CHAPTERCLII.A POPULAR WATERING PLACE—THE RENCONTRE, AND FEARFUL DENOUEMENT.Leaving the unwholesome purlieus of Whitechapel, we must journey to the resort of City clerks, Jews, tradesmen, professional men, and, in short, people of almost every denomination.Margate, in the season, simply means London out of town. People flock to this place in shoals. It is, of course, requisite for the Cockneys to rejoice in buff slippers, nautical hats, and sea-side costume, and it is equally necessary for them to throng the pier and jetty, and ogle each other with a pertinacity which, it is presumed, is highly satisfactory to themselves, and agreeable to everybody; but our business is not with the select visitors to the jetty or the pier; for the purposes of our story we have to take a glance at another part of the well-known watering-place.On the cliffs, just where the Infirmary stands, two figures might be seen walking side by side—they are in close conversation—the time is evening—the sun is set, and the vault of heaven is speckled with myriads of stars.The two persons engaged in conversation are well known to the reader.One is Tom Gatliffe, of whom we have heard but little of late, and the other is Laura Stanbridge, who, albeit somewhat faded, as far as her general appearance is concerned, carried with her yet the traces of that beauty which, in the years that are passed, stood her in such good stead.She has lost but little of that fascination of manner which may be likened to that of the wily serpent—but she is more staid and thoughtful—and we may add even more dangerous in many ways than she has been heretofore.Gatliffe had at one time been perfectly fascinated with her blandishments, and for many years she held him in bondage. Now, however, he could be esteemed only a sort of friend, if such a term could, with propriety, be used; anyway the connection between the two was now severed.Gatliffe, who had betaken himself to Margate for a change, met Laura accidentally there: people do meet at Margate in a most unaccountable manner, and this was the case with those two. They became for the nonce inseparable companions during their sojourn at the sea-side.“It has been well said,” observed Laura Stanbridge, “that one has only to go to the sea-side to renew old acquaintanceships. Such appears to be the case with us. My dear Tom, of late you have not thought it worth while to call upon me as of yore. Have had other matters to engage your attention, I suppose.”“Well, to say the truth, I have,” returned her companion.“I judged so. Do not for a moment imagine I am saying this as a reproach. On the contrary I believe, and always have believed, you to be genuine. Still, it would pain me much if it came to pass that we should be no longer good friends and true. You understand my meanings, at our age one does not so easily form new friendship; and this, I suppose, is the reason why I cling so tenaciously to those whom I have known in earlier and, I think I may add, in happier years.”“Happier!” repeated Gatliffe, with something like sorrow in his tone.“Certainly, happier.”“Oh,” answered her companion, “the brightest days of my life have long since passed away, and I have not much to live for now.”“Not much to live for? You are a prosperous man, and have reason to be thankful, all things considered. It is true you have been deserted by one who ought to have clung to you, but I expect you have cast from your mind a woman who has proved herself to be unworthy consideration.”“Silence!” exclaimed Gatliffe. “I do not care to listen to observations of this nature. Do not speak disparagingly of one who, whatever her faults may be, is far removed from either of us. I am surprised at the observations you have made, and I must beg of you not to allude to this subject. Indeed, I am at a loss to imagine why you have chosen to broach it.”“Oh, I have done. She was once your wife, and now——”“She is nothing to me only an honourable lady, whom I cannot do aught else but esteem and admire; but pray how did you come to know about my connections?”Laura Stanbridge laughed.“How?” said she. “Why, my dear Tom, I suppose you will admit that your devorce is a matter of public notoriety?”“It was so many years ago I wish it to be forgotten. I wish to forget it myself if that be possible.”“Then I will never again allude to the circumstance. My dear Tom, you need not be told that I am not likely to say anything to offend or annoy you. The past has passed away, and we have only to look to the future.”“That is true,” said he, “and do you know, Lorrie, I have serious thoughts of beginning life again if that be possible?”“And how do you propose to do this?”“Well, I’ll tell you. I propose going to one of the Colonies—to America, or Australia, it doesn’t much matter which; but I am certain I shall be able to do well in either place, and, to say the truth, I am thoroughly sick of this country.”“Why, so am I,” quickly rejoined his companion. “Let us go together, a woman has a better chance there than in England. Take me with you.”Gatliffe made no reply, but appeared to be lost in thought.“You do not answer,” said she. “I’ll work and slave for you, and be your faithful friend and companion. Oh, what happiness it would give me, for I love you—and none other but you!”She placed her arm round his shoulders, drew him towards her, and embraced him fondly. She was like the syrens of old—false and seductive.