_NEW BERTHA CLAY LIBRARY No. 300_
SUFFERED
IN VAIN
_By
BERTHA
M. CLAY_
_STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS ~ NEW YORK_
[Illustration]
A FAVORITE OF MILLIONS
New Bertha Clay Library
ALL BY BERTHA M. CLAY
Love Stories with Plenty of Action
The Author Needs No Introduction
Countless millions of women have enjoyed the works of this author. They
are in great demand everywhere. The following list contains her best
work, and is the only authorized edition.
These stories teem with action, and what is more desirable, they are
clean from start to finish. They are love stories, but are of a type
that is wholesome and totally different from the cheap, sordid fiction
that is being published by unscrupulous publishers.
There is a surprising variety about Miss Clay’s work. Each book in this
list is sure to give satisfaction.
_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_
1--In Love’s Crucible
2--A Sinful Secret
3--Between Two Loves
4--A Golden Heart
5--Redeemed by Love
6--Between Two Hearts
7--Lover and Husband
8--The Broken Trust
9--For a Woman’s Honor
10--A Thorn in Her Heart
11--A Nameless Sin
12--Gladys Greye
13--Her Second Love
14--The Earl’s Atonement
15--The Gypsy’s Daughter
16--Another Woman’s Husband
17--Two Fair Women
18--Madolin’s Lover
19--A Bitter Reckoning
20--Fair But Faithless
21--One Woman’s Sin
22--A Mad Love
23--Wedded and Parted
24--A Woman’s Love Story
25--’Twixt Love and Hate
26--Guelda
27--The Duke’s Secret
28--The Mystery of Colde Fell
29--Beyond Pardon
30--A Hidden Terror
31--Repented at Leisure
32--Marjorie Deane
33--In Shallow Waters
34--Diana’s Discipline
35--A Heart’s Bitterness
36--Her Mother’s Sin
37--Thrown on the World
38--Lady Damer’s Secret
39--A Fiery Ordeal
40--A Woman’s Vengeance
41--Thorns and Orange Blossoms
42--Two Kisses and the Fatal Lilies
43--A Coquette’s Conquest
44--A Wife’s Judgment
45--His Perfect Trust
46--Her Martyrdom
47--Golden Gates
48--Evelyn’s Folly
49--Lord Lisle’s Daughter
50--A Woman’s Trust
51--A Wife’s Peril
52--Love in a Mask
53--For a Dream’s Sake
54--A Dream of Love
55--The Hand Without a Wedding Ring
56--The Paths of Love
57--Irene’s Vow
58--The Rival Heiresses
59--The Squire’s Darling
60--Her First Love
61--Another Man’s Wife
62--A Bitter Atonement
63--Wedded Hands
64--The Earl’s Error and Letty Leigh
65--Violet Lisle
66--A Heart’s Idol
67--The Actor’s Ward
68--The Belle of Lynn
69--A Bitter Bondage
70--Dora Thorne
71--Claribel’s Love Story
72--A Woman’s War
73--A Fatal Dower
74--A Dark Marriage Morn
75--Hilda’s Lover
76--One Against Many
77--For Another’s Sin
78--At War with Herself
79--A Haunted Life
80--Lady Castlemaine’s Divorce
81--Wife in Name Only
82--The Sin of a Lifetime
83--The World Between Them
84--Prince Charlie’s Daughter
85--A Struggle for a Ring
86--The Shadow of a Sin
87--A Rose in Thorns
88--The Romance of the Black Veil
89--Lord Lynne’s Choice
90--The Tragedy of Lime Hall
91--James Gordon’s Wife
92--Set in Diamonds
93--For Life and Love
94--How Will It End?
95--Love’s Warfare
96--The Burden of a Secret
97--Griselda
98--A Woman’s Witchery
99--An Ideal Love
100--Lady Marchmont’s Widowhood
101--The Romance of a Young Girl
102--The Price of a Bride
103--If Love Be Love
104--Queen of the County
105--Lady Ethel’s Whim
106--Weaker than a Woman
107--A Woman’s Temptation
108--On Her Wedding Morn
109--A Struggle for the Right
110--Margery Daw
111--The Sins of the Father
112--A Dead Heart
113--Under a Shadow
114--Dream Faces
115--Lord Elesmere’s Wife
116--Blossom and Fruit
117--Lady Muriel’s Secret
118--A Loving Maid
119--Hilary’s Folly
120--Beauty’s Marriage
121--Lady Gwendoline’s Dream
122--A Story of an Error
123--The Hidden Sin
124--Society’s Verdict
125--The Bride from the Sea and Other Stories
126--A Heart of Gold
127--Addie’s Husband and Other Stories
128--Lady Latimer’s Escape
129--A Woman’s Error
130--A Loveless Engagement
131--A Queen Triumphant
132--The Girl of His Heart
133--The Chains of Jealousy
134--A Heart’s Worship
135--The Price of Love
136--A Misguided Love
137--A Wife’s Devotion
138--When Love and Hate Conflict
139--A Captive Heart
140--A Pilgrim of Love
141--A Purchased Love
142--Lost for Love
143--The Queen of His Soul
144--Gladys’ Wedding Day
145--An Untold Passion
146--His Great Temptation
147--A Fateful Passion
148--The Sunshine of His Life
149--On with the New Love
150--An Evil Heart
151--Love’s Redemption
152--The Love of Lady Aurelia
153--The Lost Lady of Haddon
154--Every Inch a Queen
155--A Maid’s Misery
156--A Stolen Heart
157--His Wedded Wife
158--Lady Ona’s Sin
159--A Tragedy of Love and Hate
160--The White Witch
161--Between Love and Ambition
162--True Love’s Reward
163--The Gambler’s Wife
164--An Ocean of Love
165--A Poisoned Heart
166--For Love of Her
167--Paying the Penalty
168--Her Honored Name
169--A Deceptive Lover
170--The Old Love or New?
