The Brightener

Her eyes were half closed. She didn't look at me, nor seem to be any longer conscious of my presence; but I dropped on my knees beside her, and covered her cold hands with my own.

"I oughtn't to have told you so abruptly," I said. "Sir Beverley trusted me. I've betrayed his trust. But I thought, as you knew there was hope, hearing that now it was certainty wouldn't excite you too much. Oh, Rosemary, dear, think how glorious it will be! No more fears, no more anxieties. Instead of saying to yourself, 'I have him only for a few weeks,' you will know that you have years together to look forward to. You will be like Jim and me. You can travel. You can – "

"Yes," Rosemary almost whispered. "Yes, it is glorious – for Ralston. I am thankful. You are – good to sympathize so much, and I'm grateful. I – I'd hardly dreamed before that he could get well. All those specialists, they were so sure; many of them very celebrated – as celebrated as Sir Beverley – and he is only one against a dozen. That's why it is – a surprise, you see."

She was making so violent an effort to control herself that I felt guiltily conscious of my eyes upon her face. One would have thought that, instead of giving her the key to happiness, I had handed her that of a dungeon where she would be shut up for life.

"Would you rather I'd go?" I stammered. "Would you like to be alone?"

She nodded, moistening her lips. "Yes, thank you, Elizabeth," she breathed. "I – yes, for a little while I'd like to be alone – with my joy – to pray."

I jumped up like a marionette. "Of course," I said. "I understand."

But I didn't understand, as perhaps she guessed from my quivering voice.

"I wish I could make you —really understand," she sighed. "I – I'm different from other women. I can't take things as they do – as you would. But – I told you once, before, whatever happens I love him."

"I'm sure you do," I answered, as I opened the door and slipped softly out. Yet that wasn't so true as it had been a few minutes ago. I felt as if I'd been through an earthquake which had shaken me up without warning.

"I'm glad that it was I and not Sir Beverley who told her," I said to myself. But I said it sadly. The sunshine was dimmed. I longed like a child to escape from that house – escape quickly, and run to Jim's arms as to a fortress.

Sir Beverley kept his promise, and sent for a man who had worked with him in his experiments. Then he went back to Exeter, promising to return if he were sent for, or in any case to look in once a fortnight.

There was no need, however, to send for him. Ralston Murray got on – as the new man, Doctor Thomas, said – "like a house on fire."

At first there was little change to be noticed in his appearance. It was only that the bad symptoms, the constant high temperature, the agonizing pains in all the bones, and the deadly weakness, diminished and presently ceased. Then, the next time Jim and I called, I cried out: "Why, you are fatter!"

Murray laughed with a gay, almost boyish ring in his laugh. "Transformation of the Living Skeleton into the Fat Man!" he cried. "What a happy world this is, after all, and I'm the happiest man in it; that is, I would be, if Rosemary weren't shrinking as rapidly as I increase. What are we to do with her? She says she's perfectly well. But look at her little face."

We looked at it, and though she smiled as brightly as she could, the smile was camouflage. Always pearly, her skin was dead white now. Even the lips had lost their coral red, though she bit them to bring back the blood, and a slight hollow had broken the exquisite oval of her cheeks. Her eyes looked far too big; and even her hair had dulled, losing something of its moonlight sheen.

"I'm perfectly all right!" she insisted. "It's only the reaction after so much anxiety. Anybody would feel it, in my place."

"Yes, of course," I soothed her. But I knew that there must be more than that. She looked as if she never slept. My heart yearned over her, yet I despaired of doing any good. She would not confide in me. All my confidence in myself as a "Brightener" was gone.

CHAPTER X

THE CLIMAX

From that time on I was haunted by Rosemary's thin, beautiful face, the suppressed anguish in her eyes, and the wretched conviction that I was of no use – that I'd stumbled against a high, blank wall. Often at night I dreamed of her in a feverish way, queer dreams that I couldn't remember when I waked, though they left me depressed and anxious. And then, one night nearly four weeks after Murray had been pronounced a saved man, came the climax.

