Tomalyn's Quest

Front matter

Tomalyn's Quest. BY G. B. BURGIN, AUTHOR OF "TUXTER'S UTTLE MAID," ETC. LONDON : A. D. INNES & CO., BEDFORD STREET. 1896. NUNCUPATIO. HONORI AMICORUM HALL CAINE, JEROME K. JEROME, A. CONAN DOYLE, BARRY PAIN, DDMMODO HAEC NOMINA INSCRIPTA POSTERITATI REVOCENT NESCIO QUID MEMORIAE MEI, HUNC LIBRUM EGO SCRIPTOR D. D. D. a CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. The Syren ... ... ... ... ... i II. Tomkins Pasha ... ... ... ... 22 III. KOURRIAN DRAWS " FlRST BLOOD " ... ... 48 IV. A Youthful Fire-eater ... ... ... 66 V. Gorchoff ... ... ... ... ... 89 VI. Mrs. Brangwyn plays a Part ... ... 117 VII. Kourrian tries again ... ... ... 140 VIII. Retribution ... ... ... ... 161 IX. Gorchoff explains ... ... ... ... 178 X. The Widow's Gift ... ... ... 201 XI. The Coming of Kourrian ... ... ... 219 XII. Exit Gorchoff ... ... ... ... 231 XIII.

Chapter I. The Syren

One November afternoon, nearly twenty years ago, youthful Tomalyn Crane leaned over the side of the vessel which was to carry him from Marseilles to Constantinople. There must be a wider horizon there than in England, thought Crane, and wondered what form it would take. But horizon he must have at any cost, wide or narrow. He wanted to grow up and become a man — a man with experiences. This was the object of his quest. As the crowd of incoming passengers grew greater. Crane narrowly escaped treading on the tail of a black-muzzled pug. He noticed that there was a B lady attached by a cord to the other end of the animal. They sat side by side at dinner— without the pug— and Crane saw from the card on her plate that she was a Mrs. Brangwyn. Later he learned that her Christian name was " Airril ; " he also discovered that she had a past, which was interesting, and daring, and new to him.

Hitherto, all the women he had met in his native village looked forward to the future ; none of them was conscious of a past of any consequence. During the first course, Mrs. Brangwyn held him with her beautiful eyes and her equally beautiful complexion — a complexion which was marvellous in its soft brilliancy. Her eyes and complexion imparted a novel zest to his dinner altogether, and yet took away his appetite. She responded to his somewhat bashful overtures with the well-bred ease of a woman of the world, and the air of one to whom admiration was too ordinary an incident to disturb her appetite. Perhaps Crane's youth fulness lent her dinner an unusual flavour also ; for she smiled once or twice, and ravished the lad with a blinding glance from her exquisite brown eyes. To escape from the thraldom of Mrs. Brang wyn's eyes, he pretended to be interested in Con stantinople.

It was astonishing what a varied fund of information Mrs. Brangwyn possessed about Stamboul. She even quoted the " Maid of Athens " to him, with the air of one accustomed to inspire similar verses. In reply, the lad informed her that he was going out as secretary to an English pasha in the Turkish army, and to see life. All his friends had told him that it was very necessary he should " see life " before settling down as a model English landlord ; his tenants would respect him more, and pay their rents punctually, instead of asking to be paid for looking after the land. " Are you quite sure you haven't done anything ? " asked Mrs. Brangwyn, after Tomalyn had finished his Elysian meal. It seemed to him that it had lasted only a few minutes. They were now on deck. Mrs. Brangwyn, a lace shawl disposed mantilla-wise over her head, was even more effective in the moonlight than at the dinner-table.

Her great, soft eyes shone with a light which Tomalyn imagined to be spiritual, but which, in reality, was due to a most excellent digestion. The youth ransacked the poets for an appropriate quotation ; but even Byron could not have done justice to this exquisite human poem. Mrs. Brangwyn repeated her question. Her soft, low voice thrilled the lad to the core. " Done something ! " he echoed. " Do you — eh — mean ? " Oh, those eyes ! those eyes ! They were un earthly in the radiance of their regard. "Yes. People don't come out here, as a rule, unless they " " Find it convenient ? " " Exactly. What was it ? The lad laughed. " Oh, it was so dull at home. I wanted to see the world. Get a lance and tilt at windmills, and all that sort of thing, you know." " Why ? You'll only want to run away from the world some day.