171--A Coquette’s Victim
172--The Wooing of a Maid
173--A Bitter Courtship
174--Love’s Debt
175--Her Beautiful Foe
176--A Happy Conquest
177--A Soul Ensnared
178--Beyond All Dreams
179--At Her Heart’s Command
180--A Modest Passion
181--The Flower of Love
182--Love’s Twilight
183--Enchained by Passion
184--When Woman Wills
185--Where Love Leads
186--A Blighted Blossom
187--Two Men and a Maid
188--When Love Is Kind
189--Withered Flowers
190--The Unbroken Vow
191--The Love He Spurned
192--Her Heart’s Hero
193--For Old Love’s Sake
194--Fair as a Lily
195--Tender and True
196--What It Cost Her
197--Love Forevermore
198--Can This Be Love?
199--In Spite of Fate
200--Love’s Coronet
201--Dearer Than Life
202--Baffled by Fate
203--The Love that Won
204--In Defiance of Fate
205--A Vixen’s Love
206--Her Bitter Sorrow
207--By Love’s Order
208--The Secret of Estcourt
209--Her Heart’s Surrender
210--Lady Viola’s Secret
211--Strong in Her Love
212--Tempted to Forget
213--With Love’s Strong Bonds
214--Love, the Avenger
215--Under Cupid’s Seal
216--The Love that Blinds
217--Love’s Crown Jewel
218--Wedded at Dawn
219--For Her Heart’s Sake
220--Fettered for Life
221--Beyond the Shadow
222--A Heart Forlorn
223--The Bride of the Manor
224--For Lack of Gold
225--Sweeter than Life
226--Loved and Lost
227--The Tie that Binds
228--Answered in Jest
229--What the World Said
230--When Hot Tears Flow
231--In a Siren’s Web
232--With Love at the Helm
233--The Wiles of Love
234--Sinner or Victim?
235--When Cupid Frowns
236--A Shattered Romance
237--A Woman of Whims
238--Love Hath Wings
239--A Love in the Balance
240--Two True Hearts
241--A Daughter of Eve
242--Love Grown Cold
243--The Lure of the Flame
244--A Wild Rose
245--At Love’s Fountain
246--An Exacting Love
247--An Ardent Wooing
248--Toward Love’s Goal
249--New Love or Old?
250--One of Love’s Slaves
251--Hester’s Husband
252--On Love’s Highway
253--He Dared to Love
254--Humbled Pride
255--Love’s Caprice
256--A Cruel Revenge
257--Her Struggle with Love
258--Her Heart’s Problem
259--In Love’s Bondage
260--A Child of Caprice
261--An Elusive Lover
262--A Captive Fairy
263--Love’s Burden
264--A Crown of Faith
265--Love’s Harsh Mandate
266--The Harvest of Sin
267--Love’s Carnival
268--A Secret Sorrow
269--True to His First Love
270--Beyond Atonement
271--Love Finds a Way
272--A Girl’s Awakening
273--In Quest of Love
274--The Hero of Her Dreams
275--Only a Flirt
276--The Hour of Temptation
277--Suffered in Silence
278--Love and the World
279--Love’s Sweet Hour
280--Faithful and True
281--Sunshine and Shadow
282--For Love or Wealth?
283--Love of His Youth
284--Cast Upon His Care
285--All Else Forgot
286--When Hearts Are Young
287--Her Love and His
288--Her Sacred Trust
289--While the World Scoffed
In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.
To be published In July, 1926.
290--The Heart of His Heart
291--With Heart and Voice
To be published in August, 1926.
292--Outside Love’s Door
293--For His Love’s Sake
To be published in September, 1926
294--And This Is Love!
295--When False Tongues Speak
To be published in October, 1926.
