CHECKMATE.
Mr. Effingham fulfilled his design of going into Torquay and dining
well. In his singular costume he created quite a sensation among
the invalids on the Parade, who would have severely resented the
healthy and sporting tone of his ankle-jacks if it had not been
mitigated by his slouch wideawake hat and black jacket. As it was,
they merely regarded him as an eccentric person staying at one of the
country-houses in the neighbourhood, and they pardoned his not being
consumptive on the score of his being probably either rich or
distinguished. So he "did" the town and all the lions to his great
satisfaction, and, as affording them subject-matter for conversation
over their valetudinarian dinners, to the satisfaction of those whom
he encountered. He made an excellent dinner at the hotel, and then was
driven out of his rural lodgings in a fly, having given orders for a
dog-cart to be in readiness for him at the particular gate of Redmoor
Park which he described at two o'clock the next day.
It was a brilliant starlight night, and Mr. Effingham had the head of
the fly opened; he was well wrapped up, and the air being very mild,
he wished to enjoy the beauties of nature and the flavour of his cigar
simultaneously. As he lay back puffing the smoke out before him, his
thoughts again reverted to his morning's work, and again he found
every reason for self-gratulation. There would be the fifty pounds
from Sir Charles--that was safe to start with; he should go up and
give him notice in the morning, that that cheque might come up by the
evening's post. That would help him to tide over any delay there might
be in getting this woman to give up the bill. What a funny one she
was! what a regular lively one! how she kept on laughing! and how sly
she looked when she said that she was tired of that humdrum
respectability, and would like to run away to the old adventurous
life! Not one to be trifled with, though; none of your larks with her;
regular stand-offish party. Well, never mind; that did not matter;
what he was about now was business, and she seemed thoroughly up to
that. He did not think he should have much trouble in making her see
what advantage to them both could be got out of a proper use of the
forged bill. One point, on which he at one time had had some doubt,
the interview of that morning had satisfactorily set at rest. She had
been spoony on Mitford--so Griffiths told him--and he feared that the
old feeling might still remain, and she would refuse to take any steps
about the bill lest she might injure her old flame. But, Lord! he
could see plainly enough she did not care a snuff of a candle for
Mitford now; rather more t'other might be judged from the flash in her
eyes and the sneer on her lips when she spoke of him. That was all
right, so--Ah! perhaps her shrewd notions of business might lead her
to seeing the value of the bill and to driving a hard bargain for it.
He must be prepared for that; but when he got her up to London she
would be much more in his power. The bill must be had somehow, by fair
means or foul; and if she resisted--well, there would not be very much
trouble in stealing or forcing it from her.
As the reflections passed through his mind the carriage in which he
sat reached the top of a height, whence was obtained a view of Redmoor
House; its outline standing black and heavy against the sky, its lower
windows blazing with light. The sight turned Mr. Effingham's thoughts
into a slightly different current.
"O yes! go it; that's your sort," he said to himself with a certain
amount of bitterness; "fine games goin' on there, I've no doubt; the
best of drink, and coves with powdered heads to wait on you; game o'
billiards afterwards, or some singin' and a dance with the women in
the droring-room. That's the way to keep it up; go it while you're
young. But, my friend the Bart., you'd sing another toon and laugh the
wrong side o' your mouth, and cut a very different kind o' caper, if
you knew what was so close to you. I've heard of a cove smokin' a pipe
and not knowing that what he was sittin' on was a powder-barrel; and
this seems to me very much the same sort o' thing. To think that close
under his nose is the dockyment that would just crop his 'air, put him
into a gray soot, Cole-Barth Fields, Milbank, and Portland,
and that cussed stonequarryin' which, from all I've heard, is the
heart-breakin'est work. To think that he's been payin' me to get the
bill, and I've been employin' Griffiths and givin' skivs to old Lyons
and settin' half Doory Lane at work to hunt up the gal, and that there
she was under his roof, the whole time--it's tremenjous!"
And Mr. Effingham laughed aloud, and lit a fresh cigar, and pulled the
rug tighter over his legs.
