CHAPTER XIV
"THE POISON OF HONEY FLOWERS"
The recognition was not immediately simultaneous. Gomez, standing onthe step, was in the full light of the hall lamp, but Paul was stillamongst the shadows.
"Don't you know me, Gomez?" Paul asked, stepping forward. "I am Paulde Vaux."
A shade passed across the man's face, and he laid his hand quicklyupon his heart, as though to cease some sudden pain. Then he stood onone side, holding the door open.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Paul; I could not see your face out there.Won't you walk in, sir?"
Paul dropped his mare's bridle and stepped inside. The polishedwhite stone hall, with its huge fire in the centre, looked warm andcomfortable, and away in the distance there was a cheerful rattle ofteacups.
"What are you doing here, Gomez?" Paul asked, shaking the wet fromhis hat. "I understood that you were going to take the under-bailiff'splace."
"Higgs has not left yet, sir," Gomez answered. "I have been livinghere as caretaker for Major Harcourt."
"Caretaker! Isn't he at home then?"
Gomez shook his head, looking keenly at Paul all the time. "MajorHarcourt does not winter here now, sir. He has let the place,furnished."
"What a confounded nuisance! To whom has he let it?" Paul askedquickly. "You see my plight, and my horse is worse off still. We lostour way going home from Dunston Spinnies."
"Major Harcourt's tenant is a lady," Gomez answered, after a moment'shesitation. "She only arrived yesterday."
Paul shrugged his shoulders. He was annoyed, but there was no help forit.
"Well, will you see her at once and represent matters? I want a loosebox for the night for my horse, and a rest for myself, and afterwardsa conveyance for the Abbey, if possible. Tell her my name. I daresayshe won't mind. Who is she?"
Gomez said nothing for a moment. Then he drew Paul back to the door,and pointed out into the darkness.
"Mr. Paul," he said, in a quick, hoarse whisper, "at the back of thathedge there is a road which leads straight up to the Abbey. It isa matter of six miles or so, I know, and you are tired; but that isnothing. Take my advice, sir, and believe me it is for your good. Getout of this house as soon as you can, and go home, though you have towalk every step. I'll look after your horse, and you can send for itin the morning."
Paul looked into the man's face astonished. "What nonsense, Gomez!"he exclaimed. "Do you know what you are talking about! Why, I'm tiredout, and almost starved. Here I am and here I shall stop, unless yourmistress is as inhospitable as you are."
Gomez bowed, and closed the door. "Very good, sir; you will have yourown way, of course. But remember in the future that I was faithful,I warned you. Come this way, sir. I will send your horse round to thestables. The name of the lady of the house is Madame de Merteuill."
A little uneasy and very much mystified, Paul followed him across thehall, and was silently ushered into a long, low drawing-room, a roomof nooks and corners, furnished in old-fashioned style, but withperfect taste, and dimly lit with soft, shaded lamps. There was abright fire blazing on the hearth, and a pleasant sense of warmth inthe air.
At first it seemed as though the room was empty, but in a moment atall, pale-faced lady, with wonderfully dark eyes and grey hair,rose from an easy chair behind the piano, and looked at him, at firstquestioningly.
"I am afraid that you will consider this an unwarrantable intrusion,"Paul said, bowing; "but the fact is, I lost my way riding home fromthe hunt, and my horse cannot go a yard further. As for myself,you can see what state I am in. I saw your lights, and have someacquaintance with Major Harcourt, and not knowing that he had left,I ventured here to throw myself upon his hospitality. My name is DeVaux--Paul de Vaux; and although it is some distance to the Abbey, Ibelieve that we are next-door neighbours."
It was beginning to dawn upon Paul that he had somehow stumbled upon avery strange household. During the whole of his speech, the lady whomhe was addressing had stood silent and transfixed, with wide-open eyesand a terrible shrinking look of fear upon her face. She must be mad,Paul concluded swiftly. What an ass Gomez was not to have told him!While he was wondering how to get away, she spoke.
"Your name de Vaux, Paul de Vaux, near Vaux Abbey?"
