THE TRUTH ABOUT MRS. VEILSTURM.
"We all have skeletons, everyone,
We hide away from the cheerful sun,
Tearful and sad, or merry and gay,
We all have skeletons hidden away."
Eustace duly arrived at San Remo, tired out by his long journey, and,
as he had written to Guy before leaving London, was rather surprised
not to find his cousin waiting for him at the railway station.
However, he took the matter philosophically enough, after his usual
fashion, although he was seriously annoyed at what seemed like wilful
negligence, and drove to the Hotel de la Mer, where Errington was
staying. There he found Guy's valet awaiting his arrival in the hall,
and speedily received an explanation, from which it appeared that
Errington was seriously ill, and confined to his bed.
"I would have come myself, sir," concluded the man, "but Sir Guy
wouldn't let me leave him, and I've just slipped down stairs for a
moment to explain things. I'm very glad you've come, sir."
"So am I," thought Eustace, as he followed the servant upstairs, "I
hadn't any idea he was ill. No wonder he could not come to England."
When he entered the bedroom he found his cousin was really seriously
ill, being in a highly excited state. He asked Eustace all kinds of
questions about Alizon, about the death of the child, and talked
incoherently about Mrs. Veilsturm, mixing everything up in a most
nonsensical fashion, being evidently quite light-headed. Gartney
answered his questions, and soothed him as well as he was able, but
was very much perturbed over the matter, although he did not show his
real feelings. At last he got Guy to lie down quietly, and then,
leaving the room, sent for the doctor who was attending the young man.
In a few minutes Dr. Storge arrived, a tall, spare man, with a keen,
clever face, and a sharp manner, who talked straight and to the point,
without any loss of time.
"Yes, Mr. Gartney," he replied briskly to Eustace's enquiry. "Sir Guy
is very ill, indeed. In a highly excited state brought on by worry and
fretting. I saw that he was in a bad way about a week ago, when he
first consulted me, but something he will not tell me about has
occurred since then, and the result--well you see it upstairs."
"But surely--when--Errington consulted you, he explained----"
"He explained nothing, my dear sir, and now he is so ill that I dare
not ask him, as it makes him excited, and that is what I wish to
avoid. Perhaps you can give me some idea of what is wrong."
"Yes, I can. Is it necessary you should know?"
"What's the good of calling in a medical man if you don't intend to
confide in him?" said Storge coolly. "You know what Balzac says, that
a man reveals nothing to the priest, what suits him to the lawyer, and
everything to the physician. I want to find out the cause of Sir Guy's
excitement, and then I may do some good. As it is--well, you see for
yourself, I am working in the dark."
This reasoning appeared to be very just, so Gartney, making a virtue
of necessity, drew his chair close to that of the doctor, and told him
everything.
"The fact is," said Eustace after a pause, during which he collected
his thoughts, "my cousin and his wife have had a quarrel about a
woman."
"Ah! I thought as much--Mrs. Veilsturm."
"What! You know----"
"Nothing, absolutely nothing," replied the doctor sharply. "I've only
put two and two together, and any fool knows that makes four--more or
less."
"Well, Sir Guy loves his wife very dearly, but she believes that he
has compromised himself with--but I don't know if I ought to tell you
this."
Dr. Storge made a gesture of despair.
"I thought you were a man of the world, Mr. Gartney," he said quickly,
"but although I appreciate your delicacy with regard to--well, say our
mutual friend, though I only know her by sight--I must insist upon you
telling me all. 'Go on, my dear sir, go on. Your confession is as safe
with me as it would be with one of those dingy priests in the town."
Being satisfied with this explanation, Gartney smothered his scruples,
and went on talking.
"I see it's no use beating about the bush, doctor. My cousin has
quarrelled with his wife on account of Mrs. Veilsturm, whom he
loves----"
"Pardon me, No," interrupted Storge smartly, "you mean she loves
him--a vastly different thing."
"Nonsense! She doesn't care two straws about him," said Eustace
bluntly.
"If you don't explain, Mr. Gartney," cried the doctor angrily, "you
will have me as bad as your friend upstairs."
