CHAPTER V
Mark Ventmore repeated his statement three times before anybody seemedto comprehend the dread meaning of his words. The shock was so sudden,so utterly unexpected by the majority of the people there. Of coursenobody in that brilliant throng had the least idea of the bride'sfeelings in the matter, most of them were privileged guests for thereception. They had been bidden to a festive afternoon, a theatre hadbeen specially chartered for the evening, with a dance to follow. Thiswas one of the smart functions of the season.
And now death had stepped in and swept everything away at one breath.People looked at one another as if unable to take in what had happened.There was a strange uneasiness that might have been taken fordisappointment rather than regret. Perhaps it partook of both. Somebodya little more thoughtful than the rest gave a sign to the organist whohad begun to fill the church with a volume of triumphal music. Thesilence that followed was almost painful.
Then as if by common consent, every eye was fixed upon the bride.Beatrice had turned and walked down the altar steps in the direction ofMark, who advanced now without further opposition. Beatrice stood therewith her hand to her head as if trying to understand it all. She wasterribly white, but absolutely composed.
"Did you say that my father was dead?" she asked.
"I am afraid so," Mark stammered. "He--he has been dead for hours. Icame on here as fast as I could, hoping to be in time to----"
He paused, conscious of the fact that he was about to say somethingterribly out of place. Just for an instant Mark had forgotten that heand Beatrice were not alone. He was looking into her beautiful, dilatedeyes, oblivious to the fact of the spectators. He was going to say thathe had hurried there in the hopes of being in time to stop the ceremony.And Beatrice had divined it, for she flushed slightly. It seemed aterrible thing, but already she had asked herself the same question. Theshock of her father's death had not quite gone home to her yet, and shecould still think about herself. Was she really married to StephenRichford? Was the ceremony legally completed? The thought was out ofplace, but there it was. A mist rose before the girl's eyes, her heartbeat painfully fast.
"Don't you think we ought to do something?" Mark asked.
The question startled Beatrice out of her stupor. She was ready foraction. It was as if a stream of cold water had been poured over her.
"Of course," she cried. "It is wrong to stand here. Take me home atonce, Mark."
It was a strange scene strangely carried out. The bridegroom stoodirresolute by the altar, feeling nervously at his gloves, whilstBeatrice, with all her wedding finery about her, clutched Mark by thearm and hurried him down the aisle. The whole thing was done, and thestrangely assorted pair had vanished before the congregation recoveredfrom their surprise.
"Come back!" Richford exclaimed. "Surely it is my place to----"
Long before Richford could reach the porch, his wife and Mark hadentered a hansom and were on their way to the _Royal Palace Hotel_. Thestory had got about by this time; people stopped to stare at the man intweeds and the bride in her full array in the hansom. To those two itdid not seem in the least strange.
"Did you manage to see my father, after all?" Beatrice asked.
"No, I tried to do so; you see, I had to wait for him. He was very late,so I fell asleep. It was after eleven to-day when I awoke to find SirCharles had not left his room. I ventured to suggest that he had betterbe roused or he would be too late for your wedding. Nobody could makehim hear, so the door was broken in. He was quite dead."
Beatrice listened in a dull kind of way. There was no trace of tears inher eyes. She had suffered so terribly, lately, that she could not cry.The horrible doubt as to whether she was free or not could not be keptout of her mind. Yet it seemed so dreadfully unnatural.
"He died in his sleep, I suppose?" Beatrice asked.
"That nobody can say yet," Mark said. "The doctor we called in was veryguarded. Nobody seems to have been in the bedroom, though thesitting-room adjoining is not locked, and last night I saw a lady comeout of it, a lady in grey."
"A lady in grey!" Beatrice cried. "What a singular thing, Mark! Do youmean to say it was the same lady who sat next to you in the Paristheatre?"
"Well, yes," Mark admitted. "It was the same. I have not told anybodybut you, and it seems to me that nothing will be gained by mentioningthe fact."
Beatrice nodded thoughtfully. She could not identify the grey lady, theSlave of Silence, with anything that was wrong. And yet it was strangehow that silent woman had come into her life. She must have been knownto Sir Charles or she would never have ventured into his sitting-room.If she was still staying in the hotel, Beatrice made up her mind to seekher out. There was some strange mystery here that must be explained. Itwas uppermost in Beatrice's mind as she descended from the hansom andpassed through the curious group of servants into the hall.
The fine suite of rooms was ready for the festive throng; in thedining-room a banquet had been spread out. The scarlet flush of redroses gave a warm note to the room; the sun came streaming through thestained-glass windows, and shone upon the silver and glass and red glowof wine, and on the gold foil of the champagne bottles. In the centre ofthe table stood a great white tower that Beatrice regarded vaguely asher wedding cake. A shudder passed over her as she looked at it. Shelonged for something dark and sombre, to hide her diamonds and the sheenof her ivory satin dress.
The place was silent now; the very bareness and desolation of the scenesickened Beatrice to the soul. No guests were here now--they were notlikely to be. A polite manager was saying something to the bride, butshe did not seem to heed.
