The society papers printed a paragraph which said that Lord Creedmore
and Countess Leven were going to have a week-end party at Craythew,
and the list of guests included the names of Mr. Van Torp and Señorita
da Cordova, 'Monsieur Konstantinos Logotheti' and Mr. Paul Griggs,
after those of a number of overpoweringly smart people.
Lady Maud's brothers saw the paragraph, and the one who was in the
Grenadier Guards asked the one who was in the Blues if 'the Governor
was going in for zoology or lion-taming in his old age'; but the
brother in the Blues said it was 'Maud who liked freaks of nature, and
Greeks, and things, because they were so amusing to photograph.'
At all events, Lady Maud had studiously left out her brothers and
sisters in making up the Craythew party, a larger one than had been
assembled there for many years; it was so large indeed that the
'freaks' would not have been prominent figures at all, even if they
had been such unusual persons as the young man in the Blues imagined
them.
For though Lord Creedmore was not a rich peer, Craythew was a fine old
place, and could put up at least thirty guests without crowding them
and without causing that most uncomfortable condition of things in
which people run over each other from morning to night during week-end
parties in the season, when there is no hunting or shooting to keep
the men out all day. The house itself was two or three times as big as
Mr. Van Torp's at Oxley Paddox. It had its hall, its long drawing-room
for dancing, its library, its breakfast-room and its morning-room, its
billiard-room, sitting-room, and smoking-room, like many another big
English country house; but it had also a picture gallery, the library
was an historical collection that filled three good-sized rooms, and
it was completed by one which had always been called the study, beyond
which there were two little dwelling-rooms, at the end of the wing,
where the librarian had lived when there had been one. For the old
lord had been a bachelor and a book lover, but the present master of
the house, who was tremendously energetic and practical, took care of
the books himself. Now and then, when the house was almost full, a
guest was lodged in the former librarian's small apartment, and on the
present occasion Paul Griggs was to be put there, on the ground that
he was a man of letters and must be glad to be near books, and
also because he could not be supposed to be afraid of Lady Letitia
Foxwell's ghost, which was believed to have spent the nights in the
library for the last hundred and fifty years, more or less, ever since
the unhappy young girl had hanged herself there in the time of George
the Second, on the eve of her wedding day.
The ancient house stood more than a mile from the high road, near the
further end of such a park as is rarely to be seen, even in beautiful
Derbyshire, for the Foxwells had always loved their trees, as good
Englishmen should, and had taken care of them. There were ancient oaks
there, descended by less than four tree-generations from Druid times;
all down the long drive the great elms threw their boughs skywards;
there the solemn beeches grew, the gentler ash, and the lime; there
the yews spread out their branches, and here and there the cedar of
Lebanon, patriarch of all trees that bear cones, reared his royal
crown above the rest; in and out, too, amongst the great boulders that
strewed the park, the sharp-leaved holly stood out boldly, and the
exquisite white thorn, all in flower, shot up to three and four times
a man's height; below, the heather grew close and green to blossom in
the summer-time; and in the deeper, lonelier places the blackthorn and
hoe ran wild, and the dog-rose in wild confusion; the alder and the
gorse too, the honeysuckle and ivy, climbed up over rocks and stems;
you might see a laurel now and then, and bilberry bushes by thousands,
and bracken everywhere in an endless profusion of rich, dark-green
lace.
Squirrels there were, dashing across the open glades and running up
the smooth beeches and chestnut trees, as quick as light, and rabbits,
dodging in and out amongst the ferns, and just showing the snow-white
patch under their little tails as they disappeared, and now and again
the lordly deer stepping daintily and leisurely through the deep fern;
all these lived in the wonderful depths of Craythew Park, and of birds
there was no end. There were game birds and song birds, from the
handsome pheasants to the modest little partridges, the royalists and
the puritans of the woods, from the love-lorn wood-pigeon, cooing in
the tall firs, to the thrush and the blackbird, making long hops as
they quartered the ground for grubs; and the robin, the linnet, and
little Jenny Wren all lived there in riotous plenty of worms and
snails; and nearer to the great house the starlings and jackdaws shot
down in a great hurry from the holes in old trees where they had their
nests, and many of them came rushing from their headquarters in the
ruined tower by the stream to waddle about the open lawns in their
ungainly fashion, vain because they were not like swallows, but could
really walk when they chose, though they did it rather badly. And
where the woods ended they were lined with rhododendrons, and lilacs,
and laburnum. There are even bigger parks in England than Craythew,
but there is none more beautiful, none richer in all sweet and good
things that live, none more musical with song of birds, not one that
more deeply breathes the world's oldest poetry.
