MRS. MELRAY THE YOUNGER IN A NEW LIGHT.
One morning, about a fortnight subsequently to the date of the letter
embodied in our last chapter, Winslade was surprised to receive by
post a somewhat bulky package addressed to him in Fanny's familiar
hand. He opened it wonderingly, and his wonder was in nowise lessened
by what he found therein. First of all there was a long letter from
Fanny, and, secondly, a manuscript in a different writing, tied round
with narrow white ribbon.
After requesting that Phil would not open the manuscript till he
should have read what she had to say, Fanny went on as follows:
"From what I have already told you at different times, you will
readily comprehend that Mrs. Melray the younger has a great deal of
spare time on her hands which, I have no doubt, she sometimes finds it
rather difficult to get through with satisfaction to herself.
Previously to her husband's death (this is what she tells me), she
subscribed to the local library; but, as a consequence of that event,
her subscription has been allowed to lapse, and she is unwilling to
take it up again just yet, feeling sure in her own mind that such a
step would be disapproved of by her mother-in-law as savouring of
disrespect for the dead. Now, the stock of books at Loudwater House is
limited in number, and comprises but few volumes which would be likely
to interest a young woman like Mrs. Melray, who has no special
pursuits and no tastes in particular, unless it be a love of fiction
(in its narrative form), which seems to be a part of the natural
endowment of our sex. Under these circumstances, Mrs. Melray has
several times asked me for the loan of whatever books or magazines I
may happen to have by me (and, thanks to you, dear, I am kept pretty
well supplied with both), a request with which I have very willingly
complied.
"Well, in the course of the afternoon of Tuesday last, she came to me
in the school-room to ask me whether I had anything by me which she
had not yet read. As it happened, she had already pretty well
exhausted my current supply. Then suddenly, while I stood with my
finger on my lip, wondering whether I had anything left which would be
likely to suit her, a great temptation assailed me. Low down in my
heart a voice whispered: 'Why not give her "How, and Why" to read?
That it will startle and surprise her can hardly be doubted, for
whether she is as innocent as I believe her to be, or whether, if she
chose to do so, she could clear up the mystery of her husband's death,
the story can scarcely fail to recall vividly to her mind every
circumstance connected with that event, while it is next to impossible
to credit that she can be so blind as not to comprehend that,
intermixed with a lot of fictitious matter, it is the story of Mr.
Melray's tragical end which is being thus retold by some unknown pen.
Scarcely less can she fail to see that the "old man's darling," who
plays such an important part in the narrative, is intended for none
other than herself. In any case, the reading of it by her can do no
possible harm, and there is just a chance--a very faint one, I
admit--that something unforeseen may result therefrom.'
"(That something unforeseen _has_ resulted therefrom you will
presently have ample proof.)
"Such were the thoughts that flashed through my mind during the three
or four seconds that I stood with my finger on my lip. Then, turning
to Mrs. Melray, I said: 'I am afraid that you have all but exhausted
my supply till a fresh one comes to hand. However, I will see what I
can find.'
"I confess that my heart beat a little faster than common as I brought
from my bedroom the number of _The Family Cornucopia_, and placed it
in her hands. So lonely is her life that she spends an hour or two
most forenoons in the school-room with Freddy and me; accordingly I
was not at all surprised when she drew her chair up to the fire and
settled herself for what she calls a 'comfortable read.'
"I watched her furtively, feeling pretty sure that, as a child picks
the biggest currants out of its cake first of all, so would she pick
out the story 'How, and Why' from the rest of the somewhat dry and
jejune contents of the magazine. First her face flushed, and then, a
few seconds later, paled as suddenly; then she flashed a look at me
and caught my eyes fixed on her, with, it may be, a directness in
their gaze which she found somewhat disconcerting. Anyhow, hers were
the first to drop. For a minute or more she sat staring into the fire,
her little pearly teeth biting into the crimson of her under-lip.
