THE OTHER GIRL.
During the next three days Gerald found ample time to reflect upon the
strange circumstances which environed him. Anxious to see the Major
and place affairs on a proper basis, he called thrice at his rooms. On
the first occasion he learned that Rebb had not returned to London; on
the second, it appeared that he had come back, but was absent,
visiting Mrs. Crosbie; while on the final occasion Haskins was told by
the mild-looking valet that his master had gone again to Devonshire,
and would not return for at least a week. He had left no message, said
the man. From this circumstance Gerald inferred that Rebb was afraid
of the interview. It then struck him, and very naturally, that, as the
Major, during his hurried stay in town, had called upon Mrs. Crosbie,
the widow had broken her promise. If this was the case Rebb had been
placed on his guard, and so not only avoided Haskins, but had gone
back to the Pixy's House to make arrangements for thwarting the young
man's curiosity. Gerald therefore paid a visit to Ladysmith Court,
only to learn that the widow and her mother had departed for Bognor on
a month's holiday. It was thus apparent that in these two quarters
Gerald could do nothing for the moment.
And, indeed, the more Haskins thought about the matters the more
difficult did it appear to set them straight. If he saw Rebb, and
the Major held to the story of his ward's madness--as he assuredly
would--Gerald felt that, for some time at all events, he could do
nothing. Of course, if his theory about the will proved to be correct,
and if he could be certain that Rebb was shutting up Mavis in order to
enjoy an income which should rightfully be hers, then he could take
steps to have the matter inquired into. To make any beginning at all,
it was necessary to see Tod Macandrew, so Gerald determined to look
him up. Just as he did so, the morning post brought a Sunday supper
invitation from Mrs. Pelham Odin. This was what Tod would have called
a coincidence, but Gerald, believing that nothing happened by chance,
saw in the incident a sign pointing to the path he should tread.
Directed by the Unseen Powers, who were, he believed, about to unravel
the mystery, he had not to see Rebb or Mrs. Crosbie immediately, nor
had he to proceed at once to Denleigh. His duty was to visit Mrs.
Pelham Odin's flat and learn what he could about Charity Bird. If she
was related in any way to Mavis Durham--and the marvelous likeness
between the two girls hinted as much--he might learn from the old
actress sufficient of her adopted daughter's past to give him a clue
to the intrigues of Major Rebb.
It will be seen that Gerald had not proceeded to inquire into the
mystery of the coral hand, or Bellaria's fear of the same. He could
have learned somewhat about the matter of the trinket by seeing Signor
Venosta, who, according to Mrs. Berch, had given the amulet to the
widow. But Gerald did not know where Venosta lived, and could not make
inquiries from Mrs. Crosbie without her wanting to know his reasons.
Moreover, he desired to solve the mystery of Mavis and of her
detention before searching into Bellaria's past. Certainly he had a
shrewd idea that Mavis' detention, and Bellaria's dread, and Major
Rebb's behavior, and Mrs. Crosbie's possession of the coral hand, were
all of a piece, but these were like the separate parts of a puzzle,
and he could not fit them together. There was nothing for it but to
see if he could find a clue into the labyrinth when visiting Mrs.
Pelham Odin. He therefore dressed himself with great care, and
proceeded in a hansom to Bloomsbury, where the old actress dwelt.
Her abode was scarcely a flat, in the accepted sense of the word, but
rather a collection of rooms on the first floor of a fine old Georgian
mansion in Caroline Street. A retired butler and his wife, who had
been a cook, owned the house, and attended to the various people who
dwelt therein. Mrs. Pelham Odin was thus spared the trouble of
domestic details, for which--as she said herself--she had no head, and
was very comfortably placed at a moderate charge. With the obstinacy
of old age, she called her abode "my flat," and no argument could
persuade her that the name was wrongly applied.
