CHAPTER XXII

DEVELOPMENTS

After the encounter with O'Hara, whatever peace of mind Richard had had,

left him. He knew not a moment's quiet; all day, and sometimes all

night, his brain worried round and round the everlasting question: John

or Lavinia? He had quite decided that it must be either the one or the

other; the idea that he might conceivably retain his wife _and_ confess

the truth, never occurred to him. So often had Lavinia assured him that

he had no right to expect her to share his disgrace, that now he

believed it. He thought that she would elope with Lovelace, whom, his

tortured mind decided, she really loved. Any attempt to frustrate such

an action would, he supposed wretchedly, be the essence of selfishness.

Of course he was not himself, and his brain was not working normally or

rationally; had he but known it, he was mentally ill, and if Lavinia had

thought to examine him closely she could not have failed to observe the

fever spots on each cheek, the unnaturally bright eyes and the dark

rings encircling them. Richard wore the look of one goaded beyond

endurance, and utterly tired and overwrought. As he told Mrs. Fanshawe,

when she exclaimed at his appearance--he could not rest; he must always

be moving, thinking. She saw that he was not entirely himself, and

counselled him to consult a doctor. His half-angry repudiation of all

illness did not surprise her, but she was considerably startled when, in

answer to her pleading that he should have a care for himself, he

vehemently said: "If I could die, I should be glad!" She wondered what

his wife was about not to see his condition, and wished that she might

do something. But she was not acquainted with Lady Lavinia, and she

felt it would be a piece of gross presumption on her part to speak to

her of Richard. If she had thought his malady to be physical, she

reflected, she might venture a word, but as she perceived it to be

mental, she could only hope that it would pass in time, and that he

would recover from his run-down condition.

Lady Lavinia was pursuing her butterfly existence, heeding nothing but

her own pleasure, bent on enjoying herself. She succeeded very well, on

the whole, but she could not help wishing that Dicky were a little more

cheerful and wishful to join in her gaiety. Of late he was worse than

ever, and although he supplied her wants uncomplainingly, she would

almost rather he had refused her and shown a little life, than give way

to her with this dreadful apathy.

Lovelace was out of town for a week, and Lavinia was surprised to find

how little she missed him. To be sure, playing with fire was very

pleasant, but when it was removed out of her reach, it really made no

odds. She missed Harry's adulation and his passionate love-making, for

she was one of those women who must always have admiration and

excitement, but she was not made miserable by his absence. She continued

to flutter round to all the entertainments of the season with one or

other of her brothers, and when Lovelace returned he was disturbed by

her casual welcome. However, she was undoubtedly pleased to see him, and

soon fell more or less under his spell, allowing him to be by her side

when Tracy was not near, and to charm her ears with compliments and

gallantry.

To do him justice, Captain Harold was really in love with her and was

quite ready to relinquish his commission if only she would run away with

him. He had private means of his own, and promised her that her every

whim should be satisfied. But Lavinia scolded him and shook her head.

Apart from any ulterior consideration, Richard was, after all, her

husband; he, too, loved her, and she was very, very fond of him,

although she did plague him dreadfully.

Lovelace assured her that her husband did not love her nearly as much as

he, and when she smiled her disbelief, lost his temper and cried that

all the town knew Carstares to be at Mrs. Fanshawe's feet!

Lavinia stiffened.

"Harold!"

"I am only surprised that you have been blind to it," he continued.

"Where do you think he goes every day for so long? White's? No. To 16,

Mount Street! Stapely called there and met him; another day Lady

Davenant saw him with her; Wilding has also met him at her house. He

spends nearly every afternoon with her!"

Lavinia was a Belmanoir, and she had all the Belmanoir pride. Rising to

her feet she drew her cloak about her with her most queenly air.

"You forget yourself, Harold," she said haughtily. "Never dare to speak

to me of my husband again in that tone! You may take me at once to my

brother."

He was very penitent, wording his apology most cleverly, smoothing her

ruffled plumage, withdrawing his words, but at the same time contriving

to leave their sting behind. She forgave him, yes, but he must never

offend her so again.

Although she had indignantly refused to believe the scandal, it

nevertheless rankled, and she found herself watching her husband with

jealous eyes, noticing his seeming indifference towards her and his

many absences from home. Then came a day when she caused her chair to be

borne down Mount Street at the very moment when Richard was coming out

of No. 16.

That was enough for Lavinia. So he was indeed tired of her! He loved

another woman!--some wretched widow! For the first time a real worry

plagued her. She stayed at home that evening and exerted all her arts to

captivate her husband. But Richard, seeing John unhappy, reproachful,

every way he turned, his head on fire, his brain seething with

conflicting arguments, hardly noticed her, and as soon as he might

politely do so, left her, to pace up and down the library floor, trying

to make up his mind what to do.

