Mr. Simnel had ridden away homeward, and Kate had thrown herself on a sofa in the dining-room, and was vacantly watching the purple gloom creeping up and ingulphing the landscape. Vacantly, I say; for though her eyes were fixed on it, she heeded it not. Simnel's description of his visit had awakened in her a thousand memories of old days. The smell of the stables, the tan, and the sawdust of the ring; the lamps, and the orange-peel in the marquee; the way in which the tent-poles would strain and crack in a high wind, and the audience would look up, as though expecting the crazy edifice to descend on their heads; the swinging naphtha-burners flaring in the draught; the dull flopping sound of the first drops of a thunder-shower on the tent roof, causing an immediate consternation and whispering among the non-umbrellaed spectators,--all these rose before her mind. She recollected all the different stages of her own novitiate; heard old Fox's thin piping voice cursing her freely for "missing her tip" in clearing the garters, or sticking in the silver-papered hoop; and his wife's hoarse growling at her extravagance in tarlatan skirts and rose-pinked stockings. Then, pursuing this train of thought, she remembered what Simnel had said about her parentage; and stung with a sudden idea she sat upright on the sofa, unconsciously tapping her teeth with her nails. Could it not all be made straight? That was what she thought. Her father was a man of position, a man highly thought of and esteemed--so Simnel had said; he could be forced to recognise her as his daughter,--Simnel swore he should do this. What, then, stood in the way of her being reconciled to, of her being married to Charles Beresford? She had plenty of money as it was, and if her father were rich as stated, could have the command of more. It was her position, the horse-breaking business, that had floored Charley; she saw that at once; but now here she was a recognised swell, bar the illegitimacy; and Charley wouldn't mind that with money, and above all with love--oh, such love!--for him. He would give up every one else for her; he would give up that fair-haired woman--Ah, good God! the letter! that fatal letter, which she wrote in her mad passion of yesterday! that wild wicked letter was fatal! it would be shown to him; her handwriting would be recognised, and there would be an end to all her hopes.
When the servant came in with the dinner-tray she found her mistress in a swoon.
Dead! had been dead for half an hour!--so said the first man with an approach to medical knowledge who was called in, and who indeed was a worthy chemist who lived in the neighbourhood, and who, on the strength of a square shop fitted with an oil-cloth floor, with a little fountain in the centre (in the basin of which half-a-dozen bottles of aerated water were always cooling), of a counter bearing glazed cases of scents and cosmetics, of a nest of drawers labelled with illegible half-words, and of three large shining coloured bottles in the window, was regarded by the servants in the vicinity as a weird practitioner indeed. A servant had been despatched in a cab for Dr. Prater; but in the interval pending that luminary's arrival, Mr. Canthar, of the Medical Hall, was master of the position, and all those who were left with the body hung upon his words. It--it had already come to be called "it"--still lay in the library, where it had been found. Mrs. Schröder, who had hurried in close behind Barbara, had, at the very first glimpse of the state of affairs, gone off into a violent fit of hysterics, and had been removed to her room, whither Barbara had followed her, and where the latter was now in close attendance upon her stricken friend. When Mr. Canthar arrived (he had stripped off his black-calico apron and thrown it into the cork-drawer on being summoned, and completed his toiletteen routeby running his fingers through such hair as remained on the sides of his head), he found Mr. Schröder's body stretched out on the sofa in the library, and attended solely by the kitchen-maid and by a page-boy, who, partly from love to the kitchen-maid, partly from gratitude to his employers, bore her company. The other servants had declined having any thing to do with such horrors, as not coming within their engagements. The great butler had retired to the housekeeper's room, taking with him a bottle of brown sherry, and there these supreme functionaries sat, discussing future prospects; the French cook had gone out to announce to a friend of his, who was steward at a crack club, that he was now open to an engagement; the two footmen, great hulking masses of ignorance and vanity, with faces whiter than the powder on their heads, sat in the pantry, shaking over one glass of hot gin-and-water, and solemnly glozing over the probability of a suggestion made by one of them that "he" (they had never named him) had died of "spuntanus kymbustium." When Mr. Canthar's sharp ring came at the bell, they both trembled violently, and went up together to open the door. The announcement that their master was dead,--an announcement made by Mr. Canthar after a very cursory examination,--utterly failed in reassuring them; on the contrary, it produced the liveliest symptoms of fright, and they incontinently hurried down stairs to the pantry again. Mr. Canthar required but a very short examination to arrive at his verdict. He placed his finger on the pulse, his ear to the waistcoat; then he took a candle from the attendant kitchen-maid, and looked for an instant into the half-closed glazed eyes. Gently depositing the hand, he said, "Dead! quite dead! been dead for half-an-hour, I suppose. I'm not called upon to state to you my opinion of the cause of death; indeed, it would be quite useless; and as no member of the family has done me the honour to be present,--well, no matter, never mind." Then, in a whisper, "I'd put a cloth round the jaws, don't you know? just bind it together, because--ugly appearance, you understand, Martha--good-night;" and Mr. Canthar tripped out of the house, and devoted the remainder of the evening to working out a composition for the nutriment of the hair, which, under the name of Canthar's Crinibus, has an enormous circulation over the infant heads of Albertopolis.
