AUDREY'S KNIGHT-ERRANT
"A painted butterfly!" Audrey's lip curled at the phrase. It exactly
described the kind of woman her father's animal nature would be drawn
to. In her mind's eye she saw the pathetic figure of her mother trying
to recover her faded prettiness with Madame Coralie's assistance, so
as to win back a love that required to be stimulated by mere beauty of
form and face. And a music-hall artist!
"Is she respectable?" asked Audrey, suddenly.
"Oh, quite," said Mrs. Mellop, laughing artificially. "But I wonder
why you ask?"
"Oh, I merely heard her name," answered Audrey, quietly. "Why do you
laugh?"
Mrs. Mellop tried to stop tittering. "Oh, my dear, I can see it all,"
she said gaily; "your face betrays you. To think that he should run
after her!"
"He? Who?" asked Audrey, drawing up her slight figure, and wincing at
the thought that this gossiping woman was about to pronounce her
father's name.
"Why, Mr. Shawe, of course."
"Mr. Shawe!" The girl grew violently red. "He doesn't run after Miss
Pearl."
"Oh, I know he loves you, dear," said the widow, in a tantalising way.
"Anyone can see that when he's in the room, and everyone knows that he
is as good as engaged to you, although your father won't hear of your
marrying the poor man. But"--she made a gesture of contempt--"he's a
man after all."
"Have you any ground to say that Mr. Shawe runs after--"
"Only your face, dear, and your strong desire to know about Miss
Pearl."
"If that is all," said Audrey, with quiet scorn, "you can exonerate
Ralph from being an admirer of Miss Pearl. I know that he is true to
me."
"And you call him Ralph," said her visitor, glibly; "my dear, what
will your father say? He wants you to marry Lord Anvers."
"What! That puny little racing man? He has never said anything to me
about it, Mrs. Mellop, and if he does I shall certainly refuse to
entertain the idea. And since you have hinted that all the world knows
my business," she went on, looking the widow straight in the face,
"you can inform everyone, on my authority, that I intend to marry Mr.
Shawe, and that we are engaged."
"With your father's consent, dear?"
"Never mind." Audrey was glad to see that Mrs. Mellop's attention had
been taken off the name of Rosy Pearl, as she did not want, for
obvious reasons, to talk about the lady. "My father and I understand
one another."
"Oh, I dare say, dear; but do your father and Mr. Shawe understand one
another? I'm sure I hope so, as it means so much money to Mr. Shawe."
"Ralph marries me for myself, and not for my money," said the girl,
hotly.
"No doubt, dear; but he's got an eye to the main chance, like the rest
of us."
Audrey again looked straightly at the pretty, artificial, frivolous
face. "I think not," she said coolly; "Ralph is not like other men."
"Ah!"--Mrs. Mellop became serious--"we all think men are angels until
we marry them, dear. And this Rosy Pearl attracts--"
"She doesn't attract Ralph," interrupted Miss Branwin, resolutely, and
saw the necessity of drawing another red herring across the trail. "I
told you that I merely asked about her because the name had struck my
fancy. And now I have to give you a message from my father."
"Yes, dear?" said Mrs. Mellop, anxiously; for now that Sir Joseph was
a widower she had a sudden vision of possible matrimony.
"He has gone to Brighton for a week or so, since the doctor has
ordered him the sea air. He told me to ask you to chaperon me while he
was absent, as he does not like the idea of my being alone. But I am
afraid you will find it rather dull here. I am in mourning, you know."
The widow gasped with delight. That Sir Joseph should select her
from amongst all his friends to stay at Camden Hill as a temporary
companion to his only daughter surely showed that he took a deep
interest in her; and such interest could only mean that
marriage-- "Oh," cried Mrs. Mellop, shutting her eyes to conjure up
more clearly the golden vision, "how sweet of you! I like a quiet
time, as my poor husband did not leave me very well off, and it is so
expensive to go about in London; besides, your darling mother was a
good friend to me, and my heart is wrung."
