Madeline Payne, the Detective's Daughter

CHAPTER XLVI.

CORA "STIRS UP THE ANIMALS."

It was evening – the evening of the day on which Mrs. Ralston had made her startling revelation. Madeline Payne stood alone in her own room, looking moodily out upon the leafless grove that was fast taking on a covering of snow.

The storm that had been impending for days, had broken at last. For two hours the snow had been falling thickly, steadily, in great feather-like flakes, which quickly covered the brown earth, and clothed the naked treetops with a fair, white garment.

Madeline had been standing, motionless and moody, for many minutes. Her eyes were full of dissatisfaction, and her lips were compressed. She had been taking a mental review of the situation, and its present aspect was far from pleasing.

"What a knot," she soliloquized; "what a difficult, baffling, miserable knot! To be kept thus inactive just because the last knot in the tangle will not come straight – good gracious, how like a pun that sounds! How much longer must I smile upon these wretches? How much longer must I conceal my real feelings? I will put my forces into action, and make my last, desperate venture, for this is becoming intolerable. I must force, or buy, this secret from Edward Percy, at the cost of his safety, or my fortune, if need be."

She pressed her face against the frosted pane, peering down through the gathering night and the snow.

"Mercy!" she ejaculated, "who on earth can be plowing through this storm? And on what errand? It looks like – and, as I live, it is, yes, it is, Mr. Edward Percy! He is too dainty to expose himself for nothing. I must look into this."

While she was musing at the window, Cora, curled up behind one of the crimson curtains of the red parlor, had become the possessor of a valuable secret.

She had entered the room but a few moments before. Finding it dimly lighted, and heated to a Summer temperature, she ensconced herself a la Sultana in one of the deep window embrasures, and lay sulkily watching the flying snowflakes and the fast coming night. Presently the sound of approaching footsteps, and almost simultaneously the opening of the door, disturbed her quiet. With a quick movement, she drew the curtains together and sat, a silent listener, to a brief dialogue.

The new comers were Miss Arthur and Edward Percy. After a few sentences had been interchanged, Percy left the room, and then it was that Madeline saw him take his way toward the village.

Presently Miss Arthur also quitted the room; and going straight up-stairs, Cora knocked at Madeline's door. "Now, then," muttered she, "I'll stir up the animals."

Madeline did not look especially gratified at sight of her visitor, but Cora entered with scant ceremony. Pushing the door shut with unnecessary emphasis, she turned upon her, saying, rather ungraciously:

"I have made a discovery of which, I think, you will thank me for telling you. And I am going to tell you because I can't spoil their plans, but you can, and I want to see them spoiled."

"Your frankness is commendable," said Madeline, ironically. "Go on!"

"Percy and the old maid are going to be privately married to-morrow morning."

"How do you know?"

Cora related the particulars of her ambush, and gave a concise report of the conversation of the lovers.

"He has gone to the village on that very business now," Cora said. "She is to walk down to the clergyman's house, and he is to meet her there. Then they will come back, and no one to be the wiser."

Madeline laughed. "Be at ease," she said. "I will try and prevent the necessity for such a disagreeable walk as that would be for so fragile a lady. We won't have a wedding just yet."

"What a cool one you are!" cried Cora. "If you were not my enemy, I could admire you vastly."

"Don't, I beg of you," said the girl, gravely. "I am sufficiently humiliated by being obliged to deal with you as an enemy."

Cora flushed angrily. "Then I should think the humiliation of being made love to by my brother, would overcome you," she sneered.

"It does, almost," replied the girl, wearily.

"Then let me do you another favor. Mr. Davlin is no more my brother than he is yours."

Madeline's answer fairly took her breath away. "Madame, you are very good, but I have known that from the first."

"What!" gasped the woman; adding, after a moment of silence, "Is he your lover as well as – "

"Yours?" finished Madeline. "And what then, Mrs. Arthur?"

"Then," hissed Cora; "then, I hate you both."

Madeline laughed bitterly. "As you have told me a secret, and as I don't want to remain in your debt, I will tell you one in return. Lucian Davlin is my lover, but I am his bitterest foe!"

Cora came closer and looked her eagerly in the face. "What has he done to you?" she asked, breathlessly.

"You may find out later; just now we are even. Understand, no word of warning to him, if you value your safety. Obey my wishes, and when I am done with you, you may go free. Attempt any treachery, and I will give you up to justice."

"I shan't put myself in jeopardy for him now, whatever I might have done. You may believe that."

"I think I may," replied Madeline, dryly.

When Cora retired to her own room, to chuckle over the discomfiture in store for the spinster and Mr. Percy, and to wonder wrathfully what the mystery concerning Miss Payne and Lucian could mean, Madeline stood for many minutes lost in thought.

