CALM AFTER STORM
In the month of July the park of The Monastery was in full leafage, and
presented a glorious sea of shimmering tremulous green. The gardens
glowed with many-colored blossoms, and especially there was a profusion
of roses, red and white and yellow, for Marie Inderwick, loving
flowers, had planted quantities immediately after her return home from
the Brighton school. The whole place was radiant with color under a
cloudless and deeply blue sky, and the hot sunshine bathed everything
in hues of gold. It was like the Garden of Eden, and neither Adam nor
Eve were wanting, since the lovers were walking therein, arm in arm,
talking of the past, congratulating themselves on the present, and
looking forward to a serene and glorious future. The storm was over,
and now a halcyon calm prevailed.
“It’s like heaven,” sighed Miss Inderwick, whose face glowed like one
of the roses she wore at her breast, from sheer happiness, “and to
think that we shall be married to-morrow, Alan dearest.”
“Then it will be more like heaven than ever,” laughed the young man,
who looked the picture of content. “Let us go to St. Peter’s Dell,
Marie darling; for it was there that we found the jewels.”
“Rather the papers which led to the finding of the jewels,” corrected
Miss Inderwick gladly, “and it’s a nice place to make love in, Alan,
for I have planted it with roses.”
“The Gardens of Shiraz, where Omar Khayyam sang,” said the happy young
lover, and quoted the well known lines softly:—
“Here with a loaf of bread, beneath the bough,
A flask of wine: a book of verse—and Thou,
Beside me singing in the wilderness,
And wilderness is Paradise enow.”
“Oh, we don’t want the bread and wine,” laughed Marie indolently, as
they took their way to the dell along a path riotous with blossom.
“Bread and cheese then.”
“You have left out the best thing, dear.”
“Kisses, eh? Well then.” Alan stopped, took her into his strong arms
and kissed her twice, thrice, and again on her rose-leaf lips.
“I wish you’d behave yourself,” said Marie sedately, “as to bread and
cheese we have something better than that now.”
“_You_ have,” said Alan quickly, “the jewels have brought close on one
hundred thousand pounds, which all belong to you.”
“What is mine is yours, darling. You know that.”
“Yet nasty people will say that I married you for your money, Marie.”
She pouted. “What a compliment to me, as if I were an ugly girl.”
“Quite so, instead of being the most perfect woman ever created.”
“Oh,” Marie sighed from sheer pleasure, “say that again.”
Alan did so with a laugh. “Marie, will you ever have enough flattery.”
“It’s not flattery, it’s the truth, and I like you always to tell me
the truth,” said Marie as they entered the dell. “Come and sit down on
the edge of the pool, Alan, and have a talk.”
“Why not call it the well?” he asked, while they balanced themselves on
the circle of stones, and he placed his arm round her waist to support
her.
“Simon Ferrier called it the pool, and I think it’s a very good name.”
“Darling, he only did so because he was unable to find the name of a
gem which began with ‘W’.”
“I’m very glad he did,” said Marie quickly, “and that he could not find
one which began with ‘K’. If he had we should never have solved the
riddle.”
“Oh, don’t let us talk any more about the riddle or the sad events
connected with it,” cried Fuller, a shade passing over his happy face;
“let us leave the past alone and live in the present.”
“I am living in the future when we shall be husband and wife.”
“That desirable state of things will come into being to-morrow.”
“I know,” Marie nestled in her lover’s arms. “But I want to talk of all
that has happened Alan. Then we will say no more about it.”
“But, Marie, we have talked over everything again and again.”
“I dare say; but I want to ask questions and to be quite satisfied in
my own mind that everything disagreeable is at an end.”
“Very good,” said Alan, resigning himself to the inevitable with a good
grace, for he knew Marie’s obstinacy of yore. “What do you wish to
say?”
“Well, in the first place, I am still sorry that poor Mr. Bakche did
not live to get his share of the jewels. For you know, Alan, they
really did belong to him as a descendant of the Rajah of Kam.”
