Читать книгу Lady Jim of Curzon Street - Fergus Hume - Страница 9

It was Jim's custom to saunter into his wife's bedroom, before descending to make a hearty meal, and complain that he had rested badly. This was a pleasing fiction, as he slept like a dormouse, and snored steadily through the hours he allotted to sleep without even a dream. But on entering for his morning grumble, he was so surprised to find Leah in her dressing-gown before a brisk fire, with a breakfast at her elbow and a book open on her lap, that he forgot his egotism. Jim could scarcely believe his lazy eyes, for he knew well that Leah was no student.

"What's up?" he asked, after pausing at the door to say "By Jupiter!" with every appearance of surprise. "Got a headache?"

"If I had, should I cure it with a novel?" asked his wife, disdainfully.

"Don't know, I'm sure," replied Jim, with the matutinal good-humour of a healthy animal. "Doctors recommend such rum things nowadays. But it doesn't matter. I'm off to feed."

"Wait for ten minutes, Jim. I have something to say."

"You're not goin' to read, are you? I can't stand readin' on a empty stom--well, on nothin'."

"Have you ever heard of The Woman in White?" asked Leah, irrelevantly.

"No; who is she?"

"It's a novel."

"Don't read 'em. Real life's much more fun."

Lady Jim looked at him steadily. "We might turn this"--she touched the book lightly--"into real life."

"Goin' to make a play of it?" questioned Jim, obtusely.

"Well, you might call it a comedy," she answered. "I certainly do not want it to be a tragedy--though it might come to that," she ended in a lower tone.

Jim opened his puzzled blue eyes. "Want of breakfast, I s'pose," he ruminated, "but I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"I've passed a white night," announced his wife, abruptly.

"What's that?"

"The French expression for a wakeful night."

"But you say it in English, and how can----?"

"It's useless wasting French on a man who understands only the argot of the trottoir."

"You're wastin' it now. A wakeful night--eh? Why didn't you try that new sedative Demetrius gave you?"

"I didn't want to sleep. This book was too interesting. I wish you to read it;" and she extended the novel to her husband.

"What!!!" If she had offered poison Jim could not have betrayed more abhorrence. "Read? You--want--me--to--read?"

"Well, you know words of two syllables, don't you?" she retorted impatiently. "Take it."

Jim handled the book as though it were a scorpion, turning over a hundred leaves rapidly. "Love an' diaries, and--oh, bosh!"

"Not at all, unless bosh is your word for common sense. I see a chance of getting that money."

"What money?"

Leah made an impatient movement. "How dense you are! The insurance money, of course--the twenty thousand pounds. Suppose you died----"

"Stop it. I told you I wouldn't."

"And you told me that you might pretend to die."

"Oh, I was only talkin'. You don't want me to be buried alive!"

"It wouldn't be much good," said his wife, with a shrug. "We must have a genuine corpse--like you."

An inkling of her meaning stole into Jim's dull brain, and he sat down suddenly. "Go on," said he, hoarsely.

"Harold Garth is like you."

"Where the--what the--you saw him?"

"In church yesterday. He's ill with consumption, dying they say. Demetrius attends him. Supposing--supposing"--her imagination made her cheeks flush--"supposing--oh, you understand."

The sluggish comprehension of the man grasped her hinted scheme suddenly, and his eyes lighted up. "Supposing he died and was buried in place of me, you mean?"

"You don't suppose I mean murder, do you?" she cried, rising to the height of her tall figure and speaking irritably.

"You would if there was money in it," said Jim, grimly.

"It would be a natural death," went on Leah, rapidly, and pacing the room to relieve the strain on her nerves. "The poor fellow can't live long. If he died, and was buried as----"

"No go," contradicted Jim, rising in his turn. "Every one about here knows of the likeness; for which," he added slowly, "there's a reason."

"So I learned yesterday from Mrs. Arthur."

Jim was indignant. "Do you mean to tell me----?"

"I mean to tell you that I gathered the truth from what she left unsaid. You don't suppose that I require words to explain things."

"I don't see how it's to be managed," said Kaimes, reflectively.

"If it could be, would you surrender everything and----?"

"Yes, I would, for a quarter of the money. Then I'd go out of your life an' to Lima----"

"Lima," said Lady Jim, stopping suddenly. "Why to Lima? You've been there three times since we married."

"No end of a place, Lima," muttered Jim, feebly.

His wife looked at his colouring face attentively, and laughed in a short, rasping manner. An idea had occurred to her which she did not think it necessary to impart to Jim. "When you're legally dead," she said sharply, "I shall have no control over your life or movements. All I want to know is, if this business can be managed, will you do your share by disappearing?"

"Yes; but I don't see how----"

"Read that book, Jim, and you'll understand better. It gave me the idea, though our plot will be different in many ways."

"Well," said Jim, tucking the novel under his arm, "I'll dip into it."

"Don't let any one see you reading, and replace it in the library without any one knowing."

"Why should I?"

"You fool," snarled Leah, viciously; "if this thing is to be carried through safely, no suspicion must rest on either of us. Do you suppose that I have spoken to this double of yours, or have let any one know that I have read the book? I don't think it really matters much, as people are too stupid to see things; but it is just as well to be on the safe side."

"But I don't see how----" began Kaimes again, and again she cut him short.

