Kitabı oku: «Madeline Payne, the Detective's Daughter», sayfa 16

CHAPTER XXIX.
A STARTLING EPISODE

Claire Keith had said truly that the woman across the way would prove interesting to her.

She grew more and more fond of watching for the tall form, with its trailing robes of black, its proudly-poised, heavily-veiled head, and slow, graceful movement. Sometimes she saw a white hand pull away the heavy curtains, and knew that the owner of the hand was looking out upon the street. But the face was always in shadow. She could not catch the slightest glimpse of it.

"She has strong reasons for not wishing to be seen and recognized; I wonder what they are?" Claire would soliloquize at such times.

Then she would chide herself for being so curious. But the fits of wondering grew stronger, until she came to feel an attraction that was more than mere curiosity; a sort of proprietorship, as it were, in the strange lady. She began to wish that she might know her, and at last, in a very unexpected manner, the wish was gratified.

Claire had returned from a grand ball, weary and somewhat bored. Disrobing with unusual haste, she sought her couch. She had supposed herself very sleepy, but no sooner was her head upon the pillow, than sleep abandoned her, and she tossed restlessly, and very wide awake.

Finding sleep impossible, and herself growing nervous, Claire at length arose. Throwing on a dressing-gown, she pushed a large chair to the window, and flinging herself in it, drew back the curtain. Glancing across the way, she was startled by a light shining out from the upper windows of the mysterious house. She had looked at that house when quitting her carriage, because to look had become a habit. But there had been no light then; not one glimmer. And now the entire upper floor was brilliantly illuminated.

Claire rubbed her eyes and looked again. Then, with a cry of alarm, she sprang to her feet and rang her bell violently.

From the roof of the house a single flame had shot up, and Claire realized the cause of that strange illumination. The upper floor was in flames!

She turned up the gas and commenced making a hurried toilet. By the time the sleepy servant appeared in answer to her ring, she was wrapping a worsted shawl about her head and shoulders, preparatory to going out.

"Rouse papa and the servants, James!" she commanded, sharply. "Number two hundred is on fire! Go instantly!"

Giving the startled and bewildered James a push in the direction of her father's sleeping-room, she darted down the stairs. She unbolted and unchained the street door, and hurried straight across to number two hundred, where she rang peal after peal.

The tiny flame had grown a great one by this time, and almost simultaneously with her ring at the door, the hoarse fire-alarm bell roared out its warning.

It seemed an age to the girl before she heard bolts drawn back. Then the face of an elderly male servant peered cautiously out through a six-inch opening. In sharp, quick tones Claire told him that the roof was in flames. The statement seemed only to paralyze the man.

Claire gave the door an excited push and spoke to him again. But he never moved until a voice, that evidently belonged to the lady of the house, said: "What is it, Peter?"

Claire answered for him: "Madame, the roof of your house is in flames! Alarm your servants and make your escape!"

Through the doorway Claire saw a white hand laid on the man's shoulder, and suddenly he became galvanized into life.

Then the chain fell, and the door opened wide.

Claire and the mysterious lady were face to face.

By this time the people were moving in the street, and from the windows of Claire's home, lights were flashing.

The woman drew back at the sound of the first footstep, and seemed to hesitate, with a look of uneasiness upon her face. Instantly Claire spoke the thought that had been in her mind when she rang the bell: "Madame, your house will soon be surrounded by strangers. Secure such valuables as are at hand and come with me across to my home. There you will be safe from intruders."

The lady raised her hand, and saying, simply, "Wait," hurried up the broad stairs.

Now all was confusion. Down the street came the rushing fire engines; servants ran about frantically, and people went tearing past Claire in the crazy desire to seize something and smash it on the paving stones, thereby convincing themselves that they were "helping at a fire." Regardless of these, Claire stood at her post like a little sentinel. Just as the first engine halted before the house, the mistress of all that doomed grandeur crossed its threshold for the last time. Then she turned to Claire, and the two hurried silently through the throng, and across the street. The door was fortunately ajar. The servants and Mr. Keith were all outside, so the girl and her companion had been unobserved.

