by Ellen Wood
“They go away from us all, Watton,” was the murmured answer, “never to return again.”
“You will send the two young gentlemen to see me, Miss Sara,” said Watton, as she was showing her out. “Perhaps they’d honour me by drinking tea here in the course of their holidays. My evenings are my own. Master Dick should eat as much jam as he’d like. I’d get in half-a-dozen pots assorted.”
Sara could not forbear a smile: Dick would have gone to the other end of the kingdom for half-a-dozen pots of assorted jam: but it changed to gravity as she turned to Watton.
“Watton, do you know I have been so great a coward as not to ask my aunt decisively whether she intends to have them up for the holidays. I very much fear she does not; and therefore I shrink from asking, lest the fear should be made a certainty.”
“Poor boys!” ejaculated Watton. “Well, of course it’s all very different from what it was. Ah, Miss Sara! there are too many will find cause to miss the good Dr. Davenal!”
With the rebellious sorrow, called up by the words, rising in her heart, Sara walked along the hot and bustling streets again. It was a little past twelve when she reached Essex Street, and in going up the stair she happened to turn her head, and saw, stepping quickly in at the outer door, Oswald Cray. She hoped he had not seen her; she thought he had not; and she hastened on, her pulses beating. What strange coincidence could have brought him there?
Mr. Alfred King had arrived. Sara was shown through a busy room into a smaller one, long and narrow, apparently partitioned off from a third room, which she did not see. The room contained a couple of chain, a table-desk, and a slender, dandy sort of gentleman; nothing more. He was leaning against the table, doing something to his nails with a pen-knife, an eye-glass in his eye, and a black moustache with rings at its ends curling on his lip.
“Mr. Alfred King?” she said interrogatively, for there had been no introduction.
Mr. Alfred King bowed. He removed his hat, which he had been wearing, shut up the pen-knife with a flourish of his thin white hands, courteously stepped forward, and was altogether the gentleman again.
“Miss Sara Davenal, I presume?”
How Sara entered on her task she never knew. Its nature made her feel sadly confused and diffident, as if all self-possession had gone out of her. Whatever her brother’s crime might have been, she assumed that the gentleman before her had cognisance of it; and it rendered her miserably conscious in that first moment. Very much embarrassed, and aware that she was so, she apologised for the delay in the payment of the money, stated that she expected it daily, and begged of Mr. King to be kind enough to wait a little longer. Just what she had stated in her letter: in fact she had nothing else to urge.
“I am exceedingly sorry to put you to the inconvenience of coming here, Miss Davenal” he said, in a courteous but drawling tone. “It is reversing the appropriate order of things. I should have been better pleased to wait upon you.”
“But I could not make it convenient to receive you,” replied Sara. “The truth is,” she added in her candour, “that my aunt, Miss Davenal, with whom I live, was not made cognisant of this business; and it was my father’s, Dr. Davenal’s, wish that she should not be.”
“Ah — I see,” observed Mr. Alfred King, in the same drawling tone that spoke so unpleasantly of affectation, of something not true in his nature. “Still I feel horribly annoyed at causing you the trouble of coming here, Miss Davenal.”
“Will you be so kind as to tell me the object of the interview?” she said. “For what purpose did you wish to see me?”
“Ah, yes, to be sure. The fact is, Miss Davenal, some positive understanding must be come to as to the precise time when the money will be paid. You cannot imagine the inconvenience to which the delay has put me: and, but for the respect I once bore Captain Davenal, I would not have remained so passive as I have done.”
There was a pointed stress on the word “once” that recalled the blush into Sara’s cheeks, the dread to her heart She murmured a hope that the money would be realised and paid to him ere the lapse of many days.
“You see, Miss Davenal, had the money no ulterior destination it would not be of so much consequence,” he resumed. “ Were it due to myself only I would wait with the greatest pleasure, no matter at what inconvenience; but that is not the case it is these other parties who will not be pacified. Do you comprehend me, Miss Davenal?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Sara, faintly, beginning to fear the affair was more complicated than she had thought. “Who are the parties?”
