The Guinea Stamp (21 page)

“But that’s just what I can do, Jo, for that is what love means,” replied Kitty. She was quiet and confident now. “I should thank you, my dear, for you have at last made me realize that I love Guy in spite of anything he may do! I have had my doubts, but they are over, thank God. I have only to wait patiently, and I know that he will make it all clear to me in time.”

It was in vain that Joanna tried to reason her friend out of this dangerous attitude of mind: Kitty was firm. Where before she had doubted, she now trusted implicitly. Joanna’s story had produced quite the opposite effect from what she had intended.

“You may as well give up, Jo, for you won’t change me,” Kitty advised her. “I know my own mind, now—but are you certain that you do?”

“In what way? If you are speaking of Mr. Dor—“

“I am not; I am. speaking of Captain Jackson.”

“Oh,” replied Joanna, and was silent.

“Are you quite sure, my dear, that you do not return his regard—just a little?”

“How could I do so?” asked Joanna, in surprise. “He is not of my world; he—he is not, as far as I am aware, a—a gentleman.”

“I understood you to say that you did not know his real identity?”

“No more do I. But it is obvious, from all manner of little things—”

“Does it really matter?”

“Matter? My dear Kitty, whatever can you mean?”

“Only that you must take love where you find it. That may not always be where you expect—or wish—to find it.”

“Oh, if you are to speak in riddles, I have done!” exclaimed Joanna, with a touch of anger. “As you are so ready to persist in nourishing an affection for a traitor, I suppose you think it nothing that I should entertain one for a nameless smuggler!”

“No more do I,” said Kitty, sticking out her chin. “And if we are to remain friends, Miss Feniton, you will say no more of traitors, if you please!”

“Oh, Kit!” exclaimed Joanna, contritely. “We must not quarrel—we are each other’s only confidante. And besides, we are the proper complement each of the other. I need your romanticism—and you, my dear, need my common sense!”

They looked into each other’s faces, and laughed.

“Well, that’s very true,” said Kitty, taking her friend’s arm once more. “But do you know, Jo, I think we each possess more of the other’s chief characteristic than we have ever realized until now!”

They walked in silence for a little while.

“Can I say nothing to make you change your mind?” asked Joanna, timidly.

“Nothing,” was the firm reply. “But we are not to quarrel on that account. Let’s decide never to mention this subject again.”

“Very well,” replied Joanna, with a sigh. “It must be as you wish.”

“Good! Then let us return to the house. I had not thought of it before, but I am pretty near frozen to death! There should be a good fire in the morning room, too, by now.”

They turned towards the house, arms closely linked together.

SIXTEEN - Mr. Cholcombe Makes a Declaration

Guy Dorlais did not return for luncheon, but his absence was felt by no one except Kitty. Joanna was thankful for the opportunity of postponing a meeting with the man whom she now knew to be a traitor: as for the rest of the party, they were too much occupied in discussing the subject which claimed so much of Sir Walter’s thoughts.

“Well, there you are!” pronounced Sir George Lodge. “I’m tolerably certain that the servants know nothing of the matter, Walter. One cannot escape the conviction that the offence must have been committed some time since—perhaps years ago.”

“Certainly it is some years since last I opened that book—”

“I should think it is!” interrupted his wife. “I’m sure it would not signify if no one ever opened it! Such a to-do about a book which could not have cost more than a few shillings at most! Your guests must find it more than a little tedious, Feniton!”

“Not at all,” said Mr. Cholcombe, in his pleasant drawl. “Mysteries are always entertaining, do you not agree, Masterman?”

Captain Masterman nodded briefly, but did not speak. Miss Masterman was more voluble, saying that for her part she dearly loved a mystery.

“So you see, ma’am,” remarked Cholcombe to his hostess, with a smile, “you need have no fears on that score.”

He turned to Sir Walter. “I myself have not seen the book, sir. Tell me, are you sufficiently acquainted with the text to know what the missing word would be? Was it perhaps—could it be”—he smiled deprecatingly—“something which was removed so that it could not offend the eyes of, let us say, a female reader?”

Sir Walter looked a trifle impatiently at the speaker.

“My dear young man,
I
imagine there is nothing particularly offensive about the name of a village.”

“So that is what it was!” exclaimed Georgina Masterman. “How very odd, to be sure!”

“I believe I told you that the book was a traveller’s account of various districts of England and Wales,” explained Sir Walter. “The particular page which was damaged”—his voice shook a little with anger—“dealt with our own county of Devon. The missing word was ‘Babbacombe’.”

There was a lengthy silence. Lady Feniton was the first to break it, determined to change the subject. She turned to Mr. Cholcombe.

“I collect that you, also, have the intention of renewing acquaintance with some of the officers whose ships are just arrived in the Bay?” she asked him.

