A Boardinghouse Philanthropist

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLII, Issue 1, 6 January 1909, Page 48

A Boardinghouse Philanthropist

I By

T. W. E. Phillips Oppenheim

I Aatbar ef I “The Mauer _ Mammy." Etc.

| —CopprtQbt Story. ■

THERE were three people in the boarding-house conducted by Mrs. Smithson at 17, Bloomsbury street, who, after having attracted much curiosity from their fellow guests, became the subjects of a certain amount- of suspicion. The one good natured fellow in the place, the widow of a retired country grocer, left comfortably provided for, declared that this suspicion rose solely from the fact that- these three, unlike any of the other residents, declined to discuss themselves or their own affairs. However this may be, stories of the three, in their absence or outside their range of hearing, formed the most engrossing subject of conversation at Mrs. Smithson’s dining-table. The triumvirate consisted of a girl and two men. The girl was small and dark, graceful, with big black eyes, black hair parted in the middle, a rare but delightful smile, ami a correctness of enunciation whifh led one to surmise that she might- be of foreign origin. Her name was Dorothy Illingworth, and all that anyone knew of her was that, she left the boarding house after ten every morning with a roll of mu-ic under her arm. and returned sometime towards evening. Presumably she gave rau-dc lessons, but as more than one of the boarders sagely remark* 1. that roll of music might have meant anything. The eld< r of the two men was a florid Talkative. unpleasant-looking man of little more than middle age. His appearance suggested more the bar of a publichouse than the restaurant of a highly respectable boarding-hou.-e, and hi- hours c< dd sea ret k >e called regular. He talked with everybody and about everybody, except one tiling himself. Any allusion to the subject of his own doings dried him iv» cv< n in the midst of the most eloquent flood of conversation. No one hud < ver heard him say what hi- bu-iness wh-. or how he spent his da vs. Hence his position in the triumvirate. The third person who had become the object of censorious comments in this little :ircle was a Air. Frank Bray, a younger man. tall. dark, and reserved. He was not good-looking, but ho was always carefully dressed, and his manners was good. He had first been the nlq. t of some attention from the young r di s of the place, and it was his obvious di in to ‘scape from them which s’ruck the first nail on the coffin of his poj ilarity. He shared the peculiarity ■which has already been noted of his friend .Mr. Jenwick. Never at any time had he been known to allude to himself or his work, and as Mrs. Smithson herself once sagely remarked. " When a man nev<j- talks about hi- doings there's certain io Ik- something he's ashamed «»!.