Annie Haynes Premium Collection – 8 Murder Mysteries in One Volume. Annie Haynes

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СКАЧАТЬ the excuse, nor was Judith by any means loath.

      In the earlier happier days of their married life, it had been the Carew's custom to walk up to Heron's Carew from the Dower House, but of late both had dreaded the lengthy tête-à-tête it would have involved. To-night, by some mistake, the carriage instead of the motor came for them. Sir Anthony frowned as he saw it; he objected to his horses being brought out at night. Yet as he took his seat beside his wife, as he felt her nearness in every pulse of his being, as the faint undefinable scent from the flowers she wore was wafted to him, he could have found it in his heart to bless the mistake that had prolonged their drive together.

      He glanced sideways at Judith; in the bright summer moonlight it was possible to watch her face almost as closely as in the daytime. He could see the pure pale profile, the droop of her eyelids, the exquisite curved lips that were quivering ever so slightly.

      Some subtle sense told Judith that he was moved. She turned her face towards him, her breath quickened, she swayed nearer, her ungloved hand touched his. Her husband's arms closed round her like a vice. "Judith!" he murmured, "Judith, my wife!"

      Judith did not speak; she rested motionless, silent in his clasp. By-and-bye two big tears forced their way through her closed lids, and trickled slowly down her cheeks. It was rapture to her, after their long sad estrangement, to be once more in her husband's arms, to know that for the time being, at all events, all that had divided them was forgotten and forgiven.

      But all too soon, like most of the perfect things of earth, the drive was over, the carriage stopped at the door of Heron's Carew. As Anthony helped his wife out she saw that his face was very pale, that there were dark rings round his eyes. He drew her into the morning-room and closed the door, then standing on the great white bear skin before the fire-place, he took her hands in his. "Judith! Judith!" he questioned, his strong voice breaking in a note of appeal. "You are mine; you care for me."

      Judith's soft fingers held him tightly, her strange, beautiful eyes met his. "You—you know, Anthony;" she murmured. "I love you."

      Sir Anthony drew her to his breast.

      Judith looked up at him, she touched his cheek with her hand. "You are ill, Anthony! You are shivering, and yet your hands and face are burning."

      Sir Anthony's clasp loosened a little. "I am all right, child, but I am worried. I wish I knew what to do for the best; this engagement of Peggy's is all wrong like everything else. I feel I ought to have prevented it, and yet what can I do? Peggy and her mother, and even Stephen Crasster, are all against me."

      They were standing a little farther apart now; involuntarily when he mentioned Peggy's engagement, Judith shrank from him. Anthony's eyelids twitched as he noticed her movement.

      "There was never a Chesterham of them all that was any good," he said bitterly. "The Chesterham star is a sure sign of the rottenness in their blood."

      "The Chesterham star!" Judith repeated, her voice curiously lowered. "I don't understand what you mean. What is the Chesterham star, Anthony?"

      Anthony's grey eyes were moody now; the change in her expression had not escaped him. "A blue mark something like a star," he answered slowly. "I saw it on this fellow's arm to-night. General Wilton asked him about it."

      All the happy light had faded from Judith's eyes, from her face now; she was staring at her husband, a frozen horror dawning in her gaze.

      "A blue mark like a star," she repeated. "Where did you say—on the arm?"

      Her husband was looking at her curiously. "Of course. All the Chesterhams have it on the right arm just above the wrist."

      "Ah!" Judith drew a long fluttering breath. The light in the room was growing very dim. She could see nothing, not even Anthony's face. It could not be true—this monstrous thing that had entered her brain? The darkness was rising nearer, she swayed to one side with a hoarse sob. Sir Anthony sprang forward in time to catch her in his arms before she sank in a dead swoon to the floor.

      Chapter XVII

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      "Ah, yes, Miss Peggy, she is a lucky girl!" Célestine said reflectively. "Milord Chesterham is a fine man—a very fine man! And he have taste too! He is not like Sir Anthony, who looks at you as if you were wood—so! Milord Chesterham, he is always polite—very."

      Mr. Lennox laughed. He was leaning over the stile that gave access from the Heron's Carew footpath to the Home Wood. "But who would not be polite to you, mademoiselle?"

      Célestine humped up one shoulder. "But lots of people, I assure you, monsieur. They are not all so agreeable—your compatriots."

      "Are they not?" Mr. Lennox questioned. "I am sorry to hear that. But it is you that I want to be agreeable this afternoon, mademoiselle."

      "Does Monsieur mean that usually I am disagreeable?"

      Célestine demanded, glancing at him coquettishly.

      Mr. Lennox lifted his hands in protest. "You know that I think you are all that is most charming, mademoiselle. How can you pretend to misunderstand me? But to-day I want to show you—you remember I told you I was a collector?"

      "But certainly, monsieur." Célestine's black eyes watched his face.

      "Well, latterly I have been getting together a few things that I think would interest you. I want to show them to you, for I know you are an expert, and it strikes me that I have a collection of fans, ancient and modern, that it would be hard to beat."

      "Fans, monsieur." Célestine looked eager. "But of course I shall be delighted."

      "I have got them down here," Mr. Lennox said, indicating the Carew Arms with a backward jerk of his head. "Some of them are inset with jewels, some of them are made of ivory and rare old lace, one or two are painted. One in particular, said to have belonged to Marie Antoinette, has a pretty little scene by Watteau upon it."

      "A—h! How I should like to see them." Célestine's eyes were sparkling. "I love fans. Miladi has some of the most superb. She too, had a Watteau painted one, but it is lost, alas!"

      "Lost! That is a pity," Mr. Lennox said quietly, though there was a gleam of interest in his large blue eyes. "Well, mademoiselle, I should like to ask you whether it beats mine, not that I can part with it even to replace Lady Carew's. How did she manage to lose it?"

      Célestine held up her hands. "Ma foi, but I do not know, monsieur! Truly such carelessness would be impossible to me. Miladi had it put to wear with her magnificent gown for Lady Denborough's; then, she did not go, but she lie on the sofa and fan herself with it, that is the last I know. A day or two afterwards, when I am looking for it she tell me she has lost it."

      "Nice piece of carelessness that," Mr. Lennox commented. "Mademoiselle, you will walk up to the Carew Arms with me and look at my collection? I have got a private room."

      "Monsieur!" Célestine gave a slight scream. "But that would not be convenable—not at all! Even in your England a young lady cannot do that."

      Mr. Lennox leaned a little farther over the gate; his tone grew more persuasive.

      "You СКАЧАТЬ