CHAPTER VII

THE LOSS OF AN HEIRLOOM

THE poor Countess was now ill at ease; she reminded Adrienne of a mouse under the fascination of the playful taps of a cat's paws.

Then Madame Bouverie proceeded to give her good news:

"A rich American, a client of my husband's, is anxious to give his daughter, an only child, a little souvenir of his visit to Orleans. He wants something antique, historic, with perhaps a little romance attaching to it. He does not mind how much he gives, and we thought, dear friend, of your great need, and cast our mind on your many treasures. Suddenly I bethought myself of your beautiful watch set in diamonds—the enamel one given to your family by Queen Marie Antoinette. It is a rare chance; you will never have such another."

The Countess straightened herself in her chair:

"But, Madame," she said stiffly, "I told you that was an heirloom, not to be taken out of the family. I have no desire, no power to sell that. I told you so when you wished yourself to buy it from me."

"Oh, dear Madame, you have the power. Who can prevent you? Not your stepson? To me he seems an amiable young man quite absorbed in his farm, and indifferent to you and your Château. Well, well—I see my husband coming up the drive, he will talk to you about it. It will smooth out all your difficulties if you consent to part with it. Now, Mademoiselle, shall we take a little walk together round the garden, and leave these two to talk over business matters?"

Monsieur Bouverie had arrived. Adrienne was prepared to dislike him, but as his dark, piercing eyes met hers, she felt a slight shiver down her spine.

He reminded her of a snake's head lifted to strike. Though a smile was upon his lips, unhidden under his very slight dark moustache, his eyes seemed to hold both malice and power in them. He bowed as he was introduced to her, but his eyes lingered—Adrienne felt he was asking himself this question:

"Will this girl help me or hinder me?"

And she suddenly resolved there and then that, with all her might, she would fight against him.

She felt herself drawn away by his wife. She had no trouble in talking to her, for Madame Bouverie held the conversation in her own hands, and Adrienne found herself listening, with an occasional assent or exclamation.

"My poor husband! He is so devoted to your aunt's interests, and it is so sad about her circumstances! No money to keep up the Château, and the repairs and expenses of the property eating her out of house and home! If it had not been for my husband, long, long ago the Château would have been in the market to sell. He is so clever, so generous to his clients, and he has such an affection for the family, that he would sacrifice himself in their service.

"Do you know the young Count? So different to his father. Such a silent, uncouth creature—so little to say! Of course, he likewise has no money; he seems unable to relieve your aunt. She is such a dear, helpless, irresponsible creature! She always has been. My husband puts into her hand money that he has scraped together with the greatest difficulty, rents from the tenants, sums by sales of timber and pasture, and by his economy in every direction. It would last most people quite a long time, but dear little Madame lets it flutter here, there, and everywhere; she is always in debt, but nothing deters her from buying. Has she shown you her wardrobe of Paris gowns? All too grand for this poor village, but kept for her time in Orleans. And when my husband comes next time, the money is all gone! And the poor lady wringing her hands in despair!

"But we will not fill your young head with such dismal talk. I wonder now if you could take me into the Château. I do so enjoy looking at the pictures in the upper corridor."

Adrienne accordingly piloted her into the house. As she went upstairs, she pointed out to Adrienne improvements that might be made.

"I should have a fountain and marble floor in the entrance hall, and red felt carpet down this cold stone staircase. Ah well! Perhaps one day this old Château will fall into the hands of those who can spend upon it! It will be a happy thing for us when that occurs."

She was darting from side to side of the corridor by this time, looking at the old cabinets, touching the velvet hanging to the windows, then she paused beneath the portrait of a former Count de Beaudessert in hunting dress with a falcon on his hand.

"Oh!" she said. "An artist who was staying here long ago told my husband that this picture was worth a fortune. It is one of Van Dyck's. Rather like the present Count, is it not?"

Adrienne glanced up at the handsome broad-shouldered man smiling down upon them with lordly condescension.

"No, I don't think it is at all like Cousin Guy," she said. "He is simpler, straighter, and not such a society man as this Count must have been."

"Oh, you funny girl! I quite agree that the Count is not a society man. Well, well, I must go! I am glad to have had a look at him again. I dote upon good pictures; but then, though I do not paint myself, I am an artist by nature."

As they were retracing their steps, they met the Countess coming hastily out of her boudoir. She looked surprised at seeing them, and Adrienne explained matters, but her aunt said nothing. She was evidently uneasy and frightened.

Madame Bouverie occupied Adrienne's time and attention, till her husband had finished his talk with Madame, and then they both took their leave and rolled away in their car, Madame Bouverie with pleased elation in her eyes. Adrienne guessed, without her aunt telling her, that the valuable old watch had changed its owner. Of course she was told all about it very soon, and the Countess cried like a child.

