Olivia

Great drops of cold sweat stood upon Bartley Bradstone’s forehead as he looked at the handsome, devil-may-care face of the woman who, with her arms akimbo, stood regarding him with a mixture of amusement and contempt, combined with an enjoyment of his discomfiture which was almost tigerish.

At last he managed to find his voice, a very weak and feeble one.

“This—this is a surprise, Bella,” he said, forcing a sickly smile.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she retorted. “A pleasant surprise, of course. What’s become of the elegant manners you used to sport so freely? Any one would think I was an ogre instead of ‘handsome Bella!’ You see I haven’t forgotten some of your compliments. Yes, it is a surprise for both of us. I thought you were across the sea. That was a clever idea of yours, sending the money every quarter from France. It took me in, it did, indeed! I suppose you thought I should run after you, didn’t you? Run after you!” and she laughed with scorn. “What are you doing down here? Give an account of yourself, Bartley? Have you got such a thing as a cigarette about you? The smell of that cigar has set me off longing for a puff.”

He handed her his silver cigar case, and she smiled as she saw how his hand shook.

“Here, light it,” she said, with a nonchalant air of command.

He lit the cigarette, and handed it to her.

“Now, then,” she said, blowing the smoke through her handsome nostrils. “Let’s have a true and particular account of yourself.”

“I’m—I’m staying here for a time,” he said, trying to speak in a careless, matter-of-fact tone. “I—I haven’t been quite the thing—France didn’t suit me—and I ran down here for a change. I’m going back almost directly.”

She looked at him with charming incredulity.

“I don’t believe a word of it,” she said, flicking the ash from her cigarette, and leaning against a tree in an easy attitude, as if she were leaning against the ropes of her trapeze. “I don’t believe you’ve been out of England at all; and what’s more, I don’t care. You may go where you like, and do what you like, for what I care, Bartley.”

He drew a breath of relief, and the color came slowly back to his face.

“Then—then you didn’t come down here after me?” he said, with a pitiful attempt at a laugh.

“I certainly did not,” she retorted, with unaffected scorn. “I came down here”—and her eyes twinkled—“because the air of London didn’t agree with me, and I thought I’d take a change. Come down after you! Why, man, what do I want with you while you pay me my allowance regularly?”

“I thought——” he began.

“You flattered yourself too much,” she broke in. “And you don’t ask what I’ve been doing?” with a smile.

“I—I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself,” he said, conciliatingly.

“A lot you care! As it happens, I have been enjoying myself. I’ve made a hit, and I’m one of the great London favorites, Bartley. What do you think of that, eh? Did you ever hear of Bella-Bella?”

He shook his head.

“Not you! You’ve been away from England so long, don’t you know!” and she laughed sarcastically. “Well, I’m Bella-Bella, the Flying Swallow. There isn’t one to touch me on the trapeze, they say; and I believe they’re right. I’m making quite a pile, I am; but I’ll take my allowance all the same, thank you, Mr. Bradstone! Lord, how frightened you look still!” and she stared and laughed at him. “I dare say you wish I was dead.”

He started, and glanced at her under his brows.

“I’m sure I’ve wished the same many and many a time. But I’m alive still, you see, and kicking,” and she folded her legs and stuck out her ankles. “Very much alive. I fancy I shall outlive you, my dear, though I do risk my neck every night. Drop in at the Palace of Amusement when you’re in London next, and have a look at me.”

“I—I will,” he said.

“And so you’re staying in this dead-and-alive hole, are you?” she said, eying him curiously. “I wonder what you’re up to; some sly game or other, I’ll be bound. You always were up to a lay of some kind, weren’t you? What is it now, eh?”

“I don’t understand you,” he said, with affected carelessness. “I’m just staying on here——”

“Do you know many of the people of the place?” she asked, interrupting him contemptuously.

“A few, yes,” he replied.

“Tell me their names—the swells, I mean.”

“What do you want to know for?” he asked.

She stared at him.

“What’s that to you?”

He bit his lip.

“You are no more civil than you used to be, Bella,” he said, meekly.

She laughed.

“No; I was never very civil to you, was I? I knew how to treat you, don’t you know. You’re the sort that must be beaten like a spaniel—you are, Mr. Bradstone. But answer my question, will you? Who are the swells in this forsaken hole?”

He pretended to consider for a moment.

“There is Lord Carfield, and a baronet named Penstone, and Lord Granville——”

“The Cherub; I’ve heard of him, and seen him,” and she nodded. “He’s almost too good to be a swell. Well, who else?”

“There’s the squire here—Mr. Vanley—and that’s all.”

“That’s all, is it?” she added, reflecting. “Oh!” She was silent for a moment, as if pondering over the names, then she looked up. “And I suppose you are a swell, too, eh? You’re cutting a dash down here with your money, ain’t you? It’s like you. You always liked to be thought a gentleman, didn’t you?” and she laughed.

