Books: Madame Midas
F >>
Fergus Hume >> Madame Midas
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 | 13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21 |
22 |
23 |
24
Vandeloup congratulated Madame Midas on her luck when he was going
away, and privately determined that he would not lose sight of her,
as, being a wealthy woman, and having a liking for him, she would be
of great use. He took his farewell gracefully, and went away,
carrying the good wishes of all the miners; but McIntosh and Selina,
still holding to their former opinion, were secretly pleased at his
departure. Madame Midas made him a present of a hundred pounds, and,
though he refused it, saying that he had money from France, she
asked him as a personal favour to take it; so M. Vandeloup, always
gallant to ladies, could not refuse. He went in to Ballarat, and put
up at the Wattle Tree Hotel, intending to start for the metropolis
next morning; but on his way, in order to prepare Kitty for his
coming, sent a telegram for her, telling her the train he would
arrive by, in order that she might be at the station to meet him.
After his dinner he suddenly recollected that he still had the
volume which Dr Gollipeck had lent him, so, calling a cab, he drove
to the residence of that eccentric individual to return it.
When the servant announced M. Vandeloup, she pushed him in and
suddenly closed the door after her, as though she was afraid of some
of the doctor's ideas getting away.
'Good evening, doctor,' said Vandeloup, laying the book down on the
table at which Gollipeck was seated; 'I've come to return you this
and say good-bye.'
'Aha, going away?' asked Gollipeck, leaning back in his chair, and
looked sharply at the young man through his spectacles, 'right--see
the world--you're clever--won't go far wrong--no!'
'It doesn't matter much if I do,' replied Vandeloup, shrugging his
shoulders, and taking a chair, 'nobody will bother much about me.'
'Eh!' queried the doctor, sharply, sitting up. 'Paris--friends--
relations.'
'My only relation is an aunt with a large family; she's got quite
enough to do looking after them, without bothering about me,'
retorted M. Vandeloup; 'as to friends--I haven't got one.'
'Oh!' from Gollipeck, with a cynical smile, 'I see; let us say--
acquaintances.'
'Won't make any difference,' replied Vandeloup, airily; 'I turned my
acquaintances into friends long ago, and then borrowed money off
them; result: my social circle is nil. Friends,' went on M.
Vandeloup, reflectively, 'are excellent as friends, but damnable as
bankers.'
Gollipeck chuckled, and rubbed his hands, for this cynicism pleased
him. Suddenly his eye caught the book which the young man had
returned.
'You read this?' he said, laying his hand on it; 'good, eh?'
'Very good, indeed,' returned M. Vandeloup, smoothly; 'so kind of
you to have lent it to me--all those cases quoted were known to me.'
'The case of Adele Blondet, for instance, eh?' asked the old man
sharply.
'Yes, I was present at the trial,' replied Vandeloup, quietly; 'the
prisoner Octave Braulard was convicted, condemned to death,
reprieved, and sent to New Caledonia.'
'Where he now is,' said Gollipeck, quickly, looking at him.
'I presume so,' replied Vandeloup, lazily. 'After the trial I never
bothered my head about him.'
'He poisoned his mistress, Adele Blondet,' said the doctor.
'Yes,' answered Vandeloup, leaning forward and looking at Gollipeck,
'he found she was in love with an Englishman, and poisoned her--you
will find it all in the book.'
'It does not mention the Englishman,' said the doctor, thoughtfully
tapping the table with his hand.
'Nevertheless he was implicated in it, but went away from Paris the
day Braulard was arrested,' answered Vandeloup. 'The police tried to
find him, but could not; if they had, it might have made some
difference to the prisoner.'
'And the name of this Englishman?'
'Let me see,' said Vandeloup, looking up reflectively; 'I almost
forget it--Kestroke or Kestrike, some name like that. He must have
been a very clever man to have escaped the French police.'
'Ah, hum!' said the doctor, rubbing his nose, 'very interesting
indeed; strange case!'
'Very,' assented M. Vandeloup, as he arose to go, 'I must say good-
bye now, doctor; but I am coming up to Ballarat on a visit shortly.'
'Ah, hum! of course,' replied Gollipeck, also rising, 'and we can
have another talk over this book.'
'That or any book you like,' said Vandeloup, with a glance of
surprise; 'but I don't see why you are so much taken up with that
volume; it is not a work of genius.'
'Well, no,' answered Gollipeck, looking at him; 'still, it contains
some excellent cases of modern poisoning.'
'So I saw when I read it,' returned Vandeloup, indifferently. 'Good-
bye,' holding out his hand, 'or rather I should say au revoir.'
