ZARA, THE BUTTERFLY
In the noise of the applause which greeted Osip and Zara, the
terrified whisper of Mrs. Dumps passed unnoticed. The girl naturally
searched for her mother, and she smiled, on catching sight of her,
next to the pretended Ferdy Baird. The eyes of Osip followed those of
Zara, and alighted on the pallid face of the country landlady. At once
he bowed abruptly to the audience, and walked hurriedly from the
stage, leaving Butterfly, rather discourteously, to follow at her
leisure. Clarice, who had immediately grasped the significance of Mrs.
Dumps' whisper, half rose, and tried to shake off the detaining grasp
of the little woman.
"He's trying to escape," said Clarice, excitedly, and, as the applause
had now ceased, several people overheard and looked round,
inquiringly.
"No!" murmured Mrs. Dumps, dragging the girl down, with unexpected
strength, "hold your tongue, Mr. Ferdinand--for Zara's sake."
"Justice must be done," retorted Clarice, anxious to have the
miscreant captured forthwith.
"For your own sake, then," muttered the woman, with white lips.
Clarice, truly surprised, dropped back into her seat. "What do you
mean by that?" she demanded, indignantly.
"You know--you know," murmured the other, still holding on
convulsively. "Zara said that she had power to make you marry her. If
you make trouble over Osip, she may use that power in another way."
"What nonsense," returned Clarice, shrugging. All the same, she
remained quiet, for the time being. From Mrs. Dumps' hurried speech,
it was apparent that Zara really had some hold over Ferdy, and would
not hesitate to use it to his harm, if anything came of his supposed
interference with her shady doings. But Clarice wondered that Zara,
bold and daring as she was, cared to connect herself with so dangerous
a man as the assassin of so many people. Osip's association with her,
and her accusation of the vicar, and her admitted presence near the
house about the hour of the crime, looked as though she knew much more
than she chose to tell. Also, her power over Ferdy might implicate him
in some way in the infernal doings of the Purple Fern. Clarice,
therefore, to save Ferdy from a possible accusation, resolved to take
no measures to have Osip captured until such time as she knew more
exactly how matters stood.
Shortly, Mrs. Dumps released her hold, and turned paler than ever.
"Take me out; get me brandy--Three Star," whispered the little woman,
who had undoubtedly received a great shock.
Clarice saw that she was on the verge of fainting, so at once piloted
her along the row of seats to the nearest bar, and procured her a
glass of liqueur brandy. The flighty barmaid--no doubt a friend of
Ferdy's--saluted Clarice with an engaging smile and a slangy greeting,
finally remarking that the old girl--meaning Mrs. Dumps--looked
chippy. The insult to her years, as well as the strong liquor, brought
back the colour to Mrs. Dumps' cheeks, and the stiffness to her back.
Replacing the glass on the counter with a bang, she frowned on the
saucy girl.
"You are a bold, painted hussy," snapped Mrs. Dumps, aggressively.
"The brandy's gone to your aunt's head, Ferdy," giggled the barmaid,
in no wise disturbed; "take her home, dear boy, else she's bound to be
run in, for looking so pretty."
"You brazen bag-a-rags," sniffed Mrs. Dumps, "you Jezebel of the
slums, how dare you insult a lady, you horrid--" here Clarice, fearing
that there would be trouble, since the barmaid was losing her temper,
dragged Mrs. Dumps hurriedly away. "If you keep company with such bold
sluts, Mr. Ferdinand," she said, indignantly, "you shan't marry my
daughter."
"I'm not so sure that I do want to marry her," said Clarice, artfully.
Mrs. Dumps tossed her head. "Oh, I know, Mr. Ferdinand, none better.
You changed your mind about Zara once before, and wanted to marry that
ugly girl of Parson Clarke's. I'd have let you go myself, but Zara,
who is fairly crazy about you,--I don't know why, as you ain't my idea
of what a husband should be--found means to bring you back again, and
keep them vows, you wanted so lightheartedly to break."
"Did Zara tell you the means she employed?" asked Clarice, quickly.
"No, she didn't, though I begged her to make a clean breast of it,
so you needn't think that she has betrayed you, whatever you have
done--though I'm sure I don't know if you are bad, smiling there, as
if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth."
This speech assured Clarice that, whatever power Zara possessed over
Ferdy, certainly Mrs. Dumps did not know its source, and therefore she
merely laughed. Then, to gain further information, Clarice carried the
war into the enemy's camp. "It is very easy blaming me, Mrs. Dumps,"
she said, spiritedly, "but how can you expect me to marry a girl who
associates with a man like Osip."
