Into the Wists

Otago Witness, Issue 3754, 23 February 1926, Page 66

Into the Wists

By

K.Phillips Oppenheim.

Author of “The Wrath to Come,’* “The Hillman.'’ “The Tempting of Tavernake,” Ac., Ac.

(Copyright.—Fob the Witness

PROLOGUE. Israel, first Baron Honerton, famous in commercial circles as chairman of the directors oLJ’ernham and Co., Ltd., the great wholesale chemists, lord of the manor of Honerton Chase, in Norfolk, sat at the head of the long, black, oak table in the banqueting hall of the am lent and historic mansion which he had. bought two years ago. One of the shrewdest financiers in England, a multi-millionaire, in all the ordinary affairs of life a grim materialist, he was liable at odd moments to strange fits of abstraction. He was a person of fine presence. He was tall and slim, even to lankiness. He had still a wealth of grey hair, fine, though harshly-cut features, overhanging eyebrows, a pitiless mouth, eyes generally keen and hard, but filled at such times as the present with a curious, unearthly light. He wore conventional dinner clothes, but cut after some ancient and unrecognisable pattern, the waistcoat high, the coat loose and double-breasted like a smoking jacket. His collar was of the fashion of a hundred years ago; his black tie little more than a wisp. Yet he alone amongst that company had the air of having come to the place which was liis in life.

The background and the setting of the feast now in progress were alike perfect. Honerton Chase was one of the show places of the world, and inside as well as out it was architecturally unique. There was nothing of the vandal about Israel Fernham, Lord Honerton. He had a taste for beautiful things. The sombreness of the walls, with their fine oil paintings and occasional choice pieces of armour, had remained untouched. The servants who waited were the best trained of their order; the butler had know'n royal service. Glasses, silver, and flowers were alike perfect. The guests—it was his contemplation of his guests, most of them members of his own family, that had sent Israel, Lord Honerton, off into one of those mysterious fits of abstraction. There were three sons of the house and their wives. There were two daughters, both married, wit., their husbands. There were two Englishmen whose birth and breeding brought them well and aptly within the setting of the picture, but whose reputations were tarnished, who had spent the best years of tneir lives slipping from the places which they should have occupied in the social world. Then, there was the youngest son of the House, on whom his father’s eyes had rested longest; a young man only just down from Oxford, dark, clean-shaven, reputedly clever, the soL inheritor of his father’s lean face and deep-set eyes; the sole inheritor, it seemed, too, in those slowly ticking moments of revelation, of the traditions of his race.

It was a family party amongst people with whom family meant intimac- unbounded kindliness, and a decided gift for light conversation of the chaffing order. There was a great deal of champagne being drunk by the women as well as by the m n—more than a great deal of noise. Once his father’s eyes strayed towards Cecil’s glass. The flush was already creeping into his cheeks; the gleam in his eyes was no longer one of intellect Some of the men, and the women, too, were already smoking cigarettes, although the dinner was only half-served. The laughter was uproarious. Through it all, Israel, host of the gathering, sat in his trancelike mood, his wine glasses empty, a tumbler of water by his side.. It was one of many moments of bitterness, when his eyes saw the truth and the judgment of his brain, unbiassed by his affections, spelled out the condemnation of these, his own brood, the children of his blood and bone. They were his sons, but the hand of luxury and evil living had laid its slur upon them.. They all carried too much flesh ; then* mouths had loosenc 1. Money, wine, and the pleasure were claiming their own. And the women—there was a vein of idealism in the nature of this man who watched so sorrowfully, touch of those sterner joys of renunciation handed down to him from the great f refathers of the race from which ne sprang—the women filled him with a sense almost of shame. Judith’s shoulder* were disgracefully bare, the look in Rebecca’* eyes as she flirted