And it is not easy to tilt at windmills. They always present a masterly inactivity. Hadn't you better be a windmill?" " Perhaps ; but I want to see the world all the same." " Call on me when we get to Constantinople. I am the world — there. You shall see me, if you will not " " What ? " Heaven was opening to him. " Treat me as if I were a windmill. She went below, leaving the lad wondering why his heart beat so excitedly. He leaned over the side of the vessel — her eyes looked out of the lapping waves ; he turned his gaze to the stars — they answered him again from two twin golden tears suspended in the blue. Then he went to bed, and dreamed of her as Helen of Troy, Guinevere, and half a dozen other heroines of all time. For the greater part of the next day Mrs. Brangwyn sat motionless, with a biscuit, intended for the pug, on her lap.

And her complexion was not quite so brilliant as it had been under the soft light of the moon. Crane thought her unflinching rigidity pathetic, as the vessel rolled and tumbled about under the influence of un expected bad weather. "I am not going to be ill, Mr. Crane," she musically declared ; " it is so commonplace." Whereupon she promptly became commonplace, and Tomalyn fled to the other end of the steamer, in order that he might not witness, or weep at, her distress. " How did I endure the rough weather ? " she asked Crane the next day. His youthful face flushed. " You were not commonplace at all. If you were making a pudding you would still be a poem. The others were simply disgusting. I warned them at breakfast that we were going to have rough weather, but they wouldn't believe me. You were the only woman on board who preserved her dignity."

"Ah, now you are becoming interesting," the lady declared. "You have spent your life with commonplace people who have no passions, no hates or loves. That is what comes of vegetating in an English county. You ought to meet a heroine — that is, if you wish to see life — and live it." She waited expectantly. "I— eh " He left the sentence unfinished in a tumultuous kind of way, which implied that his emotion was too deep for words. But Mrs. Brangwyn quite understood that she had suddenly supplied what advertisers call " a long-felt want " in the lad's heart. He was decidedly "training on." Satisfied with the impression she had created, she retired to her cabin, and did not reappear until they reached the Piræus the next morning. Tomalyn did not enjoy his dinner that evening. It lacked fragrance and soul, the soft glance of gleaming eyes, the flash of white teeth.

The other passengers — insensate owls, he thought them — wanted to know why he did not eat. Eat ! Faugh ! The very idea was sickening. People seemed to think that the universe was one vast stomach. What a material world it was ! About twelve at night he became very hungry himself, and was reduced to the ignoble necessity of tipping a steward to get him some supper. Healthy lads must eat, even though their souls be in a ferment. When Crane came on deck the next morning — his late supper had afflicted him with most unpleasant dreams — he found that the little town nestled close to the water's edge. It consisted of fantastically shaped houses, in which it was im possible to perceive any trace of systematic design. The proprietors of the houses sat outside under rough awnings, and watched perspiring Greek boat men put off to the ship in gaudily painted caiques.

Some of them smoked picturesque water-pipes in a leisurely way, which indicated that time did not matter in the least ; Turks offered up their devotions to Allah from the roadway, whilst sailors of all nationalities watched this unusual — to them — proceeding with cheerful irreverence and the frequent utterance of much polyglot blasphemy. Presently Mrs. Brangwyn appeared with another lady, a certain Mrs. Wyville Bains, who wanted to go up to Athens. " We will all three journey together, Mr. Crane," declared Mrs. Brangwyn. "Mrs. Wyville Bains wants to look after us both. She doesn't like the steamer cookery, and makes this an excuse for leaving it." They drove up to Athens, with the blue sky above ; behind them the pellucid sea ; to the left, the beautiful mountains, with ever-varying shadows flitting over their time-worn ridges.

A slight breeze rustled through the silvery-leaved olives ; the tremulous foliage became instinct with life and grace. Country boys, lounging on rude carts with careless ease, passed them now and again ; and when the dust-choked horses stopped to drink by the steep wayside, a Greek girl, lovely as the dawn, stepped forward with tinted lemonade and cool sherbet. The little hostelry whence she came was embowered in ancient poplars, and fragrant with the odour of myrtles. Behind the inn spreading vines stretched up to the hillside, the summit of which was crowned with scanty herbage — scanty, because of the incessant attacks upon it of the long-eared, parti-coloured goats. And above the hill, stern guardian of ages yet to come, rose the Acropolis. Crane felt vaguely sorry when the landau stopped in modern Athens before the Strangers' Hotel.

