CHAPTER XVIII MISS BULL'S STORY

Miss Bull was alone in the sitting-room of the late Mrs. Jersey. Margery had gone out shopping, and the old maid, left to her own resources, amused herself, as usual, with playing Patience. With the exception of a few old ladies in the drawing-room the house was empty, and Miss Bull found the quiet very soothing. After a time she grew weary of the game and seated herself in an armchair to meditate.

Her thoughts were sad. Here she was, an old spinster dragging out a miserable old age in a London lodging-house, while her sister lived and fared sumptuously in accordance with her position. Miss Bull looked back on all the trials she had passed through, and wondered how she had been able to stand them. For a moment a revolt took place in her breast at the cruel fate she had endured, but the feeling died away, and she relapsed into the patient misery which was her usual frame of mind. "It can't last much longer," said Miss Bull, with a sigh. "I am getting old, and the end is coming. The sooner the better."

As she gave vent to this dreary sentence there was a ring at the door. Miss Bull paid little attention to it, as she never had any visitors. But this day proved to be an exception, for George was admitted into the room. He advanced cordially toward Miss Bull.

"I have come to see you again, you see," said Brendon.

Miss Bull gave him her hand with a great deal of pleasure, and invited him to be seated. Now that she had thawed towards George she treated him kindly, and her face wore a less stony look. As the sun melts the frost, so did the reserved nature of the old maid melt when in the sunshine of Brendon's presence. More than that, Miss Bull actually congratulated herself on Margery's absence, as it gave her a chance of having the company of George all to herself.

"I am very glad to see you, Mr. Brendon," she said, ringing the bell. "You will have some tea?"

"Thank you," replied Brendon, who thought she might thaw still more under the influence of the tea-urn. "I suppose you wonder why I have come again so soon?"

Miss Bull smiled in her calm way. "You have come to make further inquiries likely to forward your fight for your birthright?"

George laughed. "There's no need for that, thank God," said he; "my grandfather has agreed to acknowledge me."

"Then there was a marriage?"

"I cannot be certain of that yet. How do you know about that?"

Miss Bull answered quietly: "You told me last time you were here that you were Lord Derrington's grandson, and I heard that there was some doubt about the legitimacy."

"I know it was common talk at one time," replied Brendon, satisfied with this explanation. "Did Mrs. Jersey ever speak about it?"

"No. She never did. What did she know about it?"

"I think you can best answer that question, Miss Bull."

George looked hard at her, and a faint tinge of color crept into her face. Before she could reply with a counter-question the servant brought in the tea. Miss Bull waited to supply George with a cup before she spoke. By that time the servant had left the room, and the door, as Miss Bull assured herself, was closed.

"I don't know to what you allude, Mr. Brendon."

"Perhaps if I allude to your life in San Remo you----"

Miss Bull started to her feet and the cup she held fell on the carpet. "San Remo," she muttered.

"Yes, Miss Howard," said Brendon, using her real name purposely.

The little old maid put one thin hand to her head. "Miss Howard!"

"The daughter of the late General Howard!" said George.

"My father was a general."

"He was. General Howard. You are Miss Jenny Howard."

Miss Bull started and then sat down. Her face expressed pain. "He used to call me Jenny. Jenny Howard. Yes, there was a happy girl of that name, but she--she died."

"Not at all," said Brendon, briskly, to arouse her from this dreamy state. "She lived and changed her name to Bull."

The woman pushed back her white hair and made an effort to be calm. But her lip quivered. "Why have you come here to awaken these painful memories?" she asked.

"Because I wish to know how my father came by his death."

"I do not know--indeed, I do not know," moaned Miss Bull, putting out her hand as though to ward off the thought.

"You may not know for certain, but you have some idea. Your sister, Mrs. Ward----"

Miss Bull's face flushed crimson, and she drew a deep breath. "Oh, it's Violet's work, is it?" she said, and her eyes grew hard. "And pray, Mr. Brendon, has she sent you to cross-question me?"

"No. I come on my own behalf. You knew my father?"

"Percy Vane. Yes, I knew him. He loved me---ah, indeed he did! That night he asked me to be his wife, and had he not been murdered----"

"Did he ask you when he was taking you home?" asked George, wondering how Miss Bull would have behaved as his stepmother.

"Taking me home? He never did that on the night of the ball."

"Your sister, Mrs. Ward----"

"I have no sister. I disown Violet. She is a wicked woman!"

