A Fair Palmist

Front matter

NEW NOVELS AT ALL THE LIBRARIES. VAL. A Story of the Tivy-Side. By Judith Vandeleur. 2 vols. A MODERN HELEN. By Alice M. Diehl, Author of ' The Garden of Eden,' ' Passion's Puppets,' ' A Woman's Whim,' &c. 2 vols. LORD HARBOROUGH. By Anne Elliot, Author of 'Dr. Edith Romney,' ' The Winning of May,' &c. 3 vols. THE "WOOING OF FORTUNE. By Henry Cresswell, Author of 'A Modern Greek Heroine,' 'A Woman's Ambition,' &c. I vol. HER POINT OF VIEW. By G. M. Robins, Author of ' A False Position,' 'The Ides of March,' &c. 1 vol. LONDON : HURST & BLACKETT, LIMITED. BY AMYOT SAGON IN ONE VOLUME LONDON : HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1896. All rights reserved. Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Blngay.

Chapter I

The glorious sunshine of a perfect May after noon lit up with its gay radiance London's vast city, and by its magic halo transformed her ugliest spots into fair and dainty pictures. Her more favoured West End squares and parks were full of beauty and the breath of sweet spring flowers. The sunshine penetrated into the studio of Leon Dalbiac, the sculptor, and bathed in a flood of glory the plain, ugly room and the handsome face of the young artist, as, with knitted brows and impatient gestures, he lis tened to the grave remonstrance of the man who stood before him. ' As your elder brother I have a right to tell you how culpable your conduct is, even if my office did not entitle me to do so.' B ' My good Eustace, what can a man living your life know about mine? You have led a quiet, studious life, always in the country, except during your college career.

Your flock consists of simple village folk, with a sprinkling of their superiors, as far as wealth goes, but in all else quite as narrow in their views of life and the march of mind. My dear fellow, stick to your last ! I have left the family nest, but I am fully fledged, and, believe me, know well how to trim the bark of my fortunes in the cross currents and eddying flood of city life, which I prefer to your calm, if safer, waters. A man, who would portray the perfection of the human form, must study the bones and sinews which make up that most perfect creation, before he can give reality to his work. Nature as a whole is beautiful, but to understand her mechanism you must work beneath the surface. A good surgeon, if he would do real service to his fellows, must not avoid the horrors of the dissecting-room.' ' You are not a surgeon.

For your art it may be necessary to tear away the veil from much, which to my mind gains its greatest charm by its retiring modesty ; but in this instance you cannot make your art your excuse.' ' If I needed one, I could,' Dalbiac answered pointing to the half-finished bust of a beautiful girl — 'but I am busy, and really, Eustace, I cannot let you waste my time in these foolish tirades.' 'Well, if no consideration for what you owe her relations, or my earnest entreaty can move you — at least the love you profess for that strange girl you declare you intend to make your wife, ought to restrain you from this heed less folly ! What would Haidee Gonzales say to these visits ? ' A smile of amusement passed over the artist's handsome face, driving away the frown, and curving his strong yet perfectly modelled mouth and chin into their sweetest expression. ' As if Haidee did not know of this, as of all else that touches me,' he said. ' Not my actions only, but my every thought is open to her clear spirit.

Ah ! ours will be, is, an union such as you, priest as you are, in your spiritual blind ness, can neither believe in nor understand. But, seriously, the daylight is all too short ; you must go ; I am really busy.' Feeling further remonstrance vain, or conscious of his impotence to move his far cleverer and stronger charactered brother, Eustace Dalbiac turned and left the studio without further words. Leon Dalbiac stood listening to his retreating steps, and when they ceased to re-echo through the long passage that led to the different studios, he gave a sigh of relief and hastened to a curtain, which half hid a door in the far corner of the studio. Drawing it aside he tapped lightly. The door opened, and a beautiful woman, scarcely more than a girl in years, but dressed in all the costly, dainty elaborateness of an extravagant yet cultured age, entered. ' At last, Lady Carew, I have got rid of my most troublesome and pragmatical brother, and can set you free.' ' Oh, thank you.

