The Broken Thread Page 14
beautiful sea with its bluesurface flecked by rippling streaks of turquoise, or purple, or deepemerald, as its wondrous depths were affected by a brilliant sun.Distant smoke trailed in the wake of some steamer that may have"tramped" the world around, or of an Orient liner that was conveyingwhite rulers to the far-away portions of our Eastern Empire.
Gilda thought of Raife and his mad passion for her. She wished to tellhim all--at least all she knew. She felt that she could hardly tell howmuch she knew, nor did she know how much she could tell. She didrealise that she had treated him badly, but why had he followed anddiscovered her? Should she put an end to her perplexities by a short,sharp road to death? Rousing herself from this reverie, Gilda left theseat, with the wonderful view, and sauntered along a winding pathembowered with foliage. As she turned the bend of the pathway she sawin front of her, on a jutting headland, an elderly lady and a young man.They, in turn, were gazing seaward.
The young man of to-day is more daring in his costume and displays moreindividuality than those of a generation ago. It was not hard, even atthis distance of a few hundred yards, for Gilda to recognise RaifeRemington standing on the jutting rock with his mother.
This young man, who had just inherited large estates and a handsomeincome, in tragic circumstances, was easy to identify. With a lineagedating from Henry the Seventh, and the later period when Sir HenryReymingtoune was Chancellor to Queen Elizabeth, and men's fashionsrivalled in costliness those of the women, it was natural that Raifeshould possess judgment in such matters.
Queen Elizabeth has been counted the most extravagantly dressed woman ofall time, unless it may be believed that the Queen of Sheba affected asimilar extravagance. The pictorial souvenirs of the costumes ofElizabeth are more reliable than those of the days of Sheba, but it isnot an important point to decide.
The centuries that have elapsed since the brave days of Drake, Frobisherand Hawkins, and the other bold admirals who founded the British empire,have induced a comparative drabness in men's clothing, and a severity instyle.
Much of this has been altered in these later years by imaginative youngAmericans, who have learnt to deck themselves out more elaborately incravaterie, hosiery, and general lingerie, whilst newspapers devotecolumns to the cut of suitings, and the latest form of shoe string, orthe brim and feathered tuft that should rule the form of an Alpine hat.These despised and minor considerations now, concern the youth ofBritain and the continent of Europe.
Sir Raife Remington, Bart., possessed always the correct judgment insuch matters. He allowed his tailor, hatter, hosier, bootmaker, andwhat not, just the correct latitude. They should, and did, only supplyhim with clothing that conformed sufficiently with the fashion of themoment, without displaying an _outre_ taste.
If coloured socks were _de rigueur_, and a variety of tints in shirtsand cravats were the order of the day, the general effect should beconformable to the fiat of his tradesmen, without being conspicuous. Inshort, Raife Remington was a well-dressed man, and his fine, athleticfigure, displayed to perfection the clothes he adorned.
Gilda Tempest saw Raife's form in the distance, and the old spirit ofdread and unrest returned to her with an added fury.
Where should she go? How could she leave Bordighera without beingdiscovered by Raife or his mother? Where also was the dreaded H of S Y?Turning in the beautiful pathway, she hastened, with drooping form,back over the cliffs, and sought the seclusion of her obscure lodgingsin the back part of the quaint and quiet old town.
Long she schemed and planned for a way out of the difficulty. All thesoothing reflections of the afternoon had gone, and in place was therenewal of trouble, unrest and danger.
The darkest hours of night and trouble precede the dawn.
Gilda, in the throes of her anxiety, gazed into space. She was awakenedfrom her half-dazed thoughts by a discreet tap at the door. Her buxom,beaming-faced landlady entered and asked the young `mees' the signorina,"Would she like an automobile ride in the beautiful evening time? Thesignorina looked pale and tired and it might do her good. The chauffeurof the Count Lyonesse had invited her and her husband for a ride, and ifthe young `mees' would accompany them all would be well. The Count hadgone away for a week and all was safe."
