Parlous Times: A Novel of Modern Diplomacy

"So fairly, that you'll find it difficult to prove your point."

"Let me continue. Suppose you're married; grand ceremonial, great éclat, delighted friends and relatives, handsome presents, diamonds and all – he'd do the thing well – honeymoon, say, the Riviera – limit, three months – what next? Where are you going to live? London? It won't do. Property – that property you're so interested in – can't take care of itself; the young heir of those broad plantations must go home and learn the business. Your practical mind shows you the necessity of that. Do you know the life of his native country? No? Your nearest neighbours thirty miles away, and deadly dull at that; your climate a damp, sultry fog; your amusements, sleeping in a hammock two-thirds of the day, when the mosquitoes will let you, and your husband's society, as sole company, the rest of the time. After two or three years, or perhaps four or five – long enough to ruin your matchless complexion, and cause you both to be forgotten by all your friends, except those who can't afford to do so – you come back to London for a nice long visit – say three months. How you will enjoy it! Let me see, what do you most like? Horses, riding, hunting? Ever heard the Secretary's ideas on hunting?"

She laughed nervously, and Kent-Lauriston pursued his subject.

"Then he's so indefatigable at balls and parties; I've known him to stay half an hour, when he's been feeling fit! His friends, too, such dear old fogies, like your esteemed aunt, not like your friends – you know how fond he is of them. The Kingslands and Darcys of your acquaintance would simply revel in the house of a man who never plays cards for money, and can't tell an eighty from a ninety-eight champagne – and he'd be master in his own house, too – you received an ultimatum yesterday. A man who will do that to a woman to whom he isn't even quite engaged will command his wife and see that she obeys him. You would have before you the choice of living in an atmosphere and associating with people entirely uncongenial to you, or living wholly apart from your husband; either would be intolerable. Have I proved my point?"

"You've forgotten to include in your charming sketch that I should still have the comforts of life, and, what is more important, a house to cover me, enough to eat and drink, and clothes to wear – things which I have sometimes in the past found it pretty difficult to obtain."

"True, but you'd be paying too high a price for them, much too high. Take my word for it, again and again you'd long to be back in your present state; yes, and in harder straits than you are now."

"What you say to me could be equally well applied to Mr. Stanley, in reverse."

"Quite so; it sums up in the mere fact, that you two have nothing in common except passion and sentimentality, very frail corner stones on which to build a life's happiness. You're not even companionable. What are you going to talk about for the rest of your lives? It's an appalling prospect. I want to save you both from making a very bad bargain."

"I don't agree with you," she cried vehemently, springing to her feet, "not at all; but what difference does it make? I know well enough I'm not really to be consulted as to the issue; you'd never have had the effrontery to speak to me as you have done, if you were not already sure of the game. To use a commercial phrase, you've cornered the market, and can make what terms you please. I must accede to them."

"You entirely mistake the situation, Miss Fitzgerald," he said, calmly rising, and facing her. "It is you who have cornered the market, and it is I who must buy at your price."

"Explain yourself! What do you mean?" she cried, a gleam of hope, almost of triumph, lighting up her face.

Kent-Lauriston was now playing a bold game.

"I mean," he replied, "that circumstances have rendered me powerless to prevent Mr. Stanley's marrying you, if you allow him to do so."

"Tell me! – " she exclaimed abruptly.

"It's for that purpose that I've sought you out."

She nodded. She was watching him guardedly.

"I've admitted that our young friend was in love with you. I don't say you encouraged him, but you certainly excited his pity, a very dangerous proceeding with a person of his nature."

"What's all this to do with my position?"

"A great deal," resumed Kent-Lauriston. "You see, I want you to understand your hold over Mr. Stanley – it's really because he pities you." The girl flushed painfully. "Excuse me if I speak things which are unpleasant, but you most understand your weakness, and your strength. You've nearly ruined yourself by being too clever, and now, by the wildest stroke of luck, you're in a very strong position."

"Would you mind speaking plainly?"

"Certainly. In a word, the situation is just this. Within the last few days, Mr. Stanley has made three discoveries about you, which have gone far to destroy his sympathy for you, and make him believe that his pity or his love, as he chooses to call it, has been misplaced. Two of these discoveries I believe to be true; one – the worst – I know to be false. If he discovers how shockingly you've been maligned, he'll probably forget the past, and, in a burst of contrition at having so misjudged you, will do what his common sense forbids – I mean, marry you."

"You're really becoming interesting. I had underrated your abilities. Pray be more explicit," she said, quite at her ease at these reassuring words, and putting Kent-Lauriston down, mentally, as a fool for giving the game away, when he need only have kept silent to have had it all in his own hands.

He read her thoughts and smiled quietly, for, by her expression, he could gauge the depth of her subtlety. She was no match for him, if she were innocent enough to believe him capable of such folly.

"You compliment me," he returned, "but to go on – in the first place, he learned of your connection with Lady Isabelle's marriage. It opened his eyes somewhat."

"She told him?"

"She did. You forced her to do so, by your threat against her husband."

Miss Fitzgerald bit her lip, and said nothing.

"Lady Isabelle," continued Kent-Lauriston, "in appealing to the Secretary to save her husband, gave him the clue he was searching for; which resulted in his discovery of the friendly turn you had done the Lieutenant, in making him unconsciously, shall we say, particeps criminis?"

"Ah!"

"Have you seen Colonel Darcy to-day?"

She paused for a moment, considering, and then decided it was better to be straightforward, and replied:

"Not since yesterday morning. I went to see him last evening, but found him out."

"I know you did."

Miss Fitzgerald breathed a sigh of relief. It was well she had decided not to lie to this man.

"You're probably not aware, then," continued Kent-Lauriston, "that Stanley succeeded in opening the secret door last night, and obtained possession of Darcy's letter of instructions."

The Irish girl turned very white, looking as if she were going to faint.

"Then he knows everything," she whispered.

"Everything," replied her tormentor. "The details of the plot he has known for some time, being stationed here by the Legation to watch the Colonel – but it was not till Darcy was brought to book this morning, and in order to save himself, signed a written confession, that he really knew the extent to which you were incriminated."

She burst into tears. Kent-Lauriston proceeded unconcernedly with his story.

"The Colonel's chivalry is not of such a nature as would cause him to hesitate in shifting all the responsibility he could, on the shoulders of a woman."

She dried her tears at that, and her eyes fairly snapped.

"The fact," resumed Kent-Lauriston, "that Stanley had on several occasions tried to help you to clear yourself, and the fact that you'd persistently – well – not done so – made matters all the worse. In short, on these two counts alone, you had given evidence of an amount of deceit and cold-blooded calculation that completely upset even such an optimist as he. Still, I think he would have overlooked it, if properly managed – if that had been the worst."

"Can anything be worse?"

"Yes, for this last charge against you is not true."

"Go on."

"You placed yourself in Darcy's power. A clever woman, a really clever woman, my dear Miss Fitzgerald, would not have done that. It would be easy for him to manufacture circumstantial evidence, to back any lie he might choose to exploit, to your discredit. Say, for instance, that you were the prime mover in this plot, and that you went into it for a financial consideration, for three thousand pounds."

"But Bob never would – "

"Wouldn't he, when he was thirsting for revenge, believing that your careless threat against Lieutenant Kingsland had ruined his hopes."

"Did he do this?"

"He did, and that is why I'm here this morning in Mr. Stanley's place – commissioned to return to you your letters," and he handed her the packet.