The revenge of Valerie : a romance of British Columbia

Dedication

TO

with many tender memories from the

AUTHOR.

Preface

Dear Readers,

In the following romance, I have endeavoured to show how Jealousy — the twin sister of Love — may transform a generous nature into that of a ruthless devil. I have also attempted to show how a mother may sacrifice for her child what she could not for her husband. Love is a mighty factor for good and evil, but the nearest approach to that Divine love which was exhibited on the Cross is the love of a true mother for her child.

I have in the chapters which succeed this preface related a tragedy founded on facts. The tragedy is much more commonplace than many of my unsophisticated readers may be able to realize viii PREFACE.

— I trust none of them may ever have the misery

to prove its truth by experience.

There is one moral only in it, which is, that wealth and rank do not always bring happiness to humanity. Throughout these pages run the finding and the gathering of much gold, in the wilds of the Yukon district, and in the city of London.

How much all this fuss and exertion are worth I leave my readers to discover for themselves. I leave them also to choose the better part in this search after felicity.

To possess money is a laudable and a universal desire. But the passion to acquire riches may be carried too far.

Happiness, like heaven, appears different to different minds. To some a crown, or at least a coronet, seems a coveted object of ambition. To others, the exhaustless funds of a Monte Christo open up vistas of joy which intoxicate them.

Not being of an ambitious nature and greatly

PREFACE, ix averse to the doubtful seductions of society, I hold my own ideas regarding true happiness. To win a title does not seem to me worth the exertions required. To become a millionaire appears to hang a millstone round one's neck. Both aims are only added anxieties to a life already extremely tried.

But to possess health, reasoning faculties and toleration seem the highest possible boons which man can wish ; add to these great gifts, the sufficiency to provide for the necessities of life, with enough over to aid others, and give a start in life to those hostages of Fortune which we must leave, and we come nearer perfect happiness than we have any right to expect. If, besides all these mercies, we can also claim a little sincere love and friendship, then we can ask no more from Heaven, for our cups are filled. Blest with these we may pass through life easy ; satisfied that we are loved for our own qualities, and not courted for our condition or influence. We raise no envy nor x PREFACE.

covetousness, and, when our turn comes, there is not too much to regret leaving behind. This to me seems to be the acme of human desires. We take our place on the ferry boat of Charon, to go to those who have gone before us, and there wait for those who must come after.

With these words, and the hope that my story may induce those who are at present thirsty to win what must be left, to pause and consider the true value of things mundane, I make my bow and once again retire to my work-shop.

THE AUTHOR.

Contents

CHAP. PAQK

I. — The Duel i

II. — Valerie Waits .... 9

Chapter I. The Duel

" Cheat ! Sharper ! "

" Liar ! "

The first two words were uttered in low, but fiercelysibilant accents ; the single retort pealed loudly through the card-room, and startled everyone present.

It was bad form to speak above a whisper in this portion of the Calydon Club. Members won or lost without a murmur. Domestics moved about noiselessly, receiving the softly-breathed orders with a mute inclination of the head. A Sabbath-like stillness generally pervaded here, which had seldom, if ever, been profaned by such barbarous exclamations.

But if the words were startling, the action that followed almost while the retort was still ringing in their ears, was scandalous in the extreme.

Three of the members were seen to leap suddenly from their chairs ; one to close his fist and strike another full in the face, knocking him backwards ; while the third gripped hold of the assailant and held him from repeating the unpardonable offence.

I

THE REVENGE OF VALERIE.

Confusion reigned for the next few moments in this refined and well-ordered club-room. All the members present closed round the scene, some raising the prostrate man, and others helping to force from the room the flushed and excited assailant.

" Good Heavens ! Eastlake, how could you be such an ass as to strike a fellow here ? You'll have to resign, you know."

" I know, Eric, it was foolish, but I could not sit quietly and hear a bounder like that call you such names."

"You might, however, have let me manage that part of the business for myself, you know, old fellow."

