The Mandarin's Fan
"No! No," said her husband, "enter your own house and have a cup of tea.
It is just ready and will do you good."
"Not just now, Rupert," she replied, laying a detaining hand on his arm.
"I can wait only for a quarter of an hour. I must get back."
Rupert grumbled at the short time, but, resolved to make the most of it,
he walked with her into the cloisters. These were small but the ruins
were very beautiful. Rows of delicately carved pillars surrounded a
grassy sward. At the far end were the ruins of the church stretching
into the pines. The roofless fane looked venerable even in the bright
sunshine. The walls were overgrown with ivy, and some of the images over
the door, still remained, though much defaced by Time. The windows were
without the painted glass which had once filled them, but were rich with
elaborate stone work. This was especially fine in the round window over
the altar. As in the cloisters, the body of the church was overgrown
with grass and some of the pillars had fallen. The lovers did not
venture into the ruined church itself but walked round the pavement of
the cloisters under the arches. Doubtless in days of old, many a
venerable father walked on that paved way. But the monks were gone, the
shrine was in ruins, and these lovers of a younger generation paced the
quiet cloisters talking of love.
"My darling," said the young husband fondly, "how pale you are. I hope
nothing is wrong."
"My aunt is ill. Oh it's nothing--only a feverish cold. She hopes to be
well enough to attend the ball to-morrow night."
"I did not hear of it," said Rupert, "though Tidman generally tells me
the news. I have been in London for the last few days."
"So I see," said Olivia, and glanced at her fair stalwart husband in his
frock coat and smart Bond street kit, "how well you look."
Rupert appreciated the compliment and taking her hands kissed both
several times. Olivia bent forward and pressed a kiss on his smooth
hair. Then she withdrew her hands. "We must talk sense," she said
severely.
"Oh," said Rupert making a wry face, "not about your aunt?"
"Yes. I can't understand her. She has shut herself up in her room and
refuses to see me. She will admit no one but Miss Pewsey."
Ainsleigh shrugged his shoulders. "What does it matter," he said, "you
know Miss Wharf never liked you. You are much too handsome, my own. And
that is the reason also, for Miss Pewsey's dislike."
"Oh, Miss Pewsey is more amiable," said Olivia, "indeed I never knew her
to be so amiable. She is always chatting to me at such times as she can
be spared from my aunt's room."
"Well, what is worrying you?"
"This exclusion from Aunt Sophia's room," said Olivia with tears of
vexation in her dark eyes. "I am her only relative--or at all events I
am her nearest. It seems hard that she should exclude me, and admit Miss
Pewsey who is only a paid companion."
"I don't think it matters a bit," said Rupert, "hasn't your aunt seen
anyone lately?"
"No,--yes, by the way. She has seen her lawyer several times."
"I expect she is altering her will."
Olivia laughed. "She threatens to do so in favour of Miss Pewsey, unless
by the end of the month I give you up, and engage myself either to Mr.
Walker or to Mr. Burgh."
Rupert grew very angry. "What a detestable woman," he exclaimed. "I beg
your pardon, dear, I forgot she's your aunt. But what right has she to
order you about like this? You are of age."
"And I am married, though she doesn't know it. But I'll tell you the
real reason, I am vexed I can't see my aunt. Can't we sit down?"
"Over there," said Ainsleigh, pointing to a secluded seat.
It was placed at the far end of the cloisters under a large oak. There
were four oaks here, or to be more correct, three oaks and the stump of
one. "That was destroyed by lightning when I was born," said Rupert,
seeing Olivia's eyes fixed on this. "Mrs. Petley saw in it an omen that
I would be unlucky. But am I?" and he fell to kissing his wife's hands
again.
"Really, Rupert, you must be more sensible," she said, in pretended
vexation. "What a pretty tree that copper-beech is."
"Yes! But do you see the blackened square?"
"It is not so very black," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, pausing to dig the point
of her umbrella into the ground, "there's hardly any grass on it, and
the earth is dark and hard. Curious it should be so, seeing the grass is
thick and green all round, I suppose this is where Abbot Raoul was
burnt."
"Yes. I've told you the story and shown you the spot many times," said
Rupert, slipping his arm round her waist.
"Dearest," she whispered, "I was too much in love, to hear what you said
on that point. And remember, all my visits to the Abbey have been secret
ones. My aunt would be furious did she know that I had been here, and I
often wonder that Pewsey, who is always watching me, has not followed me
here."
"If she does I'll duck her in the pond for a witch," said Rupert, and
drew his wife to the seat under the oak, "well, go on."
"About my aunt. Oh, it's what Major Tidman told me. He's been trying to
see Aunt Sophia also. Have you heard what Mr. Burgh told the Major about
that horrid fan?"
"No. You forget, I have just returned from town. What is it?"
Olivia related to Rupert the story which Clarence had told the Major.
"So you see," she ended, "this man Hwei wants to kill any one who has
the fan, and Tung-yu desires to reward the person who brings it back."
"It seems contradictory," said Ainsleigh thoughtfully, "and if Hwei put
in the advertisement it is strange that Tung-yu should have received me
in the joss-house mentioned in the paper. Well?"
"Well," said Olivia rather vexed, "can't you see. I want my aunt to know
that she is in danger and get rid of that horrid fan."
"Pooh," said her husband laughing, "there's no danger. Hwei can't kill
an old lady like that for the sake of a fan she would probably sell for
five shillings."
