A Fatal Dose. Fred M. White
She had far higher aspirations than the besotted, middle-aged man whose affection for her was, at any rate, pure and disinterested. The man had died a little time afterwards, and, to Eleanor’s surprise, she found that he had left her some three thousand pounds. Thenceforward the path of progress had been swift and easy, and behold! the woman was now in the plenitude of her power, a striking figure in Society, and one who, given good luck, might finish anywhere.
Eleanor smiled to herself as she sat in her drawing-room awaiting her guests. Her thoughts were frankly amusing. She wondered what Lena Grey would say if she knew that Eleanor Marsh’s father had at one time been gamekeeper to the relative who had brought Lena up? It was, of course, impossible for Lena to recognise in Mrs. Marsh the wild slip of a girl whom she had known years before as Nellie Cripps, but Eleanor Marsh had recognised Lena at the first glance. And now she was going to rob the latter of her lover, and ruin her life without the least compunction.
The guests began to arrive one by one, Philip Hardy being the first to put in an appearance. His hostess had an especially tender smile for him. In her own subtle way she led him to infer that his presence was the one thing she especially needed.
“You managed to tear yourself away from Miss Grey?” she said.
“Well, yes,” Philip replied. “It was no very difficult matter. You see, I have known Lena all my lifetime, and we have always been the best of friends. There is no jealousy about her either.”
A direct question trembled upon Eleanor Marsh’s lips. She hesitated whether to put it or not. And yet she felt she must know definitely whether these two had come to an understanding.
“Lena is a dear little girl,” she said heartily, “and I don’t know whether I ought to congratulate you or not. At the same time, it seems to me that Miss Grey is hardly the kind of girl to make an ideal wife for an ambitious man like you.”
Philip frowned slightly, and Eleanor hastened to change the subject. In effect, the man had told her all she wanted to know. He had already become engaged to Lena and yet he was a little ashamed of the fact. Standing there before his brilliant hostess, he felt he had made a mistake. And she read his thoughts as if they had been an open book.
“We will discuss this later,” she said. “Meanwhile, I must not neglect my other guests.”
The delicately-shaded drawing-room was by this time filled with people. Most of them were going on by-and-bye to Lexington House, and for the rest there were none but men present. Only an up-to-date Society favourite like Eleanor Marsh could have given a party of that kind. Presently the folding doors were thrown back and the grave-faced butler announced that supper was ready. Eleanor started gaily forward.
“No, I am not going to permit anybody to take me in,” she said. “It shall not be stated that I gave anybody the preference. A hundred years ago, I understand, that sort of thing gave rise to all sorts of unpleasantness in the way of duels and the like. I will take my place at the head of the table and leave you all to find your own seats.”
The supper was a very triumph in its way. The table decorations left nothing to be desired. It was like scores of other entertainments, and yet there was a distinctive note about it, an artistic originality which flavoured everything that Eleanor Marsh did. The thing was costly, extravagant, and there was more than a passing chance that it would never be paid for. Not that this troubled the hostess in the least. She had no scruples on that head. Besides, the mine was already laid, and she had determined that, within a few days the world should look upon her as the future wife of Philip Hardy.
The champagne circulated freely. The clatter o plates mingled with the hum of tongues, and the feast was at its height when the grave butler opened the door, and, in tones of studious indifference, announced a new guest—Mr. Monkwell.
Just for a moment there was dead silence as the new-comer came forward. He was a little man, slightly bald, with innocent blue eyes peeping out of a face as fat as that of a cherub. He appeared to be a little embarrassed, too, by the unexpected brilliance of the company; but if any man or woman ever ventured to take Mr. Monkwell for a fool in the way of business, they were soon undeceived. The rather silly, boyish face masked a mind amazingly clever and unscrupulous. The thick lips could compress themselves on occasion, as the hostess knew to her cost.
She recovered herself swiftly, as she always did, and bade Mr. Monkwell take a seat at the table. He muttered something about the stupidity of servants, and that he had arrived at an inopportune time. He appeared to be quite overcome, though he was in evening dress, so that, in that respect, the other men had no advantage over him.
“This seems to be carrying originality too far,” one of the guests murmured. “It is deuced uncomfortable to sit here opposite that fellow, knowing that I owe him five hundred pounds I can’t pay. Quite embarrassing, you know.”
Eleanor’s quick ear caught the words, and she bent smilingly in the direction of the speaker.
“Oh, don’t be foolish,” she whispered. “Don’t you see that it is all a mistake? Mr. Monkwell has come at the wrong time, but I could not do less than ask him to join us, especially when my servants were stupid enough to admit him into the room. The fact is, he has brought me some stones which I am anxious to secure, as they are a bargain.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” the distinguished but discomfited diplomatist muttered.” It is an unwritten law that Mrs. Eleanor Marsh does exactly as she pleases. Besides, I have met worse bounders in bigger houses before now—I mean some of those semi-Teutonic financiers.”
The feast went blithely forward, no one taking the slightest notice of Monkwell, who ate his supper in a modest, unassuming way, much like a shy schoolboy who is permitted to come down to dessert in the dining-room. But very little escaped his innocent blue eyes; many of the guests there would have been startled could they have looked behind that shabby mask, or even into the troubled thoughts which filled the mind of their smiling hostess. As for the rest, Monkwell appeared to be exceedingly interested in the table decorations, more especially in a new specimen of feathery asparagus fern which stood in the middle of the table.
Coffee and liqueurs came at length, together with the cigarettes. Never had Eleanor Marsh been more brilliant, never had her conversation possessed more sparkle. Yet, all the time, she was longing to be alone with the little blue-eyed man. From time to time her eye glanced at the clock. She gave a little sigh of relief as the hour of one chimed out.
“Now, positively, I am going to get rid of you all,” she said. “Of course it is a great compliment to me to feel that you don’t want to go, which is a boast few modem hostesses can make. Still, there really is no alternative, and I must contrive to get to Lexington House by half-past one.”
“I must be there before then,” Hardy said, as he rose to his feet. “Permit me to thank you for one of the most enjoyable hours I have ever spent. But I have no doubt I shall see you again before morning.”
Eleanor pressed Hardy’s hand tenderly. There was a liquid gleam in her eyes which thrilled him slightly, cold and self-contained as he usually was. He made his way towards the door, followed by one or two of the other guests. Some still lingered, as if loth to go, but Eleanor swept them aside imperiously but good-naturedly.
“It is very good of you all to offer to take me to Lexington House,” she said, “but, unfortunately, I have a little business to transact with Mr. Monkwell, which cannot be put off, unless, indeed, Mr. Monkwell would prefer to come the first thing in the morning. Would that do?”
Though there was a smile on Eleanor’s lips, at the same time her eyes flashed a challenge to the little jeweler. The blue eyes responded just for an instant, and then Monkwell became once more the clever subservient tradesman that he really was.
“As you please, madam,” he said. “Only in these matters delays are sometimes dangerous. I should not have come round had I not thought that it would be to your advantage—”
“That is quite enough,” Eleanor interrupted. “I am going to stay and have it out with Mr. Monkwell. You will all oblige me by departing at once. You may not be aware