CHAPTER XXVI
SURPRISES
Alfred remained silent for so long a time, that Lily had to repeat her question; and again, in a timid tone, she asked him why their grandfather must not be told of his troubles and joys. Alfred asked her, in reply, whether she did not have confidence in him, whether she mistrusted him, whether she thought he had not good reason for what he said? To all these questions she answered, O, yes, yes; she had full confidence in him; she trusted him thoroughly; she knew that he must have the best of reasons for his desire that their grandfather should not be made acquainted with his secrets.
"There isn't another person in the world," said Alfred, "that I would confide in but you; but I could not keep anything secret for long from the dearest sister that man ever had, and whom I love-well, you know how I love you, Lily."
She answered sweetly, "Yes, she knew; had he not given proof of it this day? She would be worthy of his confidence; he need be sure of that." Alfred received these heartfelt protestations graciously.
"I feel better for having spoken to you, and now I shall smoke a cigar. What do you think Lizzie did the other night, Lil? I asked her in fun to light my cigar for me, and she actually did, and took a puff. She didn't like it, though; but she'll do anything for me. There's one thing I've been thinking of, Lil. When you and Lizzie are friends-as you're sure to be directly you see each other-it will be nice for you; for now I think of it, you never had a girl friend, did you?"
"There's Mrs. Gribble," answered Lily, "and Mrs. Podmore, and little Polly – "
"O yes, they're all very well in their way, but they're married women, and little Polly's only a child. What I mean is, a girl of your own age-one that you can say all sorts of things to that you can't say to any one else."
"No, I have never had a girl friend; it would be nice."
"Lizzie's just the girl for you. How I should like to be hidden somewhere, and hear you talking about ME! Mind you always search under the table when you're talking secrets, Lil, for I shall look out for an opportunity to hear what you two girls have to say about me."
They made merry over this, and extracted from it all kinds of gay possibilities to suit their humour.
"You said a little while ago, Alf, that you could make a thousand pounds as safe as-as safe as – "
"As safe as nails, Lil. And so I could, and more perhaps, over the Cesarewitch."
"The Cesarewitch!" she repeated, curious to know the meaning of so strange a word.
"It is a big race that will be run soon-a race worth thousands of pounds-and I know the horse that's going to win."
"That's very clever of you, Alfred."
Alfred nodded, taking full credit to himself.
"But how can you make a thousand pounds by that, Alf? A thousand pounds! I never heard of so much money."
"Little simpleton I'll show you as much one day, and more thousands at the back of it. How can I make it? Why, I'll tell you. Here I am with 'the tip.' The tip," he continued, noticing her puzzled look, "is the secret that some of us get hold of as to which horse is going to win a race."
"O," was Lily's simple reply.
"That's what the tip is," said Alfred, with a confident air; he was in his glory, airing himself on racing matters. "And I've got it for the Cesarewitch."
"Do they know, then, beforehand what horse is going to win a race?"
"Sometimes pretty nearly, you know. Some horses that run haven't a chance; some are not intended to win – "
"Is that right, Alf?"
"Of course it is. If a man has a horse and can't back it, perhaps he backs another; then of course he doesn't want his own horse to win, for if it does, he loses his money."
Lily shook her head.
"I can't understand it; it doesn't seem right to me; but of course you know best."
"Of course I do, Lil. Women are not expected to understand these things. As to its being not quite right, that's neither here nor there. What you've got to do is to find out the secret, get into the swim, and make money. And that's what I've got the chance of doing. But I haven't explained it all. Here am I with the tip; I know the horse that's going to win. Well, what do I do, naturally? I bet on that horse. I put as much money on that horse as ever I can scrape together, and when the race is over, there I am with my pockets full. I can get fifty to one on my tip. Think of that, Lil. Fifty to one against the horse that's sure to win! If I had twenty pounds to-day, I could get a thousand to twenty, and win it. Only think what I could do with a thousand. I've got my eye on two lovely gold watches and chains for Lizzie and you, and I know where there's a stunning diamond ring to be almost given away."
"But tell me, Alf! Isn't that gambling? and isn't gambling wrong? I've heard grandfather say it is."
"Grandfather!" exclaimed Alfred, contemptuously. "What does grandfather know of such things? When he was a young man, things were different. A young fellow didn't have the chance he's got now of making a fortune in a day, if he's wide awake. That's why I don't want grandfather to know anything of this, nor anything that I've been speaking of. And of course you'll not tell him, Lil, for you've promised."