296--That Plain Little Girl
297--A Daughter of Misfortune
To be published in November, 1926.
298--The Quest of His Heart
299--Adrift on Love’s Tide
To be published in December, 1926.
300--Suffered in Vain
301--Her Heart’s Delight
302--A Love Victorious
ROMANCES THAT PLEASE MILLIONS
The Love Story Library
ALL BY RUBY M. AYRES
_This Popular Writer’s Favorites_
There is unusual charm and fascination about the love stories of Ruby
M. Ayres that give her writings a universal appeal. Probably there
is no other romantic writer whose books are enjoyed by such a wide
audience of readers. Her stories have genuine feeling and sentiment,
and this quality makes them liked by those who appreciate the true
romantic spirit. In this low-priced series, a choice selection of Miss
Ayres’ best stories is offered.
In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.
To be published in July, 1926.
1--Is Love Worth While? By Ruby M. Ayres
2--The Black Sheep By Ruby M. Ayres
To be published in August, 1926.
3--The Waif’s Wedding By Ruby M. Ayres
4--The Woman Hater By Ruby M. Ayres
5--The Story of an Ugly Man By Ruby M. Ayres
To be published in September, 1926.
6--The Beggar Man By Ruby M. Ayres
7--The Long Lane to Happiness By Ruby M. Ayres
To be published in October, 1926.
8--Dream Castles By Ruby M. Ayres
9--The Highest Bidder By Ruby M. Ayres
To be published in November, 1926.
10--Love and a Lie By Ruby M. Ayres
11--The Love of Robert Dennison By Ruby M. Ayres
To be published in December, 1926.
12--A Man of His Word By Ruby M. Ayres
13--The Master Man By Ruby M. Ayres
SUFFERED IN VAIN
OR,
A PLAYTHING OF FATE
BY
BERTHA M. CLAY
Whose complete works will be published in this, the
NEW BERTHA CLAY LIBRARY
[Illustration: S AND S NOVELS]
Printed in the U. S. A.
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
SUFFERED IN VAIN.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. A SINGULAR WILL.
CHAPTER II. CAPTAIN DESFRAYNE’S PERPLEXITY.
CHAPTER III. LOIS TURQUAND’S EMBARRASSMENT.
CHAPTER IV. LOIS TURQUAND’S ALTERED FORTUNE.
CHAPTER V. A TRIPLE BONDAGE.
CHAPTER VI. PAUL’S GALLING SHACKLES.
CHAPTER VII. AN UNINTENTIONAL CUT.
CHAPTER VIII. THE NEW VALET.
CHAPTER IX. PLAYING AT CROSS-PURPOSES.
CHAPTER X. BUILDING ON SAND.
CHAPTER XI. PAUL DESFRAYNE’S WIFE.
CHAPTER XII. THE PRIMA DONNA’S HATE.
CHAPTER XIII. PAUL DESFRAYNE’S CONFESSION.
CHAPTER XIV. FRANK AMBERLEY’S EXULTATION.
CHAPTER XV. THE MISTRESS OF FLORE HALL.
CHAPTER XVI. GILARDONI’S LOVE-GIFT.
CHAPTER XVII. IN THE THUNDER-STORM.
CHAPTER XVIII. PAUL DESFRAYNE’S REFLECTIONS.
CHAPTER XIX. BLANCHE DORMER’S SURPRISE.
CHAPTER XX. THE BREAK OF DAWN.
CHAPTER XXI. LEONARDO GILARDONI’S STORY.
CHAPTER XXII. A VISION OF FREEDOM.
CHAPTER XXIII. THE EXPRESS TO LONDON.
CHAPTER XXIV. FRANK AMBERLEY’S ADVICE.
CHAPTER XXV. THE FIGURE ROBED IN BLACK.
CHAPTER XXVI. LUCIA GUISCARDINI’S DIAMOND RING.
CHAPTER XXVII. FRANK AMBERLEY’S MISSION.
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE INLAID CABINET.
CHAPTER XXIX. DEFIANCE, NOT DEFENSE.
CHAPTER XXX. FREE AT LAST.
CHAPTER XXXI. LUCIA’S TEARS.
CHAPTER XXXII. LUCIA GUISCARDINI’S MADNESS.
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE SOUND OF WEDDING-BELLS.
CHAPTER I.
A SINGULAR WILL.
Always more or less subdued in tone and tranquil of aspect, the
eminently genteel Square of Porchester is, perhaps, seen in its most
benign mood in the gently falling shadows of a summer’s twilight.
