The Nameless City. A Rommany romance

Prologue

. It was during Church Parade on a hot June Sunday that Lancelot Challice saw her again. Pleasant but unexpected sight. After parting with a woman at Damascus, one does not an ticipate finding her calmly surveying fashionable London from a Hyde Park chair. At first he could scarcely believe his eyes, but was ultimately forced to do so, as on a closer inspec tion it proved to be none other than Mrs. Ingraham. She looked bored, he thought, and gazed with an absent air at the highly civilized throng passing before her. Also she drew figures in the dust at intervals, with the tip of her sunshade. Abstraction and figure-drawing denoted plainly that her thoughts were far away. " In Damascus, perhaps," muttered Challice, thinking of their last meeting. " Hm ! pos sibly I have the privilege of taking up her attention.

It may be that she is regretting the cruelty of her dismissal," P He hoped that this might be so, but could not be certain. As regards facial expression she might have been the Sphinx, so inscru table was her countenance. Not an inept comparison by any means, for Sphinx she was to him, propounding by her every action the unguessable riddle of femininity. From Adam downwards no man has solved that riddle, and why should Challice hope to be the new Œdipus ? They were islanded, as it were, by the sur rounding ocean of fashionable life — he this, she that side of the walk, and between, the river of humanity. Not thus had been their last meeting. By closing his eyes, Challice could recall, even to the smallest detail, the scene of six months ago. A house-top in old Damascus, at the sunset hour.

Mrs. Ingraham swathed in Eastern silks, a modern Cleopatra in ap pearance, leaning against the low parapet, he kneeling at her feet pleading for love. Then the sun sank down behind the hills, and the stars came out to find but one figure on the house-top, the other, rejected and scorned, flying from the city. In an infini tesimal moment of time the whole picture flashed before his mind's eye with photographic distinctness. Challice had a good memory, a vivid imagina-

PROLOGUE.

. 3 tion, and these reproduced the scene so strongly, that for the moment he felt again in all their intensity the pangs he had then undergone. A second afterwards he opened his eyes, and lo ! Damascus was not. He found himself in London, in Hyde Park, on Sunday, and Mrs. Ingraham, with nothing Eastern about her, save her oval face and olive skin, stared at him across the tide of humanity flowing between their chairs. Perhaps it was a case of telepathy, and by thus calling up the past in his own mind, he had informed her of the fact that he was present. He doubted that this could be so. Tele pathy demands a certain amount of existent sympathy between the subjects, more especially when, as in this instance, it is practised uncon sciously. On his part, Challice felt that he had fulfilled this necessary condition, but the fact that she, who was of no one mind with him, should respond immediately to such soul talk, puzzled him not a little.

To analyze this psychology he had no time, as having recognized his face, she invited him to her side with that enigmatic smile the deception of which he knew so well. Instinctively afraid, he hesitated about taking advantage of the concession, and so hesitating, was lost. " It is hardly wise to go," murmured Challice, B as he went ; " still, I am now on my guard ; that is a great gain. She shall not have the chance of torturing me again. If I am as cold and self-controlled as she the duel will be fairer." A foolish remark. No duel can be fair when the adversaries are man and woman. The odds are too much in favour of the latter. Challice, already unconsciously weakened by the sight of her face, forgot that inevitable inequality, and buckling on the armour of a careless demeanour, went forth to meet the fair Amazon.

She had conquered him before, and in this case, as might have been expected, history repeated itself. " Pekin, Tokio, 'Frisco, New York, Paris, Rome, and now London. The seventh time of meeting. Who dare deny that there is luck in odd numbers. How do you do, Mrs. Ingraham ? " He greeted her in this geographical fashion, with the object of showing by the steadiness of his voice, how little her presence moved him. She, too much a woman to be deceived by so shallow an artifice, stretched out her hand with a fleeting smile of scorn. " I am glad to see you again, Mr. Challice. Your salutation has at least the merit of originality." " Do you not think it a suitable mode of greeting for such hardened travellers as we ? "

PROLOGUE.

