The Wings of the Morning
Page 20Sir Arthur Deane was sitting alone in his cabin in a state of deep
dejection, when he was aroused by a knock, and Robert entered.
"Can you give me half an hour?" he asked. "I have something to say to
you before we land."
The shipowner silently motioned him to a seat.
"It concerns Iris and myself," continued Anstruther. "I gathered from
your words when we met on the island that both you and Lord Ventnor
regarded Iris as his lordship's promised bride. From your point of view
the arrangement was perhaps natural and equitable, but since your
daughter left Hong Kong it happens that she and I have fallen in love
with each other. No; please listen to me. I am not here to urge my
claims on you. I won her fairly and intend to keep her, were the whole
House of Peers opposed to me. At this moment I want to tell you, her
father, why she could never, even under other circumstances, marry Lord
Ventnor."
Then he proceeded to place before the astounded baronet a detailed
history of his recent career. It was a sordid story of woman's perfidy,
twice told. It carried conviction in every sentence. It was possible,
of course, to explain matters more fully to the baronet than to Iris,
and Anstruther's fierce resentment of the cruel wrong inflicted upon
him blazed forth with overwhelming force. The intensity of his wrath in
no way impaired the cogency of his arguments. Rather did it lend point
and logical brevity. Each word burned itself into his hearer's
consciousness, for Robert did not know that the unfortunate father was
being coerced to a distasteful compact by the scoundrel who figured in
the narrative as his evil genius.
At the conclusion Sir Arthur bowed his head between his hands.
"I cannot choose but believe you," he admitted huskily. "Yet how came
you to be so unjustly convicted by a tribunal composed of your brother
officers?"
"They could not help themselves. To acquit me meant that they
discredited the sworn testimony not only of my Colonel's wife, but of
the civil head of an important Government Mission, not to mention some
bought Chinese evidence. Am I the first man to be offered up as a
sacrifice on the altar of official expediency?"
"But you are powerless now. You can hardly hope to have your case
revised. What chance is there that your name will ever be cleared?"
"Mrs. Costobell can do it if she will. The vagaries of such a woman are
not to be depended on. If Lord Ventnor has cast her off, her hatred may
'prove stronger than her passion. Anyhow, I should be the last man to
despair of God's Providence. Compare the condition of Iris and myself
today with our plight during the second night on the ledge! I refuse to
believe that a bad and fickle woman can resist the workings of destiny,
and it was a happy fate which led me to ship on board the
Sirdar, though at the time I saw it in another light."
How different the words, the aspirations, of the two suitors. Quite
unconsciously, Robert could not have pleaded better. The shipowner
sighed heavily.
"I hope your faith will be justified. If it be not--the more likely
thing to happen--do I understand that my daughter and you intend to get
married whether I give or withhold my sanction?"
Anstruther rose and opened the door.
"I have ventured to tell you," he said, "why she should not marry Lord
Ventnor. When I come to you and ask you for her, which I pray may be
soon, it will be time enough to answer that question, should you then
decide to put it."
It must be remembered that Robert knew nothing whatever of the older
man's predicament, whilst the baronet, full of his own troubles, was in
no mood to take a reasonable view of Anstruther's position. Neither
Iris nor Robert could make him understand the long-drawn-out duel of
their early life on the island, nor was it easy to depict the
tumultuous agony of that terrible hour on the ledge when the girl
forced the man to confess his love by suggesting acceptance of the
Dyaks' terms.
Thus, for a little while, these two were driven apart, and Anstruther
disdained to urge the plea that not many weeks would elapse before he
would be a richer man than his rival. The chief sufferer was Sir Arthur
Deane. Had Iris guessed how her father was tormented, she would not
have remained on the bridge, radiant and mirthful, whilst the
grey-haired baronet gazed with stony-eyed despair at some memoranda
which he extracted from his papers.
"Ten thousand pounds!" he muttered. "Not a great sum for the
millionaire financier, Sir Arthur Deane, to raise on his note of hand.