Audrey knew perfectly well that Lady Branwin had been a very good
friend indeed to Mrs. Mellop, who was something of a parasite, and
knew also that the lady's heart was not wrung in the least. She had
used the phrase because it sounded well, and because she wished to
ingratiate herself with the heiress. Not that Mrs. Mellop was a
bad-hearted woman. She was simply frivolous and incapable of feeling
any deep emotion. In her own silly way she had been attached to the
late Lady Branwin, because she had found her a useful friend. In the
same way she was prepared to lavish her shallow affections on Audrey.
Mrs. Mellop duly arrived with many boxes, and was given a charming
suite of apartments, luxuriously furnished with all that civilisation
could provide in the way of comfort. Certainly the life was somewhat
quiet, as Audrey rarely left the grounds, and even when in the house
preferred to be alone with her books and music. But the surroundings
were costly, the food was excellent, and there were innumerable
servants ready to obey the widow's beck and call. Mrs. Mellop, during
her three weeks' stay, felt that she was already the wife of the
millionaire, and took advantage of the opportunity to go out daily in
one of the luxurious motor-cars to shop extensively and run up many
bills, on the assumption that Sir Joseph would certainly pay them when
he proposed. And the shopkeepers, who hitherto had been rather shy of
the pretty little widow, trusted her readily when they knew that she
was chaperoning Miss Branwin, and saw that she used Sir Joseph's
up-to-date vehicles. Also, she might have dropped a hint or two that
she had come to stay at the Camden Hill house. But, at all events,
during that halcyon time Mrs. Mellop assuredly gathered together a
wardrobe and a quantity of jewellery which stood her in good service
afterwards when the gates of this millionaire Eden closed behind her.
But as yet she never believed that they would close; or, if they did,
that she would be within as the second Lady Branwin.
Meanwhile, since the chaperon was discreet, and Sir Joseph was at the
seaside, Audrey saw a great deal of Ralph. Because of her mourning for
her mother she could not meet him as usual in Kensington Gardens; but
he came to afternoon tea, and sometimes to dinner. Mrs. Mellop, only
too anxious to get Audrey married, so that she could prosecute her
matrimonial plans when the millionaire returned, was rarely present at
these meetings, or if she was speedily got out of the way on the plea
of fatigue, or that she had to write letters. Audrey might have had no
chaperon, so far as Mrs. Mellop was concerned, and it was evident that
the little widow had taken the hint given by the girl at that first
candid interview. But Mrs. Mellop wrote Sir Joseph gushing letters
about his sweet child, without mentioning the almost constant presence
of the young barrister.
Audrey and Ralph did not talk like lovers now. The girl was consumed
by a fierce desire to hunt down the assassin of her mother, and talked
of little else but the chance of tracing the murderer. Ralph assured
her that he had kept in touch with Inspector Lanton and with the
police generally, to say nothing of his frequent visits to the
detectives at Scotland Yard. "But nothing can be found out," said the
barrister, sadly.
"Something must be found out," cried Audrey at the last of these
interviews; "and if the police fail we must succeed."
"But your father--"
Audrey made a gesture of contempt. "My father thinks that he has done
his duty by offering this thousand pounds' reward. He will not lift a
finger to find the assassin of my poor mother. He is glad she is
dead."
"Oh! surely not," remarked Ralph, rather shocked by this blunt speech.
"Surely yes," said the girl, bitterly. "I did not tell you before,
Ralph, because I was ashamed to tell you, but my father is going to
marry again."
Shawe was startled. "Mrs. Mellop?" he asked, after a bewildered pause.
"No. Although his mere invitation to Mrs. Mellop that she should be my
chaperon has caused her to entertain ideas of marriage. Do you know
Rosy Pearl?"
"The music-hall dancer? Yes."
"Well, she is to be the future Lady Branwin."
"Oh! Audrey," cried Shawe, greatly astonished, "you must be mistaken."
"I had the information from my father's own lips," insisted Audrey.
"What do you know of this woman?"
"Very little. She is a handsome woman in the style of Juno, and is a
wonderful dancer. I heard that Sir Joseph had been paying attentions
to her, but I did not dream that he contemplated marriage with her."
"He does, then. Mrs. Mellop calls her a painted butterfly."
"She's a very substantial butterfly," said Shawe, with the ghost of a
smile; for Audrey was too much in earnest to tolerate lightness of any
sort. "And I believe she is rather a respectable woman."
