Books: Madame Midas
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Fergus Hume >> Madame Midas
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'You know all about this house,' said Kitty, when she saw how
successful the young man was in getting nice things.
'Oh, yes,' murmured Barty, quite delighted, 'I know most of the
houses in Melbourne--I know yours.'
'Mrs Villiers'?' asked Kitty.
Barty nodded.
'Used to go down there a lot when Mr Frettlby lived there,' he said,
sipping his wine. 'I know every room in it.'
'You'd be invaluable as a burglar,' said Kitty, a little
contemptuously, as she looked at his slim figure.
'I dare say,' replied Barty, who took the compliment in good faith.
'Some night I'll climb up to your room and give you a fright.'
'Shows how much you know,' retorted Miss Marchurst. 'My room is next
to Madame's on the ground floor.'
'I know,' said Barty, sagely, nodding his head. 'It used to be a
boudoir--nice little room. By the way, where is Mrs Villiers to-
night?'
'She's not well,' replied Kitty, yawning behind her fan, for she was
weary of Barty and his small talk. 'She's very worried.'
'Over money matters, I suppose?'
Kitty laughed and shook her head.
'Hardly,' she answered.
'I dare say,' replied Barty, 'she's awfully rich. You know, I'm in
the bank where her account is, and I know all about her. Rich! oh,
she is rich! Lucky thing for that French fellow if he marries her.'
'Marries her?' echoed Kitty, her face growing pale. 'M. Vandeloup?'
'Yes,' replied Barty, pleased at having made a sensation. 'Her first
husband has vanished, you know, and all the fellows are laying bets
about Van marrying the grass widow.'
'What nonsense!' said Kitty, in an agitated voice. 'M. Vandeloup is
her friend--nothing more.'
Barty grinned.
'I've seen so much of that "friendship, and nothing more",
business,' he said, significantly, whereupon Kitty rose to her feet.
'I'm tired,' she said, coldly. 'Kindly take me to Mrs Riller.'
'I've put my foot into it,' thought Jarper, as he led her away. 'I
believe she's spoons on Van herself.'
Mrs Riller was not very pleased to see Kitty, as Mr Bellthorp was
telling her some amusing scandals about her dearest friends, and, of
course, had to stop when Kitty came up.
'Not dancing, dear?' she asked, with a sympathetic smile, glancing
angrily at Bellthorp, who seemed more struck with Kitty than he had
any right to be, considering he was her property.
'No,' replied Kitty, 'I'm a little tired.'
'Miss Marchurst,' observed Bellthorp, leaning towards her, 'I'm sure
I've seen you before.'
Kitty felt a chill running through her veins as she remembered where
their last meeting had been. The extremity of the danger gave her
courage.
'I dare say,' she replied, coldly turning her back on the young man,
'I'm not invisible.'
Mrs Killer looked with all her eyes, for she wanted to know all
about this pretty girl who dropped so unexpectedly into Melbourne
society, so she determined to question Bellthorp when she got him
alone. To this end she finessed.
'Oh! there's that lovely valse,' she said, as the band struck up
'One summer's night in Munich'. 'If you are not engaged, Mr
Bellthorp, we must have a turn.'
'Delighted,' replied Bellthorp, languidly offering his arm, but
thinking meanwhile, 'confound these women, how they do work a man.'
'You, I suppose,' said Mrs Riller to Kitty, 'are going to play
wallflower.'
'Hardly,' observed a cool voice behind them; 'Miss Marchurst dances
this with me--you see, Mrs Riller,' as that lady turned and saw
Vandeloup, 'she has not your capability at playing wallflower,' with
a significant glance at Bellthorp.
Mrs Riller understood the look, which seemed to pierce into the very
depths of her frivolous little soul, and flushed angrily as she
moved away with Mr Bellthorp and mentally determined to be even with
Vandeloup on the first occasion.
Gaston, quite conscious of the storm he had raised, smiled serenely,
and then offered his arm to Kitty, which she refused, as she was
determined to find out from his own lips the truth of Jarper's
statement regarding Madame Midas.
'I don't want to dance,' she said curtly, pointing to the seat
beside her as an invitation for him to sit down.
'Pardon me,' observed Vandeloup, blandly, 'I do; we can talk
afterwards if you like.'
Their eyes met, and then Kitty arose and took his arm, with a
charming pout. It was no good fighting against the quiet, masterful
manner of this man, so she allowed him to put his arm round her
waist and swing her slowly into the centre of the room. 'One
summer's night in Munich' was a favourite valse, and everyone who
could dance, and a good many who could not, were up on the floor.
