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CHAPTER XV

HENLEY, accompanied by the girls and the two men, returned to Castellis for tea. The moment he entered the house he asked eagerly for his wife.

"Is Mrs. Henley in her boudoir?" he said, turning to the footman.

"No, sir; my mistress is not at home. She left the house with Marryat immediately after lunch. She has left a note for you, sir. She desired me to deliver it the moment you came in."

Henley took the letter eagerly, tore it open and read it. As he did so his healthy-bronzed cheeks went pale.

"What is the matter? " said Mary. "Is anything wrong, Ralph?"

"I don't know; I am afraid so. Kate is ill."

"Ill! But Harris says she has gone out."

"She has; she has gone to Falmouth. Fetch a Bradshaw immediately," he said, turning to the man.

The servant, in some wonder, withdrew. Henley went to his study, followed by Mary and Ethel. The two guests, seeing something was wrong, remained in the hall.

The footman appeared with the Bradshaw. Henley took it up, turned the leaves feverishly, and searched for the trains to Falmouth.

"There is one which I might catch within the next hour," he said. "If I miss that, I cannot get to | | 139 Falmouth to-night. Girls, I hope you don't mind my leaving you."

"Oh, not at all," said Mary, "if you are obliged to. But it seems so strange; do tell us more, please, Ralph."

"I must first order the trap to be got ready, and then I can attend to you."

He left the room hastily.

"What does this mean?" said Mary, looking at Ethel.

"How can I tell, Mary? How queer you look!"

"I don't like it, that's all," continued Mary.

Henley excused himself to his guests in the hall.

"My wife has been obliged to go suddenly to Falmouth, and I find I must join her," he said. "I am ever so sorry. I hope I shall see you some other day."

"Good-bye, Henley. We hope so too," said they both and then they went away.

Henley gave orders about the trap, which was to be sent round immediately. He then returned to the girls.

"Now, please, Ralph, tell us what is up," said Mary.

"I don't know myself, Mary. Kate has an attack of the nerves. She has taken the idea into her head that she has seen the ghost who is supposed to haunt this house."

"Oh, poor Kitty! We all know that Castellis is haunted," said Ethel.

"But I really never supposed any person could be so silly as to go away on account of a ghost," said Mary, with scorn.

"But don't you remember, Mary, how nervous Kitty always was on the subject?" said Ethel. "When she was a child she used to hate to sleep here. We always spent Christmas here when your father was | | 140 alive, Ralph; but Kitty did so dislike it, and on one occasion she and I went back to the Pines to sleep. Don't you remember?"

"To be sure; I can recall it," said Ralph, a look of relief coming into his face. "Poor little Kitty! I must reason her out of this."

"And you are going to her, Ralph?"

"I certainly am; she says emphatically she won't come back at present."

"Then what is to become of us?" said Mary.

"You must please yourselves. She suggests that you should come with me to Falmouth, or stay here, or go back to the Grange."

"It would be very dull returning to the Grange now," said Ethel, "because father and mother are away. They mean to be away for the next month, and the whole place is in the hands of the cleaners."

"We could go back, certainly," said Mary; "but, as Ethel says, it would be dull."

"And I am dreadfully disappointed," continued Ethel. "I did look forward to such a jolly time here."

"I am really awfully sorry, girls," said Ralph; "but you see how matters stand, and I cannot help myself. Poor little Kitty must be humoured--poor little girl!"

"Of course you would be sure to see it in Kitty's light," continued Mary. "But still, what is to become of us? If we don't go back to the Grange, which we neither of us wish to do, where are we to go?"

"Would you like to come with me to Falmouth?"

Mary thought for a moment. She was positively certain that Kate had not gone away because of the ghost. However frightened the old Kitty might have been, the present Kitty had no foolish, nervous fears.

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"She is common-sense to her finger-tips; it is in that particular where the immense difference lies between the old Kate and the new," thought Mary. "Yes, if there is anything wrong I may as well see it for myself."

"I think it would be a good plan to go to Falmouth," she said. "I should like it."

Ralph tried to hide his face of dismay; he by no means wished to have Mary and Ethel with them at Falmouth.

"Oh! do let us," said Ethel the moment Mary had spoken; "it would be terrible to be here alone, and the Grange seems out of the question. Then, we are both quite anxious about Kate. I am sure I could comfort her next best to you, Ralph. She always used to confide in me when she had her ghostly terrors on."

