Any belief that Olive might still have entertained in the accuracy of Mallow's suggestion was speedily dispelled by the expression of sheer amazement upon Carson's face. He remained cool and perfectly colourless.
"What do I know of Athelstane Place?" he repeated blankly. "Why, I never heard of Athelstane Place."
"You don't read your newspaper, then?"
"No; after living all my life in India, the English newspapers contain nothing likely to interest me. But why do you ask me these strange questions?"
"I will tell you, if you will answer me a still stranger one."
"What is it?" asked Carson, apparently much mystified. "Why do your clothes smell so of sandal-wood?"
"Is that all? Why, because I keep them in a sandal-wood chest."
"Which you brought from India?"
"Yes, I bought it from a Chinaman in Bombay. I like the scent of the wood. Is the odour disagreeable to you? I hope not. Had I known I should have bought new clothes in London."
"The odour is not in itself disagreeable," replied Olive, "but in Athelstane Place a man was murdered whose clothes also smelt strongly of this sandal-wood."
"That is strange," said Carson, biting his finger-nails--"very strange. I remember now. Semberry did mention this murder to me."
"But I thought you said you had not heard of the locality?"
"For the moment I forgot. I recollect now that he mentioned the name casually. But he said nothing about any smell of sandal-wood. I should like to hear more about that. Very strange," said Carson, musingly. "But what, may I ask, can this murder have to do with me?"
If the man was acting, his powers of simulation were marvellous. Olive did not think he was acting. He had not the strength or self-control to mask his feelings so completely. The last shadow of doubt vanished from her mind. There could be no question as to thebona fidesof the man.
"If you do not know, I do not," she retorted, and walked back to the drawing-room.
Carson remained where he was, deep in thought. "Murdered man----that sandal-wood odour?" he muttered, drawing his brows together; "I cannot understand it. I must ask Semberry the meaning of this." As he spoke, he removed his right arm from the sling with a sigh of relief, and let it hang for a minute or so. The bangle slipped down from under his shirt-cuff on to his wrist. Carson's eye caught its glitter, and he laughed outright.
Satisfied that Mallow's fancies had no foundation in fact, and having closed her bargain with Carson, Olive resigned herself to the inevitable, and commenced to prepare for her wedding. She retailed to Tui Semberry's proposal about the maid, and Miss Ostergaard warmly approved of it. What might suit her as Olive Bellairs, would not do in her position as Olive Carson, she observed; and it was far better at once to engage a smart young woman, thoroughly conversant with her duties, than to rely upon the primitive notions of some country girl. She advised Olive to lose no time in writing to Mrs. Arne for the girl's reference, and, if it proved satisfactory, to engage her.
Olive concurred. She wrote immediately to Mrs. Arne, and by return of post received a reply. Clara Trall was "a perfect treasure," and the writer was more than sorry to part with her; but the girl's health demanded that she should live in the country, to which argument Mrs. Arne felt she could not but yield, though it was with the greatest reluctance she did so--all this and much more, set forth on fine creamlaid note in a firm, masculine hand. The result was that Olive engaged the girl, asking that she should come to commence her duties at once.
Within a day or two of her summons Clara Trall drove up bag and baggage in a hired fly from Reading Station. She was a tall, sallow-faced girl, carrying herself with a certain hauteur. Her dress was plain though stylish, her manner respectful and self-contained, and she had a habit of drooping her lids over her black eyes demurely, as though repressing herself. On the whole she came well through her mistress's examination and cross-examination. Her knowledge of her work proved thorough; she was quick, had excellent taste and did everything she took in hand as well as it could be done. After some experience and careful observation, Olive agreed that Clara's qualifications had not been overstated by Mrs. Arne. She congratulated herself upon the discovery of a jewel, and availed herself thoroughly of the girl's usefulness. Finally she thanked Semberry for his information and advice.
"Glad it's all right, Miss Bellairs," said the Major politely; "mere chance I heard of her, you know."
"A fortunate chance for me, Major; you can't think what a comfort it is to have a maid one can thoroughly trust."
"Hard thing trust any one in this world," mumbled Semberry. "However, you'll have a husband to look after you soon."
"I can look after myself quite well, thank you," said Olive; "my marriage will make no difference to me in that respect."
"Make a heap to me, Miss Bellairs. I've been constantly with Carson last six months--got him as a kind of legacy from his father, you know. But I s'pose this marriage'll put me on one side; shall miss the boy awfully."
"You are devoted to Mr. Carson?"
