Read The Bungalow Mystery Online
Authors: Annie Haynes
The Bungalow Mystery (29 page)
“I think perhaps it would be as well to read this aloud at once, Mr. Villiers. It so entirely exonerates Sir James Courtenay that, in my opinion, it should be made public in his interest with as little delay as possible.”
Mr. Villiers bowed.
“I am quite of that opinion, your worship.”
“To be opened immediately,” the chairman began, after the usher had twice called “Silence” peremptorily and unnecessarily.
“Because my beloved master has been falsely accused of the crime I committed, and because, all unknowing, that I was thereby wrecking my daughter's happiness, I shot my daughter's husband, Maximilian von Rheinhart, on April 14th, 19â, I, Hannah Frances McNaughton, or Miller, write this last plain statement of factâthe truth as it is known to me and to the God before whom I shall shortly appear.
“When my daughter fled from home in secret with some unknown lover, I swore I would punish the man to the utmost of my power. But do as I would, I could find no trace of them. The only word I ever had was that Sir James Courtenay once thought he saw themâor, at least, Aliceâin Paris. Little did I think, when all my efforts had proved unavailing, and, having come to the end of my savings, I settled down at Sutton Boldon as Maxmilian von Rheinhart's housekeeper, that I was so near the object of my search. I knew him to be a bad man, I despised him, but in some ways the situation suited me and I stayed on. On the fatal day, I had taken Mr. von Rheinhart's tea to the study as usual. Half an hour later I was crossing the hall, when I heard him speaking in a loud, hectoring tone. A voice I knew well answered himâthat of my former nursling, Sir James Courtenay. I stood still and listened in amazement. âYou scoundrel!' I heard. âDo you think I don't know what sort of a man you are? The very moment I saw you I recognized you as the man I saw in Paris with Alice Miller, my old nurse's daughter. You ruined that girl, and broke her mother's heart!'
“I do not remember what followed. When I realized that I had been living in the same house with the man who had taken my daughter from me, that I had been serving him, something seemed to snap in my brain, my blood took fire. I swore that if the law could not touch him I would take the matter into my own hands. I waited till I heard Sir James Courtenay leave; then I opened the study door and walked in. Mr. von Rheinhart turned upon me angrily. He was flushed and excited. âWhat do you want, woman?' he cried roughly.
“I do not know what I told him, how I accused him of ruining my child; but the jeer with which he answered me, the words in which he told me that she was ready enough to leave me to go with him, will remain burnt in my memory for ever. I lowered myself to beg him to tell me where she was, and he laughed in my face, and said he did not know or care. Those were the last words he ever spoke. The pistol with which he had been practising earlier in the day lay close at hand. I caught it up, and as he crossed the room I fired at him. He fell at once; my aim had been true enoughâhe was dead! As I looked at him lying there, I felt no regret. He was a bad man, I told myself; he deserved his fate. I never regretted his death until Sir James was arrested. Then I knew that my time had come; I must speak. Yesterday I learnt that my child was livingâthat, all unintentionally as far as he was concerned, he was her husband. I must go without even bidding her farewell; I could not bear that. From the spot where I shall die I shall see the roof that shelters her. I should like her to know that her mother's last thought was of her.
“
HANNAH MILLER
.”
There was a dead silence in the court for a minute. It was broken by a long-drawn breath from the spectators. So the mystery of The Bungalow murder was explained at last; all surmise and questioning were at an end. The world knew by whose hand Maximilian von Rheinhart had died.
The chairman spoke.
“This is the end of the case against Sir James Courtenay, of course. You will go no further at present, I presume, inspector? With regard to Mrs. Millerâ”
“She will be brought before your worships tomorrow. This, of course, concludes the present charge, sir.” Inspector Spencer stood down, with a bow to the bench.
The chairman cleared his throat.
“Sir James Courtenay, you are discharged. And it is my duty to tell you, voicing the sentiments of my colleagues as well as my own, how entirely rejoiced we are that the charge against you has been shown to be without an atom of foundation. You leave the court without a stain upon your character and, in the name of my colleagues and myself, I wish to congratulate you most heartily, and to join with your friends and neighbours in hoping that you may soon be restored to health sufficiently to take up your position once more amongst us.”
