Cord and Creese

J >> James de Mille >> Cord and Creese

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"Langhetti!" said Beatrice. "Oh, God be thanked!"

"And she who has taken you to her heart and home is his sister."

"His sister Teresa, of whom he used to speak so lovingly? Ah! God is
kinder to me than I feared. Ah, me! it is as though I had died and have
awaked in heaven."

"But now I will speak no more, and you must speak no more, for you will
only increase your agitation. Rest, and another time you can ask what
you please."

Edith turned away and walked to one of the windows, where she looked out
pensively upon the sea.

From this time Beatrice began to recover rapidly. Langhetti's sister
seemed to her almost like an old friend since she had been associated
with some of her most pleasant memories. An atmosphere of love was
around her: the poor sufferer inhaled the pure and life-giving air, and
strength came with every breath.

At length she was able to sit up, and then Langhetti saw her. He greeted
her with all the ardent and impassioned warmth which was so striking a
characteristic of his impulsive and affectionate nature. Then she saw
Despard.

There was something about this man which filled her with indefinable
emotions. The knowledge which she had of the mysterious fate of his
father did not repel her from him. A wonderful and subtle sympathy
seemed at once to arise between the two. The stern face of Despard
assumed a softer and more genial expression when he saw her. His tone
was gentle and affectionate, almost paternal.

[Illustration: "AS BEATRICE OPENED HER EYES AFTER HER LONG
UNCONSCIOUSNESS SHE LOOKED AROUND IN WONDER."]

What was the feeling that arose within her heart toward this man? With
the one for her Father who had inflicted on his father so terrible a
fate, how did she dare to look him in the face or exchange words with
him? Should she not rather shrink away as once she shrank from Brandon?

Yet she did not shrink. His presence brought a strange peace and calm
over her soul. His influence was more potent over her than that of
Langhetti. In this strange company he seemed to her to be the centre and
the chief.

To Beatrice Edith was an impenetrable mystery. Her whole manner excited
her deepest reverence and at the same time her strongest curiosity. The
fact that she was _his_ sister would of itself have won her heart;
but there were other things about her which affected her strangely.

Edith moved among the others with a strange, far-off air, an air at once
full of gentle affection, yet preoccupied. Her manner indicated love,
yet the love of one who was far above them. She was like some grown
person associating with young children whom he loved. "Her soul was like
a star and dwelt apart."

Paolo seemed more like an equal; but Paolo himself approached equality
only because he could understand her best. He alone could enter into
communion with her. Beatrice noticed a profound and unalterable
reverence in his manner toward Edith, which was like that which a son
might pay a mother, yet more delicate and more chivalrous. All this,
however, was beyond her comprehension.

She once questioned Mrs. Thornton, but received no satisfaction. Mrs.
Thornton looked mysterious, but shook her head.

"Your brother treats her like a divinity."

"I suppose he thinks she is something more than mortal."

"Do you have that awe of her which I feel?"

"Yes; and so does every one. I feel toward her as though she belonged to
another world. She takes no interest in this."

"She nursed me."

"Oh yes! Every act of love or kindness which she can perform she seeks
out and does, but now as you grow better she falls back upon herself."

Surrounded by such friends as these Beatrice rapidly regained her
strength. Weeks went on, and at length she began to move about, to take
long rides and drives, and to stroll through the Park.

During these weeks Paolo made known to her his plans. She embraced them
eagerly.

"You have a mission," said he. "It was not for nothing that your divine
voice was given to you. I have written my opera under the most
extraordinary circumstances. You know what it is. Never have I been able
to decide how it should be represented. I have prayed for a Voice. At my
time of need you were thrown in my way. My Bice, God has sent you. Let
us labor together."

Beatrice grasped eagerly at this idea. To be a singer, to interpret the
thoughts of Langhetti, seemed delightful to her. She would then be
dependent on no friend. She would be her own mistress. She would not be
forced to lead a life of idleness, with her heart preying upon itself.
Music would come to her aid. It would be at once the purpose, the
employment, and the delight of her life. If there was one thing to her
which could alleviate sorrow and grief it was the exultant joy which was
created within her by the Divine Art--that Art which alone is common to
earth and heaven. And for Beatrice there was this joy, that she had one
of those natures which was so sensitive to music that under its power
heaven itself appeared to open before her.

