Works of Ellen Wood

by Ellen Wood

  Enjoying another quiet survey of the room, during which he had the gratification of hearing Mrs. Layton, who had now seated herself at the piano, plunge into a song, which began something about a “bird on the wing,” the old clerk, grievously discomfited, retraced his steps past the terrace, picked his way over some loose land in front of another terrace in process of erection, and turned into the high-road, leading to Prior’s Ash. He was going along lost in thought, when he nearly ran against a gentleman turning an angle of the road. It was Mr. Godolphin.

  “Oh — I beg your pardon sir. I did not look where I was going.”

  “Enjoying an evening’s stroll, Hurde?” said Mr. Godolphin. He had been spending an hour with Lord Averil, who, in doubt and uncertainty as to his deeds, had not departed from Prior’s Ash. “It is a beautiful night: so serene and still.”

  “No, sir, I can’t say that I am enjoying it,” was Mr. Hurde’s reply. “My mind was not at ease as to Layton. I could not help associating him with the loss of the deeds, and I came out, thinking I’d look about a bit. It must have been instinct sent me, for I have had my suspicions confirmed.”

  “Confirmed in what way?” asked Thomas Godolphin.

  “That Layton has had the deeds. It could have been no other.”

  Thomas Godolphin listened in surprise, not to say incredulity. “How have you had them confirmed?” he inquired, after a pause.

  So then the clerk enlarged upon what he had seen. “It could not all come out of his salary, Mr. Godolphin. It does not stand to reason that it could.”

  “As a daily extravagance, of course it could not, Hurde,” was the reply. “But it may be only a chance entertainment?”

  Mr. Hurde passed over the question: possibly he felt that he could not meet it. “And the betting? — risking money upon race-horses, sir?”

  “Ah! I like that less,” readily acknowledged Thomas Godolphin. “Many a clerk of far higher position than Layton has been ruined by it.”

  “And sent across the herring-pond to expiate his folly,” returned Mr. Hurde, whom the mention of “backing” and other such incentive temptations was wont to exasperate in no measured degree. “I am afraid it looks pretty plain, sir.”

  “I don’t know,” said Thomas Godolphin musingly. “I cannot think Layton has become a rogue. I see nothing inconsistent — with all due deference to your opinion, Hurde — I see nothing inconsistent with his position in his entertaining a few friends occasionally. But — without any reference to our loss — if he is turning, or has turned a betting-man, it must be looked after. We will have none such in the Bank.”

  “No, sir; it would not do at any price,” acquiesced Mr. Hurde. “Are you feeling pretty well, sir, this evening?” he inquired, as Mr. Godolphin was preparing to continue his way.

  “Quite well. I have not felt so well for a long time, as I have done the last few days. Good night, Hurde.”

  It seemed that Mr. Hurde was fated that night to come into contact with his principals. Who should overtake him, just as he had come to the spot where the houses were numerous, but Mr. George Godolphin. George slackened his steps — he had been walking along at a striding pace — and kept by his side. He began speaking of the hay and other indifferent topics: but Mr. Hurde’s mind was not attuned to such that night.

  “I think I have solved the mystery, Mr. George,” began he.

  “What mystery?” asked George.

  “The stealing of Lord Averil’s bonds. I know who took them.”

  George turned his head sharply and looked at him. “What nonsense are you saying now, Hurde?”

  “I wish it was nonsense, sir,” was the reply of Mr. Hurde. “I am as sure that I know how it was those bonds went, and who took them, as that I am here.”

  “And whom do you accuse?” asked George, after a pause, speaking somewhat sarcastically.

  “Layton.”

  “Layton!” shouted George, stopping in his astonishment. “What Layton?”

  “What Layton, sir? Why, our clerk Layton. I ought to have had my doubts of him before; but I suppose I had dust in my eyes. There are he and his wife entertaining the world; their room crowded: a dozen people, very nearly, and she, Layton’s wife, sitting down to the piano with pink bows in her hair.”

  “What if she is?” asked George.

  “You should see the supper-table, Mr. George,” continued Hurde, too much annoyed with his own view of things to answer superfluous questions. “I can’t tell what they have not upon it: silver, and glass, and decanters of wine. That’s not all out of his salary. And Layton is taking to betting.”

