CHAPTER V
THE MURIES OF CONNACHAN
Elise, Lady Heyburn's French maid, discovered next morning that anantique snake-bracelet was missing, a loss which occasioned greatconsternation in the household.
Breakfast was late, and at table, when the loss was mentioned, Gabrielleoffered to drive over to Connachan in the car and make inquiry andsearch. The general opinion was that it had been dropped in one of therooms, and was probably still lying there undiscovered.
The girl's offer was accepted, and half an hour later the smaller of thetwo Glencardine cars--the "sixteen" Fiat--was brought round to the doorby Stokes, the smart chauffeur. Young Gellatly, fresh down from Oxford,begged to be allowed to go with her, and his escort was accepted.
Then, in motor-cap and champagne-coloured dust-veil, Gabrielle mountedat the wheel, with the young fellow at her side and Stokes in the back,and drove away down the long avenue to the high-road.
The car was her delight. Never so happy was she as when, wrapped in herleather-lined motor-coat, she drove the "sixteen." The six-cylinder"sixty" was too powerful for her, but with the "sixteen" she ranhalf-over Scotland, and was quite a common object on the Perth toStirling road. Possessed of nerve and full of self-confidence, she couldnegotiate traffic in Edinburgh or Glasgow, and on one occasion haddriven her father the whole way from Glencardine up to London, adistance of four hundred and fifty miles. Her fingers pressed the buttonof the electric horn as they descended the sharp incline to thelodge-gates; and, turning into the open road, she was soon speedingalong through Auchterarder village, skirted Tullibardine Wood, downthrough Braco, and along by the Knaik Water and St. Patrick's Well intoGlen Artney, passing under the dark shadow of Dundurn, until there cameinto view the broad waters of Loch Earn.
The morning was bright and cloudless, and at such a pace they went thata perfect wall of dust stood behind them.
From the margin of the loch the ground rose for a couple of miles untilit reached a plateau upon which stood the fine, imposing Priory, theancestral seat of the Muries of Connachan. The aspect as they drove upwas very imposing. The winding road was closely planted with trees for alarge portion of its course, and the stately front of the westernentrance, with its massive stone portico and crenulated cornice, burstunexpectedly upon them.
From that point of view one seemed to have reached the gable-end of aprincely edifice, crowned with Gothic belfries; yet on looking round itwas seen that the approach by which the doorway had been reached waslined on one side with buildings hidden behind the clustering foliage;and through the archway on the left one caught a glimpse of theivy-covered clock-tower and spacious stable-yard and garage extendingnorthwards for a considerable distance.
Gabrielle ran the car round to the south side of the house, where in theforeground were the well-kept parks of Connachan, the smooth-shaven lawnfringed with symmetrically planted trees, and the fertile fieldsextending away to the very brink of the loch.
The original fortalice of the Muries, half a mile distant, was, likeGlencardine, a ruin. The present Priory, notwithstanding itsold-fashioned towers and lancet windows, was a comparatively modernstructure, and the ivy which partially covered some of the windows couldclaim no great antiquity; yet the general effect of the architecturalgrouping was most pleasing, and might well deceive the visitor ortourist into the supposition that it belonged to a very remote period.It was, as a matter of fact, the work of Atkinson, who in the firstyears of the nineteenth century built Scone, Abbotsford, and TaymouthCastle.
With loud warning blasts upon the horn, Gabrielle Heyburn pulled up; butere she could descend, Walter Murie, a good-looking, dark-haired youngman in grey flannels, and hatless, was outside, hailing her withdelight.
"Hallo, Gabrielle!" he cried cheerily, taking her hand, "what brings youover this morning, especially when we were told last night that you wereso very ill?"
"The illness has passed," exclaimed young Gellatly, shaking his friend'shand. "And we're now in search of a lost bracelet--one of LadyHeyburn's."
"Why, my mother was just going to wire! One of the maids found it in theboudoir this morning, but we didn't know to whom it belonged. Comeinside. There are a lot of people staying over from last night." Then,turning to Gabrielle, he added, "By Jove! what dust there must be on theroad! You're absolutely covered."
"Well," she laughed lightly, "it won't hurt me, I suppose. I'm notafraid of it."
Stokes took charge of the car and shut off the petrol, while the threewent inside, passing into a long, cool cloister, down which was arrangedthe splendid collection of antiques discovered or acquired by MalcolmMurie, the well-known antiquary, who had spent many years in Italy, anddied in 1794. In cases ranged down each side of the long cloister, withits antique carved chairs, armour, and statuary, were rare Etruscan andRoman terra-cottas, one containing relics from the tomb of a warrior,which included a sword-hilt adorned with gold and a portion of a goldencrown formed of lilies _in relievo_ of pure gold laid upon a mould ofbronze; another case was full of bronze ornaments unearthed near Albano,and still another contained rare Abyssinian curios. The collection wasrenowned among antiquaries, and was often visited by Sir Henry, whowould be brought there in the car by Gabrielle, and spend hours alonefingering the objects in the various cases.
