CHAPTER XVI
It was the morning of the 15th of January, and already Godfrey Pavely'sdisappearance had excited more than the proverbial nine days' wonder.
Laura had gone to her boudoir after breakfast, and she was waitingthere, sitting at her writing-table, feeling wretchedly anxious andexcited, for all last night she had had a curious, insistentpresentiment that at last something was going to happen. She had sentAlice off to her lessons, for there was no object in allowing the childto idle as she had idled during that first bewildering week.
At last she got up, pushed her chair aside, and went and lay down on asofa. She felt very, very tired; worn out partly by suspense andanxiety, partly by the many interviews with strangers she had beencompelled to have during the last ten days.
Oliver Tropenell was again in London, and since he had left Freshley,for the second time, it was as though a strong, protecting arm on whichshe leant had suddenly been withdrawn from her. And yet she knew that hewas engaged upon her business, upon this extraordinary, unutterablystrange business of her husband's disappearance.
Oliver wrote to her daily--brief, coldly-worded notes describing whathad been, and was being, done both by the police and by the big firm ofprivate detectives who were now also engaged in a search for the missingman. But there was very little to report--so far every one wascompletely baffled.
Against the wish and advice of both Oliver Tropenell and the ScotlandYard authorities, Laura had offered a reward of a thousand pounds forany information which would lead to the discovery of Godfrey Pavely,alive or dead. It had been Katty's suggestion, and Laura, somehow, hadnot liked to disregard it.
But now, to-day, Laura, as she moved restlessly this way and that, toldherself that she was sorry she had assented to a suggestion that KattyWinslow should come and stay with her during those long days of waitingwhich were at once so dreary and so full of excitement and suspense.Katty had got hopelessly on Laura's nerves. Katty could not keep silent,Katty could not keep still.
Mrs. Winslow, in a sense, had taken possession of The Chase. It was shewho saw to everything, who examined every letter, who went and answeredthe telephone when the police either at Pewsbury or from London rang up.She was apparently in a state of great excitement and of great anxiety,and some of the critics in the servants' wing said to each other with aknowing smile that Mrs. Winslow might have been Mrs. Pavely, so much didthat lady take Mr. Pavely's disappearance to heart!
Katty had not seemed as worried as Laura had seemed the first two orthree days, but now she appeared even more upset. Yesterday she hadadmitted to sleepless nights, and the hostess had felt greatly relievedwhen her guest had at last confessed that if dear Laura would not mindshe would like to stay in bed every morning up to eleven o'clock;nothing ever happened before then.
The only person with whom Laura, during those long, dreary days, feltcomparatively at ease was Mrs. Tropenell, for Mrs. Tropenell seemed tounderstand exactly what she, poor Laura, was feeling during thosemiserable days of waiting for news that did not come. But Laura did notsee very much of the older woman--not nearly as much as she would haveliked to do just now, for Mrs. Tropenell disliked Katty, and avoidedmeeting her.
* * * * *
The stable clock struck ten. And Laura suddenly heard the sound of firmsteps hurrying down the passage. She got off the sofa, expecting to seethe now disagreeably familiar blue uniform and flat blue cap of thePewsbury Police Inspector. He came up to see her almost every day, buthe had never come quite so early as this morning.
She gathered herself together to answer with calm civility his tiresome,futile questions. There was nothing--_nothing_--she could say that shehad not said already as to Godfrey's usual habits, and as to hisprobable business interests outside Pewsbury. The Inspector had beensurprised, though he had tried to hide the fact, to find that Mrs.Pavely knew so very little of her husband's business interests andconcerns. The last two times he had been there Katty had been present,and she had been very useful--useful and tactful. Laura, feeling ratherashamed of her late uncharitable thoughts concerning Katty, wished thatKatty could be present at the coming interview, but unfortunately Kattywas still in bed.
The door opened, and she stood up expectantly.
It was only Preston, the butler. There was a large envelope on thesalver he held in his hand.
"It's from the Bank, ma'am. Marked 'Urgent,'" he said.
"Is there an answer?" she asked.
And he hesitated. "We have kept the messenger, ma'am."
Laura knew Mr. Privet's small, neat handwriting--if he marked anenvelope "Urgent," then it was urgent.
There were two enclosures--a note and a letter.
