Miss Ferriby's Clients

by Florence Warden

  Chapter 15

  Welton, who knew that the interview with the unknown visitor must by this time be over, hastened back towards the house by way of the drawing room through which he had come out. He found, however, that it was now closed against him, and he wondered whether he should take advantage of the fact that he thus found the house closed against him, to make his escape by climbing over the garden wall on the side nearest the river, and getting away without further ceremony.

  The fact that he was in dress clothes and without either hat or overcoat was, however, a deterrent. He would probably be scrutinized carefully by the first policeman he met, and although this would afford an opportunity of offering his story to the authorities for what it was worth, he was conscious that the gang, having had ample notice of his intentions towards them, would probably succeed in making him look like a fool instead of a man acting in the interests of justice and good order.

  While he was standing in the veranda, hesitating what to do, he saw a shadow pass the blind of the window by which he was standing, and this was followed by a second.

  Without difficulty he recognized that the first was that of Miss Ferriby, and that the second was Box, who appeared to be pursuing her.

  Then the sounds of subdued but angry voices reached his ears, and then a stifled scream and scuffle. He rapped sharply on the window pane, and heard Miss Ferriby's voice saying, in a tone of intense relief, "Thank heaven!"

  The next moment he had to step back hurriedly, for Miss Ferriby, bursting open the long French window, had rushed out and almost thrown herself into his arms. "Ah!" she cried, as she glanced round at Box who was still in the drawing room, muttering and cursing under his breath. "Safe once more, thanks to you!"

  Welton, not at all enthusiastically, offered the required support of his arm to the hunchback and led her back into the drawing room.

  Box in his footman's livery was leaning against the door, frowning and uttering threats which, if they were scarcely distinguishable, were nevertheless perfectly understood by both his hearers.

  He was clearly jealous of the influence the newcomer, Welton Keynes, had already obtained over Miss Ferriby, and he was angry that Welton should so little appreciate his unmerited good fortune.

  Welton wondered whether it were only interest which moved the man, or whether Miss Ferriby had managed to overcome a natural repugnance to deformity allied to her overtures, and had inspired Box with a feeling of personal affection.

  "Of course you are safe," he said, as he led her to a chair, and crossed the room again to shut the window and free himself from her clinging hands at the same time. "And I hope you haven't caught cold?"

  Shivering, Miss Ferriby drew her scarf of lace and China crape closer round her shoulders, and held out her jewelled hands to the fire. "No, no, I'm not cold," she said.

  Box from the door, where he was still standing, uttered a mocking laugh. "Aren't you going to ask Mr. Keynes where he's been, Miss Ferriby?" he said, in an imperious tone, which betrayed the fact that they were hardly mistress and servant. "Or is he to be allowed the run of the house and grounds at all hours, finding out what he can, and gossiping of what he sees?"

  Welton Keynes looked at the man again, and wondered whether he was under the influence of wine. It was not usual for him to drop his respectfully indifferent, stolid servant's manner, and thus to project himself upon Miss Ferriby.

  She was recovering her self-possession, now that she knew herself to be no longer in the power of Box, and she laughed a little as she said, "Mr. Keynes is very welcome to roam wherever he likes and find out what he pleases, Box. There is no harm in anything I do, and I hope there is no harm in anything done by anyone else in my house."

  And she sat back and closed her eyes wearily, as if tired of the discussion which she had evidently been carrying on with him.

  Box said nothing to this, but he left his place near the door and pretended to occupy himself with the curtains of the windows, without another glance in her direction. Welton Keynes came back to the fire and said he was afraid he was tired, and must be going.

  She opened her eyes again, and imperiously signed to him to take a seat on the other side of the fireplace. He obeyed, and glanced at Box, who with his back turned to them was viciously pulling the curtains about, but silently and as if afraid he had gone too far.

  "I have a great deal to say to you before I can let you go," she said, raising her voice deliberately so that Box could hear her.

  The footman turned quickly, looked from his mistress to Welton Keynes with an expression which showed that, as on a previous occasion, the woman's will was too strong for him, or else that prudence suggested retreat without further objection.

  He went quietly out of the room, and Miss Ferriby, with a sigh of relief, leaned back again in her chair and smiled with a satisfied expression. Welton felt exceedingly uncomfortable. He saw that he was expected to renew the tedious and distasteful conversation which had been interrupted by the arrival of the unknown visitor, and, courageously as he had kept it up before, he now felt that his very lips refused to utter any more of the wearisome and foolish compliments which seemed to satisfy Miss Ferriby, but which would, he knew, have been laughed at by such a woman as Barbara Ashcot.