"You may depend upon me, dear Alf. It is for your good."
But she said these last words in a doubting tone.
"That it is, and for yours, and for Lizzie's, and for grandfather's, too. As to its being gambling and wrong-now, look here, Lil. You know what grandfather thinks of the newspapers. You know that he's always speaking in praise of them, and saying what capital things they are, and what a blessing it is that a poor man can get all the news of the world for a penny. You know that, Lil."
"Yes, dear."
"Why, it was only last week that grandfather said that the cheap newspapers were the poor man's best friend and best educator, because they taught him things and showed him truthfully what was going on round about him, and that they were doing more in their quiet way for the improvement of the people than anything he ever remembered in his time."
"Yes, dear, I heard him say so."
"To be sure you did. Well, then, you look in the newspapers, and see what they say of racing. Why, they give columns upon columns about it! They employ regular prophets and tipsters, and pay 'em handsomely-regular fly men, who think they know every move on the board; and they tell you what horses to back, and what horses are going to win. They are educators and improvers, I can tell you, Lil! And they tell a fellow lots of things worth knowing-though I don't follow them always; not I! I know as much as they do sometimes, and a little more, perhaps. But I read them; I read every word the prophets write. Why, I spend sixpence a day often in papers; if it wasn't for what the prophets write in them, I don't suppose I'd spend a penny."
If Alfred had said that the columns devoted in the newspapers to the vaticinations of the prophets were his Bible, he would have been as near to the truth as he ever was in his life. The lessons they taught were bearing bitter fruit. Not for him alone; for thousands of others.
"There's the Cambridgeshire and the Cesarewitch," continued Alfred, "going to be run for soon. All the best horses in England are engaged. There won't be less than three columns about each race in some of the newspapers, and people get to know which horses have the best chances, and which horses are sure to run straight. Though, to be sure, you never can depend upon that. You must keep your eyes open. But come now, Lily, ain't you satisfied that there's nothing wrong in a young fellow doing a little betting now and then?"
"I don't see how there can be any wrong in it after what you've told me, Alf."
"And after what grandfather said," he added.
"Yes, and after what grandfather said, my dear."
"So then," he summed up, "that's where it is."
Which was Alfred's almost invariable way of disposing of a question.
"And here I have a chance," he presently resumed, "of getting out of all my money troubles, and of making everything straight for you and Lizzie, and all of us."
"But," insisted Lily, "I am very happy, Alf."
"Well, I'm going to make you happier, Lil. But you can't be quite happy, Lil, when I am in trouble."
"O, no, my dear," she said quickly: "I forgot. Forgive me for my selfishness. But you'll be out of it soon."
"It depends a good deal upon you, Lil."
"How upon me, dear?"
"Well, I don't quite know if it depends upon you, but it may, and of course I'm anxious! for to tell you the truth, I owe some money which I must pay very soon, or it will be all up with me."
"O, Alfred!"
"It's true, Lil, every word I'm telling you. My contemptible screw at the office melts away without my knowing how it goes. Besides, what's fifteen shillings a week? Fifteen shillings! When I have the opportunity of making thousands of pounds! Grandfather says, 'Think of the future;' but I say, 'Think of the present.' Grandfather preaches to me about the career that such an office as Tickle and Flint's opens out to me, if I am steady and study hard. As if he knew anything about it! A nice career indeed! Why Tickle and Flint, the pair of 'em, are like two musty old Brazil nuts. Old Flint looks as if he hasn't got a drop of blood in his body; I don't believe, if you pricked him, that you'd get a drop out of him. Well, he came to that, I suppose, because he was steady and worked hard, and never saw a bit of life, and never enjoyed himself; never wasted a minute, I daresay; a precious steady young card he must have been when he was my age, poking his nose over his law books, which give me a splitting headache only to look at 'em. You should see what he's grown into, Lil, by being steady and studying hard. He can't see an inch before his nose; his clothes are as musty as himself. Now, I put it to you, Lil," he said, with an effort at merriment, "would you like to see me like that? Would you like to see me, as he is, bent double, old, snuffy, musty, with a voice like a penny tin-whistle that's got a crack in it? Would you like to see me like an old Brazil nut? You know the kind I mean: they're very brown and very wrinkly; when you crack 'em, you find that they're filled with dust which almost chokes you."