A lemon-visaged waiter received Mrs. Wyville Bains's instantaneous order for breakfast with a manner which implied that she must wait his convenience. But when he caught sight of Mrs. Brangwyn, the man smiled and said a few soft sounding words. " Do you know what he is telling me ? " she asked, turning to Crane. No. I hope it's nothing imper — That I'm not as yellow as I used to be." I'll thras " " No, please don't. I was ill, and came here to recruit. He only means that he remembers me." When they entered the hotel, the breakfast proved to be a very bad one, and the coffee undrinkable. " Drink it," commanded Mrs. Brangwyn, im periously, handing her untasted cup to Crane. Crane swallowed the muddy beverage at a gulp. " Delicious ! " he cried, with the unreasoning enthusiasm of youth. He would have said the same had he partaken of the waters of Marah.

Mrs. Brangwyn smiled. "Excuse me. I am so sorry, Mr. Crane. I — I wanted to see whether I could make you do it." "I'd cheerfully swallow a cask of it," declared Crane. He had not even realized what he had been drinking, but imagined that it was the customary beverage of the country served up in the manner of coffee. Mrs. Wyville Bains suddenly called him to the window. " Come and see this procession. You will enjoy it more than that mis-named coffee." Crane joined her, his fair face aglow with the combined effects of youthful enthusiasm and bad coffee. "A wedding, I suppose?" "Stop and see," maliciously said Mrs. Wyville Bains. Half a dozen boys with tapers were followed by Greek priests in sombre robes, chanting dolorously with a strong nasal intonation. Behind them came four men carrying a corpse.

Crane started back, and nervously clutched at the curtain. The blue sky looked down upon the body of a young girl robed in white, with costly pearls on her bare throat and arms, and beautiful flowers perishing about her feet. A group of weeping friends followed the body. The pale lips and closed eyes of the young girl affected Crane painfully ; for everything around was full of rapturous life and colour, the air balmily sweet, the trees radiantly green. " Are you ill ? " asked Mrs. Wyville Bains, in some surprise. " Have you never seen a funeral before, Mr. Crane ? " " The pity of it ! " gasped Crane, looking at Mrs. Brangwyn, whose great eyes shone mistily through a veil of tears. " I hate death," she said, with blanched face. " It is the only thing a woman cannot win over. Come away from it.

We've nothing genuine about us. We jest at life and death, and fear both." As Crane listened to the retreating chant of the priests, his young heart grew cold within him. Then he looked at Mrs. Brangwyn. " If it had been you ! " he said ingenuously, " Well ? " "Even the sun would have darkened and the skies wept." Mrs. Brangwyn gave him her parasol to carry, and Crane followed her out to the carriage with very much the air of a proud young puppy who is entrusted with a stick for the first time. When they reached the ship, he went to his cabin, praying vaguely for the dead girl — the girl who had lost the joy of living, of love, of happiness. Mrs. Brangwyn followed him down the com panion with her eyes. " He will become interesting. He can still feel." " He must be very young, then," acidly retorted Mrs. Wyville Bains.

"Ah, he is none the worse for that. I fancy that we would both willingly exchange our calcu lating wisdom for his ingenuousness." " You had better put him on your list, Airril. It is generally pretty full." Mrs. Brangwyn frowned. " Don't be coarse. She walked away with a characteristically haughty step ; but Mrs. Wyville Bains called her back again. " I laughed at the lad just now, though I like him. He reminds one of youth and blushes and the Ten Commandments and all that kind of thing. Isn't it a pity to let him call on you ? It will not do him any good, and it may make him profoundly miserable." " I don't know what you mean. You are positively sphinx-like, Elise. He does not bore me, and that is something. I shall not hurt your fledgling." " Oh no, he is not mine, he is yours ; but you should know by this time how capricious you are.

