CHAPTER XVIII
WHO BOUGHT THE CLOAK?
Mrs. Vrain sacrificed the vanity of a lengthy toilette to a naturalanxiety to set herself right with Lucian, and appeared shortly in aravishing costume fresh from Paris. Perhaps by arraying herself sosmartly she wished to assure Denzil more particularly that she was alady of too much taste to buy rabbit-skin cloaks in Bayswater: orperhaps--which was more probable--she was not averse to ensnaring sohandsome a young man into an innocent flirtation.
The suspicion she entertained of Lucian's love for Diana only made Lydiathe more eager to fascinate him on her own account. A conceit ofherself, a hatred of her stepdaughter, and a desire to wring admirationout of a man who did not wish to bestow it. These were the reasons whichled Mrs. Vrain to be particularly agreeable to the barrister. When thepair were ensconced in a swift hansom, and rolling rapidly towardsCamden Hill, she began at once to prosecute her amiable designs.
"I guess you'll not mind being my best boy for the day," she said, witha coquettish glance. "You can escort me, first of all, to the Pegalls,and afterwards we can drive to Baxter & Co.'s in Bayswater, so that youcan assure yourself I didn't buy that cloak."
"I am much obliged for the trouble you are taking, Mrs. Vrain," repliedthe young man, avoiding with some reserve the insinuating glances of hispretty companion. "We shall do as you suggest. Who are the Pegalls, mayI ask?"
"My friends, with whom I stopped on Christmas Eve," rejoined Mrs. Vrain."A real good, old, dull English family, as heavy as their own plumpuddings. Mrs. Pegall's a widow like myself, and I daresay she buys herfrocks in the Bayswater stores. She has two daughters who look likebarmaids, and ought to be, only they ain't smart enough. We had a realSunday at home on Christmas Eve, Mr. Denzil. Whist and weak tea ateight, negus and prayers and bed at ten. Poppa wanted to teach thempoker, and they kicked like mad at the very idea; but that was when hevisited them before, I guess."
"Not the kind of family likely to suit you, I should think," saidLucian, regarding the little free-lance with a puzzled air.
"I guess not. Lead's a feather to them for weight. But it's a good thingto have respectable friends, especially in this slow coach of an oldcountry, where you size everybody up by the company they keep."
"Ah!" said Lucian pointedly and--it must be confessed--rather rudely,"so you have found the necessity of having respectable friends, howeverdull?"
"That's a fact," acknowledged Mrs. Vrain candidly. "I've had a queersort of life with poppa--ups and downs, and flyings over the moon, Iguess."
"You are not American?" said Denzil suddenly.
"Sakes! How do you figure that out?"
"Because you are too pronouncedly Amurrican to be American."
"That's an epigram with some truth in it," replied Lydia coolly. "Oh,I'm as much a U. S. A. article as anything else. We hung out our shinglein Wyoming, Wis., for a considerable time, and a girl who ticketsherself Yankee this side flies high. But I guess I'm not going to giveyou my history," concluded Mrs. Vrain drily. "I'm not a Popey nor you aconfessor."
"H'm! You've been in the South Seas, I see."
"There's no telling. How do you know?"
"The natives there use the word Popey to designate a Roman Catholic."
"You are as smart as they make 'em, Mr. Denzil. There's no flies aboutyou; but I'm not going to give myself away. Ask poppa, if you wantinformation. He's that simple he'll tell you all."
"Well, Mrs. Vrain, keep your own secret; it is not the one I wish todiscover. By the way, you say your father was at Camden Hill onChristmas Eve?"
"I didn't say so, but he was," answered Lydia quietly. "He was not verywell--pop can't stand these English winters--and wrote me to come up.But he was so sick that he left the Pegalls' about six o'clock."
"That was the letter which upset you."
"It was. I see old Bella Tyler kept her eyes peeled. I got the letterand came up at once. I've only got one parent left, and he's too good tobe shoved away in a box underground while fools live. But here we are atthe Pegalls'. I hope you'll like the kind of circus they run.Campmeetings are nothing to it."
The dwelling of the respectable family alluded to was a tolerably sizedhouse of red brick, placed in a painfully neat garden, and shut in fromthe high road by a tall and jealous fence of green-painted wood. Thestout widow and two stout spinster daughters, who made up the inmates,quite deserved Mrs. Vrain's epithet of "heavy." They were aggressivelyhealthy, with red cheeks, black hair, and staring black eyes devoid ofexpression; a trio of Dutch dolls would have looked more intellectual.They were plainly and comfortably dressed; the drawing-room was plainlyand comfortably furnished; and both house and inmates looked thoroughlyrespectable and eminently dull. What such a hawk as Mrs. Vrain was doingin this Philistine dove-cote, Lucian could not conjecture; but headmired her tact in making friends with a family whose heavy gentilityassisted to ballast her somewhat light reputation; while the three oftheir brains in unison could not comprehend her tricks, or the reasonsfor which they were played.
"At all events, these three women are too honest to speak anything butthe truth," thought Lucian while undergoing the ordeal of beingpresented. "So I'll learn for certain if Mrs. Vrain was really here onChristmas Eve."
The Misses Pegall and their lace-capped mamma welcomed Lucian with heavygood nature and much simpering, for they also had an eye to a comelyyoung man; but the cunning Lydia they kissed and embraced, and called"dear" with much zeal. Mrs. Vrain, on her part, darted from one to theother like a bird, pecking the red apples of their cheeks, and cast anarch glance at Lucian to see if he admired her talent for manoeuvering.Then cake and wine, port and sherry, were produced in the style of earlyVictorian hospitality, from which epoch Mrs. Pegall dated, and all wentmerry as a marriage bell, while Lydia laid her plans to have herselfexculpated in Lucian's eyes without being inculpated in those of thefamily.
