The Broken Thread Part 12

Gilda, in the throes of her anxiety, gazed into s.p.a.ce. She was awakened from her half-dazed thoughts by a discreet tap at the door. Her buxom, beaming-faced landlady entered and asked the young `mees' the signorina, "Would she like an automobile ride in the beautiful evening time? The signorina looked pale and tired and it might do her good. The chauffeur of the Count Lyonesse had invited her and her husband for a ride, and if the young `mees' would accompany them all would be well. The Count had gone away for a week and all was safe."

This was the streak of dawn which rapidly became daylight, as Gilda saw her chance to escape from Bordighera in the guise of a peasant and accompanied, nay, safely chaperoned, by these good, simple folk, who saw no harm in a joy-ride in the automobile of the absent count. She must persuade them to take the route by the Col di Tenda through the long tunnel north into Italy, then to Cuneo. If she could induce them to "fetch" Cuneo, how should she give them the slip? She had left the bulk of her trunks at Nice. She must dispose of papers; but folks who live like Doctor Malsano and Gilda Tempest don't preserve incriminating doc.u.ments. How could she give them the slip at Cuneo? "H of S Y" would not follow her. He would follow her uncle--if he could.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE TRAGEDY OF A FATEFUL JOY-RIDE.

When Doctor Malsano and Gilda Tempest had so mysteriously and suddenly disappeared from the Hotel Royal, at Nice, Raife Remington received a note on the following morning. It was a characteristic note, and quite unsatisfactory. It merely served to add to the state of his mental perturbation. He could not, and would not, believe aught that was ill of the beautiful girl whom he loved with all the fire of his strong nature.

The note ran: "My uncle and I have been called away on business suddenly. Will you present our regrets and apologies to Lady Remington?"

Cold, terse, and quite inexplicable. It did not state where they had gone, or whether they would return. This extraordinary creature who fascinated him, had left his life again as strangely as she had entered into it. The circ.u.mstances were difficult to explain to his mother.

Her training left more to be desired in such matters than was offered here by this strange young woman, and her mysterious uncle. Lady Remington spoke with a maternal austerity to her son.

"It all seems very strange. They seem to come from nowhere, and with an even greater rapidity they return nowhere. The doctor, Doctor Malsano I mean, is very interesting sometimes when he talks. At other times those curious eyes of his do not inspire confidence. Miss Tempest is a beautiful girl, my dear, but are you sure she is the right kind of girl for a Remington to a.s.sociate with?"

Raife stammered: "Yes, mother. Gilda--I mean Miss Tempest, is quite all right. She, or he, will write and explain later."

Lady Remington continued, "I think I was rather premature in introducing them to the baroness."

"That was all right, mother. We shall hear soon, and all will be explained," replied the son. At heart he felt little more than his mother that all was right, and he was wondering very hard as to what was the meaning of these renewed mysteries.

To change the subject and gain an excuse for time, he added: "By the by, shall we spend a few days at Bordighera before returning to Aldborough?"

His mother readily concurred, feeling it would be good to change the scene of action for a while. Then she added: "Yes, but I expect there's a good deal for you to do still, at Aldborough."

The Count's car pulled up in front of the door of the quaint little house in the side street, on the evening of the day when Fortune seemed to have s.n.a.t.c.hed Gilda Tempest from the jaws of danger.

She had dressed with an a.s.sumed jauntiness, hoping to match the costume of the benign and buxom landlady, who had so generously extended the invitation.

Before the party were comfortably seated, a small basket containing light refreshment and some flasks of Chianti were placed aboard. Then the car started on its journey. Gilda, with a tact that came from the training of many emergencies, easily persuaded the chauffeur, who was already charmed by his fair pa.s.senger, to take the road up the Roya valley to the French frontier. Thence along the broad, straight military road with the snow-clad Alps, already lilac tinted, to the Col di Tenda. As they were gaily speeding, with merry laughter, a figure sprang from the roadside and waved to them. The road here was deserted, save for the Count's car with its merry, human freight. The chauffeur applied brakes and rapidly stopped. Gilda shuddered and hid her face as well as possible, for the wayfarer, who had adopted this drastic means of attracting attention to his needs on the wayside, was none other than the ex-messenger of the Hotel Royal at Nice. Here was that forbidding person, with the air of an Apache, and the costume of the Quartier Latin, the man who had acted as her uncle's agent in the criminal plots that he was evolving during their stay there.

