CHAPTER VII
The next day, Mrs. Vanderstein, busy with a watering-can among the potsof roses that during the season adorned her balcony, and keeping a sharplook-out on the entrance to Fianti's opposite, was disappointed not tocatch another glimpse of Prince Felipe of Targona whom she thought everyminute to see issue from beneath the portico.
"What can keep him indoors on so fine a day?" she asked herselfrepeatedly, for again the sun smote down on the city out of a cloudlessazure.
Having spent the hour immediately after luncheon in this vainexpectancy, at the imminent risk of both sunstroke and indigestion, shebegan to despair of her hopes ever being fulfilled, and went back intothe drawing-room, where she threw herself dejectedly into a chair.
"If this weather goes on," she said to Barbara, "we might run over toDieppe for a few days."
Mrs. Vanderstein was very much in the habit of making sudden excursionsto the other side of the Channel; whenever she was bored at home shewould dash off at a moment's notice to Dieppe or Ostend.
Barbara enjoyed these trips, but sometimes wished Mrs. Vanderstein wouldnot make up her mind to depart quite at the last minute, as she nearlyalways did. It was awkward occasionally to have only half an hour givenone in which to pack.
"Will you go to-day?" she asked, with a shade of anxiety in her voice.
"Oh, I don't know," Mrs. Vanderstein answered wearily. "I daresay Imay."
Barbara walked over to the open window.
"There's Madame Justine coming out of Fianti's," she remarked presently.
"Really?" said Mrs. Vanderstein, getting up and going to Barbara's side."I wonder what she can have been doing there?"
Madame Querterot was hurrying along the pavement, bag in hand. Shelooked up at the balcony and made a little smiling bow in response toMrs. Vanderstein's friendly nod. Then she rounded a corner and was outof sight.
"What a good kind face she has," Mrs. Vanderstein said as she turnedback into the house. "It would cheer up anyone, that delightful smile.It always does me good to see Madame Justine."
"I can't think why you like her so much," said Barbara, as she also cameback into the room. "I don't think she looks particularly nice."
"Ah, Barbara," said Mrs. Vanderstein, "at your age you are no judgeof character. Now I know a good woman when I see one, and I do admirethat one. Look at the way she works day and night to support her idle,ungrateful daughter."
"I don't suppose she's so ungrateful as her mother makes out," saidBarbara. She seemed determined to see no good in poor Madame Querterot.
In the cool of the afternoon the two ladies drove in the Park andvisited one or two of the houses of their friends. It was past six whenthey returned home, and for once the masseuse was waiting for them.She came forward as Mrs. Vanderstein entered, and her manner showedsome excitement. In the background hovered Amelie, who would have diedsooner than allow Madame Querterot to remain alone in her mistress'room, hinting darkly, if vaguely, to the other servants that mysteriousand terrible results would have to be expected if such a liberty wereaccidentally permitted.
"Oh, madame," cried Madame Querterot, "I have such amusing news. At allevents I hope that you will laugh and not be offended if I repeat it toyou."
"What is it, Madame Justine?"
"Figure to yourself, madame, that this morning I received asummons--but, madame," said Madame Querterot, checking herself on asudden and casting a look of scarcely veiled malice towards the otheroccupants of the bedroom, "what I have to tell you is of a naturesomewhat private. Is it possible that you permit that I speak with youalone?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Vanderstein; "why not, if you wish. Amelie, I willring when I want you, please. Barbara, do you mind going away till Icall you? Thanks so much. I must hear this amusing story of MadameJustine's."
Barbara and the maid lost no time in obeying, and left the room; butwhile the one did so with alacrity, her pride preventing her fromshowing any curiosity, even for a moment, as to what Madame Querterotmight have to relate, Amelie was at no pains to conceal the dislike,almost amounting to hatred, which shone in her eyes as she fixed themin an angry stare on her compatriot before she slowly moved towards thedoor. Some day she hoped to be revenged on this woman, this odious,talkative bourgeoise, for the way in which she had wormed herself, ifnot into her mistress' confidence, at all events into such familiarimpertinent terms with her; when, if Mrs. Vanderstein could but bebrought to feel about her, in her bones, as Amelie felt, she wouldrecognise her for a person to whom an honest woman, let alone a lady atall _comme il faut_, would scorn to address herself.
