The Peril of a Lie. A novel

Front matter

THE PERIL OF A LIE MRS. C. N. WILLIAMSON'S NEW NOVEL. Uniform with this Volume, A WOMAN IN GREY, BY MRS. C. N. WILLIAMSON, AUTHOR OF "THE BARN STORMERS." 11 It the author of ' The Woman in White ' is able to gratify in the shades a taste for current fiction, he must recognise some strokes not unworthy of himself in 'A Woman in Grey.'" — Illustrated London News. "HE INTRODUCED GtOFFREY TO THE BEAUTIFUL SOKROWFUL-LO0KING GIRL WHO WAS STILL STANDING BV THE PORT- HOLE, p. B THE PERIL OF A LIE A NOVEL BY MRS. ALICE M. DALE AUTHOR OF " WITH FEET OF CLAY " " MARCUS WARWICK " ETC. LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited Broadway, Ludgate Hill 1898 [All Bights Eeserved] F. M. EVANS AND CO., LIMITED, PRINTER0, CRYSTAL PALACE, S.E. CONTENTS

Chapter I. Thorpe Banning

I N one of the northern counties of England, the stateliest and noblest of many ancestral homes is ancient Thorpe Banning. It is built of grey stone, and looks in the distance like a huge cluster of grey turrets, for that is the peculiarity of its architecture, the number of turrets — some high, some low, and forming together a vast and picturesque pile, a landmark for many miles round. It stands on rising ground in the midst of a well-wooded park of great extent, and from its windows can be seen a far stretch of fair country — hill and meadow and winding river, and in the dim distance the purple of the moors. All this had once belonged to the Bannings of Thorpe Banning ; but field by field, meadow and moor had gradually passed into the hands of other people, less aristocratic and less extravagant than the ancient Bannings.

And even the fair estate that E still remained to them was now heavily mortgaged, and only not sold because of the entail. The late baronet— Sir Adrian — had been the worst of all the Bannings ; none so bad had been known in the family before, for though reckless and extravagant, the Bannings had not, as a rule, been vicious or dis honourable. But Sir Adrian was a bad man— a bad husband, a bad father — and when he died he left the estate more encumbered than he had found it — he left it, in fact, on the verge of ruin. And on his widow, Lady Banning, and her eldest son, Sir Geoffrey, fell all the burden of embarrassment and debt. It was a burden, however, to which they had been long accustomed, for during her husband's lifetime Lady Banning had always tried to counter act the effects of his evil ways, and her son Geoffrey had been from very early years the confidant of all her troubles, and had shown himself to be reliable and self-denying beyond his age.

And now that Sir Adrian was dead, and Geoffrey had the sole com mand and power, life for Lady Banning, though still heavily burdened with anxiety, was happier and easier than it had been when her husband lived. Together mother and son planned to bring the estate into order and solvency again, and Geoffrey, at the sacrifice of all his time, personally managed the large encumbered property. At the time of his father's death Geoffrey was twenty-five and his brother Adrian three years younger. Geoffrey seemed older than he was, for he had borne his mother's cares and sorrows since he was a lad, and his face was grave and somewhat careworn, and his manner very quiet. He was a handsome man, with dark, kind eyes, wavy dark hair, and a tall, well-made figure. None could look into his face and not feel how good and kind and wise he was ; and weak and helpless people would turn instinctively to him for protection, though erring mortals might very possibly hesitate before confessing their sins to him; for the strictness of his own conduct — almost amounting to asceticism — made it seem unlikely that he could feel any sympathy for wrongdoers.

This idea was partly wrong and partly right : wrong because it was his nature to help even where he blamed, and right because he had really no fellow-feeling for those who went astray, being, in truth, a little too secure in an absolute trust of himself. He had found himself capable of complete selfabnegation and self-control, and it never entered his mind to suppose that he might sometimes fail as other mortals failed. He had borne his mother's burdens faithfully ; his life had been a ceaselessly self-denying one, and he had never deviated one hair's-breadth from the line of duty he had laid down for himself. He had had sudden impatient longings to throw off these sordid cares, to forget his mother's sorrows, and enjoy himself as youth and health dic tated, yet he had never yielded. But these had been his greatest temptations, and of other and greater ones — of mad passions beyond human control, of B circumstances intolerable to be borne with meekness, of strong, wild love, of stronger and wilder hate — of any of the stormier trials of life, he had had no ex perience whatever, and had never formed the vaguest conception of them.