Finally she threw herself down upon a couch, uttering a half sigh, and looking utterly weary and perplexed. A moment later, Joliffe entered noiselessly, as usual, and the girl said to her:

"When Miss Arthur retires for the night, which won't be for some time, do you see Mr. Percy when he is alone, mind, and tell him Miss Payne desires him to wait her pleasure in the library."

Joliffe bowed and went out again like a cat.

When, at last, the other members of that incongruous family circle were safely out of the way, Madeline, warned by the everpresent, soundless Joliffe, awaited in the library the coming of Mr. Percy.

Wondering much what the haughty heiress could have to communicate to him, and dimly hoping that the tide was turning in his favor, Mr. Percy entered the presence of the arbiter of his fate. Bowing like a courtier, he approached her.

"Miss Payne has deigned to honor me with an interview," he said, in his slowest, softest, most irresistible manner. "I can never be sufficiently grateful."

Madeline motioned him to a seat opposite her own, saying, with an odd smile: "You shall, at least, have an opportunity for repaying your debt of gratitude, sir, and that immediately."

Percy took the seat indicated and bowed gravely. "Command me, Miss Payne."

"It rests with you," Madeline began, "whether we shall be from to-night neutral toward each other, or enemies."

"Enemies!" he exclaimed. "Oh, that would be impossible."

Madeline was full of inward rage. She longed to lean across the table and dash her hand full in that smiling blonde face. But she looked at him instead quite tranquilly, and said, with a queer smile: "Then you would do me a favor, even at your own personal – inconvenience, Mr. Percy?"

"Would I not?" fervently. "Only command me, Miss Payne."

"I will take you at your word, then. Mr. Percy, you will oblige me very much by putting off your marriage with Miss Arthur one week longer."

Here was a bomb-shell. It electrified the languid gentleman. He became suddenly animated by fear. "What – what do you mean, Miss Payne?" starting half out of his seat and nervously sitting down again.

"Precisely what I say, sir. It does not please me to have my relative leave my house to be married in this clandestine manner. There, don't ask me how I discovered what you thought was a profound secret. You see I did discover it. Will you put off this romantic marriage – to oblige me?"

Percy was trying very hard to think. If he could believe it was because he had found favor in her eyes, that she asked this. But no; even his vanity could not credit that suggestion. Of late she had openly shown a preference for Davlin. What, then, could be her motive? Could it be that at the instigation of Cora she had sought this interview?

He rallied his forces and replied: "Miss Payne, you have taken me by storm. If I may not ask how you made this discovery, may I not, at least, beg to know why you make this demand?"

"I have told you; it shocks my sense of propriety."

"Pardon me if I say there must be another motive."

"You are pardoned," coolly; "now, do you grant my request?"

Percy arose from the table flushed and angry. "Pardon me, Miss Payne, you demand too much."

"Nevertheless, I do demand it."

"And I beg to decline."

"Then I must deal with Miss Arthur. The knowledge that you have one wife in the grave, and another under this very roof, may have the desired effect upon her."

Percy dropped back in his chair, pale as ashes. All was lost, then. Cora had betrayed him! But he resolved not to commit himself. Perhaps Madeline had only verbal information. While he was trying to frame a speech, however, she knocked this last prop from under him.

"I may as well assure you that parleying is useless. I have known, from the first moment you entered this house, just upon what terms you stood with Mrs. Arthur. Don't trouble yourself to ask how I know. Perhaps you have been puzzled to know why Mrs. Arthur and her brother so suddenly became cordial and invited you to Oakley, where you so much desired to be. Let me enlighten you. They fancied that you had regained possession of important documents – two marriage certificates, in fact – for they had lost them."

"What?" ejaculated Percy.

"And – I found them," added Madeline.

His countenance fell again.

"They are in my possession," pursued she. "Shall I show them to Miss Arthur, or not?"

"It can't make much difference now," said the man, sullenly.

"Let us understand each other fully," said Madeline. "I am not acting in concert with Cora Arthur. She is even more in my power than you are. I have no desire to undeceive Miss Arthur. Neither do I wish you to leave Oakley. On the contrary, I want you here; you can be of service to me, by and by. And I pledge you my word that so long as you remain under this roof, those papers shall not be used against you."

"And if I don't choose to remain?"

Madeline laughed. "Then you must take the consequences," she said, carelessly.

"And what will they be?"

"Exposure and arrest."

Percy drew pen, ink, and paper toward him. "What shall I write to the clergyman?" he asked, sullenly.

"Whatever you choose. And I will send it. Make your peace with Miss Arthur, too, in your own way."

"And when I leave Oakley, what then?" he grunted.

"Then, if you have fulfilled the conditions, I will burn the papers in your presence, and you are free henceforth."

"There is the note," he said, flinging it toward her as soon as written. "After all, I may as well be in your power as in hers," and again he arose to go from the room.

