CHAPTER XXIII.

A SURPRISE FOR ALL

“Now, my boy,” said Mr. Benson, “this has got to stop. I don’t want you to jump up in the air about it.” Frank had flushed angrily. “There are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught, but it is perfectly apparent to me that this is not your particular fish. You have quite enough to do without acting the young squire with reluctant and, indeed, resentful women. Come along, I want to talk to you of matters much more important.”

Without giving the somewhat sullen Frank an opportunity of discussing Jill further, the solicitor took him to the library, where, for over an hour, he discussed affairs of the estate with him.

Whether because of the lawyer’s warning or not, it certainly was true that for several days Frank rarely saw Jill at all. He was kept busy going through matters that required his attention with Mr. Benson; then, three days afterwards, Lady Evenden sprang a surprise on them.

She expressed her desire to get away from the Priory at once, and asked how soon the packing could be done, so that they could move to the Villa des Muguets, Cannes. The Cannes villa was a beautiful little Riviera estate purchased only two years before Sir Michael died.

Mr. Rushton Tring and Mr. Benson both thought it would be an excellent change for Lady Evenden and strongly advised it. The result was that affairs were left in the hands of Mr. Benson, while Frank, Lady Evenden, and Jill, accompanied by a maid, and Roberto, the valet, left for the south of France.

Lady Evenden seemed to take on a new lease of life when she got to the Riviera. For a few days she was comparatively quiet, and remained about the grounds of the villa. And the deep gloom which had been characteristic of her since the death of her husband seemed to be lifting. After the first week she brightened up considerably and went daily for long drives with Jill. Later on, she began to do a little modest entertaining, inviting such visitors to Cannes as were friends of some long standing.

The society of the rich widow of a baronet, who carried her title and estates in her own right, was very assiduously sought by all types of the floating Riviera population, from the poor all-year residents, who tried to keep up in the south a better appearance on depleted funds than they could in England, to the inevitable Riviera adventurers and adventuresses.

Frank’s position during this time was a very curious one. To do him justice he seriously had intended to fight his way forward in the legal profession; but, his recent ordeal at Norwich had given his desires in that direction a temporary setback. He developed a rather morbid disposition. He told himself that there was only one thing in life worth having, and that was Jill Kilby--whom he could not attain.

He had given the old lawyer some sort of promise to leave her alone; and, partly for that reason, and probably because he saw in the caution of her manner in his presence what the result of further advances would be, he let her alone.

To do Frank justice he was not, in the ordinary sense of the word, a young rake. The large sums of money which now came his way did not by any means send him to the devil. He went sometimes to the casino and gambled a little. Sometimes he won and sometimes he lost. But it was a mere bagatelle either way, compared with the resources he had--and he never contracted the gambling fever. One day, from a distance, Jill, who was sitting with his mother in the casino, saw a pretty woman of perhaps thirty, and looking more like twenty, make great efforts to engage Frank in conversation. Frank presently saw the woman, looked at her a second, then, slightly raising his hat, he was about to pass on, when she ran up to him and touched him on the arm, laughing into his face as she asked him something.

Frank appeared to hesitate; then, with a slight and rather bored smile, he accompanied her to a waiting car.

“Whatever else he does, he doesn’t exactly ‘chase’ girls,” thought Jill to herself; and, although she rather feared Frank, and certainly had no regard for him herself, she felt that she would like to have boxed the pretty intruder’s ears.

That afternoon Jill was sent into the town to do some errands for Lady Evenden, and when she returned she heard voices in the drawing-room. She was about to enter when Lady Evenden, with rather flushed cheeks, came to the door and said:

“Thank you so much, Jill, I’m engaged just now. Run off and amuse yourself. I’ll see you at dinner.” She closed the door, but not before Jill saw the little figure of Dr. Laidlaw!

That night Jill wrote fully to Wilfred and told him all that had happened that day. And Wilfred in turn saw Mr. Benson. The two, by this time, were firm friends. The old lawyer had been more than true to his half-promise, and had got Wilfred a partnership, with an old friend, in Norwich.

