The Brightener Part 41

CHAPTER XII

THE WOMAN IN THE THEATRE

Well, there we had to leave matters for the moment.

Ralston Murray loved us very much, but he didn't wish for our advice.

Indeed, he wished for nothing at all from any one--except to be let alone.

He had said to Gaby Jennings that he would always want Rosemary back whatever he heard about her past; but now, believing Gaby's story with its additional proofs, at all events he had no more hope of getting her back. In his eyes she was another man's wife. He did not expect to see her again in this world.

Jim and I could do nothing with him: Jim was helpless because he also, at heart, believed Gaby, and defended Rosemary only to please me; I had ceased to be of use, because I could give no reason for my faith in her.

What good to say: "There must be some awful misunderstanding!" when there were those cablegrams from Baltimore and Was.h.i.+ngton? Gaby would not have shown copies of her own messages with the address of her correspondent, if she hadn't been willing that Murray should make inquiries as to the man's ident.i.ty and bona fides.

We could not persuade him to wait, before keeping his promise to Mrs.

Jennings, until he had heard from America. He knew what he should hear, he said. Besides, a promise was a promise. He didn't care whether Paul had stolen his heirlooms or not, but there was no proof that he had, and people must be presumed innocent until they were found to be guilty. Nor did he care what Jennings' designs on him might be. It was too far-fetched to suppose that the man had any designs; but no greater kindness could now be done to him, Ralston, than to put him for ever out of his misery.

This was mad talk; but in a way Ralston Murray went mad that day when he lost Rosemary. No doctor, no alienist, would have p.r.o.nounced him mad, of course. Rather would I have seemed insane in my defence of Rosemary Brandreth. But when the man's heart broke, something snapped in his brain. All was darkness there. He had turned his back on hope, and could not bear to hear the word.

We did persuade him, in justice to Rosemary, to let us cable a New York detective agency whose head Jim had known well. This man was instructed to learn whether Gaby's friend had told the truth about Captain Brandreth and his wife: whether she had sailed for Europe on the _Aquitania_, upon a certain date; and whether the pair had been living together before Mrs. Brandreth left for Europe.

When news came confirming Gaby's story, and, a little later, mentioning that Mrs. Brandreth had returned from abroad, Ralston said: "I knew it would be so. There's nothing more to do." But I felt that there was a great deal more to do; and I was bent on doing it. The next thing was to induce Jim to let me do it.

To my first proposition he agreed willingly. Now that I had shot my bolt, there was no longer any objection to employing detectives against the Jenningses. Indeed, there was a strong incentive. If their guilt could be proved, Ralston Murray would not be quite insane enough to keep Paul on as his doctor.

We both liked the idea of putting my old friend Mr. Smith on to the case, and applied to him upon our own responsibility, without a word to Murray. But this was nothing compared with my second suggestion. I wanted to rush over to America and see for myself whether Rosemary was living in Was.h.i.+ngton as the wife of Guy Brandreth.

"What! You'd leave me here, and go across the Atlantic without me on a wild-goose chase?" Jim shouted.

"Who said anything about my going without you?" I retorted. "Oh, darling Man, _do_ take me!"

That settled it: and as soon as the thing was decided, we were both keen to start. Our one cause for hesitation was fear for Ralston Murray's safety, now that he had so recklessly flung himself into Paul Jennings'

hands. Still, in the circ.u.mstances, we could do little good if we stayed at home. Ralston had shut himself up, refusing to see any one--including ourselves. His mental state was bad enough to sap his newly restored health, even if I did Doctor Paul Jennings a grave injustice; and Mr.

Smith could watch the Jenningses better than we could.

I did take the precaution to write Sir Beverley that his late patient had fallen into the clutches of the Merriton doctor, and beg him to call at the Manor some day, declining to take 'no' for an answer if he were refused at the door: and then we sailed. It was on the _Aquitania_ again, and every moment brought back some recollection of Rosemary and Ralston Murray.

We travelled straight to Was.h.i.+ngton after landing, and were met at the station by the young detective Jim's friend had engaged. He had collected the information we needed for the beginning of our campaign, and had bought tickets for the first performance of a new play that night.

"The Brandreths have a party going," he said, "and your places are next to theirs. Yours are at the end of the row, so they'll have to pa.s.s you going in, if you're early on the spot."

I liked that detective. He had "struck" a smart idea!

We had only just time to dress and dine at our hotel, and dash to the theatre in a taxi, if we wished to arrive when the doors were opened.

It was lucky we did this, for the audience a.s.sembled promptly, in order to hear some music written for the new play by a popular composer. We had hardly looked through the programme after settling down in our chairs when a familiar fragrance floated to me. It was what I had always called "Rosemary's _leitmotif_," expressed in perfume. I turned my head, and--there she was in great beauty coming along the aisle with three or four men and as many pretty women.

I had got myself up that night expressly to attract attention--Rosemary's attention. I was determined that she should not, while laughing and talking with her friends, pa.s.s me by without recognition. Consequently, I was dressed more suitably for a ball than a play. I had on a gown of gold tissue, and my second best tiara, to say nothing of a few more scattered diamonds and a double rope of pearls. It was impossible for the most absent-minded eye to miss me, or my black-browed, red-haired giant in evening dress--Jim. As I looked over my shoulder at Rosemary, therefore, she looked at me. Our gaze encountered, and--my jaw almost dropped. She showed not the slightest sign of surprise; did not start, did not blush or turn pale. Her lovely face expressed good-natured admiration, that was all.

She glanced at Jim, too--as all women do glance--with interest. But it was purely impersonal interest, as if to say, "There's a _man_!"

Those black brows of his drew together in disapproval, because she had no right to be so rosy and happy, so much more voluptuous in her beauty than she had been when with Ralston Murray. Rosemary, however, seemed quite unconscious of Jim's disgust. She had an air of conquering, conscious charm, as if all the world must love and admire her--such an air as she had never worn in our experience. Having looked us over with calm admiration she marshalled her guests, and was especially charming to one of the women, a dark, glowing creature almost as beautiful as herself. Something within me whispered: "_That's_ the woman she was jealous of! This party is meant to advertise that they're the best of friends."

"Guy, you're to sit next Mrs. Dupont," she directed; and at the sound of her voice my heart gave a little jump. There was a different quality about this voice--a contralto quality. It was heavier, richer, less flutelike than Rosemary's used to be.

Mrs. Dupont and Guy Brandreth pa.s.sed us to reach their chairs. Guy was a square-jawed, rather ugly, but extremely masculine young man of a type intensely attractive to women.

"She wants to show everyone how she trusts him now!" I thought. "She's giving him Mrs. Dupont practically to himself for the evening."

All the party pushed by, Rosemary and an elderly man, who, it appeared, was Mr. Dupont, coming last. He sat between her and me, and they chatted together before the music began; but now and then she looked past him at me, without the slightest sign of embarra.s.sment.

"Jim," I whispered, "_it isn't Rosemary_!"

"Well--I was wondering!" he answered. "But--it _must_ be."

"It simply _isn't_," I insisted. "To-morrow I'm going to call on Mrs.

Guy Brandreth."

"Supposing she won't see you?"

"She will," I said. "I shall ring her up early before she can possibly be out, and make an appointment."

"If it is Rosemary, when she knows who you are she won't----" began Jim, but I cut him short. I repeated again the same obstinate words: "It is _not_ Rosemary."

I called up Mrs. Guy Brandreth at nine o'clock next morning, and heard the rich contralto voice asking "_Who_ is it?"

"Lady Courtenaye at Willard's Hotel," I boldly answered. "I've come from England on purpose to see you. I have very important things to say."

There was a slight pause; then the voice answered with a new vibration in it: "When can you come? Or--no! When can you have me call on you?

That would be better."

"I can have you call as soon as you care to start," I replied. "The sooner the better."

"I'm not dressed," said the quivering voice. "But I'll be with you at ten o'clock."

I told Jim, and we arranged that he should be out of the way till ten-thirty. Then he was to walk into our private sitting room, where I would receive Mrs. Brandreth. I thought that by that time we should be ready for him.

CHAPTER XIII

MRS. BRANDRETH'S STORY