Loe raamatut: «The White Virgin», lehekülg 4
Chapter Eight.
Undermining
“Hallo, Jess, you here?” cried Clive, as he suddenly encountered his brother at Dr Praed’s door in Russell Square.
Jessop Reed started, and in spite of his man-about-town confidence, he looked for the moment confused, but recovered himself directly.
“Might say the same to you,” he retorted. “I thought you were down some hole in the Midlands.”
“But I’ve come up again. Just got here from St. Pancras now. I say, though, what is it? Out of sorts – been to see the Doctor?”
“Eh? Oh no. I’m all right. But I’m in a hurry. See you at dinner.”
“Why, what’s the matter with him?” thought Clive, as his brother hurried away. “Fast life, I suppose. I’ll run in and ask the Doctor before I go up.”
He rang; the Doctor’s confidential man opened the door, and stood back for him to enter.
“Patient with the Doctor, Morgan?”
“No, sir; past his time. Gone on to the hospital. Back soon.”
Clive stared.
“Miss Praed’s in the drawing-room, sir.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll go up,” said Clive; and he began to ascend two steps at a time. “I hope Jess isn’t ill. Disappointed, I suppose, at finding the old man out.” – “Ah, Janet, darling,” he cried, as he entered the drawing-room, to find his fiancée standing with a bouquet in her hand, looking dreamy and thoughtful.
She flushed up as he caught her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, and then frowned slightly, and put on the pouting look of a spoiled child.
“Why, what a bonnie bunch of roses!” he cried. “Let’s have one for a button-hole.”
“No, no,” she said hastily, and a pained look of perplexity crossed Clive’s countenance as she held the bouquet from him. Then with forced playfulness, “Mustn’t be touched.”
“All right,” he cried merrily. “I came round this way so as to see you first, pet. Raced up by the early train this morning.”
“Indeed!” said Janet, raising her eyebrows; “been in Derbyshire, have you not?”
“My darling!”
“Well, one knows so little of your movements now.”
“Oh, I say, Janet dear, don’t be hard upon a poor busy fellow. You know why I am away so much. All for your sake, pet,” he whispered earnestly; “to make ourselves thoroughly independent, and you a home of which you may be proud.”
There was a slight catching in Janet Praed’s breath, as she said jerkily, and with a show of flippancy, to hide the emotion from which she suffered, for self-accusation was busy with her just then, and a pang or two shot through her as she contrasted the frank, honest manner of her betrothed, and his words, so full of simple honest affection, with others to which she had in a foolish, half-jealous spirit listened again and again —
“Oh yes, I know,” she said, curling up her pretty lip, and speaking hastily to hide her feelings; “but you might have called.”
“Now, Janet, love, don’t tease me. How could I, dear?”
“Well, then, you might have written. A whole week away and not a line.”
“Gently, my own darling, judge, guide, and counsellor in one,” he cried warmly. “I might have written, and ought to have written, but I have been, oh so busy all day, and when I got back to quarters, there was the Major to talk to me, and I could not slight Miss Gurdon.”
“The Major – Miss Gurdon? May I ask who these people are?”
“Oh, a very jolly old sort of fellow, who lives close to the mine, with an only daughter. He insisted upon my staying there while I was down, and I wasn’t sorry; for – O Janet! let me whisper it in your lovely little shell of an ear,” he continued playfully – “the miner’s cottage I slept at one night was not comfortable; it was grubby, and oh, those fleas! If it had not been for my stout walking-stick – ”
“What sort of a person is Miss Gurdon?” said Janet, interrupting him quickly.
“Oh, very nice and ladylike.”
“Pretty?”
“Pretty! Well, you would hardly call it pretty. A sad, pensive face, very sweet and delicate, and with the look of one who had known trouble. There seemed to be some secret about father and daughter.”
“Oh!” said Janet softly, and the colour came into her cheeks very warmly. “And you were very comfortable there?”
“Yes, very,” said Clive emphatically.
“Too comfortable to remember me and write, of course.”
