Loe raamatut: «A Double Knot», lehekülg 14

Volume Two – Chapter Six.
The Anchorite is Consulted Again

“I wonder whether I shall ever have any children of my own,” said John Huish; “and, if I do, whether I shall ever be so hard, cruel, and worldly to them as some people are. Money is very nice, and one would like to see one’s young folks well off; but how a mother and father can deliberately match a beautiful, innocent young girl with some old fellow because he is rich and has a title, is something beyond my comprehension. Sixty and twenty! Oh, it is a disgrace to our boasted civilisation!”

John Huish’s breakfast was on the table in his snug room, and the coffee, French rolls, and delicately-brown ham looked enticing, but they did not tempt him. He had made several beginnings, such as taking off the cover that concealed the ham, opening his napkin, pouring out the steaming amber coffee, and the like; but he had touched nothing, for a letter he had received from Gertrude that morning had taken away his appetite.

“Poor girl!” he mused; “suffering agonies, and I seem as if I can do nothing to help her. Money! Why have I not plenty of money? I always felt well enough off till this happened, and then all at once I discovered that I was a poor man.”

He wrinkled up his brow, and let his cheek down upon his hand, with his elbow in dangerous proximity to his coffee.

“I was dreaming of going up to Stonor’s again last night. Good heavens! Is it likely that I shall ever become like one of those poor fellows – unhinged, doing all kinds of things involuntarily? There must be something wrong with me; only Stonor spoke as he did, like all doctors do, to take one’s thoughts away from one’s malady. It is so strange, that perhaps I ought not to think any more of my poor darling; only Stonor encouraged me so. It would be a sin against her to marry if I really am wrong. But am I? Let me think.

“Robson, for some reason, cut me dead yesterday; but then he is one of Lady Millet’s intimates. Then Rock Anderson apologised for not paying me that money. What money? I remember no debt. It’s softening of the brain, that’s what it is – memory gradually going; and yet I think of Gertrude and dare – Well, the doctor said I was all right; he ought to know. He said it was only a lapse of memory now and then.

“But there are so many things which are so puzzling. Friends seem to be dropping away from me. Man after man with whom I used to be intimate cuts me dead.

“No, no, no!” he cried impatiently; “I will not think of it. And as to that woman who came to me and made me worry my brains, it must have been some town trick.”

But the cloud hung over him still, various little matters connected with his daily life clinging together like snowflakes from that cloud, till the recollection of his position with regard to Gertrude came back, and her face shone through the darkness to dissipate the mental mist.

“Yes!” he cried, brightening up; “the doctor must be right. He encouraged me in my ideas; and my darling will keep away all these wretched morbid fancies. But what am I to do?

“Act!” he cried sharply; “act! – not sit down here like a morbid, dreamy fool, and let that old woman have her way in making two people wretched for life. I’ll go to Captain Millet’s and see him. Not so easy, though,” he said, laughing. “Never mind; I’ll go. He must have plenty of influence. Oh, of course; and if he fails, why, there’s the doctor. Hang it! he might interfere, and put in a certificate saying that it would be the death of the poor girl if she is forced into a wedding with that fellow. But the old man told me to – Oh, what a hesitating fool I am!”

Meanwhile, matters were progressing in no very pleasant way at the Millet’s. Renée made no confidant of her mother, but clung to her sister, from whom Lady Millet heard a portion of the trouble that had fallen upon her child.

“There, I can’t help it,” said her ladyship. “I do everything I can for you children, and if matters go wrong through your own imprudence, you must put up with the consequences. There, there, it is a silly young married couple’s piece of quarrelling, and they must make it up as fast as they can.”

“But, mamma!” said Gertrude.

“Don’t argue with me, Gertrude. Renée must have been imprudent, and she must take the consequences. She had no business to encourage Major Malpas to visit her; and I trust that this will be a warning to you when you are married.”

“Mamma!”

“Oh yes, I understand you, Gertrude,” said her ladyship; “but I know your obstinacy, and I maintain that it would be utter madness for you to see that man after your marriage.”

“But, mamma, you would not think of pressing on that affair now Renée is in such trouble.”

“What has that to do with it, child? What has Renée’s trouble to do with your marriage? Lord Henry has been put off long enough. I wish you to accept him; and I am convinced that a word, even a look, would make him propose.”

“Oh, mamma!”

