Parlous Times Part 37

"It's very good of her, I'm sure."

If he had the opportunity, after lunch, he mentally determined to give Lady Isabelle a piece of his mind.

"It's an honest soul," continued her Ladys.h.i.+p, not noticing the interruption, "which refuses the promptings of her heart. Her hesitancy is quite natural, I a.s.sure you, and most becoming. When his Lords.h.i.+p asked the honour of my hand----" The Dowager sighed at the sweetness of reminiscence, and again took up the thread of her discourse.

"My daughter told me that she could not, without reflection, be certain of the state of her affections. Make allowance for her, Mr. Stanley, she is very young. Believe me, I should not speak as I do, were it not for the fact that I have known the world well--in my youthful days--though this you would scarcely believe, I dare say--I was one of the acknowledged leaders of the court."

"Your Ladys.h.i.+p's wit and beauty are a bye-word in all good society, and one has only to see you, to realise that they have been enhanced by the added grace of years," murmured the Secretary, doing his prettiest.

"You're a deceitful diplomat, and I don't believe you," said the Dowager, giggling and pretending to be very angry, but vastly pleased, none the less; and, giving him a flabby pat with one of her expansive hands, she continued:

"You must not be downhearted, however; leave everything to me."

The Secretary a.s.sured her that he felt quite safe to trust his heart in the keeping of one who had held the custody of so many, and was rewarded for his flattery by a further proof of the Dowager's confidence.

"Take my advice, dear James----" she began; but Stanley felt this was a step too far, and hastened to put himself on the defensive.

"That is not my name, Lady Port Arthur," he said, quietly.

"But surely," she continued, pressing her point, "your friends call you by a disrespectful contraction of it.

"Jim?" he asked, laughing. "Oh, that's because my Christian name is quite unfitted for ordinary usage--it's only brought out on state occasions."

"May I inquire what it is?"

"Aloysius."

"Dear me, no, I don't think I could call you that; but as I was saying, if you take my advice you'll see as little as possible of Isabelle to-day. Leave her to herself; it's far wiser."

The Secretary felt decidedly relieved.

"I quite agree with you," he replied. "You may depend on my following your advice to the letter," and he turned towards the house.

"One point more," she said, detaining him with a gesture, "I strongly disapprove of secret engagements. I don't wish the insinuations made against my daughter that one hears about that impudent young minx, Miss Fitzgerald.-- Why, they actually hinted that she was engaged to you!"

"Dear me! Did they?" murmured Stanley.

"If there is the happy issue that we both wish, I should desire that our friends here, if not society in general, should know it immediately."

"My dear lady," said the Secretary impressively, "the moment that your daughter tells you definitely that she accepts my offer of marriage, you may announce it to the whole world; till that time, however, I must insist, that for her sake as well as mine, you be most discreet," and he bowed himself from her presence.

The Marchioness sank back in her chair with a sigh of placid contentment. Her work in life was, she believed, on the eve of successful accomplishment, and that most agonising period to a mother--the time from her daughter's coming out to that young lady's engagement--was safely over. On the whole her child had behaved unusually well; but of late she had suffered some inquietude of spirit, owing to the attentions of Kingsland, whom she, in common with all mothers of the social world, listed as belonging to the most dangerous and formidable cla.s.s of youths that a girl, who has any pretensions to being a _partie_, can encounter.

In the case of the Lieutenant, however, Lady Port Arthur flattered herself that she had nipped matters in the bud, by the best of all cures for a romantic, impossible lover, _i.e._ a prospective husband. True, Mr. Stanley was not of n.o.ble family, she feared his people might even be called commercial; but he was eminently safe, and possessed of a substantial income wherewith to support the glories of the n.o.ble name of Port Arthur. In short, he was an admirable solution of the difficulty.

The Marchioness felt she was justified in taking forty winks, and did so.

Luncheon rather amused the Secretary than otherwise. He obeyed the Dowager's instructions to the letter, sat as far from Lady Isabelle as possible, and by the caprice of fate, found himself next to Miss Fitzgerald, who, with admirable foresight, treated him exactly as if nothing had happened, and that being half engaged to a man was the normal state of her existence. This put Stanley quite at his ease, and even Belle's fict.i.tious claim on his services for the afternoon, based on her unsupported declaration that he had asked her to drive with him in the pony cart at four, a proposition he would never have dreamed of making, was accepted by him as a matter of course. A proceeding which elicited an expansive smile from the Dowager, who considered it a deep-laid diplomatic plot, in furtherance of her suggested plan of campaign.