. 5 Then, without waiting for a reply, " May I sit down ? — thank you ! And what do you think of Church Parade during The Season ? " Mrs. Ingraham emphasized her reply with a slight shrug. " I find it very dull." " That is scarcely to be wondered at after your late experience. It lacks the romance of the East." " The romance of Damascus." The thrust went home, and Challice winced. She saw this and smiled. It was meet punishment for his pretended indifference. " Yes ! " he answered bravely, mending his speech, "it lacks the romance of Damascus. By the way, did you stay there long ? " " Not more than a week after your departure. It was tiresome without you." " Had I then the felicity of rendering it bear able to Mrs. Ingraham ? " This time the button was off his foil, and it was her turn to wince.

She, angry at his using her own weapons, did not parry the thrust with her accustomed skill. " I never pay compliments, Mr. Challice. That is a man's privilege." " And one of which they take the fullest ad vantage. Shall I — " " By no means," interrupted Mrs. Ingraham pleasantly, " I think we know one another well enough to dispense with compliments." " Certainly we did not make use of them at Damascus," he said, bitterly, " it was all plain speaking there." Mrs. Ingraham gave no sign of having heard this last remark, but arose from her chair with a conventional smile on her lips — a smile which meant nothing and enraged him greatly. He felt that she was playing with him. " I am rather tired of the Park, Mr. Challice. May I ask you to escort me to Curzon Street ? " He, inwardly fuming at her caprice, assented with a bow, and together they moved towards the Achilles Statue.

Several people looked approvingly after the handsome couple as they departed. Recognition inspired thoughts which begot speech, and they were discussed before they were well out of hearing. " It is a case there, I fancy," said one man to another. " How do you know that ? " questioned his companion, " you have never seen Challice dancing attendance on Mrs. Ingraham before." " No ! But I can tell their feelings by the expression of their faces. He loves her, but—" " She does not love him. That is to be ex pected with such an icicle as Mrs. Ingraham. I never knew her to love anyone, not even that old husband of hers, who was polite enough to

PROLOGUE.

. 7 die in the first year of the marriage and leave her all the money." " Hm ! May never does appreciate December. But in this case the disqualification of age is removed. Challice is handsome — so is she. He has money, she has more. They both love travelling, and neither of them is encumbered with relations. I think myself it would be an ideal marriage — quite one of those superfine matches said to be made in Heaven." " It won't be made anywhere," retorted his friend decisively. " Mrs. Ingraham will marry no one save the Wandering Jew. She is too fond of travelling to tie herself down to a husband and a tea urn." By this time the two people whose characters were being so freely discussed had left the gay crowd far behind, and were strolling leisurely towards Curzon Street. Mrs. Ingraham put up her sunshade, and the light striking through the red silk, flung a rose tint on her face.

Thus etherealized she looked more beautiful than ever, and perhaps guessed as much, for she secretly resented the persistency with which her companion kept his eyes away from so dangerous a neighbourhood. In sulky silence he marched on, evidently determined to make her speak first. She did, and her remark was by no means amiable. " You were certainly more agreeable at Da mascus, Mr. Challice." " I had more reason to be so. Life in a fool's paradise is not without certain advantages." " Still thinking of that old folly ? " " Can you wonder at it ? " said Challice, casting an angry look at her indifferent expression, " my broken heart — " Mrs. Ingraham interrupted this sentimental speech with a scornful little laugh. " Oh, dear me ! Your broken heart ! As if any man ever broke his heart over a passing fancy."

