"I stand outside in the bitter night,And beat at the fast-closed door;'Oh, let me in to the kindly light,Give back to me days of yore.'But an angel says, with a frowning brow,'The past can no power restore,You must dwell in the outer darkness nowFor ever and ever more.'"
"I stand outside in the bitter night,
And beat at the fast-closed door;
'Oh, let me in to the kindly light,
Give back to me days of yore.'
But an angel says, with a frowning brow,
'The past can no power restore,
You must dwell in the outer darkness now
For ever and ever more.'"
Through the warm summer night, her heart filled with rage, humiliation, and despair, fled the unhappy woman, whither she knew not. All she wanted was to escape from Thornstream, lest her husband, seeing her by chance, should break his word and tell Kaituna what she was. If he did so--oh, the horror of it for her daughter to know that the mother whose memory she reverenced was alive, and an unhappy, fallen creature! A thousand fiends seemed to shriek in her ears as she ran onward, and it was only when she came against the trunk of a tree and fell half-stunned on the cool grass that she stopped in her mad career.
How cool was the delicate touch of the grass, how sweet the perfume of the flowers. She buried her hot face among the primroses, and pressed her aching breast against the chill bosom of the earth to still the agonised throbbing of her heart.
Under the great tree she lay in an exhausted condition, thinking of her failure to conciliate Pethram, of the past with all its follies, of the present with its pain, and the future which looked so hopeless and dreary.
It was all over. She had staked everything on the casting of a die, and lost. Her husband had driven her away from the house, from her child, and there was nothing left for her to do but to return to London with Ferrari and marry him at once. Never again would she live with her child. She might see her--yes; but without being seen--for she knew that if she spoke again to Kaituna everything would be revealed by Rupert Pethram. To destroy that beautiful memory of, motherhood, which was the chief treasure of Kaituna's life--to show herself in her true colours as a fallen and wretched woman--no, she could not do that; better exile, better wretchedness, better death than the terrible truth.
With a groan she sat up among the soft grass, her hands lying idly on her lap, her wild face raised to the lonely sky. Yes, lonely, for above there was nothing but clouds, black heavy clouds, as gloomy as her own future. Oh, God! was there no hope? Was there----
Stay! the clouds part, rolling heavily to the westward, revealing a glimpse of dark blue sky, and set therein like a diamond, the glimmer of a star. Hope! yes, it was a sign of hope! a sign of promise! a sign of comfort?
She thought she would go back to Ferrari and see if he could suggest any plan by which she could turn the tables on her husband; so brushing the dead leaves off her dress, she threw the lace kerchief she wore round her neck over her head, after the fashion of a mantilla, and walked rapidly down the avenue towards Deswarth.
The rapid motion of walking seemed to restore her nerve and with such restoration she regained again the fierceness of her savage spirit. The moment of softness was past, the good angel who had comforted her with the star of hope fled away in terror, and over her head the angel of evil, who had been her constant companion for so many years, now spread his sable wings.
He had ordered her away. He had parted her from her child. This man--her husband that used to be, who had ruined her life by his cruel words and studied neglect. The blame of her sin rested on his shoulders, and she had suffered in the eyes of the world. Now once more he triumphed, and while he was resting, honoured and respected in his own house, she was flying through the night like a guilty creature.
"Oh!" muttered Mrs. Belswin between her clenched teeth, "if I was a man I'd kill him. But I can do nothing! I can do nothing. Yet I don't know. If I can persuade that cowardly Ferrari, or Belk. Belk would do anything for me. What is to be done must be done to-night--to-morrow it will be too late. Which way am I to turn?"
She paused a moment; pressed her hands on her beating heart, then suddenly made up her mind.
"I will see Ferrari--first."
The Chequers Inn was just on the outskirts of Deswarth, and a comparatively short distance from Thornstream, so it did not take Mrs. Belswin long, at the rapid pace at which she was walking, to arrive there.
It stood a short distance back from the road, and the night being hot, all the doors and windows were open, letting the yellow light within stream out on to the dark village street. On the benches outside a number of yokels were drinking and talking loudly together about some fortnight-old event which had just reached their out-of-the-way parish. Mrs. Belswin, not wishing to be recognised, flitted rapidly past them, and was standing in the passage hesitating whether to make herself known to the landlord or not, when luckily at that moment Ferrari came out of a side door with the intention of going into the taproom. Like a ghost the woman glided forward and laid her hand on his arm.
"Stephano!"
"You, cara mia."
The passage was so dark that he was able to recognise her by her voice alone, and the noise from the taproom was so loud that only a quick ear like his could have distinguished her low tones.
"Come into some room. I wish to speak to you."
"Here, then!" he said, drawing her into the room from whence he had emerged, "what is wrong? Il marito! eh! Dio! By your face there is trouble."
With a sigh of relief Mrs. Belswin flung herself wearily into a chair, while Ferrari carefully closed the door and took up his position on the hearthrug. Even in that moment of anxiety Mrs. Belswin, with that noting of trivial things common to a preoccupied mind, noticed the tawdry furnishing of the apartment--the gaudy wall-paper, on which hung brilliantly coloured portraits of the Queen, the Prince of Wales, and General Gordon; the vivid red of the tablecloth, the dingy blue of the chairs, and the tarnished mirror over the fireplace swathed in fly spotted yellow gauze. Ferrari had evidently been smoking, for there yet lingered about the room the odour of a cigar, and the atmosphere was slightly hazy with smoke, while the smoky flame of a badly trimmed kerosene lamp faintly illumined the whole place.