The tall houses begin slowly, very slowly, to twinkle with a glowworm
irradiance from the drawing-rooms to the apartments on the upper
floors as the darkness increases. From the open windows float the
glittering strains of Gounod, Offenbach, Hervé, fluttering down over
the flower-wreathed balconies into the silent street beneath, each
succession of chords tumbling like so many fairies intoxicated with the
spirit of music. At not infrequent intervals, sparkling broughams whirl
past, carrying ladies arrayed obviously for dinner-party, soirée, or
opera, in gay toilets, only half-concealed by the loose folds of soft
wraps.
At the moment the curtain rises, two persons of the drama occupy this
stage.
One is an individual of a peculiarly unattractive exterior--a man of
probably some two or three and thirty years of age--a foreigner, by his
appearance. It would have been difficult to tell whether recent illness
or absolute want had made his not unhandsome face so white and pinched,
and caused the shabby garments to hang about his tall, well-knit
figure. Seemingly, he was one of those most forlorn of creatures--a
domestic servant out of employ.
The expression on his countenance just now, as he leaned against the
iron railings of the enclosure, almost concealed behind a doctor’s
brougham which awaited its master, was not pleasant to regard.
Following the direction of his fixed stare, the eye was led to a
superbly beautiful woman, sitting half-within the French window of a
drawing-room opposite, half-out upon the balcony, among some clustering
flowers.
This woman was undoubtedly quite unconscious of the steady attention
bestowed upon her by the solitary being, only distant from her presence
by a few feet. She was a young woman of about three-and-twenty--an
Italian, judging by her general aspect--attired in a rich costume,
lavishly trimmed with black lace. A white lace shawl, lightly thrown
over her shoulders, permitted only gracious and flowing outlines
to reveal themselves; but her supremely lovely face, the masses of
coiled and plaited hair, dark as night, stray diamond stars gleaming
here and there, the glowing complexion, the sleepy, long, silk, soft
lashes, resting upon cheeks which might be described as “peachlike,”
the crimson lips, the delicately rounded chin, the perfect, shell-like
ears, made up an ensemble of haunting beauty that, once seen, could
never be forgotten.
Of the vicinity, much less of the rapt gaze of the wayfarer lingering
yonder, she was profoundly ignorant, her attention being entirely
occupied by a written sheet of paper, held between her slender white
fingers. This she was apparently studying with absorbed interest.
The loiterer clenched his fist, malignant hate wrinkling his care-worn
face, and made a gesture, betraying the most intense anger toward the
imperial creature in the amber and black draperies.
“So, Madam Lucia Guiscardini,” he muttered, under his breath, “you bask
up there, in your beauty and your finery, like some sleek, treacherous
cat! Beautiful signora, if I had a pistol now, I could shoot you dead,
without leaving you a moment to think upon your sins. Your sins! and
they say you are one of the best and noblest of women--those who do not
know your cold and cruel heart, snow-plumaged swan of Firenze! How can
it be that I could ever have loved you so wildly--that I could have
knelt down to kiss the ground upon which your dainty step had trod?
Were you the same--was I the same? Has all the world changed since
those days?
“I have suffered cold and hunger, sickness and pain, weariness of
body, anguish of mind, while you have been lapped in luxury. You have
been gently borne about in your carriage, wrapped in velvets and furs,
or satins and laces, while I--I have passed through the rain-sodden
streets with scarcely a shoe to my foot. They say you refused, in your
pride, to marry a Russian prince the other day. All the world marveled
at your insolent caprice. I wonder what you think of me, or if you ever
honor me with a flying recollection? Am I the one drop of gall in your
cup of nectar, or have you forgotten me?”
A quick, firm step startled the tranquil echoes of the square, and
made this fellow glance about with the vague sense of ever-recurring
alarm which poverty and distress engender in those unaccustomed to the
companionship of such dismal comrades.
The instant he descried the person approaching, his countenance
changed. He cast down his fierce, keen eyes, and an expression
of humility replaced the glare of vindictive bitterness that had
previously rendered his visage anything but pleasant to look upon.
This third personage of the drama was one, in appearance, worthy to
take the part of hero. He was, perhaps, about thirty years old, with a
noble presence, a fair and frank face, though one clouded by a strange
shadow of mysterious care ever brooding. The face attracted at once,
and inspired a wish to know something more of the soul looking through
those bright, half-sadly smiling violet eyes as from the windows of a
prison.
The forlorn watcher next the iron railings left his post of stealthy
observation on seeing this gentleman, and, crossing, so as to intercept
him, stood in the middle of the pavement in such a way as to abruptly
bar the passage.
The large kindly eyes, which had been cast down, as if indifferent to
all outward things, and engaged in painful introspection, were suddenly
raised with a flash of displeased surprise.
“Sir,” began the poor lounger deprecatingly, half-unconsciously
clasping his meager hands, and speaking almost in the voice of a
supplicant, “Captain Desfrayne, forgive me for daring to address you;
but----”
“You are a stranger to me, although you seem acquainted with my name,”
the gentleman said, scanning him with a keen glance. “I don’t know that
I have ever seen you before. What do you want? By your accent, you
appear to be an Italian.”
