E. Phillips Oppenheim

The Tragedy of a Week

Warsaw 2018

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER I

“PORTER!”

“Yes, sir.”

“What time does this train leave Liverpool?”

The man who had a trolley-load of lamps to clean before he went off duty, and who was not in the best of tempers, was on the point of giving a curt reply when he caught the gleam of silver between the questioner’s fingers. He pulled up short and touched his hat.

“Should have left at five, sir, but she was 15 minutes late. She’s bringing some boat passengers, I think, sir.”

His questioner, a tall, black-bearded man, heavily clad in a long ulster, nodded, and consulted a piece of pink paper which he held in his right hand.

“I have a telegram here from a friend handed in at the Alexandra Docks at 4.25,” he remarked. “It says: ‘All well. Just through customs. Trying to catch five o’clock from London and North-Western Station.’ Would he do it, do you think?”

“Four-twenty-five,” the man repeated doubtfully. “Was he on the Cunarder, sir?”

The gentleman–his voice and dress seemed to denote that he was one–nodded.

“Yes, he was on the Umbria.”

“He’s almost certain to have caught it then, sir. It was for some Cunard passengers that the express was put back 15 minutes. It’s just about 50 minutes’ drive from the Alexandra Docks to the station. You’ll find your friend on this train right enough, sir. The agent who met the Umbria telephoned up from the docks to hold the express, as there were some gentlemen who particularly wanted to get through to London, and the Midland would have run a special if our people hadn’t done it. Thank you, sir. Much obliged, sir.”

The porter touched his hat and passed on with his lamps. Before he had gone a yard, however, he looked round.

“There goes the signal, sir. She’ll be in in one minute.”

The man in the ulster nodded and threw away his cigar, which had long burnt out. The night was cold, but there were great drops of perspiration breaking out upon his forehead, and his face was curiously pale. He took out a silk handkerchief and touched his temples lightly with it. Then he set his teeth hard and frowned.

“I’m getting as nervous as a woman,” he muttered.

“What a d––d fool I am! The thing’s as simple as A B C! Pluck up heart, John Savage! You’re as well disguised as any actor that ever trod the boards! What is there to fear? Be a man!”

He lit a fresh cigar with fingers that trembled as though he were on the verge of an ague.

“Bah! I must get over this. The thing’s got to be done! It is the consummation of everything–of my life’s work, of my whole desire–and it is so simple too! I am prepared against every emergency. I must succeed! There is no weak point in the whole chain! Once more, John Savage, be a man!”

He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his ulster and walked restlessly up and down. The express had been rung in from the signal-box, and the broad arrival platform was crowded with a motley group of railway porters, hotel servants in their smart liveries and peaked hats, and a sprinkling of men and women, who had evidently come to meet their friends. He took up his stand a little apart from the rest, and waited.

The minute seemed a long one, but it came to an end. There was a slight commotion in the waiting crowd. The strangers stood still and the porters left off chattering in little groups and stood on the alert. Two red fiery eyes came flashing along the track and a moment later the express swung smoothly along the platform side.

Fortune favoured the man who had called himself John Savage. When the train came to a standstill, he found exactly opposite to him, leaning head and shoulders out of a first-class carriage, and eagerly scanning the faces upon the platform, the man whom he had come to meet. He threw away his cigar, and advanced at once to the carriage window, standing aside only for a moment while a porter threw the door open.

“Mr. Hovesdean, I believe,” he exclaimed, holding out his hand. “My name’s Savage–John Savage! I daresay you’ve heard Lord Harborough speak of me. He asked me to come and meet you.”

The new comer returned his greeting courteously enough, but evidently without any recognition.

“I can’t say that your name is familiar, but I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Savage,” he said, in a pleasant, but rather high-pitched tone. “I hope Lord Harborough is well. Is he here?”

Savage shook his head.

“No; he was awfully sorry to be prevented–I’ll tell you all about it in the carriage. Have you got all your small things out?”