Then, as if she had come to some resolve, she got up suddenly, and,
looking me steadily in the face, said in tones as steady as her gaze:
'It is not often that I am troubled with a headache, but one has laid
hold of me this afternoon. If you don't mind, dear Miss Sudlow, I will
take this magazine to my own room and read it there.' Of course I told
her that I did not mind in the least, and that I hoped her headache
would soon pass off. Whereupon, with the palm of one hand pressed to
her brow, and smiling a little strangely, she went, taking the story
with her.
"For the rest of the day nothing more was seen of Mrs. Melray. At
dinner-time she sent down word that she had a bad headache, and
apparently she had not got rid of it by next morning, seeing that she
failed to appear at the breakfast-table, neither was she visible at
luncheon. But a surprise was in store for me. In the course of the
afternoon a note was brought me by Charlotte the housemaid. Here it
is:
"'Dear Miss Sudlow,--Will you oblige me by coming to my room as soon
as Freddy's lessons for the day are over?
"'Yours sincerely,
"'Denia Melray.'
I am afraid that for the rest of the afternoon Master Freddy and his
lessons received but a very perfunctory attention at my hands. Much to
the boy's delight, I dismissed him a quarter-of-an-hour before the
usual time, and five minutes later found me at the door of the widow's
private sitting-room, which, during her husband's lifetime, had been
known as the small drawing-room. After a preliminary tap I turned the
handle and went in.
"Mrs. Melray was half sitting, half reclining on a couch. The blinds
were part way down, so that the room was in semi-darkness, and as she
reclined there in the glow of the firelight, with her aureole of pale
gold hair, with the delicate ivory contours of her face thrown into
relief against the embroidered cushion which supported her head, and
with the graceful folds of her sombre draperies wrapping her round,
she made indeed a charming picture.
"'I have asked you to come here,' she began, 'because we shall be more
free from interruption than we should be anywhere else.' Then, with a
touch of bitterness, she added: 'From morning till night no one ever
intrudes upon me here. In all England there can be few more lonely
mortals than I. But I am getting used to it by this time. Don't sit
there, Miss Sudlow, half a mile away from me. Here is a chair that
will suit itself deliciously to the curves of your back. Come and try
it.'
"As soon as I was settled in the chair indicated by her, she said:
'That was rather a curious stor--y you gave me to read yesterday. But
before saying more about it, I want to ask you a certain question. Of
course you can please yourself about answering it; but, in any case, I
trust you will not be offended by my asking it.'
"She paused as if expecting me to say something.
"'I don't think there's much likelihood, Mrs. Melray, of my being
offended by any question you may choose to put to me.'
"'It is very nice of you to say so, and yet---- But here is my
question without further preface. (Now, dear, remember, no offence!)
Are you, or are you not, the _fiancée_ of Mr. Philip Winslade, who was
here on a visit of several weeks' duration a little while ago?'
"Her question took me so by surprise that not to save my life could I
have kept back the rush of telltale colour that dyed my cheeks.
"Next moment, to my surprise, Mrs. Melray clapped her hands, as a
child might have done, and broke into a low rippling laugh.
"'I can see that I guessed rightly," she exclaimed, "for, after all,
my question was only a guess.'
"'Yes,' I said, 'you have guessed rightly. Mr. Winslade and I are, and
have been for some time, engaged.' Although I spoke gravely, I felt in
no degree offended by her question, and she saw it. 'But, if I may put
a question in my turn, Mrs. Melray,' I went on after a momentary
pause, 'what were the grounds which led you to the assumption that a
tie of any kind existed between Mr. Winslade and myself, or even that
we were as much as known to each other?'
"'The explanation is a very simple one, as you shall hear. One day
last week I had just come in from my walk and was passing through the
hall, when my eye was caught by some letters on the table, which had
arrived by the afternoon post. Thinking that perhaps one of them might
be for me (although such an event would indeed be a rarity) I took
them up to examine the addresses. There was none for me, but there was
one for Miss Sudlow," which was sealed with wax as though it might
contain something of value. I suppose it was a touch of natural
curiosity that caused me to turn the letter over and examine the seal,
which proved to be a representation of an Assyrian winged bull, and
the same instant my memory recalled the fact that attached to Mr.
