CHAPTER XVII A STORY OF THE PAST

Miss Carr, or Miss Orchard, or Mrs. Paslow--Beatrice thought of her by all these three names--smiled quietly when her husband made the confession, and sank gracefully into the seat he had vacated. She was certainly a handsome woman, and if not entirely a lady, was an extremely good imitation of the same. Vivian still stood as in a dream, staring at the wife he had believed to be dead and buried, and Beatrice stared alternately at him and at the strange woman. A silence ensued, for each of the three was thinking hard. Beatrice was the first to break silence.

"Will you explain?" she asked Vivian quietly.

"I think," he answered in a harsh, dry tone, "that my wife had better explain. I have the certificate of her death, and----"

"And you can consider it so much waste-paper. The woman who was buried was my double," said Mrs. Paslow composedly.

"You cannot deceive me in that way, Maud. I saw you ill in bed."

"And so I was. I had a bad attack of influenza," said his wife, with a calm smile. "Oh, my illness was genuine enough; but I did not die,--although I appeared to do so, for reasons connected with a second marriage."

"With Mr. Paslow's marriage to me?" asked Beatrice, striving to regain her calmness, and emulate the sang-froid of this cold, audacious woman, who appeared to have no feelings.

"Well, no," drawled Mrs. Paslow, "not exactly. I never did care to benefit my fellow-creatures to that extent. I refer to a marriage I wished to make with a rich American. However, his mother stopped the marriage, and I found myself without a natural protector. Therefore, as I heard from Major Ruck that Vivian proposed to make you his wife, I came here to save you, and stop him from committing bigamy."

"Which you just now proposed to commit yourself?" said Beatrice, with cold contempt.

Mrs. Paslow looked at her between half-closed eyelids, and shrugged her finely moulded shoulders. "Quite so," she said politely; "but I have my reasons for risking imprisonment."

"Reasons connected with money," sneered Vivian.

"Connected with over a million--pounds, not dollars. Well?"

"Well,"--he faced her squarely--"and what do you propose to do now?"

"One moment," interposed Beatrice, now perfectly calm, and determined to break down this woman's composure; "I should like to know how you carried out this plot of a feigned death."

There was a case of cigarettes on the table belonging to Vivian: Mrs. Paslow cast a disdainful, and rather amused look on Beatrice, and lighted one of the little rolls of tobacco. When the smoke was wreathing round her fashionable hat, she spoke with great calmness and appeared in no way upset by the imperious tone of the woman whom her husband loved. "Certainly," she replied in a low, sweet voice, which seemed to be one of her greatest charms, and she had many. "As I explained, I wanted to be free of Vivian to marry a richer man than he was, or is likely to be. When I was ill, and he came to see me, the plan suggested itself. I took the doctor into my confidence, and he agreed, for a consideration, to forward my aims. My double was really ill,--oh yes, with consumption; she could not live, so----"

"What do you mean by your double?" asked Beatrice abruptly.

"Vivian can tell you. He knew of my double."

"I did,--I do: but I did not think you would pass her off as yourself, Maud."

Mrs. Paslow removed the cigarette from her mouth and smiled. "It was a capital plot," she said musingly; "and but that I want you to be again my husband, would have succeeded."

"What about your double?" asked Beatrice pertinaciously.

"Oh, she was not a twin sister, as you seem to think. I am the only daughter and only child of Joseph Orchard, who was a butler, and is a shepherd. You see," she added, leaning her arms on the table and addressing her rival in an amused tone, "I have no false pride about me. When occasion serves I can say that I am the daughter of an army officer, or of a clergyman, or of anyone with a position. I have done such things in my time. But to you I can be frank, since there is nothing to be gained by telling lies."

"Your double--your double, Miss Carr, or Miss Orchard?"

"Neither name is mine. Mrs. Paslow, if you please. Unless"--she glanced contemptuously at Vivian--"my husband denies----"

"I deny nothing. I cannot," he said savagely. "Say what you have to say, Maud, and then I shall tell Miss Hall how we met and into what troubles you led me."

