The Ashiel mystery: A Detective Story by Mrs. Charles Bryce (read out loud books TXT) 📖

I am!" cried Juliet. "Have you no idea at all, father?"

"No, my dear, you know I have not. Besides, I promised Lena I would never ask. You are the child of a friend of hers. That is all I know. I think she scarcely realized how hard it would be for you not to know more when you grew up. I often think that if she had lived she would have told you before now."

"If you promised her not to ask, I won't ask either," said Juliet loyally. "But I hope they'll tell me. It will be different, won't it, if they tell me without my asking?"

"I think you might ask," said Sir Arthur. "It is absurd that you should be bound by a promise that I made. And you may be sure of one thing. Your asking, or your not asking, won't make any odds to Findlay & Ince. If they mean to tell you, they will; and, if they don't, you're not likely to get it out of them."

"And when shall I go?" cried Juliet. "They say they want me to answer immediately, you know."

"Oh well, I don't know. In a few days. You will hardly be ready to start to-morrow, will you?"

"I could be ready, easily," said Juliet.

"You're in a great hurry to get away from us," said Sir Arthur, with a rather uneasy laugh.

"Not from you." Juliet put her arm through his. "I could never find another father half as nice as the one I've got. But you could do very well without so many daughters, you know." She smiled at him mockingly. "You're like the old woman who lived in a shoe. You ought to set up a school for young ladies."

"I don't believe I shall be able to get on without my eldest daughter," he replied, half-serious. "Still I think it would be better for you if your real parents have decided to own up to you. At all events, if they do not turn out desirable, I shall still be here, I hope; so I don't see how you can lose anything by taking this chance of finding out what you can about them."

At this point Lady Byrne came into the room, and the news had to be retold for her benefit; the letter was produced again, and she joined heartily in the excitement it had caused.

"You had better start on Monday," she said to Juliet. "That will give you two days to pack, and to write to an hotel for rooms. Are you going to take her, Arthur?" she added, turning to her husband.

"I would, like a shot," he replied, "but I can't possibly get away next week. I've got a lot of work on hand just now. I suppose, my dear," he suggested doubtfully, "that you wouldn't be able to run over with her?"

Lady Byrne declared that it was impossible for her to do so: she had engagements, she said, for every day of the following week, which it was out of the question to break. Had Sir Arthur forgotten that they themselves were having large dinner-parties on Tuesday and Friday? What she would do without Juliet to help her in preparing for them, she did not know, but at least it was obvious that some one must be there to receive his guests. No, Juliet would have to go alone. She was really old enough to be trusted by herself for three days, and there was no need, that she could see, for her to be away longer.

"She can go on Monday, see the lawyers on Tuesday, and come back on Wednesday," said Lady Byrne. "The helplessness of young girls is the one thing I disapprove of in your European system of education. It is much better that they should learn to manage their own affairs; and Juliet is not such a ninny as you seem to think."

"I shall be perfectly all right by myself," Juliet protested.

Sir Arthur did not like it.

"Supposing she is detained in London," he said.

"What should detain her," demanded his wife, "unless it is the discovery of her parents? And, if she finds them, I presume they will be capable of looking after her. In any case, she can write, or cable to us when she has seen the solicitors, and it is no use providing for contingencies that will probably never arise."

So at last it was decided. A letter was written and dispatched to Messrs. Findlay & Ince, saying that Miss Byrne would have pleasure in calling upon them at twelve o'clock on the following Tuesday; and Juliet busied herself in preparations for her journey.

On Monday morning she left Ostend, in the company of her maid.

It was a glorious August day. On shore the heat was intense, and it was a relief to get out of the stifling carriages of the crowded boat train, and to breathe the gentle air from the sea that met them as they crossed the gangway on to the steamer. Juliet enjoyed every moment of the journey; and would have been sorry when the crossing was over if she had not been so eager to set foot upon her native soil.

She leant upon the rail in the bows of the ship, watching the white cliffs grow taller and more distinct, and felt that now indeed she understood the emotions with which the heart of the exile is said to swell at the sight of his own land. She wondered if the sight of their country moved other passengers on the boat as she herself was moved, and made timid advances to a lady who was standing near her, in her need of some companion with whom to share her feeling.

"Have you been away from England a long time," she asked her.

"I have been abroad during a considerable period," replied the person she addressed, a stern-looking Scotchwoman who did not appear anxious to enter into conversation.

From her severe demeanour Juliet imagined she might be a governess going for a holiday.

"You must be glad to be going home," she ventured.

"It's a far cry north to my home," said the Scotchwoman, thawing slightly. "I'm fearing I will not be seeing it this summer. I'll be stopping in the south with some friends. The journey north is awful' expensive."

"I'm sorry you aren't going home," Juliet sympathized, "but it will be nice to see the English faces at Dover, won't it? There may even be a Scotchman among the porters, you know, by some chance."

