MACBETH'S BANQUET
The house of Mrs. Perage was quaint and old-fashioned, being so
delightfully reminiscent of gracious antiquity that Hench was charmed
with his surroundings. As a very modern young man, who had wandered
largely in new lands where civilization was still raw, he was
pleasantly impressed by the panelled room with the low ceiling. The
furniture was Chippendale and Sheraton of the powder and puff epoch,
while carpet and curtains were mellowed by age into restful colours,
comfortable to the eye. An odour of dried rose leaves scented the air,
mingling with the more living perfume of countless blossoms. Mrs.
Perage had the happy taste to be extremely fond of flowers, it would
seem, for the room was filled with colour and fragrance, even to the
fireplace, which bloomed like a garden with white buds and green
leaves. Even though the curtains were not yet drawn, and the luminous
summer twilight stole in through the wide windows, the many lamps were
lighted. And the radiance of these, diffused through rose-tinted
shades, bathed the whole room in the delicate hues of dawn. This was a
haven of rest, a bower of joy, a paradise of delight, and Hench drew a
long breath of sheer pleasure on its threshold.
"What a charming room," he said, advancing to greet his hostess.
"Charming!"
"Blunderer!" retorted that lady in her contralto voice, which boomed
like the buzz of a bee in a fox glove bell. "You should say, what
charming ladies."
"You would think me too bold if I put my thoughts into words."
"Very cleverly turned, young man. But women never think men are too
bold when they pay compliments."
Hench laughed and smiled in a friendly way at Gwen, who was smiling in
a friendly way at him. She looked wonderfully fresh, attractively
delightful, as delicate as Titania and wholly as fascinating. Her
dress of plain white silk adorned with black ribbons, hinting at
mourning, became her well in its dainty simplicity, and Owain felt
again that queer heart-throb which informed him very distinctly that
this was the one girl in the world for him. No woman could be lovely
unless she had golden hair and blue eyes and a complexion of cream and
roses. He wondered how he ever could have admired Zara, who did not
possess these necessary charms. But when he was attracted by the
dancer he was a fool, now he intended to be a wise man and lay his
heart at Gwen's feet. Whether she would pick it up had yet to be seen,
for she gave no intimation of her feelings.
"When you two finish grinning at one another like a couple of Chinese
dolls, perhaps you will remember that I am present. Sit down, young
man. Are you very hungry? I have a very good dinner for you."
"Splendid! I'm not hungry, Mrs. Perage, but I am greedy."
"Pooh! That joke is as old as the hills. Be more original."
"That's difficult. How can I be original, Miss Evans?" Hench asked the
question with ceremonious courtesy, which made Mrs. Perage smile,
knowing what she did know.
"I think you are original," said Gwen brightly. "You saved my life!"
"Hum!" came the boom of Mrs. Perage, "and that's originality, is it?"
"Well, I don't make a practice of saving lives," laughed Hench
lightly. "And I don't think I ever saved any one before. So I _am_
original, you see."
The old dame smiled grimly, as she relished the young man's flippant
conversation. "One grows so tired of common-sense," she murmured,
following her own thoughts.
"Why, you are always commending common-sense," exclaimed Gwen, lifting
her eyebrows and laughing.
"In its place, child, in its place. To-night you and Mr. Hench can
talk nonsense, as it will make me feel young."
"You _are_ young, Mrs. Perage," said Owain seriously. "Your heart is
in its spring-time. You are one whom the gods love."
"Ta! Ta! Ta! young Chesterfield. Don't make me blush, as I have long
since forgotten how to do so. You and your compliments, indeed! Not
but what I wear tolerably well, although a trifle time-worn," which
final sentence showed that Mrs. Perage had her little vanities.
And she was right in having them, for having stepped out of her rough
day-clothes into sumptuous evening dress, she looked wonderfully
stately. Amber satin, black lace and diamonds, oddly enough, seemed as
natural to her as the more or less masculine dress which she affected
during her business hours. Mrs. Perage always called looking after her
farms and attending to her accounts business, which it assuredly was,
and business moreover which required a clear head. In the day-time she
was like one of her labourers in appearance, and her clothes might
have graced a scarecrow, but when evening came she always appeared as
a fine lady. This change, which reminded Hench somewhat of Miss
Hardcastle in Goldsmith's comedy, amused the young man. He liked Mrs.
