The Woman's Way

  CHAPTER XIII

  Celia hurried back from Lady Gridborough's, ran up the great stone stepsand entered the hall. Catching sight of Mrs. Dexter coming from thedining-room, Celia began,

  "Oh, Mrs. Dexter, I've had quite an adventure----" But she stopped asshe saw that the hitherto placid housekeeper was evidently in a state ofagitation, and, instead of continuing, Celia broke off with: "Oh, isanything the matter, Mrs. Dexter?"

  "Matter! I should think so," responded Mrs. Dexter, throwing out herhand, which grasped a telegram. "I've just had this from his lordshipthe Marquess, saying that he is coming down. And to dinner! I'm sure Idon't know what I'm going to do."

  "But everything is in readiness?" said Celia, remembering Mrs. Dexter'svaunt.

  "Of course it is, my dear; but the dinner----! All the staff seems tohave lost its head; and I, myself, am so flurried----"

  Celia laid her hand upon the plump arm and pressed it, encouragingly.

  "It will be all right," she said, soothingly. "Surely there will beenough in the house for one man!"

  "My dear young lady," retorted Mrs. Dexter, solemnly, "you have toprepare a regular dinner, with all the proper courses, whether it's forone man or a party. Like enough, his lordship will only partake of oneor two dishes, but you have to provide them all, and serve themproperly."

  "I see," said Celia, who was beginning to understand the exigencies ofrank. "Can I help you? Surely there must be something I can do!"

  "Well, you can arrange the flowers for me, if you will be so good, mydear," said Mrs. Dexter. "Mr. Douglas, the head gardener, will cut yousome from the conservatory."

  "All right," said Celia eagerly. "You run away and see to the dinner;and if I can help you in any other way, after I've done the flowers, letme know."

  Herself not unexcited, she interviewed the dignified and extremelycapable head gardener, who, departing from his custom, did not utter anycomplaint, but sacrificed his choicest blossoms to the beautiful younglady to whom he had not yet spoken.

  Celia thanked him, and ran off to get the receptacles for the flowersfrom the stately Mr. Smith, the butler, and set about arranging theexquisite blossoms. As she was doing so, she remembered a certain bed ofbeautifully-grown pansies on one of the lawns. She picked a great bunch,and arranged them by themselves in a flat bowl; and when the table waslaid, her floral decorations made a brave show amidst the glitteringplate and old English cut-glass.

  "Oh, you've done them beautifully, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Dexter; andeven the impassive Smith nodded his head approvingly. Celia was able torender assistance in various other ways, following Mrs. Dextereverywhere, and venturing to give a hint now and again. Then, herexcitement increasing, she tried to settle down to her work in thelibrary; but all the while she was writing down titles in her draftcatalogue she was listening for the sound of the motor, and presentlyshe heard it buzzing up the drive, followed by hasty footsteps and themurmur of subdued voices.

  When Celia's dinner was brought into the little room behind the library,which was now recognized as her own, Mrs. Dexter appeared for a moment.She was quite calm now, but looked rather tired.

  "Everything is all right?" said Celia, sympathetically.

  "Yes, my dear," responded Mrs. Dexter, with a little sigh of relief, asshe smoothed her black silk dress. "It's as well that we were all ready;though this is the shortest notice we've ever had."

  "I hope the Marquess is well," said Celia.

  Mrs. Dexter shook her head, and sighed again. "I'm afraid not," shesaid, gravely; "indeed, he is looking ill; though not so much ill astired and worried. He has changed greatly since he was last here, andlooks years and years older. When I last saw him, his lordship was inthe Government, which means, as I dare say you know, a great deal ofwork and responsibility; but he was quite cheerful then, and strong;now----" She paused, and added, "He ought not to be so worried; butperhaps it's Lord Heyton--he's always been a trouble to his father, I'msorry to say. But now he's married, I should have thought that he wouldhave settled down and not have caused his father any further anxiety.The Marquess tells me that Lord Heyton is coming down with his bride ina day or two."

  As Mrs. Dexter was departing, Celia said, a little shyly:

  "Is there any way out of this room except through the library and thehall? I don't want to disturb the Marquess."

  "There is no other door but this one," replied Mrs. Dexter. "You see,it's only a kind of ante-room. But you need not be afraid of disturbinghis lordship; he will be sure to go to the drawing-room or his ownsitting-room, after he has had his dinner. Though there's no cause foryou to be nervous at meeting his lordship, for he's one of the kindestof men, especially to anyone in his service."

  Celia ate her dinner and returned to the library, where she worked for acouple of hours to make up for the time she had lost in the afternoon;then she took up an exquisitely-bound copy of Spenser's "Faerie Queene"and settled herself in a chair for half an hour's quiet reading. But thegreat masterpiece could not hold her attention; she let it lie on herlap and thought of her adventures of the day; she tried not to dwell onSusie's tragedy, though it was difficult not to do so; and presently hermind reverted to Brown's Buildings, to Mr. Clendon and the young man shehad rescued. And yet "rescued," she thought, with a sigh, was scarcelythe word, for, unwittingly, she had made him a fugitive and an outcast.