"Miss Hall!" echoed Mrs. Paslow, with a glance at Beatrice. "Then you know that, do you?"

"How do you know?" asked Beatrice, pointedly.

"Oh, my father told me long ago. Later I might have made capital out of the affair, but now----" She shrugged again.

"I believe that you are a bad woman," said Beatrice hotly.

"I am--what God made me," retorted Mrs. Paslow, in no wise disturbed by the speech. "But about my double. She was a girl on the stage extremely like me: in fact we might have passed for twins. I also went on the stage--I have done most things in my time; and we--that is Miss Arthur my double and myself--appeared in a play as twins. If you knew anything of the theatre, Miss Hall, you would be surprised to hear how successful that play was. The author was unknown and Major Ruck financed the play, and----"

"I want to hear nothing about that, Mrs. Paslow. I know now how you carried out the deception, though it seems to me that as you did not let Vivian see the dead body, it was needless to have this double."

"Well," admitted Mrs. Paslow apologetically, as though excusing a fault, "it was necessary to make sure. Vivian, after a few visits, never came near me----"

"The doctor would not let me," said her husband quickly.

"Good old doctor," murmured Mrs. Paslow, selecting a fresh cigarette; "he knew what I wanted. However, to make a long story short, Miss Arthur died in my place and was buried under my name. You have the certificate, my dear Vivian, so all is well. You were so easily deceived that there was no fun in deceiving you. A clever man would have made more certain of his wife's death before arranging to take another one, especially as you were cheated once before."

"I did hear that you were dead before Mr. Alpenny was murdered, and I then asked Miss Hall here to be my wife," confessed Vivian; "afterwards, Major Ruck told me that you were alive, but ill. I went to see you, and you really seemed to be dying----"

"I am a good actress, Vivian. I was on the stage, remember."

"So I thought, when I saw the doctor and got the certificate, that you were really and truly dead. Oh, I shall see that the doctor is punished for this deception."

"I think not," said Mrs. Paslow, narrowing her eyes and looking at him very directly. "No doubt he will be punished in time, but not by your will, Vivian dear."

The tone and words were so peculiar and significant that Beatrice looked straight at the woman, who now had a mocking smile on her face, and spoke quietly: "You have some power over Mr. Paslow?"

"Why not call him Vivian?" sneered the stranger. "He was"--she emphasised the word--"to be your husband, remember."

"If you speak like that," said Paslow standing over her and speaking in a low, angry voice, "I shall forget that I am your husband."

His wife glanced slightingly at Beatrice. "It seems to me that you have forgotten," she scoffed.

What the infuriated man would have said or done on the spur of the moment, it is impossible to say; but he was dangerous. Beatrice saw that, and drew him back with an exclamation. "Don't," she said quickly; "let her say what she will. It cannot hurt me. And let me remind you, Mrs. Paslow, that you have not answered my question."

"Nor do I intend to," said the woman, rising and throwing aside the cigarette. The contemptuous words of Beatrice stung her not a little. "This is my husband, and I want him to return to town with me."

"You are my wife," said Vivian in quiet anger, "and you were willing to commit bigamy after deceiving me by a feigned death. I refuse to have anything more to do with you."

"The law will make you!" she threatened.

"The law will do nothing of the sort. As my wife, I will allow you enough to live on; but no law will ever make me have anything to do with you again."

"Then I shall make you!"

"Ah," interposed Beatrice, "you exercise this power?"

"I want my husband," said the woman sullenly.

"I refuse to have anything to do with you," retorted Paslow once more. His wife was rapidly losing her temper. She had come prepared for victory; and, meeting with this opposition, all the disdainful certainty of her assumed nature wore away, and the coarser feelings became apparent. Her face flushed a dark red, the expression changed, and instead of a quiet, ladylike person, Beatrice saw before her a virago of the worst. "You shall come!" she shouted, "or rather, I shall stay here. This is my house, and you,"--she turned on Beatrice,--"you shall leave it."

"I am here with Mr. Paslow's sister, and I decline to leave it at the word of a disgraced wife."