  “But what about the bonds?” impatiently questioned George.

  “Why — are not these so many proofs that Layton must have stolen the bonds and made money of them, sir? Where else could he get the means from? I have imparted my suspicions to Mr. Godolphin, and I expect he will follow them up, and have it fully investigated.”

  “Then you are a fool for your pains, Hurde!” retorted George in anger. “Layton no more took — I dare say Layton no more took those bonds than you did. You’ll get into trouble, if you don’t mind.”

  “What, sir?” uttered Hurde, aghast.

  “That,” curtly answered George, “if you ‘follow up’ any chimera that your brain chooses to raise, you must expect to get paid out for it. Let Layton alone. It will be time enough to look him up when suspicious circumstances arise to compromise him. The bonds are gone: but we shall not get them back again by making a stir in wrong quarters. The better plan will be to be quiet over it for a while.”

  He resumed his quick pace and strode along, calling back a good night to Mr. Hurde. The latter gazed after him in undisguised astonishment.

  “Make no stir! let the thing go on quietly!” he articulated to himself. “Who’d say such a thing but easy George Godolphin! Not look up Layton? It’s well for you, Mr. George, that you have men of business about you! He’d let himself be robbed under his very nose, and never look out to see who did it. However will things go on, if the worst happens to his brother?”

  It seemed that they were all saying the same — how would things go on, if the worst happened to Thomas Godolphin?

  For once in his life of service the old clerk chose to ignore the wish — the command if you will — of Mr. George Godolphin. He did not let Layton alone. Quite the contrary. No sooner did Layton enter the Bank on the following morning, than Mr. Hurde dropped upon him. He had been watching for his entrance the last ten minutes; for Mr. Layton arrived late, the result possibly of the past night’s extensive scene of revelry. He had settled himself in his place behind the counter, when the chief clerk’s voice arrested him.

  “I want you, Mr. Layton.”

  Now, the fact was, Mr. Hurde, having slept upon the matter, arose perplexed by sundry doubts. The circumstances against Layton appeared by no means so conclusive to his mind as they had done the previous night. Therefore he deemed it good policy to speak to that suspected gentleman in a temperate spirit, and see whether he could fish anything out, rather than accuse him point-blank of having been the delinquent.

  “This is a nasty business,” began he, when Layton reached him, in answer to his call.

  “What is?” asked Layton.

  “What is?” repeated Mr. Hurde, believing that the loss must have affected every one connected with the establishment as it was affecting him, and doubting whether the indifferent answer was not a negative proof of guilt. “What should it be, but this loss that has been spoken of in the Bank?”

  “Oh, that,” returned Layton. “I dare say they will be found.”

  “It places us all in a very awkward position, from myself downwards,” went on Hurde, who was by no means a conjuror at the task he had undertaken. “There’s no knowing what, or whom, Mr. Godolphin’s suspicions may be turning to.”

  “Rubbish!” retorted Layton. “It’s not likely that Mr. Godolphin would begin to doubt any of us. There’s no cause for doing so.”

  “
I don’t know that,” said Mr. Hurde significantly. “I am not so sure of some of you.”

  Layton opened his eyes. He supposed Mr. Hurde must be alluding to some one clerk in particular; must have a reason for it; but he did not glance at himself. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

  “Well — it has occurred to me that some one or two of you may be living at a rate that your salary would neither pay for nor justify. You for one.”

  “I?” returned Layton.

  “Yes, you. Horses, and gigs, and wine, and company, and pianos! They can’t be managed out of a hundred a year.”

  Layton was rather taken to. Not to make an unnecessary mystery over it, it may as well be mentioned that all these expenses which so troubled old Hurde, the clerk was really paying for honestly, but not out of his salary. An uncle of his wife’s was allowing them an addition to their income, and this supplied the additional luxuries. He resented the insinuation.

  “Whether they are managed out of it, or whether they are not, is no business of yours, Mr. Hurde,” he said, after a pause. “I shall not come to you to pay for them, or to the Bank either.”

