CHAPTER SIX

The week-end was a very quiet one, Lydon being the only guest. The young man thought this might be due to Stormont’s delicacy, that he felt it was only kind to allow the lovers to pursue their courtship in comparative seclusion. But in the following week the phenomenon was repeated. Nobody came down from London; none of the neighbours were asked to luncheon or dinner.

Stormont occupied his time in pottering about the grounds and taking long walks. But there was a certain restlessness about him, an air of boredom which showed that this somewhat unusual isolation was not agreeing with him. Leonard commented on it to his sweetheart.

Gloria shrugged her shoulders. “He’s always like that when he leads a quiet life; he is never really happy unless he is surrounded by plenty of people. He loves crowds.”

“Perhaps he is sacrificing himself for our sakes,” suggested Leonard.

The girl’s smile was good-humoured but sceptical. “Uncle Howard has a heap of good qualities, but I don’t think self-sacrifice is conspicuous amongst them. To tell you the truth, I think he is going a bit slow because he is compelled to.”

They were walking in the beautifully-kept gardens which required a small army of gardeners to keep in order, and must have cost a pretty penny to maintain in such perfection.

Only one interpretation could be put upon her words. “You mean to infer that he is a bit hard up,” said Lydon bluntly.

She nodded her pretty head. “Yes, from what auntie told me, he has been spending a lot more than he ought, and has got to pull up for a time. These sorts of crises occur now and again. We have had about a dozen of them at least since we came here, and at such times entertaining has to be cut down with a ruthless hand. In Curzon Street I don’t suppose the outgoings were a quarter what they are here. Auntie says he ought never to have bought the place, considering the expense it entails. He gets a lot of enjoyment out of it, of course, but he also gets a lot of worry.”

“And yet I suppose he is a shrewd business man?”

“He must be, or he could not make the money he does. But you see he has got the spendthrift temperament. If he takes a fancy to a thing, he will have it, whether he can afford it or not. And the fatal thing about him, and it is that which worries my aunt more, he has no hesitation about going into debt, if he hasn’t got ready money to pay for his whims.”

“Your aunt does not share his extravagant ideas, then?”

“Oh, dear no. She has a nice little income of her own which she lives up to, but I am sure she never exceeds it. And she has a most wholesome horror of debt. I know she is awfully worried now because some of the tradespeople’s accounts are overdue; they are getting a bit pressing.”

Delightful as Effington was, and perfectly satisfying to the lover of natural beauty, Lydon thought residence there was dearly purchased by these crises to which she had alluded. So Mr. Stormont was behindhand with the local tradespeople! What a horrible situation! They would begin to gossip presently, and then the bubble would be burst amongst the neighbours.

“There was a perfect orgy of spending for a couple of months just before you paid us your first visit,” said Gloria after a short pause during which her lover was ruminating on the hollowness of the position at this splendid country residence. “A big dinner party nearly every day in the week, on the usual lavish scale, and all this time he was giving liberally, not to say ostentatiously, to all the local charities. I suppose it was then he overran the constable. You came in at the fag end of it. Since then the motto seems to have been retrenchment all round, with a disastrous effect on my uncle’s spirits.”

“These crises worry you a good bit, don’t they?” queried her lover.

“To tell the truth, they do. Much as I love the place--and nobody could live at Effington without loving it--I often wish that we could have a place that entailed smaller outgoings. And, of course, one is always haunted by the fear that one day he will get himself into a terrible mess from which he cannot extricate himself.”

Lydon thought this very possible. It was very likely the spendthrift himself had some premonition of such a catastrophe, and that was the reason he had almost thrown his niece at the young man’s head. In spite of her fondness for Effington, perhaps Gloria herself would not be sorry to exchange all this for a position of less magnificence and greater security.

Had he not been convinced of her frank, open nature he might have thought that the girl had been in league with her uncle to secure him. But he was sure of her good faith and honesty of purpose. He remembered her agitation when he had proposed to her in the avenue, the love-light that had shone in her beautiful eyes. No woman, not even the most practised coquette, can summon that light at will.

He did not see his sweetheart at all the following week. The stern exigencies of his profession called him abroad. At Ryder Street, on his return, he found a letter from Stormont awaiting him, asking him to lunch the following day at the _Piccadilly_, as he wished to consult him on a matter of some urgency.

Very curious as to what this matter of some urgency could be, Lydon presented himself at the _Piccadilly_ at the hour appointed. He noticed a decided change in Stormont in the short time he had parted from him at his splendid country house. The man’s manner was restless and jerky, and he looked anxious and worried.

