by Guy Thorne
CHAPTER ONE
When my father died and left me his large fortune I also inherited thatvery successful London newspaper, the _Evening Special_. I decided toedit it myself.
To be six-and-twenty, to live at high pressure, to go everywhere, seeeverything, know everybody, and above all to have Power, this is successin life. I would not have changed my position in London for thePremiership.
On the evening of Lady Brentford's dance, I dined alone in my Piccadillyflat. There was nothing much doing in the way of politics and I had beenplaying golf at Sandown the whole of the day. I hadn't seen the paperuntil now, when Preston brought it in--the last edition--and I opened itover my coffee.
There were, and are, few things that I love better than the _EveningSpecial_. I claim for it that it is the most up-to-date eveningnewspaper in England, bright and readable from the word "go," andsingularly accurate in all its information.
There was a long time yet before I need dress, and I sat by the balcony,with the mellow noises of Piccadilly on an early summer's eveningpouring into the room, and read the rag through.
On one of the last pages, where the society gossip and women's chatappear, I saw something that interested me. Old Miss Easey, who writesthe society news, was one of my most valued contributors. With herhooked nose, her beady black eyes and marvelous coffee-colored wig, shewent everywhere by right of birth, for she was connected with half thepeerage. Her news was accurate and real. She faked nothing, because shegot all her stuff from the inside, and this was known all over London.She was well worth the thousand a year I paid her, and the daily columnsigned "Vera" was an accepted fact in the life of London society.
To-day the old girl had let herself go. It seemed--of course there hadbeen paragraphs in the papers for some days--that the great Brazilianmillionaire, Gideon Mendoza Morse, had exploded in society like a bomb.He had taken a whole floor of the Ritz Hotel, and it was rumored that hewas going to buy an empty palace in Park Lane and astonish town. Everyone was saying that he had wealth beyond the dreams of avarice--whichis, of course, awful rot when you come to think of it, because there areno bounds whatever to avarice.
"Vera" was not expatiating upon the Brazil Nut's wealth, but upon hisonly daughter. It was put in a veiled way, and that with well-bredreticence for which we paid Miss Easey a thousand a year--no cheap gush,thank you, in the _Evening Special_--that Miss Morse was a young girl ofsuch superlative loveliness that there was not a debutante to comewithin a mile of her. I gathered, also, that the young lady's first verypublic appearance was to be made to-night at the house of theMarchioness of Brentford in Belgrave Square.
The news certainly gave an additional interest to the prospect of theevening, and I wondered what the girl was really like.
I had motored up from Sandown and sat down to dinner as I was. Perhaps Iwas rather tired, but as I sat by the window and dusk came over theGreen Park while all the lights of Piccadilly were lit, I sank into asort of doze, assisted by the deep, organ-like hum of the everlastingtraffic.
Yes, I must really have fallen asleep, for I was certainly in the middleof some wild and alluring adventure, when I woke with a start to findall the lights in my dining-room turned on, Preston standing by thedoor, and Pat Moore shaking me violently by the shoulder.
"Confound you, don't do that!" I shouted, jumping up--Pat Moore was sixfeet two in height, and the heaviest man in the Irish Guards. "Hallo,what are you doing here?"
"It's myself that has looked in for a drink," he said. "I thought we'dgo to the ball together."
I was a little more awake by this time and saw that Pat was in fullevening kit, and very grand he looked. He was supposed to be thehandsomest man in London, on the large swaggering side, and certainly,whether in uniform or mufti, he was a very splendid figure.Nevertheless, he had no more idea of side than a spaniel dog, and he wasjust about as kind and faithful as the sportsman's friend. He possesseda certain downright honesty and common sense that endeared him to everyone, though his own mother would hardly have called him clever. At anearlier period of our lives he had caned me a good deal at Eton, and itwas difficult to get out of his dear, stupid old head that he had notsome vague rights over me in that direction still.
"Now, Tom," he said, pouring himself out a mighty drink--for his headwas cast-steel, "you go and make yourself look pretty and then come backhere, 'cos I have something to tell you."
I went obediently away, bathed, shaved, was assisted by Preston intoevening clothes and returned to the dining-room about a quarter to ten.
