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A Prince of Sinners, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Part 3 - Chapter 2. Mr. Lavilette Interferes |
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_ PART III CHAPTER II. MR. LAVILETTE INTERFERES "What is this Kingston Brooks' affair that Lavilette has hold of now?" yawned a man over his evening papers. "That fellow will get into trouble if he doesn't mind." "Some new sort of charity down in the East End," one of the little group of club members replied. "Fellow has a lot of branches, and tries to make 'em a sort of family affair. He gets a pile of subscriptions, and declines to publish a balance-sheet. Lavilette seems to think there's something wrong somewhere." "Lavilette's such a suspicious beggar," another man remarked. "The thing seems all right. I know people who are interested in it, who say it's the most comprehensive and common-sense charity scheme of the day." "Why doesn't he pitch into Lavilette, then? Lavilette's awfully insulting. Brooks the other day inserted an acknowledgment in the papers of the receipt of one thousand pounds anonymous. You saw what Lavilette said about it?" "No. What?" "Oh, he had a little sarcastic paragraph--declined to believe that Brooks had ever received a thousand pounds anonymously--challenged him to give the number of the note, and said plainly that he considered it a fraud. There's been no reply from Brooks." "How do you know?" "This week's Verity. Here it is!" "We have received no reply from Mr. Kingston Brooks up to going to press with respect to our remark concerning the thousand pounds alleged to have been received by him from an anonymous giver. We may add that we scarcely expected it. Yet there is another long list of acknowledgments of sums received by Mr. Brooks this morning. We are either the most credulous nation in the world, or there are a good many people who don't know what to do with their money. We should like to direct their attention to half-a-dozen excellent and most deserving charities which we can personally recommend, and whose accounts will always stand the most vigorous examination." "H'm! That's pretty strong," the first speaker remarked. "I should think that that ought to stay the flow of subscriptions." Lord Arranmore, who was standing on the hearthrug smoking a cigarette, joined languidly in the conversation. You think that Brooks ought to take some notice of Lavilette's impudence, then?" "Well, I'm afraid his not doing so looks rather fishy," the first speaker remarked. "That thousand pounds note must have been a sort of a myth."
Every man straightened himself in his easy-chair. There was a little thrill of interest. "You're joking, Arranmore." "Not I! I've sent him three amounts--anonymously." "Well, I'd no idea that sort of thing was in your line," one of the men exclaimed. "More it is," Arranmore answered. "Personally, I don't believe in charity--in any modern application of it at any rate. But this man Brooks is a decent sort." "You know who Brooks is, then?" "Certainly. He was my agent for a short time in Medchester." Mr. Hennibul, who was one of the men sitting round, doubled his copy of Verity up and beat the air with it. "I knew I'd heard the name," he exclaimed. "Why, I've met him down at Enton. Nice-looking young fellow." Arranmore nodded. "Yes. That was Brooks." Mr. Hennibul's face beamed. "Great Scott, what a haul!" he exclaimed. "Why, you've got old Lavilette on toast--you've got him for suing damages too. If this is why Brooks has been hanging back--just to let him go far enough--by Jove, he's a smart chap." "I don't fancy Brooks has any idea of the sort," Lord Arranmore answered. "All the same I think that Lavilette must be stopped and made to climb down." Curiously enough he met Brooks the same afternoon in Lady Caroom's drawing-room. "This is fortunate," he remarked. "I wished for a few minutes' conversation with you." "I am at your service," Brooks answered, quietly. The room was fairly full, so they moved a little on one side. Lord Arranmore for a moment or two studied his son's face in silence. "You show signs of the struggle," he remarked. "I have been overworked," Brooks answered. "A week or two's holiday is all I require--and that I am having. As for the rest," he answered, looking Lord Arranmore in the face, "I am not discouraged. I am not even depressed." "I congratulate you--upon your zeal." "You are very good." "I was going to speak to you," Lord Arranmore continued, "concerning the paragraph in this week's Verity, and these other attacks which you seem to have provoked." Brooks smiled. "You too!" he exclaimed. "I also!" Lord Arranmore admitted, coolly. "You scarcely see how it concerns me, of course, but in a remote sense it does." "I am afraid that I am a little dense," Brooks remarked. "I will not embarrass you with any explanation," Lord Arranmore remarked. "But all the same I am going to surprise you. Do you know that I am very much interested in your experiment?" Brooks raised his eyebrows. "Indeed!" "Yes, I am very much interested," Lord Arranmore repeated. "I should like you to understand that my views as to charity and charitable matters remain absolutely unaltered. But at the same time I