RGL e-Book Cover©
RGL e-Book Cover©
"WHAT I want," Beggarstaff explained smoothly, "is to see Mrs. Glennie, widow of the late Captain Charles Glennie, V.C., who perished under such romantic and melancholy circumstances in South Africa. Unless the Directory is wrong, I appear to have come to the right address."
The natty and admirably-starched parlourmaid hesitated just for a moment, and a splash of colour was painted on her cheeks. Beggarstaff advanced a step or two forward, as if taking the success of his errand for granted.
"I see I am quite right," he went on. "Here is my card. I will not detain Mrs. Glennie for many minutes."
The parlourmaid led the way into a drawing-room of Lilliputian dimensions. Small as the place was, it was furnished with every evidence of good taste; and it was quite clear that the occupant of the flat was a lady. She came in a moment later, holding Beggarstaff's card, her demure, rather pleading eyes turned inquiringly upon his face. As for the rest, Mrs. Glennie was small and slender. Her half-mourning, shaded off with violet, suited her fair beauty to perfection.
"It is very awkward," Beggarstaff muttered. "You see, I am not here from my own choice at all. I dare say my name is more or less familiar to you, as it is to most people in London."
The widow lifted her head ever so daintily. There was not much in the gesture, but it conveyed subtly to Beggarstaff that Mrs. Glennie regarded him in the light of a successful charlatan.
"It was a client of mine who asked me to come here. I may say I had some difficulty in discovering your address. Lady Oystermouth wrote to my client, Mrs. Sanderson, and mentioned yours as a deserving case. You may just possibly be aware of the fact that Mrs. Sanderson is exceedingly wealthy and charitable, and indeed yours is the sort of sad circumstance that is most likely to appeal to her. Therefore, she asked me to come and see you."
"But how did you discover my address?" the widow asked innocently, "I have only been here for two or three days."
Beggarstaff waved the question aside.
"I don't think it matters," he said. "You will pardon me if I keep this matter upon an entirely business footing. You have no pension, I presume, or anything of that kind?"
Mrs. Glennie drew an exaggerated cobweb in the shape of a handkerchief from her pocket, and wiped her eyes with a down-stroke which is peculiar to the stage. Beggarstaff smiled to himself. He began to scent unexpected comedy here.
"My dear was terribly extravagant," the widow murmured, "He had not the least idea of the value of money. His people were terribly upset when he married me, for you see I am only the daughter of a poor country parson. My pride prevents me from appealing to my husband's people; and after his death I had to sell all my furniture and give up the house in York Terrace. At the present moment I am quite at the end of my resources, and fifty pounds would be my salvation. I have been promised an appointment in India at the end of the year, but how I am going to live till then I don't know. It is a terrible state of things."
The handkerchief came into play again, the pretty little face grew sad and weary. Beggarstaff murmured his sympathy. He was exceedingly good at that kind of thing.
"I have no doubt that can be managed," he said. "Mrs. Sanderson has every confidence in me, and will do exactly what I tell her; and, after all, fifty pounds is an exceedingly modest amount. Would you mind providing me with a pen and ink, so that I may make a few notes? Just as well in matters like this, don't you think, to have a reference? Not that I propose to let your friends know anything about the present state of your affairs. It is possible to do things in a much more delicate way than that."
The widow dried her eyes on the infinitesimal handkerchief, and set out briskly in the direction of the dining-room. There was a writing-table there, she explained. The apartment was smaller, if possible, than the drawing-room, but furnished in the same good taste.
Beggarstaff noticed a pile of letters all ready stamped and addressed on the table. As he touched the stack of correspondence the highly glazed envelopes slipped, and it was possible for him to obtain a casual glance at the addresses. He noticed that every envelope appeared to be written in a different hand, and that all of them were intended for the wealthy and charitable. Beggarstaff rose at length, and placed his notebook in his pocket. Then his glance fell upon a large photograph of a soldier in uniform, which occupied a place of honour over the mantelpiece.
"My poor dear boy," Mrs. Glennie murmured, having recourse once more to the fractional handkerchief. "Taken in South Africa, and sent to me only a few weeks before Charlie's death."
