“Let me in! let me in, Mr. Dix!” cried the visitor, again rapping.
“She never called me by that name,” said Jacob, reassured, and scrambling for the candle; then, having lighted it, he added aloud: “I don’t know any one called Hagar Stanley.”
“Open the door, and you will. I’m your wife’s niece.”
“Flesh and blood!” said the old man, fumbling at the lock—“I don’t mind that.”
He flung wide the door, and out of the fog and darkness a young girl of twenty years stepped into the shop. She was dressed in a dark red garment made of some coarse stuff, and over this she wore a short black cloak. Her hands were bare, and also her head, save for a scarlet handkerchief, which was carelessly twisted round her magnificent black hair. The face was of the true Romany type Oriental in its contour and hue, with arched eyebrows over large dark eyes, and a thin-lipped mouth beautifully shaped, under a delicately-curved nose. Face and figure were those of a woman who needed palms and desert sands and golden sunshine, hot and sultry, for an appropriate background; yet this Eastern beauty appeared out of the fog like some dead Syrian princess, and presented herself in all her rich loveliness to the astonished eyes of the old pawnbroker.
“So you are the niece of my dead Hagar?” he said, staring earnestly at her in the thin yellow light of the candle. “Yes, it’s true. She looked like you when I met her in the New Forest. What d’ye want?”
“Food and shelter,” replied the girl, curtly. “But you’d better shut the door; it might be bad for your reputation if any passer-by saw you speaking to a woman at this time of night.”
“My reputation!” chuckled Jacob, closing and bolting the door. “Lord! that’s past spoiling. If you knew how bad it is, you wouldn’t come here.”
“Oh, I can look after myself, Mr. Dix, especially as you’re old enough to be my great-grandfather twice over.”
“Come, come! Civil words, young woman!”
“I’m civil to those who are civil to me,” retorted Hagar, taking the candle out of her host’s hands. “Go on, Mr. Dix, show me in; I’m tired, and want to sleep. I’m hungry, and wish food. You must give me bed and board.”
“Infernal insolence, young woman! Why?”
“Because I’m kin to your dead Hagar.”
“Aye, aye, there’s something in that,” muttered Dix, and dominated, in spite of his inherent obstinacy, by the imperious spirit of the girl, he led her into the dingy parlor. Here she removed her cloak and sat down, while Jacob, in an unusual spirit of hospitality, induced by the mention of his late wife, produced some coarse victuals.
Without a word he placed the food before his guest; without a word she ate, and was refreshed. Jacob marveled at the self-possession of the gipsy, and was rather pleased than otherwise with her bold coolness. Only when she had finished the last scrap of bread and cheese did he speak. His first remark was curt and rude—designedly so.
“You can’t stay here!” said the amiable old man.
The girl retorted in kind: “I can, and I shall, Mr. Dix.”
“For what reason, you jade?”
“For several—and all good ones,” said Hagar leaning her chin on her hands and looking steadily at his wrinkled face. “I know all about you from a Romany chal who was up here six months ago. Your wife is dead; your son has left you; and here you live alone, disliked and hated by all. You are old and feeble and solitary; but you are by marriage akin to the gentle Romany. For that reason, and because I am of your dead rani’s blood, I have come to look after you.”
“Jezebel! That is, if I’ll let you!”
“Oh, you’ll let me fast enough,” replied the woman, carelessly. “You are a miser, I have heard; so you won’t lose the chance of getting a servant for nothing.”
“A servant! You?” said Dix, admiring her imperial air.
“Even so, Mr. Dix. I’ll look after you and your house. I’ll scrub and cook and mend. If you’ll teach me your trade, I’ll drive a bargain with any one—and as hard and fast a one as you could drive yourself. And all these things I’ll do for nothing.”
“There’s food and lodging, you hussy.”
“Give me dry bread and cold water, your roof to cover me, and a bundle of straw to sleep on. These won’t cost you much, and I ask for nothing more—Skinflint.”
“How dare you call me that, you wild cat!”
“It’s what they call you hereabouts,” said Hagar with a shrug. “I think it suits you. Well, Mr. Dix, I have made my offer.”
“I haven’t accepted it yet,” snapped Jacob, puzzled by the girl. “Why do you come to me? Why don’t you stay with your tribe?”
“I can explain that in five minutes, Mr. Dix. We Stanleys are just now in the New Forest. You know it?”
“Truly lass,” said Dix, sadly. “ ’Twas there I met my Hagar.”
“And it is from there that I, the second Hagar, come,” replied the girl. “I was with my tribe and I was happy till Goliath came.”
“Goliath?” inquired Jacob, doubtfully.
“He is half a Gorgio and half Romany—a red-haired villain, who chose to fall in love with me. I hated him. I hate him still!”—the woman’s bosom rose and fell in short, hurried pantings—“and he would have forced me to be his wife. Pharaoh—our king, you know—would have forced me also to be this man’s rani, so I had no one to protect me, and I was miserable. Then I recalled what the chal had told me about you who wed with one of us; so I fled hither for your protection, and to be your servant.”
“But Goliath—this red-haired brute?”
“He does not know where I have gone, he will never find me here. Let me stay, Mr. Dix, and be your servant. I have nowhere to go to, no one to seek, save you, the husband of the dead Hagar, after whom I am named. Am I to stay or go, now that I have told you the truth?”
Jacob looked thoughtfully at the girl, and saw tears glistening in her heavy eyelashes, although her pride kept them from falling. Moved by her helplessness, mindful of the wife whom he had loved so well, and alive to the advantage of possessing a white slave whom he could trust the astute ancient made up his mind.
“Stay,” said he, quietly. “I shall see if you will be useful to me—useful and faithful, my girl so, bread and bed shall be yours.”
“It’s a bargain,” said Hagar, with a sigh of relief. “And now, old man, let me rest in peace, I am weary, and have walked many a long mile.”
So in this fashion came Hagar to the pawn-shop; and it was for this reason that Vark, to his great astonishment, found a woman—and what is more, a young and beautiful woman—established in the house of Jacob Dix. The news affected the neighborhood like a miracle, and new tales were repeated about Dix and his housekeeper, who, report said, was no better than she should be. But Hagar did not mind evil tongues; nor did the old man. Without a spark of love or affection between them, they worked together on a basis of mutual interest; and all the days that Jacob lived Hagar served him faithfully. Whereat Vark wondered.
It was not an easy life for the girl. Jacob was a hard master, and made her pay dearly for bed and board. Hagar scrubbed walls and floors; she mended such pawned dresses as required attention; and cooked the frugal meals of herself and master. The old pawnbroker taught her how to depreciate articles brought to be pawned, how to haggle with their owners, and how to wring the last sixpence out of miserable wretches who came to redeem their pledges. In a short time Hagar became as clever as Jacob himself, and he was never afraid to trust her with the task of making bargains, or with the care of the shop. She acquired a knowledge of pictures, gems, silverware, china—in fact, all the information about such things necessary to an expert. Without knowing it, the untaught gipsy girl became a connoisseur.
It required all Hagar’s patience to bear cheerfully the lot which she had chosen voluntarily. Her bed was
hard, her food meager; and the old man’s sharp tongue was perpetually goading her by its bitterness. Jacob, indeed—sure of his slave, since she had no other roof save his to cover her—exercised all the petty arts of a tyrant. He vented on her all the rage he felt against the son who had deserted him. Once he went so far as to attempt a blow; but a single glance from the fierce eyes of Hagar made him change his intention; and, cowed for once in his tyranny, Jacob never lifted his hand again against her. He saw plainly enough that if he once raised the devil in this child of the free gipsy race, there would be no laying it again. But, actual violence apart, Hagar’s life was as miserable as a human being’s well could be.
Stifled in the narrow shop in the crowded neighborhood, she longed at times for the free life of the road. Her thoughts recalled the green woods, so cool and shady in summer; they dwelt on the brown heath lonely in the starlight, with the red flare of the gipsy fire casting fantastic shadows on caravan and tent. In the darkness of night she would murmur the strange words of the “calo jib,” like some incantation to compel memory. To herself, while arranging the curiosities in the shop window, she would sing fragments of Romany songs set in minor keys. The nostalgia of the wilds, of the encampment and the open road, tortured her in the heats of summer; and when winter descended she longed for the chill breath of country winds sweeping across moors laden with snow, over pools rigid in the cold embrace of smooth and glassy ice. In the pawn-shop she was an exile from her dream paradise of roaming liberty.
To make bad worse, Vark fell in love with her. For the first time in his narrow, selfish life, a divine passion touched the gross soul of the thieves’ lawyer. Ravished by the dark loveliness of the girl, dominated by her untamed spirit, astonished by her clear mind and unerring judgment, Vark wished to possess this treasure. There was also another reason for the offer of marriage which he made, and this reason he put into words when he asked Hagar to become his wife. It took Vark twelve months to make up his mind to this course; and his wrath may be guessed when Hagar refused him promptly. The miserable wretch could not believe that she was in earnest.
“Oh, dear, sweet Hagar!” he whined, trying to clasp her hand, “you cannot have heard what your slave said!”
Hagar, who was mending some lace and minding the shop in the absence of Jacob, looked up with a scornful smile. “What you call yourself in jest,” said she quietly, “I am in reality; I sold myself into bondage for bare existence a year ago. Do you want to marry a slave, Mr. Vark?”
“Yes, yes! Then you will no longer need to work like a servant.”
“I would rather be a servant than your wife, Mr. Vark.”
“The girl’s mad! Why?”
“Because you are a scoundrel.”
Vark grinned amiably, in no wise disturbed by this plain-speaking. “My Cleopatra, we are all scoundrels in these parts. Jacob Dix is—”
“Is my master!” interrupted Hagar, sharply. “So leave him alone. But this offer of yours, my friend. What benefit do you propose to gain if I accept it? You’re not asking me to be your wife without some motive.”
“Why, that’s true enough, my beauty!” chuckled Vark. “Lord, how cunning you are to guess! The motive is double: one part love—”
“We’ll say nothing about that, man! You don’t know what love is! The other motive?”
“Money!” said Vark, curtly, and without wasting words.
“H’m!” replied Hagar, with irony. “Mr. Dix’s money?”
“What penetration!” said the lawyer, slapping his knee. “My word, here’s intelligence!”
“We’ll pass over the usual compliments, Mr. Vark. Well, how is Mr. Dix’s money to benefit you through me?”
“Why,” said Vark, blinking his green eyes, “the old man’s got a fancy for you, my dear; and all the liking he had for me he’s given to you. Before you came, he made a will in favor of his lost son, and appointed me executor. Now that he sees what a sharp one you are, he has made a new will—”
“Leaving all the money to me, I suppose? That’s a lie!”
“It is a lie,” retorted Vark, “but one I wasn’t going to tell you. No; the money is still left to the son; but you are the executor under the new will. Now d’ye see?”
“No,” said Hagar, folding up her work, “I don’t.”
“Well, if I marry you, I’ll administer the estate in your name—”
“For the benefit of the lost heir? Well?”
“That’s just it,” said Vark, laying a lean finger on her knee—“the lost heir. Don’t you understand? We needn’t look for him, so we can keep the moneys in our own hands, and have some fine pickings out of the estate.”
Hagar rose, and smiled darkly. “A nice little scheme, and worthy of you,” said she, contemptuously; “but there are two obstacles. I’m not your wife, and I am an honest girl. Try some of your lady clients, Mr. Vark. I’m not for sale!”
When she walked away Vark scowled. A scoundrel himself, he could not understand this honesty which stood in the way of its own advancement. Biting his fingers, he stared after Hagar, and wondered how he could catch her in his net.
“If that old miser would only leave her his heiress!” he thought; “she’d have no scruples about taking the money then; and if she had the money, I’d force her to be my wife. But Jacob is set on giving all his wealth to that infernal son of his, who so often wished his father to die. Aha!” sighed Vark, rubbing his hands, “I wish I could prove that he tried to kill the old man. Jacob wouldn’t leave him a penny then, and Hagar should have the money, and I would have her. What a lovely dream! Why can’t it come true?”
It was such a lovely dream, and offered such opportunities for scoundrelly dealings, that Vark set to work at once to translate it into actual facts. He had many of the letters and bills of the absent Jimmy, who had been accustomed to come to him for the money refused by the paternal Dix. Counting on the old man’s death, Vark had lent the son money for his profligacy at a heavy percentage, and intended to repay himself out of the estate. Now that Hagar was to handle the money instead of himself, he thought that there might be some difficulty over his usury, owing to the girl’s absurd honesty. He therefore determined to give proofs to Jacob that the absent son had designed to rid himself of a troublesome father by secret murder. Once Dix got such an idea into his head, he might leave his wealth to Hagar. The heiress would then be wooed and won by skilful, scheming Mr. Vark. It was a beautiful idea, and quite simple.
Among his many shady clients Vark possessed one who was a clever forger, and who occasionally retired to one of Her Majesty’s prisons for too frequently exercising his talents in that direction. At the present moment he was at large. Vark gave him a bundle of Jimmy’s letters, and the draft of a memorandum which he wished to be imitated in the handwriting of the absent heir. When this was ready, Vark watched his opportunity and slipped it into a Chinese jar in the back parlor, in which he knew Jimmy had been accustomed to keep tobacco. This receptacle stood on a high shelf, and had not been touched by Jacob since his son’s departure. Vark, like the clever scoundrel he was, ascertained this fact by the thick and undisturbed dust which coated jar and shelf. The trap being thus prepared, it only remained to lead Jacob into it; and this Mr. Vark arranged to do in the most skilful manner. He quite counted on success, but one necessary element thereto he overlooked, and that was the aid of Hagar. But as he had designed the whole scheme primarily for her benefit, he never thought she would refuse to forward its aim. Which blindness showed that he was incapable of appreciating or even understanding the honesty of the girl’s character.
According to his custom, he came one evening to converse with Jacob. The room with its solitary candle, the starved fire, and the foggy atmosphere, were the same as on the night when Hagar had arrived, save that now Hagar herself sat sewing by the table. She frowned when Vark came cringing into the room, but b
eyond greeting him with a slight nod she took no notice of the smiling scoundrel. Vark produced his bottle of gin, and set down near the fire, opposite to Jacob, who on this night looked very old and feeble. The old man was breaking up fast, and was more querulous and crabbed than ever. As usual, he asked Vark if Jimmy had answered the advertisement, and as usual he received a negative reply. Jacob groaned.
“I’ll die this winter,” said he, with moody face, “and no one will be by to close my eyes.”
“What is this I hear Mr. Dix say!” cried Vark, smilingly. “He forgets our beautiful Hagar.”
“Hagar is all very well, but she is not Jimmy.”
“Perhaps, if our dear friend knew all, he would be pleased that she isn’t.”
Hagar looked up in surprise at the significant tones of Vark, and Jacob scowled. “What d’ye mean, you shark?” he demanded, a light coming into his faded eyes.
“Why,” replied the lawyer, luring on the old pawnbroker, “Jimmy was a scoundrel.”
“I know that, man!” snapped Jacob.
“He wanted your money.”
“I know that also.”
“He wished for your death.”
“It’s probable he did,” retorted Jacob, nodding; “but he was content to let me take my own time to die.”
“H’m! I’m not so sure of that!”
Guessing that Vark had some scheme in his head which he was striving to bring to fulfilment, Hagar dropped her sewing, and looked sharply at him. As Vark spoke she saw him glance at the Chinese jar, and mentally wondered what possible connection that could have with the subject of conversation. On this point she was soon enlightened.
“Vark,” said Dix, seriously, “are you going to tell me that Jimmy wished to kill me?”
The lawyer held up his hands in horror. “Oh, dear, that I should be so misunderstood!” he said in a piteous tone. “Jimmy was not so bad as that, my venerable friend. But if some one else had put you out of the way, he would not have been sorry.”
The Big Book of Victorian Mysteries Page 37