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THE ASHIEL MYSTERY A DETECTIVE STORY
BY MRS. CHARLES BRYCE
_"It is the difficulty of the Police Romance, that the reader is always aman of such vastly greater ingenuity than the writer._"
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
CHAPTER I
When Sir Arthur Byrne fell ill, after three summers at his post in thelittle consulate that overlooked the lonely waters of the Black Sea, heapplied for sick leave. Having obtained it, he hurried home to scatterguineas in Harley Street; for he felt all the uneasy doubts as to hisfuture which a strong man who has never in his life known what it is tohave a headache is apt to experience at the first symptom that all is notwell. Outwardly, he pretended to make light of the matter.
"Drains, that's what it is," he would say to some of the passengers towhom he confided the altered state of his health on board the boat whichcarried him to Constantinople. "As soon as I get back to a civilizedsewage system I shall be myself again. These Eastern towns are all rightfor Orientals; and what is your Muscovite but an Oriental, in allessentials of hygiene? But they play the deuce with a European who hasgrown up in a country where people still indulge in a sense of smell."
And if anyone ventured to sympathize with him, or to express regret athis illness, he would snub him fiercely. But for all that he feltconvinced, in his own mind, that he had been attacked by some fataldisease. He became melancholy and depressed; and, if he did not spend hisdays in drawing up his last will and testament, it was because such aproceeding--in view of the state of his banking account--would havepartaken of the nature of a farce. Having a sense of humour, he waslittle disposed, just then, to any action whose comic side he could notconveniently ignore.
When he arrived in London, however, he was relieved to find that thespecialists whom he consulted, while they mostly gave him his money'sworth of polite interest, did not display any anxiety as to hiscondition. One of them, indeed, went so far as to mention a long name,and to suggest that an operation for appendicitis would be likely to dono harm; but, on being cross-examined, confessed that he saw no reason tosuspect anything wrong with Sir Arthur's appendix; so that the young manleft the consulting-room in some indignation.
He remembered, as soon as the door had closed behind him, that he hadforgotten to ask the meaning of the long name; and, being reluctant toset eyes again on the doctor who had mystified him with it, went toanother and demanded to know what such a term might signify.
"Is--is it--dangerous?" he stammered, trying in vain to appearindifferent.
Sir Ronald Tompkins, F.R.C.S., etc. etc., let slip a smile; and then,remembering his reputation, changed it to a look of grave sympathy.
"No," he murmured, "no, no. There is no danger. I should say, noimmediate danger. Still you did right, quite right, in coming to me.Taken in time, and in the proper way, this delicacy of yours will, I haveno hesitation in saying, give way to treatment. I assure you, my dear SirArthur, that I have cured many worse cases than yours. I will write youout a little prescription. Just a little pill, perfectly pleasant to thetaste, which you must swallow when you feel this alarming depression andlack of appetite of which you complain; and I am confident that we shallsoon notice an improvement. Above all, my dear Sir, no worry; no anxiety.Lead a quiet, open-air life; play golf; avoid bathing in cold water;avoid soup, potatoes, puddings and alcohol; and come and see me againthis day fortnight. Thank you, yes, two guineas. _Good_-bye."
He pressed Sir Arthur's hand, and shepherded him out of the room.
His patient departed, impressed, soothed and comforted.
After the two weeks had passed, and feeling decidedly better, hereturned.
Sir Ronald on this occasion was absolutely cheerful. He expressed himselfastonished at the improvement, and enthusiastic on the subject of theexcellence of his own advice. He then broke to Sir Arthur the fact thathe was about to take his annual holiday. He was starting for Norway thenext day, and should not be back for six weeks.
"But what shall I do while you are away?" cried his patient, aghast.
"You have advanced beyond my utmost expectations," replied the doctor,"and the best thing for you now will be to go out to Vichy, and take acourse of the waters there. I should have recommended this in any case.My intended departure makes no difference. Let me earnestly advise you tostart for France to-morrow."
Sir Arthur had by this time developed a blind faith in Sir RonaldTompkins and did not dream of ignoring his suggestion. He threw over allthe engagements he had made since arriving in England; packed his trunksonce more; and, if he did not actually leave the country until two orthree days later, it was only because he was not able to get a sleepingberth on the night express at such short notice.
The end of the week saw him installed at Vichy, the most assiduous andconscientious of all the water drinkers assembled there.
It was on the veranda of his hotel that he made the acquaintance ofMrs. Meredith.
She was twenty-five, rich, beautiful and a widow, her husband having beenaccidentally killed within a few months of their marriage. After a yearor so of mourning she had recovered her spirits, and led a gay life inEnglish society, where she was very much in request.
Sir Arthur had seen few attractive women of late, the ladies of Bakubeing inclined to run to fat and diamonds, and he thought Lena Merediththe most lovely and the most wonderful creature that ever stepped out ofa fairy tale.
