During the time that It was lying in the unused second-floor room
awaiting its last dismal journey to Kensal Green, Martin Gurwood kept
the story which had been told him locked in his own breast. Once
or twice he saw Doctor Haughton, who had managed to set aside the
impending inquest, and to him Martin spoke, hoping that either he or
Mr. Broadbent might suggest the advisability of their communicating
with the tenant of the cottage at Hendon, and letting her know what
had occurred. But on this subject the astute physician was singularly
reserved; and whenever there was any approach to it he invariably
turned the current of the conversation. It was a shy subject, he
thought, and one in which grave men in his position should not be mixed
up. They were men of the world, and knew that such things were; but
both for professional and private reasons it was best to ignore them as
far as possible.
So Martin Gurwood, left entirely to his own resources, almost gave
himself up to despair. He felt that it would be impossible to conceal
the truth from Mrs. Calverley much longer, but he knew that before
mentioning it to her, he ought to possess himself of the details of
the story, and these he could not learn without a personal visit to
Hendon. Then, too, it was more than probable that this young woman,
the dead man's mistress, was even yet ignorant of his fate, and out of
mere Christian charity she ought to be made acquainted with it. Martin
Gurwood did not know what to do. His worldly knowledge was small; such
of it as he possessed had been acquired at Oxford, and immediately
after leaving the university, and it had grown dull and rusty in his
subsequent curacies and in the Lullington a vicarage. If he had only a
friend, a clear-headed, far-seeing man of experience, to whom he could
intrust the secret, and on whose judgment he could rely! Suddenly a
bright thought occurred to him--Humphrey Statham--there was the very
man. Sound, single-hearted, and worldly-wise. Martin had known him
off and on for many years, and not merely in his own experience of
him, which was small, had found in him all the qualities he had named,
but had heard him accredited with them by others whose relations with
Statham had been more intimate. He would go down into the City the very
next day, and hunt him out. And Martin Gurwood went to bed that night
with a sense of relief at his heart.
The month on board the Scilly pilot-boat had done Humphrey Statham
an immense deal of good. Mr. Collins had carefully avoided troubling
his master with any letters or papers; though even if they had been
forwarded, it is doubtful whether they would have reached their
destination, as the season had been very stormy, and the pilot's
services in constant requisition. Mr. Statham's spirits rose with the
wind and the storm. Knowing the sea-going qualities of the boat beneath
him, he was never so happy as when knocking about in heavy gales and
foam-crested rollers. He had had a remarkably happy holiday, and had
come back with renewed health and fresh vigour for business.
On the second morning after his return he was seated at his desk
looking over some special papers which the vigilant Collins had placed
before him, when that discreet functionary presented himself at the
door.
'A gentleman to see you, sir,' he said; 'says his business is pressing.
Here is his card.'
Mr. Statham took up the card, and glanced at it. 'The Reverend Martin
Gurwood,' he cried; 'show him in at once. Why did you hesitate?'
'Beg your pardon, Mr. Statham, but these matters,' pointing to the
papers on which Humphrey had been engaged, 'are important. Been
bottled-up for a fortnight, and won't keep any longer. Norland and
Company, owners of the brig Samson, found derelict off Cuxhaven,
are coming to see you at two; and Captain Thompson, of the barque
Susquehanna, run into the fog of the ninth instant off Dungeness, has
been here three times, and gets more and more impatient each visit.'
'Captain Thompson's patience must be yet farther tried, I am afraid,
Collins; and Messrs. Norland must wait my leisure,' said Humphrey
Statham. 'Show Mr. Gurwood in at once, and don't let me be disturbed
while he is with me.'
Mr. Collins 'bowed, with a deprecatory shrug of the shoulders, and
retired, speedily returning and ushering the visitor into his master's
presence.
'My dear Gurwood,' cried Humphrey, as soon as they were alone, 'this is
an unexpected pleasure! What an age it is since I have seen you! I am
so glad I am in town; I only returned the day before yesterday.'
'Your trip, whatever it has been, seems to have done you good,' said
Martin. 'How strong and well you are looking!'
