Mr Bazalgette’s Agent

by Leonard Merrick

  * * * * *

  Dunstan has been distinguishing herself; yesterday she saw a mouse in the cabin, and fainted. A good-looking steward happened to be near at the time to catch her. What a coincidence!

  It seems he ran to fetch sherry, and, she tells me, “forced numberless glasses on her to bring her round.” They will not be numberless when I get my wine bill, I daresay!

  The other evening we were beguiled by a “Mock Trial” after dinner, a young gentleman with a lisp and a tow wig hastily manufactured (like his speech) impersonating the counsel for the prosecution. Funny if they played “Mock Trials” on the “Grantully Castle,” Jasper Vining must have felt unwell!

  Oh, that we were already on land! Every hour brings me nearer to him, and every hour he fills my thoughts.

  I am sure Dunstan is not equally anxious, although she pretends she is; she will have to leave her steward, as she has already been parted from her fiancé, and how faithfully a plain woman does love——each time!

  Besides, the matter after all is of much less importance to her than to me; it is I who will taste the sweetness of success or the bitterness of failure, and I do long to be successful! If I could only report, “You need not be inconvenienced to have him identified; you need be under no apprehension that the property is squandered; I have seen the missing bonds in his possession—cable next move!”

  What a magnificent achievement it would be; should not I exult! And, apart from the honour, it would please me to do it for Mr. Bazalgette’s sake, he has been nice to me. Oh, how I yearn for shore!!

  * * * * *

  Joy! Table Mountain is in sight! The news spread round the breakfast-table like wildfire; porridge, chops, and buns were abandoned of one accord, and we all rushed on deck to strain our eyes at that very indeterminable object in the distance which appeared less like a mountain than a cloud.

  It has been growing more distinct all the morning, and now we can make out some misty-looking spires around it, which the captain informs us are the Devil’s Peak and Signal Hill; he says the commercial population will be staring up at the latter to learn the precise moment we get in. They cannot be more impatient for their mail than I am for their city!

  I am too excited to watch with the others. I am scribbling this in my cabin, a deck one, and, see! Something like a vast stone barge laden with coloured porters and white hansoms is drifting past us. How strange! There is a perfect babel in my ears; a tumult of cries from all parts, everybody seems speaking at once. What can have happened? How silly I am; of course the stone thing is not moving at all, one would think I was a child’! It is we who are floating by its side;—it’s the wharf, —we’ve arrived,—thank Heaven!

  CHAPTER IX.

  ST. GEORGE’S HOTEL,

  CAPE TOWN,

  (Three days later).

  THIS is my third evening here, and at the end of my second I found myself confronted with a serious difficulty; Vining was not staying beneath the same roof, and I could not call and inquire for him at the other hotels for fear the action should he reported to him, and he might elude me again. This obstacle necessitated consideration, but I finally hit upon a compromise.

  It was highly improbable he would recollect Dunstan, weighing the fact that he only saw her once for a moment in the hall of the Central at Lisbon, and once in the dusk on the Promenade, where he certainly did not pay her much attention; so I have lent her one of my gowns, and she is going to have luncheon or dinner at all the principal hostelries, trusting to meet him thus. Let me find out where he lodges, without allowing him to suspect my proximity, and there is the first point gained.

  Under my superintendence she made her toilette, and started this novel programme last night, but so far without avail; nevertheless it shall be continued, for there do not seem to be any restaurants here likely to tempt him out of doors with their cuisine.

  What a capital it is, with its wide roads, and its dwarfed houses, and its niggers, and its Malays, and its solitary theatre! It is so old-fashioned it might be the city Cain built when he wandered forth after killing Abel, except that if it had been begun so long ago it must by now have presented a finished appearance.

  I asked if many of the better people lived in the environs between Papendorp and Wynberg, and was told “Yes, nearly all the residents.” I therefore hired a carriage, as being more suitable to our purpose than travelling by train, and drove along the high road, which at every mile or so has apparently been given a fresh name just to vary the monotony; no indication whatever of why Rosebank should leave off, and Rondebosch begin being visible.