“Gertrude, I insist! I know he likes you, and if he is to be kept back like this, a scheming woman will secure him for some creature or another. Why, it is nearly a month since he called, and no wonder, after your icy conduct! I shall take steps at once. Let me see, a dinner-party will be best. There, I’m going out; I’ll resume the subject on my return.”

“Oh, mamma, mamma!” cried Gertrude as soon as she was alone. “But I will not; I’d sooner die.”

Lady Millet was put off from resuming the subject on her return, and during her absence Gertrude had relieved her troubled heart by writing a letter of no small importance to herself.

Next day she was driven to Chesham Place with Lady Millet, who left her there while her ladyship went to attend to some shopping.

“Not been back?” said Gertrude eagerly, as she gazed in her sister’s pale face.

“No, Gertrude, not yet,” replied Renée; “but he will come soon, I hope,” she continued, with a sigh full of resignation; “I am waiting. And now about your troubles. Is this affair to take place?”

“So mamma says,” replied Gertrude, with a bitter smile. “Like you, I am to have an establishment.”

“Oh, Gertrude, sister!” whispered Renée, kissing her. “But it makes it less bitter, now that Mr Huish has proved to be – ”

Gertrude laid her hand upon her lips.

“Hush, Renée!” she cried. “I do not know what you may have heard, and I will not listen to it. Neither will I sit and hear a word against Mr Huish.”

“I will not speak against him, dear,” said Renée sadly; and she gazed piteously in her sister’s eyes.

“And you, Renée? My poor darling! your position gives me the heartache.”

“I shall wait, Gertrude. Some day he will find out my innocence and return to ask my pardon. I can wait till then. You see, dear, that, like you, I have faith, and can abide my time.”

In place of returning home, Gertrude persuaded her sister to accompany her to her uncle’s, where Vidler admitted them both directly, and showed them up to the darkened drawing-room.

It was a curious change from the bright sunshine of the street to the gloom within; but it seemed to accord well with the sadness in the sisters’ breasts, and they sat and talked to the old man, playing to him as well, till it drew near the time for them to return to their respective homes.

All this time the pale, almost ghostly-looking hand was playing about in the little opening, and indicating by its nervous action that something was passing in the ordinarily calm mind of its owner.

“Renée, my child,” he said at last, “I can hear that you are in trouble.”

There was no reply for a few moments, and then she said softly: “Yes, dear uncle.”

“I do not ask you for your confidence,” he said, “for if it is some trouble between you and your husband it should be sacred. I dreaded this,” he muttered to himself. “Gertrude, my child, I would not, if I could help it, do anything to encourage you to act in disobedience to your parents’ wishes, but be careful how you enter on this proposed alliance. I like it not, I like it not.”

Gertrude did not answer, only stole to the opening, and pressed her warm fresh lips to the cold white hand. Then the young people took their leave, and the yellow-looking house in Wimpole Street resumed its wonted aspect of gloom.

Volume Two – Chapter Seven.
Brought to a Double Head

“Ah, my dearest boy!” cried Lady Millet, an evening or two later; “I did not expect you.”

“’Spose not,” said Dick shortly; “but I’ve come, all the same.”

“You want money, sir, I suppose; and I will not have papa worried.”

“No, I don’t want money. I’ve come up on particular business.”

“Business! Great heavens, my dear child! what is the matter?”

“Well, I don’t know yet. But, I say, is Gertrude going to marry John Huish?”

“Certainly not – impossible! I have other views for your sister.”

“And what are they?”

“This is a subject I should discuss with your papa, Richard; but you are a man grown now, and I am sorry to say papa does not afford me the support I should like, so I will tell you in confidence. I believe Lord Henry Moorpark will propose directly.”

“Do you? I don’t.”

“What do you mean, Dick?” cried her ladyship sharply.

“That’s what has brought me up to town. Lady Littletown has been stealing a march on you, and is trying to egg him on to propose elsewhere.”

“The wretched scheming creature! Oh! No, no, it is impossible. You are mistaken, my boy.”

“Oh no, I’m not. The old chap is quite on there at Hampton Court. But of course he has no chance.”

“Stop! At Hampton Court? Who is the lady?”

“One of the Miss Dymcoxes’ nieces, living with her aunts in the Palace.”

“Philippa Dymcox’s niece?”

“Yes.”

“Not a Miss Riversley?”

“That’s the name, mamma.”

“How horrible! – Riversleys! Why, they are connected with the Huishes. That Mr John Huish’s father married a Miss Riversley.”

