A Woman Intervenes by Robert Barr

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Lady Willow thought all American girls were born daughters of
millionaires, in accordance with some unexplained Western by-law of
nature, and imagined that their sole object in desiring to enter London
society was to purchase for themselves a more or less expensive scion of
the aristocracy; she was therefore inclined to resent meeting a shrewd
young woman apparently determined on getting the value for her money.

'It is not my custom to chaffer about terms,' said Lady Willow with
much dignity.

'It is mine,' replied Jennie complacently; 'I always like to know what I
am buying, and the price I am to pay for it.'

'You are dealing with me,' said the lady, rising indignantly, 'as if you
were engaging a cook. I am sure we would not suit each other at all.'

'Please sit down, Lady Willow, and don't be offended. Let us talk it over
in an amicable manner, even if we come to no arrangement. I think a cook
an exceedingly important person, and I assure you I would treat one in
the most deferential manner; while with you, on the other hand, I talk in
an open and frank way, as between friend and friend. I take it that you
and I are somewhat similarly situated. We are neither of us rich, and so
we have each of us to earn the money we need in our own way. It would be
dishonest if I pretended to you that I was wealthy, and then couldn't pay
what you expected after you had done all you could for me--now, wouldn't
it? Very well, if you have anyone else to chaperon who can afford to pay
more than I can, you shouldn't bother about me at all, but secure a
richer client.'

Lady Willow remembered that this was not the season when rich clients
abounded; so she smothered her resentment, and sat down again.

'That's right,' said Jennie; 'we'll have a nice quiet talk, whatever
comes of it. Now, if you like, I could write a lovely article about you
in the _Sunday Argus_, and then all rich girls who come over here would
go direct to you.'

'Oh dear! oh dear!' cried Lady Willow, evidently inexpressibly shocked
at the idea, 'you would surely never do so cruel a thing as that? If my
friends knew I chaperoned young ladies and took money for it, I would
never be allowed to enter their doors again.'

'Ah, I didn't think of that. Of course it wouldn't do. What a curious
thing it is that those who want to be written up in the papers generally
never see their names in print; while those who don't want to have
anything said about them are the people the reporters are always after.'

'Do you write for the papers, then?'

'For one of them.'

'How dreadful!' said Lady Willow, rising again, with an air of finality
about her movement. It was evident that any dealings with this American
girl were out of the question.

'Do sit down again, Lady Willow. We will take it that I am hopelessly
ineligible, and so say no more about it; but I do want to have a talk
with you.'

'But you will write something----'

'I shall not write a word about you or about anything you tell me. You
see, your profession is as strange to me as mine is to you.'

'My profession? I have none.'

'Well, whatever you call it. I mean the way in which you make your
money.'

Lady Willow sighed, and the tears came into her eyes.

'You little know, my child, to what straits one may come who is left
unprovided for, and who has to do the best to keep up appearances.'

Jennie sprang up instantly and took the unresisting hand of the elder
woman, smoothing it with her own caressingly.

'Why, of course I know,' she cried, with a little quaver in her voice;
'and there is nothing more terrible on earth than lack of money. If there
was a single really civilized country in existence, it would make
provision for its women. Every woman should be assured enough to live on,
merely because she is a woman. If England had put aside as much for its
women as it has spent in the last hundred years on foolish wars, or if
America had made a fund of what its politicians have been allowed to
steal, the women of both barbarous countries might have been provided
with incomes that would at least keep them from the fear of want.'

Lady Willow seemed more alarmed than comforted by the vehemence of Miss
Brewster. She said hesitatingly:

'I'm afraid you have some very strange ideas, my dear.'

'Perhaps; but I have one idea that isn't strange: it is that you are
going to take charge of a lonesome, friendless girl for a few weeks at
least--until the rich pork-packer's daughter from Chicago comes along,
and she won't be here for a month or two yet. We won't say a word about
terms; I'll pay you all that's left over from my hansom fares.'

'I shall be very happy to do what I can for you, my dear.'

Lady Willow had softened towards her fair client, and had now adopted a
somewhat motherly tone with her, which Jennie evidently liked.

'I will try and be very little trouble to you, although I shall probably
ask you ever so many questions. All I really want is merely to see the
Zoo, hear the animals roar, and watch them being fed. I have no ambition
to steal any of them.'