Sir James sat with bent head during this speech; at its conclusion he looked up with misty eyes and lips that trembled in spite of his self-control.Â
“I thank you,” he said simply. “Then I am at liberty?”
“Certainly.”
Lavington moved forward on one side, the solicitor, Mr. Day, on the other. Courtenay's chair was wheeled quickly, not through the crowd at the back, but out by a side door into the corridor, and from there to the justices' private room beyond.
As Roger stepped aside to allow the chair to pass through the doorway, he found himself face to face with Elizabeth Luxmore; she held out her hand.
“Oh, Dr. Lavingtonâ”
Roger made no answering movement; he bowed stiffly.
“Miss Luxmoreâ”
Elizabeth's face was very pale; her great brown eyes were raised to his appealingly.
“I wanted to see youâto explain.”
In some inexplicable fashion Roger's expression hardened.
“That would be a mistake. Explanations are unnecessary, as it seems to me! I prefer”âbitterly â“to let facts speak for themselves!”
“But I want to tell youâyou were always so kind to me, and I want to make you understand.” The sweet voice quivered pathetically; she laid her ungloved hand softly on his arm.
Roger made a quick backward movement; the girl's hand dropped quickly.
“That is extremely kind of you,” he said, with a hard sarcastic inflection in his tone. “But I do understand perfectly, thank you. It will always be a source of gratification to me to reflect that for quite a considerable time I must have afforded great amusement to Miss Elizabeth Luxmore. If that is all”âhe turned awayâ“I believe Sir James Courtenay wants me. You will excuse me?”
“Amusement!” the girl echoed drearily. “Ah, if I could only make you seeâif you knewâ”
“Elizabeth!” It was Lord Luxmore's voice. “Daphne is askingâ”
Roger went into the room to Courtenay. He found his friend leaning back in his chair, white, indeed, and exhausted, but with a light in his eyes, a patient smile on his lips. He held out his hand to Roger.
“So that is finished, Roger, old fellow. The nightmare is over, and we are all sane once more. Ah, Heaven! Daphneâ”
He was facing the door; Lavington looked round. Daphne Luxmore stood on the threshold, her golden tresses gleaming against her black dress, against the shadows beyond. She held out her hands appealingly.
“James! Oh, Jamesâforgive!”
Sir James raised himself.
“It is I who should say forgive, Daphne! Do you know that I have thoughtâ”
“I don't care what you thought.” Daphne crossed the room with tottering steps and sank down beside the chair. “It was my faultâall my fault, James. Tell me that you forgive me, that you love me just a little still.”
“I have loved you always, Daphne. But I am only a miserable wreck of a man, child. You must forget meâbe happy with some one else.”
“As if that mattered.” As Roger stole out of the room he caught the girl's whisper as her soft arms twined themselves round Courtenay's neck, and her head sank on his bosom. “As if anything mattered to me, so long as we are together. Youâyou will let me help you to bear it, Jem?”
In England the lilacs were in bud, the birds were building their nests, the first fresh leaves of spring were unfurling themselves, rejoicing in the cool air, in the welcome sunshine; but at Sermoneta, in Italy, it was hot and airless. Up on the hill, where the great hotel was built resplendent in all the latest modern improvements, it was cooler. The company that had floated the Sermoneta Hotel had been wise; they had chosen their site near an old cypress grove, and now in the hottest weather the gardens were shaded and pleasant.
The travellers who were coming in by the old diligence that was toiling up the steep, dusty road looked at the green shadows of the garden longingly.
Giuseppe Varconi, the driver, cracked his whip as he pointed out the hotel with pride.
“Ah, there is not another like it in the whole countryside! Little wonder that it is always full, that some days I have to take away a whole diligence full of disappointed ones,” he said.
But there was only one passenger for the hotel today; the rest were going to a little hamlet higher up. The solitary one who alighted, a gaunt, bronzed Englishman, seemed in no way impressed by Giuseppe's eulogies; he stood by, taciturn and gloomy, while they handed down his valise to the hotel waiter, and then, touching his hat slightly in farewell to his fellow-passengers, strode off in the man's wake. In the hall he was met by a gorgeous belaced official, who begged milord to write his name in the visitors' book.
