The Jewelled Snuff Box (8 page)

“A governess!” she exclaimed, when Jane had finished. “My dearest Jane!”

“A companion at the moment,” corrected Jane, with a smile.

“And to Celia Bordesley!” said Letty, in tones of horror. “Oh, no, Jane, this must not be!”

“It is not so very bad,” said her friend. “We manage tolerably well so far.”

“But there must be something else to be done for you!” exclaimed Letty. “Your Papa — dear Jane, I was so distressed for you! — but he must surely have left you some money, and then you have relatives, I remember. Can you not make a home with any of them?”

Jane shook her head decidedly. “I have no fancy to be an encumbrance upon anyone. I am young, in good health, and like to be doing something, you know. At times the life is a little difficult, I will confess, but it has its compensations. I am constantly meeting new people, seeing fresh scenes; moreover, I am not obliged to be dependent upon anyone. That, to my mind, is the greatest evil that could befall me.”

Letty was reluctant to believe that her friend could be happy in such a way of life, and put forward a number of wild schemes which should so much enrich Jane that she would no longer be obliged to earn a living. They both laughed heartily over these, and Jane promised to try them when all else failed.

“But why did you never write to me?” asked Letty, when they were sober again.

Jane glanced awkwardly at her friend, then looked quickly away.

“I — my circumstances were so changed — I did not wish to embarrass anyone; it seemed best to drop my former acquaintance.”

“Jane Tarrant! How you could think — others, perhaps, but not I! After all that we had meant to each other —”

“Forgive me if you can, Letty. I never doubted your loyalty for one moment, but, indeed, it seemed the best way.”

“Well, I fancy I know my Jane,” said Letty, with a warm glance at her friend. “I’ll say no more; but now that I have found you I shall hope to see a great deal of you. You are but a step away from us, after all.”

“My time is not my own however,” Jane reminded her.

“Oh, stuff! Celia Bordesley will be obliged to give you some time to yourself, and then you can spend it here with me. It will be quite delightful!”

Jane agreed, though with some mental reservations. She was very fond of Letty, and would have liked to resume their former friendship: but she could not help feeling the inequality of their respective situations, and wondered if perhaps Lady Carisbrooke would be as eager for the connection as her daughter. It was, after all, an age of snobbery.

“I am sorry that your brother should be unwell,” said Jane, thinking to change the subject. “It is nothing serious, I trust?”

“We don’t really know what has been the matter,” replied Letty, with a worried frown. “The doctor himself is puzzled, but says it is some form of brain-fever. However, Riccy is better today; Mama has been able to talk to him for the first time, and he insists that he is quite able to get up. Jane, do you know what is in this letter? I’m not sure if it is wise to give it to him just yet.”

“I’m afraid I cannot help you there.”

Letty frowned at the note, which she still held in her hand. “I’m certain that it can do him no good. Oh, I hate Celia Bordesley, I just hate her!”

Jane stared. Such an outburst of venom was unusual in her happy-go-lucky friend.

“Well, of course I know you never liked her. But what can she have done to give you such strong feelings?”

“It is on account of Richard!” choked Letty. “You cannot conceive what she has done to him! I tell you, Jane, he worshipped her — it was pitiful to watch. Why, on one occasion he almost cut Mr. Brummell himself, and I need not tell you what a social solecism that would have been! The poor boy thought that she meant to marry him, and when he found out that it was Bordesley, I shall never forget his face! And she led him on, Jane; it was deliberately done because she must have everyone admiring her, not because she really cared one jot for poor Richard! Knowing her as I do, I tried to warn him, but he would not listen. It is no use to try and tell men anything, my dear, though it should be staring them in the face. Always remember that!”

Jane promised gravely that she would, suppressing a desire to smile at the worldly-wise air which sat so oddly on Letty’s dimpled face.

“I suppose I must give him this,” continued Letty, reverting to the note. “But I shall wait a day or two, until he is really well, and so you may tell Celia. Oh, Jane, I hope she may not vent her spite on you! You must not stay there: why do you not come here? I know Mama would be pleased to have you for an indefinite stay, and as for myself — well, you know how I would feel, do you not? Do, please, leave that dreadful house, and come to us, dearest Jane!”

