Perhaps it is fortunate for Members of the House that their female friends are discreetly hidden away behind that heavy iron grille over the Press Gallery, so that they are invisible save for a neatly gloved hand which sometimes shows upon the ironwork, or a flash of bright colour in the deep shadow, caused by bobbing millinery. Many a husband or lover addressing the House would waver beneath the critical eyes of his womenkind. Indeed, on the night in question, Dudley Chisholm would certainly not have delivered his telling words so calmly had he been aware of the presence of certain persons hidden away behind that Byzantine grating.
The Ladies Gallery was crowded by Members wives and daughters, enthusiastic Primrose League workers, dowagers, and a few of the smarter set. Among the latter, at the extreme end of the gallery, sat a well-preserved, elderly woman of rather aristocratic bearing, accompanied by a blue-eyed girl in lavender, wearing a costly opera cloak trimmed with sable, a girl with a countenance so charming that she would cause a sensation anywhere. The black toilette of the elder woman and the lavender creation worn by her daughter, spoke mutely to the other women near them of an atelier in the Rue de la Paix, but as to their names, these were unknown to every person in the gallery.
When Chisholm had risen to address the House the elder had bent to the younger and whispered something in her ear. Then both women had pressed their faces eagerly to the grille, and, sitting bent forward, listened to every word that fell so deliberately from the speakers lips.
Again the aristocratic-looking woman with the white hair whispered to the girl beside her, so low that no one overheard:
There, Muriel! That is the man. I have not exaggerated his qualities, have I? You must marry him, my dear you must marry him!
Chapter Two.
Concerns Claudias Caprice
The division had been taken, the position of the Government saved, and the House was up.
Dudley Chisholm, after driving back in a hansom to his chambers in St. Jamess Street, stretched himself before the fire with a weary sigh of relief, to rest himself after the struggle in which he had been so prominent a figure. His rooms, almost opposite the Naval and Military Club, were decorated in that modern style affected by the younger generation of bachelors, with rich brocade hangings, Turkey carpets, art pottery, and woodwork painted dead white. A single glance, however, showed it to be the abode of a man sufficiently wealthy to be able to indulge in costly works of art and fine old china; and although modern in every sense of the word, it was, nevertheless, a very snug, tasteful and well-arranged abode.
The room in which he was sitting, deep in a big armchair of the grandfather type, was a study; not spacious, but lined completely with well-chosen books, while the centre was occupied by a large, workmanlike table littered by the many official documents which his secretary had, on the previous morning, brought to him from the Foreign Office. The electric lamp on the table was shaded by a cover of pale green silk and lace, so that he sat in the shadow, with the firelight playing upon his dark and serious features.
Parsons, his bent, white-haired old servant in livery of an antiquated cut, had noiselessly entered with his masters whiskey and soda, and after placing it in its accustomed spot on a small table at his elbow, was about to retire, when the younger man, deep in reflection, stirred himself, asking:
Who brought that letter the one I found here when I came in?
A commissionaire, sir, was the old servitors response. It came about midnight. And somebody rang up on the telephone about an hour after, but I couldnt catch the name, as Im always a bit flustered by the outlandish thing, sir.
His master smiled. That telephone was, he knew, the bane of old Parsons existence.
Ah! he said. Youre not so young as you used to be, eh?
No, Master Dudley, sighed the old fellow with the blanched hair and thin, white, mutton-chop whiskers. When I think that I was his lordships valet here in London nigh on fifty years ago, and that Ive been in the family every since, I begin to feel that Im gettin on a bit in years.
Sitting up late every night like this isnt very good for one of your age, observed his master, mindful of the old fellows faithful services. Ill have Riggs up from Wroxeter, and he can attend to me at night.
Youre very thoughtful of me, Master Dudley; but Id rather serve you myself, sir. I cant abear young men about me. Theyre only in the way, and get a-flirtin with the gals whenever they have a chance.
Very well, Parsons, just please yourself, answered Chisholm pleasantly. But to-morrow morning first pack my bag and then wire to Wroxeter. I shall be going down there in the afternoon with two friends for a couple of days shooting.
Very well, sir, replied the old fellow in the antique dress suit and narrow tie. He half turned to walk out, but hesitated and fidgeted; then, a moment later, he turned back and stood before his master.
