The King's Men Part 10

He entered before her, and threw open the door of the main room. The place was made cheery and comfortable by a blazing wood-fire on the great iron dogs, and a round copper kettle singing and steaming on one side of the hearth.

The lady entered and stood by the table, glancing keenly at every feature. In brief s.p.a.ce she had taken an inventory of the room. Old Reynolds pa.s.sed her and opened a side door which let in a flood of cool air from the field where she had been a few minutes before. The old man stood at the door a moment, watching the cliff path for his master.

"We do not use this door," he said, "for the boards out there are too old to be safe."

Mrs. Carey went to the door, the upper part of which had once contained squares of gla.s.s, but was now vacant, and saw that it opened on a short hall-way about four feet deep, with an outer door, also half of gla.s.s, which was closed. Through this door-window the old man had looked toward the cliff. Outside was an old piazza, deeply shadowed by overhanging trees.

When Mrs. Carey returned to the table, her eye rested on a photograph on the top of a heap of old letters. She reached her hand for it; but hesitated, glancing at the servant.

"May I look at this?" she asked, with a sweet smile; "I know almost all Lord Brompton's friends;" and she took up the photograph.

One glance was enough; it was a woman's face, but only some pa.s.sing woman, whom no one could remember for a month. With a slight smile, she laid it down.

There was nothing more to be gathered, except by closer investigation of the tempting irregularity. She beamed on the old man as she turned to go.

"You will meet his lordship on your way to the house," he said. "He will come by the cliff path."

"Oh, no; I shall return by the lower walk, which is safer and shorter.

What is your name?"

"Reynolds, my lady."

"Good-night, Reynolds; and please do not mention my visit to any one."

"Except to his lordship--"

"No; not even to him, Reynolds. It would only pain him to know that his friends were observing his changed estate. You understand?"

"I do, my lady, but--"

"But, Reynolds, I ask you to do this for my sake," and again the smile beamed, the white hand was extended, and the subtle seductiveness of beauty had its way once more. Men are never so old, so humble, or so ignorant as to be insensible to the charm. Faithful old Reynolds took the lovely soft hand in both of his, and bent his white head and kissed it.

"Even he shall not know," he said; and the next moment she was gone--this time not across the moonlit field path to the cliff, but into the dark shadows of the woods on the other side of the lodge.

Reynolds watched her till she was lost in the gloom, and then returned to the lodge, closed the door, and started toward the cliff walk. The old man was strangely excited over this first visit of his master to "his own house," and he could not rest till he had seen the end of it.

But, before he had crossed the first field leading to the cliffs his mysterious visitor had returned to the lodge. She had changed her mind as she walked toward Ripon House, had resolved to see Geoffrey that night, let old Reynolds learn what he might, and she had returned.

She called Reynolds in a low voice once or twice; then she opened the door and entered the lodge. The place was empty. She went to the side door of Geoffrey's sitting-room through the little hallway and stepped out on the disused piazza, and from there she saw the old servant on his way to the cliffs.

She was about to follow him but she checked herself suddenly.

"No! this is unexpectedly fortunate. The fates are in my favor--so far, at least. Ah me! what will they say presently?"

Turning from the window in a softened mood, she looked at the room with a new look. She saw across the chair, which she knew was Geoffrey's, his old shooting-jacket, and she took it in her hands with a tender feeling, hardly knowing what she did. Holding it within her arms she stood with lowered head and a dreamy look in her eyes. While in this mood her glance fell on the old sword which lay on the table, still with the slip of paper tied to the hilt. She took it up and read the scroll.

Holding the jacket and the sword, she sat in Geoffrey's chair and stared into the fire, with a smile, as if half enjoying her own audacity.

In a few minutes she heard a footstep, and presently the old servant entered the outer room, which was the kitchen of the lodge. She sat still, waiting till she saw him enter and start at her appearance, and ready to smile his impressionable old soul into quietude.

But the ancient Reynolds unconsciously avoided the danger. He remained in the outer room, and she heard him clatter among dishes and throw two logs on the fire. Then he went off into another room and did not return.