The color flushed his face, then left it pale again.

“I wonder what your game is,” she said, after a moment or two. “But I don’t care. I shan’t interfere. Where are you staying? At the inn where I’ve put up? You may as well come and have some supper with me. We can have a chat over old times,” and she showed her white teeth in a grin.

“I’m—I’m staying with a friend here,” he said, “and I’m going there now.”

He pulled out his watch.

She stretched out her hand and took it as calmly as if it had belonged to her.

“Handsome ticker—jeweled back. You always were fond of that kind of thing. I’ve lost mine.” She slipped the watch into her waistband and smiled, and Mr. Bartley Bradstone bore the appropriation of his property without a protest.

“So you won’t come,” she said. “Very well. But you haven’t done with me yet; don’t flatter yourself I’m going to let you off so easy! Let me see; I’m going to stay here till to-morrow night, just for change of air,” and she laughed. “Meet me here at four o’clock to-morrow afternoon.”

He started, and his face reddened.

“That’s impossible, Bella,” he said, quickly. “I’ve got an—an important engagement.”

“Oh! you’ve—got—an—important—engagement, have you?” she said, with slow contempt; “then you’ll have to put your important engagement off for one more important still.”

The sweat started out on his forehead, and he wiped it away covertly.

“Don’t be absurd, Bella,” he said, with a sickly smile. “I tell you I can’t meet you to-morrow—not at that time. I’ll meet you at night, or the next day.”

“No you won’t; to-morrow night I shall be gone. Four o’clock in the afternoon, please; and you may as well bring a few notes with you—say for a hundred. I’m rather short just now.”

He affected consternation.

“A hundred pounds! You must think I’m made of money! Well, you shall have it, for—for the sake of old times. But you needn’t trouble to come for it, Bella. I’ll send it to you here——”

She smiled.

“No, you won’t. I’ve a fancy for making you bring it—just for the sake of old times! You seem very disinclined to meet me to-morrow; what’s your reason, I wonder?” and she eyed him suspiciously.

The lids of his downcast eyes quivered.

“There can’t be much pleasure in our meetings now,” he said. “I don’t care to be reminded of the past; you must feel that. Look here, you shall have the money. I’ll make it a hundred and fifty, though I can’t very well spare it, but only on condition that you let me send it to you.”

She shook her head, and, with a laugh, caught at a branch of the tree with one hand and drew herself up, hanging for a moment gracefully motionless, then dropped like a feather to the ground, and kissed her hand to him.

“No, I’ll have my way. Bring it here to-morrow at four o’clock, or—I’ll go with you now! I’m not exactly in evening dress; but you can explain—you’re good at explaining, you know.”

His face paled, and his breath came fast for a moment, as he thought of this woman with her cigarette in her mouth, her stage smile, and loud, defiant voice, accompanying him into the pure presence of Olivia; then he nodded.

“Very well,” he said, sullenly. “I’ll come. And now I must be going.”

He put out his hand for his watch, and she laughed mockingly.

“I’ll tell you the time,” she said. “No; I can’t see. Off with you. Remember, four o’clock, and you can make it the extra fifty. Here! wait! give me the rest of those cigarettes.”

He held out the silver case, and she was about to pick out the cigarettes, then looked up at him exasperatingly, and put the case in her pocket.

“Perhaps I’ll give it back to you to-morrow, perhaps I won’t. Good-night,” and with a nod she motioned him to go on.

She stood looking after him for a few minutes, puffing at the cigarette, and thinking with half-closed eyes, very much like a lithe, graceful cat.

“I wonder what your little game is down here, Master Bartley,” she muttered. “No good, I’ll bet. You never did anything but mischief wherever you went. Well, it doesn’t matter to me. So long as you keep up my allowance and yourself quiet you may do what you please.”

Then she pinned her shawl round her, and, walking quickly out of the wood, went down the lane, and stepped in front of The Dell.

“This ought to be the place,” she said. “Yes, it’s like him to choose a place like this. I should die of the doldrums in a week. But he——”

She stopped a moment or two, standing before the gate as if she were collecting her courage or her mind, then put her hand on the gate.

“Locked!” she said, with a smile. “I don’t think that will keep me out!” and, resting her strong hand on the side post, she sprang over the low gate as easily as a boy of fifteen could have done.

As she did so, the dog came bounding down the path with a threatening growl.

She drew herself together, tightening every muscle, just as she did before one of her dangerous feats on the trapeze, and waited for him, her teeth set, her fist closed. The dog came up to her, and sniffed at her, then wagged his tail.

She laughed softly.