"There!" wailed Mrs. Dumps, as they went down the grand staircase of
the Music Hall, "I thought you'd say that. As if I knew. Zara never
said that Osip was with her. If she had I'd have made her come home
again. You don't think that I want Twine's child and mine, murdered
and stamped with Purple Ferns like a letter. But I'll have it out with
her to-night. She'll tell me what she means, by keeping gory assassins
from the gallows."
"You should tell the police."
"I shan't, and you shan't either, Mr. Ferdinand. Though why the
police--a silly lot, I say--don't spot the man coming forward in that
brazen way is more than I know. I saw who he was, the very moment I
clapped eyes on him, and though I do owe him seven and sixpence,
that's no reason I should disgrace Zara by hanging him. But I'll speak
to Zara, when I take her home in that steam engine of hers, as is so
expensive and useless. You needn't come, Mr. Ferdinand."
But Clarice did not intend to give up her chase for information yet,
especially as she was now on the way to learn much. "Oh, but I must
come, Mrs. Dumps," she said, coolly; "you know that I escort Zara home
every night." This was a chance shot, but it told.
"I know you do, and why shouldn't you, seeing you are to be my
son-in-law," whimpered Mrs. Dumps. "Much as I hate the music-hall, I'd
have come myself during the past three weeks to take the child home,
rather than let her go alone. But I always trusted that you would look
after her, Mr. Ferdinand, though you do know grinning Jezebels behind
bars. Here's the stage door--what a hole! Why, my backyard is cleaner,
and ain't got such dirt about it. Oh, that a child of Twine should
come to this, and him a godly man with a gift of speech surprising,
though he did wag his elbow more than he need have done, and was
brought to an early grave with a handsome tombstone in consequence."
While Mrs. Dumps ran on in this disconnected fashion, Clarice saw at
the far end of the alley, which led to the stage door of the Mascot
Music Hall, a smart motor-car in charge of a smart chauffeur. She was
about to ask Mrs. Dumps if this was the steam-engine she referred to
as belonging to Zara, when the stage door opened, and the girl herself
came out, looking wonderfully pretty, and wonderfully angry. She
mistook Clarice for her brother, as everyone else had done, and came
up to him at once.
"Oh, there you are, Ferdy," she said, speaking as fast as her mother
was in the habit of doing. "I am glad you have come. I'm in such a
rage. I can't do my second turn to-night at the Muses Hall, as Brown
has gone off."
"Brown! Who is Brown?"
"You know--you know," said Zara, pettishly. "He does the Chrysalis,
and very badly, too. I've only had him for a few weeks, as a kind of
makeshift. He's gone mad, I think, for he bolted immediately after the
call, and in his stage kit too. I'll have to pay a forfeit to the
Muses Hall manager, and I don't like doing that. It's bad for my
pocket and for my reputation. But we can't stop talking here all
night. Come on, mother"--she took Mrs. Dumps' arm--"were you very much
shocked with my sketch?"
"I've had a shock," said Mrs. Dumps, as she was hurried down the
alley, "that will last me till my dying day."
"Oh, bother," said Zara, apparently thinking that the Puritanic little
woman referred to the sketch. "I wish you hadn't come now. I might
have guessed that you would find fault. Now, how are we going, Ferdy?"
They were standing beside the motor-brougham by this time.
"I get inside and Mr. Ferdinand can go with the driver," said Mrs.
Dumps, determinedly. "I shan't chance the night air, after the turn I
had, when you had to get the sal volatile for me, Zara. And I want to
speak to you, miss. How dare you----"
"Here! Here! Don't talk, but get in," and Zara, dexterously pushing
her parent into the brougham, slipped inside herself. "Get on the box
with Hastings, Ferdy, and tell him to drive home."
Clarice found it rather a new and quaint experience to be in the
company of a smart chauffeur, driving through the brilliantly lighted
streets of the metropolis. To keep up her assumed character she
lighted a cigarette, and really enjoyed the situation. Hastings seemed
to be of a reticent turn of mind, as he only made a few short remarks
about the running of the car, and carefully attended to his business.
Clarice was glad, as she would not have known what to say, had the man
been talkative. And she knew that Ferdy must have been in the habit of
chattering to the chauffeur, from the remark Hastings made when the
brougham stopped before a door in Saracen Square, where Zara dwelt.
