CHAPTER IV.

THE HAND OF DEATH

Jack carried his stepmother over to a couch, laid her gently down, then crossed the room for some water from the carafe that stood on a side table. Soon, the color began to show again in Lady Evenden’s face; and, to Jack’s manifest relief, she opened her eyes.

At first she smiled, bewildered. Then memory seemed to return to her; for, a pained look, followed by a hard expression that Jack had never seen before, settled on her face.

“Don’t try to get up, mum,” Jack begged. “I can’t say how sorry I am for this----”

She interrupted him with a little imperious movement of her arm.

“You were saying that your friend told you there were circumstances in the death of my first husband that reflected upon me, I think. What precisely do you charge me with, Jack?”

“Oh, mum, dear! I make no charge at all. How can you think that I would?” Jack replied hurriedly. “The thing is that when this rotten story was told to me I felt that there must be some explanation of it, and it was only right that you should have the chance to give the proper story. Then, don’t you see, I know what to reply?”

“Jack”--Lady Evenden spoke slowly, and her eyes searched her stepson’s face keenly--“how did you come to be discussing my affairs? What possible interest could my early life have for you? Is there anything since you have known me that would justify you picking about in the dead past? In what have I failed? You were only a little boy of eight, Jack, when I came into your life, and I always loved you----”

“Stop, stop!” Jack seized his stepmother’s hand, leaned forward, and gently kissed her. “You make me feel an awful brute. I don’t presume to criticize you at all. But, when I heard this story it became my duty to tell it to you. Can’t you see that? Obviously, it would have been the same if you had been my own mother--you have been equal to that to me.”

“You have not told me how this arose.” Lady Evenden spoke quietly. In her eyes a wistful look had appeared as she gazed at the troubled countenance of her stepson.

“Basil Towers, my messmate, saw your photo and----” Jack began, when she interrupted him.

“Ah, yes! The Towers of Ardlui. What did he say exactly, Jack?”

Jack related to her exactly what the gunnery lieutenant had said. She listened intently and shuddered slightly when he came to the part where the paralyzed man was found in the lake. Then, for a moment or two after Jack had finished she sat silent, her hand shading her eyes. At last she spoke.

“Jack, my life with John Gough, Frank’s father, was a terrible one. It is a memory that I would bury--a nightmare and worse. On the last night--that awful night young Towers told you about--I never slept. I spent the whole night in packing up my things. Ill or not ill, I intended to leave my husband the next day. I had come to the limit of human endurance. Jack, you don’t know--you can’t realize--what a fiend that man was. Look”--with a rapid movement she unloosened her dress and bared one shoulder, revealing a permanent scar. Jack shuddered. “That is a pleasant little memory of John Gough,” she continued bitterly; “John Gough and a red-hot poker.” She refastened her dress, her breath came quickly, as if the fear of the terrible days came back to her for a moment; then she resumed.

“I don’t pretend to know what was the condition of my late husband on the night the doctor and Mr. Towers saw him. All I know is that in the morning--he had gone. He was found in the lake. That is all I know. Of course I left the district--the district that had nothing but miserable and humiliating memories for me. My one desire was to forget.”

“But, my dear,” Jack asked, “was no one left to attend to the man in his room if he was paralyzed like that?”

“It was the first seizure he had had, Jack,” she replied. “Drink and uncontrolled passion had left him often before foaming at the mouth, and gibbering. I saw him put to bed, and I warned the maids to listen carefully to his bell, and to be sure and go together--not one--it was not safe, with that man. Then I locked my door, and packed, as I told you.”

“It is very terrible, mum,” Jack said. “And I am very sorry for raising such a tragic chapter in your life. There is only one thing I want to ask you. Of course I believe what you say. But, does father know all about this?”

Lady Evenden stiffened; there was almost defiance in her eyes as she spoke.

“No, he does not.”

Jack felt like one who has had a blow in the face. Lady Evenden merely looked at him, unflinchingly, challengingly. He gulped--then spoke.

“Mum--why not? Don’t you think he should?”

“Yes--he ought to have known, at the time. In fact I meant to tell him. I began to tell him that there was something in my earlier married life that was very terrible that I wanted him to know; but, your father saw my distress, and said that if it was anything of a painful nature he did not want to hear it. His trust in me was absolute. I have never abused your father’s trust, Jack.”

“Still, mum, I’m not unduly criticizing you--but, don’t you think he ought to know now? He would believe you just as I do. It would be terrible if he got to know of it accidentally as I did,” Jack persisted.

“It is too late.” Lady Evenden shook her head sadly.

“Why?” Jack asked.

“I had not meant to cloud your home-coming with this, Jack dear, but you must know now what I intended to break more gently. Your father’s heart is in a terrible condition. A shock like this would kill him.” Lady Evenden leaned back in her corner of the couch, and her beautiful eyes filled with tears. Jack was aghast.

“Since when has this been so, mum?” he asked kindly.

She proceeded to tell him of the frequent heart attacks of Sir Michael, culminating in his visit to Professor Gaspari at Lausanne.

