Castle Craneycrow

  XVIII. ARRIVALS FROM LONDON

  Lady Saxondale and the young person with the stored-up wrath weremet at the Gare du Nord by Mr. Savage, all smiles and good spirits.Quentin was rounding-to nicely, and there was little danger fromcomplications. This fact coupled with the joy of seeing the girl whohad been able to make him feel that life was not a shallow dream,sent him up to the two ladies with outstretched hands, a dancingheart and a greeting that brought smiles to the faces of crustyfellow-creatures who had not smiled in weeks.

  With a deference due to premeditated gallantry, he shook hands firstwith Lady Frances. His ebullition almost swept him to the point ofgreeting the two maids who stood respectfully near their mistresses.Then he turned his beaming face upon the Arctic individual with thepink parasol and the palm-leaf fan.

  "Awfully sorry, Lady Jane, but I really couldn't get to Ostend. Youdidn't have any trouble getting the right train and all that, didyou?" he asked, vaguely feeling for the hand which had not beenextended.

  "Not in the least, Mr. Savage. We delight in traveling alone. Do yousee the baroness anywhere, Frances?" Mr. Savage stared in amazement.A distinct, blighting frost settled over the whole September worldand his smile lost all but its breadth. The joy left his eyes andhis heart like a flash, but his lips helplessly, witlesslymaintained a wide-open hospitality until long after the inspirationwas dead.

  "She is not here, I am afraid," responded Lady Saxondale, glancingthrough the hurrying crowd. "Have you seen the Baroness St. Auge,Mr. Savage? Or do you know her?"

  "I can't say that I have--er--I mean don't--no, I should say both,"murmured he distractedly. "Does she live here?"

  "She resides in a house, not in a railway station," observed LadyJane, with a cutting sarcasm of which she was rather proud. LadySaxondale turned her face away and buried a convulsive smile in herhandkerchief.

  "I mean in Brussels," floundered Dickey, his wits in the wind. Hewas gazing dumbly at the profile of the slim iceberg that had sosharply sent the blast of winter across the summer of his content.

  "She certainly understood that we were to come on this train,Frances. You telegraphed her," said Lady Jane, ignoring himcompletely. She raised herself on her dainty tiptoes, elevated herround little chin and tried to peer over the heads of a very talland disobliging multitude. Dickey, at a loss for words, stretchedhis neck also in search of the woman he did not know.

  "How very annoying," said Lady Saxondale, a faint frown on herbrow. "She is usually so punctual."

  "Perhaps she--er--didn't get your telegram," ventured Dickey. "Whatsort of a looking--I mean, is she old or young?"

  "Neither; she is just my age," smiled Lady Saxondale. Dickey dumblypermitted the rare chance for a compliment to slip by. "Jane, won'tyou and Mr. Savage undertake a search for her? I will give Williamdirections regarding the luggage." She turned to the man and themaids, and Mr. Savage and Lady Disdain were left to work out theirsalvation as best they could.

  "I can't think of troubling you, Mr. Savage. It won't be necessaryfor you to dodge around in this crowd to--"

  "No trouble, I assure you, Lady Jane. Be glad to do it, in fact.Where shall we go first?" demanded he, considerably flurried.

  "You go that way and I'll go this. We'll find her more easily," saidshe, relentlessly, indicating the directions.

  "But I don't know her," he cried.

  "How unfortunate! Would you know her if I were to describe her toyou? Well, she's tall and very fair. She's also beautiful. She'squite stunning. I'm sure you'll know her." She was starting awaywhen he confronted her desperately.

  "You'll have to go with me. I'll be arrested for addressing thewrong lady if I go alone, and you'll suffer the mortification ofseeing them drag me off to jail."

  "The what? Why do you say mortification, Mr. Savage? I am quitesure--"

  "O, come now, Jane--aw--Lady Jane--what do you mean by that? What'sall the row about? What has happened?" he cried.

  "I don't understand you, Mr. Savage."

  "Something's wrong, or you'd seem happier to see me, that's all," hesaid, helplessly. "Lord, all my troubles come at once. Phil is halfdead, perhaps all dead, by this time--and here you come along,adding misery instead of--"

  "Phil--Mr. Quentin--what did you say, Dickey?" she cried, herhaughty reserve fading like a flash.

  "Don't you know?" he cried. "Almost killed last night by--byrobbers. Slugged him nearly to a finish. Horrible gashes--eightstitches"--he was blurting out excitedly, but she clasped his armconvulsively and fairly dragged him to where Lady Saxondale stood.

  "Oh, Dickey! They didn't kill--he won't die, will he? Why didn't youtell us before? Why didn't you telegraph?" she cried, and there wasno wrath in the thumping, terrified little heart. Lady Saxondaleturned quickly upon hearing the excited words of the girl who but amoment before had been the personification of reserve.

  "What are you saying, Jane? Is there anything wrong?" she asked.