He bowed. “I thought of walking down there this afternoon, and seeing if I could run across anyone I know.”

“Then perhaps you will like to bring some of them back with you to dinner? Sir Walter and I generally offer hospitality to any officers who may put in here; we are always glad to see company at Shalbeare House. With Captain and Miss Masterman leaving us, we shall be but a small party; and I have a strong conviction that we would all benefit from a change of conversation.”

He bowed again, and undertook to carry her invitation to his friends.

At the conclusion of the meal, Captain Masterman and his sister rose to take their leave.

“Do you expect to be able to return to us later on?” Lady Feniton asked the Captain. “It will be dull for you at home without your sister, you know, and you are very welcome here.”

He thanked her politely, and said that it must all depend upon Colonel Kellaway. If he should find himself free nothing would make him happier than to return to Shalbeare House.

“Of course. we realize that you have important work to do,” replied Lady Feniton. “But do not stand upon ceremony with us. If you should be at liberty for as little as one day—either you or the Colonel, or both—do pay us a call. I shall keep your room ready, in the hope of seeing you back with us before long.”

He thanked her again, the final farewells were said, and the Mastermans departed.

Miss Feniton had been unable to take any particular leave of the Captain, though there was much she would have liked to say to him privately, many questions she could have asked. She consoled herself with the thought that he would know just what to do concerning Dorlais, however: there was no longer any need for her to take action in that matter. She felt it highly probable that he would return to them in a few days; his eyes had seemed to promise this when he was taking leave of her. It did not escape her notice that Mr. Cholcombe had appeared to be observing them both very narrowly at that particular moment: she wondered if he was thinking of the encounter in Guy Dorlais’s room. Did he mean to make any reference to that, she asked herself? So far, he had been given no opportunity of private speech with her since that occasion. They had been always in company with the rest.

She and Kitty passed a quiet afternoon with the two dowagers. By common consent, nothing more was said between the friends on the subject of Guy Dorlais. Some copies of
La
Belle
Assemblée
were scanned, and the latest fashions debated. Lady Feniton waxed indignant over the wearing of pink silk stockings, which she categorically declared to be scandalous.

“It is all of a piece,” she proclaimed, “with these disgracefully filmy gowns which are all the go at present! Why, when I was at an Assembly in Exeter last year, there was an abandoned female there who could not have been wearing a stitch under her gown, so close did it cling to her form! You must remember, Joanna, for I pointed her out to you at the time,” she added, turning to Miss Feniton.

Joanna nodded. “Yes, I do recollect it; I believe she had most likely damped the gown slightly, grandmama, to make it cling like that.”

“
Damped
?” asked Lady Lodge, in horror, “My dear child, you surely cannot mean that young women do such foolish things? I can’t imagine what the young are coming to—only think of the risk of taking a chill!”

Both young ladies permitted themselves a laugh. “That is a small price to pay for being in the first stare of fashion!” said Kitty. “All the same, I do not quite like to follow so extreme a vogue.”

“I should think not, indeed,” declared Lady Feniton. “As for pink silk stockings, I hope I shall never see either of you wearing them!”

Joanna and Kitty exchanged guilty glances. Then Miss Feniton, bolder than her friend, lifted the hem of her dress just enough to allow her grandmother’s eye to rest upon her ankles.

“Well, of all things!” exclaimed the outraged dowager. “You must go at once, and put on something more modest, Miss!”

“Oh, please, ma’am!” Kitty produced her most charming smile, and at the same time unveiled her own pink ankles. “Dear Lady Feniton, it’s all the go, and one simply must be in the fashion, you know! Mama actually sent all the way to London for these, and I gave Joanna those she is wearing.”

Lady Feniton eyed her friend severely. “I should not have thought it of you, Letitia—” she began, in a moralizing tone.

“Oh, well, girls will be girls!” replied Lady Lodge, hurriedly, avoiding her friend’s eye. “And I must say that when we were young, we did not like to be dowdy, now did we, Augusta?”

This brave speech produced the desired effect. Lady Feniton, after an expressive snort, said no more about Joanna’s going to change the offending articles of clothing, and instead launched herself into a bitter attack on the latest novel which had been conveyed to them from the Circulating Library in Exeter.

It was late in the afternoon when Mr. Cholcombe returned to the house in company with Mr. Dorlais. They promised company for dinner. Between them, they could muster several acquaintances among the ships’ officers, and of these, no less than four were at liberty to take advantage of Lady Feniton’s invitation on that very evening. This was good news to Lady Feniton; she liked nothing better than to fill her house with visitors.

