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Updated: May 4, 2025
"Yes?" I said tentatively. "He is dead now. You have heard everyone knows that I was once engaged to Lord Clarenceux. He was a friend. He loved me he died my friends have a habit of dying. Alresca died." The conversation halted. I wondered whether I might speak of Lord Clarenceux, or whether to do so would be an indiscretion. She began to collect the pearls.
I should say they hadn't sung together more than two or three times since the death of Lord Clarenceux; so, even if he has been making love to her, she's scarcely had time to refuse him eh?" "If he has been making love to Rosa," said Mrs. Sullivan slowly, "whether she has refused him or not, it's a misfortune for him, that's all." "Oh, you women! you women!" Sullivan smiled.
I felt sure that she had remembered them precisely, and that Clarenceux would, indeed, have employed just such terms. "And you believe," I murmured, after a long pause, during which I fitted the remarkable narration in with my experiences, and found that it tallied "you believe that Lord Clarenceux could keep his word after death?" "I believe!" she said simply.
Not by electric wires or chemical apparatus, but by those secret channels through which intelligence meets intelligence. All I know is that I felt his sinister authority. During life Clarenceux, according to every account, had been masterful, imperious, commanding; and he carried these attributes with him beyond the grave.
"Yes," she repeated softly, "he was a friend." I drew a strange satisfaction from the fact that, though she had said frankly that he loved her, she had not even hinted that she loved him. "Lord Clarenceux must have been a great man," I said. "That is exactly what he was," she answered with a vague enthusiasm. "And a great nobleman too! So different from the others.
For one man of position who had heard of Shakespeare, there would be twenty, at least, who were quite familiar with the claims of the Head-master of Westminster and Clarenceux King-of-Arms. Camden was in his sixtieth year, in 1610; he had enjoyed slow success, violent detraction, and final triumph.
"Stay!" I almost shouted, springing up, and the suddenness of my excitement intimidated her. "How do you know that Lord Clarenceux is dead?" I stood before her, trembling with apprehension for the effect of the disclosure I was about to make. She was puzzled and alarmed by the violent change in me, but she controlled herself. "How do I know?" she repeated with strange mildness.
Across the lower part of it ran the signature, in large, stiff characters, "Clarenceux." So Lord Clarenceux was not dead, though everyone thought him so. Here was a mystery more disturbing than anything which had gone before. It seemed to be my duty to tell Rosa, of course with all possible circumspection, that, despite a general impression to the contrary, Lord Clarenceux was still alive.
Further, I was far more interested in another, and to me vastly more important, question, the question of Lord Clarenceux and his supposed death. I was gloomily meditating upon the tangle of events, when the door of the salon opened, and Rosa entered. She walked stiffly to a chair, and, sitting down opposite to me, looked into my face with hard, glittering eyes.
Rosa was mine in life, and she shall be mine in death. My spirit will watch over her, for no man ever loved a woman as I loved Rosa. Those were his very words, Carl. Soon afterwards he died." She recited Clarenceux's last phrases with such genuine emotion that I could almost hear Clarenceux himself saying them.
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