Your whims sway you as thistledown is swayed by the wind." " Do you want me to change ? ' " It might be an improvement.' ' How ? You annoy me, Elise. "You are too impulsive, and your impulsiveness causes mistakes. I may be shallow and ugly, but I am sincere ; at least, I mean to be." Mrs. Brangwyn looked at the plain, shrewish face before her. " You imply that I am not ? " "Ah, well, you think you are— for five minutes at a time, perhaps. Let us go down." Two days later, when the steamer arrived at Constantinople, all the tourists on board opened I 15 their guide-books, and painfully prepared to enjoy themselves. The hotel touts at once captured them ; and the last that Crane saw of this mis cellaneous assemblage was its landing at the dirty quay, and its clamorous refusal — on principle — to bestow bakshish.

The Custom-house officials — from want of principle, perhaps— were, on their part, equally resolved to have it ; consequently, they tumbled about everything in the trunks and valises of the exasperated travellers in a calm, imperturbable, passionless way, which ultimately produced the desired bribes, although the latter were bestowed to the accompaniment of a good deal of eloquent cursing. After the tourists had disappeared, Crane turned to look at the sun as it rose through the misty dawn. Gulls wheeled round the vessel with plaintive cries ; light caiques, in which were seated gaily-attired passengers, flitted across the Golden Horn, past heavy market boats laden with fruit and vegetables. Stately marble palaces rose from the water's edge to greet towering minarets and cupolas, which became more distinct as the sun forced its upward way above the grim Galata Tower.

Suddenly the "eye of the golden day " burst forth over the dancing waves, transform ing and beautifying the coal vessels and traders lying closely interlocked. Over everything came that indescribable atmosphere of beauty and decay, of fairy-like loveliness and filth, of splendour and squalor, which envelopes an Eastern city. When the confusion of disembarkation was over, Crane stood apart with Mrs. Brangwyn. She had been gazing amusedly at the various boats, but now she gradually turned away from them until her glance rested upon Crane. The amuse ment still remained, for she guessed intuitively that he regretted the breaking up of the intimacy which had arisen on shipboard. He knew that people who can be friendly enough on a steamer are apt to ignore that friendliness when meeting elsewhere.

Would Mrs. Brangwyn, who seemed to have time for everything, remember his existence, or forget the invitation which she had already given him ? From what he had seen of her activity on board ship, he thought that she would find too much distraction ashore. When she was neither playing nor singing, nor analyzing people, she appeared to be occupied by the some what vulgar — at least, it would have seemed vulgar in any one else — ambition of reigning as a social queen. With the learned, she was a regal disciple ; with the foolish, wisdom itself; with the romantic, one whose sole object was to trample conventional follies underfoot ; and her manner delicately con veyed to each of these representative individuals that he alone was the kindred spirit, the green oasis, the water-spring in the desert, for whom she had so long and so vainly sought.

The tricks that Mrs. Brangwyn's imagination played her were many and various. Given a woman who has the knack, perfected by practice, of grasping salient points in a man's character, of playing upon them with a skilful touch — a woman beautiful, with the power of varying her identity as often as the chameleon changes its colour — and it is difficult for even a man of the world to be thoroughly on his guard against her. But what can be said of an ingenuous neophyte, whose very c virtues are fatal to his power of successful resist ance ? It is evident, from the first, that he must succumb to the charm of an experienced player who knows all the ins and outs of the game. Crane was being carried along by the impulse of the moment. The glancing rays which issued from this bright particular star dazzled his young vision.

When these rays were obscured he felt like a Parsee deprived of his god. " Well," said Mrs. Brangwyn, after a long silence, "you are very absent this morning, Mr. Crane. It is but a poor compliment to me — when we are about to separate." There vvas a subtle softness and challenge in this apparently commonplace speech, for which Crane was unprepared. It conveyed the idea that she would miss him ; and yet, coming from any one else, the insinuation would have been repellent. Her languorous eyes drooped pensively ; she looked sad. His pulse began to jump. Yet the expression of her eyes suddenly changed, and she forgot all about Crane, as a tall, elegant man made his way through the crowd. His reddish hair was slightly tinged with white. Keen blue eyes shot satirical glances at the crowd on deck.