" Save your reproaches, Eric, and have a brandy - and-soda. I am past sermons, and what is done is done."

The waiter who brought the refreshment looked very grave as he placed it before the two young men. He knew that he was serving one at least with his last drink in that sedate West End establishment. He, the waiter, had reasons to look grave and sorrowful, for the offender, Sir Lewis Eastlake, had been a patron who generally placed gold on his tray, when ordering a drink, and did not lift the silver that was brought back.

After a few moments, the two friends were left severely alone by their fellow clubmen, who flocked back to the card-room to see the other man and hear his story.

"Deuced pity it wasn't St. Arnoul," said both members and waiters as they discussed the matter in their different departments. " We could have spared Eric St. Arnoul, but reckless, handsome Lewis Eastlake will be a decided loss to the club."

THE DUEL.

Captain Eric St. Arnoul was not nearly such a favourite in the Calydon as was his bosom friend Sir Lewis Eastlake. In the first place, his circumstances were too similar to those of the majority of the Calydons — i.e., much more frequently on the I O U than the ready-money system. In the second place, he was much too good a card player for any except young callow members to challenge to a game. In the third place, he was excessively particular about his change when the stewards and waiters brought it to him. Therefore, he was neither generally respected nor greatly trusted by those who knew him for any length of time.

Sir Lewis Eastlake, however, was the one friend who believed in him and trusted him utterly. Mutual acquaintances — for this is about the warmest term we can use to denote the " dear boy " intimacy of town and club friends — said with a suggestive and careless shrug, that Captain Eric was the evil genius of gay and careless Sir Lewis. Perhaps he was ; evil geniuses and their victims usually cling more closely to each other than disinterested and mentor-like friends. The evil genius does not sermonise too much ; neither is he over-sensitive to take offence. He likewise has the art of making himself necessary and agreeable to his "companions." That is why the victim is so apt to go the way his evil genius suggests rather than listen to the warning voice of wisdom.

Sir Lewis Eastlake had been the fag at college of Eric St. Arnoul, therefore he had begun his young life by admiring, lending to, and believing in his impecunious chief. Later on, when they met together again after the professional career in India of Captain St.

I*

THE REVENGE OF VALERIE.

Arnoul, the wealthy and reckless baronet was as readyto play the role of banker, bosom friend and trusting admirer as before. There is a link which binds the dog, cat and parasite to their protectors that is sometimes stronger than kinship. Sir Lewis admired Captain Eric, and Captain Eric exploited and advised Sir Lewis.

Perchance he loved his trusting friend also ; of late it had been observed that he did his utmost to keep the baronet from female entanglements. Captain Eric did not mind his friend plunging on the racecourse or at the cards, but he certainly protected him as far as he could from the sirens who haunt the career of the plunger.

Sir Lewis Eastlake was a plunger of the most pronounced type. Twenty-four years of age, well born, and up to this night fairly well bred. Grey eyed, classically handsome, and robust in health ; in the three years since his majority he had managed to mortgage, up to the hilt, a handsome estate, which had brought to his father five thousand per year.

On this night he had entered his club with fifty and some odd pounds in his pocket-book, and debts of honour for two thousand eight hundred to meet within the next seven days.

He had interviewed his money-lender, Mr. Stephen Belwood, on that afternoon, with but indifferent success. By a supreme sacrifice — the yielding to become a director on one of Mr. Stephen Belwood's company boards — he had managed to get that fifty pounds as advance of his salary. He also had a vague half-promise that his present turf debts would be met also, for the use of his time-honoured name, and — the

THE DUEL.

abandonment of his future prospects. In fact, the reckless and luckless baronet was in a very bad hole when he entered his club that night.

To make matters worse, he had dined not wisely, but too well, and the wine, although possibly good and ancient, had not made him happy.

Therefore when he dropped upon his bosom friend and Charles Bingham, the young bounder, playing cards, he was not entirely in possession of his reasoning faculties. It appeared a fair game to his blinking eyes, and when the bounder flung down his cards and said " Cheat ! Sharper ! " to the man he called friend, both his tongue and his sledge-hammer fist leapt out with the impetuosity of the falchion of the knights of old who had made his name historical.

