Buch lesen: «The Temptress», Seite 12
The “Sultan’s Favourite” carefully scanned each line in an endeavour to discover some word that was familiar, but found none. She knew it contained details of some mystery or other, and that was sufficient incentive for her to try and translate it. Soon, however, she found that all her efforts were futile; so, refolding it, she was about to replace it in its former position when she suddenly reflected that if she copied out a portion of it she might get it translated by a governess who lodged in the same house as herself, and with whom she was on friendly terms.
Taking a seat at the desk, she spread out the paper before her, and carefully copied several sentences, taking heed to place the accents accurately, and scrupulously avoiding errors in orthography. Having covered two sheets of notepaper, she replaced the newspaper in the drawer, afterwards going into her dressing-room and putting her notes into the pocket of her dress.
Once or twice she felt inclined to laugh at herself for attaching so much importance to a mere newspaper report which seemed to contain nothing to connect it with the persons in whom she was interested, nevertheless she felt convinced that no clue was too small or insignificant for her to investigate. One discovery, amazing yet incomprehensible, she had already made, and it had whetted her desire to know the whole truth in order that her revenge might be more complete.
Egerton returned shortly afterwards. Handing her a bag of burnt almonds of a kind for which she had a particular weakness, he expressed a hope that she had not been dull, and quickly prepared to resume his work. With eyes sparkling like those of a spoiled child, she tasted the almonds, and gave him one, then, flinging aside her wrap, lay again upon the divan before him, laughing, and crunching her sweets.
The artist was in a mood even more joyful than before he went out, the cause being that he had been given commission for a portrait that was at once easy and lucrative, a fact which he triumphantly announced to his model, and upon which she congratulated him.
In November the light in London grows yellow early, and before four o’clock the artist had to lay down his palette for the day. Tea was brought in a few minutes later, and the pair sat tête-à-tête before the blazing fire, Dolly listening to the painter’s technical description of the picture that he had been commissioned to execute.
Chapter Twenty Three
Without the Queen’s Proctor
The last act of a matrimonial drama was being watched attentively by six rows of eager spectators.
Already the gas had been lit, for the dull yellow light of the wintry London moon was insufficient to illuminate the sombre Court. Upon the bench, at the rear of which hung a large square board covered with dark-blue cloth and bearing a golden anchor, the judge sat – grave, silent, almost statuesque. The public who filled the tiers of seats before him listened intently to every word of the story of a woman’s faithlessness, which counsel was relating. It was an undefended, and therefore not an unusually interesting case. Nevertheless, the Divorce Court has an attraction for the curious, and is nearly always crowded, even when there are scarcely a dozen people in any of the Queen’s Bench or Chancery Divisions. The very word divorce is sufficient to interest some, and for the novelty of the thing they desire to witness the procedure by which husband and wife are disunited.
Perhaps such curiosity is pardonable. It certainly is more excusable than the ignominious conduct of some soi-disant ladies, who consider it good form to attend a Criminal Court where a woman is indicted for murder, and there watch and comment audibly, and with heartless inhumanity, upon the agonies of their wretched sister who is being tried for her life. Such scenes at recent trials of unfortunate women have been a scandal to our civilisation.
In the Divorce Court, however, it is different. The surroundings are more refined. The dénouement of the marriage drama there enacted frequently develops into broad comedy before the curtain is rung down by the judicial decision. Even there, however, women gloat over the stories of the domestic woe of another woman, and ridicule the deceived husband with a cool indifference that is astounding; they are apparently quite unimpressed by the gravity of the question at issue.
The President had already disposed of half a dozen undefended suits, when the case of Willoughby versus Willoughby and Lapasque had been called on.
“Pardon me, Mr Grover. My attention was diverted for the moment, and I did not catch your opening sentences,” the judge was saying to counsel for the petitioner.