Half-an-hour after he had received the message from the servant who had been despatched for him, Dr. Prater spun up in his little low carriage,--hung on C springs to prevent the doctor's highly sensitive organisation being disturbed by bumps or jolts over the horrible pavement,--and drawn by a pair of little bays, which might have been the property of anymillionairein the land. The great butler condescended to leave the society of the housekeeper, and to rouse himself so far as to hold open the drawing-room door for the doctor's entrance; also to produce a decanter and a couple of glasses; and placing them at the doctor's elbow, to croak out, "Our '20, sir!" and to fill a wine-glass.
"Ah, thank ye, Pilkington," said the little doctor, taking up the glass, and holding it between his eye and the candle; "this is a dreadful thing, Pilkington."
"Yes, sir," said the butler, shortly; "it's ill-conwenient. Do you find the wine agreeable to your taste, sir?"
"Yes, yes, thank ye. I want you now to show me--ah, here's some one coming;" and the door opened, and Barbara Churchill entered the room.
"Mrs. Schröder is very ill, doctor; you must see her before you go, if you please; in her absence I will conduct you. Pilkington--oh, there are lights, I suppose?--this way, doctor;" and she led the way to the library. This had been Barbara's first experience of death, and it was a severe trial for her, broken down as she was with her other miseries; but she saw how utterly helpless poor little Alice Schröder was, and she determined to help to bear the misery of her sudden misfortune. So she preceded Dr. Prater to the library; and when she had opened the door, she beckoned to the kitchen-maid and page-boy, who were sitting bolt upright on the edge of their chairs, and let the doctor enter by himself, she returning to the dining-room. In a very few minutes she was joined by the little doctor, who had in the passage composed his face to its usual aspect by this time. "Not the slightest hope, my dear madam,--not the slightest hope. If I had been here the minute after, I could not have been of the least assistance. Must have been instantaneous, my dear madam,--instantaneous,--disease of the heart,--under which I long knew he laboured; but I never told him. What was the need? I've said to myself fifty times, 'Prater, you should tell Mr. Schröder of his danger;' and then, again, I've said to myself, 'What's the use? Mr. Schröder's not a man to relax those gigantic enterprises in which he is engaged, on the mere word of a theorist like myself. He'll only be annoyed at my interference.' There was no cause for any excitement, any special excitement, my dear miss? Pardon me; to whom have I the pleasure of speaking?"
"I am Mrs. Churchill,--I was Miss Lexden,--a very intimate friend of Mrs. Schröder's before her marriage."
"Ay, ay, ay! of course! how very remiss of me not to bear it in mind! Pleasure of including your husband, Mrs. Churchill, among my distinguished literary friends. I hope he's quite himself. Ay, ay; Miss Lexden that was, eh? Think I've had the pleasure of meeting you, before you took rank as a matron, in the house of my dear old friend Sir Marmaduke Wentworth? Ah! I thought so. Ill now, poor dear fellow,--ill in the Pyrenees; hum, ha! And no cause for any special excitement in the present lamentable case, you say, my dear Mrs. Churchill?--hum! Well, well; death from natural causes, of course. I can testify as to his heart-disease. Still, I'm afraid, my dear madam, there'll have to be a horrible--what we call apost-mortem. The ridiculous laws of this country are not satisfied with a professional man's word in such cases, and though--of course I'll take care there's no annoyance. Bad thing for Mrs. Schröder,--very! I'll go up and see her directly. By the way, my dear Mrs. Churchill," added the little doctor, edging himself very close to Barbara, and looking more than ever like an owl; "here's a paper which I picked off the floor of the library when I went in to see our poor late friend just now. I haven't looked at it myself, of course; but perhaps it might be well to put it away, and not to let Mrs. Schröder see it just yet; and," continued the doctor, examining with great attention the pattern of the Turkey carpet, "I don't see that there's any necessity to mention its existence before the coroner's people,--no one else seems to have seen it,--and these things are better kept quiet;" and the doctor handed Barbara a folded paper, which she at once placed in her pocket, and bowed himself out.
Then there fell upon that house confusion, and silence, and sadness, and a general mistiness and ignorance. No one spoke above their breath; no one knew what day of the month it was, or what day of the week, or what length of time had elapsed since the occurrence of the event which had given rise to this state of affairs. All normal laws were suspended; thecartefor the proposed dinner did not go up as usual in the morning; the great butler suspended his customary inspection of the plate and reviews of the china and glass; the young lady really born in Picardy, but passing current as a Parisian, who was called "Mumzell" by the other servants, and who was attached as special retainer to Mrs. Schröder, had no interviews with her lady on toilet subjects, and found her health undoubtedly improved by being relieved from mental anxiety on the subject of the perpetual invention of new styles of head-dress. The tradesmen seemed to take Mr. Schröder's dying out of the season as a kind of personal affront. Had it happened when every thing was in full swing, the poulterer had remarked, and when parties had the greatest worrit in supplying what parties ordered, why parties might have been glad of a lull; but now, in the slack time of year, when there was few families in town, and what was mostly supplied with game from friends as had shooting, to have a large and reg'lar customer's orders suddenly stopped, as might be said, in this way, was not what parties expected and might be said to look for. Perhaps the retainers attached to the stable-department took the pleasantest view of matters. It were a bad business, they allowed; but, after all, there muss be money left, and the establishment wouldn't be broke up; and besides, a missis were easier to serve than a master, and couldn't pry; not that any thing of that sort could be said of their late guv'nor, for a more innocenter man never breathed. He were a bad whip, always a tuggin' at the 'orses' mouths; but a good master. Meanwhile 'orses must be kep' exercised; and so Mrs. Edwards the coachman's wife, and Nancy and Billy her young 'uns, and Susan Gilbert, what was keeping company with Strapper the under-coachman, and one or two convivial friends, had two or three very pleasant days at Richmond and Hampton, proceeding thither in what they called a "weggynet," borrowed from the corn-chandler at the corner of the mews, and drawn now by the chestnuts which Mr. Schröder used to spin along in his mail-phaeton, now by the iron-grays which concentrated attention on Mrs. Schröder's equipage in the ring. And in every department of the servants' hall and in the outlying regions connected therewith, there seemed to be an impression of the over-weening necessity for going in for good eating and drinking, as if to counteract the baleful effect of the calamity which had occurred. In the house itself, the kitchen-maid, relieved from attendance in that dread library, gave herself up to the cooking of mighty joints for discussion at the "one-o'clock dinner." The housekeeper and the great butler had little refections, washed down with brown sherry, in the still-room; while one of the two-gallon stone jars of brown brandy,--originally ordered for preserve-purposes, and of a very different quality from the eau-de-vie-de-cognac in the tapering bottles--was apportioned by the butler to the nightly grog of the servants' hall. Then it was that Rawbert, one of the six-foot Johns, and son of an Oxford scout, first showed his remarkable talent for brewing punch; under the influence of which the assemblage grew so jolly, that some of them were only restrained from breaking into harmony by the representation of others as to what was lying upstairs.
