CHAPTER I._The Fever of Life

Transcriber's Notes:

1. Page scan source:https://books.google.com/books/about/

The_Fever_of_Life.html?id=7nggAAAAMAAJ

2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].

THE FEVER OF LIFE

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_By_ FERGUS HUME, _author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab,"

"The Year of Miracle," "The Piccadilly Puzzle,"

"A Creature of the Night," "Monsieur Judas," "Madame Midas," Etc_.

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NEW YORK AND LONDON

STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS

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By UNITED STATES BOOK CO.

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By STREET & SMITH

THE FEVER OF LIFE

CHAPTER I.

PINCHLER'S DOCKYARD.

"Fashion for the nonce surrenders

Giddy Mayfair's faded splendours,

And with all her sons and daughters

Hastens to health-giving waters;

Rests when curfew bells are ringing,

Rises when the lark is singing,

Plays lawn tennis, flirts and idles,

Laying snares for future bridals;

Thus forgetting pleasures evil,

In return to life primeval."

It was Toby Clendon who named it "Pinchler's Dockyard "--Toby Clendon,

young, handsome, and a trifle scampish, who wrote witty essays for

_The Satirist_, slashing criticisms for _The Bookworm_, and dainty

society verses for any journal which chose to pay for such poetical

effusions. A very cruel remark to make about Mrs. Pinchler's

respectable private hotel at Marsh-on-the-Sea; but then the truth is

always cruel, and Mr. Clendon proved the truth of his statement in

this wise--

"A dockyard is a place where broken-down ships are repaired. Man, by

poetical license, is a ship on the ocean of life. Some broken-down

human ships under stress of circumstance put in to Pinchler's private

hotel for repair in the matter of bodily ailments. Pinchler's harbours

these broken-down human ships, therefore Pinchler's is a human

dockyard. Strike out the word human as redundant, and there you are,

Pinchler's Dockyard."

A whimsical deduction, doubtless, yet by no means void of a certain

amount of truthful humour, as the guests at Pinchler's private hotel

were for the most part deficient as regards physical completeness. If

the lungs were healthy the liver was out of order. Granted that the

head was "all there," the legs were not, unless one leg counted as

two. Splendid physique, but something wrong with the internal organs.

Yes, certainly a good many human ships were undergoing repair under

the calculating eye of Mrs. Pinchler; and as her establishment was not

healthy enough for a hotel nor sickly enough for an hospital, Toby

Clendon's intermediate term "dockyard" fitted it exactly; so

Pinchler's Dockyard it was called throughout Marsh-on-the-Sea.

It was a square red-brick house, built on a slight eminence, and

facing the salt sea breeze of the Channel. On the one side a pleasant

garden, on the other smooth green tennis lawns, and in front a mixture

of turf, of flower-beds, and of gravel, sloping down to the road which

divided it from the stony sea beach. A short distance away to the

right was Marsh-on-the-Sea, with its rows of gleaming white houses set

on the heights, while below was the red-roofed quaint old town, built

long before its rival above became famous as a watering-place. To the

left, undulating hills, clumps of trees, tall white cliffs, and here

and there pleasant country houses, showing themselves above the green

crests of their encircling woods. Add to this charming prospect a

brilliant blue sea, a soft wind filled with the salt smell of the

waters, and a sun tempered by intervening clouds, and it will be

easily seen that Marsh-on-the-Sea was a pleasantly situated place, and

Pinchler's Dockyard was one of the pleasantest houses in it.

"And why," said Mr. Clendon, continuing an argument, "and why English

people want to go to the Riviera for beauty, when they have all this

side of the Channel to choose from is more than I can make out."

It was just after luncheon, and the wrecks at present being repaired

in the dockyard were sunning themselves on the tennis lawn. Some were

reading novels, others were discussing their ailments, a few ladies

were working at some feminine embroidery, a few gentlemen were smoking

their after-dinner pipe, cigar, cigarette, as the case might be, and

all were enjoying themselves thoroughly in their different ways.

Toby himself, arrayed in spotless white flannels, with a blue-ribboned

straw hat was lying ungracefully on the grass, smoking a cigarette,

and talking in an affectedly cynical vein to three ladies. There was

Mrs. Valpy, fat, ponderous and plethoric; Miss Thomasina Valpy, her

daughter, familiarly called Tommy, a charmingly pretty girl, small,

coquettish and very fascinating in manner. As a rule, men of

susceptible hearts fell in love with Tommy; but when they heard Mrs.

Valpy say that she was like Thomasina when young, generally retreated

in dismay, having a prophetic vision that this fragile, biscuit-china

damsel would resemble her mother when old, and as Mrs. Valpy--well

they never proposed, at all events.