"Well, girls, if you must come, you must come immediately," said Ralph. "Run upstairs and get ready; the trap will be round in less than ten minutes."

The girls rushed off, forgetting even their tea. In a quarter of an hour they had all left Castellis. They arrived at the station just in time to catch their train, and reached Falmouth between six and seven in the evening. They drove straight to the Victoria Hotel. Kate had already secured a large bedroom and a sitting-room opening on to a balcony. She was standing on the balcony when the carriage drew up which contained her husband and two cousins. Marryat was standing just behind her.

"They have all come, Marryat," she cried. "I am almost sorry that Ethel and Mary are here; but they have come, and we must make the best of it.

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"I never thought that Mr. Henley could catch that last train, but I am so glad to see him."

She waved her hand, as she spoke, to the travellers, and then ran downstairs to greet them. Henley and she retired as soon as possible into her bedroom.

"Now," he said as he shut the door, "what does all this mean? Let me look at you. What an awful scare you have given me. But, Kitty, you don't look bad now!"

"Bad!" said Kate. "I'm quite well again--as well and jolly as possible. It was all that ghost; it came to me last night; I told you it did. I saw it come into the room. It walked so slowly, and stood by the open window and gazed out, and I felt nearly frozen with terror. It was the ghost of the Grey Lady, who, you know, is supposed to haunt Castellis. But she never shows herself unless a catastrophe is going to happen. I saw her. Yes, Ralph, I did. Oh, Ralph, darling, don't ask me to go back! don't ask me to go back!"

Kate was trembling. She trembled with such an admirable resemblance to a real fit of terror that Henley was completely taken in. He soothed and kissed her, and told her that, after all, nothing mattered if she kept well and happy.

"We won't go back for the present," he said. "It is a great nuisance that Sir John Fenton-Douglas should have just arrived--for, of course, I promised to introduce him to everybody; but I suppose we cannot help it."

"Oh! what does Sir John Fenton-Douglas matter?" said Kate, shivering. "I am so delighted I am away from Castellis. I shall sleep soundly to-night."

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"Well, come now and talk to the girls; they are awfully disappointed, I can tell you."

"First of all, I must kiss you for being so good," answered Kate. "You are the one darling of my life. Nothing matters in all the world to me if I am with you."

Ralph's heart leapt with rejoicing at her words of affection. She then returned with him to the sitting-room.

The girls looked rather disconsolate and tired.

"Oh, you poor old dears!" said Kate, running up to them. "I cannot tell you how vexed I am at all this upset. Mary, I know you despise me--and you, Ethel?"

"I certainly do not despise you," said Ethel. "I remember the old days. Why, you were just as bad when you were a child."

Kate immediately took her cue. Until that moment she had not heard that the old Kitty had been much affected by the Castellis ghost. Marryat had told her the story of the ghost on the previous day, and it occurred to her during the night that she might utilise it to account for her sudden departure. Now she began to talk eagerly of her childish terrors; and Ethel helped her, recalling one incident after another.

Meanwhile, Mary sat silent and watchful. Mary felt more sure than ever that she was on the brink of a discovery, but just at present she could not get any clue. After a long period of silence she spoke.

"Well, Kate," she said, "I suppose you don't mind getting my true opinion?"

"Yes, I do," answered Kate; "for I see perfectly well by the expression of your face that you are going to say something horrid."

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"No, I shall not say anything specially horrid. I am your guest. I simply want to say that I think--"

"Think what?"

"That at this moment you are absolutely inconsistent with your true character. There never was any one less nervous, and less likely to be affected by ghostly terrors, than you."

"Oh, Mary! when you remember the old Kitty," cried Ethel.

"But I don't think of the old Kitty at all in this matter. As far as I am concerned, as far as any one who ever knew her is concerned, she is dead and buried--buried down deep in her grave--and will never come to life again."

Kate gasped and almost uttered a cry.

"Yes," continued Mary, fixing her eyes on Mrs. Henley's white face; "I say the old Kate is dead, and the present Kate has nothing to do with silly fears. She could not act as a fool, however hard she tried. There, I have spoken."

Kate soon recovered her composure.

