CHAPTER XVI

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS

Giles left "The Merry Dancer" quite determined to deceive Olga if it were possible. No faith should be kept with such a woman. She had power, and she was using it unscrupulously for selfish ends. Moreover, come what might, Giles could not bring himself to make her his wife. He loved Anne too deeply for that. And then he began to ask himself if he were not selfish also, seeing that he would not lose his own gratification to save the woman he loved. Nevertheless, he could not contemplate giving up Anne with equanimity, and set his wits to work in order to circumvent the treacherous Olga.

In the first place he now felt certain that Anne was in the neighborhood, and, as he shrewdly suspected, in the Priory. The discovery of the coin and the presence of Olga in the village made him certain on this point. In some way or another she had got to know of Anne's whereabouts, and had come here to make capital of her knowledge. If he consented to surrender Anne and make Olga his wife, she would probably assist Anne to escape, or else, as she asserted, clear her of complicity in the crime.

On the other hand, should he refuse, she would then tell the police where the unfortunate governess was to be found. It might be that Anne could save herself. But seeing that she had fled immediately after the murder, it would be difficult for her to exonerate herself. Also, the reason she had then to take the guilt upon her own shoulders might again stand in the way of her now clearing her character. Nothing was left but to marry Olga and so free Anne, or seek Anne himself. Ware determined to adopt the latter course as the least repugnant to his feelings.

But Olga was no mean antagonist. She loved Giles so much that she knew perfectly well that he did not love her, and this knowledge taught her to mistrust him. As her passion was so great she was content to take him as a reluctant husband, in the belief that she, as his wife, would in time wean him from his earlier love. But she was well aware that, even to save Anne, he would not give in without a struggle.

This being the case, she considered what he would do. It struck her that he would see if he could get into the Priory, for from some words he had let fall she was convinced that he thought Anne was concealed therein. Olga had her own opinion about that; but she had to do with his actions at present and not with her own thoughts. For this reason she determined to watch him—to be in his company throughout the time of probation.

Thus it happened that before Giles could arrange his plans the next day—one of which entailed a neighborly visit to Franklin—Olga made her appearance at his house, and expressed a desire to see his picture gallery, of which she had heard much. Her mother, she said, was coming over that afternoon to look at the house, which, as she had been told, was a model of what an English country-house should be.

Giles growled at this speech, being clever enough to see through the artifices of Mademoiselle Olga.

"The house is as old as the Tudors," he expostulated; "your mother should look at a more modern one."

"Oh, no," replied Olga sweetly. "I am sure she will be delighted with this one; it is so picturesque."

"I am afraid that I promised to pay a visit this afternoon."

"Ah, you must put it off, Mr. Ware. When two ladies come to see you, you really cannot leave them alone."

"If the next day will do——"

"I don't think it will. My mother and I leave the next day. She is due in town to a reception at the Austrian Embassy."

Ware made other excuses, but Olga would listen to none of them. She stopped all the morning and looked at the pictures, but she never referred to their conversation of the previous night. There was a tacit understanding between them that it should remain in abeyance until the time given for the reply of Giles was ended. Still, Ware could not forget that burning kiss, and was awkward in consequence.

Not so Olga. She was quite cool and self-possessed, and although alone with him for close on two hours, did not show the least confusion. Giles, much disgusted, called her in his own mind "unmaidenly." But she was not that, for she behaved very discreetly. She was simply a woman deeply in love who was bent on gaining her ends. Considering the depth of her passion, she restrained herself very creditably when with the man she loved. Giles now saw how it was that she had defied her family and had taken her own way in life.

"I won't stop to luncheon," she said, when he asked her; "but I and my mother will come over at three o'clock." It was now close on two. "I am sure we shall have a pleasant afternoon."

Giles tried to smile, and succeeded very well, considering what his feelings were at the moment. If he could only have behaved brutally, he would have refused the honor of the proposed visit, but it is difficult to be rude to a charming woman bent upon having her own way. Ware kicked as a man will, but ended in accepting the inevitable.

Olga returned to the inn, and found the Princess seated on the sofa fanning herself violently. Mrs. Morris was in the room, fluttering nervously as she laid the cloth for luncheon. Olga looked at her mother. "Did you take your walk?" she asked.

The Princess nodded. "I am very warm," she said.