  I did not discern any inn of sufficient importance to make me deem it worth while alighting until we reached the extremity of all, Wynberg itself.

  Here Dunstan and I descended, and, entering the porch, requested to be shown to a private-room, and provided with something to drink.

  Lemonade-and-claret I opined nasty enough to be distinctly virtuous, so ordered that.

  The proprietress brought it upstairs herself, and when I saw what a cheery, comfortable sort of woman she was, I repented I had not demanded ale.

  “What a nice view you have!” I remarked encouragingly.

  My experience on tour in the theatrical profession has taught me all landladies like to he complimented on their ‘view,’ if it only consists of oyster-shells and clothes’-lines.

  “Do you find it so, ma’am?” she responded complacently. “It is mostly thought pretty; this time of year, of course, it’s at it’s best!”

  It sounded funny to hear of the country being at its loveliest a few weeks before Christmas, but it would not have done to say so, and thus admit I was a stranger in the colony. “Naturally,” I replied, “I have often noticed your house, though I never came inside before, and have thought how charmingly situated it was! Indeed, a gentleman was questioning about the prettiest spot round here, and I mentioned this, only the other day. Perhaps he may have come to you, a Mr.——, er, Mr.——; what was that gentleman’s name, can you remember?”

  “V——, V——,” said Dunstan.

  “I know, ‘Vane!’ ” I exclaimed. “So, you see, without knowing you, perhaps I may have got you a lodger?”

  “I’m sure it was very kind of you, ma’am, we’ve no ‘Mr. Vane’ staying here, but he may call; and much obliged to you I am! Won’t you try a few biscuits with that?”

  “Thank you, no,” I returned, rising. “I am afraid we must he going now; good afternoon, we’ll be certain to look in when we are passing next!”

  “It was risky,” Dunstan observed, when we were seated in the conveyance once more; “if you can go straight to work here, why can’t you do it in the town too, ma’am?”

  “Because I knew you would say ‘V——, V——’

  first, and as soon as she didn’t come out with ‘Vane,’ it was a foregone conclusion he was not there, before I uttered the name?”

  The drive hack was pleasant. The sun was going down, and we could admire the scenery without having our appreciation affected by the heat. The fields where ‘lilies blow’ for nothing, and are crushed under foot as recklessly as though they would not cost a fortune in England, were observed and marvelled at. They grew so closely together, that the primary impression from our side of the hedge was of the ground being covered with snow. We also liked the effect (or I did) of a Kafir lying at the foot of a cactus, with a clump of maiden-hair fern for his pillow, and a golden cluster of bananas in the dust at his side. I wish I could paint!

  To-night, in furtherance of our plan, Dunstan goes to dine at the Royal.

  * * * * *

  December 7th.

  News! This morning I said to Dunstan, “The ‘hotel scheme’ is a failure; we must conclude that although it did not strike us as probable, he is living in the suburbs!”

  By-the-bye, we ascertained there was another one, Greenpoint, which we had also visited without success.

  “Now,” I continued, “I’ll tell you what I mean to do; the people s
taying outside use the railway to come in, it isn’t half an hour’s journey. There are any number of trains running backwards and forwards; I shall go down to the station, and watch the arrivals and departures!”

  Dunstan believed my plan might lead to results. Accordingly I sallied forth. In five minutes I was in Adderley Street; in five more I had reached the station. It was magnificent weather, and lots of people I found were loitering about the ticket-offices and doorways. I was pleased at this; in the crowd I fancied my prolonged stay would be unobserved.

  I strolled with elaborate semblance of carelessness through the wooden barriers which stood open and unguarded, and ensconced myself in a corner of one of the seats. Here, if I am noticed, thought I, it will be supposed I am waiting for some acquaintances by appointment, and that they are late.

  The occupation began to get tedious. I looked up at the clock; twenty minutes had passed, and no traffic occurred. Only one long, empty train, which evinced no signs of stirring, still extended the length of the platform. I had thought the service was more frequent.

