A Cabinet Secret Part 14

"My dear fellow," I said, "I think nothing at all, except that the Countess is a most charming lady, and that you will doubtless live a most happy life together. I am sure I hope you may."

He looked at me queerly for a moment, and then brought his hand down with a whack upon my shoulder.

"By Jove! Do you know, I believe you have been in love with her yourself," he said. "Now own up!"

"It is very possible," I answered, feeling that my only safety lay in answering as I did. "I have been in love with her ever since I have known her, and with all due respect to you, I shall remain so after she has become Her Grace the d.u.c.h.ess of Rotherhithe. If you are jealous, you will have to forbid me the house."

He laughed uproariously, his confidence quite restored by my candour.

Then, with an a.s.surance that I had better not let him catch me flirting with her, he informed me that it was time for him to be off, as he had promised to call at Wiltshire House that afternoon.

"One last question," I said, as we walked towards the door, "and I mean it seriously. What does cousin Conrad say to the arrangement?"

"I don't know what he says in the least, and what is more I don't care,"

he replied, an angry look coming into his face. "Between ourselves, George, I don't like that young fellow. I shall take care, once I am married, that he doesn't enter my doors."

"I think you would be wise," I said, and there the matter dropped.

When he had gone, I sat myself down to consider the situation. It displeased me for more reasons than one. Rotherhithe was my old friend.

I was exceedingly fond of him, and I had no desire that his married life should prove a failure. Yet what reason had I for supposing that it would? It is true I had seen a good deal of the Countess lately, but not sufficient to be able to declare that I knew her intimately. She was a beautiful woman, an excellent hostess, the possessor of great wealth, and--though beyond her father I knew nothing of her family--evidently of gentle blood. This much was in her favour, yet there were other things which rankled in my memory, and which, had I aspired to the honour of her hand, I should have wanted explained to me. How was it that no one had ever heard of her before she appeared to dazzle all London? Was Count Reiffenburg really her cousin? Who was that mysterious foreigner who had plainly been threatening her on the morning that I had met her in the Park? And last, but not least, what was the real story of that old tramp's entrance into Wiltshire House on the night of the supposed burglary?

The most alarming question, and the most difficult of all to decide, was whether it was my duty to say anything to Rotherhithe upon the subject.

He was, in the main, an easy-going, happy-go-lucky fellow, not overburdened with brains, but in every other respect a high-minded English gentleman. Yet I knew him well enough to feel sure that in a case like this he would have been the first to resent--and, looked at from his own light, quite rightly too--any aspersion that might be thrown upon the character of the woman he loved. That he _was_ in love with her there could be no sort of doubt. One had only to look into his face to see it. But _I_ was also fond of him, and if I knew there were anything hidden from him which he ought to know, was it not my duty, as his friend, to risk his anger, and the possible rupture of our friendship, in order to make him acquainted with it?

For the remainder of the day I debated this question seriously with myself, but try how I would I was quite unable to arrive at a satisfactory decision regarding it. This much, however, I _did_ do--common politeness demanded it of me: I sat down and wrote a note of congratulation to the Countess. Though I knew in my heart it was a somewhat traitorous proceeding, yet, when the note had been despatched, I must confess I felt easier in my mind. A twinge of conscience, however, still remained to plague me. If only I had not taken the walk that night, or if only I had been too late to see the old man enter the house, I should have been able to regard the whole affair, if not with pleasure, at least with a measure of equanimity. Now, however, it was otherwise.

Next morning a charming little note arrived from the Countess, thanking me for my good wishes, and referring to herself as one of the most fortunate women in the world. As a letter it was delightful; as an expression of the writer's true feelings, well--I was not quite so satisfied as to its genuineness. Charming though the lady undeniably was, and sympathetic to an eminent degree, I found it extremely difficult to imagine her in love. If by chance she were so, however, Rotherhithe was certainly the last man whom it would have been with. The news of his engagement had caused quite a stir, even at that time of almost daily sensations, in the fashionable world. In consequence of it, however, those who had hitherto been inclined to hold a little aloof from her, as one whose antecedents were not sufficiently well known to warrant the intimacy, now that the Duke had, so to speak, stood sponsor for her, were prepared to admit her into their inmost circle.

As for Rotherhithe he conducted himself like an amiable lunatic, frequented Wiltshire House to an extent that almost bordered on the indecent, and was making plans for the future with the impetuous recklessness of a fifteen-year-old schoolboy. His beautiful home in the Midlands was to be prepared for occupation, a new yacht was to be built that would be the finest of her kind, while Rotherhithe House, in London, was to be refurnished and decorated throughout. Altogether, as somebody said, the Duke's love-affair would be likely to prove the costliest hobby he had indulged in since his majority. But as I have said before, if he desired to marry the Countess, and was convinced that his happiness lay in that direction, it was no business of mine to contradict him.

