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Amethyst Cross

<h4>CHAPTER VI</h4> <h5>PURPLE AND FINE LINEN</h5> Mr. Michael Tait dealt principally in stocks and shares, but was not above any scheme, however wild or however shady, which promised to result in large profits. His motto was: "Make money honestly if you can, but make money!" and he consistently acted up to this advice throughout a long career of speculation. He was not so much a spider sitting in a web to lure unwary flies, as an octopus who stretched out tentacles in every direction to draw victims into his maw. He indulged in dozens of enterprises, both openly and secretly, but all with the aim of making as much cash as possible. That many of these schemes led to much misery, that is, the misery of other people, he never stopped to inquire. And even if he had done so he would have taken no note of the answer. The race was to the swift and the battle to the strong, in Mr. Tait's humble opinion, and those who failed either in fighting or running had to make the best of their plight. In appearance Michael Tait was a squat, burly, sturdy man, with sandy hair and whiskers, and a pair of cold blue eyes devoid of all sympathy. He dressed expensively, wore a profusion of jewellery, and was rarely without an excellent cigar sticking out of his mouth. For the sake of luring his victims he cultivated a jolly, free and easy manner, and exhibited an external good nature which deceived many. To quote Tennyson's cutting line, he "snake-like slimed his victim e'er he gorged," and acted the Pharisee by largely advertising his charities. He was looked upon generally as a good fellow, rough, but really kind-hearted, and possessed of a true Christian spirit. As a matter of fact, Mr. Tait knew very little of Christ and His teaching, and would not have subscribed to it, save by word of mouth, had he been aware of its spirit. But he passed as a good man, because he went to church and talked largely of helping the poor. This prop of British commerce, as he was wrongly described by a too ardent reporter, possessed a regal country house at Henley, where he entertained largely. Also he had chambers in town, but these he only used on rare occasions when business or pleasure prevented him seeking his true home. Mrs. Tait had mercifully passed away many years previously, under the delusion that Michael was a good man, and the Henley mansion was managed by Maud Ellis, who was the stockbroker's niece. Miss Ellis was a young lady of five-and-twenty, certainly not bad-looking, although she could not be described as beautiful. Like her respectable uncle, she was of the sandy type, but, unlike him, she possessed a tall, full figure, finely-shaped. As she always dressed in exquisite taste, and had a personality of the semi-hypnotic kind, she was regarded as a desirable woman. The fact that she was her uncle's heiress also may have had something to do with this opinion. Maud was extremely cunning, and as selfish in her way as Michael was in his. He sought money, she admiration, and they did very well in their efforts to attract both. And it was this clever young woman who had chosen to fall in love with George Walker. Of course she knew that he was a bad match, that he did not love her, and that as his wife she would hold no very exalted position. But the fact was that the girl, after playing with various suitors, like the princess of a fairy tale, with no serious intentions, had been snared herself. Whether it was Walker's good looks, or his kind heart, or his charm of manner, it is impossible to say; perhaps one of the three, perhaps the three together: but Miss Ellis assuredly was violently in love with the young man. Having arrived at the conclusion that life would be miserable without him, she set to work to make him propose, thinking that she would have small difficulty. To her surprise, however, George proved to be quite impervious to her sparkling conversation and clever display of her somewhat limited charms. He was polite to her and nothing more, although she made her uncle ask him again and again to the palace at Henley. This conduct piqued Miss Ellis, but did not altogether displease her, as it gave her an opportunity of exercising her talent for intrigue. From a mere fancy, her passion deepened to ardent love, and she swore mentally that by hook or by crook she would force the young fellow to make her Mrs. Walker. Rarely a week passed without George being asked to Henley, and Maud did her best to subjugate him. But George being in love with Lesbia had a very strong shield to oppose to her love darts, and managed to avoid the amorous pitfalls she spread for him. For six months the chase of this unwilling victim had been going on, and as the quarry always dodged just as the huntress was on the verge of