BAD NEWS.
So Brenda was in London again, and found the great city in an uproar
over the possibility of a war in South Africa. Negotiations were
constantly passing between England and the Transvaal concerning the
franchise for the Uitlanders. History was being manufactured at the
rate of a sensation a week; Leyds was weaving his plots and spreading
his nets in Europe; while at Pretoria Paul Kruger numbered his
burghers, dispensed arms, and intrigued with the President of the Free
State. Few believed that a war was inevitable, that a small state of
farmers would defy a mighty empire. But there were others who knew
from rumors and hints that real strength lay behind the apparent
weakness of those two diminutive Republics. Meanwhile zealots like
Scarse preached ever the fable of the wolf and the lamb. Chamberlain
was the wolf and good Oom Paul the lamb--somewhat overgrown perhaps,
but still a lamb.
A pro-Boer meeting was announced to be held in Trafalgar Square, and
Scarse was to speak in favor of the honest, God-fearing
agriculturists, who, his imagination led him to believe, inhabited
Pretoria. He and his following were dead against the war, and asserted
that so many were the people of their opinion that only the big square
could hold them. So they rejoiced at the prospect of their convention,
which was going to force England into repeating the cowardly policy of
the Liberals after Majuba--a policy miscalled magnanimous, and out of
which all these present troubles had arisen. In Amsterdam, astute Dr.
Leyds rejoiced also on the assumption that a house divided against
itself could not stand. His President had provided him with that text,
and the mere fact of this mass meeting seemed to prove the force of
it.
Meanwhile he scattered money broadcast--Uitlander money--that the
honorable Continental Press might yelp and clamor like jackals at the
heels of the lion their respective countries dare not attack. It is
only just to say that none of Leyds' guineas found their way into
Scarse's pocket. If misguided, he was at least honest.
But Brenda took little notice of the question of the day, burning as
it was. She concerned herself only with Harold, and had the fate of
the Empire been at stake--as it seemed likely to be--she would still
have thought of him. Instructed by Aunt Judy, she duly invited him to
dinner. He refused on the plea of regimental duty. He would be in
town, he said, toward the end of the week. Brenda imagined she could
read a nervous fear in every line of his letter. But having no one to
consult, she was obliged to wait his coming. He alone could explain
much that was mysterious to her.
Meanwhile she resolved to see her father, and ask upon what grounds he
suspected Lady Jenny. His hint about the crape referred unmistakably
to that lady. And it was true; Lady Jenny had stated very plainly that
she did not love her husband, and that because of his connection with
some other woman. But she had said nothing on which Brenda could
fasten now even in the light of suspicion; certainly she was in
mourning for her father and wore crape usually. And it was probable
that she wore it on the night of the murder. She had been out, too,
about the hour when it took place. Then there was the fact that she
was an accomplished shot; but all this evidence was purely
circumstantial, and could in no way bring home the guilt to her. Yet
she might have a motive, and Scarse might know that motive, so Brenda
sought out her father two or three days after their last interview.
Come what would, she intended to force him to speak plainly.
That Harold's name might be cleared from the suspicions cast upon it
by Inspector Woke, it was necessary that the guilt should be brought
home to the right person. Now Brenda wished to be at rest about her
father's connection with the strange man whose existence he denied.
But on the occasion of this second visit to Star Street she was
unfortunate. Mr. Scarse was not at home, and the porter of the
mansions did not know when he would be in. Brenda went upstairs to
wait, and was admitted into the chambers by her father's old servant,
a staid ex-butler who had been with him for years. This man brought
her some tea, gave her an evening paper, and left her alone in the
study. It was between four and five, so that the chances were that Mr.
Scarse would soon return. One of his virtues was punctuality.
Leaning back in the deep armchair by her father's everlasting
fire--quite superfluous on this warm evening--Brenda sipped her tea
and fell to thinking of Harold.
She was physically tired, having been shopping all the morning with
her aunt. The warmth of fire and atmosphere soothed her nerves and
made her feel drowsy. In a very few minutes she was fast asleep and
dreaming of her lover. At least so concluded her father's butler when
he peeped in to see if she required anything.
From her slumber Brenda was awakened by the touch of a hand on her
shoulder. Then, as she languidly opened her eyes, a man bent over her
and kissed her.
"Harold," she murmured, drowsily, "my darling----"
"I win the gloves, Miss Scarse," said a quiet, calm voice. The man
stepped back as she sprang to her feet.