*’ Ono day. Mi-- Dorothy Illingworth refill nod home a litllo eailier than usual, enier-. d the drawing room, fancying herself aione. threw down her roll of mu-ic, and < 'l'iimcnct'd to sob with her face in her bauds. Mr. Jenwick rose up from a di-tat:l corner, ami rapidly approached iter. •My d< ar young lady!" he said. “My dear young lady!’’ Hi- tone was meant to be soothing. The girl only found it to be irritating, hhe --it upright, and stared at him out of her black eyes. "1 am sorry.’’ she said, "I di<l not kno-w that you were in the room." She stretched out her hands for her roll of mu-ic. and would have hurried away. Mr. Jenwick. however, prevented her.' “My dear young lady.” he sa.id, “you and I are alike in one respect. Wo have made friend- with any of the people here, perhaps that i- a reason why we ourselves should be friends. 1 am much older than you are. Tell me about your little trouble.” Aou,- Dor-.-ihy disliked this man exceedingly, but .-he was very much alone in the world, and she was fooling very miserable. He could certainly do her no harm, and his words were probably meant to be kind. “I have only lour pupils,” she said, “to whom 1 give music lessons. 1 have ju-t lost the best of them.” “That is too bad.” ho said. “Nover mind. You will soon find someone io replace them." She shook her head. “It is so difficult.” she said, “and the monov I received from the four only just enabled me to pay my way hero.” “You have no friends,” he asked, “to help look after you?” “Not one." she answered. “I ant alone in the world.” "There is no one.” ho inquired, “to take an interest in you—to know what becomes of you. ’ She shook her head. "Not a soul,” she answered. He was thoughtful for several moments lie had taken her hand in his. and was patting it soothingly. Suddenly she noticed the fact, and drew it sharply away. •Well.” he said, "it is too bad. However.” he added, turning his head and looking at her critically, "there are other wavs of making a living than trying to mind out music from the fingers of stupid children.” She shook her head. “Not for me," -he said. “There is nothing else that I can do.’ “You never know until you try,” he said encouragingly. “Tell me something, then?” she asked. “I am not clever enough to be a governess. 1 do not know shorthand. I could not work a typewriter.” “The stage,” he suggested, musingly. “I have neither friend- nor influence nnr ability,” she answered. He patted her hand once more consolingly. "Well,” he said, “let me know how you go on. T still think that there ought to bp plenty of ways for you to make a living. I knock about so much, I may hear of something.” She thanked him warmly, and dried her eyes. After all. she thought, he could not be such a bad sort. In the hall she ran against Mr. Bray. He was walking ifp and down very much as if he had been waiting for her.

