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Then the memory of Lady Blanche Huntingford came to him. He saw her as she had appeared to him that morning. What a glorious creature she was! What great flashing eyes, what a complexion, what a figure! And she belonged to one of the oldest families in England. The Huntingfords were a great people before half the titled nobility of the present day were ever heard of.
He called to mind what Mr. Bidlake had told him. If the Huntingfords recognised him, his social position was assured, for Lord Huntingford was the social magnate of the county. He was almost half in love with her already. He remembered her silvery laugh, the gleaming whiteness of her teeth. What a mistress she would make for Wendover Park! And he could win her love! He was sure he could, and when he did —
He blessed the failure of her car to run that morning; blessed the knowledge he possessed whereby he had been able to render her a service. Of course, she would find out who he was, and then – yes, he would find the Open Sesame for every door.
For the next few days things happened as Dick expected. He was given time to view his possessions, to take stock of his new position, and then the neighbours began to call. By this time Dick knew full particulars of all the old families in Surrey, and he was gratified at their appearance. Evidently he suffered from none of the antipathy which had been felt towards his uncle. He was young, he was good looking, he had the education and appearance of a gentleman, and people accepted him at his face value.
One day his heart gave a great bound, for a servant told him that Lord and Lady Huntingford, accompanied by Lady Blanche Huntingford, were in the drawing-room. He knew then that his position in the society of the county would be assured. It was true that Lord Huntingford was poor – true, too, that his uncle had practically ejected Sir Guy Wendover from his old home, and that Sir Guy was a relative of the Huntingfords. But that would count for nothing, and the Huntingfords were the Huntingfords!
"This is good of you, Lord Huntingford!" he cried, as he entered the room.
"I came to give you a welcome," said Lord Huntingford somewhat pompously. "I trust you will be very happy here."
"I'm sure I shall!" cried Dick, with the laugh of a boy. "Wendover Park feels like Paradise to me."
"I know the place well," said the peer. "My Cousin Guy, as you may have heard, used to live here."
"Yes, I have heard of it, and I'm afraid you must feel rather bitterly towards me as a consequence."
"Not at all," replied Huntingford. "Of course, it is all ancient history now. We did feel cut up about it at the time, but – but I congratulate you on possessing such a fine old place."
"But for the fact that I so love it already," said Dick, "I should wish my uncle had secured some other place; but, for the life of me, I can't. It's too lovely. Anyhow, I'll try to be not an unworthy successor of Sir Guy. I hope you'll help me, Lord Huntingford, and you, Lady Huntingford and Lady Blanche. You see, I'm handicapped. I'm a bachelor, and I'm entirely ignorant of my duties. I shall look to you for help."
This was sound policy on Dick's part. Lord Huntingford was a vain man, and loved to patronise.
"You began all right," laughed Lady Blanche. "You helped a poor, forlorn, helpless motorist out of a difficulty."
"You recognise me, then?"
"Of course I do. I positively envied the way you tackled that engine of mine and put it right. Of course, I felt angry when I knew who you were. No, no, there was nothing personal about it. I only hated the thought that anyone other than a Wendover should live here. A family feeling, you know."
"All that Wendover Park has is yours to command!" and Dick looked very earnest as he spoke.
"Now, that's good of you. But don't be too liberal with your promises. I may take you at your word."
"Try me!" cried Dick. "I should like to do something to atone. Not that I can give it up," he added, with a laugh. "I simply couldn't, you know. But – but – "
"And how are you going to spend your time?" asked Lord Huntingford. "We are living in a critical age."
"I shall make something turn up!" Dick cried heartily, "as soon as I know where I am."
"And, meanwhile, I suppose you motor, ride, shoot, golf, and all the rest of it?" asked Lady Blanche.
"I have all the vices," Dick told her.
"You say you golf?"
"Yes, a little. Would you give me a match?" he ventured.
"I'd love to," and her eyes flashed into his.
The next afternoon Dick met Lady Blanche on the golf links, and before the match was over he believed that he was in love with her. Never before had he met such a glorious specimen of physical womanhood. To him her every movement was poetry, her lithe, graceful body a thing in which to rejoice.