  My patience gave way. “I must go through the gates again, and buy something to read!” I soliloquised.

  I sauntered down to the book-stall;—

  “What periodicals have you?” I asked the boy.

  “Eh?” he said.

  “What periodicals?” I repeated.

  “I don’t know what you mean by per——, periocidals, we’ve got the ‘Cape Times!’ ”

  It proved he could hardly have summed up the selection better. During a lengthy survey in search of some familiar wrapper, my gaze encountered nothing but local journalism, and a handful of octogenary novels, English ones of course—I have not come across a novel of Colonial manufacture; after newspapers without news, indeed, and wine without flavour, I am puzzled to discover anything they make in the Cape, excepting bread, and they would have that imported if they could!

  This being my prospect of obtaining amusement at the station, I turned into the streets; possibly I did not know the right places to essay, but at the shops again the “Cape Times” was to all intents and purposes the sole commodity in stock, and with the weekly edition of this exhilarating publication I was finally fain to return to my post of observation, wondering as I retraced my steps if there were any other country upon earth to whom Providence had given so much, and man had done so little.

  Meanwhile the sleepy platform had awakened. Passengers and porters hurried to and fro; the aggravatingly motionless train was about to start. Resuming my former situation, and unfolding my purchase that I might see without being perceived, I eagerly scanned the features of the passers-by.

  There were men in ordinary round felt hats, and men in canvas helmets, men in slovenly, and men in scrupulous attire. The masculine gender preponderated, and amidst such embarrass de richesse I was confused.

  Suddenly my glance fell on a countenance behind the window of a first-class compartment; it was partially bent as its owner coaxed the flame of a vesta into juxtaposition with his cigar, but I fancied with a leaping of the heart my vigil had borne fruit. The instant that head should be lifted I could feel sure. The green flag waved aloft. It was an anxious moment; would the light reach the cigar, or the guard blow his whistle first?

  The signal came, and the tobacco was ignited, for simultaneously with the engine’s preparatory snort the head behind the glass was raised, and I saw Jasper Vining steam complacently past me emitting a wreath of smoke.

  I could have laughed aloud with joy, the revulsion of feeling from suspense to triumph was so great.

  “When is the next train?” was my immediate inquiry. “How long before the next?”

  “Are yon thinking of waiting for it, ma’am?” rejoined the official I had stopped.

  “Well, yes, I was; why do you ask?”

  “Only because you’ll have a precious long time to wait,” he responded coolly, “that’s all!”

  ‘‘I don’t understand you; I thought the Wynberg trains left frequently?”

  “ ‘Wynberg’!” he said. “That’s the platform for Wynberg on the other side, not this!”

  “Not this?”. I echoed. “Then,—then,” the whole mistake I had committed dawning across me, “where does that train go, just left? Tell me quickly, I have made some blunder; what train was that?”

  “That,” he answered as he grinned like an idiot, “was the Diamond Fields express!”

  And the cause of my discomfiture was in my hand! There, when I lay prostrate on the couch in the hotel; there, when I was foiled in the very second of success; there, in those audacious, monstrous, prying columns positively forced upon me and printed for every pair of eyes in the town to see, Dunstan espied the following item of intelligence:

  “List of Passengers per S.S. ‘Drummond Castle:’ ” amongst them

  “Mrs. Lea, (and maid).”

  CHAPTER X.

  QUEEN’S HOTEL,

  Kimberley,

  December 12th.

  I AM on the Diamond Fields of South Africa; I had a flying survey of desolate tracts of “veldt” (pronounced “felt”) and straggling settlements where the “population” rushed open-mouthed to gaze upon this mode of locomotion, which was still a novelty to them. I meditated the will-o’-the-wisp chase I had undertaken was indeed leading me to strange encampments, and consoled myself by reflecting the limit of that man’s retreat must now he reached unless he elected to withdraw further into the interior, and domicile himself in Zululand among the “Kraals.”

  I had a glimpse from the rail way-carriage of a sunset as vivid as ever Turner depicted to an incredulous world; and then I did what I have never done before at any place I came to,—I walked straight to the door of my destination, and looked out.

  “What did I see! A large open space where teams of oxen lay wallowing in dust three inches deep; to the right and left of me a row of one-storied shops and canteens, their corrugated-iron roofs blazing in the sun. I saw hot-faced, wearied men threading their way between the waggons to the post office close by, issuing with brighter eyes, and letters in their clutch; or empty-handed and hopeless, to slowly drag their feet across the loathsome sand again. I saw within half a yard of me that which would necessitate me announcing my presence here as “Mrs. Lea,” nolens volens, and made the new-found alias under which I had this time travelled unavailing,—Jasper Vining himself!

  I do not know which of us was the more startled, he or I; there was no excuse for us avoiding each other, there we were standing near enough to shake hands.

  It was better to recognise him, and I bowed. “How do you do?” I said, advancing a step, with a million possibilities of disaster whirling through my brain; “we have met before, though we have never been introduced!”

  “And what an original rencontre!” he faltered, paling. “My name is ‘Vane,—Vane’; yours I overheard in Lisbon from your maid. I have the pleasure of speaking to Mrs. Lea, I believe?”

  “Yes; we seem fated to dispense with les convenances, do we not? She is there now, my maid, I mean, seeing to the luggage. I had no idea ,we should ever meet again here!”

  I did not know what to talk about, I was frightened of uttering the wrong thing; yet now it had proved impracticable to keep the fact that I had followed him secret, it was essential to make conversation of some sort, and if possible to dispel suspicion.

  “May I ask if you have been here long, Mr.—Vane? At least, how foolish, I need not of course; unless you were ubiquitous you hardly could! Isn’t it curious we should both have been on the point of sailing for the Cape, and neither supposed it of the other?”

  Why would not the man say something; he kept staring at me as if I had dropped from the skies! “Oh,” I ejaculated, “here is Dunstan! Is everything all right, Dunstan?” I had a vague notion she might cry out when she saw him. “I am told I shall find the Queen’s Hôtel comfortable, shall I?”

  “Have you not come to join your husband then?” he exclaimed, “that is, have you no relat
ions here?”

  “None whatever; I am a widow;” I answered sadly: “it is a long tale the business that brought me to Kimberley, I must tell it to you another time if you will allow me!”

  I certainly could not have told him at once; it was not invented.

  “In that case”—and I admired him for his pluck, he shook off his stupefaction, and confronted me ‘game’; “in that case you cannot do better than go to ‘The Queen’s,’ Mrs. Lea. I shall feel honored by your confidence,—I am staying in that hotel myself!”

  So it happened that, of all persons upon earth, it was the absconder I had been seeking who put us courteously into one of those two-horse cabs, and gave instructions for our heavier portmanteaux to be delivered in the course of the afternoon; that it was to no less an individual than himself I played after dinner, and that it was to Vining alias Vane I was presently confiding a detailed explanation of my errand (evolved in the interval).

  “Then you really undertook so stupendous a journey to——”

  “To ‘gather materials,’ Mr. Vane; that’s the expression we writers employ! Does it sound ridiculous?”

  “On the contrary, most praiseworthy; I had no idea when I read a description of a place in a novel that I could regard it as real. You quite restore my faith in human nature!”

  “Oh, we seldom venture to take our heroes into countries we have not visited ourselves; the reviews might be awkward, you know!”

  I thought it would be more awkward when he found out instead of writing stories I only told them, but then an inevitable part of the vocation I had entered was to lie.

  “And do you propose remaining long?”

  “That will of course depend on circumstances; I hope not very long!” I answered with exceeding truth this time. “I am afraid you are encouraging me to make myself a nuisance though. I shall he tempted to ask you what is the most worth seeing, and rely upon you as on a kind of colonial ‘Baedecker’!”