What was lying upstairs had been moved from the library to a spare bedroom, had been handed over to the charge of such horrible ghoulish women as only appear at such dread times, and had been left all placid and composed and cold and statuesque by itself. What was lying upstairs had had visitors. The coroner--a fat man with a red face, smeared black clothes, beady black eyes, and boots slit here and there as a necessary accommodation for gout--had visited it; had stood at the head of the bed where it lay, and had it not been for thick carpeting and double doors, would have sent his opinion of it clanging to the ears of her whom it once cherished as its own heart's blood. The jury had visited it (some of them at least, nearly half were too frightened to come beyond the bedroom-door), and had said, "Oh!" and "Deary me!" and had looked at the coroner and gone away again to the Coburg Arms; and then and there, over hot brandy-and-water, administered as a corrective, and strongly recommended by the coroner, had found a verdict of "Death from natural causes." Then it had other visitors--men in black, who took off their coats at the door and left their boots outside, putting on list slippers, and who had foot-rules, and who whistled to themselves softly as they went about their ghastly work. These men came again at night with others, blundering up the stairs under the weight of a horrible burden, and the room assumed a different aspect, and what lay therein seemed further removed from humanity and less kin to any thing it had hitherto claimed kinship with. And after that, it had yet another visitor; a white-robed woman, who stole in at night and knelt at the side of its black prison-house, and implored pardon for past waywardness and thoughtlessness and girlish follies, and prayed for strength and succour and support; then rising, pressed her lips on its cold forehead, and was led from the room in a half-hysterical state.
Yes; Alice Schröder had begun to wake to the realities of life, to find that opera-boxes and drums and sealskin cloaks and equipages and money, all good things in their way, were powerless against Death; and that Death was not merely the bugbear which he had been always painted, but had other qualities horrific in their nature, which she at least had never imputed to him. He was a thought-compeller, and up to that time little Alice had never known what thinking was. But now she thought long and earnestly. She thought of her earlier days, long before she had received her father's orders as to her marriage; she thought of her school-girl flirtations and hopes and fears and intentions as to matrimony; recalling the cavalry cornet, the light-whiskered curate, and the Italian singing-master vividly in her memory. Then she had a vague recollection of her coming-out and her town-life, through all which there loomed a shadowy presentment of Captain Lyster, standing specially boldly out in her remembrance of her stay at Bissett Grange; and than came Mr. Townshend's imperative decision, and her acceptance of her dead husband's offer. Had she behaved well to that dead husband, who had behaved so kindly to her? Ah, how painfully, as though with an actual sting, came back the recollection of his kindness, of his lavish generosity; how with clumsy action and ill-chosen words, but showing in the highest degree the warmth of his affection and the delicacy of his mind, he had loaded her with gifts, and had endeavoured to forestall her every wish! How, with an evident straggle,--for had he not been matured to it from his youth up?--yet successfully, he had weaned himself from the cares of business (at one time his greatest pleasure), and learnt a new life in the society of his wife, and in manifesting his devotion to her. Had she brought him such wealth of affection as he had showered upon her? Had she even met him half-way? When she was a girl, she was fond of being considered "highly romantic" by her companions; she thought herself the essence of romance; and yet what was her romance compared to that shown by that elderly gray-headed German merchant, who had changed the whole tenor of his life for a woman's love? And had he possessed that love? that was the bitterest question of all. Respect, yes; honour, yes; but did she respect Mr. Beresford,--she certainly did not honour him,--who had so often been her companion during her husband's lifetime? had she not had a warmer feeling towards that accomplished cavalier? had she not permitted him to speak in somewhat slighting terms, to which she by her silence had given tacit approval of the dead man; ridiculing his age and habits, unfitting him for finding favour in ladies' eyes, and protesting against the hard fate which cast such pearls before such swine? All this came up clear and fresh in Alice Schröder's memory; and as it rose she hated Beresford with all her strength; and, struck with deepest remorse, wished--oh, how she wished!--that the time would come over again, that she might dower her husband with her love, and show how she appreciated his devotion to her.