Perage.
"I wrote and asked Jim Vane to come down to dinner," went on Mrs.
Perage, after a pause. "As I thought that I could amuse myself with
his wit while you attended to Gwen here. But he wrote saying that he
could not come, as he was exploring Bethnal Green."
"Bethnal Green," echoed Hench with a start. "What the deuce--I beg
your pardon, Mrs. Perage---but what is Jim doing there?"
"He did not explain. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing!"
"What an irrelevant reply."
"Well, I was only thinking that Jim usually prefers the West End to
the quarters of the poor," said Hench guardedly. He was not quite
certain if he had mentioned his sojourn at Bethnal Green to Mrs.
Perage, and resolved to do so now, as--so far as he was able--he
wished to be quite straight and above-board with the keen old lady. "I
stayed there for six months."
"In Bethnal Green?" said Gwen, amazed. "And what were you doing in
such a horrible place, Mr. Hench?"
"Well, as Jim would put it, I was doing a perish. I am a poor man,
Miss Evans, and have lived for many years in Queer Street."
"Queer Street?" Gwen looked puzzled.
"It is the name given to the locality where those unsuccessful people
who are trying for what they can't get live in penury."
Gwen looked at Hench's well-cut suit of evening clothes, at his
well-bred face, and considered his general debonair appearance. "You
don't look poor."
"There is poverty and poverty," said Mrs. Perage gruffly. "Mr. Hench
is not yet in the workhouse, Gwen. For my part I think 'a perish,' as
you say Jim calls it, is not a bad thing for a young man. It gives him
experience of life----"
"Of the seamy side of life, Mrs. Perage," interpolated the young man.
"And what is more picturesque than that. Here we are all respectable
and eminently dull. There's the gong." She rose with a well-managed
sweep of her skirts. "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."
"Or diet," said Hench, holding the door open for the ladies. "Pooh!
nonsense!" said the Amazon vigorously. "Young men shouldn't know the
meaning of such a word. I'm sure I don't. I have a strong digestion
and a hard heart."
"Not that last," said Gwen quickly; "as I know."
"What imagination you have, child," retorted Mrs. Perage, and took her
position at the head of a small table, while Gwen and Hench sat on
either side. "And I hope you don't mind our straggling into the
dining-room in this free and easy way," she added to the young man;
"but I couldn't take your arm as Gwen would have felt out of it, and I
wasn't going to let you give Gwen your arm lest you should lack
reverence for my age." And she laughed in her deep, hearty fashion,
evidently desirous of making her guest feel quite at home.
The dining-room was a small apartment decorated and furnished in the
Jacobean style. But Hench could not see much of it, as there were only
candles in sconces here and there. The most powerful illumination was
that thrown by a large lamp with a green shade, which hung low over
the table. In its light the white napery, the old silver, the crystal
glasses and the many flowers, looked peculiarly attractive. And the
table not being over large, the three seated at it could converse with
one another very much at their ease. A deft maid and Peter waited
dexterously, and everything ran smoothly during the meal.
"This is my hour of relaxation," explained Mrs. Perage briskly. "I am
ominously fond of my creature comforts and this is my favourite soup."
"Why ominously?"
"Silly questioner. Doesn't devotion to eating show that one is growing
old?"
"Then I must have been born old," said Hench gaily, "for I have always
had a good appetite since I was a boy, and have always liked nice
things." His eyes rested, perhaps inadvertently, on Gwen as he spoke.
"Ah!" Mrs. Perage had noticed the look, and spoke significantly. "You
are one of those lucky people who will always get the nice things."
"I haven't had much luck so far, Mrs. Perage."
"Ungrateful! What do you call this?"
"Paradise!" said Hench briefly.
"With you as Adam, Gwen as Eve, and myself as the Serpent."
"Aren't you talking dreadful nonsense?" observed the girl seriously.
"Not at all," retorted the old lady coolly. "It is common-sense to
chatter amusingly. Enjoy yourself, child, and when trouble comes you
will be able to remember at least one happy hour."