Jane was very firm in refusing this offer, while expressing her sense of Letty’s goodness in making it.

“It is quite absurd that you should be reduced to such straits, Jane, when your father gave his life for his country! And there is Celia Walbrook, who is an undeserving character if ever I saw one, surrounded by every luxury; while you, who never did anything but good to anyone, have not a penny to bless yourself with!”

“Oh, Letty, come, it is not as bad as that!” Jane had to laugh at her friend’s indignation. “As for Celia, believe me, I would not change places with her for all the Bordesley fortune,” she added more soberly.

“No, I suppose not: but life often seems most unfair. Well, at any rate, you will be able to look in and see me pretty often. I would call on you, but that I must see her also if I do; and I’ve never yet bothered to call on Celia Bordesley, and don’t mean to begin! You will come, won’t you? And not let yourself be deterred by any of those silly notions of yours about putting upon people? ’Pon rep, Jane, you are the most independent, diffident girl I’ve ever met, and I love you for it, but I could sometimes shake you!”

Jane laughed and promised that she would indeed call when she should be free to do so. On this note, the two friends parted.

Chapter IX. Return Of The Stranger

DURING THE next few days, Jane had ample opportunity of observing the truth of Celia’s prediction that the Earl would dance attendance on his wife. Indeed, Jane scarcely saw either of them. Bordesley bore Celia off to Bond St. in the afternoon of the day on which Jane had seen Letty, and they returned with a coach loaded with gowns and trinkets. The following morning, my lord drove Celia in the park arrayed in one of her new toilettes; in the evening, he accompanied her to a small private party where there was dancing. Jane found herself with a great deal of time on her hands, but she did not use it in visiting Letty, much as her inclinations ran that way. She did, however, pay a call on Mrs. Sharratt, who had expressed her desire of hearing how Jane went on in her new post. She was given a true account of the comforts provided, and the difficulties were glossed over. Thus Jane left the lawyer’s wife with a comfortable feeling concerning her welfare.

After showing an initial annoyance at Jane’s discreetly worded version of the message from Letty Carisbrooke, Celia had said no more of her delayed note to Sir Richard. Indeed, it had seemed to Jane that she betrayed a certain relief on hearing that the gentleman was ill. Perhaps, thought Jane, it was a connection which Celia began to find tedious; she hoped so, for Letty’s sake.

Three or four days after his quarrel with Celia, the Earl began to revert to his custom of calling in at the clubs during the day, instead of accompanying his wife everywhere. Celia seemed not to mind this, actually expressing relief to Jane. “Nothing can be more tedious than having one’s husband constantly at one’s side!” she confessed. “Of course, it’s very gratifying to have so many baubles given, but I’m not at all sure that it’s worth the price of seeing no one but Francis for days on end.”

This speech might have amazed Jane at one time; but a week in the Bordesley household had opened her eyes to marriage à la mode.

She and Celia were sitting together before the fire one morning, the Earl having left the house to meet one of his cronies, when a servant brought in a note for Celia. She glanced at the direction, then hastily tore it open. Its contents were short, but appeared to affect her powerfully. She jumped hastily to her feet, crumpled the letter and threw it on the fire.

“I have to go out at once, Jane!” she exclaimed. “If my lord should return in my absence, tell him I am gone to the Circulating Library — no, stay, you had better accompany me. I will leave a message for Francis with the porter.”

Jane succeeded in understanding this speech better than it deserved. Evidently the note was responsible for Celia’s urgent need of visiting the Library, and she was taking Jane along as a chaperone, hoping thereby to satisfy the Earl that her errand was harmless. Jane hoped that she might fulfil her part more successfully than she had done on the occasion of their visit to the play, and wondered what clandestine encounter she was now to be privileged to witness. Would it again be the debonair Mr. Summers?

She had no leisure to wonder for long, for Celia was in a fever to be gone; and many a slap did her abigail earn for dilatoriness, before my lady was ready to depart, a vision in dove-grey and pink. Celia had not summoned the carriage, a circumstance which confirmed Jane’s suspicions about the nature of the errand. If my lady wished to be secret, she was wise not to travel in a vehicle which bore her husband’s crest on its panels. The two of them therefore walked the short distance to the Library.

