‘He’s an edged tool,’ I said.
‘Yaas; that’s why I use him.’
‘And edged tools may cut the user’s fingers.’
‘Not mine,’ he answered, taking out a cigarette. ‘Oh deah no. He can’t turn against me. He wouldn’t dare to. Yah see, I have the fellah entirely in my powah. I know all his little games, and I can expose him any day. But it suits me to keep him. I don’t mind telling yah, since I respect your intellect, that he and I are engaged in pulling off a big coup togethah. If it were not for that, I wouldn’t be heah. Yah don’t catch me going away so fah from Newmarket and the Empire for nothing.’
‘I judged as much,’ I answered. And then I was silent.
But I wondered to myself why the neutral-tinted young man should be so communicative to an obviously hostile stranger.
For the next few days it amused me to see how hard our lordling tried to suit his conversation to myself and Elsie. He was absurdly anxious to humour us. Just at first, it is true, he had discussed the subjects that lay nearest to his own heart. He was an ardent votary of the noble quadruped; and he loved the turf—whose sward, we judged, he trod mainly at Tattersall’s. He spoke to us with erudition on ‘two-year-old form,’ and gave us several ‘safe things’ for the spring handicaps. The Oaks he considered ‘a moral’ for Clorinda. He also retailed certain choice anecdotes about ladies whose Christian names were chiefly Tottie and Flo, and whose honoured surnames have escaped my memory. Most of them flourished, I recollect, at the Frivolity Music Hall. But when he learned that our interest in the noble quadruped was scarcely more than tepid, and that we had never even visited ‘the Friv.,’ as he affectionately called it, he did his best in turn to acquire our subjects. He had heard us talk about Florence, for example, and he gathered from our talk that we loved its art treasures. So he set himself to work to be studiously artistic. It was a beautiful study in human ineptitude. ‘Ah, yaas,’ he, murmured, turning up the pale blue eyes ecstatically towards the mast-head. ‘Chawming place, Florence! I dote on the pickchahs. I know them all by heart. I assuah yah, I’ve spent houahs and houahs feeding my soul in the galleries.’
‘And what particular painter does your soul most feed upon?’ I asked bluntly, with a smile.
The question staggered him. I could see him hunting through the vacant chambers of his brain for a Florentine painter. Then a faint light gleamed in the leaden eyes, and he fingered the straw-coloured moustache with that nervous hand till he almost put a visible point upon it. ‘Ah, Raphael?’ he said, tentatively, with an inquiring air, yet beaming at his success. ‘Don’t you think so? Splendid artist, Raphael!’
‘And a very safe guess,’ I answered, leading him on. ‘You can’t go far wrong in mentioning Raphael, can you? But after him?’
He dived into the recesses of his memory again, peered about him for a minute or two, and brought back nothing. ‘I can’t remembah the othah fellahs’ names,’ he went on; ‘they’re all so much alike: all in elli, don’t yah know; but I recollect at the time they impressed me awfully.’
‘No doubt,’ I answered.
He tried to look through me, and failed. Then he plunged, like a noble sportsman that he was, on a second fetch of memory. ‘Ah—and Michael Angelo,’ he went on, quite proud of his treasure-trove. ‘Sweet things, Michael Angelo’s!’
‘Very sweet,’ I admitted. ‘So simple; so touching; so tender; so domestic!’
I thought Elsie would explode; but she kept her countenance. The pea-green young man gazed at me uneasily. He had half an idea by this time that I was making game of him.
However, he fished up a name once more, and clutched at it. ‘Savonarola, too,’ he adventured. ‘I adore Savonarola. His pickchahs are beautiful.’
‘And so rare!’ Elsie murmured.
‘Then there is Fra Diavolo?’ I suggested, going one better. ‘How do you like Fra Diavolo?’
He seemed to have heard the name before, but still he hesitated. ‘Ah—what did he paint?’ he asked, with growing caution.
I stuffed him valiantly. ‘Those charming angels, you know,’ I answered. ‘With the roses and the glories!’
‘Oh, yaas; I recollect. All askew, aren’t they; like this! I remembah them very well. But——’ a doubt flitted across his brain, ‘wasn’t his name Fra Angelico?’
