Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England Fordham's Feud By Bertram Mitford Published by Ward, Lock and Co Ltd, London. This edition dated 1897. Fordham's Feud, by Bertram Mitford. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ FORDHAM'S FEUD, BY BERTRAM MITFORD. CHAPTER ONE. AT FIRST SIGHT. The steamer _Mont Blanc_ was sweeping round the rather dangerous promontory just beyond La Tour de Peilz. The fine vessel was a brave sight as she sped arrowlike over the turquoise breast of Lake Leman, her straight stem shearing up a great scintillating blade of water on either side, her powerful paddles lashing up a long line of creaming rollers, hissing and curving away in her wake. From stem to stern she was gay with bunting, for this was but her second trip after being laid up through the winter season, and there was a spick-and-span newness about everything, from the whiteness of her commodious hurricane deck to the dazzling glass and luxurious lounges of her airy and spacious saloon. The day was perfect. Not a cloud was in the arching heavens, not a ripple on the blue surface of the lake, which mirrored forth the hoary crowns of the Savoy Alps as though they were cut in steel. The great forest-clad slopes were rich in their velvety verdure, rising from the water's edge on the Savoy side; and a dazzling snow shroud still covered the Dent du Midi half-way down to its base. On the Swiss shore the straggling towns and multitudinous villas lying among the fresh greenery of vineyards looked mere pigmy toys beneath the slopes of the great mountains. And from the same bosky slopes came ever and anon the glad, joyous shout of the cuckoo. It was June--but only just June--and the air, balmy and life-giving, knew no suspicion of sultriness. "I say, Phil, my boy, it's about time to collect our traps. We go off at the next stage but one--Hallo! What has become of the fellow?" broke off the speaker, turning to discover that his friend had left his side. "Ah! there he is. At it again too. By George, the dog's irreclaimable!" The said "dog" had withdrawn some yards from the speaker, and was standing with his back against the bulwarks apparently lost in contemplation of the scenery of the Savoy side. But he had chosen a very odd place for his study of Nature, for between the latter and himself, in the direction of his gaze, were multifold heads--and hats, and between these heads--and hats--and the canvas awning was a space of barely half a yard. Yet he seemed to gaze with rapt attention at something--or somebody. "I say, Phil, who is _she_, this time?" The suddenness of the question, the dry chuckle, the faintly sneering intonation, produced much the same effect on the gazer as the lash upon the half-broken thoroughbred. He started. "Confound it, Fordham, you needn't make a fellow jump so," he retorted petulantly, with a slight flush. "Can't a fellow look around him, I should like to know?" "Oh, certainly he can. This is a free country--in fact `Liberte et Patrie' is the Cantonal motto. You may even see it displayed at this moment--in triplicate too--among the bunting adorning this gallant craft. Ah--I see the point of attraction now--and this time, 'pon my life, Phil, I think there's some excuse--for _you_," he added, sticking his glass into his eye and sending a critical look into an apparently unconscious group opposite. Philip Orlebar laughed, his good-humour quite restored. Indeed, it was never for long that he and that enviable attribute parted company. Although the regular tourist season had not yet set in, the steamer's decks still contained a sprinkling of all those nationalities which you would be sure to find represented there at that time of the day and of the year. Keen-faced Americans "doing" Europe with infinite zest and a Gladstone bag apiece; stolid Germans in long black coats--a duplicate of the latter invariably slung through the strap of their double field-glasses; a stray Muscovite noble, of refined manner and slightly _blase_ aspect; a group of English youths equipped with knapsack and alpenstock, bound for some mountain expedition with their Swiss tutor; and last but not least--in their own estimation at any rate--great in the importance of their somewhat aggressive sense of nationality, a muster of Britons numerically equalling all the other races and kindreds put together. There was the inevitable clergyman with his inevitable wife--the latter austere of visage, as became a good Evangelical in a land where the shops were kept open on the Sabbath. There was the British matron clucking around with her _posse_ of daughters--which guileless damsels were being convoyed about the Continent to a like end as that which caused their mammas and grandmammas to be shipped off on the voyage round the Cape in the days of good old John Company. There were the regulation old maids, of the blue-stocking persuasion, Byron in hand, gazing yearningly upon the distant but gradually nearing walls of classic Chillon. And here and there, elderly but erect, natty of attire, and countenance darkly sunburnt beneath the turbanlike puggaree enshrouding his summit, stalked unmistakably the half-pay Anglo-Indian. Upon one face in the group Fordham's eyeglass, following his companion's gaze, critically if somewhat contemptuously, came to a standstill. It was in profile at that moment, but whether in profile or full it was a face bound to attract attention. The regular features and short upper lip fully satisfied every requirement exacted by the canons of beauty. The eyes, large and earnest, now blue, now grey, according to the light under which they shone, rather imparted the idea that their possessor was inclined to take life seriously, and there was character in the strongly marked arching brows. A sheen of dark-brown hair rippled back in waves beneath a broad-brimmed sailor hat to roll into a heavy knot over the back