The Marriage of William Ashe Part 51

"No, no, _no_! Of course he'd disapprove. But then--he soon forgives a thing, if he thinks it clever. And it is clever, isn't it?--some of it.

He'd laugh--and then it would be all right. _He'd_ never pay out his enemies, but he couldn't help enjoying it if some one else did--could he?" She pleaded like a child.

"'No need to forgive them,'" murmured Darrell, as he rolled over on his back and put his hat over his eyes--"for you would have 'shot them all.'"

Under the shelter of his hat he tried to think himself clear. What _really_ were her motives? Partly, no doubt, a childish love of excitement--partly revenge? The animus against the Parhams was clear in every page. Cliffe, too, came badly out of it--a fantastic Byronic mixture of libertine and cad. Lady Kitty had better beware! As far as he knew, Cliffe had never yet been struck, with impunity to the striker.

If these precious sheets ever appeared, Ashe's position would certainly be shaken. Poor wretch!--endeavoring to pursue a serious existence, yoked to such an impish sprite as this! His own fault, after all. That first night, at Madame d'Estrees', was not her madness written in her eyes?

"Now tell me, Lady Kitty"--he roused himself to look at her with some attention--"what do you want me to do?"

"To find me a publisher, and"--she stooped towards him with a laughing shyness--"to get me some money."

"Money!"

"I've been so awfully extravagant lately," said Kitty, frankly.

"Something really will have to be done. And the book's worth some money, isn't it?"

"A good deal," said Darrell. Then he added, with emphasis--"I really can't be responsible for it in any way, Lady Kitty."

"Of course not. I will never, _never_ say I told you! But, you see, I'm not literary--I don't know in the least how to set about it. If you would just put me in communication?"

Darrell pondered. None of the well-known publishers, of course, would look at it. But there were plenty of people who would--and give Lady Kitty a large sum of money for it, too.

What part, however, could he--Darrell--play in such a transaction?

"I am bound to warn you," he said, at last, looking up, "that your husband will probably strongly disapprove this book, and that it may do him harm."

Kitty bit her lip.

"But if I tell n.o.body who wrote it--and you tell n.o.body?"

"Ashe would know at once. Everybody would know."

"William would know," his companion admitted, unwillingly. "But I don't see why anybody else should. You see, I've put myself in--I've said the most shocking things!"

Darrell replied that she would not find that device of much service to her.

"However--I can no doubt get an opinion for you."

Kitty, all delight, thanked him profusely.

"You shall have the whole of it before you go--Friday, isn't it?" she said, eagerly gathering it up.

Darrell was certainly conscious of no desire to burden himself with the horrid thing. But he was rarely able to refuse the request of a pretty and fashionable woman, and it flattered his conceit to be the sole recipient of what might very well turn out to be a political secret of some importance. Not that he meant to lay himself open to any just reproach whatever in the matter. He would show it to some fitting person--to pacify Lady Kitty--write a letter of strong protest to her afterwards--and wash his hands of it. What might happen then was not his business.

Meanwhile his inner mind was full of an acrid debate which turned entirely upon his interview with Ashe of the day before. No doubt, as an old friend, aware of Lady Kitty's excitable character, he might have felt it his duty to go straight to Ashe, _coute que coute_, and warn him of what was going on. But what encouragement had been given him to play so Quixotic a part? Why should he take any particular thought for Ashe's domestic peace, or Ashe's public place? What consideration had Ashe shown for _him_? "Tu l'as voulu, Georges Dandin!"

So it ended in his promising to take the MS. to London with him, and let Lady Kitty know the result of his inquiries. Kitty's dancing step as they returned to the house betrayed the height of her spirits.

A rumor flew round the house towards the middle of the day that Harry, the little heir, was worse. Kitty did not appear at luncheon, and the doctor was sent for. Before he came, it was known only to Margaret French that Kitty had escaped by herself from the house and could not be found. Ashe and Lady Tranmore saw the doctor, who prescribed, and would not admit that there was any cause for alarm. The heat had tried the child, and Lady Kitty--he looked round the nursery for her in some perplexity--might be quite rea.s.sured.

Margaret found her, wandering in the park--very wild and pale--told her the doctor's verdict, and brought her home. Kitty said little or nothing, and was presently persuaded to change her dress for Lord Parham's arrival. By the time the operation was over she was full as usual of smiles and chatter, with no trace apparently of the mood which had gone before.

