That same afternoon, when Mr. Haskins was arraying himself in a Bond Street kit to call on the fascinating widow, he was seized with a sudden qualm as to the wisdom of his intention. After all, as Tod very truly observed, Mrs. Crosbie was supposed to be engaged to Major Rebb, although no official announcement had appeared inThe Morning Post. If then he related the secret which was connected with the Pixy's House and with a pretty girl, Mrs. Crosbie, inspired by jealousy, might forthwith demand an explanation from Rebb. In that case--vulgarly speaking--the fat would be on the fire and there would be a fine blaze.
On the other hand, Gerald wished to enlist Mrs. Crosbie on his side for two reasons. Firstly, she had been the close friend of his mother, to whom he had been tenderly attached, and as a boy he had flirted with her in the calf-love stage. They now were what Tod would call "pals," and Gerald usually took all his troubles to her, for she was a wise little woman. Of course there were nasty people who called Mrs. Crosbie an adventuress, and who said that she had nagged her late husband to death; but these were in the minority. So far as Haskins could read character--and he prided himself thereon--Mrs. Crosbie was a good woman, who certainly ought not to marry a rascal like Rebb. And that the Major was a rascal Gerald believed--perhaps on insufficient premises. For after all there might be an honest explanation of the Pixy's House mystery.
In the second place Haskins wished to remove Mavis from her prison, and as some time would necessarily have to elapse before he could marry her he desired to place her under the wing of Mrs. Crosbie. Since the widow was connected with Rebb, this seemed rather like putting Mavis into the lion's cage. But Mrs. Crosbie was the sole woman of Haskins acquaintance of whom he could ask the favor of chaperoning a young girl. Also, once Mavis was at the flat and practically beyond Rebb's reach--since he then could not hide her again--there would be no necessity for further concealment, and the Major would have to account to Mrs. Crosbie for the detention of his ward in Devonshire. The explanation--which would have to precede the marriage of Mrs. Crosbie to Rebb--could then be detailed to Haskins, and all things would be made straight. Of course, there was always a chance that they might be too crooked to be straightened. If so, it was the more necessary that Mavis should be placed in Mrs. Crosbie's guardianship, and that the little woman's eyes should be opened.
Bearing these things in mind, Haskins descended into the street to call a hansom, and proceeded to visit Mrs. Crosbie. She dwelt along with her mother in a palatial block of mansions, known as Ladysmith Court, and which had been erected by a financier of South African fame. The mansions were situated near Marylebone Road, and although the address was not ultra-fashionable the rents were high. When Gerald paid his cab at the foot of the marble steps, and surveyed the huge pile of redbrick buildings he reflected that Tod must be wrong about the widow's financial position. Only a rich woman could afford to live here, and there could be no money-grubbing idea in connection with the Rebb marriage, even though the Major had six thousand a year. Nevertheless it was strange that Mrs. Crosbie should marry Rebb, when he was so much disliked by Mrs. Berch, of whom her daughter was extraordinarily fond.
Mrs. Crosbie's flat was on the second floor, and Gerald was shown into a small but smart drawing-room by a neat maid servant. It was a true woman's room, luxuriously furnished, prettily decorated, and filled with all manner of useless knick-knacks and fancy china, and silver-framed photographs, and Japanese draperies, and finally with masses of flowers in many-hued vases. The scent of the blossoms and the perfume of a burning pastille made the atmosphere fragrant, but somewhat heavy, in spite of the rose-curtained French windows which opened on to a tiny balcony. Near one of the windows Mrs. Crosbie was seated, looking somewhat pale and disturbed, and facing her was an overdressed man, with white hair and moustache, who looked like a foreigner.
"How are you, Gerald?" asked Mrs. Crosbie, when Haskins was announced, and addressing him by his Christian name according to custom. "I have not seen you for ages." She shook hands and looked at him. "How brown you are, my dear boy. Allow me to introduce you two men. Signor Venosta, Mr. Haskins. Mr. Haskins, Signor Venosta, who has been amusing me. Do sit down. Tea will be in presently."
"Alas, madam, but I must depart," said Signor Venosta, who was a stout, oily-looking Italian of the tenor type, dressed in too gaudy a style to satisfy Gerald's fastidious taste. "I have been with you one hour."
"You should add that it has seemed like one minute," said Mrs. Crosbie, with a pretty little laugh, and waving a fan, for the heat was stifling. "Well, if you must go, you must!" She rose, and walked with her visitor to the door, glancing over her shoulder meanwhile. "Excuse me, Gerald, I shall return soon." And she left the room with the Italian.
This marked courtesy was not usual with Mrs. Crosbie, as she was a spoilt beauty, who preferred that others should wait on her, rather than that she should trouble herself about others. Haskins wondered at her self-denial, and especially in the face of such heat: wondered also that she should look so pale and worried. Apparently something was wrong with Mrs. Crosbie, and he began to conjecture whether Tod was correct as to money matters. Gerald was not over-rich himself, but he determined to question his mother's friend, and learn if possible what bothered her, so that he could proffer help.
His hostess returned after some minutes, and looked quite herself, but the renewed color might have been due to the reflection of the rose-hued curtains. She tripped across the olive-green carpet like a fairy, and resembled one, being delicate and tiny and beautifully formed. People said that Mrs. Crosbie's blonde hair and pink and white complexion were due to art, since a woman of forty could not possibly look so young without artificial aids. But be this as it may, she certainly appeared wonderfully pretty in her white silk tea-gown, which was draped with expensive lace. Haskins complimented her on her looks when she sank again into her chair and took up the cigarette-case lying on the table at her elbow. "And yet, you know," added Gerald thoughtfully, "I fancied that you looked worried and pale when I came."
Mrs. Crosbie lighted her cigarette and shot a keen glance at him. "We all have our worries, my dear boy," she said, blowing a wreath of smoke.
"You should not have any, Mrs. Crosbie. And if there is anything that I can put right, you know that I----"
"Yes! Yes! I know," she interrupted hurriedly, "but you can't. It really is nothing--oh, nothing at all. It is the heat that makes me look pale and washed out. Mother is lying down quite exhausted, but will be in to tea. I hope no one else will come, Gerald, and then we can have a nice long talk."
