Anna the Adventuress

Chapter XX

ANNA’S SURRENDER

“This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. “Was it really only this afternoon that I met you in St. James’ Park?”

Anna nodded, and made a careful selection from a dish of quails.

“It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. “I have had nothing since, and it seems a very long time.”

“An appetite like yours,” he said resignedly, “is fatal to all sentiment.”

“Not in the least,” she assured him. “I find the two inseparable.”

He sighed.

“I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward.”

“You do not understand me at all,” she declared. “I think that you are very dense. Besides, your remark is not in the least complimentary. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour.”

So they talked on whilst supper was served, falling easily into the spirit of the place, and yet both of them conscious of some new thing underlying the gaiety of their tongues and manner. Anna, in her strange striking way, was radiantly beautiful. Without a single ornament about her neck, or hair, wearing the plainest of black gowns, out of which her shoulders shone gleaming white, she was easily the most noticeable and the most distinguished-looking woman in the room. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. Perhaps, after all, the others were right. Perhaps she had found this new thing in life, the thing wonderful. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. He said daring things with a grace which made them irresistible, his eyes flashed back upon her some eloquent but silent appreciation of the change in her manner towards him.

And then there came for both of them at least a temporary awakening. It was he who saw them first coming down the room – Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. He bent over to Anna at once.

“It is your sister and her husband,” he said. “They are coming past our table.”

Annabel saw Ennison first, and noticing his single companion calmly ignored him. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. His face clouded with anger.

It was after all a momentary affair. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. They vanished through the doorway. Anna and her escort exchanged glances. Almost simultaneously they burst out laughing.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Limp,” he answered. “As a matter of fact, I deserve to. I was engaged to dine with your sister and her husband, and I sent a wire.”

“It was exceedingly wrong of you,” Anna declared. “Before I came to England I was told that there were two things which an Englishman who was comme-il-faut never did. The first was to break a dinner engagement.”

“And the second?”

“Make love to a single woman.”

“Your knowledge of our ways,” he murmured “is profound. Yet, I suppose that at the present moment I am the most envied man in the room.”

Her eyes were lit with humour. To have spoken lightly on such a subject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible.

“But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. There is Mr. Montague Hill.”

The lights were lowered, and an attentive waiter hovered round Anna’s cloak. They left the room amongst the last, and Ennison had almost to elbow his way through a group of acquaintances who had all some pretext for detaining him, to which he absolutely refused to listen. They entered a hansom and turned on to the Embankment. The two great hotels on their right were still ablaze with lights. On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. A fresh cool breeze blew in their faces. Anna leaned back with half closed eyes.

“Delicious!” she murmured.

His fingers closed upon her hand. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. Not a word passed between them. It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax.

He paid the cab, and turned to follow her. She passed inside and upstairs without a word. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully.

“Please search everywhere,” she said. “I am going through the other rooms. I shall not let you go till I am quite sure.”

“If he has a key,” Ennison said, “how are you to be safe?”

“I had bolts fitted on the doors yesterday,” she answered. “If he is not here now I can make myself safe.”

It was certain that he was not there. Anna came back into the sitting-room with a little sigh of relief.

“Indeed,” she said, “it was very fortunate that I should have met you this afternoon. Either Sydney or Mr. Brendon always comes home with me, and to-night both are away. Mary is very good, but she is too nervous to be the slightest protection.”

“I am very glad,” he answered, in a low tone. “It has been a delightful evening for me.”

“And for me,” Anna echoed.

A curious silence ensued. Anna was sitting before the fire a little distance from him – Ennison himself remained standing. Some shadow of reserve seemed to have crept up between them. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted.

“It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said. “I am afraid your broken dinner engagement will not be so easy to explain.”

He was very indifferent. In fact he was thinking of other things.

“I am going,” he said, “to be impertinent. I do not understand why you and your sister should not see more of one another. You must be lonely here with only a few men friends.”

She shook her head.

“Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. Besides – there is Sir John.”

“Sir John is an ass!” he declared.

“He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him.

“Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. “It is rather odd,” he said, “but I always thought that your name was Annabel and hers Anna.”

“Many other people,” she remarked, “have made the same mistake.”

“Again,” he said, “I am going to be impertinent. I never met your sister in Paris, but I heard about her more than once. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her.”

“She has changed a good deal,” Anna admitted.

“There is some mystery about you both,” he exclaimed, with sudden earnestness. “No, don’t interrupt me. Why may I not be your friend? Somehow or other I feel that you have been driven into a false position. You represent to me an enigma, the solution of which has become the one desire of my life. I want to give you warning that I have set myself to solve it. To-morrow I am going to Paris.”

She seemed unmoved, but she did not look at him.

“To Paris! But why? What do you hope to discover there?”

“I do not know,” he answered, “but I am going to see David Courtlaw.”

Then she looked up at him with frightened eyes.

“David Courtlaw!” she repeated. “What has he to do with it?”

“He was your sister’s master – her friend. A few days ago I saw him leave your house. He was like a man beside himself. He began to tell me something – and stopped. I am going to ask him to finish it.”

She rose up.

“I forbid it!” she said firmly.

They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes.

“I will tell you as much as this,” she continued. “There is a secret. I admit it. Set yourself to find it out, if you will – but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again.”

“It is for your good – your good only I am thinking,” he declared.

“Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered.

He was silent. He felt his heart beat faster and faster – his self-restraint slipping away. After all, what did it matter? – it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. A quick flush stained her cheeks. She put out her hands to avoid his embrace.

“No!” she exclaimed. “You must not. It is impossible.”

His arms were around her. He only laughed his defiance.

“I will make it possible,” he cried. “I will make all things possible.”

Anna was bewildered. She did not know herself. Only she was conscious of an unfamiliar and wonderful emotion. She gave her lips to his without resistance. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. With a little sigh of happiness she accepted this new thing.

Chapter XXI

HER SISTER’S SECRET

“I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly. I was quite as much annoyed as you were to see Mr. Ennison with my sister last night. But apart from that, you have no particular objection to him, I suppose?”

“The occurrence of last night is quite sufficient in itself,” Sir John answered, “to make me wish to discontinue Mr. Ennison’s acquaintance. I should think, Anna, that your own sense – er – of propriety would enable you to see this. It is not possible for us to be on friendly terms with a young man who has been seen in a public place, having supper alone with your sister after midnight. The fact itself is regrettable enough – regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. To receive him here afterwards would be most repugnant to me.”

“He probably does not know of the relationship,” Annabel remarked.

“I imagine,” Sir John said, “that your sister would acquaint him with it. In any case, he is liable to discover it at any time. My own impression is that he already knows.”

“Why do you think so?” she asked.

“I noticed him call her attention to us as we passed down the room,” he answered. “Of course he may merely have been telling her who we were, but I think it improbable.”

“Apart from the fact of his acquaintance with Anna – Annabel,” Lady Ferringhall said quickly, “may I ask if you have any other objection to Mr. Ennison?”

Sir John hesitated.

“To the young man himself,” he answered, “no! I simply object to his calling here two or three times a week during my absence.”

“How absurd!” Annabel declared. “How could he call except in your absence, as you are never at home in the afternoon. And if I cared to have him come every day, why shouldn’t he? I find him very amusing and very useful as well. He brought his mother to call, and as you know the Countess goes scarcely anywhere. Hers is quite the most exclusive set in London.”

“My feeling in the matter,” Sir John said, “is as I have stated. Further, I do not care for you to accept social obligations from Mr. Ennison, or any other young man.”

“You are jealous,” she declared contemptuously.

“If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause. You will forgive my remarking, Anna, that I consider there is a great change in your manner towards me and your general deportment since our marriage.”

Annabel laughed gaily.

“My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?”

“You treat the matter lightly,” he continued. “To me it seems serious enough. I have fulfilled my part of our marriage contract. Can you wonder that I expect you to fulfil yours?”

“I am not aware,” she answered, “that I have ever failed in doing so.”

“You are at least aware,” he said, “that you have on several recent occasions acted in direct opposition to my wishes.”

