CHAPTER IX

TWO GIRLS

If the course of true love did not run smoothly with George, the girl he loved found it speeding roughly also.

Lesbia was as anxious to see her lover as he was to meet her; but parental displeasure and parental authority stood like a wall between this new Pyramus and Thisbe--a wall which could by no means be overleaped.

As Tim had informed George, his master had engaged Mrs. Petty as a housekeeper, and so the domestic arrangements of Rose Cottage were temporarily removed from the hands of Lesbia. Also, in conjunction with The Shadow, Mrs. Petty acted both as a spy and a gaoler. It was infamous, as Lesbia felt, that she should be watched in this fashion; but as she had no money and no friends and no place whither she could go, there was nothing left for it but to wait, until such time as Mr. Hale became more reasonable.

Mrs. Petty was a stout, plethoric woman, with an aggressive manner and a loud, common voice, who probably had been a Margate lodging-house keeper of the worst description. She was a born bully, and within ten minutes of her entry into the house Tim learned to loathe her with all the fervour of an Irishman, impatient of restraint in any form.

Mrs. Petty tried similar tactics and treatment on Lesbia, but was met so firmly, and put in her place so quietly, that--being a coward at heart, as all bullies are--she left the girl as severely alone as was possible, while executing Mr. Hale's instructions. These were to keep a strict eye on his daughter, and to prevent the intrusion of George Walker. Mrs. Petty, after several rebuffs, contented herself by watching from afar, and managed by always being on the spot when Lesbia least expected her, to fulfil her contemptible duty. For the rest of the time she worried Tim and looked after the domestic economy of the cottage.

The Shadow, as became his nickname, was a less aggressive personage. He was really called John Canning, and formerly had acted as valet to Captain Sargent. But that gentleman, being anxious to marry Lesbia whom he greatly admired, and hating George as a too-handsome and over-young rival, had suggested to his friend Hale that Canning should act as an inoffensive dragon to keep away the young man. Hale quite approved of this, as Canning could guard the garden, while Mrs. Petty kept watch on the girl in the house itself. Canning, therefore, glided unostentatiously into his position and, although Lesbia disliked the creature because he carefully kept George away, she had not the same hatred for him that she cherished for Mrs. Petty. At his worst Canning was a harmless individual, condemned to do the dirty work of others, because he had not sufficient brains to earn an honest wage in an honest manner.

His nickname had been given him because of his marvellously thin looks, and these were certainly remarkably noticeable. At one time, as he confessed to Lesbia, he had exhibited himself in a travelling caravan as The Living Skeleton, but having slightly increased in weight he had been discharged. What his leanness must have been originally it is hard to say, as even now, he was but skin and bone and, being tall, looked like a line--that is, he was length without breadth. His hands resembled a bird's claws, his legs were like sticks, and his skull would have served for a death's head, so devoid was it of flesh. With his lean, clean-shaven face, with his straight, jet-black hair, which he wore rather long, and with his skinny, lengthy, narrow figure encased in shabby broad-cloth, he looked positively uncanny, and rude boys made remarks about him when he walked abroad. He glided about like a shadow, haunted shady corners like a shadow, and spoke in a whisper as a shadow should. The name fitted him exactly, and he looked a creature of the night, quite out of place in the cheerful sunshine.

Lesbia did not approve of him at first, for obvious reasons, and even disliked him actively when she found how he dogged her footsteps. But it so happened that the gods chose to turn her heart to a friendless man, and the consequences of the change were more far-reaching than she guessed at the moment.

The days went by very heavily, since her heart was with George and she could not see him. Certainly she contrived through the ever-faithful Tim to get a note transmitted to him--the same that George read on the river. And under cover of Tim's name he sent an answer which assured her that he was still faithful and still loving and ever hopeful of better days. Lesbia carried about that letter in her bosom day and night and read it when she felt particularly down-hearted, which happened not infrequently. She also waited and she also hoped. Then an event occurred, which in after-time showed how mysteriously things work out to their hidden ends.

