The room lay in deep shadow, the lamp having been moved behind the screen. On its handsome bracket the Louis-Quatorze ormolu clock ticked solemnly away, registering the death of each minute audibly, and indefinably forcing itself upon the attention of those sitting by, in connexion with the rapidly-closing earthly career of the sufferer on the bed. She lay there, having again fallen into deep heavy slumber, broken occasionally by a fitful cry, a moan of anguish, then relapsing once more into stertorous breathing and seemingly placid rest. In a large arm-chair close by the head of the bed sat Robert Simnel, his eyes tear-blurred, his cheeks swollen and flushed, his lips compressed, his hands stretched straight out before him and rigidly knit together over his knee. This was the end of it, then; the result of all his hopes and fears, his toiling and his scheming. Just as the prize was in his grasp, it melted into thin air. Bitter, frightfully bitter, as were his reflections at that moment, they were tinged with very little thought of self. Grief, unspeakable grief, plucked at his heartstrings as he looked upon the mangled wreck of the only thing he had ever really cherished in the course of his busy life. There lay the beautiful form which he had seen, so round and plump, swaying from side to side in graceful inflections, wit every movement of her horse, now crushed out of shape and swathed with bandages and splints. The fair hair, which he recollected tightly knotted under the comely hat, lay floating over the pillow dank with death-dew; the strong white hands, against the retaining grasp of which the fieriest horses had pulled and plunged in vain, lay helpless on the coverlet, cut and scored by the gravel, and without an infant's power in them. A fresh burst of tears clouded Robert Simnel's eyes as he looked on this sad sight; and his heart sunk within him as he felt that his one chance in life, his one chance of love and peace and happiness, was rapidly vanishing before him. Then the expression of his face changed, his eyes flashed, he set his teeth, and drove his nails into the palms of his hands; for in listening to poor Kate's incoherent exclamations and broken phrases, Simnel had gathered sufficient to give him reason to suspect that she had met Beresford, and that he had somehow or other,--whether intentionally or not, Simnel could not make out,--been connected with, if not the primary cause of, the accident. And then Simnel's chest heaved, and his breath came thick, and he inwardly swore that he would be revenged on this man, who, to the last, had proved himself the evil genius of her who once so fondly loved him.
When Barbara and Frank entered the room together, Simnel looked up, and the bad expression faded out of his face. He, in common with the rest of the world, had heard some garbled story of the separation, and he saw at a glance that poor Kitty's accident had been the means of throwing them together again, and of effecting a reconciliation. What he had just heard from the girl's month of Churchill had inspired in him a sense of gratitude and regard; and as he noticed Barbara clinging closely to her husband's arm, as she threw a half-frightened glance towards the bed, he felt himself dimly acknowledging the mysterious workings of that Providence, which, in its own good time, brings all things to their appointed end.
Frank and Barbara, after casting a hurried look at the bed, had seated themselves on the other side; the nurse, tired out with watching, had drawn her large chair close to the fire and fallen into that horrible state of nodding and catching herself up again, of struggling with sleep, then succumbing, then diving forward with a nod and pulling herself rigid in an instant--a state so common in extra-fatigue; and Simnel had dropped into his old desolate attitude. So they sat, no one speaking. Ah, the misery of that watching in a sick-room! the solemn silence scarcely broken by the ticking of the clock, the crackling of the fire, the occasional dropping of the coals, the smothered hum of wheels outside; the horrible thoughts that at such times get the mastery of the mind and riot in full sway,--thoughts of the sick person there being watched, doubts as to the chances of their recovery, wonderings as to whether they themselves are conscious of their danger, as to whether they are what is commonly called "prepared" to die. Then a dreamy state, in which we begin to wonder when we shall be in similar extreme plight; and where? Shall we have had time for the realisation of those schemes which now so much occupy us, or shall we be cut off suddenly? Shall we outlive Tom and Dick and Harry, who are now our intimates; or will they eat cake and wine before they step into the mourning-coach, and canvass our character, and be tenderly garrulous on our foibles? Shall we be able to bear it calmly and bravely when the doctor makes that dread announcement, and tells us that if we have any earthly affairs to settle, it were best to do it at once; for it is impossible to deny that there is a certain amount of danger, &c. &c. And the boys, with life before them, and no helping, guiding hand to point out the proper path? Ah, Tom and Dick and Harry, our old friends, boon-companions, trusted intimates, they surely would have the heart to look after the children? And the wife, dearest helpmate, true in all her wifely duties, but ah how unfitted to combat with the world, to have the responsibilities of the household to bear alone? And then the end itself!--the Shadow-cloaked from head to foot! the great hereafter! "Behold, we know not any thing!" Happy are we to arouse from that dismal reverie at the sound of the wheels of the doctor's carriage, and gaze into his eyes, trusting there to read a growing hope.