Thus, ignorant of how little he had yet really had to do battle with, the confidence begotten of a blameless past, stretched itself a little too unquestioningly into the untried future. Geoffrey had never fallen in love, and uncon sciously he regarded this fact as of his own free will and choice, for he had decided that marriage for him would be impossible until late in life. This decision was one of real self-denial, for with his mother for his ideal he had a very exalted opinion of woman kind, and the tender-heartedness of his disposition would have made wife and children precious posses sions to him. But he accepted their renunciation with the same patience with which he had accepted all other renunciations that circumstances had en joined upon him. His love for his mother compensated him for much ; with his whole heart he loved her, and many an act of self-sacrifice was never felt as such because of his devotion to her.

And she was worthy of it all. A gentle, high-born lady, only a girl when her wild husband wooed and married her, and not seven teen years old at Geoffrey's birth, she had yet borne her unhappy married life with a patient fortitude that Geoffrey seemed to have inherited. She and Geoffrey had expected the younger son Adrian, to help them in their heavy work of redeem ing Thorpe Banning from debt, but he had not done so. He was of a careless temperament, and could not see the seriousness of the family embarrassments, or why his inclinations should be sacrificed for the good of a remote posterity. He insisted on having a commission in the army, and when it was purchased his debts and expensive scrapes often deepened the lines of care on Geoffrey's face, and made him feel that he and his mother were fighting a hopeless battle.

And one day, about three years after his father's death, it seemed that indeed it was so, for Adrian arrived at Thorpe Banning, and in a private interview with his brother, told him he had forged a bill that would become due in a few days, and that he had not a farthing with which to meet it. Adrian's regiment was at this time stationed at Burwood, a small garrison town in a midland county. It was a place well known to Geoffrey, for he owned a pretty little estate on the outskirts of the town, known as Banning Hall, where he and his mother had often taken refuge in his father's lifetime, when Thorpe Banning had been invaded by guests of a doubtful character. Of late years it had been let to strangers. Adrian had not intended to tell his brother of the forgery, and he had applied to his mother in the first instance ; but her indignation had been boundless, and she had referred him to Geoffrey, refusing herself to advise or help him at all.

Adrian expected even less mercy from Geoffrey, and, wretched with remorse and shame, he plunged headlong into his tale when he was confronted with his brother, and told it in short, abrupt words that sounded like defiance, though such was very far from his intention or feeling. Geoffrey's face grew very stern and still as he listened, but he made no remark until Adrian had finished. " Whose name have you forged ? " he then asked curtly. Harold's father— Mr. Arbuthnot's." Had Harold any hand in it ? " " I'll tell you the truth, Geoffrey, but you must not think I am trying to excuse myself at all. Harold suggested it and thought that it could be safely done, and he had half the money ; but I com mitted the forgery — I wrote the old man's name." "Yes, yes, I quite understand that ! Harold has a clearer head than you !

" " Don't be too hard on Harold — he would have done it himself if he could, but he couldn't ; so I tried, and — managed it." " When is the bill due ? " " In a few days ; you see, we counted on making enough on the St. Leger to meet it, but we were unlucky — we lost." " Lost ! Then I suppose there are more debts ? " " Not more than I could meet if — I sold my commission." " And what would you do in that case ? " " I would take any post that I could get, and be thankful for it, Geoffrey, and I would try — I would try to retrieve all the years I have wasted, if honest hard work could do it ! " Geoffrey's manner was stern, and his words were short and sharp, but this did not so much arise from anger against his brother as from his anxiety to know the worst of the case as quickly as possible, and also from a slight absence of mind caused by his endeavour to think of some possible way of raising money to meet the bill.

" How much is the bill for ? " he asked, after a pause of consideration. "One thousand pounds.' " Good God ! " cried Geoffrey, startled out of his habitual self-control. " Harold had half of it." " You forged the bill.' " Yes— I did." Another long pause, and then Geoffrey spoke again. " You will perhaps begin to see Harold Arbuth not's true character now, Adrian ? He is an un principled scoundrel, in spite of his handsome face and jovial ways." " I don't think Harold meant to get me into a scrape, Geoffrey. His father would have given him the money if he had asked for it ; but he would have been annoyed, and Harold did it to save him the annoyance if possible. We thought we should be able to meet the bill, you see, and then Mr. Ar buthnot would have known nothing about it. And Harold said if we could not meet it he would then ask his father for the money."

" Then why has he not done so ? He has proved himself a coward as well as a knave, to leave you in the lurch like this." " You are too hard on Harold, for he did really intend telling his father and getting the money. But, unluckily, there has been some other unpleasantness between him and Harold — I don't know what — and everything was distinctly unfavourable for such a confession as this." " It is a most miserable business, Adrian ! " It is, Geoff," sadly enough. " If you must have done a disgraceful thing like this, I think I would rather you had used any one's name than Claude Arbuthnot's ! From all you have told me of him, and from all I know him to have done for that worthless son of his, I think that a nobler-hearted old man never lived ! And in addi tion to this, his achievements in science and astro nomy entitle him to profound esteem.

