While Stafford was dressing for dinner that night, and wondering
whether even if he should get an opportunity of speaking to his father,
it would be wise to tell him of Ida, Howard knocked at the door.
Stafford told him to come in, and sent Measom away, and Howard, who was
already dressed, sank into an easy-chair and surveyed his friend with
bland approval.
"A white tie to-night, Staff? Anything on?"
"Yes; there is a dance," replied Stafford, rather absently. What would
his father say and do? Would he go over to Heron Hall the next morning?
Yes, that is what he would do!
"A dance? Is that all? From the undercurrent of suppressed excitement
animating most of the guests I should think it was something more
important. Have you noticed the air of suspense, of fluctuating hope
and doubt, triumph and despair which has characterized our noble band
of financiers during the last few days?"
Stafford shook his head.
"No; I haven't noticed 'em particularly. In fact, I scarcely see them,
or do more than exchange the usual greetings. They seem to me to move
and look and speak just about as usual." Howard smiled.
"To be young and happy and free from care is to be blind: puppies, for
instance, are blind!"
Stafford grinned.
"That's complimentary, anyhow. What do you think is up?"
"I think Sir Stephen is going to pull off his great event, to make his
grand _coup_," said Howard. "So you find a black-and-tan terrier
improves a dress-coat by lying on it?"
Tiny had coiled himself up on that garment, which Measom had laid ready
on the chair, and was lying apparently asleep, but with his large eyes
fixed on his beloved master.
"Oh, he's a peculiar little beast, and is always getting where he
shouldn't be. Hi! young man, get off my coat!"
He picked the terrier up and threw him softly on the bed, but Tiny got
down at once and curled himself up on the fur mat by Stafford's feet.
"Seems to be fond of you: strange dog!" said Howard. "Yes, I think Sir
Stephen's 'little scheme'--as if any scheme of his could be
'little'!--has worked out successfully, and I shouldn't be surprised if
the financiers had a meeting to-night and the floating of the company
was announced."
"Oh," said Stafford, as he got into his coat. "Yes, I daresay it's all
right. The governor seems always to pull it off."
Howard smiled.
"You talk as if an affair of thousands of thousands, perhaps millions,
were quite a bagatelle," he said. "My dear boy, don't you understand,
realise, the importance of this business? It's nothing less than a
railway from--"
Stafford nodded. "Oh, yes, you told me about it. It's a very big
thing, I daresay, but what puzzles me is why the governor should care
to worry about it. He has money enough--"
"No man has money enough," said Howard, solemnly. "But no matter. It is
a waste of time to discuss philosophy with a man who has no mind above
fox-hunting, fishing, pheasant-shooting, and dancing. By the way, how
many times do you intend to dance with the Grecian goddess?"
"Meaning--" said Stafford.
"Miss Falconer, of course. Grecian goddesses are not so common, my dear
Stafford, as to permit of more than one in a house-party."
"I'm sure I don't know," replied Stafford, eyeing him with faint
surprise. "What the devil made you ask me that?"
Howard eyed the handsome face with cynical amusement.
"Pardon, if I was impertinent; but I assure you the question is being
asked amongst themselves by all the women in the house--"
Stafford stared at him and began to frown with perplexity rather than
anger.
"My dear Stafford, I know that you are not possessed of a particularly
brilliant intellect, but you surely possess sufficient intelligence to
see that your attentions to Miss Falconer are somewhat obvious."
"What?" said Stafford. "My attentions to Miss Falconer--Are you
chaffing, Howard?"
"Not in the least: it's usually too great a waste of time with you, my
dear boy: you don't listen, and when you do, half the time you don't
understand. No, I'm quite serious; but perhaps I ought to have said her
attentions to you; it would have been more correct."
Stafford coloured.
"Look here, old man," he said. "If you think--Oh, dash it all, what
nonsense it is! Miss Falconer and I are very good friends; and of
course I like to talk to her--she's so sharp, almost as smart and
clever as you are, when she likes to take the trouble; and of course I
like to hear her sing--Why, my dear Howard, it's like listening to one
of the big operatic swells; but--but to suggest that there is
anything--that--there is any reason to warn me--Oh, dash it! come off
it, old man, you're chaffing?"
"Not in the least. But I didn't intend any warning: in fact, I am in
honour bound to refrain from anything of the kind--"
"In honour bound?" said Stafford.
Howard almost blushed.