The reflections of the four persons assembled round poor Kate Mellon's sick-bed were not entirely of this kind. The minds of Frank and Barbara were naturally full of all that had just occurred, in which they were most interested; full of thoughts of past storms and future happiness--full of such pleasurable emotions, that the actual scene before them had but a minor influence. Simnel was pondering over his shattered idol and his dreams of vengeance; while the nurse, when for a few seconds' interval between her naps she roused herself sufficiently to think at all, was full of a cheering consciousness of earning eighteenpence a-day more in her present place than in one in which she had been previously. And then came the sound of the wheels and the smothered knock, and then the gentle opening of the door, and Mr. Slade's pleasant presence in the room.
He approached the bed, and surveyed the sleeper; crossed the room with the softest footsteps, and asked a few whispered questions of the nurse; then turned quietly back, and seated himself by Frank and Barbara.
"How do you find her?" asked the latter.
Mr. Slade simply shook his head, without making any verbal reply.
"The nurse summoned us hurriedly about half-an-hour ago," whispered Churchill; "but when we came in, we found her in the state in which you now see her; she has not moved since, scarcely."
"Poor child! poor child!" said Mr. Slade, plying his pocket-handkerchief very vigorously; "she'll not move much more."
"Is she--is she very bad to-night?" asked Barbara.
"Yes, my dear," said the old gentleman, taking a large pinch of snuff to correct his emotion; "yes, my dear, she is very bad, as you would say. There is a worn pinched look in her face which is unmistakable. She is going home rapidly, poor girl!"
The sense of the last observation, though he had not heard the words, seemed to have reached Mr. Simnel's ears, for he rose hurriedly, and crossing to Mr. Slade, took him by the arm and led him on one side.
"Did you say she was dying?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, when they had moved some distance from the rest.
"I did not say so, though I implied it," said the old man; then peering at him from under his spectacles, "May I ask are you any relation of the lady's?"
"No, no relation; only I--I was going to be married to her, that was all." He said these words in a strange hard dry voice; and Mr. Slade felt him clutch his wrist tight as he went on to say, "Is there no hope? You won't take amiss what I say; I know your talent and your position; but still in some cases, a second opinion--if there is any thing that money can do--"
"My dear sir," said Mr. Slade "I understand perfectly what you mean; and God knows if there were any thing to be done, I wouldn't stand in the way; but in this case, if you had the whole College of Surgeons before you, and the gold-fields of Australia at your back, there could be but one result."
Mr. Simnel bowed his head, while one great shiver ran through his frame. Then he looked up and said, "And when?"
"Immediately--to-night; in two or three hours at most. She will probably rouse from this lethargy, have some moments of consciousness, and then--"
"And then?"
Mr. Slade made no direct answer, but he shrugged his shoulders and turned on his heel. Silently he shook hands with Barbara and Churchill, then with Simnel, placing one hand on his shoulder, and gripping him tightly with the other; then he walked to the bed, and bent over it, peering into poor Kitty's puckered face, while two large tears fell on the coverlet. Then he stooped and lightly kissed the hand which lay outstretched, and then hurried noiselessly from the room. Mr. Slade saw several patients that night before going to a scientificconversazioneat the Hanover-Square Rooms--a noble lord, who had softening of the brain, and who passed his days in a big arm-chair, and made a moaning noise, and wept when turned away from the fire; a distinguished commoner, who had given way to brandy, and was raving in delirium; and a young gentleman, who, in attempting to jump the mess-room table after dinner, had slipped, and sustained a compound fracture of his leg. But at each of these visits he was haunted by the pallid tortured face of the dying girl. At theconversazioneit got between the microscope and a most delicious preparation; and was by his side as he drew on his nightcap and prepared for his hard-earned slumbers.