Crane could see that his forehead was broad and high. A heavy beard shaded the lower part of his face, and hid its expression. And yet, though full of latent energy, Pentley Ridge had an air of dreaminess, of abstraction from the world and its concerns, as if he had become thoroughly bored with every one, himself included. From the top of his round hat to the sole of his neat shoes, an irony made itself felt of which even his dress seemed to partake. " I thought you'd be here," he murmured, shaking hands with Mrs. Brangwyn, and bestowing an imperceptible glance upon Crane. " Decided that I'd come down and pilot you through the Customs. Of course, you've things to declare, which you are firmly determined to smuggle through. Where are they ? Give them to my man, Demetri ; he'll distribute bakshish instead of paying duty.

It comes to nearly the same thing in the end." " I want to introduce Mr. Crane to you," said Mrs. Brangwyn, radiantly. " He is going to Tomkins Pasha to see the world— Tomkins Pasha's world. And he has not the slightest conception of what is in store for him." Pentley Ridge bowed. "Perhaps Tomkins hasn't, either. Won't Mr. Crane find Tomkins's world rather limited, after yours ? " "You will both dine with me to-night," said Mrs. Brangwyn, evading the question, " if my people can find us anything to eat. Then you can settle the matter between you." Pentley Ridge looked at Crane as the latter went in search of his goods and chattels. " Ought to have a good appetite at his age. Should think he'd swallow anything." " What did you say ? " asked Mrs. Brangwyn. "Oh, nothing. Merely hoped he'd enjoy his dinner, that's all."

Mrs. Brangwyn smiled. "Ah, you are jealous already. And at your age too ! Why, he is a baby, an infant, a young, unbroken puppy, and just as soft and pattable." Pentley Ridge gave an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders. " My dear Airril, jealous of that ! I am too old to be jealous of anything but Time. Let me see you to your carriage. Shall I chain the puppy to it, or is it allowed to run wild ? " When Crane returned, the world was empty. Mrs. Brangwyn had gone ; he did not even know her address. " You come ? Good hotel — dam good hotel — Lor' Byron's dam good hotel," said a greasy hybrid, thrusting a card into Crane's unwilling hand. Crane departed as in a dream to the " dam good hotel — Lor' Byron's dam good hotel," and marvelled greatly that " Childe Harold" could ever have lived to leave its gloomy halls.

After lunch he discovered Mrs. Brangwyn's address, and felt better. Surely Turkish days were very much longer than English ones ! Then he hired a guide to take him about, saw the beggars on the Stam boul bridge, and again lost his appetite. Would the evening never come ?

Chapter II. Tomkins

pasiia. About eight o'clock Crane set out for Mrs. Brang wyn's house, filled with a youthful curiosity as to the people he was about to meet. He had learned incidentally at lunch that everybody of any social consequence knew Mrs. Brangwyn, and that he would find it a very pleasant place at which to be received. His guide took him through narrow streets, filled with dirt and howling dogs, to an alley, at one end of which stood a great stone building. No sooner had Crane knocked than the massive iron doors swung open, and a porter preceded him along an unevenly paved passage, up a flight of steps, and through another long passage, whence he finally emerged, feeling a little bewildered by the subterranean gloom, into a lofty, brilliantly lighted hall. Here he found a horsey-looking little man, clad in a gorgeous uniform, with the addition of a small ornamental flower-pot on one side of his head — Crane afterwards discovered that it was a fez — and a sword nearly as big as himself.

By the time this gallant officer had reluctantly torn himself away from his cherished weapon, Crane was ready to go upstairs, and they were announced together. Crane's companion was a Colonel Bobbins — evidently an Englishman. But what Colonel Bobbins was doing in Constantinople — in uniform, at a private dinner-party, with a flower-pot on his head — it was somewhat difficult to understand. He seemed quite at home in it, however, and waddled up to Mrs. Brangwyn, his little bandy legs curving outward like a hoop. "Sir William and Miladi Plynlymmon, Monsieur le Compte Bardotti, Monsieur and Madame Unwin, et Mdlle. Oolverston," were announced in quick succession by a Greek footman. A certain King- Midas and Pentley Ridge came together, a little later than the others. Crane took in Miss Ulverstone to dinner.