“We will talk about this on some future occasion,” observed he, for he had not altogether the faith in the woman by his side as he had during the first few years of their acquaintance.Nevertheless he was in some measure attached to her, and found it difficult to shake her off. She was his evil genius.At one time he had, like many others, been infatuated with her, but this infatuation had in a great measure passed away. Still, even at this time, she exercised considerable power over him, and most unquestionably she had to a great extent lowered his moral tone.It has been said, and there is no denying the fact, that we are all creatures of circumstances. Poor Gatliffe had been the victim of untoward events which were far beyond his own control.There were times when he thought of the woman whom he in the earlier years of his life indulged and almost worshipped, but she had left him for rank and power.He did not blame—on the contrary, he made every possible excuse for her desertion of him.He was not, however, aware that his own illicit intercourse with Laura Stanbridge had become known to her very shortly after his intimacy with that heartless, designing, and worthless woman, who lured but to betray.It is just possible that he might have been prevailed upon to suffer her to accompany him to Australia or America, but a circumstance occurred which put that altogether out of the question.This it will be our purpose to describe.Gatliffe and Miss Stanbridge were walking close to the edge of the cliffs, as the moonlight cast its beams on that part of the rocky eminence running from where the Infirmary stands to a place known at this time as Marsh Bay.It will be perhaps needless to say that his female companion demonstrated the strongest affection for him, and made use of all her blandishments to draw him towards her.A spectator at a casual glance would have conjectured that they were lovers—albeit they were neither of them particularly young at this time.They had not gone very far when the figure of a man was observed making towards them. He was coming in the opposite direction to the one they were taking.Laura Stanbridge was at no loss to understand who the stranger was, and perhaps, of all men in the world, he was the very last she had any desire to see.As he approached he indulged in a low satirical mocking laugh, which jarred upon the ears of Gatliffe’s companion.“Ah, oh!” he ejaculated. “It is you, eh? and with your fancy man, too! I am most charmed at this unexpected meeting, because it gives me assurance that you are alive and well, which is vastly consolatory. Taking a moonlight stroll, my charmer—eh?”Gatliffe did not condescend to take any notice of these sneering observations, but he was a little ruffled, nevertheless.“You will be pleased, or, rather, I shall be, by your abstaining from sneering observations, and if you have nothing better to say, pass on.”“Not until I have a word or two with you, madam,” said Alf Purvis, for the newcomer was none other than he.“Not until I have told you a piece of my mind. You think, perhaps, that I am in ignorance of your doings. Who was it that betrayed me, and set on detectives to find out the forged cheque business? A curse light on you!”“This lady is under my protection,” said Gatliffe, “and I must request you to go your way.”“You request?”“Yes, most certainly; this is not the time or place for you to indulge in personal and impertinent remarks.”“Do not heed what he says,” ejaculated Miss Stanbridge. “He is unworthy of notice.”“It is of no use your endeavouring to carry it off with a high hand, you worthless, base woman,” cried Purvis. “I know you, my lady. No one knows you better, and it will go hard with me if I don’t have my revenge. You have betrayed us. Do you hear, you infamous strumpet?” he added, shaking his fist in her face.“You audacious young scoundrel!” exclaimed Gatliffe, who was by this time incensed beyond all reasonable endurance. “Begone, while you have a whole skin.”“You threaten, do you? Do you happen to know the character of the woman you seek to shield and protect? Shall I tell you a little of her history? It will greatly interest you, I dare say. Listen——”“Get you away, and give me no more of your impudence,” exclaimed Gatliffe.Alf Purvis indulged in a low mocking laugh, which so exasperated his adversary that he raised his fist and gave him a heavy blow on the chest, sending him reeling back several paces.When he had recovered from this first assault, Purvis rushed at Gatliffe and struck him in the face. The latter closed with his younger opponent, and a struggle ensued, which was, however, but of short duration, for Purvis was no match for the powerful and athletic engineer, who threw him violently to the earth, and when he rose again stood on the defensive.But by this time Alf had had enough. He stood scowling and swearing at a respectful distance.“Come dear,” said Laura Stanbridge, “Let there be an end to this. I am sorry to have been the occasion of this scene of violence.”“You sorry!” exclaimed Purvis, “Have you any feeling? You care as little about him as I do about you. I am sure a worthless creature like you is hardly worth quarrelling about.”Tom Gatliffe and his female companion walked on, followed by their tormentor, who was bent upon mischief.He gave expression to a series of taunts and degrading observations, but now that the first outburst of passion was over Gatliffe had no desire to recommence hostilities. Nevertheless he was greatly annoyed at the pertinacity of Purvis, who continued to aggravate Laura Stanbridge in a manner which soon became insupportable.“You had better discontinue those impertinent remarks. Go your ways. We neither of us have any desire to listen to your impertinence,” said Gatliffe.“I don’t want to pick a quarrel with you, sir,” returned Purvis. “You have done me no wrong, but as to your companion, she has been the very bane of my existence. She it was, who, when I was a helpless lad, taught me to become a thief. I am not romancing. She has made me what I am. Perhaps you don’t know that she is a trainer of thieves.”“Silence! No more of this, you audacious miscreant,” cried Gatliffe, in a violent rage.“And you are her champion! Well I wish you a better office.”“If you persist in annoying us, I will inflict summary chastisement on you, let the consequence be what it will.”