ralph did not call on miss pearl that day, as he intended to do, for the simple reason that more important business demanded his attention. after returning with audrey to the pink shop he walked away, thinking, with some irritation, over the disagreeable position in which the girl was placed by the callous behaviour of her father. certainly, as audrey was supposed to be going in for figure treatment, her stay with madame coralie was reasonably accounted for, and ralph guessed that sir joseph would offer this excuse to his friends when they asked after his daughter. there was no doubt that when the old man recovered from the furious rage into which he had fallen when accused of the crime he would think twice before admitting that he had turned audrey out of doors. sir joseph, in spite of his domineering ways, was a coward, so far as social reputation was concerned, and would not risk the finger of scorn being pointed at him. it assuredly would be, when people came to hear of his brutal action.
so far everything was right. but shawe did not care that the girl he intended to make his wife should remain with madame coralie. even though the woman was audrey's aunt, and apparently intended to be kind to her niece, ralph knew that her reputation was none of the best. it would do audrey harm to remain long at the pink shop, especially as, since the murder, it had obtained a most unenviable notoriety. and madame coralie--as shawe learnt through perry toat--was looked at askance by the police. nothing could be said against her, and she had assuredly cleared herself of complicity in connection with lady branwin's death, thanks mainly, as ralph now saw, to the false evidence of the still-room clock. but she was watched nevertheless, and was regarded as a person of doubtful character. perhaps it was hard on the poor creature that she should be so regarded, for she did her best to conduct her business in a proper way. but that very business was of a decidedly dubious character, and demanded secrecy for obvious reasons. ladies anxious to renew their youth did not care about their visits to the pink shop to be talked about, and this very necessary secrecy lent a doubtful air to madame coralie's occupation. on the whole, the young barrister thought that it would be just as well to remove audrey as soon as possible from that tainted atmosphere.
this could only be done by marriage, as, failing her aunt, audrey had no friend with whom she could stay. certainly, there were people who liked her, and would be glad of her company, but an application to any of these meant that awkward questions would be asked. if any woman scented a scandal, she would assuredly be extremely pertinacious until she learnt the whole truth. and as the whole truth involved a confession of audrey's rash visit to the temple, and an acknowledgment of her father's drastic behaviour, it was not right to risk such things becoming known. whereas, if shawe married the girl quickly it would be looked upon as a runaway match, and sir joseph's anger would be accounted for in this way. it was well known that he wished his daughter to marry lord anvers, and had refused to permit the barrister to pay his addresses. therefore, an elopement--for that is what the marriage with shawe would amount to--would appeal to the romantic nature of audrey's friends, and every woman would be on her side. the more ralph thought over the matter, the more he felt that a speedy marriage was the only way in which to adjust the situation.
but this required thought to accomplish. shawe had a small income, and with economy it would be enough for two until he received larger fees. already he was a well-known man, and every day he made progress; so there could be no doubt that in the near future he would be well able to support a wife. but at the present moment he could not lay his hands on ready money, which was what he wanted to do. in the ordinary way audrey would have to live in kensington parish for three weeks, and so would he, in order to get married. as ralph wished to remove his future wife from the pink shop as speedily as possible, this delay was not to be thought of. there only remained to procure a special licence, and this cost a large sum of money. "i shall go and see my godmother," decided ralph, after he had turned the question of immediate matrimony over in his mind.
lady sanby was the young man's godmother, and had always professed herself to be very fond and proud of him. she had often presented him with a cheque when he was at college, and later when he was studying for the bar. indeed, but for lady sanby's help ralph would not have been able to wait for briefs, since his father, the squire of bleakleigh, was not wealthy. but the godmother had always behaved generously, and ralph, therefore, went to her house that same afternoon, instead of visiting miss pearl. but before going he wrote to the star of the music-halls, asking her to see him the next morning at eleven o'clock, saying that he had something important to say to her. having thus arranged matters, the young man went to dorleigh crescent to interview lady sanby.
she was an ancient dowager, with a merry eye and a great liking for young men, especially if they were handsome and rising. ralph was both, so lady sanby always made a great fuss over him when he called. she went everywhere and knew everyone, and was altogether as gay an old dame as could be found in mayfair. also, as she was very rich, her son, the present lord sanby, and her daughter-in-law, together with their numerous offspring, paid her the greatest attention. grannie had money to leave; therefore grannie was regarded as the oracle of the family, and behaved always like a benevolent despot. for no one could deny but what she was a charming old lady, if somewhat sharp in her way of speaking.
