The Mandarin's Fan
premonition of evil in the air. At least, Olivia thought so, as she
stood at the drawing-room window, looking out on to the terrace and down
the avenue, which could be seen from this point of view. Rupert was in
the library engaged on his letter to the Mandarin, and Olivia was half
inclined to join him. She felt weary, chilly and out of spirits, and
could not account for doing so.
"I'm the happiest girl in the world," she assured herself, "I have
married the man I love, and he adores me. He rescued me from a miserable
life, and is making me immensely happy. I should certainly be in the
best of spirits, yet----"
She stopped short at this point and her eyes became fixed, while a
colour flushed her somewhat pale cheeks. And no wonder. Up the avenue,
battling against the force of the wind, came Miss Pewsey. She wore a
bridal dress of white, a lace bonnet trimmed with orange blossoms, and
carried a bouquet of flowers. To see this figure in such a dress walking
under a sombre sky, between dripping trees, and with the winds blowing
furiously against it, was a strange sight, and gave Olivia what the
Scotch call "a grue." Then she became indignant. It was insolent, she
thought, that this woman who had insulted her so often, who had made her
life miserable, who had robbed her of her inheritance and who had tried
to defame her character, should thus present herself. On the impulse of
the moment and in spite of wind, and of the rain, which was beginning to
fall, Mrs. Ainsleigh threw open the French window and stepped out on to
the terrace. It was in her mind, to order Miss Pewsey away. She deserved
little mercy at Olivia's hands.
The noise made by the opening of the window made Miss Pewsey raise her
head, and then she came straight across the grass. As she drew near,
Olivia was struck with the tragic horror of her face. She was always old
in her looks, but now she seemed at least a hundred. Her lips were
white, her eyes red and with dark circles under them; a myriad wrinkles
ploughed her face, and her usually bright eyes were dim and blood-shot.
To see this weird face under the bridal bonnet was at once grotesque and
pathetic. Without a word, Miss Pewsey climbed the steps gasping at every
step, and came directly towards Olivia. She passed her and entered the
room. Mrs. Ainsleigh came after in a whirlwind of passion.
"What do you mean?" she demanded, "this is _my_ house."
"I am aware of the fact," said Miss Pewsey dropping into a chair and
shaking out her soiled and sodden bridal dress, "but it may be mine
before the end of the year. But don't let us quarrel," she went on in a
piteous way, "I'm in trouble."
"What is it?" asked Olivia, who could guess.
"Theophilus has left me. Yes! Last night he went away leaving a cold
letter behind him which was to be delivered to me at the altar. And it
was," wept Miss Pewsey, "that old woman Mrs. Bressy brought the note. It
said that Theophilus has left me for ever. And all my friends were
there, and I was awaiting the happy hour, then--then--" she broke down
sobbing.
Olivia was touched. Miss Pewsey had always been her enemy, yet there was
something about the unhappy creature which called for sympathy.
"I am sorry for your trouble," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, in a softer voice.
"No," said Miss Pewsey drying her eyes with a very wet handkerchief,
"you can't be, I never liked you, nor you me."
"That is perfectly true, and you turned my aunt against me. All the same
I _am_ sorry, and anything I can do shall be done."
Miss Pewsey threw herself on her knees before her enemy, who was thus
heaping coals of fire on her head. "Then ask your husband to leave my
Theophilus alone," she whispered. "Clarence, who has also gone, wrote to
me, and said that Mr. Ainsleigh accused Theophilus of the death of my
dearest Sophia."
"What," cried Olivia, "does Mr. Burgh dare. Why he accuses Dr. Forge,
himself. Rupert certainly wrote to the detective Mr. Rodgers, but Mr.
Burgh has to substantiate his statement."
Miss Pewsey jumped up. "What," she said, much more her own evil self,
"did Clarence accuse my Theophilus? It's a lie--a lie. I have kept
silence too long--much too long."
"About what?"
"About the murder," screamed Miss Pewsey, "it was Clarence who killed my
Sophia--yes--you may look and look Olivia--but it was Clarence himself.
He took the tie from the coat-pocket. I told him, you had given it to
him, and--"
"But he gave it to Dr. Forge."
"He did not. Clarence took Sophia out on to the steps--at least he
appointed to meet her there, to tell her about the fan. Then he
strangled her, thinking your husband would be accused. Theophilus came
on Clarence when he was picking up the fan. Sophia held it in her death
grip, and it was some time before he could get it loose. Theophilus
came, and hearing steps, Clarence ran away down to the beach. Then he
returned to the ball-room by the front of the hotel."
"But the fan?"
"Theophilus Forge has it," said Miss Pewsey, setting her face, "and I
expect he has taken it with him."
"Why didn't you tell this at the inquest."
"Because I didn't. Clarence is my own sister's son. I could not see him
hanged. He had to hold his tongue, although he wanted the fan back
again. But I insisted that Theophilus should make the money out of it.
This is Clarence's revenge. Because the fan is kept from him he
threatens Theophilus; oh Olivia, _do_ ask your husband to leave the
matter alone. I will give up that mortgage--"
"I can do nothing," said Olivia, "it isn't in my husband's power. He has
written to Rodgers--"
"But he has not told him anything," said Miss Pewsey eagerly.
"No. He merely asked him to call."
