CHAPTER XIV.
THE UPPER BOHEMIA.
THE name Bohemia is suggestive of unknown talent starving in garrets, ofobdurate landladies, of bacchanalian nights, and shabby dress. Murgerfirst invested the name with this flavor, and since his time the wordhas become polarized, and indicates nothing but struggling humanity andunappreciated genius. Yet your true Bohemian does not leave his countrywhen he becomes rich and famous. It is true that he descends from thegarret to the first floor; that he fares well and dresses decently; buthe still dwells in Bohemia. The reckless air of the hovels permeates thepalaces of this elastic kingdom of fancy.
Mrs. Durham was a Bohemian, and every Thursday received her _confreres_in the drawing room of a very elegant mansion in Chelsea. She hadwritten a novel, "I Cling to Thee with Might and Main," and this havingmet with a moderate success, she posed as a celebrity, and set up her_salon_ on the lines of Lady Blessington. Everyone who was anyone wasreceived at her "At Homes," and by this process she gathered together aqueer set of people. Some were clever, others were not; some wererespectable, others decidedly disreputable; but one and all--to use anexpression usually connected with crime--had done something. Novelists,essayists, painters, poets, and musicians were all to be found in herrooms, and a more motley collection could be seen nowhere else inLondon. Someone dubbed the Chelsea Mansions "The Zoo," and certainlyanimals of all kinds were to be found there, from monkeys to peacocks.
It was considered rather the thing to be invited to "The Zoo," so whenbrothers and sisters of the pen met one another there they usually said:"What! are you here?" as though the place were heaven, and the speakerjustifiably surprised that anyone should be saved except himself orherself. Literary people love one another a degree less than Christians.
Hither came Tait and Claude in search of John Parver. That young man hadmade a great success with his novel, and was consequently much soughtafter by lion hunters. However, Tait had learned that he was to bepresent at Mrs. Durham's on this special evening, and hoped to engagehim in conversation, so as to learn where he had obtained the materialsfor his story.
When they arrived the rooms were quite full, and Mrs. Durham receivedthem very graciously. It was true that they were not famous, still asTait was a society man, and Claude very handsome, the lady of the housegood-humoredly pardoned all mental deficiencies. Tait knew her verywell, having met her at several houses, but she addressed herself ratherto Claude than to his friend, having a feminine appreciation of goodlooks.
"My rooms are always crowded," said she, with that colossal egotismwhich distinguished her utterances. "You know they call me the newGeorge Eliot."
"No doubt you deserve the name," replied Claude, with mimic gravity.
"Oh, I suppose so," smirked the lady amiably. "You have read my novel,of course. It is now in its fourth edition, and has been refused bySmith and Mudie. I follow the French school of speaking my mind."
"And a very nasty mind it must be," thought Larcher, who had beeninformed about the book by Tait. He did not, however, give this thoughtutterance, but endeavored to generalize the conversation. "You have manycelebrities here to-night, I presume?"
"My Dear Sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Durham, in capitals, "every individual inthis company is famous! Yonder is Mr. Padsop, the great traveler, whowrote 'Mosques and Mosquitoes.' He is talking to Miss Pexworth, thewriter of those scathing articles in _The Penny Trumpet_, entitled 'Man,the Brute.' She is a modern woman."
"Oh, indeed!" said Claude equably, and looked at this latest productionof the nineteenth century, "she is rather masculine in appearance."
"It is her pride to be so, Mr. Larcher. She is more masculine than man.That is her brother, who designs ladies' dresses and decorates dinnertables."
"Ah! He isn't masculine. I suppose nature wanted to preserve the balancein the family. The law of compensation, eh?"
"Oh, you are severe. Tommy Pexworth is a dear little creature, and sofond of chiffons. He knows more about women's dress than his sister."
"So I should think," replied Claude dryly. He took an instant andviolent dislike to Mr. Pexworth, who was one of those feminine littlecreatures, only distinguished from the other sex by wearing trousers. "Acharming pair," he added, smiling. "I don't know which I admire themost. The sister who is such a thorough gentlemen, or the brother who isa perfect lady."
"You are satirical," smiled Mrs. Durham, enjoying this hit at herfriends. "Now you must take me down to have some refreshment. Really,you must."
Thus inspired, Claude elbowed the hostess through the crush, andescorted her to a bare counter in the dining room, whereon weredisplayed thin bread and butter, very weak tea, and fossil buns. Mrs.Durham evidently knew her own refreshments too well to partake of them,for she had a mild brandy and soda, produced from its hiding place by aconfidential waiter. She asked Claude to join her, but he refused on theplea that he never drank between meals.
"But you are not a brain-worker," said Mrs. Durham, hurriedly finishingher brandy and soda, lest her guests should see it and becomediscontented with the weak tea; "if I did not keep myself up I shoulddie. Ah! Why, here is Mr. Hilliston."
"Hilliston!" said Claude, astonished at seeing his guardian in thishouse.
"Yes. Do you know him? A dear creature--so clever. He was my solicitorin a libel action against _The Penny Trumpet_, for saying that I was anungrammatical scribbler. Just fancy! And they call me the new GeorgeEliot. We lost our case, I'm sorry to say. Judges are such brutes! MissPexworth says they are, ever since she failed to get damages for herbreach of promise case."