On a chair near the wall sat Mrs. Belswin, faint and weary, but with an angry light in her wonderful eyes; and standing on the hearthrug the Italian, his hands behind his back, and his body slightly bent forward, eager, anxious, and expectant.
"II marito?" he repeated, inquiringly.
The woman made a gesture of assent, upon which Ferrari rubbed his hands together with an air of satisfaction.
"Bene!" he said, smiling and showing his white teeth; "it is as I said it would be. Il marito has said 'Depart,' and you, my Lucrezia, have come back to the faithful one. Ah, che gioja! We will now leave this fog land and go to my beautiful Italy--dolce Napoli. The waiting is over, cara mia. You are to me at last, ah felicita!"
"You go too fast, my friend," replied Mrs. Belswin, with a cold look of disapproval on her expressive face. "Do you think I will marry a coward?"
"I am no coward! If a man to me dared to speak the word I would show him I am Italian. It is your eyes--your evil eyes--that make me afraid. But you will not be cruel to me again, bellissima," he added, in a caressing tone. "You have come to say, 'I love thee.'"
"Listen, Stephano," said Mrs. Belswin, rising to her feet and crossing to the Italian. "I wish to tell you what he said. No! do not touch me! Wait! I saw my husband. He spoke cruelly to me; he made me leave his house--yes, turned me out like a dog!"
"Cospetto!"
"Ah, that stirs your blood! I see your eyes flash! Can you see me--the woman you love--treated in this manner? No! I am sure you love me too much. You are Italian! You have a strong arm and a warm heart! Is it not so?"
"But what wish you, Signora?"
"Kill him!"
She had caught the Italian by the coat with her two hands, and her face was so close to his own that he felt her hot breath on his pale cheek. With a gesture of alarm he shrank away, and was about to speak, but she prevented him.
"You are afraid of the law," she went on hurriedly. "Do not be afraid. Listen! He--that man I hate--the man who has treated me like a dog--is in a room with open windows that lead on a terrace. Go there without noise--wait in the shadow. Within all is light--without all is darkness. Draw him to the window by some trick. When his figure is in the light, shoot him with this!"
Ferrari gave a gasp, for she had thrust a small revolver into his hand, upon which his fingers unconsciously closed.
"I cannot do it myself," went on the temptress; "I dare not. They would find out who I was, and what I did. I bought this pistol to kill him to-night, but my heart failed me. No one will think it is you. Go! Go, if you love me, and kill him, I will be your wife--I will do what you wish--I will go where you like--only kill him! Kill him!"
It was no civilised woman who was thus planning a murder in such a cold-blooded manner. It was a savage, with all the blood-thirsty instincts of a barbaric race. All the European side of this woman's nature had vanished, and the primeval lust for blood dominated her entirely. Ferrari felt this horrible truth as her face, distorted with passion, pressed close to his own, and with a cry of fear thrust her away, dropped the pistol on the floor, and covered his face with his hands.
"Devil woman that you are! No!"
Mrs. Belswin whirled into the centre of the room like an enraged tigress.
"You won't do it?" she hissed madly. "You won't help me? I was right. You are a coward. Well, I will ask you no more--I will do it myself."
She picked up the pistol lying at his feet and turned to the door, but with a cry of horror he sprang in front of her, and prevented her exit.
"No, no! you are mad! You are mad! I will not let you go."
"Stand away! I will go."
"No, cara, think. Dio!"
Like a caged panther she looked round the room for a means of exit, for, mad with rage as she was, she yet retained sufficient sense to know that a scene at the "Chequers" would be detrimental to her plans.
"I must go! I must go!"
Her eye caught the window, and like a flash of lightning she sprang towards it, tore it open, and bounded through into the darkness like a panther, uttering a laugh of triumph as she vanished.
Ferrari darted forward, but stopped half-way across the room in amazement.
"Dio! what a devil. I must go, or she will kill him."
He put on his hat and coat rapidly, and, closing the window, left the inn by the door.
"My friend," he said to the landlord, "I go for a little walk. Addio!"
Luckily none of the labourers outside had seen Mrs. Belswin leave, as she had slipped past them in the shadow, and the road to Thornstream being perfectly deserted, she was free from discovery. Ferrari had explored the neighbourhood that afternoon, so, knowing the way to Thornstream, walked slowly along the road until out of sight of the inn, then ran rapidly onward through the darkness, longing to catch a glimpse of the flying woman speeding towards Thornstream with murder in her heart.
"Stark and stiff in the lonely night,Stiff and stark in the dawning light,There it liesWith unseeing eyes,And placid face of a bloodless white."Who hath slain this man by guilt and fraudBears on his brow, deep-seared and broad,The blood-red stainWhich is mark of Cain,Unseen by man but beheld by God."
"Stark and stiff in the lonely night,Stiff and stark in the dawning light,
There it liesWith unseeing eyes,
And placid face of a bloodless white.
"Who hath slain this man by guilt and fraudBears on his brow, deep-seared and broad,
The blood-red stainWhich is mark of Cain,
Unseen by man but beheld by God."
