BERYL'S HUSBAND

Auckland Star, Volume XXII, Issue 103, 2 May 1891, Page 1 (Supplement)

BERYL'S HUSBAND

BY MRS-HARRIET LEWI&

CHAPTER XXXII BKKYL FINDS REFUGE

The bells were tolling the hour of mid nighb when Beryl came out upon West minster Bridge. She had wandered about all these hours, intent only upon reaching the river. Leaning her head upon the parapet, she looked down inbo bhe black river below. . , To pray ! It was the first time since tho great horror of that day had fallen upon her thab sho had bhoughb of prayer ! To pray when heart and brain seemed alike bursting—when her soul was passed to and fro on waves of anguish—when her very reason seemed tottering ! But she dared not die without appealing to her Maker to forgive her sin. She dared not throw away tho life Ho had given her without asking Him to be merciful to her. For an hour she sobbed and wept on the lonely bridge, while wanderers like herself flitted past her, or a late cab rattled by, or some stern guardian of tho night passed and re-paßsed, with a watchful eye upon The tears eased her brain nnd heart. Tho burning fevor lefb her. Weak and worn and still despairing, she jet had strength to utter a new prayer from the very soul that God would pity and guard her. She looked over tho parapet again, bub the river had lost its fatal fascination. She shuddered and drew back. Wrapped in herself, she did not notice the raoged, wretched beings who huddled in the other recossed benches for a few hours sleep. The policeman who had passed her two or three times.appeared again upon the bridge, stirring up the unfortunate ones on tho benchos and driving them away, ihey moved on before him like sheep, and made off to arches and doorways thoy had often haunted. ~ ~ ' Come, you ; clear out,' he said, roughly, stirring up Beryl with his club, as if she had been a wild beast in a cage. These here ain't free lodgings.' ~.,,„,„„ Beryl rose up, and he flashed the full light of his ' bull's-eye' upon her. He saY at a glance thab she was nob of the same class as the unfortunate women he had jusb accosted. The fashionable attire ; the fair, pure, high-bred face ■;• the gentle, half-haughty reserve of manner, all declared to him bhat this homeless one was a lady. He grew involuntarily respecbtul, although regarding her suspiciously. •I've had my eyes on you some time, miss,' he said, a little less rudely. Thought you was making up your mind to jump ott the bridge. This here is no place for the likes of you. It's nigh on to two o clock, and you ought to have beon at home hours ago. Where do you live?' Beryl drew away from him, and did nob answer. She moved on slowly, as if to beat a retreat. The policeman kept at her side. 'Are you thinking of killing yourself, miss?'ho asked. 'No ' said Beryl, and low as were her tones the officer felt the truth and sincerity of tho speaker. ' I shall not kill myself. ' That's right. If you've done anything to offend the old folks, and are afraid to go home, remember that scoldings are better than London streets at this hour And if you've had a quarrel with your lover, as young women of every degree are always Wine, just think that suicide and this kind of thing ain'b going bo make ib up. Where did you say you live ? *I—l don'b know,'said Beryl. 'Please lefc me alone !' , She flibted on before him swiftly and sped across the bridge to the Surrey side. She soon.found herself in Westminster Road, a quarter of London of which she knew nothing. Sheshrank fromenteringthe dark and narrow streets, which continually branched away, and kept to the wider and better-lighted road. She reached the obelisk—a central point in tho borough— and then passed along tho Borough Road, and in a dark and sheltered doorway, near Queen's Bench Prison, she halted bo rest. She thought of Switzerland, where all her years, up to the last few months, had been spent. There was no home for her there. No home for her ab Starwood—her uncle's farm; no home for her anywhere. She could think of no possible refuge in this hour of desolateness.

