DURING the remainder of that terrible day Girlie stayed in bed. And to
count the tardy minutes against Pikey’s return was her only occupation.
Alas, it began to seem presently that the duenna would never come
back. Hour after hour passed. Girlie’s heart sank to zero. Visions of
ignominious disaster rose before her eyes. Lying there, passing in
review all that had happened in the last incredible ten days it was
impossible to recognize in such a queer adventuress the rather prim
and certainly retiring person she had always known herself to be. Some
strange virus had infected her. Force of example in the first place,
no doubt, but allied also to a vaulting ambition which had o’erleaped
itself.
Nine o’clock struck. Would Pikey never come back? Soon, however,
the hostess came to see if her guest was quite comfortable, and to
bid her good-night. The kind lady was full of solicitude. She felt
sure that Lady Elfreda was a delicate flower and that the heavy task
laid upon her had proved too much for her strength. The doctor had
prescribed a sleeping draught which, in the absence of the maid, Mrs.
Minever herself administered. The patient was then assured that the
doctor would pay her a visit the next morning, and then the yellow
chrysanthemum lady gave the sufferer a kiss and left her to a much
needed night’s repose.
Despite the draught, however, Girlie had never in her life felt so
little like sleeping. Wide-eyed and miserable, she tossed on a damp
pillow, awaiting the arrival of the one person who could help her now.
Surely Elfreda must come to the rescue. And she must come to-night.
There was no time to lose. For it seemed to the guilty sufferer that
it was of the last importance that Mrs. Minever and her guests should
be prepared for the truth before the truth was rudely revealed by Lord
Carabbas.
Shortly after ten Pikey returned. But she returned alone. Very tired
and sorely disgruntled she had only cold comfort to offer. Her
reception, to say the least, had been ungracious. And Elfreda had
merely laughed when she was told that her father had been sent for, but
her message to Miss Cass was that she would come to Clavering Park in
the course of the next day and clear things up. In the meantime, in the
cool and cynical words of Elfreda, the best thing for Miss Cass was to
stop in bed.
Even this simple alternative proved to be a counsel of perfection. Left
to her own devices throughout the darkness of many interminable hours,
Girlie’s torments grew. The sleeping draught could not cope with her
agitated brain. After a while, unable to lie still, she paced the large
room. Why had she done as she had done? What madness had urged her?
Was there no way of escape!
Between five and six o’clock, however, of that long vigil she came to
a final resolve. She decided to go away. Exactly where her very small
resources would take her she did not know, but in her present state of
mind any place in the three kingdoms was to be preferred to Clavering
Park.
Accordingly, fired with resolve, she packed a few necessities of travel
into the most portable case she could find. She then dressed for a
journey and with a sinking heart examined once again the contents of
her purse. Her means, alas, were but two pounds seven shillings--two
pounds seven shillings with which to face a cruelly inhospitable world!
That brutal fact must have given her pause had anything been capable
of doing so now. But so little was she a reasonable being just then
that the sheer hopelessness of such a flight could not turn her from
her purpose. Before setting out on her travels she sat down at an
escritoire and scribbled a hasty and tremulous line.
“I cannot bear this a moment longer. I am going away--I don’t know
where. E. H. Cass.”
She sealed the note in an envelope duly addressed “To the Lady Elfreda
Catkin.” This done, she adjusted that lady’s velours hat and fur coat,
grasped her traveling bag and leather-handled umbrella and crept
noiselessly, like the little thief she felt herself to be, out of King
Edward’s room and down the richly carpeted central staircase.
By now it was nearly half-past six. At present there was not a sign of
the servants, but the light was already beginning to show above the
famous elms in the park. Gentle-footed as a cat, Girlie crept like a
ghost across the hall parquet. To do that cost her one pang more. That
particular spot was full of memories. No matter what experiences the
future held she would never be able to forget the kindly simple man who
had wanted to marry her.
She stole through the shadows of a dim corridor to the heavily barred
front door. It proved a nerve-racking business to withdraw its chains
and bolts, yet it was not these things which suddenly brought her up
short with an icy gasp of fear.
Without warning of any kind a hand was laid upon her shoulder. As she
half turned a strange face confronted hers in the semi-darkness of the
corridor.
“Early abroad.” Whoever the speaker might be his appearance was a
little strained, a little odd. His voice, with its queer, rather
mocking laugh, seemed equally so. Something there was in the dark,
heavily mustached, rather Semitic countenance, that sent a chill
through Girlie’s heart.
Powerless to speak, she felt her knees sinking under her. Instinct,
that fatal instinct for the world and its ways, told her at once who
and what this man was. His next sinister words were not needed to
enlighten her, although they did so quite unmistakably.
“You had better go back to bed, hadn’t you?” The voice was soft, but it
was soft with menace. “You see, I’ve been looking out for this. Played
it up rather high, haven’t you--er--Miss?--I haven’t the pleasure
of knowing your name. But we shall know it soon enough, unless, of
course”--the laugh was not at all kind--“you are in a position to prove
to the satisfaction of Lord Carabbas that you are really his daughter.”
