“They are all alike!” she said—” All worshippers of outward show! Suppose that good man knew I was over forty? Why, he wouldn’t look at me!”
The manageress of the hotel just then entered, bringing the book in which all hotel visitors registered their names. She was quite a stately person, attired in black silk, and addressed Diana with a motherly air, having been told by the bank manager, for whom she had a great respect, to have good care of her. Diana wrote her name in a dashing, free hand, putting herself down as a British subject, and naming Geneva as her last place of residence, when her attention was arrested by a name three or four lines above that on which she was writing — and she paused, pen in hand.
“Are those people staying here?” she asked.
The manageress looked where she pointed.
“Captain the Honourable Reginald Cleeve, Mrs. Cleeve, two daughters and maid,” she said. “Yes — they are here, — they always come here during a part of the season.” Diana finished writing her own inscription and laid down the pen. She was smiling, and her eyes were so densely blue and brilliant that the manageress was fairly startled.
“I will dine in my room this evening,” she said. “I have had a long journey, and am rather tired. To-morrow, perhaps, I’ll come down to dinner —— —”
“Don’t put yourself out at all about that,” said the manageress, kindly. “It’s not comfortable for a girl to dine in a room full of strangers — or perhaps you know Mrs.
Cleeve and could sit at her table — ?”
“No — I do not know Mrs. Cleeve,” said Diana, decidedly—” I’ve seen her at a charity bazaar and I believe she’s very stout — but I claim no acquaintance.”
“She is stout,” agreed the manageress with a smile, as she left the room. —
Diana stood still, absorbed in thought. Her features were aglow with some internal luminance, — her whole form was instinct with a mysteriously radiant vitality.
“So Destiny plays my game!” she said, half aloud. “On the very first day of my return to the scene of my poor earthly sorrows I lose an old friend and find an old lover!”
CHAPTER XXIII
DESTINY having apparently taken sides with Diana in her new existence, she lost no time in availing herself of the varied and curious entertainment thrown in her way. The first thing she did on the next day but one of her arrival in London was to attempt a visit to her own former old home in Richmond, in order to see her “bereaved” parents. A private automobile from the hotel was supplied for her use at the hour she named in the afternoon, — an hour when she knew by old experience her mother would be dozing on the sofa after lunch, and her father would be in a semi-somnolent condition over the day’s newspaper. As she passed through the hotel lounge on her way to enter the car, she came face to face with her quondam lover, Captain the Honourable Reginald Cleeve, a heavily-built, fairly good-looking man of about fifty or more. She wondered, as she saw him, what had become of the once rather refined contour of the features she had formerly admired, and why the eyes that had “looked love into eyes that spake again” Were now so small and peepy, and half hidden under lids that were red and puffy. Dressed with a quiet elegance and simplicity, she moved slowly towards him, — he was lighting a cigar and preparing to go out, but as he caught sudden sight of her he dropped the lit match with a “By Jove! “stamped its flame out under his foot, and hastening to the hotel door of exit, opened it, and, lifting his hat, murmured “Allow me!” with a glance of undisguised admiration. She bowed slightly and smiled her thanks — her smile was most enchanting, creating as it were a dazzle of light in the eyes of those who beheld it — then she passed out into the street, where the hotel porter assisted her into her automobile, and watched her being driven away till she had disappeared. Captain Cleeve strolled up to the hotel office where the manageress sat at her desk, — he was on friendly terms with her, and could ask any question he liked.
“Is that young lady staying here?” he now inquired—” the one who ha s just gone out?”
“Yes. She came two days ago from abroad. A very beautiful girl, is she not?”
Cleeve nodded.
“Rather! I never saw anything like her. Do you know who she is?”
“Her name is May, — Miss Diana May,” replied the manageress. “She was recommended here by, — dear me! Is there anything the matter?”
For Captain the Honourable had gone suddenly white, and as suddenly become violently red in the face, while he gripped the edge of the counter against which he leaned as though afraid’ of falling.