George was quite of this opinion, yet for the sake of Dorothy he dissented. "She has her good points, Miss Bull.

"No! no! She has no good points. She is selfish, vain, cruel, and deceitful. A child of the devil. How do you know that I am her sister? and how did you come to learn my name?"

"Lord Derrington told me, and it was told to him by Mr. Ireland."

"Your guardian." Miss Bull tapped her hand on the woodwork of her chair. "He recognized me when I called to see him on that day about the lease. But he promised to hold his tongue."

"He would have done so had he not been startled by meeting Mrs. Ward and recognizing in her the woman who had left the ball with my father."

"And Violet admitted this?"

"No. She said that you had left the ball with my father. It was you who wore the blue domino and the holly sprig."

"Liar! Liar!" muttered Miss Bull; "but she is always the same. When I saw her at the music-hall the other night her face wore the same false smile. Oh, that I could see her punished as she deserves!"

"God will punish her, Miss Bull."

"He has delayed long," said the old maid with a bitter smile. "My sister has enjoyed the good things of this life. She has had money, position, praise, and all that a woman desires. As for myself--" She looked round the room and burst into a bitter laugh. "Yet Jenny Howard was always considered the prettier sister of the two."

"Then it really was Mrs. Ward who left the ball."

"It was. She lays the blame on my shoulders--" Miss Bull paused, and her mouth worked nervously. "Does she accuse me of the crime?"

"No. She says that you left Mr. Vane at the gate of the hotel."

"Oh," muttered Miss Bull, "Percy came as far as that with her, did he? And she said he left her at the door of the room where the ball was being held. Liar! Liar! She always was. She always will be. Can the leopard change his spots?"

By this time the ice in Miss Bull's nature had melted under the heat of her indignation. She walked hurriedly up and down the room, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. George was pleased to see this, as he thought she was the more likely to tell the truth when thus moved by emotion than if she had remained calm. Miss Bull was so angered by the memory of her wrongs that she struck her hand against the mantelpiece so as to inflict pain. The shock seemed to nerve her, for she drew a long breath and returned to her seat. With her eyes fixed, on George she began abruptly.

"Violet has told her story," she said, "now I will tell you mine. I want to know, however, exactly what she said, in the exact words if you can remember them."

"I did not hear her speak," confessed George; "it was my grandfather and Mr. Ireland to whom she told the story."

"Story! Fable! Lie! Romance!" said Miss Bull, vehemently. "Well, tell me what you can remember!"

This George did as concisely as possible, for he feared lest Margery should interrupt the interview. Miss Bull listened with a downcast face and pursed-up lips. Not a word did she say, but when George ended she looked up with a bitter smile.

"She has simply put herself in my place," she said. "Wait!"

For a moment or so she tried to compose herself. Then she raised her head and looked her visitor squarely in the eyes. "I am going to tell the truth," said Miss Bull, bravely, "therefore I have no need to shun your gaze. Mr. Brendon, I loved your father."

"So Mrs. Ward said."

"And Violet loved him also."

"He must have been a singularly attractive man," remarked Brendon, wondering at this revelation. "My mother eloped with him; her maid was in love with him, and now you and Mrs. Ward----"

"Oh, Violet really did not love him. It was simply a desire to take him from me that made her behave as she did. Violet never loved any one in her life, save the person she sees in the mirror every day. A selfish woman, Mr. Brendon, and a wicked one."

This was no news to George, so he strove to coax her to tell him that which he wished to know. "I don't quite understand, but if you will relate the story----"

"I shall do so at once. You may as well know all, and know also what a bad woman I have for a sister. If she was dying," cried Miss Bull, vehemently, "I wouldn't raise a finger to save her life."

"We should forgive our enemies," hinted George.

"I can't forgive her. I never will forgive her. She ruined my life, George Brendon, she ruined my life."

Brendon said nothing, and in a few moments Miss Bull composed herself sufficiently to tell what she knew. "My father was General Howard," she said quietly, "and Violet was my only sister. We never got on well together. Violet was jealous of admiration, and as I was said to be prettier than she was she hated me intensely. Whenever any one liked me Violet would do her best to take him away from me."

"I can quite believe that," said George, recalling Mrs. Ward's arts.

"She did not always succeed, however," continued Miss Bull, with a flush. "I had my admirers also, and some I could keep. But when Violet could manage it, she always took them away."

"You hinted that she took my father away," said Brendon.

