Dorothy's Double. Volume 1 of 3

'I said that I had been thinking it over calmly for a month and more, and that I was sure that it was best for both of us. So at last we parted good friends. I have no doubt it is a relief to him as it is to me, but just at first, I suppose, it was natural that he should be upset. I don't think he had ever thought for a moment of breaking it off himself, but I am quite sure that if this other thing comes out he will congratulate himself most heartily. Well, there is an end of that, father.'

'Yes, my dear; I am sorry, and at the same time I am glad. I don't think, dear, that you are the sort of girl who would ever have been very happy if you had married without any very real love in the matter. For my part I can see nothing enviable in the life of a woman who spends her whole life in what is called Society. Two or three months of gaiety in the year may be well enough, but to live always in it seems to me one of the most wretched ways of spending one's existence. And now, dear, let us change the subject altogether. I think for the next few days you had better go out again. I propose that we leave town at the end of the week and either go down home or, what would be better, go for a couple of months on the continent. That will give time for the gossip over the engagement being broken off to die out. You did not put off our engagement to dine at the Deans' to-day?'

'No, father, I could not write and say two days beforehand that I was unwell and unable to come.'

'Very well then, we will go. I always like their dinners, because she comes from our neighbourhood and one always meets three or four of our Lincolnshire friends.'

'It is the Botanical this afternoon, father. Shall I go there with Cousin Mary?'

'Do so by all means, dear.'

As they drove that evening to the Deans', Mr. Hawtrey said, 'I had that letter from Levine as I was dressing, Dorothy. He goes over nearly the same ground as Danvers did, and is also of opinion that I should pay under protest, in order that if at any time we can lay our hands on the real offender, we can claim the return of the money. I shall go round in the morning and have a talk with Gilliat.'

Dorothy was more herself than she had been for weeks. Her engagement had, since her trouble first began, been a greater burden to her than she had been willing to admit even to herself. Lord Halliburn had jarred upon her constantly, and she had come almost to dread their daily meetings.

At an early stage of her troubles she had thought the matter out, and had come to the conclusion that she had made a mistake, and was not long in arriving at the determination that she would at the end of the season ask him to release her from her engagement. Before that she hoped that the rumours that had affected him would have died out completely, and would not necessarily be associated with the termination of the engagement. Had not this fresh trouble arisen, matters would have gone on on their old footing until late in the autumn, but this new trouble had forced her to act at once, and her first thought had been that it was only fair to him to release him at once. She was surprised now at the weight that had been lifted from her mind, at the buoyancy of spirits which she felt. She was almost indifferent as to the other matter.

'You are more like yourself than you have been for weeks, Dorothy,' her father said, during the drive.

'I feel like a bird that has got out of a cage, father. It was not a bad cage, it was very nicely gilt and in all ways a desirable one, still it was a cage, and I feel very happy indeed in feeling that I am out of it.'

Dorothy enjoyed her dinner and laughed and talked merrily with the gentleman who had taken her down. Mrs. Dean remarked to her husband afterwards that the absence of Lord Halliburn, who sent a letter of regret that important business would prevent his fulfilling his engagement, did not seem to be any great disappointment to Dorothy Hawtrey.

'I never saw her in better spirits, my dear; lately I have been feeling quite anxious about her; she was beginning to look quite worn from the trouble of those abominable stories.'

'I expect she feels Halliburn's absence a positive relief,' he said. 'You know you remarked, yourself, the last time we saw them out, how glum and sulky he looked, and you said that if you were in her place you would throw him over without hesitation.'

'I know I said so, and do you know I wondered at dinner whether she had not come to the same conclusion.'

'Dorothy has lots of spirit,' Mr. Dean said, 'and is quite capable of kicking over the traces. I should say there is no pluckier rider than that girl in all Lincolnshire, and I fancy that a woman who doesn't flinch from the stiffest jump would not hesitate for a moment in throwing over even the best match of the season if he offended her. She is a dear good girl, is Dorothy Hawtrey, and I don't think that she is a bit spoilt by her success this season. I always thought she made a mistake in accepting Halliburn; he is not half good enough for her. He may be an earl, and an Under-Secretary of State, but he is no more fit to run in harness with Dorothy Hawtrey than he is to fly.'

When the gentlemen came up after dinner Dorothy made room on the sofa on which she was sitting for an old friend who walked across to her. Mr. Singleton was a near neighbour down in Lincolnshire; he was a bachelor, and Dorothy had always been a great pet of his.

'Well, my dear,' he said, as he took a seat beside her, 'I am heartily glad to see you looking quite yourself again to-night, and to know that I have been able to help my little favourite out of a scrape.'

Dorothy's eyes opened wide. 'To help me out of a scrape, Mr. Singleton! Why, what scrape have you helped me out of?'

'I beg your pardon, my dear,' he said hastily. 'I told you we would never speak of the matter again, and here I am, like an old fool, bringing it up the very first time I meet you.'

Dorothy's face paled.

'Mr. Singleton,' she said, 'I seem to be surrounded by mysteries. Do I understand you to say that you have done me some kindness lately – helped me out of some scrape?'

