Fred M. White

A Fatal Dose

Warsaw 2018

Contents

I. A WOMAN OF PROPERTY

II. PLAYING THE FISH

III. THE ASPARAGUS FERN

IV. FOR HIS SAKE

V. A ROLLING STONE

VI. THE COMPACT

VII. PANGS OF CONSCIENCE

VIII. BETWEEN TWO FIRES

IX. THE SYREN SPEAKS

X. JEALOUSY

XI. PROVING THE STORY

XII. HARDY CHANGES HIS MIND

XIII. A SUCCESSFUL VENTURE

XIV. THE MESSAGE

XV. A NEW FOE

XVI. ON THE BRINK

XVII. A NEAR THING

XVIII. DESPERATION

XIX. A GREAT CALAMITY

XX. LOVE AND SYMPATHY

XXI. RED RUIN

XXII. THE UNEXPECTED THING

XXIII. PUTTING ON THE SCREW

XXIV. A LAPSE OF MEMORY

XXV. IN THE DARK

XXVI. IN THE ALCOVE

XXVII. THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE

XXVIII. A BLOW FOR ELEANOR

XXIX. A FALLING STAR

XXX. FOUND

XXXI. WHAT DID IT MEAN?

XXXII. CHECKED AT MONKWELL’S

XXXIII. WEAK HUMANITY

XXXIV. TO THE RESCUE

XXXV. DOG ROB DOG

XXXVI. A DAY TOO LATE

XXXVII. TOWARDS THE LIGHT

XXXVIII. SIR JOHN BLATCHFORD

XXXIX. WINGS OF FORTUNE

XL. BACK TO THE WORLD

XLI. TOGETHER AGAIN

XLII. BY THE ALCOVE

XLIII. FOUND

XLIV. A LUCKY GET OUT

XLV. SUNSHINE

I. A WOMAN OF PROPERTY

THE theatre was very full, for a popular actor had returned to the stage after a long illness, and some of the best people in town had assembled to give him a welcome. It was no new play which the favourite was producing; instead, he had chosen to appear before his patrons in three separate parts from different successes. As a consequence the intervals were rather long, and the audience had every opportunity of criticising one another. Two men lounging in the stalls were attracted at the same moment by the occupant of one of the boxes on the left-hand side of the stage.

The woman was not particularly young, nor could she, even by the tongue of malice, be called middle-aged. For the rest, her beauty was of the brilliant order. Her fascinating smile exposed a dazzling set of white teeth, her hair was a triumph of art and nature combined. She sat there quite alone, a snowy arm lying carelessly on the edge of the box, the shapely hand set of by a coruscating diamond bracelet. Although she appeared to be utterly unconscious of the glances turned in her direction, she was, nevertheless, perfectly aware of the sensation she was creating. She was the most striking of the many striking personalities in the house.

“Who is she. Jack?” the first man in the stalls asked. “I don’t recollect ever seeing her before. Still, my two years in South Africa make a difference, of course. That woman is not a creature of yesterday, I am certain.”

“To be candid, my dear fellow, I can’t tell you much about her,” the second man said. “These people seem to arrive in a most extraordinary fashion. One day they are not so much as heard of, the next you have to confess yourself out of it if you don’t know Mrs. this or Madam that. All I know is that the lady in the box calls herself Marsh–Mrs. Eleanor Marsh. She is understood to be the widow of a rich Virginian of good family, and she floats on the very crest of the wave. She was introduced into Society by the Duchess of Daventry, which ought to be good enough for a humble individual like myself.”

“She certainly looks a thoroughbred,” the first man went on. “I never saw a woman carry herself with a more superb air, and yet there is something about her a little suggestive of the hawk–you know what I mean.”

“Say, rather, of the falcon,” the other man laughed. “No, I can’t introduce you to her because I have not the pleasure of the lady’s acquaintance. Your old chum, Philip Hardy, is the most likely man to apply to. They are great chums, and I should not wonder if Hardy married her.”

“What has Philip got to live upon, then?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? But I forgot you have been outside the pale of civilization for two years. Phil’s uncle Raymond and his two sons came to grief in a yachting accident last September, and naturally our lucky friend dropped in for the Raymond share of the business. He is quite a rich man now, and a very big catch. But I am rather sorry to see him mixed up with the fair Eleanor Marsh. There is something about her I do not like, though I could not explain what it is.”

“I think I understand,” the other said. “But what has become of Lena Grey? In the old days we always thought that Phil and Lena would make a match of it.”

“It is just a toss up,” the first speaker said. “Between ourselves, if Philip Hardy gives Lena the cold shoulder now he will be treating her very badly. Last night, however, I heard that everything was going smoothly once more. And, by Jove, there they are in the second row of the stalls. How happy the little girl looks. I should be very sorry if anything happened to give her pain.”