With the rapidity of thought and action that came to her of the hunted, haunted life, Gilda obscured her face and became engrossed in some quickly planned operation that kept her from the man's view. He spoke Italian, but with a French accent. He first asked the way to the Col di Tenda. Then, as Gilda's landlady smiled at him, he emboldened himself to ask for a lift. The cheery old landlord and landlady cried, "Yes!

jump in." Both were slightly flushed with the wine and contents of the basket they had brought with them. Gilda, as she realised that this horrible person was actually sitting in the tonneau of the car behind her, almost shrieked with fear. The landlord poured out more wine and the merriment soon bordered on excess, as the car bounded upward and swung around corners with a reckless, devilish swing. Gilda, trembling, yet with the well-feigned a.s.sumption of one of those mysterious ailments familiar to women who want to be left alone, waved aside the offers of wine; but the chauffeur appeared to enjoy it. With one hand on the wheel, he drank copiously as each gla.s.s was handed to him with a merry _camaraderie_. Now and then a lunge or jolt made even the merrymakers behind exclaim "Oh!" The chauffeur seemed to want the fair occupant of the seat next to him to admire his deeds of "derring-do" at the wheel.

With a m.u.f.fled roar they entered the long tunnel through the mountain.

All but Gilda sang merrily as they bounded through the cavernous depths of this giant undertaking. On they sped with a recklessness that fascinated Gilda and at last, alarmed the landlady. With a final plunge they were out again into the open, but Gilda's mind was distracted in spite of the devilish excitement of this mad "joy-ride." How could she get rid of that hated Apache man seated behind? He was so near to her.

Had he recognised her yet? She hoped rather than felt that he had not.

She was thankful for the reckless exploits of the now thoroughly excited chauffeur. It distracted attention from her, and they were rapidly approaching the goal she had aimed for. Here and there the groups of Italian and French guards had eyed, with indulgent smiles, the mad career of this strange family party. Even Gilda's face was illumined with a wan smile, as she realised the incongruity of this scene. It was merry, in spite of the fact that it was fraught with such danger for her. A few more bends in the road on the steep side of the mountain, and they would be there, for good or evil, as destiny might decide.

"Oh! la-la!" cheerily shouted the landlord. "One more gla.s.s of the good wine."

He poured it out. The chauffeur gazed in front of him with a bright yet gla.s.sy stare, as he realised the dangers of the precipitous road. The landlady pa.s.sed him a gla.s.s, laying her hand on his shoulder. He turned to take the gla.s.s. There was a sharp skid of the wheels that sounded like a hiss. A moment of lull, an eternity of despair, a loud, shrill shriek from the landlady--the car and its occupants had mounted a steep bank and lay overturned on its side. All was now silence, and Gilda did not know how long the silence had lasted. It was quite quiet when, with difficulty, she extricated herself from the twisted ma.s.s of debris. The other merry occupants remained silent, and the quiet of it was appalling. She muttered to herself and stifled her sobs, which were half groans. With much labour and difficulty she mounted the fateful bank and clambered to the roadway. The sun had gone down, a golden ball of fire, set in a bank of purple cloud edged with a brilliant orange.

It was now dark and a sense of oppression seemed to pervade the place.

Gilda's mind worked rapidly. The necessity for action was immediate.

Where was that Apache man, and had he survived?

The zealously guarded frontier road was not to be left long without a pa.s.ser-by, and soon the measured tread of feet announced the approach of a patrol.

They halted when they discovered the ominous gash in the road, made by the swiftly swerving wheels of the now ruined car. An examination of the wreck disclosed the sadness of the disaster. Huddled in a group were the dead bodies of the landlord, his wife, and the chauffeur.

Where was the Apache man? He was not to be found. Had he lived-- escaped to remain an agent for evil in this world--a further or continued source of trouble to the sadly stricken girl?

The telephone was not far away, and the soldiers, who sympathised, with all the warmth of their Southern hearts with the beautiful and distressed signorina, soon found means of escort for Gilda.

Thus she reached Cuneo, a further step on the long, lone journey to the unknown. Beyond a shaking, she was none the worse for the accident.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE SECOND BURGLARY AT ALDBOROUGH PARK.