From the tone I have adopted in speaking of this matter it may be surmised that I was jealous of Rotherhithe's success. Allow me to a.s.sure you, most emphatically, that such was not the case. I am quite prepared to admit that I admired the Countess, as not only a beautiful, but also an exceedingly clever woman. As I have once or twice remarked, however, I am a confirmed bachelor, and I do not think it would be in the power of the fairest daughter of Eve to induce me to change my state.

It was in this frame of mind that I entered the portals of Wiltshire House on the evening of the Countess's dinner. In some ways my interest had departed from it. I was merely a looker-on at a game which was being extremely well played, and, knowing something of the rules by which it is governed, I was able to appreciate the importance of the various moves, while being in no way dependent upon their skill.

The Countess, looking like the Queen of Beauty, received me in the drawing-room. Rotherhithe had already arrived, and, as was plainly to be seen, was ensconced on the summit of happiness.

"I am glad you should be the first to arrive," she said, as if her _fiance_ counted for nothing, "and, while I have the opportunity, I must thank you once more for your charming letter, and for the kindly sentiments it expressed."

"It was awfully nice of you, by Jove!" put in the Duke, and then added with boyish _navete_: "Manderville always knows how to do and say the right thing. He's a past master of tact."

I happened to be looking at the Countess's face as he said it, and if--as I feel sure I did--I read it correctly, it spoke volumes.

"She does not care about him an atom," I said to myself; and then I added, "if that's so, G.o.d help my poor old friend!"

A few moments later, when we were nearly at the end of our stock of commonplaces, the other guests arrived. So far as they were concerned, the dinner was likely to prove a success. Besides the Countess, Rotherhithe, and myself, there was Lady Deeceford, who, besides being one of the prettiest women in England, is also one of the wittiest; Deeceford himself, who had just returned from the Pamirs, and who, while being one of the geographical lions of the day, was also a well-informed man of the world; Montague Wordley, the dramatist, whose wit was a puzzle, even to himself; and pretty Mrs Van Hoden, the American actress, famous alike for her beauty and her talent. These, with Lady Susan Pedthorpe, whose powers are too well known to need description, completed the list.

The honour of escorting our hostess into dinner was given to me, while Rotherhithe gave his arm to Lady Deeceford; the latter's husband took Lady Susan; Wordley, Mrs Van Hoden. To attempt a description of the meal to which we sat down would be impossible; let it suffice that it was unique in every sense of the word. Looking back over a period of more years than I care to think about, I am unable to recall one entertainment that in any way equalled it. The whole thing was original from end to end. The earth seemed to have been ransacked for our delectation. The wines were of the choicest vintages, and the waiting was all that could be desired. By reason, I suppose, of what followed later, every detail of the entertainment is indelibly impressed upon my memory. I can recall the smallest items connected with it. The Countess's Southern beauty, Rotherhithe's jovial countenance, Mrs Van Hoden's rippling laugh, the perfect modulation of Lady Susan's voice, even the glitter of a splendid sapphire on one of Lady Deeceford's shapely fingers, are as deeply engraved upon my memory as if it were but yesterday. One thing, I must confess, surprised me, while at the same time it added to my pleasure. That was the absence of our hostess's cousin, Reiffenburg. Unable to account for it, I was later on induced to enquire after him.

"He has gone into the country," she replied. "He has heard of some shooting that would appear to be perfection, and he has gone to prove it. Conrad is rapidly becoming Anglicized."

"Consequently, discovering a fine day, he enquires what he shall kill,"

I put in.

"That pleasant illusion, I fear, is fast pa.s.sing away," said Deeceford from across the table. "With the abolition of bull-baiting, badger-drawing, c.o.c.k-fighting, and similar sports, the old order has changed. Fox-hunting is deteriorating before the steady advance of barbed wire; deer-hunting is declared to be an inhuman sport, while pigeon-shooting is fast becoming a purely mechanical performance, played with an inverted saucer and a spring."

The conversation drifted into another channel, and after that nothing more was said about the Count Von Reiffenburg's absence. Personally, I could not help feeling sure that the reason the Countess had advanced to account for it was far from being the correct one. As I have said elsewhere, I had long ago arrived at the conclusion that the young man entertained a more than cousinly regard for the lady; his absence from the dinner, therefore, was merely an arrangement to ensure his not meeting his more successful rival. The engagement by this time was known throughout London, so that I was only voicing a popular sentiment, at dessert, when I proposed the health and happiness of the affianced pair.

The Countess murmured her thanks, while Rotherhithe declared that it was jolly good of us to wish them luck, and, by way of adding to the general cheerfulness, hoped that we should all be as friendly after his marriage as we had been before. Then the ladies left the room.