A few months ago men offered me one hundred times the amount on no
better security. And now, to think that a set of jabbering fools in
London should so destroy my credit and their own, that not a bank will
discount our paper unless they are assured Lord Ventnor has joined the
board! Fancy me, of all men, being willing to barter my child for a few
pieces of gold!"
The thought was maddening. For a little while he yielded to utter
despondency. It was quite true that a comparatively small amount of
money would restore the stability of his firm. Even without it, were
his credit unimpaired, he could easily tide over the period of
depression until the first fruits of his enterprise were garnered.
Then, all men would hail him as a genius.
Wearily turning over his papers, he suddenly came across the last
letter written to him by Iris's mother. How she doted on their only
child! He recalled one night, shortly before his wife died, when the
little Iris was brought into her room to kiss her and lisp her
infantile prayers. She had devised a formula of her own--"God bless
father! God bless mother! God bless me, their little girl!"
And what was it she cried to him from the beach?
"Your own little girl given back to you!"
Given back to him! For what--to marry that black-hearted scoundrel
men? That settled it. Instantly the cloud was lifted from his soul. A
great peace came upon him. The ruin of his business he might not be
able to avert, but he would save from, the wreck that which he prized
more than all else--his daughter's love.
The engines dropped to half speed--they were entering the harbor of
Singapore. In a few hours the worst would be over. If Ventnor
telegraphed to London his withdrawal from the board, nothing short of a
cabled draft for ten thousand pounds would prevent certain creditors
from filing a bankruptcy petition. In the local banks the baronet had
about a thousand to his credit. Surely among the rich merchants of the
port, men who knew the potentialities of his scheme, he would be able
to raise the money needed. He would try hard. Already he felt braver.
The old fire had returned to his blood. The very belief that he was
acting in the way best calculated to secure his daughter's happiness
stimulated and encouraged him.
He went on deck, to meet Iris skipping down the hatchway.
"Oh, there you are!" she cried. "I was just coming to find out why you
were moping in your cabin. You are missing the most beautiful view--all
greens, and blues, and browns! Run, quick! I want you to see every inch
of it."
She held out her hand and pulled him gleefully up the steps. Leaning
against the taffrail, some distance apart from each other, were
Anstruther and Lord Ventnor. Need it be said to whom Iris drew her
father?
"Here he is, Robert," she laughed. "I do believe he was sulking because
Captain Fitzroy was so very attentive to me. Yet you didn't mind it a
bit!"
The two men looked into each other eyes. They smiled. How could they
resist the contagion of her sunny nature?
"I have been thinking over what you said to me just now, Anstruther,"
said the shipowner slowly.
"Oh!" cried Iris. "Have you two been talking secrets behind my back?"
"It is no secret to you--my little girl--" Her father's voice lingered
on the phrase. "When we are on shore, Robert, I will explain matters to
you more fully. Just now I wish only to tell you that where Iris has
given her heart I will not refuse her hand."
"You darling old dad! And is that what all the mystery was about?"
She took his face between her hands and kissed him. Lord Ventnor,
wondering at this effusiveness, strolled forward.
"What has happened, Miss Deane?" he inquired. "Have you just discovered
what an excellent parent you possess?"
The baronet laughed, almost hysterically. "'Pon my honor," he cried,
"you could not have hit upon a happier explanation."
His lordship was not quite satisfied.
"I suppose you will take Iris to Smith's Hotel?" he said with cool
impudence.
Iris answered him.
"Yes. My father has just asked Robert to come with us--by inference,
that is. Where are you going?"
The adroit use of her lover's Christian name goaded his lordship to
sudden heat.
"Indeed!" he snarled. "Sir Arthur Deane has evidently decided a good
many things during the last hour."
"Yes," was the shipowner's quiet retort. "I have decided that my
daughter's happiness should be the chief consideration of my remaining
years. All else must give way to it."
