Lady Anna Maria Morton, too, was there, standing with that stuck-up Mr “Rawthur” Litton, and Miss Marie with Lord Henry, and Lady Littletown, who seemed to have the management of the whole business, with Captain Glen; and at last, after the Honourable Philippa had kissed Mrs Elbraham once again, and then nearly fainted in little Dick Millet’s arms, the bride and bridegroom passed on towards the carriage, while people began to throw white slippers at them, and shower handfuls of rice, some of which fell on the bride’s bonnet and some upon the bridegroom, a good deal going down inside his coat-collar and some in his neck. But he went on smiling and bowing, and looking, Joseph thought, very much like a publican who had been dressed up in tight clothes, and then in consequence had burst into a profuse perspiration.
Glen was standing close by the carriage with a half-laugh upon his face as the bridegroom passed, and Joseph thought he looked very tall and strong and handsome, and as if he would like to pitch Mr Elbraham into the middle of the fountain.
And then, just as they were getting into the carriage, it seemed to Joseph that Miss Clotilde – he meant Mrs Elbraham, the rich financier’s wife – turned her head and looked at Captain Glen in a strange wild way, which made him turn aside and look at Miss Marie, when the bride went for the first time into a hysterical fit of sobbing as she was helped into the carriage, where Mr Elbraham followed her smiling red smiles. The steps were rattled up, the door banged, the footman waited a moment as the chariot moved away; and then sprang up into the rumble beside Mrs Elbraham’s maid, and away went the chariot as fast as four good post horses could take it towards London, bound for Charing Cross Station.
What took place at the private apartments afterwards Joseph did not know, for long before the chariot had reached Richmond, the honest serving-man’s head was wedged in a corner between the press bedstead in the pantry and the wall, and his confused ideas had gone off into dreamland, apparently on the back of a snorting horse, bent on recovering a certain five-pound note which was required for tying up a white satin slipperful of rice, which had been emptied out of Mr Elbraham’s glass into a Lincoln and Bennett hat.
End of Volume Two
Volume Three – Chapter One. The Story. – Years Ago – (Continued).
Gertrude’s Husband
Meanwhile the days glided on so peacefully for John Huish and his wife, that it seemed to him as if at last the ghost which had haunted his life had been laid.
Sir Humphrey was spending the evening with them, and Dick was expected, as Gertrude was seated in her little drawing-room at the piano, singing one of the sad old melodies that pleased her uncle so well. Her husband was leaning on the instrument gazing down into her gentle eyes, as she looked up at him with her countenance full of the calm joy she felt in the presence of the man of her choice. He was strange at times, but that did not trouble her, for he was gentle and loving always, ready to humour her slightest whim, and kindness itself to the feeble old gentleman who loved to come and prattle and prose in their quiet little home.
“John,” she whispered, as her fingers strayed over the keys, and her voice was rather sad.
“My darling,” he said softly.
“Do you know what it is to feel so happy that it seems as if it could not last?”
“Yes,” he said, bending lower over her; “I have felt so ever since the day when you consented to be my little wife, and still it lasts.”
The piano was again going softly, and for the third time Gertrude sang, in a voice that lulled the old gentleman off to sleep, “Love’s young dream.”
“Let it be always ‘Love’s young dream,’” whispered Huish, as he sank down on one knee beside the music-stool. “Gertrude, darling, I am so happy that it is like being in a dream, one from which we will never let the world wake us with its troubles.”
She let her head rest upon his shoulder, and her arm was thrown tightly round his neck.
“Yes,” she whispered; “let us dream.”
“Yes,” he replied, “we two always. I can feel that here within these arms I hold all the world – that heaven has been so bounteous to me that I can never be sufficiently grateful, and – ”
He rose quickly, for there was a step outside, and a servant entered.
“If you please, sir, there are two gentlemen want to see you downstairs.”
Huish turned pale, for a strange sense of coming trouble flashed upon him.
“Did they send up their names?” he said, recovering himself.