The red light of dawn burned in the eastern skies, the first faint thrill of life ran through the earth as the twitter of awakening birds was heard in the green woods, then the glorious sun sent his beams over the chill lands, bathing everything in golden splendour. Thornstream Hall faced to the east, and the great shafts of sunlight breaking through misty morning clouds, pointed downward like the finger of God on to the terrace--to the open window of Sir Rupert's study, and there in the splendour of sunrise lay a dead man.
Face downward he lay, with half of his body in the room, the other half on the terrace, and the hands stretched out in the form of a cross, clenched in the agony of death.
Last night--this morning--nay, but a few hours back, and this was a living, breathing man, full of all the passions, sins, and hatred of humanity; now an empty shell, a soulless husk, was all that remained of Sir Rupert Pethram.
Then the servants began to move about the house attending to their morning duties, and one--it was the housemaid--entered the study to put it in order. There she saw the dead man, and with a terrible cry fell senseless to the ground. Her cry brought in her fellow-servants, there were expressions of incredulous wonder, exclamations of horror, and then a general hubbub of voices.
In a few minutes all the household knew the terrible truth that Sir Rupert had been found dead in his study, shot through the head, and Dombrain came to the scene of the tragedy with horror on his face, followed by Kaituna and Mrs. Belswin.
"For God's sake don't let Miss Pethram see it," said Dombrain to the butler, "nor Mrs. Belswin. It is not a sight for women."
But it was too late; they were both in the room, and Kaituna with a cry of horror fell on her knees beside the dead body of her father, while Mrs. Belswin stood looking down at the corpse with an impassive expression on her strongly-marked features.
The servants had left the room in order to send for the police, and only three persons were left with the dead man--Kaituna, convulsed with grief, kneeling by the body, and Mrs. Belswin standing beside Dombrain, both silently looking--at the dead man? No. At the weeping daughter? No. At one another? Yes.
The questioning look of Dombrain said--
"You were the dead man's enemy. Is this your work?"
Mrs. Belswin's eyes replied defiantly.
"I was, and am still, the dead man's enemy. I defy you to prove that this is my work."
They eyed one another steadily for a few moments, and then the man's eyes drooped before the fierce daring of the woman's.
There was silence in the room broken only by the sobs of Kaituna.
"Come away, my dear," said Mrs. Belswin, bending down with a caressing gesture. "Come to your room; we can do no good here."
"Oh!" cried Kaituna, rising slowly from her knees; "who has done this? My poor father! My poor father! Who has murdered him?"
Again a flash of suspicion between Dombrain and Mrs. Belswin.
"We do not know dear," said the latter, soothingly; "but Mr. Dombrain has sent for the police. Perhaps they will find out the truth."
"They must! they must!" cried the girl, in an agony of grief. "Oh, it is terrible. To have come back for this. To be killed under his own roof by an enemy. Oh, why does God permits such things?"
"God permits many things," said Mrs. Belswin, bitterly, putting her arm round the shrinking form of her daughter. "Come away, dear. All that can be done will be done. The English police are clever, and may perhaps capture the murderer."
Dombrain smiled, and Mrs. Belswin noticed the smile.
"Perhaps the murderer may escape," he said with emphasis, giving a stealthy glance at Mrs. Belswin's coldly impassive face.
"He may escape man; but he will not escape God," cried Kaituna, fervently. "Oh, come away, Mrs. Belswin, come away. I shall die if I stay here."
"You will of course do everything that is necessary, Mr. Dombrain," said the chaperon, as she led the weeping girl to the door.
"Of course," he replied, stolidly. "I will arrange everything."
Mrs. Belswin looked at him steadily, and then left the room with the heart-broken daughter, while Dombrain, left alone beside the corpse, drew a long breath.
"What nerve," he said, under his breath; "what nerve."
The police came, took possession of the house, brought down detectives from London, questioned every one, held an inquest, and--discovered nothing. Well; it was a difficult case. The police are not infallible; therefore they failed to discover the murderer of Sir Rupert Pethram. If it had been a low London murder case, for instance, of the Whitechapel poker sort, then, indeed, the criminal would not have escaped human justice; but in this affair it was impossible to move in any direction. Justice promised to do what she could, and did nothing. That bandage over her eyes is often in the way, and in this instance blinded her altogether; so whomsoever had killed Sir Rupert Pethram was quite safe, as far as this stupid, blind, blundering Justice was concerned.
Of course the police had a theory which explained everything, and accomplished nothing. The daily papers argued one way, the police argued another, the public gave their view of the matter; and after great cry, there was little wool.
Sir Rupert, according to an intelligent jury, came by his death at the hands of a person unknown, a verdict which was vague, and might mean anything. Then he was placed in the family vault, and the title and estates went to a distant cousin; Kaituna left Thornstream a penniless orphan, and a new order of things began.
The new heir was a man of business, who was hard, and prided himself on being hard. He had a large family; and thinking the Thornstream rents was quite small enough to rear his dozen children--male and female in equal proportion--declined to do anything for Kaituna, whom he scarcely knew.
Mrs. Belswin, thereupon, stepped forward, and took Kaituna off to London with her to see Mr. Dombrain, and ascertain, if possible, what private property Sir Rupert had died possessed of. Mr. Dombrain was quite happy to oblige Mrs. Belswin in every way and did what he could; but that was comparatively little; so little indeed, that it made no difference in the financial position of Kaituna, and she remained dependent on the bounty of Mrs. Belswin.