Mr. Hovesdean turned round. For the first time Mr. Savage became aware that a tall, fair-haired girl was standing in the interior of the carriage. He could see nothing of her features under the thick gauze veil she was wearing, but her long, perfectly-fitting travelling ulster revealed the lines of a slim, graceful figure.

“Everything’s out, papa,” she said, in answer to his look. “Why isn’t Reggie here?”

“This gentleman will tell us presently, dear,” Mr. Hovesdean answered, taking her hand and assisting her to alight. “Mr. Savage,” he continued, “will you allow me the pleasure of introducing my daughter to you, Miss Sadie Hovesdean. Sadie, this is Mr. Savage, a friend of Lord Harborough’s.”

Mr. Savage’s behaviour was a little extraordinary. He stood quite still, and forgot even to remove his hat. For a moment he seemed like a man who has received a sudden blow. As a matter of fact, he was completely taken aback. His plans had been laid with the utmost care, but the possibility of anything of this sort happening had utterly escaped him. His brain was in a whirl. He could not even think–speak he dared not. The idlest sentence might betray him.

Mr. Hovesdean laughed. “You see the effect you’re going to produce upon the Britishers, Sadie,” he said, good-humouredly. “It was a little too bad, perhaps to spring such a surprise upon Lord Harborough and all of you, but really I only made up my mind a few hours before the boat sailed to bring my daughter.”

Mr. Savage recovered himself in a measure. He took off his hat and bowed in a dazed manner.

“Then Reggie does not know–”

“Not a word,” Mr. Hovesdean interrupted. “It’s a surprise for him; now I guess I’d better see about those trunks. Mr. Savage, I’ll leave Sadie in your charge for a minute.”

Mr. Savage was delighted. He turned to a man who was standing like a dark shadow behind him.

“Put these smaller things in the brougham, Mason,” he ordered, “and then show Mr. Hovesdean–that gentleman standing there–where the cloak-room is. Your larger trunks had better be stored for to-night, I think,” he remarked, turning towards his companion. “You’re coming will naturally alter the arrangements. To-morrow you will go to Lady Mary’s, of course.”

“Just as you and papa think best,” she answered. “Tell me, Mr. Savage–Lord Harborough isn’t ill, I hope?”

They were standing underneath the lamp, and he could see something bright glistening underneath her veil. She was bitterly disappointed. All the way over she had dreamed of this meeting, so unexpected on his part. He would come to the station–perhaps to Liverpool–never dreaming of seeing anyone but her father, and then she would step out and hold out her hands, and, ah, how glad he would be. She had leaned over the side of the great steamer as it thundered its way across the Atlantic, and with her idle eyes gazing on the sea. She would think of the times when they had met after only a day’s separation; how his face lit up and his eyes shone bright with joy; and then how grave and sad he had been at parting, even though the separation was to be but a sort one and its end was to bring her to him for good. Her heart had ached many a time when she had thought of that dreary morning. To-day was to have wiped out its memory for ever, and to-day so far was a very great disappointment. There had been just a faint, delightful hope that he might have run up to Liverpool! Alas, that hope had been futile. She had laughed it off bravely, however, when her father had rallied her, but this was different. They had sent their telegram from the docks, she had seen it despatched herself, telling him even by what train Mr. Hovesdean was coming. All the way down she had kept looking at her watch, and saying to herself in three hours, in two hours, in one hour, in twenty minutes, I shall see him, see his face change from blank surprise to bewildered joy, feel the clasp of his hands, perhaps–these Englishmen were bold lovers–even he would kiss her. And after all there was only this stranger to meet them–a man for whom, from the moment of stepping out of the carriage, she had formed a woman’s unreasoning and instinctive dislike. No wonder Mr. Savage saw what he did under her veil.

“No, he isn’t ill,” he answered. “Nothing to be alarmed about at all. Fact is, he met with a slight accident this morning. He was thrown out of a hansom and hurt his ankle. That is why he sent for me, and asked me to meet you.”

“Oh, I am so sorry,” she exclaimed. “Poor Reggie,” she added softly. “Papa, have you heard about Reggie? He’s hurt his foot.”