As usual, I was thinking of the Murrays when I went to bed – how well and handsome and happy he was, how mysteriously and silently the girl was fading. I must have dropped off to sleep with these thoughts in my mind, and how long I slept I don't know, but I waked, sitting up, hearing loud sobs. At first I imagined they were Rosemary's. Then I realized that they were my own.

In a moment Jim was with me, holding me tight, as if I were a child. "Darling one, what is it? Tell Jim!" he implored.

"I don't know," I wailed. "Except the letter – or was it a telegram? And then that dark precipice! She was on the edge. She called to me: 'Elizabeth – help! help!' But the whole ocean came rolling between us. Oh, Jim, I must get to her!"

"I suppose it's Rosemary you're talking about," Jim said. "But it was only a dream, dearest child. You're not awake yet. Nothing has happened to Rosemary."

But I couldn't be consoled. "I suppose it was a dream," I wept. "But it's true; I know it is. I know something has happened – something terrible."

"Well, let's hope it hasn't," soothed Jim. "What could happen in the middle of the night? It's a quarter to three. We can't do anything till morning. Then, if you still feel anxious, I'll take you over to the Manor in the car as early as you like. That is, I will if you're good and do your best to go to sleep again now."

How I adored him, and how sorry I was for Rosemary because a black cloud obscured the brightness of her love, which might have been as sweet as mine!

I couldn't sleep again as Jim wished me to do, but he comforted me, and the dark hours passed. As soon as it was light, however, I bounded up, bathed and dressed, and Jim did the same for the sake of "standing by"; which was silly of us, perhaps, because it would be hardly decent to start before half-past nine. If we did we should reach the Manor at an absurd hour, especially as Ralston and Rosemary were lazy creatures, even now, when he was rejoicing in this new lease of life. She hated to get up early, and he liked to do what she liked.

"If anything had been wrong, I think we should have got a telegram by this time," said Jim, as he tried to make me eat breakfast. "You know how quickly a wire is delivered at our office from Merriton, and – "

At that instant a footman appeared with a brown envelope on a silver tray. It was addressed to "Lady Courtenaye," but I asked Jim to open it and read the message first.

"Rosemary has – gone," he told me. "Murray asks if, by any chance, she has come here. There's a 'reply-paid' form; but he wants us to run over to him if we can."

Jim scrawled an answer:

Deeply regret she is not here. Will be with you shortly.

and sent it off by the post-office boy who waited, though it was probable that we should see Murray before our response to his question reached him.

I think I was never so sorry for any man in my life!

"I have been too happy!" he said, when he had come to meet us in the hall – walking firmly in these days – and had led us into his study or "den." "She's such a friend of yours, Elizabeth. Has she consciously or unconsciously given you some clue?"

"No real clue," I told him, regretfully; "though I may think of a forgotten hint when we've talked things over. But you must tell us exactly what has happened."

Poor Murray held himself in iron control. Perhaps he even "hoped for the best," as Jim urged him to do. But I saw through the false calmness into a despairing soul. Already the newly lit flame of restored vitality burned low. He looked years older, and I would have given much if Sir Beverley or even the understudy had been in the house. Doctor Thomas had gone a week ago, however, Sir Beverley judging that Murray could now get on by himself. Alas, he had not guessed how literally the man would be left alone to do this!

The morning of yesterday had passed, Murray said, in an ordinary way. Then, by the second post, which arrived after luncheon, a registered letter had come for Rosemary. Such letters appeared now and then, at regular intervals, and Rosemary had explained that they were sent on by her bank in London, and contained enclosures from America. Rosemary never talked to him of these letters, or of America at all, having told him once, before their marriage, that her one link with that country now was her sister. Whether or not she was fond of the sister he could not say; but she always seemed restless when one of these registered letters arrived.

Yesterday was no exception to the rule. When the letter was handed to Rosemary she and her husband were having coffee and cigarettes in her boudoir. She flushed at sight of the envelope, but tossed it aside unopened, as though she took no interest in its contents, and continued the conversation as if it had not been broken off. Murray felt uneasily conscious, however, that she was thinking of the letter, and made an excuse to leave her alone so that she might read it in peace. Depressed and anxious, he strolled out on the lawn with the dogs. One of them made a rush at the open bay window into the boudoir; and, snatching the animal back by its collar, Murray caught a glimpse of Rosemary burning something in the grate.