Once arrived, they found a number of people standing about the large room in little groups, some idly chatting in low tones, others taking down and scanning volumes from the shelves. My lady nodded to one and another, but passed purposefully on, refusing to be drawn into conversation; until she reached a doorway which led to a smaller, more secluded room. There was only one person here, a gentleman, his back towards them, making some show of glancing through the volumes on the shelves immediately before him. Jane saw that he was tall, with broad shoulders encased in a superbly cut coat, and thick dark hair, brushed in a casual style. Some premonition seized her, and she began to tremble.

The man turned at Celia’s approach, and gave a curt bow. Jane looked full into his face, which was pale, with a suggestion of strain around the eyes.

It was the stranger from the Dartford road.

For a moment, she thought her senses would leave her. Every drop of blood seemed to ebb from her face, and she felt that the beating of her heart must be clearly audible to the others. There was a chair standing just a little way off: she groped her way there and sank thankfully on to it.

The gentleman glanced curiously at her, concern but no recognition in his look.

“Won’t you go to your friend?” he asked Celia, in a low tone. “She looks as though she’s about to swoon.”

Celia threw an impatient glance behind her towards Jane.

“She certainly does look pale,” she said wonderingly. “But she’s not my friend, only a hired companion. I expect she’ll be all right presently.”

She turned her back on Jane. “Never mind about her!” she continued impatiently. “Tell me, Richard, have you got my letter? I could not understand your note — it put me in such alarm!”

“No, I have not,” he answered ruefully.

“Not? But I don’t understand — Julian said —”

“So you’ve seen Summers, have you?” he asked grimly.

“Yes, we met quite by chance at the theatre — and a fine scene Bordesley enacted me in consequence! But that is by the way. Julian gave me to understand that he had given you the letter in exchange for the packet I sent with you; and now you say you haven’t got it, after all. Explain it to me, Richard, for I cannot make head or tail of it!”

“I’m damned if I understand the half of it myself,” he answered, bringing his heavy brows down in a frown. “I certainly did see that scoundrel, and had the letter of him; and how I left him without putting a bullet through his false heart, I don’t know. But you said no violence, so —” he broke off, with a helpless gesture of his hands.

“Yes, yes, but where is it?” hissed Celia, almost beside herself with anxiety. “If you had it then, you must have it now!”

He shook his head.

“This will sound odd, I know; it does even to myself. I had that letter of Summers, I put it in a secret place about me, and I rode off for London.”

He broke off again, and looked through her into the middle distance.

“That much I remember clearly; and the next thing I remember is finding myself somewhere in a street down in the City with only a few shillings in my pocket, and all my possessions — wallet, watch, fobs, snuff box, quizzing glass — all gone!”

Celia stared at him for a moment without speaking; then an expression of contempt settled on her face.

“I wonder you should think to take me in with such a cock and bull story!”

“I know it does sound a trifle thin — that is why I have related it to no one else — but, believe it or not, it is the sober truth.”

“Then you must have been in your cups!” exclaimed Celia, in disgust.

He shrugged. “I wish I could think so: any other explanation is too deuced creepy. But you might know I wouldn’t drink with Summers; and as far as my recollection carries me, which is to within a mile or two of his place in Kent, I certainly didn’t stop for refreshment. I set out from his house with the intention of pushing on back to Town in spite of the weather, for it had come on to snow when I arrived there. Believe it or not, Celia, the next thing I recollect is standing in this street in the City! I looked at a nearby clock, and it wanted a few minutes to one. I felt confoundedly shaky, and reached home I know not how. I believe you must know that I’ve been laid up ever since, for my sister babbled something about having sent you a message to that effect when your note was delivered at the house. They handed that to me only this morning; I replied at once.”

“But this is fantastic!” exploded Celia.

He smiled mirthlessly. “I agree with you. However, I’ve been turning the business over in my mind, as you may imagine; and I fancy I’ve arrived at a possible explanation.”

“I shall be glad to hear it,” said Celia, in an acid tone. Julian’s suggestion crossed her mind, and she wondered if there could be any truth in it.

