“Aha,” chuckled Old Man Davidson, delighted at seeing Will look so brisk and joyous, “our young rooster is in full feather. Last night he was decidedly more nervous.”
“Yes,” answered the doctor, “he is on the right road and I think that we will have no further trouble with him.”
They then thought it would be as well to see Mrs. Baldock and were received by the old woman with slavish deference.
“No one has been near the young gentleman,” she said in reply to their questions. “Last night he came down about seven o’clock and asked where the nearest restaurant was. I directed him to Norton’s and he was back by eight and by ten I saw that he had put out his light.”
“How about today?”
“I went upstairs at nine and he had just finished dressing. He told me to get his breakfast ready, which I did. He ate well and I said to myself, “Good, the bird is getting used to his cage.”
“Never mind that! And then?”
“Then he commenced singing, the dear boy. His voice is as sweet as his face. Any woman would fall in love with him. I’m glad that my daughter Eileen is nowhere near.”
“And after that he went out?” asked Old Man Davidson. “Did he say how long he would be away?”
“Yes, only to give his lessons.”
“Very good,” said the old man, then, addressing Dr. Willoughby, he said, “Perhaps, sir, you’re going to the Registry Office?”
“Yes, I have to talk to Berrick.”
“He is not there, but if you want to see him on any special matter, you had better go to our young friend’s apartment and await his arrival there.”
“Very well, I will do so,” answered the doctor.
Willoughby was as impressed as Will with the skill of the man, who had created the look of long occupation to the rooms.
“On my word, the quiet elegance of these rooms would induce any father to give his daughter to this young gentleman.”
Berrick arrived after two hours. The doctor was struck by the gloomy look on his partner’s face.
“What is the matter?” asked Willoughby, with some anxiety. “What is troubling you?”
Berrick gave the expiring embers in the fireplace a furious kick and faced the doctor with folded arms.
“I see trouble before us,” he said at last.
The doctor’s face became just as gloomy as that of his companion.
“Is it Mr. Grain?” he asked.
“No, Grain’s a fool. He will do what I tell him.”
“Then I really don’t see…”
“No?” screamed Berrick. “Luckily for us all, I do see. Have you forgotten this marriage of Yelvertoft?”
The doctor looked at him with a curious expression in his eyes.
“The danger,” said Berrick, “is his rival for the hand of Miss Felicia Burgh le Marsh. He has crossed my path three times already.”
“What? A mere painter? A man without money or friends?”
A rapid gesture of Berrick’s halted his companion’s speech.
“I mean Mr. Ingoldmells,” said the genial man. “The painter was just a fling for the young lady. She seems now to be regretting her decision to replace Mr. Ingoldmells with the young hothead. He is up to something with that corrupt French policeman.”
At this unexpected news Willoughby was aghast.
“But we checkmated the frog!”
“If that is so, then why do I have the feeling we are constantly watched?”
“Is our plan still on?”
“Yes!” said Berrick furiously. He continued more calmly, “A general, on the eve of a battle, takes every precaution to succeed, but among his subordinates there are always fools, if not traitors. I had arranged a pretty little scene between Yelvertoft and Richard Blake, by which we could securely trap the Frenchman. Unfortunately, he was not as corrupt as his lifestyle made him look. Afraid of being indebted to someone, who could ruin his precious reputation, he hurried off to Mr. Ingoldmells for assistance.”
The doctor listened to his friend, open-mouthed and trembling.
“Who told you all this?” he gasped.
“Servants have ears and tastes bigger than their wages.”
“Why don’t you say at once that the whole scheme is dead?” asked the doctor.
“Because I don’t think that it is. Yes, we have sustained a severe blow, but when you’re playing poker and your enemy is ahead, you don’t necessarily throw down the cards and give up the game.”
The worthy Dr. Willoughby didn’t know whether to admire the perseverance or deplore the obstinacy of the old man and screamed, “To continue is madness!”
Berrick gave a long, low whistle.
“My friend,” he said calmly and almost calculatedly, “what in your opinion would be the best course to follow?”
