Book: The Castle Of The Shadows

A >> Alice Muriel Williamson >> The Castle Of The Shadows




"It is better below," the girl answered. She was determined to be already
in the saloon before the others came down. "Come quickly, and we can talk
without being disturbed."

There was nothing for Loria to do but to obey.

They went down the companionway; and George Trent, on guard with his book
near the Countess de Mattos's cabin door, jumped up at sight of Loria.

"What, you here, Marchese?" he began. But Virginia cut him short with a
look and gesture both imploring and imperative.

"Leave us, George, I beg," she said. "Later, there will be time for
explanations."

Without a word, the young man bowed and walked away. But he did not go
farther than his cabin. He wished to be at hand if he were needed, as he
might be, by and by.

On the other side of the stateroom door stood the Countess, half
crouching, like a splendid tigress ready to spring.

"Marchese," George Trent had said. Who was this Marchese? Could it be
possible that it was the one man of all others for whom her heart had
cried out? Had his soul, in some mysterious, supernatural way, heard her
soul calling to him across the world? Had he heard, and come to her here,
to save her from her enemies? In another moment she must hear the voice
of the newcomer whom George had addressed as "Marchese," and then she
would know.

Even as she told herself this, schooling her impatience, the voice
spoke. "Miss Beverly--Virginia," it said brokenly, imploringly, "for the
love of heaven don't misjudge me. I came with those men to-day, not to
help them, but to help you--if I can. You must know I would give my life
to serve you. My life, do I say? I would give my soul. It was in
ignorance of what would happen that I visited Samoa. The French Consul is
an old school friend. He told me everything--I mean, the news from New
Caledonia. He has photographs of Maxime. I tried to get them away,
without his knowledge, but I didn't succeed. You must not be embroiled
further in this terrible affair. The best thing is for you to give the
poor fellow up, and I swear to you that, for your sake, and for his--even
though I believe him guilty--I will find some means of saving him. The
doctor has been promised all sorts of favours if he will state that there
is a suspicious case of illness on board; a stateroom door locked against
him will be enough to raise suspicions that you are hiding a case of
plague. You can do nothing. Unless you give Maxime up, and it is seen
that you have a clean bill of health, you will be detained indefinitely
in quarantine. Further advices will arrive from New Caledonia,
representations will be made to the authorities here, it will become an
international question, and you will be forced to surrender the escaped
prisoner. Maxime will then be lost, for I should be unable to help him,
if things had gone so far--the hue and cry would be too furious. De Letz
is determined to thwart you, but he doesn't know that I am a secret ally
of your plans. Trust to me. Give Maxime up while there is time, and you
will never repent it."

"You make brave promises, Marchese," returned Virginia. "But you do not
name your price. I suppose, like other men, you have a price for what you
say you can do?"

"I make no conditions," answered Loria. "It hurts me that you could think
of it. All I want is a little gratitude from you--ah, no, I cannot say
that is all I _want_. Only, it is all I ask. What I want more than
anything on earth, more than anything which even Heaven could give, is
the treasure of your love. For that, I could fight my way, and Maxime
Dalahaide's way, through the place of lost spirits, and laugh at the
tortures of Hades. I dare not ask for that treasure now. Give me what you
can, that is all, and my life's blood is yours, for I worship you,
Virginia. I dream of you night and day. If I cannot have you for my wife,
I shall go to my grave unmarried, and the sooner the better. There's
nothing but you in the world; no other woman but you; there never has
been for me, and never will be."

"It's false!" cried the voice of a woman, husky with passion; and
throwing open the door of her cabin, the Countess de Mattos stood on the
threshold, not six feet distant from the two in the saloon.

Carried away on the tide of his very real love for Virginia Beverly,
whose pale, spiritualized beauty had gone to his head like wine, the
hot-blooded Italian was at a disadvantage. Strength had gone out of him
in his appeal. Physically and mentally he was spent.

The passionate voice, the flaming eyes of the woman suddenly seen in the
doorway, struck him like a double blow aimed at a drowning man. "Liane!"
he cried, before he could regain the self-mastery which meant all the
difference between life and death.