Slowly, slowly wore away the night: Simnel still sat rigid and erect; but the nurse was sound asleep, and Barbara's head had drooped upon Frank's shoulder, when suddenly the room rang with a shrill startling cry. In an instant all rushed to the bedside. There lay Kate awake, but still under the influence of some dreadful dream.
"Keep him off! keep him off!" she cried. "It's unfair, it's cowardly, Charley! I'm a woman and you hit so hard! Oh, Robert," she exclaimed, vainly endeavouring to drag herself towards Simnel, "you'll keep him off! you'll defend me!"
"There's no one there, Kate," said Simnel, dropping on his knees by the bedside, and taking her hand; "there's no one to hurt you, my child."
"I was dreaming then," said Kate; "oh, such a horrid dream! I thought I---- Who are these?" she exclaimed, looking at Barbara and Frank. "I'm scarcely awake yet, I think. Why, it's Guardy, of course! and you, dear, who were so kind to me. But how are you here together? I can't make that out."
"This is my wife, Kate," said Churchill; "my wife, of whom you were speaking this evening."
"Your wife! ah, I'm so glad; I never thought of that; I never thought of asking her who she was; I only knew she was, oh, so kind and so affectionate with me; and it was because she was your wife, eh? Will you kiss me again, dear? So; and again! What a sweet soft face it is! Ah, he's been so good to me dear, this husband of yours; and I've given him such trouble for so many years. So grave and so steady he's always been, that I've looked upon him as quite an old fellow, and never thought of his marrying. I--I'm much weaker to-night, I think; the pain seems to have left my side; but I feel so weak, as though I couldn't raise a finger. You're there Robert?"
"Yes, dear."
"Ay, I feel your hand-grip now! You must not mind what I'm going to say, Robert; you took on so before; but you'll be brave now, eh, Robert? I--I know I'm going home--to my long home, I mean; and I want to say how happy, and peaceful, and grateful to the Lord, I am. I've often thought of this time--often and often; and wondered--and I've often thought it would be like this, and yet not quite in this way. You used to talk to me about my rashness, Guardy,--in riding, I mean."
"Yes, dear Kate; and you always promised, and you never did, my headstrong child!"
"No, Guardy, I didn't, and yet I tried hard; but I hadn't much pleasure elsewise, had I? Robert knows that; and Ididso enjoy my work! I've often thought it might come when I was with the hounds, and that would have been dreadful! All the business and bother in the field, and carried away somewhere, to some wretched place, where there'd have been no one near to care for me; and now I've you all here, and that kind old doctor; and, oh, thank God for all!"
There was a little pause, and then she asked in, if any thing, a weaker voice, "What's become of the horse? does any one know?--the horse, I mean, that did this?"
"He was taken home, Kate; so Freeman said. He's good deal cut; but--"
"Oh, don't let him come to grief, Robert! It wasn't fault, poor fellow! He was startled by the--ah, well; it's all over now! Don't frown so, Robert; I ought to have known better. Lord Clonmel always said he had a temper of his own; but I thought I could do any thing, and--Some of them will crow over this, won't they? Those Jeffrey girls, who always said I was a park-rider, and no good at fencing, eh? Well, well, that's neither here nor there. You know all about the will, Guardy,--in the desk, you know? and what I said about your having--and Freeman--and the men's wages; and--"
As she spoke she sunk back, and seemed to fall asleep at once. The nurse, who had been hovering round, advanced and looked anxiously at her, laying her finger on her pulse, and peering into her face. Reassured, she retired again; and the others, save Simnel, who still remained kneeling by the bed, resumed their places. Then, stretched supine, and without addressing herself to any one, Kate Mellon began to talk again. Fragmentary, disconnected, incoherent sentences they were that she uttered; but, listening to them, Simnel and Frank Churchill managed to make out that her head was wandering, and that she was running through passages of her earlier life.
