Kitabı oku: «The White Lie», sayfa 13
CHAPTER XXV.
TO PAY THE PRICE
“Well?” asked Ansell, looking at his wife with a distinctly evil grin.
“Well?” she answered blankly, for want of something else to say.
“What will you give me for this letter?” he asked, carefully replacing it in his wallet and transferring it to his pocket with an air of supreme satisfaction.
“I have nothing to give, Ralph.”
“But you can find something quite easily,” he urged, with mock politeness. “Your ladyship must control a bit of cash-money. Remember, I’ve already made enquiries, and I know quite well that this man Bracondale is extremely wealthy. Surely he doesn’t keep too tight a hold on the purse-strings!”
“I have already told you that I have no money except what Lord Bracondale gives me, and he often looks at my banker’s pass-book. He would quickly ask me where the money had gone to.”
“Bah! You are a woman, and a woman can easily make an excuse. He’ll believe anything if he is really fond of you, as I suppose he must be. You wouldn’t like him to have that letter – would you, now?”
“No. I’ve told you that,” she replied, her pale, dry lips moving nervously.
“Then we shall have to discuss very seriously ways and means, and come to terms, my girl,” was his rough rejoinder.
“But how can I make terms with you?”
“Quite easily – by getting money.”
“I can’t!” she cried.
“Well, I guess I’m not going to starve and see you living in luxury – a leader of London society. It isn’t likely, now, is it?”
“No; knowing you as well as I do, I suppose it isn’t likely.”
“Ah! You do me an injustice, Jean,” he said. “I only want just sufficient to get away from here – to America – and begin afresh a new life. I’ll turn over a new leaf – believe me, I will. I want to, but I haven’t the cash-money to do it. To be honest costs money.”
“Yes,” she sighed. “I suppose it does. And to be dishonest, alas! is always profitable in these days, when honour stands at a premium.”
“Well, how much can you get for me?” he asked roughly.
“Nothing,” she replied, holding out her hands in despair. “Where am I to get money from?”
“You know best, Jean. I don’t. All I know is, I want money – and I mean to have it.”
“But I tell you I can’t get any,” she protested.
“You’ll have to. You don’t want Bracondale to know the truth, do you?” he asked.
She shook her head. Her eyes were wild and haggard, her cheeks as pale as death.
“Well, look here,” he said, again thrusting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Give me five thousand pounds, and you shall have your letter. I will be silent, and we will never meet again. I’ll go back to America, and give my firm promise never to cross to Europe again.”
“Five thousand pounds!” echoed the distracted woman. “Why, I can’t get such a sum! You must surely know that.”
“You will do so somehow – in order to save your honour.”
“What is the use of discussing it?” she asked. “I tell you such a proposal is entirely out of the question.”
“Very well. Then you must bear the consequences. If you won’t pay me, perhaps Bracondale will.”
“What!” she gasped. “You would go to my husband?”
“Husband!” he sneered. “I’m your husband, my girl. And I mean that either you or Bracondale shall pay. You thought yourself rid of me, but you were mistaken, you see,” he added, with a hard laugh of triumph.
“I was misled by the newspapers,” she said, simply, as she stood with her back against the grey rocks. “Had I not believed that you had lost your life in the Seine I should not have married Lord Bracondale.”
“Deceived him, you mean, not married him,” he said harshly. “Well, I haven’t much time to wait. Besides, that governess of yours may come back. It won’t be nice for that little girl to be taken from you, will it?” he said. “But when Bracondale knows, that’s what will happen.”
“Never. He is not cruel and inhuman, like you, Ralph!” she responded, bitterly.
“I’m merely asking for what is due to me. I find that another man has usurped my place, and I want my price.”
“And that is – what?” she asked, after a few minutes’ pause, looking him straight in the face.
“Five thousand, and this interesting letter is yours.”
“Impossible!” she cried. “You might as well ask me for the crown of England.”
“Look here,” he said, putting out his hand towards her, but she shrank from his touch – the touch of a hand stained with the blood of Richard Harborne.
