PURPLE AND FINE LINEN
Mr. Michael Tait dealt principally in stocks and shares, but was not
above any scheme, however wild or however shady, which promised to
result in large profits. His motto was: "Make money honestly if you
can, but make money!" and he consistently acted up to this advice
throughout a long career of speculation. He was not so much a spider
sitting in a web to lure unwary flies, as an octopus who stretched out
tentacles in every direction to draw victims into his maw. He indulged
in dozens of enterprises, both openly and secretly, but all with the
aim of making as much cash as possible. That many of these schemes led
to much misery, that is, the misery of other people, he never stopped
to inquire. And even if he had done so he would have taken no note of
the answer. The race was to the swift and the battle to the strong, in
Mr. Tait's humble opinion, and those who failed either in fighting or
running had to make the best of their plight.
In appearance Michael Tait was a squat, burly, sturdy man, with sandy
hair and whiskers, and a pair of cold blue eyes devoid of all
sympathy. He dressed expensively, wore a profusion of jewellery, and
was rarely without an excellent cigar sticking out of his mouth. For
the sake of luring his victims he cultivated a jolly, free and easy
manner, and exhibited an external good nature which deceived many. To
quote Tennyson's cutting line, he "snake-like slimed his victim e'er
he gorged," and acted the Pharisee by largely advertising his
charities. He was looked upon generally as a good fellow, rough, but
really kind-hearted, and possessed of a true Christian spirit. As a
matter of fact, Mr. Tait knew very little of Christ and His teaching,
and would not have subscribed to it, save by word of mouth, had he
been aware of its spirit. But he passed as a good man, because he went
to church and talked largely of helping the poor.
This prop of British commerce, as he was wrongly described by a too
ardent reporter, possessed a regal country house at Henley, where he
entertained largely. Also he had chambers in town, but these he only
used on rare occasions when business or pleasure prevented him seeking
his true home. Mrs. Tait had mercifully passed away many years
previously, under the delusion that Michael was a good man, and the
Henley mansion was managed by Maud Ellis, who was the stockbroker's
niece.
Miss Ellis was a young lady of five-and-twenty, certainly not
bad-looking, although she could not be described as beautiful. Like
her respectable uncle, she was of the sandy type, but, unlike him, she
possessed a tall, full figure, finely-shaped. As she always dressed in
exquisite taste, and had a personality of the semi-hypnotic kind, she
was regarded as a desirable woman. The fact that she was her uncle's
heiress also may have had something to do with this opinion. Maud was
extremely cunning, and as selfish in her way as Michael was in his. He
sought money, she admiration, and they did very well in their efforts
to attract both. And it was this clever young woman who had chosen to
fall in love with George Walker.
Of course she knew that he was a bad match, that he did not love her,
and that as his wife she would hold no very exalted position. But the
fact was that the girl, after playing with various suitors, like the
princess of a fairy tale, with no serious intentions, had been snared
herself. Whether it was Walker's good looks, or his kind heart, or his
charm of manner, it is impossible to say; perhaps one of the three,
perhaps the three together: but Miss Ellis assuredly was violently in
love with the young man. Having arrived at the conclusion that life
would be miserable without him, she set to work to make him propose,
thinking that she would have small difficulty.
To her surprise, however, George proved to be quite impervious to her
sparkling conversation and clever display of her somewhat limited
charms. He was polite to her and nothing more, although she made her
uncle ask him again and again to the palace at Henley. This conduct
piqued Miss Ellis, but did not altogether displease her, as it gave
her an opportunity of exercising her talent for intrigue.
From a mere fancy, her passion deepened to ardent love, and she swore
mentally that by hook or by crook she would force the young fellow to
make her Mrs. Walker. Rarely a week passed without George being asked
to Henley, and Maud did her best to subjugate him. But George being in
love with Lesbia had a very strong shield to oppose to her love darts,
and managed to avoid the amorous pitfalls she spread for him. For six
months the chase of this unwilling victim had been going on, and as
the quarry always dodged just as the huntress was on the verge of
capture, this middle-class Diana concluded that there was another
woman in the case. With a view to learning the truth, she watched and
made stealthy inquiries, so that she speedily learned of George's
infatuation--so she called it--for Lesbia Hale. To detach him from
Lesbia became the object of her life, and it was she who suggested to
Mr. Hale that Lesbia might profitably marry Captain Alfred Sargent.
