CHAPTER XXIII.
FLORENCE AND REGINALD.
The hands of all the clocks in Islington that kept correct time markedthe hour of two as Dick stood before the door of 16, Park Street. Hishand was on the knocker, when the door was opened, and Florence drewhim into the house.
"Come upstairs, Dick," she said, panting as if she had been running."I saw you from the window, and ran down. Oh, Dick, I am so glad tosee you--so glad, so glad!"
On the landing of the first floor she stopped and kissed him. "Comein, Dick, come in."
They entered a comfortably furnished room, and by the aid of thebetter light he saw that she was struggling to keep back her tears.
"Are you well, Florence?" he asked anxiously.
"In health? Oh, yes," she answered. "But I am in trouble. That is whyI sent for you."
"You did right. I am here to help you. You may rely upon me,Florence."
"I do, dear. Tell me first. How is my dear mother--and my dearfather--how are they, Dick?"
"You know how they must be, Florence, loving you as they do. They arein the most terrible trouble about you. Uncle Rob has been hunting allover London for you. I don't wish to distress you, but they have nothad a moment's rest. It is right that I should tell you this."
"You are quite right, dear. Poor mother and father! It cuts me tothe heart, but I could not act in any other way. You shall judge,Dick--you shall judge--and if you condemn me----"
"Don't give way, Florence."
"I won't. I will be brave. I have been brave to do what I have done.Such a cruel thing, such a cruel, cruel thing!--but it was myduty--my duty! Oh, Dick, if you knew what love was, you would know ofwhat it was capable. I may speak to you, dear, as a sister to abrother, may I not?"
"Yes, Florence, as a sister to a brother," he said, quietly.
"I can understand now so many things to which I was blind a yearago--what love will lead a woman to do, how it can harden theheart----"
"Harden the heart!" he cried.
"Was my heart not hardened," she said, piteously, "when I stole awaylike a thief from the parents who loved and cherished me, knowing, asI knew, that I was bringing misery upon them? Was my heart nothardened when, at the call of love, I trod love under my feet? Myprayer was that my separation would not be long, and that, when I wasfree to speak, they would forgive me and take me to their heartsagain. But what can repay them for the suffering I have inflicted uponthem--how shall I atone for the wound my own hand has dealt?"
"They will not think of it, Florence, if all is well with you, if,when you are free to speak, they approve of what you have done."
"Do you doubt it, Dick?" she asked, her hand at her heart.
"No--on my soul, no!" he cried. "I could never doubt it--I----" Hecame to a sudden stop as his eyes fell upon the hand that lay at herbreast. She saw the earnest gaze, but did not remove her hand. "Thatring, Florence!"
"My wedding ring, Dick," she said, and pressed her lips upon it.
"You are married!"
"I am married, dear."
"To Mr. Reginald?"
"Yes; but that is not the name I bear."
He covered his face with his hands. He had long known that she waslost to him, but only at this moment did he fully realise it. And notalone that. He was overwhelmed by the thought of the damning evidencein his pocket, a virtual accusation of murder made by the murdered manhimself against his son, against Florence's husband! An ashen faceconfronted her as he took his hands from his eyes.
"Dick!" she cried.
"It is nothing, dear, nothing." His eyes wandered around the room."You are not living here alone?"
"No, Dick. My husband is in that room. Come and see him. Tread softly,softly!"
She opened the door, and he followed her into the room, and there, inbed, lay the son of Samuel Boyd, the man lying dead in his house inCatchpole Square.
"The doctor has given him a sleeping draught," said Florence, in a lowtone. "He has been very ill, and no one to nurse him but I." Withtender care she smoothed the pillow, and drew the counterpane over hisshoulders, then stooped and kissed him. When she raised her face itwas illumined. Love shone there, and a divine pity. There are memorieswhich dwell in the mind till the hour of death, and this revelation ofdevoted love would dwell in Dick's mind till his life was ended.
"Is he changed much?" she asked.
"He is worn and thin," Dick replied. "Has he been ill long?"
"A good many days, but thank God! the doctor says he will get well. Ifhe sleeps till eight or nine o'clock it will help his recoverygreatly."
They re-entered the sitting room. Dick took a chair with its back tothe light, and each looked at the other in silence awhile. Florencewas the first to speak.