“I would say without a moment’s hesitation, end this whole scheme. Save what we can save. Throw aside all feelings of hurt vanity and accept your defeat. After all, it does not matter to us, who Miss Burgh le Marsh marries. We still have the London Unlimited Company scheme to generate all the money we’ll ever need.”
He stopped short, abashed by the look on Berrick’s face.
“It strikes me,” resumed the doctor, scared, “that my proposal is not ridiculous and certainly deserves some consideration.”
“Perhaps so, but is it a practical one?”
“I see no reason why it would not be.”
“To beat a retreat would simply be to invite our enemies to attack us. Don’t forget that we confided our secrets to Yelvertoft.”
This thrust hit home.
“Do you mean that you think that he’ll betray us?” he said.
“Why would he not if it were to his interests to do so? Think, Doctor! He can blackmail us.”
“We played a foolish game,” answered Dr. Willoughby moodily.
“No, we had to confide in someone. Besides, the two plots, that of Miss Burgh le Marsh and the Count of Sissinghurst, we will never have a better chance at hitting it rich, not in a million years.”
“Then you’re determined to go on?”
“Yes, more so than ever.”
The doctor had been playing with his locket for some time and the contact of the cold metal seemed to have affected his nerves, because it was in a trembling voice that he replied, “I vowed long ago that we would swim or sink together.” He paused and then, with a melancholic smile on his face, continued, “I have no intention of breaking my oath, you see, but I repeat, the path you’ve chosen leads to the grave.”
Berrick didn’t seem to care for the doctor’s oath of allegiance.
He said. “Woe, I say, woe to the man, who crosses my path, because I will stop my hand from nothing!” He stopped for a little, opened every door and assured himself that there were no eavesdroppers and then, in a low whisper, he said to Willoughby, “Don’t you see that there’s only one obstacle to our success and that is Mr. Ingoldmells? Remove him and our machinery will work as smoothly as ever.”
Willoughby winced, as if suffering from a sudden pain.
“Do you mean…?” He didn’t get far. Berrick interrupted him with a devilish laugh, terrible to listen to.
“And why not?” he said. “Is it not better to kill than to be killed?”
Willoughby trembled from head to foot. He had no objection to extorting money by the basest of threats, but he drew a line at murder.
“Horrible!” the doctor murmured.
Just then the door opened and Will entered with a letter in his hand. He seemed in excellent spirits and shook hands with both visitors. Berrick smiled sarcastically as he contrasted Will’s high spirits with his own state of mind.
“Things are obviously going well with you,” said the doctor, forcing a smile.
“Yes, I can’t find any reason to complain.”
“Have you given your lesson?”
“Yes, what a delightful woman Mrs. Madeley is! She treated me very kindly.”
“That
is a good reason for you to be happy,” said the doctor, with a tinge of irony in his voice.
“Ah, that is not the only reason,” answered Will.
The vanity of Will’s nature beamed out in his smile.
“A secret, my boy?” said Berrick in a loud voice.
This was enough to loosen Will’s tongue.
“Do you think, sir,” he said, “that I would keep anything from you?” He opened the letter he held in his hand, continuing, “The landlady gave this to me as I came in. Can you guess who sent it? Let me tell you. It’s from Miss Rhiannon Pitstone. She loves me.”
For an instant a bright flush reddened Berrick’s face, but it faded away almost as soon as it appeared.
“Then you feel happy?” he asked, with a slight quiver in his voice.
Will threw back his coat and placing his fingers in the armholes of his waistcoat, he said carelessly, “Yes, of course, I’m happy. The news, though, is not particularly startling to me. On my third visit to Mr. Pitstone’s house, the young lady let me know that I need not wait in vain for her love.”
Berrick covered his face with his hands as Will passed his fingers through his hair and striking what he considered an imposing figure, he read, “My dear Will, I was very naughty and I repent. I could not sleep all night, because I was haunted by the look of sorrow I saw in your face when you left. Will, I was teasing you. Can you forgive me? I love you so very much, Will. Please don’t ever break my heart. Someone, who loves me perhaps more than you do, told me that when a young woman shows the depth of her heart to a man she runs the risk of him despising her. You’re not like that, are you Will? Because Will, never can I hide my love for you. Will, I’m sure that if your friend Dr. Willoughby came to my father with a request from you for my hand in marriage, it would not be rejected. Your Rhiannon.”
