The Richest Merchant in Rotterdam. A novel

Part I. Geemination

VOL. I. I:

Chapter I

Two great hills had been rent asunder by Nature's gigantic might. The sea had as sailed the cavity in the cliffs thus formed, and a picturesque cove was the result. For this outlet the water from the uplands in land had hurried, over stones and rocks and fallen trees, never resting, never wavering, but overleaping all barriers until its volume sank with a murmur, under a mass of pebbles cast in its course by the superior force of the waves. Back from the mouth of that stream, but on its very margin, nestled some half-dozen cottages, their walls snowy with whitewash, their tiny paned windows as spotless as the clean white blinds adorn ing them. These windows were filled with tall scarlet geraniums, musk, and fuchsias, filled to such an extent that unhealthiness was suggested. Some one had called the place Hillcombe.

Within a couple of hun dred yards of the cottages, on the other side of a broad turnpike-road — the North Devon coast-road — grew a thicket of hazel nut-bushes, and in the centre of this was a clearing, with one solitary gnarled and twisted yew tree in the middle of it. Round this tree — old enough to have furnished Robin Hood and his merry men with wood for their six-foot bows — ran a seat, and on that seat sat a boy. A big, strong-hmbed, handsome lad of sixteen or thereabouts, with a head well set on broad shoulders, and covered with a luxuriant crop of dark brown wavy hair. A lad whose body was hard and firm, and whose cheeks were ruddy and tawny with the salt air and the sun light. He had sat down, and jumped up, leaned over the railings which fenced off the stream, listened to its murmurings, and plumped himself down again under the ancient yew tree, for a good hundred times, as he would have related, exhausting with every movement a scant stock of patience.

At the end of it all, he was worried, anxious, itching with annoyance. A quick, nervous footstep sounded on the path, a white frock gleamed through the nut-boughs, and like a flash of light, a young girl bounded to his side, rosy with breathlessness. "Have I kept you waiting, Phil?" she gasped, pressing her hand to her breast as one does after violent exertion. " Have you kept me waiting ? I should rather think you have. You said five, and it's past six now. I was just off." " But we always wait for each other." "Yes. Well, never mind. Kiss me." The girl presented the reddest pair of fresh, moist lips, and the boy she had called Phil slipped his arm round her waist and pressed them to his own, a good dozen of times before he seemed content to pause in the oscillatory process. "Phil, don't squeeze so hard, you hurt me."

" Sorry— couldn't help myself, though ; and you wouldn't like me if I didn't. But there, lean back and tell me why you were not here to time, and all about everything. I say, Madge, it seems such an age since I saw you. Last night, wasn't it ? " "Yes." "Well, that's bad enough. Why were you late, though ? " "Papa met me just as I was slipping through the garden, and " " Hang him ! " "Philip!" " Well, isn't it enough to make a fellow swear ? " "What!" " To have to meet you whom I've known ever since I can remember anything. Oh, I say, Madge, what stunning stockings, blue clocks, eh ? awful pretty. Well, and to think that I've pulled off those dear little stockings — -no, not those, but " " Don't be so stupid." "It's true. Heaps of times. Haven't we paddled together amongst the rocks till we were tired ?

Why, don't you remember when we got that whacking big prawn ? " " Of course, what fun we had." " Fun, I should rather think so. Ah, Madge, those days were a heap better than these. I think they get worse and worse too. But, as I was saying, to have to meet you after all these years, as though I were a thief, is beastly, and your guv'nor is an old brute for behaving like he does." " Philip ! " " So he is. " He isn't, and if you speak like that I shall leave you." " Well, why has he taken a dislike to me ? Wasn't my father a post-captain in the Royal Navy, and am I not a gentleman, and can any fellow be more ? Money, I suppose ? " " Papa isn't so mean, and we're almost as poor as you are now." The girl Philip Moresby had called Madge delivered herself of her statement in an emphatic tone of voice, and then sat back on the old seat, thereby clearing her feet of the ground, which position induced her to kick them together.

The sound of her little shoes as she banged them against each other being the only audible noise for a moment or two, and then Philip said moodily — " It's the title, then. Your father's a baronet. ' Sir ' sounds fine, and a plain ' Mr. ' for your husband wouldn't be good enough." " It is nothing of the sort. Papa couldn't do or be anything so nasty as that ; and, besides, how could he think of such things ? We're too young." " Don't know so much about that. I'm going on for seventeen, and you were four teen last birthday." " WeU, and— " In another month you'll be fifteen. Kiss me again ; that's it. I say, Madge, swear you Did you hear a noise ? " "No." " I thought I did. Suppose it was nothing, though. Listen ! swear you love me, and only me, and that you'll never marry another fellow." "How could I, Phil?"

