The Fever of Life

Front matter

THE FEVEB OF LIFE BY FERGUS HUME. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY LIMITED, j£t. Uungtan'g |E?ouse, Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, E.C. 1892. {All rights reserved.} LONDON: PRINTED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAPTER PAGE I. Pinchler's Dockyard ... ... 1 II. Wanted, a Chaperon ... ... 22 III. The Woman with the Fierce Eyes ... 46 IV. What Mrs. Belswin had to say 64 V. The Prodigal Son ... ... 85 YI. The Dragon ... ... ... 101 YII. The Garden of Hesperides ... ... 121 VIII. Mrs. Belswin's Correspondence ... 145 IX. A Eustic Apollo ... ... ... 158 X. A Boudoir Consultation ... 175 XI. The Art of Dining ... ... 184 XII. Ars Amoris ... ... ... 200 XIII. Exit Mrs. Belswin ... ... 215 XIV. Signor Ferrari declines ... 220 XV. The Eeturn of the Wanderer ... 246 XVI. Forewarned is Forearmed ...

Chapter I

pinchler's dockyard. " Fashion for the nonce surrenders Giddy Mayfair's faded splendours, And with all her sons and daughters Hastens to health-giving waters ; Rests when curfew bells are ringing, Rises when the lark is singing, Plays lawn tennis, flirts and idles, Laying snares for future bridals ; Thus forgetting pleasures evil, In return to life primeval." It was Toby Clendon who named it " Pinch ler's Dockyard " — Toby Clendon, young, handsome, and a trifle scampish, who wrote witty essays for The Satirist, slashing criticisms for The Bookworm, and dainty society verses for any journal which chose to pay for such poetical effusions. A very cruel VOL. I. B remark to make about Mrs. Pinchler's respectable private hotel at Marsh-on-the-Sea ; but then the truth is always cruel, and Mr. Clendon proved the truth of his statement in this wise — " A dockyard is a place where broken down ships are repaired.

Man, by poetical license, is a ship on the ocean of life. Some broken-down human ships under stress of circumstance put in to Pinchler's private hotel for repair in the matter of bodily ailments. Pinchler's harbours these broken-down human ships, therefore Pinchler's is a human dock yard. Strike out the word human as re dundant, and there you are, Pinchler's Dock yard." A whimsical deduction, doubtless, yet by no means void of a certain amount of truthful humour, as the guests at Pinchler's private hotel were for the most part deficient as re gards physical completeness. If the lungs were healthy the liver was out of order. Granted that the head was " all there," the legs were not, unless one leg counted as two. Splendid physique, but something wrong with the internal organs. Yes, certainly a good many human ships were undergoing repair under the calculating eye of Mrs. Pinchler ; and as her establishment was not. healthy enough for an hotel nor sickly enough for an hospital, Toby Clendon's intermediate term " dockyard " fitted it exactly ; so Pinch ler's Dockyard it was called throughout Marsh-on-the-Sea.

It was a square red-brick house, built on a slight eminence, and facing the salt sea breeze of the Channel. On the one side a pleasant garden, on the other smooth green tennis lawns, and iu front a mixture of turf, of flower-beds, and of gravel, sloping down to the road which divided it from the stony sea beach. A short distance away to the right was Marsh-on-the-Sea, with its rows of gleam ing white houses set on the heights, while below was the red-roofed quaint old town, built long before its rival above became famous as a watering-place. To the left, undulating hills, clumps of trees, tail white cliffs, and here and there pleasant country houses, showing themselves above the green crests of their encircling woods. Add to this charming prospect a brilliant blue sea, a soft wind filled with the salt smell of the waters, and a sun tempered by intervening clouds, and it will be easily seen that Marsh-on-the- Sea was a pleasantly situated place, and Pinchler's Dockyard was one of the pleasantest houses in it.

" And why," said Mr. Clendon, continuing an argument, " and why English people want to go to the Riviera for beauty, when they have all this side of the Channel to choose from is more than I can make out." It was just after luncheon, and the wrecks at present being repaired in the dockyard were sunning themselves on the tennis lawn. Some were reading novels, others were dis cussing their ailments, a few ladies were working at some feminine embroidery, a few gentlemen were smoking their after dinner pipe, cigar, or cigarette, as the case might be, and all were enjoying themselves thoroughly in their different ways. Toby himself, arrayed in spotless white flannels, with a blue-ribboned straw hat. was lying ungracefully on the grass, smoking a cigarette, and talking in an affectedly cynical vein to three ladies.

