FOURTEENTH CHAPTER
RED DAWN
That night when Dorise, in a pretty, pale-blue evening gown, enteredthe great, old panelled dining-room rather late for dinner, her motherexclaimed petulantly:
"How late you are, dear! Mr. Sherrard has had a telegram recalling himto London. He has to catch the nine-something train from Perth."
"Have you?" she asked the man who was odious to her. "I'm so sorry I'mlate, but that Mackenzie girl called. They are getting up a bazaar forthe old people down in the village, and we have to help it, I suppose.Oh! these bazaars, sales of work, and other little excuses forextracting shillings from the pockets of everybody! They are mostwearying."
"She called on me last week," said Lady Ranscomb. "Newte told her I wasnot at home."
The old-fashioned butler, John Newte, a white-haired, rosy-faced man,who had seen forty years' service with the ducal owner of Blairglas,served the dinner in his own stately style. Sir Richard had been a goodmaster, but things had never been the same since the castle had passedinto its new owner's hands.
Dorise endeavoured to be quite affable to the smooth-haired man seatedbefore her, expressing regret that he was called away so suddenly, whilehe, on his part, declared that it was "awful hard luck," as he had beenlooking forward to a week's good sport on the river.
"Do come back, George," Lady Ranscomb urged. "Get your business over andget back here for the weekend."
"I'll try," was Sherrard's half-hearted response, whereat Newte enteredto announce that the car was ready.
Then he bade mother and daughter adieu, and went out.
Dorise could see that her mother was considerably annoyed at her plansbeing so abruptly frustrated.
"We must ask somebody else," she said, as they lingered over thedessert. "Whom shall we ask?"
"I really don't care in the least, mother. I'm quite happy here alone.It is a rest. We shall have to be back in town in a fortnight, Isuppose."
"George could quite well have waited for a day or two," Lady Ranscombdeclared. "I went out to see the Muirs, at Forteviot, and when I gotback he told me he had just had a telegram telling him that it wasimperative he should be in town to-morrow morning. I tried to persuadehim to stay, but he declared it to be impossible."
"An appointment with a lady, perhaps," laughed Dorise mischievously.
"What next, my dear! You know he is over head and ears in love withyou!"
"Oh! That's quite enough, mother. You've told me that lots of timesbefore. But I tell you quite frankly his love leaves me quite cold."
"Ah! dear. That reply is, after all, but natural. You, of course, won'tconfess the truth," her mother laughed.
"I do, mother. I'm heartily glad the fellow has gone. I hate hissupercilious manner, his superior tone, and his unctuous bearing. He'ssimply odious! That's my opinion."
Her mother looked at her severely across the table.
"Please remember, Dorise, that George is my friend."
"I never forget that," said the girl meaningly, as she rose and left thetable.
Half an hour later, when she entered her bedroom, she found Duncan, hermaid, awaiting her.
"Oh! I've been waiting to see you this half hour, miss," she said. "Icouldn't get you alone. Just before eight o'clock, as I was about toenter the park by the side gate near Bervie Farm, a gentleman approachedme and asked if my name was Duncan. I told him it was, and then he gaveme this to give to you in secret. He also gave me a pound note, miss,to say nothing about it." And the prim lady's maid handed her youngmistress a small white envelope upon which her name was written.
Opening it, she found a plain visiting card which bore the words in aman's handwriting:
"Would it be possible for you to meet me to-night at ten at the spotwhere I have given this to your maid? Urgent.--SILVERADO."
Dorise held her breath. It was a message from the mysterious whitecavalier who had sought her out at the _bal blanc_ at Nice, and told herof Hugh's peril!
Duncan was naturally curious owing to the effect the card had had uponher mistress, but she was too well trained to make any comment. Instead,she busied herself at the wardrobe, and a few moments afterwards leftthe room.
Dorise stood before the long cheval glass, the card still in her hand.
What did it mean? Why was the mysterious white cavalier in Scotland? Atleast she would now be able to see his face. It was past nine, and themoon was already shining. She had still more than half an hour beforeshe went forth to meet the man of mystery.
She descended to the drawing-room, where her mother was reading, andafter playing over a couple of songs as a camouflage, she pretended tobe tired and announced her intention of retiring.
