The blinds are up at the house in Great Walpole-street, some of the
windows have been open to get rid of the prevalent 'stuffiness,' and
after the late melancholy week a general reaction towards sprightliness
has set in among the household. This is confined to the lower regions,
of course; up-stairs Mrs. Calverley, to whom the astute French
milliner, aided and abetted by the counsel of Pauline, has actually
given something like shape, sits full dressed and complacent, reading
the letters of condolence which arrive by every post, and listening
to the loud rings which precede the leaving of cards and the making
of kind inquiries. Pauline is very attentive to her friend, listening
patiently, now to her querulous complaints as to the hardness of her
fate, now to her childish delight at being the object of so many
sympathetic letters and calls; she is unwearied in her endeavours to
amuse Mrs. Calverley, and she succeeds so well that that worthy lady
has given up her intention of visiting Brighton, which would not at all
have coincided with Pauline's plans.
For, on farther thinking over the subject, she has become more and more
convinced that Martin Gurwood is in possession of some secret regarding
Mr. Calverley's death, and she cannot divest herself of the idea that
this secret has some bearing on the matter which she has nearest at
heart--the identification of Claxton, as a means to the discovery of
Tom Durham. The reverend is preoccupied now, and even graver than
usual. If she could only induce this old woman to let her have a little
time to herself, she could watch where he goes to! Now at this very
minute, on the morning after the funeral, the servant is brushing Mr.
Gurwood's hat in the hall, and he is about to start on some expedition
which might perhaps have as much interest for her as for him.
Unconscious of the excitement he was causing to his mother's visitor,
Martin Gurwood sallied forth and walked down Great Walpole-street
in quest of a cab to take him to the City. The good-looking young
clergyman, handsome despite his grave and somewhat ascetic appearance,
was an object of much remark. The nursery-maids, who were convoying
their little charges to scamper about Guelph-park, were in some
instances outspoken in their admiration of him. The people hiding
behind the wire-blinds in the physician's dining-room, waiting their
turn for an audience, looked out with envy at his trim figure and brisk
activity, and turned back in disgust to refresh themselves with the
outside sheet of the _Times_, or to stare with feeble curiosity at
their fellow-victims. But, however bright may have been his personal
appearance, it is certain that he was in a state of great mental
disquietude, and when he ascended the dingy stairs leading to Humphrey
Statham's office his heart was beating audibly.
Mr. Collins was a man who never repeated a mistake; so that when he
caught sight of Martin he gave him precedence over the business people
who were waiting in the outer office, and showed him at once into Mr.
Statham's sanctum.
Humphrey was not at his desk; he had pulled his arm-chair in front of
the fire and was reclining in it, his feet stretched out on the fender,
his hands plunged in his trousers-pockets. So deep in rumination was he
that he did not look up at the opening of the door, but thinking it was
merely Collins with some business question, waited to be spoken to.
'Asleep?' said Martin Gurwood, bending over him, and touching him
lightly on the shoulder.
'What, is it you?' cried Humphrey, starting up. 'Asleep, no! but, I
confess, perfectly rapt and engrossed in thought.'
'And the subject was--?'
'Exactly the subject which you have come to talk to me about. Ah, my
dear fellow, I have had the most extraordinary time since I saw you.'
'You have been to Hendon?'
'Yes; I went yesterday.'
'And you saw this young woman?'
'I did.'
'Well, what is she like? Does she agree? What terms did you offer her?'
'Stay, it is impossible for me to answer all your questions at once.
You must let me tell my story my own way, while you sit there, and
don't interrupt me. Yesterday morning I drove out to Hendon in a hansom
cab, and while the driver was pulling up for refreshment I made my
way to Rose Cottage, where I had been told Mrs. Claxton lived. Such
a pretty place, Gurwood! Even in this wretched weather one could not
fail to understand how lovely it must be in summer time, and even now
how trim and orderly it was! I walked round and round it before I
could make up my mind to ring the bell--I must tell you I had already
arranged in my mind a little plot for representing myself as deeply
interested in some charity for which I intended to request her aid--but
the place looked so different to what I had expected, so cosy and
homely, that I hesitated about entering it under a false pretence,
even though I knew my motive to be a good one. However, at last I made
up my mind and pulled the bell. It was answered by a tidy, pleasant
faced, middle-aged woman. I asked if Mrs. Claxton were at home, and
she answered yes, but doubted whether I could see her, inviting me at
the same time to walk in while she took my message to her mistress.
