Books: Madame Midas
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Fergus Hume >> Madame Midas
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CHAPTER VII
THE OPULENCE OF MADAME MIDAS
A wealthy man does not know the meaning of the word friendship. He
is not competent to judge, for his wealth precludes him giving a
proper opinion. Smug-faced philanthropists can preach comfortable
doctrines in pleasant rooms with well-spread tables and good
clothing; they can talk about human nature being unjustly accused,
and of the kindly impulses and good thoughts in everyone's breasts.
Pshaw! anyone can preach thus from an altitude of a few thousands a
year, but let these same self-complacent kind-hearted gentlemen
descend in the social scale--let them look twice at a penny before
spending it--let them face persistent landladies, exorbitant
landlords, or the bitter poverty of the streets, and they will not
talk so glibly of human nature and its inherent kindness. No; human
nature is a sort of fetish which is credited with a great many
amiable qualities it never possesses, and though there are
exceptions to the general rule, Balzac's aphorism on mankind that
'Nature works by self-interest,' still holds good today.
Madame Midas, however, had experienced poverty and the coldness of
friends, so was completely disillusionised as to the disinterested
motives of the people who now came flocking around her. She was very
wealthy, and determined to stop in Melbourne for a year, and then go
home to Europe, so to this end she took a house at St Kilda, which
had been formerly occupied by Mark Frettlby, the millionaire, who
had been mixed up in the famous hansom cab murder nearly eighteen
months before. His daughter, Mrs Fitzgerald, was in Ireland with her
husband, and had given instructions to her agents to let the house
furnished as it stood, but such a large rent was demanded, that no
one felt inclined to give it till Mrs Villiers appeared on the
scene. The house suited her, as she did not want to furnish one of
her own, seeing she was only going to stop a year, so she saw
Thinton and Tarbet, who had the letting of the place, and took it
for a year. The windows were flung open, the furniture brushed and
renovated, and the solitary charwoman who had been ruler in the
lonely rooms so long, was dismissed, and her place taken by a whole
retinue of servants. Madame Midas intended to live in style, so went
to work over the setting up of her establishment in such an
extravagant manner that Archie remonstrated. She took his
interference in a good humoured way, but still arranged things as
she intended; and when her house was ready, waited for her friends
to call on her, and prepared to amuse herself with the comedy of
human life. She had not long to wait, for a perfect deluge of
affectionate people rolled down upon her. Many remembered her--oh,
quite well--when she was the beautiful Miss Curtis; and then her
husband--that dreadful Villiers--they hoped he was dead--squandering
her fortune as he had done--they had always been sorry for her, and
now she was rich--that lovely Pactolus--indeed, she deserved it all-
-she would marry, of course--oh, but indeed, she must. And so the
comedy went on, and all the actors flirted, and ogled, and nodded,
and bowed, till Madame Midas was quite sick of the falseness and
frivolity of the whole thing. She knew these people, with their
simpering and smiling, would visit her and eat her dinners and drink
her wines, and then go away and abuse her thoroughly. But then
Madame Midas never expected anything else, so she received them with
smiles, saw through all their little ways, and when she had amused
herself sufficiently with their antics, she let them go.
Vandeloup called on Madame Midas the day after she arrived, and Mrs
Villiers was delighted to see him. Having an object in view, of
course Gaston made himself as charming as possible, and assisted
Madame to arrange her house, told her about the people who called on
her, and made cynical remarks about them, all of which amused Madame
Midas mightily. She grew weary of the inane gabble and narrow
understandings of people, and it was quite a relief for her to turn
to Vandeloup, with his keen tongue and clever brains. Gaston was not
a charitable talker--few really clever talkers are--but he saw
through everyone with the uttermost ease and summed them up in a
sharp incisive way, which had at least the merit of being clever.
Madame Midas liked to hear him talk, and seeing what humbugs the
people who surrounded her were, and how well she knew their motives
in courting her for her wealth, it is not to be wondered at that she
should have been amused at having all their little weaknesses laid
bare and classified by such a master of satire as Vandeloup. So they
sat and watched the comedy and the unconscious actors playing their
parts, and felt that the air was filled with heavy sensuous perfume,
and the lights were garish, and that there was wanting entirely that
keen cool atmosphere which Mallock calls 'the ozone of
respectability'.
