The Orange Girl

by Walter Besant

  CHAPTER VI

  A WARNING AND ANOTHER OFFER

  As soon as we had once more found the means of keeping ourselves we wentback to our former abode under the shadow of Lambeth Church on the Banklooking over the river on one side and over the meadows and orchards ofLambeth Marsh on the other. The air which sweeps up the river with everytide is fresh and strong and pure; good for the child, not to speak ofthe child's mother, while the people, few in number, are generallyhonest though humble: for the most part they are fishermen.

  Here I should have been happy but for the thought, suggested by Jenny,that my cousin and his attorney Probus were perhaps devising some newmeans of persecution, and that the man Merridew, who had perjuredhimself concerning me already, whose sinister face I had gazed upon withterror, so visibly was the mark of Cain stamped upon it, was but a toolof the attorney.

  Yet what could they devise? If they swore between them another debt, mypatron Jenny promised to provide me with the help of a lawyer. What elsecould they do? It is a most miserable feeling that someone in the worldis plotting your destruction, you know not how.

  However, on Sunday afternoon--it was in November, when the days arealready short, we had a visit from my father's old clerk, Ramage.

  He was restless in his manner: he was evidently in some anxiety of mind.After a few words he began:

  'Mr. Will,' he said, 'I have much to say. I have come, I fear, to tellyou something that will make you uneasy.'

  'I will leave you alone,' said Alice, taking up the child.

  'No, Madam, no, I would rather that you heard. You may advise. Oh!Madam, I never thought the day would come that I should reveal mymaster's secrets. I eat his bread; I take his wages: and I am come hereto betray his most private affairs.'

  'Then do not betray them, Mr. Ramage,' said Alice. 'Follow your ownconscience.'

  'It ought to be your bread and your wages, Mr. Will, and would have beenbut for tales and inventions. Sir, in a word, there is villainyafloat----'

  'What kind of villainy?'

  'I know all they do. Sir, there is that sum of one hundred thousandpounds in the hands of trustees, payable to the survivor of you two.That is the bottom of the whole villainy. Well, they are mad to make yousell your chance.'

  'I know that.'

  'Mr. Matthew, more than a year ago, offered Mr. Probus a thousand poundsif he could persuade you to sell it for three thousand.'

  'That is why he was so eager.' This was exactly how Jenny read thebusiness.

  'Yes, he reported that you would not sell, he said that if it was madeworth his while, he would find a way to make you.'

  'That is why he put me in the King's Bench, I suppose?'

  'That was agreed upon between them. Sir, if ever there was an infamousconspiracy, this was one. Probus invented it. He said that he would keepyou there till you rotted; he said that when you had been there four orfive months you would be glad to get out on any terms. You were therefor a year or more. Probus sent people to report how you were looking.He told Mr. Matthew with sorrow that you were looking strong and hearty.Then you were taken out. They were furious. They knew not who was thefriend. An attorney named Dewberry had done it. That was all they couldfind out. I know not what this Mr. Dewberry said to Mr. Probus, butcertain I am that they will not try that plan any more.'

  'I am glad to hear so much.'

  'Mr. Will, there is more behind. I know very well what goes on, I say. Alittle while after the death of your father, when the Alderman retiredand Mr. Matthew was left sole active partner, he began to borrow moneyof Mr. Probus, who came often to see him. I could hear all they saidfrom my desk in the corner of the outer counting-house.'

  'Ay! Ay! I remember your desk.'

  'Sitting there I heard every word. And I am glad, Mr. Will--I ought tobe ashamed, but I am glad that I listened. Well. He began to borrowmoney of Mr. Probus at 15 per cent, on the security of the business.Anyone would lend money to such a house at 10 per cent. He said hewanted to put the money into the business; to buy new ships and todevelop it. This made me suspicious. Why? Because our House, in yourfather's time, Sir, wanted no fresh capital; it developed and grew onits own capital. This I knew. The business wanted no new capital. Whatdid he borrow the money for then?'

  'I know not, indeed.'

