“And can you overlook the disparity of years?” he questioned, still very humble.
“I am twenty-two, but I don’t think I am very young; I am old in experience and bitterness. Well, if you care to risk the experiment, I will be your wife. I will do my best to make you happy.”
They were married. And this marriage was the turning point in Valerie’s life. If everything had gone smoothly, she might have forgotten those bitter experiences, outlived her still more bitter rancour against the prosperous and well-to-do.
Unfortunately the friends of Monsieur Varenne would not forgive him for this false step, so unpardonable in a man of his intelligence and position. He was a fool, that was clear, but they were not going to abet him in his mad folly. Their doors were shut against his wife, this creature of the music halls, to whom he was going to leave his fortune.
After this bitter experience, the iron entered even deeper into her soul. Her husband was kindness and tenderness itself. In his devotion to his young wife, he paid no attention to the fact that he had cut himself off from his old friends, his old social life.
He was ready to comply with her slightest wish. He showered on her the most costly gifts, his purse was absolutely at her disposal. She had everything that wealth could give, except the one thing she craved, to mix on equal terms with these people who despised her.
When the kindly old man died, she mourned him sincerely. If she had never loved him, in the true sense of the word, she had felt for him a very warm and grateful affection. On his death-bed, she had faltered forth a few words of self-reproach, had blamed herself for taking advantage of his generosity, for not having sufficiently counted the cost to himself.
On this point he had reassured her. “I have been very happy, my dear, happier than I ever expected to be. I would not have anything changed.”
She came into that considerable fortune which was of so little use to her. During her few years of married life she had educated herself into a woman of considerable accomplishments, for she had a very quick and acute intelligence.
Her socialist proclivities were now fully developed, after the scurvy treatment at the hands of her husband’s friends. The circles where these doctrines were preached readily opened their doors to an attractive and enthusiastic young woman, whose wealth would be very useful for propaganda. She was more than the equal of these purse-proud parvenus, who would not accept her acquaintance, in intellect and behaviour. She felt it bitterly.
Very soon she came under the influence of Contraras, who was possessed of great personal magnetism. His reasoned arguments, his fiery eloquence, quickly led her a step further – from socialism to anarchy. In a very short space she became one of the leading spirits of the brotherhood. As the old régime would not receive her, she would do her best to overthrow it, and assert the doctrine of absolute equality.
Contraras came frequently to the Grand Hotel de la Paix to visit his young colleague. He had very charming manners, this elderly enthusiast, and Valerie liked him very much, apart from his principles. He was one of the few rich men she had ever known, her late husband being another, whom she did not despise. He was no mere hoarder of wealth, using it as a means to enslave his less fortunate fellow-creatures.
Contraras came in one afternoon in a very cheerful mood. She looked at him eagerly. She could read his countenance pretty well by now.
“You have something to tell me, Contraras?”
The old man smiled. “Yes, my dear, I have got what we wanted. You can walk in boldly. There will be no smuggling through the back door, although we could have managed that, if the other had failed.”
“Did you get it in the quarter you expected?”
“Yes; I had a little tussle with del Pineda, but I overcame his scruples. Besides, he is considerably in my debt. I assured him that he would never be accused of complicity, that I would take all the blame on my own shoulders.”
He rubbed his hands and chuckled softly.
“What does Contraras, a man of means and position, with powerful connections in Spain, know of the secret sentiments of Mademoiselle Delmonte, a charming young lady of wealth, whom he has met abroad? Mademoiselle Delmonte asks for his good offices in a certain matter of a most, apparently, innocent nature. He places himself at her disposal, and secures what she wants through the agency of a certain Duke who is equally ignorant of her real purposes.”
A dreamy look stole into the young woman’s eyes. She spoke in a low voice, as if she were muttering to herself.
“A week to wait, only just one little week. And then, if all goes as we think and hope – the dawn of the new era! But I shall not live to see it.”
Chapter Fourteen
Moreno met Isobel and her maid at the railway station, and drove them to the home of his friends, the Godwins, who lived in a respectable but not particularly fashionable quarter of Madrid.
