Brenda was hopelessly at a loss to understand her lover's action, and in her despair sought Lady Jenny.
It was a week after the inquest, and the two women were seated in Lady Jenny's boudoir, a pleasant rose-hued room which looked out on to a Dutch garden. The usual verdict of willful murder against some person or persons unknown had been brought in by the usual opaque1 country jury, directed by a not over-intelligent coroner. Gilbert Malet's body had been laid away in the family vault2, and Lady Jenny was utilizing3 for her husband the mourning she had worn for her father.
Brenda was paying her now a visit of condolence; but Lady Jenny showed clearly by her manner and curt4 speech that she stood in no need of sympathy. It was amazing to see the change that had taken place in her since her husband's death. Formerly5 she had been a gay, frivolous6 little woman, with ever a smile on her face; now Brenda found her a small image of stone, as hard, and every whit7 as cold. She could scarcely believe it was the same woman.
Finding that her sympathetic references to the dead man were received with coldness, Brenda tactfully changed the conversation. She mentioned her own anxiety about Harold's abrupt9 departure, and found Lady Jenny quite ready to talk on that subject. She loved Brenda and admired Harold, and wished to see them married. Consequently she was only too glad to smooth down Brenda's feathers, which were a good deal ruffled10 by her lover's strange behavior.
"My dear, you know a soldier's time is not his own," she said. "I expect Harold got a telegram, and had just time to pack and catch the first train."
"He should have sent for me," said Brenda; "I should have seen him off at the station."
"Well, I've no doubt he will explain his reasons when you meet in town. You go there next week, and Harold is only at Aldershot. He has written to you?"
"Several times, and always fondly. But he has never explained his leaving without seeing me. It's no good, Lady Jenny; I confess I am angry. Yet he may have avoided seeing me on account of the murder."
Lady Jenny looked up sharply. "Why should he?" Brenda hesitated. She was thinking of Harold's suspicions regarding her father, and did not want to tell them to the dead man's widow. For the moment she had forgotten to whom she was speaking. But, having committed herself so far, she was obliged to get out of the difficulty as best she could.
"You know Inspector11 Woke suspected Harold?" she said, nervously12 avoiding Lady Jenny's sharp black eyes; "he said----"
"I know--I know. Woke told me of his suspicions. He's a fool--to suspect Harold of killing13 Gilbert just because they had a few words is ridiculous, and I told him so. Nobody will ever know who killed Gilbert."
"You speak very confidently," said Brenda, amazed at her hard tone.
"Because I feel confident," retorted the other. "There is not a scrap14 of evidence against any one. All that could be said was said at the inquest. Woke and his police have been doing their best to get at the truth, and have failed. The revolver was not found; no one knew why Gilbert went out walking on that night, or whom he met, and--oh, the whole thing is over and done with. It is only one more of the many undiscovered crimes."
"Do you suspect any one?"
"Not a soul. Why should I? Gilbert had many enemies--so he said--but I don't know any of them, and I don't suppose any one of them would have gone the length of murder."
"The police here are such sillies," put in Brenda. "Why don't you get a clever detective down from London?"
"Because I think the case is hopeless, my dear," said the widow, gloomily, "and because it would cost a great deal too much money. I have not yet gone into the affairs of the estate, but I am afraid I shall not be over well off. Gilbert would play, and I suppose I was extravagant15. We lived far beyond our means. This place is mortgaged heavily."
"What--the Manor16?" asked Brenda, startled.
"Yes, all our property is mortgaged. I expect I shall be left with nothing but the ten thousand pounds for which Gilbert's life was insured. Fortunately it was settled on me at the time of our marriage, so his creditors17 can't touch it. I hate being poor," cried Lady Jenny, viciously; "and, so far as I can see, I shall be--very poor."
"I had no idea things were so bad."
"Nor had I until six months ago, when Gilbert told me. We have lived from hand to mouth since then. All Gilbert's efforts have been directed to staving off ruin."
Brenda's heart sank within her. "What about Harold's money?"
"Oh, Harold and Wilfred are all right," said Lady Jenny, hastily; "at least, I suppose so. Gilbert always said that he took good care of their money, and I think he did. He was not the man to place himself within reach of the law by appropriating trust monies--at least, I can't believe he would do such a thing. But next week the whole matter will be gone into. Then I suppose you and Harold will get married."