“O Janet, my darling!” he said tenderly, as he passed his arm about her waist, “how can you be such a jealous little thing! As if I could think of any one but you. You were with me night and day. It was always what is Janet doing? how does she look? and is she thinking of me? Whether I was scrambling about down in the mine like a mud-lark, or more decent and talking to Miss Gurdon of an evening in their tiny drawing-room.”
“About me, of course,” said Janet coldly.
“No, dear,” said Clive innocently, “I never mentioned your name. I dared not, pet, for fear they should laugh at me, and think what a great goose I was. For I am, pet. Once I begin talking to any one about you, I can’t leave off.”
“Indeed!” she said sarcastically.
“Why, Janet, dear,” he said earnestly, and he tried to take her hand, “what have I said or done? Surely you don’t think – Oh, my love, my dear love!” he cried, with his voice growing deep and earnest, “how can you be so ready to take pique over such trifles! Janet, I love you with all my heart, dear. I have not a thought that is not for my own darling.”
“No, no; don’t touch me,” she panted, as he drew her towards him.
“I will – I will, darling wifie to be; but you must master these little bits of uncalled-for jealousy, dear. They are not fair to me, and next time I am away I will at any cost write to you, even if the business fails, and – ”
“Scoundrel! ruffian! how dare you put your arm around my daughter, sir? She is not your wife yet.”
The words came so fiercely and suddenly that Clive started away, and Janet hurriedly escaped to the other side of the chair. For the Doctor had bustled in just as Clive was trying to take the kiss withheld from him, and now stood there with a terrific frown upon his heavy grey brow.
The next moment he had burst into a hearty roar of laughter.
“Nice guilty pair you look,” he cried. “Ah! you may well turn red, you unblushing puss! Eh? No, that won’t do, it’s a bull. And you, sir, how dare – Well, how are you, Clive, my boy? Came round here first, eh? I called at Guildford Street as I went to the hospital, and they hadn’t heard of you.”
“Yes, I was obliged to come here first,” said Clive.
“Of course. That’s right. Janet has been looking pale since you went. Come and dine to-night, and don’t let me come in here and catch you behaving in that rude way again.”
“Papa, for shame!” cried Janet, and she hurried out of the room.
The Doctor laughed.
“Well,” he cried eagerly, “what about the mine? – is it good?”
“For your ears only, Doctor,” said Clive, “in confidence?”
“On my honour, my dear boy,” said Dr Praed gravely.
“Then you may invest as much as you like, sir.”
“Not a company dodge?”
“The mine teems with ore, sir. I have thoroughly examined it, and found out a new, enormously rich lode.”
“Then it’s quite safe?”
“Safe as the Bank of England, sir, and the dad will be a millionaire.”
“Ah! I wish he would be a healthy man, instead of a wealthy,” said the Doctor.
“Oh, you don’t think – you have not found him worse?”
“I don’t like his looks, Clive, my boy,” said the Doctor; “and I beg that you will try to save him from all emotion. This great accession of wealth will do him no good, and – yes; what? – I didn’t ring.”
“Messenger, sir,” said the Doctor’s man, with grave earnestness and a sharp glance at Clive. “From Mr Reed’s, sir – sudden attack, and will you come at once.” Then in a hurried whisper, “Dying!”
But it sounded in trumpet-tones in Clive Reed’s ear, as with a sharp cry he sprang to his feet.
“Good heavens!” he said, “and I came on here!”
“Hush!” said the Doctor sternly. “Here, Morgan, the carriage?”
“At the door, sir.”
The Doctor nodded as he drew Clive’s arm through his own.
“Do not fear the worst,” he whispered; “I may save him yet.”
Chapter Nine.
Two Days Earlier
“Well, what news?” said Wrigley, as Jessop Reed entered his gloomy office. “Bah! what a dandy you are! Why, you spend enough on barbers and buttonholes to keep you from borrowing money.”
“And you spend enough on ballet-girls to keep you from making profits by lending,” retorted Jessop. “All right, my Jonathan,” said Wrigley.
“All right, my David,” replied Jessop. “Let me see: David was a Jew.”
“Whilst I am not,” said Wrigley sharply.