with the young alien by her side, spoke ot modesty cast aside. Leah, once his favourite, was devoting herself with keen absorption to the offerings of her father’s wonderful chef. Her uncovered shoulders were almost colossal, her iughter, when she did pause to join in what had become less a conversation that an stream of chaff, was louder than ever. Although with no knowledge of it at the time, it was the last of these embittered periods of clear-sightedness in which Israel, Lord Honerton, was ever to indulge. Ho looked back to his youth of poverty, remembered those days of cleaner fasting, the days when purely family jovs sufficed, when the reading in the -nogogue brought a living message to these others as well as to him. He felt the passing of all that was picturesque and spiritual in life. They had gone—his four millions remained! A servant entered the room and whispered to the butler, who presently crossed to the other side of the table and leaned over Cecil. “John Heggs, the keeper, is here, sir.” He wanted a few words with you.” The young man received the message curiously. He turned sharply round, and there was a gleam in his eyes almost of apprehension. “Ileggs!” he repeated. “What does he want ?” “I understood, sir,” the butler explained, ‘that he was anxious to discuss the order in which the coverts should be taken to-morrow.” It was a particular vanity of Cecil’s to direct the shooting on the days when others besides the house party were invited. “I’ll come out at once,” he assented. “Quite right of Heggs. I wanted to see him about the long spinneys before he sent the beaters out in the morning.” He rose to his feet. “You’ll excuse me, Dad,” he continued, as he passed his father’s place. “We ought to have a topping day to-morrow ” Cecil left the room and strolled across the great hall, out towards ie back quarters, preceded by one of the footmen. . “Heggs is in the far room, sir,” the man told him, “not in the ordinary gun room.” “What’s he doing there?’’ Cecil demanded irritably, and with a momentary return of that first impulse of uneasiness. “There's a map of the estate there, sir,” the servant reminded him. “He was studying it when I left.” Cecil pursued his way down the stoneflagged passage. The room which he presently entered was in a wing almost cut off from the rest of the house—a large apartment with stone floor, deal table, and plastered walls, used many years ago as a dairy. Heggs, the keeper, was studying the map which hung upon the wall, a blackthorn switch in his hand. He turned round at Cecil’s entrance. “You wanted to see me, Heggs?” i “I wanted a word or two with you, sir.” “Hurry up, then. I’m in the middle of dinner. I want the birds ” “We’ll talk about that presently,” Heggs interrupted. Cecil, son of Israel, Lord Honerton, stared at the speaker in amazement, which turned to fear. Heggs was a man of over sixty years of age without much physique, but he had the hard clean complexion and bright eyes of the careful liver. His hair was grey, his expression, as a rule, entirely benevolent. He was a very ordinary product of the soil. It was plain, however, that he was thinking of other tilings than birds. What those things were Cecil Fernham probably knew. He made a quick movement towards the door, and, finding it frustrated, opened his mouth. With surprising quickness it was covered by Heggs’s horny hand. “ You know what I’m here for,” the latter said. “ You can guess what I’m going to do. If you hadn’t come to-night I should have done it to-morrow in front of all your friends. If I had a son I’d have let you two have it out. But he’s in Australia. You can squeal if you like. They won’t hear you, and if they iinterrupt before I’ve finished you’ll get the rest before another day.” Cecil Fernham struggled, and did his best to call for help. Neither proceeding availed him. With the first fierce plunge his beautifully laundered white shirt was ripped from the studs, and liia collar torn. Presently graver things happened. Heggs was a kindly man, and humane where his fellow-creatures were