"Of course. In any case--money or no money--we shall be married."
"Oh, I don't know. It's absurd marrying on nothing. Gilbert was well off when I became his wife, or I shouldn't have married him; had I known he was a gambler, I should have refused him. He made a nice mess of his life."
"I thought you loved him."
"I did, a deal better than he deserved," said Lady Jenny, bitterly. "But--but--oh, what is the use of talking! He was a bad man--another woman--his fault--and I--my dear, don't you trust Harold. All men are bad."
"I always understood Mr. Malet was devoted18 to you."
"So did I--until I found him out. It came about in the strangest way--the discovery, I mean." Lady Jenny paused, as though considering whether to speak out or not. Finally she decided19 to hold her tongue. "But then these things concern only myself," said she, abruptly20. "He deceived me--I was jealous--that is all you need know. But I cannot say that I sorrow for him now that he is dead."
"Oh, how can you speak so?"
"Because I am a woman, and jealous. When Harold deceives you, Brenda, you will feel as I do--feel that you could kill him with your own hand." Lady Jenny looked suddenly at the girl's blonde beauty. "But no! you are a cold Saxon girl, with little such spirit in you. I--my father was Irish, my mother Italian, and I have in me all the fire of Celt and Latin. It was well for Gilbert that he died when he did," she said between her teeth; "I don't know what! should have done!"
The bitterness and passion with which she spoke21 were both new to Brenda, who had never suspected her of such depth of feeling. Being in the dark, more or less, concerning its cause, she hardly knew what to say, so she held her peace. She felt that nothing she could say would alter her friend's feelings, and might possibly even aggravate22 them. After a turn up and down the room, the widow resumed her seat, and seemed to become calmer.
"Where are you going to stay in town, Brenda?"
"With my aunt, Mrs. St. Leger, in Kensington. My father always lives in his own rooms, you know. He doesn't want to be troubled with a grown-up daughter."
"He won't be troubled long if Harold is to be believed."
"You mean our marriage? No! But you know my father doesn't approve of it. He wants me to marry Mr. van Zwieten."
"That Dutchman! Horrid23 creature! I never could bear him. Gilbert liked him, though."
"Indeed!" said Brenda, rather surprised. "Mr. van Zwieten told me he and Mr. Malet were not friendly."
Lady Jenny laughed in a way not good to hear. "Very likely. Van Zwieten is cunning--slim, as his countrymen call it. I know more about him though than he thinks."
"Do you know who he is?"
"Yes, I know who he is, and how he makes his money, and why he is in England."
"How did you find out?" asked Brenda, breathlessly.
"Oh, that I mustn't tell you--suppose you were to tell Van Zwieten?"
"Tell him!" repeated Miss Scarse, her face crimson24, her eyes bright. "Why, I hate him more than any man I ever knew. He wants to marry me, and won't take a refusal. My father supports him, and, for Harold's sake, I have to fight them both."
"And you are not afraid of so formidable a foe25?" said the widow, seeing her eyes droop26.
"Not of my father, but I am afraid of Mr. van Zwieten. He is a terrible man, and has so powerful a will that he can almost impose it on mine. There is something hypnotic about him, and I feel scarcely mistress of myself when he is near me."
"Nonsense! You are fanciful, child."
"Indeed--indeed I am not," protested the girl, eagerly. "But you don't know how strong and obstinate27 he is. He never loses his temper, he just looks and looks with those terrible eyes of his, and repeats his desire--his will--his intentions--over and over again. I feel like a rabbit in the presence of a snake. And that's why I want Harold and me to be married soon, because I feel, if we are not, Mr. van Zwieten will compel me in spite of myself."
Lady Jenny bent28 forward and caught Brenda's wrists. "My dear, if Van Zwieten tries these pranks29 on, you send for me. If any one can save you from him, I can."
"But how?"
"That is my affair. Van Zwieten may be all you say, but I can make him afraid of me. Now you must go, my dear. I have a lot of letters to write."
Brenda went off much puzzled over Lady Jenny's attitude toward Van Zwieten. Evidently she knew something to the man's disadvantage. But Brenda was doubtful whether her friend could use her knowledge sufficiently30 cleverly to crush the Dutchman. His resource was extraordinary, and he was clever and unscrupulous enough to be able to defend himself in an emergency. However, she felt it was no use trying to forecast the future. She resolved to keep out of Van Zwieten's way and get Harold to marry her as soon as possible. Once she was Mrs. Burton, the Dutchman would be obliged to cease persecuting31 her.
