The Brightener
- -
- 100%
- +
Ralston Murray loved us very much, but he didn't wish for our advice. Indeed, he wished for nothing at all from any one – except to be let alone.
He had said to Gaby Jennings that he would always want Rosemary back whatever he heard about her past; but now, believing Gaby's story with its additional proofs, at all events he had no more hope of getting her back. In his eyes she was another man's wife. He did not expect to see her again in this world.
Jim and I could do nothing with him: Jim was helpless because he also, at heart, believed Gaby, and defended Rosemary only to please me; I had ceased to be of use, because I could give no reason for my faith in her. What good to say: "There must be some awful misunderstanding!" when there were those cablegrams from Baltimore and Washington? Gaby would not have shown copies of her own messages with the address of her correspondent, if she hadn't been willing that Murray should make inquiries as to the man's identity and bona fides.
We could not persuade him to wait, before keeping his promise to Mrs. Jennings, until he had heard from America. He knew what he should hear, he said. Besides, a promise was a promise. He didn't care whether Paul had stolen his heirlooms or not, but there was no proof that he had, and people must be presumed innocent until they were found to be guilty. Nor did he care what Jennings' designs on him might be. It was too far-fetched to suppose that the man had any designs; but no greater kindness could now be done to him, Ralston, than to put him for ever out of his misery.
This was mad talk; but in a way Ralston Murray went mad that day when he lost Rosemary. No doctor, no alienist, would have pronounced him mad, of course. Rather would I have seemed insane in my defence of Rosemary Brandreth. But when the man's heart broke, something snapped in his brain. All was darkness there. He had turned his back on hope, and could not bear to hear the word.
We did persuade him, in justice to Rosemary, to let us cable a New York detective agency whose head Jim had known well. This man was instructed to learn whether Gaby's friend had told the truth about Captain Brandreth and his wife: whether she had sailed for Europe on the Aquitania, upon a certain date; and whether the pair had been living together before Mrs. Brandreth left for Europe.
When news came confirming Gaby's story, and, a little later, mentioning that Mrs. Brandreth had returned from abroad, Ralston said: "I knew it would be so. There's nothing more to do." But I felt that there was a great deal more to do; and I was bent on doing it. The next thing was to induce Jim to let me do it.
To my first proposition he agreed willingly. Now that I had shot my bolt, there was no longer any objection to employing detectives against the Jenningses. Indeed, there was a strong incentive. If their guilt could be proved, Ralston Murray would not be quite insane enough to keep Paul on as his doctor.
We both liked the idea of putting my old friend Mr. Smith on to the case, and applied to him upon our own responsibility, without a word to Murray. But this was nothing compared with my second suggestion. I wanted to rush over to America and see for myself whether Rosemary was living in Washington as the wife of Guy Brandreth.
"What! You'd leave me here, and go across the Atlantic without me on a wild-goose chase?" Jim shouted.
"Who said anything about my going without you?" I retorted. "Oh, darling Man, do take me!"
That settled it: and as soon as the thing was decided, we were both keen to start. Our one cause for hesitation was fear for Ralston Murray's safety, now that he had so recklessly flung himself into Paul Jennings' hands. Still, in the circumstances, we could do little good if we stayed at home. Ralston had shut himself up, refusing to see any one – including ourselves. His mental state was bad enough to sap his newly restored health, even if I did Doctor Paul Jennings a grave injustice; and Mr. Smith could watch the Jenningses better than we could.
I did take the precaution to write Sir Beverley that his late patient had fallen into the clutches of the Merriton doctor, and beg him to call at the Manor some day, declining to take 'no' for an answer if he were refused at the door: and then we sailed. It was on the Aquitania again, and every moment brought back some recollection of Rosemary and Ralston Murray.
We travelled straight to Washington after landing, and were met at the station by the young detective Jim's friend had engaged. He had collected the information we needed for the beginning of our campaign, and had bought tickets for the first performance of a new play that night.
"The Brandreths have a party going," he said, "and your places are next to theirs. Yours are at the end of the row, so they'll have to pass you going in, if you're early on the spot."
I liked that detective. He had "struck" a smart idea!
We had only just time to dress and dine at our hotel, and dash to the theatre in a taxi, if we wished to arrive when the doors were opened.
It was lucky we did this, for the audience assembled promptly, in order to hear some music written for the new play by a popular composer. We had hardly looked through the programme after settling down in our chairs when a familiar fragrance floated to me. It was what I had always called "Rosemary's leitmotif," expressed in perfume. I turned my head, and – there she was in great beauty coming along the aisle with three or four men and as many pretty women.