"That is what I have come to have," he said soberly, and produced his own cigarette-case, which he laid on the table. "Give me a match, please. Thank you!" he lighted up. "I am in trouble."
"And you have come to me as usual."
"Yes. I hope that I don't carry coals to Newcastle."
Mrs. Crosbie shrugged. "My troubles are only minor ones, such as come to every woman when she gets past her youth."
"You are in the flower of it."
"And you have known me for years. Gerald, you certainly must have Irish blood in you, to pay such extravagant compliments. Don't think too well of me, my dear boy. I have my faults. Why not? Look at the upbringing that I have had," she ended bitterly.
"Why, your mother is----"
"All that a mother can and should be," interrupted the little woman. "I know that, Gerald. But her husband, my father, was a brute. My husband, whom he made me marry in my teens, was a brute. Both my mother and I have suffered poverty and nearly open shame."
"Poverty!" Gerald glanced round the luxurious room, crowded with such splendid things.
Mrs. Crosbie shrugged again. "These are only necessities," she said contemptuously; "fancy a woman of my tastes having to live in a flat, and being bothered by tradespeople! I want a town house, a country house, a yacht, a chance of traveling all over Europe like other rich people. In fact, I want thousands a year, and I have not got them."
Gerald looked down meditatively. So Tod was right after all, and Mrs. Crosbie was hard up, even to the extent of being dunned by tradespeople. He wondered if he could help her. "You have known me long enough to accept a check," he stammered.
She whiffed away the offer contemptuously. "Although I thank you very much for offering the money," she said graciously, "you always were a dear boy. But the amount of money I want would ruin you, since I am aware that you have but the five hundred a year left by your dear mother. There! there!" she tapped him with her closed fan, "we won't talk further of these disagreeable things. All will be well."
"When you marry Major Rebb?" asked Haskins pointedly.
"Why not? The Major is not bad-looking, and has a good position, and at least five thousand a year."
"Six, I believe," corrected Gerald.
"Who told you that?"
"Tod Macandrew. He heard it from your mother."
Mrs. Crosbie nodded. "Yes; I believe that my mother asked Mr. Macandrew some questions regarding settlements on the chance that I should marry Major Rebb. But Mr. Macandrew should not have spoken about this."
"He did not," said Gerald hastily, "you can still trust Macandrew as your legal adviser. He has not betrayed your confidence regarding settlements. He merely mentioned Major Rebb's income."
"How did you come to be talking of Major Rebb?"
Gerald flung the fag end of his cigarette into a silver ashtray, and rose to pace the room. He could always talk better when in motion. "I want you to help me, Madge," he remarked.
"You mustn't call me Madge," said Mrs. Crosbie, with a look at the door. "Major Rebb would not like it."
"Then you are engaged?"
"Well, yes. I want money and----"
"Are you quite sure that Rebb has money?"
Mrs. Crosbie started to her feet, and crossing the room gripped the young man by his arm. Her face was perfectly pale, and her voice sounded uncommonly hoarse. "What do you mean?"
"I don't mean anything," said Gerald, astonished by her emotion. "Rebb is no doubt as wealthy as King Solomon. I only meant that you should make sure of the settlement. As your friend, I could say nothing else."
But Mrs. Crosbie was not satisfied. "You have heard no rumor to the effect that Major Rebb is poor, or is likely to lose his money?"
"No! no! no!" said Haskins in perfect good faith, "do sit down and compose yourself. If anything were wrong in that way I should speak out."
He could say nothing else, as, of course, his idea regarding a possible will, and money having been taken from Mavis, was mere theory. Mrs. Crosbie looked at him piercingly, after which scrutiny she returned to her seat. Apparently she counted upon this marriage releasing her from terrible trouble, and dreaded lest it should fall through. "I wish you would not frighten me," she said querulously, "my nerves are not strong. Mother and I are going away to Bognor next week for the change. We both need one very badly. Well," she selected another cigarette and became more her bright self, which he knew so well, "so you wish me to help you?"
"Yes. And I wish you to keep what I say to yourself. Promise."
She looked at him hard. "You are very mysterious."
"I am very much in earnest," he rejoined dryly.
Mrs. Crosbie shuffled. "I can't promise until I know what you are going to say," she observed irritably. Her nerves, as she had said, were certainly very bad.
"There is something in that," replied Haskins; and felt inclined to withdraw without telling his story. But after some reflection he compromised. "At all events you must hold your tongue about my secret for at least a month," and by naming this time he hoped to deliver Mavis from her imprisonment within three weeks.
"I promise," said Mrs. Crosbie curiously, "but I know your secret. You are in love?"
Gerald was startled. "How could you tell that?" he demanded, astonished.
She laughed, "I am a woman, and observant, as well as intuitive. Look at your eyes in yonder mirror, at the expression of your face, at your whole bearing."
"H'm," said Haskins, but half satisfied; "every one is not so clever as you are, Madge."
"Don't call me Madge, I tell you."
"Yes, I shall when we are alone. Hang it, I have known you for years, and besides, I wish you to do me a service. I have your promise to hold your tongue for a month?"
"Yes! yes! yes! Go on! go on. I am all ears."
"My story concerns Major Rebb."
"What? Then you did mean something, when you mentioned him last?"
"I meant nothing that will stop your marriage," said Gerald crossly, "although I don't know why a nice woman like you, Madge, should marry him."
Mrs. Crosbie stared. "Major Rebb is supposed to be a delightful man."
"He may be--to those who don't know him."
"I believe that you are jealous," she said, with a nervous laugh, "well, and how does your secret affect the Major?"
"See here, Madge, you may think me mean, speaking about Rebb to you, and behind his back. But I am doing so at that risk, because I wish you to help some one in whom I am interested. Otherwise, I am quite ready to see Rebb personally and have it out with him. Later on--say in three weeks, more or less--I shall. For then I hope that Mavis will be with you here, and quite safe."
