A CRUEL mental stroke, like a heavy blow upon the body, sometimes benumbs
and sickens at first, but does not torture; yet that is to follow.
It was so with Ina Klosking. The day she just missed Edward Severne, and
he seemed to melt away from her very grasp into the wide world again, she
could drag herself to the theater and sing angelically, with a dull and
aching heart. But next day her heart entered on sharper suffering. She
was irritated, exasperated; chained to the theater, to Homburg, yet wild
to follow Severne to England without delay. She told Ashmead she must and
would go. He opposed it stoutly, and gave good reasons. She could not
break faith with the management. England was a large place. They had, as
yet, no clew but a name. By waiting, the clew would come. The sure course
was to give publicity in England to her winnings, and so draw Severne to
her. But for once she was too excited to listen to reason. She was
tempest-tossed. “I will go--I will go,” she repeated, as she walked the
room wildly, and flung her arms aloft with reckless abandon, and yet with
a terrible majesty, an instinctive grace, and all the poetry of a great
soul wronged and driven wild.
She overpowered Ashmead and drove him to the director. He went most
unwillingly; but once there, was true to her, and begged off the
engagement eagerly. The director refused this plump. Then Ashmead, still
true to his commission, offered him (most reluctantly) a considerable sum
down to annul the contract, and backed this with a quiet hint that she
would certainly fall ill if refused. The director knew by experience what
this meant, and how easily these ladies can command the human body to
death's door _pro re nata,_ and how readily a doctor's certificate can be
had to say or swear that the great creature cannot sing or act without
peril to life, though really both these arts are grand medicines, and far
less likely to injure the _bona fide_ sick than are the certifying
doctor's draughts and drugs. The director knew all this; but he was
furious at the disappointment threatened him. “No,” said he; “this is
always the way; a poor devil of a manager is never to have a success. It
is treacherous, it is ungrateful: I'll close. You tell her if she is
determined to cut all our throats and kick her own good fortune down, she
can; but, by ----, I'll make her smart for it! Mind, now; she closes the
theater and pays the expenses, if she plays me false.”
“But if she is ill?”
“Let her die and be ----, and then I'll believe her. She is the
healthiest woman in Germany. I'll go and take steps to have her arrested
if she offers to leave the town.”
Ashmead reported the manager's threats, and the Klosking received them as
a lioness the barking of a cur. She drew herself swiftly up, and her
great eye gleamed imperial disdain at all his menaces but one.
“He will not really close the theater,” said she, loftily; but uneasiness
lurked in her manner.
“He will,” said Ashmead. “He is desperate: and you know it _is_ hard to
go on losing and losing, and then the moment luck turns to be done out of
it, in spite of a written bargain. I've been a manager myself.”
“So many poor people!” said Ina, with a sigh; and her defiant head sunk a
little.
“Oh, bother _them!”_ said Ashmead, craftily. “Let 'em starve.”
“God forbid!” said Ina. Then she sighed again, and her queenly head sunk
lower. Then she faltered out, “I have the will to break faith and ruin
poor people, but I have not the courage.”
Then a tear or two began to trickle, carrying with them all the
egotistical resolution Ina Klosking possessed at that time. Perhaps we
shall see her harden: nothing stands still.
This time the poor conquered.
But every now and then for many days there were returns of torment and
agitation and wild desire to escape to England.
Ashmead made head against these with his simple arts. For one thing, he
showed her a dozen paragraphs in MS. he was sending to as many English
weekly papers, describing her heavy gains at the table. “With these
stones,” said he, “I kill two birds: extend your fame, and entice your
idol back to you.” Here a growl, which I suspect was an inarticulate
curse. Joseph, fi!
The pen of Joseph on such occasions was like his predecessor's coat,
polychromatic. The Klosking read him, and wondered. “Alas!” said she,
“with what versatile skill do you descant on a single circumstance not
very creditable.”
“Creditable!” said Ashmead; “it was very naughty, but it is very nice.”
And the creature actually winked, forgetting, of course, whom he was
winking at, and wasting his vulgarity on the desert air; for the
Klosking's eye might just manage to blink--at the meridian sun, or so
forth; but it never winked once in all its life.