“I am so, captain. I did not know you were coming this way, nor did
I know you were in London. I have only this moment seen you, as you
turned into the square; or I--I thought--for I know you, though perhaps
you may never have noticed me--I knew of old that you have a kind and
tender heart, and I thought---- Sir, I am a bad hand at begging; but I
am sorely, bitterly in need of help.”
“Of help?” repeated Captain Desfrayne, still looking at him
attentively. “Of what kind of help?”
Those bright eyes saw, although he asked the question, that the man
required succor in any and in every shape.
“Sir, when I knew you, about three years ago, I was in the service of
the Count di Venosta, at Padua, as valet.”
“I knew the count well, though I have no recollection of you,” said
Captain Desfrayne. “Go on.”
“He died about a year and a half ago. I nursed him through his last
illness, and caught the fever of which he died. I had a little
money--my savings--to live on for a while; but all is gone now, and I
don’t know which way to turn, or whither to look for another situation.
It was with the hope of finding some friends that I came to London; I
might as well be in the Great Desert.”
“I have no doubt your story is perfectly true; but I don’t see what I
can do for you,” Captain Desfrayne said, with some pity. “However, I
will consider, and, if you like to come and see me to-morrow, perhaps
I---- What is your name?”
“Leonardo Gilardoni, sir.”
The hungry, eager eyes watched as Captain Desfrayne took a note-book
from his pocket and scribbled down the name, adding a brief memorandum
besides.
The sound of these men’s voices speaking just beneath her window had
failed to attract the attention of the beautiful creature in the
balcony. But now, when a sudden silence succeeded, she looked over from
an undefined feeling of half-unconscious interest or curiosity.
As she glanced carelessly down at the two figures, the expression on
her face utterly changed. The great eyes, the hue of black velvet,
opened widely, as if from terror, or an astonishment too stupendous to
be controlled. For a moment she seemed unable to withdraw her gaze,
fascinated, apparently.
The little white hands were fiercely clenched; and if glances could
kill, those two men would have rapidly traversed the valley of the
shadow of death.
Fortunately, glances, however baleful, fall harmless as summer
lightning; and the interlocutors remained happily ignorant of the
absorbed attention wherewith they were favored.
In a moment or two she rose, and, standing just within the room,
clutching the curtain with a half-convulsive grip, peered down
malevolently into the street.
“What can have brought these two men here together?” she muttered.
“Do they come to seek me? I did not know they were conscious of one
another’s existence. What are they doing? Why are they here? Accursed
be the day I ever saw the face of either!”
The visage, so wondrously beautiful in repose, looked almost hideous
thus distorted by fury.
She saw Captain Desfrayne put his little note-book back in his pocket,
and then heard him say:
“If you will come to me about--say, six or seven o’clock to-morrow
evening, at my chambers in”--she missed the name of the street and
the number, though she craned her white throat forward eagerly--“I
will speak further to you. Do not come before that time, as I shall be
absent all day.”
With swift, compassionate fingers he dropped a piece of gold into the
thin hand of the unhappy, friendless man before him, and then moved, as
if to continue his way.
The superb creature above craned out her head as far as she dared, to
watch the two. Captain Desfrayne, however, seemed to be the personage
she was specially desirous of following with her keen glances. To her
amazement and evident consternation, he walked up to the immediately
adjacent house, and rang the bell. The door opened, and he disappeared.
The shabby, half-slouching figure of the supplicant for help shuffled
off in the other direction, toward Westbourne Grove, and vanished from
out the square.
Releasing her grip of the draperies hanging by the window, the proud
and insolent beauty began walking up and down the room, flinging away
the paper from which she had been studying.
She looked like some handsome tigress, cramped up in a gilded cage,
as she paced to and fro, her dress trailing along the carpet in rich
and massive folds. Some almost ungovernable fit of passion appeared
to have seized upon her, and she gave way to her impulses as a hot,
undisciplined nature might yield.
There was a strange kind of contrast between the feline grace of her
movements, the faultless elegance of her perfect toilet, the splendor
of her beauty, and the untutored violence of her manner.
“What do they want here?” she asked, half-aloud. “Why do they come
here, plotting under my windows? Do they defy me? Do they hope to
crush me? What has Paul Desfrayne to complain of? I defy him, as I do
Leonardo Gilardoni! Let them do their worst! What are they going to do?
Has Leonardo Gilardoni found any--any----”
She started back and looked round with a guilty terror, as if she dared
not think out the half-spoken surmise even to herself.