"I do--I do. Demetrius attends this young fellow."

"Oh, and he--Demetrius, I mean----"

"Leave me to deal with him," she said confidently.

Jim flung the book on the floor, and looked at her with clenched hands. "What is this Demetrius to you?" he asked violently.

"A puppet I can pull the strings of," she retorted; "and be good enough to remember that you are not in a training-stable."

"If that beastly little Tartar----"

"My dear Jim," said his wife coolly, "if you ask me about Demetrius, I shall certainly ask you about Lima."

Kaimes was taken aback. "Lima," he stammered, flushing to the roots of his fair hair. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you can trust me to ask no questions, if you will mind your own business."

"As you are my wife, Demetrius is my business."

"Think of me as your widow then," she mocked, "and that I can't be without the aid of Demetrius."

"Why can't you speak plainly?"

"I might ask you the same question, but"--she picked up the novel and thrust it into Jim's unwilling hands--"I fancy you and I understand one another pretty well."

"I won't have any man making love to you."

"Very good," said Leah, calmly; "then you must remain a pauper, and my husband. I'm not going to all this trouble to share you with----"

"Well, with whom?--out with it!"

"I think you can answer that question best, Jim."

"Upon my honour----"

"Pah!" she said with disgust. "Hadn't we better leave honour out of this shady business we are about to embark in?"

"You really mean to----"

"I really mean to get that twenty thousand pounds!"

"You'll lose me," Jim reminded her uneasily.

Leah made a grimace. "My loss is another's gain," she said significantly. "Now go away, Jim. I have to dress in my best frock in order to fascinate Demetrius;" and she vanished into her dressing-room with a provoking laugh.

Lord Jim said something about Demetrius that involved the use of unprintable language. Then he slipped the book into the pocket of his shooting-jacket and lumbered downstairs. In spite of his squabbling with Leah, and the existence of some one in Lima, he was furiously jealous of Demetrius, and scowled at the Russian when they met. Demetrius rather liked that scowl, as he guessed the reason, and took it as a tribute to his fascinations. If he had known Lady Jim's real intentions, and that she intended to convert English rather than French fiction into everyday facts, he might not have smiled so victoriously over his coffee. But Demetrius made the fatal mistake of so many clever men: he knew he was clever, and thereby was not what he fancied himself to be. The true secret of success lies, not in knowing how clever oneself is, but how stupid other people are.

While Jim was growling over his provender, Miss Tallentire, who had finished her breakfast, slipped out of the room. She felt strange in the company of the frumps and fashionables which formed the house-party. Certainly the frumps were eating in private, and would not appear till the world was well-aired, and they had been "made-up" sufficiently well to prevent the younger generation being shocked. But the fashionable people came to breakfast in public, and Joan found the talk far above her comprehension. These languid creatures, who ate so little and talked so much, were like inhabitants of a strange planet, and it was with great relief that the girl found herself passed over. Of course, nobody thought of noticing Cinderella in her rags.

As Lady Canvey was being rehabilitated by a skilful maid, and would not be seen as the world knew her for at least two hours, Joan had this time to herself. The brightness of the day tempted her to assume hat and jacket for a morning walk, and she was shortly tripping over the crisp snow of the avenue. The glorious sunshine, the keen air, the dazzling whiteness of the snow, and the generally invigorating influence of this ideal winter morning stirred the current of her blood to nimbleness. Joan began to sing softly, and could hardly keep from dancing, so rapidly did her spirits mount skyward. At length, the place being solitary and she being recklessly young, a sudden impulse sent her flying like an arrow between the grim firs. Near the gates she shot directly into the arms of a man, and uttered an ejaculation. This was hardly to be wondered at, seeing that the arms closed tightly round her, and a pair of warm lips deepened the colour which exercise had brought to her cheeks.

"Lionel!" cried Joan; and "Darling!" replied Lionel, which sufficiently explains the feeling which existed between Lady Canvey's companion and Lady Canvey's pet.

These two babies, as the old lady called them, had been engaged for six months, but the fact was not generally known. The clerical parent of Joan had given his consent, on the understanding that Lionel was to possess a better income and the best vicarage obtainable before he made Joan Mrs. Kaimes. The young man had agreed readily enough, as he did not want to inflict his comparative penury, and poor lodgings, on the girl he so dearly loved. Joan and he had decided to wait for two years, and during that time Lionel was to reform Lambeth. He was attempting to do this with all the vigour of his energetic nature, and between times made love to Joan. Lady Canvey knew of the engagement, and would have had the couple married at once, since she could easily have given Lionel a living, and wished to do so. But the curate was anxious to become the vicar of Firmingham. The present incumbent was seriously ill, and in the event of death the Duke had promised that Lionel should fill the pulpit.

Therefore the lovers waited very happily, and if Firmingham did not come to them within the decreed two years, they were quite prepared to marry on the bread and cheese of a hard London life. Meantime, Joan was seeing a trifle of West End life under Lady Canvey's wing, and her earnings, as Lady Canvey's companion, were most acceptable to the hard-worked Mr. Tallentire and his wife. Thus it was that Joan returned Lionel's kiss, and only released herself from his loving arms when she remembered they were within sight of the lodge.

"Lionel, how can you?" she said, setting her hat straight.