All these were lovers of music, and therefore had delights to which
common mortals are strangers. To the soul which is endowed with the
capacity for understanding the delights of tone there are joys peculiar,
at once pure and enduring, which nothing else that this world gives can
equal.

Langhetti was the high-priest of this charmed circle. Edith was the
presiding or inspiring divinity. Beatrice was the medium of utterance--
the Voice that brought down heaven to earth.

Mrs. Thornton and Despard stood apart, the recipients of the sublime
effects and holy emotions which the others wrought out within them.

Edith was like the soul.

Langhetti like the mind.

Beatrice resembled the material element by which the spiritual is
communicated to man. Hers was the Voice which spoke.

Langhetti thought that they as a trio of powers formed a means of
communicating new revelations to man. It was natural indeed that he in
his high and generous enthusiasm should have some such thoughts as
these, and should look forward with delight to the time when his work
should first be performed. Edith, who lived and moved in an atmosphere
beyond human feeling, was above the level of his enthusiasm; but
Beatrice caught it all, and in her own generous and susceptible nature
this purpose of Langhetti produced the most powerful effects.

In the church where Mrs. Thornton and Despard had so often met there was
now a new performance. Here Langhetti played, Beatrice sang, Edith
smiled as she heard the expression of heavenly ideas, and Despard and
Mrs. Thornton found themselves borne away from all common thoughts by
the power of that sublime rehearsal.

As time passed and Beatrice grew stronger Langhetti became more
impatient about his opera. The voice of Beatrice, always marvelous, had
not suffered during her sickness. Nay, if any thing, it had grown
better; her soul had gained new susceptibilities since Langhetti last
saw her, and since she could understand more and feel more, her
expression itself had become more subtle and refined. So that Voice
which Langhetti had always called divine had put forth new powers, and
be, if he believed himself the High-Priest and Beatrice the Pythian, saw
that her inspiration had grown more delicate and more profound.

"We will not set up a new Delphi," said he. "Our revelations are not
new. We but give fresh and extraordinary emphasis to old and eternal
truths."

In preparing for the great work before them it was necessary to get a
name for Beatrice. Her own name was doubly abhorrent--first, from her
own life-long hate of it, which later circumstances had intensified;
and, secondly, from the damning effect which such a name would have on
the fortune of any _artiste_. Langhetti wished her to take his
name, but Despard showed an extraordinary pertinacity on this point.

"No," said he, "I am personally concerned in this. I adopted her. She is
my sister. Her name is Despard. If she takes any other name I shall
consider it as an intolerable slight."

He expressed himself so strongly that Beatrice could not refuse.
Formerly she would have considered that it was infamous for her to take
that noble name; but now this idea had become weak, and it was with a
strange exultation that she yielded to the solicitations of Despard.

Langhetti himself yielded at once. His face bore an expression of
delight which seemed inexplicable to Beatrice. She asked him why he felt
such pleasure. Was not an Italian name better for a singer? Despard was
an English name, and, though aristocratic, was not one which a great
singer might have.

"I am thinking of other things, my Bicina," said Langhetti, who had
never given up his old, fond, fraternal manner toward her. "It has no
connection with art. I do not consider the mere effect of the name for
one moment."

"What is it, then, that you do consider?"

"Other things."

"What other things?"

"Not connected with Art," continued Langhetti, evasively. "I will tell
you some day when the time comes."

"Now you are exciting my curiosity," said Beatrice, in a low and earnest
tone. "You do not know what thoughts you excite within me. Either you
ought not to excite such ideas, or if you do, it is your duty to satisfy
them."

"It is not time yet."

"What do you mean by that?"

"That is a secret."

"Of course; you make it one; but if it is one connected with me, then
surely I ought to know."

"It is not time yet for you to know."

"When will it be time?"

"I can not tell."

"And you will therefore keep it a secret forever?"

"I hope, my Bicina, that the time will come before long."

"Yet why do you wait, if you know or even suspect any thing in which I
am concerned?"

"I wish to spare you."

"That is not necessary. Am I so weak that I can not bear to hear any
thing which you may have to tell? You forget what a life I have had for
two years. Such a life might well prepare me for any thing."

