The Mystery of Mrs. Brandreth/Chapter 11

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. She was alone. Her husband had not come with her.

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 always I 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 favor 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 offered. But he could not afford to refuse, and perhaps lose all chance of finding his wife,

“Will what you have to tell help us 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 favor 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 it. 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 self. 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 fixture 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 the scheme, and had at least partially planned it.

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 man to look after the health of a 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 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 comes 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 met 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 lad 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 stationed now 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 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 do not believe, I will show you the cablegrams I have received. But in any case you must read them!” And pulling from her handbag 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?

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 her 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 asI 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.