"Ready!" she said. "All right, Dolphin! Now, band!--why don't they play up? No hoop lit yet! Get along, Dolphin! Ribbons now! Stand up, man!--why doesn't that man stand up? So; give him his head--that's it! Chalk; more chalk!--this pad's so slippery, I shall never stand on it; and--that's better. Now we go--one, two, three! All right, sir; all right, madam; told you I should clear it. Ah, Charley! Hold the hoop lower--lower yet. What's he at? I shall miss it--miss it! and then--Slacken your curb, miss, or she'll rear! So; that's it--easy does it. Courage now,--head and the heart up; hand and the heel down! Oh, he's jumped short!--he's over! he's over!"
She gave a sharp cry, and half-raised herself on to the pillow. The nurse was by her in an instant; so were they all. Her eyes opened at first dreamily; then she looked round and smiled sweetly. "Kiss me, dear," she said to Barbara. "Guardy! Robert, Robert! kindest, dearest Robert, I'm--going home!"
Then, with tears streaming from both their eyes, Frank led Barbara away; while, haggard and rigid, Simnel knelt by the bedside firmly clutching a dead hand.
When Mr. Simnel woke on the morning succeeding the night of Kate Mellon's death, he felt a numbness in his limbs, a burning, throbbing pain in his head, and a general sensation of prostration. He made an attempt at getting up, thinking he would string himself into vigour with his cold bath; but he found his head whirling--his legs shaking; and, after a severe shivering fit, he was fain to forego the attempt, and to get into bed again. Then he rang his bell, and told his servant to ask Dr. Prater to step round at once, and then to go on to Mr. Scadgers, whom he was to bring back with him. The servant despatched, Mr. Simnel lay back in bed, and endeavoured to give himself up to reflection. But the events of the last twenty-four hours had been far too exciting for that; still lay stretched before his eyes the crushed and mangled figure of his loved one; still her last broken words rung upon his ears.
"'Dearest, kindest Robert!' she called me that--my darling called me that with her last breath. 'Dearest kindest Robert!'--the last words! never to see her any more--never to hear her voice again! All over now; all--No, not all; one thing to be done, and done at once --a settlement with Charles Beresford!"
Simnel smiled very grimly as this idea came into his mind. It was not the first time that the idea had occurred to him. As, bit by bit, he gleaned poor Kitty's incoherent story, as he knelt by her bed, he had rapidly framed his course of action, and indeed carried it out in his mind. He saw himself thrashing Beresford in the streets--saw the row that would take place thereon consequent, the desperate confusion at the Tin-Tax Office; and, through the perspective, had a distant vision of a long stretch of sand on the Calais coast--he and Beresford fronting each other as principals, a couple of soldiers from the neighbouringcaserneas seconds, and an army medical man looking on. He knew that Beresford was a man of courage; but he thought that he would probably refuse to fight in such an affair as this; therefore Simnel determined that no option should be given. He would not have a friend of his wait on Beresford with a challenge. He (Simnel) would pick a quarrel with him on some frivolous pretext, and insult him in the street. That was what he had made up his mind to do, and that was what he had intended to do that very day, if his sudden indisposition had not prevented him.
Little Dr. Prater found his patient very restless and tolerably impatient. "Well, my dear sir, and how are we? Glad I was at home, and able to come round at once. A fortunate chance to catch me, for there is agreatdeal of sickness just now amongst the upper classes. The tongue? Thank you. The pulse? Ah; dear me, dear me! as I feared--a galloping pulse, my dear sir, and a high state of fever! Have you now--have you had any cause for excitement?"
"Yes," said Simnel, shortly; "I was last night at the deathbed of one very dear to me."
"To be sure, my dear sir; how came I to forget it!--Miss Kate Mellon's. Oh, my dear sir, of course I heard of it,--I hear every thing,--at least, I heard of her being very ill--impossible to live. Slade attended, didn't he? Ah, couldn't have a better man. One of the rough diamonds of our profession, my dear sir; not polished, but--all here!" and the little doctor laid his forefinger on his forehead. "And so she's gone, poor young lady! Well, well! Now, my dear sir, it's my duty to prescribe for you the utmost quietude. The least bit of excitement may be highly prejudicial; in fact, I would not answer for the consequences."
