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Chapter Thirty Six
Conclusion
When the door of the boudoir was forced open, old Jacob was the first to enter and find his mistress rigid in death. While Nanette and two of the domestics were endeavouring to raise her, his quick eyes caught sight of the letter addressed to his master which lay upon the blotting-pad, and unnoticed he slipped it into his pocket.
By this a scandal was avoided, for a coroner’s jury at the inquest subsequently held returned a verdict of “Accidental death, due to an overdose of morphia.” There was not the least suspicion of suicide in the minds of the twelve respectable tradesmen, for, prior to the room being visited by the bucolic constable, Jacob had picked up the remains of the diamond ornaments, and carefully obliterated other traces of her passion. The jury expressed an opinion that the sudden appearance of Mrs Trethowen’s husband, who was believed to be dead, had caused a violent shock to the nervous system, and that, being in the habit of injecting narcotics, she had accidentally administered to herself an overdose.
Hugh, in order to further allay any conjecture that she had taken her own life, put on deep mourning and attended the funeral. He endured the mournful ceremony, the nasal mumbling of the clergyman, and the torture of the service, with feelings of disgust at his own hypocrisy. He affected inconsolable grief, and his friends, ignorant of the truth, sympathised with him. Yet his generous nature asserted itself. The letter she had addressed to him had softened his heart towards her, and as he stood watching the coffin being consigned to the grave in the churchyard at Bude, tears welled in his eyes.
He had forgiven her, endeavouring to believe that she had been more sinned against than sinning.
Contrary to the expectations of his friends, he did not leave Coombe after the funeral, but took what appealed to many to be a sad, bitter pleasure in remaining amid surroundings that reminded him of his late wife. Scarcely uttering a word to any one save his faithful servant Jacob, he grew cynical and morose, while his face wore a fixed expression of gloom.
People thought that Valérie’s death had been a terrible blow to him, and that he cherished everything which brought her to his memory. In truth, however, it was quite the opposite. He was gradually removing every trace of her occupancy. Her photographs, several of which stood about in the rooms, he destroyed with his own hands. Cushion-covers that she had embroidered, and a mantel fringe she had made, he ruthlessly tore off and threw into the fire.
When he had destroyed all the small articles, the sight of which was repugnant, he called in a furniture dealer from Bude, and for a mere trifle sold the whole of the contents of the boudoir which she had furnished so extravagantly. The rooms were dismantled to the curtains and blinds, and after it had been repainted and redecorated, he gave orders to a London firm to refurnish it as a boudoir in a style even more costly than before.
The servants marvelled greatly at what they considered their master’s folly, and even the discreet Jacob was puzzled at his irony and resolution.
Bright spring days succeeded the boisterous, gloomy ones of winter on the wild Cornish coast, still Hugh Trethowen continued to live in semi-seclusion. The greater part of each day he spent in the library with his books, and for recreation took long, lonely walks along the seashore, or over the moorlands, swept by the invigorating Atlantic breeze.
Suddenly his habitual sullenness left him, and one day in July he announced to Jacob that he expected visitors. Thenceforward there was a complete change in his demeanour. Resuming his normal lightheartedness, he greeted his friends with that thoroughness and bonhomie that were characteristic of him in the old days, and personally looked after their comfort.
His guests, a pleasant, merry party, consisting of Jack Egerton, Dolly Vivian, and Gabrielle Debriège, had no reason to complain of the cordiality of their host’s welcome, or of the efforts he made to entertain them with the various pleasurable pursuits which the neighbourhood afforded.
The close of a hot summer’s day.
A charming little hollow, fringed with hazels and ferns, on a green hillside overlooking the shining sea. A long stretch of bay lies in the mellow light, curved like a crescent moon, while behind rise hills that are somewhat low but steep, scalloped by dells clad in silver birches, hazels, graceful ferns, and golden gorse. Nearly at the centre of this picturesque amphitheatre of green slopes and rocky buttresses snugly nestles a quaint old-world village, a community of pretty cottages clustered around the ancient church, and deeply set in the verdure of the hillside like a handful of snow-white shells in a green dell of the sea.
Not only the crimson-tinted ocean, but the land also, is strangely transfigured in the glow of twilight. The long stretches of cliff, with the precipitous Raven’s Crag towering high above the rocks on either side, which, in the fierce glare of noonday, stood out like bastions, centres of strength and power, and now rounded by the softening shadows of the gloaming hour. The mantling grass with which they are crowned has lost its emerald colour, and assumes a subdued preternatural tint, while the softened sea in its violet light comes up to the deep shadows of the overhanging crags, lustrous, pure, serene.