Claire led the way straight to her own room. Ushering in her companion, she closed the door upon chance intruders, and turned to look at her. The stranger had appeared at the door in a dressing-gown of dark silk, and this she still wore, having thrown over it a long cloak, and wrapped about her head, so as to almost entirely conceal her features, a costly cashmere shawl. This she now removed, and revealed to the anxious gaze of Claire the face of a woman past the prime of life; – a face that had never been handsome, but which bore unmistakable signs of refinement and culture in every feature. The eyes were large, dark-gray, and undeniably beautiful. The hair was wavy and abundant; once it had been black as midnight, but now it was plentifully streaked with gray. The face was thin and almost colorless. The hands were still beautiful, with long slender fingers and delicate veining; the very beau ideal of aristocratic hands.

This much Claire saw almost at a glance. Then the lady said, in a low, sweet voice that was in perfect unison with the hands, and eyes, and general bearing:

"I cannot tell you, dear young lady, how much I thank you for your courage and hospitality. I could not have endured the going out upon the street in that throng."

Claire laughed softly, and said, with characteristic frankness: "I guessed that, madame, for I must confess to having, on more than one occasion, seen that you do not desire observation."

The stranger looked at her with evident admiration. "You were kinder and more thoughtful for a stranger than I have found most of our sex, Miss – ; I beg your pardon; I am so much of a hermit that I don't even know your name."

"My name is Keith, – Claire Keith."

Then the girl crossed to the window and looked over at the burning building, while the stranger sank wearily into a chair.

"Your house is going fast, madame. I fear nothing can be saved," said Claire. "The upper floor is already gone."

The stranger smiled slightly, but never so much as glanced out at her disappearing home.

"I hope my landlord is well insured," she said. "As for me, I have my chiefest valuables here," drawing from underneath the cloak, which she had only partially thrown off, a small casket, and a morocco case that evidently contained papers. "I keep these always near me; as for the rest, there is nothing lost that money cannot replace."

Claire looked a trifle surprised at her indifference to the destruction of her elegant furniture, but made no answer. And the stranger fell into thoughtful silence.

A rap sounded on the door, and a gentle voice outside said: "Claire, dear, are you there?"

The girl turned upon the stranger a look of embarrassed inquiry. "That is mamma," she said.

The lady smiled half sadly at her evident perturbation, and replied, with a touch of dignity in her tone, "Admit your mother, my dear. I was about to ask for her."

Claire drew a sigh of relief and opened the door.

"My child," began Mrs. Keith, as she hurriedly entered the room, "James tells me that you – "

Here she broke off as her eyes fell upon the stranger, and Claire hastened to say: "Mamma, this is the lady whose house is burning. I ran over there as soon as I saw the first flame and asked her to come here."

Mrs. Keith was not only a lady, but a woman of good sense, and she turned courteously toward the intruder, saying, "You did quite right, my dear. I trust you have not been too seriously a loser by this misfortune, madame."

The lady had risen. Now she stepped forward and said, in her unmistakably high-bred tones, "I have suffered no material injury, I assure you. And your daughter has done me a great kindness. I was about to ask if I might see you, as I felt that it was to you, as the mistress of this house, that I owed some explanation regarding myself, before accepting further hospitality from your daughter."

Mrs. Keith bowed gravely, and the stranger continued,

"My name is Mrs. Ralston. I have lived for nearly ten years a secluded life, having been an invalid. Messrs. Allyne & Clive are my bankers, and have been for years. Mr. Allyne is an old family friend. If you will ask your husband to call upon him, you will be assured that I am not a mysterious adventuress."

Mrs. Ralston smiled slightly, and Mrs. Keith smiled in return as she said, cordially: "Your face and manner assure me of that, Mrs. Ralston. And now will you not permit me to show you a room where you can rest a little, for it is almost morning, and your night's repose has been sadly disturbed."