She first read the note:--
"DEAR MRS. PAVELY,
"I found the enclosed on my arrival at the Bank this morning. It may be important, so I send it on at once.
"And let me take this opportunity, dear Madam, of assuring you of my very sincere sympathy. I, too, have known during the last few days what it was to feel that hope deferred maketh the heart sick.
"Yours respectfully, "DAVID PRIVET."
She turned, with only languid interest, to the envelope. The address wastypewritten:--
MRS. G. PAVELY, c/o MESSRS. PAVELY & CO., BANKERS, PEWSBURY.
It was marked "Private," "Immediate," but that, as Laura well knew,meant very little. A certain number of times, perhaps half a dozentimes in all, during her married life, some unfortunate, humble clientof her husband's had written to her a personal appeal. Each of theseletters had been of a painful and disagreeable nature, often couched inpitiful, eloquent terms, and Godfrey had not allowed her to answer anyone of them save in the most formal, cold way.
This typewritten envelope looked as if it might have come from somedistressed tradesman. So she opened the envelope reluctantly, not takingheed, as a different type of woman would have done, to the postmark onit. Indeed, without thinking of what she was doing, she threw theenvelope mechanically into the burning fire, and then opened out thelarge sheet of thin paper.
But, as she looked down at the lines of typewriting, she stiffened intoinstant, palpitating, horrified attention, for this is what she sawthere:
"MADAME,--It is with the deepest regret that I acquaint you with the fact that your esteemed husband, Mr. Godfrey Pavely, of Messrs. Pavely & Co., Bankers, of Pewsbury, Wiltshire, is dead.
"If you will instruct the police to go to Duke House, Piccadilly, and proceed to Room 18 on the top floor--the only office which is at present let--they will find there Mr. Pavely's body.
"I am connected with important business interests in Portugal, and for some time I have been in business relations with Mr. Pavely. This fact you will easily confirm by searching among his papers. I am also, of course, well known at Duke House, for I have had an office there for a considerable number of weeks.
"The tragedy--for a tragedy it is from my point of view as well as from that of Mr. Pavely's unfortunate family--fell out in this wise.
"Mr. Pavely came to see me (by appointment) on the Thursday before last. There was a pistol lying on my desk. I foolishly took it up and began playing with it. I was standing just behind Mr. Pavely when suddenly the trigger went off, and to my intense horror the unfortunate man received the charge. I thought--I hoped--that he was only wounded, but all too soon I saw that he was undoubtedly dead--dead by my hand.
"I at first intended, and perhaps I should have been wise in carrying out my first intention, to call in the police--but very urgent business was requiring my presence in Lisbon. Also I remembered that I had no one who could, in England, vouch for my respectability, though you will be further able to judge of the truth of my story by going to the Mayfair Hotel, where I have sometimes stayed, and by making inquiries of the agent from whom I took the office in Duke House.
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"My relations with Mr. Pavely were slight, but entirely friendly, even cordial, and what has happened is a very terrible misfortune for me.
"I came to England in order to raise a loan for a big and important business enterprise. Some French banking friends introduced me to Mr. Pavely, and I soon entered on good relations with him. Our business was on the point of completion, and in a sense mutually agreeable to us, when what I may style our fatal interview took place.
"Yours with respectful sympathy, "FERNANDO APRA."
Laura sat down on the sofa. For the first time in her life she feltfaint and giddy, and during the few moments that followed the reading ofthe extraordinary letter she still held in her hand, it was, oddlyenough, her peculiar physical state which most absorbed her astonishedand anguished mind.
Then her brain gradually cleared. Godfrey--dead? The thought washorrible--horrible! It made her feel like a murderess. She remembered,with a sensation of terrible self-rebuke and shame, the feeling ofalmost hatred she had so often allowed herself to feel for her husband.
And then, before she had had time to gather her mind togethersufficiently to face the immediate problem as to how she was to dealwith this sinister letter, the door again opened, and Katty Winslow cameinto the room.
Katty looked ill as well as worried. There were dark circles round hereyes.
"Laura! Whatever is the matter? Have you heard anything? Have you newsof Godfrey?"
"I have just had this. Oh, Katty, prepare for bad news!"