'Oh, that will be easily done,' said Lady Willow in surprise. 'We can get
tickets from one of the Fellows of the Zoological Society which will
admit us on Sunday, when there are but few people there.'

Jennie laughed merrily.

'I mean the social Zoo, Lady Willow; I have visited the other already.
Please do not look so shocked at me, and don't be afraid; I really
talk very nicely when I am in society, and I am sure you will not be
in the least ashamed of me. You see, I haven't had a soul to speak with
since I came to London, so I think I ought to be allowed a little
latitude at first.'

Lady Willow so far relaxed her dignity as to smile, although a little
dubiously; and Jennie joyfully proclaimed that their compact was sealed
and that she was sure they would be great friends.

'Now you must tell me what I am to do,' she continued. 'I suppose dresses
are the most important preliminaries when one is meditating a siege on
society. Well, I've ordered ever so many, so that's all right. What's the
next thing?'

'Yes, dress is important; but I think the first thing to do is to choose
pleasant rooms somewhere. You can't stay at this hotel, you know;
besides, it must be very expensive.'

'Yes, it is rather; but it is so handy and central.'

'It is not central for society.'

'Oh, isn't it? I was thinking of Westminster Abbey and Trafalgar Square,
and that sort of thing. Besides, there's _always_ a nice hansom right at
the door whenever one wants to go out.'

'Oh, but you mustn't ride in hansoms, you know!'

'Why? I thought the aristocracy--the very highest--rode in hansoms.'

'Some of them have private hansoms; but that's a very different thing.'

'And I heard somewhere that most of the hansoms in London are owned by
the aristocracy. I am sure I rode in one belonging to the Marquis of
Something--I forget his name. I don't suppose the Marquis himself drove
it. Perhaps it was driven by his hired man; but the driver was such a
nice young fellow, and he gave me a lot of information. He told me that
the Marquis owned the hansom; for I asked him whose it was. I thought
perhaps it belonged to the driver. I'll give up the hotel willingly, but
I don't know about hansoms. I'm afraid to promise; for I feel sure I'll
hail a hansom automatically the moment I go out alone. So we will
postpone the hansom question until later. Now, where would you recommend
me to stay while in London?'

'You could stop with me if you liked. I have not a large house; but there
is room for one or two friends, and it is in a very good locality.'

'Oh, that will be delightful. I suppose the correct address on one's
notepaper is everything, almost as good as a coat-of-arms--if they use
coats-of-arms as letter-heads; and there is a difference between Drury
and Park when they precede the word "Lane."'

The two ladies speedily came to an understanding that was satisfactory to
each of them, and Lady Willow found, to the no small comforting of her
dignity, that, although she came to the hotel in the attitude of one who,
if it may be so expressed, sought a favour, the impetuous eagerness of
the younger woman had so changed the situation that the elder lady now
left with the gratifying self complacency of a generous person who has
conferred a boon. Nor was her condescension without its reward, both
material and intellectual, for not only did Jennie pay her way with some
lavishness, but her immediate social success was flattering to Lady
Willow as the introducer of a Transatlantic cousin so bright and
vivacious.

So great an impression did Jennie make upon the more susceptible portion
of the young men she met under Lady Willow's chaperonage, that even the
rumour which got abroad, that she had no money, did not damp the devotion
of all of them. Lord Frederick Bingham was quite as assiduous in his
attentions as if she were the greatest heiress that ever crossed the
ocean to exchange dubiously won gold for a title founded by some thief in
the Middle Ages, thus bringing ancient and modern villainy into
juxtaposition.

Lady Willow saw Lord Frederick's preference with pleasurable surprise.
Although she did not altogether approve of the damsel in her care, she
had become very fond of her; but she failed to see why Jennie was so much
sought after, when other girls, almost as pretty and much more eligible,
were neglected. She hinted delicately to the young woman one day that
perhaps her visit to England would not be, after all, so futile.

'I don't think I understand you,' said Jennie.

'Well, my dear, with a little tact on your part, I'm not at all sure but
Lord Frederick Bingham might propose.'

Jennie, who was putting on her gloves, paused and looked at Lady Willow,
with a merry twinkle in her eyes, and a demure smile hovering about the
corners of her mouth.

'Do you imagine, then, that I have come over here to ensnare some poor
unprotected nobleman--with a display of tact? Oh dear me! As if tact had
anything to do with it! Never, never, never, Lady Willow! I wouldn't
marry an Englishman if he were the last man left on earth.'

