Chapter VII: A Glad Surprise

“I have found them, ma’am! I have found them! And they are charming—charming!” exclaimed Ran Hay with boyish exultation, bursting into Mrs. Samuel Walling’s parlor with the freedom of an inmate on the morning succeeding his meeting with Cleve and Palma Stuart.

“Sit down, you excitable fellow, and tell me whom you have found. Is it Sir John Franklin and his crew, or is it Mr. Livingstone?” inquired the lady, rising and giving her hand to the visitor.

“Neither, ma’am; though I would give my life to find either if it were possible. But I have found my own dear cousins!” replied Ran, dropping into a chair.

“Your Uncle James Jordan’s children? Those whom you advertised for?”

“His daughter, ma’am; his sole surviving child, Palma, and her husband, Cleve Stuart, who is the only son and sole heir of the late John Stuart, a rich planter of Mississippi. They are a charming young couple, only a few months married.”

“Cleve Stuart?” said Mrs. Walling, musing.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why, I know him! He used to be a devoted admirer of Lamia Leegh. We all thought that it would certainly be a match. But I fancy she discarded him in favor of the wealthier suitor, your treacherous traveling companion, Gentleman Geff, the rival claimant of Haymore.”

“If she did she made a miserable mistake. But I do not think she did. I don’t believe she ever had the chance. I cannot fancy Stuart ever having been enslaved by any woman before his lovely wife, to whom he is perfectly devoted!” replied Ran.

“Ah! well, I may have been mistaken. He was very much in society. So was Miss Leegh. They were frequently together. But tell me how you found them.”

“Through that advertisement, of course.”

“Oh, yes, I know. But how?”

“Well, Stuart answered my advertisement by coming in person to my hotel; finding me out, he left a note with his address, asking me to call there. I got that note when I came in, and immediately started out to see my cousins. I found them in an elegant little flat, their rooms almost as charming as themselves. I spent the afternoon with them, dined with them, went to the theater with them, supped with them, and only left them in the ‘wee sma’ hours’ of the morning. And I could not sleep for happiness in the thought of having found my kindred, and such delightful kindred! Then as soon as possible this morning I came to tell you the good news.”

“I am very glad to hear it, Mr. Hay! I have lost sight of Mr. Stuart for the last six months.”

“That is just as long as they have been married. They were married on the first of May last, and spent the whole season at some place up the Hudson, and have only been in town for a few weeks. And I do not think she knows a soul here!” said Ran with a pleading look in his soft, dark eyes that said as plainly as words could have spoken:

“Won’t you please to take the dear little one under your wing?”

Mrs. Walling replied just as if he had spoken his plea.

“Yes, certainly, I will call on Mrs. Stuart with great pleasure if you will give me her address.”

“When? Oh, when?” demanded Ran with more eagerness than politeness. And then suddenly remembering himself he said: “Oh, I beg pardon.”

“Why, any time—this week, to-morrow, to-day, if you like. Yes, to-day, it will be just as convenient as any other day. Will you escort me, Mr. Hay?” said the lady.

“Oh, with the greatest pleasure and gratitude, ma’am. You are very kind.”

Mrs. Walling touched a bell, which brought a servant to the room. She ordered her carriage to be brought to the door, and then turning to young Hay, said:

“If you will remain here until I put on my bonnet and wraps I will not keep you long.”

Ran rose and bowed, and Mrs. Walling left the room.

Twenty minutes later Ran handed the lady into her carriage, entered after her, and gave the order:

“To the Alto Flats.”

The truth is that Mrs. Samuel Walling was impelled by curiosity as well as by neighborly kindness in thus promptly going to call on Mrs. Cleve Stuart.

A half hour’s drive brought them to the flats.

Leaving Mrs. Walling in the carriage, but taking her card, he entered the office of the house and gave it, with his own, to the janitor’s boy, who took them upstairs.

In five minutes the boy came down and reported that Mrs. Cleve Stuart was at home, and would the gentleman and lady come up?

Ran returned to the carriage, assisted Mrs. Walling to alight, and conducted her into the house; they entered the elevator and were soon “landed” at the door of the private hall leading into the Stuarts’ suite of apartments.

The boy opened the parlor door and they entered.