"Oh, yes; weak beggar, but good sort. Been a kind of father to him, you know. Glad to see him married though, even at m'own cost."
"Oh," said Olive, "I hope you will not let me interfere with your friendship in the least."
"Must," jerked Semberry, shaking his head. "When a man marries, you know, leaves friends, clings on to his wife. 'Sides, my leave's up soon. I must pull out India way in month or so."
"You will stay for the wedding, I hope, Major."
"Oh, thanks, s'pose so; must see Carson turned off usual style."
Olive was becoming a trifle restive. She soon wearied of trying to manufacture conversation, especially for a man like Semberry, so she seized the first opportunity of slipping away and leaving him to Tui. That young lady's management of the soldier was quite masterly.
She was a born flirt, a free-lance of free-lances, all unclaimed hearts came alike to her, and she was ever ready to annex them. But however much occupied she might be in that direction, she ever kept a watchful eye on Aldean. A confession of one-half the interest she really felt in him, would have saved that young gentleman many a wakeful night and many a heartache. But, after the mystic manner of her sex, she was careful to hold her tongue on that particular subject, and poor Jim's powers of penetration were not of the highest order. Hence he was utterly wretched.
He assured himself she was a coquette, that she had no heart. He used language which sorely taxed the Recording Angel's supply of asterisks. But still she drew him back, still she tormented him, until he had a mind to turn celibate and retreat to the handiest monastery. Withal he managed to write now and again to Mallow, and to report to him, as best he was able, how Olive looked, what she said, and how she passed her time. The knowledge that Mallow was as miserable as himself was some small comfort to him.
Poor Jim took many long walks. He would then repeat to himself such poetry as he remembered, which was not much. Sauntering home in the twilight one evening, flogging his memory for rhymes, as usual, he noticed through a gap in the hedge close by two persons talking together. Closer inspection discovered a man and a woman. The man was Carson. The woman he had never before seen. Carson's arm was about the girl's waist, and she was alternately raging and sobbing, yet with a degree of caution which went to show that the meeting was a stolen one. Neither of them saw Aldean, who did not slacken his pace until he was out of both eyesight and earshot. Then he swore.
"Infernal shame!" he growled, once more increasing his stride to cool his rage; "here's this fellow going to be married next week, yet he carries on with another girl. If I were to tell Mallow how this cad is deceiving Miss Bellairs, there'd be some trouble. I wonder who the girl can be? I never saw her before, to my knowledge."
It chanced, however, that he was soon to see her again, for on calling at the Manor House a day or so after he came face to face with a tall, sallow-faced young woman, in whom he had no difficulty in recognizing Carson's inamorata. She was handsome enough in a way, he thought, but he did not like her mouth; and those dark eyes, splendid as they were, did not blaze in her head for nothing. She stood on one side as Lord Aldean passed her, and took him in--as it seemed--at a glance.
"Servant," thought Jim, as he entered the drawing-room. "Hum! doesn't look like one for all that. Carson's a--well, Carson's a blackguard, I fear."
To satisfy himself on this point, after some desultory conversation with Olive, he put a leading question:--"You have a new face about the Manor, I see," he remarked; "tall girl, dark and rather handsome. Who is she?"
"My new maid, Clara Trall," replied Olive, somewhat surprised, for it was not Aldean's habit to notice new faces.
"She seems a superior class of girl for a servant."
"Yes, she is indeed, Lord Aldean. She has been with me only a few days, but I am more than satisfied with her. I have to thank Major Semberry for finding her for me."
"Really!" Aldean was puzzled. So it was Semberry who had brought this girl, whom he had seen weeping in the gloaming on Carson's shoulder, to Casterwell. There was something queer about this. Little guessing his thoughts, Olive proceeded to relate the details of Clara's engagement. And after a few civil words, congratulating her upon the possession of such a treasure, Aldean went home more puzzled than ever.
"What the dickens can it mean," he murmured. "The woman doesn't look like a servant. It is clear Semberry got her here, and it is equally clear Carson makes love to her. There is something very queer about it all. It's too bad. Goodness knows I'm not by way of being the acme of morality myself, but--well, it's too bad altogether, making love just before his marriage to his future wife's maid."
Tui, coming round the bend of the road, scattered Lord Aldean's contemplations to the four winds. He hurried forward and took off his cap with a blush and a bow.
"I have just been up to the Manor House," he explained, "but you were not there."
Tui laughed. "You see, Lord Aldean, strange as it may appear to you, I do take a walk occasionally for the sake of my health.
"Oh!" said Jim, "I too have been walking for my heart's sake."
"Really! I hope your heart is much benefited by the treatment," said Tui, demurely. "Does Dr. Cupid recommend solitary ambulations?"
"He recommends strongly that I should show you the neighbourhood."
"Ah, but, you see, he isn't my doctor, Lord Aldean, so I don't feel called upon to obey his orders."
"Oh, but I say, you know," blurted out her victim, "you really should let me show you round our country. You can have no idea how charming he is."
"Charm depends so much upon one's companion, doesn't it? Now Major----"
"Oh, I know he is delightful," interrupted Jim wrathfully; "at least, you think he is."
"Do I, indeed? And who told you so, may I ask?"
"Nobody; but I have good eyes."
"But not good manners, I fear, Lord Aldean, nor good temper."
Inwardly Jim groaned. "I used to be considered an amiable sort of chap," he said sadly. "But somehow I've gone wrong lately. I miss----, I miss Mallow."
The shaft went home. "Oh, I know how very fond you are of Mr. Mallow. When is he coming back that you may be amiable?"
"I cannot say. He does not tell me in his letters."
"No? Then I presume he intends letting that horrid Mr. Carson marry Olive?"
"I suppose so. I do not see how he can very well prevent it."
"Oh, he is blind, and so are you," cried Tui, indignantly. "If he loves Olive, why on earth doesn't he marry her? Mr. Carson's a smiling Cheshire cat. Mr. Mallow indeed! He ought to be called Mr. Feeble-Mind. If I were a man and loved a girl, I'd tell her so."
"Suppose the girl wouldn't let the man get that far?" said Aldean, significantly.
"What nonsense! As if any man, who was really and truly in love, ever stopped from speaking his mind."
"Well, I am in love, you----."
"Lord Aldean, I am not speaking about you, but about Mr. Mallow. You can tell him from me that I am ashamed of him. He's a hesitating, frightened----"
"Come, I say, Miss Ostergaard----"
"Nervous, feeble-minded rabbit; so there!" and Tui, having brought her string of epithets to a triumphant conclusion, walked off rapidly, with a glance that forbade Aldean to follow.
The young man looked after her open-mouthed. "My word! she has a power of speech," he murmured. "I wonder what she'd call Carson, if she knew of his little game with the maid?"
When Mallow returned to Casterwell he found the village keeping high holiday in honour of Olive's marriage. The streets and houses were gay with flowers and flags. Under the arches of green boughs, festooned with many coloured blossoms, the people moved about gazing--not without admiration, it must be confessed--at their own handiwork. The same profuse hospitality, which had distinguished the coming-of-age of the Lady of the Manor, was repeated on a still larger scale. The bells of St. Augustine's were clamorous in the old tower; the sleepy old churchyard was for the nonce alive with voices, and the sun, in sympathetic mood at so brave a sight, was shining with all his splendour. But the idol does not ever rejoice with the worshippers, and she was the most miserable girl in the whole village.
Laurence was perhaps scarcely less so. He had not advised Aldean of his return, but had come from Reading in the hired fly. Dusty and battered, it contrasted discordantly with the spruceness and gaiety of the street; and Mallow, seated far back in it, his cap drawn over his eyes, winced more than once as the full meaning of it all forced itself upon him.
"I wonder, does she feel as wretched as I do," he thought, bitterly. "I suppose she does. My poor Iphigenia! my poor girl! Her father has much to answer for."
Lord Aldean received his friend in unbounded astonishment. He had not expected that Mallow would return on this of all days, and he fell to the conclusion that he must have been successful in his search, and have returned to stop the marriage at the eleventh hour. Yet Mallow certainly did not look as if he had succeeded. His dress was careless and his face was haggard; and he formed a striking contrast to Aldean in the smartness of conventional wedding-going garments. Indeed, as he arrived, Jim was on the point of leaving for the church. He signalled to his coachman to wait, and drew Mallow into the library.
"Well," he said, breathlessly, "what have you done?"
"Nothing; absolutely nothing," replied Mallow, throwing himself into a chair with a weary sigh.
"I was afraid your journey would turn out a wild goose-chase," said Aldean, with a shrug. "So Carson is the right man after all?"
"I have found nothing to prove that he is not."
"What about the sandal-wood perfume?"
