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The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(210)



                “I don’t suppose it concerns me in the slightest degree,” he answered indifferently; “but since you wish me to ask the question—Who was she?”

                “Lucie Cunier, lately your mother’s amanuensis.”

                “The ——!” cried the Major, jumping to his feet and uttering an exclamation that must be indicated by a blank.

                “Take it calmly,” said Loveday; “don’t rave. Sit down and I’ll tell you all about it. No, it is not the doing of your friend Cassimi, so you need not threaten to put a bullet into him; the girl has married Lebrun of her own free will—no one has forced her into it.”



                             “Lucie has married Lebrun of her own free will!” he echoed, growing very white and taking the chair which faced Loveday at the little table.

                “Will you have sugar?” asked Loveday, stirring the coffee, which the waiter at that moment brought.

                “Yes, I repeat,” she presently resumed, “Lucie has married Lebrun of her own free will, although I conjecture she might not perhaps have been quite so willing to crown his happiness if the Princess Dullah-Veih had not made it greatly to her interest to do so.”

                “Dolly made it to her interest to do so?” again echoed the Major.

                “Do not interrupt me with exclamations; let me tell the story my own fashion, and then you may ask as many questions as you please. Now, to begin at the beginning, Lucie became engaged to Lebrun within a month of her coming to your mother’s house, but she carefully kept the secret from everyone, even from the servants, until about a month ago, when she mentioned the fact in confidence to Mrs. Druce in order to defend herself from the charge of having sought to attract your attention. There was nothing surprising in this engagement; they were both lonely and in a foreign land, spoke the same language, and no doubt had many things in common; and, although chance has lifted Lucie somewhat out of her station, she really belongs to the same class in life as Lebrun. Their love-making appears to have run along smoothly enough until you came home on leave, and the girl’s pretty face attracted your attention. Your evident admiration for her disturbed the equanimity of the Princess, who saw your devotion to herself waning; of Lebrun, who fancied Lucie’s manner to him had changed; of your mother, who was anxious that you should make a suitable marriage. Also additional complications arose from the fact that your attentions to the little Swiss girl had drawn Mr. Cassimi’s notice to her numerous attractions, and there was the danger of you two young men posing as rivals. At this juncture Lady Gwynne, as an intimate friend, and one who had herself suffered a twinge of heartache on Mademoiselle’s account, was taken into your mother’s confidence, and the three ladies in council decided that Lucie, in some fashion, must be got out of the way before you, and Mr. Cassimi came to an open breach, or you had spoilt your matrimonial prospects.”



                             Here the Major made a slightly impatient movement.

                Loveday went on: “It was the Princess who solved the question how this was to be done. Fair Rosamonds are no longer put out of the way by ‘a cup of cold poison’—golden guineas do the thing far more easily and innocently. The Princess expressed her willingness to bestow a thousand pounds on Lucie on the day that she married Lebrun, and to set her up afterwards as a fashionable milliner in Paris. After this munificent offer, everything else became mere matter of detail. The main thing was to get the damsel out of the way without your being able to trace her—perhaps work on her feelings, and induce her, at the last moment, to throw over Lebrun. Your absence from home, on a three days’ visit, gave them the wished-for opportunity. Lady Gwynne took her milliner into her confidence. Madame Celine consented to receive Lucie into her house, seclude her in a room on the upper floor, and at the same time give her an insight into the profession of a fashionable milliner. The rest I think you know. Lucie quietly walks out of the house one afternoon, taking no luggage, calling no cab, and thereby cutting off one very obvious means of being traced. Madame Celine receives and hides her—not a difficult feat to accomplish in London, more especially if the one to be hidden is a foreign amanuensis, who is seldom seen out of doors, and who leaves no photograph behind her.”