Books: Madame Midas
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Fergus Hume >> Madame Midas
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'You lied when you spoke just now,' she said in a quiet voice. 'I
will not lower myself to reply to your accusation; but, as there is
a God above us, if you dare to cross my path again, I will kill
you.'
She looked so terrible when she said this that Villiers
involuntarily drew back, but recovering himself in a moment, he
sprang forward and caught her arm.
'You devil! I'll make you pay for this,' and he twisted her arm till
she thought it was broken. 'You'll kill me, will you?--you!--you!'
he shrieked, still twisting her arm and causing her intense pain,
'you viper!'
Suddenly, when Madame was almost fainting with pain, she heard a
shout, and knew that Vandeloup had come to the rescue. He had
recognised Madame Midas down the road, and saw that her companion
was threatening her; so he made all possible speed, and arrived just
in time.
Madame turned round to see Vandeloup throw her husband into a ditch
by the side of the road, and walk towards her. He was not at all
excited, but seemed as cool and calm as if he had just been shaking
hands with Mr Villiers instead of treating him violently.
'You had better go home, Madame,' he said, in his usual cool voice,
'and leave me to deal with this--gentleman; you are not hurt?'
'Only my arm,' replied Mrs Villiers, in a faint voice; 'he nearly
broke it. But I can walk home alone.'
'If you can, do so,' said Vandeloup, with a doubtful look at her. 'I
will send him away.'
'Don't let him hurt you.'
'I don't think there's much danger,' replied the young man, with a
glance at his arms, 'I'm stronger than I look.'
'Thank you, Monsieur,' said Madame Midas, giving him her hand; 'you
have rendered me a great service, and one I will not forget.'
He bent down and kissed her hand, which action was seen by Mr
Villiers as he crawled out of the ditch. When Madame Midas was gone
and Vandeloup could see her walking homeward, he turned to look for
Mr Villiers, and found him seated on the edge of the ditch, all
covered with mud and streaming with water--presenting a most
pitiable appearance. He regarded M. Vandeloup in a most malignant
manner, which, however, had no effect on that young gentleman, who
produced a cigarette, and having lighted it proceeded to talk.
'I'm sorry I can't offer you one,' said Gaston, affably, 'but I
hardly think you would enjoy it in your present damp condition. If I
might be permitted to suggest anything,' with a polite smile, 'a
bath and a change of clothes would be most suitable to you, and you
will find both at Ballarat. I also think,' said Vandeloup, with an
air of one who thinks deeply, 'that if you hurry you will catch the
next train, which will save you a rather long walk.'
Mr Villiers glared at his tormentor in speechless anger, and tried
to look dignified, but, covered as he was with mud, his effort was
not successful.
'Do you know who I am?' he said at length, in a blustering manner.
'Under some circumstances,' said M. Vandeloup, in a smooth voice, 'I
should have taken you for a mud bank, but as you both speak and
smile I presume you are a man of the lowest type; as you English
yourselves say--a blackguard.'
'I'll smash you!' growled Villiers, stepping forward.
'I wouldn't try if I were you,' retorted Vandeloup, with a
disparaging glance. 'I am young and strong, almost a total
abstainer; you, on the contrary, are old and flabby, with the
shaking nerves of an incurable drunkard. No, it would be hardly fair
for me to touch you.'
'You dare not lay a finger on me,' said Villiers, defiantly.
'Quite right,' replied Vandeloup, lighting another cigarette,
'you're rather too dirty for close companionship. I really think
you'd better go; Monsieur Sleeves no doubt expects you.'
'And this is the man that I obtained work for,' said Mr Villiers,
addressing the air.
'It's a very ungrateful world,' said Vandeloup, calmly, with a shrug
of his shoulders; 'I never expect anything from it; I'm sorry if you
do, for you are sure to be disappointed.'
Villiers, finding he could make nothing out of the imperturbable
coolness of the young Frenchman, turned to go, but as he went, said
spitefully--
'You can tell my wife I'll pay her for this.'
'Accounts are paid on Saturdays,' called out M. Vandeloup, gaily;
'if you call I will give you a receipt of the same kind as you had
to-day.'
Villiers made no response, as he was already out of hearing, and
went on his way to the station with mud on his clothes and rage in
his heart.
Vandeloup looked after him for a few minutes with a queer smile on
his lips, then turned on his heel and walked home, humming a song.
