Anna the Adventuress
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“I am much obliged to you,” he said. “Really, I do not know why I should have doubted it.”
“Nor I,” she remarked tersely.
He looked at her with a certain curiosity. She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. It was hard to associate her with the stories which he and all Paris had heard of “Alcide.”
“You, then,” he said, “are ‘Alcide.’ That wonderful poster – is of you.”
She lifted her eyebrows.
“I am sorry,” she said, “if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. My friends consider it wonderfully faithful. Have you any more questions to ask me?”
Sir John, on his way down, had determined to hint to this young woman that, providing certain contingencies which he had in his mind should come to pass, he would be prepared to make her a handsome offer to change her name. He found, however, that now the time had come he utterly lacked the courage to attempt any such speech.
“None, I thank you,” he answered. “I will not intrude upon you further.”
“Wait,” she said.
He turned back at once.
“I have answered all your questions,” she said. “Perhaps you will not object to answering one for me. You have thought it worth while to take some considerable pains to resolve for yourself my sister’s identity. May I ask the nature of your interest in her?”
He hesitated.
“It is not an easy matter,” he said, “for me to offer you an altogether adequate explanation. I have only seen your sister for a very brief time, and I am a little past the age when a man does headstrong things. At the same time, I must say that I am most anxious to improve my acquaintance with her. I am a single man, and – ”
“Thank you,” she interrupted. “I will not ask you to explain further. Good night.”
He left at once, immensely relieved, yet scarcely satisfied with himself as regarded his share of the interview with this young woman. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face.
“Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. “How dared you do yourself this injustice?”
“I did it for her sake,” she answered. “It may be her salvation. I believe that he will marry her.”
“You would let him – knowing – all that you know?”
“Why not? She is my flesh and blood. She is more dear to me than anything else. Perhaps if I had watched over her more closely, things would have been different.”
“You! Why, you have been an angel to her,” he exclaimed impatiently. “You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone. You have made enough sacrifices for her surely without this. Besides, you cannot tell where it will end. You have taken upon your shoulders the burden of her misdeeds. You may have to carry them further and longer than you think. Oh, it is unbearable.”
The man’s face was dark with passion. It was as though he were personally aggrieved. His tone was rough, almost threatening. The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his.
“Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best. Annabel is my only sister, you know, almost my only relative. If I do not look after her, she has no one. And she is very young, younger than her years.”
It was significant of her influence over him that he answered her calmly, although a storm of angry thoughts were struggling for expression within him.
“Look after her! Why not? But you have done it all your life. You have been her guardian angel. But even you cannot alter her character. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. The pursuit of pleasure, self-gratification, is an original instinct with her. Blood and bone, body and spirit, she is selfish through and through. Even you have not been able to hold her back. I speak no harm of her. She is your sister, and God knows I wish her none. But – ”
A look checked him.
“I know,” she said quietly, “that Paris, where she has been so much admired, is not a good place for her. That is why I am glad that she has gone to London.”
He rose from his chair, and walked restlessly up and down the room. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. There was a black fear in his heart. He stopped before her suddenly.
“You, too,” he said abruptly. “You mean to follow her. You will go to London?”
“It is necessary,” she answered. “You yourself have decided that – apart from the question of Annabel.”
He was suddenly calm.
“It is part of the irony of life,” he said. “One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. I meant to lie to you. Would to God I had.”
She shook her head.
“The surgeon’s knife is surely a kindly weapon,” she declared. “It was best for me to know. Later on I could scarcely have forgiven you.”
“And now – I am to lose you.”
“For a little time,” she answered. “I meant to say good-bye to you to-night. Or, after all, is it worth while? The Channel is a little broader than the Boulevards – but one crosses it sometimes.”
He looked at her with white, set face.
“Yes,” he said, “I shall come. That is very certain. But, after all, it will be different. I think that I have become a drug drinker. I need you every day. In the mornings I find labour easy because I am going to see you. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to their work because you have been with me. Anna, you shall not go. I cannot let you go.”
She threw away the end of her cigarette. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. He made a quick movement towards her, but she did not flinch. His arm fell to his side. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob.
“David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?”
