THE MARRIAGE-LINES
David had not gone to interview Jenny the day before in obedience to
Miss L'Estrange's first note, because of the sullen humor to which he
relapsed after his experiences at three in the morning in the streets of
London. He resented the visiting of the glimpses of the moon by a young
lady who donned rubber overshoes before re-entering her house, and he
said to himself: "The day's work, and skip the Violets."
Then, the next morning, came Miss L'Estrange's second letter--"he must
see Jenny not later than half-past nine" or he would be "too late."
Again this failed to rouse him. With those lazy, lithe movements of the
body which characterized him, he strolled for some time about the flat
after his early breakfast, uncertain what to do. He saw, indeed, that
some one else must be after the certificates--Strauss--Van Hupfeldt--if
Strauss and Van Hupfeldt were one; but still he halted between two
opinions, thinking: "Where do I come in, anyway?"
Then again the face which he had seen at the grave rose before him with
silent pleadings, a face touching to a man's heart, with dry rose-leaf
lips which she had a way of wetting quickly, and in her cheeks a
die-away touch of the peach, purplish like white violets. And how did he
know, the jealous youth, by what hundred reasons her nightly wandering
might be accounted for? Why did he nourish that sort of resentment
against a girl who was a perfect stranger? Perhaps there was really some
jealousy in it! At which thought he laughed aloud, and suddenly darted
into action, snatched a hat, and went flying. But then it was already
past nine.
When he reached Miss L'Estrange's flat, for some time no one answered
his ring, and then the door opened but a little way to let out a voice
which said: "What is it? I am not dressed. She's gone. I told you you'd
be too late."
"Is she gone?" said David, blankly, eager enough now to see her.
"Look here, why should I be bothered with the lot of you at this ungodly
hour of the morning?" cried the fickle L'Estrange. "_I_ can't help your
troubles! Can't you see when anybody is in bed?"
"But why did you let her go before I came?" asked David.
"You are cool! Am I your mother?"
"I wish you were for this once."
"Nice mother and son we little two would make, wouldn't we?"
"That's not the point. I'm afraid you are getting cold. You ought to
have contrived to keep the girl till I came, though it is my own fault.
But can't anything be done now? Where is she gone to?"
"To Strauss, of course."
"With the certificates?"
"I suppose so. I know nothing about it, and care less. I did try to keep
her back a bit for your sake, but she was pretty keen to be gone to him
when once she had his address, the underhanded little wretch!"
"But stop--how long is it since she has gone?"
"Not three minutes. It's just possible that you might catch her up, if
you look alive."
"How can that be? I shouldn't know her. I have never seen her. We may
have passed each other in the street."
"Listen. She is a small, slim girl with nearly white hair and little
Chinese eyes. She has on a blue serge skirt with my old astrakhan bolero
and a sailor hat. Now you can't miss her."
"But which way? Where does Strauss live?"
"I promised not to tell, and I'm always as good as my word," cried the
reliable Miss Ermyn L'Estrange, "but between you and me, it's not a
thousand miles from Piccadilly Circus; and that is where Jenny will get
down off her bus; so if you take a cab--"
"Excellent. Good-by! See you again!" said David.
David was gone, in a heat of action. He took no cab, however, but took
to his heels, so that he might be able to spy at the occupants within
and on the top of each bus on the line of route, by running a little
faster than the vehicles. At this hour London was already out of doors,
going shopping, going to office and works. It was a bright morning, like
the beginning of spring. People turned their heads to look at the man
who ran faster than the horses, and pried into the buses. Victoria,
Whitehall, Charing Cross, he passed--still he could see no one quite
like Jenny. He began to lose hope, finding, moreover, that running in
London was not like running in Wyoming, or even like his run from Bucks.
Here the air seemed to lack body and wine. It did not repay the lungs'
effort, nor give back all that was expended, so that in going up the
steep of Lower Regent-St. he began to breathe short. Nevertheless, to
reward him, there, not far from the Circus, he saw sitting patient in
a bus-corner the sailor hat, the bolero, the Chinese eyes, and reddish
white hair of Jenny.