" It was — it is, more than a passing fancy. Who knows that better than you do ? Have I not followed you like a dog all over the world ? Pekin! Tokio—" " I think you mentioned those places before," she said provokingly; "let us admit that you did follow me all over the world. What then ? " " I want you to be my wife." "You asked me that some time ago. At Damascus, wasn't it ? " " You know well enough. It w7as there you refused to marry me." "Is that a crime?" " I don't know," he answered petulantly, exasperated by her fencing, " I don't care." " Don't you ? Then why did you speak to me to-day ? "

PROLOGUE.

. 9 " I know of no reason save the sufficiently good one that I am a fool." " No, my friend," said Mrs. Ingraham, touching his arm lightly, " you are no fool. You only call yourself so ugly a name out of pique. You are wiser than you think in speaking to me to-day." Challice stared at her in mute amazement, whereat she laughed at the perplexity of his expression. " Don't you believe me, Mr. Challice ? " " I don't know ! " he murmured distrustfully. " After what you said at Damascus — " " No matter what I said at Damascus — the question is what I say in London." " That you love me and will be my wife ? " I don't say that— yet." " Then you—" " A penny, my beautiful angel, for a cup of coffee." The interruption came from a sturdy beggar who thrust a brown hand in front of Mrs. Ingra ham. Glad to have some one on whom to vent his temper, Challice turned angrily on the man.

A gigantic mendicant he was, with wicked black eyes set in a brown face. His whole appearance was un-English and curious. " Don't trouble the lady, or—" " Wait a moment, Mr. Challice," said Mrs. Ingraham, taking a shilling from her purse, " I want to give him this." Looking steadily at the beggar, she handed him the money. "Ja pukenus prala," ' she said in a low voice, glancing at Challice to mark the effect of her speech. The man gave a start, his eyes glittered, and took off his hat as he made reply. " Kushto bak miri pen."2 " What language is that?" asked Challice, when the man, still astonished, had taken his departure. " You don't know ? " she queried in a dis appointed tone. " I ? No ! I never heard it before." " Strange ! strange ! " she muttered, walking on quickly, " yet I fancied it might be so."

" What might be so, Mrs. Ingraham ? " " Never mind," she replied, recovering her composure. " What were you saying before we were interrupted ? " " I was repeating the old story of Damas cus." " So you were. Well, here we are at Curzon Street. I am sorry I cannot ask you to lun cheon, but I am staying with some friends, and therefore cannot do so." 1 Go quietly, brother ! ! Good luck, my sister !

PROLOGUE.

. 11 " But surely you are not going to leave me like this ! When am I to see you again ? " " Let me see," she said, reflectively ; " this is the second Sunday in June, is it not ? " " I believe so, but I really do not — " " Then let us say this day next year at the Achilles Statue." " You are jesting," he said, coldly. " I was never more serious in my life. Foolish fellow," she added, in a caressing tone, " do you think I would have teazed you so much had I not intended to reward you later on?" " But next year ! " he remonstrated dolefully. " Yes ! Next year," repeated Mrs. Ingraham decisively. " I will give you an answer then — probably the answer will be different to that of Damascus. Of this, however, I am not sure." " And therefore take a year to consider it ? " " I have to consult others besides myself," she said, gravely.

" Mr. Challice, I cannot tell you my reasons for such a delay, but, believe me, it is imperative. For my own part I am willing to be your wife, but, as I said before, there are others to be consulted." " You have no relations." " How do you know that ? " replied Mrs. Ingraham, with her enigmatic smile ; " believe me, I shall explain all next year." " Then I won't see you again ? " " No ! I leave town to-morrow. You must neither follow, nor seek me. On the second Sunday of this month next year I will meet you where we met this morning. Till then, good bye — Lancelot." Before he could recover from his astonish ment she touched his hand lightly, and flitted quickly down the street. When she disap peared into one of the houses, with a backward glance and a gay nod, he was still rooted to the spot in amazement.