"We have to go into Edinburgh to-morrow morning," her mother remarked."So we should start pretty early. I've ordered the car for nineo'clock."
"All right, mother. Good-night," said the girl as she closed the door.
Then hastening to her room she threw off her dinner gown, and puttingon a coat and skirt and the boots which she had worn when fishing thatmorning, she went out by a door which led from the great old library,with its thousands of brown-backed volumes, on to the broad terracewhich overlooked the glen, now a veritable fairyland beneath the lightof the moon.
Outside the silence was only broken by the ripple of the burn over itspebbles deep below, and the cry of the night-bird upon the steep rockwhereon the historic old castle was built. By a path known to her shedescended swiftly, and away into the park by yet another path, usedalmost exclusively by the servants and the postman, down to a gate whichled out into the high road to Perth by one of the farms on the estate,the one known as the Bervie.
As she was about to pass through the small swing gate, she heard a voicewhich she recognized exclaim:
"Miss Ranscomb! I have to apologize!" And from the dark shadow a rathertall man emerged and barred her path.
"I daresay you will think this all very mysterious," he went on,laughing lightly. "But I do hope I have not inconvenienced you. If so,pray accept my deepest apologies. Will you?"
"Not at all," the girl replied, though somewhat taken aback by thesuddenness of the encounter. The man spoke slowly and with evidentrefinement. His voice was the same she had heard at Nice on thatmemorable night of gaiety. She recognized it instantly.
As he stood before her, his countenance became revealed in themoonlight, and she saw a well-moulded, strongly-marked face, with a pairof dark, penetrating eyes, set a little too close perhaps, but denotingstrong will and keen intelligence.
"Yes," he laughed. "Look at me well, Miss Ranscomb. I am the whitecavalier whom you last saw disguised by a black velvet mask. Look at meagain, because perhaps you may wish to recognize me later on."
"And you are still Mr. X--eh?" asked the girl, who had halted, and wasgazing upon his rather striking face.
"Still the same," he said, smiling. "Or you may call me Brown, Jones, orRobinson--or any of the other saints' names if you prefer."
"You have been very kind to me. Surely I may know your real name?"
"No, Miss Ranscomb. For certain very important reasons I do not wish todisclose it. Pardon me--will you not? I ask that favour of you."
"But will you not satisfy my curiosity?"
"At my personal risk? No. I do not think you would wish me to dothat--eh?" he asked in a tone of mild reproof.
Then he went on:
"I'm awfully sorry I could not approach you openly. In London I foundout that you were up here, so I thought it best to see you in secret.You know why I have come to you, Miss Ranscomb--eh?"
"On behalf of Mr. Henfrey."
"Yes. He is still in hiding. It has been impossible--through force ofcircumstances--for him to send you further messages."
"Where is he? I want to see him."
"Have patience, Miss Ranscomb, and I will arrange a meeting betweenyou."
"But why do the police still search for him?"
"Because of an unfortunate fact. The lady, Mademoiselle
Ferad, is nowconfined to a private asylum at Cannes, but all the time she ravesfuriously about Monsieur Henfrey. Hence the French police are convincedthat he shot her--and they are determined upon his arrest."
"But do you think he is guilty?"
"I know he is not. Yet by force of adverse circumstances, he iscompelled to conceal himself until such time that we can prove hisinnocence."
"Ah! But shall we ever be in a position to prove that?"
"I hope so. We must have patience--and still more patience," urged themysterious man as he stood in the full light of the brilliant moon. "Ihave here a letter for you which Mr. Henfrey wrote a week ago. It onlycame into my hands yesterday." And he gave her an envelope.
"Tell me something about this woman, Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo. Who isshe?" asked Dorise excitedly.
"Well--she is a person who was notorious at the Rooms, as you yourselfknow. You have seen her."
"And tell me, why do you take such an interest in Hugh?" inquired thegirl, not without a note of suspicion in her voice.
"For reasons best known to myself, Miss Ranscomb. Reasons which arepersonal."
"That's hardly a satisfactory reply."
"I fear I can give few satisfactory replies until we succeed inascertaining the truth of what occurred at the Villa Amette," he said."I must urge you, Miss Ranscomb, to remain patient, and--and not to losefaith in the man who is wrongfully accused."