" Well, then, say so." Madge pouted prettily. " Say you're sorry, then," she answered. " For what — speaking of your father ? "Yes." " Hanged if I am." " It's horrid of you, then; and you'll have to be, for I couldn't leave papa. He says I'm the only comfort he has, since mamma died — Ralph doesn't count, you know, yet — and Phil, although I love you better than any one else in the whole world, we could never be married unless he said so." Having said this, Madge edged a few inches further away from Philip, disen gaging herself from him in doing so. Then she bent her frank grey eyes, eyes fearless with innocence, upon the ground, and fell to scratching her name upon it with the point of her foot, becoming absorbed in the attempt to do so. Philip made no answer for a moment. He, too, seemed absorbed, and there they sat, those two, in the gathering gloom.

He, strong and impetuous, and ignorant of the world and its ways. She, soft and pure and spotless, simple as the clothes she wore. A white frock with a pale-blue sash, black stockings, with the dainty clocks Philip had noticed, and resting upon her chestnut locks which streamed unfettered down her back, a plain straw hat with a broad white band about it. Philip was the first to break the silence, and he did it in a way characteristic of himself. " Humbug ! you'll think differently when you are older. Stands to sense you can never be anything to any other fellow ; and he'll grow to like me," he remarked in answer to Madge's last words, and alluding to her father. Then he added quickly, " It's beastly not to know what's going to happen to one. Not to be able to look ahead a day. Heigh-ho." He heaved a long sigh.

And the ripple of the stream, and the rustle of the wind through the hazel-boughs, was the chorus to it. Poor girl ! poor boy ! could they have lived that sober moment with the wisdom of fifty years, they might have reflected, with Carlyle, " Light mortals, how ye walk your light life-minuet over bottomless abysses, divided from you only by a film ! " Great changes were at hand, although they were unconscious of their nearness. Philip's ears had not deceived him. He had heard a noise. A figure had walked down the path, from the opposite direction to that from which Madge had come, and had quietly sat down on the other side of the tree, thus being in a position to overhear every word that was said. Again Philip spoke, and this time in a louder key even, as though a thought, about which he was curious, had struck him.

" I say, Madge, who is that queer-looking old covey staying with you ? " he asked. " An old friend of papa's, a Mynheer Vanderhagen." "Vanderhagen, Mynheer Vanderhagen. What a name ! Dutch, eh ? " " Yes ; at least I think so. Papa knows ; but he's very nice and kind." " May be that ; but he looks an awful old frump. Touched in the upper stories, I should think. What does he wear breeches for?" " Really, Phil, how can I tell ? " "To show off, I'll be bound. Thinks he's got a good leg, and it is about the best part of him. But what a fool he must be, an old chap like that." Whether it was the position in which the new-comer found himself, his great desire not to make his presence known, or the enterprising efforts of an energetic gnat, bent upon improving the shining hours, by gently titillating his nostrils, is doubtful, but the figure round the tree was no longer silent, but gave vent to a giant sneeze.

Philip sprang up, and took in the situation at a glance. Recognised the person even in the gloom, too ; but that did not deter him from speaking his mind. " Talk of the devil," he exclaimed. Then he sat down, adding loudly, " But listeners never hear any good of themselves."

Chapter II

The"! devil, or the being stigmatised as the devil by Philip, was no less a person than Mynheer Vanderhagen ; and that gentle man, roused by the loud tones in which Philip had spoken, and the unmistakable allusion he had made to himself, rose from his seat, and went round to where Philip was sitting. For a few moments he fixed his eyes upon him, and the lad's hot blood rushed to his cheeks under the scrutiny. Then his gaze encountered Madge, and a faint smile played round the corners of his mouth as he said slowly, and as though thinking the while — "Ah, my host's daughter, Madge. Who is your friend, my dear ? I little thought you were so near me." "If you wish to know my name, it is Moresby, Philip Moresby," interposed Philip, still in irritated tones, as though he believed the man whom he addressed to be a hypo crite and an eavesdropper.

In vain Madge had pinched him, and whispered, " Philip," as a soft appeal to let her speak. Out had come the words, which would in all probability have been followed by still more unpleasant ones, but for a prompt reply from Mynheer Vanderhagen. " Then, my lad, then, Philip Moresby, let me tell you what experience has taught me. Never make an enemy if you can make a friend. I know by your words — for I heard them — what you think of me, and if I had not, the expression of your face would be a sufficient indication of your feelings. If you sit in a public place, and speak in loud tones, you must expect your conversation to become public property; but no harm is done " "HI sit in a public place, as you call it, I don't expect people to come sneaking along so softly that one can't hear them ; and I'm not disposed to take advice from a person I haven't the pleasure of knowing," retorted Philip, his temper getting the better of him.

