Chapter 2

"THE BROOCH."

Half an hour later Carson sauntered into the sitting-room. He found Olive awaiting him. He had not seen her as she passed him in the darkness, and was, therefore, at a loss to comprehend the full significance of her present expression. He was at a loss to know why she was waiting for him. She did not usually seek him at so late an hour. However, he opened the conversation in his usual easy-going way.

"Hallo!" said he, "not in bed yet? You'll lose your beauty sleep."

"Will you be so kind as to sit down?" replied Olive coldly. "I wish to speak to you."

"And on no very pleasant subject, I should say," returned Carson, taking a chair. "Well, what's the matter?" with a yawn.

"Have you no regard for decency, Angus?"

"As much as my neighbours, I suppose. How have I been transgressing?"

"By meeting that woman to-night."

Carson started. "What woman?" he asked irritably.

"I do not know," retorted Olive, with some heat. "I did not see her face, nor would I have recognized her if I had. Your associates are not mine."

"Still, I do not understand," said Angus composedly, but seemingly relieved.

"There are none so blind as those who won't see. I was taking a walk just now, and I saw you speaking to a woman under the gas-lamp opposite this hotel. Dare you deny it?"

"I don't deny it. Why should I?"

"Angus, how can you be so shameless? I saw--I saw--that--well, that you were more than friendly with her."

"You seem to have seen a great deal," sneered Carson, coolly. "May I ask what right you have to spy upon my actions?"

"What right? The right of your wife."

"Pardon me, you are not my wife," he returned ironically. "You are my partner in a business transaction. I thought we were agreed on that point once and for all."

"When do you go to London again?" she asked. "To-morrow," he answered. "Have you anything to urge against my going?"

"No; I claim no right to control your actions. I can only say that as you agreed, for a large sum of money, to act as my nominal husband, you should fulfil your part of the bargain so far as to treat me with respect."

"And how have I failed to do so?"

"By meeting that woman to-night."

"Nonsense! No one saw me but yourself; and I must deny your right to call me to account in any way. However, that has nothing to do with my going to London. Have you any objection to that?"

"I would advise you to stop there. I never wish to see you again."

"The wish is mutual, I assure you," said Carson, rising in his turn. "I am glad that we have come to an understanding at last. I will do as you suggest."

"I think it very much better that you should. Our marriage is a very great mistake."

"Pardon me, I do not agree with you. It is surely an unqualified success, inasmuch as we have both attained our aim. But any blame there is must attach itself to you as much as to me. You might, of course, under ordinary circumstances, have had the right to object to my meeting a lady as I did; as it is, you can have no shadow of a right to do so."

"At least, you might conduct yourself as a gentleman whilst you are here," returned Olive bitterly. "But I suppose that is asking too much."

"A great deal too much; you can ask me nothing." Carson shrugged his shoulders. "This is hardly conversation," he added. "At all events, you must excuse me if I say it does not interest me. As you say, we had better part. After I leave for town in the morning, I will trouble you no more."

"Thank God," said Olive, moving towards the door of her room. "At least I shall be spared the indignity of living with you."

"Allow me," said Carson, stretching forward to open the door for her. "Good-night, and good-bye."

"You contemptible cur," said his wife, disappearing and slamming the door behind her.

He smiled as he looked after her. "A cur, am I? It is lucky for you, Miss Bellairs, that I do not use my teeth more fully to substantiate your simile; I could, you know. Ah, well!" drawing a long sigh of relief, "thank goodness, that's over. What a weary, dreary time it has been. However, at last, I can enjoy the fruits of my labours. After all, the money is well worth the trouble;" and Mr. Carson proceeded to the bar to drink a toast to his release in a glass of lemonade. Temperance was one of his good points.

When Olive rose next morning he was gone, bag and baggage. He said no word of farewell, nor did he even leave a note behind him. She felt immensely relieved, yet she could not help feeling she had debased herself, that her self-respect was sullied. It had been a fatal mistake.

