CHAPTER XXIIITHE LIFTING OF THE CLOUD
“Durley, fill up Miss Beatrice’s champagne glass. I insist, my dear,” as Beatrice protested. “Your health needs such a tonic, and it can do you no harm. I promised your father that I would take good care of you, so you must prepare to do exactly as I say,” and Mrs. Macallister shook a warning finger at her guest.
Peggy had called for Beatrice that afternoon and carried her home in the Macallisters’ landaulet. And already their tender but unobtrusive sympathy, and the cheery atmosphere of the house had had a beneficial effect on her over-wrought nerves.
Intuitively, Mrs. Macallister knew that Beatrice was silently grieving her heart out, too proud to complain even to those dear friends, as each day added its burden to those whichher sensitive woman’s soul was bearing so bravely. As her handsome dark eyes, filled with unshed tears, encountered Mrs. Macallister’s piercing ones, that astute dame, deeply touched by their wistful appeal, then and there registered a vow to do everything within her power to help her. “There’s some man in the case,” thought she, watching Beatrice covertly. “And what on earth ails Peggy? She hasn’t been herself since the night I found her in a dead faint.”
All through dinner Peggy had eaten nothing. She sat, pale and preoccupied, making bread balls and leaving her grandmother to entertain Beatrice. The hat-pin was weighing heavily on Peggy’s mind, taking away both appetite and sleep. She was trying to screw up her courage to ask Beatrice to explain its presence in her box, but each time she looked at her friend’s sad face her heart misgave her. What—what if she couldn’t explain? Peggy sighed drearily.
“For goodness’ sake, Peggy,” exclaimed Mrs. Macallister thoroughly exasperated.“You are very depressing to-night. What is the matter?”
“Nothing, nothing,” she hastily declared, suddenly waking up to the fact that she had not taken any part in the conversation for some time. “I was thinking of a story Mr. Sinclair told me this morning when I was in the bank about Mrs. Wheeler. He said his bookkeeper sent word to Mrs. Wheeler that she had overdrawn her bank account. She promptly wrote a note to him saying she was so sorry the mistake had happened, and she enclosed her check on them to cover the overdraw!”
“Poor Mrs. Wheeler,” said Beatrice, as they rose from the table and strolled into the library. “I wonder what Washington would do without her, her blunders are so numerous?”
“Their name is legion,” agreed Mrs. Macallister, helping herself to coffee. “Is that the door bell, Hurley?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I think it is probably Dick Tillinghast,” exclaimed Beatrice rising in her agitation. “I took the liberty of asking him to call here, Mrs.Macallister. I hope you won’t mind, but I—I—” she broke off. “It was imperative that I see him at once.”
“My dear, of course not. I am always glad to see Dick,” answered Mrs. Macallister, concealing her surprise. Could it be that he was the man in the case! Why, good gracious,shehad other plans for him. “Ask Mr. Tillinghast to come in here, Hurley.” Her usually tranquil tones were so emphatic that the well-trained servant positively jumped as he hastened out of the room.
Mrs. Macallister looked at the two girls very sharply. Surely she had not been mistaken? Dick had seemed to have only ears and eyes for Peggy; and yet—Beatrice’s very evident excitement; Peggy’s open-eyed wonder. “Oh, these men!” thought Mrs. Macallister, disgustedly, “you can’t tell by the looks of a toad how far he’ll jump. If that young man has played fast and loose with my Peggy, I’ll—” And in growing anger she waited. The silence was unbroken by the two girls. They could hear the front door opened, and Hurley’s raisedvoice; then steps sounded down the hall and stopped when they reached the library. Hurley threw open the door and announced:
“Mr. Gordon.”
Too astounded to move, Peggy and her grandmother sat gazing at the young officer, thinking they saw an apparition. As he crossed the threshold, one wild scream of agony burst from Beatrice, and she swayed forward a dead weight into his arms.
“Beatrice—Beatrice—my darling—my dear, dear wife!” he cried, distractedly. Then, seeing no answering gleam of recognition in her dazed eyes, he turned appealingly to Mrs. Macallister. “Merciful God! have I killed her?”
“Nonsense!” cried Mrs. Macallister, her active mind instantly grasping the significance of the situation. “Joy never kills. Quick, Hurley,” to the butler who was standing by with mouth agape, “some champagne.” And, as he darted out of the room to obey her order, she bade Gordon lift the limp form on to the wide lounge.
