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CHAPTER XVI

MARRYAT arrived at Mentone on the evening of the next day but one. It is needless to say she had no mother to visit, her mother having been in her grave for the last ten years; but the excuse had served her purpose, and she did not feel the slightest remorse for the lies she had told.

It was now the beginning of October, and the little winter resort was still comparatively empty. Marryat fully intended to act the part of the lady during this trip. She meant to see Mrs. Mildmay, and to overawe that good woman into at least a partial confession of the strange hold which she possessed over Kate Henley. For this purpose she (Marryat) must make as much of herself as possible. On arriving at Mentone, therefore, she desired the cabman to take her to one of the fashionable hotels. There she ordered a private sitting-room, and did everything like a grande dame.

Early next morning she set out in quest of Mrs. Mildmay.

"And I should uncommonly like to see the man who calls himself Rogers," she said to herself as she walked down the narrow streets, and then crossing a side street, pursued her peregrinations along the shores of the Mediterranean. Presently she stopped at a neat and comfortable-looking Hotel-Pension which bore the name of Mildmay over the door. It was | | 153 called the "Mildmay Pension," and was specially intended for English people.

Marryat stepped inside, asked to see the manager, and then boldly demanded an interview with Mrs. Mildmay.

"The proprietress is out at present," said the man, speaking in excellent English and staring with some admiration at the smartly dressed visitor. "But if you happen to want rooms, madam," he continued, "I can supply you. We have plenty of vacant rooms, the English season having hardly commenced."

"It is very probable that I shall take rooms here," said Marryat. It suddenly occurred to her that it would be an excellent plan to do so.

"For on the spot I can learn so much more than during a chance interview," she said to herself. She was, however, silent for a moment; then she asked the man to show her the best suite of rooms in the house.

He asked her to step into the lift, and, taking her upstairs to the first étage, showed her a charming bedroom and sitting-room opening one into the other. Out of the season she could have these two rooms, attendance, and all meals for the moderate price of twelve francs a day. As this was considerably less than Marryat was paying at her hotel, she closed with the offer at once.

"I will have my things sent in and will sleep here to-night," she said.

"Will you have the goodness to leave us your card, madam?"

Marryat, grand as she was, had no visiting cards, but she wrote her name on a slip of paper--Miss Jeannette Marryat. She then took her leave, not having again inquired for Mrs. Mildmay.

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In the course of the evening she arrived with all her luggage, and was present at table d'hôte. There were only a few Germans and some Italians now staying in the pension. Marryat, who knew no tongue but her own, thought them rather dull, and wondered how soon she might have an interview with Mrs. Mildmay. She had no intention, however, of hurrying matters, and thought that it would rouse suspicion were she to inquire for the proprietress that evening. She therefore returned to her sitting-room, ordered a lamp to be supplied to her, and, taking out a yellow-backed novel, amused herself reading it until it was time for bed.

The next day, thoroughly refreshed and with all her wits about her, she wrote a note to Mrs. Mildmay.

This note was addressed and then given to a chamber-maid, with directions to deliver it at once to the proprietress of the hotel.

Mrs. Mildmay was in her private sitting-room, going carefully into her daily accounts, when the missive was put into her hand. When she read it she gave a violent start and turned very pale; but, quickly recovering her composure, said to the girl that she would wait on Miss Jeannette Marryat in her own room in about a quarter of an hour.

The maid tripped back to give her mistress's message, and Marryat, on receiving it, smiled. Her | | 155 manners to the servants at the hotel were intensely haughty, and most of them thought that she was a lady of quality, and in consequence all treated her with immense respect.

She had dressed herself with extreme care in black silk, and looked, as she herself expressed it, every inch the woman of position.

In rather less than the time specified there came a knock at Marryat's door, and Mrs. Mildmay, dressed quietly in black, with a white lace cap on her head, and a white muslin apron, entered the room.

"Mrs. Mildmay, I presume?" said Marryat.

"Yes, that is my name," said the widow. "You say you have come from my--from Miss Kate Bouverie?"

"I have come from Mrs. Henley, madam. I think I must be frank with you and have no concealments. I happen to be the dear young lady's maid."