The borough shops were becoming generally open now, for custom begins early I upon the.Surrey side of the Thames. An upholsterer's shop was open in the Borough High-street, and in a littlo mirror in the window Beryl caught a glimpse of her reflection as she passed by. Pale as death, with great, burning eyes, and wild, strange gaze, ie was no wonder people turned to look after her. She drew her veil down over her face to hide ib, and walked on until she neared the London Bridge railway terminus. A small crowd of people were hurrying into the station. She followed them, entered a waiting-room, and took a retired seat. Putting her hand in her pocket, she found her purse. She had put ib in the pocket of her travelling-dress, with gloves and handkerchief, ready for her bridal journey. She had done bhis before going to church to be married, and had locked her door on leaving her room. She found her money now all intact—a sum of fortythree pounds and some shillings. She drew out a shilling, and as sho did so marked a white address-card in one of the sections of her pocket-book. She examined the pasteboard. It was the card which had been given her by the landlady of the Dover Castle Hotel, at Dover, and bore the address of the London hotel Beryl had stopped at on her arrival in town, and also the address of a quiet lodging-house at Bayswaber. 'Why should I not go bhero now ?'the girl asked herself. ' It is a long distance to Bayswater, I should think, and I shall be hidden trom Desmond until I can decide upon my futuro course.' With the address-card in her hand, she went out upon the platform. A train had just arrived. A row of cabs was breaking up rapidly. Beryl signalled a four-wheeler, gave tbe address of Portchester Villas, No. 5, Landsdowne Terrace, Bayswater, and entering the vehicle, was borne away to her new destination. Beryl alighted, dismissed her cab, and rant* the garden-bell. The garden was separated from the street- by a very tall

iron fence, in which were set, ab regular mbervals, tall iron gates or doors, which were always kept locked, no intruders being allowed in Portchester Gardens. Beryl had time to observe this before a woman emerged from the area way of No. 5, with a key in her hand, and came down the walk and unlocked the gate. She admitted Beryl into the garden, led the way to the house, and conducted her up tbe" porch steps, through a narrow hall, and ushered her into a snug dining-room that looked out upon the gardens. Sho then vanished. Presently the door opened again and the mistress of the houso entered. Miss Cavanagh was an Irishwoman, with unmistakably Irish features ; she had a bright and pleasant expression, and possessed, evidently, a jolly, good-natured temperament. She had" made quibo a sum of money during the last fifteen years, and was decidedly a practical, hard-headed business woman, while she was at the same time warm-hearted and hospitable. 'I am Miss Cavanagh,' said the plump, smiling landlady, bowing. ' The servant : was telling mo you wished to see me.' 'Yes,' said Beryl. 'I am Miss Star. The landlady of the Dover Castle Hotel, at Dover, gave me your address, and 1 am come bo look for lodgings.' . Again Beryl told the story of her life in Switzerland, ending with : ' Can you give mo a room ?' 1 I'll leb you have tho third-floor front for eight shillings, abtendance included,' said Miss Cavanagh, her warm Irish sympathies enlisted in Beryl's behalf. 'It's taken a fancy to you I have, I'm thinking. It's a sore pity for ono liko you to be seeking lodgings in London. Come up and look ab the room and say will it suit you.' She conducted Beryl up two of stairs bo a brighb libble front room. The walls were covered with gilded paper—bhe floor wibh a prebty Kidderminster carpeb. ' May I sbay now '>.' asked Beryl, wisbfully. 'I dismissed the cab and I don't know where to go if you send me away.' ' Come downstairs again, till Kate lights the fire and makes tho room tidy. I suppose you can stay, Miss Star,' said the landlady, perhaps a little reluctantly, ' but I never took in a lodger in this way before, and it doesn't seem exactly business-like— now does it?' She led the way again into tho warm little dining-room, and Beryl resumed her seat. Miss Cavanagh made further inquiries of her, and Beryl answered them frankly, since none of the questions bore in any way upon the secret of the young girl's life. Miss Cavanagh seemed to take it for granted thab Beryl had just come from Dover, and Beryl did nob enlighten her upon thab point, since no special inquiry was made about bhe bime of her arrival. Late that evening Beryl sab alone in her cheery libblo room and wroto a letter to Noblo Desmond in these words :

•Mr Noble Desmond: When I Quitted Wells-street last night, it was to take my own life. I went to Westminster Bridge, but my purposes failed me. 1 wandered through the Streets all night. I have found a shelter now, but where it is I may not toll you. For we can ncvor meet again. I am mot your wife, Noble, our marriage ceremony is all null and void. How can I toll you how it is that you are free? As wcstood together at tbe church door, and 1 thought I was at the threshold of Paradise. I saw him passing by, Vane Conrpy—my husband! God pity us both! I snail never see you ajtain. but I shall pray for you till I die ; and I "hope that in timo a hanpier love may banish all remembrance of me from your mind. And yet—oh. Noble! Life is so hard ! farewell for ever. Beryl.