"If it were merely something which might create sorrow I would tell it.
I believe that you have a self-reliant nature, which has grown stronger
through affliction. But that which I have to tell is different. It is of
such a character that it would of necessity destroy any peace of mind
which you have, and fill you with hopes and feelings that could never be
satisfied."

"Yet even that I could bear. Do you not see that by your very vagueness
you are exciting my thoughts and hopes? You do not know what I know."

"What do you know?" asked Langhetti, eagerly.

Beatrice hesitated. No; she could not tell. That would be to tell all
the holiest secrets of her heart. For she must then tell about Brandon,
and the African island, and the manuscript which he carried and which
had been taken from his bosom. Of this she dared not speak.

She was silent.

"You can not _know_ any thing," said Langhetti. "You may suspect
much. I only have suspicions. Yet it would not be wise to communicate
these to you, since they would prove idle and without result." So the
conversation ended, and Langhetti still maintained his secret, though
Beatrice hoped to find it out.

At length she was sufficiently recovered to be able to begin the work to
which Langhetti wished to lead her. It was August, and Langhetti was
impatient to be gone. So when August began he made preparations to
depart, and in a few days they were in London. Edith was left with Mrs.
Thornton. Beatrice had an attendant who went with her, half chaperon
half lady's maid.

CHAPTER XXXVI

THE AFFAIRS OF SMITHERS & CO.

For more than a year the vast operations of Smithers & Co. had
astonished business circles in London. Formerly they had been considered
as an eminently respectable house, and as doing a safe business; but of
late all this had been changed in so sudden and wonderful a manner that
no one could account for it. Leaving aside their old, cautious policy,
they undertook without hesitation the largest enterprises. Foreign
railroads, national loans, vast joint-stock companies, these were the
things that now occupied Smithers & Co. The Barings themselves were
outrivaled, and Smithers & Co. reached the acme of their sudden glory on
one occasion, when they took the new Spanish loan out of the grasp of
even the Rothschilds themselves.

How to account for it became the problem. For, allowing the largest
possible success in their former business to Smithers & Co., that
business had never been of sufficient dimensions to allow of this. Some
said that a rich Indian had become a sleeping partner, others declared
that the real Smithers was no more to be seen, and that the business was
managed by strangers who had bought them out and retained their name.
Others again said that Smithers & Co. had made large amounts in
California mining speculations. At length the general belief was, that
some individuals who had made millions of money in California had bought
out Smithers & Co., and were now doing business under their name. As to
their soundness there was no question. Their operations were such as
demanded, first of all, ready money in unlimited quantities. This they
were always able to command. Between them and the Bank of England there
seemed to be the most perfect understanding and the most enviable
confidence. The Rothschilds spoke of them with infinite respect. People
began to look upon them as the leading house in Europe. The sudden
apparition of this tremendous power in the commercial world threw that
world into a state of consternation which finally ended in wondering
awe.

But Smithers & Co. continued calmly, yet successfully, their great
enterprises. The Russian loan of fifteen millions was negotiated by
them. They took twenty millions of the French loan, five millions of the
Austrian, and two and a half of the Turkish. They took nearly all the
stock of the Lyons and Marseilles Railroad. They owned a large portion
of the stock of the Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company.
They had ten millions of East India stock. California alone, which was
now dazzling the world, could account to the common mind for such
enormous wealth. The strangest thing was that Smithers himself was never
seen. The business was done by his subordinates. There was a young man
who represented the house in public, and who called himself Henderson.
He was a person of distinguished aspect, yet of reserved and somewhat
melancholy manner. No one pretended to be in his confidence. No one
pretended to know whether he was clerk or partner. As he was the only
representative of Smithers & Co., he was treated with marked respect
wherever he appeared.

