CHAPTER VI. MISS ARMYTAGE'S PEARLS
Lady O'Moy and Miss Armytage drove alone together into Lisbon. Theadjutant, still occupied, would follow as soon as he possibly could,whilst Captain Tremayne would go on directly from the lodgings whichhe shared in Alcantara with Major Carruthers--also of the adjutant'sstaff--whither he had ridden to dress some twenty minutes earlier.
"Are you ill, Una?" had been Sylvia's concerned greeting of her cousinwhen she came within the range of the carriage lamps. "You are pale asa ghost." To this her ladyship had replied mechanically that a slightheadache troubled her.
But now that they sat side by side in the well upholstered carriage MissArmytage became aware that her companion was trembling.
"Una, dear, whatever is the matter?"
Had it not been for the dominant fear that the shedding of tears wouldrender her countenance unsightly, Lady O'Moy would have yielded to herfeelings and wept. Heroically in the cause of her own flawless beautyshe conquered the almost overmastering inclination.
"I--I have been so troubled about Richard," she faltered. "It is preyingupon my mind."
"Poor dear!" In sheer motherliness Miss Armytage put an arm about hercousin and drew her close. "We must hope for the best."
Now if you have understood anything of the character of Lady O'Moy youwill have understood that the burden of a secret was the last burdenthat such a nature was capable of carrying. It was because Dick wasfully aware of this that he had so emphatically and repeatedly impressedupon her the necessity for saying not a word to any one of his presence.She realised in her vague way--or rather she believed it since hehad assured her--that there would be grave danger to him if he werediscovered. But discovery was one thing, and the sharing of a confidenceas to his presence another. That confidence must certainly be shared.
Lady O'Moy was in an emotional maelstrom that swept her towards acataract. The cataract might inspire her with dread, standing as it didfor death and disaster, but the maelstrom was not to be resisted. Shewas helpless in it, unequal to breasting such strong waters, she who inall her futile, charming life had been borne snugly in safe crafts thatwere steered by others.
Remained but to choose her confidant. Nature suggested Terence. But itwas against Terence in particular that she had been warned. Circumstancenow offered Sylvia Armytage. But pride, or vanity if you prefer it,denied her here. Sylvia was an inexperienced young girl, as she herselfhad so often found occasion to remind her cousin. Moreover, she fosteredthe fond illusion that Sylvia looked to her for precept, that uponSylvia's life she exercised a precious guiding influence. How, then,should the supporting lean upon the supported? Yet since she must, thereand then, lean upon something or succumb instantly and completely, shechose a middle course, a sort of temporary assistance.
"I have been imagining things," she said. "It may be a premonition, Idon't know. Do you believe in premonitions, Sylvia?"
"Sometimes," Sylvia humoured her.
"I have been imagining that if Dick is hiding, a fugitive, he mightnaturally come to me for help. I am fanciful, perhaps," she addedhastily, lest she should have said too much. "But there it is. All daythe notion has clung to me, and I have been asking myself desperatelywhat I should do in such a case."
"Time enough to consider it when it happens, Una. After all--"
"I know," her ladyship interrupted on that ever-ready note of petulanceof hers. "I know, of course. But I think I should be easier in my mindif I could find an answer to my doubt. If I knew what to do, to whom toappeal for assistance, for I am afraid that I should be very helplessmyself. There is Terence, of course. But I am a little afraid ofTerence. He has got Dick out of so many scrapes, and he is so impatientof poor Dick. I am afraid he doesn't understand him, and so I should bea little frightened of appealing to Terence again."
"No," said Sylvia gravely, "I shouldn't go to Terence. Indeed he is thelast man to whom I should go."
"You say that too!" exclaimed her ladyship.
"Why?" quoth Sylvia sharply. "Who else has said it?"
There was a brief pause in which Lady O'Moy shuddered. She had been sonear to betraying herself. How very quick and shrewd Sylvia was! Shemade, however, a good recovery.
"Myself, of course. It is what I have thought myself. There is CountSamoval. He promised that if ever any such thing happened he would helpme. And he assured me I could count upon him. I think it may have beenhis offer that made me fanciful."
"I should go to Sir Terence before I went to Count Samoval. By whichI mean that I should not go to Count Samoval at all under anycircumstances. I do not trust him."
"You said so once before, dear," said Lady O'Moy.
"And you assured me that I spoke out of the fullness of my ignorance andinexperience."
"Ah, forgive me."
"There is nothing to forgive. No doubt you were right. But rememberthat instinct is most alive in the ignorant and inexperienced, and thatinstinct is often a surer guide than reason. Yet if you want reason, Ican supply that too. Count Samoval is the intimate friend of the Marquisof Minas, who remains a member of the Government, and who next to thePrincipal Souza was, and no doubt is, the most bitter opponent ofthe British policy in Portugal. Yet Count Samoval, one of the largestlandowners in the north, and the nobleman who has perhaps sufferedmost severely from that policy, represents himself as its most vigoroussupporter."