Sir George Murie and Sir Henry Heyburn were close friends; therefore itwas but natural that Walter, the heir to the Connachan estate, andGabrielle should often be thrown into each other's company, or perhapsthat the young man--who for the past twelve months had been absent on atour round the world--should have loved her ever since the days when shewore short skirts and her hair down her back. He had been sorely puzzledwhy she had not at the last moment come to the ball. She had promisedthat she would be with them, and yet she had made the rather lame excuseof a headache.
Truth to tell, Walter Murie had during the past week been greatlypuzzled at her demeanour of indifference. Seven days ago he had arrivedin London from New York, but found no letter from her awaiting him atthe club, as he had expected. The last he had received in Detroit amonth before, and it was strangely cold, and quite unusual. Two days agohe had arrived home, and in secret she had met him down at the end ofthe glen at Glencardine. At her wish, their first meeting had beenclandestine. Why?
Both their families knew of their mutual affection. Therefore, whyshould she now make a secret of their meeting after twelve months'separation? He was puzzled at her note, and he was further puzzled ather attitude towards him. She was cold and unresponsive. When he heldher in his arms and kissed her soft lips, she only once returned hispassionate caress, and then as though it were a duty forced upon her.She had, however, promised to come to the ball. That promise she haddeliberately broken.
Though he could not understand her, he made pretence of unconcern. Heregretted that she had not felt well last night--that was all.
At the end of the cloister young Gellatly found one of Lady Murie'sguests, a girl named Violet Priest, with whom he had danced a good dealon the previous night, and at once attached himself to her, leavingWalter with the sweet-faced, slim-waisted object of his affections.
The moment they were alone in the long cloister he asked her quickly,"Tell me, Gabrielle, the real reason why you did not come last night. Ihad looked forward very much to seeing you. But I was disappointed--sadly disappointed."
"I am very sorry," she laughed, with assumed nonchalance; "but I had toassist my father with some business papers."
"Your mother told everyone that you do not care for dancing," he said.
"That is untrue, Walter. I love dancing."
"I knew it was untrue, dearest," he said, standing before her. "But whydoes Lady Heyburn go out of her way to throw cold water upon you and allyour works?"
"How should I know?" asked the girl, with a slight shrug. "Perhaps it isbecause my father places more confidence in me than in her."
"And his confidence is surely not misplaced," he said. "I tell youfrankly that I don't like Lady Heyburn."
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"She pretends to like you."
"Pretends!" he echoed. "Yes, it's all pretence. But," he added, "do tellme the real reason of your absence last night, Gabrielle. It has worriedme."
"Why worry, my dear Walter? Is it really worth troubling over? I'm onlya girl, and, as such, am allowed vagaries of nerves--and all that. Isimply didn't want to come, that's all."
"Why?"
"Well, to tell you the truth, I hate the crowd we have staying in ourhouse. They are all mother's friends; and mother's friends are nevermine, you know."
He looked at her slim figure, so charming in its daintiness. "What adear little philosopher you've grown to be in a single year!" hedeclared. "We shall have you quoting Friedrich Nietzsche next."
"Well," she laughed, "if you would like me to quote him I can do so. Iread _Zarathustra_ secretly at school. One of the girls got a copy fromGermany. Do you remember what Zarathustra says: 'Verily, ye could wearno better masks, ye present-day men, than your own faces,' Who couldrecognise you?"
"I hope that's not meant to be personal," he laughed, gazing at thegirl's beautiful countenance and great, luminous eyes.
"You may take it as you like," she declared with a delightfullymischievous smile. "I only quoted it to show you that I have readNietzsche, and recollect his many truths."
"You certainly do seem to have a gay house-party at Glencardine," heremarked, changing the subject. "I noticed Jimmy Flockart there asusual."
"Yes. He's one of mother's greatest friends. She makes good use of himin every way. Up in town they are inseparable, it seems. They knew eachother, I believe, when they were boy and girl."
"So I've heard," replied the young man thoughtfully, leaning against abig glass case containing a collection of _lares_ and _penates_--imagesof Jupiter, Hercules, Mercury, &c., used as household gods. "I expectedthat he would be dancing attendance upon her during the whole of theevening; but, curiously enough, soon after his arrival he suddenlydisappeared, and was not seen again until nearly two o'clock." Then,looking straight in the girl's fathomless eye, he added, "Do you know,Gabrielle, I don't like that fellow. Beware of him."
"Neither do I. But your warning is quite unnecessary, I assure you. Hedoesn't interest me in the least."
Walter Murie was silent for a moment, silent as though in doubt. Ashadow crossed his well-cut features, but only for a single second. Thenhe smiled again upon the fair-faced, soft-spoken girl whom he loved sohonestly and so well, the woman who was all in all to him. How could hedoubt her--she who only a year ago had, out yonder in the park, givenhim her pledge of affection, and sealed it with her hot, passionatekisses? Remembrance of those sweet caresses still lingered with him. Buthe doubted her. Yes, he could not conceal from himself certain very uglyfacts--facts within his own knowledge. Yet was not his own poignantjealousy misleading him? Was not her refusal to attend the ball perhapsdue to some sudden pique or unpleasantness with her giddy stepmother?Was it? He only longed to be able to believe that it might be so. Alas!however, he had discovered the shadow of a strange and disagreeabletruth.