The Tigress Part 39

Carleigh found himself presently crowded into the last seat of the last car, beside the Honorable Julian.

The occupants were men exclusively, and the subject of debate was the fire's origin. This was mingled with s.n.a.t.c.hes of personal experiences.

"I fancy it started in the laundry drying-room," their host observed.

"Overheated pipes or something."

"How about crossed wires?" some one asked. "The electricity in the east wing was out of commission from the start."

"But the flames showed first in the north extension," another man contributed. "I was lying wide-awake and saw the glare from my window."

"Yes. And if it hadn't been for your wakefulness, old chap, we might every one of us have been incinerated in our beds," Archdeacon observed gratefully. "As it was, the east wing was totally cut off before we could get to it."

He turned to Carleigh. "That's where you were, you know. We did our best to reach your room, but you were hemmed in. We tried shying stones at your windows, but it was too pitchy dark to locate them. Fancy what I went through before you dropped onto the dahlia bed!"

Sir Caryll appeared far less grateful for his deliverance than was to have been expected. He wasn't sure, indeed, that he was grateful at all.

What with one romance ended and another budding one interrupted by death or disfigurement--life for him certainly was not worth the living.

"I suppose I did have a narrow squeak for it," he said.

Dawn had come, but it was a dark, indistinguishable dawn because of the heavy black clouds that shrouded it. The hall at Cross Saddle was brilliantly alight therefore when they arrived, and on the wide hearth blazed a roaring fire of great logs.

Many of the earlier arrivals had already been provided for, but there was still a waiting group, so smoke-stained and in such motley makes.h.i.+ft attire as to have t.i.tillated the risibilities of any but the most stolid British.

Sir Caryll's visage, black as a Senegambian's, was as long as the proverbial arm of coincidence. Directly he began making inquiry for the doctors in attendance on Nina, and learned with a mingling of encouragement and dismay that they had already done what they could and departed.

He ascertained also that Cecile Archdeacon was installed as nurse, a.s.sisted by Nina's own maid. But beyond these two facts he could gather nothing definite. Opinion at Cross Saddle appeared to be quite as divided as opinion at Carfen.

Sir Guy Waldron, who would be most likely to know the exact facts--if there were any exact facts to know--was already quartered, and anxious as Carleigh was he would not think of disturbing the man he had come to regard as a dangerous--and therefore hated--rival.

Lord Dalgries and his two sons were up and about, making arrangements for the refugees. Some of the guests at the hall had been awakened, too, and some not. Most of the men turned out and most of the women stayed in.

Young Nevill Dalgries, a chap about Carleigh's own age, who had been to school with him, had seen Mrs. Darling when she was carried in, and he didn't mind telling Caryll that at that moment he wouldn't have wagered tuppence on her life. But he had later been present when Dr. Dodson talked with his father about her, and--

"The M. D. seemed to think she'd pull through. He'll be over again in the forenoon. He said she was as comfortable as could be expected under the circ.u.mstances."

"They always say that," returned Carleigh, attempting to wipe out betraying signs of his emotion and leaving a gray-white streak across the black of either cheek. "They fill 'em with opium or something."

Nevertheless, he felt in a measure relieved. If it was as speculative as all the rest, it was, nevertheless, the speculation of authority and not the mere guesswork of indifferent optimistic or pessimistic lay minds.

Still he hung about, talking to whomsoever would talk of the one topic that engaged him until about all the rest had been led off to sleeping places.

Then finally, with Nevill Dalgries for guide, he followed to where a bed had been set up for him in one of the nurseries.

And there he lay awake, his brain teeming, until one of the footmen came to him at a little after eight. Then he raised himself on one elbow and asked whether the footman had heard how Mrs. Darling was.

"Mrs. Darling is very bad, sir," was the answer.

"But she was distinctly better when I turned in," Carleigh offered protest.

"Yes, sir; I dare say, sir. But she's very bad this morning, sir. Her maid was in the servants' hall not ten minutes ago, sir."

"And she said she was worse?"

"Oh, yes, sir. Very much worse, sir."

Sir Caryll let a long sigh escape him. He couldn't help it. The footman heard it and drew a conclusion or two.

"They're likely to be worse in the morning, you know, sir. I had an aunt once--begging your pardon, sir--that was burned most 'orribly. She was always worse in the morning, sir."

"And she recovered--in the end?" asked the baronet anxiously.

"No, sir. Not at all, sir. She died at last, sir. In the morning, just about this time, sir."

Carleigh dropped back on his pillow, and the footman, taking the action as a signal for silence, proceeded to light a fire, to fill the bath, and to lay out a very nice array of lent linen and morning garments for the guest to select from.

When he went away Carleigh got up with a curious new kind of pain about his heart and head which he was puzzled to account for.

Perhaps it was the smoke he had inhaled, or perhaps it was Mrs.

Darling's condition. He wasn't sure which. At any rate, it was very real and very distressing.

He had bathed and scrubbed very carefully, as he thought, before lying down. But the morning light revealed stains and blotches invisible by candlelight--there was no electricity at Cross Saddle--and it took him some time to remove them.

As a consequence he found, when he went down to breakfast, that nearly every one was there before him. There was a general hubbub in the room that was nigh to deafening.

Questions were flying about like buzzing insects; and then, too, there was the more or less inevitable clatter of too hurried service.

He found a place at the table, and was just dropping a lump of sugar into his tea when a most extraordinary and upsetting thing happened.

The door opened again and admitted--of all persons in the world--Miss Rosamond Veynol.

CHAPTER XIX

Fate's Fearful Ingenuity

Rosamond Veynol stopped short just inside the door and every vestige of color left her face.

Everybody remembered then, and everybody was scared. It was a tryingly dramatic moment.

Carleigh, astounded and greatly confused, half-rose in his place and bowed slightly and awkwardly. Miss Veynol bent her head without looking at him. The Countess of Cross Saddle pretended to know or notice nothing.

One man whistled under stress of the moment and then turned deeply crimson. The butler, who knew details of which all his superiors were naturally ignorant--he being a regular reader of _British Society_--let fall a m.u.f.fin cover.

And then, suddenly, everybody perceived that the only s.p.a.ce left vacant at table was the s.p.a.ce next to Carleigh, and saw with horror that one of the men who knew nothing had pushed a chair in there for the newcomer.

Miss Veynol looked waveringly about. The countess choked.