by Guy Boothby
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THE MYSTERY OF THE CLASPED HANDS
* * * * *
GUY BOOTHBY'S NOVELS.
Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents.
The Mystery of the Clasped Hands. My Indian Queen. A Maker of Nations. Dr. Nikola's Experiment. Pharos, the Egyptian. The Lust of Hate. The Beautiful White Devil. Dr. Nikola. A Bid for Fortune. The Marriage of Esther.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
* * * * *
THE MYSTERY OF THE CLASPED HANDS
A Novel
by
GUY BOOTHBY
Author of Dr. Nikola's ExperimentPharos, The EgyptianMy Indian Queen, etc.
New YorkD. Appleton and Company1901
Copyright, 1901,By D. Appleton and Company.
CHAPTER I
"I never knew such a fellow as you are for ferreting out these low,foreign eating-houses," said Godfrey Henderson to his friend, VictorFensden, as they turned from Oxford Street into one of the narrowthoroughfares in the neighbourhood of Soho. "Why you should take suchtrouble, and at the same time do your digestion such irreparable injury,I can not imagine. There are any number of places where you can get achop or steak, free of garlic, in a decent quarter of the Town, to saynothing of being waited upon by a man who _does_ look as if he had beenbrave enough to face the dangers of washing once or twice within fiveyears."
His companion only laughed.
"Go on, my friend, go on," he said, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke."You pretend to be a cosmopolitan of cosmopolitans, but you will remaininsular to the day of your death. To you, a man who does not happen tobe an Englishman must of necessity be dirty, and be possessed of awillingness to sever your jugular within the first few minutes of youracquaintance. With regard to the accusation you bring against me, I amwilling to declare, in self-defence, that I like burrowing about amongthe small restaurants in this quarter, for the simple reason that I meetmen who are useful to me in my work, besides affording me food forreflection."
The taller man grunted scornfully.
"Conspirators to a man," he answered. "Nihilists, Anarchists, members ofthe Mafia, the Camorristi, and the Carbonari. Some day you will enterinto an argument with one of them and a knife thrust between your ribswill be the result."
"It may be so," returned Victor Fensden, with a shrug of his narrowshoulders. "Better that, however, than a life of stolid Britishpriggishness. How you manage to paint as you do when you have so littleof the romantic in your temperament, is a thing I can not for the lifeof me understand. That a man who rows, plays football and cricket, andwho will walk ten miles to see a wrestling match or a prize fight,should be gifted with such a sense of colour and touch, is as great amystery to me as the habits of the ichthyosaurus."
And indeed, what Fensden said was certainly true. Godfrey Henderson, oneof the most promising of our younger painters, was as unlike the popularnotion of an artist as could well be found. He had rowed stroke in his'Varsity boat, had won for himself a fair amount of fame as a goodall-round athlete, and at the same time had painted at least three ofthe most beautiful pictures--pictures with a subtle touch of poetry inthem--that the public had seen for many years. His height was fully sixfeet one and a half, his shoulders were broad and muscular; he boasted apleasant and open countenance, such a one in fact as makes one feelinstinctively that its owner is to be trusted. Taken altogether, acasual observer would have declared him to be a young country Squire,and few would have guessed that the greater portion of his life wasspent standing before an easel, palette and brush in hand.
Victor Fensden, his companion, was of an altogether different stamp. Hewas at least three inches shorter, was slimly built, and at firstglance would appear to possess a highly nervous and delicateconstitution. In his dress he also differed from his friend. His tastebetrayed a partiality for velvet coats; his ties were usually startling,so far as colour went; he wore his hair longer than is customary, andfurther adorned his face with a neat little Vandyke beard and mustache.Like Henderson he was also a votary of the brush. His pictures, however,were of the impressionist order--pretty enough in their way, but lackingin form, and a trifle vague as to colouring. On occasions he wrotepoetry. There were some who said he was not sincere, that his pictureswere milk-and-water affairs, suggestive of the works of greater men, andonly intended to advertise himself. If that were so, the success theyachieved was comparative. Sad to relate, there were people in London whohad not heard the name of Victor Fensden; while the walls of theAcademy, which he affected so much to despise, had not so far beenhonoured by his patronage. "The whole thing," he would say, adopting thelanguage of our American cousins, "is controlled by a Business Ring; theHanging Committee and the dealers stand in with each other. If youprefer to do bad work deliberately, or at any rate are content to becommonplace, then you're safe for admission. But if you prefer to dosomething which may, or may not, please the multitude, but which willlast longer than Burlington House, or the National Gallery itself, thenyou must be content to remain outside." After this tirade, regardless ofthe implied sneer at his work, Godfrey would laugh and turn the matteroff by proposing dinner, luncheon, or some other distraction. He knewthe value of his own work, and was content to estimate it accordingly.
