The Key (Morley Roberts)/Chapter 5

Lady Hale was a person who could talk from dawn to dewy eve. To report her verbatim would have been a trial to any one but a practised stenographer with a gold fountain pen, an iron constitution, and a record to make. She was certainly amusing, for her ignorance of life was something beyond mere ignorance; it appeared as if there were no serious side to anything, even when she spoke of serious things. It was not so much that she could not feel, for she was really affectionate, as that she had a radical incapacity for expressing anything so as to affect others.

As a result, even her mourning for Sir George appeared rather like a scene in a light comedy when for a moment it verges on seriousness. She had constructed the man as he seemed to her in the first year of her marriage, and had never altered him, never removed him from his pedestal. Indeed, every accretion of public credit lifted him farther above her. Where other women, not necessarily acuter, would have had suspicions of his faithfulness, any evidence that led, or might have led, to such conclusions, was for her only another proof of the esteem in which he was held, and what she truly enough called, without the remotest arrière-pensée, his affectionate and boyish disposition. There are, it would seem, some women of an ineradicably innocent turn of mind even in these times.

Nevertheless, considering that Hector was himself much in the dark about Sir George, and only received a little light upon him from a curious fact that came before him as one of the executors, she could hardly be blamed for esteeming her husband at least a Bayard, if not a Parsifal.

With the curious exception of every one whom she entertained that afternoon, and some others who could be relied upon not to speak, there was no soul in London who would not have declared Hale to be beyond reproach in all the relations of life. There was an openness, an entire frankness, about him which made all outsiders certain they knew him well. Again, there was no one but Hector who had any suspicion that the late Governor of Barbados had entertained them on his mental door-step, and even yet Hector was uncertain what lay beyond the frankly opened door that disclosed nothing.

But this afternoon Hector was made curiously uneasy. He could not have explained why. He was a very quiet and reserved man, and, perhaps, no one but so acute an observer as Courtney would have seen at once that he was devoted to Lady Anne. Her unexpected presence disturbed him for many reasons. He knew that Felicia hated her, and suspected why, and he felt that the girl watched both of them. This might have been enough to worry him, but more than that, there was some instinct at work in him which showed him that Lady Anne was terribly disturbed.

He began to watch in his turn, and was soon aware that she was listening to Lady Hale's chatter with a divided mind. When she got a chance to speak of the proposed biography she did so.

“Will it take you long to write it, Mr. Durant??” she asked, when Lady Hale paused to take breath. She rarely did; a metallurgist might have imagined she could use a blow-pipe.

“I can't say yet,” replied Hector, “but it will be some months.”

“I hope you will not make it like one I read the other day. It was a hopeless mass of letters and newspaper-cuttings,” said Lady Anne, smiling. “But I know you won't.”

“It's the worst sort of book written in English,” said Hector. “No wonder we admire Boswell.”

“Boswell, Boswell, who was Boswell?” asked Lady Hale.

“He wrote Doctor Johnson's biography,” replied Hector gravely enough.

“Dear me, I seem to have heard of it, now you mention it,” said Lady Hale. “But you must put his letters in. Every one said his letters from Barbados were equal to—I forget what, but some other letters. Have you any of his letters, Anne?”

“I have a few, I think,” said Lady Anne.

“You must lend them to Hector, dear. He will copy and return them,” said Lady Hale.

“I will see if I can find them, I may have lost or mislaid them,” said Anne. “But, indeed, one ought to destroy all letters. They are very painful to read afterward.”

Lady Hale nodded.

“I can't read them afterward. My husband always said it was wise to destroy them.”

“Did he?” asked Anne.

“Did he destroy them?”

“Yes.”

“I believe so, dear; but, then, naturally the letters written to him would not be so interesting as those he wrote. I think the second volume might be all letters, Hector.”

“We must see,” said Hector gloomily, and all this time Felicia said not a word.

“You've—you've gone through his papers, I suppose?” said Anne faintly.

