The House of Whispers Part 30

"You told him nothing?"

"I told him nothing," declared Flockart--which was a fact.

"Did he express a wish to see me?" she inquired.

"Of course he did. Is he not over head and ears in love with you? He believes you have treated him cruelly."

"I--I know I have, Mr. Flockart," she admitted. "But I acted as any girl of honour would have done. I was compelled to take upon myself a great disgrace, and on doing so I released him from his promise to me."

"Most honourable!" the man declared with a pretence of admiration, yet underlying it all was a craftiness that surely was unsurpa.s.sed. That visit of his to Northamptons.h.i.+re was made with some ulterior motive, yet what it was the girl was unable to discover. She would surely have been cleverer than most people had she been able to discern the hidden, sinister motives of James Flockart. The truth was that he had not seen Murie, and the story of his anxiety he had only concocted on the spur of the moment.

"Walter asked me to give you a message," he went on. "He asked me to urge you to return to Glencardine, and to withdraw that letter you wrote him before your departure."

"To return to Glencardine!" she repeated, staring into his face. "Walter wishes me to do that! Why?"

"Because he loves you. Because he will intercede with your father on your behalf."

"My father will hear nothing in my favour until--" and she paused.

"Until what?"

"Until I tell him the whole truth."

"That you will never do," remarked Flockart quickly.

"Ah! there you're mistaken," she responded. "In all probability I shall."

"Then, before you do so, pray weigh carefully the dire results," he urged in a changed tone.

"Oh, I've already done that long ago," she said. "I know that I am in your hands, utterly and irretrievably, Mr. Flockart, and the only way I can regain my freedom is by boldly telling the truth."

"You must never do that! By Heaven, you shall not!" he cried, looking fiercely into her clear eyes.

"I know! I'm quite well aware of your att.i.tude towards me. The claws cannot be entirely concealed in the cat's paw, you know;" and she laughed bitterly into his face.

The corners of the man's mouth hardened. He was about to speak and show himself in his true colours; but by dint of great self-control he managed to smile and exclaim, "Then you will take no heed of these wishes of the man who loves you so dearly, of the man who is still your best and most devoted friend? You prefer to remain here, and wear out your young life with vain regrets and shattered affections. Come, Gabrielle, do be sensible."

The girl did not speak for several moments. "Does Walter really wish me to return?" she asked, looking straight at him, as though trying to discern whether he was really speaking the truth.

"Yes. He expressed to me a strong wish that you should either return to Glencardine or go and live at Park Street."

"He wishes to see me?"

"Of course. It would perhaps be better if you met him first, either down here or in London. Why should you two not be happy?" he went on. "I know it is my fault you are consigned to this dismal life, and that you and Walter are parted; but, believe me, Gabrielle, I am at this moment endeavouring to bring you together again, and to reinstate you in Sir Henry's good graces. He is longing for you to return. When I saw him last at Glencardine he told me that Monsieur Goslin was not so clever at typing or in grasping his meaning as you are, and he is only awaiting your return."

"That may be so," answered the girl in a slow, distinct voice; "but perhaps you'll tell me, Mr. Flockart, the reason you evinced such an unwonted curiosity in my father's affairs?"

"My dear girl," laughed the man, "surely that isn't a fair question. I had certain reasons of my own."

"Yes; a.s.sisted by Lady Heyburn, you thought that you could make money by obtaining knowledge of my father's secrets. Oh yes, I know--I know more than you have ever imagined," declared the girl boldly. "You hope to get rid of Monsieur Goslin from Glencardine and reinstate me--for your own ends. I see it all."

The man bit his lip. With chagrin he recognised that he had blundered, and that she, shrewd and clever, had taken advantage of his error. He was, however, too clever to exhibit his annoyance.

"You are quite wrong in your surmise, Gabrielle," he said quickly.

"Walter Murie loves you, and loves you well. Therefore, with regret at my compulsory denunciation of yourself, I am now endeavouring to a.s.sist you."

"Thank you," she responded coldly, again turning away abruptly. "I require no a.s.sistance from a man such as yourself--a man who entrapped me, and who denounced me in order to save himself."

"You will regret these words," he declared, as she walked away in the direction of Woodnewton.

She turned upon him in fierce anger, retorting, "And perhaps you, on your part, will regret your endeavour to entrap me a second time. I have promised to speak the truth, and I shall keep my promise. I am not afraid to sacrifice my own life to save my father's honour!"

The man stood staring after her. These words of hers held him motionless. What if she flung her good name to the winds and actually carried out her threat? What if she really spoke the truth? Ay, what then?

CHAPTER XXVII

BETRAYS THE BOND

The girl hurried on, her heart filled with wonder, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears of indignation. The one thought occupying her whole mind was whether Walter really wished to see her again. Had Flockart spoken the truth? The serious face of the man she loved so well rose before her blurred vision. She had been his--his very own--until she had sent off that fateful letter.

In five minutes Flockart had again overtaken her. His att.i.tude was appealing. He urged her to at least see her lover again even if she refused to write or return to her father.

"Why do you come here to taunt me like this?" she cried, turning upon him angrily. "Once, because you were my mother's friend, I believed in you. But you deceived me, and in consequence you hold me in your power.

Were it not for that I could have spoken to my father--have told him the truth and cleared myself. He now believes that I have betrayed his business secrets, while at the same time he considers you to be his friend!"

"I am his friend, Gabrielle," the man declared.

"Why tell me such a lie?" she asked reproachfully. "Do you think I too am blind?"

"Certainly not. I give you credit for being quite as clever and as intelligent as you are dainty and charming. I----"

"Thank you!" she cried in indignation. "I require no compliments from you."

"Lady Heyburn has expressed a wish to see you," he said. "She is still in San Remo, and asked me to invite you to go down there for a few weeks. Your aunt has written her, I think, complaining that you are not very comfortable at Woodnewton."

"I have not complained. Why should Aunt Emily complain of me? You seem to be the bearer of messages from the whole of my family, Mr. Flockart."

"I am here entirely in your own interests, my dear child," he declared with that patronising air which so irritated her.

"Not entirely, I think," she said, smiling bitterly.

"I tell you, I much regret all that has happened, and----"

"You regret!" she cried fiercely. "Do you regret the end of that woman--you know whom I mean?"

Beneath her straight glance he quivered. She had referred to a subject which he fain would have buried for ever. This dainty neat-waisted girl knew a terrible secret. Was it not only too true, as Lady Heyburn had vaguely suggested a dozen times, that her mouth ought to be effectually sealed?