I had got myself up that night expressly to attract attention – Rosemary's attention. I was determined that she should not, while laughing and talking with her friends, pass me by without recognition. Consequently, I was dressed more suitably for a ball than a play. I had on a gown of gold tissue, and my second best tiara, to say nothing of a few more scattered diamonds and a double rope of pearls. It was impossible for the most absent-minded eye to miss me, or my black-browed, red-haired giant in evening dress – Jim. As I looked over my shoulder at Rosemary, therefore, she looked at me. Our gaze encountered, and – my jaw almost dropped. She showed not the slightest sign of surprise; did not start, did not blush or turn pale. Her lovely face expressed good-natured admiration, that was all.
She glanced at Jim, too – as all women do glance – with interest. But it was purely impersonal interest, as if to say, "There's a man!"
Those black brows of his drew together in disapproval, because she had no right to be so rosy and happy, so much more voluptuous in her beauty than she had been when with Ralston Murray. Rosemary, however, seemed quite unconscious of Jim's disgust. She had an air of conquering, conscious charm, as if all the world must love and admire her – such an air as she had never worn in our experience. Having looked us over with calm admiration she marshalled her guests, and was especially charming to one of the women, a dark, glowing creature almost as beautiful as herself. Something within me whispered: "That's the woman she was jealous of! This party is meant to advertise that they're the best of friends."
"Guy, you're to sit next Mrs. Dupont," she directed; and at the sound of her voice my heart gave a little jump. There was a different quality about this voice – a contralto quality. It was heavier, richer, less flutelike than Rosemary's used to be.
Mrs. Dupont and Guy Brandreth passed us to reach their chairs. Guy was a square-jawed, rather ugly, but extremely masculine young man of a type intensely attractive to women.
"She wants to show everyone how she trusts him now!" I thought. "She's giving him Mrs. Dupont practically to himself for the evening."
All the party pushed by, Rosemary and an elderly man, who, it appeared, was Mr. Dupont, coming last. He sat between her and me, and they chatted together before the music began; but now and then she looked past him at me, without the slightest sign of embarrassment.
"Jim," I whispered, "it isn't Rosemary!"
"Well – I was wondering!" he answered. "But – it must be."
"It simply isn't," I insisted. "To-morrow I'm going to call on Mrs. Guy Brandreth."
"Supposing she won't see you?"
"She will," I said. "I shall ring her up early before she can possibly be out, and make an appointment."
"If it is Rosemary, when she knows who you are she won't – " began Jim, but I cut him short. I repeated again the same obstinate words: "It is not Rosemary."
I called up Mrs. Guy Brandreth at nine o'clock next morning, and heard the rich contralto voice asking "Who is it?"
"Lady Courtenaye at Willard's Hotel," I boldly answered. "I've come from England on purpose to see you. I have very important things to say."
There was a slight pause; then the voice answered with a new vibration in it: "When can you come? Or – no! When can you have me call on you? That would be better."
"I can have you call as soon as you care to start," I replied. "The sooner the better."
"I'm not dressed," said the quivering voice. "But I'll be with you at ten o'clock."
I told Jim, and we arranged that he should be out of the way till ten-thirty. Then he was to walk into our private sitting room, where I would receive Mrs. Brandreth. I thought that by that time we should be ready for him.
CHAPTER XIII
MRS. BRANDRETH'S STORY
She came – into a room with all the blinds up, the curtains pushed back, and floods of sunshine streaming in.
Just for an instant I was chilled with doubt of last night's impression, for her face was so pale and anxious that she was more like Rosemary than had been the red-rose vision at the theatre. But she was genuinely surprised at sight of me.
"Why!" she exclaimed. "You are the lovely lady who sat next us at the play!"
"Does my name suggest nothing to you?" I asked.
"Nothing," she echoed.
"Then we'll sit down, and I'll tell you a story," I suggested.
I began with the Aquitania: the man in the cushioned deck-chair, going home condemned to die; the beautiful girl who appeared on the second day out; the recognition. I mentioned no names. When I said, however, that years ago the two had been engaged, a sudden light flashed into my visitor's eyes. She would have interrupted, but I begged her to let me go on; and she sat silent while I told the whole story. Then, before she had time to speak, I said: "There's just one thing I know! You are not the woman who came to England and married Ralston Murray. If you have a heart in your breast, you'll tell me where to find that woman. He will die unless she goes back to him."
Her lips parted, but she pressed them tightly together again. I saw her muscles stiffen in sympathy with some resolve.