If he had found me . . .' She stopped ; her gestures were more expressive than words. 'It is terribly late ; to-day again there will not be time, I am afraid.' ' No, it is past three and you said Sir Leonard expects you at four.' ' Yes, I must go. Thank you so much. You won't mind my troubling you again ? ' She raised a pair of star-like violet eyes to his face. He smiled down into them, but there was as much irony as admiration in the glance. ' I am always at your ladyship's service. Command me ; it is my pleasure to obey.' She gave him her hand, but a man's quick, firm step sounded in the passage. Dalbiac dropped the delicately-gloved hand, and went to the door. Hastily closing it, he said — ' It is some one for me. Lady Carew, you must go again into that room. If you cannot wait, take this key, unlock the other door, it leads into a side passage, which is close to the outer door ; you can then keep your appointment with Sir Leonard.' Pale to her lips, and playing nervously with the bracelet on her wrist, she gave him a com prehending glance, and passed swiftly behind the curtain, just as a knock on the door of the studio announced Dalbiac's third visitor.

A man entered. He was some years older than the sculptor, with a fine, almost handsome face, but lined already by hard living, and the cynical curves round his mouth showed that the world had not yielded him unembittered sweets. He glanced round the studio quickly, as he shook hands with Dalbiac, saying carelessly — ' I almost expected to find Lady Carew here. You have not yet finished her bust.' He walked towards the unfinished marble as he spoke. ' Not quite. Sir Leonard likes to be with his A FAIR PALaMIST wife when she has her sittings, and has been busy with this crisis in the city.' ' Ah ! but the crisis makes no difference to him. He seems built on the self-adjusting prin ciple. Strange how some men's luck turns, Midas fashion, all they touch to gold.' ' Yes. For Lady Carew's sake I am glad this crash does not affect them.

She, I imagine, would hardly care for poverty. One cannot think of her other than surrounded by all that is costly and rare.' Colin Dalkeith's brow knitted. ' No ! ' he said coldly. ' Enid was born for the soft things of life ; its hardships are anta gonistic to all her senses.' Then passing from one to another of the unfinished works, pausing occasionally to care lessly criticize, he said — ' You are a rising man, Dalbiac ; your name is in every one's mouth. I hear you have more commissions than you can undertake.' ' Yes, I have plenty of work,' said Dalbiac, who had lighted his pipe and seated himself before some clay, and with deft fingers was manipulating the yielding substance into form. 'Your luck! Look at me — failure in ever)' thing I have undertaken ! ' He flung himself down in a chair opposite the sculptor.

Dalbiac raised his eyes to his friend's face. ' Yes,' he said quietly ; ' but it is your own fault. At first you had all in your favour ; but during my time in Paris, it seemed to me, some thing went wrong. Since I returned you have simply let yourself drift' ' After shipwreck what can a man do ? ' the other asked wearily. ' Take the oars and row. Even on a plank a man's will can direct his course.' Dalbiac spoke with almost savage energy. ' How little half the world seems to understand the force of will!' ' Well, you do at any rate. You said, " I will make a name." You have. You say, " I will marry the girl I love, though she and I are penniless," and you will. Yes, Dalbiac, you have acted up to your motto, "Je penx si je veux." I have followed my "Laissez alter" creed, and see, I have drifted, and now lie stranded bankrupt of fortune, happiness — aye, even of honour ! ' ' Is it as bad as that ? ' Dalbiac's face was full of gentleness and sympathy now. ' Can I help you ? ' Dalkeith had risen, and was pacing the room.