'I have been in a pilot-boat for the last three weeks--you know my old
lunes--and had all the London dust blown out of me by strong gales and
washed off me by running seas. I wish I could return the compliment, my
dear fellow,' added Statham; 'but I'm sorry to see you doing no credit
to Lullington air. You look as pallid and as sodden as any Londoner,
Gurwood. What's the matter with you, man?'
'I have had a good deal of mental worry within the last few days, and I
suppose I am showing its effects,' said Martin. 'It is this which has
brought me to see you, to ask for any advice and assistance you can
give me.'
'Sorry for the cause, but delighted to be of any use in my power,'
said Statham. 'Is it in my line of business? Any of your stepfather's
argosies run down and wrecked on their homeward voyage? By the way, a
thousand pardons! What an idiot I am! I now remember to have seen in
the _Times_ a paragraph announcing Mr. Calverley's sudden death.'
'It is in connection with that event that I have come to you. You are a
man of the world, I know, and a thorough good fellow into the bargain,
while in all matters requiring tact and decision I am lamentably
deficient.'
'Merely the manner of bringing up, my good friend,' said Humphrey
Statham. 'I am practical and hard-headed: you are theoretical and
large-hearted. What the wine-merchants call a "blending" of the
qualities of both of us would make, I suppose, the right sort of
fellow. Now, then, what has gone wrong? Mr. Calverley has died
intestate, I suppose, or there is some hitch about the disposition of
his property.'
'No, so far all is right. The will, made about two years ago, is clear,
concise, and properly attested. I am joined in the executorship with
Mrs. Calverley, and so far all is plain sailing. Besides, I have been
mixed up with so many of my parishioners in such matters that I should
scarcely have needed advice. What I have come about is a much more
serious affair.'
'Out with it, then, man, and don't have any farther hesitation. You
won't be able to astonish me. All sorts of wonderful things have been
told me by people sitting in that chair. The last person who occupied
it before I went away was a detective officer, and your story cannot
be more strange than his, or more pathetically interesting--to me at
least.' But the last words were almost inaudible.
'You must let me say what I have to say in my own way, then,' said
Martin Gurwood, 'and try and follow me as best you can. It was given
out that Mr. Calverley died in a railway carriage. This was not the
case. He died in a fit on the high road to Hendon, and was found there
by a London physician who knew him, and who happened to be passing in
his carriage.'
'Hendon?' repeated Humphrey Statham. 'What have I heard about Hendon
lately?'
'It is a place which has a good deal to do with the story I am about to
relate,' said Martin, 'as you will judge when I tell you that the late
Mr. Calverley, unknown to his wife or to any of us, had a house there.'
Humphrey Statham looked up sharply; then whistled long and low.
'A house to which he was in the habit of retiring every other fortnight
or so, giving out and leaving it to be imagined that he had gone down
to some ironworks which he had purchased in the North, and which
required his frequent supervision.'
'Yes,' said Statham, nodding his head composedly, 'I quite understand.
Of course at this country residence he didn't pass in his own name?'
'How in the world could you have guessed that?' said Martin,
astonished. 'You are right, however. It seems that at Hendon he was
known as Mr. Claxton.'
'Claxton!' cried Humphrey. 'Good Heavens! what an extraordinary thing!'
Then checking himself he repeated, 'Yes, known as Mr. Claxton.'
'The name seems familiar to you; it is, I suppose, not an uncommon
one?' said Martin. 'However, by it he was known.'
'Yes,' said Humphrey Statham, absently. His thoughts were far away
then, intent on Tatlow's story about Emily Mitchell's child and the
lady who had adopted her. 'Yes,' he repeated, recalling his attention
by an effort, 'I think I can see my way to some very awkward details.
The man who passed as Claxton was not alone at this retreat?'
'He was not,' said Martin, looking uncomfortable. 'The cottage had, as
I am informed, a young woman for its permanent mistress.'
'Exactly,' said Statham, 'as might have been anticipated.'
'Good Heavens!' cried Martin, in his turn, 'are such things so common
that you take the revelation thus calmly? When this news was told me I
was staggered beyond belief.'