capture, this middle-class Diana concluded that there was another woman in the case. With a view to learning the truth, she watched and made stealthy inquiries, so that she speedily learned of George's infatuation--so she called it--for Lesbia Hale. To detach him from Lesbia became the object of her life, and it was she who suggested to Mr. Hale that Lesbia might profitably marry Captain Alfred Sargent. As Hale approved of Maud's cleverness, and was frequently indebted to her for getting what he wanted from Tait, he did his best to fall in with her plans, the more so, as he did not care whom his daughter married, provided it was to his interest. Maud promised, if the marriage was brought about, to interest her uncle in a wild-cat scheme of Hale's contrivance. So the loving father did his best--as has been seen--to force his child into the arms of a man she loathed. George knew nothing of all this intrigue, and kept away from the Henley mansion as much as he could without openly offending his employer. But when he heard from Tim that Captain Sargent was to be a member of the Saturday to Monday house-party, he determined to accept this latest invitation. An interview with Sargent might clear the air of all these mysteries, and George--hating the ex-captain--was not averse from breaking his head as Tim had advised, if there was no other way of releasing Lesbia. Also George fancied that Mr. Hale--a frequent visitor--might be enjoying Mr. Tait's hospitality, in which case he could speak to him and remonstrate about this tyranny to which Lesbia was subjected. When George arrived in time for afternoon tea on Saturday, he found that his own hopes and those of Tim were realised--that is, both Walter Hale and Captain Sargent were present. Hale looked as lean and grim and smart as ever, while greeting the flushed young man with the air of a perfect stranger. Maud, who presided at a dainty tea-table, saw that flush, and from the juxtaposition of Hale guessed its reason. She was therefore none too pleased, but veiling her annoyance with a sweet smile, she called the new arrival over to her side, and poured him out a cup of tea. "You are quite a stranger, Mr. Walker," she said graciously, devouring him with her cold, grey eyes, which only lighted up when they rested on his face. "I was here three weeks ago," said George politely, and accepting cake. "It would rather bore Mr. Tait if I came here oftener." "It would never bore me," breathed Miss Ellis, "and my uncle is always very glad to see you. He looks upon you almost as his son." George flushed again and looked awkward. "It is very kind of Mr. Tait," he remarked coldly, "seeing that I am only a clerk in his office." "Uncle was only a clerk once," said Maud, smiling. "And look what he is now, Mr. Walker. Some day you will be like him." "I don't think so," said George, looking across to the stout, ungraceful form of the successful stockbroker, who was being waited upon hand and foot by two society ladies of the smart set, anxious to secure tips. Maud took his remark in its wrong sense. "Oh, you must hope," she declared playfully. "With influence," she spoke meaningly, "you will do much." "I have no influence," returned the young man coldly. "That is your own fault," retorted Miss Ellis. "The tide of fortune is flowing past your door, and you will not launch your boat." "I am waiting for a passenger," said Walker, thinking of Lesbia. Jealous and cunning as she was, Maud was quite taken in for the moment, and smiled graciously. She fancied that he referred to her. "You need not wait long," she hinted. George found the situation intolerable, and on the spur of the moment, although it was neither the time nor the place to be confidential, he spoke out. There should be no further misunderstandings if he could help it. "My waiting depends upon Mr. Hale," he said bluntly. Maud bit her thin lip, and leaned back, with an artificial laugh. Inwardly she was furious, as she now knew that his remark had referred to "that girl," as she contemptuously called Lesbia. But she was too much the woman of the world to reveal her feelings and, moreover, utilised his observation to learn as much of the truth as possible. "Ah," she said archly, "a little bird told me that Mr. Hale has a beautiful daughter. But I understood that she was engaged to Captain Sargent." "She is engaged to me," flashed out George, quite forgetting that he was speaking to a jealous woman. "Ah!" said Miss Ellis again, controlling her countenance with difficulty; "the course of true love is not running smoothly. Poor Mr. Walker, I must help you to gain your wife." "You!" blurted out George like a fool. Maud sat up and erected her crest like a snake. "Yes, I," she said haughtily, anxious only for the moment to save her womanly pride. "Why should I not help a friend? I look on you almost as a brother." Still like a fool, George believed her, and indeed her indignant manner would have deceived a much cleverer man. He was very young and very green, and in Maud's designing hands could be moulded like wax. She could have struck him in the face for the insult he had offered her, but hiding her rage under a friendly smile, she laid her plans to entrap him beyond hope of escape. "I shall get Mr. Hale to bring his daughter here," she said quietly, "and then you can talk to her at your leisure." "Oh, how good you are," cried George delightedly. "I am sure you will love Lesbia: she is so beautiful and charming--as you are," he added with an afterthought. Again the impulse came to Maud to strike him, and again her worldly training came to her aid. "Hush!" she said softly, "you will make Captain Sargent jealous. I believe he overheard." "I don't care if he did," said Walker defiantly. "Then I do," retorted Miss Ellis, who could not resist paying him out a trifle, much as she loved him. "I don't want you to quarrel here. Now go and talk to Captain Sargent while I receive these new people." Several ladies and two gentlemen entered at the moment, and she went forward to greet them, followed by her uncle. George left the chair he had occupied near the tea-table, and strolled across the room--not to Sargent, but to interview Mr. Hale. That gentleman saw him coming, and moved away from the person to whom he was speaking, in order to find a secluded corner. He saw that his would-be son-in-law was coming to converse with him, and guessing the subject of his conversation, wished to settle the matter without scandal. George, as he surmised, was too frank to be diplomatic, and if within the hearing of others, might say too much. But he need not have been afraid. George, having been schooled in social usages, by his mother, was perfectly capable of acting as a well-bred man. "I have called twice or thrice to see Lesbia," said George, sinking his voice to a judicious whisper, "but I have not been successful." "That is as it should be," rejoined Mr. Hale coldly. "I do not wish her to see you, and I have taken steps to prevent her from seeing you." It was on the point of George's tongue to say that he knew what precautions had been taken, but to speak openly would lead to the betrayal of Tim, which was not to be thought of. However, he was as blunt as he dared to be. "It is tyranny to keep a young girl shut up," he snapped angrily. "You are the cause of her seclusion," retorted the elder man, "and as her father I have a right to act as I please." "There are law and order in this country," said Walker heatedly, and would have continued to speak with vehemence, but that Hale prevented him. "You are right, and I take advantage of such law and order to prevent my daughter from marrying a man I disapprove of." "Why do you object to me?" "We discussed that before and I gave you my answer. Also, if you will remember, I gave you a chance of having things your own way. It is my desire that Lesbia should marry my friend Sargent, but if you will recover that lost cross for me, I will permit her marriage with you." "I can't find the cross," growled George sullenly. "Then you can't marry Lesbia," replied Hale, very distinctly, "and as you are forcing me to curtail Lesbia's liberty by haunting the house, I must ask you, in her interests if not in mine, to discontinue your persecution." George looked at the cold grim face before him, very straightly. "I love Lesbia, and I intend to marry Lesbia," he said quietly. "Therefore I shall do all in my power to see Lesbia. As to Captain Sargent----" "Hullo!" remarked that gentleman, who was strolling--perhaps purposely--within ear-shot. "What about Captain Sargent?" He was a slim, thin, delicate-looking man of the mutton-dressed-as-lamb type, that is, he did not look his age, and affected a pronouncedly juvenile fashion, a trifle over-done. His collars were too high, his ties were too brilliant, and his clothes were aggressively new. To look at his array he might have just left an army-crammer's, and had apparently stopped short at "the young lieutenant" epoch, which is the era of the male peacock. As to his looks, these were of the colourless faded type; his face was pale, his eyes were pale, and his hair--what there was of it--was also pale. In fact, Sargent looked like a sheet of paper prepared for sketching, and could have painted upon the background of himself any character he wished to represent, provided it was not a strong one. The contrast between his washed out personality and young Walker's vivid virility was most marked. "What about Captain Sargent?" repeated this product of civilisation, a trifle more aggressively since George hesitated to speak. "Finish what you have to say, Mr. Walker." "Certainly," replied the younger man coolly. "I am the more willing, as Mr. Hale is present. In a word, Captain Sargent, I love Miss Lesbia Hale, and I intend to marry her. You wish to make her your wife, and I do not intend to let you have your way." "All that in a word," sneered the captain, with a disagreeable look in his pale grey eyes. "Yes. In a word to the wise." "And suppose I am not wise?" "It matters very little to me if you are wise or not," retorted George, who was not to be put down by sneers. "Lesbia is to marry me, so that is all about it." Sargent glanced at Mr. Hale, who was quite unruffled. "I presume her father's wish counts for something?" "Not when it conflicts with her happiness." "What do you say, Hale?" "I have said all that I intend to say. Walker knows my views." "He does," broke in George, "and he does not subscribe to them. I give you warning that I intend to marry Lesbia. As to you, sir," he turned so fiercely on Sargent that the man gave back a step. "If you make Lesbia unhappy, or bother her in any way, I shall make myself very unpleasant." "Dear me!" sneered the captain in feigned alarm. "What a terrible Turk!" George stared coldly at his rival, and deliberately turned on his heel without speaking further. He had declared open war, and he was pleased that he had done so. Now--with a clear conscience--he could haunt the Marlow cottage and see Lesbia and woo Lesbia and carry off Lesbia, without feeling that he was acting otherwise than as a gentleman and an ardent lover. "Damn the fellow!" breathed Sargent, who had reddened under Walker's contemptuous gaze. "What's to be done, Hale?" "Nothing," rejoined that gentleman sternly. "If you find that cross, you can marry Lesbia; if Walker finds it, he can make her his wife." It was a pity that George did not overhear this speech. He would have been interested to hear that Sargent also was seeking for the mysterious ornament to which Hale appeared to attach such value. The captain looked at his friend curiously. "Why do you want this cross so much?" he asked. "That's my business. What you have to do is to find it;" and in his turn Mr. Hale went away, leaving Sargent caressing his moustache in some perplexity. Presently, everyone went to dinner, which was a banquet delicately cooked and splendidly served. Tait was quite devoted to the pleasures of the table, and paid his chef a large salary. The food was perfect and the wines flowed freely, so that by the time the guests repaired to the drawing-room, everyone was in the best of spirits. The house-party was a large one, as there were about twenty people present, and not one of these would have been acceptable in a Sunday school. There were ladies belonging to the smart set, perfectly respectable from a worldly point of view, but who cared for nothing save bridge and dress, flirtation and pleasure. There were also men, some with titles, and many with brains of the speculative money-making order. Tait was not entirely in society, but by reason of his wealth and public position as a philanthropist hovered on the fringe of it. He helped social butterflies to make money on the Stock Exchange, lent sums large and small to ladies who could advance him in Mayfair and Belgravian circles, and was always open to consider any scheme which promised to bring in cash. Thus his house-parties were composed of a heterogeneous mass of people, good or bad, titled and untitled, gay and grave. But a general air of restlessness prevailed, and in that splendid mansion one and all appeared to dance along a golden road, which doubtless led to the Pit, and were personally conducted by the cunning, self-indulgent, worldly old stockbroker, who might have passed as Mammon in the flesh. After dinner, the party split up into sections. Some ardent gamblers sat down to bridge; a few restless spirits went to dance, and a group gathered round a young man at the piano who sang the latest comic songs. There was plenty of champagne, together with cigars and cigarettes of the best, so the fun waxed fast and furious, and as the hours drew on to midnight everyone grew more or less excited. Within bounds, of course, as Maud Ellis was too clever to permit the Henley palace to earn a name for Neronian extravagance. The entertainment just paused on the verge of an orgy; but under Maud's skilful management did not over-step the mark. That young lady had been watching George all the night although she did not speak to him again. Towards twelve o'clock, she found herself near him, and rallied him on his pensive air. "Don Quixote in love," she said in an airy manner. Then she lowered her voice impressively. "Meet me in the picture-gallery at three o'clock," she said, "for Lesbia's sake." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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