Vandeloup had prospered in his little venture in the mining market,
for, true to the prediction of Mr Barraclough--who, by the way, was
very much astonished at the sudden demand for shares by Polglaze,
and vainly pumped that reticent individual to find out what he was
up to--the Magpie Reef shares ran up rapidly. A telegram was
published from the manager stating a rich reef had been struck.
Specimens of the very richest kind were displayed in Melbourne, and
the confiding public suddenly woke to the fact that a golden tide
was flowing past their doors. They rushed the share market, and in
two weeks the Magpie Reef shares ran from four shillings to as many
pounds. Vandeloup intended to sell at one pound, but when he saw the
rapid rise and heard everyone talking about this Reef, which was to
be a second Long Tunnel, he held his shares till they touched four
pounds, then, quite satisfied with his profit, he sold out at once
and pocketed nearly ten thousand pounds, so that he was provided for
the rest of his life. The shares ran up still higher, to four pounds
ten shillings, then dropped to three, in consequence of certain
rumours that the pocket of gold was worked out. Then another rich
lead was struck, and they ran up again to five pounds, and
afterwards sank to two pounds, which gradually became their regular
price in the market. That Barraclough and his friend did well was
sufficiently proved by the former taking a trip to Europe, while his
friend bought a station and set up as a squatter. They, however,
never knew how cleverly M. Vandeloup had turned their conversation
to his advantage, and that young gentleman, now that he had made a
decent sum, determined to touch gold mining no more, and, unlike
many people, he kept his word.
Now that he was a man of means, Vandeloup half decided to go to
America, as a larger field for a gentleman of his brilliant
qualities, but the arrival of Madame Midas in Melbourne made him
alter his mind. Her husband was no doubt dead, so Gaston thought
that as soon as she had settled down he would begin to pay his court
to her, and without doubt would be accepted, for this confident
young man never for a moment dreamed of failure. Meanwhile he sent
all Kitty's wardrobe after her as she went with the Wopples family,
and the poor girl, taking this as a mark of renewed affection, wrote
him a very tearful little note, which M. Vandeloup threw into the
fire. Then he looked about and ultimately got a very handsome suite
of rooms in Clarendon Street, East Melbourne. He furnished these
richly, and having invested his money in good securities, prepared
to enjoy himself.
Kitty, meanwhile, had become a great favourite with the Wopples
family, and they made a wonderful pet of her. Of course, being in
Rome, she did as the Romans did, and went on the stage as Miss
Kathleen Wopples, being endowed with the family name for dramatic
reasons. The family were now on tour among the small towns of
Victoria, and seemed to be well-known, as each member got a
reception when he or she appeared on the stage. Mr Theodore Wopples
used to send his agent ahead to engage the theatre--or more often a
hall--bill the town, and publish sensational little notices in the
local papers. Then when the family arrived Mr Wopples, who was
really a gentleman and well-educated, called on all the principal
people of the town and so impressed them with the high class
character of the entertainment that he never failed to secure their
patronage. He also had a number of artful little schemes which he
called 'wheezes', the most successful of these being a lecture on
The Religious Teaching of Shakespeare', which he invariably
delivered on a Sunday afternoon in the theatre of any town he
happened to be in, and not infrequently when requested occupied the
pulpit and preached capital sermons. By these means Mr Wopples kept
up the reputation of the family, and the upper classes of all the
towns invariably supported the show, while the lower classes came as
a matter of course. Mr Wopples, however, was equally as clever in
providing a bill of fare as in inducing the public to come to the
theatre, and the adaptability of the family was really wonderful.
One night they would play farcical comedy; then Hamlet, reduced to
four acts by Mr Wopples, would follow on the second night; the next
night burlesque would reign supreme; and when the curtain arose on
the fourth night Mr Wopples and the star artistes would be acting
melodrama, and throw one another off bridges and do strong
starvation business with ragged clothes amid paper snowstorms.
Kitty turned out to be a perfect treasure, as her pretty face and
charming voice soon made her a favourite, and when in burlesque she
played Princess to Fanny Wopples' Prince, there was sure to be a
crowded house and lots of applause. Kitty's voice was clear and
sweet as a lark's, and her execution something wonderful, so Mr
Wopples christened her the Australian Nightingale, and caused her to
be so advertised in the papers. Moreover, her dainty appearance, and
a certain dash and abandon she had with her, carried the audience
irresistibly away, and had Fanny Wopples not been a really good
girl, she would have been jealous of the success achieved by the
new-comer. She, however, taught Kitty to dance breakdowns, and at
Warrnambool they had a benefit, when 'Faust, M.D.' was produced, and
Fanny sang her great success, 'I've just had a row with mamma', and
Kitty sang the jewel song from 'Faust' in a manner worthy of
Neilson, as the local critic--who had never heard Neilson--said the
next day. Altogether, Kitty fully repaid the good action of Mr
Wopples by making his tour a wonderful success, and the family
returned to Melbourne in high glee with full pockets.