of the neck. "Well, you cynical old humbug," said Orlebar, emphasising his words with an almost imperceptible nudge of the elbow. "Isn't _that_ about good enough to meet with even your approval?" "H'm! No doubt. But what I wanted to impress upon you was that in less than ten minutes we shall have to quit this ship. So that if you've any loose gear among your traps--and I believe you have--now is the time to make it fast." The bell hanging in the steamer's bows now began to peal, to the accompaniment of the slackening beat of her paddles as, slowing down to half-speed, she glided majestically up to the Clarens landing-stage. Philip Orlebar, turning a deaf ear to his companion's warning, had left that mentor's side, and was strolling with finely assumed carelessness towards the gangway--for the object of his attention, and already more than incipient adoration, had risen and was moving in the same direction. If she was about to land there, as seemed probable, might he not, by standing nigh at hand, obtain some chance clue as to her identity and destination? But they met face to face in the little crowd--met with a suddenness which brought a slightly disconcerted look to his somewhat speaking countenance. Her large eyes encountered his, however, fearlessly and with an air of surprised inquiry, for in his eagerness she might be excused for thinking him on the point of addressing her. There were few passengers to be landed at Clarens, and she was not one of them; fewer still to embark, and in barely a couple of minutes the _Mont Blanc_ was speeding on her way again. "Heavens alive, man?" said Fordham, veiling the faint sneer with which he had been watching the movements of his impressionable friend. "If you don't collect your traps the chances are all in favour of half of them being left on board. We shall be at Montreux in three minutes." Again the bell gave forth its warning note, again the beat of the paddles slackened, as the _Mont Blanc_--sweeping so close in shore that any one of the groups lounging about in the gardens of the villa-like _pensions_, sloping down to the water's edge, could have chucked a walnut on to her decks as she sped by--rapidly neared the poplar-fringed landing-stage. Then a great splashing of paddle-wheels as the engines were reversed, a throwing of warps and a mighty bustling, and the vessel was stationary. "Confound that fellow!" grumbled Fordham, as his friend did not appear. "Directly his eye lights upon a fresh `skirt' his wits are off woolgathering on the spot." "_Embarquement_!" sung out the bronzed skipper from the bridge. "_Allons, allons, messieurs et mesdames! Depechez vous, s'il vous plait. Nous sommes deja en retard_!" he added, testily. The last embarking passenger was on board, and while the gangway plank was in the act of withdrawal the defaulter emerged from below, laden with loose luggage. He was not slow about his movements then. A couple of leaps and he stood panting and flurried on the pier beside his companion, who had taken the precaution of landing everything that he could lay hands on. "I s-say, old man," stuttered Philip Orlebar, relinquishing to the care of mother earth--or rather the pavement of the landing-stage--the impedimenta which he had rescued at the cost of such flurry and risk. "W-w-what became of her? Did she come ashore?" "What became of _her_? Why by this time _she's_ half-way to Territet, laughing fit to die over the ridiculous figure you cut; in short, the wholly astonishing attitudes you struck, hurtling through the air with a Gladstone under each arm and half a score of telescopes and bundles and flying straps dancing about you like a kettle of beans tied to a dog's tail." "Did I look such a fool as that? Hang it, I suppose I must have looked a bit grotesque though, eh, Fordham?" "Infernally so," was the consoling reply. "In fact, I noticed _her_ looking over the side, taking particular stock of you in your admirably acted _role_ of escaped lunatic. _Ah, bonjour, Francois! Ca va bien, hein_!" broke off the speaker in response to the smiling _commissionaire_ who stepped forward at that moment to take charge of their luggage. "_Tenez, Francois_," went on Fordham, at the conclusion of the string of hearty inquiries with which the man had greeted him, for they were old acquaintances. "_Vous allez nous emballer ces colis la sur la poste des Avants. Faut qu'ils nous rejoignent demain. Sans faute, mon brave, n'est ce pas_?" "_Mais oui, Monsieur Fordhamme. Restez seulment tranquille. Vous pouvez y compter. Ah, vous allez monter par le Chauderon? Et bien-- belle promenade, messieurs, et je vous remercie bien. Au revoir, messieurs_!" "That seems a good sort of chap," began Philip Orlebar, dubiously, as they turned away. "But, hang it all, is it safe--don't cher know?" "What? The luggage? Rather. You may trust Francois to see a matter of this kind through. He is a good chap--most of these fellows are. They have a name among the British for being keen on _pourboires_--in a word, grasping. But show me the true-born Briton of the same class who in a race for gratuities couldn't give them long odds, and beat them at that. It's not to be done, I tell you. And now, Phil, we've plenty of time. First a cool _lager_ at yonder _cafe_, then for our stroll up the Chauderon. And that said stroll on an afternoon like this is enough to make a man feel the pleasure of living, if anything is." CHAPTER TWO. TWO UNLIKES. In his eulogy of the beauties of that fairy glen, the Gorge du Chauderon, Fordham was not exaggerating one whit; and while our two friends are pursuing their way along its winding path, under the cool shelter of a wealth of luxuriant greenery meeting overhead, and the roar and rush of the mountain stream leaping through a succession of black, rock-girt caldrons in their ears, we will take the opportunity of improving their acquaintance. Philip Orlebar was a