White Fred Merrick
The Mystery of the Ravenspurs

CHAPTER XVIII
MRS. MONA MAY

Geoffrey was slightly puzzled but, like a good soldier, he asked no questions. More and more he was coming to recognize that it was Ralph's to command and his to obey. Doubtless Ralph had some good reason when he treated his nephew like a puppet, but then the puppet was a long way from a fool, and as the days went on, it came home to him with an increasing force that he had a master mind to deal with.

He had been told off this afternoon to lurk more or less concealed at the top of the steep pitch leading to the village, and there wait until something happened. It came at the end of a few minutes in the shape of a lady in perfect cycling costume, wheeling a machine up the hill towards Jessop's farm. As she came nearer to the spot where Geoffrey was smoking, a ragged nomad sprang from the hedge and demanded alms. The man was coarse and threatening, he was by no means sober, and his demands took the by no means modest form of a shilling.

A second later there was a slight scream and Geoffrey darted forward. The sight of a woman in distress sufficed for him; Ralph was forgotten in an instant. There was a scuffle and a plunge, a rapid exit of the nomad and, hat in hand, Geoffrey was receiving the thanks of a beautiful woman, who was pleased to assure him that he was her preserver.

"It is nothing," Geoffrey stammered, "nothing, really."

It was not usual for him to be confused like this. But then he was standing face to face with the handsome stranger who had taken Mr. Jessop's rooms, the lady with the love of white flowers, the woman who employed Oriental servants, who were given to strange incantations, the creature in whom Ralph Ravenspur had taken so vivid an interest.

And Geoffrey's confusion grew none the less as it flashed upon him that the intoxicated tramp had been the god in the car designed by Ralph to bring this introduction about.

He steadied himself. There was work before him now.

"You exaggerate my poor services," he said.

"Not at all, I assure you," the lady said. Her eyes held a strange fascination; her voice was low and sweetly sedative. She was years older than Geoffrey, but just the kind of siren who drove young men mad, or lured them to destruction. "Few strangers would have faced so formidable an opponent for me."

"Most of my countrymen would," Geoffrey said. "I hope you have a better opinion of Englishmen than that. But Englishmen are not favorites abroad."

The dark eyes were dancing with amusement.

"You are under the impression that I am not English?" she asked.

"Well, there is a certain grace," Geoffrey stammered, "that spoke of – "

"Foreign blood. Precisely. But all the same, I am proud to call myself an Englishwoman. My name is Mrs. May – Mona May. You are Mr. Geoffrey Ravenspur."

"At your service. I had the pleasure of seeing you the other morning in Mrs. Jessop's kitchen. Meanwhile, to prevent any further trouble from our predatory friend, I am going to walk with you as far as the farm."

Mrs. May raised no objection; on the contrary, she seemed pleased with the idea. She was dangerous, she was mixed up in some way with the conspiracy against the peace and happiness of the house of Ravenspur, and yet Geoffrey found it hard to resist her fascinations.

She spoke almost perfect English, her dress, and style and manner were insular, but there was a flashing grace about her, a suggestion of something warm and Eastern, that gleamed and flashed in spite of her cycling dress and the wheel she pushed along so skillfully.

She gave a sigh of regret as the farmhouse was reached.

"Well, I suppose we must part," she said. "Really, it seems years since I spoke to a gentleman and I have only been here for days. I have been ordered absolute rest and quietness for the benefit of my health and, upon my word, I am getting it. Would you take pity upon my loneliness and come to tea?"

Many an older man than Geoffrey had been excused from yielding to such a request. Those eyes were so dark and pleading, and the man was young. Besides, he had an excuse. Had not his uncle Ralph planned this thing and was it not intended to bring about an introduction! Besides, once inside that room, it might be possible to find something that in the future would yield great results.

"I shall be only too pleased," Geoffrey murmured.

"Then come along," Mrs. May said gaily. "If you are fond of a good cup of tea, then I have some of the most perfect in the world."

She led the way into the old-fashioned drawing-room, which she had rendered beautiful with flowers. The stiff furniture looked stiff no longer. The hand of an artistic woman had been here and the whole aspect was changed.

"You should have seen it when I came here," Mrs. May smiled as she followed Geoffrey's glance. "It was like a condemned cell. And yet there are things of price here. A little alteration and a few flowers – ah, what a difference flowers make!"