And then she ushered me into what was the dining-room, I suppose--all
dark-green paper and black oak furniture, and some capital-proofs on
the wall; and as I was mooning about and staring at everything, the
door opened, and a lady came into the room.'
'A lady?' echoed Martin involuntarily.
'I said a lady, and I meant it, and I hold to the term,' said Humphrey
Statham, looking straight at him. 'I don't know what her birth and
breeding may have been--I should think both must have been good--but I
never saw a more perfectly lady-like or a sweeter manner.'
'What is the character of her personal appearance?' asked Martin coldly.
'You mean what is she like to look at, I suppose?' said Statham. 'Quite
young, not more than two or three and twenty, I should think, with
a slight girlish figure, and a bright, healthy, wholesome face. You
know what I mean by wholesome--beaming hazel eyes, clear red-and-white
complexion, sound white teeth, and in her eyes a look of frank honesty
and innocence which should be her passport through the world.'
'She will stand in need of some such recommendation, poor girl,' said
Martin, shaking his head.
'I am not at all sure about that,' said Humphrey, energetically;
'certainly not so much as you think. You wait until I have told you
all about it, and I shall be greatly surprised if you are not of my
opinion in the matter. Let me see, where was I? O, she had just come
into the room. Well, I rose on her entrance, but she very courteously
motioned me to my seat again, and asked me my business. I confess,
at that moment I felt like a tremendous impostor; I had not been the
least nervous before, as, with such a woman as I had expected to meet,
I could have brazened it out perfectly; but this was a very different
affair. I felt it almost impossible to tell even a white lie to this
quiet little creature. However, I blundered out the story I had
concocted as best I could, and she listened earnestly and attentively.
When I stopped speaking she told me that her means were not very
large, but that she would spare me as much as she could. She took out
her purse, but I thought that was a little too much, so I muttered
something about having no receipt with me, and told her it would be
better for her to send her subscription to the office. I thought I
might as well learn a little more; so I introduced Mr. Claxton's name,
suggesting, I think, that he should interest some of his City friends
in the charity; but her poor little face fell at once. Mr. Claxton
was away, she said, travelling on business, and she burst into tears.
I was very nearly myself breaking down at this, but she recovered
herself quickly, and begged me to excuse her. Mr. Claxton was not in
good health, she said, at the time of his departure, and as she had not
heard from him since, she could not help being nervous.'
'This is very dreadful,' said Martin Gurwood, covering his face with
his hand.
'Ah, but if you had only seen her,' said Humphrey; 'Her pale wistful
face, her large eyes full of tears! I declare I very nearly dropped the
mask and betrayed myself. I asked her if Mr. Claxton were well known
on the line on which he was travelling, suggesting that, if that were
the case, and he had been taken ill, some one would surely have written
to her. But she didn't seem to know where he had gone, and she did not
like to make any inquiries. Mr. Claxton was, she said, a partner in the
firm of Calverley and Company of Mincing-lane, and she had thought of
going down there to make inquiries concerning him. But she remembered
that some time ago Mr. Claxton had warned her in the strongest manner
against ever going to the City house, or taking notice to any one of
his absence, however prolonged it might be. It was one of the laws of
business, she supposed, she said, with a faint smile; but she had now
become so nervous that she was very nearly breaking it.'
'That is precisely the catastrophe which we have been trying to avert,'
said Martin.
'And which we shall certainly not be able to avert in the manner we
originally intended,' said Humphrey Statham.
'The story grows blacker as you proceed with it,' said Martin, looking
uneasily at his companion. 'From all I gather from you, it seems
evident that--this--'
'This lady,' said Mr. Statham, almost sternly.
'Certainly; this lady is quiet, sensible, and well-behaved.'
'More than that,' said Humphrey eagerly. 'After I left her, I had
my luncheon at the inn. I dropped in at the little post-office and
stationer's shop; I chatted with half a dozen people about Mrs.
Claxton, and from one and all I heard the same story, that she is
kind-hearted, charitable, and unceasing in doing good; that she is the
vicar's right hand among the school-children, and that she is a pattern
wife.'