"Yes," she flung at him in French, "I _am_ Liane--Liane Devereux. Come,
every one, and hear what I have to say. This man is a traitor--traitorous
friend and treacherous lover!" She stopped for an instant, and threw a
glance round the saloon. Loria and Virginia Beverly were no longer alone
there. George Trent, Sir Roger Broom, Kate Gardiner, and two men who were
strangers had suddenly appeared as if by a conjuring trick. The woman
stood with her head held high, like some magnificent wild creature of the
forest at bay, fearing nothing save loss of vengeance. She was glad that
all these people had come. The more there were to hear the tale she meant
to tell, the more sure the stroke of her revenge. Yes, she was glad,
glad! And though she died for it, under the knife of the guillotine, she
would ruin the man who had deceived her.

"He pretended to love me," she went on. "But now I know that he never
did, for when he vowed love and devotion his voice did not once sound as
I have heard it now, speaking to that white-faced girl when he did not
dream I was near.

"I am Liane Devereux, not a Portuguese woman, not the Countess de Mattos,
therefore Maxime Dalahaide is not a murderer, since I live. It was the
Marchese Loria who arranged everything--even my name, and credentials,
and proofs of my identity as Manuela de Mattos, in case they were ever
needed. Oh, there was nothing neglected. But now I know that it was not
for my sake, as I thought, but to serve his own ends, and I am willing to
die to hold him back from success.

"I will tell you the whole story from the beginning. Five years ago I was
an actress in Paris. I made two or three failures. A powerful dramatic
critic had vowed to drive me off the stage. He had begun his work; and at
this perilous time in my career, just as I had quarrelled with my
manager, Maxime Dalahaide fell in love with me. I thought he was rich.
It occurred to me that if I became his wife I could leave the stage in a
blaze of glory. Besides, he was brilliant and handsome. I was flattered
by his admiration, and felt that it would be easy to love him. I did all
I could to win an offer of marriage from him. When it came I accepted.
But soon after our engagement his father lost a great deal of money. I
realized that Maxime would not be as good a match as I had counted upon
making. Still, I did not throw him over; for by that time I cared for his
handsome face, and I was of far too jealous a nature to risk throwing him
into the arms of another woman. If we parted, I thought I knew to what
woman he would turn. There was an English girl singing at the Opera
Comique, whose name at one time had been coupled with Maxime Dalahaide's.
She had a good voice and a pretty enough face, but she would not have
succeeded in Paris, people whispered, if Maxime had not helped her. I had
spoken to him of this girl, and he had denied caring for her. She was a
very ordinary, uninteresting creature, apart from her beauty, he said;
but she had been friendless and in hard luck, and as he was half English
himself, he had done what he could to aid a lonely and deserving young
countrywoman, that was all. Still, I was never sure that he was not
deceiving me. Altogether, in those days, I was unhappy. The Marchese
Loria, Maxime's best friend--as I thought--was very sympathetic. He came
often to see me, both with Maxime and alone. One day they quarrelled in
my house. It was Loria who began it. He accused Maxime of prejudicing his
sister Madeleine against him, and Maxime admitted that, though he loved
Loria, he did not think he would made a good husband, and did not wish
him to marry Madeleine. With a look of jealous hatred in his eyes, which
I have never forgotten, Loria cried out that Maxime had always taken away
from him everything he wanted most--love of friends and women,
popularity, all that a man values in life. Then, almost before Maxime
could answer to vow that never, consciously, had he been Loria's rival or
injured him in any way, Loria begged forgiveness, said he had spoken in
anger--that in his heart he did not mean a word. So the quarrel--if
quarrel you could call it--was made up. But I guessed then that Loria had
never really loved Maxime.

"It was only a few days after this that I found myself in great trouble
with my creditors. Maxime had had too many losses to help me much, though
he lent me two or three thousand francs. I asked him to pawn my jewels,
which were worth a good deal, and to do it in his own name. It was Loria
who put this idea into my head. He said that by this means I should
prevent the pawn-tickets from being seized by other creditors. Late that
very afternoon, when, against his will, Maxime had taken my jewels, the
English girl, Olive Sinclair, came to my flat, saying that she must talk
to me of an affair of great importance to us both. I was curious, and my
jealousy was up in arms. She was admitted by my maid, who was just going
out for the whole evening, by my permission.