But Archie Maxwell! Oh, he behaved admirably. On hearing of the death of Sir Rupert, through the medium of the press, he came down at once to Deswarth, consulted with Toby, and made every effort to find out the assassin of Sir Rupert, but without success. Then he proposed to marry Kaituna as soon as possible after the death of her father, which arrangement was approved of by Mrs. Belswin, who added, however, that they could not marry on nothing; and as Archie was not rich, and Kaituna was now poor, there was nothing left for them but to wait.
This Archie agreed to do, after much persuasion, but meantime was with Kaituna as often as possible. He came up to London with Mrs. Belswin, helped her to select a comfortable lodging; and when his sweetheart and her chaperon were established, went off on his own account to see Mr. Dombrain.
"Has Miss Pethram absolutely nothing?" he asked.
"Really," says the solicitor, "I don't know if I can give you any information----"
"Yes, you can! I am engaged to Miss Pethram, and I am going to marry her as soon as I can. I don't want her money for myself, but I want her to get her rights."
"Mr. Maxwell," said Dombrain, solemnly, "the late Sir Rupert was a great friend of mine, and I would do anything for his daughter, but I'm afraid that she inherits nothing but two thousand shares."
"Oh, indeed! In what company?"
"In the Pole Star Silver Mining Company, Limited Melbourne, Australia."
"Are they worth anything?"
"Not even the paper they are written on."
"Hump!" said Archie, thoughtfully, "from what I heard of Sir Rupert, I should hardly think he was a fool, and no one but a fool would invest his money in a rotten company. Do you know anything of Australian mining?"
"I know New Zealand," replied Mr. Dombrain, evasively, "but I'm not acquainted with Australia. The mine may turn up trumps. On the other hand it may not."
"Are these shares all the property left by Sir Rupert?"
"Yes! He had land in New Zealand; but when he came in for the title he sold it all, and invested the money in these shares. He thought he would be able to save money from the Thornstream rents, to leave to his daughter, but as he occupied the position of master such a short time, of course he saved nothing."
"And the new baronet, Sir Thomas, will do nothing for Miss Pethram?"
"Nothing!"
"What a scoundrel!"
Mr. Dombrain shrugged his shoulders, and declined to commit himself to an opinion,--a legal opinion is worth seven shillings and sixpence, so there is no use wasting that amount.
"By the way," said Archie, as he was going, "what do you think of this murder?"
"I think it is a most mysterious affair," said Dombrain, after a pause. "I can't account for it; I was staying in the house as you know, and left Sir Rupert in his study quite hearty. I heard no pistol shot, and in the morning he was dead. Most extraordinary."
"Had Sir Rupert any enemies?"
"My dear sir, we all have enemies," replied Dombrain, evasively.
"I dare say; but one's enemies don't go as far as murder as a rule," answered Archie, dryly.
"No! no! that is true. But really, Mr. Maxwell, you know as much about the murder as I do, and I dare say are as completely in the dark."
"I shan't be in the dark long."
"How so?"
"Because I'm going to find out who murdered Sir Rupert."
"Take my advice and don't try," said Dombrain slowly.
"Why not?" demanded Maxwell, looking at him keenly.
"Because you'll discover nothing. How can you? The police have failed."
"I don't believe in the police much," replied Archie lightly. "I may succeed where others have failed. Good-bye. Mr. Dombrain, I am going to see Miss Pethram, and will probably see you again about these shares."
When Maxwell had departed the solicitor sat in deep thought for a few minutes.
"I wonder," he said at length, "I wonder if he knows anything about Mrs. Belswin."
"If you are my friend,I set you this task.Aid me to an end,If you are my friend,Your comradeship lend.This secret unmask.If you are my friendI set you this task."
"If you are my friend,I set you this task.Aid me to an end,If you are my friend,Your comradeship lend.This secret unmask.If you are my friendI set you this task."
"Maxwell, Globetrotters, to Clendon, Vicarage, Deswarth.--Come to me at once. Important."
Toby was a lover and therefore unwilling to leave the vicinity of his beloved; but he was also a friend, and being of a kind, staunch nature, speedily made up his mind to obey at once the telegram. His father who sincerely regretted the misfortune which had befallen the unfortunate Kaituna and her lover, warmly approved of his son's going away; so, Toby's mind being at rest concerning the parental opinion, he rode over to the Valpys, in order to see what Tommy thought about the matter.
As he expected, she said he was to lose no time in going to Maxwell, and also gave him several affectionate messages for Kaituna.
"You don't know how sorry I am for her, Toby," she said, with a sigh. "Fancy losing your father and then all your money."
"Still Archie is left," observed Toby, wisely.
"Yes; I'm glad of that. She will always have him to protect her, and that kind woman, Mrs. Belswin. Now then, Toby, don't you say there are no good people in this world when Mrs. Belswin has acted as she has done."
"I never said there were no good people in the world," retorted her lover in an injured tone. "I only said that good people are few and far between."
"Of course," went on Tommy, without noticing this defence, "Kaituna could always have found a home with ma and I. I wish she had come here instead of going to London; but Mrs. Belswin seems very fond of her, and then Mr. Maxwell will marry her soon, so she will be happy some day."
"I wonder why Mrs. Belswin is so very fond of Kaituna," speculated Toby, idly. "Paid companions as a rule don't go beyond their wages in the matter of affection, but Mrs. Belswin goes the entire bakery."