“Oh, of course not. No one would suppose Wrigley to be an Israelitish name. There, don’t set up all your feathers, man, and look so indignant because I suggested that you belonged to the chosen race. There are good Jews.”
“And precious bad Christians,” said Wrigley sourly.
“Awfully! But I say, don’t be so ruffled, man. Lucky I didn’t come for some hard coin this morning.”
“It is; and hang me if I ever lend you money again if I’ve to have blood thrown in my face.”
“Bah! you shouldn’t be so sensitive about it. I don’t mind about your descent.”
“Enough to make any man sensitive. Gad, sir, any one would think we were lepers, seeing the treatment we receive.”
“Yes, it’s too bad,” said Jessop soothingly; “but you do have your recompense, old man. Nice refined revenge your people have had for the insult and contempt they have met with. There, let’s talk business.”
“Yes, let’s talk business. Now, then, what about the hole in the earth down which people throw their money?”
“Well, it’s a big hole.”
“Yes, I know that, but is it a big do after all?”
“No. As I told you, the old man wouldn’t have gone in for it if it hadn’t been right.”
“Then he really does hold a great deal in it?”
“More than half, that I know of.”
“You’ve carefully made sure of that.”
“Yes, carefully. It’s all right, I tell you.”
“Good! And what about the dear brother?”
“He’s still down there.”
“Surveying the mine?”
“Surveying? He has been down it every day for nearly a week, examining every crack and corner – adit, winze, shaft, driving, all the whole lot of it.”
“Well?”
“He sends reports to the old man every night.”
“And what does he say? Do you know?”
“Yes; the old man reads them to me.”
“Fudge! Flams to rig the market. Chatter for you to spread on the Stock Exchange and make the shares go up.”
“No,” said Jessop quietly, as he sat on a corner of the lawyer’s table, and swung his cane and one leg to and fro. “The dad and I don’t hit it, and we’ve had more quarrels than I can count about money and – other little matters; but he’s always straightforward with me over business, and I’d trust his word sooner than any man’s in London.”
“Good son.”
“Ah! you needn’t sneer; you’d only be too glad to get his name to a bit of paper.”
“True, O king! He is a model that way. But then he is pretty warm, and can afford to lose.”
“Yes; but it would be the same if he were hard up. The old man’s dead square.”
“Then you believe your brother’s reports are all that are read to you?”
“Implicitly.”
“No garbling, you think?”
“I’m sure there isn’t. No, old fellow, I hate my fortunate brother most bitterly, and I don’t love my father; but I’d sooner take their word than that of any one I know.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the lawyer. “Well, then, the mine is not quite played out!”
“Played out! Pish! It has never been worked properly. Only scratched and scraped. There’s plenty of ore to pay by following on the old workings with modern tackle, and a little fortune in re-smelting the old refuse that has been accumulating for fifteen hundred or two thousand years.”
“Yes, it is very old,” said Wrigley thoughtfully.
“Old! Why, no one knows how old it is. The Romans worked it, and I daresay the Phoenicians had a finger in it before them.”
“Go on, old fellow,” said Wrigley, laughing. “Can you prove that pigs of lead were got from it to ballast the ark?”
“Well, you needn’t believe it without you like.”
“But I do believe a great deal of it. There’ll be quite enough for us, if you mean business.”
“If I mean business! Why, of course I do. Do you suppose I am going to sit still and let my brother have all the cream of life? He’ll get all the old man’s money. Plenty without that. I’m not blind. Precious little for me there.”
“Then what is going to be done?”
“They are going to set to work directly. My brother has laid his reports before the board. I did not tell you that he has discovered a new untouched lode that promises to yield wonderfully.”
“Indeed!” said Wrigley – “a new lode?” and he looked searchingly at his companion.
“Yes; an important vein of ore that promises to be of immense value.”
“Hah! that sounds well,” said Wrigley.
“For the shareholders?”
“No; for us. Have you forgotten?”
“No,” said Jessop gloomily, “but will it work?”
“Work? You, an old hand, and ask that. My dear Jessop, if we cannot work that between us it is strange.”
“Yes, but the money necessary. It will be enormous.”
