_ PART III CHAPTER III. THE TURN OF THE TIDE
It was evening when Mordaunt returned on the following day. He was met at the station by Noel. Holmes was in charge of the motor, and greeted his master with obvious relief. The care of the youngest Wyndham was plainly a responsibility he did not care to shoulder for long.
"All well?" Mordaunt asked, as he emerged from the station with his young brother-in-law hooked effusively on his arm.
"All well, sir," said Holmes, with the air of a sentry relaxing after long and arduous duty.
"Flourishing," said Noel, "though it's the greatest wonder you haven't come back to find Chris a heap of ashes. She would have been if Bertrand hadn't--at great personal risk--put her out."
"What has happened?" demanded Mordaunt sharply.
"All's well, sir," said Holmes reassuringly.
"Fireworks!" explained Noel. "My word, I made some beauties! I wish you could have seen 'em. I got singed a bit myself. But, then, that's only what one would expect playing with fire, eh, Trevor?" He rubbed his cheek ingratiatingly against Mordaunt's shoulder. "You needn't be anxious. Chris was really none the worse. But the Frenchman had a bad attack of blue funk when the danger was over, and nearly fainted. He's feeling ashamed of himself apparently, for I haven't seen him since. By the way, Aunt Phil and Chris had a mill yesterday, and the old lady is suffering from a very stiff neck in consequence. I asked Chris what she did to it, but she wouldn't tell me. Thank the gods, she goes to-morrow! You'll let me drive her to the station, won't you? I should like to go to heaven in Aunt Phil's company. She would be sure to get into the smartest set at once."
He rattled on in the same cheery strain without intermission throughout the return journey, having imparted enough to make Mordaunt thoroughly uneasy, notwithstanding Holmes's assurance.
The first person he met upon entering the house was Aunt Philippa. She accorded him a glacial reception, and explained that Chris had retired to bed with a severe headache.
"It's come on very suddenly," remarked Noel, with frank incredulity. "Where's Bertrand? Has he got a headache too?"
Aunt Philippa had no information to offer with regard to the French secretary! She merely observed that she had given orders for dinner to be served in a quarter of an hour, and therewith swept away to the drawing-room.
Mordaunt shook off his young brother-in-law without ceremony, and went straight up to his wife's room.
His low knock elicited no reply, and he opened the door softly and entered.
The room was in semi-darkness, but Chris's voice accosted him instantly.
"Is that you, Trevor? I'm here, lying down. I had rather a headache, or I would have come to meet you."
Her words were rapid and sounded feverish, as though she were braced for some ordeal. She was lying with her back to the curtained windows and her face in shadow.
Mordaunt went forward with light tread to the bed. "Poor child!" he said gently.
He stooped and kissed her, and found that she was trembling. Quietly he took her hand into his, and began to feel her pulse.
She made a nervous movement to frustrate him, but he gently insisted and she became passive.
"There is nothing serious the matter," she said uneasily. "I--I didn't sleep very well last night, that's all. I thought you wouldn't mind if I didn't come to meet you."
Mordaunt, with the tell-tale, fluttering pulse under his fingers, made gentle reply. "Of course not, dear. I think you are quite right to take care of yourself. Is your head very bad?"
"No, not now. I think I'm just tired. I shall be all right after a night's rest."
Again she tried to slip her hand out of his grasp, and after a moment he let it go.
"Please don't worry about me," she said. "You won't, will you?"
"Not if there is really no reason for it," he said.
She stirred restlessly. "There isn't--indeed. Aunt Philippa will tell you that. I was letting off fireworks with Noel only last night."
"And set fire to yourself," said Mordaunt.
She started a little. "Who told you that?"
"Noel."
"Oh! Well, nothing happened, thanks to--to Bertie. He put it out for me."
"I think there had better not be any more fireworks unless I am there," Mordaunt said. "I don't like to think of my wife running risks of that sort."
"Very well, Trevor," she said meekly.
"Where did the fireworks come from?" he pursued.
"We made them--Noel and I. We used some of your cartridges for gunpowder. He got saltpetre and one or two other things from the chemist. They were quite a success," said Chris, with a touch of her old light gaiety.
"And you are paying for it to-day," he said. "It will be a good thing when Noel goes back to school."
"Oh no," she answered quickly. "It wasn't the fireworks. I often have wakeful nights."
It was the first time she had ever alluded to the fact. He wondered if she would summon the courage to tell him something further. He earnestly hoped she would; but he hoped in vain. Chris said no more.
He paused for a full minute to give her time, but, save that she became tensely still, she made no sign. Very quietly he let the matter pass. He would not force her confidence, but he realized at that moment more clearly than ever before that she had only really belonged to him during the brief fortnight that they had been alone together. The two months of their married life had but served to teach him this somewhat bitter lesson, and he determined then and there to win her back as he had won her at the outset, to make her his once more and to keep her so for ever.
"I am going to take you away, Chris," he said. "You are wanting a change. Noel's holidays will be over next week. We will start then."
"Where shall we go?" said Chris, and he detected the relief with which she hailed the change of subject.