"What have you got to tell me, Pat?"
He thought for a moment. I believe that he always had to summon hiswords out of some cupboard in his brain--"Tom, I've seen the mostbeautiful girl in the world."
"Then leg it, Pat, hare away from temptation, or she'll have you!"--Pathad ten thousand a year and had been a dead mark for all sorts ofschemes for the last two years.
"Don't be a silly ass, Tom, you don't know what you're talking about.This is serious."
"I don't know who _you're_ talking about."
He was heaving himself out of his chair to explain, when the door openedand Preston announced "Lord Arthur Winstanley."
"Hallo, what brings you here?" I said.
"Thought I'd come in for a drink. Saw you were going to mother'sto-night, Tom, thought we might as well be going together. Hallo, Pat.You coming along too?"
"Thought of doin' so," said Captain Moore.
Arthur threw himself into a chair--slim, clean shaved, with curly blackhair and dark blue eyes, his clean-cut, clever face alive with youth andvitality.
"Tom," he said to me, "to-night you are going to see the most beautifulgirl in the world."
"Hallo!" Pat shouted, "you've seen her too?"
"Seen her? Of course I have. Mother's giving the dance for herto-night."
Then I understood.
"Oh, Miss Morse?" I said.
"Jooaneeta!" said Pat in his rich, Irish voice.
"Generally pronounced 'Whanita' soft--like tropic moonlight, my oldgeranium," said Arthur.
"Sure, your pronunciation won't do at all, at all."
Pat twirled the end of his huge mustache, then he heaved a cushion. "Youand your talk!" he said.
"Well, I've not seen her," I remarked, "but I'm quite willing to takethe word of two experts. Isn't it about time we went?"
Winstanley produced a platinum watch no thicker than a half-crown fromthe pocket of his white waistcoat.
"Well, perhaps it might be," he said. "We can take up strategicpositions, and get there before the crush. Although I don't live athome, I've got a snug little couple of rooms they keep for me, andmother will see that--"
He smiled to himself.
"Now look here," I said, "fair does! You are already half-way up thecourse with the fair Brazilian, but do let your pals have a chance. Isuppose all the world will be round her, but do see that Pat and I havea small look in."
"Of course I will. We've done too much hunting together, we three. Itell you, Tom, you will be bowled clean over at the very sight of her.There never was such a girl since Cleopatra was a flapper. Now, send oldPreston for a taxi and we'll get to cover side."
It was about half-past ten as we entered the hospitable portals ofBrentford House in Belgrave Square. There was a tremendous crush; Inever remember seeing so many people at Lady Brentford's, for, thougheverybody went to her parties, they were never overcrowded, owing to theimmense size of the famous old London House.
Pat Moore and I kept close to Arthur, who, as a son of the house, knewhis way a great deal better than we did, and we soon found ourselves atthe top of the staircase and close to the alcove where Lady Brentfordand her daughter, Lady Joan Winstanley, were standing, while I saw thebald head of the marquis, who was as innocent of hair as a new laid egg,shining in the background.
Dear Lady Brentford greeted Pat--who had formed a sort of battering-ramfor us on the staircase--with marked kindness. It was thought that shesaw in him a prospecti
ve husband for Arthur's sister. After greeting hismother and asking a question, Arthur went off at once and my turn came.
"My dear Sir Thomas, I am so glad to see you. Are you like all the otheryoung men in London to-night?"
"I sincerely hope not," I told her, though I knew very well what shemeant.
We were old friends, and she was not deceived for a moment. "Iunderstand you perfectly, you wicked boy."
"Well then, Lady Brentford"--I lowered my voice--"has she come?"
Her eyes gleamed.
"Not yet, but I am expecting her every moment. Now, I am going to bekind to you. You wait here, just a little behind me, and I'll introduceyou at once."
I hope I looked as grateful as I felt, for I confess my curiosity wasgreatly aroused, and besides it would be such a score over Pat andArthur. There's something in power after all! Had I been merely TomKirby whose father had received a baronetcy for, say, soap, LadyBrentford would not have been nearly as nice, even though Arthur and Ihad been bosom friends at Oxford. But you see I was the _EveningSpecial_ and that meant much, especially in a political house like this.