"She wouldn't," said Olivia with conviction. "Aunt Sophia has taken
quite a fancy to that fan. But she ought to be told how dangerous it is,
Rupert."
"Or how lucky," said Ainsleigh, "let her sell the fan to Tung-yu for
five thousand pounds and then she can let Hwei kill Tung-yu."
"But would he do so."
"I can't say. On the face of it, it looks as though these two were
working against one another, seeing they propose to reward the owner of
the fan in such different ways. Yet Hwei, according to Burgh, put the
advertisement in and Tung-yu received me. I don't understand."
"Well, don't you think I should tell the whole story to my aunt?"
"Yes. Go in and see her."
"Miss Pewsey won't let me, and my aunt refuses to admit me. I sent in a
note the other day saying that I wished to speak very particularly, and
she sent out another note to say that she would not see anyone till she
was well. The note was kind enough in Aunt Sophia's cold way, but you
see----"
"Yes! Yes! Well then let Tidman see her."
"Rupert, how annoying you are. She won't see anyone but Miss----"
"Miss Pewsey. Well then, tell her the story, and she can repeat it to
your aunt. Though, by the way," added Ainsleigh, "Burgh may have told
Miss Pewsey about it already."
"Yes," said Olivia, her face brightening, and rising to go away, "but
I'll ask Miss Pewsey to tell Aunt Sophia herself."
As they walked towards the ruined entrance, Mrs. Petley's bulky form
appeared in the archway. She threw up her hands. "Sakes alive, Master
Rupert, come off Abbot Raoul's burning-place."
Ainsleigh, who was standing on the square of blackened ground, obeyed at
once, and drew Olivia away also. "I forgot," he murmured.
"Forgot what?" asked Olivia.
"Why miss," said the old housekeeper, "don't you know it's said that if
an Ainsleigh stands there, some trouble will befall him before the
year's end, You're not an Ainsleigh miss, but Master Rupert--well
there--oh sir, how can you be so foolish. The tea's ready sir," and Mrs.
Petley, with this prosaic ending trotted away.
"She doesn't know that you are an Ainsleigh," said Rupert kissing his
wife, "pah, Don't think of that foolish superstition. Come to--"
"No, Rupert," said Olivia, planting herself firmly against the wall,
"you know I said a quarter of an hour. It's half an hour we have been
talking. I must get back."
The young husband urged, implored, scolded, cajoled, but all to no
effect. Olivia made up her mind to go, and go she did, Rupert escorting
her to the gates. "You are very unkind," he said.
"I am very sensible," she replied, "I don't want to disturb my new
relations with Miss Pewsey. She has such power over my aunt that it is
necessary I should keep on good terms with her. Now, Rupert, you must
not come any further."
"Just along the road."
"Certainly not. All the gossips of Marport would talk. Good-bye. I won't
be kissed again. Someone may be looking."
Ainsleigh muttered a blessing on anyone who might be about, and shook
hands with his wife just as though they were strangers. Then he remained
at the gate till she turned the corner. There, she looked back and
Rupert threw her a kiss. Olivia shook a furious sunshade at him for the
indiscretion.
"The silly boy," she said to herself as she went along, "if anyone saw
him, there would be a fine story all over Marport."
CHAPTER VIII
THE BEGINNING OF THE BALL
So this was the position of affairs immediately before the ball given by
the Glorious Golfers at the Bristol Hotel. Miss Wharf possessed the fan,
and two Chinamen were searching for it. Hwei intended to secure it by
murder, and Tung-yu by the milder means of honourable purchase: but why
the two, with such contradictory intentions, should work in unison, as
appeared from the advertisement, Rupert could not understand. However,
he had so much trouble himself that he dismissed the matter from his
mind.
There was little chance of his benefiting by money from the one
Chinaman, or of being murdered by the other. And he presumed that Olivia
would instruct Miss Pewsey to tell Miss Wharf about the fan, even if she
did not see her personally. And while Miss Wharf was ill and safe in her
house, Hwei could not get at her in any way. Moreover, as Burgh in his
interview with Hwei near the Mansion House, had held his tongue, the man
would not know where the fan was.
The ball was the best of the Marport season, as the Glorious Golfers
were a body of young men with plenty of money and a great love of
amusement.
The vast apartments of the Bristol were thrown open, and decked with
flowers; an Irish Band,--The Paddies,--was engaged from London, and many
people came down from the great city to be present.
It was a perfect night when the ball was held, and the terrace on the
first floor of the hotel, or to speak more properly the balcony, was
thronged with people.
It looked very pretty, as it was filled with tropical ferns and plants
and trees, illuminated with Chinese lanterns and made comfortable with
numerous arm chairs, and plenty of small marble-topped tables.
Between the dances, people finding the rooms too warm, came out to walk
in the night air. There was no moon, but the night was starry and warm,
and a soft luminous light was reflected on sea and land. Standing under
the great fern-trees and amidst the fairy lights, the guests could
survey with pleasure the vast waste of water stretching towards the
clear horizon, and see the long pier glittering with innumerable lights.
Needless to say, the terrace was much frequented by amorous couples.
Within, the ball-room, gay with flowers and draperies, with a waxed
floor and many electric light in coloured globes, looked very pretty.
The band was hidden behind a lofty floral screen, and played the latest
seductive waltzes, interspersed with inspiriting barn-dances and quaint