Shrugging his shoulders resignedly, the Englishman obeyed. “Dr. Roger Lavington, 45 Weymouth Street, W.”
Then he looked up.
“Sir James and Lady Courtenay are here?”
The man spread out his hands.
“But yes; they are expecting Monsieur with impatience. The
déjeuner
is ordered in their private apartment. If Monsieur will give himself the trouble to follow me I will conduct him to his room to make his preparations.”
In spite of his gloom, a smile curled Roger's lips at the man's phraseology as he followed him up the polished uncarpeted stairs.
It was nearly two years since he had seen Courtenay. After the latter's reconciliation with Daphne, he had wrung from Sir James an unwilling consent to his departure. He had been a witness at Mrs. Miller's trial, which had resulted, of course, in a verdict of manslaughter and a small sentence of imprisonment.
And after that he had gone to Germany to assist in some researches which were just then engaging the attention of the civilized world. It was hard, unremitting toil, and when it was brought to a successful issue and the long strain was over, Roger had felt the usual reaction. He had long since promised himself a holiday in the South and this visit to Sermoneta was the result.
When he was at last shown down to their little salon, prepared though he was for the improvement in Sir James's health, he could scarcely forbear a start when he saw his friend standing up to welcome him, looking once more, though thinner and older, like the Courtenay of old.
The Italian doctors, the latest improvements in modern surgery, had done much for Courtenay; happiness and the relief from an ever-gnawing anxiety had done more; and though it was impossible for him to walk freely, it was wonderful to him to be able to move about again even with the aid of a stick.
Lady Courtenay was standing behind him. Roger was inclined to think her as much improved as her husband. Her hollow cheeks had filled out, happiness had brightened her eyes, brought back the colour to her cheeks.
“Roger, old man!” Courtenay said no more as he held out his hand, and Lavington took it in a firm grasp.
Lady Courtenay was waiting for him with her pretty smile when he turned.
“Welcome to Sermoneta, Dr. Lavington! I can hardly tell you how delighted we are really to have a visit from you at last!”
“You are very kind.” Roger bowed low over her hand. Remembering the past, he could not but be conscious of a certain awkwardness.
How much Lady Courtenay had heard of his meetings with her sister, how much she knew of what had passed between them, he had no idea. Beyond an occasional reference in the columns of the fashionable intelligence to Lord Luxmore and his daughter, Lavington had heard nothing of Elizabeth Luxmore since Mrs. Miller's trial; he had never spoken to her since the interview in the tiny court-house at Bredon.
Only a month ago, however, a paragraph in one of the papers had caught his eye. “We understand that a marriage is likely to take place shortly between Mr. Guy Whitstone and the Hon. Elizabeth Luxmore.” That was all, yet his hand shook as he laid the paper down, and when he stood up his face had a curious grey look.
He was thinking of that paragraph now as he replied to Lady Courtenay's kindly greeting. As his eyes wandered from her golden hair to her brown eyes, he felt a sudden pangâthe resemblance between the two sisters was more marked now that Lady Courtenay was in better health than when Roger had seen them togetherâit was possible this morning to imagine that, apart from the different hair and complexion, it might be possible to mistake one for the other.
“There is another person I must ask after,” he said, forcing a smile. “How isâ”
Lady Courtenay coloured.
“Why, how did you know? I meanâ” stammering as her husband flashed a playfully warning glance at her.
“Ah, the son and heir!” laughed Courtenay. “We are deferring your introduction to him until after
déjeuner
. He is a fine boy, Roger; you would never guess he was my son.”
“Jem!” Lady Courtenay slipped one hand through her husband's arm. “How dare you, sir! When you know that every one says he is your very image!”
“Do they indeed?” Courtenay laughed. “You see what good order I am kept in, Roger. But come, you must be famished.”
Déjeuner
was served in the big
salle-Ã -manger
overlooking the garden. The Courtenays had a round table placed near the window. Roger glanced with some interest at the other family groups, but the Courtenays had apparently made few friends at the hotel, and they exchanged only the barest greetings.