Time had passed without either noticing it, and now the first gong was sounding for dinner. Lady Evenden rose; so did Jack.

“Oh, I say,” he said as they walked to the door. “There is some more news to-day that I must tell you. You remember Brenda Trenchard----”

“Jack, Jack,” Lady Evenden interrupted him impatiently. “How can you follow up two subjects like the things we have been discussing with a reference to my flirtatious little companion of three years ago? Listen, Jack--we have only a moment. Will you give me your word to preserve my secret from your father?”

“Yes, of course, I will. But I must tell you about Brenda----”

“Some other time, Jack. Believe me, I’m asking you to do the right thing where your father is concerned, and I know I can rely upon you. You’re a dear boy, Jack; kiss me.” Jack felt as though she wanted him to kiss her to testify his faith in her still, and he put his arm round her shoulders and kissed her very tenderly.

She gave him a smile, then quickly made her way to the butler’s pantry to speak to Evans, the butler, about some last-moment arrangements before she dressed.

Jack proceeded slowly up the east staircase to the Prior’s Room to dress. His mind clung to the interview he just had had with his stepmother. He felt an overwhelming sympathy for her. He trusted her and believed her version of the circumstances in which the brutal John Gough had died. Nevertheless, why, he asked himself, had she never told his father? His meditations were cut short by a tap on the door, which he had locked. He went over and opened it, and was immediately confronted with Frank Gough.

“Hello, my dear old wig-and-gown merchant,” Jack greeted him in undisguised pleasure, putting out both hands, which were immediately taken and held by his stepbrother.

“Well, I’m jolly glad to see you, old admiral,” Frank replied laughing. “I thought I’d run in on you and have a chat before we go down.”

“I’m jolly glad to see you,” Jack said cordially. “Help yourself to cigarettes, and there’s a syphon there. But wait! Look at this.” Jack took a large wickered jar from a trunk. “I’ve brought you this, a jar of eleven o.p. Navy rum.”

“Splendid fellow!” Frank took the jar. “I shall love a little of this at the end of a long day’s shooting or hunting. I say--got a corkscrew, we’ll just sample it now, shall we?”

“In the senior service, my lad, we are trained to carry every article of prime importance,” Jack announced as he flung his stepbrother a corkscrew. While Jack completed his dressing, Frank withdrew the cork from the rum jar, and poured two small glasses of the pungent spirit. The brothers were toasting each other when there came a second tap on the door.

“What is it?” Jack called, and the door opened revealing Roberto, Sir Michael’s valet, who had come to see if he could be of assistance to Jack, having dressed Sir Michael. Jack refused his services, and the two brothers continued their talk.

“I say, Jack,” Frank presently said, “I want your advice, old man, seriously. You know Jill Kilby?”

Jack nodded and smiled.

“No, no!--this is serious,” Frank averred. “Well, I’ve been keen for a long time--and it isn’t a bit of good. She won’t have anything to do with me. I’ve tried everything I can. I’ve acted the cave man and the sheik business, you know----”

“What does the cave man and the sheik business consist of, Frankie?” Jack asked, laughing.

“Well--you know----” Frank replied, “for instance, on the way through France, I managed to get across to her compartment on the train, and I made furious love to her until a guard came and I had to get out.”

“The devil you did!” Jack gazed at him, first in horror, and then he forced a laugh. “I am afraid I could never get to that point,” he said, “though a certain lady of my acquaintance tells with some complacent satisfaction that her husband kidnaped her aboard a destroyer that he commanded, and utterly refused to allow her to land until she promised to marry him. They’ve been married for twenty-six years now, and got one lieutenant, one sub, one middie, and one fleet-surgeon’s wife; so, I suppose it sometimes works out all right.” Both the brothers laughed. Then Frank spoke again, seriously.

“For some reason or other the confounded girl seems to hate me, Jack,” he said, frowning and taking a fresh cigarette. “She’s got a lover, too--got him staying down in the village inn, here. I have seen them together in the drive after dinner. Couldn’t help hearing them speak. They referred to me; and this man--Dr. Barlow, they call him--spoke of me as a cad!”

Jack could not refrain from laughing heartily.

“Listeners, you know, old chap, never hear any good about themselves. But, seriously, if the girl doesn’t want you--why worry? Have another dip in the lucky bag. There goes the bell; come on, we’ll have a chat later.”

The brothers left the room and descended the great winding stairs, traversed the main corridor of the first floor, finally reaching the hall together, where Jack immediately was pounced on by a score of old friends and acquaintances. At dinner, he found himself next to Jill Kilby, and, as he glanced down at her, he could not forbear a misgiving when he thought of the story Frank had told him.

She was pretty, Jack thought, but compared to Brenda--his Brenda---- As he thought of Brenda, a happy glow pervaded everything. What would they all say when they knew that he and Brenda had made things up? He glanced across the table. What would his father think? Sir Michael was in the midst of an animated conversation with Muriel Daneley, the pretty American heiress married to the middle-aged Earl of Daneley, who sat farther down the table.