“Very likely,” said Dick Millet coolly. “That’s the lady, all the same – Miss Dymcox’s niece.”

“The Dymcoxes! the paupers! Lady Littletown’s doing! Oh, that woman!”

“You don’t like her, then, mamma?”

“Like her? Ugh!” exclaimed Lady Millet in tones of disgust; “I can soon put a stop to that, my son.” Her ladyship compressed her lips. “But it is all Gertrude’s fault, behaving so ridiculously about that John Huish. I don’t know what she may not have said to Lord Henry the other night. He was almost at her feet, and now he shall be quite. John Huish indeed! – a man going hopelessly to the bad,” Her ladyship rang. “There is no time to be lost. I must act at once. Lord Henry Moorpark must be brought back to his allegiance. Send Miss Gertrude’s maid to ask her to step down here,” continued her ladyship to the servant who answered the bell.

“What are you going to do?”

“Arrange for invitations to be sent out at once. Oh, Dick, my boy, the stories I have heard lately about Mr Huish’s gambling and dissipation are terrible! Gertrude has had a marvellous escape. It is very shocking, for your uncle and father have known the Huishes all their lives. Well?”

“Richards says, my lady, that Miss Millet went out an hour ago.”

“Out? Gone out?”

“Yes, my lady; and Richards found this note left on the dressing-table, my lady, stuck down on the cushion with a pin.”

“Great heavens!” cried Lady Millet, snatching the note from a salver; “there, leave the room.”

The man bowed and moved to the door, in time to open it for Sir Humphrey, who stood beaming at his son, while her ladyship tore open the letter and read:

“Dear Mamma, —I cannot marry Lord Henry Moorpark. Good-bye.”

“That’s all!” cried her ladyship in a perfect wail. “What does it mean?”

“Looks suspicious,” said Dick. “Hullo!” he continued, as the servant reopened the door. “Can’t see visitors.”

“Mr Frank Morrison, sir,” said the man, who looked rather scared at seeing her ladyship sink upon a couch, where Sir Humphrey began to fan her.

“What the deuce does he want?” grumbled Dick. “Hullo, Frank! I was coming to see you about that row with our Renée. Gertrude wrote and told me.”

“My wife here?” said Morrison, who was a good deal excited by wine.

“What, Renée? No!”

“Damn!” cried the young husband, dropping upon a chair, and looking from one to the other.

“Something fresh, then?” cried Dick, growing excited. “Here, why the devil don’t you speak, man?”

“Yes, yes! why don’t you speak?” cried Lady Millet piteously. “Oh, Frank dear, what news? Have you seen Gertrude?”

“No,” he said thickly. “I want Renée.”

“Where is she? Speak, I conjure you!” cried her ladyship.

“Don’t know,” said Morrison, glancing round. “Haven’t been home for days. Went home this afternoon. Had some words and came away again.”

“Well, well, go on! I saw you playing billiards at the club.”

“Yes,” said Morrison, whose brain was clouded with days of excess. “Went home again just now. Going to make it up, and she’d gone. Where is she? Want her directly.”

Dick stood thinking for a few moments, while her ladyship looked at him as if imploring him to speak.

“She’s in it, p’raps,” he said. “Look here, Frank, can you understand me, or have you got D.T. too bad?”

“Yes, I understand,” said the young man thickly.

“Gertrude’s gone away. We think your wife must be in the plot.”

“No,” said Morrison slowly, as he gave his head a shake to clear it, and stood up angry and fierce, while the others hung upon his words as being likely to dispel their fears. “No, poor girl! too much trouble. I’m a villain,” he groaned, “and I struck her to-night; but – but,” he cried excitedly, “she deceived me. Gone with Malpas. She’s false as hell!”

“It’s a lie!” cried Dick fiercely. “Here, father, see to my mother. It’s a lie, I say; and you, Frank Morrison, you’re a cad to dare to – Ah!” said the lad, uttering a shrill cry, and he had just time to drive up a pistol as it exploded, and save his brother-in-law’s brains from being scattered on the wall.

Then there was a fierce struggle, as Frank Morrison strove to direct the revolver at his temples once more, and Dick fought with him bravely till overpowered; but two of the frightened servants ran in, and with their help the madman was secured and held down till the arrival of the nearest doctor, a messenger having been also sent for Dr Stonor, who arrived a couple of hours later; and between them the excitement of the would-be suicide was somewhat allayed, though he was still half mad.