"No, no," replied Lily amused with the description and with the vivacity with which Alfred gave it; "that I shouldn't indeed, Alf."
"Well then," said Alfred, pleased with his brilliant effort, and concluding as usual, "that's where it is."
"You haven't told me all yet," said Lily quietly, after a pause.
"I've got nothing new to tell you, Lil dear," he said, biting his nails nervously; "you know that, with the exception of you and Lizzie, I have only one friend in the world."
"Mr. Sheldrake, you mean."
"Who else? I should have been floored long ago if it hadn't been for him. If he was to throw me over I should have to run from the country, or hide myself, or do something worse perhaps."
She caught his hand in deep alarm, and begged him not to speak in that dreadful manner. "You make me so unhappy, Alfred," she said, with difficulty checking her tears.
"I don't want to, I'm sure," he replied gloomily; "I want to make you happy. I've got no one else to sympathise with me but you. I can't tell Lizzie all these things. It would make me look small, and no man likes to look so in the eyes of the girl he's fond of. Supposing you were me, Lil, how would you feel?"
Terribly perplexed at these alternations of feeling, Lily said whatever she could to comfort him.
"Tell me what I can do, Alfred?" she implored. "A good deal depends upon me, you say. If it does, dear, although I cannot see the meaning of your words, you may be sure that you will get comfortably through all your difficulties. We have been everything to each other all our lives. Do you think there is anything you would ask me to do for you that I would refuse?"
"No," replied Alfred triumphantly, "I am sure there is not. It is ungrateful of me to doubt you even for a moment. Everything will come right-you'll see! Why Lily-look yonder! Is not that Mr. Sheldrake coming along? Yes, it is, by Jove! Almost the best friend I have in the world. How strange, now, that he should appear just as we have been talking of him!"
With perfect trustfulness, Lily said, "Yes, it was strange;" and if her eyes sought the ground, and a troubled feeling took possession of her breast, it was not because she doubted the brother whom she loved with all her heart. Doubt him! No. She was too guileless, too unsuspicious, too simple in her nature, to doubt where she gave her love. But she could not banish the feeling of uneasiness that stole upon her when Mr. Sheldrake came in view, and she could not help hoping he might turn away before he noticed them. But her hope was not to be fulfilled. Mr. Sheldrake, walking in the centre of a broad patch of sunlight, strolled leisurely towards them; apparently he was in an idle mood, for he stopped every two minutes, and gazed about him with a bright look and with the air of one who was gratefully enjoying the beauty of the scene. It was singular that he never once looked before him, and he must therefore have been unconscious of the presence of Lily and Alfred. His grateful mood took a benevolent turn presently, for observing an old woman humbly dressed walking in the shadow of the trees, he called to her, and gave her a small piece of silver. Truly we are a nation of beggars. Strictly speaking this old woman was not a beggar, but she accepted the money with a thankful curtsey. Then Mr. Sheldrake paused before a couple of birds which were hopping about on the ground, contemplating them as though he derived pleasure in all such pretty things, and when they left the ground, he followed their flight with a pleasant smile. In this manner, giving full play to his benevolent instincts, only because he was conscious that he was not being observed, Mr. Sheldrake approached Lily and Alfred. He was quite close to them before he looked up and recognised them.
"What-Alfred! Miss Lily!" he exclaimed. "This is indeed a surprise! and a pleasure," he added, as he raised his hat and bowed to Lily, and shook hands with her and Alfred; then asked of Alfred gaily, "What brings you into the woods? You ought to be reckoning up six-and-eightpence! This is not a fit place for lawyers, is it, Miss Lily? They're not in keeping with birds, and trees, and blue clouds. They ought to be locked up in offices filled with cobwebs. But I never thought Alfred was cut out for a lawyer-did you?"
He addressed Lily, and she, having in her mind Alfred's description of his employer, Mr. Flint, replied, "No, indeed!" and looked at her brother affectionately. Alfred, however, was not quite at his ease; he appeared to be a little disturbed by Mr. Sheldrake's expressions of surprise at seeing them.