'Perfectly natural in your case, my dear Gurwood,' said Humphrey
Statham, who had resumed his old bearing and manner; 'had it been
otherwise, you would not have been fitted for the position you occupy.
What you and other men call "knowledge of the world," with which you
are pleased to accredit me, means an experience of the worst side of
human nature, laughed at, and glossed over by the thoughtless, but
often horrible in its abandonment and profligacy. Such knowledge is
hardly earned, and, to a man of any refinement and decent feeling,
is eminently unsatisfactory in its results; but it is what we most
of us have to go through, and in such matters it is of no use being
squeamish. Well, Mr. Calverley was known as Mr. Claxton in his Hendon
home, which he shared with a young woman. Has Mrs. Calverley been made
acquainted with this story?'
'No; nor do I know how it is to be broken to her; that is one point
on which I have to consult you. More than this, the--the person in
question is, so far as I can make out, as yet unaware of what has
transpired--I mean of Calverley's death.'
'The deuce she is! Has no one been to see her?'
'No one at all. The whole thing transpired in a very odd manner. It
appears that the Hendon apothecary happened to be in the carriage with
the London physician, of whom I have spoken, and recognised the dead
man as his acquaintance, Mr. Claxton.'
'Then he was, of course, the very man of all others to tell this woman
what had happened.'
'So I thought, and hinted as much as strongly as I dared But he
declined to take the hint; nor would his companion, Doctor Haughton,
the physician, help me out in my suggestion.'
'This is very awkward,' said Humphrey Statham, after a pause. 'You
see your great object must naturally be to keep the story of this
disgraceful connection from Mrs. Calverley's ears. She will have worry
enough of her own, poor woman, without having her feelings harrowed by
the discovery of her husband's baseness.'
'Yes,' said Martin Gurwood, but he spoke faintly. Knowing his mother as
he did, he felt it impossible to indorse his friend's ideal description
of her state.
'Well, it seems to me more than probable that in a very short time
this young woman of whom we have been speaking, believing, as I think
you said she did, that the _soi-disant_ Mr. Claxton was a partner in
Calverley's firm, will be sending down to the house of business in the
City to inquire what has become of him. If she does that, she would at
once discover the true state of affairs, and then, if she be like the
rest of her class, a row-royal will ensue.'
'What do you mean?' asked Martin Gurwood, in alarm. 'What do you think
she will do?'
'My good fellow, she will do everything she possibly can to make the
best bargain for herself. Persons in her position generally imagine
that this is best effected by creating a disturbance, and rendering
themselves as obnoxious as possible. It is probable, therefore, that
this woman will turn all her energies on to Mrs. Calverley, beginning
by explaining to her the position, and proceeding to extort money.'
'I should scarcely think she would be able to do that where my mother
is concerned,' said Martin Gurwood, finding it impossible to restrain
a grim smile. 'Mrs. Calverley throughout her life has been a thorough
woman of business, and would be quite able to hold her own in any
matter of that kind. But it is most advisable that the recent state of
affairs should be kept from her as long as possible, and that, when it
is found necessary to disclose them, the story should be told with all
possible delicacy.'
'Exactly; and with that feeling we musn't leave it to the young person
at Hendon to do.'
'Of course not,' said Martin Gurwood. 'I really am distressed beyond
measure. I have no notion what ought to be done, or who should do it.'
Humphrey Statham rose from his seat, plunged his hands into his
trousers-pockets, and took two or three short sharp turns up and down
the room. Then he stopped in front of Martin Gurwood's chair, and said:
'I'll tell you what it is: this matter will have to be faced out sooner
or later, and it is better that it should be done at once. For your
mother's sake, and for your own, it is necessary that there should be
as little scandal as possible; and, so far as I can see, the only way
to avoid an exposé is for some one to go up to Hendon and see this
young woman.'
'Yes,' assented Martin Gurwood dolefully; 'what a very unpleasant task!'
