Sylvestre’s Secret

Evening Star, Issue 20118, 7 March 1929, Page 2

Sylvestre’s Secret

By Alice M. Diehl

[Alt Eights Reserved.}

CHAPTER XXL SVLVESTUB DKCLAKES HIS HAND. “Whore is my Madge?” somewhat querulously asked the invalid, the day alter Madge was supported into the house by Hr Hayward and delivered into old Claire’s hands to bo nursed and cosseted. But that day, and the liext, Madge lay half unconscious, after shock, on her bed, Dr Hayward, his firm lips set, grim and uncompromising, paying frequent visits to her room between his attendance upon her mother and his wanderings in the somewhat wild grounds of the chateau. Ho had at least satisfied Mrs Belcombc that in a very few hours her daughter would have recovered from what he chose to term ,l a slight chill,” and, with the prospect of au imminent altercation—ho believed it would be that—with Madge, he avoided Julian, who spent his time alternately smoking in the garden and going about the farm with the honest, good-natured Jean Dupin, and sought the avenue of limes which led to the rustic churchyard of the pretty church, “ The Star of the Sea,” which contained such pathetic memorials of sailors—drowned, or saved from drowning. Half unconsciously, seeing the church door open, he wandered in, and stood before the Lady Chapel. On its walls were frescoes representing stormy seas, boats full of half-drowned sailors praying for the help of “ Our Lady, Star of the Sea,” then, above, the storm clouds parting to show _ the blessed Mother, her holy Babe in her arm*, smiling upon the poor struggling sailors. Then by the rude altar, with its blue and white drapery and wooden crucifix, was an arch filled with exvotos—silver hearts and anchors offered as a proof of some blessing connected with these men of the sea granted in answer to humble prayer. Hayward was, he himself considered, an agnostic. Meanwhile, he considered that in “ the natural superstitions of ordinary humankind,” such as these ho was now gazing upon, there might lurk some fragment of eternal Truth j and as ho was thus thinking a ray of sunshine shone full upon the touching picture of the stormbound sailors and the Madonna and Child. “It is a fiction—there was help in it, as they were—it gave them the courage to fight through,” he mused. “When only a lie can save a catastrophe, is not that lie justifiable?” The blood rushed to bis head. He felt excited. That very morning he had had news from England—from a trustworthy person who was watching events during his absence —which made him think of a means to bring matters to a climax. . , ' “He must be frightened into openly declaring his hand,” he told himself. “Then and only then, can I fight him with his own weapons.” He waited no longer—perhaps he was afraid that he might flinch Horn an action which he believed would lower himself in his own estimation till ms life’s end—he abruptly quitted the church, made his way to the telegraph office, and wired that pregnant sen- “ She died an hour ago.”

Ten days had passed since Madge, horror-stricken at the terrible secret Hayward had whispered in her ear, had fallen at the doctor’s feet. Ton days of, first, alternate stupor and delirium, then of a slow return to convalescence and everyday life. . . , The day when she first visited the invalid, who was worse after the anxiety about this loved only daughter, was a most trying ordeal. “I can never be happy again, never!” she told herself. “If it is so awful to sec her—deluded, wronged, cruelly-treated mother—how can I ever face him?” . Only when she was unmistakably stronger—when her physical being had rallied, in spite of her mental prostration, did Hayward encourage her to ask questions. It was in the garden, Madge seated on a stone bench concealed from the house by a big walnut tree, her head supported by her arm—her forehead bent m shame; he, standing near, watching her narrowly. By hex- reception of his revelation ho knew it was impossible that she would take any active part in bringing Sylvestre to book. It was impossible to recommence his wooing of jViadgo in her state of collapse. Indeed, that very collapse had had a peculiar effect upon him. If she had rallied, had shown her .dormer spirit, and had ased him to renounce hex* at once and for always, lie felt that he might even have said: “ Go in peace, child. God bless you,” believing as he did that even if she became his wife that secret would arise and stand as it were a grisly' shadow between them.

