It was indeed Lady Branwin who sat there, quiet and silent and immovable, gazing at the astonished company. Eddy, with a look of fear on his craven face, had sunk back into his chair the moment he had torn off the veil and had told the wonderful truth. The others could only stare and marvel at the revelation. Audrey, womanlike, was the first to recover the use of her tongue, although Perry Toat--also womanlike--was on the point of breaking into speech.
"Yes, you are my mother!" cried Audrey. "Yet I saw your face before at the Pink Shop. How was it I did not recognise you then?"
Lady Branwin, as it will be now convenient to call her, laid her finger on her right cheek. "You see, the birthmark of my sister Flora is not here," she said quietly; "for that reason you know me for certain. Even when the mark was there you thought I was your mother, because of the wonderful likeness, and it was only the mark which made you change your mind."
"You painted the birthmark on your face?" said Miss Toat, who seemed as astonished as anyone at this extraordinary development. She had expected to learn much, but never that the woman supposed to be dead was still in the flesh and masquerading as Madame Coralie.
"Yes, I did," said the other, defiantly, "for reasons which I am now about to tell you. I was nearly discovered by Audrey when my yashmak was torn off in the alcove of the shop, and I half believed and half wished that her instinct would tell her the truth. But her father had mentioned my sister to her, and she was, therefore, prepared to believe that I was her aunt when I told her that I and Flora were twins."
"And were you twins?" demanded Ralph, quickly.
"Yes," said Lady Branwin, coolly. "In face and figure we were exactly alike, though not in mind, as Flora was always the clever one. Perhaps I may have been a trifle prettier, as the birthmark disfigured Flora--Joseph always said that I was. But Flora's mark was not nearly so dark as this"--she touched her cheek. "Oh, I forgot, I have washed it off."
"Why did you do that?" asked Perry Toat, quickly. "Did you come here to declare your real name and explain?"
"Yes and no. I came prepared to put aside my veil and show my real face, according to what took place. Eddy has taken me by surprise. But you can now understand, Audrey"--she addressed herself to her daughter--"how it was that the birthmark and my story deceived you."
"Yes," said Mrs. Shawe, faintly, and sitting down by her husband to cling to him as if for protection. "And I really believed you; your manner was so different from your true one."
"I acted a part, my dear, and, although I say it myself, I acted it very well, as all of you must admit."
"You wouldn't have kept your secret so long had you not worn the yashmak," Ralph ventured to remark.
"Perhaps not. The yashmak was a very good mask. I often wondered why Flora wore it, if not for business purposes; as her birthmark was not so disfiguring as the one which I painted on my face."
"It was very faint," said Colonel Ilse, speaking for the first time, and in his crisp, military voice--"over twenty years ago, that is. But then Mrs. Askew, as she called herself, was a much younger woman."
"And not so fat," supplemented Lady Branwin, calmly. "Yes, I remember Flora then. After she left Bleakleigh as a widow she tried many ways in which to make money. I told you some of them, Audrey, although I don't think that I mentioned she had been an hospital nurse."
"And for an obvious reason," put in Perry Toat, in an acrid voice. The little woman was annoyed that her search for the hospital nurse had ended in this unexpected way. "You were afraid."
"Why should I be afraid?" demanded Lady Branwin, coolly. "It was Flora who kidnapped Colonel Ilse's daughter, not I. She told me all about it, and did so out of jealousy. She was in love with the Colonel."
"I certainly was not in love with her," said the soldier, stiffly, and the flush which Audrey had noticed on a former occasion appeared on his tanned face. "She made my life a burden to me, and finally took away my own child. I was left lonely," added Ilse, pathetically, "as my dear wife died when Elsie was born. Perhaps, Lady Branwin, you can tell me what your sister did with my child."
"I can tell you many things which will astonish you," said the unmasked woman, drily, "and I intend to. Perhaps had this fool"--she shot a glance of scorn and wrath at the unhappy Vail--"not torn off my veil I would not have revealed myself. But you can see from the fact that I have washed off the pretended birthmark that I intended to do so if it were necessary. I now see that it is very necessary."
"I think it is," said Perry Toat, sharply, "as we have yet to learn who murdered Madame Coralie."
"Are you going to accuse me of the crime? Why not accuse Eddy here, who put back the still-room clock?"
Vail became violently emotional. "I put it back because I intended to return and steal the diamonds," he said loudly. "I don't mind owning that, as I have already told the story to Miss Toat. But when I came back after you turned me out of the house and found that my wife was strangled, I--"
"Your wife?" interrupted Ralph, suddenly. "How could you think it was your wife who was dead when she--as you thought, I presume--had just dismissed you from the still-room."
"I did not think that the dead woman was my wife," said Eddy, sullenly. "I knew that there was a resemblance between my wife and Lady Branwin, as Flora had long since told me that they were twins. But I saw the birthmark on my wife's face, comparatively faint as it was."
"Then you knew all the time that Lady Branwin was masquerading as Madame Coralie?" demanded Perry Toat, much mortified, for she saw that this foolish, effeminate little creature had tricked her.
