Part 85 (1/2)
”But how can you--at the play?”
”I'm not going to the play.”
”Not going?”
Clodagh drew her sister closer.
”Now, darling, don't make a fuss! If you say one word of objection, my head will get ten times worse than it is. You are just to listen, and do as I tell you. You are to telephone to Mrs. Estcoit and explain what has happened. She will do the chaperoning instead of me.”
”But Walter----”
”Walter is to go with you. You are to be as nice to him as you possibly can be. Everything is to be exactly as we arranged--_exactly_ as we arranged.”
She raised herself on her elbow to enforce the words.
”And what about Lord Deerehurst?”
Clodagh did not answer immediately; then, sinking back among her pillows, she spoke in a somewhat hurried voice.
”That will be all right; I--I took your advice and sent him two messages, one to Carlton House Terrace and one to his club. He won't be at the theatre.”
”But if he doesn't get the message? If he comes all the same?”
”Then be polite to him. And now go, like a good child. Don't ask any more questions. Don't say anything. Let me see you when you're dressed, and I'll give you a letter for Walter. I'm afraid I can't dine with you; I'll just have something sent in here.” Then, as if in sudden remorse, she put her arms about Nance's neck and drew her close to her.
”Darling, forgive me, if I seem impossible!”
At half-past eight Nance left the house, having shown herself to her sister, made a last loving inquiry as to her health, and taken possession of the note for Gore.
As she pa.s.sed out of the bedroom, Clodagh threw off the fur rug that lay across her feet, and sat up with an expression of sharp attention.
As the sound of the closing hall door reached her ears, she drew a little breath of excitement and rose from the couch with no appearance of her recent indisposition.
Without calling in Simonetta, she changed from the white silk wrapper she was wearing into a black walking-dress, and crossing to one of the wardrobes took out a black hat and veil.
She scarcely looked at herself, as she smoothed her hair and fastened on her hat. Beneath the enforced repression of the afternoon, there burned in her mind a certain sense of adventure--of enterprise--that turned her hot and cold. For though the Irish nature may procrastinate, it takes action with a very keen zest when once circ.u.mstance has compelled a decisive step.
Having finished her dressing, she picked up a pair of gloves, switched off the electric light, and left the room. In the corridor outside she met one of the maids; but without giving the woman time to show any surprise, she made haste to offer an explanation.
”I have forgotten to tell Miss a.s.shlin something of importance,” she said. ”I shall have to drive to the theatre and see her. Please ring for the lift. The porter will find me a cab.” And without waiting to observe the effect of the somewhat disjointed statement, she pa.s.sed to the hall door.
A few minutes later the hall porter had put her into a hansom, telling the cabman to drive to the Apollo Theatre.
While the cab doors were being closed, and the order given, Clodagh sat very still; and for a few minutes after they had started, she lay back in her seat, watching the familiar succession of lights and trees and indistinct ma.s.sed faces that form the nightly picture between Knightsbridge and Piccadilly; but at last, as Hyde Park Corner loomed into view, she sat upright, and raising her hand, shook the roof trap.
The cabman checked the pace of his horse and, opening the little door, looked down.
”Don't mind the Apollo,” she said. ”Drive to Carlton House Terrace instead.”
The man muttered an a.s.sent, and, wheeling his horse to the right, cut across the traffic.