Books: Madame Midas
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Fergus Hume >> Madame Midas
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Suddenly they heard the noise of a chair being pushed back inside
the house, and knew that Madame was getting ready to go. They moved
simultaneously towards the door, but in the porch Gaston paused for
a moment, and caught Kitty by the arm.
'Bebe,' he whispered softly, 'when Madame is gone I am going down
the hill to Ballarat, so you will walk with me a little way, will
you not?'
Of course, Kitty was only too delighted at being asked to do so, and
readily consented, then ran quickly into the house, followed by
Vandeloup.
'You here?' cried Madame, in surprise, pausing for a moment in the
act of putting on her bonnet. 'Why are you not at the theatre?'
'I am going, Madame,' replied Gaston, calmly, 'but I thought I would
come up in order to assist you to put the nugget in the trap.'
'Oh, Mr Marchurst would have done that,' said Madame, much gratified
at Vandeloup's attention. 'I'm sorry you should miss your evening's
pleasure for that.'
'Ah, Madame, I do but exchange a lesser pleasure for a greater one,'
said the gallant Frenchman, with a pleasant smile; 'but are you sure
you will not want me to drive you home?'
'Not at all,' said Madame, as they all went outside; 'I am quite
safe.'
'Still, with this,' said Mr Marchurst, bringing up the rear, with
the nugget now safely placed in its wooden box, 'you might be
robbed.'
'Not I,' replied Mrs Villiers, brightly, as the horse and trap were
brought round to the gate by Brown. 'No one knows I've got it in the
trap, and, besides, no one can catch up with Rory when he once
starts.'
Marchurst put the nugget under the seat of the trap, but Madame was
afraid it might slip out by some chance, so she put the box
containing it in front, and then her feet on the box, so that it was
absolutely impossible that it could get lost without her knowing.
Then saying goodbye to everyone, and telling M. Vandeloup to be out
at the Pactolus before noon the next day, she gathered up the reins
and drove slowly down the hill, much to the delight of Mr Villiers,
who was getting tired of waiting. Kitty and Vandeloup strolled off
in the moonlight, while Marchurst went back to the house.
Villiers arose from his hiding-place, and looked up savagely at the
serene moon, which was giving far too much light for his scheme to
succeed. Fortunately, however, he saw a great black cloud rapidly
advancing which threatened to hide the moon; so he set off down the
hill at a run in order to catch his wife at a nasty part of the road
some distance down, where she would be compelled to go slowly, and
thus give him a chance to spring on the trap and take her by
surprise. But quick as he was, Pierre was quicker, and both
Vandeloup and Kitty could see the two black figures running rapidly
along in the moonlight.
'Who are those?' asked Kitty, with a sudden start. 'Are they going
after Madame?'
'Little goose,' whispered her lover, with a laugh; 'if they are they
will never catch up to that horse. It's all right, Bebe,' with a
reassuring smile, seeing that Kitty still looked somewhat alarmed,
'they are only some miners out on a drunken frolic.'
Thus pacified, Kitty laughed gaily, and they wandered along in the
moonlight, talking all the fond and foolish nonsense they could
think of.
Meanwhile the great black cloud had completely hidden the moon, and
the whole landscape was quite dark. This annoyed Madame, as,
depending on the moonlight, the lamps of the trap were not lighted,
and she could not see in the darkness how to drive down a very
awkward bit of road that she was now on.
It was very steep, and there was a high bank on one side, while on
the other there was a fall of about ten feet. She felt annoyed at
the darkness, but on looking up saw that the cloud would soon pass,
so drove on slowly quite content. Unluckily she did not see the
figure on the high bank which ran along stealthily beside her, and
while turning a corner, Mr Villiers--for it was he--dropped suddenly
from the bank on to the trap, and caught her by the throat.
'My God!' cried the unfortunate woman, taken by surprise, and,
involuntarily tightening the reins, the horse stopped--'who are
you?'
Villiers never said a word, but tightened his grasp on her throat
and shortened his stick to give her a blow on the head. Fortunately,
Madame Midas saw his intention, and managed to wrench herself free,
so the blow aimed at her only slightly touched her, otherwise it
would have killed her.
As it was, however, she fell forward half stunned, and Villiers,
hurriedly dropping his stick, bent down and seized the box which he
felt under his feet and intuitively guessed contained the nugget.
With a cry of triumph he hurled it out on to the road, and sprang
out after it; but the cry woke his wife from the semi-stupor into
which she had fallen.
Her head felt dizzy and heavy from the blow, but still she had her
senses about her, and the moon bursting out from behind a cloud,
rendered the night as clear as day.