“The facts of the case before you, m’lord, are briefly these,” exclaimed the barrister, recommencing. “The petitioner, Captain Willoughby, late of the 10th Hussars, married the respondent, a French subject, at St. Mary Abbot’s, Kensington, in June, 1884. The parties lived happily at Brighton, Leeds, Toulon, and other places until about a year had elapsed, when frequent quarrels arose. The petitioner discovered that his wife was carrying on an intrigue with a wealthy young man named Arthur Kingscote, with whom she had been acquainted before marriage. This led to an encounter between the two men at a Manchester hotel, with the result that my client was severely injured in the head, in consequence of which petitioner took proceedings against Kingscote, who was fined at the Manchester Police Court for the assault. This apparently incensed the respondent, and quarrels became of more frequent occurrence, until one day, while living at San Remo, Mrs Willoughby left her home unexpectedly, and never returned. Eventually, after a long series of inquiries, the petitioner found that his wife was living at Nice, and that she had formed a liaison with the co-respondent, Gustava Lapasque, who is one of the officials connected with the Casino at Monte Carlo. The evidence I shall call before you, m’lord, will prove the latter part of my statement; and as I understand there is no one present representing either respondent or co-respondent, I shall ask your lordship to pronounce the decree usual in such a case.”
The captain having briefly borne out the statement of his counsel, the latter turned to the usher, saying —
“Call Giovanni Moretti, please.”
In a few minutes a dapper and rather well-dressed Italian stepped into the witness-box.
“What are you, Signore Moretti?” asked Mr Grover, when the witness had been sworn and his name taken.
“Head waiter at the Hôtel Victoria, Nice,” he replied in broken English.
“Do you recognise this lady?” counsel asked, handing up a cabinet photograph of Valérie.
“Yes,” he said, taking a long glance at it. “The lady is Madame Lapasque.”
“And this photograph?” continued Mr Grover, handing him another.
“Monsieur Lapasque. They both stayed at our hotel for nearly three months the summer before last. They came in July and left in October.”
“During those months would you have many visitors at your hotel?”
“No; very few. It is not our season.”
“In that case you would have plenty of facilities for observing them?”
“I saw them perhaps a dozen times each day. I superintended the waiting at à déjeûner and table d’hôte.”
“You have no doubt that the lady was the original of that portrait?”
“Not the slightest,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.
“Have you seen the respondent, Mrs Willoughby, since?” the judge asked, in slow deliberate tones.
“Yes, I saw her here in London a few weeks ago. I was brought to England by Monsieur Willoughby to identify madame and give evidence.”
“When you saw her, did you tell her that you recognised her as Madame Lapasque?”
“Of course I told her. She then grew angry, and ordered me from the room.”
“Is that all the evidence you have, Mr Grover?” asked the judge, when he had concluded taking notes of the witness’s cross-examination.
“No, my lord. I have further corroborative evidence,” counsel replied.
The Italian walked from the box, and his place was taken by Nanette Rambert.
“What are you, Miss Rambert?” asked Mr Grover, glancing at his brief.
“Lady’s maid.”
“You identify these photographs, I believe?”
“Yes; the lady is Madame Lapasque, my late mistress, and the gentleman her husband.”
“How long were you in the respondent’s service?”
“About two years. At the time she engaged me at Cannes, monsieur was not with her, but about three months later he joined her, and we travelled first to San Remo, then to Rome, Homburg, and London.”
“And you always believed Lapasque to be her husband?” asked Mr Grover.
“Of course, m’sieur. Madame always told me he was.”
“How long ago did you leave her service?”
“About six months.”
“Have you seen either since?”
“I have only seen madame. I was with M’sieur Willoughby, and we saw her come from a house in Victoria Street, Westminster.”
“Did you identify her?”
“Yes, without the slightest difficulty. I did not, however, speak to her.”
No other questions were asked the witness, and she left the box.
His lordship then recalled the petitioner, and questioned him at some length upon his wife’s general conduct, to which the gallant captain replied with the sorrowful yet indignant air of the injured husband.
After counsel had delivered a brief and pointed address there was a pause. The judge was weighing the evidence. He read and re-read his notes, underlining words here and there with a pencil, while the Court silently awaited his decision.
Suddenly he looked up, coughed slightly, and, addressing Mr Grover, who at once rose, said —
“In this case I find that the wife has been guilty of misconduct, and I shall therefore grant a decree nisi with costs against the co-respondent.”
