Books: Madame Midas
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Fergus Hume >> Madame Midas
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'Of course,' replied Vandeloup, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
'You have only been away from me six weeks, and it takes longer than
that to alter any one. By the way,' he went on smoothly, 'how have
you been all this time? I have no doubt your tour has been as
adventurous as that of Gil Bias.'
'No, it has not,' replied Kitty, clenching her hands. 'You never
cared what became of me, and had not Mr Wopples met me in the street
on that fearful night, God knows where I would have been now.'
'I can tell you,' said Gaston, coolly, taking a seat. 'With me. You
would have soon got tired of the poverty of the streets, and come
back to your cage.'
'My cage, indeed!' she echoed, bitterly, tapping the ground with her
foot. 'Yes, a cage, though it was a gilded one.'
'How Biblical you are getting,' said the young man, ironically; 'but
kindly stop speaking in parables, and tell me what position we are
to occupy to each other. As formerly?'
'My God, no!' she flashed out suddenly.
'So much the better,' he answered, bowing. 'We will obliterate the
last year from our memories, and I will meet you to-night for the
first time since you left Ballarat. Of course,' he went on, rather
anxiously, 'you have told Madame nothing?'
'Only what suited me,' replied the girl, coldly, stung by the
coldness and utter heartlessness of this man.
'Oh!' with a smile. 'Did it include my name?'
'No,' curtly.
'Ah!' with a long indrawn breath, 'you are more sensible than I gave
you credit for.'
Kitty rose to her feet and crossed rapidly over to where he sat calm
and smiling.
'Gaston Vandeloup!' she hissed in his ear, while her face was quite
distorted by the violence of her passion, 'when I met you I was an
innocent girl--you ruined me, and then cast me off as soon as you
grew weary of your toy. I thought you loved me, and,' with a stifled
sob, 'God help me, I love you still.'
'Yes, my Bebe,' he said, in a caressing tone, taking her hand.
'No! no,' she cried, wrenching them away, while an angry spot of
colour glowed on her cheek, 'I loved you as you were--not as you are
now--we are done with sentiment, M. Vandeloup,' she said, sneering,
'and now our relations to one another will be purely business ones.'
He bowed and smiled.
'So glad you understand the position,' he said, blandly; 'I see the
age of miracles is not yet past when a woman can talk sense.'
'You won't disturb me with your sneers,' retorted the girl, glaring
fiercely at him out of the gathering gloom in the room; 'I am not
the innocent girl I once was.'
'It is needless to tell me that,' he said, coarsely.
She drew herself up at the extreme insult.
'Have a care, Gaston,' she muttered, hurriedly, 'I know more about
your past life than you think.'
He rose from his seat and approached his face, now white as her own,
to hers.
'What do you know?' he asked, in a low, passionate voice.
'Enough to be dangerous to you,' she retorted, defiantly.
They both looked at one another steadily, but the white face of the
woman did not blench before the scintillations of his eyes.
'What you know I don't know,' he said, steadily; 'but whatever it
is, keep it to yourself, or--,' catching her wrist.
'Or what?' she asked, boldly.
He threw her away from him with a laugh, and the sombre fire died
out of his eyes.
'Bah!' he said, gaily, 'our comedy is turning into a tragedy; I am
as foolish as you; I think,' significantly, 'we understand one
another.'
'Yes, I think we do,' she answered, calmly, the colour coming back
to her cheek. 'Neither of us are to refer to the past, and we both
go on our different roads unhindered.'
'Mademoiselle Marchurst,' said Vandeloup, ceremoniously, 'I am
delighted to meet you after a year's absence--come,' with a gay
laugh, 'let us begin the comedy thus, for here,' he added quickly,
as the door opened, 'here comes the spectators.'
'Well, young people,' said Madame's voice, as she came slowly into
the room, 'you are all in the dark; ring the bell for lights, M.
Vandeloup.'
