CHAPTER X. THE DON AND HIS DAUGHTER

Professor Braddock was usually the most methodical of men, and timed his

life by the clock and the almanac. He rose at seven, summer and winter,

to partake of a hearty breakfast, which served him until dinner came at

five thirty. Braddock dined at this unusual hour--save when there was

company--as he did not eat any luncheon and scorned the very idea of

afternoon tea. Two meals a day, he maintained, was enough for any man

who led a sedentary life, as too much food was apt to clog the wheels of

the intellect. He usually worked in his museum--if the indulgence of his

hobby could be called work--from nine until four, after which hour he

took a short walk in the garden or through the village. On finishing his

dinner he would glance over some scientific publication, or perhaps,

by way of recreation, play a game or two of patience; but at seven he

invariably retired into his own rooms to renew work. Retirement to bed

took place at midnight, so it can be guessed that the Professor got

through an enormous quantity of work during the year. A more methodical

man, or a more industrious man did not exist.

But on occasions even this enthusiast wearied of his hobby, and of the

year's routine. A longing to see brother scientists of his own way of

thinking would seize him, and he would abruptly depart for London, to

occupy quiet lodgings, and indulge in intercourse with his fellow-men.

Braddock rarely gave early intimation of his urban nostalgia. At

breakfast he would suddenly announce that the fit took him to go to

London, and he would drive to Jessum along with Cockatoo to catch the

ten o'clock train to London. Sometimes he sent the Kanaka back; at

other times he would take him to town; but whether Cockatoo remained or

departed, the museum was always locked up lest it should be profaned by

the servants of the house. As a matter of fact, Braddock need not have

been afraid, for Lucy--knowing her step-father's whims and violent

temper--took care that the sanctity of the place should remain

inviolate.

Sometimes the Professor came back in a couple of days; at times his

absence would extend to a week; and on two or three occasions he

remained absent for a fortnight. But whenever he returned, he said very

little about his doings to Lucy, perhaps deeming that dry scientific

details would not appeal to a lively young lady. As soon as he was

established in his museum again, life at the Pyramids would resume

its usual routine, until Braddock again felt the want of a change. The

wonder was, considering the nature of his work, and the closeness of

his application, that he did not more often indulge in these Bohemian

wanderings.

Lucy, therefore, was not astonished when, on the morning after her visit

to Mrs. Jasher, the Professor announced in his usual abrupt way that

he intended to go to London, but would leave Cockatoo in charge of his

precious collection. She was somewhat disturbed, however, as, wishing to

forward the widow's matrimonial aims, she had invited her to dinner for

the ensuing night. This she told her step-father, and, rather to her

surprise, he expressed himself sorry that he could not remain.

“Mrs. Jasher,” said Braddock hastily, drinking his coffee, “is a very

sensible woman, who knows when to be silent.”

“She is also a good housekeeper, I believe,” hinted Miss Kendal

demurely.

“Eh, what? Well? Why do you say that?” snapped Braddock sharply.

Lucy fenced.

“Mrs. Jasher admires you, father.”

Braddock grunted, but did not seem displeased, since even a scientist

possessing the usual vanity of the male is not inaccessible to flattery.

“Did Mrs. Jasher tell you this?” he inquired, smiling complacently.

“Not in so many words. Still, I am a woman, and can guess how much

another woman leaves unsaid.” Lucy paused, then added significantly:

“I do not think that she is so very old, and you must admit that she is

wonderfully well preserved.”

“Like a mummy,” remarked the Professor absently; then pushed back his

chair to add briskly: “What does all this mean, you minx? I know that

the woman is all right so far as a woman can be: but her confounded age

and her looks and her unexpressed admiration. What are these to an old

man like myself?”

“Father,” said Lucy earnestly, “when I marry Archie I shall, in all

probability, leave Gartley for London.”

“I know--I know. Bless me, child, do you think that I have not thought

of that? If you were only wise, which you are not, you would marry

Random and remain at the Fort.”

“Sir Frank has other fish to fry, father. And even if I did remain at

the Fort as his wife, I still could not look after you.”