"Mr. van Zwieten!" she cried, with a sense of suffocation. "You!"
"I," answered Van Zwieten, removing the lampshade that he might see
her more clearly.
Then she realized that she must have been sleeping a long time, for
the lamp had not been lit when she sat down.
"You coward!" she panted, with flashing eyes--"you contemptible
coward!"
Cool as he was, Van Zwieten winced at the hatred in her voice. But the
more she loathed him the more determined he was to make her his wife.
He recovered his calmness with a laugh, and stood by the table
masterful and handsome in his smart town dress. No dandy could have
been better turned out than the big Dutchman.
"Ach! I have touched the proud lips of little red Schefen," said he,
quoting from Heine. "Come, Miss Scarse, when am I to have my gloves?"
"If I were a man I would kill you!"
"In that case--in any case--I am glad you are a woman. Why are you
angry? I am only anticipating my right."
"Oh!" cried Brenda, clenching her hands, "will no one deliver me from
this man?"
"No one," said Van Zwieten, slowly and determinedly. "You are
mine--you always were. That kiss makes you doubly so."
Brenda, seeing it was useless to speak, cast on him one look of scorn
and stepped toward the door. Before she reached it he spoke again.
What he said made her pause.
"Wait and listen to me, Miss Scarse--for your father's sake. Ah! you
are wise. Come, here is a chair. Sit down; we have much to talk
about."
"I prefer to stand. Tell me, what do you mean?" she burst out.
"What I say. Listen to me, for your father's sake. Or, if you care so
little for him that you can get him into trouble without seeking to
avert it, why the door is open."
In answer to this speech Brenda sat down and looked steadily at the
man. He met her gaze frankly, and throughout conducted the interview
with his usual politeness. "I know you do not love me," said he, in
his deep voice; "but I love you, and I am content to win your
affection after marriage."
"I will never marry you. Take that answer once and for all."
"In that case you leave me free to deal with your father."
"I don't understand you."
"Then I explain--not everything, for I never trust women, not even
you. But I know the truth about this murder--so does your father."
Brenda preserved her coolness. "Do you accuse him of the crime?"
"Perhaps," replied Van Zwieten, with a singular smile, "should you not
agree to give up Captain Burton and marry me. I know who killed
Malet."
"So do I," said Brenda, quietly. "It was the man you saw at the
station on the night of the murder."
Van Zwieten smothered an ejaculation of surprise. "What do you know of
him?"
"I know that he killed Mr. Malet--that my father shielded him, and
sent him away. You dare not accuse my father of the murder."
"You are willing to risk that by refusing to marry me?"
"Yes; you can do your worst."
The Dutchman seemed rather disconcerted. He had not expected to be
defied like this.
"I don't want to proceed to extremities, Miss Scarse," he said
doubtfully; "but I know much that may damage your father should it
become public. And if you do not care for him, there is Burton to be
considered. I can get him also into trouble."
"On what grounds?"
"I won't tell you. Ask him yourself. Ask him why he left Chippingholt
so suddenly."
Brenda started, for the remark confirmed her suspicions that Harold
was troubled in some way about this crime.
"I shall ask him. Have you anything more to say?"
"No; that will do for the present. Only," said Van Zwieten,
menacingly, "I give you one last warning. If you marry Captain Burton,
he is lost, your father is lost, and you will be a wretched woman all
the rest of your days."
Up to the present Brenda had controlled her feelings very well. Now
the feminine desire to speak her mind got the upper hand, and she rose
to defy the Dutchman.
"You speak very boldly and confidently," she said; "but you do not
speak plainly. You hint at my father's guilt, at some link connecting
Captain Burton with this crime. I don't believe you have the knowledge
you say you possess. I am not to be terrified by vain threats, Mr. van
Zwieten--you are not dealing with a child."
"When the time comes I shall speak out," replied the man, sullenly.
"Speak out now--if you can--if you dare!"
"No. I will do nothing in a hurry. But ask your father--ask Captain
Burton--what they did on the night of the murder."
"You villain! I believe you killed the man yourself."
"Oh, certainly," mocked Van Zwieten, "if it pleases you to think so."
He took a turn up and down the room, then approached her with a grave
smile.
"Miss Scarse," said he, entreatingly, "this is not the wooing I care
for. I love you, and I will have you to be my wife, but it is not my
desire to gain you by force. Why cannot you accept me? I am a richer
man than Captain Burton, and I will make you a better husband. Come
with me to the Transvaal, and you know not what height I may raise you
to. There will be war--I am certain there will be war. Afterward----"
"The Transvaal will cease to exist, Mr. van Zwieten."