“Mis* Illingworth,” he said, ‘‘can I . have a word with you/' "Certainly,** *he answered, very much surprised. "Will after dinner do? I was ( just going to my room.” "I shan't keep you a minute,” he said, . throwing open the door of a little back sitting-room, which was used by the maleguests of the place as a smoking room, "if yofi don’t mind.’’ She followed him in, and he closed the • door. "Miss Illingworth/* he said. “I came ■ into the drawing-room just now, and I i saw that you were talking to Mr. Jen- : wick, so I <lid not disturb you.” "Mr. Jenwick is very kind.” she said. . "Nevertheless,” he answered, "it is about Mr. Jenwick that I wish to have a I word with you/ "About Mr. Jenwick?’’ she repeated. He nodded. "I am in an unpleasant position,” he said, "of being about to speak against a ■ man behind his back. 1 do not like to • do so. but there ar; several reasons why I wish to avoid any direct contact with . that gentleman. "What do you wish to say against Mr. “Jenwick?” she asked. "Only this/’ he answered. “He is not a person in whom you should trust. I did ■ not wish 1<» play the eavesdropper, but ■ I <-ould not help noticing that he was giving you advice. I believe that he 1 even made you some sort of vague offer. Miss Illingworth. I wish to tell you this. You must not trust Mr. Jenwick. or take his advice. He is not a tit companion for you. He is not a fit person for you • to have anything »o do with.” ‘•Thank you/’ she said coldly. “Is that , all - .” i He looked down into her face earnestly. I "Miss Illingworth/’ he said, "why can’t, you trust me?” . ■’Why -hould I?" she answered. "You » have never shown any interest in me or 5 my affairs.” "I am not a man who shows easily ' what he feels/’ Mr. Bray answered. ■ "However. I can assure you that I am L interested in you. if I were not. I should • not have troubled to warn you against ’ Mr. -Jenwick.” "I will think over what you have said/* she remarked, a little ungraciously. ' "Will you promise.” he asked, "that you will not follow his advice in any 1 matter of importance, without consulting ' inc?’’ "No!” she answered. "I will not promise that. There is no reason why I should tru-t you any more than Mr. Jon--1 wick, and I am quite old enough to look after myself.” 1 She made her escape from the room, ' hurried upstairs, and burst into tears. Of course, she had been a fool! She know that quite \yell. And yet. he ■ might have talked a little more kindly! i erhaps he would talk to her after din- ’ ner. 1 In thi- hope, howc-er. she was disappointed. Neither Mr. Jenwick nor Mr. Bray dined at the boardinghouse that night. She cam" back the next afternoon a. little more frightened. There was a look nf positive terror in her face as she hurried through the hall ami up to her room. She had a queer sort, of feeling that someone was seeking to do her harm in the dark. That afternoon she had lost her , i t her principal pupil in exactly the same . way—a. few words, and a few shillings it: lieu of notice. There was some reason for it. There must be some reason for it. She looked at the shillings in her purse and she looked out into the future. ’ Nothing in the world could be more ' hopeless. She was a brave little person, however. and when the dinner bell rang. she. bathed her eyes. changed her clothes, ( ami vent down. Mr. Jenwick was there, making one of his rare appearances. He spoke to her once nr twice good-hmnour- , edly during the progress of the meal, and afterwards he followed her into the drawing-room. "Nothing else wrong. T hope?" he asked. "You are not looking particularly r cheerful.” She shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing particular/’ she said. "Sure?” he asked. She looked at him with unlifted eyet brows. He got up with a little laugh, and went out. 5 Ten days passed. Then those of the boarders who happened to be about saw ? Mi*s Illingworth’s box in the hall. "I am very sorry indeed.” Mrs. Smithsou said, "very sorry. Miss Illingworth has always behaved quite nicely while she lias been here, but what am I to do? She says that she cannot continue to pay my rates, and I am sure that they are low enough. So I suppose she must go.” "* She did not. leave without rem on- ’ st rance. Bray met her in the hall, and drew her into the little parlour. • "Miss Illingworth.” he said. “T am verv sorry indeed tn hear that you have • had some bad luck.” r "It is of no consequence.” she said ’ coldly. “It is of a great deal of consequence to me.” he said emphatically. “I have not been able to see very much of you. Miss Tilingworth, because my position here is in some respects a little peculiar, c but I do wish you would believe me when I say that 1 am very anxious in- • deed to be .your friend.” “It is very good of you,” she murmur--1 ed. turning away to hide her face. She could fare misfortune, but kindness was more difficult. • “It is not good of me at all.” he answered emphatically. "There are other - things which I want to say to you, Miss Illingworth, and which I hope very soon i that I may. Just at present I cannot.” J "No?” she murmured. i "You don’t understand, of course,” he r continued. “I can't make you understand. but let me tell you this. My name • is not Bray, and I am here—well, almost t under false pretences.” i She drew a little away from him. i "And yet.” she said, "you are the. i person who has been warning me against Mr. Jenwick.'”

