A Search For A Secret: A Novel. Vol. 2

by G. A. Henty

  CHAPTER IV.

  EVIL DAYS.

  With the cheering thought that she was punished, and that perhaps herfault was thus in some little way atoned for, and with the happyconviction that her husband loved her for her own sake, and not for thatof her money, Sophy Gregory recovered from the weight of her sorrow andremorse more quickly than could have been expected; and by the end ofanother ten days she was able to leave her room, and go for a littlewalk leaning upon Robert's arm. That evening they were sitting beforethe fire; Robert looking moodily into it, but sometimes rousing himselfand trying to talk pleasantly to Sophy, who was watching him a littleanxiously, when she said, after one of these pauses,--

  "I think, Robert, now that I am getting strong again, we ought to talkabout the future. I am sure that by the time we have paid all we owehere, we shall not have much left out of our hundred pounds."

  Sophy might have said, "my hundred pounds;" for it was she who hadfurnished the funds for their elopement. Mr. Harmer had been in thehabit of giving her money from time to time, for which she had littleuse; and this had, at the time she left home with Robert Gregory,accumulated to rather more than a hundred pounds.

  "The first thing to be done, Robert, is to find some very cheaplodgings. How cheap could you get two little rooms?"

  Robert roused himself; he was pleased at Sophy's broaching the subject;for he had been all day wondering what they were to do, as of course itwas out of the question that they could remain where they were. It was asmall private hotel where Robert had gone the night of their return fromScotland, thinking that their stay there would not have exceeded threeor four days at most, whereas now it had run on to more than afortnight.

  "You are quite right, Sophy, although I did not like to begin theconversation. It seems so hard for you, accustomed as you have been toluxury, to go into all the discomfort of small lodgings."

  "My dear Robert," Sophy said, "please don't talk in that way. I am yourwife, and shall be very happy anywhere with you; besides I have not beenalways accustomed to luxury. I was born and lived until I was twelve orthirteen in a cottage as a poor village girl. And please do not remindme of scenes where I had no right, and where I never deserved to havebeen. Do not let us think of the past at all, Robert; it is perhaps notvery pleasant for either of us. Let us think of the future--it is allbefore us, and we are not worse off than thousands of others; but youdid not answer my question, how cheap could we get a little parlour andbedroom?"

  "We could get them, Sophy, in some out-of-the-way place, such asIslington, or Camberwell, or Chelsea, at about twelve shillings a week;but remember, they would be very small."

  "That is of no consequence at all," Sophy said, cheerfully. "Now I willtell you what I have been thinking of. I have been thinking that when wehave gone into some little lodgings, and people come to know us, thetradesmen round will let me put some cards into the windows, saying thata lady wishes to give some lessons in music, French, and German. If Icharge very little, say one shilling an hour, I should think I might getfive or six daily pupils, which would bring us in some thirty orthirty-six shillings a week, and we might manage on that, Robert, for atime; after paying our bill here, there will be enough to keep us forsome time till I can get some pupils."

  "Sophy," Robert said, in a deep, husky voice, "God forgive me, I havebeen a great scoundrel. I have ruined you. I have dragged you down tothis; and here are you now, hardly able to walk, offering to support usboth. Oh, Sophy, I wish to heaven I had never known you." And thestrong, bad man put his face between his hands and fairly cried.

  "But I do not wish so, Robert," Sophy said, getting up from her seat,taking his hands from his face, kissing him fondly, and then seatingherself on his knees, and nestling up to him as a child might have done;"I do not, and therefore why should you? Would it not be a pleasure toyou to work for both of us, if you had any way to do so? but as ofcourse you cannot, why should I not have the pleasure? It need not inany case be for long, dear. Agnes Ashleigh in her letter this morningsays that she does not give up hope, and that she has already got aservant at Harmer Place to look for the secret chamber; let us wait forthe issue of the search, and let me do as I propose for that time. Ifafter a time the will cannot be found, will it not be better for us togo either to Australia or America? I hear any one can get work there,and we will both work and get quite rich, and that will be much moreenjoyable than owing it to another. I am sure Dr. Ashleigh will lend usenough money to take us out there. What do you think, Robert?"