Half an hour later we joined them in the drawing-room, where I was fortunate enough to be able to induce the Countess to play to us. She complied without hesitation, and, if the truth must be told, her music was to me the greatest pleasure I received that evening. As I listened to her, I could not help recalling that memorable afternoon when she had played to me before. After she had finished, a famous musician, then in London, and whom she had induced to come to her house, played to us superbly. To me, however, his performance was insipidity itself compared with that to which I had just listened. At a quarter to twelve the various carriages were announced, and the guests departed until only Rotherhithe and I were left.

"Well, Sir George," said the Countess, as she stood before the fire-place, one dainty hand up on the mantel-piece and a pretty foot resting upon the bra.s.s bar of the fender, "I hope I have succeeded in demonstrating to you the fact that, even at the close of the Nineteenth Century, it is possible to be original in one of the most prosaic actions of life."

"You have certainly given us a delightful proof," I answered. "When my turn arrives, I fear I shall find it difficult to equal, much less to eclipse, your effort."

"I thought nothing was impossible to a Cabinet Minister," put in Rotherhithe, who had, of course, been informed of our rivalry. "We shall look forward to seeing what you can do."

"I fear you will be disappointed in the result," I replied. "And now I must be going. Good-night, Countess. When I say that you have eclipsed even yourself to-night, I cannot pay you a greater compliment."

"Praise from Sir George Manderville is praise indeed," she quoted demurely. Then she added with gracious kindness--"Good-night."

I held out my hand to Rotherhithe, but he did not take it.

"Look here, George," he said, "if you are willing to walk home, I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll come with you. Broughams are not much in my line. If we walk we can smoke a cigar together."

I would far rather have gone home by myself, but it was impossible to put Rotherhithe off. I accordingly consented, though I knew very well what the result would be. Being anxious to leave them alone for a moment, I strolled into the hall, where Rotherhithe presently joined me.

We donned our hats and coats and set off, my shadow picking me up at the foot of the steps according to custom.

"Well, old fellow," said Rotherhithe, slipping his arm through mine after we had turned the corner, "what do you think of her? Isn't she simply perfect? Don't you think I'm the luckiest fellow on earth?"

"Three questions in one breath," I said; "how on earth do you expect me to answer them? Of course you're a lucky fellow, and of course we all envy you your happiness." Then, with an air of seriousness, I continued, "I suppose, Rotherhithe, you are quite convinced that she is the one woman in the world for you?"

"Convinced?" he replied, with a short laugh at the absurdity of the question, "of course, I am convinced. Why, my dear old chap, if I were to hunt the whole world over, I shouldn't find her equal. You've no idea how good she is. What's more, do you know, she's the soul of caution.

She's got what I lack--the business instinct."

"Indeed!" I said, for this side of the Countess's character had never been revealed to me. "So she is business-like, is she?"

"I should think she is. Why, when I spoke to her of what I thought of doing at Rotherhithe House, that is to say, of pulling a lot of it down, you know, and rebuilding it, to say nothing of redecorating and refurnishing it throughout, she wouldn't hear of it. 'Wait,' she said, 'and let us see how we like it. It will be quite time enough when we have been married a few years to think of making changes in what has served so long.'"

"A very sensible remark too," I replied. "I am glad she is not going to lead you into useless expenditure. It's no business of mine, I know, but that collet of diamonds must have cost a fortune?"

"Thirty thousand pounds," he answered. "But it's worth every penny of it to see it round her neck. She is pa.s.sionately fond of diamonds. They are the only stones she cares for."

Decidedly I began to think the Countess was a business woman. Had I aspired to the honour of her hand, she would perforce have had to be content with a single string of pearls. Collets of diamonds, costing thirty thousand pounds, are the peculiar gifts of millionaires. Now Rotherhithe, I knew, while a rich man, was far from being overburdened with money. I wished that he had not done it, though why I should have done so, it would have puzzled me to say.

When we reached my house, I invited him to accompany me inside; he would not hear of it, however.

"No," he said, "I'll be getting home now; late hours don't agree with me. But before we part, old friend, there's one thing I want to say to you. I'm going to make a rather big settlement on my wife that is to be, and I want to know if you have any objection to my putting you down as one of the trustees? If you could manage it, I should be more than grateful to you. Should anything happen to me, there is n.o.body else I know who would look after her interests so well."

I scarcely knew what answer to make. The proposal was one that did not commend itself to me for several reasons. But what objection could I raise to it? I was his friend, and presumably hers also. It would be only natural that he should ask me, and, in the ordinary course of things, it would be only natural that I should accept. For some vague reason, however, events seemed to be moving outside the ordinary course of things, so I determined not to give him an answer then.