By Wit of Woman

by Arthur W. Marchmont

  CHAPTER VII

  GARETH'S FATHER

  The next day was a busy one for me, for I had to find a place in whichGareth could remain safely hidden.

  This I felt to be impracticable in my present house. I had rented iton first coming to Pesth, and it was recorded as my address in theregister of the University. It was, of course, certain that CountGustav would have every possible inquiry made about me; and if he orhis agents came to the house, Gareth's presence would at once becomeknown.

  Fortunately, I had already commenced some negotiations to take a villain a secluded part of the hilly district of Buda; and my first stepthat morning was to go out and complete the matter, so that I couldremove that day. I wrote to Madame d'Artelle that I was called out ofPesth, and should return to her on the following day.

  I knew quite enough of Count Gustav already to be fully aware that mydiscovery of his secret in regard to Gareth might prove a source ofdanger to me. Discreetly used, it might be of the most vitalimportance for my purposes. But he was a very formidable antagonist;and unless I acted with the utmost wariness and caution, I knew hewould beat me.

  If I had read his actions aright, he would go to any length to preventthe secret of his marriage getting known; and until I was quiteprepared for emergencies, I must guard my knowledge of it jealously.

  I was to score the first point. The next morning brought me news fromParis--a telegram from James Perry telling me the whereabouts of M.Constans. I should therefore have that knowledge to take with me toMadame d'Artelle's.

  With Gareth, however, I had some difficulty. The view she took ofCount Gustav was of course diametrically opposed to mine. This wasnatural enough. To her he was just the loving husband who would be inan agony of suspense until he knew of her safety. The belief that hewas suffering such suspense added to her own grief and worry; andduring the day we were removing to the villa she was very impatient ofthe delay involved.

  She was ill both in body and mind; and how to deal with her caused memuch thought and anxiety. To tell her what I was convinced was thetruth in regard to the Count was impossible, even had I wished to doso. She would not have accepted me as a witness against her faith inhim. Moreover, I had no wish to break down that faith yet. What Idesired, rather, was to find means to compel him to do her justice; andunwittingly she made that task, hard as it was, more difficult by herattitude.

  I repeated my urgent advice--that she should go to her father and tellhim everything; but she would not listen to me. On the contrary, shedeclared that no earthly consideration would induce her to break thesolemn vow she had taken; and nothing I could say made the slightestimpression upon that resolve.

  I could not tell her what I knew well enough was the case--that unlessshe took that course she would be in danger. I was convinced thatCount Gustav would have a very sharp search made for her and that, ifhe discovered her, he would contrive to get her to a place where shewould be prevented from causing him any trouble.

  But her faith in him was unshakable. "I shall show myself in thestreets," she said, smiling, "and go everywhere until I meet him. Hewill be desperate until he knows I am safe."

  I had to frighten this intention away. "What will happen if you do isthis," I told her. "Either your father will meet you; or the men whoattacked you will see you, and in order to prevent your accusing themwill make away with you. If you will trust me to make this search foryou, I will do it; but only on condition that you promise me not tostir from the house unless I am with you."

  Scared in this way, she at length was induced to give the promise.

  It was at best but an unsatisfactory compromise; and more than once Idebated with myself whether, in her interests, I should not bejustified in breaking the pledge of secrecy and going to Colonel Katonamyself.

  But I put that course aside for the moment and set out for Madamed'Artelle's house.

  I had not been two minutes with her before I saw that a considerablechange had come over the position in my absence. She was soaffectionate that I knew she was deceiving me. She over-acted her newrole outrageously. She overwhelmed me with kisses and caresses, calledHeaven to witness how much she had missed me, and declared she had beeninconsolably miserable in my absence. Considering the terms on whichwe had parted, I should have been a mole not to have seen that this wasfalse.

  She was so afraid of offending me indeed, that she scarcely dared toshow a legitimate curiosity as to the cause of my absence. She hadobviously been coached by Count Gustav; and when a man coaches a woman,he generally makes her blunder. I could see that she was quivering toknow what I had been doing, and on tenterhooks lest I had been workingagainst her.

