Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir Part 81

She looked up at him with a strange smile on her cold, white face, and held out a tea-cup. But as he came near her, the cup dropped from her hand with a crash, and she fell back like one stricken unto death.

That same evening, Lady Bell stood in the drawing-room of Earl's Court.

She was richly dressed, more richly than was usual with her; upon her white neck and arms sparkled the diamond set which she wore only on the most special occasions. The room was full. Four or five of the country families had been dining with her, and the buzz of conversation and sound of music rose and fell together confusedly.

Surrounded, as usual, by a little circle of courtiers, she reigned, by the right of her beauty, her birth, and her wealth, a queen of society.

Brilliant and witty she, so to speak, kept her devoted adherents at bay, her beautiful face lit up with the smile which so many found so falsely fascinating, her eyes s.h.i.+ning like the gems in her hair. Never had she appeared so beautiful, so irresistible.

Regarding her even most critically one would have a.s.sented to the proposition that certainly if any woman in the world was happy that night it was Lady Isabel Earlsley.

And yet beneath all her brilliance Lady Bell was hiding an aching heart.

Half the country was there at her feet, and only one of all her invited guests absent, and he a poor, tireless, ne'er-do-well. But Lady Bell would willingly, joyfully have exchanged them all for that one man, for that scapegrace with the bold, handsome face and frank, fearless eyes.

Since mid-day she had been expecting him. Like Una, her eyes had wandered to the clock, and she had told the minutes over; but he had not come, and now, with that false gayety of despair, she was striving, fighting hard to forget him.

But her eyes and ears refused to obey her will, and were still watching and waiting, and suddenly her glance, wandering over her fan, saw a figure standing in the doorway.

It was not a man's, it was that of Laura Treherne's--Mary Burns.

Not one of them around her noticed any difference in her smile or guessed why she dismissed them so easily and naturally. She did not even march straight for the door, but making a circuit, gradually reached the hall.

Pale and calm and self-possessed as usual, the strange maid was waiting for her.

"Well!" said Lady Bell, and her voice was scarcely above a whisper.

"Has--has he come?"

"No," said Laura Treherne. "But though your ladys.h.i.+p told me only to let you know of Mr. Newcombe's arrival, I thought it best to bring you this letter."

Lady Bell almost s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her hand.

"You did right," she said.

With trembling hands she broke open the envelope, not noting that it opened easily as if it had been tampered with, and read the note.

"DEAR LADY BELL--I am sorry I cannot come as arranged. I am in great trouble, and cannot leave London.

"Yours truly, "JACK NEWCOMBE."

Lady Bell looked at the few lines for full a minute, then she pressed the letter to her lips. As she did so, she saw that the slight figure in its dark dress was still standing in front of her, and she started.

"Why are you waiting?" she said angrily.

Laura Treherne turned to go, but Lady Bell called to her.

"Wait. I beg your pardon. I am going to London tomorrow by the first train. Will you have everything ready?"

Laura Treherne bowed.

"Yes, my lady."

"And--and--you need not sit up," said Lady Bell.

"Thanks, my lady," was the calm response. And the dim figure disappeared in the distance.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

Christmas was near at hand; but notwithstanding that nearly everybody who had a country house, or an invitation to one, was away in the s.h.i.+res, London was by no means empty. There were still "chariots and hors.e.m.e.n" in the park; and the clubs were pretty well frequented. Not a few have come to the conclusion that after all London is at its best and cheerfulest in mid-winter; and that plum pudding and roast beef can be enjoyed in a London square as well, if not better, than in the country.

Among these was Lady Bell. Although she had two or three country houses which she might have filled with guests, she, for sundry reasons, preferred to remain in Park Lane.

Perhaps, like Leonard Dagle, she thought that there was no place like London. He would have his idea that there was no place in it like Spider Court. Spring, summer, autumn, and winter, with perhaps, just a short interregnum of a fortnight in summer, Leonard stuck to Spider Court; and on this winter evening he was sitting in his accustomed place, busily driving the pen.