"It is no good, my chérie," she said, "what can I do? The bailiffs will be in possession unless I pay some of my bills. This watch will bring me a nice little sum. Two hundred and fifty pounds in English money is not to be despised."

"Have you got the money?" Adrienne could not refrain from asking.

"Oh, no, no, but in a few days I shall receive it. My dear, I think we could take the car to Orleans and do a little shopping. I want to call at my flat, and you would like to see the old town, would you not? We will give ourselves some pleasure. A little ready money is so acceptable in these bad times."

"I wish you need not have parted with the watch," said Adrienne.

"Yes, I refused absolutely at first, but somehow Monsieur Bouverie always persuades me against my will. When he is looking at me and talking in his pleasant, smiling way, I feel absolutely in his power. And he does reason things out so. And it is very true that Guy does not care about these things, and as Monsieur Bouverie says—for whom am I keeping them? When I die, they will be sold in a sale for mere bagatelles!"

Adrienne was silent; she felt that things were going wrong, but that she was unable to right them. And she had a longing desire that her cousin might know about this latest exploit of Monsieur Bouverie's.

She was not surprised in a few days' time, when she came into her aunt's room, to find her once more in tears.

"Oh, my dear, such a disappointment! Monsieur Bouverie has only sent me a hundred francs for that watch!"

"What a villain he must be!" ejaculated Adrienne.

"No, no, he has explained it all. It appears that the big account for repairing one of our small farms was overlooked. I certainly thought I had paid it; but my memory is not good, and I forget so. And the builder is pressing for the money, and Monsieur Bouverie has settled it up, and this hundred francs is the balance left. Of course, he congratulates me upon having this heavy bill settled, but I really had forgotten its existence; and it seems that I have lost my watch, and am no richer than I was. I fear our little visit to Orleans must be given up, unless—well—I will speak to Guy about it. He dines here this evening. Oh, what a miserable thing it is to be so poor!"

"Never mind Aunt Cecily. I am quite happy here. I don't want to go to Orleans. I love the country at this time of year."

"But not if it rains, as it is doing now," said her aunt, looking out at the rain which was driving against the windows; "it has kept us in now three days, and prevented us from going to Madame Nicholas."

"We'll have a game of 'Colorado' together," said Adrienne cheerfully.

She was an adept at games from "Chess" to "Snap." She had even tried to entice her aunt into the billiard-room, which was an unused, dreary apartment, but this the Countess had firmly declined to enter. She did not mind an occasional game of any sort, but "Bridge" was her hobby, and she could not very often get the requisite number for it.

Adrienne's sunny temper and habitual cheerfulness was having a good effect upon her; she was altering her sedentary life, and was really taking an interest in the garden. Adrienne was making many improvements to the flower part of it, digging and weeding and planting; and the Countess looked on at first with some amusement, and then with dawning interest.

The days did not seem so long now with this bright young niece, and it was only after a visit from the notary, that she was plunged into tears and depression.

Upon this particular evening they had a very bright dinner table. Adrienne began telling her aunt about her Uncle Tom's aversions to wet days, and the guiles and wiles with which she beset him to keep him happy. Guy was reminiscent too, and his experiences in an old Indian bungalow during the monsoon made Adrienne very merry.

When they adjourned to the salon they gathered round the wood fire, and then the Countess said to her stepson:

"I want Adrienne to see Orleans; she would like to see it too. Only for a few days; don't you think it could be managed? We ought to let her see something of our country. Of course it is a question of expense—but it would not cost much for a short time."

"I think we can manage it," said Guy, smiling across at Adrienne.

The girl's cheeks flushed.

"Oh, no," she cried, "I am content with this, Aunt Cecily. I will not put you to any extra expense. It would make me miserable."

"Not at all," said Guy cheerfully; "your aunt has plenty of ready money at present. It is a good opportunity."

The Countess looked at him with startled eyes:

"What do you mean?" she said falteringly. "You are quite mistaken."

"What?" he said, and his voice was a little stern. "Did you give away our watch, ma mère? I can hardly believe that much."

The Countess's hands trembled. She fidgeted with her watch-chain, then looked across at Adrienne reproachfully.

Adrienne spoke at once:

"I have never told him, Aunt Cecily. Believe me, I have not. I think he must be a wizard."

"It is a pity, ma mère, you do not take me a little more into your confidence, for I could assuredly prevent a good deal of robbery going on. Now will you kindly tell me how much you received for that, one of our most precious heirlooms?"

The Countess's ready tears rose to her eyes.

"Tell him all, Adrienne. I cannot. I am always in the position of a convicted naughty child."

