RGL e-Book Cover©
RGL e-Book Cover©
BEGGARSTAFF stepped briskly across the floor of the brilliantly lighted reception-room, feeling pretty well secure in his present disguise. Not that he had made very much change in his appearance; he was too consummate an artist for that.
His dress-coat had the cut and finish of Bond Street, his linen was as immaculate as usual, but he gave the bystander an impression that here was a man not altogether accustomed to these things. As to the rest, he wore a short brown beard and neatly trimmed side-whiskers. At a first glance any one would have taken him for a Colonist who had recently made money on a large scale, and this was just the impression that Beggarstaff meant to convey. An exceedingly pretty girl standing in an alcove started as Beggarstaff addressed her.
"You don't recognise me, Miss Peyton," he said. "Which, after all, is a compliment to the subtlety of my disguise."
"But how did you get here?" the pretty girl asked. "You told me a few days ago that you did not know Lady Hawkhurst. Surely you don't mean to say—"
"Indeed I do," Beggarstaff said, in his coolest possible fashion. "I regret that Lady Hawkhurst is unknown to me, but that does not prevent my attending her receptions, does it? Trifles like that are nothing to anybody who expects to make a good thing out of the seer industry. But, confess it now, were you not a little afraid that I was going to throw you over?"
Laura Peyton coloured, laughing slightly.
"I thought so," Beggarstaff went on. "As a matter of fact, I have been exceedingly busy over that affair of yours for the last few days. But, first of all, let me explain. For the moment the Seer of Tyburn has ceased to exist, and in his place behold the interesting lineaments of Rodney Lee, the dernier cri in the way of South African millionaires."
"But Mr. Lee actually exists," Laura Peyton protested. "I understood that he was in Paris, though, as yet, London society has seen nothing of the man who found those fabulous gold mines."
"That is precisely where I come in," Beggarstaff said coolly. "For about eight-and-forty hours I take the liberty of borrowing Mr. Lee's identity. I may tell you that Mr. Lee is at present staying—that is, I am at present staying—at 741, Park Lane, which has been rented—furnished—from Sir Harry Savage, who, by the way, is a great personal friend of mine."
"Sir Harry is in Egypt," Miss Peyton said.
"Oh, I know that perfectly well. I had to take Savage into my confidence, and, to do him justice, he sees the joke. The house in Park Lane is entirely at my disposal, servants and all. Lady Hawkhurst thinks that I got here by mistake, but she is quite ready to pardon the solecism in a man of my immense wealth."
"Rather awkward for the real Simon Pure when he turns up," Miss Peyton laughed softly. "Don't you think so?"
"Well, yes," Beggarstaff said thoughtfully. "It will be interesting to watch developments in that direction, but it was all necessary in the working out of the scheme for setting the gallant general—your father—free from his chains. Mind you, I have not yet seen Mrs. Borrodaile; indeed it has not been necessary. Is that the lady in green who is flirting with your father so vigorously in the alcove where the ferns are?"
"That is the woman," Laura said icily. "Of course, she is an absolute adventuress, and is only marrying my father for his money. It is absolutely ridiculous—a foolish thing—for a man at his time of life to fall in love with a woman of that class. No one knows anything about her, though she is so magnificently dressed, and has so pleasant a house in Audley Street."
"Mars and Venus," Beggarstaff murmured, "if I may be so allowed to put it. The General has still a fine figure of a man, but it occurs to me that he is not so deeply infatuated as you imagine."
"Infatuated he is," Miss Peyton replied, "but genuinely in love—never. I believe in his heart of hearts my father would not be sorry to be well out of it. Only unfortunately—"
"I understand," Beggarstaff said; "she flatters him. She also understands the art of serving the exact class of dinner that the military gourmet appreciates. I presume, as the General has some little reputation as a literary man, certain letters have passed between the pair—the sort of letters that cause unbounded amusement when they are read in court."