Lady O'Moy listened in growing amazement. Also she was a little shocked.It seemed to her almost indecent that a young girl should know so muchabout politics--so much of which she herself, a married woman, and thewife of the adjutant-general, was completely in ignorance.
"Save us, child!" she ejaculated. "You are so extraordinarily informed."
"I have talked to Captain Tremayne," said Sylvia. "He has explained allthis."
"Extraordinary conversation for a young man to hold with a young girl,"pronounced her ladyship. "Terence never talked of such things to me."
"Terence was too busy making love to you," said Sylvia, and there wasthe least suspicion of regret in her almost boyish voice.
"That may account for it," her ladyship confessed, and fell for a momentinto consideration of that delicious and rather amusing past, whenO'Moy's ferocious hesitancy and flaming jealousy had delighted her withthe full perception of her beauty's power. With a rush, however, thepresent forced itself back upon her notice. "But I still don't see whyCount Samoval should have offered me assistance if he did not intend togrant it when the time came."
Sylvia explained that it was from the Portuguese Government that thedemand for justice upon the violator of the nunnery at Tavora emanated,and that Samoval's offer might be calculated to obtain him informationof Butler's whereabouts when they became known, so that he mightsurrender him to the Government.
"My dear!" Lady O'Moy was shocked almost beyond expression. "How youmust dislike the man to suggest that he could be such a--such a Judas."
"I do not suggest that he could be. I warn you never to run the risk oftesting him. He may be as honest in this matter as he pretends. But ifever Dick were to come to you for help, you must take no risk."
The phrase was a happier one than Sylvia could suppose. It was almostthe very phrase that Dick himself had used; and its reiteration byanother bore conviction to her ladyship.
"To whom then should I go?" she demanded plaintively. And Sylvia,speaking with knowledge, remembering the promise that Tremayne had givenher, answered readily: "There is but one man whose assistance you couldsafely seek. Indeed I wonder you should not have thought of him inthe first instance, since he is your own, as well as Dick's lifelongfriend."
"Ned Tremayne?" Her ladyship fell into thought. "Do you know, I ama little afraid of Ned. He is so very sober and cold. You do meanNed--don't you?"
"Whom else should I mean?"
"But what could he do?"
"My dear, how should I know? But at least I know--for I think I can besure of this--that he will not lack the will to help you; and to havethe will, in a man l
ike Captain Tremayne, is to find a way."
The confident, almost respectful, tone in which she spoke arrested herladyship's attention. It promptly sent her off at a tangent:
"You like Ned, don't you, dear?"
"I think everybody likes him." Sylvia's voice was now studiously cold.
"Yes; but I don't mean quite in that way." And then before the subjectcould be further pursued the carriage rolled to a standstill in a floodof light from gaping portals, scattering a mob of curious sight-seersintersprinkled with chairmen, footmen, linkmen and all the valetaillethat hovers about the functions of the great world.
The carriage door was flung open and the steps let down. A brace offootmen, plump as capons, in gorgeous liveries, bowed powdered heads andproffered scarlet arms to assist the ladies to alight.
Above in the crowded, spacious, colonnaded vestibule at the foot of thegreat staircase they were met-by Captain Tremayne, who had just arrivedwith Major Carruthers, both resplendent in full dress, and CaptainMarcus Glennie of the Telemachus in blue and gold. Together theyascended the great staircase, lined with chatting groups, and ablazewith uniforms, military, naval and diplomatic, British and Portuguese,to be welcomed above by the Count and Countess of Redondo.
Lady O'Moy's entrance of the ballroom produced the effect to whichcustom had by now inured her. Soon she found herself the centre ofassiduous attentions. Cavalrymen in blue, riflemen in green, scarletofficers of the line regiments, winged light-infantrymen, rakishlypelissed, gold-braided hussars and all the smaller fry of court and campfluttered insistently about her. It was no novelty to her who had beenthe recipient of such homage since her first ball five years ago atDublin Castle, and yet the wine of it had gone ever to her head alittle. But to-night she was rather pale and listless, her rose-petalloveliness emphasised thereby perhaps. An unusual air of indifferencehung about her as she stood there amid this throng of martial jostlerswho craved the honour of a dance and at whom she smiled a thoughtmechanically over the top of her slowly moving fan.
The first quadrille impended, and the senior service had carried offthe prize from under the noses of the landsmen. As she was swept awayby Captain Glennie, she came face to face with Tremayne, who was passingwith Sylvia on his arm. She stopped and tapped his arm with her fan.
"You haven't asked to dance, Ned," she reproached him.