For the next few days Brenda was fully8 occupied with her packing. As Harold was in London, or rather so near London that he could come up there quickly, she was glad to be going. She felt she must see him and have from him an explanation, and an understanding as to when their marriage could take place. At her aunt's she would be safe from Van Zwieten, since Mr. St. Leger did not like him; but Brenda knew well that for his own ends--whatever these might be--her father would, as ever, insist on her favoring Van Zwieten.
The only way to put an end to the intolerable situation was to marry Harold. With that, her father would no doubt wash his hands of her, but at least she would be relieved from the persecutions of the Dutchman, and would have some one to love and protect her. So it was with thankfulness that Brenda left the cottage.
In the train she found a travelling companion whom she did not expect--none other than Harold's brother. Wilfred's foot was now quite well, and he looked better in health than when Brenda had last seen him. He joined her at Langton Junction32, and they travelled up in the same carriage, which they were fortunate enough to have to themselves. She was pleased that it was so, for she wanted to talk confidentially33 with Wilfred. They were the best of good friends.
"I am so glad your foot is all right again, Wilfred," she said cheerfully. "It is such a painful thing--a sprain34."
"Yet for all that I am not sorry I sprained35 it," said Wilfred, turning his thin white face toward the girl.
"Not sorry! What do you mean?"
"Oh, it's an ill wind--you know."
"Yes, I suppose it is. But it's difficult to see what sort of 'good' one can look for from a sprained ankle!"
"Well, in this instance I fancy it did me a good turn. You see it rendered me physically36 helpless for the time being."
"My dear Wilfred--I confess you puzzle me."
"Do I? Well, I'll tell you what I mean. The night, almost the hour, I sprained my ankle, poor Malet was shot. So no one can possibly accuse me of having shot him!"
"But who would dare to accuse you of such a thing?"
"Oh, I don't know; that fool of an inspector was quite prepared to fix his beastly suspicions on Harold--told me as much."
"I know; but then you see Harold and Mr. Malet quarrelled. That was the reason Mr. Woke was suspicious. But of course Harold laughed at the idea."
"I should think so. I confess the whole thing licks me. I can't imagine who can have done it."
"No one knows. Lady Jenny says no one ever will know!"
"I suppose not. It seems to be relegated37 to the list of undiscovered crimes. Do you know, Brenda, I have had my suspicions!"
A cold hand clutched the girl's heart. She immediately thought of her father. "Have you?" she faltered38. "Of whom?"
"Well, I wouldn't tell every one, as I have really no sort of basis for them. They are the purest suspicions. But I suspect that big Dutchman who was staying at your place."
"Van Zwieten!" Brenda's mind ran over the events of that terrible night. The Dutchman had been out; he had come in after her. But again her father had told the servants that Van Zwieten was in the study with him--a distinct falsehood. Whichever way she looked at it, her father seemed to be mixed up in the matter. "Yet what possible motive39 could Van Zwieten have had to impel40 him to such a crime?" she asked Wilfred.
"It might be a political crime," said the young man, his face lighting41 up as it invariably did when he talked politics. "Gilbert was an Imperialist--always preaching and writing against the Boers. Van Zwieten is Dutch, and is going out to an appointment at Pretoria; also he is an intimate friend of Dr. Leyds. He might have wished to get Gilbert out of the way because he was dangerous to his schemes."
"Surely he wouldn't have gone the length of murder for such a reason."
"Oh, I don't know. If he could without being found out, I am certain he would. I don't say Van Zwieten fired the shot himself, but he might have hired some one to do it."
"What makes you think that, Wilfred?"
"Well, I was talking to the station-master at Chippingholt. He said that a man in a dark overcoat with a soft hat pulled over his eyes went to Langton Junction by the 10:30 train--the last train on that night. Van Zwieten saw him off at the station. He was seen to follow the man to the compartment42 and put his head through the window. There was evidently an understanding between them. Now you know, Brenda, few strangers come to Chippingholt, for there is nothing to see there. It was odd, to say the least of it, that Van Zwieten should have seen this fellow off. Moreover, he just left after the murder was committed."