"Mavis! Ah, the girl you are in love with. What is she to Major Rebb, may I ask?" Mrs. Crosbie's voice rose when she put this question, and her eyes grew as hard as jade, while her face colored a deep red.
"Ah," said Haskins, surprised, "then you love Rebb?"
"No! But he is rich and----I don't see what right you have to ask me such questions. Go on. What have you to say?"
"If you love Rebb I can't speak."
"I don't love Rebb. Go on. I'll keep my promise."
Gerald hesitated no longer. Rising to his feet he again began to pace the room, and related the same story as he had told Tod. Only in this especial instance he suppressed his theory regarding the will and the money. Mrs. Crosbie listened quietly, and with an expression of dismay; but she made no remark until he had finished. "You are telling me a fairy tale," she said quietly.
"Yes, isn't it?" cried Gerald, delighted with her quietness.
"I mean that it is untrue."
"I swear it isn't. Mavis is kept in that Pixy's House, and I found her by means of the sealed message, as I have described. Now I want you to get her up here, and look after her until I can marry."
"Who will bring her here?"
"I shall, and within three or four weeks."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Crosbie quietly, "now I see why you asked me to hold my tongue for a month. Gerald, you are wrong to act in this way. As I have made a promise I shall keep it; but it will be better for you to release me from that promise. Then I could ask Major Rebb about his ward and persuade him to let me have her up here. In any case, when I marry Major Rebb, I shall have to do with this girl you love."
"What you suggest, Madge, would certainly be better and, I may say, more straightforward. I hate acting in this way behind Rebb's back, and I intend later to speak plainly to his face. But you forget how Rebb has put it about that Mavis is a homicidal maniac. That is untrue."
"You can't be sure of that, Gerald; you have not seen sufficient of her to judge. To take a girl, reputed mad, from her seclusion would be very wicked. Any crime which she might commit would be laid at your door."
"But surely, Madge, the action of Major Rebb is not that----"
"He may have, and probably has, good grounds for shutting up the girl."
Gerald bit his lip, beginning to see that, with all his caution, he had made a dire mistake. "Then you won't help me?"
"No," said Mrs. Crosbie firmly, "how can you expect me to help you against Major Rebb, when we are engaged to be married? And how can you ask me to take charge of a girl who is mad?"
"She is not mad, I tell you."
"And I tell you that she is mad; otherwise Major Rebb certainly would not shut her up. What reason could he have to shut up a sane girl?"
It was on the point of Haskins' tongue to explain his theory, but having made one mistake--as he plainly saw from Mrs. Crosbie's attitude--he did not wish to make another. "You will keep your promise of silence?" he urged earnestly.
"Yes, on condition that you make no attempt to run away with the girl from that madhouse. I speak in your own interest. You will get into trouble if you take an insane woman from her lawful guardian."
"You seem to be quite certain that Mavis is mad," said Gerald bitterly, "however, as you know my secret, and I am at your mercy, I promise."
"I think that you are very ungrateful," cried Mrs. Crosbie, "many another woman would have declined to keep, what you call, the secret at all."
"I have made a mistake," confessed Gerald, and he could have kicked himself, that he, a man of the world, should be such a fool.
"Well," said Mrs. Crosbie, as the door opened to admit the servant with afternoon tea, "let us say no more about it. I promise to hold my tongue for a month, and you promise to leave the girl alone meanwhile."
Gerald waited until the tea-tray was arranged and the girl had departed. "No," he said decisively. "I have been wrong, and you have shown me my duty. I shall call on Major Rebb to-morrow, and explain."
"You cannot," replied Mrs. Crosbie, "the Major is in Devonshire."
This announcement complicated matters. "Then I follow Rebb to Devonshire," said Gerald doggedly; "my mistake must be put right."
It is admitted that Man as a whole is not infallible, but each individual man has a secret belief that he is. Haskins was no more complacent than other mortals--in fact, less so--yet he had an idea that his caution and common-sense invariably prevented his making mistakes. Assuredly, as a rule, he was rarely in error, but to every rule there is an exception, and Haskins' ill-judged frankness to Mrs. Crosbie was the exception in this case. It said much for Gerald's sane view of life that he recognized his mistake at once, and at the cost of some unpleasantness hastened to correct it. This entailed an interview with Major Rebb, which was likely to be a stormy one.
At the outset Gerald believed that he had read Mrs. Crosbie's character all wrong, and that even after years of close companionship--since she had been so intimate with his mother--he knew very little about her. Had she really been that which he believed her to be, she would--he thought immediately on leaving Ladysmith Court--have readily helped him in his somewhat eccentric wooing. But on calmer reflection he arrived at the conclusion that he, himself, was in error.
His first mistake lay in overlooking the relationship existing between Rebb and the widow. Being engaged to him--as she had admitted--she certainly could not be expected to act against what she believed to be his interests. And his second mistake consisted in hoping that Mrs. Crosbie--who in many ways was particularly conventional--would take charge of a girl believed to be insane. It was only natural that Mrs. Crosbie should believe Mavis to be mad, as, being willing to accept the Major as her second husband, she could scarcely credit him with conspiracy. And if Mavis was not insane her detention in the Pixy's House was certainly a conspiracy against her rights as a human being. Gerald took this view from personal observation, and because he mistrusted Rebb: but Mrs. Crosbie, as engaged to marry the Major, could not be expected to endorse a theory which would render Rebb unworthy of her hand, or indeed of her acquaintance.
It may be here mentioned that Haskins had not mentioned the wonderful likeness which existed between Charity and Mavis, since the thought had flashed across him, while speaking, that such a statement might implicate Tod in the mysterious business, which was not to be thought of. All Mrs. Crosbie practically knew was, that Gerald loved a reputedly insane ward of her promised husband, and desired her to side against that promised husband, so that he might marry the girl. It was impossible to expect that any woman would act in this way, and Gerald acknowledged to himself that Mrs. Crosbie had behaved in a perfectly reasonable manner in refusing to help him.
