In White Raiment

It was the man who, by giving me that cigarette, had made the dastardly attempt upon my life that had been so nearly successful – the man of whom I had been in active search – Major Tattersett.

His single eyeglass was still in his eye, and his hat was set upon his head as jauntily as on the day when we had first met, but, for the eagerness of his countenance as he gazed forward to where my wife sat, I saw that he was not one of the house-party, and felt confident that his presence there was with secret and evil intent.

Chapter Eleven

Voices of the Night

From my place of concealment I was able to watch the Major closely without risk of detection.

His presence there boded no good. He had crept slowly up the avenue until within sight of the house, and was intently scanning the gay party assembled on the lawn. Was it possible that he had walked behind me and watched me enter there?

He was scarcely as smart in appearance as on the day when he led my bride up the aisle of the church, and had afterwards handed me the cigarette; but, nevertheless, he retained the distinctly foppish air of the man-about-town. For a few moments only he remained there eagerly scanning the distant group, and then, as though reassured, he turned on his heel and retraced his steps towards the lodge.

Determined to watch his movements, I followed him until he gained Hounslow Station, and there I saw him turn into a low-built, old-fashioned inn, where I afterwards discovered he had been staying for a couple of days.

That some conspiracy was being formed, I could not doubt, therefore I set myself to keep strict watch upon him – no easy matter, for from hour to hour I feared that he might recognise me. It was he who had petitioned the Archbishop for the special licence for our marriage; he who had, with some mysterious motive, posed as the father of the woman I now loved. Surely she must have known that he was not her father, and, if so, she herself had taken a part in a plot which had so nearly cost her her life.

But was she not dead when I found her lying there? The puzzle was bewildering.

The Major’s movements might possibly give me some clue. It was fortunate that we had met.

At a cheap clothier’s I had purchased a rough secondhand suit and a bowler hat, much the worse for wear, and these I had assumed in order to alter my appearance as much as possible. About nine o’clock that same night, while I stood idling about the station with my eye ever upon the inn opposite, my vigilance was suddenly rewarded, for the Major emerged leisurely, carefully lit a cigar, and then strolled across the railway bridge and down the road towards Whitton. Darkness had not quite set in, therefore I hesitated to follow him; but, fortunately, I had explored the neighbourhood thoroughly during the past few hours, and knew that by crossing to the opposite platform of the station, I could gain a footpath which led through fields and market-gardens, emerging into the high-road almost opposite the gates of the park.

This byway I took, and, hurrying down it, arrived at the point near the lodge fully five minutes before he appeared along the road. The gates were, however, closed.

Would he ring and demand admittance? I wondered.

When about two hundred yards from the gates he suddenly halted, glanced up and down the road as though to make certain that no one was watching, and then, bending down, squeezed himself through a hole in the wooden fencing and disappeared. He evidently knew that the gates were locked, and had already discovered that mode of entry, if indeed he had not broken away the palings himself earlier in the day.

Without hesitation I hurried forward over the grass by the roadside, so that he might not hear my footsteps, and, discovering the hole in the paling, entered after him. I found myself in the midst of hawthorn bushes and thick undergrowth, but, pausing and listening intently, I soon detected which direction he had taken by the noise of breaking twigs. For some ten minutes I remained there, fearing to move lest the noise might alarm him; but when at last he was out of hearing I crept forward, breaking my way through in the direction of the avenue. The night was hot and so still that each sound seemed to awaken the echoes.

With the greatest caution I crept on, walking noiselessly over the grass in the direction of the house.

As soon as the old mansion came into view I saw that lights burned in many of the windows, and from the drawing-rooms, where the open doors led on to the lawn, came the living strains of dance music.

From where I stood I could see the high lamps with their shades of yellow silk, and now and then bright dresses flashed past the long windows. A couple of figures were strolling up and down before the house. I could see their white shirt-fronts in the darkness, and knew that they were men smoking and enjoying the night air.

The two men at last tossed away their cigar ends and entered the house: thus I became encouraged to approach closer, cross the lawn, and peep through one of the side windows of the drawing-room. Fully a dozen people were there, but as I gazed around I was disappointed not to see my love. I had risked discovery and detection to obtain sight of her, but she was not present, neither was her cousin Nora. Most of the guests seemed smart people, judging from the women’s toilettes, and all were lolling about with the air of laziness which overcomes one after a good dinner. Dancing had ended, and, as I watched, a young dark-haired girl approached the piano and commenced to sing a song by which I knew that she was French.

I peered in through those windows eager for a glimpse of Beryl. Surely she was not like those others? No, I recollected her calm dignity and sweet grace when I had spoken to her. She, at least, was high-minded and womanly. I was glad she was not there to hear that song.