  I thought it judicious, therefore, to frighten her a little; and whenthe due moment came I asked, significantly: "Have you the proofs yet ofM. Constan's death?"

  "You are not going to talk of disagreeable things directly you getback, are you?"

  "His death would not be disagreeable to you, Henriette?"

  "You cannot guess what I have endured from that man. I tell you,Christabel, he is a man to raise the devil in a woman."

  "A good many men can do that," I said, sententiously. "But if he isdead he can raise no more devils in either man or woman. Where did hedie and when?"

  "It does not matter to me now whether he is dead or living. You havehad your way. I shall not marry Count Karl."

  "And your gratitude to me for this is the reason of your kisses andcaresses on my return?"

  She was very easy to stab; and her eyes flashed with sudden anger. Shewas too angry indeed to reply at once.

  "You are a very singular girl, Christabel--very difficult to love," shesaid, as if to reproach me.

  "Easier to hate, perhaps; but you should not pretend to love me. Weneed not make believe to love each other, Henriette. I do not loveyou. I saved your life in Paris, and when I found you here you wishedme to come into your house because you thought you could more easilyprevent my saying what I knew about you. That has more to do with fearthan love--much more. And it does not seem to have occurred to youthat I too might have a selfish motive in coming."

  "What was it?" She rapped the question out very sharply.

  "For one thing I thought it would be interesting to know what theinformation was which your employers in France wished you to obtain."

  "Then you are a spy, after all?" she cried, angrily.

  "No. A spy, in the sense you mean, is a person paid by employers toobtain information--as the police used to pay Madame Constans in Paris.I have no employers. I am seeking my own way, and acting for myself.You will see the difference. Now will you tell me what you were senthere to do?"

  "You are right in one thing, Christabel--you are easier to hate than tolove."

  "That does not answer my question."

  "I am no spy."

  "Henriette! I have been in communication with Paris since I saw you,and a special messenger is now on his way here to me with full tidings.Let us be frank with one another. You promised to advance my fortunes:Count Gustav has made the same promise--why then should you try todeceive me? It is not playing the game fairly."

  "I have not tried to deceive you."

  "Henriette!" I cried again, this time with a laugh. "What! when youhave changed your plans entirely within the last few hours?"

  She could not suppress a start at this, and tried to cover it with alaughing suggestion of its absurdity. "You are ridiculous--alwaysfinding mysteries," she said.

  "Finding them _out_, you mean," I retorted, slowly and significantly."Will you leave me to do this now, or will you tell me frankly?"

  "There is no new plan."

  "You will find it not only useless but unsafe to attempt to deceive me.I know already much of the new plan and within a few hours shall knowall." She had been already so impressed by the discoveries I had madethat she was quite prepared to believe this bluff; and she was sonervous and agitated that she would not trust herself to speak.

 
I paused some moments and then said with impressive deliberation:

  "Henriette, our relative positions here are changing fast. I came herethat you might help me to push my fortunes. I know so much and am somuch better and stronger a player than you, that either I shall leaveyou altogether to carry my knowledge to those who need it badly, or Ishall stay to protect you and your fortunes from the man who isthreatening both. Think of that while I go upstairs to my room; andthink closely, for your future--ruin or success--is the stake at issue;and one false step may cost you everything."

  "You mean to threaten me?" she cried, half nervously, half in bravado.

  "It is more an offer of help than a threat; but you can regard it asyou please;" and I went out of the room.

  I ran up hastily to my room full of a new idea which had just occurredto me; but fortunately not so preoccupied as to keep my eyes shut. AsI passed Madame d'Artelle's room the door was not quite closed, andthrough the narrow slit I caught a glimpse of Ernestine. She wasvigorously dusting some object that was out of my line of sight.