It was foolish, desperately indiscreet, and exceeding bad form, according to all social etiquette, but it was done, and he now sat moodily sipping his brandy-and-soda, and waiting on the result of that rash blow.

Anyone looking at the two young gentlemen, sitting in the smoke-room — and waiting on the termination of that fracas, could not have accused Captain Eric St. Arnoul of lack of emotion. He was decidedly the most nervous and concerned of the pair. His face was ghastly. His lips grinned with emotion, and altogether he appeared as if he loved his friend.

As for Sir Lewis, he was a trifle gloomy, but he was not much put out.

" I expect the bounder will want to cross the Channel," observed Sir Lewis, lighting a fresh cigarette.

" I expect so ; but really, you know, Lewis, I am the one he ought to challenge."

THE REVENGE OF VALERIE.

" Never mind that ; I'll meet him."

" Don't you think it would be best to offer an apology ? You see, you really are in the wrong this time," observed the Captain.

" No," said Sir Lewis decidedly. " I've got to the end of my tether, and the sooner I'm wiped out the better. You will be my second. Propose Cherbourg ; I've a fancy for Cherbourg, as you know my old friend Dr. Waldred is located there ; besides, it's so far on the way to the Villa Idumea if things go right. You manage that for me, dear boy ; only — no apology."

At this moment a deputation from the insulted member came into the smoke-room. The original cause of the quarrel was evidently forgotten ; the blow given by Sir Lewis was the casus belli now.

In a few moments the matter was settled. Cherbourg was decided upon, and Doctor John Waldred, as a member of the club, fixed on to act for both parties. To-morrow they would travel separately and meet on the day after at the place appointed by the seconds.

That night Captain Eric St. Arnoul accompanied his ruined friend home to his chambers, and as they had to start on the following morning, they each sought their bedrooms early.

Captain St. Arnoul paced backwards and forwards for a good half hour, with a face of the most unutterable anguish.

" Curse my luck, to bring this on Lewis," he muttered, as he strode about gnashing his teeth. " If he falls, I'm finished. Valerie will never forgive me ; I might as well take the bullet myself."

He poured out a stiff tumblerful of brandy and water, and, drinking it off, flung himself on his couch

THE DUEL.

as miserable a man of the world as anyone could possibly imagine.

Sir Lewis did not feel half so deeply over this affair as did his friend and evil genius. He took only his customary nightcap, and smoked his usual fancy meerschaum in order to colour it properly. As he sat smoking, he thought :

" I suppose the bounder will try to pot me. Well, I have no ill-will to him, so I'll aim wide. I'm not a good shot, but if I aim wide enough I'm sure to miss him. I never was much good at pistol practice.

" Suppose I am potted. Well, that will end all my troubles, and so farewell to dear Hope. What a fool I've been these two years past. If I had only halted sooner ! I wonder if she could have stopped me ! She is a sweet girl. So is the Duchess Valerie, but then the Duchess is an experienced woman of the world who likes to amuse herself, and Hope is a girl whom only a good man ought to approach. I have no chance with the Duchess, and I have hardly any right to think of Hope Waldred.

" Well, I hope the bounder may pot me to-morrow ; if not, I guess I'll have to think of emigrating either to West Australia, South Africa, or British Columbia, since I have finished my career in England."

He looked at his meerschaum tenderly, there was carved upon it a fox bringing a wild duck home to its three little cubs. One side he had already coloured fairly well, where one cub was crawling over the back of its parent, but the side where the two little cubs were disputing for the duck was still sickly looking.

" I wonder who will tint my meerschaum properly," he murmured, as he placed it carefully in its case and

THE EEVENG-E OF VALEKIE.

prepared for bed. " I can't take it to the goldfields even if I escape the bullet of the bounder."

