Although it was only in the first days of July, it had become thoroughly evident that the London season was on the wane. After a lengthened period of inaction, there had been a fierce parliamentary struggle brought about by that rising young gladiator Mr. Hope Ennythink, who had impeached the Prime Minister, brought the gravest charges against the Foreign Secretary, accused the Chancellor of the Exchequer of crass ignorance, and riddled with ridicule the incompetence of the First Lord of the Admiralty. As Mr. Hope Ennythink spoke with a certain amount of cleverness and a great amount of brass, as he was thoroughly up in all the facts which he adduced,--having devoted his life to the study of Hansard, and being a walking edition of that popular work,--and as he was warmly supported by the Opposition, whose great leaders thought highly of the young man, he ran the Government very hard, and gave the Treasury-whips a great deal of trouble to secure even the slight majority which pulled them through. But immediately the fight was over, it was evident that the session was on the point of closing. There was no more excitement; it was very hot weather; and the session and the season were simultaneously doomed. However, the wives and daughters of the members were determined to die hard; there would be at least a fortnight before the prorogation of Parliament, and during that fortnight dinners, balls, fêtes, and opera-visitings were carried on with redoubled activity. To a good many, condemned to autumnal pinchings and scrapings in a dull country-house, it was the last taste of pleasure until next spring.
Upon the gentlemen attached to the room No. 120, in the Tin-Tax Office, the general state of affairs was not without its effect. Mr. Kinchenton was away for his holiday--he generally chose July as the best month for little Percy's sea-bathing--and he rung the changes between Worthing, Bognor, and Littlehampton, in one of which places he would be found in an entire suit of shepherd's-plaid, and always with a telescope slung round him. Mr. Dibb, his liver in a worse state than ever with the hot weather, had felt himself compelled to quit the pleasant environs of Clapton, where he ordinarily resided, and had taken a bedroom at Windmill-Hill, Gravesend, whence he came up to his office every morning, having immediately established sworn animosity with every guard and regular passenger on the North-Kent Railway, and having regular hand-to-hand combats with the man who sat opposite to him, as to whether the window should be up or down--combats commencing at Gravesend and finishing at New Cross. Upon Mr. Boppy had come a new phase of existence, he having persuaded Mrs. Boppy, for the first time since their marriage, to go on a visit to some country friends, thus leaving him his own masterpro tem. And Mr. Boppy availed himself of this opportunity to give a bachelor-party, cards and supper, at which Mr. Pringle was the master of the revels, and they all enjoyed themselves very much, and talked about it afterwards to Mr. Boppy; little thinking of the unrevealed misery that wretched convivialist was enduring on account of his being unable to rid the window-curtains of the smell of tobacco-smoke, by which Mrs. B. would learn of the past symposium, and would "warm" her husband accordingly. Mr. Prescott and Mr. Pringle had been going on much the same as usual; and Mr. Crump never went out of town because his pay was stopped when he was absent from his office, and he never had any friends who wished to see him.
It was a very hot morning, the sun blazed in through the windows of No. 120, aid upon the head of Mr. Pringle, who was copying items of account on to a large ruled sheet of paper.
"Item, every horse for draught or burden--item, each dog, sheep, swine--I'll be blowed if I'll do any more of it," said Mr. Pringle, casting down his pen and rubbing his head. "I must have some soda-water! Prescott, James, was there too much lemon in Quartermaine's punch last night, or was it that the whitebait are growing too large to be wholesome? Something was wrong, I know! Crump, my boy, you're nearest the cellar; just hand me a bottle of the corrective."
Mr. Crump certainly was nearest the cellar, which was in fact the cupboard which should have been his property, but which had been appropriated by Messrs. Pringle and Prescott as a soda-water store.
"That's a good fellow; now you're up, would you mind just handing me a bit of ice out of the basin? Thanks! What a good Crumpy it is! What's the matter, Mr. Dibb?"
"Can't you be silent for an instant, Mr. Pringle? You are perpetually gabbling. Can't you let us have a moment's peace?"
"I can generally," said Mr. Pringle, with an affectation of great frankness; "but, somehow, not this morning. I seem to be inspired by this delicious fluid. I think I shall write a book called Songs of Soda-water, or Lays of the Morning after. That wouldn't be a bad title, would it, Dibb?"
Mr. Dibb took no notice of this beyond glaring at Mr. Boppy, who had laughed; and there was silence for a few minutes, broken by Mr. Prescott, who said, "When do you go on leave, George?"
"In September, sir," replied Pringle. "That's the genial month when the leaves come off."
"Where are you going?"
"That depends upon how much tin I've got. It strikes me, from the present look-out, that the foreign watering-place of Holloway is about as far as I shall be able to get. There's a tightness in the money-market that's most infernal."
"Why don't you apply to your godfather, old Townshend? He's always treated you with kindness."
"Yes; with un-remitting kindness! wouldn't send me a fiver to save me from gaol. Oh, no! I'll manage somehow. When are you going?"
"Well, I wanted a few days in September myself, if I could get away. I've some shooting offered me at Murray's."
"Murray's? Oh, ah! the parent of that nice little girl! je twig. And the Paterfamilias is a jolly old bird, isn't he, and likes his drink, and has plenty of money? in which case pater-familiarity does not breed contempt."