  I am accustomed to study trifles; they often act as finger posts at theforked roads of difficulty and point the proper way. Ernestine was avery particular lady's maid indeed, and never dreamt of dusting outrooms. Why then was she so busy?

  I paused and managed to get a peep at the object of her unusualindustry. It was a travelling trunk; large enough to hold a bigsuggestion for me. I pushed the door open.

  "Good-morning, Ernestine. I've come back, you see," I said, smiling.

  "Ah, good-morning, Mademoiselle Gilmore. I am glad to see you."Ernestine was very friendly to me. I had bought her goodwill.

  "Madame and I have been talking over our arrangements," I said,lightly. "It is all rather sudden. Do you think you will have time toalter that black silk bodice for me before we start?"

  "I'm afraid not, mademoiselle. You see every thing has to be packed."

  "Of course it has. If I had thought of it, I would have left it outfor you before I went, the day before yesterday."

  "If I had known I would have asked you for it, mademoiselle. But I hadnot a hint until this morning."

  "Come up and see if we cannot contrive something. A bertha of old lacemight do for the time."

  I did not wish Madame to catch me in her room, so Ernestine and I wenton to mine. We talked dress for a couple of minutes and, as I wishedher not to speak of the conversation, I said that as the alterationcould not be made, I might as well give her the dress. It was nearlynew, and delighted her.

  "I suppose you'll be ready in time? You are such a clever packer. Butthe time is short."

  She repudiated the suggestion of being behind. "I have all to-day andpart of to-morrow. I could pack for you as well," she cried, with asweep of her hand round the room.

  "Never mind about that. I may not go yet."

  "Oh no, of course not;" and she laughed archly. "They will not wantMademoiselle la Troisieme."

  "_Mechante_," I cried, dismissing her with a laugh, as though I fullyunderstood the joke. And in truth she had given me a clue which wasvery cheap at the price of a silk dress.

  Instinct had warned me of the change in the position, and now I beganto understand what the new plan was. Madame had made her avowal aboutnot marrying Karl much too clumsily; and the dusting of that travellingtrunk, coupled with Ernestine's sly reference to "Mademoiselle laTroisieme," was too clear to be misunderstood. They meant to hoodwinkme by an apparent abandonment of the marriage; and then make itclandestinely.

  I laughed to myself as I left the house to hurry up my own plan.Having made sure that I was not being followed, I hailed a carriage anddrove to the neighbourhood where Colonel Katona lived.

  I finished the distance on foot, and scanned the house closely as Iwalked up the drive. It was a square, fair-sized house of two floors,and very secluded. Most of the blinds were down, and all the windowswere heavily barred and most of them very dirty. It might well havebeen the badly-kept home of a recluse who lived in constant fear ofburglars. Yet Colonel Katona was reputed a very brave man. Barredwindows are as useful however, for keeping those who are inside fromgetting out, as for preventing those who are out from getting in; and Iremembered Gareth's statement that she had scarcely ever lived at home.Why?

  When I rang, a grizzled man, with the bearing of an old soldier, cameto the door and, in answer to my question for Colonel Katona, told mebluntly I could not see him.

  "I am a friend of his daughter and I must see the Colonel," I insisted.

  He shut me outside and said he would ask his master.

  Why all these precautions, I thought, as I waited; and theystrengthened my resolve not to go away without seeing him. But my useof Gareth's name proved a passport; and presently the old soldierreturned and admitted me.

  He left me in a room which I am sure had never known a woman's hand foryears; and the Colonel came to me.

  He had as stern and hard a face as I had ever looked at; and it wasdifficult to believe that the little shrinking timorsome child who hadnestled herself to sleep in my arms the night before could be hisdaughter. The colouring pigment of the eyes was identical; but theexpression of Gareth's suggested the liquid softness of a summer sky,while those which looked down at me were as hard as the lapis lazuli ofthe Alps.

  "Accept my excuses for your reception, Miss Gilmore. I am a recluseand do not receive visitors as a rule; but you mentioned my daughter'sname. What do you want of me?"