Then what was lying there lay no longer. There came a morning when the boys in the neighbouring mews, who had been on the look-out for some little time, passed the word to each other that it was all right for that day, and forthwith coming trooping out, took up their positions in available spots close by. The mutes in their preposterous scarves, and bearing their hideous banners, mounted guard at the door; and the hearse and the mourning-coaches pulled-up close by; and the red-nosed men got ready the trays of feathers, and the long staves, and the velvet trappings, and all the funeral insignia, which would be ridiculous were they not disgusting. And the company arrived at the house: there were two of the dead man's brothers, representing the firm respectively in Hamburg and Paris; uncles and cousins, pillars of the London Exchange; the clerk from the office, who had acted as the dead man's private secretary, and who was a very presentable young man, the delight of the evening-party-givers of Surbiton; Mr. M'quiddit from Bedford Row, who was met on the door-step by his clerk, who presented him with an oblong packet, which the lawyer deposited in the library before joining the rest of the company; and little Dr. Prater, looking preternaturally solemn and wise,--all these gathered together to see Gustav Schröder to his grave. On the dining-room table were cold fowls (already cut up, and tied together with pieces of black crape) and cold viands; but save Mr. M'Quiddit, who had come up from his country-house at Datchet and was hungry, no one tasted food. The decanters, however, were put into requisition; and the great butler took occasion to whisper in Dr. Prater's ear a recommendation of some Vino di Pasta as being something special. Then came that most horrid time of all, when there was a bumping and a scuffling on the stairs, and a creaking of the bannisters. Every body knew what caused it and what it meant; and there was an involuntary silence which made the talk, when they began again to talk, seem more hollow and forced than it had been before. Then, draped in bilk scarves, and wearing hats swaddled in crape, the mourners ascended the coaches, walking to them through a lane of boys, and were borne off to Kensal Green; on alighting at the gates of which dismal necropolis, they were marshalled into proper order by the head undertaker, and so marched in procession to the grave. There a gentleman, who really could not be complained of when it was remembered that he had done duty four times already that day, and expected to do it three times again, half drawled, half cantered through the most beautiful service of the Church, that for the burial of the dead, without the smallest atom of expression, and apparently without knowing what he was about; then he shut his book, and the bystanders one by one looked into the grave--and all was over. The mourning-coaches, which had come so slowly, went merrily back; the Schröders went to the City house, and sent telegrams and read share-lists, and talked of how soon Gustav's share in the concern ought to be realised; the uncles and cousins did much the same; the presentable clerk had a holiday, and met a few lady friends at the Zoological Gardens; Dr. Prater lunched at a rich patient's, where he told the story of Mr. Schröder's death, and dined at another rich patient's where he told it again; and Mr. M'Quiddit had an interview with the widow and gave her a short abstract of the will, which was eminently satisfactory.
It had been proposed by the deceased gentlemen's brothers, who were his executors, that the widow should leave town for a few weeks,--should run down to Brighton or Tunbridge Wells,--and thus, in change of scene, shake off the excess of grief under which they found her to be really labouring. But under a strange state of feeling which is scarcely describable, but which originated in an idea that her determination to do her duty to the utmost would not be properly carried out, were she to allow herself any thing like indulgence, poor little Alice decided upon stopping in Saxe-Coburg Square and thenceforward entering upon the useful state of life which she had proposed to herself. Perhaps in this decision she was a little guided by her feeling for Barbara: the regard which had always existed between them (regard on Barbara's side mingled with a sense of superiority leading to pity, the regard which a grand Scotch deerhound might feel for a little thin-limbed Italian greyhound pet) had very much increased since the recent calamity. Alice had experienced a sisterly tenderness at Barbara's hands which she had never thought Barbara capable of feeling; Barbara had seen in Alice a fixed propriety of purpose such as she had never given Alice credit for. And Alice was by no means so selfish or so thoroughly wrapped up in her own grief as not to see that, although Barbara pretended to look upon her own married career as entirely at an end, yet in reality she had by no means given up all hope of a happy reconciliation with Frank. A sudden peal at the bell would make her cheek flame; her nervousness at the sight of Pilkington entering the room with letters was unmistakable; and in a thousand other ways she gave evidence of he heart's yearnings. So Alice felt that while this unsettled state of affairs lasted, Barbara's home must be with her, and that a removal from town would be highly antagonistic to any chance of a settlement which might transpire; and as this entirely coincided with her own views, she elected to remain in town.