Counsel, bowing, thanked his lordship, and, tying up his brief, left the Court, accompanied by the captain, while the onlookers stirred uneasily in their seats, whispered among each other, and then sat eager to be regaled with another story of domestic woe.
As the barrister and his client gained the large hall of the Courts, Nanette joined them. Mr Grover excused himself on the ground that he had an appointment at his chambers in the Temple, and, bidding them adieu, departed. The captain and the maid followed him down the steps, and, turning in the opposite direction, strolled leisurely past St. Clement’s church and along the Strand.
Willoughby was elated. Not only had he freed himself from a tie that might some day prove detrimental, but – what was much more to the point – he was also entitled to claim twenty-five thousand francs, the price his wife had offered for her liberty. The matter had been rendered quite easy, the details, together with Lapasque’s address, having been furnished by Valérie herself.
“You’re a smart girl, Nanette,” he exclaimed flatteringly, after expressing approbation at the manner in which she had given her evidence. “Your story had a ring of truth about it that was delightful, and in answering the questions you drew a long, serious face, and never once faltered.”
Nodding her head knowingly and laughing, she replied —
“That’s true, m’sieur. But, you see, I know the way to tell fibs as well as most people. I haven’t been maid to mademoiselle without contriving to learn a few tricks. I was taught them when I first entered her service; now they come quite naturally.”
“So it seems,” he said, with an amused smile. “But, tell me, how do matters stand down at the country mansion? Is all serene?”
“Quite. Mademoiselle’s new husband is such a mild-mannered young man, and has suspected absolutely nothing from the first. He’s madly infatuated with her, and she can twist him round her little finger.”
“Now, speaking candidly, Nanette,” asked the captain, after a few moments’ silence, “have you any idea what object she had in marrying him?”
“None; I’m as ignorant as yourself. It seems unaccountable, yet you may rest assured she had some very good reason for such a step.”
“Of course, Trethowen has money, yet somehow I don’t believe that her sole object was to become the wife of a rich man. It is a matter that has puzzled me ever since I heard of the match,” observed the captain thoughtfully.
In truth, he was the reverse of sorry that his wife had entered into the alliance. Providing Hugh really loved Valérie, he saw there was a possibility of obtaining hush-money from him, as it was certain he would avoid the scandal which would inevitably result if his wife were prosecuted for bigamy.
Nanette, although unacquainted with many of her mistress’s schemes, nevertheless knew so much that it would have been highly undesirable that any disagreement should occur between them. She was saucy and self-confident, yet discreet and – when occasion required – a model maid.
“You should be happy, m’sieur, now that you have obtained your divorce, and can live en garçon again,” she remarked, her eyes sparkling with diablerie.
“So I am, Nanette,” he replied with a smile. “Everything has come off just as I arranged that it should. In the judgment of a fool there are no wise men. To-night you must return to Coombe, and your mistress will pay you the money that was agreed. You might tell her that, the business being so far concluded, she may expect a visit from me in the course of a day or two, when I hope we shall be able to close the incident.”
“Very well. I’ll give her your message,” replied the girl. “But you will not call upon her at Coombe? Surely that would be unwise,” she suggested in concern.
“I haven’t yet decided whether I shall go there or not. It all depends upon circumstances,” he answered rather abruptly.
Then they turned into a restaurant for luncheon, and the captain celebrated the occasion with a bottle of Pommery, which Nanette assisted him to drink.
A week had passed.
Before a large fire in the private parlour of the Ship Hotel, at Bude, Percy Willoughby sat with legs stretched out and feet upon the fender. The ancient hostelry, which, although styled a hotel, was merely an inn, stood in a somewhat sheltered position under the rocks, and faced the sea. Fishermen were its chief customers, but on this particular night the smacks were out, and the place was comparatively quiet, with the exception of two loungers, who were holding a noisy argument in the bar. The room was low, with heavy oak beams across a ceiling blackened by the smoke of years, a sanded floor, a wide old-fashioned hearth, and straight-backed wooden chairs that had evidently done duty for a century. A tall, antiquated clock ticked solemnly in a corner, and the efforts at ornamentation were mostly in the form of shell-boxes and faded wool-flowers.