"Then listen, my dear sir, and pray don't interrupt me," said Eustace
tartly. "Mrs. Veilsturm, who is a lady holding a good position in
London Society, thought herself slighted by Lady Errington--in what
way it does not matter. She determined to revenge herself by taking
Lady Errington's husband away from her, and she has succeeded. My
cousin does not really care for Mrs. Veilsturm, but, owing to an
unfortunate misunderstanding with his wife, he has drifted into a
false position. This woman has entangled him in her net and won't let
him go until she can bring about a divorce, which will certainly be
the end. Errington, I've no doubt, has worried himself into a fever
over things, thinking he is between the devil and the deep sea, and
the other day his only child died, so I expect the news of the death
put the finishing stroke to the whole business."
"I understand," said Storge, who had been listening attentively, "I
can quite appreciate the position, and need hardly tell you Mr.
Gartney, that your cousin is dangerously ill. He is an honourable man,
who finds himself in a dishonourable position, through no fault of his
own, and the knowledge has worked him up into a state of frenzy. I am
afraid of brain fever."
"Good Heavens I hope not."
"I'm afraid so," returned the doctor sagaciously, "he's quite off the
balance, with all this business. However, now you are here, things may
turn out better, for he must be kept quiet--perfect rest is what is
needed."
"And what am I to do?"
"Keep Mrs. Veilsturm away."
"But she surely doesn't visit him," said Eustace in an astonished
tone, "because, in the first place, she doesn't care for him, and in
the second, she's too cautious to jeopardise her position in Society."
"She does not exactly visit him," replied Storge, rising, "but she
sends messages, flowers, fruit, three-cornered notes, and all that
rubbish. Of course it keeps Errington perpetually thinking about
her--then he thinks about his wife, and between the two I'm afraid of
the result."
"Well, I'll go and see Mrs. Veilsturm," said Eustace grimly. "I've no
doubt I'll be able to persuade her to leave my cousin alone."
"I don't envy you the interview," observed Storge, who was a sharp
observer, "nor her either. Still she's a fine woman."
"A fine devil," retorted Gartney, with less than his usual caution.
"She looks like it," said the doctor coolly, going to the door. "A
Creole, isn't she?--ah! I thought so. Got a considerable touch of the
tiger in her I should say. I wouldn't like to be under her claws--too
risky. Well I'll go up and see our patient."
"And I'll go and see Mrs. Veilsturm."
"You'd better have your lunch first," said Storge "you'll need all
your strength."
"Very good advice, Doctor, I'll adopt it; at the same time don't be
afraid of me--I'm a match for her."
Storge laughed and looked keenly at Gartney's powerful face.
"Yes, I think you are," he said carelessly, "I've read your
looks--goodbye at present."
When the Doctor had vanished, Eustace sat down to consider the
situation, which was certainly rather problematic at present,
especially with regard to the Errington-Veilsturm episode. When a
strikingly handsome and decidedly unscrupulous woman sets her heart
upon turning the head of a disconsolate man, with a somewhat weak
character, she generally succeeds in her task. Guy had been certainly
rather weak with regard to the sex feminine in his bachelor days, but
since marriage, his love for his wife had been a safeguard against the
dangerous raids of daring free-lances. Owing to his unfortunate
quarrel with Alizon, however, he had lost his shield, and of this Mrs.
Veilsturm had taken instant advantage, securing thereby an
indisputable victory.
In England, Gartney had felt some doubts regarding the entanglement of
his cousin with Cleopatra, but now he saw plainly that Guy was still
true to his wife, and that it required the utmost dexterity of his
charmer to keep her captive in chains. If he could only be brought
face to face with his wife, Eustace was convinced that everything
could be arranged, and the influence of Mrs. Veilsturm over this weak
soul destroyed. He would like to have written to Alizon, and asked her
to come over in order to nurse him, and be reconciled to her husband,
but he was afraid she would not do so. The only thing to be done,
therefore, was to try and get Errington cured as soon as possible, and
take him away from the dangerous neighbourhood of Cleopatra.
In order to do this, according to the doctor, it was necessary to
force Mrs. Veilsturm to leave her victim alone, as she brought herself
constantly to his mind, and exercised a malignant influence upon his
whole nature highly detrimental to recovery. Eustace, therefore,
agreed with the doctor, that the first thing to be done was to deal
with Mrs. Veilsturm, and this he made up his mind to do without delay.