I waited, and talked a little with Lord Brentford, that sterling,old-fashioned member of more Cabinets than one would care to count. Hesaid "hum," and then "ha," and then "hum" again, which was the extent ofhis conversation on every occasion except that of a specially gooddinner, when he added "ho."
And then, I suppose it was about eleven o'clock, there was a stir and amovement all down the grand staircase. Except that the band in theballroom did not burst into the strains of the National Anthem, it wasexactly like the arrival of royalty. Coming up the staircase was athick-set man of medium height with white hair, a brown face, and goodfeatures, but of such immobility that they might have been carved insandstone. By his side, very simply dressed, and wearing no ornament butone rope of great pearls, came Juanita Morse.
If I live for a thousand years I shall never forget that first vision ofher. I have seen all the beauties of London, Paris and Rome, danced withmany of them, spoken at least to the majority, but never before or sincehave I seen such luminous and compelling loveliness. It is almostimpossible for me to describe her, a presumption indeed, when so manyabler pens than mine have hymned her praises. The poets of twoContinents have lain their garlands of song at her little feet. She hasbeen the theme of innumerable articles in the Press, the heroine of adozen novels. And yet I must give some impression of her, I suppose. Shewas slender and tall, though not too tall. Her hair, which must havefallen to her feet and enveloped her like a cloud of night, was deadblack. But it was not the coarse, lifeless black of so many women of theLatin race. It was as fine as spun silk, gleaming, vital and full ofelectricity--a live thing of itself, so it seemed to me. Her father'seyes were unpolished jet, but hers were of a deep blue-black, large,lustrous, and of unfathomable depth. They were never the same for twomoments together and the light within them was forever new. But what'sthe good of a catalogue--after all, it expresses very little. There wasnot a feature of her face, not a line of her form that was not perfect,and her smile was the last real enchantment left in the modern world....
In two minutes, I, I--Tom Kirby, was walking towards the ballroom withher hand upon my arm. How all the women stared, nodded and whispered!how all the men hated me! I caught sight of Pat and Arthur, and, lo!their faces were as those who lie in wait, who grin like dogs and runabout the city--as I told them some hours afterwards.
Thank heavens that all the vulgar modern dances were not only perishingof their own inanity at that time, but had never been allowed inBrentford House. The best band in town had begun a delightful waltz, andwe slipped into it together as if passing through curtains intodreamland.
I don't remember that we said very much to each other--certainly I wasnot going to ask her how she liked London and so forth. She did not seemthe sort of girl to appreciate the farthing change of talk.
But, somehow or other, we conversed with our eyes. I was as certain ofthis as of the fact that I was dancing with her, and, long after, in asituation and moment of the most deadly peril, she confessed it to me.
Towards the end of the dance, when the flutes and violins glided intothe last movement, I said this--"Miss Morse, I know that I am doing themost dreadful thing. All London wants to dance with you to-night, and Ihave had the great privilege of being the very first. But could you, doyou think you possibly could, give me just one more dance later on inthe evening?"
"Of course I will, Sir Thomas," she said, and her voice was as clear asan evening bell. "I think you dance beautifully."
We circled round the room for the last time and then I resigned her toLady Brentford, who was looking after the girl, with an eloquent look ofthanks. Immediately she became swallowed up by a regiment of blackcoats, and I saw her no more for a time.
I am extremely fond of dancing, but I sought out no other damsel now,but went to a buffet and drank a long glass of iced hock-cup--as if thatwas going to quench the fever within! Then I found my way to a lonelyspot in one of the conservatories and sat thinking hard. I will saynothing as to the nature of my reverie--it may very easily be guessed.But from time to time I concentrated all my powers in living over againthe divine moments of that dance. I was finally, irrevocably,passionately in love. It seems the maddest thing to say for ahard-headed, level-minded man of the world such as I was. I suppose Ihad known her for just about quarter of an hour, and yet I knew thatthere would never be any other woman for me and that when my days wereat an end her name would be the only one upon my lips.