tall, fair, well-built young fellow of six and twenty, who had devoted the four years which had elapsed since he left college to sowing his wild oats; though, in justice to him, we must say that his crop was of the most moderate dimensions, in spite of his opportunities, for a sunny lightheadedness of manner, combined with a more than ordinarily prepossessing exterior, rendered him popular with everybody. This especially held good as regarded the other sex, and was bad both for it and for himself; in fact, his susceptibility in that line was a source of chronic misgiving to his friends, who never knew into what sort of entanglement it might plunge him. He was the only son of a baronet, who doted on him. But his expectations were not great, for Sir Francis Orlebar, who had been a widower since a year or two after Philip's birth, had recently endowed himself with a second wife, and taking this with the fact that his income did not exceed by a shilling 2,000 pounds per annum, it follows that a superfluity of spare cash was never a distinguishing feature in the Orlebar household. But if Sir Francis doted on his son, his new spouse did not. She grudged the allowance of five hundred a year which that fortunate youth enjoyed. She would have grudged it just as much if it had been fifty. Two thousand a year to keep up the title and the house upon was a mere pittance, declared Lady Orlebar the Second--who, by the way, had never possessed a shilling of her own--and a quarter of that was to be thrown away upon an idle young man, who squandered it all on his own selfish pleasures. But on this point Sir Francis was firm. He refused to reduce his son's allowance by one single penny. So Philip came and went as he chose, and took life easily. He had no expensive tastes, and with a sufficiency of cash, good looks, excellent spirits, and an unlimited capacity for enjoyment, little is it to be wondered at if he found the process of "seeing the world" a very pleasant experience indeed. And he did so find it. Richard Fordham was the exact antipodes to his friend both in appearance and disposition, which may have accounted for the excellent relations existing between the two. Externally he was of medium height and well-proportioned. His dark, almost swarthy countenance was handsome too, for his features were good and regular. But there was something sinister in his expression, something ruthless in the glitter of his keen black eyes as he emitted one of his pungent sarcasms; and he was a man to whom sarcasm was as the very breath of life. One peculiarity about him was that, though possessed of an abnormal sense of humour, he never laughed. At most he would break into a short dry guffaw which had more of a sneer in it than of mirth; and although he could send a roomful of people into roars whenever he chose, not a muscle of his own saturnine countenance would relax. He was a good many years older than his travelling companion--how many it would have puzzled most people to determine, for he was one of those men whose ages are hard to guess. And what constituted the bond of union between them was also a poser, unless their utter dissimilarity. Anyhow, light-hearted Phil was wont enthusiastically to declare that "Old Fordham was the best fellow in the world. Only wanted knowing a bit. Why, there never was a fellow easier to get on with, by Jove--once you knew him." It is only fair to say that in his own experience the encomium was wholly deserved. They had been travelling companions for some time now, and yet had never had a difference, which is something to be able to say. The dry, caustic sparkle of the older man's conversation had a great charm for the younger. "He could take any amount of chaff from Fordham," the latter was wont to declare; "for he was a chap whose head was screwed on the right way, and, moreover, thoroughly knew his way about," a qualification sure to inspire respect in the young. We have said that Philip Orlebar was more than popular with the other sex, and here again the dissimilarity between the friends held good. Women detested Fordham uniformly and instinctively. There is something in the theory of reciprocity; Fordham, for his part, cordially and unaffectedly detested women. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "By Jove!" cried Philip, when they had covered rather more than half their distance--"By Jove! but this place is well named--`Kettle,' isn't it, eh, Fordham?" "_No_, `Caldron,' to be accurate." "Well, it's pretty steamy just here. Let's call a halt under that big rock and poke a smipe. What d'you say?" "Just as you like," was the tranquil reply. They had reached that part of the gorge where two great perpendicular cliffs, their black surface thickly grown with ferns and trailers, form a huge natural portal, narrowing the way to the road itself and the brawling, leaping mountain torrent which skirts it. A delightfully cool resting-place--almost too cool--for the whirl of the spray reached them even there. Soon the blue curl from a brace of pipes mingled fragrantly with the scent of pine resin and damp fern. Hardly were they seated than a sound of approaching voices was heard, and two girls appeared in sight round the bend in the path. One carried a basket filled with wild flowers, eke a large handful of the same; the other a bag of sketching materials. Both shot a rapid glance at the two smokers as they walked swiftly by. "Rather good-looking, eh?" said Phil, as soon as they were out of sight. "English, of course?" "No mistake. The whole lake-side from Lausanne eastwards simply grows Britishers. I predict we shall soon be for annexing it." "They're bound in the same direction as ourselves," went on Philip. "At least there's no other place than Les Avants up this way, is there?" The other's mouth drew down at the corners in a faint sneer. "Don't be alarmed, Phil. They're bound there all right--in