Whither Thou Goest Part 35

"It's about Guy, we're awfully anxious, you know," he said in his loud, resonant tones. "I wonder if you can help us at all. My daughter and Isobel tell me you are a great friend of Moreno."

Beneath his somewhat pachydermatous exterior; Farquhar had a certain vein of sensitiveness. He was now sure of what he had suspected. He had been asked to dine for the purposes of being pumped for the information he could or could not give them. Lord Saxham, in his blunt, vulgar fas.h.i.+on, had so unsuccessfully masked his hospitality. Then he caught Lady Mary's pleading, almost shamefaced glance.

"I can quite guess what is in your mind, Mr Farquhar, but I beg you to forgive our anxiety. We are very pleased to see you here for your own sake. If you can help us with Guy, we shall be doubly pleased."

She leaned across, and said, in a whisper that did not reach Lord Saxham's ears, dulled with age:

"My father will, unfortunately, always take the lead, but he is not always happy in his way of expressing himself."

The rather stiff-backed young lawyer forgot his momentary resentment under the kind words of this charming young woman who could so graciously pour oil on the troubled waters.

"Please, Lady Mary, tell me in what way I can serve you." There was no stiffness in his tones.

Lord Saxham had subsided now. He gathered, in a dim sort of way, that he had put his foot in it, for about the thousandth time in his long career. He was going to leave it all to his capable daughter.

Mary drew her chair closer to the guest. Lord Saxham, for the moment, was out of the picture. Besides, he was nodding over his second gla.s.s of port. It was better so, he was now incapable of mischief.

Mary put her cards frankly on the table.

"As I told you just now, we are very pleased to see you for yourself, as a cousin of dear Isobel, at least _I_ am certainly very pleased." A faint colour suffused her cheek.

Farquhar bowed. No barrister can blush, but into his rather cold eyes there came a softer light which might be taken to express emotion.

"Lady Mary, I am certain you are not a woman who would ever say anything you did not mean."

"Of course, there was an ulterior motive," continued Mary, with her usual frankness. The flush on her cheek had not quite died away; it had rather been revived by a compliment that she felt was meant to be sincere.

"There was an ulterior motive, as I have candidly admitted. We are very anxious about Guy. Greatorex will tell us nothing, my father has been to him this morning, and he keeps his mouth shut. We hear nothing from Guy, of course, he does not wish to alarm us. Isobel writes short, chatty letters; naturally Guy does not tell her anything; she knows no more than we do. The question is, Mr Farquhar, do you know anything?

You can easily understand how anxious we are."

Farquhar smoked on steadily. It was some time before he spoke. Lord Saxham was now slumbering peacefully after his heavy dinner and his third gla.s.s of port. He looked just a little contemptuously at the somnolent figure. At Lord Saxham's age, he expected to be Lord Chancellor, alert and vigorous.

When he spoke, he did not answer her question. Rather, he pursued the train of his own thoughts.

"It seems to me. Lady Mary," he said, speaking very softly, so that he should not disturb the slumbers of his host, "that in a measure you bear upon your shoulders--very capable shoulders, I will admit--the entire burden of your family." Mary protested feebly. "Oh, no, don't think that for a moment. My father is very vigorous as a rule. Eric is quite a nice boy, just a little wild, perhaps. And Guy has got lots of grit; he will make good yet. I cannot thank Isobel enough for teaching us how cowardly we were for wanting to have him recalled."

"Isobel has tons of grit," said Farquhar shortly. "She comes from a fighting line."

"Yes, Isobel, as you say, has tons of grit." Lady Mary looked at him curiously. "You are very fond of your cousin, are you not, Mr Farquhar?"

"I am very fond of Isobel," said the young barrister quietly. "We were brought up as children together. I was a few years her senior. I used to carry her about as a little child."

Mary looked at him again, and for a second time a faint flush dyed her fair cheek.

"Will you think it very impertinent of me, Mr Farquhar, if I suggest that you were very much in love with your pretty cousin?"