There was a third lady present, Miss Kaituna Pethram, who was staying

at Pinchler's with the Valpys, and without doubt she was very

handsome; so handsome, indeed, that Tommy's brilliant beauty paled

before her sombre loveliness. She was dark, unusually dark, with a

pale, olive-coloured skin, coils of splendid dusky hair, luminous dark

eyes, and clearly-cut features, which were not exactly European in

their outline. Neither was her Christian name European, and this being

taken in conjunction with her un-English look, led some people to

think she had African blood in her veins. In this supposition,

however, they were decidedly wrong, as there was no suggestion of the

negro in her rich beauty. Indian? not delicate enough, neither as

regards features nor figure. Spanish? no; none of the languor of the

Creole; then no doubt Italian; but then she lacked the lithe grace and

restless vivacity of the Latin race. In fact Miss Kaituna Pethram

puzzled every one. They were unable to "fix her," as the Americans

say, and consequently gave up the unguessable riddle of her birth in

despair.

As a matter of fact, however, she was the descendant, in the third

generation, of that magnificent New Zealand race, now rapidly dying

out--the Maories, and the blending of the dusky Polynesian with the

fair European had culminated in the production of this strange flower

of two diverse stocks--neither wholly of the one nor of the other,

but a unique blending of both. Her great grandparents had been

full-blooded Maories, with uncivilised instincts and an inborn

preference for a savage life. Their daughter, also a full-blooded

Maori, being the daughter of a chief, had married a European settler,

and the offspring of this mixed marriage was Kaituna's mother, a

half-caste, inheriting the civilised culture of her father, and the

savage instincts of her mother. Kaituna was born of this half-caste

and an English father, therefore the civilised heredity prevailed; but

she still retained the semblance, in a minor degree, of her primeval

ancestry, and without doubt, though ameliorated by two generations of

European progenitors on the male side, there lurked in her nature the

ineradicable instincts of the savage.

Of course, self-complacent Europeans, pure-blooded in themselves,

never argued out the matter in this wise, and were apt to look down on

this inheritor of Maori ancestry as "a nigger," but were decidedly

wrong in doing so, as the magnificent race that inhabits New Zealand

is widely removed from the African black. At all events, whatever they

might think, Kaituna Pethram was a uniquely beautiful girl, attractive

to a very great degree, and inspiring more admiration than the

undecided blondes and brunettes who moved in the same circle cared to

acknowledge. Toby Clendon was not in love with her, as he preferred

the saucy manner and delicate beauty of Miss Valpy, but Archie

Maxwell, who was the best looking young man at Pinchler's, had quite

lost his heart to this unique flower of womanhood, and the damsels of

Pinchler's resented this greatly. Mr. Maxwell, however, was at present

engaged in talking to some of them at a distance, and if his eyes did

wander now and then to where Clendon was playing Shepherd Paris to

goddesses three--Mrs. Valpy being Minerva in her own opinion--they did

their best to enchain his attention and keep him to themselves.

Kaituna herself did not mind, as she was not particularly taken with

Mr. Maxwell, and was quite content to lie lazily back in her chair

under the shelter of a large red sunshade and listen to Toby Clendon's

desultory conversation.

It was a pleasant enough conversation in a frivolous fashion. Mr.

Clendon made startling statements regarding the world and its

inhabitants, Kaituna commented thereon. Tommy sparkled in an idle,

girlish way, and Mrs. Valpy, with sage maxims, culled from the

monotonous past of an uneventful life, supplied the busy element

requisite in all cases. Three of the party were young, the fourth was

gracefully old, so, juvenility predominating, the conversation rippled

along pleasantly enough.

After the patriotic Toby had made his remark concerning the

superiority of things English over all the rest of the world, Kaituna

waved the banner of Maoriland, and laughed softly.

"Ah! wait till you see New Zealand."

"_Ultima Thule_," said Clendon classically. "Eh I why should I go

there, Miss Pethram?"

"To see what nature can do in the way of beautiful landscape."

"I am a domestic being, Miss Pethram, and find the domestic scenery of

England sufficiently beautiful to satisfy my artistic longings. New

Zealand, I have been told, is an uncivilised country, full of horrid

woods and wild beasts."

"There are no wild beasts at all," replied Kaituna indignantly, "and

the bush is not horrid. As to it being uncivilised, that is the

mistake you English make."

"Oh, the contempt in the term 'you English,'" interjected Toby,

impudently.