“I say again I have no desire to fasten a quarrel on you, Mr. Gatliffe. I believe you to be upright and honourable, but that’s no reason for your espousing the cause of one who is so utterly worthless. In the due course of time you will be convinced of the truth of all I have been saying. Take my advice—have nothing to do with that woman. Shall I tell you her early history?”“I again request you to keep your remarks to yourself,” observed Gatliffe, who was at this time everwhelmed with astonishment at the turn the conversation had been taking.“Well, sir,” said Purvis, “on consideration, it is doubtless neither pleasing nor palatable to you to hear the truth spoken, but I warn you to be careful in dealing with the odious woman by your side. In the earlier years of her life she was under the protection of an old gentleman, whom she robbed and afterwards poisoned. I have the whole history of this part of her career by heart—she is an adultress and a murderess. Listen to the story I have to tell.”Alf Purvis was on the edge of the cliffs when he made these last remarks. Laura Stanbridge, who was at this time pale with ill-suppressed passion, sprang forward, and stretching out her arms, she with a tiger-like spring, rushed full at her traducer. Throwing the whole weight of her body in the sudden assault, she pushed Alf Purvis with such terrible force that he reeled and tottered for a moment, then a loud splash in the water told that the ill-fated young man had fallen over the precipice.“Gracious heavens, what have you done?” exclaimed her companion pale as ashes and trembling in every limb. “He has fallen over.”“And a good job too; I know how to protect myself.”Poor Gatliffe was stupefied with astonishment and fear.“But this is murder,” cried he.“Not so,” returned his companion with perfect composure—“he hasfallen over the cliff. Do you understand?”“I will be no party to such an act of atrocity,” said he. “Oh, miserably guilty woman, have you no pity, no remorse?”“Not any for him—none whatever.”Gatliffe, who was at this time almost beside himself, looked over the cliff.The tide had been at the flood about half-an-hour before the murderous act. It was now flowing out. Gatliffe saw a dark speck on the water, which he judged to be the head of Purvis.He rushed madly from the spot, and made for a narrow cutting which led to the sea-shore.But one dominant thought possessed him. He had a burning desire to save the victim of the atrocious outrage.But how this was to be accomplished he could not very well determine. When he came to the end of the cutting, his eyes rested on a boat, which had been moored against a stake driven into the sands.He released the boat, jumped in, and rowed his hardest.Far out in the distance he beheld a black speck, which he believed to be Purvis, who, despite the giddy height from which he had fallen, might yet be swimming for his life.“Pray heaven it may be so,” he ejaculated. “If he is lost I shall never forgive myself.”He pulled lustily at the oars. The sea was rather rough, and although he was a tolerably good rower on the Thames, or any other river, he had but little experience in the management of a craft on the sea; but he did not care much about the danger and risk he was running—he was actuated by a higher feeling.His object was to save and succour a fellow-creature, and so he bore bravely on. As he did so he heard Laura Stanbridge’s voice. Heard her cry out—“Come back, Tom. The attempt is useless.”He took no heed of the warning, and never stopped till he had come within sight of the black speck. Then, to his dismay and horror, he discovered his mistake. It was but a floating buoy.He was so moved by this discovery that he was near bursting into tears.His eyes swept the waste of waters, but he could discern nothing like a human form; yet, nothing daunted, he rowed in almost every direction in the hope of seeing some trace of Purvis.Darkness now fell upon the scene—some heavy clouds obscured the moon, and sadly and reluctantly the unhappy rower made for the shore.When he had gained the cutting be moored the boat to the stake, and slowly and sadly crept up towards the cliffs.“Oh, that I should have lived to see this dreadful sight—this infamous, cruel, and cold-blooded assassination!” he ejaculated. “It is most horrible—most infamous! What is to be done? I feel as if I had been party to a murder, and shall never know what peace of mind means.”His knees seemed to sink under him, and he was so utterly prostrated that he felt as weak as a child.When he reached the cliffs he was confronted by Laura Stanbridge.“Well,” said she, “the attempt you have made has not proved successful, I suppose?”“Go, woman!” he exclaimed, bitterly. “I will have naught to say to you. Go your ways, and never—never let me set eyes upon you again. I cannot express to you my disgust and horror. A curse will cling to you.”“He deserved his fate, and it is useless now to indulge in recriminations. He drove me to madness, and upon the impulse of the moment I did an act which in cooler moments I should have shuddered at. Do not upbraid me. It was but a sudden impulse. I was smarting under his taunts, his infamous slanders, but it is done. The worst is over.”“The worst, woman! The worst is to come—a life of bitter remorse!”“Well, Tom, I regret——”“Don’t talk to me. Don’t call me Tom. The tie between us is broken now and for ever!”“Do you intend to betray me, then?”“I know not what to do. I am so supremely wretched that I wish I sank beneath the waves.”“What folly is this? It was an accident—a mere accident. Of course I never intended to hurl him from the cliff. Do you think it’s likely? Listen—for my sake you must keep silent. It is known only to our two selves. He fell over by accident—walked too near the edge, and then you did your best to save him. Nothing can be plainer.”“I’ll be no party to so infamous a crime. I will not tell an untruth. No, not to save your worthless life. You are a monster, a murderess, and I have done with you.”