Well, Parsons, anything more? Chisholm asked. He was used to the old fellows confidences and eccentricities, for more than once since he had come down from college his ancient retainer had given him words of sound advice, his half-century of service allowing him such licence as very few servants possessed.
Theres one little matter I wanted to speak to you about, Master Dudley. Im an old man, and a pretty blunt un at times, that you know.
Yes, laughed Dudley. You can make very caustic remarks sometimes, Parsons. Well, whos been offending you now?
No one, sir, he answered gravely. Its about something that concerns yourself, Master Dudley.
His master glanced up at him quickly, not without some surprise, saying:
Well, fire away, Parsons. Out with it. What have I done wrong this time?
That woman was here this afternoon! he blurted out.
What woman? inquired his master, looking at him seriously.
Her ladyship.
Well, and what of that? She called at my invitation. Im sorry I was not in.
And Im very glad I had the satisfaction of sending that woman away, declared the ancient retainer bluntly.
Why, Parsons? Surely its hardly the proper thing to speak of a lady as that woman?
Master. Dudley, said the old man, youll forgive me for speaking plain, wont you? It would, I know, be called presumption in other houses for a servant to speak like this to his master, but you are thirty-three now, and for those thirty-three years Ive advised you, just as I would my own son.
I know, Parsons, I know. My father trusted you implicitly, just as I have done. Speak quite plainly. Im never offended by your criticisms.
Well, sir, that woman may have a title, but shes not at all a desirable acquaintance for you, a rising man.
Chisholm smiled. Claudia Nevill was a smart woman, moving in the best set in London; something of a lion-hunter, it was true, but a really good sort, nevertheless.
She dresses too well to suit your old-fashioned tastes, eh? In your days women wore curls and crinolines.
No, Master Dudley. It isnt her dress, sir. I dont like the woman.
Why?
Because well, youll permit me to speak quite frankly, sir because to my mind its dangerous for a young man like you to be so much in the company of an attractive young person. And, besides, shes playing some deep game, depend upon it.
Dudleys dark brows contracted for a moment at the old mans words. It was quite true that he was very often in Claudia Nevills society, because he found her both charming and amusing. But the suggestion of her playing some game caused him to prick up his ears in quick interest. Parsons was a shrewd old fellow, that he knew.
And what kind of double game is Lady Richard playing? he asked in a rather hard voice.
Well, sir, youll remember that she called here just after luncheon the day before yesterday, and had an elderly lady with her. You had gone down to the Foreign Office; but I expected you back every moment, so they waited. When they were together in the drawing-room with the door closed I heard that woman explain to her companion that you were the most eligible man in London. They had spoken of your income, of Wroxeter, of his lordships failing health, and all the rest of it, when that woman made a suggestion to her companion namely, that you might be induced to marry some woman they called Muriel.
Muriel? And who in the name of fortune is Muriel?
I dont know, sir. That, however, was the name that was mentioned.
Who was the lady who accompanied her ladyship? Had you ever seen her before?
No, sir, never. She didnt give a card. She was elderly, dressed in deep mourning. They waited best part of an hour for you, then drove away in her ladyships brougham.
I wonder who she could have been, remarked Dudley Chisholm reflectively. I havent the honour of knowing any lady named Muriel, and, whats more, I have no desire to make her acquaintance. But how was it, Parsons, that if the door was closed, you overheard this very edifying conversation?
I listened at the keyhole, sir. Old men have long ears, you know.
His master laughed.
Slow at the telephone, quick at the keyhole, eh, Parsons? he said. Well, somehow, you dont like her ladyship. Why is it?
Ive already told you, Master Dudley. First, because you are too much with her. Theres no woman more dangerous to men like yourself than a wealthy young person of her attractions; secondly, because she has some extraordinary design upon you on behalf of this mysterious Muriel whoever she is.
What the old man had said was certainly puzzling. What possible object could Claudia have, he wondered, in bringing there a strange woman and suggesting to her that he should marry a third person? He would put the question point-blank to her to-morrow. Claudia Nevill and he were old friends very old friends. Years ago, long before she had married his friend Dick Nevill, a noble lord who sat for Huntingdon, they had been close acquaintances, and now, Nevill having died two years after the marriage, leaving Claudia sole mistress of the huge estate, together with that princely house in Albert Gate, he had naturally become her confidant and adviser.
