CHAPTER XXV.
PHILLIP REDGILL CONTINUES TO PLAY HIS GAME OF VILLANY—HE DETERMINES TO MARRY AN HEIRESS—THE DISCOVERY OF FALSE NOTES IN THE MONEY-SAFE AT THE INDIA HOUSE—CHARLEY’S REMORSE AND CONFESSION—“LET NOT THE INNOCENT SUFFER FOR THE GUILTY.”
PHILLIP REDGILL CONTINUES TO PLAY HIS GAME OF VILLANY—HE DETERMINES TO MARRY AN HEIRESS—THE DISCOVERY OF FALSE NOTES IN THE MONEY-SAFE AT THE INDIA HOUSE—CHARLEY’S REMORSE AND CONFESSION—“LET NOT THE INNOCENT SUFFER FOR THE GUILTY.”
One would have thought that such ill success in his system of villany in thus becoming the slave of Captain Jack would have been a very practical, as it certainly was a very expensive lesson to young Redgill, seeing that he had agreed to pay the great thief-taker five thousand pounds for his silence. Yet, instead of cooling, it only seemed to irritate Phillip, and to such a degree, that he was not sober one day for a whole week after his interview with the renowned thief-taker; but, nevertheless, bore up under his losses with the airs of an honest millionaire.
His father was rich, every one said, and had ships at sea, which, laden with teas and silks, were on their way from China.
“The old man won’t be nice to a thousand or two when they arrive. Why, old Sir Andrew’s office has insured them for five hundred thousand pounds, so their cargoesmustbe worth a trifle! Go a-head, father! make all the cash you can—I’llmanage to spend it for you when you drop off the books.”
It was certainly true that Mr. Redgill, senior, had extensive dealings on ’Change, for in the single item of two ships homeward bound he held insurance policies for not less, as we have said, than five hundred thousand pounds.
“What a good thing it would be if young Redgill could manage to marry my only daughter, Fanny! I’d see if itcan’tbe done,” thought the miserly old Sir Andrew. “It would be a capital match! But I see a great many fond parents have the same idea in regard totheirdaughters, judging from the endless invitations to balls, &c., Phillip is continually receiving. He’ll be a fine ‘catch’ for some one. I’ll see what can be done in that matter, and consult with ‘my lady.’”
Old Sir Andrew’s consultation with “his lady” was so far successful that Phillip and Fanny were soon on most excellent terms; but as she was “anything but a beauty,” even when assisted by paints,flowers, silks, and false hair, many gallants about town, of inquisitive turn of mind, were unable to imagine the reasons which had determined so good-looking a young man as Phillip Redgill to pay such strict court to her.
The truth was that Phillip wanted “money,” and was greatly embarrassed.
He even desired the match, hoping thus to draw heavily both onherfather andhis own!
But, although he pressed his suit with much ardour, the intended marriage was always postponed at Redgill, senior’s, request.
But if Mr. Phillip Redgill could withstand his losses and disappointments in his career of crime with so much equanimity of temper, and even propose to himself matrimony as a solace for all his losses, it was not so with Charley Warbeck.
When that young gentleman, full of repentance, had calmly reflected upon his perilous situation, he was filled with alarm, and trembled for the fate which must surely overtake him.
He attended the India House as usual, but day by day he became more deathly pale.
His limbs seemed to have lost all strength, and he moved to and fro with unsteady gait and aching heart.
As often as he approached the huge iron safe where, in a moment of madness, he had cleverly placed a packet of false notes in lieu of those he had lost, in order to lull suspicion for a time, he became dizzy from excitement, and could scarcely stand.
Remorse and shame were punishing him more fearfully than actual imprisonment could have done.
When the day arrived upon which the India House usually issued a statement of their affairs, he was in a high fever, and, despite all remonstrance from his good old landlady, Dame Worthington, and old Sir Richard Warbeck, he persisted in going to the India House as usual, and even counterfeited gaiety.
The accounts soon showed a large deficit, and a buzz of astonishment was heard among all the clerks.
