A LETTER AND ITS ANSWER
When I got back to my diggings I was astonished to find that it was only
ten o'clock. How little time it takes to change the whole world for one!
All day long I forced myself to go about my usual work, but the thought
of May Derwent never left me.
It was the greatest relief to find that in none of the evening papers
did her name appear. How McGorry managed to conceal from the reporters
the fact that she had been in the building remains a mystery to this
day--but how thankful I was that he was able to do so! Already my
greatest preoccupation was to preserve her fair name from the least
breath of scandal. Not for an instant did I believe her to be connected
with the murder;--on the other hand, I felt equally sure that she was in
some great trouble, the nature of which I could not even guess. I longed
to protect and help her, but how was I to do so, ignorant as I was
of everything concerning her. I didn't even know where she was at
that moment. At her mother's, perhaps. But where was that? Suddenly I
remembered that my great friend, Fred Cowper, had mentioned in one of
his recent letters that Mrs. Derwent and his mother were near neighbours
in the country. To think that that lucky dog had been spending the last
month within a stone's throw, perhaps, of her house--had seen her every
day probably, and had been allowed these inestimable privileges
simply because he had broken an old leg! And I, who would gladly have
sacrificed both legs to have been in his place, was forced to remain in
New York because--forsooth!--of an apoplectic old patient--who refused
either to live or die! Well, as I couldn't go to her, it was at any rate
a comfort to be able to get news of her so easily--so seizing a pen, I
hastily scratched off the following note:
NEW YORK,
August 10, 1898.
DEAR FRED:
You know me pretty well and know therefore that I'm not a prying
sort of fellow--don't you? So that when I ask you to tell me all
you know about Miss May Derwent--I hope you will believe that I am
animated by no idle curiosity. A doctor is often forced to carry
more secrets than a family solicitor, and is as much in honor
bound. Through no fault of my own, I have come into the possession
of certain facts relating to Miss Derwent which lead me to believe
that she is in great trouble. Furthermore, I am convinced that I
could help her, were I not handicapped by my very slight personal
acquaintance with her, but more than that by my entire ignorance
regarding certain details of her life. I might as well acknowledge
that I am interested in the young lady, and am anxious to serve
her if I can. But if I am to do so, I must first find out a few
particulars of her life, and these I hope you can give me.
In the first place I want to know whether she has any young male
relative who is tall, with good figure? I remember hearing that she
is an only child, but has she no cousin with whom she is on terms
of brotherly intimacy?
Secondly, Is she engaged, or reported to be engaged, and if so, to
whom?
Thirdly, What are the names of her most favored suitors?
Fourthly, What lady does she know intimately who has very dark
hair, and is also slight and tall?
I don't need to tell you to treat this letter as absolutely
confidential, nor to assure you again that only the deepest
interest in Miss Derwent, and the conviction that she is in need
of help, induce me to pry into her affairs.
More than this I cannot tell you, so don't ask me.
Good-night, old chap! Hope your leg is getting on all right.
Affectionately yours,
CHARLES K. FORTESCUE.
HOPE FARM, BEVERLEY, L. I.,
Friday, August 11.
DEAR CHARLEY,--You may imagine how exciting I found your letter
when I tell you that I have known May Derwent since she was a tiny
tot, and that their country place is not half a mile from here. She
is exactly my sister Alice's age, and I have never known her very
well till she came out last winter, for eight years make a big
barrier between children. I like and admire May extremely, for not
only is she a very beautiful girl, but an extremely nice one, as
well. Difficult as it may be to explain certain things, I am sure
that, whatever the trouble she is in, if you knew the whole
truth, you would find it only redounded to her credit. She is an
impulsive, warm-hearted and rather tempestuous child--generous,
loyal, and truthful to a fault. I have just been discreetly
sounding Alice about her, and asked why I had not seen May since I
had been down here this time, as on former occasions she used
always to be running in and out of the house. And Alice tells me
that for the last three months May has been a changed being. From a
happy, thoughtless girl, overflowing with health and spirits, she
has become a listless, self-contained, almost morose woman. She
refuses to go anywhere, and spends most of her time either in her
own room or taking long solitary walks or rides. The doctor talks
of nervous prostration, but do you think it likely that a vigorous,
athletic young girl would develop nerves solely in consequence of a
few months' gaiety during the winter? It seems to me incredible,
and so I am forced to believe that May has something on her mind
which is reacting on her body, causing her to shun all the things
she used to delight in. Now, when a young, rich, beautiful, and
sought-after girl suddenly takes to avoiding her species, and
becomes pale and melancholy, the usual explanation is--an unhappy
love affair. And, of course, that may still turn out to be the
truth in this case; but in the meantime I have another hypothesis
to suggest, that seems to me to fit in with the known facts even
better than the other.
May Derwent is not an only child, but has, or at any rate had, a
brother about ten years older than herself who, I confess, was one
of the heroes of my childhood. Only a little older than the rest of
us boys, he was much bigger and stronger. He was the leader of all
our games, and the instigator of our most outrageous exploits. He
was the horror of all parents and the delight of all children.
Cruel, vindictive, untruthful, leaving others to pay the penalty
for his faults whenever it was possible, he was not a nice boy even
in those early days, but then he was so handsome, so bold and
unscrupulous, so inspired in devising new crimes for us to commit,
that it is hardly to be wondered at that he was at the same time
our terror and our idol. His school record was bad; his college
record was worse, till one fine day he suddenly and mysteriously
disappeared from Harvard, and has never been heard of since. What
had occurred I never could find out; that it was something very
disgraceful I am sure, for his mother, whose pride and hope he had
been, never again mentioned his name.
Now, don't you think it quite possible that he may have returned
and been bothering his sister in some way? She may be either trying
to shield him from still greater disgrace, or be endeavouring to
spare her mother the further knowledge of his misdeeds. Mind you,
these are all merely the wildest conjectures.
As for May's lovers, their name is simply legion, including young
Norman, the millionaire, Sir Arthur Trevor, Guy Weatherby and a
painter chap--Greywood, I think his name is. Mère Derwent, I
believe, favors Norman's suit, having (sensible woman!) a great
faith in American husbands, but there is a rumour that May, with
the perversity of her sex, is inclined to smile on the young
artist, who, I am told is an affected chap, just back from Paris,
without either money or talent. But no doubt he strikes her as
a more romantic lover than good old Norman, who is the best of
fellows, and absolutely eligible in every way.
Alice tells me that May has appeared quite eager for her Bar Harbor
visit, notwithstanding that she has refused all other invitations,
and Mrs. Derwent has had great hopes that the change would do her
good.
What you have told me is no small tax on my discretion, but what
you have refrained from telling taxes my curiosity far more. But
notice--I ask no questions!!
By the way, why don't you come down and spend next Sunday with us?
You might see the lovely May again,--who knows?
Affectionately yours,
FRED.