Buch lesen: «The Temptress», Seite 18
“How is Glanville?” interrupted the artist. “Have you met him since he forsook the Quartier Latin?”
“Forsook! Bah!” exclaimed the voluble Frenchwoman, shrugging her shoulders deprecatingly. Without answering the question, she continued: “At the time your departure caused some surprise among us, but we little dreamed that you had any connection with the affair of the Boulevard Haussmann. It was only afterwards that the reason of your flight was discovered – ”
“By whom?” he asked anxiously.
“By me alone. Never fear, I shall act with circumspection,” she added, noticing his look of anxiety and alarm. “My life has been as adventurous as yours, and since that occurrence I have learnt wisdom. I have sought you for two reasons.”
“What are they?”
“Firstly, your friend here, M’sieur Trethowen, and yourself have both been the victims of Valérie Duvauchel. You drank of her love philtre, and succumbed to her beauty. You desire revenge – eh?”
Hugh bent his head in acquiescence.
“I, too, have been cruelly wronged by her. I have waited long in order to repay the debt I owe, and the hour of her retribution is now at hand.”
“What has she done to you?” asked Hugh anxiously.
“I will explain everything when in your presence, I meet her face to face. Till then I keep my own secret, fully confident that after the revelations I shall make she will not dare to trouble you again with her presence.”
“But you must not – you shall not – do this!” cried Egerton excitedly. “She will wreak her vengeance upon me.”
“Entertain no such gloomy apprehensions,” urged Gabrielle, with a smile of assurance. “Before I have done with ‘La Belle Hirondelle’ she will implore for mercy upon her knees. But will I extend any to her? No. Grand Dieu! She shall suffer for her crime, as I have done.”
She spoke determinedly, her dark eyes emitting a fierce gleam of hatred.
“How do you propose to do that?” inquired Hugh breathlessly.
“Ask no questions at present, m’sieur. Your wife and her lover have obtained your fortune and are spending it recklessly. At present this – what you call leader of the demi-monde– is entertaining a party at your château. My proposal is that we three go down there to-morrow and in the midst of the festivities, we will produce an interesting tableau. Do you agree?”
“You spoke of my wife’s lover,” gasped Hugh. “Tell me, who is he?”
“Pierre Rouillier – the man you know as Adolphe Chavoix.”
“Chavoix!”
“Yes. Accompany me to-morrow, and you shall see.”
There was a brief silence, followed by some protests from Egerton, but after considerable argument it was eventually agreed that mademoiselle’s suggestion should be carried out.
The artist produced some wine and glasses, and they drank together. Soon afterwards Gabrielle, urging her old friend to be of good cheer, took her departure. As she opened the door to take her leave, she exclaimed, with an exultant laugh —
“La Belle little dreams how near is Nemesis. You do not anticipate how complete my revenge will be. Her future is in my hands. Mon Dieu! We shall triumph and crush her. Nevertheless she richly deserves her punishment, and she shall receive it, never fear.”
Chapter Thirty Three
La Petite Hirondelle
The fine old banqueting hall at Coombe, with its dark oak panelling and polished floor, transformed for the nonce into a ballroom presented an animated and pleasing spectacle.
In the decorations, flags and palms had been used, and the ferns and evergreens ornamenting the walls contrasted well with the bright dresses of the dancers. The myriad lights in the magnificent chandeliers re fleeting in the mirrors multiplied and increased in effect; the air was heavy with the perfume of exotics; and the strains of tripping music from the band, now loud and fast, and again soft and low, resounded through the mansion. At the farther end of the hall a large square window stood open and gave exit to the garden, every bush and tree of which was illuminated by fairy lamps, notwithstanding that the night was frosty and moonlit.
Valérie’s outward and visible signs of lamentation had been of brief duration. Within a year of her husband’s reported demise she threw off the trammels of widowhood, cast aside her weeds, and at once set herself to lead the unconventional set into which she had entered during her former residence in London. With a Parisienne’s love of admiration, her ambition for several years had been to outvie the other women who comprised her circle; and now, with wealth at her command and an establishment as fine as any in the county, she was enabled to indulge every whim and entertain her guests in a lavish manner which caused them envy.
