Chapter XXI: The Challenge

Bevil Goring had latterly from various sources heard much of Cadbury's general character, which fully bore out the opinions expressed of him by the two _vauriens_, who were quite as unscrupulous--to wit, Sir Jasper Dehorsey and Mr. Tom Hawksleigh, and, like him, knew many of 'the soiled doves who flutter from tree to tree in the forest of St. John, or build their nests in Brompton Groves.'

'The union of January and May is so common now-a-days,' says the author of 'Barren Honour,' 'that no one thinks of inditing epithalamia thereon, satiric or otherwise.' But that Alison could be in any way a party to the trickery of which the wealthy Cadbury was quite capable, was not for a moment to be imagined, as she idolised her father, with all his defects of temper and character, and would never leave him a prey to doubt and anxiety, though at present these emotions rather took the form of parental indignation. So what then was to be thought?

Where could she be secluded, and under what circumstances concealed from her father, whose bearing, however offensive to Goring, seemed genuine--the result of conviction? As for Cadbury, Goring misdoubted him, and believed him acting out a _rôle_, by which he had imposed upon Sir Ranald.

He had not the shadow of a doubt of Alison's strength of mind and purity of purpose, yet pressure often achieved much. Her father was evidently ignorant of her whereabouts, and if Cadbury had her on board his yacht, now anchored out in the stream below the Tête de Flandres (which was not impossible), _how_ had she been taken there, and by whom?

Had she been drugged, stupefied, or what? Such things are read of in the public papers every day.

The position was well calculated to fill the mind with perplexity and anxiety, anger and indignation; and thus that of Bevil Goring was a species of chaos!

If Goring actually had Alison with him, why did he act the part he did--why come before him at all? was the thought of Sir Ranald, who missed her sweet presence and gentle ministrations painfully and fearfully.

If Cadbury had her in enforced concealment, what was his purpose in playing the part he did to Sir Ranald? thought Goring; anyhow, a bullet planted in the well-fed person of the noble peer might tend or lead to the revelation of all that, and atone for Goring's recent detention in the Rue des Beguines, so he thirsted almost savagely for the hour of a hostile meeting such as never could take place in the England of the present day.

That Cadbury should utterly disbelieve him was a matter of course, as it was a point with that personage never to believe sincerely in anyone, or that anyone ever did a single thing without an interested motive. At home he was a man who was arrogant among his equals, a tyrant among his dependents and inferiors, and was the terror of every poacher for thirty miles round Cadbury Court. So his reputation was not a pleasant one.

In coming to Antwerp, Goring had learned one great fact, that she was alive; that she had not perished in the collision at sea; but suppose that, from subsequent circumstances, it were better that the waves had closed over her? or suppose no trace of her were ever to be discovered in any way--that she had disappeared out of the world, as it were?

Such things happen even in London; so why not on the continent of Europe?

But he thrust these ideas aside as too horrible for contemplation, and bent his whole thoughts to the duel, which he never doubted must come off now, and speedily, after the terrible affront he had put upon Cadbury, in presence of the Flemish servants at the Hôtel St. Antoine.

If it took place, Alison's name, at all hazards, must be kept out of the story, which would be sure to find its way into every 'Society' paper in London, and he shrunk from the fear of her being made the subject of hack gossip, which is ever cynical or worse.

Goring waited all that day at the Hôtel du Parc, expecting some messenger from Lord Cadbury; and he waited a considerable portion of the next; but none came; so he bethought him of sending one on his own account.

He had not a single friend in Antwerp; but during those two days, while at breakfast and other meals at the _table d'hôte_ he had sat next an officer of the Belgian artillery, with whom--in the freemasonry of soldiering--he speedily became intimate, for all soldiers have a thousand interests, sympathies, and topics in common.

Captain Victor Gabion was a handsome fellow, about thirty years of age, with an antique style of head and face, his cheeks a clear olive tint, dark moustache, and keen eye--handsome we say, but of a rare type; a little effeminate, perhaps, but not the less attractive for that. He had a suavity and sweetness of manner. His form was well knit; he was square-shouldered, singularly slender in the waist--but that is affected by all Belgian officers, and as a Captain of Artillery when in undress wore a gold aiguilette on the left shoulder, with cords across the breast.

Full of his own thoughts and terrible anxieties, Bevil Goring was not much in a mood for talking about anything; but the general _bonhomie_ of Victor Gabion was very attractive and infectious, and so they rapidly became intimate; but we are told that 'there are times when a man must speak--even to a dog or his worst enemy--rather than keep silence altogether.'

No message seemed likely to come from Cadbury, so to kill time Goring had accompanied his new friend to the artillery quarters at the Caserne des Predicateurs, in the street of the name, and so called from being built, no doubt, on the site of an old Dominican convent.

