Lawrence Lynch - Dangerous Ground - or, The Rival Detectives

“Now look,” says Alan Warburton, flinging the discarded domino upon a chair; “look, Daisy, darling. Why, pet, you were afraid of your own uncle Alan.”

The little one peers at him from behind Millie’s skirts and then comes slowly forward.

“Why, uncle Alan, how funny you look, and – your face is dirty!”

“Oh! Daisy,” taking her up in his arms and smiling into her eyes; “you are a sadly uncultivated young person. My face is tattooed, for ‘I’m a sailor bold.’”

While uncle and niece are thus engaged in playful talk, and Millie is intently watching the dancers, they are again approached; this time by two ladies, – one in the flowing, glittering, gorgeous robes of Sunlight, the other in a dainty Carmen costume of scarlet and black and gold. Both ladies are masked, and, as they enter from an alcove in the rear of the room, they, too, approach unperceived. Seeing the group about the archway, one of them makes a signal of silence. They stop, and standing close together, wait.

“It just occurs to me, Millie,” says Alan Warburton, turning suddenly to the maid; “it just occurs to me to inquire how you came in charge of Miss Daisy here. Where is Miss Daisy’s maid?”

The girl throws back her head, with a gesture that causes every ribbon upon her cap to flutter, as she replies, with a look of defiance and an indignant sniff:

“ Mrs . Warburton put Miss Daisy in my care, sir, and I don’t know where Miss Daisy’s maid may be.”

“Umph! well it seems to me that – ” He stops and looks at the child.

“That I ain’t the properest person to look after Miss Daisy, I ’spose you mean – ”

“Millie, you are growing impertinent.”

“Because I’m a poor girl that the mistress of this house took in out of kindness – ”

“Millie; will you stop!” and he puts little Daisy down with a gesture of impatience.

“I’m trying to do my duty,” goes on the irate damsel; “and Mrs. Warburton, my mistress, has given me my orders, sir, consequently – ”

“Oh! if Mrs. Warburton has issued such judicious orders,” and he takes up his mask and domino, “I retire from the field.”

“It’s time to stop them, Winnie,” says the lady in the garments of Sunlight, taking off her mask hastily. “Alan never could get on with a raw servant. I see war in Millie’s eyes.”

Then she comes forward, mask in hand, and followed by the laughing Carmen.

“Alan, you are in difficulty, I see,” laughing, in spite of her attempt at gravity. “Millie, I fear, is not quite up to your standard of silent perfection.”

“May I ask, Mrs. Warburton, if she is your ideal of a companion for this child?”

The tone is faintly tinged with scorn and sternness, and Leslie Warburton’s eyes cease to smile as she replies, with dignity:

“She is my servant, Mr. Warburton. We will not discuss her merits in her presence. I will relieve you of any further trouble on her account.”

“Where, may I ask, is Daisy’s own maid?”

“In her room, with a headache that unfits her for duty. Come here, Daisy.”

Up to this moment Alan Warburton has kept the hand of the child clasped in his own. He now releases it with evident reluctance, and the little fairy bounds toward her stepmother.

“Mamma, how lovely you look!” reaching up her arms to caress the head that bends toward her. “Mamma, take me with you where the music is.”

“Have you been to Papa’s room, Daisy? You know we must not let him feel lonely to-night.”

“Exceeding thoughtfulness,” mutters Alan Warburton to himself, as he turns to resume his domino. Then aloud, to his sister-in-law, he says:

“I have just visited my brother’s room, Mrs. Warburton; he wished to see you for a moment, I believe. Daisy, will you come with me?”

He extends his hand to the child, who gives a willful toss of the head as she replies, clinging closer to her stepmother the while:

“No; I going to stay with my new mamma.”

As Alan Warburton turns away, with a shade of annoyance upon his face, he meets the mirthful eyes of Carmen, and is greeted by a saucy sally.

“What a bear you can be, Alan, when you try your hand at domestic discipline. Put on your domino and your dignity once more. You look like a school boy who has just been whipped.”

“Ah, Winnie,” he says seriously, coming close to her side and seeking to look into the blue, mocking eyes, “no need for me to see your face, your sweet voice and your saucy words both betray you.”

“Just as your bad temper has betrayed you! It’s a pity you can’t appreciate Millie, sir; but then your sense of the ridiculous is shockingly deficient. There goes a waltz,” starting forward hastily.

“It’s my waltz; wait, Winnie.”

But the laughing girl is half way down the long drawing-room, and he hurries after, replacing his mask and pulling on his domino as he goes.

Then Leslie Warburton, with a sigh upon her lips, draws the child again toward her and says:

“You may wait here, Millie; I will take care of Daisy for a short time. And, Millie, remember in future when Mr. Warburton addresses you, that you are to answer him respectfully. Come, darling.”

She turns toward the entrance, the child’s hand clasped tightly in her own, and there, directly before her, stands a figure which she has longed, yet dreaded, to meet – the Goddess of Liberty.

With a gasp of surprise, and a heart throbbing with agitation, Leslie Warburton hurriedly replaces her mask and turns to Millie.

“Millie, on second thought, you may take Daisy to her papa’s room, and tell him I will be there soon. Daisy, darling, go with Millie.”

“But, Mamma, – ”

“There, there, dear, go to papa now; mamma will come.”

With many a reluctant, backward glance, Daisy suffers herself to be led away, and then the Goddess of Liberty advances and bows before the lady of the mansion.

“I am not mistaken,” whispers that lady, glancing about her as if fearing an eavesdropper; “you are – ”

“First,” interrupts a mellow voice from behind the starry mask, “are you Mrs. Warburton?”

“Yes.”

“Then I am Richard Stanhope.”

Leslie Warburton had replaced her mask, but the face she concealed was engraven upon the memory of her vis-a-vis .

A pure pale face, with a firm chin; a rare red mouth, proud yet sensitive; a pair of brown tender eyes, with a touch of sadness in their depths; and a broad low brow, over which clustered thick waves of sunny auburn. She is slender and graceful, carrying her head proudly, and with inherent self-poise in gait and manner.

She glances about her once more, and then says, drawing still nearer the disguised detective:

“I have been looking for you, Mr. Stanhope, and we have met at a fortunate moment. Nearly all the guests have arrived, and everybody is dancing; we may hope for a few undisturbed moments now. You – you have no reason for thinking yourself watched, or your identity suspected, I hope?”

“None whatever, madam. Have you any fears of that sort?”

“No; none that are well grounded; I dislike secrecy, and the necessity for it; I suppose I am nervous. Mr. Stanhope,” with sudden appeal in her voice, “how much do you know concerning me, and my present business with you?”

“Very little. During my drive hither with Mr. Follingsbee, he told me something like this: He esteemed you very highly; he had known you for years; you desired the services of a detective; he had named me as available, and been authorized by you to secure my services. He said that he knew very little concerning the nature of your business with me, but believed that all that you did would be done wisely, discreetly, and from the best of motives. He pointed you out to me when we entered the house. That is all, madam.”