"Toby, don't be vulgar," replied Miss Valpy, reprovingly; "Mrs. Belswin is a very superior woman."
"I hate superior women."
"Oh, thank you!"
"You're not a superior woman," said Clendon, laughingly.
"What am I, then?"
"The dearest girl in the world."
"I am! I am! You'll find that out when your wife's milliner's bill comes in. Now, don't, Toby! There are more important things than kissing."
"Not just now," replied Clendon, and kissed her twice. "Good-bye, dearest I shall expect a letter every day."
"Will you really? How long will you be absent?"
"I don't know! It depends on what Archie wants to see me about."
"Well, I'll write. Good-bye, and take my love to Kaituna."
"Certainly; only I hope it won't get damaged during the transit."
So they parted, and Tommy returned to discuss Kaituna's future with her mother, while Toby packed his portmanteau, and, after taking leave of his father, caught the afternoon train to town.
Archie Maxwell, when engaged in foreign parts, underwent all incidental hardships without a murmur, and accepted all disagreeables with a philosophy beautiful to behold; but Archie Maxwell when in London indemnified himself for all such hardships by giving himself as many pleasures as his income permitted him. Being a young gentleman of good family, he had a very reputable circle of acquaintances, he had very pleasant rooms in the West End, and belonged to the Globetrotters, which is, as every one knows, a very exclusive club. Being clever in his profession, Archie made a very decent income, and having no reason that he knew of to save money, spent every penny he made with a kind of "it-will-be-all-right-in-the-end," philosophy; but now that he was engaged to Kaituna, he made various excellent resolutions about economy, and resolved to put by as much as possible for the future home of Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell.
He was a very methodical young man, was Mr. Maxwell, and speedily made up his mind what course to pursue, which course involved the co-operation of Clendon--hence the telegram which brought the latter up to town.
As Toby had let his chambers during his visit to Deswarth, Archie offered to put him up for the night, which offer Clendon accepted with avidity, as he too was on the economic tack. Oh, it was truly a beautiful spectacle to behold these young men, formerly so careless of money matters, now as careful of the shillings as they had been careless of the pounds. On this night, however, as Archie was going to arrange his future plans, he proposed to Toby that they should, for a few hours only, revert to the dear old extravagant days and enjoy themselves. To this Toby, who hankered after the flesh pots of Egypt, agreed; so they arranged to have the best dinner which the Globetrotters was capable of providing; and afterwards Archie was to unburden his mind to his friend.
The Globetrotters is a very pleasant club, in an excellent situation, and as the members are all travelled men of a sociable turn of mind, the society to be found there is not to be despised from an informative point of view. Had Marco Polo, or Christopher Columbus, lived in the nineteenth century, they would certainly have been members of the Globetrotters; and as for Ulysses--but then Ulysses was fond of feminine society, so perhaps he would not have cared for the exclusively masculine element of the club. At all events, when Archie (who being a traveller, was a member) arrived with Toby--who being a stay-at-home, was not--they found a great many pleasant people there, including a bearded traveller, who had been lion-shooting in Africa; another who had made arrangements to find out the North Pole, if he was able; and several other nineteenth century productions, who all knew and liked Maxwell. Archie, however, was too taken up with his plans to waste much time in hearing adventures about big game shooting, and artful savages; so he went off with Toby to a very retired table, where they had an excellent dinner under the supervision of a friendly waiter, who was as great a traveller as any in the club, having been a steward on a P. & O. liner.
After dinner, during which they had discussed various topics, all bearing on the Pethram murder, and their future married happiness, Archie and his friend sought a secluded corner in the smoking-room, ordered coffee and cigarettes, and, when they were thoroughly comfortable, began to talk business.
"Toby," said Archie, reflectively, "we've known each other a good many years."
"Seeing we were at school together I may say we have," replied Clendon, smiling. "Come, now, Archie, you want me to do something, and don't like asking."
"That's true, because I'm going to ask you to make a sacrifice."
"Not to give up Tommy?"
"No! no! I don't want to break your heart, old fellow; but I--I----"
"Well, what is the sacrifice?"
"I want you to leave England for a few months and go to Melbourne."
"What for?" asked Toby, aghast at this strange request.
"I'll tell you! I have been to Dombrain, who is the late Sir Rupert's lawyer, about the will; and I find he has left Kaituna all his personal property."
"Well, that's jolly."
"The personal property consists of shares in a silver mine, which at present are worth nothing."
"Oh! that's not jolly. But what about Thornstream? Isn't Kaituna the heiress?"
"No! Thornstream is entailed on the male side, and all the property goes with the title. Had Kaituna been a man, she would have inherited; but as she is a woman she doesn't get a penny."
"I see."
"The present baronet," pursued Archie, smoothly, "is a beastly skinflint, and won't give Kaituna a penny; so had it not been for the kindness of a stranger--I allude to Mrs. Belswin--I don't know what the poor girl would have done."
"I do," said Toby, emphatically; "she would have gone to the Valpys, who asked her to come; or to the vicarage, where the dear old pater would have looked after her. Bless you, Maxwell, she would have been all right."
"I know both your father and the Valpys are good kind people," replied Maxwell with emotion; "and of course, if the worst came to the worst, she could have married me at once, and we would have got on somehow. Still all these possibilities do not make Mrs. Belswin's kindness any the less."