“I’ll tell you what there is to tell as we go,” Mr. Savage said, walking between them down the platform and out into the yard. “Here is my carriage. The man has put all your smaller things in.”

“Where are we going to–the hotel?” asked Mr. Hovesdean. While Mr. Savage handed his daughter in.

Mr. Savage smiled. Somehow it was not altogether a pleasant smile.

“That was what I had intended,” he said, “but I daresay Mr. Hovesdean would like to see Lord Harborough, and it really is not far out of the way to call there first.”

“Let us do so, by all means,” exclaimed Mr. Hovesdean. “Eh Sadie?”

The young lady said nothing. After all perhaps Mr. Savage was not such a very disagreeable man.

CHAPTER II

THE carriage was driven rapidly out of the station yard and turned eastward. Mr. Hovesdean and his daughter sat with their faces to the horses. Mr. Savage sat opposite to them, leaning back in a corner, and with his head and shoulders completely in the shadow. Directly they got into the Euston road Mr. Hovesdean bent forward.

“Now I guess Sadie would like to hear what there is to hear about this accident of Lord Harborough’s,” he remarked. “Is his foot seriously hurt, or will he be able to get about in a day or two? This is my daughter’s first visit to London, you know, Mr. Savage, and there’s a good deal for her to see.”

“I sincerely hope, then that Lord Harborough will be able to be showman,” Mr. Savage answered with a slight bow towards the young lady. The movement brought his features for a moment into a stray gleam of light from a passing carriage. Both father and daughter started slightly. There was a curious glitter in the black eyes, and his face was almost ashen. Mr. Hovesdean was politely concerned. The girl with a quicker instinct, was conscious for the first time of a vague uneasiness.

“I fear that you yourself are not quite well,” Mr. Hovesdean commenced.

“A trifle of neuralgia. It is nothing,” interrupted Mr. Savage. “We were speaking of Reggie’s accident. Really it is more inconvenient than serious. He was driving right across London in a hansom, and as ill-luck would have it, in one of the very worst parts down went his horse and Reggie was pitched out. He tried to jump, but got his foot doubled up under him somehow and sprained his ankle. They helped him into a low public-house just opposite where the accident occurred–a vile place–and he scribbled a note to me at once. Fortunately I was in my chambers, owing to this neuralgia, and I went down to see him, and promised to meet you, Mr. Hovesdean; but he, of course, said nothing about your daughter. Naturally I was a good deal surprised to see her. I couldn’t for the moment decide whether Reggie had been playing me a trick or whether it was a genuine case of surprise.”

“It’s the latter, I can assure you,” Mr. Hovesdean said, smiling. “Lord Harborough hasn’t the vaguest idea that I am bringing my daughter. I daresay you know what the arrangement was. He was to come out to the States in the spring. But something has happened, something very unpleasant in itself, which induced me to change my mind. I wanted to get out of the country and settle in Europe somewhere for a while, and so here we are–in England for the present, at any rate. I fancy the young people won’t object to seeing a little of one another.”

“So far as Lord Harborough is concerned, he can have but one feeling in the matter.” Mr. Savage remarked in a low tone. “He will naturally be delighted.”

“By-the-by,” Mr. Hovesdean asked, leaning a little forward and looking into as much of his vis-a-vis’ countenance as the unlit carriage revealed, “have you ever been in the States, Mr. Savage? I fancied when I saw you on the platform that your features were vaguely familiar to me. Here we haven’t much opportunity for studying one another’s faces.”

It was well for John Savage that he sat in darkness, for if his companions had seen the look which flashed across his face it is more than likely that their little excursion together would have been brought to an abrupt conclusion. As it was, it was fully five seconds before he answered, and then his voice was low and thick. The shock of Mr. Hovesdean’s innocent question had not been slight.

“No, my travels have been always eastwards,” he said. “I have never crossed the Atlantic. That was a pleasure which I might have experienced in the spring.” he added, turning to Miss Hovesdean.

She looked at him with a slight smile.

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