Brooke's Daughter Part 46

"I saw him follow Miss Lesley into this room," she explained. "And I'd seen enough to make me fearful of what he was going to do or say. You know there are folding-doors between this room and the next--screened by curtains. The doors had been partly opened, and I slipped into the s.p.a.ce between them. I was covered by the curtain, and I could not hear all that was said, because I had sounds from the other room in my ears as well; but I heard a great deal, and I made up my mind to tell you there and then. If I had not seen my husband that night you would have heard my story before you slept."

Caspar Brooke's next question took her by surprise. He swung round on one heel, so that his back was almost turned to her, and flung the words over his shoulder with savage bitterness.

"What business had you to listen to my daughter's conversation with her friends?"

This was a distinctly ungrateful speech, and Mrs. Trent felt it so. But she replied, quietly--

"Miss Lesley's been kinder to me than any one I ever knew. And I had suffered a good deal from Oliver Trent's wicked falseness. He is my brother-in-law, as the law puts it, and I don't want to have any quarrel with him: but he shall do no more harm than I can help."

By the time she had finished her speech Caspar had recovered himself a little.

"You are quite right," he said, "and you have done me a service for which I thank you. I don't for a moment suppose that my daughter is not capable of taking care of herself. But other people are interested beside Lesley. Miss Kenyon's brother is one of my closest friends, and I should be very treacherous if I allowed her to marry this man, Oliver Trent, after all that I have heard about him to-night--if it be true. I don't want to throw doubt on your testimony, Mrs. Trent, but I suppose I must have some further proof."

"Miss Lesley could tell you----"

"I shall not ask Miss Lesley, unless I am obliged. Did you not yourself beg me to spare her? This other story of his heartless conduct to your sister is quite enough to d.a.m.n him in every right-minded woman's eyes. I shall speak to him myself--I will have the truth from his own lips if I have to wring it out by main force," said Caspar speaking more to himself than to Mary Trent, and quite unaware how truculent an appearance he presented at that moment to that quiet woman's eyes.

She smiled stealthily to herself. She had a great faith in Caspar Brooke's powers for good or evil. To have him upon her side made her support with equanimity the thought that she and Francis might suffer if Oliver did not marry a rich wife. _He_ would see that they did not want.

And she should behold the darling wish of her heart gratified at last.

For had she not ardently desired, ever since the day of Alice's betrayal and Alice's death, to see that false betrayer punished? Caspar Brooke would punish him, and she should be the instrument through which his punishment had come about.

"I should like to thrash the scoundrel within an inch of his life," said Mr. Brooke.

"There is very little time before the wedding, if you mean to do anything before then," said Mrs. Trent, softly.

Caspar started. "Yes, that is true. I must see him to-night. H'm"--he stopped short, oppressed by the difficulties of the situation. Had he not better speak to Maurice Kenyon at once? But, as he recollected, Maurice had gone out of town, and would not be back until half an hour or so before the hour fixed for his sister's wedding. The ceremony was to be performed at an unusually early hour--ten o'clock in the morning--for divers reasons: one being that Ethel wanted to begin her journey to Paris in very good time. She had never been anxious for a fashionable wedding, and had decided to have no formal wedding breakfast, and there was no reason for delaying the proceedings until a later hour. But, as Mr. Brooke reflected, unless he went to Ethel Kenyon herself there was little time in which to take action. Indeed, it seemed to him for a moment almost better to let the past sink into oblivion, and to hope that Oliver would be kind and faithful to the beautiful and gifted girl who was, apparently, the choice of his heart.

But it was not to Mrs. Trent's interest that this mood should last.

"Poor Miss Kenyon!" she said, in quietly regretful tones. "I'm sorry for her, poor young lady. No mother or father to look after her, and no friend even who dares to tell her the truth!"

The words stung Caspar. He thought of his own daughter Lesley, placed in Ethel's position, and he felt that he could not let Ethel go unwarned.

And yet--could he believe Oliver Trent to be such a scoundrel on the mere strength of this woman's story! It might be all a baseless slander, fabricated for the sake of obtaining money. And there was so little time before poor Ethel's wedding!

While he hesitated, Mary Trent saw her opportunity, and seized it.