"That is still a mystery, Jim, and, so far as I can see, is likely to remain one. I went to Athelstane Place, and I saw most of the witnesses who gave evidence at the inquest, but I could find out nothing new. I called at New Scotland Yard, but with no better result. The case remains exactly as it did when the man was buried."
"Has his name not been discovered?"
"No. Nor have his friends, if he had any, communicated with the police."
"Then you can't in any way connect Carson with the dead man?"
"In no way. Two parallel straight lines cannot meet. Carson's existence can have nothing to do with the unknown man who was murdered."
"I suppose you made no inquiries about Carson?"
"Well, yes, I did; and I found out something."
"Oh, come, that's better; I thought you said you had done absolutely nothing."
"Well, what I did learn is of so little moment, Jim, that it amounts to nothing. I called at the P. and O. office and inquired about Carson. The clerk I spoke to told me that I was the second man who had asked for him."
Aldean looked surprised. "Considering that Carson has no friend in England, that's curious. How long ago was the first inquiry made?"
"Two days only before thePharaoharrived."
"Did you ask what kind of man he was who inquired for him?"
"Yes; a black-haired, black-bearded man, shabbily dressed. He wished to know if Carson was on thePharaoh, and if so, when he would arrive. The clerk showed him the name of Angus Carson in the passenger list, and told him that the boat was due on July 24th."
"Did this man ever return?"
"No; he thanked the clerk and left the office. That was the last seen of him."
"He gave no name?"
"Of course not," said Mallow, peevishly. "Why should he give his name in connection with so simple an inquiry? You can see now for yourself that this information amounts to practically nothing. It neither proves nor disproves Carson's identity, and it certainly does not in any way connect him with the murder."
"Still, the mere fact of Carson's being inquired for is strange, when we know that he has not a single friend in England," said Jim, reflectively; "before his arrival, too. That is even more strange."
Mallow shook his head. "I thought of that myself," he said, "but it does not help us in any way."
"It certainly cannot assist us towards circumventing this wedding. I see you are going to it," running his eye over Jim.
"Of course. There is an invitation for you also, if you care to accept it."
"I do not are to," replied Mallow, quietly. "It is quite painful enough for me to be here on the day of the sacrifice, without attending it."
"Then why did you come, my poor old chap?"
"Because I wish you to take this letter and deliver it personally to----" Mallow paused, "to--Mrs.--Carson," he finished, slowly.
With some hesitation Lord Aldean took the envelope extended to him. He was doubtful. "I hope it does not contain reproaches," he said.
"No; it merely sets her mind at rest about--about--her husband" (Mallow could hardly get the word out), "and tells her that, if she needs me, I am always ready to do her bidding."
"Well," said Jim, placing the letter in his pocket, "I'll deliver it with the greatest of pleasure. It is not unlikely that she will need you some day."
"What do you mean, Jim?"
"Oh, I don't mean anything in particular," he said carelessly. "You know I neither like nor trust Carson."
"I am quite with you," said Mallow, bitterly; "but, unfortunately, neither our dislike nor our distrust can assist us to avert this ceremony."
"No, that's true. What will be will be;" and with this morsel of philosophy they parted--Aldean for the ceremony at the church; Mallow to rail at fate for having so cruelly deprived him of Olive.
It was not until after the breakfast that Aldean found any opportunity of delivering Mallow's note to Olive. As he slipped it into her hand she flushed crimson, guessing instinctively from whom it came. With a grateful glance at Aldean, she ran upstairs and hastily tore it open. It contained only a few lines, "Forget what I said in my anger about your husband. He is truly Angus Carson, and I pray heaven that you may be happy with him. But if in trouble you should need a friend, remember that I claim the right to serve you."
The lines were unsigned and ill-written. Olive sat with them crushed in her hand, the tears falling down her face. Tui discreetly held her tongue, for she had guessed that the letter was from Mallow. She roused Olive to action, whilst the maid busied herself with her mistress's clothes. A frown on her face and dark circles under her eyes, Clara seemed little less sorrowful than her mistress.
"Come, dear," said Tui, "you must dress quickly; your husband is waiting for you."
Clara looked round strangely.
"My husband," said Olive, hopelessly. "Yes, he is my husband now."
"But, dear," said Tui, "you married with your eyes open."
"Yes; and with my hands bound," retorted Mrs. Carson, rising. "Well, I suppose I must go on now to the bitter end. Help me, Clara."
On the terrace below Dimbal was conversing hurriedly with the newly-made husband. "In a few days the stocks and shares will be transferred in your name," he said, rubbing his hands; "but I suppose you won't care to be troubled with business for a while?"
