CHAPTER XXVII
AN UNEXPECTED GUEST
Geoffrey gave one glance at Ralph before he went. The latter nodded slightly and sharply, much as if he saw the look and perfectly comprehended it. Vera had disappeared at Marion's call. In the dining room beyond the servants were getting supper. From the distance came the pop of a cork.
Outside it was dark by this time. Geoffrey closed the window. He did not speak, but waited for Tchigorsky to give the sign. His feet touched something that gave out a faint metallic twang.
Geoffrey wondered. Did this mean burglars! He was certainly near to a wire which was stretched across the terrace, close to the ground. It was precisely the precaution taken by modern burglars to baffle capture in case of being disturbed during their predatory proceedings.
But burglars would not come to Ravenspur. A minute's reflection convinced Geoffrey of that. The name and horror of the house were known all over England. Everybody knew of the watch and ward kept there, and no burglar in his senses would risk what amounted to almost certain capture.
No, something far different was going on. And that something had been sprung hastily, for half an hour before these wires had not been there. Geoffrey waited with comfortable assurance that Tchigorsky was not far off.
A stealthy footstep crept toward him; a shadow crossed the gloom.
"Is that you, Tchigorsky?" Geoffrey whispered.
"Yes," came the reply. "There are hawks about. Listen."
A little way down the terrace something was moving. Geoffrey could hear what sounded to him like labored breathing, followed by a stifled cry of pain.
"The one hawk is wounded and the other has sheered off," said Tchigorsky.
"It sounds like a woman," said Geoffrey.
"It is a woman, my dear boy. And such a woman! Beautiful as the angels, fair as a summer's night. Clever! No words can paint her talents. And she is in the toils. She cries, but nobody heeds."
Again came the cry of pain. There was a flash and a spurt of flame as Tchigorsky struck a match and proceeded to light a lantern. He picked his way over the entanglement of wires; Geoffrey followed him.
"Who laid this labyrinth?" Geoffrey asked.
"Oh, a good and true assistant of ours, an old servant of your uncle's. We have more than one assistant, and Elphick is invaluable. We laid the trap for the bird, and she has broken her wing in it. Pity she had not broken her neck."
Geoffrey did not echo the last ferocious sentiment. He was aflame with curiosity. A little farther off in the dim path shown by the lantern's flare something dark lay huddled on the ground. There was a flash of white here and there, the shimmer and rustle of silken garments.
It might have been Geoffrey's fancy, but he seemed to hear a hurried whisper of voices, and saw something rise from the ground and hurry away. But the black and white heap remained. Tchigorsky flashed his lantern upon it. Geoffrey could just see that there was a strange malignant grin upon his face.
"A lady," he cried in affected astonishment. "Ravenspur, here is a lady! Madame permit me to tender you our assistance. You are in pain."
A white, defiant face looked up – a beautiful face disfigured for the moment by evil passions. There was murder in the eyes. The woman seemed to have no consciousness of any one but Tchigorsky.
"It is you," she hissed. "Toujours Tchigorsky."
"Yes, it is I. But I have unfortunately forgotten your name. Strange that one should do so in the case of one so lovely and distinguished. You are – "
"Mrs. May. Mrs. Mona May."
She had caught sight of Geoffrey now and a smile came, forced to her lips.
"Mrs. Mona May," said Tchigorsky. He spoke in the same slightly mocking strain. "Mrs. Mona May. How stupid of me to forget. And yet in my muddled brain the name was so different."
Geoffrey bent over the woman anxiously.
"You are in pain," he said. "May I assist you?"
"Indeed, it is very kind of you, Mr. Ravenspur," Mrs. May replied. "I tripped over something. I have hurt my ankle."
"Barbed wire," said Tchigorsky. "Laid down to trap – er – burglars."
"But on no other occasion – "
Mrs. May paused and bit her lips. Tchigorsky smiled. He understood what she was going to say. On no other occasion when she had been here had she encountered a similar obstacle.
Geoffrey was frankly puzzled.
"How did you get here?" he asked. "When the gates are closed – "
"But they were not closed an hour ago when I slipped into the yard," was the reply. "I am ashamed to say that I allowed sheer vulgar curiosity to get the better of me, and now I am properly punished for my error of taste."