Every now and then, through the steady beat of the music, came the
light laugh of a woman or the deeper tones of a man's voice; and the
glare of the lights, the flashing jewels on the bare necks and arms
of women, the soft frou-frou of their dresses, as their partners
swung them steadily round, and the subtle perfume of flowers gave an
indescribable sensuous flavour to the whole scene. And the valse--
who does not know it? with its sad refrain, which comes in every now
and then throughout, even in the most brilliant passages. The whole
story of a man's faith and a woman's treachery is contained therein.
'One summer's night in Munich,' sighed the heavy bass instruments,
sadly and reproachfully, 'I thought your heart was true!' Listen to
the melancholy notes of the prelude which recall the whole scene--do
you not remember? The stars are shining, the night wind is blowing,
and we are on the terrace looking down on the glittering lights of
the city. Hark! that joyous sparkling strain, full of riant
laughter, recalls the sad students who wandered past, and then from
amid the airy ripple of notes comes the sweet, mellow strain of the
'cello, which tells of love eternal amid the summer roses; how the
tender melody sweeps on full of the perfume and mystic meanings of
that night. Hark! is that the nightingale in the trees, or only the
silvery notes of a violin, which comes stealing through the steady
throb and swing of the heavier stringed instruments? Ah! why does
the rhythm stop? A few chords breaking up the dream, the sound of a
bugle calling you away, and the valse goes into the farewell motif
with its tender longing and passionate anguish. Good-bye! you will
be true? Your heart is mine, good-bye, sweetheart! Stop! that
discord of angry notes--she is false to her soldier lover! The stars
are pale, the nightingale is silent, the rose leaves fall, and the
sad refrain comes stealing through the room again with its bitter
reproach, 'One summer's night in Munich I knew your heart was
false.'
Kitty danced for a little time, but was too much agitated to enjoy
the valse, in spite of the admirable partner M. Vandeloup made. She
was determined to find out the truth, so stopped abruptly, and
insisted on Vandeloup taking her to the conservatory.
'What for?' he asked, as they threaded their way through the crowded
room. 'Is it important?'
'Very,' she replied, looking straight at him; 'it is essential to
our comedy.'
M. Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders.
'My faith!' he murmured, as they entered the fernery; 'this comedy
is becoming monotonous.'
CHAPTER X
IN THE FERNERY
The fernery was a huge glass building on one side of the ballroom,
filled with Australian and New Zealand ferns, and having a large
fountain in the centre sending up a sparkling jet of water, which
fell into the shallow stone basin filled with water lilies and their
pure white flowers. At the end was a mimic representation of a
mountain torrent, with real water tumbling down real rocks, and here
and there in the crannies and crevices grew delicate little ferns,
while overhead towered the great fronds of the tree ferns. The roof
was a dense mass of greenery, and wire baskets filled with sinuous
creepers hung down, with their contents straggling over. Electric
lights in green globes were skilfully hidden all round, and a faint
aquamarine twilight permeated the whole place, and made it look like
a mermaid's grotto in the depths of the sea. Here and there were
delightful nooks, with well-cushioned seats, many of which were
occupied by pretty girls and their attendant cavaliers. On one side
of the fernery a wide door opened on to a low terrace, from whence
steps went down to the lawn, and beyond was the dark fringe of trees
wherein Pierre was concealed.
Kitty and Vandeloup found a very comfortable nook just opposite the
door, and they could see the white gleam of the terrace in the
luminous starlight. Every now and then a couple would pass, black
silhouettes against the clear sky, and around they could hear the
murmur of voices and the musical tinkling of the fountain, while the
melancholy music of the valse, with its haunting refrain, sounded
through the pale green twilight. Barty Jarper was talking near them,
in his mild little way, to a tall young lady in a bilious-looking
green dress, and further off Mr Bellthorp was laughing with Mrs
Riller behind the friendly shelter of her fan.
'Well,' said Vandeloup, amiably, as he sank into a seat beside
Kitty, 'what is this great matter you wish to speak about?'
'Madame Midas,' retorted Kitty, looking straight at him.
'Such a delightful subject,' murmured Gaston, closing his eyes, as
he guessed what was coming; 'go on, I'm all attention.'
'You are going to marry her,' said Miss Marchurst, bending towards
him and closing her fan with a snap.
Vandeloup smiled faintly.
'You don't say so?' he murmured, opening his eyes and looking at her
lazily; 'who told you this news--for news it is to me, I assure
you?'
'Then it's not true?' added Kitty, eagerly, with a kind of gasp.
'I'm sure I don't know,' he replied, indolently fingering his
moustache; 'I haven't asked her yet.'