“My dearest, the jewels were legally assigned to George Inderwick for a
very great service. I am sure that the Rajah of Kam in those days would
rather have lost his jewels than his wife and only son. As to Bakche, I
am sorry that he died in so terrible a way, and had he lived,
undoubtedly I should have kept the promise made on your behalf and
handed over one third of the treasure. But Bakche did not act well, or
honorably.”
“What do you mean?” asked Marie opening her azure eyes very widely, “If
he had not spoken out, poor Uncle Ran might have been hanged.”
“Quite so, dear. But he only spoke out when bribed to do so. He knew
all along that Miss Grison was guilty, and yet held his tongue.”
“He wouldn’t have done so had Uncle Ran been brought to trial?”
Alan smiled grimly. “I shouldn’t like to have given him the chance,” he
said in a skeptical tone. “Bakche, like most people, acted in an
entirely selfish way, and was ready to sacrifice every one for the sake
of gaining his own ends. Had Miss Grison given him the peacock, and had
he solved the riddle and secured the jewels, he would not have
confessed what he knew.”
“But Jotty might have done so.”
“It’s not improbable,” admitted Fuller musingly. “Jotty was wonderfully
greedy, and was willing to sell anyone for quids, as he called them. He
certainly sold Miss Grison for the sake of the few gems your uncle gave
him. However, let us hope that the reformatory Inspector Moon has
placed him in will improve him into a decent member of society. He’s
sharp enough and clever enough to do well in the world.”
“But he hasn’t had a fair chance, dear.”
“Perhaps not; but he has one now. Miss Grison gave him one also, but
only because he knew too much and the brat was aware that he had her
under his thumb. However, Marie, I have told Moon that when Jotty
improves you and I will give him enough money to go to America and make
a new start. So that disposes of Jotty.”
“I wonder Miss Grison didn’t stick that horrid stiletto into him,” said
Miss Inderwick with a shudder “seeing how he betrayed her.”
“He would not have done so had not Bakche told his story, and it was
Bakche she hated most. It was truly wonderful how cunningly she managed
to get close to the man to stab him. None of us thought when she walked
up to him so quietly that she intended murder. And she drove it right
into his heart, weak as she was. I expect,” added Alan musingly, “that
is what Bakche meant when he said that a weak arm could drive a
stiletto into a sleeping man as easily as a strong one could. I thought
at the time he meant Jotty, but he referred to Miss Grison, little
thinking that the very next day she would prove the truth of his words
on himself.”
“But she was mad, Alan, quite mad.”
“So it was proved at the trial,” said Fuller with a shrug, “but I have
my suspicion, Marie, that Miss Grison was acting a part. I don’t think
that her brain was quite properly balanced, but her cunning in planning
and plotting to implicate your uncle in the crime very nearly
succeeded. She certainly was not mad when she acted in that way.”
“Mad people are always cunning and clever; Alan,” insisted Miss
Inderwick.
“Well, let us give Miss Grison the benefit of the doubt. She can do no
more harm now that she is shut up in that asylum as a criminal lunatic,
and your uncle must be relieved to think she is safely out of the way.”
“All the same he has gone to live in Switzerland in a little mountain
hotel, my dear,” said Marie nodding wisely. “He told me that he never
would be satisfied until he had placed the ocean between him and his
unhappy wife, and chose Switzerland as the best place to stay in.”
“Which means that he has only placed the Channel between him and his
bugbear,” said Fuller dryly. “Well, Marie, I can’t say that I am sorry
Mr. Sorley came to that determination, as it leaves us The Monastery to
ourselves, and such is his dread lest his wife should escape that he
will never come to England again, even for a visit.”
“I don’t think you are quite fair to Uncle Ran, dear.”
“Marie, you have said that again and again, and there is no truth in
it, I assure you. I have every desire to be fair to the miserable man,
and so has Dick, let alone my father and mother. But now that his deeds
have come to light they all mistrust him. He certainly did not murder
Baldwin Grison, but he assuredly ruined his life by driving him away,
even though the poor wretch gave certain provocation for his dismissal.
And you can’t say that he behaved well to his wife. He married her for
her good looks, and then grew weary of her, as such a selfish man
would. When he had her under his thumb through the love she bore her
brother, which impelled her to save him from arrest for forgery by
sacrificing herself, your Uncle Ran, whom you think so highly of——”
“No I don’t. But I’m sorry for him, dear.”