Mrs Godwin, a buxom and kind-faced woman, received the girl with open arms. Mr Godwin had discreetly absented himself during the first meeting of the two women.
“So delighted to see you, Miss Clandon. I was a very intimate friend of Andres’ mother. Any friend of his is very welcome. I shall do my best to make you happy during your stay here. I am afraid the accommodation is not what you have been used to. We are a little cramped for room.”
A dear good honest bourgeoise creature. Isobel took to her at once. She felt the milieu was not quite what she could have desired, but Moreno had done all he could, most probably out of his old friendship for Farquhar. Whatever discomforts she might have to endure, well – she had brought them on herself by embarking on this daring adventure.
Mr Godwin came in presently, a large, heavy man, who greeted her with great gravity. She learned afterwards that he had been connected with the wine trade, and had retired from active business on a respectable competence.
Moreno took his departure as soon as he could. He had several matters on hand, besides looking after a wandering maiden of a romantic turn of mind.
Isobel stayed him at the door. “When am I going to see Guy?” she whispered.
The young journalist looked at her kindly. He remembered his own too short-lived romance. That whisper had come straight from her heart.
“Ah, that is for you,” he said. “You know, you confessed you were a little doubtful about how he would look upon it. Will you ask Lady Mary to write him the news, or would you rather that I should?”
Isobel interrupted him eagerly. “Oh, would you? Lady Mary is a darling, and devoted to us both. But if I write to her, and she has to write to Guy, it may be ages before we meet. And, besides,” she added with the unconscious guile of a woman, “in certain things, men are so much better diplomatists than women. I am sure you could put everything from a reasonable point of view, present everything in quite a favourable light. I do not want him to think I am a masculine sort of person, an enlightened female who goes tearing about all over the world after a man she loves.”
Moreno was a very kind-hearted fellow. He could not resist that wistful look in the beautiful dark eyes. The girl was alone in the world. She had just lost her father; Guy was now her sheet-anchor.
“I say, if you want to see him quickly, why not send a note round to the Embassy, just giving him your address, and saying simply, ‘I am here’?”
But Isobel rather shrank from that. It seemed too bold, perhaps a little unmaidenly. She had always been educated in the belief that a woman should never make advances. Advances might be made through a third party, perhaps, if they were made with discretion.
“But you could explain it all so much better than I could, Mr Moreno, how the whole thing was led up to by your letter to Lady Mary.”
Moreno looked at his watch. “I was going to leave Madrid in half an hour. Well, I can catch a train three hours later, it won’t make much difference. I will be off at once to the Embassy, and catch Rossett there, if not, at his flat. You, of course, can see him at any time, to-day or to-morrow?”
“A thousand thanks,” replied Isobel, with her charming smile. “Yes, I shall not stir out much anyway. But I will keep in the two whole days.”
“Mrs Godwin, I warn you, will insist on showing you the sights of Madrid.”
“I will resist her,” said Isobel firmly.
Moreno smiled, and said good-bye. It was a little pathetic, he thought, the patient, loving woman ready to wait the man’s convenience. Ever the way with true love.
A brief drive to the Embassy in the Calle Fernando el Santo, a hastily pencilled note sent up to Rossett. Half an hour later, the two men were seated at a different rendezvous, for this time Moreno was not in his working-man’s dress. He had to be very cautious.
Moreno went to the point at once. “I have news that will startle you, Mr Rossett. Your fiancée Miss Clandon, is in Madrid at this moment.” He named the respectable but unfashionable quarter in which the girl had taken up her abode.
“What?” shouted Guy Rossett in his astonishment. It was just the same ejaculation he had used when he learned that Violet Hargrave was in Spain. The vocabulary of the average Englishman is very limited when he has to express sudden emotion. And Guy was quite the average type.
“Of course you are very surprised. Well, I am afraid it is all due to me. You remember some time ago I begged you to get out of this place. You refused. I took it on myself to write to your sister to use your father’s influence to get you recalled. That fell through too.”
