The Mandarin's Fan Part 37

"What's the matter?"

Rupert put the envelope under her nose. "Smell it. Don't you recognise the scent."

"No," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, "it's a strange scent."

"Very, and was used to perfume the letter which Tung-yu sent to Major Tidman. This may have to do with the fan again."

Olivia looked nervous. "I wish we could hear the last of it," she said.

"It has caused enough trouble already. Open the letter, dear."

Rupert did so and was more astonished than ever. "Here's an unexpected development," he remarked pa.s.sing the letter to Olivia, "Lo-Keong is in England."

Mrs. Ainsleigh read the few lines which stated that the mandarin was stopping at a fashionable hotel in Northumberland Avenue, and would do himself the honour of calling on the son of his old friend in a few days. "He's come to see after the fan personally," said Olivia returning the letter. "I am glad."

"So am I," said Rupert quickly. "I'll now learn the truth about my father, and see if I can't get that eight thousand pounds."

"Rupert, do you think Lo-Keong killed your father?"

"I can't say. Forge declared over and over again, that he died of dysentery, and that Lo-Keong seized the money for the Boxers. But I'll demand an explanation from the Mandarin."

"Will he give it?" asked Mrs. Ainsleigh doubtfully.

"He'll have to," replied Rupert grimly, "and he'll have to give the money back also. I don't care for Forge's cash, as a villain such as he is, doesn't deserve any reward. But I want my own eight thousand, and I'll have it."

"I hope so," sighed Olivia, "we could then pay off Miss Pewsey, or rather Mrs. Forge, as she no doubt is by this time."

"No. Forge has bolted."

"What, on the eve of the wedding?"

"Yes. He cleared out last night. Either he fears being arrested for the murder of your aunt, or he dreads lest Hwei should come down to kill him for the sake of the fan. At all events he has gone, and Miss Pewsey is no doubt waiting at the altar of St. Peter's Church, for a bridegroom who will never come. But we must attend to our own troubles, dear. I'll write to the Mandarin to-day and ask him to visit us when it suits him.

Or else I can run up----"

"No," interrupted Olivia in a voice of alarm. "I won't have you go away again, until this fan business is settled. I'm always afraid of your falling into the hands of these Chinamen. I shall ask Mr. Lo-Keong, to stop them searching for the fan."

"He can stop Hwei," said Rupert rising, "but Tung-yu is in the employment of Hop Sing, the Mandarin's rival. Don't be afraid, my dearest, I have been protected by Providence these many days, and it is not likely that I'll come to grief. But I fear for Forge and for Burgh, who has likewise bolted. Those two will certainly get into trouble."

"It is wrong to say so," said Mrs. Ainsleigh with a sigh, "but I _do_ dislike that man Burgh, and Dr. Forge also."

"Leave them in G.o.d's hands, dear," replied her husband gravely, "if they have sinned, they will be punished. What we have to do, is to learn if Lo-Keong will restore this money. I'll write, asking him to come down to Royabay," and Rupert went to the library forthwith.

It was an autumnal day with a promise of rain. Ragged clouds drifted across a cold blue sky, and the wind was rather high. Already many trees had shed their leaves, but the pine boughs still bore their sombre burdens. Everything looked old and miserable, and there seemed to lurk a premonition of evil in the air. At least, Olivia thought so, as she stood at the drawing-room window, looking out on to the terrace and down the avenue, which could be seen from this point of view. Rupert was in the library engaged on his letter to the Mandarin, and Olivia was half inclined to join him. She felt weary, chilly and out of spirits, and could not account for doing so.

"I'm the happiest girl in the world," she a.s.sured herself, "I have married the man I love, and he adores me. He rescued me from a miserable life, and is making me immensely happy. I should certainly be in the best of spirits, yet----"

She stopped short at this point and her eyes became fixed, while a colour flushed her somewhat pale cheeks. And no wonder. Up the avenue, battling against the force of the wind, came Miss Pewsey. She wore a bridal dress of white, a lace bonnet trimmed with orange blossoms, and carried a bouquet of flowers. To see this figure in such a dress walking under a sombre sky, between dripping trees, and with the winds blowing furiously against it, was a strange sight, and gave Olivia what the Scotch call "a grue." Then she became indignant. It was insolent, she thought, that this woman who had insulted her so often, who had made her life miserable, who had robbed her of her inheritance and who had tried to defame her character, should thus present herself. On the impulse of the moment and in spite of wind, and of the rain, which was beginning to fall, Mrs. Ainsleigh threw open the French window and stepped out on to the terrace. It was in her mind, to order Miss Pewsey away. She deserved little mercy at Olivia's hands.