It was the old story – days and days of heavy use of stimulants, till the fevered madness that generally comes in its wake had seized upon an already too excited brain; and it was only by the use of the strongest measures that the medical men were able to restrain their patient’s violence, as he rambled on wildly hour after hour, the burden of his incoherent mutterings being, “My wife! my wife!”

Volume Two – Chapter Eight.
Dick Millet Feels Grown Up

“Bad?” said Dr Stonor, when he was left alone to attend his patient at Sir Humphrey’s. “Yes, of course he is bad – very bad. But I don’t call this illness. He must suffer. Men who drink always do.”

“But her ladyship, Stonor?” said Sir Humphrey; “will you come and see her now?”

“No,” said the doctor roughly. “What for? Nothing the matter. She can cure herself whenever she likes. What are you going to do about your sister, soldier boy?”

“I – I don’t know,” replied Dick. “Ought I to fetch her back?”

“Yes – no – can’t say,” said the doctor. “Hang this man, how strong he is! Look here, Dick, my boy: here’s a lesson for you. You will be a man some day. When you are, don’t go and poison yourself with drink till your brain revolts and sets up a government of its own. Look at this: the man’s as mad as a hatter, and I shall have to nearly poison him with strong drugs to calm him down. A wild revolutionary government, with death and destruction running riot. Think your sister has gone with John Huish?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Dick, for Sir Humphrey seemed utterly unnerved.

“Don’t see anything to be afraid of, boy. John Huish is a gentleman.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Dick hotly; “and it isn’t gentlemanly to act as he has done about my sister.”

“I shall have to get a strait-waistcoat for this fellow. About your sister. Bah! Human nature. Wait till you get old enough to fall in love, and some lady – mamma, say – wants to marry your pretty little Psyche to an old man. How then, my young Cupid?”

Dick changed colour like a girl.

“I hold to John Huish being a thorough gentleman, my boy. He’s all right. I wish Renée’s husband was as good a man. Yes, I mean you – you drunken, mad idiot I’m going to bring you round, and when I’ve done so, I hope, Dick, if he ever dares to say a word again about your sister Renée – ”

“You’ve heard then?”

“Heard? Of course. Doctors hear and know everything. Parson’s nowhere beside a doctor. People don’t tell the parson all the truth: they always keep a little bit back. They tell the doctor all because they know he can see right through them. Lie still, stupid. Ha! he’s calming down.”

“Isn’t he worse, Stonor?” asked Sir Humphrey.

“No; not a bit. And as I was saying, if, when he gets on his legs again, he dares to say a word against his wife, knock him down. I’ll make him so weak it will be quite easy.”

“Well, he deserves it,” said Dick.

“Of course he does. So do you, for thinking ill of your sister. I’ll be bound to say, if you sent to Wimpole Street, you’d find the poor girls there soaking pocket-handkerchiefs.”

“By Jove! yes,” cried Dick, starting at the doctor’s suggestion. “Why, of course. Doctor, you’ve hit it! Depend upon it, they’re gone to Uncle Robert’s, father.”

“Think so, my boy, eh? – think so?” said the old gentleman. “It would be very dull and gloomy.”

“Nonsense!” said the doctor. “My dear boy, the more I think of it, the more likely it seems to me that they have gone there.”

“Yes; that’s it, doctor. Guv’nor, I don’t like to be hard on you, but the doctor’s a very old friend. It’s a nice thing – isn’t it? – that our girls should have to go to Uncle Robert’s for the protection they cannot find here?”

“Yes, my dear boy, it is, it is,” said the old man querulously; “but I can’t help it. Her ladyship took the reins as soon as we were married, and she’s held them very tightly ever since.”

“Well, we’ll go and see. You’ll stay with Frank Morrison, doctor?”

“Stay, sir? Yes, I will. Think I’m going to be dragged down here from Highgate for nothing? I’ll make Master Morrison play the shoddy-devil in his Yorkshire mill for something. He shall have such a bill as shall astonish him.”

“Here, fetch a cab,” shouted Dick to the man who answered the bell; and soon after the jangling vehicle was taking them to Wimpole Street.

It was four o’clock, and broad daylight, as the cab drew up at Captain Millet’s door, when, in answer to a ring which Dick expected it would take half an hour to get attended to, the door was opened directly by Vidler.

“You were expecting us, then?” said Dick, as the little man put his head on one side, and glanced from the young officer to his father, and back again.

“Yes, sir. Master said you might come at any time, so I sat up.”

