money-lender. I could be friendly with a released convict, but with one of these wretches, never! I hope you will punish the scoundrel as he deserves.”
“Oh, I am going to,” Lugard said grimly. “A little time ago certain papers and documents relating to my uncle’s affairs reached me anonymously. Evidently they had fallen into the hands of somebody who had cause to detest Blaydon. Another link or two and the chain will be complete. I will not rest till Blaydon stands in the dock.”
Angela glanced up from her dessert plate, her black eyes gleaming against the pallor of her face.
“Pardon, me,” she said, “but I’m afraid my mother is not feeling well.”
Lugard paused and stammered. He blamed himself for an unobserving brute. Possibly his chatter had been too much.
Mrs. Sairson forced a smile to her lips. “I feel the heat,” she murmured, “though I love the sun. It was foolish of me to sit out so long this morning. A few minutes’ rest in the drawing-room will put me right. But you are not to leave the table, any of you. I shall be distressed if you worry over me.”
All the same Angela rose and followed her mother in her silent, sympathetic way.
“I’m very sorry,” Lugard said. “What a beautiful face your sister has—and how sad! He dark eyes positively haunt me. I don’t want to be impertinent, but——”
“Angela had a disappointment,” Nest explained; “an unfortunate misunderstanding. I was only 17 at the time, but I remember it perfectly. Oh, no, you must not think that Angela kept the reason to herself. She won’t hear a word against the man, nor will mother. She says the affair could have had no other ending. In a sense my mother declares that she was chiefly to blame. I was very sorry, for I liked Jack Barr.”
“What! Jack Barr, of the Northern Rifles?” Lugard exclaimed. “You don’t mean to say——”
“Indeed I do, Mr. Lugard. Do you know him?”
“Know him! Why, he was my greatest friend at one time. Three years ago he chucked up everything to go out West. All I could get out of him was that he had had a serious trouble. But that he ever did anything mean or dishonorable, I refuse to believe.”
“Of that I am certain,” Nest rejoined. “I am not quite sure whether I ought to have told you this. You won’t mention it to Angela, will you? No doubt you think it a pity to waste this glorious afternoon. There is a caretaker at the Dower House who will show us everything, and I hope you will take the place. We have no callers and seek none. My mother does not care for society. But it is very dull for me.”
Lugard smiled down at the pretty face lifted to him. He was selfishly glad to hear this. Those deep violet eyes had never ceased to haunt him; in his day-dreams he had seen that wild-rose coloring and that hair with the threads of sunshine in it. If he were only allowed to have his way Nest should not be dull any more. The stars in their courses were fighting on her side.
“I shall be only too delighted, if I can,” he said. “It is awfully good of you to feel all this interest in me. I had no idea I was going to have so happy a time. The mere pleasure of seeing you again.. .. . Do you remember that evening on the hill near Berne when we lost our way?”
Nest’s eyes deepened—Lugard could never make out what their exact hue was—and a soft flush crept over her face. She did not like to confess how well she remembered.
“It was a very, very pleasant time,” she admitted.
“And many more to come, I hope?” Lugard smiled. “Are you ready for our expedition?”
It was tea-time before they returned, Nest happy and gay, and full of the merriest spirits.
The adventure had been a success in every way, the house charming, and needing little in the way of repair. So far as Lugard was concerned, the tenancy was as good as settled. Nest dashed into her mother’s room with the good news. They were to have a really congenial neighbor at last.
“Come over here and kiss me,” Mrs. Sairson said. “My child, how happy you look! I only pray you will not allow yourself to——”
“Let me whisper to you,” Nest said, with her head buried in her mother’s hair. “Hold me tight and think the best of me, because there never has been and there never will be another man who—who——Now, isn’t that a shameless confession for a girl to make?”
With a broken laugh Nest hurried from the room. Mrs. Sairson’s lips quivered piteously.
“I can do no more,” she murmured. “God’s will must be done.”
JOHN SAIRSON AND CO.’S PREMISES were situated at St. Martin’s House, one of the newest blocks in the city, and here the successful man of business made his money. The building itself was a large one, and, as a matter of fact, was Sairson’s property. His own suite of offices was modest enough, consisting of two rooms on the first floor, with an extra apartment for a couple of clerks. The rest of the fine structure was let out to various commercial enterprises.