"Yes, because she threatened to say that I had killed Flora."
"And because I gave you my diamonds," retorted Lady Branwin.
"You went half shares," snapped Eddy, crossly. "I didn't make half as much out of the business as I expected. I held my tongue and allowed my wife to be buried as you, because I knew that by putting back the still-room clock I laid myself open to having committed the crime. But I am perfectly innocent, and you know it."
"Permit me to speak," said Lady Branwin, in harsh, hard tones, which recalled more than ever her assumption of her sister's character. "I intend to explain everything and to clear up the mystery."
"Do you wish me to go?" asked Colonel Ilse, rising. "As you are not Mrs. Askew, and cannot tell me where my child is, I don't want to stay."
"I think you had better stay," said Lady Branwin, without wincing. "I told you before that I have much to say. I am tired of myself and tired of my life. I was unhappy as the wife of Sir Joseph, who always treated me in a most brutal fashion, and I am still more unhappy masquerading as my sister. I have to put up with the blackmailing and insolence of this beast." And Lady Branwin pointed an accusing finger at Eddy, who shrank in his chair.
"You had better take care," he threatened, looking white-faced and cowardly, "for although I have told much, I can tell more."
"There is no need for you to tell anything," said Lady Branwin, scornfully, "since I am capable of revealing everything."
"Perhaps," said Perry Toat, looking at her watch, "you had better get on with your story. It is growing late."
"I shall tell my story when it suits me," snarled Lady Branwin, turning on her savagely. "I am no longer the timid fool that I was. I am hard, I tell you; hard and determined in every way. Now don't say a word," she went on, imperiously throwing up her hand; "let me talk. When I finish, you can make your comments. Not that it matters to me what any of you say."
"Mother," said Audrey, imploringly, and strove to take Lady Branwin's hand.
"You are a good child, Audrey," said the elder woman, preventing the action, "but when you know all you may not be so ready to be kind to me."
"I don't care what you have done," cried Mrs. Shawe, impetuously, "you are my mother; nothing can alter the relationship between us."
"Oh, I think so," began Perry Toat. "You left the upper portion of the window open when you were conversing with Madame Coralie," she added, addressing herself to Lady Branwin, who sat looking as still and hard as any statue, "and you conversed rather loudly, so--"
"Ah!" interrupted Ralph, with a start, "is this what you kept back at Weed-on-the Sands, Miss Toat?"
"Yes," she assented calmly. "I made Miss Pearl confess that she was not asleep. When Eddy Vail entered the court and disappeared into the house--"
"I did not disappear into the house," said the scamp, rudely. "I hid in the shadow, and watched the window to see the diamonds."
"Ah! Miss Pearl lost sight of you, as you were in the shadow, no doubt," was Miss Toat's reply; "but perhaps you heard what your wife and Lady Branwin were talking about?"
"I didn't gather much," said Eddy, quickly. "I saw that there were diamonds, and then ran upstairs to the still-room to alter the clock, and get ready to steal them. Badoura, as she frequently did, left the inner door open. After I left on that night she locked it again and restored the key to--"
Miss Perry Toat waved her hand impatiently.
"We know all about that," she said sharply. "But you"--she again addressed herself to Lady Branwin--"talked so loudly that Miss Pearl overheard your secret, and I forced her, by threatening to bring her in as an accomplice after the fact, to tell it to me."
"There is no need for you to call it a secret," said Lady Branwin, quite unmoved. "You have already told Audrey that something can alter the relationship between us. I prefer to explain the matter myself since Audrey is married, and I shall see no more of her."
"Oh, yes, mother, you--"
"I am not your mother. You are no child of mine."
Colonel Ilse leaped to his feet, greatly agitated. "Then she is--"
"Yes, yes, yes!" cried Lady Branwin, impatiently. "She is your daughter!"
"Elsie! Elsie!" cried the Colonel, and striding across the small room he caught the bewildered girl in his arms. "I might have guessed the truth at the first glimpse of you. You are so like your dear mother. I told you that you reminded me of one who was dear to me, and now--"
"Yes, yes," murmured Audrey, feverishly. "And I thought that you reminded me of someone."
"I remind you of the face you see in the glass," said the Colonel, with deep emotion. "You have my eyes, dear. Oh, my child--my darling Elsie."
"Ralph! Ralph!" muttered Mrs. Shawe. "What--what"--she stretched out her hands to her equally bewildered husband--"can it be true?"
"I believe it is true, Audrey--"
"Elsie--Elsie!" interrupted Colonel Ilse, vehemently.
"Well, then, Elsie--for the moment, at any rate," said the young husband. "I mentioned to you how impossible it was that Sir Joseph could be your father. He is not at all like you."
"Neither am I," said Lady Branwin, who had been looking at the embrace of the newly-discovered father with sad and envious eyes. "But you had better restrain your emotion." She rose and crossed the room to lay her hand on Audrey's arm, and in doing so brought herself near the door. "My dear, although I am not your mother you have been very dear to me. Don't forget me entirely, my child."