Lord Parham found the house-party a.s.sembled on the lawn, with Kitty in a three-cornered hat, fantastically garnished at the side with a great plume of white c.o.c.k's feathers, presiding at the tea-table.

"Ah!" thought the Premier, as he approached--"now for the tare in Ashe's wheat!"

Nothing, however, could have been more gracious than Kitty's reception of him, or more effusive than his response. He took his seat beside her, a solid and impressive figure, no less closely observed by such of the habitual guests of the political country-houses as happened to be present, than by the sprinkling of local clergy and country neighbors to whom Kitty was giving tea. Lord Parham, though now in the fourth year of his Premiership, was still something of a mystery to his countrymen; while for the inner circle it was an amus.e.m.e.nt and an event that he should be seen without his wife.

For some time all went well. Kitty's manners and topics were alike beyond reproach. When presently she inquired politely as to the success of his Scottish tour, Lord Parham hoped he had not altogether disgraced himself. But, thank Heaven, it was done. Meanwhile Ashe, he supposed, had been enjoying the pursuits of a scholar and a gentleman?--lucky fellow!

"He has been reading the Bible," said Kitty, carelessly, as she handed cake. "Just now he's in the Acts. That's why, I suppose, he didn't hear the carriage. John!" She called a footman. "Tell Mr. Ashe that Lord Parham has arrived!"

The Premier opened astonished eyes.

"Does Ashe generally study the Scriptures of an afternoon?"

Kitty nodded--with her most confiding smile. "When he can. He says"--she dropped her voice to a theatrical whisper--"the Bible is such a 'd----d interesting' book!"

Lord Parham started in his seat. Ashe and some of his friends still faintly recalled, in their too familiar and public use of this particular naughty word, the lurid vocabulary of the Peel and Melbourne generation. But in a lady's mouth the effect was prodigious. Lord Grosville frowned sternly and walked away; Eddie Helston smothered a burst of laughter; the Dean, startled, broke off a conversation with a group of archaeological clergymen and came to see what he could do to keep Lady Kitty in order; while Lady Tranmore flushed deeply, and began a hasty conversation with Lady Edith Manley. Meanwhile Kitty, quite unconscious, "went on cutting"--or rather, dispensing "bread-and-b.u.t.ter"; and Lord Parham changed the subject.

"What a charming house!" he said, unwarily, waving his hand towards the Haggart mansion. He was short-sighted, and, in truth, saw only that it was big.

Kitty looked at him in wonder--a friendly and amiable wonder. She said it was very kind of him to try and spare her feelings, but, really, anybody might say what they liked of Haggart. She and William weren't responsible.

Lord Parham, rather nettled, put on his eye-gla.s.s, and, being an obstinate man, still maintained that he saw no reason at all to be dissatisfied with Haggart, from the aesthetic point of view. Kitty said nothing, but for the first time a gleam of mockery showed itself in her changing look.

Lady Tranmore, always nervously on the watch, moved forward at this point, and Lord Parham, with marked and pompous suavity, transferred his conversation to her.

Thus a.s.sured, as he thought, of a good listener, and delivered from his uncomfortable hostess, Lord Parham crossed his legs and began to talk at his ease. The guests round the various tea-tables converged, some standing and some sitting, and made a circle about the great man. About Kitty, too, who sat, equally conspicuous, dipping a biscuit in milk, and teasing her small dog with it. Lord Parham meanwhile described to Lady Tranmore--at wearisome length--the demonstrations which had attended his journey south, the railway-station crowds, addresses, and so forth. He handled the topic in a tone of jocular humility, which but slightly concealed the vast complacency beneath. Kitty's lip twitched; she fed Ponto hastily with all possible cakes.

"No one, of course, can keep any count of what he says on these occasions," resumed Lord Parham, with a gracious smile. "I hope I talked some sense--"

"Oh, but why?" said Kitty, looking up, her large fawn's eyes bent on the speaker.

"Why?" repeated Lord Parham, suddenly stiffening. "I don't follow you, Lady Kitty."

"Anybody can talk sense!" said Kitty, throwing a big bit of m.u.f.fin at Ponto's nose. "It's the other thing that's hard--isn't it?"

"Lady Kitty," said the Dean, lifting a finger, "you are plagiarizing from Mr. Pitt."

"Am I?" said Kitty. "I didn't know."

"I imagine that Mr. Pitt talked sense sometimes," said Lord Parham, shortly.

"Ah, that was when he was drunk!" said Kitty. "Then he wasn't responsible."