The Seven Secrets

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER XIX.

  JEVONS GROWS MYSTERIOUS.

  On coming down to breakfast on the following morning I found Mrs.Mivart awaiting me alone. The old lady apologised for Mary'snon-appearance, saying that it was her habit to have her tea in herroom, but that she sent me a message of farewell.

  Had it been at all possible I would have left by a later train, for Iwas extremely anxious to watch her demeanour after last night'sclandestine meeting, but with such a crowd of patients awaiting me itwas imperative to leave by the first train. Even that would not bringme to King's Cross before nearly eleven o'clock.

  "Well now, doctor," Mrs. Mivart commenced rather anxiously when wewere seated, and she had handed me my coffee. "You saw Mary lastnight, and had an opportunity of speaking with her. What is youropinion? Don't hesitate to tell me frankly, for I consider that it ismy duty to face the worst."

  "Really!" I exclaimed, looking straight at her after a moment'sreflection. "To speak candidly I failed to detect anything radicallywrong in your daughter's demeanour."

  "But didn't you notice, doctor, how extremely nervous she is; how inher eyes there is a haunting, suspicious look, and how blank is hermind upon every other subject but the great calamity that hasbefallen her?"

  "I must really confess that these things were not apparent to me," Ianswered. "I watched her carefully, but beyond the facts that she isgreatly unnerved by the sad affair and that she is mourning deeply forher dead husband, I can discover nothing abnormal."

  "You are not of opinion, then, that her mind is growing unbalanced bythe strain?"

  "Not in the least," I reassured her. "The symptoms she betrays are butnatural in a woman of her nervous, highly-strung temperament."

  "But she unfortunately grieves too much," remarked the old lady with asigh. "His name is upon her lips at every hour. I've tried to distracther and urged her to accompany me abroad for a time, but all to nopurpose. She won't hear of it."

  I alone knew the reason of her refusal. In conspiracy with her "dead"husband it was impossible to be apart from him for long together. Theundue accentuation of her daughter's feigned grief had alarmed the oldlady--and justly so. Now that I recollected, her conduct at table onthe previous night was remarkable, having regard to the true facts ofthe case. I confess I had myself been entirely deceived into believingthat her sorrow at Henry Courtenay's death was unbounded. In everydetail her acting was perfect, and bound to attract sympathy among herfriends and arouse interest among strangers. I longed to explain tothe quiet, charming old lady what I had seen during my midnightramble; but such a course was, as yet, impossible. Indeed, if I made aplain statement, such as I have given in the foregoing pages, surelyno one would believe me. But every man has his romance, and this wasmine.

  Unable to reveal Mary's secret, I was compelled reluctantly to takeleave of her mother, who accompanied me out to where the dog-cart wasin waiting.

  "I scarcely know, doctor, how to thank you sufficiently," the dear oldlady said as I took her hand. "What you have told me reassures me. Oflate I have been extremely anxious, as you may imagine."

  "You need feel no anxiety," I declared. "She's nervous and rundown--that's all. Take her away for a change, if possible. But if sherefuses, don't force her. Quiet is the chief medicine in her case.Good-bye."

  She pressed my hand again in grateful acknowledgment, and then Imounted into the conveyance and was driven to the station.

  On the journey back to town I pondered long and deeply. Of a verity myshort visit to Mrs. Mivart had been fraught with good results, and Iwas contemplating seeking Ambler Jevons at the earliest possiblemoment and relating to him my astounding discovery. The fact that oldCourtenay was still living was absolutely beyond my comprehension. Toendeavour to form any theory, or to try and account for thebewildering phenomenon, was utterly useless. I had seen him, and hadoverheard his words. I could surely believe my eyes and ears. Andthere it ended. The why and wherefore I put aside for the present,remembering Mary's promise to him to come to town and have aninterview with me.

  Surely that meeting ought to be most interesting. I awaited it withthe most intense anxiety, and yet in fear lest I might be led by herclever imposture to blurt out what I knew. I felt myself on the eve ofa startling revelation; and my expectations were realized to the full,as the further portion of this strange romance will show.

  I know that many narratives have been written detailing the remarkableand almost inconceivable machinations of those who have stained theirhands with crime, but I honestly believe that the extraordinaryfeatures of my own life-romance are as strange as, if not strangerthan, any hitherto recorded. Even my worst enemy could not dub meegotistical, I think; and surely the facts I have set down here areplain and unvarnished, without any attempt at misleading the readerinto believing that which is untrue. Mine is a plain chronicle of achain of extraordinary circumstances which led to an amazingdenouement.

