CHAPTER XXI
FAIRYLAND
Monty's situation was desperate. Only a little more than six thousanddollars had been spent on the carnival and no opportunity ofannihilating the roulette winnings seemed to offer itself. Hisexperience at Monte Carlo did not encourage him to try again, andPeggy's attitude toward the place was distinctly antagonistic. TheRiviera presenting no new opportunities for extravagance, it becamenecessary to seek other worlds.
"I never before understood the real meaning of the phrase 'tightmoney,'" thought Monty. "Lord, if it would only loosen a bit and stayloosened." Something must be done, he realized, to earn his living.Perhaps the role of the princely profligate would be easier in Italythan anywhere else. He studied the outlook from every point of view,but there were moments when it seemed hopeless. Baedeker wasprovokingly barren of suggestions for extravagance and Monty grewimpatient of the book's small economies. Noticing some chapters on theItalian lakes, in an inspired moment he remembered that Pettingill hadonce lost his heart to a villa on the Lake of Como. Instantly a new actof comedy presented itself to him. He sought out Pettingill anddemanded a description of his castle in the air.
"Oh, it's a wonder," exclaimed the artist, and his eyes grew dreamy."It shines out at you with its white terraces and turrets like thosefascinating castles that Maxfield Parrish draws for children. It isfairyland. You expect to wake and find it gone."
"Oh, drop that, Petty," said Brewster, "or it will make you poetical.What I want to know is who owns it and is it likely to be occupied atthis season?"
"It belongs to a certain marquise, who is a widow with no children.They say she has a horror of the place for some reason and has neverbeen near it. It is kept as though she was to turn up the next day, butexcept for the servants it is always deserted."
"The very thing," declared Brewster; "Petty, we'll have a house-party."
"You'd better not count on that, Monty. A man I know ran across theplace once and tried for a year to buy it. But the lady has ideas ofher own."
"Well, if you wish to give him a hint or two about how to do things,watch me. If you don't spend two weeks in your dream-castle, I will cutthe crowd and sail for home." He secured the name of the owner, andfound that Pettingill had even a remote idea of the address of heragent. Armed with these facts he set out in search of a courier, andthrough Philippe he secured a Frenchman named Bertier, who wasguaranteed to be surprisingly ingenious in providing methods ofspending money. To him Brewster confided his scheme, and Bertierrealized with rising enthusiasm that at last he had secured a clientafter his own heart. He was able to complete the address of the agentof the mysterious marquise, and an inquiry was immediately telegraphedto him.
The agent's reply would have been discouraging to any one but Brewster.It stated that the owner had no intention of leasing her forsakencastle for any period whatever. The profligate learned that a fairprice for an estate of that kind for a month was ten thousand francs,and he wired an offer of five times that sum for two weeks. The agentreplied that some delay would be necessary while he communicated withhis principal. Delay was the one word that Brewster did not understand,so he wired him an address in Genoa, and the "Flitter" was made readyfor sea. Steam had been kept up, and her coal account would comparefavorably with that of an ocean liner. Philippe was breathless with joywhen he was paid in advance for another month at the hotel, on theassumption that the party might be moved to return at any moment. Thelittle town was gay at parting and Brewster and his guests were given aroyal farewell.
At Genoa the mail had accumulated and held the attention of the yachtto the exclusion of everything else. Brewster was somewhat crestfallento learn that the lady of the villa haughtily refused his princelyoffer. He won the life-long devotion of his courier by promptlyincreasing it to one hundred thousand francs. When this too met withrejection, there was a pause and a serious consultation between the two.
"Bertier," exclaimed Brewster, "I must have the thing now. What's to bedone? You've got to help me out."
But the courier, prodigal as he was of gestures, had no words whichseemed pertinent.
"There must be some way of getting at this marquise," Monty continuedreflectively. "What are her tastes? Do you know anything about her?"
Suddenly the face of the courier grew bright. "I have it," he said, andthen he faltered. "But the expense, monsieur--it would be heavy."
"Perhaps we can meet it," suggested Monty, quietly. "What's the idea?"
It was explained, with plenty of action to make it clear. The courierhad heard in Florence that madame la marquise had a passion forautomobiles. But with her inadequate fortune and the many demands uponit, it was a weakness not readily gratified. The machine she had usedduring the winter was by no means up-to-date. Possibly if Monsieur--yetit was too much--no villa--
But Brewster's decision was made. "Wire the fellow," he said, "that Iwill add to my last offer a French machine of the latest model and thebest make. Say, too, that I would like immediate possession."
He secured it, and the crowd was transferred at once to fairyland.There were protests, of course, but these Brewster had grown to expectand he was learning to carry things with a high hand. The travelers hadbeen preceded by Bertier, and the greeting they received from thesteward of the estate and his innumerable assistants was very Italianand full of color. A break in their monotony was welcome.
The loveliness of the villa and its grounds, which sloped down to thegentle lake, silenced criticism. For a time it was supremely satisfyingto do nothing. Pettingill wandered about as though he could not believeit was real. He was lost in a kind of atmosphere of ecstasy. To theothers, who took it more calmly, it was still a sort of paradise. Thosewho were happy found in it an intensification of happiness, and tothose who were sad it offered the tenderest opportunities formelancholy. Mrs. Dan told Brewster that only a poet could have had thisinspiration. And Peggy added, "Anything after this would be ananti-climax. Really, Monty, you would better take us home."
"I feel like the boy who was shut in a closet for punishment and foundit the place where they kept the jam," said "Subway." "It is almost asgood as owning Central Park."
The stables were well equipped and the days wore on in a wonderfulpeace. It was on a radiant afternoon, when twelve of the crowd hadstarted out, after tea, for a long ride toward Lugano, that Montydetermined to call Peggy Gray to account. He was certain that she haddeliberately avoided him for days and weeks, and he could find noreason for it. Hour after hour he had lain awake wondering where he hadfailed her, but the conclusion of one moment was rejected the next. TheMonte Carlo episode seemed the most plausible cause, yet even beforethat he had noticed that whenever he approached her she managed to betalking with some one else. Two or three times he was sure she had seenhis intention before she took refuge with Mrs. Dan or Mary Valentine orPettingill. The thought of the last name gave Monty a sudden thrill.What if it were he who had come between them? It troubled him, butthere were moments when the idea seemed impossible. As they mounted andstarted off, the exhilaration of the ride made him hopeful. They wereto have dinner in the open air in the shadow of an abbey ruin somemiles away, and the servants had been sent ahead to prepare it. It wentwell, and with Mrs. Dan's help the dinner was made gay. On the returnMonty who was off last spurred up his horse to join Peggy. She seemedeager to be with the rest and he lost no time with a preamble.
"Do you know, Peggy," he began, "something seems to be wrong, and I amwondering what it is."
"Why, what do you mean, Monty?" as he paused.
"Every time I come near you, child, you seem to have something else todo. If I join the group you are in, it is the signal for you to breakaway."
"Nonsense, Monty, why should I avoid you? We have known one anothermuch too long for that." But he thought he detected some contradictionin her eyes, and he was right. The girl was afraid of him, afraid ofthe sensations he awoke, afraid desperately of betrayal.
"Pettingill may appeal to you," he said, and hi
s voice was serious,"but you might at least be courteous to me."
"How absurd you are, Monty Brewster." The girl grew hot. "You needn'tthink that your million gives you the privilege of dictating to all ofyour guests."
"Peggy, how can you," he interjected.
She went on ruthlessly. "If my conduct interferes with your highness'spleasure I can easily join the Prestons in Paris."
Suddenly Brewster remembered that Pettingill had spoken of the Prestonsand expressed a fleeting wish that he might be with them in the LatinQuarter. "With Pettingill to follow, I suppose," he said, icily. "Itwould certainly give you more privacy."
"And Mrs. Dan more opportunities," she retorted as he dropped backtoward the others.
The artist instantly took his place. The next moment he had challengedher to a race and they were flying down the road in the moonlight.Brewster, not to be outdone, was after them, but it was only a momentbefore his horse shied violently at something black in the road. Thenhe saw Peggy's horse galloping riderless. Instantly, with fear at histhroat, he had dismounted and was at the girl's side. She was not hurt,they found, only bruised and dazed and somewhat lamed. A girth hadbroken and her saddle turned. The crowd waited, silent and somewhatawed, until the carriage with the servants came up and she was put intoit. Mrs. Dan's maid was there and Peggy insisted that she would have noone else. But as Monty helped her in, he had whispered, "You won't go,child, will you? How could things go on here?"