From the very moment he set eyes on her he was her devoted slave, andafter the first few days a more constant attendant than any shadow--forshadows at best are mere fair-weather comrades. He seldom saw the ladyalone, for she had with her a small child, not yet a year old, of whichshe was, as it seemed to Sir Arthur, inordinately fond; and whether shewere sitting under the trees in the garden of the hotel, or drivingslowly along the dusty roads--as was her habit each afternoon--the babyand its nurse were always with her, and by their presence put aneffective check to the personalities in which he was longing to indulge.It would have taken more than a baby to discourage Sir Arthur, however:he cheerfully included the little girl in his attentions; and, as timewent on, became known to the other invalids in the place by the nicknameof "the Nursemaid."
Mrs. Meredith took his homage as a matter of course. She was used toadmiration, though she was not one of those women to whom it isindispensable. She considered it one of the luxuries of life, and heldthat it is more becoming than diamonds and a better protection againstthe weather than the most expensive furs. At first she looked upon theobviously stricken state of Sir Arthur with amusement, combined with agood deal of gratification that some one should have arisen to entertainher in this dull health resort; but gradually, as the weeks passed, herpoint of view underwent a change. Whether it was the boredom of the cure,or whether she was touched by the unselfish devotion of her admirer, orwhether it was due merely to the accident that Sir Arthur was anuncommonly good-looking young man and so little conscious of the fact,from one cause or another she began to feel for him a friendliness whichgrew quickly more pronounced; so that at the end of a month, when hefound her, for the first time walking alone by the lake, and proposed toher inside the first two minutes of their encounter, she accepted himalmost as promptly, and with very nearly as much enthusiasm.
"I want to talk to you about the child, little Juliet," she said, a dayor two later. "Or rather, though I want to talk about her, perhaps I hadbetter not, for I can tell you almost nothing that concerns her."
"My dear," said Sir Arthur, "you needn't tell me anything, if youdon't like."
/> "But that's just the tiresome part," she returned, "I should like you toknow everything, and yet I must not let you know. She is not mine, ofcourse, but beyond that her parentage must remain a secret, even fromyou. Yet this I may say: she is the child of a friend of mine, and thereis no scandal attached to her birth, but I have taken all responsibilityas to her future. Are you, Arthur, also prepared to adopt her?"
"Darling, I will adopt dozens of them, if you like," said her infatuatedbetrothed. "Juliet is a little dear, and I am very glad we shall alwayshave her."
In England, the news of Lena Meredith's engagement caused a flutter ofexcitement and disappointment. It had been hoped that she would make agreat match, and she received many letters from members of her family andfriends, pointing out the deplorable manner in which she was throwingherself away on an impecunious young baronet who occupied an obscureposition in the Consular Service. She was begged to remember that theDuke of Dachet had seemed distinctly smitten when he was introduced toher at the end of the last season; and told that if she would notconsider her own interests it was unnecessary that she should forgetthose of her younger unmarried sisters.
At shooting lodges in the North, and in country houses in the South,young men were observed to receive the tidings with pained surprise.More than one of them had given Mrs. Meredith credit for better tastewhen it came to choosing a second husband; more than one of them hadfelt, indeed, that she was the only woman in the world with an eyediscerning enough to appreciate his own valuable qualities at their trueworth. Could the fact be that she had overlooked those rare gifts? For aweek or so depression sat in many a heart unaccustomed to its presence;and young ladies, in search of a husband, found, here and there, thatone turned to them whom they had all but given up as hopelesslyindifferent to their charms.
Unconcerned by the lack of enthusiasm aroused by her decision, LenaMeredith married Sir Arthur Byrne, and in the course of a few monthsdeparted with him to his post on the Black Sea; where the baby Juliet andher nurse formed an important part of the consular household.
The years passed happily. Sir Arthur was moved and promoted from onelittle port to another a trifle more frequented by the ships of hiscountry, and after a year or so to yet another still larger; so that,while nothing was too good for Juliet in the eyes of her adopted mother,and to a lesser extent in those of her father, it happened that she knewremarkably little of her own land, though few girls were more familiarwith those of other nations. Nor were their wanderings confined toEurope: Africa saw them, and the southern continent of America; and itwas in that far country that the happy days came to an end, for poor LadyByrne caught cold one bitter Argentine day, and died of pneumonia beforethe week was out.
Sir Arthur was heart-broken. He packed Juliet off to a convent schoolnear Buenos Ayres, and shut himself up in his consulate, refusing to meetthose who would have offered their sympathy, and going from his room tohis office, and back again, like a man in a dream.
Not for more than a year did Juliet see again the only friend she had nowleft in the world; and it was then she heard for the first time that hewas not really her father, and that the woman she had called "Mother" hadhad no right to that name. She was fifteen years old when this blow fellon her; and she had not yet reached her sixteenth birthday when SirArthur was transferred back to Europe.
"Your home must always be with me, Juliet," he had said, when he broke toher his ignorance of her origin. "I have only you left now."