“No, sir, only said would you be kind enough to step down, sir, without disturbing my mistress. It was something particular.”
“Is anything wrong, John?” said Gertrude earnestly.
“Wrong? No, my dear, I hope not. Some bit of business: people for a subscription or something. I shall be back directly. Go on playing, or we shall wake your father.”
She nodded and smiled as she resumed her seat at the piano; and as Huish went quietly out of the room, the sad strain of olden days his wife was playing seemed to grow more and more mournful when the notes were muffled by the closed door.
“Where are the gentlemen, Jane?” he said quietly.
“In the dining-room, sir,” said the girl, with a strange look; and as he entered she stood waiting on the mat.
One of the gas-burners was alight, and Huish started as, on entering the room, he found himself face to face with a dark, stern-looking man, and a policeman, who immediately placed his back against the door.
“Is anything the matter?” said Huish quickly.
“Well, yes, a little,” said the stern, dark man. “Mr Huish – John Huish?”
“Yes; I am John Huish.”
“Then you are my prisoner, Mr John Huish; here is the warrant. Smith – cuffs!”
“Stop! One minute!” exclaimed Huish excitedly. “What does this mean?”
“Only the end of the little game, sir,” said the dark, stern man. “Long lane that has no turning. Turning’s come at last!”
“I do not understand you. Some mistake.”
“Yes, sir, these matters always are little mistakes. Are you ready?”
“No! Stop!” cried Huish. “Send that man away. You need not secure me. I will go with you.”
The stern man relaxed a little, and smiled.
“Won’t do,” he said. “We’ve had too much trouble to run you down, sir. You well-educated ones are too precious clever. We’ve got a cab waiting.”
“But my wife – my – we have company here.”
“There, come along, sir, and get away quietly without letting them know. It’s no use trying any dodges on, because we’ve got you, and don’t mean to let you slip.”
“Tell me at least what it means!” cried Huish.
“The big burglary last night, if you want to know for which little game it is; but don’t be uneasy.”
“My hat and overcoat,” said Huish quickly. “Get me away quietly, so that they do not see upstairs. I tell you, man, that I will not try to escape you. I have only to go to the station to explain that this is a mistake.”
“Get the gentleman’s hat and coat,” said the plain-clothes officer; and the policeman opened the door so suddenly that the maid was caught listening.
“Jane, here, quick!” cried Huish. “Tell your mistress after we are gone that I am suddenly called away on business.”
“And won’t be back to-night, my dear,” said the officer. “Now, sir, are you ready?”
Huish nodded, feeling confused and prostrated by the suddenness of the seizure. For a moment he half felt disposed to resist, but he refrained, and, stepping into the hall, the girl opened the door just as Dick came up the steps.
“Why, Huish!” he cried in astonishment.
“Hush!” cried the other. “Not a word to Gertrude. There is some mistake. Go up to your father, and bring him round to the station. It will be a question of bail, eh, constable?”
“Yes, sir, I should think it would,” said the officer drily; and, taking his prisoner’s wrist, he hurried him into the cab.
“Then it must be all true about him, and he’s caught at last,” muttered Dick, whose throat felt dry and lips parched. “Poor little Gertrude! What will her ladyship say?”
He stood thinking of what he should do as the cab rolled away, and then entered slowly, feeling that he must leave matters a good deal to chance. But the deepest-laid scheme of breaking the news would have been blown to the winds, for the maid had hurried up open-mouthed to blurt out to Gertrude that master had been took, and that they were going to handcuff him and put him to prison for burglary.
“Is this girl mad, Dick?” said Gertrude, who was trembling violently, while Sir Humphrey stood up hardly yet awake.
“Some cock-and-bull nonsense – a blunder, I suppose,” replied Dick hastily.
“But she says the police – have taken my husband.”
“They – they – they are always making these confounded blunders, my dear,” exclaimed the old man. “There, there, be quiet, my dear. Dick and I will go and see.”
