CHAPTER VIII
AND THUS THE SHADOW DESCENDED
From within the hum of a man's voice--speaking low andinsistently--still came softly through. Luke, with the prodigality ofyouth, would have given ten years of his life for the gift ofsecond-sight, to know what went on between those four walls beyond thedoor where he himself stood expectant, undecided, and more thanvaguely anxious.
"Luke!"
It was quite natural that Louisa should stand here beside him, havingcome to him softly, noiselessly, like the embodiment of moralstrength, and a common-sense which was almost a virtue.
"Uncle Rad," he said quietly, "has locked himself in with this man."
"Who is it, Luke?"
"The man who calls himself Philip de Mountford."
"How do you know?"
"How does one," he retorted, "know such things?"
"And Parker let him in?"
"He gave Parker a five-pound note. Parker is only a grasping fool. Heconcocted the story of Mr. Dobson and the lease. He is alwayslistening at key-holes, and he knows that Mr. Dobson often sends up aclerk with papers for Uncle Rad's signature. Those things are notvery difficult to manage. If one man is determined, and the othercorruptible, it's done sooner or later."
"Is Lord Radclyffe safe with that man, do you think?"
"God grant it," he replied fervently.
Jim and Edie made a noisy irruption into the hall, and Luke and Louisatalked ostentatiously of indifferent things--the weather, Lent, andthe newest play, until the young people had gathered up coats and hatsand banged the street door to behind them, taking their breeziness,their optimism, away with them out into the spring air, and leavingthe shadows of the on-coming tragedy to foregather in every angle ofthe luxurious house in Grosvenor Square.
And there were Luke de Mountford and Louisa Harris left standing alonein the hall; just two very ordinary, very simple-souled young people,face to face for the first time in their uneventful lives with thedark problem of a grim "might be." A locked door between them and thedecisions of Fate; a world of possibilities in the silence which nowreigned beyond that closed door.
They were--remember--wholly unprepared for it, untrained for any sucheventuality. Well-bred and well-brought up, yet were they totallyuneducated in the great lessons of life. It was as if a man absolutelyuntutored in science were suddenly to be confronted with amathematical problem, the solution or non-solution of which would meanlife or death to him. The problem lay in the silence beyond the lockeddoor--silence broken now and again by the persistently gentle hum ofthe man's voice--the stranger's--but never by a word from LordRadclyffe.
"Uncle Rad," said Luke at last in deep puzzlement, "has never raisedhis voice once. I thought that there would be a row--that he wouldturn the man out of the house. Dear old chap! he hasn't much patienceas a rule."
"What shall we do, Luke?" she asked.
"How do you mean?"
"You can't go on standing like that in the hall as if you wereeavesdropping. The servants will be coming through presently."
"You are right, Lou," he said, "as usual. I'll go into thedining-room. I could hear there if anything suspicious was happeningin the library."
"You are not afraid, Luke?"
"For Uncle Rad, you mean?"
"Of course."
"I hardly know whether I am or not. No," he added decisively after amoment's hesitation, "I am not afraid of violence--the fellow whom wesaw in the park did not look that sort."
He led Louisa back into the dining-room, where a couple of footmenwere clearing away the luncheon things. The melancholy Parker placedcigar box and matches on a side table and then retired--silent andwith a wealth of reproach expressed in his round, beady eyes.
Soon Luke and Louisa were alone. He smoked and she sat in a deeparm-chair close to him saying nothing, for both knew what went on inthe other's mind.
Close on an hour went by and then the tinkle of a distant bell brokethe silence. Voices were heard somewhat louder of tone in the library,and Lord Radclyffe's sounded quite distinct and firm.
"I'll see you again to-morrow," he said, "at Mr.---- Tell me the nameand address again, please."
The door leading from library to hall was opened. A footman helped thestranger on with coat and hat. Then the street door banged to again,and once more the house lapsed into silence and gloom.
"I think I had better go now."
Louisa rose, and Luke said in matter-of-fact tones:
"I'll put you into a cab."
"No," she said, "I prefer to walk. I am going straight back to theLangham. Will you go to the Ducies' At Home to-night?"
"Yes," he said, "just to see you."
"You'll know more by then."
"I shall know all there is to know."
"Luke," she said, "you are not afraid?"
It was the second time she had put the question to him, but this timeits purport was a very different one. He understood it nevertheless,for he replied simply:
"Only for you."
"Why for me?"
"Because, Lou, you are just all the world to me--and a man must feel alittle afraid when he thinks he may lose the world."
"Not me, Luke," she said, "you would not lose me--whatever happened."
"Let me get you a cab."
He was English, you see, and could not manage to say anything justthen. The floodgates of sentiment might burst asunder now with theslightest word uttered that was not strictly commonplace. Louisaunderstood, else she had not loved him as she did. It never occurredto her to think that he was indifferent. Nay more! his suddentransition from sentiment to the calling of a cab--from sentiment tothe trivialities of life pleased her in its very essence ofincongruity.
"I said I would walk," she reminded him, smiling.
Then she gave him her hand. It was still gloveless and he took it inhis, turning the palm upward so that he might bury his lips in itsdelicately perfumed depths. His kiss almost scalded her flesh, hislips were burning hot. Passion held in check will consume with inwardfire, whilst its expression often cools like the Nereid's embrace.
He went to the door with her and watched her slender, trim figurewalking rapidly away until it disappeared round the corner of theSquare.
When he turned back into the hall, he found himself face to face withLord Radclyffe. Not Uncle Rad--but an altogether different man, an oldman now with the cynical lines round the mouth accentuated anddeepened into furrows, the eyes hollow and colourless, the shouldersbent as if under an unbearable load.
"Uncle Rad," said Luke speaking very gently, forcing his voice tobetray nothing of anxiety or surprise, "can I do anything for you?"
But even at sight of his nephew, of the man who had hitherto alwayssucceeded in dissipating by his very presence every cloud on themisanthrope's brow, even at sight of him Lord Radclyffe seemed toshrink within himself, his face became almost ashen in its pallor, andlines of cruel hardness quite disfigured his mouth.
"I want to be alone to-day," he said dryly. "Tell them to send me upsome tea in the afternoon. I'll go to my room now--I shan't want anydinner."
"But, sir, won't you----?"
"I want to be alone to-day," the old man reiterated tonelessly, "andto be left alone."
"Very well, sir."
Lord Radclyffe walked slowly toward the staircase. Luke--his hearttorn with anxiety and sorrow--saw how heavy was the old man's step,how listless his movements. The younger man's instinct drew himinstantly to the side of the elder. He placed an affectionate hand onhis uncle's shoulder.
"Uncle Rad," he said appealingly, "can't I do anything for you?"
Lord Radclyffe turned and for a moment his eyes softened as theyrested on the face he loved so well. His wrinkled hand sought thefirm, young one which lingered on his shoulder. But he did not takeit, only put it gently aside, then said quietly:
"No, my boy, there's nothing you can do, except to leave me alone."
Then he went up stairs and shut himself up in his own room, and
Lukesaw him no more that day.