" Next year," he murmured, confusedly, " she will answer me next year and explain — explain what ? " No answer being forthcoming to this ques tion, he took out his note-book and pencilled in the date of the meeting next year. As he went back to the Park, after making this memo randum, he met the mendicant with whom she had spoken. " Here is a sovereign, my man," he said, with affected lightness. " Tell me what was the tongue in which you conversed with that lady ? " The giant pocketed the coin, and looked knowingly out of his wicked black eyes at his benefactor. " Rommany, sir.

PROLOGUE.

. 13 " Rommany," repeated Challice, " isn't that gipsy ? " With a wink, the man turned on his heel without answering the question and took a hasty departure. Challice, more amazed than ever, watched him walking away and wondered what connection Mrs. Ingraham had with this wild-looking gipsy. " She is the Sphinx," he murmured, thoughtfully," decidedly she is the Sphinx." She might have been, but for all that he guessed her Rommany riddle before the year was out.

Chapter I. The Jade Eye

Close on nine months had elapsed since Mrs. Ingraham made that remarkable appointment with Challice. True to his promise he neither sought her company, nor inquired her where abouts. Such self-denial rendered him unhappy, so, anxious to get through the year as comfort ably as possible, he departed on his travels. In those nine months he explored the Carpa thians, skirted the Black Sea, and spent some weeks in the Caucasus. By such excitements he managed to subdue his impatience fairly well. Towards the end of March he returned to England, there intending to remain until the appointed day. Before the meeting took place, he found himself in Majorca. What brought him there was a jade eye. Jade is a hard green stone much prized by the Chinese, and this piece, sent to him through the post, was carved into the semblance of a human eye.

What such an oddity had to do with Majorca he could not conceive, nor did the accompanying letter throw much light on the affair : — " To Lancelot Challice " An important secret can be revealed by the sender of this jade eye. It concerns your past, present, and future— ignorance of it will render useless the meeting of June. There fore be wise and brave. Come to Palma, in Majorca, and seek La Fonda del Pan Moreno. There you shall find a messenger who also carries a jade eye. Follow him and be happy." There was no name appended to this strange document, and the omission seemed to be intentional. An unsigned letter, a Chinese amulet — these things were redolent of mystery. Many men would have hesitated about accepting so doubtful an invitation. Challice felt no such qualms. He had met with many queer adven tures during his travels, and this was apparently one of the same sort.

Moreover, the secret, whatever it might be, concerned Mrs. Ingraham and the appointed meeting. This alone was sufficient to decide Challice, and a week after receiving the letter he was seated in the patio of La Fonda del Pan Moreno. It was a picturesque inn near the Cathedral, much affected by sailors, smugglers, and mountain muleteers. A band of these latter chattered in the quadrangle, and Challice, perched up in the covered gallery running round it, was trying to discern the expected messenger amid the throng. It will be noticed that no date was men tioned in the letter. The place, but not the time of meeting was appointed. This omission did not trouble Challice in the least. Thus far had he carried out his instructions, and had no doubt but that in due time the necessary emissary would make his appearance.

There was a fine flavour of seventeenth-century romance about this adventure which Challice found much to his liking. He had a drop of wild blood in his veins, and courted rather than avoided danger. Meanwhile he cleansed himself from the dust of travel, made an excellent meal, and after wards passed his time in observing the motley crowd below. It was like a page out of " Gil Bias." In this little-known place life runs much on the same lines as in past ages. Majorca savours strongly of orientalism, and its people are averse to change. As they are now, so were they when Ferdinand was driving the Moor from Granada. The Arabs are also gone from Majorca, but they have left their traces behind, not alone in architecture, but in the habits, customs, and dress of the Mallorcan peasantry. It is a morsel of the East set down in the West, unique and fascinating in its very in congruity.