"She did--at least she tried to. But if he had not been murdered I should have been Mrs. Vane in spite of Violet's arts."

"Well, tell me how you came to San Remo and met my father."

"Oh, I knew him before that. We were six months at Como and saw your father frequently then. He and the General used to talk politics. Mr. Vane was always bringing us books and magazines, and we used to climb Mount Bisbino. What a delightful summer that was! I remember you then," she added, looking at George with interest. "You were scarcely two years old--a dear, good, fair little fellow. I met you and the nurse sometimes, and often carried you.

"Was the nurse's name Eliza Stokes?"

"No. It was--let me see, some Scotch name--Jane Fraser, I think."

"Ah! Then Eliza Stokes was not at Como?"

"I never saw her. Mr. Vane told me that you had had another nurse, but that he had to dismiss her at Milan for impertinence."

George saw that Miss Bull was not keeping strictly to the truth, and corrected her at once, "You knew Eliza Stokes at San Remo?"

"So I did, I quite forgot." Miss Bull put her hand to her head with a puzzled air. "But since my illness I have forgotten so much. It is all a blank to me. Tell me, Mr. Brendon, have you ever felt as though you were a ghost?"

"No," replied George, keeping his countenance with difficulty. "I don't think I ever experienced that feeling."

Miss Bull looked vaguely at the window. "It is a strange feeling," after which remark she lapsed into silence, still staring.

Brendon remembered that she had been in an asylum, and thought that her mind was still weak. It might be that after all she had not told an untruth, but had quite forgotten Eliza Stokes. George was confirmed in his supposition by her next remark.

"Eliza Stokes. I remember. Mrs. Jersey."

"You knew she was Mrs. Jersey?"

"Yes. That was why I came to this house."

"Did you like her then?"

Miss Bull's eyes flashed. "She was another Violet. I hated her, oh, how I hated her! I found her through my sister mentioning that Lord Derrington had given her this house, so I came here to board."

"But your sister knows nothing about you. She says you ran away and that it was supposed you were dead."

Miss Bull laughed bitterly. "My sister knows perfectly well that I live here, but it suits her to disown the relationship. It is my wish also, and for that reason I changed my name. No one would recognize pretty Jenny Howard in poor Miss Bull." She paused for a moment and then continued: "Yes. I knew that Eliza Stokes had become Mrs. Jersey, and that is why I came here."

"But if you hated her----"

"I did--I did, but she was the only person who could talk about Mr. Vane. She loved him also, but not as I did, and we have talked for hours in this very room. We quarreled, certainly, but at times she was very nice. I miss our talks greatly."

It really seemed as though Miss Bull was weak in the head. She admitted to hating Mrs. Jersey, and yet she came to stop with her. It might be that Mrs. Jersey looked after her as a kind of keeper and that she acted the tyrant. At that moment, as though answering his thought, Miss Bull made a sudden observation. "Mrs. Jersey knew that I had been in an asylum. She would have sent me back if she could, the vile woman! But I was never afraid of her, never. And she always talked to me of Mr. Vane," concluded Miss Bull in a softer tone.

"Did she know who killed him?"

Miss Bull shook her head. "No. She never knew. No one ever knew. I sometimes thought that Violet--but she declared that he left her at the door of the ballroom."

"Miss Bull," said George, growing impatient of this disconnected recital, "will you go on with your story?"

"Story--yes, it is a story--a sad romance." She passed her hand again over her forehead as though wearied, and resumed with an effort. "Mr. Vane left Como and came to Milan; afterward he went on to San Remo. My father, who liked his society, joined him there. We stopped at the Hotel d'Angleterre. Eliza Stokes was a housemaid there, and it was while attending to our bedroom that she told me she had been your nurse. She was a large, stout girl with red cheeks. As Mrs. Jersey she was vastly improved, but as a girl----" Miss Bull shuddered in a prim way and continued: "Yet, she had her admirers. A waiter, called George Rates, wished to marry her. She had accepted him, but while within sight of Mr. Vane she could not love him."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, Eliza used to spy on Mr. Vane and follow him in his walks. She was quite insane about him. I told Mr. Vane, and he kept away from the hotel. And George Rates was jealous of Eliza's love for Mr. Vane. But he never loved her, nor Violet--he loved no one but me."

"And he told you so at the masked ball?"