After the match Dick motored her back to her home. He was in Arcadia as she sat by his side. The charm of her presence was to him like some fabled elixir. On their way they caught a glimpse of Wendover Park. The old house stood out boldly on the hillside, while the wide-stretching park-lands were plainly to be seen.
"It's a perfect place," said the girl. "It just wants nothing."
"Oh yes, it does," laughed Dick.
"What?" she asked.
"Can't you think? If you were a bachelor you would," and he watched her face closely as he spoke.
He was afraid lest he might offend her, and he wondered if she saw his meaning. He thought he saw a flush surmount her face, but he was not sure. They were passing a cart just then, and he had to fix his attention on the steering-wheel.
"Do you know," he went on, "it's a bit lonely there. I haven't many friends. And then, being a bachelor, I find it difficult to entertain. Not but what I shall make a start soon," he added.
"I think you are to be envied," she remarked.
"Of course I am. I'm one of the luckiest fellows in the world. By the way, I want to give a dance or something of that sort as a kind of house-warming."
"How delightful."
"Is it? But then, you see, I'm so ignorant that I don't know how to start about it."
"Don't you? That's a pity. You must get help."
"I must. I say, will you help me? There is no one I'd so soon have."
He was sure this time. He saw the rosy tint on her face deepen. Perhaps she heard the tremor in his voice. But she did not answer him; instead, she looked away towards the distant landscape.
"Will you?" he persisted.
"What could I do?"
"Everything. You know the people, know who I should invite, and what I should do. You are accustomed to that kind of thing. I am not."
Still she was silent.
"Will you?" he asked again.
"Perhaps. If you really wish me to."
She almost whispered the words, but he heard her, and to him there was something caressing in her tone.
They passed up a long avenue of trees leading to her home, and a few seconds later the car stood at the door.
"You'll come in and have some tea, won't you?"
"May I?" he asked eagerly.
"Of course you may. Mother will be expecting you."
As he rode back to Wendover Park that evening Dick was in Paradise. Nothing but the most commonplace things had been said, but the girl had fascinated him. She had appealed to his ambition, to his pride, to his admiration for perfect, physical womanhood. She was not very clever, but she was handsome. She was instinct with redundant health; she was glorious in her youth and vitality.
"I'm in love," he said to himself more than once. "And she's wonderful – simply, gloriously wonderful. What eyes, what a complexion, what a magnificent figure! I wonder if – "
I am dwelling somewhat on this part of Dick Faversham's life because I wish the reader to understand the condition of his mind, to understand the forces at work. Uninteresting as it may be, it is still important. For Dick passed through some wonderful experiences soon after – experiences which shook the foundations of his life, and which will be more truly understood as we realise the thoughts and feelings which possessed him.
As I have said, he was in a state of bliss as he drove back to Wendover Park that evening, but as he neared his lodge gates a curious feeling of depression possessed him. His heart became heavy, forebodings filled his mind. It seemed to him that he was on the edge of a dreadful calamity.
"What's the matter with me?" he asked himself again and again. "The sun is shining, the world is lovely, and I have all that heart can wish for."
Still the feeling possessed him. Something was going to happen – something awful. He could not explain it, or give any reason for it, but it was there.
Then suddenly his heart stood still. As the car drew up to his own door he again saw the face of the angel. She was hovering over the entrance just as he had seen her on the day he came to take possession. She seemed to dread something; there was pain almost amounting to agony in the look she gave him.
He had alighted from the car, and he had a dim idea that a man was approaching to take it to the garage, but he paid no attention to him; he stood like one transfixed, looking at the apparition. He was aware that the car had gone, and that he was alone. In a vague way he supposed that the chauffeur, like the lawyer, had seen nothing.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
The words escaped him almost in spite of himself.
But he heard no voice in reply. He thought he saw her lips trying to formulate words, but were not able.
"Tell me," he persisted – "tell me who you are, why you appear to me. What do you want?"
Again the apparition seemed to be trying to become audible, only to fail. Then, although he could hear no distinct voice, her answer seemed to come to him.
"Fight, fight; pray, pray," she seemed to be saying. "Beware of the tempter. Fight, fight; pray, pray. Promise me."