" If this messenger does not appear to-day," mused Challice, taking all this in by degrees, " I shall not be sorry. There is plenty of amusement in Palma. This mixture of Arab and Goth has produced a curious result — neither of East nor West, but a commingling of both. Decidedly, I can pass a week very comfortably here." He descended from the gallery and pushed his way through the crowd towards the arch way of the patio. It opened on to a narrow street lined with gaily-caparisoned mules. These bore bales of merchandise and red jars of porous clay, which latter put him in mind of the " Forty Thieves." While their masters talked and drank within, the mules, impatient to be gone, stamped their feet and jingled their bells. Pigeons whirled aloft in the sunny air, or sat in white rows on the parapets of the flat roofed houses.

Over the uneven pavements glided the pretty Mallorquinas, veiled in their mantillas. The closed windows and wire rejas of the houses gave them an Eastern air. Beyond c arose the mighty fabric of the Cathedral domi nating the scene, and over all arched the dome of azure brilliant with sunshine. " Decidedly Eastern," thought Challice, leaning against the archway, " not unlike Cairo — bright colours, veiled women, barred houses. It only wants camels to complete the picture. How strange that it never occurred to me to come here before. Now I am here, what is going to happen ? Something romantic, I fancy. The air is filled with adventures." The adventure began for him at once. A light touch on the arm, and he turned to find a woman looking at him with a smile. At a glance he guessed she was no Mallorquina.

There was an oriental look about her dark face, which reminded him strongly of Mrs. Ingraham. Moreover, she was differently dressed to the other women he had seen. Scarlet and black was her garb, with necklace, bracelets, and earrings of sequins. A red handkerchief was twisted round her dark locks, and a crimson rose showed itself behind her ear. She was all movement and life, restless as a lizard, spark ling as a diamond. More devil than angel about her, for sure. " Carmen," said Challice aloud, involuntarily comparing her to Merim£e's heroine, " Carmen, the gipsy." " My name is Pepa, Senor Ingles," she said in good Spanish. " How do you know I am English ? " asked Challice, in the same tongue. " How do you know I am gipsy ? ' ' she retorted, smartly. " Ay, Dios mio ! — have I not been to Gibraltar ?

Do I not know the English lobsters with their red coats and stiff manners ? Aye, and their tongue also — in part." " You are a gipsy, I see ! " " You have sharp eyes, Englishman." " Do you live in Palma ? " " Ask the wind where it lives," said Pepa, disdainfully. "Am I not as free as the air? Where the wind goes I go. You see well, I am a Gitana — that answers all. Come, my deli cate one, let me tell la bahi." " La bahi ? " " The good fortune, Sefior Challice shook his head with a laugh. It amused him to converse with this pretty savage, yet he was not inclined to encourage super stition. " For a kiss, perhaps, but not for palmistry. I know my fortune already." "Who knows that till death?" retorted Pepa, seizing his hand, " only the gipsy eye can see into the future. Be wise and hear what these lines say.

It is good will I bear c you, else I would give no warning. By my soul, no." " Warning ! " " Yes ! my pretty caballero. The death mark is on your brow, but it can be wiped off." " What do you mean ? " asked Challice, struck by her earnestness, though he did not believe in such juggling with the unknown. " I can be in no danger here. I know no one in Majorca, and only arrived this morning." " It is true, Sefior, but you come not of your own will." " How do you know that ? " he demanded, somewhat startled. " Am I not a gipsy, Englishman ? Bah ! Who can deceive Pepa ? The future is written on your hand. Come, my master, cross it with gold and I'll tell you a secret." " No ! I don't believe in fortune-telling." The gipsy tossed away his hand with a smile of disdain. " You hold life cheaper than gold.

Beware, foolish one ! Go not to the mountains. Danger lurks on winding roads." " I am not going to the mountains. " That which brought you here will take you there. Up the winding road will you ride to-morrow — if you escape the first danger." "What first danger?" " Ho ! " she exclaimed derisively, " you give no gold and want la bahi. I will tell you but this, my Busno. Before you leave this fonda your life will be in danger. Escape that and your grave shall be on the winding road. It is written." Startled by these sinister remarks he would have detained her, but, evading his grasp, she flitted into the court-yard with a jeering laugh. " Little devil," soliloquized Challice, looking after her, " she seems to know a lot. Can she have anything to do with this jade eye business ? Hm ! " The adventure caused him some disquietude.