In fact, she had behaved extremely well in holding to her promise of one month's secrecy, for many a woman would have told Rebb there and then what had been said about him. Therefore Mrs. Crosbie was not only right, but Gerald felt that he was entirely in the wrong; felt, indeed, that he had acted somewhat shabbily. The sole way in which he could right matters, and recover his self-respect, was to see Rebb, as soon as possible, and explain himself. Then, as man to man, they could thresh the matter out. With this idea Haskins drove back to his rooms in Frederick Street, Mayfair, intending to change and pack, and catch the midnight train from Paddington to Exeter.
But, while dressing, he reflected that it would be better to first assure himself that Mrs. Crosbie was correct in stating the Major's whereabouts. Rebb's rooms were also in Frederick Street, and only a few doors away, so it would be just as well to run in and to make inquiries. Rebb might return on the morrow, in which case it would hardly be worth while to journey to Denleigh so hurriedly. Also Mrs. Crosbie having promised to hold her tongue for one month, there was no necessity to act at once, since two or three, or even more, days would make very little difference. Finally, Gerald was unwilling to return to the Pixy's House and to Mavis until he knew if his theory regarding a possible will was correct; otherwise he would have nothing to tell her.
While meditating on the desirability of calling at Rebb's rooms, Gerald desired to smoke to aid his thoughts after the manner of men. He mechanically took his cigarette-case, but found some difficulty in opening it. As his case was usually easy to open, he looked down with awakened attention to see what was the matter, and found that he had brought away Mrs. Crosbie's cigarette-case by mistake. Probably he had laid his own case on the small table alongside hers--and in fact he remembered doing so--and when departing had unconsciously taken the one which did not belong to him. He resolved to return it at once by post, but meanwhile took a cigarette therefrom to smoke, since there were no others in his rooms. This entailed opening the case, and when it was open a small object, which had been placed within, fell out.
This proved to be a tiny coral hand, clenched, and holding a dagger, something like those amulets which are sold in Naples to avert the evil eye. A little gold ring was screwed into the coral, so that the trinket could be attached to a watch chain or to a bracelet. After a careless glance, and a passing thought as to why Mrs. Crosbie should use her cigarette-case as a jewel-box, Haskins placed the coral hand on top of the cigarette-case, which he laid on the mantelpiece. Then he lighted up and walked out, to seek the Major's rooms.
These, as has been said, were only a few doors distant, and Haskins speedily arrived on the first floor of the somewhat dingy house wherein they were situated. He found the door open, and a mild-looking valet talking to a veiled woman with a graceful figure. While waiting to address the man himself, Gerald heard him state to the lady that his master had gone to Devonshire on the previous day and would be back within four and twenty hours. The lady appeared annoyed, but declined to leave a card, or to give any message. However, she stepped aside, fuming--as Haskins guessed from the way in which she stamped her foot and clenched her hands--and permitted him to speak. Gerald asked the same question, as to the Major's whereabouts, and received the same answer, upon which he produced his card.
"Tell Major Rebb, when he returns, that Mr. Haskins wishes to see him on a private matter. Mr. Gerald Haskins," added the young man, handing the card. Then he turned away, wondering why the veiled woman should utter a muffled exclamation of surprise when she heard the Christian name.
But his wonder was still further increased when, on descending the stairs, he felt his arm grasped, and found that the strange lady was at his elbow. "You are Mr. Gerald?" she said in deep contralto tones, "may I call you--Prince Gerald?"
Haskins started. It was in this way that Mavis addressed him. But this woman could not be Mavis, for she was too thin and too tall, and her voice was too worn. Could she be---- "Bellaria!" he said tentatively.
"Bellaria," assented the woman softly--they were standing on the pavement by this time. "Take me somewhere safe. I wish to speak with you."
"My rooms are close at hand," said Haskins promptly, and wondering at this unexpected encounter with one whom he had believed to be miles away. "We can go there at once, Bell----"
"Hush!" she clutched his arm again, and looked over her shoulder, as she had looked when in the quadrangle. "Don't say that name here. They may hear--they may hear."
"Who may hear?"
"Never mind; never mind. Come inside; come inside. Oh, Dio! no mention of my name," and she hurried into the doorway indicated by Gerald.
In a few minutes they were in Haskins' sitting-room, and here again Bellaria's nervousness betrayed itself.
"There is no one can hear us?" she asked, her veil up, and her eyes roving round the room.
"No, no," replied the young man soothingly. "The man and his wife who attend to me in these chambers are below. You can talk freely. By the way," he asked abruptly, "how did you know my name?"
Bellaria, looking more aged and haggard than ever, flung herself into an armchair, and laughed uncomfortably. "Prince Gerald. Who calls you Prince Gerald, Mr. Haskins?"
"Mavis does, but----"
"Then it is true, what she confessed to me: that you love her and she loves you?"
"Quite true," rejoined Haskins quickly. "We met by chance, and----"
"By chance!" repeated Bellaria scornfully. "When you deliberately came where you had no business to come. I know all!"
"How did you find out?" Gerald was perfectly calm when he asked this question, as she did not seem to be hostile.
"I saw that Mavis was not herself, that she was disturbed, and guessed that she was keeping something secret from me. I watched, and saw her lead a man across the quadrangle. When she came in that night I told her what I had seen, and so--she confessed about the sealed message, and about her secret meetings with you. Also that you desired to marry her. Fool!" cried Bellaria pointing a scornful finger at her host, "would you marry a madwoman?"
"Not in making Mavis Durham my wife," said Haskins coolly. "She is perfectly sane."
"And I--Bellaria Dondi--say that she is not."
"Are you sane yourself?" asked Haskins, turning the tables on her.
The woman reared herself in her chair, gripping the arms, and directed a fierce gaze at him. "What do you mean?" she demanded.
"Why did you not come out and face me when Mavis talked with me in the garden?" he remarked, meeting her gaze firmly and fairly.
"Because--because---- Oh, there is no explanation."
"I think there is. You dare not venture out after dark, so you waited until Mavis entered the house to question her."
"How do you know that I dare not venture out after dark?" she asked, and her figure seemed to dwindle and shrink.
"Mavis told me."