"The woman, whoever she was, must have personated me for a reason of her own," she answered. "It's as deep a mystery to me as to you."
I looked her in the eyes. "That's not true. Mrs. Brandreth," I flung at her, brutally. "In spite of what I've said, you're afraid of me. I give you my most sacred word that you shall be protected if you will help, as you alone can, to save Ralston Murray. It is only if you refuse your help that you may suffer. In that case, my husband and I will fight for our friend. We won't consider you at all. Now that we have a strong clue to this seeming mystery, and it is already close to our hands, everything that you have done or have not done will soon come out."
The beautiful woman broke down and began to cry. "What I did I had a right to do!" she sobbed. "There was no harm! It was as much for the sake of my husband's future happiness as my own, but if he finds out he'll never love or trust me again. Men are so cruel!"
"Tell me who went to England in your place, when you pretended to sail, and he sha'n't find out. Only ourselves and Ralston Murray need ever know," I urged.
"It was – my twin sister," she gasped, "my sister Mary-Rose Hillier, who sailed on the Aquitania as Mrs. Guy Brandreth. It was the only way I could think of, so that I could be near my husband and watch him without his having the slightest suspicion of what was going on. Mary-Rose owed me a lot of money which I couldn't really afford to do without. It was when she was still in England, before she came to America, that I let her have it. My mother was dreadfully ill, and Mary-Rose adored her. She wanted to call in great specialists, and begged me to help her. At first I thought I couldn't. Guy and I are not rich! But he was flirting with a woman – a cat of a woman: you saw her last night. I was nearly desperate. Suddenly an idea came to me. I sold a rope of pearls I had, first getting it copied, and making my sister promise she would do whatever I asked if I sent her the thousand pounds she wanted. You look shocked – I suppose because I bargained over my mother's health. But my husband was more to me than my mother or any one else. Besides, Mother hadn't wished me to marry Guy. She didn't want me to jilt Ralston Murray. I couldn't forgive her for the way she behaved, and I never saw her after my runaway wedding."
"So it was you, and not your sister, who was engaged to Ralston Murray eight years ago!" I couldn't resist.
"Yes. It happened abroad – as you know, perhaps. Mary-Rose was away at a boarding school, and they never met. The whole affair was so short, so quickly over, I doubt if I ever even told Ralston that my sister and I were twins. But he gave me a lot of lovely presents, and refused to take them back – wrote that he'd burn them, pearls and all, if I sent them to him. Yes, the pearls I sold were a gift from him when we were engaged. And there were photographs of Ralston that Mary-Rose wouldn't let me destroy. She kept them herself. She was sorry for Ralston – hearing the story, and seeing some of his letters. She was a romantic girl, and thought him the ideal man. She was half in love, without having seen him in the flesh."
"That is why she couldn't resist, on the Aquitania," I murmured. "When Ralston asked her to marry him, she fell in love with the reality, I suppose. Poor girl, what she must have gone through, unable to tell him the truth, because she'd pledged herself to keep your secret, whatever happened! I begin to see the whole thing now! When your mother died in spite of the specialists, you made the girl come over to this side, without your husband or any one knowing. You hid her in New York. You planned your trip to Europe. You left Washington. Your cabin was taken on the Aquitania, and Mary-Rose Hillier sailed as Rosemary Brandreth, wearing clothes of yours, and even using the same perfume."
"You've guessed it," she confessed. "We'd arranged what to do, in case Guy went to the ship with me. But he and I were rather on official terms because of things I'd said about Mrs. Dupont, and he let me travel to New York alone. I learned from a famous theatrical wig-maker how to disguise myself, and I lived in lodgings not half a mile from our house for three months, watching what he did every day. At first I didn't find out much, but later I began to see that I'd done him an injustice. He didn't care seriously for the Dupont woman. It was only a flirtation. So I was in a hurry to get Mary-Rose over here again, and reappear myself."
"Why did you have to insist on her coming back to America?" I asked, trying not to show how disgusted I was with the selfishness of the creature – selfishness which had begun long ago, in throwing Ralston over, and now without a thought had wrecked her sister's life.
"Oh, to have her book her passage in my name and sail for home was the only safe way! All had gone so well, I wouldn't spoil it at the end."
"All had gone well with you," I said. "But what about her?"