Her rage and indignation continued to augment as the minutes passed andno bell summoned her back to her duties. Though no fonder of work thanher fellows, Amelie's whole soul rose in revolt against the idea thatshe could be dispensed with. And when at last, after an hour's waiting,both she and Miss Turner were recalled to the bedroom, one of them atleast re-entered it with murderous feelings in her heart, which shevented by making faces at the masseuse behind the ladies' backs andvowing to herself that the day of vengeance could not be much longerdelayed.
As for Barbara, she was struck immediately she returned to her friendby a suppressed excitement, a restlessness of manner, which seemed tobetray that there had been something of personal interest in MadameQuerterot's confidences. She did not like, however, to ask what theFrenchwoman had had to tell in private, and as Mrs. Vanderstein did notvolunteer any information, but was very silent all the evening, fullyoccupied apparently with her own thoughts, Barbara was not sorry whenbedtime came.
"Do you still think of running over to Dieppe?" she asked, as she saidgood night.
"To Dieppe!" cried her friend, "good gracious, no! I have all kinds ofengagements, and you have forgotten that my box is taken for the galaperformance of the opera on Monday. I shall certainly stay in London forthe present!"
Clearly Mrs. Vanderstein had forgotten the half-formed intention of theafternoon.
Well, that would not prevent her changing her mind again, thoughtBarbara, and they might be off across the Channel in a day or two inspite of to-night's decision.
But days elapsed and no more was said on the subject. Every evening sawMadame Querterot arrive as usual; but now there was always a privateinterview between her and Mrs. Vanderstein, which left that lady flushedand smiling.
Barbara could not imagine what was happening to cause all these changes.She disliked Madame Querterot and vaguely resented the secret that shefelt was being kept from her. Why should Mrs. Vanderstein have secretswith this horrid little Frenchwoman and leave her out in the cold? Howcould she allow the woman's familiarity? Barbara was both piqued anddisgusted at the whole trend of the matter.
On Sunday they walked in the Park with a certain Mrs. Britterwerth, afriend of Mrs. Vanderstein.
After a day or two of clouds and rain, during which people shivered andsaid it was like winter, the weather had cleared again to the radiantbrightness which distinguished that summer from those preceding andfollowing it. The Park was gay with light dresses and brilliant colouredparasols. The flowers, too, were at their best--the rain had come at theright moment for them and the beds were a vision of beauty--but theyreceived scanty attention, as usual, people flocking to the other sideof the road, where, to tell the truth, it was very pleasant on the greenlawns beneath the trees.
The three ladies strolled up and down in the shade. Mrs. Vandersteincalled it taking exercise, and did it once a week for the sake of herfigure. Mrs. Britterwerth was really stout and would gladly have satdown after a turn or two, but was not allowed to by her more energeticfriend.
"Consider, my dear, what a lot of good it does us," said Mrs.Vanderstein.
Here, presently, they were joined by Joseph Sidney, and soon Barbarafound herself walking on ahead with him, while the two others followedthem at a little distance.
She had not seen him since the night at Covent Garden, and she noticedwith concern that he looked worn and worried.
"I s
aw that Averstone did no good," she said, as soon as they were outof earshot.
"No," said Sidney shortly.
"Did you back him?" she asked, and knew the answer before he spoke.
"Oh yes," he said, "I backed him all right. He'd have won, I daresay, ifI hadn't spoilt his chance with my rotten luck."
Barbara walked on in silence for a minute.
"I'm sorry," she said at length. "It was my fault. I gave you the tip."
"Nonsense," he answered almost roughly. "Your money's gone too."
"Did you lose much last week?" she asked abruptly.
"So much," he replied, "that it's no good trying to hide it from you.It's bound to come out in a few days. The truth is that I've lost everypenny my uncle left me and every sixpence I had before. Worse than that!I've lost money I can't pay, and I shall not only have to leave theregiment, but----" he broke off bitterly and slashed with his stick atthe grass. "Well, you know what it means," he finished lamely.
"Oh, it can't be as bad as that!" cried Barbara. "Tell Mrs. Vanderstein.She will help you. How I wish I had some money!"