As Guy could not be removed from the neighbourhood of Mrs. Veilsturm,
the next best thing was to remove Mrs. Veilsturm from the
neighbourhood of Guy, or, in plain words, to make her leave San Remo
at once. It was a difficult task, and involved a disagreeable
interview; still, desperate diseases require desperate remedies, so
Eustace wasted no time in hesitation, but determined to call upon Mrs.
Veilsturm that afternoon.
As Mr. Gartney was nothing if not methodical, he proceeded very
deliberately with his preparations, and, truth to tell, felt rather
jubilant at the prospect of a tussle with Cleopatra, who was a foeman,
or rather foewoman, worthy of anyone's steel. After a cold bath, which
invigorated him considerably after his tiresome journey, he changed
his travelling suit for one more in conformity with an afternoon
visit, and then made an early luncheon, followed by a soothing cigar.
His physical wants thus having been attended to, he ascertained from
the "Liste d'Étrangers," that Mrs. Veilsturm was staying at the Villa
Garcia, and departed on his errand of mercy.
Cleopatra had certainly an aptitude for making herself comfortable,
for the Villa Garcia was a charming little house, with white walls,
vivid green shutters, and dusky, red-tiled roof. Embosomed among the
grey olive trees and slender palms, it stood some distance back from
the Corso Imperatrice, and from its broad terrace there could be seen
the tideless blue of the Mediterranean Sea, the church of the Madonna
della Guardia on Capo Verde, and sometimes a glimpse of far-off
Corsica floating in a golden mist, or lying amid the rose-red clouds
of dawn, like Brünnhilde within the magic circle of Wotan's fire.
Happily for Eustace the lady he sought was at home, so on sending in
his card, he was conducted to an artificially darkened drawing-room,
where Mrs. Veilsturm was seated in a comfortable-looking chair,
occupied with a French novel and a fan. No one was with her, as Major
Griff had gone off with Thambits and Mr. Jiddy for a day's pleasure at
Monte Carlo and, Errington not being obtainable, Mrs. Veilsturm was
delighted to see Eustace, who was much more amusing than her own
thoughts. She was arrayed in a loose dress of white Chinese silk, with
great masses of scarlet geranium at her throat and waist, which suited
her so well that Eustace, with a view to making everything pleasant,
could not help congratulating her on her appearance.
"I know I'm looking well," said Cleopatra indolently, as Gartney
settled himself in a low chair near her. "The South always agrees with
me so much better than that smoky London. That comes of being a
daughter of the Tropics I suppose."
"You look in your proper place under a burning sky," observed Eustace
poetically. "There is more of the gorgeous cactus about you than the
English rose."
"Am I to take that as a compliment?"
"Most women would."
"I daresay, but then you see I'm unlike most women," replied
Cleopatra, fanning herself slowly. "It's rather a good thing I think
myself. What a horrible idea to be a replica of half a dozen of one's
dearest enemies."
"Have you any enemies?" asked Eustace, looking keenly at her.
"Plenty! principally of my own sex I think. It doesn't trouble me,
however, as I think it is rather a distinction than otherwise. A
person without enemies must be without character. By-the-way, Mr.
Gartney, I haven't asked you what you are doing in San Remo."
"What do you think?"
"It's too hot to answer riddles," replied Mrs. Veilsturm languidly.
"I'm sure I can't tell. Restoring your health, writing a book, hiding
from your friends. There, I've given you a choice of three answers."
"None of which are right. I've come over to attend to my cousin
Errington."
"How devoted of you," said the lady ironically. "I was not aware you
were so fond of your cousin as all that."
"Were you not?" answered Eustace nonchalantly. "Rather an oversight on
your part, seeing that Errington and myself have been close friends
all our lives."
An angry colour glowed in Cleopatra's swarthy face as she detected a
covert insolence in this reply, but, having a sharp tongue of her own,
she lost no time in answering.
"Ah! I see, like does not always draw to like."
"Certainly not in this case, but the reverse is true. I am not a bit
like Errington in any way. For example, I can always take care of
myself."
"And Sir Guy cannot, I suppose?"