He ordered a very sumptuous lunch, the most expensive food and wine on the list. Lydon found it far too sumptuous; he was not accustomed to a heavy meal in the middle of the day, in fact, was not very keen on the pleasures of the table at any time. Stormont drank by far the greater portion of the champagne, and finished up with a couple of liqueurs of the finest brandy. During the progress of the meal he talked fitfully, and it was easy to see he had something weighing on his mind; but he made no allusion to the subject on which he wanted the young man’s advice. It rather looked as if he were justifying himself before he could approach it.

When they had finished, he led the way into the smoking-room, where he selected a quiet corner suitable for private conversation, and ordered refreshment. Lydon would take nothing but a cup of coffee. For himself he ordered a large whisky and soda. When he had taken a deep draught, he unburdened himself, not without a considerable tinge of embarrassment in his manner.

“I am afraid you will think I am taking an infernal liberty, Leonard, so early in our acquaintance. But the fact is, at the moment I am in a bit of a hole, and hardly know where to turn.”

Lydon had an idea of what was coming, by the man’s fidgetiness and embarrassment, which had been patent from the moment they met. He murmured some conventional words of condolence, and waited for further details.

“I’m expecting a sum of five thousand pounds in a week at the latest, in fact I may receive it any day between now and then. In the meantime there are some pressing things I ought to pay. Would it be possible for you to lend me a thousand pounds for a week, at a fair interest, of course?”

It was rather a cool request, even to a man who was about to enter his family. Leonard was by no means a parsimonious man, but he rather resented it. Why the deuce did he not manage his finances properly, curb his extravagance, instead of sponging upon somebody apparently much poorer than himself?

He spoke rather coldly; he thought that if he made it too easy, Mr. Stormont would be encouraged to fall back upon him at any time he thought fit. “It’s a bit inconvenient, but if you can’t get it anywhere else, I must do it. Won’t your bank do it?”

Stormont shook his head. “The manager is a very cross-grained chap, puts every obstacle in the way of doing you a favour. And, to tell you the truth, I am just a trifle overdrawn. It is not the most propitious time to ask for even a short loan.”

This admission revealed a terrible state of things, thought Lydon. Just a trifle overdrawn! He had probably drawn his last cheque to pay for the unnecessarily expensive lunch, unless he had borrowed the money from his sister. The solid fact emerged that Howard Stormont, who had driven up to the _Piccadilly_ in his Rolls-Royce, the supposed man of wealth, the owner of that lordly pleasure-house, Effington Hall, was at the present moment as hard up as anybody could be. And he appeared to have no credit, no husbanded resources. He was awaiting that five thousand which was to come not later than a week, which might come earlier, which, for all the young man knew, might never come at all. That request for a thousand pounds might be the last throw of a desperate gambler.

Still, if he was going to run the risk, he might as well do the thing gracefully. “Can you deposit anything in the way of security, in case of unforeseen accidents?” he inquired casually. He was fairly certain of what the answer would be, but he wanted to make quite sure as to whether or not Stormont had any resources.

Again the financier shook his head. “Nothing that you could call absolute security,” he replied, his rubicund face growing a shade redder as he made the damaging admission. “I could, of course, show you papers proving there is a lot of money coming to me. But as the accommodation is for so short a time, I should suggest my note of hand for the amount, plus interest.”

“I don’t want any interest,” said the young man hastily. “I am not a money-lender. I am doing this in a friendly way. Well, I’ve a busy afternoon before me, so, if you don’t mind, we’ll settle this affair as soon as possible. Drive me round to my rooms in Ryder Street and I will give you my cheque; I have as much lying at the bank which I was intending to invest. We can get a bill at the nearest post-office as we go along.”

But there was no necessity for this; Stormont had a bill of the required amount in his case. He explained that he always carried bill stamps with him, as they were so frequently used in his business dealings. Lydon did not quite believe this. He thought the man had taken his acquiescence for granted, and had come prepared.

They drove to Ryder Street, and in five minutes the transaction was completed. The rubicund Stormont put the cheque in his pocket, it being too late in the afternoon to pay it in, and drove back to Effington in his opulent-looking car, leaving Lydon wondering whether he should ever see his money back, whether that five thousand pounds was a myth invented for the occasion.

It was on the Tuesday that this affair took place, and it was understood that Lydon would go down to Effington on the following Friday. His confidence in Stormont was now so rudely shaken that he was prepared for anything unexpected to happen in the meantime. He would not have been surprised to receive a frantic letter from him to the effect that he was flying the country, that Mrs. Barnard and Gloria were seeking refuge in some suburb round London, and that Effington Hall was up for sale.

