VALDO IN A NEW LIGHT.
"How did you know my husband was in England?" Maria asked.
"I didn't," the Countess confessed. "I looked for him all over the
Continent. I should have written to him, only I had mislaid his card,
which I found at length after a long search. Seeing that the address
was Fitzjohn Square, I thought I would come and interview Mr. Delahay.
It was quite late at night that I found that he was staying at the
Grand Hotel, and as things were very pressing indeed, I sent him an
express letter asking for an interview early in the morning. In
response I received a telegram saying that he would see me at once,
and if I could manage to be at the corner of Fitzjohn Square at one
o'clock in the morning. I told you just now that things were very
urgent, because I had taken this house furnished, and I had already
had one or two unpleasant interviews with the landlord, who naturally
wanted his money. The telegram seemed to be reasonable enough. Artists
are very late people, and, besides, it occurred to me that Mr. Delahay
had probably had those jewels in his house. At any rate, I met him.
You can imagine how astonished he was when he saw my face. Of course,
he naturally concluded that I was your sister, but he seemed to think
that you had told him that I was dead. I suppose that was so."
"Certainly it was," Mrs. Delahay said. "I was definitely told that you
were dead. And when I related our unhappy story to my husband, I
always spoke of you as one who was no more."
"Yes; I quite see. Well, we went along very pleasantly together to the
house, and it seemed to me that all I had to do was to get those
jewels and come and call upon you. Naturally, I had not heard of you
for years. Indeed, I regarded you as dead, much the same as you were
under the impression that I no longer lived. But when we reached the
studio, a light was burning there, and, looking in, I saw a man
painting, a handsome man whom your husband told me was Lord Ravenspur.
You can imagine that neither of us wanted to be seen. There was no
occasion to raise any doubts in the intruder's mind, and so we waited
till he was gone. Then my case of jewels was handed over to me, and I
came straight back here. Not till late the next afternoon did I know
what had happened."
"Then there is nothing more you can tell me?" Mrs. Delahay asked.
"I am sorry to say there is not. But since you have been here certain
suspicions have begun to grow in my mind which fill me with dread. It
would not be fair to utter them yet, until I am more certain of my
facts. Still, I am glad you have come now, because I think you will be
of assistance to me. You heard me speak just now of Luigi Silva, but,
of course, you will remember him perfectly well?"
"I recollect him," Mrs. Delahay said. "A queer-tempered man, with
strange and wayward moods, but he was sincerely attached to us. I
should like to see him again."
"You _shall_ see him," the Countess said. "And if you have half an
hour to spare it shall be this very night. When I discovered that my
daughter had been stolen I got in touch with Silva, who, as I told you
just now, was under the impression that I had taken Vera away and
placed her in safe custody, lest the authorities should interfere and
remove her from my influence. When he found that I had barely given
Vera a thought all these years, he was furiously angry with me.
Indeed, his rage knew no bounds. He had always been so faithful; he
had always worked so hard for me, that I was astounded. He refused to
have any more to do with me. He went off without leaving his address,
and for some little time I have been searching for him in vain. Quite
by accident I found him the other night. He seems to have turned his
athletic powers to advantage, for he is performing in London now as a
kind of flying man. I have seen the performance, and it is exceedingly
clever. But that isn't what I want to talk to you about. I know where
Silva, or Valdo, as he now calls himself, is to be met with. Within a
few moments I want you to come along and add your persuasion to mine."
"I will do anything you like," Mrs. Delahay said; "anything to get to
the bottom of this singular mystery."
The Countess started up at once, and proceeded to don her hat and
cloak. Then she led the way to the back of the house.
"There is a way out here," she said, "which leads into a lane. Now,
come along. We have not very far to go."
They turned out of the lane presently into a quiet, secluded
thoroughfare, where the Countess stopped. They had not long to wait,
for presently two figures came down the road, talking earnestly
together. The light was not good, but it was quite sufficient to show
Mrs. Delahay that one of the men was James Stevens.
"The witness, Stevens," she whispered. "He must not see us together.