She pointed to her own floral decorations. The room was ablaze with them. And they were all scarlet.

There was not a single bloom of any other kind to be seen.

"They match my style of beauty," Mrs. May laughed. "I never have any other here."

"You do not care for white flowers?" Geoffrey asked.

"I abhor them. They suggest beautiful maidens cut off in their prime, dead children, the tomb, and all kinds of horrors. I would not have one in the house."

Geoffrey was discreetly silent. Remembering the hundreds of white flowers he himself had seen in this very room not so long ago, this speech staggered him. In a dazed kind of way he watched Mrs. May light a spirit lamp under a silver kettle, after which she excused herself on the score of fetching the famous tea.

Geoffrey picked up an album and turned the leaves over rapidly. There were soldiers, one or two native Indian officials, a great number of Society people, professional beauties, and the like and – and Marion!

Yes, her fair tender face smiled from the embossed, richly gilt page. The picture had been taken some years ago, but there was no mistaking those pure features. Geoffrey closed the book and walked over to the window. Surprise upon surprise had come upon him lately, but this was staggering.

When Mrs. May returned he was himself again. He could answer her questions gaily and smoothly. It was only when he was on his way home again that he recollected how much information he had imparted and how little he had got in return.

"You must come and see me again," Mrs. May said. "Now, can't you come up some evening and dine with me? Say Thursday. Unless I hear from you to the contrary I shall see you on Thursday at seven. A primitive time, but then we are in the country."

"You may be certain," Geoffrey said carelessly, "that I shall come if possible. Good-bye, Mrs. May. In ordinary circumstances my people would have called upon you. You will know why it is impossible."

Mrs. May pressed Geoffrey's hand with gentle sympathy.

"You have my real regrets," she said. "What a horrible thing it is to think that you are all powerless to help it. Good-bye."

Geoffrey found Ralph at the entrance to the castle gate. There was a queer smile on his face, a smile of amused expectation.

"You found her charming?" he asked.

"And clever," said Geoffrey. "I guessed your plot, uncle. She is very clever."

"The cleverest woman in the world, the most wicked, the most unscrupulous. Of course she asked you to dinner, and, of course, you will go. Nobody is to know of it, mind."

"Uncle, how did you guess that?"

"I'll tell you presently. And I'll tell you many things you will have to say and leave unsaid to – Mrs. May."

"Tell me why Marion's photograph is in her album."

"So she showed you that!"

"No, I found it out by accident. Is Marion connected with her?"

"Very closely, indeed. She is Marion's evil genius. And yet through that pure and innocent girl we are going to strike at the heart of the mystery. Ask me no questions, now; to-night we will go carefully into the matter."

CHAPTER XIX
VERA IS NOT PLEASED

Any stranger looking along the terrace at Ravenspur would have been inclined to envy the lot of those who had their habitation there. It looked so grand, so dignified, so peaceful. Brilliant sunshine shone upon the terrace; against the grey stone of the grand old façade, the emerald green of the lawns rose refreshing to the eyes, those old lawns like velvet that only come with the passing of centuries.

People from the rush and fret of cities, excursionists, who had their sordid, humdrum life in towns, turned longing eyes to Ravenspur. Anybody who lived in a place like that must be happy.

And some of them looked it. Geoffrey, for instance, as he lounged on the terrace with a cigarette between his strong white teeth. He was seated with a cap over his eyes and appeared to be given over to a pleasant reverie. A rod and an empty fishing basket stood by his side.

Ralph Ravenspur lounged up to him. Perhaps he had been waiting for his nephew. At any rate, he always knew where to find him. He sat with the sunshine full upon his sightless eyes and smoked his pipe placidly.

"There is nobody about?" he asked.

"Nobody," Geoffrey replied. "Do you want to say anything to me?"

Ralph made no reply. Geoffrey watched him curiously.

"Do you know you seem to be a long way off to me this afternoon?" he said presently. "I can't quite explain my meaning. Since you have worn those glasses you look a different man. There, now you are yourself again."

Ralph had taken off the glasses for a moment.

"Is the difference very marked?" Ralph asked.

"Very marked, indeed. Honestly, I should not have known you."

Ralph gave a sigh, whether of sorrow or satisfaction Geoffrey could not say.

"Time will prove whether the disguise is of any value or not," he said. "I came to ask you about this evening. Are you going?"