"She's a rum 'un, she is. I wonder which of them lights is in her
room. There's one a long way off the rest, up high all by itself;
that's it, I shouldn't wonder. She's not fit company for the swells
downstairs, I suppose. Well, perhaps not, if they knew everythin'! But
what a blessin' it is people don't know everythin'! Perhaps if they
did, some of 'em wouldn't be quite so fond of sittin' down with the
Bart. I wonder what she's doin' just now. Packin' her traps ready for
our start, I shouldn't wonder. What a game it will be! Yes, D'Ossay,
my boy, this is the best days work you ever did in your life; and your
poor brother Tony little thought what a power of good he was doin' you
when he first let you into the secret of Mr. Mitford and his little
games."
And with these reflections, and constantly-renewed cigars, Mr.
Effingham beguiled the tedium of his journey to the Mitford Arms.
He was up betimes the next morning, making his preparations for
departure. His very small wardrobe--its very smallness regarded by
the landlady of the inn as a proof of the eccentricity of literary
genius--was packed in a brown-paper parcel. He discharged his modest
bill, and began to fidget about until it was time to give his employer
a final and fancy sketch of how he had accomplished his mission.
Entirely fictional was this sketch intended to be, as widely diverging
from fact as possible. Mr. Effingham knew well enough that so long as
the removal of Miss Gillespie, or Lizzie Ponsford, had been effected,
Sir Charles Mitford would care very little indeed about the means by
which it had been accomplished. And as Mr. Effingham was playing a
double game, it would be necessary for him to be particularly cautious
in making any statement which might reveal the real state of the case
to Sir Charles. These reflections, bringing clearly again before him
the great fact of the entire business,--that he was being paid for
communicating with a person, to communicate with whom he would have
gladly paid a considerable sum of money had he possessed it,--put Mr.
Effingham into the most satisfactory state of mind, and caused the
time, which would otherwise have hung heavily on his hands, to pass
pleasantly and quickly.
He knew that there was little use in attempting to see Sir Charles
before eleven o'clock; so about that time he made his way up the
avenue, on this occasion cutting short the old portress, who, contrary
to the usual custom, was beginning to enter into some little story. It
was Mr. Effingham's plan--and one which is pretty generally adopted in
this world, especially by the lower order of Mr. Smiles's friends, the
"self-made" men,--to kick down the ladder after he had landed from its
top; and as Mr. Effingham thought he should be able to make no more
use of this old woman, he did not choose to be bored by her
conversation. So he cut her short with a nod, and walked up the avenue
with a swaggering gait, which she had never known before, and which
very much astonished her. He met no one on his way; and when he
reached the house he went modestly round to a side-door leading to the
billiard-room, through the window of which he observed no less a
personage than Mr. Banks, Sir Charles's man, who was by himself, with
his coat off and a cue in his hand trying a few hazards. Mr. Effingham
gave a sharp tap at the glass, which made Mr. Banks start guiltily,
drop his cue, and resume his garment; but when he looked up and saw
who had caused him this fright, he waxed very wroth and said, "Hallo!
is it you? what do you want now?"
His tone did not at all suit Mr. Effingham, who replied sharply, "Your
master; go and tell him I'm here."
"He ain't up yet," said Mr. Banks.
"Did you hear what I said? Go and tell him I'm here."
"Did you hear what _I_ said, that Sir Charles ain't stir-run'?"
"It'll be as much as your place is worth, my man, if you don't do what
I tell you. Have I been here before, or 'ave I not? Have I been let in
to him at once before, or 'ave I not? Does he see me d'rectly you tell
him who's waitin', or does he not? Now--go."
This speech had such an effect upon Mr. Banks, who remembered that the
little man only spoke the truth in his statement of the readiness with
which Sir Charles always saw him, that he opened the door, showed Mr.
Effingham into the billiard-room (which was decorated with empty
tumblers, fragments of lemon-peel, tobacco-ash, and other remnants of
the preceding night, and smelt powerfully of stale tobacco), suggested
that he should "knock the balls about a bit," and went up to tell his
master.
When he returned he said, "He's just finished dressin', and I'm to
take you up in five minutes. You seem quite a favourite of his."
Mr. Effingham laughed. "Yes," he said; "he and I understand one
another."
Mr. Banks looked at him for a moment, and then said, "Was you ever in
the Pacific?"
"In the what?"
"The Pacific."
Mr. Effingham changed colour. He did not half like this. He thought it
was the name of some prison, and that the valet had found him out. But
he put a bold face on and said, "What's the Pacific?"
"Ocean," said Mr. Banks.
"No," said Mr. Effingham, "certainly not--nothing of the sort."
