The Lion's Skin

  CHAPTER XV. LOVE AND RAGE

  Lord Rotherby, descending from that interview with his mother, espiedHortensia crossing the hall below. Forgetting his dignity, he quickenedhis movements, and took the remainder of the stairs two at a stride.But, then, his lordship was excited and angry, and considerations ofdignity did not obtain with him at the time. For that matter, theyseldom did.

  "Hortensia! Hortensia!" he called to her, and at his call she paused.

  Not once during the month that was past--and during which he had,for the most part, kept his room, to all intents a prisoner--had sheexchanged so much as a word with him. Thus, not seeing him, she had beenable, to an extent, to exclude him from her thoughts, which, naturallyenough, were reluctant to entertain him for their guest.

  Her calm, as she paused now in acquiescence to his bidding, was suchthat it almost surprised herself. She had loved him once--or thoughtso, a little month ago--and at a single blow he had slain that love. Nowlove so slain has a trick of resurrecting in the guise of hate; and so,she had thought at first had been the case with her. But this momentproved to her now that her love was dead, indeed, since of her erstwhileaffection not even a recoil to hate remained. Dislike she may have felt;but it was that cold dislike that breeds a deadly indifference, andseeks no active expression, asking no more than the avoidance of itsobject.

  Her calm, reflected in her face of a beauty almost spiritual, in everysteady line of her slight, graceful figure, gave him pause a moment, andhis hot glance fell abashed before the chill indifference that met himfrom those brown eyes.

  A man of deeper sensibilities, of keener perceptions, would have bowedand gone his way. But then a man of deeper sensibilities would neverhave sought this interview that the viscount was now seeking. Therefore,it was but natural that he should recover swiftly from his momentaryhalt, and step aside to throw open the door of a little room on theright of the hall. Bowing slightly, he invited her to enter.

  "Grant me a moment ere I go, Hortensia," he said, between command andexhortation.

  She stood cogitating him an instant, with no outward sign of what mightbe passing in her mind; then she slightly inclined her head, and wentforward as he bade her.

  It was a sunny room, gay with light color and dainty furnishings, havinglong window-doors that opened to the garden. An Aubusson carpet ofpalest green, with a festoon pattern of pink roses, covered two-thirdsof the blocked, polished floor. The empanelled walls were white, withhere a gilt mirror, flanked on either side by a girandole in ormolu. Aspinet stood open in mid-chamber, and upon it were sheets of music,a few books and a bowl of emerald-green ware, charged now with roses,whose fragrance lay heavy on the air. There were two or threesmall tables of very dainty, fragile make, and the chairs were indelicately-tinted tapestry illustrating the fables of La Fontaine.

  It was an apartment looked upon by Hortensia as her ownwithdrawing-room, set apart for her own use, and as that thehousehold--her very ladyship included--had ever recognized it.

  His lordship closed the door with care. Hortensia took her seat uponthe long stool that stood at the spinet, her back to the instrument,and with hands idle in her lap--the same cold reserve upon hercountenance-she awaited his communication.

  He advanced until he was close beside her, and stood leaning an elbowon the corner of the spinet, a long and not ungraceful figure, withthe black curls of his full-bottomed wig falling about his swarthy,big-featured face.

  "I have but my farewells to make, Hortensia," said he. "I am leavingStretton House, to-day, at last."

  "I am glad," said she, in a formal, level voice, "that things shouldhave fallen out so as to leave you free to go your ways."

  "You are glad," he answered, frowning slightly, and leaning farthertowards her. "Ay, and why are you glad? Why? You are glad for Mr.Caryll's sake. Do you deny it?"

  She looked up at him quite calm and fearlessly. "I am glad for your ownsake, too."

  His dark brooding eyes looked deep into hers, which did not falter underhis insistent gaze. "Am I to believe you?" he inquired.

  "Why not? I do not wish your death."

  "Not my death--but my absence?" he sneered. "You wish for that, do younot? You would prefer me gone? My room is better than my company justnow? 'Tis what you think, eh?"

  "I have not thought of it at all," she answered him with a pitilessfrankness.

  He laughed, soft and wickedly. "Is it so very hopeless, then? You havenot thought of it at all by which you mean that you have not thought ofme at all."

  "Is't not best so? You have given me no cause to think of you to youradvantage. I am therefore kind to exclude you from my thoughts."

  "Kind?" he mocked her. "You think it kind to put me from your mind--Iwho love you, Hortensia!"

  She rose upon the instant, her cheeks warming faintly. "My lord," saidshe, "I think there is no more to be said between us."

  "Ah, but there is," he cried. "A deal more yet." And he left his placeby the spinet to come and stand immediately before her, barring herpassage to the door. "Not only to say farewell was it that I desired tospeak with you alone here." His voice softened amazingly. "I want yourpardon ere I go. I want you to say that you forgive me the vile thing Iwould have done, Hortensia." Contrition quivered in his lowered voice.He bent a knee to her, and held out his hand. "I will not rise until youspeak my pardon, child."