“No. I won’t hurt you,” he laughed, believing that she stood in fear of him. “I want nothing but the cash-money. I’ll call at Monplaisir this evening for it. By Jove!” he added. “That’s a nice, comfortable house of yours. You’ve been very happy there, both of you, I suppose – eh?”
“Yes,” she sighed. His threat to call at the villa held her appalled. She saw no way to appease this man, who was now bent upon her ruin. The present, with all its happiness, had faded from her and the future was only a grey vista of grief and despair.
“You know quite well,” he went on, “that when you tell me that you can’t get money, I don’t believe you. You surely aren’t going to stand by and see your husband starve, are you? I’ve had cursed bad luck of late. A year ago I was rich, but to-day I’m broke again – utterly broke, and, moreover, the police are looking for me. That’s why I want to get away to America – with your help.”
“But don’t I say I can’t help you?” she protested. “Ah!” she exclaimed, a second later. “You can have my brooch – here it is,” and she proceeded to take it from the breast of her white gown.
“Bah! What’s the good of that to me?” he laughed. “No. Keep it – why, it isn’t worth more than fifty pounds! You surely don’t think I’m going to let you have your affectionate letter for that sum, do you?”
“I’ve got nothing else.”
“But you have at home,” he urged. “What other jewels have you got?”
“Nothing of great value here. The Bracondale jewels are at Bracondale,” she replied slowly, after a few seconds’ deliberation. “I have nothing much here, except – ”
And she drew herself up short.
“Except what?” he asked sharply.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, yes, you have,” he said, in a hard voice. “Now tell me. What have you got of real value?”
“I tell you I have nothing.”
“That’s a lie,” he declared. “You’ve got something you don’t want to part with – something you value very much.”
She was silent and stood there pale and trembling before him. He saw her hesitation, and knew that his allegation was the truth.
“Come, out with it! I mustn’t stay here any longer. We shall be seen,” he said. “What have you got?”
She bit her blanched lip.
“My pearls,” she replied in a voice scarcely above a whisper.
“What pearls?”
“Matched pearls which my husband gave me for my birthday.”
“Valuable – eh?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “But you can’t have them. I prize them very much.”
“Greater than your own honour?” he asked, seriously.
“You shall never have them. What excuse could I make to Bracondale?”
“Leave that to me. Pearls are easier negotiated than diamonds. I can sell them at once. If they are the good goods I’ll give you the letter in exchange for them. That’s a bargain.”
“They cost several thousands, I know.”
“Good! Then we’ll conclude the business to-night.”
“No, no!” she protested. “What could I tell my husband?”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep referring to him as husband, Jean, when he is not your husband.”
“To the world he is. I am no longer Jean Ansell, remember,” she protested.
“Well, we won’t discuss that. Let’s arrange how the exchange shall be made. Now, around your house is a verandah. You will accidentally leave the pearls on the table in one of the rooms at midnight, with the long window unfastened, and I’ll look in and get them. You will be in the room, and we can make the exchange. Next day you will discover your loss and tell the police that burglars have visited you. By that time I shall be in Amsterdam. It’s quite easy. Only keep your nerve, girl.”
“But – ”
“There are no ‘buts.’ We are going to carry this thing through.”
She hesitated, thinking deeply. Then she openly defied him.
“I will not let you have those pearls. He gave them to me, and I won’t arrange a mock burglary.”
“You won’t give them to me as price of your honour – eh? Then you’re a bigger fool than I took you for. I dare say they won’t fetch more than a thousand – perhaps not that. So it’s a sporting offer I am making you.”
“You can have anything except that.”
“I don’t want anything else. I want to do you a good turn by getting away from here – away from you for ever. I quite understand your feelings and sympathise with you, I assure you,” he said, his manner changing slightly.
But she was obdurate. Therefore he at once altered his tactics and resorted again to his bullying methods. He was a low-down blackguard, although he was dressed as a gentleman and cultivated an air of refinement. Yet he was a prince among thieves and swindlers.