“Pretty well, my dear boy,” said Wrigley, with quiet confidence; “but don’t you fidget about that. Millions are to be had for a safe thing, so we need not be scared about thousands. Yes; that new vein will do. Jessop, my lad, you and I must work that vein. The idea of the great lode is glorious and makes our task easy in that direction; but there is a stumbling-block elsewhere – a difficulty in the way.”
“I don’t understand you,” said Jessop testily. “Hang it, man! Don’t be so mysterious. Now then, please, what do you mean?”
“Let me take my own pace, my dear Jessop, as the inventor of our fortune.”
“Anyhow you like, but let me see how we are going.”
“Well, then, you shall. Now, then, we want an enemy. Clive Reed’s or your father’s enemy. Has your brother any?”
“Yes; here he is, confound him!”
“And you will not do, my dear boy! Besides, it would not be your work. I meant some man who dislikes him so consumedly that he would not stick at trifles for the sake of revenge – and hard cash. What is more,” continued Wrigley, as Jessop shook his head, “it must be some one connected with the mine.”
“Bah! How can it be, when the mine is not started?”
“Then it must be as soon as possible after the mine has been started. Some workman under him in a position of trust, whom he has injured: struck him, taken his wife or sweetheart, mortally injured in some way.”
Jessop burst into a coarse laugh, and Wrigley looked at him inquiringly.
“My dear boy,” said the stockbroker, “I thought this was to be a matter of finessing and making a few thousands.”
“It is, and of making a good many thousands.”
“And you talk as if it were a plot for an Adelphi drama. My dear fellow, my brother Clive is a sort of nineteenth-century saint – not the cad in a play. Clive doesn’t drink, bet, nor gamble in any way. He is a good boy, who is engaged, and goes to church regularly with the lady.”
“Oh, yes; that’s as far as you know now.”
“I do know,” cried Jessop. “Clive has never run away with any one’s wife, nor bullied men, nor gone to the – your friends for coin. If you can’t hit out a better way than that, we may pitch the thing up.”
“At the first difficulty?” said Wrigley, smiling. “No, my boy. We want such a man as I have described – a man whose opinion about the mine will be worth taking. He must, as I say, hate your brother sufficiently to give that opinion when we want it, so as to say check to your brother and be believed.”
“Well, then, there isn’t such a man,” said Jessop sourly.
“Indeed! When do you expect your brother back?”
“At any time now. To-morrow or next day, to meet the directors at the board and report again upon his inspection.”
“Again?”
“Yes; he has been down twice before.”
“Who is down there?”
“Only the man in charge of the mine.”
“Who is he?”
“Some fellow my father got hold of in connection with other mine speculations.”
“Well, wouldn’t he do?”
“Pooh! He is, I should say, out of the question.”
“At a price?”
“At a price!” Jessop started and looked keenly at the solicitor.
“Every man they say has his price, my dear Jessop. We want the kind of man I describe. You say there is no such man. I say there are in the market, and I should say this is the very chap.”
“But surely you would not bribe him to – ”
“Don’t use ugly terms. If I saw my way to make a hundred thousand pounds I should not shrink from giving a man five hundred to help me make it.”
“No, nor a thousand,” said Jessop.
“My dear boy, I would get him for five hundred if I could, but if I could not, I would go higher than you say; in fact, I would go up to ninety-five thousand sooner than lose five. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. Anything to turn an honest penny.”
“Exactly! So now then, as soon as possible, we must begin to feel our way, so as to secure our man.”
“But if there is not such a man to be had?”
“Then we must make one.”
“Wrigley, I thought I was sharp,” said Jessop, with a peculiar smile.
“But you find there is always a sharper.”
“Was that a lapsus linguae, Wrigley?”
“If you like to call it so,” said the lawyer coldly. “But to business. Let me know the moment your brother gets back.”
“Yes, but why?”
“I am going down to see what I think of the mine.”
Chapter Ten.
The Grim Visitor
“The game’s up, then, Doctor, eh? There, man, don’t shuffle. This isn’t whist, but the game of life, and nature wins.”