This was the streak of dawn which rapidly became daylight, as Gilda sawher chance to escape from Bordighera in the guise of a peasant andaccompanied, nay, safely chaperoned, by these good, simple folk, who sawno harm in a joy-ride in the automobile of the absent count. She mustpersuade them to take the route by the Col di Tenda through the longtunnel north into Italy, then to Cuneo. If she could induce them to"fetch" Cuneo, how should she give them the slip? She had left the bulkof her trunks at Nice. She must dispose of papers; but folks who livelike Doctor Malsano and Gilda Tempest don't preserve incriminatingdocuments. How could she give them the slip at Cuneo? "H of S Y" wouldnot follow her. He would follow her uncle--if he could.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
THE TRAGEDY OF A FATEFUL JOY-RIDE.
When Doctor Malsano and Gilda Tempest had so mysteriously and suddenlydisappeared from the Hotel Royal, at Nice, Raife Remington received anote on the following morning. It was a characteristic note, and quiteunsatisfactory. It merely served to add to the state of his mentalperturbation. He could not, and would not, believe aught that was illof the beautiful girl whom he loved with all the fire of his strongnature.
The note ran: "My uncle and I have been called away on businesssuddenly. Will you present our regrets and apologies to LadyRemington?"
Cold, terse, and quite inexplicable. It did not state where they hadgone, or whether they would return. This extraordinary creature whofascinated him, had left his life again as strangely as she had enteredinto it. The circumstances were difficult to explain to his mother.Her training left more to be desired in such matters than was offeredhere by this strange young woman, and her mysterious uncle. LadyRemington spoke with a maternal austerity to her son.
"It all seems very strange. They seem to come from nowhere, and with aneven greater rapidity they return nowhere. The doctor, Doctor Malsano Imean, is very interesting sometimes when he talks. At other times thosecurious eyes of his do not inspire confidence. Miss Tempest is abeautiful girl, my dear, but are you sure she is the right kind of girlfor a Remington to associate with?"
Raife stammered: "Yes, mother. Gilda--I mean Miss Tempest, is quite allright. She, or he, will write and explain later."
Lady Remington continued, "I think I was rather premature in introducingthem to the baroness."
"That was all right, mother. We shall hear soon, and all will beexplained," replied the son. At heart he felt little more than hismother that all was right, and he was wondering very hard as to what wasthe meaning of these renewed mysteries.
To change the subject and gain an excuse for time, he added: "By the by,shall we spend a few days at Bordighera before returning to Aldborough?"
His mother readily concurred, feeling it would be good to change thescene of action for a while. Then she added: "Yes, but I expect there'sa good deal for you to do still, at Aldborough."
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The Count's car pulled up in front of the door of the quaint littlehouse in the side street, on the evening of the day when Fortune seemedto have snatched Gilda Tempest from the jaws of danger.
She had dressed with an assumed jauntiness, hoping to match the costumeof the benign and buxom landlady, who had so generously extended theinvitation.
Before the party were comfortably seated, a small basket containinglight refreshment and some flasks of Chianti were placed aboard. Thenthe car started on its journey. Gilda, with a tact that came from thetraining of many emergencies, easily persuaded the chauffeur, who wasalready charmed by his fair passenger, to take the road up the Royavalley to the French frontier. Thence along the broad, straightmilitary road with the snow-clad Alps, already lilac tinted, to the Coldi Tenda. As they were gaily s
peeding, with merry laughter, a figuresprang from the roadside and waved to them. The road here was deserted,save for the Count's car with its merry, human freight. The chauffeurapplied brakes and rapidly stopped. Gilda shuddered and hid her face aswell as possible, for the wayfarer, who had adopted this drastic meansof attracting attention to his needs on the wayside, was none other thanthe ex-messenger of the Hotel Royal at Nice. Here was that forbiddingperson, with the air of an Apache, and the costume of the QuartierLatin, the man who had acted as her uncle's agent in the criminal plotsthat he was evolving during their stay there.
With the rapidity of thought and action that came to her of the hunted,haunted life, Gilda obscured her face and became engrossed in somequickly planned operation that kept her from the man's view. He spokeItalian, but with a French accent. He first asked the way to the Col diTenda. Then, as Gilda's landlady smiled at him, he emboldened