The Earl's swarthy face grew sallow with fury. His eyes blazed, and
there was a tense vibrato in his voice as he said--
"Then I must congratulate you, Miss Deane. You are fated to endure
adventures. Having escaped from the melodramatic perils of Rainbow
Island you are destined to experience another variety of shipwreck
here."
He left them. Not a word had Robert spoken throughout the unexpected
scene. His heart was throbbing with a tremulous joy, and his lordship's
sneers were lost on him. But he could not fail to note the malignant
purpose of the parting sentence.
In his quietly masterful way he placed his hand on the baronet's
shoulder.
"What did Lord Ventnor mean?" he asked.
Sir Arthur Deane answered, with a calm smile--"It is difficult to talk
openly at this moment. Wait until we reach the hotel."
The news flew fast through the settlement that H.M.S. Orient had
returned from her long search for the Sirdar. The warship
occupied her usual anchorage, and a boat was lowered to take off the
passengers. Lieutenant Playdon went ashore with them. A feeling of
consideration for Anstruther prevented any arrangements being made for
subsequent meetings. Once their courteous duty was ended, the officers
of the Orient could not give him any further social recognition.
Lord Ventnor was aware of this fact and endeavored to turn it to
advantage.
"By the way, Fitzroy," he called out to the commander as he prepared to
descend the gangway, "I want you, and any others not detained by duty,
to come and dine with me tonight."
Captain Fitzroy answered blandly--"It is very good of you to ask us,
but I fear I cannot make any definite arrangements until I learn what
orders are awaiting me here."
"Oh, certainly. Come if you can, eh?"
"Yes; suppose we leave it at that."
It was a polite but decided rebuff. It in no way tended to sweeten Lord
Ventnor's temper, which was further exasperated when he hurt his shin
against one of Robert's disreputable-looking tins, with its
accumulation of debris.
The boat swung off into the tideway. Her progress shorewards was
them, however, were two persons who had driven rapidly to the
landing-place when the arrival of the Orient was reported. One
bore all the distinguishing marks of the army officer of high rank, but
the other was unmistakably a globetrotter. Only in Piccadilly could he
have purchased his wondrous sola topi, or pith helmet--with its
imitation puggri neatly frilled and puckered--and no tailor who
ever carried his goose through the Exile's Gate would have fashioned
his expensive garments. But the old gentleman made no pretence that he
could "hear the East a-callin'." He swore impartially at the climate,
the place, and its inhabitants. At this instant he was in a state of
wild excitement. He was very tall, very stout, exceedingly red-faced.
Any budding medico who understood the pre-eminence enjoyed by aq.
ad in a prescription, would have diagnosed him as a first-rate
subject for apoplexy.
Producing a tremendous telescope, he vainly endeavored to balance it on
the shoulder of a native servant.
"Can't you stand still, you blithering idiot!" he shouted, after futile
attempts to focus the advancing boat, "or shall I steady you by a clout
over the ear?"
His companion, the army man, was looking through a pair of
field-glasses.
"By Jove!" he cried, "I can see Sir Arthur Deane, and a girl who looks
like his daughter. There's that infernal scamp, Ventnor, too."
The big man brushed the servant out of his way, and brandished the
telescope as though it were a bludgeon.
"The dirty beggar! He drove my lad to misery and death, yet he has come
back safe and sound. Wait till I meet him. I'll--"
"Now, Anstruther! Remember your promise. I will deal with Lord Ventnor.
My vengeance has first claim. What! By the jumping Moses, I do
believe--Yes. It is. Anstruther! Your nephew is sitting next to the
girl!"
The telescope fell on the stones with a crash. The giant's rubicund
face suddenly blanched. He leaned on his friend for support.
"You are not mistaken," he almost whimpered. "Look again, for God's
sake, man. Make sure before you speak. Tell me! Tell me!"
"Calm yourself, Anstruther. It is Robert, as sure as I'm alive. Don't
you think I know him, my poor disgraced friend, whom I, like all the
rest, cast off in his hour of trouble? But I had some excuse. There!
