Books: Jeanne Of The Marshes
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E. Phillips Oppenheim >> Jeanne Of The Marshes
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Andrew nodded.
"I think," he said, "that is probable."
"On the other hand," the Duke continued, "Ronald isn't in the least
the sort of man to make away with himself or hide, because a girl,
whom he could not have known very well, refused to marry him."
"Have you seen anything of the Princess in town?" Andrew asked, a
little irrelevantly.
"I met her with her stepdaughter at Hereford House last night," the
Duke answered. "The Princess was looking as brilliant as ever, but
the little girl was pale and bored. She had a dozen men around her,
and not a smile for one of them. Dull little thing, I should think."
Andrew said nothing. He was looking out of the window upon Pall
Mall, but his eyes saw a little sandy hillock with blades of
sprouting grass. Behind, the lavender-streaked marsh; in front, the
yellow sands and the rippling sea. The sun seemed to warm his
cheeks, the salt wind blew in his face. Westerham wondered for a
moment what his friend saw in the grey flagged street to bring that
faint reminiscent smile to his lips.
A messenger from the hall outside came in, and respectfully
addressed the Duke.
"Your Grace is wanted upon the telephone," he announced.
The Duke excused himself. He was absent only for a few minutes, and
when he returned and took his place he leaned over towards Andrew.
"My message was from the detective," he said. "He wants to see me.
In fact, he is coming round here directly."
CHAPTER II
Cecil came face to face with his brother in the room where
refreshments were being dispensed by solemn-looking footmen and trim
parlour-maids. He stared at him for a moment in surprise.
"What on earth are you doing here, Andrew?" he asked.
"Exactly what I was wondering myself," Andrew answered, setting down
his empty glass. "I met Bellamy Smith this afternoon in Bond Street,
and he asked me to dine, without saying anything about this sort of
show afterwards. By the by, Cecil," he added, "what are you doing in
town? I thought you said that you were not coming up until the late
autumn."
"No more I am, for any length of time," Cecil answered. "I am up for
the day, back to-morrow. There were one or two things I wanted, and
it was easier to come up and see about them than to write."
"Is Forrest still with you?" Andrew asked.
Cecil hesitated, and his brother had an unpleasant conviction that
for a moment he was uncertain whether to tell the truth or no.
"Yes!" Cecil answered, "he is still there. I know you don't like
him, Andrew, but he really isn't a bad sort, and he's quite a
sportsman."
"Does he play cards with you?" Andrew asked.
"Never even suggested it," Cecil declared eagerly. "Fact is, we're
out shooting all day, duck shooting, or fishing, or motoring, and we
go to bed soon after dinner."
"You can't come to much harm at that," Andrew admitted. "By the by,
do you know that Engleton has never turned up?"
"I have heard so," Cecil admitted. "I am not so surprised."
"Why not?" Andrew asked.
Cecil raised his eyebrows in a superior manner.
"Well," he said, "I know he was very sick about his brother looking
too closely into his concerns. He has a little affair on just now
that he wants to keep to himself, and I think that that is the
reason he went off so quietly."
"His brother is very upset about it," Andrew remarked.
"Oh! the Duke was always a heavy old stick," Cecil answered. "I see
you've been doing your duty to-night," he added, making a determined
effort to change the conversation.
Andrew nodded.
"Do I look so hot?" he asked. "I am not used to these close rooms,
or dancing either. Unfortunately they seem short of men, and Mrs.
Bellamy Smith had me set."
Cecil grinned.
"That's the worst of dining before a dance," he remarked. "You're
pretty well cornered before the crowd comes. Upon my word, old
chap," he added, looking his brother up and down with an air of
kindly patronage, "you don't turn out half badly. Country tailor
still, eh?"
"Mind your own business, you young jackanapes," Andrew answered. "Do
you think that no one can wear town clothes except yourself?"
Cecil laughed. After all, considering everything, Andrew was a good-
natured fellow.
"By the by," he said, "do you know who is here this evening?"
Andrew demolished another sandwich.
"Every one, I should think," he answered. "I never saw such a crowd
in my life."
"The Princess and Jeanne are here," Cecil said. "I don't suppose we
shall either of us get near them. People are getting to know about
Jeanne's little dot, and they are fairly mobbed everywhere."
Andrew stood for a moment quite still. His first emotion was one of
dismay, and Cecil, noticing it, laughed at him.