  “It is my business,” replied the old clerk, “It is Mr. Godolphin’s business, which is the same thing. Pray, how long is it since you became a betting man?”

  “I am not a betting man,” said Layton.

  “Oh, indeed! You have not bet upon Cannonbar, I suppose? You never put into a sweepstakes in your life? — you are not in one now, are you?”

  Layton could only open his mouth in astonishment. He thought nothing less than that the spirits — then in the height of fashion — must have been at work. He was really no betting man; had never been inclined that way: but latterly, to oblige some friend who bothered him over it, he had gone into a sweepstakes, and drawn the renowned horse, Cannonbar. And had followed it up by betting a pound upon him.

  “You see, Mr. Layton, your pursuits are not quite so inexpensively simple as you would wish to make them appear. These things happen to have come to my knowledge, and I have thought it my duty to mention them to Mr. Godolphin.”

  Layton flew into a passion. Partly in soreness of feeling at finding he had been so closely looked after; partly in anger that dishonesty could be associated with him; and chiefly at hearing that he had been obnoxiously reported, to Mr. Godolphin. “Have you told him,” he foamed, “that you suspect me of robbing the strong-room?”

  “Some one has robbed it,” was Mr. Hurde’s rejoinder. “And has no doubt made money of the deeds he stole!”

  “I ask if you have told Mr. Godolphin that you cast this suspicion to me?” reiterated Layton, stamping his foot.

  “What if I have? Appearances, in my opinion, would warrant my casting it to you.”

  “Then you had better cast it to Mr. George Godolphin. There!”

  But that they were completely absorbed in the dispute, their voices raised — at least, Layton’s — they might have seen Mr. Godolphin close to them. In passing through the Bank from his carriage to his private room — for, in the untoward state of affairs, touching the loss, he had come betimes — he was attracted by the angry sounds, and turned towards them.

  “Is anything the matter?”

  They looked round, saw Mr. Godolphin, and their voices and tempers dropped to a calm. Neither appeared inclined to answer the question, and Mr. Godolphin passed on. Another minute or two, and a message came from him, commanding the presence of the chief clerk.

  “Hurde,” he began, “have you been speaking to Layton of what you mentioned to me last night?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s what it was. It put him into a passion.”

  “He repudiates the suspicion, I suppose?”

  “Out-and-out, sir,” was the answer of Mr. Hurde. “He says his wife has an income, independent of himself; and that he put into a sweepstakes lately to oblige a friend, and staked a sovereign on the horse he drew. He says it is all he ever staked in his life, and all he ever means to stake. He was saying this now, when you sent for me. I don’t know what to think. He speaks honestly enough, to listen to him.”

  “What remark did I hear him making, relative to Mr. George Godolphin?”

  “He ought to be punished for that,” replied Mr. Hurde. “Better suspect Mr. George than suspect him, was what he said. I don’t know what he meant, and I don’t think he knew himself, sir.”

  “Why did he say it?”

  “When men are beside themselves with passion, sir, they say anything that comes uppermost. I asked him, after you went, what he meant by it, but he would not say any more.”

  “I think you must be mistaken in suspecting Layton, Hurde. I thought so last night.”

  “Well, sir, I may be,” acknowledged Hurde. “I don’t feel so sure of it as I did. But then comes the old puzzle again as to who could have taken the deeds. Layton would not have been so fierce but that he found the doubt had been mentioned to you,” added Mr. Hurde, returning to the subject of the clerk’s anger.

  “Did you tell him you had mentioned it?”

  “Yes, sir, I did. It’s not my way to conceal faults in a corner; and that the clerks know.”

  Mr. Godolphin dropped the subject, and entered upon some general business. The old clerk remained with him about ten minutes, and then was at liberty to withdraw.

  “Send Layton to me,” was the order as he went out. And the clerk appeared in obedience to it.

  Thomas Godolphin received him kindly, his manner and words had all the repose of quiet confidence. He believed Mr. Hurde to be completely mistaken, to have erred through zeal, and he intimated as much to Mr. Layton. He might not have personally entered on the topic with him, but that Layton had heard that he had been accused to him.

