THE LOST LADY OF LONE.
"Cannot be found? Whatever do you mean, girl? You cannot mean to say
that the Duchess of Hereward is not in this house?" demanded Lady
Belgrade, in amazement.
"I beg pardon, my lady; but we have made a thorough search of the
premises, without being able to find her grace," respectfully answered
the maid.
"Oh, but this is ridiculous! The duchess is in some of the rooms; she
must be! Go and renew your search, and tell her grace, when you find her,
that she has made the duke miss the tidal train; but that we are waiting
for her here," commanded the lady.
The girl went, very submissively, on her errand.
Lady Belgrade dropped wearily into her chair, muttering:
"I do think servants are so idiotic. They can't find her because she
happens to be out of her own room. I would go and hunt her up myself, but
really the fatigue of this day has been too much for me."
The Duke of Hereward did not reply. He walked restlessly up and down the
floor, filled with a vague uneasiness, for which he could not account to
himself--for surely, he reflected, Salome must be in the house somewhere;
it could not possibly be otherwise; and there were a dozen simple reasons
why she might be missed for a few minutes; doubtless she would soon
appear, and smile at their impatience.
Ay, but the minutes were fast growing into hours, and Salome did not
re-appear.
The maid returned once more from her fruitless search.
"Indeed, I beg your pardon, my lady; but we cannot find her grace, either
in the house or in the garden," she said, with a very solemn courtesy.
"Now this is really beyond endurance! I suppose I must go and look for
her myself," answered Lady Belgrade, rising in displeasure.
"Will you let me accompany your ladyship?" gravely inquired the duke.
Lady Belgrade hesitated for a few moments, and then said:
"Well,--yes, you may come. We will go down stairs first."
They descended to the first floor, and went through the dining-room,
sitting-room, library and little parlors; but without finding her they
sought.
Then they ascended to the next floor and went through the
picture-gallery, the music-room, the dancing-saloon, the hall, and
lastly, the three drawing-rooms, in case that she might have returned
there while they were absent. But their search was still without success.
Then they ascended to the upper floors, and looked all through the
handsome suites of private apartments, but still without discovering
a trace of the missing bride.
And so all over the house, from basement to attic, and from central hall
to garden wall, they went searching in vain for the lost one.
The dowager and the duke returned to the drawing-room and looked each
other in the face.
The dowager was stupefied with bewilderment. The duke was pale with
anxiety.
The mystery was growing serious and alarming.
"What do you think of it, Lady Belgrade?" inquired the duke.
"I cannot think at all. I am at my wit's end," answered the lady. "What
do _you_ think?" she inquired, after a moment's pause.
"I think--that we had better call the servants up, one at a time, and put
them separately through a strict examination," answered the duke.
Lady Belgrade rang the bell.
A footman appeared in answer to it.
"Examine him first, your grace," said the lady.
The duke put the young man through a strict catechism, without
satisfactory results. John was the hall footman, whose business it was
to answer the street-door bell and announce visitors. And he assured
his grace that no one had entered or left the house that morning, to
_his_ knowledge, except the wedding party and their attendants.
The hall-porter was next summoned and examined, and his report was found
to correspond exactly to that of the footman.
The butler was sent for and questioned, but could throw no light on the
mystery of the lady's disappearance.
The pantry footman was next called up. His duty was to wait on the butler
and attend the servants' door, to take in provisions delivered there. And
the first plausible clue to the mystery of Salome's disappearance was
received from him.
"Yes, my lady," he said, "there have been a stranger to the servants'
door this morning--an elderly old widow woman, my lady, dressed in black,
and werry much in earnest about seeing her grace; would take no denial,
my lady, on no account; which compelled me to go to her grace's
lady's-maid, Miss Watson, my lady, and send a message to her grace,"
said the young footman.
"Did the duchess see this strange visitor?" inquired the duke.
"Miss Watson come down and seen her first, your grace, and told her how
she mustn't disturb the duchess. But the visitor was so dead set on
seeing her grace, and used such strong language about it, that at last
Miss Watson took up her message and in a few minutes come back and took
up the visitor."
"She did? And what next?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
"Please, my lady, there was nothing next. In about an hour Miss Margaret
brought the elderly old lady down, and I showed her out of the servants'
door."
"Did she leave the house alone?" inquired the duke.
"Yes, your grace, just as she came, alone."
