The Mandarin's Fan

"What the offer of five thousand pounds – "

"The chance of being killed," said Miss Pewsey, "but I will leave my nephew Mr. Burgh to explain that Major Tidman. I accept your apology for thinking me a – but no," cried the lady, "I can't bring myself to pronounce the nasty word. I am a Pewsey of Essex. All is said in that, I think. Good morning, Major. My abstinence from bringing an action lies in the fact, that you will refrain from unsettling my Sophia's mind by telling about the fan. Good-morning. My Theophilus will we not go?"

Before the Major could recover from the bewilderment into which he was thrown by this torrent of words, Miss Pewsey taking the arm of the melancholy doctor had left the room. When alone Tidman scratched his chin and swore. "There's something in this," he soliloquised. "I believe the old woman wants to get the money herself. By George, I'll keep my eyes on her," and the Major shook his fist at the door, through which the fairy form of Miss Pewsey had just vanished.

Later in the day Tidman dressed to perfection, walked up the town twirling his stick, and beaming on every pretty woman he came across. The stout old boy was not at all appalled by the threat of Miss Pewsey regarding her buccaneering nephew's attentions. When he saw the gentleman in question bearing down on him, he simply stopped and grasped his stick more firmly. If there was to be a fight, the Major resolved to have the first blow. But Burgh did not seem ready to make a dash. He sauntered up to Tidman and looked at him smilingly, "Well met old pard," said he in his slangy fashion.

"My name to you, is Major Tidman," said the old fellow coolly.

"I guess I know that much. Can't we go a stretch along the lower part of the town?"

"If there's any row to come off," said the Major, keeping a wary eye on the young man. "I prefer it to take place here. On guard sir – on guard."

Clarence shrugged his shoulders and produced a cigarette. "Oh that's all right," said he striking a match. "I guess my old aunt's been at you. I'm not going in for any row – not me."

"Just as well for you," said the Major sharply, "how dare you threaten me, you – you – "

"Now I ask you," said Clarence, "if I have threatened you? Go slow. I guess the old girl's been piling on the agony. She's got old Forge to fight her battles. When I make trouble," added Clarence musingly, "it will be for a pretty girl like Olivia."

"You can have your desire for a row by telling that to young Ainsleigh."

"Huh," said Burgh with contempt, "I guess I'd lay him out pretty smart. I tell you, Major, I'm dead gone on that girl: but she treats me like a lump of mud."

"And quite right too," said Tidman coolly, "you aren't worthy of her. Now Ainsleigh is."

Clarence pitched away his cigarette with an irritable gesture. "Don't get me riz," said he darkly, "or I'll make the hair fly with Ainsleigh."

"Pooh. He's quite able to look after himself."

"Can he shoot?" demanded the buccaneer.

"Yes. And use his fists, and fence, and lay you out properly. Confound you, sir, don't you think I've travelled also. I've been in the Naked Lands in my time, and have seen your sort growing on the banana plants. You're the sort to get lynched."

"Oh, tie it up," said Burgh with sudden anger, for these remarks were not to his mind. "I want to tell you about the fan."

"Why do you want to talk of that?" asked Tidman with suspicion, "I don't care a straw for the fan."

"Oh, I reckon you do, Major. But you're well out of it. If you'd kept that fan there would have been trouble – yes, you may look, but if you'd held on to that article you'd have been a corpse by now."

Tidman sneered, not at all terrified by these vague threats. "What do you mean by this drivel?"

"Let's come to anchor here," said Clarence pulling up beside a seat in a secluded part, near the old town beach. "I'll spin the yarn."

"About the fan," said the Major sitting promptly. "I confess I am curious to know how it came to England again, after Forge took it again to the Far East. Didn't he give it to Lo-Keong?"

"So he says," said Clarence with a side-long look at his companion. "I don't know myself. All I know is, that I got it from a pirate."

"From a pirate?"

"That's so. I was in Chinese waters a year or so ago, and I reckon pirates swarm in those parts – "

Tidman shivered. "Yes," he admitted, "I had an adventure myself in Canton with a pirate of sorts."

"Old Forge told me something about it," said Clarence lighting a fresh cigarette, "but my yarn's different. I was out with some of the boys in Chinese water, and a pirate tried to board us. We were down Borneo way, looking out for a ruby mine said to be in those parts. My pals – there were two of them, and myself engineering the job – hired a boat and cut across to Borneo. The pirates tried to slit our throats and our Chinese crew tried to help them. But we used our Winchesters and six shooters freely, and shot a heap. The pirates cleared off and we brought our barky into port safe enough."