"I am afraid so," Laura Peyton said. "Mr. Beggarstaff, I shall be eternally grateful to you if you will find some way of breaking off this ridiculous business and obtaining possession of my father's correspondence—of that adventuress—"
"She is that," Beggarstaff said, "I ascertained so much in the course of my inquiries. I have elicited some interesting information touching Mrs. Borrodaile's past. I also find that I am acquainted with the career of the late lamented Borrodaile of pious memory. You may make your mind perfectly easy. Within the next eight-and-forty hours Mrs. Borrodaile shall return your father's letters, and in my presence she will inform him that all is over between them. No; you need not thank me. This is a comedy after my own heart, and the amount of pure enjoyment I shall get out of it will be sufficient reward for me. As a matter of fact, the campaign is not likely to cost a penny. Now, does that satisfy you?"
"You are a wonderful man!" Laura Peyton cried. "And I understand that you never fail when you make a promise of this kind. What are you going to do next?"
"I am going to have a little conversation with Mrs. Borrodaile," Beggarstaff said coolly. "I suppose you couldn't call your father aside for a few minutes?"
"Oh, I could do it," said Laura dubiously. "But, still—"
"Never mind. I think I can see a better way than that. In this case a direct frontal attack on the fortress is likely to be more effective than a strategic movement. Now go on with your amusement; and rest assured that I shall be as good as my word."
So saying, Beggarstaff turned away, and strolled along in the direction of the large alcove at the end of the room where the two people in whom he was so deeply interested were seated. General Peyton was typical of the retired general—short, erect, with grey hair and a waxed moustache that gave him the suggestion of fierceness which was by no means compatible with his easy-going nature. The woman by his side was no longer in her first youth, but she was handsome enough in a dark, hawk-like kind of way, and her dress unmistakably bore the stamp of Paris. Beggarstaff noted all these little points in his quick way; then he stepped forward in a most impressive manner, and laid his hand gravely on the woman's shoulder.
"Miranda," he said, "this is a fateful meeting."
Mrs. Borrodaile looked up swiftly. Her features glowed with indignation. Even the conventional freedom of a modern drawing- room, tinged with the leaven of Bohemianism, resents the fact of a perfect stranger accosting a lady by her Christian name in so deliberate a fashion. Hot words rose to the woman's lips, but Beggarstaff stood there shaking his head gravely.
"As I said before," he repeated, "this is a fateful moment, Miranda. Little did I expect when I came here to-night that I should find myself face to face with the relict of my dear friend Taffy Borrodaile. I have sought you near, I have sought you far, from Greenland's icy mountains to Indian's coral strand."
"This is an outrage!" General Peyton cried.
He jumped to his feet, and regarded Beggarstaff with menacing eyes. The latter continued to shake his head. He had a solemn, not to say wooden, expression of countenance that filled the general with exasperation.
"You do not seem to understand," he said. "How should you guess the touching romance which is going on here under the eyes of a cold and frivolous world! General Peyton, you will excuse me, I am sure. I have heard of you before, your fame has reached me in the far-off land. I believe you to be in every sense of the word a soldier and gentleman. Would you, therefore, mind leaving myself and Mrs. Borrodaile alone for a few moments?"
"But what the deuce—I mean what are you driving at?" the General cried. "You look sober enough—"
"A total abstainer from my boyhood," Beggarstaff said gravely. "You do not seem to understand, sir, that I am the bearer of a message—a message from the dead."
General Peyton stammered something that sounded like an apology. He would have retired only that Mrs. Borrodaile laid a detaining hand upon Ms arm.
"One moment!" she said. "It would simplify matters very much if this gentleman would kindly tell us his name."
"Rodney Lee," Beggarstaff explained. "Lately home from South Africa. I have no card with me, but for the present I am living at 741, Park Lane, which house—"
"Quite so," Mrs. Borrodaile said graciously. Her smile for Beggarstaff was of the sweetest. "Not another word of explanation is necessary. It is quite evident, my dear General, that this gentleman has a private message to deliver to me from my poor, dear Tuffy. In the circumstances...."
The General bowed, and turned on his heel, leaving Beggarstaff and Mrs. Borrodaile alone together. The Seer's face was still grave and sad, as if some one had touched the chord of a bygone memory, and set his heartstrings quivering. On the whole, it was an admirable piece of acting, and Beggarstaff had done nothing more artistic in his many-coloured career.
"My dear Miranda," he said, "you have guessed it correctly. I come to you with a message from beyond the tomb."
Mrs. Borrodaile made a brave effort to appear duly sympathetic, but she only succeeded in looking bored. If ever she had nourished a deep affection for the bygone Taffy, it was evident that she had learnt to bear her grief with truly Christian fortitude.