Palma, neatly dressed in her well-worn, best suit of crimson cashmere, with its narrow, white frills at throat and wrists, and her curly, black hair lightly shading her forehead, arose from her chair and came forward with shy grace to receive her visitors.

“This is Mrs. Samuel Walling, dear Cousin Palma. She does me the honor to be my good friend. Mrs. Walling, my cousin, Mrs. Cleve Stuart,” said Ran, going through the introduction as well as he could.

Palma put out her hand shyly, half in doubt whether she should do so or not, and murmured:

“I am very happy to see you, madam.”

But Mrs. Walling took her hand with a frank and cordial smile and said:

“I am delighted to know you! I should have recognized you without an introduction, anywhere, from your likeness to your cousin here! Why, you might be twins.”

In a few minutes the three friends were seated and talking as freely as if they had known each other all their lives.

Evidently the two women were mutually pleased with each other.

While they conversed Cleve Stuart came in from his daily, fruitless quest after employment.

He looked surprised and pleased to see Mrs. Walling with his wife, and warmly shook hands with her, expressing his satisfaction at meeting her again after so long an interval of time.

“It was your own fault, Mr. Stuart. You should have sent an old friend your wedding cards,” said the lady, laughing.

“We had none, madam. My little girl was an invalid, and our wedding was a very quiet one at Lull’s, where I had taken her for a change of air,” replied Stuart.

“I will not excuse you, sir. On your return to the city with your sweet, young wife, you should have sent me your address, that I might have called sooner. I hold that you have deprived me of some weeks’ enjoyment I should otherwise have had in the acquaintance of Mrs. Cleve Stuart.”

“Then I have no more to say, dear madam, but to throw myself upon your mercy,” replied Stuart as he seated himself near the group.

“Never mind, my dear,” said Mrs. Walling, turning to Palma, “we must make up for lost time by becoming at once very intimate friends. Now, will you come and take tea with me to-morrow at six o’clock? Not a fashionable tea, dear child, at which hundreds of people sip Oolong or Gunpowder out of dolls’ china cups, but a real unfashionable tea party of ten or a dozen intimate friends, who assemble at ‘early candle-light,’ and sit comfortably down to a long table—a custom of my grandmother’s that I loved in my childhood, and brought with me from old Maryland to this city, and indulge in whenever I can with some of my friends. Will you come, you and Mr. Stuart, dear?”

“With much pleasure, thank you, ma’am,” replied Palma, speaking for both.

“I want you to meet my friend, Mrs. Duncan, and one or two other good people.”

“Thank you very much, madam,” said Palma shyly.

“She will be glad to make friends among your friends, Mrs. Walling, for she is almost a stranger here,” added Stuart.

“Very well, then, to-morrow afternoon, at six o’clock,” concluded the lady, and she arose to take her leave.

Ran shook hands with his cousins and escorted Mrs. Walling back to her carriage, and would have bid her good-by at the door, but that the lady said:

“Come in here, Mr. Hay. I want to have more talk with you.”

Ran obeyed.

When they were seated and were well on their way along the avenue Mrs. Walling said:

“I have heard from our friends at the fort but once since your arrival, Mr. Hay! The letter of introduction you brought is the last, except a card, I have had from Mrs. Moseley, and never has so long an interval passed without hearing from her.”

“And you answered her last letter, dear madam?”

“Of course I did, immediately, and have written one or two since. Have you heard from them, Mr. Hay?”

“Not for two weeks! And I should be very anxious if I did not know that they must have written. The mails in that unsettled region are very irregular, often delayed and sometimes lost. That condition of affairs out there explains an apparent silence that might otherwise make me seriously anxious. We shall get letters by and by, Mrs. Walling, for every mail is not lost.”

“Well, I hope they got my letters.”

“They must have received every one, though we have got none,” replied Ran.

When the carriage drew up before the Walling house and Ran had helped the lady to alight and escorted her to her own door, he would have taken leave, but she insisted that he should enter with her and remain for dinner.

There he spent the evening, after dinner taking a hand in a rubber of whist with Mrs. Walling and the two Messrs. Walling.

That same night Mr. Samuel Walling left by the late train for Washington to see the British minister. He expected to be back in three days.

The next morning Mrs. Walling sent out her few invitations to intimate friends for her entertainment. It was only under certain conditions that the lady could indulge in the practical reminiscence of her childhood, represented by this old-fashioned tea party, which, when it occurred, always superseded the late dinner; and the first of these conditions was the absence of her husband, who could never give up a dinner for a tea, no matter how abundantly the table for the latter might be spread.