"I am glad you take so sensible a view of it," retorted she, looking up from her perusal of his note. "Good-night, Mr. Percy."

And thus cavalierly dismissed, Mr. Percy bowed, somewhat less gallantly than when entering, and left the room.

"So, that is nipped in the bud," soliloquized Madeline, as she went wearily to her own room once more. "When will this miserable complication unravel itself, or be unraveled?"

Little did she dream how soon she would receive an answer to this question.

CHAPTER XLVII.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

The next morning dawned clear and beautiful. Over head, one unbroken expanse of blue; under foot, a mantle of soft, white ermine. All the trees were transformed into fairy-like, silver-robed, pearl-studded, plume-adorned wonders. Diamonds floated in the air, and sunbeams lighted up the whole with dazzling brilliancy. Everything was white, pure, wonderful, and the whole enclosed in a monster chrysolite; earth, air, and sky, were shut within a radiant sphere that had never an outlet.

Madeline had passed an almost sleepless night. But when she arose, with the first gleam of sunlight, and looked upon this new, white, imprisoned world, she felt strong for a fresh day's battle.

"I must go out," she said to herself; "out into this sparkling air. I can breathe in the brightness; I know I can. I almost feel as if I could catch it, and weave it into my life."

She hastily donned her wraps and set off for a brisk walk, no matter where, through that glorious Winter glow.

Under the snow-laden arms of the grand old trees, out of the grounds of Oakley. Before she realized it she was half way down the path leading to the village.

Something that jarred upon her sense of the beautiful, awakened her to herself, and she turned suddenly about.

"How dare ugly little brown bears come out in the white glitter," she muttered, whimsically. "I will turn about; he spoils the fairy picture. I had forgotten there were boys, or men, in the world."

Something came panting behind her. The "brown bear" had accelerated his pace, and now came up at a round trot.

"Hold on a minit; darned if I can see who ye air in this snow," he cried, pausing before her and rubbing his eyes vigorously. "All right; I thought it was you," he added, after considerable blinking. "I've got a tellygram for ye, Miss Payne; orders were not to give it to anyone but you, so I chased ye sharp."

Madeline laughed outright as she took the telegram from his hand. The boy, without waiting for her words of thanks, took to his heels, shouting back over his shoulder: "No answer!"

Madeline gazed for a moment after the flying figure, and wonderingly opened the message. This is what she read:

Be at H – 's to-night when evening train comes down. We are ready for action; have found a witness.

Madeline lifted her eyes from the scrap of paper and looked about her incredulously, as if she expected to find some explanation shining in the air.

"Ready for action," she murmured. "That means – can it mean that Lucian Davlin is at last in our power? Can those detectives have solved the mystery? Oh! how can I wait until night!"

She fairly flew along now, eager to keep in motion. On, on she went, over the stile, through the glittering white-robed grove; on, until she reached Hagar's cottage. It was locked and deserted, as she knew, but she cared not for that. She must walk somewhere, then why not here?

For a moment she stood on the snow-laden door stone, and gazed about her. Then swiftly, as swiftly as before, she flew down the path – the same path she had taken on the Summer day when she had heard from Hagar's lips her mother's story. When she reached the tree in whose arms she had nestled so often, where she had listened to the bargain between her step-father and decrepit old Amos Adams, and where she had been wooed by Lucian Davlin – she paused. There, coming toward her, was Lucian Davlin himself.

"What a fatality!" muttered the girl. "He is coming to meet me; has been watching me, perhaps."

She stood calmly gazing up at the snow-laden branches, and again she saw herself standing underneath them, a hesitating girl, wondering if she could let her lover go away alone. Then she turned her head and her eyes met those of Lucian Davlin.

"Good morning, Miss Payne," he said, lifting his hat with his usual grace. "I am happy to know that we have one taste in common – a love of nature in this disguise. Is not the wintry world beautiful?"

"Beautiful, indeed," replied Madeline, resuming her walk homeward. "The trees are fairy palaces. It is lovelier than Summer, is it not?"

"It is very lovely," gazing not at the trees but down into her face, "but – so cold."

She understood his meaning and replied, calmly: "Cold? Yes; it is not Summer."

"No," he assented, with a sad intonation, "it is not Summer. Miss Payne, Madeline, will it ever be Summer again?"

Madeline looked up and about her, and smiled as she did so. "Yes," she replied, "it will be Summer – soon."

He had turned and retraced his steps at her side. She was walking swiftly again, and for some time neither spoke. When they entered the grounds of the manor, he said, half deprecatingly:

"Madeline, may I ask this one question?"

"Yes," quietly.

"I saw you pause under that tree and look about you," he said, slowly; "was it because you thought of other days, and of me?"

Slowly she turned her face toward him, saying, simply: "Yes."