"Then he shall see _me_, and I'll tell him of Clarence's wickedness. But
the fan--the fan--we'll get the money and Theophilus will come back to
be loved and respected. I don't love him, but I see we can make a lot of
money together. The fan," said Miss Pewsey counting on her lean fingers,
"the money from Lo-Keong--the money of Sophia and--"
"Oh," cried Olivia in disgust, "go away you miserable creature, and
think of the hereafter."
Miss Pewsey gave a shrill laugh. "You can't help me, and your husband
can't help me, so I'll go. But when I come back here, it shall be as
mistress. I hate you Olivia--I have always hated you--I--I--oh you--"
she could utter no more, but gasping, shook her fist and ran out of the
window and down the avenue with an activity surprising in a woman of her
years.
After dinner and while they were seated in the library, Olivia told
Rupert of Miss Pewsey's visit and accusation. He declined to believe the
tale. "If Burgh was guilty he wouldn't have brought an accusation
against Forge," he said, "as the doctor, if this is true, knows the
truth. And Forge, if innocent, would not have cleared--"
While Ainsleigh was thus explaining, the door was burst open and Mrs.
Petley, white as chalk, rushed in. "The ghost--the ghost," said she
dropping into a chair, "the monk--in the Abbey."
Anxious to learn if there was any truth in these frequent apparitions
reported by Mrs. Petley, Rupert left the swooning woman to the care of
his wife and departed hastily from the room. Calling old Petley, he went
out of the front door across the lawn and into the cloisters. Petley,
hobbled almost on his heels with a lantern. The young man stopped at the
entrance to the cloisters, and listened. It was raining hard and the
ground was sopping wet. But beyond the drip of the rain, and the sighing
of the trees, no sound could be heard. Snatching the lantern from
Petley, Rupert advanced boldly into the open, and swung the light to
and fro and round about. He could see no ghost, nor any dark figure
suggestive of Abbot Raoul.
"Try the black square," piped the feeble voice of Petley, behind.
With a shrug Rupert did so. He thought that the housekeeper was mistaken
as usual, and that the ghost was the outcome of her too vivid
imagination. Walking deliberately to the black square where Abbot Raoul
had been burnt three hundred years before, he swung the light over its
bare surface. In the centre he saw something sparkle, and stooped. Then
he rose with a cry. It was a fan. Rupert picked it up, opened it, and
looked at it in the lantern light. There were the four beads and half a
bead and the green jade leaves. The very fan itself.
CHAPTER XIX
A VISITOR
How came the fan there--and on the accursed square of ground where no
grass would grow? Rupert was not superstitious, yet his heart gave a
bound, and for the moment he felt sick. This fan was the cause of much
trouble in the past, it had cost one woman her life, and it might yet
claim another victim. With the fan in his hand, and the yellow light of
the guttering candle in the lantern gleaming on its beauty, he stood
stupidly staring, unheeding the feeble piping of Petley's voice, as he
peered in at the ruined archway.
"What's the matter, Master Rupert?" questioned the old butler with a
shiver, "have you seen _It_?"
"No," said Rupert at length, and he hardly knew his own voice so heavy
and thick it was, "there's nothing to be seen."
A cry came from the old man. "Don't stand on that accursed ground,
Master Rupert," he said, almost whimpering, "and to-night, of all
times."
"Why to-night," said Rupert, retreating back to the arch.
"Any night," shivered Petley putting his hand on his young master's arm
and drawing him out of the cloisters, "it's not a good place for an
Ainsleigh to be in at night. The Abbot--"
"John, I don't believe in the Abbot."
"But Anne saw him--or It. She's not the one to tell a lie."
"Mrs. Petley is deceived in some way." Rupert considered a moment, and
thrust the fan into his pocket. In the darkness, and because he turned
aside the lantern light, old Petley had not seen that anything had been
picked up. "I'm going to search round," said Rupert.
The butler gave a long wail as Ainsleigh broke from his grasp. "No! no!"
he cried, lifting his long hands, "not at night."
But Rupert, now quite himself, did not heed the superstitious cry. He
disbelieved in ghosts more than ever. Some flesh and blood person had
brought the fan, and recollecting Burgh's story, and what Olivia had
reported of Miss Pewsey's talk that afternoon, he quite expected to find
Dr. Forge lurking in the cloisters. He would search for him, and when
face to face, he would demand an explanation. So Rupert swiftly and
lightly, walked round, holding the light high and low in the hope of
discovering some crouching form. And all the time Petley waited,
trembling at the door.
The rain fell softly and there was a gentle wind swinging the heavy
boughs of the pines, so that a murmurous sound echoed through the
cloisters like the breaking of league-long waves on a pebbly beach. For
at least half an hour Rupert searched: but he could see no one: he could
not even find the impression of feet, sodden as was the ground. After
looking everywhere within the cloister, and in the Abbey itself, he
brushed past the old butler and walked down the avenue. Here also, he
was at fault as he could see no one. The gates were closed: but there
was a light in the small house near at hand. Ainsleigh knocked at the
door, and shortly old Payne, holding a candle, above his head, appeared,
expressing surprise.
"Has anyone entered the gates to-night?" asked his master.
"No sir. I closed them at five as usual. No one has come in."
There were no signs of the gates having been climbed, and the wall which
ran round the estate was so high and the top was pricked with such cruel
spikes, that no one could possibly have entered that way. Old Payne
insisted that no one had entered: he had heard no voices, no footsteps,
and seemed much perplexed by the insistence of his young master. At