The singer sat down, having finished, amid roars of applause, and then the conversation was resumed; but at that instant I became conscious of some one passing near me, and had only just time to draw back into the shadow and thus escape observation. It was one of the guests, a man who lounged slowly along, the glowing end of his cigar shining in the darkness, alone; he was apparently full of recollections, for he passed slowly and mechanically onward without noticing me. Unable to see his face, I could only detect that he was rather above the average height, and, by his silhouette, I saw that he stooped slightly.

The encounter, however, caused me to recede from the house, for I had no desire to be detected there and compelled to give an account of myself. I was in shabby clothes, and if found in the vicinity might be suspected of an intention to commit a theft.

Where was the Major? He had certainly entered there, but had escaped my vigilance by passing through the thicket. I had been there nearly half an hour, yet had not been able to re-discover him. The lawn on one side was bounded by a light iron fencing, beyond which was a thick wood, and upon this fencing I mounted, and sat to rest in full view of the house and the long window of the drawing-room. In the deep shadow of the trees I waited there, safe from detection, listening to the music, which had recommenced, and wondering what had become of the man whom I had tried to follow. He seemed to have avoided the house and gone to the opposite side of the park.

Although I could actually see into the circle of assembled guests, yet I was so far off that I could only distinguish the women by the colour of their gowns. Had Beryl returned to join them? I wondered. I was longing for a single glance at her dear face – that face sweeter than any other in the world.

A woman in a cream dress, cut low at the neck, came suddenly to the doorway and peered forth into the night as though in search of some one, but a moment later had disappeared; and again the piano broke forth with the pretty minuet from Manon.

I had, I felt certain, been there almost, if not quite, an hour; therefore I was resolved to make a tour of the park in an endeavour to find the man whose suspicious movements had so interested me earlier in the evening. With that object in view I leaped down upon the lawn, crossed it until I reached the edge of the lake, which I skirted until I gained a rustic bridge which crossed the tiny brook that rippled over the stones and fell into the pool.

Of a sudden I heard a sound. It was quite distinct, like a half-suppressed cough. I halted in surprise, but no other sound reached my ear. Could I have been mistaken? The noise seemed very human, yet I knew that in the darkness of night the most usual sound becomes exaggerated and distorted. Therefore reassured I continued my way by the narrow, unfrequented path, which, leaving the lakeside, struck across the park and led me across a stile into a dark belt of wood.

Scarcely had I entered it, however, when I heard human voices distinctly. I halted and listened. An owl hooted weirdly, and there was a dead silence.

I wondered whether the persons I had surprised had detected my presence. I stood upon the narrow path holding my breath so that I could catch every sound.

A couple of minutes passed. To me they seemed as hours. Then, again, the voices sounded away to the left, apparently on the edge of the wood. Noiselessly I retraced my steps to the stile, and then found that from it there ran a path beside the iron railing, whither I knew not. But somewhere down that path two persons were in consultation.

Treading carefully, so that my footsteps should not be overheard, I crept down the path until, of a sudden, I caught sight of a woman’s white dress in the gloom. Then, sufficiently close to overhear, I halted with strained ears.

I was hidden behind a high hazel bush, but could just distinguish against that reddish glare which shines in the sky of the outskirts of London on a summer’s night, two silhouettes, those of a man and a woman. The former had halted, and was leaning against the railing, while the latter, with a shawl twisted about her shoulders, stood facing him.

“If you had wished you could certainly have met me before this,” the man was grumbling. “I’ve waited at the stile there a solid hour. Besides, it was a risky business with so many people about.”

“I told you not to come here,” she answered; and in an instant I recognised the voice. They were the sweet, musical tones of the woman who was my wife.

“Of course,” laughed her companion sardonically. “But, you see, I prefer the risk.” And I knew by the deep note that the man who stood by her was the Major.

“Why?” she inquired. “The risk is surely mine in coming out to meet you?”

“Bah! women can always make excuses,” he laughed. “I should not have made this appointment if it were not imperative that we should meet.”

“Well?” she sighed. “What do you want of me now?”

“I want to talk to you seriously.”

“With the usual request to follow,” she observed wearily. “You want money – eh?”

“Money? Oh no,” he said, with bitter sarcasm. “I can do without it. I can live on air, you know.”

“That’s better than prison fare, I should have thought,” she answered grimly.

“Ah, now, my dear, you’re sarcastic,” he said, with a touch of irony. “That doesn’t become you.”

“Well, tell me quickly what you want, and let me get back, or they will miss me.”

“You mean that your young lover will want to know with whom you’ve been flirting, eh? Well, you can mislead him again, as you’ve done many times before. What a fine thing it is to be an accomplished liar. I always envy people who can lie well, for they get through life so easily.” He spoke in a familiar tone, as though he held her beneath an influence that was irresistible.

“I am no liar,” she protested quickly. “The lies I have been compelled to tell have been at your own instigation.”

“And to save yourself,” he added, with a dry, harsh laugh. “But I didn’t bring you here for an exchange of compliments.”

Chapter Twelve

The Morning After