by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER XVII
PART OF THE TRUTH
For a moment the lovers stared at one another in the luminous twilight.The meeting was so strange, the place where it took place so significantof the trouble that had parted them, that both were overcome withemotion. Anne was as white as the marble tombstone, and looked at himwith appealing eyes that beseeched him to go away. But having found herGiles was determined not to lose her again, and was the first to findhis tongue.
"Anne!" said he, and stepped towards her with open arms.
His voice broke the spell which held her chained to the ill-omened spot,and she turned to fly, only to find herself on his breast and his dearvoice sounding entreatingly in her ears.
"Anne," he said in a hoarse whisper, "you will not leave me now?"
After a brief struggle she surrendered herself. There was no danger ofany one coming to the churchyard at this hour, and since they had met sounexpectedly, she--like the tender, sweet woman she was--snatched at theblissful moment. "Giles," she murmured, and it was the first time he hadheard her lips frame his name. "Giles!"
Again there was a silence between them, but one of pure joy andtranscendental happiness. Come what might, nothing could banish thememory of that moment. They were heart to heart and each knew that theother loved. There was no need of words. Giles felt that here was theone woman for him; and Anne nestled in those beloved arms like a wildbird sheltering from storm.
But the storm which buffeted her wings would tear her from this refuge.The passionate delight of that second of Eden passed like a shadow onthe sun dial. From heaven they dropped to earth, and parted once more bya hand-breath, stared with haggard looks at one another. The revulsionwas so great that Anne could have wept; but her sorrow was so deep thather eyes were dry. For the gift of the world she could not have wept atthat hour.
But she no longer felt an inclination to fly. When she saw how worn andthin her lover looked, she knew that he had been suffering as much asshe had, and a full tide of love swelled to her heart. She also had lostmuch of her beauty, but she never thought of that. All she desired wasto comfort the man that loved her. She felt that an explanation was dueto him, and this she determined to give as far as she could withoutincriminating others.
Taking his hand in her own, she led him some little distance from thegrave of Daisy; and they seated themselves on a flat stone in the shadowof the church, and a stone's throw from the park wall. Here they couldconverse without being seen, and if any one came they could hear thefootsteps on the gravelled path, and so be warned. And throughout thatshort interview Anne listened with strained attention for the comingstep. At the outset Giles noted her expectant look and put his armround her.
"Dearest, do not fear," he said softly. "No one will come; and if anyone does I can save you."
"No," she replied, turning her weary eyes on him. "I am under a ban. Iam a fugitive from the law. You cannot save me from that."
"But you are innocent," he said vehemently.
"Do you believe that I am, Giles?"
"Do I believe it? Why should you ask me such a question? If you onlyknew, Anne, I have never doubted you from the first. Never! never!"
"I do know it," she said, throwing her arms round his neck. "I haveknown all along how you believed in my innocence. Oh, Giles, my darlingGiles, how shall I be able to thank you for this trust?"
"You can, Anne, by becoming my wife."
"Would you marry me with this accusation hanging over me?"
"I would make you my wife at this moment. I would stand beside you inthe dock holding your hand. What does it matter to me if all the foolishworld think you guilty? I know in my own heart that you are an innocentwoman."
"Oh, Giles, Giles!" Then her tears burst forth. She could weep now, andfelt the better for that moment of joyful relief. He waited till shegrew more composed, and then began to talk of the future.
"This can't go on for ever, Anne," said he decisively; "you mustproclaim your innocence."
"I can't," she answered, with hanging head.
"I understand. You wish to protect this man. Oh, do not look sosurprised. I mean with the man you fled with--the man Wilson."
"I don't know any one called Wilson."
"Anne!"--he looked at her keenly--"I implore you to tell me the truth.Who is this man you fled with to Gravesend--with whom you went on boardthe yacht?"
"Is that known?" she asked in a terrified whisper.
"Yes. A great deal is known."
"Portia never told me that," she murmured to herself.
"Who is Portia?"
"She lives at the Priory, and----"
"I see. She is the red-haired, freckle-faced girl--the daughter of Mr.Franklin. Morley told me that. Portia! What a stately name for thatdreadful young person!"
"But indeed, Giles, she is a good girl, and has been a kind friend tome," explained Anne eagerly. "She told me all about you, and how youbelieved in my innocence."
"Ah!" exclaimed Giles, "then that was why she seemed so pleased to hearmy name. I met her in the park just now, Anne----"
"You met her in the park?" Anne half rose to go. He drew her down.
"Yes, dearest. But don't be alarmed. She will never think that we havemet. She was looking for this." And Giles took out the coin.
Anne gave a cry of delighted surprise. "Oh," she said, taking iteagerly, "I thought I had lost it forever. And you found it, Giles?"