“All this is mere empty talk,” he declared at last. “I tell you that if you refuse to do as I direct I shall call upon Bracondale this evening and ask for alms. Oh,” he laughed, “it will be quite amusing to see his face when I show him your letter, for he no doubt believes in you. Are you prepared to face the music?”
And, pausing, he fixed his cruel, relentless eyes, beady and brilliant as those of a snake, upon his trembling victim.
She did not answer, though she now realised that he held her future in his remorseless hands. This man whom she had once loved with a strong, all-consuming passion, had risen to smite her and to ruin her.
“Will Bracondale be at home to-night?” he asked presently.
“No,” she responded in a low whisper. “He will be at his club. He has arranged to play bridge with M. Polivin, the Minister of Commerce. You won’t see him.”
“Good. Then you will be alone – to meet me and take the letter in exchange for the pearls, which I shall take,” he said, confidently. “I had a look around the house early this morning before anyone was about. It would be very easy to enter there – quite inviting, I assure you. I wonder you don’t take precautions against intruders. I speak as an expert,” and he laughed grimly.
But she made no response.
“I notice,” he went on – “I notice that the room on the left of the front entrance is a small salon. It has a long window leading to the balcony. Leave that unlatched, and I will come there at midnight. If you are there, leave the light on. If there is danger then put it out. I shall know.”
“But I can’t – I won’t.”
“You will! You want that letter, and I will give it to you in exchange for the pearls! He will suspect nothing. A thief got in and stole them. That was all. He is rich, and will buy you another set. So why trouble further?”
“No – I – ”
“Yes – ah, look! That woman is coming back with the child. I must clear. Remember, it is all arranged. At midnight to-night I’ll bring you the letter. Au revoir!”
And next moment the evil shadow of her life disappeared around the corner of the rock and was gone.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A CHILD’S QUESTION
At luncheon Jean met her husband, but so agitated was she that she scarce dare raise her eyes to his.
Before entering the dining-room where Bracondale awaited her she halted at the door, and with a strenuous effort calmed herself. Then she went forward with a forced smile upon her lips, though her cheeks were pale and she knew that her hand trembled.
His lordship had spent a strenuous morning with the papers Martin had brought from the Foreign Office. At least two of our Ambassadors to the Powers had asked for instructions, and their questions presented difficult and intricate problems which really ought to have gone before the Cabinet. But as there would not be another meeting just yet, everyone being away on vacation, it devolved upon Bracondale to decide the question of Britain’s policy himself.
In the pretty, cosy room, outside which the striped sun-blinds were down, rendering it cool and pleasant after the midday heat on the beach, the Foreign Minister stood thoughtfully stroking his moustache.
“Well, Jean,” he asked, “had a quiet morning, dear?”
“Yes, delightful,” was her reply. “The heat is, however, rather oppressive.”
“I’m awfully sorry I could not come down to fetch you, dear,” he said; “but I’ve been dreadfully busy all the morning – lots of worries, as you know. I’ve only this moment risen from my table. There are more complications between France and Austria.”
“Oh, I know how busy you are,” she replied as she seated herself at the daintily set-out table, with its flowers, bright silver, and cut glass.
Their luncheons tête-à-tête were always pleasant, for on such occasions they sat at a small side-table, preferring it to the big centre-table when there were no guests.
“Did you see anyone you knew?” he asked, carelessly, for often Mme. Polivin, the rather stout wife of the Minister of Commerce, went to the sands with her children.
“Well, nobody particular,” was her reply, with feigned unconcern. “Enid enjoyed herself immensely,” she went on quickly. “She didn’t bathe, so I told her to make a sand castle. She was delighted, especially when the water came in under the moat.”
And then, as he seated himself opposite her, old Jenner entered with the hors d’œuvres.
Jean was thankful that the room, shaded as it was, was in half darkness, so that her husband could not see how pale she was. Through the open windows came the scent of flowers borne upon the warm air, and the silence of the room was over everything.
He began to discuss their plans for the autumn.
“Trevor asks us to go a cruise in his yacht up the Adriatic in October,” he said. “I had a letter from him this morning, dated from Stavanger. You remember what a good time we had with him when we went to Algiers and Tunis two years ago.”