As Hale approved of Maud's cleverness, and was frequently indebted to
her for getting what he wanted from Tait, he did his best to fall in
with her plans, the more so, as he did not care whom his daughter
married, provided it was to his interest.
Maud promised, if the marriage was brought about, to interest her
uncle in a wild-cat scheme of Hale's contrivance. So the loving father
did his best--as has been seen--to force his child into the arms of a
man she loathed. George knew nothing of all this intrigue, and kept
away from the Henley mansion as much as he could without openly
offending his employer. But when he heard from Tim that Captain
Sargent was to be a member of the Saturday to Monday house-party, he
determined to accept this latest invitation. An interview with Sargent
might clear the air of all these mysteries, and George--hating the
ex-captain--was not averse from breaking his head as Tim had advised,
if there was no other way of releasing Lesbia. Also George fancied
that Mr. Hale--a frequent visitor--might be enjoying Mr. Tait's
hospitality, in which case he could speak to him and remonstrate about
this tyranny to which Lesbia was subjected.
When George arrived in time for afternoon tea on Saturday, he found
that his own hopes and those of Tim were realised--that is, both
Walter Hale and Captain Sargent were present. Hale looked as lean and
grim and smart as ever, while greeting the flushed young man with the
air of a perfect stranger. Maud, who presided at a dainty tea-table,
saw that flush, and from the juxtaposition of Hale guessed its reason.
She was therefore none too pleased, but veiling her annoyance with a
sweet smile, she called the new arrival over to her side, and poured
him out a cup of tea.
"You are quite a stranger, Mr. Walker," she said graciously, devouring
him with her cold, grey eyes, which only lighted up when they rested
on his face.
"I was here three weeks ago," said George politely, and accepting
cake. "It would rather bore Mr. Tait if I came here oftener."
"It would never bore me," breathed Miss Ellis, "and my uncle is always
very glad to see you. He looks upon you almost as his son."
George flushed again and looked awkward. "It is very kind of Mr.
Tait," he remarked coldly, "seeing that I am only a clerk in his
office."
"Uncle was only a clerk once," said Maud, smiling. "And look what he
is now, Mr. Walker. Some day you will be like him."
"I don't think so," said George, looking across to the stout,
ungraceful form of the successful stockbroker, who was being waited
upon hand and foot by two society ladies of the smart set, anxious to
secure tips.
Maud took his remark in its wrong sense. "Oh, you must hope," she
declared playfully. "With influence," she spoke meaningly, "you will
do much."
"I have no influence," returned the young man coldly.
"That is your own fault," retorted Miss Ellis. "The tide of fortune is
flowing past your door, and you will not launch your boat."
"I am waiting for a passenger," said Walker, thinking of Lesbia.
Jealous and cunning as she was, Maud was quite taken in for the
moment, and smiled graciously. She fancied that he referred to her.
"You need not wait long," she hinted.
George found the situation intolerable, and on the spur of the moment,
although it was neither the time nor the place to be confidential, he
spoke out. There should be no further misunderstandings if he could
help it. "My waiting depends upon Mr. Hale," he said bluntly.
Maud bit her thin lip, and leaned back, with an artificial laugh.
Inwardly she was furious, as she now knew that his remark had referred
to "that girl," as she contemptuously called Lesbia. But she was too
much the woman of the world to reveal her feelings and, moreover,
utilised his observation to learn as much of the truth as possible.
"Ah," she said archly, "a little bird told me that Mr. Hale has a
beautiful daughter. But I understood that she was engaged to Captain
Sargent."
"She is engaged to me," flashed out George, quite forgetting that he
was speaking to a jealous woman.
"Ah!" said Miss Ellis again, controlling her countenance with
difficulty; "the course of true love is not running smoothly. Poor Mr.
Walker, I must help you to gain your wife."
"You!" blurted out George like a fool.
Maud sat up and erected her crest like a snake. "Yes, I," she said
haughtily, anxious only for the moment to save her womanly pride. "Why
should I not help a friend? I look on you almost as a brother."