One of the paragraphs ran thus, with a heading in small capitals:
“A PRIMA DONNA AT THE GAMBLING TABLE.
“Mademoiselle Klosking, the great contralto, whose success has been
already recorded in all the journals, strolled, on one of her off nights,
into the Kursaal at Homburg, and sat down to _trente et quarante._ Her
melodious voice was soon heard betting heavily, with the most engaging
sweetness of manner; and doubling seven times upon the red, she broke the
bank, and retired with a charming courtesy and eight thousand pounds in
gold and notes.”
Another dealt with the matter thus:
“ROUGE ET NOIR.
“The latest coup at Homburg has been made by a cantatrice whose praises
all Germany are now ringing. Mademoiselle Klosking, successor and rival
of Alboni, went to the Kursaal, _pour passer le temps;_ and she passed it
so well that in half an hour the bank was broken, and there was a pile of
notes and gold before La Klosking amounting to ten thousand pounds and
more. The lady waved these over to her agent, Mr. Joseph Ashmead, with a
hand which, _par parenthe'se,_ is believed to be the whitest in Europe,
and retired gracefully.”
On perusing this, La Klosking held _two_ white hands up to heaven in
amazement at the skill and good taste which had dragged this feature into
the incident.
“A DRAMATIC SITUATION.
“A circumstance has lately occurred here which will infallibly be seized
on by the novelists in search of an incident. Mademoiselle Klosking, the
new contralto, whose triumphant progress through Europe will probably be
the next event in music, walked into the Kursaal the other night, broke
the bank, and walked out again with twelve thousand pounds, and that
charming composure which is said to distinguish her in private life.
“What makes it more remarkable is that the lady is not a gamester, has
never played before, and is said to have declared that she shall never
play again. It is certain that, with such a face, figure, and voice as
hers, she need never seek for wealth at the gambling-table. Mademoiselle
Klosking is now in negotiation with all the principal cities of the
Continent. But the English managers, we apprehend, will prove awkward
competitors.”
Were I to reproduce the nine other paragraphs, it would be a very
curious, instructive, and tedious specimen of literature; and, who knows?
I might corrupt some immaculate soul, inspire some actor or actress,
singer or songstress, with an itch for public self-laudation, a foible
from which they are all at present so free. Witness the _Era,_ the
_Hornet,_ and _Figaro._
Ina Klosking spotted what she conceived to be a defect in these
histories. “My friend,” said she meekly, “the sum I won was under five
thousand pounds.”
“Was it? Yes, to be sure. But, you see, these are English advertisements.
Now England is so rich that if you keep down to any _Continental_ sum,
you give a false impression in England of the importance on the spot.”
“And so we are to falsify figures? In the first of these legends it was
double the truth; and, as I read, it enlarges--oh, but it enlarges,” said
Ina, with a Gallicism we shall have to forgive in a lady who spoke five
languages.
“Madam,” said Ashmead, dryly, “you must expect your capital to increase
rapidly, so long as I conduct it.”
Not being herself swift to shed jokes, Ina did not take them rapidly. She
stared at him. He never moved a muscle. She gave a slight shrug of her
grand shoulders, and resigned that attempt to reason with the creature.
She had a pill in store for him, though. She told him that, as she had
sacrificed the longings of her heart to the poor of the theater, so she
should sacrifice a portion of her ill-gotten gains to the poor of the
town.
He made a hideously wry face at that, asked what poor-rates were for, and
assured her that “pauper” meant “drunkard.”
“It is not written so in Scripture,” said Ina; “and I need their prayers,
for I am very unhappy.”
In short, Ashmead was driven out from the presence chamber with a
thousand thalers to distribute among the poor of Homburg; and, once in
the street, his face did not shine like an angel of mercy's, but was very
pinched and morose; hardly recognizable--poor Joe!
By-and-by he scratched his head. Now it is unaccountable, but certain
heads often yield an idea in return for that. Joseph's did, and his
countenance brightened.
Three days after this Ina was surprised by a note from the burgomaster,
saying that he and certain of the town council would have the honor of
calling on her at noon.
What might this mean?