'You are not going to do so?' she said, rapidly, with a flush on her
face.
'Why not?' in surprise; 'do you object?'
'Object? my God!' she ejaculated, in a low fierce tone; 'have you
forgotten what we are to one another?'
'Friends, I understand,' he said, looking at his hands, admiringly.
'And something more,' she added, bitterly; 'lovers!'
'Don't talk so loud, my dear,' replied Vandeloup, coolly; 'it
doesn't do to let everyone know your private business.'
'It's private now,' she said, in a voice of passion, 'but it will
soon be public enough.'
'Indeed! which paper do you advertise in?'
'Listen to me, Gaston,' she said, taking no notice of his sneer;
'you will never marry Madame Midas; sooner than that, I will reveal
all and kill myself.'
'You forget,' he said, gently; 'it is comedy, not tragedy, we play.'
'That is as I choose,' she retorted; 'see!' and with a sudden
gesture she put her hand into the bosom of her dress and took out
the bottle of poison with the red bands. 'I have it still.'
'So I perceive,' he answered, smiling. 'Do you always carry it about
with you, like a modern Lucrezia Borgia?'
'Yes,' she answered quietly; 'it never leaves me, you see,' with a
sneer. 'As you said yourself, it's always well to be prepared for
emergencies.'
'So it appears,' observed Vandeloup, with a yawn, sitting up. 'I
wouldn't use that poison if I were you; it is risky.'
'Oh, no, it's not,' answered Kitty; 'it is fatal in its results, and
leaves no trace behind.'
'There you are wrong,' replied Gaston, coolly; 'it does leave traces
behind, but makes it appear as if apoplexy was the cause of death.
Give me the bottle?' peremptorily.
'No!' she answered, defiantly, clenching it in her hand.
'I say yes,' he said, in an angry whisper; 'that poison is my
secret, and I'm not going to have you play fast and loose with it;
give it up,' and he placed his hand on her wrist.
'You hurt my wrist,' she said.
'I'll break your wrist, my darling,' he said, quietly, 'if you don't
give me that bottle.'
Kitty wrenched her hand away, and rose to her feet.
'Sooner than that, I'll throw it away,' she said, and before he
could stop her, she flung the bottle out on to the lawn, where it
fell down near the trees.
'Bah! I will find it,' he said, springing to his feet, but Kitty was
too quick for him.
'M. Vandeloup,' she said aloud, so that everyone could hear; 'kindly
take me back to the ball-room, will you, to finish our valse.'
Vandeloup would have refused, but she had his arm, and as everyone
was looking at him, he could not refuse without being guilty of
marked discourtesy. Kitty had beaten him with his own weapons, so,
with a half-admiring glance at her, he took her back to the ball-
room, where the waltz was just ending.
'At all events,' he said in her ear, as they went smoothly gliding
round the room, 'you won't be able to do any mischief with it now to
yourself or to anyone else.'
'Won't I?' she retorted quickly; 'I have some more at home.'
'The deuce!' he ejaculated.
'Yes,' she replied, triumphantly; 'the bottle I got that belonged to
you, I put half its contents into another. So you see I can still do
mischief, and,' in a fierce whisper, 'I will, if you don't give up
this idea of marrying Madame Midas.'
'I thought you knew me better than that,' he said, in a tone of
concentrated passion. 'I will not.'
Then I'll poison her,' she retorted.
'What, the woman who has been so kind to you?'
'Yes, I'd rather see her dead than married to a devil like you.'
'How amiable you are, Bebe,' he said, with a laugh, as the music
stopped.
'I am what you have made me,' she replied, bitterly, and they walked
into the drawing-room.
After this Vandeloup clearly saw that it was a case of diamond cut
diamond, for Kitty was becoming as clever with her tongue as he was.
After all, though she was his pupil, and was getting as hardened and
cynical as possible, he did not think it fair she should use his own
weapons against himself. He did not believe she would try and poison
Madame Midas, even though she was certain of not being detected, for
he thought she was too tender-hearted. But, alas! he had taught her
excellently well, and Kitty was rapidly arriving at the conclusion
he had long since come to, that number one was the greatest number.
Besides, her love for Vandeloup, though not so ardent as it had
been, was too intense for her to let any other woman get a hold of
him. Altogether, M. Vandeloup was in an extremely unpleasant
position, and one of his own making.
Having given Kitty over to the tender care of Mrs Rolleston,
Vandeloup hurried outside to look for the missing bottle. He had
guessed the position it fell in, and, striking a match, went to look
over the smooth close-shorn turf. But though he was a long time, and
looked carefully, the bottle was gone.