"What do you think now?" asked her daughter impatiently.

"I think that you are a very clever woman, Olga," replied the Princess; "but I am too hungry to talk just now. When I have eaten and am rested we can speak."

"But just one word. Am I right?"

"Perfectly right."

This conversation was conducted in French, and Mrs. Morris could make nothing of it. Even if she had known the sense she would not have understood what it meant. However, Olga and her mother reverted to English for the benefit of the landlady, and chatted about their proposed visit to Ware's mansion. After that came luncheon. Shortly after three mother and daughter were with Giles. He received them with composure, although he felt quite otherwise than composed. The Princess pronounced him a charming young man.

"And what a delightful place you have here!" she said, looking at the quaint Tudor house, with its grey walls and mullion windows. "It is like a fairy palace. The Castle"—she meant her husband's residence in Styria—"is cruel-looking and wild."

"It was built in the Middle Ages," said Olga. "I don't think any one was particularly amiable then."

"I would rather have stayed in Jamaica," sighed the Princess. "Why did I ever leave it?"

Olga, who always appeared annoyed when her mother reverted to her early life, touched the elder woman's elbow. The Princess sighed again, and held her peace. She had a fine temper of her own, but always felt that it was an effort to use it. She therefore usually gave in to Olga. "It saved trouble," she explained.

But her good temper did not last all the afternoon, and ended in disarranging Olga's plans. After a hearty afternoon tea on the lawn the Princess said that she did not feel well, and wished to go home. Olga demurred, but Giles, seeing the chance of escape, agreed that the Princess really was unwell, and proposed to send them back to the inn in his carriage. Princess Karacsay jumped at the offer.

"It will save me walking," she declared fretfully, "and I have done so much this morning."

"Where did you go?" asked Giles, wondering that so indolent a woman should exert herself on such a hot day.

"To some woods round a place they call the Priory."

"To the Priory!" he exclaimed, astonished. "Do you know Mr. Franklin?"

"My mother said the woods round the Priory," explained Olga, with an annoyed glance at the elder lady. "She did not enter."

"No," said the Princess, "I did not enter; I do not know the man. Oh, my dear Olga, do come back. I don't feel at all well."

"I will order the carriage," said Giles, rising.

"And you will come back with us?"

"Really, you must excuse me, Mademoiselle Olga," he answered; "but even a country squire has his work to do."

And with that he hurried away. In half an hour he had the satisfaction of seeing the carriage roll down his avenue with a very disappointed young lady frowning at the broad back of the coachman. Then he set about seeing what he could do to circumvent her.

It was too late to call on Franklin, as it was nearly six o'clock. Still, Ware thought he would reconnoitre in the woods. It was strange that the elder Princess should have been there this morning, and he wondered if she also knew of Anne's whereabouts. But this he decided was impossible. She had only been a few days in England, and she would not likely know anything about the governess. Still, it was odd that she should have taken a walk in that particular direction, or that she should have walked at all. Here was another mystery added to the one which already perplexed him so greatly.

However, time was too precious to be wasted in soliloquizing, so he went off post-haste towards the woods round the Priory. Since he wished to avoid observation, he chose by-paths, and took a rather circuitous route. It was nearly seven when he found himself in the forest. The summer evenings were then at their longest, and under the great trees there was a soft, brooding twilight full of peace and pleasant woodland sounds. Had he gone straight forward, he would have come on the great house itself, centred in that fairy forest. But this was the last thing he wished to do. He was not yet prepared to see Franklin. He looked here and there to see if any human being was about, but unsuccessfully. Then he took his way to the spot where he had found the coin of Edward VII. To his surprise he saw a girl stooping and searching. At once he decided that she was looking for the lost coin. But the girl was not Anne.

Looking up suddenly she surveyed him with a startled air, and he saw her face plainly in the quiet evening light. She had reddish hair, a freckled face, and was dressed—as Mrs. Parry had said—in all the colors of the rainbow. Giles guessed at once who she was, and bowed.

"Good evening, Miss Franklin," he said, lifting his hat, "you seem to be looking for something. Can I assist you?"

The damsel looked at him sternly and scowled. "You're trespassing," she said in rather a gruff voice.

"I fear that I am," he answered, laughing; "but you'll forgive me if I assist you in your search, won't you?"

