Kitabı oku: «Lady Maude's Mania», sayfa 14
Chapter Twenty Eight.
The Reinforcement
“This – this is a pretty devil of a state of affairs,” muttered the old man. “How can a man in my position make friends with a confounded fellow who goes about turning a handle in the street? The girl’s mad – mad as can be, and – Ah, Tom, my boy.”
“Hallo, governor,” said that personage, sharply. “What’s the matter?”
“Doosed tired, my boy.”
“Why, you look as if you’d seen the chap who drew what’s-his-name’s curtains in the dead of night.”
“Do I – do I, my boy?” stammered the old man; and then to himself, “I feel sure he’ll find me out.”
“Get up, and you shall have a feed, and a glass of good honest wine. That’s the thing to brace you up, dad.”
“Yes – yes, my son. I – I feel – feel as if I’d give anything for a glass of good wine.”
“Come along.”
“I know he’ll find me out,” said his lordship to himself.
“I say, gov’nor,” cried Tom, “here’s a go.”
“Have – have you found them,” said the old man, starting.
“Wait a bit. Perhaps I have. But I say, I’ve found telegrams waiting to say that the old lady is on the way to meet us here.”
“Here, Tom, my boy?”
“Yes, gov’nor, here, in Naples.”
“But – but don’t you think we had better go on at once?”
“What with you so tired?” said Tom with a twinkle in his eyes.
“I – I don’t think I’m quite so tired as I was, Tom, my boy,” said the old man nervously. “After a glass of wine or two, I – I think I could manage to go on again.”
“But don’t you understand? The mater is coming here with Tryphie and Justine.”
“Then – then I think we had better get on, Tom, my boy – away from here. Her ladyship would hinder us, and stop us from finding Maude. Let’s go on to Rome or Constantinople, only let’s be off at once.”
Tom laughed silently.
“No, father,” he said, “I think we’ll go no further. I’m going to have a thorough good look round, and from hints I have heard, I think we are once more on their track; but if they are not here we’ll go back home, for I’m sick of all this journeying. Poor girl, she has chosen her lot.”
“Yes – yes, Tom, my boy,” said the old man dolefully.
“And I’ve done my duty as a brother to try and find her.”
“Yes, Tom, my boy, you have – you have.”
“Some day she’ll wake up out of her mad dream, and come back to us, and then, no matter what is said, she must find a home.”
“Of course, my boy, of course.”
“Poor girl! It’s all our fault, governor. If we had been firm she might have married Charley Melton.”
“Eh,” said Lord Barmouth, “Charley Melton? Yes, my boy, I wish she had. I – I wonder whether she has gone,” thought the old man. “Oh dear me, I’m very tired.”
“Did you speak, gov’nor?” said Tom.
“Yes, my boy, I said I was very tired.”
“Then come along and let’s feed. We’ll have a bottle of that red wine, and enjoy ourselves till the old lady comes, and then, governor – ”
“You think we shan’t enjoy ourselves any more, Tom?”
“What do you think?”
“Well, my boy, I hardly know what to say. Her ladyship is very particular, but then, you see, my boy, she studies my health more than I do and I’ve no doubt it is quite right.”
“I dare say it is, dad, but come along.”
“Yes, my boy, yes,” said Lord Barmouth, taking his son’s arm; “but really, Tom, I begin to wish I was back within reach of my club.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” he added sotto voce, “I wonder whether they have gone.”
“What say, governor?”
“Nothing, my boy, nothing. Talking to myself.”
“Bad habit, gov’nor.”
“Yes, my boy, yes,” he said in acquiescence. But bad as was the habit, he kept on, as he told himself that he hoped Maudey had gone, and yet he hoped she had not; and he kept on getting deeper and deeper into a bog of bewilderment, till he found himself seated at a little table opposite his son, listening to the gurgling of wine in a glass, and that brought him back from his maze of troubled thought at once.
“What – what could have induced her ladyship to come out here?” he said, with a piteous expression upon his countenance.
“Old game,” said Tom gruffly – “to look after us.”