Lydon rather wondered what was his position with regard to this splendid mansion. Originally he must have been able to put his hands on a considerable sum of money for its purchase. In all probability it was now mortgaged up to the hilt.

Happily, nothing of such a disturbing nature happened. On his arrival at Guildford Station, Gloria met him in the car. She was, of course, delighted to see him again after his brief absence; but her lover fancied there was just a shade of embarrassment in her manner, the reason of which he presently learned as they drove along.

“There is a renewal of festivities which are such an abiding joy to my uncle’s soul,” she said, speaking in a hard voice. “To-night we’ve a dinner-party of a dozen people, all neighbours; nobody is staying in the house but you.”

So the rubicund Stormont had resumed his extravagant habits the moment he found himself in possession of a bit of money. He had no doubt paid off some pressing old debts, and was feverishly incurring new ones. The young man had no desire to face a lot of strangers, but perhaps this dinner-party was, in a way, a healthy sign. Even Stormont would not have been so rash as to fritter away his last shilling if he were not sure that salvation was close at hand. Lydon was relieved to think that this five thousand pounds was not a myth, but a solid fact.

Gloria went on in low and embarrassed tones: “I cannot say how ashamed and humiliated I am that he should have come to you. I only heard it this morning from my aunt, who thought I ought to be told. When he mentioned to her that he was going to apply to you, she did all in her power to dissuade him from making such a request, but all to no purpose. The fact of it is, he is not a man who feels any shame in borrowing.”

He could see plainly that she was very much distressed, and he hastened to console her. “My darling, there is really nothing for you to worry about. I am sorry your uncle was put about, but he made it clear to me it was quite a temporary embarrassment, and I was very pleased to be of service to him. Such a thing might happen to anybody--might have happened to myself.”

The girl spoke with some heat. “It is very sweet of you to try and restore my self-respect, but it would never have happened to you. You are the last man in the world to spend your money on riotous living and then go with a pitiful tale to a friend. Why did he not go to one of his business friends, if he was forced to borrow, or, better still, sell some of the valuable things he has got at Effington?”

She was evidently stung to the quick that her happy-go-lucky uncle had exploited the young man’s affection for herself in order to replenish his exhausted exchequer. Lydon himself could not help thinking it was a mean thing to do, in spite of his making light of it to her.

The dinner-party was a great success. Stormont beamed on his guests as genially as ever, and was in the highest spirits. As he sat at the table he gave the impression of a man who had not a care in the world. Lydon could hardly understand such a swift alteration of mood, of the change from the haggard, harassed man of a few days ago to this jovial creature who laughed and joked with the greatest ease. But then he did not comprehend the mercurial temperament of the incurable spendthrift.

The Saturday was to be a comparatively quiet day, Gloria told him, there being only two guests expected. The taciturn Mr. Whitehouse was bringing down his niece, Zillah Mayhew, to lunch. But their visit would not be a very long one. They were returning to London by an afternoon train.

The words that he had overheard that night when he had passed the door of Stormont’s study recurred to him at the mention of Miss Mayhew’s name. Was this the woman whose co-operation was essential to some business there was on hand? “What sort of a girl is she?” asked the young man. “Not as gloomy as her uncle, I trust?”

Gloria smiled. “She is the exact opposite, most bright and vivacious, really quite charming. I haven’t seen her more than half a dozen times in my life, but I took a great fancy to her.”

“Does she live with the solemn Whitehouse?”

“Not permanently. Uncle has never told me much about her history, but I know that her parents are dead, that she has a little income of her own, and lives now with one relative, now with another. She passes a great deal of her time abroad, where she has several friends and connections.”

Lydon began to feel rather interested in the young woman. When the time came for them to be met at the station, he noticed a rather peculiar thing. Stormont dispensed with the services of the chauffeur and drove the car to Guildford himself, a most unusual proceeding on his part. The young man was convinced by this circumstance that his suspicions were correct. Stormont wanted to be alone to have a quiet chat with Whitehouse and his niece.

The lovers went for a walk, and on their return a few minutes before luncheon the visitors had arrived. Lydon shook hands with Whitehouse, and was introduced to Miss Mayhew, a tall, dark, handsome girl, with splendid eyes, and the complexion of the brunette. She spoke English without the faintest trace of accent, but there was a foreign air about her.

He looked at her very attentively, and his scrutiny revealed two very strange things. On the back of her neck was a blemish partially concealed by powder, and she wore as a pendant a magnificent sapphire carved in the shape of a closed lotus flower.

His memory flew back to that day when he had stood in the drawing-room of the Villa des Cyclamens, and called the attention of Madame Makris to a similar jewel which was lying unheeded on the table.