They were nearing the entrance, and he half stopped to ask his next question. "Will you tell me what were your thoughts, Madeline?"

Slowly she ascended the steps, and at the door turned and faced him: "I will tell you to-night."

And with a ripple of laughter on her lips, she entered the hall of Oakley.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE SWORD OF FATE

Evening at Oakley.

At last the long day was done: the day that to Madeline Payne had seemed almost endless. At last, too, the early evening hours had dragged themselves away, and the time of her triumph was at hand.

From out Hagar's cottage a silent party issued, and took their way across the snow to the little stile just above the terrace walk. Here they paused for a moment. Some one was loitering on the terrace, where the shadows fell thickest. Madeline stepped through the gap, saying softly: "Joliffe!"

Immediately the form emerged from the shadow. It was the cat-like waiting-maid.

"It's all right, Miss," she said, in a whisper. "They are all in the drawing-room, but I think they are getting uneasy."

"Well, I will not keep them in suspense long," said Madeline, and in the darkness she smiled triumphantly. "Lead on, Joliffe."

Silently they moved on, and paused again at the side entrance; the one from which Cora had endeavored to escape but a short time before. Madeline opened the door, and in another moment she, with Mrs. Ralston, Claire Keith, Clarence Vaughan and two strangers, stood within the walls of Oakley.

They moved on like shadows to the rear end of the hall, up the servant's stairway, and straight to the west wing. Evidently they were expected here too, for in obedience to a light tap, the door opened, and they passed quietly within the outer room of John Arthur's prison suite.

"Close the door, Henry," said Madeline.

This being done, she turned and surveyed her comrades.

"So far, good," she pronounced. "Now, can you make yourselves comfortable here for a little while? Hagar and Joliffe will know just what to do as soon as I have, myself, viewed the field of battle; or perhaps I had better pilot you in person."

"As you please," said the foremost of the strangers. "I think we understand each other."

"Then we won't lose time," said Madeline. "Henry, call Dr. Le Guise."

Henry tapped at the door of the inner room, and in a trice the worthy Professor stood in their midst. He glanced from one to another in amazement, and the look of confidence forsook his face. He had not been prepared to see these strangers, and his first thought was, of course, for his own safety.

"Have no uneasiness, sir," said Madeline, seeing the fear in his face; "these ladies and gentlemen will not interfere with you. They are here because it is desirable that the people below should not know of their proximity just yet. You are about to aid us, and need have no fear for yourself."

The Professor drew a breath of relief.

While this conversation was going on, Mrs. Ralston and Claire had removed their wraps, as if they knew quite well what they were about, which, indeed, they did. Now, as Madeline did likewise, preparatory to entering the room of the prisoner, they seated themselves, looking grave, but perfectly composed. Dr. Vaughan said a few quiet words to Henry, and the two strangers stood "at ease," looking as indifferent as statues.

Entering the inner room; in company with the Professor, Madeline found John Arthur pacing restlessly up and down.

"I wish you to go down-stairs with us for a few moments," said Madeline. "It is to your own interest to do so. It is the easiest and surest way of imparting to you what you must know, and, when you know all, I shall be your jailer no longer. It shall then remain for you to decide whether you will accept my terms, and end your days with at least a semblance of honor, or whether you will remain here to be pointed at as a man disgraced and dishonored, and deservedly so. When you have seen justice done to those who have wronged you more than they have me, for little as I desire to serve you circumstances have constituted me your avenger – you will be free to act as you may see fit."

With this she turned and abruptly quitted the room, leaving John Arthur fairly stunned by her words, yet utterly unable to comprehend their full meaning. Returning to the ante-room, Madeline found Hagar awaiting her.

"Well, Hagar," said the girl, "we are ready to go down; is the library lighted?"

"Yes, Miss Madeline."

"And the door leading to the drawing-room?"

"Is closed, Miss."

"Then go down, Hagar; open the library door, and leave it open. Move the fire screen opposite the door leading to the drawing-room. When we are all within the library turn out the light. That is all."

Hagar moved away to do her bidding, smiling grimly.

Time was dragging, in the drawing-room.

Cora was there, not from choice, but because Madeline had so ordered it, and the aggrieved lady was not at all inclined to conversation.

Miss Arthur, who was hoping for a tête-á-tête with her lover, was alarmingly glum. She had accepted, in good faith, his statement that he had received a note from the clergyman, saying that he had been suddenly called away and would be absent some days, but she did not quite understand why another would not do as well. Somehow, all that day, she had found no opportunity for hinting to her lover that a Unitarian minister lived quite near.

Finding the ladies so little disposed to be entertained, the two men retired within themselves, each after his own peculiar fashion.

Lucian Davlin lounged, in his favorite manner, in a big arm chair, and absorbed himself in the mazes of "Lalla Rookh."