While Mr. Benson was disagreeably surprised to learn of Laidlaw’s new appearance on the scene, he felt he could do nothing. He wrote to Mr. Tring, and advised Wilfred to get Jill to observe every movement and report it.

The weeks lengthened into months, and still the widow remained at Cannes. But, as the weeks went by, the parties at the villa began to differ in quality and quantity. Frank took little or no interest in them. He was amply supplied with funds by his mother, and he never invited people, nor did he indulge in society. He fished and he played golf, and he seemed to enjoy that better than the gay round of the casino life.

However, when his mother particularly desired his appearance, he always came to her dinners and receptions. On one such evening the principal guest was Prince Louis de Zanbetti--an Italian, reputed to be very wealthy--and his beautiful fair-haired princess, Elsa. There were others there, also. But Frank did not like the look of some of them.

There was an American, for instance, called Hortal. There were two Englishmen named Majoribanks and Everfield respectively, and they prefixed their names with Major and Colonel. Not that he cared twopence, but, merely to confirm his suspicions, Frank asked them an apparently innocent question or two about their regiments and Army careers, then, when dinner was over, before he joined them in the smoking room of the villa, he looked them up in the Army List. There were no such entries.

That night a very high game of cards was played, and the prince won over a thousand pounds from Frank. Very rarely did Frank gamble. The game certainly had no fascination for him. But, on this particular occasion, the stakes were so subtly raised, the chances so carefully arranged, as he thought afterwards, that he fell a victim. The next day he paid, determined never to be caught like that again.

Frank brooded a little over his loss, and went to Lady Evenden to inquire where she had met her friends. She said they were friends of a very old friend of hers.

“Who?” Frank persisted.

“Oh, a very old friend,” she replied evasively and with some apparent discomfort. Frank pressed, but could not get any further. Ultimately Lady Evenden became irritable. Neither took any notice of Jill when she entered the room. Jill at first thought she would retire as Frank and his mother were having rather high words; then she decided she would stay in case her mistress required her.

“Well, look here,” said Frank. “I don’t know who the old friend of yours is, but let me tell you that your old friend’s friends are card-sharpers and adventurers! Yes, they are”--as Lady Evenden raised horrified eyebrows in protest. “I lost over a thousand pounds last night, and I tell you frankly I don’t want to see them here again.”

“Do I ever keep you short of money?” she asked. “Surely, Frank, you don’t need to accuse everyone because you have had a little bad luck,” she smiled. “I’ll make you out another check, poor dear, but you really must be more guarded in your remarks about our friends. So unkind, too. My dear, I would make you, as conceited as a peacock if I told you what the beautiful little princess said about you.” Lady Evenden smiled archly.

“Look here, mother,” said Frank, “I don’t know who the devil is responsible for introducing that lot, but they’re not coming here again, that’s all. I don’t want to pain you unduly, but let me tell you this. Neither the Majoribanks man nor the evergreen Everfield, or whatever he calls himself, appear in the Army List at all, while the record--I have taken the trouble to get it--of our prince is bluer than the Mediterranean. He has been shot out of three clubs and shot into two prisons. As for the ‘beautiful little princess,’ perhaps it will surprise you to know that she told me last night that she was my affinity, that she was badly treated by the prince, that it would be nice for us to elope, and finally borrowed a hundred to settle a ‘dress-maker’s bill.’”

Lady Evenden listened in horror.

“You cannot mean it!” she said. “Doctor--I mean---- Oh, Frank, leave me please! I am very sorry. I will write you a check.”

“My dear mother, I don’t want, or need, your check,” said Frank. “But I do wish you would give me your confidence. Yet--understand this--if you bring any similar gang round here again, I leave.”

He walked out of the room, and Jill admired him for the first time in her life. That evening Lady Evenden retired early, and Jill did a thing she would never have believed herself capable of doing. She went to his smoking room and deliberately sought Frank. He was sitting staring moodily into the fire, smoking a cigar. He looked up in genuine surprise at Jill’s entry.