“All right, father; they’re here. What time did they come, Vidler?”

“They, sir?”

“Yes – my sisters,” said Dick impatiently. “What time did they come?”

“Miss Renée came here about half-past ten, sir.”

“There, dad,” whispered Dick. “And Frank swore she’d gone off with Malpas. I knew it wasn’t true. He wouldn’t insult a brother officer like that.”

“I’m very glad, my boy – I’m very glad,” said Sir Humphrey feebly; and Dick turned to Vidler again.

“And Miss Gertrude, what time did she get here?”

“Miss Gertrude, sir?”

“Don’t be a stupid old idiot!” cried Dick excitedly. “I say – what – time – did – my – sister – Gertrude-get here?”

“She has not been here, sir,” replied the little man – “not to-night.”

Dick looked blankly at his father, and, in spite of his determination not to believe the story suggested about his sister, it seemed to try and force itself upon his brain.

“Where is Mrs Morrison?” he cried at last.

“Lying down, sir. Salome is watching by her. She seemed in great distress, sir, and,” he added in a whisper, “we think master came out of his room and went to her when we had gone down.”

“Poor Robert!” muttered Sir Humphrey.

“Master’s very much distressed about her, gentlemen. Miss Renée is a very great favourite of his.”

“Is my uncle awake, do you think?”

“I think so, sir,” was the reply.

“Ask him if he will say a few words to my father and me. Tell him we are in great trouble.”

The little man bowed and went upstairs, returning at the end of a minute or two to request them to walk up.

“Last time I was here,” thought Dick, “I asked him for a couple of tenners, and he told me never to come near him again. A stingy old hunks! But, there, he’s kind to the girls.”

The little panel opened as Vidler closed the door, and Sir Humphrey, looking very old, and grey of hair and face, sat looking at it, leaving his son to open the conversation.

“Well, Humphrey, what is it?” said the voice behind the wainscoting.

“How do you do, Bob?” began the old gentleman. “I – I – Richard, my boy, tell your uncle; I’m too weak and upset.”

“We’re in great trouble, uncle,” began Dick sharply.

“Yes, I know,” said the voice. “Renée has fled to me for protection from her husband. You did well amongst you. Poor child!”

“Hang it all, uncle, don’t talk like that!” cried Dick impetuously. “You ought to know that we had nothing to do with it. Help us; don’t scold us.”

“I am helping you,” said the Captain. “Renée stays here with me till she can be sure of a happy home. And, look here,” he continued, growing in firmness, “she has told me everything. If you are a man, you will call out anyone who dares say a word against her fame.”

“It’s all very well, uncle,” said Dick; “but this is 18 – , and not your young days. No one has a word to say against Renée. But look here, uncle, that isn’t all. Gertrude has gone off.”

“With John Huish, of course. Ah, Humphrey, how strangely Fate works her ways!”

“But, uncle, they say John Huish has turned out an utter swindler and scamp. Last thing I heard was that he had been expelled from his club.”

“Let them talk,” said Captain Millet quietly. “I say it cannot be true.”

“But, Bob,” faltered Sir Humphrey weakly, “they do make out a very bad case against him.”

“Then you and your boy can take up the cudgels on his behalf. He is son and brother now. There, I am weary. Go.”

“But Renée – we must see her.”

“No; let the poor girl rest. When you can find her a decent home, if she wishes it, she can come.”

The little wicket was closed with a sharp snap, and father and son gazed at each other in the gloomy room.

“Come back home, Dick,” said Sir Humphrey feebly. “And take warning, my boy: be a bachelor. Ladies in every shape and form are a great mistake.”

Dick Millet thought of the glowing charms of Clotilde and Marie Dymcox, but he said nothing, only hinted to his father that he ought to give Vidler a sovereign; and this done, they went back into the cab.

Half an hour later they were back in the room where Frank Morrison lay talking wildly in a loud, husky voice.

“Oh, well, so much the better,” said the doctor, when he heard all. “Capital calming place for your sister at your uncle’s. And as for Gertrude – bless her sweet face! – your uncle must be right. Bet a guinea he knew beforehand. I wish her and John Huish joy, he’ll never make her leave her home, and drink himself into such a state as this.”

“I hope not,” thought Dick; but just then some of the ugly rumours he had heard crossed his mind, and he had his doubts.

“Precious hard on a fellow,” he said to himself, “two sisters going off like that! I wonder what Glen and the other fellows will say. Suppose fate forced me to do something of the same kind!”