Suddenly as he reached the far end his foot struck something hard. He stooped and picked up a small locket, stood for a moment with it in his hand, then turned, his face convulsed with anger, his eyes blazing. ' Dalbiac ! ' he almost shouted, 'you are a liar ! Enid Carew has been here, this very day — nay, this afternoon ! ' and he strode towards his friend, who answered quietly — ' Whatever business of yours can Lady Carew's movements be ? ' ' They are my business — that is sufficient ! Tell me why she came here ? — why you denied it ? ' he cried, his voice hoarse with passion. ' I shall tell you nothing. ' I saw her carriage in Lowndes Street. I will follow her ; she can only have left the studio as I entered.' With a furious glance at his friend he hastened from the room, but only to return an hour later with pale, set face and tightly-clenched hands.

Chapter II

At eight o'clock the next morning the care taker entered Dalbiac's studio as usual, but to her surprise the bright morning sunlight fell on the young sculptor already seated by the table, on which lay some modelling clay. ' Good-morning, sir,' she said, but receiving no answer went towards him, asking, ' As you are busy, sir, perhaps you would rather I left the sweeping till later ? ' She had now approached the table, and could see the young man's face. To her horror, his eyes looked into hers with a ghastly stare. His face was ashen white, and a large wound gaped in his forehead. She rushed from the room, calling wildly for help. The police and a doctor were quickly on the spot, but the latter declared the young man must have been dead twelve hours at the least ; the wound in the forehead showing only too clearly the cause of death.

The police inspector, who had been silently examining the room, pointed to an old cavalry pistol, lying on the table opposite the dead man, its large muzzle pointing at the gaping wound, for the barrel, resting on some modelling tools, was slightly inclined upwards. ' The very weapon ! ' exclaimed the doctor. ' Judging by the size of the wound, the bullet must have been an unusually large one. When it is extracted we shall see if it fits the bore of this curious old weapon. See, the muzzle points exactly at the dead man.' ' Yes,' said the Inspector. ' I must make a note of that, as also of the exact state of the room.' The fatal news soon spread. Dalbiac's mother and sister, who lived with his brother Eustace in Devonshire, could not arrive till the following day ; but his friends, and they were many, hastened to the studio, where they were only allowed to enter on the condition that they touched nothing.

Among the first to arrive was his fiancee, the young art-student, Haidee Gonzales. The dreadful news had been told her suddenly, but she came alone, and softly entered the studio with her graceful, gliding motion — her strange mystic beauty accentuated, rather than dimin ished, by the compression of her full, red lips, and the pained horror of her soft, gazelle-like eyes. Her pale olive cheeks seldom had any colour in them, and now appeared like ivory against the dull crimson of the cloak, hastily thrown round her shoulders. ' Haidee ! why are you here ? ' exclaimed the painter Belmont, one of Dalbiac's dearest friends, laying his hand on her shoulder pityingly. ' I must see him ! ' she said briefly, breaking from him, and passed to the couch on which the dead man now lay. There she stood gazing at her dead.

No tear dimmed her eye, her lips never quivered, but the rich red faded from them, leaving her face colourless. Only the burning fire in her eyes witnessed to the passion of grief that tore her soul. Those who watched her wondered how long that stern calm would last, that intense gaze remain fixed on the pale, dead face and ghastly wound. At last she turned away, her face as immov able as a mask, and addressing the Inspector, asked, in clear, incisive words, how he was found. The man, impelled by the firm determination of her manner, answered her questions. ' This is the pistol ? ' she asked, going to the table. ' Yes ; but nothing must be moved till after the inquest' ' I will touch nothing.' She bent to look at the pistol closely. Her eyes rested on the lump of clay. After some minutes of close scrutiny she raised her head. ' These things ' — she gave a comprehensive gesture, which included the table and the objects near — ' what will be done with them ? ' 'They will be used as evidence, then Mr. Dalbiac's friends will have them, madam.' ' I wish to have that clay — it was the last thing he touched,' she said.