"Not when you and he," pointing to the ceiling, "was together?"
"Certainty not."
"Ah!" said Mr. Banks, "kept at home, I suppose; it ain't so dangerous
or such hard work at home, is it?--Portsmouth and round there?"
"It's hard enough at Portsmouth, from what I've heard," said Mr.
Effingham; "that diggin' away at Southsea's dreadful work."
"Diggin' aboard ship!" said Banks in astonishment.
"How do you mean 'aboard ship'?" said the other.
"Why, I'm talkin' of when you and him was on board the--what was
it?--you know--Albatross."
"Oh!" said Mr. Effingham, greatly relieved, and bursting into a fit of
laughter; "we went everywhere then. And that's where I learned
something I don't mind teaching you."
"What's that?"
"Never to keep Sir Charles waiting. The five minutes is up."
Mr. Banks looked half-annoyed, but his companion had already risen, so
he made the best of it, pretended to laugh, and showed Mr. Effingham
into Sir Charles Mitford's private snuggery.
Sir Charles was drinking a cup of coffee. He looked eagerly at Mr.
Effingham, and when Banks had closed the door, said:
"By the expression of your face I should say you bring good news. In
two words--do you, or do you not?"
"In two words--I do."
Mitford set down his cup. Through his mind rushed one thought--the spy
over his flirtation with Mrs. Hammond was removed! henceforward he
could sit with her, talk to her, look at her, with the consciousness
that his words would reach her ear alone, that his actions would not
be overlooked. His face flushed with anticipated pleasure as he said:
"How was it managed? Did she make much resistance?"
"Well, it wasn't a very easy job, and that's the fact. I've seen many
women as could be got over with much less trouble. You see the party
seems to be in very comfortable quarters here,--all right to eat and
drink, and not too much to do, and that sort of thing."
"Well, what then?"
"Why, when parties are in that way they naturally don't like movin'.
Besides, there's another strong reason I've found out why that young
woman don't want to go."
"And that is--"
"She's uncommon fond, of you. Ah, you may shake your head, but I'm
sure of it."
"If she made you believe that, Mr. Effingham," said Sir Charles with a
very grim smile, "I'm afraid she's got the better of you altogether."
"Has she, by Jove! No, no. The proof of the puddin's in the eatin',
Sir Charles; and whether I've done the trick or not you'll find out
before I've finished. Any how, I'm satisfied."
"Well, as you say that, and as the payment of the fifty pounds depends
upon the 'trick being done,' as you call it, I suppose before you've
finished your story I shall be satisfied too."
"What was I saying? Oh, about her being nuts on you still,--O
yes,--and I had to talk to her about that, and tell her it wouldn't do
now you was married, and, in fact, that that was one of the great
reasons for her to go, as parties had observed her feelin's. That
seemed to touch her,--for her pride's awful,--and she began to give
way, and at last, after a long palaver, she said she'd go, though not
before I--"
"Beg your pardon, Sir Charles," said Banks, opening the door; "Mrs.
Hammond, Sir Charles, wishes to speak to you, Sir Charles: she's here
at the door."
"Show her in, by all means," said Mitford, turning to Effingham and
laying his finger on his lips; then to him, _sotto voce_, "Keep your
mouth shut!"
"I'm very sorry to trouble you, Sir Charles," said Mrs. Hammond,
entering hurriedly, with a slight bow to the stranger and a glance of
astonishment at his appearance; "but I will detain you only an
instant. Have you heard anything of Miss Gillespie?"
"Of Miss Gillespie? I, Mrs. Hammond? Not a word. What has happened?"
"Of course you haven't, but the most extraordinary thing! This morning
Miss Gillespie did not come into Alice's room as usual; so the child
dressed by herself, and went to Miss Gillespie's room. She tried
the door, and found it fast; so, concluding that her governess was
ill,--she's subject to headaches, I believe,--Alice went down to
breakfast. Afterwards she tried Miss Gillespie's door again, but with
no better success; and then she came to me. I sent for Gifford, Mr.
Hammond's man, you know; and after calling out once or twice, he burst
the door open; we all rushed in, and found the room empty."
"Empty!" cried Sir Charles.
"The devil!" burst out Mr. Effingham. "I beg your pardon! What an odd
thing!"
"Empty," repeated Mrs. Hammond. "The bed hadn't been slept in; her
boxes were open, and some of the things had been taken out; while on
the dressing-table was this note addressed to me."
