DELIBERATION.
It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and Mr. Charles Yeldham was hard
at work, his oak rigidly closed, the sleeves of his dressing-gown
turned up, his hair in a grand state of "towzle," caused by the
frequent passage of his hands through it; a shower of fresh
ink-splotches dotting the carpet close by his desk, and other
indubitable signs of a hard case of "treadmill." It had occurred to
Mr. Yeldham, in the midst of applying a wise saw to a modern instance,
that somebody was tapping at his outer door; but entirely engrossed by
the vastness of the application, he had given himself to rubbing his
hands together under his desk, and had wholly ignored the knocker. In
the act of taking a fresh dip of ink, preparatory to the elaboration
of a sentence which should utterly confound his adversary the
opposition chamber-counsel, Mr. Yeldham paused, and, recognising the
peculiar taps at the door as those only known to the affiliated,
Charley, with some faint idea that it might be Gordon Frere coming in
for a chat and a smoke, laid down his pen, and unbolting the door,
admitted Robert Streightley.
Very pale, with a bright hectic flush under the eyes, and with an
unnatural brightness in the eyes themselves; with his hat drawn over
his brow, and his shoulders far more rounded than when Yeldham had
last seen him, Robert Streightley wrung his friend's hand, entered the
room, and without invitation flung himself into a chair by the desk.
The appearance of the man was so changed, the action was so contrary
to his usual custom, that Charles Yeldham looked hard at him, and
looking, noticed the restless quivering of his lips, the odd manner in
which he plucked at his chin with his hand, the way in which from time
to time he pressed his side, as though to check the beating of his
heart. Yeldham noticed all these points; but his voice never betrayed
him, and he said perfectly calmly,
"Well, Robert, old man, it's not often you venture into my
quarters--afraid of the law, eh, old fellow?--think that I shall
entangle you into a dispute with Rothschild, or show how easily you
could promote a claim against the Barings? However, I'm glad to see
you now you are come."
"I'm sure you are, Charley; and I know you'll be more glad to see
me--I mean more ready with your sympathy and advice--when you learn
that I have come to you--in trouble."
"In trouble? O yes, I recollect; I saw in the papers. Dreadful thing
about Mr. Guyon; so sudden, and at such a place! Dreadful for your
wife too; I suppose she feels it acutely?"
"I suppose she does. I can't say--I don't know!"
"You can't say--you don't know! Why, Hubert, old fellow, Mr. Guyon's
death must--"
"I didn't come here to talk to you about Mr. Guyon's death, Yeldham; I
came to speak of my own affairs."
"Why, Robert, how you--what on earth's the matter with you, man?"
"What on earth's the matter with a man whose wife--whom he adores and
worships--has left him for ever?"
"Has left him for ever? Good God, Streightley, what's the matter with
you; you've not been----"
"No, I'm not drunk, Charley, if you mean that; and grief has not
turned my brain yet; at all events I know what I said, and I mean
it--read that!" and he handed him Katharine's note.
Yeldham read it through with contracting brows and pursing lips. He
read it twice; then Streightley said, "That note was posted to me, and
reached me the morning after my wife left her home. You see that it
does not give the slightest clue to her whereabouts."
"It does not--it----"
"Why do you hesitate?"
"Well--there was no occasion for you to show me that letter; and you
would not have shown it to me, I presume, if you intended your
confidence to end there."
"I have come here to ask your advice and help, and with the full
intention of concealing nothing from you."
"That is the only condition under which advice, to be worth any thing,
can be given. Mrs. Streightley in that letter speaks of some plot or
conspiracy of which you were cognisant, by which her whole life was
warped and spoiled. I'm not quoting exact words, but that remains upon
my mind as the sense of the passage. What does she mean by that?"
"She means that I, whom you have always known as an honourable man,
acted on one occasion like a sneak and a scoundrel!--she means that I
was so mad in my pursuit of her before we were married, that I
descended to the use of foul means to carry my point; that I was base
enough to be party to an arrangement which, as she says, warped and
spoiled her life, for the sake of getting her for myself."
"This is strong language, Robert! Knowing you as I do, I should think
your conduct even in this matter can hardly have been such as to
justify this self-condemnation."
"Wait and hear the story before you judge. You know how I loved
Katharine Guyon. I told you all about it that first day we went down
to Middlemeads; I told you how, the first time in my life, I was
passionately, madly in love with her. We spoke, if you recollect,
of your friend Gordon Frere; but I did not tell you what I then
knew--that he had paid great attention to Miss Guyon; that these
attentions had been very well received by her, and that there was a
very strong flirtation--if not an understood engagement--between
them."
