MRS. MONA MAY
Geoffrey was slightly puzzled but, like a good soldier, he asked no
questions. More and more he was coming to recognize that it was Ralph's
to command and his to obey. Doubtless Ralph had some good reason when he
treated his nephew like a puppet, but then the puppet was a long way
from a fool, and as the days went on, it came home to him with an
increasing force that he had a master mind to deal with.
He had been told off this afternoon to lurk more or less concealed at
the top of the steep pitch leading to the village, and there wait until
something happened. It came at the end of a few minutes in the shape of
a lady in perfect cycling costume, wheeling a machine up the hill
towards Jessop's farm. As she came nearer to the spot where Geoffrey was
smoking, a ragged nomad sprang from the hedge and demanded alms. The man
was coarse and threatening, he was by no means sober, and his demands
took the by no means modest form of a shilling.
A second later there was a slight scream and Geoffrey darted forward.
The sight of a woman in distress sufficed for him; Ralph was forgotten
in an instant. There was a scuffle and a plunge, a rapid exit of the
nomad and, hat in hand, Geoffrey was receiving the thanks of a beautiful
woman, who was pleased to assure him that he was her preserver.
"It is nothing," Geoffrey stammered, "nothing, really."
It was not usual for him to be confused like this. But then he was
standing face to face with the handsome stranger who had taken Mr.
Jessop's rooms, the lady with the love of white flowers, the woman who
employed Oriental servants, who were given to strange incantations, the
creature in whom Ralph Ravenspur had taken so vivid an interest.
And Geoffrey's confusion grew none the less as it flashed upon him that
the intoxicated tramp had been the god in the car designed by Ralph to
bring this introduction about.
He steadied himself. There was work before him now.
"You exaggerate my poor services," he said.
"Not at all, I assure you," the lady said. Her eyes held a strange
fascination; her voice was low and sweetly sedative. She was years older
than Geoffrey, but just the kind of siren who drove young men mad, or
lured them to destruction. "Few strangers would have faced so formidable
an opponent for me."
"Most of my countrymen would," Geoffrey said. "I hope you have a better
opinion of Englishmen than that. But Englishmen are not favorites
abroad."
The dark eyes were dancing with amusement.
"You are under the impression that I am not English?" she asked.
"Well, there is a certain grace," Geoffrey stammered, "that spoke
of----"
"Foreign blood. Precisely. But all the same, I am proud to call myself
an Englishwoman. My name is Mrs. May--Mona May. You are Mr. Geoffrey
Ravenspur."
"At your service. I had the pleasure of seeing you the other morning in
Mrs. Jessop's kitchen. Meanwhile, to prevent any further trouble from
our predatory friend, I am going to walk with you as far as the farm."
Mrs. May raised no objection; on the contrary, she seemed pleased with
the idea. She was dangerous, she was mixed up in some way with the
conspiracy against the peace and happiness of the house of Ravenspur,
and yet Geoffrey found it hard to resist her fascinations.
She spoke almost perfect English, her dress, and style and manner were
insular, but there was a flashing grace about her, a suggestion of
something warm and Eastern, that gleamed and flashed in spite of her
cycling dress and the wheel she pushed along so skillfully.
She gave a sigh of regret as the farmhouse was reached.
"Well, I suppose we must part," she said. "Really, it seems years since
I spoke to a gentleman and I have only been here for days. I have been
ordered absolute rest and quietness for the benefit of my health and,
upon my word, I am getting it. Would you take pity upon my loneliness
and come to tea?"
Many an older man than Geoffrey had been excused from yielding to such a
request. Those eyes were so dark and pleading, and the man was young.
Besides, he had an excuse. Had not his uncle Ralph planned this thing
and was it not intended to bring about an introduction! Besides, once
inside that room, it might be possible to find something that in the
future would yield great results.
"I shall be only too pleased," Geoffrey murmured.
"Then come along," Mrs. May said gaily. "If you are fond of a good cup
of tea, then I have some of the most perfect in the world."
She led the way into the old-fashioned drawing-room, which she had
rendered beautiful with flowers. The stiff furniture looked stiff no
longer. The hand of an artistic woman had been here and the whole aspect
was changed.
"You should have seen it when I came here," Mrs. May smiled as she
followed Geoffrey's glance. "It was like a condemned cell. And yet there
are things of price here. A little alteration and a few flowers--ah,
what a difference flowers make!"
She pointed to her own floral decorations. The room was ablaze with
them. And they were all scarlet.
There was not a single bloom of any other kind to be seen.
"They match my style of beauty," Mrs. May laughed. "I never have any
other here."
"You do not care for white flowers?" Geoffrey asked.
"I abhor them. They suggest beautiful maidens cut off in their prime,
dead children, the tomb, and all kinds of horrors. I would not have one
in the house."
Geoffrey was discreetly silent. Remembering the hundreds of white
flowers he himself had seen in this very room not so long ago, this
speech staggered him. In a dazed kind of way he watched Mrs. May light a
spirit lamp under a silver kettle, after which she excused herself on
the score of fetching the famous tea.
Geoffrey picked up an album and turned the leaves over rapidly. There
were soldiers, one or two native Indian officials, a great number of
Society people, professional beauties, and the like and--and Marion!
Yes, her fair tender face smiled from the embossed, richly gilt page.
The picture had been taken some years ago, but there was no mistaking
those pure features. Geoffrey closed the book and walked over to the
window. Surprise upon surprise had come upon him lately, but this was
staggering.
When Mrs. May returned he was himself again. He could answer her
questions gaily and smoothly. It was only when he was on his way home
again that he recollected how much information he had imparted and how
little he had got in return.
"You must come and see me again," Mrs. May said. "Now, can't you come up
some evening and dine with me? Say Thursday. Unless I hear from you to
the contrary I shall see you on Thursday at seven. A primitive time, but
then we are in the country."
"You may be certain," Geoffrey said carelessly, "that I shall come if
possible. Good-bye, Mrs. May. In ordinary circumstances my people would
have called upon you. You will know why it is impossible."
Mrs. May pressed Geoffrey's hand with gentle sympathy.
"You have my real regrets," she said. "What a horrible thing it is to
think that you are all powerless to help it. Good-bye."
Geoffrey found Ralph at the entrance to the castle gate. There was a
queer smile on his face, a smile of amused expectation.
"You found her charming?" he asked.
"And clever," said Geoffrey. "I guessed your plot, uncle. She is very
clever."
"The cleverest woman in the world, the most wicked, the most
unscrupulous. Of course she asked you to dinner, and, of course, you
will go. Nobody is to know of it, mind."
"Uncle, how did you guess that?"
"I'll tell you presently. And I'll tell you many things you will have to
say and leave unsaid to--Mrs. May."
"Tell me why Marion's photograph is in her album."
"So she showed you that!"
"No, I found it out by accident. Is Marion connected with her?"
"Very closely, indeed. She is Marion's evil genius. And yet through that
pure and innocent girl we are going to strike at the heart of the
mystery. Ask me no questions, now; to-night we will go carefully into
the matter."