'Next year,' said Mr Wopples, at a supper which they had to
celebrate the success of their tour, 'we'll have a theatre in
Melbourne, and I'll make it the favourite house of the city, see if
I don't.'
It seemed, therefore, as though Kitty had found her vocation, and
would develop into an operatic star, but fate intervened, and Miss
Marchurst retired from the stage, which she had adorned so much.
This was due to Madame Midas, who, driving down Collins Street one
day, saw Kitty at the corner walking with Fanny Wopples. She
immediately stopped her carriage, and alighting therefrom, went
straight up to the girl, who, turning and seeing her for the first
time, grew deadly pale.
'Kitty, my dear,' said Madame, gravely, 'I have been looking for you
vainly for a year--but I have found you at last.'
Kitty's breast was full of conflicting emotions; she thought that
Madame knew all about her intimacy with Vandeloup, and that she
would speak severely to her. Mrs Villiers' next words, however,
reassured her.
'You left Ballarat to go on the stage, did you not?' she said
kindly, looking at the girl; 'why did you not come to me?--you knew
I was always your friend.'
'Yes, Madame,' said Kitty, putting out her hand and averting her
head, 'I would have come to you, but I thought you would stop me
from going.'
'My dear child,' replied Madame, 'I thought you knew me better than
that; what theatre are you at?'
'She's with us,' said Miss Fanny, who had been staring at this
grave, handsomely-dressed lady who had alighted from such a swell
carriage; 'we are the Wopples Family.'
'Ah!' said Mrs Villiers, thinking, 'I remember, you were up at
Ballarat last year. Well, Kitty, will you and your friend drive down
to St Kilda with me, and I'll show you my new house?'
Kitty would have refused, for she was afraid Madame Midas would
perhaps send her back to her father, but the appealing looks of
Fanny Wopples, who had never ridden in a carriage in her life, and
was dying to do so, decided her to accept. So they stepped into the
carriage, and Mrs Villiers told the coachman to drive home.
As they drove along, Mrs Villiers delicately refrained from asking
Kitty any questions about her flight, seeing that a stranger was
present, but determined to find out all about it when she got her
alone down at St Kilda.
Kitty, on her part, was thinking how to baffle Madame's inquiries.
She knew she would be questioned closely by her, and resolved not to
tell more than she could help, as she, curiously enough--considering
how he had treated her--wished to shield Vandeloup. But she still
cherished a tender feeling for the man she loved, and had Vandeloup
asked her to go back and live with him, would, no doubt, have
consented. The fact was, the girl's nature was becoming slightly
demoralised, and the Kitty who sat looking at Madame Midas now--
though her face was as pretty, and her eyes as pure as ever--was not
the same innocent Kitty that had visited the Pactolus, for she had
eaten of the Tree of Knowledge, and was already cultured in worldly
wisdom. Madame, of course, believed that Kitty had gone from
Ballarat straight on to the stage, and never thought for a moment
that for a whole year she had been Vandeloup's mistress, so when
Kitty found this out--as she very soon did--she took the cue at
once, and asserted positively to Madame that she had been on the
stage for eighteen months.
'But how is it,' asked Madame, who believed her fully, 'that I could
not find you?'
'Because I was up the country all the time,' replied Kitty, quickly,
'and of course did not act under my real name.'
'You would not like to go back to your father, I suppose,' suggested
Madame.
Kitty made a gesture of dissent.
'No,' she answered, determinedly; 'I was tired of my father and his
religion; I'm on the stage now, and I mean to stick to it.'
'Kitty! Kitty!' said Madame, sadly, 'you little know the
temptations--'
'Oh! yes, I do,' interrupted Kitty, impatiently; 'I've been nearly
two years on the stage, and I have not seen any great wickedness--
besides, I'm always with Mrs Wopples.'
'Then you still mean to be an actress?' asked Madame.
'Yes,' replied Kitty, in a firm voice; 'if I went back to my father,
I'd go mad leading that dull life.'
'But why not stay with me, my dear?' said Mrs Villiers, looking at
her; 'I am a lonely woman, as you know, and if you come to me, I
will treat you as a daughter.'
