THE MESSAGE.
"If the secret were only my own I would not hesitate a moment," Walter
said. "Be patient a little longer, my dearest girl. I am quite sure
that Ravenspur will tell you when the proper time comes. Once we are
on board the yacht there will be no occasion for further secrecy.
Another hour, and we shall be on our way. I am not a nervous man, but
this thing is beginning to worry me."
Vera persisted no further. The band had just ceased playing, and there
was a sudden rush of guests into the garden, so that there was no
opportunity for further privacy. A somewhat imperious dowager pounced
down upon Walter, with a request that he would find her daughter, and
there was nothing for it but to obey. Just for a moment Vera stood in
the midst of a laughing, chattering group of friends, then she managed
to slip away unseen. She wanted to be alone and think this matter out.
She was just a little hurt that the others had not taken her into
their confidence. Still, perhaps Lord Ravenspur had acted in this way
to save her pain and annoyance. He had always been kind and
considerate to her. She owed him a deep debt of gratitude. And yet, up
to a few moments ago, she had been prepared to turn her back upon her
best friends and face the world alone. But she could not do that now.
She would have to abandon her plans for the future. She would have to
stay by Lord Ravenspur's side until this terrible danger was past. She
was only a girl, and could not do much. Still, that little she would
do cheerfully.
Vera was still busy with these painful thoughts when a footman came up
and spoke to her. He had a note on a tray, which he handed to Vera,
with the intimation that there was no reply. So far as Vera could
tell, the handwriting was quite strange to her.
"Who brought this?" she demanded.
"It was left by some strange man, miss," the servant said. "I was to
give it to you at once, when you were alone, if possible."
The footman's manner was perfectly respectful. He discreetly said
nothing of the sovereign which had accompanied the letter. Vera turned
away and broke the seal. She was in a somewhat secluded part of the
garden now, but she had no difficulty in reading the letter with the
aid of the sparkling points of flame which glimmered from the branches
of the overhanging trees.
"My dear child (the letter ran),
"I want you to read this alone. I want you to promise me that it shall
be shown to nobody. I daresay you will wonder why I write like this,
after all these years, but I can only plead that circumstances, not
myself, are alone to blame. I want you to believe that up till quite
recently I was hardly aware of your existence. But all these things I
can explain when we meet. Naturally you will ask yourself who I am,
and why I should venture to address you in this fashion. You will see
presently.
"For the last eighteen years you have dwelt under the roof of Lord
Ravenspur. You have passed as his ward, and I understand that he has
taken the greatest care of you. This much goes to his credit. But that
he behaved like a scoundrel at the outset I am prepared to prove. Had
it not been for him we should not have been parted all these years,
and you would have had a better chance of making the acquaintance of
your most unhappy mother.
"There, I have told the truth at length, and now you are aware who it
is that thus addresses you. When we meet I shall be able to explain
why I did nothing all these years--but I am wasting time. I know that
you are going away tonight. I know that you may be out of London for
some months. At present, circumstances do not permit me to claim my
rights, or to interfere with your plans. You will go away this evening
just as if nothing had happened, but before you go it is most
imperative that I should see you, if only for half an hour. I have had
this letter sent you by a trusty friend, who will not fail me. If you
will go through the shrubbery at the back, to Lady Ringmar's house,
you will find a pathway bordered with nut trees, which ends in a green
gate, leading to the lane at the back of the house. There you will
find another friend, who will bring you to me without delay. I give
you my word I will not detain you more than half an hour. Then you can
return to your friends as if nothing had happened. They will be none
the wiser. Indeed, I will ask you not to mention this letter to them
at all.
"I am not going to anticipate your refusal, for I know that you will
come, especially when I sign myself
"Your unhappy mother,
"CARLOTTA FLAVIO."