There are many reasons why it is inadvisable that he should learn the
truth. The other man looks like Silva; only it is difficult to be sure
after all these years. Let me stand in this doorway till you have
managed to get rid of Stevens."
The Countess nodded her approval, and Maria Delahay slipped into the
shadow of the door. From where she stood it was quite possible to see
what was going on. She saw her sister approach the two men. She did
not fail to note Stevens start as he recognised, or thought he
recognised, the woman who was known to him as Maria Delahay. On the
still air she could catch a word or two.
"Very well," she heard Silva say sullenly. "I have one or two things
to say to my friend here, and then I'll come back to you."
The two men came past where the woman was standing in the doorway.
They were conversing in deep whispers, so that the listener could
catch only a word or two, yet those words filled her with vague
apprehension. She caught the name of Ravenspur as it came hissing from
Silva's lips. Then there was something she could not follow, and,
finally, clearly enunciated the one word "tonight." A moment later and
Stevens was shuffling off down the street, while Silva returned to
Countess Flavio. As Mrs. Delahay joined them, the little Italian
glanced from one to the other.
"So you are both here," he said.
There was something in the insolence of his manner that moved Mrs.
Delahay to anger.
"I should hardly have known you," she said; "certainly I should not
have known you from the tone in which you are addressing us. Have you
quite forgotten what you owe to your late master's children?"
"I have forgotten nothing," Silva said. "Why do you come here
persecuting me like this? Why cannot you let me alone? But for me your
sister would have been in a dishonoured grave by now. I saved her
life. I saved the good name of the family. And how am I repaid? What
does she care so long as she saves herself. And yet I remember her a
sweet and innocent child, just as I remember her own little one. Ah, I
was fond of her, and she was fond of me. I could never have gone off
and hidden myself, and left little Vera to the tender mercies of the
world. I, a man, no relation, couldn't have done that. But that her
mother could have done such a thing--ah, it seems unnatural,
unwomanly."
"You will find her for me?" the Countess said timidly.
"I have found her," Silva whispered fiercely. "But whether I have
found her for you or not is quite another matter. I was your good
friend once. I was your devoted slave and servant. I would have laid
down my life for you both, and you know it. But all that I felt for
you was as nothing compared to my love for your little one. And when
you told me that you had left her without another thought, my blood
fairly boiled with passion. I thought you had taken her with you. I
fondly imagined that you were devoting the rest of your life to her
welfare and happiness. And then, one day, you come coolly to me and
ask me where you can find your child. You go your own way, and leave
me to go mine. I suppose you have found out that I come this way home,
and so have waylaid me. But you will never get me to raise a finger on
your behalf again. Still, it does not much matter. I know where the
child is. I shall know how to act when the time comes. My vengeance is
ready, when I care to stretch out my hand to take it."
The words poured from the speaker's lips in a torrent of passionate
vehemence. He fairly quivered with rage. He seemed to be beside
himself with anger. There was something almost akin to madness in his
eyes.
"Oh, calm yourself," the Countess said. "My good Silva, I make every
allowance for your feelings, but you are going altogether too far.
You, above all men, ought to know how I longed to get away from
anything that reminded me of my husband. Don't forget that she was his
child as well as mine, and that she had her father's eyes and charm of
expression. Besides, I was barely responsible for my actions then.
Consider what I had had to go through. Consider my mental torture and
degradation. And yet you say it was my duty day by day to watch my
child and see the hateful pleasantness of her father's smile looking
at me from behind her innocent features. Oh, I couldn't do it. I tried
to persuade myself that it was my duty, but all to no avail. I was in
such a state of nervous exhaustion then, so near the borderland of
insanity, that I believe I should have taken the life of the child if
she had gone with me. And, naturally, I thought that she was with
friends. I knew that you would see that she was all right. And, in
addition to all this, she was her father's heiress."
"But who was interested in taking her away?" Mrs. Delahay asked. "I
don't see how anybody could gain anything by saddling themselves with
a child like that."