“Hector has been through some,” said Lady Hale, “and to-morrow we're having the locksmith in.”

Lady Anne started.

“The locksmith!”

“Oh, yes; the cabinet, my dear. We can't find the key. It's lost in some extraordinary way, how, I cannot tell, for his love of order was excessive. Was it not, Felicia?”

“It was certainly extraordinary,” said Felicia.

“Most extraordinary. I fancy he must have preserved everything in that cabinet. We found strange things in some of the drawers that were not full of papers. What did we find, Felicia?”

Felicia said what they had found, and at each separate article Lady Hale nodded.

“The duster touched me deeply,” she said. “I gave it him years ago. I wonder what can be in the cabinet, Hector?”

“Most likely official documents, and so on,” said Hector, “though on my soul I don't remember ever seeing it open all the years I was with him.”

“We shall find out to-morrow,” said Lady Hale. “But I shall not look myself. You must do it, Hector. Did Felicia say that we also found a bundle of prescriptions written by our dear doctor, Anne?”

As a matter of fact Felicia had omitted to mention the prescriptions.

“How did you like Doctor Courtney, by the way?” demanded Lady Hale. “Did you not think him very handsome and intellectual, besides being a fine big man?”

Here she bent toward Lady Anne, and Felicia, knowing too well what she was going to say, got up and marched out of the room.

“Dead in love with her, my dear. She? Oh, I cannot say; Felicia, though affectionate and open as the day, is not so confiding as I was in my youth. I remember confiding in every one about dear George. Of course she may be fond of some one else. But I hope not. I look on Felicia as a daughter, just as my dear husband did, and if she were only married happily I would sing 'Depart in peace,' I mean, of course, for myself. But about these prescriptions. I should like to show them to you. There are fifty of them, I believe. Felicia!”

But Felicia was not there, and Lady Hale rose, with a rustle, and sailed after her. Hector rose, too, and went to the fireplace, nearer Lady Anne. She seemed very much disturbed. He saw her hand tremble.

“It's a long time since we met, Lady Anne,” he said, with a touch of bitterness in his voice.

“How long?” she breathed.

“Two years; two years yesterday. I know, because when I went to see you the day after, you were gone.”

She bowed her head and looked at the fire.

“You have a good memory.”

“The best,” said Hector. “I remember, too, when I first saw you in Barbados. I had ridden home from St. George. I found you and Mrs. St. John and Felicia on the veranda.”

She murmured:

“What a heavenly evening it was. The sea and the stars, and the sound of the sea!”

They both recalled the wonder of the time and its strange magic, and both were deeply moved.

“We got to be friends for a time. And then we were not friends,” said Hector.

“Why not?”

“I don't know. But it seemed to me that you forgot me, that you fled somewhere. Something came between us. Perhaps it was”

“Hush! here's Lady Hale,” she breathed. But she looked up at him, and tears trembled on her eyelashes. He saw them, and then Lady Hale piped up.

“They were in my pocket all the time, dear,” she said, nodding. “I'm sure you'd like to see them. You must have noticed that the doctor was very much interested in you, Anne. I noticed his eyes fixed on you. They were quite glued on.”

Lady Anne said she was sorry she hadn't noticed that.

“And, as I say, so clever. He points his finger at me and says, 'You have a pain here,' and so I have. These are the prescriptions, dear.”

Lady Anne took them carelessly and laid them in her lap. Hector bent forward and turned up the electric light in her corner. He did it with a smile and purely to please Lady Hale, so absurd it seemed to think that they could possibly interest any one but a physician. Nevertheless, they did interest Lady Anne very much. She lifted them and stared at the top one with curious, wide-open eyes.

Courtney's writing was very remarkable. It resembled in no way the usual medical scrawl which often suggests the antics of an infuriated spider with a fly too big for him to manage. It was clear as print, and, indeed, had something of the look of Gothic lettering. Any one who saw it once would never forget it, and it was quite apparent to Hector that Lady Anne had seen it and recognized it now. Even Lady Hale noticed so much.