Winslade's watch-guard was an intaglio which represented a winged
bull. The inference to be drawn was an obvious one, at least it seemed
so to me, and, as the event has proved, it was a correct one.'
"It began to dawn upon me that there might be more, much more, behind
those guileless blue orbs and that candid brow than either you or I
had dreamed of.
"'Your powers, both of observation and deduction, seem to have been
cultivated to some purpose,' I remarked drily.
"'I am not quite sure that I follow you,' she answered, with a puzzled
look, which might be genuine, but might just as easily be assumed.
'You must bear in mind that I am not clever in the way you are. But
now that you have been so frank with me on one point, perhaps you will
be equally so on another. What special object, may I ask, had you in
view in giving me a certain story to read?'
"This was a question the answer to which demanded some consideration.
For once in a way, my dear Phil, your generally ready and quick-witted
Fan was undoubtedly nonplussed.
"'Suppose I answer the question for you,' said Mrs. Melray presently,
with a smile which brought both rows of her pearly teeth into view;
but, for all that, it was not a pleasant smile by any means.
"'The story in question having come under the notice of my estimable
brother-in-law, and he being satisfied that, as far as some of the
incidents it treated of were concerned, it could refer to one case and
no other, brought you, my dear Miss Sudlow, to Loudwater House,
hoping, by your help (that is to say, by matching one woman against
another) to be able to sift to the bottom sundry statements embodied
in the opening pages of the narrative, as to the truth or falsehood of
which neither he nor anyone else had any knowledge whatever. Finding,
after a time, that your design was no nearer its fulfilment than at
first, you took the only step left open to you--you gave me the story
itself to read, hoping to gain goodness only knows what advantage
thereby. Tell me, now, are my surmises, or guesses, or whatever you
like to call them, very wide of the mark?'
"This, as you must admit, was very plain speaking indeed, and if I had
been taken aback before, I was doubly so now. Her blue eyes were bent
on me as she finished speaking with a sort of hard keenness in their
concentrated gaze, such as heretofore I should not have deemed them
capable of expressing. One thing was clear to me, that she was
labouring under an altogether erroneous belief, of which it became my
duty at once to disabuse her.
"'If you are under the impression, Mrs. Melray,' I said, 'as your
words seem to imply, that I was invited here by your brother-in-law to
act as a sort of private detective, or, in other words, to play the
part of a spy on you and your actions, I can only say that you are
wholly mistaken. I am here to fill the post of Freddy's governess, and
with no ulterior motive of any kind. It was entirely of my own accord,
and unprompted by anyone, that I yesterday gave you the story, "How,
and Why" to read. At the same time, I admit that when I put it into
your hands it was with the object of enabling you, should you feel so
disposed, to disprove certain allegations, which, as I take it, can
refer to no other person than yourself.'
"'Allegations which concern me most seriously, for I quite agree with
you that, in the eyes of anyone acquainted with the case, they point
unmistakably to Denia Melray. But tell me this: Should I be very wide
of the mark in assuming that the story has already been read both by
Mr. Winslade and Mr. Robert Melray?'
"'It has been read by both of them.'
"'So much I surmised. And now, will you be good enough to enlighten me
as to anything you may happen to know about the authorship of this
very remarkable composition? I am also curious to learn by what chance
it fell into your hands.'
"Frankness being apparently the order of the day, I at once proceeded
to recount to her everything as it had happened, from my purchase of
_The Family Cornucopia_ onward through all the details of your
interview with Mr. Timmins, ending with a mention of the letter from
the railway company, in which it was stated that one out of the four
people killed in the accident had never been identified. She seemed to
drink in every word with an almost breathless avidity. I fancied that
her face paled perceptibly when I told her how, on Mr. Timmins coming
to his senses, the first thing he saw was the dead body of his unknown
travelling companion stretched out beside him. Neither of us broke the
silence for a little while after I had come to an end. Mrs. Melray was
the first to speak.
