THE BRIDAL SUITE
It was, as Severance told himself, the damnedest scrape! And he could
see no present way out of it. Turn as he would, he was merely running
round and round in a "vicious circle."
He couldn't murder Garth, or otherwise eliminate him, without setting
fire to his dearest hopes, and seeing his fortune go up in a blaze.
Garth mustn't be allowed to walk away from Marise, leaving her in the
position of a deserted bride, after a sensational wedding. Nor could
Severance bear to think of the man's remaining near her, now that he
proclaimed the bargain "off," and himself free and independent.
If only the fellow might be knocked over by a taxi and killed, there
would be the perfect solution! But even that ought not to happen just
yet. It wouldn't do for Marise to be known as a widow before he,
Severance, could bring OEnone to America as a bride. The celebrated
Miss Sorel might as well never have been married at all, so far as old
Constantine Ionides was concerned.
There were two faintly glimmering spots in the general blackness of
things. _Bright_ spots they hardly deserved to be called! Such as they
were, one was the fact that Garth--despite his bluff--was unlikely to
sacrifice all hope of the million by making forbidden love to Marise.
The other gleam was: even if Garth did play the fool as well as the cad,
Marise had asserted up to the last moment that she could take care of
herself.
Severance had reason to believe that she could. If she'd not had a cool
little head, and a high opinion of her own value, the favourite actress
would not have attained the position she held. "Lots of chaps had been
after her," including Tony Severance: men of title, men with money, men
of genius, men of charm, and she had held her own with them all, forcing
their respect. Well, there wasn't much chance for a bullying brute of
Garth's stamp, to get the best of a girl like that!
So Severance consoled himself, after his decision at the theatre that
nothing would be gained by attempting to "rescue" Marise from Garth.
After leaving her--bidding her good-bye for long and anxious weeks--he
could not resist 'phoning Mrs. Sorel at the Plaza, though Marise had
told him that Mums was bowled over by a sick headache. He rang the poor
lady up--literally up!--and discussed the situation with her, not daring
to call for fear of detectives set upon him by cable from London. The
poor lady, dragged out of bed, was sympathetic and soothing. Everything
was "perfectly all right," she assured him. She would watch over Marise
for his sake as well as her own. Marise would watch over herself, too!
And she--Mary Sorel--would write or cable Tony to his club twice or
three times a week.
"I'd go down to the docks and see you off to-morrow morning, dear boy,
no matter at what ghastly hour you sail," Mums said, "only I don't think
it would be wise, do you?"
No, Tony didn't. But she might send him a note by messenger to the ship,
with all the latest news.
She would do that without fail, Mary promised; and so at last hung up
the receiver with a sigh which would have frightened Severance had it
reached him on the wire. Mums was not as calm about the future as she
had tried to make her "dear boy" think!
Though she had been lying down, she crawled off the bed again, and put
on a smart tea-gown before it was time for her daughter to come home.
She had little doubt that the Beast would be with Marise; and her own
attempt at "frightfulness" having failed against his armour of
brutality, she intended to try diplomacy in the next encounter.
Already she had learned that the suite engaged by Major Garth for
himself and his bride did not adjoin the one occupied by herself and
Marise since their arrival in New York. It appeared that the manager had
offered a suite of two rooms and a bath next to the Sorel suite, but
Major Garth had refused this as being too small. Nothing "large enough
for his requirements" had been available near Mrs. Sorel; but
fortunately it was on the same floor.
This, the manager seemed to think, ought to content the lady; and
indeed, she was obliged to pretend satisfaction. She would like to see
the suite, she had said; but to her dismay the privilege was refused
with regret. Major Garth, the manager explained, had given a "rush
order" for some special decorations to surprise Mrs. Garth; and he had
requested that no one--_no one at all_ except the decorators--should be
allowed to enter until the bridal pair arrived.
"But," Mrs. Sorel had argued, "he couldn't have meant _me_. Besides, if
no one goes in, my daughter won't have any of her toilet things ready.
There will be a scramble and confusion when she comes home tired from
the theatre."
The manager, however, was reluctantly firm. He "mustn't tell tales out
of school," but he thought he _might_ just relieve Mrs. Sorel's fears by
saying that there would be no trouble at all of that sort. The Major's
"surprise" would--he hoped--be as pleasing to her as to the bride. And
whatever had to be done in addition could be accomplished in a few
minutes by Mrs. Garth's maid.
Naturally, Mrs. Sorel was on tenterhooks after this information, which
she had obtained by telephone, lying on her bed, soon after Marise and
Celine left for the theatre. It determined her to be prepared for
battle, no matter how ill she might feel: for it was impossible that
Marise should ever cross the threshold of that mysteriously decorated
suite. Therefore the neat coiffure of the aching head, and the dignified
tea-gown of satin and jet.
On the few occasions when Mums had been unable to go with Marise to the
theatre, the girl had either returned early, or telephoned that she
would be late in reaching home. Mrs. Sorel expected her to start for the
hotel to-night the instant she was dressed and had her make-up off. She
would doubtless be thankful to escape questions, and get back to her
mother--which really meant, ridding herself of Garth.
But time crept on. Marise was half an hour late: then three-quarters.
What could have happened? Had that monster kidnapped the poor child?
At the thought, Mums experienced the sensation of cold water slowly
trickling through her spine. "What shall I do?" she wondered. And her
mind turned to the thought--the terrible thought--of applying to the
police. If she took this extreme step, what would be the result? Could a
man be arrested for abducting his own wife?
As she writhed and sighed helplessly on a sofa in sight of the mantel
clock, Celine's familiar tap sounded at the door, and the Frenchwoman
came in. Mrs. Sorel's anguished eyes saw that she looked pale and
excited. Her own heart seemed to rise and shrug itself in her breast,
then collapse sickeningly upon other organs.