"You did not tell me, but I knew it. I had been told of it by Gordon
himself."
"You knew of it, and yet listened to my love-ravings? However, the
flirtation, engagement--whatever it was--was gall and wormwood to me.
I had seen them together on several occasions, and the recollection of
the pleasure which she always showed in his society used to madden me.
I made all kinds of excuses to go to her house; I lent her father
money whenever he asked for it; each time I saw her I was more madly
in love, but she was no nearer to me than before. One morning her
father wrote to me to come to him on urgent business. I thought he
wanted more money, but he explained that it was to consult me--I who
was so calm and clever and far-seeing, God help me!--as to the future
of his child. He had that morning had a letter from Mr. Gordon Frere
making a formal proposal for Miss Guyon's hand, and enclosing another
letter to Miss Guyon herself."
Here Charles Yeldham shifted his position, leaning forward in his
chair, and fixing his eyes on Streightley's face.
"I did not read either of these letters," continued Robert; "but Mr.
Guyon explained to me their purport, and I knew at once my doom. Mr.
Guyon expressed his dislike to the proposed connection, stating that
Mr. Frere was too young, too frivolous, and too poor to be intrusted
with Miss Guyon's future. In an instant, and almost without knowing
what I did, I proposed to Mr. Guyon for his daughter. He accepted me
instantly, declared himself delighted, and assured me that he would
smooth matters for me with Miss Guyon. But there was Frere's letter.
We both knew that she was fond of the young man; we both knew that she
would accept his offer; we--yes, we both agreed that the letter should
be kept back from her, and that she should never be informed of
Frere's proposal."
"Good God!" exclaimed Yeldham, "and that intention was carried out?"
"At once. Frere was answered by Mr. Guyon that his daughter was
engaged to me, and--there! I cannot go through the sickening details
of that time again, nor describe the manner in which that girl was
cheated of her lover and made over to me. Since then the knowledge of
my treachery has never left me, I may fairly say I haven't had one
happy hour, and--could I only get my wife back, and prove to her how
sincere is my desire to atone for my part in this plot, I should not
repine at its having come to light. You don't speak, Yeldham; you
despise me--you----"
"I don't despise you, Robert; I pity you from the bottom of my soul,"
said Yeldham in a hard dry voice. "I don't think, much as I have heard
it talked of, that I ever believed in what men call the power of
passion before. That it made whole idiots of the half-brained people
who chose to let it get the mastery of them, I understood; but that
under its influence you should have permitted yourself to have your
sense of right and wrong warped and degraded--that you should have
suffered yourself to become a conspirator with, if not the tool of,
such a thorough-paced scoundrel as old Guyon, is to me most
marvellous. I confess I thought there was something queer in the case;
but I never dreamed of this."
Yeldham stopped speaking for a minute; but as Robert Streightley
remained silent, his head buried in his hands, Charley rose to his
feet and began striding up and down the room, as was his fashion when
very much excited.
"I should be no true friend to you, Streightley, if I did not tell you
all I feel in this matter," he said, "though I cannot express in
strong enough terms my horror at what has been done. When I recollect
how that poor fellow Gordon Frere went away almost heart-broken, and
soured in temper, at the way in which he thought he had been treated
by Miss Guyon--his visits unacknowledged, his letters unreplied to,
his proposal rejected,--when I think how he stormed about her conduct
and cursed her--yes, cursed her, poor girl, as a heartless coquette;
cursed her for what it now appears she not merely had nothing to do
with, but was a fellow-victim in,--when I think of all this, I feel I
must be drunk or dreaming when connecting my old friend Robert
Streightley with such a deliberate piece of villainy! Don't start,
Robert; it was a hard word, but it was the right one. I'm not a friend
of yesterday; we've been like brothers since we were boys, and you
know I'd give my life for you if it were wanted; but I claim the right
to speak out plainly in this matter. Why, it was but the other day
that Frere, who, thank God, came home quite cured of all that early
romance, was here talking of you and your wife, and saying how lucky
she was to have chosen for her helpmate in life such an honest,
genuine, sterling good fellow."
"Charley," pleaded Streightley, crossing his hands behind his head,
"for heaven's sake spare me this! To know what I was, what I seem to
be, and what I am, is too much!"
"There then," said Yeldham, pausing by his friend and laying his hand
on Robert's shoulder--"I've done. No talk will mend the matter, and
besides, immediate action is needed. You say Mrs. Streightley had left
your house?"
"She had; that letter came by the post the day after her father's
death--the day on which she went away."
"And at present you have no clue to her whereabouts?"
"Not the slightest."