“He knows nothing--he can know nothing; and he has no longer any hold
on me,” she muttered presently; “unless--unless the other has told
him; and I don’t believe he would trust a fellow like _him_: for Paul
Desfrayne is as proud as Lucifer. Oh, if I could but live my life over
again! What mistakes--what fatal mistakes I have made--mistakes which
may yet bring ruin as their fruit! I will leave England to-morrow. I
don’t care what they say, or think, or what loss it may cost to myself
or any one else. Yet, am I safer elsewhere? I know not. What would be
the consequences if they could prove I had done what I have done? I
know not; I have never had the courage to ask.”
Totally unconscious of the vicinity of this beautiful, vindictive
woman, Captain Desfrayne tranquilly passed into the house which he had
come to visit.
“Can I see Mrs. Desfrayne?” he inquired of the smart maid servant who
answered his summons.
“I will see, sir. She was at dinner, sir, and I don’t think she has
gone out yet.”
The beribboned and pretty girl, throwing open the door of a room at
hand, and ushering the visitor within, left him alone, while she
flitted off in search of the lady for whom he had asked, not, however,
without taking a sidelong glance at his handsome face before she
disappeared.
The apartment was a long dining-room, extending from the front to
the back of the house, furnished amply, yet with a certain richness,
the articles being all of old oak, carved elaborately, which lent a
somber, somewhat stately effect. It was obviously, however, a room in a
semifashionable boarding-house.
In a few minutes a lady opened the door, and entered with the joyous
eagerness of a girl.
A graceful, dignified woman, in reality seventeen years older than
Captain Desfrayne, but who looked hardly five years his senior, of
the purest type of English matronly beauty. She seemed like one of
Reynolds’ or Gainsborough’s most exquisite portraits warmed into
life, just alighted from its canvas. The soft, blond hair, the clear,
roselike complexion, the large, half-melting violet eyes, the smiling
mouth, with its dimples playing at hide-and-seek, the perfectly
chiseled nose, the dainty, rounded chin, the patrician figure, so
classically molded that it drew away attention from the fact that every
little detail of the apparently little-studied yet careful toilet was
finished to the most refined nicety--these hastily noted points could
scarce give any conception of the almost dazzling loveliness of Paul
Desfrayne’s widowed mother.
She entered with a light, quick step, and being met almost as she
crossed the threshold by her visitor, she raised her white hands,
sparkling with rings, and drew down his head with an ineffably tender
and loving touch.
“My boy--my own Paul,” she half-cooed, kissing his forehead. “This is,
indeed, an unexpected pleasure. I did not even know that you were in
London.”
For a moment the young man seemed about to return his mother’s caress;
but he did not do so.
She crossed to the window, and placing a second chair, as she seated
herself, desired Paul to take it.
There was a positive pleasure in observing the movements of this
perfectly graceful woman. She seemed the embodiment of a soft, sweet
strain of music; every gesture, every fold of her draperies was at once
so natural, yet so absolutely harmonious, that it was impossible to
suggest an alteration for the better.
“I supposed you to be settled for a time in Paris,” Mrs. Desfrayne
said, as her son did not appear inclined to take the lead in the
impending dialogue, but accepted his chair in almost moody silence.
“I should have written to you, mother; but I thought I should most
probably arrive as soon, or perhaps even precede my letter,” replied
Captain Desfrayne.
“You look anxious and a little worried. Has unpleasant business brought
you back? You have not obtained the appointment to the French embassy
for which you were looking?”
“No. I am anxious, undoubtedly; but I suppose I ought not to say I am
worried, though I find myself placed in a most remarkable, and--what
shall I say?--delicate position. Yesterday I received a letter,
and I came at once to consult you, with the hope that you might be
able to give me some good advice. I fear I have called at rather an
unreasonable hour?”
A tenderly reproachful glance seemed to assure him that no hour could
be unreasonable that brought his ever-welcome presence.
“I will advise you to the best of my ability, my dear,” Mrs. Desfrayne
smilingly said. “What has happened?”
Paul Desfrayne drew a letter from the pocket of the light coat which he
had thrown over his evening dress, and looked at it for a moment or two
in silence, as if at a loss how to introduce its evidently embarrassing
contents.
His mother watched him with undisguised anxiety, her brilliant eyes
half-veiled by the blue-veined lids.
“This letter,” Paul at length said, “is from a legal firm. It refers to
a person whom I had some difficulty in recalling to mind, and places me
in a most embarrassing position toward another person whom I have never
seen.”
“A situation certainly indicating a promise of some perplexity,” Mrs.
Desfrayne half-laughingly remarked.
“Some years ago,” Paul continued, “there lived an old man--he was an
iron-dealer originally, or something of that sort--a person in a very
humble rank of life; but somehow he contrived to make an enormous
fortune. He has, in fact, left the sum of nearly three hundred thousand
pounds.”
“To you?” demanded Mrs. Desfrayne, in a thrilling tone, not as if she
believed such to be the case; for her son’s accent scarcely warranted
such an assumption; but as if the wish was father to the thought.
