SPRETAE INJURIA FORMAE.
Mrs. Oswald Carey rose the following morning before anybody was
stirring. She passed down the staircase noiselessly and opened the front
door, when, much to her annoyance, she found herself face to face with
Mr. Jawkins, who was smoking a matutinal pipe on the front steps.
"Whither away so early, Mrs. Carey?"
Her first impulse was to tell a falsehood, but the keen, clever
countenance of her interrogator convinced her of the futility of such a
plan.
"To London," she said, simply; "can I be of service to you there?"
"You know I depend upon you to sing 'My Queen' after the _dejeuner_."
"A matter of imperative importance calls me away. I shall return
to-morrow."
Jawkins looked inexorable, and declared that he could not afford to have
her go. "You are the lodestone of my organization, the influence by
which the various celebrities I chaperone are harmonized. If it is a
question of pounds, I mean dollars--this new currency is very
puzzling--dictate your own terms. I have a valuable diamond here which
once belonged to our sovereign. I shall be happy to make you a present
of it if you will give up your plan." He held up the gem as he spoke.
"What you ask is impossible. There are moments in a woman's life when
even a diamond seems lustreless as your eyes, Mr. Jawkins, if you will
pardon the simile." Her sleepless night had made her wrong burn so
grievously that she could not refrain from sententiousness, even in the
presence of this man whom she despised.
The undertaker scratched his head thoughtfully. "Has the Archbishop of
Canterbury said anything to offend your irreligious scruples?"
"No."
"I trust the prim manners of her Grace have not wounded your feelings.
She has old-fashioned notions regarding the sanctity of matrimonial
relations. She does not approve, perhaps, of your appearing in public
without your husband," said Mr. Jawkins, with an apologetic smile.
"I have no feelings. You forget I am a woman of the world. Besides I am
revenged for any coldness on the part of the Duchess by her husband's
affability. I got a guinea out of the Duke last evening."
"By what method?" asked the other, with unfeigned admiration.
"He kissed my hand. Perhaps you are now aware, Mr. Jawkins," continued
Mrs. Carey, with a captivating swirl of her swan-like neck, "that I have
established a personal tariff. My attractions are scheduled. To kiss a
thumb or any but my little fingers costs two bob. The little fingers
come at half a crown. To roam at will over my whole hand involves the
outlay of a guinea. Am I not ingenious and at the same time reasonable
in my terms, Mr. Jawkins? I will squeeze your hand for sixpence." She
laughed charmingly. Go to London she must and would, but she hoped to
accomplish her purpose by wheedling and to avoid a rupture with the
manager.
"Madam," he replied, with polite coldness, "was not my attitude toward
you what may be called fiduciary I should hasten to take advantage of
your offer. But business is business, and I have made it a rule never to
enter into social relations with any of my clients during the
continuance of a contract. Excuse me for saying, Mrs. Carey, that if you
persist in your design I shall feel obliged to withdraw your back pay."
Pitiful a menace as this may seem to well-to-do people, it affected Mrs.
Carey disagreeably. She was dependent upon her engagement with Mr.
Jawkins for her means of support. These wages and the royalty she
derived from the sale of her photographs were her sole income. She could
not afford to offend him, and she well knew he would keep his word. But
her desire for revenge would not brook considerations of policy. Rather
than abandon her plan she was resolved to break with him.
Such was the outcome of her reflections during the moment that she stood
smiling at his threat before she made a reply. She looked at him in a
fashion that would have melted the iron mood of any man but Jawkins. He
had seen beauty world-wide in its most entrancing forms, and believed
himself proof against feminine wiles.
"Is there no alternative?" she asked, beseechingly.
"Mrs. Carey, I will be frank with you. I suspect you of an intention of
going to America for the purpose of carrying on an intrigue with the
late King, one of whose cipher letters to you has chanced to come into
my possession. To have you arrested would be very disagreeable to me,
and I trust you will not force me to take that step."
Mrs. Carey's surprise was so great that she almost betrayed herself.
This suspicion of his would be an admirable cloak for her real design
could she only succeed in representing it to Mr. Jawkins in such a light
that he would suffer her to go to London. Some months previous she had
projected a journey to America, and letters had passed between her and
the King, but the scheme had been laid aside as impracticable, as she
had discovered that the royal family were in reduced circumstances. It
was now well known in London that the King's banker kept him very short.