"Not when there's a woman in the case, as there is now."
Mrs. Veilsturm had never liked Eustace, as he knew more about her
former life than she cared he should, but being an eminently
diplomatic woman she had always treated him as a friend. Now, however,
she saw that his attitude was distinctly hostile, and prepared to give
battle. They were now matching their wits against one another, and
each knew it would take wonderful skill and cautious dealing in order
to come off victor in such a remarkably equal contest.
"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Veilsturm, after a pause.
"Try," responded Eustace curtly.
"Why should I?"
"Because you understand well enough, only you won't admit it."
"Do you know, Mr. Gartney, you are very rude?" said the Creole
quietly.
"Pshaw!" cried Eustace angrily, "it's no use our fencing with buttons
on the foils. I've come here for a certain purpose, and you know what
it is."
"I'm sure I don't," said Mrs. Veilsturm doggedly.
"None so blind as those who won't see."
"Pithy," retorted Cleopatra sneeringly, "very pithy, but irrelevant."
"Not at all, as I will soon show you. Look here, Mrs. Veilsturm, I'm
going to be plain, brutally plain."
"To do you justice you generally are."
"It is necessary in some cases, especially in this one," said Gartney
quietly, "but I'm not here to discuss my personal character, but to
save my cousin."
"From me, I presume."
"Exactly! I did not think you would have admitted that."
She had made a false move in doing so, and saw that Eustace had taken
advantage of her rashness, so, throwing down her book, she sat
straight up in her chair, and spoke with firm deliberation.
"You're talking nonsense, my dear Mr. Gartney, which is a thing I
don't care about. You say you have come here for a certain purpose,
perhaps you'll be kind enough to tell me the meaning of that remark."
"Certainly," replied Gartney promptly. "I know all about the way you
consider yourself to have been slighted by Lady Errington. I know that
you have tried your best to inveigle Errington into your net in order
to be revenged, and I've come here to ask you to leave my cousin
alone, and leave San Remo."
"A very cool request, upon my word," cried the Creole viciously, with
an evil smile on her angry face, "but one I don't intend to comply
with."
"I think it will be as well for you to do so."
She sprang to her feet in a fury, and stood looking at him, with
clenched hands and face convulsed with rage.
"You threaten me, do you?" she shrieked savagely. "How dare you--how
dare you? I shall tell Major Griff--I shall tell----"
"You'll tell no one," said Gartney calmly, "that is, you won't if you
are wise."
Cleopatra stood silent for a moment, struggling with her temper, then,
stamping her foot, walked rapidly up and down the room, Eustace
watching her meanwhile, with a sardonic smile on his lips. He, also,
had risen to his feet, as, knowing Maraquita's temper of old, he
thought it wise to be prepared for possibilities. At last the lady
collected herself sufficiently to talk quietly, and stopping opposite
her antagonist, spoke in a low, suppressed voice, which was far more
deadly in its meaning than the first outburst of wrath.
"As you say, we may as well take the buttons off the foils. Consider
them removed."
"So far, so good," assented Eustace, not taking his eyes off her. "Go
on."
"Carambo!"
"You still remember your Spanish, I see," he said mockingly, "but
we're not in South America now."
"I wish we were," she hissed savagely, bringing her beautiful,
distorted face so close to his own that he felt her hot breath on his
cheek. "Oh, I wish we were."
"I don't," he replied, without blenching. "You might treat me as you
did Manuel----"
"No! No!" she cried, a terrified expression flitting across her face.
"Not that name!--not that name here!"
"Then let us keep to the subject in hand," said Eustace politely.
If a look could have killed Gartney, he would have there and then
fallen dead at the feet of the Creole, but suddenly changing her
tactics, she flung herself on the sofa in a storm of tears.
"How cruel you are, oh, how cruel," she wailed, hiding her face in the
cushions. "I am only a woman, you coward--only a woman."
"You're a remarkably good actress, my dear Mrs. Veilsturm;" replied
Eustace coolly, in no wise moved by her sorrow, "but tears are very
weak. Try something else more original."
