The Rocks of Valpre by Ethel May Dell (best contemporary novels .txt) 📕

during the brief fortnight that they had been alone together. The two months of their married life had but served to teach him this somewhat bitter lesson, and he determined then and there to win her back as he had won her at the outset, to make her his once more and to keep her so for ever.
"I am going to take you away, Chris," he said. "You are wanting a change. Noel's holidays will be over next week. We will start then."
"Where shall we go?" said Chris, and he detected the relief with which she hailed the change of subject.
"We will go to Valpre," he said, with quiet decision.
"Valpre!" The word leaped out as if of its own volition. Chris suddenly sprang upright from her pillows, and gazed at him wide-eyed. In the dim light he could not see her face distinctly, but there was something almost suggestive of fear in her attitude. "Why Valpre?" she said, in a queer, breathless undertone as if she could not control her voice.
He looked down at her in surprise. "You would like to go to Valpre again, wouldn't you?"
She gasped. "I--I really don't know. But what made you choose it? You have never been there."
"No," he said. "You will be able to introduce me to all your old haunts."
She gasped again. "You chose it because of that?"
He put a steadying hand upon her shoulder. "Chris, what makes you so nervous, child? No, I didn't choose it because of that. As a matter of fact, I didn't choose it at all. I am due there on business in three weeks' time, but I thought we might put in a fortnight together there beforehand. Wouldn't you like that?"
She shivered under his hand, and made no reply. She only said, "What business?"
He hesitated a moment, then deliberately sat down upon the bed and drew her close to him. "You remember that blackguard Frenchman Rodolphe who was staying with the Pounceforts two or three weeks ago?"
"Yes," whispered Chris.
"He is to be court-martialled at Valpre, and I have accepted an offer to go as correspondent to the _Morning Despatch_ and report upon his trial. As you know, I represented them at Bertrand's _affaire,_ and this is a sequel to that. In fact, Bertrand himself is very nearly concerned in it. Certain transactions have recently come to light tending to show that the crime of which he was accused was not only committed by this same Rodolphe, but that he also deliberately manufactured evidence to shield himself at the expense of Bertrand, the author of the betrayed invention, against whom it seems he had a personal grudge. By the way, he managed skilfully to keep in the background at Bertrand's trial. I fancy he was away on some special mission at the time, and he did not appear. I never saw him before that day at Sandacre Court, and I did not so much as know then that he and Bertrand were acquainted. Did you know that?"
She started at the question, but answered it more naturally than she had before spoken. "Yes. I knew that Bertie had belonged to the same regiment. They did not speak to each other that afternoon. You see, I was there."
"Ah! And you never met him in the old Valpre days?"
Again she answered without apparent agitation; but her hands were fast gripped together in the gloom. "I may have seen him. I never spoke to him. Bertie was the only one I ever knew."
"Ah!" Mordaunt said again. He was plainly thinking of Bertrand's affairs. "Well, he is to stand his trial now, and I couldn't resist the chance of being present at it. He was recalled to Paris a week ago, and summarily arrested; but as popular feeling is running very high, the trial is to be held at Valpre, which is a fairly important military station. That means that the court-martial will take place probably in the fortress in which the crime was committed--a pleasing consummation of justice."
"And--Bertie will be vindicated?" breathed Chris.
"If Rodolphe is convicted," Mordaunt answered, "Bertrand will be in a position to return to France and demand a second trial, the outcome of which would be practically a foregone conclusion, and at which I hope I shall be present."
Chris drew a sharp breath. "Then--then he will go to Valpre too?"
"Not yet. He would be arrested and imprisoned if he did, and might possibly ruin his cause as well. No, he will have to play a waiting game for the present. I think myself it is the turn of the tide, but things may yet go against him. There is no knowing. He is better off where he is till we can see which way the matter will go. He doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in a fortress."
Chris shuddered uncontrollably at the bare thought. "Oh no--no! Trevor, you won't let him run any risk of that?"
"I shall certainly counsel prudence," Mordaunt answered. "If he runs any risks, it will be with his eyes open."
He paused a moment, then turned her face tenderly up to his own, and kissed it. "And you don't like the Valpre plan?" he said, with great gentleness.
She hesitated.
"We can go elsewhere if you prefer it," he said. "The court-martial will probably only take a few days. We can stay somewhere near while it is in progress. But I must have you with me wherever it is."
He spoke the last words with his arms closely enfolding her. She turned with sudden impulse and clasped him round the neck.
"Oh, Trevor," she murmured brokenly, "you are good to me--you are good!"
"My darling," he whispered back, "your happiness is mine--always."
She made a choked sound of dissent. "I'm horribly selfish," she said, with a sob.
"No, dear, no. I understand. I ought to have thought of it before."
She knew that he was thinking of Cinders, and that a return to the old haunts could but serve to reopen a wound that was scarcely closed. She was thankful that he interpreted her reluctance thus, even while she marvelled to herself as she realized how far she had travelled since the bitter day on which she had parted with her favourite. Looking back, she saw now clearly what that tragedy had meant to her. It had been indeed the commencement of a new stage in her life's journey. It was on that day that she had finally stepped forth from the summer fields of her childhood, and she knew that she would wander in them no more for ever.
The thought went through her with a dart of pain. They had been very green, those fields, and the great thoroughfare which now she trod seemed cruelly hard to her unaccustomed feet.
A sharp sigh escaped her as she gently withdrew herself from her husband's arms. "Shall we talk about it to-morrow?" she said.