There was a certain change about Leonard which was worthy of remark. He looked, not older than we saw him last, but younger. In place of the weary, abstracted air, which had settled upon him during the long months of the search of Laura Treherne, there was an expression of hopefulness and energy which was distinctly palpable. The room too looked changed.

It was neater and less muddled; and though the boxing gloves and portraits of actresses and fair ladies of the ballet still adorned the walls, the floor and chairs were no longer lumbered with Jack's boots and gloves, cigar boxes, and other impedimenta.

Perhaps Leonard missed these untidy objects, for he was wont to look up from his work and round the room with a sigh, and not seldom would rise and stalk into the bed-room beyond his own; the bed-room which Jack kept in a similar litter, but which now was neat and tidy--and unoccupied.

At such times Leonard would sigh and murmur to himself, "Poor Jack!" and betaking himself to his writing desk again would pull out a locket and gaze long and earnestly on a face enshrined therein, a face which strikingly resembled that of Laura Treherne, and so would gain comfort and fall to work again.

Tonight, he had wandered into the unoccupied room and had glanced at the portrait two or three times, for he felt lonely and would have given a five-pound note to hear Jack's tread upon the stairs, and his voice shouting for the housekeeper to bring him hot water.

"Poor Jack!" he murmured, "where is he now?" For some months had elapsed since he had found a few lines of sad farewell from Jack lying on his writing desk, but pregnant with despair and reckless helplessness. And Jack had gone whither not even Mr. Levy Moss, who sought him far and wide, could discover; and not Mr. Moss alone, but Lady Bell Earlsley; fast as she had traveled from Earl's Court to London, she arrived too late to see Jack, too late to learn from his lips the nature of the trouble which he had spoken of in his short note to her. And from Leonard even, she could not learn much. He could only tell her that Jack and Una's engagement was broken off, and by Jack himself, but for what reason he could not tell or guess. And with that Lady Bell had to be, not content, but patient.

"You were his dearest friend," she said to Leonard, "can you not guess where he has gone?"

And Leonard had shaken his head sorrowfully. "I cannot even guess. He was utterly miserable and reckless; he once spoke, half in jest, of enlisting. He was in great trouble."

"Money trouble?" Lady Bell had asked.

"Money trouble," a.s.sented Len, and Lady Bell had sunk into Leonard's chair and wrung her white hands.

"Money! money! how I hate the word! and here I am with more of the vile stuff than I know what to do with!"

"That would make no difference to Jack," Leonard said, quietly; and Lady Bell had sighed--she almost sobbed--and gone on her way as near broken-hearted as a woman could be.

And then she had sought for him as openly as she dared, but with no result, save discovering that there were hundreds of young men who answered to Jack's description, and who were all indignant when they applied in response to the advertis.e.m.e.nts and found that they were not the men wanted.

And so the months had rolled on, and the "Savage" was nearly forgotten at the Club, excepting at odd times when Hetley or Dalrymple remembered how well he used to tool a team to the "Sheaves," or row stroke in a scratch eight. My friend, if you want to find out of how little importance you are in your little world, disappear for a few months, and when you come back you will find that your place has been excellently well filled, excepting in the hearts of the one or two faithful men and women who loved you.

The world went on very well without Jack, and only two or three hearts ached, really ached, at his absence--Len, honest Len, in his den in Spider Court; Lady Bell, in Park Lane; and that other tender, loving, and tortured heart in the old new house at Hurst.

Leonard often thought of that tender heart, and sighed over it as he sighed for Jack. It was still a mystery to him, their separation; he knew that Una was still at the Hurst, but that was all. No news of her ever reached him. At times he ran across Stephen in London, and exchanged a word or a bow with him, and had noticed that he was looking better and sleeker, and less pale--more flouris.h.i.+ng in fact, than he had done for some time.