"No, no!" said Mrs. Shawe, much agitated. "I shall still look on you as my mother, dear Lady Branwin."
The woman winced at the name, and drew back. "I only ask you to think kindly of me," she said in a low voice, "for we may never meet again. When you know everything--"
"Oh, no, no!" cried poor Audrey, anxiously. "I have learnt as much as I can bear just now. I do not wish to hear anything more," and she clung to her husband, while her father tightly clasped her hand as though fearful of losing her again.
"You must know all," said Lady Branwin, calmly, "because you won't see me again. I pass out of your life very, very soon."
"What would you do?" asked Colonel Ilse, sharply.
"I would tell you the whole truth."
"Perhaps I know it," put in Perry Toat, who was on her feet. "You were quarrelling with your sister over the stolen child."
"Ah! Miss Pearl heard that much and told you, did she?" sneered Lady Branwin, taking care to keep near the door. "What more?"
"Nothing more. She said that your voices ceased suddenly."
"Ah," said Lady Branwin, coolly and reflectively, "that must have been while I was strangling Flora."
"Oh!" There was a general cry of dismay and horror. Eddy staggered to his feet and pointed a shaking finger at the woman. "You--you murdered my dear wife?" he stammered.
"Yes," mocked Lady Branwin, sneeringly, "I murdered your dear wife, who for years had been blackmailing me. Colonel Ilse, you will understand that Sir Joseph was angry because I had no children; there was no prospect of my having any. Then Flora told me how she wished to be revenged on you, and offered to bring me your child as soon as it was born. I agreed."
"You wicked woman!" cried the Colonel, glaring.
"Yes, I am very wicked," said Lady Branwin, with a weary air. "And if you had lived my life you would have been wicked also--that is, if you could have endured such a life for so many years as I did. You needn't look so savage. Your child had a good home. I was sorry it was not a boy, but under the circumstances I adopted the baby when Flora brought it as my own, and Audrey cannot say but what I have been a good mother."
"You have been very kind," said the girl, in muffled tones, and hiding her tearful face on her husband's breast.
"You are a wicked woman!" repeated Colonel Ilse again, shrinking from her.
"And a murderess!" said Perry Toat, indignantly. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, turning on Eddy.
"I didn't know for certain," stammered the young man.
"No one knew," said Lady Branwin, who was much the calmest of the party. "I managed to keep my secret very well, and you should not have known it now but that I chose to admit the truth. I grew weary of Flora's blackmailing. For years and years she made my life a misery by threatening to tell Sir Joseph the truth. I took my diamonds to her on that night so as to pay a large bribe which she demanded. She said that the amount was not enough. In despair I sprang at her throat when she was threatening to go to Sir Joseph the next day and say to him that Audrey was not his daughter. I knew that Sir Joseph would turn my poor girl into the streets, as he had never loved her. I strangled Flora, and I am glad that I did so."
"But I wish to know," began Perry Toat, springing forward, "what--"
"You shall know no more. I go to do justice," and before anyone could move Lady Branwin was out of the room.
Perry Toat, crying out that she must be arrested, ran out of the office in pursuit. She arrived at the street door to see Lady Branwin disappear into the thick fog. All pursuit proved useless. The woman who had slain Madame Coralie vanished into the dense blackness of the fog, like the ghost she had long been supposed to be. Only there rang in Perry Toat's ears her concluding words: "I go to do justice!"
"What does she mean?" cried the detective, helplessly. "What does she mean?"
There was no answer, and the fog came down thicker and darker than ever.
Sir Joseph Branwin and Miss Rosy Pearl duly arrived at Weed-on-the-Sands, and proceeded to the Three Fishers. Here the millionaire, who had quite a Bourbon dislike to be kept waiting, found a note from his daughter, which greatly annoyed him. Mrs. Shawe wrote that with her husband she had gone to town on business--she did not mention what the business was--and would return by the six o'clock train, which was timed to arrive at Weed-on-the-Sands at eight. There was nothing for it but to await the return of the newly-married couple or return to London.
"And I have a good mind to do so," fumed Sir Joseph, furiously, tearing up the letter. "How dare Audrey treat me in this way, when I have taken the trouble to come down and see her--the minx!"
"I must say," remarked Miss Pearl, with her most virtuous air, "that your daughter shows little consideration for my feelings."
"For your feelings?"
"Certainly. I came down here only on the understanding that Mrs. Shawe would be present to play the part of my chaperon."
"Pooh! Pooh! Audrey is much younger than you are, Rosy."
Miss Pearl coloured. "She is a married woman, Sir Joseph, and as such is able by her mere presence to protect my character. And I beg that you will not call me by my Christian name in public. I do not know," went on Miss Pearl, in her heavy, rich voice, "whether it would not be better for me to return to London by the next train."
"Nonsense! Nonsense!"
"Pardon me, Sir Joseph, but it is not nonsense. I have accompanied you here to witness a family reconciliation, and to show Mrs. Shawe that I am not an undesirable relative. But I have come down with you alone in the hope that Mrs. Shawe would be present. As she is not, I doubt the propriety of remaining here. In my profession one cannot be too careful. What is to be done?"