Mr. Schröder's will had been made a few months before his death, and was in accordance with the general tenor of his married life. It ordered that his share in the City firm should be realised at the earliest favourable opportunity, and that it and all his other investments should be lodged in the name of trustees for his wife's use and disposal. As this represented a very large annual income, and as the details of the will soon became public through the medium of the press, the "kind-inquiries" cards began to shower down in Saxe-Coburg Square. You, who are rich, find these amicable condolences sent in at once, in such times. You, who are poor, know that in general there is a little hanging fire until it is understood what will be the future position of the family. In the present day the vast proportion of middle-class people occupy a factitious position in society; factitious, that is to say, thus far--that its existence depends entirely on the life of the father, husband, breadwinner. So long as his good income is made, so good; but when he dies, despite all his attempts at laying-by, his precautions in insuring his life, the whole thing changes; all the little luxuries have to be given up, and the family sinks into a decidedly lower circle of society. That is why the great law-giver Society waits to hear the will read before he nods approval on visits of condolence being paid. In this case there could be not much doubt about money; but there were some peculiar features,--"a sudden death, my dear, and that sort of thing;" and it was thought better by Mrs. Grundy, and her set, to wait a little, until there could be no possible doubt on the matter: After a little time, the intimates of the house were admitted. Old Mr. Townshend was still away on the Continent; and there never seemed to have been any other member of the Townshend family; but the Schröders came down in flocks. The wives of the brothers, and the sisters, and the daughters' nieces, and cousins twice removed,--who so kind as they in time of trouble? Their husbands and fathers might be money-grubbers in the City of London; in them was nothing but the good old German spirit of kindness, of brotherhood and sisterhood, of honest help and openhanded affection, which had first flourished when they were all poor stragglers in the Frankfort Judengasse, which had lasted until they were among the most opulent of the earth. And Dr. Prater was there, of course, every day, chirrupping softly about the house, and going from thence up and down and into the ends of the London world, and talking of the enormous wealth left by his poor deceased friend Mr. Schröder to his interesting patient Mrs. Schröder. And Captain Lyster came, sending up his card, and proffering his services in any manner in which they might be required; and then Barbara saw him; and after a little time Alice saw him; and his services were brought into requisition, and proved to be eminently useful. For when Fred Lyster chose to shake off his drawl, and to apply himself, there were few men with a quicker or a keener appreciation of what ought to be; and in settling affairs, there were numerous cases arose in which a lady could not possibly interfere, and in which the intervention of some one prompt, clear-headed, and business-like, was indispensable. And as Fred Lyster had never any thing to do, he had full leisure to attend to these matters, and entered into them with an eagerness and a perseverance which astonished all who saw him--save Barbara, who perhaps might have made a shrewd guess as to the mainspring of his actions. Poor George Pringle had called too. He had been a good deal cut up by the death of Mr. Schröder, whom he had been accustomed to describe as "a good old cock, sir; a worthy old party; kind-hearted and all that, and giving no end good feeds;" and he had, in his rough way, great sympathy for his cousin Alice,--"a poor little thing, sir; left alone, with nothing to console her."
With consolation-end in view, Mr. Pringle arrived one Sunday afternoon at the door of the house in Saxe-Coburg Square, in a hansom cab, whence he extracted a smooth English white terrier, with a black patch over one eye. Taking this animal under his arm, he, after making due inquiries after Mrs. Schröder's health, transferred it to the frightened grasp of Pilkington, requesting that it might be at once carried upstairs with his love. Pilkington was horribly frightened,--he "never could abide dawgs;" and so no sooner was the door closed than he set the animal down in the hall, where, catching sight of the well-fed calves of Rawbert the footman, it presently began to lick its lips, and growled in a very ominous manner.
Mr. Beresford called three times: once immediately after the announcement of the death, when he simply left his card; once on the day after the funeral, when, besides his card, he left a warm message of inquiry; once a fortnight after, when "he hoped he might be permitted to see Mrs. Schröder." Barbara was with Alice in her boudoir when this message arrived; and she noticed that the poor little woman went deadly white as she listened, and then flushed deeply.
"Oh, no, no!" she exclaimed; "I cannot see him. Barbara darling, I never will see him again. I hate the mention of his name; it jars upon me now; I cannot tell you how--oh, no, no!" And so Barbara framed a polite reply in Alice's name, and Mr. Beresford went away.
That night, as Barbara sat in her own room, feeling very weary and worn, and with an irrepressible yearning towards her husband and her home, the tears rose in her eyes; and, determined not to indulge in the luxury of "a good cry," she drew out her handkerchief, and with it a paper, which fell to the ground at her feet. Looking down at it as it lay there, she recognised the paper which had been found in the library, and handed to her by Dr. Prater, on the night of Mr. Schröder's death, and which had ever since entirely escaped her recollection. She picked it up from the carpet, and opened it; but no sooner had her eyes fallen on the inside than she gave a start of astonishment, and uttered a low cry. The same!--unquestionably the same handwriting! The circumstances connected with both previous occasions of her having seen it far too deeply impressed it on her mind to allow of her being mistaken. It was that long scrawly handwriting--unmistakably that of a woman only partially educated--in which the letters to Frank Churchill--that delivered at Bissett, and the envelope found in the dressing-room--had both been addressed. If Barbara's heart beat fast when her eyes first fell upon the lines, how much more disturbed was she when she read their contents, as follows:
"Your wife is false to you, and is carrying on with a Mr. Beresford. They meet every day, ride together, and deceive you. Watch them, and you will find this out. It has been going on for some time--for months. It is a thing that Beresford has meant for a long time; and he always carries out what he means. I know him well.
"A Friend."
It was, then, the receipt of this letter which had had such fatal effect on poor Mr. Schröder. He had fallen, pierced to the heart by this anonymous stab. Any excitement, any worry, or anxiety, coming suddenly on him, might have ended his life at any time, Dr. Prater had said; and so--Dr. Prater? It was he who had picked up this paper from the library-floor, on to which it had fallen from the dead man's hand. The doctor had asked her whether there had been any cause for sudden excitement; had suggested that the paper should not be shown to Mrs. Schröder; that its existence need not be mentioned before the coroner. He had read it, then. Barbara had no need to think twice to assure herself on that point. That the imputations on Alice which the anonymous letter conveyed were unfounded, Barbara had not the smallest doubt. She knew that her friend, though thoughtless, had never, even in thought, been guilty; and knew that she now bitterly repented her levity and silliness. It would be worse than cruel to let her know of the existence of this document; it must be kept from her at all hazards. Alice's horror of Mr. Beresford was now so great as to require no fanning; and Barbara was certain that of her own free will the widow would never see him again. But in the event of Mr. Beresford's demanding an interview, what was to be done then? Poor Barbara found it impossible to answer this self-proposed question; and there was no one to whom she could apply for advice. Captain Lyster had been her mainstay in several cases; but this was a delicate matter, which it was impossible to make him acquainted with. Oh, if she only had Frank to turn to! and that sent her thoughts reverting to the handwriting. Whose could it be?--who could be the owner of that fatalgriffe, which seemed to bring desolation with it wherever it arrived? And at the end of her reverie, finding herself no clearer in her suspicions than she was at first, Barbara locked the note into her desk, and determined to leave to chance the use she might eventually make of it.
On the morning succeeding the day on which Mr. Schröder died, Mr. Simnel sat in his room in the Tin-Tax Office, deep in a reverie. The newspaper lay on the floor at his feet; he was slowly rubbing the knee from which it had just fallen, and his other hand supported his chin. The news had come upon him suddenly; and he was calmly thinking to what results the occurrence might tend. Had he been at his club the night before, he would have heard the whisper which, thanks to Dr. Prater, was then permeating the West End; but on his return from Kate Mellon's, Mr. Simnel had quietly dined in his own rooms, and there remained for the rest of the evening, arranging his plans. Thus the first intimation which he had received of the event was from the columns of the newspaper then lying at his feet; in which a paragraph headed "Sudden death of a City-merchant" had speedily claimed his attention. Matters of weighty importance had Mr. Simnel to filter through his mind in the course of that reverie. He was a worldly-minded man, but by no means a bad man at heart; and the fact of the rich man's death at that particular time struck him as specially touching and softening. The newspaper described the anguish of the dead man's widow as "inexpressible;" and though Simnel, from his experience, was not inclined to lay much stress on the exactness of that statement, yet he felt that in all probability the little woman of whom he had heard so much, would probably be very much distressed. From all he had learned, he believed that of late the relations between her and her husband had been very much deepened and strengthened. He guessed somewhat of this from the fact that Beresford had been more than infrequent and shy in his allusions to thatménage, and to the pursuit he was engaged in in that quarter. Beresford? By Jove! then his chance was come much sooner than either of them had anticipated! the great obstacle was removed, and he had the course clear before him. No, not exactly clear; the manner of her husband's death, the suddenness of it, would create a great revulsion in Mrs. Schröder's mind, and greatly imperil Mr. Beresford's chances, however strong they might be. Whether they were strong or not was a matter of doubt in Mr. Simnel's mind; he had a great contempt for Beresford's word, knowing him to be possessed of a happy inability to speak truth; and sometimes he doubted whether his colleague had really made any play worth mentioning at the house in Saxe-Coburg Square. Then Mr. Simnel began rubbing his knee more violently than ever, as he thought that the whole affair from first to last was very disreputable, and one which redounded to the credit of no one engaged in it. Would it not be better to drop Mr. Beresford altogether, and leave him to fight his own way in the matter? It certainly would be more honourable and satisfactory in every way; but then--why then, if Mr. Beresford did not marry some rich woman (and Mrs. Schröder was his best chance), he would go to the dogs; and then what would become of his, Simnel's, eight hundred and twenty five pounds? Worse still, if Beresford did not succeed with Mrs. Schröder, he might suddenly veer round, and on the impulse of the moment, and under the pressure of creditors, go up and declare for Kate Mellon's hand. And Simnel was by no means certain that that young woman would decline such an offer, even after all that had occurred; on the contrary, being naturally suspicious, and on the present occasion jealous and in love, the thought sent such a twinge through him, that he shrugged his shoulders, and made up his mind that things must take their course.
As he sat there, rubbing his leg much more calmly after arriving at this determination, the door opened, and Mr. Beresford entered the room. He nodded airily, and, pointing to the newspaper on the floor, said, "You've seen it, of course? That chattering doctor-fellow was right, you see. What do you think of it?"
"Of it? of what? of Mr. Schröder's death, do you mean? I think it a very sad thing."
"The devil you do!" said Mr. Beresford with a sneering laugh; "the door's shut, Simnel; don't you think you'd better drop that innocence when you and I tire alone together?"
He was a cur, this man, and instinctively a cad; he had been as miserable as possible for weeks; but he thought he saw the breaking-up of the dark clouds now, and immediately began to swagger and hector on the strength of it.
"Be good enough to understand, Mr. Beresford, that that is language which I don't permitany bodyto use to me!" said Simnel, through his shut teeth, and with a very white face; "I repeat that I think Mr. Schröder's death a very sad thing. Why do you choose to sneer when I say so?"
"No, no, not sneer: hang it, old fellow! you take one up so infernally sharp. Bad thing, of course it is, for him, poor devil; but good thing for me; and as you know rather more of me than you did of him, I fancied I should have had your congratulations."
"Oh, I see," said Simnel; "you fancy you ought to have received my congratulations: on what, may I ask?"