'Wife!' echoed Martin Gurwood; 'do you you mean to say--'
'I mean to say, Martin Gurwood,' said Statham, bending forward and
speaking in a deep earnest voice, 'that I have not the smallest doubt
that the woman of whom we are speaking was married to the man whom
you buried yesterday. I mean to say that at this instant she believes
herself to be his wife, and that it will be next to impossible to make
her understand the awful position in which she is placed. I mean to say
that she is the victim of as black a fraud as ever was perpetrated, and
that--there, I won't say any more; the man's dead, and we have all need
of forgiveness.'
'The Lord help her in her trouble!' said Martin Gurwood solemnly,
bowing his head. 'If what you say is right, and I feel it is, the
mystery of the double name is now made clear.'
'Yes,' said Statham; 'had this lady been what we originally supposed,
it is probable that he would not have given himself the trouble of
inventing any such mystery; but being, as she fondly imagined herself,
his wife, it was necessary to give her a name by which she might pass
unrecognised by any of his friends who might accidentally come across
her. The whole scheme must have been deliberately concocted, and
with its association of Claxton as a partner in Calverley's house is
diabolically ingenious.'
There was silence for a few moments, broken by Martin Gurwood. 'The
question comes back to us again,' he said; 'what are we to do?'
'It comes back,' said Humphrey; 'but this time I have no hesitation as
to how it should be answered. When we last entered into this subject,
after long discussion we decided that the inhabitant of Rose Cottage
must be informed of what had taken place, and that an annuity must be
offered her on condition of her keeping the knowledge of her position
and even her existence from Mrs. Calverley. Now, part of our programme
must be held to, and part abandoned.'
'It is our duty, I imagine, to break to her what has occurred,' said
Martin.
'And to do so without a day's delay,' said Humphrey. 'That is necessary
for our own sake as well as for hers. I did my best to impress upon her
the inadvisability of her going to the house in the City; but as each
day passes and no news is heard of him whom she awaits, her anxiety
will increase more and more, and there is no knowing what rash step she
may take.'
'Of course, if she went to Mincing-lane, she would learn at once that
no Mr. Claxton was known there, and that Mr. Calverley was dead.
Putting the two facts together, she would at once understand what had
occurred.'
'Ay, and she would not be long in realising her own position, poor
thing; for of course she would hear of Mrs. Calverley, and then nothing
could be kept from her. No, to such a woman the horrible truth blurted
out in that way might prove fatal; and though to die might possibly be
the best thing that could happen to her, we must do our best to prevent
any such calamity. The truth must be told to her, but it must be told
kindly and gently, and it must be pointed out to her that as she has
sinned unwittingly, she will not be condemned.'
'Is she to be told that?' cried Martin Gurwood. 'If whoever breaks the
news to her talks to her after that fashion, he will be right if he is
alluding to the divine mercy, but can he say the same to the world?
Will not the world condemn her, point at her the finger of scorn, bid
her not darken its respectable doors? Will not women priding themselves
on their goodness and their charity take delight in hunting her down,
and withdrawing themselves from the contamination of her presence? Will
she not henceforth, and for the rest of her life, lie under a ban, be
kept apart, sent to Coventry, have to perform social quarantine, and to
keep the Yellow Flag flying to warn all who approach her of the danger
they run?'
Humphrey Statham looked at his companion with surprise. He had never
seen him so animated before. 'You are right,' he said. 'Heaven help
her! it is the penalty which she will have to pay for this man's sin,
in which no one will believe that she did not participate. There are
thousands who will be ready to speak pityingly of him, while their
hearts will be closed against her. Such is the justice of the world.'
'It must be our task, provided all that you imagine turns out to be
true,' said Martin, 'to endeavour to alleviate her position as much as
possible.'
'As a relative of the dead man who has worked this wrong, and as a
clergyman, your influence and example can do her more good than those
of any other person. Except, perhaps, Mrs. Calverley,' added Statham,
after a pause, 'who, I hope, for more reasons than one, will never know
anything of Mrs.--Mrs. Claxton's existence.'
'All that I can do, I will do most earnestly,' said Martin.
'You must do something more, Martin Gurwood,' said Humphrey; 'you must
go to Hendon to-morrow and break the news to this poor creature.'