'This must be done at once, before she gets an inkling of what has
occurred, or else, as I say, she will be coming down to the City, and
thence to Mrs. Calverley, and all our plans will be upset. Now, whoever
sees her must tell her exactly what has happened, and-- By the way, the
will has been found, you say, and you have seen it?'
'Certainly. I am one of the executors.'
'And there is no provision made for--for Hendon in the will?'
'None at all; there is no mention of, or allusion to, the subject.'
'So much the better,' said. Humphrey Statham. 'Men are so essentially
selfish that, no matter what extravagance they may commit for those
people during their lifetime, they seldom leave them anything at their
death. If, however, they have any kind of feeling about them, they
usually make some separate provision while they are alive, and do not
risk the chance of having their memories mocked at by any testamentary
acknowledgment of their frailties. Of course you know nothing of any
settlement having been made by Mr. Calverley during his life?'
'Nothing at all; neither the business nor the private accounts have yet
been looked into.'
'I should say, most likely nothing was done in that way. Mr. Calverley
was not an old man, and up to the time of his death had not been
ailing. He probably expected to live on for many years, and even
if he intended to provide for this young person, did not see any
necessity for doing so at present. If this be the case, it is so far
in our favour. We have something to gain from this young woman--her
silence--and it must be purchased.'
'Yes,' said Martin Gurwood; 'I see the necessity for that, and I
daresay it could be managed. It will be necessary to take Jeffreys, the
chief clerk, into confidence, as he will have the preparation of the
accounts.'
'Limited confidence to Jeffreys is not objectionable,' said Mr.
Statham. 'Very well, then; this person can be told that so long as
she conducts herself properly, and keeps her mouth shut in regard to
her life at Hendon, she will receive a certain annuity, the amount of
which can be determined upon hereafter. It'll stand you in, I should
say, from a hundred to a couple of hundred a year; but you must get Mr.
Jeffreys to arrange that for her; and if she holds to her share of the
bargain, you may consider yourself well out of what might have been a
very disagreeable affair.'
'I think so too, and I am very much obliged to you for the advice. But
there is one point on which I am as much in the dark as ever.'
'And that is--?'
'Who am I to get to go to Hendon to transact this business? Of course I
should be very unwilling to go myself; but even if I could overcome my
repugnance, I doubt whether I should be of the smallest use.'
'I am perfectly sure you would not; and even if you were likely to
succeed, you must not be sent on a mission to make terms with a woman
of this class. No; they say that if you want anything properly done you
must do it yourself; and as I was the originator of this proposition, I
suppose I must take upon myself to be its executant.'
'Do you mean to say you will take upon yourself to go to Hendon and do
all this for me?'
'I suppose I must.'
'You are the best fellow in the world,' said Martin Gurwood, shaking
his friend heartily by the hand.
'No,' said Statham, 'I am very far from that. But I have wandered here
and there, and seen men and cities--and women too, for that matter--and
I daresay I shall do this better than any of your acquaintance. So,
consider the matter settled, and leave it to me.'
'When will you go to Hendon?'
'To-morrow; and I will see you on the day following. Come here about
this time, and you shall learn the result of my mission.'
'I will do so. I never can be sufficiently grateful to you, Statham,
for the kindness you have shown me in this matter!' And Martin Gurwood
took leave of his friend in a much more comfortable frame of mind than
when he arrived that morning in 'Change-alley.
When Humphrey Statham was left by himself he remained perfectly quiet
for a few minutes; then he rose from his chair, and resuming his
quarter-deck-like patrolling of the room, plunged into thought, which
found expression in the following words:
'This is certainly a most extraordinary complication of affairs. To
think that Emily Mitchell's child should have been adopted by a woman
who proves to be Mr. Calverley's mistress! The Yellow Flag waves over
the poor little wretch betimes. However, it must be my business to
put an end to that connection as speedily as possible, and I do not
suppose there will be much difficulty. The child was all very well
as an amusement, but now that the supplies are cut off, or, at all
events, very much reduced, I should think madam would be only too glad
to be rid of the encumbrance. Fancy such an affair as this happening
with that remarkably respectable and quiet-looking old gentleman, Mr.