"She's a good sort," said Clendon, feelingly. "Why, if Kaituna had been her own daughter she couldn't do more for her than she is doing. But get on with your story."
"Well, Kaituna, as I have shown you, gets nothing from Thornstream or the present baronet; so all she inherits is her father's private property. Now, in New Zealand he had a good deal of land, but when he came in for the title he converted it all into cash, and with that cash he bought two thousand shares in The Pole Star Silver Mining Company, in Melbourne."
"Wasn't that rather rash?"
"I don't know. It certainly appears so. Now Dombrain assures me that the shares are not worth the paper they are written on; but I've got my doubts on the subject; so I want you to go out to Melbourne and find out all you can about the mine."
"But what can I do? I know nothing about mining."
"Oh, you can find out from the brokers if the mine has any prospect of turning out well. Dombrain is arranging all the will business, so as soon as Kaituna is legally in possession of the shares I will send out the scrip to you, and also a power of attorney. Perhaps the mine will turn up trumps; if it does, you can sell, if not--well, there's no harm done."
There was silence for a few moments, during which Toby was thinking deeply, and his good-looking face wore a more thoughtful expression than usual.
"Of course, Archie," he said at length, "I am anxious to oblige you in all things; but you must admit that this is a little serious."
"Oh, yes. I told you it was a sacrifice," replied Archie, readily. "I would go myself, only I have a strong reason for remaining in England."
"May I ask that reason?"
"Yes. I want to find out who killed Sir Rupert."
"You'll never do that," said Toby, shaking his head. "Why, my dear lad, the police could find absolutely no clue."
"The police be--blessed," retorted Archie, with contempt. "I am going on my own ideas in this matter; and I'm going to get Mrs. Belswin to help me."
"But she knows nothing."
"That's very likely; but she saw Sir Rupert on the night of his murder, and if she can recollect her conversation, who knows but what some chance word in it might lead to the detection of the murderer. Besides, Mrs. Belswin is a very clever woman, and in a case of this difficulty, women see clearer than men."
"Why are you so anxious to find out this murder?"
"Because I want to set Kaituna's mind at rest. The poor girl is worrying herself about the affair; and if I can find out and punish the assassin of her father, it will give her great relief."
There was again a short silence, and then Archie went on speaking:
"You see now, my dear lad, why I wish you to help me in this. I cannot do both things myself at the same time; for if I go to Melbourne, the murderer of Sir Rupert may escape; and if I stay and hunt for him, the mine may turn out a success, and no one will be there to look after Kaituna's interests."
"Does Kaituna know all your ideas," asked Toby, thoughtfully.
"Yes; and approves of them. So does Mrs. Belswin. You see, as she has been such a good friend to Kaituna, I had to tell her everything."
"Of course; quite right," responded Toby, heartily. "Well, old fellow, I'll tell you what. Some time agoThe Weekly Scorpionspoke to me about taking a trip out to Australia, and writing up the colonies; so if I accept that, I'll combine pleasure and business."
"That would be capital," said Archie, with a sigh of relief; "for to tell you the truth, Toby, I was rather anxious about the money for you to go with. Kaituna has none. I can't ask Mrs. Belswin; so I would have had to find it myself."
"Archibald Maxwell," said Clendon, wrathfully, "do you mean to say that you thought I would have been such a mean wretch as to let you find all the expenses of my voyage?"
"Well, I couldn't ask you to give your time and money also."
"Oh, couldn't you? Don't be an ass, old chap. Had I gone without theScorpionchips, I would have halved the ex's; but this newspaper business cuts the Gordion knot. All I have got to do is to accept their offer, and I shall get all my expenses paid, and a jolly good price for my articles into the bargain, which cash can go to hurry up my marriage."
"Well; will you go?"
"As far as I can see at present, yes," replied Toby, quickly; "but I must speak to Tommy and the pater."
"They may object," said Maxwell, dolefully.
"Oh, no, they won't," retorted Clendon, gaily. "Bless you, a trip to Australia is nothing nowadays. I could do it on my head. And I will too, considering it's at the Antipodes."
Archie rose to his feet with a sigh of relief.
"I'm so glad there is a chance of your doing what I ask you," he said gratefully.
"It all depends upon the home authorities," replied Clendon, judiciously; "but I think you can set your mind at rest, old fellow. I'll go home to-morrow, and wire you result of inquiries. I think you can pretty well rely on everything being fixed up beautifully."
"You're a good fellow, Toby."
"I am! I am! My friends don't know half my virtues. But about this detective business of yours, Archie, I'm afraid you won't find out anything."
"I'll try, at all events. 'Nothing is done without trying.'"
"Oh, if you're going in for copy-book maxims, I've nothing more to say."
Fortune's a jade. When we don't require her,She ever beside us is staying.Fortune's a jade. For when we desire her,She never responds to our praying.
Fortune's a jade. When we don't require her,
She ever beside us is staying.
Fortune's a jade. For when we desire her,
She never responds to our praying.
Mrs. Belswin was not a rich woman. When she left her husband she took no money, naturally supposing that Silas P. Oates, who played the part of co-respondent in the divorce case, would take care of her. Their romance, however, came to an end, for the lady's temper being uncertain, and the gentleman's income being equally so, things went anything but smoothly, so they parted. Where her quondam lover went Mrs. Belswin neither knew nor cared, but for her part she earned enough to keep her comfortable by becoming an opera singer. She was a handsome woman, with a fine voice and great dramatic powers, so as time went on she took a first class position on the boards, and therefore earned a great deal of money. Unfortunately, being open-handed and careless in money matters, she spent her income as she earned it, and when she arrived in England in search of her daughter, found herself very badly off. Of course, owing to the peculiar position she held at Thornstream, she had received no salary, as Sir Rupert was the only one who could pay her, and when he saw her, naturally the money question gave way to much more important matters.