"I don't see though how you are justified43 from this in thinking that either Van Zwieten or the other man is implicated44 in the murder," said Brenda after a pause. "They might simply have met on business."
"What sort of business?"
"I can't say, I am not in Mr. van Zwieten's confidence."
Wilfred's eyes flashed. "I wish I was!" he said emphatically. "I believe the fellow is a Boer spy!"
"I thought so too, and I told him so."
"What did he say?"
"He denied it. Wilfred, did any one see the face of this stranger?"
"No. He kept his coat collar turned up, and his hat well over his eyes. Why?"
"Nothing, I was only wondering." Brenda dreaded45 lest she should hear that the stranger was he who so closely resembled her father. She wondered, too, whether it was possible her father could have assisted this man to escape after he had shot Mr. Malet, for that the crime had been committed by the same man who wore the black crape scarf seemed conclusively46 proved by the presence of that piece of it in the victim's hand.
"I intend to keep a pretty close watch on Mr. van Zwieten," went on Wilfred. "In fact, that is why I have come up to town. If, as I suspect, he is a spy, the authorities must know of it. In the event of hostilities47 breaking out between this country and the Transvaal, he would of course be arrested at once."
"But you cannot prove his complicity in this matter, Wilfred?"
"I intend to have a shot at it any way," replied the young man, grimly. "But come, Brenda, here we are at Victoria. Let me put you in a hansom."
"Do come and see me, Wilfred. I'm at Mrs. St. Leger's."
"Thanks; I will. I may ask you to help me too in my pursuit of this Dutchman."
"How you seem to hate Mr. van Zwieten, Wilfred," she exclaimed. "Have you any especial reason to dislike him?"
"I hate him because he is the enemy of my country."
As the cab drove away, Brenda mused48 on the fervent49 patriotism50 of the man. Frail51, neurotic52, frequently ailing53, a prey54 to chronic55 melancholia, yet he was of the stuff of which such men as Hampden, Pym and Cromwell are made. He believed in the greatness of England as he did in the existence of God. Her every triumph sent a thrill through him, her lightest disaster cut him to the quick. It was as if he were ever under the influence of a fixed56 idea. But if he were, the idea was at least a noble and an elevating one. His spirit was strong as his body was weak, and through his body he paid dearly for his patriotic57 emotions.
It had been Brenda's intention to drive at once to Kensington, but when she recalled all that Wilfred had said, she felt she must see her father, if only to clear her mind of suspicion. Had he assisted--as seemed probable--in the escape of the unknown man, he must have known that the creature was a murderer, since there could be no other reason for such a hurried and secretive flight. She felt she could not rest until she had the truth from his own lips. Hence she told the man to drive to his chambers58 in Star Street.
Fortunately the old man was in. He looked leaner and whiter, she thought, than ever. He was buried in the evening papers, from which he was cutting out slips, which he proceeded to paste into a large book. It was from these clippings of editorial opinion and collected data that he constructed his speeches, throwing in as flavoring a dash of his own dogmatic optimism, and some free expression reflecting the true humanity of other nations as compared with that of his own brutal59 country, of which, in truth, he had little to say that was not abusive.
As usual, he received Brenda coldly, and wondered why she had not driven at once to her aunt's. She soon explained to him her reasons.
"Father, I am worrying myself to death about that man with the crape scarf."
Scarse colored and averted60 his eyes. "Why, pray?" he asked.
"Because I can't get over his resemblance to you. Is he a relative?"
"No." Scarse cleared his throat and spoke. "The fact is, Brenda, I wore that crape scarf and snuff-colored coat myself. I am the man Harold saw."
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1
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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utilizing
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的现在分词 ) | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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aggravate
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| vt.加重(剧)，使恶化；激怒，使恼火 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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persecuting
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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sprain
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| n.扭伤,扭筋 | |
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sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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impel
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| v.推动；激励，迫使 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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conclusively
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| adv.令人信服地，确凿地 | |
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hostilities
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| n.战争；敌意(hostility的复数)；敌对状态；战事 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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51
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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52
neurotic
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| adj.神经病的，神经过敏的；n.神经过敏者，神经病患者 | |
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53
ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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54
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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55
chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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57
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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58
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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59
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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60
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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