'Certainly, Madame,' he answered, touching the electric button,
'Miss Marchurst and myself were renewing our former friendship.'
'How do you think she is looking?' asked Madame, as the servant came
in and lit the gas.
'Charming,' replied Vandeloup, looking at the dainty little figure
in white standing under the blaze of the chandelier; 'she is more
beautiful than ever.'
Kitty made a saucy little curtsey, and burst into a musical laugh.
'He is just the same, Madame,' she said merrily to the tall, grave
woman in black velvet, who stood looking at her affectionately,
'full of compliments, and not meaning one; but when is dinner to be
ready?' pathetically, 'I'm dying of starvation.'
'I hope you have peaches, Madame,' said Vandeloup, gaily; 'the first
time I met Mademoiselle she was longing for peaches.'
'I am unchanged in that respect,' retorted Kitty, brightly; 'I adore
peaches still.'
'I am just waiting for Mr Calton,' said Madame Midas, looking at her
watch; 'he ought to be here by now.'
'Is that the lawyer, Madame?' asked Vandeloup.
'Yes,' she replied, quietly, 'he is a most delightful man.'
'So I have heard,' answered Vandeloup, nonchalantly, 'and he had
something to do with a former owner of this house, I think.'
'Oh, don't talk of that,' said Mrs Villiers, nervously; 'the first
time I took the house, I heard all about the Hansom Cab murder.'
'Why, Madame, you are not nervous,' said Kitty, gaily.
'No, my dear,' replied the elder, quietly, 'but I must confess that
for some reason or another I have been a little upset since coming
here; I don't like being alone.'
'You shall never be that,' said Kitty, fondly nestling to her.
'Thank you, puss,' said Madame, tapping her cheek; 'but I am
nervous,' she said, rapidly; 'at night especially. Sometimes I have
to get Selina to come into my room and stay all night.'
'Madame Midas nervous,' thought Vandeloup to himself; 'then I can
guess the reason; she is afraid of her husband coming back to her.'
Just at this moment the servant announced Mr Calton, and he entered,
with his sharp, incisive face, looking clever and keen.
'I must apologise for being late, Mrs Villiers,' he said, shaking
hands with his hostess; 'but business, you know, the pleasure of
business.'
'Now,' said Madame, quickly, 'I hope you have come to the business
of pleasure.'
'Very epigrammatic, my dear lady,' said Calton, in his high, clear
voice; 'pray introduce me.'
Madame did so, and they all went to dinner, Madame with Calton and
Kitty following with Vandeloup.
'This,' observed Calton, when they were all seated at the dinner
table, 'is the perfection of dining; for we are four, and the
guests, according to an epicure, should never be less than the
Graces nor greater than the Muses.'
And a very merry little dinner it was. All four were clever talkers,
and Vandeloup and Calton being pitted against one another, excelled
themselves; witty remarks, satirical sayings, and well-told stories
were constantly coming from their lips, and they told their stories
as their own and did not father them on Sydney Smith.
'If Sydney Smith was alive,' said Calton, in reference to this, 'he
would be astonished at the number of stories he did not tell.'
'Yes,' chimed in Vandeloup, gaily, 'and astounded at their
brilliancy.'
'After all,' said Madame, smiling, 'he's a sheet-anchor for some
people; for the best original story may fail, a dull one ascribed to
Sydney Smith must produce a laugh.'
'Why?' asked Kitty, in some wonder.
'Because,' explained Calton, gravely, 'society goes mainly by
tradition, and our grandmothers having laughed at Sydney Smith's
jokes, they must necessarily be amusing. Depend upon it, jokes can
be sanctified by time quite as much as creeds.'
'They are more amusing, at all events,' said Madame, satirically.
'Creeds generally cause quarrels.'
Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders.
'And quarrels generally cause stories,' he said, smiling; 'it is the
law of compensation.'