He bowed, looking at her with fresh interest. His name seemed familiarto her. In a moment or two the unnatural lethargy left her, and shespoke to him, though still in a curiously suppressed tone.
"I beg your pardon. You are welcome. I was a little startled atfirst."
She rang the bell. Gomez answered it.
"Bring some fresh tea, and some sandwiches and wine," she ordered."Tell them in the stables to see that this gentleman's horse has everyattention."
Gomez received his orders in silence, and withdrew with darkeningface. Paul looked after him with surprise.
"Gomez does not seem particularly pleased to see me again," heremarked. "What is the matter with the man, I wonder?"
"It is only his manner, I think," she said softly. "He was yourfather's servant, was he not?"
"Yes. How did you know that?" he asked quickly. "Ah, I beg yourpardon; he told you, of course. You will find him a faithful servant."
She bowed her head, but made no reply. Indeed, Paul found it verydifficult to start a conversation of any sort with his new neighbour.To all his remarks she returned only monosyllabic answers, looking athim steadily all the while out of her full, dark eyes in a far-away,wistful manner, as though she saw in his face something which carriedher thoughts into another world. It was a little uncomfortable forPaul, and he was not sorry when Gomez reappeared, bearing a tray withrefreshments.
She handed him his tea in silence; and Paul, who would have beenashamed to have called himself curious, but who was by this time not alittle puzzled at her manner, made one more effort at conversation.
"I think you said that you were quite strange to this part of thecountry," he remarked. "We, who have lived here all our lives, arefond of it; but I'm afraid you'll find it rather dull at first. Thereis very little society."
"We do not desire any," she said hastily. "We came here--at least Icame here--for the sake of indulging in absolute seclusion. It is thesame with my step-daughter. In London she had been forced to keep latehours, and her health has suffered. The doctor prescribed completerest; I, too, desired rest, so we came here. A London house agentarranged it for us."
So there was a step-daughter who lived in London, and who went out agreat deal. The mention of her gave Paul an opportunity.
"I wonder if I have ever met your daughter in town," he saidpleasantly. "I am there a good deal, and I have rather a large circleof acquaintances."
The implied question seemed to disconcert her. She coloured, and thengrew suddenly pale. Her eyes no longer looked into his; they werefixed steadfastly upon the fire.
"It is not at all probable," she said, nervously lacing andinterlacing her slim white fingers. "No, it is scarcely possible.You would not be likely to meet her. Your friends would not be herfriends. She knows so few people. Ah!"
She started quickly. The door had opened, but it was only Gomez, whohad come in with a tray for the empty tea-things. There was a deadsilence whilst he removed them. Paul scarcely knew what to say. Hishostess puzzled him completely. Perhaps this step-daughter, whosename, together with her own, she seemed so anxious to conceal, wasmad, and she had brought her down here instead of sending her to anasylum; or perhaps she herself was mad. He glanced at her furtively,and at once dismissed the latter idea. Her face, careworn andcuriously pallid though it was, was the face of no madwoman. It wasthe face of a woman who had passed through a fiery sea of this world'strouble and suffering--suffering which had left its marks stamped uponher features; but, of his own accord, he would never have put it downas the face of a weak or erring woman.
There was a mystery--of that he felt sure; but it was no part of hisbusiness to seek to unravel it. The best thing he could do, he felt,was to get up and go. He could scarcely maintain a co
nversationwithout asking or implying questions which seemed to painfullyembarrass his hostess.
"I'm very much obliged to you," he said, rising and holding out hishand. "I feel quite a new man! If you don't mind I'd like to leavemy mare here until to-morrow. She really isn't fit to travel. My manshall come for her early."
"Pray do!" she answered quickly. "Ah!"
She had started, and clutched at the back of her chair with tremblingfingers. Her eyes, wide open and startled, were fixed upon the door.
Paul, too, turned round, and uttered a little cry. His heart beatfast, and the room swam before him. He stood for a moment perfectlystill, with his eyes fastened upon the figure in the doorway.