Sairson was supposed to be a kind of general commission agent, and he was rightly looked upon as a man of considerable substance. Shrewd and successful, he was a keen hand at a bargain and a hard taskmaster. It was a difficult matter to picture John Sairson as a country gentleman taking an interest in a fine old estate. He looked remote enough from Marlton Grange as he sat at his desk; his mind was far from the grey house bathed in the sunshine, the brown pools of the lake where the lilies bloomed under the shadow of the beeches.
He was a big, loose-limbed man, with a heavy face and pendulous cheeks. His red-rimmed eyes were shifty and unsteady, unless money was being discussed, when they focussed themselves like those of a cat watching a bird’s every movement. Sairson’s dress was a compromise between that of the business man and the country gentleman. In expansive moments he was fond of boasting of his place on the east coast. But he rarely put in more than a week-end there, and even that at intervals.
He turned over a mass of papers impatiently and rang his bell. A clerk entered and waited respectfully for his employer to speak. Sairson looked at him sourly.
“Have you got those contracts ready for me?”
“Yes, sir,” the clerk replied. “They are on the desk by the bookcase, sir. I have seen that everything is in order. If you would like to go through them again, sir——”
“Of course I should like to go through them again,” Sairson growled. “It’s an important matter, as you know, Partridge. It will take me an hour or more, and I am not to be disturbed. No matter who calls or desires to see me, I must not be disturbed. If any clerk dare knock at the door before 12 o’clock, out of the office he goes.”
Sairson spoke in the loud dominating tones of the bully. The wretched clerk listened meekly. He was a struggling man with a family, and used to the kind of thing.
“Very good, sir,” he said humbly. “It shall be as you say. If anybody calls you are out and not expected back till midday. Anything else, sir?”
Sairson dismissed the man with a gesture, and put the latch of the door down after the clerk departed. It was a strong door fitted with a Yale lock framed in steel. To appearance it was no more than an ordinary office door, but in reality it was nearly as strong as that of a safe.
Sairson smiled with the air of a man who is pleased with himself, took a cigar from a box on the table, and lighted it. The office was lined with books of various kinds from floor to ceiling. Sairson touched one of the books, and immediately a portion of the centre of the wall slid back and disclosed a room beyond. Sairson stepped into it and then shut the false partition behind him. He had entered another office which was back to back with his own, and opened into another corridor. It was a private room, and the door was fitted with a similar steel frame and Yale lock. Once more Sairson smiled with the air of one who is not displeased with himself.
This was a different room altogether. It was far more luxuriously furnished. The apartment was almost extravagantly furnished, the pictures on the wall were good, and the carpet was real Persian. Sairson put up the catch of the lock and rang the bell sharply.
There came in prompt answer to the summons a tall man with a faint suggestion of the athlete about him. He was fat and puffy, like his employer, but had the air of one who has been intimate with the covert-side, the cricket-field, the river, and the racquet-court. Under his collar he wore the colors of a famous cricket club. With it all he had the air of a man broken down and beaten in the daily conflict with the world. A certain quivering of the lips and shakiness of the hand told their story.
“Now, Gosway,” Sairson said curtly. “Anything doing?”
“Not very much this morning,” Gosway answered with a touch of familiarity. “Some half-dozen applications I have gone through. For the most part they are no good. I thought perhaps you might like to see two of them. Both for biggish amounts.”
“All right,” Sairson said. “I’ll look at them presently. Better make appointments this afternoon for the two likely ones. I’m glad there isn’t much doing, for I want to get away into the country as soon as possible. No more of those anonymous letters, I suppose?”
A gleam of malice glistened in Philip Gosway’s moist eyes.
“No more letters,” he said significantly. “You were foolish not to consult the police. You could have managed it easily enough. Nobody would have recognised you if you had appeared before a magistrate. Not a soul in England could connect John Sairson with——”
“Except yourself and one other man,” Sairson interrupted impatiently, “and the other person happens to be the very person whom you advise me to prosecute. We shall have to buy him off. After all, it’s only a question of money. If he should presume to come here——”
“My dear sir, he has been here,” Gosway said impressively. “He was here an hour ago. If I had not been a bit of an athlete still there might have been trouble. And you may clear your mind of cant as far as your previous money is concerned. He would not hear of it. From what I can gather, money is the last thing he is thinking about. He scoffed at the suggestion.”