But Katty hardly heard the words. She snatched the tough, thin sheet ofpaper out of Laura's hand, and going across to the window she beganreading, her back turned to Laura and the room.
For what seemed a long time she said nothing. Then, at last, she movedslowly round. "Well," she said stonily, "what are you going to do aboutit? If I were you, Laura, I shouldn't let that stupid Pewsbury inspectorsee this letter. I should go straight up to London with it." She glancedat the clock. "We've time to take the 11.20 train--if you hurry!"
She felt as if she would like to shake Laura--Laura, standing helplesslythere, looking at her, mute anguish--yes, real anguish, in her deep,luminous blue eyes.
"If I were you," repeated Katty in a hoarse, urgent tone, "I should gostraight with this letter to Scotland Yard. It's much too serious tofiddle about with here! We want to know at once whether what this mansays is true or false--and that's the only way you can find out."
"Then you wouldn't tell anybody here?" asked Laura uncertainly.
"No. If I were you I shouldn't tell any one but the London police. Itmay be a stupid, cruel hoax."
Deep in her heart Katty had at once believed the awful, incredible storycontained in the letter she still held in her hand, for she, of course,was familiar with the name of Fernando Apra, and knew that the man'saccount of himself was substantially true.
But even so, she hoped against hope that it was, as she had just said, astupid, cruel hoax--the work perchance of some spiteful clerk of thisPortuguese company promoter, with whose schemes both she and Godfrey hadbeen so taken--so, so fascinated.
"Of course I'll go to town with you," she said rapidly. "Let's go up_now_, and dress at once. I'll order the car."
There was a kind of driving power in Katty. Her face was now very pale,as if all the pretty colour was drained out of it. But she was quitecalm, quite collected. She seemed to feel none of the bewilderedoppression which Laura felt, but that, so the other reminded herself,was natural. Katty, after all, was not Godfrey's wife, or--or was itwidow?
The two went upstairs, and Katty came in and helped Laura to dress. "Itwill only make a fuss and delay if you ring for your maid." She evenfound, and insisted on Laura putting on, a big warm fur coat which shehad not yet had out this winter.
"You'd better just tell the servants here that you think there may be aclue. It's no good making too great a mystery. They can send on somemessage of the sort to the Bank; also, if you like, to Mrs. Tropenell."
A few moments later Laura found herself in the car, and the two werebeing driven quickly to Pewsbury station.
"Shall I wire to Oliver Tropenell that we are coming?" asked Kattysuddenly.
And Laura answered, dully, "No. He's in York to-day. They've found outthat Godfrey went to York during that week we know he was in London. Ionly heard of that this morning, or I would have told you."
Laura will never forget that journey to London, that long, strange,unreal journey, so filled with a sort of terror, as well as pain.Somehow she could not bring herself to believe that Godfrey was dead.
When they were about half-way there, Katty suddenly exclaimed, "Let melook at that letter again!" And then, when Laura had taken it out ofher bag, she asked, "Where's the envelope? The envelope's veryimportant, you know!"
Laura looked at her helplessly. "I don't know. I can't remember. I've asort of an idea that I threw the envelope into the fire."
"Oh, Laura! What a very, very foolish thing to do! Don't you see theremust have been a postmark on the envelope? Can't you remember anythingabout it? What was the handwriting like?"
Again she felt she would like to shake Laura.
"The address was typewritten--I do remember that. I thought--I don'tknow what I thought--I can't remember now what I did think. It lookedlike a circular, or a bill. But it was marked 'Urgent andConfidential'--or something to that effect."
On their arrival in London a piece of good fortune befell Laura Pavely.Lord St. Amant had been in the same train, and when he saw her on theplatform he at once put himself at her disposal. "Scotland Yard? I'lltake you there myself. But Sir Angus Kinross would be out just now. It'sno good going there till half-past two--at the earliest. I hope you'llboth honour me by coming to luncheon in my rooms."
Reached by an arch set between two houses in St. James's Street, andunknown to the majority of the people who daily come and go through thathistoric thoroughfare, is a tiny square--perhaps the smallest open spacein London--formed by eight to ten eighteenth-century houses. But for thelowness of the houses, this curious little spot might be a bit of oldParis, a backwater of the Temple quarter, beyond the Louvre and theHotel de Ville, which only those tourists who have a passion either forMadame de Sevigne or for the young Victor Hugo ever penetrate.