With Peggy’s assistance, he chafed her coldhands, and watched with anxious eyes while Mrs. Macallister forced Beatrice to swallow some foaming champagne. The stimulant had instant effect, a little color crept up into the wan cheeks, and she made a feeble attempt to sit up, all the time keeping her eyes fixed on Gordon as if she feared he would vanish from her sight.
“Donald—Donald—is it you?” she gasped, the pent-up longing of days finding voice at last. Then, as recollection gradually returned to her, her features were distorted with agony. “Don—Don—how could you?”
“Hush, my darling, you are wrong, wrong—I am innocent!” Her eyes distended with dawning hope as she glanced from one anxious face to the other.
“Here, take another glass of this,” insisted Mrs. Macallister, who firmly believed that a sip in time often saved many ills. “You will need all your strength, for I judge there are many things which will have to be explained to-night.”
“You are right, Madam,” exclaimed Gordon. “And the one to begin is right behind you.”
Mrs. Macallister wheeled around with such energy that she knocked a cherished vase off the center table, to find Dick Tillinghast just within the door.
“Mercy on us, Dick,” she said, divided between vexation over the fate of the vase, and anxiety to hear what extraordinary events had transpired. “Come in and tell us at once what has happened.”
Dick took the chair Peggy pushed toward him, and reading the agonized question in Beatrice’s pleading eyes, he said briefly:
“The real murderer, Count de Smirnoff, has confessed.”
A cry of surprise broke from Mrs. Macallister and Peggy, but Beatrice’s feelings were too deep for words. She bowed her face in her hands, and only Gordon caught the fervid whisper: “God, I thank Thee,” while hot scalding tears trickled through her fingers. Regardless of the others’ presence, he threw himself on his knees beside her.
“My best beloved, can you ever forgive me for doubting you; I, who am most unworthy—”
Beatrice raised a radiant face. “Hush!” she said. “Do not let me hear you say such a thing again. I, too, am greatly to blame.”
“Pardon me,” interrupted Dick. “Neither of you have any cause for self-reproach. You were simply the victims of circumstances. But it strikes me that you two have played at cross-purposes long enough. If it isn’t too painful,” addressing Beatrice, “would you mind straightening out some of the kinks in the rope?”
“Gladly,” she answered. “Where shall I begin?”
“Suppose you start with the marriage ceremony,” suggested Dick, smiling covertly.
“What!” exclaimed Beatrice, astonished. “You know of our marriage?”
“Yes. As it happened, my brother performed the ceremony.”
Gordon’s amazement was evident. “I never connected him with you; but go on, dearest—” and he touched her hand lovingly.
“Last November I went to visit my aunt, Mrs John Dundas, my mother’s sister, in Philadelphia. At that time I was very unhappyat home. Alfred Clark wanted me to marry him, and Mrs. Trevor encouraged his suit. Mr. Clark,” coloring vividly, “did not behave well. If I wanted to live in peace and tranquillity I had to be nice to him. Every time he thought I slighted or neglected him, he would complain to her, and between them they would hatch up all sorts of stories to tell Father. He believed my stepmother’s lies, and often bitterly reproached me for making disagreeable scenes. If Mrs. Trevor stopped tormenting me, Mr. Clark always egged her on to more deviltry. They were not always good friends, though, and I hoped one of their numerous quarrels would lead to his dismissal. But I think he must have had some hold over her, for she apparently feared to break with him altogether.”
“He had,” interrupted Dick. “I have just seen Clark. Under Chief Connor’s severe examination, he has made a complete confession. It seems—” Dick hesitated for words. It was not a pleasant tale he had to tell; he would have to expurgate it as best he could. “It seemsthat Mrs. Trevor, while living in Naples, had a desperate affair with Giovanni Savelli. In about a year he found she was unfaithful to him. I suspect Clark was the other man in question, but he wouldn’t admit it. Anyway, Giovanni threatened to kill her when he turned her out in the streets; he was so violent in his anger that, in desperate fear, she fled the city at night.
“Some time after her marriage to your father, Clark came to Washington, and through her influence secured his secretaryship. To terrorize Mrs. Trevor, he told her that Giovanni was planning to revenge himself on her, and that if she did not do exactly as he, Clark, wished, he would inform Giovanni of her whereabouts.
“Now comes his devilish ingenuity. While in Naples, both Clark and Mrs. Trevor joined the Camorra. Clark, desiring at last to get Mrs. Trevor out of his way as he feared she would speak of his disreputable past in one of her violent rages, sent word to Giovanni six weeks ago that she was betraying secrets of the Camorrato the Italian Embassy here. To further involve her, he himself sent information to the Ambassador in Mrs. Trevor’s name. The Camorra leaders promptly investigated Clark’s charges, found they were apparently true, and decreed her death.”