"Of course I am. Mrs. Mona May fascinates me. On the whole, I have deemed it advisable to say nothing to the others. We cannot call upon Mrs. May and they need not know that I have had any intercourse with her."

Ralph nodded. Perhaps he alone knew the real need for secrecy in this matter.

"Quite right," he said. "The less said the better. She wrote to you, of course?"

"Oh, yes. I had the letter yesterday."

"And destroyed it, of course?"

"Upon my word, I've forgotten. I see you are angry with me. Well, I will try not to make a similar mistake again."

From the expression of his face Ralph was greatly moved. His features flamed with anger, he was trembling with passion to his finger-tips. Then his mood suddenly changed. He laid a kindly hand on Geoffrey's knee.

"My boy," he said, earnestly. "There are reasons, weighty reasons why I cannot take you entirely into my confidence. If I did so, you would see the vital necessity of caution even in the most minute matters. You will see that Mrs. May's letter is destroyed at once."

"I will, uncle. The rest of the family believe I am going to Alton to-night."

Ralph nodded. He seemed already to have forgotten the circumstances. He had fallen into one of those waking reveries that were deep as sleep to most men. Geoffrey spoke to him more than once, but failed to gain the slightest attention. Then Ralph rose and moved away like a man in a dream.

Geoffrey lounged about till he had finished his cigarette. He tossed the end away and then proceeded towards the house. He would get that letter and destroy it without further delay. But this was easier said than done, for the simple reason that the letter was nowhere to be found. High and low Geoffrey searched for it, but all to no purpose.

Had he left it in the dining-room or the library? Possibly in the latter place, seeing that he had written a couple of notes there earlier in the day. It was dim, not to say gloomy in the library, and for a moment Geoffrey failed to see that Vera was seated at the table.

He crossed over and touched her caressingly on the cheek. She looked up coldly.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

"A letter, dearest," Geoffrey replied. "But why do you look so strange – "

"Oh, you ask me that! It is a letter you are looking for. Then perhaps I may be so fortunate as to assist you. I have just found a letter lying here addressed to you. As it lay with face open I could not but read it. See here!"

A square of thick scented notepaper filled with a dashing black caligraphy shook before Geoffrey's eyes. It was Mrs. May's writing beyond a doubt. Geoffrey flushed slightly as he took the note.

"Read it," Vera said quietly, "read it aloud."

Geoffrey did so. It struck him now – it had never occurred to him before – that the writer was slightly caressing in her manner of phrasing. There was a suggestion of something warmer and more personal than the stereotyped lines implied.

"So this is the Alton where you are going to-night?" Vera went on. "Who is the woman? How long have you known her?"

The quick blood came flaming to Geoffrey's face. He had never seen Vera hard and cold like this before. It was a woman and not a girl who was speaking now. Geoffrey resented the questions; they came as a teacher addresses a child.

"I cannot tell you," he said. "It has to do with the family secret."

"And you expect me to believe this, Geoffrey?"

"Of course I do," Geoffrey cried. "Did you ever know me tell you a lie? And, after all the years we have been together, you are going to be jealous of the first woman who comes along! Have I been mistaken in you, Vera?"

The girl's beautiful eyes filled with tears. She had been sorely vexed and hurt, far more hurt than she cared Geoffrey to know. For it seemed to her that he had wilfully deceived her, that he was going to see this creature of whom he was secretly ashamed, that he had lied so that he could seek her company without suspicion in the minds of others.

"If you give me your word of honor," Vera faltered, "that you – "

"No, no," Geoffrey cried. "I merely state the facts and you may believe them or not as you please. Who Mrs. May is I decline to say. How I became, acquainted with her I also decline to explain. Suffice it that she is Mrs. May, and that she has rooms at Jessop's farm."

"And that is all you are going to tell me, Geoffrey?"

"Yes, Vera. If you have lost faith in me – "

"Oh, no, no! Don't say such cruel things, Geoff. Whom have I beyond my parents and you in the whole world! And when I found that letter, when I knew what you said about Alton was – was not true – "

She paused unable to proceed. Her little hands went out imploringly and Geoffrey caught them in his own. He drew her to his side and gazed into her eyes.

"Darling," he whispered, "you know that I love you?"

"Yes, dear, it was foolish of me to doubt it."

"I love you now and always. I can never change. I did not intend to tell you about this woman because it was all part of the secret. The wise man among us has said it, and his word is law. I am speaking of Uncle Ralph."

