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Mystery of the Ravenspurs

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[Pg 97] <h2>CHAPTER XVIII MRS. MONA MAY</h2> Geoffrey was slightly puzzled but, like a good soldier, he asked no questions. More and more he was coming to recognize that it was Ralph's to command and his to obey. Doubtless Ralph had some good reason when he treated his nephew like a puppet, but then the puppet was a long way from a fool, and as the days went on, it came home to him with an increasing force that he had a master mind to deal with. He had been told off this afternoon to lurk more or less concealed at the top of the steep pitch leading to the village, and there wait until something happened. It came at the end of a few minutes in the shape of a lady in perfect cycling costume, wheeling a machine up the hill towards Jessop's farm. As she came nearer to the spot where Geoffrey was smoking, a ragged nomad sprang from the hedge and demanded alms. The man was coarse and threatening, he was by no means sober, and his demands took the by no means modest form of a shilling. A second later there was a slight scream and Geoffrey darted forward. The sight of a woman in distress sufficed for him; Ralph was forgotten in an instant. There was a scuffle and a plunge, a rapid exit of the nomad and, hat in hand, Geoffrey was receiving the thanks of a beautiful woman, who was pleased to assure him that he was her preserver. "It is nothing," Geoffrey stammered, "nothing, really." It was not usual for him to be confused like this. But then he was standing face to face with the handsome[Pg 98] stranger who had taken Mr. Jessop's rooms, the lady with the love of white flowers, the woman who employed Oriental servants, who were given to strange incantations, the creature in whom Ralph Ravenspur had taken so vivid an interest. And Geoffrey's confusion grew none the less as it flashed upon him that the intoxicated tramp had been the god in the car designed by Ralph to bring this introduction about. He steadied himself. There was work before him now. "You exaggerate my poor services," he said. "Not at all, I assure you," the lady said. Her eyes held a strange fascination; her voice was low and sweetly sedative. She was years older than Geoffrey, but just the kind of siren who drove young men mad, or lured them to destruction. "Few strangers would have faced so formidable an opponent for me." "Most of my countrymen would," Geoffrey said. "I hope you have a better opinion of Englishmen than that. But Englishmen are not favorites abroad." The dark eyes were dancing with amusement. "You are under the impression that I am not English?" she asked. "Well, there is a certain grace," Geoffrey stammered, "that spoke of——" "Foreign blood. Precisely. But all the same, I am proud to call myself an Englishwoman. My name is Mrs. May—Mona May. You are Mr. Geoffrey Ravenspur." "At your service. I had the pleasure of seeing you the other morning in Mrs. Jessop's kitchen. Meanwhile, to prevent any further trouble from our predatory friend, I am going to walk with you as far as the farm." Mrs. May raised no objection; on the contrary, she seemed pleased with the idea. She was dangerous, she was mixed up in some way with the conspiracy against[Pg 99] the peace and happiness of the house of Ravenspur, and yet Geoffrey found it hard to resist her fascinations. She spoke almost perfect English, her dress, and style and manner were insular, but there was a flashing grace about her, a suggestion of something warm and Eastern, that gleamed and flashed in spite of her cycling dress and the wheel she pushed along so skillfully. She gave a sigh of regret as the farmhouse was reached. "Well, I suppose we must part," she said. "Really, it seems years since I spoke to a gentleman and I have only been here for days. I have been ordered absolute rest and quietness for the benefit of my health and, upon my word, I am getting it. Would you take pity upon my loneliness and come to tea?" Many an older man than Geoffrey had been excused from yielding to such a request. Those eyes were so dark and pleading, and the man was young. Besides, he had an excuse. Had not his uncle Ralph planned this thing and was it not intended to bring about an introduction! Besides, once inside that room, it might be possible to find something that in the future would yield great results. "I shall be only too pleased," Geoffrey murmured. "Then come along," Mrs. May said gaily. "If you are fond of a good cup of tea, then I have some of the most perfect in the world." She led the way into the old-fashioned drawing-room, which she had rendered beautiful with flowers. The stiff furniture looked stiff no longer. The hand of an artistic woman had been here and the whole aspect was changed. "You should have seen it when I came here," Mrs. May smiled as she followed Geoffrey's glance. "It was like a condemned cell. And yet there are things of price here. A little alteration and a few flowers—ah, what a difference flowers make!" [Pg 100] She pointed to her own floral decorations. The room was ablaze with them. And they were all scarlet. There was not a single bloom of any other kind to be seen. "They match my style of beauty," Mrs. May laughed. "I never have any other here." "You do not care for white flowers?" Geoffrey asked. "I abhor them. They suggest beautiful maidens cut off in their prime, dead children, the tomb, and all kinds of horrors. I would not have one in the house." Geoffrey was discreetly silent. Remembering the hundreds of white flowers he himself had seen in this very room not so long ago, this speech staggered him. In a dazed kind of way he watched Mrs. May light a spirit lamp under a silver kettle, after which she excused herself on the score of fetching the famous tea. Geoffrey picked up an album and turned the leaves over rapidly. There were soldiers, one or two native Indian officials, a great number of Society people, professional beauties, and the like and—and Marion! Yes, her fair tender face smiled from the embossed, richly gilt page. The picture had been taken some years ago, but there was no mistaking those pure features. Geoffrey closed the book and walked over to the window. Surprise upon surprise had come upon him lately, but this was staggering. When Mrs. May returned he was himself again. He could answer her questions gaily and smoothly. It was only when he was on his way home again that he recollected how much information he had imparted and how little he had got in return. "You must come and see me again," Mrs. May said. "Now, can't you come up some evening and dine with me? Say Thursday. Unless I hear from you to the contrary I shall see you on Thursday at seven. A primitive time, but then we are in the country." "You may be certain," Geoffrey said carelessly, "that I shall come if possible. Good-bye, Mrs. May. In [Pg 101]ordinary circumstances my people would have called upon you. You will know why it is impossible." Mrs. May pressed Geoffrey's hand with gentle sympathy. "You have my real regrets," she said. "What a horrible thing it is to think that you are all powerless to help it. Good-bye." Geoffrey found Ralph at the entrance to the castle gate. There was a queer smile on his face, a smile of amused expectation. "You found her charming?" he asked. "And clever," said Geoffrey. "I guessed your plot, uncle. She is very clever." "The cleverest woman in the world, the most wicked, the most unscrupulous. Of course she asked you to dinner, and, of course, you will go. Nobody is to know of it, mind." "Uncle, how did you guess that?" "I'll tell you presently. And I'll tell you many things you will have to say and leave unsaid to—Mrs. May." "Tell me why Marion's photograph is in her album." "So she showed you that!" "No, I found it out by accident. Is Marion connected with her?" "Very closely, indeed. She is Marion's evil genius. And yet through that pure and innocent girl we are going to strike at the heart of the mystery. Ask me no questions, now; to-night we will go carefully into the matter." <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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