“What a fiend!” ejaculated Mrs. Macallister, horrified.
“He will have plenty of time to repent in one of our penitentiaries,” said Dick, dryly. “Won’t you continue your story, Miss Beatrice?”
“Right after my arrival in Philadelphia, I met Don at a hop at the League Island Navy Yard, where he was stationed. On Christmas day we became engaged—” Gordon caught her hand in his and kissed it passionately.
“I was very, very happy. On the 29th of December I received a long letter from Father saying Mr. Clark had asked formally for my hand in marriage, and that, after due consideration, he had given his consent. Then he enumerated the advantages of the match. Through the whole letter I could perceive mystepmother’s fine Italian hand. I knew the great influence she had over him, and while he said he would never force me to take anyone I disliked; still, he hoped, and so forth.
“The letter frightened me, Mrs. Macallister; and so when Don, after reading it, suggested that we marry secretly and at once, I agreed. We told my aunt, and she, also knowing that Father always sided with Mrs. Trevor, said that it would probably come to an elopement sooner or later. Therefore, liking and trusting Don as she did, she consented to arrange the affair for us. I returned to Washington with my aunt immediately after the ceremony, and Don came down the following day to report for duty at the White House.
“Ah, Don!” she broke off, turning towards him, “you should not have asked me to postpone the announcement of our marriage on the flimsy excuse that you found on your arrival only unmarried officers were to be the President’s aides. You should have given me your full confidence then.”
“I was wrong,” admitted Gordon gravely.“But you do not know the tangle I found myself in. Go on, dearest.”
“I was cruelly hurt,” said Beatrice, slowly; “though I tried to convince myself that everything you did was for the best. And so things drifted until the evening of the third.” She stopped and drew a long breath.
“As I came downstairs dressed for the Bachelors’ that night, I was surprised when Mrs. Trevor called me into the library. While outwardly civil, we usually saw as little of each other as possible. She asked me if it was true that I had definitely refused Mr. Clark, and when I said it was, she flew into a terrible rage. When her anger had spent itself, she begged and implored me to change my mind and marry him, saying that I would bitterly rue the day if I did not.
“I laughed the idea to scorn; and told her I was pledged to another, better man. ‘His name?’ she asked. ‘Donald Gordon,’ I replied. Without a word she leaned over and took out several notes from the drawer of her secretary, saying: ‘I am afraid your chevalier—sanspeur et sans reproche—is but human. Here is a letter from him to me; read it.’
“Startled, my eyes fell on the handwriting I knew so well, and I read the first few lines—words of endearment and love were written there, Donald—” A fierce exclamation broke from him, and he started to interrupt. “Wait,” she said. “Your turn will come later. To go back: for a moment the room swam round me, and the black demons of jealousy and despair conquered. Remember, I thought I already had cause to doubt you. Mrs. Trevor’s beauty had proved irresistible to others; why not to you? But I was determined not to give in; so I told her I did not believe her, and she laughed, oh, a laugh of pure deviltry. At least, it seemed so to me. She handed me another note from you, which said that you would be there that night, and would rap on the door for her to admit you.
“It was damning evidence, and my hope and faith crumbled away. In a few passionate words I renounced you; and then, tearing off your signet ring, which I always carried concealedsince our wedding, I gave it to her and bade her return it to you.
“As I started to leave the room, she said: ‘I will stop urging your marriage to Alfred Clark on one condition.’
“‘And that is?’ I asked.
“‘That you give me your mother’s pearls.’
“For a moment I stared at my stepmother, thinking she had taken leave of her senses. My dear mother’s rope of pearls! They are worth about twenty thousand dollars. Grandfather Trowbridge had collected them from all parts of the world, and their great value lay in their wonderful match. Therefore, I thought my ears had played me false, and I asked unbelievingly: ‘And your price?’ ‘You know it,’ she answered. By that time I was wrought up beyond endurance, and cried out: ‘You devil, get out of my way, or I may forget myself and strike you!’ That is the part overheard by Wilkins—” her voice trailed off in a sob.
Dick broke the pause that followed. “Clark also told me that Mrs. Trevor was trying to raise a large sum of money, hoping to buy hissilence,” he said. “She must have realized that she was nearly at the end of her resources.”
“‘Whoso diggeth a Pit shall fall therein,’” quoted Mrs. Macallister, softly.