"We have just come up from our place in Somerset," explained Mrs.Pegall, in a comfortable voice. "The girls wanted to see the sights, soI just said, 'we'll go, dears, and perhaps we'll get a glimpse of thedear Queen.' I'm sure she has no more loyal subjects than we three."
"Are you going out much this year, dear Mrs. Vrain?" asked BeatricePegall, the elder and plainer of the sisters.
"No, dear," replied Lydia, with a sigh, putting a dainty handkerchiefto her eyes. "You know what I have lost."
The two groaned, and Miss Cecilia Pegall, who was by way of being veryreligious in a Low Church way, remarked that "all flesh was grass," towhich observation her excellent mamma rejoined: "Very true, dear, verytrue." And then the trio sighed again, and shook their black heads likeso many mandarins.
"I should never support my grief," continued Lydia, still tearful, "ifit was not that I have at least three dear friends. Ah! I shall neverforget that happy Christmas Eve!"
"Last Christmas Eve, dear Mrs. Vrain?" said Cecilia.
"When you were all so kind and good," sobbed Lydia, with a glance atLucian, to see that he noticed the confirmation. "We played whist,didn't we?"
"Four rubbers," groaned Mrs. Pegall, "and retired to bed at ten o'clock,after prayers and a short hymn. Quite a carol that hymn was, eh, dears?"
"And your poor pa was so bad with his cough," said Beatrice, "I hope itis better. He went away before dinner, too! Do say your pa is better!"
"Yes, dear, much better," said Lydia, and considering it was four monthssince Christmas Eve, Lucian thought it was time Mr. Clyne recovered.
"He enjoyed his tea, though," said Cecilia. "Mr. Clyne always says thereis no tea like ours."
"And no evenings," cried Lydia, who was very glad there were not."Poppa and I are coming soon to have a long evening--to play whistagain."
"But, dear Mrs. Vrain, you are not going?"
"I must, dears," with a kiss all round. "I have such a lot to do, andMr. Denzil is coming with me, as poppa wants to consult him about somelaw business. He's a barrister, you know."
"I hope Mr. Denzil will come and see us aga
in," said Mrs. Pegall,shaking hands with Lucian. A fat, puffy hand she had, and damp.
"Oh, delighted! delighted!" said Denzil hurriedly.
"Cards and tea, and sensible conversation," said Beatrice seriously, "nomore."
"You forget prayers at ten, dear," rejoined Cecilia in low tones.
"We are a plain family, Mr. Denzil. You must take us as we are."
"Thank you, Mrs. Pegall, I will."
"Good-bye, dears," cried Lydia again, and with a final peck all roundshe skipped out and into the hansom, followed by her escort.
"Damn!" said Mrs. Vrain, when the cab drove away in the direction ofBayswater. "Oh, don't look so shocked, Mr. Denzil. I assure you I am notin the habit of swearing, but the extreme respectability of the Pegallsalways makes me wish to relieve my feelings by going to the otherextreme. What do you think of them?"
"They seem very good people, and genuine."
"And very genteel and dull," retorted Lydia. "Like Washington, theycan't tell a lie for a red cent; so you can believe I was there withpoppa on Christmas Eve, only he went away, and I stayed all night."
"Yes, I believe it, Mrs. Vrain."
"Then I couldn't have been in Jersey Street or Geneva Square, stickingMark with the stiletto?"
"No! I believe you to be innocent," said Lucian gravely. "In fact, Ireally don't think it is necessary to find out about this cloak atBaxter & Co.'s. I am assured you did not buy it."
"I guess I didn't, Mr. Denzil; but you want to know who did, and so doI. Well, you need not open your eyes. I'd like to know who killed Mark,also; and you say that cloak will show it?"
"I didn't say that; but the cloak may identify the woman I wrongfullytook for you. She may have to do with the matter."
Lydia shook her pretty head. "Not she. Mark was as respectable as thePegall gang; there's no woman mixed up in this matter."
"But I saw the shadow of a woman on the blind of No. 13!"
"You don't say! In Mark's sitting-room? Well, I should smile to know hewas human, after all. He was always so precious stiff!"
Something in Mrs. Vrain's light talk of her dead husband jarred on thefeelings of Lucian, and in some displeasure he held his peace. In nowise abashed, Lydia feigned to take no notice of this tacit reproof,but chatted on about all and everything in the most frivolous manner.Not until they had entered the shop of Baxter & Co. did she resumeattention to business.
"Here," she said to the smiling shopwalker, "I want to know by whom thiscloak was sold, and to what person."
The man examined the cloak, and noted a private mark on it, whichevidently afforded him some information not obtainable by the generalpublic, for he guided Lucian and his companion to a counter behind whichstood a brisk woman with sharp eyes. In her turn she also examined thecloak, and departed to refresh her memory by looking at some accountbook. When she returned it was to intimate that the cloak had beenbought by a man.
"A man!" repeated Lucian, much astonished. "What was he like?"
"A dark man," replied the brisk shopwoman, "dark hair, dark eyes, and adark moustache. I remember him well, because he was a foreigner."
"A foreigner?" repeated Lydia in her turn. "A Frenchman?"
"No, madam--an Italian. He told me as much."
"Sakes alive!" cried Mrs. Vrain. "You are right, Mr. Denzil. It'sFerruci sure enough!"