“I – I – I should be sorry to speak disrespectfully of her ladyship,” said Lord Barmouth, now under the influence of his third glass of wine, “but – but I’m afraid there’ll be no more peace now, Tom, my boy.”
At that moment a waiter entered.
“Visitors for milor,” he said.
“Here they are, governor. Now comes the tug of war.”
For at that moment her ladyship entered and tottered to a seat, wiping her brow, and making signs to Tryphie, who half supported her, for her salts. That young lady had to turn to Justine, who was supposed to be carrying the bag, but who in turn had to take it from Robbins, who looked as if he had been in a bath, and had dressed himself without a prior reference to a towel. For his fat face was covered with drops and runlets, and his grey hair hung wetly upon his brow. The smelling-bottle was, however, found, and her ladyship took a long inhalation, and said, “Hah!”
Chapter Twenty Nine.
On the Brink
“I’ve found you then at last,” said her ladyship, recovering fast. “Robbins, go and tell that wretched Italian porter creature I will not pay him another penny. No, say soldi, or scudi, which you like. It’s a gross imposition.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Justine,” continued her ladyship, “you understand the language?”
“No, my lady, not Italian.”
“Then speak to him in French, it will impress the man. Go and see that Robbins is not imposed upon. Now, Robbins, mind and be firm. This is not London.”
“No, milady.”
“And don’t lose any more luggage.”
“No, my lady,” said Robbins; and he left the room with Justine.
“Luggage, indeed,” he growled; “all this row about a sandwich-box, and she left it in the rack herself.”
“Nevaire mind her, Rob – bain,” said Justine; “take him coolly.”
“Take him coolly. Yes, ma’amselle, I can the governor; but her ladyship.”
“Ah, yais, she is a womans. But see me, I do not complain; I am drag all ovaire Europe by her ladyship, who have rob me of my loaf till I return and see him once again. I do not complain.”
In the coffee-room her ladyship button-holed Lord Barmouth directly, and then took Tom’s seat at the table, while that gentleman grasped Tryphie’s hand.
“Oh, Tom,” she said, “what news?”
“You’ve both come,” he said shortly. “Is that all you have to say?”
“All? Ah, Tom dear, if you only knew how much.”
This was accompanied by so pleasant a pressure of the hand that Tom’s acidity began to evaporate in gas, and he turned to help his father, who was giving way under a vigorous attack. For as he approached the table her ladyship exclaimed, with a warning motion of her index finger —
“Now, Barmouth, your gout is much worse.”
“Ye-yes, my dear,” said his lordship, “I’m – I’m afraid it is.”
“Of course! You’ve been taking port wine recklessly.”
“No, no, really, my dear: the port is so horribly bad that – ”
“Then you’ve had Burgundy.”
“Well – well, yes, a little, my dear.”
“I knew it! What’s this?” cried her ladyship, seizing the bottle on the table. “Burgundy, of course.”
“No, Barolo,” said Tom. “Regular physic for gout, isn’t it, gov’nor. Take another glass.”
“Shall I, my boy?” said the old man, hesitating.
“Of course,” cried Tom, pouring one out, which his lordship eagerly drank.
“Tom!” ejaculated her ladyship, whose breath seemed to be taken away by the daring displayed.
“Physic,” said Tom, sharply.
“Have you secured rooms for us?”
“Of course not. Only just knew you were coming.”
“Then ring for the landlord; I shall now continue the search myself. I have been much to blame in leaving it in other hands so long. But a weak woman – ”
“Who is?” said Tom, innocently.
“I am, sir,” replied her ladyship. “I was not aware, when I entrusted the search to my husband and son, that it was to be made an excuse for a pleasant and expensive continental tour, with no results whatever but the shrinking of a good balance at the bank, and a fit of gout?”
“Oh, bosh!” ejaculated Tom.
“No more gadding about; no more Burgundy and strong drinks. I mean to find that wretched girl myself; the authorities shall intervene, and I will do my duty as a mother.”
“What shall you do?”
“Place her in a madhouse as sure as I stand here.”