  "Why, if that be all, I pardon you very readily," she answered, stillbetraying no emotion.

  He frowned. "Too readily!" he cried. "Too readily for sincerity. I willnot take it so."

  "Indeed, my lord, for a penitent, you are very difficult to please. Ipardon you with all my heart."

  "You are sincere?" he cried, and sought to take her hands; but shewhipped them away and behind her. "You bear me no ill-will?"

  She considered him now with a calm, critical gaze, before which he wasforced to lower his bold eyes. "Why should I bear you an ill-will?" sheasked him.

  "For the thing I did--the thing I sought to do."

  "I wonder do you know all that you did?" she asked him, musingly. "ShallI tell you, my lord? You cured me of a folly. I had been blind, and youmade me see. I had foolishly thought to escape one evil, and you made merealize that I was rushing into a worse. You saved me from myself. Youmay have made me suffer then; but it was a healing hurt you dealt me.And should I bear you an ill-will for that?"

  He had risen from his knee. He stood apart, pondering her from underbent brows with eyes that were full of angry fire.

  "I do not think," she ended, "that there needs more between us. Ihave understood you, sir, since that day at Maidstone--I think we werestrangers until then; and perhaps now you may begin to understand me.Fare you well, my lord."

  She made shift to go, but he barred her passage now in earnest, hishands clenched beside him in witness of the violence he did himself tokeep them there. "Not yet," he said, in a deep, concentrated voice. "Notyet. I did you a wrong, I know. And what you say--cruel as it is--is nomore than I deserve. But I desire to make amends. I love you, Hortensia,and desire to make amends."

  She smiled wistfully. "'Tis overlate to talk of that."

  "Why?" he demanded fiercely, and caught her arms, holding her therebefore him. "Why is it overlate?"

  "Suffer me to go," she commanded, rather than begged, and made to freeherself of his grasp.

  "I want you to be my wife, Hortensia--my wedded wife."

  She looked at him, and laughed; a cold laugh, disdainful, yet notbitter. "You wanted that before, my lord; yet you neglected theopportunity my folly gave you. I thank you--you, after God--for thatsame neglect."

  "Ah, do not say that!" he begged, a very suppliant again. "Do not saythat! Child, I love you. Do you understand?"

  "Who could fail to understand, after the abundant proof you haveafforded me of your sincerity and your devotion?"

  "Do you rally me?" he demanded, letting through a flash of the angerthat was mounting in him. "Am I so poor a thing that you whet yourlittle wit upon me?" r />
  "My lord, you are paining me. What can you look to gain by this? Sufferme to go."

  A moment yet he stood, holding her wrists and looking down into her eyeswith a mixture of pleading and ferocity in his. Then he made a soundin his throat, and caught her bodily to him; his arms, laced about her,held her bound and crushed against him. His dark, flushed face hoveredabove her own.

  Fear took her at last. It mounted and grew to horror. "Let me go, mylord," she besought him, her voice trembling. "Oh, let me go!"

  "I love you, Hortensia! I need you!" he cried, as if wrung by pain, andthen hot upon her brow and cheeks and lips his kisses fell, and shameturned her to fire from head to foot as she fought helplessly within hiscrushing grasp.

  "You dog!" she panted, and writhing harder, wrenched free a hand andarm. Blindly she beat upwards into that evil satyr's face. "You beast!You toad! You coward!"

  They fell apart, each panting; she leaning faint against the spinet, herbosom galloping; he muttering oaths decent and other--for in the upwardthrusting of her little hand one of its fingers had prodded at aneye, and the pain of it--which had caused him to relax his hold ofher--stripped what little veneer remained upon the man's true nature.

  "Will you go?" she asked him furiously, outraged by the vileness of hisravings. "Will you go, or must I summon help?"

  He stood looking at her, straightening his wig, which had becomedisarranged in the struggle, and forcing himself to an outward calm."So," he said. "You scorn me? You will not marry me? You realise thechance, eh? And why? Why?"

  "I suppose it is because I am blind to the honor of the alliance," shecontrolled herself to answer him. "Will you go?"

  He did not move. "Yet you loved me once--"

  "'Tis a lie!" she blazed. "I thought I did--to my undying shame. No morethan that, my lord--as I've a soul to be saved."

  "You loved Me," he insisted. "And you would love me still but for thisdamned Caryll--this French coxcomb, who has crawled into your regardlike the slimy, creeping thing he is."

  "It sorts well with your ways, my lord, that you could say these thingsbehind his back. You are practiced at stabbing men behind."

  The gibe, with all the hurtful, stinging quality that only truthpossesses, struck his anger from him, leaving him limp and pale. Then herecovered.

  "Do you know who he is--what he is?" he asked. "I will tell you. He's aspy--a damned Jacobite spy, whom a word from me will hang."

  Her eyes lashed him with her scorn. "I were a fool did I believe you,"was her contemptuous answer.