'I!' cried Martin Gurwood; 'it is impossible--I--'
'You, and no one else,' said Humphrey. 'In the first place you are more
accustomed than I am to such deeply painful scenes as that which will
ensue. It is fitting that the words which you will have to say to her
should come from the mouth of a man like you, a servant of God, keeping
himself unspotted from the world, rather than from any of us who are
living this driving, tearing, work-a-day life.'
Martin Gurwood was silent for a few moments, his eyes fixed on the
ground; then he said with a shudder, 'I cannot do it. I feel I cannot
do it.'
'O yes, you can, and you said Humphrey, touching him kindly on the
shoulder.
'Shall I have to tell her--all?'
'The all is unfortunately simple enough. You will have to tell her that
so far as she was concerned, the life of this man who has just passed
away was a fraud and a pretence; that his name was not Claxton, but
Calverley; that he was not her husband, for at the very time when he,
as she thought, made her his wife, he was married to another woman. You
will have to expose all his baseness and his treachery; and you will
find that she will speak pityingly of him, and forgive him, as women
always do forgive those who ruin them body and soul.'
'You think they do?' said Martin Gurwood, looking at him earnestly.
'I know it,' said Statham. 'But that is neither here nor there. You
must undertake this duty, Martin, for it lies more in your province
than in mine. If my original notion had proved correct, I could have
assumed the requisite amount of sternness, and should have done very
well; but as matters stand at present I should be quite out of my
element. It is meant for you, Martin, and you must do it.'
'I will do my best,' said Martin, 'though I shudder at the task, and
greatly fear my own powers in being able to carry it through: Am I to
say anything about the annuity, as we settled before?'
'No, I think not,' said Humphrey Statham promptly; 'that is a part of
the affair which need not be touched on just yet; and when it comes to
the front, I had better take it in hand. Not that you would not deal
with it with perfect delicacy, but it requires a little infusion of
business, which is more in my way. You are perfectly certain you are
right in what you told me the other day about the will? No mention of
any one who could possibly be this lady whom we know as Mrs. Claxton?'
'None. Every person named in the will is known to me or to my mother.'
'Have you been through Mr. Calverley's private papers?'
'I have gone through most of them; they were not numerous, and were
very methodically arranged.'
'And you have found nothing suspicious in them, no memorandum making
provision for any one?'
'Nothing of the kind. But last night Mr. Jeffreys brought up to me the
banker's pass-book of the firm, and I noticed that about four months
ago a sum of two thousand pounds was transferred from the business
account to Mr. Calverley's private account, and I thought that was
remarkable.'
'It was, and to have noticed it does you credit. I had no idea you had
so much business discrimination.'
'You have not heard all,' said Martin. 'On my pointing this out to Mr.
Jeffreys, of course without hinting what idea had struck me, he told
me that three or four years ago, he could not recollect the exact date
off-hand, a very much larger sum, ten thousand pounds, in fact, had
been transferred from one account to the other in the same way.'
'Then it seems pretty clear to me,' said Humphrey Statham, 'that we
shall not have to tax our inventive faculties, or to bewilder Mr.
Jeffreys with any mysterious story for the purpose of furnishing Mrs.
Claxton with proper means of support.'
'You imagine this money was devoted to her service?' asked Martin.
'I have very little doubt about it. The ten thousand pounds were no
doubt set aside and invested in some safe concern, yielding a moderate
rate of interest, say five or six per cent, and settled upon her. From
this she would have a decent yearly income, more than enough, if I may
judge from what I saw of her yesterday, to keep her in comfort. I don't
know what the two thousand pounds transferred recently can have been
for, unless it was that Mr. Calverley found his health beginning to
fail, and desired to make a larger provision for her.'
'Might not this second sum have been given as a bribe to some one?'
asked Martin, 'for the sake of buying somebody's silence--some one who
discovered what was going on, and threatened to reveal it?'
'Most assuredly it might,' said Statham, in astonishment, 'and it is
by no means unlikely that it was applied in that manner. I am amazed,
Martin, at your fertility of resource; I had no idea that you had so
much acquaintance with human nature.'
'In any case, then,' said Martin Gurwood, ignoring the latter portion
of his companion's speech, 'it will not be necessary for me to touch
upon the question of money in my interview with Mrs. Claxton.'
