THE WHITE LADY
As Carthew, at the brink of the smooth plateau before the hut on the
cliffs looked round instinctively, he caught sight of a tall white
shadow that seemed to be moving toward him through the gloom among the
tree-trunks. The evening was drawing in. He had thought he was quite
alone there. He went round outside the hut to see what that stealthy
shape might be.
He heard a sudden rustling not far away, and saw Captain Dove spring up
from behind a bush to gaze about apprehensively. It flashed across his
mind that Captain Dove must have been dogging him. He stayed where he
was, watching the old man's precipitate flight followed by the figure in
cloak and hood, which had darted a horrified, disbelieving glance of
recognition at himself as it passed but was evidently too intent on its
pursuit to pause.
Carthew had recognised it too, although it passed his understanding
altogether to conceive how his own old enemy could have come to
Loquhariot. He was, indeed, so taken aback at sight of the Emir El
Farish there, and in such a state, that it was some minutes later before
he had recovered his wits sufficiently to follow the trail of the
strange chase he had witnessed.
He was too late then, and it was already dark. But he ranged the woods
for some time before he would give up his anxious quest. He felt very
much inclined to call at the castle and come to some understanding with
Captain Dove. But--his promise to Sallie prevented him. He must keep
that at all costs. Until the three months' grace she had begged should
be up, he must continue to possess his soul in patience--or otherwise.
But now--that would be even more difficult than it had lately become.
For, until now, he had quietly acquiesced in all that had happened
because he could not help either her or himself. But now--the proof he
had lacked could be obtained--from El Farish; proof that Sallie was
usurping a dead woman's name and place.
He walked down the hill to the inn with his chin on his chest, wondering
what the upshot would be if he should take Sallie herself into his
confidence. But he was afraid to do that. He felt almost sure that, if
she found out from him how she herself had been imposed upon, he might
forthwith give up his dearest hope.
On the little green board in the hallway of the Jura Arms, he found two
letters awaiting him. The steamer which had arrived that afternoon had
evidently brought a belated mail. He noticed incuriously that his two
correspondents were Messrs. Bolder & Bolder, of Lincoln's Inn Fields,
London, W.C., and the Western lawyer who had arranged the mortgage of
his ranch. Then he laid the letters aside and sat down on the edge of
his truckle-bed with a pipe.
A little later the maid-of-all-work knocked at his door with a note from
the castle. He opened it and read it at once. Then he called after her
to order a conveyance for him, and began to hunt out his evening clothes
in a hurry. He had only half an hour in which to change and get to the
castle again. He was going to dine there, with Sallie--who signed her
name as Josceline Justice.
All the previous timid invitations which she had extended to him when he
had chanced to meet her out of doors he had refused. But to-night he
felt that it might be unwise to absent himself--some premonition of
trouble impending caused him to frown at himself in his glass as he
hastily patted a white tie into its place.
He paused to open his mail before leaving his room. The first letter
briefly begged to inform him that the mortgage on his ranch had not been
met on the due date and, failing an immediate remittance, must be called
in with all costs. The second told him no less concisely that Sallie's
claim to his title and inheritance had, to all intents and purposes,
been recognised and admitted as valid by the Court of Chancery,
expressed Messrs. Bolder & Bolder's polite regrets over the
disappointment which that could not but occasion him, and served to
enclose a small account of theirs against him, still outstanding. He put
them both in the fire and hurried downstairs.
He was a little late in reaching the castle, but found the company still
in the drawing-room; and, as Sallie came forward to greet him, a little
look of belated contentment crept into her tired eyes.
"I'm glad you were able to come," was all she said in answer to his
apologies, and turned to present him to the Duchess of Dawn, with whom
Slyne was chatting, two very aristocratic figures, the young duchess a
ravishing picture in one of Sallie's Parisian gowns, Slyne elegant as
always in evening clothes.
Lord Ingoldsby, less perfectly fitted and with more than one crease in
his white waistcoat, nodded indifferently to Carthew and intercepted
Sallie as she introduced the young American to him. So Carthew turned to
congratulate Mr. Herries on his recovery. Captain Dove and Mr. Jobling
had carefully avoided his eyes. That had been a somewhat awkward moment
for all of them, and Carthew, although his own conscience was clear as
regarded the other men, was glad that dinner was promptly announced.
That was the first time he had seen the banquet-hall under such
conditions, and he blinked at the vista displayed as the big double
doors were drawn apart.
The dinner-table in the distance was ablaze under its branching
candelabra, in each of which were burning numberless wicks under silken
shades. The silver girandoles above the butler's buffet beyond it were
no less dazzling, while everywhere else a warm dusk deepened into almost
absolute darkness wherever the glow from the still log-fires could not
penetrate.
The table appointments seemed to be the most splendid the castle could
boast. Carthew could catch the dull glint of gold plate on the buffet.
Eight heavy, high-backed chairs of black carved oak were set about the
white oasis that the table made on the dark floor. Behind each stood a
silent footman, tartan-kilted, tanned of face above a spacious white
shirt-front which showed off an old-fashioned doublet handsomely.