Hugh had driven with his visitors from Coombe, and they had left the carriage at the village inn, and set out on foot to explore the beauties of the district. Dolly and he had wandered away from Egerton and Gabrielle, and walked upon the top of the cliffs towards the great perpendicular Crag.
While they had been strolling along, she had been telling him of the vile plot to keep them apart while Valérie exerted her irresistible charms upon him. She showed him the dark red scar upon her throat, now concealed by a narrow band of black velvet, and explained how she had made the discovery while imprisoned in the strange house near Twickenham, her escape, her visit to the church on the morning of his marriage, and her denunciation of Holt. To all this he listened with incredulous amazement.
When, on their return, they arrived at the stile at the entrance of the wooded hollow through which they had to pass to reach the village, they both paused. Hugh stood leaning with his back against the rails, thoughtfully puffing his cigarette. The manner in which Dolly had told the story puzzled him. True, they were still friends, and since her arrival at Coombe had often spoken confidentially; nevertheless, he did not forget that on the last occasion they strolled together alone on the Cornish cliffs, he ridiculed her warning, and openly professed his preference for Valérie.
He glanced at her handsome face. Her head was turned seaward; her soft brown eyes wore a thoughtful, serious look, and a ray of fading sunlight tinted her hair. The cool, flimsy blue dress fitted her lithesome figure with scarcely a wrinkle, and the wide-brimmed hat set off to advantage the fair countenance beneath.
“Dolly,” he said earnestly, after a short silence, taking her gloved hand in his at the same time, “all this you have just told me adds increased horror to Valérie’s terrible crimes. I now understand the reason you wrote that warning – it was because you entertained some sort of affection for me. Ah, had I fully understood you before I allied myself with that woman – had I seen her in her true light as an adventuress, and summoned sufficient strength to cast her off – I should not have been instrumental in bringing such a calamity upon you. I alone am to blame for all the misery that has fallen upon you, and must ask your forgiveness.”
“There is nothing to forgive, for I consider you are in no way to blame, Hugh – I mean, Mr Trethowen.”
“No, no; call me Hugh, as you did in the old days. Why need there be any formalities?”
“You are not to blame, Hugh,” she repeated ingenuously. “That woman fascinated you as she enmeshed many other men, all of whom paid dearly for the privilege of bestowing their affections upon her. Think of Jack – of your brother, Douglas! Did she not entice them both into her coils, so that she might use them for her own ends? Hubert Holt she ensnared in the same manner, she – ”
“Why was he so obedient to her will?” asked Hugh interrupting.
“Gabrielle told me all about it a few days ago. It appears that when he was a fellow-student with Jack he also admired Valérie. In order to supply her with money he forged a cheque at her instigation, the proceeds of which, amounting to something like twenty thousand francs, he handed over to her, thinking thereby to secure her good graces. But she treated him the same as the others. Though he abandoned Art and entered the church, she did not allow the crime to fade from his memory, for at intervals she compelled him to perform services for her which were revolting to one who was trying to atone and lead a better life. Now, fearing exposure and detection, he has fled to South America, where, I believe, he has been joined by that old scoundrel, Graham, whom Valérie paid handsomely for his services. It is not likely that they will ever return to England.”
“And you really forgive me for all the trials and torture I have brought upon you?” he asked earnestly, with a slight pressure on the little hand he held.
“Of course I do,” she said frankly, raising her fine, wide-open eyes to his.
“Before I met that woman I flirted with you, Dolly,” he said, in a low, intense tone. “You were not averse to flattery or sly whispers in the studio when Jack’s back was turned, and I, having nothing else to do, amused myself in your company. Indeed, it was not before that night when, being on the verge of ruin, I came to wish you farewell, that I discovered you really cared for me. Then I blamed myself for being so cruel as to let you see that I loved you – ”
“Hugh!” she cried in astonishment. “Why, what do you mean?”
“Listen, and I’ll tell you, dearest,” he answered, looking earnestly into her eyes. “It was soon after my brother’s death that I met Valérie. Prior to that, however, I had grown to love you, because I knew that, although you lived in an atmosphere that was somewhat questionable as regards morals, you were nevertheless pure and good. I was on the point of asking you to become my wife when Valérie crossed my path. You know the rest. She was no fairer, no better-looking than you are at this moment, but with that fatal, irresistible power she possessed she drew me to her, and I became her slave and as helpless as a child. Now and then you and I met, and as you did not appear to notice the coldness I exhibited, I congratulated myself that you no longer entertained any affection for me.”