"You can go ahead with your little flirtation," he remarked. "I had
quite forgotten that. You needn't consider me. I haven't a chance
with Miss Jeanne. She's too cranky a young person for me. I like
something with a little more go in it."
Cecil drifted away, and Andrew glanced at his card. There were two
dances for which he was still engaged, and he made his way slowly
back to the ballroom. There was a slight block at the entrance, and
he had to stand aside to let several couples pass out. One of the
last of these was Jeanne, on the arm of young Bellamy Smith. Andrew
stood quite still looking at her. He saw her start for a moment as
she recognized him, and her eyes swept him over with a half
incredulous, half startled expression. She drew a little breath. And
then Andrew saw her suddenly and instinctively stiffen. She looked
him in the face and bowed very slightly, without the vestige of a
smile.
"How do you do, Mr. De la Borne?" she said as she passed on, without
taking the slightest notice of the hand, which, forgetting where he
was, he had half extended towards her.
Andrew went on into the ballroom, found his partner, and danced with
her. As soon as he could he made his adieux and hurried off to the
cloakroom. His coat was already upon his arm when Cecil discovered
him.
"What are you bolting off for, old man?" he asked.
"I've had enough," Andrew answered. "I can't stand the atmosphere,
and I hate dancing, as you know. See you to-morrow, Cecil. I want to
have a talk with you. I am going away for a few weeks."
"Right oh!" Cecil answered. "But you can't go just yet. Mademoiselle
Le Mesurier sent me for you. She wants to speak to you at once."
Andrew hesitated.
"Do you mean this, Cecil?" he asked.
"Of course I do," Cecil answered. "I haven't been rushing about
looking into every corner of the place for nothing. Come along. I'll
take you to where she is."
Andrew handed back his coat and hat to the attendant, and followed
Cecil into the ballroom. In a passage leading to the billiard-room,
where several chairs had been arranged for sitting out, Jeanne was
ensconced, with two men leaning over her. She waved them away when
she saw who it was coming. Without a smile, or the vestige of one,
she motioned to Andrew to take the vacant seat by her side.
"I have executed your commission, Miss Le Mesurier," Cecil said,
bowing before her. "I will claim my reward when we meet again."
He sauntered away, leaving them alone. Jeanne turned at once towards
her companion.
"I am sorry," she said, "if my sending for you was in any way an
annoyance. I understand, of course, you have made it quite clear to
me, that our little friendship, or whatever you may choose to call
it, is at an end. But I do insist upon knowing what it was that you
and my stepmother were discussing for nearly half an hour in the
gardens of the Red Hall. The truth, mind. You and I should owe one
another that."
"We talked of you," he answered. "What other subject can you
possibly imagine your stepmother and I could have in common?"
"That is a good start," she answered. "Now tell me the rest."
"I am not sure," he answered, "that I feel inclined to do that."
She leaned forward and looked at him. Unwillingly he turned his head
to meet her gaze.
"You must tell me, please," she said. "I insist upon knowing."
"Your stepmother," he said, "was perfectly reasonable and very
candid. She reminded me that you were a great heiress, and that as
yet you had seen nothing of the world. I do not know why she thought
it necessary to point this out to me, except that perhaps she
thought that in some mad moment I might have conceived the idea that
you--"
"That I?" she repeated softly, as he hesitated.
He set his teeth hard and frowned.
"You know what I mean," he said coldly. "Your stepmother is a clever
woman, and a woman of the world. She takes into account all
contingencies, never mind how improbable they might be. She was
afraid that I might think things were possible between us which
after all must always remain outside serious consideration. She
wanted to warn me. That was all. It was kindness, but I am sure that
it was unnecessary."
"You are not very lucid," she murmured. "It is because I am a great
heiress, then, that you go off fishing for three weeks without
saying good-bye; that you leave our next meeting to happen by chance
in the last place I should have expected to see you? What do you
think of me, Mr. Andrew? Do you imagine that I am of my stepmother's
world, or ever could be? Have the hours we have spent together
taught you nothing different?"
"You are a child," he answered evasively. "You do not know as yet to
what world you will belong. It is as your stepmother said to me.
With your fortune you may marry into one of the great families of
Europe. You might almost take a part in the world's history. It is
not for such as myself to dream of interfering with a destiny such
as yours may be."