The Shadow fell ill in spite of the warm summer weather. Being of a sickly constitution, he unexpectedly caught influenza, and was forced to go to bed in the little room near Tim's sanctum. Hale, who had a horror of sickness, at once decided to turn him out; but Sargent, also afraid, refused to permit the valet to return to his Cookham house. There appeared to be no refuge for the miserable man but the hospital or the workhouse, until Lesbia suddenly asserted herself and insisted upon nursing him back to health. Mr. Hale objected, but his daughter, for the first time in her life remained firm and, having already sufficient troubles on his hand without creating more, he yielded in the end. Moreover, he thought that acting as a sick-nurse would give Lesbia something to do and take her thoughts away from George. So she was permitted to nurse Canning, while Mr. Hale betook himself to Tait's sumptuous mansion at Henley.

Mrs. Petty declined to look after the sick man, so Lesbia took full charge of the case, and was assisted by Tim. Not that Tim approved of The Shadow: but, being tender-hearted, he considered him a poor creature, and so acted the part of the Good Samaritan.

Canning grew delirious and seemed in danger of passing away: but Lesbia set herself to struggle with death, and in the end she conquered.

When the man was sane again and rapidly regaining his strength, Tim told him all that the young mistress had done. It was then that the Irishman saw two big tears roll down the thin cheeks of the spy.

When Lesbia entered to see how he was, he spoke weakly but to the point. "I have been kicked about all my life," said The Shadow brokenly, "and no one has ever said a kind word to me. Mr. Hale and Captain Sargent have treated me worse than a dog, and but for you, Miss Lesbia, I should have been thrown out to die in the street. You hate me because I was set to watch you----"

"I don't hate you now, Canning," she interposed, hastily. "After all, you only performed the duty you were set to do by my father."

"And by Captain Sargent," whispered The Shadow. "Don't forget Captain Sargent. I never shall," and his weak hand clenched under the coverlet. "But you have acted like an angel, Miss Lesbia, and some day I may be able to repay you for what you have done."

"I only did my duty," said the girl, tucking him in.

"You are the first woman or man who has ever done duty by me in this world," said Canning, the tears rolling down his face. "I know what I know, and some day you may want my help. You shall have it. Yes! you shall have it at whatever cost."

"What do you know?" she asked wonderingly.

"Never mind." He turned his face to the wall. "When the time comes, call upon me, and I will help you."

Nothing more was said at the moment, as the man was not sufficiently recovered to talk much. Lesbia thought occasionally of what he had said, but could not entirely understand his meaning, unless it was that he would shut his eyes to the coming of George, should that young man choose to risk a visit. But the days went by and George did not come, for, as Canning was sick, Mrs. Petty kept a very strict watch on the girl.

Gradually the words of the sick man were forgotten by Lesbia and, when he went away entirely recovered, she forgot him, having more important matters to think about.

It was shortly after Canning's departure that Hale returned from Henley with a story which made Lesbia write--and write willingly--the letter of dismissal, which had broken Walker's heart. After she sent it away her father patted her shoulder, and spoke kindly to her.

"You are now acting as a sensible girl," he said, with chill politeness; "and there is no longer any need for Mrs. Petty to remain. I know that you do not like her, so I shall send her away this evening. Canning has also gone and will not return. Things can revert to their original course, and you can manage the house along with Tim. But remember, Lesbia, that if your heart softens towards this scamp, I shall recall both The Shadow and Mrs. Petty to watch over you."

Lesbia, with a white face and set lips, looked straight at her father. "I will neither write to George again, nor will I see him," she said, with a stifled sob. "But whatever you say about his guilt, remember that I do not believe it. He is innocent."

"Then why not stick by him?" asked her father cruelly.

"You know well enough why I do not: why I cannot. George and I are now entire strangers, and must remain so until the mystery of this burglary is cleared up."

"It will never be cleared up, because there is nothing to clear up," said her father calmly. "George stole those jewels of Tait's for your sake, and it is only Tait's friendship for his mother and Maud's kind heart that prevented Walker being arrested and condemned as a thief."

Lesbia's lip curled. "I mistrust Miss Ellis's kind heart," said she.

Hale shrugged his thin shoulders. "You can do what you like about that," he remarked carelessly, "but remember that she holds George in the hollow of her hand. All you have to do is to forget him and marry Sargent."

"No!" said Lesbia positively. "I shall never see George again, since circumstances are too strong for him and for me. But I will never marry Captain Sargent. Be sure of that."

"He loves you, and----"

"I don't love him. Say no more, father. What I say, I stand by."

