CHAPTER XIX A MILLIONAIRE'S MANOEUVRES

Will you, my reader, forgive me if for a few moments I am prosy? I speak only of what is so very near my woman's heart.

When we think of what Society might be to us, it becomes a painful thing to speak of what it is. When we, who are world-weary, think of the seasons of mental refreshment which might be enjoyed, the possible interchange of mutual trust and kindness, the awakening of new ideas, the correction of old ones, the sweeping away of prejudice and the establishment of thought, the extension of benevolence and the increase of sympathy, confidence, and good faith which might thus be brought about amongst the families of mankind, we become filled only by regret that the young and the joyous spirit, buoyant with the energies of untried life and warm with the generous flow of unchecked feeling, must so soon become disillusioned.

You, my reader, know too well how soon we all tire of the eternal shams which go to make up our present social life. You yourself are weary of it, though perhaps you hesitate to confess this openly, because such a confession would be an offence against the convenances. Convenances! Bah! Society as it now exists is such that no mother, once she has launched her daughter into its maelstrom by that process known as "coming out," ever hopes to receive back to the peaceful nest the wing so lately fledged, unruffled by its flight, the snowy breast unstained, or the beating heart as true as when it first went forth elated by the glowing hope of finding in Society what it never yet was rich enough to yield.

And yet the charge we women bring against Society for its flattery and its falsehood is an old-established one, and we go on year after year complaining in the same strain; those who have expected most, and have been the most deceived, complaining in the bitterest terms.

Having run the whole gamut of Society's follies, I had become heartsick; and never was the bald truth more forcibly impressed upon me than that night when, on descending to my cabin on board the Vispera, I found Ulrica there—the gay, careless Ulrica, whose sang-froid nothing ever ruffled—examining one of my newest gowns. She was an average woman, one of ten thousand or more to be found any day during the season between Hyde Park Corner and Kensington Church, gay and chic, with just that slight touch of the cosmopolitan which always proves so attractive to men. It is women such as she whose sentiments and feelings give tone to Society, and Society—which now apes the tone, the manners, and the dress of the modern Aspasia—influences the sentiments and feelings of English life.

"Why, how horribly late you are, dear!" Ulrica began, when I entered my cabin. "We've all been thinking that you were lost, or else that the Countess had induced you to remain with her. Gerald has taken a cab back to Ardenza to look for you."

This announcement caused me considerable annoyance, but I affected to pass it by, laughingly remarking that I had stayed late with my old schoolfellow.

"These Italian ports are always cut-throat places, Gerald said; and when you were not back at half-past ten, he decided to go and look for you."

"Very kind of him," I remarked. "You all dined on board, I suppose?"

"No. Mr. Keppel decided upon dining ashore, so we went to a thoroughly Italian hotel—the 'Giappone,' I believe it was called. It was quite a plain, unpretending place, but the food was really extraordinary. I've never had better cooking, even at the 'Carlton.'"

"I know it well," I said.

Indeed, everyone who knows Leghorn knows the "Giappone." As the "Star and Garter" is to Richmond, so is the "Giappone" to Leghorn. Only the "Giappone," clean, plain and comfortable, has never assumed the designation of "hotel," but still rejoices in the fact that it is merely an albergo, or inn. Of recent years throughout the Italy of the tourist there have sprung up great glaring caravanseries, where the cooking is a bad imitation of the French style, where the Italian waiters are bound to speak French, and the name of the hostelry is French (the "o" in hotel always bearing a circumflex), and where the accommodation is third-rate, at exorbitant prices. It is, therefore, refreshing to find an albergo like the "Giappone," where not a soul speaks either English or French, which still retains its old-fashioned character, and is noted throughout the whole kingdom for its marvellous cooking and absurdly low charges. It is perhaps fortunate that the Cookite has never discovered that long, white-painted salle-à-manger where, upon each small table, stands the great flask of Tuscan wine, and where one can dine as a millionaire for the Italian equivalent of two shillings. Some day the place will be "discovered," but happy those who know it now, before its homelike character is swept away.

"Where is Mr. Keppel?" I inquired, anxious to know whether he had come on board.

"In the smoking saloon. There has been music, and I left him chatting with Lord Stoneborough ten minutes ago."

"What are our future movements? Have you heard?"

"Oh, yes! I forgot to tell you. At dinner to-night old Mr. Keppel announced that we should remain here another couple of days or so, and then go up the Adriatic to Ragusa, and later proceed to Venice. We're to land there, instead of at Marseilles."

Her reply surprised me, for it showed that the queer old man I had visited had actually spoken the truth and was apparently well up in all the millionaire's intentions.

"Why have the plans been changed?" I inquired, as I drew off my gloves.

"Oh, because several of the people wanted to go up to Switzerland, I believe, and have induced old Keppel to land them at Venice, instead of in the South of France. The Viscera is to lay up at Fiume, it seems."

"But only yesterday he told me that he intended to sail home in her to Portsmouth," I said.

"My dear, the old fellow is as full of plans as he is of sovereigns, and is a most vague person regarding his future movements. Somehow, I can't tell in what manner, to me he seems to have changed wonderfully during the past few days."

"Do you think so?" I asked quickly. It was strange that she should have detected a difference in his manner.

"Yes. I sat next to him at dinner to-night, and couldn't help noticing how nervous and queer he seemed. Perhaps it's one of those penalties of wealth which people are so fond of telling us about. If I had wealth I wouldn't heed the so-called penalties, would you, dear? The possession of only another five hundred a year would make me one of the happiest women in the world."

"That's the universal cry," I laughed. "Why aren't you more original, Ulrica?"

"Because it's such bad form to be original nowadays, when everything has been said before. There is no further smartness in conversation. A woman can only shine by the aid of Paquin, or some other Vendome artist."