"Well," she said, with simulated distress, "you have pried into my
secret, Mr. Jawkins. I have never injured you. What motive have you in
standing between me and fortune? Why should you begrudge me the _eclat_
of wearing the coronet of England's Queen?"
"I will be frank with you again, Mrs. Carey. I have rivals in America
who would snap you up in the twinkling of an eye. A royal crown upon the
brow of a professional beauty has not its equal on the globe as a great
moral exhibition."
"But I would give you the contract," she said.
The manager shrugged his shoulders.
"Is my word of honor of no avail?" she asked.
"I once lost L100,000 on a similar insecurity, Mrs. Carey."
"You wish to ruin my prospects in life, Mr. Jawkins."
"I am obliged to consider my own."
"You are rich and prosperous already. I have nothing but my personal
attractions, as you well know, and you seek to rob me of the prize when
just within my grasp."
"You are unjust, madam." He shuffled his feet uneasily. It was against
his grain as a man to see this peerless beauty in trouble and refuse her
petition. Her arms apparent in all their white perfection of roundness,
her exquisitely poised head and lovely face expressed the poignancy of
dismay.
"Is there no security that you will accept, Mr. Jawkins?"
Jarley Jawkins looked at her, and felt the blood surge in his veins.
Mrs. Carey had always exercised a powerful charm over him. He regarded
her as the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance. Ordinarily the
thought of suggesting anything compromising would not have occurred to
him, but her marvellous beauty presenting itself in the same scale with
her necessity, blinded him to prudence and every other consideration but
passion. It was a contest between the cunning of a luscious beauty
striving for a secret end and the self-interest of a mercenary man. The
victory was hers, though scarcely by the means she had expected.
"Yes, Mrs. Carey, there is one." He leered at her a little.
"And that?"
"Yourself." He spoke distinctly and resolutely, for he was a man who
faltered at nothing when his mind was made up, but she could see him
tremble.
His speech was so astounding that she could scarcely believe that she
heard him aright. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks in testimony to
the audacity of the insult. Coming from this man such an avowal inspired
her with rage and disgust. He, the society costermonger, sighing at her
feet! Bah! It seemed too degrading to be true. It could not be true. And
yet there he was and a response was necessary. A politic response, too,
or all was lost. If she rejected him he would have her arrested. Her
mind was made up.
"I know," he continued, as she did not speak, "that my proposition seems
at first distasteful, but there is much to be said in its favor."
"Yes?" she queried, looking at the ground.
"I love you. If we fly to America, what is there to prevent our success?
We are both clever. I am rich, and you are the most beautiful woman in
the world."
"Your offer is so abrupt that I do not know what to answer. Give me
time, Mr. Jawkins."
"No, no; now, at once. The steamer sails day after to-morrow," he
uttered hoarsely, and he seized her hand and kissed it with passion.
"A guinea," she cried banteringly, and she looked into his face with her
beautiful violet eyes, as she had into many another whose love, though
nobly born, had been no less scorned in the days gone by.
"Guineas for such as you! You shall have millions. And you will go?"
"Yes," she whispered, "I will go."
He sought to embrace her, but she eluded his grasp. "Not yet--not yet.
You must wait." So great was her disgust that she feared lest she should
break out in rage and denounce him. Following after her scene with
Geoffrey the very intensity of his passion wrought disagreeably upon her
nerves. She felt the irony of fate. Yet the reflection steeled her
purpose and gave her strength to smile and seem to accept his advances.
She placed her hand, glistening with rings, upon his sleeve. "I will
meet you in town to-morrow, anywhere you select."
"No, you must not leave me now."
"It is absolutely necessary. I have my things to get ready."
"My servants will supply all that you need."
"Ah, you do not understand women's needs," she murmured, coquettishly,
and she turned to get into the phaeton, which just then had driven up to
the door. It had been ordered for Jawkins's morning airing, but it
suited her convenience admirably.
He made a movement to follow her, but she turned and spoke to him in
French. "Do you not understand that caution is necessary? We must not be
seen together. I will meet you at noon to-morrow in South Kensington
Gardens. Adieu." She smiled upon him, and her glance had all the
sweetness of that which Vivien bent on Merlin. "To the station!" she
said to the coachman.
It took her some time to collect her thoughts and realize the situation.