It was there that Lord St. Amant, some forty years back, when he wasstill quite a young man, had found a set of four panelled rooms exactlyto his liking. And through the many vicissitudes which had befallen thefunny little square, he had always contrived to preserve these rooms,though at last, in order to do so, he had had to become the leaseholderof the house of which they formed a part. But he kept the fact of thisownership to himself and to his lawyers, and it was through the latterthat the other rooms--the ground floor and the top floor--were let tovarious quiet, humble folk. His lawyers also, had found for him theintelligent couple who acted as his caretakers, and who managed to makehim extremely comfortable during the comparatively short periods hespent in London each year.
Although his club was within a minute's walk, Lord St. Amant, very soonafter his first occupancy of these rooms, had so arranged matters that,when he chose to order it, a cold luncheon or dinner could be sent in ata quarter of an hour's notice. And to-day the arrangement, of which hevery rarely availed himself, stood him in good stead.
* * * * *
There are a certain number of people who go through life instinctivelytaking every chance of advancement or of useful friendship offered tothem. Such a person was Katty Winslow.
Even in the midst of her real sorrow and distress, she did not losesight of the fact that Lord St. Amant, with whom her acquaintance up tothe present had been so slight as to be negligible, might prove a veryuseful friend in what now looked like her immediately dreary future. Shewas well aware that he was probably, nay, almost certainly, prejudicedagainst her, for she and Mrs. Tropenell had never been on cordial terms;but she set herself, even now, with this t
errible thing which shefeared, nay, felt almost sure, was true, filling up the whole backgroundof her mind, to destroy that prejudice. To a certain extent shesucceeded, during the few minutes, the precious ten minutes, she securedpractically alone with her host, in compassing her wish.
Laura sat down, in the attractive, if rather dark, sitting-room intowhich Lord St. Amant had shown her, and, blind to everything about her,she was now staring into the fire, oppressed, stunned, by the terriblething which perchance lay before her.
Lining the panelled walls, which were painted a deep yellow tint, hung aseries of curious old colour-prints of London, and, on thewriting-table--itself, as Katty's quick eyes had at once realised, asingularly fine piece of eighteenth-century English lacquer--were twoportraits. The one was a miniature of a lady in the stiff yet becomingcostume of early Victorian days--probably Lord St. Amant's mother; andthe other was a spirited sketch of a girl in an old-fashioned ridinghabit--certainly Mrs. Tropenell forty years ago.
Katty had remained standing, and soon she wandered over to the open doorof the room where, with noiseless celerity, the table was being laid forluncheon. It was from there that she almost imperceptibly beckoned toher host. With some prejudice and a good deal of curiosity, he followedher, and together they went over to the deep embrasured windowoverlooking the tiny square.
There, looking up earnestly into Lord St. Amant's shrewd, kindly face,she said in a low voice: "I want to ask you, Lord St. Amant, to do me akindness--" she waited a moment, "a true kindness! I want you to arrangethat I go to this place, to Duke House, with whoever goes there to findout if the news contained in that horrible letter is true!"
And as he looked extremely surprised, she hurried on, with a littlecatch in her voice, "Godfrey Pavely was my dear--my very dear, friend.When we were quite young people, when I was living with my father inPewsbury----"
"I remember your father," said Lord St. Amant, in a softened, kindlytone, and his mind suddenly evoked the personality of the broken-down,not very reputable gentleman to whom the surrounding gentry had takenpains to be kind.
"In those days," went on Katty rather breathlessly, "Godfrey and I fellin love and became engaged. But his people were furious, and as aresult--well, he was made to go to Paris for a year, and the whole thingcame to an end. Later, after I had divorced my husband, when I wasliving at Rosedean, it--it----"
She stopped, and tears--the first tears she had shed this terriblemorning--came into her eyes.
"I quite understand--you mean that it all began again?"
Lord St. Amant, hardened man of the world though he was, felt moved,really moved by those hurried, whispered confidences, and by the brighttears which were now welling up in his guest's brown eyes.
Katty nodded. "He was unhappy with Laura--Laura had never cared for him,and lately she, Laura----" Again she broke off what she was saying, andreddened deeply.