"A very good likeness, I should say," Beggarstaff remarked.
"Oh, excellent! What one might call a speaking likeness."
It was a good face, Beggarstaff thought: resolute and clear-cut, and yet with a suggestion of the dreamer about the eyes. There was the mark of a sabre-cut across the forehead, which rather added to the romantic side of the picture.
"I understand that your husband was in some way related to Mrs. Sanderson," Beggarstaff said. "In fact, Mrs. Sanderson rather expected him to marry a niece of hers. She intimated to me that there was almost an engagement between the two at one time—"
"My husband told me something about it," Mrs. Glennie said hastily. "Well, Margaret, what do you want?"
The accurately starched parlourmaid stood in the door-way. She evidently had something of importance to say.
"Please, mum," she stammered, "cook says she's got the lamb cutlets; but the greengrocer tells her that he can't possibly get any asparagus to-day. The champagne has come and the Apollinaris. Will you wait for Miss Malcolm, or shall cook serve up lunch at one o'clock as usual?"
"Don't you wait for me," a clear voice said from outside. "I have got a bothersome rehearsal call for half-past twelve. See you at the Savoy at eight to-night, old girl. Ta-ta!"
Beggarstaff told himself that a blush was exceedingly becoming to his companion.
"Hope I am not in the way," he said. "I quite sympathise with you in the matter of the shortage of asparagus. I don't mind admitting that that vegetable is a weakness of my own."
"It sounds dreadfully extravagant," Mrs. Glennie murmured. "But then Miss Malcolm is a dear old friend of mine; and I am almost ashamed to say that she is the founder of the feast to-day. She occupies the flat which is above my own."
"Well, I will not detain you any longer," said Beggarstaff. "Allow me to post those letters for you. You may rest assured that Mrs. Sanderson will do all I recommend her to do in regard to your pathetic case. I wish you good morning."
BEGGARSTAFF went thoughtfully hack to Tyburn Square.
Nevertheless, an amused little smile trembled at the corners of
his lips. He put the whole thing out of his mind altogether once
he was back at business. It was an exceedingly busy morning, and
the Seer was looking forward to his lunch when a late visitor
arrived. He came in with a shy, diffident air assumed by most of
Beggarstaff's clients—the air of a man who is doing
something excessively foolish against his better judgment. He was
a fine figure of a man, and unmistakably a soldier. There was a
healthy tan on his face, which spoke of recent service under
foreign suns. He dropped uncomfortably into one of the saddle-bag
armchairs, and proceeded incoherently to tell his story. He did
not notice that Beggarstaff was making frantic efforts to
suppress an outburst of laughter.
"Now, let me quite understand you," the Seer said. "It is all a misunderstanding. You wrote the letter which the young lady never received, and she replied in a communication that did not reach your hands. It does not seem to occur to either of you that it would have been a wonderful thing to receive or have delivered any one letter which proceeded from South Africa, or vice versa, during the time of the war. You want me to tell you if I think the lady's affections are still unchanged?"
"I dare say you think me a great fool," the visitor said frankly. "I am not boasting, mind, and I've got as much pluck as most men, but I'd rather do anything than face Ada Kingsley unless I was preassured of my ground. Now, I want you to find out for me—"
"I understand," Beggarstaff nodded. "I am to act as a kind of scout on the field of Cupid. But first let me ask you a question. There is no encumbrance in the way, I suppose? No soft and blue-eyed enchantress waiting for her soldier boy?"
"Don't know what you mean," the visitor snapped. "I suppose you ain't trying to pull my leg, because, if you are, I call it a piece of deuced impertinence on your part!"
"Festina lente," Beggarstaff said calmly. "I know you military men; and, what is more to the point, I know you. You must know that the Seer of Tyburn is omnipotent. Nothing escapes his eagle eye. So, therefore, Captain Charles Glennie, V.C., and all the rest of it, you must be candid with me."
"The fellow is mad," the visitor murmured—, "absolutely mad!"