She handed a small slip of paper to Sir Charles, who opened it and
read aloud:
"You will never see me again. Search for me will be useless.
"R. G."
"Yes," said Mrs. Hammond, "she's gone. 'Search for me will be
useless.' So provoking too; just the sort of person one liked to have
about one; and I had got quite accustomed to her and all that. 'Never
see me again;' I declare it's horribly annoying. Now, Sir Charles, I
want to ask your advice: what would you do? Would you have people sent
after her in all directions, eh?"
"Well, 'pon my word, I don't see how you can do that," said Sir
Charles. "She hasn't taken anything of yours, I suppose,--no, of
course not,--so, you see, she has a right to go away when she likes.
Needn't give a month's warning, eh?"
"Right to go away! Well, I don't know,--I suppose she has--and I
suppose I haven't any right to stop her; but it is annoying; and yet
it's highly ridiculous, isn't it?" "What on earth can have driven her
away? Nobody rude to her, I should think; she wasn't that sort of
person. Well, I won't bore you any more now about it, particularly as
you're busy. We shall meet at luncheon, and then we can talk further
over this unpleasant affair." And with a smile to Sir Charles, and
another slight bow to Mr. Effingham, she left the room.
"Well, you certainly have done your work excellently, Mr. Effingham,"
said Sir Charles, as soon as the door had closed; "in the most
masterly manner!"
"Yes, it ain't bad, I think," said Mr. Effingham, with a ghastly
attempt at a grin; "I told you it was all square."
"Yes; but I had no notion it would come about so quickly."
"Why, I hadn't half time to tell you about it. However, there it is,
done, cut, and dried,--all finished except the payment; and I'm ready
for that whenever you like."
"Our agreement was, that the cheque was to be sent to London, to an
address which you gave me--"
"Yes, but as I'm here, I may as well take it myself. You haven't got
it in notes or gold, have you? It would be handier."
"No, not sufficient; but they would change my cheque at the bank in
Torquay, I've no doubt."
"No, thank you, never mind, it ain't worth the trouble. I shall have
to go to town, I suppose, and I shan't want it till I get there--that
is, if you can lend me a couple of sovereigns just to help me on my
way. Thank you; much obliged. Now, you've got my address, and you know
where to find me when you want me; and you may depend on not seein' me
for a very long time. Good morning to you."
He took the cheque and the sovereigns and put them in his
waistcoat-pocket, made a clumsy bow, and was gone. Then Sir Charles
Mitford rose from his chair and walked to the window, radiant with
delight. It was all clear before him now; the incubus was removed, and
he was free to carry out his projects.
Mr. Effingham strode down the avenue, switching his stick and
muttering:
"Done! sold! swindled!" he exclaimed; "regularly roped,--that's what I
am! It was lucky I kept my face before the Bart., or I should never
have collared the cheque; but that's all right. So far he thinks it
was my doin', and forked out accordin'. That's the only bright part of
it. To think that a yellow-faced meek-lookin' thing like that should
have taken me in to that toon! What can her game be? To get clear of
the lot of us?--that's it! Pretendin' to be all square with me, and
then cuttin' and runnin' and shakin' it all off! Oh, a deep 'un, a
regular deep 'un! Now what's my game? After her as hard as I can.
Where will she make for? London, I should think,--try hidin'
somewhere. Ah! if she does that, I'll ferret her out. It'll be a quiet
place that I don't hunt her up in, with the means I have for workin' a
search. Here's two skivs to the good from the Bart. I'll meet the
dog-cart and get down to Torquay, and go up at once by the express.
Hallo! gate, there!"
"Why, you are in a hurry, sir!" said the old portress, coming out;
"mist as pressed as the young woman as knocked me up at day-dawn this
morning."
"Ah! what was that?" said Mr. Effingham stopping short.
"I would have told you this morning when you came in; but you were so
short and snappish!" said the old lady. "She came down wi' a little
passel in her hand, and knocked at my door and ast for the key. And I
got up to let her out, and there were a fly outside--Mullins's fly,
and young Mullins to drive; and she got in, and off they went."
"Ay, ay where does Mullins live?"
"Just close by Mitford Arms. His father were wi' my father--"
"Yes, yes; thank you! all right! goodbye!" and Mr. Effingham rushed
off up the by-lane to where he knew the dog-cart was waiting.