"But about the fan?"

"I'm coming to that. The Boss pirate was shot by me – a big six foot Northern Chinee, got up, to kill, like a tin god. He had this jade fan, and directed operations with it. When his pals cleared I found him as dead as a coffin and nailed the fan. It was pretty enough, but didn't appeal to me much. I clapped it away in my box, and when I reached England I offered it to Aunt Lavinia. She wants me to marry Miss Rayner, and said I should offer it to her, and cut out that aristocratic Ainsleigh chap. Olivia – ripping name, ain't it – well, she didn't catch on, so I thought I'd gain the goodwill of old Miss Wharf, and passed it along to her."

The Major listened in silence to this story, which seemed reasonable enough. "Strange it should have come back to England, and to a small place like this, where Forge had it," he mused. "A coincidence I suppose. By the way did you see the advertisement?" he asked.

"You bet I did, and it made me sick to think I'd parted with the fan. Leastways, it made me sick till I saw Hwei!"

"You mean Tung-yu."

"No, I don't. I mean the Chinee as calls himself Hwei, who put that advertisement in every newspaper in London, and the United Kingdom."

"What, in everyone?" said the Major, "must have cost – "

"A heap you bet, Major. Well I struck Hwei – "

"That's the name of a river, man."

"Maybe: but it's what this celestial calls himself. I struck him near the Mansion House, and knew him of old in Pekin I reckon, where we chin-chined over some contraband biznai. I spoke to him in Chinese – I know enough to get along on – and he told me he had come to this country about Lo-Keong's fan. I never said I'd got it, though by that time I'd seen the advertisement. I know Chinamen too well, to give myself away in that fashion. I pumped him, and learned that Hwei intended to scrag the chap who held the fan, so I concluded to lie low."

"But he offered wealth to whomsoever gave it up."

"Maybe. I don't know exactly how the thing figures out. I guess Hwei does the killing, and Tung-yu the rewarding. But you can take it from me, Major, that unless Miss Wharf gets rid of that fan she'll have her throat cut. So I guess, you must be glad you didn't handle the biznai," and Clarence puffed a serene cloud of smoke.

"It's more of a mystery than ever," said the Major. And so it was.

CHAPTER VII

The Warning

The idea that the end of the year would see him ruined and homeless was terrible to Rupert. Even if his home had been an ordinary house, he would have been anxious; but when he thought of the venerable mansion, of the few acres remaining, of the once vast Ainsleigh estates, of the ruins of the Abbey which he loved, his heart was wrung with anguish. How could he let these things depart from him, for ever? Yet he saw no way out of the matter, although he had frequent consultations with his lawyers. One day, shortly before the ball at the Bristol, he returned from town with a melancholy face. Old Petley ventured to follow his young master into the library, and found him with his face covered with his hands, in deep despair.

"Don't take on so, Master Rupert," said the old butler, gently, "things have not yet come to the worst."

"They are about as bad as they can be, John," replied Ainsleigh. "I have seen Mr. Thorp. It will take thirty thousand pounds to put matters right. And where am I to get it? Oh," the young man started up and walked to and fro, "why didn't I go into the law, or take to some profession where I might make money? Forge was my guardian, he should have seen to it."

"Master Rupert," said the old butler, "do you think that gentleman is your friend?"

"What makes you think he isn't, John?"

Petley pinched his chin between a shaky finger and thumb. "He don't seem like a friend," said he in his quavering voice. "He didn't tell you or me, Master Rupert, how bad things were. When you was at college he should have told you, and then you might have learned some way of getting money."

"My father trusted him, John. He was appointed my guardian by the will my father made before he left for China."

"And Dr. Forge went with the master to China," said the old man, "how did the master die?"

"Of dysentery, so Dr. Forge says."

"And others say he was murdered."

"Who says so, John?"

"Well sir, that Mandarin gentleman sent your father's papers and luggage back here when your mother was alive. A Chinaman brought the things. He hinted that all was not right, and afterwards the mistress died. She believed your father was murdered."

Rupert looked pensive. He had heard something of this, but the story had been so vague, and was so vague as John told it, that he did not believe in it much. "Does Dr. Forge know the truth?" he asked.