Mrs. Mildmay gave a quick glance at her visitor. She was inwardly trembling much. She was, she knew, a very bad person to hold a secret, particularly an important one. But a glance at Marryat now caused her to make a strong resolution. She would fight for Kate--her own Kate--to the death, if necessary. It was only to look into Marryat's eager face to see that the woman was devoured by curiosity. It behoved her, therefore, to be extremely careful about what she said and did.

"I shall be glad to receive the message from Mrs.--Mrs. Henley," she remarked, in a slow and cautious voice.

"Certainly, madam. My mistress is extremely fond of you, Mrs. Mildmay. I never saw a young | | 156 lady so taken up with another as she is with you."

Mrs. Mildmay's first impulse was to say, "That is scarcely to be wondered at," but again she shut her lips and fixed her light-brown eyes on the astute face of her visitor.

"My mistress has sent you a parcel, which she begged me to deliver into your own hands."

"Oh, thank you. How kind of her. She was always a very sweet child."

"Sweet child!" said Marryat, tossing her head. "There ain't much of a child about her now; she's a woman, and has the ways of one. But I'll fetch the parcel and give it to you."

Marryat went into her room, returning a moment later with the parcel which Kate had made up with such trembling fingers and with so much love in her heart. The parcel had been securely tied and sealed with many seals, otherwise Marryat would before now have acquainted herself with its contents.

"I believe there is a letter inside," she said, as she handed it to the widow. "Pray, don't mind me, if you would like to open the parcel and read the letter. I am not in the slightest hurry."

"Oh, thank you; but the contents of this little parcel can keep," said Mrs. Mildmay. She laid it quietly by her side on the nearest table. She was dying to leave the room, cut the string, and see the precious contents. Her whole soul was on fire to hear news of Kate, and, above all, to read such a precious thing as a letter from her, but she felt that she must betray none of her emotions before Marryat.

"If you are her maid you will tell me about her," she said.

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"Certainly, madam; and I have nothing but good to tell you. My young mistress is one of the sweetest, most beautiful, most charming young ladies in the world. Her career since I was lucky enough to enter her service has been one long success. Mr. Henley is devoted to her, and so are all her relations. It is touching, madam, to see what a beautiful, beautiful nature Mrs. Henley has. It seems a cruel pity that she should have lost her voice, though."

"Her voice?" said Mrs. Mildmay, with a start. "Did you say her voice?"

"Her singing voice, madam. She cannot sing a note, although she consulted Sir John Orme, the great specialist. You are looking pale, madam. I trust you are in good health yourself. Mrs. Henley will be most anxious to know all about you."

"Thank you; I am quite well," said the widow stiffly.

"Yes," said Marryat, looking full at Mrs. Mildmay, and noticing, to her own intense satisfaction, the widow's ill-concealed emotion, "it is beautiful to think of the nature of my young mistress. In the midst of all her wealth and gaiety and the brilliant life she leads, she never forgets your young daughter, madam--you will forgive my alluding to such a sad event--your daughter who died."

"Yes, my daughter who died," said Mrs. Mildmay, moistening her parched lips.

"I see it affects you very much, madam; and no wonder. But my young lady often seems as low about it as--almost as low as you are, madam. And oh, how she does love you! As soon as she heard that I wished to visit Mentone she immediately asked me to call on you."

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"You did not come here on purpose to see me, did you?" said Mrs. Mildmay.

"Well, not exactly," answered Marryat.

"It is a queer time of year for English people to come to Mentone," continued the widow, "for the heat is still very great."

"Oh, I thought nothing of that; I just wanted a holiday, and as I saw my young mistress would like to send you a message, I came here."

"Well, I am much pleased to hear of her. I will leave you now if you have nothing more to say; but if you will come and have tea with me in my private sitting-room this afternoon you will, perhaps, tell me more about Mrs. Henley. I will go downstairs now."

Mrs. Mildmay got up, took the little parcel, gave her guest a sweeping inclination of the head, and left the room.

"Upon my word, quite a lady," said Marryat, when she had done so. "Yes, and a lady who has seen bad times. Now, who does she remind me of? She's not exactly like, and yet there is a likeness between her and my young mistress. No, there cannot be a real likeness; she's a plain woman, and my young mistress is quite lovely. I declare I'm all on the twitch to go and have tea with her. I must find out more. I do wish I could get hold of that man Rogers. He would let out everything he knows if I had money enough to bribe him." Marryat opened her purse and examined the contents. "And I could spare five sovereigns," she said to herself. "It would be money well spent. I do wonder where he is. I declare, I'll call at the bureau and ask if they know a man of the name of Rogers."