“Didn’t this letter just go straight to your heart?” asked Berrick, almost unable to speak.
“Of course it did! She will bring a million Pounds into the marriage.”
On hearing these words, Berrick became so enraged, that Will took a step back. A warning hand on the arm from the doctor restrained the old man’s indignation.
“He’s a perfect shill!” the doctor whispered. “His lies are so perfect, they now even fool us.”
Berrick nodded, calming down instantly. He went to Will and placing his hand softly on his shoulder, said, “My boy, you will never know how much you owe to Miss Rhiannon.”
Will did not understand the meaning of this scene. These men had done their best to pervert his morals and now that he had hoped to earn their praise by faking cynicism they were angry with him. However, before he could ask a question, Berrick had completely recovered his self-control.
“My dear boy,” he said, “I came here today expecting to find you still undecided and now here I find you ready to go all in. I’m pleased with you progress.”
“Yes, I agree,” said the doctor. “Now you are one of us. Listen, my young friend! Tonight Mr. Davidson will talk to Claire Innerleithen. He will finally wrestle from her the solution of the riddle that has for so long perplexed us. Be at the office tomorrow at ten o’clock and you will know everything.”
Will would have asked more questions, but Berrick cut him short with a short good-day and left hurriedly, taking the doctor with him. He seemed to want to avoid an explanation.
Will stayed frozen to the floor. There was an expression of surprise and confusion on every line on his face. All his pride and vanity had gone. “I wonder,” he said, “what these wretched creatures are saying about me? Perhaps they’re laughing at me.” The idea made him grind his teeth with rage.
As Berrick and the doctor walked down Pavilion Road, all their thoughts were on how to counter Ingoldmells.
“I don’t yet have sufficient information to act on,” said Berrick meditatively. “I have eyes and ears watching and listening when they think themselves in perfect privacy. Very soon I will know their plans and then…” His hand became a fist. “But in the meantime have faith in me.”
With that Berrick took leave of his unusually silent friend.
Old Man Davidson took a cab and promising the cab driver a handsome fee if he would drive fast, stopped at the corner of Wardour Street. He told the driver to wait for him and entered the house where the younger Skegness had installed the pretty Mrs. Herstmonceux.
It took some time before his ring at the door was answered, but at last the door was opened by a short, heavy-set woman, with an untidy cap. On seeing Old Man Davidson, the look on her face changed to one of delight, because she was the cook, who had been placed in Samara’s employment by Mr. Berrick’s agency.
“Ah, Mr. Davidson,” she said, “you’re as welcome as the sun in winter.”
“Not so loud,” answered the old man, gazing cautiously around him.
“Don’t be frightened,” answered the heavy-set woman. “Mrs. has gone. She has fled with young Mr. Skegness. They fled to France on the morning train from Victoria Station.”
Old Man Davidson’s surprise appeared to be genuine.
“Surely you don’t mean that they have left forever?” he said.
“It is as I tell you,” she answered, “but come in and have a glass of wine, while you hear all about it.”
She led the old man into the dining-room. Around the table a half dozen domestics were seated, just concluding a late breakfast. Old Man Davidson at once recognized four of them, having applied for positions at the office.
“We’re having a regular spree today,” observed the cook, handing a bottle to Old Man Davidson, “but yesterday there was not much joy here, because just as I was setting about getting dinner ready, young master Skegness came in and told the mistress that they had to flee as his father was going to the police to have her arrested. When Mrs. heard this she shrieked so loud as to have been heard in the next street. She would not go a foot with him, clung to the furniture and banisters, so he could not carry her away. At last he told her they were fleeing to Paris and that he had brought plenty of money with him. She gathered her things together and within twenty minutes they went out to his car, which was standing at the door. Sir, I seem to bring ill luck wherever I go, because this is the fourth mistress I have seen leaving the house so suddenly, but come, you’re not drinking anything at all.”
Old Man Davidson had heard enough and making an excuse, retired from a party, which he knew would continue as long as the wine held out.