“It was very kind of you to interfere in my private affairs, Mr Moreno,” observed Rossett stiffly.
“You are a bit of responsibility to me, Mr Rossett,” replied the journalist in his usual imperturbable fashion. “I will tell you frankly I should be very glad to see the back of you to-morrow, for your own sake – ” He added in a lower voice, “Still more for the sake of the girl who loves you as much as you love her.”
“Forgive me,” cried Rossett hastily. “I quite appreciate that you mean very well to both of us.”
“Thank you,” said Moreno. “Well, to get on with my story. I have a very old chum, one Maurice Farquhar who happens to be a cousin of your fiancée. One night, in his chambers, I hinted that danger was threatening you here. It seems he told Miss Clandon. As I have stated, I wrote to your sister. The two women put their heads together. Miss Clandon’s father died. She had no longer any ties binding her to England. She was mad to come out here to be near you. As men of the world, we might say, the unreasoning caprice of a very loving woman.”
“It was very sweet and dear of her,” said Guy. There was a little break in his voice as he spoke. “But I am interrupting you in your story. Please go on.”
“There is not much more to tell. As I have said, the two women put their heads together. Lady Mary sent for Farquhar to consult him as to how Miss Clandon could get to Spain. She felt if she consulted you, you would, under the circumstances, have vetoed the project altogether.”
“I don’t think there is the slightest doubt I should,” said Rossett, quite frankly.
“I agree. Well, they were not going to give you the chance. They took matters into their own hands. Farquhar knew nothing about Spain; he wrote to me to ask me if I could help them. Well, I helped them. I went over to London, saw your sister and Miss Clandon, and arranged for the journey. I met her at the station to-day, took her to the house of some very respectable English people whom I have known from my boyhood, not people of your class, nor of Miss Clandon’s. But I think there she will be very quiet and comfortable.”
Guy Rossett leaned across the table and held out his hand.
“A thousand thanks, Mr Moreno. After this, we must be firm friends. My brave little Isobel, how plucky and daring of her. And you took all this trouble!”
There was no suspicion in his frank tones, but Moreno liked to clear up everything as he went on.
“Yes, it took up a good deal of my time, but I didn’t grudge it. I saw your fiancée and sister dining one night with you at the Savoy, but had never spoken to them in my life. But Farquhar is an old chum of mine; he has done me some very good turns. I was pleased to return the compliment.”
There was a brief pause, before Moreno spoke again. “I left Miss Clandon a little time ago. She is longing to see you. I suggested she should send round a note to you. She seemed a little fearful of what you might think of her hasty action. She begged me to come round and explain matters. That is why I am here. Here is her address.”
“Again a thousand thanks.” Rossett looked at his watch. “Unfortunately, I have to dine at the Embassy to-night, and there is no getting out of that. We are the slaves of duty. I have only just time to get back and dress. I will leave as soon after dinner as I decently can, and go round to her.”
“Away with you, duty calls,” said Moreno, rising briskly. “I will send a note round to her saying I have seen you, and that you will be there to-night.” It was late when Rossett, hurrying as fast as he could, entered the small drawing-room of the flat tenanted by the respectable Godwins. Isobel was alone; the worthy couple, with commendable tact, had absented themselves. Moreno had told them just as much as it was well for them to know, and they were not very inquisitive people.
It was a very delightful meeting. They had been longing for each other since they last parted. They exchanged their vows of love all over again.
“And you are sure you are not angry with me, Guy?” asked Isobel, as they sat hand in hand on the rather hard sofa.
“Angry, my brave little darling. Why should I be? But I say, this is not the sort of place for you, you know. Have you brought a maid with you?”
“Yes, our old parlourmaid, Ethel. I don’t suppose you remember her.”
“Yes, I do. Well, you must go the Ritz, or one of the good hotels.”
“Oh, please no, dearest. I have no chaperon, you see, and it might look queer. Besides, I don’t want to meet a lot of people, and have to explain things. I would much prefer to stay here incognita. Dear Mrs Godwin is quite a motherly old soul, and knows nothing of what is going on in the great world except what she learns from the newspapers. And I am not so far off, after all. You can come and see me sometimes.”