"Yes. There was to be a masked ball, and both Violet and I were anxious to go. We made a friend of Eliza and she got us two blue dominoes. That we might recognize one another we each wore a sprig of yellow holly. My father was supposed to know nothing about the matter, but we told a young Oxford cousin of ours. He met us at the ball, and afterward took Violet away. I found Mr. Vane, and we danced together. He did not know me at first, but afterward, when we went into a quiet room, I unmasked. He was vexed at first that I and Violet should come to the ball unattended, as he said my father would be so angry, which was quite true. Then he told me that he loved me, and asked me to become his wife. I accepted, and he kissed me." Miss Bull paused, moved by an emotion too deep for words. "I was fond of you as a baby, George, and he--your father, knew I would be a good mother to you."

"Did he speak of his first wife--of my mother?"

"Yes. He told me how dearly he had loved her."

"Did he say where the marriage was celebrated?"

"No. I never thought to ask him. I always thought there was a marriage--why should I not?--until I later heard that Lord Derrington denied that such had taken place. But that was after I came out of the asylum," added Miss Bull with a troubled air, "so it might be my fancy."

"No. It is true. Lord Derrington did deny the marriage; but he now recognizes that it took place. We wish to find where."

"I cannot help you, Mr. Brendon. Mr. Vane never mentioned it to me. He told me that he loved me. Then he went away to get me an ice, and said he would take me home and return for Violet. I waited, but as he did not appear I went to look for him. He was gone----"

"With your sister?"

"Yes," said Miss Bull, clenching her fists. "Violet overheard a part of our conversation. She had just come down from the box of the Marchesa Beltrami----"

"That was where she unmasked and Mr. Ireland recognized her."

"She must have seen me with Mr. Vane," continued Miss Bull, taking no notice of this interruption, "so she stole behind us and heard what we were to one another. Then she slipped on her mask and followed Mr. Vane. She said she did not want an ice, but that she desired to go home at once. Mr. Vane wanted to wait for her----"

"For Violet?"

"Yes. He thought that I had run after him, and as Violet wore a blue domino with the sprig of holly he fancied she was me."

"I understand. So he took her home."

"She said he left her at the door, and then came back to look for--for Violet," said Miss Bull, contemptuously; "she disguised her voice and he quite thought she was myself. But from what Mr. Ireland said Mr. Vane saw Violet home to the gates of the hotel. I waited for a time, and as your father did not come back I ran home alone. Violet was in our bedroom and said that Mr. Vane had left her at the door of the ballroom and had gone back for me. Then the next morning we heard of the murder. I never knew, until you told me, how Violet had managed to get Mr. Vane away from me."

"She tricked you," said George, sympathizingly.

"She tricked every one. When I heard of your father's death I fell very ill. The world became a blank to me. When I came to myself I was in an asylum. Then I grew better and was let out. My father died, and an annuity was allowed to me. I heard about Mrs. Jersey taking this house, and wishing for some one to talk to about your father I came here, and here I have been ever since. A lonely woman, Mr. Brendon, but I find Margery a great comfort."

"Then you do not know who killed my father?"

"No." Miss Bull shook her head. "He was struck down on the parade when returning to the ballroom. It must have been after he saw my sister home."

"Do you think Mrs. Ward knows the truth?"

"She might. Perhaps some one followed, and Violet might have been mistaken for some person. I know there was a married woman in San Remo deeply in love with Mr. Vane----"

"What an attractive man he must have been!"

"Oh, he was the handsomest man in the world," cried Miss Bull, with genuine enthusiasm, "and so kind. No wonder Eliza Stokes loved him. But he loved no one but me--no one but me."

"What did Eliza Stokes say when she heard of his death?"

"Oh, she almost went out of her mind! I did altogether," said poor Miss Bull, with a wan smile; "and as they found her a nuisance in the hotel she went away. George Rates went also."

"Did she marry him?"

"No. I asked her when I met her here as Mrs. Jersey. She said that she returned to England and that Rates had been run over and killed in the street. She then went to America and married Mr. Jersey. He died and left her some money. Then she set up this house."

"So she said nothing of the annuity from Lord Derrington?"

"No. It wasn't to her interest to do so. She could hold her tongue when she liked. We very often quarreled, but on the whole we were as good friends as two women well could be who had loved the same man."

George rose to go. "Thank you for telling me so much, Miss Bull," he said. "What was the name of the woman who loved my father?"

"Oh, she was a common woman who kept a shop. Velez was the name."

"Velez," cried George; and added to himself: "So that is how Lola knows."