"Who are you?" questioned Miss Franklin, quite unmoved by this politeness. "I never saw you before."

"I have just returned from London. My name is Ware."

"Ware!" echoed the girl eagerly. "Giles Ware?"

"Yes. Do you know my name?"

She took a good look at him, and seemed—he was vain enough to think so—rather to soften towards him. "I have heard Mrs. Morley speak of you," she declared bluntly.

"Ah! You have not heard a lady speak of me?"

Miss Franklin stared. "No, I never heard a lady talk of you," she replied, with a giggle. "What lady?"

"The lady who is stopping in your house."

Her eyes became hard, and she assumed a stony expression. "There is no lady in the house but myself."

"Not a lady who lost what you are looking for?"

This time she was thrown off her guard, and became as red as her hair. She tried to carry off her confusion with rudeness. "I don't know what you're talking of," she said, with a stamp and a frown! "you can just clear away off our land, or I'll set the dogs on you."

"I see. You keep dogs, do you? Bloodhounds probably?"

"How do you know that?" asked Miss Franklin, staring. "Yes, we do keep bloodhounds, and they will tear you to pieces if you don't go."

"You seem to forget that this is a civilized country," said Giles quietly. "If you set your dogs on me, I shall set the police on you."

"The police!" She seemed startled, but recovered herself. "I don't care for the police," she declared defiantly.

"You might not, but Walter Franklin might."

"Who is he? Never heard of him."

"Never heard of your uncle?" said Giles, and then wondered how he could let her know that he had heard it without confessing to the eavesdropping. It suddenly occurred to him that Franklin had—he supposed—on the previous day made a confidant of Morley. This supposition he took advantage of. "Mr. Morley told me that your father had mentioned his brother."

The girl started and thought for a moment. "Oh, you mean Uncle Walter," she said, after a pause. "Yes, but we never talk of him."

This little speech did not ring quite true. It seemed as though the girl wished to back up the saying of her father, whether she believed it or not. "Is that why you pretended ignorance?" he asked.

"That was why," replied Miss Franklin, with brazen assurance.

She was lying. Giles felt certain of that, but he could not bring the untruth home to her. He suddenly reverted to the main object of his interview, which had to do with the possibility of Anne being in the Priory.

"What about that coin you are looking for?"

"I am looking for no coin," she replied, quite prepared for him. "I lost a brooch here. Have you found it?"

"Yes," replied Giles, his eyes watchfully on her face. "It is an Edward VII. coin in the form of a brooch."

He thought Miss Franklin would contradict this, but she was perfectly equal to the occasion. "You must have found it, since you know it so well. Please give it to me."

"I have left it at home," he answered, although it was lying in his pocket-book, and that next his heart. "I will give it to you to-morrow if you tell me from whom you got it."

"I found it," she confessed, "in the churchyard."

"Ah!" A sudden light flashed into the darkness of Ware's mind. "By the grave of that poor girl who was murdered?"

"I don't know of any murdered girl," retorted Miss Franklin, and looked uneasy, as though she were conscious of making a mistake.

"Yes you do, and you know the lady who cleans the stone and attends to the grave. Don't deny the truth."

Miss Franklin looked him up and down, and shrugged her clumsy shoulders. "I don't know what you are talking about," she declared, and with that turned on her heel. "Since you will not take yourself off like a gentleman, I'll go myself"; and she went.

"Don't set the bloodhounds on me," called out Giles. But she never turned her head; simply went on with a steady step until she was lost in the gloom of the wood.

Giles waited for a time. He had an idea that she was watching. By-and-by the feeling wore off, and knowing by this time that he was quite alone, he also departed.

He was beginning to doubt Franklin, for this girl had evidently something to conceal. He was sure that Anne was being sheltered in the house, and that it was Anne who cleaned the gravestone. Perhaps George Franklin was giving her shelter since she had helped his rascal of a brother to escape. Thus thinking, he went through the wood with the intention of going home. A glance at his watch told him it was after eight.

Suddenly it occurred to him that it would be a good time to pay a visit to the graveyard and see if anything new had been done to the grave. All the people were within doors at this hour, and the churchyard would be quiet. Having made up his mind, he walked in the direction of the church and vaulted the low wall that divided that graveyard from the park. He saw Daisy's grave. Bending over it a woman. She looked up with a startled cry. It was Anne Denham.