For the most part her acquaintances were women who were shunned by the disciples of Mother Grundy; some cigarette-smoking Bohemians whose only offence against society’s unwritten laws was that they exhibited their un-conventionalities openly; others pure adventuresses almost as fair and fascinating as herself. During the year she lived in England immediately before meeting Hugh, she had come into contact with these people, and after her sudden acquisition of fortune she had lost no time in renewing their acquaintance.
It is astonishing what a large number of friends a wealthy women can command, even though she be placed beyond the pale of society and has never bowed before her august Sovereign. If she be handsome and fashionable, she can easily conquer the prejudices of the hypercritical followers of Dame Straightlace. Thus, although the magnates of North Cornwall and their wives and daughters were somewhat shocked and scandalised by her brief period of mourning, and the apparent levity with which she regarded her bereavement, nevertheless many retained a visiting intimacy with the widow of the once popular young owner of Coombe.
Assessing the value of her personal charms correctly, her attempt to shine as the leader of a smart set had not failed. Aware that should her connection with Pierre become known it would be to her detriment, she had arranged with him to keep apart from her as much as possible; therefore the direction of her affections was suspected only by one or two of her oldest friends. Her fêtes were characterised by their extravagance and profuse display, for she spared no effort to ensure the enjoyment of those who accepted her hospitality; nevertheless, on this particular night she had eclipsed the menu of pleasures previously provided.
An entertainment so novel could scarcely fail to be a success. Possibly it might have stirred feelings of pain and indignation within the breasts of the pharasaical, but as none of that order were included in the company, a satisfactory issue of the terpsichorean novelty was assured.
It was nothing less than a reproduction of that strange spectacle which was originated at Ootacamund by the Governor and his select circle, and which caused so much excitement and comment in Madras, the Demon’s Dance.
The ball had opened with two extras and two valses, after which came the feature of the evening.
As the first discordant crash of music was heard, eight men rushed into the room. The attire of these imitators of his Satanic majesty was in itself remarkable. Long black-forked tails, tufts of hair on either side of the head, gave the idea of pointed ears; black coats, with a kind of bat’s wing under the arm and joined at the side; black bands of silk across the shirt front covering all gleams of white, knee-breeches, silk stockings, and pumps. Each in his rush along the room seized a reluctant angel, and dragged her to a place in the set. Their fair partners were most becomingly attired in soft flowing robes of white, with silver girdles, stars in their hair, flowing wing sleeves, and a big spray of lilies in their hands.
No one but the eight from above and the subterranean eight took part in this dance, the rest being content to watch the curious sight. They danced with wonderful fiendish grace and agility, dragging their partners, whirling them round and pirouetting around them. Some angels appeared to dance easily while others, feigning reluctance, unwillingly went through the set. Valérie, in the arms of a tall demoniacal partner, almost flew about, her feet scarcely touching the ground, and her face bearing an expression of intense satisfaction and enjoyment.
The bright spirits, with their sable lords, having finished the Lancers, concluded with a wild rapid waltz.
The radiant hostess, flushed by excitement, had been led to her seat, and was receiving the congratulations of her guests on the success of the entertainment, when Jacob crossed the room and deferentially accosted her.
“Well, what’s the matter?” she inquired, scanning the servitor sharply.
“A gentleman in the library wishes to speak to you, madame. He will not give his card,” said the old man.
“I can’t be troubled now to see anyone,” she replied petulantly.
“Excuse me, madame,” he exclaimed, bowing. “But I think he desires to see you on very urgent business.”
“Do you know what it is? Haven’t I told you often to always ask strangers what they want to see me about?”
“I have asked him, madame, but he refused to tell me,” said Jacob, undisturbed by her impatience. “He said he wished to see you at once and alone.”
“Alone,” she repeated, in surprise. “I wonder who it can be?”
Then reflecting that any business at that hour must be of importance, she directed the servant to take her to where the stranger was in waiting.
The library, a small, quaint old room, was situated in a wing of the building, at some distance from where the ball was in progress, and was virtually shut off from the rest of the house by baize doors placed halfway down the corridor.
Jacob led the way, and, ceremoniously throwing open the door of the apartment, announced the advent of his mistress. The two shaded candles which stood upon the writing-table threw such a dim light over the sombre room that when she entered she did not for the moment recognise her visitor.
The door had closed.
He rose slowly from a chair near the fire, and walked towards her.
“Dieu! Jack! Why, what means this?” she cried in amazement, when she recognised him.
“You have company to-night,” observed the artist, without offering to shake hands. “I thought it probable that, under the circumstances, you would not grant an interview to an old friend.”
“How absurd! Why, you must know you are always a welcome guest here,” and she beamed upon him one of her sweetest smiles.
As she stood before him in the subdued light he gazed upon her in hesitation. Her costume was perfect, enhanced as it was by a sparkling diamond star in her hair and a necklet of exquisite brilliants. Her dress was of white silk, with very high sleeves, mounted in a sort of ball at the shoulder, hanging draperies from the arms representing wings, which expanded as she moved, and silver bands around a very high waist and under and across each arm.
“The welcome you accord me is somewhat premature,” he observed meaningly. “No doubt you have a morbid satisfaction in seeing the man who is under your thrall – the miserable, deluded fool who stained his hands with a terrible crime for your sake, yet you – ”
“Why refer to that horrid affair?”, she asked, shuddering slightly. “Let’s forget it.”
“No doubt you wish that dark page in your history to be closed,” he said ominously; “but, strangely enough, it is upon that very subject I have sought this interview.”
“What do you want, pray?” she asked quickly.
“Merely to introduce two persons to you – old friends.”
“Old friends!” she echoed. “Who are they?”
For answer, Egerton crossed the apartment and opened the door communicating with an ante-chamber. As he did so two persons advanced into the library.
“Gabrielle! Hugh!” she gasped, a look of sudden terror overspreading her countenance.
The tableau was well arranged and striking.
Valérie’s glance shifted in alarm from one to the other, while her three visitors looked upon her in silence, with expressions of calm, confident determination.
Hugh Trethowen’s countenance was careworn and pale; his whole appearance was that of a man weighed down by profound grief. The sufferings and privations had aged him considerably, yet there were in his face traces of some new feeling. His mouth, as a rule so serious, actually smiled; his look had more animation than it was wont to have, and altogether he had somewhat about him which was at once sad, malevolent, and self-satisfied.
“I – I did not expect this pleasure,” the adventuress stammered, with bitter sarcasm, without asking them to be seated.
The icy reception did not astonish them. They were fully prepared to meet the passionate wrath which they knew would be stirred within her.
“We are unwelcome, no doubt,” said Gabrielle Debriège, with a cynical smile. “Nevertheless, it is a long time, madame, since you and I met.”
“And what have I to do with you, pray?” cried Hugh’s wife, drawing herself up to her full height, and standing erect before them. “It is gross impudence for a woman of such reputation as yourself to claim my acquaintance. I do not forget what you were in Paris.”
“Oh, indeed!” replied mademoiselle. “Before you asperse my character, think of your own.”
“Who dares to defame me?” she asked indignantly.
“I do,” declared mademoiselle.
This bold reply caused the colour to flee from her cheeks, for the object of their visit began to dawn upon her.
“I have come here, madame,” continued Gabrielle, “to bring your lost husband before you, so that he may hear the true story of your perfidy; I have – ”
“By Heaven! I’ll strangle you!” Valérie hissed, stepping forward threateningly, with clenched hands and flashing eyes.
The two women were, however, separated by the writing-table.
“First, listen to what I have to say,” the other replied coolly. “I alone know the truth, and it is useless to protest your innocence or deny your guilt – ”
“The truth of what?”
“Victor has confessed,” said Gabrielle, without answering the question.
“Confessed!” she repeated, betraying increased alarm.
“By your treachery he was sent to penal servitude, but your plan proved rather too ingenious, for, strangely enough, he denounced you to a fellow-convict, who chanced to be your husband!”
Valérie glanced sharply at Hugh, with unwavering gaze.
“Yes,” he said, in a tone of disgust, speaking for the first time. “Your lover told me the horrible story, how – like myself – he had been tricked and wronged by you. I can scarcely believe that I ever loved a woman so vile and despicable, so depraved by sin as yourself.”
“Vile and despicable!” she echoed, in anger. “What have I done that you, too, should turn against me?”
“If you forget,” interposed Gabrielle, “I’ll refresh your memory.”
“I desire to hear none of the vilifying denunciations. Let me get back to my guests.”
“No,” said Egerton, turning the key in the door, and placing it in his pocket. “You don’t leave here yet. We have not finished.”
She turned upon him like an infuriated animal brought to bay.
“You,” she cried, scanning him from head to toe in exasperation. “Do you consider it wise for you – of all men – to interfere with my liberty? Remember the affair of the Boulevard Haussmann!”
The speech had its desired effect. The artist shrank from her.
“At the same time,” exclaimed Gabrielle, addressing her, “remember there are other sentences in the Penal Code besides imprisonment.”
“I don’t understand you,” answered Valérie, giving her shoulders a shrug indicative of unconcern.
“There is death for those who take the lives of their fellow-creatures.”
The adventuress shuddered. Then resuming her air of indifference, said —
“You are talking enigmas.”
“You wish me to speak more plainly. Very well. Perhaps you have forgotten that night we met at my rooms in the Boulevard St. Michel, when, after your taunts and threats, I prophesied that a day would come when I would hold your life in my hands, and compel you to beg for mercy. That day has dawned.”
“I’ll not stay here to be insulted in my own house,” cried Valérie fiercely.
“We shall compel you,” remarked her husband abruptly.
“This is some infamous plot against me,” she said, boldly facing him. “You are unworthy the name of husband if you do not protect me from this pair of criminals.”
“We’ve had enough of heroic talk,” interrupted Gabrielle impatiently. “It will be as well to get to the business of our visit at once.”
“If your business is only to insult me, I’ll ring for the servants and have you turned out.”
“In that case we should embrace the opportunity of relating to your guests a story which would no doubt interest them,” answered Gabrielle calmly.
“Bah! you are cowards,” she said, with face blanched by rage. “Three of you against one defenceless woman!”
“Ah; do not malign us,” urged the other, in a tone of banter. “I know that the sight of your husband is somewhat embarrassing, especially when you and your adored Pierre very ingeniously proved his demise.” With a smile she added: “I should feel a trifle disconcerted myself under such distressing circumstances. Indeed, it is a most awkward contretemps, is it not?”
“Sacré! keep your sympathies to yourself,” screamed Valérie, with a sudden outburst of terrible passion.
Then, panting with excitement, she stood supporting herself by a chair, and facing her traducers. She saw plainly that the result of the conflict must be either complete annihilation, or a triumphant vindication of the character which Hugh had hitherto considered immaculate.
Drawing a deep breath, she braced herself up for the ordeal, and stood ready to hurl back the accusation into the teeth of her enemies.
Chapter Thirty Four
Dregs of Life
“If you two men would understand how you both have been ensnared and betrayed, listen to the facts I will relate,” said Gabrielle, leaning on the table before her.
“Lies,” observed Valérie, as if speaking to herself.
“A few years ago in Paris,” continued Mademoiselle Debriège, turning to her companions, “there lived, as you know, three artists, named Holt, Glanville, and Egerton. At that time I, too, lived in the Quartier Latin and became acquainted with them by meeting them frequently at the Chat Noir, whither I sometimes went in company with the man who had promised me marriage. The latter, however, forsook me – bah! it was the usual story – a woman’s foolish trust in a man who cast her off like a frayed glove. You understand?”
She paused, and the colour mounted to her cheeks.
“Ruin came,” she went on; “my father, a small tradesman, turned me from his door, and I found myself wandering friendless, forsaken, and homeless in the great city. Eventually I obtained an engagement as a figurante at the Opera, and while there I first met the woman before you, Valérie Duvauchel. Although a gay coquette, she confided in me the fact that she was living under the protection of Victor Bérard, a convicted thief. I was poor, earning scarcely enough to keep body and soul together, when she asked me to assist her and her lover in their various schemes of robbery. This temptation proved too great, for I was to receive a fair share of the plunder. The first occasion on which I participated in the crusade against riches was at a burglary at Auteuil. We were successful, and I received a thousand francs for my services. During the nine months I was connected with them I assisted at a number of robberies of jewellery and plate, sometimes as a decoy, at others pilfering myself.”
“I never knew you allied yourself in that manner with them,” remarked the artist in surprise, “although I often thought the dresses you wore cost you more than you obtained at the Opera.”
