MOTHER AND CHILD.
At any other time the trifling incident would have escaped Vera's
attention. But she had nothing else to occupy her mind now. She
wondered what it meant. There was no doubt that the official-looking
person below was pretending to stroke a dog. There was no jest about
it, either, because the other two men took no heed. They appeared to
be too absorbed in their occupation. Then, all at once, the truth of
it flashed into Vera's mind with a suddenness that left her pale and
trembling. It was plain enough. She could not say for certain who it
was patting and caressing an imaginary dog, but she was quite certain
that there was a message to her behind it. In the first place the man
had seen her at the window, of that she felt certain. And he was
telling her as plainly as words could speak that her handkerchief had
been found, and that Bruno led her friends to the right spot. No
doubt, these willing assistants had assumed the guise of land
surveyors with a view to getting a better knowledge of the house. Once
the excitement of this discovery passed away, Vera's courage came back
to her. She now knew that she was safe. She knew that it would not be
long before she was restored to her friends again. She deemed it
prudent to keep away from the window, and when at length she looked
down again, the men were gone.
There was nothing for it but to kill the dreary afternoon as best she
could. It seemed to her that she knew every inch of her room, every
design and pattern on the wallpaper. She would have given much for a
book to while away the time, but, apparently, Silva had overlooked
that requirement. As she lay back in an armchair, for the first time,
a small, wooden trap in the ceiling attracted her attention. It seemed
strange to Vera that she had not noticed it before. A sudden
resolution possessed her. She balanced a couple of chairs, one on the
other, upon the bed, and made an attempt to lift the trap. There was
not the slightest trouble. The square of board gave to her touch at
once. Vera thrust her head and shoulders through, and saw that she was
immediately under the roof. A sliding glass window overhead lighted up
the place, so that Vera could see what sort of a place she had
discovered. Instantly she made up her mind what to do. She turned a
yachting jersey out of one of the baskets and removed the bodice of
her dress. A short serge skirt completed the outfit, and a few moments
later Vera had squeezed through the trap, and was walking along the
boards which covered the whole area of the house under the roof. What
she was now anxious to find was a way down. Here was a large tank
which supplied the house with water, and by the side of it a short
iron ladder, the end of which was lost in the semi-darkness. But Vera
had discovered enough. Doubtless the iron ladder was a permanent
structure for the use of workmen in case anything went wrong with the
big tank. In all probability the bottom of the iron ladder reached
down until it joined the servants' staircase. Vera had seen
arrangements of this kind in small country houses before.
At any rate, the knowledge was worth having. Here was a clear avenue
of escape. As soon as the house was quiet Vera would be able to steal
away, and once outside, she would know exactly what to do. She had no
money, but that was a mere detail.
The slow hours crept on till dusk began to fall, and there had been no
further sign from Silva. The clocks outside were striking eight when
someone tapped at the door, and in response to Vera's query the voice
of Silva spoke:
"We are dining in half an hour," he said. "Will you be so good as to
come down? I have unfastened the door."
Vera was trembling with excitement and apprehension. She hastened to
change her dress, and a few moments later was hurrying down the
stairs. When she reached the hall she found Silva awaiting her. He
looked somewhat anxious.
"Your mother is in the drawing-room," he said "I hope you won't mind
sitting down to a cold dinner. For motives of prudence we have sent
the servants to London for an evening at the theatre. To anyone as
intelligent as yourself you will see why we adopted such a course.
Will you precede me?"
Vera had nothing to reply. Just for the moment she was incapable of
speech. She was wondering whether or not she would awake presently and
find it all no more than a dream. The drawing-room was brilliantly
lighted. A tall, dark woman stood by the fireplace. Her regular
features appeared to be absolutely composed; but agitated though Vera
was, she did not fail to notice the restless movements of the hands.
Just for a few moments the two looked at one another. Then something
like a smile came over the Countess Flavio's face.