“Yes, father, I was going to propose it. John wishes us to go. There, Gertrude, don’t be stupid. I’ve no doubt it’s all right.”
“Dick,” she cried, catching his arm and gazing in his face; “you don’t think so. There is some great trouble. What is it?”
“I don’t know – I can’t tell; only that you are hindering us when we might be of service to John. Be a woman, Gertrude, and take all that comes as a wife should. There, there, don’t cry. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
“I must go with you,” she cried. “If my husband is in prison my place is by his side.”
“Yes, yes, my dear,” said the old man querulously; “that’s what they say in books, but the law won’t stand it. Come along, Dick. I say, my boy,” he whispered, as they reached the hall, “it’s precious hard on me that my sons-in-law should get into such scrapes. What has John been doing?”
“Heaven knows, father, but I fear the worst,” whispered Dick; but his words were heard upstairs by Gertrude, who was leaning over the balustrade, and the poor girl staggered back into the little drawing-room to sob as if her heart would break.
“But I must be a woman and act,” she said, drying her eyes hastily; and ringing, she despatched the girl with a short note to her sister, begging her to come back in the cab directly with the messenger. Then she sat down patiently to wait, after declining the cook’s offer of help.
Ten minutes afterwards there was a quick ring at the bell, and the remaining servant answered the door.
Gertrude ran to the landing, and glanced down, to utter a cry of joy, for at that moment a well-known voice exclaimed roughly:
“Where is your mistress?” and she ran down to meet her husband in the hall.
John Huish seemed to Gertrude greatly excited and hurried. There was something strange, too, in his way which she could not understand, but set it down to that which he had gone through.
“Oh, John,” she began, clinging to him; but he checked her, keeping his face half averted, and speaking in a harsh whisper.
“Hush!” he exclaimed. “Not a word. Go down.”
This to the servant, who tossed her head at the imperative order and left the hall.
“Now,” he said, “quick – your hat and jacket! I have a cab waiting.”
“Are we going out, dear?” she said inquiringly. “I have just sent for Renée.”
“How foolish!” he cried. “But waste no time.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, wondering at his strange, impetuous manner.
“Don’t waste time, dear,” he cried, “but get ready. You shall know all as we go.”
Gertrude’s tears began to flow and half blinded her, but she hurried away to prepare herself, while Huish walked quickly from room to room, muttering impatiently. Not that there was much need, for Gertrude reappeared at the end of a minute or two, rapidly tying on her hat, to find the gas turned down.
“I am ready, dear,” she said, laying her hand upon his arm.
“That’s right,” he cried. “Come along!”
“Shall I tell cook how long we shall be?” said Gertrude.
“No, no. Come along,” he cried impatiently, and, hurrying her out of the house, he helped her into a cab. “Cannon Street Station,” he cried to the driver, and jumping in beside her, the cab rattled off.
“Are we going to leave town, dear?”
“You’ll soon see,” he cried. “I can’t talk to you now; the cab-wheels make so much noise. Can’t you trust me?”
“Oh yes,” she cried, laying her hand upon his arm, “but you forget how anxious I am to know more.”
“Well, well, be patient,” he cried. “There, if you must know, I have been short of money.”
“Yes, dear, of course. I knew. You forget,” she said piteously.
“Yes, of course,” he replied. “Well, I was arrested for debt, and I have got away. We must stay in private – there, I’ll speak plainly – in hiding for a time.”
“Oh, John dear, this is very terrible!” she cried. “Why not go to Uncle Robert? He would help us, I am sure.”
“Yes, perhaps so. We will settle that afterwards. The first thing is to get to a place of safety.”
“Safety, John dear?”
“Well, you don’t want me to remain in prison?” he said.
“Oh no, dear,” she cried, clinging to him. “But, Dick – my father!”
“What about them?” he said sharply.
“What did they say to you?”
“When? How?” he asked.
“They came after you, dear,” she said simply.
“Oh yes; they are busy with the police, of course.”