“I’ve been hearing some rather dreadful things about you,” said Jack, smiling down at the little companion on his left.

Jill started, and involuntarily glanced furtively down the table to where Frank was sitting, his eyes fixed on her.

“What do you mean, Mr. Evenden?” she asked.

“Well, I’m told that a certain very great friend of mine is positively in the throes, because of you. Eating his heart out, and every other thing he can eat out--because you spurn him! You must be a cruel little lady!”

Jill glanced up and flushed a little. But as she saw the honest, humorous eyes of her bantering neighbor, she did not express the annoyance she felt.

“I am so glad the weather is holding for the shooting,” she said. “The men all say they have never had a better season.”

“Self-possessed little monkey,” Jack mused to himself; then aloud he said: “I’m very glad to hear that. You see, my time is essentially limited. Most of these chaps can stay on if a bad patch of weather comes, but with me it is--now or never. My leave finishes in just over a week’s time--and there’s no appeal.”

“Yes, I quite understand--that’s why I’m so glad----”

“Jack, I’ve particularly wanted to ask you one or two questions of a rather important nature.” Jack turned contritely to the lady on his right; then he groaned. Lady Nina Cockett was the wife of the old rector. He knew her of old--but there was no help for it. “I’ve been troubled for some time, Jack,” she said, “by what I am afraid I must call the insidious permeation of Anglo-Catholic views and practices in the chaplaincies of the Crown forces. Now I wonder if you can tell me. Does your chaplain take the eastward, or the northward, position at the altar?”

“I really don’t know,” Jack replied. “I suppose it depends on what course the ship’s on.”

“Jack, my dear,” the dominant voice of Lady Nina came in retort, “I know the tendency of the day is for young people to treat serious matters lightly, but I do trust that you render to your pastor that fitting respect that you have been taught to show.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Jack tried to break away so as to resume his conversation with Jill, but the dragon had him, and the rest of the meal was occupied by Lady Nina’s questions and statements. Jack was sorrier than ever for the dear old rector, who bore his cross with such exemplary patience. But all things end--and presently the port was served and the ladies departed. For the usual three quarters of an hour the men sat on, smoking their cigars and sipping their port.

“To-morrow I want a long chat with you about a number of things, Jack, old man,” said Sir Michael as he and Jack walked from the dining room towards the drawing-room. “Yes,” Jack replied. “You look very well to-night, dad. Do you feel fit?”

“Yes--and no,” replied the baronet slowly. “But that, and a number of other things, I’ll go into with you to-morrow morning. I think I’ll retire early to-night. I’ve rather overdone it to-day. I feel the strain a little, but a good night’s rest will put me right, without doubt.”

“What time will suit you, dad?” Jack asked.

“Oh, we’ll take an early walk round together before breakfast--You’re used to early rising, I know. Come to the gun room at seven-thirty,” replied the baronet.

“That’s fine,” Jack answered. “I used always to look forward to our rambles round the woods in the mornings, dad, as you know.”

“So did I, my boy, and so I do still,” responded Sir Michael. “Now run off and join the ladies, or play bridge, or billiards, or what not. If you should see your mother tell her I’ve retired early--just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Righto, dad.” Jack bade his father “good-night”; then he made for the billiard room. There, he played two games of billiards, looked about for Frank, but failed to find him, went to the drawing-room to see if Jill Kilby was there, but left hurriedly as Lady Nina Cockett caught his eye and began to clear her throat preparatory to another onslaught. Perhaps Frank would stop up to the Prior’s Room to have a chat with him, Jack thought, making his way there. But Frank did not come; so, presently, he undressed and prepared for bed.

Jill Kilby had taken advantage of the fact that there was some good chamber music in the drawing-room which held everyone’s attention, to slip out to meet Wilfred Barlow. She told him all the news of the last three days, and of Jack’s arrival and his jest at dinner; then she returned to find her mistress in great distress.

Lady Evenden had asked repeatedly for Jill in the last hour; and, despite her distress, was somewhat annoyed that she should be absent without letting her know. It appeared that Sir Michael had been suffering from an acute pain in his chest, and the local doctor had been sent for. He arrived almost simultaneously with Jill, and, knowing the case thoroughly, declared that it was something that might be expected after a tiring day--certainly nothing alarming. He gave a soothing draught and left, reassuring Lady Evenden about her husband.

Sir Michael lay down again to rest. Downstairs the dancing went on, the cards were well patronized, and the billiard room was occupied by a merry young crew of both sexes. Harmless little flirtations developed in the conservatories, until, at length, the last guest was in bed.

It was three o’clock in the morning when Roberto, the valet sleeping in the box room opening off Sir Michael’s bedroom, heard strange groans issuing from his master’s room. He rushed in--to find Sir Michael in fearful agony, his hands clutching his breast.

The valet rushed to the bedside, raised his master’s head; even as he did so, Sir Michael gave a low groan--and all was over.