******

Champagne and brandy are not good training drinks for duellists. The bounder's seconds instructed him wisely, and he followed their instructions faithfully, abjured all things likely to make his hand shake, and aimed low.

The bounder was in luck in the toss up for places. He got his back to the rising sun, while Sir Lewis had the sunbeams almost in his eyes.

" One, two, three — fire ! "

They both fired simultaneously. The bounder aimed at Sir Lewis's lowest vest button, and hit him in the collarbone. Sir Lewis aimed at a tree ten yards wide, and hit the poor bounder in the left lung. That's the worst of duellists who have not practised with the pistol. They hit what they mean to miss, and miss what they mean to hit.

Dr. John Waldred was all over the field. His friend, Sir Lewis Eastlake, had merely received a broken collar-bone, but the poor young member, Charles Bingham, had finished his career. The two were borne off the field insensible. So ended the famous Calydon Club duel, of which more anon.

VALERIE WAITS.

Chapter II. Valerie Waits

THE Duchess Valerie reclined in the easiest of chairs on the balcony of her Genoa Palace, the Villa Idumea.

The Palace stood on one of the high terraces, and overlooked the radiant azure harbour and gulf, so that from this back balcony the spectator could look down upon the gardens and roofs of many other palaces, and over these again to the shipping that lay in the harbour of this picturesque and busy La Superba.

It is a lovely panorama at any season of the year, but on this balmy September evening it appeared at its best.

Soft airs wafted from the deep blue gulf through the fig and orange trees, laden with ripe fruit. On the garden walls clustered the purple grapes and vine tendrils, that spread out from innumerable and massive stems. In the garden, with its terraces, marble steps, and spouting fountains, glowed perfume - exhaling flowers, all adding to the enchanting picture.

There was nothing gimcrack or modern about the Villa Idumea except, perhaps, the furnishing of the drawing-room, outside the window of which reclined the Duchess and her huge dog Paris. The walls, floors, ceiling, and stairways were of the ancient marbles of Italy, mellowed and stained by age. Lofty, spacious apartments, like galleries in their extent ;

THE REVENGE OF VALEEIE.

wide and long lobbies and staircases so great that they dwarfed the people who used them.

The Duchess Valerie had everything which mortal can dream and wish for in the search after earthly happiness. She was fabulously rich, and the possessor of many mansions, fertile acres, quarries, and moneyproducing mines. She was young, not yet twenty-two, and ravishingly beautiful ; also, what she valued most of all, she was a widow, and at liberty to give her hand to the man she loved.

Six months ago her husband, the amiable but aged Due Idumea, had bestowed upon her this last of many treasures, her freedom, by dying just at the time a sensible old man with a young spouse ought to die.

For five years she had acted the part of duchess with exemplary discretion ; having many admirers and friends, but none whom scandal could tack on to her name as a lover.

This was before she met Sir Lewis Eastlake, but since that fatal day, a twelvemonth previously, every hour had been a battle between discretion and overmastering desire. The desire to cast everything aside for the sake of love, and the discretion that bade her tutor and curb her unruly heart for the sake of her splendid position and vast income.

It was just when the struggle was becoming almost unbearable that her obliging husband died, leaving her his sole heiress, and her heart at liberty to indulge legitimately in the sweet delicious infatuation which possessed her soul and body.

She had been a week and a half at Genoa waiting for the man she adored to come to her. It was six months since they had parted, and since then she had

VALERIE WAITS.

been living in the closest seclusion. By the world she was supposed to be mourning the loss of that grand old descendant of the Doges. Society and the Church extolled her for her rigid decorum. At last she could indulge in the luxury of a visitor without raising gossip, and so she had invited her former friend to come and enliven her loneliness.

Two letters had come by that morning's post which equally interested her. Now, as she reclined on the cushioned chair, clad in that clinging black, and most becoming widow's robe, reading them over for the fourth or fifth time, let us also read them, whilst she is selecting a fresh cigarette and lighting it. They are both lying on her knee open. One she has kissed, before and after she read it each time. The other she had read, without kissing, yet with pleasure. The oftkissed epistle is short, and is worded by a person who is evidently more used to writing telegrams and postcards than letters ; this is like a telegram in its brevity and terseness.