The Secretary's attention was, however, mainly directed to Kingsland and Lady Isabelle, who sat side by side at table, and who acted, in his opinion like a pair of fools, till it seemed as if everyone present must guess the true state of affairs. As a matter of fact, no one did, and Stanley, seeing this, was once more rea.s.sured; for he did not wish to play his little part to more of an audience than was absolutely necessary.

Mr. Riddle, towards whom the Secretary, in view of the night's disclosures, felt even a stronger antipathy, was in high spirits, until he was silenced by Mrs. Roberts, who a.s.sured the company that she had caught him in the act of aiding and abetting the cottager's children to make mud pies in the public highway.

"I really couldn't help it," he said, excusing himself shamefacedly, "the dear little things were pining for some one to play with, and we did have such fun--and got so grubby;" and there was such a genuine ring of honest pleasure in his tones, that Stanley again found cause to wonder which was the true man.

Something like an hour later, the Secretary emerged on the driveway, to find the pony cart and Belle, got up in faultless style; and as he looked on the technical mistress of his heart, she seemed so exceedingly fair and gracious, that his morbid imaginings vanished away like smoke, under the spell of her presence.

"I'm afraid you'll be very angry with me," she said, apologetically; "but when I proposed our drive this afternoon, I'd quite forgotten a promise I made to Mr. Lambert to go and see a poor, sick, old woman, a paris.h.i.+oner of his."

"Then I suppose the drive is off?"

"Not at all, if you'll be a dear, good, self-sacrificing Jimsy, and do what you're told."

"What's that?"

"Just jump into the cart and take it round to the north gate--it's a couple of miles I know--but I'll walk straight across the fields, make my visit, and be at our rendezvous almost as soon as you are. I'll promise not to keep you waiting over ten minutes at the longest. Will you do it?"

"Certainly, if I may solace myself with a cigar while I wait."

"Two, if you like; but you won't have time to smoke them. Now off you go," and waving her hand to him, she watched him disappear round the corner of the house.

Once he was out of sight, Miss Fitzgerald lost no time in producing, from the mysterious recesses of her pocket, a telegram, the delivery of which she had intercepted, which she surveyed long and critically.

A telegram is generally regarded as best serving its purpose when most promptly delivered; but in the case of this message, Miss Fitzgerald evidently felt it would improve by keeping, for it had arrived during the morning, and was now some hours old. The time had come, however, when it should be delivered to its proper owner, and she accordingly went in search of Lieutenant Kingsland.

CHAPTER XXII

A LITTLE COMMISSION

Lady Isabelle and Lieutenant Kingsland sat on the lawn before the old manor house in the soft glow of an English afternoon, contemplating the inevitable. In this case the inevitable was represented by the Dowager, who was enjoying a peaceful nap not fifty feet away. Only fifty feet of faultlessly-kept turf separated them from the vials of a mother's wrath; and in spite of their supreme happiness of the morning, they felt the presence of this gathering storm which must now be faced--as soon as the Marchioness awoke--for to wake her would put her in a bad temper, and her rage promised to be violent enough without any external irritants.

But it happened that while the Dowager slumbered, Miss Fitzgerald, slipping around the corner of the house, appeared in the background, and signalling to the Lieutenant to come to her, where they could talk without awakening the Marchioness, gave him his telegram. He read its contents once, twice, and a third time, word by word, gave a sigh of unutterable relief, and then laughed joyously.

"Good news, apparently," commented Miss Fitzgerald.

"The best," he replied. "A crusty old relative, who is no good to anybody, lies dying in the north of England, and for some unknown reason has made me his heir-- I must leave at once to see him out of this world in proper style--but it means I'm a rich man."

"I'm ever so glad. Must you start to-day?"

"I shall go up to London this afternoon, and on to-morrow."

"You'll spend the night in town, then?"

"Yes. I must go to my bank and draw some funds for my journey."