Lady Lavinia was stricken with horror. She had sickened him by her

megrims, as Tracy had prophesied she would! He no longer cared for her!

_This_ was why he continually excused himself from accompanying her when

she went out! For once in her life she faced facts, and the prospect

alarmed her. If it was not already too late, she must try to win back

his love, and to do this she realised she must cease to tease him for

money, and also cease to snap at him whenever she felt at all out of

sorts. She must charm him back to her. She had no idea how much she

cared for him until now that she thought he did not care for her. It was

dreadful: she had always been so sure of Dicky! Whatever she did,

however exasperating she might be, he would always adore her.

And all the time, Richard, far from making love to Mrs. Fanshawe, was

hearing anecdotes of his brother from her, little details of his

appearance, things he had said. He drank in all the information,

clutching eagerly at each fresh scrap of gossip, greedy to hear it if it

in any way concerned John. His brain was absorbed with this one

subject, and he never saw when Lavinia smiled upon him, nor did he seem

to hear her coaxing speeches. When she remarked, as she presently did,

on his pallor, he almost snapped at her, and left the room. Once she put

her arms about him and kissed him on the lips; he put her gently aside,

too worried to respond to the caress, but, had she known it--grateful

for it.

His Grace of Andover meeting his sister at Ranelagh Gardens, thought her

face looked pinched, and her eyes unhappy. He inquired the reason, but

Lady Lavinia refused to confide even in him, and pleaded a headache.

Andover, knowing her, imagined that she had been refused some kickshaw,

and thought no more about it.

He himself was very busy. Only two days before a groom had presented

himself at St. James's Square, bearing a missive from Harper, very

illegible and ill-spelt, but to the point:

"YR. GRACE,

"I have took the liberty of engageing this Man, Douglas, in Yr. Name. I

hope I shall soon be Able to have carrid out the Rest of yr. Grace's

Instructions, and trust my Connduct will met with Yr. Grace's Approvall.

Very Obed'tly,

M. HARPER."

* * * * *

Tracy confirmed the engagement and straightway dispatched the man to

Andover, where the head groom would undoubtedly find work for him to do.

He was amused at the blind way in which the man had walked into his

trap, and meditated cynically on the frailty of human nature, which

will always follow the great god Mammon.

Not three days later came another letter, this time from Mr. Beauleigh,

addressed to him at White's, under the name of Sir Hugh Grandison. It

asked for the man Harper's character.

His Grace of Andover answered it in the library of his own home, and

smiled sarcastically as he wrote Harper down "exceeding honest and

trustworthy, as I have always found."

He was in the middle of the letter when the door was unceremoniously

pushed open and Andrew lounged into the room.

His Grace looked up frowning. Not a whit dismayed by the coolness of his

reception, his brother kicked the door to and lowered his long limbs

into a chair.

"May I ask to what I owe the honour of this intrusion?" smiled Tracy

dangerously.

"Richard," was the cheerful reply, "Richard."

"As I am not interested in either him or his affairs--"

"How truly amiable you are to-day! But I think you'll be interested in

this, 'tis so vastly mysterious."

"Indeed? What is the matter?"

"Just what I want to know!"

Tracy sighed wearily.

"Pray come to the point, Andrew--if point there be. I have no time to

waste."

"Lord! Busy? Working? God ha' mercy!" The young rake stretched his legs

out before him and cast his eyes down their shapeliness. Then he

stiffened and sat up, staring at one white-stockinged ankle.

"Now, damn and curse it! where did that come from?" he expostulated

mildly.

"Where did _what_ come from?"

"That great splash of mud on my leg. Brand new on this morning, and I've

scarce set my nose without doors. Damn it, I say! A brand new--"

"Leg?"

"Hey? What's that you say?"

"Nought. When you have quite finished your eulogy, perhaps you would

consent to tell me your errand?"

"Oh, ay!--but twenty shillings the pair! Think of it! ... Well, the

point--there is one, you see--is this: it is Richard's desire that you

honour him with your presence at Wyncham on Friday week, at three in the

afternoon exactly. To which effect he sends you this." He tossed a

letter on to the desk. "You are like to have the felicity of meeting me

there."

Tracy ripped open the packet and spread the single sheet on the desk

before him. He read it through very deliberately, turned it over, as if

in search of more, re-read it, folded it, and dropped it into the

wastebasket at his side. He then picked up his quill and dipped it in

the ink again.