" My Dear Valerie, — Deuced badly hit last week, and dropped a pot. If I can manage to raise the wind I'll be with you on Wednesday. Thanks awfully for your nice letter.

" Ever yours sincerely,

" Lewis Eastlake."

It wasn't a very lover-like letter ; but women who are in love are apt to read a world of meaning between the lines. The young Duchess Valerie evidently did this, for she looked upon it with starry eyes and a tender smile of contentment which made her beauty

THE REVENGE OF VALERIE.

tenfold transcendent and adorable, as she took it up again, kissed it fervently and re-read it.

" Dear, dear Lewis ! " she murmured fondly ; " my hero, my Paladin. You do not excel as a letter-writer but, all the same, I think what you wanted to say, and that is enough."

The other letter was of a different character. It was also terse, but it was eminently business-like and respectful. It, like the other, was post-marked from London, and read as follows :

" YOUR GRACE, — Sir Lewis Eastlake, a week ago, borrowed another £ 10,000, and renewed his former bills. Acting under your instructions, I have advanced him this sum, and renewed these bills without demur. It is my duty, however, to inform your Grace that already Sir Lewis has borrowed more from you, under my name, than his estates can possibly realise if foreclosed. He has been plunging heavily lately, and this present advance does not cover his turf losses. Shall I foreclose, or do you depute me to give him any further advances ? Kindly wire at once, for I expect him back again in a few days.

" Your respectful servant,

" Stephen Belwood."

" The reckless fellow ! " murmured the youthful duchess, indulgently. " Of course he'll want money to come and see me, and I can easily indulge in this little extravagance. Ah, my love ! what is money between us, if you but love me, as I feel you must do ? "

She sent out a thin, spiral wreath of smoke from her rosebud lips, and looked dreamily over the dark-

VALERIE WAITS.

ening sky and sea. A divine contentment glowed upon her dark face, and made her rich brown eyes like deep pools. So a radiant Oriental might have appeared when she had drawn a dainty fish from the stream.

" Ah, my darling ! I think you must be mine now, even although you never know who has been your creditor for the past six months. Come and take all that is mine so that you take me."

The duchess was a woman sorely smitten by the god Cupid, and, as we all are when wounded, she was modest about her own charms, and had angled craftily for the man she was after.

Sir Lewis Eastlake, the prodigal heir of many prodigal ancestors, had met the Duchess Valerie on one of his sojourns abroad. There was nothing wrong in their friendship, for if he was a reckless gambler, he had at least the chivalry of his race towards women, and would have loathed himself had he harboured a single thought of dishonour towards his noble and aged host.

But he had an insinuating and gallant manner towards ladies. He was also in the first flush of manhood and superbly handsome. Then, perhaps, while he only behaved as a hundred of his sex would towards a young, beautiful and gracious hostess who was removed from him by wedlock, it did not seem to her the same.

He was by nature cool, composed, and gentlemanly. She, fervid and imaginative. Every woman knows her points to a nicety. The sex may like flattery, but they are not blinded although they acquiesce. Their mirror is their mentor and critic, and this

THE REVENGE OF VALEKIE.

they study, as Telemachus never did his sage adviser.

The Duchess Valerie had faced her mentor, and been passed as competent. She was the most perfectly made and the loveliest woman in Italy ; one, indeed, to fascinate Jove or Julius Caesar. Her blue-black tresses reached to her ankles. Her young figure might have made Queen Cleopatra poison her, at the time of her introduction to the Roman hero. She was beautiful in her matchless tawny beauty, and she was unmatched in her witchlike fascinations.

" He must love me," she had often murmured passionately, as she watched herself in the mirror, after her maid had left her for the night, while her aged husband was drinking his mulled Chianti in his library. " He must love me, for / am beautiful? But when the aged Duke died, she had not felt so sure of this, as her hero had been so cool.