“I do not know,” he muttered. “The bravest of us have joints in our armour.”
“You are not a coward,” she repeated, “or you would not be my friend. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. You are not a coward David, and you must not talk like one. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. It is the only way.”
“I cannot do it!” he cried hoarsely. “I cannot part with you. You have grown into my life. Anna – ”
Again she stopped him, but this time it was not so easy. The man’s passion became almost unbearable at the thought of losing her. And yet, as she rose slowly to her feet and stood looking at him with outstretched hands, a strange mixture of expressions shining in her wonderful eyes, he realized in some measure the strength of her determination, felt the utter impotence of anything which he could say to her. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips.
“You shall go,” he declared. “I will make of the days and weeks one long morning, but remember the afternoon must come. Always remember that.”
Her hands fell to her side. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. Then she turned, and entering the inner room, commenced to dress hastily for the street.
Chapter VI
A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION
The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents. The walls of the room were lined with shelves, on which were glass jars, retorts, countless bottles and many appliances of surgical science. A skeleton was propped against the mantelpiece. The atmosphere seemed heavy with the odour of drugs.
“You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet.
Anna admitted the fact.
“We sent for you several hours ago,” he remarked.
“I came directly I was disengaged,” Anna answered. “In any case, there is probably some mistake. I have very few friends in Paris.”
He referred to a sheet of paper by his side.
“Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. “As it is doubtful whether the man will live, we should be glad if you would identify him.”
“It is most unlikely that I shall be able to do so,” Anna answered. “To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city.”
“My dear young lady,” the official said irritably, “this man would not have your name and address in his pocket without an object. You cannot tell whether you know him or not until you have seen him. Be so good as to come this way.”
With a little shrug of the shoulders Anna followed him. They ascended by a lift to one of the upper floors, passed through a long ward, and finally came to a bed in the extreme corner, round which a screen had been arranged. A nurse came hurrying up.
“He is quiet only this minute,” she said to the official. “All the time he is shouting and muttering. If this is the young lady, she can perhaps calm him.”
Anna stepped to the foot of the bed. An electric light flashed out from the wall. The face of the man who lay there was clearly visible. Anna merely glanced at the coarse, flushed features, and at once shook her head.
“I have never seen him in my life,” she said to the official. “I have not the least idea who he is.”
Just then the man’s eyes opened. He saw the girl, and sprang up in bed.
“Annabel at last,” he shouted. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you. Annabel, I was lying. Who says that I am not Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you. See, it is on my cards – M. Hill, Meysey Hill. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Do you want to kill us both? Stop the thing. Stop it!”
Anna stepped back bewildered, but the man held out his arms to her.
“I tell you it was a lie!” he shouted wildly. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. I am the richest man in England. I am the richest man in the world. You love money. You know you do, Annabel. Never mind, I’ve got plenty. We’ll go to the shops. Diamonds! You shall have all that you can carry away, sacks full if you like. Pearls too! I mean it. I tell you I’m Meysey Hill, the railway man. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me in this beastly thing. Annabel! Annabel!”
His voice became a shriek. In response to an almost imperative gesture from the nurse, Anna laid her hand upon his. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. In a moment his grasp grew weaker. The perspiration stood out upon his forehead. His eyes closed.
Anna stepped back at once with a little gasp of relief. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. The man himself was not a pleasant object. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould. His eyes were set too close together. Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. She followed the official back into his room.
“Well?” he asked her tersely.
“I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. “To the best of my belief, I have never seen the man in my life.”
“But he recognized you,” the official objected.
“He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly. “I suppose delusions are not uncommon to patients in his condition.”
The official frowned.
“Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply. “I do not wish to make impertinent inquiries into your private life. Nothing is of any concern of ours except the discovery of the man’s identity. He was picked up from amongst the wreckage of a broken motor on the road to Versailles last night, and we have information that a lady was with him only a few minutes before the accident occurred.”
“You are very unbelieving,” Anna said coldly. “I hope you will not compel me to say again that I do not know the man’s name, nor, to the best of my belief, have I ever seen him before in my life.”
The official shrugged his shoulders.