Astonished and troubled at the rudeness of the reply, Madge laid her hand upon his arm. " Philip, how can you speak so shame fully to Mynheer Vanderhagen ? He has as much right to the seat as we have." " But not to listen." " How can you say such things ? " " Because I think them. What a traitor you are, just when you ought to stick up for a fellow, too. Why, the row is all about you." " I shall tell you, if I think you are wrong; and you are." "Quite right, my dear, so he is; but young blood is hot, and nothing but time and experience will cool it. But it is late, and we ought to be returning; you will come with me, will you not ? And ten minutes after we have left him, your friend Philip, here, will be ready to acknowledge — at least to himself — his own unreasonableness, and will want to be friends with me.

Will you shake hands, my boy ? " An imploring look from Madge had the effect of banishing the dregs of resentment from Philip's impulsive heart, and he made the desired advance towards a reconciliation. Then, after whispering a few words to Madge, he raised his cap, and walked away, leaving her and Mynheer Vanderhagen standing looking after him. " He is a good lad, a good lad, I feel sure; but too impulsive," murmured Vander hagen, still watching Philip's retreating figure. " Now come with me, back to the house," he continued, addressing Madge more directly ; " and as we go, you can tell me all about him, for he and I must see more of each other." " Then you are not vexed with him ? not really annoyed at his rudeness ? " inquired Madge quickly. " Small things don't annoy me, my dear, and if it were only for your sake, and because I see you are fond of him, and anxious that he should impress no one un favourably, I should cease to feel hurt at his want of courtesy.

But tell me, who is he? " Madge gave the desired information, much in the same language that Philip had used, walking close to Vanderhagen's side while she spoke. No shade of anger had crossed Vanderhagen's face, not even when Philip's tongue had carried him beyond the bounds of common civility, and the only indication he now evinced that he was the least interested in what he heard was in a slight contraction of the eyebrows. "The son of a retired naval-officer," he repeated. " And does your father know his parents? " "Oh yes." " Has he known them long ? " " Captain Moresby and papa are very old friends, and I have known Philip all my life." " And what does he do ? Is he in the navy, too, or is he at school? " " At school. Philip has always wanted to go to sea ; but I hope he won't." " Why ?

You like him, I suppose ? " " Yes, very very much ; next best to papa." VOL. I. c "And would miss him dreadfully if he went away ? ' ' "Oh yes." A ghost— it could not be called a smile, but only the shadow of one— passed over Stephen Vanderhagen's strange face. He kept his eyes fixed upon the ground, seem ing to be half-unconscious that Madge was at his side, and after some moments of silence, said audibly — " WeU, we must see. I must know more of him. Sir John can tell me." Madge heard the words, and glanced up quickly, surprised that he should allude to the subject of their discussion after so long a pause. " You won't tell papa about his rudeness to you, or anything, will you ? " she asked eagerly. " Certainly not, my dear; I promise you." Without waiting to hear more, and, child like, easily believing and easily comforted, Madge ran on ahead up the steep road they were traversing, which struck inland exactly opposite the little cove and the cottages, where the stream oozed through the pebbles and blended with the sea.

Stephen Van derhagen raised his eyes, and kept them fixed upon her as she skipped joyously between the high hedge-banks, pausing here and there to gather a spray of haw thorn or a late primrose, hidden away amongst the moss and the ferns. So lithe and graceful, so full of health and hope she looked, so sinless too, in her white dress, with the last streaks of the sunlight tinging her long hair which streamed unfettered to her waist. What are you thinking of, Stephen Vanderhagen, as you follow in the wake of youth and innocence, yourself besmirched by the world, and fast descend ing to the tomb ? What are you thinking of, with that strange shadow of a smile on your thought-worn face ? Are you not old ? and should not age be a guarantee for good deeds ? Will not abject fear produce them? or do you know none, and believe in nothing?

Chapter III

Mynheer Stephen Vanderhagen, citizen and merchant of Rotterdam, was a strange man, and so noticeable in his strangeness that it was impossible to pass him by without remark. There were a good many people in Holland who had tried to ignore him in his early days, and of these there were few who had failed to repent of the indiscretion. A little man of meagre stature, with all the strength of his being — whether for good or evil — to be found in his massive forehead, which dwarfed his other features, straight and sharp and thought-lined though they were. A little man, with hair growing thinly on the crown, and thickening into a stronger fringe at the back and sides of the head, and that hair of a pale yellow. With his hat on, one was apt to think he wore a wig ; but, on or off, never likely to take him for a beauty.