Mr. Alfred King ran his white hand and its showy ring right through his black hair. “Well — I would tell you if I could, Miss Davenal: in anything that concerns myself only, you may command me as you please: but the fact is, I am not at liberty to mention the names of those parties even to you.”
There was a pause, and Sara’s manner for the moment grew haughtily distant She liked his words less and less. But she recollected herself: she subdued her proud spirit Was not Edward in his power?
“These parties have been angry at the delay,” he resumed, breaking the silence that had ensued. “They have badgered the life nearly out of me over it: excuse the term, Miss Davenal, it but expresses the fact. I assure you I have had a most difficult task to keep them from proceeding to extremities. And, in short, they won’t be put off longer.”
“From extremities?” she repeated, the one ominous word alone catching her ear.
Mr. Alfred King looked at her, not speaking. His gaze seemed to ask her how much she knew. She did not respond to it.
“Were this unfortunate matter made public, nothing could save Captain Davenal,” he resumed, in a low tone. “He is now in India, in apparent safety, but — in short, it would only be a question of time, two or three months or so. Men are brought from the ends of the world now to answer for — for crime.”
Subdued as was his voice Sara looked around in terror. That partition, if nothing more than a partition, was probably a shallow one, allowing sound to pass beyond it “Be at ease,” he said, detecting her fear, “ we are quite alone.”
“Do you know Captain Davenal?” she asked.
“Very well indeed. He and I were at one time sworn friends, constantly together. Until this unhappy affair arose to part us.”
Perhaps she would have liked to ask the particulars that she did not know. But her whole heart revolted from it; it would have seemed like acknowledging Edward’s crime.
“You see his being in India is only a temporary safeguard, and these parties who hold his safety in their hands might bring him home if they chose. It is only in compliance with my urgent entreaties that they have kept passive so long. But the delay is extending itself beyond all reason, and they — in short, Miss Davenal, they will not wait longer.”
“But what can I do?” she urged in her helplessness. “I admit that the delay is vexatious — Heaven knows I have felt it so,” she added, with a burst of feeling that would not be suppressed—” but the money is there; it will very shortly be forthcoming, and then it will be paid.”
“Yes, I have pointed out all this to them,” he said, flicking a speck of dirt off his coat. “I — I suppose there is no foreign delay or obstruction, beyond the delay caused by realising the different monies?” His sudden penetrating glance at her, the hidden earnestness of his tone, told Sara that this was a question of importance to him. It was nearly the only point throughout the interview which had not borne to her ear and eye a vague and indefinite idea of something untruthful: untruthful in himself, his voice, and his words. Possibly he had sought the personal interview with the sole view of ascertaining this solitary fact. An impression that it was so passed rapidly through her mind.
“Let me thoroughly understand you,” she said, following her own thoughts rather than his words. “Tell me without reserve exactly what it is you wish to know, and I will answer you to the best of my power. There is no other cause for the delay, except that the monies have not been re
alised so quickly as they ought to have been; no other cause whatever. Were you thinking that there was?”
“I?” and again the false drawling tone grated harshly on her ear. “Not I, I assure you, Miss Davenal. Those parties of whom I spoke hinted to me that with all this delay it looked as if there were no intention to pay the money. Of course, I knew that it was nothing of the sort; that the money must be paid.”
“The very day that the money reaches me it will be paid to you, according to the instructions of my father, Dr. Davenal,” she said, impressively. “I beg you to believe this; and to convey the assurance of it to them.”
“I will do so. How much longer do you suppose the delay will extend? Can you fix any definite date for the payment?”
“I wish I could. But you see it does not rest with me. A very, very short period now will, I believe, see it settled.”
Mr. Alfred King mused. “I will inform them of what you say, Miss Davenal, and I do trust the period may be a short one. If protracted, I cannot answer for it that they would remain passive.”
“They must be cruel men to wish to harm Captain Davenal!”
“No,” he answered. “Had they been cruel men they would not have consented not to harm him. It is not that, Miss Davenal; it is the money itself that is wanted; and the delay vexes them.” She was feeling desperate, and she ventured on a bold step. “ In their own interest, then, they must be cautious not to harm him. Were they to do so they would lose the money.”