She sent to ask for Mr. Ashmead; he was not to be found; he had hidden
himself too carefully.
The deputation came and thanked her for her munificent act of charity.
She looked puzzled at first, then blushed to the temples. “Munificent
act, gentlemen! Alas! I did but direct my agent to distribute a small sum
among the deserving poor. He has done very ill to court your attention.
My little contribution should have been as private as it is
insignificant.”
“Nay, madam,” said the clerk of the council, who was a recognized orator,
“your agent did well to consult our worthy burgomaster, who knows the
persons most in need and most deserving. We do not doubt that you love to
do good in secret. Nevertheless, we have also our sense of duty, and we
think it right that so benevolent an act should be published, as an
example to others. In the same view, we claim to comment publicly on your
goodness.” Then he looked to the burgomaster, who took him up.
“And we comment thus: Madam, since the Middle Ages the freedom of this
town has not been possessed by any female. There is, however, no law
forbidding it, and therefore, madam, the civic authorities, whom I
represent, do hereby present to you the freedom of this burgh.”
He then handed her an emblazoned vellum giving her citizenship, with the
reasons written plainly in golden letters.
Ina Klosking, who had remained quite quiet during the speeches, waited a
moment or two, and then replied, with seemly grace and dignity:
“Mr. Burgomaster and gentlemen, you have paid me a great and unexpected
compliment, and I thank you for it. But one thing makes me uneasy: it is
that I have done so little to deserve this. I console myself, however, by
reflecting that I am still young, and may have opportunities to show
myself grateful, and even to deserve, in the future, this honor, which at
present overpays me, and almost oppresses me. On that understanding,
gentlemen, be pleased to bestow, and let me receive, the rare compliment
you have paid me by admitting me to citizenship in your delightful town.”
(To herself:) “I'll scold him well for this.”
Low courtesy; profound bows; exit deputation enchanted with her; _manet_
Klosking with the freedom of the city in her hand and ingratitude in her
heart; for her one idea was to get hold of Mr. Joseph Ashmead directly
and reproach him severely for all this, which she justly ascribed to his
machinations.
The cunning Ashmead divined her project, and kept persistently out of her
way. That did not suit her neither. She was lonely. She gave the waiter a
friendly line to bring him to her.
Now, mind you, she was too honest to pretend she was not going to scold
him. So this is what she wrote:
“MY FRIEND--Have you deserted me? Come to me, and be remonstrated. What
have you to fear? You know so well how to defend yourself.
“INA KLOSKING.”
Arrived in a very few minutes Mr. Ashamed, jaunty, cheerful, and
defensive.
Ina, with a countenance from which all discontent was artfully extracted,
laid before him, in the friendliest way you can imagine, an English
Bible. It was her father's, and she always carried it with her. “I wish,”
said she, insidiously, “to consult you on a passage or two of this book.
How do you understand this:
“'When thou doest thine alms, do not send a trumpet before thee, as the
hypocrites do.'
“And this:
“'When thou doest thine alms, let not thy right hand know what thy left
hand doeth, that thine alms may be in secret; and thy Father, which seeth
in secret, shall reward thee openly.'”
Having pointed out these sentences with her finger, she looked to him for
his interpretation. Joseph, thus erected into a Scripture commentator,
looked at the passages first near, and then afar off, as if the true
interpretation depended on perspective. Having thus gained a little time,
he said, “Well, I think the meaning is clear enough. We are to hide our
own light under a bushel. But it don't say an agent is to hide his
employer's.'
“Be serious, sir. This is a great authority.”
“Oh, of course, of course. Still--if you won't be offended, ma'am--times
are changed since then. It was a very small place, where news spread of
itself; and all that cannot be written for theatrical agents, because
there wasn't one in creation.”
“And so now their little customs, lately invented, like themselves, are
to prevail against God's im-mor-tal law!” It was something half way
between Handel and mellowed thunder the way her grand contralto suddenly
rolled out these three words. Joseph was cunning. He put on a crushed
appearance, deceived by which the firm but gentle Klosking began to
soften her tone directly.
“It has given me pain,” said she, sorrowfully. “And I am afraid God will
be angry with us both for our ostentation.”