Villiers had picked up the box, and was standing on the edge of the
bank, just about to leave. The unhappy woman recognised her husband,
and uttered a cry.
'You! you!' she shrieked, wildly, 'coward! dastard! Give me back
that nugget!' leaning out of the trap in her eagerness.
'I'll see you damned first,' retorted Villiers, who, now that he was
recognised, was utterly reckless as to the result. 'We're quits now,
my lady,' and he turned to go.
Maddened with anger and disgust, his wife snatched up the stick he
had dropped, and struck him on the head as he took a step forward.
With a stifled cry he staggered and fell over the embankment, still
clutching the box in his arms. Madame let the stick fall, and fell
back fainting on the seat of the trap, while the horse, startled by
the noise, tore down the road at a mad gallop.
Madame Midas lay in a dead faint for some time, and when she came to
herself she was still in the trap, and Rory was calmly trotting
along the road home. At the foot of the hill, the horse, knowing
every inch of the way, had settled down into his steady trot for the
Pactolus, but when Madame grasped the situation, she marvelled to
herself how she had escaped being dashed to pieces in that mad
gallop down the Black Hill.
Her head felt painful from the effects of the blow she had received,
but her one thought was to get home to Archie and Selina, so
gathering up the reins she sent Rory along as quickly as she could.
When she drove up to the gate Archie and Selina were both out to
receive her, and when the former went to lift her off the trap, he
gave a cry of horror at seeing her dishevelled appearance and the
blood on her face.
'God save us!' he cried, lifting her down; 'what's come t' ye, and
where's the nugget?' seeing it was not in the trap.
'Lost!' she said, in a stupor, feeling her head swimming, 'but
there's worse.'
'Worse?' echoed Selina and Archie, who were both standing looking
terrified at one another.
'Yes,' said Mrs Villiers, in a hollow whisper, leaning forward and
grasping Archie's coat, 'I've killed my husband,' and without
another word, she fell fainting to the ground.
At the same time Vandeloup and Pierre walked into the bar at the
Wattle Tree Hotel, and each had a glass of brandy, after which
Pierre went to his bed, and Vandeloup, humming a gay song, turned on
his heel and went to the theatre.
CHAPTER XIII
A GLIMPSE OF BOHEMIA
'AH!' says Thackeray, pathetically, 'Prague is a pleasant city, but
we all lose our way to it late in life.'
The Wopples family were true Bohemians, and had not yet lost their
way to the pleasant city. They accepted good and bad fortune with
wonderful equanimity, and if their pockets were empty one day, there
was always a possibility of their being full the next. When this was
the case they generally celebrated the event by a little supper, and
as their present season in Ballarat bid fair to be a successful one,
Mr Theodore Wopples determined to have a convivial evening after the
performance was over.
That the Wopples family were favourites with the Ballarat folk was
amply seen by the crowded house which assembled to see 'The Cruet
Stand'. The audience were very impatient for the curtain to rise, as
they did not appreciate the overture, which consisted of airs from
'La Mascotte', adapted for the violin and piano by Mr Handel
Wopples, who was the musical genius of the family, and sat in the
conductor's seat, playing the violin and conducting the orchestra of
one, which on this occasion was Miss Jemima Wopples, who presided at
the piano. The Wopples family consisted of twelve star artistes,
beginning with Mr Theodore Wopples, aged fifty, and ending with
Master Sheridan Wopples, aged ten, who did the servants' characters,
delivered letters, formed the background in tableaux, and made
himself generally useful. As the cast of the comedy was only eight,
two of the family acted as the orchestra, and the remaining two took
money at the door. When their duties in this respect were over for
the night, they went into the pit to lead the applause.
At last the orchestra finished, and the curtain drew up, displaying
an ancient house belonging to a decayed family. The young Squire,
present head of the decayed family (Mr Cibber Wopples), is fighting
with his dishonest steward (admirably acted by Mr Dogbery Wopples),
whose daughter he wants to marry. The dishonest steward, during Act
I, without any apparent reason, is struck with remorse, and making
his will in favour of the Squire, departs to America, but afterwards
appears in the last act as someone else. Leaving his will on the
drawing-room table, as he naturally would, it is seized by an Eton
boy (Master Sheridan Wopples), who hides it, for some unexplained
reason, in the cruet-stand, being the last piece of family plate
remaining to the decayed family. This is seized by a comic bailiff
(Mr Theodore Wopples), who takes it to his home; and the decayed
family, finding out about the will, start to chase the bailiff and
recover the stolen property from him. This brought the play on to
Act II, which consisted mainly of situations arising out of the
indiscriminate use of doors and windows for entrances and exits. The
bailiff's mother-in-law (Mrs Wopples) appears in this act, and,
being in want of a new dress, takes the cruet stand to her 'uncle'
and pawns it; so Act II ends with a general onslaught of the decayed
family on Mrs Wopples.