"You said much before which you have not held by," retorted Hale, his temper rising; "and circumstances may prove too much for you. However, Sargent can wait, and so can I. Meanwhile, since you have dismissed this young fool, you are free to come and go as you desire."

"One moment," said Lesbia, as her father turned on his heel, "what about that amethyst cross?"

Hale wheeled round with a colour in his parchment cheeks, and a suspicious look in his cold, grey eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You declared that if George recovered the cross, he could marry me."

"I hold to that, since I am not a man to go back on my word."

"But how can I marry George when you say that you can prove he is guilty of this burglary?"

"Maud Ellis can prove it, not I," returned Mr. Hale. He paused and bit his lip hard. "I believe in the face of Walker's new escapade that he knows who took that cross. His former behaviour may have been a sham, as was his acting in the gallery. Let him bring me the cross, and perhaps after all he may be able to marry you,"

"I shall never marry him until his character is cleared," said Lesbia firmly.

Hale shrugged his shoulders again. "You will find it difficult to clear him, my dear," he sneered, and went away.

Mr. Hale would have spoken rightly in connection with a less determined girl. But Lesbia, for all her fragile looks, was very determined and also very much in love with George Walker. Appearances were against him, and, judging by circumstantial evidence, he certainly was guilty. But Lesbia could not bring herself to believe that the man she loved had sunk to being a common thief. Now that she was free to leave the cottage and wander whither she would, it was an easy matter to seek out George at Medmenham, and ask direct questions.

But this Lesbia did not do, because her father had detailed fully all that Walker had said and all that he had done, so there was no more to learn in that quarter. Moreover, Hale had stated with a sneer that Maud Ellis was desperately in love with the young man, and Lesbia recalled George's hesitation about speaking of his desire to leave Tait's office. "There are other things to be considered," Walker had said, and then had blushed. Now the girl knew intuitively that he referred to Maud Ellis.

Lesbia's face grew flushed and angry as she thought of her rival. She trusted George, who was her very own, but instinctively she knew the wiles of women, and dreaded lest her letter of dismissal should throw the young man into the arms of the stockbroker's niece. Thus it came about that Lesbia's meditations led her, not to Mrs. Walker's cottage at Medmenham, but to the splendid mansion at Henley, where Maud Ellis was waiting for George to come to her.

Maud had learned from Mr. Hale that George had received his letter of dismissal from Lesbia, and so waited to catch him on the recoil. He would certainly come back to her who had so boldly stood by him when he had been accused. But as the days went by George did not come, and Maud's heart grew sick, for she was honestly in love.

Her uncle was absent in the City, still seeking for the lost jewels, and the local police together with a couple of detectives from Scotland Yard were doing their best to solve the mystery. But all efforts were in vain. No trace had been found of the thieves, and the jewels could not be recovered. Tait invited no more people to his Henley mansion, and remained a great deal in London grumbling over his loss. Maud would have gone up also, but that she waited vainly at home in the hope that George would come to her for consolation.

One afternoon while she was thus waiting, and had arrayed herself in her prettiest frock on the chance of a visit, the footman intimated that a young lady wished to see her. She had no card, said the footman, and had simply stated that her name was Miss Lesbia Hale.

Maud's eyes flashed when she heard the name of her rival, and she ordered the man to lead the guest at once to the long drawing-room. Miss Ellis was desperately anxious to see the face that had captured the heart of George Walker. Before repairing to the drawing-room, she altered a few things about her dress, for, being very much the woman, she knew that she was about to meet a dangerous foe. A man would not notice a dress overmuch, but a woman would, at the very first glance, and Maud was determined that there should be no flaw in her armour, so far as frocks and frills went.

Lesbia, very pale, but quite calm, waited impatiently for the appearance of Miss Ellis. When that young lady sailed into the room with outstretched hands and a beaming smile, Lesbia rose with a stony face and a cold, distant manner. Maud's hands fell, when she saw that she was being kept at a distance, and she became formal also. In her heart she grew angry, when she saw Lesbia's beauty, for being very sensible, she knew that her own looks were much inferior. A shade passed over her face, but soon was replaced by a malicious smile. Maud knew that, beauty or no beauty, she held the trump card and could win the game at her leisure. Lesbia saw that smile.

"I know why you look like that," she said abruptly. Maud straightened her neat figure, and raised her sandy eyebrows.

"What a very strange speech to make at our first meeting, Miss Hale!" she said, coldly and superciliously.

