Sir George Tressady Volume Ii Part 27

A rush of miserable worry overcame him. Ought he to be leaving her?

Then, in the darkness of the hall, he caught sight of a card lying on the table. _Her card_! Amazement made him almost dizzy, while the man at his arm explained.

"Her ladyship called just after luncheon. She thought she would have found my lady in--before she went out. But her ladyship is coming again, probably this evening, as she wished to see Lady Tressady particularly."

Tressady gave the man directions to pack for him immediately, then took the card into his study, and stood looking at it in a tumult of feeling.

Ah! let him begone--out of her way! Oh, heavenly goodness and compa.s.sion!

It seemed to him already that an angel had trodden this dark house, and that another air breathed in it.

That was his first thought. Then the rush of sore longing, of unbearable self-contempt, stirred all his worser self to life again. Had she not better after all have left him and Letty alone! What did such lives as theirs matter to her?

He ran upstairs to make his last preparations, wrote a few lines to Letty describing Mrs. Allison's plight and the errand on which he was bound, and in half an hour was at Charing Cross.

CHAPTER XX

"Did you ring, my lady?"

"Yes. Kenrick, if Lady Maxwell calls to see me to-night, you will say, please, that I am particularly engaged, and unable to receive anyone."

Letty Tressady had just come in from her river party. Dressed in a delicate gown of lace and pale green chiffon, she was standing beside her writing-table with Lady Maxwell's card in her hand. Kenrick had given it to her on her arrival, together with the message which had accompanied it, and she had taken a few minutes to think it over. As she gave the man his order, the energy of the small figure, as it half turned towards the door, the brightness of the eyes under the white veil she had just thrown back, no less than the emphasis of her tone, awakened in the butler the clear perception that neither the expected visit nor his mistress's directions were to be taken as ordinary affairs. After he left the drawing-room, Grier pa.s.sed him on the stairs. He gave her a slight signal, and the two retired to some nether region to discuss the secrets of their employers.

Meanwhile Letty, having turned on the electric light in the room, walked to the window and set it half open behind the curtain. In that way she would hear the carriage approaching, it was between eight and nine o'clock. No doubt Lady Maxwell would drive round after dinner.

Then, still holding the card lightly in her hand, she threw herself on the sofa. She was tired, but so excited that she could not rest--first, by the memory of the day that had just pa.s.sed; still more by the thought of the rebuff she was about to administer to the great lady who had affronted her. No doubt her letter had done its work. The remembrance of it tilled her with an uneasy joy. Did George know of it by now? She did not care. Lady Maxwell, of course, was coming to try and appease her, to hush it up. There had been a scene, it was to be supposed, between her and her stiff husband. Letty gloated over the dream of it. Tears, humiliation, reproaches, she meted them all out in plenty to the woman she hated. Nor would things end there. Why, London was full of gossip!

Harding's paragraph--for of course it was Harding's--had secured that.

How clever of him! Not a name!--not a thing that could be taken hold of!--yet so clear. Well!--if she, Letty, was to be trampled on and set aside, at any rate other people should suffer too.

So George had gone off to France, leaving her alone, without "Good-bye."

She did not believe a word of his excuse; and, if it were true, it was only another outrage that he should have thought twice of such a matter at such a crisis. But it was probably a mere device of his and _hers_--she would find out for what.

Her state of tension was too great to allow her to stay in the same place for more than a few minutes. She got up, and went to the gla.s.s before the mantelpiece. Taking out the pins that held her large Gainsborough hat, she arranged her hair with her hands, putting the curls of the fringe in their right place, fastening up some stray ends. She had given orders, as we have seen, to admit no one, and was presumably going to bed.

Nevertheless, her behaviour was instinctively the behaviour of one who expects a guest.

When, more or less to her satisfaction, she had restored the symmetry of the little curled and crimped head, she took her face between her hands, and stared at her own reflection. Memories of the party she had just left, of the hot river, the slowly filling locks, the revelry, the champagne, danced in her mind, especially of a certain walk through a wood. She defiantly watched the face in the gla.s.s grow red, the eyelids quiver. Then, like the tremor from some volcanic fire far within, a shudder ran through her. She dropped her head on her hands. She hated--_hated_ him! Was it to-morrow evening she had told him he might come? She would go down to Ferth.

Wheels in the quiet street! Letty flew to the window like an excited child, her green and white twinkling through the room.

A brougham, and a tall figure in black stepping slowly out of it. Letty sheltered herself behind a curtain, held her breath, and listened.

Presently her lower lip dropped a little. What was Kenrick about? The front door had closed, and Lady Maxwell had not re-entered her carriage.

She opened the drawing-room door with care, and was stooping over the banisters when she saw Kenrick on the stairs. He seemed to be coming from the direction of George's study.