"They are old friends of my people, you know; and the old gentleman's been very civil to me."
"Ah! and the young lady hasn't been rude, has she?--at least I judged not, from 'what I saw. She rides deuced well; but what a long time she takes to mount! and when you had swung her to the saddle, I noticed that her reins took an immense deal of arranging!"
"Don't be an idiot, George! you're always fancying things."
"And you're always fancying girls, and my life's passed in keeping you out of scrapes."
"By the way, do you ever see any thing of--"
"Ofthe other?Ah, base deceiver! fickle as the wind, or the what's his name! Yes, I've met poor Kitty once or twice, and, without any nonsense, she looked thoroughly seedy and worn."
"Poor dear Kitty, I'm so sorry! I--"
"Oh, yes, we know all about it; 'he loves and he rides away,' and all the rest of it. But, joking apart, Master Jim, it's a very good thing that business is over. I was really 'afraid at one time you were going to grief. But--hollo! for me?" These last words thrown off at a tangent to a messenger who entered the room with a letter.
"No, sir; for Mr. Prescott."
"Ah! I don't like letters generally; but that's not a blue one, and looks tolerably healthy. What's it about, James?"
"Read for yourself;" and Mr. Prescott tossed the letter over to him.
"Mrs. Schröder--garden fête--Uplands," said Pringle, reading. "Oh, ah! I knew all about that, but I didn't mention it, because I wasn't sure that you'd be asked; and as a certing persing is going, you'd have been as mad as a hatter at losing the chance of meeting her."
"What's Uplands?" asked Prescott.
"Uplands is no end of a jolly place which Schröder has taken for the summer and autumn. He has got some tremendous operation in the mines, or the funds, or some of those things that those City fellows get so brutally rich with; and he must be in town two or three times a week. So instead of going to Switzerland, as he intended, he has rented Uplands, which is about seven miles from town, and might be seventy. Out north way, through Whittington; stunning Italian villa, fitted up no end, with conservatories, and big grounds, and a lake, and all sorts of fun. Belonged to another City buffer, who's over-speculated himself and gone to Boulogne. Thatisa comfort; they do go to smash sometimes; but even then they've generally settled as much as the Chief Commissioner's income on their wives. Schröder heard of this; pounced upon it at once; and this is to be Mrs. Schröder's first garden-party."
"I'm very glad I'm asked, if--"
"Glad you're asked! I should think so; it'll be a first-rate party. There'll be no shy ices or Cape cup; Gunter does the commissariat; the Foreign Office has been instructed to send a lot of eligible Counts; and Edgington will supply the marquee."
"I was going to say, when you were kind enough to interrupt me, that I'm glad I'm asked, if Miss Murray is to be there."
"She'll be there, sir, fast enough; and you shall devote yourself to her, and be the Murray's Guide; and I'll be your courier, and go before you to see that all is square. I mean to enjoy myself that day, and no mistake."
"This is the place, Jim!" said Mr. Pringle, as on the day of the party they drove in a hansom along a meadow-bordered road some two miles the country side of the little village of Whittington. "That's the house, that white building with the high tower; no end of a smoke-room that tower makes! it's fitted up with lounges and Indian matting; all the windows hook outwards, and there's a view all over every where! What a lot of traps, too!--like the outside of the Star and Garter on a Sunday afternoon. That's the Guards' drag, I suppose; I know there was a lot of them coming down--"
"And there's old Murray's carriage; I'd know that any where," interrupted Prescott.
"Is it? well, then, you'll be all right. Easy, cabby; we don't want to be thrown into the very midst of the aristocracy; we'll get out here, and walk quietly up."
Mr. Pringle had by no means given an exaggerated description of the beauties of Uplands. The house stood on the brow of the hill, under which nestled the little village of Whittington, the only cluster of buildings within a couple of miles' range. All round it lay large meadows, through which flowed, in tiny silver thread, the river Brent; while far away on the horizon lay a thick heavy cloud betokening the position of Babylon the Great. In the house the rooms, though somewhat low, were large and cheerful, and the grounds were laid out in every variety of exquisite taste. There were broad lawns, whereon the croquet-players loved to linger; and noble terraces where the elderly people sat, sheltered alike from the sun and the wind; and dark winding shady walks, down which, at the close of evening, couples would be seen stealing, and being questioned on their return, would declare that they had been to see the syringa,--a statement which was invariably received with derision, or, as the poet hath it, "Doubts would be muttered around, and the name be suggested of Walker." And there was a large lake with a real Venetian gondola upon it, very black and gloomy, and thoroughly realising the notion of a "coffin clapt in a canoe," and a large light shallop with an awning, and a couple of outriggers and a water-quintain for those people who preferred athletics to ease, and sunstrokes to comfort.
