But at that Sippens was on his feet in an instant.
“Don’t you do that, Chief!” he fairly squeaked. “Don’t you do that! You’ll be sorry if you do. These people over here stick together like glue! They’ll fight each other singly, but when it comes to a foreigner, they’ll combine and you’ll be made to pay dearly unless you have something to fight them with. Better wait until tomorrow or the next day and see whether you hear from Greaves and Henshaw. They’re sure to read of your arrival in today’s papers, and, unless I miss my guess, they’ll get in touch with you, for they haven’t a thing to gain by waiting, not a thing. Tell Jarkins to stay away from Johnson, and you do whatever you have to do, but first come with me to look over this Charing Cross route.”
But at that moment Jamieson, who was occupying a room next door, entered with a letter brought by hand. Noting the name on the outside of the envelope, Cowperwood smiled, and then, after reading the letter, turned it over to Sippens.
“There you are, De Sota! Now, what about that?” he queried, genially. The letter was from Greaves and Henshaw, and read:
DEAR MR. COWPERWOOD:
We note in today’s paper your arrival in London. If convenient and of interest to you, we would like to arrange an appointment, preferably for Monday or Tuesday of next week. Our purpose is, of course, to discuss the matter laid before you in New York about March 15th last.
Felicitating you upon your safe arrival, and wishing you a very pleasant stay, we are
Cordially yours, Greaves and Henshaw per Montague Greaves
Sippens snapped his fingers triumphantly. “There! What did I tell you?” he fairly cackled. “Bringing it to you on your own terms. And the finest route in all London. With that in your bag, Chief, you can afford to sit back and wait, particularly if you start picking up some of these other options that are floating around, for they’ll hear of it and have to come to you. This fellow Johnson! He’s got a nerve, asking you to do nothing until after you see him,” he added, a little sourly, for already he had heard that Johnson was an assured and dictatorial person, and he was prepared not to like him. “Of course, he has some good connections,” he continued, “he and this fellow Stane. But without your money and ability and experience, what can they do? They couldn’t even swing this Charing Cross line, let alone these others! And they won’t, without you!”
“You’re probably right, De Sota,” said Cowperwood, smiling genially on his loyal associate. “I’ll see Greaves and Henshaw, probably on Tuesday, and you may be sure that I won’t let anything slip through my fingers. How about tomorrow afternoon for that ride over the Charing Cross? I suppose I ought to see that and these loop lines at one and the same time.”
“Great, Chief! How about one o’clock? I can show you everything and have you back here by five.”
“Good! Only, just a moment. Do you remember Haddonfield, Lord Haddonfield, who came out to Chicago a few years ago and created such a stir out there? The Palmers, the Fields, the Lesters, were all running after him, remember? I entertained him out at my place, too. Sporty, jaunty type.”
“Sure, sure! I remember,” returned Sippens. “Wanted to go into the packing business, I believe.”
“And into my business, too. I guess I never told you that.”
“No, you never did,” said Sippens, interestedly.
“Well, anyhow, I had a telegram from him this morning. Wants me to come to his country place—Shropshire, I believe—over this coming week end.” He picked up a telegram from his desk. “Beriton Manor, Shropshire.”
“That’s interesting. He’s one of the people connected with the City and South London. Stockholder, or director, or something. I’ll know all about him tomorrow. Maybe he’s in on this underground development and wants to see you about that. If so, and he’s friendly, he’s certainly a good man for you. Stranger in a strange land, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” said Cowperwood. “It may not be a bad idea. I think I’ll go. You see what you can find out, and we’ll meet here at one.”
As Sippens bustled out, Jamieson entered with more notes, but Cowperwood waved him away. “Nothing more until Monday, Jamieson. Write Greaves and Henshaw and say I’ll be phased to meet them here on Tuesday at eleven. Get hold of Jarkins and tell him to do nothing until lie hears from me. Wire this Lord Haddonfield that Mr. and Mrs. Cowperwood will be pleased to accept his invitation, and get the directions and the tickets. If anything more comes up, just put it on my desk and I’ll see it tomorrow.”
