The Beautiful White Devil

Next morning, immediately after breakfast, I donned the orthodox top hat and frock coat and set off to walk to South Kensington to call upon my sister Janet – who, by the way, was a widow, her husband having died of malarial fever when with his regiment on the west coast of Africa.

I found her in the morning-room in the act of writing a note of welcome to me. She greeted me with all her old sisterly affection, and when she had done so, made me sit down before the fire and tell her all my adventures.

"We have heard the most wonderful tales about you," she said, with a smile. "How you were captured by a sort of female Captain Kidd of fabulous beauty, who carried you off to an island in the Pacific, where you were made to dig sufficient gold to pay your ransom."

"Indeed?"

"It has been recopied into all sorts of papers," she continued. "But I've no doubt it was a mass of mere fabrication. Own the truth now, wasn't it?"

"Every bit," I answered candidly. "I have been very much annoyed by those stupid newspaper paragraphs. It is just like the rabid craving of the age for sensationalism. But before I go any further, Janet, I want to tell you something. I am going to be married."

"You! George! Why, you always used to say you had made up your mind never to do anything so foolish."

"So I did; but you see I have changed my mind."

"So it would appear. And now, who is she? Tell me where you met her and all about her."

This was what I dreaded, but it had to be met and faced.

"Well, in the first place, her name is Alie. She is twenty-seven years of age and an orphan. Her father was a captain in the English navy, but is now dead. She is very sweet, very accomplished, and very beautiful; and I feel sure, Janet, if only for my sake, you will offer her a hearty welcome when she comes home."

"You know me well enough to be sure of that, don't you, dear old George? And is anything settled yet? How soon does she come home? and when are you going to be married?"

"To your first question I can only answer, as soon after the first of May as possible. On the first Alie will arrive in England. Now will you wish me happiness, Janet?"

"With all my heart and soul. But I am dying to know more; tell me where you met her, and indeed all about your adventures; remember, you have been away a whole year."

I told her as much as I thought prudent without revealing Alie's identity, and when my story was ended, we sat chatting on till lunch time.

When I left the house in the afternoon, I knew I had insured a kind reception for Alie when she should arrive in England.

Now I must skip the greater part of a year and come to the middle of the last week in April, just three days, in fact, before I knew I might expect my darling. It would be impossible for me to tell you how I spent the time. I don't think I know myself. I was in such a fever of impatience that each minute seemed an hour, each hour a day, and each day a year. And the nearer the time came the greater became my impatience. I even scanned the shipping lists with feverish earnestness, though I knew they could not possibly tell me anything I wanted to know.

At last the evening of the 30th of April arrived, a warm spring night with the promise of a lovely morrow. I kept myself busily occupied after dinner, and went to bed counting the hours till morning should appear. But try how I would I could not sleep – the memory of the joy that awaited me on the morrow kept me wide awake, devising plans for Alie's happiness. Slowly the hours went by. I heard one, two, three, four, and five o'clock strike, and still sleep would not come to me. At last I could stand it no longer, so I rose, dressed myself, and went out into the silent Square. Then I set myself for a walk, taking care, however, to return home in time to receive my letters from the postman. They were three in number, two from friends, the third a circular, but not one from Alie. The disappointment was almost more than I could bear. But I put it behind me, and resolved to wait for the next delivery, which would take place about an hour after breakfast. Again the postman came round the Square – but this time he had nothing at all to deliver when he reached my door. Once more I was disappointed.

The morning rolled slowly on and lunch time came and went without any communication. The early afternoon delivery brought me no news, and by tea time I had almost lost hope. Could Alie have forgotten her promise or had she met with an accident which prevented her from coming? The latter thought redoubled my anxiety.

But I had her own assertion that she would be in England on the first of May and I had never known her fail to keep her word. Just as that thought passed through my brain there was a ring at the bell, and a few seconds later my man brought up a telegram on a salver. With fingers trembling with eagerness I tore the envelope open and read the following message:

Arrived this morning. Bundaberg House, Surbiton. Come quickly.

    ALIE.