"For that reason," she remarked, leaning a little towards him, "you
went fishing in a dirty little boat with those common sailors for
three weeks. For that reason you bow to me when you meet me as
though I were an acquaintance whom you barely remembered. For that
reason, I suppose, you were hurrying away when your brother found
you."
"It was the inevitable thing to do," he answered. "You may think to-
day one thing, but it is for others who are older and wiser than you
to remember that you are only a child, and that you have not
realized yet the place you fill in the world. If it pleases you to
know it, let me tell you that I am very glad indeed that you came to
Salthouse. You have made me think more seriously. You have made me
understand that after all the passing life is short, that idle days
and physical pleasures do not make up the life which is worthiest. I
am going to try other things. For the inspiration which bids me seek
them, I have to thank you."
She touched his great brown hand with the delicate tips of her
fingers.
"Dear Mr. Andrew," she said, "you are very big and strong and
obstinate. You will have your own way however I may plead. Go, then,
and strike your great blows upon the anvil of life. You say that I
am passing the threshold, that as yet I am ignorant. Very well, I
will make my way in with the throng. I will look about me, and see
what this thing, life, is, and how much more it may mean to me
because I chance to be the possessor of many ill-earned millions.
Before very long we will meet again and compare notes, only I warn
you, Mr. Andrew, that if any change comes, it comes to you. I am one
of the outsiders who has looked into life, and who knows very well
what is there even from across the borders."
He rose at once. To stay there was worse torture than to go.
"So it shall be," he said. "We will each take our draught of
experience, and we will meet again and speak of the flavour of it.
Only remember that whatever may be your lot, hold fast to those
simple things which we have spoken of together, and the darkest days
of all can never come."
She gave him her hand, and flashed a look at him which he was not
likely to forget.
"So!" she said simply. "I shall remember."
CHAPTER III
The Princess was enjoying a few minutes of well-earned repose. She
had lunched with Jeanne at Ranelagh, where they had been the guests
of a lady who certainly had the right to call herself one of the
leaders of Society. The newspapers and the Princess' confidences to
a few of her friends had done all that was really necessary. Jeanne
was accepted, and the Princess passed in her wake through those
innermost portals which at one time had come perilously near being
closed upon her. She was lying on a sofa in a white negligee gown.
Jeanne had just brought in a pile of letters, mostly invitations.
The Princess glanced them through, and smiled as she tossed them on
one side.
"How these people amuse one!" she exclaimed. "Eighteen months ago I
was in London alone, and not a soul came near me. To-day, because I
am the guardian of a young lady whom the world believes to be a
great heiress, people tumble over one another with their invitations
and their courtesies."
Jeanne looked up.
"Why do you say 'believes to be?'" she asked quickly. "I am a great
heiress, am I not?"
The Princess smiled, a slow, enigmatic smile, which might have meant
anything, but which to Jeanne meant nothing at all.
"My dear child," she said, "of course you are. The papers have said
so, Society has believed them. If I were to go out and declare right
and left that you had nothing but a beggarly twenty thousand pounds
or so, I should not find a soul to believe me. Every one would
believe that I was trying to scare them off, to keep you for myself,
or some one of my own choice. Really it is a very odd world!"
Jeanne was looking a little pensive. Her stepmother sometimes
completely puzzled her.
"Who are the trustees of my money?" she asked, a little abruptly.
The Princess raised her eyebrows.
"Bless the child!" she exclaimed. "What do you know about trustees?"
"When I am of age," Jeanne said calmly, "which will happen sometime
or other, I suppose, it will interest me to know exactly how much
money I have and how it is invested."
The Princess looked a little startled.
"My dear Jeanne," she exclaimed, "pray don't talk like that until
after you are married. Your money is being very well looked after.
What I should like you to understand is this. You are going to meet
to-night at dinner the man whom I intend you to marry."
Jeanne raised her eyebrows.
"I had some idea," she murmured, "of choosing a husband for myself."
"Impossible!" the Princess declared. "You have had no experience,
and you are far too important a person to be allowed to think of
such a thing. To-night at dinner you will meet the Count de
Brensault. He is a Belgian of excellent family, quite rich, and very
much attracted by you. I consider him entirely suitable, and I have
advised him to speak to you seriously."
"Thank you," Jeanne said, "but I don't like Belgians, and I do not
mean to marry one."
The Princess laughed, a little unpleasantly.
"My dear child," she said, "you may make a fuss about it, but
eventually you will have to marry whom I say. You must remember that
you are French, not English, and that I am your guardian. If you
want to choose for yourself, you will have to wait three or four
years before the law allows you to do so."