"Go and tell Margaret Watson to come here," said Lady Belgrade.
The man bowed and retired.
In a few minutes the girl made her appearance again.
"How is it, Watson, that you did not mention the visitor you showed up
into your lady's room this morning?" inquired Lady Belgrade, in a severe
tone.
"If you please, my lady, I did not think the visitor signified anything,"
meekly answered the maid.
"How could you tell _what_ signified at a time like this?"
"I beg pardon, my lady; but it was the time itself that made me forget
the visitor."
"Who was she? What time did she come? What did she want?" sharply
demanded the lady.
"Please, my lady, she said her name was Smith, or Jones, or some such
common name as that. I think it was Jones, my lady. And she lived on
Westminster Road--or it might have been Blackfriars Road. Least-ways
it was one of those roads leading to a bridge because I remember it made
me think of the river."
"Extremely satisfactory! At what hour did this Mrs. Smith or Jones, from
Westminster or Blackfriars, come?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
"Just as her grace went up to her room to change her dress. She had just
finished changing it when the woman was admitted."
"And now! what did the woman want of the duchess?"
"I do not know, my lady. Her business was with her grace alone. And she
requested to have me sent out of the room. I did not see the woman again,
until her grace called me to show her, the woman, out again."
"And you did so?"
"Yes, my lady. And I have not seen the woman since. And--I have not seen
her grace since, either, my lady."
"You may go now," answered Lady Belgrade.
And the girl withdrew.
The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade were once more left alone
together.
Again their eyes met in anxious scrutiny.
"What do you think now, Duke?" inquired her ladyship.
"I think the disappearance of the duchess is connected with the visit of
that strange woman. She may have been an unfortunate beggar, who, with
some story of extreme distress, so worked upon Salome's sympathies as to
draw her away from home, to see for herself, and give relief to the
sufferers. Or--I shudder to think of it--she may have been a thief, or
the companion of thieves, and with just such a story, decoyed the duchess
out for purposes of plunder. This does not certainly seem to be a
probable theory of the disappearance, but it does really seem the only
possible one," concluded the duke, in a grave voice.
And though he spoke calmly, his soul was shaken with a terrible anxiety
that every moment now increased.
"But is it at all likely that Salome, even with all her excessive
benevolence, could have been induced to leave her home at such a time
as this, even at the most distressing call of charity? Would she not
have given money and sent a servant?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
"Under normal conditions she would have done as you say. But remember,
dear madam, that Salome is not in a normal condition. Remember that it is
but three months since she suffered an almost fatal nervous shock in the
discovery of her father's murdered body on her own wedding morning.
Remember that it is scarcely six weeks since her recovery from the nearly
fatal brain fever that followed--if indeed she has ever fully recovered.
_I_ do not believe that she has, or that she will until I shall have
taken her abroad, when total change of scene, with time and distance, may
restore her," sighed the duke.
"I thought she was looking very well for the last few weeks," said Lady
Belgrade.
"Yes, until within the last few days, in which she seems to have
suffered a relapse, easily accounted for, I think, by the association
of ideas. The near approach of her wedding day brought vividly back to
her mind the tragic events of her first appointed wedding morning, and
caused the illness that has been noticed by all our friends this day. The
excitement of the occasion has augmented this illness. Salome has been
suffering very much all day. Every one noticed it, although, with the
self-possession of a gentlewoman, she went calmly through the ceremonies
at the church, and through the breakfast here. But I think she must
have broken down in her room, and while in that state of nervous
prostration she must have become an easy dupe to that beggar, or thief,
whichever her strange visitor may have been," said the duke; and while
he spoke so calmly on such an anxious and exciting subject, he, too,
under circumstances of extreme trial and suspense, exhibited the
self-possession and self-control which is the birthright of the true
gentleman no less than of the true gentlewoman.
"It may be as you think. It would be no use to question the servants
further. They know no more than we do. We can do nothing more now but
wait, with what patience we may, for the return of that eccentric girl,"
said Lady Belgrade, with a deep sigh, as she settled herself down in her
chair.
Another hour passed--an hour of enforced inactivity, yet of unspeakable
anxiety. Three hours had now elapsed since the mysterious disappearance
of the bride; and yet no news of her came.
"She does not return! This grows insupportable!" exclaimed Lady Belgrade,
at length, losing all patience, and starting up from her chair.