  'He bought no new ships: he never meant to buy any. Mr. Will, to mycertain knowledge'--here his voice deepened to a whisper, 'he wanted forsome reason or other more ready money. I am certain that he has gotthrough all the money that your father left him: I know that he has soldsome of the ships: he has mortgaged the rest; the business of the Housedecays and sinks daily; he has got rid of all the money that Mr. Probusadvanced him. It was L25,000, for which he is to pay 15 per cent. onL40,000. 'Tis a harpy--a shark--a common rogue!'

  'How has he lost this money?' I pretended not to know: but, as you haveheard, I knew, perfectly well.

  'That, Sir, I cannot tell you. I have no knowledge how a man can, inthree years, get through such an amazing amount of money and do so muchmischief to an old established business. But the case is as I tell you.'

  'This is very serious, Ramage. Does my uncle know?'

  'He does not, Sir. That poor man will be a bankrupt in his old age. Itwill kill him. It will kill him. And I must not tell him. Remember thatmost of what I tell you is what I overheard.'

  'I think that my uncle ought to know.' I remembered Jenny's advice. Herewas another opportunity. I should have told him. But I neglected thischance as well.

  'I cannot tell him, Sir. There is, however, more. This concerns you, Mr.Will. Yesterday in the afternoon Mr. Probus came to the counting-house.He came for the interest on his money. Mr. Matthew told him, shortly,that it was not convenient to pay him. Mr. Probus humbly explained thathe had need of the money for his own occasions. Now Mr. Matthew had beendrinking; he often goes to the tavern of a forenoon and returns with ared face and heavy shoulders. Perhaps yesterday he had been drinkingmore than was usual with him. Otherwise, he might not have been soplain-spoken with his creditor. "Mr. Probus," he said, "it is time tospeak the truth with you. I cannot pay you the interest of yourmoney--either to-day or at any other time."

  '"Cannot ... cannot ... pay? Mr. Halliday, what do you mean?"

  '"I say, Sir, that I cannot pay your interest ... and that yourprincipal, the money you lent me--yes--your L25,000--is gone. You'llnever get a penny of it," and then he laughed scornfully. I heard Mr.Probus's step as he sprang to his feet, I heard him strike the tablewith his open hand. His face I could not see.

  '"Sir," he cried, "explain. Where is my money?"

  '"Gone, I say. Everything is gone. Your money; my money; all that Icould raise--my ships are sold; the business is gone: the creditors aregathering. Probus, I shall be a bankrupt in less than three months. Ihave worked it out; I can play one against the other, but only for threemonths. Then the House must be bankrupt."

  '"The House--bankrupt?--this House--Halliday Brothers? You had a hundredthousand of your own when you succeeded. You had credit: you had a noblefleet: and a great business. And there's your father's money in thebusiness as well. It _can't_ be gone."

  '"It is gone--I tell you--all gone--my money, Probus--_integervitae_--that's gone: and your money, old Scelerisque Probus. That's gonetoo. All gone--all gone." To be sure he was three parts drunk. I heardMr. Probus groan and sink back into his chair. Then he got up again."Tell me," he said again, "tell me, you poor drivelling drunkendevil--I'll kill you if you laugh. Tell me, where is the money gone?"

  '"I don't know," his voice was thick with drink, "I don't know. It's allgone. Everything's gone."

  '"I lent you the money to put into the business--it must be in thebusiness still."

  '"It never was in the business. I tell you, Probus--it's all gone."

  'There was silence for a few minutes. Then Mr. Probus said softly, "Mr.Halliday, we are old friends--tell me that you have only been playingoff a joke upon me. You are a little disguised in liquor. I can passover this
accident. The money is in the business, you know; in this fineold business, where you put it when you borrowed it."

  '"It's all gone--all gone," he repeated. "Man, why won't you believe? Itell you that everything is gone. Make me a bankrupt at once, and youwill share with the creditors: oh! yes, you will be very lucky: you willdivide between you the furniture of the counting-house and the emptycasks on the Quay."

  'Then Mr. Probus began to curse and to swear, and to threaten. He wouldthrow Mr. Matthew into prison and keep him there all his life: he wouldprosecute him at the Old Bailey: he called him thief, scoundrel,villain: Mr. Matthew laughed in his drunken mood. He would not explainhow the money was lost: he only repeated that it was gone--all gone.