The Doctor stood holding his old friend’s hand, and gazing sadly down in the fine manly face, which looked wonderfully calm and peaceful as he lay back on the white pillow.
“That’s right; don’t say medical things to me – clap-trap: you never did. We always understand each other, and I shouldn’t like it now I’m dying. For that’s it, Praed; the game’s up. I haven’t read so plainly how many trumps you held in your hand for all these years, old man, without being able to judge your face now.”
“Reed, old fellow,” said the Doctor, in a voice full of emotion, “God knows I have done my best. Let me send for – ”
“Tchah! What for?” said the old man. “You know more than he does. It’s of no use fighting against it. Nature says the works must stop soon. Very well; I shall meet it as I have met other losses in my time. Do you hear, Clive – Jessop?”
A murmur came from the other side of the bed, where the two young men were standing, and then all was still again, save the rumble of a vehicle in the street.
“It’s disappointing just now, when I had made the coup of my life, and meant to settle down in peace; but it wasn’t to be, and I’m going to meet it like a man. Clive, boy, come here.”
The young man came to the bedside and knelt down.
“Ah! I like that,” said the old father. “Good lad!” and he laid his hand gently upon his son’s head. “I’m not a grand old patriarch,” he sighed. “What, Doctor? – not talk? Yes, I must have my say now, while there’s time. Not a good old patriarch, Clive – not a religious man; made too much of a god of money; but I said my wife and sons should never know the poverty from which I had suffered, and I think it was right; but I overdid it, boy. Don’t follow my example; there’s no need. There – my blessing for what it’s worth, boy. Now go: I want Jessop.”
Clive rose, and his brother came and stood where he had knelt.
“Well,” said the dying man, in a firm voice, “I have little to say to you, Jessop. Shake hands, my boy, and God forgive you, as I do – everything.” Jessop was silent, and after a few moments the old man went on —
“I have settled everything, my lad. The Doctor here is one of my executors, and he will see that Clive does his duty by you; though he would without.”
Jessop winced, for these words were very pregnant of meaning, and showed only too well the place he would take after his father’s death.
“There,” said his father, pressing his hand, “that is all. I know your nature, boy, so I will not ask you to promise things which you cannot perform. Go now.”
“Not stay with you, father?” said the young man, speaking for the first time.
“No; go now. I’ve done my duty by you, boy; now go and do yours by your brother. Good-bye, Jessop.” There was dead silence, and the old man spoke again as he grasped his son’s hand, “Good-bye, Jessop, for the last time.”
“Good-bye, father,” was the reply; and then, with head bent, the young man walked slowly out.
“Hah! that’s over!” sighed the dying man. “He will not break his heart, Doctor; and if I had left him double, it would do him no good. Now then, Praed, I want to see little Janet. Where is she?”
“Downstairs in the drawing-room.”
“That’s right. Go and fetch her. Tell her not to be frightened. She shan’t see me die, for it won’t be yet.”
The Doctor left the bedroom, and the old man was alone with his younger son.
“Take hold of my hand, Clive. Sit down, my lad. That’s right. There, don’t look so cut up, my boy. I’m only going to sleep like a man should. It’s simply nature; not the horror fanatics teach us. Now I want to talk business to you for a few minutes, and then business and money will be dead to me for ever.”
“You wish me to do something, father?”
“Yes, boy. You will find everything in my will – you and the Doctor. He’s a good old friend, and his counsel is worth taking. Marry Janet, and make her a happy wife. She has some weaknesses, but you can mould her, my lad; and it will make her happy, and the Doctor too, for he loves you like a son.”
“Yes, father.”
“That’s good. You’re a fine, strong, clever man, Clive, but that was the dear, good, affectionate boy of twenty years ago speaking. Now then, about money matters. You’ll be enormously rich over that mine, so for heaven’s sake be a true, just man with it, and do your duty by all the shareholders. Stick to it through thick and thin. I remember all you told me when I recovered from my fit. I could repeat your report. But I was convinced before, when all the London world thought I was getting up a swindle. There! that’s enough about the mine – save this. You’ll be thinking of sharing with your brother. I forbid it. Keep to your portion as I have left it to you, and do good with it. To give to Jessop is to do evil. I am sorry, but it is the truth. He cannot help it perhaps, but he is not to be trusted, and you are not to league yourself with him in any way. You understand?”