"If you want to see Oliver Trent," she said, "he is coming to our lodgings this very night. I have been to Mrs. Romaine's house to ask him to come to my husband who wants a few words with him. If you'll undertake to come there, I'll let you see what sort of a man Mr. Oliver Trent is, and then you can judge for yourself whether or no he is a fit husband for Miss Kenyon, or a fit lover for Miss Lesley Brooke."

Caspar raised his hand hastily as if to entreat silence. "Tell me where you live," he said shortly, "and the hour when he will be there."

"Half-past nine o'clock this evening, sir. The place--oh, you know the place well enough: it is in Whitechapel."

She gave him the address. He cast a keen, sharp glance at her face as he took it down. "Not a pleasant neighborhood," he said gravely. "May I ask why you have taken a room in that locality?"

She shook her head. "I did not take it," she said. "My husband took it before I found him, and I was obliged to stay. Francis is ill--I cannot get him away."

"Can I do anything to help----" Caspar was beginning but she interrupted him with almost surprising vehemence.

"Oh, no, no. I would not take anything from you. I did not come for that. I came to see if I could save Miss Lesley and Miss Kenyon from misery, not to beg--either for myself or him."

The earnestness of her tone took from Mr. Brooke a certain uneasy suspicion which had begun to steal over him: a suspicion that she was using him as a tool for her own ends, that her real motives had been concealed from him. Even when she had gone--and she went without making any attempt to see Lesley or Miss Brooke--he could not rid himself altogether of this suggestion; for with her sad voice no longer echoing in his ears, with her deep-set eyes looking no longer into his face, he found it easier to doubt and to suspect than to place implicit faith in the story that she had told him.

Lesley had heard of Kingston's reappearance, and was very much surprised to find that she was not called upon to interview her runaway attendant.

Still more was she surprised when at last she heard the front door shut, and learned from Sarah that the woman had gone without a word. So much amazed was she, that shortly before dinner she stole into her father's study and attempted to cross-examine him, though with small result.

"Father, Sarah says that Kingston has been to see you."

"Yes, she has," said Caspar, briefly. He was writing away as if for dear life, with his left hand grasping his beard, and his pipe lying unfilled upon the table--two signs of dire haste, as Lesley had by this time learned to know. She remained silent, therefore, feeling herself an intruder.

"What do you want to know, my dear?" said her father at last, in a quiet, business-like tone. He went on writing all the time.

"Is she coming back to us?"

"No."

"Why did she go away?"

"I cannot tell you just now. She had a--a--fairly good reason."

"I thought she must have had that," said Lesley, brightening. "And did she come here to explain?"

"Partly."

"But why not to us?"

Caspar laid down his pen suddenly, and laughed. "Oh, the insatiable curiosity of women! I thought you were wiser than most, Lesley, but you have all the characteristics of your s.e.x. I can't satisfy your curiosity, to-day, but I will, if I can, in a short time. Will that do?"

Lesley seemed rather hurt. "I don't think I asked questions out of mere curiosity," she said. "I always liked Kingston."

"And she likes you, my dear--so far you were perfectly right," said her father, rising, and patting her on the arm. "To use your feminine parlance, she is quite as 'fond' of you as you can reasonably desire."

"I don't like to hear so much about 'feminine' ways and characteristics," said Lesley, smiling, and recovering her spirits. "I always fancy somebody has vexed you when you talk in that cynical manner."

"That remark is creditable to your penetration," said Mr. Brooke, in his accustomed tone of gentle raillery, "and, you cannot say that it is not a very harmless way of letting off steam."

"Who has vexed you then?" said Lesley, looking keenly into his face. It was a bold question, but her father did not look displeased.

"Suppose I said--you yourself?" he queried, with a certain real gravity which she was not slow to discover.

The color rushed into her face. She thought of Maurice Kenyon, and the mistake that he had made. She had long been conscious of her father's disappointment, but had not expected him to speak of it. She made an effort to be equal to the situation.

"If you are vexed with me, it would be kinder to tell me of it than to sneer at all womankind in general," she said, with spirit.

"Right you are, my girl. Well--why have you refused Kenyon?"

Her eyes drooped. "I would rather you did not ask me that, father."

"Nonsense, Lesley. A plain answer to a plain question is easy to give.

Are you in love with any one else?"