"By Heaven! not so!" swore the Dutchman, growing red. "Ah, you do not
know how we are tricking these English fools. I am Dutch, born in
Holland, but I have thrown in my lot with the Boers. I and Leyds and
Kruger and Steyn are set upon building up a new nation in South
Africa. As the English, a century ago, were driven out of America, so
will they be driven from the Cape. They will go to war, thinking it
will be an easy task. They do not know--they do not guess--we have
more burghers, more arms, more friends than they think. They are less
well prepared for war than we are. Wait--wait--all the world will be
astonished before the year is out. Brenda, I could say much, but I
dare not. Trust me, love me, marry me, and you will be great, even as
I shall be great. Come with me and assist me to build up this new
nation."
"At the expense of my own country!" cried the girl. "I would rather
die! You are a Boer spy, a Boer liar; but all your intrigues, all your
lies, will come to nothing. If there is a war, your Republic will be
crushed, and your rebellion punished. Is it to me, a loyal
Englishwoman, that you speak? Marry you! Betray my country! I defy
your threat. I treat with contempt your boasts of conquest. Let me
pass, Mr. van Zwieten. Never dare to speak to me again."
With a vigorous movement she thrust him back, and swept out of the
door before he could recover his presence of mind. It was just as well
she had gone, for Van Zwieten, baffled and scorned, gave way fully to
his rage. He did not dare to follow and make a scandal, lest it should
lead to inquiry about him and his doings. But he strode up and down
the room, swearing volubly in Dutch and English. Furious with Brenda,
furious with himself, he could not contain his anger. He had played
his last, card, and had lost.
"No matter," he said, with a mighty oath, "I'll make her heart ache
yet!" Though how he intended to do this was not clear even to himself.
Van Zwieten was involved in a maze of intrigue; but he was doubtful
how to use it to his own advantage. He had ample material to
manufacture trouble in connection with this crime, but for want of
certain missing links in the chain he was puzzled how to act. To
Brenda he had spoken with less than his usual caution. He had been
carried away by his feelings. He was madly in love with her, and the
more she scorned him, the more he worshipped her. If he could not win
her by fair means, he would do so by foul. Without waiting for the
return of Mr. Scarse, he left the chambers to think out some plan
whereby he might net Brenda in his toils. As yet he could not see
clearly ahead. But in time he might hope to accomplish much that now
appeared to be impossible.
Brenda returned to Kensington with a feeling of dread. It was apparent
that Van Zwieten knew something detrimental to her father, but she had
grave doubts whether he could use his knowledge. He would have used it
before, she thought, had it been a weapon of any strength. As to
Harold, she could not conjecture what Van Zwieten's threat implied. He
certainly had not killed Malet, nor, on the face of it, did he know
anything about the matter. She looked forward anxiously to his arrival
with the intention of warning him against his enemy. Only if there was
perfect confidence between him and herself could they hope to baffle
the wicked schemes of the Dutchman.
But Harold seemed to avoid her, and as he had apparently something to
conceal, she could not assure herself that he would confide everything
to her. In that case Van Zwieten might succeed in implicating him, for
she deemed him no match for the Dutchman single-handed.
The days passed, and she counted every hour, anxious for that one
which would bring her lover to her arms. At length he came one
afternoon. She found him looking pale and haggard as with mental
torture. She uttered no word of reproach, but threw herself into his
arms. He strained her almost fiercely to his breast and covered her
face with kisses. They were alone in the drawing-room, as Mrs. St.
Leger was out shopping and the colonel was holding forth at his club.
For some minutes neither of them spoke. It was Brenda who first broke
the silence.
"My darling, how glad I am to see you again," she said, looking
tenderly into his dark face. "Oh, why did you leave me so cruelly--so
suddenly, at Chippingholt?"
"I thought you'd ask that," replied he, with an effort to appear gay.
"Well, dear, it was for two reasons; in the first place, I was
recalled suddenly by my colonel, and besides that I had bad news and
did not dare to tell you."
"Oh, Harold, as though I could not bear anything for your sake. From
whom did you have bad news?"
"Fran Van Zwieten, strange to say."
She withdrew herself suddenly from her lover's arms, and a feeling of
terror came over her. Van Zwieten again--the man seemed to be her evil
genius.
"What is the bad news?" she asked faintly.
"Malet gambled away my twenty thousand pounds. I have nothing but my
small income!"