  "And now," she said, in a caressing voice, as she bent forward and looked into his eyes, "now that we are by ourselves again, let me hear your voice once more in the tones you were using before that man came in."

  But Welton took refuge in a mock jealousy which he found exceedingly useful. "Who is that man?" he asked as if in anger. "And how is it that he is able to take such a liberty as to address you as he does, and to pursue you as he was doing when I came to the window?"

  Miss Ferriby smiled, evidently pleased to hear his aggrieved tone. "Oh, don't be jealous," she replied with grotesque flirtation. "There is no reason for it indeed. Do you suppose I would condescend to allow the man to talk love to me? My own servant?"

  Welton folded his arms and frowned. There was nothing for it but to go on in the character he had assumed, and he began to think it would afford him good excuse for beating a retreat from The Lawns. "He's more than a servant, much more," he said. "He doesn't speak like one, although of course he can look like one. But I'm much mistaken if I haven't seen him about in circumstances which made me think he was only masquerading as a servant."

  Miss Ferriby smiled. "Well, you shall learn all about that and everything else you want to know, by and by," she said after a pause. "In the meantime, you may rest assured that you have no need to be jealous, and that whether the fellow is my servant or my business partner, he is not my lover. And that, I suppose, will be enough for you."

  It was strange how thoroughly she seemed to become the silly old woman, instead of the astute schemer, as soon as she fancied that this good-looking young man who had taken her fancy was ready to join the army of her more or less interested admirers.

  Clever and strong-willed enough to manage a house full of greedy and unprincipled dependents, she seemed to lose all her intelligence the moment her vanity was thoroughly aroused, and the sentimental side of her character, which had before been in abeyance, became suddenly prominent and aggressive.

  Welton Keynes, disgusted and anxious to escape from the atmosphere of trickery and criminality which surrounded this woman, as well as from her distasteful overtures, thought he had better keep up the fiction of jealousy in order to beat a retreat with a sufficient motive.

  He rose, therefore, and standing a few paces from her, said, "It is enough for me to know that he is in your confidence, while I am not, Miss Ferriby. You are perfectly justified, of course, in trusting whom you please, and in maintaining reserve with others. But when I find you being chased round the room by a man whom I have been accustomed to look upon as your footman you must, I think, not be surprised if I feel that it is time for me to retire from a household where things happen which are so very unexpected and surprising."

  He bowed as he
spoke, and moved towards the door.

  Miss Ferriby's eyes, however, had undergone a curious change of expression during his speech. When he began, she was teasing, pleasing, trying by little gestures of invitation and smiling nods and becks to induce him to resume his seat near her.

  When, however, she saw that he was indeed bent on going away, there came a look into her face which at once recalled to him that it would not be easy to break with her, to have done with her.

  Before he could reach the door, she stopped him, without a movement, merely by the tone in which she said, "Sit down."

  He hesitated, perceiving at once that he could not get away as he had hoped to do, without more explanation. He did not obey her literally, but he stopped and waited to hear what she had to say.

  "You are playing with me, trying to make a fool of me," she said, not loudly, but in the old keen tone which made him feel as if her thoughts had pierced to his very brain. "You think to use your pretended jealousy of this man as an excuse for getting away from me. But you won't find that so easy. You can leave the house. The doors will open at your touch, and you can get out into the street in two minutes. But you will not for all that get away from me -- from us."

  Rising suddenly, raised from the ground on the big footstool which stood in front of her chair, she pointed with one of her long white fingers to the door, and with a harsh, mocking laugh went on, "Go, go. Don't lose a moment. Put on your hat and coat and reach the street outside, and draw a long breath and say, 'Thank heaven I'm out of it!' But you won't be! Don't flatter yourself that you are out of my reach because you are out of my sight. Don't think you have left your troubles behind because you have shut the door of The Lawns behind you. I have offered you fortune, affection, luxury, happiness. You have chosen to refuse them, to play with me, to throw me over. Well, go your own way. But don't be surprised if it leads you where you don't expect to go."

  Turning abruptly, she threw herself down again in her chair, turning her back upon him and breathing heavily.

  Welton had seen and heard enough to know that it would not do to leave her in this mood. What form exactly her vengeance would take, if he were rash enough to offend her mortally, he did not know. But that she would find ample means of satisfying her resentment, and of avenging her wounded vanity, he felt sure.

  What should he do? Go without making his peace? It was not to be thought of. Resume again the attitude of wearisome and nauseous flattery and devotion, which had soothed her vanity and gained what she was pleased to call her heart? Well, repulsive as it was, there was no other means at hand of soothing her feelings and making himself temporarily secure.

  So he listened quietly to her outburst, watched the flashing eye furtively, and once more felt surprised at the energy and passion which went so oddly with the grey hair.