Vera nodded with a brighter glance. Had not she a secret in common with Ralph?

"Say no more," she whispered. "I am ashamed of myself."

Geoffrey kissed the quivering red lips passionately.

"Spoken like my own, Vera," he said. "Now I will give you my word of honor – "

"No, no. It is not necessary, Geoff. I was foolish. I might have known better. Not another thought will I give to Mrs. Mona May."

Vera spoke in all sincerity. But our thoughts are often our masters and they were so in this case. Mona May was a name graven on Vera's mind, and the time was coming when with fervent gratitude she blessed the hour when she had found that letter.

CHAPTER XX
A FASCINATING WOMAN

Mrs. Jessop's simple parlor had been transformed beyond recognition. The fine Chippendale furniture had been brought forward; the gaudy settees and sofas had been covered with fine, Eastern silks and tapestries. A pair of old Dresden candlesticks stood on the table, and under pink shades the candles cast a glamor of subdued light upon damask and silver and china.

As Geoffrey was ushered in Mrs. May came forward. She was dressed entirely in black, her wonderfully fine arms and shoulders gleamed dazzling almost as the diamonds that were as frosty stars in the glorious night of her hair. One great red bloom of some flower unknown to Geoffrey was in her breast. As to the rest, the flowers were all scarlet. The effect was slightly dazzling.

Mrs. May came forward with a smile.

"So you have managed to elude the Philistines," she said. "Ah, I guessed that you would say nothing to your friends about our little dinner."

There was an eager note in the words that conveyed a half question. Geoffrey smiled.

"May I venture to suggest that the knowledge is not displeasing to you?" he said.

"Well, I admit it. In the circumstances to explain would have been a bore. Your people cannot call on me and, being old-fashioned, they might not care for you to come here alone. Therefore, being a man of the world, you told them nothing about it."

Geoffrey smiled, as he took the proffered cigarette. Had he not been warned against this woman by Ralph, her subtle flattery would have put him off his guard. It is always so sweet and soothing for a youngster to be taken for a man of the world.

"You have guessed it all," he said. "My grandfather is a grand seigneur. He has no toleration for anything that is not en règle. What an exquisite cigarette!"

Mrs. May nodded. They were excellent cigarettes, as also was the liqueur she insisted upon pouring out for Geoffrey with her own hands. He had never tasted anything like it before.

And the dinner when it came was a perfect little poem in its way. Not a flask of wine on the table that had not a history. Long before the meal was over Geoffrey found himself forgetting his caution.

Not that Geoffrey had anything to be afraid of. He knew that in some way this woman was connected with the tragedy of his race; for all that he knew to the contrary, she might be the spirit directing the tragedies.

She was his enemy, though she smiled upon him with a dazzling fascination calculated to turn cooler heads than his. But, at any rate, she had not asked him here to poison him at her own table. Mrs. Mona May was too fine an artist for that.

Presently Geoffrey came out of his dream to find himself talking. Mrs. May seemed to be putting all the questions and he was giving all the answers. And yet, directly, she asked no questions at all. She was sympathetic and interested in the family, as she explained with kindness and feeling.

"And there is that poor blind gentleman," she said sweetly.

Her eyes were bent over her dessert plate. She was peeling a peach daintily. There was just for the fraction of a second a ring in her voice that acted on Geoffrey as a cold douche does to a man whose senses are blurred with liquor. Some instinct told him that they were approaching the crux of the interview.

"My uncle Ralph," he said carelessly. "He is a mystery. He keeps himself to himself and says nothing to anybody. Sometimes I fancy he is a clever man, who despises us, and at other times I regard him as a man whose misfortunes have dulled his brain and that he strives to conceal the fact."

Mrs. May smiled. But she returned to the charge again. But strive as she would, she could get no more on this head out of Geoffrey. She wanted to know who the man was and all about him. And she learned nothing beyond the fact that he was a poor nonentity, despised by his relations. Geoffrey's open sincerity puzzled her. Perhaps there was nothing to learn after all.

"Strange that he did not stay away," she murmured, "knowing that the family curse must overtake him."

Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

"What can an unfortunate like that have to live for?" he asked. "He is broken in mind and in body and has no money of his own. It is just like the old fox who crawls to the hole to die. And we are getting used to the curse by this time."

"You have no hope, no expectation of the truth coming to light?"