Calverley! And having been carried on for several years too, without
any one being one bit the wiser. Not a bad notion that, calling himself
Claxton, and giving out that he was a sleeping partner with Calverley
and Company, which would account for his being seen to go in there,
and being recognised by the clerks and porters if any one had thought
it worth while to watch him from Hendon to the City. What a world it
is! What a world of lies and swindling, dishonour and deceit! And here
is Martin Gurwood creeping about round the edge of it, and knowing no
more of what goes on within than a fly on a clock-face knows of the
movement of the works! He would have made a nice mess of it if he had
gone up to Hendon; for he is an earnest man according to his lights,
and would probably have remonstrated with the young woman, and exhorted
her to repentance; her comments on which proceeding would probably have
been delivered in rather strong language, at which he, being naturally
shocked, would have retired, and the whole thing would have fallen
through.
'Now let me see what I have got to do. In the first place, I must
stipulate with the young woman that she must clear out of the place
at Hendon as soon as possible. I daresay there is the usual gimcrack
tawdry furniture, which persons of her class think so elegant, but
which will sell for a mere song. But that's no business of mine, and
all I can do is to make the annuity which we pay her contingent on
her clearing out at once, on her good behaviour, and on her complete
silence as regards Mr. Calverley. The most awkward part of the business
I have undertaken is that breaking the news of the old gentleman's
death. It's possible, but not very likely, that this poor creature
may have some feelings of gratitude to him for the home he gave her,
and the kindness he showed her; and if so, I shall be in a horribly
unpleasant position. I never can stand tears or anything of that sort.
Of course there is an element of roughness in what I have to say,
however gently I may put it. I think the best plan will be for me to go
to the place and try to get an interview with the young person without
at first entering upon the subject of my visit. By that means I shall
be enabled to take stock of her, and see which is the best way to
approach the matter.
'Now, what excuse can I make to get into the house? People of that
sort, when they are in luck, are apt to stand very much on their
dignity, poor creatures! and to be tremendously exclusive. If I were
to send in my name without announcing any business, I shouldn't be
admitted. If I mentioned Calverley or Claxton, I should have to invent
a story which would be bad, or to tell the truth, which would be worse.
Now, how can I manage it?'
He paused for a few moments, leaning against the mantelpiece. Then a
sudden thought struck him.
'By Jove! Tatlow was up in that neighbourhood, and heard from his
friend, the master of the workhouse, about this Mrs. Claxton, as she
called herself. Perhaps, in the course of his inquiries he may have
learned something which will give me a hint as to how I should act.'
He touched a spring-bell on the table. 'Collins,' he said, when that
worthy appeared, 'I am at leisure now for a few minutes.'
'Glad to hear it, sir,' said Collins. 'Mr. George Norland is outside
and getting very savage at being kept awaiting. And as for the captain
of the Susquehanna--'
'You can send Mr. Norland in as soon as you leave the room, and the
captain of the Susquehanna as soon as he comes out, and any one else,
to follow hot and hot, like chops. But, in the first place, telegraph
to Scotland-yard, and ask Mr. Tatlow to step down to me this afternoon.'
By the time Mr. Tatlow arrived, Humphrey Statham had seen various
impatient ship-brokers, and was tolerably exhausted with the business
of the day.
'Just one word, Tatlow,' he said. 'I want to have a little talk with
that lady of whom you spoke to me--she that lives at Hendon, and
adopted the child. But, of course, I don't want to give my own name,
or to let her have any hint of the object of my visit. What should you
say, now, was the best line for me to take?'
'Charity, sir!' said Mr. Tatlow promptly; 'Mrs. Claxton goes in for
that hot and heavy--so they told me down there; and if you were to go
as the agent of a society and pitch a good tale, she'd be sure to see
you.'
'Poor creature!' said Humphrey Statham to himself, after the detective
had departed. 'Charity, eh?--they frequently do that, I believe. It is
the only way in which any remnant of good that may be left in them can
find vent. Well, I'll make my first appearance as agent for a charity
to-morrow afternoon.'