"It is only Mary's way," she whispered to herself. "But I wish she would not speak as she has done about Kate being dead and buried; it made my heart thump. Well, after all, I am safe; I have got away from Castellis. Wild horses could not drag me back. No; poor old Castellis must go. We will buy another place and be happy."

"Don't let us talk any more about me and my weaknesses," she said suddenly. "I want now to try and get you a nice room, girls. I am so glad you have come with Ralph."

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"That you are not," thought Mary; but she closed her lips and was silent.

Two or three days passed. The Henleys took a large suite of rooms at the Victoria Hotel, and the girls had a right good time. Henley ordered his yacht to be sent round to Falmouth, and they went on many water expeditions. Kate recovered her wonted health and high spirits. Nothing ever depressed her, except the mention of returning to Castellis.

Mary's suspicions began to sleep. She avoided Marryat, however, who began to look at her with watchful eyes. It seemed to Mary as if in some extraordinary way the lady's-maid read the cold doubt which had gathered round her heart.

As to Ethel she was happy as the day was long. Kate fascinated her more and more. She believed that it was nothing but her love for the old Kitty which was strengthened now that this Kitty had grown up. She never guessed that it was a new-born affection for quite a new person.

Meanwhile Marryat was slowly making up her mind. It was all very well to receive ten golden sovereigns, or five golden sovereigns, or a bank-note, as the case might be, from Mrs. Henley, but Marryat was convinced that she might drop suddenly into absolute wealth if she played her cards well. She had not the slightest idea of betraying her young mistress. That would be, she knew, the worst possible policy for herself; but she did wish most earnestly to hold her mistress's secret, to keep it as a power which she might use at will. When Kate was in trouble she hinted at many vague and dreadful things; but when Kate was happy she was wont to be reticent, to be haughty, when her moments of | | 146 perplexity were alluded to, and, in short, to make Marryat know what her (Marryat's) true position was.

These were the sort of things that the lady's-maid resented.

"If I am to help her when she is in a fix, she ought to be nice to me when she has got out of her fix," soliloquised the maid. "Now, if I could find out what the whole thing means, why then I'd have the whip hand. It don't suit me at all not to have the whip hand. She's as 'aughty a young lady as can be, and I don't want her 'aughty h'airs to be spent on me. I'll find out somehow."

Marryat thought and thought. Beyond doubt Kate had a secret which she shared with a man of the name of Rogers--a disreputable man, who had evidently quite sunk below his original position. This man, and a woman who lived in Mentone, had a strange hold over Kate. Marryat, for purposes of her own, had secured the address of the Mentone woman whose name was Mildmay. Mrs. Mildmay was the mother of the girl who had been Kate's companion--the girl who had died during the early part of the year. Now there was a further strange development of Kate's secret. She had left Castellis, not at all for the rubbishy reason which she had given to her husband, but for quite another cause. That cause, beyond doubt, was connected with Sir John Fenton-Douglas's arrival on the scene. What had this man to do with the past of bright and beautiful Kate? He was an elderly and married man. Kate had spent almost all her life in India. Sir John Fenton-Douglas surely could not have met her there.

"He is too old for any flirtation to have been between them," thought the maid. "Besides, he is | | 147 married; and my mistress is not that sort. No; there is something else. I wish I could see Sir John and find out from himself. I would go to him, but I doubt if it is a wise thing to do."

Marryat still kept thinking, and the more she thought the more restless she became. Finally she resolved on another step. She would go to see Mrs. Mildmay at Mentone. She would go to her as if Kate had sent her on a message.

"And my name isn't Jeannette Marryat if I don't get to the bottom of the truth," muttered the maid to herself.

Having made up her mind, Marryat lost no time in putting her scheme into execution. One morning at an early hour she went into Kate's room with her hand to her forehead and her face deadly pale. She had put on a considerable amount of powder and had not rubbed it all off; the room was in shadow, and Kate, awakening from her rosy sleep, saw Marryat standing at the foot of her bed.

"Why, Marryat, you are ill. You look very queer," she said.

"It is because I have had bad news," said Marryat. "My poor mother is taken with a serious attack. I must go to her at once."

"And leave me?" cried Kate, her first impulse being one of pure selfishness.

"Only for a week or ten days, madam."

"But what shall I do?" exclaimed the girl. "There are those letters, you know."

"You have just sent off an answer to the last, so it's not likely another will come till I return," said Marryat. "In any case, I am afraid I must go, madam. Of course, if you wish it, I will give you notice and not return."