Charles Yeldham sat down at his desk, and leaning his head on his
hands, remained for a minute or two in deep thought. Then he turned to
his friend and said:
"Mrs. Streightley was, I should imagine from the little I saw of her,
a woman of great force of character, and not likely to do a thing on
the spur of the moment without calculating results. You see this
letter, by its postmark, must have been written some hours after she
left home. During those hours she was deliberating and forming her
plan; and whatever that was, she'll hold to it, I'm sure. She has
determined that you sha'n't trace her; and it's my opinion you'll have
the greatest difficulty in doing it."
"We might employ the detectives, don't you think?" asked Robert.
"Detectives! There's been no detection done by the detectives since
they were made the heroes of sensation novels; and, besides, we don't
quite want to place your domestic history among the archives of
Scotland Yard. No; whatever is to be done--and, as I said before, I
fear the chance is small enough--must be done amongst ourselves. Who
were her female friends? intimates, I mean; dear and dearest, and all
those things that women say and write to each other?"
"I--I scarcely know," said Robert, looking blank. "She never appeared
to me to have what one could call an intimate friend. There was Lady
Henmarsh, who used to take her about before we were married; but
there's not been over much cordiality between them lately, I should
say; and Mrs. Stanbourne, who is a relative of Katharine's, and a very
charming woman, the kindest and best--so particularly nice to me, made
me feel quite at home--but she's not in England, or I would have sent
to her at once; and there's my sister Ellen, and Hester Gould--Mrs.
Frere, I mean--but of course, under the circumstances, she would not
go to either of them."
"Of course not," said Yeldham, rubbing his head. "It's a tremendous
knot--a most tremendous knot. I don't see my way in it the least.
Motive for leaving plain enough--discovery of this plot. Inducement
for her to go any where in particular? none. 'Never will forgive
you--never will look on your face again'--that means concealment, or I
don't know but she's just the woman whose spirit would induce her
to--no, not that either. Too much pride; hates the world's talk and
pity--no, no. What does she say about having taken nothing of yours?
Hadn't she any money?"
"She had a private banking account of her own, but I find she has not
drawn a cheque for weeks. She has only taken with her some jewels
which belonged to her mother, and which--ah, my darling! my darling!"
and the strong man, who had borne up with such fortitude hitherto,
broke down and wept like a child.
"Robert--old fellow--for God's sake, any thing but that! Have some
brandy; have some----"
"If she should be in want--she, who never yet knew an ungratified
wish--if she--O Charley, I know I'm making a fool of myself, old
friend, but I love her so! O Heaven, I love her so!"
There were tears in honest Charley Yeldham's eyes as he sat himself
down by his friend, and took his hand and said, "Come, Robert--be a
man. I know it's hard to bear, horribly hard, and no preaching, and no
attempt at consolation will make it any better. It must be faced and
battled with. She's gone, and we must find her. It's one consolation
to know that wherever she may be, she'll be certain, by that wonderful
something which I have often felt, but which I can't explain, and
which is innate in her, to command the respect of those she is thrown
among. But the money-test is decidedly an awkward one. She has some
jewels, you say; but she'll know nothing of the way to convert them
into cash, and she's sure to be awfully done; and I suppose she was
like most women, had not the least knowledge of the value of money?"
"Well, no, poor child--not much, I think; you see, she has never had
to----"
"Of course not; I know. Look here, Robert; you must take a blunt
question from a blunt man, and give a blunt answer if you choose. Is
what is beginning to be murmured about you in the City true?"
The colour flushed up into Robert Streightley's pale face at the
question. The pride in his wife, in his position, had been things of
later days; the pride in his City stability had been born in him, and
nurtured in his youth.
"I will answer you, Charley, in all truth," he said, with quivering
lips; "but you must tell me first what the report is."
"The report is, that, hit heavily by the failure of Hicks' bank, you
have been trying to recover leeway by--well, what they call wild
speculation; that you've got some tremendous bills in hand, and
that----"
"There; quite enough. Public rumour is, as usual, considerably in
advance of the truth. We were hit by Hicks' failure, but you'll find
that Streightley and Son will weather the gale yet. Pshaw!"
Streightley exclaimed, suddenly changing his tone--"I got relief from
one confession, why should not I from another? I won't disguise from
you, my dear Charley, that we have been very heavily hit, and that our
present situation is--well, what may be called precarious; but I hope,
and think, we shall pull through."
"Has this state of things been for long?"
"Well--for some months."
"And Mrs. Streightley knew nothing of it?"