So he was gentle, deferential, brotherly, respecting her dull almost apathetic silence, and doing all ho could for her mother. „ While Madge remained upstairs, all communication with Dupin and Annesley being made by Madame Dupin, ho behavfed as if merely the medical friend, as far as the ladies ‘were concerned. Meanwhile ho and Julian Annesley became/ undoubted chums. ' The honest, straight-'' forward Jean Diipin would gaze after the pair in wonder. He vaguely felt thex’o was some mystery connected with the presumed drowning of his brother-in-law which perhaps accounted for the eccentric comings and goings of Hayward and Annesley, taud even of his beautiful niece, Marguerite. But his simple, bucolic mind refused to suggest any reasonable explanatioh of all th© mysterious confabulations between the men.

Then one day the good man was contentedly smoking his pip© after supper with his men guests. They were in the verandah. Coffee had been brought out and placed on the little iron table by the high-capped, sabot-shod bonne a tout fair©. They were discussing the situation in Franco with liveliness than usual, Hayward smoking his meerschaum, Julian enjoying a cigarette, when there was a rustle, the white flash of a silk and muslin tea gown, and a hoarse cry; “Doctor Hayward!”

Julian sprang to his feet first, and recognised his love. Madge was white as her gown. Her eyes were distended, her pale lips drawn back from her even, pearly teeth. She looked distracted with terror.

Julian was at her side at once, speaking soothing, tender words. She clutched at his arm, held it as in a vice. “I have had a letter. Mr Annesley must bo told first. He must know all!”

'Hayward, with a slightly’apprehensive glance at honest Jean’—for in his perturbation he forgot that the good Dupin spoke but fragmentary English, and understood less—pushed aside a chair, and went up to them at the open long window. “Ho knows—all! Tell her that you do, Annesley,”. he said, almost jeremptorify.

Author of jT’he Mont amor Case,’ ‘The Marriage of Penore,’ etc,

“Dearest child”—Julian spoke with deep feeling—” that is true. L have nothing to learn.” “ ! “But,” she interrupted, gasping, her distended eyes travelling to Hayward, “I have just had a letter from Mrs Hamblyn—ho wants to marry—Eve!” “What?” Julian started. He turned to Hayward savagely. “That has come out of your mad scheme!” he hoarsely said. “I warned you!” Hayward was livid. He clutched at the back of an iron chair to steady himself. “How—how—could I dream that he would be so mad—such a dastardly blackguard he began. But Madge interrupted him with a despairing gesture. “ i don’t know how you brought it about, if indeed you did—but why your talking like that should help I don’t know. Oh, Julian!” She turned to Annesley with such a yearning look that Julian’s heart seemed, as it were, to leap into his mouth—“you will help me, won’t you ' Come, read that dreadful letter with me. Oh, no! Not indoors —1 cannot breathe.”

She shuddered, and, forgetting all but the anguish of the hour, leant heavily against Julian. In the shock of the news that letter contained she had, as it were, clutched in spirit at the man she loved— she grasped him, mutely appealed to him for protection, in the body. “ Dearest—my darling girl—bear up—you shall come with me.” Encircling her with his arm ho gave Hayward an eloquent, appealing look, at which Hayward, after one grim glance aside at Madge, nodded, and turned away. So, Sylvestre had surpassed himself—he was about to do his worst—but had he not expected that he would? Hayward asked himself, as, with a certain amount of self-reproach, ho watched Julian, Madge clinging to his arm, pace slowly along the grassy path to, wards the stone bench under the walnut tree.