The moment she stepped out, two men sprang forward to address her--David
and Van Hupfeldt's valet. Van Hupfeldt lived near the lower portion of
Hanover Square, the way to which being rather shut in and odd to one who
does not know it, his restlessness had become unbearable when Jenny was
a little late, so he had described her to his valet, a whipper-snapper
named Neil--for Van Hupfeldt had several times seen Jenny with Miss
L'Estrange--and had sent Neil to Piccadilly Circus, where he knew that
Jenny would alight, in order to conduct her to his rooms. However, as
Neil moved quickly forward, David was before him, and the valet thought
to himself: "Hello, this seems to be a case of two's company and three's
none."
David was saying to Jenny: "You are Miss L'Estrange's servant?"
"I am," answered Jenny.
"She sent me after you. I must speak with you urgently. Come with me."
Now, in Jenny's head were visions of nothing less than wealth--wealth
which she was eager to handle that hour. She said, therefore, to David:
"I don't know who you are. I can't go anywhere--"
They stood together on the pavement, with Neil, all unknown to David,
behind them listening.
"There's no saying 'No,'" insisted David. "You're going to see Mr.
Strauss, aren't you? Well, I am here instead of Mr. Strauss in this
matter."
But this ambiguous remark failed of its effect, for Neil, whose master
had told him that in this affair he was not Van Hupfeldt but Strauss,
intervened with the pert words: "Begging your pardon, but I am Strauss."
However, this short way of explaining that he was there on behalf of
Strauss was promptly misunderstood by Jenny, who looked with disdain at
the valet, saying: "You are not Mr. Strauss!"
"Of course he isn't," said David, quickly. "How dare you, sir, address
this lady? Come right away, will you? Come, now. Let's jump into this
cab."
"Who are you? I don't even know you!" cried the perplexed Jenny.
"I didn't say I was Mr. Strauss himself," began Neil.
"Yes, you did say so," said Jenny, "and it isn't the truth, for I know
Mr. Strauss very well, and neither of you isn't going to get over me, so
you know!"
"Don't you see," suggested David, his wits all at work, "that one of us
must be true, and as you are aware that he is false--"
"What is all this about?" demanded Jenny. "I have no business with
either of you. Just tell me the way to Hanover Square, please, and let
me go about my business."
"That's just why I'm here, to show you the way," said Neil. "I dunno why
this gentleman takes it upon himself--"
"Best hold your tongue, young man," growled David. "You must be stupid
to think this young girl would go off with you, a man she never saw
before, especially after detecting you in a direct untruth--"
"As for that, she don't know you any more than me, seemingly," retorted
Neil. "Mr. Strauss sent me--"
"How is she to know that? Miss L'Estrange sent me. Didn't I know your
name, Jenny, and your mistress's name?"
"Well, that's right enough," agreed Jenny on reflection.
"Then trust to me."
"But what is it you want, sir?"
"It is about the papers," whispered David, confidentially. "It is all
to your good to come with me first and hear what I have to say. Miss
L'Estrange--"
"Well, all right; but you must be quick," said Jenny, rushing to a
decision.
David hailed a cab, and he and Jenny turned their backs upon the
defeated valet, got in, and drove off. However, Neil, who had witnessed
Van Hupfeldt's fever of eagerness to see this girl, followed in another
cab. David drove to the Tube Station near Oxford Circus--she would
accompany him no farther--and, while he talked with Jenny in a corner
there, Neil, lurking among the crowd of shop-gazers across the street,
kept watch.
"I propose to you," David said to Jenny, "to give the certificates to
me, and in doing so, I understand that you are a poor girl--"
"That's just it," answered Jenny, "and I must know first how much I am
to get for them--if it's true that I have any certificates."