'Many Englishmen are very nice, my dear,' protested Lady Willow gently,
with a deep sigh, for she thought of her own husband, who, having been
all his life an irreclaimable reprobate, had commanded her utmost
affection while he lived, and was the object of her tenderest regret now
that he had taken his departure from a world that had never appreciated
his talents; although its influence was, in the estimation of the widow,
entirely to blame for those shortcomings which Sir Debenham had been
unable to conceal.

'And yet,' continued Jennie inconsequently, as she buttoned her glove,
'I do adore a title; I wonder why that is? I suppose no woman is ever at
heart a republican, and if the United States is to be wrecked, it is the
women who will do the wrecking, and start a monarchy. I have no doubt
the men would let us proclaim an empire now if they imagined it would
please us.'

"I thought you were all sovereigns over there already,' said Lady Willow.

'Oh, we are, but that's just the trouble. There is too much competition
in the queen business; there are too many of us, and so we exchange our
sovereignty for the lesser titles of duchesses and countesses and all
that.

'"It is no trivial thing, I ween,
To be a regular Royal Queen.
No half and half affair, I mean,
But a right down regular, regular regular regular Royal Queen."

I don't know that the words are right, but the sentiment is there. Oh
dear me! I'm afraid I'm becoming quite English, you know.'

'I don't see many signs of it,' said Lady Willow, smiling in spite of
herself as her voluble companion sang and danced about the room.

'Come, Lady Willow,' cried Jennie, 'get on your things; I am going to a
City bank to cash a cheque, and I warn you that I will take a hansom.
Lord Freddie agrees with me that a hansom is the jolliest kind of
vehicle: please don't frown at me, Lady Willow--"jolliest" is Lord
Freddie's word, not mine.'

'What I didn't like,' said Lady Willow, with as near an approach to
severity as the kindly woman could assume, 'was your calling him
Lord Freddie.'

'Oh, that's his phrase, too! He says everybody calls him Lord Freddie.
But come along, and I'll call him Lord--Frederick--Bingham,' with a voice
of awe and appropriate pauses between the words. 'He always seems so
trivial compared with his name; he reminds me of a salesman at a remnant
counter, and I don't wonder everybody calls him Lord Freddie. I'm afraid
I'm a disappointed woman, Lady Willow. I suppose the men have retrograded
since armour went out of fashion; they had to be big and strong then to
carry so much hardware. Of course it makes a difference to a man whether
his tailor cuts him a suit out of broadcloth or out of sheet iron. Yes,
I begin to suspect that I've come to England several centuries too late.'

Lady Willow was too much shocked at these frivolous remarks to make any
reply, so, attempting none, she went to her room to prepare for her trip
to the City.

Leaving Lady Willow in the hansom, Jennie entered the bank and got the
white notes, generally alluded to in fiction as 'crisp,' stuffing them
with greater carelessness than their value warranted into her purse. She
took from this receptacle of her wealth a bit of paper on which was
written an address, and this she looked at for some moments before
leaving the bank. On reaching the hansom, she handed up the slip of paper
to the driver.

'Do you know where that is?' she asked.

'Yes, miss; it is just round the corner.'

'Well, drive to the opposite side of the street, and stop where I can see
the door of No. 23.'

'Very good, miss.'

Arriving nearly opposite No. 23, the driver pulled up. Jennie looked
across at the doorway where many hurrying men were entering and leaving.
It was a large building evidently filled with offices; the girl drew a
deep breath, but made no motion to leave the hansom.

'Have you business here, too?' asked Lady Willow, to whom the City was an
unknown land, the rush and noise of which were unpleasantly bewildering.

'No,' said Jennie, with a doleful note in her voice, 'this is not
business; it is pleasure. I want to sit here for a few minutes and
think.'

'But, my dear child,' expostulated Lady Willow, 'you can't think in this
babel; besides, the police will not allow the hansom to stand here unless
one of us is shopping, or has business in an office.'

'Then, dear Lady Willow, do go shopping for ten minutes; I saw some
lovely shops just down the street. Here are five pounds, and if you see
anything that I ought to have, buy it for me. One must think now and
then, you know. Our thoughts are like the letters we receive; we need to
sort them out periodically, and discard those that we don't wish to keep.
I want to rummage over my thoughts and see whether some of them are to be
abandoned or not.'

