A STORY OF THE PAST
So there had been no need for Audrey to plot for the removal of Madame Coralie's yashmak. With the trifling aid of a tack, which had caught the veil when the woman rose suddenly from the divan, the truth immediately became known to the horrified and astonished girl. But was it the truth? At the first glance Audrey recognised the side face turned towards her as that of her mother. But when Madame Coralie looked round fairly, and the light, filtering through the curtains of the shop window, fell on her full countenance, then Audrey became doubtful. The wine-dark birthmark which disfigured mouth and chin and cheek had been absent from Lady Branwin's face.
"But--but you are my mother!" gasped the girl, still struck by the marvellous resemblance to the supposed dead.
"I am not your mother," replied the other, coldly, and evading the outstretched arms of her visitor. "But since you have seen my face, I had better confess the truth. I am your aunt, Flora."
"Oh!" Audrey recollected what her father had said about the two sisters of Bleakleigh. "Flora Arkwright?"
"Yes. I see your mother told you about me."
"No, she did not."
Madame Coralie raised her hand imperatively. "This alcove is too public a place in which to discuss family matters. We must go upstairs. Indeed, I fancy your exclamation of 'Mother!' must have aroused Badoura's suspicions."
Apparently this was true, for when Madame Coralie drew her visitor through the pink silk curtains into the deserted shop, Badoura was standing before them with an astonished look on her face. Her employer at once sent her off on a false scent.
"Miss Branwin has called to see me about her mother's death," said Madame Coralie, quietly. "She is slightly hysterical, and you have, no doubt, heard what she cried out. I trust"--the speaker looked anxiously round the shop--"that no one else heard?"