am anxious that you should test your schemes properly and unhampered by any pressure from outside. You are all the sooner likely to grow out of conceit with them. Therefore let me offer you a word of advice. Publish your accounts, and sue Lavvy for a thousand pounds." Brooks was silent for a moment. "My own idea," he said, slowly, "was to take no notice of these attacks. The offices where the financial part of our concern is managed are open to our subscribers at any time, and the books are there for their inspection. It is only at the branches where we do not admit visitors." "You must remember," Lord Arranmore said, "that these attacks have been growing steadily during the last few months. It is, of course, no concern of mine, but if they are left unanswered surely your funds must suffer." "There have been no signs of it up to the present," Brooks answered. "We have large sums of money come in every day." "This worst attack," Lord Arranmore remarked, "only appeared in this week's Verity. It is bound to have some effect." Brooks shrugged his shoulders. "I do not fear it," he answered, calmly. "As a matter of fact, however, I am going to form a council to take the management of the financial organization. It is getting too large a thing for me with all my other work. Is there anything else you wished to say to me?" The eyes of the two men met for a moment both unflinchingly. Perhaps they were each searching for something they could not find. "There is nothing else. Don't let me detain you." Brooks, who was the leaving guest, stepped quietly away, and Lord Arranmore calmly outstayed all the other callers. "Your manners," Lady Caroom told him, as the last of her guests departed, "are simply hoydenish. Who told you that you might sit out all my visitors in this bare-faced way?" "You, dear lady, or rather your manner," he answered, imperturbably. "It seemed to me that you were saying all the time, 'Do not desert me! Do not desert me!' And so I sat tight." "An imagination like yours," she declared, "is positively unhealthy. Arranmore, what an idiot you are. "Well?" "Oh, you know all about it--and one hears! Are you tired of your life?" "Very, very tired of it!" he answered. "Isn't everybody?" "Of course not. Neither are you really. It is only a mood. Some day you will succeed in what you seem trying so hard to do, and then you will be sorry--and perhaps some others!" "If one could believe that," he murmured. "Two months ago," she continued, "every one was saying that you had made up your mind to end your days in the hunting-field. All Melton was talking about your reckless riding, and your hairbreadth escapes." "Both shockingly exaggerated," he said, under his breath. Perhaps; but apart from the papers I have seen people who were out and who have told me that you rode with absolute recklessness, simply and purely for a fall, and that you deserved to break your neck a dozen times over. Then there was your week in Paris with Prince Comfrere, and now your supper-parties are the talk of London." "They are justly famed," he answered, gravely, "for you know I brought home the chef from Voillard's. I am sorry that I cannot ask you to one. "Don't be ridiculous, Arranmore. Why do you do these things? Does it amuse you, give you any satisfaction? "Upon my word I don't know," he answered. "Then why do you do it?" "Because," he said slowly, "there is a shadow which dogs me. I am always trying to escape--and it is always hard on my heels. You are a woman, Catherine, and you don't know the suffering of the most intolerable form of ennui--loneliness." "And do you?" she asked, looking at him with softening eyes. "Always. It rode with me in the turnkey frill--and sometimes perhaps it lifted my spurs--why not? And at these suppers you speak of, well, they are all very gay--it is I only who have bidden them, who reap no profit. For whosoever may sit there the chair at my side is always empty." "You speak sadly," she said, "and yet--" "Yet what?" "To hear you talk, Arranmore, with any real feeling about anything is always a relief," she said. "Sometimes you speak and act as though every emotion which had ever filled your life were dead, as though you were indeed but the shadow of your former self. Even to know that you feel pain is better than to believe you void of any feeling whatever." "Then you may rest content," he told her quietly, "for I can assure you that pain and I are old friends and close companions." "You have so much, too, which should make you happy--which should keep you employed and amused," she said, softly. "'Employed and amused.'" His eyes flashed upon her with a gleam of something very much like anger. "It pleases you to mock me!" "Indeed no!" she protested. "You must not say such things to me." "Then remember," he said, bitterly, "that sympathy from you comes always very near to mockery. It is you and you alone who can unlock the door for me. You show me the key--but you will not use it." A belated caller straggled in, and Arranmore took his leave. Lady Caroom for the rest of the afternoon was a little absent. She gave her visitors cold tea, and seriously imperiled her reputation as a charming and sympathetic hostess. _ |
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