'Wine?' queried the Doctor, hospitably.
Vandeloup shook his head, and walked out of the room with a gay
smile, humming a tune. He strolled slowly down Lydiard Street,
turning over in his mind what the doctor had said to him.
'He is suspicious,' muttered the young man to himself, thoughtfully,
'although he has nothing to go on in connecting me with the case.
Should I use the poison here I must be careful, for that man will be
my worst enemy.'
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turning round saw Barty Jarper
before him. That fashionable young man was in evening dress, and
represented such an extent of shirt front and white waistcoat,--not
to mention a tall collar, on the top of which his little head was
perched like a cocoanut on a stick,--that he was positively
resplendent.
'Where are you going to?' asked the gorgeous Barty, smoothing his
incipient moustache.
'Well, I really don't know,' answered Vandeloup, lighting a
cigarette. 'I am leaving for Melbourne to-morrow morning, but to-
night I have nothing to do. You, I see, are engaged,' with a glance
at the evening dress.
'Yes,' returned Barty, in a bored voice; 'musical party on,--they
want me to sing.'
Vandeloup had heard Barty's vocal performance, and could not forbear
a smile as he thought of the young man's three songs with the same
accompaniment to each. Suppressing, however, his inclination to
laugh, he asked Barty to have a drink, which invitation was promptly
accepted, and they walked in search of a hotel. On the way, they
passed Slivers' house, and here Vandeloup paused.
'This was the first house I entered here,' he said to Barty, 'and I
must go in and say good-bye to my one-armed friend with the
cockatoo.'
Mr Jarper, however, drew back.
'I don't like him,' he said bluntly, 'he's an old devil.'
'Oh, it's always as well to accustom oneself to the society of
devils,' retorted Vandeloup, coolly, 'we may have to live with them
constantly some day.'
Barty laughed at this, and putting his arm in that of Vandeloup's,
they went in.
Slivers' door stood ajar in its usual hospitable manner, but all
within was dark.
'He must be out,' said Barty, as they stood in the dark passage.
'No,' replied Vandeloup, feeling for a match, 'someone is talking in
the office.'
'It's that parrot,' said Barty, with a laugh, as they heard Billy
rapidly running over his vocabulary; 'let's go in.'
He pushed open the door, and was about to step into the room, when
catching sight of something on the floor, he recoiled with a cry,
and caught Vandeloup by the arm.
'What's the matter?' asked the Frenchman, hastily.
'He's dead,' returned Barty, with a sort of gasp; 'see, he's lying
on the floor dead!'
And so he was! The oldest inhabitant of Ballarat had joined the
great majority, and, as it was afterwards discovered, his death was
caused by the breaking of a blood-vessel. The cause of it was not
clear, but the fact was, that hearing of the discovery of the
Devil's Lead, and knowing that it was lost to him for ever, Slivers
had fallen into such a fit of rage, that he burst a blood-vessel and
died in his office with no one by him.
The light of the street lamp shone through the dusty windows into
the dark room, and in the centre of the yellow splash lay the dead
man, with his one eye wide open, staring at the ceiling, while
perched on his wooden leg, which was sticking straight out, sat the
parrot, swearing. It was a most repulsive sight, and Barty, with a
shudder of disgust, tried to drag his companion away, but M.
Vandeloup refused to go, and searched his pockets for a match to see
more clearly what the body was like.
'Pickles,' cried Billy, from his perch on the dead man's wooden leg;
'oh, my precious mother,--devil take him.'
'My faith,' said M. Vandeloup, striking a match, 'the devil has
taken him,' and leaving Barty shivering and trembling at the door,
he advanced into the room and stood looking at the body. Billy at
his approach hopped off the leg and waddled up to the dead man's
shoulder, where he sat cursing volubly, and every now and then going
into shrieks of demoniacal laughter. Barty closed his ears to the
devilish mirth, and saw M. Vandeloup standing over the corpse, with
the faint light of the match flickering in his hand.
'Do you know what this is?' he asked, turning to Barty.
The other looked at him inquiringly.
'It is the comedy of death,' said the Frenchman, throwing down the
match and going to the door.
They both went out to seek assistance, and left the dark room with
the dead man lying in the pool of yellow light, and the parrot
perched on the body, muttering to itself. It was a strange mingling
of the horrible and grotesque, and the whole scene was hit off in
the phrase applied to it by Vandeloup. It was, indeed, 'The Comedy
of Death'!
PART II
CHAPTER I
TEMPUS FUGIT
A whole year had elapsed since the arrival of Vandeloup in
Melbourne, and during that time many things had happened.