"Do you think she would help me?" asked Sidney. "She would let meblow my brains out first. You don't realise, perhaps, what a violentprejudice she has against betting. Look at this letter. I got it theday after I saw you at the opera." He pulled from his pocket a largesheet of blue writing paper on which Barbara at once recognised Mrs.Vanderstein's unmistakable handwriting.
"MY DEAR JOSEPH," it ran,
"I hope there is no truth in what I hear about your betting on race-horses. It is a practice I deplore with all my heart and I should be very sorry to see you descend to such unprincipled depths. Without entering upon a long dissertation, I must tell you that, unless you henceforward sever all connection with bookmakers and their kind, I shall think it my duty to depart from your uncle's wishes and leave my money away from you altogether. It pains me to write like this and I trust it is unnecessary, but it is best to have things understood.
"Your affectionate aunt, "RUTH VANDERSTEIN."
Barbara read the letter in horror-struck silence.
"That's the sort of help I should get from her," said Sidney, as shegave it back to him.
"Something must be done," she repeated dully; "can't you borrow fromsome one?"
"I've been losing steadily for three years," replied the young man,"and I had to go to the money-lenders long ago. I can't get anotherpenny from them. It's rather funny if you think of how my uncle made hismoney, isn't it? But perhaps you don't know," he went on hastily, seeingthe blank look on Barbara's face. "So that's how it is," he startedafresh. "It's all up with me, you see. I'm absolutely done for unlessI can get L10,000 by next week. I'm pretty desperate, I can tell you.There's nothing I wouldn't do to get the money."
He spoke in emphatic tones, and several of the passing crowd turnedtheir heads to see who it was who so loudly published the unfortunatestate of his financial affairs. Sidney was quick to realise theattention he was attracting, and lowered his voice to a moreconfidential pitch. Neither he nor his companion specially remarkedone among those who glanced up at them on hearing the outspoken words,a small spare man with a clean-shaven face and brown hair fading to apremature greyness. Nor if they had done so would either of them haverecognised in this correctly dressed, spick and span Londoner, whosewell-fitting morning coat and patent leather boots so exactly resembledthose worn by Sidney himself and nearly every smart young man to bemet with in the Park that day, the well-known private detective, Mr.Gimblet, the man most dreaded by the criminal class of the entirekingdom.
Walking at a more rapid pace than they, he was in the act of overtakingthe couple as they strolled along, when something in Sidney's voice, anote of despairing recklessness more than the words themselves that heuttered, aroused his interest and wakened his ever ready curiosity. Hecontinued to walk on without slackening his speed, and did not look backuntil he had advanced some fifty yards. Then he hesitated, loitered amoment, and finally sat down on one of the green chairs, which stoodconveniently unoccupied, just before Sidney and Barbara strolledunconcernedly by.
Before they had passed, Gimblet had made a quick survey of the youngman's face, on which signs of worry and anxiety were very plainly to benoted.
"I wonder who it is," he thought; and continued, when they had gone on,to gaze meditatively after the young people.
In his turn he failed to observe two ladies who came up in the oppositedirection to that in which his head was turned. Mrs. Vandersteinobserved his intent expression as she approached, and following thedirection of his eyes murmured to her friend:
"Do you see that man staring at Barbara? He looks quite moonstruck. Sheattracts a great deal of attention. Such a dear girl, I don't know whatI should do without her."
"You are so good to her," murmured her companion. "The questionis rather, what would she do without you? But she is certainly anattractive young person, especially to men. I wonder that you are notafraid to let that delightful nephew of yours see so much of her."