‘His brother,’ I replied, casting truth to the winds. ‘They worked together, you must have heard. One did the saints; the other did the opposite. Division of labour, don’t you see; Fra Angelico, Fra Diavolo.’
He fingered his cigarette with a dubious hand, and wriggled his eye-glass tighter. ‘Yaas, beautiful; beautiful! But——’ growing suspicious apace, ‘wasn’t Fra Diavolo also a composah?’
‘Of course,’ I assented. ‘In his off time, he composed. Those early Italians—so versatile, you see; so versatile!’
He had his doubts, but he suppressed them.
‘And Torricelli,’ I went on, with a side glance at Elsie, who was choking by this time. ‘And Chianti, and Frittura, and Cinquevalli, and Giulio Romano.’
His distrust increased. ‘Now you’re trying to make me commit myself,’ he drawled out. ‘I remembah Torricelli—he’s the fellah who used to paint all his women crooked. But Chianti’s a wine; I’ve often drunk it; and Romano’s—well, every fellah knows Romano’s is a restaurant near the Gaiety Theatre.’
‘Besides,’ I continued, in a drawl like his own, ‘there are Risotto, and Gnocchi, and Vermicelli, and Anchovy—all famous paintahs, and all of whom I don’t doubt you admiah.’
Elsie exploded at last. But he took no offence. He smiled inanely, as if he rather enjoyed it. ‘Look heah, you know,’ he said, with his crafty smile; ‘that’s one too much. I’m not taking any. You think yourselves very clevah for kidding me with paintahs who are really macaroni and cheese and claret; yet if I were to tell you the Lejah was run at Ascot, or the Cesarewitch at Doncastah, why, you’d be no wisah. When it comes to art, I don’t have a look in; but I could tell you a thing or two about starting prices.’
And I was forced to admit that there he had reason.
Still, I think he realised that he had better avoid the subject of art in future, as we avoided the noble quadruped. He saw his limitations.
Not till the last evening before we reached Bombay did I really understand the nature of my neighbour’s project. That evening, as it chanced, Elsie had a headache and went below early. I stopped with her till she dozed off; then I slipped up on deck once more for a breath of fresh air, before retiring for the night to the hot and stuffy cabin. It was an exquisite evening. The moon rode in the pale green sky of the tropics. A strange light still lingered on the western horizon. The stifling heat of the Red Sea had given way long since to the refreshing coolness of the Indian Ocean. I strolled a while on the quarter-deck, and sat down at last near the stern. Next moment, I was aware of somebody creeping up to me.
‘Look heah, Miss Cayley,’ a voice broke in; ‘I’m in luck at last! I’ve been waiting, oh, evah so long, for this opportunity.’
I turned and faced him. ‘Have you, indeed?’ I answered. ‘Well, I have not, Lord Southminster.’
I tried to rise, but he motioned me back to my chair. There were ladies on deck, and to avoid being noticed I sank into my seat again.
‘I want to speak to you,’ he went on, in a voice that (for him) was almost impressive. ‘Half a mo, Miss Cayley. I want to say—this last night—you misunderstand me.’
‘On the contrary,’ I answered, ‘the trouble is—that I understand you perfectly.’
‘No, yah don’t. Look heah.’ He bent forward quite romantically. ‘I’m going to be perfectly frank. Of course yah know that when I came on board this ship I came—to checkmate yah.’
‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Why else should you and Higginson have bothered to come her
e?’
He rubbed his hands together. ‘That’s just it. You’re always clevah. You hit it first shot. But there’s wheah the point comes in. At first, I only thought of how we could circumvent yah. I treated yah as the enemy. Now, it’s all the othah way. Miss Cayley, you’re the cleverest woman I evah met in this world; you extort my admiration.’
I could not repress a smile. I didn’t know how it was, but I could see I possessed some mysterious attraction for the Ashurst family. I was fatal to Ashursts. Lady Georgina, Harold Tillington, the Honourable Marmaduke, Lord Southminster—different types as they were, all succumbed without one blow to me.
‘You flatter me,’ I answered, coldly.