“I don’t think he needs your sorrow, or deserves your pity,” said Alan
in a grave tone. “He was quite ready to commit bigamy for money because
he knew that Mrs. Sorley would not speak of her marriage on account of
the hold he had over Baldwin. Luckily the rich girl he wished to marry
died, so another complication was avoided. He is selfishly happy in
Switzerland with his jewels, and because he knows that the woman he
wronged so deeply is shut up. I think we may as well do our best to
forget Uncle Ran.”
“Yes, but Alan, he was very good to me as my guardian.”
“I don’t agree with you, Marie, and if you think so, it shows what a
truly sweet nature you have. He sold furniture which belonged to you
and took your income, and kept you short in every way. He didn’t bully
you, I admit, but he didn’t look after your welfare in any manner
whatsoever. You know that what I say is true.”
“Yes,” sighed Marie. “Well then, we won’t talk any more about him. I
know that he is quite happy where he is, and I’m sure I don’t want him
to come and make an inconvenient third in our lives, Alan.”
“He won’t,” her lover assured her seriously. “He is far too much afraid
of Miss Grison, or rather Mrs. Sorley, escaping from her asylum. He is
out of our lives, Marie, and as he is happy in his own selfish way, why
there is no more to be said. There are plenty of pleasanter subjects to
talk about, my dear. Indeed, I never liked your uncle, and I always
mistrusted him, as I had every reason to.”
“I shan’t talk of him any more, as I know you are right. And now that
the jewels have sold so well and we have plenty of money we can repair
The Monastery and improve the grounds, and you can be country squire.”
“My dear, I am a solicitor, and I shall always be one. I can’t live on
my wife, you know.”
“But Alan, you will be away all the week.”
“Not at all. I can come down every night. It isn’t a long run to town.”
“I want you all to myself here,” pouted Marie, “what’s the use of my
having this horrid money unless I can have you. And half of it is
yours, Alan, for unless you had solved the riddle it would not have
come into my possession.”
The young man was quiet for a few moments revolving what she had said.
Much as he liked his profession, he secretly admitted that it would be
very pleasant to play the part of a country gentleman. And certainly
the discovery of the jewels was due to him. Also it was he who had
saved the girl’s uncle from a disagreeable death, and thus had
prevented her from suffering a life-long shame and regret. Finally
there was much to be done in connection with the house and the park and
with certain lands which Marie wished to buy back, as having belonged
to former spendthrift Inderwicks. Alan thought that he could do a great
deal of good as the squire of Belstone, especially as his father was
the vicar of the parish. Therefore he began to consider that it would
not be a bad thing to give up the dingy office in Chancery Lane and
come back to the land.
“And of course I could enter Parliament,” he muttered, following his
line of thought. “Yes I could do good there.”
“Of course,” cried Marie, clapping her hands, and guessing what he had
been thinking about, “and perhaps you’ll get into the Cabinet and the
King may give you a title and——”
“And the moon is made of green cheese,” laughed Alan, giving her a hug.
“I dare say I shall give up the law, Marie, since you wish it, and we
can do a lot of good down here on your money.”
“Yours also, darling, yours also.”
“Very well, mine also. But we can talk of this on our honeymoon when we
are strolling over those glorious Cornish moors. Now, Marie, let us go
back to the house. You know Dick is coming to be my best man, and he is
bound to walk over here as soon as he arrives at the vicarage.”
“I asked him to come with your father and mother, who are due here to
afternoon tea,” said Marie slipping off the circle of stones.
“Oh!” Alan looked at his watch. “Four o’clock. Then I expect they have
arrived. Come along, my darling.”
“Only one more question,” said Marie as they, walked away from the
dell.
“What is it?”
“You know that Simon Ferrier went back to India after burying the
gems.”
“He didn’t bury them, he put them in Yarbury’s Bank, dear. You forget.”
“Well, you know what I mean,” said Marie impatiently. “He hid the gems
so that Julian Inderwick wouldn’t get them.”
“Yes; that’s old history. Well?”