But Olive was not the woman to sit down with ashes on her head and bemoan her fate. Suppressing the fact that her husband had left her (that she intended to explain personally later), she wrote to Miss Slarge that, after a further two weeks' stay at Sandbeach, she intended leaving for London. "I don't feel like returning to Casterwell at present," she wrote, "I would rather spend the winter months in London. Please let me know when you expect Mrs. Purcell. I am most anxious to see her. When I am settled in town, you and Tui must come up that we may all be together." She sent kind messages to Mr. Brock and to Miss Ostergaard, and she inquired if Mallow was still with Lord Aldean. Miss Slarge did not omit to answer this last query. He was still there; it was the greatest comfort to her to know that.

A few days later came a letter from Mr. Dimbal, which seriously alarmed her. It drew her attention to the fact that Carson had recently sold the securities in which her money was invested, and transferred the proceeds to the Cr�dit Lyonnais, in Paris. Suspicious of Carson's behaviour generally, more especially when it came to taking things altogether out of his hands, Mr. Dimbal had made inquiries, and had ascertained what he now wrote to Olive. She could not understand it at all, and had she known his whereabouts, would straightway have written to him for an explanation. But he had left her without an address. He had vanished completely out of her life. Apparently it was his intention that these funds should vanish with him. Probably, the thousand pounds paid to her credit was all she would ever see of it. The position was certainly becoming serious.

She recalled Mrs. Purcell's letter, and her description of Carson. She read over the extracts she had made, with the result that she wrote again to Casterwell; this time--of all people--to Mrs. Drabble. That lady's reply roused the strongest suspicions in her regarding her husband, and she felt the time had come when she could no longer cope with things unaided. Her first impulse was to call in the assistance of Mr. Dimbal, but on second thoughts she refrained. The little jog-trot solicitor was hardly the man to deal with a clever scoundrel of Carson's type, for scoundrel she now fully believed him to be. There was Mallow; he was capable beyond a doubt, and by his love for her had he not claimed the right to serve her in time of need? She would write to him without loss of time. The next day he was at Sandbeach.

Olive was in her sitting-room when the servant brought up his name. In the adjacent bedroom Clara was attending to her work.

"Ah, Mrs. Carson," he said (he had schooled himself to say the name), "I am indeed glad to see you again. But--but, you are not looking after yourself!"

"Oh, I am well enough, really," said Olive, giving him her hand, "but I am terribly worried."

"Worried?" repeated Mallow, sitting down near her, "worried? what about?"

Before Olive could reply, the door leading to the bedroom opened abruptly, and Clara came in with a hat in her hand. "I beg your pardon, ma'am," said the maid, "but do you wish this hat left out from the packing?"

"Yes, of course," replied Olive, astonished at her asking so unnecessary a question.

"Thank you, ma'am." The girl retired. Olive would have been more than astonished, had she seen her a minute later. The door was left slightly ajar, and the girl's ear was taking in every word she could catch.

"That young woman is still with you, I see," observed Laurence.

"Yes, she is a very excellent servant," replied Olive. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. I merely remarked the fact," said Mallow, who had his reasons for keeping his own counsel. "But, to continue our conversation, why are you worried?"

"I will tell you everything shortly. Meanwhile I want you to read this." Olive placed in his hands the extracts she had copied from Mrs. Purcell's letter, and pointed out to him one paragraph in particular: "Mr. Carson has had golden wrist-buttons made to match his unique bracelet, wrought in the same style, but of vastly inferior workmanship."

"Well?"

"Now look at this." She detached her brooch and laid it on the table. It was a circular gold ornament, carved with the three faces of the Hindoo trinity encircled by a lotus wreath; a handsome, but odd, piece of workmanship.

"An Indian wrist-button," said Mallow, looking at it carefully. "Imitated from Carson's bracelet, no doubt. I suppose it is one of those referred to by Mrs. Purcell."

"It is; I am sure of it."

"Carson gave it to you?"

"No, he did not. It was a wedding present from Margery Drabble; she told me it was her doll's locket. I did not notice it particularly at the time. But on reading Mrs. Purcell's letter again it suddenly dawned upon me that it was one of Carson's wrist-buttons."

"And how did Margery come by it?"

"Well, I wrote to Mrs. Drabble about that, and she replied that Margery had taken it from her father's desk on the mine-is-thine principle. Now," said Olive, "what possible connection can there be between Dr. Drabble and my husband?"