A little later on in the evening, before my second and final dance withhis daughter, I had the opportunity of a talk with Mr. Morse himself. Isay at once, and I am not letting myself be colored by what happenedafterwards and the intimate relations into which I was thrown with him,I say at once that I found him charming. There was an immense force andpower about him, but this was not obtruded upon one, as I have known itto be in the case of other extremely wealthy and successful men, bothEnglish and American. This super-millionaire had all the graces ofspeech and courtesy of manner of the Spanish great gentleman. Andcuriously enough, he took to me. I was quite certain of that. Whether hewanted to use me in any way--and nine-tenths of the people I metgenerally did--I could not have said. At any rate I determined that ifhe did I was very much at his disposal.
We watched Miss Morse dancing with old Pat, who, for all his sixteenstone, was as light as a cat on his feet.
"Do you know who that is dancing with Juanita?" Morse asked simply.
"Oh, yes. Captain Moore, Patrick Moore, of the Irish Guards. He is oneof my most intimate friends and one of the best fellows in the world."
Then Morse said a curious thing, which I could not fathom just then. Hesaid it half to me and half to himself in a curiously, thoughtful way.
"--A fine fellow to have with one in an emergency."
Well, of course, I didn't like to tell him that dear old Pat, while hehad common sense enough to come indoors while it rained, had no mind--inthe real sense of that word--whatever. It did not occur to me for amoment that Gideon Morse might have been speaking simply of Pat's_physical_ qualities.
Pat's face was marvelous to look upon. It was one great, glowing mass ofhappiness. He did not take the least trouble to disguise his ecstasy,and if ever a man showed he was in paradise, Pat Moore did then. It wasdifferent when Juanita danced with Arthur. His handsome, clever face wasnot in repose for a moment. It was sharpened by eagerness, and he talkedincessantly, provoking answering smiles and flashes from the girl'swonderful eyes. My heart sank. I knew how Arthur Winstanley could talkwhen he chose--as all England was to learn two or three years later whenhe entered the House of Commons.
"And that man?"--the low, resonant voice of Mr. Morse was again in myears, for I had been neglecting my duties to all the girls I knew, mostdreadfully, and remained with him for the space of three dances.
"Oh, that's another friend of mine, Lord Arthur Winstanley. He is a sonof the house, the se
cond son. Charles, the heir, is with his regiment inIndia."
Mr. Morse thanked me and soon afterwards two very great people indeedcame up, and I melted away. I went to my seat in the conservatory again.I did not care how rude it was, how I was betraying Lady Brentford'shospitality--being known as a dancing man and expected to dance--but Iwas determined not to touch any other girl that night until JuanitaMorse and I had danced again together.
It came and passed. Afterwards I slipped downstairs, got my hat andovercoat and left the house, without, I think, being observed by anyone.
The night air was fresh and sweet and I determined to walk before Ireached home, for my mind was in a whirl of sensation. I turned into thegreat, dark canyon of Victoria Street, which was almost empty, and heardmy footsteps echoing up the cliff-like sides of the houses. I caught aglimpse of the moon silvering the Campanile of Westminster Cathedral,and when I reached the Abbey, it and the Houses of Parliament werewashed in soft and brilliant light. And yet, somehow, I could not think.I could not survey, with my usual cool detachment, the situation whichhad suddenly risen in my life. I remember that the predominant feelingwas a wish that I had never gone to Lady Brentford's, that I had neverseen or spoken to Juanita Morse. What was the use after all? She was asmuch above my hopes as a Princess of the Royal House, and yet I knewthat without her I should never be really happy again.
It was in a sort of desperation that I hurried up Parliament Street andthrough Trafalgar Square, feeling that I was a fool and mad, wanting tohide my shame in my own quiet rooms, where at any rate I should bealone.
I opened the door with my Yale key and ran lightly up the stairs to theflat on the first floor which I occupied. As I went into the lounge halland took off my overcoat, Preston, whom I had not told to wait up forme, came from the passage leading to the servants' quarters carrying atray.
"I shan't want any supper, thank you, Preston," I said in surprise.
"Thank you, sir, very good sir," he replied, "but his lordship andCaptain Moore are here and have just asked for something."
My first emotion was one of unutterable surprise, and then I scowled andfelt inclined to swear. What on earth were those two doing here at thistime of night, just when I would have given almost anything to be leftalone?