  From King's Cross to Guy's is a considerable distance, and when Ialighted from the cab in the courtyard of the hospital it was nearlymid-day. Until two o'clock I was kept busy in the wards, and after asandwich and a glass of sherry I drove to Harley Street, where I foundSir Bernard in his consulting-room for the first time for a month.

  "Ah! Boyd," he cried merrily, when I entered. "Thought I'd surpriseyou to-day. I felt quite well this morning, so resolved to come up andsee Lady Twickenham and one or two others. I'm not at home topatients, and have left them to you."

  "Delighted to see you better," I declared, wringing his hand. "Theywere asking after you at the hospital to-day. Vernon said he intendedgoing down to see you to-morrow."

  "Kind of him," the old man laughed, placing his thin hands together,after rubbing and readjusting his glasses. "You were away last night;out of town, they said."

  "Yes, I wanted a breath of fresh air," I answered, laughing. I did notcare to tell him where I had been, knowing that he held my love forEthelwynn as the possible ruin of my career.

  His curiosity seemed aroused; but, although he put to me an ingeniousquestion, I steadfastly refused to satisfy him. I recollected too wellhis open condemnation of my love on previous occasions. Now that the"murdered" man was proved to be still alive, I surely had no furthergrounds for my suspicion of Ethelwynn. That she had, by her silence,deceived me regarding her engagement to Mr. Courtenay was plain, butthe theory that it was her hand that had assassinated him wascertainly disproved. Thus, although the discovery of the "dead" man'scontinued existence deepened the mystery a thousandfold, itnevertheless dispelled from my heart a good deal of the suspicionregarding my well-beloved; and, in consequence, I was not desirousthat any further hostile word should be uttered against her.

  While Sir Bernard went out to visit her ladyship and two or threeother nervous women living in the same neighbourhood, I seated myselfin his chair and saw the afternoon callers one after another. I fearthat the advice I gave during those couple of hours was not verynotable for its shrewdness or brilliancy. As in other professions, soin medicine, when one's brain is overflowing with private affairs, onecannot attend properly to patients. On such occasions one is apt toask the usual questions mechanically, hear the replies and scribble aprescription of some harmless formula. On the afternoon in question Icertainly believe myself guilty of such lapse of professionalattention. Yet even we doctors are human, although our patientsfrequently forget that fact. The medico is a long-suffering person,even in these days of scarcity of properly-qualified men--the firstperson called on emergency, and the very last to be paid!

  It was past five o'clock before I was able to return to my rooms, andon arrival I found upon my table a note from Jevons. It was dated fromthe Yorick Club, a small but exceedingly comfortable Bohemian centrein Bedford Street, Covent Garden, and had evidently been writtenhurriedly on the previous night:--

  _"I hear you are absent in the country. That is unfortunate. But as soon as you receive this, lose no time in calling at the Hennikers' and making casual inquiries regarding Mis
s Mivart. Something has happened, but what it is I have failed to discover. You stand a better chance. Go at once. I must leave for Bath to-night. Address me at the Royal Hotel, G. W. Station._

  "AMBLER JEVONS."

  What could have transpired? And why had my friend's movements been soexceedingly erratic of late, if he had not been following some clue?Would that clue lead him to the truth, I wondered? Or was he stillsuspicious of Ethelwynn's guilt?

  Puzzled by this vague note, and wondering what had occurred, andwhether the trip to Bath was in connection with it, I made a hastytoilet and drove in a hansom to the Hennikers'.

  Mrs. Henniker met me in the drawing-room, just as gushing and charmingas ever. She was one of those many women in London who seek to hang onto the skirts of polite society by reason of a distant connexion beinga countess--a fact of which she never failed to remind the strangerbefore half-an-hour's acquaintance. She found it always a pleasantmanner in which to open a conversation at dinner, dance, or soiree:"Oh! do you happen to know my cousin, Lady Nassington?" She neversufficiently realised it as bad form, and therefore in her own circlewas known among the women, who jeered at her behind her back, as "TheCousin of Lady Nassington." She was daintily dressed, and evidentlyjust come in from visiting, for she still had her hat on when sheentered.

  "Ah!" she cried, with her usual buoyant air. "You truant! We've allbeen wondering what had become of you. Busy, of course! Always thesame excuse! Find something fresh. You used it a fortnight ago torefuse my invitation to take pot-luck with us."

  I laughed at her unconventional greeting, replying, "If I saysomething fresh it must be a lie. You know, Mrs. Henniker, how hardI'm kept at it, with hospital work and private practice."

  "That's all very well," she said, with a slight pout of herwell-shaped mouth--for she was really a pretty woman, even though fullof airs and caprices. "But it doesn't excuse you for keeping away fromus altogether."

  "I don't keep away altogether," I protested. "I've called now."