“And I do so again, most cmphati- s cally.” he declared. "Jenwi -k is a scoun- 1 drel.” "Is that all?” she asked coldly. I "Tell me where you arc going. Miss Illingworth.” he begged. i "Why should I?” she asked. < "Because in a few works-—very soon— < I want to come and a->k you something.” 1 In her heart, she felt that she believed i in him. but a very devilish femininity pos- 1 •eased her. She turned away coldly. f “Thank you.” she said, "my plans are 1 not made yet.” She was out of the room before he could stop her. Bray walked to the 1 window and swore softly. He saw that f as she turned into the street, Jenwick, J who was coming round the corner, ac- J costed her. They walked alowly off to- J gether, talking earnestly. "I do wish, my dear Mi»* Illingworth,” ! Jenwick was saying, "that I could inspire you with a little more confidence. Of • course, the offer I make you sounds a « little ridiculous, but tlwre—you may as well know the truth. I am what is called a snob. 1 have plenty of money, but no friends with whom I care to be seen. Humour me just once or twice. It can , do you no harm. Everyone knows that I have a niece, and everyone will believe that you are she. I don't ask you, of course, to compromi-e yourself in any way. You can have your rooms where you will, so long as von will show yourself occasionally with me. and help me, perhaps one or two n’ght*. to entertain some of my friends.” "Mr Jenwick.” the girl said, looking at him steadily, •there i- something about your offer which 1 do not understand. I want money verv badly, but I want it honestly. Thi doesn’t seem to me to he a reasonable wav of earning it.” ‘•1’11 give you a so\ rign for every time you come out with me,'* he declared. “Isn’t that good enotm’n ? Try it just for once or twice. ’I ry it and I 1! advance enough for you to take your rooms somewhere and settle down con-tort ably. "Mr. Jenwick.” she -aid. "I do not like you well nough t feel that I want to be under any obligation to you.’ "You will be under no obligation whaU ever.” he answered. "I shall have niv money’s worth. I can a—>ure you. If you are afraid of me.” he went on. "I will promise not to touch . ’ on vour fingers. ] will promise you that faithfully. Come will vou try it?” "Yes!” she said. "On that understanding. T will try it.” "You are a very wi'-e girl.” he said. "You will never be sorrv. Now you must please forgive the question, but have you an evening dress?” "Certainlv [ have.” -’ ■ answered. , T was obliged to keep <•"■ for concerts. ’ Tie scribbled an addre— upon a card and gave it to her. There was also something else underneath the card. -You will please take a cab at a quarter to eight th : - evening.” hr •'aid. "and meet mo at that address. Put on vour evening dress an i make yourself look as nice as you <-.i .as it is ™ t ’ I £ r a smart restaurant. There , will be plent v of money to go • i with.' Hr hurried a wav ••fore she could protest. She hat ill. an I yet she was sea reel v her n mistress. >he was, after all. only a girl, and the necessity for living was st. • ramount. Jhe first evening pa-sod nff not so badly. On the whom. Dorothy was forced io admit that -he had enjoyed herself. The restaurair at which they dined was quite fir-i -liss: the cookinc. -after a long cour- at Mrs. Smithson’s table, was deli .' ; nil: the music, soft but inspiring, am' h sight of so cinv people, all ben' □• i enjoyment, va- ■’! itself reassurin Hr. Jenwiek's behavion* so far as vent. was. irreproachable. He seem* in some way. too, to justify ■ hia *ni explanations. He asked her several little questions about etiquette, and accepted her reading of the Trench dishes on the menu. She looked vit him critically, and although he was dte-sed with care, she knew quite well thar to a casual observer she would appear his social superior. Well, if that sort of ihing was worth paying for, it was certainly not her place to complain. There was only one thing that made her a little uneasy. She noticed that throughout the whole dinner he seemed to be waiting for someone. His eyes constantly sought the door, and he watched every new arrival. They sat till quite late, and afterwards' he excused himself from taking her to any place of amusement, handed her into a cob and sent her home. "To-morrow night,” he said. "I want you to come at the same hour to the same place.” "What, we are going to dine here tomorrow night?” she exclaimed. He nodded. “It won’t bore you, I hope?” he said. She laughed. The question seemed to her to prove- that he was not devoid of humour. The next night something happened. A very young and tired looking boy came into the place with two friends. He passed their table with a slight nod to Jenwick. but when his eyes fell upon Dorothy, his manner underwent a complete change. He almost stopped, and passed on as though reluctantly. She heard him give orders to a maitre d’hotel that his table should be changed, and for the first few courses of his dinner he did little eke except look across the room towards her. "Who is that young men?” she asked Mr. Jenwick. He smiled. "That,” ho said, “k a young fool named Vane Hessel. He has just come into something like a million of money.” "He a little impertinent,” she remarked. "He is spoilt,” Jenwick answered, “but he is really a very decent young fellow indeed. I expect he will come across and •peak to me before long.” Mr. Jenwiek’s supposition proved correct. The young man came across as soon as coffee was served, and stood talking for seversl minutes in a languid •ort of manner, with his eyes continually

