CHAPTER III.

AN ENCOUNTER BY NIGHT

At Evenden Priory the preparations were complete for the first shooting party of the season. Jill Kilby for several days had been engaged altogether in writing letters of invitation, interviewing tradesmen on her mistress’s behalf, arranging accommodation for the servants of the expected guests, and the thousand and one other duties that fell to her lot; for, she acted as secretary, as well as companion, to Lady Evenden.

Jill was glad of the distraction, because it freed her, in great degree, from the attentions of Frank Gough, who still remained at the Priory.

For Jack, when he arrived, the Prior’s Room had been prepared. This was a room seldom used; it stood in a tower at the extreme eastern gable of the Priory. Tradition had it that it was the room occupied, in the old days, by the Lord Prior himself; and, for several hundred years, generation after generation of Evendens had declared it haunted. It was said that on the eve of the feast of St. Michael and All Angels, the day on which Cromwell’s soldiers had arrived long ago to work their havoc, the ghost of the last prior, John Paseley, appeared and sadly walked his ancient haunts.

Certainly many tales were told of members of the family and their guests who had braved the alleged terrors of the Prior’s Room on that fateful day, and had experienced some nameless horror. All had hurriedly left the room, unable to describe the experience, yet determined never to set foot in it again.

As, however, the house was full, and Jack was the least superstitious man in the world, Sir Michael laughingly gave his consent to the room being prepared for his eldest son.

Meanwhile, Jack had left Portsmouth for London, _en route_ for Evenden Priory, with a mind still troubled by the disclosure of his friend, Basil Towers, about the earlier life of his beautiful stepmother.

As he lay back in the corner of his compartment, he turned over, and over again, the details of that tragedy on the shores of Loch Lomond, and wondered if it could be possible that his stepmother, with her sweet nature, possibly could have been associated with an act of such unspeakable horror. Jack refused to believe it. There must be, he felt, some good explanation.

He determined to ask her about it; and, if she told him that his father knew all about it--well, then, he would let it go at that. His father probably knew best.

He had several purchases to make in London; so, he drove first of all to Liverpool Street Station and deposited his luggage in the cloakroom. Then he set off on a round of shopping. He made a call at his tailor’s in Savile Row; then he called at a shop in the Burlington Arcade to buy a present for his stepmother. It was when he emerged from that shop that he encountered a figure that caused him to halt for a second and catch his breath.

The girl--for it was a girl--was tall, slim, clad in a closely-fitting fashionable black tailored suit; her face was pale, her lips--rather generous lips--were a deep red, and her eyes, large, violet-hued, and wonderfully expressive. Jack would have remained silent and allowed her to pass. But, the girl also caught sight of him at the same time and immediately stopped.

“Hello, Jack!” she exclaimed. “Wonders will never cease. Imagine meeting you in the Burlington Arcade!”

“How are you, Brenda?” Jack responded, taking her proffered hand. It was no other than Brenda Trenchard, the companion of his mother of three years ago, whose rejection of him had caused him to declare himself a bachelor for life.

“I’m very well, Jack, and I see you look well. I am glad to see you. Do tell me all the news. How long have you been married, Jack?” She smiled roguishly as she asked the question.

“I am not married--why should you imagine such a stupid thing?” Jack asked rather seriously.

The girl laughed. “My dear man,” she said, “when a man says to a girl that he will never marry because she refuses him, watch the papers! You will possibly see his engagement announced within three weeks!”

“You’ll have to watch the papers a long time before you see my engagement announced,” Jack responded rather bitterly. “Did you think me the type to change much, Brenda?”

“Well, I don’t know--you never can tell.” The girl spoke half-seriously, half-mockingly; then, with a laugh, she shrugged her shoulders. “But, my dear Jack, we’re getting quite serious, and that will never do. Do you want to take me to tea?”

“I should be delighted,” Jack eagerly replied. “Where shall we go?”

Brenda laughed. “I really do believe you are, after all, a confirmed bachelor, Jack. Imagine a man not asking a girl to tea, and not knowing where to take her!”

“Well,” Jack began, in some confusion, “I hardly know--I stay at the Charing Cross Hotel myself when in London, but----”

“Poor, dear old Jack!” (Brenda looked charming as she laughed, Jack thought.) “Take me to Rumpelmyer’s if you like, or the Piccadilly.”

“Very well, let’s go to the Piccadilly,” Jack agreed.

Arrived at the Piccadilly, they had tea, and, as he watched Brenda in charge of the cups, Jack thought how much more beautiful she was than, even in the old days, when she represented to him the most beautiful thing on earth. They chatted lightly of the events of the years that had passed since they had parted.

It appeared that Brenda had inherited a small competency from an aunt, and was secretary to a Cabinet Minister. Two hours slipped by very quickly; and, as Brenda rose, Jack felt once more all the power of the love he once had declared to her. He determined to make one more attempt to win her. Fearful that she would laugh at him--Brenda seemed to laugh at everything now--awkwardly, self-consciously, he began.

