Chapter VIII: Lady Chesterwood’s Secret

Patricia’s interest deepened. “A great man?” she repeated. “In what way is he great?”

The Countess rose with an air of mystery, and closed the door, which had been left ajar. Then she established herself comfortably in one of the beautifully carved chairs, and assumed a look of importance.

“First of all, dear,” she said impressively, “you must promise absolute secrecy. I must have your word of honour that you won’t tell a living soul, not even Lionel Montella.”

“I will readily promise not to tell any of my friends,” Patricia answered, “but I have no secrets from Lionel. Is this necessary?”

“Absolutely. I would not have Montella know for worlds. Perhaps I am foolish in telling you, Pat, but I know I can trust you if you promise.”

The girl hesitated. She was not sure that she cared to be told anything which must be expressly kept back from her lover; but after a few moments’ consideration she yielded. After all, it might not be of much importance—a love-affair probably, for the Countess was still quite young.

“Very well, I promise,” she said.

“On your word of honour?”

“On my word of honour.”

Lady Chesterwood’s expression was inscrutable.

“Then I will tell you,” she said, after a moment’s pause. “I have received an offer of marriage from Mr. Athelstan Moore.”

Had she received an offer of marriage from his Satanic Majesty, her cousin could not have looked more aghast. She started to her feet, the colour ebbing from her cheeks.

“From Athelstan Moore?” she repeated, in a voice of excitement. “But surely you will not accept it? You cannot accept it!”

The Countess clasped her hands at the back of her head, and regarded her cousin imperturbably.

“Why not?” she asked, with irritating calmness. “I am only twenty-six, and tired of my widowhood. There is no earthly reason why I should not marry again. What could be more satisfactory than a widow with one little boy marrying a widower with one little girl? And Athelstan Moore is one of the first men in England, and has been angled for by every girl in society since his wife died. I should be very foolish if I did not give his proposal very careful consideration.”

Patricia paced the room in agitation.

“I thought you loved my Cousin Chesterwood,” she said. “I did not think you would be faithless to his memory so soon.”

“You have no right to use the word ‘faithless,’” the Countess returned, with a touch of hauteur. “I made Chesterwood a true wife while he lived; I have nothing to reproach myself with where he is concerned. But I have always had the desire for power. I am tired of being a mere society puppet with a coronet. As wife of the Prime Minister I should shine in a manner after my own heart. There is a certain fascination in helping to pull the wires which govern the State.”

“You would help to accomplish the downfall of Lionel Montella’s race?” said Patricia, her face hardening. “I had thought our friendship was tried and true, Mamie; but it seems that, like everything else, it is only transient, seeing that you are so willing to relinquish it.”

“Nonsense! You are too much given to high-falutin’, Pat. Be sensible. Why should the Premier’s wife be considered unworthy of your friendship?”

“It is not a case of ‘unworthiness’ at all. The Premier is the enemy of my future husband and of his co-religionists. If you marry him, it is not possible that you can still be my greatest friend. There can be no intercourse between your house and mine. Do you not understand? Mr. Moore would probably forbid you to visit or receive me, and Lionel would have to do the same.”

“I do not quite see it,” the Countess returned obdurately. “Politics need not interfere with a private and personal friendship. I think you exaggerate the matter, my dear. Why, I might even influence Moore on behalf of Montella’s cause. I might be the saviour of Judaism, and receive the thanks of every Jew in the kingdom. Instead of becoming your enemy, I might prove myself in very truth your friend.”

Her eyes glistened at the picture her imagination had painted. She would prove what a tremendous influence a woman could have over a man, and how her feminine will, as frail as gossamer, yet as strong as iron, could decide the destiny of a whole race. Here would be something worth accomplishing, a feat at least worthy of the attempt. To subjugate the invincible will of Athelstan Moore! Her face glowed with a foretaste of the charm of such a battle.

Patricia was doubtful, but her features relaxed. She wondered if the Countess, whose nature she had always considered somewhat shallow, would have the strength of purpose to fulfil her words. If she could succeed, what a glorious victory it would be! The thought caused her heart to leap and her eyes to deepen. She paused in front of her dead cousin’s wife, and held out her hands.

