The Mystery of the Clasped Hands: A Novel

by Guy Boothby

  CHAPTER V

  For a moment after he realized the true state of affairs Godfrey wasspellbound with terror. Was it just possible that he would be able tohead the horse off from the pit? If he could not, then it would be theend of all things as far as Miss Devereux was concerned. With the coldsweat of terror on his brow he watched the girl he loved racing down theslope on the maddened horse. He saw that she was making a brave fight tobring him to a standstill; but even at that distance he could tell thather effort was in vain. A moment later the animal had once more changedhis course and had dashed toward a hedge. He scarcely rose at it; as anatural consequence he struck it, toppled over, and then both horse andrider disappeared together. Fearful at what he might find, Godfreygalloped toward the spot, jumped the gate that separated it from theneighbouring field, and looked about him for what he should see. Thehorse was lying stretched out upon the ground, and one glance wassufficient to show him that its neck was broken. In the dry ditch belowthe hedge he could catch a glimpse of a black figure. He sprang from hishorse and approached it. Lifting her head he supported her in his arms,and as he did so a little sigh escaped from her lips.

  "God be thanked, she is still alive!" he muttered to himself, and thenhe replaced her head upon the bank.

  Taking off his coat he made it into a ball. He placed it beneath herhead, and then set off in search of water. When he had procured a littlein his hat he returned and bathed her forehead and temples with it.After a while she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

  "I feel better now," she answered, in reply to his inquiries. "Where isthe horse?"

  "Close beside you," he said, and then going to his own animal he tookhis flask from the holster and filled the little cup with sherry.

  "Drink this," he said. "It will do you good."

  The wine revived her, and in a few minutes she was so far recovered asto be able to sit up and discuss matters with him.

  "I am quite well now," she said. "But how am I to get home? Poor papa!What a state he will be in when he hears! Since my horse is dead Isuppose I must try to walk."

  "You will do nothing of the kind," Godfrey replied, firmly. "I will liftyou into the saddle and you must try and ride my horse. If we can find avillage near here, you can remain there until a carriage is sent fromthe Court to fetch you."

  "As I have proved myself incompetent I suppose I must obey you," sheanswered, with a touch of her old spirit. "But what is to be done withmy own poor beast?"

  "I will arrange about him when I have attended to your comfort," hesaid, and then assisted her to rise and lifted her into the saddle. Forthe first hundred yards or so they walked almost in silence. She was thefirst to speak.

  "Mr. Henderson," she said, looking down at him, "I owe you an apology. Iwas rude to you the other day, and I laughed at you when you told methis morning that you did not like my new horse. Events have proved thatyou were right. Will you forgive me?"

  "I have nothing to forgive," he answered; "but you can have no idea hownervous I was this morning when I saw how that brute behaved."

  "Why should you have bothered yourself about me?" she asked, not,however, with quite her usual confidence.

  Here was the very opportunity he had been looking for so long. He feltthat he must take possession of it at once.

  "Because I love you," he answered. "You must have known that I have beenin love with you ever since I first saw you, Molly. Don't you believeme?"

  "Yes, I know it," she replied, looking at him with the love-lightshining in her own eyes.

  "And your answer, Molly? What can you say to me?"

  "Only that I love you too," she murmured.

  I do not know what my spinster readers will think, but the fact remainsthat the paddock they were crossing was a large one, some twenty acresin extent. It was almost in the centre of this open space that heproposed to her, and she, brazen creature, at his suggestion, I willadmit, stooped from her saddle and permitted him to kiss her where allthe world might see.

  It was between three and four o'clock that afternoon when Godfreyreached home. He had waited at the little village inn until thecarriage, which he had sent for to convey her home, arrived from theCourt. Then, when he had promised to ride over in the morning in orderto interview her father, he watched her drive off and had afterwarddeparted himself to his own abode.

  "Well, Godfrey, and what sort of a day have you had?" asked Miss Kitty,as they stood in the drawing-room before the fire.

  "Splendid," he answered. "I was awfully cut up at one time, but on thewhole it has been one of the best days in my life."