straying towards Dorothj*. Jenwick at last introduced him. "Dorothy,” lie said, "this is Mr. Vane Hessel—my niece!” he added. Mr. \ ane Hesael accepted a chair and talked to Dorothy for the next quarter of an hour. His remarks were pleasant enough, and he made but one lapse-—he showed a little too obviously his »urfor the following Sunday, which Mr Jenwick had alluded. Before he went, he suggested an excursion in his motor-car lor the folowing Sunday, which Mr. Jenwick calmly accepted for both of them. "I tell you what it is,” he said. "You must come and dine with us quietly—say on Friday or Saturday night. "I’ll just get a couple of fellows in, and we’ll have a little game of cards, and Dorothy shall play and sing to us.” "I shall be delighted,” the young man said eagerly. "Make it Friday, then.” Jenwick declared. "We must be off now. I am going to take my niece to the Palace.” that night, as they left the restaurant Dorothy met Bray ’face to face. He passed without recognition, and Jenwick frowned. "Its that fellow from the boardinghouse.” he said. “I hate him.” Dorothy made no remark. She was walking with her bead a little higher than usual, and a flush upon her checks. How dared he look as though ho had the right to be angry at her presence there with Mr. Jenwick. "He shall not sign it!” There was a muttered curse from Jenwick, a blank surprise from the other man. A ane Hessel, who was lounging back in his chair with his hands in his pockets’, looked at her in stupid amazement. "AA hat the devil are you talking about. Dorothy?” Jenwick exclaimed savagely. "I mean what I say.’* she declared. "I understand it all now. You have done your best to make him drunk, yon have robbed him at cardst and now you want him to sign a blank cheque. I tell you that ho shan't sign it. Mr. A’ane Hessel.” she said, turning towards him. "listen to me. I tell you that I am not this man’s niece. It is all part of a scheme to get you here and make money out <>t you. If you have an ounce of manhood in vou. vou will sign nothin". Yoa ui’l—” Jenwiek's coarse fat hand was suddenly pressed against her mouth. struggled bur it was impossible to escape from his grasp. Vane Hessel lurched up to his feet. "Let the girl go, Jenwick.” he cried. He was thrown back into his seat easily enough. Nevertheless, he rose again, and struggled to reach her. as Jenwick pushed her towards the door. "Little crirl.” lie cried out, “you are 1 ni d—d if I'll sign anything. This is a den of sharpers.” There was an ominous silence. Dorothy felt herself almost flung into the little back room, and heard the key turned upon her. Jenwick walked back into the dining room. A'ane Hessel was still upon his feet, and struggling to make his way towards the door. ‘"Look here. Jenwick/’ he said, "do you mean that I am not to be allowed to leave this house?” "Not til] you have signed that cheque.” Jenwick answered sternly. "You’ve lost your money, and you must pay.” "Lost my money be d—d!” the young man answered. “The girl was right. It has been a put up job from the start. A on can keep me here till doomsday, hut I sign no cheque. T repudiate any liability on to-night’s play/’ Jenwick calmly locked the door. "AA’e shall see about that.'.’ he said. Dorothy sometimes heard his groaning, and more than once she heard him -hout out—always the same thing. "I will not sign; 1 will sign nothing;" Then there would be more groans, groans which had a background of curses and savage threats. So the night wore on. Dorothy flung herself continually at the door. She rang the bells, shouted till her throat was hoarse. The men in the next room took no notice of her. Jenwick’s establishment was conducted on lines which made such behaviour futile. But towards morning something happened. She heard sudden whistles, and was aware from the darkening of the transept that the lights all over the house had suddenly gone out. The curses in the next room were lowered but emphatic. There was a sound of footsteps on the stairs, the tramp of men, and then a thundered summons at the next door. She held her breath and waited. A revolver shot, rang out. followed by another. Then a blaze of light, the sound of a heavy fall, and silence. Then she began to scream again, and the door of her room was thrown open. She rushed out, and found herself in the arms of Mr Bray. "Don't go in the next room,* he said. “Some one has been hurt.” “AVhat are you doing here?” she exclaimed. “I am here to look after you.” he answered grimlv. “T can tell you the truth, now, if you like. I am a detec-

tiva, and 1 have been watching your friend, Mr. Jrnwit-k. for the last t«u years. We fame him at last, thank Heavens, and a bigger blackguard *45 never moved from this world.” she began to sob. "Oh! I have been *o foolish!’* she murmured. "There’s a man in there who wouldn't believe it,” Bray said. “Vane Hessr! has been telling m> about you.” "I ought to have listened to you before.” >he said »hyly. "Won’t you promise,** he whispered, "never to listen to anyone else again, and I think that I will forgive you?” She drew a little sigh. “If you mean it.” ahe *aid, —“if you are »,ure that you mean it.” "I am a poor man.” he said slowly, “and there’s a millionaire in the next room who’s raving about you already. You’re sure —** She laughed softly, and came a little < loser into his arms. He found no opportunity just then for further speech.