"We have cities, railways, theatres, musical societies, shops, and

everything else necessary to make life pleasant. That is civilisation,

I suppose. We have also great plains, majestic mountains, splendid

rivers, undulating pasture lands and what not. This is uncivilised--if

you like to call it so. England is pretty--oh yes, very pretty, but

tame like a garden. One gets tired of always living in a garden. A

garden is nature's drawing-room. I don't say a word against England,

for I like it very much, but at times I feel stifled by the narrowness

of the place. England is very beautiful, yes; but New Zealand,"

concluded Miss Pethram with conviction, "New Zealand is the most

beautiful place in the whole world."

"My dear," said Mrs. Valpy in a patronising manner, "are you not going

a little too far? I've no doubt the place you come from is very nice,

very nice indeed, but to compare it with England is ridiculous. You

have no city, I think, like London. No, no! London is cosmopolitan,

yes--quite so."

Having stated this plain truth, Mrs. Valpy looked round with a fat

smile of triumph and resumed her knitting, while Tommy dashed into the

conversation with slangy vivacity.

"Oh, I say, you know, New Zealand's a place where you can have a high

old time, but London's the place for larks."

"Why not the country," said Clendon drily, "the morning lark."

"Oh, I don't mean that sort of lark," interrupted Tommy ingeniously,

"the evenin' lark; my style, you know. Waltzin', flirtin', talkin',

jolly rather."

"You move in the highest circles, Tommy," said Kaituna, who was a

somewhat satirical damsel. "You drop your 'g's.'"

"Better than dropping your 'h's'."

"Or your money," said Toby, lighting a fresh cigarette. "I don't know

what we're all talking about."

"I think," observed Mrs. Valpy in a geographical style, "we were

discussing the Islands of New Zealand."

"Rippin' place," said Tommy gaily.

"Thomasina, my dear," remarked her Johnsonian mamma, "I really do not

think that you are personally----"

"Acquainted with the place! No! I'm not. But Kaituna has told me a

lot. Archie Maxwell has told me more----"

"Mr. Maxwell?" interposed Kaituna, quickly. "Oh, yes! he said that he

had visited Auckland on his way to Sydney--but you can't tell New

Zealand from one city."

"_Ex pede Herculem_," said the classical Toby, "which, being

translated means--by the foot shall ye know the head."

"Auckland isn't the head of New Zealand. It was, but now Wellington is

the capital. The city of wooden match-boxes built in a draughty

situation."

"How unpatriotic."

"Oh, no, I'm not, Mr. Clendon. But I reserve my patriotism for

Dunedin?"

"You mean Edinburgh.

"I mean the new Edinburgh with the old name, not the old Edinburgh

with the new name."

"Epigrammatic, decidedly. This is instructive, Miss Pethram. Do they

teach epigram in the schools of Dunedin?"

"And why not? Do you think Oxford and Cambridge monopolise the

learning of nations? We also in Dunedin," concluded Kaituna proudly,

"have an university."

"To teach the young idea how to shoot--delightful."

"But I thought there was no game to shoot," said Tommy wickedly.

Mrs. Valpy reproved the trio for their frivolous conversation.

"You are all talking sad nonsense."

"On the contrary, gay nonsense," retorted Clendon lightly; "but I

foresee in this badinage the elements of an article for _The

Satirist_. Miss Pethram, I am going to use you as copy. Tell me all

about yourself."

"To be published as an essay, and ticketed 'The New Pocahontas.'"

"Perhaps," replied the essayist evasively, "for you are a kind of

nineteenth century Pocahontas. You belong to the children of Nature."

"Yes, I do," said Kaituna, quickly; "and I'm proud of it. My father

went out to New Zealand a long time ago, and there married my mother,

who was the daughter of a Maori mother. My grandmother was the child

of a chief--a real Pocahontas."

"Not quite; Pocahontas was a chieftainess in her own right."

"And died at Wapping, didn't she?" said Mrs. Valpy, placidly. "Of

course the dark races always give way to the superiority of the

white."

Kaituna looked indignantly at this fat, flabby woman, who spoke so

contemptuously of her Maori ancestors, who were certainly superior to

Mrs. Valpy from a physical point of view, and very probably her equal

mentally in some ways. It was no use, however, arguing with Mrs. Valpy

over such a nice point, as she was firmly intrenched behind her

insular egotism, and would not have understood the drift of the

argument, with the exception that she was a white, and therefore

greatly superior to a black. Toby saw the indignant flash in her eyes,

and hastened to divert the chance of trouble by saying the first thing

that came into his mind.

"Is your mother in England, Miss Pethram?"

"My mother is dead."

"Oh! I beg--I beg your pardon," said Toby, flustering a little at his

awkwardness: "I mean your father."

"My father," replied Kaituna, cheerfully. "Oh, he is out in New

Zealand again. You know, we lived out there until a year ago. Then my

father, by the death of his elder brother, became Sir Rupert Pethram,

so he brought me home. We always call England home in the Colonies. He

had to go out again about business; so he left me in Mrs. Valpy's

charge."