There was a slight tremor in her clear tones. Again she moved to the dead man's side, and, kneeling by the couch, lifted his hands and looked at them earnestly, then pressed them passionately to her lips. Belmont touched her gently on the shoulder, telling her she must leave, as the Coroner had arrived. Without a word she rose and left the studio as swiftly and silently as she had entered. The doctor's first surmise was found correct. The old cavalry pistol had been the cause of death. The bullet, found embedded in the dead man's brain, was of obsolete pattern, and fitted the bore of the weapon, which besides showed signs of being very recently discharged. Medical evidence proved the wound could not have been self-inflicted with such a weapon without signs of singeing or blackening on the face, and as death must have been instantaneous, the pistol could not have been replaced in the position in which it was found.

Some of Dalbiac's friends were called to see if they could throw any light on the mystery. Mr. Belmont said he had lent the pistol to Dalbiac, who was engaged on a clay model for a military group, and wanted the weapon to copy. He (Belmont) had also brought some bullets he had belonging to it, to show his friend as a curiosity, but further than this he knew nothing about its being loaded. The sculptor might have loaded it, intending to try on clay, or some soft material, the shape of the wound inflicted by such bullets. Dalbiac had been a very accurate artist, and paid great atten tion to the smallest detail. Still giving this explanation for the weapon being loaded, the mystery by which it had been discharged remained as great, until one of the jurymen — a man os scientific tastes — pointed to a microscope lying on the same table as the pistol.

At that moment the sun, unusually hot for May, blazed in through one of the large, partly uncurtained windows of the studio, and its beams, falling on the lens, were brought to a focus on the spot where the pistol was found. ' The heat produced by that concentration of rays would be sufficient to explode the charge,' he declared. I doubt it,' said the Coroner. ' We can easily prove it,' said the scientist. ' The police have tried the bullets, and found they fit the bore of the pistol ; let us reload it and put it back in its place.' At first the Coroner demurred, feeling this was not quite in the usual order of inquests, but he was overruled by the jurymen, who were all equally curious to test this strange theory. The man who had made the suggestion placed the weapon in the position indicated by the Inspector.

A large drawing - board was placed in the position in which the dead man was found. Then they waited ; it seemed a long time to these expectant men, yet they all started when a loud report echoed through the studio. The smoke cleared ; the second bullet was found embedded in the deal board at the same height from the table as the forehead of the dead man. This appeared to many conclusive evidence of the manner in which the sculptor had come by his death ; but unwilling to be too easily biased, the Coroner adjourned the inquiry for two days, when the brother of the dead man and other witnesses would be able to attend. Little fresh evidence was elicited at the ad journed inquest. The Rev. Eustace Dalbiac was the first witness called. He said he had called on his brother the afternoon before his death, and had found him in his usual health and spirits ; but on being cross-examined he confessed that the interview had not been a friendly one, and that they had parted rather hastily, and not on the best of terms.

Eustace Dalbiac was evidently ill at ease as he gave his evidence, and, had he not been the brother of the deceased, his nervous ness might have prejudiced him in the eyes of the jury ; but his strange uneasiness was attributed to natural agitation consequent on the shock he had undergone. The porter and caretaker, husband and wife, were next called. The man remembered seeing Mr. Dalbiac enter his brother's studio, and leave A FAIR PALaMIST the house some short time later. Whether other visitors called afterwards he could not say, as he had been sent out by one of the artists occu pying another studio. His wife answered the studio bells if he was out ; but the outer door was open, and any one could enter without his wife knowing. The caretaker was then examined. She described how she had found Leon Dalbiac dead in his studio on Wednesday, May 23.

Ques tioned as to hearing any unusual noise in the studio, she said she did not remember anything strange on Tuesday afternoon. There were noises sometimes in Mr. Dalbiac's studio, when he moved the heavy framework by which he raised or lowered the platform on which he worked. In answer to a question of one of the jurymen she said she had once heard a pistol shot, and on entering the studio with a parcel for Mr. Dalbiac, he had shown her the bullet in a bit of clay, and told her not to be alarmed, as he was only trying an experiment. There was no evidence to prove Dalbiac was in any trouble, monetary or otherwise ; with the exception of the slight difference with his brother, he was on the best terms with his relations and friends. No one could suggest any reason for his taking his own life, still less for his having been murdered.