The directors of the India House seemed undisturbed, nor did they betray any token of great concern.
They smiled as blandly as before, and even joked with the terrified clerks, who were unable to speak, for all of them were implicated in suspicion, and none could imagine on whose head should rightly fall the actual guilt.
Each was distrustful of the other.
Towards the close of business hours Charley became really ill, but as he had been unwell for several days previous, no remark was passed upon his going home earlier than usual.
Excitement caused fever, and the latter superinduced lightness and flightiness of the mind.
In truth he was not now sane.
When he entered the house, Dame Worthington gazed upon him for a few moments, and then burst into tears.
He was unable to walk upstairs, hence the good old dame led him into the snug parlor, and put him to bed there upon the couch, and sent for medical assistance.
The whole house was astonished at the sudden and dangerous change in the young man, and when Clara Haylark heard of it, she rushed downstairs in great haste, and proffered her services in any way in which they might prove useful—for Clara had a lurking suspicion that her curls and captivating ways might have had a little something to do with Charley’s sudden indisposition.
At least she intimated as much to her mother, in answer to a query; for she solemnly sighed, turned up her eyes with eloquent meaning, and said, “Poor Charles! I’m sure he cannot blame me, mother dear!” and covered her face—the little hypocrite—with a lace-edged handkerchief!
For several days Charles remained half demented and in high fever.
Dame Worthington, for reasons to be hereafter made known—and good ones, too—was crazed with care, and scarcely left him for one moment, either by night or day, but carefully watched his bedside with more than maternal care.
Mistress Haylark, the fair Clara’s mother, also was loud in her advice, and concocted various little palatable dishes and drinks, which Clara, in her curls, and with a serio-comic voice and gesture, administered to the patient with great grace of manner and captivating attitude.
She would read to him, and tell him stories, Dame Worthington always being present, sitting in her chair at a distance, in the shadows of the room, rocking herself in thought, and gazing with a look of care and anxiety upon her “poor, sick boy,” and when Charles was able to move about again, Clara would invariably go to the harp and play a few soft, plaintive airs, which soothed her patient, and won his affection more deeply than the index of his eyes had ever before betrayed to the gay and light-hearted Clara.
At the close of an afternoon spent in this manner, and his courage being greatly stimulated by a glass of brandy prescribed by the doctor, Charley said, “Oblige me, Clara, by singing that beautiful air again.”
His accents seemed so earnest that, as Clara complied, her voice and fingers trembled with unusual excitement.
At the close of the piece, no one being nigh, Charles approached her, and without a gesture of warning, kissed her!
She rose as if shot, looked at him inquiringly for a moment, burst into tears, and left the room!
No one could imagine why Clara absented herself from the parlour for several days following, and not even her mother—although, from the soft and mysterious conversations held by Mistress Haylark and Dame Worthington upon the landings, and in the passages, on several occasions, it was apparent that womanly sagacity had intuitively suggested the real facts to their minds, although they only smiled and nodded and winked in that peculiar manner known to mothers and very elderly persons.
Sir Richard Warbeck, it may be taken for granted, was not remiss in visiting his protegé, but evinced the greatest anxiety for his health and speedy recovery.
His visits were daily, and he always brought some trifle which might be grateful to a sick palate; but Mistress Haylark—that aged thermometer of passing events—always noticed that Dame Worthington always was in unusual spirits upon his coming, but suddenly depressed whenever he departed.
There was “something mysterious” between them, Mistress Haylark thought, but what it was it seemed impossible to divine.
As Clara seemed to be constantly in high spirits,and delighted always in company with the good-looking Charley, Mistress Haylark began to assume airs of great matronly dignity, and, if the truth must be told, confessed that she began to feel older and older every day, and that “her sole thought was concerning the future happiness of her darling beautiful daughter.”