'Ah! how good you are,' cried the girl in a revulsion of feeling,
falling on her friend's neck; 'but indeed I cannot leave the stage--
I'm too fond of it.'
Madame sighed, and gave up the argument for a time, then showed the
two girls all over the house, and after they had dinner with her,
she sent them back to town in her carriage, with strict injunctions
to Kitty to come down next day and bring Mr Wopples with her. When
the two girls reached the hotel where the family was staying, Fanny
gave her father a glowing account of the opulence of Madame Midas,
and Mr Wopples was greatly interested in the whole affair. He was
grave, however, when Kitty spoke to him privately of what Madame had
said to her, and asked her if she would not like to accept Mrs
Villiers' offer. Kitty, however, said she would remain on the stage,
and as Wopples was to see Madame Midas next day, made him promise he
would say nothing about having found her on the streets, or of her
living with a lover. Wopples, who thoroughly understood the girl's
desire to hide her shame from her friends, agreed to this, so Kitty
went to bed confident that she had saved Vandeloup's name from being
dragged into the affair.
Wopples saw Madame next day, and a long talk ensued, which ended in
Kitty agreeing to stay six months with Mrs Villiers, and then, if
she still wished to continue on the stage, she was to go to Mr
Wopples. On the other hand, in consideration of Wopples losing the
services of Kitty, Madame promised that next year she would give him
sufficient money to start a theatre in Melbourne. So both parted
mutually satisfied. Kitty made presents to all the family, who were
very sorry to part with her, and then took up her abode with Mrs
Villiers, as a kind of adopted daughter, and was quite prepared to
play her part in the comedy of fashion.
So Madame Midas had been near the truth, yet never discovered it,
and sent a letter to Vandeloup asking him to come to dinner and meet
an old friend, little thinking how old and intimate a friend Kitty
was to the young man.
It was, as Mr Wopples would have said, a highly dramatic situation,
but, alas, that the confiding nature of Madame Midas should thus
have been betrayed, not only by Vandeloup, but by Kitty herself--the
very girl whom, out of womanly compassion, she took to her breast.
And yet the world talks about the inherent goodness of human nature.
CHAPTER VIII
M. VANDELOUP IS SURPRISED
Owing to the quiet life Kitty had led since she came to Melbourne,
and the fact that her appearance on the stage had taken place in the
country, she felt quite safe when making her appearance in Melbourne
society that no one would recognise her or know anything of her past
life. It was unlikely she would meet with any of the Pulchop family
again, and she knew Mr Wopples would hold his tongue regarding his
first meeting with her, so the only one who could reveal anything
about her would be Vandeloup, and he would certainly be silent for
his own sake, as she knew he valued the friendship of Madame Midas
too much to lose it. Nevertheless she awaited his coming in
considerable trepidation, as she was still in love with him, and was
nervous as to what reception she would meet with. Perhaps now that
she occupied a position as Mrs Villiers' adopted daughter he would
marry her, but, at all events, when she met him she would know
exactly how he felt towards her by his demeanour.
Vandeloup, on the other hand, was quite unaware of the surprise in
store for him, and thought that the old friend he was to meet would
be some Ballarat acquaintance of his own and Madame's. In his
wildest flight of fancy he never thought it would be Kitty, else his
cool nonchalance would for once have been upset at the thought of
the two women he was interested in being under the same roof.
However, where ignorance is bliss--well M. Vandeloup, after dressing
himself carefully in evening dress, put on his hat and coat, and,
the evening being a pleasant one, thought he would stroll through
the Fitzroy Gardens down to the station.
It was pleasant in the gardens under the golden light of the sunset,
and the green arcades of trees looked delightfully cool after the
glare of the dusty streets. Vandeloup, strolling along idly, felt a
touch on his shoulder and wheeled round suddenly, for with his past
life ever before him he always had a haunting dread of being
recaptured.
The man, however, who had thus drawn his attention was none other
than Pierre Lemaire, who stood in the centre of the broad asphalt
path, dirty, ragged and disreputable-looking. He had not altered
much since he left Ballarat, save that he looked more dilapidated-
looking, but stood there in his usual sullen manner, with his hat
drawn down over his eyes. Some stray wisps of grass showed that he
had been camping out all the hot day on the green turf under the
shadow of the trees, and it was easy to see from his appearance what
a vagrant he was. Vandeloup was annoyed at the meeting and cast a
rapid look around to see if he was observed. The few people,
however, passing were too intent on their own business to give more
than a passing glance at the dusty tramp and the young man in
evening dress talking to him, so Vandeloup was reassured.