Lady Maud went out on foot that afternoon and met Van Torp in the
drive, half a mile from the house. He came in his motor car with Miss
More and Ida, who was to go back after tea. It was by no means the
first time that they had been at Craythew; the little girl loved
nature, and understood by intuition much that would have escaped a
normal child. It was her greatest delight to come over in the motor
and spend two or three hours in the park, and when none of the family
were in the country she was always free to come and go, with Miss
More, as she pleased.
Lady Maud kissed her kindly and shook hands with her teacher before
the car went on to leave Mr. Van Torp's things at the house. Then the
two walked slowly along the road, and neither spoke for some time, nor
looked at the other, but both kept their eyes on the ground before
them, as if expecting something.
Mr. Van Torp's hands were in his pockets, his soft straw hat was
pushed rather far back on his sandy head, and as he walked he breathed
an American tune between his teeth, raising one side of his upper lip
to let the faint sound pass freely without turning itself into a real
whistle. It is rather a Yankee trick, and is particularly offensive to
some people, but Lady Maud did not mind it at all, though she heard it
distinctly. It always meant that Mr. Van Torp was in deep thought, and
she guessed that, just then, he was thinking more about her than of
himself. In his pocket he held in his right hand a small envelope
which he meant to bring out presently and give to her, where nobody
would be likely to see them.
Presently, when the motor had turned to the left, far up the long
drive, he raised his eyes and looked about him. He had the sight of a
man who has lived in the wilderness, and not only sees, but knows how
to see, which is a very different thing. Having satisfied himself, he
withdrew the envelope and held it out to his companion.
'I thought you might just as well have some more money,' he said, 'so
I brought you some. I may want to sail any minute. I don't know. Yes,
you'd better take it.'
Lady Maud had looked up quickly and had hesitated to receive the
envelope, but when he finished speaking she took it quickly and
slipped it into the opening of her long glove, pushing it down till
it lay in the palm of her hand. She fastened the buttons before she
spoke.
'How thoughtful you always are for me!'
She unconsciously used the very words with which she had thanked him
in Hare Court the last time he had given her money. The tone told him
how deeply grateful she was.
'Well,' he said in answer, 'as far as that goes, it's for you
yourself, as much as if I didn't know where it went; and if I'm
obliged to sail suddenly I don't want you to be out of your
reckoning.'
'You're much too good, Rufus. Do you really mean that you may have to
go back at once, to defend yourself?'
'No, not exactly that. But business is business, and somebody
responsible has got to be there, since poor old Bamberger has gone
crazy and come abroad to stay--apparently.'
'Crazy?'
'Well, he behaves like it, anyway. I'm beginning to be sorry for that
man. I'm in earnest. You mayn't believe it, but I really am. Kind of
unnatural, isn't it, for me to be sorry for people?'
He looked steadily at Lady Maud for a moment, then smiled faintly,
looked away, and began to blow his little tune through his teeth
again.
'You were sorry for little Ida,' suggested Lady Maud.
'That's different. I--I liked her mother a good deal, and when the
child was turned adrift I sort of looked after her. Anybody'd do that,
I expect.'
'And you're sorry for me, in a way,' said Lady Maud.
'You're different, too. You're my friend. I suppose you're about the
only one I've got, too. We can't complain of being crowded out of
doors by our friends, either of us, can we? Besides, I shouldn't put
it in that way, or call it being sorry, exactly. It's another kind of
feeling I have. I'd like to undo your life and make it over again for
you, the right way, so that you'd be happy. I can do a great deal, but
all the cursed nickel in the world won't bring back the--' he checked
himself suddenly, shutting his hard lips with an audible clack, and
looking down. 'I beg your pardon, my dear,' he said in a low voice, a
moment later.