Soon after she had joined him out of doors, and had made an effort to be gay. He had thought, however, that she was absent-minded, and he longed to ask what the trouble was; but America as a subject of conversation was taboo.

For the rest of the day they were mostly together, and never had Rosemary been so loving or so sweet.

At night Ralston had remained with his wife in her room till twelve. They had talked of their wonderful meeting on the Aquitania, and the life to which it had led. Then the clock striking midnight reminded Rosemary that it was late. She had a headache, she said, and would take some aspirin. Murray was banished to his own room, which adjoined hers, but the door was left open between.

It was some time before Ralston went to sleep, yet he heard no sound from Rosemary's room. At last, however, he must have slumbered heavily, for he knew no more till dawn. Somehow, he had got into the habit of rousing at six, though he generally dozed again. This time he waked as usual, and, remembering Rosemary's headache, tiptoed to the door and peeped into the darkened room. To his surprise she was not in bed. Still, he was not worried. His thought was that she had risen early and stealthily, not to rouse him, and that she had gone to the bathroom next door to bathe and dress for an early walk.

He tapped at the bathroom door, but getting no answer, turned the handle. Rosemary was not in the room, and there were no towels lying about.

Murray's next move was to draw back the curtains across one of the open windows; and it was then that he saw an envelope stuck into the mirror over the dressing table. His name was on it, and with a stab of apprehension he broke the seal.

The letter which this envelope had contained he showed to Jim and me. It was written in pencil, and was very short. It said:

Good-bye, my Beloved. I must go, and I cannot even tell you why. You may find out some day, but I hope not, for both our sakes. It would only make you more unhappy. You would hate me, I think, if you knew the truth. But oh, try not to do that. I love you so much! I am so happy that you are growing well and strong, yet if I had known I should not have dared to marry you, because from the first this that has happened was bound to happen. Forgive me for hurting you. I didn't mean to do it. I thought only to make your last days on this earth happier, and to keep a blessed memory for myself. While I live I shall love you, but it will be best for you to forget.

Rosemary.

In spite of this farewell, Ralston had hoped to hear something of Rosemary from me. At all events, he wanted our advice, Jim's and mine.

It was a blow to him that we had no news to give; and it was hard even to offer advice. What could we say? I had known for long that the girl was miserable, and this sudden break-up of everything was more of a shock than a surprise. I was afraid to say: "Get her back at any price!" for – the price (not in money but in heart's blood) might prove too high. Instead I hedged.

"What if Rosemary is right?" I ventured. "What if it would be best as she says, for both your sakes, to let her go?"

Murray's eyes flashed rage. "Is that your real advice?" he flung at me. "If it is, you're not the woman I thought you. I'll move heaven and earth to get Rosemary back, because we love each other, and nothing else matters."

"Well, that's what I wanted to find out!" I exclaimed in a changed tone. "That's the way I should feel in your place – "

"I, too!" chimed in Jim.

"And since that is the way you feel," I went on, "I've thought of something, or rather, someone, that may help. Mrs. Paul Jennings."

Ralston stared, and repeated the name.

"Mrs. Paul Jennings? What is she likely to know about Rosemary's secrets that you don't know?"

"That's for you to find out," I answered. "It's an impression I have. I may be mistaken. But it's worth trying. I should send for Mrs. Paul Jennings if I were you."

"I will!" cried Murray. "I'll send a note now – and the car to fetch her here."

CHAPTER XI

WHAT GABY TOLD

It seemed to us that hours dragged heavily by, between the time that the motor left and the time when we heard it draw up at the front door. A moment later, and Gaby Jennings was shown into Murray's den, where we three were waiting.

Ralston had said in his short note that Rosemary had gone away suddenly, and that he was most anxious. But there was no sign of distress on the Frenchwoman's face. On the contrary, those big dark eyes of hers, which could be so languorous, looked hard as glass as she smiled at me and nodded at Jim.

Her voice was soft, however, when she answered Ralston's question.

"Ah, my poor Major!" she gently bleated. "You have all my sympathy. I could say nothing. But I always feared – I feared this would come!"