There was Mrs. Valpy, fat, ponderous and ple thoric ; Miss Thomasina Valpy, her daughter, familiarly called Tommy, a charmingly pretty girl, small, coquettish and very fascinating in manner. As a rule, men of susceptible hearts fell in love with Tommy ; but when they heard Mrs. Valpy say that she was like Thomasina when young, they generally retreated in dismay, having a pro phetic vision that this fragile, biscuit-china damsel would resemble her mother when old, and as Mrs. Valpy — well they never pro posed, at all events. There was a third lady present, Miss Kaituna Pethram, who was staying at Pinchler's with the Valpys, and without doubt she was very handsome ; so handsome, indeed, that Tommy's brilliant beauty paled before her sombre loveliness. She was dark, un usually dark, with a pale olive-coloured skin, coils of splendid dusky hair, luminous dark eyes, and clearly cut features, which were not exactly European in their outline.

Neither was her christian name European, and this being taken in conjunction with her un- English look, led some people to think she had African blood in her veins. In this supposi tion, however, they were decidedly wrong, as there was no suggestion of the negro in her rich beauty. Indian? not delicate enough, neither as regards features nor figure. Spanish ? no ; none of the languor of the Creole ; then no doubt Italian ; but then she lacked the lithe grace and restless vivacity of the Latin race. In fact Miss Kaituna Pethram puzzled every one. They were un able to " fix her," as the Americans say, and consequently gave up the unguessable riddle of her birth in despair. As a matter of fact, however, she was the descendant, in the third generation, of that magnificent New Zealand race, now rapidly dying out — the Maories, and the blending of the dusky Polynesian with the fair European had culminated in the production of this strange flower of two diverse stocks — neither wholly of the one nor of the other, but a unique blending of both.

Her great grand parents had been full-blooded Maories, with uncivilized instincts and an inborn preference for a savage life. Their daughter, also a full-blooded Maori, being the daughter of a chief, had married a European settler, and the offspring of this mixed marriage was Kaituna's mother, a half-caste, inheriting the civilized culture of her father, and the savage instincts of her mother. Kaituna was born of this half-caste and an English father, therefore the civilized heredity prevailed ; but she still retained the semblance, in a minor degree, of her primeval ancestry, and without doubt, though ameliorated by two generations of European progenitors on the male side, there lurked in her nature the ineradicable instincts of the savage. Of course, self-complacent Europeans, pure blooded in themselves, never argued out the matter in this wise, and were apt to look down on this inheritor of Maori ancestry as " a nigger," but were decidedly wrong in doing so, as the magnificent race that inhabits New Zealand is widely removed from the African black.

At all events, whatever they might think, Kaituna Pethram was a uniquely beauti ful girl, attractive to a very great degree, and inspired more admiration than the undecided blondes and brunettes who moved in the same circle cared to acknowledge. Toby Clendon was not in love with her, as he preferred the saucy manner and delicate beauty of Miss Valpy ; but Archie Maxwell, who was the best looking young man at Pinchler's, had quite lost his heart to this unique flower of womanhood, and the damsels of Pinchler's resented this greatly. Mr. Maxwell, however, was at present engaged in talking to some of them at a distance, and if his eyes did wander now and then to whei'e Clendon was play ing Shepherd Paris to goddesses three — Mrs. Valpy being Minerva in her own opinion — they did their best to enchain his attention and keep him to themselves.

Kaituna herself did not mind, as she was not particularly taken with Mr. Maxwell, and was quite content to lie lazily back in her chair under the shelter of a large red sunshade and listen to Toby Clendon's desultory conversation. It was a pleasant enough conversation in a frivolous fashion. Mr. Clendon made start ling statements regarding the world and its inhabitants, Kaituna commented thereon. Tommy sparkled in an idle girlish way, and Mrs. Valpy, with sage maxims, culled from the monotonous past of an uneventful life, supplied the moral element requisite in all cases. Three of the party were young, the fourth was gracefully old, so, juvenility pre dominating, the conversation rippled along pleasantly enough. After the patriotic Toby had made his remark concerning the superiority of all things English, Kaituna waved the banner of Maoriland, and laughed softly.