So Adrienne, with her frank, sweet eyes fixed on Guy's imperturbable face, gave a short account of the shabby transaction.

And when she had finished, the Countess sobbed out:

"A hundred francs, only a hundred francs!" Guy produced a notebook and pencil from his pocket in a business-like manner.

"Have you the receipt from this builder which Monsieur Bouverie has paid?" he asked the Countess.

She shook her head.

"He keeps the bills; he does all my accounts, Guy: I have told you so, again and again."

"Do you know if it is La Firmant Farm which he mentioned?"

"Yes."

Guy dotted it down and replaced his notebook in his pocket.

Then he gave a little smile.

"I walked into Bouverie's study to-day. It opens into their salon, as you know. He kept me waiting, and I just happened to glance up at the sun shining in there, and it caught the diamonds. The watch has already been hung up above the fireplace in a place of honour. I can fancy what a pleasure it is to Madame Bouverie."

"But," cried the Countess, "it was an American who bought it. Don't tell me that Madame Bouverie is keeping it for herself?"

"She has got it for a hundred francs," said Guy gravely; "I do not think, ma mère, that it is good to give away our heirlooms in such a manner."

"What abominable thieves!" cried Adrienne. "Oh, Cousin Guy, I hope you are going to get it back."

He shook his head.

"I never interfere with your aunt's proceedings. If I did, it would only return again to the Bouveries later on."

There was a dead silence.

The poor Countess was white with horror and agitation.

"To think that he should have dared to deceive me so! And she, she has robbed me! I could bear anything rather than this! Don't look at me like that, Guy! I didn't want to part with it, but you will never understand how hard pressed I am."

"I think I could, if you were to tell me," suggested Guy quietly.

But the Countess began to sob bitterly, and Adrienne knew that nothing would induce her to be perfectly frank with her stepson.

At last she was so overcome with anger and misery that she said she would retire to bed.

Adrienne accompanied her, and when she had helped her with her toilette and seen her comfortably in bed, she went back to the salon for a book which she had left there. To her surprise she found Guy still sitting by the fire, apparently lost in thought. He looked up when she came in, then got up from his chair.

"Well, I must be going. Your pauvre tante," he said with a tender note in his tone. "She is her own worst enemy, did she but know it."

"Oh," said Adrienne passionately, "we must do something, Cousin Guy. You seem half asleep, quite indifferent to the frauds of this wicked little man. I'd like to tell you something, but I have promised not. Aunt Cecily must be freed somehow from his clutches."

"I again repeat that you can tell me little that I do not know. I suppose you are alluding to the mortgage he holds of this place, and of his resolve to foreclose as soon as possible."

"You know, then? How did you discover it? You are quite wonderful."

Guy very slowly and deliberately drew out a pocketbook from his coat pocket.

"Here," he said, "are about twenty pages of his frauds, as you call them. I have them all verified. I have spared no trouble or time in the doing of it. The watch is the last item."

"But oh, if you know, can't you relieve Aunt Cecily's mind? Is there no way of paying up the mortgage?"

"Your aunt is what we may term difficile. Were I to pay off the mortgage to-day, and settle all her debts, she'd have a glorious time of contracting new ones, and of borrowing on the security of the Château afresh to-morrow. I honestly think that no one in this wide world could keep her out of debt. She's made that way. She can't help it."

"It seems awful to me. Her brothers would be horrified. Poor Aunt Cecily. I do feel so sorry for her. Are you going to let the Château slip away from her?"

"Ah! That requires consideration. Sometimes I think it would be best, for she would then settle down in her town flat and have no notary plaguing her life out."

"But that would be allowing the wicked to prosper on stolen gains!" said Adrienne passionately. "And if you won't stop him, I will. I feel inclined to go off to his house at once, and confront Madame Bouverie. She said in my presence that the watch was for an American. I suppose that that bill for the farm had been already paid?"

Guy turned over the pages.

"At all events he had the money to settle it, as long ago as last November. I have the date and the amount."

"But you mean to bring him to account, surely?"

"Yes, sooner or later I think I shall."

Then he smiled at her.

"Justice is always slow," he said; "don't be impatient. I have learnt that to make haste means mistakes, and mistakes spell failure."

Then Adrienne smiled up at him. Relief and a sense of confidence in him crept into her heart.

"Good night," she said; "now I shan't have a flutter of despondency or fear for Aunt Cecily's future."

She left the room, and slept peacefully that night.

Her aunt was also sleeping from sheer exhaustion.

Guy was the only one who till the small hours of the night was pacing his room in the farm.

But strangely enough his thoughts were not centred upon his stepmother nor upon her business affairs, but wholly and entirely upon Adrienne.