  She pulled a wry face, in order to emphasise her dissatisfaction at myexplanation, and said:

  "And I suppose you are prepared to receive castigation? Ethelwynn hasbegun to complain because people are saying that your engagement isbroken off."

  "Who says so?" I inquired rather angrily, for I hated all thetittle-tattle of that little circle of gossips who dawdle over thetea-cups of Redcliffe Square and its neighbourhood. I had attended agood many of them professionally at various times, and was wellacquainted with all their ways and all their exaggerations. Thegossiping circle in flat-land about Earl's Court was bad enough, butthe Redcliffe Square set, being slightly higher in the social scale,was infinitely worse.

  "Oh! all the ill-natured people are commenting upon your apparentcoolness. Once, not long ago, you used to be seen everywhere withEthelwynn, and now no one ever sees you. People form a naturalconclusion, of course," said the fair-haired, fussy little woman,whose married state gave her the right to censure me on my neglect.

  "Ethelwynn is, of course, still with you?" I asked, in anger thatoutsiders should seek to interfere in my private affairs.

  "She still makes our house her home, not caring to go back to thedulness of Neneford," was her reply. "But at present she's awayvisiting one of her old schoolfellows--a girl who married a countrybanker and lives near Hereford."

  "Then she's in the country?"

  "Yes, she went three days ago. I thought she had written to you. Shetold me she intended doing so."

  I had received no letter from her. Indeed, our recent correspondencehad been of a very infrequent and formal character. With a woman'squick perception she had noted my coldness and had sought to showequal callousness. With the knowledge of Courtenay's continuedexistence now in my mind, I was beside myself with grief and anger athaving doubted her. But how could I act at that moment, save inobedience to my friend Jevons' instructions? He had urged me to go andfind out some details regarding her recent life with the Hennikers;and with that object I remarked:

  "She hasn't been very well of late, I fear. The change of air shoulddo her good."

  "That's true, poor girl. She's seemed very unwell, and I've oftentold her that only one doctor in the world could cure hermalady--yourself."

  I smiled. The malady was, I knew too well, the grief of a disappointedlove, and a perfect cure for that could only be accomplished byreconciliation. I was filled with regret that she was absent, for Ilonged there and then to take her to my breast and whisper into herear my heart's outpourings. Yes; we men are very foolish in ourimpetuosity.

  "How long will she be away?"

  "Why?" inquired the smartly-dressed little woman, mischievously. "Whatcan it matter to you?"

  "I have her welfare at heart, Mrs. Henniker," I answered seriously.

  "Then you have a curious way of showing your solicitude on herbehalf," she said bluntly, smiling again. "Poor Ethelwynn has beenpining day after day for a word from you; but you seldom, if ever,write, and when you do the coldness of your letters adds to her burdenof grief. I knew always when she had received one by the traces ofsecret tears upon her cheeks. Forgive me for saying so, Doctor, butyou men, either in order to test the strength of a woman's affection,or perhaps out of mere caprice, often try her patience until thestrained thread snaps, and she who was a good and pure woman becomesreckless of everything--her name, her family pride, and even her ownhonour."

  Her words aroused my curiosity.

  "And you believe that Ethelwynn's patience is exhausted?" I asked,anxiously.

  Her eyes met mine, and I saw a mysterious expression in them. There isalways something strange in the eyes of a pretty woman who is hiding asecret.

  "Well, Doctor," she answered, in a voice quite calm and deliberate,"you've already shown yourself so openly as being disinclined tofurther associate yourself publicly with poor Ethelwynn, because ofthe tragedy that befell the household, that you surely cannot complainif you find your place usurped by a new and more devoted lover."

  "What!" I cried, starting up, fiercely. "What is this you tell me?Ethelwynn has a lover?"

  "I have nothing whatever to do with her affairs, Doctor," said thetantalising woman, who affected all the foibles of the smarter set."Now that you have forsaken her she is, of course, entirely mistressof her own actions."

  "But I haven't forsaken her!" I blurted forth.

  She only smiled superciliously, with the same mysterious look--anexpression that I cannot define, but by which I knew that she had toldme the crushing truth. Ethelwynn, believing that I had cast her aside,had allowed herself to be loved by another!

  Who was the man who had usurped my place? I deserved it all, without adoubt. You, reader, have already in your heart condemned me as beinghard and indifferent towards the woman I once loved so truly and sowell. But, in extenuation, I would ask you to recollect how grave werethe suspicions against her--how every fact seemed to proveconclusively that her sister's husband had died by her hand.

  I saw plainly in Mrs. Henniker's veiled words a statement of thetruth; and, after obtaining from her Ethelwynn's address nearHereford, bade her farewell and blindly left the house.