Читать книгу In White Raiment - William Le Queux - Страница 7

The house was one of no mean order, and a glance at the rows of books showed them to be well chosen—evidently the valued treasures of a studious man. Upon the writing-table was an electric reading-lamp with green shade, and a fine, pale photograph of a handsome woman in a heavy silver frame. In the stationery rack upon the table the note-paper bore an embossed cipher surmounted by a coronet.

After a few moments the door re-opened, and there entered a very thin, pale-faced, slightly-built man of perhaps sixty, carefully dressed in clothes of rather antique cut. He threw out his chest in walking, and carried himself with stiff, unbending hauteur. His dark eyes were small and sharp, and his clean-shaven face rendered his aquiline features the more pronounced.

“Good morning,” he said, greeting me in a thin, squeaky voice. “I am very glad my servant found you at home.”

“And I, too, am glad to be of service, if possible,” I responded.

He motioned me to be seated, at the same time taking a chair behind his writing-table. Was it, I wondered, by design or by accident that in the position he had assumed his face remained in the deep shadow, while my countenance was within the broad ray of sunlight that came in between the blind and the window-sash? There was something curious in his attitude, but what it was I could not determine.

“I called you in to-day, doctor,” he explained, resting his thin, almost waxen hands upon the table, “not so much for medical advice as to have a chat with you.”

“But the patient?” I observed. “Had I not better see her first, and chat afterwards?”

“No,” he responded. “It is necessary that we should first understand one another perfectly.”

I glanced at him, but his face was only a grey blotch in the deep shadow. Of its expression I could observe nothing. Who, I wondered, was this man?

“Then the patient is better, I presume?”

“Better, but still in a precarious condition,” he replied, in a snapping voice. Then, after a moment’s pause, he added, in a more conciliatory tone, “I don’t know, doctor, whether you will agree with me, but I have a theory that, just as every medical man and lawyer has his fee, so has every man his price!”

“I scarcely follow you,” I said, somewhat puzzled. “I mean that every man, no matter what his station in life, is ready to perform services for another, providing the sum is sufficient in payment.”

I smiled at his philosophy. “There is a good deal of truth in that,” I remarked; “but of course there are exceptions.”

“Are you one?” he inquired sharply, in a strange voice.

I hesitated. His question was curious. I could not see his object in such observations.

“I ask you a plain question,” he repeated. “Are you so rich as to be beyond the necessity of money?”

“No,” I answered frankly. “I’m not rich.”

“Then you admit that, for a certain price, you would be willing to perform a service?” he said bluntly.

“I don’t admit anything of the kind,” I laughed, not, however, without a feeling of indignation.

“Well,” he said after a few moments hesitation, during which time his pair of small black eyes were, I knew, fixed upon me, “I’ll speak more plainly. Would you object, for instance, to taking a fee of five figures to-day?”

“A fee of five figures?” I repeated, puzzled. “I don’t quite follow you.”

“Five figures equal to ten thousand pounds,” he said slowly, in a strange voice.

“A fee of five figures,” I repeated, puzzled. “For what?”

In an instant it flashed across my mind that the thin, grey-faced man before me was trying to suborn me to commit murder—that crime so easily committed by a doctor. The thought staggered me.

“The service I require of you is not a very difficult one,” he answered, bending across the table in his earnestness. “You are young—a bachelor, I presume—and enthusiastic in your honourable calling. Would not ten thousand pounds be of great use to you at this moment?”

I admitted that it would. What could I not do with such a sum?

Again I asked him the nature of the service he demanded, but he cleverly evaded my inquiries.

“My suggestion will, I fear, strike you as curious,” he added. “But in this matter there must be no hesitation on our part; it must be accomplished to-day.”

“Then it is, I take it, a matter of life or death?”

There was a brief silence, broken only by the low ticking of the marble clock upon the mantelshelf.

“Of death,” he answered in a low, strained tone. “Of death, rather than of life.”

I held my breath. My countenance must have undergone a change, and this did not escape his observant eyes, for he added—

“Before we go further, I would ask you, doctor, to regard this interview as strictly confidential.”

“It shall be entirely as you wish,” I stammered.

The atmosphere of the room seemed suddenly oppressive, my head was in a whirl, and I wanted to get away from the presence of my tempter.

“Good,” he said, apparently reassured. “Then we can advance a step further. I observed just now that you were a bachelor, and you did not contradict me.”

“I am a bachelor, and have no intention of marrying.”

“Not for ten thousand pounds?” he inquired.

“I’ve never yet met a woman whom I could love sufficiently,” I told him quite plainly.

“But is your name so very valuable to you that you would hesitate to bestow it upon a woman for a single hour—even though you were a widower before sunset?”