concerned, but he was cruel to vermin. The affair would probably have been brought to its natural conclusion but for a slight and untoward incident. A scullery maid passing down the passage heard something of wliat was happening. She rushed, breathless, into the kitchen. There was a stampede of servants, and Heggs heard them coming. The thought that he was to be robbed of one single blow, baulked of one' single second of the punishment he was dealing out, for a moment maddened him. As the door was being opened he lifted the half-in-sensible body of the young man whom lie had been castigating, a grim aud uupleasing sight, held it over his head as he might have done the carcase of a fox, shook him, and flung him on to the floor, which was unfortunately of stone. Then he turned to the door, passed through the little throng of servants, and out through a back exit into the park. John Heggs conformed to type up to a certain extent, and at a certain juncture in the psychological tree, departed from it. On reaching home he completed a task upon which he had been engaged earlier in the day—cleaning a couple of guns which had been sent down from the house. Afterwards he poured himself out a tumbler of beer, filled a pipe, found the local paper, and sat down in his easy chair. He was on the point of retiring for the night when the longexpected knock at the door came. In response to the invitation to enter his old friend and companion, P.C. Choppin, the local policeman, crossed the threshold. Choppin was wearing his official trousers, but an old tweed coa,jt and a hat. The gravity of his manner, however, atoned for any irregularities of toilet. He closed the door firmly. “ This is a very bad job, Mr Heggs,” he said gloomily. “ It’s none so terrible, Choppin,” was the undisturbed reply. “ I’ve just gi’en one of them yodng varmints up at the house sum’at that he deserved. I’m willing to go to gaol for it, though, if it’s their wish.” Choppin realised that it had fallen to him to convey the fell tidings. He was not an ill-natured man, but he was carried away by the enormity of his news. “You’ve broke, his neck, Heggs,” he announced solemnly. “He were stone dead when they picked him up!” “I didn’t go for to do that,” Heggs muttered. “You ma'un put ’em up, John Heggs,” he said. “I hurried here before the sergeant from Fakenliam, who be on the way. I thought you’d rather it were a friend.” The handcuffs clicked on Heggs’s wrists. For the first time in his life P.C. Choppin had arrested a murderer. John Heggs, notwithstanding a strong recommendation to mercy, was hanged by the neck until he Was dead, and Israel, Baron Honerton, sat outside Norwich jail in his automobile and listened to the tolling of the bell. As he gave the word to drive off he found himself surrounded by a small but hostile crowd. It was a matter of common report in the city that, but for his tireless efforts, the jury’s recommendation to mercy would have had due effect. They had heard, these people, of his frequent visits to the Home Secretary. There were rumours that he had inreatened a withdrawal from the political party to which his entire adherence had been given, if any measure of leniency were shown to the condemned man. They closed in upon him now menacingly, and the words they shouted were not pleasant to hear. Yet, for the first time since his son’s death, Israel smiled. He let down the window of his automobile and looked out into the driving rain. “Is there anvone who wishes to speak to me?” There was a volley of cat-calls and abuse, sounding oddly enough against the background of that slowly tolling bell, but no single person accepted the challenge. Israel was on the point of giving his chauffeur orders to drive on when a young woman approached the £>he was young, good-look-ing in a somewhat quiet manner, neatly, even fashionably dressed. She advanced to the side of the automobile and looked in at its occupant. “Are you Cecil’s father?” she inquired. “I am,” he assented. She pointed to the jail. “He was my father,” she said. Israel scrutinised her from underneath his heavy grey eyebrows, and there was neither interest nor pity in his face. “Do you realise that it is for the gratification of your lust that I have lost my son and you your father?” She answered him quite calmly. “What about your son ?” she asked. “He was my lover.” “Are you here to beg from me?” Her eyes were lit with anger. “Money! Money!! That is all you and your breed think of!” she exclaimed passionately. “You buy your pleasures, your wives, and you would buy your way into heaven if there were such a place.” “He bought you, I suppose.” She took off her glove deliberately, removed a small platinum ring from her finger, and threw it into the bottom of the car. “That is the only present I ever had from your son.” “What do you want from me?” The bell had ceased to toll. The crowd of people were slowly dispersing.