“Then you will not,” said Tom, “for you’re sitting.”
“Reserve your ribald jestings, sir, till we return to town.”
“All right,” cried Tom; “then let me speak in a downright manner, my dear mother. You can do just as you please, but I am now on the scent, which I shall keep to myself; and I tell you this, old lady, I will not have Maude – whatever her faults – ill-used.”
“Hear, hear!” cried Lord Barmouth; but then he had had four glasses of wine.
“Barmouth!”
“Yes– yes, my dear.”
“Oh, what language, and to a mother!”
“There, there, stop that,” cried Tom. “We are not at home, but at an hotel, and the people won’t understand tragic amateur acting.”
“Tryphie, my child,” cried her ladyship, after giving her son an annihilating look, “come with me to our own apartments. Lord Barmouth, summon the waiter, or no, come with me. Tryphie, you can ring and order déjeuner, I wish to speak to these people in the hotel. I think I can obtain some information here.”
Lord Barmouth cast a despairing look at his son, and followed her ladyship into the hall, while Tom had just seized the opportunity, and Tryphie at the same moment, to embrace her in spite of a certain amount of resistance, when there was a loud “Oh!” and he turned to find that Charley Melton had entered the room.
“You here, Charley! Why, my dear old chap!”
They shook hands warmly, Tryphie following suit, and the pretty little face flushed with pleasure and confusion.
“Why, Charley, you here!” cried Tom. “Stop, I know; you need not say a word.”
“You know?”
“Yes. How long have you been on the continent? Stop, you need not answer. Ever since my sister eloped.”
The young man bowed his head.
“And you’ve been after her all the time.”
Melton bowed again.
“Then it was doosed good of you, Charley; but I don’t see what we are to do, old man. It’s very horrible for all of us, but I can’t see what is to be done. I came out with the intention of dragging her home, but if the poor girl is infatuated with the fellow our cause is lost.”
“What do you propose doing then?” said Melton, hoarsely.
“Seeing her, and letting her know that when she likes to return home there is a place for her, either there or with me. That’s all.”
“And you mean to let her stay with this – this scoundrel.”
“Yes, Charley; I suppose he is her husband. We can do nothing.”
“Have you any suspicion of where she is?”
“Yes, old man. In this town, and I have set a waiter to work to bring me news. They’re ten times better than detectives. But it’s very good of you, Charley, and I’m sorry I abused you so.”
“You have been abusing me, then?” said Melton with an amused look.
“Yes, for giving up so easily,” said Tom. “Oh, here’s my man. I suppose,” he added hastily, as the hotel waiter entered, “some one for me.”
“Yes, milor, the head waiter from the Vesuvio.”
“Show him in. Now, Charley, there’ll be news.”
“All right, get it then,” said Melton, and he walked to the window, while Tom turned to face a little dark Italian, with a face suggestive of his being developed from a shaven rat.
The interview was short and decisive, and accompanied by much gesticulation, terminating in a chinking of coin as the man left.
“There, old fellow,” cried Tom, excitedly, “I’ve done more than you have. I’ve run them to earth.”
“You have? They are in Naples?”
“They are here!” cried Tom, excitedly. “In this very hotel, where I’ve been drawn by a sort of filial – no, that’s not it – fraternal magnetic attraction, and now.”
“Stop,” cried Melton. “I thought you were not going to interfere.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Tom, “a little while ago; but hang it all, now I am under the same roof with the scoundrel who deluded my poor sister away, curse his Italian blood, I’ll strangle him.”
“But you must be wrong, Tom; such a man as you suspect would not stay in an hotel like this. What do you say, Miss Wilder?”
“I say,” cried Tryphie, with a malicious look, “that there seems to be some mistake.”
“Tryphie – Tryphie, my child!” came from without.
“Coming, aunt,” said the girl, rising.
“Not a word to the old girl, Tryphie,” cried Tom.
“Not tell her?”
“Not a word. There, I beg of you.”
“Very well,” she said with another peculiar look and tripped out of the room.
“That’s better,” cried Tom. “Now come along.”
“Where are you going?”