"Mavis knows nothing, nothing, do you hear? God forbid that she should ever know anything. But my business is my own business, and has nothing to do with you, Prince Gerald. Mavis is crazy: she would kill you as soon as look at you, at certain times."
"I don't believe that for one moment."
"You must--you shall! If Mavis is not mad, why should her guardian shut her up in a lonely house?"
"That," said Gerald very dryly, "is what I went to Major Rebb's rooms to ask when I met you."
Bellaria arose, much astonished. "You will dare to face the Major?"
Haskins laughed. "Do you take me for a schoolgirl? Of course I shall face the Major, and a dozen like him if necessary."
"You are a brave man."
"And Major Rebb? What is he?"
"The kindest and best friend that a miserable woman ever had," retorted the woman fiercely, "not a word against the Major. I won't hear a word, I tell you. What he does is right."
"Not in shutting up Mavis."
"She is mad, I tell you; mad and dangerous." Bellaria came close to where Gerald was sitting and looked down into his face with a determined expression. "On learning what I did learn from Mavis I came up at once to tell Major Rebb, so that he might stop it."
"I fear Major Rebb will find it somewhat difficult to stop it. He is not the Ruler of the Earth, so far as I know."
"He is my ruler," cried Bellaria grandiloquently.
"So I should think, when the mere wish to give him information makes you risk----"
"Risk what? Risk what?" she demanded, quivering.
Haskins shrugged his square shoulders. "Your life, for all I know."
She stood looking at him with clenched hands, the expression on her worn face hovering between terror and defiance. "You talk of what you do not understand," she said, breathing hard.
"Quite right: but I should like to understand."
"Understand what?"
"Why Bellaria Dondi, who was a famous singer, should bury herself in a lonely Devonshire house, to keep a sane girl prisoner."
"You have been listening!" she cried out in terror. "How do you know that I was a singer?"
"I heard you sing the Shadow Song fromDinorahduring one of my visits; and, when hidden behind the beech-tree near the wall, I heard you say that you had been a great singer."
Bellaria covered her face with two thin hands, and the tears fell through her fingers. "I was great! I was famous!" she sobbed. "I was happy until jealousy undid me. But," she let her hands drop and flung back her queenly head, "I only did what any Italian woman would have done. He betrayed me, why should I not betray him?"
"Major Rebb?"
"No! Enrico Salviati, who swore that he loved me, yet left me for another. But I punished him. He died, and perhaps I shall die as he did, for all my care. They will find me, and then----Oh, what agonies I have suffered for many, many years! This face," she struck it, "was handsome. Enrico loved it. These lips--Enrico kissed them--with the kiss of Judas. And what better am I? What better am I?" She rushed to the mirror over the mantelpiece to address herself. "Bellaria Dondi, you can hide in the depths of the sea, but they will find you. You can----Augh!" her eyes fell on the silver cigarette-case of Mrs. Crosbie, upon which lay, delicately, the clenched coral hand with the dagger. "Augh!" she repeated, and staggered back.
"What is the matter?" Gerald rose and came forward.
Bellaria repelled him with both hands, shaking with dread. "Keep back, you English spy! You have brought me here! You are one of them. But if you use the knife I shall scream. Keep back! Keep back!"
"I don't understand," gasped Haskins, amazed at this outburst.
"The hand, the sign, the token of death!" she groaned, then, keeping her terrified eyes on Gerald, stole stealthily to the door. "Tána! ahi Tána. Lasso me: si davvéro. Tána! Tána!" uttering these words rapidly, and almost in a scream, she made the sign of the cross on her breast and vanished. By the time that Haskins, in pursuit, had reached the top of the stairs she was at the foot. A moment later and she ran swiftly in to the street, holding her veil closely over her pallid face.
"What the deuce does it mean?" Gerald asked himself, as he returned to his sitting-room, and examined the coral hand. "This thing seems to have terrified her almost to death. 'Tána! Tána!' Humph! I must learn what that means. It is an Italian word, I expect. Now what"----He went on musing on the strange behavior of Signora Dondi, much perplexed, and did not notice that a lady was standing in the doorway. Her cough made him look round, and so unnerved was Haskins by his late experience that he fairly jumped.
"Mrs. Berch!" he said, recognizing the lady at once. "I apologize for not seeing you."
"I apologize also," said Mrs. Berch; in the stern voice habitual to her--"apologize that is, for entering unannounced. But the door was open, Gerald, so I took the privilege of old friendship and entered."
"Delighted to see you, Mrs. Berch," said Haskins, wondering why she had come, "won't you sit down?"
"For one minute," and she took a chair.
Mrs. Berch was a tall, thin woman, with a worn, white face, and hair as black as her eyes, notwithstanding her age, which was over sixty. She was dressed in some lustreless, dark material without any trimming, and carried herself very erect. In fact there was something of the Roman matron about her, so stern and proud did she appear. Gerald liked her, as she had always been kind to him. But Mrs. Berch was something of an enigma to him. He could not understand why so bold and determined a woman should have submitted to the brutality of her late husband. Yet Mrs. Crosbie's father had behaved like a demon to his wife, as Gerald had learned from his mother. She adored her daughter, and--as the saying is--lived again in her child.
"You wonder why I have called," said Mrs. Berch, in an unemotional voice, which always reminded Haskins of one talking in sleep, "especially when I was lying down with a headache when you came. But Madge asked me to bring you this," and she produced Gerald's cigarette-case.
"Thank you. I left it behind by mistake and took Madge's. Here it is."
Mrs. Berch arose and received the dainty trifle. "That is all I called about, Gerald. I shall take it back to Madge at once. She was much disturbed at losing it."
"I don't know why she should have been," said Haskins; "she must have guessed that I had taken it, and would send it back. Oh, by the way, you may as well put this into it. I opened the case for a cigarette and found this. It fell out," and he passed along the coral hand.
Mrs. Berch's dead-white face flushed, and her black eyes glittered. "I am glad that is not lost," she said eagerly. "It was this that Madge was anxious about."
"What is it?"
"Some ornament to which Madge attaches some value, I fancy."
"H'm. Is it the badge of any society?"