"Look here, Simnel!" said Beresford, turning savagely round; "drop this infernal nonsense; it doesn't do here, and it's ill-timed. Don't come thenon-mi-ricordebusiness, after having been arch-conspirator and suggested every thing. Plainly, the death of this unfortunate man is in my favour, because he was the principal obstacle in my way to the success of our scheme; and he is removed."
"Well; looking at it in that way--"
"In that way! in what other way would you look at it? It's in a remarkably£ s.d. kind of way that it presents itself to me, I can tell you. I don't mind mentioning now, Simnel, what I shouldn't have let on otherwise; that I'm tremendously dipped; in for--ay, I daresay, three thousand more than you know any thing about; and here's the chance come just in the nick of time."
"Where did you get in for this? and where did you get the money?"
"Get in for it? Doncaster, the Cæsarewitch, the Cambridgeshire! each infernal thing went to the bad. I stood a cracker on the first; then tried a pull through with the other two; and was all wrong with the lot. Scadgers, Parkinson, and a new man, Barnett, of Stamford Street, over the water, did the advances; but I should have looked very blue, if this hadn't come off, I can tell you."
"You're a little sanguine, are you not? Ithasn'tcome off yet, has it?"
"What a wet blanket you are, Simnel! No, of course not. Indeed there's been a strong element of virtue and duty, and all that sort of thing, introduced of late. But now there's no necessity for that. The actual fancy and liking always existed, I flatter myself; and now all that can be indulged in without the slightest suspicion of vice."
"To be sure, to be sure," muttered Mr. Simnel, ruminating; "you'll have to proceed very cautiously; but that you'll of course understand." Mr. Beresford, by this time half way to the door, nodded his head and went out.
Some few days afterwards Mr. Simnel was again honoured by a visit in his room from the Commissioner. The latter gentleman looked worn and tired; he threw himself into a chair and began beating his boot with his cane, and seemed altogether out of sorts. Mr. Simnel noticed all this, and was tolerably prepared for what was coming. "What's the matter, sir?" he asked quietly; "have you had too many papers to sign; or are you annoyed at having to come down to this plebeian part of the town so early as two o'clock; or haven't you had your lunch; or what is it?"
"Don't chaff Simnel; I'm not in the humour for chaff just now. I'm afraid I'm getting into a hole at last."
"What's the matter now?"
"Oh, these infernal fellows are putting on the screw--lawyer's letters, writs, and all that rascally machinery; and I don't see a chance of staving them off. If I could have said any thing about a rich marriage now--"
"That's exactly what I was coming to. How about Saxe-Coburg Square?"
"Well, fishy, very fishy. I've called there three times; the last time sending in specially and particularly to say that I wanted to speak to her; and still the same answer--compliments--not kind regards, you know--compliments, and utterly unable to see me. No hint of a future opportunity--nothing!"
"That looks badly, certainly. What do you intend to do?"
"Do! Go there again. Have it out by hook or by crook. By Jove, I will see her! I'll remind her that--"
"Doesn't this strike you as devilish low behaviour? Don't you see that to thrust yourself in where you are evidently not wanted, to break in upon the privacy of a lady, who is in the beginning of her first great sorrow--"
"Oh, drop that, please. Doesn't it strike you that I owe you nearly nine hundred pounds, and other people a great deal more; and that if they're not paid, I shall be arrested and sold up? And don't you see, therefore, that Imust--No, by Jove! I don't see why I should; you're quite right; it is an ungentlemanly business, and I'm sick of all this dodging and duffing and forcing myself down the throat of a woman whose liking for me seems to have gone off. But there's one who would still seem to care about me, Simnel, my boy, I'll wager any money; and one whom I've been a fool not to think of before--Kate Mellon!"
385
"Kate Mellon?" echoed Mr. Simnel with scowling brows.
"Yes, Kate Mellon! She's got ready-money enough to pay off all my ticks and set me square; and then I could keep square. I'm sure she'd forget all that stupid business of which I told you; though I've never seen her since. I could put that right in a minute; and--"
"I don't think it would do," said Mr. Simnel earnestly--"I don't think it would do. Miss Mellon's status in society would be fatal to all your hopes of advancement. Your aunt Lady Lowndes and the bishop would cut you dead; and remember," added he, after a pause, and with an attempt at a smile, very ghastly and gummy and forced, "I am interested in this matter to the extent of eight hundred pounds, and I don't think it would do. I'm disposed to recommend you to hold to the other, which appears to me to want only a little patience, and--if I understand from you the security of your position--an undoubted declaration to bring to a favourable issue."
"And what would you advise?"
"A letter. I will draft you what I should suggest; and if you approve, you can copy it, or embody it in any thing else you have to say to Mrs. Schröder;" and Mr. Simnel sat down at once at his desk and began to write. Mr. Beresford sat watching him the while. Not a change in Simnel's face, not an inflexion of his voice, had escaped him; and he wondered what it all meant, and in what Kate Mellon's fortunes could have influence over the impassible secretary of the Tin-Tax Office.
Two days after this interview, Mr. Beresford called in Saxe-Coburg Square and sent up his card, requesting an interview with Mrs. Schröder. The usual message of excuse being returned to him, he gave the servant a letter which he had brought with him, and begged that the man would take it to his mistress; he would await the answer. Mrs. Schröder, seated in her boudoir, read the note, seemed greatly disturbed, told the man that she would send an answer downstairs by her maid, and immediately rushed off to the adjacent bedroom, where Barbara Churchill was lamenting all that had happened, and wondering what was to be the end of her life.