"When shall I be able to go out?" asked Simnel impatiently.
"Go out, my dear sir! Not for several days--perhaps longer. I will send in a nurse to look after you; for you must be carefully watched, and have your medicines at stated times; and I'll look in this evening. Mind, my dear sir, perfect quiet."
After letting out the doctor, the servant returned to his master.
"Mr. Scadgers is here, sir," said he.
"Then show him in," said Simnel, from the bed. "Beg your pardon, sir; but the doctor's last words to me was that you was to see nobody but the nuss."
"Are you the doctor's servant, or mine, sir? Show him in!" and in Mr. Scadgers was shown.
"Hallo, sir!" said that worthy, regarding Mr. Simnel; "this is bad news to find you ill."
"There's worse than that, Scadgers; a good deal worse; as you'll hear. Your niece,--Kate Mellon, you know,--about whom we've had all the talk lately--"
"Ay, I know; at the Runner's--I know--well?"
"Dead."
"Dead!" repeated Scadgers, with a blanched face--"dead! how? when?"
"Last night; thrown from her horse; had some row with a man named Beresford in the Park; horse was frightened; bolted, and fell with her. It was this cursed Beresford's fault, and--"
"What Beresford is it?"
"Charles Beresford of my office,--Commissioner, you know. I'll make him remember that day's work; I'll post him at his club; I'll horsewhip him in the street; I'll--I'd have done it to-day, but for this--this cold."
"Charles Beresford, eh? And it's him that killed my niece, is it? Horsewhip him, eh? you won't be able to leave your room yet; it's more than a cold you've got, if I may judge by the look of your face and the hot feel of your hands. Charles Beresford, eh? Ay, ay! ay, ay!"
"I'm afraid you're right, Scadgers," said Simnel. "I begin to feel deuced bad, much worse than when I woke. And to be lying here while that scoundrel will be getting safe away--out of my reach!"
"What do you mean, getting away?"
"Why, he's off to the Continent! I myself recommended him to go there, to lie quiet until his difficulties blew over; and he'll be off at once,--to-night or to-morrow."
"Will he, by Jove! no, no! don't you flurry yourself, sir. I'll put a stopper on that. Charles Beresford shall be here whenever you want him, I'll take my oath. Excuse me now; look in and see you to-morrow." And despite Mr. Simnel's calling to him, Mr. Scadgers rushed off at the top of his speed.
Mr. Scadgers, albeit of a stout figure, and ill-adapted for exercise, never ceased running until he ran into his own office in Berners Street, when he sat himself down and fairly panted for breath. When he had recovered a little, he called to him the wondering Jinks, and said, "How does Beresford--Charles Beresford--stand with us?"
The little man thought for a minute, and then said, "About a hundred-and-thirty-seven on renewal; due the fifteenth next month."
"What's his figure with Parkinson?"
"Between eight and nine hundred; dessay more'an a thousand--renewals, judges' orders, all sorts of things in that lot. Parkinson's clerk was here yesterday, talking about it amongst other things."
"Very good. Now look here, Jinks; you jump into a cab, and bowl away to Parkinson's as hard as you can split. Tell him the game's up; that I've just learnt Master Beresford's going to hook it abroad. Let Parkinson, or his chief clerk, ran down and swear this before the judge in chambers,--affidavy, you know,--and then let him instruct Sloman's people to collar Master Beresford at once."
"You want this done?"
"Most certainly I do; and rely on you to have it done at once. Look here, Jinks, you know me: Beresford must be quodded to-night!"
"All right; look upon it as settled."
"And more than that: learn, if you can, who holds his paper besides Parkinson, and to what amount; and bring me a list. Tell Parkinson that I've a feeling in this beyond mere business, and he'll understand. And bring me the list of the others."