After Pethram's death, Mrs. Belswin had taken possession of Kaituna with the intention of marrying her to Maxwell, but now found herself in London with a daughter to provide for and very little money in the bank.
Ferrari, certainly, would have been delighted to have shared his salary with her, but Mrs. Belswin had always kept the Italian at his distance, and was determined not to give him any hold over her by being in his debt. Since leaving Oates, she had lived a decent life, earning her own money and asking favours from no one, so that although she had led a somewhat Bohemian existence, yet, for the sake of her child, she had kept herself pure. Reckless, vehement, careless as she was of all outward appearances, no one could cast a stone at her in a moral sense, and Ferrari, knowing this well, respected her for it. He had often pressed her to take money from him, to be repaid by her marrying him, but Mrs. Belswin, not being prepared to discharge her debts in this way, had always refused. Even now, when her daughter looked to her for support, and but a few pounds stood between her and absolute want, she never thought of asking Ferrari for money, and had he, suspecting her needs, offered it, she would certainly have declined to take advantage of his generosity.
Therefore to appeal to Ferrari was out of the question. But what about Maxwell?
No, Mrs. Belswin had her daughter's happiness too much at heart to jeopardise the girl's future by an appeal to the purse of her future husband. Besides, Maxwell was not rich, for she had heard him lament to Toby Clendon over his lack of money, which made him an unacceptable son-in-law to Sir Rupert.
Clearly, therefore, she could not ask Archie.
Of course there was Dombrain. No doubt, if she asked him he would give her money; but suppose he refused to assist her? Ah, well, then she could force him.
At this point of her meditations Mrs. Belswin stopped.
Could she force him? It was questionable. She did not like the way he looked at her over the dead body of her husband. Certainly she knew his secret and could damage his position in London, which he prized so highly, but then, a worm will turn, and if appearances were against her as they certainly were, about the death of Sir Rupert, he could make things very disagreeable for her. Formerly she would not have minded, but would have dared him in her old reckless fashion, trusting to her indomitable will to carry her through safely, but now she had Kaituna to think of as well as herself, so she determined to leave Mr. Dombrain alone.
Ferrari, Maxwell, Dombrain. She could ask none of the three to assist her, and yet something must be done. The terrible blow of her father's death had left Kaituna prostrate with grief, and she looked to Mrs. Belswin for every thing. Yes, the daughter, ignorant of the mother's personality, depended upon the mother as she would have done had she known the truth; and Mrs. Belswin, although concealing her real relationship; acted towards her newly-recovered daughter with the utmost tenderness.
Still, what about money?
There was the stage. She could resume her profession, but that would entail time to obtain an engagement and constant absence from Kaituna, who was not fitted in her present upset state of mind to be left alone. So after going over all kinds of possibilities in her mind, Mrs. Belswin found herself at her wits' end which way to turn for assistance.
Coincidences happen in real life as well as in novels, and it was a curious thing that Mrs. Belswin should find in a society journal the name of Silas P. Oates mentioned as staying at the Langham Hotel.
Silas P. Oates, millionaire. Most extraordinary! He had arrived just in time, for she could apply to him for money. He was her old lover; he was the man who had ruined her life; he had deserted her shamefully; but now he was rich, and had a right to help her. Yes, she would call on him at once and ask him for assistance. For the sake of the dead-and-gone days he would not refuse. So with a smile of satisfaction Mrs. Belswin looked at the paper again.
"Mr. Silas P. Oates is accompanied by his wife and daughter."
Oh! he was married then--married and respectable--while she was still tossing on the stormy waters of the Bohemian ocean. Ah, these men, these men! they always have the best of it. They love, and ruin, and forsake a woman, and then settle down into respectable members of society; while the woman, who has lost all for their sake, is condemned for the rest of her life to be the sport of one sex and the scorn of the other.
Still, now that he was married she would certainly be able to obtain what she wished, for he would not dare to refuse lest she should speak to his wife and destroy his happiness.
It never struck Mrs. Belswin that to act in this way would be dishonourable. She had been a free-lance for so long, and had been so accustomed in fighting her way through the world to use all kinds of weapons, that the means she intended to employ to extort money from Oates seemed quite legitimate. Many a woman would have died rather than have applied for help to the man who had basely deserted her; but Mrs. Belswin, her moral sense blunted by constantly battling with the stormy world, not only intended to get money from her old lover, but intended to apply that money to secure the happiness of her innocent daughter. Here is a text for the preacher on human nature. Does the end in this instance justify the means? Strange things are done in this world of ours, but surely nothing more fantastical or shameful entered a woman's mind than to use her former disgrace as a means to secure her daughter's ease and peace of mind. And yet Mrs. Belswin could not see it--did not see it--and made up her mind to call on Silas P. Oates the next day, and not leave him until she had his cheque for a considerable amount in her purse.
To-day, however, Archie was coming in order to tell them about Toby Clendon's proposed mission to Australia, and Kaituna was seated at the window watching for his coming, while Mrs. Belswin pondered over the problem of Silas P. Oates.
