Chapter 12

"WEDDING-BELLS."

When Mallow returned to Casterwell he found the village keeping high holiday in honour of Olive's marriage. The streets and houses were gay with flowers and flags. Under the arches of green boughs, festooned with many coloured blossoms, the people moved about gazing--not without admiration, it must be confessed--at their own handiwork. The same profuse hospitality, which had distinguished the coming-of-age of the Lady of the Manor, was repeated on a still larger scale. The bells of St. Augustine's were clamorous in the old tower; the sleepy old churchyard was for the nonce alive with voices, and the sun, in sympathetic mood at so brave a sight, was shining with all his splendour. But the idol does not ever rejoice with the worshippers, and she was the most miserable girl in the whole village.

Laurence was perhaps scarcely less so. He had not advised Aldean of his return, but had come from Reading in the hired fly. Dusty and battered, it contrasted discordantly with the spruceness and gaiety of the street; and Mallow, seated far back in it, his cap drawn over his eyes, winced more than once as the full meaning of it all forced itself upon him.

"I wonder, does she feel as wretched as I do," he thought, bitterly. "I suppose she does. My poor Iphigenia! my poor girl! Her father has much to answer for."

Lord Aldean received his friend in unbounded astonishment. He had not expected that Mallow would return on this of all days, and he fell to the conclusion that he must have been successful in his search, and have returned to stop the marriage at the eleventh hour. Yet Mallow certainly did not look as if he had succeeded. His dress was careless and his face was haggard; and he formed a striking contrast to Aldean in the smartness of conventional wedding-going garments. Indeed, as he arrived, Jim was on the point of leaving for the church. He signalled to his coachman to wait, and drew Mallow into the library.

"Well," he said, breathlessly, "what have you done?"

"Nothing; absolutely nothing," replied Mallow, throwing himself into a chair with a weary sigh.

"I was afraid your journey would turn out a wild goose-chase," said Aldean, with a shrug. "So Carson is the right man after all?"

"I have found nothing to prove that he is not."

"What about the sandal-wood perfume?"

"That is still a mystery, Jim, and, so far as I can see, is likely to remain one. I went to Athelstane Place, and I saw most of the witnesses who gave evidence at the inquest, but I could find out nothing new. I called at New Scotland Yard, but with no better result. The case remains exactly as it did when the man was buried."

"Has his name not been discovered?"

"No. Nor have his friends, if he had any, communicated with the police."

"Then you can't in any way connect Carson with the dead man?"

"In no way. Two parallel straight lines cannot meet. Carson's existence can have nothing to do with the unknown man who was murdered."

"I suppose you made no inquiries about Carson?"

"Well, yes, I did; and I found out something."

"Oh, come, that's better; I thought you said you had done absolutely nothing."

"Well, what I did learn is of so little moment, Jim, that it amounts to nothing. I called at the P. and O. office and inquired about Carson. The clerk I spoke to told me that I was the second man who had asked for him."

Aldean looked surprised. "Considering that Carson has no friend in England, that's curious. How long ago was the first inquiry made?"

"Two days only before the Pharaoh arrived."

"Did you ask what kind of man he was who inquired for him?"

"Yes; a black-haired, black-bearded man, shabbily dressed. He wished to know if Carson was on the Pharaoh, and if so, when he would arrive. The clerk showed him the name of Angus Carson in the passenger list, and told him that the boat was due on July 24th."

"Did this man ever return?"

"No; he thanked the clerk and left the office. That was the last seen of him."

"He gave no name?"

"Of course not," said Mallow, peevishly. "Why should he give his name in connection with so simple an inquiry? You can see now for yourself that this information amounts to practically nothing. It neither proves nor disproves Carson's identity, and it certainly does not in any way connect him with the murder."

"Still, the mere fact of Carson's being inquired for is strange, when we know that he has not a single friend in England," said Jim, reflectively; "before his arrival, too. That is even more strange."

Mallow shook his head. "I thought of that myself," he said, "but it does not help us in any way."

"It certainly cannot assist us towards circumventing this wedding. I see you are going to it," running his eye over Jim.

"Of course. There is an invitation for you also, if you care to accept it."

"I do not are to," replied Mallow, quietly. "It is quite painful enough for me to be here on the day of the sacrifice, without attending it."

"Then why did you come, my poor old chap?"

"Because I wish you to take this letter and deliver it personally to----" Mallow paused, "to--Mrs.--Carson," he finished, slowly.

With some hesitation Lord Aldean took the envelope extended to him. He was doubtful. "I hope it does not contain reproaches," he said.

"No; it merely sets her mind at rest about--about--her husband" (Mallow could hardly get the word out), "and tells her that, if she needs me, I am always ready to do her bidding."

"Well," said Jim, placing the letter in his pocket, "I'll deliver it with the greatest of pleasure. It is not unlikely that she will need you some day."

"What do you mean, Jim?"

"Oh, I don't mean anything in particular," he said carelessly. "You know I neither like nor trust Carson."

"I am quite with you," said Mallow, bitterly; "but, unfortunately, neither our dislike nor our distrust can assist us to avert this ceremony."

"No, that's true. What will be will be;" and with this morsel of philosophy they parted--Aldean for the ceremony at the church; Mallow to rail at fate for having so cruelly deprived him of Olive.

It was not until after the breakfast that Aldean found any opportunity of delivering Mallow's note to Olive. As he slipped it into her hand she flushed crimson, guessing instinctively from whom it came. With a grateful glance at Aldean, she ran upstairs and hastily tore it open. It contained only a few lines, "Forget what I said in my anger about your husband. He is truly Angus Carson, and I pray heaven that you may be happy with him. But if in trouble you should need a friend, remember that I claim the right to serve you."

The lines were unsigned and ill-written. Olive sat with them crushed in her hand, the tears falling down her face. Tui discreetly held her tongue, for she had guessed that the letter was from Mallow. She roused Olive to action, whilst the maid busied herself with her mistress's clothes. A frown on her face and dark circles under her eyes, Clara seemed little less sorrowful than her mistress.

"Come, dear," said Tui, "you must dress quickly; your husband is waiting for you."

Clara looked round strangely.

"My husband," said Olive, hopelessly. "Yes, he is my husband now."

"But, dear," said Tui, "you married with your eyes open."

"Yes; and with my hands bound," retorted Mrs. Carson, rising. "Well, I suppose I must go on now to the bitter end. Help me, Clara."

On the terrace below Dimbal was conversing hurriedly with the newly-made husband. "In a few days the stocks and shares will be transferred in your name," he said, rubbing his hands; "but I suppose you won't care to be troubled with business for a while?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Carson, smiling. "I don't believe in neglecting business for pleasure. I will run up and see you next week. I presume I have full control of this money."

"You are aware, of course, that the capital is charged with the payment of a thousand per annum to your wife?"

"Yes; I will pay her the first year's income at once," said Carson, generously. "I suppose I can realize quickly?"

"Certainly, without difficulty; but I hope, Mr. Carson, you won't sell out. The money is admirably invested."

Before he could answer, Olive came out of the house in her travelling-dress. She looked pale, though composed. With a nod to the lawyer, Carson hurried forward and offered his arm. Having already said good-bye, Olive took it and stepped into the carriage. Then amid a shower of rice and shoes, amid smiles and congratulations, and the usual sprinkling of tears, they drove off.

Major Semberry chuckled complacently as the carriage disappeared.

"Thank God," he muttered.

From the terrace of Kingsholme Mallow watched them. He looked ill and haggard. "Heaven help her and me," he said, with a sigh.