  "Yes, darling, it will be far best. I shall never do any good here: outthere I may. But I shall not give up the will for a long time yet; butonce assured, quite assured, that it is not in existence, I shall beready to start with you at once."

  And then they talked over a new life in a new land, as thousands andthousands have done since then; and the future looked bright and happyout there. Australia is indeed a land of promise, a bright star in thehorizon, to countless numbers whose fate it never is to reach it; butwho have yet--when almost hopeless of keeping themselves afloat in thefierce struggle for existence in this crowded land--looked longinglyover across the wide ocean, and said, "At the worst, we can go there,where every strong arm and willing heart is welcome. If we cannot get onhere, we will go." Perhaps they never do go, but still it has served itspurpose; it has given them hope when hope was most needed, and whenwithout it they might have yielded in despair to the reverses offortune.

  The next morning Robert Gregory started in search of lodgings, andreturned in the afternoon, saying that he had found some across inLambeth, which were very small, but were clean and respectable, andwhich were to be had for the twelve shillings a week. Into this theymoved next day, and they found on paying their hotel bill, that they hadtwenty pounds left out of Sophy's hundred, and this they calculatedwould, with care, last for three months. The lodgings, which weresituated in King Edward Street, Westminster Bridge Road, consisted of aparlour, and bedroom behind it. The parlour was very small, but clean,and Sophy felt quite happy as mistress of her little domain, which underher care soon assumed a homelike appearance.

  The first step was to clear away those innumerable extraordinaryknicknacks with which small lodging-house keepers delight to cumbertheir rooms. The inevitable shepherdesses and imitation Bohemian glassvases on the mantelpiece, the equally inevitable shells on colouredworsted mats, and the basket of wax fruit under a glass shade, standingon the little round table in the middle of the window.

  These alterations the landlady complied with without hesitation, ratherpleased indeed that these valuables should be placed beyond risk ofbreakage; but the next change proposed was evidently very wounding toher feelings, and was not complied with until it was made the solecondition on which her lodgers would take the rooms beyond the firstweek for which they had engaged them.

  Over the chimneypiece was a glass, about three feet by two; it could notfairly be termed a looking-glass, for its ripply surface seemed agitatedas by a gale, and no reflexion which it gave back in the slightestdegree resembled the original. Still it was to a certain extentornamental; for it was enclosed in a wide, dark wood frame, with a giltornament at each corner, which in summer Mrs. Billow protected byelaborate fly-papers of red, blue, and yellow. As this glass, althoughnot useful, was so ornamental, no objection was raised to it. On thewalls round the room were suspended a great variety of pictures, mostlylandscapes, in the pure tea-tray style. These as a general thing,although by no means ornamental in themselves, yet served to enliven thevery dingy paper, and to them too, as a whole, no objection was taken;but on the side opposite to the fireplace hung two half-lengthportraits, which at once inevitably and unpleasantly attracted theattention of any one entering the room--almost, indeed, to the exclusionof everything else. These were the portraits of Mr. Billow, thelandlord, and his wife, taken when they were much younger, probably atthe time of their nuptials. These paintings were in the earlyPre-Raphaelite style. Their dresses were of an elaborate description;the lady in green silk, wi
th a gold brooch of immense size and massivepattern; the gentleman in blue coat, black satin waistcoat, showing animmense extent of white shirt, and a resplendent watch chain. Theirfaces were charmingly pink and white, perfectly flat, and with an entireabsence of shade. They were alike characterized by a ghastly smileimpressed upon them, and a staring fixed look in the eyes very painfulto behold. This stare of their eyes looked into every corner of theroom, and could in no way be avoided. Robert declared that it was as badas a nightmare; and even Sophy, disposed as she was to be pleased, andto like everything, confessed that she really should feel uncomfortablewith those staring eyes constantly watching her. Mrs. Billow urged thatthey were considered remarkable pieces of art, and had been very muchadmired; indeed that when they were first painted the artist hadfrequently asked permission to bring strangers in to see them, as theywere quite an advertisement for him.