Then the orchestra played the 'Wopples' Waltz', dedicated to Mr
Theodore Wopples by Mr Handel Wopples, and during the performance of
this Mr Villiers walked into the theatre. He was a little pale, as
was only natural after such an adventure as he had been engaged in,
but otherwise seemed all right. He walked up to the first row of the
stalls, and took his seat beside a young man of about twenty-five,
who was evidently much amused at the performance.
'Hullo, Villiers!' said this young gentleman, turning round to the
new arrival, 'what d'ye think of the play?'
'Only just got in,' returned Mr Villiers, sulkily, looking at his
programme. 'Any good?' in a more amiable tone.
'Well, not bad,' returned the other, pulling up his collar; 'I've
seen it in Melbourne, you know--the original, I mean; this is a very
second-hand affair.'
Mr Villiers nodded, and became absorbed in his programme; so, seeing
he was disinclined for more conversation, the young gentleman turned
his attention to the 'Wopples Waltz', which was now being played
fast and furiously by the indefatigable orchestra of two.
Bartholomew Jarper--generally called Barty by his friends--was a
bank clerk, and had come up to Ballarat on a visit. He was well
known in Melbourne society, and looked upon himself quite as a
leader of fashion. He went everywhere, danced divinely--so the
ladies said--sang two or three little songs, and played the same
accompaniment to each of them, was seen constantly at the theatres,
plunged a little at the races, and was altogether an extremely gay
dog. It is, then, little to be wondered at that, satiated as he was
with Melbourne gaiety, he should be vastly critical of the humble
efforts of the Wopples family to please him. He had met Villiers at
his hotel, when both of them being inebriated they swore eternal
friendship. Mr Villiers, however, was very sulky on this particular
night, for his head still pained him, so Barty stared round the
house in a supercilious manner, and sucked the nob of his cane for
refreshment between the acts.
Just as the orchestra were making their final plunge into the finale
of the 'Wopples' Waltz', M. Vandeloup, cool and calm as usual,
strolled into the theatre, and, seeing a vacant seat beside
Villiers, walked over and took it.
'Good evening, my friend,' he said, touching Villiers on the
shoulder. 'Enjoying the play, eh?'
Villiers angrily pushed away the Frenchman's hand and glared
vindictively at him.
'Ah, you still bear malice for that little episode of the ditch,'
said Vandeloup with a gay laugh. 'Come, now, this is a mistake; let
us be friends.'
'Go to the devil!' growled Villiers, crossly.
'All right, my friend,' said M. Vandeloup, serenely crossing his
legs. 'We'll all end up by paying a visit to that gentleman, but
while we are on earth we may as well be pleasant. Seen your wife
lately?'
This apparently careless inquiry caused Mr Villiers to jump suddenly
out of his seat, much to the astonishment of Barty, who did not know
for what reason he was standing up.
'Ah! you want to look at the house, I suppose,' remarked M.
Vandeloup, lazily; 'the building is extremely ugly, but there are
some redeeming features in it. I refer, of course, to the number of
pretty girls,' and Gaston turned round and looked steadily at a red-
haired damsel behind him, who blushed and giggled, thinking he was
referring to her.
Villiers resumed his seat with a sigh, and seeing that it was quite
useless to quarrel with Vandeloup, owing to that young man's
coolness, resolved to make the best of a bad job, and held out his
hand with a view to reconciliation.
'It's no use fighting with you,' he said, with an uneasy laugh, as
the other took his hand, 'you are so deuced amiable.'
'I am,' replied Gaston, calmly examining his programme; 'I practise
all the Christian virtues.'
Here Barty, on whom the Frenchman's appearance and conversation had
produced an impression, requested Villiers, in a stage whisper, to
introduce him--which was done. Vandeloup looked the young man coolly
up and down, and eventually decided that Mr Barty Jarper was a
'cad', for whatever his morals might be, the Frenchman was a
thorough gentleman. However, as he was always diplomatic, he did not
give utterance to his idea, but taking a seat next to Barty's, he
talked glibly to him until the orchestra finished with a few final
bangs, and the curtain drew up on Act III.
