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Updated: May 21, 2025
The secret syndicate, with Sir Henry Heyburn at its head, still operates, for no word of its existence has leaked out to either financial circles or to the public, while the Whispers of Glencardine are still believed in and dreaded by the whole countryside across the Ochils.
So presently she strolled back to Stewart's cottage, and after receiving from the faithful servant urgent injunctions to "have a care" of herself, she walked on to the tennis-lawn, where, shaded by the high trees, Lady Heyburn, in white serge, and three of her male guests were playing.
She was haggard and drawn, and her hands trembled with nervousness which she strove in vain to repress. Lady Heyburn was desperate. "He still believes in me, eh?" asked the man, thinking deeply, for his clever brain was already active to devise some means of escape from what appeared to be a distinctly awkward dilemma. He had never calculated the chances of Gabrielle's return to her father's side.
Sir George Murie and Sir Henry Heyburn were close friends; therefore it was but natural that Walter, the heir to the Connachan estate, and Gabrielle should often be thrown into each other's company, or perhaps that the young man who for the past twelve months had been absent on a tour round the world should have loved her ever since the days when she wore short skirts and her hair down her back.
You told Lady Heyburn that you hated her. Do you deny writing that letter? Because, if you do, it is still in existence." "I deny nothing which I have done," she answered. "You have told my father this in order to shield yourself.
"My dear girl," laughed the man, "surely that isn't a fair question. I had certain reasons of my own." "Yes; assisted by Lady Heyburn, you thought that you could make money by obtaining knowledge of my father's secrets. Oh yes, I know I know more than you have ever imagined," declared the girl boldly. "You hope to get rid of Monsieur Goslin from Glencardine and reinstate me for your own ends.
His thin countenance wore a puzzled, anxious expression, the expression of a man face to face with a great difficulty. "Tell me, Walter," he said at last, "what kind of place is Glencardine Castle? What kind of man is Sir Henry Heyburn?" "Glencardine is one of the most beautiful estates in Scotland. It lies between Perth and Stirling.
Lady Heyburn looked upon her winter visit to that beautiful villa overlooking the calm sapphire sea as her annual emancipation. Henry was a dear old fellow, she openly confided to her friends, but his affliction made him terribly trying.
"Lady Heyburn is still at Park Street," Flockart replied. "I will hear no more," declared the blind Baronet, holding up his hand, "not another word until my wife is present." "But, dad," cried Gabrielle, "I am telling you the truth! Cannot you believe me, your daughter, before this man who is your enemy?" "Because of my affliction I am, it seems, deceived by every one," was his hard response.
His friends sympathised, as indeed the whole British public had done; but in a month the tragic affair and its attendant mysterious gossip had been forgotten, as in truth had the very name of Sir Henry Heyburn, whom the Prime Minister, though his political opponent, had one night designated in the House as "one of the most brilliant and talented young men who has ever sat upon the Opposition benches."
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