'The devil!' said Vandeloup, startled by this discovery. 'Who could
have picked it up?'
He went back into the conservatory, and, sitting down in his old
place, commenced to review the position.
It was most annoying about the poison, there was no doubt of that.
He only hoped that whoever picked it up would know nothing about its
dangerous qualities. After all, he could be certain about that, as
no one but himself knew what the poison was and how it could be
used. The person who picked up the bottle would probably throw it
away again as useless; and then, again, perhaps when Kitty threw the
bottle away the stopper came out, and the contents would be lost.
And then Kitty still had more left, but--bah!--she would not use it
on Madame Midas. That was the vague threat of a jealous woman to
frighten him. The real danger he was in lay in the fact that she
might tell Madame Midas the relations between them, and then there
would be no chance of his marrying at all. If he could only stop
Kitty's mouth in some way--persuasion was thrown away on her. If he
could with safety get rid of her he would. Ah! that was an idea. He
had some of this poison--if he could only manage to give it to her,
and thus remove her from his path. There would be no risk of
discovery, as the poison left no traces behind, and if it came to
the worst, it would appear she had committed suicide, for poison
similar to what she had used would be found in her possession. It
was a pity to kill her, so young and pretty, and yet his safety
demanded it; for if she told Madame Midas all, it might lead to
further inquiries, and M. Vandeloup well knew his past life would
not bear looking into. Another thing, she had threatened him about
some secret she held--he did not know what it was, and yet almost
guessed; if that was the secret she must be got rid of, for it would
imperil not only his liberty, but his life. Well, if he had to get
rid of her, the sooner he did so the better, for even on the next
day she might tell all--he would have to give her the poison that
night--but how? that was the difficulty. He could not do it at this
ball, as it would be too apparent if she died--no--it would have to
be administered secretly when she went home. But then she would go
to Madame Midas' room to see how she was, and then would retire to
her own room. He knew where that was--just off Mrs Villiers' room;
there were French windows in both rooms--two in Mrs Villiers', and
one in Kitty's. That was the plan--they would be left open as the
night was hot. Suppose he went down to St Kilda, and got into the
garden, he knew every inch of the way; then he could slip into the
open window, and if it was not open, he could use a diamond ring to
cut the glass. He had a diamond ring he never wore, so if Kitty was
discovered to be poisoned, and the glass cut, they would never
suspect him, as he did not wear rings at all, and the evidence of
the cut window would show a diamond must have been used. Well,
suppose he got inside, Kitty would be asleep, and he could put the
poison into the water carafe, or he could put it in a glass of water
and leave it standing; the risk would be, would she drink it or not-
-he would have to run that risk; if he failed this time, he would
not the next. But, then, suppose she awoke and screamed--pshaw! when
she saw it was he Kitty would not dare to make a scene, and he could
easily make some excuse for his presence there. It was a wild
scheme, but then he was in such a dangerous position that he had to
try everything.
When M. Vandeloup had come to this conclusion he arose, and, going
to the supper room, drank a glass of brandy; for even he, cool as he
was, felt a little nervous over the crime he was about to commit. He
thought he would give Kitty one last chance, so when she was already
cloaked, waiting with Mrs Killer for the carriage, he drew her
aside.
'You did not mean what you said tonight,' he whispered, looking
searchingly at her.
'Yes, I did,' she replied, defiantly; 'if you push me to
extremities, you must take the consequences.'
'It will be the worse for you,' he said, threateningly, as the
carriage drove up.
'I'm not afraid of you,' she retorted, shrugging her shoulders, a
trick she had learned from him; 'you have ruined my life, but I'm
not going to let you ruin Madame's. I'd sooner see her dead than in
your arms.'
'Remember, I have warned you,' he said, gravely, handing her to the
carriage. 'Good night!'
'Good night!' she answered, mockingly; 'and to-morrow,' in a low
voice, 'you will be astonished.'
'And to-morrow,' he said to himself, as the carriage drove off, 'you
will be dead.'
CHAPTER XI
THE VISION OF MISS KITTY MARCHURST
Everyone knows the story of Damocles, and how uncomfortable he felt
with the sword suspended by a hair over his head. No one could enjoy
their dinner under such circumstances, and it is much to be thankful
for that hosts of the present day do not indulge in these practical
jokes. But though history does not repeat itself exactly regarding
the suspended sword, yet there are cases when a sense of impending
misfortune has the same effect on the spirits. This was the case of
Madame Midas. She was not by any means of a nervous temperature, yet
ever since the disappearance of her husband she was a prey to a
secret dread, which, reacting on her nerves, rendered her miserable.