  Sophy seeing that Robert was about to express an opinion respecting theportraits which would irreparably injure the feelings of their landlady,hastily said, "That, beyond question, they were remarkable paintings;but that she had been ill, and that the eyes had such a very lifelikeexpression, that she should never feel quiet and alone with them lookingat her."

  Mrs. Billow thereupon acceded, and the cherished portraits were removedupstairs to her own bedroom, leaving two large light patches upon thedingy paper. They were, however, partially covered by two framed prints,which were displaced upstairs to make room for the portraits.

  After a few days, when they were settled, and found that they should becomfortable, Robert wrote to Miss Harmer, requesting that Sophy's thingsmight be forwarded to her there.

  In a few days a railway van arrived with quite a number of packages. AllSophy's wearing apparel, her work-table, her desk and music-stand; allthe paintings she had executed under a master at school, and which hadbeen framed and hung in the drawing-room at Harmer Place; her books; hergrand piano, given to her by Mr. Harmer when she left school, and whichwas much too large to go into their little room, and was therefore sentto a warehouse for the present, to be reclaimed or sold, according astheir circumstances might demand; and lastly, a pony-carriage, with twobeautiful ponies, which Mr. Harmer had presented to her a few monthsbefore his death.

  This was at once sent to be sold, and the money it fetched was a welcomeaddition to their little store, which the amount to be paid for theconveyance of all these things had nearly exhausted.

  The ponies and carriage fetched seventy guineas, and Robert was at onceanxious to move into larger lodgings; but Sophy persuaded him to wait asthey were for the present, at any rate, until they saw what successattended her project for teaching. The only thing to which she wouldagree was that a few shillings should be laid out in repapering theirsitting-room; and when this was done with a light, pretty paper, all thetea-tray landscapes removed, and her own paintings hung up in theirplace, the room looked so different that Sophy was quite delighted withit, and even Robert allowed that, although very small, it was really apretty, snug little room.

  In a short time, Sophy went round to the various tradesmen in theneighbourhood with whom they dealt, and asked them to allow her modestlittle cards to appear in their windows; and in a month she had obtainedtwo pupils, three times a week, for an hour in French or German, andthree every day for an hour in music--in all twenty-four shillings aweek.

  It was tedious work, no doubt; but Sophy felt so much pleasure inbringing home her earnings at the end of the week, that, as she said,she really liked it. Besides this, it was a break to the monotony of herlife; for, after a while, Robert took to going out after breakfast andnot returning until five o'clock to dinner, being engaged, as he said,in looking for something to do; and, indeed, he did believe that he wastrying very hard to get employment, although he had not the least ideawhat kind of work he needed. He sauntered across the bridge, went into apublic-house to read the paper, and look through all the advertisementsin the vague hope of seeing something to suit him. Three or fouradvertisements, indeed, he answered; but received no reply. Still hecomforted himself with the assurance that it did not matter forthat--the will was sure to be found; and that it was therefore really aswell that he should not undertake a situation which he should, when hebecame a rich man, be sorry that he had filled. For the same reason hetried hard to persuade Sophy not to enter into the teaching business, asit would be humiliating to look back upon afterwards; but Sophy repliedthat she could see nothing to be ashamed of in the remembrance that shehad tried her best to get her living, at a time when she had thought itnecessary that she should do so. And in this particular she insisted onhaving her own way.

  After another month Sophy got four more pupils, but two of them were inthe evening, and this brought with it a more than countervailingdrawback; for Robert was now left at home by himself on the eveningswhen she gave her lessons. Finding his own society dull, he wouldsaunter out to seek other companionship, and on one or two of theseoccasions he came back with his face flushed, his tread unsteady, andhis voice thick and uncertain; and Sophy felt with a terrible fear thathis old habits were coming back upon him, and that, even for her sake,he could not keep from drink. On the morning after the first time thatthis happened, he was very penitent, called himself hard names, andpromised that it should not happen again; but after a time he ceased tomake excuses for himself, but was only sulky and sullen of a morning asif he resented the reproaches which Sophy never made. Sophy's evil timewas coming, and she felt it; the bright smile with which she had lit uptheir little home, came only with an effort now; the roses which hadbegan to bloom in her pale cheeks, faded out again, but she bore itunflinchingly. Sophy was a quiet, undemonstrative girl, but she had abrave heart; she felt that she deserved any punishment she mightreceive, and she tried hard to bear it uncomplainingly. When Robertfound this, and that no cold looks or reproaches greeted him, he did tryhard to please the patient loving woman who had suffered so much for hissake, and withdrew himself, for awhile, from the new friends he wasmaking. Sophy on her part gave up her evening pupils, and stopped athome with him; and so for a time things went on smoothly again.