"If anything could have given me an additional pleasure," continued Mr. Sheldrake, with a warning look at Alfred, "the height of pleasure, I may say, it is the surprise of coming upon: you both so unexpectedly-in such a totally unexpected manner. I am an idle dog, Miss Lily, and I often take it in my head to run into the country for a day's quiet ramble. There is so much to enjoy in the country; it is so much better than the smoke and whirl of London. Don't you think so?"
Lily could not help agreeing with him, and she said as much.
"Here we are agreeing upon almost everything," he said, with another of his pleasant smiles; "agreeing that Alfred is not cut out for a lawyer; agreeing that the country is so much better than London. That we have something in unison is, believe me, an honour I appreciate."
His manner was perfectly respectful, and Lily's first feeling of discomfort at his appearance was wearing away. Everything was in his favour. He was Alfred's friend, and must be really attached to her brother, as was proved by his acts; he had given money to a poor woman, and the manner in which he regarded the birds was unmistakable evidence that he possessed a kindly nature. Then the stories which Alfred had told her of Mr. Sheldrake's benevolence recurred to her, and she was disposed to be angry with herself for being uncharitably disposed towards him. Certainly she had done him an injustice; certainly she owed him reparation. And so she spoke to him in such tones as thrilled him to hear. She told him of Alfred's kindness, of how she had enjoyed herself; how much she loved the country, and how she would like to live in it always.
"But then we have everything we wish for," she said sweetly.
"You ought to have," said Mr. Sheldrake gallantly, "your wishes are so simple. It is only a question of money."
"But what a teasing question that is!" she remarked, thinking of Alfred's troubles.
Mr. Sheldrake replied warmly that it was a burning shame (Lily was accustomed to hear such phrases from Alfred's lips, and therefore they did not sound strange to her coming from Mr. Sheldrake); if he had his way, he would take from those who had too much to give to those who had too little; things were unequal, that's what they were. Why should people be condemned to wish, when their wishes were reasonable and good, as Lily's wishes were? If there was one thing that would delight him more than another, it would be to be allowed the privilege of helping her to what she most desired. But that, of course, could not be; the conventionalities of society stepped in and said, "You must not." Was that not so? Lily said, "Yes, it was so," without at all understanding what he meant by his rodomontade.
"O, by-the-way, Alfred," said Mr. Sheldrake, after a few minutes' conversation of this description, "I have a note for you."
Alfred started like a guilty thing, for in his excited state every little unexpected event brought alarm with it. He crushed the note in his hand without looking at it, without daring to look at it. What could it contain? Was it from Con Staveley, reminding him of the acceptance so nearly due, and which he had not the means of paying? Or was it from Mr. Sheldrake himself, reminding him of his obligation to that gentleman? He was in such distress and trouble that he could not conceive it could contain any good news.
"Why don't you read it?" asked Mr. Sheldrake, with a smile. "We'll excuse you."
Alfred stepped behind a tree, so that he might hide his agitation. His heart beat wildly as he looked at the writing on the envelope-beat wildly, not with distress, but with surprise and pleasure. Opening the note hastily, he read, "Dear Alfred, – I am waiting for you. Mr. Sheldrake will tell you where I am. – Your own Lizzie." And then of course came a postscript: "What a kind good friend Mr. Sheldrake is!" Alfred read the note twice, and with a beaming face came towards Mr. Sheldrake.
"Well!" said that kind good friend. "Alfred seems pleased at something, doesn't he, Miss Lily? Good news in the note, Alf?"
His voice was full of hearty good-nature, and Lily was more remorseful than ever for the injustice she had done him in not thinking thoroughly well of him.
"What does this mean?" asked Alfred, drawing Mr. Sheldrake aside.
"How do I know?" was the reply. "I haven't read the note."
"But you know who it's from?"
"O yes; I saw her write it."
"Where is she?"
"Very near us, my boy-within a few hundred yards of this very spot."
"Here!" exclaimed Alfred. "How did she come here?"
"I brought her," replied Mr. Sheldrake with a pleasant chuckle.
"You!"
"You sly dog! Did you think I didn't know your secret? I scented it long ago, but I didn't let on. And as two's company and three's none, I thought you would like to have Lizzie to spend the afternoon with you. There'll be four of us now-two and two-just as it should be. You are a sly one, Alf. Well, never mind; you've got one of the prettiest little girls I ever set eyes on. I made the arrangement with her yesterday, and made her promise not to tell you, and not to spoil the pleasant surprise. Then I thought what a capital opportunity it would be for you to make her and your sister acquainted with one another. What do you think of me now? Am I a good friend?"