"Olive Sinclair came in. We were alone together in the flat. She began by
saying that she was going to England by the late boat that night, and
that Maxime Dalahaide was going with her. As soon as possible, the girl
went on, they would be married at a registrar's office, and the marriage
kept secret from his family until she came of age the next year, when she
would inherit a fortune, which she should be only too glad to share with
her beloved Maxime. She had heard, she said, that I went about boasting
everywhere of my engagement to Maxime Dalahaide, and that she could bear
it no longer, so she had come to tell me the real truth, and humble my
pride. Perhaps I would not have believed her if I had not known that
Maxime _did_ intend to go to England that night. He had told me that he
wanted to see an uncle there on business. At once his story seemed
improbable. I believed that the girl was telling me the truth. I have
always had a hot temper, which often escapes beyond control. A wave of
rage rushed up to my head, and made a red flame leap before my eyes. As
the girl talked on, smiling insolently, I struck her in my passion. She
staggered, and fell on the floor, her head pressed up against the fender
in a curious way. Dear heaven, I can see her now, lying there, her eyes
staring wide open, seeming to look at me, her lips apart! She did not cry
out or move; and as I stood watching her, frightened at what I had done,
a few drops of blood began to ooze from her mouth.

"I went down on my knees, and shook her by the shoulder, calling her
name; but her head fell on one side, as if she had been a horrid dummy
made of rags; and still her eyes were staring and her blood-stained lips
smiling that foolish, awful smile. It was at this moment that I heard a
knocking at the door.

"At first I kept quite still, dazed, not knowing what I should do. But
then I thought it might be Maxime, who had changed his mind about selling
the jewels, and come back soon to tell me. I was in the mood to see him
at whatever cost. I called through the door to know who was there.
Loria's voice answered. I let him in, explained confusedly what had
happened, and begged him to bring the girl back to consciousness. Five
minutes later he told me that she was dead. In falling, and striking
against the fender, she had broken her neck.

"'What is to become of me?' I asked. 'I did not mean to kill her, and
yet--I am a murderess. Will they send me to the guillotine for this?'

"'No, because I will save you,' Loria answered. Then, quickly, he made me
understand the scheme that had come into his mind. So cunning, so
wonderfully thought out it was, that I asked myself if he had somehow
planned all that had happened; if he had sent the girl to me, and told
her to say what she had said, counting on my hot blood for some such
sequel as really followed. But I could not see any motive for such
plotting, and in a moment I forgot my strange suspicions, in gratitude
for his offer to save me. Sometimes I had fancied that, in spite of his
wish to marry Madeleine Dalahaide, he loved me; now he swore to me the
truth of this, and I was scarcely surprised. He would give everything he
had in the world to save me, he said. What a fool I was to believe him!
All I had to do in return was to promise that I would obey implicitly.
Gladly I promised, and I did not falter even when the full horror of his
plan was revealed. It was that or a disgraceful, terrible death for me.
Oh, I would have done anything then to escape the guillotine!

"First of all he made me write a letter to Maxime, telling him that I
hated him and never wished to see him again; that I loved another man
better. I did this gladly. That was nothing. And Loria let me go out and
send the letter, while he began the awful work which had to come next. I
thanked him for that. I had not nerve enough left to help much after what
I had gone through.

"When I came back to the flat after sending off the letter, Loria
unlocked the door for me. Already the worst was over.

"His idea was for me to escape and let it seem that _I_ had been
murdered. This could be done, because Olive Sinclair would not be missed.
She had given up her rooms to leave for England that night. In a bag
hanging from her belt were her tickets for train and boat. We were of
much the same figure. Loria, in speaking to me of her before, had
mentioned this slight resemblance. Her hair was brown, while mine was
red-gold. Hers would have to be bleached, now that she lay dead. But
there was no great difficulty in that, for I had the stuff in the house,
as I used it in very small quantities to give extra brightness to mine.

"While I had been gone Loria had fired shot after shot into the poor dead
face, from a revolver, which he did not show me. Afterward, when I was
far away, I heard that the weapon was Maxime's; but, honestly, I did not
think at the time that Maxime would be implicated in this affair. I was
half mad. I thought only of myself, and of Loria's self-sacrifice.
Already I could have worshipped him for what he was doing to save me.

"He shot the hands, too, that they might be shattered, for Olive
Sinclair's hands were not like mine; but before he did that, he had
slipped two or three of my rings, which he had found on my
dressing-table, upon the dead fingers.