Farquhar shook his head. "I don't deny it for a moment. I was very much in love with Isobel. I always wanted her for my wife, but the consideration of ways and means prevented. When I did ask her, I learned that she had accepted your brother--"

"And you are still in love with her?" questioned Mary, a little eagerly.

"It is no use being in love with a girl who is betrothed to another man.

It is one of those vain dreams that a sensible man dismisses. Isobel Clandon is to me now a dear cousin, a good friend." Somehow, Lady Mary looked relieved. She spoke lightly.

"You will get over it, and one day you will marry. And when you are Lord Chancellor, your wife will be the first female subject in the kingdom."

"And Isobel will be the wife of an Amba.s.sador," said Farquhar. "We shall run each other close, shall we not?"

Mary laughed. "Oh, Guy will never have stamina enough to become an Amba.s.sador. When he comes into dear old Aunt Henrietta's money, he will throw it all over, and lead his pleasant old idle life. I know Guy too well."

"Don't you think Isobel will put grit into him?"

"Isobel is a loving woman. She will always see eye to eye with Guy.

Whatever he determines, she will acquiesce in."

Farquhar sighed. Ambition was always with him the dominating note. He regretted its absence in others.

"A pity," he said. "With your family influence, he might go far."

"He doesn't want to go far, Mr Farquhar," she whispered. She pointed at the slumbering figure of Lord Saxham. "My father has plenty of brains; if he had worked, he might have been Prime Minister, or very near it. In the Rossett family, there is a certain amount of grit, but not quite enough to bring them to the foremost place."

Farquhar leaned across the table. This was certainly one of the most charming women he had ever met.

"I say, Lady Mary, what a pity you are not a man. If you had been, I am sure you would have put the Rossett family in their right place." He cast a cautious glance at the still slumbering host.

Lady Mary smiled pleasantly. She was not ill-pleased with the genuine compliment.

"Yes, perhaps, if I had been born a man. I should certainly have been better than Eric, perhaps a shade better than Guy." She broke off suddenly. "But it is idle to talk of these things. I am a woman, and must be contented with my lot, my humble sphere. Now, can you tell me anything of my brother?"

"You want me to tell you the truth, and you will not be afraid to hear it?"

"No, I shall not be afraid." She spoke very bravely, but he noticed that her hands were trembling.

"I had a letter from Moreno this morning. He tells me that the design against your brother has temporarily dropped into abeyance. They had a very great _coup_ on--that has failed. He has reason to suspect that they will now turn their attention to Mr Rossett."

The tears coursed slowly down Mary's face. The Earl slumbered on peacefully.

Then she raised her head. Her eyes flashed. She looked angrily at her sleeping father.

"Oh, our poor Guy. And it is his fault,"--she pointed at the somnolent Earl--"his fault entirely. He wanted to separate him from Isobel, because he thought she was not good enough for him. He went to Greatorex, and with his influence he got this post at Madrid--and he has sent him to his death." Farquhar felt very sympathetic. No man can very properly appreciate his successful rival. But he was forced to admit that there was something in Guy Rossett that appealed alike to men and women.

"Now listen, Lady Mary! Moreno tells me a lot, because to a certain extent I have been in it from the beginning. I won't bore you with details. Anyway, Moreno says he is quite certain he can save your brother. Perhaps Moreno may be a little too c.o.c.ksure, he is a very vain sort of fellow. He goes so far as to hint that he might require my a.s.sistance."

Mary looked puzzled. "Your a.s.sistance! But where do you come in, in this awful mix-up?"

"It is perhaps a little difficult to explain." It was one of the few occasions in his life on which the self-possessed young barrister had felt embarra.s.sed. "It is, perhaps, a little difficult to explain," he repeated. "Moreno and I are very old friends. He was one night in my chambers. He extracted a promise from me that, if he called upon me, I would help your brother."

Mary shot at him a swift and penetrating glance. "I can understand, Mr Farquhar, that you and Mr Moreno are old friends, that you owe many a good turn to one another. But my brother is nothing to you. Why should you put yourself out of the way for him?"