CHAPTER III
Mrs. Vanderstein and Barbara hurried over their dinner and were early intheir places in Covent Garden. Mrs. Vanderstein always arrived beforethe orchestra had tuned up. She had, like many of her race, a greatappreciation of music and did not like to miss a bar of the overture,even though she had already heard the opera that was being given sooften that she knew it by heart.
She felt very much in a mood to enjoy herself that evening, and till thefirst act was over leant back in her chair with half-closed eyes, hardlymoving at all, and absolutely absorbed in listening to the wonderfulsingers who were that night interpreting Puccini's melodious work. Eventhe Royal box opposite barely distracted her attention for more than afew moments.
Barbara Turner was not musical, but she, too, was always pleased togo to the opera. She liked the sensation of luxury, which envelopedher there even more than elsewhere; she liked the feeling that theentertainment offered them was costing a huge amount of money, andtherefore could only be witnessed by a privileged few. Although shelaughed at Mrs. Vanderstein's passion for Royalty, she shared hersimple satisfaction in the knowledge that the box in which they werenow sitting was sandwiched between that occupied by the Duke ofMellinborough on their left, and the one tenanted by Sir Ian Fyves, thesporting Scotch millionaire.
Barbara rejoiced in the exclusiveness obtainable by the rich, thereindiffering from some other people who depreciate the advantages of wealthon the grounds that the largest fortunes may be made and handled bythe most vulgar, and that banking accounts are not in these days theexclusive property of the refined, or even of the intellectual.
Mrs. Vanderstein made no secret of the benefit to her health derivedfrom hours spent in the closest proximity to the aristocracy, the airinhaled by a duchess being separated from that which filled her ownlungs merely by the thinnest of partitions. She invariably occupied thechair on the left-hand side of the box, so that the space between herand her unseen neighbours might be thought of in terms of inches; andit cannot be denied that Barbara herself relished the thought of thecompany of the great who surrounded her, heedless though they might beof the pleasure they were providing. It was not really to be expected,besides, that the nearness of Sir Ian Fyves, whose horse had alreadyso easily won the Derby the year before, and who was again the luckyowner of the favourite for the coming contest, should leave unmoved thedaughter of Bill Turner, the trainer.
All Barbara's childhood had been passed at Newmarket, and the talk ofthe racing men with whom her father associated had been the first tofall on her infantile ears. The horses in his charge had grown to beher chief interest in life, as they were that of every one she wasbrought in contact with; and at the age of ten she knew as much aboutthem--their points, prowess, value, and chances--as any stable boy onthe place. On a small but truculent pony she followed her father andhis friends to the heath in the early mornings and watched the morninggallops with a critical eye; with the same edifying companions shepottered about the stableyard during most of the rest of the day, andonly when bed-time came--and it came at eight o'clock, for on that onepoint her father was firm--was she reluctantly torn away.
All Mr. Vanderstein's horses were trained by her father, and many a timethe childish eyes followed them to victory.
In earlier days, before Barbara had made her bow upon the scene, Turnerhad been associated in various affairs of business with Mr. Vanderstein,then plain Mr. Moses Stein, familiarly known to his intimates of thosedays by the endearing nickname of Nosey Stein; sometimes in moments ofrare affection, when some particularly brilliant _coup_ had just beenbrought off, he was alluded to as Nosey Posey.
Mrs. Vanderstein, then Miss Ruth Hengersohn, had changed all this. Thename of Stein was repugnant to her, though it seems a good enough sortof appellation in its way; Nosey or Nosey Posey she could only thinkof with a shudder; while the idea of being herself known as Mrs. Noseyfilled her with a burning determination, which, as it cooled, hardenedto the inflexible consistency of chilled steel.
Before their marriage took place, Mr. Stein, who always admiringlyrecognised, when he met it, a will more adamant than his own, had atgreat trouble, inconvenience, and expense changed his name for that ofVanderstein, by which he was afterwards known.
The enterprises, chiefly connected with the promotion of companies,in which this gentleman had, in his early, forgotten--and bestforgotten--youth, the assistance and co-operation of Mr. William Turner,were in their nature precarious and not a source, unfortunately, of theprofit foreseen by those who set out upon them.
At the conclusion of one of them, indeed, things took on a veryunexpected complexion, assuming in the twinkling of an eye sodisagreeable a hue, that the directors of the company, whose managementwas suddenly the centre of attraction and which was in danger ofreceiving a most unwelcome, if flattering, attention from thepublic prosecutor, thought it best to disappear with a rapidity andunobtrusiveness highly creditable to a modest desire for self-effacementat a moment when free advertisement was within the grasp of each ofthem.
Luckily for Mr. Stein, his name did not appear among those who sat onthe board of this particular company and he was able to pursue his wayin a retiring and profitable manner; but it was otherwise with his lessfortunate friend, Bill Turner.
It was to the search for this worthy though too incautious personthat the efforts of the authorities were principally directed; and itwas only by returning once more, under an assumed name, to the racingcircles which he had during a short interval forsaken for the city,and still further owing to the absence of the chief witness for theprosecution, whose whereabouts could not for a long time be ascertained,that Turner was able to escape the fate which ought assuredly to havebeen his.
He settled finally at Newmarket, and married the daughter of aneighbouring squire, who never spoke again to a child who could so farforget her father's position and ignore his commands as to unite herselfto the more than questionable William.
The poor lady, however, took her revenge on her relations, and her leaveof a world in which she had found time to suffer some disillusions, onthe day that saw Barbara ushered into the light; so that the little girlwas left to grow up entirely in that odour of the stables which herfather preferred, in his heart, to any more delicate perfume.