"Oh, I don't know about that," said Carson, smiling. "I don't believe in neglecting business for pleasure. I will run up and see you next week. I presume I have full control of this money."
"You are aware, of course, that the capital is charged with the payment of a thousand per annum to your wife?"
"Yes; I will pay her the first year's income at once," said Carson, generously. "I suppose I can realize quickly?"
"Certainly, without difficulty; but I hope, Mr. Carson, you won't sell out. The money is admirably invested."
Before he could answer, Olive came out of the house in her travelling-dress. She looked pale, though composed. With a nod to the lawyer, Carson hurried forward and offered his arm. Having already said good-bye, Olive took it and stepped into the carriage. Then amid a shower of rice and shoes, amid smiles and congratulations, and the usual sprinkling of tears, they drove off.
Major Semberry chuckled complacently as the carriage disappeared.
"Thank God," he muttered.
From the terrace of Kingsholme Mallow watched them. He looked ill and haggard. "Heaven help her and me," he said, with a sigh.
Sandbeach is a rising watering-place on the south coast. It has been rising for the last ten years, yet, in the opinion of its inhabitants, it has not yet reached that pitch of elevation to which its merits entitle it. The guide-book emphatically declares that it is healthy, pleasantly situated, within easy distance of London, and inexpensive. But for all this eulogy, Sandbeach remains unpopular. A sand and shingle beach curved between headlands of crumbling chalk, a stone-faced esplanade with wooden shelters like dolls' houses, three or four dozen Queen Anne residences fronting some public gardens--a courtesy term, surely--such is Sandbeach. In the rear huddle a score or more of untidy cottages. These represent the original village of thirty years back. There is the usual monster hotel, invariably "under entirely new management," for each season it succeeds in bankrupting its unhappy proprietor. There is also an aggressively ornate band-stand, where play local musicians who seemingly vie with their predecessors in the staleness and worthlessness of their music. Golf-links, tennis-courts, bicycle-track, all are there, but all are more or less deserted. Sandbeach possesses every attraction of the modern seaside "resort," yet people, for some inscrutable reason, decline to fill its hotel or to occupy its apartments. Even in what is facetiously termed its "season" it is but sparsely populated. 'Tis a marine Doctor Fell, and no man knoweth the reason of its unpopularity.
Olive it was who had selected this dismal spot in which to pass her honeymoon. Her one desire was to have solitude--no solitudeà deux, but solitude absolute and complete. Her husband in no way interfered with her desire. He sauntered about smoking endless cigarettes, and scanning such samples of modern French fiction as came to hand. Every few days he ran up to town. What he did there Olive knew not, nor did she trouble herself to inquire. But she did notice that he invariably appeared highly delighted with himself on returning from these jaunts.
Left to her own devices, Olive amused herself as best she could. But she thought more of Mallow that was consistent with her own peace of mind.
"Olive," said Angus, one day at luncheon, "I have paid your first year's income in to your account."
"Thank you, that is very kind of you," replied Olive, cheerfully; "but was it necessary to pay in the whole amount at once?"
"No; I need only pay it quarterly; but as I wished to be perfectly free to handle the money, I thought it best to get it done."
"Is it about the money that you have been so often up to London?"
"Well, yes; I have been seeing after it."
"And how is Mr. Dimbal?"
"I have not seen him. Mr. Dimbal has nothing to do with the business now, save in so far as your income is concerned. My affairs are in the hands of another firm of lawyers."
Olive was vaguely troubled.
"Of course, I have every confidence in you," she said; "but I am sorry you did not leave the business with Mr. Dimbal. He is so very trustworthy."
"There are other honest men in London," replied Carson, with his usual smile. "By-the-way, how long do you intend to stay here? We have now been exiled for three weeks."
"I was thinking of going home in another fortnight or so, if that will suit you."
"Oh, as to that, don't consider me. I am going to London myself."
"You surely do not mean to let me return alone? You really must not. Think how everybody will talk."
Carson shrugged his shoulders.
"I do not care what they say," he replied, without the least show of temper. "To tell you the truth, I am rather tired of this farce. You refuse to treat me in any way as a husband; you surely cannot complain if I betake myself elsewhere."
"I thought our relative positions were quite clear," said Mrs. Carson, coldly. "I married you simply and solely in obedience to my father's dying wish; you married me--well, you married me, I suppose, for the fifty thousand pounds that went with me."
"In other words, our marriage is a bargain."
"If you please; it matters little what we call it."
"A pleasant position for me," said Carson, good-humouredly.
His wife sat silently looking at her plate, while he continued to eat his luncheon with the utmost indifference.
"Perhaps the position is a trying one for you," she said, at length; "but I dictated the terms of our union very clearly in the first instance; you were perfectly free to accept or reject them. You accepted them; your reasons were your own. No doubt they were good ones."
"Quite right; ours is purely a business marriage, or bargain. We can call it that between ourselves."
"If you were a different kind of man, if you cared for me, things might perhaps be different. But you do not care for me; you do not know what love is."
"Excuse me if I say that you are hardly in a position to judge," replied Angus, quietly. "And are you not a trifle inconsistent? If I loved you, in what position should I stand, seeing that your affections are very definitely engaged?"
"Excuse me if, in my turn, I say that you are not in a position to speak as to that."
"You may think so, but I am not blind. Oh no; it's too late in the day to talk of love."
"I wish to do my duty," retorted Olive, rather weakly, it must be confessed.
"You have done your duty," said Carson, amiably; "you have obeyed your father, and you have brought me fifty thousand pounds. You do not love me, neither do I care two straws about you."
"Then why did you marry me?"
"For the money solely," he replied, shamelessly. "I served your turn, you served mine. Were I in love with you, do you think I would rest content with the purely nominal position of your husband? By no means. For the money's sake I made you my wife. I agreed to your terms because it suited me to do so. Have I ever gone contrary to you in any way?"
"No; you fulfil your part of the bargain admirably," she said scornfully.
"Then you can ask no more of me. I shall not return to the Manor House with you to hold an ignominious position. Our mutual ends are accomplished: let us part."
"Do you intend to leave me, then?" she asked, feeling herself at a disadvantage.
"I do. I shall go to London--perhaps even abroad. At all events, I intend to lead my own life."
"But think of the position I shall be placed in."
"Think of the position I am placed in," he replied emphatically.
"People will talk if you leave me so soon after our marriage."
"I must leave you to make the best excuses you can; the position is of your own making. You can say that my health is bad, or that the doctor has ordered me abroad. I'll pay you a visit every now and then to keep up appearances. More you cannot ask of me--more I am not disposed to grant."
Olive rose and struck the table with her open hand.
"I protest against your attitude," she cried indignantly.
"As I do against yours."
"You are not treating me fairly," she said, keeping back her tears with an effort.
"As fairly as you treat me, surely?"
"If I agree to be your wife, if I----"
"No," he interrupted. "I prefer matters to remain as they are. It is useless to feign what we neither of us feel."
Having so far humiliated herself, Olive was not prepared to go further. She realized that his position was every whit as strong as her own. She could resent his behaviour in no way, seeing that the original compact was of her own making. Dismayed at the predicament in which she found herself, she retired to her room to consider what she should do. Finally, she determined that, should he leave her, she would go to London for a few months. Mrs. Purcell was on her way to England, and had expressed her intention of taking a house in London. The old lady would gladly have her to stay with her; perhaps she might even invite Tui to join them. She would blind the Casterwell people, at all events; they would not know that Angus had left her so soon. It was the only possible solution she could think of.
That evening she dined in her room. She had no fancy for a renewal of the discussion. It could avail her nothing. If her husband had made up his mind to go, go he would; all she could say or do would not serve to deter him. Silence was the only dignified course open to her. So she brought to bear upon herself as much of her little stock of philosophy as she could muster. But she had to confess it was poor consolation. She felt lonely and very miserable.
Later in the evening her maid came to her with a request that she might take a walk. The girl was looking far from well, and Olive did not hesitate to let her go. She had become attached to Clara. She found her a woman of refinement and capacity, and withal respectful. Never had she shown the slightest inclination to take advantage of any favour Olive might have shown her. Yet there was something strange about the girl which puzzled her mistress not a little. More than once she had surprised her weeping bitterly, and there were times when Olive had thought she was unnecessarily jubilant. Olive had questioned her about these emotional outbursts, but with no satisfactory result, so in time she ceased to notice them. The girl was always perfect in the performance of her duties.