"She _may_ be detained by the sick bed, or the death bed, of some
sufferer who has sent for her," replied the duke, huskily, trying to hope
against hope.
"As if she would so absent herself on her wedding day, on the eve of her
wedding tour!" exclaimed the lady, beginning to walk the floor in a
thoroughly exasperated state of mind.
"Of course she would not, in her normal mental condition; but, as I said
before--"
"Oh, yes, I know what you said before. You insinuated that Salome may be
insane from the latent effects of her recent brain fever, developed by
the excitement of the last few days. And, Heaven knows, you may be right!
It looks like it! Mysteriously gone off on her wedding day, in the
interim between the wedding breakfast and the wedding tour! Gone off
alone, no one knows where, without having left an explanation or a
message for any one. What can have taken her out? Where can she be? Why
don't she return? And night coming on fast. If she does not return within
half an hour, you will miss the next train also, Duke," exclaimed Lady
Belgrade, pausing in her restless walk, and throwing herself heavily into
her chair again.
"Perhaps," said the Duke, in great perplexity, "we had better have the
lady's maid up again, and question her more strictly in regard to the
strange visitor's name and address; for I feel certain that the
disappearance of the duchess is immediately connected with the visit of
that woman. If we can, by judicious questions, so stimulate the memory of
the girl as to obtain accurate information about the name and residence,
we can send and make inquiries."
For all answer, Lady Belgrade arose and rung the bell for about the
twentieth time that afternoon.
And Margaret Watson was again called to the drawing-room and questioned.
"Indeed, if you please, my lady, I am very sorry. I would give anything
in the world if I could only remember exactly what the old person's name
was, and where she lived. But indeed, my lady, what with being very
much engaged with waiting on her grace, and packing up the last little
things for the journey, and getting together the dressing-bags and such
like, and having of my mind on them and not on the woman, and no ways
expecting anything like this to happen, I wasn't that interested in the
visitor to tax my memory with her affairs. But I know her name was a
common one, like Smith or Jones, and I _think_ it was Jones. And I
know she said she lived on Westminster Road or Blackfriars Road, or some
other road leading over a bridge, which I remember because it made me
think about the river. But I couldn't tell which," said the girl in
answer to the cross-questioning.
"And is that all you can tell us?" inquired Lady Belgrade.
"I beg pardon, my lady, but that is all I can remember," meekly replied
the girl.
"Then you might as well remember nothing. You can go!" said Lady
Belgrade, in deep displeasure.
The girl retired, a little crestfallen.
"Is there any other fool you would like to have called up and
cross-examined, Duke?" sarcastically inquired the lady.
The duke made a gesture of negation. And the lady relapsed into painful
silence.
And now another weary, weary hour crept by without bringing news of the
lost one.
The watchers seemed to "possess their souls" in patience, if not "in
peace." There was really nothing to be done but to wait. There was no
place where inquiries could be made. At this time of the year nearly all
the fashionable world of London was out of town. Nor at any time had
Salome any intimate acquaintances to whom she would have gone. Nor would
it have been expedient just yet to apply to the detective police for help
to search abroad for one who might of herself return home at any moment.
The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade could only wait it in terrible
anxiety, though with outward calmness, for what the night might bring
forth.
But in what a monotonous and insensible manner all household routine
continues, "in well regulated families," through the most revolutionary
sort of domestic troubles.
The first dinner bell had rung; but neither of the anxious watchers had
even heard it.
The groom of the chambers came in and lighted the gas in the
drawing-rooms, and retired in silence.
Still the watchers sat waiting in a state of intense, repressed
excitement.
The second dinner bell rang. And almost immediately the butler appeared
at the door, and announced, with his formula:
"My lady is served," and then:
"Will your grace join me at dinner?" courteously inquired Lady Belgrade,
thinking at the same time of the unparalleled circumstance of the
bridegroom dining without his bride upon his wedding day--"Will your
grace join me at dinner?" she repeated, perceiving that he had not heard,
or at least had not answered her question.
"I beg pardon. Pray, excuse me, your ladyship. I am really not equal--"
"I see! I see! Nor am I equal to going through what, at best, would be
a mere form," said her ladyship. Then turning toward the waiting butler,
she said--"Remove the service, Sillery. We shall not dine to-day."
The man bowed and withdrew.
