The Tiger Lily Part 41

Not quite. Ladies in large establishments live beneath the observation of many eyes. Valentina had no sooner begun to descend the wide stairs than a white cap was thrust out from the door of a neighbouring room, and the eyes beneath it were immediately after looking down the great staircase, while a pair of ears twitched as they listened till the front door was heard to close.

The next minute the wearer of the cap was in the bed and dressing rooms, gazing at the empty jewel-cases, noting the absence of the bag, cloak, and bonnet, even to the veil; and then came the low e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of the one word, "Well!"

The Abigail ran down the backstairs and made her way into the hall, just in time to meet the butler returning from ushering out the Conte's two friends, who had been closeted with him, consulting as to what proceedings should be taken, as there had been no appearance put in by the other side.

The butler heard the lady's-maids hurried communication, nodded sagely, and said oracularly that he wasn't a bit surprised; then coughed to clear his voice, waved the maid away, closed the baize door after her, and entered the library to repeat what he had heard.

The Conte did not even change countenance.

"Stop all tattling amongst the servants," he said. "Her ladyship is not well--a strange seizure to-day. It must be past the dinner hour."

"Yes, my lord."

"Let it be served at once."

The butler bowed, and went out solemnly.

The moment he was alone, a sharp grating sound was heard, and a strange look came over the Conte's face as he hastily opened a cabinet, took something from a drawer, and placed it in his breast pocket. Then, hurrying upstairs, he satisfied himself of the truth of all he had heard, and descended, took his hat from the stand and went out quietly, unheard, even by the servants.

Meanwhile Valentina had walked straight to the studio.

The street-door was ajar, for Keren-Happuch had just gone into the next street to post a letter at the pillar, so the closely veiled woman pa.s.sed in unseen, and went upstairs, stood for a few moments listening, and then softly entered.

She uttered a low sigh of relief, glad to have entered the place which, for the moment, felt to her like a sanctuary.

It was many hours since she had been surprised there by her husband and Lady Grayson; but to her then it seemed only a few minutes before, and she looked round the great dim room quickly, with a smile upon her lips.

But the smile froze there, and a horrible sensation of fear came over her. She had waited too long. There must have been a challenge from her husband, and Armstrong had responded. The street-door open; the studio unfastened; and this dim light! Then she was too late: he had gone. But where? Belgium? France? The thought was horrible--almost more than she could bear.

"No, no," she murmured. "It cannot be."

She advanced into the great dim place excitedly, with the many grim-looking plaster figures and busts seeming to watch her furtively out of the gloom; and as she looked quickly from side to side, she fancied that the faces were menacing and full of reproach, as if telling her that she had sent her lover to his death.

She had nearly crossed the room when she started and shrank back in horror, for one of the rugs had been kicked slightly aside, and there was a wet dark mark upon the boards which she knew at a glance to be blood--his blood, for it was here he had fallen when her husband struck him down.

With the faintest of hopes amid her despair that she might still be in time, she went on to the inner door, seized the handle, and was pressing it, but it was twisted from her fingers, the door opened, and she was about to fling herself into Armstrong's arms, but only shrank back with a look of jealous rage and despair.

For Cornel stood framed in the opening and closed the door, then looked her firmly and defiantly in the face.

Neither spoke for a full minute, and as Valentina gazed in the blanched countenance before her, she read here so stony and despairing a look, that she shrank away in horror, certain that either there was some terrible revelation awaiting her beyond the door which had been so carefully closed, or else that Cornel's eyes were confirming her worst dread, and that Armstrong had gone forth to meet his death.

It was some moments before the Contessa could command herself sufficiently to speak aloud. She wished to get from Cornel's lips the truth, and to show her how, possessed as she was of Armstrong's love, she could treat her with calm, contemptuous tolerance, as one almost beneath her notice. But the stern disdain in those large flashing eyes mastered her and kept her silent. There was a magnetism in their glance, and she felt that if she spoke it would be in a broken feeble manner, which would lower her in her rival's eyes.

She fought against it, struggled for a long time vainly, and moment by moment felt how strong in her innocence and truth her rival stood before her. It was not until she had lashed herself into a state of fury that she could force herself to speak.

"Mr. Dale--where is he?" she cried at last imperiously.

"How dare you come and ask?" said Cornel fiercely, her whole manner changed.

"Because I have a right," cried Valentina, who, stung now by her rival's words, began to recover herself. Her eyes too dilated as she went on, and something of her old hauteur and contempt flashed out.

"You!--a right?"

"Yes; the right of the woman he loves--who has given up everything for his sake."

"Loves! The woman he loves!" cried Cornel contemptuously.

"Yes, and who loves him as such a woman as I can love. Do you think that you, in your girlish coldness, could ever have won him as I have?

Tell me where he is."

"That you may join him?" cried Cornel. "You would give him over to your husband--to that horror--and his death."

"Ah!" cried Valentina excitedly; "then he has not gone yet. He is safe." And, in spite of herself, she gave way to a hysterical burst of tears.

"What is it to you?" said Cornel coldly. "He has escaped from your hands. You have no right here, woman. Go."

"I am right, then," cried the Contessa, mastering her weakness once more. "You are trying to keep us apart. He is mine, I tell you, mine for ever. He is there, then; I am not too late--there in that room.

Armstrong!" she cried loudly, "come to me. I am here."

She made for the door again, but Cornel seized her, and strove with all her might to keep the furious woman back, but she was like a child in her hands, and was rudely flung aside. Valentina thrust open the door, entered the study, and pa.s.sed through it to the chamber beyond, to utter a wild cry, and fall upon her knees beside the bed on which Armstrong lay cold and still.

Then, starting up, she bent over him, laid her hand upon his brow, her cheek against his lips, and staggered back.

"Dead!" she cried, "dead!"

For his eyes were closed, and the bandaged cut upon his brow gave him a ghastly look, seen as he was by the shaded light of a lamp upon the table by the bed's head.

She rushed back through the little room to the studio, where Cornel stood, wild-eyed, and white as the figure upon the bed.

"Wretch! you have killed him in your insane jealousy. It could not have been that blow. Tell me! confess!" she cried, seizing her by the arms.

"Better so than that he should have fallen back into your power," said Cornel bitterly.

"Ah! You own it, then? Oh, it is too horrible!"

Her face convulsed with agony, the Contessa seized Cornel by the arm, threw down the bag, which flew open, so that the jewels scattered on the floor, and tried to drag her toward the studio door, calling hoa.r.s.ely for help. But her voice rose to the ceiling, and not a sound was heard below.

But Cornel resisted now with all her might, and in the struggle which ensued wrested herself away, ran across the studio, darted through the door of the little room, dashed it to, and had time to slip the bolt before her rival flung herself against it, and then beat heavily against the panel with her hand.

Pale as ashes, and panting with excitement, Cornel stood with her left shoulder pressed against the panel, feeling the blows struck upon it through the wood, as, with her eyes fixed and strained, she felt about for the key, her hand trembling so that she could hardly turn it in the lock.

"No, no!" she muttered. "I'll die sooner than she shall touch him again."

Then she held her breath, listening, for she fancied she heard a sound in the studio above the beating on the panel, which suddenly culminated in one strangely given blow, accompanied by a wild shriek of agony, followed by a heavy fall and a piteous groan.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

HUSBAND AND WIFE.