"But when can I see him?" asked Dorise eagerly.
"Soon. But you must be discreet--and you must ask no questions. Justplace yourself in my hands--that is, if you can trust me."
"I do, even though I am ignorant of your name."
"It is best that you remain in ignorance," was his reply. "Otherwiseperhaps you would hesitate to trust me."
"Why?"
But the tall, good-looking man only laughed, and then he said:
"My name really doesn't matter at present. Later, Miss Ranscomb, youwill no doubt know it. I am only acting in the interests of Henfrey."
Again she looked at him. His face was smiling, and yet was sphinx-likein the moonlight. His voice was certainly that of the white cavalierwhich she recollected so well, but his personality, so strongly marked,was a little overbearing.
"I know you mistrust me," he went on. "If I were in your place Icertainly should do so. A thousand pities it is that I cannot tell youwho I am. But--well--I tell you in confidence that I dare not!"
"Dare not! Of what are you afraid?" inquired Dorise. The man she had metunder such romantic circumstances interested her keenly. He was Hugh'sgo-between. Poor Hugh! She knew he was suffering severely in hisloneliness, and his incapability to clear himself of the terrible stigmaupon him.
"I'm afraid of several things," replied the white cavalier. "Thegreatest fear I have is that you may not believe in me."
"I do believe in you," declared the girl.
"Excellent!" he replied enthusiastically. "Then let us get tobusiness--pardon me for putting it so. But I am, after all, a businessman. I am interested in a lot of different businesses, you see."
"Of what character?"
"No, Miss Ranscomb. That is another point upon which I regret that Icannot satisfy your pardonable curiosity. Please allow your mind to restupon the one main point--that I am acting in the interests of theman with--the man who is, I believe, your greatest and most intimatefriend."
"I understood that when we met in Nice."
"Good! Now I understand that your mother, Lady Ranscomb, is much againstyour marriage with Hugh Henfrey. She has other views."
"Really! Who told you that?"
"I have ascertained it in the course of my inquiry."
Dorise paused, and then looking the man of mystery straight in the face,asked:
"What do you really know about me?"
"Well," he laughed lightly. "A good deal. Now tell me when could you befree to get away from your mother for a whole day?"
"Why?"
"I want to know. Just tell me the date. When are you returning toLondon?"
"On Saturday week. I could get away--say--on Tuesday week."
"Very good. You would have to leave London by an early train in themorning--if I fail to send a car for you, which I hope to do. And beback again late at night."
"Why?"
"Why," he echoed. "Because I have a reason."
"I believe you will take me to meet Hugh--eh? Ah! How good you are!"cried the girl in deep emotion. "I shall never be able to thank yousufficiently for all you are doing. I--I have been longing all theseweeks to see him again--to hear his explanation why he went to thewoman's house at that hour--why----"
"He will tell you everything, no doubt," said her mysterious visitor."He will tell you everything except one fact."
"And what is that?" she asked breathlessly.
"One fact he will not tell you. But you will know it later. Hugh Henfreyis a fine manly fellow, Miss Ranscomb. That is why I have done my levelbest in his interest."
"But why should you?" she asked. "You are, after all, a stranger."
"True. But you will know the truth some day. Meanwhile, leave matters asthey are. Do not prejudge him, even if the police are convinced ofhis guilt. Could you be at King's Cross station at ten o'clock on themorning of Tuesday week? If so, I will meet you there."
"Yes," she replied. "But where are we going?"
"At present I have no idea. When one is escaping from the police one'smovements have to be ruled by circumstances from hour to hour. I will domy best on that day to arrange a meeting between you," he added.
She thanked him very sincerely. He was still a mystery, but his face andhis whole bearing attracted her. He was her friend. She recollectedhis words amid that gay revelry at Nice--words of encouragement andsympathy. And he had travelled there, far north into Perthshire, inorder to carry the letter which she had thrust into her pocket, yetstill holding it in her clenched hand.
"I do wish you would tell me the motive of your extreme kindness towardsus both," Dorise urged. "I can't make it out at all. I am bewildered."