"It is two years ago now," Beggarstaff went on, with a note of gloom in his voice—, "two years ago since I saw the last of the man who had the great happiness to possess your undying affection. For your sake he had gone abroad to try and retrieve his shattered fortunes. Only I knew how deeply he felt the parting."
Mrs. Borrodaile sighed—a tribute to the virtues of the departed. It was not her cue to remind Beggarstaff that Borrodaile had been a drunken scoundrel, who most emphatically had left his country for his country's good. She looked down at her shapely shoes, and sighed once more faintly.
"Were you with him at the last?" she asked. "I was," Beggarstaff went on.
"We were in the ill-fated Ocean Queen together. Together we were wrecked; we were thrown up on the typical—that is, on a desert—island, and it was my melancholy task to cheer my dear friend and receive his last wishes. His final words were of you. He thought of your future; it embittered his dying moments; and there and then I made him a sacred promise if ever I got away from my surroundings—if ever fame and fortune fell to my lot—I gave my sacred word of honour that your welfare should be my great consideration."
"I am curious to know how," Mrs. Borrodaile murmured.
"Miranda," Beggarstaff replied solemnly, "the thing is simplicity itself! I promised Tuffy to marry you."
IT was greatly to Mrs. Borrodaile's credit that she repressed the wild laughter which trembled on her lips. She glanced at the speaker; she could not doubt for a moment that he was absolutely and entirely in earnest; and here spread out before her on the glittering plain of opportunity was what she supposed to be the chance of a lifetime.
Naturally enough she had heard a good deal of the new South African millionaire, Rodney Lee, whose fabulous fortune had been the talk of the smart set lately. And here was the very man himself, simple and unaffected, green as the grass radiating under an April sunshine, ready to fulfil the last wishes of the dear departed.
Visions roseate and tender rose before the woman's eyes. She saw herself enthroned in Park Lane, mistress of the first establishment in London; she saw grouse moors and steam yachts down a long avenue of never-ending delights. One thing she did not see; that the rather wooden-looking young man by her side was reading her thoughts like an open book. Not for a moment did Beggarstaff relax the artistic stupidity of his expression.
"I dare say you are taken by surprise," he said. "As a matter of fact, I am a little bit taken by surprise myself. When a fortuitous craft in the pearl-trading way snatched me from that burning island, I was as poor as I am now rich. I should have come to England at once and sought you out, but I had not the means to do so. I drifted to South Africa, where I found the fortune which I have since realised. I may say that my very presence here tonight was an accident. Directly I saw you, some instinct seemed to tell me that I had come to the end of my long search. I did not need to ask whom you were. I knew it. This, Miranda, is Fate."
"I suppose it is," Mrs. Borrodaile said practically. "And so you were with my poor husband at the last?"
"Well, not literally," Beggarstaff said. "You see, I left him to all practical purposes at his last breath, for he was too ill to be removed, and some part of the crew of the pearling trader was staying there for the next few weeks until the vessel could get back to the nearest port. But you may take it from me that dear old Tuffy was at his last gasp when we parted."
"Let us hope—I mean, let us pray—that the poor, dear boy was comfortable, and that his end was untroubled." Mrs. Borrodaile said, recovering herself neatly. "Of course, Mr. Lee, I could not possibly be blind to some of Tuffy's little weaknesses."
"Naturally, naturally," Beggarstaff said airily. "He had an exceedingly neat and dexterous way of assimilating a bottle of whisky. But then did not great men like Pitt and Fox, and others, share the same amiable failing? With all his faults, our Tuffy was very dear to me. Had he not been so, do you suppose that I should have solemnly consented to make his widow mine? Though I may hasten to add that, having once seen you, I recognise that my ostensible sacrifice is nothing less than a notable gain."
Mrs. Borrodaile looked down once again at her shapely feet, and something like a blush mantled to her cheek.
"I am afraid you are a man accustomed to having his own way," she said. "I believe in circumstances like these, the proper thing is for the lady to hang her head, and suggest that it is all so sudden. In my case, it seems to me that the excuse would be a good one. I take it that it is very seldom a man asks a woman to marry him before they have been introduced even. But in this case, Mr. Lee, there is an obstacle. I have not yet given you any sort of answer to your question. Indeed, it would be indelicate of me to do so for some time, as I appreciate the compliment you have paid me."