"This is the right sort of thing, isn't it, my boy?" said Mr. Pringle, as they passed along. "I suppose you could put up with a crib like this, couldn't you? What a lot of people! every body in London here! How do, doctor? Dr. Prater, very good little party; took me behind the scenes at the Opera once, and gave me a certificate when I wanted sick-leave. See that tall man in the fluffy white hat? Mincing-Lane fellow merchant; named Hill; capital fellow, but drops hish's awfully. They call him theMalade Imaginaire, because he calls himself 'ill when he isn't. That's his wife in the black dress with white spots on it, like change for a sovereign. Those two tall fellows are in the Second Life-Guards. Look at the nearest one to us, that's Punch Croker; don't he look like an ape? I always long to give him a nut: the other man's Charley Greville, a very good fellow; they tell a capital story about him. His uncle was a tremendous old screw, who left Charley his heir. When the will was read, the first clause contained the expression of a hope that his debts would not be paid. Charley had a copy of this clause sent round to all the creditors, with an indorsement that he, as executor, would religiously fulfil the desire of the deceased. There was a terrible scrimmage about it, and the lawyers are at it now, I believe."
"Isn't this our man--Beresford?"
"Of course it is, and there's Mr. Schröder close by him. We'll go up and make our salaams."
So the young men wound through the crowd, and were very cordially received by Mrs. Schröder, and indeed by Mr. Beresford. For the Commissioner knew his popularity in the Office and was pleased at it, and was always glad to meet decent-looking men belonging to it in society. "It improved the tone of the confounded place," he used to say. Talking to Mrs. Schröder was Mr. Sergeant Shivers, one of the ornaments of the Old-Bailey bar; a tremendously eloquent man in the florid and ornate style, with a power of cross-examination calculated to turn a witness inside out, and a power of address able to frighten the jury into fits; but who scorned all these advantages, and was never so happy as when talking of and to great people. He was on his favourite topic when Prescott and Pringle arrived.
"Ah, my dear Mrs. Schröder," he was saying, "isn't it sad? The duchess herself sent for me, and said, 'Now, Mr. Sergeant, speak to him yourself. You have experience of life; above all, you have experience of our order. Tell Philip what will be the result of this marriage with Lady Di!' I promised her grace I would; and I did. I spoke not only to Lord Philip, but to Lord Ronald and Lord Alberic, his brothers. But it was no good; the marriage has come off, and now the poor duchess is in despair. Ah! there's Lady Nettleford! I must go and condole with her on the affair;" and the learned sergeant bowed himself off.
"Ah! 'Good-by to the bar and its moaning,' as Kingsley says," remarked Mr. Pringle. "What a dreary bird! Now I see you're fidgetting to be off, Jim; and I know perfectly well why; so we'll go and look after the Murray. What a pity she's not got up in red, like her namesakes! then we could recognise her a mile off."
"There she is!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Prescott. "There! just crossing the end of the croquet-ground. I'm off, George. I shall find you in plenty of time to go together;" and Mr. Prescott strode away in great haste.
"Very good," said Mr. Pringle; "'and she was left lamenting.' I believe I am in the position of the daughter of the Earl of Ellin; if not, why not? There's no fair young form to hang upon me; man delights me not nor woman either; so I'll see if there's any moselle-cup handy."
Among those present at the Uplandsfêtewere Frank Churchill and Barbara. Alice Schröder had made a great point of their coming; and though at first Barbara refused, yet her husband so strongly seconded the invitation, that she at length gave way and consented. It was a trying time for Barbara: she knew she would there be compelled to meet many of the members of that old set amongst which her youth had been passed, and which she had so sedulously avoided since her marriage, and she was doubtful of her reception by them. Not that that would have distressed Barbara one jot; she would have swept past the great Duchess of Merionethshire herself with uplift eyebrows and extended nostrils; but she knew that Frank was horribly sensitive, and she feared lest any of his sympathies should be jarred. Moreover, she felt certain that Captain Lyster would be at the Uplands; and though since the day of the little outbreak his name had not been mentioned, and all having been made up with a kiss had gone smoothly since, Barbara had an inward dread that the sight of him would arouse Frank's wrath and lead to mischief. However, they came. Barbara was very charmingly dressed; and if her face were a little pale and her expression somewhat anxious, her eye was as bright and her bearing as proud as ever. Alice Schröder received her in the warmest manner, kissed her affectionately, and immediately afterwards without the slightest intention planted a dagger in her breast, by expressing delight at "seeing her among her old friends again." "These old friends"--i.e. persons whom she had been in the habit of constantly meeting in society, and who had envied and hated her--were gathered together in numbers at Uplands, and all said civil things to Barbara; indeed, the great Duchess of Merionethshire actually stepped forward a few paces--a condescension which she very rarely granted,--and after welcoming Barbara, begged that Mr. Churchill might be presented to her, "as a gentleman of whom she had heard so much." Barbara rather opened her eyes at this; but after the presentation it was explained by the duchess saying, "My son-in-law, Lord Halley, has often expressed his recognition of the services rendered to him by your pen, Mr. Churchill." For Lord Halley was Foreign Secretary at that time, and certainly gave Churchill plenty of opportunities of defending him. And as they moved away, Barbara heard the duchess say, "What a fine-looking man!" and Mr. Sergeant Shivers, who was thoroughly good-natured, began loudly blowing the trumpet of Frank's abilities. So that Barbara was happier than she had been for some time; and her happiness was certainly not decreased by seeing that the cloud had left Frank's brow, and that he looked in every way his former self.