“Then what the devil does he want?” Sairson asked testily.
“Revenge! The man is more or less mad. He has brooded over his wrongs till they have turned his head. He looks to me as if he had been drinking heavily as well. It’s that or drugs. He looked like a lean and hungry wolf. I had great trouble in persuading him that you were not here. Goodness knows where he got the information from. If you meet him alone in some dark corner late at night, look to yourself!”
Sairson blinked uneasily. His big face was white and flabby, and he glanced suspiciously at the man before him.
“You’re not in the infernal game?” he asked hoarsely.
“You know I’m not,” Gosway replied. “I’m too much under your thumb for that. If I had been a man of that sort I should have stuck a knife into your ribs long ago. When I came to you first I was a happy man with a good record in my regiment; I went in first wicket down for the good old club whose colors I still wear. When you had sucked me dry I was a broken man with nothing to cling to but my little girl, who does not know how her wretched father gets a living. I do not forget that you could send me to gaol if you wanted to—if I were likely to forget it your constant reminders would keep the fact before me. Men I used to know at one time come here and sometimes recognise me. That is part of the punishment of my folly. But you are safe from me because my girl has to be thought of. Otherwise I believe I’d have broken your neck long ago. For the sake of the child I am loyal to you. All the same, unless you help yourself——”
Gosway paused and shrugged his shoulders meaningly. The cold contempt of his words seemed to arouse no feeling in Sairson. He pulled nervously at his cigar, and his brow knitted in a frown.
“All the same, it is a confounded nuisance,” he muttered. “It won’t avail me to pursue that matter I was talking to you about so long as that man knows anything.”
“Not a bit,” Gosway grinned. “You are known here as an elderly man with black hair and beard. Your spectacles and white waistcoat are quite artistic in their way. And it is a bit rough after you have planned everything so carefully to find yourself cornered by the one man you have to fear.”
Sairson did not appear to be listening. He chewed the end of his cigar savagely.
“Did he say he would call again?”
“No, he didn’t,” Gosway explained. “He led me to understand that he had another scheme. He said he was going to the country for a day or two; would spend his money on a ticket to some place on the east coast. You can probably guess what that means!”
Sairson’s florid face assumed a sickly green hue.
“I don’t like it,” he commented. “I don’t like it at all. Leave the office to Griffin for an hour or two and go and find the fellow. Take a fiver out of the petty cash and spend it freely if necessary. Before I go out of town to-day I must know the movements of that man. If you have done your duty by me you will know where to put your hand on him.”
“I have done all I have been asked to do,” Gosway protested. “You can rely upon me to let you know something definite before the afternoon is over. Where shall I send it to?”
“Oh! send it to my club. Let me have a telegram or an express letter. If anybody calls, say that I shall not be back till Monday.”
Gosway retreated into the outer room, carefully closing the door behind him. The Yale lock clicked, and Sairson was alone once more. He crossed over to a cupboard and produced a flask of liqueur brandy. He drank two glasses of the red spirit, and the florid red came back into his face again.
“Curse the follow to all eternity!” he burst out presently. “Why does he carry on like this? He lost his money with his eyes wide open, but could have got it back again but for his idiotic pride. As if it mattered in the least! No one need ever have known that the girl—— But it is idle to speculate as to what might have happened. The fellow is a dangerous lunatic, and will do me a mischief if he gets the chance. There’s one way yet——”
Sairson returned presently into his own office again and closed the false door behind him. He pulled back the catch of the lock and rang the bell.
“I can see nobody to-day, Partridge,” he remarked. “I am going into the country at 5, and shall probably not be back till Monday. I’m not feeling at all well, and a day or two in the fresh air will set me up again.”
Partridge received certain further instructions and departed. It was nearly 5 o’clock before Sairson had tea at his club, and then rose with the intention of summoning the dining-room waiter to call a taxi-cab to take him to Liverpool street. At that moment another waiter entered with an express letter on a tray which he handed to Sairson.
“Just come for you, sir.”
Sairson snatched up the letter and tore off the envelope. There was only one significant line.
“Don’t go home to-night. Dangerous for you to travel on the East Coast.”