"All this was finished when I dragged myself home. But together we
bleached the dark hair till it was the colour of mine, and together we
dressed the body in my clothes, Loria having removed the gown before he
used the revolver. Oh, the horror of that scene! It is part of my
punishment that I live it over often at night. At last we arranged the
shattered hands to look as if the girl had flung them up to protect her
face from the murderer.

"I put on her travelling dress, and her hat, with a thick veil of my own.
Meanwhile, a knock had come at the door. I feared that the shots had been
heard, and that we would be arrested. But Loria quieted me. He said the
revolver was small, and had made scarcely any sound; that, as no one
lived in the flat above or just underneath, it was quite safe. We did not
answer the knock, though it came again and again. But afterward, in the
letter-box on the door, there was a packet containing the money which
Maxime had got from the pawnbroker for my jewels. That I took with me,
and Loria gave me more. Whether Maxime himself brought the money, or sent
it by messenger, I did not know; but, afterward, the _concierge_ bore
witness that he had passed into the house before the murder must have
taken place, and gone out long afterward. And dimly I remembered, in
thinking of Loria as he had looked in that dreadful hour, that he had
worn a coat and hat like Maxime's. How can I tell what were the details
of his scheme? But when Maxime was accused of the murder, and Loria made
no effort to exonerate him, it took all my faith in the Marchese as a
lover to believe that he was sacrificing his friend wholly for my sake.
As for me--why should I give myself up to the guillotine for a man who
would have betrayed me for an Olive Sinclair--especially when he was not
condemned to death, but only to imprisonment?

"I went to England in Olive Sinclair's place. Fortunately for me, she had
no relatives. No one asked questions, no one cared what had become of
her. She was not a celebrity, in spite of the way in which Maxime
Dalahaide had worked to help her. After a while I left England for
Portugal. Meanwhile I had dyed my hair, and stained my complexion with a
wonderful clear olive stain which does not hurt the skin, and shows the
colour through. Here are the things I use, in this bag. I keep it always
locked and ready to my hand.

"Loria bought me a little land and an old ruined house near Lisbon,
belonging to an ancient family, of whom the last member had died. The
title went with the land. It was supposed that I was a distant cousin,
with money, and a sentiment of love for the old place. But really I hated
it. It was dull--deadly dull. I travelled as much as possible, and Loria
had promised that at the end of the five years he would marry me, saying
always that he loved me well; that if he had sinned it was for love of
me, and to save me. When the world had forgotten the affair of Maxime
Dalahaide we would be married, and live in countries where no one had
heard the story, and nothing would remind us of the past. I forced
myself to believe him, for he was my all--all that was left to me in
exile. But now I know him for what he is. I would swear that he planned
everything from the beginning to ruin Maxime Dalahaide. He here to help
his old enemy! No, it is he who must have set the bloodhounds on his
track. I fight under Loria's banner no longer. He loves Virginia Beverly.
Now that she knows him as he is, and what he has done for hatred, let her
put her hand in his if she will."

The woman's voice fell from a shrill height into silence. Her
olive-stained face was ash-gray with exhaustion. No one had interrupted,
or tried to check the fierce flood of the confession, not even Loria. All
had stood listening, breathless; and Virginia had known that, behind the
door of his locked cabin, Maxime Dalahaide must hear every clear-cadenced
word of fine, Parisian French.

Loria had stood listening with the rest, a sneer on his lips, though his
eyes burned with a deep fire. If he had taken a step, hands would have
been thrust out to stop him. But he did not move except, in the midst of
Liane Devereux's story, to play nervously with an old-fashioned ring of
twisted, jewel-headed serpents on the third finger of his left hand.

Suddenly, as the woman finished, he raised the hand to his lips and
seemed to bite the finger with the ring. Then he dropped his hand and
looked at his accomplice with a strained smile. But the smile froze; the
lips quivered into a slight grimace. His eyes, glittering with agony,
turned to Virginia.

"I loved you," he said, and fell forward on his face.

"He has taken poison!" exclaimed Chandler, the United States Consul. "It
must have been in that queer ring."

He and Roger Broom and George Trent and the German doctor pressed round
the prostrate figure, but the woman who had denounced him was before them
all. With a cry she rushed to the fallen man, and, flinging herself down,
caught up the hand with the ring. They saw what she meant to do, and
would have snatched her away, but already her lips had touched the spot
where his had been, and found the same death.