“A widower before sunset?” I echoed. “You speak in enigmas. If you were plainer in your words I might comprehend your meaning.”

“Briefly, my meaning is this,” he said, in a firmer voice, after pausing, as though to gauge my strength of character. “Upstairs in this house my daughter is ill—she is not confined to her bed, but she is nevertheless dying. Two doctors have attended her for several weeks, and to-day in consultation have pronounced her beyond hope of recovery. Before being struck down by disease, she was hopelessly in love with a man whom I believed to be worthless—a man whose name they told me was synonymous with all that is evil in human nature. She was passionately fond of him, and her love very nearly resulted in a terrible tragedy. Through the weeks of her delirium she has constantly called his name. Her every thought has been of him; and now, in these her last moments, I am filled with remorse that I did not endeavour to reclaim him and allow them to marry. He is no longer in England, otherwise I would unite them. The suggestion I have to make to you is that you should assume that man’s place and marry my daughter.”

“Marry her!” I gasped.

“Yes. Not being in possession of all her faculties, she will, therefore, not distinguish between her true lover and yourself. She will believe herself married to him, and her last moments will be rendered happy.”

I did not reply. The suggestion held me dumbfounded.

“I know that the proposal is a very extraordinary one,” he went on, his voice trembling in deep earnestness, “but I make it to you in desperation. By my own ill-advised action and interference, Beryl, my only child, is dying, and I am determined, if possible, to bring peace to her poor unbalanced mind in these the last hours of her existence. My remorse is bitter, God knows! It is little that I can do in the way of atonement, save to convince her of my forgiveness.”

His face, as he bent forward to me at that moment, came, for the first time, within the broad bar of sunlight that fell between us, and I saw how white and haggard it was. The countenance was no longer that of a haughty man, but of one rendered desperate.

“I fear that in this matter it is beyond my power to assist you,” I said, stirring myself at last. Truth to tell, his proposal was so staggering that I inclined to the belief that he himself was not quite right in his mind. The curious light in his eyes strengthened this suspicion.

“You will not help me?” he cried starting up.

“You will not assist in bringing happiness to my poor girl in her dying hour?”

“I will be no party to such a flagrant fraud as you propose,” I responded quietly.

“The sum insufficient—eh! Well, I’ll double it. Let us say twenty thousand.”

“And the marriage you suggest is, I presume, to be a mock one?”

“A mock one? No, a real and binding one—entirely legal,” he responded. “A marriage in church.”

“Would not a mock one be just as effective in the mind of the unfortunate young lady?” I suggested.

“No, there are reasons why a legal marriage should take place,” he answered distinctly.

“And they are?”

“Ah! upon that point I regret that I cannot satisfy you,” he answered. “Is not twenty thousand pounds sufficient to satisfy you, without asking questions?”

“But I cannot see how a legal marriage can take place,” I queried. “There are surely formalities to be observed.”

“Leave them all to me,” he answered quickly. “Rest assured that I have overlooked no detail in this affair. A mock marriage would, of course, have been easy enough; but I intend that Beryl shall be legally wedded, and for the service rendered me by becoming her husband I am prepared to pay you twenty thousand pounds the instant the ceremony is concluded.”

Then, unlocking a drawer in his writing-table, he drew forth a large bundle of notes secured by an elastic band, which he held towards me, saying—

“These are yours if you care to accept my offer.”

I glanced at the thick square packet of crisp notes, and saw that each was for one hundred pounds. My eyes wandered to the Tempter’s face. The look I saw there startled me. Was he actually the devil in human guise?

He noticed the quick start I gave, and instantly his features relaxed into a smile.

“I cannot see what possible ground you can have for scruples,” he said. “To deceive a dying girl in order to render her last moments happy is surely admissible. Come, render me this trifling service.”

And thus he persuaded and cajoled me, tempting me with the money in his hand to sell my name. Reader, place yourself in my position for a moment. I might, I reflected, slave through all my life, and never become possessed of such a sum. I was not avaricious, far from it; yet with twenty thousand pounds I could gain the zenith of my ambition, and lead the quiet, even life that had so long been my ideal. I strove to shut my ears to the persuasive words of the Tempter, but could not. The service was not a very great one, after all. The woman who was to be my wife was dying. In a few hours, at most, I should be free again, and our contract would remain for ever a secret.

The sight of that money—money with a curse upon it, money that, had I known the truth, I would have flung into the grate and burned rather than suffer its contact with my hand—decided me. Reader, can you wonder at it? I was desperately in want of money, and, throwing my natural caution and discretion to the winds, I yielded. Yes, I yielded.