"I found it," he replied gravely. "It was that discovery which made mebelieve that you were in the neighborhood. And then when Olga----"
"Olga." Anne looked at him suddenly. "Do you know her?"
"Very well. She is your friend."
"My best friend. She loves me like a sister."
Giles could have told her that the sisterly love was not to be trusted,but she had so much trouble that he could not find it in his heart toadd to her worries. Besides, time was slipping by, and as yet he knewnothing of the truth of the matter.
"Tell me why you fled with that man," he asked.
"Giles, I will tell you all," she replied earnestly, "but on your partlet me hear what is being done about the death of poor Daisy. It willset my mind at rest. You see how I have taken care of her grave, dear.Were I guilty would I do that?"
"I never thought you guilty," he repeated impatiently. "How many timeshave I to say that?"
"As many as you can bring your mind to repeat," she replied. "It issweet to think that you love me so well, that you can refuse to believeevil of me in the face of the evidence against me."
"Anne, Anne, why did you fly?"
"Tell me how the case stands against me and what you have discovered,"she asked in a composed voice, and with a visible effort to command herfeelings. "And I shall tell you all that I can."
As time was precious Giles did not lose a moment. He plunged into thestory of all that had taken place, from his interview with Mrs. Parry tothe finding of the coin which had first given him his clue to thewhereabouts of Anne. Also he touched lightly upon the visit of Olga toRickwell, but was careful not to allude to her feelings towards him.Since Anne believed the woman to be her friend, he wished her to remainin that belief. He was not the one to add to her sorrows. And even whenshe was cleared of the charge and became his wife Ware determined thathe would never speak of Olga's treachery. For her own sake he knew thatthe Hungarian would be silent.
Anne listened in silence to his recital, and when he ended drew a sighof relief. "It might have been worse," she said.
"I don't see how it could be," replied Ware bluntly. "Morley will insistthat you are guilty, and Steel thinks so too. I must admit that hewavers between you and this man you fled with. Come now, Anne, tell meall."
"I shall not have much time," she said hurriedly. "I dare not let Mr.Franklin know that I have met you. If I am not back in the Priory soon,he will send Portia to look for me."
"You can tell me much in ten minutes. Who is the man?"
"My father," she replied in a low voice.
"I thought he was," said Anne. "I have believed it these many months.But when I saw him in Mr. Morley's library on that night I knew that hestill lived."
"But I can't understand how you made such a mistake. Does Morley know?"
She shook her head. "I managed to restrain myself. Mr. Morley knowsnothing. Afterwards I went to the church in the hope of meeting myfather. He was in church."
"I saw him," said Giles; "but tell me how the mistake occurred."
"My father lived in Florence, and----"
"Is his name Walter Franklin?"
"That is his real name; but he was known in Florence as Alfred Denham."
"You spoke to Olga Karacsay about him under that name?"
"Yes, because I did not know until lately that his name was WalterFranklin. Nor did I know that George Franklin, who inherits Daisy'smoney, was his brother."
"So George Franklin is your uncle and Portia your cousin?"
"Yes; but let me go on. My father lived in Florence. I was often awayfrom home, as I was engaged as a governess. I came to England and metOlga at the Institute. I procured an engagement in London; it was theone I had before Mrs. Morley engaged me. I received news that my fatherwas ill of typhoid fever. I hurried at once to Florence. He not only wasdead, but he was buried, so I was informed by Mark Dane."
"Who is Mark Dane?"
"He was my father's secretary."
"One moment, Anne. Your uncle stated that he was the man who lived inFlorence, and that your father being a scamp lived in England. Onaccount of Walter George resided abroad."
"That is quite true. But Walter--I may speak of my father so for thesake of clearness--used to come sometimes to Florence. George never knewthat he was there, thinking that he was in London. I learned all thislately. At the time my father and I lived in Florence I knew nothing ofthe relationship between George and Walter. My father knew that if Daisydied his brother would inherit the money, and he kept a watch on Georgeso as to see if he would come into the property. But I knew nothing ofthis, neither did Mark, although he was deep in my father's confidence.Well, as I say, my father was supposed to have died. I expect anothercorpse was buried in his place. Mark no doubt agreed to the fraud,whatever was the reason. But I have not seen Mark since immediatelyafter the death, and can't get an explanation. I saw him in Florence,and he told me that my father was dead and buried. Since then I have notseen him."
"So you returned to England, thinking your father was dead?"
"Certainly. He left me a little money. I went back to my situation.Afterwards I came down here. On that New Year's Eve I entered thelibrary and saw my father speaking to Mr. Morley. I disguised myfeelings, as I was certain he did not wish to be recognized. But theshock was so great that I nearly fainted. I went up to my room, andafterwards to church to see my father. He was there, as you know. I sawhim pass a paper to Daisy. She went out ten minutes later; he followed.I wished to see him, and I was curious to know why he had come toRickwell and had let me think he was dead. Shortly afterwards I wentoutside. It was snowing fast. I could not see my father or Daisy.Suddenly I came across my father. He was beside the grave of Mr. Kent.Daisy was lying on the ground. He gasped out that she was dead, andimplored me to save him."
