THE APPLE OF DISCORD.
Altogether Foster was very pleased with the position of affairs, as
there was now some tangible evidence to go upon. In the first place it
had been satisfactorily ascertained that Lionel Ventin was identical
with Leopold Verschoyle, and in the second the handwriting of the wife
of the deceased showed that she deliberately intended to commit the
crime, and to all appearances had achieved her object while the
steamer was lying at Malta.
"The next thing to be done," said Foster to Ronald and Roper as they
sat in his room, "is to obtain evidence as to Mrs. Verschoyle's
movements on that night. Now, my impression is that she came on board
to see her sister off to England, and while there, saw her husband,
heard him tell you the number of his cabin--followed him, and after
committing the crime, mixed in the crowd, and returned on shore
undetected."
"A very feasible theory," retorted Ronald, in a vexed tone; "but you
forget--you have yet to prove that Miss Cotoner is Mrs. Verschoyle's
sister.
"That can be at once settled by asking Miss Cotoner."
Ronald moved uneasily in his seat.
"I suppose it must come to that," he replied; "but before asking her,
I think it best that Roper should go to Malta, and find out all about
Mrs. Verschoyle."
"I can go to-morrow," said Roper, promptly, "and as soon as I find out
what you want to know, I'll write at once."
So it was settled. Julian Roper went out to Malta the next day, and
there was nothing left for Monteith to do but to wait and see what
evidence could be found against Mrs. Verschoyle. He felt very
miserable over the whole affair, and particularly as it seemed
probable that Carmela would be mixed up in it, and then--well, he did
not like to dwell on the thought of such a possibility.
And Carmela?
She, on her part, was quite as unhappy as her lover, because she could
not understand his changed attitude towards herself. Formerly he had
been assiduous in his attendance on her, but now he rarely came near
her, and was always making excuses regarding his absence, excuses
which she plainly saw were feigned and forced. She was too proud,
however, to complain, and went about as usual with Sir Mark and his
daughter--frequented balls, theatres, garden parties, picture
galleries, and all the sights of London, never once showing how deeply
she felt Ronald's desertion.
Cold, stately, and self-possessed as of old, a keen eye might yet have
noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and the increasing pallor of
her face. Bell noticed it, and told her father, who, becoming alarmed,
wanted to take Carmela down to Marlow at once.
"These London gaieties are too much for you, my dear," he said,
anxiously; "you are not used to late hours."
"Oh, I am quite well," answered Carmela, with assumed gaiety; "it is
only a little fatigue; you must not hurry me away just when I am
enjoying myself."
"Fancy calling this sort of thing enjoyment!" said Bell,
contemptuously; "I'm sick of these miles of streets, and crowded
dances, and conceited men; give me the country, with a bright sky and
a good horse."
"We'll go down soon, then," said Carmela, kissing her; "I only want to
stay in town another week, and then I shall be at your disposal."
The fact was, Carmela was cherishing a hope that Ronald would see her,
and explain away the discord which seemed to have arisen between them.
But though he called occasionally he made no sign, but retained the
same reserved demeanour, the reason of which she could not guess.
Ronald, as a matter of fact, was torturing himself over the position
of affairs. Was Carmela the sister of Mrs. Verschoyle? If so, she must
have been in love with Verschoyle, as his dead friend had clearly said
so. In this case he--Ronald--was not her first love, and he felt that
such a position was very unsatisfactory.
Another thing was, if Carmela had been standing beside her sister on
the night of departure, she also must have recognized Verschoyle, and
therefore, when the murder was committed, she must undoubtedly have
connected her sister with the crime. And suppose she knew all about
it, and was silent in order to shield her sister. Well, he could not
blame her for that; but if she were doing this, she was, in a certain
way, an accomplice: and could he marry a woman who was not only
cognizant of such a crime, but was closely related to the person who
had committed it?
Ronald used to lie awake at night, and worry over these things till he
thought he should go out of his mind. He was madly in love with
Carmela, but still he had a certain amount of self-restraint, and
determined not to ask her to be his wife until the mystery which
environed the death of Verschoyle was cleared up satisfactorily.
Therefore he kept away from her, as he dared not trust himself in her
presence without giving way and marrying her without taking anything
into consideration.
And so these two young people were in a singularly unhappy
position--both in love, yet both living at cross purposes; Carmela
wondering at Ronald's sudden change of demeanour, and Ronald trying to
solve the doubts which had arisen in his mind concerning the woman he
loved.
As to the rest of the "Neptune's" passengers, they were scattered far
and wide. Pat Ryan had gone off to look after his Irish estates, which
mainly consisted of acres of bog inhabited by evil-minded tenants, who
refused to pay the rent, and as Pat was too kind-hearted to evict
them, his income was growing beautifully less every day. Kate Lester
and her mother had gone down to Hampshire, on a visit to a rich
bachelor uncle, who had fallen in love with Kate, and determined to
make her his heiress, a proposal not at all distasteful to that
pleasure-loving young lady Mrs. Pellypop was down at Marlow with her
son-in-law, the Bishop and his meek little wife, and was already
exercising over the entire household her despotic rule, until the
whole house nearly arose in rebellion. The only one left in London who
refused to leave it till Carmela took her departure was Vassalla, for
that astute gentleman, seeing there was an estrangement between
Carmela and the Australian, determined to turn it to his own
advantage, and was always whispering insinuations against Monteith,
until, one day, she turned round and asked him what he meant?
