Desperate Remedies
advertisement be inserted once more, and then we will certainly settle
the matter.’
Mr. Nyttleton bowed, and seemed to think Miss Aldclyffe, for a single
woman, and one who till so very recently had never concerned herself
with business of any kind, a very meddlesome client. But she was rich,
and handsome still. ‘She’s a new broom in estate-management as yet,’
he thought. ‘She will soon get tired of this,’ and he parted from her
without a sentiment which could mar his habitual blandness.
The two ladies then proceeded westward. Dismissing the cab in Waterloo
Place, they went along Pall Mall on foot, where in place of the usual
well-dressed clubbists--rubicund with alcohol--were to be seen, in linen
pinafores, flocks of house-painters pallid from white lead. When they
had reached the Green Park, Cytherea proposed that they should sit down
awhile under the young elms at the brow of the hill. This they did--the
growl of Piccadilly on their left hand--the monastic seclusion of the
Palace on their right: before them, the clock tower of the Houses
of Parliament, standing forth with a metallic lustre against a livid
Lambeth sky.
Miss Aldclyffe still carried in her hand a copy of the newspaper, and
while Cytherea had been interesting herself in the picture around,
glanced again at the advertisement.
She heaved a slight sigh, and began to fold it up again. In the action
her eye caught sight of two consecutive advertisements on the cover,
one relating to some lecture on Art, and addressed to members of the
Institute of Architects. The other emanated from the same source, but
was addressed to the public, and stated that the exhibition of drawings
at the Institute’s rooms would close at the end of that week.
Her eye lighted up. She sent Cytherea back to the hotel in a cab, then
turned round by Piccadilly into Bond Street, and proceeded to the rooms
of the Institute. The secretary was sitting in the lobby. After making
her payment, and looking at a few of the drawings on the walls, in the
company of three gentlemen, the only other visitors to the exhibition,
she turned back and asked if she might be allowed to see a list of the
members. She was a little connected with the architectural world, she
said, with a smile, and was interested in some of the names.
‘Here it is, madam,’ he replied, politely handing her a pamphlet
containing the names.
Miss Aldclyffe turned the leaves till she came to the letter M. The name
she hoped to find there was there, with the address appended, as was the
case with all the rest.
The address was at some chambers in a street not far from Charing Cross.
‘Chambers,’ as a residence, had always been assumed by the lady to imply
the condition of a bachelor. She murmured two words, ‘There still.’
Another request had yet to be made, but it was of a more noticeable kind
than the first, and might compromise the secrecy with which she wished
to act throughout this episode. Her object was to get one of the
envelopes lying on the secretary’s table, stamped with the die of the
Institute; and in order to get it she was about to ask if she might
write a note.
But the secretary’s back chanced to be turned, and he now went towards
one of the men at the other end of the room, who had called him to ask
some question relating to an etching on the wall. Quick as thought, Miss
Aldclyffe stood before the table, slipped her hand behind her, took one
of the envelopes and put it in her pocket.
She sauntered round the rooms for two or three minutes longer, then
withdrew and returned to her hotel.
Here she cut the Knapwater advertisement from the paper, put it into the
envelope she had stolen, embossed with the society’s stamp, and directed
it in a round clerkly hand to the address she had seen in the list of
members’ names submitted to her:--
AENEAS MANSTON, ESQ.,
WYKEHAM CHAMBERS,
SPRING GARDENS.
This ended her first day’s work in London.
4. FROM AUGUST THE TWENTY-SIXTH TO SEPTEMBER THE FIRST
The two Cythereas continued at the Westminster Hotel, Miss Aldclyffe
informing her companion that business would detain them in London
another week. The days passed as slowly and quietly as days can pass in
a city at that time of the year, the shuttered windows about the squares
and terraces confronting their eyes like the white and sightless orbs of
blind men. On Thursday Mr. Nyttleton called, bringing the whole number
of replies to the advertisement. Cytherea was present at the interview,
by Miss Aldclyffe’s request--either from whim or design.
Ten additional letters were the result of the second week’s insertion,
making fifty-five in all. Miss Aldclyffe looked them over as before. One
was signed--
AENEAS MANSTON, 133, TURNGATE STREET,
LIVERPOOL.
‘Now, then, Mr. Nyttleton, will you make a selection, and I will add one
or two,’ Miss Aldclyffe said.
Mr. Nyttleton scanned the whole heap of letters, testimonials, and
references, sorting them into two heaps. Manston’s missive, after a mere
glance, was thrown amongst the summarily rejected ones.
Miss Aldclyffe read, or pretended to read after the lawyer. When he had
finished, five lay in the group he had selected. ‘Would you like to add
to the number?’ he said, turning to the lady.
‘No,’ she said carelessly. ‘Well, two or three additional ones rather
took my fancy,’ she added, searching for some in the larger collection.
She drew out three. One was Manston’s.
‘These eight, then, shall be communicated with,’ said the lawyer, taking
up the eight letters and placing them by themselves.
They stood up. ‘If I myself, Miss Aldclyffe, were only concerned
personally,’ he said, in an off-hand way, and holding up a letter
singly, ‘I should choose this man unhesitatingly. He writes honestly,
is not afraid to name what he does not consider himself well acquainted
with--a rare thing to find in answers to advertisements; he is well
recommended, and possesses some qualities rarely found in combination.