“What caused you to think that?” she demanded in dismay.
“To tell the truth,” he responded hesitatingly, “I believed those repeated warnings you gave me against Valérie were merely the rancorous fictions of a jealous heart, and that is why I took no heed of them.”
“Ah!” she exclaimed, with sadness, “I tried hard but could never bring you to understand that my woman’s power of perception was keener than yours. You were so credulous, and did not suspect treachery. Although Jack’s secret sealed his lips, yet I knew from the manner in which he spoke that if you attached yourself to her, ruin would quickly follow.”
“Yes,” he admitted gloomily, “you told me so, but I was too blind an idiot to believe it. Had I taken your advice how much pain and sorrow would have been avoided!”
“Of what use is regret? She is dead – and you free!”
“Free – free to marry you!” he said in a deep, earnest voice, pressing her hand to his lips at the same moment.
She glanced inquiringly at him, as if unable to grasp his meaning, and tried to withdraw her hand.
“To marry me?” she repeated.
“Yes. Will you be my wife, Dolly?” he urged passionately. “We have been friends for so long that we ought to know each other’s peculiarities of temperament by this time. I know I have no right to make this request after the heartless manner in which I cast you aside. On the other hand, you have passed the ordeal and been true to me, trying to rescue me from ignominy and ruin, even when I ridiculed your affection. For that reason I love you now more than ever, and I cannot refrain from asking you to make me happy.”
“It is true that you left me, preferring Valérie,” she said reflectively. “But you should not forget that you thought her a woman in your own sphere, whereas I was only an artist’s model. It was but natural you should consider her a more fitting wife than myself; and, although I loved you so well!”
“Did you love me, then?”
She blushed.
“But do you still care for me?” he asked with earnestness, putting his arm around her slim waist and pressing her to his breast. “Promise me, Dolly,” he pleaded – “promise me that you will be my wife!”
“Do you love me sufficiently?”
“Can you doubt me?”
“No,” she replied, in a tremulous voice; “I do not doubt you, Hugh. I will be your wife.”
Then she bent her fair head, and hid from him her tears of happiness. The only light that can show us the road to better things is that which shines within us. The words he uttered were tender and reassuring, and for a long time they stood together talking of the new, bright, and unclouded life that lay before them.
Meanwhile the exquisite gradations of colour on sea and land had faded, the glow upon the horizon had disappeared, the wind had fallen, and all was calm and still in the mystic gloom of the dying day.
Startled by hearing voices behind them, they turned and faced Jack and Gabrielle, who had approached unnoticed.
After a hearty laugh and some good-natured chaff in English, the purport of which was not thoroughly understood by mademoiselle, Hugh grasped the artist’s hand, and, wringing it warmly exclaimed —
“Congratulate me, old fellow! I’m beginning life afresh from to-day. Dolly has consented to become my wife.”
“By Jove, is that so?” Egerton cried, in pleasant surprise. “Well, you have my heartiest wishes, Hugh.” Then he added, after a moment’s hesitation: “Strangely enough, I, too, have to make a similar announcement.”
“What?” cried Hugh and Dolly simultaneously. “Gabrielle has resolved to give up the stage and become Mrs Egerton,” he answered, with a happy smile. “We knew one another years ago in Paris, and although no word of affection was then spoken, we have to-day discovered that we love one another.”
“Yes,” added Gabrielle, her accent making her voice sound pleasant to English ears. “Having released him from the thrall of ‘La Petite Hirondelle,’ and proving that he was not guilty of the crime he believed he had committed, I am going to many him. It is as it should be – eh?”
And she laughed contentedly.
After many mutual congratulations and expressions of surprise, they crossed the stile, and continued their stroll through the dell towards the village, where the scattered lights had already commenced to twinkle.
The two men walked together at a little distance behind.
“Hugh, old fellow,” the artist remarked confidentially, “I’m glad Dolly is to be your wife. I feel confident that you’ll never regret the step; for I know, perhaps better than any one, how pure and honest she is, how dearly she loves you, and how acutely she suffered when you forsook her.”
“Don’t mention the past again, Jack, old fellow. We both played dice with the devil, expecting to throw sixes,” said Hugh, as they stepped out upon the broad highway. Then he added, “I feel assured we shall now be happy and contented. Let us look only to a bright and prosperous future, and let us forget forever the grim shadow that fell upon us, the shadow of The Temptress.”
The End.