"Nothing but curiosity," Tchigorsky murmured. "My dear Ravenspur, you may dismiss any unworthy suspicions from your mind. The glamor of your name and the fatal romance that clings to your race have proved too much for the most charming and most tender-hearted of her sex."
"I have no suspicions at all," said Geoffrey.
"Of course not," Tchigorsky spoke in the same mocking way. The light yet keen sarcasm was lost on Geoffrey, but the other listener understood. "Mrs. May would not injure a living creature – not a fly or a bee."
The white face flashed again. By this time the woman was on her feet. One foot she found it almost impossible to put to the ground.
"Get a conveyance and take me home," she moaned.
"Perish the thought," Tchigorsky cried. "Would the Ravenspurs outrage the sacred name of hospitality like that? Circumstances compel the life of the cloister and the recluse, but there are limits. Suspicious as the family must be, I am sure they would not fear an unfortunate lady with a sprained ankle."
"Of course not," Geoffrey observed. "I will go and prepare them."
He had read that suggestion in Tchigorsky's eyes. Heedless of Mrs. May's protests, he had vanished toward the house. Tchigorsky had stooped and taken the woman in his arms as if she had been a child.
"What a precious burden!" he said. "Scarred and battered, old Tchigorsky is a fortunate man, madam. There, you need not struggle; your little fluttering heart has no occasion to beat like that. I am not going to throw you over the cliffs."
The last few words were uttered in tones of smothered ferocity.
"You are a devil," the woman muttered.
"Ay, you are right there. Never was the devil stronger in my heart than he is at this moment. Never was I more tempted to pitch you over the terrace into the sea. But there is worse than that waiting for you."
"What are you going to do with me?"
"I am going to carry you into the house; I am going to introduce you formally to the family of Ravenspur. I am doing you a kindness. Think how useful the information afforded you will be later!"
"You are certainly the boldest man in England."
"As you are the most utterly abandoned and unscrupulous woman. I can only die once. But I am not going to die before I see you and your hellspawn all hanged."
"Why don't you denounce me now?"
"Madam, I never did care for unripe fruit. The pear is ripening on the tree, and I will pluck it when the time comes."
Tchigorsky pushed the window of the morning room open and laid his burden down on a couch.
Almost immediately Rupert Ravenspur, followed by Mrs. Gordon and Geoffrey, came into the room. Ralph was already there. Geoffrey proceeded to explain and make the necessary introduction.
"And who is this gentleman?" Rupert Ravenspur demanded, his eye on Tchigorsky.
"A friend of mine," Ralph put in, "Dr. Tchigorsky."
Ravenspur bowed, not that he looked overpleased.
"Permit me to place my hospitality at your disposal," he said. "It is many years since we entertained at Ravenspur, nor do we, in ordinary circumstances, desire them. At present I cannot do less than make you welcome. Madame, I regret that your curiosity should have ended so disastrously."
"I am properly punished," Mrs. May groaned. "My poor foot!"
In the presence of pain and suffering even Ravenspur's displeasure disappeared. Mrs. Gordon proceeded to cut away the high French boot and bathe the small foot in warm water. Almost immediately Mrs. May declared the pain to have passed away. There were tears in her eyes – tears that moved some of the onlookers.
"I am sure I don't deserve this," she said. "I have behaved so abominably that I really don't know what to say."
"Say nothing," Mrs. Gordon replied simply and gently, "but come in to supper. I understand that you are staying at Jessop's farm. A message shall be sent them that you will not return till morning. Meanwhile, if you will lean on me we will manage to reach the dining room."
The procession started. In the doorway stood Vera. She came forward with a speech of condolence. Tchigorsky was watching the pair. There was a hard gleam in his eyes; the clenching of his hand as over the hilt of a dagger. Beyond, with a face white as her dress, stood Marion.
She staggered against the table as she saw Mrs. May. Her face was full of terror. Geoffrey wondered what it all meant. And was this the wildest comedy or the direst tragedy that was working out before his eyes?