“Every day, darling,” cried Rossett. On reflection, he was inclined to think that, under the very peculiar circumstances, Isobel’s course of action was the right one. If she blossomed forth at a fashionable hotel, a great deal would have to be explained. In a censorious and conventional world, young women, however pure in heart, cannot afford to be adventurous.
As they sat on the sofa, she told him at great length of her visit to Ticehurst Park, and the Earl’s consent to their engagement, of his endeavour to get her to use her influence to lure Guy from his post, of her refusal, in which she had been staunchly supported by her father. She had told him briefly of this at the funeral, but he had been so pressed for time that she had only supplied him with the barest details.
“The old dad, he was always great at a bargain, but this time you got the better of him, my darling.”
Then he put his hand in his breast pocket, and drew forth a letter. “By Jove, I had very nearly forgotten – a letter received this morning from that dear old Aunt Henrietta. I won’t read you all of it, there are yards, but I’ll just run through a passage that concerns us.”
This was the passage he read. “I hear a great deal from Mary, who as you know is a most indefatigable correspondent, about your fiancée, Isobel Clandon. She describes her as a most sweet and lovable girl. There were always the two types in the Rossett family, the practicable and the romantic. You, Mary, and myself belong to the latter. I married for love, Mary would have done, and you are going to.
“I hear also your post is rather a dangerous one, and that they have tried to get you recalled, but that you will not hear of it. Well, I admire your spirit and sense of duty. Still, as soon as you can retire with honour, do so.
“Now that your father has given his consent, there is nothing to wait for. I shall make the way easy for you, as I have always tried to do. Bring your Isobel to see me at the first opportunity. I am longing to make her acquaintance.”
“What a darling!” cried Isobel enthusiastically. “Well, anyway, there are three dear people in the present Rossett family, your Aunt, Mary, and yourself. And Lord Saxham is not so bad after all.”
In her happiness she freely forgave the old gentleman his former hostility, his attempt to drive a bargain with her.
“No, he’s by no means so bad, when you get to know him, to pierce through the crust as it were. He is a sort of cross between the practical and romantic Rossetts,” said Guy.
They talked for a long time about their future plans.
When Isobel laid her head upon her pillow that night, she was happier than she had ever been since the day her dear old father died.
Chapter Fifteen
A week had passed since the conversation between Valerie Delmonte and Contraras had taken place. A great function was on at the Royal Palace to-night. All the élite of Madrid would be there.
For this special occasion, the leading members of the Spanish section had shifted from Fonterrabia to the capital – Zorrilta, Alvedero, Violet Hargrave, Andres Moreno. Contraras and Valerie Delmonte had already taken up their residence there. It was the night of the great coup, on the successful development of which depended the dawn of the new era.
Moreno had a busy day. Thanks to the noble-spirited action of Mademoiselle Delmonte, who had taken the entire execution of the coup upon herself, he was spared any active participation in it. Violet Hargrave, who had been originally named as an assistant, was also dispensed with.
At eleven o’clock in the morning, he was seated in the private room of the Head of the Spanish Secret Service. There was also present the Head of the Police. The three men talked together for a very considerable time. Moreno was attired in his shabby workman’s garb; he had on also a false beard and moustache.
When the interview was terminated, Moreno rose; and turned to the Chief of Police.
“You have thought it all out then? You know she will come with the Duchess del Pineda.”
“She will be watched from the moment she enters the Palace to the moment she leaves it,” was the chief’s confident reply.
“And you say that the Duchess is quite ignorant of her intentions?” It was the Chief of the Secret Service who spoke.
“I will swear to the innocence of the Duchess, also to that of the Duke. They are simply tools. They have been made use of by a superior intelligence, by a man who has a strong hold over the Duke.”
“I wish, Mr Moreno, you were able to take us a little more into your confidence. Would it not be possible to bag the whole lot to-night?”