After this scoffing remark he resumed his seat, and waited till her
passion should have exhausted itself, which happened very soon, for
Mrs. Veilsturm was too sensible a woman to waste her weapons when she
found they were useless. Drying her eyes carefully, she sat up again
quite cool and composed, which warned Eustace that he must be more on
his guard than ever.
"Your cousin's a fool," she said viciously. "Do you think it was any
pleasure for me to have him running after me? No! I hate and detest
him, the persistent bore that he is."
"Don't you think you'd better drop these flowers of speech?" replied
Eustace leisurely. "They're neither pretty nor necessary. Go on with
the main subject."
"I'll come to that quick enough," retorted Mrs. Veilsturm sullenly.
"You are right about Lady Errington--she did slight me, and in a way
no woman can forgive nor forget. I'd hate her if it were only for the
fact that she is Gabriel Mostyn's daughter--the traitor--but I hate
her twice as much on my own account. I vowed I'd punish her for the
insult--and I will too."
"By causing a divorce?"
"Either that or separating them altogether. And I think I've managed
that now."
"You can think what you please," said Eustace coolly, "but at all
events you've done your worst."
"Not yet--not yet."
"Oh, yes, you have. Now you are going to write my cousin a letter,
saying you don't care about him, or--well, say what you like, but give
him to understand you won't see him again."
"And then?" she demanded, with a sneer.
"And then you'll leave San Remo as soon as you conveniently can."
She burst out into a peal of ironical laughter.
"Do you actually expect me to do that?"
"I do, and I'm certain you'll do it."
"I will not."
"No?"
"No."
They looked at one another in silence, she tapping her foot on the
ground with a scornful smile, he eyeing her with calm deliberation.
"If you don't go to that desk and write what I ask you," he said at
length, in a low, clear voice, "I'll tell the world all I know about
Lola Trujillo."
Her face grew very pale, but she answered defiantly:
"Do so! No one can connect her with me."
"Ah, so you think, but I have enough proofs to do so."
"Do what you like. I defy you."
"I don t think it will be wise of you to do so," said Eustace in a low
voice of concentrated fury. "You know me, Lola, and I know you, and
all the world of South America knows you also."
He jumped up, and crossing over to the sofa, bent down and whispered
in her ear:
"I can tell about your connection with Gabriel Mostyn, in regard to
that boy, his son--who disappeared."
"I had nothing to do with it," she muttered, shrinking from him.
"And Manuel Lopez."
"Be silent!"
"And that little gambling saloon at Lima."
"Hush! for God's sake. You will ruin me."
"I intend to," said Eustace relentlessly, "unless----" and he pointed
to the desk.
Without saying a word, she arose to her feet, and dragging herself
slowly across the room sat down at the desk and began to write.
Eustace said nothing, but remained standing by the sofa with a smile
of satisfaction on his massive features. Nothing was heard in the room
but the steady ticking of the clock, and the scratching of Mrs.
Veilsturm's pen as it moved rapidly over the paper. In a few minutes
she came back to him holding out a sheet of paper, which he read
carefully without taking it out of her hand.
"That will do," he said quietly. "Will you be so kind as to put it
into an envelope and direct it?"
Darting a look of hatred at him, which showed how hard it was for her
to control her temper, she returned to the desk and did what he asked.
Then, leaving it on the blotting-paper, she went to her seat by the
window, while Eustace, picking up the letter, glanced at the address
and slipped it into his inner pocket.
"And about leaving San Remo?" he asked, turning towards Mrs.
Veilsturm.
"I will leave in three days," she replied harshly. "Will that suit
you?
"Yes! I won't see you again. _Bon voyage_."
He turned to go, but Mrs. Veilsturm's voice arrested him. "Of course
you will say nothing about South America?" she said quietly.
"No! You have done your part, and I will do mine."
"I wouldn't go to Lima again if I were you," said Mrs. Veilsturm, with
deadly hatred, "it might be dangerous."
"I've no doubt of that," replied Eustace carelessly. "If you want to
turn the tables you had better send your emissaries to Africa."
He left the room without another word, and Cleopatra, sitting at the
window, saw him walking down the garden path. She was holding her
handkerchief in her hands, and with a sudden anger tore it in two.
"If it had only been in South America," she said in a low, fierce
voice. "Oh, if it had only been in South America!"