Still like a fool, George believed her, and indeed her indignant
manner would have deceived a much cleverer man. He was very young and
very green, and in Maud's designing hands could be moulded like wax.
She could have struck him in the face for the insult he had offered
her, but hiding her rage under a friendly smile, she laid her plans to
entrap him beyond hope of escape. "I shall get Mr. Hale to bring his
daughter here," she said quietly, "and then you can talk to her at
your leisure."
"Oh, how good you are," cried George delightedly. "I am sure you will
love Lesbia: she is so beautiful and charming--as you are," he added
with an afterthought.
Again the impulse came to Maud to strike him, and again her worldly
training came to her aid. "Hush!" she said softly, "you will make
Captain Sargent jealous. I believe he overheard."
"I don't care if he did," said Walker defiantly.
"Then I do," retorted Miss Ellis, who could not resist paying him out
a trifle, much as she loved him. "I don't want you to quarrel here.
Now go and talk to Captain Sargent while I receive these new people."
Several ladies and two gentlemen entered at the moment, and she went
forward to greet them, followed by her uncle. George left the chair he
had occupied near the tea-table, and strolled across the room--not to
Sargent, but to interview Mr. Hale.
That gentleman saw him coming, and moved away from the person to whom
he was speaking, in order to find a secluded corner. He saw that his
would-be son-in-law was coming to converse with him, and guessing the
subject of his conversation, wished to settle the matter without
scandal. George, as he surmised, was too frank to be diplomatic, and
if within the hearing of others, might say too much. But he need not
have been afraid. George, having been schooled in social usages, by
his mother, was perfectly capable of acting as a well-bred man.
"I have called twice or thrice to see Lesbia," said George, sinking
his voice to a judicious whisper, "but I have not been successful."
"That is as it should be," rejoined Mr. Hale coldly. "I do not wish
her to see you, and I have taken steps to prevent her from seeing
you."
It was on the point of George's tongue to say that he knew what
precautions had been taken, but to speak openly would lead to the
betrayal of Tim, which was not to be thought of. However, he was as
blunt as he dared to be. "It is tyranny to keep a young girl shut up,"
he snapped angrily.
"You are the cause of her seclusion," retorted the elder man, "and as
her father I have a right to act as I please."
"There are law and order in this country," said Walker heatedly, and
would have continued to speak with vehemence, but that Hale prevented
him.
"You are right, and I take advantage of such law and order to prevent
my daughter from marrying a man I disapprove of."
"Why do you object to me?"
"We discussed that before and I gave you my answer. Also, if you will
remember, I gave you a chance of having things your own way. It is my
desire that Lesbia should marry my friend Sargent, but if you will
recover that lost cross for me, I will permit her marriage with you."
"I can't find the cross," growled George sullenly.
"Then you can't marry Lesbia," replied Hale, very distinctly, "and as
you are forcing me to curtail Lesbia's liberty by haunting the house,
I must ask you, in her interests if not in mine, to discontinue your
persecution."
George looked at the cold grim face before him, very straightly. "I
love Lesbia, and I intend to marry Lesbia," he said quietly.
"Therefore I shall do all in my power to see Lesbia. As to Captain
Sargent----"
"Hullo!" remarked that gentleman, who was strolling--perhaps
purposely--within ear-shot. "What about Captain Sargent?"
He was a slim, thin, delicate-looking man of the
mutton-dressed-as-lamb type, that is, he did not look his age, and
affected a pronouncedly juvenile fashion, a trifle over-done. His
collars were too high, his ties were too brilliant, and his clothes
were aggressively new. To look at his array he might have just left an
army-crammer's, and had apparently stopped short at "the young
lieutenant" epoch, which is the era of the male peacock. As to his
looks, these were of the colourless faded type; his face was pale, his
eyes were pale, and his hair--what there was of it--was also pale. In
fact, Sargent looked like a sheet of paper prepared for sketching, and
could have painted upon the background of himself any character he
wished to represent, provided it was not a strong one. The contrast
between his washed out personality and young Walker's vivid virility
was most marked.
"What about Captain Sargent?" repeated this product of civilisation, a
trifle more aggressively since George hesitated to speak. "Finish what
you have to say, Mr. Walker."