"We can wait here until Audrey and her confounded husband return at eight o'clock. Then everything will be all right."
"Mrs. Shawe may miss the train."
"Well, well," said Branwin, impatiently, "there is another at eight o'clock from London, which gets here at ten."
"At that hour it would be too late for me to return," Miss Pearl reflected. "I shall wait for the eight o'clock train, and if Mrs. Shawe does not return I shall go back to London by the nine o'clock."
"Oh! I thought you were going to remain here for the night?"
"If Mrs. Shawe were here I should not do otherwise. What can you be thinking of, Sir Joseph, to suggest such a thing. Even the fact that your portmanteau and my trunk have arrived together, as we have, is a reflection on my character, now that we have learnt the absence of Mrs. Shawe. However, I shall put the matter right. Permit me."
Then Miss Pearl sought out the landlady, and pointed out with many words that she had come to Weed-on-the-Sands as the guest of Mrs. Shawe, along with Mrs. Shawe's father. As Mrs. Shawe was not in the hotel, Miss Pearl expressed her determination to return to London by the nine o'clock train if the young lady did not come back with her husband. "Therefore," ended the dancer, with an excessively virtuous air, "you will be pleased to see that my trunk is taken to the railway station if by eight o'clock my friend does not come."
The landlady quite understood, and promised to comply with the request, so Miss Pearl, having defended her character, graciously consented to partake of dinner: in the company of Sir Joseph at six o'clock. As the pair had arrived somewhat late in the afternoon the meal was served almost immediately, and during its preparation Miss Pearl chatted on select subjects with her companion. When the dinner was over and they had indulged in coffee, Sir Joseph proposed that Miss Pearl should accompany him for a stroll on the smooth sands.
"It is a lovely night," said Branwin, looking out of the window at the full moon, "and quite a change after the fogs in London. You'll enjoy it."
"Not on the sands," said Miss Pearl, majestically. "People would talk if I went with you on the sands at this hour without a chaperon. But I do not mind walking to the pier, which I notice is directly in front of this hotel. There we shall be in evidence, and--"
"I don't want to be in evidence. I wish to have you all to myself.'
"You are getting me all to yourself," said the dancer, coldly; "but it does not do for a professional artist, such as I am, to invite ill-natured criticism. My mother, who is a consistent Baptist, always told me to be careful."
As they strolled across the road to the rude little pier Sir Joseph reflected how handsome she would look when the Branwin diamonds were round her white throat and the Branwin tiara was on her graceful head. She was rather a prude, he considered, but she was also extremely beautiful, so he had little to complain of. Beauty and a passionless nature so rarely go together.
With the gait of a Juno Miss Pearl walked on to the pier. It was now close upon eight o'clock, as they had lingered for some time over their coffee. The pier ran some little distance out into smooth water, and at the end were several seats. But there was no parapet round the verge of the jetty, and Miss Pearl chose to consider this somewhat dangerous.
"Anyone might fall in with ease," she said. "Bring the bench into the very middle, Sir Joseph, and we can then sit in safety."
The obedient millionaire did as he was told, although he would have laughed the former Lady Branwin to scorn had she proposed such a thing. But he was under the impression that his old uncomely wife was dead, and that he was free to marry this lovely and imperial creature, who ordered him about so freely. In fact, having always had his own way, he found a certain amount of delight in obeying her slightest whim. So the two took their seat on the bench, which was placed at the end of the pier, in the very centre, and well away from the dangerous water on either side.
The night was extremely lovely, being very still. The round moon floated like a golden bubble in a starry sky, and the Channel waters were spread out for miles like a carpet of silver tissues gleaming with tiny points of glittering light. The sands stretched for a long distance towards a bold headland, which jutted into the gleaming sea, and along the front of the shore gleamed the many lights of the town. People were moving up and down to enjoy the beauty of the night, and there was the murmur of many voices and the sound of laughter. After the fogs and chill of the great city, the scene was ideal. Miss Pearl so far forgot her uneasy virtue in the presence of this calm beauty that she actually leant her head on Sir Joseph's shoulder and permitted him to slip a fond arm round her substantial waist. And this, with many people walking and talking only a stone's-throw away, although it must be admitted that they had the entire pier to themselves.
"Did you do what I asked you to do, Joseph?" demanded Miss Pearl, gently.
Her use of his Christian name informed the millionaire that he was entitled to the same privilege. "Yes, Rosy, my dearest," he whispered softly--that is, as softly as such a domineering bully could whisper. "You mean the allowance to Audrey?"
"Of course. She is your daughter, and, however badly she may have behaved, she should be looked after. If you cut her off with a shilling, as you said you would do, people would blame me, and I do not care about beginning my married life with the reputation of being cruel to my step-daughter. One can never be too particular, as my mother, who is a consistent--"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Branwin, who was rather weary of Miss Pearl's constant reference to her mother; "I quite understand. I have told my lawyer to write to Audrey informing her that she shall have two thousand a year during my life, and I have to-day made a codicil to my will leaving her the same amount should I die. Had she obeyed me in the matter of marrying Lord Anvers she would have had more; but I altered my will and reduced what I intended to leave her to that amount."