"With reluctance I abstained."
"But I don't intend that you shall. I have something to say to you." Hemet her glance, and found it oddly serious--most oddly serious for her.Responding to its entreaty, he murmured a promise in courteous terms ofdelight at so much honour.
But either he forgot the promise or did not conceive its redemption tobe an urgent matter, for the quadrille being done he sauntered throughone of the crowded ante-rooms with Miss Armytage and brought her to thecool of a deserted balcony above the garden. Beyond this was the river,agleam with the lights of the British fleet that rode at anchor on itsplacid bosom.
"Una will be waiting for you," Miss Armytage reminded him. She wasleaning on the sill of the balcony. Standing erect beside her, heconsidered the graceful profile sharply outlined against a backgroundof gloom by the light from the windows behind them. A heavy curl of herdark hair lay upon a neck as flawlessly white as the rope of pearlsthat swung from it, with which her fingers were now idly toying. Itwere difficult to say which most engaged his thoughts: the profile; thelovely line of neck; or the rope of pearls. These latter were of price,such things as it might seldom--and then only by sacrifice--lie withinthe means of Captain Tremayne to offer to the woman whom he took towife.
He so lost himself upon that train of thought that she was forced torepeat her reminder.
"Una will be waiting for you, Captain Tremayne."
"Scarcely as eagerly," he answered, "as others will be waiting for you."
She laughed amusedly, a frank, boyish laugh. "I thank you for not sayingas eagerly as I am waiting for others."
"Miss Armytage, I have ever cultivated truth."
"But we are dealing with surmise."
"Oh, no surmise at all. I speak of what I know."
"And so do I." And yet again she repeated: "Una will be waiting for you."
He sighed, and stiffened slightly. "Of course if you insist," said he,and made ready to reconduct her.
She swung round as if to go, but checked, and looked him frankly in theeyes.
"Why will you for ever be misunderstanding me?" she challenged him.
"Perhaps it is the inevitable result of my overanxiety to understand."
"Then begin by taking me more literally, and do not read into my wordsmore meaning than I intend to give them. When I say Una is waiting foryou, I state a simple fact, not a command that you shall go to her.Indeed I want first to talk to you."
"If I might take you literally now--"
"Should I have suffered you to bring me here if I did not?"
"I beg your pardon," he said, contrite, and something shaken out of hisimperturbability. "Sylvia," he ventured very boldly, and there checked,so terrified as to be a shame to his brave scarlet, gold-laced uniform.
"Yes?" she said. She was leaning upon the balcony again, and in such away now that he could no longer see her profile. But her fingers werebusy at the pearls once more, and this he saw, and seeing, recoveredhimself.
"You have something to say to me?" he questioned in his smooth, levelvoice.
Had he not looked away as he spoke he might have observed that herfingers tightened their grip of the pearls almost convulsively, as if tobreak the rope. It was a gesture slight and trivial, yet arguing perhapsvexation. But Tremayne did not see it, and had he seen it, it is odds itwould have conveyed no message to him.
There fell a long pause, which he did not venture to break. At last shespoke, her voice quiet and level as his own had been.
"It is about Una."
"I had hoped," he spoke very softly, "that it was about yourself."
She flashed round upon him almost angrily. "Why do you utter these setspeeches to me?" she demanded. And then before he could recover from hisastonishment to make any answer she had resumed a normal manner, and wastalking quickly.
She told him of Una's premonitions about Dick. Told him, in short, whatit was that Una desired to talk to him about.
"You bade her come to me?" he said.
"Of course. After your promise to me."
He was silent and very thoughtful for a moment. "I wonder that Unaneeded to be told that she had in me a friend," he said slowly.
"I wonder to whom she would have gone on her own impulse?"
"To Count Samoval," Miss Armytage informed him.
"Samoval!" he rapped the name out sharply. He was clearly angry. "Thatman! I can't understand why O'Moy should suffer him about the house somuch."
"Terence, like everybody else, will suffer anything that Una wishes."
"Then Terence is more of a fool than I ever suspected."
There was a brief pause. "If you were to fail Una in this," said MissArmytage presently, "I mean that unless you yourself give her theassurance that you are ready to do what you can for Dick, should theoccasion arise, I am afraid that in her present foolish mood she maystill avail herself of Count Samoval. That would be to give Samoval ahold upon her; and I tremble to think what the consequences might be.That man is a snake--a horror."
The frankness with which she spoke was to Tremayne full evidence of heranxiety. He was prompt to allay it.
"She shall have that assurance this very evening," he promised.
"I at least have not pledged my word to anything or to any one. Evenso," he added slowly, "the chances of my services being ever requiredgrow more slender every day. Una may be full of premonitions about Dick.But between premonition and event there is something of a gap."