“There’s no doubt at all that I was robbed,” he said. “Though why the thief should have had the mercy to leave me my fare home, passes comprehension! However, my medico said that he thought my recent malady might have been caused by a severe blow on the head; and it’s just possible that such a blow would cause me to forget all that passed for a time afterwards. I didn’t question him on the point, because obviously I’m not anxious to advertise the fact that I am unaware of my actions from close on six o’clock of one evening until the following afternoon — and I rely on you, Celia, not to spread such a tale abroad.”

She gave him a scornful glance.

“I am not likely to do so; remember I have a stake in this affair! So you suppose that you were robbed? My letter would be taken with your other possessions, presumably, and therefore at this moment it may be anywhere. God, Richard, I cannot be easy until I have it in my hand! It spells my certain ruin if Francis should chance upon it! Is there nothing to be done to recover it?”

She seized his arm with these words, looking up imploringly into his face. He patted her hand reassuringly.

“Ah, but I think I know the identity of this robber, Celia. Never fear, I think we shall recover your letter!”

“What do you mean?” she asked, amazed.

“Who would be most likely to want to gain possession of that letter — who that knows of its existence, that is?” he countered.

A flash of illumination lit her face.

“You must mean Julian?”

She paused to consider the idea further, then shook her head.

“I don’t believe it; he has a fondness for me, after all. I only half credited that he would indeed ever make use of the letter in the way that I feared, but you must realise that I could not afford to take a chance. I truly believe, knowing him as I do, that he would play fair, and relinquish all claim to the note once he had obtained his price.”

It was his turn to look contemptuous.

“Upon my word, you have a very pretty idea of affection and fair dealing! I see now why I never made any headway with you!”

She gave him a guileless look from her deep blue eyes. “What makes you think you did not?” she asked softly.

He held her glance for a moment, then his eyes flickered uneasily away from her face.

“Well, I persist in thinking that he has it,” he said. “It all happened a deal too neatly for coincidence. It’s my belief he gave that man of his — a shifty-eyed individual if I ever saw one! — the tip to lie in wait for me along my road home. I was admittted to the house by the fellow, but there was no sign of him when I left; and all along, I have had the oddest notion that he is in some way connected with this affair. I cannot positively say that I remember being set upon, but it is obvious that I must have been; granted that, I would be ready to believe that he was the man who did it. Call it an inner conviction, and sneer at it if you will, but it is nevertheless very strong.”

“Can you really not remember being set upon?” asked Celia. “One would fancy you might at least recall that much.”

He shook his head. “I remember perfectly riding off down the drive and through the gates of Farrowdene on my way back. It was snowing hard, and the wind was keen. I found it rough going along the lane which joins the house to the main coaching road, and my mare was picking her way like a cat.”

He spoke slowly. It was evident that he was tracing the journey step by step in his mind.

“I turned into the main road, and we made better progress, though the snow was driving into my face so that I had my work cut out to see properly. I was thinking of that scoundrel I had left behind me, and of you, Celia — of the whole damned mess.”

He broke off, and was silent for a space.

“That’s all,” he finished. “I’ve been over it many a time in my mind, and there is nothing more I can recall. It’s as though I suddenly fell asleep there in the midst of it all.”

There was a conviction in his voice that impressed even Celia’s incredulity. She stared at him for a moment without speaking, then lightly shrugged her shoulders.

“You may be right; it is possible Julian has the letter. But why did he give me no hint of it when I saw him at the theatre?”

“Perhaps he means to wait a little,” said Richard grimly, “until he has exhausted his ill-gotten profits. Then he will apply to you once more.”

“I must say,” said Celia, tartly, “you are both ready to believe the worst of each other. He suggested that you might be playing the same game.”

“The damned scoundrel!”

“Perhaps; we shall soon know. I will ask him if he has it,” said Celia, decisively.

His face hardened. “No, I’ll do that. It will be a pleasure.”

“Richard, I’ve told you before that you cannot call him out!” exclaimed Celia, laying a hand on his arm.

“We can find a good enough excuse. I don’t care for his waistcoats — never have done, as a matter of fact!”

“Do you think anyone is deceived by such shifts? They have been smoked out before,” replied Celia, scornfully. “And I won’t take the chance of the affair coming to Bordesley’s ears — I dare not!”