You know how often I have wished I knew him— and now I must make his acquaintance under circumstances disgraceful like these ! " " Do you mean you will go and see him ? " asked Adrian in astonishment. " I see no other course that we can take. I cannot possibly find a thousand pounds at present, but Mr. Arbuthnot will take my word that I will pay him when I can, and I think he will — let you off." " Yes, Geoffrey, I am sure he will ; but — but it would be an awfully unpleasant task for you, and it is I who ought to go — and I will. It is the only way." "Nay, Adrian, I shall go; it will be an easier task for me than for you, and I am quite decided that I shall go," but Geoffrey's pained and troubled face told plainly that he felt the unpleasantness and disgrace of it in all its bitterness. After a pause Adrian spoke again.

"I can't make any promises, Geoffrey, after I have made so many and broken them all ; but I do intend that you shall have no more trouble with me. But I don't think myself any better than I am, and I know if I remain among the set I am in at present I shall keep on the wrong tack. So you'll have no objection to my selling out, I hope ? " " I shall be very glad for you to sell out, for you know I never liked the army for you ; but we can discuss this matter afterwards, when the present trouble is settled. Whereabouts in Burwood does Mr. Arbuthnot live ? " " He lives at a place called the Elms. It is a large white house about a mile from the town, and not above two miles from Banning Hall; it is on the same road, and you will easily find it." "Then I will take the noon express to-morrow, and that will land me at Burwood about two o'clock, will it not?"

" Yes— and I'll go down by the same train, Geoff, as I have only one day's leave." Very well ; we'll travel together." " And now, Geoff," said Adrian, rising, " you haven't said an unpleasant word about it all, but I know how you must feel, and what a worthless scamp you must think me." " I don't blame you as much as you think. Harold Arbuthnot is older than you, and it is him we have to thank for most of your troubles." " And you know, Geoffrey, you ought only to pay half the thousand pounds, for Harold and I divided it.'' " I can make no stipulation of that sort, Adrian ; you forged the bill, and I must pay the money, and I shall pay it when I can." "And I hope I shall be able to pay it back, Geoff, by-and-by." " You have been at Mr. Arbuthnot's house a great deal while your regiment has been stationed at Burwood, haven't you ?

" asked Geoffrey, after another silence. " Yes, Geoffrey ; I was as much at home there as I am here." " Is there a large family ? " Adrian's face flushed slightly, and he sat down in his chair again. "At home there are Harold and his two sisters," he answered, " and two meek old maiden ladies live with them — distant relations of Mrs. Arbuthnot, who died many years ago. There is another daughter the eldest — who is married and lives in London. I have never seen much of old Arbuthnot, as he spends nearly all his time in his observatory and study ; but whenever he did come out he was always very pleasant and friendly with me." " You have repaid him well ! " " Now, don't say anything, Geoff! " cried Adrian, with a sudden expression of keen misery on his face ; " for I am punished enough, if only you knew all that I have lost through this damned folly !

" Then there was a silence between them again, for throughout the interview words had not seemed to come easily to either of them. " Well, now I must see my mother," said Geoffrey, rising, " and I wish you had come to me in the first instance, Adrian, so that she might never have known the full extent of this wretched business." "And so I would have done, Geoffrey, if I had known how you would take it. But it was you whom I did not intend to hear of it ! I thought you would be very different from what you have been — I thought you would feel nothing but anger and con tempt for me. I never expected you would even try to help me." " But why not ? Haven't I ever helped you before ? " asked Geoffrey in grave astonishment. "Yes, often; but I have never thoroughly dis graced myself before, and you are so good, Geoffrey — so confoundedly good and cold-blooded yourself— that I didn't expect any mercy at all."

"You have misjudged me strangely," remarked his brother. " Yes, I see I have ; my mother is far more un forgiving than you." " Because this is a very keen and heavy blow for our mother, Adrian. She and I have struggled hard to keep Thorpe Banning; but I must let our creditors have the management of it now. It will be better in the end, and we must live at Banning Hall — the Marchmonts are just leaving it." " I am very sorry," muttered Adrian dejectedly. "Well — don't be down-hearted," said Geoffrey, struck by the misery of his brother's looks, and he held out his hand to him with a kindly impulse. " Both your mother and I have faith in you yet, and we shall not be disappointed in the end." Adrian rose and clasped his brother's hand. " God bless you ! " he tried to say, but did not manage it quite.