“Not He,” said Joseph, consolingly. “Bless your heart, He is not half so
irritable as the parsons fancy; they confound Him with themselves.”
Ina ignored this suggestion with perfect dignity and flowed on: “All I
stipulate now is that I may not see this pitiable parade in print.”
“That is past praying for, then,” said Ashmead, resolutely. “You might as
well try to stop the waves as check publicity--in our day. Your
munificence to the poor--confound the lazy lot!--and the gratitude of
those pompous prigs, the deputation--the presentation--your admirable
reply--”
“You never heard it, now--”
“Which, as you say, I was not so fortunate as to hear, and so must
content myself with describing it--all this is flying north, south, east,
and west.”
“Oh no, no, no! You have not _advertised_ it?”
“Not advertised it! For what do you take me? Wait till you see the bill I
am running up against you. Madam, you must take people as they are. Don't
try to un-Ashmead _me;_ it is impossible. Catch up that knife and kill
me. I'll not resist; on the contrary, I'll sit down and prepare an
obituary notice for the weeklies, and say I did it. BUT WHILE I BREATHE I
ADVERTISE.”
And Joseph was defiant; and the Klosking shrugged her noble shoulders,
and said, “You best of creatures, you are incurable.”
To follow this incident to its conclusion, not a week after this scene,
Ina Klosking detected, in an English paper,
“A CHARITABLE ACT.
“Mademoiselle Klosking, the great contralto, having won a large sum of
money at the Kursaal, has given a thousand pounds to the poor of the
place. The civic authorities hearing of this, and desirous to mark their
sense of so noble a donation, have presented her with the freedom of the
burgh, written on vellum and gold. Mademoiselle Klosking received the
compliment with charming grace and courtesy; but her modesty is said to
have been much distressed at the publicity hereby given to an act she
wished to be known only to the persons relieved by her charity.”
Ina caught the culprit and showed him this. “A thousand pounds!” said
she. “Are you not ashamed? Was ever a niggardly act so embellished and
exaggerated? I feel my face very red, sir.”
“Oh, I'll explain that in a moment,” said Joseph, amicably. “Each nation
has a coin it is always quoting. France counts in francs, Germany in
thalers, America in dollars, England in pounds. When a thing costs a
million francs in France, or a million dollars in the States, that is
always called a million pounds in the English journals: otherwise it
would convey no distinct idea at all to an Englishman. Turning thalers
and francs into pounds--_that_ is not _exaggeration;_ it is only
_translation.”_
Ina gave him such a look. He replied with an unabashed smile.
She shrugged her shoulders in silence this time, and, to the best of my
belief, made no more serious attempts to un-Ashmead her Ashmead.
A month had now passed, and that was a little more than half the dreary
time she had to wade through. She began to count the days, and that made
her pine all the more. Time is like a kettle. Be blind to him, he flies;
watch him, he lags. Her sweet temper was a little affected, and she even
reproached Ashmead for holding her out false hopes that his
advertisements of her gains would induce Severne to come to her, or even
write. “No,” said she; “there must be some greater attraction. Karl says
that Miss Vizard, who called upon me, was a beauty, and dark. Perhaps she
was the lovely girl I saw at the opera. She has never been there since:
and he is gone to England with people of that name.”
“Well, but that Miss Vizard called on you. She can't intend to steal him
from you.”
“But she may not know; a woman may injure another without intending. He
may deceive her; he has betrayed me. Her extraordinary beauty terrifies
me. It enchanted me; and how much more a man?”
Joseph said he thought this was all fancy; and as for his advertisements,
it was too early yet to pronounce on their effect.
The very day after this conversation he bounced into her room in great
dudgeon. “There, madam! the advertisements _have_ produced an effect; and
not a pleasant one. Here's a detective on to us. He is feeling his way
with Karl. I knew the man in a moment; calls himself Poikilus in print,
and Smith to talk to; but he is Aaron at the bottom of it all, and can
speak several languages. Confound their impudence! putting a detective on
to _us,_ when it is they that are keeping dark.”
“Who do you think has sent him?” asked Ina, intently.
“The party interested, I suppose.”
“Interested in what?”
“Why, in the money you won; for he was drawing Karl about that.”