fact they're quartered there. They've just been down into the gorge; one to pick a lot of daisies and buttercups, over which she and a pet parson will enjoy a not altogether scientific _tete-a-tete_ this evening--the other to execute a hideous libel on the existing scenery." "Now how the deuce do you know all this, Fordham?" "Oh, I know all their little ways. I know something more, viz, that in forty-eight hours' time _you_ will be the chosen and privileged bearer of the truss of hay and the daubing bag--I mean the wild flowers and the sketching gear." "Oh, you don't know everything, old chap," cried Philip, with a laugh. "Don't I? By the bye, if you're not eager to catch a chill, we'd better start again. I know this much: there will be a flutter of rejoicing in the dovecote when those two arrive, brimful of the intelligence that a couple of new men--one, rather, for I don't count--are ascending to Les Avants, for at this time of year our estimable sex is almost exclusively represented in these hotels by invalids, parsons, or half-pay veterans. With some of whom, by the way, I shall have to fraternise, unless I want to do my expeditions alone, for you will be in such demand as universal porter in the matter of shawls and wraps and lunch-baskets, up the Rochers de Naye or the Dent de Jaman, or any other point of altitude to which the ambition of the enterprising fair may aspire, that we had better take a formal and affecting farewell of each other as soon as we arrive at the door." "Shut up, you old fraud," was the jolly retort. "At present all my aspirations are of the earth earthy, for they are of the cellar. I hope they keep a good brew up there, for I feel like breeding a drought in the hotel the moment we arrive." "Well, the brew's first-rate, and now the sooner we get over this bit of heavy collar-work the sooner we shall reach it." "Right. Excelsior's the word," assented Phil, with a glance at the steep and rugged path zigzagging above at a frightfully laborious angle. There may be more attractive spots than Les Avants as you arrive there within an hour or two of sunset in the early summer, but there cannot be many. The golden rays of the sinking sun light up the frowning Rochers de Naye and the mighty precipice which constitutes the face of the Dent de Jaman with a fiery glow. The quiet reposeful aspect of the hollow, which the aforesaid sunbeams have now abandoned, lying in its amphitheatre of bold sweeping slopes crowned with black pine forests, is soothing, tranquillising of effect; and the handsome, plentifully gabled hotel, rearing up among a sprinkling of modest chalets, is suggestive of comfort and abundance. But what is this milk-white carpet spread in snowy sheen over the meadows, covering the green of the adjoining slopes to a considerable height? Is it snow? Not it. That white and dazzling expanse consists of nothing less than a mass of the most magnificent narcissus blossoms, growing in serried profusion, distilling in heavy fumes a fragrance of paradise upon the balmy evening air. Such was the aspect of Les Avants as our two friends arrived there on that evening in early June. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "By Jove, Fordham, but this is a sweet place!" cried Philip Orlebar, moved to real earnestness as they emerged from the wooded path suddenly upon the beautiful scene. "A perfect Eden!" "Plenty of Eves, anyhow?" was the characteristic and laconic retort. But Philip had already noted a flutter of light dresses, though still some little distance off. Tennis racket in hand, a number of girls in groups of twos and threes, here and there a male form interspersed, were wending along a gravel path leading from the tennis-court towards the hotel, for the first dinner-bell was just ringing. The sight called up a sneer to Fordham's lip. "Look at that, Phil, and note the vagaries of the British idiot abroad. Fancy coming to the Swiss mountains to play lawn tennis." "Well, old man, and if they like it?" "Ah, yes, quite so; I forgot!" was the significant answer. CHAPTER THREE. BREAKING THE ICE. "We sha'n't be intolerably crowded here, Phil," remarked Fordham, as they sat down to _table d'hote_. "It's early in the season yet, you see." But although the long tables running round the fine dining-hall--the latter occupying the whole ground-floor of one wing--were only laid half-way down the room, yet there was a good concourse flowing in. Portly matrons with bevies of daughters, clergymen and clergywomen with or without daughters, spectacled old maids hunting in couples, an undergraduate or two abroad for the "Long," here and there a long-haired German, and a sprinkling of white-whiskered Anglo-Indians, by the time they had all taken their seats, constituted a gathering little short of threescore persons. A pretty cheerful gathering, too, judging from the clatter of tongues; for the Briton abroad is a wholly expansive animal, and as great a contrast to his or her--especially her--starch and buckram personality at home as the precept of the average professor of faith and morals is to his practice. Our two friends found themselves at the transverse table at the lower end of the room, with their backs to the bulk of the diners. But in front of them were the open windows, no small advantage in a room full of dining fellow-creatures. The sunset glow fell redly on the purple heads of the Savoy Alps, and the thick, heavy perfume of narcissus came floating in, triumphing over the savoury odours of fleshpots. The room had just settled down steadily to work through the _menu_ when Phil's neighbour, a lady of uncertain age with spinster writ large, opened fire upon him in this wise: "How very thick the scent of the narcissus is this evening." "It is. A sort of Rimmel's shop turned loose in the Alps." "But such a heavy perfume must be very unhealthy, must it not?" "Possibly." "But don't you think