"He ought to, sir. Dr. Forge came from China with a report of this gold mine up in Kan-su, and your father was all on fire to go there and make money. The mistress implored him not to go but he would. He went with Dr. Forge, and never returned. The doctor, I know, says that the master died of dysentery, when the doctor himself was at Pekin. But I never liked that Forge," cried the old servant vehemently, "and I believe there's something black about the business."

"But why should Forge be an enemy of my father's?"

"Ah sir," Petley shook his old head, "I can't rightly say. Those two were at college together and fast friends; but I never liked Forge. No, sir, not if I was killed for it would I ever like that gentleman, though it's not for a person in my position to speak so. I asked the doctor again and again to let me know how bad things were, when you were at school, Master Rupert, but he told me to mind my own business. As if it wasn't my business to see after the family I'd been bred up in, since fifteen years of age."

"I'll have a talk with Dr. Forge," said Rupert after a pause, "if there is any question of my father having been murdered, I'll see if he knows," he turned and looked on the old man quickly. "You don't suppose John that if there was a murder, he – "

"No! no!" cried Petley hurriedly, "I don't say he had to do with it. But that Mandarin – "

"Lo-Keong. Why Forge hates him."

"So he says. But this Mandarin, as I've heard from the Major, is high in favour with the Chinaman's court. If the doctor was his enemy, he could not go so often to China as he does. And since your father's death fifteen years ago, he's been back several times."

"Well I'll speak to him, John."

"And about the money, sir?"

Rupert sat down again. "I don't know what to do," he groaned. "I can manage to stave off many of the creditors, but if Miss Wharf forecloses the mortgage at Christmas everyone will come down with a rush and I'll have to give up Royabay to the creditors."

"Never – never – that will never be," said John fiercely, "why the place has been under the Ainsleighs for over three hundred years."

"I don't think that matters to the creditors," said Rupert wincing, "if I could only raise this thirty-thousand and get the land clear I would be able to live fairly well. There wouldn't be much; still I could keep the Abbey and we could live quietly."

"We sir?" asked the old man raising his head.

Rupert flushed, seeing he had made a slip. He did not want to tell the old man that he was married, as he was fearful lest the news should come to Miss Wharf's ears and render his wife's position with that lady unbearable. "I might get married you know," he said in an evasive way.

"Lord, sir," cried Petley in terror, "whatever you do, don't cumber yourself with a wife, till you put things straight."

"Heaven only knows how I am to put them straight," sighed Rupert. "I say, John, send me in some tea. I'm quite weary. Thorp is coming to see me next week and we'll have a talk."

"With Dr. Forge I hope," said old John, as he withdrew.

Ainsleigh frowned, when the door closed. Petley certainly seemed possessed by the idea that Forge was an enemy of the Ainsleighs, yet Rupert could think of no reason why he should be. He had been an excellent guardian to the boy, and if he had not told him the full extent of the ruin till it was too late to prevent it, he might have done so out of pity, so that the lad's young years might be unclouded. "Still it would have been better had he been less tender of my feelings and more considerate for my position," thought Rupert as he paced the long room.

While he was sadly looking out of the window and thinking of the wrench it would be to leave the old place, he saw a tall woman walking up the avenue. The eyes of love are keen, and Rupert with a thrill of joy recognised the stately gait of Olivia. With an ejaculation of delight, he ran out, nearly upsetting Mrs. Petley who was coming into the Library with a dainty tea. Disregarding her exclamation of astonishment, Rupert sprang out of the door and down the steps. He met Olivia half way near the ruins of the Abbey. "My dearest," he said stretching out both hands, "how good of you to come!" Olivia, who looked pale, allowed him to take her hands passively. "I want to speak to you," she said quickly, "come into the Abbey," and she drew him towards the ruins.

"No! No," said her husband, "enter your own house and have a cup of tea. It is just ready and will do you good."

"Not just now, Rupert," she replied, laying a detaining hand on his arm. "I can wait only for a quarter of an hour. I must get back."