“Then _he_ sent the man!” And Ina began to pant and change color.
“Well, now you put it to me, I think so. Come to look at it, it is
certain. Who else _could_ it be? Here is a brace of sweeps. They wouldn't
be the worse for a good kicking. You say the word, and Smith shall have
one, at all events.”
“Alas! my friend,” said Ina, “for once you are slow. What! a messenger
comes here direct from _him;_ and are we so dull we can learn nothing
from him who comes to question us? Let me think.”
She leaned her forehead on her white hand, and her face seemed slowly to
fill with intellectual power.
“That man,” said she at last, “is the only link between him and me. I
must speak to him.”
Then she thought again.
“No, not yet. He must be detained in the house. Letters may come to him,
and their postmarks may give us some clew.”
“I'll recommend the house to him.”
“Oh, that is not necessary. He will lodge here of his own accord. Does he
know you?”
“I think not.”
“Do not give him the least suspicion that you know he is a detective.”
“All right, I won't.”
“If he sounds you about the money, say nobody knows much about it, except
Mademoiselle Klosking. If you can get the matter so far, come and tell
me. But be _you_ very reserved, for you are not clear.”
Ashmead received these instructions meekly, and went into the _salle 'a
manger_ and ordered dinner. Smith was there, and had evidently got some
information from Karl, for he opened an easy conversation with Ashmead,
and it ended in their dining together.
Smith played the open-handed country man to the life--stood champagne.
Ashmead chattered, and seemed quite off his guard. Smith approached the
subject cautiously. “Gamble here as much as ever?”
“All day, some of them.”
“Ladies and all?”
“Why, the ladies are the worst.”
“No; are they now? Ah, that reminds me. I heard there was a lady in this
very house won a pot o' money.”
“It is true. I am her agent.”
“I suppose she lost it all next day?”
“Well, not all, for she gave a thousand pounds to the poor.”
“The dressmakers collared the rest?”
“I cannot say. I have nothing to do except with her theatrical business.
She will make more by that than she ever made at play.”
“What, is she tip-top?”
“The most rising singer in Europe.”
“I should like to see her.”
“That you can easily do. She sings tonight. I'll pass you in.”
“You are a good fellow. Have a bit of supper with me afterward. Bottle of
fizz.”
These two might be compared to a couple of spiders, each taking the other
for a fly. Smith was enchanted with Ina's singing, or pretended. Ashmead
was delighted with him, or pretended.
“Introduce me to her,” said Smith.
“I dare not do that. You are not professional, are you?”
“No, but you can say I am, for a lark.”
Ashmead said he should like to; but it would not do, unless he was very
wary.
“Oh, I'm fly,” said the other. “She won't get anything out of me. I've
been behind the scenes often enough.”
Then Ashmead said he would go and ask her if he might present a London
manager to her.
He soon brought back the answer. “She is too tired to-night: but I
pressed her, and she says she will be charmed if you will breakfast with
her to-morrow at eleven.” He did not say that he was to be with her at
half-past ten for special instructions. They were very simple. “My
friend,” said she, “I mean to tell this man something which he will think
it his duty to telegraph or write to _him_ immediately. It was for this I
would not have the man to supper, being after post-time. This morning he
shall either write or telegraph, and then, if you are as clever in this
as you are in some things, you will watch him, and find out the address
he sends to.”
Ashmead listened very attentively, and fell into a brown study.
“Madam,” said he at last, “this is a first-rate combination. You make him
communicate with England, and I will do the rest. If he telegraphs, I'll
be at his heels. If he goes to the post, I know a way. If he posts in the
house, he makes it too easy.”
At eleven Ashmead introduced his friend “Sharpus, manager of Drury Lane
Theater,” and watched the fencing match with some anxiety, Ina being
little versed in guile. But she had tact and self-possession; and she was
not an angel, after all, but a woman whose wits were sharpened by love
and suffering.
Sharpus, alias Smith, played his assumed character to perfection. He gave
the Klosking many incidents of business and professional anecdotes, and
was excellent company. The Klosking was gracious, and more _bonne enfant_
than Ashmead had ever seen her. It was a fine match between her and the
detective. At last he made his approaches.