The young man, whether partner or clerk, had evidently the supreme
control of affairs. He swayed in his own hands the thunder-bolts of this
Olympian power. Nothing daunted him. The grandeur of his enterprises
dazzled the public mind. His calm antagonism to the great houses of
London filled them with surprise. A new power had seized a high place in
the commercial world, and the old gods--the Rothschilds, the Barings,
and others--looked aghast. At first they tried to despise this
interloper; at length they found him at least as strong as themselves,
and began to fancy that be might be stronger. A few experiments soon
taught them that there was no weakness there. On one occasion the
Rothschilds, true to their ordinary selfish policy, made a desperate
attempt to crush the new house which dared to enter into rivalry with
them. Widespread plans were arranged in such a way that large demands
were made upon them on one day. The amount was nearly two millions.
Smithers & Co. showed not the smallest hesitation. Henderson, their
representative, did not even take the trouble to confer with the Bank of
England. He sent his orders to the Bank. The money was furnished. It was
the Directors of the Bank of England who looked aghast at this struggle
between Rothschild and Smithers & Co. The gold in the Bank vaults sank
low, and the next day the rates of discount were raised. All London felt
the result of that struggle.

Smithers & Co. waited for a few months, and then suddenly retorted with
terrific force. The obligations of the Rothschilds were obtained from
all quarters--some which were due were held over and not presented till
the appointed day. Obligations in many forms--in all the forms of
indebtedness that may arise in a vast business--all these had been
collected from various quarters with untiring industry and extraordinary
outlay of care and money. At last in one day they were all poured upon
the Rothschilds. Nearly four millions of money were required to meet
that demand.

The great house of Rothschild reeled under the blow. Smithers & Co. were
the ones who administered it. James Rothschild had a private interview
with the Directors of the Bank of England. There was a sudden and
enormous sale of securities that day on Change. In selling out such
large amounts the loss was enormous. It was difficult to find
purchasers, but Smithers & Co. stepped forward and bought nearly all
that was offered. The Rothschilds saved themselves, of course, but at a
terrible loss, which became the profits of Smithers & Co.

The Rothschilds retreated from the conflict utterly routed, and glad to
escape disaster of a worse kind. Smithers & Co. came forth victorious.
They had beaten the Rothschilds at their own game, and had made at least
half a million. All London rang with the story. It was a bitter
humiliation for that proud Jewish house which for years had never met
with a rival. Yet there was no help, nor was there the slightest chance
of revenge. They were forced to swallow the result as best they could,
and to try to regain what they had lost.

After this the pale and melancholy face of Henderson excited a deeper
interest. This was the man who had beaten the Rothschilds--the strongest
capitalist in the world. In his financial operations he continued as
calm, as grave, and as immovable as ever. He would risk millions without
moving a muscle of his countenance. Yet so sagacious was he, so wide-
spread were his agencies, so accurate was his secret information, that
his plans scarcely ever failed. His capital was so vast that it often
gave him control of the market. Coming into the field untrammeled as the
older houses were, he had a larger control of money than any of them,
and far greater freedom of action.

After a time the Rothschilds, the Barings, and other great bankers,
began to learn that Smithers & Co. had vast funds every where, in all
the capitals of Europe, and in America. Even in the West Indies their
operations were extensive. Their old Australian agency was enlarged, and
a new banking-house founded by them in Calcutta began to act on the same
vast scale as the leading house at London. Smithers & Co. also continued
to carry on a policy which was hostile to those older bankers. The
Rothschilds in particular felt this, and were in perpetual dread of a
renewal of that tremendous assault under which they had once nearly gone
down. They became timid, and were compelled to arrange their business so
as to guard against this possibility. This, of course, checked their
operations, and widened and enlarged the field of action for their
rivals.

No one knew any thing whatever about Henderson. None of the clerks could
tell any thing concerning him. They were all new hands. None of them had
ever seen Smithers. They all believed that Henderson was the junior
partner, and that the senior spent his time abroad. From this it began
to be believed that Smithers staid in California digging gold, which he
diligently remitted to the London house.

At length the clerks began to speak mysteriously of a man who came from
time to time to the office, and whose whole manner showed him to possess
authority there. The treatment which he received from Henderson--at once
cordial and affectionate--showed them to be most intimate and friendly;
and from words which were dropped they all thought him to be the senior
partner. Yet he appeared to be very little older than Henderson, if as
old, and no one even knew his name. If any thing could add to the
interest with which the house of Smithers & Co. was regarded it was this
impenetrable mystery, which baffled not merely outriders but even the
clerks themselves.