He was not afraid, but it seemed to him that he was face to face with eternal realities. He knew then that there were depths of life and experience of which he was ignorant.
He heard steps in the hall, and then someone opened the door.
There stood, smiling, debonair, sardonic, and – yes – wicked, Count Romanoff.
CHAPTER VIII
Count Romanoff's Gospel
Count Romanoff!
A weight seemed to settle on Dick Faversham's heart as he saw the sinister face of his visitor. During the excitement of the last few days he had scarcely given him a thought. The dark, saturnine stranger had shrunk away into the background of his life, and no longer seemed of importance to him. It is true he had now and then wondered whether he should ever see him again, but as there seemed no present likelihood of his doing so, he had practically dismissed him from his mind.
His sudden appearance came to him like a shock. Besides, he was nervous, excited at what he had just experienced. Every nerve was tingling, every sense preternaturally awake. What did this apparition mean? Why should the same face and form appear to him again and again? – first in the smoke-room of the ship, then on the island, then as he first put foot into the new inheritance, and now again. What did it mean? Then during that awful struggle in the stormy sea.
"Ha, Faversham. You see, I have taken you at your word."
Dick's thoughts came to earth as the Count's voice reached him.
"I'm glad to see you," he said cordially, and as he led the way to the library he was all that a host should be.
"You see, I was in England, and, having a little spare time, I thought I would look you up. I hope I'm not taking too great a liberty?"
"Liberty, my dear fellow! I should be annoyed beyond words if you had not come to see me. I have hosts of things to discuss with you. Besides," and Dick spoke like one deeply moved, "I cannot help remembering that but for you it is not likely I should be here. I should have been lying somewhere at the bottom of the Indian Ocean."
"Oh, come now; let's have no more of that. Of course, I had the good luck to be of service to you, and jolly glad I am; no decent fellow could have done less than I did."
"All the same, I cannot forget that I owe my life to you," cried Dick fervently. "Do you know, I wondered no end what happened to you; tell me about it."
"Not until I hear about you. Of course, I can guess a great deal. The fact that you are here tells me that the wireless you got on the ship was not only bona fide but important. You are master here, eh?"
Dick nodded.
"I've been told that your uncle was a very rich man. Is that so?"
"Yes."
"And you are his heir?"
"Yes."
"I congratulate you. By Jove, it's a lovely place. I didn't know when I've seen anything I like so much. And I've seen a few houses, I can tell you. But really, now, and I hope I'm not impertinent, do you mean to tell me that you have entered into all old Charles Faversham's wealth?"
"I suppose so."
"Shake hands on it. I can think of no one more fitted to own 'big money,' as the Americans say. I'm glad of the privilege of seeing you in possession."
It seemed to Dick that it was a new Romanoff that he saw. He was no longer pessimistic, cynical, saturnine. He looked younger, too, and no one could help admitting that he had that grand air that denotes birth and breeding.
"I only arrived in London last night," went on Romanoff. "I got into Tilbury late in the afternoon, and after I got fixed up at my hotel I began to wonder about you. Presently I called to mind what you told me, and – here I am."
"Of course you'll stay with me a bit?"
"May I?"
"May you? Why, of course you must, if you can. That goes without saying."
"I say, you are awfully good. I should love to stay a bit. This is one of the loveliest corners in the world at the loveliest time of the year. Surrey in May! What can be more attractive!"
"I'll have your room prepared at once, and, by the way, I'll send a man to London for your luggage."
"That is good of you, Faversham. I may as well confess it now. I did bring a suit-case with me in the hope that you could put me up for the night, but of course – "
"You might have known that I'd want you for a long time," Dick interrupted.
A servant entered, and Dick gave his instructions. "Now tell me," he went on; "what did you do on leaving the island? I know practically nothing about anything. I was very ill, and got no better till the boat landed at Plymouth."
Romanoff hesitated for a few seconds, then he replied:
"Oh, I caught a boat bound for Australia."
"Australia, eh?"
"Yes. Our signals were seen by two vessels, one returning to England, and the other going to Australia, which, as luck would have it, stopped at Bombay for a few hours. So I took that."
"And you didn't stay long in the Antipodes?"
"No, I did not like the country, and I found it necessary to return to England."
"I'm jolly glad."
"Well, here I am anyhow. Isn't life a topsy-turvy business? Who would have thought when we exchanged commonplaces on that boat a short time ago we should forgather like this in a lovely old Surrey house? Facts beat fiction all to bits. Fiction is commonplace, tame, prosy; but facts – real life – are interesting. Now, tell me about your experiences."
"Not yet. It's nearly dinner-time. I suppose you brought no evening clothes?"
Romanoff laughed. "As a matter of fact, I did. Of course, I was not sure you were here; but I thought you might be, so I took the liberty of – "
"Splendid," interrupted Dick. "There, the dressing-bell is ringing. I'll show you your room. My word, I'm awfully glad you've come. To tell you the truth, I was feeling a bit depressed."
"You depressed! I say! Fancy the heir of all this being depressed."
"But I was. The idea of spending the evening alone dismayed me. You see, a fellow can't be out every night, and – and there you are. But you've come."
"And no one will call to-night?"
"I don't expect so. Young Clavering, who is home on leave, might come over for a game of billiards, but I can't think of anyone else likely to turn up."
"Clavering – Clavering. I don't think I know the name."
"Oh, it is a good name in Surrey, I can assure you. It's a very old family, although I suppose it is frightfully poor. I've only met young Clavering once, but I liked him very much. Most of the young fellows around here are in the Army, and the older men are frightful old fossils. Here's your room. I hope you'll be comfortable."
Romanoff looked around the room with evident pleasure. He walked to the window and gazed steadily at the landscape; then he turned to Dick and gave him a keen, searching glance.
"You are a fortunate man, Faversham. Speaking as a Russian and also as one who has travelled all over the world, I say, commend me to England for comfort. Yes, I'll be all right, my friend."
When Dick had gone Romanoff threw himself in a chair and gazed into vacancy. A change passed over his face. He was no longer cheerful and pleasant; the old sinister, threatening look had come into his eyes, while his mouth was cruel. Once an expression swept over his features which suggested a kind of mocking pity, but it was only for a moment.
During dinner he was in a gay humour. Evidently he had thrown care to the winds, and lived for the pleasure of the moment. Dick found him fascinating. He talked pleasantly – at times brilliantly. His conversation scintillated with sardonic humour. He told stories about many countries. He related anecdotes about the Imperial House of the Romanoffs, and described the influence which Rasputin had on the Tzar and the Tzarina.
"I cannot understand it," remarked Dick after one of these stories.
"Understand what?"
"How a man like the Tzar could allow a dirty charlatan like Rasputin to have such influence. After all, Nicholas was an educated man, and a gentleman."
Romanoff laughed.
"As well Rasputin as the others," he replied.
"What others?"
"The priests of the Holy Orthodox Church. Let me give you a bit of advice, Faversham; keep clear of all this religious rot. It's true that you in England pretend to be more advanced than the poor Russians, but at bottom there's no difference. Wherever religion creeps in, it's the same story. Religion means credulity, and credulity means lies, oppression, cant, corruption."
"Did you meet Rasputin?"
"Oh yes," replied Romanoff, with a sigh of resignation. "On the whole, I admired him."
"I say, that's a bit too thick."
"Anyhow, the fellow was interesting. He had a philosophy of his own. He recognised the fact that the world was populated by fools, and he determined to make the most of his chances. He interpreted religion in a way that would give the greatest possible gratification to his senses. His policy was to suck the orange of the world dry. 'Salvation through sin,' eh?" and Romanoff laughed as he spoke. "Well, it's about the most sensible religion I ever heard of."
"It seems to me devilish and dirty," Dick spoke warmly.
"Nonsense, my dear fellow. Of course, all religion is foolishness – that is, religion as is usually understood. But if there is to be a religion at all, Rasputin got hold of the true one."
"You don't mean that?"
Romanoff looked at Dick steadily for a few seconds. He seemed to be thinking deeply as though he were trying to understand his man.
"Perhaps I don't," he admitted presently. "Sometimes one exaggerates in order to convey what is actually true. Still, there is a substratum of truth in the dirty monk's philosophy, as you'll find out before you are much older. By the way, the evening has turned cold, hasn't it?"