The Tempter drew a distinct sigh of relief. His sinister face, so thin that I could trace the bones beneath the white, tightly-stretched skin, grinned in satisfaction, for he was now confident of his power over me. He had me irretrievably in his toils. He tossed the notes carelessly back into the drawer and locked it with the key upon his chain, then, glancing at the clock and rising, said—

“We must lose no time. All is prepared. Come with me.”

My heart at that instant beat so loudly that its pulsations were audible. I was to sacrifice myself and wed an unknown bride in order to gain that packet of banknotes. Mine was indeed a strange position, but, held beneath the spell of this man’s presence, I obeyed him and followed him, curious to see the face of the woman to whom I was to give my name.

Together we went out into the hall where stood the man-servant who had admitted me.

“Is everything ready, Davies?” his master inquired. “Everything, sir. The carriage is at the door.”

“I would ask of you one favour,” the Tempter said, in a low voice; “do not express any surprise. All will be afterwards explained.”

From the inner pocket of his frock-coat he produced a pair of white kid gloves, which he handed me, observing, with a smile—

“They are large for you, I fear; but that will not much matter. You will meet my daughter at the church; it looks better.”

Then, as I commenced putting on the gloves, we went out together, and entered the smart brougham awaiting us. All preparations had evidently been made for my marriage.

Our drive was not a long one; but so bewildered was I by my singular situation, that I took little notice of the direction in which we were travelling. Indeed, I was utterly unfamiliar with that part of London, and I only know that we crossed Sloane Street, and, after traversing a number of back streets, suddenly stopped before a church standing in a small cul-de-sac.

The strip of faded red baize upon the steps showed that we were expected; but the church was empty save for a wheezy, unshaken old verger, who, greeting us, preceded us to a pew in front.

Scarcely had we seated ourselves, conversing in whispers, when we heard a second carriage stop; and, turning, I saw in the entrance the silhouette of my unknown bride in her white satin gown. She advanced up the aisle leaning heavily upon the arm of a smartly-dressed man, who wore a monocle with foppish air. Her progress was slow—due, no doubt, to extreme weakness. Her veil was handsome, but so thick that, in the dim gloom of the church, I was quite unable to distinguish her features.

As she passed where I sat, silent, anxious, and wondering, the Tempter prompted me, and I rose and took my place beside her, while at the same moment the officiating clergyman himself appeared from the vestry. His face was red and pimply, showing him to be of intemperate habits; but at his order I took my unknown companion’s slim, soft hand in mine, and the scent of the orange blossom in her corsage filled my nostrils. I stood like a man in a dream.

At that instant the Tempter bent tenderly to her, saying—

“Beryl, my child, this is your wedding day. You are to be married to the man you love. Listen!” Then in a nasal tone, which sounded weirdly in the silence of the place, the clergyman began to drone the first words of the Marriage Service, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together,” until he came to the first question to which I responded in a voice which sounded strange and cavernous.

I was selling myself for twenty thousand pounds. The thought caused me a slight twinge of conscience. Turning to the woman at my side, he asked—

“Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep ye only unto him as long as ye both shall live?”

A silence fell, deep and complete.

Two ordinary-looking men, who had entered the church to serve as witnesses, exchanged glances. Then a slight sound escaped my unknown bride, like a low sigh, and we could just distinguish the reply—

“I will.”

The remainder of the service was gabbled through. A ring which the Tempter had slipped into my hand I placed upon her finger, and ten minutes later I had signed the register, and was the husband of a woman upon whose face I had never looked.

The name which she signed with mine was “Beryl Wynd”; beyond that I knew nothing. Utterly bewildered at my position, I sat beside my bride on the drive back, but she preserved silence, and I exchanged no word with her. She shuddered once, as though cold. Her father accompanied us, keeping up a lively conversation during the whole distance.

Arrived at the house, the woman who had sought me at Rowan Road came forward to meet my bride, and at once accompanied her upstairs, while we entered the dining-room. The two witnesses, who had followed in the second carriage, quickly joined us. The butler Davies opened champagne, and my health, with that of the bride, was drunk in solemn silence. The man with the monocle was absent. Truly my nuptial feast was a strange one.

A few minutes later, however, I was again alone in the library with the Tempter, whose eyes had grown brighter, and whose face had assumed an even more demoniacal expression. The door was closed, the silence unbroken.

“So far all has been perfectly satisfactory,” he said, halting upon the hearthrug suddenly and facing me. “There is, however, still one condition to be fulfilled, before I place the money in your hands.”

“And what is that?” I inquired.

“That your wife must die before sunset,” he answered, in a hoarse, earnest whisper. “She must die—you understand! It is now half-past twelve.”

“What?” I cried, starting forward. “You would bribe me to murder your own daughter?”

He shrugged his thin shoulders, made an impatient movement, his small eyes glittered, and in a cold hard voice, he exclaimed—

“I said that it is imperative she should die before the money is yours—that is all.”