  The great house was quiet, and, relying on Mrs. Dexter's assurance thatshe ran no risk of intruding upon the Marquess, she turned out thelights and went into the hall. On the threshold she drew back, with alittle flutter of excitement, for in the dim light of the great fire,which was always burning, she saw a tall, thin figure in evening dressstanding with its hands clasped behind it. It was the Marquess. She sawdistinctly the pale, worn face, the thin, almost colourless lips, drawninto a line that indicated profound sadness and a deep anxiety. He wasstanding before the portrait of the lad, his elder brother, of whosehistory Mrs. Dexter had told her; the elder brother who, if he had notdied, "in foreign parts," would have been the Marquess instead of theman who was gazing at the portrait.

  Celia stood quite still, her eyes chained to the haggard face; she didnot know whether to withdraw into the library or to pass softly behindhim and reach the stairs; and while she was hesitating, the Marquessheaved a deep sigh, made a gesture as of a man beaten by some insolubleproblem, and, turning, saw her.

  He did not start--men of his class are taught to repress every sign ofemotion--and he stood quite still, looking at her gravely, as if thesudden interruption of his train of absorbing thought had caused him toforget whom she might be; then, as if he had remembered, he came towardsher and said:

  "You are Miss Grant, the librarian, I suppose?"

  Even as she answered, "Yes, my lord," Celia noted the dull, tonelessmelancholy of his voice, the voice of a man to whom all things save one,whatever that might be, are but trivial and of no consequence.

  "I am glad to see you," he said, with a little courtly inclination ofhis head, but certainly with no gladness in his voice. "I hope you arecomfortable here; that you find your work congenial?"

  "Oh, yes, my lord," said Celia, and, unconsciously, her voice waspitched low, like his own; for, somehow or other, she felt as if shewere in the presence of a deep grief, of an unnamed trouble.

  "I am very glad," he said again. "You are fond of books, I was told--Iheard--I was given to understand. The collection"--he nodded towards thelibrary--"is a good one, is it not?"

  "A very good one," assented Celia; "it seems to me a magnificentlibrary. But, then, I am not qualified to express an opinion. I have notmuch experience; I mean, of private libraries; I am used to the BritishMuseum one only."

  "My great grandfather was an enthusiastic collector," said the Marquess;"but I fear I have not inherited his taste, and have neglected thelibrary."

  In an absent-minded kind of way, he passed into the superb room, andlooked round, reflectively.

  "You are making a catalogue, of course? It must be a ver
y heavy task,especially for one so young."

  Celia began to tremble; and at that moment she realized fully howprecious the work and position were to her.

  "I am not so very young, my lord," she said, with a little, nervoussmile. "I am twenty-two."

  He looked at her with a suspicion of a smile on his lips.

  "Youth has much in its favour," he said. "It is rich in energy and instrength. All the same, one must not abuse either. You are working lateto-night; that is not wise."

  "I was out, took a holiday, this afternoon, and was making up for it;but I enjoy working at night; it is so quiet--but it is always quiethere, in this great place."

  "You have no father and mother?" he said, after a pause, during which hewas trying to remember what Mr. Clendon had told him of her.

  "No, my lord," said Celia. "I have no one belonging to me."

  "That is sad," he said, more to himself than to her. "Mrs. Dexter looksafter you, I suppose? I must tell her to see that you do not work toohard."

  "She is more than kind to me," said Celia, warmly.

  There was another pause; she did not know whether to remain or stay;but, as he had taken up the draft catalogue, she paused, standing by thetable and waiting to see if he would speak to her again.

  "Do you not feel lonely here?" he asked.

  "Oh, no," she replied, promptly. "Not the very least. There is Mrs.Dexter, and the books and----" She laid her hand on the head of Roddy,who strolled in at the moment, and, after wagging his tail in responseto her caress, moved slowly to the Marquess and thrust a wet, cold noseagainst the long, thin hand. "Besides, I made an acquaintance thisafternoon; a lady, a dear old lady, Lady Gridborough, at LensmoreGrange, you know."

  "Yes, I know," he remarked, with a nod. "That is well. She is a goodsoul. Warm-hearted, but eccentric. By the way, the house will not be sodull presently; for my son, Lord Heyton, and his newly-married wife arecoming to stay."

  As he made the announcement, he checked a sigh and turned away. Celiawaited for a moment or two; the Marquess had sunk into a chair, his eyesfixed on the great dog, which had thrown itself at his feet. It seemedto Celia that his lordship had forgotten her.

  "Good night, my lord," she said, softly.

  He looked up with a start, rose, and opened the door for her, and, witha courtly inclination of the head, bade her good night.