“I’ve never been to the Adriatic,” she remarked.
“I went once, about nine years ago, with that financial fellow Pettigrew – the fellow who afterwards met with a fatal accident in a lift at the Grand in Paris. It was delightful. You would be interested in all the little places along the beautiful Dalmatian coast – Zara, where they make the maraschino; Sebenico, Pola, the Bay of Cattaro, and Ragusa, the old city of the Venetian Republic. Shall we accept?”
“It is awfully kind of your brother-in-law,” she replied. “Yes, I’d love to go – if you could get away.”
“I could come overland and join you at Venice or Trieste, and then we could put into Brindisi or Ancona for any urgent despatches. You see, there’s no convenient rail on the Dalmatian side. Yes, I think I could manage it.”
“Then accept by all means. I love the sea, as you know. Where do they sail from?”
“Marseilles. You will join the Marama there. She will then touch at Genoa, Naples, and go through the Straits of Messina, and I’ll join you in the Adriatic.”
“Helen is going, I suppose?” she remarked, referring to Trevor’s wife. “Of course, and the two Henderson girls, and little Lady Runton. So we shall be a merry party.”
Jean was delighted. In the excitement of the moment she forgot the dark cloud that had fallen upon her.
Yet next second she reflected, and wished that her departure upon that cruiser was immediate, in order that she could escape the man who had so suddenly and unexpectedly returned into her life.
“We shall go to Scotland after our return,” he said. “Remember, we’ve got house parties on the eighth, seventeenth, and thirtieth of November.”
“And Christmas at Bracondale,” she said. “I love spending it there.”
“Or perhaps on the Riviera? Why not? It is warmer,” he suggested.
“It may be, but I really think that nowadays, with the change in the English climate, it is just as warm in Torquay at Christmas as at Nice.”
“Yes,” he replied with a smile. “Perhaps you are right, after all, Jean. If you want warmth and sunshine from December to April you must go to Egypt for it. People have begun to realise that it is often colder in Monte Carlo than in London. And yet it used not to be. I remember when I was a lad and went to Nice with the old governor each winter, we had real warm sunshine. Yes, the climate of the south of Europe has become colder, just as our English climate has become less severe in winter.”
And he ate his lobster salad and drank a glass of Chablis, thoroughly enjoying it after the hard mental strain of the morning.
“I think I shall go for a run in the car this afternoon. I feel to want some fresh air. Will you come?” he asked.
“I think not, dear,” was her reply. “I have a little headache – the sun, I think – so I shall rest.”
“Very well. I’ll have a drive alone.”
“Let’s see,” she exclaimed; “didn’t you say you were going out to-night?”
“Yes, dear, to Polivin’s. There’s a man-party this evening. You don’t mind, do you? I promised him some time ago, and for political reasons I desire to be friendly. I shan’t go till ten o’clock, and no doubt you will go to bed early.”
“By all means go, dear,” she said, very sweetly. “I – I had forgotten the day.”
It was not often he left her alone of an evening when they were together during the recess. In the London season she was, as a political hostess, often compelled to go out alone, while he, too, had frequently to attend functions where it was impossible for her to be present. Sometimes, indeed, days and days passed and they only met at breakfast. Frequently, too, he was so engrossed in affairs of State that, though he was in the house, yet he was closeted hours and hours with Darnborough, with some high Foreign Office official, an ambassador, or a Cabinet Minister.
That big, sombre room of his in the dark, gloomy London mansion was indeed a room of political secrets, just as was his private room at the Foreign Office. If those walls could but speak, what strange tales they might tell – tales of clever juggling with the Powers, of ingenious counter-plots against conspiracies ever arising to disturb the European peace, plots concocted by Britain’s enemies across the seas, and the evolution of master strokes of foreign policy.
“Are you quite sure you prefer not to go for a drive this afternoon?” he asked, looking across at her.
“No, really, dear. I don’t feel at all fit. It is the excessive heat. It was awfully oppressive on the beach.”
