THE LADY WITH THE FAN
Perhaps it was that heavy supper, and its concomitants, that tended to
fog Jim's recollection of something in his talk with Lord Deseret
which had struck a jarring note in his brain at the time, and had
suggested itself to him as odd and a thing to be most decidedly looked
into when opportunity offered.
The feeling of it was with him next day, but he could not get back to
the fact or the words which had given rise to it. Something the old
man had said had caused him a momentary surprise and discomfort, and
then had come the abiding surprise, from which the momentary
discomfort had worn off, of that enormous bank-note, and after that
the hasty exit over the roofs and the tumultuous supper at Merlin's,
with much merriment and wine and smoke. It was not easy to get back
through all that fog to the actual words of a casual conversation.
But there certainly was something. What, in Heaven's name, was it,
that it should haunt him in this fashion?
And then, as he did his best for the tenth time, in his thick-headed,
blundering way, to cover the ground again step by step, it suddenly
flashed upon him.
"And which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?"
That was it! "Which of you is Lady Susan Sandys's boy?" the old man
had asked quite casually, as though expecting a perfectly commonplace
answer.
Were they not, then, both Lady Susan Sandys's boys?
To be suddenly confronted with a question such as that--to come upon
even the suggestion of a flaw in the fundamental facts of one's life,
is a facer indeed.
What _could_ the old boy mean? There was no sign of decrepitude about
him. That he was in fullest possession of very unusual powers of brain
and nerve, his prowess at the tables had shown. What could he mean?
Twin brothers must surely have the same mother. And yet from Lord
Deseret's question, and the way he put it, and the searching look of
the kindly keen eyes, one might have supposed that he knew, and every
one else knew, something to the contrary.
To one of Jim's simple nature, there was only one thing to be done,
and that was to go to Lord Deseret and ask him plainly what he meant.
He had already written to Jack, conveying to him his half of the
unexpected windfall, before he had succeeded in getting back to the
root of the trouble. And he had simply told him how he had met Lord
Deseret, an old friend of their father's, and how he had broken the
bank at roulette and had insisted on making him a present, which was
obviously given to them both, and so he had the pleasure of enclosing
his half herewith; and Lord Deseret was an exceedingly jolly old cock,
and the finest-looking old boy he had ever seen, and the way he
followed up that bank till it broke was a sight, and he, Jim, was half
inclined to buy himself another horse, as the mare he had was a bit
shy and skittish in the traffic, though no doubt she would get used to
it in time.
It was after five before he found out what he wanted to ask Lord
Deseret, and so the matter had to stand over till next day, rankling
meanwhile in his mind in most unaccustomed fashion, and exercising
that somewhat lethargic member much beyond its wont.
That night Denham and the rest were bound for Covent Garden to see
Madame Beteta in her Spanish dances.
Vittoria Beteta had burst upon the town a month or two before and
taken it by storm. She claimed to be Spanish, but her dances were
undoubtedly more so than her speech.
She had a smattering of her alleged native language, and of French and
Italian, and, for a foreigner, a quite unusual command of the
difficult English tongue.
Whatever her actual nationality, however, she danced superbly and was
extraordinarily good-looking, and knew how to make the most of herself
in every way.
Her age was uncertain, like all the rest. She looked eighteen, but, as
she had been dancing for years in most of the capitals of Europe, she
was probably more. What was certain was that she had witching black
eyes, and raven black hair, and a superb figure, and danced divinely,
and drew all the world to watch her.
Jim was charmed, like all the others. He had never seen anything so
exquisitely, so seductively graceful.
He gazed, with wide eyes and parted lips, till the others smiled at
his absorption.
"There's your new catch beckoning to you, Carron," said Denham
suddenly, but he had to dig him lustily in the ribs before he could
distract his attention from the dancer.
"Here, I say! Stop it!" jerked Jim, unconsciously fending the assault
with his elbow, while he still hung on to the Beteta's twinkling feet
with all the zest that was in him.
"There's Lord Deseret waving to you--in the stage-box, man." And Jim,
following his indication, saw Lord Deseret, in a box abutting right on
to the stage, waving his hand and beckoning to him.
"You have the luck," sighed Denham. "He wants you in his box. Wonder
if he has room for two little ones."
"Come on and try." And Jim jumped up.