Haskins entered the large square room with a painted ceiling which was
Mrs. Pelham Odin's drawing-room. Adjoining was the dining-room,
equally spacious, while the two bedrooms occupied by the old lady and
her adopted daughter were across the landing. The room looked pretty
and picturesque, as Mrs. Pelham Odin had great taste, and did not cram
her apartments with furniture, or indulge in a multiplicity of
patterns on carpet or walls, or on the upholstery of the chairs. A
great quantity of flowers adorned the room, deftly arranged by
Charity, and it was lighted with rose-shaded lamps on tall
wrought-iron pedestals. On entering the door from the staircase three
narrow windows could be seen opposite, opening on to a small balcony,
but, as the night was a trifle cold, these were closed, and the yellow
curtains were drawn. The room looked comfortable, and Mrs. Pelham Odin
was the most comfortable person in it. She fitted the apartment as a
hermit-crab fits its shell.
The actress, with a great sense of the fitness of things, had grown
old gracefully--that is, she had not resorted to dye and paint to
improve her waning looks. She was a small woman, and very stout, but
her dignity was tremendous. In a black velvet gown trimmed with lace,
that might, or might not have been priceless, with her silvery hair
worn in the regal style of Marie Antoinette, with a somewhat massive
set of features irradiated by a gracious smile, Mrs. Pelham Odin
received her guest as a queen might have done. From a long experience
in playing aristocratic old dames in comedy, and imperious heroines in
tragedy, dignity had become a second nature to the clever old actress.
It is said that Gibbon was so long in writing "The Decline and Fall"
that he ended in believing himself to be the Roman Empire. In a like
manner Mrs. Pelham Odin believed herself to be the Marchioness in
_Caste_, or Helen Macgregor, or Volumnia--perhaps a mixture of the
three. She certainly was tremendously dignified, and no stage manager
ever dare to take a liberty with her. She still appeared on the boards
when she found a part worthy of her grandiose style.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Haskins," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, apparently
suppressing an inclination to use the royal "we," and proffered her
hand to be shaken or kissed, as the visitor preferred.
Gerald, having something to gain from a little timely flattery, kissed
the jeweled fingers. He knew that this old-world attention appealed to
Mrs. Pelham Odin as nothing else did. "You are looking--like
yourself," he said politely, "I can pay you no higher compliment."
Mrs. Pelham Odin laughed her celebrated silvery laugh, which critics
always mentioned, and took the stage--that is, she walked the length
of the drawing-room. "Ever a courtier, Mr. Haskins. Where did
you--living in this present generation of hurry--learn such Versailles
manners?"
"From the queen of the English stage, madam."
"From me?" Mrs. Pelham Odin fell into her famous startled fawn
attitude--also much noticed by critics. "Oh no, no; I am but a humble
survivor of the past."
"And you have survived to show us what grace and dignity once
existed."
The old actress fluttered her fan with a gracious smile, and bowed her
head to the compliment. "Neither grace nor dignity are necessary in
this age of motor cars," she said, sighing. "However, we must take
things as they are and be cheerful. You don't ask after Charity?"
"I am too much taken up with you at present, madam."
"Ah, you Irishmen, with your blarney. Well, Charity is in the
dining-room with Mr. Macandrew. She is showing him some new
photographs of herself, so will not be here for a few minutes, which
is just as well."
"Why?" asked Gerald, taking the seat she indicated.
Mrs. Pelham Odin throned herself queenlike on a sofa. "What do you
think of Mr. Macandrew?" she asked abruptly.
"He is the best fellow in the world," replied Haskins promptly, for he
guessed why she asked the question, and was willing to act as Tod's
trumpeter, "also he is very clever, and some day will be wealthy."
"Charity wants to marry him."
"And he wants to marry Charity. My dear lady, I knew that years ago."
Mrs. Pelham Odin nodded. "Of course, it is stale news. All the same, I
asked you here to chat over the matter. Hitherto, I have set my face
against such a marriage, as the match is not a good one for my girl."
Gerald dissented. "If Miss Bird marries Macandrew she is a lucky young
lady, to my mind. He is of good family; he is clever; he has a good
profession; and he is an honest man. Certainly he has no money,
but----"
"That's just it," interrupted the other, "he has come in lately for a
legacy of two thousand pounds. That is something, but not much. Still,
Charity is so bent upon this marriage, that--if you can really swear
to all you say about Mr. Macandrew--I am willing to consent."