There is a strong family likeness in all barracks, but to Goring's English eyes the brick-floored rooms, the bare brick walls looked strange; so did the batteries of bronzed guns, drawn up wheel to wheel in the square, the meagre onion soup conveyed to the messes in buckets, and the slovenly soldiers, in long-skirted, dark blue coats with red worsted epaulettes, and buttons (_à la_ Childers) without numbers on them; and ever and anon he felt a shiver when he heard their trumpet calls--the calls with which he had become so familiar during his sojourn in the adjacent prison, in the Rue des Beguines, only two hundred metres distant.

'And your regiment, monsieur,' asked Gabion, 'where is it?'

'We have battalions in India, in Ireland, and one is now, or shall soon be in Ashanti,' replied Goring.

'Ah--Sapristi! how I should like to serve in distant lands and colonies!'

'Belgium must first get them,' thought Goring. And on returning to the hotel, finding that there was still no message from Cadbury, as his patience was utterly exhausted, he confided in his new friend Gabion.

'I have had an unpleasant affair with a countryman of mine, a Lord Cadbury, who is now at the Hôtel St. Antoine; and as I have no intimate friend in Antwerp,' said he, 'will you as an officer--a brother soldier--arrange for a meeting between us?'

The Belgian tugged his dark moustaches, and hesitated, muttering, of course, the inevitable

'_Sapristi!_'

'You understand?' said Goring.

'Perfectly; but, _mon ami_, I don't like duels. I was engaged in one once, and the terrible memory of the part I had unwittingly to play in it haunts me still. What is this quarrel about?'

'A lady--a lady whose name must at all hazards be kept out of it.'

'Then no apology will suffice?'

'None. And you will oblige me?'

'With pleasure,' replied the Belgian, as he buckled on his sword, leisurely lit a cigarette and crossed the open, sunny space of the Place Verte, went to the hotel indicated and sent up his card, which, in Belgian fashion, was twice the size of an English one, and bore his name in large letters,

VICTOR GABION,
_Capitaine d' Artillerie,_

with the letters E.L.V., signifying 'En la Ville;' and after some delay he was ushered into the room of Lord Cadbury, whom he found in a rich _robe de chambre_ tied with silk cords, and wearing an elaborate smoking-cap. He laid his cigar on the stove, near which he was standing, and tried to eye his visitor superciliously, and to the acute eyes of the latter his large feet, coarse hands and ears, looked rather strange in an English peer; but he inherited them with the alderman's money, and they showed the plebeian drop in his blood, as also did his love for trinkets and personal adornment.

'You call yourself Captain Victor Gabion of the Belgian Artillery,' said he, glancing at the card, and tossing it beside his cigar.

'I am Captain Victor Gabion, of the Belgian Artillery,' replied the officer, quietly.

'And what do you want with me? I have not the honour of your acquaintance,' said Cadbury, having all the while a perfect intuition of his visitor's purpose.

'I am here in the interest of Captain Bevil Goring, of Her Britannic Majesty's service, and monsieur must know with what views.'

'Haven't the slightest idea,' yawned Cadbury, yet nervously, as he resumed his cigar.

'Well, it is to arrange an hour and place for a mutual meeting, with swords, or pistols more probably.'

'Oh, indeed. Very kind and considerate of you to take such interest in my affairs; but I don't suppose, Captain--what's your name?--oh, ah, Victor Gabion--that a peer of the realm was, even of old, when such things were in fashion, obliged to go out with a commoner, nor am I with this fellow, who, as you no doubt know, was but recently in the hands of your authorities. Moreover, people don't fight duels now.'

'In England, so I believe, but monsieur is in Belgium.'

'D--n Belgium, I am not likely to forget that.'

'If monsieur adopts this tone to me, I shall have the pleasure of a little turn with him after.'

'After what?' asked Cadbury, with dilated eyes.

'After Captain Goring's affair is over.'

'The devil you will!' exclaimed the peer, greatly ruffled.

'_Sapristi_--yes.'

Pleasant this! thought Lord Cadbury; two duels in prospect after all his schemes, and 'no end' of money, and Alison slipped through his fingers after all!

'Monsieur will refer me to a friend?' said the Belgian, who waited quietly a little time for him to speak, standing, too, for he had never been offered a chair.

'A friend--for what purpose?' asked Cadbury, savagely.

'To arrange with me for you and Captain Goring.'

Cadbury felt fairly cornered, and compelled to affect a virtue which he did not possess.

'If monsieur has no friend in Antwerp, one of my brother officers will, I have no doubt, be happy to act for him.'

'Thanks, very much--what a considerate lot you are, you Belgians! Never mind about a friend--I'll get one if I want him--name your time and place.'

'Shall we say eight o'clock to-morrow morning, at the citadel?'

'All right--I am your man!'

'In the Lunette St. Laurent, monsieur?'

'Very good.'

'Swords or pistols, monsieur?'

'Oh, the devil--pistols, of course,' replied Cadbury, as if he was in the habit of fighting a duel every morning.

'Merci, monsieur, we shall not fail you, and now good evening--bon soir.'

'Bon soir.'

The manner of Captain Gabion, who had been eyeing him with some contempt, twirling his moustache the while, changed completely now, and, bowing with studious politeness, he withdrew to report progress to Bevil Goring.