She saw Clara go out for her walk; but no sooner had she gone than Olive felt more restless and ill at ease than ever. The atmosphere of the house stifled her. She wished she had asked the maid for her hat and things before she went. She felt she must give way to hysterics unless she did something. She could neither read nor write, nor could she sit still. She felt she must get into the fresh air. She put on her hat and cloak and went out. The night was windy and rather cold, but this suited her overstrung nerves. Rapidly up and down the esplanade she walked, drinking in the keen air, and watching the dark clouds drive across the sickly moon. Up and down, up and down, until her limbs grew weary; and with her fatigue her excitement abated. At last, slowly climbing the steps to the top of the cliffs, she returned to the hotel. Her way lay through a small shrubbery, parted from the road by a slight iron railing, beside which a gas-lamp flared in the wind. She could see a man and woman talking earnestly together. They did not hear her. As she drew near, the man stooped and kissed the woman. The next moment she swept past them wrathful and resentful. She had recognized her husband.
Half an hour later Carson sauntered into the sitting-room. He found Olive awaiting him. He had not seen her as she passed him in the darkness, and was, therefore, at a loss to comprehend the full significance of her present expression. He was at a loss to know why she was waiting for him. She did not usually seek him at so late an hour. However, he opened the conversation in his usual easy-going way.
"Hallo!" said he, "not in bed yet? You'll lose your beauty sleep."
"Will you be so kind as to sit down?" replied Olive coldly. "I wish to speak to you."
"And on no very pleasant subject, I should say," returned Carson, taking a chair. "Well, what's the matter?" with a yawn.
"Have you no regard for decency, Angus?"
"As much as my neighbours, I suppose. How have I been transgressing?"
"By meeting that woman to-night."
Carson started. "What woman?" he asked irritably.
"I do not know," retorted Olive, with some heat. "I did not see her face, nor would I have recognized her if I had. Your associates are not mine."
"Still, I do not understand," said Angus composedly, but seemingly relieved.
"There are none so blind as those who won't see. I was taking a walk just now, and I saw you speaking to a woman under the gas-lamp opposite this hotel. Dare you deny it?"
"I don't deny it. Why should I?"
"Angus, how can you be so shameless? I saw--I saw--that--well, that you were more than friendly with her."
"You seem to have seen a great deal," sneered Carson, coolly. "May I ask what right you have to spy upon my actions?"
"What right? The right of your wife."
"Pardon me, you are not my wife," he returned ironically. "You are my partner in a business transaction. I thought we were agreed on that point once and for all."
"When do you go to London again?" she asked. "To-morrow," he answered. "Have you anything to urge against my going?"
"No; I claim no right to control your actions. I can only say that as you agreed, for a large sum of money, to act as my nominal husband, you should fulfil your part of the bargain so far as to treat me with respect."
"And how have I failed to do so?"
"By meeting that woman to-night."
"Nonsense! No one saw me but yourself; and I must deny your right to call me to account in any way. However, that has nothing to do with my going to London. Have you any objection to that?"
"I would advise you to stop there. I never wish to see you again."
"The wish is mutual, I assure you," said Carson, rising in his turn. "I am glad that we have come to an understanding at last. I will do as you suggest."
"I think it very much better that you should. Our marriage is a very great mistake."
"Pardon me, I do not agree with you. It is surely an unqualified success, inasmuch as we have both attained our aim. But any blame there is must attach itself to you as much as to me. You might, of course, under ordinary circumstances, have had the right to object to my meeting a lady as I did; as it is, you can have no shadow of a right to do so."
"At least, you might conduct yourself as a gentleman whilst you are here," returned Olive bitterly. "But I suppose that is asking too much."
"A great deal too much; you can ask me nothing." Carson shrugged his shoulders. "This is hardly conversation," he added. "At all events, you must excuse me if I say it does not interest me. As you say, we had better part. After I leave for town in the morning, I will trouble you no more."
"Thank God," said Olive, moving towards the door of her room. "At least I shall be spared the indignity of living with you."
"Allow me," said Carson, stretching forward to open the door for her. "Good-night, and good-bye."
"You contemptible cur," said his wife, disappearing and slamming the door behind her.
He smiled as he looked after her. "A cur, am I? It is lucky for you, Miss Bellairs, that I do not use my teeth more fully to substantiate your simile; I could, you know. Ah, well!" drawing a long sigh of relief, "thank goodness, that's over. What a weary, dreary time it has been. However, at last, I can enjoy the fruits of my labours. After all, the money is well worth the trouble;" and Mr. Carson proceeded to the bar to drink a toast to his release in a glass of lemonade. Temperance was one of his good points.
When Olive rose next morning he was gone, bag and baggage. He said no word of farewell, nor did he even leave a note behind him. She felt immensely relieved, yet she could not help feeling she had debased herself, that her self-respect was sullied. It had been a fatal mistake.