"I!" Mrs. Paslow sprang forward with upraised fist. "You dare to say that to me, you----" Before she could strike, Vivian caught her arm, and flung her back with such force that she fell against the balustrade of the terrace. "Do you want me to commit murder?" he said savagely.

"Why not another, since you killed Alpenny?" she panted, and glared at him like a tigress losing her prey.

"That is a lie!" cried Beatrice before Vivian could speak. "Mr. Paslow was with me on that night, and about the time the crime was committed."

"Oh!" sneered the woman, seizing her advantage, "Vivian was with you, indeed? And what would be said were that known, Miss Hall, as you call yourself?"

"Be silent," said her husband, catching her arm in an iron grip, and his face whiter than that of the dead; "you shameless creature! Go away at once, and cease your insults."

"Leave me alone!" cried Mrs. Paslow, wrenching herself free. "I intend to stop in my own house."

"My house--not yours."

"I am your wife."

"And just now you confessed to a feigned death to commit bigamy? I have a great mind to give my lawyers instructions to apply for a divorce."

"Give them to Tuft, then," cried Mrs. Paslow, her fair face convulsed with fury. "He is Alpenny's lawyer, and knows all about me, and all about you. See! see!"--she pointed a mocking finger at Vivian who had turned away with a gesture of despair--"he dare not face the law!"

"If you mean that you will denounce him for having killed Mr. Alpenny," said Beatrice in a clear low voice, "you are wrong. I can clear Mr. Paslow's character. I can save him, and I will!"

"Indeed! Why?"

"Because I love him. Why he married you, how he married you, I do not know; but I believe that you trapped him into----"

"Trapped him, indeed!" shouted Mrs. Paslow. "I could have married a dozen better men than he. He is a coward--a milksop--a--a thief! Ah!" she cried as Beatrice recoiled with a shudder, "you know the truth now. This dainty, well-born gentleman--this honourable man--is a thief, who was tried for shoplifting."

"And who was acquitted," said Paslow, deadly pale. "It was you who were condemned, and rightly: God forgive me for saying so. After all, bad as you are, you are my wife."

"Vivian," said Beatrice, with her face drawn with agony, "is what this woman says true?"

"True--quite true. And I'll thank you to speak of me more respectfully," snapped Mrs. Paslow.

"Is it true?" asked Beatrice again, paying no attention to this spiteful speech.

"Quite true," said Vivian, drawing a long breath and prepared to face the worst; "this is the power she has held over me. That she can send me to prison is a lie; but she can disgrace my name, by telling my friends that I was accused of shoplifting."

"But was it not in the papers?" asked Beatrice anxiously.

"No. I was accused under another name, Beatrice. I married that woman"--he pointed to Mrs. Paslow, who was still fuming with rage--"when my father was alive. She was the daughter of our old servant, who became a shepherd. Afterwards, when a child, and when I was a child, she came here, and Mrs. Lilly helped her for the sake of her father. I was a boy and foolish. She was clever and unscrupulous. She grew weary of this quiet life, and went to town. I thought that I loved her----"

"And you did," panted Mrs. Paslow.

"I did not," said Vivian sternly. "I was entrapped, as you know well.--It was a year later that I met her, when in town, and then she was the associate of thieves and rogues. Alpenny had seen her here; he inveigled her into his nets, and used her in the West End as a decoy in the same way as he used Major Ruck. She met me. I believed that she was good--that she was still my old playfellow. I married her under my own name, but in order to save the feelings of my father, I lived with her as my wife under another name."

"I wanted to take my own and come down here," said the woman.

"I know you did, but I would not allow it," said Vivian, and continued his story rapidly, while Beatrice, perfectly still, listened intently. "It would have broken my father's heart. And then," he added, turning to Beatrice, "I found out how vile she was."

"I never deceived you--never," said Mrs. Paslow.

"No. You had that redeeming point," said her husband; "as a wife I could find no fault with you in that way. Had you been good and kind, I might have come to love you, as I did when we were children together. But your nature was essentially false and wicked. Under the tuition of Alpenny you developed into an adventuress, and made the worst use of your talents."