“And I hear we are to congratulate you on success at _rouge et noir_ as
well as opera. Is it true that you broke the bank?”
“Perfectly,” was the frank reply.
“And won a million?”
“More or less,” said the Klosking, with an open smile.
“I hope it was a good lump, for our countrymen leave hundreds of
thousands here every season.”
“It was four thousand nine hundred pounds, sir.”
“Phew! Well, I wish it had been double. You are not so close as our
friend here, madam.”
“No, sir; and shall I tell you why?”
“If you like, madam,” said Smith, with assumed indifference.
“Mr. Ashmead is a model agent; he never allows himself to see anybody's
interests but mine. Now the truth is, another person has an interest in
my famous winnings. A gentleman handed 25 pounds to Mr. Ashmead to play
with. He did not do so; but I came in and joined 25 pounds of my own to
that 25 pounds, and won an enormous sum. Of course, if the gentleman
chooses to be chivalrous and abandon his claim, he can; but that is not
the way of the world, you know. I feel sure he will come to me for his
share some day; and the sooner the better, for money burns the pocket.”
Sharpus, alias Smith, said this was really a curious story. “Now
suppose,” said he, “some fine day a letter was to come asking you to
remit that gentleman his half, what should you do?”
“I should decline; it might be an _escroc._ No. Mr. Ashmead here knows
the gentleman. Do you not?”
“I'll swear to him anywhere.”
“Then to receive his money he must face the eye of Ashmead. Ha! ha!”
The detective turned the conversation, and never came back to the
subject; but shortly he pleaded an engagement, and took his leave.
Ashmead lingered behind, but Ina hurried him off, with an emphatic
command not to leave this man out of his sight a moment.
He violated this order, for in five minutes he ran back to tell her, in
an agitated whisper, that Smith was, at that moment, writing a letter in
the _salle 'a manger._
“Oh, pray don't come here!” cried Ina, in despair. “Do not lose sight of
him for a moment.”
“Give me that letter to post, then,” said Ashmead, and snatched one up
Ina had directed overnight.
He went to the hotel door, and lighted a cigar; out came Smith with a
letter in his very hand. Ashmead peered with all his eyes; but Smith held
the letter vertically in his hand and the address inward. The letter was
sealed.
Ashmead watched him, and saw he was going to the General Post. He knew a
shorter cut, ran, and took it, and lay in wait. As Smith approached the
box, letter in hand, he bustled up in a furious hurry, and posted his own
letter so as to stop Smith's hand at the very aperture before he could
insert his letter. He saw, apologized, and drew back. Smith laughed, and
said, “All right, old man. That is to your sweetheart, or you wouldn't be
in such a hurry.”
“No; it was to my grandmother,” said Ashmead.
“Go on,” said Smith, and poked the ribs of Joseph. They went home
jocular; but the detective was no sooner out of the way than Ashmead
stole up to Ina Klosking, and put his finger to his lips; for Karl was
clearing away, and in no hurry.
They sat on tenter-hooks and thought he never would go. He did go at
last, and then the Klosking and Ashmead came together like two magnets.
“Well?”
“All right! Letter to post. Saw address quite plain--Edward Severne,
Esq.”
“Yes.”
“Vizard Court.”
“Ah!”
“Taddington--Barfordshire--England.”
Ina, who was standing all on fire, now sat down and interlaced her hands.
“Vizard!” said she, gloomily.
“Yes; Vizard Court,” said Ashmead, triumphantly; “that means he is a
large landed proprietor, and you will easily find him if he is there in a
month.”
“He will be there,” said Ina. “She is very beautiful. She is dark, too,
and he loves change. Oh, if to all I have suffered he adds _that_--”
“Then you will forgive him _that,”_ said Ashmead, shaking his head.
“Never. Look at me, Joseph Ashmead.”
He looked at her with some awe, for she seemed transformed, and her
Danish eye gleamed strangely.
“You who have seen my torments and my fidelity, mark what I say: If he is
false to me with another woman, I shall kill him--or else I shall hate
him.”
She took her desk and wrote, at Ashmead's dictation,
“Vizard Court, Taddington, Barfordshire.”