The scene was the interior of a pawnshop, where the pawnbroker, a
gentleman of Hebraic descent (Mr Buckstone Wopples), sells the cruet
to the dishonest steward, who has come back from America disguised
as a sailor. The decayed family all rush in to buy the cruet stand,
but on finding it gone, overwhelm the pawnbroker with reproaches, so
that to quiet them he hides them all over the shop, on the chance
that the dishonest steward will come back. The dishonest steward
does so, and having found the will tears it up on the stage, upon
which he is assaulted by the decayed family, who rush out from all
parts. Ultimately, he reveals himself and hands back the cruet stand
and the estates to the decayed family, after which a general
marrying all round took place, which proceeding was very gratifying
to the boys in the gallery, who gave their opinions very freely, and
the curtain fell amid thunders of applause. Altogether 'The Cruet
Stand' was a success, and would have a steady run of three nights at
least, so Mr Wopples said--and as a manager of long standing, he was
thoroughly well up in the subject.
Villiers, Vandeloup, and Barty went out and had a drink, and as none
of them felt inclined to go to bed, Villiers told them he knew Mr
Theodore Wopples, and proposed that they should go behind the scenes
and see him. This was unanimously carried, and after some difficulty
with the door-keeper--a crusty old man with a red face and white
hair, that stood straight up in a tuft, and made him look like an
infuriated cockatoo--they obtained access to the mysterious regions
of the stage, and there found Master Sheridan Wopples practising a
breakdown while waiting for the rest of the family to get ready.
This charming youth, who was small, dried-up and wonderfully sharp,
volunteered to guide them to his father's dressing-room, and on
knocking at the door Mr Wopples' voice boomed out 'Come in,' in such
an unexpected manner that it made them all jump.
On entering the room they found Mr Wopples, dressed in a light tweed
suit, and just putting on his coat. It was a small room, with a
flaring gas-jet, under which there was a dressing-table littered
over with grease, paints, powder, vaseline and wigs, and upon it
stood a small looking-glass. A great basket-box with the lid wide
open stood at the end of the room, with a lot of clothes piled up on
it, and numerous other garments were hung up upon the walls. A
washstand, with a basin full of soapy water, stood under a
curtainless window, and there was only one chair to be seen, which
Mr Wopples politely offered to his visitor. Mr Villiers, however,
told him he had brought two gentlemen to introduce to him, at which
Mr Wopples was delighted; and on the introduction taking place,
assured both Vandeloup and Barty that it was one of the proudest
moments of his life-a stock phrase he always used when introduced to
visitors. He was soon ready, and preceded the party out of the room,
when he stopped, struck with a sudden idea.
'I have left the gas burning in my dressing-room,' he said, in his
rolling voice, 'and, if you will permit me, gentlemen, I will go
back and turn it off.'
This was rather difficult to manage, inasmuch as the stairs were
narrow, and three people being between Mr Wopples and his dressing-
room, he could not squeeze past.
Finally the difficulty was settled by Villiers, who was last, and
who went back and turned out the gas.
When he came down he found Mr Wopples waiting for him.
'I thank you, sir,' he said, grandly, 'and will feel honoured if you
will give me the pleasure of your company at a modest supper
consisting principally of cold beef and pickles.'
Of course, they all expressed themselves delighted, and as the
entire Wopples family had already gone to their hotel, Mr Wopples
with his three guests went out of the theatre and wended their way
towards the same place, only dropping into two or three bars on the
way to have drinks at Barty's expense.
They soon arrived at the hotel, and having entered, Mr Wopples
pushed open the door of a room from whence the sound of laughter
proceeded, and introduced the three strangers to his family. The
whole ten, together with Mrs Wopples, were present, and were seated
around a large table plentifully laden with cold beef and pickles,
salads, bottles of beer, and other things too numerous to mention.
Mr Wopples presented them first to his wife, a faded, washed-out
looking lady, with a perpetual simper on her face, and clad in a
lavender muslin gown with ribbons of the same description, she
looked wonderfully light and airy. In fact she had a sketchy
appearance as if she required to be touched up here and there, to
make her appear solid, which was of great service to her in her
theatrical career, as it enabled her to paint on the background of
herself any character she wished to represent.
'This,' said Mr Wopples in his deep voice, holding his wife's hand
as if he were afraid she would float upward thro' the ceiling like a
bubble--a not unlikely thing seeing how remarkably ethereal she
looked; 'this is my flutterer.'
Why he called her his flutterer no one ever knew, unless it was
because her ribbons were incessantly fluttering; but, had he called
her his shadow, the name would have been more appropriate.
Mrs Wopples fluttered down to the ground in a bow, and then
fluttered up again.
'Gentlemen,' she said, in a thin, clear voice, 'you are welcome. Did
you enjoy the performance?'
'Madame,' returned Vandeloup, with a smile, 'need you ask that?'