The wind moaned dismally in the chimney, and aroused the captain from his reverie.
“I suppose she’ll come,” he murmured aloud, as he rose, and, going to the window, drew back the curtain. The night was dark and cloudy. Nothing could be seen except the distant flashing light at sea, which glimmered for a moment like a star and disappeared. “The weather is certainly not very propitious, and I’m afraid if I went out alone in this confoundedly dark hole I should lose myself. But of course she’ll come,” he added reassuringly. “She dare not disappoint me.” And he dashed the curtains together again and returned to his chair.
A few minutes afterwards Valérie entered. She wore a long fur-lined cloak, and a thick dark veil concealed her features.
“At last I’m here,” she said glancing round, as if half fearful lest she should be recognised, and walking over to the fire, she warmed her benumbed hands. “It was by the merest chance that I was able to come. We’ve been dining with some people about a mile away, and I at last managed to slip out.”
As she loosened her cloak he noticed that underneath she wore a charming toilet of pale blue silk.
“Well,” he said, after they had greeted one another and seated themselves before the fire. “The affair we planned at Spa has proved successful, Valérie, and we’re man and wife no longer.”
“And an excellent thing, too,” she remarked, ridiculing his sentimental tone.
“I entirely agree with you; we are much better apart. Nevertheless, although we are divorced, there surely is no reason why we should not remain friends, is there?” he asked, speaking in French.
“Oh, there’s no harm in that, I suppose,” she replied in the same language, laughing lightly. “I saw from the papers that you obtained the decree, and Nanette gave me a most graphic description of the hearing of the case. It must have been highly entertaining. I should so much liked to have been there.”
“It certainly was a trifle diverting,” the captain admitted; “but let’s get to business. Have you brought the money?”
“No.”
“What? – you haven’t?” he cried in dismay. “Then why have you brought me down to this infernal hole?”
“For the benefit of your health,” she replied with tantalising coquetry.
“I want the money,” he declared angrily.
“If you’ll be patient, and allow me to speak, I’ll explain.”
“I want none of your excuses; nothing but the money. In dealing with me, Mrs Trethowen, you’ll have to play fair, or, by heaven! it will be the worse for you. Bear that in mind.”
“Neither my intention nor desire is to deceive you,” she replied haughtily; “but since you cannot talk without abuse, perhaps a week longer without your money will cause you to be more polite.” And she rose and made a movement towards the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he exclaimed roughly, rushing to the door and standing with his back against it. “I’ve come down here to be paid for the service I’ve rendered you at the risk of being prosecuted myself, and therefore you don’t leave this room until I have the money.”
His face was blanched with anger, and he spoke with determination. She had seen his countenance wear a similar look on more than one occasion, and knew that when in such a mood he was not to be trifled with.
“But you won’t let me explain, Percy,” she complained in a softened tone. “Do be reasonable.”
“I am. I want the thousand pounds you promised.”
“Hush,” she said, holding up a finger. “We might be overheard!”
“Never mind. Do you intend to pay me?” he asked in a lower tone.
“Yes, but not all now. I’m really hard up, otherwise you should have every penny I promised.”
“Oh, that’s nonsense. You can get money from that confiding husband of yours, if you like – ”
“But I don’t like, so there’s the difference,” she interrupted. “I know my own business best.”
“How much can you give me?”
“Two hundred pounds.”
“Pooh! I’m not going to accept that,” said he decisively. “What next? If you offered me five hundred as the first instalment, I might feel disposed to take it.”
“Take it or leave it, you’ll get no more just now.”
“Look here,” he cried fiercely, standing before her in a threatening attitude. “Do you think I’m going to be made sport of in this manner? If so, you’ve made a huge mistake. I want the money and I mean to have it. If you won’t give it to me, then I shall be under the necessity of requesting a loan from your husband. That would queer your delightful little game, wouldn’t it – eh?”
She drew a long breath, and for an instant the colour left her face. Nevertheless, it took more than a threat of that kind to disconcert her.
“You are at liberty to do even that,” she answered, with a sardonic smile. “But you would be the sufferer, I’m thinking.”
“I want none of your trickery. Pay me, and you’ll never hear of me again.”