Mr. Jinks nodded acquiescence and departed. As he went out of the door, Mr. Scadgers rubbed his grimy hands together, and muttered, "Better than all your horsewhippings and shootings. Master Beresford's broke up root and branch,--stock, lock, and barrel. I'll never leave him now until I've crushed him out. Insult my poor niece, did he? better have put his head in the fire at once!"
That afternoon, as Mr. Beresford walked jauntily from the Tin-Tax Office, he was arrested on thene-exeat-regnoaffidavit of William Parkinson, gentleman, attorney-at-law, and conveyed to the mansion of Mr. Sloman in Cursitor Street, at which pleasant house detainers to the amount of nearly five thousand pounds were lodged in the course of the following day.
Mr. Scadgers, going to communicate his cheering intelligence to Mr. Simnel, found the portion of Piccadilly opposite that gentleman's door thickly strewn with tan, and asking Dr. Prater, whom he met on the threshold, for news of his patient, was informed that Mr. Simnel had a severe attack of brain-fever, and that at that moment the doctor would not answer for the result.
According to appointment, Frank Churchill presented himself at Mr. Russell's offices in Lincoln's Inn; Mr. Russell, whose firm had been solicitors to the Wentworths from time immemorial, and who himself had enjoyed all the confidence of the late baronet. The old gentleman, clad in his never-varying rusty black, and still as desirous as ever to hide his hands under his coat-sleeves, received Frank in his usual icy manner, and bade him sit down. "I have here," said he, "a letter for you from the late Sir Marmaduke Wentworth, with the contents of which I am not acquainted; but which refers, I believe, to the will, a copy of which I also have here. Be good enough to read it, and see whether you require any information."
Frank broke the seal, and read the following, written in a trembling hand:
"Pau, Pyrenees, October.
"My Dear Professor,
"Two lines, to tell you two things: I'm dying--that's one; I've always honoured and respected, and recently I've liked, you--that's the other. They tell me you're a deuced-clever fellow--which is nothing to me. I've proved you to be a gentleman--which is every thing. I wish you were my son and my heir; but I can't make you either. I haven't got any son, and my heir is my nephew--I've no doubt a very respectable fellow; a parson, who collects sea-anemones and other fifths, in dirty water and a glass-bowl--a harmless fellow enough, but not in my line. All I've been able to do is to leave you five thousand pounds, which Russell, or some of them, will see that you're paid. Don't be squeamish about taking it. I owe it you. I never gave you a mug when you were christened. My love to your dear wife. God bless you!
"Marmaduke Wentworth."
When he had finished the reading of this characteristic epistle, he told Mr. Russell of its purport; and heard from the old gentleman that the legacy named therein had been provided for by the will. Then Frank returned to Saxe-Coburg Square, and settled with Mrs. Schröder and Barbara that they should at once leave for Brighton, whither, after poor Kitty's funeral, he would follow them.
Mr. Simnel was very ill indeed. Dr. Prater looked monstrous grave, and began to talk about 'responsibility;' so they summoned other two physicians high in esteem, who exchanged snuff-boxes, and looked out of window together, and examined Dr. Prater's prescriptions through a gold double-eyeglass and a pair of spectacles, and agreed that his treatment of the case was every thing that could be wished, and declined to commit themselves to any opinion as to whether the patient might get better or not. Frank Churchill remaining in town until after the funeral of poor Kate Mellon, and expecting some suggestions from Mr. Simnel as to how and where the last rites should be performed, called on that gentleman at his chambers in Piccadilly, and discovered the state of affairs. Then Churchill, while he remained in London, took to coming every day to see Mr. Simnel, and to learn whether any thing was required for him; and, coming in to pay a farewell visit after he had seen poor Kitty laid in the grave, he met Dr. Prater, and heard from his lips that in all human probability the actual danger was past, but that it might be months before the patient would be himself again, so dreadfully had he been weakened and pulled down. So Churchill went away in better spirits, leaving his address at Brighton, in case Mr. Simnel required any thing done which Churchill could do for him. Indeed Frank wanted a little rest and repose. As though his own domestic worries had not been enough for him, he had had to supervise the whole of the mortuary and testamentary arrangements of poor Kate Mellon; and one other bit of business he had had to perform, of a somewhat more pleasing character.