"Here comes Mr. Hilliston," said Larcher, rather tired of thislong-tongued lady. "I know him very well, he is my guardian."
"How very delightful!" said Mrs. Durham, with the accent on the "very.""Oh, Mr. Hilliston," she continued, as the lawyer approached, "we werejust talking about you!"
"I trust the absent were right for once," replied Hilliston, with anartificial smile and a swift glance at Claude. "I have just come to saygood-by."
"Oh, not yet, surely not yet! Really!" babbled Mrs. Durham with shallowenthusiasm. Then finding Hilliston was resolved to go, and catchingsight of a newly arrived celebrity, she hastened, after the amiablefashion of her kind, to speed the parting guest. "Well, if you must, youmust. Good-by, good-by! Excuse me, I see Mr. Rawler, a delightfulman--writes plays, you know. The new Shakspere; yes!" and thus talkingshe melted away with a babble of words, leaving Hilliston and his wardalone.
They were mutually surprised to see one another, Claude because he knewhis guardian did not affect Bohemianism, and Hilliston because hethought that the young man had left town. The meeting was hardly apleasant one, as Hilliston dreaded lest Mrs. Bezel should have said toomuch, and so prejudiced Claude against him.
"I understood from your refusal of my invitation that you had gone toThorston with Tait," said he, after a pause.
"I am going to-morrow or the next day," replied Claude quickly, "but inany event I intended to call on you before I left town."
"Indeed!" said Hilliston nervously; "you have something to tell me?"
"Yes. I have seen Mrs. Bezel."
"Good. You have seen Mrs. Bezel."
"And I have made a discovery."
"Oh! Has the lady informed you who committed the crime?"
"No. But she told me her name."
"Margaret Bezel!" murmured Hilliston, wondering what was coming.
"Not Margaret Bezel, but Julia Larcher, my mother."
"She--she told you that?" gasped Hilliston, his self-control desertinghim for the moment.
"Yes. I know why she feigned death; I know how you have protected her.You have been a kind friend to me, Mr. Hilliston, and to my mother. I amdoubly in your debt."
Hilliston took the hand held out to him by Claude, and pressed itcordially. The speech relieved him from all apprehension. He now knewthat Mrs. Bezel had kept their secret, and immediately took advantage ofthe restored confidence o
f Claude. His quick wit grasped the situationat once.
"My dear fellow," he said with much emotion, "I loved your poor fathertoo much not to do what I could for his widow and son. I hope you do notblame me for suppressing the truth."
"No. I suppose you acted for the best. Still, I would rather you hadinformed me that my mother was still alive."
"To what end? It would only have made you miserable. I did not want toreveal anything; but your mother insisted that you should be madeacquainted with the past, and so--I gave you the papers."
"I am glad you did so."
"And now, what do you intend to do?" asked Hilliston slowly. "You knowas much as I do. Is there any clew to guide you in the discovery thatyour mother still lives?"
"No. She can tell me nothing. But I hope to find the clew here."
"Ah! You intend to speak with John Parver?"
"I do," said Claude, rather surprised at this penetration; "do you knowhim?"
"I exchanged a few words with him," replied Hilliston carelessly. "Ionly came here to-night at the request of Mrs. Durham, who is a clientof mine. As I paid my respects to her, she was talking to John Parver,and he was introduced to me as the latest lion. So you still intend topursue the matter?" added Hilliston, after a pause.
"Assuredly! If only to clear my mother, and restore her to the world."
"I am afraid it is too late, Claude. You know she is ill and cannot livelong."
"Nevertheless, I wish her to take her own name again. She will not do sountil the assassin of her husband--of my father--is discovered, so yousee it is obligatory on me to find out the truth."
"I trust you may be successful," said Hilliston, sighing; "but my adviceis still the same, and it would be best for you to let the matter rest.After five-and-twenty years you can discover nothing. I cannot help you;your mother cannot help you, so----"
"But John Parver may," interrupted Larcher sharply. "I will see how helearned the details of the case."
Before Hilliston could make further objection, Tait joined them, and notnoticing the lawyer, hastily took Claude by the arm.
"I have been looking for you everywhere," said he. "Come and beintroduced to Mr. Linton."
"Who is Mr. Linton?"
"John Parver. He writes under that name. Ah, Mr. Hilliston, I did notsee you. How do you do, sir?"
"I am quite well, Mr. Tait, and am just taking my departure," repliedHilliston easily. "I see you are both set on finding out the truth. Butyou will learn nothing from John Parver."
"Why not, Mr. Hilliston?"
"Because he knows nothing. Good-night, Claude--good-night, Mr. Tait!"
When Hilliston disappeared Tait looked at Claude with a singularexpression, and scratched his chin.
"You see," said he quietly, "Mr. Hilliston has been making inquiries onhis own account."
"You are incurably suspicious," said Claude impatiently. "Hilliston ismy friend."
"Yes. He was your father's friend also, I believe."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing! Nothing! Come and cross-examine Frank Linton, alias JohnParver."
Clearly Tait was by no means so satisfied with Hilliston as Claude.