Tho next morning, closely veiled, and determined to leave no clue by which she could be traced, she went to the general post-office at St. Martin's-le Grand and posted her letter.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

sherwald on the eight track. After his interview with Octavia, during which she had told .him of having seen Noble Desmond and his bride at the door of St. Just's, Lord Hawkhurst sat alone in his library for a long time, busy with his thoughts. He finally wrote a letter to Sherwald, asking him to call on the following day. Then, the question of Desmond's marriage being still in his mind, he requested his solicitor to seek out Desmond and deliver to him a letter which he enclosed, Sherwald knowing, and the earl not knowing.Desmond's address. The enclosed letter was a somewhat formal congratulation to Desmond upon his marriage, and contained an invitation for Desmond and his bride to dine at Hawkhurst House upon any day they might appoint. The letter was despatched upon the following morning. Upon the evening of the same day on which the letter was sent, Mr Sherwald made his appearance at Hawkhurst House, and was shown up to the library. The earl was standing by the fire. He came forward and offered Sherwald his hand, and in the warm mutual clasp the old harmony between them was restored. Lord Hawkhurst made no apologies for his rudeness on bhe occasion of bheir recent interview, nor did the solicitor expect an apology, but the manner of each had its old cordiality and freedom. ' Sit down, Sherwald,' said the earl. I wanted to see you again about the leasing of theßlackborough farm. We didn't come bo any decision in regard bo ib, you may remember.' • The solicitor sab down, as requesbed. He looked grave and preoccupied, and bhe earl was nob slow to observe the fact. 'You look troubled,' observed his lord ship. ' I hope it is not on account of whab transpired at our last interview. I assure you thab while you were hasty and overzealous, yet Ido full justice to your motives. Here we drop the matter. And now aboub the Blackborough farm. Have you made inquiries about this Harley who wants to lease it?'

'Yes, my Lord,' said Shorwald, quietly. 'If you will excuse me, I will speak firsb of what is mosb prominent in my mind. My friend, the barrister I alluded to in my conversation with you the other day, has Mr Desmond's address, and on receiving your enclosure I went around bo his chambers wibh your lebber to your young kinsman. By a sbrango coincidence, I found Mr Desmond in the barrister's office.'

Ab this juncture the door of the library opened and Conyers came sauntering in. When he beheld Sherwald, he muttered an apology for his intrusion, and turned to depart, but Lord Hawkhurst bade him remain.

'I have a libble matter of business I wish to talk to you aboub, Conyers,' said the earl. 'Mr Sherwald, this is Rollyn Conyers, Esq., the heir of my title and property. Conyers, leb me inbroduce bo you Mr Sherwald, our family solicitor, the chief manager of my estates, and my greatly valued friend.'

The darkly handsome face of Conyers, with that nameless charm and fascinabion aboub ib, bo which we have heretofore alluded, made a sbriking impression upon the keen-eyed solicitor. • It has been represented to me that your income is inadequate to your wants, Conyers,' said the earl, as the young man sab down with easy grace and

a lounging attitude, 'and I had some conversation with Sherwald upon the matter the other day, and have arrived at a decision which, I trust, may meet your approval. I believe that your own income amounts to eight hundred a year.'

' Precisely, sir.' * Mrs Conyers baa a handsome fortune,' pursued the eail, * bub I can quite understand your reluctance to live upon her money. I might get you a position under government where your natural abilities would find play, and you would gain both honour and money. What would you say to bhat ?'

'I should decline it,' said Conyers, earnestly. * No money could recompense me for being tied to an office. I'd Krihffic, be _$_[ own master.' - A? ; __$...-x ■■'■■ AAItA.