"I must accept your hospitality, Mrs. Keith, and ask to be allowed to intrude upon you until I can communicate with Mr. Allyne, and he can find me a suitable place of residence."

"Don't let that trouble you, pray. We shall be happy to have you remain our guest," and Mrs. Keith turned to leave the room.

Mrs. Ralston held out her hand to Claire, and that impulsive young lady clasped it in both her own, as they bade each other good-night. And so the mysterious lady was actually under the same roof with the girl who had been so much interested in her and her possible history.

Mr. Allyne was well known to Mr. Keith, and a man whom he highly esteemed. On the following day, at the request of Mrs. Ralston, he called at the banking-house of Allyne & Clive.

On learning that Mrs. Ralston was the guest of his brother banker, and of the demolition of her house, Mr. Allyne was doubly surprised. And his statement concerning the lady was not only satisfactory but highly gratifying. She had been left an orphan in her girlhood, and was from one of the oldest and proudest of Virginia's old and proud families. She had now no very near relatives, and having separated from a worthless husband, had lived mostly in Europe. She had resumed her family name, and although the husband from whom she had withdrawn herself, had squandered nearly half her fortune, she was still a wealthy woman. He spoke in highest terms of praise of her mind and accomplishments, and assured Mr. Keith that she was not only a woman of unusual refinement and culture, but one also of loftiest principles and purest Christianity. If it were not that it would be the very place where this worthless husband would be likeliest to find her, he would not allow her to occupy any home save his own. And, lastly, Mr. Allyne stated that if he, Mr. Keith, could prevail upon Mrs. Ralston to remain under his roof, he would do Mr. Allyne a great favor.

"For," concluded that gentleman, "she lives too secluded, and she is so well fitted for such society as that of your wife and daughter; she is a woman to grace any household."

Mr. Keith returned home and faithfully reported all that he had heard concerning their guest.

Claire had been very much in love with the grave, stately lady from the first, and after a morning's chat with her, Mrs. Keith was not far behind in admiration.

And the woman who had lived alone so much, found this cheery little family circle very pleasant, so when Claire and her mother begged her with much earnestness to remain with them, she did not refuse.

"I cannot resist the invitation which I feel to be so sincere," she said. "I will remain with you for a time, at least, but I am too much of a hermit to tarry long where there is such a magnet as this," turning to Claire.

And Claire laughingly declared that she would forswear society, and don a veil of any thickness, if only Mrs. Ralston would share her isolation.

So she stayed with them, and soon became as a dearly loved sister to Mrs. Keith; while between herself and Claire, an attachment, as unusual as it was strong, sprang into being. They drove together, read together, talked together by the hour, and never seemed to weary of each other's society.

Enthusiastic Claire wrote to Olive and Madeline, giving glowing descriptions of her new found friend. But because of the events that were making Olive and Madeline doubly dear to her, and because she could not speak of them to a stranger, however loved and trusted, Claire said little to Mrs. Ralston of her sister or of the little heroine of Oakley.

CHAPTER XXX.
WAITING

The expert who had been tracing out the goings and doings of Percy, made his report.

After it had been thoroughly reviewed by Clarence and Olive, they were forced to confess that they were not one whit the wiser. The detective had found how and where Percy had squandered much of his fortune, but had brought to light absolutely nothing that could be of use to his employers. And so they abandoned the investigation in that direction.

But when the report of the Professor's case was sent in, they found more cause for congratulation. First, it had been discovered that the Professor had visited three different physicians, all of them men bearing reputations not over spotless. Next he had made sundry purchases from two different chemists; and third, last and all important, he had been dogged to the bazaar of a dealer in theatrical wares, where he had purchased a wig, beard, and other articles of disguise.

Two days had passed since the above discoveries were reported. Then the detective called upon Dr. Vaughan and informed him that Mr. Davlin and the Professor, the latter disguised with wig, beard and spectacles, had taken the early morning train that very day, and that he, the detective, had been lounging so near that he heard Davlin call for two tickets to Bellair.