Mrs. Berch's flush face faded to a chalky-white. "Why do you ask?"
Gerald asked a question in his turn. "Did Madge tell you what I came to see her about?"
"No. Madge never betrays anyone's confidence. But I heard your story."
"You heard it!" Haskins stepped back a pace in his astonishment.
"Yes!" said Mrs. Berch coldly, and slipping the case along with the coral hand into her pocket. "I was asleep on the sofa in the other room, which is, as you know, divided from the drawing-room by curtains. I woke to hear what you said about that girl and Major Rebb. In the interests of my daughter I listened."
"And you intend to tell Major Rebb?"
"No. Madge asked me to hold my tongue. And indeed, Gerald, I would do so for your own sake. Major Rebb is an ill man to meddle with."
Haskins threw back his head defiantly. "I am not afraid of Rebb," he said, in a haughty tone. "I went to see him to-day to explain myself, but he is in Devonshire: gone to see his unfortunate ward, I expect. When he returns I shall demand an explanation."
"He may not give it to you," said Mrs. Berch, pursing up her mouth.
"He must. I love Mavis and I intend to marry her."
"But if she is mad----"
"She is not mad, and----Well, Mrs. Berch, there is no use in my talking to you on the matter. I did wrong to speak to Madge about it, since she is to marry Major Rebb."
"Madge will hold her tongue as she promised, and so shall I, Gerald."
"Thank you both," replied Gerald courteously, "but there will be no need after to-morrow. I intend to see Rebb, as I said."
"To learn what?"
"To learn," said Haskins, "why he shuts up his ward, seeing that she is not, in my opinion, insane. Also to learn why Bellaria, who watches Mavis, buries herself in the Pixy's House."
"I heard you talk of the woman," said Mrs. Berch, in her chilliest manner, "and I presume that Bellaria stops in the Pixy's House because she is Major Rebb's servant."
"There is more in it than that. Bellaria came to see Major Rebb this very day, and came also here to me, since she knows that I have visited Mavis. Bellaria is terrified out of her life because of some people who seek her life. When she saw that coral hand, which was lying by chance on the mantelpiece, she rushed away, accusing me of being in league with some society to kill her. At least, that was what I gathered from what she said. But it was sheer raving."
"I think so, indeed," said Mrs. Berch quietly, "this coral hand is merely an ornament, given by Signor Venosta, whom you met to-day, to Madge. It means nothing, Gerald, so think no more about it."
But when she departed Geralddidthink, and it was little wonder that he did so.
During the next three days Gerald found ample time to reflect upon the strange circumstances which environed him. Anxious to see the Major and place affairs on a proper basis, he called thrice at his rooms. On the first occasion he learned that Rebb had not returned to London; on the second, it appeared that he had come back, but was absent, visiting Mrs. Crosbie; while on the final occasion Haskins was told by the mild-looking valet that his master had gone again to Devonshire, and would not return for at least a week. He had left no message, said the man. From this circumstance Gerald inferred that Rebb was afraid of the interview. It then struck him, and very naturally, that, as the Major, during his hurried stay in town, had called upon Mrs. Crosbie, the widow had broken her promise. If this was the case Rebb had been placed on his guard, and so not only avoided Haskins, but had gone back to the Pixy's House to make arrangements for thwarting the young man's curiosity. Gerald therefore paid a visit to Ladysmith Court, only to learn that the widow and her mother had departed for Bognor on a month's holiday. It was thus apparent that in these two quarters Gerald could do nothing for the moment.
And, indeed, the more Haskins thought about the matters the more difficult did it appear to set them straight. If he saw Rebb, and the Major held to the story of his ward's madness--as he assuredly would--Gerald felt that, for some time at all events, he could do nothing. Of course, if his theory about the will proved to be correct, and if he could be certain that Rebb was shutting up Mavis in order to enjoy an income which should rightfully be hers, then he could take steps to have the matter inquired into. To make any beginning at all, it was necessary to see Tod Macandrew, so Gerald determined to look him up. Just as he did so, the morning post brought a Sunday supper invitation from Mrs. Pelham Odin. This was what Tod would have called a coincidence, but Gerald, believing that nothing happened by chance, saw in the incident a sign pointing to the path he should tread. Directed by the Unseen Powers, who were, he believed, about to unravel the mystery, he had not to see Rebb or Mrs. Crosbie immediately, nor had he to proceed at once to Denleigh. His duty was to visit Mrs. Pelham Odin's flat and learn what he could about Charity Bird. If she was related in any way to Mavis Durham--and the marvelous likeness between the two girls hinted as much--he might learn from the old actress sufficient of her adopted daughter's past to give him a clue to the intrigues of Major Rebb.
It will be seen that Gerald had not proceeded to inquire into the mystery of the coral hand, or Bellaria's fear of the same. He could have learned somewhat about the matter of the trinket by seeing Signor Venosta, who, according to Mrs. Berch, had given the amulet to the widow. But Gerald did not know where Venosta lived, and could not make inquiries from Mrs. Crosbie without her wanting to know his reasons. Moreover, he desired to solve the mystery of Mavis and of her detention before searching into Bellaria's past. Certainly he had a shrewd idea that Mavis' detention, and Bellaria's dread, and Major Rebb's behavior, and Mrs. Crosbie's possession of the coral hand, were all of a piece, but these were like the separate parts of a puzzle, and he could not fit them together. There was nothing for it but to see if he could find a clue into the labyrinth when visiting Mrs. Pelham Odin. He therefore dressed himself with great care, and proceeded in a hansom to Bloomsbury, where the old actress dwelt.
Her abode was scarcely a flat, in the accepted sense of the word, but rather a collection of rooms on the first floor of a fine old Georgian mansion in Caroline Street. A retired butler and his wife, who had been a cook, owned the house, and attended to the various people who dwelt therein. Mrs. Pelham Odin was thus spared the trouble of domestic details, for which--as she said herself--she had no head, and was very comfortably placed at a moderate charge. With the obstinacy of old age, she called her abode "my flat," and no argument could persuade her that the name was wrongly applied.