CHAPTER XXVIII
MORE OF THE BEES
Of the real palpitating horror of the situation only three people round the table knew the true inwardness. They were Tchigorsky and Ralph and Mrs. May. Geoffrey guessed much, and probably Marion could have said a deal had she cared to. Her face was smiling again, but the uneasy, haunted look never left her eyes. And all through the elaborate, daintily served meal Mrs. May never glanced at the girl once.
And yet, here under the Ravenspur roof, partaking of the family hospitality, was the evil itself. Ralph smiled to himself grimly as he wondered what his father would say if he knew the truth.
Once or twice as he spoke Mrs. May glanced at him curiously. She was herself now; she might have been an honored guest at that table for years.
"Your face is oddly familiar to me," she said.
"I regret I cannot say the same," Ralph replied. "I am blind."
"But you have not always been blind?"
"No. But my misfortune dates back for a number of years. It is a matter that I do not care to discuss with anybody."
But Mrs. May was not to be baffled. She had an odd feeling that this man and herself had met before. The face was the same, and yet not the same.
"Were you ever in Tibet?" she asked.
"I had a brother who once went there," Ralph replied. "I am accounted like him. It is possible you may have met my brother, madam."
The speech was sullen, delivered with a stupid air that impressed Mrs. May that she had nothing to fear from him. And yet the words had a curious effect on her. Her face changed color and for the first time she glanced at Marion. The girl was trembling; she was ashy grey to her lips. Tchigorsky, observing, smiled.
"Tibet is a wonderful country," he said, "and Lassa a marvelous city. I had some of my strangest experiences there. I and another man, since dead, penetrated all the secrets of the Holy City. It was only by a miracle that I escaped with my life. But these I will carry to my grave."
He indicated the scars on his face. Vera was profoundly interested.
"Tell me something of your adventures there," she said.
"Some day, perhaps," Tchigorsky replied. "For the most part they were too horrible. I could tell you all about the beasts and birds and insects. I see you have some bees outside, Miss Vera. Did you ever see Tibet bees?"
"Are they different to ours?" Vera asked.
Tchigorsky glanced up. Mrs. May was regarding him with more than a flattering interest. A slight smile, almost a defiance, parted her lips. Marion was looking down at her plate, crumbling a piece of bread absently. "Some of them," said Tchigorsky. "Some are black, for instance. I have a place in Kent where I dabble in that kind of thing. I have a few of the bees with me."
Tchigorsky took a small box from his pocket and laid it on the table. Vera inspected the black bees for a moment and then handed them back to Tchigorsky.
By accident or design he let the box fall, the lid flew open, and immediately half a dozen sable objects were buzzing in the air.
A yell of terror broke from Mrs. May, a yell that rang to the roof. She jumped to her feet only to sink again with the pain of the injured limb. She seemed to have lost all control of herself; she turned and addressed Tchigorsky in some liquid tongue that conveyed nothing to any one except that she was denouncing the Russian in a fury of passionate anger.
Geoffrey had risen, too, greatly alarmed. From the head of the table, Ralph Ravenspur coolly demanded to know what it was all about.
"The man is mad," Mrs. May screamed. "He is a dangerous lunatic. Those are the black bees of Tibet. They are the most fearsome of insects. Ah!"
One of the droning objects dropped on her hand, and she yelled again. She was a picture of abject and pitiable terror.
"I am doomed, doomed," she moaned. "Killed by a careless madman."
"Is there any danger?" Geoffrey demanded.
Only the life led among so many perils caused the family to wait calmly for the next and most dramatic development. Perhaps the way in which Tchigorsky was behaving gave them confidence. If he was a madman, as Mrs. May asserted, then the madman was wonderfully calm and placid.
"You are alarming yourself unnecessarily," he said. "See here."
He reached over and took the bee from Mrs. May's arm. The insect had become entangled in her sleeve and was buzzing angrily.
"The little creature is furious," he said. "As a matter of fact, they are always more or less furious. If there is any danger there is danger now."
He held the bee lightly in his hand. Then he released it.
"The stings have been removed," he said. "I bred these myself, and I know how to treat them. I am sorry to have caused a disturbance."