“No — no!” he answered, impatiently—” It’s nothing! Are you sure that’s her name? — Diana May?”
“Quite sure! The manager of our bank brought her here, explaining that she had just arrived from Switzerland, where she has been educated — I think — in the house of one of his own friends who lives in Geneva — and that she was for the present alone in London. He is looking out for a lady chaperon and companion for her, — she has plenty of money.”
Cleeve pulled, at his moustache nervously — then gave a forced laugh.
“Curious!” he ejaculated—” I used to know a girl named Diana May years’ ago — before — before I was married. Not like this girl — no! — though she was pretty. I wonder if she’s any relation? I must ask her.”
“She seemed to know your name when she saw it in our register,” said the manageress, “for she inquired if you and your family were staying here. I said ‘Yes’ — and ‘did she know Mrs. Cleeve?’ — but she replied that she did not.”
Captain the. Honourable had become absent-minded, and murmured “Oh!” and “Ah!” as if he were not paying very much attention. He strolled away and out into the street, with the name “Diana May” ringing in his ears, and the vision of that exquisitely lovely girl before his eyes. A dull spark of resentment sprang up in him that he should be a married man with a wife too stout to tie her own shoes, and the father of children too plain-featured and ungraceful to be looked at a second time.
“We are fools to marry at all!” he inwardly soliloquized. “At fifty-five a man may still be a lover — and lover of a girl, too, — when long before that age a woman is done for!”
Meanwhile Diana was having adventures of a sufficiently amusing kind, had she retained the capability of being amused by anything “merely” human. She arrived at her former old home a little on the outskirts of Richmond, and bade the driver of her automobile wait at the carriage gate, preferring to walk up the short distance of the drive to the house. How familiar and yet unfamiliar that wide sweep of neatly-rolled gravel was! banked up on each side with rhododendrons, through which came occasional glimpses of smooth green lawn and beds of summer flowers! How often she had weeded and watered those beds, when the gardener went off on a “booze,” as had been his frequent custom, pretending he had been “called away” by the illness of a near relative! Pausing on the doorstep of the house she looked around her, — everything was as it used to be, — the whole place expressing that unctuous pride and neatness ordinary to the suburban villa adorned by suburban taste. She rang the bell, and a smart parlourmaid appeared, — not one of the old “staff” which had been under Diana’s management.
“Is Mrs. Polydore May in?” she asked.
The maid perked a saucy head. The dazzling beauty of the visitor offended her — she had claims to a kind of music-hall prettiness herself.
“Mrs. May is in, but she’s resting and doesn’t wish to be disturbed,” she replied—” Unless you’ve some pertikler appointment—”
“My business is very urgent,” said Diana, calmly. “I am a relative of hers, just returned from abroad. I must see her — or Mr. May—”
“Perhaps Miss Preston—” suggested the parlour-maid.
Diana smiled. Miss Preston! Who was she? A new inmate of the household? — a companion for “Ma” — and “young” enough for “Pa?”
“Yes — Miss Preston will do,” she said, and forthwith she was
shown into a shady little morning-room which she well remembered, where she used to tot up the tradesmen’s books and sort the bills. A saucy-looking girl with curly brown hair rose from the perusal of a novel and stared at her inquiringly and superciliously.
“I have called to see Mrs. May” — she explained—” on very particular and personal business.”
“What name?” inquired the girl, with a stand-offish air.
“The same as her own. Kindly tell her, please. Miss May.”
“I really don’t know whether she will see you,” said the girl, carelessly. “I am her secretary and companion—”
“So I imagine!” and Diana, without being asked, sank gracefully into an easy chair, which she remembered as comfortable—” I was also her secretary and companion — for some time! She knows me very well!”
“Oh, in that case —— But does she expect you?”
“Hardly!” And Diana smiled. “But I’m sure she’ll be glad to see me. You are Miss Preston? Yes? Well then, Miss Preston, do please go and tell her!”
At that moment a loud voice called:
“Lucy! Loo — cee! Where’s my pipe?”