“Humph! I am beginning to see what you are driving at. But I can't

forget your mother, my dear. She was a good wife to me.”

“Still,” said Lucy coaxingly, and becoming more and more the champion of

Mrs. Jasher, “you cannot manage this large house by yourself. I do not

like to leave you in the hands of servants when I marry. Mrs. Jasher is

very domesticated and--”

“And would make a good housekeeper. No, no, I don't want to give you

another mother, child.”

“There is no danger of that, even if I did not marry,” rejoined Lucy

stiffly. “A girl can have only one mother.”

“And a man apparently can have two wives,” said Braddock with dry humor.

“Humph!”--he pinched his plump chin--“it's not a bad idea. But of course

I can't fall in love at my age.”

“I don't think that Mrs. Jasher asks for impossibilities.”

The Professor rose briskly.

“I'll think over it,” said he. “Meanwhile, I am going to London.”

“When will you be back, father?”

“I can't say. Don't ask silly questions. I dislike being bound to time.

I may be a week, and I may be only a few days. Things can go on here

as usual, but if Hope comes to see you, ask Mrs. Jasher in, to play

chaperon.”

Lucy consented to this suggestion, and Braddock went away to prepare for

his departure. To get him off the premises was like launching a ship,

as the entire household was at his swift heels, packing boxes, strapping

rugs, cutting sandwiches, helping him on with his overcoat and assisting

him into the trap, which had been hastily sent for to the Warrior Inn.

All the time Braddock talked and scolded and gave directions and

left instructions, until every one was quite bewildered. Lucy and the

servants all sighed with relief when they saw the trap disappear round

the end of the road in the direction of Jessum. In addition to being a

famous archaeologist, the Professor was assuredly a great nuisance to

those who had to do with his whims and fancies.

For the next two or three days Lucy enjoyed herself in a quiet way with

Archie. In spite of the lateness of the season, the weather was still

fine, and the artist took the opportunity of the pale sunshine to sketch

a great deal of the marsh scenery. Lucy attended him as a rule when he

went abroad, and sometimes Mrs. Jasher, voluble and merry, would come

along with them to play the part of chaperon. But the girl noticed

that Mrs. Jasher's merriment was forced at times, and in the searching

morning light she appeared to be quite old. Wrinkles showed themselves

on her plump face and weary lines appeared round her mouth. Also, she

was absent-minded while the lovers chattered, and, when spoken to, would

return to the present moment with a start. As the widow was now well off

as regards money, and as her scheme to marry Braddock was well on the

way to success--for Lucy had duly reported the Professor's attitude--it

was difficult to understand why Mrs. Jasher should look so worried. One

day Lucy spoke to her on the subject. Random had strolled across the

marshes to look at Hope sketch, and the two men chatted together, while

Miss Kendal led the little widow to one side.

“There is nothing the matter, I hope,” said Lucy gently.

“No. Why do you say that?” asked Mrs. Jasher, flushing.

“You have been looking worried for the last few days.”

“I have a few troubles,” sighed the widow--“troubles connected with the

estate of my late brother. The lawyers are very disagreeable and make

all sorts of difficulties to swell their costs. Then, strangely enough,

I am beginning to feel my brother's death more than I thought I should

have done. You see that I am in mourning, dear. After what you said

the other day I felt that it was wrong for me not to wear mourning. Of

course my poor brother and I were almost strangers. All the same, as

he has left me money and was my only relative, I think it right to show

some grief. I am a lonely woman, my dear.”

“When my father comes back you will no longer be lonely,” said Lucy.

“I hope not. I feel that I want a man to look after me. I told you that

I desired to marry the Professor for his possible title and in order

to form a salon and have some amusement and power. But also I want a

companion for my old age. There is no denying,” added Mrs. Jasher with

another sigh, “that I am growing old in spite of all the care I take.

I am grateful for your friendship, dear. At one time I thought that you

did not like me.”

“Oh, I think we get on very well together,” said Lucy somewhat

evasively, for she did not want to say that she would make the widow an

intimate friend, “and, as you know, I am quite pleased that you should

marry my step-father.”