That little slip of paper transformed my dismal world into a second heaven. There and then I ran out of the room, gave the telegraph boy in the porch half a crown for his trouble, seized my hat and stick, hailed a hansom, and bade the cabman drive me with all possible speed to Waterloo. The man was a smart whip, and as he possessed a good horse we covered the ground in grand style. When we reached the station I paid him off, purchased my ticket, and ran on to the platform just in time to catch the 6.15 express. Punctually at five and twenty minutes to seven I left the train again at Surbiton, and proceeding into the station yard called another cab.

"Do you know Bundaberg House?" I asked the man, as I took my place in the vehicle.

He shook his head and called to one of his mates.

"Where's Bundaberg House, Bill?"

"Out on the Portsmouth Road nearly to Thames Ditton," was the reply. "That big house with the long brick wall next to Tiller's."

"I know now, sir!" said the man, climbing on to his box.

"Very well, then! An extra shilling if you hurry up," I cried, and away he went.

At the end of a short drive we pulled up before a pair of massive iron gates. A passer by threw them open for us and we drove in, passed round a shrubbery, and pulled up at the front door. I paid the cabman off and then, having watched him drive down and through the gates again, rang the bell. Next moment the door opened and a trim maid servant, without inquiring my name, invited me to enter. The front door opened on to a nicely built and furnished hall and from it I passed into a handsome drawing-room. It was empty but, before I had time to look round, the folding doors on the other side were thrown back and Alie entered the room.

I must leave you to imagine our greeting. I can only say that it sends a tremor through me to this day to remember it. I know that while I held Alie, who seemed more beautiful than ever, in my arms she whispered:

"You are still of the same mind, George?"

"Doesn't this look as if I am, darling?" I whispered. "Yes, I love you more fondly than ever, and I have come to-night to claim the fulfilment of your promise."

"You have been very patient, George!"

"It was because I loved and believed in you, Alie!" I replied. "But come, darling, I want my answer."

"And you shall have it," she said softly. "There it is!"

As she spoke she raised her beautiful white hand and pointed to the ring I had given her, saying as she did so, "It has never left my finger since you placed it there!"

"My best of girls," I cried, raising the little hand to my lips and kissing it fondly, "I am the very happiest man in the world. And now I must hear all your doings; tell me how you got home!"

"There is little to tell," she answered. "I followed your route via Thursday Island, Brisbane, Sydney, and Melbourne. I stayed in the latter place for nearly a month, and while there advertised for a companion. The result was Mrs. Barker, a nice, amiable little person, whom you will shortly see. When we reached Naples I happened to see an advertisement concerning this furnished house in an English paper, telegraphed about it, received an answer in Paris, engaged it, and arrived here this morning."

"And how did you leave the settlement? And, by the way, where is Mr. 'Beelzebub'?"

"The settlement was very well when I came away. They were busy building the new Communal Hall I used to talk to you about. And poor old Bel is left at the bungalow. I was afraid he might excite remark and possibly draw suspicion upon me."

"Alie, do you think you are safe in London?" I cried in alarm, all my old fears rushing back upon me at the mention of that one word suspicion. "What ever should I do if any one suspected you?"

"You need have no fear on that score, dear," my intrepid sweetheart answered, "there is no one in England who could possibly recognize me, and the only people in the whole world who could do so are Vesey of Hong Kong, the Sultan of Surabaya, the Rajah of Tavoy, Barkmansworth, and that lieutenant and midshipman. The first is dead; the second never leaves his own territory, the third is in bad odour with the English Government just at present and little likely to come home. Barkmansworth is, I presume, still in Hong Kong, and the lieutenant and his junior are with their ship in the China Sea."

"All the same, I shall not be satisfied until we are safely out of Europe again, Alie."

"You say we, then you mean to come away with me, George?"

"Of course, with whom else should I go? Hark! somebody is coming!"

"It is Mrs. Barker, my duenna. Now we must be matter of fact folk once more."

As she spoke, Mrs. Barker, a dapper little lady with silver gray hair and a very pleasant expression, entered the room.

"Let me introduce Dr. De Normanville to you," said Alie, rising from her chair and going forward to meet her. "Dr. De Normanville, Mrs. Barker."

I bowed and Mrs. Barker did the same, then we went in to dinner. What happened during that very pleasant meal, how Mrs. Barker found occasion to require something from her bedroom afterwards, and so left us alone in the drawing-room together, I need not relate; suffice it that when I got home about twelve o'clock I was the happiest, and, at the same time, the most nervous, man in England.