The strange countess
your strong right hand in the matter--I’ll follow you through nine
kinds of hell and catch you. Absorb that.” And with a nod, he turned
and walked away, leaving the man speechless with rage and fear.
Chapter Seventeen
Lois thought it was kind of Lady Moron to give her the afternoon and
evening to herself.
“My dear, I’ll be glad to get rid of you,” said her ladyship frankly.
“That wretched man Dorn has quite upset me, and I’m not going to visit
my resentment on you. Go away for a few hours and begin to forget that
there is such a place as 307 Chester Square. And if you feel you’d
like to go to a theatre later, please do so. I will leave instructions
for the night footman to wait up for you. I have just heard from the
hospital that Braime is quite conscious and perhaps he will give us an
account of the mysterious happening. I’ve had the library searched,
and I’ve not found anything to account for his extraordinary seizure.
I doubt even whether the clever Mr. Dorn will be any more successful,”
she added, without evidence of malice.
Lois was glad to get away, and her first thought was to acquaint her
friend with what had happened. She made her way to Bedford Row, and as
she reached that familiar thoroughfare, she saw the ancient Ford at
the door and Mr. Shaddles pulling on his gloves preparatory to
departure.
He lived in Hampstead, and was invariably the first and last user of
the old machine. His glare was distinctly unfriendly as she mounted
the steps.
“Well?” he asked. “You’ve come back, have you? Tired of your job, eh?
I never thought you’d be much good as a private secretary.”
“I’m not tired of it, but I’m leaving,” she smiled.
“Young people must have change,” deplored Mr. Shaddles. “It is the
cursed unrest of the age. How long were you with me?”
“Some years, Mr. Shaddles.”
“Two years, nine months, and seven days,” he said rapidly. “That seems
like eternity, I suppose, young woman? To me it is”--he snapped his
fingers--“yesterday! I brought you down from Leith, didn’t I? One of
my clients mentioned you, and I gave you your chance, eh?”
“Yes,” she said, wondering why he had grown so unexpectedly
reminiscent.
“Ah!” He looked up at the sky as though for inspiration, or
applause--she wasn’t quite sure which. “You’ll want to come back to
your old job, I suppose?” And without waiting for her reply, “Well,
you can start to-morrow. I’ll give you three pounds a week, and you
can start to-morrow morning at half-past eight.” He laid special
emphasis on the last words.
“But, Mr. Shaddles,” said the dazed girl, “that is awfully kind of
you--most kind. I’d love to come, but I can’t come to-morrow morning.”
“Half-past eight to-morrow morning,” he blinked at her. “Don’t keep
me, I’m in a hurry.”
He went down the steps, mounted his car, and she stood watching him
until he was one with the traffic in Theobalds Road.
So great was the shock of the lawyer’s generosity that this was the
first news she told the sceptical Lizzy.
“There’s been something strange about him for the last two days,”
decided that young lady. “Softening of the brain, I think. He didn’t
mention about putting up my salary? Maybe he’s not so far gone as
that. I shouldn’t take too much notice; he’ll probably change his mind
to-morrow. Three pounds a week? He must be mad! I’ll bet he’ll come
down to the office in the morning in his pyjamas, playing a cornet,
and calling himself Julius Cæsar.”
The clerks had gone; Lizzy was alone in her office; she had stayed
behind to type an interminable memorandum of association, which was
never finished after Lois had told the story of what had happened at
the house that day.
“I think Mike’s right,” said Lizzy, nodding vigorously. “That house is
too full of tricks. I hate the idea of leaving Selwyn----”
“You mean Lord Moron?”
“He’s Selwyn to me,” said Lizzy calmly. “I’m going to the pictures
with him to-morrow night. He’s a nice boy, that. What he wants is a
mother’s care and he’s never had it.”
“And you’re going to be the mother?” Lois laughed, and then,
seriously: “I can’t leave at once. You must please yourself what you
do. I promised Lady Moron I would stay.”
Lizzy pulled a long face.
“I can’t desert you, but I’ll tell you straight, that I’d rather sleep
on the top shelf of a mortuary than at Chester Square to-night. I’ll
go with you, but I’m doing you a favour. Put it down in your book. As
to old Shaddles he’ll be in charge of a keeper to-morrow. If anybody
else but you had told me about that three pounds a week business, I’d
have known they were lying. And now, what do you say to coming back to
Charlotte Street and pretending we are poor again?”
To Lois there could have been no more attractive way of spending the
evening. The old room with its shabby furniture, its faded chintzes,
was home; and even the squalling of playing children in the street had
a special charm which Lois had never observed before.
There was too a welcome awaiting them. Old Mackenzie saw them through
the window of his room and came down to greet them in the passage. He
was pathetically disappointed when he learnt they were not staying the
night, but cheered up after Lizzy told him their plans.
“Let us ask him up to dinner,” said Lois, as she sat on the kitchen
table, watching the girl manipulating the frying-pan.
Lizzy nodded. She was a thought distrait, and later Lois learnt the
reason.
“If I’d had any sense, I’d have asked Selwyn to drop in, and he’d have
come,” she said. “He’s democratic--one of the best mixers I’ve ever
met. He told me last night, when you went out to get a handkerchief,
that he felt thoroughly at home with me, and that I was the first girl
he’d ever felt at home with all his life. That’s something for an earl
to say, knowing that I’m a thirty-five bob a week key-shifter.”
Her voice trembled slightly and Lois regarded her with a new interest.