"Where shall I commence, Dick?"
"At the beginning," he replied. "Hide nothing from me if you are sureyou can trust me."
"I _am_ sure. There is no shame in an honest love, dear."
"None, Florence.
"It is eighteen months ago that Reginald and I first met. Mother and Iwere spending an evening with a friend when he came in and wasintroduced to us as Mr. Reginald, A few days afterwards we met him inthe street, and he walked a little way with us, and asked if he mightcall and see us; and soon he became a regular visitor. How does lovecome, Dick? It is a mystery, but I know I used to think a great dealof him when he was away, and once or twice when we expected him and hedid not come I felt unhappy. When I heard his voice I was happy again,and then I knew I loved him. One day he spoke to me, and my heart wasfilled with happiness when he told me he loved me. He said he fearedhe was wrong in speaking to me of love, for there was a secret in hislife which he did not wish to disclose for a time; and he asked, if weentered into an engagement, that I should say nothing of it to myparents without his consent. I loved him, Dick, and trusted him, and Iconsented to everything he proposed. So I had a lover, and no one athome knew anything of it. Do not misjudge Reginald; he is the soul ofhonour, and I would as soon doubt the goodness of God as I would doubtthe good faith and honour of the man I love. Do I hear him moving?"
She rose, and stepped softly to the bedroom. Returning, she said,
"No, he is sleeping peacefully. Oh, Dick, dear, you would pity him ifyou knew how he has suffered, and how little he deserves it. It is twomonths to-day that he spoke very seriously to me, in consequence ofsomething you said. You will remember it, Dick. You were in asituation as clerk, and one night you told us that you were acting asclerk to Mr. Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square, and that you intended togive up your situation because of the bad character he bore. He was amoney-lender, you said, and had brought ruin on a number of poorpeople. Mother didn't like the idea of your throwing up yoursituation, but when you asked her if she would advise you to stop withsuch a man she said, no, she wouldn't, and that Mr. Samuel Boyd was arascal. I didn't think anything of it at the time except that I wassorry for you. Reginald recalled that conversation, and warned me toprepare for a disclosure that might cause me to shrink from him. Hehad kept his name concealed, he said, because he was ashamed of hisfather, who was no other than the Mr. Samuel Boyd of whom such hardwords were spoken at home. He told me of his life; how during hisboyhood he was kept at school, and then sent abroad to learnlanguages; how he knew nothing of his father's doings, who describedhimself as a financier; how, his education being completed, his fathersummoned him home, and how, while he lived in Catchpole Square, he wasshocked at the discovery of the kind of business his father wasengaged in. It was so revolting to Reginald that he spoke his mindfreely; they had quarrels, and the end of it was that he left hisfather's house, determined to get his own living in a more honest way.Wasn't it noble of him, Dick?"
"It was what an honourable man would do."
"When Reginald had told me all this, he said he was sure that if itcame to the knowledge of mother and father that he was Mr. SamuelBoyd's son they would forbid him the house; and he begged me to givehim a proo
f of my love by consenting to a marriage at a registrar'soffice, and to keep it a secret till he was in a position to furnish ahome for me. I loved him so that I consented, and I promised, too, tokeep it secret till he gave me permission to speak to mother andfather. So we went one morning to a registrar's office, and weremarried. I wasn't absent from home more than two hours, and no onesuspected the step we had taken. I can't say I was happy; keeping asecret of that kind from parents so kind and dear made me appear in myown eyes very ungrateful, but Reginald was so hopeful that I bore up,and prayed for the day to arrive when we could ask forgiveness. Do youcondemn me, Dick? Do you condemn Reginald? Put yourself in his place,and say whether, if you loved a girl as he loves me, you could bearthe idea of losing her?"
"I would lose my heart's blood first," said Dick. "But it was hard forUncle and Aunt Rob."
