It was with a sigh of relief that Beatrice found herself at length
alone. There was nothing for her to do now but to get her belongings
together and leave the hotel. There would be an inquest on the body of
Sir Charles at ten o'clock the following morning, as the authorities had
already informed her, but Beatrice had looked upon this as merely a
formal affair. She would pack her things and leave them in Sir Charles's
dressing-room--the door of which had not been sealed--and send for
everything on the morrow. All her costly presents, including the
wonderful diamonds from Stephen Richford, she had entirely forgotten. A
somewhat tired detective was still watching the jewels in a room off the
hall where the wedding breakfast was laid out. But the fact had escaped
Beatrice's attention.
Lady Rashborough was having tea alone in her boudoir when Beatrice
arrived. Her pretty little ladyship was not looking quite so amiable as
usual and there was the suggestion of a frown on her face. She had been
losing a great deal at bridge lately, and that was not the kind of
pastime that Rashborough approved. He was very fond of his empty, hard,
selfish, little wife, but he had put his foot down on gambling, and Lady
Rashborough had been forced to give her promise to discontinue it. The
little woman cared nothing for anyone but herself, and she had small
sympathy for Beatrice.
"What are you doing here?" she asked pettishly. "Where is your husband?"
"That I cannot tell you," Beatrice replied. "You hardly expected that I
should have started on my honeymoon under such circumstances, did you?"
"My dear child, don't talk nonsense! Of course not. The proper thing is
to go to some very quiet hotel and dine respectably--to lie low till the
funeral is over. Of course this is all very annoying, especially as you
have such a lovely lot of new frocks and all the rest of it, but I dare
say they will come in later on. Not that it matters, seeing that you
have a husband who could stifle you in pretty frocks and never miss the
money. What a funny girl you are, Bee. You don't seem to appreciate your
good luck at all."
"You regard me as exceedingly lucky, then?" Beatrice asked quietly.
"My dear girl, lucky is not the word for it. Of course Stephen Richford
is not what I call an ideal husband, but with his amazing riches----"
"Which are nothing to me, Adela," Beatrice said. "I have discovered the
man to be a degraded and abandoned scoundrel. From the first I always
hated and detested him; I only consented to marry him for the sake of my
father. Adela, I am going to tell you the discovery that I made in my
father's bedroom this morning."
In a few words Beatrice told her story. But if she expected any outburst
of indignation from her listener, she was doomed to disappointment. The
little figure in the big arm chair didn't move--there was a smile of
contempt on her face.
"Good gracious, what a little thing to fuss about!" she cried. "It
seems to me that the man was paying you a compliment. If I had been in
your place I should have said nothing till I wanted to get the whip hand
of my husband. My dear child, you don't mean to say that you are going
to take the matter seriously!"
Beatrice felt the unbidden tears gathering in her eyes. She had been
sorely taxed and shaken to-day, and she was longing more than she knew
for a little sympathy. People had told her before that Lady Rashborough
had no heart, and she was beginning to believe it.
"Do you mean to say," Beatrice stammered, "do you really want me to
believe--that----"
"Of course I do, you goose. Money is everything. I married Rashborough
because it was the best thing that offered, and I did not want to
overstay my market. It was all a question of money. I would have married
a satyr if he had been rich enough. And you sit there telling me that
you are going to leave Stephen Richford."
"I shall never speak to him again. He and I have finished. I have no
money, no prospects, no anything. But I decline to return to Stephen
Richford."
"And so you are going to have a fine scandal," Lady Rashborough cried,
really angry at last. "You think you are going to hang about here posing
as a victim till something turns up. I dare say that Rashborough would
be on your side because he is of that peculiar class of silly billy, but
you may be sure that I shall not stand it. As a matter of fact, you
can't stay here, Beatrice. I rather like Richford; he gives me little
tips, and he has helped me over my bridge account more than once. If he
should come here to dinner----"
Beatrice rose, her pride in arms at once. It was put pretty well, but it
was cold, and hard, and heartless, and the gist of it was that Beatrice
was practically ordered out of the house. She had hoped to remain here a
few weeks, at any rate until she could find rooms. She was pleased to
recall that she had not sent her things.
"You need not trouble to put it any more plainly," she said coldly. "In
the eyes of your Smart Set, I have done a foolish thing, and you decline
to have me here for the present. Very well, I shall not appeal to Frank,
though I am quite sure what he would say if I did. All the same, I could
not tax the hospitality of one who tells me plainly that she does not
want me."
Beatrice rose and moved towards the door. With a little toss of her
head, Lady Rashborough took up the French novel she had been reading as
Beatrice entered. Thus she wiped her hands of the whole affair; thus in
a way she pronounced the verdict of Society upon Bee's foolish conduct.
But the girl's heart was very heavy within her as she walked back to the
_Royal Palace Hotel_. It was only an earnest of the hard things that
were going to happen.