  Sophy had now become accustomed to the place, and had learned from Mrs.Billow--who was a good-hearted, talkative old woman, in a very largecap, and who waited upon them herself--all about their variousneighbours. King Edward Street was a quiet, semi-respectable littlestreet, and although it was a thoroughfare leading into the WestminsterBridge Road, very few people except its own inhabitants ever passedthrough it. It was, it seemed, quite a little professional colony. Nextdoor, in the parlours, played first violin at a theatre on that side ofthe water, and the one beyond that was second cornet at the Adelphi. Thetwo sisters in the house opposite danced in the ballet at the opera, andworked as milliners in their spare time; next door was a comic singer atCremorne; and beyond him again lived a leading star and his wife--whowas a singing chambermaid, both at the Victoria. They were a kindly,cheerful lot, sociable among themselves, and ready to do any kindness orservice to each other. There were a few black sheep among them, but thevery blackest of all, Robert and Sophy now suspected Mr. Billow himself,to be.

  Mr. Billow was a bad-tempered, cross-grained old man, dirty, and almostalways unshaven, very unlike the pink and white gentleman which hisportrait represented him to have been; indeed it is almost certain thathis habits must have changed greatly for the worse since that was taken;for it was otherwise inconceivable how he could ever have got himself upin that dazzling degree of cleanliness, both of face and shirt front.Mr. Billow's ordinary custom was to get drunk three or four times a day,and then to doze by the fireside into a state of comparative sobriety.All this was bad, but it was not the worst.

  Mr. Billow was supposed to be a retired watchmaker, living upon hissavings, but he was in reality engaged in a far more profitable tradethan that had ever been. At various times of the day ill-looking fellowswould lounge in at the little front gate, and instead of going up thestairs to the front door, would knock at the window, and be admitted
bya little door under the steps into the kitchen. Mr. Billow would thenpostpone his sleep for a few minutes, tell Mrs. Billow to "hook it;" andwhen alone, would enter into a low but animated conversation with hisvisitors, who had generally small parcels of goods to display to him;the ownership of these, after much altercation, generally changedhands--that is to say the nominal ownership, the real owner being somethird person, whose rights and interests were entirely unrepresented andoverlooked. Sometimes men would come in the same way late of an evening,with a bundle too large to be carried openly through the streets in thebroad daylight; and on all these occasions Mrs. Billow was dismissedwhile the conversation was going on. Once, too, at three or four in themorning, Robert Gregory hearing a noise below, went down, stairs andfound Mr. Billow engaged over a fire in the kitchen, apparently cooking.Finding that all was safe, Robert had gone up to bed again, and in themorning, Mrs. Billow mentioned casually that Mr. Billow had started veryearly, and that Robert had found him cooking his breakfast. But Robertknew that if Mr. Billow had required breakfast at any hour, his wifewould have had to get up to prepare it; he had moreover detected thatthe smell of the ingredients in the pot on the fire, much more resembledthe fumes of melting metal, than the savory steam of Mr. Billow'sbreakfast. He was therefore confirmed in what he had previously stronglysuspected, namely, that his landlord was neither more nor less than areceiver of stolen goods. Sophy objected to this, "Why then should helet lodgings?" But Robert told her, with a laugh, that this was merely ablind to deceive the police as to the character of the house. Sophy whenshe made this discovery, wished at once to leave their lodgings, butRobert said that it could make no difference to them what the old roguewas; that the lodgings were clean and comfortable, and that it would bea pity to change without some better reason. And so, this time againstSophy's judgment, they determined to stay for the present as they were.