He spoke with serious, earnest, politeness, but there was a mocking light in his eyes as he turned upon Mrs. May. Nobody had a thought or a glance for anybody else, and the spectacle of Marion lying back half fainting in her chair passed unnoticed.
"Then they are usually dangerous?" Vera asked.
"My dear young lady, they are dreadful," Tchigorsky explained. "They invade other nests and eat the honey as they might have invaded your hives. By way of experiment I tried one of these on your hives to-night, and your bees seemed to recognize an enemy at once. They all deserted their hives and not one of them has returned. As some amends for what I have done I am going to send you two of the finest swarms in England."
Vera shuddered.
"I shall never want to see a bee again," she said.
Once more the eyes of Tchigorsky and Mrs. May met. She knew well that Tchigorsky was talking at her through the rest, and that in his own characteristic way he was informing her that the last plot had failed. With a queer smile on her face she proceeded to peel a peach.
"You are so horribly clever," she said, "that I feel half afraid of you. But I don't suppose we shall meet again."
"Not unless you come to Russia," said Tchigorsky, "whither I start to-morrow. But I am leaving my affairs in competent hands."
Again was the suggestion of a threat; again Mrs. May smiled. The smile was on her face long after the three most interested in the tragedy had left the dining hall and gone to the billiard room for a smoke.
"Are you really leaving us?" Geoffrey asked.
"I want Mrs. May to imagine so," said Tchigorsky. "In a day or two her spies will bring her information that I have left England. As a matter of fact, I have succeeded in tapping a vein of information that has baffled me for a long time.
"Still, I am not going away and my disguise will be the one you saw me in. If luck goes well I shall be attached to Mrs. May in the character of a native servant before long. So if you see any suspicious-looking Asiatic prowling about, don't put a bullet into him, for you may kill me by mistake."
Geoffrey smiled and promised.
"That was a rare fright you gave Mrs. May over the bees," he said. "How did you manage it?"
Tchigorsky smiled as he lighted a cigarette.
"I stole them from the woman's spare supply," he said. "I have been all over her possessions to-day. I almost suffocated the horrible little things and removed their stings. Of course, they won't live many hours. I did it in a spirit of mischief, intending to release them in my lady's own sitting room. I couldn't resist the temptation to try her nerves to-night."
"You are getting near the truth?" Geoffrey asked.
"Very near it. We want certain evidence to bring the whole gang into the net, and then we shall strike – if they don't murder us first. But – "
The speaker paused as Vera entered the room.
"Where is Mrs. May?" Geoffrey asked.
"She has gone to her room," Vera explained. "Her foot is so painful that she has decided to accept an invitation to spend the night here."
"Good," Tchigorsky muttered. "It could not have been better."
CHAPTER XXIX
MRS. MAY AT RAVENSPUR
The woman known as Mrs. Mona May had lost no time in adapting herself to circumstances. That she had found her way on to the terrace for no good purpose was known to three people, although in all probability she imagined that Tchigorsky alone was acquainted with her designs.
He had laid a trap for her and to a certain extent he had forced her hand. But she was too brilliant and unscrupulous a woman not to be able to turn misfortune to her own advantage. And was she not here – here a guest among those who for some reason she hated from her soul?
Why, it matters not for the present. From Mrs. May's point of view Tchigorsky alone knew, and Tchigorsky was going away ere long. But whether Tchigorsky remained or not, Mrs. Mona May could defy him to prove that she was in any way connected with the misfortunes of the Ravenspurs.
Once the man she had most reason to dread had withdrawn to the billiard room, the adventuress lost no time in ingratiating herself with her involuntary hosts.
This was the woman with whom Geoffrey had dined. Vera regarded her curiously. She was very beautiful and fascinating. She had a manner that attracted. Her conversation was bright and interesting.
"You must not mind me," she said to Vera. "And you must not grudge me a little of your lover's company."
Vera blushed divinely.
"How did you guess that?" she asked.
"Oh, there are signs, my dear. I have had my own romance and I know. But women of my age can never really rival young girls like yourself. We lack the one great charm."
"I should not have thought so," said Vera.