I hesitated for a moment and then walked into the smoking-room.
Pat was seated in a lounge chair smoking a cigar. Arthur was pacing upand down the carpet. Neither of them appeared to have been talking, and,as I came in, they looked at me curiously, and I saw that their faces insome subtle way were changed.
They were my best friends, for years we had been accustomed to treateach other's quarters and possessions as if they were our own, and yetnow I felt as if they were intruding strangers, though I tried hard tobe genial.
"Hallo," I said in a voice that cracked upon the word, "didn't expect tosee you again. Anything special?"
Preston was putting his tray of sandwiches and deviled biscuits on thetable, so we could not say much, but directly he had left the room oldPat got up from his chair. He held out his hand, pointing at me with atrembling finger. His face was purple.
"You, you danced twice with her," he said.
So that was it! I grew ice-cold in a moment.
"I won't pretend to misunderstand to what you refer," I said, "but whatthe devil is that to you?"
"Pat, don't be a fool!" Arthur whipped out, though the look he gave me,which he tried to disguise, was not a friendly one.
"Fool is hardly the word," I said. "Kindly explain yourself, Moore, andforget that you are my guest if you like--I don't mind."
The huge man trembled. Then he turned away with a sort of snarl,snatched his handkerchief from his cuff and mopped his face.
I sat down and lit a cigarette.
"Can you explain this, Arthur?" I asked.
He sat down too, and began to tap with his shoe upon the carpet.
"Oh, I don't know," he said sullenly. "You were the only man in theroom, Kirby, to whom she gave more than one dance."
"That's as may be. I suppose you don't propose to expostulate with thelady herself? And, by the way, I always thought that it wasn't exactlyform to discuss these things in the way you appear to have been doing."
That got Arthur on the mark. His face grew very white and he satperfectly still.
Then Pat heaved himself round.
"She's not for you, at any rate," he said. "They will marry her to aduke or one of the Princes."
Suddenly the humor of all this struck me forcibly and I lay back in mychair and burst into a peal of laughter.
"That's quite likely," I said, "though I don't think, what I have seenof Mr. Morse, that he is likely to have ambitions that way, and I amquite certain that Miss Morse will marry the man she wants to marry andno one else, whether he is a thoroughbred or hairy at the heels. I thinkall this talk on your part--remember you began it, Pat--is perfectlydisgraceful, to say nothing of its utter childishness. As for yoursaying that a young lady whom I have met for the first time to-night anddanced with twice, is not for me, it's a damnable piece of impertinencethat you should dare to insinuate that I look upon her in the way yousuggest."
I jumped up from my seat and knew that I was dominating them all right.
"Supposing what you say is true, I admit that my chance isn't worth twopenn'orth o' cold gin, though it's every bit as good, and probablybetter, than yours, all things considered. You are certainly a finefigure of a man."
I was furious, mad, keen to provoke him to an outburst. The calculatedinsult was patent enough.
I thought he was about to go for me, and I stood ready, when "What aboutme?" came in a dry crackling voice from Arthur.
"Oh, I should put you and me about level," I said, "with the courtesytitle as a little extra weight. It is a pity you should be the secondson."
"Damn you, Kirby!" he burst out, blazing with anger.
I lifted up my hand and looked at both of them.
"I came in here," I said, "to my own house and find my two best friends,that I thought, waiting for me. A few hours ago I should have thoughtsuch a scene as this utterly impossible. I will ask you both to rememberthat it has not been provoked by me in any way, and that directly I camein you turned on me in the most atrocious and ill-bred way. Of your ideaof the value of friendship I say nothing at all--it is obvious I mustsay nothing about that. Now you have forced the pace I will say this. Tomarry that young lady--I don't like to speak her name even--is about asdifficult as to dive in a cork jacket or keep a smelt in a net. But Imean to try. I mean to use every ounce of weight I've got. I shallalmost certainly fail, but now you know."
"Since you have said that," Pat broke in, "handicaps be damned! I'm astarter for the same stakes, and it's hell for leather I'll ride, andit's meself that says it, Tom."
Arthur Winstanley spoke last.