"Right enough," said David, "but the main motive which I hold out to
you is not what you will receive in hard cash, but that you will do an
immense amount of good, if you give the papers to me. They don't belong
to this Mr. Strauss, but they do belong to the mother and sister of a
poor wronged lady, a lady whose character they will clear."
"Ah, no doubt," agreed Jenny, with the knowing leer of a born Cockney;
"still, a girl has got to look after herself, you see, and not mind
other people's troubles."
"What!" cried David, "would you rather do the wrong thing and earn
twenty pounds, or do the right thing and earn five pounds? You can't
be in earnest saying that."
"It isn't a question of five pounds, nor yet of twenty," snapped Jenny,
offended at the mere mention of such paltry sums, "it's a question of
hundreds and of thousands." Her mouth went big for the "thousands."
"Don't think that I'm going to part with the papers under high figures,
if so be I have any papers."
"Under what?" asked David--"under hundreds, or under thousands?"
"Under thousands."
"Now hold on a bit. Are you aware that I could have the papers taken
from you this minute, papers that don't belong to you, which you propose
to sell to some one other than the rightful owners?"
At this Jenny changed color. There was a policeman within a few yards,
and she saw her great and golden dream dissolving.
"It remains to be seen if I have got any papers. That's the very
question, you see!" she said.
"You might be searched, you know, just to clear the point. Yet you
needn't be afraid of that, for I'm disposed to meet you, and you aren't
going to refuse any reasonable offer, with no trouble from the police
to follow. So I offer you now--fifty golden sovereigns for the papers,
cash down."
"You leave me alone," muttered Jenny, sheepishly, turning her shoulder
to him.
"Well, I thought we were going to be friends; but I see that I must act
harshly," David said, making a threatening movement to leave her.
"You can have them for one hundred pounds," the girl murmured in a frail
voice with downcast eyes; to which David, not to drive a hard bargain
with her, at once answered: "Well, you shall have your one hundred
pounds."
The next moment, however, he was asking himself: "Who's to pay? Can I
afford these royal extravagances in other people's affairs? Steady! Not
too much Violet!"
He walked a little way from the girl, considering it. He could not
afford it. There was no earthly reason why he should. But he might go to
Violet, to Mrs. Mordaunt, and obtain the one hundred pounds, or their
authorization to spend that sum on their behalf. In that case, however,
how make sure of Jenny in the meantime? It would hardly do to leave her
there in the station, so near to Strauss. She would be drawn to him
as by a magnet, and he thought that if he took her with him to the
Mordaunts, she would recover her self-assurance and demand from the
women more, perhaps, than they could afford. In the end, he decided to
take her to his flat, and leave her there in Mrs. Grover's charge till
he returned from the Mordaunts.
"That's a bargain, then," he said to her; "one hundred it is. I take it
that you actually have the certificates on you?"
"I may have," smirked the elusive Jenny.
"That's all right. 'Have' and 'may have' are the same things in your
case. So now I shall go right away to procure the one hundred pounds,
and meantime you'll come with me to your old flat in Eddystone
Mansions--that's where I live now--No, don't be scared, there's some one
there besides myself, and the ghost doesn't walk in the daytime."
They hailed another cab, and again Neil, leaving his lurking-place,
drove after them. He saw David and Jenny go into the mansions, then
stood uncertain whether to hurry home and tell the position of affairs
to Van Hupfeldt, who, he knew, must by this time be raving, or whether
to wait and see if Jenny and David came out again.
He was loitering a little way up the house-stairs, thinking it out,
when he heard the lift coming down, and presently he saw David rush
out--alone. Jenny, then, was still in the building. Neil ran to the
lift-man.
"Gentleman who just come down," he said, "does he live here?"
"He do, in No. 7," was the answer.
"Girl's left in his flat, then," thought Neil, scratching his head, "and
the bloke wot owns the flat don't know I've been spying. I'd better
hurry back and let the master know how things are looking."
Whereat the valet, who was clearer in action than in speech, ran out and
took cab to Hanover Square, to tell Van Hupfeldt where Jenny was.