Garthoyle Gardens/Chapter 5

The discovery that he had made such a complete fool of himself seemed to have a chastening effect on Sir Marmaduke. Jack told me that now, when he went to the house to see Muriel, the gutta-percha one was quite civil to him. Also, he seemed to have grown rather shy of me since I had drawn up that marriage contract, for he ceased pestering Garth & Thurman with his fussy letters.

The Gardens, indeed, were going very nicely and quietly. It is a great advantage that the rents of the houses are two thousand pounds a year, not only from the point of view of my income, but also because it means that my tenants are desirable. Bad hats and swindlers do not run to such high rents.

Indeed, the only tenant about whom I was doubtful was Scruton. Ever since the good gum millionaire had tried to get his house rent free by that ingenious ghost trick, I had been expecting more games from him. He really was a millionaire, or thereabouts. I had had inquiries made about him, and Jack had thought it well to have the share register at Somerset House looked up, and had found that Scruton was a large shareholder in Australian and New Zealand securities. Still, I knew that he was a crooked millionaire, and I could not help expecting that he would turn out to be an undesirable tenant. I myself much prefer the millionaire who has inherited his millions to the millionaire who has made them. He is straighter.

Oddly enough, it was that rising young politician, my cousin, Herbert Polkington, who brought to my knowledge the unpleasant fact that Scruton was on the way to get Number Nine the reputation of a gambling hell.

Herbert is one of those earnest and serious politicians who get up on their hind legs and paw the air when you tell them that politics is only a game, and not as cheery a game as racing. So, when he turned up one day, and said that he had come to lunch with me, I was rather surprised. He is always very lofty with me, because of what he calls my “useless life,” and this was condescending, indeed. I wondered what he wanted.

It was a stifling hot day, but Herbert was the correct politician, in black top hat, black morning coat, dark trousers, dark tie, and dark gloves. It made me feel hot to look at him.

“Do you never wear summer clothes—something gray?” I asked him over our melons.

“Never in London. Gray clothes give a man an air of frivolity; they do not go with serious aims in life. In the country, I wear tweeds, of course, but always dark shades. My reputation demands it,” he said solemnly.

“I shouldn't like to have a reputation like that,” I said.

“I fear you never will. It is unfortunately too late,” he replied very loftily.

“Saved! Saved!” I murmured softly.

He looked pained, but did not rebuke me; so I knew for certain that he did want something.

I seemed to have set him going, for he talked earnestly about the dress and the habits and the customs of the correct young politician. I let him drone on. It is never any use trying to quicken him; he will take the most roundabout way to come to what he wants. I dare say he thinks it diplomatic.

Then he did give me a jolt. He got away from the perfect young politician, and began to talk about the perfect young politician's wife; and he said that the important thing was that she should have brains.

I looked at the bottle of champagne. It was not that; he had not drunk enough.

Then I said:

“Rot, old chap! The important thing is that she should be related to the right kind of people, and know how to entertain them in the right kind of way; or else she must be a woman with a lot of money.”

“No,” he said solemnly. “What a man—a man dealing with imperial affairs—needs in a wife is a stimulating companion, some one to foster the efforts of his genius”

I looked again at the bottle of champagne. It was not the quantity; he had had only a couple of glasses of it. It must be stronger than I had thought. Then I said:

“This is what they call poppycock in the States. If we were out of doors, should say that you were talking through your hat.”

“I am quite serious. These are the conclusions I have come to after giving the matter my most careful consideration,” said Herbert solemnly; and he raised his glass and looked at it as if he were perfectly satisfied with it, himself, and everything else in the nice, round world.

I was not going to bother with rot like this.

“All right; it doesn't matter,” I said. “At any rate, you're fixed up properly. You're going to marry Anne Dressington; and she is related to the whole gang of the right people, knows exactly what they want, and has five thousand a year.”

It has been understood in the family for a long while that Herbert is going to marry our cousin, Lady Dressington; and it is one of those comfortable arrangements that are good for every one.

Herbert emptied his wineglass quickly; and his round, yellow face turned a little pink.

“Not at all; not at all,” he said quickly. “Neither Anne nor I have considered that seriously. But it was about a matter of that kind that I came to consult you. In spite of the frivolous life you lead, you have a certain amount of common sense.”

“Flatterer!” said I.

“Besides, in matters of this kind you have had a good deal of experience.”

“What kind of matter?” said I.

“Women. You know all about them.”

“You don't know anything about them, or you wouldn't say anything so silly,” I said firmly.

“Oh, yes, you do!” he said obstinately. “Look at all the messes you've been in!”

“Messes? What a way to speak of grand passions! But, never mind. What is it you want to know?”