Mesdames Haylark and Worthington became almost inseparable and extremely confidential, and on one occasion, when Mistress Haylark complained of a pain in her stomach and would have gone upstairs for “a thimbleful” of ginger wine, Dame Worthington vehemently protested, and forthwith introduced her old family specific from “the top shelf, behind the pickles,” forty drops of which, slightly diluted with water, effectually relieved all pain, and threw them both into such high spirits, that they continued discussing family and household affairs and secrets, until long after the church clocks had chimed the hour of midnight.
But while Charley is recovering, under the combined effects of love, philosophy, and kind treatment, the Directors of the India House have been assiduous in their endeavours to trace out the true depositor of the packet of counterfeit bank notes.
They went to work very quietly and coolly, but despite their own, and the hawk-eyed exertions of clever detectives—Captain Jack among the rest—they were wholly unable to fasten solid suspicion upon any one of their employées.
An anonymous note, evidently written in a counterfeit hand, and signed “R,” startled them.
Charley was the person pointed at by the unknown correspondent; but Sir Richard Warbeck and others who were consulted would not believe the insinuation, and the matter seemed to drop indefinitely.
Charley, being fully recovered in body, returned to the India House as usual, and was received with tokens of much respect by all the directors.
He attempted to appear gay; but all his endeavours were vain.
He was not the same person he had been, and could not look any one fairly in the face without evident effort.
There was a worm at his heart gnawing deeply, daily and hourly.
From being a gay, light-hearted youth, of fresh colour and dashing manner, as he had always been before he knew Phillip Redgill, he now appeared like a person of age, on whose shoulders a heavy weight was pressing.
Some thought it might arise from an unfortunate disappointment in love affairs; but these hints he parried with a faint smile, and attempted to joke in his old manner.
One morning a young, bright-faced clerk was called into the Directors’ Council Room, and returned therefrom looking very pale, and with large tears standing in his eyes.
“Good day, Charley,” said he to Warbeck, with much emotion. “I’m going; they don’t want me any longer. I’ve done nothing wrong, you know; they lay no charge against me, yet I feel certain that they have formed wrong suspicions against me, on account of the unfortunate packet of counterfeit notes that was substituted for good ones in the safe a month or two ago. Good day, my boy;thiswill break my poor old mother’s heart. She has no one to depend upon but me. I am lost, ruined, disgraced!”
The youth leaned upon the counter, shading his face, and tears flowed from him fast and hot.
His breast heaved convulsively, and he would have fallen from weakness but that Charles placed him in a chair, and gazed upon his guileless face long and intently.
Charley’s features wore a ghastly smile.
His lips became bloodless and blue, and quivered with emotion as he attempted to speak.
He couldnotspeak, however, for his voice faltered, and the words stuck in his throat.
Loosening his cravat to avoid a sense of strangulation, to which of late he had become sometimes subject, he seized the youth by the arm with an iron grip, and striding towards the Directors’ Council Room.
“Come withme,” he exclaimed, in a hoarse, hollow-toned voice, “come withme!Youshall not suffer for the deeds ofothers! Gentlemen,” he began when he had shut the door and stood before the Board of Directors, “gentlemen, I wish to say a few words before this young man leaves the India House. I wish to inform you——”
He caught the eye of old Sir Richard Warbeck gazing intently at him, and his courage failed him.
Summoning all his energy, with a great effort he approached to lean upon the council-table, and, casting his eyes upon the ground, continued, amid a solemn silence,
“I wish to inform you thatIalone am answerable for the charge brought against, or supposed to exist, against this young man.Ilost the money, and replaced the amount with a packet of false notes—no one else. I acknowledge it was my intention to have confessed it all on the following day. I have never had or spent a single penny of the amount, but lost it all by some unaccountable means the same evening on which I neglected to return to the India House. Prosecute me, and I will suffer cheerfully; anything is better than the hellish remorse which I have already suffered. But do not—do not, I beg of you, harbour suspicions against this sinless youth, on whose labour and reputation a poor widowed mother depends for bread!”
Charley Warbeck sank into a chair, and wept like a child.
The Board of Directors were astonished at such an unexpected disclosure from one of their favourite and much-trusted clerks, and sat for many minutes in mute surprise and profound reflection.