But Olive was not the woman to sit down with ashes on her head and bemoan her fate. Suppressing the fact that her husband had left her (that she intended to explain personally later), she wrote to Miss Slarge that, after a further two weeks' stay at Sandbeach, she intended leaving for London. "I don't feel like returning to Casterwell at present," she wrote, "I would rather spend the winter months in London. Please let me know when you expect Mrs. Purcell. I am most anxious to see her. When I am settled in town, you and Tui must come up that we may all be together." She sent kind messages to Mr. Brock and to Miss Ostergaard, and she inquired if Mallow was still with Lord Aldean. Miss Slarge did not omit to answer this last query. He was still there; it was the greatest comfort to her to know that.
A few days later came a letter from Mr. Dimbal, which seriously alarmed her. It drew her attention to the fact that Carson had recently sold the securities in which her money was invested, and transferred the proceeds to the Crédit Lyonnais, in Paris. Suspicious of Carson's behaviour generally, more especially when it came to taking things altogether out of his hands, Mr. Dimbal had made inquiries, and had ascertained what he now wrote to Olive. She could not understand it at all, and had she known his whereabouts, would straightway have written to him for an explanation. But he had left her without an address. He had vanished completely out of her life. Apparently it was his intention that these funds should vanish with him. Probably, the thousand pounds paid to her credit was all she would ever see of it. The position was certainly becoming serious.
She recalled Mrs. Purcell's letter, and her description of Carson. She read over the extracts she had made, with the result that she wrote again to Casterwell; this time--of all people--to Mrs. Drabble. That lady's reply roused the strongest suspicions in her regarding her husband, and she felt the time had come when she could no longer cope with things unaided. Her first impulse was to call in the assistance of Mr. Dimbal, but on second thoughts she refrained. The little jog-trot solicitor was hardly the man to deal with a clever scoundrel of Carson's type, for scoundrel she now fully believed him to be. There was Mallow; he was capable beyond a doubt, and by his love for her had he not claimed the right to serve her in time of need? She would write to him without loss of time. The next day he was at Sandbeach.
Olive was in her sitting-room when the servant brought up his name. In the adjacent bedroom Clara was attending to her work.
"Ah, Mrs. Carson," he said (he had schooled himself to say the name), "I am indeed glad to see you again. But--but, you are not looking after yourself!"
"Oh, I am well enough, really," said Olive, giving him her hand, "but I am terribly worried."
"Worried?" repeated Mallow, sitting down near her, "worried? what about?"
Before Olive could reply, the door leading to the bedroom opened abruptly, and Clara came in with a hat in her hand. "I beg your pardon, ma'am," said the maid, "but do you wish this hat left out from the packing?"
"Yes, of course," replied Olive, astonished at her asking so unnecessary a question.
"Thank you, ma'am." The girl retired. Olive would have been more than astonished, had she seen her a minute later. The door was left slightly ajar, and the girl's ear was taking in every word she could catch.
"That young woman is still with you, I see," observed Laurence.
"Yes, she is a very excellent servant," replied Olive. "Why?"
"Oh, nothing. I merely remarked the fact," said Mallow, who had his reasons for keeping his own counsel. "But, to continue our conversation, why are you worried?"
"I will tell you everything shortly. Meanwhile I want you to read this." Olive placed in his hands the extracts she had copied from Mrs. Purcell's letter, and pointed out to him one paragraph in particular: "Mr. Carson has had golden wrist-buttons made to match his unique bracelet, wrought in the same style, but of vastly inferior workmanship."
"Well?"
"Now look at this." She detached her brooch and laid it on the table. It was a circular gold ornament, carved with the three faces of the Hindoo trinity encircled by a lotus wreath; a handsome, but odd, piece of workmanship.
"An Indian wrist-button," said Mallow, looking at it carefully. "Imitated from Carson's bracelet, no doubt. I suppose it is one of those referred to by Mrs. Purcell."
"It is; I am sure of it."
"Carson gave it to you?"
"No, he did not. It was a wedding present from Margery Drabble; she told me it was her doll's locket. I did not notice it particularly at the time. But on reading Mrs. Purcell's letter again it suddenly dawned upon me that it was one of Carson's wrist-buttons."
"And how did Margery come by it?"
"Well, I wrote to Mrs. Drabble about that, and she replied that Margery had taken it from her father's desk on the mine-is-thine principle. Now," said Olive, "what possible connection can there be between Dr. Drabble and my husband?"