“Why?”
“Because I would never pay it.”
Mr. Alfred King glanced at her in surprise. All her timid hesitation of manner was gone, the expression of her face had changed to resolute bravery. “ I do not pretend to entire acquaintance with the details of this unhappy business, but I understand so much, Mr. King — that this money purchases my brother’s safety,” she continued. “If that be imperilled, the bargain would be forfeited, and the money retained. The payment or non-payment of this money rests solely with me; and I should not keep faith with the other parties if they did not keep theirs with my dead father.”
“There will be no question of their not keeping faith, provided they get their rights, Miss Davenal.”
“And their rights — if you mean the money — they shall have; I trust speedily. I shall be only too glad to get the matter over.”
“I’m sure I shall be,” returned Mr. King, in a tone that was certainly a hearty one. “ It will be well for all parties; very well for Captain Davenal.”
Sara turned to the door. Mr. Alfred King took up his hat for the purpose of attending her outside.
“I am glad that you have allowed me this interview, Miss Davenal. It will be so much more satisfactory to these gentlemen now that I have Been you. Dr. Davenal’s death, occurring as it did, was most unfortunate. By the way, did he not leave some papers behind him?”
“There are papers in my possession relating to this affair,” she answered. “ I know what to do with them when the proper time shall come.”
“Ah, yes, of course; doubtless,” came the untrue words in their untrue tone. “ Then I may rely on the very speedy receipt of this money, Miss Davenal?”
“You may rely upon having it immediately that it is paid to me. That is all, I presume, sir?”
Mr. Alfred King could not say that it was not all. He gallantly offered his arm to pilot her through the busy office of Messrs. Jones and Green; but Miss Sara Davenal, with a gesture far more expressive of haughty pride than of gratitude, declined the honour. The interview was leaving a disagreeable impression on her mind, apart from its natural unpleasantness; and perhaps it was unreasonable of her, but she had taken an unconquerable dislike to Mr. Alfred King.
The stairs seemed more busy than the lawyer’s room. Men, some of them rather rough-looking ones, were passing up and down. Mr. Alfred King drawled an anathema on the tenant of the second floor, Mr. Carberry. Mr. Carberry had only recently taken the rooms, and he appeared to have no ostensible occupation, save the receiving of a great many visitors and an occasional telegram. The visitors were supposed to be mostly in the sporting line; and during the holding of distant races the passages and door would be besieged by an eager and noisy crowd: — as was the case on this day.
“Three times have we had them scattered by the police,” exclaimed Mr. Alfred King, unmistakably in earnest now. “And that pest Carberry — or whatever the fellow’s name may be — can’t be got rid of for nearly a twelvemonth to come! Knollys’s have threatened to indict the landlord for a nuisance; Jones and Green have given conditional warning to quit; and it’s all of no use. The landlord went to Carberry with team in his eyes, and told him he’d be the ruin of his house, that he’d forgive every farthing of rent, already owing, if he’d go; but Carberry coolly said he had taken it for a twelvemonth, and he should stop his twelvemonth. Miss Davenal, you cannot! Allow me!”
For Sara had come face to face with this crowd at the street-door, and commenced a struggle with them, they not being polite enough to give way in the least. Mr. Alfred King seized her arm forcibly with a view of helping her, when she was as forcibly separated from him by an authoritative hand, and found herself on the arm of Mr. Oswald Cray, his face ablaze with haughty anger, as he turned it on Mr. Alfred King.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, all the pride of the Oswalds concentrating itself in him then. “This lady is under my charge.”
And Mr. Alfred King, with a somewhat subdued manner, as if he had received a check that he did not care to resist, made as polite a bow to Sara as the crowd allowed him, and disappeared from view.
Clear of the assemblage, Sara would have withdrawn her arm, but Oswald Cray held it too tightly. A moment, and he turned his face upon her, ablaze still.
“What do you do with that man? He is not a fit acquaintance for you.”