it must be?" "I really can't give an opinion. You see, I don't know anything about the matter," replied Phil, good-humouredly, and in something like desperation as the blank truth dawned upon him that he was located next to a bore of the first water, and the worst kind of bore at that--the bore feminine. His persecutor went on: "But they say that flowers too strongly scented are very unhealthy in a room, don't they?" "Do they? I don't know. But, after all, these are not in the room; they are outside." "But don't you think it comes to the same thing?" Heavens! What was to be the end of this? Instinctively he stole a glance at Fordham, but that worthy's impassive countenance betrayed nothing, unless it were the faintest possible appreciation, in his grim, saturnine way, of the humour of the thing. He mumbled something not very intelligible by way of reply, and applied himself with extra vigour to the prime duty of the gathering. But he was not to escape so easily. The lady was intently scrutinising the _menu_. Then to Phil: "Don't you think _ferras_ is an extremely bony fish?" This was too much even for Fordham. The corners of his mouth dropped perceptibly, and a faintly audible chuckle escaped him. "I--I--'pon my life I don't know," stuttered poor Phil. "The fact is I never knew the scheme of creation comprised such a fish." "Didn't you really? How very odd. But do you really mean it though?" "Oh, yes; it's a fact," he declared, wearily. "Ah! they are bringing it round now. You will soon be able to give me your opinion." Phil was deciding that he would die rather than prosecute any investigations into the osseously reputed _ferras_, and was on the point of asserting that he loathed the whole finny race, when a diversion occurred. Three chairs opposite had remained vacant, and into these three persons were now seating themselves. Looking up suddenly, Phil found himself face to face with the girl who had so strongly attracted his attention on board the _Mont Blanc_. The old couple were her parents, of course, he decided straight out of hand. Military and Indian, he went on, pursuing his verdict, and a fine-looking old man. The elder lady seemed in frail health. Of course they were the girl's parents--not a doubt about it. But what a piece of luck! She to be his _vis-a-vis_ at the table! He quite forgot the existence of the exemplary bore at his elbow, now. The girl herself, as soon as she was seated, sent a searching glance all down the room, as if appraising the style of people who were to be their fellow-sojourners. This he noted; also her perfect and graceful self-possession. But for all the interest taken in the new arrivals by Fordham, they might just as well not have come in. Dinner was more than half through, and still he had found no opportunity of utilising the pleasant unconventionality afforded by the _table d'hote_ system. If only they had been next to him; but being opposite tended to hinder matters. He could not even volunteer the salt or the mustard, and under cover of that flimsy advance work up a conversation, for both those condiments--and everything needful--were as lavishly supplied on the other side of the table as on his own. What the deuce was he to say? For once in his life, easy-going Philip Orlebar felt his normal stock of assurance fail him. "Alma, child," the elder lady was saying in a low tone, but audible across the table, "hadn't you better change places with your uncle and come next to me? I don't think he ought to sit with his back to the window." "Not her parents, by Jove!" thought Phil. "`Alma.' That's a name I never heard before." "'Tisn't that," grumbled the veteran, before his niece could reply. "There's no draught--none at all. But what the deuce do they mean by sticking us up in this corner with our backs to the view? I don't want to look at a lot of other animals feeding. I want to get the benefit of the mountains opposite, and the sunsets and all that." "But, uncle," struck in the girl--and Phil noted that she had a sweet voice, beautifully modulated and clear--"we can look at the mountains opposite all day long, but this grand opportunity of studying a considerable collection of our fellow-creatures all off their guard is only vouchsafed at _table d'hote_ time. And I was just congratulating myself on having the whole population in front of me." "Pooh-pooh, child! When you get to my age you'll have had quite enough of studying your fellow-creatures--more than enough, I'll lay a guinea. And confound it, we come to this country to study Nature," added the old man, relapsing into his original growl. Now this conversation, though carried on in a low tone, was distinctly audible across the table--a fact of which the parties to it should have been aware but for that inconceivable fatuity peculiar to our fellow-countrymen when abroad, a conviction that everybody but themselves is either deaf or afflicted with an opacity of understanding which could hardly exist outside an asylum for imbeciles. So they were not a little surprised and slightly perturbed when Fordham, looking up, said quietly: "If you will allow me, sir, I shall be happy to exchange seats. It is perfectly immaterial to me which way I face." The trio looked astonished, but the relief on one countenance could hardly dissemble itself. "Er--you are very kind," stuttered the veteran. "But--er--really--I hardly like--er--unfair advantage to take of your good-nature." "It is kind of you, indeed," struck in the old lady, somewhat hurriedly, as though she feared the offer would be allowed to drop. "But the fact is the General never can bear to sit with his back to the light. And, if it is really all the same to you--" "It is, I assure you. I am delighted to be of service. So I'll mention the matter to the head waiter, and you may consider it settled." The girl was placed between her uncle and aunt. This change would result in