To Barbara, walking mechanically by Sidney's side, it seemed suddenly asif some strange darkness hung over the face of nature. The lightness ofheart with which she had gone forth out of the house, the high spiritsnatural to her that constituted the only legacy of any value whichshe had inherited from her father, deserted her now to make place fordistress on the young man's account. Nor was it only at the thought ofthe trouble that had fallen on him that she recoiled horror-struck andthat the sunlight took on a quality of gloom, which made the presenthour such a dismal one and those of the future to appear encircled ina dusk that deepened, as it receded, till it merged into that utterobscurity over whose boundaries Joe seemed already to be slipping andvanishing. It was the effect of his disaster on her own life thatchiefly terrified and shocked her. What would she do without the onlyman friend of anything like her own age whom she knew in London andwhose tastes so much resembled her own? She would hear no more sportinggossip, be cut off from her one remaining link with the racing world.What would she do without him if he disappeared as he threatened? Whatwould she do without the only person in the world she cared to see? Theonly person in the world she cared for.... The knowledge came to hersuddenly like a revelation and she stumbled for a moment in her walk asshe realised with a flash of self-comprehension the full meaning of herdread.
In that instant she saw and realised that to lose Joe Sidney would be,for her, to lose all.
He, occupied in a recital of his troubles, noticed nothing beyond hisown almost unconscious relief in speaking at length of the worries hehad for so long kept to himself. It was a comfort to have so sympathetica listener.
Still, not much comfort could be extracted even from that, with thecrisis in his life so real and so near at hand, and he was soonrepeating his earlier assertions that it was no use talking, and thatthere was no hope for him of anything but absolute ruin.
"Your aunt. She must, oh, she must help you!" Barbara heard herselfsaying again.
Again Sidney shook his head.
"You don't understand her. She will act in accordance with her ideas.We Jews----"
"You are not a Jew!" Her voice was indignant.
"My mother was a Jewess. You don't suppose I am ashamed of it? We Jewshave stronger convictions--opinions--principles--call them what youlike--than Christians are in the habit of hampering themselves with. Weare more apt, I should say, to live up to our theories. My aunt lookson gambling as the most deadly of sins. Where you or I perceive a greentrack and a few bookies, she sees, I do believe, a personage with hornsand a tail, brandishing a pitchfork. I'm not at all sure she isn'tright. I am at least quite sure that if I could get out of this messI'd never go near a race-course or have so much as a look at the oddsagain as long as I lived. It's not much use saying that now, is it? Butbelieve me, help from Aunt Ruth is out of the question. You may scratchit. This is the end of all for me. I shall just have to go. Drop out, asmany better men have had to do before me."
"Oh don't talk like that," cried Barbara. She had pulled herselftogether, and was thinking clearly and rapidly. "Listen to me. Ifyou can't go to Mrs. Vanderstein with the truth, can't you go to herwith"--she hesitated--"something else?"
"A lie," said Joe bluntly. "I don't wonder you think I'd not be abovea lie if it could save me. But can you suggest one with which I couldgo to her and ask for L10,000? If you can, let's hear it, for goodness'sake. But of course you can't. She's not an absolute fool!" He laughedagain, a short, hard laugh.
"You don't know Mrs. Vanderstein as well as I do, though you are arelation," said Barbara. "She has weak points, you know. At least shehas one weakness. I wonder if you know what it is?"
They had come to the Corner and paused by the rails. InstinctivelyBarbara turned about, looking to see if Mrs. Vanderstein were withinearshot.
"Why, look at her now," she cried.
Sidney, too, turned, and followed the direction of her gaze.
His aunt and her friend had reached a point some fifty yards behindthem. Mrs. Vanderstein's face was radiant. A rosy colour dyed hercheeks. Her eyes sparkled, when for a moment she lifted them and glancedin the direction of the roadway. But for the most part they seemed to bemodestly cast down and Mrs. Vanderstein appeared interested solely inthe toes of her shoes; these, though of the most pleasing aspect, didnot entirely justify the delight the lady seemed to feel in them. Shemay, perhaps, have been wondering whether or no they touched the ground,for so lightly did she tread that a mere spectator might have felt verygrave doubts on the subject. She looked, indeed, to be walking upon air.Even Sidney, unobservant as he commonly was of the expressions of peopleto whom he was not at the moment talking, could not help noticing herunusual demeanour. Indeed she looked the incarnation of happiness.
"What's the matter with her?" he asked, turning again to the girl besidehim.
For answer she made a movement of her hand towards the road.
"Do you see that?" she inquired.
There was very little traffic in the Park on that Sunday evening. Amotor or two rolled through, but they were few and far between. Joe sawnothing remarkable or that could, to his thinking, in any way accountfor his aunt's strange looks. One carriage only was driving by, abarouche occupied by an elderly lady and three foreign-looking men.There was nothing about them to attract attention.
"What in the world is there to see?" he said, in bewilderment.
"In that carriage are Prince Felipe of Targona and his mother," saidBarbara, "and Mrs. Vanderstein gets as excited as that whenever she seesany kind of a Royal personage. I don't think," she added truthfully,"that I ever saw her show it quite so plainly, but you can see theeffect they have on her. Royalty is what really interests her most inlife. You wouldn't believe how much she is thrilled by it. It is aninfatuation, almost a craze."
"I had no notion she was like that," said Joe, with an air of somedisgust. "I should never have thought she was such a frightful snob."
"I don't think it is snobbishness with Mrs. Vanderstein," said Barbara."It's more a sort of romanticness. But I don't suppose you understand.The point is that there's nothing she wouldn't do to meet any kind ofa little princeling. And if she once met him, there's nothing he couldask she wouldn't give. After all," she went on in an argumentative tone,"she ought not to let you be ruined. I am sure Mr. Vanderstein neverwould have. And L10,000 is really so little to her. Why, her pearlsalone are worth far more. What does a sum like that matter? It's onlyfour or five hundred a year. She wouldn't miss it a bit."
"I daresay," said Sidney, "but I don't see what good that does me."
"Have you got a friend you can trust who would stretch a point to helpyou?"
"Not a decimal point as far as cash is concerned. In other ways, Idaresay I have got one or two. They'd help me all right, poor chaps, ifthey'd got any money themselves."
"It's not money. I mean some one who would take a little trouble."
"Oh yes, I think I can raise one of that sort. For that matter," saidSidney, "if you don't mind my calling you a friend, I think no one couldwant a better one. It's no end good of you to be so sympathetic and letme bore you with my rotten affairs."
The girl turned away her face.
"Of course I am a friend," she said, "but you will want a man, if myidea is any good. Now listen, I have got a plan."
Barbara hesitated. She was very conscious that the idea which had cometo her was not one which would commend itself to Joe. A few hours beforeshe would have scornfully rejected the suggestion that she herselfcould ever be brought to tolerate such an expedient, but now everythingwas changed and all her convictions of right and wrong were shaken andtottering, if not entirely swept aside by the fear of the imminentdanger to the man she loved. Her one feeling now was that at any costthe peril must be averted, and the question of the moment was how torepresent her design in such terms as would prevail on him to see in ita path that a man might conceivably follow and yet retain some remnantof self-esteem.
Very carefully, choosing her words with deliberation, she disclosed toSidney the plan that to her seemed to offer the only chance of settinghis affairs in order. As she expected, he refused at first to entertainthe idea at all; undismayed, she returned to the attack and persisted,with Jesuitical reasonings and syllogisms, in showing him that in themethod she proposed lay his only hope of obtaining the necessary money.Very slowly and reluctantly he allowed himself to be persuaded. No onecould have listened for half an hour to Barbara's cajolements withoutgiving way.
At the first sign of his weakening she redoubled her efforts, and as shetalked, refusing to allow herself to be discouraged by Joe's objectionsand the difficulties he pointed out, he gradually succumbed to herwheedling, and once he had thrust his scruples into the backgroundbecame nearly as enthusiastic as she was herself.
Before they parted the plan was worked out in every point. It remainedbut to take the faithful necessary friend of Joe's into theirconfidence. This, Joe told her, had better be a subaltern in hisregiment, by name Baines, luckily in London at the present moment.
"As long," he said with a return to former doubts, "as old Baines isequal to the job. There's not much he'd stick at, though."
"Yes," said Barbara, and was silent a minute during which thedifficulties of carrying out her plan successfully seemed to swarmaround her with quite a new vigour. "If anything should turn up," shefaltered, "to make this idea impossible, you will try telling Mrs.Vanderstein the truth, won't you? It is a chance, after all."
"Well, it can't make things worse, I suppose," he agreed. "I hopeit won't come to that. I don't think it will now; but if it does, Ipromise, if it pleases you, that I will make a clean breast of it toher."
"Thank you," she murmured; and then as they turned, "there she is now,making signs that we should go back."