“You've seen his writing before, Anne.”

Lady Anne nodded. When she spoke she moistened her lips.

“I do seem to have seen it somewhere. It is very curious writing, isn't it? Where could I have seen it?”

“Perhaps in a collection of writings,” said Hector. “I know one man whose fad is to collect all kinds of curious script.”

But, indeed, he did not believe this. There was something about Lady Anne's look which made him think furiously.

“I—I don't know,” she stammered at last, as she laid the prescriptions down again, “perhaps it's a mistake. I never saw Doctor Courtney before. Indeed, I never heard of him.”

As Lady Hale believed him the greatest physician alive, and far superior to all his colleagues in the neighborhood of Harley Street, this seemed quite preposterous.

“Not heard of him, my dear! Oh, you must have heard of him! There is no doubt that some day he will be president of the Doctors' Royal Academy, or Institute, or whatever it is. I dare say you have seen his prescriptions at some friend's house, and, as you say, his writing is very strange. Even I can read it, though, of course, I don't know what Tinc, Nux. Vom. means, or Pulv. Ipecac, and such strange things meant to do you good, though they often don't, though I've one I rely on always.”

Ever since Anne had come in Hector had known how Lady Hale's ceaseless chatter had jarred upon her. The whole atmosphere of the library, now almost dark save for the corner in which they sat, had been tragic in some inexplicable way. He knew well that Felicia hated Anne. He felt that the doctor had been curious about her. For his own part his nerves were on a great strain. He wished to find out how he stood with her after all these years, and could get no chance to do so. Now Anne looked very white; her hand trembled. He wondered why she did not get up and go. Somehow he knew she did not wish to go.

“I'm afraid you are not well,” he said suddenly. His voice was constrained but tender.

“I'm not very well,” she murmured.

“Dear me, what a pity the doctor went without your mentioning it,” said Lady Hale, “but I dare say you will be better after dinner. Of course, dear, you'll stay and dine with us?”

Hector expected to hear the usual excuses; or, at any rate, the usual protestations. To his surprise, Lady Anne accepted the invitation almost eagerly.

“Oh, yes, of course I shall be very glad to do so.”

The color came back into her face as she spoke. Her obvious desire to stay made Hector happy. His own heart beat more freely, and the strain went out of his eyes.

“And then I can tell you all about everything,” said Lady Hale joyously. “And you can tell me about the East, about Sava and Jumatra, and all those queer places far away, even farther than Barbados, but equally black.”

At that moment the servant came in and turned up the lights and drew the curtains.

“By the way, Benton, one of you might go round to the nearest locksmith, or ironmonger,” said Lady Hale, “and tell them to send in a clever man with keys and so on, to open a cabinet we've lost the key of, in the morning, about ten or eleven.”

And Benton said it should be done.

“Lady Anne Pulleine is staying for dinner,” added Lady Hale. “Hector, you understand all about wines, which is more than I do, though Sir George always tried to make me understand the difference between Burgundy and claret, which I never could see, you will make yourself at home, and be our grand butler for this occasion, won't you?”

And to this Hector, whose education in wines had been very great under Sir George's tutelage, smilingly agreed.

“Now, my dear,” said Lady Hale, “as dinner is to be early, you might come up-stairs with me and take your hat off, and I'll give you some of my own tonic, prescribed for me by Doctor Courtney. He says it's very nice, so I suppose I ought to think so, but it certainly does good, and, of course, if it does that why object to the taste of it?”

Hector opened the door for them, and as they went out Anne gave him a strange look. Her lips moved as if she were about to speak, and yet she said nothing. As he closed the door behind them he stood for a long minute pondering.

“I believe she loves me,” he said; “after all, I believe she loves me!”

He rang the bell for Benton, and with her he went down into the cellar. Though he felt nervous, he was infinitely happier. He decided upon champagne. It gives courage to every one but the wretched victim of gout.