"Wait till the dance is over or you'll get howled at, man." And Denham
dragged him down again, until the outburst of applause announced the
end of the figure and they were able to get round to Lord Deseret's
box.
He received them cordially, and as he had the box all to himself
Charlie had no reason to feel himself superfluous.
"Yes, she is very 'harming and dances remarkably well," said Lord
Deseret. "It was I induced her to come over here. I saw her in Vienna
two years ago, and advised her then to add London to her laurels.
Would you like to meet her? We could go round after the next dance.
She will have a short rest then."
"Oh, I would," jerked Jim.
And so presently he found himself, with Lord Deseret and Charlie
Denham, who could hardly stand for inflation, in Mme Beteta's
dressing-room.
She was lying on a couch, swathed in a crimson silk wrap and fanning
herself gently with a huge feather fan, over which the great black
eyes shone like lamps.
"Señora," said Lord Deseret in Spanish, with the suspicion of a smile
in the corners of his eyes, "may I be allowed the pleasure of
introducing to you some young friends of mine?" And she struck at him
playfully with the plume of feathers, disclosing for a moment a
laughing mouth and a set of fine white teeth. And Jim thought she
looked hardly as young as her eyes and her feet would have led one to
suppose.
"Do you understand Spanish?" she asked of Jim, in English.
"No, I'm sorry to say----"
"Then you see, milord, it is not _comme il faut_ to speak it where it
is not understood." And she laughed again.
"I stand corrected, madame. We will not speak our native tongue. This
is my young friend, James Carron."
And Jim, gazing with all his heart at the wonderful dancer, got a
vivid impression of a rich dark Southern face, and a pair of great
liquid black eyes glowing upon him through the tantalising undulations
of the great dusky fan, which wafted to and fro with the methodic
regularity of a metronome.
"And this is Lord Charles Denham. Both gallant Hussars, and both
aching to show the colour of their blood against your friends of St.
Petersburg."
"Ah, the horror!" she said gently. "But you do not look bloodthirsty,
Mr. Carron." And the great black eyes seemed to look Jim through and
through.
"I don't think I am really, you know. But if there is to be fighting
one looks for chances, of course."
"And the chance always of death," she said gravely.
"One takes that, of course."
"But it is always the next man who is going to be killed, madame,"
struck in Charlie. "Oneself is always immune. Lord Deseret was at
Waterloo, yet here he is, very much alive and as sound as a bell."
"He had the good fortune. May you both have as good!"
"They were anxious to express to you their admiration of your dancing,
madame," said Lord Deseret. "But we seem to have fallen upon more
solemn subjects."
"I have never seen anything like it," said Jim.
"It is exquisite beyond words, a veritable dream," said the more
gifted Charlie.
"Ah, well, it seems to please people, and so it is a pleasure to me
also. You are from--where, Mr. Carron?"
"From the north--from Carne,--the Carrons of Carrie, you know."
The dusky plume wafted noiselessly to and fro in front of her face,
and its pace did not vary by the fraction of a hair's breadth. Over
it, and through it, the great black eyes rested on his face in
curiously thoughtful inquisition.
Suddenly, with an almost invisible jerk of the head, she beckoned him
to closer converse, and holding the fan as a screen invited him inside
it, so to speak.
"Do you play?" she asked gently.
"Very little," he said in surprise. "I have only my pay and an
allowance, you see."
"That is right. He"--nodding towards Lord Deseret--"is not a good
example for young men in that respect."
"He has been very kind to me. And he warns me strongly against it."
"All the same he does not set a good example. Will you come and see
me?"
"I would be delighted if I may."
"Come and breakfast with me to-morrow at twelve. I shall be alone."
She gave him an address in South Audley Street, and then dismissed
them all with, "Now you must go. Here is my dresser, and I have but
ten minutes more." And they made their adieux and bowed themselves
out.
"Is Madame English?" asked Denham, as they seated themselves in the
box again.
"Originally, I think so. But she has lived much abroad and has become
to some extent cosmopolitan. She certainly is not Spanish, or if she
is she has most unaccountably forgotten her native tongue," said Lord
Deseret, with his hovering smile.
"She dances in Spanish, anyway," said Charlie exuberantly.
"And that is all that concerns us at the moment."