CHAPTER IV
TIDES VARYING
One evening about a fortnight later Lord Ronsdale, in a dissatisfiedframe of mind, strolled along Piccadilly. His face wore a dark look, theexpression of one ill-pleased with fortune's late attitude toward him.Plans that he had long cherished seemed to be in some jeopardy; he hadbegun to flatter himself that the flowery way to all he desired laybefore him and that he had but to tread it, when another, as thesoothsayers put it, had crossed his path.
A plain man, a man without title! Lord Ronsdale told himself MissJocelyn Wray was no better than an arrant coquette, but the next momentquestioned this conclusion. Had she not really been a little taken bythe fellow? Certainly she seemed not averse to his company; when shewilled, and she willed often, she summoned him to her aide. Nor did henow appear reluctant to come at her bidding; self-assertive though hehad shown himself to be he obeyed, _sans_ demur, the wave of my lady'slittle hand. Was it a certain largeness and reserve about him that hadawakened her curiosity? From her high social position had she wishedmerely to test her own power and amuse herself after a light fashion,surely youth's and beauty's privilege?
But whatever the girl's motive, her conduct in the matter reacted on mylord; the fellow was in the way, very much so. How could he himself paycourt to her when she frivolously, if only for the moment, preferredthis commoner's company? That very afternoon my lord, entering themusic-room of the great mansion, had found her at the piano playing forhim, her slim fingers moving over the keys to the tune of one ofChopin's nocturnes. He had surprised a steady, eloquent look in thefellow's eye turned on her when she was unconscious of his gaze, aglance the ardency of which there was no mistaking. It had altered at mylord's rather quiet and abrupt appearance, crystallized into animpersonal icy light, colder even than the nobleman's own stony stare.He had, perforce, to endure the other's presence and conversation, anundercurrent to the light talk of the girl who seemed, Lord Ronsdalethought, a little maliciously aware of the constraint between the twomen, and not at all put out by it.
What made the situation even more anomalous to Ronsdale and the lesspatiently to be borne, was that Sir Charles understood and sympathizedwith his desires and position in the matter. And why not? Ronsdale'sfather and Sir Charles had been old and close friends; there werereasons that pointed to the match as a suitable one, and Sir Charles, byhis general manner and attitude, had long shown he would put no obstaclein the way of the nobleman's suit for the hand of his fair niece. As forLady Wray, Lord Ronsdale knew that he had in that practical and worldlyperson a stanch ally of his wishes; these had not become less ardentsince he had witnessed the unqualified success of the beautiful colonialgirl in London; noted how men, illustrious in various walks of life,grave diplomats, stately ambassadors, were swayed by her light charm andimpulsive frankness of youth. And to have her who could have all Londonat her feet, including his distinguished self, show a predilection,however short-lived and capricious, for--
"Confound the cad! Where did he come from? Who are his family--if he hasone!"
Thus ruminating he had drawn near his club, a square, imposing edifice,when a voice out of the darkness caused him abruptly to pause:
"If it isn't 'is lordship!"
The tones expressed surprise, satisfaction; the nobleman looked down;gave a slight start; then his face became once more cold, apathetic.
"Who are you? What do you want?" he said roughly.
The countenance of the fellow who had ventured to accost the noblemanfell; a vindictive light shone from his eyes.
"It's like a drama at old Drury," he observed, with a slight sneer."Only your lordship should have said: 'Who the devil are you?'"
Lord Ronsdale looked before him to where, in the distance, near a streetlamp, the figure of a policeman might be dimly discerned; then, withobvious intention, he started toward the officer; but the man stepped infront of him. "No, you don't," he said.
The impassive, steel-like glance of Ronsdale played on the man; a white,shapely hand began to reach out. "One moment, and I'll give you incharge as--"
The fellow saw that Ronsdale meant it; he had but an instant to decide;a certain air of cheap, jaunty assurance he had begun to assumevanished. "All right," he said quickly, but with a ring of suppressedvenom in his voice. "I'll be off. Your lordship has it all your own waysince the _Lord Nelson_ went down." There was a note of bitterness inhis tones. "Besides, Dandy Joe's not exactly a favorite at headquartersjust now, after the drubbing John Steele gave him."
"John Steele!" Lord Ronsdale looked abruptly round.
The fellow regarded him and ventured to go on: "I was witness for thepolice and Mr. Gillett, and he--Steele," with a curse, "had me on thestand. He knows every rook and welsher and every swell magsman, and alltheir haunts and habits. And he knows me--blame--" he made use ofanother expression more forcible--"if he don't know me as well as ifhe'd once been a pal. And now," in an injured tone, "Mr. Gillett callsme hard names for bringing discredit, as he terms it, on the force."
"What's this to me?"
The fellow stopped short in what he was saying; his small eyes glistenedand he took a step forward. "Your lordship remembers the 'Frisco Pet?Your lordship remembers him?" he repeated, thrusting an alert facecloser.
"I believe there was a prize-fighter of that name," was the calm reply.
"I say!" The fellow let his jaw fall slightly; he gazed at the noblemanwith mingled shrewdness and admiration. "Your lordship remembers him_only_," with an accent, "as a patron of sport. Tossed a quid onhim"--with a look of full meaning--"as your lordship would a bone to adog. Perhaps," gaining in audacity, "your lordship would be so generousas to throw one or two now at one he once favored with his bounty."
