Secure your heart, then fool with whom you will.”
Mrs. Vansittart walked to the gate of the malgamite works, thinking that Von Holzen was following her on the noiseless sand. At the gate, which the porter threw open on seeing her approach, she turned and found that she was alone. Von Holzen was walking quietly back towards the factory. He was so busy making his fortune that he could not give Mrs. Vansittart more than a few minutes. She bit her lip as she went towards her horse. Neglect is no balm to the wounds of the defeated.
She mounted her horse and looked at her watch. It was nearly five o'clock, and Percy Roden was doubtless waiting for her in Park Straat. It is a woman's business to know what is expected of her. Mrs. Vansittart recalled in a very matter-of-fact way the wording of her letter to Roden. She brushed some dust from her habit, and made sure that her hair was tidy. Then she fell into deep thought, and set her mind in a like order for the work that lay before her. A man's deepest schemes in love are child's play beside the woman's schemes that meet or frustrate his own. Mrs. Vansittart rode rapidly home to Park Straat.
Mr. Roden, the servant told her, was awaiting her return in the drawing-room. She walked slowly upstairs. Some victories are only to be won with arms that hurt the bearer. Mrs. Vansittart's mind was warped, or she must have known that she was going to pay too dearly for her revenge. She was sacrificing invaluable memories to a paltry hatred.
“Ah!” she said to Roden, whose manner betrayed the recollection of her invitation to him, “so I have kept you waiting—a minute, perhaps, for each day that you have stayed away from Park Straat.”
Roden laughed, with a shade of embarrassment, which she was quick to detect.
“Is it your sister,” she asked, “who has induced you to stay away?”
“Dorothy has nothing but good to say of you,” he answered.
“Then it is Herr von Holzen,” said Mrs. Vansittart, laying aside her gloves and turning towards the tea-table. She spoke quietly and rather indifferently, as one does of persons who are removed by a social grade. “I have never told you, I believe, that I happen to know something of your—what is he?—your foreman. He has probably warned you against me. My husband once employed this Von Holzen, and was, I believe, robbed by him. We never knew the man socially, and I have always suspected that he bore us some ill feeling on that account. You remember—in this room, when you brought him to call soon after your works were built—that he referred to having met my husband. Doubtless with a view to finding out how much I knew, or if I was in reality the wife of Charles Vansittart. But I did not choose to enlighten him.”
She had poured out tea while she spoke. Her hands were unsteady still, and she drew down the sleeve of her habit to hide the discoloration of her wrist. She turned rather suddenly, and saw on Roden's face the confession that it had been due to Von Holzen's influence that he had absented himself from her drawing-room.
“However,” she said, with a little laugh, and in a final voice, as if dismissing a subject of small importance—“however, I suppose Herr von Holzen is rising in the world, and has the sensitive vanity of persons in that trying condition.”
She sat down slowly, remembering her pretty figure in its smart habit. Roden's slow eyes noted the pretty figure also, which she observed, one may be sure.
“Tell me your news,” she said. “You look tired and ill. It is hard work making one's fortune. Be sure that you know what you want to buy before you make it, or afterwards you may find that it has not been worth while to have worked so hard.”
“Perhaps what I want is not to be bought,” he said, with his eyes on the carpet. For he was an awkward player at this light game.
“Ah!” she exclaimed. “Then it must be either worthless or priceless.”
He looked at her, but he did not speak, and those who are quick to detect the fleeting shade of pathos might have seen it in the glance of the tired eyes. For Percy Roden was only clever as a financier, and women have no use for such cleverness, only for the results of it. Roden was conscious of making no progress with Mrs. Vansittart, who handled him as a cat handles a disabled mouse while watching another hole.
“You have been busier than ever, I suppose,” she said, “since you have had no time to remember your friends.”
“Yes,” answered Roden, brightening. He was so absorbed in the most absorbing and lasting employment of which the human understanding is capable that he could talk of little else, even to Mrs. Vansittart. “Yes, we have been very busy, and are turning out nearly ten tons a day now. And we have had trouble from a quarter in which we did not expect it. Von Holzen has been much worried, I know, though he never says anything. He may not be a gentleman, Mrs. Vansittart, but he is a wonderful man.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Vansittart, indifferently; and something in her manner made him all the more desirous of explaining his reasons for associating himself with a person who, as she had subtly and flatteringly hinted more than once, was far beneath him from a social point of view. This desire rendered him less guarded than it was perhaps wise to be under the circumstances.