It was a dull little sitting-room, in a dull little house, in a dull little neighbourhood, but then the aforesaid neighbourhood was eminently respectable, and that satisfied Mrs. Belswin. In her dread lest her daughter should be tainted by Bohemianism, Mrs. Belswin had gone to the opposite extreme, and, with the assistance of Archie, taken lodgings in a severely respectable quarter, where church bells rang every other hour of the day, and nothing less genteel than a four-wheeler was ever seen in the dingy street.
Their abode was situated in Grail Street, which was so deserted that it put the reflective in mind of London during the plague, especially as a hearse was no uncommon sight owing to the undertakers (Wilps & Co., High Class Pauper Furnishers) being at the corner. All the houses were sad-looking, in keeping with the corner establishment, and Kaituna's face was sad also as she looked out on to the lonely road on which fell the fine rain.
Dressed in black, with her hands lying listlessly in her lap, and her face thin and worn with trouble, Kaituna looked a very different girl in the dingy London lodging from what she had been at Thornstream. Mrs. Belswin thought so as she glanced at her after answering the money question, and went across to her with a look of anxiety on her face.
"Kaituna, my dearest, do not look so sad," she said, tenderly bending over the girl. "You make me feel so terribly anxious."
Kaituna pushed her thick hair wearily off her forehead, and sighed deeply.
"I cannot help looking sad," she replied, listlessly; "I feel sad. A few months ago and I was so happy; now everything is taken away from me."
"Not everything, dear. You have still me."
"You!" echoed Kaituna, with a wan smile, taking the elder woman's hand. "Ah, Mrs. Belswin, what should I have done without you, my good angel!"
"Don't call me a good angel, dear," said Mrs. Belswin, hurriedly. "I am not good. God help me! had I been good things would have been different."
"I don't know what you refer to," replied Kaituna, simply, stroking the hand she held. "All I know is that you have been good to me. Without you I should have died. You are my only friend."
"You forget Archie," said Mrs. Belswin, with an attempt at lightness.
"No; I don't forget him, good, kind fellow; but, Mrs. Belswin, I cannot hold him to his promise. I am poor now. It will be unfair for me to drag him down. I must go away. I cannot stay to be a burden on you--a burden on him. You must let me go."
"Where?" asked Mrs. Belswin, quietly.
"I don't know. I will get the position of governess somewhere. Mrs. Valpy will recommend me. She knows what I can do."
"Then you wish to leave me?" said Mrs. Belswin, reproachfully.
"No, I do not; but how can I ask you to keep me like this? You--a stranger!"
"A stranger!" said Mrs. Belswin, with a strange smile. "My dear, you must not look upon me as a stranger. I told you my story once--about my little child. Now you stand to me in that child's place. I love you like a daughter! If you left me I should go mad. Leave me! No, Kaituna, you must not--you shall not leave me. Promise that you will always stay beside me!"
The vehemence of the woman frightened Kaituna, unnerved as she was by what she had gone through, and she shrank back in alarm.
"Dear Mrs. Belswin----"
"Oh!" cried the woman, walking up and down the room with tears streaming down her face, "for you to go away--to leave me, after all that I have suffered. You do not know what you say. You call me a stranger. I am a stranger. Yes! I am Mrs. Belswin, who was your hired servant. But I love you, Kaituna, like a daughter. You will not leave me--oh, my child, you will not leave me?"
She flung herself on her knees beside the girl, and looked up into her eyes with a fierce intensity of gaze that moved the girl strangely.
"No, I will not leave you, since you wish me not to," she said gently; "but indeed, Mrs. Belswin, I don't deserve such love."
Mrs. Belswin covered the hand she held with kisses, and sobbed hysterically; then the strange creature suddenly dried her eyes, and rose to her feet with a smile on her lips. It was the savage nature all over. One moment all fury, the next calm and smiling. She never controlled herself in any way, but let her natural moods and fancies have full play; so the result was bizarre, and rather terrifying to a more civilised nature. By this time, however, Kaituna, perhaps from a secret chord of sympathy inherited from her savage progenitors, was beginning to understand Mrs. Belswin's whirlwinds of passion and sudden transitions from storm to calm; therefore, when the present outburst was over, the two women chatted together quite easily, as if nothing unusual had occurred.
"But of one thing I am certain," said Kaituna, after a pause; "that it is not right for me to marry Archie at present. I am poor, so is he, and I cannot consent to drag him down with me."
"My dear, you are too fine in your ideas," said Mrs. Belswin, with a superior smile. "Archie Maxwell loves you, and if you refused to marry him it would break his heart. Besides, perhaps the Pole Star shares will be worth a lot of money."
"I'm afraid not. It's no use building up hopes on those. Ah, my poor father. He thought to make me an heiress, but he has only made me a pauper. My poor, poor father. Was he not a noble man, Mrs. Belswin?"
"Yes, dear; yes! But you forget I only had a short interview with him."
"I remember, on the night he died--the night that he was murdered. Oh, if I could only discover who killed him. But I can do nothing. I am only a woman, and have no money to employ any one, so he must lie in his grave unavenged. Oh, who will help me?"
The answer came in an unexpected manner from the servant opening the door and announcing--
"Mr. Maxwell!"
"Curious!" murmured Mrs. Belswin: "that is the second coincidence to-day."