"I certainly should do so. Come, Mrs. Pelham Odin, don't part two
hearts in this cruel way. Let your daughter marry Macandrew."
The actress sighed. "I think I shall have to," she said, after a
pause, "circumstances and Charity's will are too strong for me. It
shall be as you say." And she held out her hand.
Haskins kissed it again. "I am sure that you will have no cause to
regret having taken my advice."
"I hope not, Mr. Haskins. And after all this may be one of those
marriages which are said to be made in heaven. But Mr. Macandrew wants
to marry Charity at once, and she has yet to fulfil one month's
engagement at the Belver Theatre."
"Macandrew can wait for one month, surely."
"He must. Charity cannot break her engagement without paying forfeit,
and the managers will be sorry to lose her. Certainly she has only one
dance in _The Moon-Fay_, but she is a great favorite with the public,
and when she retires from the stage she will be greatly missed. I
assure you, Mr. Haskins, that Charity is giving up a very brilliant
career to become the wife of an obscure solicitor."
"Macandrew will not always be obscure. He will rise high in his
profession, and will make plenty of money."
"Of course Lady Euphemia is against the marriage."
"What of that? Macandrew is the chief person to be considered."
Mrs. Pelham Odin did not pay very strict attention to this speech. Her
eyes were on the polished floor, and she was thinking deeply. "I can
guess why Lady Euphemia Macandrew disapproves," she said hesitatingly:
"my girl is a dancer, for one thing; and she is also a waif."
Haskins looked up suddenly. Mrs. Pelham Odin was touching on the very
point which he wished to discuss. "You told Macandrew something about
that?" he remarked eagerly.
"Yes. Because I wished Mr. Macandrew to know exactly what he was
doing, and to tell you the truth, Mr. Haskins, as I did not wish the
marriage to take place, I thought that the discovery of Charity's
birth might put him off, since he is well born himself."
"Love laughs at rank," said Gerald. "I thought you knew nothing of
Miss Bird's birth."
"Nor do I, save that I bought her from a native woman in Calcutta for
a small sum. It sounds quite like 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' doesn't it?"
And Mrs. Pelham Odin laughed again in her silvery manner.
"Didn't the woman tell you where she got the child?"
"No--that is, she explained that she had taken over the child from an
ayah at Simla. Charity was pretty, and I was sorry to see a European
child with a juggler and his wife, so I took her with me, and have
brought her up as my own daughter, although I did not give her my
name."
"Do you ever hope to learn about her parents?"
"No. That is impossible, I fear. It is quite fifteen or sixteen years
since I took possession of her. The native woman and the ayah may be
dead. Quite a romance, isn't it?"
"I can tell you something even more romantic," said Gerald, "if you
will promise to hold your tongue."
"How delightfully mysterious you are," cried Mrs. Pelham Odin, in her
lively comedy manner. "I promise, of course. Well?"
Haskins thereupon, and without further preamble, detailed the history
of his love affair, and commented strongly on the wonderful likeness
which existed between the two girls. Mrs. Pelham Odin interrupted him
with little cries of astonishment, but gave no opinion until he
finished his recital. "What do you think of it?" asked Haskins.
"It is like a play! like a melodrama. But of course there are casual
resemblances such as you describe."
"This is more than a casual resemblance," interrupted Gerald quickly:
"the two girls might be twins."
"Oh, what a pity that Charity is leaving the stage," said Mrs. Pelham
Odin, her theatrical instinct uppermost, "a comedy with twin girls in
it would draw all the town. And that gives me an idea. I can assist
you, if you can swear," she laid her hand on his arm, "that this Mavis
Durham is not crazy."
"I can swear, certainly. Would I wish to marry her if she were?"
"Love may laugh at lunatic asylums as well as at rank," said the
actress merrily, "but if you are certain that the girl is sane, why
not let her take Charity's place in _The Moon-Fay?_"
Haskins started to his feet. "Are you serious?"