  "Everything is wrong--Philip is dead!" cried Lady Jane, ready tofaint. "Dickey says there are eight gashes, and that he is all dead!Why don't you tell us about it, Dickey?"

  "He's all right--not dead at all. Robber's held him up last nightduring the storm, and if help hadn't come just when it did they'dhave made short work of him. But I can't tell you about it here, youknow. If you'll allow me I'll take a look for the baroness."

  "I'll go with you," said Lady Jane, enthusiastically. "Dickey," shewent on as they hurried away, "I forgive you."

  "Forgive me for what?" he asked.

  "For not coming to Ostend," demurely.

  "You really wanted me to come, did you, Jane?"

  "Yes, after I had been goose enough to telegraph to you, you know.You don't know how small I felt when you did not come," she hurriedout, but his merry laugh cut short the humiliating confession.

  "And that was why you--"

  "Yes, that was why. Don't say another word about it, though. I wassuch a horrid little fool, and I am so ashamed of myself. And youwere so worried all the time about dear Mr. Quentin," she pleaded,penitently.

  "You might have known that nothing short of death could haveprevented me from coming to Ostend," said he softly. "But I've allsorts of news to tell you. When I tell you about the duel you'll gointo convulsions; when you hear--"

  "A duel? Good heavens, how--I mean who--" she gasped, her eyes widerthan ever.

  "I don't know how, but I do know who, Jane, I have shot a man!" hesaid, impressively.

  "Oh, oh, oh! Dickey!" she almost shrieked, coming helplessly to astandstill, a dozen emotions crowding themselves into her pretty,bewildered face.

  "Don't faint! I'll tell you all about it--to-night, eh?" he said,hastily. He was vastly afraid she might topple over in a swoon.

  "I can't wait!" she gasped. "And I will not faint. You must tell meall about it this instant. Is the other man--is he--where is he?"

  "He's in a hospital. Everybody's staring at us. What a fool I was tosay anything about it, I won't tell you another word of it."

  "Oh, Dickey, please!" she implored. He was obdurate and her mannerchanged suddenly. With blighting scorn she exclaimed, "I don'tbelieve a word you've said."

  "O, now, that's hardly a nice way--" he began, indignantly, catchinghimself luckily before floundering into her trap. "You will have towait, just the same, Miss Lady Jane Oldham. Just now we are supposedto be searching for a baroness who is good enough to come to railwaystations, you'll remember. Have you seen her?"

  At this juncture Lady Saxondale's voice was heard behind them, andthere were traces of laughter in the tones.

  "Are you waiting for the mountain to come to you? Here is thebaroness, delayed by an accident to her victoria." Mr. Savage waspresented to the handsome, rather dashing lady, whose smile was asbroad and significant as that which still left traces about LadySaxondale's lips. He bowed deeply to hide the red in his cheeks andthe confusion in his eyes. His companion, on the other hand, greetedthe stranger so effusively that he found it possible during themoments
of merry chatter to regain a fair proportion of his lostcomposure.

  The Baroness St. Auge was an English woman, famed as a whip, agolfer and an entertainer. Her salon was one of the mostinteresting, the most delightful in Brussels; her husband and herrollicking little boys were not a whit less attractive than herself,and her household was the wonder of that gay, careless city. Thebaron, a middle-aged Belgian of wealth, was as merry a nobleman asever set forth to seek the pleasures of life. His board was known asthe most bountiful, his home the cheeriest and most hospitable, hishorses the best bred in all Brussels. He loved his wife and indulgedher every whim, and she adored him. Theirs was a home in which thelaugh seldom gave way to the frown, where happiness dweltundisturbed and merriment kept the rafters twitching. With them thetwo London women were to stop until after the wedding. Saxondale wasto visit his grim old castle in Luxemburg for several days beforecoming up to Brussels, and he was not to leave England for anotherweek. Baron St. Auge was looking over his estates in the north ofBelgium, but was expected home before the week's end.

  Mr. Savage was in an unusual flutter of exhilaration when he rushedinto Quentin's presence soon after the ladies drove away from theGare du Nord. The baroness had warmly insisted that he come thatevening to regale them with the story of the robbery and the accountof the duel, a faint and tantalizing rumor of which had come to herears.

  "The baroness lives on the Avenue Louise, old man," he said, afterhe had described her glowingly. A long, cool drink ran down his drythroat before his listener, propped up in his bed and looking uponhis friend with somber eyes, deigned to break the silence.

  "So you are to tell them about the duel Dickey," he said, slowly.

  "They're crazy about it."

  "I thought it was to be kept as dark as possible." Dickey's jawdropped and his eyes lost their gleam of satisfaction.

  "By thunder, I--I forgot that!" he exclaimed. "What am I to do?" hewent on after a moment of perplexity and dismay. The long, cooldrink seemed to have left a disagreeable taste in his mouth and hegulped feebly.