"my dear boy," said lady sanby, welcoming her godson with effusion, and presenting her withered cheek for a kiss, "what have you been doing all this time? i haven't seen your name in the papers either in connection with your profession. are you not getting any briefs?"
"not at present, grannie," said ralph--for lady sanby allowed him to call her by this endearing name, as an acknowledgment of the interest she took in him--"but they will come along all right when i am married."
"oh!" lady sanby shook her old head knowingly, as she knew much of ralph's love-story. "so you still adore the daughter of that wretched woman who was murdered in the pink shop?"
"yes. and you said you liked audrey, grannie?"
"so i do; she's a dear girl. but i didn't like her vulgar old mother, though i shouldn't say that now, seeing she is dead. nor do i like her father. he's a wicked, domineering navvy, and will probably be made a peer. those sort of rich labourers always do get peerages. well, so you are going to marry?"
"i must if i want to succeed in my profession," said ralph, quickly. "my head is full of love matters, and i can't think of my clients. yes, i want to get married in three days, and i have come to you for help."
"oh, i shall do whatever you want, my dear boy. you are so clever that i look on you as one likely to reflect credit on me. sanby and his family are all idiots. well, and how can i assist you?"
"i shall explain. in the first place, i wish to tell you a rather surprising story, about which you must promise to keep silence.
"oh! my dear lad, i am a well--a very well--for keeping secrets. if i said all i knew i could ruin half the men in london, and all the women. well?"
shawe wasted no further talk in introducing his subject, but related all that he knew about the case--from the time lady branwin had entered the pink shop down to the last words audrey had told him concerning badoura's accusation of eddy vail. "now, what do you think?" he asked, when he had finished his long story, and felt vexed that the old lady did not display more astonishment.
"it is a wonderful story," lady sanby assured him, coolly, "and truth is always stranger than fiction. but i have had so many surprises in my long life that nothing astonishes me. i am glad you told me, and i can well see that it is a thing one must hold one's tongue about. so vexing; one always has to keep silence about the most wonderful things. do you think that sir joseph branwin--horrid man!--is guilty?"
"i can't say."
"perhaps you suspect eddy vail?"
"i can't be sure of that either."
"madame coralie?"
"no," said ralph, positively. "i can safely say that i do not suspect her, for she is behaving too well over audrey's matter."
"that doesn't mean to say she wouldn't commit a crime if it suited her," said lady sanby, coolly. "she's not a nice woman, my dear, and the sooner you get that poor girl away from the pink shop the better it will be."
"i knew you would say that," said shawe, quickly, "and for that reason i want you to help me, grannie--to help me and audrey, that is."
"of course. i like audrey; she is a girl of spirit, and will make you a good wife. well, what do you wish me to do? ask her here to stay for a time?"
"no, no! although it is kind of you to suggest it," said shawe, hurriedly. "but people would talk and ask questions. no. i wish you to lend me one hundred pounds so that i can buy a special licence and marry audrey at once, and have sufficient cash to take a journey."
"to go on your honeymoon, you mean," said lady sanby, humorously. "well, your idea is a very good one. marry her at once by special licence, and go away to some quiet place so that she can recover from all these troubles. then bring her here as your wife, and she can stay with me for a week until you can find a house."
"dear, dear grannie!"
"silly, silly grannie, i think. i am a romantic old fool to waste money at my time of life in--"
"it won't be wasted. i shall pay you back."
"no. i shall give you five hundred pounds as a wedding-gift."
"oh, i can't take that, lady sanby."
"grannie, you foolish boy."
"well, then, i can't take such a large sum, grannie."
"don't talk nonsense," said lady sanby, going to her desk and producing a cheque-book. "five hundred pounds won't go very far, seeing that audrey has been accustomed to millions."
"she won't be accustomed to them any more," said the future bridegroom, in a gloomy tone. "her father has disowned her."
"never mind. you marry her, and we'll put matters right between us. there is your cheque." she handed him an oblong slip of paper.