Apparently the brilliant creature in the box had also made out the figures of Philip Hardy and Lena Grey in the stalls. For a moment a frown contracted her brows, then her face resumed its serenity. Presently the curtain fell for the last time, the actor made the inevitable speech, and the gay audience began to file out. In the vestibule, Philip Hardy awaited his carriage. By his side stood Lena Grey, her pretty face smiling and happy under the silk hood. By-and-bye a magnificent creature, with a gorgeous opera cloak, swooped down upon them and held out her hand.

“This is Mrs. Marsh,” Hardy exclaimed. “A wonderfully successful evening, don’t you think?”

“Very,” Mrs. Marsh responded. “Now, don’t forget that you have promised to come round to my little supper party to-night. I cannot believe that I am so soon forgotten.”

A shade of sadness came over the face of Lena Grey, though the look of happiness was not quite dimmed in her eyes. On the contrary, her companion seemed to be pleased about something.

“What do you take me for?” he laughed. “I should be less than mortal had I overlooked an honour like that; but you will forgive me if I do not stay long. I have promised to see Miss Grey as far as Mrs. Marryat’s reception, and then to take her on to Lexington House. It isn’t much good going to Lexington House for the next hour or more,”

“That will fit in beautifully with my arrangements,” Mrs. Marsh said, “seeing that I myself am going to the big function. I have told my guests that the supper party must be over by one o’clock; therefore, I shall expect to see you at Courtville Square before mid-night.”

With a bow and a flashing smile, Mrs. Marsh swept on to her electric brougham, which was standing awaiting her in front of the portico. She was one of those fortunate women who never appear to have to wait for anything. Unconsciously, everybody gave way to her, and no one seemed inclined to quarrel with the fact that her conveyance blocked the way. A distinguished general gave her his arm, rejoiced to be able to do this brilliant creature even so small a service. Her voice floated high and gay as she thanked him; humbler people turned and nudged one another, and whispered that this was the rich and famous Mrs. Marsh whom Society delighted to honour.

Nevertheless, the smile faded from her face, and her features became harsh and almost haggard as she lounged back in the shadow. She wondered what all her superficial friends would say if they knew the truth. She had had her enemies, too, but these she had conquered by sheer force of character. Two years ago she had been unknown to the great world of London, and now she had reached the top of the shimmering flood by sheer fascination and audacity. Yet “All that glitters is not gold,” and this brilliant creature was dross to the core.

“Not that they need ever know,” she told herself cynically, “what a sham and a fraud it all is. Here am I, posing as a woman of wealth, when I am up to my eyes in debt and difficulty, when even the bare necessaries of life are paid for by a fraud. And that little wretch of a Monkwell knows it, too. I could see that by the insolent familiarity of his manner yesterday. Why could not I have left him alone? Why did I pretend to him that he had found a soft spot in my heart? Well, it is all done now and cannot be helped. At any rate, I must get out of Monkwell’s power as soon as possible. If I could only lay my hands upon those diamonds of Philip Hardy’s! If I could only have anticipated events by a few hours! I can see clearly what has happened. Hardy has thought fit to do his obvious duty and has already proposed to Lena Grey, or I am altogether mistaken. The symptoms in her face to-night were too eloquent to admit of any doubt. I am very sorry; I don’t want to trample upon the poor girl’s feelings, but seeing that she has come between me and my interests, she must go. It will involve deceit and fraud, I know, but in this cruel world of ours the weak must always go to the wall. Within a week from now the world must know that I am the affianced wife of Philip Hardy, and then I need have no more fear of creditors. With a husband like that–rich, clever, and ambitious–there is no telling how far one might go. It is no use worrying about it any more now. I have more important matters to occupy my attention.”

The brougham drew up before the imposing set of mansions where Eleanor Marsh had her flat. The trimmest of French maids awaited her in the hall. A discreet, inscrutable-looking butler came forward and desired to know if his mistress would care to look at the supper table before she changed her dress.

“My good Robert–of course I can leave everything to you,” she said with a smile. Like most women of her class, she always commanded the full loyalty of her servants. “You have never made a mistake yet, and I am sure you are not going to make one now. I must go and change my dress at once.”

A magnificent costume, the latest creation of a confiding French modiste, lay in all its tinsel glory on the bed. Presently, Eleanor Marsh stood admiring herself before the long cheval glass, conscious that she never looked better in her life.

“Madame is superb,” the maid said. “She is arrayed for conquest.”

“Yes,” Eleanor smiled. “The conquest of my life.”