“Well, I'm very much interested in a lady—a very pretty girl,” he began hesitatingly. “I met her at the house of one of your tenants—at Scruton's, the millionaire at Number Nine—a very able man.”

“Very able,” I said. And I thought of how the old sweep had tricked my uncle out of a quarter's rent by his ghost, and very nearly tricked me. Then my heart gave a little jump and I felt annoyed; Herbert must have been making love to the ghost girl herself. I had no reason to feel annoyed, of course. It had nothing to do with me. Whatever a girl who had lent herself to such a shady trick as that might do, it could not possibly matter to me. Still, Herbert! Herbert is such a rotter!

“But I'm rather uneasy about the circumstances; the—er—environment,” he went on. “Two or three times a week, Scruton has a party after the theater—a man's party. They play baccarat, and they play very high. I was taken to one of these parties, and I met her there. And I have been again—several times. And the play is always very high. I—I have found the atmosphere of the house suspicious.”

Here it was, as large as life. I had been expecting some little game from Scruton; and here it was.

“Look here! Do you mean to tell me that that infernal New Zealander is running a gambling hell in Garthoyle Gardens?” I asked.

“No, no! I don't say that. I've no right to. My suspicions are quite vague—hardly suspicions. Besides, a millionaire wouldn't run a gambling hell, would he?” he said quickly.

“You know very well a millionaire would. It's just the profitable amusement a millionaire would love. You know the sweeps. How much have you lost?”

“About three hundred. But of course I don't mind that.”

“Of course you don't! You go to see the girl, and that is the price you pay for it. I should never have accused you of being young, but you're a deal younger than I ever dreamed.”

“You've no right to jump to conclusions in such a hurry, I tell you. It may be all my fancy.”

“Fancy or not, I can give you the advice you want at once,” I said. “You keep away from Number Nine, or you'll get into a most unholy mess; and England will lose a choice prime minister.”

“No, no! That isn't it, at all. It isn't your advice I want. I want the benefit of your experience. I want you to come to one of Scruton's parties, so that you may see for yourself and tell me if there is anything wrong. There's no need for an invitation. I can take you without.”

“No, thank you,” I said. “Outside is good enough for me.”

I did not want to see any more of the ghost girl. I had a feeling that that way lay trouble. Besides, it would be rather awkward; she knew me under the name of Garth; and she might be annoyed to find that I had not told her my right name when we talked about the Ponderbury hieroglyphics.

But Herbert would not take a refusal. He went on pestering and pestering me to give him the benefit of my experience, and declaring and declaring that I could not do it properly till I had looked into the matter for myself. Also, I felt that I ought to prevent his getting into a hole, if could—after all, though it is not my fault, he is my cousin—and in the end I gave way. He arranged to call for me at eleven the next Thursday night.

After he had gone, I grew even more annoyed about the business; and. yet it really did rot matter to me whether the ghost girl married Herbert or not.

When he called for me, I was ready for him, with two hundred in fivers in my pocket. I did not mean to plunge. We strolled around to Number Nine, and were taken up to a room on the first floor. A long table, covered with a green cloth, was set under two of the windows, and a dozen men were playing at it. Scruton, as black-faced and hard-bitten as ever, stood on the hearth-rug talking to a man whom I did not know. Three or four men were clustered around two girls who were sitting on a couch on the left-hand side of the room. One of the girls was Amber Devine; and at the sight of me her eyes opened wide, and she flushed.

Scruton did not show the slightest embarrassment at the sight of me. He greeted me easily, and said that he was very glad I had come round for a game. It was clear that, to him, his little attempt to trick me out of his rent was neither here nor there—just a sort of diversion.

The panting Herbert drew me across the room to the couch on which the two girls were sitting. I shook hands with Amber quickly, before he could introduce me as Garthoyle. Then I greeted three of the men in the group around the girls heartily, stretching the greetings out, for I knew that all of them would call me Garth.

It was no use; Herbert would not have it. He seized me by the arm, turned me around, and bawled:

“Let me introduce you to Miss Maynard. Lord Garthoyle—Miss Maynard.”

I did not miss the ghost girl's little start when she heard my real name; and out of the corner of my eye I saw a little frown on her forehead as she stared at me.

I looked as innocent as I could, and began to talk to Miss Maynard quickly. In two minutes I found that she was all right to talk to; very bright and quick, and ready to laugh. She was a pretty girl, too, with very fine, dark eyes, and dark hair, and a very clear skin with plenty of color in it. I fancied, too, that she had one of those hot tempers that flare up quickly on occasion, but that she would not sulk.

In five minutes we were quite friendly; and, when the other men moved to the baccarat table, I stayed on, talking to her, leaving Herbert to the ghost girl.