“I should have done better to keep myself free from this gal ere,” ho bitterly thought; “and the situation is far worse than I thought it would bo. That poor girl—she will be the scapegoat. Well, more fool she, to have wasted her beautiful young love on an unscrupulous old reprobate!” CHAPTER XXII. FACE 'lO FACE. Although the Chateau Noisy had been the property of a Marquis do Noisy before the Trench Revolution of 171/2, it afterwards passed into the hands of the founders 01 the Unpin family’s fortunes, and much of the old-world aristocratic beauty of long avenues and marble fountains and statues remained. Julian Annesley chose an aveiuio of Hue old trees at whoso end there was a quaint old statue of a dancing Eaun, ami walking slowly along at Madge’s side, felt Hie soothing mnuonce of the natural beauty of the place. Neither spoke till they reached the garden bench’ near the statue, then, placing Madge gently in a corner, ho rested, one foot on the seat, so that he was a living screen between her and the long vista of ciose-shavne turf. “Refore we say one word of all this, quite understand, my beloved, that it will make no difference to us,” he slowly, earnestly said. “ I hold you to your promise! Hayward has been a brick m that. Ho has practically renounced you. He said: ‘lt is reparation.’ 1 agreed with him! What do I care for the name of Slyvestrc, when it has been blackened so by its holder ? ”

Madge gave a little sob. “ But, think, perhaps it may be all wrong for us—my brotners and myself/' she began. “Put that out of your clear little head, once and lor all I” he cried. “ I mean to see you all righted, J promise you that! But come, show me this wonderful letter/' As she drew it from its hiding place with a trembling hand, she happened to glance at the Eaun. _ To her the old statue seemed, Avitli its wide grin and taunting eyes, to bo gazing at her in mockery. She shrank back—it seemed as if the stone creature’s leer were more diabolic than when she glanced at it first. But when, seated at her side, ho began to read the letter, she forgot the Eaun in its contents.

They were peculiar. After stating that tho writer had been anxious about Madge, who had not kept her promise of penning frequent letters to her, she went on:

“I have a great surprise for you—at least, T think it will be. You may have noticed how deep the attachment of my darling child has been to our best friend, 3mm Sylvestre. But tho difference in age prevented my imagining that which has happened. Quite suddenly. When both were absent, I heard that they intended to bo married, in private, as soon as possible. How the union will turn out no one can tell. Mv dear girl, I hope and trust that this will not wound you in any way. I believe the denouement is of quite recent date.” That was all that was written on that subject. Mrs Hamblyn • yvent on to others.

“Poor, unfortunate Eve!” said Julian, folding the letter and returning it to Madge. “We piust protect her, yon and I, my dearest.” “But how?” Madge, hung her head. “ Oh, how could he? How dared he?” “Don’t Jet us waste timo and breath in talking—we must be doing!” said he, emphatically. “ And, my darling girl—l know the world, you do not. Y'ou will promise to be guided by me, will you not?”

“ Have I anyone in this world to help us—me—except you?” she asked, tearfullv. “Of course—l must—l will!”

“ We must go to England at once. Then there wif* he a reckoning between him and me. But, Madge, you must be my wife first. You shall not see him again before our wedding, although, perhaps, I shall have to do so. Our first step will he to leave here to-morrow, early. _ I have some friends in'London who will protect you while I get a Intense and arrange everything. What is wrong? ” “ How can I—how can you—marry—while everything is so dreadful? ” she wailed, passionately, clasping her hands. ‘ How can I face him—tell him what I think—when I have another name ? He might well say; ‘ Yon upbraid me, but you have not really cared! ’ ”

“ This is not the time for sentiment, clear! I must see you all righted. Justice must be done. But, I cannot deal with matters with a free hand unless I have rights in you and your fami', V regard. Can you see that? ” Only after further talk-serious, even determined on his part—did Madgo resign her own opinion—indeed, resign the future conduct of her life .—into his hands*

“ I cannot be a proper wife to you; I can never, never be happy again! ” she miserably said, wringing her hands. “ How can I have any peace of mind when the lives of my' mother, my brothers, have been wrecked by that dreadful man? ” “ Not necessarily wrecked, my beloved,” he assured her. “That is what I . mean when I say must be done. I must see each one in his and her rightful place! You say what has been planned cannot be prevented by us? We will see!