Experienced as he was in reading faces, and drawing deductions therefrom, he espied a menacing expression in this woman's eye, which boded ill for himself. He did not believe in the superstitious jargon of gipsydom, yet the circumstances in which he was placed were sufficiently peculiar to justify his attaching some value to her words. They either conveyed a threat or a warning, and noting the savageness of her glance, he concluded it was the former. For a moment or so he pondered over the matter, but being unable — for want of evidence — to come to a conclusion, dismissed the episode from his mind. His only course was to keep a sharp look out for possible dangers, and for the expected messenger. When he saw this latter, the meaning of these things would probably stand revealed. " At all events," said he, re-entering the patio, " I shall stay here and face the matter out.

I did not undertake the journey to be bam boozled in this fashion. Before I leave Majorca I shall know all or else fulfil Pepa's prophecy, and leave my bones on the winding road." A young muleteer, seated on the stone margin of the court-yard pool, thrummed bravely on a guitar, and sang heaven knows what of love and woman. Pepa occasionally showed her red skirts in the crowd, doubtless busy telling fortunes. He heard her high-pitched voice chaffing the men, but she made no attempt to come near him. Nor did he desire such an attention, as he had no desire to fulfil her pre diction by awakening the jealousy of some gipsy lover. At first the crowd was sufficiently good humoured, but with the leaven of Pepa work ing in the mass, such harmony could not long continue. She, darting about like a restless Ate, did her best to stir up strife, and ultimately succeeded.

Loud voices began to be heard, the throng encircled itself around two fighting men, and Pepa, her purpose accomplished, scampered out ofthe patio with a derisive laugh. " Little devil," murmured Challice, applying this epithet for the second time, " why is she setting them all by the ears ? " He stepped forward to see the struggle. Scarcely had he moved when a knife whizzed past his ear, and buried its point in the wall against which he had been leaning. Had he remained there a second longer, it would have pinned him to the wood-work. The predic tion of the gipsy flashed across his mind, and he felt convinced that he was on dangerous ground. Her prophecy, this knife throwing, were both part of the same plan. She had done her best to fulfil the warning. " Hm ! " said Challice thoughtfully, " I wonder if all this is got up for my benefit."

Locked in one another's arms, two men were swaying heavily to and fro. The Englishman dodged round the outskirts of the crowd to catch a glimpse of the wrestlers. " Who are they ? " he inquired of his neigh bour. " Flamencos ! " answered the man ; then, seeing his questioner was still unenlightened, added " Zincali." " Oh, gipsies ! Queer ! Pepa is a gipsy ; that knife was thrown byone of those fighting gipsies. Hm ! I begin to think there's trouble ahead." By this time the larger of the men had forced the other under, and was holding him down by the throat. He then bent forward and whispered something to his antagonist in an unknown language. Challice could only catch one word, "Jara." " What is Jara," asked he of his muleteer friend. " A hag ! a hag ! Queen of the Cales ! devil take her/' replied the other, hastily crossing himself.

" See how the spell works, the fight is over. Accursed Flemings, they devour not one another." All this time the fallen man had lain prostrate under the grip of his conqueror. This latter ended his whispering, and permitted the other to rise, whereupon he made off like a deer. Evidently the speaking had more hand in this than the wrestling. His antagonist, a Herculean monster for size and muscle, parted the crowd right and left with a few strokes of his arms, and came straight to Challice. " Are you hurt, rye ? Did the knife strike ? " he said in excellent English. " Job ! " catching sight of the weapon still remaining in the wall, " he missed. So much the better. I should have had his heart had he slain you, brother." "Who are you, and why do you call me brother ? " demanded Challice, both astonished and annoyed at this speech.