And then they knew that the siege had begun.

Three days later, Olive received the following letter, which speaks for itself:

Oakley, Wednesday Evening.

Dear Olive:

The engagement has opened in earnest.

Last evening, Mr. D. and le Docteur, between them, frightened the two maids out of the house. This morning I succeeded in scaring away the old housekeeper, which made a shortage in servants. Old Hagar happened along just then by some chance, and declared herself not at all afraid of contagion; so madame bade her brother employ her. The cook remains, as Monsieur and le Docteur must eat. My meals are served in madame's dressing-room, and shared by that lady.

Courage, my friend, our time is almost here. And I am yours till death,

M – .

This letter was perused by Olive and Clarence with almost breathless eagerness and interest. And then they found themselves once more waiting eagerly for fresh tidings from the "seat of war," as Clarence termed it.

At last came a letter from Madeline that aroused them as the clarion stirs those arrayed for battle. It ran as follows, bearing neither date nor signature:

To Arms, My Friends!

If you were among the village gossips to-day, this is what you would hear, for it is what is fast spreading itself through the town:

The lady up at the mansion has been very ill, but is now better. Her husband took the fever from her, and, being old and his constitution enfeebled by the dissipation of his earlier days, he came near dying. Now they hope that he will live, although the danger is not yet passed. But if he does live he will never be himself again. The fever has affected his brain, and he will be hopelessly mad.

That is what the villagers know.

What they do not know is, that Mr. D – and the doctor have already fitted up two rooms in the most secluded part of the closed-up wing, and that the "insane" man will be removed to those rooms to-night.

One fact concerning le Docteur, your expert has failed to discover, is that at some time the man has made a study of medicine. This is only a theory of mine, not a discovery; but when I tell you what he did, I think that you both will agree with me. A few days ago the doctor walked down to the village one morning, and coolly presented himself at the door of Doctor G – 's office.

Doctor G – is the least popular and least skillful of the three physicians here, but of course the city man was not supposed to know that. He, the city doctor, informed Doctor G – that although his employer had not desired it, as he had perfect confidence in the present treatment of Mr. A – , still it was always his practice to consult with another physician.

So he desired Doctor G – to accompany him to O – and see his patient; not that he had any doubts about the disease, but because, in case of a serious termination, it was always a consolation to the friends to know that every precaution had been taken. Doctor G – came, to find the patient in a bedrugged stupor. He endorsed everything le Docteur chose to say, and went away feeling much puffed-up because of having been called in to consult with a New York physician.

You see they are moving very carefully, and do not intend to have any doubts raised.

Miss A – of course remains in the village, and receives reports daily concerning her brother, and her Knight is still at her elbow.

Henry has been here for a week, and does not dream of my identity.

Hagar and myself, between us, have managed to get possession of a specimen of every drug that has been administered to Mr. A – , also of the harmless nostrums that are dealt out to madame for appearance's sake.

There is but one thing more that I must accomplish, and that must be done to-night, if possible. If I succeed in this, two days more will see me en route for the city. If I fail – then I must remain here, if I can, and try again. In any case, I must make my new move within the week. So look out for the chrysalis; it remains for you to develop it into the butterfly.

This letter chanced to arrive during one of Doctor Vaughan's afternoon visits, and Olive read it aloud to him, saying at the end, and almost without taking breath,

"Something she must accomplish first. If she has secured the medicines, and they are safe not to run away in her absence, then what is it she means?"

Clarence shook his head, saying: "I have no idea. She speaks as if the thing, whatever it is, was attended with some risk."

"And this explains Henry's absence," Olive said, tapping the letter in her lap. "No doubt he was summoned without any previous warning. Of course, he is a mere tool for his master. They will hardly dare let him see their game."

"Hardly; but if they were not using him to Madeline's satisfaction, she would have revealed herself to him."

"True."