"So you are my daughter," she said. "I am afraid I should not have
recognised you. Come closer, so that I can look at your face. Thank
Heaven, you are not in the least like your father. I cannot be
sufficiently thankful for that."
"I have thought about you often," Vera said coldly; "but, surely, if
you are my mother, you have a strange way of making yourself known to
me. What is the meaning of this outrage? Surely you could have come to
Park Lane and asked for me in the ordinary way, without sending this
creature of yours----"
Vera looked round for Silva, but he had discreetly disappeared.
"I am glad that man has had the decency to leave us alone," she went
on. "Oh, I have been thinking about this meeting all day. I do not
know what to imagine, or what to believe. You say that you are my
mother, but how I am to be certain that----"
"I swear it," the Countess said, with a touch of passion in her voice.
"You are my daughter beyond the shadow of a doubt. Oh, there is a deal
in what you say, but I could not come to Lord Ravenspur's house. There
are most urgent reasons. You are wondering, perhaps, why I have not
been near you all these years; but I can explain. You remember nothing
of your father, for which you can thank your Maker. With the solitary
exception of yourself, there was not a creature on earth that he cared
for. He was the embodiment of refined cruelty. His greatest delight
was in the tortured degradation of others. Ah, you little guess what a
veritable hell the two years which followed your birth were. I will
tell you all about that some day, and you will be sorry for me. If you
had only had my experience you would not wonder why I fled and hid
myself when my release came. You would not wonder why I refused to see
you, for fear you should be like your father, and remind me of him
every hour. I was so near the borderland of insanity then that I
should have killed you, if by one look or gesture you had reminded me
of the man who had ruined my life. And then, when the lapse of years
had restored my strength and vigor again, a longing to see you took
possession of me. And when at length I had found you, or, rather, my
faithful servant, Silva, had found you for me, there were certain
circumstances which prevented my seeking you out at once. I was going
to wait my time, but the man whom you call your guardian took such
steps that I was bound to act at once. That is why I wrote you that
letter last night. That is why you were brought here. And as to Lord
Ravenspur, if he is lucky----"
The Countess paused and bit her lips. A horrible suspicion flashed
into Vera's mind.
"You must say nothing against him," she cried. "Lord Ravenspur is one
of the best and noblest of men."
"Lord Ravenspur is a scoundrel," the Countess cried. "Yes, and before
I have finished I am going to prove it to you. Oh, you may look
incredulous, but I am a deeply injured woman, and that man is
responsible for all my torture."
A crimson wave stained Vera's cheeks. Here was the old suspicion back
again with redoubled force. She would have asked the direct question
which was trembling on her lips, but the door opened, and Silva came
in hurriedly.
"I am loth to intrude," he said, "but it is already half-past eight,
and it is imperative that you, madam, should be back in London this
evening. There is a train at twenty minutes past nine, which you must
not fail to catch."
Without argument, the Countess led the way across to the dining-room,
where dinner was laid out. Vera noted with some surprise that there
were only covers for two. She had half expected that Silva would sit
down to table, instead of which he moved from place to place, waiting
upon them, as if he had been accustomed to that kind of thing all his
life. A few moments ago he had appeared to be the dictator and leader
in everything. Now he suddenly lapsed into a perfectly respectful and
exceedingly well-trained servant. It was not that Silva was acting a
part. The thing was so perfectly done that Vera saw at once that this
was the man's proper position in life. She was too excited to eat or
drink, so that, altogether, the meal was little more than a mere
formality.
"I am sorry that I can't stay any longer," the Countess said; "I am
bound to be in London this evening."
"Then I will come with you," Vera said promptly.
"No," Silva burst out sternly. "The thing is impossible. For the
present you stay where you are. In a day or two we will make other
arrangements with the servants, and then you can have the freedom of
the house. The Countess will tell you that I am right."
"I am afraid so," the Countess said, "unless you will give me your
word that you will not communicate with Lord Ravenspur. You must be
dead as far as he and his household are concerned."