And the two watchers, whose anxiety was fast growing into insupportable
anguish, waited still, for still, as yet, they could do nothing else but
wait and control themselves.
"Your grace has missed the last train," said Lady Belgrade, at length, as
the little cuckoo clock on the mantel shelf struck ten.
"Yes the night express leaves London Bridge station for Dover at
ten-thirty, and it is a full hour's drive from Kensington," replied the
duke.
And both secretly thanked fortune that the wedding guests had all
departed before the bride's mysterious absence from the house at such
a time had become known; and they knew not but that "the happy pair
had left by the tidal train for Dover, _en route_ for their
continental tour,"--as per wedding programme. And both silently hoped
that the household servants would not talk.
The time crept wearily on. The clock struck eleven.
"I cannot endure this frightful suspense one moment longer! I never heard
of such a case in all the days of my life! A bride to vanish away on her
bridal day! Duke of Hereward you are her husband! WHAT IS TO BE
DONE?" exclaimed Lady Belgrade, starting up from her seat and giving
full sway to all the repressed excitement of the last few hours.
"My dear lady," said the duke, controlling his own emotions by a strong
effort of will, and speaking with a calmness he did not feel--"My dear
lady, the first thing you should do, should be to command yourself.
Listen to me, dear Lady Belgrade. I have waited here in constrained
quietness, hoping for our Salome's return from moment to moment, and
fearing to expose her to gossip by any indiscreet haste in seeking her
abroad. But I can wait no longer. I must commence the search abroad at
once. I shall go immediately to a skillful detective, whom I know from
reputation, and put the case in his hands. What seems to us so alarming
and incomprehensible, may be to a man of his experience simple and clear
enough. We are too near the fact to see it truly in its proper light.
This man I understand to be faithful and discreet, one who may be
intrusted with the investigation of the most delicate affairs. I will
employ him immediately, in the confidence that no publicity will be given
to this mystery. In the meanwhile, my dear Lady Belgrade, I counsel you
to call the household servants all together. Do not inform them of the
nature of my errand out, but caution them to silence and discretion as to
the absence of their lady. You will allow me to confide this trust to
you?"
"Assuredly, Duke! And let me tell you that these servants are all so
idolatrously devoted to their mistress, that they would never breathe, or
suffer to be breathed in their presence, one syllable that could, in the
remotest degree, reflect upon her dignity," said the lady.
"I will return within an hour, madam," replied the duke, as he bowed and
left the room.
He went directly to the nearest police station at Church Court,
Kensington.
He asked to see Detective Collinson of the force.
Fortunately, Detective Collinson was at the office, and soon made his
appearance.
The duke asked for a private interview.
The detective invited him to sit down in an empty side-room.
There the duke put the case of the missing lady in his hands, giving him
all the circumstances supposed to be connected with her disappearance.
The detective exhibited not the slightest surprise at the hearing of this
unprecedented story, nor did he express any opinion. Detectives never are
surprised at anything that may happen at any time to anybody, nor have
they ever any opinions to venture in advance.
Mr. Collinson said he would take the case and give it his undivided
attention, but would promise nothing else.
The Duke of Hereward, obliged to be contented with this answer, arose to
leave the room. In passing out he met the chief, who had not been present
when he first entered.
"Oh, I beg your grace's pardon, but I consider this meeting very
fortunate," said that officer, respectfully touching his hat.
"Upon what ground?" gravely inquired the duke.
"Your grace is wanted as a witness for the Crown, on the trial of John
Potts and Rose Cameron, charged with the murder of the late Sir Lemuel
Levison. The girl, who was arrested at a house in Westminster Road a few
days ago, has been sent down to Scotland, and the trial will commence, on
the day after to-morrow, at the Assizes now open at Bannff. But,
according to the newspaper report, we thought your grace to be now on
your way to Paris, and we were just about to dispatch a special messenger
to you. So your grace will perceive how fortunate this meeting turns out
to be."
"Yes, I perceive," said the duke, dryly.
"And your grace will not be inconvenienced, I hope," said the chief, as
he bowed and placed a folded paper in the duke's hand.
It was a subpoena commanding the recipient, under certain pains and
penalties, to render himself at the Town Hall of Bannff as a witness for
the Crown, in the approaching trial of John Potts, alias Abraham Peters,
and Rose Cameron.