Mrs. May patted the girl playfully on the cheek.
"That is a very pretty compliment," she replied. "But it does not alter facts. A woman of forty may be fascinating. She has the brilliant parts. But, alas! it is only once that she can possess youth."
The speaker turned away with a gentle sigh and began to discuss the art treasures in the drawing room with Mrs. Gordon. All the time Marion had held coldly aloof from the stranger.
"You are not like yourself to-night," Vera murmured.
Marion's dark eyes were lifted. There were purple rings under those eyes and a hunted expression on the white face. It was the face of one who has seen a terror that it is impossible to forget.
"Am I not?" she said indifferently. "Perhaps so."
"Don't you like that woman?" Vera asked.
"Frankly, I don't," Marion admitted. "But there are reasons. Strange that you don't recognize the likeness between us. Geoffrey did at once."
Vera started. Strange, indeed, that she had not noticed it before. And, now that Marion had spoken the likeness was surprising. Making allowance for the disparity of years, the two faces were the same.
"Is there another mystery?" Vera asked.
Marion smiled like her old self.
"Indeed there is," she confessed. "But it is a poor, vulgar little thing beside your family mystery. Mrs. May is a connection of mine. As a matter of fact, she is closely related to my mother's family. She is not a good woman, and I hope you will see as little of her as possible."
"But I suppose she came to see you?"
"Oh! dear no. She would never have done that. She knows perfectly well that I should strongly oppose her coming here. Beyond question, her taking up her residence for the benefit of her health in this village was simply a coincidence."
Vera looked closely at the visitor.
"Mrs. May doesn't look like an invalid," she said.
"She doesn't. It is her heart. Any sudden excitement might be fatal to her. Is it not strange that I have the seeds of the same complaint?"
"You, Marion? I never heard that before. And you are here!"
"Oh, yes, I am here. A bad place for heart troubles, you would say. But I am young and strong. I merely made the remark – perhaps it would have been better had I not said anything about it."
Mrs. May was talking. She protested gently against the trouble she was causing. Indeed, there was no reason why she should not have gone back to her farm. Still, her kind friends were so very pressing she would stay the night. But she must be up and away early in the morning. She had pressing business, tiresome law business, to see to in York.
"And now I am not going to keep you up any longer," she said with a brilliant smile. "Who will help me upstairs? Will you, dear?"
She had risen to her feet and approached Marion. The girl seemed to shrink back; it looked as if she was being dragged into some painful undertaking. Then the natural sweetness of her disposition conquered her dislike.
"If you think I can manage it," she said.
Mrs. May hobbled upstairs, leaning on Marion's shoulder, chatting gaily. The latter helped her into the room set apart for the involuntary guest and at a sign closed the door. All her smiles and pretty feminine blandishments vanished; her eyes were dark and hard; her manner was cold and stinging.
"You fool," hissed Mrs. May. "This is a nice thing you have done!"
Marion smiled wearily. She seemed to have suddenly fallen under the mantle of years. She dropped into a chair like somebody old and weary.
"What have I done?" she asked.
"Fallen in love with Geoffrey Ravenspur."
The words came like a blow. Marion staggered under them.
"I deny it," she said weakly. "It is false."
"It is true, you idiot. You are blushing like a rose. And to-night, when that fiend Tchigorsky played that fool's trick upon us you had no eyes for any one but Geoffrey. Frightened as I was, I could see that. Your looks betrayed you. What are you going to do about it?"
Marion shook her head sadly. Never had any one at Ravenspur ever seen her look so forlorn and dejected as she did at this moment.
"I don't know," she said hopelessly. "I know what I ought to do. I ought to kill you and throw myself into the sea afterwards. Why should I go on leading my present life? Why should I shield you? What are you? What are you to me?"
"You dare ask me that question?"
"Oh! I dare anything in my present mood. Still, I am in your power. You have only to say the word and it is done."
"Then why do you take every means of thwarting me?"
Marion rose and crossed over to the door. Her eyes were shining. There was a certain restless motion of her hands.
"Take care," she whispered. "Don't drive me too far. Oh, if I could only live the last four years of my life over again!"