LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

as Dorothy's mother I have some power, I hope. Now I will send her to you, and you can say what you like--in fact, you can communicate to her the state of my feelings. But," added Mrs. Ward, shooting a Parthian arrow, "I should not mention Lola Velez if I were you. Good-by, I shall not see you for many a long day, I expect."

      "And hope," said Brendon, much mortified.

      "And hope," replied Mrs. Ward, coolly. "You are the last man in the world I should like for my son-in-law. Marry that dancer," and with a shrill, unpleasant laugh Mrs. Ward vanished.

      Brendon paced the room, waiting for Dorothy. How Mrs. Ward had learned of his connection with Lola Velez he could not understand. Brendon was perfectly innocent, and what he had done for the dancer was dictated by pure kindness. But even if he explained the whole circumstances of his meeting and of his philanthropy to Dorothy, she was a woman, when all was said and done, and might not believe him. On the whole, he decided to take Mrs. Ward's advice and hold his tongue on the subject of the dancer. On some future occasion he might be able to explain, and at the present moment he had the satisfaction of knowing that his conscience was clear. He had just arrived at this decision when Dorothy entered the room. The next moment she was in his arms, and the two entered Paradise at once.

      "My dearest, I am so glad to see you," said Dorothy in her soft voice as they sat down. "I wrote, but you did not come."

      "I was engaged, darling."

      Dorothy nodded. "I know, at the inquest which was held on that poor creature."

      "Why do you take an interest in the case, Dorothy?"

      "Oh, because you went to stop at the house, and it was so strange that she should have died on that very night."

      "So your mother says," said George, uncomfortably. "I really think she believes that I have something to do with the matter."

      "Oh, that's nonsense," said Dorothy, serenely; "but mother does not like you very much, George, and----"

      "She hates me you mean."

      "Well," responded Miss Ward, candidly, "if you ask me to tell the truth, I think she does. But you know what my mother is. I--no, if I cannot say good of her, let me at least say nothing bad. But I love you, George, you know that."

      "My own heart," and Brendon took her in his strong arms, thanking God for the gift of so steadfast a heart. For a few minutes silence reigned, and the lovers looked at one another with fond affection.

      Dorothy was tall and slim and dark, with a Spanish face of that delicate, high-bred cast which is seen to perfection among the women of Andalusia. Judging by her large black eyes, and the serious expression of her lips, Dorothy Ward might have had Moorish blood in her veins. Perhaps she had, as one of her father's ancestors, when ambassador to Madrid in the reign of the first James, had brought back with him a Spanish wife. And Dorothy inherited all the Iberian beauty of that lady. She should have been called Inez, or Paquita, for the purely English name of Dorothy suited her badly. That is a milkmaid's name, and Miss Ward was more of the court than of the pasture.

      Her dark beauty contrasted well with the fair comeliness of George Brendon, and seated side by side on the sofa they looked an extremely handsome couple. Certainly they might have appeared happier, for Dorothy was downcast, and in Brendon's blue eyes there lurked a worried look. He was wondering how he could communicate Mrs. Ward's decision to the girl. Dorothy looked at him and smiled.

      "A penny for your thoughts, George," she said, taking his hand.

      "I'll sell them as bankrupt stock," said Brendon, drawing her closer, and then he took his courage in both hands for the necessary confession. "This may be my last visit, Dorothy," he said.

      She looked at him in surprise. "Why do you say that?"

      "Your mother----"

      "Oh, never mind my mother," broke in the girl, petulantly. "I know she objects to our marriage, so----"

      "On the contrary, she told me that she would not object if I could clear myself of complicity in this crime."

      "George! Did she accuse you of----"

      "Not in so many words," interrupted the lover, "but I saw very plainly what she meant. The fact that I slept in that house on the night Mrs. Jersey was murdered is to her mind a proof that I have something to do with the matter."

      "But you can prove conclusively that you have not," insisted Dorothy.

      "Certainly. Mr. Train, with whom I was stopping, can prove that I did not leave my room. The key of the sitting-room door was in his possession, and to get out I should have had to make use of him." George paused and thought for a moment. "But there is one thing----"

      "What is it?" asked Dorothy, seeing that he hesitated.

      "I don't know if I ought to tell you."

      "Whatever concerns you concerns me," she said, pressing his hand to her heart. "You know that I love you as dearly as you love me, and nothing you tell me shall ever part us."

      "Oh, I don't think what I am about to say will have that effect," was Brendon's reply, "but I have a confession to make about my--my birth."

      Dorothy looked at him in amazement. "About your birth?" she repeated.

      "Yes. You may as well know all, and I know you will not betray me, even to your mother."

      "To her least of all," said Dorothy, vehemently. "Tell me quick."

      Encouraged by her faith, and by the tender clasp of her hand, George related to her the story of his birth and of his connection with Lord Derrington. Also he detailed how he had gone to seek Mrs. Jersey, and how she had been murdered before he could get the truth out of her. "Or even see her," finished George. "And now you know, dearest, why I do not wish you to repeat this story. If your mother knew it she might think--think--well, she certainly would not let you marry me."

      "She has made her mind up already so far as that is concerned," said Dorothy, quickly. "It is Mr. Vane whom she wishes me to marry."

      "My cousin, although he does not know it," said George, quietly; "but I want your advice, Dorothy, and will be guided by it. What shall I do? You see, now that Mrs. Jersey is dead there is no chance of getting at the truth."

      "Why not advertise?"

      "I have tried that for some months in every country paper in the kingdom, but there has been no response. My father and mother must have been married in some out-of-the-way village, in some lonely church. The parson and those who know about the marriage may be dead. In fact, it is extremely probable that they are. Mrs. Jersey was present as my mother's maid, and she might have been able to tell me where the church is. I only want to find the register of the marriage and get the certificate. Then I shall see Lord Derrington and insist on my rights being recognized. He can't leave either the title or the money away from me."

      "Have you seen him at all yet?"

      "Not to speak to. But he was pointed out to me. I hear he is an old tyrant."

      Dorothy shuddered. "A most terrible old man. He always reminds me of one of those Italian despots. There is nothing he would not do provided that the law could not touch him."

      "And I dare say, from your description, the things he desires to do are of the kind that the law would make him answerable for."

      "George," said Dorothy, after a pause, "do you think he has anything to do with this murder?"

      Brendon turned slightly pale and set his lips firmly. "No, dearest," was his reply, but delivered with some uncertainty. "He does not know--at all events from me--that I am seeking for a restitution of my rights, and therefore would have no reason to rid himself of this woman. Besides, I don't know if he is aware of her existence."

      It will be seen that Brendon was ignorant that Lord Derrington was the owner of the Jersey mansion and had allowed Madame an annuity. Had he known this much he might have been able to shape his course better; but, being in the dark, he had to

Скачать книгу