Mr. Walling’s journey to Washington furnished her opportunity on this occasion. So, early in the morning, she sent out about half a dozen little cocked-hat notes of invitation to some of her old friends not among the most fashionable of her acquaintances. And all who were disengaged accepted at once. Among these was good little Mrs. Duncan, and old Mrs. Murphy, and Miss Christiansen—all pleasant people.

At six o’clock her guests began to arrive—only eight in number, including the hostess. Six of these were ladies, the only gentlemen present being Mr. Cleve Stuart, Mr. Randolph Hay and Mr. Roger Duncan.

The elegant and luxurious “tea” was as abundant and varied as any dinner need be, and much more dainty than any dinner can be. It was not a full dress party, nor a ceremonious occasion; so both before and after tea there was some card playing and much gossip.

Mr. Stuart and Mr. Duncan, with Miss Christiansen and Mrs. Murphy, sat down to a rubber of whist. Mrs. Walling, Mrs. Duncan, Mrs. Stuart and Mr. Hay sat near each other in a group and gossiped with all their might and main.

Mrs. Duncan was the principal talker; and after telling many a spicy but harmless bit of news, she took up the story of her protégée, Jennie Montgomery, and soon interested all her hearers in it. The facts were new to them all except to herself and Mrs. Murphy.

“What puzzled me about the young thing was this: That while she had lost every particle of respect and affection for her would-be murderer, she persisted in shielding him from justice. Now, I can understand a woman shielding a criminal whom she has loved, and still loves; but I cannot understand her protecting an assassin who has aimed at her life, and whom she fears and abhors!”

Then Palma’s eyes began to sparkle. She had her little story to tell, too. And she wanted to tell it.

“Do you know,” she said, as soon as she could slip into the busy conversation—“do you know that my husband was arrested by mistake for Capt. Kightly Montgomery, and held for a murderous assault, until he could prove his identity by competent witnesses?”

The ladies, startled by this information, made little, low exclamations of surprise.

“Your husband was one of the witnesses, Mrs. Walling,” continued Palma, pleased with herself that she could contribute some little item of interest to the conversation.

“Oh, yes! I think I remember hearing something about some one being arrested by mistake, charged with something or other, and Mr. Walling being called as a witness to prove the accused to be some other than the man wanted; but, really, now, there are so many sensational items in the daily papers that one shoves the other from the memory. So it was Mr. Cleve Stuart, was it? Pleasant for him,” said Mrs. Walling.

“And it was really your husband, Mrs. Stuart, who was taken to the woman’s ward of the hospital to be identified by Jennie Montgomery! I heard all about it at the time, but I had forgotten the name of the gentleman who had been arrested by mistake,” said Mrs. Duncan, taking a good look at Stuart, who was in a fine light for the view, seated at the card table immediately under a chandelier. “And there certainly is a very striking likeness between him and the miniature of the young woman’s murderous husband,” she concluded.

And then all the other ladies turned and gazed at Stuart, who was blissfully unconscious of the severe scrutiny.

“But though there is a striking likeness, there is also a very great difference,” resumed Mrs. Duncan. “But you can see for yourselves. By the merest chance I have that miniature in my pocket.”

“Oh, do let us see it, dear Mrs. Duncan, do!” pleaded Palma, eager to behold the likeness that had led to her husband’s false arrest.

“Yes, my dear; but first let me tell you how I happen to have it in my possession, and also to have it with me here. Mrs. Montgomery spent the last ten days of her stay in the city in my house. The miniature which had been found in her possession when the police searched her room, and had been used in the vain effort to trace her assailant, was at length restored to her. And to show how entirely she had ceased to care for the man who tried to murder her, she actually forgot his picture, and left it behind in her bureau drawer. I never chanced to find it until this morning; and as I was coming out, I thought I would do it up and send it out to her by mail. So I put it in a small box, directed and sealed it and put it in my pocket with the intention of posting it, and then—forgot all about it until now. Now you shall see it.”

She drew a small pasteboard box from her pocket, broke the seals, opened it and took out a small morocco case, which she also opened and handed to Palma.