He strode out the door, and into the elevator, and once outside, hailed a hansome. Although he announced Oxford Street as his destination, he had not ridden two blocks before he pushed up the lid at the top and hailed the driver, calling: “Oxford and Yewberry Streets, left-hand corner.”
And once there, stepped out and walked in a roundabout way to Claridge’s.
Chapter 24
Cowperwood’s attitude toward Berenice at this time was a mixture of father and lover. His greater age and unchanging admiration for her mentality and beauty caused him to wish to protect and develop her aesthetically. At the same time, and that decidedly, he shared her sensual emotions, although sensing at times an oddness about the relation, since he could not publicly harmonize his sixty years with her extreme youth. On the other hand, privately, her practical prevision, which so often seemed to match his own, gave him a sense of added strength as well as pride. For her independence and force united not so much with his thoughts of material self-aggrandizement as with that portion of its possible fruits which might by her be utilized to achieve temperamental and social perfection. It explained his presence here in London and gave it real weight. Now, finding her buoyant and enthusiastic as ever, as he took her in his arms he actually absorbed not a little of her gaiety and confidence.
“Welcome to London!” were her first words. “So Caesar has crossed the Rubicon!”
“Thanks, Bevy,” he said, releasing her. “I got your message, too, and treasure it. But let me look at you. Walk across the room!”
He surveyed her with intense satisfaction as, smiling an ironic smile, she stepped away and walked, posing in the manner of a fashion model, finally curtseying, and saying: “Direct from Madame Sari! The price is a mere—secret!” and she pouted her lips.
She was wearing a deep-blue velvet frock, cut princess style, with tiny pearls outlining the neck and girdle.
Cowperwood took her hand and led her to a small sofa, just large enough for the two of them. “Exquisite!” he said. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be with you again.” He then inquired after her mother, and continued: “This is a new sensation for me, Bevy. I never really cared much for London before, but this time, knowing you were to be here, I found myself delighting in the sight of it.”
“And what else?” she asked.
“And seeing you, of course,” he beamed, and kissed her, touching her eyes, hair, mouth with his lips and fingers until at last she cautioned him that there was to be no love-making until later. Forced to accept this for the moment, he began giving a brisk account of his passage and all that had occurred.
“Aileen is with me at the Cecil,” he went on. “She has just been sketched for the papers. And your friend Tollifer did a great deal, I must say, to make things agreeable for her.”
“My friend! I don’t know him!”
“Of course, you don’t, but, anyway, he turns out to be a very clever fellow. You should have seen him when he came to me in New York and again on the boat. Aladdin and the wonderful lamp called money! By the way, he went on to Paris, partially to cover his tracks, I take it. I have seen to it, of course, that he is amply supplied with cash for the present.”
“You met him on the boat?” queried Berenice.
“Yes, he was introduced by the captain. But then, he is just the sort of person who could arrange that sort of thing for himself. And he appears to have a positive genius for ingratiating himself with the ladies. He practically monopolized all of the attract
ive ones.”
“With you there? Do you expect me to believe that?”
“A miracle, I admit, but the man is uncanny. He seemed to sense exactly what was needed. I personally saw very little of him, but he managed to impress Aileen—so much so that she wants to have him dine with us.”
He looked solemnly at Berenice, and she in turn gazed congratulatingly upon him, adding after a moment. “I’m glad; I really am. She needs just such a change as this. She should have had it long ago.”
“I agree,” said Cowperwood. “Since I can’t be to her what she would like me to be, why not someone else? Anyway, I hope he keeps his head, and I’m rather inclined to think he will. Aileen is already planning to go to Paris to shop. So things are going well enough, I think.”
“Very well,” said Berenice, smiling. “It looks as though our plans might work out. So who is to blame?”
“Well, not you, and not me. It’s one of those things that have to be—like your coming to me last Christmas when I least expected you.”
He began caressing her again, but, interested in her own plans, she resisted him, saying: “Now, now, I want to hear about London, and then I have something to tell you.”
“London? Everything looks most promising so far. I told you in New York about those two men, Greaves and Henshaw, and how I turned them down. Well, just now at the hotel, before I left, there was a letter from them. They want to see me, and I have an appointment with them. As for the larger plan, there is a group here with whom I am planning to talk. As soon as there is anything definite, I’ll let you know. But meanwhile, I want to steal away with you somewhere. We should be able to take a vacation for a little while before I go into all this. Of course, there’s Aileen. And until she is out of the way . . .” he paused, “my plan, of course, is to urge her to go to Paris, and then we might sail up toward the North Cape or down to the Mediterranean. One of my agents tells me of a yacht he knows of that can be leased for the summer.”
“Yacht! Yacht!” exclaimed Berenice, excitedly, and at the same time laying a finger on his lips. “Oh, no, no! Now you’re treading on my plans. Fixing things I want to fix. You see——”
But before she could finish he seized her and silenced her with a kiss.
“You are impatient!” she said, softly, “but wait . . .” and she led him to a table set by an open window in the adjoining room. “You see, my lord, a feast is laid for two. It is your slave who invites you. If you will be seated, and have a drink with me, and behave yourself, I shall tell you about myself. Believe it or not, I have solved everything!”
“Everything!” commented Cowperwood, banteringly. “And so soon? If only I knew how to do that!”
“Well, nearly everything,” she went on, picking up a decanter containing his favorite wine and pouring a drink for each of them. “You see, strange as it may seem, I have been thinking. And when I think . . .” she stopped and looked upward at the ceiling. He seized the glass she was holding, and kissed her, as she knew he would.
“Back, Caesar!” she teased. “We are not to drink yet. You are to sit down there; I will sit here. And then I will tell you all. I’ll confess.”
“Imp! Be serious, Bevy.”
“Never more so,” she said. “Now listen, Frank! It was this way. On board our steamer were a half-dozen Englishmen, old and young, and all of them handsome; at least, those with whom I flirted were handsome.”
“I’m sure of that,” said Cowperwood, tolerantly, and still a little dubiously. “And so?”
“Well, if you’re going to be as generous as all that, I’ll have to tell you that it was all flirtation in your behalf, and innocent, too, although you needn’t believe that. For instance, I found out about a little suburban place called Boveney on the Thames, not more than thirty miles from London. The most attractive young bachelor, Arthur Tavistock, told me about it. He lives there with his mother, Lady Tavistock. He’s sure I’d like her. And my mother likes him very much. So you see . . .”
“Well, I see we live at Boveney, Mother and I,” said Cowperwood, almost sarcastically.
“Precisely!” mocked Berenice. “And that’s another important point—you and Mother, I mean. From now on you’re going to have to pay a good deal of attention to her. And very little to me. Except as my guardian, of course,” and she tweaked his ear.
“In other words, Cowperwood, the guardian and family friend.” He smiled dryly.
“Exactly!” persisted Berenice. “And what’s more, I’m to go punting with Arthur very soon. And, better still,” and here she chuckled, “he knows of a lovely houseboat which will be ideal for Mother and me. And so, moonlight nights, or sunny afternoons around teatime, while my mother and his mother sit and crochet or walk in the garden, and you smoke and read, Arthur and I . . .”
“Yes, I know, a charming life together: houseboat, lover, spring, guardian, mother. Quite an ideal summer, in fact.”
“It couldn’t be better,” insisted Berenice vehemently. “He even described the awnings, red and green. And all of his friends.”
“Red and green, too, I suppose,” commented Cowperwood.
“Well, practically; flannels and blazers, you know. And all perfectly proper. He told Mother so. A host of friends to whom Mother and I are to be introduced.”
“And the wedding invitations?”
“By June, at the latest, I promise you.”
“May I give the bride away?”
“You could, of course,” replied Berenice, without a smile.
“By George!” and Cowperwood laughed loudly. “Quite a successful voyage, I must say!”
“You haven’t heard a fraction of it,” she went on blatantly, and almost contentiously. “Not a fraction! There’s Maidenhead—I blush to mention it——”
“You do? I’ll make a note of that.”
“I haven’t told you yet about Colonel Hawkesberry, of the Royal something-or-other,” she said, mock-foolishly. “One of those regiment things; knows a fellow officer who has a cousin who has a cottage in some park or other on the Thames.”
“Two cottages and two houseboats! Or are you seeing double?”
“At any rate, this one is rarely let. Vacant for almost the first time, this spring. And a perfect dream. Usually loaned to friends. But as for Mother and myself . . .”
“We now become the daughter of the regiment!”
“Well, so much for the colonel. Then there’s Wilton Braithwaite Wriothesley, pronounced Rotisly, with the most perfect little mustache, and six feet tall, and . . .”
“Now, Bevy! These intimacies! I’m getting suspicious!”
“Not of Wilton! Never, I swear! The colonel, maybe, but not Wilton!” She giggled. “Anyway, to make a long story five times as long, I already know of not only four houseboats along the Thames, but four perfectly appointed houses in or near the most exclusive residential squares of London, and all of them to be had for the season, or the year, or forever, if we should decide to stay here forever.”
“If you say so, darling,” interpolated Cowperwood. “But what a little actress you are!”
“And all of them,” continued Berenice, ignoring his admiring comment, “if I should trouble to give my London address—which I haven’t as yet—will be shown to me by one or all of my admirers.”
“Bravo! My word!” exclaimed Cowperwood.
“But no commitments as yet, and no entanglements, either,” she added. “But Mother and I have agreed to look at one in Grosvenor Square and one in Berkeley Square, after which, well, we shall see what we shall see.”
“But don’t you think you’d better consult your aged guardian as to the contract and all that sort of thing?”
“Well, as to the contract, yes, but as to all else . . .”
“As to all else, I resign, and gladly. I’ve done enough directing for one lifetime, and it will amuse me to see you try it.”
“Well, anyway,” she went on, quite impishly, “suppose you let me sit here,” and she seated he
rself in his lap, and reaching over to the table picked up the goblet of wine and proceeded to kiss the rim. “See, I am wishing into it.” She then drank half. “And now you wish,” she said, handing him the glass and watching him drink the remainder. “And now you must throw it over my right shoulder against the wall, so that no one will ever drink out of it again. It’s the way the Danes and the Normans did. Now . . .”
And Cowperwood threw the glass.
“Now, kiss me, and it will all come true,” she said. “For I am a witch, you know, and I make things come true.”
“I am prepared to believe that,” said Cowperwood affectionately, as he solemnly kissed her.
After dinner they discussed the matter of their immediate movements. He found Berenice strongly against any plans for leaving England at this time. It was spring, and she had always wanted to make a tour of the cathedral towns—Canterbury, York, Wells; visit the Roman baths at Bath; Oxford and Cambridge; and some of the old castles. They could make the trip together, but only, of course, after he had looked into the possibilities which were confronting him in connection with this London project. Incidentally, she would also like to inspect the cottages she had mentioned. And then, once placed, they could immediately begin their holiday together.
And now he must go in to see her mother, who was a little upset and brooding these days, fearing she scarcely knew what for all of them. And after that he was to come back to her, and then . . . and then . . .
Cowperwood gathered her up in his arms.
“Well, well, Minerva!” he said, “it may be possible to arrange things the way you want them. I don’t know. But one thing is sure: if there is too much of a hitch here, we’ll make a tour of the world. I will arrange with Aileen somehow. And if she won’t agree, well, then, we’ll go in spite of her. The publicity she’s always threatening can probably be overcome in some fashion. I’m sure of it. It has so far, anyway.”
He kissed her gently, and with great comfort to himself, and then went in to speak to Mrs. Carter, whom he found sitting near an open window, reading a novel by Marie Corelli. She was obviously dressed and coiffed for his coming, and bent on him a most optimistic smile. Nevertheless, he sensed a nervous speculation on her part as to the practicability and danger of all that he and Berenice were doing. In fact, he thought he saw strain and depression in her eyes. So after making a few remarks on the prospects for a pleasant spring in England for all of them, he quite casually, and yet most directly, added:
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