But though he was kind, and even affectionate to her, he showed no realanxiety for her society. She was sent to a school in Switzerland as soonas they landed in Europe; and, while she used to fancy that at thebeginning of the holidays he was glad to see her return, she was muchmore firmly convinced that at the end of them he was at least equallypleased to see her depart.
She was nineteen before he realized that she could not be kept at schoolfor ever; and when he considered the situation, and saw himself, a manscarcely over forty, saddled with a grown-up girl, who was neither hisown daughter nor that of the woman he had loved, and to whom he had swornto care for the child as if she were indeed his own, it must be admittedthat his heart failed him. It was not that he had any aversion to Julietherself. He had been fond of the child, and he liked the girl. It was theawkwardness of his position that filled him with a kind of despair.
"If only somebody would marry her!" he thought, as he sat opposite to herat the dinner-table, on the night that she returned for the last timefrom school.
The thought cheered him. Juliet, he noticed for the first time, hadbecome singularly pretty. He engaged a severe Frenchwoman of mature ageas chaperon, and made spasmodic attempts to take his adopted daughterinto such society as the Belgian port, where he was consul at this time,could afford.
It was not a large society; nor did eligible young men figure in it inany quantity. Those there were, were foreigners, to whom the question ofa _dot_ must be satisfactorily solved before the idea of matrimony wouldso much as occur to them.
Juliet had no money. Lady Byrne had left her fortune to her husband, andrash speculations on his part had reduced it to a meagre amount, which hefelt no inclination to part with. Two or three years went by, and shereceived no proposals. Sir Arthur's hopes of seeing her provided for grewfaint, and he could imagine no way out of his difficulties. He himselfspent his leave in England, but he never took the girl with him on thoseholidays. He had no wish to be called on to explain her presence to suchof his friends as might not remember his wife's whim; and, though shepassed as his daughter abroad, she could not do that at home.
Juliet, for her part, was not very well content. She could hardly avoidknowing that she was looked on as an incubus, and she saw that herfather, as she called him, dreaded to be questioned as to theirrelationship. She lived a simple life; rode and played tennis with youngBelgians of her own age; read, worked, went to such dances andentertainments as were given in the little town, and did not, on thewhole, waste much time puzzling over the mystery that surrounded herchildhood. But when her friends asked her why she never went to Englandwith Sir Arthur, she did not know what answer to make, and worriedherself in secret about it.
Why did he not take her? Because he was ashamed of her? But why was heashamed? Her mother--she always thought of Lady Byrne by that name--hadsaid she was the daughter of a friend of hers. So that she must at leastbe the child of people of good family. Was not that enough?
She was already twenty-three when Sir Arthur married again. The lady wasan American: Mrs. Clarency Butcher, a good-looking widow of aboutthirty-five, with three little girls, of whom the eldest was fifteen. Shehad not the enormous wealth which is often one of her countrywomen's mostpleasing attributes, but she was moderately well off and came of a goodColonial family. Having lived for several years in England, she had grownto prefer the King's English to the President's, and had dropped, almostcompletely, the accent of her native country. She was extremely welleducated, and talked three other languages with equal correctness, herfirst husband having been attached to various European legations.Altogether, she was a charming and attractive woman, and there were manywho envied Sir Arthur for the second time in his life.
It was not, perhaps, her fault that she did not take very kindly toJuliet. The girl resented the place once occupied by her dead motherbeing filled by any newcomer; and was not, it is to be feared, atsufficient pains to hide her feelings on the point. And the second LadyByrne was hardly to be blamed if she remembered that in a few years shewould have three daughters of her own to take out, and felt that a fourthwas almost too much of a good thing.
Besides, there was no getting over the fact that she was no relationwhatever, and was on the other hand a considerable drain on the familyresources, all of which Lady Byrne felt entirely equal to disbursingalone and unassisted. Finally, her presence led to disagreements betweenSir Arthur and his wife.
The day came on which Lady Byrne could not resist drawing Juliet'sattention to her unfortunate circumstances. In a heated mom
ent, inducedby the girl's refusal to meet her half-way when she was conscious ofhaving made an unusual effort to be friendly, she pointed out to Julietthat it would be more becoming in her to show some gratitude to people onwhose charity she was living, and on whom she had absolutely no claim ofblood at all.
The interview ended by Juliet flying to Sir Arthur, and begging, whileshe wept on his shoulder, to be allowed to go away and work for herliving; though where and how she proposed to do this she did not specify.
Sir Arthur had a bad quarter of an hour. His conscience, the knowledge ofthe extent to which he shared his second wife's feelings, the remembranceof the vows he had made on the subject to his first wife, these and theold, if not very strong, affection he had for Juliet, combined to stirin him feelings of compunction which showed themselves in an outburst ofirritability. He scolded Juliet; he blamed his wife.
"Why," he asked them both, "can two women not live in the same housewithout quarrelling? Is it impossible for a wretched man ever to have amoment's peace?"
In the end, he worked himself into such a passion that Lady Byrne andJuliet were driven to a reconciliation, and found themselves defendingeach other against his reproaches.
After this they got on better together.