‘No, I don’t,’ he cried, flashing his cuffs and gazing affectionately at his sleeve-links. ‘’Pon my soul, I assuah yah, I mean it. I can’t tell you how much I admiah yah. I admiah your intellect. Every day I have seen yah, I feel it moah and moah. Why, you’re the only person who has evah out-flanked my fellah, Higginson. As a rule I don’t think much of women. I’ve been through several London seasons, and lots of ’em have tried their level best to catch me; the cleverest mammas have been aftah me for their Ethels. But I wasn’t so easily caught: I dodged the Ethels. With you, it’s different. I feel’—he paused—‘you’re a woman a fellah might be really proud of.’
‘You are too kind,’ I answered, in my refrigerator voice.
‘Well, will you take me?’ he asked, trying to seize my hand. ‘Miss Cayley, if you will, you will make me unspeakably happy.’
It was a great effort—for him—and I was sorry to crush it. ‘I regret,’ I said, ‘that I am compelled to deny you unspeakable happiness.’
‘Oh, but you don’t catch on. You mistake. Let me explain. You’re backing the othah man. Now, I happen to know about that: and I assuah you, it’s an error. Take my word for it, you’re staking your money on the wrong fellah.’
‘I do not understand you,’ I replied, drawing away from his approach. ‘And what is more, I may add, you could never understand me.’
‘Yaas, but I do. I understand perfectly. I can see where you go wrong. You drew up Marmy’s will; and you think Marmy has left all he’s worth to Harold Tillington; so you’re putting every penny you’ve got on Harold. Well, that’s mere moonshine. Harold may think it’s all right; but it’s not all right. There’s many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the Probate Court. Listen heah, Miss Cayley: Higginson and I are a jolly sight sharpah than your friend Harold. Harold’s what they call a clevah fellah in society, and I’m what they call a fool; but I know bettah than Harold which side of my bread’s buttahed.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ I answered.
‘Well, I have managed this business. I don’t mind telling you now, I had a telegram from Marmy’s valet when we touched at Aden; and poor old Marmy’s sinking. Habakkuk’s been too much for him. Sixteen stone going under. Why am I not with him? yah may ask. Because, when a man of Marmy’s temperament is dying, it’s safah to be away from him. There’s plenty of time for Marmy to altah his will yet—and there are othah contingencies. Still, Harold’s quite out of it. You take my word for it; if you back Harold, you back a man who’s not going to get anything; while if you back me, you back the winnah, with a coronet into the bargain.’ And he smiled fatuously.
I looked at him with a look that would have made a wiser man wince. But it fell flat on Lord Southminster. ‘Do you know why I do not rise and go down to my cabin at once?’ I said, slowly. ‘Because, if I did, somebody as I passed might see my burning cheeks—cheeks flushed with shame at your insulting proposal—and might guess that you had asked me, and that I had refused you. And I should shrink from the disgrace of anyone’s knowing that you had put such a humiliation upon me. You have been frank with me—after your kind, Lord Southminster; frank with the frankness of a low and purely commercial nature. I will be frank with you in turn. You are right in supposing that I love Harold Tillington—a man whose name I hate to mention in your presence. But you are wrong in supposing that the disposition of Mr. Marmaduke Ashurst’s money has or can have anything to do with the feelings I entertain towards him. I would marry him all the sooner if he were poor and penniless. You cannot understand that state of mind, of course: but you must be content to accept it. And I would not marry you if there were no other man left in the world to marry. I should as soon think of marrying a lump of dough.’ I faced him all crimson. ‘Is that plain enough? Do you see now that I really mean it?’
He gazed at me with a curious look, and twirled what he considered his moustache once more, quite airily. The man was imperturbable—a pachydermatous imbecile. ‘You’re all wrong, yah know,’ he said, after a long pause, during which he had regarded me through his eye-glass as if I were a specimen of some rare new species. ‘You’re all wrong, and yah won’t believe me. But I tell yah, I know what I’m talking about. You think it’s quite safe about Marmy’s money—that he’s left it to Harold, because you drew the will up. I assuah you that will’s not worth the paper it’s written on. You fancy Harold’s a hot favourite: he’s a rank outsidah. I give you a chance, and you won’t take it. I want yah because you’re a remarkable woman. Most of the Ethels cry when they’re trying to make a fellah propose to ’em; and I don’t like ’em damp: but you have some go about yah. You insist upon backing the wrong man. But you’ll find your mistake out yet.’ A bright idea struck him. ‘I say—why don’t you hedge? Leave it open till Marmy’s gone, and then marry the winnah?’