"Oh, it's nothing; only a silly wager," he said. "I can't tell you, so
don't enquire. But all the same--well, there, I won't say more if you
are sure there is nothing between you."
"I have the best of reasons for saying so," said Stafford, carelessly,
and with a touch of colour in his face. "But it's all dashed nonsense!
The women always think there's something serious going on if you dance
twice with a girl, or sit and talk to her for half an hour."
"Right!" said Howard, rising. "There's the bell!"
As Howard had said, there was an air of suppressed excitement about the
people; and it was not confined to the financiers who clustered
together in the hall and discussed and talked in undertones, every now
and then glancing up the stairs down which Sir Stephen would presently
descend. Most of the other guests, though they had no direct and
personal interest in the great scheme, more or less had heard rumours
and come within reflective radius of the excitement; as for the rest,
who knew nothing or cared less for Sir Stephen's railway, they were in
a pleasant condition of excitement over the coming dance.
Stafford, as he stood in the hall talking about the night's programme
to Bertie--who had been elected, by common and tacit consent, master of
the ceremonies--saw Maude Falconer descending the stairs. She was even
more exquisitely dressed than usual; and Stafford heard some of the
women and men murmur admiringly and enviously as she swept across the
hall in her magnificent ball-dress; her diamonds, for which she was
famous, glittering in her hair, on her white throat, and on her slender
wrists. The dress was a mixture of grey and black, which would have
looked _bizarre_ on anyone else less beautiful; but its strange tints
harmonised with her superb and classic class of beauty, and she looked
like a vision of loveliness which might well dazzle the eyes of the
beholders.
She paused in her progress--it might almost be called a triumphant one,
for the other women's looks were eloquent of dismay--and looked at
Stafford with the slow, half-dreamy smile which had come into her face
of late when she spoke to him.
"Have you seen my father? Has he come down, Mr. Orme?" she asked.
"No," said Stafford. He looked at her, as a man does when he admires a
woman's dress, and forgetting Howard's words of warning, said: "What a
splendacious frock, Miss Falconer!"
"Do you like it? I am glad," she said. "I had my doubts, but now--"
Her eyes rested on his for a moment, then she passed on.
"I shouldn't like to have to pay Miss Falconer's dress bill," remarked
a young married woman, looking after her. "That 'frock' as you call it,
in your masculine ignorance, must have cost a small fortune."
Stafford laughed.
"We men always put our foot in it when we talk about a woman's dress,"
he said.
A moment after, the dinner was announced, and Sir Stephen, who had come
down at the last moment, as he went up to take in Lady Clansford,
nodded to Stafford, and smiled significantly. He was as carefully
dressed as usual, but on his face, and in his eyes particularly, was an
expression of satisfaction and anticipatory triumph which was too
obvious to escape the notice of but very few. He was not "loud" at
dinner, but talked even more fluently than usual, and once or twice his
fine eyes swept the long table with a victorious, masterful glance.
Directly the ladies had gone, the little knot of financiers drew up
nearer to their host, and Griffenberg raised his eyebrows
interrogatively.
Sir Stephen nodded.
"Yes," he said, in an undertone. "It's all right! I heard this morning.
My man will be down, with the final decision, by a special train which
ought to land him about midnight. We'll meet in the library, say at
half past twelve, and get the thing finished, eh, baron?"
Wirsch grunted approval.
"Vare goot, Sare Stephen; dee sooner a ting ees congluded, de bedder.
'Arf bast dwelve!"
There was but a short stay made in the drawing-room, and before ten
o'clock the guests streamed into the magnificent ball-room.
There were a number of the neighbouring gentry who were making their
acquaintance with the Villa for the first time, and they regarded the
splendour around them with an amazement which was not without reason;
for to-night the artistically designed and shaded electric lamps, the
beautiful rooms with their chaste yet effective decorations, on which
money had been lavished like water, were seen to their greatest
advantage; and the Vaynes, the Bannerdales, and the local gentry
generally exchanged glances and murmured exclamations of surprise and
admiration, and wondered whether there could be any end to the wealth
of a man who could raise such a palace in so short a time.
From the gallery of white-and-gold the famous band, every man of which
was a musician, presently began to send forth the sweet strains of a
Waldteufel waltz, and Stafford found Lady Clansford for the first
dance. Though he had paid little attention to Howard's remarks about
Maude Falconer, he remembered them, and he did not ask her for a dance
until the ball had been running about an hour; then he went up to where
she was standing talking to Lord Bunnerdale, her last partner. His
lordship and Stafford had already met, and Lord Bannerdale, who admired
and liked Stafford, nodded pleasantly.