Therefore in the face of the strange corroboration of the theory of one of their number, and in the absence of any other solution of the mystery, the jury returned a verdict of ' misadventure,' adding as a rider a caution, pointing out the danger of placing loaded fire-arms where the sun's rays might become concentrated into a focus. The world, which had already begun to acknowledge his genius, paid all respect to the young sculptor, and, while saying fact was stranger than fiction, accepted the verdict as a very just one. Yet there were several who disbelieved in its justice, and among them was the girl art-student, Haidee Gonzales, who, however, knew little of the wonders of science, and still less of the world in which she lived. c

Chapter III Nearly

two years had passed since Leon Dalbiac's strange death. His studio presented a very different scene to that on which the May sun shone that fatal morning. The room itself was little changed, for the same simple furniture remained with all the ugly accessories necessary to a sculptor's work, but where before it had been bare and dull, now all was warmth and colour. A bright sire of crackling aromatic wood blazed between the quaint fire-dogs. Lion and tiger skins, with rich Oriental rugs, covered the rough oak floor, and softest cushions of rich dyes and costly texture lay in profusion on the hard benches and wooden chairs, or were heaped into luxurious and picturesque divans on the floor. Rare exotics of brilliant colours, graceful palms, and two many-hued macaws helped still more to change the plain workman-like aspect of the room.

The gay groups who now thronged it were more in unison with its present than its ■9 past. A dozen or so elegantly-dressed women, whose soft laughter and merry chatter made the air round them dance and sparkle ; a few men of their own set, i.e. le monde ou on s' amuse, but the preponderance were Bohemians, men of brush and palette, writers, musicians, actors, dressed or undressed characteristically. Here they evidently met on a delightful neutral ground, where each might appear as he chose, characterful, ignoring the customs of the world. Among this motley, incongruous crowd, which talked and sipped tea from dainty egg-shell cups cased in silver filagree work, cups that once had held coffee for the fair inhabitants of an Eastern harem, and crunched the delicate bonbons and trifles that stood on a pile of cushions, or balanced perilously on the corner of an easel, one figure seized and held captive the first glance.

She was the only woman uncovered, evidently the hostess and owner of the studio. Her simple robe of soft, white, woollen stuff hung in classic folds to her feet, a rich embroidery of Eastern work round the hem at neck and feet. A girdle of Indian gold-work clasped it to the slight figure. The sleeves were long and flowing, but the right, as if for greater convenience in holding the brush, was caught up and held on the shoulder by a glittering brooch. Her blue-black hair was coiled loosely, and held in place by a golden dagger, set with rubies. Her skin, creamy white, was clear and soft as a child, and her full curved lips were red as the rubies in her hair; but the most noticeable feature in her perfect face were her magnificent dark eyes, shaded by thick lashes, which only partly hid the brilliancy of their glance.

It was a face a painter would long to copy. But what mere mortal could hope to catch the quick, subtle changes of expression which lent it its greatest charm ? Now pensively sad, now gay as a light-hearted child. Her eyes alone retained in their unfathomable depths the same intense earnestness, and made the varying expressions of her face appear but as ripples on the surface of her soul ; ripples which hid the profound depths of an intense and vital energy of purpose and influence from the casual observer. Her friends, and they were many, called her Sphinx and Sibyl ; her enemies, they too were numerous, declared she was dangerous and uncanny. One of the merriest girls amid that gay throne rose exclaiming — ' Good-bye, Haidee, you will be at the Lori mer crush, so it is only " Aus wiedersehen."