It was hopeless trying to make this clod understand. His brain was not built with the right cells for understanding me. ‘Lord Southminster,’ I said, turning upon him and clasping my hands, ‘I will not go away while you stop here. But you have some spark enough of a gentleman in your composition, I hope, not to inflict your company any longer upon a woman who does not desire it. I ask you to leave me here alone. When you have gone, and I have had time to recover from your degrading offer, I may perhaps feel able to go down to my cabin.’
He stared at me with open blue eyes—those watery blue eyes. ‘Oh, just as you like,’ he answered. ‘I wanted to do you a good turn, because you’re the only woman I evah really admiahed—to say admiah, don’t you know; not trotted round like the Ethels: but you won’t allow me. I’ll go if you wish it; though I tell you again, you’re backing the wrong man, and soonah or latah you’ll discover it. I don’t mind laying you six to four against him. Howevah, I’ll do one thing for yah: I’ll leave this offah always open. I’m not likely to marry any othah woman—not good enough, is it?—and if evah you find out you’re mistaken about Harold Tillington, remembah, honour bright, I shall be ready at any time to renew my offah.’
By this time I was at boiling-point. I could not find words to answer him. I waved him away angrily with one hand. He raised his hat with quite a jaunty air and strolled off forward, puffing his cigarette. I don’t think he even knew the disgust with which he inspired me.
I sat some hours with the cool air playing about my burning cheeks before I mustered up courage to rise and go down below again.
9. THE ADVENTURES OF THE MAGNIFICENT MAHARAJAH
Our arrival at Bombay was a triumphal entry. We were received like royalty. Indeed, to tell you the truth, Elsie and I were beginning to get just a leetle bit spoiled. It struck us now that our casual connection with the Ashurst family in its various branches had succeeded in saddling us, like the Lady of Burleigh, ‘with the burden of an honour unto which we were not born.’ We were everywhere treated as persons of importance; and, oh dear, by dint of such treatment we began to feel at last almost as if we had been raised in the purple. I felt that when we got back to England we should turn up our noses at plain bread and butter.
Yes, life has been kind to me. Have your researches into English literature ever chanced to lead you into reading Horace Walpole, I wonder? That polite trifler is fond of a word which he coined himself—�
��Serendipity.’ It derives from the name of a certain happy Indian Prince Serendip, whom he unearthed (or invented) in some obscure Oriental story; a prince for whom the fairies or the genii always managed to make everything pleasant. It implies the faculty, which a few of us possess, of finding whatever we want turn up accidentally at the exact right moment. Well, I believe I must have been born with serendipity in my mouth, in place of the proverbial silver spoon, for wherever I go, all things seem to come out exactly right for me.
The Jumna, for example, had hardly heaved to in Bombay Harbour when we noticed on the quay a very distinguished-looking Oriental potentate, in a large, white turban with a particularly big diamond stuck ostentatiously in its front. He stalked on board with a martial air, as soon as we stopped, and made inquiries from our captain after someone he expected. The captain received him with that odd mixture of respect for rank and wealth, combined with true British contempt for the inferior black man, which is universal among his class in their dealings with native Indian nobility. The Oriental potentate, however, who was accompanied by a gorgeous suite like that of the Wise Men in Italian pictures, seemed satisfied with his information, and moved over with his stately glide in our direction. Elsie and I were standing near the gangway among our rugs and bundles, in the hopeless helplessness of disembarkation. He approached us respectfully, and, bowing with extended hands and a deferential air, asked, in excellent English, ‘May I venture to inquire which of you two ladies is Miss Lois Cayley?’
‘I am,’ I replied, my breath taken away by this unexpected greeting. ‘May I venture to inquire in return how you came to know I was arriving by this steamer?’
He held out his hand, with a courteous inclination. ‘I am the Maharajah of Moozuffernuggar,’ he answered in an impressive tone, as if everybody knew of the Maharajah of Moozuffernuggar as familiarly as they knew of the Duke of Cambridge. ‘Moozuffernuggar in Rajputana—not the one in the Doab. You must have heard my name from Mr. Harold Tillington.’
The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK ™: 20 Modern and Classic Tales of Female Detectives Page 149
