A Fair Mystery: The Story of a Coquette

"What have you to say?" he asked, curtly. "I can tell you why I am here. I have come for your answer ten days before the time, because I have heard that you are going to play me false: I am here to tell Lord Linleigh by what right I claim you as my wife; I am here to tell all whom it may concern what you have been to me."

Suddenly she remembered that the room Earle occupied looked over the terrace. What if, tempted by the beauty of the night, he should come to the window, and look out? What if the earl should hear voices or see shadows? Oh, what was she to do?

Her alarm heightened by seeing a light at one of the windows opposite: whether it was one of the servants or not, she could not tell; but it alarmed her.

All at once she remembered that she had free access to the house, she had but to go back to her rooms by the spiral staircase. Again she laid her hand on Lord Vivianne's arm.

"I dare not remain here," she said. "Do you see that light? We shall be seen."

"What if we are?" he replied; "it will not matter if one or two find out to-night what the world must know to-morrow."

"Hush!" she cried, in an agony of alarm. "How cruel, how merciless you are! Great Heaven, what shall I do?"

"You can do nothing now, my lady; your time is come; you should have kept faith with me."

"Will you come to my rooms?" she cried, in an agony of terror.

It seemed to her that his voice sounded so loudly and so clearly in the summer air, all the world must hear it.

"To your rooms? Yes, I will go there."

"Follow me," she said.

She led the way up the spiral staircase into the boudoir, wishing at every step he took he might fall dead.

She had forgotten the bridal veil and dress lying there.

The lamps were lighted in the boudoir. She carefully closed the door lest any sound should reach their ears; then she came back to him.

He stood on the top of the staircase, half uncertain whether to enter or not.

She went to him. By the light of the lamps he saw how marvelously pale she had grown; and how terrible was the fear that shone in her eyes.

He looked carelessly round the room. He did not see at first what was the glittering heap of white raiment; nor had he noticed the orange wreath. But he saw, lying on the stand amid the flowers, a large, sharp knife. It had been left there by some careless servant who had been cutting the thick branches that wreathed the windows. His eyes lingered on it for one half-minute; if he had known what was to happen, he would most surely have flung it far from him.

She looked up into his face with cold, determined eyes.

"Now," she said, "do your worst; say your worst. I defy you!"

"Women are the greatest simpletons in creation," he said; "they imagine it so easy to break faith with a man. You have to find out how difficult it is."

She made no reply.

"By right of what has passed between us," he continued, "I claim you for my wife. You told me you would consider the claim, and that you would give me your decision on a certain date."

No answer. All the defiance that pride could suggest was in her white face.

"You promised me, also, that you would not attempt in any way to evade that claim."

"I did, and I was quite wrong in making you that promise."

"That is quite beside the mark; it has nothing whatever to do with the matter. Having made the promise, you were bound to keep it. I relied implicitly on your good faith. I left you, intending to return and hear your decision. What do I find out? That you have simply been deceiving me, duping me – most cleverly as you thought, most foolishly as you will see. You imagined that on the twentieth I should come to see you, and find you married and gone. You have doubtless laughed to think how you should befool me."

"I do not deny it," she said, contemptuously.

A strange light flashed in his eyes.

"I would have you beware," he said. "I told you long ago that my overweening love for you was driving me mad. Be careful how you anger me."

"I have the same amount of contempt for your anger as for your love," she said.

"Take care! I have told you before, desperate men do desperate deeds. Take care! I have found out your pretty plot, and am here to spoil it."

"What have you discovered?" she asked.

"For the first thing, that while you have been so cleverly deceiving all London, you were engaged the whole time to Earle Moray, the lover you so kindly left for me."

"After that?" she asked.

His face grew dark in its fury as he replied:

"That you – love him!"

"I do!" she cried, with sudden passion, "my whole heart loves him, my whole soul calls him conqueror!"

He raised his hands menacingly, his fury knew no bounds.

"You would strike me!" she said, sneeringly. "If you killed me, I should say the same over and over again; I love him and I hate you. What else have you discovered?"

"That you intend to marry him on the tenth. That is the extent of my knowledge; I know no more. But whether you are going to run away with him, or whether Lord Linleigh intends to countenance a ceremony that will be a lie, I cannot tell. Running away is more in your line, certainly."

"Would you mind telling me," she asked, "how you know this?"

He laughed.

"I will tell you, with pleasure," he replied; "the more so as I think it reflects great credit on my powers of penetration. I was in London the day before yesterday, in New Bond Street, and, while walking leisurely along, I met your poet and gentleman, Earle Moray."

"I wish that I could strike you dead for using his name," she said.

"I am sure you do, and I do not blame you. Under the circumstances, it is the most natural wish in the world. As I was saying, I met your cavalier; he was walking along, with a smile on his face – evidently wrapped in most pleasant thoughts. He started when he saw me, and looked slightly confused."

"My poor Earle!" she murmured; "my poor Earle!"

"The very fact of his looking confused aroused my suspicion. Why should he be confused, just because he had met me? I spoke to him, and he seemed disinclined to talk to me. Another thing struck me – he seemed to wish to get rid of me. He is very transparent, poor fellow. I was quite determined that he should not lose me. Walking on, we passed Horton & Sons, the great jewelers, and, in some vague way, Lady Studleigh, I had a presentiment that I was at one end of a mystery."

"You are a clever fiend," she said.

"Praise from such lips is praise, indeed! As we passed the door of Horton & Sons, from the very confused way in which he looked at it, I felt sure that he had been inclined to enter – in fact, that he intended to enter, but would not because I was there. I instantly resolved that I would baffle him; so we walked together up and down the street. Each time he passed the door I saw him look longingly at it. I began to think that I had missed my vocation; I ought to have been a detective. At last, to his utter relief, I am sure, I said adieu.