«I am nob afraid of work, said Lord Hawkhurst, gravely. 'I doubt if many labouring men in the kingdom work harder than I. But I shall not urge you into any course. I have only to say that I will give you a thousand pounds a year. That sum, added to your eight hundred, makes a very respectable income, especially as Mrs Conyers has ten thousand a year in her own right. Is this satisfactory ?' Now in truth it was not. Lord Hawkhurst had thirty thousand a year of clear, unencumbered income, besides houses in town and country, and one thousand a year only to his declared heir seemed to Conyers paltry and mean, the more especially as he secretly bore in mind that his wife's pretensions were all baseless, that she had no private income whatever, and that her extravagances musb be paid for by him out of a sum supposed to provide only for his own. 'Ib is satisfactory,' said the young man, a little sullenly. " ' You are very kind, Lord Hawkhurst, but, after all, eighbeen hundred a year seems small.' ' I consider the income you will have ample, considering that you wi'l have only yourself to provide for,', said the earl, somewhat sternly. 'Mrs Conyers has a magnificent home, and keeps her own carriage, and pays her own milliner. If you cannot Pay your tailor, and keep a hunter and your own private single brougham out of your income, I shall be unable to assist you further ab presenb. When you sband in my place you may havo my income. While I am Earl of Hawkhursb I intend to keep up the dignity in suitable style. I hope you understand me.' . ' I am certainly very grateful, my Lord, said Conyers, more gracefully, conscious that the lawyer was watching him. 'I am sorry if I have appeared dissatisfied. In truth, lam delighted. In what way am I to obtain this incomo ?' . ' I shall pay it half-yearly. 1 will give you five hundred pounds to-day.' Hesab down ab his desk and drew a cheque for the amount named and handed ib to Conyers, who took ib with a flushing cheek and a look of annoyance. 'Is nob this too much after the manner of paying one's tradesmen, mv Lord?' asked the young man. ' Suppose I were to be out of England, or you were ill, how then shall I obtain this sum semi-annually?' ' I will make provision for it. Hereafter it will come to you regularly through Sherwald's hands. He will remit ib to you without your application for it. The subject grows unpleasanb. Leb us drop it. Conyers bowed, and stuffed the cheque into his pocket. The sparkle in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks told plainly of his secret rage, bub he was wise enough to restrain all expression of it in words. _ ' We were talking, a3 yon came in, of Desmond,' said the earl. 'So you met Desmond to-day, Sherwald ? Did he send a reply to my'letter by you, or must hefirst consult his bride before he can appoint a day bo dine with us ?' ' Mr Desmond was in serious trouble, said the solicitor., 'He looked wild and haggard. He had run in to see his friend purpose of obtaining his advice.' 'In trouble ?' cried the earl. ' Had his widow jilted him at the lasb minute ?' ' No ; they were married yesterday ; but as they entered their carriage at the churchdoor, Desmond's bride fainted dead away in his arms, and she did not revive until after her return horne —' ' H—m ! That's queer !' interrupted Lord Hawkhurst. ' Why, Conyers and Mrs Conyers happened by a singular chance to see the pair as they came out of the church, and neither of them spoke of her fainting. Conyers, had she fainted when you saw her?' Conyors muttered a negative. 'It was very sudden,' said the lawyer; and he told as much as he knew of Beryl's disappearance. ..., ' Desmond tracked her,' he satd, to Westminster Bridge. He baa discovered that she sat for an hour upon that bridge, and the policeman who was on that beat last night says that she meant to destroy her life.bub bhab he drove her off the bridge, advising her to go home. The young lady seen by the policeman answers to Mrs Desmond's description in every particular, even to the costume. Tho policeman says she went over to the Surrey Side, and he lost si.dit of her. He bhinks she may have kept along bho river till she gained Blackfriar's Bridge, and then flung herself ' Poor Desmond !' said the earl, forgetting his former anger againsb our hero. ' Poor fellow ! Go to him, Sherwald, and tell him how I sympathise with him. Advise him to set all the police upon the track of his fever-stricken wife. My purse is ab his disposal. If bhey find her, let bhem bring Mrs Desmond here. Poor girl! Poor Desmond ! Leb our business go for to-nighb, Sherwald, and find Desmond. Leave me his address, and I'll see him myself in the morning.'

CHAPTER XXXIV,

A BAD LOOK-OUT FOR CONYERS.

