CHAPTER XVI
THE END OF ONE TOUR: THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER
Cynthia found him lying in a darkened room. The nurse had just raisedsome of the blinds; a dismal day was drawing to its close, and morelight was needed ere she could distinguish marked bottles, and doses,and the rest of the appurtenances of dangerous illness.
An English nurse would have forbidden the presence of a stranger; thisFrench one acted with more discretion if less of strict science.
"Madam is his sister, perhaps?" she whispered.
"No."
"A relative, then?"
"No; a woman who loves him."
That heartbroken admission told the whole tale to the quick-wittedFrenchwoman. There had been a duel; one man was seriously injured; theother, she had heard, was also receiving medical attention in anotherhotel--the _temoins_, wistful to avoid the interrogation of the law,had so arranged--and here was the woman who had caused the quarrel.
Well, such was the will of Providence! These things had been since manand woman were expelled from Paradise--for the nurse, though a devoutCatholic, suspected that Genesis had suppressed certain details of thefirst fratricide--and would continue, she supposed, until theMillennium.
She nodded cheerfully.
"There is every reason to hope, but he must not be disturbed--notexcited, that is," she added, seeing the wan agony in Cynthia's face.
The girl tiptoed to the side of the bed. Medenham's eyes were closed,but he was muttering something. She bent and kissed his forehead, anda strange smile broke through the tense lines of pain. Even in hissemi-conscious state he felt the touch of those exquisite lips.
"My Lady Alice!" he said.
She choked back a sob. He was dreaming of "Comus"--standing with herin the ruined banqueting hall of Ludlow Castle.
"Yes, your Lady Alice," she breathed.
A slight quiver shook him.
"Don't tell Cynthia," he said brokenly. "She must never know.... Ah,if I hadn't slipped, I would have quieted his viperish tongue.... ButCynthia must not know!"
"Oh, my dear, my dear, Cynthia does know! It is you who know not. KindHeaven, let him live! Grant that I may tell him all that I know!"
She could not help it; the words welled forth of their own accord; butthe nurse touched her arm gently.
"It is a little fever," she whispered with ready sympathy. "Soon itwill pass. He will sleep, and, when he awakes, it is perhapspermissible that you should speak to him."
* * * * *
Well, it was permissible. The age of miracles had not passed for thosetwo. Even the experienced doctor marveled at the strength of a man whoat four o'clock in the morning could have a sword driven through thetissues in perilous proximity to the right lung, and yet, at nineo'clock on that same night, was able to announce an unalterableresolution to get up and dress for breakfast next day. That, ofcourse, was a pleasing fiction intended for Cynthia's benefit. Itserved its purpose admirably. The kindly nurse displayed an unexpectedfirmness in leading her to her own room, there to eat and sleep.
For Cynthia had an ordeal to face. Many things had been said in thecar during that mad rush to Folkestone, and on board the steamer whichferried Dale and herself to Boulogne she had wrung from the taciturnchauffeur a full, true, and particular account of Medenham, hisfamily, and his doings throughout as much of his life as Dale eitherknew or guessed. By the time they reached Boulogne she had made up hermind with a characteristic decision. One long telegram to her father,another to Lord Fairholme, caused heart-burning and dismay not alonein certain apartments of the Savoy Hotel, but in the aristocraticaloofness of Cavendish Square and Curzon Street. As a result, twoelderly men, a younger one, in the person of the Marquis of Scarland,and two tearful women--Lady St. Maur and Mrs. Leland--met at CharingCross about one o'clock in the morning to travel by special train andsteamer. Another woman telegraphed from Shropshire saying that babywas better, and that she would follow by the first steamer on Sunday.Mrs. Devar did not await developments. She fled, dinnerless, to someburrow in Bayswater.
These alarums and excursions were accompanied by the ringing oftelephones and the flight of carriages back and forth through muddyLondon, and Cynthia was called on to deal with a whole sheaf oftelegrams which demanded replies either to Dover or to Scarland Towersin Shropshire.
With a man like Vanrenen at one end, however, and a woman like hisdaughter at the other, it might be fairly assumed that even the mostcomplex skein of circumstances might be resolved from its tangle.As a matter of curious coincidence, the vessel which carried Marignyto England passed in mid-Channel its sister ship conveying thegrief-stricken party of relatives to France. It happened, too, thatthe clouds from the Atlantic elected to hover over Britain ratherthan France, and when Cynthia stood on the quay to meet the incomingsteamer, a burst of sunshine from the east gave promise of a fine ifsomewhat blustery day.
Five pairs of eyes sought her face anxiously while the vessel waswarping to the quay opposite the Gare Maritime. They looked there fortidings, and they were not disappointed.
"That's all right," said Vanrenen with an unwonted huskiness in hisvoice. "Cynthia wouldn't smile if she hadn't good news."
"Thank God for that!" muttered the Earl, bending his head to examine alanding ticket, the clear type of which he was utterly unable to read.
"I never thought for a minute that any Frenchman could kill George,"cried Scarland cheerfully.
But the two women said nothing, could see nothing, and the white-facedbut smiling Cynthia standing near the shoreward end of the gangway hadvanished in a sudden mist.
Of course, Marigny was right when he foresaw that Vanrenen could notmeet either Medenham or any of his relatives for five minutes withouthis "poor little cobweb of intrigue" being dissipated once andforever.
With the marvelous insight that every woman possesses when dealingwith the affairs of the man she loves, Cynthia combined the eloquenceof an orator with the practiced skill of a clever lawyer in revealingeach turn and twist of the toils which had enveloped her since thatday in Paris when her father happened to suggest in Marigny's hearingthat she might utilize his hired car for a tour in England, while heconcluded the business that was detaining him in the French Capital.Nothing escaped her; she unraveled every knot; Medenham's few brokenwords, supplemented by the letter to his brother-in-law which he toldher to obtain from Dale, threw light on all the dark places.