"What think you?" demanded Andrew, impatiently.

His Grace wrote tranquilly on to the end of the line.

"What think I of what?"

"Why, the letter, of course! What ails the man? 'Something of great

import to impart to us,' forsooth! What means he?"

"Yes, I noticed 'twas very badly worded," commented Tracy. "I have not

the vaguest notion as to his meaning."

"But what do you make of it? Lord, Tracy, don't be such a fish! Dick is

summoning quite a party!"

"You appear to be in his confidence, my dear Andrew. Allow me to

congratulate you. No doubt we shall know more--ah--on Friday week, at

three o'clock."

"Oh, you'll go, then?"

"Quite possibly." He went on writing unconcernedly.

"And you've no idea of what 'tis about? Dick is very strange. He hardly

listens to what one has to say, and fidget--Lord!"

"Ah!"

"I think he looks ill, an' 'pon my soul, so does Lavvy! Do you suppose

there is aught amiss?"

"I really have no idea. Pray do not let me detain you."

Andrew hoisted himself out of his chair.

"Oh, I'm not staying, never fear! ... I suppose you cannot oblige me

with--say--fifty guineas?"

"I should be loth to upset your suppositions," replied his Grace

sweetly.

"You will not? Well, I didn't think you would somehow! But I wish you

might contrive to let me have it, Tracy. I've had prodigious ill-luck of

late, and the Lord knows 'tis not much I get from you! I don't want to

ask Dick again."

"I should not let the performance grow monotonous, certainly," agreed

the other. "Fifty, you said?"

"Forty-five would suffice."

"Oh, you may have it!" shrugged his Grace. "At once?"

"Blister me, but that's devilish good of you, Tracy! At once would be

convenient to _me_!"

His Grace produced a key from his vest pocket and unlocked a drawer in

the desk. From it he took a small box. He counted out fifty guineas, and

added another to the pile. Andrew stared at it.

"What's that for?" he inquired.

"The stockings," replied Tracy, with a ghost of a smile. Andrew burst

out laughing.

"That's good! Gad! but you're devilish amusing, 'pon rep. you are!" He

thanked his Grace profusely and gathering up the money, left the room.

Outside he gave vent to a low whistle of astonishment. "Tare an' ouns!

he must be monstrous well-pleased over something!" he marvelled. "I

shall awaken soon, I doubt not." He chuckled a little as he descended

the staircase, but his face was full of wonderment.

* * * * *

Lovelace called nearly every day at Wyncham House, but was always

refused admittance, as Lady Lavinia deemed it prudent not to see him.

There came a day, however, when he would not be gainsaid, and was

ushered into her drawing-room. He kissed her hands lingeringly, holding

them for a long while in his.

"Lavinia! Cruel fair one!"

She drew her hands away, not too well pleased at his intrusion.

"How silly, Harold! I cannot have you tease me every day!"

She allowed him to sit by her on the window seat, and he again possessed

himself of her hands. Did she love him? She hoped he was not going to be

foolish. Of course not. He did not believe her, and started to plead his

suit, imploring her to come away with him. In vain Lady Lavinia begged

him to be quiet; she had stirred up a blaze, and it threatened to

consume her. He was so insistent that, expecting Richard at any moment,

and terrified lest there should be a disturbance, she promised to give

him an answer next evening, at the theatre. She managed to be rid of him

in this way, and, with a relieved sigh, watched him walk down the

square. She was very fond of dear Harry, but really, he was dreadfully

tiresome at times.

She brought her tiny mirror out from her pocket and surveyed her

reflection critically, giving a tweak to one curl, and smoothing another

back. She was afraid she was looking rather old this evening, and hoped

that Richard would not think so. She glanced up at the clock, wondering

where he was; surely he should be in by now? Then she arranged a chair

invitingly, pushed a stool up to it and sat down opposite. With a sigh,

she reflected that it was an entirely new departure for her to strive to

please and captivate her husband, and she fell a-thinking of how he must

have waited on her in the old days, waiting as she was waiting

now--hoping for her arrival. Lady Lavinia was beginning to realise that

perhaps Dick's life had not been all roses with her as wife.

The door opened and Richard came into the room. Deep lines were between

his brows, but his mouth was for once set firmly. He looked sombrely

down at her, thinking how very beautiful she was.

Lady Lavinia smiled and nodded towards the chair she had prepared.

"Sit down, Dicky! I am so glad you have come! I was monstrous dull and

lonely, I assure you!"

"Were you?" he said, fidgeting with her scissors. "No, I will not sit

down. I have something to say to you, Lavinia. Something to tell you."

"Oh, _have_ you?" she asked. "Something nice, Dicky?"

