Marsh paused for a moment before she replied; from her seat on the wide verandah she could command a view of a noble corridor, terminating in flights of marble steps and filled with palms and flowers on either side. It was very much like looking from the darkness of a theatre on to a brilliantly lighted stage, and there on the stage was a little tableau that caused Eleanor to clench her teeth and clutch the arm of her companion.
“Look there!” she whispered. “Look on that half-landing! Now tell me, my friend, what do you see?”
There was no reason for Cleave to explain, for the picture lay plain enough before both of them. Two figures stood there in earnest conversation. Hardy, tall and vigorous, looking a successful hero to the life, with Lena Grey by his side, her face upturned lovingly to his.
“What do you think of that for a picture of domestic bliss?” Eleanor sneered. “He has forgotten everything but her for the moment. I tell you it maddens me to see a man like that throwing himself away upon a doll. Oh, I daresay he cares for her, I have no doubt she worships him; but she is no wife for a man like Philip Hardy. And to think that if she had only kept out of the way a little longer I should have taken her place! I would have made him, I would have pushed him to the very top. There is no position in the country that Philip Hardy could not have assumed with me by his side.”
“There are other men quite as rich,” Cleave said cynically.
“Yes, but you see I want this particular man and I am going to have him. I will not disguise from you that if he were poor I should not have given him a second thought. Oh, I am quite aware of what I am opening up for myself, but we need not discuss that. You are my ally, you have promised me to do anything I desire. At the first opportunity to-night, yOu are going to make yourself known to Lena Grey. What happens after that will depend upon circumstances, but the general programme I have already outlined to you.”
It was some little time before Cleave replied. He seemed moody and restless, his eyes still dwelling on the little group on the stairs with a look of something like regret.
“It’s a strange thing,” he muttered. “Until a day or two ago I felt ready for anything, and now that I have come into the world again the conscience that I so often sneered at seems to have taken possession of me. Upon my word, Nell, I can’t do it. She is a dear little girl; she always was, and now to step in like this and wreck the happiness of her life—”
“All this is madness,” Eleanor whispered passionately. “You can go if you like. Go and leave the whole thing to me. I daresay I shall be able to manage by myself, but you will leave me without a penny, leave me with nothing but the clothes you stand up in. On the other hand, you can live on the fat of the land for the present. In a few days you will have five hundred pounds to call your own. If you are going to choose, all I ask you to do is to choose quickly. There is no time to waste.”
Cleave averted his eyes from the group on the stairs. He stifled the voice of conscience. He professed himself to be entirely at the disposal of his companion.
“No use kicking against the pricks,” he said moodily. “Now tell me what you want me to do in the matter of that woman, Fiona Dear. You have not been too candid with me, and it is impossible for me to go on unless I know something more of your project. Who is Fiona Dear? What is she doing here?”
“Oh, I had quite forgotten for the moment that you had been out of the world so long. Fiona Dear is the last craze in the way of a thought-reader. I don’t know whether she is any worse or better than the majority of her tribe, but she is riding on the crest of the wave for the moment and everybody has gone mad about her. She is coming here to-night, and one of the small summer-houses in the garden has been placed at her disposal. No one has ever seen this woman; it is one of her fads to be masked; therefore she will arrive quietly, the train stopping for a moment at the Duke’s private station on the other side of the lake. You must meet this woman and engage her in conversation for a moment. It matters but little what you say so long as you detain her for just five minutes. If nothing happens in those five minutes you can come back to the house and mingle with the other guests quite naturally. Now, you will at once take the first opportunity of making your identity known to Miss Grey.”
“Very well,” Cleave said sullenly. “It shall be just as you say. And now, as the carriages begin to arrive, we had better break up this conference. If there is anything else I can do for you—”
But Eleanor Marsh waved the speaker aside impatiently. She rose slowly to her feet and made her way into the house, a stately figure in black and yellow, with diamonds in her dusky hair. It seemed almost impossible to believe that this magnificent creature was only an adventuress, who had begun life in a gamekeeper’s cottage and had graduated at a tobacconist’s shop! Cleave watched her with grudging admiration as she mixed with the rest of the guests, nodding to one and smiling on another, perfectly at home in this exclusive house.
As he stood there remarking these things, Cleave noticed that the little group on the stairs had vanished, and presently he saw Lena Grey standing by herself. By this time the great corridor was filled with a brilliant array of guests. Slowly, but with grim determination. Cleave crossed the marble floor and stood by the girl’s side. She did not see him at all, her pleased eyes taking in the scene of beauty and extravagance still around her. Cleave hesitated. Then he ventured to lay his hand slightly on Lena’s arm. She turned quickly.
“I am afraid you have forgotten me,” he said. “I am afraid I have no right to be remembered, but if you will look at me I think you will admit that we have met before.”
“Jasper Cleave,” Lena whispered faintly. “Jasper—”
VIII. — BETWEEN TWO FIRES
IT was impossible that Cleave should fail to notice the fleeting suggestion of terror in the eyes of his companion. She stood there pale and trembling, like a child detected in some fault. She was waiting apparently for him to speak, to say something to break the tension of the moment. And yet there was nothing in the aspect of the man to suggest the blackmailer. It was easy enough for Cleave to guess what was passing in the girl’s mind. She had gone back to the time when, as a mere child, a romantic girl, there had been love passages between them—pure and innocent enough on her side, and possibly on his.
But Lena had seen much of the world since then; her ears had not been altogether deaf to the disgraceful stories which had been told of Cleave’s downfall. She recollected the horror with which these recitals had inspired her, and the thankfulness she felt at her narrow escape from a life of absolute misery. What would Philip Hardy say if he knew of those episodes, for Lena had never told him? Indeed, she had long since forgotten all about them. It came back to her now, vividly enough, that certain letters of hers might still be in Cleave’s possession. There was nothing wrong in those letters; they were merely the outpourings of a simple loving nature, though doubtless romantic enough in flavour, such as a young girl, in the days of her calf-love, might have written.
And Philip Hardy was so immaculate, so far above human weaknesses of this kind. He would have expected his wife to come to him, pure and unsullied, and with the flavour of no other man’s kisses on her lips, wholly honourable though they might be.
But it was useless to stand there, panting and frightened like a timid deer. It behoved Lena to recover her self-possession, to show this man that she was not afraid of him, and that she was able to guard her own interests. But perhaps she was exaggerating; perhaps Jasper Cleave had turned his back on the old evil life and had by degrees re-established