"You are always talking against Mr. Monteith," she said angrily, with
a red spot on each cheek, "but I have never found him other than a
very high-minded gentleman--besides," hurriedly, "what is he to me
that I should care about him?"
"Nothing at all, my cousin," replied Vassalla smoothly, caressing his
carefully-trimmed beard; "but I knew you liked him, and would be sorry
if he conducted himself badly."
"His conduct has nothing to do with me," she retorted, sharply, "how
do you mean he is conducting himself badly?
"Cherchez la femme," replied Vassalla, with sardonic smile.
Carmela's heart almost stood still. She turned very pale; but, with a
great effort, managed to preserve her composure. So this was the
reason of his coldness to her; he was in love with another woman, and
had merely amused himself with her on the voyage. With her, Carmela
Cotoner! The thought was madness--and she clenched her hands, while
the hot blood flushed her cheeks rose-red.
"I don't believe it," she said, hoarsely.
"I can prove my words to be true," answered Vassalla, suavely; "if you
come with me to the Italian Exhibition you will see them there."
"How do you know?" she asked, raising her heavy eyes to his.
"That is a secret, my cousin; will you come?"
"No."
"Think it over; I will call again this afternoon," and Vassalla left
the house humming a tune.
He knew Ronald would be at the Exhibition that afternoon, as he had
met him in the morning casually, and Monteith had mentioned that he
was going to take a lady to the Italian Exhibition, so the wily
Maltese determined to turn the incident to his own benefit, and, if
possible, rouse Carmela's jealousy--that once done, she would marry
him, if only out of pique. He knew her too well to doubt that she
would come, and he proved a true prophet, for when he called at the
Langham at three o'clock, he found her waiting for him, dressed to go
out. He, however, was too wise to make any comment, and, stepping into
a hansom, they drove to the Strand, and went by the underground
railway to the Exhibition.
Ronald was there, as he had promised to escort Mrs. Taunton, for the
poor little lady was so grieved and horror-struck over her brother's
death that she never let Ronald alone a moment, but was always urging
him to go on with the case. It was in vain, he said, they would have
to wait till the letter came from Malta before they could make a fresh
move. Mrs. Taunton was fiercely impatient, and had accompanied the
Australian not so much with the object of seeing the Exhibition as of
discussing the case with him. They wandered about, in deep
conversation, not heeding, in the least, the crowds of people around
them. While thus engaged, Ronald did not see Miss Cotoner, who was
standing by the Marchese, looking at him with a sad expression on her
face.
"You see, I was right," whispered the Marchese.
"I see," said Carmela, in a tone of suppressed emotion; "but the lady
may be only a friend."
"Oh, yes, a dear friend," he answered with a mocking laugh; "why, I
tell you, he is never away from her."
"Who is she?" asked Carmela.
"I do not know," answered Vassalla, who knew perfectly well, but was
not going to reveal his knowledge, "they are always together."
At this moment Ronald raised his eyes and saw Carmela. A sudden
exclamation arose to his lips, and he made a movement as if about to
step forward, when suddenly he drew back, and raising his hat with a
bow, took his companion's arm and disappeared in the crowd. This
action seemed to confirm Carmela's suspicions, and with a stifled sob
she turned away, the Marchese following in silent triumph.
"Who was that lady?" asked Mrs. Taunton, when they were some distance
away.
"A lady I know," he answered, evasively.
"And love?"
"Why do you think so?"
"That is, if you return love for love--I saw it in her face."
"Impossible!
"Not at all, it's merely a woman's instinct; come, tell me, do you
love her?"
"Yes," he answered, sadly, "too well."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Taunton, rapidly, "no woman can be loved too
well."
"No, I agree with you there--if she is worthy of it."
"And is this lady not worthy?"
"I don't know."
"How mysterious you are--it is cruel of me to keep you trying to solve
the riddle of my brother's death, when you ought to be making love to
that young lady."
"That is just it," said Ronald, with a groan; "if your brother had not
been killed, I would not have doubted her."
"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Taunton, breathlessly; "who is she?"
"Miss Cotoner."
"What! The sister of my brother's wife?"
"I don't know," he said, dreamily.
"You don't know--you don't know?" she said, with a quick, indrawn
breath; "what parrot-cry is this--did she come from Malta?"
"Yes."
"Then she must be what I have said."
Ronald sighed.
"I cant tell till I hear from Malta."
"Does she know anything about my brother's death?"
"Good God! no," he answered, quickly; "how could she?"
"I don't know," she answered, between her clenched teeth; "but there
is more in this than I understand."
"You don't think I am playing you false?" he said, sharply.
"No," she replied, in a kinder tone; "I don't think that--you have
been so kind."
"I intend to find out who killed your brother, and punish him or her,"
he said, slowly; "and though I love Miss Cotoner more than my life,
till I discover this mystery, I will not speak one word of love to
her."
"You promise me?"
"I promise," and he took her hand.
They were silent for a moment, and then passed out of the garden
together, both absorbed in their own thoughts.
The woman's: "Will this love prevent him doing justice to my brother's
memory?"
The man's; "Is Carmela aware that I know her relationship to Mrs.
Verschoyle?"