There! I didn't mean that, old fellow. Robert himself will be the last
man to blame either of us. Who could have suspected that two
people--one of them, God help me! my wife--would concoct such a hellish
plot!"
The boat glided gracefully alongside the steps of the quay, and Playdon
sprang ashore to help Iris to alight. What happened immediately
afterwards can best be told in his own words, as he retailed the story
to an appreciative audience in the ward-room.
"We had just landed," he said, "and some of the crew were pushing the
coolies out of the way, when two men jumped down the steps, and a most
fiendish row sprang up. That is, there was no dispute or wrangling, but
one chap, who, it turned out, was Colonel Costobell, grabbed Ventnor by
the shirt front, and threatened to smash his face in if he didn't
listen then and there to what he had to say. I really thought about
interfering, until I heard Colonel Costobell's opening words. After
that I would gladly have seen the beggar chucked into the harbor. We
never liked him, did we?"
"Ask no questions, Pompey, but go ahead with the yarn," growled the
first lieutenant.
"Well, it seems that Mrs. Costobell is dead. She got enteric a week
after the Orient sailed, and was a goner in four days. Before
she died she owned up."
He paused, with a base eye to effect. Not a man moved a muscle.
"All right," he cried. "I will make no more false starts. Mrs.
Costobell begged her husband's forgiveness for her treatment of him,
and confessed that she and Lord Ventnor planned the affair for which
Anstruther was tried by court-martial. It must have been a beastly
business, for Costobell was sweating with rage, though his words were
icy enough. And you ought to have seen Ventnor's face when he heard of
the depositions, sworn to and signed by Mrs. Costobell and by several
Chinese servants whom he bribed to give false evidence. He promised to
marry Mrs. Costobell if her husband died, or, in any event, to bring
about a divorce when the Hong Kong affair had blown over. Then she
learnt that he was after Miss Iris, and there is no doubt her fury
helped on the fever. Costobell said that, for his wife's sake, he would
have kept the wretched thing secret, but he was compelled to clear
Anstruther's name, especially as he came across the other old
Johnnie--"
"Pompey, you are incoherent with excitement. Who is 'the other old
Johnnie'?" asked the first luff severely.
"Didn't I tell you? Why, Anstruther's uncle, of course, a heavy old
swell with just a touch of Yorkshire in his tongue. I gathered that he
disinherited his nephew when the news of the court-martial reached him.
Then he relented, and cabled to him. Getting no news, he came East to
look for him. He met Costobell the day after the lady died, and the two
swore--the stout uncle can swear a treat--anyhow, they vowed to be
revenged on Ventnor, and to clear Anstruther's character, living or
dead. Poor old chap! He cried like a baby when he asked the youngster
to forgive him. It was quite touching. I can tell you----"
Playdon affected to search for his pocket-handkerchief.
"Do tell us, or it will be worse for you," cried his mentor.
"Give me time, air, a drink! What you fellows want is a phonograph. Let
me see. Well, Costobell shook Ventnor off at last, with the final
observation that Anstruther's court-martial has been quashed. The next
batch of general orders will re-instate him in the regiment, and it
issued against his lordship for conspiracy. Do you fellows know what
conspir----?"
"You cuckoo! What did Miss Deane do?"
"Clung to Anstruther like a weeping angel, and kissed everybody all
round when Ventnor got away. Well--hands off. I mean her father,
Anstruther and the stout uncle. Unfortunately I was not on in that
scene. But, for some reason, they all nearly wrung my arm off, and the
men were so excited that they gave the party a rousing cheer as their
rickshaws went off in a bunch. Will no Christian gentleman get me a
drink?"
The next commotion arose in the hotel when Sir Arthur Deane seized the
first opportunity to explain the predicament in which his company was
placed, and the blow which Lord Ventnor yet had it in his power to
deal.
Mr. William Anstruther was an interested auditor. Robert would have
spoken, but his uncle restrained him.