“For example?”

“Your dyed hair. I was perfectly satisfied with your appearance. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. Then you have altered not only that, but your manner of dressing it. You have darkened your eyebrows, you have even changed your style of dress. You have shown an almost feverish anxiety to eliminate from your personal appearance all that reminded me of you – when we first met.”

“Well,” she said, “has there not been some reason for this? The likeness to Annabel could scarcely have escaped remark. You forget that every one is going to the ‘Unusual’ to see her.”

He frowned heavily.

“I wish that I could forget it,” he said. “Fortunately I believe that the relationship is not generally known. I trust that no unpleasant rumours will be circulated before the election, at any rate.”

Annabel yawned.

“They might do you good,” she remarked. “‘Alcide’ is very popular.”

Sir John turned towards the door.

“It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests.”

Annabel laughed derisively and took up her book. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. Then she threw the volume away with a little impatient exclamation. She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully.

“I am getting plain,” she said, with a little shudder. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!”

Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. She went to her room and changed the loose morning gown in which she had lunched for a dark walking dress. A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat.

Anna was having tea by herself when she entered. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure.

“My dear Annabel,” she said, “this is delightful, but I thought that it was forbidden.”

“It is,” Annabel answered shortly. “But I wanted to see you.”

Anna wheeled an easy chair to the fire.

“You will have some tea?” she asked.

Annabel ignored both the chair and the invitation. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual.” Her voice trembled with suppressed passion.

“I have come for an explanation,” she said. “You are an impostor. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?”

Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement.

“Annabel!” she exclaimed. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?”

Annabel laughed scornfully.

“Oh, you know,” she said. “Don’t be a hypocrite. You are not ‘Alcide.’ You have no right to call yourself ‘Alcide.’ You used to declare that you hated the name. You used to beg me for hours at a time to give it all up, never to go near the ‘Ambassador’s’ again. And yet the moment I am safely out of the way you are content to dress yourself in my rags, to go and get yourself popular and admired and successful, all on my reputation.”

“Annabel! Annabel!”

Annabel stamped her foot. Her tone was hoarse with passion.

“Oh, you can act!” she cried. “You can look as innocent and shocked as you please. I want to know who sent you those.”

She pointed with shaking fingers to a great bunch of dark red carnations, thrust carelessly into a deep china bowl, to which the card was still attached. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face.

“They were sent to me by Mr. Nigel Ennison, Annabel. How on earth does it concern you?”

Annabel laughed hardly.

“Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. “You are not content then with stealing from me my name. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. They are not your flowers. They are mine! They were sent to ‘Alcide’ not to you.”

Anna rose to her feet. At last she was roused. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright.

“Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. But behind these things which you have said to me there must be others of which I know nothing. You speak as one injured – as though I had been the one to take your name – as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. In your heart you know very well that this is absurd. It is you who took my name, not I yours. It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband.”

Annabel shivered a little and looked around her.

“He does not come here,” she exclaimed, quickly.

“He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. “I have been bearing this – for your sake. Shall I send him to Sir John?”

Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent.

“It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. “He would never have found you out if you had not personated me.”

“On the contrary,” Anna whispered quietly, “we met in a small boarding-house where I was stopping.”

“You have not told me yet,” Annabel said, “how it is that you have dared to personate me. To call yourself ‘Alcide’! Your hair, your gestures, your voice, all mine! Oh, how dared you do it?”

“You must not forget,” Anna said calmly, “that it is necessary for me also – to live. I arrived here with something less than five pounds in my pocket. My reception at West Kensington you know of. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. You did not complain then that I personated you – no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied.”

“You did not – ”

“Wait, Annabel! When I arrived in London I went to live in the cheapest place I could find. I set myself to find employment. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. I would even have taken a place as waitress in a tea shop. I walked London till the soles of my shoes were worn through, and my toes were blistered. I ate only enough to keep body and soul together.”