Chapter II. Lilla Arbuthnot

On the following morning Geoffrey and Adrian breakfasted alone, for Lady Banning was so incensed with her younger son that she refused to see him, and remained in her own rooms. During the meal the morning letters and newspapers were brought in, and Adrian turned his attention to the newspapers, not supposing there would be any letters addressed to him at Thorpe Banning, but as Geoffrey sorted the letters he passed one to him. " From Harold Arbuthnot, I think," he remarked, and Adrian seized it eagerly and tore it open. " It's all right, Geoffrey ! " he called out breath lessly. " Harold has told his father — but read the letter for yourself! " and Geoffrey took it and read it. " Dear Adrian," it ran, " a good opportunity occurred to-night, and I told the governor about that little peccadillo of ours, and I am happy to say that the old gentleman turned up trumps !

Not but what he was uncommonly rough on me, for he was good enough to say that he regarded me — me ! ■as the sole delinquent — that you were stainless in his eyes, but that as it unfortunately was you who did the bit of artistic work, he should pay the bill when it became due, and make no bones about it. So you needn't tell that righteous brother of yours unless you have already done so. And we'll have a champagne supper next week, and until then, yours as usual — Harold Arbuthnot." "So this will make it all right, Geoffrey, won't it?" asked Adrian anxiously when Geoffrey put the letter down. " It makes it better. The money will still have to be paid ; but this letter shows that Mr. Arbuthnot will make no trouble about waiting a little. His generosity, however, does not make the coming interview with him seem any easier to me."

" You still intend to go and see him ? " " Most decidedly." " And pay the money ? " "Yes — when I can; " and then he went on with the reading of his letters, and Adrian turned to the newspapers and became interested in a case in which a sentence of ten years penal servitude was passed on a young man who had committed forgery. During the morning Geoffrey had a long inter view with his mother, and afterwards he and Adrian took the noon express from Thorpe Banning and arrived at Burwood in the afternoon, when Adrian went at once to the barracks, and Geoffrey took his way to the Elms to see Mr. Arbuthnot. Under Adrian's instructions he took the road that led to Banning Hall, and when about a mile from the town he came to a large old-fashioned white house that stood in good - sized pleasure grounds, and he knew from Adrian's description that this was the Elms.

He turned in at the iron gates and walked along a drive that swept round the lawn in front of the house. The drive was shaded and darkened by large trees that entirely encircled the lawn and made it very quiet and retired, being, in fact, in visible from the drive that skirted it. When Geoffrey emerged from the shadow of the trees he found himself immediately in front of the house. The gravel sweep of the drive went quite close to the house, and the front door and long French windows opened upon it. The place had a drowsy, well-kept appearance, and all was very silent in the stillness ofthe summer afternoon; but as Geoffrey passed one of the windows he saw the flutter of a white gown in the room within. His ring was answered by a man-servant, who said, in answer to his inquiries, that Mr. Arbuthnot was at home, but, he thought, engaged ; however, he showed Geoffrey into a pleasant morning-room and took in his card, and Geoffrey sat down and rested his forehead on his hand and became lost in his own unpleasant thoughts until the soft opening of the door aroused him, and he looked up and rose from his chair at once as the wearer of the white gown entered the room.

"Sir Geoffrey Banning, I believe?" said the young lady, with an air of very timid interrogatory. Geoffrey bowed. " Yes ; I have called in the hope of seeing Mr Arbuthnot." " I do hope you will excuse me coming to you in this unceremonious way, Sir Geoffrey," went on the young lady, lifting her eyes for a moment to his, "but I am Lilla Arbuthnot, and I am so sorry that papa is particularly engaged just at present ; but if your time is not very valuable, and you could wait until he is at liberty, I — I — why, I would try my best to entertain you ! " " Then however valuable my time may be," answered Geoffrey, with a smile, " I am sure I shall not object to wait." The young lady did not actually blush at this com pliment, but she pretended to do so, and pretence was generally as good as reality with Lilla Arbuthnot.

Geoffrey was certainly under the impression that she blushed as she sat down with a pretty air of embarrassment, and begged Sir Geoffrey to be seated, too. Lilla Arbuthnot had no claim whatever to beauty, but she persuaded herself that she had ; and, as just observed, pretence was almost equivalent to reality with her, and most of her friends and acquaintances took her at her own estimation, and would, if questioned upon the point, have said that she was a handsome woman. One great point in her favour was that she spent great time and care upon herself, and knew thoroughly how to make the best of every advantage and the least that could be made of every defect ; and she was never seen in the slightest disorder or deshabille. She was of a large and massive build, and her figure was good — almost splendid — and this merit was always displayed by perfectly-fitting gowns.