She sat listening to the noise of the cab-wheels as it rattled along in the direction of the City.
Nothing more was said till the vehicle drew up, when Huish leaped out and helped her to alight. He then handed the cabman a liberal fare and exclaimed: “Come along, or we shall miss the train.”
He hurried her into the station, along the platform, and into the waiting-room.
“Sit down a minute,” he exclaimed, and he went to the door to look out, but returned directly, looking so strange that Gertrude shrank from him involuntarily, and had to make an effort to master a curious feeling of repugnance which came over her.
He drew her arm quickly through his, and, bidding her lower her veil, led her hastily out of the station, across the road and into a narrow lane.
“Are we not going by train?” she asked.
“No; it is too late. Just gone. Come along, and don’t talk.”
She hurried along by his side, for he was walking very fast, and only noticed that they went through a perfect maze of narrow turnings, now up, now down, Huish stopping from time to time to look back to see if they were followed.
He kept this up for nearly an hour, and Gertrude was getting hot and exhausted, when he turned sharply into a darker and narrower lane, glancing rapidly up and down the deserted place with its two or three lamps and dimly-lighted public-house. The next moment he had thrust her into a heavy doorway, there was a rattle of a latch-key, and Gertrude felt herself drawn into a dark passage, and the door was closed.
“John!” she whispered, as the tremor which had before attacked her returned.
“Safe at last!” he muttered, drawing his breath with a low hiss, and not heeding her. “Tired?”
“Rather, dear,” she panted. “But, John, what place is this?”
“My sanctuary,” he said, in a peculiar voice. “Give me your hand. Come along. I’ll tell you when the stairs begin.”
He led her along the dark passage, and a strange chill of dread struck upon Gertrude. As they reached the first landing, a light suddenly shone out, and a few steps higher she gazed wonderingly at the weird figure of an old woman, with long, grey, unkempt hair, holding an ill-smelling paraffin lamp high above her head.
There was an intent, curious, inquiring look in the old woman’s eyes, as they seemed to fasten upon the new-comer, gradually growing vindictive, as they passed her without a word.
“Who is that?” whispered Gertrude.
“Servant,” said Huish laconically. “Won’t make you jealous, eh?”
“John,” she whispered back in a pained voice; “why do you speak to me like that?”
“Oh, it’s only my way,” he said flippantly. “Come along.”
They went up farther, and, reaching the second floor, Huish threw open the door of a comfortable, well-lit room, and drew her in, hastily opened the door of communication with the next room, satisfied himself that it was empty, went on and locked the farther door leading out to the landing, and returned.
“There,” he said; “you will be safe here.”
“Oh yes, John dear,” she said, gazing at him wonderingly, “his manner seemed so strange; but I am so anxious to know.”
“Yes, yes; all in good time, dear,” he cried. “There, off with that hat and jacket. Why, my dear,” he cried, “you look lovely!”
There was a hot red spot in his cheeks as he spoke in a curiously excited way, and Gertrude felt a strange sense of shrinking as he hastily snatched away her jacket, threw it on a chair, and clasped her in his arms.
“John,” she cried, struggling to free herself, “look! look!”
He loosed his grasp and turned suddenly upon a figure which stood right in the doorway, that of a tall handsome woman, looking ghastly pale, and her great eyes dilated with rage and surprise. She had evidently risen from a sick couch, and wore a long loose white dressing-gown, which, with her long dark hair flowing over her shoulders, gave her an almost supernatural look, heightened by the silence in which she gazed from one to another.
“What are you doing here?” cried Huish sharply. “I thought you were in bed – ill.”
“I was,” replied the woman slowly, “till I heard you return.”
“Go back to it then,” he said brutally; “why do you come here?”
Gertrude shrank back towards the couch, as the woman slowly entered, with her eyes fixed fiercely upon her, and the door swung to.
“Who is this?” she cried, in a low angry voice.
“Take no notice of her. I will get her away,” whispered Huish, crossing to Gertrude’s side. “She is mad!”