Oddly enough, he is not really a steward. He was bred a farmer, studied
building affairs, served on an estate for some time, then went with an
architect, and is now well qualified as architect, estate agent, and
surveyor. That man is sure to have a fine head for a manor like yours.’
He tapped the letter as he spoke. ‘Yes, I should choose him without
hesitation--speaking personally.’
‘And I think,’ she said artificially, ‘I should choose this one as a
matter of mere personal whim, which, of course, can’t be given way to
when practical questions have to be considered.’
Cytherea, after looking out of the window, and then at the newspapers,
had become interested in the proceedings between the clever Miss
Aldclyffe and the keen old lawyer, which reminded her of a game
at cards. She looked inquiringly at the two letters--one in Miss
Aldclyffe’s hand, the other in Mr. Nyttleton’s.
‘What is the name of your man?’ said Miss Aldclyffe.
‘His name--’ said the lawyer, looking down the page; ‘what is his
name?--it is Edward Springrove.’
Miss Aldclyffe glanced towards Cytherea, who was getting red and pale by
turns. She looked imploringly at Miss Aldclyffe.
‘The name of my man,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, looking at her letter in
turn; ‘is, I think--yes--AEneas Manston.’
5. SEPTEMBER THE THIRD
The next morning but one was appointed for the interviews, which were to
be at the lawyer’s offices. Mr. Nyttleton and Mr. Tayling were both in
town for the day, and the candidates were admitted one by one into a
private room. In the window recess was seated Miss Aldclyffe, wearing
her veil down.
The lawyer had, in his letters to the selected number, timed each
candidate at an interval of ten or fifteen minutes from those preceding
and following. They were shown in as they arrived, and had short
conversations with Mr. Nyttleton--terse, and to the point. Miss
Aldclyffe neither moved nor spoke during this proceeding; it might have
been supposed that she was quite unmindful of it, had it not been
for what was revealed by a keen penetration of the veil covering her
countenance--the rays from two bright black eyes, directed towards the
lawyer and his interlocutor.
Springrove came fifth; Manston seventh. When the examination of all was
ended, and the last man had retired, Nyttleton, again as at the former
time, blandly asked his client which of the eight she personally
preferred. ‘I still think the fifth we spoke to, Springrove, the man
whose letter I pounced upon at first, to be by far the best qualified,
in short, most suitable generally.’
‘I am sorry to say that I differ from you; I lean to my first notion
still--that Mr.--Mr. Manston is most desirable in tone and bearing, and
even specifically; I think he would suit me best in the long-run.’
Mr. Nyttleton looked out of the window at the whitened wall of the
court.
‘Of course, madam, your opinion may be perfectly sound and reliable;
a sort of instinct, I know, often leads ladies by a short cut to
conclusions truer than those come to by men after laborious round-about
calculations, based on long experience. I must say I shouldn’t recommend
him.’
‘Why, pray?’
‘Well, let us look first at his letter of answer to the advertisement.
He didn’t reply till the last insertion; that’s one thing. His letter is
bold and frank in tone, so bold and frank that the second thought after
reading it is that not honesty, but unscrupulousness of conscience
dictated it. It is written in an indifferent mood, as if he felt that he
was humbugging us in his statement that he was the right man for such
an office, that he tried hard to get it only as a matter of form which
required that he should neglect no opportunity that came in his way.’
‘You may be right, Mr. Nyttleton, but I don’t quite see the grounds of
your reasoning.’
‘He has been, as you perceive, almost entirely used to the office duties
of a city architect, the experience we don’t want. You want a man
whose acquaintance with rural landed properties is more practical
and closer--somebody who, if he has not filled exactly such an office
before, has lived a country life, knows the ins and outs of country
tenancies, building, farming, and so on.’
‘He’s by far the most intellectual looking of them all.’
‘Yes; he may be--your opinion, Miss Aldclyffe, is worth more than mine
in that matter. And more than you say, he is a man of parts--his brain
power would soon enable him to master details and fit him for the post,
I don’t much doubt that. But to speak clearly’ (here his words started
off at a jog-trot) ‘I wouldn’t run the risk of placing the management
of an estate of mine in his hands on any account whatever. There, that’s
flat and plain, madam.’
‘But, definitely,’ she said, with a show of impatience, ‘what is your
reason?’
‘He is a voluptuary with activity; which is a very bad form of man--as
bad as it is rare.’
‘Oh. Thank you for your explicit statement, Mr. Nyttleton,’ said Miss
Aldclyffe, starting a little and flushing with displeasure.
Mr. Nyttleton nodded slightly, as a sort of neutral motion, simply
signifying a receipt of the information, good or bad.
‘And I really think it is hardly worth while to trouble you further
in this,’ continued the lady. ‘He’s quite good enough for a little
insignificant place like mine at Knapwater; and I know that I could not
get on with one of the others for a single month. We’ll try him.’
‘Certainly, Miss Aldclyffe,’ said the lawyer. And Mr. Manston was
written to, to the effect that he was the successful competitor.
‘Did you see how unmistakably her temper was getting the better of her,
that minute you were in the room?’ said Nyttleton to Tayling, when their
client had left the house. Nyttleton was a man who surveyed everybody’s