"Then I will wait three or four years," Jeanne answered quietly. "I
have no idea of marrying the Count de Brensault."
The Princess raised herself a little on her couch.
"Child," she said, "you would try any one's patience. Only a month
or so ago you told me that you were quite indifferent as to whom you
might marry. You were content to allow me to select some one
suitable." "A few months," Jeanne answered, "are sometimes a very
long time. My views have changed since then."
"You mean," the Princess said, "that you have met some one whom you
wish to marry?"
"Perhaps so," Jeanne answered. "At any rate I will not marry the
Count de Brensault."
The Princess' face had darkened.
"I do not wish to quarrel with you, Jeanne," she said, "but I think
that you will. Whom else is it that you are thinking of? Is it our
island fisherman who has taken your fancy?"
"Does that matter?" Jeanne answered calmly. "Is it not sufficient if
I say that I will not marry the Count de Brensault."
"No, it is not quite sufficient," the Princess remarked coldly. "You
will either marry the man whom I have chosen, or give me some
definite and clear reason for your refusal."
"One very definite and clear reason," Jeanne remarked, "is that I do
not like the Count de Brensault. I think that he is a noisy,
forward, and offensive young man."
"His income is nearly fifty thousand a year," the Princess remarked,
"so he must be forgiven a few eccentricities of manner."
"His income," Jeanne said, "scarcely matters, does it? If my money
is ever to do anything for me, it should at least enable me to
choose a husband for myself."
"That's where you girls always make such absurd mistakes," the
Princess remarked. "You get an idea or a liking into your mind, and
you hold on to it like wax. You forget that the times may change,
new people may come, the old order of things may pass altogether
away. Suppose, for instance, you were to lose your money?"
"I should not be sorry," Jeanne answered calmly. "I should at least
be sure that I was not any longer an article of merchandise. I could
lead my own life, and marry whom I pleased."
The Princess laughed scornfully.
"Men do not take to themselves penniless brides nowadays," she
remarked.
"Some men--" Jeanne began.
The Princess interrupted her.
"Bah!" she said. "You are thinking of your island fisherman again. I
see by the papers that he has gone away. He is very wise. He may be
a very excellent person, but the whole world could not hold a less
suitable husband for you."
Jeanne smiled.
"Well," she said, "we shall see. I certainly do not think that he
will ever ask me to marry him. He is one of those whom my gold does
not seem to attract."
"He is clumsy," the Princess remarked. "A word of encouragement
would have brought him to your feet."
"If I had thought so," Jeanne remarked, "I would have spoken it."
The Princess looked across at her stepdaughter searchingly.
"Tell me the truth, Jeanne," she said. "Have you been idiot enough
to really care for this man?"
"That," Jeanne answered, "is a subject which I cannot discuss with
any one, not even you."
"It is all very well," the Princess answered, "but whatever happens,
I must see that you do not make an idiot of yourself. It is very
important indeed, for more reasons than you know of."
Jeanne looked up.
"Such as--?" she asked.
The Princess hesitated. There were two evils before her. It was not
possible to escape from both. She found herself weighing the chances
of each of them, their nearness to disaster.
"Well," she said, "great fortunes even like yours are not above the
chances of the money-markets. Your fortune, or a great part of it,
might go. What would happen to you then? You would be a pauper."
Jeanne smiled.
"I can see nothing terrifying in that," she answered, "but at the
same time I do not think that a fortune such as mine is a very
fluctuating affair."
"You are right, of course," the Princess said. "You will be one of
the richest young women in the country. There is nothing to prevent
it. It is a good thing that you have me to look after you."
Jeanne leaned a little forward in her chair, and looked steadfastly
at her stepmother.
"I suppose," she said, "that you are right. You know the world, at
any rate, and you are clever. But often you puzzle me. Why at first
did you want me to marry Major Forrest?"
The Princess' face seemed suddenly to harden.
"I never wished you to," she said coldly. "However, we will not talk
about that. For certain reasons I think that it would be well for
you to be married before you actually come of age. That is why I
have invited the Count de Brensault here to-night."
Jeanne's dark eyes were fixed curiously upon the Princess.
"Sometimes," she said, "I do not altogether understand you. Why
should there be all this nervous haste about my marriage? Do you
know that it would trouble me a great deal more, only that I have
absolutely made up my mind that nothing will induce me to marry any
one whom I do not really care for."