"Yes, it was hard, and it often made me very wretched, but I couldn'tbreak my promise to Reginald; that would have been a bad commencementfor a young wife. The worst of it was that he wasn't getting alongvery well. 'I shall be getting desperate presently,' he said, 'unlessthings take a turn for the better. Our little home seems farther offthan ever.' I cheered him up, and said there was plenty of time beforeus, and that I was sure there was some good luck in store for him. Sothings went on till a fortnight ago, when he said he was afraid he haddone wrong in persuading me to a secret marriage. 'But I've an idea,'he said, 'and whatever comes of it I'll carry it out. Don't ask mewhat it is; it's something I must keep to myself.' Dick," saidFlorence, breaking off, "that night at home when you and mother werespeaking against Mr. Samuel Boyd, did you do so purposely becauseReginald was with us?"
"Yes, I spoke purposely," he answered.
"Reginald said you did, and that you looked as if you had a suspicionof him. But you didn't know he was Mr. Boyd's son?"
"I did know it," said Dick.
"Why did you keep it to yourself?" she asked, with a troubled look.
"It was for your sake, Florence," he answered quietly. "It wasn't forme to pry into your secrets."
"Thank you, dear," said Florence, putting her hand into his with atender smile, "it was like you."
"Did Reginald carry out his idea, Florence?"
"I can't tell you; he said nothing more about it to me. Last SaturdayI received a letter from him saying he wasn't very well, and couldn'tcome to mother's on Sunday, and asking me not to call and see him tillI heard from him again. What day of the month is this, Dick?"
"The 7th. Last Saturday was the 2nd," said Dick, and thought, "The dayafter he went to his father's house late at night, the day after AbelDeath went there in the night in the hope that Samuel Boyd would takehim back again, _the day after the murder!_"
"Yes, Dick, the 7th. I didn't go to Reginald either on that day or onSunday. You can imagine how miserable I was. On Monday morning Ireceived another short letter, in which he asked me again not to comeand see him. The next letter came on Tuesday night when mother and Iwere sitting together."
"That was the night of the great fog. Aunt Rob told me you went out inthe afternoon in the thick of it. What did you go out for?"
"I came here to inquire after Reginald. The landlady said he wasn'twell, and that she had just posted a letter to me from him. 'May I goup and see him?' I asked, and she answered, calling me 'miss,' that hehad given orders that no one was to be allowed up, and that when I hadread the letter I might know what to do. I was far from happy, Dick,as I walked home through the fog, and a great deal unhappier when thenight postman brought the letter, for there was something in it--Ihardly know what--that made me feel I ought to go to him. I couldn'task advice of mother because of my promise to Reginald, which Iwouldn't break; and even if anyone had advised me against what Ibelieved was right I shouldn't have listened to it. I went to mybedroom early, and so did mother, and I got out of the house at teno'clock and came straight here. In the streets I put on my weddingring, which I had not worn at home, of course, only putting it on andlooking at it when I was alone in my room, and I took care that thelandlady should see it when I told her I was a relation of Reginald'sand had come to nurse him. It was time I did, for he was wandering inhis mind, and hadn't called in a doctor because he couldn't afford topay for one. Thank God I had a little money in my purse, and I've gotthirty pounds in the Post Office Savings Bank which I've given noticeto take out. Reginald didn't know me, and I was in the most dreadfultrouble about him. All his wandering thoughts were about me and hisfather, and I thought what a shocking thing it would be if he were todie without seeing him. Oh, Dick, my heart was breaking, but I wantedto do what was right, and I thought it likely, if Mr. Boyd sawReginald in the state he was, that his heart would soften towards thepoor boy. I tried to get at his wishes. Bending over him I said, 'Doyou want to see your father?' I said it three or four times, and thenhe said, 'Yes, yes, my father, Catchpole Square. The end house inCatchpole Square. My father--my father!' I called the landlady in, andasked her if she would stop up with Reginald while I went to fetchsome one he wanted to see. She consented, and I went out. It was verylate when I got to the house in Catchpole Square, and I knocked andknocked without anyone answering me. 'He can't be there,' I thought,and I was creeping out of the Square when two men came into it. One ofthem had a bull's eye lamp in his hand, and I saw they were policemen.My anxiety then was to get away from them, but they saw me and calledout to me to stop, and laid hands on me. How I escaped I don't know,but I tore myself away and ran for my life, and in a minute or two Iwas alone and free. Then I managed to find my way back here, and sentthe good landlady to bed, telling her that the person I had gone tofetch was out of town. Yesterday morning early I sent for a doctor,and he said that Reginald would have died if he hadn't been called in,but that there were hopes for him. Oh, how I thanked God for the goodnews! and how grateful I was when Reginald last night opened his eyesand recognised me! He didn't blame me, poor boy, but spoke so sweetlyof everybody! I told him how I had run away from home, and I beggedhim to allow me to end this mystery and to make things right withfather and mother. He thought a little, and said, 'Send for yourcousin Dick, and do what he advises.' I cried for joy, and I sat downat once and wrote to you. Now you know all, dear. Will you go and tellthem everything, and ask them to forgive poor Reginald and me?"