"It is quite enough," said Miss Pearl, after a pause, and rather nervously. "I hope everything is arranged legally?"
"Yes, I have signed the codicil, and the letter will be sent to Audrey at the Three Fishers to-morrow. Why do you ask if I have arranged things legally?"
"Because," said Rosy Pearl, still nervously, and leaning her head more fondly on her elderly lover's shoulder, "I have a confession to make to you. On the night poor Lady Branwin was murdered I was sleeping at the Pink Shop."
"I know, I know," said Sir Joseph, impatiently. "I heard from Audrey that my wife intended to stay there also, and for that reason I came round to Walpole Lane. I thought that you might meet, and that there would be a row, for Dora was always jealous of you. How she found out that I loved you I don't know, but she did." Sir Joseph drew a deep breath. "I was glad when in Walpole Lane I saw that everything was quiet. Mrs. Mellop saw me, however, when she and Audrey called at the shop at half-past eight, and because she did hinted that I was concerned in the murder."
"I said just now," continued Miss Pearl, slowly, "that Mrs. Shawe was your daughter. She is not."
Sir Joseph violently pushed away the woman and sprang to his feet. "What is that you say?" he demanded, in an angry voice.
"You heard me, didn't you?" said Miss Pearl, doggedly. "Mrs. Shawe is not your daughter," and then she related what she had overheard about the kidnapping of Colonel Ilse's daughter, and the fraud that had been perpetrated on the millionaire by his wife.
"You knew this when you asked me to allow Audrey--"
"Yes, I did," said Miss Pearl, with mulish obstinacy, "and you must let the codicil remain, also the allowance."
"I'm hanged if I will!" said Branwin, savagely. "Why should I give my hard-earned money to another man's brat?"
"What is two thousand a year to you?" demanded Rosy Pearl, scornfully. "Look what a reputation you will buy with it when the truth becomes known. It is worth the money. Besides, whatever your wife and Madame Coralie may have done--and I don't deny that they have acted very badly--Mrs. Shawe is at least innocent. She should not be punished."
"She shan't have the two thousand a year."
"Yes she shall. If you change your codicil, I change my mind."
Sir Joseph scowled at her. "You mean that you won't marry me?"
"Yes, I do. After all, I can make a better match if I so choose. Why, Lord Anvers asked me to marry him."
"What--when he was making love to my daughter--I mean to Audrey?'
"Yes. I thought that I could reform him, but he is a man of such a notoriously bad character that I decided to refuse him. But I have many offers, and I accept yours for certain reasons which I have no need to explain; but if you don't allow Mrs. Shawe this money I shall marry someone else. I assure you, Sir Joseph," said Miss Pearl, standing up in the full splendour of her beauty, "that I can marry anyone I like."
"I quite believe it," said Branwin, grudgingly, for her beauty was undeniable and he wanted to possess it badly. "I shall take a few days to decide what is best to be done, as your revelation has taken me by surprise. I never cared much for Audrey, but I really believed that she was my own child. The scheming women!"--and he clenched his huge fist fiercely. "Tell me, Rosy, have you any idea who murdered my wife?"
Miss Pearl shook her head. "The voices stopped suddenly, and when I went down the stairs later with the idea of seeing Lady Branwin and telling her what I knew, I found her dead. I believe," added Miss Pearl, cautiously, "that Madame Coralie murdered your wife."
"I quite believe it. Just what that infernal Flora would do," said Sir Joseph, grimly. "If she did--but there, as Dora is dead I shall let the matter rest, although I should dearly like to bring Flora to the gallows. The re-opening of the case would do me no good."
"Nor me," said Rosy Pearl, decisively, "for I should have to confess to the police what I have confessed to you, and then I would be blamed for having kept it quiet so long. I only hope that Miss Perry Toat will leave the matter alone."
"Who is she?"
"A detective who is looking into the case on behalf of your--of Mrs. Shawe, and who called on me after she had heard that Mr. Shawe had seen me. I was forced to tell her all I knew, so she may--"
"She will," interrupted Sir Joseph, in an angry tone. "I daresay Audrey and her husband have gone to town about the business, and--"
"Hush!" Miss Pearl stopped him with a gesture. "Someone is coming. Do not speak of these very private matters so loudly."
Sir Joseph turned, and down the pier came a short, dark figure very rapidly, panting for breath. The figure was that of a woman, and advanced straight up to the millionaire. Branwin pushed the newcomer back, and was about to speak, when she flung aside her veil. The millionaire staggered against Miss Pearl, and turned quite green with terror.
"What is it? Oh! what is it?" cried the dancer, infected with his terror.
"Who is it, you mean," said the woman, with a taunting laugh. "It is Lady Branwin, Miss Rosy Pearl. You won't be able to marry my husband after all."
Miss Pearl, for once, was shaken out of her calmness, and but for her fashionable hat her hair would have risen on end. "Lady Branwin is dead!" she gasped, shrinking from the shapeless figure.