"But for Alpenny we should have starved," she reminded him.

"I did not know that," he retorted. "You said that the money had been left to you by your god-mother; only when it was too late did I learn that Alpenny gave you the money for having stolen things. And then I was dragged into your evil ways."

"You did steal," insisted Mrs. Paslow.

"I did not. Beatrice, one day we were in a draper's shop in the West End. This woman stole some lace; she was arrested, and I was arrested also as her accomplice."

"Oh Vivian!"

"Oh Vivian!" mocked Mrs. Paslow. "You see he is a thief."

"You lie," said Paslow angrily. "Beatrice does not believe that."

"No! no! I would never believe it," said Beatrice.

"You fool!" scoffed Mrs. Paslow.

"You angel!" cried Vivian fervently, and then proceeded rapidly with his nauseous story. "Under my feigned name I was tried--and thus, thank God! I was enabled to save my father from dying of a broken heart. I was accused, but Tuft, Alpenny's lawyer, defended me--not from kindness. No. Alpenny, by this accusation of theft, secured a hold over me, which he used after my father's death to extort the property from me. This is why I am so poor. Alpenny and my wife"--he laid a scornful emphasis on the word--"got all my money."

"And we had a right to," said Mrs. Paslow. "I am your wife, and Alpenny, through Tuft, saved you from going to gaol."

"For his own ends merely," retorted Vivian. "I had to pay bitterly for his aid.--This woman"--he again pointed to Maud--"was condemned, as it was proved that she was an expert thief, and she was sentenced to a few months' imprisonment."

"To five months," said Mrs. Paslow shamelessly.

"I was acquitted; but the judge read me a lecture on the kind of society I kept. And Heaven help me!" cried Vivian, "then was the first time that I knew what sort of society my marriage had led me into."

"You were always a greenhorn," said Mrs. Paslow, patting her hair into shape, and arranging her ruffled plumes.

Vivian turned his back on her. "I left the court without a stain on my character," he said quickly; "and left England for the five months, telling my father that I was going abroad for my health. And my health was bad," he added. "I broke down under the vileness of it all. My father never knew the truth; nor did any of my friends. The case, since I was accused under another name, passed unnoticed. But Maud knew the truth, and so did Alpenny; so did Tuft his creature, and Major Ruck, another of his minions. They tried to make me vile by threats of exposure; but so long as I could bribe Alpenny by giving him money, no action was taken by him or Ruck. Maud I also kept----"

"I had a right to the money. I am your wife."

"I admit that you had the right," he said. "Wicked as you were, I acknowledged you as my wife."

"Not to the world," she said sharply.

"Because that would have made the marriage known to my father, and he would have cut me off without a shilling. After his death, when you found that Alpenny had the money, you refused to be acknowledged, although I asked you to come here as my wife. I had not then met with Miss Hall," ended Vivian significantly.

"I see. You love her?"

"With all my heart and soul."

"And I love him," acknowledged Beatrice. "From what I have heard, I can see that Vivian is not to blame, you wicked woman."

"Here," said Mrs. Paslow, advancing, "get out of my house. I have come here to take up my rightful position. The house is mine."

"You will leave this place at once," said Vivian, his face dark with anger; "you can tell what you like and do what you like. Alpenny is dead, and I decline to be under your thumb any longer."

"I shall stop here," said Mrs. Paslow, and sat down firmly.

Vivian placed his hand on her shoulder. She jumped up in a fury and struck at him. "You dare to touch me, you thief!" she stormed. "You have spoilt my life--you have--you have!" Her anger choked her, and she tore at the lace round her neck; in doing so, she ripped the dress, and her hand caught unknowingly at something within. To the amazement of Beatrice, a chain of glittering gems was pulled from its hiding-place round her neck, and fell on the pavement. The jewels were diamonds, and they flashed, pools of liquid light, in the moonlight.

"Oh!" cried Beatrice, guessing at once. "The Obi necklace!"

Almost before the words were out of her mouth, Mrs. Paslow had snatched up the necklace and was flying across the lawn. Vivian would have followed, but Beatrice stopped him.