"Of course I am. You want to run away with this girl. If you do, Major
Rebb--I know him, and a nasty man he is--will follow you, and make
himself unpleasant. What you want to do is to conceal the girl
somewhere until you can prove that her guardian is shutting her up
illegally. Well then, Major Rebb must know of the wonderful
resemblance of Charity to Mavis. If Charity marries Mr. Macandrew
quietly she can go with him to Switzerland for a month's honeymoon,
and even longer. I can teach Mavis the one dance which Charity
performs in the ballet at the Belver Theatre, and she can take my
girl's place."
"But the theatre people will guess."
"Oh, dear me, no," rejoined Mrs. Pelham Odin promptly. "I always go to
the Belver myself to look after Charity. She scarcely speaks to a
soul, my dear Mr. Haskins. I can take your Mavis there and back
without anyone being the wiser, if the resemblance is as you say."
Gerald caressed his chin. "It certainly is an excellent idea," he
murmured. "Major Rebb, not knowing of Miss Bird's marriage, would not
suspect the substitution. Thank you, Mrs. Pelham Odin, I shall think
over the matter. I go down to Devonshire next week, or rather this
week."
"I know," the actress nodded; "one always does get mixed up about
Sunday being the first day of the week. Well then, go down and make
what arrangements you like. If you run away with the girl--and I quite
think you should, if only to spite Major Rebb, whom I detest--you
cannot conceal her better than in the way I suggest. It is quite a
variation of Poe's 'Purloined Letter.' The scheme is so daring that it
must succeed. But hush!" she made a dramatic pause, and raised her
finger, "here comes Romeo and Juliet. Not a word."
Before Haskins could reply Charity entered from the dining-room with
Tod at her heels, and Gerald could not help starting when he saw how
wonderfully she resembled the girl shut up in the Pixy's House. She
had the same figure, the same coloring, the same graceful way of
walking. Only in the manner of speaking and in the personality was
there a difference, and that would not be noticed by a casual
spectator. Charity was more worldly, more material, and--as Gerald
thought--less lovable. But then he was prejudiced in favor of the
young lady whom he wished to marry: Tod's opinion would have been
quite the reverse.
"How are you, Mr. Haskins?" said Charity, offering her hand calmly,
"you have not been to see us for years and years."
"All the same, I have been hearing about you," replied Gerald,
glancing at Tod, who nodded gaily. "I have to offer my congratulations."
"Well," said Charity slowly, and looking at Mrs. Pelham Odin, "I am
not so sure of that. My mother doesn't----"
"Yes, she does," interposed the actress quickly, and took the girl's
hand in her own. "Mr. Macandrew. I bestow upon you a priceless
treasure," and joining the hands of the two lovers she sank back on
the sofa with a tiny lace handkerchief to her eyes. It was very neatly
done, and only needed limelight and applause to form an effective
curtain.
"Oh," cried Tod, clasping Charity's hand convulsively. "Do you mean to
say that we can marry?"
"Now that you have enough to keep the wolf from the door I do, my dear
Mr. Macandrew, or shall I say James, since you are to be my adopted
son-in-law?"
"Not James. Call me Tod."
"That is the Scottish for fox, and you are not foxy."
"Never mind, mother," cried Charity, whose eyes were dancing with
delight, "the name of Tod suits him, and Toddy is the name of a
Scottish drink."
"Come now; come now," protested Tod, "when I am so sober."
"You ought to be drunk with happiness," said Haskins, laughing.
"Perhaps the poor dear needs food," said Mrs. Pelham Odin, leading the
way to the dining-room, "let us see what the cook has done in the way
of supper."
"My marriage feast," giggled Tod, taking his seat. "You'll be best
man, of course, Jerry."
"We can talk of these things later," said Mrs. Pelham Odin hurriedly,
"in consequence of my age, I think the marriage will have to be a very
quiet one."
"Yes," nodded Charity; "I don't want Lady Euphemia to forbid the
banns."
"As if she could," cried Macandrew, in the highest spirits.
It was a very merry supper, and Mrs. Pelham Odin drank the health of
the future bride and bridegroom in foaming champagne. Also she winked
in rather an undignified way at Gerald to intimate that she included
himself and Mavis in the toast. Then she related various stage
experiences connected with her own marriage, and eulogized the late
Mr. Pelham Odin.
"He is an angel now," said the widow, and wept, until Gerald made her
laugh again.