Haskins entered the large square room with a painted ceiling which was Mrs. Pelham Odin's drawing-room. Adjoining was the dining-room, equally spacious, while the two bedrooms occupied by the old lady and her adopted daughter were across the landing. The room looked pretty and picturesque, as Mrs. Pelham Odin had great taste, and did not cram her apartments with furniture, or indulge in a multiplicity of patterns on carpet or walls, or on the upholstery of the chairs. A great quantity of flowers adorned the room, deftly arranged by Charity, and it was lighted with rose-shaded lamps on tall wrought-iron pedestals. On entering the door from the staircase three narrow windows could be seen opposite, opening on to a small balcony, but, as the night was a trifle cold, these were closed, and the yellow curtains were drawn. The room looked comfortable, and Mrs. Pelham Odin was the most comfortable person in it. She fitted the apartment as a hermit-crab fits its shell.
The actress, with a great sense of the fitness of things, had grown old gracefully--that is, she had not resorted to dye and paint to improve her waning looks. She was a small woman, and very stout, but her dignity was tremendous. In a black velvet gown trimmed with lace, that might, or might not have been priceless, with her silvery hair worn in the regal style of Marie Antoinette, with a somewhat massive set of features irradiated by a gracious smile, Mrs. Pelham Odin received her guest as a queen might have done. From a long experience in playing aristocratic old dames in comedy, and imperious heroines in tragedy, dignity had become a second nature to the clever old actress. It is said that Gibbon was so long in writing "The Decline and Fall" that he ended in believing himself to be the Roman Empire. In a like manner Mrs. Pelham Odin believed herself to be the Marchioness inCaste, or Helen Macgregor, or Volumnia--perhaps a mixture of the three. She certainly was tremendously dignified, and no stage manager ever dare to take a liberty with her. She still appeared on the boards when she found a part worthy of her grandiose style.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Haskins," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, apparently suppressing an inclination to use the royal "we," and proffered her hand to be shaken or kissed, as the visitor preferred.
Gerald, having something to gain from a little timely flattery, kissed the jeweled fingers. He knew that this old-world attention appealed to Mrs. Pelham Odin as nothing else did. "You are looking--like yourself," he said politely, "I can pay you no higher compliment."
Mrs. Pelham Odin laughed her celebrated silvery laugh, which critics always mentioned, and took the stage--that is, she walked the length of the drawing-room. "Ever a courtier, Mr. Haskins. Where did you--living in this present generation of hurry--learn such Versailles manners?"
"From the queen of the English stage, madam."
"From me?" Mrs. Pelham Odin fell into her famous startled fawn attitude--also much noticed by critics. "Oh no, no; I am but a humble survivor of the past."
"And you have survived to show us what grace and dignity once existed."
The old actress fluttered her fan with a gracious smile, and bowed her head to the compliment. "Neither grace nor dignity are necessary in this age of motor cars," she said, sighing. "However, we must take things as they are and be cheerful. You don't ask after Charity?"
"I am too much taken up with you at present, madam."
"Ah, you Irishmen, with your blarney. Well, Charity is in the dining-room with Mr. Macandrew. She is showing him some new photographs of herself, so will not be here for a few minutes, which is just as well."
"Why?" asked Gerald, taking the seat she indicated.
Mrs. Pelham Odin throned herself queenlike on a sofa. "What do you think of Mr. Macandrew?" she asked abruptly.
"He is the best fellow in the world," replied Haskins promptly, for he guessed why she asked the question, and was willing to act as Tod's trumpeter, "also he is very clever, and some day will be wealthy."
"Charity wants to marry him."
"And he wants to marry Charity. My dear lady, I knew that years ago."
Mrs. Pelham Odin nodded. "Of course, it is stale news. All the same, I asked you here to chat over the matter. Hitherto, I have set my face against such a marriage, as the match is not a good one for my girl."
Gerald dissented. "If Miss Bird marries Macandrew she is a lucky young lady, to my mind. He is of good family; he is clever; he has a good profession; and he is an honest man. Certainly he has no money, but----"
"That's just it," interrupted the other, "he has come in lately for a legacy of two thousand pounds. That is something, but not much. Still, Charity is so bent upon this marriage, that--if you can really swear to all you say about Mr. Macandrew--I am willing to consent."
"I certainly should do so. Come, Mrs. Pelham Odin, don't part two hearts in this cruel way. Let your daughter marry Macandrew."
The actress sighed. "I think I shall have to," she said, after a pause, "circumstances and Charity's will are too strong for me. It shall be as you say." And she held out her hand.
Haskins kissed it again. "I am sure that you will have no cause to regret having taken my advice."
"I hope not, Mr. Haskins. And after all this may be one of those marriages which are said to be made in heaven. But Mr. Macandrew wants to marry Charity at once, and she has yet to fulfil one month's engagement at the Belver Theatre."
"Macandrew can wait for one month, surely."
"He must. Charity cannot break her engagement without paying forfeit, and the managers will be sorry to lose her. Certainly she has only one dance inThe Moon-Fay, but she is a great favorite with the public, and when she retires from the stage she will be greatly missed. I assure you, Mr. Haskins, that Charity is giving up a very brilliant career to become the wife of an obscure solicitor."
"Macandrew will not always be obscure. He will rise high in his profession, and will make plenty of money."
"Of course Lady Euphemia is against the marriage."
"What of that? Macandrew is the chief person to be considered."
Mrs. Pelham Odin did not pay very strict attention to this speech. Her eyes were on the polished floor, and she was thinking deeply. "I can guess why Lady Euphemia Macandrew disapproves," she said hesitatingly: "my girl is a dancer, for one thing; and she is also a waif."
Haskins looked up suddenly. Mrs. Pelham Odin was touching on the very point which he wished to discuss. "You told Macandrew something about that?" he remarked eagerly.
"Yes. Because I wished Mr. Macandrew to know exactly what he was doing, and to tell you the truth, Mr. Haskins, as I did not wish the marriage to take place, I thought that the discovery of Charity's birth might put him off, since he is well born himself."
"Love laughs at rank," said Gerald. "I thought you knew nothing of Miss Bird's birth."
