Works of Ellen Wood, page 19
“What can it be?” uttered Mr. Danesbury, in concern. “You will lose no time, of course, Arthur.”
“I shall start immediately by the express train.”
When Arthur reached town, he made the very best speed to Lord Temple’s that a London cab could make. Sir Robert Payn was leaving the house, when he saw a cab stop there, and a remarkably noble-looking man, with fine fair features, and blue eyes that quite fixed attention by their intelligent beauty, alight from it. Sir Robert guessed who it was, and met him.
“I have the pleasure,” he said, “of receiving Mr. Arthur Danesbury. You have lost no time in obeying my telegraphic summons. This is a shocking business.”
“What is it?” inquired Arthur, knowing then that he spoke to Sir Robert Payn; “what has happened to Lord Temple?”
“He has been wounded in a duel. I trust we may not have to say killed. But symptoms, I hear, are less favourable than they were earlier in the day.”
“A duel!” uttered Arthur, doubting whether he heard a right. “ A duel, did you say?”
“With Colonel Groves,” returned Sir Robert. “A dispute occurred in the night, in a house where they were, and they went out at daybreak and fought”
‘‘A duel!” Arthur could not help repeating, unable to realize the extraordinary tidings. “Could Lord Temple have been in his senses?”
“Only partially so. He had taken too much wine. They all had, and there was a regular drunken brawl. Groves was cool and sober: he had not been of the drinking party.”
“How is my sister? Do you know how she bears it?”
“Poor lady! my heart aches for her. She told me this morning that she would be calm before her husband.”
Arthur went in, and in a few minutes was standing over the bed. Lord Temple lay on it panting, his sad, repentant eyes gazing upward. His wife’s hand was in his, but he loosed it for a minute to grasp Arthur’s.
“Perfect quiet,” whispered Isabel, as a caution to her brother; “perfect quiet. The medical men say it is the only chance.”
“That I had been like you, Arthur!” he breathed, “that I had been like you, a water-drinker.”
Lady Temple leaned over him, the tears falling. “Reginald, you know you must be silent.”
“Had I not been full of wine this would never have occurred,” he continued, unheeding the injunction. “Arthur, if I get well, I will forswear drink forever.”
“Be silent now,” whispered Arthur, “that you may get well.”
“Ay, ay; and, by God’s help, redeem the past.”
Then he lay without speaking, and they sat by him in silence. In a little while the medical men came in, two of the most eminent surgeons in London. Arthur followed them from the room when they went out again.
“Is there any chance of his life?” he inquired. “I beg you will tell me. I am the brother of Lady Temple.”
“The chances are slight,” was the answer. “We fear internal haemorrhage.”
The day went on to the evening, and the ebbing of Viscount Temple’s life went on with it. The doctors were in and out at intervals, but they could do nothing. Isabel had been reading to him out of St. John’s Gospel, and he had listened with closed eyes and folded hands. When it grew dark one of the attendants entered with a light, placed it on a table, and went out again.
“No — no,” faintly cried Lord Temple.
His wife thought he meant to object to the light, as no doubt he did, and she took it herself from the room. In that moment he put out his hand: Arthur understood the movement, and bent over him.
“I — am — going, Arthur. I feel it. Oh, my wasted life! Thus to be cut off in its midst! Arthur, you will take care of her, and of her child. I leave them to you. If it be a boy, tell him his father’s fate — that it may be a warning.”
Arthur Danesbury did not answer, save by a deep pressure of the hand. It said all. His sister returned, and he moved lower, to give her her place by her husband. Lord Temple drew her face down that it might rest on his.
“Isabel — my darling! — it is nearly over.”
She would not scream; she did not faint: but her heart beat wildly with the sickness of despair, and a cold perspiration broke out over her head and face.
“May we meet again!” he continued, but so low that she could scarcely catch the words. “All day long have I been inwardly praying that time here might be prolonged to me. But it will not be. May my sins be forgiven me! My wasted life! Christ died for sinners.”