“I am in your power to a certain extent, I admit. Still, at the same time, permit me to observe that you will do well by holding your tongue, for your own sake as well as mine,” she added, with something like a sneer. “Do you understand?”“Just Heaven! do you dare to threaten?”“I don’t threaten, my friend—I merely suggest, and my suggestion is a very natural and reasonable one, and when you have duly considered the matter I doubt not that you will be of my opinion.”Tom Gatliffe was perfectly appalled, not only at the observations which had fallen from her, but at his own position.If she chose to accuse him of the crime, what witness could he call to prove his innocence?He could not deny that he had struck the murdered man—that they had a short but fierce struggle.He felt that he was in a very dangerous position.All these thoughts rushed rapidly through his brain, and he was almost inclined to look upon himself as an accessory.“Ah!” he ejaculated. “Cursed be the hour when I first set eyes upon you.”“It’s no use you talking in that way. We have known each other for many years. There are numbers of persons who will vouch for that, and so it’s no use your endeavouring to shirk the question. This miserable business may, in a great measure, be attributed to my love for you.”“Are you mad, woman?” cried Gatliffe, drawing back with ineffable disgust. “Your love for me! I have brought myself to a pretty pass, it seems.”“No doubt you have, dearest,” she returned with perfect composure.He now saw the nature of the woman with whom he had to deal, and the last words uttered by Purvis seemed to be almost prophetic.He stood for a moment or two gazing upon the woman who was so callous and hardened that she did not demonstrate the faintest symptom of remorse for the atrocious act she had perpetrated.“So,” said she, “it would appear that you, like the rest, are disposed to round on me. I confess I was not prepared for this, but after all it does not matter.”“I do not understand you, woman,” he ejaculated. “I am appalled, and am utterly at a loss. A murder has been committed before my very eyes—a crime so infamous that I stand aghast—and am almost petrified with astonishment. Had I guessed your horrible purpose——”“Don’t make matters worse by abusing me—it will not serve any purpose. It is necessary, for both of our sakes, that we should be friends,” she observed, in a low tone.“Friends!” he exclaimed. “Never again will I consent to even hold discourse with you—never again will I hold out the hand of friendship to a cold, cruel, heartless assassin. Get thee hence! I will not have anything further to say to you.”He turned and was about to take his departure.“Oh,” said she, “it is thus you treat me. Stay a moment, if you please. Possibly you are about to denounce me.”“And if I am it is no more than you deserve.”“We will not argue that question. Do so if you please; but, hark ye, Mr. Thomas Gatliffe, a word in your ear. If you accuse me of committing this atrocious crime, as you term it, I must tell you frankly, I shall be constrained, in self-defence, to declare that you are the murderer of Alf Purvis. So it is, perhaps, just as well for you to understand what you have to expect.”“Infamous, abandoned, and guilty woman!” cried Gatliffe, who was at this time driven to a state bordering on distraction. “I have no fear for myself. Think not to escape by such a miserable device. I both abhor and contemn you. Away, wretch! Away, murderess and adultress; I am far beyond the reach of your malice—go!”“I shall go when I feel disposed to do so. I am proof against your taunts and abuse, and I should advise you to be a little more temperate in your language. You don’t know at present whom you have to deal with.”“I say, go. I will have nothing more to say to one who is so vile.”“Very well, sir, as you please. We are to part in anger, it would seem. The fault is not mine.”“Yours!” exclaimed Gatliffe, casting upon her a look of unutterable disgust. “Part in anger! Away, woman—away! I loathe the very sight of you.”She came forward with the intention of making an urgent appeal to him, but he thrust her fiercely from him, turned on his heel, and without uttering another word fled from the spot.When he reached Margate he made for the station, booked for London, and hastened on to the metropolis.Laura Stanbridge, after he had left her so abruptly, remained for some time lost in thought.“Ah,” she murmured, “he’ll keep silent upon this subject—I think I know enough of him to be assured of that. He is not likely to turn against me for all his vapouring. I don’t think I have much to fear as far as he is concerned; but if he does play me false, well, I have my remedy, which I shall not hesitate to make use of. Anyway, he will find it difficult to come out of the business with clean hands—certainly not without a strong shade of suspicion. Let him do his worst, then, if he means to turn traitor. Yes, let him do his worst. That base, ungrateful boy has met with his deserts. For years I have been thirsting for revenge, but never deemed it would be brought about in this fashion.”She walked slowly on in the direction of a small cottage, which she rented furnished, for a few weeks during the season.Upon her entering the habitation in question, her maid observed that she looked troubled and careworn. The reason for this alteration in her appearance the girl could not quite understand, but she said nothing, laid the table for supper and then looked inquiringly at her mistress.“Oh! any visitors? Is that what you mean?” said Miss Stanbridge.“Yes, ma’am.”“Not any visitors to-night, Jane. Mr. Gatliffe is called suddenly away. I shall be all alone this evening.”The table having been laid, and the supper served, Miss Stanbridge partook of her evening meal as if nothing had happened. Her heart was as hard and petrified as the nether millstone.
Leaving the unwholesome purlieus of Whitechapel, we must journey to the resort of City clerks, Jews, tradesmen, professional men, and, in short, people of almost every denomination.