And so she chattered on merrily, until at length her eye caught my little travelling clock, when she saw that it was already an hour past midnight. The tramping of men on deck had ceased, and all had grown quiet, save for a low pumping sound from the engine-room.

"Well, dear," she said, "I suppose it's time to turn in. We all go over to Pisa to-morrow to see the sights—Leaning Tower, Cathedral, and that sort of thing. I've seen them all before, and so have you."

I smiled. When a child, I had stood beneath the campanile, marvelling at what Suor Angelica used to say was one of the seven wonders of the world; had knelt in reverence in the Duomo, and wandered in amazement through the old marble-built Campo Santo—how many years ago, I did not care to reflect.

"You will go with them?" I said.

"We must both go, much as it bores us. For myself, I hate sight-seeing at any time, and more especially the re-visitation of things one has seen in one's early youth. Yachting is delightful, and I love it. But the enthusiasm of one's friends when they get ashore is always apt to become tiresome. No, my dear Carmela, we're in for a day of self-sacrifice to-morrow."

I sighed. For myself, I would have preferred to remain in Leghorn, for to me Pisa always seems like a marble-built city of the dead. A single visit there in the course of a life-time is sufficient for most people, and the modern tourist, en route for Rome, generally "does" the sights in a couple of hours, and is glad to get away to the Eternal City. For the archæologist there is much of interest, but we women of the world are neither dry-as-dust professors nor ten-days-in-Italy tourists, and care nothing for the treasuries of its Archivio di Stato, the traditions connected with the miracle-working and carefully-veiled "Madonna sotto gli Organi," the tattered banners of the Knights of St. Stephen, or why the Messa dei Cacciatori was instituted. To me, as to most people who have once set foot in Pisa, its mediæval glories are mouldy.

When Ulrica had left me, I stood before the small mirror of my tiny, white-enamelled cabin, gazing blankly at my own reflection. Why had Ernest forsaken me in favour of that tow-haired, doll-like person, whose parentage no one knew, and whose manners, as far as I had been able to observe them, savoured more of Kennington than Kensington? I was good-looking, still young, still attractive, still sufficiently alluring to cause men to turn and glance after me. That candid friend, my mirror, told me so each time I sought its opinion. And yet I who loved him with all my soul was abandoned!

The queer old man's injunctions recurred to me. It was necessary that I should investigate what was contained in that locked deck-house over my head. But how?

Gerald had told us that the place contained curiosities purchased in Tangier, an explanation evidently given by his father. That this was not the truth I was already aware. Yet if the body of the mysterious female passenger was still there, it was remarkable that the Customs officers had not found it. Still, the men of the Italian dogana are easily bribed. They get half the fines imposed upon contraband, a fact which makes them very eager to discover dutiable articles—and nearly everything is liable to taxation in Italy—but a sly douceur is to them always preferable to the labour entailed in searching a ship and finding nothing to reward them. Davis, the bluff, red-faced captain, or one of his officers, being well aware of this, might, for aught I knew, have judiciously dispensed a few paper lire.

Though old Branca had given his opinion that there was no longer any danger of the dastardly plot being carried into effect, I was not at all convinced of the safety of the vessel. Thus, without removing my hat, I sat on the edge of my narrow little berth for a long time, thinking. We were to sail for the Adriatic. That in itself was suspicious; for why should we retrace our course down the Italian coast again, when the intention had been to make for Marseilles? Keppel had some strong and secret motive for so suddenly altering our plans.

The pumping in the engine-room had been succeeded by the low whirr of the dynamo. At that hour all on board were asleep; for lying as we were off the Mole, there was no necessity for a night-watch to be kept; therefore I decided to venture back on deck, ostensibly to take the air and admire the clearness of the magnificent Italian night, but really to take observations of the locked deck-house.

Stealthily, on tiptoe, I crept out of my cabin, and up the stairs on to the deck. The night was brilliant—one of those which the dweller on the Mediterranean shore knows so well in spring, calm, balmy, starlit, with the crescent moon shedding its light over the distant range of mountains far inland. The lights of the harbour were reflected by the dark, unsteady waters; and from the ancient lighthouse shone the bright rays of warning far across old Neptune's highway.

As I emerged on deck, before me extended the long line of electric lamps along the Passeggio to Ardenza, and behind me lay the brightly-lit City of Leghorn, complex and mysterious. From across the port came the sound of steam winches, interspersed now and then with the low rumbling of coal being shot into barges—the produce of Cardiff and Newcastle, disembarked by some "tramp" eager for departure; and once there came from over the water the hoarse note of a steam siren announcing a vessel's immediate sailing.

I lingered for a moment, affecting to enjoy the night air, but really to disarm the suspicion of anyone who might be astir. All on board was quiet, however, and the silence reassured me. I crept forward to the deck-house, passing its closed and curtained port-holes.

My heart leaped quickly. There was a light within.

As I slowly picked my way past I distinctly heard a voice, but could not recognise it. The sound, however, made it apparent that two persons were within. Carefully I walked around, but found all three port-holes heavily curtained. At one I listened, but could distinguish nothing. It was a man's voice; that was all I could tell.

I bethought myself of the ventilator by which I had before been enabled to overhear the conversation within, and wondered whether it was open. Without hesitation I swung myself up to the top of the deck-cabin, but was dismayed to find the small aperture tightly closed. I listened, but only heard a voice speaking in a gruff tone. As to what words were said I could obtain no idea. The voice sounded like that of old Mr. Keppel, but even of this I was not altogether certain.

Were the occupants of that locked cabin engaged in perfecting the plot to destroy the Vispera? To me it seemed very much as if they were. I slid down from my position, which was rather insecure for a woman, and concealed myself in the dark and narrow gangway between the deck-house and the covering of a hatchway, in order to watch the exit.