Slyne was leading the Duchess of Dawn to her seat. Lord Ingoldsby had
Sallie upon his arm: and Mr. Jobling hovered close at her other
shoulder. She sat down between them, with his sullen lordship on her
right facing the effusive lawyer. And Carthew, following, noticed that
she looked round once or twice in his own direction. Captain Dove, a
queer-looking figure, had seated himself at Slyne's side, opposite the
duchess, and Herries took the chair between him and Lord Ingoldsby,
leaving Carthew next the duchess.
The piper made his appearance according to the time-honoured tradition,
and marched twice round the table while the oaken rafters overhead rang
to the dirl of the dance he drew from his chanter. It was undoubtedly a
picturesque if somewhat deafening preliminary to dinner, thought
Carthew, looking on much interested at the ceremonial which should have
been his prerogative instead of Sallie's. And, as the man withdrew to
the inner corridor, Carthew encountered Captain Dove's furtive glance.
But it fell instantly, and the old man went on contemplatively crumbling
the roll before him. He seemed to be in a somewhat somnolent mood. It
occurred to Carthew that he must have been drinking a good deal before
dinner.
A brisk conversation had been begun at Sallie's end of the table, where
Mr. Jobling and Lord Ingoldsby were both talking to her at once. Slyne
was entertaining the duchess. Carthew exchanged a casual remark or two
across the table with Herries and then was drawn into a laughing
discussion with the duchess, in which Slyne also took part, suave but by
no means friendly toward Carthew. And so course of the stately dinner
succeeded course.
More than once, Carthew wished that it were well over. There seemed to
be something in the air that affected his nerves unpleasantly. His eyes
were always meeting Sallie's--and it seemed to him that it was costing
her also no little effort to maintain any interest in the trivialities
of the table.
He felt sure that both Captain Dove and Slyne had some secret on their
minds. But whether that affected her and him he had no means of finding
out. The coming of El Farish had further complicated a situation already
complicated almost beyond his mental powers. He felt quite impotent to
cope with it, under the added handicap of his promise to Sallie. He felt
as though his promise in some sense made him a party to the unspeakably
cruel deception which must have been practised on her, and that she
might perhaps be justified in blaming him when she should find out--as
she surely must--that her presence there was no more than part of a
fraudulent masquerade. He was afraid to think how she might deal with
him on that score when he should offer her, as he intended to do
whenever he should find himself free to speak, himself--and his earldom,
for what that was worth.
It suddenly occurred to him that he might find out something concerning
El Farish from Captain Dove. All the others but Herries and he were
busy. Carthew spoke to Herries across the table.
"I had a queer adventure this afternoon," he said, "at the hut on the
cliffs near the head of the loch."
The old factor nodded. "That was Lord St. Just's workshop, Mr. Carthew,"
he mentioned.
"Well, I went up there to see how the timber had stood the storm, as you
told me. And, just before turning into the woods, I took a notion to see
what was over the edge--it seemed to me that a good stout railing was
badly wanted there."
Herries nodded again. "That's so," he assented, lowering his voice.
"It's a very dangerous spot. That was where Lord St. Just lost his life.
But now--no one ever goes near the hut."
Carthew glanced at Captain Dove. But the old man's eyes were quite
unreadable behind his smoked glasses. He was listening indifferently.
"I can't imagine," Carthew went on, "what it was that suddenly made me
look round, but I did. And I caught a glimpse of a most uncanny figure
watching me from among the undergrowth about the trees behind. It was
all in white, with a hood pulled over its head."
A lull in the conversation elsewhere left only his voice audible. The
attention of the others had been attracted, and even the soft-footed
servants seemed to be hanging upon his words. Sallie looked surprised,
puzzled, even a little afraid. Captain Dove's features spoke a gnawing
anxiety now. Slyne's close-set, unfriendly eyes were fixed intently upon
him.
"That gave me a cold scare," Carthew continued, almost inclined to wish
that he had not mentioned the matter at all. "I'm not quite acclimatised
yet to such apparitions. So I dodged behind the hut for shelter and to
get a better look at it. But it made off again, almost immediately, in
the direction of the castle.
"I chased after it in a minute or two--but I was too late. It had
disappeared. And I've been wondering ever since, who and what it could
have been," he finished, his eyes, meeting Captain Dove's, expressing
only innocent inquiry.
The footman behind him dropped a plate, and the crash that produced
startled every one more than it need have. An atmosphere of strained
expectancy and unrest seemed to pervade the shadowy banquet-hall. Even
Lord Ingoldsby, who had been regarding Carthew with sulky ill-will,
could not but notice it.
"Isn't there a tame ghost of some sort about Loquhariot?" he asked
Sallie, and, catching the duchess's eye, shrank into himself again under
the glance she darted at him.