Paul shook his head.
“Not to me--to some young girl he took an interest in, as far as I
can understand. I happened to render him a slight service--I hardly
remembered it now--some insignificant piece of civility or kindness. It
seems he entertained a great respect for me, and attributed the rise of
his wealth to me. This young girl--I don’t know whether she was related
to him or not--has been left the sole, or nearly the sole, inheritor of
his money, and I----”
“And you, Paul?”
“Have been nominated her trustee and sole executor by his will. I
believe he has bequeathed me some few thousands, as a remuneration for
my trouble.”
The slight tinge of pinky color on the cheeks of the beautiful Mrs.
Desfrayne deepened visibly, although she sat with her back to the
window.
“How old is the young lady?” she asked, in a subdued tone.
“Eighteen or nineteen.”
“Is she--has she any father or mother?”
“Both are dead. She is, I understand, alone in the world.”
“Have you seen her?”
“No.”
“Do you know what she is like?”
“I am as ignorant of everything concerning her, personally, as you are
yourself, mother.”
“Is she pretty?”
Paul Desfrayne’s face hardened almost to sternness and his eyes drooped.
“I have already told you, mother mine, that I know nothing whatever
about her. If you will take the trouble to glance over this letter, you
will learn as much as I know myself. I have nothing more to tell you
than what is written therein.”
The dainty fingers trembled slightly as they were quickly stretched
forth to receive the missive, which Paul took from its legal-looking
envelope.
Mrs. Desfrayne ran rapidly over the contents, and then read it through
more slowly a second time.
It purported to be from Messrs. Salmon, Joyner & Joyner, the eminent
firm of solicitors in Alderman’s Lane, and requested Captain Desfrayne
to favor them with a call at his earliest convenience, as they wished
to go over the will of Mr. Vere Gardiner, iron-founder, lately
deceased, who had appointed him--Captain Desfrayne--sole trustee to the
chief legatee, an orphan girl of nineteen, sole executor to the estate,
which was valued at about two hundred and sixty thousand pounds, and
legatee to the amount of ten thousand pounds. The letter added that Mr.
Vere Gardiner had expressed a profound respect for Captain Desfrayne,
and had several times declared that he owed his uprise in life to a
special act of kindness received from him.
“How very extraordinary!” Mrs. Desfrayne softly exclaimed, at length.
“He scarcely knew you, yet trusts this young girl and her large fortune
to your sole charge. Flattering, but, as you say, embarrassing. Two
hundred and sixty thousand pounds!” she murmured. “A girl of nineteen.
If she is a beauty”--she slightly shrugged her dimpled shoulders--“your
position will be an onerous one, indeed.”
“They might as well have asked me to play keeper to a white elephant,”
the young man said, with some acerbity. “I will have nothing to do with
it.”
“Do not be too hasty. Probably this person had good reason for what he
has done. Besides, you would be foolish to refuse so handsome a present
as you are promised; for we cannot conceal from ourselves that ten
thousand pounds would be a very acceptable gift.”
“If a free one, yes; if burdened with unpleasant conditions, why, there
might be difference of opinion. I had almost made up my mind to decline
at once and for all; but I thought it would be more prudent to consult
you first.”
“My dear Paul, I feel--I will not say flattered, but I thank you very
much for your kind estimation of my judgment. All I can say is: Go and
see what these lawyers have to say. Then, if they do not succeed in
inducing you to receive the trust, see the girl, and judge for yourself
what would be best. Perhaps she has no friend but you, and she might
run the risk of losing her fortune. Perhaps she is sorely in need of
some protector--perhaps even of money. Where does she live?”
“As I told you before,” Captain Desfrayne replied, with more asperity
than seemed at all necessary under the circumstances, “I did not know
even of her existence before receiving that letter, and I now know not
one solitary fact more than you do. I know nothing of the girl, or of
her money. I do not wish to know; I take no interest, and I don’t want
to take any interest now, or in the future.”
“But it is foolish to refuse to perform a duty when you are so entirely
ignorant of the reasons why this money has been thrown into your
keeping,” urged Mrs. Desfrayne gently.
“If I refuse, I suppose the Court of Chancery will find somebody more
capable, and certainly may easily find some one more willing than
myself,” Captain Desfrayne said, almost irritably.
“If it had been a boy, instead of a girl, would you have been so
reluctant?” asked Mrs. Desfrayne, smiling mischievously.
“That has nothing to do with it. I have to deal with the matter as it
now exists, not as it might have been.”
Mrs. Desfrayne glanced at her son from beneath the long, silken lashes
that half-concealed her great blue eyes. It seemed so strange to hear
that musical voice, which for nine-and-twenty or thirty years had been
as soft and sweet to her ears, as if incapable of one jangled note,
fall into that odd, irritable discordance.