The colour of his eyes was doubtful, but they were deep-set and penetrating. If Nature had been lavish in any one respect, apparently her gene rosity had been expended upon Mynheer Vanderhagen's calves, which were certainly ample and well formed. The best part of him, as Philip had said; and, therefore, ignoring fashion or custom, well worth the showing, in the opinion of their owner, who had also one other little conceit : an admi ration for the whiteness of his hands and the shape of the nails adorning them. On the death of his father, he had become the head of a large and opulent firm, the power of which, with the aid of a tenacious memory and great application, he had largely increased. Increased, at least, to such an extent that, by those who were capable of judging, he was admitted to be the richest merchant in Rotterdam ; which was allowing much, for the town abounded in influential traders.

Men who were the wealthy descendants of those who in the old days of religious disturbance and aggres sive warfare had protected their own com merce with frigates fitted out by themselves, and who in times of peace had sailed the world over in their own stout, broad-beamed vessels, for the sake of the extension of the trade they coveted. Mynheer Stephen Vanderhagen came of such a stock, and though during his life he had had little need to protect himself or his money by force of arms, he had, like his grandsires, been seized in his youth with a desire to add to his hoard of guilders, and so had spent months at a time in all quarters of the globe, and his house on the Boompjes was said to be full of rare curiosities and Dutch masterpieces. Besides that, he had another residence, stately and replete with every luxury, situated in the Park, where he lived mainly, for from the house on the Boompjes all business issued, so that in part it was an office.

Then, too, he had an elaborately ornate villa at Scheveningen, where, with other wealthy people, it was his custom to breathe the strong salt air in the months when Rotterdam was hot and ener vating. So, with all these advantages, he was a person of importance, and though he was not liked, and there were even odd tales whispered about him, people were obliged to give him his due, and to admit that his guilders were good. He had never married, and, some people said, had never been in love, which was possible. Though those who talked thus of him took care not to miss the opportunity of fastening upon him illicit amours without number. That there is no smoke without fire is a true saying, so that there might have been some foundation for the charge. He had no brothers or sisters, and no near relatives whom he had ever been known to recognize, and in the brief account thus given is con tained all the authentic information ever obtained concerning Mynheer Stephen Van derhagen.

None knew his age, but all swore he was old, very old, and dyed his hair — and so he might, for certainly it was of the colour seen on all sides, amongst the blue-eyed, sunburnt little seashore maids who play in the shadow of the great fishing boats on the sands at Scheveningen. From very lightness of heart, Madge took off her hat and sang, with her hands full of flowers and leaves, sang in a sweet, childish voice, for there were none to hear, and Vanderhagen having dropped behind some distance, followed her, still watching her, still wearing the same expression. At length she was lost to sight, and presently he, too, quitted the lane — for it could be called little more — and, passing through a gate, continued along a walk, arched over with trellis-work, upon which clematis and honeysuckle grew so thickly in places as to hide the sky.

At the end of this leafy entrance came a garden bright with old fashioned flowers, and trim as though it were a model. Beyond, peeping forth from amongst pink apple-blossom, sleeping amidst the hum of bees, and warmed by the last rosy flush of the sunset, were the walls of Madge's home. It was merely a well-built, large-sized cottage, painted white ; but the purple clusters of the wisteria, and the delicate scarlet of the japonica, half covered it, and, simple though it was, it was all that Sir John Milford had saved from the wreck. It had once been an outlying house situated on an insignificant portion of his property. He had so handled his fortunes that he had come to live in it himself. "Why, Vanderhagen," called a voice, it was not easy to say where from at first. " Vanderhagen, do you know you've let the soup go cold, and that I'm so ravenously hungry that I had serious thoughts of beginning without you.

Ah, I think I know who is at the bottom of it, you pickle — eh ? You've been taking him miles along the beach, and getting him caught by the tide. You urchin, let me catch you ; I want a kiss." There were the sounds of a scuffle, and then Madge, without flowers or hat, almost tumbled into Vanderhagen's arms, in her efforts to elude pursuit. "Well, there, you minx, I won't touch you. You shall pay the penalty after dinner. Now, Vanderhagen, let us get something to eat. Never mind about making yourself beautiful, or you'll put the finishing touches to a culinary disaster. Come along, man ; we live plainly enough, as you know. No need to stand on cere mony. Very little parade about us now." Rambling on thus in a cheery voice, Sir John (for, as may be guessed, it was Madge's father who had spoken) slipped his arm through Stephen Vanderhagen's, and entered the house with him ; the contrast between Sir John and his guest, as they thus stood side by side, being almost ludicrous.