  When she paused, he came a little nearer to her chair and said gently, "I should be very ungrateful if I were to go away without thanking you for all your kindness, and the pleasure you have given me by your beautiful singing. At the same time, I think you must admit that I have seen things, especially tonight, which make it difficult for me to believe everything you have said to me, and make me think that, brilliant and fascinating as you are, it's wiser not to allow myself to fall too deeply under the spell of your charming personality."

  The words, the tone, the look, mollified Miss Ferriby at once. Again she lost her penetrating acuteness, and at the words and voice of flattery from the man who had taken her fancy, she became yielding, fond, foolish as before. Turning at once, and leaning over the side of her chair, she looked him in the face and smilingly said, "My personality need have no terrors for you, Welton. You need not be afraid if only you'll trust me, be fond of me -- as I am ready to be of you. If you mean the things you've said to me tonight, if you really feel for me anything of what I feel for you, if you wish to marry me, Welton, then you need have no jealousy of anyone, for with you by my side I should have ten times the power I have already. With a man upon whom I could depend at my side, I could conquer the world!"

  As she spoke, her eyes flashed, and there appeared in her masculine face such an expression of triumphant passion, as made Welton wonder vaguely what mysterious power this misshapen woman possessed, that she could even subdue him for a time to a sort of appearance of submission to her will, in spite of his loathing, of his anxiety to get away from her.

  He felt at that moment as if paralysed, and unable to tear himself away from this old woman, whom at the same time he dreaded as he had never dreaded a human being before. A sort of fire seemed to flash out of her eyes and scorch him, while the trembling of her large pale hands, as she held them towards him, seemed to affect him with a sort of answering motion, so that he shivered as he stood.

  "You are too far above me, Miss Ferriby, in intellect, in ... in fortune, in everything," he stammered out after a long pause, during which the great eyes still watched him, the long hands still were stretched out towards him, reminding him of the tentacles of a giant octopus, feeling for their prey.

  She answered with a mocking laugh, and suddenly raising her hands to her head, she tore off the grey hair, which he now for the first time saw to be nothing but a wig, and loosening the coils of her own hair fastened up tightly underneath, let down over her misshapen shoulders a wealth of black curly hair, out of which her masculine face peered, looking weirdly handsome in its new frame.

  Welton uttered a low cry of astonishment at the change in her.

  "Ah," she cried. "Now you understand, do you, why I can love, and long, and sigh and reign absolutely over my little kingdom? I'm not the old woman I pass for, Welton. I am older than you, years and years older, but I'm younger, years and years younger than I find it in my interest to pretend to be. And I'm not the hunchback I pass for, either. But that's a secret that you must keep. And now what say you? Am I handsome enough for you now?"

  Throwing back the long, dark tresses, Miss Ferriby gazed at him with a fervour which, if no more welcome than before, was less grotesque than when she was disguised in her false grey locks.

  "You look magnificent, Miss Ferriby," stammered Welton, longing more than ever to get away, never to come back again. "You are too handsome for me now, as well as too clever and too rich."

  She uttered a delighted laugh. "No, no," she said, "just handsome enough, and rich enough and clever enough, if you like, but there's no possibility of having too much of any of those good things. Then, Welton, if I'm handsome enough, is it agreed that we make a match of it?"

  "I should feel unspeakably honoured and ... and charmed," he stammered, vaguely feeling that whichever way he turned he would find his path closed up by the machinations of this woman, but anxious at all costs to get away for the time at least.

  Miss Ferriby invited him by a gesture, and held out one of her hands for him to take in his. He obeyed, feeling as he did so that her fingers felt as hot as fire within his own, which were icy cold.

  "Would you?" She seized him and drew him towards her, so that at last he was forced to go down on one knee, drawn by her masculine power of wrist close to her side.

  "Kiss me, then."

  He obeyed, scarcely able to repress a shudder as he did so.

  To his intense relief, a footstep in the hall outside made her repulse him sharply, and he sprang to his feet.

  She laughed in delight and triumph. "Go then, Welton, you may go now," she said, with the air of a maiden who has difficulty in persuading her lover to leave her side. "And tomorrow we will discuss things together about the future. But first, before you go, you must swear to me that you love no one else, that you are not playing with me, that you don't love another woman."

  Welton wanted to escape this oath. "I swear," he said quickly, "that I would love no woman who did not trust me."

  She was obliged to be content with that, and she let him go with reluctant coquetry, which irritated him to such a pitch that he found it hard to suppress every sign of the anxiety he felt to be away.


  When he got outside, his first impulse was to make straight for the nearest police station, and regardless of consequences give all the information he could concerning the gang of thieves and swindlers at The Lawns.