Unfortunately, in spite of his knowledge of human nature, and the
fact that he started with a good sum of money, Gaston had not made
his fortune. This was due to the fact that he was indisposed to work
when his banking account was at all decent; so he had lived like a
prince on his capital, and trusted to his luck furnishing him with
more when it was done.
Kitty had joined him in Melbourne as arranged, and Gaston had
established her in a place in Richmond. It was not a regular
boarding-house, but the lady who owned it, Mrs Pulchop by name, was
in the habit of letting apartments on reasonable terms; so Vandeloup
had taken up his abode there with Kitty, who passed as his wife.
But though he paid her all the deference and respect due to a wife,
and though she wore a marriage ring, yet, as a matter of fact, they
were not married. Kitty had implored her lover to have the ceremony
performed as soon as he joined her; but as the idea was not to M.
Vandeloup's taste, he had put her off, laughingly at first, then
afterwards, when he began to weary of her, he said he could not
marry her for at least a year. The reason he assigned for this was
the convenient one of family affairs; but, in reality, he foresaw he
would get tired of her in that time, and did not want to tie himself
so that he could not leave her when he wished. At first, the girl
had rebelled against this delay, for she was strongly biased by her
religious training, and looked with horror on the state of
wickedness in which she was living. But Gaston laughed at her
scruples, and as time went on, her finer feelings became blunted,
and she accepted the position to which she was reduced in an
apathetic manner.
Sometimes she had wild thoughts of running away, but she still loved
him too well to do so; and besides, there was no one to whom she
could go, as she well knew her father would refuse to receive her.
The anomalous position which she occupied, however, had an effect on
her spirits, and from being a bright and happy girl, she became
irritable and fretful. She refused to go out anywhere, and when she
went into town, either avoided the principal streets, or wore a
heavy veil, so afraid was she of being recognised by anyone from
Ballarat and questioned as to how she lived. All this was very
disagreeable to M. Vandeloup, who had a horror of being bored, and
not finding Kitty's society pleasant enough, he gradually ceased to
care for her, and was now only watching for an opportunity to get
rid of her without any trouble. He was a member of the Bachelor's
Club, a society of young men which had a bad reputation in
Melbourne, and finding Kitty was so lachrymose, he took a room at
the Club, and began to stay away four or five days at a time. So
Kitty was left to herself, and grew sad and tearful, as she
reflected on the consequence of her fatal passion for this man. Mrs
Pulchop was vastly indignant at Vandeloup neglecting his wife, for,
of course, she never thought she was anything else to the young man,
and did all in her power to cheer the girl up, which, however, was
not much, as Mrs Pulchop herself was decidedly of a funereal
disposition.
Meanwhile, Gaston was leading a very gay life in Melbourne. His good
looks and clever tongue had made him a lot of friends, and he was
very popular both in drawing-room and club. The men voted him a
jolly sort of fellow and a regular swagger man, while the ladies
said that he was heavenly; for, true to his former tactics,
Vandeloup always made particular friends of women, selecting, of
course, those whom he thought would be likely to be of use to him.
Being such a favourite entailed going out a great deal, and as no
one can pose as a man of fashion without money, M. Vandeloup soon
found that his capital was rapidly melting away. He then went in for
gambling, and the members of The Bachelors, being nearly all rich
young men, Gaston's dexterity at ecarte and baccarat was very useful
to him, and considerably augmented his income.
Still, card-playing is a somewhat precarious source from which to
derive an income, so Vandeloup soon found himself pretty hard up,
and was at his wit's end how to raise money. His gay life cost him a
good deal, and Kitty, of course, was a source of expense, although,
poor girl, she never went anywhere; but there was a secret drain on
his purse of which no one ever dreamed. This was none other than
Pierre Lemaire, who, having spent all the money he got at the
Pactolus, came and worried Vandeloup for more. That astute young man
would willingly have refused him, but, unfortunately, Pierre knew
too much of his past life for him to do so, therefore he had to
submit to the dumb man's extortions with the best grace he could. So
what with Kitty's changed manner, Pierre wanting money, and his own
lack of coin, M. Vandeloup was in anything but an enviable position,
and began to think it was time his luck--if he ever had any--should
step in. He thought of running up to Ballarat and seeing Madame
Midas, whom he knew would lend him some money, but he had a certain
idea in his head with regard to that lady, so wished to retain her
good opinion, and determined not to apply to her until all other
plans for obtaining money failed. Meanwhile, he went everywhere, was
universally admired and petted, and no one who saw him in society
with his bright smile and nonchalant manner, would have imagined
what crafty schemes there were in that handsome head.