“All is going well,” he said, smiling devilishly as he climbed into the cab, “and now for the next one.”
He drove straight to the house that the elder Skegness was building in Kensington and putting his head out of the window, he saw a light, active young gentleman, who was warning the foot passengers not to walk under the scaffolding.
“Anything new, Dinkins?” enquired the old man.
“No, nothing, but tell the master I’m keeping a good watch.”
From there Old Man Davidson visited a butler in Ingoldmells’s employment and a charwoman in the service of Mr. Poiret. Then, paying his fare, he started on foot for Joe Kippax’s pub, where he met Carlton, who was as saucy and arrogant to Old Man Davidson as he was servile to Berrick. But although he paid for Carlton’s dinner, all that he could extort from him was that Felicia was terribly depressed and confused. It was eight o’clock when Old Man Davidson got rid of Carlton and hailing another cab, he ordered the driver to take him to Rules Restaurant, in Covent Garden.
The magnificent sign of Rules Restaurant danced in the breeze. The whole of the exterior seemed to invite passers-by to step in and join the good cheer provided within. A long hallway led to this earthly Eden. Two doors were at the end of it. One opened into the dining-room and the other into the dance room. A motley crew collected there for the evening meal and on most nights it was next to impossible to find a seat. But the dining-room was Rules Restaurant’s greatest attraction, because as soon as the dessert was over the head waiter made a sign and dishes an
d tablecloths were cleared away in a moment. The dining-room became a Parisian cafe and the rattle of forks gave way to the clicks of dominoes, while beer flowed freely. This, however, was not all, because at a second signal, huge folding doors were thrown open and music followed in from the dance-room, to which all diners were allowed free entrance.
The master of ceremonies had already called on the waiters to open the folding doors, when Old Man Davidson entered the restaurant. The scene was an animated one and the air heavy with the scent of beer and tobacco would have asphyxiated anyone not used to frequenting such places.
It was the first time that he had ever visited Rules Restaurant and yet anyone observing him would have sworn that he was one of the regular patrons as he marched idly through the rooms, making constant pauses at the bar. But glance around him as he might, he could see neither Menlowe nor Claire Innerleithen.
“Have I come here for nothing?” he asked. “Or am I too early?”
He did not want to waste time, but he had no other choice but to sit down and order some beer. His eyes wandered to a large portrait on the wall, representing a fat, prosperous looking man wearing a hunting hat and loose, green garments, seated in a red chair, with his feet resting on a yellow carpet. One hand was caressing his protuberant paunch, while the other was extended toward a glass of beer a waitress was filling with a foaming malt. As Old Man Davidson was gazing on this wondrous work of art he heard a squeaking voice just behind him.
“That is certainly that young rogue Menlowe,” he thought.
He turned quickly around and two tables off, in a dark corner, he found the young gentleman that he had been looking for. As he looked at the lad, he was not surprised that he had not recognized him at first, because Menlowe had been strangely transformed and in no degree resembled the young man, who had shivered in a tattered blouse in the archway by the Servants’ Registry Office. He was now gorgeous to behold.
From the moment that he had received his hundred shilling he had mapped out a new life for himself and was busy pursuing it. He had found that he could make all his friends happy and he had succeeded. He had bought a selection of the most astounding clothes, which London tailors kept on hand. He had sneered at young Belvedere Skegness and called him a canary, but he had parroted the canary. He wore a very short, light coat, a waistcoat that was bad from its cut and trousers strapped tightly under his feet. His collar was so tall and stiff, that he had the greatest difficulty in turning his head. He had gone to a barber and his hair had been artistically curled. The table in front of him was covered with glasses and bottles. Two scamps of the bully type, with loose cravats and shiny-peaked caps, were seated next to him and were obviously his guests. Old Man Davidson’s first impulse was to catch the debauched youth by the ear and give him a good talking to. With the utmost caution so that he would not attract Menlowe’s attention, he slowly made his way to him. He hid himself as best he could behind one of the pillars that supported the gallery and by this maneuver found himself so close to the young man that he could hear every word he said.
Down To The Abbey (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 12) Page 17