"Do you find it so? The air of a night is often cold in the early summer. Have you finished? Then we'll go into my little den where I always have a fire of an evening."
A few minutes later Romanoff was sprawling in a large easy-chair with his feet close to the fire.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"Not quite a month."
"Been well received by your neighbours?"
"On the whole, yes."
Again Romanoff looked steadily at his companion. "Will you forgive me if I ask you a few questions?"
"Certainly. Go ahead."
"First, then, how do you like being a rich man?"
Dick glanced around the room, and then gave a look towards the wide-spreading park-lands.
"How can one help liking it?" he asked.
"Exactly. You do not find money to be the root of all evil, then?"
"Heavens, no!"
"You would not like to be a poor man again?"
"What in the world are you driving at? Of course, the very thought of it is horrible."
"Just so. I am in my way a student of human nature, and I was a bit curious. Now for a second question. Who is she?"
"Oh, I say."
"Of course she exists."
"How do you know?"
"In my way I have the power of divination. When I look at a man I know something, not much perhaps, but something of his hopes. I felt sure before I spoke that you were in love. You've been quick about it, my young friend."
"I don't know that I am in love."
"Of course you are. Who is she?"
"There's no one. At least not yet. I don't suppose she's given me a second's thought."
"But you do. Is she young, beautiful? Is she rich, well connected?"
"Young! beautiful!" laughed Dick.
"Ah, I see. Not a rustic beauty, by any chance?"
"Rustic beauty, eh? There's nothing rustic about Lady Blanche Huntingford."
"Huntingford! That's one of the best known names in England."
"Do you know it?"
"Who doesn't? It's the biggest name in Debrett. But the Huntingfords are as poor as church mice."
"What does that matter?"
"You have enough for both, eh? Of course, that's your hope."
"Why?" and Dick turned rather sharply on his interlocutor.
"Oh, nothing personal, my friend. I'm only speaking from a long experience. The Huntingfords are poor and proud. I do not know of a more unpleasant combination. I've heard of Lady Blanche – she is about twenty-four, a great beauty, and so far has not succeeded in the marriage market. She's had several seasons in London, but the rich aristocrat has not turned up. That's why she may smile on a commoner – a newcomer – providing he's rich enough."
"If you'd seen her, spoken with her, you would not talk like that."
"Shouldn't I? Who knows? But it's nothing to worry about, my dear fellow. All talk about the love of women goes for nothing. It doesn't exist. Of course, there is such a thing as sexual attraction, but nothing else."
"You are a terrible cynic, Romanoff."
"I'm a citizen of the world, and I've gone around the world with my eyes open. But, as I said, you can have an easy mind. The ball is at your feet, my dear fellow. Whatever you want you can have."
"Do be serious." Dick spoke lightly; all the same, he felt uneasy.
"I am serious," replied Romanoff. "With wealth like yours, you are master of the world; you can get all the world has to give."
"I wish I could."
"I tell you you can. Money is all-powerful. Just think, if you were poor, not a hope, not an ambition could be realised."
"That won't do. Hosts of poor fellows have – "
"Risen to position and power. Just so; but it's been a terrible struggle, a ghastly grind. In most cases, too, men don't get money until they are too old to enjoy it. But you are young, and the world's at your feet. Do you want titles? You can buy them. Power? fame? Again you can get them. Beautiful women? Love? Yes, even love of a sort you can buy, if you have money. Poverty is hell; but what heaven there is in this world can be bought."
"Then you think the poor can't be happy?"
"Let me be careful in answering that. If a man has no ambitions, if he has no desire for power, then, in a negative way, he may be happy although he's poor. But to you, who are ambitious through and through – you, who see visions and dream dreams – poverty would be hell. That's why I congratulate you on all this. And my advice to you is, make the most of it. Live to enjoy, my dear fellow. Whatever your eyes desire, take it."
Dick realised that Romanoff was talking cheap cynicism, that, to use a journalistic term, it was "piffle" from thread to needle, and yet he was impressed. Again he felt the man's ascendancy over him, knew that he was swayed and moulded by a personality stronger than his own.
Dick did not try to answer him, for at that moment there was a knock at the door and a servant entered.