"I was just saying to Miss Falconer that I wish Fate had made me a
great financier instead of a country squire, Orme! By Jove! this place
is a perfect--er--dream; and, when I think of my damp old house--"
"What frightful language!" said Stafford.
Lord Bannerdale laughed.
"If Miss Falconer had not been present, I might just as well have used
the other word. I say I can't help envying your father that magician's
wand with which he manages to raise such marvels. I'm going to find him
and tell him so!"
"A dance?" said Maude, as Stafford proffered his request. "Yes, I have
one, only one; it is this."
He put his arm round her, and as he did so her eyes half closed and her
lip quivered at his touch. Stafford waltzed well, and Maude was far and
away the best dancer in the room; they moved as one body in the slow
and graceful modern waltz, and Stafford, in the enjoyment of this
perfect poetry of motion, forgot everything, even his partner; but he
came back from his reverie as she suddenly paused.
"Are you tired?" he asked. "By George! how perfectly you waltz! I've
never enjoyed a dance more."
A faint colour rose to her face--it had been very pale a moment
before--and she looked at him with an earnestness which rather puzzled
him.
"They say that to agree in waltzing is an unfortunate thing for those
who wish to be friends."
"Do they?" he said, with a smile. "I wonder who it is says all those
silly things? Now, what nonsense this one is, for instance! To enjoy a
dance as I've just enjoyed this, puts a man in a good temper with
himself and his partner; and, of course, makes him feel more friendly.
I'm not a good logician, but that sounds all right, doesn't it?"
"Yes," she said in a low voice. "No, I won't dance any more. I--I am a
little tired to-night and disinclined for dancing."
"All right," he said. "I'm sorry--both that you won't dance and the
cause. You have been doing too much to-day--too long a ride, I expect.
These hills are rather trying to those who are not used to them. Shall
we go and sit in that recess? I'll bring you some wine--"
"No, thanks," she said, quickly; she could not bear him to leave her.
He led her to one of the recesses leading on to the fernery, and found
her a seat near a softly plashing fountain. The lights were shaded with
rose-coloured silk and threw a soft, warm glow upon her face and snowy
neck.
For the hundredth time, as he looked at her, he thought how beautiful
she was, and for the hundredth time compared her to Ida, of course to
his sweetheart's advantage. She leant back in the luxurious lounge with
her eyes bent on her jewelled fan, and seemed lost in thought. Then
suddenly she said:
"Do you know how long we have been here, Mr. Orme? It is a tremendous
time. I told my father to-night that we must take our departure."
"Oh, no!" he said. "Pray don't think of it--if you care to stay, if you
are happy. You would be a very serious loss to us."
"If I care--if I am happy!" She laughed a low, strange laugh and raised
her eyes to his for an instant. "Do you think I have not been happy?"
"Oh, I hope so," he said. "My father would be awfully cut up if he
thought you had not: if he thought there had been anything to prevent
your being happy he would remove it even if it--it were one of those
mountains outside," he added, with a laugh.
"You admire your father?" she said. "You--are fond of him?"
Stafford nodded. It seemed an unnecessary question.
"Rather!" he said. "There never was such a father as mine!"
"And Sir Stephen thinks there never was such a son as his," she said in
a low voice. "I suppose you are both quite willing to make sacrifices
for each other. Would you do--would you give up much for your father,
Mr. Orme?"
She raised her eyes again, and let them rest on his.
Stafford tried to smile, but his face grew grave.
"Just my life, if it were any use to him," he said.
Her lips moved.
"That is so little!" she said. "We can all die for those we love, but
few of us can live for them--go on living a life which has to be
moulded to a plan, bent on another's will--Could you do that?"
"Yes," he said, after a pause. "There is no sacrifice I would not make
for my father's sake; but"--he laughed and cleared the gravity from his
brow--"all the sacrifice seems to be on his side. He has worked for me
all his life, is working still, I'm afraid--Here is _your_ father, Miss
Falconer; and looking for you, I'm afraid."
Ralph Falconer stood in the doorway looking round, his heavy face
seeming heavier than usual, his thick lips drooping. As he saw the two
young people, his lips straightened and he went over to them slowly.