Margate, in the season, simply means London out of town. People flock to this place in shoals. It is, of course, requisite for the Cockneys to rejoice in buff slippers, nautical hats, and sea-side costume, and it is equally necessary for them to throng the pier and jetty, and ogle each other with a pertinacity which, it is presumed, is highly satisfactory to themselves, and agreeable to everybody; but our business is not with the select visitors to the jetty or the pier; for the purposes of our story we have to take a glance at another part of the well-known watering-place.
On the cliffs, just where the Infirmary stands, two figures might be seen walking side by side—they are in close conversation—the time is evening—the sun is set, and the vault of heaven is speckled with myriads of stars.
The two persons engaged in conversation are well known to the reader.
One is Tom Gatliffe, of whom we have heard but little of late, and the other is Laura Stanbridge, who, albeit somewhat faded, as far as her general appearance is concerned, carried with her yet the traces of that beauty which, in the years that are passed, stood her in such good stead.
She has lost but little of that fascination of manner which may be likened to that of the wily serpent—but she is more staid and thoughtful—and we may add even more dangerous in many ways than she has been heretofore.
Gatliffe had at one time been perfectly fascinated with her blandishments, and for many years she held him in bondage. Now, however, he could be esteemed only a sort of friend, if such a term could, with propriety, be used; anyway the connection between the two was now severed.
Gatliffe, who had betaken himself to Margate for a change, met Laura accidentally there: people do meet at Margate in a most unaccountable manner, and this was the case with those two. They became for the nonce inseparable companions during their sojourn at the sea-side.
“It has been well said,” observed Laura Stanbridge, “that one has only to go to the sea-side to renew old acquaintanceships. Such appears to be the case with us. My dear Tom, of late you have not thought it worth while to call upon me as of yore. Have had other matters to engage your attention, I suppose.”
“Well, to say the truth, I have,” returned her companion.
“I judged so. Do not for a moment imagine I am saying this as a reproach. On the contrary I believe, and always have believed, you to be genuine. Still, it would pain me much if it came to pass that we should be no longer good friends and true. You understand my meanings, at our age one does not so easily form new friendship; and this, I suppose, is the reason why I cling so tenaciously to those whom I have known in earlier and, I think I may add, in happier years.”
“Happier!” repeated Gatliffe, with something like sorrow in his tone.
“Certainly, happier.”
“Oh,” answered her companion, “the brightest days of my life have long since passed away, and I have not much to live for now.”
“Not much to live for? You are a prosperous man, and have reason to be thankful, all things considered. It is true you have been deserted by one who ought to have clung to you, but I expect you have cast from your mind a woman who has proved herself to be unworthy consideration.”
“Silence!” exclaimed Gatliffe. “I do not care to listen to observations of this nature. Do not speak disparagingly of one who, whatever her faults may be, is far removed from either of us. I am surprised at the observations you have made, and I must beg of you not to allude to this subject. Indeed, I am at a loss to imagine why you have chosen to broach it.”
“Oh, I have done. She was once your wife, and now——”
“She is nothing to me only an honourable lady, whom I cannot do aught else but esteem and admire; but pray how did you come to know about my connections?”
Laura Stanbridge laughed.
“How?” said she. “Why, my dear Tom, I suppose you will admit that your devorce is a matter of public notoriety?”
“It was so many years ago I wish it to be forgotten. I wish to forget it myself if that be possible.”
“Then I will never again allude to the circumstance. My dear Tom, you need not be told that I am not likely to say anything to offend or annoy you. The past has passed away, and we have only to look to the future.”
“That is true,” said he, “and do you know, Lorrie, I have serious thoughts of beginning life again if that be possible?”
“And how do you propose to do this?”
“Well, I’ll tell you. I propose going to one of the Colonies—to America, or Australia, it doesn’t much matter which; but I am certain I shall be able to do well in either place, and, to say the truth, I am thoroughly sick of this country.”
“Why, so am I,” quickly rejoined his companion. “Let us go together, a woman has a better chance there than in England. Take me with you.”
Gatliffe made no reply, but appeared to be lost in thought.
“You do not answer,” said she. “I’ll work and slave for you, and be your faithful friend and companion. Oh, what happiness it would give me, for I love you—and none other but you!”
She placed her arm round his shoulders, drew him towards her, and embraced him fondly. She was like the syrens of old—false and seductive.
“We will talk about this on some future occasion,” observed he, for he had not altogether the faith in the woman by his side as he had during the first few years of their acquaintance.
Nevertheless he was in some measure attached to her, and found it difficult to shake her off. She was his evil genius.
At one time he had, like many others, been infatuated with her, but this infatuation had in a great measure passed away. Still, even at this time, she exercised considerable power over him, and most unquestionably she had to a great extent lowered his moral tone.
It has been said, and there is no denying the fact, that we are all creatures of circumstances. Poor Gatliffe had been the victim of untoward events which were far beyond his own control.
There were times when he thought of the woman whom he in the earlier years of his life indulged and almost worshipped, but she had left him for rank and power.
