Sir Michael invites George and me to dinner for the following evening.”
“5. My lady receives a telegraphic dispatch the next morning which summons her to London.”
“6. Alicia shows me a letter from my lady, in which she requests to be told when I and my friend, Mr. Talboys, mean to leave Essex. To this letter is subjoined a postscript, reiterating the above request.”
“7. We call at the Court, and ask to see the house. My lady’s apartments are locked.”
“8. We get at the aforesaid apartments by means of a secret passage, the existence of which is unknown to my lady. In one of the rooms we find her portrait.”
“9. George is frightened at the storm. His conduct is exceedingly strange for the rest of the evening.”
“10. George quite himself again the following morning. I propose leaving Audley Court immediately; he prefers remaining till the evening.”
“11. We go out fishing. George leaves me to go to the Court.”
“12. The last positive information I can obtain of him in Essex is at the Court, where the servant says he thinks Mr. Talboys told him he would go and look for my lady in the grounds.”
“13. I receive information about him at the station which may or may not be correct.”
“14. I hear of him positively once more at Southampton, where, according to his father-in-law, he had been for an hour on the previous night.”
“15. The telegraphic message.”
When Robert Audley had completed this brief record, which he drew up with great deliberation, and with frequent pauses for reflection, alterations and erasures, he sat for a long time contemplating the written page.
At last he read it carefully over, stopping at some of the numbered paragraphs, and marking some of them with a pencil cross; then he folded the sheet of foolscap, went over to a cabinet on the opposite side of the room, unlocked it, and placed the paper in that very pigeon-hole into which he had thrust Alicia’s letter — the pigeon-hole marked Important.
Having done this, he returned to his easy-chair by the fire, pushed away his desk, and lighted a cigar. “It’s as dark as midnight from first to last,” he said; “and the clew to the mystery must be found either at Southampton or in Essex. Be it how it may, my mind is made up. I shall first go to Audley Court, and look for George Talboys in a narrow radius.”
Chapter 14
Phoebe’s Suitor.
“Mr. George Talboys. — Any person who has met this gentleman since the 7th inst., or who possesses any information respecting him subsequent to that date, will be liberally rewarded on communicating with A.Z., 14 Chancery Lane.”
Sir Michael Audley read the above advertisement in the second column of the Times, as he sat at breakfast with my lady and Alicia two or three days after Robert’s return to town.
“Robert’s friend has not yet been heard of, then,” said the baronet, after reading the advertisement to his wife and daughter.
“As for that,” replied my lady, “I cannot help wondering that any one can be silly enough to advertise for him. The young man was evidently of a restless, roving disposition — a sort of Bamfyld Moore Carew of modern life, whom no attraction could ever keep in one spot.”
Though the advertisement appeared three successive times, the party at the Court attached very little importance to Mr. Talboys disappearance; and after this one occasion his name was never again mentioned by either Sir Michael, my lady, or Alicia.
Alicia Audley and her pretty stepmother were by no means any better friends after that quiet evening on which the young barrister had dined at the Court.
“She is a vain, frivolous, heartless little coquette,” said Alicia, addressing herself to her Newfoundland dog Caesar, who was the sole recipient of the young lady’s confidences; “she is a practiced and consummate flirt, Caesar; and not contented with setting her yellow ringlets and her silly giggle at half the men in Essex, she must needs make that stupid cousin of mine dance attendance upon her. I haven’t common patience with her.”
In proof of which last assertion Miss Alice Audley treated her stepmother with such very palpable impertinence that Sir Michael felt himself called upon to remonstrate with his only daughter.
“The poor little woman is very sensitive, you know, Alicia,” the baronet said, gravely, “and she feels your conduct most acutely.”
“I don’t believe it a bit, papa,” answered Alicia, stoutly. “You think her sensitive because she has soft little white hands, and big blue eyes with long lashes, and all manner of affected, fantastical ways, which you stupid men call fascinating. Sensitive! Why, I’ve seen her do cruel things with those slender white fingers, and laugh at the pain she inflicted. I’m very sorry, papa,” she added, softened a little by her father’s look of distress; “though she has come between us, and robbed poor Alicia of the love of that dear, generous heart, I wish I could like her for your sake; but I can’t, I can’t, and no more can Caesar. She came up to him once with her red lips apart, and her little white teeth glistening between them, and stroked his great head with her soft hand; but if I had not had hold of his collar, he would have flown at her throat and strangled her. She may bewitch every man in Essex, but she’d never make friends with my dog.”
“Your dog shall be shot,” answered Sir Michael angrily, “if his vicious temper ever endangers Lucy.”
The Newfoundland rolled his eyes slowly round in the direction of the speaker, as if he understood every word that had been said. Lady Audley happened to enter the room at this very moment, and the animal cowered down by the side of his mistress with a suppressed growl. There was something in the manner of the dog which was, if anything, more indicative of terror than of fury; incredible as it appears that Caesar should be frightened by so fragile a creature as Lucy Audley.
Amicable as was my lady’s nature, she could not live long at the Court without discovering Alicia’s dislike to her. She never alluded to it but once; then, shrugging her graceful white shoulders, she said, with a sigh:
“It seems very hard that you cannot love me, Alicia, for I have never been used to make enemies; but since it seems that it must be so, I cannot help it. If we cannot be friends, let us be neutral. You won’t try to injure me?”
“Injure you!” exclaimed Alicia; “how should I injure you?”
“You’ll not try to deprive me of your father’s affection?”
“I may not be as amiable as you are, my lady, and I may not have the same sweet smiles and pretty words for every stranger I meet, but I am not capable of a contemptible meanness; and even if I were, I think you are so secure of my father’s love, that nothing but your own act will ever deprive you of it.”
“What a severe creature you are, Alicia!” said my lady, making a little grimace. “I suppose you mean to infer by all that, that I’m deceitful. Why, I can’t help smiling at people, and speaking prettily to them.