“Well,” echoed Marie. “Simon Ferrier went back to tell George Inderwick
where the jewels were to be found and never anticipated capture.”
“True, oh queen! But what does all this lead to?”
“To this! Simon Ferrier had arranged the enigma of the peacock before
he left England, and at a time when he never anticipated that he would
have any difficulty in speaking personally to his master.”
“I see what you mean. Well, my dear, all I can suppose is, that Ferrier
was an over-cautious man, and made ready the enigma in case anything
should prevent his reaching George Inderwick, as he certainly never
did. When in captivity he worked out his scheme with the ring and the
peacock exactly as he had planned it in England.”
“But there was no need to when he was here,” insisted Marie.
“No. But as I said before Simon Ferrier undoubtedly was an
over-cautious man; witness the fact that he made so ingenious a
cryptogram—if it can be called so—that even the man he designed to
benefit could not solve it. And in its very ease lay its difficulty. I
can’t answer your question in any other way, dear. Not that it matters.
We have the money, and everything is right, so let us enjoy our good
fortune, and be thankful that none of those wasteful ancestors of yours
solved the riddle. Had they done so I fear you would not be so rich.”
“I think that is very true,” said Marie with a laugh; “but here we are,
darling, and there is Mr. Latimer.”
It was indeed Dick arrayed in white flannels looking big and burly and
genial, and more like a good-natured bear than ever. He held out a hand
to each at the same time, and walked towards the house between them.
“How are the happy pair?” he asked gaily.
“We won’t be a truly happy pair until to-morrow,” said Alan.
“Speak for yourself, dear,” said Marie lightly. “I am happy enough
now.”
“You deserve to be,” said Dick smiling, “for you have come through a
lot of trouble, and that always makes hearts grow fonder. But do come
and give me some tea, Mrs. Fuller—I beg your pardon, Miss Inderwick,
but you and Alan do look just like a married couple.”
“What’s that about marriage?” asked the vicar appearing at the
drawing-room door—the trio were in the house by this time, “have Marie
and Alan been studying the prayer-book.”
“Of course,” said the girl, running forward to kiss Mrs. Fuller. “I
know the ceremony by heart.”
“It’s more than I do,” wailed Latimer with a shrug, “and as best man, I
am sure to be a dismal failure.”
“Oh you’ll pull through somehow,” the future bridegroom assured him.
“You must give me hints then. And when you are off for your honeymoon
to Cornwall, I shall find it dismal in those Barkers Inn chambers all
alone.”
“Get married yourself then,” advised the vicar.
“Upon my word I must think seriously about it,” said Dick. “What do you
say, Mrs. Fuller. Can’t you find me a nice girl?”
“Not one so nice as Marie,” said Mrs. Fuller, looking fondly at the
graceful form of Miss Inderwick as her hands hovered over the tea-cups.
“No, I agree with you there, mother,” said Alan, taking up a plate of
bread and butter; “Marie is a rare bird.”
“A rare bird indeed. Why not a peacock?”
Mrs. Fuller shuddered. “Oh don’t talk of peacocks!”
“Why not?” asked the vicar, “all the happiness of the present is really
due to the peacock. Marie, my dear,” he observed as he took his tea, “I
used to laugh at the idea of your fetish, but really things have come
about so strangely that I think there is something in it.”
“Behold our benefactor,” cried Alan, pointing towards the bay-window at
the end of the vast room, and there on a pedestal under a glass case
was the famous bird, which had to do with so strange a history.
And even as the young man spoke, there came a burst of sunshine through
the window which bathed the golden bird in radiant light. The gems
flashed out into rare beauty, and in the dusky room, the fetish of the
Inderwicks shone like a rare and magnificent jewel. So unexpected was
the sudden glow and glory that everyone muttered a cry of admiration.
“It’s an omen!” cried Marie, “the omen of the peacock.”
“Let us drink its health in tea,” said Dick raising his cup.
And with laughter they all did so, applauding the beneficence of the
peacock, even though the vicar hinted that they were acting
heathenishly. The fetish of the Inderwicks radiated glory from its gold
and jewels in the burning sunshine until it glowed like a star of happy
destiny. And all present accepted the omen as a hint of the future.
THE END