"Mr. Marius is talking to you," Mark said. "He wants to know if he cando anything."
"Mr. Marius is very kind," Beatrice said wearily. "I should like to seethe doctor. I suppose that he is still here? May I see him at once?"
The doctor had not gone yet. Mark procured a small plate of daintysandwiches and a glass of port wine which he forced Beatrice to take. Toher great surprise she found that she was hungry. Breakfast she had hadnone; now that the crisis had passed, her natural healthy appetite hadreturned. The feeling of faintness that she had struggled against for solong passed away.
The doctor came in, rubbing his hands softly together. He regretted theunfortunate occasion, but when he had been called in, Sir Charles waslong past mortal aid. Evidently he had been dead for some hours.
"You are in a position to be quite sure of that?" Beatrice asked.
"Oh, quite," Dr. Andrews replied. "One's experience tells that. SirCharles was quite stiff and cold. I should say that he had been deadquite four hours when the door was broken down."
Just for an instant the doctor hesitated and his easy manner desertedhim.
"I must see Sir Charles's regular medical man before I can be quitedefinite on that point," he said. "I have no doubt that death was causedby natural means, at least I see no reason at present to believeanything to the contrary. Indeed, if any doubt remains after that, theremust be a _post mortem_, of course. But still I hope that such a coursewill not be necessary."
In a vague way Beatrice felt uneasy. If this gentleman was not actuallyconcealing something, he was not quite so satisfied as he assumed tobe.
"I should like to see my father, if I may," Beatrice said quietly.
The doctor led the way to the bedroom and closed the door softly behindthe girl. His face was a little grave and anxious as he walked down thestairs.
"You appear to be a friend of the family," he said to Mark as he stoodin the hall. "There are symptoms about the case which frankly I don'tlike. There was no occasion to lacerate Miss Darryll's feelings unduly,but I must see the family doctor at once. It is just possible that youmay happen to know who he is."
Mark was in a position to supply the desired information, and Dr.Andrews drove off, his face still very grave and thoughtful. MeanwhileBeatrice found herself alone with the dead body of her father. He wasonly partially undressed; he lay on the bed as if he had been over
comewith a sudden illness or fatigue. The handsome boyish features werequite composed; there was a smile on the lips, and yet the expression onthe face was one of pain. Sir Charles appeared to have died as he hadlived--gay, careless, and easy to the last. Always neat, he had placedhis studs and tie on the dressing-table; by them stood a little pile ofletters which had evidently come by a recent post. They had beencarefully cut open with a penknife, so that Beatrice could see they hadbeen read.
There were tears in the girl's eyes now, for Beatrice recalled the timewhen Sir Charles had been a good father to her in the days before he haddissipated his fortune and started out with the intention of winning itback in the city. Those had been happy hours, Beatrice reflected.
There was nothing further in the room to call for notice. On thecarpet, in contrast to the crimson ground, lay what looked like atelegram. It was half folded, but there was no mistaking the grey paper.If there was anything wrong here, perhaps the telegram would throw alight on it. Beatrice picked up the message and flattened it on herhand. Then she read it with a puzzled face. Suddenly a flash ofillumination came upon her. Her hand clenched the paper passionately.
"Is it possible," she muttered, "that he could have known? And yet thedate and the day! Why, that coward _must_ have known all the time."
A glance at the dead, placid face there recalled Beatrice to herself.Hastily she thrust the message in her corsage and quietly left the room.Some time had elapsed since Beatrice entered the hotel, but as yet theman she called her husband had not returned. It seemed strange, butBeatrice said nothing. She stood regarding her wedding finery with somefeeling of disgust.
"I must have a room somewhere and change," she said; "it seems horribleto be walking about like this when my father is lying dead upstairs.Mark, my woman is here somewhere. Will you try and find her and send herto Lady Rashborough for something black and quite plain? Meanwhile, I'llgo to a bedroom and get some of this finery off. The mere touch of itfills me with loathing."
Beatrice's maid was discovered at length, and despatched in hot haste toLady Rashborough's. Beatrice had scarcely entered before StephenRichford drove up. He looked anxious and white and sullen withal, and hefavoured Mark with a particularly malevolent scowl. Richford knew therelationship that had existed at one time between Mark and Beatrice.
"I suppose you must be excused under the circumstances for racing offwith my wife in this fashion," he said hoarsely. It seemed to Mark thathe had found time to drink somewhere, though, as a rule, that was notone of Richford's failings. "Where is she?"
"She has gone to change," Mark said. "This is a very unfortunatebusiness, Mr. Richford."
Richford shrugged his shoulders with an assumption of indifference. Hishand trembled slightly.
"Sir Charles was getting on in years," he said; "and Sir Charles had nottroubled to give very great attention to the question of his health. Infact, Sir Charles had gone it steadily. But it seems now to me that solong as the doctors are satisfied as to the cause of death----"
"I am not at all sure the doctor is satisfied," Mark said significantly."What's the matter?"
"Nothing, nothing," Richford stammered. "Nothing more than a twinge ofthat confounded neuralgia of mine."
The Slave of Silence Page 5