They then went to the drawing-room and Kitty and Vandeloup both
sang, and treated one another in a delightfully polite way. Madame
Midas and Calton were both clever, but how much cleverer were the
two young people at the piano.
'Are you going to Meddlechip's ball?' said Calton to Madame.
'Oh, yes,' she answered, nodding her head, 'I and Miss Marchurst are
both going.'
'Who is Mr Meddlechip?' asked Kitty, swinging round on the piano-
stool.
'He is the most charitable man in Melbourne,' said Gaston, with a
faint sneer.
'Great is Diana of the Ephesians,' said Calton, mockingly. 'Because
Mr Meddlechip suffers from too much money, and has to get rid of it
to prevent himself being crushed like Tarpeia by the Sabine shields,
he is called charitable.'
'He does good, though, doesn't he?' asked Madame.
'See advertisement,' scoffed Calton. 'Oh, yes! he will give
thousands of pounds for any public object, but private charity is a
waste of money in his eyes.'
'You are very hard on him,' said Madame Midas, with a laugh.
'Ah! Mr Calton believes as I do,' cried Vandeloup, 'that it's no
good having friends unless you're privileged to abuse them.'
'It's one you take full advantage of, then,' observed Kitty,
saucily.
'I always take what I can get,' he returned, mockingly; whereon she
shivered, and Calton saw it.
'Ah!' said that astute reader of character to himself, 'there's
something between those two. 'Gad! I'll cross-examine my French
friend.'
They said good-night to the ladies, and walked to the St Kilda
station, from thence took the train to town, and Calton put into
force his cross-examination. He might as well have tried his artful
questions on a rock as on Vandeloup, for that clever young gentleman
saw through the barrister at once, and baffled him at every turn
with his epigrammatic answers and consummate coolness.
'I confess,' said Calton, when they said good-night to one another,
'I confess you puzzle me.'
'Language,' observed M. Vandeloup, with a smile, 'was given to us to
conceal our thoughts. Good night!'
And they parted.
'The comedy is over for the night,' thought Gaston as he walked
along, 'and it was so true to nature that the spectators never
thought it was art.'
He was wrong, for Calton did.
CHAPTER IX
A PROFESSIONAL PHILANTHROPIST
We have professional diners-out, professional beauties, professional
Christians, then why not professional philanthropists? This
brilliant century of ours has nothing to do with the word charity,
as it savours too much of stealthy benevolence, so it has
substituted in its place the long word philanthropy, which is much
more genteel and comprehensive. Charity, the meekest of the
Christian graces, has been long since dethroned, and her place is
taken by the blatant braggard Philanthropy, who does his good deeds
in a most ostentatious manner, and loudly invites the world to see
his generosity, and praise him for it. Charity, modestly hooded,
went into the houses of the poor, and tendered her gifts with
smiles. Philanthropy now builds almshouses and hospitals, and rails
at poverty if it has too much pride to occupy them. And what indeed,
has poverty to do with pride?--it's far too sumptuous and expensive
an article, and can only be possessed by the rich, who can afford to
wear it because it is paid for. Mr Meddlechip was rich, so he bought
a large stock of pride, and wore it everywhere. It was not personal
pride--he was not good-looking; it was not family pride--he never
had a grandfather; nor was it pecuniary pride--he had too much money
for that. But it was a mean, sneaking, insinuating pride that
wrapped him round like a cloak, and pretended to be very humble, and
only holding its money in trust for the poor. The poor ye have
always with you--did not Mr Meddlechip know it? Ask the old men and
women in the almshouses, and they would answer yes; but ask the
squalid inhabitants of the slums, and they would probably say,
'Meddlechip, 'o's 'e?' Not that the great Ebenezer Meddlechip was
unknown--oh, dear, no--he was a representative colonial; he sat in
Parliament, and frequently spoke at those enlarged vestry meetings
about the prosperity of the country. He laid foundation stones. He
took the chair at public meetings. In fact, he had his finger in
every public pie likely to bring him into notoriety; but not in
private pies, oh, dear, no; he never did good by stealth and blush
to find it fame. Any blushes he might have had would have been angry
ones at his good deed not being known.