  "Commit suicide, I should say. I see no other way out of it,"advised the man in the bed, soberly. The misery in Dickey's face wasbeyond description, and the perspiration that stood on his brow camenot from the heat of the day.

  "Did you ever know a bigger ass than I, Phil? Now, did you,honestly?" he groaned.

  "I believe I can outrank you myself, Dickey. It seems to me we areout of our class when it comes to diplomacy. Give Lady Saxondale andLady Jane my compliments to-night, and tell them I hope to see thembefore I sail for home."

  "What's that?" in astonishment.

  "Before I sail for home."

  "Going to give it up, are you?"

  "She thinks I'm a liar, so what is the use?"

  "You didn't talk that way this morning. You swore she believedeverything you said and that she cares for you. Anything happenedsince then?"

  "Nothing but the opportunity to think it all over while thesebandages hold my brain in one place. Her mind is made up and I can'tchange it, truth or no truth. She'll never know what a villianRavorelli--or Pavesi--is until it is too late."

  "You'll feel better to-morrow, old man. The stitches hurt like thedevil, don't they? Cheer up, old chap; I'm the one who needsencouragement. See what I have to face to-night. Good lord, there'llbe three women, at least--maybe a dozen--begging, commanding me totell all about that confounded shooting match, and I was gettingalong so nicely with her, too," he concluded, dolefully.

  "With the baroness? On such short acquaintance?"

  "No, of course not. With Jane Oldham. I don't know how I'm going tosquare it with her, by jove, I don't. Say, I'll bet my head I brayin my sleep, don't I? That's the kind of an ass I am."

  When he looked listlessly into Quentin's room late that evening hewore the air of a martyr, but he was confident he had scored atriumph in diplomacy. Diplomacy in his estimation, was the dignifiedsynonym for lying. For an hour he had lied like a trooper to threewomen; he left them struggling with the conviction that all the restof the world lied and he alone told the truth. With the perspirationof despair on his brow, he had convinced them that there had been noreal duel--just a trifling conflict, in which he, being a goodYankee, had come off with a moderate victory. Lady Jane believed;Lady Saxondale was more or less skeptical; while the Baroness,although graciously accepting his story as it came from hisblundering lips, did not believe a word of it. His story of the"robbery" was told so readily and so graphically that it could notbe doubted.

  Like true women, Lady Saxondale and her sister, accompanied by theirhostess and her brother, Colonel Denslow, seized the first favorableopportunity to call at the rooms of Mr. Quentin. They found him thenext morning sitting up in a comfortable chair, the picture ofdesolation, notwithstanding the mighty efforts of Dickey Savage andthe convivial millionaire. The arrival of the party put new lifeinto the situation, and it was not long before Phil found hisspirits soaring skyward.

  "Tell me the truth about this awful duel," commanded Lady Saxondale,after Dickey had collected the other members of the party about atable to which tall glasses with small stems were brought at hiscall.

  "I'm afraid Dickey has been a bit too loquacious," said he,smilingly.

  "He fibs so wretchedly, you know. One could see he had been toldwhat not to say. You can trust me, Phil," she said, earnestly. Andhe told her all, from beginning to end. Not once did she interrupt,and but seldom did she allow horror to show itself in her clear,brave eyes.

  "And she will go on and marry this man, Phil. I am afraid she cannotbe convinced--or will not, I should say," she said, slowly, at theend of the recital. "What a villain, what a coward he is!"

  "But she must not be sacrificed, Frances! She must be saved. GoodGod, can't something be done to drag her from the clutches of thatscoundrel?" he almost groaned.

  "The clutches of her mother are more vicious than those of the prince.There is the power that dominates. Can it be broken?"

  "As well try to break down the Rocky Mountains. That woman has noheart--no soul, I'll swear. Dorothy has a mind and a will of herown, though, Frances. I feel that she loves me--something tells meshe does, but she will not break this hateful compact. I am surethat I saw love in her eyes that last night, heard it in her voice,felt it in the way she dismissed me."

  "You made a mistake when you denounced him to her. It was butnatural for her to defend him."

  "I know it, but I was driven to it. I saw no other way. She accusedme of cowardice. Good heavens, I'd give my soul to be up now andable to call that villain's bluff. But I am in here for a week, atleast, and the wedding is only two weeks away. When is Bob coming?"he cried, feverishly.

  "Be calm, Phil. You will gain nothing by working yourself into afrenzy. Bob will come when I send for him. It shall be at once, ifyou have need for him here."

  "I want him immediately, but I cannot ask him or you to mix in thismiserable game. There may be a scandal and I won't drag you all intoit," he said, dejectedly.

  "I'll send for Bob, just the same, dear boy. What are friends for,pray?"

  She left him with the firm and secret determination to carry the warfor friendship's sake to the very door of Dorothy Garrison'sstubborn heart, and that without delay.