“You’re a fraud, my friend,” she said, stooping down and patting him; then suddenly she gave him a kick, exclaiming: “I’ll make you afraid of me before many hours are passed, bow-wow!”

The dog retreated with a yell, and she walked up to the door and knocked.

The servant, in his gamekeeper suit, opened it.

“Is Mr. Faradeane at home?” she asked.

The man held a small lamp above his head, and surveyed her, then looked beyond her at the gate with not unreasonable surprise.

“No, he isn’t,” he said. “What do you want?”

“I want to see him,” she returned, firmly.

“My master is not at home,” he said. “What name shall I say, ma’am?”

She thought a moment, her dark eyes flashing past him into the small hall.

“It’s of no consequence, my name; if he’s at home”—and she raised her voice—“he’d see me, I know.”

“But he is not at home,” said the man, in a matter-of-fact voice.

“I’ll come in and wait, then,” she said, and she made a forward movement.

He quickly filled up the doorway.

“You can’t do that,” he said.

“Why, what are you afraid of, you and your master?” she demanded, scornfully, a spot of red burning on each cheek. “Do you think I want to steal something?”

“I don’t think and I don’t care,” he retorted, much less respectfully; “I know what my orders are, and I’m carrying them out. If you want to see my master leave your name, ma’am, and when he comes back I’ll tell him. You can’t come in, that’s certain.”

Her white, even teeth clicked viciously.

“Oh!” she said, with a sneer. “Perhaps you’ll tell me where he’s gone.”

“I don’t know,” said the man, phlegmatically, “and I shouldn’t tell you if I did.”

“You insolent——” she began, furiously; then she pulled up short, and, eying him closely, put her hand in her pocket and held something out to him.

The man shook his head.

“No, thank you, ma’am. I’m acting under orders, and I can’t break them.”

“You’ll be sorry for this, my fine fellow,” she said, between her teeth; “when your master comes home and finds who it is you’ve been treating like a dog, you’ll sing a different tune.”

The man looked at her grimly.

“What am I to do?” he said; “I’m only obeying my orders, I tell you. I don’t know who you are, or what right you have to come in; I only know I can’t let you. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll leave your name and come again.”

She thought a moment or two.

“Tell your master——No, I’ll wait for him outside if I can’t wait in,” and she leaned against the door-post, and folded her arms in sullen defiance.

The man looked perplexed and nonplused.

“Well, I can’t help it,” he said at last, and he leaned against the other door-post, with his hands thrust in his pockets.

She remained in her attitude of stubborn patience for some minutes, then she walked down the path.

The man followed her.

“That’s right, ma’am,” he said, soothingly; “you’d better go. I’ll open the gate——Why, dash it all, it’s locked! How did you come in?”

She vouchsafed no answer, but turned and walked up the path again. He stepped past her and guarded the door as before; and she, with an angry snarl, went down the garden and leaned on the gate. There she remained till the darkness wrapped the lonely lane.

The man spoke to her two or three times urging her to go, but she made no reply, and took no notice of him whatever. The weary hours rolled along, then suddenly a firm step was heard in the lane, the man hurried to the gate and held up the lamp, and its light fell upon Faradeane.

It shone, too, upon the woman’s face, defiant still, but now pale with some new emotion, as the black eyes flashed up at the handsome face of the man for whom she had been waiting.

He did not start, but into his grave, weary eyes came a strange look, as if the long-expected had come to pass at last.

“So I’ve found you,” she breathed. “Do you know,” she panted, “that this fellow has kept me out here—that he has treated me like a dog?”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” the man broke in. “I told the lady she mustn’t come in—she wanted to. I asked her to leave her name.”

Faradeane unlocked the gate, took the lamp from the man, and signed to him to go in; then he turned to the woman and regarded her with a dead calmness.

“Yes, you have found me,” he said, not defiantly, but in a still, steady voice. “What is it you mean to do—what is it you want?”

Her black eyes flashed up at him, and her lithe, strong hands clinched at her side.

“You talk as if I was nobody—nothing!” she said, hoarsely.

“You are as nothing to me,” he responded, with no trace of scorn, but with something in his tone that cut her more deeply than any outspoken contempt.

“Oh, I am, am I?” she retorted. “I’ll show you differently presently. Do you think I’m afraid of you? You’d like to kill me—you wish me dead—I know that! I can see it in your face. But I’m not dead, worse luck for you.”

He turned his head slightly. Some one was passing in the lane. The footsteps stopped as if the passerby had heard the words and had paused to listen.

Faradeane raised the lamp. “Good-night, Alford,” he said.

Alford—for it was he—glanced from Faradeane to the dimly-seen figure of the woman with an air of surprise; then, touching his hat, returned the “good-night” with deep respect, and walked on.