"i really can't take so much."
"then you won't get less, my dear man. gracious, haven't i dandled you on my knee and slapped you and stuffed you with cakes and--"
"you have been always good, and that is why i don't like to impose on you."
lady sanby laughed grimly. "you needn't be afraid of doing that, ralph. no one, old or young, ever succeeded in imposing upon me. now, take your wedding-present and marry audrey. and, by the way," added the old dame, just as if it was an after-thought, "you had better let me know the time and place. i shall come to the wedding. it will look better for audrey, and that parvenu father of hers won't dare to say a word when i bestow my approval."
"grannie, you are an angel," and ralph, very greatly touched by her kindness, kissed her warmly.
grannie pushed him away. "keep your kisses and nice words for audrey, or she will grow jealous. now run away. i have heaps to do, and i can't afford to waste my time as a briefless barrister does."
"briefless," laughed ralph, who was now, and with very good reason, in excellent spirits. "well, grannie, i only ask that you will retain me as counsel in the breach of promise case you are sure to have with one of your numerous admirers!"--a joke which pleased the gay old lady immensely.
shawe departed, and paid the welcome cheque into his bank. he could now afford to marry audrey at once, and take her away from all the soiled circumstances of her life. he felt duly grateful to madame coralie, but he did not wish audrey, when she was mrs. shawe, to see more of her than was consistent with her being a relation. for the moment he felt inclined to go to walpole lane and tell audrey all about lady sanby's offer and her kindness in giving him such a welcome wedding-present; but he knew that audrey would be disappointed if he had nothing to tell about miss pearl, so resolved before he again sought the pink shop to see the lady in question.
miss pearl wrote and said that she would be pleased to see him at the time he mentioned. therefore, the next morning, ralph duly walked to the quiet house in the quiet bloomsbury square wherein miss pearl had her rooms. a demure maidservant admitted him into the house and conducted him up the wide staircase--it was an old georgian mansion--to the sitting-room of the lady. when she departed to tell miss pearl that her visitor had arrived, the young barrister glanced round the room to see if he could gather from its furnishing what the character of the future lady branwin was like. it struck him--oddly enough, considering her profession of dancer and singer--that she was something of a puritan.
the room was spacious and had a lofty ceiling painted with wreaths of flowers and love-knots of blue ribbon. under this roof, which suggested gay pompadour fancies, the room looked cold and drab. the furniture was of a dark wood upholstered in dark green. the windows--two french windows which opened on to an iron balcony--were draped with green curtains, and the carpet was also green, without any pattern. in the centre of the apartment was a prim table on which books were placed at regular intervals. one of these books shawe found to be the pilgrim's progress, and another was the chronicles of the schonberg-cotta family. he felt rather astonished as this was not the class of literature he expected miss pearl to favour. then the room was altogether so stiff and formal, and so deadly cold, in spite of its being warm in the open air, that the barrister was puzzled. "i must have been shown into the apartment of some missionary by mistake," was his reflection, and he sat down greatly bewildered. "a woman who dances at a music-hall can't possibly like to live in such a room; but i always heard that she was aggressively respectable."
his reflections were cut short by the stately entrance of the lady he was thinking about. and miss pearl was stately, being a tall and nobly-formed woman, who walked in quite a majestic way. she had large feet, large hands, a large bust, and large limbs--indeed, she was large in every way, and looked more like the venus of milo than a modern woman. her face was pale and grave and clear-cut, and she had a rather severe mouth with compressed lips. to add to her resemblance to the heathen goddess, her hair was smoothed back from her marble forehead and coiled behind in a simple greek knot. in a calm and graceful way she moved forward, with her large brown unwinking eyes fastened on the bewildered face of the young man. those eyes almost hypnotised ralph, for their gaze was so steady, and made him think that after all she was less like venus than like the ox-eyed juno.
"you are mr. shawe?" she said, in a low, deep contralto voice.
"yes, miss pearl," he stammered; then he observed her well-cut, tailor-made dress, which was simplicity itself, and worn with a linen collar. but it was the material that brought a startled look into his eyes. "you--you wear a--a harris tweed dress!" he gasped.
miss pearl eyed him with grave surprise. "why should i not?" she asked.