For he had been very near to speaking of the dead, and he felt
instinctively that the rough speech, however kindly meant, would have
pained her, and perhaps had already hurt her a little. But as she
looked down, too, her hand gently touched the sleeve of his coat to
tell him that there was nothing to forgive.
'He knows,' she said, more softly than sadly. 'Where he is, they know
about us--when we try to do right.'
'And you haven't only tried,' Van Torp answered quietly, 'you've done
it.'
'Have I?' It sounded as if she asked the question of herself, or of
some one to whom she appealed in her heart. 'I often wonder,' she
added thoughtfully.
'You needn't worry,' said her companion, more cheerily than he had yet
spoken. 'Do you want to know why I think you needn't fuss about your
conscience and your soul, and things?'
He smiled now, and so did she, but more at the words he used than at
the question itself.
'Yes,' she said. 'I should like to know why.'
'It's a pretty good sign for a lady's soul when a lot of poor
creatures bless her every minute of their lives for fishing them out
of the mud and landing them in a decent life. Come, isn't it now? You
know it is. That's all. No further argument's necessary. The jury is
satisfied and the verdict is that you needn't fuss. So that's that,
and let's talk about something else.'
'I'm not so sure,' Lady Maud answered. 'Is it right to bribe people to
do right? Sometimes it has seemed very like that!'
'I don't set up to be an expert in morality,' retorted Van Torp, 'but
if money, properly used, can prevent murder, I guess that's better
than letting the murder be committed. You must allow that. The
same way with other crimes, isn't it? And so on, down to mere
misdemeanours, till you come to ordinary morality. Now what have you
got to say? If it isn't much better for the people themselves to lead
decent lives just for money's sake, it's certainly much better
for everybody else that they should. That appears to me to be
unanswerable. You didn't start in with the idea of making those poor
things just like you, I suppose. You can't train a cart-horse to win
the Derby. Yet all their nonsense about equality rests on the theory
that you can. You can't make a good judge out of a criminal, no
matter how the criminal repents of his crimes. He's not been born the
intellectual equal of the man who's born to judge him. His mind is
biassed. Perhaps he's a degenerate--everything one isn't oneself is
called degenerate nowadays. It helps things, I suppose. And you can't
expect to collect a lot of poor wretches together and manufacture
first-class Magdalens out of ninety-nine per cent of them, because
you're the one that needs no repentance, can you? I forget whether the
Bible says it was ninety-nine who did or ninety-nine who didn't,
but you'll understand my drift, I daresay. It's logic, if it isn't
Scripture. All right. As long as you can stop the evil, without doing
wrong yourself, you're bringing about a good result. So don't fuss.
See?'
'Yes, I see!' Lady Maud smiled. 'But it's your money that does it!'
'That's nothing,' Van Torp said, as if he disliked the subject.
He changed it effectually by speaking of his own present intentions
and explaining to his friend what he meant to do.
His point of view seemed to be that Bamberger was quite mad since his
daughter's death, and had built up a sensational but clumsy case, with
the help of the man Feist, whose evidence, as a confirmed dipsomaniac,
would be all but worthless. It was possible, Van Torp said, that Miss
Bamberger had been killed; in fact, Griggs' evidence alone would
almost prove it. But the chances were a thousand to one that she had
been killed by a maniac. Such murders were not so uncommon as Lady
Maud might think. The police in all countries know how many cases
occur which can be explained only on that theory, and how diabolically
ingenious madmen are in covering their tracks.
Lady Maud believed all he told her, and had perfect faith in his
innocence, but she knew instinctively that he was not telling her all;
and the certainty that he was keeping back something made her nervous.
In due time the other guests came; each in turn met Mr. Van Torp soon
after arriving, if not at the moment when they entered the house; and
they shook hands with him, and almost all knew why he was there, but
those who did not were soon told by the others.