  "You seem to have enjoyed it. Where did you find?"

  "At Churley Spinney," he answered.

  "And you killed at----?"

  "I'm sure I don't know," was the reply.

  "How long did you run?"

  "I don't know that either."

  "You don't seem to have been very observant. What _do_ you know?"

  "I only know that I am engaged to Molly Devereux. For the present thatseems to me to be quite sufficient."

  In a moment her arms were round his neck.

  "You dear boy, I can not tell you how thankful I am."

  Nor was Mrs. Henderson's pleasure the less sincere.

  To say that Godfrey Henderson was a happy man after his acceptance byMiss Molly would be too mild an expression altogether. It is my opinionthat for the next few days he could not have been said to be properlyresponsible for his actions. He behaved like an amiable lunatic, spentthe greater part of his time, when he was not with his _fiancee_,planning alterations to a house which was already perfect, and vowedmany times a day that he was not nearly good enough for one so angelic.Every one, with the exception of Sir George Penistone, perhaps, wasdelighted with the match. The worthy old baronet gave his consentimmediately almost before it was asked in point of fact, and vowed thatthe two properties would run splendidly together. A county dinner wasgiven to celebrate the engagement. There were folks who prophesied thatthe wedding festivities would be on a scale seldom witnessed even byMidlandshire, which as all the world knows, or should know, is the mosthospitable county in the three kingdoms. The engagement was to be a veryshort one, and the happy couple were to leave directly after themarriage ceremony for the South of France.

  "You are quite sure that you are not anxious to change your mind?" saidMolly to her lover one evening, when they were riding home from hunting."Remember, there is still time."

  "If it were not so light, and I had not the best of reasons for knowingthat old Farmer Giles is behind us, and has his eyes glued upon ourbacks, I would find a means of making you repent of that speech." Thenhe added more seriously: "Darling, whatever may happen in the future,whatever troubles may be in store for us, you will always believe that Ilove you, will you not?"

  "Always," she answered. "Happen what may, I shall never doubt that. Butwhat makes you suddenly so solemn?"

  "I don't know," he replied. "Somebody walking over my grave, I suppose."

  She gave a little cry of pain.

  "For pity's sake don't talk like that!" she cried. "You have no idea howit hurts me."

  "In that case I will never do so again," he said. "Forgive me and forgetthat I said it, dear." Then to change the conversation, he added: "Iexpect this will be our last day's hunting together before we aremarried. We shall both be too busy to be able to spare the time."

  "I have no idea how I am going to get through all I have to do," shesaid. "I shall practically live in shops for the next month, and I dodetest shopping. Mamma, on the other hand, seems to revel in it. I fancyshe would like to have a wedding to arrange every month in the year. Bythe way, Godfrey, have you decided who is going to be your best man?"

  "Yes," he replied. "Victor Fensden. He is my oldest friend, and I heardfrom him only this morning that he will be delighted to officiate inthat capacity. He is in Paris just now, but returns to England at theend of the week, when I have invited him to come down here for a fewdays. I hope you will like him."


  "I am certain to like any friend of yours," she replied. "I shall bevery interested in Mr. Fensden. I came across a volume of his poems theother day. It was very strangely bound and illustrated in anextraordinary manner by himself."

  "That's his own idea. And did you like the poetry?"

  "Well, if I must be candid, and I'm sure you won't mind, I must confessthat I did not understand much of it. It seems so confused. Not a bitlike Tennyson, or Keats, or Shelley."

  "I quite agree with you," said Godfrey. "Fensden is very clever, tooclever for me, I'm afraid. One or two literary people rave about hiswork, I know, but for my part I like less words and a little more humannature. Give me 'Gunga Din,' or the 'Charge of the Light Brigade,' formy money, and anybody else can have all the nymphs and satyrs, and odesto Bacchus and Pan that were ever crammed into the realms of poetry."

  Loath as I am to say it, such was the infatuation of this girl that shepositively agreed with him. Fate, with that characteristic kindness forwhich it is celebrated, had been good enough to endow them with minds ofsimilar calibre, which, of course, was very desirable, and just as itshould be.