“Yes, he is a very clever man—a genius, I think. He rises to each difficulty without any effort, and every day shows me new evidence of his foresight. He has done more than you think in the malgamite works. His share of the work has been greater than anybody knows. I am only the financier, you understand. I know about bookkeeping and about—money—how it should be handled—that is all.”
“You are too modest, I think,” said Mrs. Vansittart, gravely. “You forget that the scheme was yours; you forget all that you did in London.”
“Yes—while Von Holzen was doing more here. He had the more difficult task to perform. Of course I did my share in getting the thing up. It would be foolish to deny that. I suppose I have a head on my shoulders, like other people.” And Mr. Percy Roden, with his hand at his moustache, smiled a somewhat fatuous smile. He thought, perhaps, that a woman will love a man the more for being a good man of business.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Vansittart, softly.
“But I should like Von Holzen to have his due,” said Roden, rather grandly. “He has done wonders, and no one quite realizes that except perhaps Cornish.”
“Indeed! Does Mr. Cornish give Herr von Holzen his due, then?”
“Cornish does his best to upset Von Holzen's plans at every turn. He does not understand business at all. When that sort of man goes into business he invariably gets into trouble. He has what I suppose he calls scruples. It comes, I imagine, from not having been brought up to it.” Roden spoke rather hotly. He was of a jealous disposition, and disliked Mrs. Vansittart's attitude towards Cornish. “But he is no match for Von Holzen,” he continued, “as he will find to his cost. Von Holzen is not the sort of man to stand any kind of interference.”
“Ah?” said Mrs. Vansittart again, in the slightly questioning and indifferent manner with which she received all defence of Otto von Holzen, and which had the effect of urging Roden to further explanation.
“He is not a man I should care to cross myself,” he said, determined to secure Mrs. Vansittart's full attention. “He has the whole of the malgamiters at his beck and call, and is pretty powerful, I can tell you. They are a desperate set of fellows; men engaged in a dangerous industry do not wear kid gloves.”
Mrs. Vansittart was watching him across the low tea-table; for Roden rarely looked at his interlocutor. He had more of her attention than he perhaps suspected.
“Ah,” she said, rather more indifferently than before, “I think you exaggerate Herr von Holzen's importance in the world.”
“I do not exaggerate the danger into which Cornish will run if he is not careful,” retorted Roden, half sullenly.
There was a ring of anxiety in his voice. Mrs. Vansittart glanced sharply at him. It was borne in upon her that Roden himself was afraid of Von Holzen. This was more serious than it had at first appeared. There are periods in every man's history when human affairs suddenly appear to become unmanageable and the course of events gets beyond any sort of control—when the hand at the helm falters, and even the managing female of the family hesitates to act. Roden seemed to have reached such a crisis now, and Mrs. Vansittart; charm she never so wisely, could not brush the frown of anxiety from his brow. He was in no mood for love-making, and men cannot call up this fleeting humour, as a woman can, when it is wanted. So they sat and talked of many things, both glancing at the clock with a surreptitious eye. They were not the first man and woman to go hunting Cupid with the best will in the world—only to draw a blank.
At length Roden rose from his chair with slow, lazy movements. Physically and morally he seemed to want tightening up.
“I must go back to the works,” he said. “We work late to-night.”
“Then do not tell Herr von Holzen where you have been,” replied Mrs. Vansittart, with a warning smile. Then, on the threshold, with a gravity and a glance that sent him away happy, she added, “I do not want you to discuss me with Otto von Holzen, you understand!”
She stood with her hand on the bell, looking at the clock, while he went downstairs. The moment she heard the street door closed behind him she rang sharply.
“The brougham,” she said to the servant, “at once.”
Ten minutes later she was rattling down Maurits Kade towards the Villa des Dunes. A deep bank of clouds had risen from the west, completely obscuring the sun, so that it seemed already to be twilight. Indeed, nature itself appeared to be deceived, and as the carriage left the town behind and emerged into the sandy quiet of the suburbs, the countless sparrows in the lime-trees were preparing for the night. The trees themselves were shedding an evening odour, while, from canal and dyke and ditch, there arose that subtle smell of damp weed and grass which hangs over the whole of Holland all night.