“Brenda, Brenda--I--do you think---- I----”

“Yes?” Brenda interrupted his stammering with a sweet smile. “What is it, Jack?”

“Forgive me, Brenda.” Jack’s confusion was pitiful; his honest face was flushed, but Brenda gave him no help. Had he noticed it, however, a very tender smile played about the corners of her mobile lips. “I---- oh, don’t laugh at me too much, Brenda, darling, I can’t help it. I used to love you and I do love you. Do you think there will ever be a chance?”

“I’m certainly not going to allow any scenes in this lounge, if that’s what you mean,” Brenda replied, with a glance about her. “Get a taxi, you old chump, and drive me to my flat--Sloane Street, Knightsbridge. Come along.” As she spoke, she arose and led the way out of the lounge. Like a man in a dream, Jack followed her, hailed the taxi, assisted Brenda in, and automatically got in himself. For a moment or two he did not speak. Brenda watched him with a little smile from her corner. He turned to her.

“Brenda--you heard what I said. I’m not good at this sort of thing----”

“You certainly are not,” Brenda agreed.

“But I love you, Brenda, I----”

Then happened the most wonderful thing which had ever come to Jack. Two arms were wound about his neck, and kisses were rained upon him. Lips that he had loved to kiss were pressed to his--this time in complete and happy yielding. A little voice, very sweet, with a sob in it, said ever so gently:

“Dear, dear old Jack--I’ve wanted you all the time. Why have you been so long?”

Then Jack knew that fairy tales were actualities, and that dreams do come true.

* * * * * * * *

Dinner was in process of being served at Evenden Priory that night when a telegram arrived which Sir Michael opened and read. He frowned, then handed it to Lady Evenden. It merely said:

“Delayed in London on most urgent business for at least three days; expect me about Friday. Don’t be surprised if I bring some one else. Love.--Jack.”

“Fancy that,” said Sir Michael in some annoyance. “I wonder what can have detained him. I was counting upon him to-morrow. We’re a gun short now.”

Several of the guests, who knew Jack well, expressed their polite disappointment. But, soon the talk spread to other topics, and the dinner went merrily on.

After dinner, when the ladies, taking their cue from Lady Evenden, had withdrawn, chairs were moved up and port was served. Sir Michael always sat for three quarters of an hour after the ladies had gone, and many a good joke, that set those at the table in a roar of laughter, was told, many a tale of prowess in the shooting-field, and many a local anecdote was dished up by the same old squires, in the same old way, that they had been since Sir Michael could remember.

He did not mind that. It was music to his ears. A great sense of security came to him as he sat there in the center of his friends. The Evenden estates were more soundly endowed than they had been in any period of their history. The oft-told tales of some of his guests were not boring to Sir Michael; they were part of the Priory--part of the home he had always loved so well, worked for so hard to get back--aye, he thought as he sat there, even sinned to get back.

As the thought occurred to him, Sir Michael shuddered, but quickly recovered himself, shrugged his shoulders, helped himself to another glass of the famous ’34 port, and joined in the laughter that followed a tale of Frank’s.

Immediately after telling it, Frank excused himself and left the room. He made his way direct to the drawing-room in search of Jill; but she was not there. The night was warm for September, and one of the French windows stood wide open; so, thinking that perhaps Jill had stepped out, on to the lawn to take the air, Frank followed.

There was an autumn nip in the air, and a slight mist had spread over the park. In the distance an owl hooted; while, nearby, he saw the erratic flight of a couple of bats. He threw away the stump of his cigar the better to enjoy the scented air; then he walked slowly across the lawn.

Arrived at the point where the lawn joined a shrubbery bordering the main carriage drive, he halted, discerning two figures--a man and a woman. Wondering who they were, he approached more closely, being careful not to be observed. From the shadow of a tree he recognized them. They were members of the house party, and he smiled to think of what the wife of the one and the husband of the other would say if they had the view he had. But, the girl was not Jill; so, he passed on.

Giving up all hope of meeting her, he walked along the shrubbery path to where it joined the drive. There, to his astonishment, he found that the small wicket gate was open. This gate invariably was kept locked, and all members of the household had a latchkey to fit it. Frank walked through and continued down the drive.

He walked on, until in the distance the lights of the lodge-keeper’s place twinkled, then, about to return, he again changed his mind. He decided he would stroll down and have a word with old Middlemas, at the lodge. With this intention he proceeded, but he had not gone far when he heard voices quite close at hand. He stopped, withdrew into the shadow of a huge oak tree, and listened. Unmistakably there were two voices--a man’s and a woman’s. He started--the woman’s voice was Jill Kilby’s--and she was here--talking to a man!

