Elster's Folly Part 69

Thus harmony for the hour was restored between them; and Lord Hartledon stood the dowager's loud reproaches with equanimity. In possession of the news of that darling angel's death ever since Friday night, and to have bottled it up within him till Sunday! She wondered what he thought of himself!

After all, Val had not quite "bottled it up." He had made it known to his brother-in-law, Lord Kirton, and also to Mr. Carr. Both had agreed that nothing had better be said until the christening-day was over.

But there came a reaction. When Lady Hartledon had got over her first grief, the other annoyance returned to her, and she fell again to brooding over it in a very disturbing fashion. She merited blame for this in a degree; but not so much as appears on the surface. If that idea, which she was taking up very seriously, were correct--that her husband's succession was imperilled--it would be the greatest misfortune that could happen to her in life. What had she married for but position?--rank, wealth, her t.i.tle? any earthly misfortune would be less keen than this.

Any earthly misfortune! Poor Maude!

It was a sombre dinner that evening; the news of Captain Kirton's death making it so. Besides relatives, very few guests were staying in the house; and the large and elaborate dinner-party of the previous day was reduced to a small one on this. The first to come into the drawing-room afterwards, following pretty closely on the ladies, was Mr. Carr. The dowager, who rarely paid attention to appearances, or to anything else, except her own comfort, had her feet up on a sofa, and was fast asleep; two ladies were standing in front of the fire, talking in undertones; Lady Hartledon sat on a sofa a little apart, her baby on her knee; and her sister-in-law, Lady Kirton, a fragile and rather cross-looking young woman, who looked as if a breath would blow her away, was standing over her, studying the infant's face. The latter lady moved away and joined the group at the fire as Mr. Carr approached Lady Hartledon.

"You have your little charge here, I see!"

"Please excuse it; I meant to have sent him away before any of you came up," she said, quite pleadingly. "Sarah took upon herself to proclaim aloud that his eyes were not straight, and I could not help having him brought down to refute her words. Not straight, indeed! She's only envious of him."

Sarah was Lady Kirton. Mr. Carr smiled.

"She has no children herself. I think you might be proud of your G.o.dson, Mr. Carr. But he ought not to have been here to receive you, for all that."

"I have come up soon to say good-bye, Lady Hartledon. In ten minutes I must be gone."

"In all this snow! What a night to travel in!"

"Necessity has no law. So, sir, you'd imprison my finger, would you!"

He had touched the child's hand, and in a moment it was clasped round his finger. Lady Hartledon laughed.

"Lady Kirton--the most superst.i.tious woman in the world--would say that was an omen: you are destined to be his friend through life."

"As I will be," said the barrister, his tone more earnest than the occasion seemed to call for.

Lady Hartledon, with a graciousness she was little in the habit of showing to Mr. Carr, made room for him beside her, and he sat down. The baby lay on his back, his wide-open eyes looking upwards, good as gold.

"How quiet he is! How he stares!" reiterated the barrister, who did not understand much about babies, except for a shadowy idea that they lived in a state of crying for the first six months.

"He is the best child in the world; every one says so," she returned.

"He is not the least--Hey-day! what do you mean by contradicting mamma like that? Behave yourself, sir."

For the infant, as if to deny his goodness, set up a sudden cry. Mr. Carr laughed. He put down his finger again, and the little fingers clasped round it, and the cry ceased.

"He does not like to lose his friend, you see, Lady Hartledon."

"I wish you would be my friend as well as his," she rejoined; and the low meaning tones struck on Mr. Carr's ear.

"I trust I am your friend," he answered.

She was still for a few moments; her pale beautiful face inclining towards the child's; her large dark eyes bent upon him. She turned them on Mr. Carr.

"This has been a sad day."

"Yes, for you. It is grievous to lose a brother."

"And to lose him without the opportunity of a last look, a last farewell.

Robert was my best and favourite brother. But the day has been marked as unhappy for other causes than that."

Was it an uncomfortable prevision of what was coming that caused Mr. Carr not to answer her? He talked to the unconscious baby, and played with its cheeks.

"What secret is this that you and my husband have between you, Mr. Carr?"

she asked abruptly.

He ceased his laughing with the baby, said something about its soft face, was altogether easy and careless in his manner, and then answered in half-jesting tones:

"Which one, Lady Hartledon?"

"Which one! Have you more than one?" she continued, taking the words literally.

"We might count up half-a-dozen, I daresay. I cannot tell you how many things I have not confided to him. We are quite--"

"I mean the secret that affects _him_" she interrupted, in aggrieved tones, feeling that Mr. Carr was playing with her.

"There is some dread upon him that's wearing him to a shadow, poisoning his happiness, making his days and nights one long restlessness. Do you think it right to keep it from me, Mr. Carr? Is it what you and he are both doing--and are in league with each other to do?"

"_I_ am not keeping any secret from you, Lady Hartledon."

"You know you are. Nonsense! Do you think I have forgotten that evening that was the beginning of it, when a tall strange man dressed as a clergyman, came here, and you both were shut up with him for I can't tell how long, and Lord Hartledon came out from it looking like a ghost? You and he both misled me, causing me to believe that the Ashtons were entering an action against him for breach of promise; laying the damages at ten thousand pounds. I mean _that_ secret, Mr. Carr," she added with emphasis. "The same man was here on Friday night again; and when you came to the house afterwards, you and Lord Hartledon sat up until nearly daylight."

Mr. Carr, who had his eyes on the exacting baby, shook his head, and intimated that he was really unable to understand her.

"When you are in town he is always at your chambers; when you are away he receives long letters from you that I may not read."

"Yes, we have been on terms of close friendship for years. And Lord Hartledon is an idle man, you know, and looks me up."

"He said you were arranging some business for him last autumn."

"Last autumn? Let me see. Yes, I think I was."

"Mr. Carr, is it of any use playing with me? Do you think it right or kind to do so?"

His manner changed at once; he turned to her with eyes as earnest as her own.

"Lady Hartledon, I would tell you anything that I could and ought to tell you. That your husband has been engaged in some complicated business, which I have been--which I have taken upon myself to arrange for him, is very true. I know that he does not wish it mentioned, and therefore my lips are sealed: but it is as well you did not know it, for it would give you no satisfaction."

"Does it involve anything very frightful?"

"It might involve the--the loss of a large sum of money," he answered, making the best reply he could.

Lady Hartledon sank her voice to a whisper. "Does it involve the possible loss of his t.i.tle?--of Hartledon?"

"No," said Mr. Carr, looking at her with surprise.

"You are sure?"