"Now, Barbara," said Alice Schröder, approaching them, "we are getting up two new croquet sets, and want members for each. You'll play, of course? I recollect how you used to send me spinning at Bissett--oh, by the way, have you heard? poor dear Sir Marmaduke, so ill at Pau, or somewhere--"
"Ill? Sir Marmaduke ill?"
"Yes, poor dear! isn't it sad? And Mr. Churchill will play too; but not on the same side. I can't have you on the same side; you're old married people now; and both such good players too! Let me see; Captain Lyster, will you take Mrs. Churchill on your side?"
Captain Lyster bowed, shook hands, and expressed his delight. Frank Churchill shook hands with Lyster; but as he did so, a flush passed over his face.
"Now, then, that set is full," said Mrs. Schröder; "who is the captain of the other set, playing at the other ground? oh, you, Mr. Pringle! Will you take Mr. Churchill away with you; you only want one, I think?"
"No, madam," said Pringle, with a serio-comic sigh; "I only want one; but I shall want that one all my life. Come along, Mr. Churchill." And he and Frank started off to the lower lawn together.
Barbara had always been very fond of croquet. She played well; relying more upon the effectiveness of her aim than the result of her calculations. She had a perfect little foot; and she croqueted her adversaries far away with as much science as malice. She enjoyed the game thoroughly, as, not having played for months, she rejoiced at finding that she retained all her skill; but she could not help perceiving that Captain Lyster was dull and preoccupied, and that he attended so little to the game as to require perpetual reminding when it was his turn to play. Indeed, despite all Barbara's exertions, they might have lost the game--for their opponents were wary and persevering--had it not been for the steady play of their coadjutors, Mr. Prescott and Miss Murray, who evinced a really remarkable talent for keeping close together, and nursing each other through all the difficult hoops. At length they won with flying colours, and were going to begin a new game, when Captain Lyster said, "Mrs. Churchill, I should be so grateful for a few minutes' talk with you on a really important subject. Please, don't play again, but let us stroll." Barbara had all faith in Fred Lyster's truth and honour; she had known him for years, and more than half-suspected the secret of his early attachment to Alice; so that she had no hesitation in saying, "Certainly, Captain Lyster, if you wish it;" then adding with a smile, "You will not miss us much, will you, Mr. Prescott?" she and the Captain strolled away.
Then, as they walked, Fred Lyster talked long and earnestly. He told Barbara that he addressed her as one who, he knew, took the deepest interest in Alice Schröder's welfare; indeed, as one who had been as her sister in times past. He touched lightly on the disparity in age between Alice and her husband, and upon the difference in all their habits, tastes, and opinions; he said that she was thus doubtless driven to her own resources for amusement, and that her utter simplicity and childishness made her the easy prey of designing people. Then, with the utmost delicacy, he went on to point out that for some time Beresford's attentions to Mrs. Schröder had been most marked; that his constant presence at their house, or in attendance on her when she went out, had attracted attention, and that at length it had become common club-gossip. Only on the previous night he had heard that it had been publicly discussed in the smoke-room of the Minerva; that an old gentleman, an old friend of the family, had announced his intention of speaking to Mr. Schröder about it. What was to be done? He (Lyster), deeply pained at it all, had no authority, no influence, no right, to mix himself with the matter. Would not Mrs. Churchill, in pity for her friend, talk seriously with Mrs. Schröder about it? She was all-potential. Mrs. Schröder believed implicitly in her, and would undoubtedly follow her advice. Would not Mrs. Churchill do this, for pity's sake?
Barbara was very much astonished and very much shocked. She had always known Alice to be weak and vain and silly; she knew that her marriage with Mr. Schröder had been one made solely at her father's instigation; but having lived entirely out of the set for the last few months, she had no idea of the intimacy with Mr. Beresford, whose acquaintance she considered was by no means desirable. She was entirely at a loss what to do, being of opinion that her influence over Alice had all died out. However, if Captain Lyster thought otherwise, and if he counselled and urged her taking such a step, she would not refuse; she would take an early opportunity of seeking an interview with Alice, and giving that silly girl--silly, and nothing more, she was certain--a very serious talking to; "and then, Captain Lyster, let us trust that this horrible gossip will be put a stop to." As Barbara said this, she smiled and put out her hand. Poor Fred bent over it, and when he raised his head to say, "Mrs. Churchill, you will have done an angel's work!" there were tears in his eyes.
Meantime Frank Churchill, with doubt and distrust at his heart, engendered by having to leave Barbara in company with Captain Lyster, went away with Pringle to the lower croquet-ground, where they and others played a succession of games with varying success, in all of which Frank distinguished himself by ferocious swiping, and Mr. Pringle came to grief in an untimely manner. At length, when they were tired, Frank and Pringle walked away together--the former on the look-out for his wife, the latter listening with great deference to such scraps of his companion's conversation as he was treated with; for Mr. Pringle had a great reverence for "people who write books," and, in common with a great many, looked upon the production of a something printable as an occult art. "It always seems such a rum thing to me," said he ingenuously, "how you first think about it, and then how you put it down! You write leaders, Mr. Churchill, eh? Oh yes, we heard of you at our office, the Tin-Tax, you know! That article in theStatesmanabout old Maddox and his K.C.B.'ship, they all declared it was you."