They did not seem to be getting on very fast, and finally he said in a disagreeable tone:

“Wouldn't you like to go and play baccarat, Garthoyle?”

I tumbled to it at once. It was not the ghost girl who had captured Herbert's wayward heart; it was Miss Maynard. I felt ridiculously pleased. Yet what on earth did it matter to me?

“Conversation before cards for me, Herbert,” I said coldly, and I went on talking to Miss Maynard.

She seemed all right; she looked a nice girl, and she talked like a nice girl. But you never can tell; and the frocks of the two girls were about as direct as they make them. I was really annoyed by the one the ghost girl was wearing.

I went on talking till I felt that Herbert was champing the bit badly. When I grew afraid that at any moment he might snort. I said:

“Well, I'll go and flutter for a while.”

I sat down on the farther side of the table, so that I could watch Herbert and Miss Maynard; and, as I played, I began to size up the gathering. It seemed harmless enough. Morrisdale was banker—a fifty-pound bank; men were staking fivers and tenners. I knew most of the men playing; half a dozen of them were serious gamblers, the others were young ones on the racket. I did not think that the game would stay as gentle as this all the evening. As I played, I watched the ghost girl and Miss Maynard. I did wish that those directoire frocks were not so confoundedly direct.

Miss Maynard was talking away to the solemn Herbert; but presently I grasped the fact that she kept looking toward the door. Three more men came in—one of them that hulking brute, Sir Theobald Walsh—and came over to the table. Miss Maynard still looked at the door. Then in came Freddy Gage, Herbert's private secretary. I saw the look he and Miss Maynard exchanged; and I knew whom she had been looking for.

Freddy had been one of my fags at Eton, and I had always liked him. I have always believed that he writes Herbert's speeches and articles for him. To speak roughly, he has four times as many brains in his little finger as Herbert has in his capacious bullethead.

He joined Herbert and the two girls, and I went on with my game, considering things.

It was all very well; but, however much she might look for his coming, I did not think that when it came to serious business Freddy, with his brains and his five hundred a year, besides his salary, stood much chance against Herbert, with his seven thousand.

Several times I caught the ghost girl's eye; she was looking at me in a puzzled kind of way. Evidently, she had not yet grown used to my not being a simple commoner; she was rearranging her ideas.

Then Otto Steiner and a piebald duke went to the couch and began to talk to the ghost girl. Whereupon, Freddy Gage seemed to do a little readjusting, for in about two minutes he carried off Miss Maynard through the window to the balcony, while Herbert came across to the table, looking rather puzzled, and began to play.

The piebald duke went on talking to the ghost girl, but his eyes kept straying to the table, and finally he came over to it. At once Walsh rose, went to the ghost girl, pulled a chair up to the couch, and, leaning over her in a proprietary sort of way, began to talk in her ear. I was annoyed. Walsh is not the kind of man whom one likes to see within a quarter of a mile of a decent girl.

Steiner took the bank, and made it a three-hundred bank. Miss Maynard and Freddy Gage came back into the room, looking very well pleased with themselves, and, coming to the table, watched the play. It was higher; men were betting twenties and fifties. Then I saw that the ghost girl was sitting up very stiffly and frowning, and that her eyes were sparkling angrily. Walsh was smiling in an ugly way.

I got up and went across to them.

“You look as if you found the heat of the room rather trying, Miss Devine. Won't you come out on the balcony and get a breath of fresh air?” I asked.

Walsh scowled at me, and said something about her being very well where she was.

She rose quickly, and answered:

“Oh, yes; I should like to!”

“Disagreeable brute, Walsh,” I said, when we had settled down into two easy-chairs among the plants.

She hesitated

“I—I don't like him. I'm very glad you took me away from him.”

“Go on disliking him—hard,” I said. “You know what these baronets are. They shouldn't be encouraged. Whenever you come across a baronet, sit on him.”

She laughed softly; then she said:

“That's all very well; but if they won't be sat on?”

“Walsh is a pertinacious beggar,” said. “But keep on sitting on him, and in time he'll understand what's happening.”

“I do what I can,” she said. “But he doesn't seem to understand yet.”

“Never mind; keep on. It's the only way.”

She leaned back in her chair, and looked out across the garden. Then she looked at me, and asked rather quickly:

“Why did you give me a false name? It wasn't fair.”

“Oh, all my friends call me Garth, don't you know? And it might have made those children uncomfortable to know that they were with a lord. I've known it work that way with people—goodness knows why! Besides, peers have such a bad name. You might have got straight out of the car and run for your life if you had known that I was a peer.”

“Are you ever at a loss for an excuse?” she said, smiling.