“Ay, for all; for you and for me,” she murmured forth from her aching heart. “Reginald, how shall I live without you? Can I live?”
“For our child — live for our child. And — Isabel — let it be a water-drinker. It is my last charge to you.”
She turned her face aside to hide its swelling tears, but her husband drew it again to his, and kept it there. Oh! that last embrace between two young, loving hearts! Reader, may you never have cause to give, or receive it! When the doctors next came in, a light was brought. “Good heavens!” exclaimed one of them, under his breath.
“Take her away, sir,” he whispered to Arthur. “ Her face is resting on the dead.”
Isabel heard — raised her head — saw — comprehended. And, with a wild cry, she let it fall again on the pillow beside him. “Oh, Reginald! Reginald!”
All around Lord Temple’s bed believed that he had gone.
Lady Temple was taken from the room in the belief, Arthur quitted it in the belief, the surgeons remained for some minutes in the belief; and it was only when the nurse came forward to commence what was necessary to be done, that a doubt arose. So prostrated was his state, so deathlike his condition, that they held a looking-glass to his lips, and by that means alone found that he still breathed. Thus he lay for some time; but, whether the inward haemorrhage had stopped, or that his constitution rallied, certain it is, a slight improvement began to be visible. From that time, his progress, though very slow, was gradual. And Lord Temple did not die.
CHAPTER XV.
A GRACELESS SON, AND AN EVENING IN A PALACE.
The following year was waning to its close, when certain unpleasant doubts and rumours which had reached. Eastborough, as to the further misdoings of Robert, Lieutenant Danesbury, reached their climax. But it may be better to relate, first, certain changes, touching William and Lionel.
William Danesbury had married. As it had been at Danesbury House, the night the scene took place relative to the chess, so it continued, Mrs. Danesbury rendering the young men’s home unpleasant to them, in fact, driving them from it. William, probably with a worthy motive, that of keeping from temptation, for which self-endeavour all honour should be accorded to him, took to spend his evenings, or most of them, at his aunt Philip’s, and an attachment arose between him and Anna Heber. Mrs. Philip was made a confidante of by William, and she was the first to speak to Mr. Danesbury and urge the marriage. She believed it might be the saving of William. Anna knew of the failing to which he was inclined, and she was willing to risk it. Mr. Danesbury acquiesced with pleasure: his only objection was, that in the altered state of their finances, and under the great demands of Robert, but a small income could be allowed them, three or four hundred a year. That should not hinder it, Mrs. Philip generously said; she had saved money, and would settle equivalent to two hundred a year upon Anna. Thus matters were arranged; a house was taken and furnished, and William married.
But what of Lionel? Why, Lionel was living at home. Lionel had fondly anticipated the setting up in London, but by the time Lionel was a qualified surgeon, his intemperate habits had become so confirmed that Mr. Danesbury did not dare to sanction his doing so. He judged — and very rightly — that Eastborough would be better for him than London: at Eastborough he would have a home, in London he had none; and Mr. Danesbury began casting his thoughts about, to make arrangements. Mr. Pratt was looking out for a partner, a man younger than himself, who would take the hardest of the work, and Mr. Danesbury proposed Lionel. Lionel at first — I use his own expressive phrase, not mine — kicked at it; but his father pointed out to him how necessary it was that he should, if possible, regain steady habits, and, when that was done, he could take his degree as physician, and establish himself in London. Lionel could not help being struck with the good sense of the proposition, when he had allowed himself to digest it, and at length cheerfully acquiesced. It was not a bad plan, after all, he remarked, for he should be gaining ten times more experience with old Pratt, than he would at first in London. So Lionel joined Mr. Pratt, making his home at Danesbury House.