"Lady Branwin is very much alive," jeered the other woman, pointing at Sir Joseph. "Look at that beast--that beast!" She glared.
Sir Joseph, astonished at this speech from his hitherto meek wife, recovered himself with a violent effort. "You aren't Dora. She would never had dared to speak to me like that. You are Flora, who--"
"I am Dora, who has been hammered into hardness by your cruelty. Flora is dead, and I masqueraded as her with the yashmak, and--"
"Then--then," stammered Miss Pearl, with genuine horror, "you killed her?"
"Yes," said Lady Branwin, simply, and looked triumphantly at her husband. "I killed her because she threatened to tell Joseph that Audrey was not his daughter."
"You--you fiend!" stuttered Branwin, with a look of positive terror in his eyes. He could not understand how his formerly meek wife had changed into this hard, desperate woman, any more than he could exactly grasp how she had arisen from the dead in this startling fashion.
"I am what you have made me," said Lady Branwin, fiercely. "I was a good woman until you turned me into a fiend. But I have seen Audrey, and I have told her all the truth. Then I came down here to do justice."
"How--how did you know that I was here?" demanded Sir Joseph, who did not like the sinister looks of his wife.
"Audrey told me that you and that woman were coming down to see her. I ran away into the fog when Perry Toat would have arrested me, and caught the six o'clock train. On arriving here I went to the hotel, and they told me that you were on the pier. And now"--she turned violently on Miss Pearl--"don't you dare to marry my husband."
Miss Pearl drew herself up. "I certainly shall not do so. My reputation--"
"Is of the worst, you slut!" sneered Lady Branwin, beside herself with rage.
"It is wholly false," gasped the dancer, on her dignity at once. "I have an unspotted reputation, and my mother--"
"You are here alone with my husband. That is enough for me. How dare--"
"Don't cry out so, Dora; you will draw a crowd," said Sir Joseph, noticing that several people were turning their heads towards the pier.
"Yes, I will draw a crowd." She came towards Branwin, looking so fierce that he backed away from her. "You have ruined my life. I have lost Audrey through you. There is nothing left for me to live for, and if I do live I shall be arrested for Flora's death. You brute--you beast--you--you--" She backed him right to the end of the pier, and then, springing forward, threw her arms round him. "We will die together," she screamed wildly.
The next moment the two fell over into the deep water, and Miss Pearl ran wildly up the pier shrieking for help. It came too late. Both man and wife were dead.
One month after the death of Sir Joseph and his wife at Weed-on-the-Sands, Ralph was talking to his fairy godmother in her boudoir. He was dressed for a journey, and Lady Sanby was saying a few last words to him. Audrey was yet in her bedroom, making final preparations for departure. Since the occurrence of the tragedy she had been staying with Lady Sanby along with her husband, and the young couple had only waited for all things to be settled to start on a voyage to Australia. Lady Sanby was expressing now, as she had expressed before, her approval of the trip.
"I think you are very wise, my dear boy," she said, leaning back in her comfortable chair. "A journey round the world will do Audrey endless good."
"Audrey?" said Shawe, with a smile. "Colonel Ilse will call her Elsie."
"Well, that is natural, since it was her mother's name. The Colonel seems to be devoted to the memory of his wife. Had she lived, he would not have worshipped her so much."
"Grannie, that is cynical. Some men can remain lovers always. I am sure that I shall always worship Audrey."
"Well," said Lady Sanby, with a charming smile, "in your case there is much excuse. You and Audrey--Elsie--oh, dear me, how puzzling it is for her to have two names!--but you have come through so much trouble in company that you understand one another better than most married people, and anxiety has drawn you together. Natural--very, very natural."
"Poor Audrey! She has had a very unhappy time lately," said the young man, gravely; "and, indeed, all her life she has had trouble, more or less. Sir Joseph never cared for her, you know."
"Oh, that man never cared for anyone save himself," said Lady Sanby, tartly. "He was a bear--a clever bear, I admit, but still a bear. I suppose that one should not speak evil of the dead. All the same--well, I shall say no more."
"Let us speak of Sir Joseph as kindly as we can," observed Shawe, quietly, "for, after all, he has left Audrey two thousand a year."
"Out of an estate worth a million or two. It isn't much."
"It is enough for us both until I make an actual success as a barrister."
"Ah!" Lady Sanby wagged her old head, "that is the only thing I have to say against this very sensible journey. Is it wise, Ralph, to interrupt your career?"
"Yes, on the assumption that absence makes the heart grow fonder. But even if it were not wise, grannie, I should still undertake the journey for the sake of Audrey. So much of the case has been published in the papers that if Audrey and I remained in London we should constantly be bothered by silly people asking questions. If we travel for a year--as we intend to do--the affair will be forgotten."
"Lady Branwin went down with the deliberate intention of killing her husband, did she not, Ralph?"