It was on the tip of Geoffrey's tongue to speak freely of his hopes for the future. Instead he bent his head over the table, saying nothing till he felt he had full control of his voice once more. Then he spoke in the same hopeless tones.

"I have become a fatalist," he said. "Please change the subject."

Mrs. May did so discreetly and easily. And yet in a few moments the doings of the Ravenspurs were on her tongue again and, almost unconsciously, Geoffrey found himself talking about Marion, Mrs. May listening quietly.

"I have seen the young lady," she said. "She has a nice face."

"Marion is an angel," Geoffrey cried. "Her face is perfect. You have only to look at her to see what she is. Nobody with a countenance like that could do wrong, even if she wished it. No matter who and what it is everybody comes under Marion's sway. Men, women, children, dogs, all turn to her with the same implicit confidence."

"Marion seems to be a warm favorite," Mrs. May smiled. "And yet I rather gather that she does not hold first place in your affections?"

"I am engaged to my cousin Vera," Geoffrey explained. "We were boy and girl lovers before Marion came to us. Otherwise – well, we need not go into that. But I never saw any one like Marion till to-night."

Mrs. May looked up swiftly.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

"I mean exactly what I say. In certain ways, in certain lights, under certain conditions your face is marvelously like that of Marion."

As Geoffrey spoke he saw that the blood had left the cheek of his companion. Her face was deadly pale, so pale that the crimson flower in her breast seemed to grow vivid. There was a motion of the elbow and a wine glass went crashing to the floor. The woman stooped to raise the fragments.

"How clumsy of me!" she said. "And why are you regarding me so intently? My heart is a little wrong, the doctors tell me – nothing serious, however. There!"

She looked up again. She had recovered and her face was tinged with the red flush of health again. But her hands still shook.

But Geoffrey was taking no heed.

He had dropped the match he was about to apply to his cigarette and was staring out of the window. The blind had not been drawn; the panes were framed with flowers.

And inside that dark circle there came a face, a dark Eastern face, with awful eyes, filled with agony and rage and pain. Across the dusky forehead was a cut from which blood streamed freely.

"You are not listening to me," Mrs. May cried. "What is the matter?"

"The face, a face at the window," Geoffrey gasped. "A horrible-looking man, not of this country at all; a man with a gash in his forehead. He seemed to be looking for something. When he caught sight of me he disappeared."

Mrs. May had risen and crossed to the long French window opening on to the lawn. Her back was towards Geoffrey and she seemed determined, or so he imagined, to keep her face concealed from him.

"Strange," she said, carelessly, though she was obviously disturbed. "Surely you were mistaken. Some trick of the brain, a freak of imagination."

Geoffrey laughed. Young men at his time of life, men, who follow healthy pursuits, are not given to tricks of the imagination. His pulse was beating steadily; his skin was moist and cool.

"I am certain of it," he said. "What is that noise?"

Something was calling down the garden. Long before this time the good people of the farm had gone to bed.

"Shall I go and see what it is?" Geoffrey asked.

"No, no," Mrs. May whispered. "Stay here, I implore you. I would not have had this happen for anything. What am I saying?"

She passed her hand cross her face and laughed unsteadily.

"There are secrets in everybody's life and there are in mine," she said. "Stay till I return. There will be no danger for me, I assure you."

She slipped out into the darkness and was gone. Geoffrey stooped and bent over a dark blot or two that lay on the stone still at the bottom of the window.

"Blood," he muttered, "blood beyond a doubt. It was no delusion of mine."

From outside came the swish of silken drapery. It was Mrs. May returning. She seemed herself again by this time.

"The danger is past," she said, "if danger you choose to call it. The next time we meet we shall laugh together over this comedy. I assure you it is a comedy. And now I am going to ask you to leave me."

The woman was playing a part and playing it extremely well. With less innate knowledge, Geoffrey would have been thoroughly deceived. As it was, he affected to make light of the matter. He held out his hand with a smile.

"I am glad of that," he said. "You must let me come again, when, perhaps, you may be disposed to allow me to assist you. Good-night and thank you for one of the pleasantest evenings of my life."

The door closed behind Geoffrey, and he stumbled along in the darkness until his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. Out in the road some one crept up to him and laid a hand on his arm. Like a flash Geoffrey had him by the throat.

"Speak, or I will kill you," he whispered. "Who are you?"

"Come with me at once," came the hoarse reply. "And release that grip of my throat. I am Sergius Tchigorsky."