"Spoken like the helpmeet of dear old Tuffy!" Beggarstaff cried. "But touching this obstacle. Do not tell me, at the very moment when the cup of happiness is at my lips, that you love another!"
Mrs. Borrodaile blushed and simpered. It was this latter trait that told Beggarstaff that the woman by his side was older than she looked. Art had done much for her, but the simper boldly proclaimed the fatal fifth decade.
"Well, not exactly that," she stammered. "You see, I am a lone woman. I have no natural taste for the frivolities of society, but I must do something to cheer a heart which has suffered from contact with the world. It was only a few days ago that General Peyton did me the honour of asking me to share his lot."
"And you consented!" Beggarstaff cried. "This is a blow, disguise it as I will. This is unmistakably a blow. Tell me, have you promised in writing? Have letters passed between you? That elderly son of Mars is pretty well preserved, and I should say he was fairly—that is, I mean he is very young for his years. I should think on the whole that he could write a very good love- letter."
"Oh, he does," Mrs. Borrodaile cried unguardedly. "I have six of his letters altogether. All of them delightfully prim and old- fashioned, but none the less businesslike for that."
"I know," Beggarstaff said thoughtfully. "Loud laughter in court, and all that kind of thing. But that does not in the least matter. You must see quite clearly, Miranda, that this thing is in the hands of Fate. It was Fate that impelled me to accede to Tuffy's wishes. It was Fate that brought me here to-night. It was Fate that made me the instrument to rescue General Peyton. Of course, I mean to rescue you from a loveless match with a man so much older than yourself. You shall be the bride of my heart. You shall come and transform the cold marble halls of Park Lane into the rosy warmth of home, I will fetch General Peyton and tell him so."
Mrs. Borrodaile showed some sentiments of alarm. She would have restrained Beggarstaff, but he darted impulsively from her side in search of the General. After all, the adventuress made up her mind, better—far better—to be the wife of this simple-hearted millionaire than share the lot of the General, who held certain narrow views on the subject of woman's economy. A few moments later, and Beggarstaff was back again, dragging the General impulsively in his train.
"This is very pitiful," he said. "It fills me with the deepest grief, my dear sir, to have to break to you the sad intelligence that you will have to resign all claim to the hand of Mrs. Borrodaile. The noble and beautiful woman by my side has changed her mind. As a soldier and a man of honour you will admit that this little prerogative has been the privilege of charming women ever since Eve changed her mind on the great fruit question, and thus paved the way for our modern civilization. You will pardon me if I speak at some length, for usually I am a man of few words. At the present moment I am inebriated with the exuberance of my own verbosity, carried away on the flood-tide of a great affection. In other words, you cannot marry Mrs. Borrodaile, because I am going to do so myself."
Mrs. Borrodaile glanced up swiftly, but if she had expected to note any signs of dismay or anger on the face of her warrior she was doomed to disappointment. It seemed to Beggarstaff that the General's expression was more indicative of relief than any other emotion. He appeared to be waiting for further details.
"It is this way," Beggarstaff went on. "I presume you are not acquainted with Mrs. Borrodaile's first husband. You knew nothing whatever of the many virtues of Tuffy."
"The name reaches me for the first time," the General said frostily. "I have never heard it before."
"Quite so," Beggarstaff went on. "He was our—I should say her first husband. He was a bosom friend of mine. I was with him almost to the last. With one of his expiring breaths he made me give a solemn promise that I would marry his widow. I gave the desired assurance. Directly fortune came to me I returned to England, only to find Miranda for the first time to-night. One glance at the beauty of her face convinced me that my active duty was nothing less than the crowning glory of my career. To be quite practical, I understand that certain letters have passed between you, which letters must be interchanged. It will be a great pleasure to me if you will both call upon me to-morrow at 741, Park Lane, and discuss the matter over a cup of tea. Need I say any more to a gentleman and a soldier like yourself!"
"You have said quite enough, sir," the General said stiffly. "I will make it a point of calling at your house to-morrow at the time indicated. As to my letters—"
"I will be there, also," Mrs. Borrodaile said sweetly. "I think, General, we can arrange matters between myself and—er—Rodney."
BEGGARSTAFF spent a busy morning, principally in the Chief Post Office at St. Martin's-le-Grand, whence he despatched one or two expensive telegrams to Egypt, to say nothing of a small port at the entrance to the Red Sea. This being done, he had nothing now but to wait till five o'clock for the conclusion of the comedy. He had despatched a short note to Laura Peyton, telling her that she had nothing to fear, and that the lapse of a few hours would see the General free, and in a position to make a fool of himself again at the first favourable opportunity.
This being done, he lunched at his club, and, after assuming his last night's hirsute disguise in Tyburn Square, proceeded leisurely in the direction of Park Lane. There, addressed to Rodney Lee, was a long letter from Sir Harry Savage, in which the latter promised implicitly to obey Beggarstaff's instructions. It was evident from the gist of the letter that the baronet knew all about the plot by means of which General Peyton was to be saved from his fate. Beggarstaff tore the letter up, and pitched it in the drawing-room grate.
"That's all right!" he murmured to himself. "If only Savage engineers that telegram all right, it ought to arrive about six o'clock. It is only delay in this matter that I have to fear."
It was a little after five when Mrs. Borrodaile arrived. She looked especially charming in grey and silver, with a large black lace picture hat. It was only by a dexterous movement on Beggarstaff's part that he saved himself from a chaste salute. He hastened to get the perfectly appointed tea-equipage between his visitor and himself. Then he indicated a chair.
"Won't you sit down?" he said. "I am sorry, but my aunt is not here. The fact of the matter is, the dear old lady is in bed. She is a wonderful old creature, and I know you will be charmed with her; but here comes the General. Johnson, you may bring the tea up at once. Mrs. Borrodaile will do the honours of the table."
The General bowed stiffly. He sat in a chair bolt upright, like a ramrod. In his left hand he carried, with considerable ostentation, a packet of letters, which he placed mathematically in the crown of his hat.
"The letters," Beggarstaff murmured. "I see that you have brought them all, my dear General. It was good of you to call our attention to the business side of this interview without any painful directness in the way of words. I propose we get this part of the interview over at once. Miranda, dearest Miranda, will you kindly produce your share of the—I mean, the General's communications to you? Did you not tell me there were six of them?"
"There were six," General Peyton said frigidly; "and I have five here. Mrs. Borrodaile will correct me if I have made a mistake. Let me hand them over to you."
"And let me give you mine," Mrs. Borrodaile said sweetly.
With an air of great solemnity, Beggarstaff took the eleven envelopes and sorted them out like a playing hand at cards. He was going to take no risks. Then, with the suggestion of a priest performing some sacred rite, he tore the envelopes across, and dropped them into the heart of the fire.
"I am sorry, my dear General," he said, "to dispel your little romance like this, but you will see at once that between Miranda and myself there is a distinct affinity. I am not a superstitious man, but when I met Miranda last night I felt sure that Fate had taken two lives into its hands. You will excuse me if I am forced to the conclusion that one of those lives was not yours. If it had been your privilege to have known Tuffy—"
"You need say no more," the General said. "I can quite see for myself that Mrs. Borrodaile has acted with commendable prudence in the circumstances. I do not know if you are a very old friend of the gentleman whom you allude to as Tuffy-—"
"Years," Beggarstaff said. "We were boys together. On three distinct occasions he saved my life."
"And yet he never mentioned it," Mrs. Borrodaile murmured.
"He wouldn't," Beggarstaff cried. "Such was the noble nature of the man. Once by water, once by fire, and once by the life of an assassin I was rescued by my friend. My dear Miranda, the General will take another muffin, just to show that no feeling of animosity remains. I am quite sure that the General will take another muffin."
"Nothing of the kind," General Peyton said hastily. "There is no animosity whatever. And no reason to immolate my digestion on the altar of your charming muffins. If you will excuse me, I will not detain you any longer. There is rather an important consultation at the War Office in which I desire...."
The speaker's voice trailed off into a whisper, as he bowed himself out of the room. Mrs. Borrodaile leant back in her chair and laughed. She tapped Beggarstaff fraternally on the arm.
"The old boy took it very well," she said. "What do you think?"
Beggarstaff shook his head gravely. He appeared to be listening for something. Presently the door opened. A servant entered with a cablegram, which he proceeded to hand to his temporary employer.