As Churchill only said "Indeed!" in an absent manner, and was still looking about him, Pringle proceeded: "Oh, of course you won't let it out it was your work--we understand that! but it must be jolly to be able to give a fellow one for himself sometimes! a regular bad one, enough to make him drink! I should think that was better fun than novel-writing; though novel-writing must be easier, as you've only got to describe what you see. I think I could do that--this afternoon, for instance, and all the swells and queer people about. The worst of it is, you must touch it up with a bit of love, and I'm not much of a hand at that; but I suppose one could easily see plenty of it to study from. For instance, do you see those two at the end of this walk, under the tree? I suppose that's a spooning match, isn't it? How he is laying down the law! and she gives him her hand, and he bends over it--"
"Damnation!" exclaimed Churchill.
"Hollo!" said Pringle, "what's the matter?"
"Nothing!" said Churchill; "I twisted my foot, that was all!"
Barbara tried several times that evening to meet Frank; but he avoided her; and it was not until they were in the fly, that she had an opportunity of speaking to him.
"Where on earth have you been, Frank, all day? I hunted and hunted for you, but never succeeded in finding you."
He looked up at her: her eyes were sparkling, her cheek flushed; she was thoroughly happy. The escape from Mesopotamia and its dreariness, the return to scenes similar to those which she had been accustomed to, had worked immediate change. She looked so radiantly beautiful that Frank was half-tempted to spare her; but after a second's pause, he said,
"I walked all over the grounds. I was in the shrubbery close by you when Captain Lyster kissed your hand."
"What!" exclaimed Barbara, with a start. "It is beneath me to repel such a calumny; but to satisfy your absurd doubt, I tell you plainly you were wrong."
"Will you tell me," asked Frank, in a sad voice, "that he did not walk with yop and talk with you apart? Can you deny it?"
"No!" returned Barbara. "He did both walk and talk with me; he had something very special to say to me, and he said it."
"And it was--?"
"I cannot tell you; it was told to me in confidence; it concerns the reputation of a third person, and I cannot mention it, even to you."
"Then, by the Lord, I'll have an end to this!" said Frank, in a sudden access of passion. "Listen here, Barbara; I'll have no captains, nor any one else, coming to repose confidences with which I'm not to be made acquainted, in my wife! I'll have no shrubbery-walks and whisperings with you! Such things may be the fashion in the circles in which you have lived; but I don't hold with them!"
He could have bitten his tongue out the next instant, when Barbara said, in an icy voice, "It may be the fashion in the circles in whichyouhave lived to swear at one's wife, and shout at her so that the coachman hears you; but I don't hold with it, nor, what's more, will I permit it!"
She never spoke again till they reached home, when she stepped leisurely out of the carriage, ignoring Frank's proffered arm, and went silently to bed.
Mr. Simnel, the secretary, sat at his desk, hard at work as usual, but evidently tempering the dulness of the official minutes with some recollections of a lively nature, as now and then he would put down his pen, and smile pleasantly, nursing his knee the while. "Yes," he said softly to himself, "I think I'll do it to-day. I've waited long enough; now I'll put Kitty on to the scent, and stand the racket.Ruat caelum!I'll ride quietly up there this afternoon;" and he touched the small handbell, with which he summoned his private secretary. In response to this bell,--not the private secretary, who was lunching with a couple of friends and discussing the latest fashionable gossip,--the door was opened by Mr. Pringle, who begged to know his chief's wishes.
"Eh?" said Simnel, raising his head at the strange voice; "oh, Grammont at lunch, I suppose?--how do you do, Mr. Pringle? I want all the letters brought in at once, please; I'm going away early to-day."
"Certainly, sir," said Mr. Pringle, who objected on principle to interviews with great official swells, such interviews being generally connected in his mind with rebukes known as "carpetings." "I'll see about it, sir."
"Thank you, Mr. Pringle. How are all your people? bow is Mrs. Schröder? who is your cousin, I think."
"Yes, my cousin. She's all right; but I'm sorry to say my uncle Mr. Townshend is very ill; so ill that he leaves town for the Continent to-night, and is likely to be away some time."
"Dear me! Pm very sorry to hear that."
"Fact, indeed, sir! I was thinking, sir," said Mr. Pringle, who never missed a chance, "that as Mrs. Schröder may perhaps be rather dull to-morrow after her father's gone, I might perhaps have a day's leave of absence to be with her."
"Certainly; by all means, Mr. Pringle! Now send in the letters, please." And Mr. Pringle retired into the next room, where he indulged in the steps of a comic dance popular with burlesque-actors, and known as a "nigger break-down."
"Going out of town, eh? likely to be abroad some time! very unwell!" said Mr. Simnel, nursing his leg; "then I must alter my arrangements. I'll go and see him at once, and bring that matter to a head. I can deal with Kitty afterwards." And when Mr. Simnel had signed all the letters brought in to him, he unlocked his desk and took out a paper which he placed in his pocketbook; then carefully locking every thing after him, he departed.
In the Strand he called a cab, and was driven to Austin Friars, where he dismounted, and walked up the street until he came to a large door, on the posts of which were inscribed the words, "Townshend and Co." There was no Co., there never had been; Mr. Townshend was the entire concern; he was the first of his name who had been known in the place, and no one knew his origin. He first made his mark in the City as a daring money-broker and speculator; two or three lucky hits established his fame, and he then became cautious, wary, well-informed, and almost invariably successful.. The name of Townshend was highly thought of on 'Change; its owner had been invited to a seat in the Bank Direction, and had been consulted by more than one Chancellor of the Exchequer; he had been a member of the Gresham Club, there made acquaintances, who introduced him into the True Blue and the No-Surrender, for Mr. Townshend was intensely conservative; and by the time his daughter was fit to head his table (his wife had died years since), he had a set of ancestors on his walls in Harley Street dating from warriors who fought at Ramillies and Malplaquet, down to the "civil servant of the Company," who shook the pagoda-tree in the East, and from whom, as Mr. Townshend said, his first start in life was derived. It is doubtful--and immaterial--whether Mr. Simnel knew or not of the non-existence of the Co. He asked for Mr. Townshend, whether Mr. Townshend was in; and he put the question to one of four young gentlemen who were writing at a desk, which, if it must be called by its right name, was a counter. After a great deal of fencing with this youth, who was reading out wild commercial documents, such as "Two two four nine, Lammas and Childs on National of Ireland--note for dis.," and who declined to be interrupted until he had completed his task,--Mr. Simnel at length got his name sent in to Mr. Townshend, and was shown into the great man's presence.
Mr. Townshend was seated at a large desk covered with papers, which were arranged in the most precise and orderly fashion. He was dressed with great precision, in a blue body-coat and a buff waistcoat with gilt buttons; his thin hair was brushed up over his temples, and his face was thin and pale. He received his visitor somewhat pompously, and made him a very slight bow. Mr. Simnel returned the salute much in the same fashion, and said, "You will wonder what has brought me to call on you, Mr. Townshend?"
"I--I am not aware what can have procured me the honour of a visit, Mr.--Mr.--" and the old gentleman held up Mr. Simnel's card at arm's-length, and looked at it through his double eyeglass.
"Simnel's my name! I daresay it conveys to you no meaning whatsoever?"
"Oh, I beg your pardon! On the contrary, your name is familiar to me as that of the secretary of the Tin-Tax Office. I am glad to make your acquaintance, sir. I often have communication with official men. What can I do for you?"
"It's in a private capacity that I've come to see you," said Mr. Simnel. "I heard you were going out of town, and I had something special to talk over with you."
"I must trouble you to be concise and quick," said Mr. Townshend, by no means relishing the easy manner of his visitor. "As you say, I am going out of town,--for the benefit of my health,--and every moment is precious."
"I shall not detain you very long," said Simnel, who had begun to nurse his leg, to Mr. Townshend's intense disgust. "I suppose we're private here? You'll excuse me; but you'll be glad of it before I've done. I may as well be brief in what I have to say; it will save both of us trouble. To begin with: I'm not by origin a London man. I come from Combcardingham; so do you."
Mr. Townshend's cheeks paled a little as he said, "I came from Calcutta sir."
"Yes; last, I know; but you went to Calcutta, and from Combcardingham."
"I never was in the place in my life."
"Weren't you indeed? then it must have been your twin-brother. I know a curious story about him, which I'll tell you."
"If you are come here to fool away my time, sir!" said Mr. Townshend, rising.
"By no means, my dear sir. You don't know me personally; but I'll pledge my official reputation that the story is worth hearing. I think when I mention the names of Pigott and Wells--"
Down at last--sunk down cowering in his chair, just as at the Schröders' dinner, when he heard those dreadful names.
"Ah, I thought you would remember them. Well, Pigott and Wells were wool-merchants of old standing in Combcardingham. Pigott had long been dead; but Wells carried on the business of the firm under the old name. His solicitors were Messrs. Banner and Blair. One day Mr. Banner came to their articled clerk, and said to him, 'Robert, I have got an awkward business on hand; but you're a sharp fellow and can be trusted. Old Wells is coming here presently with some one else. I shall want a signature witnessed; but I'll get Podmore to do that. All you have to do is to keep your eyes against that window,' pointing to a pane hidden behind a curtain; 'and mark all you see, specially faces. It may be a lesson to you on a future occasion.'"
"Well, sir?" interrupted Townshend.
"Well, sir, the clerk placed himself as directed, and saw old Mr. Wells and a thickset, dissipated-looking man shown into the room. Banner told Mr. Wells he was prepared for him, and produced a paper for signature; the signer of which, in consideration of Mr. Wells consenting to forego prosecuting him for the forgery of a bill of 120l. attached to the document, promised to leave England and never to return. You're interested now; I thought you would be. Podmore was called in, and witnessed the dissipated young man sign the paper; but he knew nothing of its contents. Then old Wells, raising his shaking forefinger, said, 'For your poor mother's sake, sir; not for yours!' and the dissipated-looking man drew a long breath, as though a great weight were off his mind, and strode out. The articled clerk saw all this, and marked the features of the forger; he did not see him again for many years. He sees him now!"
"What do you mean?"
"Simply, that you were the forger, I the clerk!"
"But that paper--that horrible confession, and the bill, they are destroyed! Wells swore he would destroy them before his death!"