Ralston braced himself. "You know something, then?" he exclaimed. "You have something to tell me!"

"I do know something – yes," she said. "But whether I have something to tell – ah, that is different. I must think first."

"You mean, you wish to consult Paul," he prompted her. "But I can't wait for that. For heaven's sake, Mrs. Jennings, speak out; don't keep me in suspense."

"I did not mean to consult Paul," Gaby replied. "When I read your note I told Paul you asked me to come over alone, though it was not true. It is better that we talk without Paul listening."

"Shall Jim and I go away?" I asked quickly, speaking not to her, but to Ralston.

"No," he answered. "Mrs. Jennings can have nothing to say about Rosemary which I wouldn't care for you and Jim to hear."

I saw from Gaby's face that this verdict annoyed her, but she shrugged her pretty shoulders. "As you will," she said. "For me, I would rather Sir James and Lady Courtenaye were not here. But what matter? You would repeat to them what passes between us."

"Doubtless I should," Ralston agreed. "Now tell me what you have to tell, I beg."

"It is a very big thing," Gaby began. "Rosemary did not want me to tell. She offered me bribes. I refused, because I would not bind myself. Yet there is a favour you could do for me – for us – Major Murray. If you would promise – I could not resist giving up Rosemary's secret."

Ralston's face had hardened. I saw his dislike of her and what she suggested. But he could not afford to refuse, and perhaps lose all chance of finding his wife.

"Will what you have to tell help me to get Rosemary back?" he asked.

"Yes – if after you have heard you still want her back," Gaby hedged. "I can tell you where she is likely to be."

"Nothing on God's earth you could tell would make me not want her back!" he cried. "What is this favour you speak of?"

"It is only that I ask you to take my husband as your doctor. Oh, do not think it is from Paul I come! He does not know Rosemary's secret, or that I make a price for this. If you do this – and why not, since Paul is a good doctor, and you have now finished with others? – I will tell you all I know about your wife."

As she went on I was thinking fast. Poor Rosemary! I was sure that Gaby had tried to work upon her fears – had promised secrecy if Mrs. Murray would get Doctor Jennings taken on as Ralston's physician. At first Rosemary had been inclined to yield. That must have been at the time when she wired to stop Sir Beverley's visit, if not too late. Then we had appeared on the scene, saying that it was too late, and urging that Sir Beverley might offer Ralston a chance of life. At this Rosemary's love for her husband had triumphed over fears for her own sake. She had realized that by keeping Sir Beverley away she might be standing between her husband and life itself. If there were a ray of hope for him, she determined to help, not hinder, no matter what the cost.

Once she had refused Mrs. Jennings' request, she had been at the woman's mercy; but Gaby had waited, expecting the thing that had happened to-day, and seeing that her best chance for the future lay with Murray. As for Jennings, it might be true that he wasn't in the plot; but if my theory concerning the portraits were correct, he certainly was in it, and had at least partially planned the whole scheme.

I was so afraid Ralston might accept the bargain without stopping to think, that I spoke without giving him time to open his lips. "Before you decide to take Paul Jennings as your doctor, send for an expert to look through your collection of portraits!"

"What have the portraits to do with Doctor Jennings?" asked Ralston, astonished.

I stared at Gaby Jennings as I answered; but a woman who uses liquid powder is fortified against a blush.

"That's what I want you to find out before making a bargain with his wife. All I know is, there are modern copies in the frames which once held your greatest treasures. Only a person free to come and go here for months could bring off such a fraud without too much risk. And if Doctor Jennings had brought it off, would he be a safe person to look after the health of the man he'd cheated?"

Gaby Jennings sprang to her feet. "Lady Courtenaye, my husband can sue you for slander!" she cried.

"He can; but will he?" I retorted.

"I go to tell him of what he is accused by you!" she said. "There is no fear for us, because you have no proof. But it is finished now! I leave this house where I have been insulted, and Major Murray may search the world. He will never find his lost wife!"

"Stop, Mrs. Jennings!" Murray commanded, sharply. "The house is mine, and I have not insulted you. I thank Lady Courtenaye for trying to protect me. But I don't intend to make any accusations against your husband or you. Tell me what you know, and I will write a letter asking Jennings to attend me as my doctor. That I promise."