Fordham being placed next to her. "What the deuce is the fellow driving at now?" thought Philip, in mingled wrath and alarm. Then it dawned upon him that his friend was driving at nothing less than the securing of that coveted position for him, Philip. "Good old Fordham! What a brick he is!" he mentally resolved, with a glow at his heart. "Best fellow that ever lived, by Jove?" But the ice thus broken, our two friends and the new arrivals were soon chatting away as if they had known each other for at least some time. "I noticed you on board the _Mont Blanc_ this afternoon," said Phil to the old General, with magnificent mendacity--the fact being that he was unaware of that veteran's very existence. "But you didn't land at Montreux, did you?" "No. We went on to Territet. The ladies drove, with the luggage. I took the funicular railway up to Glion and walked the rest." "Don't you think that Glion railway is very dangerous?" struck in Philip's neighbour, seeing her opportunity. "Oh, dear no. Perfectly safe, they tell me," answered the old gentleman. "I daresay, though, it's rather a trying affair for you ladies, finding yourselves let straight down the steep side of a mountain in a thing for all the world like a bucket in a well." "But don't you think it may one of these days come to grief?" pursued the Infliction. "But, my dear madam, just consider the number of times it has gone up and down in perfect safety." "Ah, but don't you think it may break down just that one time you may happen to be in it?" It was dreadful. The octopus-like tenacity of this bore was enough to paralyse the most mercurial. There fell a kind of languid despair upon the countenances of the group, and each looked helplessly at the other, as if to ascertain who was equal to the titanic task of warding off this terrible person. But, meeting the large eyes of his _vis-a-vis_, Phil at any rate found comfort. They would have something to laugh at between them, anyway. "Here! I say--you! What are you doing?" called out Fordham, as at that moment a waiter came bustling up and began to shut the window. "I shut de window, sir. Dere is one German gentleman at de oder end of de room say dat de window must be shut." "Oh, indeed! Well, then, give my compliments to the one German gentleman at the other end of the room and tell him the window won't be shut. We'll see him in Halifax first." The waiter paused a moment, then skipped away to deliver the message. "Confound the fellow's cheek!" cried Philip, indignantly. "Likely we are going to have our window bossed by some cadaverous brass-band player at the other end of the room." And one and all in the vicinity of the disputed window seconded, in varying terms, his protest. Just then the waiter reappeared. "Ver' sorry, sir; but de German gentleman say it must be shut." "Does he?" said Fordham. "Well, look here. Tell him--this time without my compliments--that there are a few people at this end of the room whose convenience is of as much importance as his own, and that they are equally resolved that this window shall stand open. There--leave it alone. If you do shut it we shall open it again at once." The waiter paused again very irresolute, shrugged his shoulders, smirked, shrugged his shoulders again, then skipped away. Watching him, they had no difficulty in locating the offender--a lank-haired bespectacled Teuton occupying the remotest possible seat from the window in dispute. He, in wrath, vehemently evoked the proprietor, who, however, at that moment was not on hand. "That Battle of the Windows is an oft-recurring phase of hotel life out here," remarked Fordham. "No man is more absolutely unprejudiced against Continental nationalities than myself: yet it is a fact that whenever there is anything like a respectable sprinkling of Germans or Frenchmen in these hotels, they invariably insist upon having the room hermetically sealed all through dinner-time." "The deuce they do!" growled the old General. "But do you mean to tell me, sir, that a few of these unbarbered music-masters are going to cram their confounded love of fustiness down our throats?" "Well, I've seen more than one lively episode over that window question," replied Fordham. "And the fact of that one fellow trying it on just now is sufficient proof that the tradition exists--and exists pretty strongly too." "But don't you think they may perhaps, after all, be more susceptible to cold than we English?" struck in the Infliction. "Undoubtedly," assented Fordham, blandly, preparing to beat a retreat from the table under cover of his reply, for the dessert had already gone round, and the room was emptying fast. "By Jove, Fordham, but isn't it a deuced rum thing they should have turned up here?" said Phil, as the two made their way to the _promenoir_ for a cigar. "_She_, I suppose you mean. No, it isn't particularly rum. I knew they were bound here all along." "What--on board the steamer? No. How did you know?" "Oh, while you were taking particular stock of the chick, I happened to overhear tags of the old birds' conversation," said Fordham, acidly, as if the subject bored him. "Well, and why didn't you tell a fellow?" "Why didn't I? Hang it all, it's bad form to repeat what you hear by accident, you know. Besides, it was rather sport to watch your face under the pleasant little surprise." "Oh, that be hanged for a yarn?" cried Philip, impatiently. "But I say, who are they, I wonder? What's their name?" "Don't know. Easily found out though." "But how?" "Why, go and look at the arrival book in the _bureau_. I'll wait for you here. I'm not interested in the matter." Away went Philip without a word. Turning the pages of the book, the last entry of all, freshly made, read: "_Major-General and Mrs Wyatt_." "_Miss Wyatt_." CHAPTER FOUR. ALMA. Everybody visiting at Les Avants for the first time while the narcissus is in full bloom, is apt to grow more than