Parlous Times: A Novel of Modern Diplomacy

"Yes," she said, after a moment's hesitation. "I think you're right. You assure me that he does not love her, and that there's positive danger that he may marry her from a sense of duty."

"I assure you that such is the case."

"Then take them," she said, giving him the letters; "but promise me that no one besides yourselves shall see them, and that they shall be safely returned to me by to-morrow."

"I promise," he replied, "and take my assurance that in doing this you've more than repaid him for any services he may have done you."

"You cannot persuade me to believe that; but I'm thankful to help where I'm able, though it be only a little, and I am even more thankful that he has such a strong champion in you."

Kent-Lauriston took her extended hand.

"Thank you," he said heartily. "Stanley's a good fellow; too good and too unsophisticated for the people he's thrown with, and I'm going to save him from himself if I can, both now and in the future."

She looked up at him with a wistful light in her eyes, saying:

"Perhaps you'll be wishing to save him from me – who've already one husband too many."

"I don't know," replied Kent-Lauriston, with an English bluntness, of which he was not often culpable.

She laughed merrily, answering:

"I hope you'll do so, if ever I give you cause."

"Madame," he returned, "what can I do? You've disarmed me, even before the first skirmish."

The feelings of Stanley on looking at the marriage register were difficult to describe. In the first shock of the discovery his brain whirled. The mystery had become a maze, and he felt the imperative need of a solution of the subject to steady his mind. Accordingly, he had that evening a fixed purpose in view, which dominated all matters of the moment; and though at dinner he talked about something, he knew not what, during the greater part of the meal his eyes and thoughts were almost continually on the amiable blundering, little old pastor, whom he had marked out as his prey. When the ladies left the table, and the men adjourned to the smoking-room, he never lost sight of him; but the dominie, as if warned by some instinct, contrived to slip out of the Secretary's grasp, to elude him in corners, and, smiling, vanquish him in every attempt at an interview. At last, however, the opportunity came – a move was made to the drawing-room. In a fatal moment, the parson lingered for one last whiff of his half-smoked and regretfully relinquished cigar, and the Secretary saw, with a sigh of relief, the last coat-tail vanish through the door, which he softly closed.

The click of the latch brought the Reverend Reginald back to the present with an uncomfortable start.

"Oh," he cried, tumbling out of his chair, "I didn't see the others had got away so quickly. Very kind of you to wait for me, I'm sure – very – we must lose no time in joining the ladies, must we, eh?"

"Only a little, a very little time, Mr. Lambert," replied the Secretary, leaning squarely against the closed door, which formed the sole exit from the room. "Just long enough to ask you one question."

"Really, I'm sure," said the little man, becoming flustered. "Another time perhaps – I should have the greatest pleasure – "

"You have, I know, performed the marriage ceremony in the last few days," began Stanley calmly.

"To be sure – yes, certainly – but this – permit me to suggest, is hardly the place to discuss my parochial duties."

"Of course anyone married from this house would have to be married by you."

"I'm in charge of this living, Mr. Stanley, there is no one else."

"I know that, and also that your nearest colleague – excuse me if I use a professional term – is some distance off."

"Fifteen miles. And now that I've answered all of your questions, let us waste no more time before joining the ladies."

"Excuse me, Mr. Lambert, but I've not as yet asked you a question. I've made a number of statements, and you've furnished me with a good deal of gratuitous information, for which I'm deeply obliged. We now come to the pith of the whole matter, which is simply this. Did you, or did you not, marry Lady Isabelle McLane to Lieutenant Kingsland?"

"What! The lady to whom you're engaged?"

"Could I be engaged to a married woman, Mr. Lambert?"

"My dear sir, you may take my word for it, I did not. I shouldn't think of such a thing. Let me assure you on the honour of my sacred office, that Lady Isabelle is not, and cannot be married to Lieutenant Kingsland."

"Ah, then Kingsland is married."

The parson caught his breath in his relief at the escape from the dreaded question, which he had supposed was inevitable. He had been too confidential.

"I did not say so, sir," he replied with dignity.

"Quite true, Mr. Lambert, you did not say so," persisted his tormentor, opening the door, "and so I suppose you'd prefer not to have me ask if you married Miss Fitzgerald to Lieutenant Kingsland?"

"I would certainly prefer not to answer that question, and now I must really go upstairs;" and without waiting for further parley, the little man scuttled out of the room.

Stanley was preparing to follow him at his leisure, when the door opened, and Kent-Lauriston entered.

"Kent-Lauriston!" he exclaimed. "You're the very man I want! I must speak with you!"

"I know it," replied his friend, "but not before I've had my smoke."

"But this matter admits of no delay."

"Oh yes, it does. That's one of the fallacies of modern civilisation. Every important question admits of delay, and most matters are all the better for it."

"But I've seen the register!"

"Of course you have, but you haven't seen a deduction that is as plain as the nose on your face, or you wouldn't now be trying to ruin my digestion. I'll meet you here at ten o'clock this evening and then, and not an instant sooner, will I discuss your private affairs."

"You English are so irritatingly slow!"

"My dear fellow, we've made our history – you're making yours. You can't afford to miss a few days; we can easily spare a few centuries. Now be a good boy, and leave me to peace and tobacco. Join the ladies, and pay a little attention to one of your fiancées."

So it was that Stanley found himself relegated to the drawing-room, and feeling decidedly upset, he good-naturedly determined to see what he could do towards upsetting the equanimity of the rest of the party. In this, however, he was partially forestalled by the good parson, who had not been wasting the few minutes of grace, which the Secretary's conversation with Kent-Lauriston had allotted to him.

No sooner had Mr. Lambert entered the drawing-room, than he sought out Miss Fitzgerald, and confided to her an astonishing discovery he had made in the church register.

"Most careless of me, I assure you," he apologised. "I should have noticed of course – people often make nervous mistakes at times like those; but it was not till this morning that I discovered that Lady Isabelle had written her name in the space reserved for the bride, and you in the space reserved for the witness."

"Well?" asked Miss Fitzgerald, her voice ringing hard and cold as steel.

"Oh, it's all right, my dear," the old man quavered on. "Quite all right, I corrected it myself. I can do a neat bit of work still, even if my hands do tremble a little. I cut out the names, reversed them, and put them back in their proper places, and I'd defy any but an expert to see that they'd been tampered with. I'm sure that none of the people who've seen the book since suspected the change."

"Who has seen the book?" she asked, frozen with horror.

"After I corrected the register?"

"Yes! Yes! Who?"