CHAPTER VIII
MADAME MIDAS STRIKES 'ILE'
Aesop knew human nature very well when he wrote his fable of the old
man and his ass, who tried to please everybody and ended up by
pleasing nobody. Bearing this in mind, Madame Midas determined to
please herself, and take no one's advice but her own with regard to
Vandeloup. She knew if she dismissed him from the mine it would give
colour to her husband's vile insinuations, so she thought the wisest
plan would be to take no notice of her meeting with him, and let
things remain as they were. It turned out to be the best thing she
could have done, for though Villiers went about Ballarat accusing
her of being the young Frenchman's mistress, everyone was too well
aware of existing circumstances to believe what he said. They knew
that he had squandered his wife's fortune, and that she had left him
in disgust at his profligacy, so they declined to believe his
accusations against a woman who had proved herself true steel in
withstanding bad fortune. So Mr Villiers' endeavours to ruin his
wife only recoiled on his own head, for the Ballarat folk argued,
and rightly, that whatever she did it was not his place to cast the
first stone at her, seeing that the unsatisfactory position she was
now in was mainly his own work. Villiers, therefore, gained nothing
by his attempt to blacken his wife's character except the contempt
of everyone, and even the few friends he had gained turned their
backs on him until no one would associate with him but Slivers, who
did so in order to gain his own ends. The company had quarrelled
over the unsuccessful result of Villiers' visit to the Pactolus, and
Slivers, as senior partner, assisted by Billy, called Villiers all
the names he could lay his tongue to, which abuse Villiers accepted
in silence, not even having the spirit to resent it. But though he
was outwardly sulky and quiet, yet within he cherished a deep hatred
against his wife for the contempt with which he was treated, and
inwardly vowed to pay her out on the first feasible opportunity.
It was now nearly six months since Vandeloup had become clerk at the
Pactolus, and he was getting tired of it, only watching his
opportunity to make a little money and go to Melbourne, where he had
not much doubt as to his success. With a certain sum of money to
work on, M. Vandeloup thought that with his talents and experience
of human nature he would soon be able to make a fortune,
particularly as he was quite unfettered by any scruples, and as long
as he made money he did not care how he gained it. With such an
adaptable nature he could hardly help doing well, but in order to
give him the start he required a little capital, so stayed on at the
Pactolus and saved every penny he earned in the hope of soon
accumulating enough to leave. Another thing that kept him there was
his love for Kitty--not a very pure or elevating love certainly,
still it was love for all that, and Vandeloup could not tear himself
away from the place where she resided.
He had called on Kitty's father, the Rev. Mark Marchurst, who lived
at the top of Black Hill, near Ballarat, and did not like him. Mr
Marchurst, a grave, quiet man, who was the pastor of a particular
sect, calling themselves very modestly 'The Elect', was hardly the
kind of individual to attract a brilliant young fellow like
Vandeloup, and the wonder was that he ever had such a charming
daughter.
Kitty had fallen deeply in love with Vandeloup, so as he told her he
loved her in return, she thought that some day they would get
married. But nothing was farther from M. Vandeloup's thoughts than
marriage, even with Kitty, for he knew how foolish it would be for
him to marry before making a position.
'I don't want a wife to drag me back,' he said to himself one day
when Kitty had hinted at matrimony; 'when I am wealthy it will be
time enough to think of marriage, but it will be long before I am
rich, and can I wait for Bebe all that time? Alas! I do not think
so.'
The fact was, the young man was very liberal in his ideas, and
infinitely preferred a mistress to a wife. He had not any evil
designs towards Kitty, but her bright manner and charming face
pleased him, and he simply enjoyed the hours as they passed. She
idolised him, and Gaston, who was accustomed to be petted and
caressed by women, accepted all her affection as his due. Curiously
enough, Madame Midas, lynx-eyed as she was, never suspected the true
state of affairs. Vandeloup had told Kitty that no one was to know
of their love for one another, and though Kitty was dying to tell
Madame about it, yet she kept silent at his request, and acted so
indifferently towards him when under Mrs Villiers' eye, that any
doubts that lady had about the fascinations of her clerk soon
vanished.
As to M. Vandeloup, the situation was an old one for him accustomed
as he had been to carry on with guilty wives under the very noses of
unsuspecting husbands, and on this occasion he acted admirably. He
was very friendly with Kitty in public--evidently looking upon her
as a mere child, although he made no difference in his manner. And
this innocent intrigue gave a piquant flavour to his otherwise dull
life.
Meanwhile, the Devil's Lead was still undiscovered, many people
declaring it was a myth, and that such a lead had never existed.
Three people, however, had a firm belief in its existence, and were
certain it would be found some day--this trio being McIntosh, Madame
Midas, and Slivers.
