In White Raiment

His face was livid and his surprise apparent. I saw that he had never dreamt that I knew of her existence.

“You see, I may be a confounded fool, as you have declared,” I said. “But I have not been idle during these past months. La Gioia’s revenge is mine also.”

He made no response. My words had, as I intended, produced an overwhelming effect upon him. He saw, that if La Gioia’s secret was out he stood in deadliest peril. I had impressed him with an intimate knowledge of the whole affair.

It was at that moment he showed himself full of resourceful villainy.

“The vengeance of La Gioia will fall upon the woman who is your wife – not upon yourself.”

“And through whom?” I cried. “Why, through yourself and your accomplice, Tattersett, who betrayed Beryl into her hands. The mystery of Whitton is to me no mystery, for I know the truth.”

He glared at me as though I were some evil vision, and I knew that by these words I was slowly thrusting home the truth.

“What have I to do with the affair at Whitton?” he cried. “I know nothing of it?”

“I may, perhaps, be enabled to prove differently,” I said.

“Do you then allege that I am implicated in the Colonel’s death?” he exclaimed furiously.

“I have my own opinion,” I responded. “Remember that you once made a desperate and dastardly, attempt to kill me, fearing lest I should denounce you as having tried to bribe me to commit murder.”

His eyes glittered, and I saw that his anger was unbounded. We stood there in the calm sunset near the lakeside, and I could see that he would rid himself of me, if such a course was possible. But I thought of Beryl. Ah! how I loved her. That she had fallen a victim of the cleverly contrived conspiracy incensed me, and I resolved to show the scoundrel no quarter.

“Well,” he said at last, in a tone of defiance, “and after all these wild allegations, what can you do? Surely you do not think that I fear any statement that you can make?”

“You may not fear any statement of mine, but I do not anticipate that you will invite La Gioia to reveal all she knows. The latter might place you in enforced confinement for a few years.”

“La Gioia is at liberty to say whatever she likes,” he answered. “If she is actually a friend of Beryl’s she will, no doubt, assist you; but at present she is her deadliest antagonist. Therefore, if you take my advice, you’ll just calm yourself and await another opportunity for revenge at a latter date.”

His cool words caused my blood to boil.

“You treat this affair as though it were a matter of little importance, sir!” I cried. “Let me tell you, however, that I have been your victim, and I intend to probe the matter to the bottom and ascertain your motives.”

“That you’ll never do,” he laughed.

“I tell you I will!” I cried. “I am Beryl’s husband, and she is no longer defenceless. You have to answer to me!”

“I have answered you by saying that in future you are at liberty to act as you think fit. I merely warn you that La Gioia is no more your friend than she is your wife’s.”

“You contrived to entrap me into marriage. Why? Answer me that question,” I demanded.

“I refuse. You have threatened me with all sorts of pains and penalties, but I defy you!”

From his silver case he took a cigar, and, biting off the end, leisurely lit it. His countenance had changed. Again it was the same grey sinister face that had so long haunted me in my dream – the face of the Tempter.

“Have you finished?” he asked, with mock politeness.

“For the moment, yes,” I answered. “But yours is an ill-advised defiance, as you will very soon see.”

He burst forth into a peal of strained, unnatural laughter, whereat I turned upon my heel and left him standing there a dark silhouette in the crimson sunset. Blindly I walked on to the house, dressed mechanically, and descended late for dinner. But the Tempter was not in his place; he had been called away to London, it was said, and had been compelled to catch the 07:30 train from Corsham.

I glanced at my watch; it was already 07:35. I had blundered, and had allowed him to slip through my fingers. I bit my lip in mad vexation.

Beryl’s beautiful eyes were fixed upon me, and in her face I detected deep anxiety. She looked perfectly charming in a gown of pale pink crêpe-de-chine. Had he sought her before departure, I wondered?

“It’s an awful disappointment that he has had to leave,” said the baronet’s wife. “I endeavoured to persuade him to remain until the morning, but he received a letter by the afternoon post making it imperative that he should return to London. But he says he will be back again either on Monday or Tuesday.”

“I do hope he will return,” observed some one at the end of the table, and then the subject dropped. When the ladies had left the room Sir Henry remarked – “Queer fellow, Ashwicke – a bit eccentric, I always think. His movements are most erratic – a regular rolling stone.”

I embraced that opportunity to inquire regarding his antecedents, but my host appeared to know very little beyond the fact that he was wealthy, good company, a keen sportsman, and moved in a very smart set in town.

“I’ve known him a couple of years or so; he’s a member of my club,” he added. “My wife declares that none of the parties are complete without him.”

“Do you know his friend, Tattersett – Major Tattersett?”

“No,” responded Sir Henry; “never met him.” With the others I went along to the drawing-room and found Beryl alone in a cozy corner, obviously awaiting me. She twisted a lace scarf about her shoulders and we strolled out upon the terrace, as was our habit each evening if fine and starlight. When we had gained the further end she suddenly halted, and turning to me said, in a low, husky voice that trembled with emotion —

“Doctor Colkirk, you have deceived me!”

“Deceived you, Miss Wynd?” I exclaimed, taken completely aback by her allegation. “How?”

“I know the truth – a truth that you cannot deny. I – I am your wife.”

“I do not seek to deny it,” I answered in deep, solemn earnestness, taking her small white hand in mine. “It is true, Beryl, that you are my wife – true also that I love you.”

“But it cannot be possible!” she gasped. “I knew that I was a wife, but never dreamed that you were actually my husband.”

“And how did you discover it?”

“I was down by the waterside this evening, before dinner, and overheard your conversation with Mr Ashwicke.”

“All of it?”

“Yes, all of it. I know that I am your wife;” and she sighed, while her little hand trembled within mine.

“I love you, Beryl,” I said, simply and earnestly. “I have known all along that you are my wife, yet I dared not tell you so, being unable to offer sufficient proof of it and unable to convince you of my affection. Yet, in these few weeks that have passed, you have surely seen that I am devoted to you – that I love you with a strange and deeper love than ever man has borne within his heart. A thousand times I have longed to tell you this, but have always feared to do so. The truth is that you are my wife – my adored.”

Her hand tightened upon mine, and unable to restrain her emotions further, she burst into tears.

“Tell me, darling,” I whispered into her car – “tell me that you will try to love me now that you know the truth. Tell me that you forgive me for keeping the secret until now, for, as I will show you, it was entirely in our mutual interests. We have both been victims of a vile and widespread conspiracy, therefore we must unite our efforts to combat the vengeance of our enemies. Tell me that you will try and love me – nay, that you do love me a little. Give me hope, darling, and let us act together as man and wife.”

“But it is so sudden,” she faltered. “I hardly know my own feelings.”

“You know whether you love me, or whether you hate me,” I said, placing my hand around her slim waist and drawing her towards me.

“No,” she responded in a low voice, “I do not hate you. How could I?”

“Then you love me – you really love me, after all!” I cried joyously.