When Lady Willow left her, Jennie sat with her chin in her hands and her
elbows on her knees gazing across at No. 23. The faces of none who went
in or came out were familiar to her. Frequently glances were cast at her
by passers-by, but she paid no heed to the crowd, nor to the fleeting
admiration her pretty face aroused in many a flinty stockbroking breast,
if, indeed, she was conscious of the attention she received. She awoke
from her reverie when Lady Willow stepped into the hansom.

'What, back already?' she cried.

'I have been away for a quarter of an hour,' said the elder woman
reproachfully. 'Besides, the money is all spent, and here are the
parcels.'

'Money doesn't go far in the City, does it?' said Jennie.

'Why, what's the matter with you, my dear?' asked the elder woman; 'your
voice sounds as if you had been crying.'

'Nonsense! What an idea! This street reminds me so of Broadway that I
have become quite homesick, that's all. I think I'll go back to New
York.'

'Have you met somebody from over there?'

'No, no. I've seen no one I knew.'

'Did you expect to?'

'Perhaps.'

'I didn't know you had any friends in the City.'

'I haven't. He's an enemy.'

'Really? An enemy who was once a friend?'

'Yes. Why do you ask so many questions?'

Lady Willow took the girl's hand, and said soothingly:

'I am sorry there was a misunderstanding.'

'So am I,' agreed Jennie.

CHAPTER XXI.

When John Kenyon entered the office of his friend next morning, Wentworth
said to him:

'Well, what luck with the Longworths?'

'No luck at all,' was the answer; 'the young man seemed to have forgotten
all about our conversation on board the steamer, and the old gentleman
takes no interest in the matter.'

Wentworth hemmed and tapped on the desk with the end of his lead pencil.

'I never counted much on that young fellow,' he said at last. 'What
appeared to be his reason?'

'I don't know exactly. He didn't give any reason. He merely said that he
would have nothing to do with it, after having got me to tell him what
our option on the mine was.'

'Why did you tell him that?'

'Well, it seemed, after I had talked to him a little, that there was some
hope of his going in with us. I told him point-blank that I didn't care
to say at what figure we had the option unless he was going in with us.
He said of course he couldn't consider the matter at all unless he knew
to what he was committed; and so I told him.'

'And what excuse did he make for not joining us?'

'Oh, he merely said he thought he would have nothing to do with it.'

'Now, what do you imagine his object was in pumping you if he had no
intention of taking an interest in the mine?'

'I'm sure I don't know. I do not understand that sort of man at all. In
fact, I feel rather relieved he is going to have nothing to do with it. I
distrust him.'

'That's all very well, John, you are prejudiced against him; but you know
the name of Longworth would have a very great effect upon the minds of
other City men. If we can get the Longworths into this, even for a small
amount, I am certain that we shall have very little trouble in floating
the company.'

'Well, all I can say is, my mission to the Longworths was a failure. Have
you looked over the papers?'

'Oh yes, and that reminds me. The point on which the whole scheme turns
is the availability of the mineral for the making of china, isn't it?'

'That is so.'

'Well, look at this letter; it came this morning.'

He tossed the letter over to Kenyon, who read it, and then asked:

'Who's Adam Brand? He doesn't know what he is talking about.'

'Ah, but the trouble is that he does. No man in England better, I should
imagine. He is the manager and part owner of the big Scranton china
works. I went to see Melville of that company yesterday. He could tell
me nothing about the mineral, but kept the specimen I gave him, and told
me he would show it to the manager when he came in. Brand is the manager
of the works, and if anybody knows the value of the mineral, he ought to
be the man.'

'Nevertheless,' said Kenyon, 'he is mistaken.'

'That is just the point of the whole matter--is he? The mineral is either
valueless, as he says, or he is telling a deliberate lie for some
particular purpose; and I can't see, for the life of me, why a stranger
should not only tell a falsehood, but write it on paper. Now, John, what
do you know about china manufacture?'

'I know very little indeed about it.'

'Very well, then, how can you put your knowledge against this man's, who
is a practical manufacturer?'

Kenyon looked at Wentworth, who was evidently not feeling in the best
of humours.

'Do you mean to say, George, that I do not know what I am talking about
when I tell you that this mineral is valuable for a certain purpose?'