  'Mr. Will--I know that he was speaking the truth. I had seen thingsdone--you cannot hide things from an old accountant who keeps the books:cargoes sold at a sacrifice for ready money: ships sold: our splendidfleet thrown away: there were six tall vessels in the West India trade:one was cast away: the underwriters paid for her. Where is that money?Where are the other five ships? Sold. Where is that money? Our coffersare empty: there is no running cash at the Bank: the wharf is deserted:clerks are dismissed: creditors are put off. I know that what Mr.Matthew said was true: but for the life of me I cannot tell what he hasdone with the money unless he has thrown it into the river.

  'Then I think that Mr. Matthew took more drink, for he made no morereply, and Mr. Probus, after calling him hog and beast and other namesof like significance, left him.

  'When he came out of the counting-house he was like one possessed of adevil: his face distorted: his eyes blood-shot: his lips moving: hishands trembling. Sir, although he is a villain I felt sorry for him. Hehas lost all that he cared for: all that he valued: and since he is nowold, and can make no more money, he has lost perhaps his means oflivelihood.'

  Ramage paused. Alice brought him a glass of beer, her own home-brewed.Thus refreshed, he presently went on again.

  'After two days Probus came again to the counting-house. Mr. Matthew wassober.

  '"Probus," he said, "I told you the other day when I was drunk what Ishould have kept from you if I was sober. However, now you know what Itold you was the truth."

  '"Is it all true?"

  '"It is all true. Everything is gone."

  '"But how--how--how?" I heard his lamentable cry and I could imagine hisarm waving about.

  '"This way and that way. Enough that it is all gone."

  '"Mr. Matthew," I think he sat down because he groaned--which a mancannot do properly--that is to say movingly, unless he is sitting--"Ihave been thinking--Good God! of what else could I think? You can keepyourself afloat for three months more, you say--Heavens! HallidayBrothers to go in three months! And my money! Where--where--where has itgone?"

  '"In about three months--or may be sooner, the end must come."

  '"Mr. Matthew," he lowered his voice, "there is one chance left--onechance--I may get back my money--by that one chance."

  '"What chance? The money is all gone."

  '"If we can make your cousin part with his chance of the succession, wecan raise money on it before the bankruptcy--we can divide it betweenus."

  '"Put it out of your thoughts. My cousin is the most obstinateself-willed brute that ever lived. You couldn't bend him with the King'sBench Prison. You cannot bend him now."

  '"I will try again. He is still poor. He plays the fiddle at somewretched gardens I believe. He lives where he did before--I know whereto find him. I will try again. If I succeed we could raise say L50,000upon the succession, it should be more but you are both young. Let mesee, that will be L40,000 for me; L6,000 interest due to me: that makesL46,000 for me and L4,000 for you."

  '"No, friend Probus. You have lent me L25,000. That you shall take andno more. If you are not content with that you shall have none. Rememberthat the money must be raised by me for my own use, not by you. Get himto sign if you can--and you shall have back all your money, but withoutany interest. If you think you are going to get all this money foryourself, let me tell you that you are mistaken."

  'Mr. Matthew can be as hard as--as your father, sometimes. He was hardnow. Well, the pair wrangled over these terms for a long time. At lastit was arranged that if Mr. Probus can persuade you to sign the paperwhich he is to bring you he is to take L25,000 and interest on that andnot on the alleged L40,000, at 15 per cent. And Mr. Matthew is to payyou the sum required to buy out. When they had completed thisarrangement Mr. Probus started another line of discourse. Now listen tothis, Mr. Will, because it concerns you very closely.

  '"If," he said, "your cousin were to die--actually to die----"

  '"He won't die. I wish he would."

  '"I said--If he were to die--you would then immediately take overL100,000 together with the interest at 5 per cent. already accumulatedfor three years, namely, about L115,000. That would put all squareagain. You could get back some of your ships and your credit."

  '"What's the use? Man, I have told you--my cousin is a selfish,unfeeling, obstinate Brute. He won't die."