At first she could not answer. Not so much from the suddenness of the whole thing and the emotion it had brought to her, as because she did not know what explanation to give.
“In going into Knollys’s office just now I thought I saw you making your way up the stairs,” he resumed. “I said to myself that it could not be; but I was unable to get the impression from my mind, and I waited. One of Knollys’s clerks said that the young lady gone up had inquired for Alfred King. What can have taken you to him?”
He was growing somewhat less vehement. It had been a moment to convince him that the love which he had safely deemed he was subduing remained with him still in all its force. To rescue her from the undesirable companionship of Mr. Alfred King, from contact with the unhallowed crowd of gambling men, he would have parted with his life.
“I was compelled to go,” she murmured: “I could not help myself.”
“Compelled to go up those stairs? Compelled to pay that man a visit?”
“Yes, I was. It was as distasteful to me as it could be, but I had no resource. I went there on business which no one but myself could transact Thank you for your protection, Mr. Oswald Cray.”
She withdrew her arm now, and there was no opposition to it. Reason was resuming her seat in Oswald’s mind, and he felt angry with himself for his excess of demonstration. All things considered, it had been scarcely wise.
“It is not at all a place for a young lady to go to,” he resumed, as he walked by her side, and his manner became cold even to restraint “The Knollys’ are sufficiently respectable, but as much cannot be said for the tenants of the upper part of the house. You must not go to it again.”
Once again she knew she should have to go to it, but she fervently hoped that would close the matter. She wished she could tell him the nature of the business that took her there. Parted though they were, she did care to stand well in the estimation of Oswald Cray; she esteemed him still beyond any one on earth.
“I never saw Mr. Alfred King until this morning; he is no acquaintance of mine, or ever likely to be. But he tells me he was once an intimate friend of my brother Edward’s.”
Oswald Cray�
�s haughty lip took an additional curl. “He may have been looked upon as a respectable man once; but he lost himself. He is not a desirable acquaintance for you.”
“I could not help myself,” she answered, her cheeks glowing. “It was necessary that I should see him, and the interview could not be delegated to another.”
He made no reply: only continued by her side. Not until her house was nearly reached did he leave her. Then he stopped and held out his hand; but he had scarcely spoken a word to her all the way.
“Thank you for your kindness,” said Sara. “But I am very sorry you should have troubled yourself to come with me. It must have broken your day greatly.”
“Never mind; I shall catch it up,” he answered, looking at his watch. “ I do not like to see you in these London streets alone. I cannot forget that Dr. Davenal was once my dear friend, and that you are his daughter.”
CHAPTER XL.
A FLOURISHING COMPANY.
THE Great Wheal Bang Mining Company had its offices in a commodious and irreproachable quarter of the city. If I give the familiar name Wheal Bang, instead of the difficult one Chwddyn, which can only be spelt from copy, letter by letter, and perhaps wrongly then, it is to save myself and my readers trouble. Not being Welsh, they might find a difficulty in arriving at the accurate pronunciation, just as I do at the spelling. The promoter of the Great Wheal Bang Mining Company, Mr. Barker, occupied sumptuous apartments in Piccadilly; and his co partner in the scheme, as Mark Cray was to all intents and purposes now, flourished in his mansion in Grosvenor Place.
The offices were undeniable in their appointments. Situation, width of staircase, size of rooms, decorations, furniture, attendants; all were of the first water. People who play with the money of others do not in general go to work sparingly; and speculative public schemes necessarily entail a large outlay. These schemes, springing up now and again in London, to the beguilement of the unwary — one in about every ten of which may succeed in the end — have been so well described by abler pens than mine, that I might hesitate even to touch upon them, were it not that the story cannot conveniently get on without my doing so, and that I have a true tale to tell. How many hearts have been made to ache from the misery entailed by these uncertain ventures, ushered in with so much pomp and flourish, so full a promise of prosperity; and how many heads, unable to bear the weight of the final ruin, have been laid low in the grave, God alone will ever know. They have ruined thousands in body; they have ruined some in soul; and the public is not yet tired of them, and perhaps will not be to the end of time.