One or two policemen had put in a casual uppearanee. There was still every now and then, however, a menacing shout, and once a stone struck the back of the car. “I came to remind you of what you already know,” she said. “Of you two men you and my father—it is you who are the murderer, not he. My father has died at your hands a shameful death. I found him reading the Old Testament when I paid him my farewell \ isit. He was reading your code—‘Life for life, eye for eye.* Something like that. But I have not come to threaten you,” she continued, “I am here to tell you this. For the deed which you have permitted to take place this morning, you and your race will suffer. My father killed your sou by accident; you murdered my father with foul and beastly premeditation. You bought his death with your money. This monev shall spread itself like a foul cobweb of hate and decay over you and your family, of whom you are so proud.” “So you are a prophetess,” he sneered. She leaned forward so that her face was framed in the place where the window would have been. Her perfect selfcontrol seemed for a moment disturbed by some new emotion. “You come of a race who have trafi. Iced generations ago with soothsayers and magicians. Have you never heard that there is just one moment in a woman's life when she may see a little beyond the world a little above it? That moment is with me ing near to life. You are an old man, and -von will not live to see Lhe things of which I tell you, but • evertheless they are true. The millions for which von have toiled are changing already into the poison which will bring your people to nought and worse than nought. The fear of it is in your heart already. You will never lose it. lou will die in your bed and not on that shameful scaffold, but your heart will be as heavy as his because, like ail others in those fading moments, you will see the truth.” As quietly and unobtrusively as she had come she turned and massed away. The old men sat in his place and watch -d her. He pulled up the window and muttered a brief order to the chaffeur. Ghosts rode with him. During the afternoon, Israel sought his wiie in her sitting room. She was large, addicted to repose, and the disapproval of her husband had never succeeded in preventing her from adorning herself by daytime as well as night with a great profusion of costly and glittering gems. Her husband stood and watched her for several moments. This was what his wealth had brought; the result of forty • °f I 11 *? 1 '? 1 She Wened her eyes.' \Vhat is it, Israel?” she asked. It came to my mind to ask you a question Tins girl of Heggs, do you know anything of her? “Would ’ be likely to. Israel? She never lived here. She onlv visited once that summer. What do you mean? Has she been to ask for money?” Israel shook his head, moved a wav and his wife once more closed her eyes. Israel made his wav to his library, a room of solemn magnificence. He sent for his butler. “Groves,” he said, “you have lived in this neighbourhood all vour life.” All vour life, your lordship.” “I should like you to tell me what von know of Hegg's daughter.” Very £°°dj mv lord,” Groves replied. I here was—you lordship will pardon rav here was no reprieve?” he asked, there was no reprieve. Heg* s was hanged at eight o’clock this morning.” ine man stood for a moment. His master read his thoughts with grim resentment. ‘The voung lady, my lord,” the former proceeded, ‘ was a very superior person. Heggs himself came from a family of veomen—gentlemen farmers they ' call themselves. They have lived in these parts for generations. The young lady won scholarships and went to allege and Oxford University. She was very clever. She was, if vour lofdship will pardon mv sayrng so—very much esteemed here.” ‘ 110 von know where she is now’” Israel inquired. “I have no idea, my lord. She has not been reen in these parts for some time. His master dismissed him. and wrote a letter to his lawyers. In three or four days he received a reply. t~\ r « rT 17 Lincoln’s Inn. L»ear Lord Honerton, \\ e have carried out your instructions and have been in communication with the young lady, who, as seems natnral under the somewhat shameful circumstances, has changed her name. We regret, however, to inform you that she declines in the most absolute and uncompromising terms to hold any communication with anv member of your family. We may add that there is no indication of her being in any financial distress.—Faithfully yours, Fields, Marshall, and Fields. Israel slowly tore this letter to pieces and threw them on to the fire. Through the half-open door came the brazen sounds of jazz music from the latest and most expensive gramophone. He could hear the soujd of heavy footsteps upon the polished floor, the high-pitched voices, the popping of corks—for the familv of Israel, Baron Honerton. preferred champagne to all other wines, and drank it at all hours. A wave of something almost like nausea swept through his mind. He felt a sudden giddiness, staggered towards his easy chair, and rang the hell. That night Israel Lord Honerton died. CHAPTER I. Joseph, second Baron Honerton, was, unlike his long-defunct father in no sense of th© word a dreamer or an idealist. He had finished a very excellent dinner, and