"I--favored you? You lie!" The answer was concise; it cut like a lash;it robbed the man once more of all his hardihood. He slunk back.
"Very good," he muttered.
Lord Ronsdale turned and with a sharp swish of his cane walked on. Theother, his eyes resentfully bright, looked after the tall, aristocratic,slowly departing figure.
As the nobleman ascended the steps of his club he seemed again to bethinking deeply; within, his preoccupation did not altogether deserthim. In a corner, with the big pages of the _Times_ before him, he readwith scant interest the doings of the day; even a perennial telegramconcerning a threatened invasion of England did not awaken momentaryinterest. He passed it over as casually as he did the markets, or agrudging, conservative item from the police courts, all that the bluepencil had left of the hopeful efforts of some poor penny-a-liner. Fromthe daily fulminator he had turned to the weekly medium of fun andfooling, when, from behind another paper, the face of a gray-haired,good-natured appearing person, quite different off the bench, chanced tolook out at him.
"Eh? That you, Ronsdale?" he said, reaching for a steaming glass of hotbeverage at his elbow. "What do you think of it, this talk of aninvasion by the Monseers?"
"Don't think anything of it."
"Answered in the true spirit of a Briton!" laughed the other. "I fancy,too, it'll be a long time before John Bull ceases to stamp around,master of his own shores, or Britannia no longer rules the deep. But howis your friend, Sir Charles Wray? I had the pleasure of meeting him theother morning in the court room."
"Same as usual, I imagine, Judge Beeson."
"And his fair niece, she takes kindly to the town and its gaieties?"
"Very kindly," dryly.
"A beautiful girl, our young Australian!" The elder man toyed with hisglass, stirred the contents and sipped. "By the way, didn't I see JohnSteele in their box at the opera the other night?"
"It is possible," shortly.
"Rising man, that!" observed the other lightly. "Combination of brainsand force! Did you ever notice his fist? It might belong to aprize-fighter, except that the hands are perfectly kept! You'd know atonce he was a man accustomed to fighting, who would sweep asideobstacles, get what he wanted!"
"Think so?" Lord Ronsdale smoked steadily. "You, as
a magistrate, Isuppose, know him well?"
"Should hardly go that far; taciturn chap, don't you know! I don'tbelieve any one really knows him."
"Or about him?" suggested the other, crossing his legs nonchalantly.
"Not much; only that he is an alien."
"An alien?" quickly. "Not a colonial?"
"No; he has lived in the colonies--Tasmania, and so on. But by birthhe's an American."
"An American, eh? And practising at the British bar?"
"Not the first case of the kind; exceptions have been made before, andaliens 'called,' as we express it. Steele's hobby of criminology broughthim to London, and his earnestness and ability in that line procured forhim the privilege he sought. As member of the incorporated society thatpasses upon the qualifications of candidates it was my pleasure to sitin judgment on him; we raked him fore and aft but, bless you, he stoodsquarely on his feet and refused to be tripped."
"So he came to England to pursue a certain line?" said Lord Ronsdalehalf to himself.
"A man with a partiality for criminal work would naturally look to themodern Babylon. Steele apparently works more to gratify thatpredilection than for any reward in pounds and pence. Must have privatemeans; have known him to spend a deal of time and money on cases therecouldn't have been a sixpence in."
"How'd he happen to get down in Tasmania? Odd place for a Yankee!"
"That's one of the questions he wasn't asked," laughingly. "Perhaps whatour Teutonic friends would call the _Wander-lust_ took him there."Rising, "My compliments to Sir Charles when you see him."
Lord Ronsdale remained long at the club and the card-table that night;over the bits of pasteboard, however, his zest failed to flare high,although instinctively he played with a discernment that came from longpractice. But the sight of a handful of gold pieces here, of a littlepile there, the varying shiftings of the bright disks, as the vagariesof chance sent them this way or that, seemed to move him in no greatdegree,--perhaps because the winning or losing of a few hundred pounds,more or less, would have small effect on his fortunes or misfortunes. Ata late, or rather, early, hour he pushed back his chair, richer by a fewcoins that jingled in his pocket, and, yawning, walked out. Summoning acab, he got in, but as he found himself rattling homeward to thechambers he had taken in a fashionable part of town, he was aware thatany emotions of annoyance and discontent experienced earlier that night,had suffered no abatement.
"Tasmania!" The horse's hoofs beat time to vague desultory thoughts; hestared out, perhaps, in fancy, at southern seas, looked up at stars morelustrous than those that hung over him now. Then the divers clusters ofpoints, glowing, insistent, swam around, and he fell into a half doze,from which he was awakened by the abrupt stopping of the cab. Havingpaid the man he went up to his rooms. On the table in an innerapartment, his study, something bright, white, met his gaze: a note inJocelyn Wray's handwriting! Quickly he reached for it and tore it open.
"A party of us ride in the park to-morrow morning. Will you join us?"
That was all; brief and to the point; Lord Ronsdale frowned.
"A party!" That would include John Steele perhaps. Once before on amorning, the girl's fair face and dancing eyes had wooed Steele awayfrom his desk, or the court, to the park.
Should he go? The note slipped from his fingers to the carpet; hepermitted it to lie there; the importance to himself and others of hisdecision he little realized. Could he have foreseen all that wasinvolved by his going, or staying away, he would not so carelessly havethrown off his clothes and retired, dismissing the matter until themorrow, or rather, until he should chance to waken.
* * * * *