Part 22 (2/2)
”And think also, Mr Smeeton--or whatever you choose to call yourself-- that I also possess knowledge of a fact which, if known to Scotland Yard, would prevent you in future from pus.h.i.+ng your unwelcome presence into a house where you were not wanted. Do you understand?”
”No, I don't.”
”Well, as you've spoken so plainly,” she said in an angry tone, ”I will also tell you what I mean to do. You are here bent upon mischief; you intend to carry out the threat you made long ago. Good! From the very start I openly defy you,” and she snapped her slim white fingers in his face. ”Tell my husband any lie you like! Do your worst to injure my reputation, but recollect that from to-night, instead of being friends, we are enemies, and I shall tell the police something which will be to them of enormous interest. You wish to quarrel with me, therefore let it be so. My husband shall know of your insults at once, and that will allow you an opening to denounce me as one of the worst women in England. The result will be interesting--as you will see. One of us will suffer--but depend upon it it will not be myself,” she laughed defiantly.
”I have no wish to quarrel,” he a.s.sured her quickly. ”I said I had come here to make terms with you and to save Lolita.”
”What do you wish? That I should incriminate myself?” she asked.
”Lolita does not concern me in the least, neither do you, for the matter of that. I've given you the ultimatum,” she added. ”If you wish to pick a quarrel, then my own safety will be a.s.sured.”
”You misunderstand me,” he said in a tone more conciliatory than before.
”Yes, I certainly misunderstand your desire to bring upon yourself what must be a very serious disaster by coming here and trying to wring from me certain things which I am determined, for my own good name and reputation, to keep secret. My own opinion of you is that you are a fool, and that if you are wise you'll make an excuse, and to-morrow morning leave Sibberton.”
”I shall do nothing of the kind,” he responded in quick indignation. ”I intend to act as I have told you.”
”Very well, then, that is sufficient. I wish you a very good-night,”
she said pa.s.sing on before the doorway where I stood hidden. ”My husband shall know at once how you, a stranger to me, have dared to insult me with your outrageous insinuations and threats.”
”No, I did not mean--” he commenced, as though to modify his actions.
”Enough, Mr Smeeton. I have decided upon my course of action, and you had better leave this house while there is yet time. Otherwise perhaps you will have unwelcome inquiries made after you.”
The man upon whom she had so cleverly turned the tables gave vent to a muttered imprecation, while the swish of her silken flounces receded down the long dark corridor, and I stood there breathless and motionless, not daring to betray my presence.
The result of such an open quarrel as it had become I dreaded to contemplate, for I knew, alas! too well that whatever it be my love must suffer, and that she was bent upon taking her life rather than face exposure of the mysterious scandal.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
THE SAINTS' GARDEN.
After breakfast on the following morning I contrived to make an appointment with the Countess to meet her at a short distance from the house in what was known as the Saints' Garden.
Her ladys.h.i.+p's habit was to walk in the garden for half an hour after breakfast, and I deemed that the Saints' Garden, being at a secluded spot down near the lake, and little frequented either by the gardeners or visitors, was a good place of meeting. The gardens at Sibberton were noted for their beauty. There was an old lavender garden; one for bulbs; another for roses, and--most charming of all, Lolita's pride--the Saints' Garden, the flowers of which were supposed to blossom on the days set apart for certain saints. In it were veronicas, lilies, Christmas roses, and a wild tangle of old-world flowers.
I waited in patience in this little ”garden of the good,” encompa.s.sed by its dark thick box hedges. The morning was bright, the dew glistened everywhere in the sunlight, and the flowers filled the air with their fragrance. It was a peaceful spot where Lolita loved to linger, and where we had often walked and talked in secret.
She came at last--the reckless, handsome woman who held my love's life in her hands.
Her fair face was smiling as she came along in her neat short skirt and fresh morning blouse, and greeted me saying--
”Really, Mr Woodhouse, I hardly think it was wise of you to meet me here. One of the gardeners or some one may see us and gossip,” and she turned her eyes upon me with that look which had made many a man's head reel.
”We are safer from observation here, Lady Stanchester, than in my room,”
I answered in a rather hard tone, I fear. She glanced at me quickly, apparently in wonder that I was in no mood for trifling. She was, of course, unaware that I had overheard all that had pa.s.sed between her and the man Richard Keene. Nevertheless she said--
”As I antic.i.p.ated, he claimed acquaintances.h.i.+p with me last night-- stopped me in the Panelled Corridor and addressed me by my Christian name.”
”Well.”
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