"For Heaven's sake, where is Mademoiselle?" she panted.
"Ah, Madame," sighed Celine, "we must speak of Mademoiselle no more."
"Why--why?" broke in the distracted mother.
"But, because she is now indeed 'Madame'! She is with--her _husband_."
"Where?" gasped Mrs. Sorel.
"In their suite. A suite of great magnificence."
The unhappy Mums staggered to her feet, among falling cushions.
"Good gracious!" she groaned. "He has dragged her there----"
"No, no, Madame, it is not so bad as that," Celine soothed her. "_Madame
la Jeune Mariee_ appeared to go with Monsieur of her own will. She
showed no fear. She was only a little quiet--a little strange. It must
have been arranged at the theatre, what was to happen, for I was with
them in a car--but yes, a car, no taxi!--which Monsieur had ordered to
wait at the stage door. I sat, not with the chauffeur, but inside on one
of the little fold-up seats. The two did not speak at all, Madame, not
once, till we had arrived here, at the hotel. Then Mademoiselle--I mean
Madame Garth--said, 'I should like Celine to come with me.' 'Very well,
let her come,' Monsieur answered. That was all. I went with them.
Monsieur asked for his key. It was given him. We were taken up in the
_ascenseur_ to this floor. But instead of turning to the right, we
turned left. Monsieur unlocked the door, switched on lights, and stood
aside for Madame his wife to pass. Even me, he let go in before him.
Then he followed and shut the door."
"What then?" breathed Mrs. Sorel.
"Mon Dieu, Madame, the suite was of a magnificence! It must be the best
in the house. The suite in which they put royalties who come visiting
from Europe. And not only that, the whole place has been made a garden
of flowers--wonderful flowers. This Monsieur le Majeur must be, after
all, though he does not look it, a millionaire!"
"He is far from being a millionaire," sneered Mums. "He hasn't a sou, so
far as I've heard. He'll probably charge all this wild extravagance to
us. He's capable of it--capable of _anything_! But go on."
"Well, Madame, the suite has an entrance hall of its own, not a tiny
vestibule like this one. The hall has many pots of gorgeous azaleas, of
colours like a sunrise in paradise. _Madame la Jeune Mariee_ walked into
the salon. The husband went also. But, me, I stood outside waiting. I
could see into the room, however. I chose my place for that purpose, to
see! A lovely salon of pearl grey and soft rose. And the flowers there
were all roses, different shades of pink. There were many, some growing
in pots, very tall; some cut ones in crystal vases and jars: and on a
table, a marvellous bowl, illuminated, with flowers floating on the
surface of bright water. Also, Madame, there were presents, jewels in
cases. If these, as Madame says, are to be charged to her, Mon Dieu, it
will be a disaster!"
"What were the presents?" The question asked itself, out of the turmoil
that was Mums' mind. But behind the turmoil a voice seemed crying, "Why
do you stop here talking of trifles, instead of rushing to save your
wretched child?"
But Celine was replying. After all, what use to go, since the door of
the suite would be closed, and one could not shriek and beat upon the
panels for the whole world to hear!
"There was a large case with a double row of pearls. It must be, I
think, not a string, but a rope. There was also a lovely thing for the
hair, a wreath of laurel leaves made of green stones, doubtless
emeralds. And there was a pendant, a star of diamonds with a great
cabochon sapphire--Mademoiselle's beloved jewel!--in the centre. There
may have been other things, but those were all I remarked. I saw them
from the doorway. Yet, if Madame will believe me, _la Jeune Mariee_ did
not regard them. Neither did Monsieur draw her attention to his
gifts--no, not by gesture nor word."
"She must have said _something_!" cried Mary.
"She murmured that the flowers were charming. You would have thought she
had not seen the jewels, though she must have seen them, Madame, if I
saw from my distance. Monsieur asked if she would like to view the rest
of the suite. She answered, 'Oh yes, please!' Then, out into the
entrance hall they came. Monsieur threw open the door of a room next the
salon, and as he did so put on the lights. But--with that, he stepped
back. My young lady called me, 'Celine!' I ran to her, and he stopped
there in the hall. Ah, another surprise! Not the beauty of this great
bedroom. That one would expect in such a suite--a _white_ room, Madame,
and white flowers, roses not too heavily perfumed! But the surprise was
on the toilet-table. Brushes, bottles, everything, oh, so delicious a
set!--in gold. A queen could have no better. On the bed, Madame, lay a
_robe de chambre_ more beautiful than any that Mademoiselle has ever
possessed--which Madame knows, is to say much!--and on the floor--like
blossoms fallen on the white fur rug--lay a little pair of _mules_, made
of gold embroidery on cloth of silver, and having buckles of old paste
fit for the slippers of Cinderella! When she had looked round for a few
moments, quite silent, Madame, the bride turned to me. 'Now you have
seen what is here, Celine,' she said, 'you can go to my room and bring
me just the things you think I shall need.'"
"Did she give you the key of the suite?" Mary asked sharply.
"But no, Madame, she did not give me a key. I shall have to knock."
"Very well, run and put a few things together," Mary directed. "It
doesn't much matter what, as Mademois--my daughter--will not, I think,
stay long in the suite. When you are ready, come back here to me. I will
go down with you. When the door is opened, I shall walk in before it can
be shut. But mind, you will speak or hint to _no_ one of what I do, or
what I say to you--or what you may see or overhear."
"Madame may depend upon me," Celine assured her. "Ah, that poor Milord
Severance! _Mais, c'est le Destin!_"