“You decline to help us in any way, then,” he said. “Remember that the man will probably die. He had little money about him, and unless friends come to his aid he must be treated as a pauper.”
“I do not wish to seem unfeeling,” Anna said, slowly, “but I can only repeat that I am absolutely without concern in the matter. The man is a stranger to me.”
The official had no more to say. Only it was with a further and most unbelieving shrug of the shoulders that he resumed his seat.
“You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly.
“You have them both,” Anna answered.
He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile.
“It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. It may bring us together again.”
She passed out without reply. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble.
As she crossed the square, almost within a stone’s throw of her lodgings, she came face to face with Courtlaw. He stopped short with a little exclamation of surprise.
“My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please.”
He recovered himself.
“I was surprised, I admit,” he said. “You did not tell me that you were going out, or I would have offered my escort. Do you know how late it is?”
She nodded.
“I heard the clock strike as I crossed the square,” she answered. “I was sent for to go to the Hospital St. Denis. But what are you doing here?”
“Old Père Runeval met me on your doorstep, and he would not let me go. I have been sitting with him ever since. The Hospital St. Denis, did you say? I hope that no one of our friends has met with an accident.”
She shook her head.
“They wanted me to identify some one whom I had certainly never seen before in my life, and to tell you the truth, they were positively rude to me because I could not. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?”
“Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him.
“Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?”
“I never heard her mention his name,” she answered. “Still, of course, it is possible. This man was apparently not sure whether he was Meysey Hill or not.”
“How long had he been in the hospital?” Courtlaw asked.
“Since last night.”
“Then, whoever he may be, he is not Meysey Hill,” Courtlaw said. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. I sat within a few feet of him. I feel almost inclined to regret the fact.”
“Why?” she asked.
“If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life.”
“Isn’t that a little extreme?”
“I am an extreme person at times. This man has an evil reputation. I know of scandalous deeds which he has done.”
Anna had reached the house where she lodged, but she hesitated on the doorstep.
“Have you ever seen Annabel with him?” she asked.
“Never.”
“It is odd that this man at the hospital should call himself Meysey Hill,” she remarked.
“If you wish,” he said, “I will go there in the morning and see what can be done for him.”
“It would be very kind of you,” she declared. “I am only sorry that I did not ask you to go with me.”
She rang the bell, and he waited by her side until she was admitted to the tall, gloomy lodging-house. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. When next he asked for her, some twelve hours later, he was told that Mademoiselle had left. His most eager inquiries and most lavish bribes could gain no further information than that she had left for England, and that her address was – London.
Chapter VII
MISS PELLISSIER’S SUSPICIONS
“Anna!”
Anna kissed her sister and nodded to her aunt. Then she sat down – uninvited – and looked from one to the other curiously. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her.
“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. I am your very dutiful niece, aunt, and your most devoted sister, Annabel. I haven’t murdered any one, or broken the law in any way that I know of. Perhaps you will explain the state of panic into which I seem to have thrown you.”
Annabel, who was looking very well, and who was most becomingly dressed, moved to a seat from which she could command a view of the road outside. She was the first to recover herself. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart.
Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister.
“For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris. You did not say a word about it last week, nor have you written. It is quite a descent from the clouds, isn’t it?”
“I will accept that,” Anna said, “as accounting for the surprise. Perhaps you will now explain the alarm.”
Miss Pellissier was beginning to recover herself. She too at once developed an anxious interest in the street outside.
“I am sure, Anna,” she said, “I do not see why we should conceal the truth from you. We are expecting a visit from Sir John Ferringhall at any moment. He is coming here to tea.”
“Well?” Anna remarked calmly.
“Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister.”
Anna drummed impatiently with her fingers against the arm of her chair.
“Well!” she declared good-humouredly. “I shan’t eat him.”
Miss Pellissier stiffened visibly.
“This is not a matter altogether for levity, Anna,” she said. “Your sister’s future is at stake. I imagine that even you must realize that this is of some importance.”
Anna glanced towards her sister, but the latter avoided her eyes.
“I have always,” she admitted calmly, “taken a certain amount of interest in Annabel’s future. I should like to know how it is concerned with Sir John Ferringhall, and how my presence intervenes.”