“To dieci otto. That’s where the man said they were – not they, he said she was alone now. Come on: I’ll get her away, and if he comes to claim her, why then, damn him!”
“No violence, Tom, for your sister’s sake. He may be there. Let me go and see her.”
“You? Not me, my boy. Why, I might mark the scoundrel, but you would kill him.”
“No,” said Melton, thoughtfully, “I don’t think I should do that to the man she loved.”
“You’re a good fellow, Charley. There, I’ll go. I haven’t hunted them all this time to give up at the last. Don’t hinder me, old chap.”
“But look here, there has been exposé enough. Had it not all better be settled quietly?”
“But you can’t settle matters quietly with an organ-grinder, Charley. Look here, my plan is simple. I’ll get Maude away, then it’s a question of pounds, shillings, and pence.”
“In any case then, from respect to your sister, let the affair be arranged quietly.”
“Very well,” said Tom, sulkily.
“You will let me go first – say, to prepare her for your coming?”
“No. I’ll go.”
“You do not wish to inflict pain upon the poor girl?”
“No. I want her home again, and free from this degrading tie.”
“But suppose – ”
“No, no – don’t say that, Charley, old fellow. You couldn’t look over it. Impossible now, old chap. Poor Maudey, she’ll have to be like a widow to her very end. There: we shall have the old woman here directly.”
“Then you’ll let me go and prepare your sister?”
“No; it’s my business, sir. I’ll do it myself.”
“But you’ll forgive her, Tom?”
“Perhaps. Now leave me alone. Stop, where’s dieci otto?”
“Ask the waiter,” said Melton, coldly, and he left the room.
“He needn’t have turned rusty,” grumbled Tom, crossing to reach the bell: but at that moment her ladyship came in, hurriedly followed by Tryphie and Lord Barmouth.
“No, no, my dear,” said Lord Barmouth, who seemed to have been strung up to resistance by some stirring news, and at a glance Tom saw that her ladyship knew as much as he.
“Silence, Barmouth. Tryphie, ring the bell. I suppose there are police of some kind in a benighted place like this. What number did he say, Tryphie, dieci otto?”
“Yes, aunt dear, eighteen,” said Tryphie, whose face was working and eyes twinkling in a peculiarly malicious manner.
“Eighteen! That will do,” cried Tom. “Here, governor, come with me.”
“Tom! stop! Barmouth, I forbid – ”
Her ladyship did not finish her speech, but hurried to the door, followed by her niece – the door through which her husband had passed, followed by her son.
Chapter Thirty.
Light on the Scene
First floor only. Dieci otto– a door in a corridor whose rooms looked out upon the tranquil sea.
A lady and gentleman started from their seats as the couple rushed in; and in a moment Viscount Diphoos had seen that they were right – that he was in the presence of his sister and the man with whom she had eloped. He saw too in the same rapid glance why they had been so long off the scent. For there was no black curly hair, no long black beard, but all was brown, and flashed as it were with gold.
This was all seen as the young man literally hurled himself upon the tall, sturdy man, who rose to meet him, and in a twinkling they had one another by the throat.
“Take her away, father, quick, quick,” cried Tom; and the next moment, in choking tones – “No, stop!” as he loosed his hold, staggered back to a chair, and uttered a shriek.
Wounded? Stabbed by the treacherous Italian?
Oh, no; it was a shriek of the laughter with which his frame was convulsed, as he rolled from side to side, while Lord Barmouth stared from one to the other.
“Tom, my son – are you hurt?”
“Hurt!” shrieked Tom, in inarticulate tones. “Sold – sold – sold!”
“But what does it mean?” stammered Lord Barmouth.
“Mean!” shrieked Tom – “why, that that confounded old humbug Charley has stolen a march on us. – Charley, old fellow, God bless you – I never felt so happy in my life. Here, Maudey, give us a kiss.”
Before the young man had commenced hugging his sister, Charley Melton had moved to the door, closed and locked it against the inquiring looks of waiters, and taking Maude’s hand in his he then asked Lord Barmouth in a few manly words to forgive him and his wife their clandestine proceedings.