II. PLAYING THE FISH

“FORTUNE favours the brave” was a maxim that Eleanor Marsh had acted on all her life, generally with distinct success. This audacity, in the course of three or four years, had dragged her from the obscurity of a country gamekeeper’s cottage to a small situation in town, and afterwards she acquired further knowledge of life in a West End tobacconist’s shop. Always clever and imitative, and a consummate actress, she had had some opportunity here of learning of the ways of Society. A little later a broken-down nobleman offered her his hand and the remnant of his fortune, both of which Eleanor had declined. She had far higher aspirations than the besotted, middle-aged man whose affection for her was, at any rate, pure and disinterested. The man had died a little time afterwards, and, to Eleanor’s surprise, she found that he had left her some three thousand pounds. Thenceforward the path of progress had been swift and easy, and behold! the woman was now in the plenitude of her power, a striking figure in Society, and one who, given good luck, might finish anywhere.

Eleanor smiled to herself as she sat in her drawing-room awaiting her guests. Her thoughts were frankly amusing. She wondered what Lena Grey would say if she knew that Eleanor Marsh’s father had at one time been gamekeeper to the relative who had brought Lena up? It was, of course, impossible for Lena to recognise in Mrs. Marsh the wild slip of a girl whom she had known years before as Nellie Cripps, but Eleanor Marsh had recognised Lena at the first glance. And now she was going to rob the latter of her lover, and ruin her life without the least compunction.

The guests began to arrive one by one, Philip Hardy being the first to put in an appearance. His hostess had an especially tender smile for him. In her own subtle way she led him to infer that his presence was the one thing she especially needed.

“You managed to tear yourself away from Miss Grey?” she said.

“Well, yes,” Philip replied. “It was no very difficult matter. You see, I have known Lena all my lifetime, and we have always been the best of friends. There is no jealousy about her either.”

A direct question trembled upon Eleanor Marsh’s lips. She hesitated whether to put it or not. And yet she felt she must know definitely whether these two had come to an understanding.

“Lena is a dear little girl,” she said heartily, “and I don’t know whether I ought to congratulate you or not. At the same time, it seems to me that Miss Grey is hardly the kind of girl to make an ideal wife for an ambitious man like you.”

Philip frowned slightly, and Eleanor hastened to change the subject. In effect, the man had told her all she wanted to know. He had already become engaged to Lena and yet he was a little ashamed of the fact. Standing there before his brilliant hostess, he felt he had made a mistake. And she read his thoughts as if they had been an open book.

“We will discuss this later,” she said. “Meanwhile, I must not neglect my other guests.”

The delicately-shaded drawing-room was by this time filled with people. Most of them were going on by-and-bye to Lexington House, and for the rest there were none but men present. Only an up-to-date Society favourite like Eleanor Marsh could have given a party of that kind. Presently the folding doors were thrown back and the grave-faced butler announced that supper was ready. Eleanor started gaily forward.

“No, I am not going to permit anybody to take me in,” she said. “It shall not be stated that I gave anybody the preference. A hundred years ago, I understand, that sort of thing gave rise to all sorts of unpleasantness in the way of duels and the like. I will take my place at the head of the table and leave you all to find your own seats.”

The supper was a very triumph in its way. The table decorations left nothing to be desired. It was like scores of other entertainments, and yet there was a distinctive note about it, an artistic originality which flavoured everything that Eleanor Marsh did. The thing was costly, extravagant, and there was more than a passing chance that it would never be paid for. Not that this troubled the hostess in the least. She had no scruples on that head. Besides, the mine was already laid, and she had determined that, within a few days the world should look upon her as the future wife of Philip Hardy.

The champagne circulated freely. The clatter o plates mingled with the hum of tongues, and the feast was at its height when the grave butler opened the door, and, in tones of studious indifference, announced a new guest–Mr. Monkwell.

Just for a moment there was dead silence as the new-comer came forward. He was a little man, slightly bald, with innocent blue eyes peeping out of a face as fat as that of a cherub. He appeared to be a little embarrassed, too, by the unexpected brilliance of the company; but if any man or woman ever ventured to take Mr. Monkwell for a fool in the way of business, they were soon undeceived. The rather silly, boyish face masked a mind amazingly clever and unscrupulous. The thick lips could compress themselves on occasion, as the hostess knew to her cost.

She recovered herself swiftly, as she always did, and bade Mr. Monkwell take a seat at the table. He muttered something about the stupidity of servants, and that he had arrived at an inopportune time. He appeared to be quite overcome, though he was in evening dress, so that, in that respect, the other men had no advantage over him.

“This seems to be carrying originality too far,” one of the guests murmured. “It is deuced uncomfortable to sit here opposite that fellow, knowing that I owe him five hundred pounds I can’t pay. Quite embarrassing, you know.”

Eleanor’s quick ear caught the words, and she bent smilingly in the direction of the speaker.

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