"Hubert," said his sister, a little more quickly than usual, "I said that I wanted to see my dentist, but I had another reason for coming to town. Can you tell me where I can find a file of the _Times_ newspaper for the early months of the year 187-?"--she mentioned the year of Sydney Vane's death and the trial of Andrew Westwood.
"You want--the trial?" said her brother, with an evident effort. She bowed her head.
"Why?"
"I have forgotten one or two points in the evidence. I want to recall them to my mind."
He stood looking at her silently.
"It doesn't matter," she said, feigning indifference, and rising as if to take her leave; "I can see the papers in a public library, no doubt.
The General would not have a copy left in the house. I will go elsewhere."
"It is needless," Hubert answered, in a gloomy tone. "I have kept copies myself. Wait a moment, and I will bring them to you."
"I thought that you would probably possess them," said Flossy softly, as she settled herself once more in her comfortable chair.
He went into another room, and soon returned bearing in his arms a little pile of papers, yellow indeed with age, but, as Mrs. Vane noticed, completely free from dust. It was evident that some one else had been very lately perusing them; but she made no comment on the subject.
"Go on with your writing," she said, beginning to take off her gray gloves with admirable coolness. "I can find what I want without your aid."
He gave her a long look, then set the papers on a little table beside her and returned to his own seat. He did not however begin to write again. He turned the chair almost with its back to Mrs. Vane, and clasped his hands behind his fine dark head. In this position he remained perfectly motionless until she had finished her examination of the newspapers. In a quarter of an hour she declared herself satisfied.
"Have you found all that you wanted?"
"Oh; yes, thank you!" One important item she had certainly secured--the fact that Westwood's daughter had been named "Cynthia Janet." "Cynthia Janet Westwood"--"Cynthia West"--it was plain enough to her quick intelligence that the two were one and the same. Hubert had never thought of looking for the name of Westwood's little daughter in the _Times_.
"By-the-bye," said Flossy lightly, "I hear sad tales of you in town. How often is it that you go to see the new singer--Miss West? Has poor Enid a rival?"
He did not look round; but she saw that her question sent a shock through his nerves.
"I do not know what you mean," he answered coldly.
"Oh, do you not? You may as well speak the truth--to me, Hubert. Are you going to marry Miss West or Miss Vane--which?"
"Neither, I think."
"Don't be absurd. Are you going to marry Miss West?"
"No."
"Shall you marry Enid Vane?"
"It is not very likely that she will marry me."
Something in the intense dreariness of his tone struck painfully on Florence's ear. She rose and put her hand on Hubert's shoulder.
"What is the matter with you, Hubert?"
He shook off her hand as if it had been a noxious reptile of which he desired to rid himself, and rose to his feet.
"You must not mind what I say to-day, Florence. I am not well. I--I shall see you another time."
"Of course you will--plenty of times, I hope!" A look of dismay began to show itself in Flossy's velvet-brown eyes. "You are not contemplating any new step, I hope? I----"
"Don't be alarmed!" he said, with a hoarse unnatural laugh. "Before I take any new step I will come to you. I will not leave you without a warning." Then he seemed to recover his self-possession and spoke in more measured tones. "Nonsense, Florence--don't concern yourself about me! I have a bad headache--that is all. If I am left alone, I shall soon be better."
"I hope you will," said Flossy, rather gravely, "for you look alarmingly ill to-day. You should send for the doctor, Hubert. And now I will say good-bye, for I have two or three other things to do to-day, besides going to my dentist's. The cab is at the door; you need not come down."
He rose, as she really expected him to do, to see her to her cab; but a sensation of dizziness and faintness made him sit down again and bury his head in his hands. Considerably alarmed, Florence rang for Jenkins, his man, and gave strict orders that the doctor should be sent for at once. Then, feeling that she had for the present at least done her duty, she took her leave, promising to call again before she left town that afternoon.
Jenkins went for the doctor, as Mrs. Vane had told him to do. When that gentleman arrived, he found Mr. Lepel stretched on a sofa in a half-unconscious state, and declared him to be in one of the incipient stages of brain-fever.
CHAPTER XXXV.
Mrs. Vane, on leaving her brother's lodgings, drove straight to Camden Town. She had reasons for wishing to see Sabina Meldreth. The house was a little difficult to find, because the street had recently been renamed and renumbered, and Mrs. Vane was forced, to her great disgust, to descend from the cab and make inquiries in her own person of various frowsy-looking women standing at their own doors. "I wish I had brought Parker," she said to herself more than once; "she would have been useful in this kind of work. Surely Sabina has given me the right address!"
"There goes the gentleman that lodges at Mrs. Gunn's!" said one of the frowsy-looking women at last. "I've heard tell that he was there, though I didn't know the number. Will you tell this lady, please, sir, what number Mrs. Gunn's is?"
The white-bearded old man who was just then passing along the street turned to Mrs. Vane.
"I shall be very happy to show the lady the house," he said half raising his felt hat from his white head with something like foreign politeness.
And then he and Flossy exchanged glances which were hard and keen as steel.
He knew her well by sight; but she did not recognise him. She had seen Westwood only once or twice in her life, and this apparently gentle old man with the silvery hair did not harmonise with Flossy's impressions of the Beechfield poacher. Nevertheless she was suspicious enough to remember that all things were possible; and she made a mental note of his dark eyes and eyebrows, the latter being a little out of keeping with his very white hair. As a matter of fact, Westwood had gone too far in selecting his disguise; a more ordinary slightly-grizzled wig would have suited his general appearance better. The _perruquier_--an artist in his way--to whom he had applied considered picturesque effect an object not to be overlooked; and Mr. Reuben Dare was accordingly a rather too strikingly picturesque individual to be anything but theatrical in air.
He showed Mrs. Vane the house, bowed politely, and then passed down the street.
"She's come to enquire about me--I am sure of that," he said. "I'd better change my lodgings as quick as possible. I'll leave them to-morrow--to-night would look suspicious, maybe: or should I leave them now, and never go back?"
He was half inclined to adopt this course; but he was deterred by the remembrance of a pocket-book containing money which he had left locked up in his portmanteau. He could not well dispense with it; and neither Mrs. Vane nor anybody else could do him any harm, he thought, if he stayed for twenty-four hours longer at Mrs. Gunn's. But he trusted a little too much to the uncertainties of fate.
"Well, Sabina," said Mrs. Vane coolly, as, with a general air of bewilderment, that young person appeared before her in Mrs. Gunn's best parlor, "I suppose that you hardly expected to see me here?"
"No, ma'am, I didn't. I thought you was quite too much of an invalid to leave home."
"It is rather an effort," said Flossy drily, "especially considering the neighborhood in which you live."
"It ain't country certainly," returned Sabina; "but it's respectable."
"Ah, like yourself!" said Mrs. Vane. "That was the reason you came to it, I suppose. Don't look angry, Sabina--I was only meaning to make a little joke. But jokes are a mistake with most people. I came to answer your letter in person and to have a talk with you."
"Won't you have anything to eat, ma'am? We've just finished dinner; but, if there's anything we can get"--Sabina was evidently inclined to be obsequious--"an egg, or a chop, or a cup of tea----"
"No, I don't want anything. Who is this Mr. Reuben Dare?"