"I will, Florence," said Dick, "the moment I go from here. It will bea happiness to me to relieve their suspense. But I want to ask you aquestion or two first."
"Yes, Dick."
"How long has Reginald been ill?"
"Since Saturday."
"Has he been in bed all the time?"
"Yes."
"May I go into his room?"
"What for? If he's asleep"--she opened the door and peeped in--"yes,he's asleep. You won't disturb him, Dick?"
"No, I will not speak to him. I've got my reasons, Florence."
"Very well, dear," she said, her eyes following him as he steppedsoftly to the bedroom, and closed the door behind him.
His purpose was to examine Reginald's boots, and he saw them themoment he entered the room. Reginald having been in bed since Saturdaythey could not have been worn since his visit to Catchpole Square onFriday night. Dick took them up, and discerned on the soles traces ofthe waxed paper which Samuel Boyd had set as a trap. With his penknifehe carefully scraped off these tell-tale evidences of the visit, andreturned to Florence.
"Do you know," he asked, "when Reginald saw his father last?"
"No," she answered, "it must have been a long time ago."
He did not disabuse her. "He is sleeping quite calmly," he said. "Didthe doctor say when he would be able to get up?"
"In two or three days, he told me, if the opiate he gave him had thedesired effect. It _is_ having it, Dick."
"No doubt of that. By the way, Florence, in your haste to escape fromthe policemen in Catchpole Square did you lose or drop anything?"
"How clever you are to think of it, Dick! I lost a handkerchief."
"With your name on it?"
&
nbsp; "Yes. All my handkerchiefs are marked. I think I had it in my handwhen I was in the Square, but I can't be sure. It is of noconsequence. There are plenty of girls named Florence. How did you cutyour hand?"
"With some broken glass. _That's_ of no consequence. It is only ascratch." The exertion and haste he had made in scraping the wax offReginald's boots had started the blood.
"Let me bind it up. Oh, Dick, you are our good angel! Dear Dick!Reginald likes you so much! But he had an idea that you didn't carefor him."
"I care for him very much, Florence."
"And do you know," she said, almost gaily, so happy was she in theprospect of Reginald's speedy recovery, and of removing the cloud ofmisery she had brought upon her parents, "he had another idea--but Iwon't mention that."
"Yes, do, dear. Remember, you are to hide nothing from me."
"Well, he had an idea that you were fond of me."
"He is right. I am very fond of you, Florence."
"I know that, dear. But in another way, he meant. You understand."
"Yes, dear cousin, I understand."
"I told him that we had been brought up together, and that he wasn'tto be jealous of my dear cousin Dick. Foolish of him, wasn't it?"
"Very foolish. How could such an idea have got into his head?"
"Well--perhaps--it--was--natural," she said, with an arch pausebetween each word. Ah, if she could have read his heart at thatmoment! But he did not betray himself. "There! I am sure your handmust feel more comfortable. I hope your feelings won't change towardsme now that I'm a married woman."
"My feelings will never change, Florence, dear."
"A married woman! How strange and beautiful it sounds! To think of thetime when we were playing together as little children! Such changes,Dick, such changes! It is almost as if we were not ourselves. My dearcousin! Do you think dear mother and father will come to me?"
"I will answer for them. Now, I must go. Every moment saved is amoment of happiness gained to them."
"Go, Dick, go quickly."
They kissed, and he was gone. When he was in the street he looked upat the window, and saw her standing there, looking out after him. Shethrew the window open, and kissed her hand to him. He returned thefond sign and hurried on.
"Steady, Dick, steady," he said.
Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery Page 24