Part 42 (1/2)

Whoever said it, could this be true?

The Contessa perceived with a start that her hand had dropped from her mouth. She put back the handkerchief again with tremulous eagerness. ”If I take it, all will go wrong--all will fall to pieces,” she said pathetically. ”Lucy, dear one, do not come near me, but send me Bice, if you love me,” the Contessa cried. She smiled with her eyes, though her mouth was covered. She had not so much as understood, she, so experienced, so acquainted with the wicked world, so _connaisseuse_ in evil tales--she had not even so much as divined what innocent Lucy meant to say.

CHAPTER LII.

THE END.

Bice was taken away in the cab, there being no reason why she should remain in a house where Lucy was no longer lonely or heartbroken--but not by her patroness, who was doubly her aunt, but did not love that old-fas.h.i.+oned t.i.tle, and did love a mystery. The Contessa would not trust herself in the same vehicle with the girl who had come out of little Tom's nursery, and was no doubt charged with pestilence. She walked, marvel of marvels, with a thick veil over her face, and Sir Tom, in amused attendance, looking with some curiosity through the gauze at this wonder of a spring morning which she had not seen for years. Bice, for her part, was conveyed by the old woman who waited in the cab, the mother of one of the servants in the Mayfair house, to her humble home, where the girl was fumigated and disinfected to the Contessa's desire.

She was presented a week after, the strictest secrecy being kept about these proceedings; and mercifully, as a matter of fact, did not convey infection either to the Contessa or to the still more distinguished ladies with whom she came in contact. What a day for Madame di Forno-Populo! There was nothing against her. The d.u.c.h.ess had spent an anxious week, inquiring everywhere. She had pledged herself in a weak hour; but though the men laughed, that was all. Not even in the clubs was there any story to be got hold of. The d.u.c.h.ess had a son-in-law who was clever in gossip. He said there was nothing, and the Lord Chamberlain made no objection. The Contessa di Forno-Populo had not indeed, she said loftily, ever desired to make her appearance before the Piedmontese; but she had the stamp upon her, though partially worn out, of the old Grand Ducal Court of Tuscany--which many people think more of--and these two stately Italian ladies made as great a sensation by their beauty and their stately air as had been made at any drawing-room in the present reign. The most august and discriminating of critics remarked them above all others. And a Lady, whose knowledge of family history is unrivalled, like her place in the world, condescended to remember that the Conte di Forno-Populo had married an English lady.

Their dresses were specially described by Lady Anastasia in her favourite paper; and their portraits were almost recognisable in the _Graphic_, which gave a special (fancy) picture of the drawing-room in question. Triumph could not farther go.

It was not till after this event that Bice revealed the purpose which was one of her inducements for that visit to little Tom's sick bed. On the evening of that great day, just before going out in all her splendour to the d.u.c.h.ess's reception held on that occasion, she took her lover aside, whose pride in her magnificence and all the applause that had been lavished on her knew no bounds.

”Listen,” she said, ”I have something to tell you. Perhaps, when you hear it, all will be over. I have not allowed you to come near me nor touch me----”

”No, by Jove! It has been stand off, indeed! I don't know what you mean by it,” cried Montjoie ruefully; ”that wasn't what I bargained for, don't you know?”

”I am going to explain,” said Bice. ”You shall know, then, that when I had those headaches--you remember--and you could not see me, I had no headaches, _mon ami_. I was with Milady Randolph in Park Lane, in the middle of the fever, nursing the boy.”

Montjoie gazed at her with round eyes. He recoiled a step, then rus.h.i.+ng at his betrothed, notwithstanding her Court plumes and flounces, got Bice in his arms. ”By Jove!” he cried, ”and that was why! You thought I was frightened of the fever; that is the best joke I have heard for ages, don't you know? What a pluck you've got, Bee! And what a beauty you are, my pretty dear! I am going to pay myself all the arrears.”

”Don't,” said Bice, plaintively; the caresses were not much to her mind, but she endured them to a certain limit. ”I wondered,” she said with a faint sigh, ”what you would say.”

”It was awfully silly,” said Montjoie. ”I couldn't have believed you were so soft, Bee, with your training, don't you know? And how did you come over _her_ to let you go? She was in a dead funk all the time. It was awfully silly; you might have caught it, or given it to me, or a hundred things, and lost all your fun; but it was awfully plucky,” cried Montjoie, ”by Jove! I knew you were a plucky one;” and he added, after a moment's reflection, in a softened tone, ”a good little girl too.”

It was thus that Bice's fate was sealed.

That afternoon Lucy received a note from Lady Randolph in the following words:--

”DEAREST LUCY--I am more glad than I can tell you to hear the good news of the dear boy. Probably he will be stronger now than he has ever been, having got over this so well.

”I want to tell you not to think any more of what I said _that_ day. I hope it has not vexed you. I find that my informant was entirely mistaken, and acted upon a misconception all the time. I can't tell how sorry I am ever to have mentioned such a thing; but it seemed to be on the very best authority. I do hope it has not made any coolness between Tom and you.

”Don't take the trouble to answer this. There is nothing that carries infection like letters, and I inquire after the boy every day.--Your loving

M. RANDOLPH.”

”It was not her fault,” said Lucy, sobbing upon her husband's shoulder.

”I should have known you better, Tom.”

”I think so, my dear,” he said quietly, ”though I have been more foolish than a man of my age ought to be; but there is no harm in the Contessa, Lucy.”

”No,” Lucy said, yet with a grave face. ”But Bice will be made a sacrifice: Bice, and----” she added with a guilty look, ”I shall have thrown away that money, for it has not saved her.”

”Here is a great deal of money,” said Sir Tom, drawing a letter from his pocket, ”which seems also in a fair way of being thrown away.”

He took out the list which Lucy had given to her trustee, which Mr.