Having reached the end of the street down which they had been walking,when the conversation already described occurred, they found themselvesbefore the entrance to a small eating-house. One glance was sufficientto show that it was of the foreign order, so derided by Henderson a fewmoments ago before. They entered and looked about them. The room waslong and narrow, and contained some ten or a dozen small tables, threeor four of which were already occupied. Pictures of the German school,apparently painted by the yard, and interspersed with gaudy portraits ofKing Humbert with his mustache, Victor Emmanuel with his wealth oforders, the latter cheek by jowl with Mr. Garibaldi in his felt hat,decorated the walls. The proprietor, a small, tubby individual, with theblackest of black hair and eyes, and an olive skin that glistened likethe marble tops of the tables, came forward to welcome them. At hisrequest they seated themselves and gave their orders.
"What enjoyment you can find in this sort of thing I can not imagine,"repeated Henderson, almost irritably, as he looked about him. "If youtake a pleasure in macaroni and tomato, and find poetry in garlic and_sauer-kraut_, the divine instinct must be even more highly developed inyou than your warmest admirers believe. We might have gone to the cluband have had a decent meal there."
"And have had to listen to a lot of supercilious young idiots chatteringabout what they are pleased to call 'their work,'" the other replied."No, no, we are better off here. Set your imagination to work, my dearfellow, and try to believe yourself in Florence, with the moonlightstreaming down on the Ponte Vecchio; or in Naples, and that you can hearthe waves breaking up on the rock under the Castello del Ovo. You mighteven be listening to _Funiculi-Finicula_ for the first time."
"Confound you! I never know whether you are serious or not," repliedGodfrey. "Is it a joke you're bringing me here to-night, or have yousome definite object in view?"
He looked across the table at his companion as if he were anxious toassure himself upon this point before he said anything further.
"What if I _had_ an object?" the other answered. "What if I wanted to doyou a good turn, and by asking you to come here
to-night were able tohelp you in your work?"
"In that case," Henderson replied, "I should say that it was very kindof you, but that you have chosen a curious way of showing it. How a lowItalian restaurant in Soho can help me in the work I have on hand I cannot for the life of me understand. Is it possible for you to be moreexplicit?"
"If the critics are to be believed you ask too much of me," Fensdenreturned, with one of his quiet laughs. "Are they not always declaringthat my principal fault lies in my being too vague? Seriously, however,I will confess that I had an object in bringing you here. Have I notheard you grumbling morning, noon, and night, that the model for yournew picture is about as difficult to find as, well, shall we say, anhonest dealer? Now, I believe that the humble mouse was once able toassist the lion--forgive the implied compliment--in other words, I thinkI have achieved the impossible. It will take too long to tell you how Imanaged it, but the fact remains that I have discovered the girl youwant, and what is more, she will be here to-night. If, when you haveseen her, you come to the conclusion that she will not answer yourpurpose, then I shall be quite willing to confess that my knowledge of abeautiful woman is only equal to your appreciation of an Italian dinnerin a cheap Soho restaurant. I have spoken!"
"And so you have really brought me here to eat this villainousconcoction," Henderson answered, contemptuously regarding the messbefore him, "in order to show me a face that you think may be useful tome in my work? My dear fellow, you know as well as I do that we thinkdifferently upon such matters. What you have repeatedly declared to bethe loveliest face you have ever seen, I would not sketch upon a canvas;while another, that haunts me by day and night, does not raise a shadowof enthusiasm in you. I am afraid you have had your trouble in vain. Butwhat abominable stuff this is to be sure! Order some wine, for pity'ssake."
A flask of chianti was brought them, and later some goat's milk cheese.Upon the latter, bad as it was, Henderson elected to dine. He had barelyfinished what was placed before him when an exclamation from hiscompanion caused him to turn his head in the direction of the door. Twowomen were entering the restaurant at the moment, and were approachingthe table at which the young men sat. The elder was a stout and matronlyparty, dark of eye, swarthy of skin, and gorgeous in her colouring, somuch so, indeed, that not the slightest doubt could have existed as toher nationality. She was a daughter of Italy from the top of her head tothe soles of her ample feet. Her companion, however, was modelled onaltogether different lines. She was tall, graceful, and so beautiful, ina statuesque way, that Henderson felt his heart thrill with pleasure atthe sight of her. Here was the very woman he had been so anxious todiscover. If he had hunted the Continent of Europe through, he could nothave found any one better suited to the requirements of the work he hadin hand. Since it was plain that it was she for whom Fensden waswaiting, it looked as if their tastes, for once, were likely to be thesame.
"What a perfect face!" exclaimed Godfrey, more to himself than to hiscompanion. "At any hazard, I must induce her to sit to me."