CHAPTER IV
"MINE OWN FAMILIAR FRIEND"

Sitting in his writing-room with Bertrand that night Mordaunt imparted the news that concerned him so nearly.
The young Frenchman listened in almost unbroken silence, betraying neither surprise nor even a very great measure of interest. He sat and smoked, with eyes downcast, sometimes fidgeting a little with the fingers of one hand on the arm of his chair, but otherwise displaying no sign of agitation.
Only at the end of the narration did he glance up, and that was but momentarily, when Mordaunt said, "It transpires that this Rodolphe had an old score to pay off. You were enemies?"
Bertrand removed his cigarette to reply, "That is true."
"You once fought a duel with him?" Mordaunt proceeded.
Bertrand's eyelids quivered, but he did not raise them. He merely answered, "Yes."
"That fact will probably figure in the evidence," Mordaunt said. "The cause of the duel is at present unknown."
"It is--immaterial," Bertrand said, in a very low voice. He paused a moment, then said, "And you, you will be at the trial to report?"
"Yes. I am going. Chris will go with me."
"Ah!" The exclamation seemed involuntary. Bertrand's hand suddenly clenched hard upon the chair-arm. "You will take her--to Valpre?" he questioned.
"Probably not to the place itself," Mordaunt made answer. "I think she is not very anxious to go there. It has associations that she would rather not renew. We shall stay somewhere within easy reach of Valpre. Perhaps you can tell me of a suitable resting-place not too far away. You know that part of the world."
"I know it well," Bertrand said, and fell silent, as though pondering the matter. At the end of a lengthy pause he spoke, abruptly, with just a tinge of nervousness. "But why do you take her if she does not desire to go?"
Mordaunt raised his brows a little.
"You will pardon me," Bertrand added quickly, "but it occurs to me that possibly she may prefer to remain at home. And if that were the case you would not, I hope, consider my presence here as an obstacle, for"--again he flashed a swift look across--"it is not my intention to remain."
"What are your intentions?" Mordaunt asked.
Bertrand shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know yet. Circumstances will decide. But it is certain that I can trespass no more upon your kindness. I have already accepted too much from you--more than I can ever hope to repay. Moreover"--he paused--"I do not wish to inconvenience you, and since I cannot accompany you to France--" he paused again, and finally decided to say no more.
"Chris will go with me in any case," said Mordaunt quietly. "We have already arranged that. You would cause no inconvenience to anyone by staying here. In fact, it would be to my advantage."
"To your advantage!" Bertrand echoed the words sharply, as if in some fashion they hurt him; and then, "But no," he said with decision. "It has never been to your advantage to employ me. You have done it from the kindness of your heart, but it would have been better for you if you had entrusted your affairs to a man more capable. And for that reason I am going to ask you to find another secretary as soon as possible, one who will perform his duties faithfully and merit his pay."
"Is that the only reason?" Mordaunt asked unexpectedly.
There fell a sudden silence. Bertrand, with bent head, appeared to be closely examining the leather on which his fingers still drummed an uneasy tattoo. At last, "It is the only reason which I have to give you," he said, his voice very low.
"It is not a very sound one," Mordaunt remarked.
Again that quick shrug of the shoulders, and silence. Several moments passed. Then with an abrupt movement Bertrand rose, laid aside his cigarette, which had gone out, and seated himself at the writing-table.
A pile of letters lay upon it that had arrived by the evening post. He began to turn them over, and presently took up a paper-cutter and deftly slit them open one by one.
Mordaunt sat and smoked as one lost in thought. Finally, after a long silence, he looked up and spoke.
"Why this sudden hurry to dissolve partnership, Bertrand?" he asked, with his kindly smile. "Is it this Rodolphe affair that has unsettled you? Because surely it would be wiser to wait and see what is going to happen before you take any decided step of this sort."
"Ah! It is not that!" Bertrand spoke with a vehemence that sounded almost passionate. "It is nothing to me--this affair. It interests me--not that!" He snapped his fingers contemptuously. "No, no! The time for that is past. What is honour, or dishonour, to me now--me who have been down to the lowest abyss and who have learned the true value of what