AN UNAVOIDABLE NECESSITY.
Little sleep had Fanny Sudlow that night. In the morning she arose
weary and unrefreshed, but by that time she saw her duty clearly
before her. How distasteful soever it might be to her to do so, it was
evident that she must acquaint Mr. Melray with what she had seen and
heard overnight in the garden. This was no commonplace instance of a
pair of secret lovers, of two people meeting stealthily at midnight.
With the knowledge strong upon her of what had happened under that
roof one fatal September night and of all that had since occurred, no
other course seemed open to her. It was a necessity from which she
shrank with the most heartfelt repugnance, but she was powerless to
help herself. Her first impulse had been to telegraph to Phil and ask
him to meet her at Merehampton station. She would have given much,
very much, to be able to confide her secret to him and so shift to his
broad shoulders the responsibility of deciding what ought to be done
next. But she called to mind the fact that Phil was on the Continent,
having been sent there, in the interests of the _Pharos_, to work up a
certain subject which was just then attracting a good deal of public
attention, and that the date of his return was uncertain. It was very
unfortunate, but in nowise could it be helped.
She was almost glad, when she went downstairs, to find that Mr. Melray
had left home for the day on business and would not be back till a
late hour. A respite, however brief, was welcome.
It was something of an ordeal for her to be compelled to meet Denia at
meal times, and yet, neither by tone, nor look, nor manner, allow
anything to escape her which would tend to arouse the suspicions of
that sharp-witted young woman. Fortunately the day was a wet one.
There was no possibility of going out, consequently no opportunity was
afforded Denia for a private gossip with Miss Sudlow. The latter kept
close to the school-room, and, except at table, the two saw nothing of
each other. The dowager Mrs. Melray, being unaware of Richard Dyson's
return, made no inquiry about him; and so the day wore itself
uneventfully away. There was no slightest sign to give warning of the
storm that was so soon to break.
It was close upon eleven o'clock when Robert Melray reached home. He
would have been annoyed had he found anyone waiting up for him except
the one man-servant who was kept at Loudwater House. His supper had
been laid for him in the dining-room. "You can fasten up, Johnson, and
get to bed as soon as you like," he said to the man as he took off his
overcoat in the hall. "I shall not want you any more to-night."
Robert Melray had finished his supper and was glancing somewhat
sleepily over the _Times_, when a low knock at the door startled him
into wakefulness. His surprise was not lessened when, in response to
his "Come in," the door opened and he saw that his untimely visitor
was none other than Miss Sudlow.
Of Fanny's apologies for her intrusion, and of the narrative she
presently proceeded to unfold to her wondering listener, it is not
requisite that we should speak in detail. What she had to tell is
already known to the reader.
"It is an odious duty, Mr. Melray, that I have taken upon myself," she
said in conclusion, with a little break in her voice, "but I felt that
no other course was open to me."
"None whatever, Miss Sudlow. You have done your duty, and I honour you
for it; indeed, I may add that I am infinitely obliged to you."
That he was terribly pained and distressed by what had just been told
him was plainly evident. Sick at heart, Fanny left him. Just then she
devoutly wished that she had never set foot across the threshold of
Loudwater House.
Mention has been made of a certain Miss Annabel Glyn. Till within six
months of the date at which we have now arrived the young woman in
question had been a milliner's assistant in one of the Merehampton
shops. Then, by the death of an uncle in Australia, she had come in
for a fortune of eight thousand pounds, whereupon she had at once
thrown up her situation, and, till she could decide upon her future
plans, had gone to lodge with the widow of a Captain Malcolm in the
most fashionable part of Merehampton. Miss Glyn being of age and both
her parents being dead, she was at liberty to bestow her hand and
fortune on whomsoever she pleased.
Denia's information with regard to Dyson and Miss Glyn having been
seen walking out together had reached her through a very simple
channel. It so fell out that Charlotte Wallis (she who had been the
first to find Mr. Melray's body and give the alarm), whose duties were
partly those of own maid to young Mrs. Melray, had a brother who was a
member of the very limited police force of Merehampton. It was through
information furnished by him to his sister and passed on by the latter
to her mistress, that Denia had based the interrogatory she put to
Dyson in the garden. Still, she was willing to believe that
Charlotte's brother might have been mistaken, more especially after
Dyson's emphatic denial that he had ever been out walking with Annabel
Glyn.