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<h2> CHAPTER XVIII THE MYSTERIOUS DEVICE </h2>
<p>The day was well advanced when Marguerite woke, refreshed by her long
sleep. Louise had brought her some fresh milk and a dish of fruit, and she
partook of this frugal breakfast with hearty appetite.</p>
<p>Thoughts crowded thick and fast in her mind as she munched her grapes;
most of them went galloping away after the tall, erect figure of her
husband, whom she had watched riding out of sight more than five hours
ago.</p>
<p>In answer to her eager inquiries, Louise brought back the news that the
groom had come home with Sultan, having left Sir Percy in London. The
groom thought that his master was about to get on board his schooner,
which was lying off just below London Bridge. Sir Percy had ridden thus
far, had then met Briggs, the skipper of the DAY DREAM, and had sent the
groom back to Richmond with Sultan and the empty saddle.</p>
<p>This news puzzled Marguerite more than ever. Where could Sir Percy be
going just now in the DAY DREAM? On Armand's behalf, he had said. Well!
Sir Percy had influential friends everywhere. Perhaps he was going to
Greenwich, or . . . but Marguerite ceased to conjecture; all would be
explained anon: he said that he would come back, and that he would
remember. A long, idle day lay before Marguerite. She was expecting a
visit of her old school-fellow, little Suzanne de Tournay. With all the
merry mischief at her command, she had tendered her request for Suzanne's
company to the Comtesse in the Presence of the Prince of Wales last night.
His Royal Highness had loudly applauded the notion, and declared that he
would give himself the pleasure of calling on the two ladies in the course
of the afternoon. The Comtesse had not dared to refuse, and then and there
was entrapped into a promise to send little Suzanne to spend a long and
happy day at Richmond with her friend.</p>
<p>Marguerite expected her eagerly; she longed for a chat about old
school-days with the child; she felt that she would prefer Suzanne's
company to that of anyone else, and together they would roam through the
fine old garden and rich deer park, or stroll along the river.</p>
<p>But Suzanne had not come yet, and Marguerite being dressed, prepared to go
downstairs. She looked quite a girl this morning in her simple muslin
frock, with a broad blue sash round her slim waist, and the dainty
cross-over fichu into which, at her bosom, she had fastened a few late
crimson roses.</p>
<p>She crossed the landing outside her own suite of apartments, and stood
still for a moment at the head of the fine oak staircase, which led to the
lower floor. On her left were her husband's apartments, a suite of rooms
which she practically never entered.</p>
<p>They consisted of bedroom, dressing and reception room, and at the extreme
end of the landing, of a small study, which, when Sir Percy did not use
it, was always kept locked. His own special and confidential valet, Frank,
had charge of this room. No one was ever allowed to go inside. My lady had
never cared to do so, and the other servants, had, of course, not dared to
break this hard-and-fast rule.</p>
<p>Marguerite had often, with that good-natured contempt which she had
recently adopted towards her husband, chaffed him about this secrecy which
surrounded his private study. Laughingly she had always declared that he
strictly excluded all prying eyes from his sanctum for fear they should
detect how very little "study" went on within its four walls: a
comfortable arm-chair for Sir Percy's sweet slumbers was, no doubt, its
most conspicuous piece of furniture.</p>
<p>Marguerite thought of all this on this bright October morning as she
glanced along the corridor. Frank was evidently busy with his master's
rooms, for most of the doors stood open, that of the study amongst the
others.</p>
<p>A sudden burning, childish curiosity seized her to have a peep at Sir
Percy's sanctum. This restriction, of course, did not apply to her, and
Frank would, of course, not dare to oppose her. Still, she hoped that the
valet would be busy in one of the other rooms, that she might have that
one quick peep in secret, and unmolested.</p>
<p>Gently, on tip-toe, she crossed the landing and, like Blue Beard's wife,
trembling half with excitement and wonder, she paused a moment on the
threshold, strangely perturbed and irresolute.</p>
<p>The door was ajar, and she could not see anything within. She pushed it
open tentatively: there was no sound: Frank was evidently not there, and