  Now a strange thing happened. As Celia was crossing the hall, shestopped and looked at the portrait before which the Marquess had beenstanding; and she remembered how she had been struck by a fanciedresemblance to someone whom she could not trace. Her pause before thepicture was scarcely more than momentary, but she was startled by thesound of footsteps, and, looking up with a half-frightened gaze, foundthe Marquess standing beside her. His face was almost stern, his darkeyes, so like those of the picture, were fixed on her, questioningly;and there was just a suspicion of anger in the keenness of his regard.

  "You are interested in that picture?" he said, in a dry voice.

  "I--I----Yes," said Celia, telling herself that she had no cause forfear, seeing that she had committed no crime.

  "Why?" he demanded, curtly, and his tone was still dry and harsh.

  Celia was silent for a moment; then she raised her eyes to his,calmly--for what was there to fear, why should he be angry with her forlooking at the portrait?

  "It is a very beautiful picture," she said.

  The Marquess's brows lifted, and he bent his head as if apologizing forhis curtness.

  "That is true," he said, more gently. "It is one of the best in thecollection. And your interest is only an artistic one?"

  Celia had only to say "Yes," and to escape; but she was not given toequivocation; moreover, her high spirit had resented the anger andsuspicion in his manner, for which, she felt, he had no justification.

  "Not only, my lord," she said, as quietly as before; "but the first timeI saw it, I thought that the face of the portrait was like that ofsomeone I knew."

  She was startled by the sudden change in his demeanour. His brows camedown again, his eyes grew piercing, his lips stern.

  "Like whom?" he demanded, shortly.

  "I don't know," she said, with a slight shrug; "that is why the portraitinterests me so. If I could trace the resemblance, I should--well, notbe so bothered by it."

  The Marquess paced to the fire and held his hands to it, as if he hadbecome cold suddenly.

  "Strange!" he said, musingly, and with an air of indifference, whichCelia felt to be assumed. "Is the man you think resembles the portraityoung--or old?"

  As he put the question, a sudden flood of light seemed to illumineCelia's mind; it was as if she had been gazing perplexedly on a statueswathed in its covering, and as if the covering had been swept away andthe statue revealed. She knew now that the face in the portraitresembled that of the young man on whom her thoughts were alwaysdwelling. The resemblance was faint; but it existed in her mind quiteplainly. The revelation brought the blood to her face, then she becamepale again. The Marquess, looking over his shoulder, waited for heranswer.

  "I remember now, my lord----" she began.

  "Young or old?" he said, not loudly, but with a quiet insistence.

  "Young," replied Celia.

  To her surprise and relief, the Marquess gave a little dry, almostcontemptuous, laugh; and as he turned to her, with his hands foldedbehind his back, there was a faint smile on his face.

  "Who is he?" he asked.

  "I don't know," replied Celia.

  "You don't know!" said his lordship, raising his brows. "Pardon me, Idon't understand."

  Celia stood before him, her hands clasped together in a clasp that,light at first, became tighter; her eyes were downcast, a slight foldcame between her brows; for an inappreciable second or two, she lostconsciousness of the great hall, the tall, bent figure silhouettedagainst the fire; she was back in Brown's Buildings, in thatpoverty-stricken room, and she saw the young man's head lying on hisoutstretched arm, a revolver in his hand.

  "I don't know," she repeated, returning, suddenly, from that vision ofthe past. "It was someone I met, saw, for a short time----"

  "But his name?" said the Marquess, with a subdued impatience.

  "That I don't know," Celia replied, raising her eyes, in which theMarquess could not fail to read truth and honesty. "I saw him once only,and for a short time, and then--then he passed out of my life. I mean,that I did not see him again; that it is unlikely I shall ever see himagain."

  "Where was this--this meeting of which you speak?" inquired theMarquess, in a conversational tone. "Pardon me if I seem intrusive--itis your affair and yours only--but you have excited my curiosity. Theportrait is that of my brother."

  "I know," said Celia. "I do not mind your asking me; but I cannot tellyou. What passed between me and him----" She stopped; she was ondelicate ground; this man, with his worldly experience, his acuteintelligence, might lead her on to disclose what had happened thatnight; she could not cope with him. "I do not know his name."

  The Marquess bowed his head, and smiled slightly, as if he scented thearoma of a commonplace romance.

  "Quite so," he said. "A casual meeting. Such occurs occasionally in thecourse of one's life, and I dare say the resemblance you noticed wasonly a fancied one. It must have been," he added, looking on the ground,and speaking in an absent way; "for as it happens, my brother"--henodded towards the portrait--"was unmarried, had no relations other thanmyself and my son." He turned away to the fire again. "Oh, yes; only afancied one. Good night."

  This was a definite dismissal, and Celia, murmuring, "Good night, mylord," went up the stairs. At the bend of the corridor she glanced downinvoluntarily. The Marquess had turned from the fire again, and waslooking, with bent brows, at the portrait.