"We are approaching a crisis now. If this new movement fails, – but I hardly think it will."

Olive looked up in alarm. "Oh, don't suggest failure," she exclaimed. "She must succeed. What will become of poor Philip if she does not?"

Clarence lifted his face reverently. "I believe that the Power above us, who permits evil to be because only from pain and sorrow comes purification, has not permitted the life of this beautiful young girl to be darkened in vain. Out of her wrongs, and her sorrows, and her humiliation, He will allow her own hands to shape not only a strong, true, earnest womanhood for herself, but the weapons which shall deliver the innocent, and bring the guilty to justice."

And Olive felt comforted, and her hope took new wings.

CHAPTER XXXI.
MR. PERCY SHAKES HIMSELF

It was noontide at Oakley, and a December sun was shining coldly in at the window of Mrs. Cora Arthur's dressing-room. Within that cozy room, however, all was warmth and brightness. A cheerful fire was blazing and crackling in the grate. Sitting before the fire, wrapped in a becoming dressing-gown of white cashmere, was Cora herself, looking a trifle annoyed, but remarkably well withal. Wonderfully well, considering how very ill she had been.

Lounging near her, his feet lazily outstretched toward the fire, was Lucian Davlin.

"What did you write to Percy?" he inquired, consulting his watch.

"Just what you told me; that I had something of importance to communicate, and desired him to call to-day at two," replied Cora.

"But – aren't you looking a little too well for a lady who has been so desperately ill? It won't do to arouse his suspicions, you know."

Cora crossed to her dressing-case, went carefully over her face with a puff-ball, and did some very artistic tracing in India ink under and over each eye. Then she turned toward him triumphantly. "There!" she exclaimed, "now I shall draw the curtains," suiting the action to the word, "and then, when I lie on this couch, my face will be entirely in the shadow, while from the further window there will come enough light to enable him to recognize you."

At this moment a rap was heard at the door. Cora threw herself upon the invalid's couch, and lay back among the pillows. When she had settled herself to her satisfaction, Mr. Davlin opened the door, admitting Céline Leroque.

"Monsieur Percy is below, madame," said the girl, glancing sharply at the form in the darkened corner.

"Come and draw these coverings over me, Céline, and then go and bring him up," replied Cora.

Then she glanced at Lucian, who said, carelessly: "Well, my dear, I will go down to the library."

Céline adjusted the wraps and pillows and then went out, closely followed by Lucian. She was not aware that Mr. Percy was expected, the message having been sent by Henry. And she was not a little anxious to know the nature of the interview that was about to be held.

Mr. Percy, conducted to Cora's door by Céline, entered the room with his usual lazy grace, and approached the recumbent figure in the darkened corner, saying, in a tone of hypocritical solicitude:

"Madame, I trust you are not overtaxing your strength in thus kindly granting me an interview."

He knew so well how to assume the manner best calculated to throw her off her guard and into a rage.

But Cora, understanding his tactics, and her own failing, was prepared for him. In tones as smooth as his own she answered:

"You are very good, and I find my strength returning quite rapidly. In fact," and here a double meaning was apparent, as she intended it should be, "I think I shall soon be stronger than before my illness."

There was silence for a moment. Evidently Mr. Percy was not inclined to help her to put into words whatever she had in her mind.

"I sent for you," she continued, "because I have something to say before you meet with a person who, as you are likely to remain one of this pleasant family, you must of necessity, and for policy's sake, meet with the outward forms of politeness." Here she paused as if from exhaustion, and he, lifting his fine eyebrows slightly, kept silence still.

Cora, beginning to find her part irksome, hurried to its conclusion. "You have heard, no doubt, of the presence of my brother in this house. I sent for you that you might meet him, and I desired my maid to show you to this room first, that I might venture a word of warning and advice. My brother is not the stranger that you evidently imagine him. Beyond the fact that you and I were once married, that I of my own will forsook you, and the reason, or part of the reason for so doing, he knows little of our affairs. For my sake he will make no use of that knowledge. But I think it best that you understand each other. Will you please ring that bell?"