“Yes, father!”
“I have made him a sufficiently rich man. Let him be content. You are not to trust him. I know Jessop by heart, and I can go from here feeling that I have done my duty by him.”
At that moment the Doctor returned with his daughter, and the old speculator’s face lit up with pleasure.
“Come here, Pussy,” he said. “I’m not very dreadful yet, my dear.”
“Dear Mr Reed – dear Mr Reed!” cried Janet, running sobbing to his side; “don’t, pray, talk like that.”
The old man smiled with content as the girl fell upon her knees by the bed, and embraced him tenderly, “Ah! that’s right. That’s like my little darling,” he said, and he stroked her cheek. “Don’t cry any more, my dear. There! you two go farther away; Janet and I have a few words to say together.”
Clive and the Doctor moved to the window and stood with their backs to the bed, the old man watching them intently for a few moments, and then smiling at Janet as he held and fondled her hand.
“There!” he said, “you are not to fret and be miserable about it, and when I’m gone it is not to interfere with your marriage.”
“Oh, Mr Reed!” she cried passionately.
“No, no, no,” he continued quietly; “not a bit. Life is short, my dear; enjoy it, and do your work in it while you can. And mind, there is to be no silly parade of mourning for me. I’m not going to have your pretty face spoiled with black crape, and all that nonsense. Mourn for me in your dear little heart, Janet: not sadly, but with pleasant, happy memories of one who held you when you were a baby, and who has always looked upon you as his little daughter.” Janet’s face went down on the old man’s hands with the tears flowing silently.
“Now, just a few more words, my dear,” he almost whispered. “Your father and I have rather spoiled you by indulgence.”
“Yes, yes,” she whispered quickly. “I have not deserved so much.”
“Never mind; you are going to be a dear good girl now, and make Clive a true, loving wife.”
“Yes, I’ll try so hard.”
“It will not take much trying, Janet, for he loves you very dearly.”
She raised her head sharply, and there was an angry look in her eyes.
“No, no, you are wrong,” said the old man. “Always the same, my pet. I can read you with these little jealous fits and fancies. I tell you, he loves you very dearly, and I’m going to say something else, my pet, my last little bit of scolding, for I’ve always watched you very keenly for my boy’s sake.”
“Mr Reed!” she whispered, shrinking from him and glancing towards the window; but he held her hands tightly.
“They cannot hear us, little one,” he said, “and I want you to listen. For your own happiness, Janet, my child. It is poor Clive who ought to have been jealous and complained.”
Janet hid her burning face.
“It was not all your fault, little one, but I saw a great deal. Innocent enough with you; but Jacob has always been trying to win Esau’s heritage, and even his promised wife.”
The girl sobbed bitterly now, and laid her burning face close to the old man’s, hiding it in the pillow.
“Oh, don’t, don’t,” she whispered. “I never liked him, but he was always flattering me and saying nice things.”
“Poison with sugar round them, my dear. But that’s all past. You are to be Clive’s dear honoured wife. No more silly, girlish little bits of flirtation. You are not spoiled, my dear, only petted a little too much. That’s all to be put behind us now, is it not?”
“Yes, dear – yes, dear Mr Reed,” she whispered, with her arms about his neck; and it was as if years had dropped away, and it was the little child the old man had petted and scolded a hundred times, asking forgiveness, as she whispered, “I will be good now, and love him very dearly.”
“That’s like my own child,” said the old man. “Now let’s hear the true woman speak.”
“And do always what you wish,” she said, looking him full in the eyes.
“That’s right – try,” he said, drawing her down to kiss her, and then signing to her to go.
“I’m tired,” he said wearily. “Clive, take your little wife downstairs for a bit. Your hand, my boy. God bless you! Now, Doctor, I’ll have an hour’s sleep.”
The Doctor signed for the young people to go down; and as he took a chair by the bed’s head, Grantham Reed turned his head away from the light, and went off into the great sleep as calmly as a tired child.
