Part 32 (1/2)
He did what his judgment indicated but failed to find sufficient reasons for linking Doria with the mystery, or a.s.sociating him with Robert Redmayne. For despite Peter's luminous a.n.a.lysis, Mark still regarded the unknown as Albert Redmayne's brother; and he could find no reasonable argument for a.s.sociating Giuseppe with this person, either at present or in the past. Everything rather pointed in a contrary direction. Brendon traversed the incidents connected with Bendigo Redmayne's disappearance, yet he could recall nothing suspicious about Giuseppe's conduct at ”Crow's Nest”; and if it seemed unreasonable to suppose he had taken a hand in the second tragedy, it appeared still less likely that he could be a.s.sociated with the first.
It was true that Doria had wedded Pendean's widow; but that he should have slain her husband in order to do so appeared a grotesque a.s.sumption. Moreover, as a student of character, Mark could not honestly find in Jenny's husband any characteristics that argued a malevolent att.i.tude to life. He was a pleasure-loving spirit and his outlook and ambitions, while frivolous, were certainly not criminal.
He talked of the smugglers a good deal and declared himself in sympathy with them; but it was gasconade; he evinced no particular physical bravery; he was fond of his comforts and seemed little likely to risk his own liberty by a.s.sociation with breakers of law and order.
A startling proof that Mark had not erred in this estimate was afforded by a conversation which he enjoyed with Doria on a day soon after the departure of Albert Redmayne and his friend. Giuseppe and his wife had planned to visit an acquaintance at Colico, to the northward of the lake; and before the steamer started, after noon, the two men took a stroll in the hills a mile above Menaggio.
Brendon had asked for some private conversation and the other gladly agreed.
”As you know, I'm going to spend the day in the red man's haunt,”
explained Mark, ”and I'll call at supper time since you wish it; but before you go, I'll ask you to stroll along for an hour. I want to talk to you.”
”That will suit me very well,” said the other, and in half an hour he returned to Brendon, found him chatting with Jenny in the dark portal of the silkworm house, and drew him away.
”You shall have speech with her to-night after supper,” promised Giuseppe. ”Now it is my turn. We will ascend to the little shrine on the track above the orchards. There are shrines too many to the Holy Mother, my friend. But this one is not to Madonna of the wind, or the sea, or the stars. I call her 'Madonna del farniente'--the saint for weary people, whose bodies and brains both ache from too much work.”
They climbed aloft presently, Doria in a holiday suit of golden-brown cloth with a ruby tie, and Brendon attired in tweeds, his luncheon in his pocket. Then the Italian's manner changed and he dropped his banter. Indeed for a time he grew silent.
Brendon opened the conversation and of course treated the other as though no question existed concerning his honesty.
”What do you think of this business?” he asked. ”You have been pretty close to it for a long time now. You must have some theory.”
”I have no theory at all,” replied Doria. ”My own affairs are enough for me and this cursed mystery is thrusting a finger into my life and darkening it. I grow a very anxious and miserable man and I will tell you why, because you are understanding. You must not be angry if I now mention my wife in this affair. A mill and a woman are always in want of something, as our proverb says; but though we may know what a mill requires, who can guess a woman's whims? I am dazed with guessing wrong. I don't intend to be hard or cruel. It is not in me to be cruel to any woman. But how if your own woman is cruel to you?”
They had reached the shrine--a little alcove in a rotting ma.s.s of brick and plaster. Beneath it extended a stone seat whereon the wayfarer might kneel or sit; above, in the niche, protected by a wire grating, stood a doll painted with a blue cloak and a golden crown. Offerings of wayside flowers decorated the ledge before the little image.
They sat down and Doria began to smoke his usual Tuscan cigar. His depression increased and with it Brendon's astonishment. The man appeared to be taking exactly that att.i.tude to his wife she had already suggested toward him.
”Il volto sciolto ed i pensieri stretti,” declared Giuseppe with gloom. ”That is to say 'her countenance may be clear, but her thoughts are dark'--too dark to tell me--her husband.”
”Perhaps she fears you a little. A woman is always helpless before a man who keeps his own secrets hidden.”
”Helpless? Far from it. She is a self-controlled, efficient, hard-headed woman. Her loveliness is a curtain. You have not yet got behind that. You loved her, but she did not love you. She loved me and married me. And it is I who know her character, not you. She is very clever and pretends a great deal more than she feels. If she makes you think she is unhappy and helpless, she does it on purpose.
She may be unhappy, because to keep secrets is often to court unhappiness; but she is not helpless at all. Her eyes look helpless; her mouth never. There is power and will between her teeth.”
”Why do you speak of secrets?”
”Because you did. I have no secrets. It is Jenny, my wife, who has secrets. I tell you this. _She knows all about the red man!_ She is as deep as h.e.l.l.”
”You mean that she understands what is happening and will not tell her uncle or you?”
”That is precisely what I mean. She does not care a curse for Alberto. What is born of hen will sc.r.a.pe--remember that. Her father had a temper like a fiend and a cousin of her mother was hanged for murder. These are facts she will not deny. I had them from her uncle. I am frightened of her and I have disappointed her, because I am not what she thought and have ceased to covet my ancestral estates and t.i.tle.”
Such a monstrous picture of Jenny at first bewildered Brendon and then incensed him. Was it within the bounds of possibility that after six months of wedded life with this woman, any man living would utter such an indictment and believe it?
”She is great in her way--much too great for me,” said Giuseppe frankly. ”She should have been a Medici or a Borgia; she should have lived many centuries sooner, before policeman and detective officers were invented. You stare and think I lie. But I do not lie. I see very clearly indeed. I look back at the past and the veil is lifted.
I understand much that I did not understand when I was growing blind with love for her. As for this Robert Redmayne--'Robert the Devil,'
I call him--once I thought that he was a ghost; but he is not a ghost: he is a live man.
”And presently what will happen if he is not caught and hanged? He will kill Uncle Alberto and perhaps kill me, too. Then he will run away with Jenny. And I tell you this, Brendon: the sooner he does so, if only he leaves me alone, the better pleased I shall be. A hideous speech? Yes, very hideous indeed; but perfectly true, like many hideous things.”