"Do you think he killed her?"
"No. Afterwards he denied that he did. But at the time I believed thathe was guilty. I saw that he would be arrested, and in a frenzy of alarmI cast about for some means to save him. I remembered your motor-car waswaiting at the gates. I sent Trim away on an errand----"
"I know, I know! You deceived him!"
"To save my father," replied Anne quietly. "I got the car in this wayand went off with my father. He told me to go to Gravesend, where he hada yacht waiting. Near Gravesend the car upset. We left it on theroadside and walked to Tilbury. A boatman ferried us across the river,and we went on board the yacht."
"Did you know your father was the owner of the yacht?"
"No, I did not. He said that it belonged to a friend. We departed in theyacht and went to a French port, then on to Paris."
"And it was from Paris that you sent me the drawing of the coin."
"Yes; I knew that appearances were against me, and could not bear tothink that you should believe me guilty. I did not dare to send anyletter, but I knew you would recognize the drawing of the Edward VII.coin, and so sent it as you saw."
"How long did you stay in Paris?"
"For some weeks. Then we went to Italy, to Florence."
"Wasn't your father recognized?"
"No; he had altered his appearance. He gave me no reason at first fordoing this, but afterwards told me that he was engaged in a politicalconspiracy, something to do with the Anarchists."
"Is the red cross the symbol of some society?"
"I can't say. He refused to explain the mystery of the cross to me. Iadmit fully, Giles, that I cannot understand my father. His ways arestrange, and he leads a most peculiar life. Afterwards George Franklin,my uncle, came to England and inherited the property. My father sent meto him with an explanation. My uncle refused to believe that I wasguilty, and gave me shelter in his house until such time as my charactercould be cleared. I came over and have been hiding in the Priory eversince. I was so sorry for poor Daisy and for her unexpected death thatI came to see after her grave. I found it neglected, and thus went toclean it, as you see. Portia, my cousin, has been very good to me. Ihave stayed in all day and have walked out in the evening. No one knowsthat I am here. No one will ever know unless you tell."
"I tell? Anne, what do you take me for? I will keep quiet until I canclear your character, and make you my wife."
"You must not see me again."
"No," sighed Giles, "it will not be wise. But can't you tell me whokilled Daisy, and thus clear yourself?"
Anne shook her head.
"I wish I could. But my father declares that he came out to see thegirl, and found her already dead on the grave face downwards. She hadbeen killed during the time he waited behind. He saw that there was adanger of his being accused of the crime, since he had asked her toleave the church. Thus it was that he lost his presence of mind andcalled on me to save him. I did so on the impulse of the moment, andthus it all came about."
"Where is your father now?"
Anne thought for a moment.
"I would tell you if I knew," she said seriously, "as I know you willnot betray him. But I don't know where he is. Since I have been here Ihave not heard a word from him."
"Your uncle?"
"If my uncle knew, he would hand my father over to the police. He hateshim; but he is always kind to me."
"Anne, I wonder if your uncle killed Daisy to inherit the money?"
"No; he was in Italy at the time. I am sure of that."
"Has your father any suspicion who killed Daisy?"
"No. He says he has not."
"Why did he ask her to leave the church? And how did he manage it?"
"He wished to speak to her about George Franklin, who would inherit themoney if she died. I believe he intended to warn her that George wasdangerous, for he hates my uncle."
"Did your father know that the money had been left at the time?"
"No. It was only because he was on the spot that he wished to see Daisy.He wrote on a scrap of paper that he wished to see her about the money,and she came out."
"She was always eager after that miserable money," said Ware sadly. "Butyour father did know that Powell was dead at the time, Anne." And hetold her of his discoveries in connection with the office boy. "So yousee your father was in England masquerading as Wilson," he finished.
"Yes," said Anne, with a shudder, "I see now. But he told me nothing ofthis. Indeed, I can't understand my father at all."
"Do you know the meaning of the Scarlet Cross?"
"No; he refuses to tell me. He won't say why he pretended to be dead;and in every way he is most mysterious. But I am fond of my fat
her,Giles, although I know he is not a good man. But he did not kill Daisy;I am sure of that. And even at the time I thought he had done so I savedhim. After all he may be as bad as possible; but he is my father, and Iowe him a daughter's affection."
Giles would have argued this, but at the moment Anne started to herfeet. She heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and without a wordto Giles she flew over the low wall and darted across the park. He wastoo astonished by this sudden departure to say a word. He had lost heragain. But he knew where she was after all.