  All his resolutions as to caution in dealing with these people had grown pale beside the horror of the experiences he had just passed through: the confessions of the maid; the surly revolt of the supposed footman, whose status even now he suspected to be different from that Miss Ferriby had stated it to be; the unspeakably distasteful endearments of the hunchback, who seemed to him ten times more repulsive now that he knew her to be comparatively young than they had done when he looked upon her with a sort of pity as a disappointed and soured old woman.

  He got into the high road, and looked about for a taxi. But it was so late that he had to walk some distance before he found one, and then, just as he was about to jump in, he caught sight of a slouching figure close by, and discretion suddenly seized him and made him pause.

  Instead of directing the man to drive to the nearest police station, he told him to drive to Oxford Street, and as he started on his journey he was thankful for his discretion, for he recognized in the slouching figure that was evidently shadowing him, the footman Box, disguised in a long, rough overcoat, but unmistakable still.

  Welton felt, as he got out of the cab a few hundred yards from the turning which led to his lodging, as if the claws of a beast of prey were holding him. He debated with himself whether he should proceed at once to a police station, but decided that, as he knew he had been shadowed on leaving The Lawns, he was probably being shadowed still, so that any attempt he might make that night to give information about the gang would be thrown away.

  He therefore decided, after walking up and down the street a few times debating what to do, that he would make no attempt that night to speak to the police, but would find some more cautious way of communicating with the authorities than by presenting himself at a police station.

  He went softly upstairs, entering the sitting room, and turned up the light. His brother had left it burning low, and had gone to bed.

  On the table was an evening paper.

  Welton left the light turned up and went softly into the next room where there were two beds, one of which was used by himself and the other by Basil. His brother was asleep, and Welton hung over him a moment, hesitating whether to wake him up and tell him what had happened. He felt as if the burden of the ugly secrets of The Lawns were too great for him to bear alone.

  But on second thoughts he resolved to leave Basil peacefully asleep, and decide in the morning whether he should get the younger brother to help him in his difficult and dangerous task of warning the police.

  Having left the light burning in the outer room, he went back again, and was horror-struck to find, standing on the side of the table nearest to the window, Miss Ferriby, with her head enveloped in a long loose lace wrap, and with the rest of her person hidden by a long cloak of black silk, lined with a fur which he knew to be costly sable.

  He could scarcely refrain from uttering a cry of horror when he saw that she had followed him.

  She flung off her wraps, and showed him that she had contrived to cover up her real black hair already under the grey wig, and that in one of her hands, which were now covered by long, light gloves of pale Swedish kid, she held a large leather bag.

  "Look!" she cried in a subdued voice, as she opened it, and laid down on the table before his astonished eyes a pile of banknotes, and handful after handful of loose jewellery, rings, brooches, bracelets, all wrapped loosely in scraps of tissue paper, and all set with gems of enormous value. "Look what I have brought with me! Now tell me, Welton: we shall have some difficulty in satisfying them all, if we stay in England and get married in the conventional way. If you are ready, we will start tonight. I have a motor car waiting at the end of the street. We will go down to Dover, and go across with the eleven o'clock boat tomorrow morning. We can get married either at Calais or in Paris, and I think the measures I have taken will have made it impossible for any of my own people to guess which way we have gone."

  Welton felt paralysed with revulsion. "Surely," he said, "you don't mean to leave your home and friends like that?"

  She made a gesture of impatience. "Why not? I've made my pile. I'm tired of my life. I want to begin a fresh one, a quiet one. I've only waited to find a man I liked, who liked me, to drop the old ways, good or bad, whichever you like to call them, and to start afresh."

  "But your house?" stammered Welton.

  "Oh, my house -- if it is mine -- may go," she said lightly.

  A shrewd suspicion began to steal into Welton's mind that the house was not hers, together with a vague wonder whether the wealth before his eyes were hers, either.

  "You love me -- I love you. Why should we not begin life together away from old associations, from old worries, old ties?" she asked, and in a caressing manner laid one hand on the table.

  As she did so, she displaced the newspaper that was lying on it. There was an unopened letter addressed to Welton lying beneath. It was addressed in a woman's handwriting, and with a savage cry Miss Ferriby snatched it up, tore it open, and read its contents while Welton vainly tried to stop her.

  He guessed it was from Barbara Ashcot, and he felt equally sure that it would have some uncomplimentary references to Miss Ferriby.

  When she had read the letter, which was evidently short, Miss Ferriby, livid with rage, uttered a suppressed shriek and flew at Welton with the look of an enraged tigress.

  "You have lied to me! You love this girl!" she hissed as she snatched up a handful of the gems before her and, as if they had been pebbles, flung them in his face.