The Princess raised her head, and for a moment the woman and the
girl looked at one another. It was almost a duel--the Princess'
intense, almost threatening regard, and Jeanne's set face and
steadfast eyes.
"My father left me all this money," Jeanne said, "that I might be
happy, not miserable. I am quite determined that I will not ruin my
life before it has commenced. I do not wish to marry at all for
several years. I think that you have brought me into what you call
Society a good deal too soon. I would rather study for a little
time, and try and learn what the best things are that one may get
out of life. I am afraid, from your point of view, that I am going
to be a failure. I do not care particularly about dances, or the
people we have met at them. I think that in another few weeks I
shall be as bored as the most fashionable person in London."
A servant knocked at the door announcing Major Forrest. Jeanne rose
to her feet and passed out by another door. The Princess made no
attempt to stop her.
CHAPTER IV
The Princess looked up with ill-concealed eagerness as Forrest
entered.
"Well," she asked, "have you any news?"
Forrest shook his head.
"None," he answered. "I am up for the day only. Cecil will not let
me stay any longer. He was here himself the day before yesterday. We
take it by turns to come away."
"And there is nothing to tell me?" the Princess asked. "No change of
any sort?"
"None," Forrest answered. "It is no good attempting to persuade
ourselves that there is any."
"What are you up for, then?" she asked.
He laughed hardly.
"I am like a diver," he answered, "who has to come to the surface
every now and then for fresh air. Life down at Salthouse is very
nearly the acme of stagnation. Our only excitement day by day is the
danger--and the hope."
"Is Cecil getting braver?" the Princess asked.
"I think that he is, a little," Forrest answered.
The Princess nodded.
"We met him at the Bellamy Smiths'," she said. "It was quite a
reunion. Andrew was there, and the Duke."
Forrest's face darkened.
"Meddling fool," he muttered. "Do you know that there are two
detectives now in Salthouse? They come and go and ask all manner of
questions. One of them pretends that he believes Engleton was
drowned, and walks always on the beach and hires boatmen to explore
the creeks. The other sits in the inn and bribes the servants with
drinks to talk. But don't let's talk about this any longer. How is
Jeanne?"
"We are going," the Princess said quietly, "to have trouble with
that child."
"Why?" Forrest asked.
"She is developing a conscience," the Princess remarked. "Where she
got it from, Heaven knows. It wasn't from her father. I can answer
for that."
"Anything else?" Forrest asked.
"It is a curious thing," the Princess replied, "but ever since those
few days down at that tumbledown old place of Cecil de la Borne's,
she seems to have developed in a remarkable manner. I don't know how
much nonsense she talked with that fisherman of hers, but some of
it, at any rate, seems to have stuck. I am sure," she added, with a
little sigh, "that we are going to have trouble."
Forrest smiled grimly.
"So far as I'm concerned," he remarked, "the trouble has arrived.
I've a good mind to chuck it altogether."
The Princess looked up. Worn though her face was, she possessed one
feature, her eyes, which still entitled her to be called a beautiful
woman. She looked at Forrest steadily, and he felt himself growing
uncomfortable before the contempt of her steady regard.
"I wonder how it is," she said pensively, "that all men are more or
less cowards. You shield yourselves by speaking of an attack of
nerves. It is nothing more nor less than cowardice."
"I believe you are right," Forrest assented. "I'm not the man I
was."
"You are not," the Princess agreed. "It is well for you that you
have had me to look after you, or you would have gone to pieces
altogether. You talk of giving up cards and retiring to the
Continent. My dear man, what do you propose to live on?"
He did not answer. He had bullied this woman for a good many years.
Now he felt that the tables were being turned upon him.
"What has become of the De la Borne money?" she asked. "I never
thought that you would get it, but he paid up every cent, didn't
he?"
Forrest nodded.
"He did," he admitted, "or rather his brother did for him. I lost
four hundred at Goodwood, and there were some of my creditors I
simply had to give a little to, or they would have pulled me up
altogether. You talk about nerves, Ena, but, hang it all, it's
enough to give anyone the hum to lead the sort of life I've had to
lead for the last few years. I'm nothing more nor less than a common
adventurer."
"Whatever you are," the Princess answered steadily, "you are too old
to change your life or the manner of it. One can start again afresh
on the other side of forty, but at fifty the thing is hopeless.
Fortunately you have me."
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