" Perhaps other women are as beautiful as I am. Perhaps my skin is too dark."

She had prayed to the Madonna to send her the man she adored, yet, as Cromwell told his Ironsides : " Pray to the Lord, but keep your powder dry."

The Duchess Valerie believed in her saints, but she had also the powder, and she meant to keep it dry.

Therefore, in .ease her hero might be tempted, she resolved, like a prudent descendant of the old Romans to environ him round with meshes, so that he must succumb. Thus she had laid her snares, and, as she thought, captured him in her net.

He was her captive. With a word through her agent, Stephen Belwood, she could involve him in unutterable ruin.

VALEEIE WAITS.

But she had no intention of putting on the screw unless — unless he kicked against the traces.

Her cousin, Eric St. Arnoul, was her slave, and Sir Lewis Eastlake his bosom friend. He would keep him free from intrigue, and urge him to her loving arms. Alas ! for the woman who cannot depend on her own fascination, but must employ such outside help.

The young duchess was happy on this evening, and her retainers had basked under this favourable influence all through the day. Lewis Eastlake was coming that night. In another couple of hours he would be here, with her all alone. She had wired to her London agent to let him have what he required without questions. The dinner was ordered, and his rooms prepared. Now she waited on the man she loved so devotedly, so all-absorbedly.

The dog at her side waited also : a grim Russian wolfhound, with his vast bulk and square, sinister head. He crouched at the side of her chair and looked out at the landscape with a lurid eye, while she lolled back on her cushions and puffed cigarette after cigarette, for she was morbid, excitable and impatient.

" Shall I serve tea, your grace ? " said the meek domestic, appearing through the door with a lamp.

" Yes. What time does the train come in from Paris?"

" It is due in half an hour, your grace."

" Let dinner be served forty minutes afterwards."

The orderly servant went out, and the Duchess sprang up from her chair and began pacing the balcony like a panther in its cage.

" Forty-five minutes more, and Lewis will be here,"

THE REVENGE OF VALERIE.

she gasped, as she paced swiftly from end to end of the balcony.

How exquisitely lovely she was, as she went backwards and forwards in her sable robes, with her flashing diamonds round her lovely neck that glowed swanlike from the black dress. It was the glide of a graceful beast of prey rather than a woman, a young animal full of life, strength and passion.

Backwards and forwards she swept in front of the shaded lamp, whilst the great hound followed her motions with its lurid glances, as it sat on its haunches by the empty chair. The hound sat like a sphinx with the lamplight streaming over it.

Outside daylight faded from the sky, and Genoa, with its crowded wharfs, became a maze of mystery, with yellow lights below and silver sparkling gems above.

The Duchess pulled out her tiny watch and looked at it. The hour was approaching, and even as she glanced at the time she heard the carriage drive out of the court below, and roll away towards the station.

He would be here presently, therefore she must see how she looked before he came. With a swift step she passed through the window and entered the lighted rooms, with a backward glance at the glowing stars.

Up to the mirror she glided, and there examined her reflection with rigid scrutiny and satisfaction.

" I am beautiful," she muttered, smiling tenderly at her own reflection. " Beautiful, thank God, since beauty is what men value, when wealth comes with it. He has looked on no more perfect woman since he left me I feel sure, and few so rich as I am. Yes, I ought to feel sure of Lewis with these united gifts."

VALERIE WAITS.

At last there is the sound of the returning carriage, as it rolls from the crowded strada into the echoing courtyard of the palace, and stops at the front gate.

" He is here, my love, my life ! " the enamoured woman cries, as she places her hand over her heart, to still its throbbing, and sinks into a chair.

Paris, the wolfhound, hears the sounds also, and enters the room with ears bristling.

After a pause — the pause of a man divesting himself of his overcoat, hat and gloves, and ascending the wide stairs decorously. Then with a gentle knock at the door, the major domo enters to announce the visitor.