It was not until she was ten years old that Turner began to sufferfrom the attentions of blackmailers, but these, having once discoveredhim, saw in him a mine of gold which they fondly expected to proveinexhaustible. Such, however, was not the case. After a year'spersecution the wretched man found himself penniless, and on the adviceof Vanderstein, the only one of his old pals who did not ignore him inhis trouble, he left the country with precipitation and secrecy.
So little was his intention suspected that he eluded all furtherdetection and bolted successfully to South America, where he remaineduntraced by undesirable acquaintances and finally drank himself to deathafter several years of the most gratifying obscurity.
Turner's only regret at leaving England was that he could not take withhim his little girl; but hampered by the company of a child escape wouldhave been impossible, and he sorrowfully yielded to the representationsof Vanderstein on that point.
The Jew promised to take charge of Barbara in the future, and assuredTurner with every mark of solemnity that as long as he or his wife livedthe girl should not lack a home. Turner, who knew that Vanderstein neverceased to chafe under a sense of obligations incurred in the early daysof their struggles, placed every confidence in the words, and had nodoubt that his friend would live up to his promises.
And Vanderstein did not fail to do so.
Barbara, whose grief at parting from her father was intense andpathetic, was comforted as best might be and sent to school at theselect academy of the Misses Yorke Brown at Brighton. Here she receivedthe best of educations in the company of about thirty other youngladies, the daughters of well-to-do middle class people. In theirsociety she obtained a nodding acquaintance with algebra, history,science, and literat
ure; with them she attended dancing classes, learnta little French and German, and disported herself on the tennis courtand hockey field. She roller-skated and played golf, became proficientin the art of swimming, and with a chosen and fortunate few rode dailyon the downs.
At the end of six or seven years she had grown into a self-possessed,capable young woman, a little old for her years perhaps, as was obviousto those who knew her well, but to outward appearance still a merechild, easily amused at trifles, and with a rare capacity for enjoyinglife, which made her a delightful companion.
Her face had an innocent and helpless expression at variance with herreal nature, which was eminently self-reliant and independent. She wouldnever forgive her mother's relations who had despised her father, and atany mention of them her large blue eyes would always flash resentfully.
Her relatives for their part made no effort to seek her out and werequite content to leave her to the Vandersteins' tender mercies.
Before Barbara left school Mr. Vanderstein died, leaving in his will aprovision to the effect that his widow was to continue the care of hisfriend's daughter, either making her an annual allowance of L500 a yearor taking her to live with her as friend and companion. There was afurther bequest of L30,000 to Barbara, which was to become hers on Mrs.Vanderstein's death.
This was not the only thing in the will which filled Mrs. Vandersteinwith indignation.
She found to her disgust that half the fortune, which she had formedthe habit of considering hers, was left to young Joe Sidney, the sonof her husband's sister. This lady had committed the horrid offence ofmarrying a Christian, and to her, during her lifetime, the orthodox andscandalised Moses never alluded. Her death occurred a year or two beforehis own, and after it Mr. Vanderstein had displayed a certain interestin his nephew, but not enough to prepare his wife for his preposterousaction in regard to the division of his money. Indeed, he expressed inthe will his wish that after her death it should all go to Joe, thoughhe left the final decision on this point to her judgment.
Old Vanderstein had amassed considerably over half a million sterlingduring the latter and most prosperous portion of his career, so that hiswidow was not altogether the pauper she was fond of declaring herself;but in the first shock of seeing her income divide itself by two shedecided to save the L500 provided for Barbara and to submit instead tothe infliction of her presence.
She had never seen the girl, who had, indeed, been a subject ofdisagreement between her husband and herself, but she was so easy-goingand good-natured at heart that a very short period of Barbara'ssociety had sufficed to change her prejudices and distrust into a warmaffection, and she soon looked on her as she might have done on ayounger sister.
There were occasions certainly when, if anything annoyed her, she wouldnot refrain from pointing out to Barbara how much had been done for herand how exaggerated had been Mr. Vanderstein's views in this direction.
"My dear husband," she would exclaim, "would have ruined himself,if he had lived longer, by his own unbounded philanthropy. He wasconstitutionally unable to say 'no' to anyone, and goodness knows inwhat difficulties he would have landed himself if time had only beenafforded him. How often he would admit to me that certain people hadtried to borrow from him and that he had let them have what theywanted. In vain I begged him to be more firm. He would make me promises,but I would soon discover that he had been doing the same thing again.'My dear,' he would reply to my reproaches, 'I have really not the heartto refuse to help these poor young men.'"
Mr. Vanderstein did not bother his wife with details of his privateaffairs, holding that women have no concern with business; and hedecidedly never thought it necessary to mention that he used acertain discretion in his benevolence, steeling himself against moresupplications than she suspected.
It was true, however, that he never refused to lend money to suchpoor young men as were heirs to entailed estates or could offer othersatisfactory security for the repayment of his kindness, and it was bythese unobtrusive charities that his fortune was collected.
Mrs. Vanderstein's prejudices against Joe Sidney had also decreasedvery rapidly when she became acquainted with that young man, as shedid shortly after his mother's death, and by the time this storybegins--that is to say, three years after she herself had been left awidow--he had become a great favourite of hers, although there werestill moments when she thought a little bitterly of the large sums hehad deprived her of by the fact of his existence. However, she liked himwell enough to let him know that it was her intention to comply with Mr.Vanderstein's wishes in regard to the ultimate disposal of his fortune,and that her will constituted Sidney her sole legatee.
As she was only a few years older than himself and of a robust health,there was every likelihood that this provision would not affect hisfortunes for many years to come, or even that she might survive him.