“The place smells of calamity,” said Mrs. Vansittart to herself, as she quitted the carriage and walked quickly along the sandy path to the Villa des Dunes.
Dorothy was in the garden, and, seeing her, came to the gate. Mrs. Vansittart had changed her riding-habit for one of the dark silks she usually wore, but she had forgotten to put on any gloves.
“Come,” she said rapidly, taking Dorothy's hand, and holding it—“come to the seat at the end of the garden where we sat one evening when we dined alone together. I do not want to go indoors. I am nervous, I suppose. I have allowed myself to give way to panic like a child in the dark. I felt lonely in Park Straat, with a house full of servants, so I came to you.”
“I think there is going to be a thunderstorm,” said Dorothy.
And Mrs. Vansittart broke into a sudden laugh. “I knew you would say that. Because you are modern and practical—or, at all events, you show a practical face to the world, which is better. Yes, one may say that much for the modern girl, at all events—she keeps her head. As to her heart—well, perhaps she has not got one.”
“Perhaps not,” admitted Dorothy.
They had reached the seat now, and sat down beneath the branches of a weeping-willow, trimly trained in the accurate Dutch fashion. Mrs. Vansittart glanced at her companion, and gave a little, low, wise laugh.
“I did well to come to you,” she said, “for you have not many words. You have a sense of humour—that saving sense which so few people possess—and I suspect you to be a person of action. I came in a panic, which is still there, but in a modified degree. One is always more nervous for one's friends than for one's self. Is it not so? It is for Tony Cornish that I fear.”
Dorothy looked steadily straight in front of her, and there was a short silence.
“I do not know why he stays in Holland, and I wish he would go home,” continued Mrs. Vansittart. “It is unreasoning, I know, and foolish, but I am convinced that he is running into danger.” She stopped suddenly, and laid her hand upon Dorothy's; for she had caught many foreign ways and gestures. “Listen,” she said, in a lower tone. “It is useless for you and me to mince matters. The Malgamite scheme is a terrible crime, and Tony Cornish means to stop it. Surely you and I have long suspected that. I know Otto von Holzen. He killed my husband. He is a most dangerous man. He is attempting to frighten Tony Cornish away from here, and he does not understand the sort of person he is dealing with. One does not frighten persons of the stamp of Tony Cornish, whether man or woman. I have made Tony promise not to leave his room to-day. For to-morrow I cannot answer. You understand?”
“Yes,” answered Dorothy, with a sudden light in her eyes, “I understand.”
“Your brother must take care of himself. I care nothing for Lord Ferriby, or any others concerned in this, but only for Tony Cornish, for whom I have an affection, for he was part of my past life—when I was happy. As for the malgamiters, they and their works may—go hang!” And Mrs. Vansittart snapped her fingers. “Do you know Major White?” she asked suddenly.
“Yes; I have seen him once.”
“So have I—only once. But for a woman once is often enough—is it not so?—to enable one to judge. I wish we had him here.”
“He is coming,” answered Dorothy. “I think he is coming to-morrow. When I saw Mr. Cornish yesterday, he told me that he expected him. I believe he wrote for him to come. He also wrote to Mr. Wade, the banker, asking him to come.”
“Then he found things worse than he expected. He has, in a sense, sent for reinforcements. When does Major White arrive—in the morning?”
“No; not till the evening.”
“Then he comes by Flushing,” said Mrs. Vansittart, practically. “You are thinking of something. What is it?”
“I was wondering how I could see some of the malgamite workers
to-morrow. I know some of them, and it is from them that the danger may
be expected. They are easily led, and Herr von Holzen would not scruple
to make use of them.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Vansittart, “you have guessed that, too. I have more
than guessed it—I know it. You must see these men to-morrow.”
“I will,” answered Dorothy, simply.
Mrs. Vansittart rose and held out her hand. “Yes,” she said, “I came to the right person. You are calm, and keep your head; as to the other, perhaps that is in safe-keeping too. Good night and come to lunch with me to-morrow.”