“Forgive you, Charley,” cried the viscount, “of course he will – won’t you, dad?”
“Well – well – yes, my boy, I think so,” said his lordship feebly, as he shook his new son-in-law’s hand. “I think I’m very glad, for I never liked that Sir Reginald.”
“Grantley, father – Grantley Wilters,” cried Tom.
“To be sure, my boy; yes, of course, Sir Grantley.”
“But why the dickens didn’t you write to us, and let us know?”
“Well, we were going to write every day,” said Charley, with a peculiar look at Maude; “but we could never agree as to whose duty it was. We should have written though.”
“But – but – I think you ought to have written, Charley Melton. You see I’ve been very anxious about my darling Maude.”
“It was very cruel, papa dear; but really I did mean to write, soon.”
“I’m very glad of that,” said Lord Barmouth; “for really, Maude, my darling, you have frightened me so. I shall have a horrible fit of the gout after this.”
“Never mind, dad; stop and have it here, and Maudey and I will nurse you – won’t we, old girl?” cried Tom. “For gout at home just now would be awful. Oh!” he shrieked, once more going off into convulsions, “won’t the old girl be mad!”
“Yes, my dears,” said Lord Barmouth, shaking away very heartily at Charley Melton’s hands, “I’m afraid she’ll be very cross. But do you know, I fancy I’ve caught a bit o’ cold.”
“Never mind, father, we’re going to catch it hot,” said Tom.
“Yes, my boy; but – but I feel a little deaf, and my head is rather thick.”
“Never mind, old fellow, we’ve found her.”
“Yes, my boy, yes, we’ve found her; but do you know I feel rather confused and puzzled. I – I thought our Maude had gone off with that handsome looking scoundrel who played the organ outside our house.”
“Well, so she did,” cried Tom; “I see it all now. Here he is, dad.”
“No, no, my boy; don’t be so foolish. I want to know why it’s Charley Melton, and not that Italian fellow?”
“Why, governor, can’t you see through it?”
“No, my boy. It’s all a puzzle to me.”
“Nonsense, dad, Charley made a postman of that organ-grinder. Now do you twig?”
“And – and a post-office of the organ? I think I am beginning to see.”
“What was I to do?” said the young husband, appealingly. “I had been abroad, and tried to forget her, but it was of no use. I was forbidden the house, and at last I learned that this marriage was to come off. I dared not trust the servants, so I practised this ruse. But there, it’s all over now. You forgive me, sir, do you not?”
“Well, yes, my boy,” said Lord Barmouth, who was sitting fondling his daughter’s hand. “I think you are quite right. I should have done the same, for I was a devil of a – Don’t fidget, Maude, my darling. I’ll talk her ladyship round.”
“She’d rather it had been the organ-grinder,” choked and coughed Viscount Diphoos, while his sister, blushing and happy, kept shaking her finger at his mirthful face.
“But I will talk her round,” said Lord Barmouth, rather pompously, to the infinite risk of sending his son once more off into convulsions.
“But I say, Charley,” cried Tom, who kept showing his delight by slapping his brother-in-law on the back; “I want to know one thing though; did the signore come that night to fetch Maude, and leave his organ in the area?”
“No, of course not,” cried Charley, eagerly; “I bought the organ, and came myself.”
“With the organ?”
“For this time only on any stage.”
“As they say in the play-bills,” cried Tom. “Hooray!”
At that moment the door was tried, and then shaken by her ladyship, who had been waiting till the first part of the storm was over, after which she ascended with Tryphie, whose face wore a peculiarly mocking look as she stood behind her aunt.
“Open this door,” cried Lady Barmouth.
A dead silence fell upon the group.
“Oh, papa!” cried Maude.
“Yes, my dear,” said his lordship, looking round for a way of escape. “I – I – I think it is her ladyship.”
“Not much doubt about it,” said Tom. “Now, Charley, old chap, take your header and get out of your misery.”
“Yes,” said Charley, “I suppose I must get it over.”