The fact of having been asked to a country house for the express
purpose of being shown by ocular demonstration that something is 'all
right' which has been very generally said or thought to be all wrong,
does not generally contribute to the light-heartedness of such
parties. Moreover, the very young element was hardly represented, and
there was a dearth of those sprightly boys and girls who think it the
acme of delicate wit to shut up an aunt in the ice-box and throw the
billiard-table out of the window. Neither Lady Maud nor her father
liked what Mr. Van Torp called a 'circus'; and besides, the modern
youths and maids who delight in practical jokes were not the people
whose good opinion about the millionaire it was desired to obtain, or
to strengthen, as the case might be. The guests, far from being what
Lady Maud's brothers called a menagerie, were for the most part of the
graver sort whose approval weighs in proportion as they are themselves
social heavyweights. There was the Leader of the House, there were
a couple of members of the Cabinet, there was the Master of the
Foxhounds, there was the bishop of the diocese, and there was one of
the big Derbyshire landowners; there was an ex-governor-general
of something, an ex-ambassador to the United States, and a famous
general; there was a Hebrew financier of London, and Logotheti, the
Greek financier from Paris, who were regarded as colleagues of Van
Torp, the American financier; there was the scientific peer who had
dined at the Turkish Embassy with Lady Maud, there was the peer whose
horse had just won the Derby, and there was the peer who knew German
and was looked upon as the coming man in the Upper House. Many had
their wives with them, and some had lost their wives or could not
bring them; but very few were looking for a wife, and there were no
young women looking for husbands, since the Señorita da Cordova was
apparently not to be reckoned with those.
Now at this stage of my story it would be unpardonable to keep my
readers in suspense, if I may suppose that any of them have a little
curiosity left. Therefore I shall not narrate in detail what happened
on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, seeing that it was just what might
have been expected to happen at a week-end party during the season
when there is nothing in the world to do but to play golf, tennis, or
croquet, or to ride or drive all day, and to work hard at bridge all
the evening; for that is what it has come to.
Everything went very well till Sunday night, and most of the people
formed a much better opinion of Mr. Van Torp than those who had lately
read about him in the newspapers might have thought possible. The
Cabinet Ministers talked politics with him and found him sound--for
an American; the M.F.H. saw him ride, and felt for him exactly the
sympathy which a Don Cossack, a cowboy, and a Bedouin might feel for
each other if they met on horseback, and which needs no expression in
words; and the three distinguished peers liked him at once, because he
was not at all impressed by their social greatness, but was very
much interested in what they had to say respectively about science,
horse-breeding, and Herr Bebel. The great London financier, and he,
and Monsieur Logotheti exchanged casual remarks which all the men who
were interested in politics referred to mysterious loans that must
affect the armaments of the combined powers and the peace of Europe.
Mr. Van Torp kept away from the Primadonna, and she watched him
curiously, a good deal surprised to see that most of the others
liked him better than she had expected. She was rather agreeably
disappointed, too, at the reception she herself met with Lord
Creedmore spoke of her only as 'Miss Donne, the daughter of his oldest
friend,' and every one treated her accordingly. No one even mentioned
her profession, and possibly some of the guests did not quite realise
that she was the famous Cordova. Lady Maud never suggested that she
should sing, and Lord Creedmore detested music. The old piano in the
long drawing-room was hardly ever opened. It had been placed there in
Victorian days when 'a little music' was the rule, and since the happy
abolition of that form of terror it had been left where it stood, and
was tuned once a year, in case anybody should want a dance when there
were young people in the house.
A girl might as well master the Assyrian language in order to compose
hymns to Tiglath-Pileser as learn to play the piano nowadays, but
bridge is played at children's parties; let us not speak ill of the
Bridge that has carried us over.
Margaret was not out of her element; on the contrary, she at first
had the sensation of finding herself amongst rather grave and not
uncongenial English people, not so very different from those with whom
she had spent her early girlhood at Oxford. It was not strange to her,
but it was no longer familiar, and she missed the surroundings to
which she had grown accustomed. Hitherto, when she had been asked to
join such parties, there had been at least a few of those persons
who are supposed to delight especially in the society of sopranos,
actresses, and lionesses generally; but none of them were at Craythew.