The Pactolus claim was a sort of Naboth's vineyard to Slivers, who,
in company with Billy, used to sit in his dingy little office and
grind his teeth as he thought of all the wealth lying beneath those
green fields. He had once even gone so far as to offer to buy a
share in the claim from Madame Midas, but had been promptly refused
by that lady--a circumstance which by no means added to his love for
her.
Still the Devil's Lead was not found, and people were beginning to
disbelieve in its existence, when suddenly indications appeared
which showed that it was near at hand. Nuggets, some large, some
small, began to be constantly discovered, and every day news was
brought into Ballarat about the turning-up of a thirty-ounce or a
twenty-ounce nugget in the Pactolus, when, to crown all, the news
came and ran like wildfire through the city that a three hundred
ounce nugget had been unearthed.
There was great excitement over this, as such a large one had not
been found for some time, and when Slivers heard of its discovery he
cursed and swore most horribly; for with his long experience of gold
mining, he knew that the long-looked for Devil's Lead was near at
hand. Billy, becoming excited with his master, began to swear also;
and these two companions cursed Madame Midas and all that belonged
to her most heartily. If Slivers could only have seen the interior
of Madame Midas's dining room, by some trick of necromancy, he would
certainly not have been able to do the subject justice in the
swearing line.
There were present Madame Midas, Selina, McIntosh, and Vandeloup,
and they were all gathered round the table looking at the famous
nugget. There it lay in the centre of the table, a virgin mass of
gold, all water-worn and polished, hollowed out like a honeycomb,
and dotted over with white pebbles like currants in a plum pudding.
'I think I'll send it to Melbourne for exhibition,' said Mrs
Villiers, touching the nugget very lightly with her fingers.
''Deed, mum, and 'tis worth it,' replied McIntosh, whose severe face
was relaxed in a grimly pleasant manner; 'but losh! 'tis naething
tae what 'ull come oot o' the Deil's Lead.'
'Oh, come, now,' said Vandeloup, with a disbelieving smile, 'the
Devil's Lead won't consist of nuggets like that.'
'Maybe no,' returned the old Scotchman, dryly; 'but every mickle
makes a muckle, and ye ken the Lead wull hae mony sma' nuggets,
which is mair paying, to my mind, than yin large ain.'
'What's the time?' asked Madame, rather irrelevantly, turning to
Archie.
Mr McIntosh drew out the large silver watch, which was part and
parcel of himself, and answered gravely that it was two o'clock.
'Then I'll tell you what,' said Mrs Villiers, rising; 'I'll take it
in with me to Ballarat and show it to Mr Marchurst.'
McIntosh drew down the corners of his mouth, for, as a rigid
Presbyterian, he by no means approved of Marchurst's heretical
opinions, but of course said nothing as Madame wished it.
'Can I come with you, Madame?' said Vandeloup, eagerly, for he never
lost an opportunity of seeing Kitty if he could help it.
'Certainly,' replied Madame, graciously; 'we will start at once.'
Vandeloup was going away to get ready, when McIntosh stopped him.
'That friend o' yours is gangin' awa' t' the toun the day,' he said,
touching Vandeloup lightly on the shoulder.
'What for?' asked the Frenchman, carelessly.
''Tis to see the play actors, I'm thinkin',' returned Archie, dryly.
'He wants tae stap all nicht i' the toun, so I've let him gae, an'
have tauld him to pit up at the Wattle Tree Hotel, the landlord o'
which is a freend o' mine.'
'Very kind of you, I'm sure,' said Vandeloup, with a pleasant smile;
'but may I ask what play actors you refer to?'
'I dinna ken anythin' about sic folk,' retorted Mr McIntosh,
piously, 'the deil's ain bairns, wha wull gang into the pit of
Tophet.'
'Aren't you rather hard on them, Archie?' said Madame Midas, smiling
quietly. 'I'm very fond of the theatre myself.'
'It's no for me to give ma opeenion about ma betters,' replied
Archie, ungraciously, as he went out to see after the horse and
trap; 'but I dinna care aboot sitting in the seat of the scornfu',
or walking in the ways of the unrighteous,' and with this parting
shot at Vandeloup he went away.
That young man shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Madame Midas in
such a comical manner that she could not help smiling.
'You must forgive Archie,' she said, pausing at the door of her
bedroom for a moment. 'He has been brought up severely, and it is
hard to rid oneself of the traditions of youth.'
'Very traditional in this case, I'm afraid,' answered Gaston,
referring to McIntosh's age.