He obeyed her, looking much mystified and somewhat apprehensive. Céline appeared promptly, and disappeared again in answer to Cora's command:

"Show my brother here, Céline."

When the door opened, he turned slowly and met the cool gaze of – Lucian Davlin!

That personage approached the invalid, saying: "You sent for me to introduce me to this gentleman, I suppose, Cora?"

Mr. Percy arose slowly, and the two confronted each other, while Cora nodded her head, as if unable to answer his words.

As Percy advanced the light from the one window that had been left unshrouded fell full upon the two men, who gazed upon each other with the utmost sang froid. Two handsomer scoundrels never stood at bay. And while the dark face expressed haughty insolence, the blonde features looked as if, after all, the occasion called for nothing more fatiguing than a stare of indolent surprise.

Cora's voice broke the silence: "Mr. Davlin is my brother, Mr. Percy. Please stop staring at each other, gentlemen, and come to some sort of an understanding."

"Really, this is a most agreeable surprise," drawled Percy, looking from one to the other with perfect coolness.

"And quite dramatic in effect," sneered Davlin, flinging himself into a chair. "Sit down, Percy; one may as well be comfortable. How's the fair spinster to-day?"

Percy waved away the question, and resumed his seat and his languid attitude, saying: "Upon my word this is quite dramatic."

Davlin laughed, airily. "Even so. I hope the fact that this lady is my sister will explain some things to you more satisfactorily than they have hitherto been explained. And if so, we had better let bygones drop."

Percy turned his eyes away from the speaker, and let them rest upon the face of Cora. Again ignoring the remark addressed to him, he said, slowly: "I don't see any very strong family resemblance."

"I don't suppose you ever will," retorted Davlin, coolly.

"And I don't precisely see the object of this interview," Percy continued.

Davlin made a gesture of impatience, and said, sharply: "Hang it all, man, the object is soon got at! It's a simple question and answer."

Percy brushed an imaginary particle of dust off his sleeve with the greatest care, and then lifted his eyes and said, interrogatively: "Well?"

"Will you have war or peace?"

"That depends."

"Upon what?"

"The terms."

"Well!"

"Well?"

"What do you want?"

Percy examined his finger nails, attentively, as if looking for his next idea there. "To be let alone," he said, at last.

Davlin laughed. "And to let alone?"

"Of course."

"Then we won't waste words. Rely upon us to help, rather than hinder you. There's no use bringing up old scores. If you vote for an alliance of forces, very good."

Percy nodded, and then rising, said: "Well, if that is all, I will take my leave. No doubt quiet is best for Mrs. Arthur," bowing ironically. "By-the-by," meaningly, "when you find yourself in the village, Davlin, it might not be amiss to show yourself at the inn."

"Quite right," said Davlin, gravely. "Possibly I may look in upon you to-morrow."

Mr. Percy nodded; made a graceful gesture of adieu to Cora, who murmured inaudibly in reply; and the two men quitted her presence.

In a few moments Davlin returned to Cora, smiling and serene. "I told you we could easily manage him," he said. "He won't trouble himself to go to war, save in his own defence. You did the invalid beautifully, Co., and I feel quite satisfied with the present state of things."

But Mr. Percy had not looked and listened for nothing. He went straight to his room, and shutting himself in, began to think diligently. Finally he summed up his case on his fingers as follows:

"First, are they brother and sister? I don't believe it. Second, taking it for granted they are not, what is their game? If the old man dies, and if I can ferret out the mystery, for I believe there is one, who knows but that two fortunes may come into my hands? I must watch them, and to do that, Ellen must go back to Oakley, and they must invite me to be their guest!"

Mr. Percy arose and shook himself, mentally and physically

But alas for Céline! She had heard almost every word of the interview, through the key-hole of a door leading into an adjoining room, and it had told her nothing, save that there was to be peace between the two men, and that there had been, perhaps, war.