"Nor do I, save that I bought her from a native woman in Calcutta for a small sum. It sounds quite like 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' doesn't it?" And Mrs. Pelham Odin laughed again in her silvery manner.
"Didn't the woman tell you where she got the child?"
"No--that is, she explained that she had taken over the child from an ayah at Simla. Charity was pretty, and I was sorry to see a European child with a juggler and his wife, so I took her with me, and have brought her up as my own daughter, although I did not give her my name."
"Do you ever hope to learn about her parents?"
"No. That is impossible, I fear. It is quite fifteen or sixteen years since I took possession of her. The native woman and the ayah may be dead. Quite a romance, isn't it?"
"I can tell you something even more romantic," said Gerald, "if you will promise to hold your tongue."
"How delightfully mysterious you are," cried Mrs. Pelham Odin, in her lively comedy manner. "I promise, of course. Well?"
Haskins thereupon, and without further preamble, detailed the history of his love affair, and commented strongly on the wonderful likeness which existed between the two girls. Mrs. Pelham Odin interrupted him with little cries of astonishment, but gave no opinion until he finished his recital. "What do you think of it?" asked Haskins.
"It is like a play! like a melodrama. But of course there are casual resemblances such as you describe."
"This is more than a casual resemblance," interrupted Gerald quickly: "the two girls might be twins."
"Oh, what a pity that Charity is leaving the stage," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, her theatrical instinct uppermost, "a comedy with twin girls in it would draw all the town. And that gives me an idea. I can assist you, if you can swear," she laid her hand on his arm, "that this Mavis Durham is not crazy."
"I can swear, certainly. Would I wish to marry her if she were?"
"Love may laugh at lunatic asylums as well as at rank," said the actress merrily, "but if you are certain that the girl is sane, why not let her take Charity's place inThe Moon-Fay?"
Haskins started to his feet. "Are you serious?"
"Of course I am. You want to run away with this girl. If you do, Major Rebb--I know him, and a nasty man he is--will follow you, and make himself unpleasant. What you want to do is to conceal the girl somewhere until you can prove that her guardian is shutting her up illegally. Well then, Major Rebb must know of the wonderful resemblance of Charity to Mavis. If Charity marries Mr. Macandrew quietly she can go with him to Switzerland for a month's honeymoon, and even longer. I can teach Mavis the one dance which Charity performs in the ballet at the Belver Theatre, and she can take my girl's place."
"But the theatre people will guess."
"Oh, dear me, no," rejoined Mrs. Pelham Odin promptly. "I always go to the Belver myself to look after Charity. She scarcely speaks to a soul, my dear Mr. Haskins. I can take your Mavis there and back without anyone being the wiser, if the resemblance is as you say."
Gerald caressed his chin. "It certainly is an excellent idea," he murmured. "Major Rebb, not knowing of Miss Bird's marriage, would not suspect the substitution. Thank you, Mrs. Pelham Odin, I shall think over the matter. I go down to Devonshire next week, or rather this week."
"I know," the actress nodded; "one always does get mixed up about Sunday being the first day of the week. Well then, go down and make what arrangements you like. If you run away with the girl--and I quite think you should, if only to spite Major Rebb, whom I detest--you cannot conceal her better than in the way I suggest. It is quite a variation of Poe's 'Purloined Letter.' The scheme is so daring that it must succeed. But hush!" she made a dramatic pause, and raised her finger, "here comes Romeo and Juliet. Not a word."
Before Haskins could reply Charity entered from the dining-room with Tod at her heels, and Gerald could not help starting when he saw how wonderfully she resembled the girl shut up in the Pixy's House. She had the same figure, the same coloring, the same graceful way of walking. Only in the manner of speaking and in the personality was there a difference, and that would not be noticed by a casual spectator. Charity was more worldly, more material, and--as Gerald thought--less lovable. But then he was prejudiced in favor of the young lady whom he wished to marry: Tod's opinion would have been quite the reverse.
"How are you, Mr. Haskins?" said Charity, offering her hand calmly, "you have not been to see us for years and years."
"All the same, I have been hearing about you," replied Gerald, glancing at Tod, who nodded gaily. "I have to offer my congratulations."
"Well," said Charity slowly, and looking at Mrs. Pelham Odin, "I am not so sure of that. My mother doesn't----"
"Yes, she does," interposed the actress quickly, and took the girl's hand in her own. "Mr. Macandrew. I bestow upon you a priceless treasure," and joining the hands of the two lovers she sank back on the sofa with a tiny lace handkerchief to her eyes. It was very neatly done, and only needed limelight and applause to form an effective curtain.
"Oh," cried Tod, clasping Charity's hand convulsively. "Do you mean to say that we can marry?"
"Now that you have enough to keep the wolf from the door I do, my dear Mr. Macandrew, or shall I say James, since you are to be my adopted son-in-law?"
"Not James. Call me Tod."
"That is the Scottish for fox, and you are not foxy."
"Never mind, mother," cried Charity, whose eyes were dancing with delight, "the name of Tod suits him, and Toddy is the name of a Scottish drink."
"Come now; come now," protested Tod, "when I am so sober."
"You ought to be drunk with happiness," said Haskins, laughing.
"Perhaps the poor dear needs food," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, leading the way to the dining-room, "let us see what the cook has done in the way of supper."
"My marriage feast," giggled Tod, taking his seat. "You'll be best man, of course, Jerry."
"We can talk of these things later," said Mrs. Pelham Odin hurriedly, "in consequence of my age, I think the marriage will have to be a very quiet one."
"Yes," nodded Charity; "I don't want Lady Euphemia to forbid the banns."
"As if she could," cried Macandrew, in the highest spirits.
It was a very merry supper, and Mrs. Pelham Odin drank the health of the future bride and bridegroom in foaming champagne. Also she winked in rather an undignified way at Gerald to intimate that she included himself and Mavis in the toast. Then she related various stage experiences connected with her own marriage, and eulogized the late Mr. Pelham Odin.
"He is an angel now," said the widow, and wept, until Gerald made her laugh again.