“Hello, Jill,” he said. “Wonders will never cease!” He smiled whimsically. She flushed slightly, and immediately began her story. In consequence of what she had heard in the drawing-room, she said she felt sure that Dr. Laidlaw was responsible for the introduction of undesirables to Lady Evenden. Frank listened to her carefully, and, when she had finished, he said, after a moment’s thought:

“Yes, that’s what it is. They were sent here to catch me. The little doctor knows perfectly well he has no chance to get anything out of me directly, and so he has set the indirect trap. I wonder what the hold is which he has got upon my mother.”

They discussed the affair at length, for over an hour, and they agreed to work together. Frank told Jill he would write all the facts to Mr. Benson, and take his advice; then Jill rose to go. Frank accompanied her to the door. As she passed him, he put a hand on her shoulder and was within an ace of putting the other one round her waist.

“Now, stop that,” said Jill sharply, and in some confusion Frank mumbled an apology.

“It’s no good, you know,” said Jill sensibly. “We’re neither of us children, and we might as well talk sensibly. You’re getting heaps better, but I do wish you would try to cut out this love-making business.”

“I shall never cut it out where you are concerned, Jill,” Frank said gravely. “I promise I won’t be a nuisance to you. Really, I mean that, but I do love you, Jill, and I can’t help telling you so.”

“I am very sorry if you really do,” said Jill, “but I can’t quite believe it is as bad as you think. Anyway, I don’t love you, and I certainly love somebody else. Listen”--she laughed a little wickedly. “What about the little girl with whom I saw you drive off from the casino?”

He stood there, trying to remember. When he recalled the incident she had gone.

The long Riviera summer waned into autumn, and another winter approached, and still Lady Evenden remained at Cannes. The anniversary of Sir Michael’s death and the tragedy of John came round, and were marked by a special memorial service in the little English chapel on the hill.

November came, and, though the days were sunny in the middle of the day, the deadly mistral blew down at sunset, taking its usual toll of the invalid population.

Then one day a telegram came. Lady Evenden examined it carefully, read it over and over again, stared at it with unseeing eyes, then fainted. Jill went over to her assistance at once. When she had attended to Lady Evenden, she crumpled up the telegram, and, as soon as opportunity afforded read it:

“The doctor died last night and the woman got away.”

Those were the words which had had such a terrible effect upon Lady Evenden. Jill showed Frank the telegram at once, and he asked his mother what it meant. She said it referred to the death of her friend and advisor, Dr. Laidlaw. She could not understand the reference to the woman, and she declined to discuss the subject further.

A week later a slim lady, young and beautifully dressed in black, called at the villa. She asked to see Lady Evenden. But, as she was resting, the butler suggested that she should see Mr. Frank, and she was shown into the drawing-room where Jill was.

Frank came a moment afterwards.

“Saints and sinners!” he declared. “You here? What are you doing here?”

“I have called to see Lady Evenden,” the girl replied.

“Well, tell me how you are, Brenda?” Frank said, then, turning to Jill, he went on, “This is Miss Brenda Trenchard, Miss Kilby, your predecessor in office.”

“Frank is not quite right in my introduction, Miss Kilby. I am Lady Evenden, and Sir John Evenden is in the car outside with his nurse.” The girl smiled a little sadly. There was nothing triumphant in her astounding declaration--rather a wistfulness, and Jill saw at once that she had suffered.

The effect of her words, however, was tremendous. Jill could not speak for a moment, and Frank also lost his tongue.

“What the devil are you talking about, Brenda?” he asked at last in hoarse tones.

“There is no need to be rude,” the girl said, frowning. “I have suffered rather a lot lately. May I please see--er--Lady Evenden?”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” said Frank. “But you completely take my breath away. Rouse mother, Jill.”

When Jill had left the room, he asked:

“Do you mean to say that you actually married Jack after all?” She nodded.

“Tell me all about it,” begged Frank. “When did you marry him, Brenda? What’s this about a baby? Where have you been all the time, Brenda? Tell me everything.” Then, with the apparent inconsequence which was a very definite charm in Frank’s character, he said with almost schoolboy eagerness: “Let me see your baby, Brenda, before mother comes down.”

Brenda Trenchard smiled and seemed about to lead the way, when Lady Evenden appeared, accompanied by Jill.

“Brenda, what is this mischievous and absurd story about your having married Jack?” Lady Evenden asked with flashing eyes. Brenda was taken aback; then her face hardened.