“Very well, dear. Rest then, and get right by the time I get in for tea.”
She looked at him from beneath her half-closed lashes.
Why had he asked her whether she had met anyone she knew that morning? It was not a usual question of his.
Could he know anything? Had he been present and seen the meeting?
No, that was impossible. He had been at home all the morning. She had made enquiry of Jenner as she came in, so as to satisfy herself.
Yet there was a strange suspicion in his manner, she thought. It may have been her fancy, nevertheless he seemed unduly curious, and that question of his had set her wondering.
For some moments she ate her dessert in silence.
Before her arose all the horror of that amazing meeting. The words of the criminal who was her husband rang in her ears, cruel, brutal, and relentless. He had threatened to call there at the villa, and hand her letter to Bracondale, a threat which, she knew, he would carry out if she did not appease him and bow to his will.
She was to exchange those pearls, Bracondale’s valued gift, for the silence of a blackmailer and assassin! Ah! the very thought of it drove her to desperation. Yet she was about to do it for Bracondale’s sake; for the sake of little Enid, whom she so dearly loved.
Every word the brute had uttered had burned into her brain. Her temples throbbed as though her skull must burst. But she fought against the evil and against a collapse. She put on a brave front, and when Bracondale addressed her she laughed lightly as though she had not a single care in all the world.
The meal over, she took a scarlet carnation from the silver épergne between them, broke the stem and, bending, placed it in the lapel of his coat, receiving as reward a fond, sweet kiss, old Jenner having finally left the room.
“Now go and rest, dearest,” his lordship said. “I have a few letters I will write before I go out.”
And he was about to cross to the door when it suddenly opened, and little Enid in her white muslin dress danced into the room, rushing up to her mother’s outstretched arms.
Bracondale caught the child and, taking her up, kissed her fondly.
Then, when he set her down again, she rushed to Jean, and in her childish voice asked:
“Mother, I was so afraid this morning when I saw you talking to that nasty man!”
“Nasty man!” echoed Jean, her heart standing still.
“Yes, mother. I ran across from Miss Oliver and was coming to you, but when I got round the rock I saw – oh, I saw a nasty man raising his hands, and talking. And you were so frightened – and so was I. So I ran back again. He was a nasty, bad man.”
For a second a dead silence fell.
Then Jean, with a supreme effort, collected her thoughts and exercised all her self-control.
“What was that, Jean?” inquired Bracondale quickly.
“Oh, nothing. A man came along begging – rather a well-dressed man he seemed to be. And because I refused to give him anything he commenced to abuse me. But I soon sent him away.”
“The child says you were afraid.”
“Afraid!” she laughed, with a strange, hysterical little laugh. “If I had been I should have called for help. He was only some loafer or other who, finding me alone, thought he could get a franc, I suppose.” And then, after a pause, she added, “I had a similar experience one day last year. The police really ought to keep the sands clear of such persons.”
“What was he like? I’ll tell the chief of police about it.”
“Well, really, I didn’t take very much notice,” she replied. “I was reading, and looking up suddenly found him standing before me. I had no idea that Enid saw him. He asked me for money in a very rough manner. And naturally I declined, and told him that if he did not clear off I would shout for help. So – well, after a few more abusive words, he slunk away.”
“He might have stolen your brooch,” Bracondale remarked.
“He might, certainly,” she said. “Not until after he had gone did I realise how helpless I had been.”
“Yes, mother,” exclaimed the little girl, “but you were frightened, weren’t you? I thought he was going to hit you, for you put up your hands, and he clenched his fists and put his face right into yours. Oh! it did frighten me!”
“Didn’t you tell Miss Oliver?” asked her father.
“No; but I will. I went digging, and forgot all about it.”
“If I were you, Enid, I shouldn’t tell Miss Oliver,” her mother said, very quietly. “You were frightened for nothing. It was only a man who wanted money.”
“But he was such a nasty man – he had a horrid face, and such big, big eyes!” declared the child, and then, turning, she danced away out of the room, leaving Bracondale facing Jean in silence.