“There is a slight resemblance. Only a very slight one. I do not see how any one could mistake this sinister-looking face for a miniature of Mr. Stuart. Now, do you, Mrs. Walling?” said Palma with an aggrieved air as she passed the picture to her friend and hostess.

“There is a very wonderful likeness to my eyes, my dear, in features, hair, complexion and all—except expression.”

“And expression is everything. I see scarcely any likeness myself,” persisted Palma.

“Will you allow me to look at it?” Ran inquired.

Mrs. Walling placed it in his hand.

“Now, do you see any likeness between that ill face and Cleve’s?” inquired Palma, appealing to her cousin.

“Not the least!” exclaimed Ran on the first cursory glance at the miniature. Then holding it closer and gazing more attentively he exclaimed suddenly:

“Why, I know this fellow! It is Gentleman Geff, as he appeared when he first came to Grizzly, before he shaved his mustache off and let his beard grow! It’s Gentleman Geff!”

“‘Gentleman Geff!’” echoed all the ladies, except Mrs. Walling, who took the picture and gazed at it in silence for a moment, and then, returning it, said:

“Yes! I see now! So it is! Though the full beard made so great a difference that even the likeness did not occur to me. Excuse me one moment, friends. I will return directly.” And she hastily left the room.

Ran could scarcely get over his astonishment at his discovery. Gentleman Geff, the very fine dude who had seemed too dainty for any of the rudenesses of life, yet who had treacherously shot him in the woods, robbed him of his documents, and possessed himself of his estates, was also the man who had attempted the murder of his own wife and feloniously married another woman!

“But who is Gentleman Geff?” inquired Palma, Mrs. Duncan and Miss Christiansen, in a breath.

“Please wait a little, ladies, until the return of Mrs. Walling. Perhaps she will inform you, or allow me to tell you, who he is,” said Ran respectfully, and even deprecatingly.

Mrs. Walling returned with what might be called Mr. Walling’s professional photograph album in her hand.

She opened it at a certain page and pointed out a face and said:

“Look at that and compare it with the miniature, and then tell me if the two are not likenesses of the same person, notwithstanding the difference made by the mustache on one face and the full beard on the other.”

She had handed the two pictures first to Palma, who gazed for a moment, and then nodded assent, and passed them around to her companions.

“But who is the man?” inquired Mrs. Duncan, while Palma and Miss Christiansen seconded the question by their eager looks.

“Friends, he was one of Messrs. Wallings’ clients, but is so no longer. He has managed to deceive two astute lawyers, to impose upon society, to get hold of a name and an estate that does not belong to him, and to marry the most beautiful woman in the country and take her off to Europe in triumph, while his own deserted wife and child, whom he believed he had safely disposed of by murder, sailed with him in the same ship, unsuspected by him, unsuspicious, also, it seems, of her faithless, murderous husband’s presence there. He is an adventurer of many aliases, a gambler, a forger, a swindler, a perjurer, a bigamist and an assassin.”

Mrs. Walling paused a moment to look upon her shocked audience, and then continued:

“That is the man. What his name is I cannot tell you. We knew him as Mr. Randolph Hay, of Haymore. You have all heard of him under that name, and the _éclat_ of the splendid festivities at the Vansitart mansion on the occasion of his marriage with Miss Leegh has scarcely died away. Jennie Montgomery knew him as Capt. Kightly Montgomery; my young friend, Mr. Hay, knew him as Geoffrey Delamere, Esq.; and gamblers of Grizzly Gulch as Gentleman Geff.”

She paused again to mark the effect of her words.

But no one spoke; the women were shocked into silence and pallor. At length, however, Ran murmured:

“This is too horrible!”

“You know that the man whom society has been lionizing for the last six months is a fraudulent claimant of the Haymore estate; you should also know that this gentleman here, whom I introduced to you as simply Mr. Hay, is really the true Randolph Hay, of Haymore, and a few weeks at furthest will see him invested with his manor.”

Mrs. Duncan and Miss Christiansen both turned to congratulate Ran, who laughed and blushed like a girl at the honor due him.

“Four by honors and six by tricks, and we have beat the rubber!” exclaimed Mr. Roger Duncan, rising in triumph from the whist table and breaking in upon the gravity of the circle collected around the fire.

No one of that circle thought of speaking to the others of their discovery through the miniature and photograph.

And soon the company broke up.