Gaby Jennings threw me a look of triumph; and I am ashamed to say that for a minute I was so angry at the man's foolhardiness that I hardly cared what happened to him. But it was for a minute only. I felt that Jim would have done the same in his place; and I was anxious to help him in spite of himself.

The Frenchwoman accepted the promise, but suggested that Major Murray might now wish to change his mind: he might like to be alone with her when she made her revelations. Ralston was so far loyal to us, however, that he refused to let us go. We were his best friends, and he was deeply grateful, even though he had to act against our advice.

"Let them hear, then, that Rosemary Brandreth is Rosemary Brandreth to this hour – not Rosemary Murray," Gaby Jennings snapped out. "She is not your wife, because Guy Brandreth is not dead, and they are not divorced. She does not even love you, Major Murray. She loves madly her real husband, and left him only because she was jealous of some flirtation he had with another woman. Then she met you – on shipboard, was it not? – and this idea came into her head: to go through a ceremony of marriage, and get what she could to feather her nest when you were dead, and she was free to return home."

"My God! You lie!" broke out Ralston.

"I do not lie. I can prove to you that I do not. I knew Guy and Rosemary Brandreth before I left the stage. I was acting in the States. People made much of me there, as in England, in those days. In a big town called Baltimore, in Maryland, I met the Brandreths. I met them at their own house and at other houses where I was invited. There could be no mistake. But when I saw the lady here, as your wife, I might have thought her husband was dead; I might have thought that, and no more – except for one thing: she was foolish: she showed that she was afraid of me. Because of her manner I suspected something wrong. Letters take ages, so I cabled to a man who had been nice to me in Baltimore. It was a long message I sent, with several questions. Soon the answer came. It told me that Captain Guy Brandreth is now stationed in Washington. He is alive, and not divorced from his wife. They had a little quarrel, and she sailed for Europe, to stay three or four months, but there was not even gossip about a separation when she went away. My friend said that Captain Brandreth talked often about being anxious for his wife to come back, and instead of taking advantage of her absence, he no longer flirted with the lady of whom Mrs. Brandreth had been jealous. Now you have heard all – and you see all, don't you? I know about the codicil added to your will. You remember, my husband witnessed it, one day when Sir James Courtenaye had meant to come over, but could not? Mrs. Brandreth arranged cleverly. If you had died, as she was sure you would die before the time when she was expected back, she could easily have got your money – everything of which you had been possessed. She waited – always hoping that you might die. But at last she had to give up. She could stay no longer without fear of what her American husband might do. If you don't believe, I will show you the cablegrams I have received. But, in any case, you must read them!" And pulling from her hand-bag several folded papers, Gaby forced them upon Ralston.

Oh, with what horrible plausibility the story hung together! It fitted in with everything I had ever guessed, suspected, or known of Rosemary – except her ethereal sweetness, her seeming love for the man she had now deserted. Could she have pretended well enough to deceive me in spite of my suspicions? Above all, would she have offered the blood from her veins to save Ralston Murray if she had not wanted him to live?

My head buzzed with questions, and no answers were ready. Still I could see, confusedly, that the terrible imposture Rosemary was accused of might have been committed by a woman who loved its victim. Meeting him on shipboard, old feelings might have crept back into her heart. On a mad impulse she might have agreed to make his last weeks on earth happy. As for the money, that extra temptation might have appealed to the worst side of her nature.

When Ralston implored desperately, "Do you believe this of Rosemary?" I could not speak for a moment. I glanced from his despairing face to Jim's perplexed one. Almost, I stammered, "I'm afraid I do believe!" But the look I caught in Gaby's eyes as I turned stopped the words on my lips.

"No, I don't believe it of her – I can't, and won't!" I cried.

"God help me, I do!" groaned Ralston, and breaking down at last, he covered his face with his hands.

CHAPTER XII

THE WOMAN IN THE THEATRE

Well, there we had to leave matters for the moment.

Ralston Murray loved us very much, but he didn't wish for our advice. Indeed, he wished for nothing at all from any one – except to be let alone.