Part 20 (2/2)
”Never.”
”How, then, do you mean to get at these papers of his?”
”At present,” he replied, ”I scarcely know. In an hour or two I may be able to tell you. It is possible that it might take me twenty-four hours; certainly no longer than that.”
She walked to the window, and stood there with her hands clasped behind her back. Mr. Sabin had lit a cigarette and was smoking it thoughtfully.
Presently she spoke to him.
”You will get them,” she said; ”yes, I believe that. In the end you will succeed, as you have succeeded in everything.”
There was a lack of enthusiasm in her tone. He looked up quietly, and flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette.
”You are right,” he said. ”I shall succeed. My only regret is that I have made a slight miscalculation. It will take longer than I imagined. Knigenstein will be in a fever, and I am afraid that he will worry me. At the same time he is himself to blame. He has been needlessly precipitate.”
She turned away from the window and stood before him. She had a look in her face which he had seen there but once before, and the memory of which had ever since troubled him.
”I want you,” she said, ”to understand this. I will not have any direct harm worked upon the Deringhams. If you can get what they have and what is necessary to us by craft--well, very good. If not, it must go! I will not have force used. You should remember that Lord Wolfenden saved your life! I will have nothing to do with any scheme which brings harm upon them!”
He looked at her steadily. A small spot of colour was burning high up on his pallid cheeks. The white, slender fingers, toying carelessly with one of the breakfast appointments, were shaking. He was very near being pa.s.sionately angry.
”Do you mean,” he said, speaking slowly and enunciating every word with careful distinctness, ”do you mean that you would sacrifice or even endanger the greatest cause which has ever been conceived in the heart of the patriot, to the whole skin of a household of English people? I wonder whether you realise the position as it stands at this moment. I am bound in justice to you to believe that you do not. Do you realise that Germany has closed with our offer, and will act at our behest; that only a few trifling sheets of paper stand between us and the fullest, the most glorious success? Is it a time, do you think, for scruples or for maudlin sentiment? If I were to fail in my obligations towards Knigenstein I should not only be dishonoured and disgraced, but our cause would be lost for ever. The work of many years would crumble into ashes. My own life would not be worth an hour's purchase. Helene, you are mad! You are either mad, or worse!”
She faced him quite unmoved. It was more than ever apparent that she was not amongst those who feared him.
”I am perfectly sane,” she said, ”and I am very much in earnest. Ours shall be a strategic victory, or we will not triumph at all. I believe that you are planning some desperate means of securing those papers. I repeat that I will not have it!”
He looked at her with curling lips.
”Perhaps,” he said, ”it is I who have gone mad! At least I can scarcely believe that I am not dreaming. Is it really you, Helene of Bourbon, the descendant of kings, a daughter of the rulers of France, who falters and turns pale at the idea of a little blood, shed for her country's sake? I am very much afraid,” he added with biting sarcasm, ”that I have not understood you. You bear the name of a great queen, but you have the heart of a serving-maid! It is Lord Wolfenden for whom you fear!”
She was not less firm, but her composure was affected. The rich colour streamed into her cheeks. She remained silent.
”For a betrothed young lady,” he said slowly, ”you will forgive me if I say that your anxiety is scarcely discreet. What you require, I suppose, is a safe conduct for your lover. I wonder how Henri would----”
She flashed a glance and an interjection upon him which checked the words upon his lips. The gesture was almost a royal one. He was silenced.
”How dare you, sir?” she exclaimed. ”You are taking insufferable liberties. I do not permit you to interfere in my private concerns. Understand that even if your words were true, if I choose to have a lover it is my affair, not yours. As for Henri, what has he to complain of? Read the papers and ask yourself that! They chronicle his doings freely enough! He is singularly discreet, is he not?--singularly faithful!”
She threw at him a glance of contempt and turned as though to leave the room. Mr. Sabin, recognising the fact that the situation was becoming dangerous, permitted himself no longer the luxury of displaying his anger. He was quite himself again, calm, judicial, incisive.
”Don't go away, please,” he said. ”I am sorry that you have read those reports--more than sorry that you should have attached any particular credence to them. As you know, the newspapers always exaggerate; in many of the stories which they tell I do not believe that there is a single word of truth. But I will admit that Henri has not been altogether discreet. Yet he is young, and there are many excuses to be made for him. Apart from that, the whole question of his behaviour is beside the question. Your marriage with him was never intended to be one of affection. He is well enough in his way, but there is not the stuff in him to make a man worthy of your love. Your alliance with him is simply a necessary link in the chain of our great undertaking. Between you you will represent the two royal families of France. That is what is necessary. You must marry him, but afterwards--well, you will be a queen!”
Again he had erred. She looked at him with bent brows and kindling eyes.
”Oh! you are hideously cynical!” she exclaimed. ”I may be ambitious, but it is for my country's sake. If I reign, the Court of France shall be of a new type; we will at least show the world that to be a Frenchwoman is not necessarily to abjure morals.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
”That,” he said, ”will be as you choose. You will make your Court what you please. Personally, I believe that you are right. Such sentiments as you have expressed, properly conveyed to them, would make yours abjectly half the bourgeois of France! Be as ambitious as you please, but at least be sensible. Do not think any more of this young Englishman, not at any rate at present. Nothing but harm can come of it. He is not like the men of our own country, who know how to take a lady's dismissal gracefully.”
”He is, at least, a man!”
”Helene, why should we discuss him? He shall come to no harm at my hands. Be wise, and forget him. He can be nothing whatever to you. You know that. You are pledged to greater things.”
She moved back to her place by the window. Her eyes were suddenly soft, her face was sorrowful. She did not speak, and he feared her silence more than her indignation. When a knock at the door came he was grateful for the interruption--grateful, that is, until he saw who it was upon the threshold. Then he started to his feet with a little exclamation.
”Lord Wolfenden! You are an early visitor.”
Wolfenden smiled grimly, and advanced into the room.
”I was anxious,” he said, ”to run no risk of finding you out. My mission is not altogether a pleasant one!”
CHAPTER x.x.xI.
”I MAKE NO PROMISE”
A single glance from Mr. Sabin into Wolfenden's face was sufficient. Under his breath he swore a small, quiet oath. Wolfenden's appearance was unlooked for, and almost fatal, yet that did not prevent him from greeting his visitor with his usual ineffusive but well bred courtesy.
”I am finis.h.i.+ng a late breakfast,” he remarked. ”Can I offer you anything--a gla.s.s of claret or Benedictine?”
Wolfenden scarcely heard him, and answered altogether at random. He had suddenly become aware that Helene was in the room; she was coming towards him from the window recess, with a brilliant smile upon her lips.
”How very kind of you to look us up so early!” she exclaimed.
Mr. Sabin smiled grimly as he poured himself out a liqueur and lit a cigarette. He was perfectly well aware that Wolfenden's visit was not one of courtesy; a single glance into his face had told him all that he cared to know. It was fortunate that Helene had been in the room. Every moment's respite he gained was precious.
”Have you come to ask me to go for a drive in that wonderful vehicle?” she said lightly, pointing out of the window to where his dogcart was waiting. ”I should want a step-ladder to mount it!”
Wolfenden answered her gravely.
”I should feel very honoured at being allowed to take you for a drive at any time,” he said, ”only I think that I would rather bring a more comfortable carriage.”
She shrugged her shoulders, and looked at him significantly.
”The one you were driving yesterday?”
He bit his lip and frowned with vexation, yet on the whole, perhaps, he did not regret her allusion. It was proof that she had not taken the affair too seriously.
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