The Yellow Dove. Gibbs George

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СКАЧАТЬ Betty’s desk or library table. Her heart sank within her as she realized that her brave plans might yet miscarry.

      It was with a sense of joyous relief that the train pulled at last into Innerwick Station. When she got down she saw Betty Heathcote’s yellow brake, the four chestnuts restive in the keen moorland air, and looking very youthful and handsome in a brown coat which made the symphony complete, the lady herself, the wind in her cheeks and in her cheery greeting.

      “Of course, Doris, you’re to be trusted to do something surprising. Oh, here’s Jack Sandys—you didn’t know, of course.”

      The sight of these familiar faces gave Doris renewed confidence, and when from the box seat she glanced around in search of her pursuer he had disappeared.

      Sandys clambered up behind them. Wilson got into the back seat with the grooms, the boxes went in between, and they were off.

      “Constance was tired, Jack. At least she said she was. I really think that all she wanted was to disappoint you. Nothing like disappointment. It breeds aspiration. But,” she added mischievously, “I’m sure she’s dying to see you. Awf’ly sad—especially since it’s not quite forty-eight hours since you were waving a tearful good-by in Euston Station.”

      “Did you get my package?” whispered Doris in her ear, at the first opportunity.

      “What package? Oh, yes, the stockings. It was torn and awf’ly muddy. Higgins dropped it from the dog-cart on the way over and had to go back for it. Lucky he found it—in the middle of the road. What a silly thing to make such a mystery of. And the cigarette papers—you might be sure I’d have something to smoke at Kilmorack House. I can’t understand. You really could smoke here if you want to without so much secrecy about it.”

      “I—I didn’t know,” stammered the girl. “I—I’ve just taken it up and I thought you mightn’t approve.”

      Betty glanced at her narrowly.

      “Whatever ails you, child? I disapprove! You know I smoke when I feel like it—which isn’t often.”

      The subject fortunately was turned when they passed the road to Ben-a-Chielt.

      “I always envied Cyril his cliffs. I love the sea and Cyril hates it. ‘So jolly restless,’” she mimicked him. “Makes one ‘quiggledy.’ And there I am—away inland—five miles to the firth at the very nearest. But I suppose,” she sighed, “one has to overlook the deficiencies of one’s grandfather. If he had known I’d have liked the sea, Cyril, of course, would have come into my place.”

      With this kind of light chatter, of which Lady Heathcote possessed a fund, their whip drove them upon their way, her own fine spirits oblivious of the silence of her companions. But at last she glanced at them suspiciously. “If I didn’t know that you were both hopelessly in love with other persons, I’d think you were épris of each other.”

      Doris laughed.

      “We are. That’s why we chose opposite ends of the train.”

      But Sandys only smiled.

      “Nothing that’s happening makes a chap happy nowadays. I bring bad news.”

      Lady Heathcote relaxed the reins so that one of her leaders plunged madly, while her face went white.

      “Not Algy–”

      “No, no—forgive me. He’s safe. I’ve kept watch of the bulletins.”

      “Thank God!” said Lady Heathcote, and sent her whiplash swirling over the ears of the erring leader.

      “Not Algy—Byfield–”

      “Byfield—not dead–?”

      “No. Worse.”

      “What–?”

      “In prison. He was taken into custody yesterday afternoon as he was leaving the War Office. Orders from ‘K.’”

      “You can’t mean that Richard Byfield is–”

      Sandys nodded quickly.

      “Yes. He was one of the leaks—a spy.”

      “A spy!” Betty Heathcote whispered in awestricken tones. “A spy—Dick! Horrible! I can’t—I won’t–”

      “Unfortunately there’s not the least doubt about it. They found incriminating evidence at his rooms.”

      “My God!” said Lady Heathcote. “What are we coming to? Dick Byfield—why, two nights ago he was a guest at my table—with you, and you–”

      Doris nodded faintly, the landscape swimming in a dark mist before her eyes. Byfield—Cyril—Rizzio—all three had been at Lady Heathcote’s dinner. Something had happened that night—only a part of which she knew. Byfield was arrested—and Cyril– She clutched desperately at the edge of the seat and set her jaw to keep herself from speaking Cyril’s name.

      “Were there—any others?” she asked, with an effort.

      “None so far. But there must have been others. God help them! They won’t get any mercy.”

      “But what made him do such a thing?” asked Betty. “I could have sworn–”

      “Money—lots of it. He wasn’t very well off, you know.”

      They were swinging over the ridge towards Kilmorack House in a tragic silence mocked by the high jubilant notes of the coach horn which the groom was winding to announce their approach.

      Doris got down swiftly, summoning her courage to be silent and wait. In the drawing-room when the news was told, Constance Joyliffe added another note of gloom.

      “We’re going to be a lively party,” said Lady Heathcote bitterly. “Thank the Lord, John Rizzio is coming.”

      “Rizzio!”

      Doris flashed around, her terror written so plainly that anyone might read.

      “Yes. I had his wire at Innerwick when I was waiting for you.” And then catching the girl by the arm, “Why, dear, what is the matter?”

      “I—I think I’ll go up to my room if you don’t mind, Betty. I won’t have any luncheon. A cup of tea is all.” She moved toward the door, her hand in Lady Heathcote’s. “And Betty—the package, please—I—I think it may soothe me to smoke.”

      Betty examined her quizzically but made no comment, though she couldn’t understand such a strange proceeding in a girl who was accustomed to do exactly as she pleased. She got the package from her desk in the library and handed Doris the silk stockings, tobacco, and the yellow packet. The wrapping paper which had been soiled had been relegated to the scrap-basket.

      “And Betty–” pleaded Doris as she quickly took them, “promise me that you won’t tell John Rizzio.”

      Lady Heathcote glanced at her quickly and then laughed.

      “I suppose I’m the least curious woman in Scotland,” she laughed, “but I would really like to know–”

      “Don’t СКАЧАТЬ