"You're very quiet to-night, Mr. Baird," said the man, smiling. "I
expect you'd rather have been inside the machine."
Clarice stared haughtily at the familiarity of this speech, and
Hastings looked rather puzzled. Ferdy apparently was very free and
easy with Zara's servants. But there was no time to consider the
matter, for Zara stepped out of the brougham, and bustled her mother
up the stairs in a hurry. Mrs. Dumps was in tears, and took no notice
of the supposed Ferdy. A waiting maid-servant took Clarice's coat, and
ushered her into a tiny drawing-room, where the irritated girl found
several portraits of Ferdy, smiling and debonair.
"She must love him," thought the outraged sister, and glanced in the
mirror over the fireplace to see how her disguise looked. In this
dimly-lighted room, where the red-shaded lamps gave out rosy hues,
Clarice thought that Zara would never find her out. She looked exactly
like Ferdy, and had imposed successfully on the barmaid, on Mrs.
Dumps, and on the chauffeur, so she had little fear of carrying her
adventure to a successful conclusion.
Shortly Zara entered in a maize-coloured tea-gown, but no longer in a
bad temper. Indeed, from the pallor of her face, she seemed to have
received a shock. Clarice immediately guessed that Mrs. Dumps had been
conversing about Osip in the brougham. It seemed to her that Zara,
after all, might not have known the truth about the man.
"Open a bottle of fizz, Ferdy," said Zara, throwing herself on a sofa,
"and give me some. I shan't eat any supper. You can if you like. I
ought to open these, I suppose," she glanced at some letters lying on
a small bamboo table near at hand, "but I can't be bothered. Give me
the fizz quick, Ferdy, or I'll faint."
Clarice had, rather awkwardly, opened a pint bottle of champagne, and
handed Zara a glass. "Are you tired?" she asked, with pretended
sympathy, and anxious to make the girl talk.
Zara drank off the wine before replying, and nodded. "I'm tired and
worried," she said, handing back the glass; "come and sit down beside
me, Ferdy. We must have a talk."
"Your mother--"
"Oh, bother my mother. She has gone to bed, and intends to return to
Crumel to-morrow. I suppose she thinks I'm a bad lot. I wish I had not
asked her to come up now. And I'm especially sorry that I asked her to
come to the Hall to-night. No, Eliza," this to the servant, who
entered with a hot dish, "we don't want any supper to-night. Go away
and close the door. Oh, dear me," she sprang up when the maid departed
and ruffled her red hair, while looking into the mirror, "I wish you'd
marry me to-morrow, Ferdy, and take me to Paris. I could get an
engagement there, and we could be happy."
"But my sister?" Clarice ventured to say, boldly.
"Oh, the deuce take your sister. I can't stand her. She looks upon me
as though I were dirt. You're always quoting your sister to me. I
detest her myself, and if you marry me I'll expect you to do the same.
Why should she look down on me? I'm not born a lady, I know, and I am
not such a fool as to make up a history, especially when you know all
about me. But I'm an honest woman and a clever one. Would your sister
have worked as I have done? Would she have made a name for herself, as
I have made? Would she be able to earn money--and in a perfectly
respectable way, mind you--to keep on this flat, and a motor-brougham?
Pshaw! Talk to me of something else than about that mincing, useless
sister of yours."
Clarice felt annoyed at her character being thus traduced, as she knew
that she was not useless, and neither did she mince. But she certainly
admitted that she did not approve of Zara Dumps, notwithstanding the
catalogue of qualifications for admiration that the dancer had set
forth. Zara, slim and dainty, with her graceful figure and pretty
face, looked so wonderfully fascinating, as she spoke, that had
Clarice really been Ferdy, it is probable she would have taken this
beauty into her arms. But Clarice happened to be herself, therefore
she looked disdainfully at Zara's airs and graces, and brought round
the conversation to more important matters.
"You are cross to-night, Zara."
"And you are a bear, holding me at arms' length. I never saw you so
cold before; one would think I'd lost my good looks"--she glanced into
the mirror and laughed--"no, those are all right. Cross? I am cross.
Mother has been bothering me in the brougham."
"About Osip?" Zara made a dart at Clarice, and clutched her arm. "You
know?"
"I know that the man who played the part of the Chrysalis--if it may
be called a part--is Alfred Osip, for whom the police are looking.
Your mother recognised him, when he took his mask off."