"I really can't say. She certainly said in the office that she would never see Audrey again, and was going away to do justice. Perry Toat would have had her arrested, but she slipped away in the fog. Having learnt from Audrey that Sir Joseph and Miss Pearl were at the Three Fishers Hotel at Weed-on-the-Sands, she caught the six o'clock train and arrived at eight. Then she asked at the hotel where her husband was to be found. In this way she came on to the pier, and, having made a scene which attracted the attention of those on the promenade, she suddenly jumped at Branwin and flung both herself and him into the deep water. When the bodies were discovered they could scarcely be parted, so tight was Lady Branwin's embrace."
"Well, I expect the miserable woman had some idea of punishing the brute to whom she had been bound for so many unhappy years," said Lady Sanby, after a pause; "but I also think that she took sudden advantage of his being on the pier to drown both him and herself. Miss Pearl made a fine lot of trouble over the matter."
Shawe could not help smiling. "Miss Pearl was very much concerned about her reputation, and caused it to be generally known that she, like Sir Joseph, had really and truly believed Lady Branwin to be dead. Miss Pearl also made public the fact that she had induced Sir Joseph to make the codicil to his will giving Audrey, as my wife, the two thousand a year. Finally, she wrote a letter to the papers, and stated at the inquest that she had accompanied Sir Joseph to Weed-on-the-Sands with the sole idea of reconciling him to his daughter. In fact, she made herself out to be a conventional martyr, and everyone believed her."
"Oh, I don't think the woman was really ill-natured," said the old lady, with a shrug. "She certainly behaved very well over Audrey's money; but I expect she did so in order not to appear the unjust stepmother."
"Grannie, grannie, will you never credit anyone with good intentions?"
"Oh, I credit Miss Rosy Pearl with all the virtues. She says she has them, so we must believe her. All the same, she has thought it necessary to accept an American engagement for three years."
"I expect she will return as the wife of an American millionaire."
"Not at all," said Lady Sanby, coolly. "She is going to marry Lord Anvers, with the intention of reforming him. He has followed her to the States for that purpose."
"Poor Miss Pearl!" said Ralph, in a sympathetic tone.
Lady Sanby laughed. "Poor Anvers, I think," she said seriously. "But what about the Pink Shop?"
"It has been shut up, and the assistants have dispersed to the four winds, resuming, I believe, their real names. Zobeide has gone with her mother to Devonshire to live, Parizade has married her artist, and Peri Banou is Audrey's maid, as you know."
"Fancy having a dumb maid, and yet it has its advantages. Peri Banou--I do hope your wife will give her a less heathen name--will keep Audrey's secrets thoroughly."
"Audrey has no secrets," said Ralph, somewhat stiffly, "and Peri Banou is devoted to her."
"She has every reason to be. Few women would take a maid from that Pink Shop. It was too notorious."
"Oh! my dear grannie, it was conducted in a most respectable way, both by Madame Coralie and by Lady Branwin when she masqueraded as her sister."
"Humph! I certainly heard nothing against it," said Lady Sanby. "But how did Lady Branwin manage to conduct a business about which she knew nothing?"
"Well, Eddy Vail learnt the truth, as he found his wife dead. Also, in order to carry on the business and keep up her disguise, Lady Branwin had to tell Badoura who she really was."
"Then Vail and Badoura were accomplices after the fact?"
"Yes, they were. How learned you are, grannie," said Ralph, with a smile. "For that reason they bolted before the police could get hold of them. Inspector Lanton was very anxious to bring them forward as witnesses."
"It is just as well that he did not, else many more details would have been in the papers. As it is, the romance of those two sisters and the substituted child, and Dora strangling Flora, or Flora, Dora--I'm sure I don't know which--has startled everyone."
"That is why I am taking Audrey away, so that people may forget the affair, grannie. And it was Dora Lady Branwin who strangled Flora Madame Coralie. She did it, I believe, on the impulse of the moment when Flora threatened to tell the truth to Sir Joseph."
"Do you think that the man would have turned Audrey out of doors had he found she was not his daughter?"
"He turned her out of doors when he thought that she was," said Shawe, grimly. "And but for your help, dear Lady Sanby, Audrey would have been in a terrible position."
"I think you should rather thank Lady Branwin, who took the poor child in when Sir Joseph behaved so brutally."
"Yes. She loved Audrey, and it was for Audrey's sake that she strangled her wicked sister, even if she drowned Sir Joseph for her own sake. It is very strange," added Ralph, musingly, "that Audrey never suspected the false Madame Coralie was her mother."
"Oh, the very resemblance and the knowledge that Flora and Dora were twins put Audrey off the scent," explained Lady Sanby, easily. "I see no difficulty about the matter. Then the birthmark was misleading, and Lady Branwin changed her voice by some drink, from being soft into a harsh note. Finally, she nearly always wore that yashmak."
"Lady Branwin did more than change her voice, grannie. She changed the whole of her nature; and from being a meek, timid little woman she became as hard and cruel as Madame Coralie had been."
"The twin natures got mixed up, I suppose," said grannie, flippantly. "Well, both the sisters are dead, and so is the man who played with them as a child, so let us say no more about them. What has become of Sir Joseph's money?"