He did not blame—on the contrary, he made every possible excuse for her desertion of him.
He was not, however, aware that his own illicit intercourse with Laura Stanbridge had become known to her very shortly after his intimacy with that heartless, designing, and worthless woman, who lured but to betray.
It is just possible that he might have been prevailed upon to suffer her to accompany him to Australia or America, but a circumstance occurred which put that altogether out of the question.
This it will be our purpose to describe.
Gatliffe and Miss Stanbridge were walking close to the edge of the cliffs, as the moonlight cast its beams on that part of the rocky eminence running from where the Infirmary stands to a place known at this time as Marsh Bay.
It will be perhaps needless to say that his female companion demonstrated the strongest affection for him, and made use of all her blandishments to draw him towards her.
A spectator at a casual glance would have conjectured that they were lovers—albeit they were neither of them particularly young at this time.
They had not gone very far when the figure of a man was observed making towards them. He was coming in the opposite direction to the one they were taking.
Laura Stanbridge was at no loss to understand who the stranger was, and perhaps, of all men in the world, he was the very last she had any desire to see.
As he approached he indulged in a low satirical mocking laugh, which jarred upon the ears of Gatliffe’s companion.
“Ah, oh!” he ejaculated. “It is you, eh? and with your fancy man, too! I am most charmed at this unexpected meeting, because it gives me assurance that you are alive and well, which is vastly consolatory. Taking a moonlight stroll, my charmer—eh?”
Gatliffe did not condescend to take any notice of these sneering observations, but he was a little ruffled, nevertheless.
“You will be pleased, or, rather, I shall be, by your abstaining from sneering observations, and if you have nothing better to say, pass on.”
“Not until I have a word or two with you, madam,” said Alf Purvis, for the newcomer was none other than he.
“Not until I have told you a piece of my mind. You think, perhaps, that I am in ignorance of your doings. Who was it that betrayed me, and set on detectives to find out the forged cheque business? A curse light on you!”
“This lady is under my protection,” said Gatliffe, “and I must request you to go your way.”
“You request?”
“Yes, most certainly; this is not the time or place for you to indulge in personal and impertinent remarks.”
“Do not heed what he says,” ejaculated Miss Stanbridge. “He is unworthy of notice.”
“It is of no use your endeavouring to carry it off with a high hand, you worthless, base woman,” cried Purvis. “I know you, my lady. No one knows you better, and it will go hard with me if I don’t have my revenge. You have betrayed us. Do you hear, you infamous strumpet?” he added, shaking his fist in her face.
“You audacious young scoundrel!” exclaimed Gatliffe, who was by this time incensed beyond all reasonable endurance. “Begone, while you have a whole skin.”
“You threaten, do you? Do you happen to know the character of the woman you seek to shield and protect? Shall I tell you a little of her history? It will greatly interest you, I dare say. Listen——”
“Get you away, and give me no more of your impudence,” exclaimed Gatliffe.
Alf Purvis indulged in a low mocking laugh, which so exasperated his adversary that he raised his fist and gave him a heavy blow on the chest, sending him reeling back several paces.
When he had recovered from this first assault, Purvis rushed at Gatliffe and struck him in the face. The latter closed with his younger opponent, and a struggle ensued, which was, however, but of short duration, for Purvis was no match for the powerful and athletic engineer, who threw him violently to the earth, and when he rose again stood on the defensive.
But by this time Alf had had enough. He stood scowling and swearing at a respectful distance.
“Come dear,” said Laura Stanbridge, “Let there be an end to this. I am sorry to have been the occasion of this scene of violence.”
“You sorry!” exclaimed Purvis, “Have you any feeling? You care as little about him as I do about you. I am sure a worthless creature like you is hardly worth quarrelling about.”
Tom Gatliffe and his female companion walked on, followed by their tormentor, who was bent upon mischief.
He gave expression to a series of taunts and degrading observations, but now that the first outburst of passion was over Gatliffe had no desire to recommence hostilities. Nevertheless he was greatly annoyed at the pertinacity of Purvis, who continued to aggravate Laura Stanbridge in a manner which soon became insupportable.
“You had better discontinue those impertinent remarks. Go your ways. We neither of us have any desire to listen to your impertinence,” said Gatliffe.
“I don’t want to pick a quarrel with you, sir,” returned Purvis. “You have done me no wrong, but as to your companion, she has been the very bane of my existence. She it was, who, when I was a helpless lad, taught me to become a thief. I am not romancing. She has made me what I am. Perhaps you don’t know that she is a trainer of thieves.”
“Silence! No more of this, you audacious miscreant,” cried Gatliffe, in a violent rage.
“And you are her champion! Well I wish you a better office.”
“If you persist in annoying us, I will inflict summary chastisement on you, let the consequence be what it will.”
“I say again I have no desire to fasten a quarrel on you, Mr. Gatliffe. I believe you to be upright and honourable, but that’s no reason for your espousing the cause of one who is so utterly worthless. In the due course of time you will be convinced of the truth of all I have been saying. Take my advice—have nothing to do with that woman. Shall I tell you her early history?”