“Would you do this, Mamie?” she asked, in a tense voice. “Would you really espouse our cause? Oh, it would be so grand, so blessed a thing! Read the history of the Jews, and you will see what a long-suffering people they are, surely more sinned against than sinning. It is we who are to blame—we Gentiles, who, in the name of Christianity, have persecuted them throughout the ages, who have inflicted on them the tortures of the Inquisition, who have denied them the rights accorded to other civilised beings. The Jews are the elder brothers of the human race, and to hate them is to hate the God who made them. Long before Greece and Rome held sway over the world, _they_ had their kings, warriors, poets, and philosophers. Has there ever been in the world’s history a greater king and philosopher than Solomon, a greater warrior than Judas the Maccabee, a greater poet than the Psalmist, a greater athlete than Samson, a greater Christian than Paul the Apostle?—and all these men were Jews. Oh, if you could only make Athelstan Moore and his followers see the uselessness and iniquity of anti-Semitism, you would do a work which would endear you to the hearts of hundreds! But will you do it? Have you the power to carry out your determination? Have you the moral courage to risk incurring the disapproval of society? It is no trivial matter. Think—think what it means!”

Her hands unclasped and fell to her side; her face was unlifted in appeal. She was evidently actuated by a great sincerity and earnestness; and Lady Chesterwood’s playful rejoinder froze on her lips.

“Sweet little enthusiast!” she exclaimed, moved in spite of herself. “Montella is lucky in winning your love. It is your love which casts the roseate hue over the Jewish people, dear, and you see I do not possess the same incentive. Still, I will do my best, and if I marry Athelstan Moore, I promise you that I shall not lack the courage to voice your opinions. I would rather remain your friend than become your enemy, and the idea of thwarting the Premier pleases me mightily. It is like David with his little sling and stone attacking the formidable Goliath, or the tiny mouse gnawing the rope which great men cannot break. The world shall see, as it has seen before, what a beautiful woman can do. Have no fear, my dear child, I know I shall succeed.”

Self-assurance had ever been the keynote to the success of Mamie Chesterwood’s family. From a mere clerk in an engineering office in Baltimore, with little more than his pride of descent from the Pilgrim Fathers to sustain him, her father had risen to the wealth and power of an American copper king. As a matter of course, both his daughters had married titles, Mamie’s elder sister, Olive, being the wife of Prince Charles of Felsen-Schvoenig. It was no wonder, therefore, that Mamie herself had inherited a love of overcoming difficulties, and of mounting from one high position to another. She knew that by marrying Athelstan Moore she would partially lose her freedom; but she felt that this would amply be compensated for by the exciting situations which would probably affect her as Premier’s wife. So by the time her conversation with Patricia came to an end, she had made up her mind to accept the offer of her would-be swain. She asked her cousin for pen and paper, and wrote the answer then and there.

There was always a little of her own notepaper in Patricia’s desk, so that she did not have to use Earl Torrens’ address. Patricia watched her as she wrote, and wondered what the ultimate result would be. Was the Countess unconsciously making trouble for herself, or was she really paving the way of freedom for the British Jews? Who could look into the future, and foresee the consequence of her act? Only time would show.

“May I not tell Lionel?” the girl asked eagerly, when the letter was sealed. “Why should he be kept in ignorance of the matter? He may be able to offer some advice.”

The Countess shook her head.

“For the present I do not wish him to know,” she rejoined. “I must hold you to your promise, Pat. Remember, you gave me your word of honour. Soon it will be in all the society papers. You will not have to wait long.”

Patricia said no more; and soon afterwards the Countess took her departure. When she had gone, the girl remained long in her boudoir, deep in thought. Was it Providence, or merely the irony of fate, that caused her greatest friend to become the wife of her greatest enemy, she wondered. If only she might talk it over with her lover when he came; but she was bound to silence. The fire burned low, and as the shadows gathered, a shadow seemed to oppress her heart. Presently a footman brought her some tea, and tried to make the room more cosy by stirring the fire and drawing the velvet curtains together. Certainly the electric lamps, under their golden shades, conduced to cheerfulness more than the grey twilight. But the sense of loneliness was not dispelled, and crept closer as the hours lengthened. At six o’clock Mrs. Lowther returned, and expounded on all the events of the day; but her companionship was not of the kind that the girl needed, and she was glad when it was time to dress. Her lover did not arrive until much later—just when she had given him up, and was contemplating bed. He had come straight from the House, and burst into the room with an impetuosity she had never seen in him before. His face was so pale, and his eyes so bright, that instinctively she knew that something was wrong. Being aware of the presence of her chaperon, he said not a word, but took both her hands in silence.