was taking a self-congratulatory glance down Ilia sumptuous dining table. The room itself was unchanged, since Israel, the founder of the family, had sat in his son’s place thirty years ago; the tapestries perhaps had grown a shade softer, the faces which gleamed from the half seen canvasses a thought paler. Three decades of years, however, had made little change in a room whose atmosphere was the growth of centuries. It was the guests, the men and women seated around the table, who marked the progress of time. This was no family party such as would have been dear to the heart of Israel. In thirty years the new lords of the manor had grafted themselves upon the soil they had purchased. It ' -as a tolerant age where social qualifications were concerned, and, after all, a son of Joseph hat. been in the Eton eleven, and was doing well to-day in the Embassy at Paris apart from which, Judith, the younger daughter, was without any rival the beauty of the season. Great painters approached her humbly for sittings. Very desirable young men had sought her and her millions. She had only one drawback, as many of those in her immediate circle had already discovered. She was amazingly and unpleasantly clever. Her fathers eyes rested for a moment upon her beautiful face with just the same contented, self-approving pleasure with which he would have contemplated some object d’art which he had bought that afternoon at Christie’s. They passed from her to his only surviving Drother, Samuel, an irritable dyspeptic ; rested for a moment upon his wife at the other end of the table, with her elabor-ately-coiffured white hair, parchment skin, and brilliant eyes; and finally lingered, with something nearer real affection, upon the handsome yet rather obtrusively Semitic form of Ernest, his younger son, who had just entered the business. It was a company with which any fioet might be satisfied, a son and daughter of whom any father might be proud. “ I can’t tell you how much Frederick is looking forward to his shooting tomorrow,” the marchioness, who was seated on his right, observed. “ Our own pheasants this year have been so disappointing. The fact is we don’t rear nearly enough birds, and haven’t been able to for years.” Her host had learned many lessons during the passing of the years, and omitted all mention of his standing order for 10,000 of the best eggs. “ We’ll try and give the marquess some sport,” he promised genially. “ I’m shooting myself to-morrow. I’ve been looking after things the last two or three times, but my boy’s taking that on now—good sportsman, Ernest.” “ I hear great accounts of your elder son, Lord Honerton,” his neighbour purred. “ They tell me that he will be First Secretary at Paris, if he stays there, before many years have passed.” “ Henry’s a good lad,” his father admitted, “and his head’s screwed on all right. I sometimes wish we’d had him in the business. Still, one can’t have it all ways.” * “I should think not, indeed! ” the marchioness assented. “ You ought to be very proud of your children, Lord Honerton. There wasn’t a person at the last Court who didn’t declare that Judith is the most beautiful girl who has been seen at Buckingham Palace for years. My boy Frederick was in the Throne Room on duty. He could talk of nobody else—couldn’t remember what he had to db in the least.” Lord Honerton glanced down the table. “He seems to have recpvered himself now,” he remarked. “ Frederick is a dear fellow, though elder sons are rather an expense,” his mother confided. “We thought of trying to get Dick into a good business where he could make some money. What do you think, Lord Honerton ? ” Her host became a little less expansive. He had a shrewd idea as to the outlook of a woman like the marchioness who was seeking a commercial career for her sen. There was no room for anything in the least ornamental at the Fernham Works.” “ It depends whether he’s got it in him or not. I can’t imagine Lord Frederick, or any son of yours, holding his own nowadays in the commercial world.” “Unless lie were helped.” “There are only two sorts of help,” Lord Honerton declared. “ One is the giving of an opportunity. That’s all right, but it isn’t worth anything unless the recipient has got the right stuff in him to make use of it. The second kind simply means providing an income which the recipient doesn’t earn. I call that charity.” Just then an event happened which, to just three people in the room—Lord Honerton, his wife, and Samuel, liis brother—was possessed of a sinister significance. It was the lifting once more of a forgotten curtain of tragedy. A servant had entered the room, and whispered to Martin, the impeccable butler. The latter had moved to behind Ernest’s chair, and leaned forward. “ I beg your pardon, sir,” he said. “ Middleton, the head keeper, is outside. He has brought the plan of the beats up to the house. He wondered, sir, whether you had any further orders to give before he left.” The young man rose and glanced towards his mother. “Might I be excused? Middleton has brought up the plan of the beats for tomorrow, and I should like to have a word hr two with him.” (To be continued.)