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"Oh, I could not think of that," said Kate. "You know perfectly well, Marryat, that I cannot do without you."

"I am pleased to think I am of use to you, Mrs. Henley."

"Must you go to-day?" said Kate.

"I am afraid I must; the accounts of my mother are rather bad. She suffers from her lungs, and has had a fresh attack of hemorrhage."

"Where did you say your home was?"

"I have no home myself, madam. My mother is in the south of France."

"The south of France ?" said Kate, starting. "The south of France, Marryat?"

" Yes, ma'am. She has lived at a place called Mentone for some time."

"How queer!" gasped Kate.

"You see, madam, it is a long journey, and I ought to start immediately. My mother has been moved into a small private hospital; she wants to see me at once."

"Of course you must go."

"I thought I might take a train to-night which would reach Dover the first thing in the morning, then I could cross by the first boat."

"Of course," said Kate. She looked very sad and troubled. Marryat gazed at her attentively.

"Is there anything I can do for you while I am at Mentone, madam? Those letters that come from there?"

"To be sure; I was thinking," said Kate. "There is a person I know in Mentone. You might take her a message from me."

"I certainly will, madam."

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"Her name is Mildmay. I should like to write her a letter and send her a few little things. She is the mother of the girl whom I was so fond of--the girl who died there. I should love to send her something."

Kate sat up on her elbow; her eyes were shining and her lips trembling.

"She is wonderfully fond of that woman at Mentone," thought the maid.

"Yes, madam," she said aloud; "I'll do anything in my power."

"Well, if you must go, I dare say I can manage to live without you. You had better pack your things and make arrangements."

"I shall be exceedingly obliged, madam."

The maid left the room and Kate sat up in bed. A moment after she rose and began to dress. As she did so she felt her heart beat a little quicker than usual. If there was a person except her husband for whom the desperate girl felt an undying affection, it was for the worn-out and sad mother whom she had, as she thought, parted from for ever. All the time she was dressing she was wondering what little comforts she could send her as tokens of her regard. It would be most dangerous to confide any more of her secret to Marryat. She was very sorry that Marryat was going to Mentone. She thought it most unfortunate that the woman's mother should be ill there, but as Marryat was going, and nothing could possibly keep her from going to her own mother during her illness, Kate thought she might make the best of a bad job.

"There's one thing certain," she said to herself; "Marryat cannot guess the truth. Yes, she may | | 150 as well go and see mother, and take her some things."

Having dressed, Kate looked through her possessions. From her wardrobe she took handkerchiefs, collars, cuffs, and gloves. She denuded herself of several pairs of silk stockings; she even put into the parcel a little pair of bronze shoes with steel buckles.

"For mother's feet are so pretty," thought the girl, "and she never had them nicely shod." Finally, she wrote a tiny note.

"From Kate, for the sake of Kate Mildmay," was all that she dared to write. She dared not correspond with her mother. From her own purse she took a twenty-pound note and a ten-pound note, and, wrapping them in tissue paper, placed them inside the envelope and then sealed it with her own little seal.

She made up the parcel as neatly as possible, and then left it ready for Marryat to put in her box.

"Is this it, madam?" said the woman later in the day. "I am to take this to Mrs. Mildmay?"

"Please, Marryat. You will see her address on the parcel. And you may tell her about me if you like. She will be interested to hear."

"Shall I tell her that you are happy, Mrs. Henley?"

"Yes--do. Tell her I am very, very, very happy. She is fond of me, because I remind her of her own daughter who died. And, by the way, Marryat, if you are in the neighbourhood, you might go to the English cemetery and see poor Kate Mildmay's grave. Buy white flowers, Marryat, for me, and put them on the grave."

Late that evening Marryat took her leave. Kate looked sadly depressed when she bade her good-bye.

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"Don't be long away," she said. "You are a great comfort to me, Marryat."

"I would do anything in my power for you, my dear young lady," said the maid ; and then Kate shook hands with her and she departed.

"I declare," thought Marryat, as she stepped into the cab. "I'm not an affectionate woman, but I do like her, poor thing, whatever she has done. All the same, I'll get hold of her secret. I won't betray her--I'm not quite so mean as that. I'll know everything though, and then I'll have the whip hand. Whatever happens I must have the whip hand."