Her manners were majestic, but marred now and then by a silly pretence of shy coquetry, though ordinarily she moved and spoke with a certain slow loftiness that gave one an impression of her wisdom and goodness much in excess of the reality. Her face was large, with features good and regular, but lacking vivacity and colour; she could not be called pale, but a dull greyish hue pervaded her entire face, and even her lips shared it ; her eyes were large and very light grey; her eyebrows and eye-lashes were too pale-coloured to be discernible, and her hair was a shade of straw-colour so light and colourless as to resemble the grey hue of her face ; but she wore it curled high above her forehead, and with the help of a false " tress " or two behind, rendered it impossible for any one to detect what thin and lifeless stuff it really was.

And her great defect, lack of colour, was always concealed by a bright-coloured flower or ribbon at her throat or in her hair. To-day, as she sat opposite to Sir Geoffrey Ban ning, she really made a charming picture in her wellc fitting white gown, with a deep crimson rose at her throat and waist, a stray crimson ribbon in her hair, and an expression of serene wisdom and benevolence upon her face. And Sir Geoffrey Banning, most innocently unversed in all the ways and wiles of women, showed plainly the admiration with which she inspired him. " Papa is very busy to-day," Lilla observed, as she settled herself in the best possible light and posture. " His business man is with him ; he comes every quarter, and poor papa is always so flurried when he is here. He hates business, you know ! " " I suppose he does not like to be taken from his studies," remarked Geoffrey.

" That is it exactly. But I think he ought to come out of that observatory now and then, Sir Geoffrey. He is always shut up there, and you have no idea how he neglects me ! " " That is certainly inexcusable. " " And I work so hard for him ! You see, he is the most unpractical of men where the affairs of everyday life are concerned, and he leaves the management of everything — the house, the servants, the tradespeople — in my hands entirely ; and I have no doubt that if you would tell me your business with him to-day, I should understand it, and be able to manage it much better than he." " Unfortunately, my business is not entirely my own," answered Geoffrey, with some awkward ness; "and it is of a very private nature." " Well, it will not be long private from me when you have told papa," answered Miss Arbuthnot, giving him a little affected glance, " for papa will tell me all about it as soon as you are gone.

You see, he always wants my advice, and he tells me everything. So you can quite safely state your business to me, Sir Geoffrey." " It is not my own business, Miss Arbuthnot, or I would most gladly make you my confidante, and it is a matter in which your father will keep his own counsel also, I think." Lilla laughed, but there was a sound of annoy ance in the laugh. " Very well, Sir Geoffrey — we shall see." " Yes — we shall see," he answered with a smile. "And now, Sir Geoffrey," said Lilla, suddenly turning the conversation and looking at her guest with the archest and most beaming smile, " I want you to tell me your candid opinion of me. Don't you think I am a very bold young lady ? " "Why should I think that?" asked Geoffrey in astonishment. " Because I come and sit and talk with you as if I had known you for years.

But I will just tell you the very truth, and that is that I cannot look upon you as at all a stranger— for we know your brother Adrian so well, and have heard him speak of you so often, that I do really feel as if you are quite an old friend." " You are very kind to say so." c " Not in the least. You see, your brother is here so often. Indeed, I believe he regards the Elms as a sort of second home." Geoffrey's face grew suddenly sombre, and Lilla noted it and drew her own conclusions. "Adrian has told me how very kind you have always been to him," said Geoffrey slowly. "Oh, I am afraid he could hardly say that of me,' answered Lilla, with a sad little sigh ; " for to tell you the truth, Sir Geoffrey, I am not sure that I quite approve of your brother Adrian." Throughout their interview Geoffrey had been wondering if Lilla was Adrian's attraction at the Elms ; he had a suspicion that one of the daughters might be, and he was wondering whether it was Lilla or her sister, whom he had not yet seen.

Lilla's words led him to suppose that she was not the attraction, or that if she was, she did not reciprocate Adrian's feelings. And Geoffrey felt a sense of satisfaction, for he had already come to the con clusion that Lilla was a woman infinitely above his brother's appreciation. He looked at her now with grave attention. " May I inquire what it is that you do not approve of in my brother ? " he asked. " Oh, now you are going to be offended with me," cried Lilla, giving him one of her little affected glances again, "but, indeed, indeed, I do not wish to say anything against your brother ; or, at least, I will say as much against my own. For the truth is, I am afraid that neither Harold nor Adrian are quite all they should be. But, oh, do forgive me, Sir Geoffrey — I will not say another word."