"Ah," retorted Lesbia. "You see that I am not used to society."

"Is there any occasion to tell me that?" asked Maud, sweetly.

But Lesbia was too desperately in earnest to be daunted by such feline talk. "There is no occasion to tell you many things," she said, "nor is there need for beating about the bush. My father has told me everything."

"About what may I ask?"

"About this burglary and about George."

"George?" Miss Ellis raised her eyebrows again. "George?" she repeated.

"I have the right to call him so," rejoined Lesbia hotly. "I am engaged to him, Miss Ellis."

"Was engaged, I understand."

"Yes." Lesbia suddenly looked fatigued and would have dearly liked to sit down, but pride prevented her. Maud saw this and scratched again.

"Won't you sit down?"

"No, thank you!" replied Lesbia, stiffening. "I am only here for a few minutes, and can say all that I have to say in that time."

Miss Ellis flicked a scented handkerchief across her lips to hide a smile, and looked searchingly at her visitor's white face. "I really don't know why you talk to me like this."

"Oh, yes you do. In the same way I knew why you smiled when you entered. You think that you can win the game. But you shan't!"

"What game?"

"The game we play for George. My father has told me all. I love George and you love him also."

"Your father seems to be very well-informed," sneered Maud, flushing.

"He usually is," Lesbia assured her, with great coolness. "It was only when my father told me about this burglary, that I learned you loved George."

"I do love him!" cried Maud defiantly, "but I don't see that it matters to you--now."

"It matters a great deal," said Lesbia coldly. "I am only an unsophisticated girl, Miss Ellis, but I don't intend to give up the man I love, without a struggle."

"I understand that you have given him up."

"For the time being, until I can force you to prove his innocence."

"Force me!" Miss Ellis raised her eyebrows for the third time, but her face grew angry, for she did not like this very straight speaking. "What have I to do with the matter? I believe that George is innocent myself, and told my uncle so. Indeed, had I not stood up for George, he would now be in gaol."

Lesbia smiled contemptuously. "It's all part of the game," she retorted. "I am a woman, not a man, Miss Hale, and I can see very plainly how George walked into the trap you set for him."

"I set no trap. And if George says----"

"George says nothing. I have not seen him for a long time. But my father told me how George was in the gallery and you also."

"Did he tell you that George came to meet me?" asked Maud maliciously.

"No, nor do I believe you."

"Then he did."

"It is a lie," said Lesbia, impolitely but very firmly. "I don't believe it."

"Ask George himself," cried Maud. "He will tell you that we had a meeting at three in the morning and----"

Lesbia, who was looking at her, gave an ironical laugh. "Oh, I believe you now," she said slowly, "I can see the truth in your eyes. Yes, George did meet you by appointment. Why, I don't know----"

"Because he loved me."

"He never loved you!" cried Lesbia furiously, and looked so angry that Maud hastily stepped back a pace, thinking she would be struck. "He loves me and me only. But you inveigled him into the gallery, into a trap, and made use of this burglary to force him to be your husband."

"I told my uncle that George was innocent."

"Yes, because it suited your book to do so. But you told my father, and he passed the message on to me, that if I did not dismiss George, you would prove his guilt."

Maud tore her handkerchief to ribbons. "And I can too," she said, between her teeth. "You are quite right. To the world I should say nothing; but to you I can say what I please. We love the same man. I want him, and I am going to get him. I _did_ trap George into a meeting, but the burglary was unforeseen. I can make use of it, which, let me remind you, Miss Hale, I have not done yet. Remember I was chloroformed, and the key was taken from my neck to open the safe. What would be easier than for me to declare that George Walker asked me to meet him in the gallery and rendered me insensible and stole the jewels, after taking the key, and buried them in the garden, coming back to tell falsehoods? If I speak----"

"You won't speak."

"I shall speak, rather than let George marry you," flashed out Maud.

Lesbia sneered. "You remind me of the motto of the French Revolution," she said. "'Be my brother or I'll kill you,' so George is to marry you----"

"Or go to gaol. Exactly!"

"Thank you!" Lesbia moved swiftly to the door. "Now that I know your intentions I can go."

"What will you do?" Maud followed, aghast at this abrupt departure.

"Prove George's innocence, and marry him."

"Try!" said Maud, between her teeth, "try and fail."