"'Did'--here her hand went up to her throat for a moment--'did Mr.
Timmins describe to Mr. Winslade--what I mean is, did he give him any
description of the stranger who was killed?'
"'The notice Mr. Timmins took of his fellow-traveller was of the most
casual kind. All he could call to mind was that he was young and
dark-complexioned, with a black moustache.'
"'Yes--yes--young and dark-complexioned, with a black moustache,' she
repeated like an echo. 'It must have been he--it could have been no
other than he! Poor Evan! What an end--what a terrible end!"
"She turned and buried her face in the sofa-cushions, and presently
her slight frame was shaken by those dry-eyed, almost silent sobs
which bear witness to a grief that, for the time being, is beyond the
consolation of tears.
"I knew not what to do--of no way in which I could comfort her. The
conditions of the case were so exceptional that I felt myself utterly
helpless. I could only sit and look dumbly on.
"'Poor Evan!' she had said. I did not forget that Evan Wildash was the
name of her one-time lover, who was said to have gone to the Cape
years before, and to have died there.
"After a time, without lifting her face from the cushions, she said,
'Leave me now, dear Miss Sudlow. Come to me at the same time
to-morrow, when I shall have more to say to you.'
"I need not tell you, my dear Phil, with what impatience I awaited the
afternoon of the morrow. In the interim Mrs. Melray kept closely to
her rooms, being waited upon by her own maid and being present at none
of the family meals.
"I found her on the second afternoon just as I had found her on the
first; it might have been five minutes instead of twenty-four hours
since I had left her last. She was very pale, but perfectly composed.
'I want you to sit, please, where you sat yesterday,' she said.
"For a little while she lay back on her cushions with drooping
eye-lids and close-drawn brows.
"'When I came to think over what passed at our interview yesterday,'
at length she began, 'I saw that two courses were open to me. I might
have professed my entire ignorance of the writer of the manuscript
found in the railway carriage; have averred that all that part of the
narrative prior to the murder which concerns itself with the "young
wife" and her lover was sheer romance, that I had never had a lover
since I was sixteen, and that he had died in Africa years ago; and,
finally, I might have defied anyone to prove that I knew one iota more
in connection with my husband's death than was given by me in evidence
at the inquest. That was one of the two courses open to me, and to
most women in my position it is the one which would have recommended
itself to them.
"'The other course was to tell the truth as far as it is known to me,
to reveal that which I have hitherto hidden in my own breast--and that
is what I have made up my mind to do. Ah! you don't know how often I
have been tempted to do this before to-day; but, like the coward I am
at heart, I have hitherto shrunk from the ordeal. I am quite aware of
the feeling with which both Mr. Melray and his mother regard me, and
that the knowledge is very painful to me I need scarcely say. I think
it very likely that if their attitude towards me had been one of
greater sympathy (affection I hardly looked for), they would long ago
have been made aware of all that I have to tell. But be that as it
may, the truth shall now be told, whatever its effect may be on the
relations between them and me in time to come. For more reasons than
one, however, I have thought it advisable not to recount, to you by
word of mouth what there is to make known, but rather to set it down
in black and white, so that you and others may be able to read it at
your leisure. It took me till far into the night to accomplish my
self-imposed task. Here is the result."
"As she finished speaking she thrust her hand under the sofa cushion
and brought forth a thin roll of manuscript, which she handed to me.
"'Read this first yourself,' she said, 'and then oblige me by handing
it to my brother-in-law. I should like it to be understood that I
shall expect not to be cross-questioned about this, that, or the
other statement comprised in it. That would simply be to torture me.
The paper tells all there is to tell. I have nothing to add to it.'
"The enclosed is a copy, written out by myself, of Mrs. Melray's
narrative. The original was this morning placed by me in the hands of
Mr. Robert Melray."