" Ah ! wait till you see New Zealand." " Ultima Thule," said Clendon classically. ' ' Eh ! why should I go there, Miss Pethram ? " " To see what Nature can do in the way of beautiful landscape." " I am a domestic being, Miss Pethram, and find the domestic scenery of England sufficiently beautiful to satisfy my artistic longings. New Zealand, I have been told, is an uncivilized country, full of horrid woods and wild beasts." " There are no wild beasts at all," replied Kaituna, indignantly, " and the bush is not horrid. As to it being uncivilized, that is the mistake you English make." " Oh, the contempt conveyed in the term ' you English,' " interjected Toby, impudently. " We have cities, railways, theatres, musical societies, shops, and everything else necessary to make life pleasant. That is civilization, I suppose.

We have also great plains, majestic mountains, splendid rivers, undulat ing pasture lands and what not. That is uncivilized — if you like to call it so. England is pretty — oh yes, very pretty, but tame like a garden. One gets tired of always living in a garden. A garden is Nature's drawing room. I don't say a word against England, for I like it very much ; but at times I feel stifled by the narrowness of the place. England is very beautiful, yes ; but New Zealand," con cluded Miss Pethram with conviction, " New Zealand is the most beautiful place in the whole world." " My dear," said Mrs. Valpy in a patronizing manner, " are you not going a little too far ? I've no doubt the place you come from is very nice, very nice indeed, but to compare it with England is ridiculous. You have no city, I think, like London.

No, no ! London is English, yes — quite so." Having stated this plain truth, Mrs. Valpy looked round with a fat smile of triumph and resumed her knitting, while Tommy dashed into the conversation with slangy vivacity. " Oh, I say, you know, New Zealand's a place where you can have a high old time, but London's the place for larks." " Why not the country," said Clendon, dryly, " the morning lark." " Oh, I don't mean that sort of lark," interrupted Tommy, ingenuously ; " the evenin' lark ; my style, you know. Waltzin', flirtin', talkin', jolly rather." " You move in the highest circles, Tommy," said Kaituna, who was a somewhat satirical damsel. " You drop your ' g's.' ': " Better than dropping your ' h's.' ' " Or your money," said Toby, lighting a fresh cigarette. " I don't know what we're all talking about."

" I think," observed Mrs. Valpy in a geo graphical style, " we were discussing the Islands of New Zealand." " Rippin' place," said Tommy, gaily. " Thomasina, my dear," remarked her Johnsonian mamma, " I really do not think that you are personally " " Acquainted with the place ! No ! I'm not. But Kaituna has told me a lot. Archie Maxwell has told me more " " Mr. Maxwell ! " interposed Kaituna, quickly. " Oh yes ! he said that he had visited Auckland on his way to Sydney — but you can't tell New Zealand from one city." " Ex pede Hercidem," said the classical Toby, " which, being translated, means — by the foot shall ye know the head." " Auckland isn't the head of New Zealand. It was, but now Wellington is the capital. The city of wooden match-boxes built iu a draughty situation." " How unpatriotic."

"Oh no, I'm not, Mr. Clendon. But I reserve my patriotism for Dunedin ? " " You mean Edinburgh." " I mean the new Edinburgh with the old name, not the old Edinburgh with the new name." " Epigrammatic, decidedly. This is instruc tive, Miss Pethram. Do they teach epigram iu the schools of Dunedin ? " " And why not ? Do you think Oxford and Cambridge monopolize the learning of nations ? We also iu Dunedin," concluded Kaituna, proudly, " have an university." " To teach the young idea how to shoot — delightful." " But I thought there was no game to shoot," said Tommy, wickedly. Mrs. Valpy reproved the trio for their frivolous conversation. " You are all talking sad nonsense." " On the contrary, gay nonsense," retorted Clendon, lightly ; " but I foresee in this badinage the elements of an article for The Satirist.