Rupert grumbled at the short time, but, resolved to make the most of it, he walked with her into the cloisters. These were small but the ruins were very beautiful. Rows of delicately carved pillars surrounded a grassy sward. At the far end were the ruins of the church stretching into the pines. The roofless fane looked venerable even in the bright sunshine. The walls were overgrown with ivy, and some of the images over the door, still remained, though much defaced by Time. The windows were without the painted glass which had once filled them, but were rich with elaborate stone work. This was especially fine in the round window over the altar. As in the cloisters, the body of the church was overgrown with grass and some of the pillars had fallen. The lovers did not venture into the ruined church itself but walked round the pavement of the cloisters under the arches. Doubtless in days of old, many a venerable father walked on that paved way. But the monks were gone, the shrine was in ruins, and these lovers of a younger generation paced the quiet cloisters talking of love.

"My darling," said the young husband fondly, "how pale you are. I hope nothing is wrong."

"My aunt is ill. Oh it's nothing – only a feverish cold. She hopes to be well enough to attend the ball to-morrow night."

"I did not hear of it," said Rupert, "though Tidman generally tells me the news. I have been in London for the last few days."

"So I see," said Olivia, and glanced at her fair stalwart husband in his frock coat and smart Bond street kit, "how well you look."

Rupert appreciated the compliment and taking her hands kissed both several times. Olivia bent forward and pressed a kiss on his smooth hair. Then she withdrew her hands. "We must talk sense," she said severely.

"Oh," said Rupert making a wry face, "not about your aunt?"

"Yes. I can't understand her. She has shut herself up in her room and refuses to see me. She will admit no one but Miss Pewsey."

Ainsleigh shrugged his shoulders. "What does it matter," he said, "you know Miss Wharf never liked you. You are much too handsome, my own. And that is the reason also, for Miss Pewsey's dislike."

"Oh, Miss Pewsey is more amiable," said Olivia, "indeed I never knew her to be so amiable. She is always chatting to me at such times as she can be spared from my aunt's room."

"Well, what is worrying you?"

"This exclusion from Aunt Sophia's room," said Olivia with tears of vexation in her dark eyes. "I am her only relative – or at all events I am her nearest. It seems hard that she should exclude me, and admit Miss Pewsey who is only a paid companion."

"I don't think it matters a bit," said Rupert, "hasn't your aunt seen anyone lately?"

"No, – yes, by the way. She has seen her lawyer several times."

"I expect she is altering her will."

Olivia laughed. "She threatens to do so in favour of Miss Pewsey, unless by the end of the month I give you up, and engage myself either to Mr. Walker or to Mr. Burgh."

Rupert grew very angry. "What a detestable woman," he exclaimed. "I beg your pardon, dear, I forgot she's your aunt. But what right has she to order you about like this? You are of age."

"And I am married, though she doesn't know it. But I'll tell you the real reason, I am vexed I can't see my aunt. Can't we sit down?"

"Over there," said Ainsleigh, pointing to a secluded seat.

It was placed at the far end of the cloisters under a large oak. There were four oaks here, or to be more correct, three oaks and the stump of one. "That was destroyed by lightning when I was born," said Rupert, seeing Olivia's eyes fixed on this. "Mrs. Petley saw in it an omen that I would be unlucky. But am I?" and he fell to kissing his wife's hands again.

"Really, Rupert, you must be more sensible," she said, in pretended vexation. "What a pretty tree that copper-beech is."

"Yes! But do you see the blackened square?"

"It is not so very black," said Mrs. Ainsleigh, pausing to dig the point of her umbrella into the ground, "there's hardly any grass on it, and the earth is dark and hard. Curious it should be so, seeing the grass is thick and green all round, I suppose this is where Abbot Raoul was burnt."

"Yes. I've told you the story and shown you the spot many times," said Rupert, slipping his arm round her waist.

"Dearest," she whispered, "I was too much in love, to hear what you said on that point. And remember, all my visits to the Abbey have been secret ones. My aunt would be furious did she know that I had been here, and I often wonder that Pewsey, who is always watching me, has not followed me here."

"If she does I'll duck her in the pond for a witch," said Rupert, and drew his wife to the seat under the oak, "well, go on."

"About my aunt. Oh, it's what Major Tidman told me. He's been trying to see Aunt Sophia also. Have you heard what Mr Burgh told the Major about that horrid fan?"

"No. You forget, I have just returned from town. What is it?"

Olivia related to Rupert the story which Clarence had told the Major. "So you see," she ended, "this man Hwei wants to kill any one who has the fan, and Tung-yu desires to reward the person who brings it back."

