The Child Wife. Reid Mayne
with a significant smile, that secured James for a parley.
It came off; and before leaving to execute the order, he was made acquainted with the helpless condition of the English gent who occupied Number 149.
In this there was nothing to surprise him. Mr Swinton was not the only guest under his charge, who on that particular morning required brandy and soda. James rather rejoiced at it, as giving him claim for an increased perquisite.
The drink was brought up, along with the cigars, and taken in as directed; the gentleman’s servant giving the waiter no opportunity to gratify curiosity by a sight of his suffering master. Even had the door been left open, and James admitted to the room, he would not have gone out of it one whit the wiser. He could only have told that Frank’s master was still abed, his face buried under the bedclothes!
To make sure against surprise, Mr Swinton had assumed this interesting attitude; and for reasons unknown even to his own valet. On the rebolting of the door, he flung off the coverlet, and once more commenced treading the carpet.
“Was it the same waiter?” he asked; “he that brought the letter?”
“It was – James – you know?”
“So much the better. Out with that cork, Fan! I want something to settle my nerves, and make me fit for a good think?”
While the wire was being twisted from the soda bottle, he took hold of a cigar, bit off the end, lit, and commenced smoking it.
He drank the brandy and soda at a single draught; in ten minutes after ordering another dose, and soon again a third.
Several times he re-read Roseveldt’s letter – each time returning it to his pocket, and keeping its contents from Fan.
At intervals he threw himself upon the bed, back downward, the cigar held between his teeth; again to get up and stride around the room with the impatience of a man waiting for some important crisis – doubtful whether it may come.
And thus did Mr Swinton pass the day, eleven long hours of it, inside his sleeping apartment!
Why this manoeuvring, seemingly so eccentric?
He alone knew the reason. He had not communicated it to his wife – no more the contents of the lately received letter – leaving her to indulge in conjectures not very flattering to her lord and master.
Six brandies and sodas were ordered, and taken in with the same caution as the first. They were all consumed, and as many cigars smoked by him during the day. Only a plate of soup and a crust for his dinner – the dish that follows a night of dissipation. With Mr Swinton it was a day of dissipation, that did not end till 7:30 p.m.
At that hour an event occurred that caused a sudden change in his tactics – transforming him from an eccentric to a sane, if not sober, man!
Chapter Fifteen.
A Parting Glance
Any one acquainted with the topography of the Ocean House and its adjuncts, knows that its livery-stable lies eastward – approached by a wide way passing round the southern end.
On that same evening, exactly at half-past seven o’clock, a carriage, issuing from the stable-yard, came rolling along toward the hotel. By the absence of livery coat, and the badgeless hat of the driver, the “hack” was proclaimed; while the hour told its errand. The steamer’s whistle, heard upon the far-off wharf, was summoning its passengers aboard; and the carriage was on its way to the piazza of the hotel to take up “departures.”
Instead of going round to the front, it stopped by the southern end – where there is also a set of steps and a double door of exit.
Two ladies, standing on the balcony above, saw the carriage draw up, but without giving it thought. They were engaged in a conversation more interesting than the sight of an empty hack, or even the speculation as to who was about to be taken by it to the boat. The ladies were Julia Girdwood and Cornelia Inskip; the subject of their converse the “difficulty” that had occurred between Captain Maynard and Mr Swinton, which, having been all day the talk of the hotel, had, of course, penetrated to their apartment.
Cornelia was sorry it had occurred. And, in a way, so also was Julia.
But in another way she was not. Secretly she took credit to herself for being the cause, and for this reason secretly felt gratification. It proved to her, so ran her surmises, that both these men must have had her in their mind as they quarrelled over their cups; though she cared less for the thoughts of Swinton than of Maynard.
As yet she was not so interested in either as to be profoundly anxious about the affair. Julia Girdwood’s was not a heart to be lost, or won, within the hour.
“Do you think they will have a duel?” asked the timid Cornelia, trembling as she put the inquiry.
“Of course they will,” responded the more daring Julia. “They cannot well get out of it – that is, Mr Swinton cannot.”
“And suppose one of them should kill the other?”
“And suppose they do – both of them – kill one another? It’s no business of ours.”
“Oh, Julia! Do you think it is not?”
“I’m sure it isn’t. What have we got to do with it? I should be sorry, of course, about them, as about any other foolish gentlemen who see fit to take too much drink. I suppose that’s what did it.”
She only pretended to suppose this, as also her expressed indifference about the result.
Though not absolutely anxious, she was yet far from indifferent. It was only when she reflected on Maynard’s coolness to her at the close of the ball, that she endeavoured to feel careless about the consequences.
“Who’s going off in this carriage?” she asked, her attention once more drawn to it by the baggage being brought out.
The cousins, leaning over the balustrade, looked below. Lettered upon a leathern trunk, that had seen much service, they made out the name, “CAPTAIN MAYNARD,” and underneath the well-known initials, “U.S.A.”
Was it possible? Or were they mistaken? The lettering was dim, and at a distance. Surely they were mistaken?
Julia remained with eyes fixed upon the portmanteau. Cornelia ran to her room to fetch a lorgnette. But before she returned with it, the instrument was no longer needed.
Miss Girdwood, still gazing down, saw Captain Maynard descend the steps of the hotel, cross over to the carriage, and take his seat inside it.
There was a man along with him, but she only gave this man a glance. Her eyes were upon the ex-officer of Mexican celebrity, her rescuer from the perils of the sea.
Where was he going? His baggage and the boat-signal answered this question.
And why? For this it was not so easy to shape a response.
Would he look up?
He did; on the instant of taking his seat within the hack.
Their eyes met in a mutual glance, half tender, half reproachful – on both sides interrogatory.
There was no time for either to become satisfied about the thoughts of the other. The carriage whirling away, parted two strange individuals who had come oddly together, and almost as oddly separated – parted them, perhaps for ever!
There was another who witnessed that departure with perhaps as much interest as did Julia Girdwood, though with less bitterness. To him it was joy: for it is Swinton of whom we speak.
Kneeling at the window of his room, on the fourth storey – looking down through the slanted laths of the Venetians – he saw the hack drive up, and with eager eyes watched till it was occupied. He saw also the two ladies below; but at that moment he had no thoughts for them.
It was like removing a millstone from his breast – the relief from some long-endured agony – when Maynard entered the carriage; the last spasm of his pain passing, as the whip cracked, and the wheels went whirling away.
Little