But the gloom had fled. It was a keenly interested, almostlight-hearted, little party that walked through the sunshine to theHotel de la Plage.
* * * * *
Dale, abashed, sheepish, yet oddly confident that all was for the bestin a queer world, met the Earl of Fairholme later in the day; hislordship, who had been pining for someone to pitch into, addressed himsternly.
"This is a nice game you've been playing," he said. "I always thoughtyou were a man of steady habits, a little given to horse-racingperhaps, but otherwise a decent member of the community."
"So I was before I met Viscount Medenham, my lord," was the daringanswer. For Dale was no fool, and he had long since seen how certainapparently hostile forces had adapted themselves to new conditions.
"Before you left him, you mean," growled the Earl. "What sort of sensewas there in letting him fight a duel?--it could have been stopped infifty different ways."
"Yes, my lord, but I never suspicioned a word of it till he went offin the cab with them----"
The Earl held up a warning finger.
"Hush," he said, "this is France, remember, and _you_ are theforeigner here. Where is my son's car?"
"In the garage at Folkestone, my lord."
"Well, you had better cross by an early boat to-morrow and bring ithere. You understand all the preliminaries, I suppose? Find out fromthe Customs people what deposit is necessary, and come to me for themoney."
So it happened that when Medenham was able to take his first drive inthe open air, the Mercury awaite
d him and Cynthia at the door of thehotel. It positively sparkled in the sunlight; never was car morespick and span. The brasswork scintillated, each cylinder wasrhythmical, and a microscope would not have revealed one speck of duston body or upholstery.
* * * * *
On a day in July--for everybody agreed that not even a marriage shouldbe allowed to interfere with the Scottish festival of St. Grouse--thatsame shining Mercury with the tonneau decorously cased in glass forthe hour, drew up at the edge of a red carpet laid down from curbto stately porch of St. George's, Hanover Square, and Dale turned agrinning face to the doorway when Viscount Medenham led his bride downthe steps through a shower of rice and good wishes.
Wedding breakfasts and receptions are all "much of a muchness," as theMad Hatter said to another Alice, and it was not until the Mercury wasspeeding north by west to Scarland Towers, "lent to the happy pairfor the honeymoon" while Betty took the children to recuperate at theseaside, that Cynthia felt she was really married.
"I have a bit of news for you," said her husband, taking a letter fromhis pocket. "I received a letter by this morning's post. A heap ofothers remain unopened till you and I have time to go through them;but this one caught my attention, and I read it while I was dressing."
He had an excellent excuse for putting his arm round her waist whilehe held the open sheet so that both might peruse it at the same time.It ran:
MY DEAR VISCOUNT--Of course I meant to kill you, but fate decided otherwise. Indeed, with my usual candor, which by this time you may have learned to admire, I may add that only the special kind of dog's luck which attaches itself to members of my family, saved me from being killed by you. But that is ancient history now.
I am glad to hear that your wound was not really serious. There was no sense in merely crippling you--my only chance lay in procuring your untimely demise. Having failed, however, I want to tell you, with the utmost sincerity, that I never had the slightest intention of carrying out my abominable threat in regard to the fair lady who is now Viscountess Medenham. Were you other than a heavy-witted and thick-skinned Briton, you would have known that I was goading you into issuing a challenge.
This piece of information is my wedding present; it is all I can give, because, metaphorically speaking, I haven't a sou!
I am, as you see, domiciled in Brussels, where my car is attached by an unsympathetic hotel proprietor. Still, I am devoid of rancor, and mean to keep a sharp eye for a well-favored and well-dowered wife; such a one, in fact, as you managed to snap up under my very nose.
With a thousand compliments, I am,
Yours very sincerely, EDOUARD MARIGNY.
P.S.--Devar went "steerage" to the United States when he heard of our affair. He thought it was all up with you, and with him.
"The wretch!" murmured Cynthia. "Can he really believe even yet that Iwould have married him?"
"I don't care tuppence what he believes," said Medenham, giving her areassuring hug. "Indeed, I have a mind to write and ask him how muchhe owes in that hotel. Don't you see, my dear, that if it hadn't beenfor Marigny there was a chance that I might have left you at Bristol."
"Never!" cooed Cynthia.
"Well, now I have got you, I am beginning to imagine all sorts ofterrible possibilities which might have parted us. I rememberthinking, when my foot slipped...."
"Oh, don't!" she murmured. "I can't bear to hear of that. Sometimes,in Calais, I awoke screaming, and then I knew I had seen it in mydreams.... There, you have disarranged my hat!... But I don't thinkmuch of _your_ budget, anyhow; mine is a great deal more to the point.My father told me this morning that he is sure he will feel verylonely now. He never meant, he said, to put anyone in my dearmother's place, but he will miss me so greatly--that, perhaps, Mrs.Leland----"
"By Jove," cried Medenham, "that will be splendid! I like Mrs.Leland. At one time, do you know, I rather fancied she mightbecome my step-mother, now it seems I shall have to greet her asa mother-in-law. She was bound to come into the family one way oranother. When is it to be?"
Cynthia laughed delightedly.
"Father looked _so_ confused when I asked him. Say, wouldn't it be ajoke if Simmonds brought them to Scarland Towers one day, and theywere announced by some solemn footman as 'Mr. and Mrs. Vanrenen'?"
"Cynthia, you _know_," he teased her.
"I don't know, but I am a good guesser," she said.
And she was.
THE END