* * * * *

The whole situation was changed by the unexpected developments on board
the _Bella Cuba_. Dr. Sauber had relinquished, indeed, almost forgotten,
the clever plan by which the yacht was to be detained. The French Consul,
Loria's host, was hurriedly brought on board, to be dumbfounded by a
recital of what had happened. With Loria dead, and guilty, the fugitive
concealed on the _Bella Cuba_ innocent, De Letz's personal motive for
detaining the prisoner disappeared. His chivalry was fired by Virginia's
beauty and the brave part she had played. In the end, instead of making
difficulties for the party, he consented to take charge of his friend's
body and that of Liane Devereux, which latter duty was his by right, as
consul to the country from which she came. The dead man and dead woman
would be carried ashore in the boat which had brought the four men out
to the yacht; and De Letz would, acting on the statement of those who had
heard the confession, make such representations to France as would
eventually obtain for Maxime Dalahaide a free pardon with permission to
return to his own land. Meanwhile he (De Letz) reiterated that it was as
much his duty as before to bring about the arrest of the escaped convict,
who had no more right to break his prison bonds if innocent than if he
were guilty. To bring it about if possible! But--_was_ it possible? And
the Frenchman shrugged his shoulders, half smiling at Virginia. Mr.
Chandler advised him that, in the present circumstances, it would be
unwise to make the attempt. De Letz was inclined to agree, and, as Dr.
Sauber had apparently found a clean bill of health, the _Bella Cuba_ must
take her own sweet way, rebel though she was.

So when the yacht had finished coaling she steamed out of the harbour of
Samoa with Convict 1280 still on board.

Virginia's desire was to make for America, and to send for Madeleine,
who had been living all this time with her aunt in an old Surrey
manor-house belonging to Roger Broom. The brother and sister should stay
at her house in Virginia until Maxime was free to return to France, and
he would grow strong and well, and everybody concerned would be happy. It
would be madness, she urged, for Maxime to put himself in the power of
French law until such time as his innocence was officially acknowledged.

But Maxime thought otherwise. His innocence had been declared, and would
sooner or later be acknowledged. The manly and honourable thing to do was
to trust to the generosity of his adopted land. To France he would go,
and boldly throw himself upon her mercy.

"He is right, Virginia," said Roger, fearing the while that secret
jealousy influenced his decision.

"He is right," echoed George Trent, with no hidden thoughts at all.

Virginia held her peace, though her heart was full; and the ultimate
destination of the _Bella Cuba_ was France.

* * * * *

France did not disappoint Maxime's trust, but months passed before he was
a free man. Meantime hope had given him new life. His sister was near
him. Virginia Beverly was in Paris with an elderly relative of Roger
Broom's as her chaperon-companion, instead of Kate Gardiner. Though he
was virtually a prisoner, since the eye of the law was upon him, and the
voice of the law pronounced that he should go so far and no farther,
still he was happy, so happy that he often awoke from prison dreams, not
daring to believe the present reality.

Then at last the day came when he was free. Madeleine was staying with
Virginia. He would see them together. There was heaven in the thought.
George Trent was there, but not Roger Broom. Roger had been called to
England on business, but he was returning that evening.

Never had there been such a dinner as that which celebrated Maxime's
release from the old bonds. Virginia had taken a beautiful house which
had been to let furnished, near the Bois de Boulogne.

After the dinner the two girls with their brothers went out into the
garden, the old aunt, exhausted with over-much joy, remaining indoors.

Virginia knew what would come next, and drew Madeleine away from the two
young men that George might have the chance of asking Maxime for his
sister. Five minutes later Maxime was squeezing Madeleine's hand, and
telling her that no news could have made him so happy. Then, somehow, the
lovers disappeared, and Virginia Beverly and Maxime Dalahaide were alone
together.

"Everything good comes to us from you," he said, his voice unsteady.
"What can I do to show you how I--how we worship you for all you have
done, all you have been?"

"There is one thing you can do," Virginia answered softly. "A favour to
me. There is a little gift I want to make to you, on this day of all
others. I have been planning it, thinking of it for a long time. Here is
this paper. Take it and read. You will see then what I mean, and why I
want it so much."

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