Diana laughed.
“The same old voice!” she said. “That’s Mr. May, isn’t it? He’s calling you — and he doesn’t like being kept waiting, does he?”
Miss Preston’s face had suddenly flushed very red.
“I’ll tell Mrs. May,” she stammered, and hurriedly left the room.
Diana gazed about her on all the little familiar things she had so often dusted and arranged in their different places. They were all so vastly removed now in association that they might have been relics of the Stone Age so far as she was concerned. All at once the door opened and a reddish face peered in, adorned with a white terrier moustache — then a rather squat body followed the face and “Pa” stood revealed. With an affable, not to say engaging air, he said:
“I beg your pardon! Are you waiting to see anyone?”
Diana rose, and her exquisite beauty and elegance swept over his little sensual soul like a simoon.
“Yes!” she answered, sweetly, while he stared like a man hypnotized—” I want to see Mrs. May — and you!”
“Me!” he responded, eagerly—” I am only too charmed!”
“But I had better speak to Mrs. May first,” she continued—” I have something very strange to tell her about her daughter—”
“Her daughter! Our daughter! My poor Diana!” And Mr. May immediately put on the manner of a pious grocer selling short weight—” Our darling was drowned last summer! — drowned! Drowned while bathing in a dangerous cove on the Devon coast. Terrible — terrible! — And she was so—”
“Young?” suggested Diana, sympathetically.
“No — er — no! — not exactly young! — she was not a girl like you! — no! — but she was so — so useful — so adaptable! And you have something strange to tell us about her? — well, why not begin with me?”
He approached her more closely with a “conquering” smile. She repressed her inclination to laugh, and said, seriously:
“No — I really think I had better explain matters to Mrs. May first — and I should like to be quite alone, please, — without Miss Preston.”
At that moment Miss Preston returned and said:
“Mrs. May will see you.” Then, addressing Mr. May, she added:” This lady says she is some relative of yours — : her name is May.”
Mr. James Polydore’s small grey-green eyes opened as widely as their lids would allow.
“A relative?” he repeated.” Surely you are mistaken? — I hardly think—”
“Please don’t perplex yourself!” said Diana, sweetly.” I will explain everything to Mrs. May — she will remember! Can I go to her now?”
“Certainly!” and Mr. May looked bewildered, but was too much overwhelmed by his visitor’s queenly air and surpassing loveliness to collect his wits, or ask any very pressing questions. “Let me show you the way!”
He preceded her along the passage to the drawing-room where Mrs. May, newly risen from the sofa, stood waiting to receive her mysterious caller, — fatter and flabbier than ever, and attired in an ill-fitting grey gown with “touches” of black about it by way of the remainder of a year’s mourning. Diana knew that old grey gown well, and had often deplored its “cut” and generally hopeless floppiness.
“Margaret,” announced Mr. May, with a jaunty air—” Here is a very charming young lady come to see you — Miss May!” Then to Diana: “As you wish to have a private talk, I’ll leave you, and return in a few minutes.”
“Thanks very much!” answered Diana, — and the next moment the door closed, and she was left alone, with — her mother! No emotion moved her, — not a shadow of tenderness, — she only just wondered how she ever came to be born of such a, curious-looking person! Mrs. May stared at her with round, unintelligent eyes like those of a codfish just landed.
“I have not the — the pleasure—” she began.
Diana advanced a step or two, holding out her hands.
“Don’t you know me?” she said, at once—” Mother?” Mrs. May sidled feebly backwards like a round rickety table on castors, and nearly fell against the wall.
“Don’t you know my voice?” went on Diana—” The voice you have heard talking to you for over forty years? — I am your daughter! — your own daughter, Diana!
I am, indeed! I was not drowned though I let you all think I was! — I ran away because I was tired of my humdrum life at home! I went abroad for a year and I have just come back. Oh, surely something will tell you I am your own child! A mother’s instinct, you know!” And she laughed, — a little laugh of chillliest satire. “I have grown much younger, I know — I will tell you all about that and the strange way it was done! — but I’m really your Diana! Your dear drowned ‘girl!’ — I am waiting for you to put your arms round me and tell me how glad you are to have me back alive and well!”