“If I could believe that, it would relieve my mind very considerably,” she observed with candour. “The facts are these: the whole of the money I have been able to scrape together only amounts to two hundred pounds. I admit it is but a small proportion of my debt, yet I think it should satisfy your present needs. Just now I cannot ask my husband for a large sum, as I can think of no excuse for wanting it.”
“I should think it is the first time you were ever at a loss for a lie,” he remarked sarcastically.
“It doesn’t do to carry imposition too far. I flatter myself I know when and where to draw the line.”
“I’ve some plans in hand, and must have five hundred pounds to carry them out. Not a penny less will be of any use to me.”
“But I tell you I can’t give it to you.”
“Then I must get it from another source, that’s all,” he declared, selecting a cigarette from his case, and assuming an air of unconcern.
“Come, enough of this,” she exclaimed petulantly; “I cannot stay here half the night arguing with you.” Putting her hand into the breast of her dress she drew forth some bank-notes. There were four, each for fifty pounds. “Will you take these or not?” she asked, offering them to him.
“Don’t I tell you they’re no use? I must have twice as much.”
“Then, I’m sorry I can’t oblige you, and will wish you bon soir,” she replied, with a mock curtsey.
“Why do you play with me like this?” he cried in anger, gripping her roughly by the arm. “I want five hundred pounds, and I’ll have it before you leave this place.”
“How is that possible when I do not possess it? Do talk sense.”
“I’m talking sense. You have it; you can give it me if you choose.”
“What do you mean?”
“The diamonds you are wearing. They’re worth that, I suppose.”
She hesitated, and holding her wrist to the dull lamplight revealed the diamond bangles which sparkled and flashed as she moved. His proposal was somewhat disconcerting, for the bracelets, as well as the necklet she was wearing, were a portion of Hugh’s wedding gifts. She was puzzled to know how she should account for them if she yielded to the man’s inexorable demands.
“I cannot. My husband would inquire what had become of them. What could I say? If I told him they were lost he would give information to the police, and you could not get rid of them without some ugly revelations resulting.”
“It’s no use arguing. I mean to have them.”
He had taken the notes and thrust them carelessly into his vest pocket.
“No, my dear Percy, the thing’s impossible.”
“Nonsense,” he cried fiercely, at the same time making a sudden snatch at the row of gleaming stones which encircled her white neck. When she saw his intention she put both hands up in an endeavour to prevent him, and gave vent to a slight scream.
But she was powerless. The clasp snapped, and the necklet was a moment later in his pocket.
“Return that at once,” she cried, stamping her foot with rage. “If you don’t I’ll tell the police you’ve robbed me.”
The captain stuck his hands into his pockets and laughed.
“Go and tell them, my dear,” he said. “We should make an interesting pair before the magistrate.”
“I never thought you were such a coward as to rob a woman,” observed she, with indignant disgust, after demanding the return of her necklet several times, and being met with blank refusal.
“My dear Valérie,” he replied coolly, “you needn’t be surprised. When I want money, I’m ready to do anything in order to get it. But it’s getting late,” he continued, glancing at the clock. “Isn’t it almost time you were at home?”
His bitter sarcasm maddened her. She did not speak for a few moments.
“I’ve had an illustration to-night of your fair dealing, Captain Willoughby,” she said in a low, harsh voice, her face flushed with passion. “When I met you I meant to pay the amount I arranged, but now you’ve taken my jewellery from me by force, and acted as the scoundrel you are, not another farthing shall you have – ”
“Oh, won’t I? You’ll pay up when I come to you next time.”
“We shall see,” she said meaningly; and, drawing her cloak around her, she pulled down her veil and left the room, banging the door after her.
She knew her way out, for it was evident that it was not the first time she had been there.
When alone, the captain reseated himself, and, taking the necklet from his pocket, examined it carefully with the eye of a connoisseur.
“Humph,” he murmured to himself, “they seem well-matched stones. I shall ask old Vlieger two hundred and fifty for it, and he’ll send it over to Amsterdam and get it out of the way in case any inquiries are made. You’ve had a very profitable evening, Percy, my boy – very profitable.”