“There was no need for such heroism,” Annabel said coldly. “You had only to ask – ”

“Do you think,” Anna interrupted, with a note of passion trembling also in her tone, “that I would have taken alms from Sir John, the man to whom I had lied for your sake. It was not possible. I went at last when I had barely a shilling in my purse to a dramatic agent. By chance I went to one who had known you in Paris.”

“Well!”

“He greeted me effusively. He offered me at once an engagement. I told him that I was not ‘Alcide.’ He only laughed. He had seen the announcement of your marriage in the papers, and he imagined that I simply wanted to remain unknown because of your husband’s puritanism. I sang to him, and he was satisfied. I did not appear, I have never announced myself as ‘Alcide.’ It was the Press who forced the identity upon me.”

“They were my posters,” Annabel said. “The ones Cariolus did for me.”

“The posters at least,” Anna answered quietly, “I have some claim to. You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus. You denied it at the time – but unfortunately I have proof. Mr. Courtlaw found the study in Cariolus’ studio.”

Annabel laughed hardly.

“What did it matter?” she cried. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. It saved me the bother of being studied.”

“It convinced Mr. Earles that I was ‘Alcide,’” Anna remarked quietly.

“We will convince him now to the contrary,” Annabel answered.

Anna looked at her, startled.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Annabel set her teeth hard, and turned fiercely towards Anna.

“It means that I have had enough of this slavery,” she declared. “My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me. It takes too many years to climb even a step in the social ladder. I’ve had enough of it. I want my freedom.”

“You mean to say,” Anna said slowly, “that you are going to leave your husband?”

“Yes.”

“You are willing to give up your position, your beautiful houses, your carriages and milliner’s accounts to come back to Bohemianism?”

“Why not?” Annabel declared. “I am sick of it. It is dull – deadly dull.”

“And what about this man – Mr. Montague Hill?”

Annabel put her hand suddenly to her throat and steadied herself with the back of a chair. She looked stealthily at Anna.

“You have succeeded a little too well in your personation,” she said bitterly, “to get rid very easily of Mr. Montague Hill. You are a great deal more like what I was a few months ago than I am now.”

Anna laughed softly.

“You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. I think not, Annabel. You are welcome to proclaim yourself ‘Alcide’ if you will. I would even make over my engagement to you, if Mr. Earles would permit. But I should certainly want to be rid of Mr. Montague Hill, and I do not think that under those circumstances I should be long about it.”

Annabel sank suddenly into a chair. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs.

“Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. But oh, how weary I am! I know. If only – Anna, tell me,” she broke off suddenly, “how did you get to know Mr. Ennison?”

“He spoke to me, thinking that I was you,” Anna answered. “I liked him, and I never undeceived him.”

“And he sat at my table,” Annabel said bitterly, “and yet he did not know me.”

Anna glanced up.

“You must remember,” she said, “that you yourself are responsible for your altered looks.”

“For the others,” Annabel said tearfully, “that is well enough. But for him – ”

Something in her sister’s tone startled Anna. She looked at her for a moment fixedly. When she tried to speak she found it difficult. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off.

“What do you mean, Annabel? You only knew Mr. Ennison slightly – ”

There was a dead silence in the little room. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx – waiting. Annabel thought, and thought again.

“I knew Mr. Ennison better than I have ever told you,” she said slowly.

“Go on!”

“You know – in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s – an Englishman’s. Nigel Ennison was he.”

Anna stood up. Her cheeks were aflame. Her eyes were lit with smouldering passion.

“Go on!” she commanded. “Let me know the truth.”

Annabel looked down. It was hard to meet that gaze.

“Does he never speak to you of – of old times?” she faltered.

“Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely. “The truth!”

Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear.

Chapter XXII

AN OLD FOOL

Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least.

“I am delighted to see you, Mr. Ennison,” she said, letting her fingers rest in his. “Do come and cheer me up. I am bored to distraction.”

He took a seat by her side. He was looking pale and ill. There were shadows under his eyes. He returned her impressive greeting almost mechanically.

“But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?”

“Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. “I am just back from Paris. I am bothered. I have come to you for sympathy, perhaps for help.”

“You may be sure of the one,” she murmured. “The other too if it is within my power.”