“No—now you come to speak of it—I don't think I ever am. But these aren't excuses; they're good, solid reasons.”

“Still, you might have told me when we were talking about those hieroglyphics.”

“Yes; of course I might. But why should I? Besides, it was a bit difficult. I couldn't say: 'By the way, my real name is Lord Garthoyle,' could I?”

“Perhaps not,” she conceded. “But I do like everything aboveboard.”

I could not see exactly how that liking went with the ghost trick. But there! Women are like that; they must humbug.

“I haven't thanked you for getting that check for me,” she went on. “I'm awfully obliged to you.”

“There's no need to be. You could have got it yourself. I was very glad to save you a little trouble.”

“Oh, I should have made a dreadful mess of things!”

“Roughened the path of true love? I don't think you would. Have you spent it all?”

“Indeed, no; it will last ever such a long time. Why, there are more than a hundred treats—expeditions to Kew or to the country—in that money. I'm keeping it for that. It's splendid to have a lot of money like that.”

It was an odd way for the stepdaughter of a millionaire to talk, especially since she was living with him. But I was not surprised by it. Except when they are showing off, millionaires are stingy sweeps; and I did not suppose that Scruton was any exception to the rule.

I bethought myself that I was there on Herbert's business; and I set her talking about Miss Maynard. She did not want any encouragement.

“Oh, Kitty's a darling!” she said. “I don't know what I should do without Kitty.”

And she plunged into praises of her friend.

I learned that Miss Maynard's mother was a widow, and that they were very hard up; that Miss Maynard was very keen on amusing herself, and always came to Scruton's parties. He had told Amber that she should invite her to help her entertain his guests. Of course, there was no need of a hostess at such parties; and it was clearer than ever that the two girls were used as decoys. It was no business of mine, but it vexed me. However, I said nothing about it; I let the ghost girl go on talking.

I gathered that though Miss Maynard was a nice enough girl, and uncommonly clever, she was a bit wild, and dead set on having a good time. I could not see her the wife of a serious, not to say dull, politician like Herbert. It would work well enough perhaps if Herbert were merely a fool; but he is such an obstinate fool. A mild brand of wife who liked being bullied, like Anne Dressington, was what he wanted. He was just the kind of man to come badly to grief with a clever, wild one like Miss Maynard. Herbert was in a hole.

The ghost girl presently stopped talking about Kitty Maynard, and I said:

“You say that Miss Maynard is hard up, but that dress she's wearing doesn't look like hard-upness.”

Amber looked at me rather hard, and she flushed.

“Oh, these dresses,” she said slowly, in a distressed voice. “It's my stepfather. He arranges about our dresses—not only mine, but Kitty's, too. He says it's only fair that, since she helps me act as hostess, he should provide the properties. And—and he will have them like this. I—I—hate them!”

“They're very nice dresses,” I said cheerfully. “What's the matter with them?”

“Oh, you know quite well what's the matter with them!” she flashed out, with a sudden burst of temper. Then she gave a little gasp, and added: “But—but why am talking to you like this? I—I scarcely know you.”

“Oh, yes, you do. You know all there is to know. And why shouldn't you talk openly to me? I'm quite safe. And I like it. It's a great compliment.”

“I dare say it is. But”

She stopped short and rose, and we went back into the room.

Two or three men were talking to Kitty Maynard, and Amber went back to the couch. I saw that for the moment she had had enough of me, and I went back to the table and played. As I played, I wondered about her; baccarat is a nice, easy game to play—it gives you plenty of time to think. She did seem contradictory; somehow, that ghost trick did not fit in with the rest of her. Once or twice I caught her glowering at me as if she were still angry with me because she had told me her feelings about that directoire frock. It was awfully like a woman to blame me for what she herself had said.

The play was serious, now—a thousand-pound bank. As I punted, I watched very carefully; but I saw nothing wrong. Indeed, with such seasoned gamblers as Tony le Quesne, Steiner, and two or three of the other men who were playing at the table, it would have been difficult for there to be anything wrong. I watched Scruton with particular care when he took the bank. He seemed far too clumsy a dealer to play any tricks with the cards. Besides, he lost about seven hundred over his bank. Men kept dropping out and talking to the girls for a while and coming back again. They talked to them with too easy an air to please me. But it was no business of mine.

I dropped out, myself, and had another talk with Miss Maynard; and it made me surer than ever that she would never do for Herbert. Soon after two, the two girls slipped away; and then Herbert went, and then Gage, and Walsh, and two or three others. I took it that these came chiefly on account of the two girls, and I was annoyed to see that Walsh was one of them. The rest of us broke up at about a quarter past four.

I walked home rather slowly. One way and another I had plenty to think of. Well, I had had a pleasant evening.