No sooner had Marryat thought of this than, put | | 159 ting on her hat, she resolved to act upon it. She made her inquiry at the bureau, but without any satisfactory result. No one of the name of Rogers frequented the hotel. The man at the bureau could give her no information. She then went out for a walk, and during her walk the thought came to her that the man she had seen at the Grange had probably adopted the name of Rogers for reasons of his own.

"Anyhow, I know his face," she said to herself, "and if he has much to do with the widow Mildmay he is certain to be somewhere near. I'll just take a good look now, and explore on my own account. I must get to the bottom of this business, whatever happens."

Search as she would, however, Marryat could nowhere see a sign of Merriman. Mentone is not a large place, and he was not lingering round any of the shops, nor was he in the neighbourhood of the fashionable hotels, nor sauntering by the shores of the Mediterranean. Marryat took a bird's-eye view of the entire place that morning. She swept it all over with her sharp eyes, visiting both the East and the West Bay; but nowhere, search as she would, could she see Merriman, alias Rogers.

Almost in despair she went to the post-office, asking there if the people could give her the address of a man of the name of Rogers. There happened not to be a single person of that name staying in Mentone.

The lady's-maid was nonplussed. She little guessed the reason why she did not see Merriman. As a rule, he was a lounger, and a lounger of the sort who is always to be found whether he is wanted or not. But just now he happened to be on his way to England | | 160 to interview Kate himself. Not being in Mentone, Marryat could scarcely find him.

She returned to the Pension Mildmay for lunch, and then wondered how she could kill time until the moment when she was to have her interview with Mrs. Mildmay. Suddenly she remembered Kate's injunction to visit the grave of the girl who had died. She asked her way, therefore, to the English cemetery, and soon afterwards was standing by the white head-stone which Mrs. Henley had ordered to be put up.

Marryat bent low over it and read the words half aloud, a critical expression on her face.

"Queer, queer," muttered the maid. "Pretty words, but queer all the same. Now why didn't they put Kate Mildmay? I'll speak to the widow about that omission. It looks very odd--very odd, indeed. I can make nothing of it; but it puzzles me, that it does. Well, I must hasten back now. It's near time for Mrs. Mildmay's tea."

Marryat returned to the pension, asked for the proprietress, was told that she was out, but that she (Marryat) was expected to tea.

"Perhaps, miss, you would like to wait in Mrs. Mildmay's sitting-room?" said the man whom she questioned.

"Certainly," replied Marryat. "That is a good idea."

The man showed her to the room, closing the door after her. Nothing could please her more. Her | | 161 sharp dancing eyes took in all its contents. It was a very dull and plain room, quietly furnished. There was nothing to arouse suspicion about it. At one side was a large secretaire. This was locked. Not a paper was about, not an account-book visible. In another corner was a bookcase filled with old-fashioned and dull-looking books. There was no other furniture in the room except a centre table, a few chairs, and an ordinary dismal sofa covered with American cloth. The room had a sort of uninteresting English effect, without any of the comforts which the ordinary English room possesses.

Marryat rose from her seat. She walked to the window, she walked to the door, she viewed the room from each vantage-point, raising her eyes to take in the ugly prints which decorated the walls. All of a sudden she gave a sharp exclamation. Amongst the books in the bookcase was an old-fashioned photo-graphic album. In an instant she had pounced upon it, taken it to the centre table and opened it.

"Now, what have I here?" she cried half aloud in her excitement. She was looking at a portrait of Kate Henley taken nearly ten years ago--a childish portrait in a shabby frock.

"My mistress!" she said to herself. She had scarcely murmured the words before Mrs. Mildmay came in. Mrs. Mildmay walked straight up to where Marryat was sitting, looked at the photograph and smiled.

"What is the matter, madam?" said Marryat. "I hope you didn't mind my examining these old photographs. I see a portrait here of my dear young lady. I didn't know, madam, that you knew her when she was twelve years old."

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"That happens to be a portrait of my own daughter," said Mrs. Mildmay in a quiet voice. "Have you never heard how very like the two girls were the one to the other?"

"They must have been," said Marryat. She closed the book, returned it to its place on the book-case, and turned to face Mrs. Mildmay.