"Leave this to me, lad," he exclaimed. "When I was coming here in the
Sirdar there was a lot of talk about Sir Arthur's scheme, and
there should not be much difficulty in raising all the brass required,
if half what I heard be true. Sit you down, Sir Arthur, and tell us all
about it."
The shipowner required no second bidding. With the skill for which he
was noted, he described his operations in detail, telling how every
farthing of the first instalments of the two great loans was paid up,
how the earnings of his fleet would quickly overtake the deficit in
capital value caused by the loss of the three ships, and how, in six
months' time, the leading financial houses of London, Paris, and Berlin
would be offering him more money than he would need.
To a shrewd man of business the project could not fail to commend
itself, and the Yorkshire squire, though a trifle obstinate in temper,
was singularly clear-headed in other respects. He brought his great
fist down on the table with a whack.
"Send a cable to your company, Sir Arthur," he cried, "and tell them
that your prospective son-in-law will provide the ten thousand pounds
you require. I will see that his draft is honored. You can add, if you
like, that another ten will be ready if wanted when this lot is spent.
I did my lad one d--er--deuced bad turn in my life. This time, I think,
I am doing him a good one."
"You are, indeed," said Iris's father enthusiastically. "The unallotted
capital he is taking up will be worth four times its face value in two
years."
"All the more reason to make his holding twenty instead of ten," roared
the Yorkshireman. "But look here. You talk about dropping proceedings
against that precious earl whom I saw to-day. Why not tell him not to
try any funny tricks until Robert's money is safely lodged to your
account? We have him in our power. Dash it all, let us use him a bit."
Even Iris laughed at this naive suggestion. It was delightful to think
that their arch enemy was actually helping the baronet's affairs at
that very moment, and would continue to do so until he was flung aside
as being of no further value. Although Ventnor himself had carefully
avoided any formal commitment, the cablegrams awaiting the shipowner at
Singapore showed that confidence had already been restored by the
uncontradicted use of his lordship's name.
Robert at last obtained a hearing.
"You two are quietly assuming the attitude of the financial magnates of
this gathering," he said. "I must admit that you have managed things
very well between you, and I do not propose for one moment to interfere
with your arrangements. Nevertheless, Iris and I are really the chief
moneyed persons present. You spoke of financial houses in England and
on the Continent backing up your loans six months hence, Sir Arthur.
You need not go to them. We will be your bankers."
The baronet laughed with a whole-hearted gaiety that revealed whence
Iris got some part, at least, of her bright disposition.
"Will you sell your island, Robert?" he cried. "I am afraid that not
even Iris could wheedle any one into buying it."
"But father, dear," interrupted the girl earnestly, "what Robert says
is true. We have a gold mine there. It is worth so much that you will
hardly believe it until then? can no longer be any doubt in your mind.
I suppose that is why Robert asked me not to mention his discovery to
you earlier."
"No, Iris, that was not the reason," said her lover, and the older men
felt that more than idle fancy inspired the astounding intelligence
that they had just heard. "Your love was more to me than all the gold
in the world. I had won you. I meant to keep you, but I refused to buy
you."
He turned to her father. His pent-up emotion mastered him, and he spoke
as one who could no longer restrain his feelings.
"I have had no chance to thank you for the words you uttered at the
moment we quitted the ship. Yet I will treasure them while life lasts.
You gave Iris to me when I was poor, disgraced, an outcast from my
family and my profession. And I know why you did this thing. It was
because you valued her happiness more than riches or reputation. I am
sorry now I did not explain matters earlier. It would have saved you
much needless suffering. But the sorrow has sped like an evil dream,
and you will perhaps not regret it, for your action today binds me to
you with hoops of steel. And you, too, uncle. You traveled thousands of
miles to help and comfort me in my anguish. Were I as bad as I was
painted, your kind old heart still pitied me; you were prepared to
pluck me from the depths of despair and degradation. Why should I hate
Lord Ventnor?