Shortly after the departure of Langhetti and Beatrice from Holby two men
were seated in the inner parlor of the office of Smithers & Co. One was
the man known as Henderson, the other the mysterious senior partner.

They had just come in and letters were lying on the table.

"You've got a large number this morning, Frank?" said the senior
partner.

"Yes," said Frank, turning them over; "and here, Louis, is one for you."
He took out a letter from the pile and handed it to Louis. "It's from
your Brandon Hall correspondent," he added.

Louis sat down and opened it. The letter was as follows:

"August 15, 1840.

"DEAR SIR,--I have had nothing in particular to write since the flight
of Miss Potts, except to tell you what they were doing. I have already
informed you that they kept three spies at Holby to watch her. One of
these returned, as I told you in my last letter, with the information
that she had gone to London with a party named Langhetti. Ever since
then _they_ have been talking it over, and have come to the
conclusion to get a detective and keep him busy watching her with the
idea of getting her back, I think. I hope to God they will not get her
back. If you take any interest in her, Sir, as you appear to do, I hope
you will use your powerful arm to save her. It will be terrible if she
has to come back here. She will die, I know. Hoping soon to have
something more to communicate,

"I remain, yours respectfully,

"E.L.

"Mr. Smithers, Sen., London."

[Illustration: "LANGHETTI IS ALIVE."]

Louis read this letter over several times and fell into deep thought.

Frank went on reading his letters, looking up from time to time. At last
he put down the last one.

"Louis!" said he.

Louis looked up.

"You came so late last night that I haven't had a chance to speak about
any thing yet. I want to tell you something very important."

"Well!"

"Langhetti is alive."

"I know it."

"You knew it! When? Why did you not tell me?"

"I didn't want to tell any thing that might distract you from your
purpose."

"I am not a child, Louis! After my victory over Rothschild I ought to be
worthy of your confidence."

"That's not the point, Frank," said Louis; "but I know your affection
for the man, and I thought you would give up all to find him."

"Well!"

"Well. I thought it would be better to let nothing interpose now between
us and our purpose. No," he continued, with a stern tone, "no, no one
however dear, however loved, and therefore I said nothing about
Langhetti. I thought that your generous heart would only be distressed.
You would feel like giving up every thing to find him out and see him,
and, therefore, I did not wish you even to know it. Yet I have kept an
account of his movements, and know where he is now."

"He is here in London," said Frank, with deep emotion.

"Yes, thank God!" said Louis. "You will see him, and we all will be able
to meet some day."

"But," asked Frank, "do you not think Langhetti is a man to be trusted?"

"That is not the point," replied Louis. "I believe Langhetti is one of
the noblest men that ever lived. It must be so from what I have heard.
All my life I will cherish his name and try to assist him in every
possible way. I believe also that if we requested it he might perhaps
keep our secret. But that is not the point, Frank. This is the way I
look at it: We are dead. Our deaths have been recorded. Louis Brandon
and Frank Brandon have perished. I am Wheeler, or Smithers, or Forsyth,
or any body else; you are Henderson. We keep our secret because we have
a purpose before us. Our father calls us from his tomb to its
accomplishment. Our mother summons us. Our sweet sister Edith, from her
grave of horror unutterable, calls us. All personal feeling must stand
aside, Frank--yours and mine--whatever they be, till we have done our
duty."

"You are right, Louis," said Frank, sternly.

"Langhetti is in London," continued Louis. "You will not see him, but
you can show your gratitude, and so can I. He is going to hire an opera-
house to bring out an opera; I saw that in the papers. It is a thing
full of risk, but he perhaps does not think of that. Let us enable him
to gain the desire of his heart. Let us fill the house for him. You can
send your agents to furnish tickets to people who may make the audience;
or you can send around those who can praise him sufficiently. I don't
know what his opera may be worth. I know, however, from what I have
learned, that he has musical genius; and I think if we give him a good
start he will succeed. That is the way to show your gratitude, Frank."

"I'll arrange all that!" said Frank. "The house shall be crowded. I'll
send an agent to him--I can easily find out where he is, I suppose--and
make him an offer of Covent Garden theatre on his own terms. Yes,
Langhetti shall have a fair chance. I'll arrange a plan to enforce
success."

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