“So pleasant to think that you look at my ambition in that light,” said

Mrs. Jasher, patting the girl's arm. “When does the Professor return?”

“I cannot say. He refused to fix a date. But he usually remains away

for a fortnight. I expect him back in that time, but he may come much

earlier. He will come back when the fancy takes him.”

“I shall alter all that, when we are married,” muttered Mrs. Jasher with

a frown. “He must be taught to be less selfish.”

“I fear you will never improve him in that respect,” said Lucy dryly,

and rejoined the gentlemen in time to hear Random mention the name of

Don Pedro de Gayangos.

“What is that, Sir Frank?” she asked.

Random turned toward her with his pleasant smile.

“My Spanish friend, whom I met at Genoa, is coming here to-morrow.”

“With his daughter?” questioned Mrs. Jasher roguishly.

“Of course,” replied the young soldier, coloring. “Donna Inez is quite

devoted to her father and never leaves him.”

“She will one day, I expect,” said Hope innocently, for his eyes were

on his sketch and not on Random's face, “when the husband of her choice

comes along.”

“Perhaps he has come along already,” tittered Mrs. Jasher significantly.

Lucy took pity on Random's confusion.

“Where will they stay?”

“At the Warrior Inn. I have engaged the best rooms in the place. I fancy

they will be comfortable there, as Mrs. Humber, the landlady, is a good

housekeeper and an excellent cook. And I don't think Don Pedro is hard

to please.”

“A Spaniard, you say,” remarked Archie idly. “Does he speak English?”

“Admirably--so does the daughter.”

“But why does a Spaniard come to so out-of-the-way a place?” asked Mrs.

Jasher, after a pause.

“I thought I told you the other day, when we spoke of the matter,”

answered Sir Frank with surprise. “Don Pedro has come here to interview

Professor Braddock about that missing mummy.”

Hope looked up sharply.

“What does he know about the mummy?”

“Nothing so far as I know, save that he came to Europe with the

intention of purchasing it, and found himself forestalled by Professor

Braddock. Don Pedro told me no more than that.”

“Humph!” murmured Hope to himself. “Don Pedro will be disappointed when

he learns that the mummy is missing.”

Random did not catch the words and was about to ask him what he had

said, when two tall figures, conducted by a shorter one, were seen

moving on the white road which led to the Fort.

“Strangers!” said Mrs. Jasher, putting up her lorgnette, which she used

for effect, although she had remarkably keen sight.

“How do you know?” asked Lucy carelessly.

“My dear, look how oddly the man is dressed.”

“I can't tell at this distance,” said Lucy, “and if you can, Mrs. Jasher

I really do not see why you require glasses.”

Mrs. Jasher laughed at the compliment to her sight, and colored through

her rouge at the reproof to her vanity. Meanwhile, the smaller figure,

which was that of a village lad leading a tall gentleman and a slender

lady, pointed toward the group round Hope's easel. Shortly, the boy ran

back up to the village road, and the gentleman came along the pathway

with the lady. Random, who had been looking at them intently, suddenly

started, having at length recognized them.

“Don Pedro and his daughter,” he said in an astonished voice, and sprang

forward to welcome the unexpected visitors.

“Now, my dear,” whispered the widow in Lucy's ear, “we shall see the

kind of woman Sir Frank prefers to you.”

“Well, as Sir Frank has seen the kind of man I prefer to him,” retorted

Lucy, “that makes us quite equal.”

“I am glad these new-comers talk English,” said Hope, who had risen to

his feet. “I know nothing of Spanish.”

“They are not Spanish, but Peruvian,” said Mrs. Jasher.

“The language is the same, more or less. Confound it! here is Random

bringing them here. I wish he would take them to the Fort. There's no

more work for the next hour, I suppose,” and Hope, rather annoyed, began

to pack his artistic traps.