"I know," muttered Zara, moodily, "and he recognised her. That is why
he bolted in such a hurry. I expect he thought the police would arrest
him on mother's information before he could get away. I won't see him
again, I suppose."
"Do you want to?"
"No, hang it, I don't," she snapped, and flung herself petulantly into
a chair near the bamboo table, whereon the letters were lying. "It
gives me the shivers to think that I have been acting with such a
wicked devil."
"Then you did not know--"
"Know?" echoed Zara, savagely and glaring, "know--of course I didn't
know. The man came to me a few weeks ago--after the murder now, I
remember--and called himself Brown. I was in a hole, as the man who
did the Chrysalis business had left in a hurry--drink, you know. I
told you all about that."
"Yes," admitted Clarice, with an air of recollection, "but you didn't
say that Osip had taken on the part."
"How the dickens could I when I didn't know the man? He called himself
Brown, and seemed quiet and right enough, though he wasn't much of an
acrobat. But he filled in the gap for the time being. I never intended
to keep him long. I'll have to get another man to-morrow."
"Didn't you recognise him from the police description?"
"No. Plenty of men are tall and thin, and Brown didn't wear grey
clothes when he came to me."
"But the criss-cross scar on the left cheek--"
"He hadn't got one. His face was disfigured on both cheeks--in fact,
it was scarred all over, and he told me that a jealous woman had
thrown vitrol at him. I guess he did it himself to obliterate that
scar. Clever of him to come to me," added Zara, musingly, "and to dare
to appear before dozens of people--I mean hundreds. Of course, he knew
that his safety lay in such boldness. The police would hunt the slums
and the shipping ports and country, towns, and what not. But who would
expect to find a man described in the papers and wanted for eight
murders in a music-hall acrobat? I call Brown, or rather Osip,
confoundedly clever," and the dancer took another glass of wine;
"here's to his health."
"Oh, Zara--"
"And oh, Zara," she mimicked. "You're a soft one, Ferdy. I admire
cleverness wherever I find it, even in a murderer. All the same, I
don't want to have anything to do with such a criminal. Ugh!" she
shuddered, "I might have had the Purple Fern on my forehead also.
Brown has been visiting me here on business, and I've been alone with
him several times."
"Alone with him?" said Clarice, pretending to jealousy. "Nice for me."
Zara stared, and then laughed, as she began to lazily open the
letters. "Don't pretend to be angry, Ferdy. You're not fond enough of
me for that."
"Not fond, when I am engaged to marry you?"
"Pooh! That's compulsory. You'd be off after that Prudence creature if
I'd let you. But I won't; you can make yourself easy on that score."
She ran her eyes over the letter she was reading. "I like you well
enough, and you are easy to manage. In my business, to be entirely
respectable, I must have a husband, so you'll do as well as any one
else. Also there is always the two thousand a year. I dare say I could
get someone richer, but you'll do--you'll do."
"I'll do," said Clarice, calmly, "thank you," as Zara opened another
letter. "What's the matter?" for the dancer suddenly started.
Zara sent so swift and keen a glance in her direction that Clarice
fancied that her disguise had been penetrated. But the fear was
groundless, for Zara again laughed. "I'm amused at the side you are
putting on," she said, calmly, and replacing the letter in its
envelope. "You asked me to let you go, and when I refused you cut up
rough. Now you are trying to make me think that you love me."
"You are certainly very pretty," said Clarice, wondering what to say
to this bold, frank creature, who concealed her feelings so little.
"You thought so once," said Zara, rising and coming to the sofa. "I am
pretty still, only you have no eyes to see. Look"--she twitched the
large red silk shade from the lamp, and the blaze of white light shone
brilliantly upon her beauty--"am I not prettier than that black-browed
minx, Prudence Clarke?"
"Don't say a word against Prudence."
"I'll say twenty if I choose," said Zara, throwing herself on the sofa
beside Clarice, and taking her hand. "Don't get me into a rage, dear
boy. You loved me once, and so deeply that you said my name was
written on your heart. It certainly was tattooed on your right arm,
just above the wrist"--she rapidly drew up Clarice's shirt-cuff before
the girl could stop her. "I see the name isn't there now," said Zara,
jeeringly. "You have obliterated it from your arm, as you have driven
it from your heart, my dear."
Clarice was startled by this development. "You don't understand," she
stammered.
"Oh, yes, I do--Miss Clarice Baird," cried Zara, rising. "I understand
that Ferdy is at Gattlinsands, and that you--are--here!"