"No fear," said her neighbour gloomily. "They'll be local men, I have nae doubt. Though whether they are English or Scots," she added, "I'll have to give them saxpence instead of a fifty-centime bit; which is one of the bonniest things you see on the Continent, to my way of thinking."

Juliet could get no enthusiasm out of her; and, look which way she might, she could not see any reflection on the faces of those around her of the emotions which stirred in her own breast. It had been a rough crossing, in spite of the cloudless sky and broiling sunshine, and most of the passengers had been laid low by the rolling of the vessel. They displayed anxiety enough to reach land; but, as far as she could see, what land it was they reached was a matter of indifference to them. No doubt, she thought, when the ship stopped and they felt better, they would be more disposed to a sentimentality like hers.

She found her maid—who had been one of the most sea-sick of those aboard—and assisted her ashore, put her into a carriage and ministered to her wants with the help of a tea-basket containing the delicious novelty of English bread and butter. In half an hour's time they were steaming hurriedly towards London. She was to lodge at a small hotel in Jermyn Street; and on that first evening even this seemed perfect to her. The badness of the cooking was a thing she refused to notice; and the astonishing hills and valleys of the bed caused in her no sensation beyond that of surprise. She was young, strong and healthy, and there was no reason that trifling discomforts of this kind should affect her enjoyment. To the shortcomings of the bed, indeed, she shut her eyes in more senses than one, for she was asleep three minutes after her head touched the pillow, nor did she wake till her maid roused her the next morning.

She got up at once and looked out of the window. It was a fine day again; over the roofs of the houses opposite she could see a blue streak of sky. Already the air had lost the touch of freshness which comes, even to London in August, during the first hours of the morning; and the heat in the low-ceilinged room on the third floor which Juliet occupied for the sake of economy, was oppressive in spite of the small sash windows being opened to their utmost capacity. But Juliet only laughed to herself with pleasure at the brilliancy of the day. She felt that the weather was playing up to the occasion, as became this important morning of her life. For that it was important she did not doubt. She was going to hear tremendous news that day; make wonderful discoveries about her birth; hear undreamt-of things. Of this she felt absolutely convinced, and it would not have astonished her to find herself claimed as daughter by any of the reigning families of Europe. She was prepared for anything, or so she said to herself, however astounding; and, that being so, she was excited in proportion. Anyone could have told her that, by this attitude of mind towards the future, she was laying up for herself disappointment at the least, if not the bitterest disillusions; but there was no one to throw cold water on her hopes, and she filled the air with castles of every style of architecture that her fancy suggested, without any hindrance from doubt or misgiving.

She dressed quickly, in the gayest humour, but with even more care than she usually bestowed upon her appearance; a subject to which she always gave the fullest attention.

"Which dress will Mademoiselle wear?" the maid asked her.

"Why, my prettiest, naturally," she replied.

"What, the white one that Mademoiselle wore for the marriage of Monsieur, her papa?" inquired Thérèse, scandalized at the idea of such a precious garment being put on before breakfast.

"That very one," Juliet assured her, undaunted; and was arrayed in it, in spite of obvious disapproval.

After breakfast they went out, and, inquiring their way to Bond Street, flattened their noses against the shop windows to their mutual satisfaction.

They had it almost to themselves, for there were not many people left in that part of London; but more than one head was turned to gaze at the pretty girl in the garden-party dress, who stood transfixed before shop after shop. This amusement lasted till half-past eleven, when they returned to the hotel for Juliet to give the final pats to her hair, and to retilt her hat to an angle possibly more becoming, before she started to keep her appointment with the solicitors. The next twenty minutes were spent in cross-examining the hotel porter as to the time it would take to drive to her destination, and, having decided to start at ten minutes to twelve, in wondering whether the quarter of an hour which had still to elapse would ever come to an end.

At three minutes to twelve she rang the bell of the office of Messrs.
Findlay & Ince.

CHAPTER III

A gloomy little clerk climbed down from a high stool where he sat writing, and opened the door.

"Oh yes, Miss Juliet Byrne," he said when Juliet had told him her name. "Mr. Findlay is expecting you. Will you walk upstairs, Miss Byrne, please. I think you have an appointment for twelve o'clock? This way, if you please."

He led the way up a steep and narrow flight of stairs, which rose out of the black shadows at the end of the passage.

"Ladies find these stairs rather dark, I'm afraid," he remarked pleasantly, as he held open a door and ushered Juliet and her maid into an empty room. "Will you kindly wait here," he continued. "Mr. Findlay is engaged for the moment. You are a leetle before your time, I believe." He pulled out his watch and examined it closely. "Not quite the hour yet," he repeated, and closed it with a snap. "But Mr. Findlay will see you as soon as