"Certainly," replied the younger man coolly. "I am the more willing,
as Mr. Hale is present. In a word, Captain Sargent, I love Miss Lesbia
Hale, and I intend to marry her. You wish to make her your wife, and I
do not intend to let you have your way."
"All that in a word," sneered the captain, with a disagreeable look in
his pale grey eyes.
"Yes. In a word to the wise."
"And suppose I am not wise?"
"It matters very little to me if you are wise or not," retorted
George, who was not to be put down by sneers. "Lesbia is to marry me,
so that is all about it."
Sargent glanced at Mr. Hale, who was quite unruffled. "I presume her
father's wish counts for something?"
"Not when it conflicts with her happiness."
"What do you say, Hale?"
"I have said all that I intend to say. Walker knows my views."
"He does," broke in George, "and he does not subscribe to them. I give
you warning that I intend to marry Lesbia. As to you, sir," he turned
so fiercely on Sargent that the man gave back a step. "If you make
Lesbia unhappy, or bother her in any way, I shall make myself very
unpleasant."
"Dear me!" sneered the captain in feigned alarm. "What a terrible
Turk!"
George stared coldly at his rival, and deliberately turned on his heel
without speaking further. He had declared open war, and he was pleased
that he had done so. Now--with a clear conscience--he could haunt the
Marlow cottage and see Lesbia and woo Lesbia and carry off Lesbia,
without feeling that he was acting otherwise than as a gentleman and
an ardent lover. "Damn the fellow!" breathed Sargent, who had reddened
under Walker's contemptuous gaze. "What's to be done, Hale?"
"Nothing," rejoined that gentleman sternly. "If you find that cross,
you can marry Lesbia; if Walker finds it, he can make her his wife."
It was a pity that George did not overhear this speech. He would have
been interested to hear that Sargent also was seeking for the
mysterious ornament to which Hale appeared to attach such value. The
captain looked at his friend curiously. "Why do you want this cross so
much?" he asked.
"That's my business. What you have to do is to find it;" and in his
turn Mr. Hale went away, leaving Sargent caressing his moustache in
some perplexity.
Presently, everyone went to dinner, which was a banquet delicately
cooked and splendidly served. Tait was quite devoted to the pleasures
of the table, and paid his chef a large salary. The food was perfect
and the wines flowed freely, so that by the time the guests repaired
to the drawing-room, everyone was in the best of spirits. The
house-party was a large one, as there were about twenty people
present, and not one of these would have been acceptable in a Sunday
school. There were ladies belonging to the smart set, perfectly
respectable from a worldly point of view, but who cared for nothing
save bridge and dress, flirtation and pleasure. There were also men,
some with titles, and many with brains of the speculative money-making
order.
Tait was not entirely in society, but by reason of his wealth and
public position as a philanthropist hovered on the fringe of it. He
helped social butterflies to make money on the Stock Exchange, lent
sums large and small to ladies who could advance him in Mayfair and
Belgravian circles, and was always open to consider any scheme which
promised to bring in cash. Thus his house-parties were composed of a
heterogeneous mass of people, good or bad, titled and untitled, gay
and grave. But a general air of restlessness prevailed, and in that
splendid mansion one and all appeared to dance along a golden road,
which doubtless led to the Pit, and were personally conducted by the
cunning, self-indulgent, worldly old stockbroker, who might have
passed as Mammon in the flesh.
After dinner, the party split up into sections. Some ardent gamblers
sat down to bridge; a few restless spirits went to dance, and a group
gathered round a young man at the piano who sang the latest comic
songs.
There was plenty of champagne, together with cigars and cigarettes of
the best, so the fun waxed fast and furious, and as the hours drew on
to midnight everyone grew more or less excited. Within bounds, of
course, as Maud Ellis was too clever to permit the Henley palace to
earn a name for Neronian extravagance. The entertainment just paused
on the verge of an orgy; but under Maud's skilful management did not
over-step the mark.
That young lady had been watching George all the night although she
did not speak to him again. Towards twelve o'clock, she found herself
near him, and rallied him on his pensive air. "Don Quixote in love,"
she said in an airy manner.
Then she lowered her voice impressively. "Meet me in the
picture-gallery at three o'clock," she said, "for Lesbia's sake."