'If you like,' said Madame, in a kindly tone, 'you can stay in to-
night yourself, and go to the theatre.'
'Thank you, Madame,' replied Gaston, gravely. 'I will avail myself
of your kind permission.'
'I'm afraid you will find an Australian provincial company rather a
change after the Parisian theatres,' said Mrs Villiers, as she
vanished into her room.
Vandeloup smiled, and turned to Selina, who was busy about her
household work.
'Mademoiselle Selina,' he said, gaily, 'I am in want of a proverb to
answer Madame; if I can't get the best I must be content with what I
can get. Now what piece of wisdom applies?'
Selina, flattered at being applied to, thought a moment, then raised
her head triumphantly--
'"Half a loaf is better than none,"' she announced, with a sour
smile.
'Mademoiselle,' said Vandeloup, gravely regarding her as he stood at
the door, 'your wisdom is only equalled by your charming
appearance,' and with an ironical bow he went out.
Selina paused a moment in her occupation of polishing spoons, and
looked after him, doubtful as to whether he was in jest or earnest.
Being unable to decide, she resumed her work with a stifled chuckle,
and consoled herself with a proverb.
'To be good is better than to be beautiful,' which saying, as
everyone knows, is most consoling to plain-looking people.
The great nugget was carefully packed in a stout wooden box by
Archie, and placed in the trap by him with such caution that Madame,
who was already seated in it, asked him if he was afraid she would
be robbed.
'It's always best to be on the richt side, mem,' said Archie,
handing her the reins; 'we dinna ken what may happen.'
'Why, no one knows I am taking this to Ballarat to-day,' said
Madame, drawing on her gloves.
'Don't they?' thought M. Vandeloup, as he took his seat beside her.
'She doesn't know that I've told Pierre.'
And without a single thought for the woman whose confidence he was
betraying, and of whose bread and salt he had partaken, Vandeloup
shook the reins, and the horse started down the road in the
direction of Ballarat, carrying Madame Midas and her nugget.
'You carry Caesar and his fortunes, M. Vandeloup,' she said, with a
smile.
'I do better,' he answered, gaily, 'I carry Madame Midas and her
luck.'
CHAPTER IX
LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM
Mr Mark Marchurst was a very peculiar man. Brought up in the
Presbyterian religion, he had early displayed his peculiarity by
differing from the elders of the church he belonged to regarding
their doctrine of eternal punishment. They, holding fast to the
teachings of Knox and Calvin, looked upon him in horror for daring
to have an opinion of his own; and as he refused to repent and have
blind belief in the teachings of those grim divines, he was turned
out of the bosom of the church. Drifting to the opposite extreme, he
became a convert to Catholicism; but, after a trial of that ancient
faith, found it would not suit him, so once more took up a neutral
position. Therefore, as he did not find either religion perfectly in
accordance with his own views, he took the law into his own hands
and constructed one which was a queer jumble of Presbyterianism,
Catholicism, and Buddhism, of which last religion he was a great
admirer. As anyone with strong views and a clever tongue will find
followers, Mr Marchurst soon gathered a number of people around him
who professed a blind belief in the extraordinary doctrines he
promulgated. Having thus founded a sect he got sufficient money out
of them to build a temple--for so he called the barn-like edifice he
erected--and christened this new society which he had called into
existence 'The Elect'. About one hundred people were members of his
church, and with their subscriptions, and also having a little money
of his own, he managed to live in a quiet manner in a cottage on the
Black Hill near to his temple. Every Sunday he held forth morning
and evening, expounding his views to his sparse congregation, and
was looked upon by them as a kind of prophet. As a matter of fact,
the man had that peculiar power of fascination which seems to be
inseparable from the prophetic character, and it was his intense
enthusiasm and eloquent tongue that cast a spell over the simple-
minded people who believed in him. But his doctrines were too
shallow and unsatisfactory ever to take root, and it could be easily
seen that when Marchurst died 'The Elect' would die also,--that is,
as a sect, for it was not pervaded by that intense religious fervour
which is the life and soul of a new doctrine. The fundamental
principles of his religion were extremely simple; he saved his
friends and damned his enemies, for so he styled those who were not
of the same mind as himself. If you were a member of 'The Elect', Mr
Marchurst assured you that the Golden Gate was wide open for you,
whereas if you belonged to any other denomination you were lost for
ever; so according to this liberal belief, the hundred people who
formed his congregation would all go straight to Heaven, and all the
rest of mankind would go to the devil.