"It seems contradictory," said Ainsleigh thoughtfully, "and if Hwei put in the advertisement it is strange that Tung-yu should have received me in the Joss-house mentioned in the paper. Well?"

"Well," said Olivia rather vexed, "can't you see. I want my aunt to know that she is in danger and get rid of that horrid fan."

"Pooh," said her husband laughing, "there's no danger. Hwei can't kill an old lady like that for the sake of a fan she would probably sell for five shillings."

"She wouldn't," said Olivia with conviction. "Aunt Sophia has taken quite a fancy to that fan. But she ought to be told how dangerous it is, Rupert."

"Or how lucky," said Ainsleigh, "let her sell the fan to Tung-yu for five thousand pounds and then she can let Hwei kill Tung-yu."

"But would he do so."

"I can't say. On the face of it, it looks as though these two were working against one another, seeing they propose to reward the owner of the fan in such different ways. Yet Hwei, according to Burgh, put the advertisement in and Tung-yu received me. I don't understand."

"Well, don't you think I should tell the whole story to my aunt?"

"Yes. Go in and see her."

"Miss Pewsey won't let me, and my aunt refuses to admit me. I sent in a note the other day saying that I wished to speak very particularly, and she sent out another note to say that she would not see anyone till she was well. The note was kind enough in Aunt Sophia's cold way, but you see – "

"Yes! Yes! Well then let Tidman see her."

"Rupert, how annoying you are. She won't see anyone but Miss – "

"Miss Pewsey. Well then, tell her the story, and she can repeat it to your aunt. Though, by the way," added Ainsleigh, "Burgh may have told Miss Pewsey about it already."

"Yes," said Olivia, her face brightening, and rising to go away, "but I'll ask Miss Pewsey to tell Aunt Sophia herself."

As they walked towards the ruined entrance, Mrs. Petley's bulky form appeared in the archway. She threw up her hands. "Sakes alive, Master Rupert, come off Abbot Raoul's burning-place."

Ainsleigh, who was standing on the square of blackened ground, obeyed at once, and drew Olivia away also. "I forgot," he murmured.

"Forgot what?" asked Olivia.

"Why miss," said the old housekeeper, "don't you know it's said that if an Ainsleigh stands there, some trouble will befall him before the year's end, You're not an Ainsleigh miss, but Master Rupert – well there – oh sir, how can you be so foolish. The tea's ready sir," and Mrs. Petley, with this prosaic ending trotted away.

"She doesn't know that you are an Ainsleigh," said Rupert kissing his wife, "pah, Don't think of that foolish superstition. Come to – "

"No, Rupert," said Olivia, planting herself firmly against the wall, "you know I said a quarter of an hour. It's half an hour we have been talking. I must get back."

The young husband urged, implored, scolded, cajoled, but all to no effect. Olivia made up her mind to go, and go she did, Rupert escorting her to the gates. "You are very unkind," he said.

"I am very sensible," she replied, "I don't want to disturb my new relations with Miss Pewsey. She has such power over my aunt that it is necessary I should keep on good terms with her. Now, Rupert, you must not come any further."

"Just along the road."

"Certainly not. All the gossips of Marport would talk. Good-bye. I won't be kissed again. Someone may be looking."

Ainsleigh muttered a blessing on anyone who might be about, and shook hands with his wife just as though they were strangers. Then he remained at the gate till she turned the corner. There, she looked back and Rupert threw her a kiss. Olivia shook a furious sunshade at him for the indiscretion.

"The silly boy," she said to herself as she went along, "if anyone saw him, there would be a fine story all over Marport."

CHAPTER VIII

The Beginning of the Ball

So this was the position of affairs immediately before the ball given by the Glorious Golfers at the Bristol Hotel. Miss Wharf possessed the fan, and two Chinamen were searching for it. Hwei intended to secure it by murder, and Tung-yu by the milder means of honourable purchase: but why the two, with such contradictory intentions, should work in unison, as appeared from the advertisement, Rupert could not understand. However, he had so much trouble himself that he dismissed the matter from his mind.

There was little chance of his benefiting by money from the one Chinaman, or of being murdered by the other. And he presumed that Olivia would instruct Miss Pewsey to tell Miss Wharf about the fan, even if she did not see her personally. And while Miss Wharf was ill and safe in her house, Hwei could not get at her in any way. Moreover, as Burgh in his interview with Hwei near the Mansion House, had held his tongue, the man would not know where the fan was.