"I'm a fellow of a good many ambitions," he said quietly, "though I'venever bothered you chaps with them. Now they are all consolidated intoone."
Then we all stood and looked at each other, the cards on the table, andin the faces of the other two at least there was uneasiness and shame.
Just at that moment a funny thing happened. Preston had brought in anice pail full of bottles of soda water. The heat of the night, orsomething, caused one of the corks to break its confining wire and gooff with a startling report, while a fountain of foam drenched thesandwiches.
"Me kingdom for a drink!" said Pat. "Oh, the sweet, blessed, gurglingsound!" and striding to the table he mixed a gargantuan peg.
Arthur and I met behind Pat's back and he held out his hand to me,biting his lower lip.
"We've behaved abominably, old soul," he said.
The big guardsman turned round and raised his glass on high.
"Here's to the sweetest and most lovely lady in the world, bedad!" heshouted, accentuating his Irish brogue. "May the best man win her, fairfight, and no favors, and may the Queen of Heaven and all the saintswatch over the little darlint and guide
her choice aright!"
So all our midnight madness passed like a fleeting cloud. Anextraordinary accession of high spirits came to us as we pledged thedark-haired maiden from Brazil. And it was Pat, dear old Pat, who weldedus together in a league of chivalry against which nothing was ever toprevail.
"Tom," he said, "Arthur--we are all like brothers, we always have been.Let there be no change in that, now or ever. I have something topropose."
"Go on, Pat," said Arthur.
"Sure then, since we all love the same lady, that ought to bind us moretogether than anything else has ever done. But since we cannot all marryher, let us agree, in the first place, that no outsider ever shall."
"Hurrah!" said Arthur--I could see that he was fearfullyexcited--throwing his glass into the fireplace with a crash.
"I am with you, Pat!" I cried. "It's to be one of us three, and we arein league against all the other men in London. And now the questionis--"
"Hear my plan. This very night we'll draw lots as to which of us shallhave the first chance. The man who wins shall have the entire support ofthe other two in every possible way. If she accepts him, then the fateshave spoken. If she doesn't, then the next man in the draw shall havehis chance, and the rejected suitor and the poor third man shall help_him_ to the utmost of their ability. Is that clear?"
He stopped and looked down at us from his great height with a smilingand anxious face.
Dear old Pat, I shall always love to think that the proposal came fromhim, straight, clean and true, as he always was.
"So be it," Arthur echoed solemnly. "The league shall begin this verynight. Do either of you chaps know any Spanish, by the way?"
We shook our heads.
"Well, I do," he continued, "and we'll form ourselves into a SantaHermandad--'The Holy Brotherhood'--it was the name of an old SpanishSociety of chivalry ever so many years ago."
"Santa Hermandad!" Pat shouted, "and now to shake hands on it. I thinkwe'll not be needing to take an oath."
Our three hands were clasped together in an instant and we knew that,come what might, each would be true to that bond.
"And now," I said, "to draw lots as to who shall be the first to try hischance. How shall we settle it?"
"There's no fairer way," said Arthur, "than the throw of a die. Have youany poker dice, Tom?"
"Yes, I have a couple of sets somewhere."
"Very well then, we'll take a single one and the first man that throwsQueen is the winner."
I found the dice and the leather cup and dropped a single one into it.Poker dice, for the benefit of the uninitiate, have the Queen on oneside in blue, like the Queen in a pack of cards, the King in red and theKnave in black. On two other faces, the nine and the ten.
"Who will throw first?" said Pat.
"You throw," I said.
There was a rattle, and nine fell upon the table. I nodded to Arthur,who picked up the little ivory square, waved the cup in the air, andthrew--an ace.
My turn came. I threw an ace also, and Arthur and I looked at Pat withsinking hearts.
He threw a King. I don't want another five minutes like that again. Wethrew and threw and threw and never once did the Queen turn up. At lastArthur said:
"Look here, you fellows, I can't stand this much longer, it's playingthe devil with my nerves. Let's have one more throw and if Her Majestydoesn't turn up, let's decide it by values. Ace, highest, King, Queenand so on. Tom, your turn."
I took up the box, rattled the cube within it for a long time and thendropped it flat upon the table.
I had thrown Queen.