“Do you think I’m afraid of you?” she repeated. “You’re mistaken if you do! You’ve got more cause to fear me. You know the secret between us. Drive me too hard with your cursed coldness and I’ll shout it out here and now!” and she raised her clinched fist and shook it at him.

He looked down at her in silence, with an impassive face, but with a strange expression in his eyes; a mixture of loathing and something like pity—the expression a man might wear who looks upon a wild, furious animal.

The look seemed to madden her.

“Why don’t you speak?” she demanded. “Are you going to keep me standing out here any longer. Do you know how long I have been kept waiting by that brute of yours?”

“Say what you have to say here,” he said, quietly.

“And suppose I refuse? Suppose I use the power I’ve got over you and insist upon going in? I’ve got my rights.”

“No,” he said; “you forfeited them long ago. Why have you come here? What benefit can you gain by tracking me down?”

“Tracked you down! Yes, you’re right. That’s just what I have done!” she retorted, with a laugh of triumph. “And now I’ve found you, I don’t mean to leave you! You can’t force me to, either.”

“No,” he said, as quietly as before, with an accent of weariness, “you are quite right; I cannot force you to leave me, but I can leave you. You demand, by the right of the secret between us, to enter that cottage; do so if you will, but I shall never cross the threshold again. You know that.”

“You—you hard devil!” she panted, with impotent fury.

“Am I so hard? Think!” he said, sternly. “Do I treat you hardly or unjustly? I have yielded to all your demands—all of them. All I asked of you in return was that you should leave me in peace to live out the life you have degraded and ruined. Can you not do this? Are you not satisfied?”

She bit at her underlip till it showed a livid scar, and tore with one restless hand at the edge of her shawl.

“Suppose I’m not satisfied?” she said.

“Not satisfied!” he repeated. “Even you should be contented with your work, Bella!” and he smiled grimly. “Remember what I was when my evil fate threw me across your path, and think what I am now!”

She glanced up at him with a malicious sneer.

“Oh, you’re sorry enough, I dare say,” she said.

“Yes, I am sorry enough,” he assented, sadly. “Sorry for us both. And now what will you do? Wait”—for she had been about to answer furiously—“if you demand the rights our secret gives you, you know my reply, the course I shall adopt. It will cost me a great deal in shame and further suffering; but I shall not shrink from the cost; and you—what will you gain? Are you dead to all sense of shame? Yes, I suppose so. But there is something dear to you that you will lose—the money I give you to squander.”

“Curse your money!” she hissed. “I can earn enough for myself. No; I want my revenge, and I’ll have it. I want my rights, I want all the world to know what you are.”

He inclined his head.

“I see,” he said, with grim resignation. “Go into the house and tell my man all that you care to tell him. To-morrow you can make the whole story public,” and he pointed to the open door.

She stood and looked at his calm face, still gnawing her lip.

“And you, what are you going to do? Do you mean to try and give me the slip?”

“No,” he replied; “I will leave you in possession, and go down to the village. You will find me there in the morning.”

She did not even pretend to disbelieve him, but she hesitated and pondered, beating her foot on the gravel path with restless fury.

“And you’ve made up your mind? You’d better think it over,” she said, threateningly.

He looked at her.

“I have thought it over, and my mind has been made up months, years ago,” he said. “I always knew that you would not be satisfied until you had brought yourself and me to further shame; that the time would come when you would find me, track me down, and adopt the course you are taking, and I am, therefore, prepared.”

“You’d best think it over,” she said, huskily. “I—I don’t want to drive you too hard. Look here, I’ll give you till to-morrow night; if you come to your senses by that time and decide that—that”—the color came and went in her face—“we are to be friends, we needn’t stay in England. I don’t care where we go.” Her voice faltered, and her dark eyes dropped under his calm, steady gaze. “If you’ll be sensible, things might be all right between us even now.”

He smiled grimly.

“Yes, they might. Anyhow, I’ll give you till to-morrow night. I’ll be here at”—she paused a moment—“at six o’clock.”

“My answer will still be the same,” he said, quietly. “But take the time, and reflect yourself; reflect well and wisely. I am immovable. But you know that.”

“You’ll sing a different tune to-morrow,” she said, threateningly; and she walked toward the gate.

He held the lamp to light her and opened the gate courteously.

“Wait,” he said. “Do you want money?”

She glanced at him, then kicked at a stone sulkily.

“I always want money,” she retorted.

He put his hand in his pocket and took out a leather portemonnaie.

“Take this,” he said. “Do not look upon it as a bribe, please.”

She snatched it from his hand with an oath, and her black eyes glittered with mingled covetousness and anger.

“I could have every penny you possess, if I liked,” she exclaimed, “and I will if—but wait till to-morrow,” and, with a threatening gesture, she swept past him.