"We will go to Valpre," he said, with quiet decision.
"Valpre!" The word leaped out as if of its own volition. Chris suddenly sprang upright from her pillows, and gazed at him wide-eyed. In the dim light he could not see her face distinctly, but there was something almost suggestive of fear in her attitude. "Why Valpre?" she said, in a queer, breathless undertone as if she could not control her voice.
He looked down at her in surprise. "You would like to go to Valpre again, wouldn't you?"
She gasped. "I--I really don't know. But what made you choose it? You have never been there."
"No," he said. "You will be able to introduce me to all your old haunts."
She gasped again. "You chose it because of that?"
He put a steadying hand upon her shoulder. "Chris, what makes you so nervous, child? No, I didn't choose it because of that. As a matter of fact, I didn't choose it at all. I am due there on business in three weeks' time, but I thought we might put in a fortnight together there beforehand. Wouldn't you like that?"
She shivered under his hand, and made no reply. She only said, "What business?"
He hesitated a moment, then deliberately sat down upon the bed and drew her close to him. "You remember that blackguard Frenchman Rodolphe who was staying with the Pounceforts two or three weeks ago?"
"Yes," whispered Chris.
"He is to be court-martialled at Valpre, and I have accepted an offer to go as correspondent to the _Morning Despatch_ and report upon his trial. As you know, I represented them at Bertrand's _affaire,_ and this is a sequel to that. In fact, Bertrand himself is very nearly concerned in it. Certain transactions have recently come to light tending to show that the crime of which he was accused was not only committed by this same Rodolphe, but that he also deliberately manufactured evidence to shield himself at the expense of Bertrand, the author of the betrayed invention, against whom it seems he had a personal grudge. By the way, he managed skilfully to keep in the background at Bertrand's trial. I fancy he was away on some special mission at the time, and he did not appear. I never saw him before that day at Sandacre Court, and I did not so much as know then that he and Bertrand were acquainted. Did you know that?"
She started at the question, but answered it more naturally than she had before spoken. "Yes. I knew that Bertie had belonged to the same regiment. They did not speak to each other that afternoon. You see, I was there."
"Ah! And you never met him in the old Valpre days?"
Again she answered without apparent agitation; but her hands were fast gripped together in the gloom. "I may have seen him. I never spoke to him. Bertie was the only one I ever knew."
"Ah!" Mordaunt said again. He was plainly thinking of Bertrand's affairs. "Well, he is to stand his trial now, and I couldn't resist the chance of being present at it. He was recalled to Paris a week ago, and summarily arrested; but as popular feeling is running very high, the trial is to be held at Valpre, which is a fairly important military station. That means that the court-martial will take place probably in the fortress in which the crime was committed--a pleasing consummation of justice."
"And--Bertie will be vindicated?" breathed Chris.
"If Rodolphe is convicted," Mordaunt answered, "Bertrand will be in a position to return to France and demand a second trial, the outcome of which would be practically a foregone conclusion, and at which I hope I shall be present."
Chris drew a sharp breath. "Then--then he will go to Valpre too?"
"Not yet. He would be arrested and imprisoned if he did, and might possibly ruin his cause as well. No, he will have to play a waiting game for the present. I think myself it is the turn of the tide, but things may yet go against him. There is no knowing. He is better off where he is till we can see which way the matter will go. He doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in a fortress."
Chris shuddered uncontrollably at the bare thought. "Oh no--no! Trevor, you won't let him run any risk of that?"
"I shall certainly counsel prudence," Mordaunt answered. "If he runs any risks, it will be with his eyes open."
He paused a moment, then turned her face tenderly up to his own, and kissed it. "And you don't like the Valpre plan?" he said, with great gentleness.
She hesitated.
"We can go elsewhere if you prefer it," he said. "The court-martial will probably only take a few days. We can stay somewhere near while it is in progress. But I must have you with me wherever it is."
He spoke the last words with his arms closely enfolding her. She turned with sudden impulse and clasped him round the neck.
"Oh, Trevor," she murmured brokenly, "you are good to me--you are good!"
"My darling," he whispered back, "your happiness is mine--always."
She made a choked sound of dissent. "I'm horribly selfish," she said, with a sob.
"No, dear, no. I understand. I ought to have thought of it before."
She knew that he was thinking of Cinders, and that a return to the old haunts could but serve to reopen a wound that was scarcely closed. She was thankful that he interpreted her reluctance thus, even while she marvelled to herself as she realized how far she had travelled since the bitter day on which she had parted with her favourite. Looking back, she saw now clearly what that tragedy had meant to her. It had been indeed the commencement of a new stage in her life's journey. It was on that day that she had finally stepped forth from the summer fields of her childhood, and she knew that she would wander in them no more for ever.
The thought went through her with a dart of pain. They had been very green, those fields, and the great thoroughfare which now she trod seemed cruelly hard to her unaccustomed feet.
A sharp sigh escaped her as she gently withdrew herself from her husband's arms. "Shall we talk about it to-morrow?" she said. _