Mrs. May backed closer up against the wall and thrust both her hands out in a defensive attitude. Her gooseberry eyes rolled in her head, — her small, pursy mouth opened as though gasping for air. Not a word did she utter till Diana made a swift, half-running step towards her, — when she suddenly emitted a shrill scream like a railway whistle — another and yet another. There was a scamper of feet outside, — then the do or was thrown’ open and Mr. May and Miss Preston rushed in.
“What’s the matter? What on earth is the matter?” they cried, simultaneously.
Mrs. May, cowering against the wall, pointed at her beautiful visitor.
“Take her away! Get hold of her!” she yelled. “Get hold of her quick! Send for the police! She’s mad! Aaaah! You’ve let a lunatic into the house! She’s run away from some asylum! Lucy Preston, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to let her in! James, you’re a fool! Aa-aah!” Another wild scream. “Look how she’s staring at me! She says she’s my daughter Diana — my daughter who was drowned last year! She’s stark, raving mad! James, send for a doctor and a policeman to remove her! — take care! — she may turn round and bite you! — you can never tell! Oh, dear, oh, dear! To think that with my weak heart, you should let a mad girl into the house! Oh, cruel, cruel! And to think she should imagine herself to be my daughter Diana!”
Diana drew herself up like a queen addressing her subjects.
“I am your daughter Diana!” she said—” Though how I came to be born of such people I cannot tell! For I have nothing in common with you. But I have told you the truth. I was not drowned on the Devon coast in that cove near Rose Lea as I led you to imagine — I was tired of my life with you and ran away. I have been in Switzerland for a year and have just come back. I thought it was my duty to show myself to you alive — but I want you as little as you want me. I will go. Good-bye! — Good-’ bye you, who were my mother!”
As she said this Mrs. May uttered another yell, and showed signs of collapsing on the floor. Miss Preston hurried to her assistance, while Mr,
May, his knees shaking under him, — for he was an arrant coward, — ventured cautiously to approach the beautiful “escaped lunatic.”
“There, there!” he murmured soothingly, — he had an idea that “there, there,” was a panacea for all the emotions of the sex feminine—” Come! — now — er — come with me, like a good girl! Be reasonable and gentle! — I’ll take care of you! — you know you are not allowed to go wandering about by yourself like this, with such strange ideas in your head! — Now come along quietly, and I’ll see what I can do —— —”
Diana laughed merrily.
“Oh, Pa! Poor old Pa! Just the same Pa! Don’t trouble yourself and don’t look so frightened! I won’t ‘bite’ you! My car is waiting and I have to be back at the hotel in time for dinner.” And she stepped lightly along out of the drawing-room without one backward glance at the moaning Mrs. May, supported by Miss Preston, while James Polydore followed her, vaguely wondering whether her mention of a car in waiting might not be something like crazed Ophelia’s call for “Come, my coach!”
Suddenly she said:
“Is Grace Laurie still with you?”
He stared, thoroughly taken aback.
“Grace Laurie? My wife’s maid? She married and went to Australia six months ago. How could you know her?”
“As your daughter Diana, I knew her, of course!” she replied. “Poor Grace! She was a kind girl! She would have recognized my voice, I’m sure. Is it possible you don’t?”
“I don’t, indeed!” answered” Pa” cautiously, while using his best efforts to get her out of the house—” Come, come! I’m very sorry for you, — you are evidently one of those ‘lost identity’ cases of which we so often hear — and you are far too pretty to be in such a sad condition of mind! You see, you don’t know yourself, and you don’t know what you’re talking about! My daughter Diana was not like you at all, — she was a middle-aged woman — Ah! — over forty—”
“So she was — so she is!” said Diana—” I’m over forty! But, Pa, why give yourself away? It makes you so old!”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 862