The Chief of the Police rubbed his hands at the thought. “Ah, that would be a fine idea. And I suppose, Mr Moreno, you have it in your power to enable us to do so?”
“Gently, gentlemen, if you please. Don’t be ungrateful. I am helping you somewhat to-night. And because I am doing this, you want to rush things,” answered the young journalist in his usual quiet way. “Now, look you, much as I desire to serve you, I have a very tender regard for my own skin.”
“Naturally,” cried the Secret Service man. And the Chief of Police echoed him.
“The secret of this project to-night has been entrusted to a good many people,” continued Moreno. “If it fails, as you promise me it will fail, two things will occur to the mind of the Chief – one that the brotherhood has been betrayed by one in their counsels, the other that your spies noticed something suspicious in the behaviour of the woman, and that she was arrested on the strength of that suspicious behaviour.”
The two men nodded their heads. They began to see the drift of his observations.
“I was at first designed to take part in this project, but the original programme was altered. Had it been adhered to, I think I could have enabled you to bag the whole lot, at any rate, most of them, and yet escaped scot free myself, of course with your co-operation.”
“We dare not ask you to disclose your plan?” insinuated the Secret Service man gently.
Moreno shook his head. “I think not. But if this coup fails, there will be another planned shortly. By that time my ideas will be perfected, and I trust I shall be able to do what you want, and escape with a whole skin. Only one member of the brotherhood will be here to-night. The others are scattered about. Suspicion would at once fall upon me if every one except myself were taken.”
“We could work that out pretty easily, could we not?” queried the Chief of Police eagerly.
“I think not,” was Moreno’s answer. “You would have got this lot out of the way, but there are a few members of the brotherhood left in London, and every man has a knife handy. I must show a clean sheet to those who remain at large. Please trust me, and I will shortly do it in my own way.”
Moreno left after cordial hand-shaking. Both the Chiefs were men of considerable astuteness, and great experience. But they agreed that there was a certain subtlety about this young man, a certain suggestion of strength and confidence, that won their admiration.
Moreno perhaps did not repose quite so much confidence in them as they did in himself.
“I hope to heaven they won’t bungle it at the last minute,” he said to himself as he walked along. “If I were dealing with the French police, I shouldn’t have a doubt.”
He walked down the Puerta del Sol, past the Grand Hotel de la Paix. He saw the tall form of Contraras enter the vestibule. He shrugged his shoulders, and a look of regret stole over his face.
“He is going to hearten her up for this night’s work, the old devil, while he stands safely outside, and looks on. Poor little woman! I wish I could save her. But how can you save a fanatic?” So ran his thoughts. “Why in the name of wonder does a woman who has got everything in the world she requires want to mix herself up with this wretched and bloodthirsty crew? She must lie on the bed she has made, and it will be a pretty hard one, I should wager.”
Moreno walked swiftly in the direction of a poor quarter of the town. He entered the humble abode of an inferior member of the Spanish Secret Service, where he doffed his working-man’s garb and assumed his ordinary clothes.
Later on, he saw Violet Hargrave, who was living close to him.
Violet seemed very restless and perturbed. “This is the great night,” she said by way of greeting. “I wonder if it will come off all right.”
“I should say there is every chance it will, unless Valerie’s nerve fails her at the last moment,” was Moreno’s diplomatic answer.
Mrs Hargrave gave a little shudder. Her pretty delicate face went a shade paler.
“I cannot help feeling glad that I wasn’t brought into it.”
Moreno bent upon her his keen glance. “And yet I should not put you down as a very tender-hearted person.”
“I don’t know that I am, or should be under certain circumstances. But I have no grudge against these people, no particular wrong to avenge. Aren’t you really glad you are out of it?”
“I suppose, in a way, I am. Still, one feels a bit of a coward in letting Valerie take all the risk. It seems taking advantage of her bravery, to snatch at the chance of avoiding all danger for oneself.”
“I shall sit up very late, on the chance of hearing the news.”
“On the contrary, I think I shall go to bed early,” said Moreno. “We shall hear nothing to-night in this distant quarter. And in the morning there will be the news, or no news at all. The Chief will let us know.”