Girlie, mute and shaking, realized that the end had come. She continued
to listen sickly to the malicious and unpleasant voice. “As I say, we
don’t know who you are, we don’t know what your record may be, but
if without putting us to further trouble you will tell us where Mrs.
Minever’s sapphire and diamond ring is to be found I’ll give you my
word that the police will make it as easy for you as they can.”
Bereft of speech, Girlie could only tremble. She had to lean against
the wall for support. This man was a detective from Scotland Yard who,
at the instance of Mrs. Minever, had come to Clavering Park to clear up
the matter of the missing jewelry.
“Now be a sensible young woman and go straight back to your room
without making a fuss. And just see that you stay there until I’ve had
a chance to have a little talk with the lady of the house. If you go
quietly and behave sensibly I’ll undertake to do what I can for you.”
There was only one thing for it now, and that was to take the
detective’s advice. This, accordingly, Girlie did. She returned to her
room and sat forlornly by the window gazing on to the park awaiting
further developments. After a time, in spite of the fur coat, the
chill of a November morning fell upon her. Finding that her teeth were
chattering, she decided to return to her down-quilted bed.
Here, in this temporary security, she toyed with the excellent
breakfast which in the course of time was brought to her. And then she
exerted her will to the uttermost in order to deal with events as they
arose.
The first event to arise was the coming of Mrs. Minever. Upon the brisk
entrance of that lady into the room shortly before ten, Girlie looked
up from an uneasy pillow to scan the face of the hostess eagerly so
that she might read her doom. But her doom was by no means easy to
read. The hostess was her usual bright and cheerful self. She had,
moreover, the air of solicitude of the previous night. Girlie, steeling
herself to bear terrible reproaches, was quite at a loss to understand
what had occurred.
“I do hope you have slept, my dear.” There was absolutely no hint of
the early morning drama of the hall door. “The doctor will be here
soon. In the meantime, you must stay where you are and keep very
quiet.”
Immensely reassured by the tone Girlie decided to do as she was told.
All the same she hardly knew how to hide her surprise. She had been
looking forward to a very different scene.
In point of fact, Mrs. Minever was taking no chances. The detective had
told his story. He had presented his theory for what it was worth, and
to Mrs. Minever’s keen indignation he had not scrupled to throw doubt
upon the identity of the chief guest. Mrs. Minever had pooh-poohed the
theory. It really seemed the most unlikely she had ever heard. Not only
was there the evidence of the guest’s coronetted luggage and personal
belongings, there was the word of Mr. Montagu Jupp and also the fact
that she had been accepted by the Lancelots. No, Mrs. Minever was not
inclined to take risks of that kind. She was almost tempted to call
the detective a fool for his pains. His theory was monstrous. The poor
child was merely overwrought.
By this time, besides, there was another factor in the case. A telegram
had been received from Lord Carabbas. Already that peer was en route by
the 8.50 from Paddington, which was due at Clavering St. Mary’s about
midday. His arrival upon the scene would set every doubt at rest.
In the meantime, Mrs. Minever, like the wise woman she was, gave no
countenance to these fantastic suspicions. Yet had she been at all
inclined to do so she must have observed the look of unmistakable
horror that came into the eyes of her guest when she was told that her
father would arrive in a few hours. Mrs. Minever’s one desire was to
reassure the nervous and excitable creature. And so little perceptive
was the good lady that presently she withdrew from King Edward’s room
strong in the belief that she had done so.
Smitten with an ever-growing fear, Girlie lay shivering with dread.
The coming of Elfreda was the only hope left to her. Would that
intransigeant turn up at Clavering Park before her father? If she did
not the consequences would be too dire to contemplate.
Hardly had Mrs. Minever left the room when the luckless Pikey came in.
She was half paralyzed by the news. A look of absolute terror entered
the eyes of the Werewolf. The bill about to be presented for payment
was quite beyond the duenna’s power to meet. She simply did not know
how to face Himself. The whole situation was altogether too much for
her.
As for the Deputy she could only continue to hope against hope for the
arrival of Elfreda.
In a short time the doctor came to see the patient. He considered her
pulse and concluded that she was much better, but advised her to stay
in bed and promised to come again the next day. Girlie, however, did
not follow this advice. For within an hour of the doctor’s visit she
found lying in bed to be more than she could bear. Tormented by a
restlessness that was really painful, any change was welcome. Therefore
she dressed once more. And as she did so a sort of courage came to
her. She realized the plain fact that whether or no Elfreda chose to
appear at Clavering Park further concealment would soon be out of the
question.
At a moment when there was nobody about Girlie ventured downstairs
as far as the hall. She was now faced with one of two alternatives.
Either she must make a last attempt to get away before public exposure
overtook her or she must abandon herself to the mercy of Lord Carabbas.
Sitting in her favorite nook by the good log fire with a shawl draped
round her shivering shoulders she did her best to grapple with a truly
terrible problem. Alas, she soon found that it was not to be grappled
with. Her brain refused to act. Her will was inert.
The minutes ticked on relentlessly. In the process of time the hall
clock chimed twelve. Girlie in a paralysis of despair settled her
miserable self yet more deeply into her shawl. It would need every
ounce of will she could muster to sustain the accumulated weight of
humiliation that was about to fall upon her.