Miss Pethram, I am going to use you as copy. Tell me all about yourself." " To be published as an essay, and ticketed ' The New Pocahontas.' " " Perhaps," replied the essayist, evasively, " for you are a kind of nineteenth century Pocahontas. You belong to the children of Nature." " Yes, I do," said Kaituna, quickly ; " and I'm proud of it. My father went out to New Zealand a long time ago, and there married my mother, who was the daughter of a Maori mother. My grandmother was the child of a chief — a real Pocahontas." " Not quite ; Pocahontas was a chieftainess in her own right." " And died at Wapping, didn't she ? " said Mrs. Valpy, placidly. " Of course, the dark races always give way to the superiority of the white." Kaituna looked indignantly at this fat, flabby woman, who spoke so contemptuously of her Maori ancestors, who were certainly superior to Mrs. Valpy from a physical point of view, and very probably her equal men tally in some ways.

It was no use, however, arguing with Mrs. Valpy over such a nice point, as she was firmly intrenched behind her insular egotism, and would not have understood the drift of the argument, with the exception that she was a white, and therefore greatly superior to a black. Toby saw the indignant flash in her eyes, and hastened to divert the chance of trouble by saying the first thing that came into his mind. " Is your mother in England, Miss Peth ram ? " My mother is dead. " Oh ! I beg — I beg your pardon," said Toby, flustering a little at his awkwardness ; " I mean your father." " My father," replied Kaituna, cheerfully. " Oh, he is out iu New Zealand again. You know, we lived out there until a year ago. Then my father, by the death of his elder brother, became Sir Rupert Pethram, so he brought me home.

We always call England home in the Colonies. He had to go out again about business ; so he left me in Mrs. Valpy 's charge." "Delighted to have you, my dear," murmured the old lady, blinking her eyes iu the sunshine like an owl. " You see, Mr. Clendon, we are near neighbours of Sir Rupert's down in Berkshire." " Oh ! " said Clendon, raising himself on his elbow with a look of curiosity in his eyes, " that is my county. May I ask what par ticular part you inhabit ? " " Near Henley." " Why, I lived near there also." " What," cried Tommy, with great surprise, " can it be that you are a relative of Mr. Clendon, the Vicar of Deswarth ? " " Only his son." " The young man who would not become a curate? " " It didn't suit me," said Toby, apologeti cally ; " I'm far too gay for a curate. It's a mistake putting a square peg into a round hole, you know ; and I make a much better pressman than a preacher."

" It is a curious thing we never met you, Mr. Clendon," observed Mrs. Valpy, heavily ; " but we have only been at ' The Terraces ' for two years." " Oh, and I've been away from the parental roof for five or six years. I do not wonder at never having met you, but how strange we should meet here. Coincidences occur in real life as well as in novels, I see." " Mr. Maxwell told me he came across a man in London the other day whom he had last seen in Japan," said Kaituna, smiling. " Maxwell is a wandering Jew — an en gineering Cain." " Hush ! hush ! ' said Mrs. Valpy, shocked, like a good church-woman, at any reference to the Bible in light conversation. " Mr. Maxwell is a very estimable young man." " I called him Cain in a figurative sense only," replied Toby, coolly ; " but if you object to that name, let us call him Ulysses."

" Among the sirens," finished Kaituna, mischievously. Tommy caught the allusion, and laughed rudely. Confident in her own superiority regarding beauty, she was scornful of the attempts of the so-called sirens to secure the best-looking man in the place, so took a great vol. i, c delight iu drawing into her own net any masculine fish that was likely to be angled for by any other girl. She called it fun, the world called it flirtation, and her enemies called it coquetry ; and Toby Clendon, al though not her enemy, possibly agreed with the appropriateness of the term. But then he was her lover ; and lovers are discontented if they don't get the object of their affections all to themselves. " The sirens ! " repeated Miss Valpy, scorn fully. " What, with voices like geese ? What humbug ! Let us take Archie Maxwell Ulysses away from the sirens, Kaituna."

" No, no, don't do that ! " said Kaituna, with a sudden rush of colour ; " it's a shame." " What ! depriving them of their big fish ? Not at all. It's greedy of them to be so selfish. I'll call him. Mr. Maxwell ! " " It's very chilly here," said Kaituna, rising to her feet. " Mr. Clendon, my shawl, please. Thank you. I'm going inside." "Because of Mr. Maxwell?" asked Miss Valpy, maliciously. " No. I'm expecting some letters from Mr. Dombrain. Oh, here is Mr. Maxwell. Au revoir," and Miss Pethram walked quickly away towards the house. Maxwell having extricated himself from the company of the sirens, who looked after their late captive with vengeful eyes, saw Kaituna depart, and hesitated between following her or obeying the invitation of Miss Valpy. His heart said " Go there," the voice of Tommy said " Come here," and the unfortunate young man hesitated which to obey.