Madame Midas was still up at Ballarat and occupying the same
cottage, although she was now so wealthy she could have inhabited a
palace, had she been so minded. But prosperity had not spoiled Mrs
Villiers. She still managed her own affairs, and did a great deal of
good with her money,--expending large sums for charitable purposes,
because she really wished to do good, and not, like so many rich
people, for the purpose of advertising herself.
The Pactolus was now a perfect fortune, and Madame Midas being the
sole owner, her wealth was thought to be enormous, as every month a
fresh deluge of gold rolled into her coffers from the inexhaustible
Devil's Lead. McIntosh, of course, still managed the mine, and took
great pride in his success, especially after so many people had
scoffed at it.
Various other mines had started in the vicinity, and had been
floated on the Melbourne market, where they kept rising and falling
in unison with the monthly yield of the Pactolus. The Devil's Lead
was rather unequal, as sometimes the ground would be rich, while
another time it would turn out comparatively poor. People said it
was patchy, and some day would run out altogether, but it did not
show any signs of exhaustion, and even if it had, Madame Midas was
now so wealthy that it mattered comparatively little. When the
monthly yield was small, the mines round about would fall in the
share market to a few shillings, but if it was large, they would
rush up again to as many pounds, so that the brokers managed to do
pretty well out of the fluctuations of the stock.
One thing astonished Madame Midas very much, and that was the
continuous absence of her husband. She did not believe he was dead,
and fully expected to see him turn up some time; but as the months
passed on, and he did not appear, she became uneasy. The idea of his
lurking round was a constant nightmare to her, and at last she
placed the matter in the hands of the police, with instructions to
try to ascertain what became of him.
The police did everything in their power to discover Villiers'
whereabouts, but without success. Unfortunately, Slivers, who might
have helped them, being so well acquainted with the missing man's
habits, was dead; and, after trying for about three months to find
some traces of Villiers, the police gave up the search in despair.
Madame Midas, therefore, came to the conclusion that he was either
dead or had left the colony, and though half doubtful, yet hoped
that she had now seen the last of him.
She had invested her money largely in land, and thus being above the
reach of poverty for the rest of her life, she determined to take up
her abode in Melbourne for a few months, prior to going to England
on a visit. With this resolution, she gave up her cottage to Archie,
who was to live in it, and still manage the mine, and made
preparations to come down to Melbourne with Selina Sprotts.
Vandeloup heard of this resolution, and secretly rejoiced at it, for
he thought that seeing she liked him so much, now that her husband
was to all appearances dead, she might marry him, and it was to this
end he had kept up his acquaintance with her. He never thought of
the girl he had betrayed, pining away in a dull lodging. No, M.
Vandeloup, untroubled by the voice of conscience, serenely waited
the coming of Madame Midas, and determined, if he could possibly
arrange it, to marry her. He was the spider, and Madame Midas the
fly; but as the spider knew the fly he had to inveigle into his web
was a very crafty one, he determined to act with great caution; so,
having ascertained when Madame Midas would be in Melbourne, he
awaited her arrival before doing anything, and trusted in some way
to get rid of Kitty before she came. It was a difficult game, for M.
Vandeloup knew that should Kitty find out his intention she would at
once go to Mrs Villiers, and then Madame would discover his baseness
in ruining the girl. M. Vandeloup, however, surveyed the whole
situation calmly, and was not ill-pleased at the position of
affairs. Life was beginning to bore him in Melbourne, and he wanted
to be amused. Here was a comedy worthy of Moliere--a jealous woman,
a rich lady, and a handsome man.
'My faith,' said M. Vandeloup, smiling to himself as he thought of
the situation, 'it's a capital comedy, certainly; but I must take
care it doesn't end as a tragedy.'
CHAPTER II
DISENCHANTMENT
It is said that 'creaking doors hang the longest,' and Mrs Pulchop,
of Carthage Cottage, Richmond, was an excellent illustration of the
truth of this saying. Thin, pale, with light bleached-looking hair,
and eyebrows and eyelashes to match, she looked so shadowy and
unsubstantial, than an impression was conveyed to the onlooker that
a breath might blow her away. She was often heard to declare, when
anything extra-ordinary happened, that one might 'knock her down
with a feather', which, as a matter of fact, was by no means a
stretch of fancy, provided the feather was a strong one and Mrs
Pulchop was taken unawares. She was continually alluding to her
'constitootion', as if she had an interest in politics, but in
reality she was referring to her state of health, which was
invariably bad. According to her own showing, there was not a single
disease under the sun with which she had not been afflicted, and she
could have written a whole book on the subject of medicine, and put
herself in, in every instance, as an illustrative case.