The first meeting between Madge and Hayward after the poor girl had learnt what her life, past and present, really meant, was s'ightiy stormy. Hayward. assailed by Julian, shrugged his shoulders and somewhat bitterly said that “ bad was the best.” “ He ought never to have been born, or he ought to have died before he was capable of ruining other people’s lives,” he added. “ Even if you can .get justice done to this unhappy woman upstairs, she will probably learn the truth, and I firmly believe the nest shock will be her last.” Then Madge had come in, and Julian had met her at the door of the salon and led her to Hayward, who was standing at the window gloomily gazing out upon the park. “ Dr Hayward is our best friend, Marguerite! ” he began, starting slightly as she almost snatched her hand from his.

“ Dr Hayward will have to answer some questions of mine first,” she said, and much of her old spirit looked out of her flashing eyes. , I, wish to know, Dr Hayward, if, when you first told me that you wanted to marry me you knew all this? ”

Anger l ’ sparkled in Hayward’s eves. “ What an insult! ” he began. “ How dare .you ask mo if I am a low. mean, contemptible creature? ” “ T beg your pardon, I, did not mean to insult you! ” said Madge, bitterly. “ Let me put it differently. Can you tell me when yon were satisfied in your own mind that this, to me, most dreadful tiling was true? ” “ Only quite of late,” be replied, mollified by her change of tone. “It was some little time before I could believe it possible that any man living should pursue such a course of conduct, or be sufficiently clever 'to cany it through. But it is not you he has injured, Madge, it is that unfortunate girl, and now your duty, both of you, is plain. You must enlighten her, separate them as soon as possible.”

As Julian and Madge were pacing the deck of the steamer in the early morning light their talk was more of _ Eve Hamblyn than of themselves. Julian’s plan was to leave Madge with these great friends of his—a veri’erable clergyman and his old wife—in their little home in the Surrey suburb, and, alter the preliminaries to their marriage were well in train to journey direct to Heathcoto Manor ami blaze out the truth if not to the strangely assorted couple, to Mrs Hamblyn. “She must come to know it—what is the use of this beating about the bush?” he cried. “ I don’t mind knowing the fact that ho has deceived me— I \Vould rather not succeed a man of his sort. Mrs Hamblyn is a woman of sense and good feeling. She will bitterly regret every hour, if not every minute, that she has been ignorant of her unhappy child’s degradation.” Arrived in London, Julian chartered, a taxicab, and they drove direct out of the city to the south-western suburb, where, "amid the green lanes and grass Helds, the pretty gabled cottage could just be discerned from among the laurels and mountain ash and young oaks which hid it from the high road. Madge, was faint and tired—tho reaction alter herco excitement. Emerging from the narrow garden path bordered by shrubbery, to sec a dear old lady in black satin," her grey hair prettily dressed under a high lace cap, and a neat parlourmaid awaiting her at tho open door gave her a comforting sense of cessation of storm and turmoil—of possible peace. “ Welcome, my dear,” said Mrs Daldy—who was Julian’s godmother, and to whom ho owed whatever he knew of faith, hope, and- charity—and she took Madge’s hands in hers and kissed her. then led her into a cosy sitting room—a room like those Madge remembered in tho parsonages of her childhood Comfortable chintz-covered chairs and sofa, desks and work table, a bay window full of plants, lino old prints above the low bookcases, and a canary hopping about his largo cago as he chirped for the newcomers’ notice. “ So this is your future wife, dear,” she said in a cooing voice to Julian—■ she had ensconced Madge upon the roomy sofa to rest before she went to her room. “ I am sure she is as dear and good as she looks.” After breakfast in a cosy dining room, when Madge was introduced to the aged rector —an idea! old man, with his pink and white amiable features, bis snowy white hair ami beard, and his blue eyes, bland and innocent as those of a child— Julian left his beloved to the old people, and first went for tho special license, then to the station, where ho caught tho later express to Heathcole. His conscience had left him no peace, urging him to find Evo at all costs and to warn her of her terrible fate.