"Well--so am I, Miss Ranscomb," replied the tall, elegant man who spokewith such refinement, and was so shrewd and alert. "There are certainfacts--facts of which I have no knowledge. The affair at the VillaAmette is still, to me, a most profound mystery."
"Why did Hugh go there at all? That is what I fail to understand," shedeclared.
"Don't wonder any longer. He had, I know, an urgent and distinct motiveto call that night."
"But the woman! I hear she is a notorious adventuress."
"And the adventuress, Miss Ranscomb, often has, deep in her soul, theheart of a pure woman," he said. "One must never judge by appearance orgossip. What people may think is the curse of many of our lives. I hopeyou do not misjudge Mr. Henfrey."
"I do not. But I am anxious to hear his explanation."
"You shall--and before long, too," he replied. "But I want you, if youwill, to answer a question. I do not put it from mere idle curiosity,but it very closely concerns you both. Have you ever heard him speak ofa girl named Louise Lambert?"
"Louise Lambert? Why, yes! He introduced her to me once. She is, Iunderstand, the adopted daughter of a man named Benton, an intimatefriend of old Mr. Henfrey."
"Has he ever told you anything concerning her?"
"Nothing much. Why?"
"He has never told you the conditions of his father's will?"
"Never--except that he has been left very poorly off, though his fatherdied in affluent circumstances. What are the conditions?"
The mysterious stranger paused for a moment.
"Have you, of late, formed an acquaintance of a certain Mrs. Bond, awidow?"
"I met her recently in South Kensington, at the house of a friend of mymother, Mrs. Binyon. Why?"
"How many times have you met her?"
"Two--or I think three. She came to tea with us the day before we cameup here."
"H'm! Your mother seems rather prone to make easy acquaintanceships--eh
?The Hardcastles were distinctly undesirable, were they not?--and theJameses also?"
"Why, what do you know about them?" asked the girl, much surprised,as they were two families who had been discovered to be not what theyrepresented.
"Well," he laughed. "I happen to be aware of your mother's charm--that'sall."
"You seem to know quite a bit about us," she remarked. "How is it?"
"Because I have made it my business to know, Miss Ranscomb," he replied."Further, I would urge upon you to have nothing to do with Mrs. Bond."
"Why not? We found her most pleasant. She is the widow of a wealthy manwho died abroad about two years ago, and she lives somewhere down inSurrey."
"I know all about that," he answered in a curious tone. "But I repeat mywarning that Mrs. Bond is by no means a desirable acquaintance. I tellyou so for your own benefit."
Inwardly he was angry that the woman should have so cleverly made theacquaintance of the girl. It showed him plainly that Benton and shewere working on a set and desperate plan, while the girl before him wasentirely ignorant of the plot.
"Now, Miss Ranscomb," he added, "I want you to please make me apromise--namely, that you will say nothing to a single soul of what Ihave said this evening--not even to your friend, Mr. Henfrey. I havevery strong reasons for this. Remember, I am acting in the interests ofyou both, and secrecy is the essence of success."
"I understand. But you really mystify me. I know you are my friend," shesaid, "but why are you doing all this for our benefit?"
"In order that Hugh Henfrey may return to your side, and that hand inhand you may be able to defeat your enemies."
"My enemies! Who are they?" asked the girl.
"One day, very soon, they must reveal themselves. When they do, and youfind yourself in difficulties, you have only to call upon me, and I willfurther assist you. Advertise in the _Times_ newspaper at any time foran appointment with 'Silverado.' Give me seven days, and I will keepit."
"But do tell me your name!" she urged, as they moved together from thepathway along the road in the direction of Perth. "I beg of you to doso."
"I have already begged a favour of you, Miss Ranscomb," he answered ina soft, refined voice. "I ask you not to press your question. Suffice itthat I am your sincere friend."
"But when shall I see Hugh?" she cried, again halting. "I cannot bearthis terrible suspense any longer--indeed I can't! Can I go to himsoon?"
"No!" cried a voice from the shadow of a bush close beside them as adark alert figure sprang forth into the light. "It is needless. I amhere, dearest!--_at last_!"
And next second she found herself clasped in her lover's strong embrace,while the stranger, utterly taken aback, stood looking on, absolutelymystified.
Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo Page 14