"Delighted to have you, my dear," murmured the old lady, blinking her

eyes in the sunshine like an owl. "You see, Mr. Clendon, we are near

neighbours of Sir Rupert's down in Berkshire."

"Oh!" said Clendon, raising himself on his elbow with a look of

curiosity in his eyes, "that is my county. May I ask what particular

part you inhabit?"

"Near Henley."

"Why, I lived near there also."

"What," cried Tommy, with great surprise, "can it be that you are a

relative of Mr. Clendon, the Vicar of Deswarth?"

"Only his son."

"The young man who would not become a curate?"

"It didn't suit me," said Toby, apologetically; "I'm far too gay for a

curate. It's a mistake putting a square peg into a round hole, you

know; and I make a much better pressman than a preacher."

"It is a curious thing we never met you, Mr. Clendon," observed Mrs.

Valpy, heavily; "but we have only been at 'The Terraces' for two

years."

"Oh, and I've been away from the parental roof for five or six years.

I do not wonder at never meeting you, but how strange we should meet

here. Coincidences occur in real life as well as in novels, I see."

"Mr. Maxwell told me he met a man in London the other day whom he had

last seen in Japan," said Kaituna, smiling.

"Maxwell is a wandering Jew--an engineering Cain."

"Hush! hush!" said Mrs. Valpy, shocked like a good church-woman, at

any reference to the Bible in light conversation. "Mr. Maxwell is a

very estimable young man."

"I called him Cain in a figurative sense only," replied Toby, coolly;

"but if you object to that name, let us call him Ulysses."

"Among the sirens," finished Kaituna, mischievously.

Tommy caught the allusion, and laughed rudely. Confident in her own

superiority regarding beauty, she was scornful of the attempts of the

so-called sirens to secure the best-looking man in the place, so took

a great delight in drawing into her own net any masculine fish that

was likely to be angled for by any other girl. She called it fun, the

world called it flirtation, and her enemies called it coquetry; and

Toby Clendon, although not her enemy, possibly agreed with the

appropriateness of the term. But then he was her lover; and lovers are

discontented if they don't get the object of their affections all to

themselves.

"The sirens!" repeated Miss Valpy, scornfully. "What, with voices like

geese? What humbug! Let us take Archie Maxwell Ulysses away from the

sirens, Kaituna."

"No, no, don't do that!" said Kaituna with a sudden rush of colour;

"it's a shame."

"What! depriving them of their big fish? Not at all. It's greedy of

them to be so selfish. I'll call him. Mr. Maxwell!"

"It's very chilly here," said Kaituna, rising to her feet. "Mr.

Clendon, my shawl, please. Thank you I'm going inside."

"Because of Mr. Maxwell?" asked Miss Valpy, maliciously.

"No. I'm expecting some letters from Mr. Dombrain. Oh, here is Mr.

Maxwell. _Au revoir_," and Miss Pethram walked quickly away towards

the house.

Maxwell having extricated himself from the company of the sirens, who

looked after their late captive with vengeful eyes, saw Kaituna

depart, and hesitated between following her or obeying the invitation

of Miss Valpy. His heart said "Go there," the voice of Tommy said

"Come here," and the unfortunate young man hesitated which to obey.

The lady saw his hesitation, and, purposely to vex Mr. Clendon,

settled the question at once.

"Mr. Maxwell, come here. I want you to play lawn-tennis."

"Certainly, Miss Valpy," said Maxwell, with sulky civility.

"Why, I asked you to play twice this afternoon, and you refused,"

cried Clendon, in some anger.

"Well, I've changed my mind But you can play also, if you like."

"No, thank you. I've--I've got an engagement."

Tommy moved close to the young man and laughed.

"You've got a very cross face."

At this Clendon laughed also, and his cross face cleared.

"Oh, I'll be delighted to play."

"And what about Miss Pethram?" asked Maxwell, rather anxiously.

"Miss Pethram has gone inside to await the arrival of the post."

"Isn't she coming out again?"

"I think not."

"If you will excuse me, Miss Valpy, I won't play just at present."

"Oh, never mind."

So Maxwell stalked away in a very bad temper with himself, with Miss

Pethram, and with everything else. In any one but a lover it would

have been sulks, but in the _ars amoris_ it is called despair.

Tommy held her racket like a guitar, and, strumming on it with her

fingers, hummed a little tune--a vulgar little tune which she had

picked up from a common street boy--

"Tho' I'm an earl,

And she's a girl,

Far, far below my level,

Oh, Mary Jane,

You give me pain,

You wicked little----"

"Thomasina!" cried the scandalised Mrs. Valpy, and Thomasina laughed.