She was now only twenty-six, one of the smartest women in London, and one of the prettiest. After a brief period of mourning, she had again thrown herself into all the dissipations of the following season, and was seen everywhere. She had been so often in the company of Dudley Chisholm that their close friendship had for months past been remarked.
The Parliamentary Under-Secretary had, of course, heard the gossip, and laughed at it. He naturally admired her, and once, long before her marriage, he thought he was in love with her; but after a rigid self-examination he came to the conclusion that he had not been really desperately in love with any woman in his life, and promised himself not to commit any such folly now. Therefore, he laughed heartily at his old servants ominous but well-meant warning.
Im not the sort of man to marry, Parsons, he said. Truth to tell, Im too much of an old fogey for women to care for me. And as for this unknown Muriel, well, I dont think you need have much fear that I shall commit any matrimonial indiscretion with her. I expect her ladyship was only joking, and you took her words seriously.
No, she wasnt joking, declared the old man in all seriousness. You mark my words, Master Dudley, that woman is not your friend.
Again Chisholm laughed airily, and sipped his whiskey, while the old man, satisfied with his parting shot, went out, giving a grunt of dissatisfaction as he closed the door noiselessly behind him.
Poor old Parsons! He thinks Im going to the devil! Well, I wonder whats in the wind? observed Dudley aloud to himself when he was again alone. Ive noticed a curious change in Claudias manner of late. What can be her object in bringing about my marriage, except that perhaps my alliance with one or other of the insipid young ladies who are so often passed before me for inspection, might stifle the ugly scandal that seems to have arisen about us. Shes a clever woman the cleverest woman in London, but horribly indiscreet. I wonder whether thats really the truth. But marriage! Au grand jamais! and he raised his glass again and took a deep draught.
No, he went on, Claudia is never so charming as when she has some little intrigue or other on hand; but I must really get at the bottom of this, and find out the belle inconnue. Parsons is no fool, but the old boy is a Methodist, and hates everything in petticoats, and he laughed lightly to himself as he recollected the old fellows sage, and perhaps justifiable, reprimands in his wilder college days. I know Ive been a fool an absolute, idiotic fool with Claudia and shes been equally foolish. People have talked, but without any foundation for their impertinent gossip, and now she, of course, finds herself in a hole. Dick Nevill was the best of good fellows, but she never loved him. Her marriage was merely one of her caprices de coeur. I dont think she could really love anybody for longer than a week. Yes, Parsons is right. He always is. Ive been an ass a downright ass! he added with sudden emphasis. I must go and see her to-morrow, and end all this confounded folly.
From the table he took up the letter he had received on his return home, and about which he had questioned his servant. Again he read it through, stroking his dark moustache thoughtfully, and knitting his brows.
Writing is womans métier. I wonder what she wants to see me about so particularly, he went on, still speaking to himself. I wired to her saying, The House is sitting late, so she surely couldnt be expecting me. But its rather unusual for her to send out urgent notes at midnight. No, la belle capricieuse has no discretion she never will have.
And although the great marble clock on the mantelshelf chimed four, he sat with his dark and serious eyes fixed upon the embers, reviewing the chapters of his past.
He saw the folly of his dalliance at the side of Claudia Nevill en plein jour. He put to himself the question whether or not he really loved her, and somehow could not bring himself to return a distinct negative. She was graceful, charming and handsome, the centre of the smartest set in London, a grande dame whose aid had been useful to him in more ways than one. As he sat there in the silence of the night, he recollected those pleasant hours spent with her at Albert Gate, where they so often dined together, and where she would afterwards sing to him those old Italian love-songs in her sweet contralto, beaming upon him with her coquettish smile, half languid, half moquer; those drives together in the park, and those long walks they had taken when, accompanied by her mother, she had visited him at Wroxeter Castle. Yes, all were pleasant memories, yet he felt that between him and her love was an impossibility. As this was the case, the less they saw of one another in the future, even en bon camarade, the better for them both.