On a nearer view, Don Pedro proved to be a tall, lean, dry man, not

unlike Dore's conception of Don Quixote. He must have had Indian blood

in his veins, judging from his very dark eyes, his stiff, lank hair,

worn somewhat long, and his high cheek-bones. Also, although he was

arrayed in puritanic black, his barbaric love of color betrayed itself

in a red tie and in a scarlet handkerchief which was twisted loosely

round a soft slouch hat, It was the hat and the brilliant red of tie and

handkerchief which had caught Mrs. Jasher's eye at so great a distance,

and which had led her to pronounce the man a stranger, for Mrs. Jasher

well knew that no Englishman would affect such vivid tints. All the

same, in spite of this eccentricity, Don Pedro looked a thorough

Castilian gentleman, and bowed gravely when presented to the ladies by

Random.

“Mrs. Jasher, Miss Kendal, permit me to present Don Pedro de Gayangos.”

“I am charmed,” said the Peruvian, bowing, hat in hand, “and in turn,

allow me, ladies, to introduce my daughter, Donna Inez de Gayangos.”

Archie was also presented to the Don and to the young lady, after which

Lucy and Mrs. Jasher, while not appearing to look, made a thorough

examination of the lady with whom Random was in love. No doubt Donna

Inez was making an examination on her own account, and with the

cleverness of the sex the three women, while chatting affably, learned

all that there was to be learned from the outward appearance of each

other in three minutes. Miss Kendal could not deny but what Donna Inez

was very beautiful, and frankly admitted--inwardly, of course--her own

inferiority. She was merely pretty, whereas the Peruvian lady was truly

handsome and quite majestic in appearance.

Yet about Donna Inez there was the same indefinite barbaric look

as characterized her father. Her face was lovely, dark and proud in

expression, but there was an aloofness about it which puzzled the

English girl. Donna Inez might have belonged to a race populating

another planet of the solar system. She had large black, melting eyes,

a straight Greek nose and perfect mouth, a well-rounded chin and

magnificent hair, dark and glossy as the wing of the raven, which was

arranged in the latest Parisian style of coiffure. Also, her gown--as

the two women guessed in an instant--was from Paris. She was perfectly

gloved and booted, and even if she betrayed somehow a barbaric taste for

color in the dull ruddy hue of her dress, which was subdued with black

braid, yet she looked quite a well-bred woman. All the same, her whole

appearance gave an observant onlooker the idea that she would be more

at home in a scanty robe and glittering with rudely wrought ornaments of

gold. Perhaps Peru, where she came from, suggested the comparison, but

Lucy's thoughts flew back to an account of the Virgins of the Sun, which

the Professor had once described. It occurred to her, perhaps wrongly,

that in Donna Inez she beheld one who in former days would have been the

bride of some gorgeous Inca.

“I fear you will find England dull after the sunshine of Lima,” said

Lucy, having ended a swift examination.

Donna Inez shivered a trifle and glanced around at the gray misty air

through which the pale sunshine struggled with difficulty.

“I certainly prefer the tropics to this,” she said in musical English,

“but my father has come down here on business, and until it is concluded

we shall remain in this place.”

“Then we must make things as bright as possible for you,” said Mrs.

Jasher cheerfully, and desperately anxious to learn more of the

new-comers. “You must come to see me, Donna Inez--yonder is my cottage.”

“Thank you, madame: you are very good.”

Meanwhile Don Pedro was talking to the two young men.

“Yes, I did arrive here earlier than I expected,” he was remarking, “but

I have to return to Lima shortly, and I wish to get my business with

Professor Braddock finished as speedily as possible.”

“I am sorry,” said Lucy politely, “but my father is absent.”

“And when will he return, Miss Kendal?”

“I can scarcely say--in a week or a fortnight.”

Don Pedro made a gesture of annoyance.

“It is a pity, as I am so very pressed for time. Still, I must remain

until the Professor returns. I am so anxious to hear if the mummy has

been found.”

“It is not found yet,” said Hope quickly, “and never will be.”

Don Pedro looked at him quietly.

“It must be found,” said he. “I have come all the way from Lima to

obtain it. When you hear my story you will not be surprised at my desire

to regain the mummy.”

“Regain it?” echoed Hope and Random in one breath.

Don Pedro nodded.

“The mummy was stolen from my father,” he said.