Robert came down to the marriage of his brother William, and took the opportunity to press for more money for his extravagances, but Mr. Danesbury refused to supply it. He could no longer afford to do it, and peremptorily informed Robert that he must make his allowance and his pay — not a despicable income — suffice for the future. Robert returned to town; and there — and there — the infatuated man put false bills in circulation and obtained the proceeds, forging his father’s business signature, “John Danesbury & Sons,” and making them payable at their London banking-house, Roberts, Curtis & Co.
The news came upon Mr. Danesbury like a thunderbolt. What he would be called upon to make good and save exposure, unless he suffered Robert to be prosecuted as a felon, amounted to a thousand pounds; but it was not the loss of the money that crushed him. The facts stood out, broad and hideous: a son of his had committed a crime for which he was liable to nearly the worst punishment of the law; but a few years previous it would have been the worst. Many a man, for a far less offense in amount than this, had heard the awful sentence passed upon him, that he should be hanged by the neck until he was dead.
“Father,” asked Arthur, when the first shock was over, “what is to be done?”
“The sorrows of my old age are telling upon me,” wailed Mr. Danesbury, in a husky tone. “May they not become too heavy for me to bear!”
“We must seek out Robert.”
“Seek him out and bring him home. I question if he will allow you readily to find him.”
“Bring him home, did you say?” returned Arthur.
“What else can be done with him?” asked Mr. Danesbury. “He can not remain in the army to disgrace it. Were this to ooze out, think what his position would be with his brother officers! He must come home, Arthur. He may not be left amid the evils of that great city — he might ruin himself and ruin us.”
“I had better go to London at office and see what I can do.”
“Yes. Act as circumstances shall require. Do the best you can. I give you full authority. When you have arranged about his commission, bring him home.”
“He may not be willing to come.”
“He must come. Use any means. Threats of consequences, if persuasions fail. I was always against his joining the army: I knew it would lead to a life of idleness, probably of vice. It has done both.”
Arthur Danesbury proceeded to London. His first visit was to Robarts’s in Lombard Street: from thence he proceeded to the West End, to Robert’s old lodgings. The people said Lieutenant Danesbury had left them some time, and they did not know where he now lived. Arthur expected this would be the probable answer, and he drove to the quarters of his regiment. Colonel Neeve stood at the entrance as Arthur was about to enter: they had a slight knowledge of each other, and shook hands.
“I am in search of my brother,” said Arthur. “Does he happen to be here?”
“Here!” exclaimed Colonel Neeve. “No. He has never once condescended to pay us a visit since he left.”
A puzzling speech to Arthur. “Is he absent?’’ he inquired.
“Absent from where?” asked the colonel. “From London?”
“From his duty.”
Colonel Neeve looked equally puzzled, and the two stood for a moment gazing at each other.
“I have come to London to see Robert,” explained Arthur, “but the people where he used to lodge tell me he has left, so I came on here, hoping to catch him. Will he be at the mess this evening?”
“Is it possible you do not know that your brother has quitted the regiment?” exclaimed Colonel Neeve, in a tone of astonishment.
“Quitted the regiment!”
“He has sold out this two months past.”
Arthur Danesbury was perfectly confounded. He was quite unprepared for the intelligence. “What could have been his motive?” he resumed.
“Why, the fact is, he could scarcely do otherwise,” cried the colonel, dropping his voice to a confidential tone. “He was over head and ears in debt, and went in bodily fear of arrest. He wanted the proceeds of his commission to clear himself. Supplies from home were stopped, he said.’’
“He had been supplied too extensively from home,” was the pained answer of Arthur. “Another year or two of his extravagance would have ruined us. When he was last down, I believe my father warned him that in future he would receive no more than his allowance.”
“Ay, that’s just what I understood. Lieutenant Danesbury was awfully fast; there’s no denying it.”
“And he has really sold out! And probably spent the money.”
“That he has spent it, you may be sure of. How is it you did not see it in the Gazette?”
“That portion of the Gazette does not interest us much, and often goes unread,” replied Arthur. “Can you tell me where to look for him?”