"Not another word about wraiths and spectres!" his youthful aunt ordered
briskly. "We don't want our dinner spoiled with any such nonsense. The
White Lady isn't a subject for table-talk, Ingoldsby. We've a skeleton
in the cupboard at Dawn, too, you know, as every respectable Highland
family has. But I fancy that what Mr. Carthew really saw to-day was
simply some snow-laden bush."
"Dawn must be a very beautiful old place," Slyne remarked to the
duchess, and Lord Ingoldsby turned toward Sallie again; as did Mr.
Jobling after a glance of extreme disfavour at Carthew, on his other
hand. And Carthew could not at all understand the general gravity, until
Herries whispered over to him, under cover of the renewed conversation,
"You haven't heard of our White Lady here, yet, Mr. Carthew. But she
brings dule to the house, and--they say it was her that was seen in the
woods this afternoon."
Carthew nodded. He had heard nothing of any such superstition, but knew
enough already of the natives of those wilds to understand how they
would cling to it. He thought for a moment of telling Herries that it
was a man and no woman whom he had seen, but that would perhaps have
disclosed too much to Captain Dove, and he decided to keep his own
counsel until he could obtain some safer clue to all those mysteries.
Some movement in the little gallery above the buffet caught his
attention, and he thought he could see the old housekeeper, Mrs.
M'Kissock, at the balustrade with Ambrizette, Sallie's black maid, all
eyes, looking down at the gathering. And the smile Sallie flashed at
him as he looked at her told him she also knew that they were there.
Slyne grew somewhat distrait and restless as the long dinner ran its
course, and Carthew had to devote more attention to the duchess. Among
the rest of the company all seemed to be going well. Mr. Jobling and
Lord Ingoldsby were both growing always more garrulous, and even Captain
Dove had brightened up under the sunny influence of the rare vintages
dispensed by the butler; he had got to the length of discussing the
lights on that coast with Herries, the factor, before the pop of a cork
at the buffet served to announce that the champagne was coming next.
Slyne was obviously about to claim the attention of the table. Carthew
supposed he must be going to propose some toast, and wondered whether he
did not know any better than that. But he waited till every glass was
filled before he made any move, and when Sallie would have refused the
wine he sent the butler back to her with a whispered message. At which,
Carthew observed, a sudden pallor overspread her face; he was watching
her very closely.
The rest of the company and the servants also looked round at Slyne in
surprise as he rose, but Carthew did not. He had seen Sallie lift a
filmy, lace-edged handkerchief from her lap--and caught sight of
something that it was meant to conceal. She raised a clenched hand above
the wine-glass before her, and Carthew could have sworn that he saw some
colourless drops splash down on the bubbling champagne. Then she slipped
her handkerchief out of sight again, and sat with bent head, idly
twirling the stem of the wine-glass between her fingers, watching the
white froth break at its brim.
And still Slyne said nothing. Carthew scarcely dared to glance up at him
till he saw that Sallie was gazing that way with wonder and fear in her
eyes.
Slyne was standing rigid. The glass he had lifted was tilting over, its
contents dripping out on the table-cloth. His mouth was open, as if to
speak, and his lips were moving but emitted no sound. He was staring
fixedly into an obscure corner under the musicians' gallery, where was
the service-doorway from which the piper always appeared.
The others had turned their eyes in the same direction. The very
servants seemed to have lost all self-control, stood stricken, gasping,
helpless. And no one even breathed as a shadowy figure came slowly
shambling out of the dusk into the crimson light of the fire.
It halted, irresolute, a lean, stooping, bald-headed figure, with a
haggard, foolish face contorted to hold a single eye-glass in place. On
its forehead was a red smudge, as of iron-rust. It was wearing a
disreputable, greasy blue uniform with not a few ragged rents in it. Its
boots were equally shapeless and one was burst. There was snow on them.
Captain Dove was the first among the company to recover the power of
speech.
"What the devil do _you_ want here, Brasse!" he cried, in a choking
voice, which yet was charged with relief as if from some paralysing
fear.
But before the engineer could answer a word, Herries, the old factor,
had risen shakily from his seat and shuffled across the floor toward
him, was peering stupidly into his face, looking him up and down with
eyes that were almost blind. The duchess had got up too. Slyne had sunk
into his chair again, scowling blackly, pulling at his moustache. Lord
Ingoldsby and Carthew and Mr. Jobling were still gazing blankly at the
intruder. Sallie sat motionless, with one hand always at the stem of her
wine-glass.
The duchess lifted the shade off one of the lights on the candelabra and
looked still more searchingly at the engineer.
"Torquil St. Just!" she whispered at length, and "Lord St. Just!" cried
Herries at the same moment.
The scarecrow with the eye-glass held out a slack hand to the old
factor. "Hullo, Herries," he remarked, in a husky voice, "I didn't
recognise you at first. You've aged a lot." And, glancing across at the
duchess, "Isn't that Lady Jane Gairloch, Herries?" he asked in an
audible aside. "She was only a slip of a girl, you know, old chap,
when--I left home."
"She's the--Duchess--of Dawn, now,--my lord," answered Herries, the
factor, helplessly. "And--you're Earl of Jura--now."