"Trouble has come, and severe trouble, too," replied Gwen softly, and
with a gloomy air.
"Now, not another word!" Mrs. Perage spoke sharply. "We can talk of
that afterwards in the drawing-room."
"Talk of what?" asked Hench innocently, for he was surprised by Gwen's
gloom and Mrs. Perage's sharpness.
The old dame rubbed her nose in a vexed way. "Gwen has something to
ask you this evening," she observed. "I think it is nonsense myself.
No! I won't tell you what it is just now, neither will Gwen. Let us
enjoy our meal without the discussion of horrors."
This was all very well, but how was Hench to enjoy his meal when Care
stood like a waiter behind his chair? The presence of Peter reminded
him of Bottles, and that memory brought to his recollection The Home
of the Muses in Bethnal Green, where, for all he knew, Madame Alpenny
might be plotting. Then he wondered what had taken Jim to the house,
for there he must have gone, as it was unlikely he would journey to
such a district for any other purpose. Perhaps the Hungarian lady was
already weaving her nets to snare him--the thinker-either as a husband
for Zara, or as a criminal. It was very uncomfortable thinking.
And being so alarmed, Hench did his best to talk brightly and
amusingly. For the time being he was "fey," as the Scotch say, and
roused his cousin out of her gloom by his sallies. Mrs. Perage
seconded him admirably, as she quite enjoyed a contest of wits, which
was rare to come by in Cookley. The food was good, the wine was
excellent, the company interesting. All the same Hench felt that this
meal was like Macbeth's banquet, and behind the revelry lurked the
grim figure of Tragedy with her bowl and dagger. At any moment Banquo
in the person of Madame Alpenny might appear. Of course such a
supposition was nonsense, as the Hungarian lady did not know where he
was. But the feeling became so real to Hench that he cast several
uneasy looks behind his chair. Gwen noticed this and remarked on the
same nervously.
"Why do you look over your shoulder?" she asked petulantly.
"For the Kill-joy," said Hench in a blunt way. "You know, Miss Evans,
man is never permitted to be entirely happy. There is always the
Kill-joy."
"Gwen will provide you with all the Kill-joy you are needing," said
Mrs. Perage significantly. "Wait until we go to the drawing-room.
Meantime go on scintillating, young man. Talk your heart out."
"To whom?" asked Hench audaciously.
"To me, sir. You can flirt with Gwen to-morrow; to-night old age must
have its turn. Here are some very excellent cigarettes. Light up and
talk."
"You remind me of the lady who asked Sydney Smith when he was going to
be funny," said Hench dryly. "It is not easy to talk when so ordered.
As to Miss Evans, she never flirts."
"Ah, you don't know my capabilities," retorted Gwen, with a
mischievous gleam in her blue eyes. "I have many sides to my
character."
"And all charming, I am sure," answered the young man courteously.
And so the conversation went on, all frothy, all about nothings--mere
spume and spindrift of the mind. And the lighter it became the more
certain did Hench become sure that Banquo's ghost was haunting the
room. He felt quite relieved when Mrs. Perage conducted himself and
Gwen into the drawing-room, for there the psychic atmosphere was less
oppressive. The girl, however, appeared to feel it otherwise, for
after playing on the piano for a few minutes she began to wander
restlessly round the room. Mrs. Perage attempted to frown her into
sitting down, but as this proved to be an impossible task she accepted
the situation with grim resignation.
"You may as well enlist Mr. Hench as your champion, child. You will
never be quiet until you do."
"Enlist me as your champion!" echoed Hench, glancing at Gwen.
The girl grew flushed. "That is Mrs. Perage's pretty way of putting
things," was her reply, as she sat down near the hostess. "But I do
wish you to help me, Mr. Hench. I'm not quite sure if I am right in
doing so, and perhaps you will think it is presumption on my part.
But, somehow, your having saved my life has made you more than a
friend."
"More than a friend?"
"I mean"--Gwen became even more crimson than she already was, as she
became aware that she had spoken more freely than was necessary--"more
familiar than most of my friends."
"Who are usually mere acquaintances," observed Mrs. Perage quietly.
"Why beat about the bush, Gwen? You know that Mr. Hench is clever and
kind-hearted, and you are anxious that he should do you a favour. That
is the situation."