In spite of the selfishness of this theory, which condemned so many
souls to perdition, Marchurst was a kindly natured man, and his
religion was more of an hallucination than anything else. He was
very clever at giving advice, and Madame Midas esteemed him highly
on this account. Though Marchurst had often tried to convert her,
she refused to believe in the shallow sophistries he set forth, and
told him she had her own views on religion, which views she declined
to impart to him, though frequently pressed to do so. The zealot
regretted this obstinacy, as, according to his creed, she was a lost
soul, but he liked her too well personally to quarrel with her on
that account, consoling himself with the reflection that sooner or
later, she would seek the fold. He was more successful with M.
Vandeloup, who, having no religion whatever, allowed Marchurst to
think he had converted him, in order to see as much as he could of
Kitty. He used to attend the Sunday services regularly, and
frequently came in during the week ostensibly to talk to Marchurst
about the doctrines of 'The Elect', but in reality to see the old
man's daughter.
On this bright afternoon, when everything was bathed in sunshine, Mr
Marchurst, instead of being outside and enjoying the beauties of
Nature, was mewed up in his dismal little study, with curtains
closely drawn to exclude the light, a cup of strong tea, and the
Bible open at 'The Lamentations of Jeremiah'. His room was lined
with books, but they had not that friendly look books generally
have, but, bound in dingy brown calf, looked as grim and uninviting
as their contents, which were mostly sermons and cheerful
anticipations of the bottomless pit. It was against Marchurst's
principles to gratify his senses by having nice things around him,
and his whole house was furnished in the same dismal manner.
So far did he carry this idea of mortifying the flesh through the
eyes that he had tried to induce Kitty to wear sad-coloured dresses
and poke bonnets; but in this attempt he failed lamentably, as Kitty
flatly refused to make a guy of herself, and always wore dresses of
the lightest and gayest description.
Marchurst groaned over this display of vanity, but as he could do
nothing with the obdurate Kitty, he allowed her to have her own way,
and made a virtue of necessity by calling her his 'thorn in the
flesh'.
He was a tall thin man, of a bleached appearance, from staying so
much in the dark, and so loosely put together that when he bowed he
did not as much bend as tumble down from a height. In fact, he
looked so carelessly fixed up that when he sat down he made the
onlooker feel quite nervous lest he should subside into a ruin, and
scatter his legs, arms, and head promiscuously all over the place.
He had a sad, pale, eager-looking face, with dreamy eyes, which
always seemed to be looking into the spiritual world. He wore his
brown hair long, as he always maintained a man's hair was as much
his glory as a woman's was hers, quoting Samson and Absalom in
support of this opinion. His arms were long and thin, and when he
gesticulated in the pulpit on Sundays flew about like a couple of
flails, which gave him a most unhappy resemblance to a windmill. The
'Lamentations of Jeremiah' are not the most cheerful of reading, and
Mr Marchurst, imbued with the sadness of the Jewish prophet,
drinking strong tea and sitting in a darkened room, was rapidly
sinking into a very dismal frame of mind, which an outsider would
have termed a fit of the blues. He sat in his straight-backed chair
taking notes of such parts of the 'Lamentations' as would tend to
depress the spirits of the 'Elect' on Sunday, and teach them to
regard life in a proper and thoroughly miserable manner.
He was roused from his dismal musings by the quick opening of the
door of his study, when Kitty, joyous and gay in her white dress,
burst like a sunbeam into the room.
"I wish, Katherine," said her father, in a severe voice, "I wish you
would not enter so noisily and disturb my meditations."
"You'll have to put your meditations aside for a bit," said Kitty,
disrespectfully, crossing to the window and pulling aside the
curtains, "for Madame Midas and M. Vandeloup have come to see you."
A flood of golden light streamed into the dusky room, and Marchurst
put his hand to his eyes for a moment, as they were dazzled by the
sudden glare.
"They've got something to show you, papa," said Kitty, going back to
the door: "a big nugget--such a size--as large as your head."
Her father put his hand mechanically to his head to judge of the
size, and was about to answer when Madame Midas, calm, cool, and
handsome, entered the room, followed by Vandeloup, carrying a wooden
box containing the nugget. It was by no means light, and Vandeloup
was quite thankful when he placed it on the table.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mr Marchurst," said Madame, sitting
down and casting a glance at the scattered papers, the cup of tea,
and the open Bible, "but I couldn't help gratifying my vanity by
bringing the new nugget for you to see."
"It's very kind of you, I'm sure," responded Mr Marchurst, politely,
giving way suddenly in the middle as if he had a hinge in his back,
which was his idea of a bow. "I hope this," laying his hand on the
box, "may be the forerunner of many such."
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