  '"I said. If he were to die. That is what I said. If he were to die."

  'Then there was silence for a space.

  '"Probus," said Mr. Matthew, "I believe you are a devil. Tell me whatyou mean. We can't make him die by wishing."

  '"I was only supposing: If he were to die--strange things havehappened--would you be disposed to let me take the half of thatmoney--say L55,000?"

  '"If he were to die," Mr. Matthew repeated. "Have you heard, byaccident, that he is ill? Has he taken small-pox, or gaol fever? I didhear that was gaol fever in Newgate some time ago."

  '"No: on the contrary, I believe that he is in perfect health atpresent. Still, he might die. Anybody may die, you know."

  '"Why do you say that he may die?"

  '"I only put the case. Anybody may die. What do you say about myproposal?"

  '"You call it a proposal--Man--you look like a murderer--are you goingto murder him?"

  '"Certainly not. Well--what do you say?"

  '"Well--if you are not going to murder him, what do you mean?"

  '"Men die of many complaints, besides murder. Some men get themselvesinto the clutches of the law----"'

  When Ramage said this, I became suddenly aware of a great gulf openingat my feet with a prospect of danger such as I had never beforecontemplated. I thought that the man might swear upon me some crime ofwhich I was innocent and so bring it home to me by a diabolical artificethat I should be accused, found guilty, and executed. I reeled andturned pale.

  Alice caught my hand. 'Have faith, my dear,' she said.

  Yet the thought was like a knife piercing me through and through. Icould not afterwards shake it off. And I made up my mind--I know notwhy--that the charge would take the form of an accusation of forgery.

  '"Probus," said Mr. Matthew, "I will have nothing to do with this----"

  '"Sir, you need not. Give me your word only, your simple word that ifyour cousin refuses to sign the paper I shall lay before him, so thatyou cannot raise money on that succession--and if within two months ofthis day your cousin dies, so that you will succeed before you arebankrupt, I am to take half that money in full discharge of all myclaims. That is all. I will leave you now, to think the matter over."

  'He went away. The next day he returned, bringing with him a man whom Ihad never seen before.

  '"Mr. Matthew," he said, "I have brought you a gentleman whoseacquaintance with our criminal law is vast--probably unequaled. Hisname, Sir, is Merridew."

  '"His honour says no more than what is true," said Mr. Merridew. "I knowmore than most. I understand you want me to advise you on a littlematter of prosecution. Well, Sir, I can only say that if you want afriend put out of the way, so to speak, nothing is easier, for them thatknows how to work the job and can command the instruments. It is only aquestion of pay." Then they talked in whispers and I heard no more. Whenthey were gone Mr. Matthew began to drink again.

  'That is all, Mr. Will. But
have a care. You now know what to expect,sir; there will be no pity from any of them. Have a care. Go away. Go tosome place where they cannot find you. Sir, the man Probus is mad. He ismad with the misery of losing his money. There is nothing that he willnot do. He is a money-lender: his money is all in all to him: hisprofession and his pride and everything. And he has lost his money. Goout of his way.'

  'Is that all, Ramage?'

  'Yes, Sir. That is all I had to say.'

  'Then, my old friend, you have come just in time, for if I mistake notthere is Mr. Probus himself walking across the meadow with the intentionof calling here. You could not have chosen a better time.' Indeed, thatwas the case. The man was actually walking quickly across the Marsh.'Now, Ramage,' I said, 'it would be well for you to hear what he has tosay. Go into the kitchen and wait with the door ajar--go. Alice, mydear, stay here with me.'

  'Remember, Will,' she said, 'it was your father's last command. To sellit would be to sell your father's forgiveness--a dreadful thing.'

  The man stood at the open door. Ramage was right. He looked trulydreadful. Anxiety was proclaimed in his face, with eagerness andcourage: he reminded me of a weasel, which for murderous resolution issaid to surpass the whole of the animal creation. He came in blinkingafter the light and offered me his hand, but I refused it.

  'Fie!' he said. 'Fie, Mr. Will! This is ill done. You confuse theattorney's zeal for his clients with an act of hostility to yourself.Put that out of your thoughts, I pray.'