Again a pause, and then: "I am glad," said Miss Armytage, "to think thatUna has a friend, a trustworthy friend, upon whom she can depend. She isso incapable of depending upon herself. All her life there has been
someone at hand to guide her and screen her from unpleasantness until shehas remained just a sweet, dear child to be taken by the hand in everydark lane of life."
"But she has you, Miss Armytage."
"Me?" Miss Armytage spoke deprecatingly. "I don't think I am a very ableor experienced guide. Besides, even such as I am, she may not have mevery long now. I had letters from home this morning. Father is not verywell, and mother writes that he misses me. I am thinking of returningsoon."
"But--but you have only just come!"
She brightened and laughed at the dismay in his voice. "Indeed, I havebeen here six weeks." She looked out over the shimmering moonlit watersof the Tagus and the shadowy, ghostly ships of the British fleet thatrode at anchor there, and her eyes were wistful. Her fingers, with thatlittle gesture peculiar to her in moments of constraint, were againentwining themselves in her rope of pearls. "Yes," she said almostmusingly, "I think I must be going soon."
He was dismayed. He realised that the moment for action had come. Hisheart was sounding the charge within him. And then that cursed rope ofpearls, emblem of the wealth and luxury in which she had been nurtured,stood like an impassable abattis across his path.
"You--you will be glad to go, of course?" he suggested.
"Hardly that. It has been very pleasant here." She sighed.
"We shall miss you very much," he said gloomily. "The house at Monsantowill not be the same when you are gone. Una will be lost and desolatewithout you."
"It occurs to me sometimes," she said slowly, "that the people about Unathink too much of Una and too little of themselves."
It was a cryptic speech. In another it might have signified aspitefulness unthinkable in Sylvia Armytage; therefore it puzzled himvery deeply. He stood silent, wondering what precisely she might mean,and thus in silence they continued for a spell. Then slowly she turnedand the blaze of light from the windows fell about her irradiantly.She was rather pale, and her eyes were of a suspiciously excessivebrightness. And again she made use of the phrase:
"Una will be waiting for you."
Yet, as before, he stood silent and immovable, considering her,questioning himself, searching her face and his own soul. All he saw wasthat rope of shimmering pearls.
"And after all, as yourself suggested, it is possible that others may bewaiting for me," she added presently.
Instantly he was crestfallen and contrite. "I sincerely beg your pardon,Miss Armytage," and with a pang of which his imperturbable exterior gaveno hint he proffered her his arm.
She took it, barely touching it with her finger-tips, and theyre-entered the ante-room.
"When do you think that you will be leaving?" he asked her gently.
There was a note of harshness in the voice that answered him.
"I don't know yet. But very soon. The sooner the better, I think."
And then the sleek and courtly Samoval, detaching from, seeming tomaterialise out of, the glittering throng they had entered, was bowinglow before her, claiming her attention. Knowing her feelings, Tremaynewould not have relinquished her, but to his infinite amazement sheherself slipped her fingers from his scarlet sleeve, to place themupon the black one that Samoval was gracefully proffering, and greetedSamoval with a gay raillery as oddly in contrast with her gravedemeanour towards the captain as with her recent avowal of detestationfor the Count.
Stricken and half angry, Tremayne stood looking after them as theyreceded towards the ballroom. To increase his chagrin came a laugh fromMiss Armytage, sharp and rather strident, floating towards him, and MissArmytage's laugh was wont to be low and restrained. Samoval, no doubt,had resources to amuse a woman--even a woman who instinctively, dislikedhim--resources of which Captain Tremayne himself knew nothing.
And then some one tapped him on the shoulder. A very tall, hawk-facedman in a scarlet coat and tightly strapped blue trousers stood besidehim. It was Colquhoun Grant, the ablest intelligence officer inWellington's service.
"Why, Colonel!" cried Tremayne, holding out his hand. "I didn't know youwere in Lisbon."
"I arrived only this afternoon." The keen eyes flashed after thedisappearing figures of Sylvia and her cavalier. "Tell me, what is thename of the irresistible gallant who has so lightly ravished you of yourquite delicious companion?"
"Count Samoval," said Tremayne shortly.
Grant's face remained inscrutable. "Really!" he said softly. "So that isJeronymo de Samoval, eh? How very interesting. A great supporter of theBritish policy; therefore an altruist, since himself he is a sufferer byit; and I hear that he has become a great friend of O'Moy's."
"He is at Monsanto a good deal certainly," Tremayne admitted.
"Most interesting." Grant was slowly nodding, and a faint smile curledhis thin, sensitive lips. "But I'm keeping you, Tremayne, and no doubtyou would be dancing. I shall perhaps see you to-morrow. I shall becoming up to Monsanto."
And with a wave of the hand he passed on and was gone.