In White Raiment
Page 22
Road.Could this change in her be in any way due, I thought, to the tragedyat Whitton? I recollected the singular fact that Mrs Chetwode hadomitted the name and that of Beryl from the list furnished to thepolice. Again I glanced at her ashen face as we rounded the corner intoGloucester Square; it was that of a woman absolutely desperate. She wastrembling with fear, yet at the same time striving to preserve anoutward calm. My suspicion of her was increased.
The hall door having been thrown open by a servant, my companion led methrough into a pretty boudoir on the left, where, lying fully dressedupon a divan of yellow silk, I saw my love. Her wonderful hair hadbecome disengaged from its fastenings and fell dishevelled about herwhite face, and her corsage was open at the throat as though some onehad felt her heart.
In an instant I was at her side, and, while her cousin held the shadedlamp, I examined her. Her great fathomless eyes were closed, her cheekscold, her heart motionless. Every symptom was that of death.
"Is she still alive?" asked the terror-stricken woman at my elbow.
"I cannot decide," I answered, rising and obtaining a small mirror totest whether respiration had ceased.
Hers was no ordinary faintness, that I at once saw. The limbs werestiff and rigid as in death, the hands icy cold, the lips drawn andhard-set, the whole body so paralysed that the resemblance to death wasexact.
All the startling events of my fateful wedding day came back to me.From that white throat that lay there exposed I had taken the tiny goldcharm, which now hung round my own neck, reminding me ever of her. Thatsweet face, with the halo of gold-brown hair, was the same that I hadseen lying dead upon the pillow in that house of mystery in Queen's-gateGardens, the same that I had bent and kissed.
I took her hand again; there were rings upon it, but all were set withgems. The bond of matrimony that I had placed there was absent.
For a moment I stood gazing at her, utterly confounded. But I saw thatto save her life no time must be lost, therefore, rousing myself, Iobtained her ladyship's assistance to unloose my loved one's corset, andthen made a further examination.
"This is a serious matter," I said at last. "I shall be glad if youwill send a servant in a cab to Bloomsbury with a message."
"To Bloomsbury? Why?" she asked. "Cannot you treat her yourself?"
"Not without consultation," I responded; and taking a card from mypocket, I wrote upon it an urgent message to accompany the bearer atonce.
She gave me an envelope, and, enclosing the card, I wrote thesuperscription, "Doctor Carl Hoefer, 63, Museum Mansions, Bloomsbury."
Her ladyship at once sent the servant on the message, and then withoutdelay returned to my side.
"Well, Doctor," she asked in a low, strained voice, "what is youropinion? Will she recover?"
"I cannot say," I responded mechanically, my eyes still fixed upon mypatient's face, watching for any change that might occur there.
At my request her ladyship brought the brandy decanter from thedining-room, and I managed, after some difficulty, to force a few dropsbetween her cousin's lips.
"Now tell me," I said firmly, turning to the agitated woman at my side,"how did this occur?"
"I don't know."
"But if her life is to be saved we must know the truth," I said, my eyesfixed upon her. "In this manner to prevaricate is useless. Tell me howit is that I find her in this condition of fatal collapse."
"I cannot tell you things of which I myself am ignorant," she answered,with a well-feigned air of innocence.
"You wish to save your cousin's life?" I inquired.
"Certainly. She must not die," she cried anxiously.
"Then answer my questions plainly, and leave the rest entirely in myhands," I replied. "From your manner I know that you have some secretwhich you are striving to conceal. Knowledge of this secret will, nodoubt, place me in a position to combat this extraordinary attack. Ifbecause you maintain silence she dies, then an inquest will be held, andthe truth must come out--and a scandalous truth it will be."
"Scandalous!" she exclaimed with some hauteur. "I don't understand."
"An attempt has been made upon her life," I said as calmly as I could."Those who are responsible for this must, if she dies, be discovered."
"An attempt upon her life? How do you know?" she gasped.
I smiled, but made no direct answer to her question.
"I am aware of it by the same means that I know that Feo Ashwicke andBeryl Wynd are one and the same person."
She started quickly.
"Who told you that?" she asked, with a strange flash in her eyes.
I smiled again, answering, "I think it would be best if you confided inme in this matter, instead of leaving me to obtain the truth for myself.Remember, you have called me here to save your cousin, and yet, by herside, while her young life is slowly ebbing, we are engaged in a battleof words. Now tell me," I urged, "how did this occur?"
She shook her head.
"Shall I begin?" I suggested. "Shall I say that you came up with MissBeryl from Atworth yesterday, quite unexpectedly, in order to keep anappointment? That you--"
"How did you know?" she gasped again. "How did you know our movements?"
"I merely ask whether this is not the truth," I responded calmly. I hadnoticed that the furniture in the room was undusted, and therefore knewthat they had returned to town unexpectedly. "Shall we advance a stepfurther? I think, if I am not mistaken, that there was a strong reasonfor your return to town, and also for keeping your presence in London asecret. That is the reason that you communicated with your friend."
"With whom?"
"With Mrs Chetwode."
The light died from her face. She swayed slightly, and I saw that shegripped the edge of the little glass-topped table to steady herself.
Then her features relaxed into a sickly smile, and she managed tostammer--
"You are awfully clever, Doctor, to be aware of all these things. Is itclairvoyance--thought-reading, or what?"
"Those who have secrets should be careful not to betray them," Iresponded ambiguously.
"Then if I have betrayed myself, perhaps you will tell me something moreof equal interest."
"No," I answered. "I have no desire to make any experiments. In thismatter your cousin's life is at stake. It will be, at least, humane ofyou if you place me in possession of all the facts you know regardingthe dastardly attempt upon her."
"I tell you that I know nothing."
"Nothing beyond what?" I said very gravely.
Again she was silent. I watched the inanimate body of the woman Iloved, but saw no change. In what manner that state of coma had beenproduced I knew not, and I was in deadly fear that the last breath wouldleave the body before the arrival of Hoefer, the great German doctorwhose lectures at Guy's had first aroused within me a desire to become amedico-legist. There was, I knew, but one man in all the world whocould diagnose those symptoms, and it was Hoefer. I only prayed that hemight not be out of town.
"Well," I went on, "it seems that you hesitate to tell me the truth,because you fear that I might divulge your secret. Is that so?"
"I believed that I might trust you to attend my cousin, and preservesilence regarding her illness and her presence in London," was thehaughty reply. "But it seems that you are endeavouring to ascertainfacts which are purely family affairs."
"The doctor is always the confidant of the family," I answered.
"But the other--the doctor who is coming?"
"He is an old friend and will promise to keep your secret," I said."Come, tell me."
She stood hesitating, erect, statuesque, her eyes fixed immovably uponme.
"I know you are in trouble," I added in a tone of sympathy. "I am readyto assist you, if you are open and straight forward with me. I havealready given you my pledge of secrecy. Now tell me what has occurred."
She wavered in her resolution to tell me nothing. My sympathetic tonesdecided her, and she said in a low, hoarse voice--
"It is a mystery."
"In what way?"
"As you have already said, we left Atworth in order to keep anappointment here. I was entertaining a house-party, but made an excusethat one of my aunts in Cheltenham was dangerously ill. I left, and,unknown to my husband or any other person, travelled with Beryl toLondon."
I noted that she inadvertently used my love's proper name instead ofFeo, the name by which she had introduced us.
"The appointment was with Mrs Chetwode?" I suggested.
"Yes," she answered. "I had arranged to meet her to-day at twoo'clock."
"I