The effrontery of Jawkins seemed so daring that she almost laughed
aloud. She had escaped from his clutches for a moment, but it was only a
respite, a breathing spell which would soon be over. It would be
necessary to provide for the morrow. But that reflection disturbed her
little. She was free to pursue the object of her journey and satisfy the
desire for revenge which filled her heart. As the train whirled toward
London she whetted the stiletto of vengeance upon the grindstone of her
wounded feelings. That paper exhibited by Dacre would furnish the needed
proof of conspiracy, and then good-by, Lord Brompton, to your cherished
schemes for fortune. It made her wince to think that she had been
discarded for an awkward hoyden of a girl, her equal in no particular.
So she stigmatized her rival, as she chose to consider Maggie Windsor.
"He loved me in the days of my green maidenhood," she said to herself,
"but now that I am become the most beautiful woman in England he
disdains me." Even Jawkins had spoken of her as the most beautiful woman
in the world.
The thought of Jawkins recalled the incident of the morning, which, in
the bitterness of her mood, she had forgotten. Somehow or other the idea
of quitting the country in his company seemed less repulsive to her than
at first. He was rich, and she would no longer be obliged to support
herself by a degrading occupation. After the first buzz of scandal and
excitement at her elopement the world would cease to prattle, or if it
did she would be in America and safe from its strictures. The King was
too poor in friends to refuse her recognition at his court. And, after
all, there need be no scandal. She would go to America in the role of a
professional beauty and Jawkins should be her manager. She would keep
him at a respectful distance and squeeze money out of him by dint of
promises. Once in America she would seek to fascinate the King. She was
weary of England. She had exhausted its resources, and it would be
amusing to visit the great ideal Republic, of whose magnificent
prosperity she had read until her mouth watered. Yes, let this matter of
a conspiracy be set at rest and Geoffrey lodged in prison, and she would
go. Her glorious eyes sparkled with interest. She would have done with
the platitudes and dreariness of private life. A grand career loomed up
before her across the ocean, where men lavished millions at the dictate
of imagination and put no limit upon enthusiasm. A fig for the dream of
an absorbing love, such as for an hour yesterday had flitted through her
brain. She would trample on its ashes after she had sated her vengeance.
In this mood she reached London. She took a four-wheel cab and told the
man to drive her to Buckingham Palace. Shrouding her features she sank
back from observation. Had she not preferred to screen her face she was
free to enjoy the emotions of a celebrity. Her photograph was in the
shop-window of every picture-dealer in town. Her sympathy with the
Royalists had, it is true, lessened her popularity for a time, but
supreme beauty is the one attribute which disarms prejudice and converts
ill-will.
London at this period, like the rest of England, showed marks of the
unhappy condition of its affairs. The thoroughfares, parks and public
buildings looked dirty and uncared for. An atmosphere of gloom overhung
Mayfair like a pall, as though the very fog had taken advantage of the
situation and was clamoring for spoils. It was, in truth, a system of
spoils that had been inaugurated in this former stronghold of
constitutional liberty. The present government gave every facility to
those who advocated popular principles with the aim of feathering their
own nests. Under the influence of the social craze all that tended to
promote external beauty of architecture or equipment was
discountenanced, and a sodden rule of ignorant craft and vulgarity was
settled upon the nation. Those at the helm were clever demagogues who
were prepared to humor the people, provided they had the control of the
public funds wherewith to indulge their licentious tastes. President
Bagshaw had converted Buckingham Palace into a barracks, where he sat
day in, day out, with boon companions. Entrance was forbidden to none.
The dirtiest scavenger might there at any moment shake the hand of the
people's chief representative.
Mrs. Carey alighted, and found herself exposed to the gaze of a group of
rough, groggy-looking individuals who were hanging about the entrance to
the once famous palace. All the way down Regent Street she had peeped
out from the cab windows, hoping to catch sight of familiar faces or
fascinating wares in the shopping paradise of the late nobility; but,
though the stores still stood, few passers were to be seen, and the
filthy, smoky aspect of the sidewalks told that anarchy was rampant even
here. Revolution is silent in England. The people uprising in their
might do not overturn monuments and lop the limbs from statues. They let
the dust and the smoke and the fog do the work for them. Only one face
was recognized by Mrs. Carey as the vehicle rumbled down to its
destination. She caught sight of her husband leaning out of one of the
windows of Fenton's Hotel smoking a pipe. The once famous hostelry had
become a haunt for pothouse politicians. A sudden impulse of generosity
seized her. "I will invite Oswald to dinner with me to-night," thought
she.