She was suddenly transported back into regions where nobody seemed to
care a straw whether she could sing or not, where nobody flattered
her, and no one suggested that it would be amusing and instructive
to make a trip to Spain together, or that a charming little kiosk
at Therapia was at her disposal whenever she chose to visit the
Bosphorus.
There was only Logotheti to remind her of her everyday life,
for Griggs did not do so at all; he belonged much more to the
'atmosphere,' and though she knew that he had loved in his youth a
woman who had a beautiful voice, he understood nothing of music and
never talked about it. As for Lady Maud, Margaret saw much less of her
than she had expected; the hostess was manifestly preoccupied, and
was, moreover, obliged to give more of her time to her guests than
would have been necessary if they had been of the younger generation
or if the season had been winter.
Margaret noticed in herself a new phase of change with regard to
Logotheti, and she did not like it at all: he had become necessary to
her, and yet she was secretly a little ashamed of him. In that temple
of respectability where she found herself, in such 'a cloister of
social pillars' as Logotheti called the party, he was a discordant
figure. She was haunted by a painful doubt that if he had not been a
very important financier some of those quiet middle-aged Englishmen
might have thought him a 'bounder,' because of his ruby pin, his
summer-lightning waistcoats, and his almond-shaped eyes. It was very
unpleasant to be so strongly drawn to a man whom such people probably
thought a trifle 'off.'
It irritated her to be obliged to admit that the London financier, who
was a professed and professing Hebrew, was in appearance an English
gentleman, whereas Konstantinos Logotheti, with a pedigree of
Christian and not unpersecuted Fanariote ancestors, that went back to
Byzantine times without the least suspicion of any Semitic marriage,
might have been taken for a Jew in Lombard Street, and certainly would
have been thought one in Berlin. A man whose eyes suggested dark
almonds need not cover himself with jewellery and adorn himself
in naming colours, Margaret thought; and she resented his way of
dressing, much more than ever before. Lady Maud had called him exotic,
and Margaret could not forget that. By 'exotic' she was sure that her
friend meant something like vulgar, though Lady Maud said she liked
him.
But the events that happened at Craythew on Sunday evening threw such
insignificant details as these into the shade, and brought out the
true character of the chief actors, amongst whom Margaret very
unexpectedly found herself.
It was late in the afternoon after a really cloudless June day, and
she had been for a long ramble in the park with Lord Creedmore, who
had talked to her about her father and the old Oxford days, till all
her present life seemed to be a mere dream; and she could not realise,
as she went up to her room, that she was to go back to London on
the morrow, to the theatre, to rehearsals, to Pompeo Stromboli,
Schreiermeyer, and the public.
She met Logotheti in the gallery that ran round two sides of the hall,
and they both stopped and leaned over the balustrade to talk a little.
'It has been very pleasant,' she said thoughtfully. 'I'm sorry it's
over so soon.'
'Whenever you are inclined to lead this sort of life,' Logotheti
answered with a laugh, 'you need only drop me a line. You shall have
a beautiful old house and a big park and a perfect colonnade of
respectabilities--and I'll promise not to be a bore.'
Margaret looked at him earnestly for some seconds, and then asked a
very unexpected and frivolous question, because she simply could not
help it.
'Where did you get that tie?'
The question was strongly emphasised, for it meant much more to her
just then than he could possibly have guessed; perhaps it meant
something which was affecting her whole life. He laughed carelessly.
'It's better to dress like Solomon in all his glory than to be taken
for a Levantine gambler,' he answered. 'In the days when I was
simple-minded, a foreigner in a fur coat and an eyeglass once stopped
me in the Boulevard des Italiens and asked if I could give him the
address of any house where a roulette-table was kept! After that I
took to jewels and dress!'
Margaret wondered why she could not help liking him; and by sheer
force of habit she thought that he would make a very good-looking
stage Romeo.
While she was thinking of that and smiling in spite of his tie, the
old clock in the hall below chimed the hour, and it was a quarter to
seven; and at the same moment three men were getting out of a train
that had stopped at the Craythew station, three miles from Lord
Creedmore's gate.