“No, girl, I am not mad,” said the woman sternly; for her hearing seemed to have been sharpened by her illness, and she had heard every word. “John Huish,” she said sternly, “answer me – who is this?”
Gertrude’s eyes dilated with horror. She was confused and startled. She could not comprehend her position or why they were there; and as the recollection of the happy evening she had spent came to mingle with the chaos of fancies and surmises that bewildered her brain, it seemed to her like some strange nightmare, from which she felt that she would soon awake into peace and repose.
To make the scene more impressive, the heavy, deep booming of a clock striking midnight floated into the room with a strange jangle of other bells, some slow, some hurried, all bent on proclaiming the same fact – that another day was dead, another being born.
As the woman repeated her question, Huish’s eyes grew dark with rage, and he pointed to the door.
“Go down,” he said, “at once, or – ”
She shrank from him for a moment as she saw his look; but her jealous rage mastered her fear, and she stepped farther into the room.
Huish seemed undecided what to do; he glanced at Gertrude, then at the woman, and then back to see that the former was looking at him imploringly, as if asking him to end the scene.
“Go back to bed,” he said firmly; “you are ill!” and he laid his hand upon the woman’s arm.
“Worse in mind than in body!” she cried, starting away. “Girl,” she continued passionately, “you look truthful and unspoiled; tell me who you are.”
“Oh yes!” said Gertrude quickly, as she advanced with extended hand, and a look of pity in her face. “I am Mrs Huish.”
The woman’s lower jaw dropped, and a blank, stony look came into her eyes.
“Married!” she said hoarsely. “Are you his wife – to-day?”
“Oh no!” said Gertrude wonderingly; “for some time now. You are ill and delicate. Can I do anything for you?”
“No, no – no, no! Don’t touch me; I could not bear it. Tell me once more.”
“Here, enough of this!” cried Huish angrily. “Go down!”
“Don’t touch her,” said Gertrude excitedly; and she interposed. “She is ill – very ill. I am Mrs John Huish,” she repeated.
“The woman he has wronged?”
“No, no!” said Gertrude, beginning to tremble, as she thought of the scene upon the stairs; “but you are – ”
“That man’s lawful wife, whom he now casts aside for some pretty baby face that takes his fancy.”
“It is not true!” cried Gertrude with spirit; “my husband is a gentleman and the soul of honour.”
“It is true! and that man is a liar – a cheat – a scoun – O God, I cannot bear it! Let me die!”
The woman threw up her hands and reeled. In another instant she would have fallen, but Huish stepped forward, caught her in his arms, and bore her out of the room, carrying her down to the next floor, while Gertrude, as she heard his receding steps, sank into a chair, and gazed blankly before her.
She started up though, as Huish returned with a smile upon his face, and closed and locked the door.
“Poor thing!” he said lightly; “I am sorry she came up. Ill, you know. Her baby. Reason temporarily gone. She accuses everybody like that.”
“John,” cried Gertrude, trembling, “cannot understand you to-night: you are so strange and unlike yourself. Is what that poor creature says true? Oh, I cannot bear to hear such words!”
“True? is it likely?” he said, approaching her. “Why, are you not my little wife?”
“Yes, yes!” cried Gertrude, shrinking from him; “but tell – ”
She stopped short, gazing at him wonderingly. Her hands went to her dilating eyes, and as the light of the lamp fell for the first time full upon him now, she uttered a cry of horror, her face became convulsed, and she ran to the door.
“It is not – ” she paused wildly.
“Are you mad, too?” he cried, pursuing her and catching her wrists.
“Yes – no – I don’t know,” she cried excitedly. “Don’t touch me. I cannot bear it.”
“Silence!” he cried. “Do you want to alarm the house?”
“Oh no, no!” she panted; “but you frighten – you horrify me!”
“Hush! Be silent!”
“No, no!” cried Gertrude, struggling, as he again seized her in his arms. “Oh, help – help – help!”