“In order to carry out our plans, I was compelled to dress well,” she replied. “But that has little to do with the events that followed. While assisting Bérard, I frequently spent days about the ateliers, and Glanville, the student of the Quai Montabello, and I became enamoured of one another. He had more money at his command than the average denizen of the Ile de la Cité, therefore I was not averse to accompanying him to cafés, balls, and theatres, especially as I had given up my engagement of the Opera, and was dependent entirely upon the proceeds of Victor’s depredations. After a few months at this life I discovered, by mere accident, that my English lover was not so devoted as I believed, and – that he knew Valérie. The affection between this woman and Egerton was a matter of comment among the students living on the Quai, but no one suspected that she favoured Glanville, whom everybody believed idolised me.”
“I didn’t encourage him. I couldn’t help your lover admiring me, could I?” protested Valérie scornfully.
“My awakening was a cruel one,” Gabrielle continued, speaking slowly and distinctly. “I taxed him with faithlessness, but he denied it so earnestly that at length I became convinced of his firm affection for me alone. A few days later a calamity befell us. I had stored in my rooms a quantity of stolen property previous to disposing of it. One evening, while I was out, Glanville called, and, entering with his key, sat down to await me. Hardly a quarter of an hour elapsed before two detectives and half a dozen policemen entered the place, armed with a warrant. They searched and quickly found several valuable articles, descriptions of which had been circulated. Then they arrested and charged him with perpetrating the robberies.”
“Were you arrested also?” asked Hugh, greatly interested in the narrative.
“No; fortunately Victor got wind of the affair, and warned me not to return. I was present, however, at the trial. The police had unfortunately discovered that the property was the proceeds of several extensive burglaries, and the court sentenced him to ten years’ transportation. The first few months he spent in performing hard labour at Brest, and at the end of that period I received a letter from him. It was long and earnest, reminding me of how he was suffering for my sake, and declaring his passionate love. To this I replied, and, after the lapse of a few weeks I received another, urging me to marry him. He said that he was sailing for New Caledonia that day, therefore if I consented I should be compelled to follow him out there. To meet this contingency he gave me the address of a bank, where I was to call and obtain money for my journey; and, further, he stated that in the event of my consenting to become his wife, he had given orders that three thousand francs were to be paid annually to me until his liberation. Naturally, such a proposal caused me grave doubts, especially as I had discovered a few days previous to his arrest a fresh and most striking proof of his love for this vile woman who stands now before you.”
“Did you marry him after all?” inquired the artist impatiently, for he had been in ignorance of all this.
“Yes, Valérie and Victor, having suspicions that the police had scented them, fled from Paris: consequently I was without means. Although I was fond of Glanville, and admired his courage in shielding me, yet I did not love him so well as another man I had lately met. However, finding myself almost destitute, I drew the money from the bank, and sailed for ‘La Nouvelle’ where, after a few weeks’ residence, the Governor gave us permission to marry. The ceremony was duly performed, and I have here the lines which prove it,” she added, exhibiting a small strip of paper which she had taken from her pocket.
“Your honey noon was scarcely pleasant, I should think,” observed Hugh sympathetically.
“Its brevity did not allow either of us to become bored,” she said. “I parted from him at the chapel door, and I have not seen him since.”
“Not seen him!” repeated Egerton. “Why, has he not yet obtained his freedom?”
“Yes; he escaped before he had been there two years. However, we never met.”
“But why did you marry him?” the artist asked. “A convict was hardly a desirable husband.”
“Ah! you wonder. Well, there were several reasons,” she said. “Firstly, I was afraid lest he should expose me with regard to a certain incident which occurred at Passy, in which Bérard and I were implicated. We were on a midnight expedition, and a policeman who proved troublesome received an ugly dig with a knife; therefore I was confident that if this were divulged I should be arrested and sentenced as one of Victor’s accessories. Then, again, I had been told by an Englishman who knew him that Glanville had an ample income, and this was confirmed by his offer to provide me with money until his release. Besides, he, on the other hand, was anxious to marry me in order to secure my silence, because he knew I had discovered a secret of his which, if not preserved, might bring dire consequences. It may have been for the best that we parted so quickly, for as soon as the marriage ceremony was performed I regretted the rash step, inasmuch as the recollection of my discovery regarding his alliance with this woman came back to me in all its hideous reality.”
“What alliance?” inquired Valérie, whose firm, set face was as colourless as the dress she wore.