"He intended to do so but he died suddenly, poor old man; and in going through his desk I found them. I've got them here!"
"And what use are they to you? What harm are they to me? I shall swear--"
"Stop a minute! Podmore is alive; he's got Banner and Blair's business in Combcardingham now; he would verify his signature any day, and yours too. No; I fairly tell you I've thought of it all for several years, and I don't see your loophole. I think I've got you tight!" And Mr. Simnel smiled pleasantly as he squeezed his thumb and forefinger together, as though he were choking a rabbit.
Mr. Townshend was cowering in his chair, and had covered his face with his hands. When he raised it, he was livid. "What do you want?--money?"
"No," said Simnel, "not exactly. Oddly enough, I want nothing at present! I merely wanted, as you were going out of town, to set matters straight, and let us understand each other before you left. I'll let you know when I really require you to do something for me, and you'll not fail, eh?" These last words rather sharply.
"In all human--I mean--in a--" and the old man stammered, broke down, and threw himself back in his chair, sobbing violently.
"Come, come!" said Simnel; "don't take on so! You'll not find me hard; but you know in these days one must utilise one's opportunities. There, good-by! you won't forget my name; and I'll write here when I want you."
And he touched, not unkindly, the shrinking old man's shoulder, and went out.
In his well-deserved character of prudent campaigner, Mr. Simnel took no immediate steps to avail himself of the signal advantage which he had gained in his interview with Mr. Townshend. That eminent British merchant went abroad, and his name was recorded among a choice sprinkling of fashionables as honouring the steamshipBaron Osy, bound for Antwerp, with their presence, and, on the "better-day-better-deed" principle, selecting the Sunday as the day of their departure. Mr. Simnel read the paragraph with a placid smile; he had seen sufficient of Mr. Townshend in that interview to guess that his illness was merely the result of care and worry, and that there was no reason to apprehend his proximate death. Antwerp--doubtless thence Brussels, the Rhine, and perhaps Switzerland--would make a pleasant tour; and as for any idea of escape, he knew well enough that that thought had never crossed Mr. Townshend's mind. The old gentleman knew he would have to pay the possessor of his secret heavily in one way or another, but in what he was as yet totally ignorant; besides, his business engagements in London utterly prevented all chance of his retiring in any sudden manner. And so Mr. Simnel remained quietly at his post at the Tin-Tax Office, apparently not taking any notice of any thing save the regular business routine, but in reality intent on his earnest cat-like watching of all around him, and always ready to pull any string at what he considered the proper opportunity.
He kept his eyes on Mr. Beresford, and knit his eyebrows very much as he contemplated that gentleman's proceedings. Whether prompted by anxiety for the fate of his eight-hundred pounds loan or by some other occult reason, Mr. Simnel had been specially watchful over the Commissioner, and urged upon him to bring the speculation in which he had embarked to a prosperous close. With this view he had dissuaded Beresford from going to Scotland, whither, as usual, he was bound on his autumnal excursion; representing to him that he had of late been very lax in his attendance; that he had had much more leave of absence than any of his brother commissioners; that Sir Hickory Maddox had once or twice referred to the subject in any thing but a complimentary manner; and that the best thing he could do to stave off an impending row would be to volunteer to stop in town, and let the other members of the board have a chance of running away in the fine weather. At this suggestion Mr. Beresford looked very black and waxed very wroth, and couldn't see why the deuce, and on his oath couldn't tell the necessity, &c.; but relented somewhat when his friend pointed out to him that there was no necessity for his attending more than twice a week at the office, just to sign such papers as were pressing; and that instead of remaining in his South-Audley-Street lodgings, he could go out and take rooms at a beautiful little inn in the village of Whittington, where there was a glorious cook, a capital cellar, beautiful air, splendid prospect, and above all, which was twenty minutes' canter from the Uplands, Schröder's summer place. To this plan Mr. Beresford consented; and after asking for a further loan of fifty, and getting five-and-twenty, from Simnel, Beresford and his mare Gulnare were domesticated at the Holly Bush, and he prepared to make play.
But somehow the state of affairs did not please Mr. Simnel. One day, when he and Mr. and Mrs. Schröder were Beresford's guests, he seemed specially annoyed; and on the next occasion of his friend's visiting the office, he took the opportunity of speaking to him.
"I want to say a word to you, Master Charles," said he, entering the board-room and addressing Beresford, who was stretched on the sofa reading thePost, and envying the sportsmen whose bags were recorded therein. "I want to know how you're getting on."
"Getting on! in what way?" asked Beresford, putting down the paper and lazily looking round; "as regards money, do you mean? because, if so, I could take that other five-and-twenty from you with a great amount of satisfaction."
"You're very good," said Simnel, with a sardonic grin; "but I'd rather not. I'm afraid you've been trying some of Dr. Franklin's experiments with kites again recently; at all events, I've seen several letters addressed to you in Parkinson's--of Thavies Inn, I mean--handwriting; which looks any thing but healthy. However, I didn't mean that; I meant in the other business--the great venture."
"Oh," said Beresford, "that's all right."
"I'm glad to hear it. Satisfactory, and all that sort of thing, eh?"
"Perfectly. Why do you ask?"