“Sir John,” Miss Pellissier said impressively, “has asked your sister to be his wife. It is a most wonderful piece of good fortune, as I suppose you will be prepared to admit. The Ferringhalls are of course without any pretence at family, but Sir John is a very rich man, and will be able to give Annabel a very enviable position in the world. The settlements which he has spoken of, too, are most munificent. No wonder we are anxious that nothing should happen to make him change his mind.”
“I still – ”
Anna stopped short. Suddenly she understood. She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting.
“Sir John of course disapproves of me,” she remarked slowly.
“Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. “He naturally does not wish for connexions which are – I do not wish to hurt you feelings, Anna, but I must say it – not altogether desirable.”
The irrepressible smile curved Anna’s lips. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. She leaned back in her chair. It was no use. The smile had become a laugh. She laughed till the tears stood in her eyes.
“I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said. “Did he tell you, Annabel?”
“Yes.”
“He mentioned the matter to me also,” Miss Pellissier remarked stiffly. “The visit seems to have made a most painful impression upon him. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject.”
Anna sprang up.
“I will be off,” she declared. “My cab with all that luggage would give the whole show away. Good-bye, aunt.”
Miss Pellissier tried ineffectually to conceal her relief.
“I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly. “And of course you are my niece just as Annabel is, although I am sorry to learn that your conduct has been much less discreet than hers. But at the same time, I must say plainly that I think your presence here just now would be a great misfortune. I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris.”
Anna nodded.
“Quite right,” she said. “I ought to have done. Good-bye aunt. I’ll come and see you again later on. Annabel, come to the door with me,” she added a little abruptly. “There is something which I must say to you.”
Annabel rose and followed her sister from the room. A maidservant held the front door open. Anna sent her away.
“Annabel,” she said brusquely. “Listen to me.”
“Well?”
“Sir John came to me – that you know – and you can guess what I told him. No, never mind about thanking me. I want to ask you a plain question, and you must answer me faithfully. Is all that folly done with – for ever?”
Annabel shivered ever so slightly.
“Of course it is, Anna. You ought to know that. I am going to make a fresh start.”
“Be very sure that you do,” Anna said slowly. “If I thought for a moment that there was any chance of a relapse, I should stop here and tell him the truth even now.”
Annabel looked at her with terrified eyes.
“Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. I am really in earnest. I would not have him know – now – for the world.”
“Very well,” Anna said. “I will believe you. Remember that he’s not at all a bad sort, and to speak frankly, he’s your salvation. Try and let him never regret it. There’s plenty to be got out of life in a decent sort of way. Be a good wife to him. You can if you will.”
“I promise,” Annabel declared. “He is very kind, Anna, really, and not half such a prig as he seems.”
Anna moved towards the door, but her sister detained her.
“Won’t you tell me why you have come to England?” she said. “It was such a surprise to see you. I thought that you loved Paris and your work so much.”
A momentary bitterness crept into Anna’s tone.
“I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone. I had to ask Mr. Courtlaw for his true verdict, and he gave it me. I have given up painting.”
“Anna!”
“It is true, dear. After all there are other things. All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. Only of course I must begin something else at once. That is why I came to London.”
“But what are you going to do – where are you going to live?” Annabel asked. “Have you any money?”
“Lots,” Anna answered laconically. “Never mind me. I always fall on my feet, you know.”
“You will let us hear from you – let us know where you are, very soon?” Annabel called out from the step.
Anna nodded as she briskly crossed the pavement.
“Some day,” she answered. “Run in now. There’s a hansom coming round the corner.”
Anna sat back in her cab, but found it remain stationary.
“Gracious!” she exclaimed to herself. “I don’t know where to go to.”
The cabman, knocking with the butt end of his whip upon the window, reminded her that he was in a similar predicament.
“Drive towards St. Pancras,” she directed, promptly. “I will tell you when to stop.”
The cab rumbled off. Anna leaned forward, watching the people in the streets. It was then for the first time she remembered that she had said nothing to her sister of the man in the hospital.
Chapter VIII
“WHITE’S”
Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth – the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. She was practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself.