Miss Ferriby's Clients

  Chapter 12

  For some time after hearing the astounding statement, which confirmed the worst of his fears concerning the woman in whose employ he was, Welton Keynes could scarcely collect his thoughts sufficiently to think clearly.

  Mr. Van Velsen, he repeated to himself, was the millionaire whose house he had seen Box enter in the character of a guest. And now, immediately afterwards, he heard that a robbery had been committed there.

  It was impossible not to connect the two events with each other, and the feeling that he was entangled in the meshes of an adventuress of the worst and most dangerous type, grew stronger and stronger upon him.

  True, he was ostensibly not mixed up with her crimes, her pretended fortune-telling, her deep-laid schemes for getting money out of the pockets of other people and transferring it into her own. True that he knew she did a great deal of highly useful and commendable work in organizing charity, and in dispensing the funds supplied by other people for good works of various kinds.

  But this work of hers, thoroughly well carried on as it was, he was now forced to look upon as merely a very clever ruse for covering her more important and extensive operations. And these, he was now abundantly satisfied, were of the most dangerous and infamous kind.

  That her fortune-telling was connected with other things even less commendable, he had felt sure. Now he began to understand more about it, and to see how she made her two various trades and enterprises work together for her own benefit and that of her confederates or employees.

  For even now, he was not sure of the relation in which she and the two men he had seen about The Lawns stood to each other and to her.

  When he had recovered a little of his lost self-possession, Welton decided to ask Lady Mirfield a few more questions, in order to get as much information as possible about Miss Ferriby. He also wished to let her know his own position, in view of the exposure which he was not only sure must come, but which he had already determined to have a hand in.

  In coming to this decision, he did not hide from himself the fact that it was a dangerous mission to attempt to rid society of such a highly organized and cleverly carried on system of crime and misdemeanour.

  But his disgust at the methods of which he had already seen so much, at the hypocrisy which had successfully covered the infamies committed under the cloak of pretended charity, made him eager and earnest in his wish to deliver the city of London from a pest which he knew must spread its contagion far and wide.

  That it had not yet come under the notice of the police he could only attribute to two things. The one, that Miss Ferriby, in her astuteness, had contrived to get so many members of the influential classes on her side by her pretended charities, and by her real help in organization. The other, that she was careful to make every person whom she employed in her evil work a large participator in the profits of her crimes; so that it was better worth the while of her associates to continue their connection with her than to give evidence against her which, owing to her great astuteness, they might have found it hard to substantiate.

  Welton was a very good-looking, well-bred young man, so that when he ventured to ask Lady Mirfield for another dance, not expecting that she would be able to give it to him, she coolly threw over one of her already engaged partners, and gave his waltz to Welton.

  "I wanted to tell you," he said, as soon as he had an opportunity of speaking to her, "the reason why I am so strongly interested in what you told me about Miss Ferriby's fortune-telling. I am her secretary."

  Lady Mirfield uttered a little cry of surprise. "Don't you know all about it, then?" she asked quickly.

  "No, I have nothing to do with that. I know, of course, that it goes on, but I must tell you frankly that I have no belief whatever in supernatural powers exercised in that manner. I look upon it as clever trickery and nothing more."

  Lady Mirfield appeared interested. "Well, coming from you, who live so very close to the thing, as it were, your opinion is bound to be worth listening to. But really myself, I don't see how some of her predictions can be tricks. I've seen so many strange things, and I've heard of so many more, that it's easier to believe in supernatural agency than in any other in the matter."

  Welton preserved a discreet silence at this point, and after a pause and a careful scrutiny of his face, Lady Mirfield said, "What sort of work do you do then, if you have nothing to do with the fortune-telling?"

  "I sort and answer her letters, and I enter all the amounts given to her for charitable purposes, and I keep her accounts in connection with them."

  "Ah, yes. She does a great deal of good, I know. At least, she is supposed to! Do you mean to imply that that is trickery too?"

  "Oh, no, no," said Welton quickly. "I know for a fact beyond dispute that she is most conscientious in the distribution of the money she collects for charities, and that she is very shrewd in allotting it, so that hardly a shilling gets wasted. That is the part of her occupations that is immediately under my eyes, and I can answer for the care with which she carries it out."

  He was glad to be able to say this, as it was important that no suspicion should be raised prematurely as to Miss Ferriby's occupations. The best chance of finding her out, if she really were, as he supposed, at the head of a highly organized conspiracy for purposes of successful crime, lay in behaving as if he knew nothing, and in the meantime finding out all he could.

  Lady Mirfield, whose suspicions had been momentarily aroused by his first words, seemed reassured, and presently asked him to call upon her if he wanted to be thoroughly convinced of the genuineness of Miss Ferriby's claims as a seer.

  "I will show you two or three proofs," she said, "of her accuracy in prophecy. And I will remember all I've heard from my friends, and I think you will be convinced that no ordinary cleverness could have foretold so much. I'm partly Scottish by descent, and a firm believer in second sight, and I believe Miss Ferriby to have the gift in an unusual degree."

  Welton Keynes eagerly accepted her invitation, delighted that he would be able to hear more concerning Miss Ferriby's supposed powers, without invitging suspicion as to his motive in wishing to learn all he could about them.

  He was in the supper room some time after this, when he caught sight of a face he knew among the servants, and felt sick with fresh horror when he recognized the man Cockett, who had lain in wait for him when he got on top of the veranda at The Lawns.

  Filled with fears and anxieties which he did not dare to confess to anyone present, even to his own brother, Welton left the supper room as quickly as he could, hoping that Cockett had not recognized him.

  He would willingly have believed himself mistaken, but a second furtive look which he took as he went out, convinced him he was right.

  And now he began to understand why it was that the servants at The Lawns were so seldom seen. The footman, Box, whom he guessed to be in a superior position to the rest, was the only one seen by the ordinary visitors.

  Cockett and those others who were hidden in the wing opposite to that in which the fortune-telling went on, were no doubt sent out as scouts into the houses where robberies were to take place, finding out not only the secrets of the ladies who went to have their fortunes told, but other secrets more immediately connected with the plate and jewellery of the family.

  He felt as if he were suffocating, and the scene before his eyes seemed to fade into the indistinctness of a dream as he turned over in his mind all the things that he had just learnt, and wondered how he ought to set about the stupendous task of bringing to book the gang amongst which he had fallen.

  Should he go straight to the police and tell them all he knew? This, the simple course though not the least hazardous, had two objections.

  If he should be disbelieved, or even if no immediate steps should be taken towards the breaking up of the gang, he himself would not only be in imminent danger from the members of the gang themselves, but there would be a great risk of their escaping altogether, Miss Ferriby not being
the sort of person to leave any precaution against sudden surprise neglected.

  The second thing that made him pause was the possibility of Miss Ferriby's having told the truth about his father. How could he, while he was in ignorance upon that point, take any steps which might lead to his own father's discomfiture.

  But Welton was tormented by the thought that there was probably a robbery in course of contemplation at the very house he was in, and he turned over in his mind plan after plan of putting his host and hostess on their guard.

  He decided at last upon writing them a guarded letter of warning, and then bent all his energies to the task of keeping out of the way of Cockett, although he feared that his efforts would prove unavailing. And so it turned out. He came face to face with the man as he was crossing the hall; but so well had he schooled himself, so guarded was he, that he gave no sign, when he met the man's eyes, that he recognized him.

  So far, therefore, he had succeeded in his plan of letting things go on in all respects as if he knew and guessed nothing.

  But when he got home that night, his brother knew that there was something wrong, and begged him to confess why he looked so downcast, so depressed.

  Welton, however, would confess nothing. He sent his brother off to bed, and sat down to write a letter to his hostess of the night. But on second thoughts he decided that writing was too dangerous, and that he had better give the warning in person. When he rose the following morning, he was haggard and almost feverish from fatigue and still more from anxiety.

  He dared not leave the matter a minute longer than could be helped, and after a breakfast which he scarcely touched, he hastened to the house where he had been dancing a few hours before, and asked to see Mr. Ospringe, his host, who was, he knew, being in the diplomatic service and a man in a highly responsible position, bound to be early astir.

  He had to wait a little while before his host made his appearance, and in the meantime Welton paced the library with uneasy steps, wondering whether at that very moment he were exposed to the fire of unseen eyes.

  When Mr. Ospringe made his appearance, Welton was quite prepared with what he had to say. After the first greetings he said in a low voice, "I have come to warn you that I saw last night, among your servants, a man whom I have some reason to suspect of being connected with a gang of thieves. I am so little sure of anything in connection with this matter that I could not help you in the way of giving evidence against him. In fact I have no evidence to give. But I have so much reason to suspect that, when I see him in a house, a robbery there is on the cards, that I could not rest till I had put you on your guard."

  Mr. Ospringe was a man of sufficient experience to know that under the young man's exterior there was some intensely serious purpose. He asked whether Welton could give him any details about the man's appearance.

  Welton did his best, but Cockett looked so exactly like the ordinary well-built, tall manservant, that there was nothing very salient in his description.

  "Do you know his name?" asked Mr. Ospringe.

  "I know one name by which he is known elsewhere, but I doubt whether you would know him by it. It is Cockett."

  Mr. Ospringe shook his head. "No," he said, "there is no one in my service of that name. Will you tell me where you have met him?"

  "I'd rather not do that."

  Mr. Ospringe looked at him searchingly. And suddenly there shot through Welton's heart a horrible pang of doubt and dread. Was there really, as Miss Ferriby had said, something shameful in the history of his father? And did this clever and worldly-wise man know all about it, and did he mistrust the son of Richard Keynes?

  There was an awkward pause. Then Mr. Ospringe asked very quietly, "Could you point him out?"

  The blood rushed to Welton's cheeks and forehead. "I'd rather not do that," he said. And again the dreadful fear came into his heart that Mr. Ospringe mistrusted him and looked upon him as a possible accomplice rather than as a warning friend. Strange as this idea was, the manner of his late host had undergone so sudden and startling a change that the suspicion was justifiable.

  As soon as Welton refused to give more details than he had done, the face of Mr. Ospringe had become as cold and expressionless as a slab of marble. He thanked his young visitor very coolly, and Welton went away with the miserable certainty in his mind that, whether he had done anything for Mr. Ospringe or not, he had done something for himself that was wholly disastrous.

  Whether Mr. Ospringe believed the warning or not, it seemed plain to Welton that his late host looked upon him with suspicion; while on the other hand Welton was inclined to think that, careful as he had been, Cockett might have found out what he was doing, in which case he guessed that he had little mercy to expect at the hands of the gang.

  This feeling braced him up in the determination he had formed to break up the infamous combination into whose secrets he had been unwillingly initiated.

  Difficult as he found it to face the idea of deliberately playing a part and trying to deceive Miss Ferriby, still more difficult as it would be to carry out this plan, he had made up his mind that there was nothing else to be done.

  To leave Miss Ferriby's employment without notice would, he felt sure, put the gang on the alert and make it impossible for anything to be discovered, while at the same time they would most certainly find some means of revenging themselves upon him as a traitor in the camp.

  There was therefore no help for it. He must try to appear as if he had no suspicion of the worst, and must do his best to lull them, or at any rate Miss Ferriby herself, into a belief that all was well.

  The knowledge that he had to play a part braced him to make a great effort, and when he met Miss Ferriby that morning he was more genial, more lively than he had been on the previous day. She asked him where he had been the night before, and when he told her that he had been at a ball at the house of Lady Theophila Ospringe, she smiled and said that accounted for his looking as if he had been up all night.

  "That is why you're late this morning, I suppose?" she said archly.

  "Well, no, it isn't, as a matter of fact," said Welton. "I had to pay a very early call on my way here, and I'm sorry I couldn't manage to get it in time."

  "A very early call indeed!" she replied, fixing upon him a peculiar look. "Something very important, I suppose?"

  It almost looked as if she suspected him, Welton thought. But he put a brave face on the matter, and told her he had to see his host of the previous night.

  Miss Ferriby looked down at her letters, and Welton decided, if she was surprised and interested to hear that was where he had been, she concealed her feelings very well. But he believed that the matter was already known to her.

  The day passed as usual, but in the afternoon, when they had done their work, Miss Ferriby said, "Is it of any use to ask you to dine with me tonight? Someone may be calling upon me in whom you take an interest."

  Her voice dropped, and Welton's face flushed. "My father!" he cried under his breath.

  She put her finger on her lip. "Remember he is passing under another name," she said in a whisper. "Even my household don't know who he is. If you see him you are to greet him as if he were a stranger, remember that."

  Welton trembled. Was he to believe her? If not, why would she raise false hopes, since he must discover sooner or later whether she was tricking him or not?

  In any case, he knew that he must not lose this opportunity of finding out whether his father were really alive, so he accepted Miss Ferriby's invitation, and stayed to dinner.

  He had an idea that she knew something more about his call that morning on Mr. Ospringe than he would have had her know. Cockett had probably been about when he called, and he, being a member of the gang at The Lawns, might have been clever enough to have contrived to overhear something, or to get an inkling of what was happening between his master and his visitor.

  Whether this suspicion were correct or not, Welton now felt that he must take some strong step to protect h
imself from the possible revenge of the gang if they should guess his intentions towards them. He therefore set himself to work to make a favourable impression upon Miss Ferriby, and instead of contenting himself with being a courteous and attentive listener to her conversation, her playing and her singing, he now tried flattery as a means of ingratiating himself with her.

  Knowing how clever the woman was, however, he at first dared not do more than pay her little compliments of no great significance. These, however, were so well received that he soon grew bolder, and as he himself expressed later, "laid it on with a trowel," speaking enthusiastically, not only of her musical talents, which he could praise with an easy conscience, but even daring to extol the beauty of her eyes and the sweetness of her speaking voice.

  Almost to his consternation, he found that these outrageous flatteries were much better received by Miss Ferriby than the more modest and honest compliments with which he had begun. It seemed to him an amazing thing that this woman could believe herself attractive enough to inspire such admiration as he expressed, and that a woman so clever should be so easily flattered.

  It is true that she laughed at him, and told him he was trying to get round a silly old woman whom he in his heart despised. But it was plain, even when she said things like that, that she was thoroughly pleased with his homage; so that although he knew that his safety depended upon what he was doing, Welton felt ashamed and sorry that he should have to descend to this means of securing it.

  In the meantime the hours went by, and there was no sign of the promised visitor.

  "At what time do you expect my father to call upon you, Miss Ferriby?" he asked when the clock struck ten, and he began to find the constant stream of laudation difficult to keep up.

  She started and looked at the clock. "I'm afraid he's not coming tonight," she said. "At least, he is generally earlier than this."

  Welton knew at once, by an instinct indefinable but sure, that there had never been any question of this visit. She had used it merely to secure his staying that evening. Perhaps the expression of his face betrayed his thoughts, for she answered quickly, "Is it so much to give a lonely woman a few hours of your society, that you look angry at your temporary disappointment? He will come another night, since he has not appeared this evening. Would you like me to make an appointment with him?"

  Welton hesitated. It became increasingly clear to him that the less he had to do with Miss Ferriby, the more perfunctory his visits became, the more strictly he confined himself to business, the better it would be for him when the crash came. But on the other hand it was desirable that he should remain her friend, in order to protect himself from the hostility of the rest of the gang.

  A trifle might at any moment betray his intentions towards them, and he had very strong suspicions that these two men, whom he knew to be Miss Ferriby's accomplices, would not be scrupulous about their treatment of him if they should discover what he meditated.

  It was curious that he should have stayed that evening with some belief that he would see his father, and that now he should think the whole story concerning Richard Keynes false and untrue.

  The revelation had come to him in a single look on Miss Ferriby's face, which had convinced him at once that the story was a concoction. But he took care not to betray his belief. "It would be very good of you, Miss Ferriby," he said. "If he is alive, I should like to see him."

  Now these were scarcely the words he would have used if he had felt convinced that his father was still live, but Miss Ferriby was thinking of something else, and seemed not to notice his lack of warmth.

  "I suppose," she said, in a rather offended tone, "if it were not for the chance of seeing him, I should never see you in the evening again."

  "You would see me here often enough to find me a bore, Miss Ferriby, if I hadn't the sense to know that I must not intrude too often," he said gallantly.

  She smiled graciously, but then her face changed. "You say that to me," she said, "but I find it difficult to make you stay, while the Ashcots have to use no strong inducements to get you to call."

  Welton had not expected this, for the extreme bitterness which suddenly made itself manifest in her tone made it an attack. "Those ladies are lonely too," he said after a moment's pause.

  Miss Ferriby laughed harshly. "Oh, I think not. Miss Ashcot is not very particular. She has plenty of flirtations, I can assure you."

  Welton's face flushed at this attack, and he was imprudent enough to resent her words. "I think you have made a mistake," he said coldly. "Miss Ashcot gives me the impression of being a girl to whom what is commonly called flirtation would be impossible."

  "She has flirted with you, who scarcely knew her," said Miss Ferriby sharply.

  "Oh, no, indeed she has not, unless indeed you mean by the word flirtation something different from what I mean by it. I would only ever use the word in a bad sense, and I could use no such word in speaking of Miss Ashcot."

  A look of unmistakable jealousy shot into Miss Ferriby's eyes as she said in a cold, spiteful voice, "Oh, I have no doubt she is a paragon. Pray don't consider yourself bound to come here and to waste your time in listening to my singing and playing, when you would be so much happier on the other side of the road with your pale-faced beauty."

  Welton began to perceive that he was doing a very rash thing in allowing Miss Ferriby to guess how deep the impression was which Barbara Ashcot had made upon him. So he laughed. "My pale-faced beauty, as you call her, Miss Ferriby, is not my beauty at all. In the first place I can't afford the luxury of falling in love; and in the second place, if I could, I would look out for something more than beauty in a wife."

  He saw at once that he was on the right tack once more. Miss Ferriby was listening to him eagerly, bending forward with a light in her eyes, earnest, excited, ready as was ever a greedy fish to take the most obvious bait.

  "Oh, no. Young men say that, but they don't mean it. They talk wisely, and marry foolishly," she said. "Where is the young man who will overlook physical disadvantages for the sake of intellect, accomplishments, even money?"

  "Oh, there are plenty of men ready to overlook everything for the sake of money," said Welton.

  "Yes, plenty of men who are not worth having," said Miss Ferriby, earnest and impassioned, the deep notes in her voice sounding rich and full with emotion. "But what I mean is this: do you think there is in the world a man, young, handsome, well-bred, good-tempered -- the sort of man, in fact, that women love and would give their lives for -- who would marry a woman whose intellect he admired, whose accomplishments he took pleasure in, but who was not beautiful to the eye, who was not even up to the average of good looks or shapeliness?"

  Welton, feeling disgusted by this straightforward courtship, took care not to betray his feelings. While she spoke, indeed, he was preparing his answer, which was bound to be diplomatic.

  "I think," he said gravely, when she had finished, "there must be many a young man who would be flattered by the love of an intellectual woman, whose beauty was not so much physical as mental."

  This speech, solemnly and deliberately uttered, and not without a caressing note, was well received by Miss Ferriby. She uttered a little soft laugh, and said gently, "There is this to be said for the love of such a woman, that it would be given wholly, freely, gratefully, and that, even if it were not incompatible with a certain amount of inevitable jealousy, it might be worth having."

  "I'm sure of it," said Welton, in a gentle voice. And growing bolder, he added, "Such a love, growing gradually, not too hurriedly, would be more satisfactory on both sides than a transient passion for a pretty face on the one side, and for a commonplace young man on the other."

  Miss Ferriby looked up with a glance which, if it had not been so alarming, would have been unspeakably grotesque. "Not commonplace," she said. "The commonplace is abhorrent to me, either in man or woman, in literature, art or anything else. No, no! I love what is out of the common, and if I were to give my heart to a ma
n it would be to one who was different from other men, more gentle, more courageous, with intelligence enough to choose for himself, and daring enough not to be frightened by trifles."

  She paused, fixing upon Welton an ardent look which he would willingly have avoided, but which he met with an expression which he tried to make interested and not disgusted, amiable and not repelled.

  But all the while he was feeling an unutterable loathing for this woman, whose very soul was steeped in crime, and whose wealth was tainted and ill-gotten. He was most anxious to get away as quickly as possible, fearing that her keen eyes would pierce the veil of hypocrisy with which he was obliged to try to hide his feelings of disgust and repulsion.

  Rising to his feet, he bent over her and said, "You would have earned the love you demand and deserve, Miss Ferriby, if you were to bring such a man face to face with one whom he had believed dead, but whom you had befriended and helped to live."

  Miss Ferriby looked startled by these words. Rising in her turn, she said quickly, "You don't doubt that I could do so?"

  "Of course not. Haven't you given me your word? I'm only waiting for the fulfilment of your promise."

  He screwed himself up to the difficult task of giving her a look which she might construe into a declaration of passion, subdued but anxious to declare itself.

  For a few minutes she seemed to him to look disconcerted. Then she said impulsively, "You will see him. I will arrange a meeting. When shall it be?"

  "Tomorrow night," replied Welton promptly.

  "And you will dine with me again tomorrow?"

  "On that understanding, yes," said Welton, who began to think that perhaps a little touch of imperiousness might not be amiss in dealing with her. "But I don't like these disappointments. They are scarcely fair, are they, when I feel so strongly about it?"

  She looked rather guilty and nervous, but she answered briskly, "Of course they are not. Very well then, tomorrow evening you shall meet him."

  With the necessary fervour, Welton kissed her hand, but he was sorry he had done so when he saw the strong effect which the action had upon the woman. She began to tremble, and turned pale. He was seized, as he hurried away, with a strong suspicion that he was preparing for himself a very difficult task when the time should come to break with her.

  The whole episode of her overtures of love and his diplomatic reply was horrible, repulsive, and it was with a mind and heart oppressed as they had never been before by the certainty of coming difficulty and trouble, that Welton returned to his lodging that night.