Urox the morning succeeding the receipt of his instructions, Sherwald visited the barrister to whom repeated allusion had been made, and obtained Desmond's address in Wells-sbreeb. In sad conbrasb wibh his surroundings, was bhe desolate figure of Desmond. The young man had recently come in, and had flung himself upon a low couch which he had found drawn up before the fire. Ab Sherwald's enbrance, Desmond raised himself, and burned boward the intruder a thin white face, in which burned two haggard eyes _ a face co worn and sharpened with anxiety and grief, thab Beryl herself might scarcely have recognised it. The young man arose wibh difficulty, yet with an instinctive courtesy thab could nob desert him even in his misery. He had nob undressed nor slepb since Beryl's disappearance, and was physically exhausted. ' I am Mr Sherwald, Lord Hawkhursb's solicibor,' said tho visitor. ' I am come to you from bhe earl. Pray lie down again, Mr Desmond. I shall go ab once if you do Desmond übtered some faint words of apology and sank back upon his couch, again motioning his visitor to bo seated. Sherwald drew a chair to the corner of the hearth, where he would be in full view of his host, and sat down. 'Lord Hawkhurst has heard of your marriage, Mr Desmond,' he said, plunging into the subject ab once, ' and also of the sad affliction that has followed it. He desires me to offer you his hearty sympathy, and he begs you to use his purse as if it wero your own in prosecuting your search for the missing lady.' The tone and manner of the solicitor were full of respectful sympathy. Desmond's lips quivered. 'He is very kind,' he said. 'Ihave no need of money, bub I thank him for his kindness.'

'Have you found no clue to Mrs Desmond yet ?' asked the solicitor. ' !' ' I have heard something of ' the sad story from our mutual friend, Mr Dallas, in whose office I saw you yesterday morning,' said the solicitor, gently. 'I am come here as your friend, Mr Desmond, and as Lord Hawkhurst's friend, and not as an- inquisitive curiosity-seeker. If I can be of any service to.you, I beg you to command me.' The gentleness of Sherwald. manner, the genuine air of sympathy, touched Desmond's tortured heart. 'I cannob think that she is dead,' he said, ' and yet she was wild with ferer, and may have flung herself into the river while in a paroxysm of delirium. But if she is nob dead, bhink of her wandering along, sick wibh fever, helpless, beautiful, friendless ! We have searched the hospitals— every place where she mighb be—but from ia r 3vj|jcJl Jfetj ?_J?S4 W^^ ftflJKl -

Westminster Bridge, ab the rough command of tho policeman, all trace of her seems lost! , ~ 'Is it not strange that a fever should come upon her so suddenly ?' 'Perhaps so. She was herself ab tne church, and I saw no indication of approaching illness then. She has been a daily governess, ill paid and overworked. The excitement of the marriage proved too much for her and precipitabed her illness. ' Could she have had any possible reason for flight?' asked Mr Sherwald, gravely. 'Pardon me, Mr Desmond. Don b be offended. Every possibility should be considered in a case like tbis. Was there any mystery in her life ? j Was there anyone of whom she was afraid ?' ' She had no one to fear—no one. She wai a mere child in years—only just seventeen -but she was a widow. Her first marriage had been unhappy. She was educated in Switzerland. Last June she became acquainted with a young Englishman and married him at Geneva in August. In beptemberhe lost his life in attempting an ascent of Monte Rosa. She- never wore mourning for him. She had not really loved him. Sho knew no one in England, had no enemies, and her flight is to be explained only upon the ground of brainfever.' Sherwald was thoughtful. •Did she take anything with her?' ho aglrAn 'Nothing—nob even her dressing-bag! I hope you may be able to help me to soma light on this subject,' said Mr Desmond, wearily. 'My brain is all confused. Coma wibh me up to her room, Mr Sherwald. Everything'is as she left ib. You shall sea that even her jewellery is there, and you will comprehend, as I do, bhab her flight was but an impulse of her fever. Come. Desmond arose and took up a lamp from his table and led the way upstairs. He had the key of Beryl's room in his pocket and unlocked her door and ushered Sherwald