"Beyond the two thousand a year to Audrey, which was left to her as my wife, and various legacies, the rest goes to his next-of-kin."
"Miss Pearl must have been angry that she did not get any money?"
"She was. Sir Joseph intended to make a new will after he married her, as it was useless to make one before. But Lady Branwin, rising from the grave, upset everything. Poor woman!" sighed the barrister. "She is dead, so all we can say is 'Rest her soul.'"
Lady Sanby nodded solemnly. "By the way, where have Vail and Badoura gone to, and who is going to carry on the Pink Shop business?"
"I don't know where they have gone. Bolted to America, I understand. At all events, Lanton can't find them, and I don't expect they will turn up in England again seeing what a record they have left behind. As to the Pink Shop, it is closed for ever. I told you so."
"One last question," said Lady Sanby. "Who dropped the label near the door of the court to make the police think robbery was the cause of the crime?"
"Lady Branwin, masquerading as Madame Coralie, and Eddy Vail managed the whole wicked business. He also got the diamonds, or the most part of them, and it is with that money that he has bolted to America with Badoura. Do you wish to hear any more? For I am anxious to stop talking about this business."
"Tell me," said Lady Sanby, quite forgetting that she had asked what she had called a last question, "What of Perry Toat?"
"Oh, she has got the reward, as, really and truly, it was through her that the truth came to light. Sir Joseph's lawyers paid her the money last week, and she told me that she intends to retire from business and marry her purser. Any more questions?"
Lady Sanby thought, and was about to ask another, when the door of the boudoir opened and Colonel Ilse, looking years younger, appeared on the threshold.
"Pardon me for entering unannounced, Lady Sanby," he said, in his most polite manner, "but I have brought my motor to the street door."
"You couldn't have very well brought it to this door, Colonel," said the old dame, drily. "So you are going with the young couple?"
"Not immediately," said the newcomer. "I must allow Ralph and Elsie to resume their interrupted honeymoon. I shall join them when they reach New York, after their trip through Australia and New Zealand. Perhaps it is selfish of me, but I have been without my daughter for so long that I want to have her to myself."
"What do you say to that, Ralph?" asked Lady Sanby, with twinkling eyes.
"Oh, it is natural, and the Colonel and I get on splendidly together," said the young man, laughing. "When we return the Colonel is going to live with us--or, rather, Audrey and I are going to live with the Colonel."
"What is mine is yours," said Colonel Ilse, readily. "I have a country house and plenty of money, to which Elsie is heiress, so when I go you will have no troubles in a pecuniary sense. I really wish," added the Colonel, somewhat anxiously, "that Miss Pearl had not induced Sir Joseph to leave Audrey any money.
"Oh, that is only fair, considering how he behaved to her and to her mother--I mean to Lady Branwin--when he was alive. And the more money Ralph and Audrey have the sooner will he reach the Woolsack and get a title."
"That is a long way off yet, grannie."
"Well, I don't know. Audrey is ambitious and will make you work, my dear boy, after you have had this long holiday. But there is one point to be settled straight away."
"What is that?" asked the Colonel and Ralph simultaneously, for the old dame looked wonderfully serious.
"Is the girl to be called Audrey or Elsie?"
"I shall call her Elsie," said Ilse, promptly, "after her mother, my dear wife, and I am sure Ralph will not object."
"No," said Ralph, after a pause, "I don't think I shall. In fact, when I get used to the change of name I shall prefer it, as I should like all memory of Audrey's connection with the Branwins to be forgotten."
"Well, call her Elsie," said Lady Sanby, "and the sole memory of a very disagreeable time will be the two thousand a year."
"Which ought to be given to charity," said Ilse, abruptly.
"Give it to Miss Pearl," suggested Lady Sanby.
"No, no," said Ralph, with great common sense, "we shall keep it. Sir Joseph owes Audrey something for the way in which he treated her."
Lady Sanby arose. "You said that before," she remarked. "My dear boy, you are beginning to repeat yourself, so it is time you went."
Colonel Ilse looked at his watch. "If Elsie is ready we must go, if we want to catch the Fenchurch Street train for Tilbury Docks."
As if in answer to his question Mrs. Shawe entered ready for the journey, smiling and happy, although she looked rather thin. This was not to be wondered at, after all she had gone through. Her father embraced her tenderly, as he always did when she came into his presence. It seemed as though he never could love her enough. Then came fond farewells on the part of Lady Sanby, who insisted on descending to see the party off.
"And I hope you will be happy, Elsie," she said, kissing her at the street door.
"Do you call me Elsie, as father does?" asked Mrs. Shawe, smiling.
"Yes, and I shall call you Elsie also," said her husband, assisting her into the motor-car. "From this moment we leave Audrey Branwin and her miserable past behind. Now begins the happy existence of Elsie Shawe."
"Thank Heaven," said the girl, piously, and her father and husband echoed the wish as the motor-car hummed away towards the new life of peace and pleasure which waited for them all.
"Thank Heaven also," said Lady Sanby, waving her hand. "That is the last of the Pink Shop and all its misery."