Frank stood, silent as a statue, and listened. At first, the faint breeze, ruffling the leaves, interfered with his hearing. But, presently he accustomed his ears to the sound, and distinctly heard Jill speaking.

“But I don’t like to tell his mother, Wilfred. I can manage him quite well. If I were to tell his mother I should certainly lose my position. And I don’t want to do that. I like Lady Evenden and I like Sir Michael, and I like the life. Don’t be silly, dear. I know best.”

“What the devil’s this?” muttered Frank to himself.

“Oh, I wish you would let me speak to Lady Evenden, Jill darling,” the man replied. “I am sure if she is the decent woman you say she is, she would listen to reason, and stop that young cad of hers from pestering you.”

“By all the gods, that’s a bit hot,” Frank again muttered. “So, this is the other man she mentioned, is it?” His ruminations were cut short, for Jill was talking again.

“You must be content to leave things to my judgment, Wilfred,” she said. “I told you before you came down that you were taking a great risk by coming and staying at the village inn. That was bad enough in all conscience, but to expect me to meet you in the very grounds is positively stupid, you dear old thing. You know, I have already told you that Lady Evenden hates you for some reason. What would happen if she found out that you were here?”

“This is all very interesting, I’m sure,” said Frank to himself. “I seem to have stumbled on a pretty little intrigue.”

“Well, darling, you know how I long to be beside you,” the man replied. “Do you blame me very much, Jill dear?”

“N-o,” Jill replied, and there was a sound of kissing. Frank ground his teeth in fury. Very little more was said, and the lovers separated.

It took a great effort on Frank’s part not to come out and declare himself, but prudence dictated his silence for the time being. He would find out a little more about this astonishing affair, and then decide what course to pursue. He waited in the shadow of the oak until he saw Wilfred Barlow stride off down the drive in the direction of the lodge, and Jill, after waiting a moment, walk hurriedly towards the house. Then he followed.

“I wonder what it all means,” he mused. “That she has a lover is simple enough. But what do they mean by the tale about my mother hating him, whoever he is? I must find out something about that. What interest can my mother have in the confounded man, anyhow? I shall find some way of dealing with both, or my name isn’t what it is.”

Still deep in thought, Frank returned to the house and, after glancing in the drawing-room and seeing Jill there, made for the billiard room, played one or two games, then went to bed. Before he slept he had decided on a plan of action. He would find out the identity of the stranger at the inn, then find out from his mother what she thought of him, and why. If only he could get Jill away somewhere. Then an idea came, and Frank chuckled with delight. He had decided on a course that was unscrupulous, but what matter? Was not all fair in love?

The next day he found out, by careful inquiry, the identity of Dr. Wilfred Barlow, and for the next two or three days he set himself to watch the movements of Jill. With wicked cunning he managed, without raising his mother’s suspicions, to invent duties which kept Jill busy all day long, and every evening as she left the drawing-room to walk on the lawn, he intercepted her and talked to her until, in despair, she was glad to get back into the room under the protection of Lady Evenden.

Such was the position on Friday when a telegram came announcing the near arrival of Jack Evenden. He came just before five o’clock, while Lady Evenden was dispensing tea in the huge hall-lounge.

Very affectionately did his stepmother greet him. Jack hated the task he had set himself. Nevertheless he firmly believed it his duty to speak to her on the subject, and he could not conceive of a better opportunity. His father was out with the guns, and only two or three ladies were present. After drinking his tea and eating a toasted muffin, Jack said he had a letter to write and retired to the library, which he knew would be unoccupied at that hour.

He seated himself at a desk and wrote a little note to his stepmother, begging her to join him in the library, as he had something of importance to tell her. He dispatched the note with a servant, and in a moment or so his mother appeared.

“You wanted to see me, Jack?” she smilingly asked. “I am glad you sent for me like that. How clever you are. I had been wondering how we could have a little chat before dinner, and you’ve managed it splendidly. Now tell me all about yourself, dear. How did you leave your friends aboard ship? And, Jack, you dreadful boy, tell me why you spent all those days in London, when we were waiting for you here.”

His stepmother was so transparently glad to see him--so unaffectedly sincere in her motherly love for him--that Jack quailed again at the dreadful task his conscience dictated. Almost, he decided to cut the whole thing out; then, stubbornly fighting down sentiment and giving rein to what he considered his duty, he began:

“Mum, dear, I can’t put this thing as it ought to be put. A friend of mine aboard ship, Basil Towers is his name, told me he knew you when you were Mrs. Gough, and said there was a row when your husband died. He said the doctors said your husband was paralyzed--unable to walk, and you and two maids were alone with him and---- Good heavens! What’s the matter, mum?”

The last words were spoken in pitiful anxiety, and Jack rushed forward just in time to catch his stepmother before she struck the floor, for Lady Evenden had fainted.