# Ainslee's Magazine/The Mystery of Mrs. Brandreth/Chapter 4

pp. 10–12.

### CHAPTER IV.

“Oh, one simply wonders a little,” I stammered.
Major Murray's face changed.
“Of course there's one idea which presents itself to the mind,” he said. “But it's such an obvious one! I confess I had it myself at first, just for a moment. I even asked Rosemary, because—well, she might have been in trouble that wasn't her fault. I asked if she were sure that she was free to marry, that there was no legal hitch, I said if there were, she must tell me the truth without fear, and I would see if it couldn't be made right. But she assured me that, so far as the law is concerned, she's as free as though she were a girl. I believe her, Lady Courtenaye, and I think you would believe, if you could have looked into her eyes then, No, there's another reason, not obvious like the first; on the contrary, it's obscure. I wish you'd try to get light on it.”
“I'll try, if you want me to,” I promised. “But I don't expect to succeed.”
Major Murray looked more anxious than I had seen him since Mrs. Brandreth appeared on deck that second day at sea.
“Hasn't she confided in you at all?” he asked.
“Only”—I hesitated an instant—“only to tell me of her engagement to you.” This was the truth, with one tiny reservation. I couldn't give Rosemary away, by mentioning the obstacle at which she'd hinted.
“She never even told you about our first engagement, eight years ago?” he persisted.
“No.”
“Well, I'd like to tell you that. If the story won't bore you?”
“It will interest me,” I said. “But perhaps Mrs. Brandreth mightn't——"
“She won't mind, I'm sure of that from things she's said. But it's a subject easier for me to talk about than for her. She was traveling in Italy with an aunt, a sister of her mother's, when we met. She was just seventeen. I fell in love with her at first sight. Do you wonder? It was at Florence, but I followed her and the aunt from place to place. The aunt was a widow, who'd married an American, and I imagined that she wasn't kind to her niece because the girl looked so unhappy. But I did Mrs. Brandreth an injustice.”
“Mrs. Brandreth? Rosemary was already——”
“No, no! The aunt's name was Mrs. Brandreth. The man Rosemary married a few weeks later was the nephew of her aunt's American husband. When I asked Rosemary to be my wife, I heard the whole story. Rosemary told me herself. The aunt, Mrs. John Brandreth, came to England to visit her sister. It wasn't long since her husband had died, and she wasn't strong, so the nephew, Guy Brandreth, traveled with her. He was a West Point graduate, it seems; probably you know that West Point is the Americans' Sandhurst. He was still in the army and on long leave. He and the aunt both stayed at Mrs. Hillier's house in Surrey, and I suppose you can guess what happened.”
“A—love affair?” I hesitated.
“Yes. It didn't take Brandreth long to make up his mind what he wanted, and to go for it. He proposed. Rosemary said 'Yes.' It was her first love. But Brandreth had been practically engaged to an American girl, a great heiress. He hadn't much himself beyond his pay, I fancy. Money was an object to him, but Rosemary's beauty bowled him over, and he lost his head. By and by, when he began to see the light of common sense again, and when he realized that Rosemary wouldn't have a red cent of her own, he weakened. There was some slight lovers' quarrel for one day. Rosemary broke off the engagement for the pleasure of hearing Brandreth beg to be taken back. But he didn't beg. He took her at her word and went to London, where the American girl had arrived. That same night he wrote Rosemary that, as she didn't want him, he had offered himself to some one who did. So ended the love story for a time, And that's where I came in.”
“Rosemary went to Italy?” I prompted him.
“Yes. Her aunt felt responsible, and took the girl away to help her forget. Rosemary told me this, but thought she had 'got over it,' and said she would marry me, if I wanted her. Of course I did want her. I believed—most men would!—that I could teach her to love me. She was so young, and even then I wasn't poor. I could give her a good time! The poor child was keen on letting Brandreth know she wasn't mourning his loss, and she'd heard he was still in London with his fiancée and her millionaire papa. So she had our engagement announced in The Morning Post and some other London newspapers.”
“Well, and then?” I broke into a pause.
“Guy Brandreth couldn't bear to let another fellow have the girl. He must have loved her really, I suppose, with what was best in him. Anyhow, he asked for his release from the heiress, and found out from Mrs, Hillier where her daughter was. As soon as he could get there, he turned up at the Villa d'Esté, where Rosemary and her aunt were staying then.”
“And you—were you there?”
“No. If I had been, perhaps everything would have been different. I was in the army, and on leave, like Brandreth. I had to go back to my regiment, but Rosemary'd promised to marry me on her eighteenth birthday, which wasn't far off. I'd made an appointment to go and see Mrs. Hillier on a certain day. But before the day came a telegram arrived from Mrs. Brandreth to say that Rosemary had run away with Guy.
“It was a deadly blow. I went almost mad for a while. I don't know what kept me from killing myself, except that I've always despised suicide as a coward's way out of trouble. I chucked the army—had to make a change somehow—and went to California, where an old pal of mine had often wanted me to join him. I knew that Brandreth was stationed down South somewhere, so in California I should be as far from him and Rosemary as if I stopped in England. Well, now you know the story, for I never saw Rosemary or even heard of her from that time till the other day on board this ship. Does what I've told help you at all to understand the condition she wants to make in my will about her name?”
“No, it doesn't,” I had to confess. “You must just trust Rosemary, Major Murray.”
“I do,” he answered fervently.
“I wish I did!” I could have echoed. But I said not a word, and tried to remember only how sweet Rosemary Brandreth was.
Before it was time for us to witness the will, I repeated to Jim all that Murray had told me, and watched his face. His eyebrows had drawn together in a puzzled frown.
“I hope she isn't going to play that poor chap another trick!” he grumbled. “It would finish him in an hour if she did.”
“Oh, she won't,” I cried. “She loves him.”
I was sure I was right about that. But I was sure of nothing else.