"Yes?" said Lord St. Amant interrogatively. He felt suddenly on hisguard. Was Mrs. Winslow going to bring in Oliver Tropenell? But her nextwords at once relieved and excessively surprised him.
"You know all about the Beath affair?"
And it was his turn to nod gravely.
"Well, there was something of the same kind thought of--between Godfreyand myself. If--if Laura could have been brought to consent, then Ithink I may say, Lord St. Amant, that Godfrey hoped, that I hoped----"
Once more she broke off short, only to begin again a moment later: "ButI want you to understand--please, _please_ believe me--that neither henor I was treacherous to Laura. You can't be treacherous to a person whodoesn't care, can you? I've only told you all this to show you that Ihave a right to want to know whether Godfrey is alive or--or dead."
And then Lord St. Amant asked a question that rather startled Katty--andput her, in her turn, on her guard. He glanced down at the letter, thatextraordinary typewritten letter, which Laura had handed to him.
"Have you any reason to suppose that Godfrey Pavely was reallyassociated in business with this mysterious man?" he asked.
Looking down into her upturned face he saw a queer little quiver waveacross her mouth, that most revealing feature of the face. But sheeluded the question. "I did not know much of Godfrey's businessinterests. He was always very secret about such things."
"She certainly knows there is such a man as Fernando Apra!" he said tohimself, but aloud he observed kindly: "I presume Mr. Pavely wrote toyou during the early days of his stay in London?"
Katty hesitated. "Yes," she said at last, "I did have a letter from him.But it was only about some business he was doing for me. I was not atRosedean, Lord St. Amant. I was away on a visit--on two visits."
And then Katty flushed--flushed very deeply.
He quickly withdrew his gaze from her now downcast face, and--came to aquite wrong conclusion. "I see," he said lightly, "you were awayyourself, and probably moving about?"
"Yes--yes, I was," she eagerly agreed.
She was feeling a little more comfortable now. Katty knew the greatvalue of truth, though she sometimes, nay generally, behaved as if truthwere of no value at all.
In a sense Lord St. Amant had known Katty from her childhood--known her,that is, in the way in which the great magnate of a countryneighbourhood, if a friendly, human kind of individual, knows every man,woman and child within a certain radius of his home. He was of coursewell aware of Mrs. Tropenell's prejudice against Katty, and, withoutexactly sharing it, he did not look at her with the kindly, indulgenteyes with which most members of his sex regarded the pretty,unfortunate, innocent _divorcee_, to whom Mr. and Mrs. Godfrey Pavelyhad been so truly kind.
But now, as the upshot of Katty's murmured confidences, her present hostcertainly acquired a new interest in, and a new sympathy for, Mrs.Winslow. Of course she had not deceived him as completely as shebelieved herself to have done, for he felt certain that she knew more ofGodfrey Pavely's movements, during the early days of his stay in Londona fortnight ago, than she admitted. He was also quite convinced thatthey had met secretly during their joint absence from home.
But Lord St. Amant would have felt a hypocrite indeed had he on thataccount thought any the worse of Katty Winslow. He told himself thatafter all the poor little woman did not owe him _all_ the truth! IfGodfrey Pavely had indeed come to his death in this extraordinary,accidental way, then Katty, whatever Mrs. Tropenell might feel, was muchto be pitied; nice women, even so broad-minded a woman as was his own,close friend, are apt to be hard on a woman who is not perhapsquite--nice!
It was therefore with a good deal of curiosity that he watched his twoguests while they ate the luncheon prepared for them.
Laura practically took nothing at all. She tried to swallow a little ofthe delicious, perfectly cooked cold chicken and mousse-au-jambon, butin the end she only managed to drink the whole of the large glass ofwater her host poured out for her. Katty, on the other hand, made a goodmeal, and took her full share of a half-bottle of champagne. As a resultshe looked, when luncheon was over, more like her usual, pretty, alertself than she had looked yet. Laura grew paler and paler, and at lastLord St. Amant, with kindly authority, insisted on her taking a cup ofcoffee, and a tiny liqueur glassful of brandy poured into it Frenchfashion.
"I'm afraid," he said feelingly, "that you have a very painful ordeal infront of you, my dear. You won't make it any better by going withoutfood."
But she gazed at him as if she had not understood the purport of hiswords.