“I again request you to keep your remarks to yourself,” observed Gatliffe, who was at this time everwhelmed with astonishment at the turn the conversation had been taking.
“Well, sir,” said Purvis, “on consideration, it is doubtless neither pleasing nor palatable to you to hear the truth spoken, but I warn you to be careful in dealing with the odious woman by your side. In the earlier years of her life she was under the protection of an old gentleman, whom she robbed and afterwards poisoned. I have the whole history of this part of her career by heart—she is an adultress and a murderess. Listen to the story I have to tell.”
Alf Purvis was on the edge of the cliffs when he made these last remarks. Laura Stanbridge, who was at this time pale with ill-suppressed passion, sprang forward, and stretching out her arms, she with a tiger-like spring, rushed full at her traducer. Throwing the whole weight of her body in the sudden assault, she pushed Alf Purvis with such terrible force that he reeled and tottered for a moment, then a loud splash in the water told that the ill-fated young man had fallen over the precipice.
“Gracious heavens, what have you done?” exclaimed her companion pale as ashes and trembling in every limb. “He has fallen over.”
“And a good job too; I know how to protect myself.”
Poor Gatliffe was stupefied with astonishment and fear.
“But this is murder,” cried he.
“Not so,” returned his companion with perfect composure—“he hasfallen over the cliff. Do you understand?”
“I will be no party to such an act of atrocity,” said he. “Oh, miserably guilty woman, have you no pity, no remorse?”
“Not any for him—none whatever.”
Gatliffe, who was at this time almost beside himself, looked over the cliff.
The tide had been at the flood about half-an-hour before the murderous act. It was now flowing out. Gatliffe saw a dark speck on the water, which he judged to be the head of Purvis.
He rushed madly from the spot, and made for a narrow cutting which led to the sea-shore.
But one dominant thought possessed him. He had a burning desire to save the victim of the atrocious outrage.
But how this was to be accomplished he could not very well determine. When he came to the end of the cutting, his eyes rested on a boat, which had been moored against a stake driven into the sands.
He released the boat, jumped in, and rowed his hardest.
Far out in the distance he beheld a black speck, which he believed to be Purvis, who, despite the giddy height from which he had fallen, might yet be swimming for his life.
“Pray heaven it may be so,” he ejaculated. “If he is lost I shall never forgive myself.”
He pulled lustily at the oars. The sea was rather rough, and although he was a tolerably good rower on the Thames, or any other river, he had but little experience in the management of a craft on the sea; but he did not care much about the danger and risk he was running—he was actuated by a higher feeling.
His object was to save and succour a fellow-creature, and so he bore bravely on. As he did so he heard Laura Stanbridge’s voice. Heard her cry out—
“Come back, Tom. The attempt is useless.”
He took no heed of the warning, and never stopped till he had come within sight of the black speck. Then, to his dismay and horror, he discovered his mistake. It was but a floating buoy.
He was so moved by this discovery that he was near bursting into tears.
His eyes swept the waste of waters, but he could discern nothing like a human form; yet, nothing daunted, he rowed in almost every direction in the hope of seeing some trace of Purvis.
Darkness now fell upon the scene—some heavy clouds obscured the moon, and sadly and reluctantly the unhappy rower made for the shore.
When he had gained the cutting be moored the boat to the stake, and slowly and sadly crept up towards the cliffs.
“Oh, that I should have lived to see this dreadful sight—this infamous, cruel, and cold-blooded assassination!” he ejaculated. “It is most horrible—most infamous! What is to be done? I feel as if I had been party to a murder, and shall never know what peace of mind means.”
His knees seemed to sink under him, and he was so utterly prostrated that he felt as weak as a child.
When he reached the cliffs he was confronted by Laura Stanbridge.
“Well,” said she, “the attempt you have made has not proved successful, I suppose?”
“Go, woman!” he exclaimed, bitterly. “I will have naught to say to you. Go your ways, and never—never let me set eyes upon you again. I cannot express to you my disgust and horror. A curse will cling to you.”
“He deserved his fate, and it is useless now to indulge in recriminations. He drove me to madness, and upon the impulse of the moment I did an act which in cooler moments I should have shuddered at. Do not upbraid me. It was but a sudden impulse. I was smarting under his taunts, his infamous slanders, but it is done. The worst is over.”
“The worst, woman! The worst is to come—a life of bitter remorse!”
“Well, Tom, I regret——”
“Don’t talk to me. Don’t call me Tom. The tie between us is broken now and for ever!”
“Do you intend to betray me, then?”
“I know not what to do. I am so supremely wretched that I wish I sank beneath the waves.”
“What folly is this? It was an accident—a mere accident. Of course I never intended to hurl him from the cliff. Do you think it’s likely? Listen—for my sake you must keep silent. It is known only to our two selves. He fell over by accident—walked too near the edge, and then you did your best to save him. Nothing can be plainer.”
“I’ll be no party to so infamous a crime. I will not tell an untruth. No, not to save your worthless life. You are a monster, a murderess, and I have done with you.”