He had come in the early days of the colony, and made a lot of
money, being a shrewd man, and one who took advantage of every tide
in the affairs of men. He was honest, that is honest as our present
elastic acceptation of the word goes--and when he had accumulated a
fortune he set to work to buy a few things. He bought a grand house
at Toorak, then he bought a wife to do the honours of the grand
house, and when his domestic affairs were quite settled, he bought
popularity, which is about the cheapest thing anyone can buy. When
the Society for the Supplying of Aborigines with White Waistcoats
was started he headed the list with one thousand pounds--bravo,
Meddlechip! The Secretary of the Band of Hard-up Matrons asked him
for fifty pounds, and got five hundred--generous Meddlechip! And at
the meeting of the Society for the Suppression of Vice among Married
Men he gave two thousand pounds, and made a speech on the occasion,
which made all the married men present tremble lest their sins
should find them out-noble Meddlechip! He would give thousands away
in public charity, have it well advertised in the newspapers, and
then wonder, with humility, how the information got there; and he
would give a poor woman in charge for asking for a penny, on the
ground that she was a vagrant. Here, indeed, was a man for Victoria
to be proud of; put up a statue to him in the centre of the city;
let all the school children study a list of his noble actions as
lessons; let the public at large grovel before him, and lick the
dust of his benevolent shoes, for he is a professional
philanthropist.
Mrs Meddlechip, large, florid, and loud-voiced, was equally as well
known as her husband, but in a different way. He posed as
benevolence, she was the type of all that's fashionable--that is,
she knew everyone; gave large parties, went out to balls, theatres,
and lawn tennis, and dressed in the very latest style, whether it
suited her or not. She had been born and brought up in the colonies,
but when her husband went to London as a representative colonial she
went also, and stayed there a whole year, after which she came out
to her native land and ran everything down in the most merciless
manner. They did not do this in England--oh! dear no! nothing so
common--the people in Melbourne had such dreadfully vulgar manners;
but then, of course, they are not English; there was no aristocracy;
even the dogs and horses were different; they had not the stamp of
centuries of birth and breeding on them. In fact, to hear Mrs
Meddlechip talk one would think that England was a perfect
aristocratic paradise, and Victoria a vulgar--other place. She
totally ignored the marvellously rapid growth of the country, and
that the men and women in it were actually the men and women who had
built it up year by year, so that even now it was taking its place
among the nations of the earth. But Mrs Meddlechip was far too
ladylike and fashionable for troubling about such things--oh dear,
no--she left all these dry facts to Ebenezer, who could speak about
them in his own pompous, blatant style at public meetings.
This lady was one of those modern inventions known as a frisky
matron, and said and did all manner of dreadful things, which people
winked at because--she was Mrs Meddlechip, and eccentric. She had a
young man always dangling after her at theatres and dances--
sometimes one, sometimes another, but there was one who was a
fixture. This was Barty Jarper, who acted as her poodle dog, and
fetched and carried for her in the most amiable manner. When any new
poodle dog came on the scene Barty would meekly resign his position,
and retire into the background until such time as he was whistled
back again to go through his antics. Barty attended her everywhere,
made up her programmes, wrote out her invitations, danced with
whosoever he was told, and was rewarded for all these services by
being given the crumbs from the rich man's table. Mr Jarper had a
meek little way with Mrs Meddlechip, as if he was constantly
apologising for having dared to have come into the world without her
permission, but to other people he was rude enough, and in his own
mean little soul looked upon himself quite as a man of fashion. How
he managed to go about as he did was a standing puzzle to his
friends, as he got only a small salary at the Hibernian Bank; yet he
was to be seen at balls, theatres, tennis parties; constantly
driving about in hansoms; in fact, lived as if he had an independent
income. The general opinion was that he was supplied with money by
Mrs Meddlechip, while others said he gambled; and, indeed, Barty was
rather clever at throwing sixes, and frequently at the Bachelors'
Club won a sufficient sum to give him a new suit of clothes or pay
his club subscription for the year. He was one of those bubbles
which dance on the surface of society, yet are sure to vanish some
day, and if God tempered the wind to any particular shorn lamb, that
shorn lamb was Barty Jarper.