I wish I could stay longer, but we expect a cousin to arrive from Africa this evening, and I promised mother not to be late.' She kissed her hostess, while her two companions shook hands rather coldly. At a sign from Haidee, Belmont accompanied them to the door, and saw them into their carriage. Gladys Meredith smiled sweetly at him as he bowed, and the carriage drove off, then turning to her friend asked gaily — ' Well, Clare, did you like your first peep into Bohemia ? ' 'Yes, rather, though some of the men were very brusque ; and there was certainly a curious mixture of attire, some exquisitely dressed, others in dirty painting-blouses, or still worse ill-fitting and dusty lounge-coats ! ' Gladys laughed, while her lips curled a little disdainfully. ' By their coats ye shall know them ! ' she parodied, and turning to the girl who sat oppo site, asked — ' And you, Helen, what did you think of the world of Art and Literature ? ' ' I like it,' she said decidedly. ' I felt the best of the men was inside, not like the majority of ours, whose clothes are the only noticeable J thing about them.

That Mr. Belmont is the man who paints those idealistic morsels, which reminds one of a midsummer night's dream, is he not?' 'Yes; and that clumsy man who upset the cakes on Clare's knee is the greatest art critic of his day.' 'But I longed to study Haidee Gonzales. How lovely she is, and yet with all her charm she half frightens me ! ' ' I think it very strange that so young a woman should live all alone, and receive both men and women at her studio teas, without a chaperon,' said Clare coldly. ' Ah, Clare, true to your caste and your education ! ' said Gladys ; ' but you see she does not live alone. That Hindu woman, you saw seated rather apart, is ahvays with her. She was her nurse, I think, and when Haidee's uncle left her his fortune last year, she sent for her to come and live with her.

It was then she took Leon Dalbiac's studio.' ' He was the young sculptor who was ac cidentally shot, was he not?' asked Helen eagerly. 'Yes, in that studio. It seems strange that Haidee can bear to live in the same room doesn't it ? Yet she was passionately devoted to him, they say.' ' Were they engaged then ? ' 'Yes. I did not know her then. I have heard his death had a strange, numbing effect on her at first, and Mr. Belmont says that though after a time she seemed to wake up to a keener zest for life, and more intense energy in her work, she has never been quite the same since. She has, as it were, an inner self, which none can ever really approach. The beautiful, attractive Haidee, we know, is only the outer shell of her real self.' ' Mr. Belmont admires her then ? ' ' Every man I know does ; she is so beautiful and clever, is it any wonder ? ' ' If she is such a clever artist as you say, why does she find it necessary to hire herself out as a palmist at society entertainments ? ' asked Clare with the same note of distrust in her voice, which ever vibrated through it when those of whom she spoke were not in ' our set.' ' She does not hire herself out.

She told me she loved to read different characters and for tunes in the hands of the men and women she meets. Of course this gift gives her the entree into houses which otherwise would be closed to her. She has not yet made a big enough name in the Art world for celebrity.' ' You mean she is a tuft-hunter, and will get into society at any price? ' said Clare. ' I mean nothing of the kind,' said Gladys hotly. ' She loves to study palmistry everywhere. I suppose she sees in the hidden lives revealed to her by it, some of those subtle workings of the soul, that Mr. Danton has discovered in her dainty yet mystic paintings. I don't pretend to understand her pictures ; they are beautiful and attractive, with all their mysticism, but they do not speak to me. I am not one of the few who read and understand, I suppose.' ' Still, as we are taught every one has a soul, she could practise her art by studying life in the lower ranks of life,' said Clare dryly. ' I have always heard too that, from an artistic point of view, nothing is more uninteresting and commonplace than gentlemen and ladies.' ' Their outward, but not their true, selves.

Among cultured people the contending passions and warring of the soul must ever be more constant and terrible than in those who live a more natural and freer life. Think of the complex, mixed motives which rule your own actions, and you will know what I mean.' ' Gladys,' said Helen, laughing, ' do you know you are arguing all the time as if you believed in Haidee's occult and mystic readings of character and fortunes ? ' 'Well, I almost think I do. Of course I do not mean to say that I belong to the esoteric sisterhood, and believe that Haidee has direct intercourse with the spirit world, but I do think, that either from early education, or some inhe rent gift, she can read character ; and though I cannot understand it, I know several instances in which she has read the past chapters of people's lives whom she had never before seen.