"What have you been doing?" she asked him in a hard under-voice, looking at him angrily. "I told you not to let Lady Maxwell in."

"I told her, my lady, that you were engaged and could see no one. Then her ladyship asked if she might write a few lines to you and send them up, asking when you would be able to see her. So I showed her into Sir George's study, my lady, and she is writing at Sir George's desk."

"You should have done nothing of the sort," said Letty, sharply. "What is that letter?"

She took it from his hand before the butler, somewhat bewildered by the responsibilities of his position, could explain that he had just found it in the letterbox, where it might have been lying some little time, as he had heard no knock.

She let him go downstairs again, to await Lady Maxwell's exit, and herself ran back to read her letter, her heart beating, for the address of the sender was on the envelope.

When she had finished she threw it down, half suffocating.

"So I am to be lectured and preached to besides. Good heavens! In his lofty manner, I suppose, that people talk of. Prig--odious, insufferable prig! So I have mistaken George, have I? My own husband!

And insulted her--_her_! And she is actually downstairs, writing to me, in my own house!"

She locked her hands, and began stormily to pace the room again. The image of her rival, only a few feet from her, bending over George's table, worked in her with poisonous force. Suddenly she swept to the bell and rang it. A door opened downstairs. She ran to the landing.

"Kenrick!"

"Yes, my lady." She heard a pause, and the soft rustle of a dress.

"Tell Lady Maxwell, please"--she struggled hard for the right, the dignified tone--"that if it is not too late for her to stay, I am now able to see her."

She hurried back into the drawing-room and waited. _Would_ she come?

Letty's whole being was now throbbing with one mad desire. If Kenrick let her go!

But steps approached; the door was thrown open.

Marcella Maxwell came in timidly, very pale, the dark eyes shrinking from the sudden light of the drawing-room. She was bareheaded, and wore a long cloak of black lace over her white evening dress. Letty's flash of thought as she saw her was twofold: first, hatred of her beauty, then triumph in the evident nervousness with which her visitor approached her.

Without making the slightest change of position, the mistress of the house spoke first.

"Will you please tell me," she said, in her sharpest, thinnest voice, "to what I owe the honour of this visit?"

Marcella paused half-way towards her hostess.

"I read your letter to my husband," she said quietly, though her voice shook, "and I thought you would hardly refuse to let me speak to you about it."

"Then perhaps you will sit down," said Letty, in the same voice; and she seated herself.

If she had wished to heighten the effect of her reception by these small discourtesies she did not succeed. Rather, Marcella's self-possession returned under them. She looked round simply for a chair, brought one forward within speaking distance of her companion, moving once more, in her thin, tall grace, with all that unconscious dignity Letty had so often envied and admired from a distance.

But neither dignity nor grace made any bar to the emotion that filled her. She bent forward, clasping her hands on her knee.

"Your letter to my husband made me so unhappy--that I could not help coming," she said, in a tone that was all entreaty, all humbleness.

"Not--of course--that it seemed to either of us a true or just account of what had happened"--she drew herself up gently--"but it made me realise--though indeed I had realised it before I read it--that in my friendship with your husband I had been forgetting--forgetting those things--one ought to remember most. You will let me put things, won't you, in my own way, as they seem to me? At Castle Luton Sir George attracted me very much. The pleasure of talking to him there first made me wish to try and alter some of his views--to bring him across my poor people--to introduce him to our friends. Then, somehow, a special bond grew up between him and me with regard to this particular struggle in which my husband and I"--she dropped her eyes that she might not see Letty's heated face--"have been so keenly interested. But what I ought to have felt--from the very first--was, that there could be, there ought to have been, something else added. Married people "--she spoke hurriedly, her breath rising and falling--"are not two, but one--and my first step should have been to come--and--and ask you to let me know you too--to find out what your feelings were, whether you wished for a friendship--that--that I had perhaps no right to offer to Sir George alone. I have been looking into my own heart"--her voice trembled again--"and I see that fault, that great fault. To be excluded myself from any strong friendship my husband might make, would be agony to me!"

The frank, sudden pa.s.sion of her lifted eyes sent a thrill even through Letty's fierce and hardly, kept silence. "And that I wanted to say to you, first of all. I wronged my own conception of what marriage should be, and you were quite, quite right to be angry!"

"Well, I think it's quite clear, isn't it, that you forgot from the beginning George had a wife?" cried Letty, in her most insulting voice.

"That certainly can't be denied. Anybody could see that at Castle Luton!"

Marcella looked at her in perplexity. What could suggest to her how to say the right word, touch the right chord? Would she be able to do more than satisfy her own conscience and then go, leaving this strange little fury to make what use she pleased of her visit and her avowals?