"A foreign message," Beggarstaff murmured. "Something to do with my mines, I suppose. If you will excuse me—"
Beggarstaff tore open the envelope, and proceeded to read the lines therein. He stood for a moment perfectly still, then the paper fluttered from his fingers and dropped upon the floor. His gaze in the direction of his visitor was a wonderful admixture of regret and consternation. It flashed across the woman's mind that Beggarstaff had suddenly lost all his money.
"Something very unpleasant has happened?" she hazarded.
"A calamity!" Beggarstaff said, in a hollow voice. "Fortunately the full force of the blow will be mine, and not yours. My happiness, Miranda, has been of so recent a growth that I shall be able to pluck it out of my heart before it has become an integral part of my existence. Not to keep you in suspense any longer, let me tell you that our only Tuffy is still alive."
"Oh, rats!" Mrs. Borrodaile cried. "I mean it is absolutely impossible! Why, you told me that you had left him for dead."
"So I did!" Beggarstaff almost wept. "He must have recovered in some marvellous fashion. But read the telegram for yourself. You will see that it comes from the port of Suez. Here is what it says:
"'LEE, 741, PARK LANE. DELIGHTED TO HEAR YOUR GOOD FORTUNE. ONLY FOUND OUT YESTERDAY. CABLE MONEY, GET ME LONDON. EXPLAIN WHEN REACH. —TUFFY.'
"Now, my sainted Miranda, nothing can be plainer than that. We shall have to possess our souls in patience until the wanderer returns. Needless to say that I shall at once send the dear boy all that he desires. It will be always a source of consolation to me to know that I came so near to carrying out the wishes of my friend. But such happiness was not to be. Despite my wealth, there will always be a skeleton in my cupboard—the skeleton of a blighted affection. But we need not despair, Miranda. It may be that Tuffy's wonderful agility in the drinking line will be the means of hastening on—But there! I must not let my mind dwell upon the point. When we meet Tuffy—"
"We are not going to meet Tuffy," Mrs. Borrodaile said crisply. "Don't you believe it! You seem to be a very good fellow, Rodney Lee; but when you put your money on Tuffy, as they say in the States, you are barking up the wrong tree. This has been a bit of a blow to me, and I don't deny it. I should have married you, and we should have had a good time together; but the advent of Tuffy will put an end to all that. To be brutally frank, Tuffy was, and I have no doubt is, a bully and a blackguard of the first water so far as women are concerned. I have got a few thousand pounds now; I am going to stick to them. If that man finds me out, I shan't have a cent to bless myself with in a month. You can do what you like about cabling him money, but if you take my advice you won't send him a rap. As for me, I shall just have time to settle my matters in London, and then I am off to Paris."
Beggarstaff placed his hand to his forehead in a pained kind of way. It was evident that these revelations had affected him deeply.
"You unman me," he said. "To think that I should discover Tuffy to be a man of this class! But I must see him; I must hear his explanation. I cannot lose all the illusion of a lifetime in this fashion. Tell me, is there anything I can do for you?"
"Yes," Mrs. Borrodaile said crisply. "You can keep your mouth shut. You are going to give me your promise not to tell Tuffy anything. You are not even to hint that you have met me. Of course, I am asking you to tell a fair lot of lies on my account, but don't forget that if you betray me I am as good as ruined. Tell Tuffy I am dead. You are a pretty emotional sort of man, judging from the way you gushed about Tuffy last night; and I should think you would have no difficulty in drawing a pretty picture of yourself laying lilies on my grave, and all that sort of thing. But we are wasting time here, and I was never the one to sit down and weep over a tin of spilt milk. Ring the bell, and get one of your servants to call me a cab."
A cab came at length; and Beggarstaff, with a countenance of neat and proper melancholy, escorted his visitor downstairs, and placed her in the hansom. She extended her hand with a smile; then a little sigh escaped her lips as she glanced at the noble elevation of the Park Lane house.
"Ah, well," she said, "it is all the fortune of war! I was never nearer to the heaven of my ambition, which is Park Lane, than I was last night. Good-bye; and promise me one thing—a discreet silence on the subject of my existence with Tuffy."
"I promise," said Beggarstaff, as he took the outstretched hand. "On my sacred honour, not a word to Tuffy!"