"I hope you are not going to take Miss Falconer away, sir?" said
Stafford.
Ralph Falconer shook his head, and, avoiding his daughter's eye, said:
"Sir Stephen wants to see you in the library, Mr. Orme, and wishes me
to accompany you."
"Certainly, if Miss Falconer will excuse me."
He rose, and he fancied her hand trembled slightly as it rested almost
as lightly as a feather on his arm.
"I'll take you to Lady Clansford--"
"There is no need: here is my next partner," she said, as the
"beautiful, bountiful Bertie" came up smiling and buoyant.
"Anything the matter, sir?" asked Stafford, as he and Falconer made
their way round the room through which was floating the last thing in
waltzes, a soft and sensuous melody which sang the soul to rest.
"I think not. A matter of business, I think," said Ralph Falconer. "His
secretary, Mr. Murray, has just come from London: it may be something
to do with the papers he had brought."
Stafford nodded, though the explanation seemed unsatisfactory: for what
concern had Stafford with the "papers"? As they went through the hall
they saw the financiers clustered together with an expectant air, as if
they were waiting for the result of the arrival of the man by the
special train; and they stared at Falconer and exchanged glances as he
and Stafford passed them and went to the library door.
Sir Stephen's voice came cheerily in response to Stafford's knock, and
Stafford entered; Falconer following him with bent head and the same
heavy look.
Sir Stephen was sitting at the table before a despatch box, and he held
out his hand and uttered a little cry of pleasure as he saw who it was.
"Stafford, my boy! You could not have come at a better moment--Don't
go, Falconer! I'd like you to hear me tell him the good news. I've got
it here!"
He patted the despatch case. "This is Pandora's box, Staff! With
something better than Hope at the bottom: Certainty!"
He laughed quietly, confidently, and his bright eyes flashed under
their dark brows from one to the other.
"Murray has just arrived, Falconer, with the good news!" he took out
the gold chain to which the key of the despatch box was fastened, and
inserted it in the lock. "The good news, Staff! I haven't bothered and
bored you with details; but you know, my dear boy, that I have had a
big scheme on hand for some time past--a very big scheme. It has been
rather a touch-and-go business, but I think I have managed to pull it
off--eh, Falconer? The last day or two has been one of suspense--great
suspense--but success has come. You don't care for money, Staff, I
know. Nor do I. Honestly, no! Not for the mere money, but for what it
can buy and bring. But even you will have some respect for a million
and a half, Staff."
He laughed.
"A large sum, and this means more than money. There ought to be
something in the way of an honour--"
Falconer nodded.
"_If_ the scheme is successful, your father will be a peer of the
realm, Mr. Stafford," he said drily, with an emphasis on the "if."
"_If!_" echoed Sir Stephen, laughing and nodding. Stafford could see by
the brilliance of his eyes, the flush on his face, that he was excited
and was struggling with excitement. "If!"
Falconer nodded at the despatch-case, and, with another bantering
laugh, Sir Stephen opened it and took out a large envelope. He held
this for a moment poised between finger and thumb, then he tore it open
and took out a sheet of paper, and turned his flashing eyes from the
two men to the document.
He rose for a moment with the smile still on his face; then they saw it
fade, saw the flush slowly disappear, and in its place a dull grey
steal over the face.
Stafford, startled, went round to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"What is the matter, sir?" he asked. "Bad news?"
Sir Stephen looked at him as if he did not see him, then turned his
eyes upon Falconer, who stood regarding him with a fixed, sardonic
gaze.
"Hast thou found me, oh, mine enemy?" came at last from Sir Stephen's
white lips.
Stafford looked from one to the other.
"What--what on earth is the matter? What do you mean?" he said.
Sir Stephen raised his hand and pointed to Ralph Falconer.
"This--this man!" he gasped; then he shook his head impatiently, as if
he were fighting against his weakness. "This man Falconer has betrayed
me!"
Stafford drew himself up, as he stood by his father's side, and eyed
Falconer sternly.
"Will you explain, Mr. Falconer?" he said.
"Certainly," said Falconer, with a grim calmness. "Your father uses
unwarrantably strong language, Mr. Orme, for an action of mine which is
quite a common one amongst business men."
"No!" gasped Sir Stephen, as he sank back into the chair. "Treachery is
not common--"
"Treachery is the wrong word," said Falconer, as coldly as before.