The lady saw his hesitation, and, purposely to vex Mr. Clendon, settled the question at once. " Mr. Maxwell, come here. I want you to play lawn-tennis." " Certainly, Miss Valpy," said Maxwell, with sulky civility. " Why, I asked you to play twice this afternoon, and you refused," cried Clendon, in some anger. " Well, I've changed my mind. But you can play also, if you like." " No, thank you. I've — I've got an en gagement." Tommy moved close to the young man and laughed. " You've got a very cross face." ' At this Clendon laughed also, and his cross face cleared. " Oh, I'll be delighted to play." " And what about Miss Pethram ? " asked Maxwell, rather anxiously. " Miss Pethram has gone inside to await the arrival of the post." " Isn't she coming out again ? " " I think not." " If you will excuse me, Miss Yalpy, I won't play just at present."

" Oh, never mind." So Maxwell stalked away in a very bad temper with himself, with Miss Pethram, and with everything else. In any one but a lover it would have been sulks, but in the ars amoris it is called despair. Tommy held her racket like a guitar, and, strumming on it with her fingers, hummed a little tune — a vulgar little tune which she had picked up from a common street boy— " Tho' I'm an earl, And she's a girl, Far, far below my level, Oh, Mary Jane, You give me pain, You wicked little — ■ — " " Thomasina ! " cried the scandalised Mrs. Valpy, and Thomasina laughed.

Chapter II. Wanted

A CHAPERON. " We are told in stories olden Dragons watched the apples golden, Quick to send a thief to Hades. Now no fruit the world-tree ladens, Apples gold are dainty maidens, And the dragons are old ladies." After dinner — a meal cooked, conducted, and eaten on strictly digestive principles — most of the inmates of Pinchler's retired to bed. Sleep was necessary to the well-being of these wrecks of humanity, so those who could sleep went to their repose with joyful hearts, and those who could not, put off the evil hour preclud ing a restless night by going to the drawing-room for a little music. Here they sat in melancholy rows round the room, comparing notes as to their physical sensations, and recommending each other patent medicines. Some of the younger people sang songs and played popular airs on the out-of-tune piano furnished by Pinchler's. During the intervals between the songs scraps of curious conversation could be heard somewhat after this fashion — " There^s nothing like a glass of hot water in the morning."

" Dry toast, mind ; butter is rank poison." " Rub the afflicted part gently and breathe slowlv." " Put a linseed poultice on the nape of the neck." With such light and instructive conversation did the wrecks beguile their leisure hours, keeping watchful eyes on the clock so as not to miss taking their respective medi cines at the right times. Mrs. Pinchler, a dry, angular woman, with a glassy eye and a fixed smile, revolved round the drawing-room at intervals, asking every one how they felt. "Better, Mrs. Tandle? Yes, I thought that syrup would do you good — it soothes the coats of the stomach. Miss Pols, you do look yellow. Let me recommend a glass of hot water in the morning. Mr. Spons, if you lie down on the sofa I'm sure it will do you good. Oh, are you going to play, Miss Valpy ? Something quiet, please.

Music is such a good digestive." Tommy, however, was not a young lady who could play quiet tunes, her performance on the piano being of the muscular order. She therefore favoured the company with a noisy piece of the most advanced school, which had no melody, but was full of con trapuntal devices. Having shaken every one's nerves with this trying performance, she glided off into a series of popular waltzes, mostly of the scrappy order, in which she sandwiched in hymn tunes between music hall melodies. The wrecks liked this style of thing, as they could all beat time with their feet, and when it was finished said waltzes were charming, but not so fine as " Batch's " passion music, of which they knew nothing, not even how to pronounce his name correctly. " Bach ! " echoed Tommy, contemptuously.