"I fear you will hardly think so. I am about to make an end."

"Oh--oh, are you? Of _what_?"

"Of this--this deceitful life I am leading--have been leading. I--I--I

am going to confess the whole truth."

"Rich-ard!"

He let fall the scissors and paced restlessly away down the room.

"I--I tell you, Lavinia, I cannot endure it! I cannot! I cannot! The

thought of what John may be bearing is driving me crazy! I must speak!"

"You--you can't!" she gasped. "After seven years! Dicky, for heaven's

sake--!" The colour ebbed and flowed in her cheeks.

"I cannot continue any longer this living of a lie--I have been feeling

it more and more ever since--ever since I met--Jack--that time on the

road. And now I can no longer stand it. Everywhere I go I seem to see

him--looking at me--you don't understand--"

Lavinia cast aside her work.

"No! No! I do not! 'Pon rep., but you should have thought of this

before, Dick!"

"I know it. Nothing can excuse my cowardice--my weakness. I know all

that, but it is not too late even now to make amends. In a week they

will all know the truth."

"What--what do you mean?"

"I have requested all whom it concerns to come to Wyncham the Friday

after this."

"Good heavens! Dick, Dick, _think_!"

"I have thought. God! _how_ I have thought!"

"It is not fair to me! Oh, think of your honour--Wyncham!"

"My honour is less than nothing. 'Tis of his that I think."

She sprang up, clutching at his arm, shaking him.

"Richard, you are mad! You must not do this! You must not, I say!"

"I implore you, Lavinia, not to try to make me change my decision. It is

of no use. Nothing you can say will make any difference."

She flew into a passion, flinging away from him, her good resolutions

forgotten.

"You have no right to disgrace me! If you do it, I will never forgive

you! I won't stay with you--I--"

He broke in--this was what he had expected; he must not whine; this was

retribution.

"I know. I have faced that."

She was breathless for a moment. He knew! He had faced it! He had taken

her seriously--he always expected her to leave him! Oh, he must indeed

be tired of her, and wanted her to go! What was he saying?

"I know that you love Lovelace. I--I have known it for some time."

Lavinia sank into the nearest chair. To what depths had her folly led

her?

"I shall put no obstacle in the way of your flight, of course...."

This was dreadful! Lady Lavinia buried her face in her hands and burst

into tears. It was true then--he did not love her--he loved Mrs.

Fanshawe--_she_ was to elope. She sobbed pitifully as the full horror of

the situation struck her.

The temptation to gather her into his arms almost overmastered Richard,

but he managed to choke it down. If he allowed himself to kiss her, she

would try to break his resolution--mayhap, she would succeed. So he

looked away from her, tortured by the sound of her crying.

Lavinia wept on, longing to feel his arms about her, ready to consent to

anything if only he would show that he loved her. But when he made no

movement towards her, pride came back, and flicking her handkerchief

across her eyes, she rose to her feet.

"You are cruel!--cruel!--cruel! If you do this thing I _shall_ leave

you!"

Now surely he would say something--contradict her!

With an immense effort, Richard controlled himself.

"I am--sorry--Lavinia," he said in a queer, constrained voice.

It was of no avail. She had killed his love, and he was longing to be

rid of her. She walked to the door, and turned.

"I see that you do not love me," she said, with deadly calmness. "I

understand perfectly." Then, as she wrenched the handle round: "I hate

you!" she cried, and fled, her silken skirts rustling furiously down the

corridor. A door slammed in the distance, and there was silence.

Carstares stood very still, staring down at her crumpled broidery.

Presently he stooped to pick it up, and her violet scent was wafted up

to him. He carried it to his lips, passionately.

If Lavinia had been able to see him, it would have changed the whole

state of affairs; as it was she locked herself into her room and

continued her cry in private. When she had no more tears to shed, she

sat up and tried to think that she wanted to elope. Harold would be very

good to her, she was sure, and she would doubtless lead a very exciting

life, but--somehow the more she thought of it, the less she wanted to

elope. Then she remembered that Dicky--why had she never realised how

much she cared for him?--was in love with some horrid widow, and did not

want her to remain with him. The idea was not to be borne, she was not

going to be the unwanted wife. She would have to go away, though not

with Lovelace. Dicky should _not_ force her to elope with another man.

She would go somewhere alone--she had forgotten--she had no money. The

dowry that had been hers was spent years ago. She was utterly dependent

on her husband. That settled it: she _must_ elope with Harry!

"Oh, was anyone ever so beset!" she sobbed as her misery swept in upon

her with full force. "Why should I run away if I don't want to?"