"Better let me explain to Mr. Stafford. I can do so in a few words, Mr.
Orme. The fact is, your father and I have been, quite unknown, to each
other, engaged in the same scheme. It is nothing more nor less than the
acquisition of certain land and rights which carry with them the
privilege of constructing a railway in the most promising part of South
Africa--"
Sir Stephen leant forward, his head on his hands, his eyes fixed on the
heavy, stolid face of the speaker, the face which the keen, hawk-like
eyes flashed under the lowered lids with a gleam of power and triumph.
--"Your father had reason to hope that he would acquire those lands and
rights; he did not know that I had been waiting for some years past to
obtain them. If knowledge is power and money, ignorance is impotence
and ruin. My knowledge against your father's ignorance has given me the
victory. Last night I gained my point: the news to that effect is no
doubt contained in that document. It was a question of price--it always
is. I knew your father's bid, and--I went a few thousands higher and
got the prize. That's the story in a nutshell. Of course there are a
number of complications and details, but I spare you them; in fact, I
don't suppose you understand them. It is a mere matter of business"
"No, of revenge!" said Sir Stephen's hollow voice. "Stafford, years ago
I did this man a wrong. I--I have repented; I would have made
atonement, reparation; but he put the offer aside. Here, in this house,
he professed to have forgiven and forgotten--professed friendship. It
was a piece of treachery and deceit; under that specious mask, behind
that screen, he has worked my ruin!"
"Ruin!" said Stafford, in a low voice. "Surely you exaggerate, father!
You mean that you will lose a lot of money--Oh, I can understand that,
of course. But not ruin!"
"Yes, _ruin!_" said Sir Stephen, hoarsely. "If you doubt it, look at
him!"
Falconer was standing with a sardonic smile in his eyes.
Stafford started.
"Is this true, Mr. Falconer?"
Falconer was silent for a moment, then he said, slowly, grimly:
"In a sense--yes. Your father's fate lies in my hands."
"In your hands!" echoed Stafford, with amazement.
Sir Stephen groaned and rose, supporting himself by the arm of the
chair.
"It is true, Stafford. He--he has planned it with the skill of a
general, a Napoleon! I see it all now, it is all plain to me. You held
my shares and securities, of course, Falconer?"
Falconer nodded.
"Of course!" he said, drily.
"And you have run them down to meet this scheme of yours."
"Yes, of course!" said Falconer, again. "My dear Steve--Sir
Stephen--pardon!--your fate, as I have said, is in my hands. It is
simply a matter of tit-for-tat. You had your turn some years ago out
there"--he waved his hand. "It is my turn now. You can't complain. Do
you admit the justice of the thing?"
Sir Stephen sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands for a
moment, then he looked up at Stafford.
"He's right. It was his turn. He has taken it--and with it every penny
I possess. It means ruin--complete ruin! Worse even than the loss of
every penny; for--for--I--God help me!--can't afford to go into court
and have the past raked up--And he knows it--he knows it, Stafford!"
The sight of the old man's anguish almost drove Stafford mad.
"Have you no mercy, sir?" he said to Falconer. "Grant that my father
had injured you--isn't this rather too awful a revenge to exact?
I--I--I--don't understand all that I have heard; but--but"--an oath
broke from his hot lips--"will nothing less than the ruin of my father
satisfy you?"
Falconer looked from one to the other and moistened his lips, while his
hands gripped each other behind his back.
"I think you have misunderstood me," he said, in a dry, harsh voice; "I
have no intention of ruining your father or of depriving him of his
good name. Mind! if I did I should only be taking my pound of flesh:
and I may tell you that before I entered this house this afternoon I
had resolved to have it. But I heard something that induced me to
change my mind."
Sir Stephen leant forward, his eyes fixed eagerly on the speaker, and
Stafford in his anxiety held his breath and pressed his father's
shoulder encouragingly.
"You heard something, sir?" Stafford asked, as calmly as he could.
Mr. Falconer was silent for a moment, then he said:
"Yes. I heard that you were desirous of marrying my daughter, Maude,
Mr. Orme; and I need not say that a man does not ruin his son-in-law!"
There was an intense silence. Stafford stood as if he were turned to
stone, as if he were trying to persuade himself that he had
misunderstood the meaning of Falconer's words. Marry Maude
Falconer--he! Was he dreaming, or was this man, who stood regarding him
with cold, glittering eyes, mad!