“It is well you should feign ignorance,” Gabrielle replied angrily. Then, turning to the two men, she said: “In order that you shall understand matters aright, I shall be compelled to describe the scene. It took place in a suite of rooms in the Boulevard Haussmann tenanted by an English dealer in gems named Nicholson.”
“What do you know of him?” cried Valérie in a husky voice.
“Have patience and you shall hear,” she answered with a sarcastic smile. Again addressing her companions, she continued her narrative, saying: “While this woman was living with Victor, she had enchanted Egerton and Glanville. Both, unaware of one another’s feelings, were ecstatic over her face and figure; both worshipped her, and both were prepared to do anything to secure her favour.”
“That is true,” admitted the artist moodily. “I was a brainless fool. Yet I did not know until now that Glanville had also been smitten by her fatal beauty.”
“He had, nevertheless, as you will see. This woman – who afterwards assumed the name of Dedieu – with her usual crafty far-sightedness saw that it was possible to turn the mad impetuosity of you and your fellow-student to her advantage, and did not fail to embrace the opportunity. The scheme she concocted was indeed a fiendish one, which she carried out unaided, and the secret would have been safe even now had I not been the witness of her crime.”
“You – you saw me?” shrieked Valérie in dismay. “You lie! You saw nothing.”
“Her crime! What was it? Tell us quickly,” urged Hugh.
“The facts are almost incredible, but they are simply as follows: Nicholson was her lover, and the safe in his room contained a quantity of cut and uncut gems. She devised an ingenious plan by which she could get rid of her lover, obtain the stones, and throw the guilt upon the two men who were infatuated with her.”
“Bah! don’t believe her! – she’s telling you a pretty romance!” declared Valérie, striving to appear unconcerned.
But Gabrielle took no notice of her interruptions.
“The way she set about it,” she went on, “was, to say the least, skilful and heartless. Showing favour to each, unknown to the other, she told them that Nicholson held her enthralled by means of a secret, and that she was unable to break from him in consequence. An insinuating proposal she made was likely to lead to but one result – a promise from each that they would take Nicholson’s life.”
“Wretch?” hissed the unhappy woman, under her breath.
“She arranged the details of the assassination with both, instructing each in the manner by which the Englishman was to be killed. Both were in ignorance of each other’s intention, for she gave them strict injunctions to preserve the secret as they valued their lives. These facts I afterwards learnt, but I must tell you now how I became aware of the plot. Glanville had gone to London for a week, and I also had been away in the country for a few days. It was about half-past nine at night when I arrived at the St. Lazare Station, and while passing down the Boulevard Haussmann it suddenly occurred to me that Nicholson, being a very intimate friend of Glanville’s, would most probably be aware whether he had returned from England. I scarcely know what prompted me, but I halted before the house and ascended the stairs. The concierge was absent, and the staircase was in darkness, he having omitted to light the gas.”
“Of course, you knew Nicholson,” observed the artist. “I remember it was I who introduced you.”
“Yes; I had frequently met him with Glanville, and had been to his rooms before. Without much difficulty I found the door. It was ajar, and I pushed it open noiselessly. As I did so I heard loud excited talking, and recognised one of the voices as that of Valérie. The discovery that she had called upon this man excited my curiosity, and I resolved to watch them. They were in a room upon the left of the passage, the door of which was almost closed. Passing with scarcely a sound, I entered the sitting-room, and glanced round for some place of concealment. There were several, but the one I decided upon was behind the heavy crimson curtains that were drawn across the window overlooking the boulevard. Scarcely had I retired into my hiding-place when I heard the Englishman walk to the outer door and close it. Then he returned to the room in a frenzy of passion, invoking terrible curses upon her. They spoke in English, which at that time I did not understand; yet it was evident she had done something to arouse his hatred, for a few moments later she screamed for mercy, and rushed headlong into the room where I was. He followed at her heels, and, clutching her by the throat, flung her backwards upon the sofa. His face was livid with passion, and for several minutes they struggled together. Then, almost before I was aware of her intention, I heard a loud report. A puff of smoke curled between them as he relaxed his hold and grasped convulsively at his breast. ‘Dieu! Valérie! You – you’ve shot – me!’ were the only words that he uttered, for he reeled and fell backwards, striking his head violently upon the corner of the table.”