  I assumed the manner of a gauche, stupid school-girl, and began tosimper with empty inanity.

  "I should never have taken you for Gareth's father," I said. "I thinkyou frighten me. I--I--What a lovely old house you have, and howbeautifully gloomy. I love gloomy houses. I--I----"

  He frowned at my silliness; and I pretended to be silenced by the frown.

  "What do you know of my--of Gareth?"

  "Please don't look at me like that," I cried, getting up as if indismay and glancing about me. "I didn't mean to disturb you,sir--Colonel, I mean. I--I think I had better go. But Gareth lovedyou so, and loved me, and--oh----" and I stuttered and stammered infrightened confusion.

  If she has a really stern man to deal with, a girl's strongest weaponis generally her weakness. His look softened a little at the mentionof Gareth's love for us both, as I hoped it would.

  "Don't let me frighten you, please. I am a gruff old soldier and astern man of many sorrows; but a friend of Gareth's is a friend ofmine--still;" and he held out his hand to me.

  The sorrow in that one syllable, "still," went right to my heart.

  "I am very silly and--weak, I know," I said, as I put my hand timidlyinto his and met his eyes with a feeble smile.

  I could have sighed rather than smiled; for at that moment everythingseemed eloquent to me of pathos. The dingy, unswept room, the dustaccumulating everywhere, his unkempt hair and beard, his shabbyclothes, the dirt on the hand which closed firmly on mine--everywherein everything the evidences of neglect; the silent tribute to a sorrowtoo absorbing to let him heed aught else.

  "What can I do for you?" he asked much more gently, after a pause.

  "Oh please," I cried, nervously. "Let me try and collect my poorscattered wits. I ought not to have come, I am afraid."

  "Don't say that. I am glad you have come. What could I be but glad tosee one who was a friend of Gareth's?"

  "_Was_ a friend. Is a friend, I hope, Colonel, and always will be.She always wanted me to come and see her home--but she was hardly everhere, was she? So she couldn't ask me."

  Sharp, quick, keen suspicion flashed out of his eyes, but I wasgiggling so fatuously that it died away.

  "Part of my sorrow and part of my punishment," he murmured.

  I misunderstood him purposely. "Yes, she always looked on it as a kindof punishment. You see, she loved you so--and then of course we girls,you know what girls are, we used to tease her about it."

  He winced and passed his hand across his frett
ed brows as if in pain.

  "You don't know how it hurts me to hear that," he said, simply. "Godhelp me. When did you see her last?"

  I knew the anguish at the back of the eager look which came with thequestion. But I laughed as if I knew nothing. "Oh, ages ago now.Months and months--six months quite."

  "Where? My God, where?"

  The question leaped from him with such fierceness, that I jumped upagain as if in alarm. "Oh, Colonel Katona, how you frighten me!"

  "No, no, I don't wish to frighten you. But this is everything to me.Twelve months ago she disappeared from Tyrnau, Miss Gilmore, lured awayas I believe by some scoundrel; and I have never seen or heard of herfrom that time. You have seen her since, you say--and you must tell meeverything."

  It was easy to heap fuel on fire that burned like this; and I did itcarefully. I affected to be overcome and, clapping hands before myface, threw myself back into my chair.

  "You must tell me, Miss Gilmore. You must," he said, sternly.

  "No, no, I cannot. I cannot. I forgot. I--I dare not."

  "Do you know the scoundrel who has done this?"

  "Don't ask me. Don't ask me. I dare not say a word."

  "You must," he cried, literally with terrifying earnestness.

  "No, no. I dare not. I see it all now. Oh, poor Gareth. Poor, dearGareth."

  "You must tell me. You shall. I am her father, and as God is inheaven, I will have his life if he have wronged her."

  I did not answer but sat on with my face still covered, thinking. Ihad stirred a veritable whirlwind of wrath in his heart and had tocontrive to calm it now so as to use it afterwards for my own ends.