"She didn't tell me what you've told me to-day. I supposed till almost the last that she was just travelling about, as we planned for her to do. The only address I had was Mother's old bank, which was to forward everything to Mary-Rose, on her own instructions. Then, a few weeks ago, she wrote and asked if I could manage without her coming back to America. She said it would make a lot of difference in her life, but she didn't explain what she meant. If she'd made a clean breast of everything I might have thought of some other way out; but – "
"But as she didn't, you didn't," I finished the sentence. "Oh, how different Mary-Rose Hillier is in heart from her sister Rosemary Brandreth, though their faces are almost identical! She was always thinking of you, and her promise to you. That promise was killing her – that and her love for Ralston Murray. She didn't want his money, and when she found he was determined to make a will in her favour she thought of a way in which everything would come to you. It was you he really loved – no doubt she argued with herself – and he wanted you to inherit his fortune. Oh, poor tortured girl! – and I used to suspect that she was mercenary. But, thank Heaven, Ralston didn't die, as he expected so soon to do when he made that hurried will. The woman he truly loves was never married before, and is his legal wife. Now, when she goes back to him and he hears the whole truth he will be so happy that he'll live for years, strong and well."
"I don't believe even you can induce Mary-Rose to go back to Ralston Murray," Mrs. Brandreth said. "She wouldn't think he could forgive her for deceiving him."
"He could forgive her anything after what he went through in losing her," I said. "When you've told me where to find your sister, I will tell her that – and a lot more things besides."
"Well, if you can make her see your point of view!" Mrs. Brandreth grudged. "If my secret is kept, I hope Mary-Rose may be happy. I don't grudge her Ralston Murray or his fortune; but when she feels herself quite safe as his wife she can pay me my thousand pounds."
"She has paid you, and more, with her heart's blood!" I exclaimed. "Where is she?"
"In New York. She told me she could never go to England again after what had happened there. She seems awfully down, and I left her deciding whether she should enter a charitable sisterhood. They take girls without money, if they'll work in the slums, and Mary-Rose was anxious to do that."
"She won't be when she understands what work lies before her across the sea," I retorted.
Even as I spoke – and as Mrs. Guy Brandreth was writing down her sister's address – I mentally marshalled the arguments I would use: the need to save Ralston from himself, and above all from Paul and Gaby Jennings. But, oh, the sudden stab I felt as those names came to my mind!
How keep the secret when Gaby Jennings had known the real Rosemary Brandreth in Baltimore? All the complications would have to be explained to her, if she were not to spread scandal – if she were not to whisper revengefully among her friends: "Ralston Murray isn't really married to his wife. I could have her arrested as a bigamist if I chose!"
It was an awful question, that question of Gaby Jennings. But the answer came like balm, after the stab, and that answer was – "The pictures."
By the time Jim and I reached England again, taking Mary-Rose with us, my tame detective would have got at the truth about the stolen treasures, and who had made the copies. Then all that Ralston need do would be to say: "Tell the lies you want to tell about my wife (who is my wife!); spread any gossip at all – and you go to prison, you and your husband. Keep silence, and I will do the same."
Well, we found Mary-Rose in New York. At first she was horrified at sight of us. Her one desire had been to hide. But after I had talked myself nearly dumb, and Jim had got in a word or two edgewise, she began to hope. Even then she would not go back, though, until I had written out her story for Ralston to read. He was to decide, and wire either "Come to me," or "I cannot forgive."
We took her to our hotel, to await the answer; but there something happened which changed the whole outlook. A long cablegram was delivered to me some days before it would be possible to hear from Ralston. It was from Mr. Smith, and said:
G. J. and husband proved guilty portrait fraud. Woman's father clever old Parisian artist smuggled to England copy pictures. Her career on stage ruined by cocaine and attempt to change friend's jewels for false. When she attempted nursing in war, went to pieces again; health saved by P. J., but would not have married him if he had not pretended to be R. M.'s heir. R. M. so ill I took liberty send for Sir B. D. as you directed. Sir B. D. proved nothing positive against P. J., but suspicion so strong I got rid of couple by springing portrait discoveries on them and threatening arrest. They agreed leave England if allowed do so quietly. Consulted R. M., who wished them to go, and they have already gone. Sir B. D. installed at Manor. Things going better but patient weak. Hope you think I did right. —
Smith.
I showed this message to Ralston's wife; and she said what I knew she would say: "Oh, let's sail at once! Even if he doesn't want me, I must be near."
Of course he did want her. He loved her so much that – it seemed to him – the only person who had to be forgiven was that creature in Washington. Her he forgave because, if it hadn't been for her selfish scheme he would never have met his "life-saving angel."
Yes, that is his name for her now. It is a secret name, yet not so sweet as Jim's for me. But that's a secret! And it's better than "The Brightener."
THE END