The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wicked Marquis, by E. Phillips Oppenheim This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The Wicked Marquis Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim Illustrator: Will Grefé Release Date: February 22, 2011 [EBook #35361] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WICKED MARQUIS *** Produced by Al Haines
Luncheon at 94 Grosvenor Square was an exceedingly simple meal. FRONTISPIECE. See page 92.
THE WICKED MARQUIS
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
WILL GREFÉ
MCCLELLAND & STEWART PUBLISHERS
TORONTO
Copyright, 1919,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
All rights reserved
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Luncheon at Grosvenor Square was an exceedingly simple meal . . . Frontispiece
"Richard Vont was head-keeper at Mandeleys when I succeeded to the title and estates"
"I expect we are all as bad, though," she went on rather gloomily, "even if we are not quite so blatant"
"You're very hard, father," she said simply
THE WICKED MARQUIS
CHAPTER I
Reginald Philip Graham Thursford, Baron Travers, Marquis of Mandeleys, issued, one May morning, from the gloomy precincts of the Law Courts without haste, yet with certain evidences of a definite desire to leave the place behind him. He crossed first the pavement and then the street, piloted here and there by his somewhat obsequious companion, and turned along the Strand, westwards. Then, in that democratic thoroughfare, for the first time since the calamity had happened, his lips were unlocked in somewhat singular fashion.
"Well, I'm damned!" he exclaimed, with slow and significant emphasis.
His companion glanced up furtively in his direction. The Marquis, as Marquises should be, was very tall and slim, with high well-shaped nose, very little flesh upon his face, a mouth of uncertain shape and eyes of uncertain colour. His companion, as solicitors to the aristocracy should be, was of a smaller, more rotund and insignificant shape. He had the healthy complexion, however, of the week-end golfer, and he affected a certain unlegal rakishness of attire, much in vogue amongst members of his profession having connections in high circles. In his heart he very much admired the ease and naturalness with which his patron, in the heart of professional London, strode along by his side in a well-worn tweed suit, a collar of somewhat ancient design, and a tie which had seen better days.
"The judge's decision was, without doubt, calamitous," he confessed gloomily.
The Marquis turned in at the Savoy courtyard with the air of an habitué.
"I am in need of a brief rest and some refreshment," he said. "You will accompany me, if you please, Mr. Wadham."
The lawyer acquiesced and felt somehow that he had become the tail end of a procession, the Marquis's entrance and progress through the grillroom towards the smoking-room bar was marked by much deference on the part of porters, cloak-room attendants and waiters, a deference acknowledged in the barest possible fashion, yet in a manner which his satellite decided to make a study of. They reached a retired corner of the smoking room, where the Marquis subsided into the only vacant easy chair, ordered for himself a glass of dry sherry, and left his companion to select his own refreshment and pay for both.
"What," the former enquired, "is the next step?"
"There is, alas!" Mr. Wadham replied, "no next step."
"Exactly what do you mean by that?" the Marquis demanded, knitting his brows slightly as he sipped his sherry.
"We have reached the end," the lawyer pronounced. "The decision given by the Court to-day is final."
The Marquis set down his glass. The thing was absurd!
"Surely," he suggested, "the House of Lords remains?"
"Without a doubt, your lordship," Mr. Wadham assented, "but it is of no use to us in the present instance. The judge of the Supreme Court—this is, by-the-by, our third appeal—has delivered a final decision."
The Marquis seemed vaguely puzzled.
"The House of Lords," he persisted, "remains surely a Court of Appeal for members of my order whose claims to consideration are not always fully recognised in the democracy of the common law court."
"I fear," Mr. Wadham replied, with a little cough, "that the House of Lords is supposed to have other functions."
"Other functions?"
"In an indirect sort of fashion," Mr. Wadham continued, "it is supposed to assist in the government of the country."
"God bless my soul!" the Marquis exclaimed.
There was a queer, intangible silence. The lawyer was quite aware that a storm was brewing, but as his distinguished client never lost his temper or showed annoyance in any of the ordinary plebeian ways, he was conscious of some curiosity as to what might happen next.
"You mean to say, then," the Marquis continued, "that for the rest of my days, and in the days of those who may succeed me, that edifice, that cottage which for generations has sheltered one of the family retainers, is to remain the property of—of an alien?"
"I fear that that is the decision of the court," the lawyer admitted. "The deed of gift was exceptionally binding."
The Marquis shook his head. The thing was incomprehensible.
"I can stand upon the roof of Mandeleys," he said, "and I can look north, south, east and west, and in no direction can I look off my own land. Yet you mean to tell me that almost in my garden there is to remain a demesne which can be occupied by any Tom, Dick or Harry which its nominal owner chooses to place in possession?"
The lawyer signed to the waiter for their glasses to be replenished.
"It is certainly not justice, your lordship," he admitted,—"it is not even reasonable—but it is the law."
The Marquis produced a gold cigarette case, absently lit a cigarette, and returned the case to his pocket without offering it to his companion. He smoked meditatively and sipped his second glass of sherry.
"A state of things," he declared, "has been revealed to me which I cannot at present grasp. I must discuss the matter with Robert—with my son-in-law, Sir Robert Lees. He is an intensely modern person, and he may be able to suggest something."
"Sir Robert is a very clever man," the lawyer acknowledged, "but failing an arrangement with the tenant himself, I cannot see that there is anything further to be done. We have, in short, exhausted the law."
"A process," the Marquis observed sympathetically, "which I fear that you must have found expensive, Mr. Wadham."
"The various suits into which we have entered on behalf of your lordship, and the costs which we have had to pay," the latter hastened to announce, "amount, I regret to say, to something over eighteen thousand pounds."
"Dear me!" his companion sighed. "It seems quite a great deal of money."
"Since we are upon the subject," the lawyer proceeded, "my firm has suggested that I should approach your lordship with regard to some means of—pardon me—reducing the liability in question."
So far as the face of Mr. Wadham's client was capable of expressing anything, it expressed now a certain amount of surprise.
"It appears to me, Mr. Wadham," he remarked, "that you are asking me to attend to your business for you."
The lawyer knitted his brows in puzzled fashion.
"I am not sure that I quite follow your lordship," he murmured.
"Do I employ you," his patron continued, "to manage my estates, to control my finances, to act as agent to all my prope
rties, and yet need to keep a perspective myself of my various assets? If eighteen thousand pounds is required, it is for your firm to decide from what quarter the money should come. Personally, as you know, I never interfere."
Mr. Wadham coughed in somewhat embarrassed fashion.
"As a matter of fact, your lordship," he confessed, with a most illogical sense that it was his duty to apologise for his client's impecuniosity, "as a matter of fact, neither my partners nor I can at the present moment see where a sum of eighteen thousand pounds can be raised."
The Marquis rose to his feet and shook the cigarette ash carefully from his coat.
"Our conversation, Mr. Wadham," he said, "is reaching a stage which bores me. I have just remembered, too," he added, with a glance at the clock, "that my daughter is entertaining a few friends to lunch. You must write to Merridrew. He is really a most excellent agent. He will tell you what balances are likely to be available during the next few months."
Mr. Wadham received the suggestion without enthusiasm.
"We made an application to Mr. Merridrew some few weeks ago," he remarked, "as we needed some ready money for the purpose of briefing the barristers. Mr. Merridrew's reply was not encouraging."
"Ah!" the Marquis murmured. "Merridrew is a gloomy dog sometimes. Try him again. It is astonishing how elastic he can be if he is squeezed."
"I am afraid your lordship has done all the squeezing," the solicitor observed ruefully.
A little trill of feminine laughter rang through the room. Two smartly attired young ladies were seated upon a divan near the door, surrounded by a little group of acquaintances. One of them leaned forward and nodded as the Marquis and his companion passed.
"How do you do, Marquis?" she said, in distinctly transatlantic accents.
The behaviour of his client, under such circumstances, remained an object lesson to Mr. Wadham for the rest of his life. The Marquis gazed with the faintest expression of surprise at, or perhaps through, the young person who had addressed him. Fumbling for a moment in his waistcoat pocket, he raised a horn-rimmed monocle to his eye, dropped it almost at once, and passed on without the flicker of an eyelid. On their way to the outside door, however, he shook his head gravely.
"What a singular exhibition," he murmured,—"demonstration, perhaps I should say—of the crudeness of modern social intercourse! Was it my fancy, Wadham, or did the young person up there address me?"
"She certainly did," the other assented. "She even called you by name."
They were standing in the courtyard now, waiting for a taxi, and the Marquis sighed.
"In a public place, too!" he murmured. "Wadham, I am afraid that we are living in the wrong age. I came to that conclusion only a few days ago, when I was invited, actually invited, to dine at the house of— But I forget, Wadham, I forget. Your grandfather would appreciate these things. You yourself are somewhat imbued, I fear, with the modern taint. A handful of silver, if you please," he added, holding out his hand. "I am not accustomed to these chance conveyances."
The lawyer searched his trousers pockets, and produced a couple of pink notes and a few half-crowns. In some mysterious fashion, the whole seemed to pass into the Marquis's long, aristocratic hand. He turned to the porter who was standing bare-headed, and slipped a ten-shilling note into his palm.
"Well, good morning, Wadham," he said, stepping into his taxicab. "I have no doubt that you did your best, but this morning's unfortunate happening will take me some time to get over. My compliments to your senior partner. You can say that I am disappointed—no more."
The Marquis crossed his legs and leaned back in the vehicle. Mr. Wadham remained upon the pavement, gazing for a moment at his empty hand.
"Taxi, sir?" the hall porter asked obsequiously.
Mr. Wadham felt in all his pockets.
"Thank you," he replied gloomily, "I'll walk."
CHAPTER II
Lady Letitia Thursford, the only unmarried daughter of the Marquis, stood in a corner of the spacious drawing-room at 94 Grosvenor Square, talking to her brother-in-law. Sir Robert, although he wanted his luncheon very badly and, owing to some mistake, had come a quarter of an hour too soon, retained his customary good nature. He always enjoyed talking to his favourite relation-in-law.
"I say, Letty," he remarked, screwing his eyeglass into his eye and looking around, "you're getting pretty shabby here, eh?"
Lady Letitia smiled composedly.
"That is the worst of you nouveaux riches," she declared. "You do not appreciate the harmonising influence of the hand of Time. This isn't shabbiness, it's tone."
"Nouveaux riches, indeed!" he repeated. "Better not let your father hear you call me names!"
"Father wouldn't care a bit," she replied. "As for this drawing-room, Robert, well, sixty years ago it must have been hideous. To-day I rather like it. It is absolutely and entirely Victorian, even to the smell."
Sir Robert sniffed vigorously.
"I follow you," he agreed. "Old lavender perfume, ottomans, high-backed chairs, chintzes that look as though they came out of the ark, and a few mouldy daguerreotypes. The whole thing's here, all right."
"Perhaps it's just as well for us that it is," she observed. "I have come to the conclusion that furniture people are the least trustful in the world. I don't think even dad could get a van-load of furniture on credit."
Sir Robert nodded sympathetically. He was a pleasant-looking man, a little under middle age, with bright, alert expression, black hair and moustache, and perhaps a little too perfectly dressed. He just escaped being called dapper.
"Chucking a bit more away in the Law Courts, isn't he?"
Letitia indulged in a little grimace.
"Not even you could make him see reason about that," she sighed. "He is certain to lose his case, and it must be costing him thousands."
"Dashed annoying thing," Sir Robert remarked meditatively, "to have a cottage within a hundred yards of your hall door which belongs to some one else."
"It is annoying, of course," Letitia assented, "but there is no doubt whatever that Uncle Christopher made it over to the Vonts absolutely, and I don't see how we could possibly upset the deed of gift. I am now," she continued, moving towards a stand of geraniums and beginning to snip off some dead leaves, "about to conclude the picture. You behold the maiden of bygone days who condescended sometimes to make herself useful."
The scissors snipped energetically, and Sir Robert watched his sister-in-law. She was inclined to be tall, remarkably graceful in a fashion of her own, a little pale, with masses of brown hair, and eyes which defied any sort of colour analysis. But what Sir Robert chiefly loved about her were the two little lines of humour at the corners of her firm, womanly mouth.
"Yes, you're in the setting all right, Letty," he declared, "and yet you are rather puzzling. Just now you look as though you only wanted the crinoline and the little curls to be some one's grandmother in her youth. Yet at that picture show the other night you were quite the most modern thing there."
"It's just how I'm feeling," she confided, with a little sigh, standing back and surveying her handiwork. "I have that rare gift, you know, Robert, of governing my personality from inside. When I am in this room, I feel Victorian, and I am Victorian. When I hear that Russian man's music which is driving every one crazy just now—well, I feel and I suppose I look different. Here's Meg coming. How well she looks!"
They watched the motor-car draw up outside, and the little business of Lady Margaret Lees's descent carried out in quite the best fashion. A footman stood at the door, a grey-haired butler in plain clothes adventured as far as the bottom step; behind there was just the suggestion of something in livery.
"Yes, Meg's all right," Sir Robert replied. "Jolly good wife she is, too. Why don't you marry, Letty?"
"Perhaps," she laughed, leaning a little towards him, "because I did not go to a certain house party at Raynham Court, three years ago."
"Are you conceited enough," he inquired, "to i
magine that I should have chosen you instead of Meg, if you had been there?"
"Perhaps I should have been a little too young," she admitted. "Why haven't you a brother, Robert?"
"I don't believe you'd have married him, if I had," he answered bluntly. "I'm not really your sort, you know."
Lady Margaret swept in, very voluble but a little discursive.
"Isn't this just like Bob!" she exclaimed. "I believe he always comes here early on purpose to find you alone, Letty! Who's coming to lunch, please? And where's dad?"
"Father should be on his way home from the Law Courts by now," Letitia replied, "and I am afraid it's a very dull luncheon for you, Meg. Aunt Caroline is coming, and an American man she travelled over on the steamer with. I am not quite sure whether she expects to let Bayfield to him or offer him to me as a husband, but I am sure she has designs."
"The Duchess is always so helpful," Robert grunted.
"So long as it costs her nothing," Lady Margaret declared, "nothing makes her so happy as to put the whole world to rights."
"Here she comes—in a taxicab, too," Sir Robert announced, looking out of the window. "She is getting positively penurious."
"She is probably showing off before the American," Lady Margaret remarked. "She is always talking about living in a semi-detached house and making her own clothes. Up to the present, though, she has stuck to Worth."
The Duchess, who duly arrived a few moments later, brought with her into the room a different and essentially a more cosmopolitan atmosphere. She was a tall, fair woman, attractive in an odd sort of way, with large features, a delightful smile, and a habit of rapid speech. She exchanged hasty greetings with every one present and then turned back towards the man who had followed her into the room.
"Letty dear, this is Mr. David Thain—Lady Letitia Thursford. I told you about Mr. Thain, dear, didn't I? This is almost his first visit to England, and I want every one to be nice to him. Mr. Thain, this is my other niece, Lady Margaret Lees, and her husband, Sir Robert Lees. Where's Reginald?"
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