Part 1 (2/2)
Mention of the name of Stanchester caused me to p.r.i.c.k my ears, for I had been private secretary to the old Earl and was now acting in that same capacity to the young man who had recently succeeded to the estates.
”And his sister, the fair one--Lady Lolita they call her--is she married yet?” inquired the half-famished man.
”No. She still lives with her brother and his wife up at the Hall.”
The stranger grunted, and I noticed that he smiled faintly for the first time, but just at that moment he turned and catching sight of my back through the half-opened door, started slightly and appeared to be somewhat embarra.s.sed.
Why did he make that inquiry regarding Lolita, I wondered? My father, Sir George Woodhouse, having been an intimate friend of the old Earl's, and his aide-de-camp when he was Viceroy of India, I had been taken into the latter's confidential service as soon as I came down from Cambridge, and for the past ten years had lived as a careless bachelor in a pleasant old ivy-covered house at the end of the village, being treated more as one of the Stanchester family than as the millionaire landowner's confidential secretary. The present Earl had been at Cambridge with me, and there was a strong bond of friends.h.i.+p between us.
”Yours has been a strange life,” said the publican at last, in order to obtain more details of the stranger and his motive for inquiring after the people at the Hall.
”It has; I've drifted half over the world, but the pa.s.sion for wandering is now pretty well worn out of me,” wearily responded the other, taking a sip at his beer. ”They say there's no place like home. I used to think so when the s.h.i.+p was steaming over the blue sea at nights with all asleep below and the clear stars s.h.i.+ning over me. I don't think I shall live long; that's why I'm back again once more in England. But,” he added, ”we were talking of Lol--er, I mean Lady Lolita. Isn't she even engaged?”
”Not that I know of,” answered the innkeeper. ”If she were, some of the servants would be sure to chatter. There ain't much as goes on up at the Hall without me knowing it.”
The estimable Warr was right. The tap-room of the _Stanchester Arms_ was the village forum where the footmen, stablemen, kennel-hands and others employed in the Earl's great establishment a.s.sembled nightly to drink beer and discuss the gossip of the day.
”Ah! I suppose she's just as beautiful as ever?” remarked the stranger reflectively. His voice quivered oddly, and he rose wearily, brus.h.i.+ng the knees of his frayed and s.h.i.+ny trousers. ”She's one of the prettiest women in all England,” added the ragged wayfarer, whose inquiries seemed to me to be made with some distinct purpose.
”She's lovely,” declared Warr. ”The papers often have portraits of her.
Perhaps you've seen them?”
”Yes, I have,” he answered, and the words came out with something like a groan.
At that instant there reached our ears the familiar jingle of harness bells, and Warr, turning quickly, cried--
”Why, she's just coming along! You'll see her in a moment!” And they both dashed to the small diamond-paned window which looked out upon the village street.
The stranger stood with his dark eyes peering out, his body drawn back as though fearing recognition, until a few moments later, when a smart victoria and pair of chestnuts dashed pa.s.sed, and lolling within, beneath a pale blue sunshade, was the sweet-faced woman in white returning to the Hall after making afternoon calls.
”Ah!” he gasped as the marvellous beauty of that countenance burst upon him, and was next instant lost to view as the jingling bells receded.
”You're right!” he said, turning from the window sadly, his face blanched. ”She's more beautiful than ever--she's absolutely lovely!”
The man was a mystery. He attracted me.
The publican remained gravely silent, utterly at a loss to understand the stranger's meaning, while at that moment the latter apparently recollected my proximity, for he looked across towards where I, having had business with the innkeeper, still stood awaiting his return.
Suddenly turning to Warr, he said--
”I notice you have a gentleman in the parlour, there. I wonder whether you would give me just a couple of minutes alone? I want to ask you a question.”
The landlord again glanced suspiciously at the mysterious stranger, but seeing the earnest, determined look upon his grizzled face, rather reluctantly consented, and conducted his customer across the low entrance-hall to a room on the opposite side, the door of which he closed behind them.
What transpired therein was in secret, but about five minutes later I heard the door open again, and the stranger, with heavy tread, walk firmly to the door.
”You won't forget the name,” he called back to Warr in a strange hard voice just before he went forth. ”Richard Keene--K-e-e-n-e.”
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