  'Why do you come here, Mr. Probus?'

  'I said to myself: It is not easy to catch a man of Mr. William'sreputation at home, his society being eagerly sought after. I willtherefore visit him on Sunday. Not in the morning, when he will belifting the hymn in Church: but in the afternoon. I came here straightfrom St. George's, Borough, where I sometimes repair for morningservice. A holy discourse, Mr. William, moving and convincing.' His eyeskept shifting to and fro as he spoke.

  'Very likely. But we will not talk about sermons. Look ye, Mr. Probus,your presence here is not desired. Say what you have to say, andbegone.'

  'Hot youth! Ah! I envy that fine heat of the blood. Once I was just thesame myself.'

  He must have been a good deal changed, then, since that time.

  He went on. 'I will not stay long. I am once more a peacemaker. It is ahappy office. It is an office that can be discharged on the Sabbath.Sweetly the river flows beneath your feet. Ah! A peacemaker. I come fromyour cousin again.'

  'To make another offer?'

  'Yes, that is my object. I am again prepared to offer you terms which, Ibelieve, no one else in the world would propose to you. Mr. William, Iwill give you the sum of four thousand pounds down--equivalent to anannual income of two hundred pounds a year if you will sell yourreversion.'

  'No.'

  'Mr. Matthew can use the money to advantage: while it lies locked up itis of no use to anyone.'

  'No.'

  'Such obstinacy was never known before, I believe. Why, Sir, I offer youan annual income of two hundred pounds a year--two hundred pounds ayear. You can leave this wretched little cottage overhanging a marsh:you can move into a fashionable quarter, and live like a person ofQuality: you can abandon your present mode of life, which I take to berepellent to every person of virtue--that of musician to the Dog andDuck or some other resort of the profligate. Oh, we know where you areand what you do! Instead of servant you will be master. You, Madam, willno longer be a household drudge: you will have your cook, your maids,your page to carry your Prayer-Book to church.'

  'No.'

  He hesitated a little, the sham benevolence dying out of his face, andthe angry look of baffled cunning taking its place. Mr. Probus was a badactor.

  He took out a parchment. 'Sign it, Mr. William--here.' He unrolled itand indicated the place. 'Let us have no more shilly shally, willy nillytalk. It is for your good and for my client's.'

  'And yours, too, Mr. Probus.'

  'My dear,' said Alice, 'do not exchange words any longer. You have saidNo already. It is my husband's last word, Sir.'

  There I should have stopped. It is always foolish to reveal to an enemywhat one has discovered. I think that up to that moment Mr. Probus wasonly anxious: that is to say, he was crazy with anxiety, but he couldnot believe that his money was all gone, because he had no knowledge orsuspicion in what way it had gone. Things that appear impossible cannotbe believed. I think that he would have assured himself of the fact insome other way before proceeding to the wickedness which he actually hadin his mind. He would have waited: and I could have eluded him some wayor other. As it was, the mere statement of Matthew drunk drove him halfmad with fear: but there was still the chance that Matthew sober wouldhave spoken differently.

  'No,' according to Alice, was my last word.

  'Not quite the last word,' I said. 'Hark ye, Mr. Probus. The sum waitingfor me when Matthew dies, is one hundred thousand pounds withaccumulations of interest, is it not? If he were to die to-morrow--tobe sure it is not likely--but he may be murdered, or he may put himselfwithin the power of the Law and so be executed----' Mr. Probus turnedghastly white and shook all over. 'Then I should come in for the wholeof that money, which is much better than four thousand pounds, whereasif I were to die to-morrow--either by the operation of the law or bysome other manner, Matthew would have the whole and you would get backthe twenty-five thousand pounds you have lent my cousin with a nobleaddition. If you do get it, that is--Mr. Probus, I think that you willnot get it. I think you will never get any more of your money back atall.'

  'I don't know, Sir, what you mean: or what you know,' he stammered.

  'I know more than you think. I know where your money has gone.'

  'He jumped up. 'Where? Where? Where? Tell me.'