Vanderhagen with his small thin figure and large head, and Sir John towering above him, six feet to an inch without his boots, and as straight still as an arrow, though his hair and heavy moustache were iron-grey, and he owned to sixty summers. He had inherited a fine estate and ample fortune from his father, and had entered the army with the fairest prospects. Later in life, he had married a well-bred and beautiful Irish girl, in which country some of his property was situated. It was a love-match, the world said, and for Sir John Milford and his bride the future seemed as bright as a May day, yet the clouds came and darkened the prospect. Too probably the gloom was due to the fast life Sir John had grown accus tomed to in the crack cavalry regiment in which he served ; but, from whatever cause is immaterial ; he had developed a vice which was to drag him down through life — a taste, it might almost have been styled a madness, for high play and the betting-ring.

He never could resist a wager, he never could resist a game at cards, with every shil ling he could plump on hanging to it. People said that the anxiety and worry of watching her husband ruin himself without the power to avert the catastrophe by a day — for Sir John was headstrong — had shortened Lady Milford's life. Such was the story which had gone the round, and it was probably true. Anyhow, Lady Milford had lost her liberty, her looks, and her life prematurely, and Sir John was left with Madge and a little son of tender age to mourn his loss, for he had loved her very dearly in his careless way, though he could never be made to see that he was mainly responsible for her death. The son Ralph was only some ten years old, strong enough and mischievous enough to torment every one, and as brown as a berry from running wild in the strong hill air.

Such was the Milford family, and such briefly its history up to date. During the dinner, Sir John joked, Madge laughed with him, and Stephen Vanderhagen listened. It may not be out of place at this point of the story to mention how the intimacy between Sir John and Stephen Vanderhagen had originated. It had existed without a break for a period of years, and had come about owing to the baronet's acceptance of a not particularly important diplomatic mission to Rotterdam, during his stay in which town he had met Vanderhagen, who had shown him every hospitality, in return for which Sir John had invited him, when on a business visit to London, to make the house he rented in town, his head-quarters. Nothing loth, Vanderhagen had accepted, and in course of time it had become an estab lished custom for him to take up his abode with Sir John whenever his affairs brought him to the English capital.

The tie existing between the two, which had been strong enough to survive time, was probably due to two causes: Vanderhagen was well informed, had travelled much, as related, and added to that, over their love of cards, they met on common ground — Vanderhagen having been a slave for years to a hand at what ever was going, in his club at Rotterdam. After the good things had been discussed, Madge withdrew, and the two men were thus left alone. This was the opportunity Vanderhagen sought, and he at once availed himself of it, to speak to Sir John on the subject of Philip Moresby. "I think there is something in the lad," he remarked, in his quiet voice, as though he were weighing out every word and thinking deeply of the ones to follow, as indeed he was, and a good deal more besides. " I think there is something in the lad," he repeated, " and it's a pity that a fine strong, handsome boy, such as he is, should dawdle away his time, when he should be making his way in the world.

Don't you agree with me?" he added appealingly, though with his gaze averted, and toying with his wine-glass as he spoke. "Don't you agree with me ? " he repeated, holding it up to the light, and apparently marking the colour. "Agree with you? Of course I do," answered Sir John. " Who could do other wise ? But it's the old, old story — an only son, a spoiled child. Moresby will wake up one of these days and be sony that he's ruined him. I wish the deuce my father had had the sense to knock the nonsense out of me a bit earlier. A good parent can do a great deal, Vanderhagen, a very great deal for his children. I'm not sure that he hasn't it in his power to make or mar them." Sir John looked the very essence of wisdom, and peered out of the window with the most comfortable expression on his face, as though he had discharged his duties on that score to perfection.

How ready people are to view the doings of others microscopically ; how rarely do they consider their own ! Some such thought flashed through Vanderhagen's mind. Like the rest, he could easily discern faults in another ; but he said nothing, and waited for Sir John to speak. " In Moresby's case, though, I am bound to admit, there are extenuating circum stances." " Why ? " asked Vanderhagen. "Well, it's devilish difficult to do much for any one when you can't help yourself — when you've dropped out of the running, and are broke, so to speak." " Is that Captain Moresby's position ? " "Indeed it is. He's shelved, and as poor as a rat ; and under those circum stances I don't blame him. The lad must make his own way in the world. He has a chance of working, if he likes to take it. The principal' of the school he is at is not a bad sort, and is certainly a scholarly man."