“I am sorry that I can not. He has never been here since. I have met him once or twice in the evening, but not very lately.”
Arthur wished Colonel Neeve good-day and left. He was at a loss what to do. It was absolutely necessary that he should find Robert; not only to get him away from London and prevent further mischief, but to ascertain whether he had placed other false bills in circulation. He bent his steps to Bedford Row, and inquired of Mr. St. George if he knew any thing of him.
“Not I,” was Mr. St. George’s answer. “I expect he is after no good. You astonish me by saying his family were left in ignorance of his selling out. I saw the announcement in the Gazette.”
“I am very uneasy,” observed Arthur. “I must see him.”
“Did you come to town to see him?”
‘‘Yes. I — .” Arthur hesitated. But he found it would he better to tell the whole truth to Mr. St George, and he disclosed the sad tale with shame.
“He is a wicked scamp,” was the indignant comment of Mr. St. George.
“Sold out of the army and entered on evil courses!” uttered Arthur. “What is to be his end?”
“Not ‘entered’ on them,” said Mr. St. George. “Lieutenant Danesbury has been deep in them a long while. The kindest thing to him would be to prosecute. It would keep him from further crime.”
“Impossible to prosecute him,” returned Arthur. “It would bring public disgrace on us all, and sully the name of Danesbury.”
“Well, I suppose it would not do. What a curse drink is, all over the world. It is that which has ruined Robert.”
“Can you give me any track by which I may trace him out? You are so much better Acquainted with the ways of London than I am.”
Mr. St. George mused. “I wonder whether Pratt may not know something of him. He used to meet him sometimes in his night haunts.”
“What Pratt?” inquired Arthur.
“That drunken son of Pratt’s of Eastborough. There’s another fine fellow ruined! He was made for better things than to lead a sinful life.”
“He has been a great trouble to his father,” remarked Arthur.
“How does he get his living? Our old friend never speaks of him.”
“Any way. Starves part of his time — from food, not from drink. He is attached to a fissionable gambling-house, and has some pay from it. By-the — by,” cried Mr. St. George, with sudden emphasis, “what was the description Roberts gave you to-day of the fellow who presented these bills for payment — a thin man, with a white face and scarlet lips? That is uncommonly like Pratt himself.”
“Pratt had not a white face and scarlet lips,” remarked Arthur.
“Ah!” quoth Mr. St. George; “how long is it since you saw him?”
“Ten or twelve years.”
“And he has been drinking ever since. Quite enough to make his face white, and his lips red.”
“But,” debated Arthur, “Pratt’s son, whatever may be his faults, would not lend himself to crime.”
“Adversity makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows,’” significantly remarked the lawyer, “and there’s no adversity like a career of drunkenness. I’ll send for him, and tax him with it.”
“But you can not accuse him of presenting these forged bills for payment without first knowing that it was he,” remonstrated Arthur Danesbury.
“Leave him to me,” said Mr. St. George, carelessly. “If I were to accuse him of murder he is too broken-spirited to retaliate; but the probability is that he has been an innocent agent in the matter. Robert Danesbury may have made him his tool. Singular enough, I sent for Pratt’s son this morning, and am expecting him here. I told Pratt last year that I would get this lad, who is too good for such a father, into an architect’s office, and I have just succeeded in doing so. My friend would not have any thing to say to the boy till now; thought him too young.”
As Mr. St. George spoke, he rang his bell, and a clerk entered.
“Is young Pratt come?”
“Yes, sir. He is waiting.”
“Send him in.”
A well-dressed boy, with a clear bright eye and capacious forehead entered. He ought to have been there early in the day, but his new clothes had to be purchased, for which his mother’s friends had supplied the means.
“Well” said Mr. St George, “are you as anxious as ever to become an architect?”
“Oh yes, indeed, sir!” answered the lad, colouring with eagerness.
“A friend of mine is ready now to take you into his office, and try what stuff you are made of. Do you think you can be industrious and steady, and give satisfaction?”