  Layton’s heart opened to his master. He was a well-disposed man when not exasperated. He frankly volunteered to Mr. Godolphin the amount of his wife’s income and its source; he stated that he was not living up to one penny more than he could afford; and he distinctly denied being a betting man, either by practice or inclination — except for the one bet of a pound, which he had made incidentally. Altogether, his explanation was perfectly satisfactory to Mr. Godolphin.

  “Understand me, Mr. Layton, I did not, myself, cast the slightest doubt upon you. To do so, never occurred to me.”

  “I hope not, sir,” was Layton’s reply. “Mr. Hurde has his crotchets, and we, who are under him, must put up with them. His bark is worse than his bite: that much may be said for him.”

  “Yes,” said Thomas Godolphin. “You might fare worse, in that respect, than you do under Mr. Hurde. What was the meaning of the words you spoke relative to Mr. George Godolphin?”

  Layton felt that his face was on fire. He muttered, in his confusion, something to the effect that it was a “slip of the tongue.”

  “But you must be aware that such slips are quite unjustifiable. Something must have induced you to say it. What may it have been?”

  “The truth is, I was in a passion when I said it,” replied Layton, compelled to speak. “I am very sorry.”

  “You are evading my question,” quietly replied Thomas Godolphin. “I ask you what could have induced you to say it? There must have been something to lead to the remark.”

  “I did not mean anything, I declare, sir, Mr. Hurde vexed me by casting suspicion upon me; and in the moment’s anger, I retorted that he might as well cast it upon Mr. George Godolphin.”

  Thomas Godolphin pressed the question. In Layton’s voice when he had uttered it, distorted though it was with passion, his ears had detected a strange meaning. “But why upon Mr. George Godolphin? Why more upon him than any other? — upon myself, for instance; or Mr. Hurde?”

  Layton was silent. Thomas Godolphin waited, his serene countenance fixed upon, the clerk’s.

  “I suppose I must have had in my head a remark I heard yesterday, sir,” he slowly rejoined. “Heaven knows, though, I gave no heed to it; and how I came to forget myself in my anger, I don’t know. I am sure I thought nothin
g of it, afterwards, until Mr. Hurde spoke to me this morning.”

  “What was the remark?” asked Mr. Godolphin.

  “Sir, it was that sporting man, Jolly, who said it. He fastened himself on me last evening in going from here, and I could not get rid of him until ten at night. We were talking about different things: the great discount houses in London and one thing or another; and he said, incidentally, that Mr. George Godolphin had a good deal of paper in the market.”

  Thomas Godolphin paused. “Did he assert that he knew this?”

  “He pretended to assert many things, as of his own knowledge. I asked him how he knew it, and he replied a friend of his had seen it — meaning the paper. It was all he said; and how I came to repeat such a thing after him, I cannot tell. I hope you will excuse it, sir.”

  “I cannot help excusing it,” replied Mr. Godolphin. “You said the thing, and you cannot unsay it. It was very wrong. Take care that you do not give utterance to it again.”

  Layton withdrew, inwardly vowing that he never would. In point of fact, he had not attached much weight to the information; and could now have bitten his tongue out for repeating it. He wondered whether they could prosecute him for slander: or whether, if it came to the ears of Mr. George, he would. Mr. Godolphin had met it with the considerate generosity ever characteristic of him; but Mr. George was different from his brother. If ever a man in this world lived up to the Divine command, “Do as ye would be done by,” that man was Thomas Godolphin.

  But the words, nevertheless, grated on Thomas Godolphin’s ears. That George was needlessly lavish in expenditure, he knew: but not more so than his income allowed, if he chose to spend it all — unless he had secret sources of expense. A change came over Thomas Godolphin’s face as the idea suggested itself to his mind. Once in the train of thought he could not stop it. Had George private channels for expenditure, of which the world knew nothing? Could he have been using the Bank’s money? — could it be he who had taken Lord Averil’s deeds? Like unto Isaac Hastings, the red flush of shame dyed Thomas’s brow at the thought — shame for his own obtrusive imagination that could conjure up such a fancy against his brother. Thomas had never conjured it up, but for the suggestion gratuitously imparted to him by Layton.