“I came here to try to save you a lot of terrible trouble, Lady Evenden,” she said. “But since you adopt this----”

“You came here to make a lot of trouble, you wicked girl,” interrupted Lady Evenden.

“Stop a minute, for heaven’s sake,” said Frank. “I think you must be off your head, mother. Brenda says she is married, or, rather, was married to John. She will have proof of that, and it is positively disgraceful to treat her like this. I won’t tolerate it.”

“She was never married to John,” said Lady Evenden.

“Do you dare stand there and say that?” asked Brenda. “You who saw me standing by the side of my dead husband?”

“Like any common paramour, like----” began Lady Evenden.

“Stop this instant, mother,” thundered Frank. “Where in the name of heaven do you get your evil tongue? How dare you? Tell me at once, tell me, what is this about Brenda standing by the side of--of Jack? What is it?”

“I shall not stay here,” declared Brenda. “I will go to London and take the necessary steps.” She turned, and Frank followed her.

“Please allow me to do something, Brenda,” he begged, but she waved him impatiently to one side.

“Not any of you--not one,” she said bitterly as she entered her car and drove off, after slamming the door. Frank, bitterly aggrieved, re-entered the villa.

“What does this mean?” he asked his mother. But she had gone into hysterics, and had to be put to bed. The next day she would reveal nothing. She seemed absolutely apathetic about the whole affair, but Frank determined to take immediate measures. He sent a long cable to Mr. Benson, and ordered Jill to get the packing done at once. Lady Evenden made no demur, but fell in with all the arrangements. Two days later they were back at the Priory. Mr. Benson came across at once, and held a long discussion with Frank.

The next day letters of claim were received by Mr. Benson, in his capacity of solicitor to the estate, on behalf of Sir John Evenden, a minor, suing through his mother, Lady Evenden, _née_ Trenchard.

Mr. Benson traveled with Frank to London and sought an interview with Brenda. They interviewed her with her solicitors, saw the certificate of marriage, and the testamentary evidence of where she and Jack had lived together for several days before his murder.

Mr. Benson examined the evidence very carefully, and, more carefully still, examined Brenda. Then, to the astonishment of the London lawyers, the old man gave his instant decision.

“Upon the assumption that this evidence is true, I shall not fight.”

“Then I take it you will prepare a statement of affairs?” asked the solicitor acting for Brenda.

“Certainly, sir,” said Mr. Benson, standing upright. No one ever knew what the next words cost him, but he uttered them with a sphinx-like expression. “And then I shall hand over the estate of Evenden Priory to the London firm of Nettlefall & Diamond--isn’t it?”

There was a hard smile on the old man’s face, and, as Frank helped him on with his fur coat and handed him his old-fashioned silk hat, he felt the old man’s arm tremble.

“What does this mean exactly?” asked Brenda. “It doesn’t mean that you will refuse to act for me, does it?”

“My dear lady, you have your own people here, and at their instructions on your behalf I shall certainly have to surrender the estate to their charge.”

“Oh, but I don’t want that,” said Brenda. “I have known you for so long, and I know what Sir Michael thought of you, and what Jack did. I couldn’t bear to think of your handing the estate to strangers.”

“This is all very irregular, you know,” said Mr. Diamond, looking very irritated.

“Of course it is, of course it is,” said Mr. Benson with a chuckle, as he left Brenda looking pathetically after him. Yet, before he left her, the cunning old man had slipped his hotel room number--a tiny disk--into her hand with a significant pressure.

She understood what he meant, and later that evening telephoned Mr. Benson and arranged to come round and see him. She came. And Frank, Mr. Benson, and she remained closeted in a private room for two hours while she told her story. It was an amazing one, and several times Mr. Benson gasped in horror. She told of her accidental meeting with Jack after a lapse of years, of their marriage in secret, of a three days’ honeymoon at her flat, and of his journey down to Evenden Priory to break the news to his parents. Then she spoke of the tragic wire telling her of Sir Michael’s death, and her telegram to Jack to say that she was coming down by a late train. She came, very late--it was after midnight, and Jack met her at the station. She carried only a handbag; and when they got to the Priory it was in darkness, so Jack took her straight to his room, intending to announce her arrival and position the next day.