Mrs. Lowther, with unusual tact, gathered up her belongings, and uttering a trivial excuse, sailed majestically out of the room. Patricia gave a sigh of relief, but she was in a flutter of suspense.

“Your hands are as cold as ice, dear,” she said, with concern. “What has happened?”

“The very worst!” was his reply, in a voice which was hoarse with emotion—“worse than anything I had anticipated even in my wildest dreams. Athelstan Moore has declared open antagonism towards my people. To-night a Bill came up for its first reading in Parliament—a Bill for the banishment of all the Jews!”

“All the Jews?” the girl repeated questioningly. “The pauper aliens, you mean?”

He shook his head.

“No, _all_ the Jews, both English and foreign, rich and poor. Moore does not intend to do things by halves.”

Patricia drew a deep breath.

“Preposterous!” she exclaimed—“preposterous! Surely the man must be mad. Banish the Jews! Why, anyone can see at first sight that the idea is totally impracticable. How was it received?”

He sank on to a chair, looking almost exhausted.

“I hardly know. I was so dumfounded that I could scarcely move, and the whole place seemed to spin. The other Members regarded it with equanimity, and evidently knew something of it before. I suppose I was purposely kept in the dark. The House rose before the debate was concluded, and it will be brought on again to-morrow night. But think, Patricia, what it will mean. It is enough to make a man’s senses reel!”

The girl poured him out a glass of wine and made him take it. If only she had known of this before Lady Chesterwood had left! Her heart beat like a sledge-hammer against her breast, and for the moment she could find no words; but she knew that her lover needed comfort, and that it was her duty to help him.

“Your nerves are unstrung, dear,” she said, in a soothing voice. “You must go home soon and rest. I am sure you need not be alarmed, Lionel. The Bill will never be carried; it cannot, while there is justice in England. What man in his senses would counsel intoleration in these days? This is the age of freedom—of freedom in religious matters most of all.”

“It is not the Jewish religion that Moore objects to so much as the Jewish race,” Montella replied, in a dull voice. “He is as rabid as it is possible for a Jew-baiter to be, and he has, unfortunately, such a convincing manner that there are few who can withstand him. Of course, he made a great deal of the Consolidated Trust smash and those processions of the Unemployed. Yet, as you say, the Bill is impracticable. I do not see how it is possible to banish the Jews. Where are they to go? The whole thing is monstrous—absurd!”

“It is, and therefore you must not worry about it, Lal. You must laugh at it instead. The good-natured British Public will laugh, I am sure, when they read of it in the papers to-morrow. And now, dear, I am not going to talk to you any more to-night. You must go straight home to bed, and try to cool that burning forehead of yours.”

He rose and drew her affectionately towards him.

“My darling! You are brave enough to put courage into any man.” He sighed, and squaring his shoulders, added: “Well, if it’s fighting they want, we must fight to the death. But, Patricia, if by any horrible chance this Bill is passed, it will mean that I also am included under the ban. It will mean the emptying out of joy from my life—for it will mean separation from you.”

“Never!” she exclaimed, almost before the words had passed his lips. “Your cause is mine, and not all the devilish designs of Athelstan Moore and his satellites shall come between us. If you are banished, then I shall be banished, too. Oh, Lionel, what is love worth if it fails at such a time!”

She hid her face on his shoulder, her form shaken with heavy sobs; but she quickly recovered from her emotion, and regained her self-possession.

“Mamie Chesterwood was here to-day,” she informed him, as he went towards the door. “She is our friend, Lionel, and has promised to stand by us through thick and thin.”

“Has she, dear?” There was little hope in his voice. He did not seem to think the Countess would prove an ally of much importance.

“There is more in her than we think,” Patricia added, more cheerfully. “I really believe she will be of use. She is one of those who have to be fully persuaded in their own minds before they will do anything.”

Then she remembered that her lips were sealed.