"Any favour I can do you, Miss Evans----" began the young man eagerly,
when the girl stopped him.
"Don't say another word until you know what the favour is," she said
in an abrupt manner; "to do what I want may be unpleasant. In a word I
want you to try and find out who murdered my father."
"That's about a dozen words, more or less," sighed Mrs. Perage, but
Hench took no notice of her flippant remark. He was too much taken
aback to do so, and remained silent.
Gwen misunderstood his silence, and looked mortified "You won't help
me?"
"I was thinking," said the young man gravely. "Of course I have read
all about the death of your father in the newspapers, Miss Evans, and
I can quite understand your desire to avenge him. Anything I can do
shall be done with the very greatest pleasure. How do matters stand?"
"As they stood after the inquest," explained Gwen with a shrug. "The
jury brought in an open verdict, but the general opinion is that my
father was murdered by the man who spoke to the girl in the tap-room
of the Bull Inn." Hench winced. Every one appeared to be agreed that
the tramp was the culprit, and he guessed that if discovered the tramp
would have little chance of escaping a most uncomfortable trial. Even
if he proved his innocence the experience would be unpleasant.
Wondering what Mrs. Perage and the girl would say if he were to
acknowledge that he was the man referred to, he began to ask questions
in a grave voice.
"Do you think that this tramp is the guilty person?"
"It looks like it," rejoined Gwen promptly. "The man asked the way to
the Gipsy Stile and evidently went there. Afterwards my father was
found dead near the stile."
"Had this tramp any motive to murder your father?"
"How can I tell that?" said the girl irritably. "I am only taking what
evidence suggests his guilt. Why should he come to Cookley and ask the
way to the very place where my father was afterwards found dead?"
"But the fact that the man asked the way to the stile shows that he
was a stranger in Cookley. Would a stranger come here to murder your
father?"
"Hum!" said Mrs. Perage suddenly. "Madoc Evans had many enemies!"
"Can you name any of them?"
"Every one in the neighbourhood, I should say," snapped the old lady
cynically.
"Exactly. Every one in the neighbourhood. But this tramp was a
stranger."
"He might have been hired by some one to murder the Squire," said Mrs.
Perage vaguely.
"In that case the some one would have explained how this bravo was to
get to the stile," said Hench coolly. And then he wondered if Gwen
knew anything about the advertisement. "Also," he continued, "the some
one must have known that Squire Evans would be at the stile at that
particular time. Now, Miss Evans, can you tell me if your father made
any appointment?"
Gwen shook her head. "I can't say. My father did many things about
which he told me nothing. Often in summer he walked out after dinner,
as he did on the night he was murdered, but where he went I can't say.
We searched the park when we missed him, and afterwards the woods on
chance."
"Was your father agitated on that night?"
"He was agitated from the time the woman came to see him," said Gwen
quickly. Hench sat up, and a thrill passed through him.
"A woman?"
"Yes! Some time in June a woman called one afternoon and had an
interview with my father in the library. She was with him for two
hours, and when she went away he was very much upset. I asked him who
she was and why the visit annoyed him--as it plainly did."
"And he told you to mind your own business, I'll be bound," said Mrs.
Perage with a grim smile, for she knew Evans thoroughly.
"Yes, he did. But from the time this woman called my father was silent
and morose and irritable. I hope you won't think that I am undutiful,
Mr. Hench, when I say that my father was not a pleasant-tempered man.
But after the interview he became unbearable."
"I never knew him when he was otherwise," cried the old lady,
determined that Hench should know everything. "Madoc Evans was without
doubt the most disagreeable person I have ever met. A bear would have
had a more amiable temper."
"Well, my father is dead," said Gwen coldly, "so it's no use calling
him names."
"Oh, I'll be a very tombstone for lying about the dead, if you like,
my dear Gwen. But if Mr. Hench is to help he must know that your
father was one of those uncomfortable men who never had a friend, and
who never wanted one, so far as I know."
"My father was eccentric," said Gwen, her colour coming and going as
she explained herself to the young man. "And certainly he did not get
on well with people. He quarrelled with my grandfather and with his
brother Owain."