"O Barbara, Barbara darling, what shall I do?" exclaimed the poor little woman; "here is Mr. Beresford come again, and he wanted to see me, and I said no, as we had determined, and then he sent me up this dreadful letter! Oh, what shall I say to him, dear? oh, do help me, there's a darling."
Barbara took the letter from Alice's shaking hand and read it. It was not a pleasing composition; it began in an injured tone, and then grew mysterious, and then almost threatening. The writer demanded an interview, and justified his demand by referring to certain bygone circumstances which the reader would readily remember; and the whole tone was sentimentally prurient and offensive and objectionable in the highest degree. Poor little Alice had not seen any thing of this kind in it; she had merely found it "horrid" and "impertinent;" but Barbara's cheek flamed as she perused it, and the tone of her voice was rather sharp as she said, "Is the man still here, Alice?"
"What man, dear? Mr. Beresford?"
"Of course!--is there any other? Oh, he is here. Very well, then, leave me this letter, and I will go down and speak to him about it."
"You'll see him, Barbara?"
"Yes," said Barbara, who was already opening her desk and looking for something therein. "It will be the best way. You'll find he won't trouble you any more." She kissed Alice at the door, and walking down stairs and into the drawing-room, confronted Mr. Beresford.
That gentleman was seated near the window with book of photographs, at which he was not looking, in his hand. He rose as he heard the door open, and advanced rapidly when he saw the female figure: the room was somewhat darkened by heavy curtains, and he could not clearly make out who it was. When Barbara, stopping, pulled herself to her fall height, he stopped, too, disappointed; he expected some one far less majestic.
"You wished to see Mrs. Schröder, I believe, Mr. Beresford," said Barbara, after the first salutation: "I come as her representative."
"I am very sensible of the honour you do me, Mrs. Churchill," replied Beresford; "but I fear that no representative will do. I want to speak to Mrs. Schröder herself."
"That is impossible," said Barbara, calmly.
"Impossible is a very strong word, Mrs. Churchill. I sent Mrs. Schröder a letter--"
"Oh, yes, here it is; it is about this letter that I have come to you. You'll sit, Mr. Beresford, please; for this is likely to be a prolonged talk. Now you know that I am Mrs. Schröder's oldest and most intimate friend, and as such I am deputed to answer this letter."
"Pardon me, I have no grounds for believing the latter part--"
"Except my word; and you won't doubt that? No! I thought not! Now, Mr. Beresford, I am about to speak very plainly to you, always relying on you as a gentleman. Mrs. Schröder is very young, and rather thoughtless and not too much gifted with brains. Since you have been acquainted with her, both before and after marriage, you have paid her small attentions, such as no woman dislikes. They were attentions such as the rigidly-censorious might shake their heads at; but which no woman, knowing her own rectitude and conscious of the proper understanding existing between her husband and herself, need have been afraid of. But the case is altered now! Poor Alice is unfortunately in the position of having no husband as her guide and safeguard, and--these attentions must cease!"
"You speak as Mrs. Schröder's mouthpiece, Mrs. Churchill?"
"Precisely! In this letter which I have here, there is a tone which I am sure you did not intend to convey; but about which it is my duty to speak to you plainly. Under present circumstances Mrs. Schröder feels it necessary to limit her knowledge of you to that of the merest acquaintance. There is no other footing on which you can know each other. If you were not what I know you to be, a gentleman, I should point out that there is not, nor ever has been, any thing between you which could lead you to any other supposition--no letters, no any thing which ill-natured persons could lay hold of--you follow me?"
"Ye-es, ye-es!" said Beresford, feeling that he was outwitted.
"That is right--so, as you are a gentleman, I don't mind telling you the urgent necessity for the adoption of this course. Notwithstanding the absence of any such evidence as I have spoken of, the world has chosen to talk."
"Ah, ah!" said Mr. Beresford, with a smile of returning satisfaction.
"Yes, in its usual base and unfounded manner. Here is an anonymous letter which was addressed to the late Mr. Schröder."
"Let me look at it!" said Beresford, eagerly.
"It is here;" and Barbara handed to him the paper picked off the library-floor by Dr. Prater.
Mr. Beresford took the letter from her hand. The instant his eye fell on the handwriting, Barbara, who was looking at him steadfastly, saw his colour change and his hand shake. But he read it through without saying a word, and returned it to her with a bow.
"You will see now, Mr. Beresford, the utter impossibility of Mrs. Schröder's permitting her acquaintance with you to continue," said Barbara. "You will see that the note which you addressed to her can have no answer but that which I have already given you; and that henceforth, as a gentleman, you are bound in honour not to--"
"Of course! of course!" replied Beresford; "it is of the other letter I am thinking now." And he set his teeth and struck his ungloved hand violently with his cane. "You have introduced a new element into the discussion, Mrs. Churchill, and you must pardon me if I close it here. What my future course may be, circumstances must determine: I make no promise, as I make no threats; but--"
"We will close the discussion at once, sir, if you please!" said Barbara, haughtily.
"At once," said Beresford, with a bow. "Believe me that the advocacy of that anonymous person--whose handwriting I recognise--though useful perhaps, as time may prove--is by no means flattering."
He bowed again and left the room. "By no means flattering!" echoed Barbara after he had gone; "it is, then, as I suspected, some horrible wretch who has east this shadow over my life!"