in. The alcove in which stood the bed was shut off by the glazed doors. The grate was empty. The room was chilly and desolate. One trunk, strapped and labelled, stood near the door. The dressing-bag—a wedding gift to Beryl from Desmond—stood on the table. Another trunk stood open in the centre of the room to receive the wedding garments. The wedding robe was thrown upon a sofa in a careless heap. In the tray of the open trunk was the brief remnant of the jewellery that had belonged to Beryls mother, and which bad been given to Beryl by her uncle, William Star, unon the occasion of her memorable visit to Starwood. Some of this jewellery had been sold to procure the garments necessary tor Beryl's second marriage, bub a few pieces still remained. ,•_•*„„ ' Is her purse gone ?' asked the solicitor. ' It's on the table, empty,' said Dcs "Beryl's old pocket-book, indeed, lay there. She had procured a new one before her second marriage, the old one being too shabby for furbher use ; and, as had been explained, the new pocket-book, with over forty pounds inmoney in it, had been m the pocket of her travelling-suit when she had Sherwald examined the empty purse, and wandered about the room, examining object) after object. Ho came to the open trunk, and having asked permission, looked over the little store of jewels. •She would not have left these if bet flight had been premeditated, he thought. • Of course, the poor girl, in a paroxysm of brain-fever, went and drowned herself. There was a set of silver filigree jewellery, broken and discoloured, as it had come to TCorvl It was of small value now, save as Bub the article of most importance was a necklace of gold beads in Sny cubes, each cube set with a minute diamond spark. The clasp was *$*%£* larger gem of the purest water. The ornament was very quaint andpj#f) *tf attracted Sherwald's keen attention. Ho turned it over in his hand, seeking to find an inscription upon the clasp, or amid the delicate engraving covering each golden cube, but he found none. Desmond IS not heed his absorption,, having covered his face with his hands. •Was this a gift to Mrs Desmond from you sir?' asked Sherwald, at last, holding up the necklace on his hand. P Desmond started and looked up, shaking M ' I Tever saw it before,' he said, hollowly, and hid his face again. / 'Will you lend it to me for a day or two?' asked the solicitor, eagerly: 1 will return it soon.' j Desmond nodded assent. . Sherwald rolled up the necklace in a bit of paper and stowed it in his pocket. The two presently returned to Desmond a rooms They had scarcely done so when the postman's knock was heardl and the housemaid came hurrying up with a letter foi 'Mr Desmond. Sherwald took it at the door and de> livered it to his host. The young.man took it idly, glanced ab the address, and sprang up as if galvanised, his face flushed a °' From' her ! from her !' he ejaculated. •She is nob dead !' He tore open the letter and devoured its contents. . ~ ' Nob dead ! Oh, whab an exquisite relief !' he said, when he had read it again and again. 'It is as I thought. She wandered away in her fever. She meant to kill herself, but did not. She has a vagary oi her fever still, but she says she has found shelter. Oh, my darling, my love, mj wife, where is she ?' ~.-., He gave the letter into the solicitor 8 hands, and began to pace the floor In a wild excitement. Sherwald read the letter attentively, every faculty sharpened to keenness. Ht saw no vagary of fever in that profound despair of Beryl's. He started when h« read that she had seen her husband, whoa he had believed dead, ab the very door o: the church, after her marriage to Desmond His face changed colour when he read tb< name of Vane Conroy as the name of he: first husband. . • Poor child ! Mv poor, fever-stnckei little wife!' said Desmond, in an agony o yearning. ' You see her chimera ! Shi had worked too hard and had not been wel nourished. She fell ill from over-excite ment, and doubtless fancied that her firs hußband had come back from his grave t reproach her with her too speedy marriag with another ! Where can she have founi refuge ? Has some good Samaritan takei her in ? Or is she in evil hands ? I mua go to the police-station at once with thi new clue.'

He seized his hat as he spoke. * Wait,' said Sherwald, pityingly. 'Mj« dear Mr Desmond, you go upon the ground that your—that this lady is delirous. Le* us talk the matter over. Did she see net husband buried after his death ?' 'No, they never found his body. It slipped into a crevasse.' 'Ah ! Can you bear my opinion, Mr Desmond ?—though it's only my opinion. 1 think she is not delirious ab all—only nearly wild with despair.' ' How—what ?' 'I think,'said Sherwald, steadily, 'that her former husband was not killed in Switzerland —that he counterfeited death to be rid of her—that he was in London—v that she has seen him !' Desmond dropped into a chair, weak at one dyingThere waß water on the table. The solidtor tilled a glass and placed ib to the young man's lips. * Leave me,' said Desmond, in a whisper. ' I wano to be alone.'

Sherwald longed to utter words of com-' fort, bub here he was dumb. He stole ouj of the room softly, as from the presence of j t^__!__j___t_&Kß?«.