Stand Fast, Craig-Royston! (Volume III). William Black
it was not Mrs. de Lara who was in his thoughts when, early one morning, he found himself on the upper deck, just under the bridge, with his eyes fixed on a far strip of land that lay along the western horizon. Not a thin sharp line of blue, but a low-lying bulky mass of pale neutral tint; and there were faint yellow mists hanging about it, and also covering the smooth, long-undulating surface of the sea. However, the sunrise was now declared; this almost impalpable fog would soon be dispersed; and the great continent behind that out-lying coast would gradually awaken to the splendour of the new day. And in what part of its vast extent was Maisrie now awaiting him? – no, not awaiting him, but perhaps thinking of him, and little dreaming he was so near?
They cautiously steamed over the shallow waters at Sandy Hook; they sailed up the wide bay; momentarily the long flat line of New York, with its towering buildings and steeples jutting up here and there, was drawing nigh. Mrs. de Lara, rather wistfully, asked him whether she was ever likely to see him again; he answered that he did not know how soon he might have to leave New York; but, if she would be so kind as to give him her address, he would try to call before he went. She handed him her card; said something about the pleasant voyage they had had; and then went away to see that Isabel had not neglected anything in her packing.
They slowed into the wharf; the luggage was got ashore and examined – in this universal scrimmage he lost sight of Mrs. de Lara and her faithful companion: and by and by he was being jolted and pitched and flung about in the coach that was carrying him to the hotel he had chosen. With an eager curiosity he kept watching the passers-by on the side-walk, searching for a face that was nowhere to be seen. He had heard and known of many strange coincidences: it would only be another one – if a glad and wonderful one – were he to find Maisrie on the very first day of his arrival in America.
As soon as he had got established in his hotel, and seen that his luggage had been brought up, he went out again and made away for the neighbourhood of Printing House Square. It needs hardly be said that the Western Scotsman was not in possession of a vast white marble building, with huge golden letters shining in the afternoon sun; all the same he had little difficulty in finding the small and unpretentious office; and his first inquiry was for Mr. Anstruther. Mr. Anstruther had been there in the morning; but had gone away home, not feeling very well. Where did he live? – over in Brooklyn. But he would be at the office the next day? Oh, yes; almost certainly; it was nothing but a rather bad cold; and as they went to press on the following evening, he would be pretty sure to be at the office in the morning.
Then Vincent hesitated. This clerk seemed a civil-spoken kind of young fellow.
"Do you happen to know if – if a Mr. Bethune has called at this office of late?"
"Bethune? – not that I am aware of," was the answer.
"He is a friend of Mr. Anstruther's," Vincent went on, led by a vague hope, "an old gentleman with white hair and beard – a handsome old man. There would be a young lady with him most probably."
"No, sir; I have not seen any one of that description," said the clerk. "But he might have called on Mr. Anstruther at his home."
"Oh, yes, certainly – very likely," said Vincent. "Thank you. I will come along to-morrow morning, and hope to find Mr. Anstruther quite well again."
So he left and went out into the gathering dusk of the afternoon; and as he had nothing to do now, he walked all the way back to his hotel, looking at the various changes that had taken place since last he had been in the busy city. And then, when he reached the sumptuous and heavily-decorated apartment that served him at once as sitting-room and bed-room, he set to work to put his things in order, for they had been rather hurriedly jammed into his portmanteau on board ship.
He was thus engaged when there came a knock at the door.
"Entrez!" he called out, inadvertently (with some dim feeling that he was in a foreign town.)
The stranger needed no second invitation. He presented himself. He was a small man, with a sallow and bloodless face, a black beard closely trimmed, a moustache allowed to grow its natural length, and dark, opaque, impassive eyes. He was rather showily dressed, and wore a pince-nez.
For a second he paused at the door to take out his card-case; then, without uttering a word, he stepped forward and placed his card on the table. Vincent was rather surprised at this form of introduction; but of course he took up the card. He read thereon. 'Mr. Joseph de Lara.'
"Oh, really," said he (but what passed through his mind was – 'Is that confounded woman going to persecute me on shore as well as at sea?'). "How do you do? Very glad to make your acquaintance."
"Oh, indeed, are you?" the other said, with a peculiar accent, the like of which Vincent had never heard before. "Perhaps not, when you know why I am here. Ah, do not pretend! – do not pretend!"
Vincent stared at him, as if this were some escaped lunatic with whom he had to deal.
"Sir, I am here to call you to account," said the little foreigner, in his thick voice. "It has been the scandal of the whole ship – the talk of all the voyage over – and it is an insult to me – to me – that my wife should be spoken of. Yes, you must make compensation – I demand compensation – and how? By the only way that is known to an Englishman. An Englishman feels only in his pocket; if he does wrong, he must pay; I demand from you a sum that I expend in charity – "
Vincent who saw what all this meant in a moment, burst out laughing – a little scornfully.
"You've come to the wrong shop, my good friend!" said he.
"What do you mean? What do you mean?" the little dark man exclaimed, with an affectation of rising wrath: "Look at this – I tell you, look at this!" He drew from his pocket one of the photographs which had been taken on board the steamer, and smacked it with the back of his hand. "Do you see that? – the scandal of the whole voyage! My wife compromised – the whole ship talking – you think you are to get off for nothing? No! No! you do not! The only punishment that can reach you is the punishment of the pocket – you must pay."
"Oh, don't make a fool of yourself!" said Vincent, with angry contempt. "I've met members of your profession before. But this is too thin."
"Oh – too thin? You shall find out!" the other said, vindictively – and yet the black and beady eyes behind the pince-nez were impassive and watchful. "There, on the other side of my card, is my address. You can think over it. Perhaps I shall see you to-morrow. If I do not – if you do not come there to give the compensation I demand, I will make this country too hot to hold you – yes, very much too hot, as you shall discover. I will make you sorry – I will make you sorry – you shall see – "
He went on vapouring in this fashion for some little time longer, affecting all the while to become more and more indignant; but at length Vincent, growing tired, walked to the door and opened it.
"This is the way out," he said curtly.
Mr. de Lara took the hint with a dignified equanimity.
"You have my address," he said, as he passed into the corridor; "I do not wish to do anything disagreeable – unless I am compelled. You will think over it; and I shall see you to-morrow, I hope. I wish to be friendly – it will be for your interest, too. Good night!"
Vincent shut the door and went and sate down, the better to consider. Not that he was in the least perturbed by this man's ridiculous threats; what puzzled him – and frightened him almost – was the possible connection of the charming and fascinating Mrs. de Lara with this barefaced attempt at blackmail. But no; he could not, he would not, believe it! He recalled her pretty ways, her frankness, her engaging manner, her good humour, her clever, wayward talk, her kindness towards himself; and he could not bring himself to think that all the time she had been planning a paltry and despicable conspiracy to extort money, or even that she would lend herself to such a scheme at the instigation of her scapegrace husband. However, his speculations on these points were now interrupted by the arrival of the dinner-hour; and he went below to the table d'hôte.
During dinner he thought that a little later on in the evening he would go along to Lexington Avenue, and call on a lawyer whose acquaintance he had made