The great Contraras, very upright and vigorous for his age, was shown into Mademoiselle Delmonte’s sitting-room. She sprang up eagerly at his entrance.
“I am so glad you have come. You are a little late, are you not? Luncheon will be served in a few moments.”
He could see she was very restless, and her cheeks were pale; there was a strange, almost unnatural brilliance in her dark eyes. Her voice was jerky.
He took both her hands in his and pressed them tenderly. “You are not afraid, Valerie?”
He was a fanatic, bold, brutal, and ruthless in his fanaticism, ready to sacrifice anything and everybody to the one absorbing idea. But at the sight of those pale cheeks, that quivering mouth, a momentary regret assailed him. He was a father, and this beautiful young woman was young enough to be his daughter.
“We ought to have had a man for this job,” he said, speaking a little hoarsely. “But you know you chose it yourself; you would not even have another associated with you.”
“I know.” She tried to laugh lightly, but there was a quaver in the laugh. “I do not regret. I am not really afraid. But I suppose every soldier on his first battlefield has inward tremors that he cannot repress. I am a soldier of the Revolution, and to-night is my first battlefield.”
“And you feel those tremors, eh?”
“Just a little, although I blush for them. But don’t let us think of this. Ah, here comes lunch.” They sat down to the meal. She was a very abstemious woman, and rarely partook of stimulants. But, in honour of Contraras’ visit, she had ordered a bottle of champagne. Under its exhilarating influence, her jangled nerves readjusted themselves, and she became her natural self. The colour returned to her cheeks.
She raised her glass and nodded to her guest.
“To the new world, born upon the ruins of the old.”
“Amen to that wish!” cried Contraras fervently, as he drank his wine in one long draught.
There was a long pause, which she broke abruptly. “I think I have told you I made my will in London last year.”
Contraras nodded. “Yes, you told me that.”
“But I did not tell you the details. I have left all my money in the hands of the Public Trustee, to divide amongst certain charities. As private fortunes go, it is a fair one – but what a small sum to go to the alleviation of this vast amount of human misery!”
“You could not have made a better use of it,” said Contraras appreciatively.
“To you, my dear friend, I have left twenty thousand pounds to devote to whatever purpose you think fit. Of course you will apply that money to the spreading of the propaganda.”
“I much appreciate your kind thought, my dear Valerie; it is just like you. But may the day be far distant when – ”
She raised her hand. “We will speak no more of that, please. I wonder what will be the result of to-night?”
“Success!” cried Contraras confidently. “Success!”
A few minutes later he rose to go.
“The Duchess will call for you in her carriage. Once arrived at the Palace, keep under her wing for some time, so as to avoid suspicion. Then seize your time and opportunity. Would you like me to come round and see you before you start? But I shall look out for you at the Palace.”
For a moment she did not answer him, she was pursuing the train of her own thoughts.
“I never told you I had my fortune told by a gipsy when I was sixteen. Would you like to know what she predicted?”
“If you wish,” replied Contraras politely. He had no respect for gipsies or their prophecies.
“Ah, I see it won’t interest you. I don’t think you believe much in the spiritual side of existence. Still, I will tell it; it will not take a moment. Up to the present, it has come remarkably true. This gipsy, she was a very old woman, predicted that I should have a very hard life for some years, then would come some years of great good fortune, and then – equally great tribulation.”
Contraras smiled. “My dear child, she probably predicted precisely the same things hundreds of times to her clients. The veil of the future is not to be lifted by a wandering beggar-woman.”
“Of course, I knew you would not be impressed, or perhaps you just say it to cheer me.”
She had forgotten his question – should he come and see her again before she started for the Palace? He repeated it.
“No, my good friend, I would rather not. If all goes well, we shall meet again often. If not, we will say good-bye here. A thousand thanks for your friendship and kindness.”
Could fanaticism go further? She was thanking this hardened old schemer for his friendship and kindness – friendship and kindness that were ready to sacrifice her at any moment for his own ends.