The noise made by the opening of the window made Miss Pewsey raise her head, and then she came straight across the gra.s.s. As she drew near, Olivia was struck with the tragic horror of her face. She was always old in her looks, but now she seemed at least a hundred. Her lips were white, her eyes red and with dark circles under them; a myriad wrinkles ploughed her face, and her usually bright eyes were dim and blood-shot.

To see this weird face under the bridal bonnet was at once grotesque and pathetic, Without a word, Miss Pewsey climbed the steps gasping at every step, and came directly towards Olivia. She pa.s.sed her and entered the room. Mrs. Ainsleigh came after in a whirlwind of pa.s.sion.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, "this is _my_ house."

"I am aware of the fact," said Miss Pewsey dropping into a chair and shaking out her soiled and sodden bridal dress, "but it may be mine before the end of the year. But don't let us quarrel," she went on in a piteous way, "I'm in trouble."

"What is it?" asked Olivia, who could guess.

"Theophilus has left me. Yes! Last night he went away leaving a cold letter behind him which was to be delivered to me at the altar. And it was," wept Miss Pewsey, "that old woman Mrs. Bressy brought the note. It said that Theophilus has left me for ever. And all my friends were there, and I was awaiting the happy hour, then--then--" she broke down sobbing.

Olivia was touched. Miss Pewsey had always been her enemy, yet there was something about the unhappy creature which called for sympathy.

"I am sorry for your trouble," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, in a softer voice.

"No," said Miss Pewsey drying her eyes with a very wet handkerchief, "you can't be, I never liked you, nor you me."

"That is perfectly true, and you turned my aunt against me. All the same I _am_ sorry, and anything I can do shall be done."

Miss Pewsey threw herself on her knees before her enemy, who was thus heaping coals of fire on her head. "Then ask your husband to leave my Theophilus alone," she whispered. "Clarence, who has also gone, wrote to me, and said that Mr. Ainsleigh accused Theophilus of the death of my dearest Sophia."

"What," cried Olivia, "does Mr. Burgh dare. Why he accuses Dr. Forge, himself. Rupert certainly wrote to the detective Mr. Rodgers, but Mr.

Burgh has to substantiate his statement."

Miss Pewsey jumped up. "What," she said, much more her own evil self, "did Clarence accuse my Theophilus? It's a lie--a lie. I have kept silence too long--much too long."

"About what?"

"About the murder," screamed Miss Pewsey, "it was Clarence who killed my Sophia--yes--you may look and look Olivia--but it was Clarence himself.

He took the tie from the coat-pocket. I told him, you had given it to him, and--"

"But he gave it to Dr. Forge."

"He did not. Clarence took Sophia out on to the steps--at least he appointed to meet her there, to tell her about the fan. Then he strangled her, thinking your husband would be accused. Theophilus came on Clarence when he was picking up the fan. Sophia held it in her death grip, and it was some time before he could get it loose. Theophilus came, and hearing steps, Clarence ran away down to the beach. Then he returned to the ball-room by the front of the hotel."

"But the fan?"

"Theophilus Forge has it," said Miss Pewsey, setting her face, "and I expect he has taken it with him."

"Why didn't you tell this at the inquest."

"Because I didn't. Clarence is my own sister's son. I could not see him hanged. He had to hold his tongue, although he wanted the fan back again. But I insisted that Theophilus should make the money out of it.

This is Clarence's revenge. Because the fan is kept from him he threatens Theophilus; oh Olivia, _do_ ask your husband to leave the matter alone. I will give up that mortgage--"

"I can do nothing," said Olivia, "it isn't in my husband's power. He has written to Rodgers--"

"But he has not told him anything," said Miss Pewsey eagerly.

"No. He merely asked him to call."

"Then he shall see _me_, and I'll tell him of Clarence's wickedness. But the fan--the fan--we'll get the money and Theophilus will come back to be loved and respected. I don't love him, but I see we can make a lot of money together. The fan," said Miss Pewsey counting on her lean fingers, "the money from Lo-Keong--the money of Sophia and--"