Had Mr Villiers only appeared, she would have known how to deal with
him, and done so promptly, but it was his absence that made her
afraid. Was he dead? If so, why was his body not found; if he was
not dead, why did he not reappear on the scene. Allowing, for the
sake of argument, that he had stolen the nugget and left the colony
in order to enjoy the fruits of his villainy--well, the nugget
weighed about three hundred ounces--and that if he disposed of it,
as he must have done, it would give him a sum of money a little over
one thousand pounds. True, his possession of such a large mass of
gold would awake suspicions in the mind of anyone he went to; but
then, there were people who were always ready to do shady things,
provided they were well paid. So whomsoever he went to would levy
blackmail on him on threat of informing the police and having him
arrested. Therefore, the most feasible thing would be that he had
got about half of the value of the nugget, which would be about six
hundred pounds. Say that he did so, a whole year had elapsed, and
Madame Midas knew her husband well enough to know that six hundred
pounds would soon slip through his fingers, so at the present time
he must once more be penniless. If he was, why did he not come back
to her and demand more money now she was rich? Even had he gone to a
distant place, he would always have kept enough money to pay his way
back to Victoria, so that he could wring money out of her. It was
this unpleasant feeling of being watched that haunted her and made
her uneasy. The constant strain began to tell on her; she became ill
and haggard-looking, and her eyes were always glancing around in the
anxious manner common to hunted animals. She felt as though she were
advancing on a masked battery, and at any moment a shot might strike
her from the most unexpected quarter. She tried to laugh off the
feeling and blamed herself severely for the morbid state of mind
into which she was falling; but it was no use, for by day and night
the sense of impending misfortune hung over her like the sword of
Damocles, ready to fall at any moment. If her husband would only
appear, she would settle an income on him, on condition he ceased to
trouble her, but at present she was fighting in the dark with an
unknown enemy. She became afraid of being left alone, and even when
seated quietly with Selina, would suddenly start and look
apprehensively towards the door, as if she heard his footstep.
Imagination, when uncontrolled, can keep the mind on a mental rack,
to which that of the Inquisition was a bed of roses.
Selina was grieved at this state of things, and tried to argue and
comfort her mistress with the most amiable proverbs, but she was
quite unable to administer to a mind diseased, and Mrs Villiers'
life became a perfect hell upon earth.
'Are my troubles never going to end?' she said to Selina on the
night of the Meddlechip ball, as she paced restlessly up and down
her room; 'this man has embittered the whole of my life, and now he
is stabbing me in the dark.'
'Let the dead past bury its dead,' quoted Selina, who was arranging
the room for the night.
'Pshaw!' retorted Madame, impatiently, walking to the French window
at the end of the room and opening it; 'how do you know he is dead?
Come here, Selina,' she went on, beckoning to the old woman, and
pointing outside to the garden bathed in moonlight; 'I have always a
dread lest he may be watching the house. Even now he may be
concealed yonder'--pointing down the garden.
Selina looked out, but could see nothing. There was a smooth lawn,
burnt and yellow with the heat, which stretched for about fifty
feet, and ended in a low quickset hedge at the foot of a red brick
wall which ran down that side of the property. The top of this wall
was set with broken bottles, and beyond was the street, where they
could hear people passing along. The moonlight rendered all this as
light as day, and, as Selina pointed out to her mistress, there was
no place where a man could conceal himself. But this did not satisfy
Madame; she left the window half open, so that the cool night wind
could blow in, and drew together the red velvet curtains which hung
there.
'You've left the window open,' remarked Selina, looking at her
mistress, 'and if you are nervous it will not make you feel safe.'
Madame Midas glanced at the window.
'It's so hot,' she said, plaintively, 'I will get no sleep. Can't
you manage to fix it up, so that I can leave it open?'
'I'll try,' answered Selina, and she undressed her mistress and put
her to bed, then proceeded to fix up a kind of burglar trap. The bed
was a four-poster, with heavy crimson curtains, and the top was
pushed against the wall, near the window. The curtains of the window
and those of the bed prevented any draught blowing in; and directly
in front of the window, Selina set a small wood table, so that
anyone who tried to enter would throw it over, and thus put the
sleeper on the alert. On this she put a night-light, a book, in case
Madame should wake up and want to read--a thing she very often did--
and a glass of homemade lemonade, for a night drink. Then she locked
the other window and drew the curtains, and, after going into
Kitty's room, which opened off the larger one, and fixing up the one
window there in the same way, she prepared to retire, but Madame
stopped her.
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