Paul was out of sorts and out of humor, she could see. Was he telling
her _all_ the truth?
Never, in all those years of his life, most of which had passed under
her own vision, had he uttered, looked, or even seemed to harbor one
thought that he was not ready and willing for his mother to take
cognizance of. Why, then, this possible reticence, blowing across their
lifelong confidence like the bitter northeast wind ruffling over clear
water, turning its surface into a fragile veil of ice?
The young man was out of humor, for his meeting with the fellow whom he
had just encountered almost on the threshold of the house had brought
up many recollections he would fain have banished--memories of a time
he would gladly have erased from the pages of his life--a time whereof
his mother knew nothing.
Mrs. Desfrayne, however, shot very wide of the mark when she ascribed
his alteration of look and manner to some foreknowledge of the girl in
question. He spoke nothing but the truth in saying that he had never as
much as heard of her before receiving the letter that lay between his
mother’s fingers.
With the electric sympathy of strong mutual affection, Paul Desfrayne
quickly perceived the ill effect his coldness had upon his mother; and
with an effort he cleared his countenance, and assumed a shadow of
his formerly smiling aspect. He looked down, and appeared to consider.
Then, raising his eyes to those of his mother, he said, with an air of
resignation:
“I suppose it would be best to see the lawyers, and hear what they have
to say. It is a most intolerable bore. I don’t know what I have done to
merit being visited for my sins in this fashion.”
“You don’t remember what you happened to do for this eccentrically
disposed old man?”
Paul Desfrayne shrugged his shoulders.
“A remarkably simple matter, when all is said and done. I was traveling
once with him, as well as I can remember, and he began talking to me
about some wonderful invention he had just brought to perfection. He
was in what I supposed to be rather cramped circumstances, though not
an absolutely poor man, for he was traveling first-class. I should
not have thought about him at all, only, with the enthusiasm of an
inventor, he persisted in bothering me about this thing.
“I thought at the time it was deserving of notice; and when he
alighted, I happened to almost tumble into the arms of the very man who
had it in his power to get the affair into use and practise. More to
get rid of him than for any more worthy motive, I introduced the two
to each other. It was something this old Vere Gardiner had invented,
for some kind of machinery, which, if adopted by the government, would
save--I really forget how much. I recollect asking this friend, some
time after, if he had done anything about it, and he told me it would
probably make the fortune of half a dozen people. He seemed delighted
with the old man and his invention.
“This must be the service he made so much of. It was a service costing
me just five or six sentences. I did not even stop to see what
Percival, this friend, thought of old Gardiner, or what he thought of
Percival; but left them talking together in the waiting-room, for I was
in a desperate hurry to reach you, mother. I never anticipated hearing
of the affair again.”
There was a brief silence.
“This man, it is to be presumed, was of humble birth,” said Mrs.
Desfrayne. “It will be too dreadful if, with the irony of blind fate,
this girl proves unpresentable. In that case--at nineteen--it will be
too late to mend her manners, or her education. Perhaps she has some
frightfully appalling cognomen, which will render it a martyrdom to
present her in society. If she is anything of a hobgoblin, you may with
justice talk of a white elephant.”
“I suppose there is no clause in the criminal code whereby I may
be compelled to accept the trust if I do not elect voluntarily to
undertake it?” Captain Desfrayne asked, with a slight smile at his
mother’s fastidious alarm. “And if she is nineteen now, I suppose my
responsibility would cease in two years?”
“Perhaps. Some crotchety old men make very singular wills. I wonder
how it happened that he had no business friend in whom he could
confide?--why he must choose a stranger, and entrust to that stranger
such a large sum? I wish I knew what the girl’s name is, and what she
is like, and what possible position she may occupy? For if you receive
the trust, I presume I shall have the felicity of playing the part of
chaperon.”
“It is perfectly useless discussing the matter until we know something
more certain,” Captain Desfrayne said, his irritation again displaying
itself unaccountably.
“One cannot help surmising, my dearest Paul. Perhaps the girl is a
nursemaid, or a milliner’s apprentice, and misuses her aspirates, and
is a budding Malaprop,” Mrs. Desfrayne persisted. “However, we shall
see. Go with me this evening to the opera, if you have nothing better
to do. Lady Quaintree has lent me her box.”
As she was folding her opera-cloak about her youthful-looking person
the good lady said to herself:
“There is some mystery here; but of what kind? Paul is not quite his
own frank self. What has happened? He has kept something from me.
I could not help fancying something occurred during his absence in
Venice three years ago. I wonder if he knows more about this girl, the
fortunate legatee of the eccentric old iron-founder, than he chooses to
acknowledge? But he must have some most powerful reason to induce him
to hide anything from me; and he said twice most distinctly that he had
never seen her and did not know her name. I do not believe Paul could
be guilty of deceit.”