THE BLUE DIAMOND (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes
Chapter II
“You will come over early tomorrow, Garth?” Garth Davenant wrapped Mavis’s cloak more closely round her.
“At the very earliest moment that I can get away. My father wants me to go over McDonnell’s estimates for the drainage first thing, but that will not take me long. Will you come and meet me, Mavis?”
“Where?” Mavis Hargreave glanced up shyly into the dark rugged face, with its look of latent strength and power and the grey eyes fixed on hers so lovingly.
Her love for Garth Davenant had become so entirely a part of her being that, though she had in no degree realized its strength until his words and caresses had called it into active life, the very intensity of her happiness now almost frightened her. She told herself that it was too full, too complete, something would surely happen to mar it; and tonight her vague fears shadowed her big brown eyes and gave a touch of pathos to the curves of her mobile mouth.
Garth Davenant thought that never had she looked fairer, more altogether desirable in his eyes, than now, when under pretence of arranging her wraps, he detained her for a few last words in the corridor.
“I fancy you don’t look quite happy tonight, dearest,” he went on, “and I feel as if in some way it must be our fault. You mustn’t let the trouble that lies over this unhappy house shadow your life too, Mavis.”
The girl’s lips quivered a little as she glanced up at him.
“It is so dreadful for poor Lady Davenant, Garth! She looks so sad, always. I am so sorry for you all!” with a touch light as a feather upon his arm.
Garth stooped and put his lips upon the ungloved fingers.
The shadow that lay over Davenant Court sometimes seemed to him almost too heavy to be borne, since the dread was a never-ending one. Poor Walter Davenant had been but a boy when the tragedy occurred that wrecked his life. He had become involved with some card swindlers and discovered that his great friend, a man whom he trusted implicitly, was deceiving him. In his anger he accused him openly of unfair dealing, and in the hubbub that followed the man was shot, and Walter Davenant fled from the country with the mark of Cain on his brow.
One of the saddest things about the whole affair was the fact that if he had remained and stood his trial the verdict would almost certainly have been one of acquittal, or at the most the sentence would have been merely a nominal one, since there was no doubt as to St. Leger’s guilt, and his reputation was thoroughly bad. Young Davenant’s flight put a different complexion on the matter; a warrant was issued for his arrest, and if he should be brought to trial, after the lapse of years, things might go hard with him.
Small wonder was it that Garth spoke of the trouble overhanging them, or that Sir John Davenant should look years older than his actual age, while a terrible dread haunted his wife’s eyes.
Entertaining at Davenant Court had been for years a thing of the past, and this dinner party in honour of their son’s engagement had been somewhat of a strain on both Sir John and Lady Davenant.
Garth feared that the effort had been apparent to Mavis, and his thoughts grew very tender.
“Under the big beech by the park gates at eleven tomorrow,” he whispered. “Will you be there, darling? I will bring those poems you wanted to hear, and try to coax the smiles back somehow.”
“Then you will read to me? Yes, I will come.”
Garth lowered his tall head a little nearer.
“You will have a smile ready for me, Mavis? I cannot help fancying that there have been tears very near the surface tonight.”
Mavis’s lips quivered, the clasp of her slender fingers upon his arm tightened.
“Sometimes I am afraid we are too happy, Garth—that something will come and spoil everything.”
Garth’s look was very tender as he gazed into the dewy eyes upraised timidly to his.
“What a silly child it is!” he said fondly. “Nothing could spoil our happiness as long as we care for one another. Come, shake off your fears and give me one smile before we part!”
Mavis did her best to obey him, but her lips were trembling when he placed her in the carriage with her mother.
“Courage, Mavis!” he whispered, just touching her hand. “You will laugh at all those fears tomorrow. Are you getting in, Hargreave?”
Dorothy drew her skirt aside. Arthur hesitated a moment, then the obvious anxiety in his mother’s glance decided him. He held out his cigar.
“Thanks; I am going outside. It is a shame to miss a night like this. The moon makes it almost like day.”
The three ladies in the carriage were unusually silent; each had her own special subject for thought. Lady Laura Hargreave, rejoicing in her daughter’s happiness, began also to think that another certain long-cherished desire of hers was about to be fulfilled. Mavis was absorbed in dreams of her lover, and Dorothy lay back in her corner, a pretty tremulous smile flickering round her lips as she thought of the cousin who had been her hero in her childish days.
But as they turned in at the park gates Lady Laura drew herself up and listened.
“I thought I heard a cry! Arthur, what is it?” as the carriage stopped and her son got down from the box.
“I thought I heard something. Surely there is some one sobbing.”
“Among the trees over there,” Sir Arthur said with a backward jerk of his head. “I must see what it is. You won’t mind being left along, mother? Jervis will look after you.”
“Oh, my dear boy, don’t think about us; we shall be all right,” Lady Laura said hurriedly. “Some poor creature must be in trouble, I am afraid.”
“A tramp, probably,” Sir Arthur remarked as he strode across the grass to the spot whence the sounds appeared to come.
The brilliant moonlight made it easy for him to discern a dark figure crouching at the foot of one of the big beeches as he went forward and heard the sound of piteous weeping and sobbing.
“What is the matter? Can I do anything?” he began awkwardly enough.
At the first sound of his voice the figure started violently; the dark cloak fell back and he caught sight of a white dress beneath. Instinct told him that this was no common tramp or wayfarer. He went forward, raising his hat courteously.
“I beg your pardon. I fear you are in trouble. Can I do anything?” he said.
The woman raised herself slowly to her feet, and he saw that she was above the common height; another glance told even his unpractised masculine eyes that the cloak slipping from her shoulders was a distinctly fashionable garment, and that the white dress underneath was just such a frock as those in which Mavis and Dorothy were wont to appear.
She turned to him with a forlorn gesture.
“What am I to do? I do not know where I am. I have lost my way.”
There was a quiver in the clear pathetic tones.
All the chivalry in Arthur’s nature was aroused.
“You will allow us to do what we can,” he said quickly. “My mother—Lady Laura Hargreave—is waiting in the carriage just below. If you will allow me to take you to her, later on we shall be delighted to see that you arrive safely at your destination.”
She gazed at him a moment, then she spread out her hands.
“That is it,” she said with an irrepressible sob, “I have forgotten where I was going! I cannot remember—anything!”
She swayed slightly, her voice failed, she staggered