Jack and she had retired to bed. She had been very tired, was just dozing when she heard a heavy fall. Startled, she had looked up, and saw that Jack had left her side and was lying groaning on the ground. Horrified, she had jumped out of bed and rushed to his aid. He had struck the side of a great brass-bound chest as he fell, and this had injured terribly one side of his head, for, even as she raised his head he had died. Overcome with horror, she rose to call assistance, when suddenly, as if from nowhere, Lady Evenden had appeared, and with her a man she knew later to be Dr. Laidlaw.

Lady Evenden had asked her the reason of her presence, and had not expressed surprise to see Jack lying on the floor. Laidlaw had taken Lady Evenden to one side; and, while the distraught bride sought to do something for her dead groom, Lady Evenden and Laidlaw had made a decision.

Laidlaw came over to her and bade her dress at once. He hinted at a frightful disgrace--that Jack was only in a coma, and that he would put matters right. Half-distraught, she obeyed his order to leave. Outside, in the drive, a car was waiting. She stepped into it, and then she remembered no more than that a soft cloth was put over her face.

When she woke up she was in a large raftered bedroom with a woman in attendance on her. She tried to find out where she was, but never could. Weeks went by, then months, and she was kept a prisoner. Sometimes Laidlaw would come to see her, and sometimes another man--a short man--would be with him. She went sometimes to walk along a lonely moor from which she could see distant patches of the sea, but whenever a stranger appeared in sight, she was taken back.

Locked in her room at night, and with windows shuttered and locked, she had no opportunity to escape. Sometimes she became hysterical, and then the woman would inject something into her arm, which sent her into a trance-like condition from which she would emerge in terrible depression. When she had discovered that she was to become a mother, she sought to live for the sake of the child; and, ultimately, when it was born, a strange woman came to attend her with Dr. Laidlaw. The woman was never allowed alone with her.

Then Laidlaw had come home very ill, and later had died. In the confusion Brenda had made her escape, had gone to a farm on the moor--she had found it was on the Solway Moss, miles away from anywhere--and had made her way to friends in London with her three-months’-old baby.

Frank and Mr. Benson were astounded at the story, which rang true in every detail. And, immediately after Brenda had gone to her rooms, promising to communicate the next day, the lawyer and Frank sought Mr. Rushton Tring, who agreed to accompany them to the Priory.

On their arrival, they found Wilfred and Jill in the hall awaiting them. They said that Lady Evenden had been in a most hysterical condition all the preceding night, but that she was sleeping now.

Mr. Tring decided to postpone his interview until the next day, saying that the sleep would do his patient good. Late that night, Wilfred heard a tapping on his door--the pre-arranged signal from Jill that Lady Evenden was waking. He called Mr. Benson and Mr. Tring; then Mr. Benson called Frank. Silently the party made its way in the wake of Jill, who led them to the Prior’s Room.

As if dazed and acting under some control from outside her own consciousness, Lady Evenden took a pillow from the great bed. The little group standing at the half-open door watched. She took a small pair of scissors and cut the end of the pillow. Presently she drew out a tiny cylindrical object.

“Put that down--at once.” The command came from Mr. Rushton Tring, who sprang forward. But he was too late--with a startled scream Lady Evenden pressed the cylinder to her brow just as the specialist seized her hand. In another second she had collapsed groaning upon the floor. Mr. Benson and Wilfred ran forward, while Frank cried out in his horror.

“You needn’t bother, Dr. Barlow,” said the specialist, “she is quite dead.”

It was indeed so. Lady Evenden’s troubles were over. The servants were not awakened, and silently the party carried the body of the dead lady back to her room; they then foregathered in the library.

“The secret is out now,” declared Mr. Tring. “I have inquired very carefully, since Sir John’s murder, into the properties of this drug. It is little known--a muscarin alkaloid, deadly in the extreme. It is only necessary for the tiniest portion to penetrate the brain, and this cylinder is fitted with a hypodermic needle of curious design and uncommon strength.” He held up the cylinder. “Now, she had obtained from Laidlaw this poison--why, we shall never know. The most probable solution is that, at the time of her husband’s death, she had a brain storm which swept over her. She was terribly unbalanced, you know, never normal, and she was left with the obsession that Laidlaw could not move, or, perhaps for reasons best known to himself, did not try to move. Also that Sir John had told his father a story about the death of her first husband--a story which had given him so great a shock that he had died.

