Prince Charlie Part 44

"I am sorry to say it, Mr. Chantrelle, to you; you always have behaved as a gentleman to me; but this letter," she held it out to him, "written by your sister whilst on the boat, is a tissue of lies from beginning to end. The work of a woman absolutely unfitted--in my opinion--for decent society!"

Brother and sister were on their feet in a moment. The atmosphere seemed red-hot to them. They had had unpleasant moments in their somewhat adventurous career, but this was the worst. Their hostess's words were as the lashes of a whip.

Chantrelle muttered something about breaking the laws of hospitality; a weak effort to stand up for his sister. It failed half-way. Then he abandoned her to her fate.

"Take me away, Percy," his sister gasped. "I will not stay to be further insulted."

"Miss Chantrelle has forestalled me." Mrs. Seton-Carr still spoke quietly, still retained her seat. "That is precisely what I was about to ask you to do, Mr. Chantrelle. One can lock up from a thief, but a liar--a deliberate, scheming, unscrupulous liar--there is no guarding against. Your sister, by her trickery, came near separating me from the man who loves me, the man I love. I should not forgive it in fifty lifetimes."

Miss Chantrelle made an effort to speak. Her lips moved, but for once in her life she was unable to fashion words. She was a woman who trusted to a well-oiled tongue for squeezing out of the tightest places. It failed her now; the effort ended in a gasp.

"Go and pack your things, Amy."

Her brother spoke sternly. The white-faced woman almost staggered out of the room without a word. She was terribly upset; none of us like to be found out in our little lapses.

"Read the letter, Mr. Chantrelle; I request you to. It will convince you that I am not more than necessarily bitter----"

"There is no need. Your word is sufficient."

Mr. Chantrelle bowed; had changed his tactics and was making the best of his position. His sister had led him into this; he would stand by her up to a point, but at the same time he would do what he could to save his own skin. There was no sense in needless sacrifice.

"I know you well enough, know you could only behave as you are doing with good reason," he continued. "I am heartily sorry. Amy is my sister; I am bound to remember that whatever she has done." He held out his hand. "Good-bye. I can only ask you to acquit me personally of any--but there; explanations are perhaps better left alone. Good-bye--it will be well for us not to meet again."

A note of feeling vibrated in his voice. A mere listener to the actual words would have detected no false ring in them. Would, perhaps, have admired him for the staunchness he exhibited towards his misguided sister.

But his hostess stood face to face with him, and she saw that in his eye--lack of sincerity--which discounted the ingenuousness of his speech. Still Mrs. Seton-Carr agreed with it--in substance.

"Good-bye. Yes, it is certainly better so.... My maid shall go across to the station for a porter and truck. They will be here by the time you have packed."

They were. The Chantrelles left. Journeyed to London by the train d.i.c.k had mentioned; the most crestfallen couple travelling in it.

It was the last of them.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

OUR SEAT

The Chantrelles gone, with the whistle of their departing train shrilling in her ears, Mabel sighed contentedly, gathered all there was of her together and spent a full two minutes in inspecting its reflection in the mirror.

The sound of the closing of the door on them as they left had been sweet music in her ears. The warning shriek of the engine as it started out of the station, drawing them every moment further and further away from her, was sweeter still.

Then she entered into consultation with her cook; set about ordering the most appetising little dinner she could devise. There was entailed an expenditure of anxious thought; the function was an important one. Mrs.

Seton-Carr was not a woman to despise details of that kind.

She had laughed once at a cynic's belief that, if you cannot make sure of retaining a man's love, you can, by securing the services of a good cook, make sure of his respect. Despite her laughter she was not without faith in the proverb that the road to a man's heart lies through his stomach.

The last time Prince Charlie had dined at Ivy Cottage he had not enjoyed himself; she remembered why with a little flush of shame. There was determination that he should do so this time. And she rather thought she would enjoy herself too; anyway, it would not be her fault if they failed to do so.

The shades of evening began their descent soon after half-past four o'clock. It was not too dark then for her to see her brother and Prince Charlie go by on the Parade--eastwards. The author's broad, square shoulders were unmistakable. She herself was hidden by the bedroom curtain she was behind.

They had gone in the direction of the seat. A smile found place on her face; so far all was well. Then she tried on two or three hats. Was anxious to look her best; she knew that she could talk so much better when sure of her appearance. Sadness tinged her reflection; the beauty of her millinery would be wasted in the darkness.

Then, with a sigh--she was a woman, with all a woman's belief in millinery's power--she hoped that not much talking would be needed.

Silence and a good profile were more reliable. She looked at the clock: the minutes dragged slowly.

At a quarter to five she left the cottage. Before the hour reached the end of the Parade. An east wind was blowing. As she neared the seat the odour of cigars came to her, borne on the wind from which the smokers were sheltered. Then she advanced.

"Hullo, Sis!"

d.i.c.k started to his feet as if she were an apparition, spoke in an exaggerated tone of surprise; continuing:

"Who on earth would have thought of seeing you here?"

She could have soundly boxed his ears for him--well-meaning d.i.c.k--for so overdoing it. He could not have exhibited more surprise had he thought her dropped from the clouds. Brothers really are terribly trying at times.

Perhaps it was as well for him that he slowly moved away. Apparently he evinced a judicious, if sudden, interest in moonlight conchology.

Anyway, he devoted his attention to some of the common objects of the sea-sh.o.r.e.

That d.i.c.k did move off was the essential point. She saw, with relief, that he had sense enough for that. The sound of the whistling of "Rule Britannia" gradually died away in the distance.

Masters had risen to his feet the moment his eyes fell on her. Stood there doubtful what he should do. She did not leave him in doubt long; advanced towards him, and stretching out her hand, said:

"Prince Charlie, I am--oh, I am so sorry! Please forgive me!"

It was a lame speech. She was surprised at, ashamed of, herself. She had rehea.r.s.ed what she had intended saying all the afternoon. Now it came to the point she could not remember a word.

Whatever she might think of her own words they were an immense surprise to Masters. He took her extended hand, common courtesy compelled him to that, and said gently:

"Forgive? You are surely--oh, I have nothing to forgive!"

"You have!"

She insisted with a charming insistence. Somehow her eyes got to need mopping with her handkerchief--a lace handkerchief with a singularly pretty border, by the way.

"I have b-behaved"--she mopped on--"like a wicked wretch t-to you."

Of course, with a man of Masters' temperament it was most effective; she was playing an ideal game. Some men are used to tears; come to look upon them as an unavoidable factor in their dealings with women. The author had not reached that stage: probably never would.

A woman crying, or in distress, never failed to appeal to him. Perhaps Mrs. Seton-Carr knew that. Women are very subtle; their intuition is no mythical possession. Any way, she played that handkerchief of hers for all it was worth.

Masters still stood hesitating; was genuinely anxious and full of wonder: what he ought to do. Thoughts of eau de Cologne occurred to him.

He knew women found relief in that kind of thing; but he bent over her and said:

"I beg you--oh, I beg, earnestly, you will not distress yourself."