she walked boldly in.</p>
<p>At once she was struck by the severe simplicity of everything around her:
the dark and heavy hangings, the massive oak furniture, the one or two
maps on the wall, in no way recalled to her mind the lazy man about town,
the lover of race-courses, the dandified leader of fashion, that was the
outward representation of Sir Percy Blakeney.</p>
<p>There was no sign here, at any rate, of hurried departure. Everything was
in its place, not a scrap of paper littered the floor, not a cupboard or
drawer was left open. The curtains were drawn aside, and through the open
window the fresh morning air was streaming in.</p>
<p>Facing the window, and well into the centre of the room, stood a ponderous
business-like desk, which looked as if it had seen much service. On the
wall to the left of the desk, reaching almost from floor to ceiling, was a
large full-length portrait of a woman, magnificently framed, exquisitely
painted, and signed with the name of Boucher. It was Percy's mother.</p>
<p>Marguerite knew very little about her, except that she had died abroad,
ailing in body as well as in mind, while Percy was still a lad. She must
have been a very beautiful woman once, when Boucher painted her, and as
Marguerite looked at the portrait, she could not but be struck by the
extraordinary resemblance which must have existed between mother and son.
There was the same low, square forehead, crowned with thick, fair hair,
smooth and heavy; the same deep-set, somewhat lazy blue eyes beneath
firmly marked, straight brows; and in those eyes there was the same
intensity behind that apparent laziness, the same latent passion which
used to light up Percy's face in the olden days before his marriage, and
which Marguerite had again noted, last night at dawn, when she had come
quite close to him, and had allowed a note of tenderness to creep into her
voice.</p>
<p>Marguerite studied the portrait, for it interested her: after that she
turned and looked again at the ponderous desk. It was covered with a mass
of papers, all neatly tied and docketed, which looked like accounts and
receipts arrayed with perfect method. It had never before struck
Marguerite—nor had she, alas! found it worth while to inquire—as
to how Sir Percy, whom all the world had credited with a total lack of
brains, administered the vast fortune which his father had left him.</p>
<p>Since she had entered this neat, orderly room, she had been taken so much
by surprise, that this obvious proof of her husband's strong business
capacities did not cause her more than a passing thought of wonder. But it
also strengthened her in the now certain knowledge that, with his worldly
inanities, his foppish ways, and foolish talk, he was not only wearing a
mask, but was playing a deliberate and studied part.</p>
<p>Marguerite wondered again. Why should he take all this trouble? Why should
he—who was obviously a serious, earnest man—wish to appear
before his fellow-men as an empty-headed nincompoop?</p>
<p>He may have wished to hide his love for a wife who held him in contempt .
. . but surely such an object could have been gained at less sacrifice,
and with far less trouble than constant incessant acting of an unnatural
part.</p>
<p>She looked round her quite aimlessly now: she was horribly puzzled, and a
nameless dread, before all this strange, unaccountable mystery, had begun
to seize upon her. She felt cold and uncomfortable suddenly in this severe
and dark room. There were no pictures on the wall, save the fine Boucher
portrait, only a couple of maps, both of parts of France, one of the North
coast and the other of the environs of Paris. What did Sir Percy want with
those, she wondered.</p>
<p>Her head began to ache, she turned away from this strange Blue Beard's
chamber, which she had entered, and which she did not understand. She did
not wish Frank to find her here, and with a fast look round, she once more
turned to the door. As she did so, her foot knocked against a small
object, which had apparently been lying close to the desk, on the carpet,
and which now went rolling, right across the room.</p>
<p>She stooped to pick it up. It was a solid gold ring, with a flat shield,
on which was engraved a small device.</p>
<p>Marguerite turned it over in her fingers, and then studied the engraving
on the shield. It represented a small star-shaped flower, of a shape she
had seen so distinctly twice before: once at the opera, and once at Lord
Grenville's ball.</p>
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