“Her object was revenge. Probably Laidlaw’s object was to get Sir John out of the way so as to enrich Lady Evenden and ultimately himself.”

They decided that no scandal would be necessary; so, the next morning Lady Evenden was found dead in her sleep. And, when the startling news of the little heir was announced, the county was given to understand that Lady Evenden had been abroad in enfeebled health, since the tragedy of the previous year.

Jill, who shortly afterwards married Wilfred, became an inseparable companion of Brenda’s; and Frank, who was provided with a substantial settlement, set off on a world tour.

Mr. Benson remained the “Dictator” of Evenden Priory, as indeed he was of two counties.

A year went by, and the tragic events of the years before were rapidly fading under the mellowing influence of time, and Frank returned. He stayed for a few days at a house party at the Priory. Brenda thought he looked stronger and finer after his tour, and took a great interest in his stories of adventure in foreign lands.

When he went away, and she shook hands with him through the carriage window, Jill, who stood beside her, thought there was a curiously soft light in Brenda’s eyes as she said:

“Au revoir, Frank--don’t be away so long this time.”

“If you’ve got any sense you won’t, my boy,” put in old Mr. Benson, still as young, and still as old, as ever.

Frank had only time to say:

“I’ll see you soon, Brenda.” And then the train moved off.

“Well, I’ve seen queerer things than that happen,” muttered Mr. Benson as he strolled down the platform with Lady Evenden on his right arm, and the wife of his friend, Dr. Barlow, on his left.

THE END

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Archaic (resistence, throughly) and inconsistent (e.g. handbag/hand bag/hand-bag, prearranged/pre-arranged, etc.) spellings have been preserved.

Alterations to the text:

Punctuation: fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings.

[Chapter I]

Change “How did Sir Michael _Everden_ repair the family fortunes?” to _Evenden_.

“threatening thunder-clouds obscuring the sun for a few _mintues_” to _minutes_.

[Chapter II]

“for many _vaulable_ early histories and theological works” to _valuable_.

[Chapter V]

(“I don’t know who that man is, but he’s nasty little fellow,”) add _a_ after _he’s_.

[Chapter VI]

“All this was _carefeully_ taken down by the police inspector” to _carefully_.

[Chapter VIII]

“Wilfred was _inchned_ to resent the reference to Jill” to _inclined_.

[Chapter IX]

“coming to him as it did from outside the _famly_, was a shock to him” to _family_.

[Chapter X]

“But _Br._ Benson soon put an end to his expostulations” to _Mr._

“Why can’t you do as as you’re told? What have you to say?” delete one _as_.

“came here _tonight_ with the express purpose and full intention” to _to-night_.

[Chapter XI]

“your little friend, the companion--hence your _knowlege_” to _knowledge_.

[Chapter XII]

“Well, if the _pore_ old gentleman breaks his skull open” to _poor_.

[Chapter XIII]

“followed by a _shufflng_ of feet, then the rasping sound” to _shuffling_.

[Chapter XIV]

(“Cursing and _theratening_ and all sorts of things.”) to _threatening_.

[Chapter XV]

(“Well, what have to say?” Mr. Benson seated himself) add _you_ after _have_.

(“Do you want me tell you all that?”) add _to_ after _me_.

[Chapter XVI]

“which he handed to the great _pychologist_” to _psychologist_.

[Chapter XVII]

“I have come down to _staighten_ one or two matters out” to _straighten_.

“Only _two_ or two things can be stated with assurance” to _one_.

[Chapter XX]

“he determined to find out _it if_ were the whole story” to _if it_.

(“Laidlaw’s been,” _anounced_ Mr. Benson, “and Bill Harris) to _announced_.

[Chapter XXII]

“Lady Evenden was exonerated from the slightest _suspision_” to _suspicion_.

[End of text]