"Well, to tell you the truth," said Simnel, with that kind of honest bluntness, that inexpressible frankness, generally assumed by a man who is going to say something disagreeable, "I had an idea that it was quite the opposite. When we dined with you the other day,--deuced good dinner it was too; I was right to recommend you there, wasn't I? I haven't tasted such spitchcocked eels for years; and that man's moselle has a finer faint flavour of the muscat than any I know in England,--when we dined with you, as I say, I fancied things were all wrong with the lady. I talked to the old boy, as in duty bound, and listened to all his platitudes about the influence of money--as though I didn't know about that, good lord! But the whole time I was listening, and chiming in here and there with such interjections as I thought appropriate, I kept my eye on you and madam; and from what I saw, I judged it wasn't all plain-sailing. I was right; wasn't I?"
"Well," said Mr. Beresford, between his teeth, "you were, and that's the truth. We've come to grief somehow; but how, I can hardly tell. It was going on splendidly; I had followed all your instructions to the letter, and, in fact, I was thoroughly accepted as her brother, when she suddenly veered round; and though I can't say she's been unkind, yet she has lost all that warmth that so pleasantly characterised her regard; and now, I think, rather avoids me than otherwise."
"You've not overdone it, have you? Not been lapsing into your old style of flirtation, and--"
"No; on my honour, no. I rather think some of her friends have been putting the moral screw on. You recollect a Miss Lexden--Mrs. Churchill that is now?"
"Perfectly! Butshewould not be likely to object to a flirtation."
"Not as mademoiselle, but as madame she has rangéed herself, and I believe her husband is a straight-laced party. She was up at Uplands for a couple of days, and rather snubbed me when I presented myself there in my fraternal character. I've been putting things together in my mind, and I begin to think that Mrs. Schröder's coldness dated from Mrs. Churchill's visit."
"Likely enough. I daresay Mrs. Churchill goes in tremendously now for all the domestic virtues. If a reformed rake makes the best husband, a penitent flirt ought to make the best wife; and, by all accounts, Miss Barbara Lexden was a queen of the art. I hear that she and her husband lead a perpetually billing-and-cooing existence, like a pair of genteelly-poor turtles, in some dovecot near Gray's Inn."
"That man Lyster's been a good deal to the house lately, too. I always hated that fellow, and I know he hates me; he looks at me sometimes as though he could eat me. Schröder seems to have taken a fancy to him; and I sometimes half fancy that he has a kind of spoony attachment to Mrs. Schröder--if you recollect, I told you I thought he was after her when we were all down at Bissett--though I don't think very much of that. I'll tell you what it is, Simnel," continued Mr. Beresford, in a burst of confidence, straggling up into a sitting position on the sofa, and beating his legs with the folded newspaper as he spoke, "I'm getting devilish sick of all this dodging and duffing, and I've been thinking seriously of calling my creditors together, getting them to take so much a-year, and then going in quietly and marrying Kate Mellon after all."
Mr. Simnel's face flushed but for an instant; it was its normal colour when he said,
"You're mad! You, with the ball at your foot, to think of such a course! So much a-year, indeed! Butchers and bakers do that sort of thing, I believe, when they've been let in; but not forty-per-cent men; not money-lending insurance-offices. Breathe a hint of your state, and they'd be down upon you at once, and sell you up like old sticks. Besides, you couldn't come to any arrangement with your creditors without its leaking out somehow. It would get into those infernal trade-circulars, or protection-gazettes, or whatever they're called; and if the Bishop or Lady Lowndes heard of it, all your chances of inheriting in either of those quarters would be blown to the winds. As to--to Kate Mellon, you may judge how your alliance with her would please either of the august persons I have named."
"Jove! you're right," said Beresford, biting his nails.
"Right, of course I am; and here you've only to wait, and an heiress--a delightful little creature to boot--is absolutely thrown into your arms. You're a child, Charley, in some things,--you clever men always have a slate off somewhere, you know,--and in business you're a positive child. Can't you see that yours must be a waiting race?--that you mustn't mind being hustled, and bothered, and cramped, at the beginning, but must always keep your eyes open for your chance, and then make the running? The least impetuosity, such as you hint at, would throw away every hope, and destroy a very excellently planned scheme. Oh, you needn't wince at the word; we are all schemers in love, as well as in every thing else, if we only acknowledged it."
"Then you counsel my keeping on still, and endeavouring to regain my influence?"
"Certainly; by all means. It will come back, never fear. And look here, Charley; don't fall into that horribly common and vulgar error of abusing the people who are supposed to be thwarting your plans. Be specially kind, on the contrary, in all you say of them. This Captain Lyster, for instance, I should proclaim, if I were you, a thorough gentleman--a prolix chevalier of a type now seldom seen--a man evidently smothering an unhappy passion for--for--any body but Mrs. Schröder. Wouldn't the other one do? Mrs. Churchill, I mean."
"Do! What do you mean? There used certainly to be a flirtation between them at one time, and--"
"Quite enough. Only keep Mrs. Schröder from the notion that Lyster is spooning her; for that's enough at once to turn her silly little thoughts to him. Speak kindly of every one; and don't show the smallest signs of weariness, depression, or discouragement."