A shadowy smile floated over Mrs Wopples' indistinct features, and
then her husband introduced the rest of the family in a bunch.
'Gentlemen,' he said, waving his hand to the expectant ten, who
stood in a line of five male and five female, 'the celebrated
Wopples family.'
The ten all simultaneously bowed at this as if they were worked by
machinery, and then everyone sat down to supper, Mr Theodore Wopples
taking the head of the table. All the family seemed to admire him
immensely, and kept their eyes fastened on his face with
affectionate regard.
'Pa,' whispered Miss Siddons Wopples to Villiers, who sat next to
her, 'is a most wonderful man. Observe his facial expression.'
Villiers observed it, and admitted also in a whisper that it was
truly marvellous.
Cold beef formed the staple viand on the table, and everyone did
full justice to it, as also to beer and porter, of which Mr Wopples
was very generous.
'I prefer to give my friends good beer instead of bad champagne,' he
said, pompously. 'Ha! ha! the antithesis, I think, is good.'
The Wopples family unanimously agreed that it was excellent, and Mr
Handel Wopples observed to Barty that his father often made jokes
worthy of Tom Hood, to which Barty agreed hastily, as he did not
know who Tom Hood was, and besides was flirting in a mild manner
with Miss Fanny Wopples, a pretty girl, who did the burlesque
business.
'And are all these big boys and girls yours, Madame?' asked
Vandeloup, who was rather astonished at the number of the family,
and thought some of them might have been hired for theatrical
purposes. Mrs Wopples nodded affirmatively with a gratified flutter,
and her husband endorsed it.
'There are four dead,' he said, in a solemn voice. 'Rest their
souls.'
All the ten faces round the board reflected the gloom on the
parental countenance, and for a few moments no one spoke.
'This,' said Mr Wopples, looking round with a smile, at which all
the other faces lighted up, 'this is not calculated to make our
supper enjoyable, children. I may tell you that, in consequence of
the great success of "The Cruet Stand", we play it again to-morrow
night.'
'Ah!' said Mr Buckstone Wopples, with his mouth full, 'I knew it
would knock 'em; that business of yours, father, with the writ is
simply wonderful.'
All the family chorused 'Yes,' and Mr Wopples admitted, with a
modest smile, that it was wonderful.
'Practise,' said Mr Wopples, waving a fork with a piece of cold beef
at the end of it, 'makes perfect. My dear Vandeloup, if you will
permit me to call you so, my son Buckstone is truly a wonderful
critic.'
Vandeloup smiled at this, and came to the conclusion that the
Wopples family was a mutual admiration society. However, as it was
now nearly twelve o'clock, he rose to take his leave.
'Oh, you're not going yet,' said Mr Wopples, upon which all the
family echoed, 'Surely, not yet,' in a most hospitable manner.
'I must,' said Vandeloup, with a smile. 'I know Madame will excuse
me,' with a bow to Mrs Wopples, who thereupon fluttered nervously;
'but I have to be up very early in the morning.'
'In that case,' said Mr Wopples, rising, 'I will not detain you;
early to bed and early to rise, you know; not that I believe in it
much myself, but I understand it is practised with good results by
some people.'
Vandeloup shook hands with Mr and Mrs Wopples, but feeling unequal
to taking leave of the ten star artistes in the same way, he bowed
in a comprehensive manner, whereupon the whole ten arose from their
chairs and bowed unanimously in return.
'Good night, Messrs Villiers and Jarper,' said Vandeloup, going out
of the door, 'I will see you to-morrow.'
'And we also, I hope,' said Mr Wopples, ungrammatically. 'Come and
see "The Cruet Stand" again. I'll put your name on the free list.'
M. Vandeloup thanked the actor warmly for this kind offer, and took
himself off; as he passed along the street he heard a burst of
laughter from the Wopples family, no doubt caused by some witticism
of the head of the clan.
He walked slowly home to the hotel, smoking a cigarette, and
thinking deeply. When he arrived at the 'Wattle Tree' he saw a light
still burning in the bar, and, on knocking at the door, was admitted
by Miss Twexby, who had been making up accounts, and whose virgin
head was adorned with curl-papers.
'My!' said this damsel, when she saw him, 'you are a nice young man
coming home at this hour--twelve o'clock. See?' and, as a proof of
her assertion, she pointed to the clock.
'Were you waiting up for me, dear?' asked Vandeloup, audaciously.
'Not I,' retorted Miss Twexby, tossing her curl-papers; 'I've been
attending to par's business; but, oh, gracious!' with a sudden
recollection of her head-gear, 'you've seen me in undress.'
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