In coming back in all humility to her husband's arms, Barbara had made no stipulations; but when, holding her clasped in his strong embrace, he was talking of her return home, she looked up imploringly in his face, and said,
"Oh, if possible, not to the old street! oh, Frank, let us retrench in any way, but do let us leave that horrible neighbourhood!"
All things considered, he too thought it better; and as Sir Marmaduke's legacy had materially increased his income, he felt himself justified in looking out for some pretty suburban place, and half his days had been spent at house-agents' offices, and in explorations of houses to which he had been remitted.
Mr. Simnel's illness did not concern himself alone, but reflected immediately on the Tin-Tax Office. For at that eminent establishment things had been so long dependent on the one man, that so soon as he was taken away, unmistakable symptoms of collapse began to show themselves, and it seemed impossible that the business could be carried on. For in the discharge of the business of the Tin-Tax Office the grand thing was for every body to refer to every body else, until the whole onus of setting the machine in gear, of supplying steam-power, and starting the engine, fell upon Mr. Simnel; and when he was not there to start it, it went off in a very lame and one-sided manner. This was perceived by "one of the public," one of those wondrous persons who, with nothing to do, are always on the look-out to see Achilles' heel uncovered, or to spy the joints in Atrides' armour; and the person in question, who had been overcharged eighteenpence in a matter of tin-tax, and who had received, in reply to an appeal, a letter from the Office in which the relative ignored the existence of an antecedent, and the verb positively declined any connexion with the nominative case sent the letter to theDaily Teaser, where it was found so charming, that a leading article in the richest and fullest-flavoured style of that journal was specially devoted to it. This article was much quoted; and at the end of the week the subject was honoured by theScourgewith a yet more ferocious attack. TheScourgearticle happened to be read by the Treasury Secretary on Sunday morning as he was dressing, and that astute official at once saw that something was wrong. Early the next morning his private secretary called at the Tin-Tax Office and learnt of Simnel's illness--learned moreover that he had applied for six months' leave of absence, thorough and entire rest and change being reported as absolutely necessary in the certificate. The next man, a political nominee, was worth nothing; and of the Commissioners none of them had the least notion of business save Sir Hickory Maddox, who was past his work, and Mr. Beresford, who had--well, there was no doubt about it, all town was ringing with it--gone entirely to the bad on racing matters, and was at very time in Whitecross-Street Prison. The Treasury Secretary was in a fix; he saw that the matter was becoming serious; that the Tin-Tax--an important department--was going to grief; that some member was safe to ask a question about the mismanagement in the first week of the session; and that therefore what he the Treasury Secretary had to do--and a deuced unpleasant job it was, too--was to tell the Chancellor of the Exchequer how matters stood, and wait for orders. The Chancellor of the Exchequer received the news with a very bad grace; he was a nervous man and hated newspaper-attacks; he was a strictly moral man and hated looseness of any kind. He told the Treasury Secretary that Mr. Beresford must be written to to resign his situation at once, or he would be removed; and he stated that he was thoroughly sick of nepotism and 'influence' in the choice of nominees, and that a man must be selected to fill Beresford's berth, on whom they might really depend for the working of the department during Simnel's absence.
It was the result of these instructions that George Harding found himself in Downing Street, in obedience to a strongly-worded invitation, glaring over an old red despatch-box at the Treasury Secretary, and receiving from him the offer of that vacant berth. It was the result of his own honesty and straightforwardness that he declined it. "It wouldn't do, Sir George; it wouldn't do. I'm cut out for a newspaper-man, and nothing else; though I deeply feel the honour you've done me. No; I must decline; but I know a man who would be exactly what you require; who--"
"Pardon me, Mr. Harding; I was only instructed to sound you as to yourself; and--"
"Pardonme, you know the man of whom I am speaking well enough; he wrote those articles on the Russian question, for which Lord Hailey supplied the material, and with which he was so pleased."
"Ah, to be sure; I recollect; what's his name? one may make a note of him, at any rate."