And she had no money, nothing beyond a stray sovereign or two in her
purse. She had taken off most of her jewellery with the exception of an
old diamond bangle of quaint design. She hated the sight of it now as
she hated the sight of anything that suggested wealth and money. With a
firm resolve in her mind, Beatrice turned into a large jeweller's shop
in Bond Street. The firm was very well known to her; they had supplied
the family for years with the costly trifles that women love. The head
of the house would see her at once, and to him Beatrice told her story.
A little later, and with a comfortably lighter heart, she made her way
back to the _Royal Palace Hotel_ with a sum of money considerably over
two hundred pounds in her purse.
The manager of the hotel was sympathetic. Unfortunately the house was
full, but Beatrice could have Sir Charles's sitting-room and the
dressing-room where a bed could be put up. And would Mrs.
Richford--Beatrice started at the name--give instructions as to those
presents?
"I had quite forgotten them," Beatrice said. "Will you please have
everything, except some jewels that I will take care of, locked up in
your safe. There are some diamonds which I am going to give into the
hands of Mr. Richford at once. I am so sorry to trouble you."
But it was no trouble at all to the polite manager. He begged that Mrs.
Richford would let him take everything off her hands. Wearily Beatrice
crept down to dinner with a feeling that she would never want to eat
anything again. She watched that brilliant throng about her sadly; she
sat in the drawing-room after dinner, a thing apart from the rest. A
handsome, foreign-looking woman came up to her and sat down on the same
settee.
"I hope you will not think that I am intruding," the lady said. "Such a
sad, sad time for you, dear. Did you ever hear your father speak of
Countess de la Moray?"
Beatrice remembered the name perfectly well. She had often heard her
father speak of the Countess in terms of praise. The lady smiled in a
sad, retrospective way.
"We were very good friends," she said. "I recollect you in Paris when
you were quite a little thing. It was just before your dear mother died.
You used to be terribly fond of chocolates, I remember."
The lady rambled on in a pleasing way that Beatrice found to be
soothing. Gradually and by slow degrees she began to draw out the girl's
confidence. Beatrice was a little surprised to find that she was telling
the Countess everything.
"You are quite right, my dear," she said quietly. "The heart
first--always the heart first. It is the only way to happiness. Your
father was a dear friend of mine, and I am going to be a friend of
yours. I have no children; I had a daughter who would have been about
your age had she lived."
The Countess sighed heavily.
"I would never have allowed a fate like yours to be hers. I go back home
in a few days to my chateau near Paris. It is quiet and dull perhaps,
but very soothing to the nerves. It would give me great pleasure for you
to accompany me."
Beatrice thanked the kind speaker almost tearfully. It was the first
touch of womanly sympathy she had received since her troubles had begun,
and it went to her heart.
"It is very, very good of you," she said. "A friend is what I sorely
need at present. When I think of your goodness to a comparative stranger
like me----"
"Then don't think of it," the Countess said almost gaily. "Let us get
rid of that horrible man first. You must return those fine diamonds to
him. Oh, I know about the diamonds, because I read an account of them
in the papers. Perhaps you have already done so?"
"No," Beatrice said, "they are in my dressing-room at the present
moment."
"Oh, the careless girl! But that shows how little you value that kind of
thing. Well, General, and what do you want with me at this time of the
evening?"
A tall, military man had lounged up to them. He was exquisitely
preserved. He bowed over Beatrice's hand as he was introduced as General
Gastang.
"Delighted to meet you," he said. "I knew your father slightly.
Countess, your maid is wandering in a desolate way about the corridor,
looking for you, with some story of a dressmaker."
"_Ma foi_, I had quite forgotten!" the Countess exclaimed. "Do not go
from here, _cherie_; talk to the General till I return, which will not
be long. Those dressmakers are the plague of one's life. I will be back
as soon as possible."
The General's manner was easy and his tongue fluent. Beatrice had only
to lean her head back and smile faintly from time to time. The General
suddenly paused--so suddenly that Beatrice looked up and noticed the
sudden pallor of his face, his air of agitation.
"You are not well?" the girl asked. "The heat of the room has been too
much for you."
The General gasped something; with his head down he seemed to be
avoiding the gaze of a man who had just come into the drawing-room. As
the newcomer turned to speak to a lady, the General shot away from
Beatrice's side, muttering something about a telegram. He had hardly
vanished before Beatrice was conscious of a cold thrill.
After all she knew nothing of these people. Such scraps of her history
as they had gleaned might have come from anybody. Then Beatrice had
another thrill as she recollected the fact that she had told this
strange Countess that the diamonds were in her dressing-room. Suppose
those two were in league to----
Beatrice waited to speculate on this point no longer. She hurried from
the room and up the stairs to her bedroom. The corridors were
practically deserted at this time in the evening. Beatrice gave a sigh
of relief to see that her door was shut. She placed her hand gently on
the handle, but the door did not give.
It was locked on the inside! From within came whispering voices. In
amaze, the girl recognized the fact that one of the voices belonged to
Countess de la Moray, and the other to the man who called himself her
husband, Stephen Richford.
There was nothing for it now but to stay and wait developments.