"Nothing of the kind," Beggarstaff laughed. "Oh, you professional bigamist, you philanderer, you desecrator of loving women's hearts! Mrs. Charles Glennie is at the present moment ready to meet you at a little flat in King's Gardens, which is Chelsea way."
"Mad," the other man murmured; "mad as a hatter!"
"Have a cigarette?" Beggarstaff exclaimed. "Take a dozen cigarettes. This is one of the finest bits of comedy I have ever come across in the whole course of my chequered career. So you decline to return to the bosom of the family?"
"There is no bosom of my family," the other man cried. "And if you say I have a wife, then I challenge you to produce her, and let us meet face to face."
"I take you," Beggarstaff cried. "Have you anything particular to do this evening? No? Then I'll tell you what we will do. We'll dine at the Savoy Hotel with your wife this very night."
IT was getting towards the end of the season now, so that the smart crowd which usually filled up the Savoy dining-room fell far short of the restricted 365 diners, which is the limit, beyond which the executive do not go. It was possible, therefore, for Beggarstaff to arrange his little coup so that, so to speak, he could sit in the stalls with an uninterrupted view of the performance.
It was a few minutes to eight when Beggarstaff entered the dining-room at the Savoy, accompanied by Captain Charles Glennie. Already the majority of the diners were in their places; the red-shaded lamps gleamed on flowers and glass and silver; also, incidentally, upon pretty faces, and necks and shoulders of ivory. Beggarstaff took a sweeping glance of the mise en scène, but so far as he could gather the lady of the violet eyes and the infinitesimal pocket-handkerchief was not yet present. Beggarstaff had had some difficulty in inducing his companion to regard the imbroglio from the proper, humorous point of view, but now he was sufficiently rewarded to see a grim smile on the face of the captain. A moment later two perfectly dressed women came into the room, and crossed to a table laid for two under one of the big palms. The women seemed to find favour in the eyes of Captain Glennie, for he regarded them with critical approval through his eyeglass.
"Taking little woman in the black and blue," he said. "Do you happen to know who she is?"
"Of course I do," Beggarstaff said promptly, "My dear fellow, that is your long-suffering wife! Don't you feel yourself a monster when you come to realise that you have neglected so beautiful and loving a creature as that?"
"I suppose I ought to," Glennie laughed. "My dear chap, I am positively looking forward to the adventure now. What is the next item on the programme?"
Beggarstaff briefly explained the plan of campaign. His idea was to saunter up to the table, and accost the blue-eyed widow with an air of pleased surprise and anticipation. He hoped that the azure-eyed one in question would ask him to share the same table. Up to a certain point the programme passed off without a hitch. This was a dear friend. Miss Malcolm, Mrs. Glennie explained. Miss Malcolm had had a slice of luck lately, and the dinner was born of the fortuitous opportunity. If Beggarstaff was dining, how delightful it would be if he could see his way to share the same table!
"That's all right," Beggarstaff said cheerfully. "Delighted, I'm sure. Here, waiter, lay a couple more places here! I forgot to explain that I have a friend; but you will not mind us making up a quartette? My chum has just come back from South Africa."
"A soldier!" Mrs. Glennie gushed. "We shall be pleased!"
Beggarstaff crossed the room, and beckoned Glennie to follow him.
"Permit me to introduce my friend," Beggarstaff said. "Captain Charles Glennie—Mrs. Glennie. Rather a singular coincidence, is it not, that you should bear the same name? Miss Malcolm, let me present the captain to you."
Miss Malcolm's pretty eyes looked up sweetly. Apparently she knew nothing of the comedy which was going on almost within the radius of her own subtle perfume. But Mrs. Glennie rose to her feet, and clutched the edge of the table. Just for a moment she was absolutely dumbfounded. The whole thing was a wild practical joke, she thought, one of the kind of things for which the Seer of Tyburn was justly famed. But then there was no getting over the serious face of Charles Glennie, V.C., whose features had been looking down upon the blue-eyed widow from the mantelpiece any time the last six months. Then the comedy of it appealed, with irresistible force, to the lighter side of the woman's nature, and she laughed.
"It is indeed a strange coincidence," the woman said. "Fancy both of us having the same name! My husband was a Captain Glennie; but I do not like to talk of him—at least I do not like to talk about him here. It seems so indelicate."
"I can quite understand your feelings," Glennie said significantly. "What regiment did your husband belong to?"
"The 11th. Greys," Mrs. Glennie stammered.
"So do I," the other said coolly. "It is quite evident that we have not yet exhausted the full series of coincidences. Was his name Charles—Charles Edward?"
Mrs. Glennie looked up demurely. Her face was sad and weary, yet there was infinite mischief lurking in her blue eyes. She began to feel more sure of her ground now. She did not need anyone to tell her that she was dealing with two gentlemen, and that neither of them was in the least likely to give her away.
"Wonderful!" she murmured. "My husband's name was Charles Edward Glennie. Do you really mean to say that you possess the same pair of Christian names as my dear boy?"
"Well, yes," the captain said. "Your dear boy and myself appear to have been both singularly fortunate in possessing parents capable of giving us good, sound working names without too much romantic bias about them. But let us carry the thing a bit further. Was your husband also a V.C.?"
"This is overpowering," Mrs. Glennie said. "A little more Chablis, thank you. My sainted husband was a V.C. Do you mean to tell me that you are also entitled—"
"It is even so," Glennie said solemnly. "One more question, and I have finished. Did your husband disappear after the disaster at Vals Gripp, and was his body ever found?"
"It fills me with grief to think of it," Mrs. Glennie replied. "Charles Edward perished in the manner you have indicated."
"So did I," Glennie said coolly "at least, that was the popular supposition. As a matter of fact, I was severely wounded in the head, and for some time I lost my identity. I was away up on the high veld with some Boers, who looked after me fairly well; and I might have been there still, but a doctor happened along, and operated upon me successfully. Then I came back to England, and found that I was looked upon as dead. Don't you think it just possible that this extraordinary string of coincidences may eventually culminate in the return of your particular brand of Charles Edward? Eh, Mrs. Glennie?"
The blue eyes were brimming over with mischief as they glanced across the table in the speaker's direction. The other girl seemed to be listening with no more than ordinary polite attention. Beggarstaff was bending over his entrée with the air of a man fully conscious of the importance of the moment.
"Are you enjoying your dinner?" Mrs. Glennie asked.
"My dear madam, my enjoyment is completely absolute. I cannot recollect a moment when I appreciated the joy of existence more. There is one thing which strikes me—a point which you seem to have forgotten. I am alluding to the extraordinary likeness between your late lamented husband and my friend Charles Edward. You must ask him to tea at your flat, and show him the photograph which I admired this morning. He really ought to see it."
Mrs. Glennie leant back in her chair, and murmured sweetly that she would be only too pleased to receive Captain Glennie any afternoon he liked to call. She sipped her coffee with an air of happy enjoyment, with a conscience free from reproach.
"Do you know, Mr. Beggarstaff, there are the elements here of a very pretty comedy?" she said. "I see Mr. Haddon, the dramatist, is dining over there with a lady in black. Can't we call him into consultation, and ask him to give us his advice on the subject of a play? I am quite sure that he will write it."
"No, no," Beggarstaff protested. "The ingenuity of the plot is entirely due to you. It is so original, too."
"But what is the use of a plot," Mrs. Glennie protested, "unless you get your striking tableaux in the third and fourth acts? You will not deny that the engineering of these striking situations is entirely due to you."
"We must have the heroine's side of the story, too," Glennie said. "When she forgets herself, and does that which the law regards as wrong, we must gain the sympathy of the audience by showing that she was driven to it, so to speak. You can always get a stage audience to forgive a heroine, especially when she has lovely blue eyes like Mrs. Glennie's. She confesses her little peccadilloes to the hero in the third act. This is only the second act, so that the absolution does not come till to-morrow."
"Quite right," Bcggarstaff said cheerfully. "It is the correct thing for the heroine to ask the hero to have tea at her flat. By the way, as you have the tea and also the flat—"
"Two flats," Glennie corrected sotto voce.