enthusiastic over that lovely and fragrant flower, even as in higher localities everybody is bound to gush inordinately over that other blossom which is like unto a gun-wad picked into fluff, and is neither lovely nor fragrant--to wit, the _edelweiss_. This being so, it is not surprising that Alma Wyatt should have seized the very first opportunity of escaping from the house with intent to cull as huge a bunch of the beautiful blossoms as she could possibly carry. It was a radiant morning. The sky a deep and dazzling blue, such as is never to be seen over this uncertain and watery England of ours, was unflecked by a single cloud, and the air, mellow and balmy in the early forenoon, distilled a most exquisite perfume. To Alma it seemed as if all the glories of Paradise lay spread around her as she wandered on through the white and shining fields, drinking in the floods of fragrance diffused by the breath of a million snowy petals. Opposite, the great slopes were all aglow with green and gold, relieved by the sombre plumage of shaggy pines straggling up to the frowning scarp of the Dent de Jaman as though they aspired to scale that grim and forbidding wall, and had been forced to yield sullenly in the attempt. A mellow haze rested upon the soaring peaks beyond the fragment of blue lake just visible--blue as the sky above; and from his pent-up prison far down in the deep and wooded gorge the hoarse thunder of the mountain torrent was borne upward in subdued and unending cadence, to mingle with the hum of bees culling their sweet stores from the luscious cells of the narcissus blossoms. Small wonder that to this girl with the large, earnest eyes and poetic temperament--small wonder that to this girl, but two days out from damp and cockneyfied Surbiton, the majesty of the great mountains, the hoary cliffs still flaked with snow towering on high, the black and stately pines, the vernal pastures and the far-away echo of melodious cow-bells, the blue lake and the golden splendour of this radiant Swiss summer, should be as something more than a glimpse of the glories of Paradise. She was glad that she had come out alone, glad that she had not met any of the other girls with whom she had made acquaintance the evening before. It was delicious to be free to drink in all the wealth of this Elysium without feeling constrained to talk, to reply to commonplaces which should let in the outside world, vulgar by comparison, upon the illimitable charm of this fairy scene. For this was her first experience of Switzerland--almost of the Continent--and it in nowise fell short of the ideal she had formed. Alma Wyatt had been left fatherless at an early age. Better for her had she been orphaned altogether. Her childhood had been wholly uncared for, and, as far as her mother was concerned, unloved. For she had a younger sister upon whom that mother's love was concentrated to doting point. All the bitterness of home life had fallen to Alma, all the sweets thereof to her sister. Their mother, a selfish, domineering woman, whose redeeming qualities were infinitesimal even to vanishing point, simply made the elder girl's life wretched within that semi-detached villa at cockneyfied Surbiton, but for the younger the slender resources of a cramped income were strained to the uttermost. No wonder that the beautiful face was seldom free from a tinge of sadness; no wonder that her character had acquired a concentrativeness and reserve beyond her short twenty years of life. We said that it would have been better for her were she an orphan indeed, and in saying this we are not exaggerating. Her uncle and aunt, under whose care we first make her acquaintance, looked upon her almost as their own child--would have been only too glad to have adopted her as such, for they were childless. But her mother would not hear of this. Alma was necessary as, figuratively speaking, a whipping-post for Constance, the younger girl. She could not part with her altogether-- besides, she was useful in other ways. But the General and his wife managed to have her with them as frequently as they could, and the widow, who could not afford to quarrel with her brother-in-law, dared not oppose his wishes in the matter beyond a certain point. So here was Alma, with a prospect of two months to spend with her dearly-loved and indulgent uncle and aunt; two months of easy travel and varying sojourn among the fairest and most inspiring scenes that this world can show; two months of unconventional life as near to perfect freedom as the trammels of civilisation will allow; and above all, two months of emancipation from home worries and suburban semi-detached pettinesses, and the galling fetter of a show of "duty" towards those whom she could neither love nor honour. Standing there among the narcissus, gazing around upon the radiant scenes spread in lustrous splendour about her, she made a wondrously beautiful picture. Her eyes shone with a light of gladness, and the normally calm regularity of the patrician features had given way to a slight flush of eagerness which was infinitely winsome. But as her glance suddenly met that of another the glad light vanished as by magic, yielding place to a look of vexation, coldness, reserve. She had been surprised in the midst of a rhapsody--taken off her guard. But as though he read her thoughts, Philip Orlebar was not the man to add to her discomfiture. He was thoroughbred, _aux bouts des ongles_, and with all his lightheadedness and devil-may-care jollity, was endowed with tact beyond the endowment of most Englishmen--_young_ Englishmen at any rate. "Good morning, Miss Wyatt," he said, snatching the pipe from between his teeth. "Out among the narcissus already, I see. Just what I've been doing myself--though, as a rule, flower gathering isn't much in my line. I only pick up an extra fine blossom now and again as I stroll along, which may account for