The Jewelled Snuff Box (13 page)

Drained of emotion, at last she could sleep. She moved towards the dressing-table, putting up her hands to unfasten from her neck the locket which she always wore, a locket containing her father’s picture.

She was arrested in the movement by a loud hammering upon her door, and Celia’s voice crying in sharp accents, “Jane, Jane, come quickly!”

Chapter XIV. An Eventful Rendezvous

AFTER SIR Richard left Jane at the head of the staircase, his thoughts continued to revolve around her. Why was it that this young woman seemed to touch off some chord of memory within him? When Letty had told him Jane Tarrant’s history, too, he had felt as though he must have heard it before. Yet to his knowledge he had never set eyes on her before that day in the Library.

His brows came down in a frown. It was uncanny — almost as uncanny as the fact that he could not remember what had happened to him in Kent, or how he had come to be back again in London. Nor was this all that troubled him; of late, his sleep had been interrupted by dreams — or rather, by one recurrent dream. It was pointless and inconclusive, as dreams often are, but it never varied. He would dream that he was sitting in a cold and cheerless room, furnished very like a coffee-room of a small hostelry: the light in the room was pale and grey, like the ashes in the grate, and a shadow hovered near the window. He would stand up and walk towards this shadow, and then he would realise that it was the figure of a woman, staring from the window out into the road beyond. He never reached her side, for he would awake then, with a deep sense of loss.

He shrugged his broad shoulders angrily as he stepped into Celia’s dainty boudoir. He was dimly conscious of her dismissing the abigail, and greeting him with a nice blend of conspiracy and tenderness. Damn Celia, he thought suddenly; why had he been such a fool as to embroil himself in her sordid affairs? His action had been quixotic in the extreme, and he deserved all he had got.

“Well, Richard?”

Celia spoke sharply. It was the second time she had uttered the words since he had entered the room.

He started, seeming to return from a long distance.

“I beg your pardon. I was not attending.”

“That is evident. I said, did you recover the letter?”

He looked at her eager face, then slowly shook his head.

“No.”

The brightness faded from her glance, and was replaced by disappointment. She sank wearily into a chair.

“Did you try Julian?”

“Yes.”

He was more alert now; the impressions of the last few minutes had left him. He walked over to the fire, and stood with his back to it, looking down into her face, which was moody and petulant.

“I broke into his house, and searched among his papers. My God, Celia, nothing but bills, I assure you! However, I expect you know how it is with him. He came downstairs, unluckily, and disbovered me at the business.”

She sat up, intent.

“He did? Then what happened?”

“We had a heart to heart talk,” said Richard, with a dry smile. “He denied any knowledge of the whereabouts of the letter. Of course, he would. I realise; nevertheless, he managed to convince me. I don’t think he has it.”

“I told you he had not,” snapped Celia. “Now what are we to do?”

She rose, clasping her hands to her head in a frenzy of despair.

“While that letter is at large, I cannot know an easy moment!”

“What exactly was in it?” asked Richard, curiously. He appeared unmoved by her performance.

She stared at him, incredulously.

“Do you mean to say that you didn’t read it when you had the opportunity?”

“Can you seriously suppose I would?” he asked, amazed.

She shrugged. “Why ever not? I, for one, should not have blamed you. Curiosity is natural enough.”

“If we were to be guided only by what is natural — however, this is no time for a discussion of ethics. Was there anything in that letter which could lead a chance reader to you? A name, for instance?”

“Oh, it was the usual kind of thing,” she said, shrugging again. “No, I don’t think there was any clear indication — I signed it with my initial, and referred to Francis by his; no more.”

He began to pace about the room, deep in thought. After a moment, he wheeled round upon her.

“Then there seems no reason why it should ever find its way into Bordesley’s hand — assuming, of course, that it was stolen by any ordinary thief.”

“Oh, Richard!”

The significant tone of his last remark had quite escaped her. Relief flooded over her, and she ran to him in ecstasy, throwing her arms impetuously about him. With a man’s blind instinct, he gathered her close. A pulse began to beat in his temples as the cloying perfume which she used wafted up to him. She raised her head, her deep blue eyes compelling his. She was fickle, he thought desperately, and heartless; cold, calculating, artificial — but desirable, by God, eminently desirable …

His eyes fixed themselves upon her soft red lips: they were drawing him irresistibly.

A shadow passed suddenly between him and the woman whom he held in his arms, the dark shadow of an unknown girl in a cold room at daybreak. The moment of temptation passed. With a quick gesture, he disengaged himself, and returned to his stance by the hearth.

With difficulty Celia contained her chagrin. This was a new Richard, indeed. What then? The greater sport to captivate him.

“There is one contingency, however,” he said, as though nothing had interrupted his first speech, “which we would do well to take into account.”

A quick frown creased her brows. “I don’t understand. You said —”

“I said assuming that the thief was any ordinary felon. But my conversation with Summers revealed another possibility. It seems that his valet has been missing ever since my visit to Farrowdene. It occurred to us both that he might be the guilty party.”

“Julian’s man — what’s his name? — Perkins?” asked Celia, in amazement. “But why on earth should he turn to robbery and violence? Servants do steal, of course, a little here and there, as everybody knows, but to attack a gentleman and rob him, giving up a good situation for the sake of a few paltry trinkets and a purse which may be light, for all he could know — no, I don’t believe it possible!”

“There is a great deal in what you say. But Summers threw more light on the matter. It seems that this fellow is enamoured of your abigail, Betty. Summers suggested that they might have been acting in collusion. If by any chance Betty overheard our previous conversation in this room —”

Celia’s face became a mask of fury. She clenched her hands until the nails bit into her flesh.