" Oh, he's an old fossil ! Offenbach's more in my line. Oui ! You bet ! Sapristi ! Vive la bagatelle ! " The company did not understand French, so suffered this observation to pass in dis creet silence, but Kaituna laughed. She was sitting in a corner by herself, with a look of impatience on her face, for she was expect ing a letter and the post was late. " Kaituna," cried Tommy, attracted by the laugh, " why are you sitting in the corner like a graven image ? Come out and sing." " No, I don't want to. I'm waiting for my letter." " Hasn't it arrived yet ? " said Miss Valpy, skipping across the room. " I'd give it to that Dombrain thing if I were you. Dom brain ! What a name ! Who is he ? " " My father's solicitor." " Oh, in the law and the profits ! I don't mean biblically, but commercially.

But, I say, don't keep thinking of your letter, or it won't come. The watched postman never boils." " What nonsense you talk ! " "I can't help it, dear. My brains leave me when there are no male things in the room." " There's Mr. Spons. " Oh, I don't bother about him. He's not a man ; he's a medicine bottle. Hark ! I hear footmarks approaching on horseback. It is the men. Now, will you take Mr. Clendon and I Mr. Maxwell, or will you take Mr. Maxwell and I Mr. Clendon ? " " I don't want either," said Kaituna, hastily. " Now that's ungrateful, especially when Mr. Maxwell is such a dear. ' Oh, that heaven would send me such a man ! ' — Shake speare, Kaituna, so don't look indignant. You can take Archie, and I'll satisfy myself with Toby." " You shouldn't call men by their Christian names, Thomasina."

" Don't say that ; it sounds like 'ma. I only call them by their Christian names to you. I wouldn't do it to their faces." " I hope not." " How proper you are ! Behold the male sex is at the door ! I can smell the tobacco on their clothes." The rattle of the lively damsel was put an end to by the entry of the gentlemen, headed by Maxwell and Clendon, the latter of whom Miss Valpy bore off at once to the piano to make him sing, turn over her music, and make himself generally useful. Maxwell, however, went straight across to Kaituna, and held out a newspaper. " This is yours, Miss Pethram," he said, seating himself beside her. " I knew you were anxious about the post, so I waited downstairs till it came." " Was there no letter ? " said Kaituna, in some dismay. " No ; nothing but that Telegraph."

" Oh, there may be something marked in it," she said quietly. " Excuse me a moment while I look." Maxwell bowed and sat watching her as she tore the cover off the paper and opened the rustling leaves. He had only known this girl a fortnight, yet within that time had contrived to fall deeply in love with her. It was not her beauty, although, man-like, he naturally admired a pretty woman. It was not her charming manner, fascinating as it was in every way. It was not her clever brain, her bright conversation, her perfect taste in dress. No. It was that indescribable something which she had about her to attract him in a greater degree than any other woman he had ever known. What that something is no man knows until he has fallen in love, and then he feels it, but can not describe his sensations.

Scientists, no doubt, would call it animal magnetism ; poets would call it love ; scoffers would term it sentimental bosh. But whatever scientists, poets, or scoffers choose to call it, the thing is unnameable, indescribable, and is the neces sary concomitant of a happy marriage. It was this indescribable feeling that had sprung up suddenly between these two young people. Kaituna also felt drawn to Maxwell, but in a lesser degree, for no matter what cynics may say about the frivolity of women, they are certainly less inflammable than men. A pretty woman knows her power to attract <• the opposite sex, and uses it daily, mostly for amusement ; therefore when her time does eome to feel the genuine pangs of love, she is more able to govern and control her feel ings than a man who, as a rule, simply lets himself go.

So this was exactly how the case stood between these two lovers. Max well felt that Kaituna was the one woman in the world for him, and never attempted to suppress his passion in any way. He allowed himself to be so entirely dominated by it, that it soon became his master, and all his days and nights were given over to dreams of this beautiful dark woman from a distant isle of the sea. On the other hand, Kaituua felt that she loved him, but con trolling herself with feminine dexterity, never let her infatuated lover see that his passion was responded to in any way. Had he tried to go away she would speedily have lured him back by means of those marvellous womanly arts, the trick of which no man knoweth ; but the poor love-lorn wretch was so abjectly submissive that she coolly planted her conquering foot on his neck and indulged iu a little catlike play with this foolish mouse.