the meagreness of my bunch," exhibiting a small handful containing some dozen of stalks. "But you--you have got a grand bouquet." The unaffectedness of his address, the breezy lightheadedness of his tone, was not without its influence even upon her. The gravity of her reserve melted into a smile. "They are so lovely," she answered; "I couldn't remain indoors a moment longer." "Just the state of the case with me. Surprising how great minds always jump together. But to be serious, I believe the blossoms up above there are larger than these. Some one or other in the hotel told me I ought to go and look at them, and I did," added mendacious Phil. "That lazy dog, Fordham, wouldn't move--planted himself at the end of a pipe in a cane chair in one of those arbours. I couldn't stand that, so I started a stroll in a small way. Let me carry those for you." And in a twinkling he had possessed himself of the two huge bunches of narcissus which she had gathered. "Thanks. It's a shame to burden you, though. Isn't this a beautiful place?" "Rather. Old Fordham is enthusiastic about it, and I don't much wonder. He knows it well, you see. I never was here before in my life, but now I am here I'm in no hurry to move on. There are some grand walks and first-rate climbs to be had. You were saying last night you were looking forward to that sort of thing. I hope we shall be able to show you the way about a little. We must make up a party for a climb somewhere before this splendid weather changes. Fordham is worth any round dozen of guides." "But--we can hardly lay your friend's good-nature under such a heavy contribution," she said, with a queer little smile. "Oh, can't we! Old Fordham is the best fellow in the world--only wants knowing a bit. He'll do anything he's asked." That queer smile broadened round Alma's lips. She had sat opposite the now eulogised Fordham during the whole of dinner-time; and, be it remembered, she was given to studying character. But she said nothing, and by this time they had regained the hotel. A cool fountain was playing in the terraced garden in front of the _promenoir_, shooting high in the air and falling back into its basin in a shower of scattering diamond drops. Beside this, leaning on an alpenstock, a big meerschaum in his mouth, stood General Wyatt. "Well, Alma. Been ravaging the narcissus fields?" he said, as they came up. "But what on earth will you do with all that lot? A trifle too strong, won't it be, for any ordinary-sized room?" "I don't think so, uncle. Why, in England people would give anything for such magnificent blossoms as these, and here we are already beginning to think them nothing very great. But I'll go and put them in water for the present." "Well, don't be long, dear, or we sha'n't get our walk," he called after her. "Grand day, General?" said Philip, re-lighting his pipe. "It is, indeed. By the bye, since I've heard your name, are you in any way related to Francis Orlebar--Sir Francis he is now?" "Rather closely. He happens to be my father. Did you know him well?" "You don't say so! Well, well! It's a small world, after all. Know him well? I should think I did. I was some years his senior though, and he wasn't long in the service. But that must have been before you were born." "And have you never met since, General?" "Only once--just about the time he got into that--er--ah." And the old man, remembering who he was talking to, suddenly pulled himself up and launched forth into a tremendous sneeze. The slip was not lost upon Phil, but he came to the rescue promptly. "Think we are like each other, General?" he said. "N-no! Don't know though. There is a likeness. You're the finer built fellow of the two--taller and broader. Bless my soul, though, but the world is a small one. To think of Frank Orlebar's son turning up in this way?" "I hope I'm not interrupting, General Wyatt," said a feminine and tentative voice. "Your niece was saying last night she was a perfect stranger here, and we thought she might like to go with us. We are going to the Cubly. It isn't far, and we shall be back to lunch. We hope you will come too." The speaker was one of the two girls who had passed our friends in the Gorge du Chauderon. Phil had already made a little conversation with her the evening before. So now she turned and extended the invitation to him. He gladly accepted, while the General answered for Alma and himself that nothing would give them greater pleasure. And at that moment Alma reappeared and they started. The Miss Ottleys were pleasant well-bred girls of artistic tastes and plenty of conversation, and the walk promised to be a success. We shall not, however, follow the party to the pine-crowned height sheering up from the vine-clad slopes immediately behind Montreux, nor share in the magnificent panorama which it affords. Sufficient to say that at the end of three hours they returned, in the highest spirits and on the best of terms with themselves and each other. In such free and easy fashion are acquaintanceships formed and often consolidated into friendships, amid the pleasant unconventionally of life in mountain hotels. CHAPTER FIVE. FORDHAM PHILOSOPHISES. "I say, Fordham. We're getting up an expedition for to-morrow, and you've got to come," cried Phil, bursting into his friend's room just before dinner one evening. "Have I?" replied the latter leisurely, turning round with a half-soaped visage, and razor arrested in mid-air. "But, Phil, it's rather lucky you didn't swoop down in such hurricane method upon a more nervous man than yours truly, or it's wildly hunting for sticking plaster he'd be at this moment. And now, for my enlightenment, who's _we_?" "Oh, the Ottleys and the Wyatts and one or two more. We want to start early, cross the lake by steamer and get as far up that valley on
{'title': "Fordham's Feud by Bertram Mitford", 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}