'Well, you have just admitted that you know nothing about the china
trade.'

'Not "nothing," George--I know something about it; but what I do
understand is the value of minerals. The reason I know anything at all
about china manufacture is simply because I learned that this mineral is
one of the most important components of china.'

'Then why did that man write such a letter?'

'I'm sure I don't know. As you saw the man, you can judge better than I
whether he would tell a deliberate falsehood, or whether he was merely
ignorant.'

'I didn't see Brand at all; I saw Melville. Melville was to submit this
mineral to Brand, and let me know what he thought about it. Of course,
everything depends upon the value of it in the china trade.'

'Of course.'

'Very well then, I took the only way that was open to me to find out what
practical men say about it. If they say they will have nothing to do with
it, then we might as well give up our mining scheme and send back our
option to Mr. Von Brent.'

Kenyon read the letter again, and pondered deeply over it.

'You see, of course,' said George once more, 'everything hinges on that,
don't you?'

'I certainly see that.'

'Then, what have you to say?'

'I have to say this--that I shall have to take a trip among the china
works of Great Britain. I think it would be a good plan if you were to
write to the different manufacturers in the United States and find out
how much they use of it. There is no necessity for sending the mineral.
They have to use that, and nothing else will do. Find out from them, if
you can, how much of it they need, what price they will pay for pure
material, and what they pay for the impure material they use now.'

'How do you know, John, that there are not a dozen mines with that
material in them?'

'How do I know? Well, if you want to impugn my knowledge of mineralogy, I
wish you would do so straight out. I either know my business or I do not.
If you think I do not, then leave this matter entirely alone. I tell you
that what I say about this mineral is true. What I say about its scarcity
is true. There are no other mines with mineral so pure as this.'

'I am perfectly satisfied when you say that, but you must remember those
who are going to put their money in this company will not be satisfied.
They must have the facts and figures down before them, and they are not
going to take either your word or mine as to the value of the mineral.
Your proposal about seeing the different manufactories is good. I would
act upon it at once, if I were you. We must have the opinions of
practical men set forth clearly before we can make a move in the matter.
Now, how much of this mineral have you got?'

'Only the few lumps I took with me in my portmanteau. The barrel full of
it which we got at Burntpine has not arrived yet. I suppose it came by
slow steamer and is probably on the ocean still.'

'Very good. Take what specimens you have, go to the North, and see those
manufacturers. Get, in some way or another, whether from the principals
or from the subordinates, the price they pay for it, and the cost of
removing the adulteration from the stuff they employ now; because that is
really the material we come into competition with. It is not with their
first raw material, but with their material as cleared from the
deleterious foreign substances, that we have to deal. Find out exactly
what it costs to do this purifying, and then, when you get your facts and
figures, I will arrange them for you in the best order. Meanwhile, as you
suggest, I will learn what manufactories there are in the States. Nothing
can be done except that until you come back, and, if I were you, I should
leave at once.'

'I am quite ready. I don't want to lose any further time.'

So John Kenyon departed, and was soon on his way to the North, with a
list of china manufactories in his note-book.

That afternoon Wentworth got the letters off by the American mail, and he
felt that they were doing business as rapidly as could be expected. Next
morning there was a letter for John Kenyon addressed to the care of
Wentworth, and by a later mail there came a letter to Wentworth himself
from John, who had reached his first district and had had an interview
already with the manager of the works. He found the mineral was all he
had expected, and they would be glad to take a certain quantity each year
at a specified rate. This letter Wentworth filed away with a smile of
satisfaction, and then he began again to wonder why Adam Brand,
representing such a well-known manufactory, should have written a
deliberate falsehood. Before he had time to fathom this mystery, the
office-boy announced that a gentleman wished to see him, and handed
Wentworth a card which bore the name of William Longworth. Wentworth
arched his eyebrows as he looked at it.

'Ask the gentleman to step in, please,' he said; and the gentleman
stepped in.

'How are you, Mr. Wentworth? I suppose you remember me, although I did
not see much of you on board the steamer.'

'I remember you perfectly,' replied Wentworth. 'Won't you sit down?'

'Thank you. I did not know where to find Mr. Kenyon, and so, being aware
that both of you were interested in this mica-mine, I called to see you
with reference to it.'

'Indeed! I understood Mr. Kenyon to say that he had called upon you, and
that you had decided to have nothing to do with it.'

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