With a savage execration Sairson strode over to the writing-table and grabbed a telegraph form.
IT WAS VERY PLEASANT TO linger in the wide panelled hall by the tea-table watching Nest’s slender hands as they played over the cups and silver. It was delightfully cool and pleasant after the heat of the afternoon, and the green of the trees was refreshing and grateful to the eye. Cecil Lugard lay back in his chair, smoking a cigarette and looking at Nest with the yellow sunshine on her hair. The girl’s face was radiantly happy; there was a soft glow in her eyes. In the course of that afternoon ramble to the Dower House and back, Lugard had made up his mind. He had told himself more than once at Berne that if ever he was in a position to marry, this was the one girl for him. He had not spoken then for many reasons; Nest was rich, and his prospects were not encouraging. He had longed for some miracle to happen so that he might have the chance to——
And behold! the miracle had happened. He was in a position to speak now, and had met Nest directly after his good fortune had come to him. It all seemed like some favored dispensation of Providence. Surely there never was a romance like it before! He felt pretty sure of his ground, too; he knew that Nest cared for him; and Dower House would make a perfect nest for him. They sat talking confidentially for a long time. Mrs. Sairson had retired under plea of a headache, though heartache would have been a more fitting description, and it was Angela’s usual custom to take the dog for a run after tea. By and bye Mrs. Sairson entered the hall with a telegram in her hand.
“I have just heard from my husband,” she said. “It is very unfortunate, for he has been detained at the last minute by most important business and cannot be here to-night.”
“Is that really so, mother?” Nest exclaimed. “He is not coming? How——”
She broke off abruptly, her face a delicate pink. It seemed to Cecil that he knew what was passing in her mind. If she meant anything, she was glad her father was not coming. She ought to be ashamed to admit it, but the fact remained all the same. There was no mistaking the sparkle of pleasure in her eyes. She turned awkwardly to her mother.
“I suppose he will be here some time to-morrow, Mummy?”
“It seems exceedingly doubtful, dear,” Mrs. Sairson explained. “It is quite possible your father may not be here for the week-end at all. I am very sorry Mr. Lugard. If you can put up with our company for a day or two, perhaps you would not mind. You see, your business——”
“Dear Mrs. Sairson, I shall be delighted,” Cecil exclaimed. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure. I’m sorry to miss my host, of course, and in any case I should have gone to the village hotel. I have quite made up my mind to take the Dower House. It is exactly what I need. Let me thank you again for your kind offer, which I am very grateful for.”
Nest’s eyes flashed at Cecil. She was telling him of her pleasure as plainly as words could speak. Her beaming glances set his heart beating, yet he was conscious of a certain dullness in Mrs. Sairson’s manner. Why did she not want him to stay? Why was Nest so delighted to hear that her father was not coming? What was the cloud of sorrow hanging over Angela? With all its beauty and refinement and evidence of wealth, the Grange was a home of tears. So far the blight seemed to have passed over Nest’s very head, but it might not be for long. It should not come at all so far as he could help, Cecil determined.
“Are you sure it is convenient?” he asked.
“Oh, I hope you don’t imagine that you are in the way!” Mrs. Sairson cried. “It is a great pleasure to myself and the girls to see anybody in these days. I mean somebody.. .. You follow me, I know. I will telegraph to my husband that you are staying till Monday.”
She faded from the hall as gently as she had entered, leaving a subtle sense of constraint behind.
“Your conscience troubles you,” Nest smiled. “You think that perhaps you ought not to stay.”
“I’m sure that I want to,” Cecil replied. “But your mother——”
“Would rather you didn’t? I don’t really know. I am puzzled at things at times. This is a most extraordinary household. Mother is most kind and hospitable, and would be very miserable if you did not remain. There’s a skeleton in every cupboard, they say; and if I blunder upon the cupboard that contains our family skeleton I shall burn it. As to my father, I am glad he is not coming. Oh! I know all about duty to one’s parents. But we have never hit it together, and never shall. The longer he stays away from here the better I like him. We ought to have a real good time between now and Monday. I hope you are going to have the drawing-room in cream and gold.”
“The drawing-room of the Dower House will be as you please,” Cecil said. “If you like we will spend the whole of the next few days in planning it out. Only I must have a say about the dining-room and the library. I want you to scheme out the other rooms exactly as you please. You know why, Nest!”