“Open this door!” cried Lady Barmouth, shaking it furiously.
“It isn’t a hanging matter,” said Tom, laughing.
“No,” said Charley, rather uneasily, “it isn’t a hanging matter.”
“And her ladyship can’t undo it.”
“No,” said Charley firmly, as he crossed the room to where the door was being shaken violently, “her ladyship cannot undo it.”
“Would – would you like to take hold of my hand, Maudey, my dear?” said Lord Barmouth in a faltering voice.
“Yes, papa, dear; and you will intercede for my dear husband,” said the young wife, clinging to him affectionately.
“I will, my dear, I will. I feel as brave as a lion now. I – I – oh, here she is.”
“What is the meaning of all this?” cried her ladyship, staring round at the scene, as Tryphie rushed at Maude, kissed her, and then at Charley Melton, and jumped up and kissed him.
“I always fancied that’s how it was,” she whispered.
“What’s the meaning of it?” cried Tom. “Why, we’ve found them. Here, allow me to take round the hat for the coppers; or will you do it now, Maude?”
“I repeat,” cried Lady Barmouth, “what is the meaning of this? Mr Melton, what are you doing here?”
“Asking your ladyship’s pardon for myself and my dear wife,” said Charley, taking Maude’s hand.
“Wife? Then! You! Oh, Maude, you wicked, wicked girl!”
“But, my dear,” said Lord Barmouth.
“Silence!” cried her ladyship, “Maude, you have utterly broken my heart, and – ”
“Don’t you believe it, Maudey,” said Tom, grinning. “She’s only saying that to keep up appearances.”
“Tom!”
“All right! but you know you are. There, Charley, old boy, kiss your dear mother. Come, gov’nor, say Bless you, my children!”
“Certainly, my dear boy,” said the old man, earnestly. “Bless you indeed, my dear children. Charley Melton, you can’t tell how glad I am, my boy.”
“Barmouth!”
“Yes, my love, but I can’t help it. I do feel very glad; but oh, you young dog, to come playing us a trick like that!”
“Barmouth!”
“There, hang it all, mother,” cried Tom, “what’s the good of holding out. You’ve behaved very nicely, but, as we say in refined circles – I mean rings – it’s quite time you threw up the sponge.”
“Mamma, dear, I would sooner have died than marry Sir Grantley.”
“Such a cruel ruse,” sobbed her ladyship, in hystero-tragic tones. “Maude! Maude!”
“Don’t blame her, dearest mother,” said Tom, in mock-heroic style, “it was the troubadour. Il trovatore! and his playing was magnificent. It would have won the heart of a female saint, or charmed a nun from her cell, let alone our Maude.”
“Justine, my drops, my drops.”
“She caves in! Charley, old chap, you may kiss her now,” cried Tom, “she won’t bite. There, take him to your heart, old lady; and I say, mamma, some day if you do faint, Charley could carry you to a sofa: Grantley Wilters would have doubled up like a two-foot rule.”
“I can never show my face in society again,” said her ladyship, “never, Mr Melton.”
“What!” cried Tom, who grinned with delight as he saw his mother seated upon a couch between Charley and Maude. “What? why, it’ll be no end of a game. It’s all right, Maudey; you’ve won.”
“Ah,” sighed her ladyship, “let Justine bring my drops.”
“Drops be hanged! Champagne,” cried Tom. “Here, ring the bell, gov’nor; no table-d’hôte to-day, mamma’s going to order a wedding dinner – a screamer.”
“No, no, Tom!”
“Yes, yes, my dear mother.”
Her ladyship sighed, smiled, ordered the dinner, and Lord Barmouth rubbed his leg.
“Tom, my boy,” he whispered, “you really are a wonder.”
“Am I, gov’nor? Then you tell Tryphie so, and back me up, for I mean, as the old song says, ‘to marry she.’”
“Do you, my boy?”
“Yes, gov’nor. Do you consent?”
“Certainly, my dear boy, certainly. When is it to be?”
“Barmouth,” said her ladyship in her deep contralto, “would you be kind enough to ring for Justine?”