Mr Pulchop had long since departed this life, being considerably
assisted in his exit from this wicked world by the quantity of
patent medicines his wife compelled him to take to cure him, which
unfortunately, however, had the opposite effect.
Mrs Pulchop said he had been a handsome man, but according to the
portrait she had of him he resembled a bull-dog more than anything
else in nature. The young Pulchops, of which there were two, both of
the female sex, took after their father in appearance and their
mother in temperament, and from the time they could talk and crawl
knew as much about drops, poultices, bandages, and draughts as many
a hospital nurse of mature age.
One day Vandeloup sent a telegram to Kitty saying he would be home
to dinner, and as he always required something extra in the way of
cooking, Kitty went to interview Mrs Pulchop on the subject. She
found that lady wrapped up in a heavy shawl, turning herself into a
tea-kettle by drinking hot water, the idea being, as she assured
Kitty, to rouse up her liver. Miss Topsy Pulchop was tying a bandage
round her face, as she felt a toothache coming on, while Miss Anna
Pulchop was unfortunately quite well, and her occupation being gone,
was seated disconsolately at the window trying to imagine she felt
pains in her back.
'Ah!' groaned Mrs Pulchop, in a squeaky voice, sipping her hot
water; 'you don't know, my dear, what it is to be aworrited by your
liver--tortures and inquisitions ain't in it, my love.'
Kitty said she was very sorry, and asked her if nothing would
relieve her sufferings, but Mrs Pulchop shook her head triumphantly.
'My sweet young thing,' said the patient, with great gusto, 'I've
tried everything under the sun to make it right, but they ain't no
good; it's always expanding and a contracting of itself unbeknown to
me, and throwing the bile into the stomach, which ain't its proper
place.'
'It does sound rather nasty,' assented Kitty; 'and Topsy seems to be
ill, too.'
'Toothache,' growled Topsy, who had a deep, bass voice, and being
modelled on the canine lines of her late lamented father, the growl
suited her admirably. 'I had two out last week, and now this one's
started.'
'Try a roasted fig, Topsy dear,' suggested her mother, who, now,
having finished her hot water, looked longingly at the kettle for
more.
'Toothache,' growled Topsy, in reply, 'not gumboil;' the remedy
suggested by Mrs Pulchop being for the latter of these ills.
'You are quite well, at any rate,' said Kitty to Anna, cheerfully.
Anna, however, declined to be considered in good health. 'I fancy my
back is going to ache,' she said, darkly placing her hand in the
small of it. 'I'll have to put a linseed poultice on it tonight, to
draw the cold out.'
Then she groaned dismally, and her mother and sister, hearing the
familiar sound, also groaned, so there was quite a chorus, and Kitty
felt inclined to groan also, out of sympathy.
'M. Vandeloup is coming to dinner tonight,' she said, timidly, to
Mrs Pulchop.
'And a wonder it is, my sweet angel,' said that lady, indignantly,
rising and glancing at the pretty girl, now so pale and sad-looking,
'it's once in a blue moon as he comes 'ome, a--leaving you to mope
at home like a broken-hearted kitten in a coal box. Ah, if he only
had a liver, that would teach him manners.'
Groans of assent from the Misses Pulchops, who both had livers and
were always fighting with them.
'And what, my neglected cherub,' asked Mrs Pulchop, going to a
looking-glass which always hung in the kitchen, for the three to
examine their tongues in, 'what shall I give you for dinner?'
Kitty suggested a fowl, macaroni cheese, and fruit for dessert,
which bill of fare had such an effect on the family that they all
groaned in unison.
'Macaroni cheese,' growled Topsy, speaking from the very depth of
the cork soles she wore to keep her feet dry; 'there's nothing more
bilious. I couldn't look at it.'
'Ah,' observed Mrs Pulchop, 'you're only a weak gal, and men is that
obstinate they'd swaller bricks like ostriges sooner nor give in as
it hurt 'em. You shall 'ave a nice dinner, Mrs Vanloops, tho' I
can't deny but what it ull be bilious.'
Thus warned, Kitty retired into her own room and made herself nice
for Gaston to look on when he came.
Poor thing, it was so rarely now that he came home to dinner, that a
visit from him was regarded by her in the light of a treat. She
dressed herself in a pretty white dress and tied a blue sash round
her waist, so that she might look the same to him as when he first
saw her. But her face was now worn and white, and as she looked at
her pallor in the glass she wished she had some rouge to bring a
touch of colour to her cheeks. She tried to smile in her own merry
way at the wan reflection she beheld, but the effort was a failure,
and she burst into tears.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 | 13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21 |
22 |
23 |
24