The Closed Book: Concerning the Secret of the Borgias

“Do you recollect, too, how heavily the rain fell, and how you turned from Theobald’s Road into Harpur Street in search of something? You saw the sign – the stuffed bear cub in the window, the fatal sign. Do you deny it?”

She was silent. Her lips twitched, but for a few moments no sound came from them. She was dumbfounded, and unable to speak. At last she stammered:

“I know, I know! But why do you torture me like this,” she cried, “you who evidently know the truth?”

“Unfortunately I do not know the truth,” I declared. “I may as well tell you, however, that I overheard your exclamation when your eyes fell upon the sign in that dingy upper room, and I followed you both home to Grosvenor Street, determined that if you would allow me I would stand your friend. Because of that I have ventured to introduce myself to you this evening.”

“My friend?” she echoed. “Ah! it is all very well to offer me your assistance, Mr Kennedy; but I fear it can be of no avail. My enemies are stronger than you are. They have crushed all my life out of me. My future is hopeless – utterly hopeless,” she sighed.

The collie, escaping from her hand, sniffed me suspiciously, and then settled near his mistress.

“Ah, no! there is always hope. Besides, I am utterly in the dark as to the meaning of your words. My surmise, based simply upon logical conclusions, is that our interests are, as I have already suggested, identical. You have heard of me, have you not?”

“I have read your books,” was her answer, “and my father has spoken of you.”

“He has spoken of me in connection with the sign placed in that window in Bloomsbury?” I suggested.

She nodded. Her splendid eyes met mine mysteriously.

“He is a friend of Mr Selby’s?” I ventured.

“I believe so.”

“Do you not, then, admit the truth of my suggestion that, our interests being in common, we should establish friendly relations whereby we may defeat our enemies?” I asked.

“I admit the truth of the argument entirely,” was her response after a few moments’ consideration; “and, although I recognise your kindness in offering to stand my friend, I cannot see how either of us can benefit. I must suffer – till my death.”

“Your death?” I cried reproachfully. “Don’t speak like that. I know how utterly helpless you are, how completely you have fallen into the hands of these mysterious enemies of yours. Yet I would urge you not to despair. Trust in me to assist you in every way in my power, for I assure you of my honesty of purpose. Be frank with me, and tell me everything; then we will form some plan to combat this plot – for plot it seems to be.”

“Be frank with you?” she cried in a tone of dismay, but quickly recovered herself. “With you– of all men?”

“Why not with me?” I asked in great surprise at her manner. “Surely I am not your enemy?”

“If you are not at this moment, you have been in the past.”

“How so?” I asked, amazed.

“You would have brought death upon me if you could,” she cried huskily. “I was only saved by the protection of Providence.”

“I really don’t know what you mean?” I cried. “I have only seen you once before, on that wet night in London. Yet you actually accuse me of being your enemy?”

“No,” she said in a hard voice. “My words are not an accusation. The fault, I feel certain, was not your own; but you might easily have encompassed my death without ever knowing it.”

“I really don’t understand!” I exclaimed. “Will you not speak more plainly? To think that I have ever been your enemy, consciously or unconsciously, for a single moment, pains me, for such a thing is farthest from my thoughts. I am only desirous of being your good and devoted friend. We both have enemies – you and I. Therefore, if we join forces in perfect confidence, we may succeed in combating them.”

“Then I can only presume you have followed me here in order to put this proposal to me?” she said in a tone of indignation.

“I have certainly not followed you,” was my quick response. “Indeed, I believed that it was you who had followed me! I am staying at Sheringham, and had not the least idea you were in the neighbourhood.”

“The same with me,” she replied. “My father and I are staying at my uncle’s, Lord Aldoborough’s, at Saxlingham, and I strolled over here this evening as far as the sea. Then our meeting must have been quite accidental.”

“When did you arrive?”

“Yesterday.”

“And your father may have come down here in order to be able to watch me?” I suggested.

She did not reply, although her troubled breast heaved and fell quickly in agitation.

“I know that you hesitate to accept me as your friend,” I went on earnestly. “But before your final decision I would urge you to seek some information about me, for I can only repeat what I have already said, that our interests are in common, and that we should defend ourselves.”

“From what?”

“From the evil which you fear may fall upon you,” I answered, recollecting her words in Harpur Street.

“Ah, no!” she cried bitterly, as her fine eyes filled with tears. “It is useless for you to tell me this – perfectly useless! I, alas! know the truth. Before tomorrow,” she added in a hoarse voice, “I shall have ceased to trouble you.”

Chapter Nineteen

The Hand and the Glove

Do you believe in love at first sight? I did not until the moment when, in my brief conversation with the Earl’s daughter, I detected the beauty of her character. I had often heard it said that only fools love a woman at first meeting her. Yet within that woman’s heart was a fathomless well of purest affection, although its waters slept in silence and obscurity – never failing in their depth, and never overflowing in their fullness. Everything in her seemed somehow to lie beyond my view, affecting me in a manner which I felt rather than perceived. At first I did not know that it was love for her. Amid the strange atmosphere of mystery and conspiracy into which I had so suddenly been plunged, amid convulsions of doubt and fear which had during those past few days harrowed my soul, the tender influence of this woman came like that of a celestial visitant, making itself felt and acknowledged, although I could not understand it. Like a soft star that shines for a moment from behind a stormy cloud, and the next is swallowed up in tempest and darkness, the impression it left was beautiful and deep, but vague.

Perhaps you may blame me. Most probably you will. But man is ever the jetsam of the wind of destiny.

I glanced at her, and took in every detail of her countenance and dress. She was no longer in shabby black, but in a pretty costume of dove-grey cashmere, with silken trimmings of a somewhat darker shade; she looked daintily bewitching, supple and slim, grey lending relief to the delicate roundness, the gentle curves of a figure in which early womanhood was blooming with all its sweet and adorable charm. Her fair hair, streaked here and there with gold, was covered with a hat that suited her exquisitely, whether the eye sought harmony of colour or unity of lines. She wore no veil, and thus I could freely feast my eyes upon her beauty.

“I really don’t understand you,” I exclaimed, after a pause. “You do not trouble me, for until I saw you by chance passing into the street we were entire strangers.”

“No benefit can be obtained by discussing the matter,” she answered blankly. “Why were you watching in Harpur Street if not to witness my despair?”

“I had a motive in watching,” I answered.

“Of course you had. You cannot deny that. My father has already spoken of you, and told me everything.”

“And he is still triumphant?” I queried, recollecting his expression of satisfaction on seeing the fatal sign.

She was silent, her lips set closely, her fair face turned towards the open expanse of grey sea.

“Am I not right in suggesting that your enemy is a person named Selby, and that he – ”

“Who told you that?” she cried. “How did you know?”

“By my own observations,” I replied, as calmly as I could, yet secretly gratified that she should have thus betrayed the truth.

“Ah?” she sighed. “I see! I was not mistaken. You are not my friend, Mr Kennedy.”

“But I am,” I declared. “Give me an opportunity of proving my friendship. You apparently believe that I am implicated in some plot against you, but I swear I am innocent of it all. I myself am a victim of some extraordinary conspiracy – just as you are.”