"It shall be as you say!" Mrs. Glennie cried. "I shall be delighted if you will both come round to-morrow afternoon about five, and have tea with me. Unfortunately, Miss Malcolm will not be able to be present. Shall we call it a bargain? And now, as I understand the Empire is really worth going to—"
ONE naturally expects a soldier to know something of strategy, especially a soldier who has learnt his art on the lurid plains of South Africa; and Beggarstaff was not surprised to find that Captain Glennie had anticipated his visit to the little flat in King's Gardens by half an hour. At least, Beggarstaff judged it to be that time, for the gallant captain had finished his second muffin, and the hot water had been poured into the teapot. These were the little signs by which Beggarstaff judged so much, and which added so greatly to his reputation.
He, however, made no charge of treachery. He was not blind to the fascinating appearance of his hostess in an elaborate tea-gown of black lace trimmed with violet.
"No; I don't care for any tea," he said. "If you don't mind I will pollute the sanctity of a young widow's grief with the perfume of a cigarette. If I remember rightly, we were to meet here to discuss the third act of our little comedy."
"You are a little late," Mrs. Glennie said sweetly. "But still you have been so nice and kind about the whole affair that I will recapitulate the whole thing for you. But, in the first instance, I will ask you to be good enough to inform your friend Mrs. Sanderson that the unfortunate lady in whom she was pleased to be interested is no more. She died this afternoon. At least, you understand what I mean. Perhaps I had better tell you my story."
"I am sure it will be interesting," Beggarstaff murmured.
"Well, it is. I told you yesterday that I was the daughter of a poor country clergyman, and that is a fact. When my father died, I became a governess. Let me tell you incidentally that good looks are not a valuable asset for a governess. Mrs. Grundy, in the shape of the modern British matron, does not favour beauty in her dependents. I do not wish to go into details over my life during the last three years, but one thing I resolved upon: Nothing would induce me to take up the same line of life after I left my last situation. I tried many ways of getting a living, till at length I was reduced to despair and the writing of begging-letters. It is wonderful how easily one can come down to that kind of thing after the first plunge is made; but perhaps I had the trick of it. Perhaps my pathetic little touches had the desired effect. At any rate, I woke up one morning in the knowledge that I had struck an excellent way of making a permanent income. Of course, you will understand that I had frequently to change my name, and gradually my geographical knowledge of London suburbs became exceedingly extensive. Mind you, I am not excusing myself. It is a great effort to me to make this shameful confession; but you two gentlemen have been so kind that I feel that I can do nothing less."
"Pray don't distress yourself," Glennie murmured.
"Oh, I must go through it now!" the woman said. "It is about six months ago since I read in the papers all about the death of the tragic hero who sits opposite me. It was an easy matter to procure a photograph and get it enlarged. When I came to ask a few questions, I found that Captain Glennie had very few near relations, so that it was easy enough to pass myself off as his wife, especially when I was appealing for assistance to those whom I knew would not be in the way of asking a lot of awkward questions. Of course, it never occurred to me for a moment that Captain Glennie was alive all this time; and when you presented him to me last night at the Savoy Hotel I nearly fainted. It is exceedingly good of you both not to betray me to Miss Malcolm, who is a very nice girl, and really regards me as a perfectly honest woman, living on a small pension. Fortunately, she is short-sighted, and did not remark Captain Glennie's natural likeness to his own photograph. But tell me, Mr. Beggarstaff, did you suspect me to be a heartless impostor when you called here yesterday afternoon?"
Beggarstaff smiled and nodded his head.
"Well, perhaps not quite at first." he admitted. "But I must confess that the little touch about the lamb cutlets and the asparagus, to say nothing about the champagne, gave me pause. Young widows in distressed circumstances do not as a rule eat asparagus in August, neither do they indulge in champagne. You must admit also that the episode of the Savoy dinner rather gave you away. There is another matter which put me on the track. You will remember those letters that you gave me to post."
The fictitious Mrs. Glennie's face grew a little paler. There was a frightened look in her eyes.
"I had forgotten those letters," she whispered. "I hope to goodness you omitted to post them!"
"I haven't posted them," Beggarstaff said, "I couldn't very well do so after Captain Glennie had called upon me in the way of business, and I had recognsed him. You see, he came to see me to consult me with reference to a little matter—"
"Oh, shut up!" Glennie growled. "I was a fool to think about it. And whilst we are on the matter, Beggarstaff, you need not pursue your enquiries any farther in a certain direction. I have changed my mind. But we are interrupting Mrs. —"
The presiding deity of the flat looked up, and they all laughed gaily together. Then the woman took up the story again.
"I am glad those letters are not posted," she said. "I want you to destroy them. There are going to be no more lamb cutlet and asparagus episodes for me. There is one way in which I can get a living, and I am going to take it up. I have quite made up my mind to become a hospital nurse."
"Hard work," Glennie growled. "Hard work and precious little fun, I can tell you. I saw quite enough of a nurse's life in South Africa to convince me of that. I am quite sure if you will leave matters in my hands I can manage to find you something a great deal more congenial, not to say remunerative. If I may be allowed to call here now and then, and discuss the matter with you, I shall be delighted. It will be a positive pleasure to me."
The desire of permission was gracefully accorded, and a little time later Beggarstaff and Glennie left the flat together. The soldier walked along gloomily, as if he had something on his mind that troubled him. Then he spoke abruptly.
"Look here, Beggarstaff, It's no use you going on with that Ada Kingsley business; I was lunching at the club to-day; and I find that Ada is not only engaged to another man, but that the marriage day is absolutely fixed. And, funny enough, I don't seem to care a bit now, though I was keen when I came to see you yesterday."
"Then there's no harm done," Beggarstaff said. "Only don't forget the old proverb about hearts being caught on the rebound. You are in the susceptible condition just now, when you are likely to get a bad attack of Dan Cupid at any moment; and if I were you I should allow the charming lady who has paid you the compliment of annexing your name to slide for the present. Of course, I am quite disinterested in this advice. In the words of Sam Weller's father; 'Beware of the vidders'!"
"But she isn't a widow, you fool!" Glennie said hotly. "Besides, I am old enough to look after my own business. Now what do you say to walking with me as far as the Naval and Military, and having a whisky-and-soda?"
BEGGARSTAFF was idly turning over his correspondence, and trying to make up his mind where he should spend his Christmas holidays. He took up an envelope at length, the writing of which was strange and, at the same time, quite familiar to him. Then it dawned upon his understanding with a flash of illumination.
"By Jove! the widow!" he murmured—"the siren of King's Gardens! I wonder if she has been getting into any more scrapes lately? I wonder how the hospital nursing is getting on? Incidentally, I wonder, also, what has become of the gallant captain?"
Beggarstaff lighted a cigarette, and leisurely removed the letter from the envelope. He leant back in his chair, and read half aloud the epistle as follows:
"Dunkell Lodge, Wimborne, Surrey.
"My dear Mr. Beggarstaff,
"I dare say you will wonder why you have not heard from me for so long. Believe me, I am not ungrateful for your past kindnesses. You will, perhaps, be interested to hear that the hospital nursing was not a success, though I gave it a thorough trial for three months. However, I thought I would try my hand at private nursing, and, strangely enough, my first patient was Charles Edward—I mean Captain Glennie. I was very successful in his case. Indeed, he declares that I am a born nurse, and that he could not possibly get along without me. You see, his old wound is rather troublesome, and he wants constant attention. So, therefore, there was nothing for it except to comply with his wishes. Of course, we could not go on in that indefinite way, so I agreed to marry Charles Edward; and we have now been husband and wife for the last three months. I should have written you before, only we went abroad hurriedly. Anyway, I should like you to judge for yourself as to how happy we are; and we shall be greatly disappointed if you do not come down here to spend your Christmas. Let me have a telegram, and believe me,
"Yours (this time truthfully) very sincerely,
"Violet Glennie."
"Hang me if I don't go!" Beggarstaff said energetically.