The Meddlechips were giving a ball, therefore the mansion at Toorak
was brilliantly illuminated and crowded with fashionable people. The
ball-room was at the side of the house, and from it French windows
opened on to a wide verandah, which was enclosed with drapery and
hung with many-coloured Chinese lanterns. Beyond this the smooth
green lawns stretched away to a thick fringe of trees, which grew
beside the fence and screened the Meddlechip residence from the
curious gaze of vulgar eyes.
Kitty came under the guardianship of Mrs Riller, a young matron with
dark hair, an imperious manner, and a young man always at her heels.
Mrs Villiers intended to have come, but at the last moment was
seized with one of her nervous fits, so decided to stop at home with
Selina for company. Kitty, therefore, accompanied Mrs Riller to the
ball, but the guardianship of that lady was more nominal than
anything else, as she went off with Mr Bellthorp after introducing
Kitty to Mrs Meddlechip, and flirted and danced with him the whole
evening. Kitty, however, did not in the least mind being left to her
own devices, for being an extremely pretty girl she soon had plenty
of young men round her anxious to be introduced. She filled her
programme rapidly and kept two valses for Vandeloup, as she knew he
was going to be present, but he as yet had not made his appearance.
He arrived about a quarter past ten o'clock, and was strolling
leisurely up to the house, when he saw Pierre, standing amid a
number of idlers at the gate. The dumb man stepped forward, and
Vandeloup paused with a smile on his handsome lips, though he was
angry enough at the meeting.
'Money again, I suppose?' he said to Pierre, in a low voice, in
French; 'don't trouble me now, but come to my rooms to-morrow.'
The dumb man nodded, and Vandeloup walked leisurely up the path.
Then Pierre followed him right up to the steps which led to the
house, saw him enter the brilliantly-lighted hall, and then hid
himself in the shrubs which grew on the edge of the lawn. There, in
close hiding, he could hear the sound of music and voices, and could
see the door of the fernery wide open, and caught glimpses of dainty
dresses and bare shoulders within.
Vandeloup, quite ignorant that his friend was watching the house,
put on his gloves leisurely, and walked in search of his hostess.
Mrs Meddlechip glanced approvingly at Vandeloup as he came up, for
he was extremely good-looking, and good-looking men were Mrs
Meddlechip's pet weakness. Barty was in attendance on his liege
lady, and when he saw how she admired Vandeloup, he foresaw he would
be off duty for some time. It would be Vandeloup promoted vice
Jarper resigned, but Barty very well knew that Gaston was not a man
to conduct himself like a poodle dog, so came to the conclusion he
would be retained for use and M. Vandeloup for ornament. Meanwhile,
he left Mrs Meddlechip to cultivate the acquaintance of the young
Frenchman, and went off with a red-haired girl to the supper-room.
Red-haired girl, who was remarkably ugly and self-complacent, had
been a wallflower all the evening, but thought none the less of
herself on that account. She assured Barty she was not hungry, but
when she finished supper Mr Jarper was very glad, for the supper's
sake, she had no appetite.
'She's the hungriest girl I ever met in my life,' he said to
Bellthorp afterwards; 'ate up everything I gave her, and drank so
much lemonade, I thought she'd go up like a balloon.'