'Certainly not,' said Humphrey, 'beyond broadly hinting, if you find it
necessary, that she will be properly cared for. But my own feeling is,
that she will be far too much overwhelmed to think of anything beyond
the loss she has sustained, and her consequent present misery.'
'You do not under-state the unpleasantness and the difficulty of the
mission you have proposed for me,' said Martin, with a half-smile.
'I do not over-state it, my dear Gurwood, believe me,' said Statham.
'And all I can do now is to wish you God-speed in it.'
When Martin Gurwood returned to Great Walpole-street that afternoon, he
found that Mr. Jeffreys had been sent for by Mrs. Calverley, and was
installed in the dining-room, with various books and documents, which
he was submitting to the widow. Madame Du Tertre sat at her friend's
right hand, taking notes of such practical business suggestions as
occurred to Mrs. Calverley, and of the replies to such inquiries as
she herself thought fit to make. To Martin's great relief the banker's
pass-book, which he had seen on the previous evening, was not amongst
those produced.
Mrs. Calverley looked somewhat confused at her son's entrance. 'I asked
Mr. Jeffreys to bring these books up here, Martin,' she said, 'as it
was impossible for me to go to the City just yet, and I wanted to have
a general idea of how matters stood.'
'You did perfectly right, my dear mother,' said Martin absently,
throwing himself into a chair. His conversation with Statham, the story
he had heard, and the task he had undertaken, were all fresh in his
mind, and he could not concentrate his attention on anything else.
'You seem fatigued, Monsieur Martin,' said Pauline, eyeing him closely;
'the worry of the last few days has been too much for you.'
'It is not that, Madame Du Tertre,' said Martin, rousing himself; 'the
fact is, I have been engaged in the City all day, and that always tires
me.'
'In the City!' repeated Pauline. 'Madame asked Monsieur Jeffreys, and
he told us you had not been there.'
'Not to Mincing-lane. I had an engagement of my own in the City, which
has occupied me all day.'
'Ah! and you found that very fatiguing? The roar and the noise of
London, the crowded streets, the want of fresh air, all this must be
very unpleasant to you, Monsieur Martin. You will be glad to get back
to your quiet, your country, and your--what you call--parish.'
'But I shall not be able to return there for some little time to come,
I fear,' said Martin; 'I have a great deal yet to do in London.'
'I should like you to go through some of these books with me to-morrow.
Mr. Jeffreys can leave them here, and can come up to-morrow, and--'
'Not to-morrow, mother,' said Martin. 'I have an engagement of
importance which will occupy me the whole day.'
Mrs. Calverley looked displeased. 'It is much better not to postpone
these matters,' she said.
But Martin Gurwood answered shortly, 'It cannot be to-morrow, mother;
the appointment which I have made must be kept.' And as he looked up,
the tell-tale colour came again to his cheeks as he saw Madame Du
Tertre's eyes eagerly fastened on him.
'An appointment which must be kept,' muttered Pauline to herself, as
she locked her chamber-door for the night. I was right, then! This man
has been away all day, engaged on some business which he does not name.
He has an appointment for to-morrow, about the nature of which he is
also silent. I am convinced that he is keeping something secret, and
have an inexplicable feeling that that something has to do with me.
Mrs. Calverley will have to pass her day in solitude to-morrow, for I
too have an appointment which I must keep, and when Monsieur Martin has
an interview with his friend, I shall not be far away.
Madame Du Tertre was with her dear friend very early the next morning.
She had received a letter, she said, from a poor cousin of hers, who,
helpless and friendless, had arrived in London the previous evening.
Pauline must go to her at once, but would return by dinner-time. Mrs.
Calverley graciously gave her consent to this proceeding, and Pauline
took her leave.
Soon after breakfast Martin Gurwood issued from the house, and hailing
the driver of a hansom cab, which was just coming out from the adjacent
mews, fresh for its day's work, stepped lightly into the vehicle, and
was driven off. Immediately afterwards, a lady, wearing a large black
cloth cloak and hat, with a thick veil, called the next hansom that
appeared and bade its driver keep the other cab, now some distance
ahead, in view.
An ostler, who was passing by, with a bit of straw in his mouth, and
an empty sack thrown over his shoulders, heard the direction given and
grinned cynically.
'The old game! Always a woman for that sort of caper!' he muttered to
himself as he disappeared down the mews.