She had been acquainted with Lizzy for many years and had never known
her so emotional.
“He’s never had a mother’s care, that boy,” she said again, her voice
shaking.
Lois charitably overlooked the fact that the boy in question was
somewhere in the region of thirty-five.
“That woman hasn’t got any more sympathy with Selwyn than I’ve got
with her. She’s got a heart like a bit of flint, she’s----”
“Mr. Mackenzie will be a poor substitute for your Selwyn, but shall we
have him up?” asked Lois again.
“Yell for him,” was the terse reply.
In many ways Mr. Mackenzie was a more entertaining guest than Lizzy
had hoped. In the first place he was very interested in her account of
the Morons’ house and daily life, for it was Lizzy who spoke as an
authority on the subject, appealing only occasionally to Lois for
confirmation.
“Silk curtains? Really!” said Mr. Mackenzie, impressed.
“And satin ones,” said Lizzy recklessly. “At least, they look like
satin. And silver mountings everywhere. And real marble walls in the
bathroom. Am I right, Lois? And a silver fire-grate in the
drawing-room.”
Old Mackenzie sighed.
“It must be very gran’ to live amidst such surroundings,” he said,
“though I never envy any man or woman. And the countess is a charming
lady?”
“I wouldn’t call her that,” said Lizzy. “She’s all right up to a
point. She’s a bad mother but a good scout, if you understand me.”
“She has young children?” Mr. Mackenzie was interested.
“He is not exactly young,” Lizzy was careful to explain, “he’s a young
man in what you might term the first prime of life. No, he’s not at
school,” she snapped to the unfortunate question. “He’s a wonderful
man. Selwyn wants to be an actor, and why his mother doesn’t let him
go on the stage is a wonder to me.”
Again Mr. Mackenzie sighed.
“It is a bad life, the stage. I think I have told you young ladies
before, all my sorrow and troubles come from my association with the
stage.” And he went on disjointedly: “She was a bonny girl, with a
beautiful figure and a face like a--a----”
“Angel?” suggested Lizzy, pausing with uplifted fork.
“‘Madonna’ was the word I wanted. To me it is still a matter of wonder
that she ever looked at me, let alone accepted my humble suit. But at
that time, of course, I was in a very good position. Some of my comic
operas were being played. I had a considerable sum of money which,
fortunately, I invested in house property, and she was a
little--er--extravagant--yes, that’s the word, she was a little
extravagant. It was perhaps my fault.”
There was a long silence while he ruminated, his chin bent on his
chest, his eyes fixed upon the table-cloth.
“Yes, it was my fault. I told my dear friend Shaddles, when he
suggested a divorce----”
“Shaddles?” squeaked Lizzy. “You don’t know that old--that gentleman,
do you?”
Mackenzie looked at her in surprise.
“Why, Mr. Shaddles is my lawyer. That is how I came to have the good
fortune to secure you as my tenants. You remember Mr. Shaddles
recommended my little house?”
“Shaddles! Good Lord!” said Lizzy, pushing back her plate. “I don’t
think I could ever have slept in my bed if I’d known!”
“He is a good man, a true man, and a friend,” said Mr. Mackenzie
soberly.
“And he’s a mean old skinflint,” said Lizzy, despite Lois’ warning
glance.
“He’s a wee bit near,” admitted Mr. Mackenzie. “But then, some lawyers
get that way. His father was like that.”
“Did he ever have a father?” asked Lizzy, with assumed surprise.
“His father and his father’s father were the same way. But the
Shaddles are great lawyers, and they’ve managed great estates. They’ve
been lawyers to the Moron family for hundreds of years.”
“Do you know the Morons then?” asked Lois.
He hesitated.
“I cannot say that I know them. I know of them. The old earl, the
father of the present boy, I have seen once. He lived abroad for many
years, and was--weel, I’ll no’ call him bad, but he was a gay man by
all accounts. And a scandalous liver. Willie, his son, was a fine boy,
but he died. Selwyn, the younger son by the second wife, must be the
lad to whom you’re referring.”
Even Lizzy was impressed by the old man’s knowledge of the Morons’
genealogical tree.
“It is a good thing for the family that they have this fine boy,
Selwyn; though, if her ladyship had a daughter, she would succeed to
the title, the Morons being one of those families where a woman
succeeds failing a male heir.”
After dinner was cleared away he brought up his violin and played for
half an hour; and Lizzy, whose respect for the musician seemed to have
taken an upward curve, tolerated the performance with admirable
fortitude.
The evening passed all too quickly, and at ten o’clock Lois looked at
her watch and the two girls exchanged glances. Lizzy rose with a
shiver.
“Back to the house of fate,” she said dramatically. “And thank heaven
this is the last night we shall sleep there!”
She could not guess that neither Lois Reddle nor she would ever pass
into that house of fate again!
Chapter Eighteen
At five o’clock that afternoon there was a great thudding of doors
and snapping of keys in Telsbury Prison. The evening meal-hour was
over. The last visit had been paid by the chief wardress. Laundries,
cook-houses, and workshops had been locked up by the officers
responsible, and the five halls, that ran, star-shaped, from the
common centre, were deserted except for the wardress on duty at the
desk, who was reading the letters which had come addressed to the
prisoners and which would be delivered to them in the morning. She
worked with the sure eye and hand of an expert, using her blue pencil
to cover up such items of general news as convicts are not allowed to
receive.
So engaged, she heard the burr of a “call,” and, looking round, saw
that the red disc had fallen over one of the hundred apertures in the