When she turned round to him he saw a rather common place face attached to the body of an Aphrodite. Miss Ulverstone's features were good, though thickened and blurred by her dull, muddy, and sallow skin. Her voice was low and sweet, but full of plaintive suggestions at the hardness of fate, which had given her wealth, position, loveliness of form, and plain features. In spite of Miss Ulverstone's plainness, Crane found her very nice. Once Mrs. Brangwyn glanced at him rather curiously, to see how he was getting on with his neighbour. She herself talked in Spanish to an eagle-nosed Mephistophelian man of about forty. "That is Count Bardotti," said Miss Ulverstone. " He is a Carlist, and a brave man. Very indolent. As a Carlist he was a success ; then he had to fly. Now that there is no fighting, he gambles.

He generally does one or the other. Sometimes he flirts, just as you see." t " A melancholy Don Quixote ? " "Yes, with Colonel Bobbins for Sancho" " And Rosinante — where ? Bobbins a colonel ! In what ? " " The Imperial Ottoman Gendarmerie. Gen darmerie colonels wear uniform, and walk about. Two or three of them are employed. The Govern ment is compelled to have them, and so it gets over the difficulty by not giving them any work. Tomkins Pasha is another of these officers. He is one of the bravest and best soldiers in the world, and is greatly appreciated here ; but the Government will not let him reform things. He is a friend of the Plynlymmons. Now, he is out at the fortifications." " Which are the Plynlymmons ? " " The thin people — the man is opposite his wife. They are always placed opposite to each other ; otherwise they look so meagre.

People feel uncomfortable unless they are separated." "And Mr. and Mrs. Unwin?" "They are my guardians. We shall remain here until next winter. Don't you think Mrs. Brangwyn very lovely ? I am aware that it is not usual to discuss the merits or demerits of one's hostess, but it is the custom in Constantinople. I think Mrs. Brangwyn exquisitely beautiful." " Oh, if it is the custom, I agree with you. She is very handsome," Crane said enthusiastically ; "and so original." Miss Ulverstone rather demurred to this. All plain women pride themselves on their originality ; that is why they are so commonplace. " I don't think she and I will ever be very intimate." " Why not ? " "There's a certain hardness about her which, perhaps, only a woman can distinguish. Then, she is fond of experiments." " So am I," said Crane.

"Ah, but they are dangerous. She has an excess of sympathy which sometimes misleads people, and — herself. But I ought not to discuss my hostess, even in obedience to local custom. My fan ? Thank you ; " and Miss Ulverstone rustled off in a way which showed that she did not altogether approve of Crane, or of her own somewhat ill-advised outspokenness. " Won't you come along here ? " asked Pentley Ridge. " Bobbins is getting up some races ; he wants you to join." "To begin with, I haven't a horse," said Crane. " I don't ride, and I'm too heavy." "Mare — just the weight — time to begin — have to ride here," muttered the little warrior. "Ah, you don't understand our races," said Pentley Ridge. " There are generally two elements concerned — the naval and the military. An enthusiastic lover of the sport hires his horse for the day, rides him to the course, races him, and then rides back again.

The horses like it — if they live ; the riders like it — if they get over it ; and the spectators like it — if they are not run over. Bobbins originated the system ; we think it worthy of him, and he generally wins. I can lend you a horse on which to experiment. I seldom ride, and he's too fresh for a light weight." " Many thanks. I'll see Colonel Bobbins in the saddle first. I couldn't sit a horse properly to save my life." " Too late for this year, Bobbins," said Pentley Ridge. "Better leave it till the spring." Bobbins swallowed another bumper of port, and grunted a reluctant acquiescence as he turned to King-Midas. "Your book, 'Armenian Question,' slated by the ' Coliseum,' " snapped the little colonel, who possessed the by no means rare talent of always saying things in the wrong place and to the wrong person.

" Yes," answered King-Midas, a wealthy politician of the aggressive type, " the ' Coliseum ' people did slate it, certainly ; so I wrote and suggested they should take for their motto an extract from Sterne's ' Letters from France.' " "Who's he?" said Bobbins. "Sterne? Never heard of him. What's his regiment ? " " This is it," said King-Midas, hoping to get credit for something original. " ' As we rode along the valley we saw a herd of asses on the top of one of the mountains. How they viewed us and reviewed us ! ' " " Whispering one to the other," said Plynlymmon, in an audible aside, "'King-Midas has asses' ears.' " King-Midas continued to crack walnuts with a placid unconsciousness which provoked Crane's admiration. " Don't be alarmed at Plynlymmon's momentary brilliancy," said Pentley Ridge to Crane ; " they've probably arranged it between them.