  On the Wednesday morning following the conversation I have justdescribed Molly and her mother departed for London, where the formerwas to be handed over to the tender care of Madame Delamaine and herassistants. They were to be away for three days, returning home on theFriday evening, and, as a little compensation for their absence, it wasagreed that Godfrey should meet them in town on the Thursday and takethem to a theatre.

  Accordingly the morning train conveyed him to the Metropolis. He had thepleasure of the vicar's society on the way up, and the latter, not beingrestrained by his wife, was able to give him his opinion on matters ingeneral and the immediate stress on politics in particular. Inconsequence, as Godfrey admitted afterward, he spent two such hours ofboredom as he hopes never to experience again. On his arrival in Londonhe drove to his tailors and ordered his wedding garments, going onafterward to a well-known firm of jewellers in Regent Street, from whomhe bought a wedding-ring with as much care as he would have given to thepurchase of Crown jewels, and a diamond necklace with little moreconcern than if it had been a pair of gloves. From Regent Street hedrove to his club for luncheon. He was late, but that did not matter,for he felt that the morning had been well spent. On entering thedining-room he looked about him for a vacant table. He had chosen one,and was proceeding toward it when a well-known voice behind him said:

  "Come and sit here, Godfrey."

  He turned round to find himself face to face with no less a person thanVictor Fensden.

  "My dear old fellow, this is indeed a surprise," he said as he shookhands. "I thought you were still in Paris. How long have you been inLondon?"

  "I crossed this morning," Victor replied. "I am tired of travelling andwant to settle down."

  "And you have enjoyed yourself?"

  "Fairly well," Victor replied. "I have met a lot of people whom I hopenever to see again, and have tasted, I should say, every example ofvillainous cookery in Europe. I am thinking of bringing out a new guidebook, which I shall name 'The Tourist's Vade Mecum'; or, 'Where _not_ togo in Europe.'"

  Considering that it was to Godfrey's generosity that he owed the longholiday he had been able to take, this was scarcely a grateful speech,but the latter did not comment on it. He was too happy himself and tooglad to see his friend once more to take offence. He noticed that in hisdress Victor was even more artistic than before. His hair was a shadelonger, his tie a trifle larger (he wore it tied in a bow with endsflying loose), and the general tone of his costume a little morepronounced.

  "And the future Mrs. Henderson?" he said, airily. "How is she? As youmay suppose, I am all anxiety to make her acquaintance."

  "You will do so on Saturday," Godfrey replied, "for I presume you arecoming down to me then?"

  "I shall be delighted," said Fensden. "An English country house will besoothing after the caravansaries I have been domiciled in lately. Inever knew how much I detested my brother Briton until I met him in aforeign hotel."

  The sneer on his face as he said this was not pretty to watch.

  "And now that you are at home once more, I presume you will resume yourold habit of searching the slums for foreign eating houses?" saidGodfrey, with a laugh. "Do you remember how and where we met Teresina?"

  "Perfectly," Victor replied shortly, and then changed the conversationby inquiring how long Godfrey intended remaining in town.

  "I go back to-morrow morning," was the other's reply. "And now that Icome to think of it, why shouldn't you come down with me? It would bejust the thing for you. We shall be very pleased to see you if you careto come."

  "Impossible," the other answered. "I have such a lot to do. I could notpossibly manage it before Saturday."

  "Let it be Saturday then," said Godfrey, with an imperturbable goodhumour that contrasted very strongly with the other's peevishness."There's a first-rate train which gets you down in time for afternoontea. I'll meet you at the station."

  When Godfrey had finished his lunch he paid a visit to his saddler andhis bootmaker, and then to fill in the time, inspected the stables of awell-known horse-dealer. He would have liked to go round to Eaton Squarewhere Molly and her mother were staying with an old maiden aunt, but hethought better of it, and contented himself by strolling down BondStreet on the off-chance that he might meet them. He was not successful,however, so he returned to his hotel to dress and dine.