"Such a woman as should stand in the place of my dead mother?"
asked Audrey, looking searchingly at his face.
"No," rejoined Ralph, promptly. "And yet I can't say that I have heard
a word against Rosy Pearl. I simply mean that you would not like one
who had been a dancer to be your stepmother."
"I certainly should not," said Audrey, decisively; "and yet if I
object, my father--as he hinted--is quite capable of turning me out of
doors. He will do that in any case, unless I marry Lord Anvers."
"What!" Shawe flushed. "That little reptile, who--"
"I know a great deal about him," said Audrey, cutting him short, "and
I do not wish to hear any more. I shall leave this house rather than
marry him, and rather than see this Pearl woman occupying my mother's
place."
"Come to me, darling," said Ralph, holding out his arms. "Let us get
married at once and defy your father."
"I should lose my money then, dear."
"Oh, what does that matter? I want you and not your money."
"Dear"--she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked deeply into
his keen grey eyes, now filled with the love-light--"I am too fond of
you to allow you to ruin yourself for my sake."
"Ruin myself"--his arms slipped round her waist, and he placed his
cheek against hers--"how could you do that, you silly darling?"
"Very easily," she replied, in a tired voice; for all she had gone
through was wearing her out. "You have just enough money to get along
with, as a bachelor. But what is enough for one is not enough for two,
in spite of the proverb. If I married you in haste we should both
repent at leisure. Not only would we be poor, but my father, being
thwarted, would do his best to hinder you."
"He could not do that," declared Shawe, who believed that he was
capable of defying the world, much less Sir Joseph.
"Oh, yes, he could, and he would. He would use his money and his
influence to prevent any solicitor giving you a brief. He would turn
people against you, and would give you a bad name. I know my father's
hard nature, and his pertinacious way of following up things. My poor
mother told me how he had ruined and disgraced several people who had
crossed his path."
Ralph pushed her slightly away from him, and taking her hands looked
into her eyes. "And do you think that I am ready to give you up
because your father would act in this way?" he demanded. "I am not
afraid of Sir Joseph, or of any man. Two people can play at every
game, and if your father tries to crush me, he will find that I am not
a man to be cast out of his path. If he has money, I have brains, and
I am quite willing to pit my intellect against his wealth. Hang Sir
Joseph, and a dozen like him; I beg your pardon, dear, for, after all,
he is your father."
"A father in name only," said Audrey, admiring her lover's
indignation, which was righteous and masterful in her eyes. "You know
what I think of him, Ralph. I wish I had a better opinion of his
nature, but my experience and my mother's experience--what she has
told me--show that my father is a hard man with a strong will. He does
not care what anyone suffers so long as he gets his way. The mere fact
that he has already decided to marry again--and marry a music-hall
artist--shows how callous he is. It's like Hamlet's mother," ended
Audrey, bitterly, "with the funeral baked meats not yet cold, as in
the play."
Ralph took a turn up and down the room, with a frowning brow and
looking deeply perplexed. "What's to be done, then?" he demanded,
stopping before the girl. "Things can't go on in this way. You won't
marry me--"
"For your own sake I won't marry you at present," interpolated the
girl.
"Audrey, you say that your father intends to marry Rosy Pearl as soon
as he possibly can without shocking public opinion. When he does, you
can't stay in the house, as you declare, and also you say that you
will not marry Lord Anvers. Your father, so you tell me, is bound to
turn you out if you refuse to obey him, so it seems to me that the
evil day is only postponed for a few months."
"I daresay, Ralph. But much may happen in a few months. For one thing,
we--you and I--may find out who killed my mother. And even if you had
money and could offer me a home, I should refuse to marry you until
that truth comes to light."
"But it's impossible, and, after all, can do little good."
"It's not impossible, and can at least punish the assassin. No one but
myself cares for my poor mother's memory, and I must avenge her death.
Come, dear"--she placed her arms round his neck--"you will be my
knight-errant?"
"Yes," said Ralph, promptly, and kissed her. "But where shall I
begin?"
"Begin?" replied Audrey, seriously. "Begin at Madame Coralie's--at the
Pink Shop."
"At the Pink Shop?" repeated her lover. "Good! I shall start
to-morrow."