'Well, my friend,' he said, sharply, to the dumb man, 'what do you
want?'
Pierre put his hand in his pocket.
'Oh, of course,' replied M. Vandeloup, mockingly, 'money, money,
always money; do you think I'm a bank, always to be drawn on like
this?'
The dumb man made no sign that he had heard, but stood sullenly
rocking himself to and fro an'd chewing a wisp of the grass he had
picked off his coat.
'Here,' said the young man, taking out a sovereign and giving it to
Pierre; 'take this just now and don't bother me, or upon my word,'
with a disdainful look, 'I shall positively have to hand you over to
the law.'
Pierre glanced up suddenly, and Vandeloup caught the gleam of his
eyes under the shadow of the hat.
'Oh! you think it will be dangerous for me,' he said, in a gay tone;
'not at all, I assure you. I am a gentleman, and rich; you are a
pauper, and disreputable. Who will believe your word against mine?
My faith! your assurance is quite refreshing. Now, go away, and
don't trouble me again, or,' with a sudden keen glance, 'I will do
as I say.'
He nodded coolly to the dumb man, and strode gaily along under the
shade of the heavily foliaged oaks, while Pierre looked at the
sovereign, slipped it into his pocket, and slouched off in the
opposite direction without even a glance at his patron.
At the top of the street Vandeloup stepped into a cab, and telling
the man to drive to the St Kilda Station, in Elizabeth Street, went
off into a brown study. Pierre annoyed him seriously, as he never
seemed to get rid of him, and the dumb man kept turning up every now
and then like the mummy at the Egyptian feast to remind him of
unpleasant things.
'Confound him!' muttered Vandeloup, angrily, as he alighted at the
station and paid the cabman, 'he's more trouble than Bebe was; she
did take the hint and go, but this man, my faith!' shrugging his
shoulders, 'he's the devil himself for sticking.'
All the way down to St Kilda his reflections were of the same
unpleasant nature, and he cast about in his own mind how he could
get rid of this pertinacious friend. He could not turn him off
openly, as Pierre might take offence, and as he knew more of M.
Vandeloup's private life than that young gentleman cared about, it
would not do to run the risk of an exposure.
'There's only one thing to be done,' said Gaston, quietly, as he
walked down to Mrs Villiers' house; 'I will try my luck at marrying
Madame Midas; if she consents, we can go away to Europe as man and
wife; if she does not I will go to America, and, in either case,
Pierre will lose trace of me.'
With this comfortable reflection he went into the house and was
shown into the drawing room by the servant. There were no lights in
the room, as it was not sufficiently dark for them, and Vandeloup
smiled as he saw a fire in the grate.
'My faith!' he said to himself, 'Madame is as chilly as ever.'
The servant had retired, and he was all by himself in this large
room, with the subdued twilight all through it, and the flicker of
the flames on the ceiling. He went to the fire more from habit than
anything else, and suddenly came on a big armchair, drawn up close
to the side, in which a woman was sitting.
'Ah! the sleeping beauty,' said Vandeloup, carelessly; 'in these
cases the proper thing to do in order to wake the lady is to kiss
her.'
He was, without doubt, an extremely audacious young man, and though
he did not know who the young lady was, would certainly have put his
design into execution, had not the white figure suddenly rose and
confronted him. The light from the fire was fair on her face, and
with a sudden start Vandeloup saw before him the girl he had ruined
and deserted.
'Bebe?' he gasped, recoiling a step.
'Yes!' said Kitty, in an agitated tone, 'your mistress and your
victim.'
'Bah!' said Gaston, coolly, having recovered from the first shock of
surprise. 'That style suits Sarah Bernhardt, not you, my dear. The
first act of this comedy is excellent, but it is necessary the
characters should know one another in order to finish the play.'
'Ah!' said Kitty, with a bitter smile, 'do I not know you too well,
as the man who promised me marriage and then broke his word? You
forgot all your vows to me.'
'My dear child,' replied Gaston leisurely, leaning up against the
mantelpiece, 'if you had read Balzac you would discover that he
says, "Life would be intolerable without a certain amount of
forgetting." I must say,' smiling, 'I agree with the novelist.'
Kitty looked at him as he stood there cool and complacent, and threw
herself back into the chair angrily.
'Just the same,' she muttered restlessly, 'just the same.'
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