  At ten minutes to eight he was to be seen standing in the vestibule ofthe Lyceum, waiting for the ladies to put in an appearance. When theircarriage drove up he hastened forward to greet them, and conducted themforthwith to the box he had engaged. Nothing that could tend to theircomfort had been omitted by this extravagant young man, and he found hisreward in the tender little squeeze Molly gave his hand when he removedher cloak. During the evening he did not concern himself very much withthe play; he watched his future wife's pretty face and the expressionsthat played upon it. As soon as they were married he was determined topaint a life-size portrait of her, which he prophesied to himself wouldbe the best piece of work he had ever accomplished. But even thehappiest evenings must come to an end, and this particular one was noexception to the rule. When the curtain fell on the last act, here-cloaked his two charges, and escorted them downstairs once more.Then, bidding them wait in the vestibule, he himself went out in searchof their carriage. When he had placed them in it, he bade themgood-night, and came very near being knocked over by a hansom as hewatched them disappear in the traffic.

  The night was bitterly cold, and snow was falling. Reflecting that itwould be wiser not to stand still, he turned up the collar of his coat,and wondered what he should do next. Should he go back to his hotel andto bed, or should he stroll on to his club and see who was there? Heeventually decided in favour of the hotel, and accordingly set off alongthe Strand in the hope that he might presently be able to pick up a cab.

  He had reached Exeter Hall, when, with a cry of astonishment, he foundhimself standing face to face with the one person of all others he hadleast expected to see in England. It was Teresina!

  "Teresina!" he ejaculated, in surprise. "What on earth does this mean?How long have you been in England?"

  "Nearly a month," she answered, looking away as if she desired to avoidhis eyes.

  "And why did you not let me know that you were coming?" he asked,reproachfully. "You must surely remember that you promised to do so?"

  "I did not like to trouble you," she replied, still in the samecuriously hard voice. "You were not in London, and I thought you wouldbe too busy to have time to spare for me."

  "You know that is not true," he answered. "I should be a mean brute if Idid not find time to look after my friends. Where are you living? In theold house?"

  She paused for a moment before she replied. He noticed herembarrassment, but did not put the right construction upon it.

  "Near the Tottenham Court Road," she said at last. "I don'
t think youwould know the street if I told you."

  "And your mother, how is she?"

  He saw the look of pain which spread over her face, and noticed that hereyes filled with tears.

  "My mother is dead!" she answered, very quietly. "She died in Naples twomonths ago."

  "And you are alone in the world? My poor child! This will never do. Youmust let me help you if I can."

  "No, no!" she cried, this time almost fiercely. "I do not require anyhelp. I can support myself quite well."

  "I shall have to be convinced of that before I let you go," he answered."London is not the sort of place for a young girl to be alone in,particularly when one is a foreigner and poor."

  "You were always kind to me," she replied, "but I can not let you domore. Besides you are going to be married. Is that not so?"

  "It is quite true," he answered; "but how did you hear of it?"

  She looked confused for a moment.

  "I can not tell you," she replied. "Perhaps I saw it in the newspapers.You are famous, and they write about you. Now I must be getting home."

  An empty cab happened to pass at that moment, and Godfrey hailed it.

  "Get in," he said, when the vehicle had drawn up beside the pavement. "Iam going to see you home. This is not the hour for you to be alone inthe streets."

  "No, no," she protested, even more vehemently than before. "I can notlet you do this. I can walk quite well. It is not far, and I have oftendone it."

  "Teresina, you must do as I tell you," said Godfrey, firmly. "I insistthat you get in and that you give me your address."

  She hesitated for a moment before she replied. Then she said:

  "No. 16, Burford Street, off the Tottenham Court Road."