Hayward he could not bring himself to blame, although his precipitate and unscrupulous action in sending a telegram which was untrue had caused Sylvestre openly' to show his cards. On his arrival at tho station for Sylvestre Court he heard that Lord Sylvestre was in residence, also, it was believed, Mrs and Miss Hamblyn. During tho journey ho had wavered as to the way in which ho would impart the news to Eve which would completely put an end to that frightful entanglement of hers. Poor, sweet girl! How would he make her credit the villainy of the man she now, in her ignorance, almost worshipped as a god?_ To drive boldly to the principal entrance, as lie would have done, if matters Jiad been “ square,” would be, he considered, a, mistake. No. To sneak into tho grounds, to watch for Eve, and then gain her oar—that would bo the best way to act. So he left his bag at tho inn, chartered a bedroom, greatly to the landlady’s surprise (she afterwards felt certain in her own mind that Captain Annesley must bo one of that sweet creature, Miss Hamblyn’s, disappointed swains), and crossed the fields leading to tho paik. From the park he made his way, skirting tho shrubberies, to a point in the gardens whence he could watch tho hack of the house where the drawing rooms opened upon the terrace. He saw Eve and her mother come into tho lighted room. Then Eve strolled out—alone—upon the terrace. He remembered that this was the evening that Sylvestre interviewed the bailiff to check his accounts and hear of the progress of affairs in the estate, dud, secure from interruption, no walked up the marble steps and along the terrace to where she had seated herself.

So sweet and gentle she looked, in her flowing white gown—so bright a face was turned to him as lie neared her, that he felt bitter compunction. He wondered if murderers felt as he did. He thought he might class himself with assassins, for was he not about to kill Eve’s happiness, once and for all? As he went nearer she gave a little cry and stood up. “Why, Julian! Have you dropped from the skies?’’ she cried, holding out her hand. “I have m^re- likely come up from below*- he erimlyi replied, ignoring the

hand. How could he make a profession of friendship when he was come to break this girl’s heart with one fell blow?

Eve fell back, staring anxiously at him—her former playmate and chum. For a moment or two she feared he had been seized with madness. “ Oh! Do not make such' dreadful jests—it is not like you!” she began, leaning back against the marble balustrade and struggling to appear raore at ease than she felt. “ Why did you come like this? Lord Sylvestre would have been so pleased to know you were coming homo; for, remember, this is your home as much, or even more than it is mine. I suppose you hava heard my great news—that I am to bo Lady Sylvestre?” She might well give a startled exclamation, for ha gave a deep groan, and shook his head.

“ How shall 1 tell you a frightful truth? How shall I dare to shatter your beautiful young life?” he gloomily began. “Eve, I would willingly submit to be tortured by any of the diabolical inventions of cruelty in the Middle Ages if thereby I could undo what you have done for yourself since yon—and I—last met.” Feeling suddenly too weak to stand, Eve sank back on the stone bench, and gazed piteously at this seemingly _ demented man; and as he stared miserably at her, pityingly, yet admiringly —she looked so frail and beautiful in the faint light of the afterglow with her delicate Beatrice Cenci face, her sweet eyes, her red-gold hair—he inwardly cursed the man who had ruthlessly sought to ruin, not only her life, but the lives of others. “ I cannot understand,” she tremulously began. “ What can I possibly have done that could—would—harm me, or anyone else?” Was that the slam of a closing door within? Had Sylvestre hurried through his interview with the bailiff in his haste to rejoin Eve? He lelt warned to begin his hateful task at once. . . “Eve,” he gravelv said, seating himself by her. “ I little thought it would be my cruel task to tell you what I have to tell: that if you persist in remaining betrothed to Lord Sylvestre, as I am told you art,, you will simply ruin all your chances of peace and happiness in life —” He stopped short, for she ■ rose abruptly, and faced him. “if that is your cruel task—to suggest unworthy conduct on the part of mv promised husband —will you wait until he is present to defend himself?’' she coldlv, haughtily began. Then suddenly her expression chanced, a light came into her eyes, and glancing in the direction of her fixed gaze, he gfi'iY'—Sylvestre? who hs.<i steppecl out of the long window, and was coming towards them. (To be continued.)