Miss Catherine Lodge was not so well pleased. She was anxious for a quiet talk with her betrothed. She had no intention of breaking her word to Joanna, and making any mention of the extraordinary revelation which had been unfolded to her that afternoon; but her heart swelled with affection and loyalty towards Guy which must be expressed in some way. Her manner towards him was, therefore, very different from what it had been of late. Although they had few occasions of conversing in private, he could not help noticing the change. He, too, wished the party could have been smaller.

“Do you still keep your old interest in theatricals, Cholcombe?” one of the officers asked him at dinner. “We had famous fun at Pompey with ‘The Triumph of Friendship’, if you recollect!”

“Yes,” said another. “And what was the name of that other piece—the one where you came on dressed as an old washerwoman? ‘Pon oath, you brought the house down on that occasion!”

“I had no idea, Algernon,” said Lady Feniton, in a disapproving tone, “that you indulged in theatricals!”

“But yes, ma’am, you must have done!” said Kitty. “Do you not recall that Guy—Mr. Dorlais—mentioned the fact, when we were questioning him about his acquaintance with Mr. Cholcombe—I mean, of course, before Mr. Cholcombe arrived,” she added, feeling that perhaps she had not made herself very clear.

“We played together in ‘The School for Scandal’ at Trelawney’s house,” volunteered Dorlais. “He was the leading man on that occasion: I tell you, he’s a deuced versatile chap, this Cholcombe!”

“I never before suspected you of toad-eating, Dorlais.” replied Cholcombe, with a drawl.

“Only fancy! But I suppose it is scarcely surprising,” said Lady Lodge, thoughtlessly, “that you should be an accomplished actor, Mr. Cholcombe. After all, it’s in the family—I mean your Mama, you know!”

Lady Feniton coughed loudly, and glared at her friend. Lady Lodge caught the look, choked a little over her fish, and subsided. Augusta was foolish, she thought resentfully: after all, it was a very old scandal, and my Lady Cholcombe was now an acknowledged leader of fashion in London, and everywhere received.

“I see that the Pope has at last crowned Napoleon as Emperor of France,” remarked Sir George, thinking to create a diversion. “According to report, it was a most magnificent ceremony.”

“The newspapers seem to have more to say on the subject of Master Betty’s prodigious success at Covent Garden,” remarked Cholcombe, nobly seconding Sir George in his attempt.

“Master Betty?” asked Joanna, who was seated beside him.

He looked down at her gravely for a moment.

“He is a boy actor who’s created quite a furor in Town,” he said. “He appeared a few days since in a tragedy of Dr. Brown’s entitled Barbarossa. I’m told that there was a regular stampede to get into the theatre. Apparently His Royal Highness was there, and showed his approval by applauding frequently—and loudly.”

She smiled. “I can well imagine that he might.”

“Prinney has few inhibitions,” he agreed. “But it really does seem that, this youth is something out of the common way. I must see him for myself.”

“You like the theatre?”

“So much,” he answered, “that I could almost have chosen to enter the profession.”

“But that, of course,” she said, questioningly, “was not to be thought of?”

“No,” he replied; abruptly, and fell into a reverie which was presently broken by Lady Feniton signifying that it was time for the ladies to rise from the table.

When the gentlemen rejoined them later in the drawing room, Guy Dorlais went immediately to Kitty’s side. She looked up at him, her brown eyes warm with affection. He managed to catch her hand and give it a quick squeeze before anyone could notice.

“Am I forgiven, Kit?” he asked in a low voice.

“Stupid,” she whispered back. “There is nothing to forgive!”

“You’re not going to pretend that you have not been vexed with me this long while?” he asked incredulously.

“Oh, Guy, if I was, indeed I am sorry!” she answered, contritely.

“My love! There are many things in my conduct which must puzzle you sorely—but I hope the time is not far distant when I can explain them all satisfactorily to you.”

“I—” she began, then broke off, as she noticed Lady Feniton’s eye upon them.

She fancied that she heard Guy let drop a mild oath as he moved away from her side, but she was well content.

It was not until after their guests had departed that Mr. Cholcombe found a much sought for opportunity of being private with Miss Feniton. She had gone upstairs to fetch a shawl for her grandmother’s shoulders; on her way down again, she encountered him loitering in the passage outside the drawing room.

“I have been desiring a word alone with you all evening,” he said, his expression more serious than was usual. “If you can spare me a moment, we might perhaps go in here.”

He indicated the door of a small anteroom nearby. She hesitated a second. No doubt he wished to speak to her of this morning’s incident. She did not see what business it was of his, but she might as well hear what he had to say, and have done with it.

“Certainly,” she answered, coldly, and passed before him into the room.

There was, a small fire burning in the grate; he indicated a sofa which was set before it.

“Shall we sit down?”

She obeyed, holding her grandmother’s shawl in her lap, and waiting for him to speak. He seated himself beside her, but gazed into the fire in silence for so long, that at last she turned her eyes upon him in surprise.