The girl flushed and trembled, and laughed unsteadily.
“It would be delightful,” she whispered. “Every girl worthy of the name loves the planning of a home. I have in my room a most delightful book with colored plates, designed by a French artist. There are plans for a house just like yours. May I fetch it for you?”
Cecil begged her to bring the volume, and she returned with it in a few minutes. Nest drew up a chair and opened the book. Cecil sat so close to her that he could catch the fragrance of her hair, could feel the warmth of her slender young body. She laid her hand upon his shoulder and he did not move.
“Now, what do you think of this?” she asked. “I should like a drawing-room like that, and a morning-room like the one on the next page. And that doesn’t seem a bad scheme for a hall. Oh, Mr. Lugard, I do hope you can afford to indulge in such expenditure.”
“The money is all right,” Cecil said grimly. “Have no fear on that score. I am going to adopt your suggestion as to everything. I want you to feel that it is all your own.”
“Only it must be a secret from the future Mrs. Lugard,” Nest laughed. “It would never do for her to feel that somebody else had been consulted.”
“She would not be jealous,” Cecil said. “My dear Nest, don’t you know why I have asked you to do this for me? Don’t you know that I wanted you to feel that nothing had been done without your consent? Because I hope—it is my fervent desire—that the Dower House will be—not mine, but ours.”
The red and pink flamed in the girl’s cheek again. Her eyes were moist and blurred, so that the colors on the diagrams were misty. A new happiness filled her heart, and she was conscious of a sense of pride that she had never experienced before. She knew that his love was dear to her. She felt herself drawn towards him with a tender, lingering pressure.
“You are going to share it with me, darling?”
Nest looked up quickly. The glad eyes in her crimson face brimmed with happy tears. “You really and truly mean that?” she whispered.
“Of course, I mean it. My dear, you know I mean it. I believe you know that I loved you from the very first day we met. I did not tell you so at Berne, because I was not in the position to ask you to be my wife. What do you say, darling?”
Nest lifted her face and kissed him.
“What is there to say?” she asked, “except that I am the happiest girl in the world. I knew all along that you cared for me, and I understood, too, why you could not ask me to be your wife. It was very fine and very noble of you, Cecil, but it vexed me very much, because I did not care how poor you were; I did not care about anything so long as you loved me. I would have shared a cottage with you. I believe I would have married anybody to get away from a hateful life like this.”
“My dearest girl,” Lugard protested “surely you don’t mean——”
“That I could ever think of anybody else after you,” Nest sobbed. “Oh, no, no! There never was anybody else, dear. But a cloud hangs over the house and over our lives, and my father has something to do with our wretchedness. At one time Angela was as happy as I am. Her future promised to be blissful, but you know what happened. What had she done that her life should be blighted in that way? Why was she to blame? My father could have stopped the trouble had he liked. I overheard part of a conversation between my mother and him. There was something to do with money and blood and tears at the bottom of it. Cecil, you won’t mind? If there is anything wrong you won’t hurt me in that way?”
The tears were drenching the roses of her cheeks; her eyes were passionate and pleading. Cecil caught her to him hard and kissed her fondly, and a sunny smile broke through the tears.
“I expected you would say that,” she whispered. “Cecil, let this be our secret for a little longer. I don’t want even my mother to know of the engagement yet, I don’t want her to cry and weep over me and prophesy evil; I don’t want to flaunt my happiness before Angela. Let the secret remain.”
“It shall remain as long as you like, dear,” said Cecil. “I’ll try to be patient. Meanwhile, we’ll go on furnishing the Dower House as if we were doing it for its own sake.”
Lugard sat and thought it out long after the family had retired and the house was still. He was not in the least inclined for bed. He preferred to sit up in the library, where he had been provided with cigars and cigarettes, and the other creature comforts men like. Many matters he wanted to ponder in peace and quiet.
Everything seemed to be going his way. He was rich and prosperous, had good health, and the heart of the dearest girl in the world was his. All he had asked Providence for had been granted. Yet there was something strange here, some deep-seated sorrow he had to fathom. Whatever it was, he could not see how it could possibly touch the girls. Even if the father were a convicted thief, they were none the worse. It was not like Jack Barr to throw a girl over for the sins of another, even if that other were her father. Nevertheless, Cecil felt uncomfortable as he thought of it.