"His name is Churchill. You'll find no better clearer-headed man."
Then George Harding went away, and for the first and last time in his life exerted his influence, and requested the return of favours which he had frequently granted. He must have been well satisfied with the result of his work. Three days after Harding's interview with the Treasury Secretary, Churchill, idling at Brighton, was telegraphed for to Downing Street. The next week theLondon Gazettecontained the appointment of Francis Churchill, Esquire, to be one of the Commissioners appointed for levying her Majesty's Tin-Tax,viceCharles Beresford, Esquire, retired.
Mr. Beresford, pursued with the most unrelenting animosity by Scadgers, found himself opposed at every step,--even when, in sheer despair, he petitioned the Court,--and opposed so successfully, that he was remanded for two years. This period he passed in prison, and in cultivating the mysteries of racket,écartéandpiquet, in the two last of which he became a great proficient. It is to be hoped that they will be of service to him on the Continent, whither, having eventually obtained his release, he has repaired; and where his gentlemanly bearing and knowledge of the world will probably enable him to earn a very decent income from the innocent young Englishmen always to be picked up in travelling.
Mr. Prescott married Miss Murray, and, for a time, lived in London, and attended his office with great regularity. But the old squire found he could not live without his daughter, and simultaneously discovered that it was absolutely necessary that his estate should be more closely looked after than it had been. So, at his father-in-law's desire, Mr. Prescott resigned his appointment, and took up his quarters at Brooklands, where he and his wife are thoroughly happy; and where he discharges his duties of shooting, fishing, and hunting, to his own and his wife's great satisfaction. They have two sturdy children; a girl Kate, to whom Mr. Simnel is sponsor, and a boy Jim, who, under the guidance of his godfather Mr. Pringle, is already being indoctrinated into all kinds of mischief.
Dear honest old George Pringle is still single. "Time, sir," he sometimes says to Prescott, "has bereft me of charms once divine," laying his hand on a bald place about the size of a shilling on the crown of his head; "but I defy him. I and Madame Rachel are the only people who are beautiful for ever." He is very happy, having risen well in his office, and he still hates Mr. Dibb with all the intensity of former years.
Mr. Simnel, after some months, came back cured of his illness, but quite an altered man; his hair had become quite white, and his back was bowed like that of a very old man. Occasionally he goes down to see his colleague Mr. Churchill, or to spend Saturday and Sunday with Mr. Prescott's family; but his ordinary life is a very quiet one, and seems divided between his office and the True-Blue Club, in the card-room of which he is to be found every night prepared to hold his own at whist against all comers.
Mr. Scadgers still pursues his trade; but I hear that he is now considering the advances of a joint-stock company, who wish to buy his business, under the title of The Government-Clerks' Own Friend and Unlimited. Advance Company (limited), and who propose to make Jinks manager with a large salary.
There is no Mrs. Schröder now, and no house appertaining to any one of that name in Saxe-Coburg Square. Captain and Mrs. Lyster live in a large house at Maidenhead, known to their friends as "The Staircase," from the enormous size of theescalier, but really known as Wingroves,--a fine old-fashioned Queen-Anne mansion, facing the river, where they are thoroughly happy. Their son Fred is supposed by his parents to be a prodigy, and is really a healthy pleasant boy.
Near them is a little cottage with a trim garden, passing by which in the summer you will generally see a white-haired old lady, on a rustic seat, reading a book and enjoying the sunlight.
Then comes a shout, a clanging of the garden-gate, an irruption of children, wild cries of "Granny!" and the old lady is hustled away to find fruit or play at games. This is old Mrs. Churchill, who has never been so happy in her life.
And Barbara and Frank? They live close by in a charming house, with a lawn sloping to the Thames. Barbara has her brougham again; and all her old acquaintance have called on her, and expressed their delight at her husband's good fortune with great enthusiasm. Miss Lexden, now resident in Florence, and a confirmed invalid, is perhaps the only one of her old set who has not so acted. But Barbara has not cared to renew the old connexions. Thoroughly happy in her husband, doting on her three children, her chief pleasure is in her home, of which she is now the comfort and the pride.