In a state of mind bordering on absolute bewilderment, Vera read the
letter again and again. It filled her with a pain which was closely
akin to shame. So far as she could see, there was no mistaking the
relationship which at one time had existed between the writer of the
letter and Lord Ravenspur. A natural craving and desire to see her
mother came over Vera. She knew there was yet time to get away from
Lady Ringmar's house and back again before the hour fixed for their
departure. Vera slipped the letter inside her dress, and with a firm,
determined step strode off in the direction of the shrubbery. She came
presently to the spot indicated in the letter. She looked eagerly
around to see if anybody awaited her. There was the faint suggestion
of cigarette smoke lingering in the air, and then, from a turn in the
path, the figure of a man emerged. Vera could see that he was
exceedingly well turned out in evening dress. The dust coat he was
wearing only partially concealed a slim built, athletic figure. For
the rest, the man was good looking enough, and Vera judged from his
dark eyes and black moustache that he was a foreigner, doubtless some
relation of her mother. He lifted his hat with great courtesy, and
waited for the girl to speak.
"I am Vera Rayne," she said quite simply.
"I am already aware of that," the stranger replied. "I suppose you
received the Countess's letter? But you must have done so, otherwise
you would not be here. You are prepared----"
"One moment," Vera said. Caution had suddenly returned to her, and
there was something in the eager light in the man's eyes now that
warned her to be careful. "I shall be glad if you will let me know who
you are. What is your name, for instance?"
The gleam in the stranger's eyes deepened in intensity, a quick frown
knitted his brows.
"Can it in the least matter?" he demanded. "You have received the
letter, and it is only for you to obey."
There was a peremptory ring in the speech which Vera did not like at
all. She realised that she was in a lonely part of the grounds, and
that, in case of need, assistance was a long way off. She began to
wish that she had been more prudent. After all, the whole thing might
be a plot against her happiness, a scheme into which she had fallen
without asking herself a single question. These doubts became
something like certainties when the stranger strode past her and cut
off all means of retreat.
"You are wasting my time," he said, "and time is precious tonight. It
is only a matter of half an hour altogether, and then you will be back
with your friends once more. If I were not anxious for your welfare do
you suppose I would be here at all?"
The speaker's English was good enough, but Vera did not fail to detect
the foreign accent behind it. She was becoming afraid now. Her heart
was beating faster. She turned to see if assistance might not be at
hand. But the thick belts of shrubs cut off all sounds. She could hear
absolutely nothing in the direction of the house. And then there was
another cause for fear. Surely she could hear something creeping
stealthily through the bushes. She listened again, and the footsteps
seemed to grow closer. Then the bushes parted, and a great black head
and a pair of gleaming eyes emerged, followed by a long, heavy body
that crept up to Vera's side and rubbed against her dress. A cry of
thankfulness escaped her.
"Bruno!" she panted. "How did you get here?"
Then she remembered the dog had followed them from Park Lane. He had
been tied up by Walter in the shrubbery, and the broken cord attached
to his collar told the rest of the story. The great hound lifted his
head. The glittering amber-coloured eyes were turned on the stranger,
and a deep growl came from the depths of the dog's throat. The small
man in evening dress stepped back.
"That dog is very dangerous," he stammered.
"Not while I am here," Vera said coldly, "though, perhaps if he met
you here alone you might have cause for uneasiness. And now, sir, will
you be so good as to tell me your name?"
"Amati," the stranger said sullenly. "But what does it matter? You
have made up your mind by this time whether you are coming with me or
not. You know perfectly well, from the letter in your possession, that
I am a messenger from your mother. I have a cab outside the lane, and
I can take you to her at once. I pledge you my word that you shall be
back in half an hour."
Still Vera hesitated. Still her suspicions refused to be lulled.
"It would be an easy matter for my mother to have come here," she
said. "There is not the slightest chance of being interrupted. And
seeing that time is so short----"
The last words were inaudible, for there was a shrill whistle
somewhere in the garden, and the dog by Vera's side whined uneasily.
As Vera stooped to soothe him she twisted her handkerchief in the
hound's collar. She recognised the whistle as Walter's. Then she gave
a sign and the great beast bounded away.