As she walked into the palace the men made way for her in silence. They
removed the pipes from their mouths and stared in mingled bewilderment
and admiration. Despite her veil she was too striking looking not to
fetter the attention of even the most listless, for the disgust with
which these surroundings inspired her and the tenacity of her cruel
design gave her a bearing such as Clytemnestra might have envied. She
stalked through the corridor and up the stairs, disregarding the gilded
hand and tin sign which read, "To the President's Room. Second Story.
Take the Elevator." The idlers in the lobby had recognized her, and a
whisper spread until it swelled into a buzz outside that she was the
professional beauty.
"Can I see the President?" she asked of a policeman who alone guarded
the door of the chief magistrate.
"Name, please," said the functionary, who still clung to this relic of
the formality of the past.
"Say a lady," she said, haughtily, and the man, impressed by her mien,
threw open the door.
Mrs. Carey found herself in the presence of a large, heavily built man,
with a bald head and long, coal-black beard, who was sitting at a desk.
He was smoking, and the spacious but bare room was thick with tobacco
smoke. A table, on which were empty bottles and the remains of a lunch,
stood in one corner. Several men, who also had cigars in their mouths,
were sprawling on an enamel cloth lounge in the bay-window which
commanded the street. At her entrance these latter arose, and, at a
glance from their chief at the desk, shambled out of the room by a side
door, casting, however, over their shoulders glances of curiosity and
surprise. She waited until they had closed the door, then lifted her
veil.
President Bagshaw rose and made a bow, which was an unusual act of
homage on his part, for he was a woman-hater as well as an atheist. He
even removed the cigar from his mouth.
"What can I do for you, madam?" he asked.
"I have important information for the government." She paused an
instant. "Are we quite alone?"
The President went to the side door, and carefully bolted it. Then he
resumed his seat, and, resting his ponderous, seamy jaw upon the flat of
his hand, waited for her to begin. He was used to all sorts of devices
as a prelude to requests for office or emolument, and his expression
betokened little interest or expectation. Had not the serious character
of the communication she was about to make rendered coquetry at the
moment distasteful to Mrs. Carey, she would assuredly have been tempted
to tamper with the indifference of this matter-of-fact personage, who
even already had recovered from the trifling shock to his principles
which her entrance had caused.
"I have proofs," said she in a low tone, "of a serious conspiracy among
the Royalists."
His countenance changed a little, and a contracted brow of a business
man became noticeable. "In what part of the Republic?" he asked.
"It is a widely concerted plot in which all the leading Royalists in the
country are engaged. The King himself is privy to the affair. The
outbreak is to occur at Aldershot on the 24th of November. Many of the
troops have been suborned."
"Who are the leaders of this conspiracy?"
"The prime movers are Sir John Dacre and Lord Brompton. It was at the
latter's house that I learned the particulars of the affair."
Clytemnestra never plied the sword more ruthlessly than this jealous
woman doomed to destruction the man who had spurned her love.
The President was silent a moment. "Have you proofs of what you tell
me?"
She took from her muff Colonel Arundel's letter and handed it to him.
"You will find there, sir, a list of the leading rebels and the army
officers implicated."
He scanned it eagerly. "H'm; yes, this speaks for itself. And what," he
continued presently, with a politician's quick sense, "can I do for you
in return?" The idea of being loyal for nothing would never have
occurred to President Bagshaw.
"The time may come when I shall ask a favor of the government, but not
to-day," said Mrs. Carey. "My only request is that my name shall not be
mentioned in the matter. Is that agreed upon?"
"Certainly, if you desire it. But, madam," continued the demagogue, "the
people are grateful to you for the service you have done them."
"You had better ascertain first, Mr. President, that my information is
authentic," she said, rising and drawing about her comely shoulders the
folds of her cloak, as though to silence the conflicting forces of love
and vengeance working in her soul.
The great man opened the door for her himself. She bent him a stately,
solemn courtesy, and covering her face passed slowly down the stairs.
A telegraph company had an office in the basement of the palace. Here
she wrote a message to Jarley Jawkins, which was worded:
"Must postpone journey three weeks. Leave me alone
until then. C."
When she had dispatched this she bade the driver stop at Fenton's, where
she picked up her husband and took him to Greenwich for a quiet fish
dinner. Oswald asked her, in the course of the meal, what business she
had at Buckingham Palace.
"I was trying to have you reappointed to your old place in the Stamp and
Sealing-wax Office, and I expect to succeed," was her reply.