“I am in your power to a certain extent, I admit. Still, at the same time, permit me to observe that you will do well by holding your tongue, for your own sake as well as mine,” she added, with something like a sneer. “Do you understand?”
“Just Heaven! do you dare to threaten?”
“I don’t threaten, my friend—I merely suggest, and my suggestion is a very natural and reasonable one, and when you have duly considered the matter I doubt not that you will be of my opinion.”
Tom Gatliffe was perfectly appalled, not only at the observations which had fallen from her, but at his own position.
If she chose to accuse him of the crime, what witness could he call to prove his innocence?
He could not deny that he had struck the murdered man—that they had a short but fierce struggle.
He felt that he was in a very dangerous position.
All these thoughts rushed rapidly through his brain, and he was almost inclined to look upon himself as an accessory.
“Ah!” he ejaculated. “Cursed be the hour when I first set eyes upon you.”
“It’s no use you talking in that way. We have known each other for many years. There are numbers of persons who will vouch for that, and so it’s no use your endeavouring to shirk the question. This miserable business may, in a great measure, be attributed to my love for you.”
“Are you mad, woman?” cried Gatliffe, drawing back with ineffable disgust. “Your love for me! I have brought myself to a pretty pass, it seems.”
“No doubt you have, dearest,” she returned with perfect composure.
He now saw the nature of the woman with whom he had to deal, and the last words uttered by Purvis seemed to be almost prophetic.
He stood for a moment or two gazing upon the woman who was so callous and hardened that she did not demonstrate the faintest symptom of remorse for the atrocious act she had perpetrated.
“So,” said she, “it would appear that you, like the rest, are disposed to round on me. I confess I was not prepared for this, but after all it does not matter.”
“I do not understand you, woman,” he ejaculated. “I am appalled, and am utterly at a loss. A murder has been committed before my very eyes—a crime so infamous that I stand aghast—and am almost petrified with astonishment. Had I guessed your horrible purpose——”
“Don’t make matters worse by abusing me—it will not serve any purpose. It is necessary, for both of our sakes, that we should be friends,” she observed, in a low tone.
“Friends!” he exclaimed. “Never again will I consent to even hold discourse with you—never again will I hold out the hand of friendship to a cold, cruel, heartless assassin. Get thee hence! I will not have anything further to say to you.”
He turned and was about to take his departure.
“Oh,” said she, “it is thus you treat me. Stay a moment, if you please. Possibly you are about to denounce me.”
“And if I am it is no more than you deserve.”
“We will not argue that question. Do so if you please; but, hark ye, Mr. Thomas Gatliffe, a word in your ear. If you accuse me of committing this atrocious crime, as you term it, I must tell you frankly, I shall be constrained, in self-defence, to declare that you are the murderer of Alf Purvis. So it is, perhaps, just as well for you to understand what you have to expect.”
“Infamous, abandoned, and guilty woman!” cried Gatliffe, who was at this time driven to a state bordering on distraction. “I have no fear for myself. Think not to escape by such a miserable device. I both abhor and contemn you. Away, wretch! Away, murderess and adultress; I am far beyond the reach of your malice—go!”
“I shall go when I feel disposed to do so. I am proof against your taunts and abuse, and I should advise you to be a little more temperate in your language. You don’t know at present whom you have to deal with.”
“I say, go. I will have nothing more to say to one who is so vile.”
“Very well, sir, as you please. We are to part in anger, it would seem. The fault is not mine.”
“Yours!” exclaimed Gatliffe, casting upon her a look of unutterable disgust. “Part in anger! Away, woman—away! I loathe the very sight of you.”
She came forward with the intention of making an urgent appeal to him, but he thrust her fiercely from him, turned on his heel, and without uttering another word fled from the spot.
When he reached Margate he made for the station, booked for London, and hastened on to the metropolis.
Laura Stanbridge, after he had left her so abruptly, remained for some time lost in thought.
“Ah,” she murmured, “he’ll keep silent upon this subject—I think I know enough of him to be assured of that. He is not likely to turn against me for all his vapouring. I don’t think I have much to fear as far as he is concerned; but if he does play me false, well, I have my remedy, which I shall not hesitate to make use of. Anyway, he will find it difficult to come out of the business with clean hands—certainly not without a strong shade of suspicion. Let him do his worst, then, if he means to turn traitor. Yes, let him do his worst. That base, ungrateful boy has met with his deserts. For years I have been thirsting for revenge, but never deemed it would be brought about in this fashion.”
She walked slowly on in the direction of a small cottage, which she rented furnished, for a few weeks during the season.
Upon her entering the habitation in question, her maid observed that she looked troubled and careworn. The reason for this alteration in her appearance the girl could not quite understand, but she said nothing, laid the table for supper and then looked inquiringly at her mistress.
“Oh! any visitors? Is that what you mean?” said Miss Stanbridge.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Not any visitors to-night, Jane. Mr. Gatliffe is called suddenly away. I shall be all alone this evening.”
The table having been laid, and the supper served, Miss Stanbridge partook of her evening meal as if nothing had happened. Her heart was as hard and petrified as the nether millstone.