'Well, my dear, those were your own words,' he replied, looking surprised in turn; 'but please do not let us say anything more about it.'

Dorothy sat quiet for a minute, then she made a sign to her father, who was standing at the other side of the room, to come across to her. 'Father,' she said, 'will you ask Mr. Singleton to drive home with us; I am afraid there is some fresh trouble, and, at any rate, I must speak to him, and this is not the place for questions. Please let us go as soon as the carriage comes. Now, will you please go away, Mr. Singleton, and leave me to myself for a minute or two, for my head is in a whirl?'

'But, my dear,' he began, but was stopped by an impatient wave of Dorothy's hand.

'What is it, Singleton?' Mr. Hawtrey asked, as they went across the room.

'I am completely puzzled,' he replied; 'what Dorothy means by asking me to come with you, and to answer questions, is a complete mystery to me. Please don't ask me any questions now. I have evidently put my foot into it somehow, though I have not the least idea how.'

Ten minutes later the carriage was announced. As she took her place in it, Dorothy said, 'Don't ask any questions until we are at home.'

The two men were far too puzzled to talk on any indifferent subject. Not a word was spoken until they arrived at Chester Square.

'Has Mrs. Daintree gone to bed?' Dorothy asked the footman.

'Yes, Miss Hawtrey; she went a quarter of an hour ago.'

'Are the lights still burning in the drawing-room?'

'Yes, miss.'

They went upstairs.

'Now, Dorothy, what does all this mean?' her father asked, impatiently.

'That is what we have got to learn, father. Mr. Singleton congratulated me on having recovered my spirits, and took some credit to himself for having helped me out of a scrape. As I do not in the least know what he means, I want him to give you and me the particulars.'

'But, my dear Dorothy,' Mr. Singleton said, 'why on earth do you ask me that question? Surely you cannot wish me to mention anything about that trifling affair.'

'But I do, Mr. Singleton. You do not know the position in which I am placed at present. I am surrounded by mysteries, I am accused of things I never did. Now it seems as if there were a fresh one; possibly if you tell us the exact particulars of what you were speaking of it may help us to get to the bottom of it.'

'I don't understand it in the least,' Mr. Singleton said, gravely. 'You are quite sure, Dorothy, that you wish me to repeat before your father the exact details of our interview?'

'If you please, Mr. Singleton; every little minute particular.'

'Of course I will do as you wish, my dear,' the old gentleman said, kindly, 'it seems to me madness, but if you really wish it I will do so. If I make any mistake correct me at once. Well, this is the story, Hawtrey. I need not tell you it would never have passed my lips, except at Dorothy's request. A short time since, a fortnight or three weeks, I cannot tell you the day exactly, my servant brought me up word that a lady wished to see me. She had given no name, but I supposed it was one of these charity collecting women, so I told her to show her in. To my surprise it was Miss Dorothy. After shaking hands she sat down, and to my astonishment burst into tears. It was some time before I could pacify her, and get her to tell me what was the matter; then she told me that she had got into a dreadful scrape, that she dared not tell you, that it would be ruin to her, and that she had come to me as one of her oldest friends, to ask me if I could help her to get out of it.

'Of course, I said I would do anything, and at last, with great difficulty, and after another burst of crying, she told me that she must have a thousand pounds to save her. She said something about wanting to pawn some of her jewels, but this would not come to enough. Of course, I pooh-poohed this, and said that I was very sorry to hear that she had got into a scrape, but that a thousand pounds were a trifle to me in comparison to the happiness of the daughter of an old friend. She was very reluctant to receive it, and wanted, at least, to pawn her jewels for two or three hundred pounds, but I said that that was nonsense, and eventually I drew a cheque for a thousand pounds, which I made payable to Mary Brown or bearer, as I, naturally, did not wish her name to appear at all in the matter.

'She was most grateful for it. I told her that, of course, I should never allude to the matter again, and that she was not to trouble about it in the slightest, for that I had put her down for five thousand pounds in my will and would change the figure to four, so that she would only be getting the money a little earlier than I had intended. This evening, unfortunately, I was stupid enough, in saying that I was pleased to see her looking more like her old self, to add that I was glad to know that I had been the means of helping my little favourite out of a scrape. It was stupid of me, I admit, to have even thus far broken my promise never to allude to the thing again, but why she should have insisted upon my telling a story – painful to both of us – to you, is altogether beyond my comprehension.'

Mr. Hawtrey was too much astonished to ask any questions, but looked helplessly at Dorothy, who said quietly —

'Thank you for telling the story, Mr. Singleton, and thank you still more for so generously coming, as you believed, to my assistance. You cannot remember exactly which day it was?'

'No, my dear, but I could see the date on the counterfoil of my cheque-book.'

'Was it the fifteenth of last month, Mr. Singleton?'

'Fifteenth? Well, I cannot say exactly, but it would be somewhere about that time.'

'And about what time of day?'

'Some time in the afternoon, I know; somewhere between three and four, I should say. I know I had not been back long after lunching at the Travellers'. I generally leave there about three, and it is not more than five minutes' walk up to the Albany.'