CHAPTER XXV.
THE MYSTERY UNSOLVED.
“Sit down, Conyers,” said Sir Ronald, pointing to an old wooden bench. “I want you to carry your memory back to three years ago.”
“I can do that, Sir Ronald,” he replied; “my memory is a good one.”
“Three years ago I called you and gave you a letter to take to Leeholme Park; it was for Lady Hermione Lorriston, and you promised me to place it in her own hands.”
“I remember perfectly, Sir Ronald.”
“Tell me what you did.”
“I drove straight to the hall and asked for her ladyship. She had gone to Thringston with a party of guests staying in the house——”
“And then,” interrupted Sir Ronald, impatiently.
“I waited for her until I was afraid to wait any longer, and I asked to see her maid. She is a young woman, sir, whom I have known for many years; her name is Susan Fielding. She came to me, and I told her you had intrusted me with a very particular letter, and I asked her would she promise to give it to her ladyship. She said yes, and I came away.”
“That is all you know about it?” asked Sir Ronald.
“Every word,” replied the man.
“Will you swear that you neither dropped it, changed it, or knew its contents?”
There was genuine surprise in the honest face.
“I will swear, Sir Ronald; I will swear, as I hope to go to heaven, that the letter was never for one moment out of my possession until I placed it in Susan Fielding’s hand. I sat the whole time in the servants’ hall. As for its contents, I never even thought of what they were.”
“And, before God, that is the truth?”
“Before God I vow it,” said the groom, quickly.
“That letter never reached Lady Hermione Lorriston, Conyers; and if you will help me find what became of it, I will reward you richly.”
“I will do my best, Sir Ronald.” But the groom was evidently puzzled, and his master saw it.
“I need not tell you there are many reasons why I object to having it known that I am making any inquiries in the matter; but do you think, Conyers, you could bring that maid, Susan Fielding, to see me?”
“Yes; I can manage that, Sir Ronald; but unless you wish every one to know it, you had better go to see her.”
“I cannot go to Leeholme,” he interrupted.
“There is no need, sir. If you wish to see Susan Fielding, I will ask her to wait in the Thringston road, say to-morrow morning, and then your interview will seem to have been accidental.”
“That will do. Ah! see, I am trusting you, despite all I had said about honest men. Do not tell why I wish to see her; promise that.”
“I will not mention it; and mind, I should like you to be present as well. If there has been any error we shall discover it then.”
That very evening Stephen Conyers went over to Leeholme and contrived to see the lady’s maid. Pretty, coquettish Susan was slightly agitated.
“What can Sir Ronald Alden want with me?” she asked. “Is May Thorne leaving Lady Clarice?”
“I do not think so. You will be sure to be in the Thringston road, Susan?”
“I shall not forget,” she replied; and the groom felt pretty sure that feminine curiosity, if no other motive, would take her.
Imagine a long, winding high road, bordered on both sides with tall trees, whose branches sometimes formed a shady arch. Underneath the trees, walking impatiently, looking from right to left, was Sir Ronald Alden. His handsome face was pale with agitation; it seemed to him that they never would come.
Then, from between the clustering foliage, he saw two figures—one was Stephen Conyers, the groom, the other the pretty, coquettish Susan Fielding, Lady Hermione’s maid. His face flushed hotly, for it struck him that for an Alden to hold an interview of the kind with two servants was derogatory to dignity. Yet, unless he did it, how was he ever to find out the truth?
Susan made her most respectful curtsy. The master of Aldenmere was an important person, and that he should express a wish to see her had filled her with wonder and curiosity.
They stood together under the great, spreading foliage, a curious group.
“I have sent for you, Susan Fielding,” said Sir Ronald, “because I wish to ask you some very important questions. I will deal with you as with Conyers; I will pay you handsomely for the truth. If, by anything you can tell me, you can throw even the least light upon a dark mystery, I will reward you liberally.”
“I will do anything I can, Sir Ronald,” replied the maid, evidently much mystified.
“I need only tell you both this much, that I had a most particular letter to send to Lady Hermione Lorriston—a letter so important that it seems idle to repeat it was a matter of life and death. That letter, you remember, I sent by Stephen Conyers, the groom. He tells me, Susan Fielding, that it was placed in your hands, and you promised to give it to Lady Hermione. I will give you fifty pounds if you find out for me what became of that letter.”
The maid looked at him in sheer wonder—it was not feigned, he saw that plainly.
“I remember the letter perfectly well, Sir Ronald,” she said. “My lady had it; I placed it on her toilet-table, and asked her afterward if she had seen it, and she said, ‘Yes; it was all right.’”
“Remember,” interrupted Sir Ronald, “that I am trusting you both, and that which I say to you must never be repeated. You have touched the heart of the mystery, Susan Fielding. I believe you placed the letter there. Now, listen! Before Lady Hermione opened it, some one entered the room, opened the envelope, took from it my letter and placed inside it a white rose! I will give you fifty pounds if you find out for me who did this.”
“I do not think it could have been done, Sir Ronald.”
“I assure you it was. When Lady Hermione opened the envelope it contained nothing but one white rose. The letter I had written, and she had expected, was not there.”
If he had felt any doubt of Susan Fielding, the lingering look of wonder on her face dispelled it. No woman, be she ever so clever, could assume such an expression.
“I cannot think how it could be,” she said. “I remember the day so well. There was a large party, and they all rode out together. My lady returned and asked for some tea. I went downstairs to attend to it, and she sat down in the music-room with three or four ladies; they took tea there. Then she went to her room. I followed her. I said, ‘There is a packet on the table, my lady. Sir Ronald Alden’s groom brought it.’ Lady Hermione smiled very indifferently. ‘I have seen it,’ she replied; and I do not remember, Sir Ronald, from that hour to this, hearing the subject mentioned, except when Mr. Conyers spoke of it the other day.”
“Then you can tell me nothing about it?” he asked, with a look of keen disappointment.
“No; I cannot. I was away from Lady Hermione’s room half an hour, not more, and it must have been changed in that time, if it were changed at all.”
“You saw no one enter the room?”
“No, Sir Ronald; not that I remember.”
“I shall expect you to keep most perfect silence concerning this inquiry,” said Sir Ronald. “I cannot make it public or I would. Remember, that if you can find out anything which will bring the mystery to light, I will give you, not fifty, but a hundred pounds.”
“I will do my best,” she replied; “but I have not much hope. If it were done by any person in the house they took such precaution as would insure its never being known.”
But as Sir Ronald walked away a peculiar expression flashed into the woman’s face, one of wonder, surprise and pain.
“What is it?” asked the groom. “Do you remember anything?”
“No,” she replied; but her voice was peculiar, and during the remainder of the walk home Susan Fielding spoke never a word.