“So that’s it!” she said, in a harsh, grating tone. “Yes, I can well believe that! The bitch! the dirty, impudent slut! Just wait until I get my hands on her!”

Sir Richard caught her arm quickly as she turned to the bedchamber: the bell-rope there rang straight through into the abigail’s room.

“Wait! You must handle her gently, Celia.”

“I am very likely to do that!”

“You will be foolish to do otherwise. Remember that we do not know for certain that she is concerned in this. Moreover —” as Celia opened her lips to interrupt him “ — even if she is, there are things we can discover only from her. Speak her fair — try and find out where this fellow is now — say you are prepared to buy the letter from him, if necessary.”

She checked in her swift rush to the bedchamber, and stood for a moment or two, turning over in her mind what he had said.

“Yes, I believe you are right,” she admitted grudgingly. “Very well, then, we will handle Mistress Betty gently.”

Contrary to her custom, tonight Celia had dismissed the girl to her bed. Dearly as Betty would have liked to eavesdrop on her mistress and Sir Richard, she had not dared to linger in the vicinity of the boudoir. The bell disturbed her, therefore, in the act of disrobing. She quickly flung on again the garments she had discarded, and hurried down the stairs which led from her attic chamber.

My lady was all sweetness.

“Come in, Betty,” she began, with a disarming smile. “There are one or two questions I should like to put to you.”

A wary expression came into the girl’s eyes.

“Yes, m’lady?”

“I believe you are acquainted with Perkins, Mr. Summers’ man?” asked Celia, watching her narrowly.

The girl’s colour changed, and her expression became more guarded than before.

“I — I am a little, m’lady.”

Celia raised her brows.

“A little? And yet I understood you to say, some months back, that you intended to wed the man.”

“A girl may change her mind,” replied Betty pertly, with a toss of her head.

“I’ll change your mind for you, miss!” threatened Celia, advancing on her.

Betty backed hastily, and Sir Richard flung Celia a warning glance. She abandoned her antagonistic pose in response to this appeal, and a strained smile curved her lips.

“Come, we are old friends, Betty,” she said, coaxingly. “We have no need of secrets from each other. Perkins has disappeared from Mr. Summers’ house, and Sir Richard and I thought that you might possibly know where he can be found.”

Betty made no answer to this, but looked warily from one to the other.

“I will be plain with you,” continued Celia, in a confidential tone. “We believe that Perkins has something of great value to us. We would pay well to recover it.”

Still Betty eyed them, uncertain what to say.

“If the — the article — could be recovered, we would not ask too many questions concerning its disappearance,” went on Celia, persuasively.

“Perhaps I could help you more, m’lady, if I knew what it was you’d lost,” ventured Betty, at last.

“A matter of a wallet, some gold fobs and seals, a watch, and a valuable jewelled snuff box,” interposed Sir Richard at this point.

Betty started, surprised out of her caution.

“A jewelled snuff box? He never mentioned —”

To late she realised that she had betrayed herself: her hand came up to her mouth in dismay.

“So you do know all about it!” exclaimed Celia, seizing the girl and beginning to shake her. “Where is my letter, then, you baggage! Slut! So you listen at doors, do you, you trollop! I’ll teach you if that shall pay!”

Thereupon, she launched a violent attack upon the abigail, hitting her about the face and ears, pouring forth at the same time such a vitriolic stream of abuse as almost brought the colour to Sir Richard’s cheek.

“Here, I say, Celia!”

He moved forward to interfere as he saw the blood starting from the unfortunate abigail’s nose. His intervention came too late, however, for at the same moment, the girl sank to the floor in a swoon.

Celia turned impatiently from her.

“You hear what she says, Richard? She must know where the letter is! Make her speak!”

She prodded the inanimate form forcibly with her foot. Sir Richard frowned heavily.

“Control yourself, Celia! You must bring her round before she can tell you anything more.”

“I’d like to empty a pail of water over the creature, but for the ruining of my good carpet!” stormed Celia. “Betty, hi, Betty! You’d best come to, you hussy, or I’ll find a way to bring you to your senses! She’s shamming, Richard, I declare!”

“Nonsense!” he said, curtly, bending over the senseless abigail. “Her malady is real enough. You’d best bathe that nose if you’re anxious concerning your carpet; and perhaps a vinaigrette might serve to bring the girl round.”

“I bathe the creature’s nose!” exclaimed Celia, in disgust. “I would as soon tend a rattlesnake! But she must and shall tell us more! I’ll fetch Jane Tarrant, that’s it! She will know what is to be done!”

So saying, she ran from the room, and began pounding upon the door of Jane’s bedchamber.

Alarmed at the outcry, Jane came out quickly. “In Heaven’s name, Celia, what is it?”

“It’s Betty — my abigail — she’s swooned away in my room — Jane, you must come and revive her instantly — instantly!”

She seized Jane by the arm and hustled her into the boudoir.

Jane stood still for a moment, taking in the scene. The abigail lay prostrate by the sofa, the blood from her nose staining her face and neck and the frilly white collar of her gown. Beside her stood Sir Richard Carisbrooke, in the helpless attitude of all males faced with a female crisis.

“Well, do you mean to stand there all night?” Celia asked Jane sharply. “Do something, pray!”

Jane roused herself, and set about tending the abigail. The others watched, Celia impatiently, while she fetched a basin of water, and began gently to cleanse Betty’s face. When this was done, she raised the girl’s head, holding a smelling-bottle under her nose. After a few moments, Betty stirred, and gave a convulsive shudder. Celia let out an exclamation of triumph.

They were all so intent upon the business in hand, that they failed to hear the door open softly behind them. The sound of a voice made them turn sharply in that direction.

“Dear me, there appears to be a slight contretemps!” it drawled.