"And with every one else," said Mrs. Perage. "After all Mynydd Evans
would have done better to leave the money to Owain"--she stole a
glance at Hench as she spoke. "He was a better man than Madoc."
"Madoc was my father," said Gwen impatiently, "so please say as little
bad of him as possible. And, after all, the estate has gone to my
cousin, Owain's son, though I don't know why he doesn't come and take
possession. What do you think is the reason, Mr. Hench?"
"How can I tell the reason?" asked Hench awkwardly, and aware that
Mrs. Perage was looking at him significantly. "Let us leave that fact
alone for the present and talk of this woman who evidently upset your
father. Who was she, Miss Evans?"
"I have told you that my father refused to say."
"Did you see her?"
"I caught a glimpse of her when she went away from the Grange, as I
happened to be looking out of the drawing-room window."
"What was she like to look at?"
"I didn't see her face. Her back was turned towards me, as she was
going down the avenue."
"Oh," said Hench disappointed, "that's a pity."
"But I remember how she was dressed."
"That's better. Well?"
"She looked an untidy old thing," said Gwen, after a pause to
recollect the appearance of this important stranger. "Very fat and
unshapely. She wore a black dress spotted with orange dots, a black
velvet mantle trimmed with jet beads, and a hat much too large for
her, and----" She broke off. "What's the matter, Mr. Hench?"
Owain's sudden change of colour and sudden start at this vivid
description of Madame Alpenny betrayed him immediately, and he looked
confused, not very well knowing how to excuse himself. For obvious
reasons he did not wish to admit that he recognized the costume
described. Therefore he took refuge in a white lie, and told the first
one that occurred to him. "An idea struck me, Miss Evans, that your
father might have been murdered by gipsies."
"Hum!" cried Mrs. Perage, quite taken in by this plausible untruth.
"That isn't at all unlikely. Madoc was hard on gipsies, especially
when they poached."
"But why do you suggest gipsies?" Gwen asked Owain, without attending
to her hostess.
"Well," he said, with an affected shrug, "that queer dress of the
untidy old woman hints at a gipsy. Perhaps it's only a fancy on my
part."
"It's a very good fancy," said Mrs. Perage emphatically. "If this
tramp is innocent, which he may be for all I know, the gipsies may
have something to do with the crime. Why, Gwen, don't you remember how
your father turned a whole gang of them off Parley Common a year ago
because they were robbing the hen-roosts? And an orange spotted dress
is just what a gipsy would wear."
"But you don't think, Mrs. Perage, that this woman murdered my
father?"
"My dear, I don't suggest anything because I don't know anything. All
I say is, that Mr. Hench's chance shot may have hit the bull's-eye."
Gwen looked down thoughtfully at the carpet. "My father certainly was
very much worried after his interview with this woman, and his worry
lasted up to the time of his death. Gipsies--if this woman was a
gipsy--might have something to do with the matter."
"It's only my idea, of course," said Owain hastily, for he did not
wish Madame Alpenny to be run to earth immediately. "Don't let us jump
to conclusions. We must think. I shall be here for a few weeks, and
during that time, Miss Evans, I am wholly at your disposal."
"You will help me to learn who murdered my father?"
"Yes. I'll do my best to find out," said Hench earnestly.
"Hum!" boomed Mrs. Perage. "Easier said than done. How do you intend
to begin?"
"Well," remarked Hench, after a pause. "I think it will be a good
start if Miss Evans takes me over Cookley Grange and into Parley Wood
where the corpse was found. Then we can talk over the matter."
Gwen looked doubtful. "Do you think my cousin would mind if I went
over the Grange and took Mr. Hench?" she asked her hostess.
Mrs. Perage stole a sly glance at Owain. "No, I don't think he would.
Why should he, if you come to that?"
"Well, his father and my father didn't get on well together."
"That is no reason why their son and daughter shouldn't," retorted
Mrs. Perage. "You can take Mr. Hench to the Grange to-morrow at
noon. Now, young man,"--she rose to the full height of her lofty
stature,----"you can depart. I keep early hours here, as it is
necessary that I should have my beauty sleep."
"As if you needed it!" said Owain jestingly, and this agreeable visit
ended as it had begun--with badinage and frivolity.