Reynolds, seeing that his master had company, was busy preparing the one "spare room" of the lodge for a possible guest.

Mrs. Carey grew tired of waiting. She went to the piazza door, opened it, and looked out. Crossing the moonlit field she saw Geoffrey, and he was not alone; but she did not recognize his companion. The beautiful face was anything but beautiful just then, and the exclamation that escaped her was as fierce as the stamp of her foot on the bare floor.

The two men were so close to the house that she could not escape by the front door, and she did not know any other way. Could she instantly find Reynolds she would then have asked him to conceal her till she could get away unseen. But Reynolds did not appear.

It was a terrible moment for Mrs. Carey. Discovery in such a place and at such a time was an appalling thought. Even with Geoffrey alone she would hardly have known how to meet the first surprised glance; but with another, and whom she knew not, the idea was intolerable, impossible.

The men came on slowly; she heard their voices as they pa.s.sed near the window. Then she recognized Geoffrey's companion, and could she have leaped from the piazza and fled, she would have done so.

Of all the men she knew, the only man she feared, or perhaps respected, was Sir John Dacre. She did not understand him, while he seemed to read her very soul. His presence robbed her of self-confidence, and made her contemptibly conscious of her frivolity, or worse. He was like a touchstone to her--and she never cared to be tested.

As the outer door opened and Geoffrey and Dacre entered the kitchen of the lodge, Mrs. Oswald Carey stepped into the little pa.s.sage opening on the veranda. She gently lifted the latch of the outer door, but kept the door closed. She carefully closed the inner door and crouched below the opening. If discovered by Geoffrey she would confess that fear of Dacre's presence had made her do this thing.

The conversation of the friends had been earnest, it was clear; and before they had been in the room five minutes Mrs. Carey's fears had given way to her curiosity, and instead of shrinking from the door she raised herself to a kneeling position, so as to be near the opening, and listened with breathless attention.

"The truth is, Dacre," said Geoffrey, "that I am not sure of myself. I don't know that I have any political principles whatever."

"This is not a question of politics, Ripon," answered Dacre, almost sternly; "it is a question, it is _the_ question of the reorganization of the social life of England, which has been overturned and is in danger of being utterly destroyed."

"Well, even for that I am not particularly enlisted. It does not trouble me. Had you not told me about it, I should not have thought that anything very serious was the matter with England, except that we of the t.i.tled cla.s.s have had a tumble and are as poor as the devil. But then some other cla.s.s has--"

"Stop, Ripon! It is unworthy of you to slight the dignity of England's n.o.bility, however poor we may be."

"_We!_ Why, hang it, Dacre, do I not count myself in? And I do not speak slightingly. I fear I have no cla.s.s, and therefore no prejudices. I was too young to be a conscious aristocrat before the Revolution, and now I am too old to be a thorough Communist. But go on, Dacre, I know you have something to propose."

Even Dacre's enthusiasm cooled for a moment before the odd calmness of Geoffrey, who was, as he himself surmised, a man almost without a cla.s.s and undisturbed by the hopes, fears or prejudices of those who have one.

Dacre walked to and fro with folded arms, while Geoffrey, slipping into his old jacket, which he had been rather surprised to find wrapped round his ancestor's sword, busied himself with the kettle and a bottle he had taken from a cupboard.

"Listen, Ripon--" said Dacre.

"Hold on, hold on, mine ancient friend," said the preoccupied Geoffrey, pouring hot water on the sugar in two gla.s.ses; "there's nothing like Irish whiskey when you're talking treason."

"Ah, Geoffrey," said Dacre, sadly, as the friends clinked their gla.s.ses, "men can live treason as well as talk it."

"Is that confession or reproach?"

"Reproach, Ripon. The life you live is daily treason to your country.

You sit idly by while England descends from the heights of her renown and is clothed in the rags of the banditti who have obtained power over her."

"Banditti--who? The Republicans?"

"Republicans or Anarchists, whatever they be called; the blind and immoral mob that has been misled by wretches to destroy their motherland."

"Look here, Dacre, do you really mean to say that Republicanism is immoral and unnatural?"