"God forbid! Knowing how she had been purchased, was I to yield up the
sole influence I possessed over her by telling her that the gold for
which she had been sacrificed was only dross and dead leaves, and that
the 'merchant prince' was on the brink of ruin? Not I. And what has it
come to now? She is gone, and I am left alone in my misery and
desolation." His head fell on his breast as he said this, and the big
tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Look here, Robert," said Yeldham, laying his hand heavily on his
friend's shoulder; "this won't do at all. You're all unstrung and
out of health. Get you home--if you're not absolutely wanted in the
City--and rest a bit; you need it, heaven knows. Leave this business
to me--you know I'm a capital ferret--and I'll take it in hand at
once, and you shall see me to-morrow with my report."
Robert Streightley wrung his friend's hand, and very shortly left the
chambers; but Charley Yeldham remained for more than an hour with his
chin buried in his hands, and his mind full of all he had heard. At
length he put on his hat, and walked into Fleet Street, where, close
by the top of Middle Temple Lane, he encountered Mr. Daniel Thacker.
It is scarcely necessary to say that, though they were acquainted,
there was very little friendship between Mr. Yeldham and Mr. Thacker.
The Hebrew gentleman regarded the lawyer as a plodding snob; the
conveyancing barrister regarded the West-end money-lender as an
unscrupulous scoundrel; but they had met and been introduced, and were
in the habit of stopping to exchange verbal civilities; and they did
so on this occasion. After the first compliments had passed, Mr.
Thacker expressed his regret at not seeing more of Mr. Yeldham in
society, but added that he perfectly well understood how it was; there
must be bees as well as drones--and Mr. Yeldham had the credit of
being one of the most hardworking as well as one of the most
deservedly successful bees in the legal hive. Mr. Yeldham--in his
coldly formal politeness one could scarcely have recognised the
warm-hearted Charley, Robert Streightley's friend--Mr. Yeldham was
compelled to leave society to those who adorned it, like Mr. Thacker;
and, "talking of society," said Mr. Yeldham, "this is very sad news
about our poor friend Mr. Guyon."
"Sad enough for me," said Mr. Thacker with charming frankness. "Mr.
Guyon was a client of mine; a client for whom I--like a soft fool as I
was--however, that's neither here nor there--I shall have to stand the
racket in that quarter, and be a considerable loser, I can tell you."
Mr. Yeldham expressed his concern, and attempted to terminate the
interview; but Mr. Thacker caught him by the lapel of his coat. "And
talking of that," said he, "this is a pretty business in Portland
Place!"
In Portland Place? You would have gathered from the expression of Mr.
Yeldham's face that it was the first time he had ever heard of that
locality.
"Yes, yes; you know what I mean," said Mr. Thacker impatiently;
"Guyon's son-in-law--Streightley, the City man."
"Streightley, the City man?" repeated Yeldham; "ah, of course,
dreadfully cut up at the sudden death."
"Dreadfully cut up at the sudden death! I hope that's the only way in
which he'll be cut up dreadfully. Haven't you heard the news?"
By a shoulder-shrug which would have done credit to Frederic Lemaitre,
Mr. Yeldham intimated his ignorance.
"Well, then, Mrs. Streightley has gone away from her home--left her
husband, sir; and no one knows where she's gone to."
"That's a very awkward statement to make, Mr. Thacker," said Yeldham;
"Mrs. Streightley, too, of all persons in the world! I suppose you
have--you must have--excellent authority for such a story, or you
would scarcely venture, a man of your perspicacity, to repeat it."
"All I know is, that a--well, in point of fact, a client of mine, Mrs.
Frere, was with Lady Henmarsh, Mr. Streightley's great friend, and
heard it when they called in Portland Place."
"Mrs. Frere--a client of yours? ay, ay! ay, ay! a strange story
indeed, but one which we lawyers must take _cum grano_, as we say.
Good morning, Mr. Thacker." And Yeldham bowed to his acquaintance, and
passed on.
"A dry stick that," said Thacker, looking after him; "a very dry
stick. How much of that story did he know? Every bit; more than any of
us are acquainted with, for he was an old friend of Streightley's, and
has doubtless been consulted about the business. I've underrated that
chap hitherto, I imagine; he did that very neatly, very neatly indeed.
Shook me off at the right instant too, at the very moment when I
intended to pump him about Streightley's liabilities; a deuced cool,
clever hand. I'll remember you, my friend, when I want clear-headed
advice."
"'In point of fact, a client of mine,'" said Yeldham to himself as he
went his way. "That's it, is it? Mrs. Frere a client of Thacker's!
Fishy that--deuced fishy, considering her relations with the
Guyon-cum-Streightley case. Something to be made out of that, I fancy.
I'll just take a turn round the Regent's Park before going back to
head-work, and think that out."