When Barty had satisfied the red-haired girl's appetite--no easy
matter--he left her to play wallflower and make spiteful remarks on
the girls who were dancing, and took out another damsel, who smiled
and smiled, and trod on his toes when he danced, till he wished her
in Jericho. He asked if she was hungry, but, unlike the other girl,
she was not; he said she must be tired, but oh, dear no, she was
quite fresh; so she danced the whole waltz through and bumped Barty
against everyone in the room; then said his step did not suit hers,
which exasperated him so much--for Barty flattered himself on his
waltzing--that he left her just as she was getting up a flirtation,
and went to have a glass of champagne to soothe his feelings.
Released from Mrs Meddlechip, Gaston went in search of Kitty, and
found her flirting with Felix Rolleston, who was amusing her with
his gay chatter.
'This is a deuced good-looking chappie,' said Mr Rolleston, fixing
his eyeglass in his eye and looking critically at Gaston as he
approached them; 'M. Vandeloup, isn't it?'
Kitty said it was.
'Oh! yes,' went on Felix, brightly, 'saw him about town--don't know
him personally; awfully like a fellow I once knew called Fitzgerald-
-Brian Fitzgerald--married now and got a family; funny thing,
married Miss Frettlby, who used to live in your house.'
'Oh! that hansom cab murder,' said Kitty, looking at him, 'I've
heard all about that.'
'Egad! I should think you had,' observed Mr Rolleston, with a grin,
'it was a nine days' wonder; but here's your friend, introduce me,
pray,' as Vandeloup came up.
Kitty did so, and Felix improved the occasion.
'Knew you by sight,' he said, shaking hands with Gaston, 'but it's a
case of we never speak as we pass by, and all that sort of thing--
come and look me up,' hospitably, 'South Yarra.'
'Delighted,' said Gaston, smoothly, taking Kitty's programme and
putting his name down for the two vacant waltzes.
'Reciprocal, I assure you,' said the lively Felix. 'Oh, by Jove!
excuse me, Miss Marchurst--there's a polka--got to dance with a
girl--you'll see me in a minute--she's a maypole--I'm not, ha! ha!
You'll say it's the long and the short of it--ta-ta at present.'
He hopped off gaily, and they soon saw him steering the maypole
round the room, or rather, the maypole steered Felix, for her idea
of the dance was to let Felix skip gaily round her; then she lifted
him up and put him down a few feet further on, when he again
skipped, and so the performance went on, to the intense amusement of
Kitty and Gaston.
'My faith!' said Vandeloup, satirically, dropping into a seat beside
Kitty, 'she is a maypole, and he's a merry peasant dancing round it.
By the way, Bebe, why isn't Madame here to-night?'
'She's not well,' replied Kitty, unfurling her fan; 'I don't know
what's come over her, she's so nervous.'
'Oh! indeed,' said Vandeloup, politely; 'Hum!--still afraid of her
husband turning up,' he said to himself, as Kitty was carried away
for a valse by Mr Bellthorp; 'how slow all this is?' he went on,
yawning, and rising from his seat; 'I shan't stay long, or that old
woman will be seizing me again. Poor Kestrike, surely his sin has
been punished enough in having such a wife,' and M. Vandeloup
strolled away to speak to Mrs Riller, who, being bereft of
Bellthorp, was making signals to him with her fan.
Barty Jarper had been hard at work all night on the poodle-dog
system, and had danced with girls who could not dance, and talked
with girls that could not talk, so, as a reward for his work, he
promised himself a dance with Kitty. At the beginning of the evening
he had secured a dance from her, and now, all his duties for the
evening being over, he went to get it. Bellthorp had long since
returned to Mrs Riller and flirtation, and Kitty had been dancing
with a tall young man, with unsteady legs and an eye-glass that
would not stick in his eye. She did not particularly care about Mr
Jarper, with his effeminate little ways, but was quite glad when he
came to carry her off from the unsteady legs and the eye-glass. The
dance was the Lancers; but Kitty declared she would not dance it as
she felt weary, so made Mr Jarper take her to supper. Barty was
delighted, as he was hungry himself, so they secured a pleasant
little nook, and Barty foraged for provisions.
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