  Having given the address to the driver, Godfrey took his place besidethe girl. He was thankful, indeed, that he had met her, but thecircumstances under which he had found her distressed him more than hewas able to say. As they drove along he endeavoured to elicit someinformation from her concerning her present life. She was notcommunicative, however. That there was some mystery at the back of itall, he could see, and the more he thought of it, the more unhappy hebecame. Poor little Teresina! He remembered her as she was when she hadfirst sat to him for the picture which had made his name; and as helooked out upon the falling snow and the miserable streets with the darkfigures scurrying along the pavement on either hand, and thought of herfuture, his heart sank within him. He wondered whether he could persuadeher to accept a sufficient sum of money from him to enable her to returnto her own country and to live in comfort there? He was rich, and afterall it was not only his duty but his pleasure to help an old friend. Asshe seemed so distressed at meeting him, he resolved to say nothing onthe subject then, however; nevertheless, he was determined in his ownmind that he would write to her on the morrow and make the offer,whether she accepted it or not. At last they came to a part of theStrand which was more brilliantly illuminated than elsewhere. As theycame within the circle of the light, Teresina put up her hand to pushback her hair, and Godfrey noticed that she wore a wedding-ring upon herthird finger. This gave him food for reflection.

  "Teresina," he said, "why did you not tell me that you were married? Ithought you said you were alone in the world."

  "My husband is dead," she answered, with what was almost a note ofdespair in her voice.

  "Your husband dead, and your mother dead too?" he repeated, almostincredulously. "Teresina, my dear child, are you telling me the truth?"

  "Why should you doubt me?" she cried. "You have no reason for doing so."

  "Because I feel that you are hiding something from me," he said. "Is itany use my imploring you to confide in me? You know that I am yourfriend, and that I would help you to the best of my ability."

  "I know you would," she answered. "You were always a good and kindfriend to me. All I ask of you now, however, is to leave me alone. I amunhappy enough as it is. Do not seek to add to my misery."

  "Heaven knows I have no desire to do that," said Godfrey. "But if youthink I am going to leave you, as you are now, you are much mistaken. Ifyou would only be brave and tell me everything, it might simplifymatters."

  "Impossible," she cried. "Have I not told you there is nothing to tell?Oh, why did I not go another way home!"

  "Because it was to be," he answered. "You were in trouble, Providencesent me to help you. Believe me, that is the explanation."

  A few moments later the cab turned from the Tottenham Court Road into anarrower and darker street. Half--way down this dingy thoroughfare itcame to a standstill--before a house on the right-hand side. It was byno means a cheerful dwelling, and at that hour it was wrapped incomplete darkness. They descended from the cab, and Godfrey, who had nodesire that the cabman should overhear his conversation with Teresina,paid him off with a liberal _largesse_, and allowed him to go on his wayrejoicing.

  "Is it any use my again asking you to tell me your trouble?" he said tothe girl beside him, when the vehicle had disappeared and a policemanhad passed, after taking a long survey of them.

  "Not in the least," she answered. "Please do not ask me."

  "In that case, will you make me a promise, Teresina? If you will do so,I will ask no further questions for the present."

  "What is it I am to promise?"

  "That you will not leave this house without first letting me knowwhither you are going?"

  "I will do that," she answered. "I will let you know when I leave thishouse."

  "Here is my card then. You had better take care of it. A letter ortelegram will always find me. And now good-night, my poor girl.Remember, I am your friend."

  "Good-night, and may God bless _you_."

  So saying, she disappeared into the house, while he, in his turn, aftertaking the bearing of the house, in case he should want to find itagain, set off in the opposite direction to that by which he had enteredthe street.

  Meanwhile Teresina, choking down her sobs, climbed the stairs to theroom she occupied in that ramshackle tenement. Unlocking the door, sheentered and started to cross the floor in search of a box of matches sheremembered having left upon the chimney-piece. She had not advanced morethan three steps, however, before she was seized by the throat frombehind, while at the same time a keen-bladed knife was driven, as far asthe handle, between her shoulders, only to be withdrawn and thrust inagain and again, until she fell with a little gasp upon the floor.

  When her assassin had made sure that she was dead, he lit the gas andknelt beside her for a few minutes. Then he rose, placed something in abox upon the table, turned off the gas once more, picked up the box, andwent out, relocking the door behind him.