Fensden looked at his friend's face, made a note of the admiration hesaw there, and smiled to himself.
"What did I tell you?" he inquired with a note of triumph in his voice."You pooh-poohed the notion that I should ever be able to find you amodel. What do you say now?"
"She is perfect," Henderson replied. "Just look at the eyes, thebeautiful contour of the face, the shapely neck and the hands! GreatScott! what is a woman of her class doing with such hands? Where did youmeet her?"
"In another of my contemptible restaurants," Fensden answered. "DirectlyI saw her, I said to myself: 'This is the model for Godfrey!' I madeinquiries about her, and, finding that she was willing to sit, made anappointment to meet her here this evening."
By this time Godfrey's antagonism had entirely left him. His only desirenow was to secure this woman, and, with her assistance, to complete hismasterpiece. As soon as the doors of Burlington House were thrown open,that face should look down upon the picture-lovers of England, or he'dnever touch a brush again.
The two women, by this time, had seated themselves at another table; andit was almost with a sense of disappointment that Godfrey observed hisideal commence her meal. To watch her filling her pretty mouth tooverflowing with steaming macaroni was not a pleasing sight. It was toohuman and too suggestive of a healthy appetite to harmonize with thepoetic framework in which his imagination had already placed her.
When the ladies had finished their meal, the two young men left theirown table and crossed the room to that at which they were seated.Fensden said something in Italian, which elicited a beaming smile fromthe elder lady, and a gesture of approval from her companion. It was notthe first time in his life that Godfrey Henderson had had occasion towish he had taken advantage of the opportunities he had had of acquiringa knowledge of that melodious language.
"The signora declares that there is no occasion for us to speak Italian,since she is an accomplished English scholar," said Fensden, with asarcastic touch that was not lost upon Henderson.
"The signorina also speaks our villainous tongue as well as if she hadbeen born and bred within the sound of Bow Bells."
At this supposed compliment, the elder lady smiled effusively, while herdaughter looked gravely from one man to the other as if she were notquite sure of the value to be placed upon what Fensden had said. Havingreceived permission, the two men seated themselves at the table, andHenderson ordered another flask of wine. Under its influence theiracquaintance ripened rapidly. It was not, however, until they had beentalking some little time, that the all-important subject was broached.
"And it is Teresina's portrait that your friend would paint, signor?"said the elder lady, turning to Fensden. "And why not? 'Tis a beautifulface, though I, her mother, say it. If the signor will make the--whatyou call it--'rangements, it shall be as he wishes."
Less than a minute was sufficient to place the matter on a satisfactorybasis, and it was thereupon settled that the Signorina Cardi shouldattend at the studio at a certain hour every week-day until the picturewas finished. Matters having been arranged in this eminently friendlyfashion, the meeting broke up, and with many bows and compliments onFensden's and the signora's parts, they bade each other adieu. A fewminutes later, the two young men found themselves once more in thestreet.
"My dear fellow, I don't know how to thank you," said Henderson. "I'vebeen worrying myself more than I can say at not being able to find theface I wanted. I owe you ten thousand apologies."
But Fensden would not hear of such a thing as an apology. His onlydesire was that the picture should be successful, he said.
"I had no idea that he was so fond of me," Henderson remarked to himselfthat night when he was alone in his bedroom. "Fancy his hunting throughLondon for a model for me. He is the last man I should have thoughtwould have taken the trouble."
Next morning Teresina entered upon her duties, and Godfrey set to workwith more than his usual enthusiasm. The picture was to be his _magnumopus_, the greatest effort he had yet given to the world. The beautifulItalian proved to be a good sitter, and her delight as the picture grewupon the canvas was not to be concealed. Meanwhile Fensden smokedinnumerable cigarettes, composed _fin-de-siecle_ poems in her honour,and made a number of impressionist studies of her head that his friendsdeclared would eventually astonish artistic London. At last the picturewas finished and sent in. Then followed that interval of anxiouswaiting, so well known to those who have striven for such honours as theAcademy has to bestow. When it was announced that it had passed thefirst and second rejections great was the rejoicing in the studio.
"It is your face that has done it, Teresina," cried Godfrey. "I knewthey wouldn't be able to resist that."
"Nay, nay," said the signora, who was present, "such compliments willturn the child's head. Her face would not be there but for the signor'scleverness. Well do I remember that when Luigi Maffoni painted theportrait of Monsignore----"
No one heeded her, so she continued the narrative in
an undertone to thecat on her lap. The day, however, was not destined to end as happily asit had begun. That evening, when they were alone together in the studio,Fensden took Godfrey to task.
"Dear boy," he said, as he helped himself to a cigarette from a box onthe table beside him, "I have come to the conclusion that you must gowarily. There are rocks ahead, and, from what I see, you are runningstraight for them."
"What on earth is the matter now?" Godfrey asked, stretching himself outin an easy chair as he spoke. "I know the poise of that head is notquite what it might be, but haven't I promised you that I'll alter itto-morrow? Teresina is the very best model in the world, and as patientas she's beautiful."
"That's exactly what I am complaining of," Victor answered, quietly. "Ifshe were not, I should not bother my head about her. I feel, in ameasure, responsible, don't you see? If it hadn't been for me, she wouldnot be here."
The happiness vanished from Godfrey's face as a breath first blurs andthen leaves the surface of a razor.
"I am afraid I don't quite grasp the situation," he said. "You surelydon't suppose that I am falling in love with Teresina--with my model?"
"I am quite aware that you're not," the other answered. "There is mytrouble. If you _were_ in love with her, there might be some hope forher. But as it is there is none."
Henderson stared at him in complete surprise.
"Have you gone mad?" he asked.
"No one was ever saner," Fensden replied. "Look here, Godfrey, can't yousee the position for yourself? Here is this beautiful Italian girl, whomyou engaged through my agency. You take her from beggary, and put her ina position of comparative luxury. She has sat to you day after day,smiled at your compliments, and--well, to put it bluntly, has had everyopportunity and encouragement given her to fall head over ears in lovewith you. Is it quite fair, do you think, to let it go on?"
Godfrey was completely taken aback.
"Great Scott! You don't mean to say you think I'm such a beast as toencourage her?" he cried. "You know as well as I do that I have behavedtoward her only as I have done to all the other models before her.Surely you would wish me to be civil to the girl, and try to make herwork as pleasant as possible for her? If you think I've been ablackguard, say so outright!"
"My dear Godfrey, nothing could be further from my thoughts," answeredFensden in his usual quiet voice, that one of his friends once comparedto the purring of a cat. "I should be a poor friend, however, if I wereto allow you to go on as you are going without an expostulation. Can notyou look at it in the same light as I do? Are you so blind that you cannot see that this girl is falling every day more deeply in love withyou? The love-light gleams in her eyes whenever she looks at you; shesees an implied caress even in the gentle pats you give her drapery,when you arrange it on the stage there; a tender solicitude for herwelfare when you tell her to hurry home before it rains. What is the endof it all to be? I suppose you do not intend making her your wife?"
"My wife?" said Godfrey, blankly, as if the idea were too preposterousto have ever occurred to him. "Surely you must be jesting to talk likethis?"
"I am not jesting with you, if you are not jesting with her," the otherreplied. "You must see for yourself that the girl worships the veryground you walk upon. However, there is still time for matters to be putright. She has so far only looked at the affair from her own standpoint;what is more, I do not want her to lose her employment with you, sinceit means so much to her. What I do want is, that you should take hold ofyourself in time and prevent her from being made unhappy while you havethe opportunity."
"You may be quite sure that I will do so," Henderson replied, morestiffly than he had yet spoken. "I am more sorry than I can say thatthis should have occurred. Teresina is a good girl, and I would no morethink of causing her pain than I would of striking my own sister. Andnow I'm off to bed. Good-night."
True to his promise, his behaviour next day, so far as Teresina wasconcerned, was so different that she regarded him with surprise, quiteunable to understand the reason of the change. She thought she must haveoffended him in some way, and endeavoured by all the means in her powerto win herself back into his good graces. But the more she tried toconciliate him, the further he withdrew into his shell. Victor Fensden,smoking his inevitable cigarette, waited to see what the result wouldbe. There was a certain amount of pathos in the situation, and a closeobserver might have noticed that the strain was telling upon both of theactors in it, the girl in particular. For the next fortnight or so, themoral temperature of the studio was not as equable as of old. Godfrey,who was of too honest a nature to make a good conspirator, chafed at thepart he was being called upon to play, while Teresina, who only knewthat she loved, and that her love was not returned, was divided betweenher affections for the man and a feeling of wounded dignity for herself.
"I wish to goodness I could raise sufficient money to get out of Londonfor six months," said Godfrey, one evening, as they sat together in thestudio. "I'd be off like a shot."
Fensden knew why he said this.
"I am sorry I can't help you," he replied. "I am about as badly off asyourself. But surely the great picture sold well?"
"Very well; for me, that is to say," Godfrey replied. "But I had to partwith most of it next day."
He did not add that he had sent most of it to his widowed sister, whowas very badly off and wanted help to send her boy to college.
A short silence followed; then Fensden said: "If you had money whatwould you do?"
"Go abroad," said Godfrey quickly. "The strain of this business is morethan I can stand. If I had a few hundreds to spare we'd go together andnot come back for six months. By that time everything would have settleddown to its old normal condition."
How little did he guess that the very thing that seemed so impossiblewas destined to come to pass!