  'It has gone into the bottomless gulf that they call the gaming table,Mr. Probus. It has been gambled away: the ships of my father's fleet:the cargoes: the accumulated treasures: the credit of the business: theprivate fortune of my cousin: your own money lent to Matthew: it has allgone: irrecoverably gone----'

  'The gaming table!' he groaned. 'The gaming table! I never thought ofthat. Sir, do you know what you mean--the gaming table?'

  No one but a money-lender knows all that may be meant by the gamingtable.

  'I know what I say. Matthew told you the truth. Everything has gone:ruin stares him in the face----Your money is gone with the rest.'

  'The gaming table. And I never suspected it.... The gaming table!' Hefell into a kind of trance or fit, with open mouth, white cheeks, andfixed eyes. This lasted only for a few moments.

  'Mr. Probus,' I went on, 'I cannot say that I am sorry for yourmisfortunes; but I hope we shall never meet again.'

  He got up, slowly. His face was full of despair. I confess that I pitiedhim. For he gave way altogether to a madness of grief.

  'Gone?' he cried. 'No--no--no--not gone--it can't be gone.' He threwhimself into a chair and buried his face in his hands. He sobbed: hemoaned: when he lifted his head again his features were distorted. 'Itis my all,' he cried. 'Oh! you don't know what it is to lose your all. Ican never get any more--I am old: I have few clients left--I get no newones: the old cannot get new clients: my character is not what it was:they cry out after me in the street: they say I lend money at cent. percent.--why not? They call me old cent. per cent. If I lose this money Iam indeed lost.'

  'We cannot help you, Mr. Probus.'

  'Oh! yes, do what I ask you. Sell your chance. You will never outliveyour cousin. You will save my life. Think of saving a man's life. As foryour cousin, let him go his own way. I hate him. It is you, you, Mr.William, I have always loved.'

  'No.'

  He turned to Alice and fell on his knees.

  'Persuade him, Madam. You are all goodness. Oh! persuade him--think ofyour child. You can make him rich with a stroke of a pen--think of that.Oh! think of that!' The tears ran down his cheeks.

  'Sir, I think only of my husband's father. And of his wishes, which arecommands.'

&nb
sp; 'Enough said'--there was too much said already--'your money is gone, Mr.Probus.'

  'Gone?' he repeated, but no longer in terms of entreaty. He was nowfallen into the other extreme; he was blind and mad with rage anddespair. 'No--no--it's not gone. I will get it out of you. Those whothrew you into prison can do worse--worse. You have brought it onyourself. It is your ruin or mine. Once more----' With trembling fingershe held out the paper for me to sign.

  'No.'

  He stayed no longer: he threw out his arms again: it was as if hisbreath refused to come: and he turned away. He looked like a broken-downman, crawling, bent, with hanging head, along the road.

  As soon as he was gone, Ramage opened the door and came out cautiously.

  'Mr. Will,' he cried. 'For Heaven's sake, sir. For your dear lady'ssake: for the child's sake: get out of the way. Nothing else will serve.He is desperate; and he is as cunning as the Devil himself. To get backhis money he will shrink from nothing.'

  'Indeed, Ramage,' I said, 'I think you are right. I will take a holidayfor awhile.'

  'When the bankruptcy comes,' he said, 'there will be no more danger,because all the money would be divided among the creditors. Better torun away than to be ruined.'

  I promised to think of flight. Indeed, my mind was shaken. I was notafraid of open villainy, but of that which might be concealed anddesigned in secret. It would perhaps be best to go where the man couldnot find me.

  So Ramage departed. When he saw me again, it was in a very differentplace.

  * * * * *

  The bell of Lambeth Church began to toll. It seemed to me like a funeralknell, though it was the bell for the afternoon service. The wind cameup from the river chilled with the November air. My heart sank.

  'My dear,' said Alice, 'let us go to Church. Oh! the mark of the EvilSpirit is stamped upon the unhappy man's forehead. Let us pray not forourselves, but for God's mercy upon a wandering soul.'

  I followed her as she led the way, carrying the child. Alas! How longbefore I could sit with her again to hear the prayers of the churchamong godly folk!