  "Ask him," he said, and laughed. He turned and strode to the door.Paused there, sardonic, looking back. "I shall be quits with you, ma'am.Quits! I'll hang this pretty turtle of yours at Tyburn. Tell him so fromme."

  He wrenched the door open, and went out on that, leaving her cold andsick with dread.

  Was it but an idle threat to terrorize her? Was it but that? Her impulsewas to seek Mr. Caryll upon the instant that she might ask him and allayher fears. But what right had she? Upon what grounds could she set aquestion upon so secret a matter? She conceived him raising his brows inthat supercilious way of his, and looking her over from head to toe asthough seeking a clue to the nature of this quaint thing that asked himquestions. She pictured his smile and the jest with which he would setaside her inquiry. She imagined, indeed, just what she believedwould happen did she ask him; which was precisely what would not havehappened. Imagining thus, she held her peace, and nursed her secretdread. And on the following day, his weakness so far overcome as toleave him no excuse to linger at Stretton House, Mr. Caryll took hisdeparture and returned to his lodging in Old Palace Yard.

  One more treasonable interview had he with Lord Ostermore in the libraryere he departed. His lordship it was who reopened again the question,to repeat much of what he had said in the arbor on the previous day,and Mr. Caryll replied with much the same arguments in favor ofprocrastination that he had already employed.

  "Wait, at least," he begged, "until I have been abroad a day or two, andfelt for myself how the wind Is setting."

  "'Tis a prodigiously dangerous document," he declared. "I scarce see theneed for so much detail."

  "How can it set but one way?"

  "'Tis a question I shall be in better case to answer when I have hadan opportunity of judging. Meanwhile, be assured I shall not sail forFrance without advising you. Time enough then to give me your lettershould you still be of the same mind."

  "Be it so," said the earl. "When all is said, the letter will be saferhere, meantime, than in your pocket." And he tapped the secretaire. "Butsee what I have writ his majesty, and tell me should I alter aught."

  He took out a drawer on the right--took it out bodily--then introducedhis hand into the opening, running it along the inner side of the deskuntil, no doubt, he touched a spring; for suddenly a small trap wasopened. From this cavity he fished out two documents--one the flimsytissue on which King James' later was penned; the other on heaviermaterial Lord Ostermore's reply. He spread the latter before him, andhanded it to Mr. Caryll, who ran an eye over it.

  It was indited with stupid, characteristic incaution; concealment wasnever once resorted to; everywhere expressions of the frankest wereemployed, and every line breathed the full measure of his lordship'streason and betrays the existence of a plot.

  Mr. Caryll returned it. His countenance was grave.

  "I desire his majesty to know how whole-heartedly I belong to him."

  "'Twere best destroyed, I think. You can write another when the timecomes to dispatch it."

  But Ostermore was never one to take sensible advice. "Pooh! 'Twill besafe in here. 'Tis a secret known to none." He dropped it, together withKing James' letter, back into the recess, snapped down the trap, andreplaced the drawer. Whereupon Mr. Caryll took his leave, promising toadvise his lordship of whatever he might glean, and so departed fromStretton House.

  My Lord Rotherby, meanwhile, was very diligent in the business uponwhich he was intent. He had received in his interview with Hortensiaan added spur to such action as might be scatheful to Mr. Caryll. Hislordship was lodged in Portugal Row, within a stone's throw of hisfather's house, and there, on that same evening of his moving thither,he had Mr. Green to see him, desiring news.

  Mr. Green had little to impart, but strong hope of much to be garneredpresently. His little eyes twinkling, his chubby face suffused insmiles, as though it were an excellent jest to be hunting knowledge thatshould hang a man, the spy assured Lord Rotherby that there was littledoubt Mr. Caryll could be implicated as soon as he was about again.

  "And that's the reason--after your lordship's own express wishes--whyso far I have let Sir Richard Everard be. It may come to trouble for mewith my Lord Carteret should it be smoked that I have been silent on thematters within my knowledge. But--"

  "Oh, a plague on that!" said his lordship. "You'll be well paid for yourservices when you've rendered them. And, meanwhile, I understand thatnot another soul in London--that is, on the side of the government--isaware of Sir Richard's presence in town. So where is your danger?"

  "True," said Mr. Green, plump hand caressing plumper chin. "Had itnot been so, I should have been forced to apply to the secretary for awarrant before this."

  "Then you'll wait," said his lordship, "and you'll act as I may directyou. It will be to your credit in the end. Wait until Caryll hasenmeshed himself by frequent visits to Sir Richard's. Then get yourwarrant--when I give the word--and execute it one fine night when Caryllhappens to be closeted with Everard. Whether we can get further evidenceagainst him or not, that circumstance of his being found with thePretender's agent should go some way towards hanging him. The rest wemust supply."

  Mr. Green smiled seraphically. "Ecod! I'd give my ears to have theslippery fellow safe. Codso! I would. He bubbled me at Maidstone, and Ilimped a fortnight from the kick he gave me."

  "He shall do a little more kicking--with both feet," said his lordshipwith unction.