He came out of the sea of speculation with a shock. Surely, he heard somebody moving about in the hall. He had promised to fasten one of the drawing-room windows, and had forgotten to do it. If there were a midnight marauder in the hall he had entered the house by that means. Cecil slipped off his shoes and crept into the hall. As he did so a figure loomed out of the darkness and gripped him by the throat. It was so quick, so utterly unexpected, that Cecil staggered back. He had some difficulty in keeping on his feet. Then his nerve returned to him, and he fought grimly and silently for the mastery. A little later the intruder was dragged into the library and flung to the floor.
“If you stir an inch,” Lugard said sternly. “I’ll break your neck. Try that again and I shall hand you over to the police. What are you?—Good God, it’s Jack Barr!”
The man rose slowly from the floor, furious of look, white of face, dirty, dishevelled, with clothes that were little better than rags.
“Yes,” he said heavily, “all that is left of your old friend, Jack Barr!”
AS HE STOOD IN THE blinding blaze of the electric light, the derelict glanced almost defiantly at Lugard. He strangled a sob in his throat. Cecil could see that his chest was heaving under the stress of powers and emotion, but there was no longer any passion in his eyes. For a minute or two the men stared at one another.
“We are safe from interruption?” the intruder asked.
“So far as I know, yes,” Cecil responded. “I am more or less a stranger here, but I believe that everybody has gone to bed. But, for God’s sake, Barr, be calm and don’t look so forlorn. Do you suppose I am going to hand you over to justice?’”
The man shrugged his shoulders. He appeared to be utterly indifferent on that score.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It would perhaps be doing me a kindness. What a queer, merciless world it is! Fancy meeting you here, of all people!”
“You know something of the house, then?”
“Of course, I do. I had the run of it at one time. I was by way of being an honored guest, Cecil. How easily the old name slips out. All the same, I beg your pardon. I have forfeited all right to speak to you in that familiar way.”
A great wave of pity swept over Cecil Lugard.
“Why not?” he asked. “We were Damon and Pythias at one time. You were my greatest chum at school. I should never have got in the first class had it not been for you. At Oxford I shone in your reflected glory. I had the run of your cheque-book——”
“And you saved my life,” Barr interrupted. “Those were brave days, Cecil.”
“Ah, they were,” Lugard said hurriedly. “But time is precious and the past has fled. What are you doing here at this time of night? Why have you come? Why are you dressed like a tramp?”
“Because I am a tramp,” Barr said bitterly. “Because I have lost everything. The last time I saw you I said that I was going West. It was not true. I had had a terrible disappointment; I had ruined my life; I wanted to drop my old acquaintances. There was a task I had to do, and I set out to accomplish it. At the end of the year I was ruined. The scoundrel I meant to break was too cunning for me. He broke me instead. To keep up my courage I took to drink, and gradually became what I am. Drink was bad enough, but there was worse to come! Drugs! There are times when I am absolutely mad. Then I am dangerous. That is why the fellow is afraid of me. If he had been here to-night I should have killed him.”
There was a brooding light in Barr’s eyes as he spoke. He seemed to be communing more with himself than talking to Lugard. The latter started as a light dawned upon him.
“You expected to meet the man here.”
Barr looked up as if he failed to catch the drift of the question.
“Whom else?” he asked. “It would have been too dangerous a job for London.”
Lugard saw quite clearly now. The madman was after John Sairson. There was no longer room for any possible doubt. Here was another tangle in the mystery that had wrapped itself about the Grange. What had John Sairson done to arouse the bitter hatred in Barr’s breast? What abominable crime had he committed? Cecil was conscious of impending evil. What the evil was Mrs. Sairson seemed to know, and perhaps Angela knew as well. The only one at the Grange actually in the dark was Nest. Well, if Cecil could help it, she was not going to suffer.
“What wrong has John Sairson done you?” he asked pointedly.
A smile trembled on Barr’s lips. He was quick to see that he might go too far and give himself away. He knew nothing of Lugard’s present movements and his presence was wholly unexpected.
“I am not aware that I mentioned Sairson’s name,” he said. “Anyway it is no business of yours.”