"A good friend!" exclaimed Alfred. "The best of friends!" and became almost outrageously effusive in his expressions of gratitude.
"And look here," said Mr. Sheldrake, "about that little acceptance of Con Staveley's, if you want time – "
"I do! I do!" interrupted Alfred eagerly. "I'm rather hard pressed just now, but I shall be all right presently. I've got the tip for the Cesarewitch, and I shall make a pot of money. Can you manage it for me with Con Staveley? I didn't like to ask you, but to tell you the truth, I didn't know which way to turn."
"Very well; I'll manage it for you, for Lily's sake. Don't worry yourself about it."
And then he told Alfred that Lizzie, looking as fresh as a peach-"You mustn't be jealous of me, Alf," he said-was waiting for him outside an inn opposite the entrance to Bushey Park. "Run off to her," he said; "Lily and I will wait for you here. You needn't hurry; I'll take care of Lily. We'll have a bit of dinner together, the four of us, and a row on the river, perhaps."
With radiant face Alfred hastened to Lily.
"I sha'n't be gone long, Lil," he said, kissing her. "Wait here with Mr. Sheldrake. I've got such a surprise for you. I don't believe any man ever had a more out-and-out friend than Mr. Sheldrake is to me. I want you to be very, very happy-as I am, my dear sis, my dear little Lil!"
He kissed her again, and left her with springing step. Lily was in a flutter of joy at his bright manner, and could not but feel grateful to Mr. Sheldrake for bringing such happiness to her brother. But, being left alone with him for the first time during their acquaintance, she did not feel quite at her ease, and it was while she was listening-with eyes cast modestly to the ground-to Mr. Sheldrake's soft tones, that Felix caught sight of her. She did not see him; all her attention was fixed upon Mr. Sheldrake's words.
"Yes, my dear Miss Lily," he was saying, "I am glad of the opportunity of doing Alfred a good turn; if he had no other claim upon me, he is your brother. I should like to see the man who would want a stronger argument than that. I dare say you know that he is a little bit harassed in money matters; but we'll pull him through, and when he's all right, I hope he'll know whom he has to thank for it."
"You," said Lily.
"No, my dear Miss Lily," Mr. Sheldrake, with the slightest shade of tenderness in his tone; "it is you he will have to thank. Or stay," he added gaily, "suppose we say that he has to thank the pair of us. Suppose we say that we are working together-you and I-for Alfred's good. Shall we say so?"
"If you wish," said Lily faintly.
"That's a bargain," exclaimed Mr. Sheldrake heartily. "We enter into a compact to work together for Alfred's good. I'm sure he deserves it, for he's a good fellow, and such a partner as I've got can't ask anything that I would refuse. Let us shake hands on it."
Lily held out her hand, and Mr. Sheldrake pressed it tenderly.
"And now, my dear Miss Lily, where do you think Alfred has gone to now?"
"I don't know. He seemed very excited, all of a sudden, and very happy."
"He ought to be. Do you know he has a sweetheart, the happy fellow? Has he told you about Lizzie?"
"Yes, he told me only this morning."
"He will be here directly with her. She is waiting outside the park gates for him. Are you not pleased?"
She gave him for answer a bright, happy look.
It was then that Felix turned away. He did not know, of course, what had passed between Lily and Mr. Sheldrake. But he had seen that, when they shook hands, Lily had held out hers first; and he saw, as he turned his head, the bright look which flashed into Lily's eyes as Mr. Sheldrake told her that Lizzie was near.
Something else of interest to him was taking place almost simultaneously, at a short distance from where he stood. Outside the park gates a company of street acrobats had halted, and having beaten the drum and spread their little bit of carpet, were going through their performances before an admiring audience. Among their audience was Lizzie, who took great delight in street exhibitions. She was dressed in her best clothes, and looked, as Mr. Sheldrake had said, as fresh as a peach. Her whole attention was not given to the performers, for she looked about her every now and then, expectant of some one. But she did not see that she was being watched. From the opposite side of the crowd an elderly woman, with a pale troubled face, dressed in black, was observing Lizzie's every movement, and following the girl's every motion with anxious eyes. This woman was Martha Day, housekeeper to the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell.