LOOKING BACKWARDS.
"That is very strange," Lance murmured. "I am told that the trial in
question was the talk of Europe for two or three years. I believe the
papers were full of it at the time. And yet you don't seem to have
heard of it. Isn't the name of Flavio familiar to you at all? It is
not a common name."
As Lance spoke he saw a swift and subtle change pass over the face of
his companion. A flame of colour stained either cheek; then it was
gone, leaving her still more ghastly white than before.
"I have not told you quite the truth," the woman said; "but in twenty
years one forgets even the keenest of sorrows. Now I come to think of
it, the name of Flavio reminds me of one of the most unhappy
experiences in my existence. There was a certain Count Flavio whose
estates joined those of my father. For some generations there had been
a deep and bitter feud existing between the Flavios and the Descartis.
The head of the Flavios was a very old man, who had two sons. Not to
make a long story of it, the young people met, and fell in love with
each other: the young people on one side being my sister and myself.
The intrigue was found out, of course, and for the next ten years I
was practically a prisoner in my father's house. He had a gloomy old
fortress somewhere up country, and there I was detained. I might have
been there still had my parents lived."
"And your sister?" Lance asked. "What of her?"
Again the woman hesitated. Again the look of pain and suffering swept
like a wave across her face.
"They told me my sister was dead," she murmured. "I had to take their
word for it."
"And you believed it? You believe it still? I hope you will pardon me
for my persistent questions, but it is quite necessary that I should
put them. Do you feel quite convinced?"
Once more Mrs. Delahay hesitated. Once more she seemed to shrink as if
in physical pain.
"How can I know? How can I tell?" she asked. "Did I not say that I had
been a prisoner all those years? This would account for the fact that
I know nothing about that Flavio tragedy. Are you going to tell me
that it is one and the same family to whom my sister and myself were
attached?"
"Indeed, I do," Lance went on. "Your Count Flavio had two sons. When
he died his elder son came into the title and estates. That was the
man who was afterwards poisoned by his wife; at least, a great many
people think so. And his wife's name was Carlotta. Her surname was
Descarti. My dear Mrs. Delahay, it is impossible to believe that this
is a coincidence."
"I quite agree with you," Mrs. Delahay said, in a low voice. "They
seem to have deceived me about my sister, and my parents told me that
she was dead. I suppose they meant that she was dead to the family.
She must have made her escape, and married her lover after all. I was
less fortunate. But what you say absolutely overwhelms me. The man
that my sister loved was a splendid specimen of humanity; he was
kind-hearted and generous; in every sense of the word he was a
gentleman. And I can vouch for my sister's many good qualities. To say
that she poisoned him is absurd. Why, she simply worshipped him. But,
tell me, what opinion did the world form as to the merits of this
extraordinary case?"
'"I want to spare you as much pain as possible," Lance murmured. "But
your sister was held up to execration as a fiend in human form. One
servant after another gave evidence to this effect. They seemed to
think that your sister was not altogether sane--but why should I
torture you with these details? What I really came here to tell you is
this. The Italian detective, Berti, who had the case in hand, is in
England at the present moment, and he has seen you. He declares that
you are Countess Flavio. You can see how seriously this accusation may
tell against you--later on."
Lance uttered the last two words reluctantly enough, but Mrs. Delahay
saw their full significance.
"Oh, I know what you mean," she said. "You mean that I have placed
myself in a perilous position. But there is one thing I can assure
you--I am not the Countess Flavio. If necessary, when the time comes,
I can prove this in a manner which would set even that Italian
policeman's suspicions at rest. It is very kind of you to take all
this trouble on my behalf. I suppose you want me to tell the whole
truth, and say why I denied being away from the hotel the other night,
when three people can come forward and show that my statement is
false. Well, it was false. I don't mind going as far as that. But more
I cannot and will not say, except that I am an innocent woman who has
been a prey to cruel misfortune all her life."
There was determination as well as sadness in the words. Lance could
see that he was merely wasting his time.
"Think it well over," he said; "give it every consideration. I will
call and see you again in the morning."
No reply came from Maria Delahay. She merely held out her hand, and
Lance took his leave without another word. Then the woman dropped into
a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
Why did Fate persecute her in this way, she asked herself. Why had her
life been such a misery for the past twenty years. Surely all this was
a terrible price to pay for a childish indiscretion. And yet, though
the years had been long and burdensome, it seemed but a brief step
back to the happy, sunny days when she and her sister had been
children playing in the woods at home and getting every drop of
enjoyment out of life. Then they had hardly comprehended the feud that
existed between the Descartis and the Flavios. Indeed, they had looked
upon it as rather a silly business altogether and a distinct nuisance
to mutual friends and neighbours. They had begun to notice, too, that
the sons of old Flavio were good to look upon, and finally one day a
slight adventure in the woods had thrown the young people together.
The thing had begun in a harmless fashion enough. They met again, and
yet once more. They fell in the way of discussing the family quarrel
and making light of it. From then on the path was pleasant and easy
enough, and one day the two girls awoke to the fact that they were
both deeply in love with the sons of their hereditary enemy. It was at
this point that stern old Descarti discovered the great secret.
What happened after that Maria Descarti hardly knew. There was a
terrible storm of rage and passion, sleepless nights, and tear-bedewed
pillows, and then such a life of greyness and despair that the girls
had never dreamt of. When at length she ventured courage to ask after
her sister, she was told that the latter was dead. She took this
statement literally, and she resigned herself to the inevitable.
The prison doors were open at length, but only on the death of her
parent, and there she was at forty years of age, helpless and
friendless, with no knowledge of the world, and nothing to aid her
besides her brush and pencil. The struggle was indeed a hard one, and
it looked like ending at length when she came in contact with Louis
Delahay. She had no strong passion to give him, nothing but the
tranquil affection of approaching middle age.
She had been perfectly candid in the matter, and Delahay knew exactly
what he had to expect. Perhaps the prospect of tranquil happiness was
far better than the rosy dreams of youth. And all this was now
shattered by the unexpected tragedy.
Maria Delahay had reached this point in her thoughts; then her mind
wandered on to what Lance had recently told her. And so, after all,
her sister was alive. This knowledge had not reached Maria Delahay
tonight. She had suspected it for some days, and it had come about in
quite a prosaic way.
She could see it now quite clearly in her mind. The pleasant-mannered
chambermaid had come into the sitting-room soon after Delahay had gone
out on that fatal evening. She had evidently taken a liking to her
visitor. Maria could see her now as she fussed about the room.
"Is there anything you want?" she asked.
"You seem to have forgotten me," the girl said. "I waited upon you
when you were here last spring."
"Last spring!" Mrs. Delahay exclaimed. "Why, surely, you have made a
mistake. I have never been here before."
"Oh, madam," the girl said reproachfully, "you are making fun of me.
You came here by yourself, and stayed for the best part of a week. You
had very few visitors, and you used to talk to me a good deal. . . .
Only the name is different. You used to have Carlotta, not Maria, on
the envelopes I brought up to you."
Mrs. Delahay started. With difficulty she restrained her feelings, for
the chambermaid's innocent words had let a flood of light in a dark
place. In the happy old days people were constantly mistaking her for
her sister. Was it possible that her sister was still alive? Was it
possible that she had been deceived all this time? A little
dissimulation might be the means of getting the truth from the voluble
chambermaid.
"You have sharp eyes," she said, "and, no doubt, a good memory. How
long did I stay here, and where did I go afterwards?"
"It was a little over a week," the girl said. "And then you went away
to Number Seventeen, Isleworth Road, Kensington. I remember the
address because I have a sister in service who used to live next door.
Perhaps madam does not want to be remembered? There are many reasons
why it is prudent not to know too much."
"I am glad to see you are so discreet," Mrs. Delahay smiled. "There is
no reason to mention this to anybody else, you understand?"