Stewards, bailiffs, solicitors, and the men of affairs who are called in on the occasion of the death of the head of the family, had finished their work at Aldborough Park. Life had resumed its normal state. The new baronet had taken possession, and was entering into the duties of his position with commendable spirit and enterprise. Lady Remington witnessed her son's interest in the affairs of the estates with much pleasure.

Her mind was greatly relieved that they had seen the last of the mysterious Gilda Tempest and the forbidding Doctor Malsano. She was satisfied that Raife had overcome his mad infatuation for the woman, and as for the doctor, no possible good could come from such an a.s.sociation.

She sincerely hoped they would forget the impulsive invitation extended to them whilst they were at Nice.

The Baroness von Sa.s.sniltz was staying at the Park. She had brought the inevitable jewels, without which, and their attendant anxiety, her otherwise placid life was incomplete. Fraulein Schneider, the baroness's maid, and the faithful custodian of the priceless trinkets, was there. Alert as ever, she wore the importance of her trust, as she wore those mult.i.tudinous coils of yellow hair. They were all a part of the inst.i.tution that she represented.

Edgson, the faithful old butler, ruled the servants' hall with a firm but genial sway. The yellow coils were the subject of much discussion among the other servants, but Edgson had ruled, with a fine decision, that it was both unladylike and ungentlemanly to discuss a lady's back hair in the servants' hall. The Fraulein Schneider, herself, maintained an austerity becoming the importance of her position, and the subject was therefore not discussed directly with that lady. Only one person was believed to have dared to a direct allusion to the crowning piece of the Fraulein's headgear. One James Gibson, called "Jim" by his intimates, was possessed of a manly frame, well set off by Melton corduroys and leather gaiters. His curly beard was black, and well-trimmed, whilst his sparkling black eyes, that twinkled above his round, rosy cheeks, were counted irresistible by the la.s.ses of that Kentish countryside.

Report had it that Jim met the Fraulein in the town of Lewes, nine miles away, and there purchased a fancy comb, which he induced her to wear for a brief while.

Unwittingly the comb was in position when the Fraulein responded to a sudden summons from the baroness. Not even the Fraulein Schneider could stand the withering stare, a.s.sisted by a jewelled lorgnette, of an indignant baroness, whose maid had dared to wear a comb in her well coiled, and oiled hair. The comb was never seen again.

For safe keeping the baroness's jewels were placed in the strong safe in the wall of the library, during her stay at Aldborough Park.

The shooting season was near at hand, and Raife had invited his old college friend, Edward Mutimer, preparatory to the opening of the first of September, when the party would be increased.

Perhaps no festival was treated with greater respect and ceremony than that of "St Partridge." On the first of September, through the centuries, the line of shooters with the dogs and gamekeepers, have set forth in search of the "birds" that until this day had been so jealously guarded. The Aldborough estates have always been strictly preserved and famed for partridge and pheasant alike.

At eventime, when the shooters had returned from the prolonged and sometimes tiring sport, the fine old Tudor mansion, snug and warm within its ivy-covered walls, rang with the merriment that accompanied the hospitable festivities of such occasions.

The privileged dogs did take their place before the fire. There were "Grouse," the setter; "Jo," the pointer; "Nellie" and "Judy," the two spaniels; "Prince," the black retriever; whilst three or four less useful, less trained, but generally more pampered and self-a.s.sertive, were grouped around.

The toast of "St Partridge" was given with the brevity that most good toasts deserve. Champagne, followed by port, are the wines for these commemorations.

In the servants' hall the gamekeepers and every man and woman of the large household joined in the general festivity, and the usual liberality of the servants' hall was still further extended. On such nights the genial old butler was at his best, for the task fell to him to propose the toast of "St Partridge," and do the honours generally.

His well-studied and h.o.a.ry witticisms came with such a hearty burst of his own laughter, that the infection spread around the depleted board, until joy was on every countenance.

On such a night sleep would be heavier than usual. By general consent the potations that followed dinner were not excessive, but a little more liberal, as became the occasion.

One by one the household, in its many varying branches, retired, each in his or her direction up one of the many winding staircases, and along corridors to their respective rooms, with stifling yawns, and walking with a respectful silence until the last of the doors opened and closed.

The guests also lingered longer than usual in billiard-room or library, and they, in turn, having received the ministrations of the servants allotted to them, retired up the wide oak staircase, over the soft, deep carpet.