WEAVING THE WEB.
In his well-deserved character of prudent campaigner, Mr. Simnel took
no immediate steps to avail himself of the signal advantage which he
had gained in his interview with Mr. Townshend. That eminent
British merchant went abroad, and his name was recorded among
a choice sprinkling of fashionables as honouring the steamship
_Baron Osy_, bound for Antwerp, with their presence, and, on the
"better-day-better-deed" principle, selecting the Sunday as the day of
their departure. Mr. Simnel read the paragraph with a placid smile; he
had seen sufficient of Mr. Townshend in that interview to guess that
his illness was merely the result of care and worry, and that there
was no reason to apprehend his proximate death. Antwerp--doubtless
thence Brussels, the Rhine, and perhaps Switzerland--would make a
pleasant tour; and as for any idea of escape, he knew well enough that
that thought had never crossed Mr. Townshend's mind. The old gentleman
knew he would have to pay the possessor of his secret heavily in one
way or another, but in what he was as yet totally ignorant; besides,
his business engagements in London utterly prevented all chance of his
retiring in any sudden manner. And so Mr. Simnel remained quietly at
his post at the Tin-Tax Office, apparently not taking any notice of
any thing save the regular business routine, but in reality intent on
his earnest cat-like watching of all around him, and always ready to
pull any string at what he considered the proper opportunity.
He kept his eyes on Mr. Beresford, and knit his eyebrows very much as
he contemplated that gentleman's proceedings. Whether prompted by
anxiety for the fate of his eight-hundred pounds loan or by some other
occult reason, Mr. Simnel had been specially watchful over the
Commissioner, and urged upon him to bring the speculation in which he
had embarked to a prosperous close. With this view he had dissuaded
Beresford from going to Scotland, whither, as usual, he was bound on
his autumnal excursion; representing to him that he had of late been
very lax in his attendance; that he had had much more leave of absence
than any of his brother commissioners; that Sir Hickory Maddox had
once or twice referred to the subject in any thing but a complimentary
manner; and that the best thing he could do to stave off an impending
row would be to volunteer to stop in town, and let the other members
of the board have a chance of running away in the fine weather. At
this suggestion Mr. Beresford looked very black and waxed very wroth,
and couldn't see why the deuce, and on his oath couldn't tell the
necessity, &c.; but relented somewhat when his friend pointed out to
him that there was no necessity for his attending more than twice a
week at the office, just to sign such papers as were pressing; and
that instead of remaining in his South-Audley-Street lodgings, he
could go out and take rooms at a beautiful little inn in the village
of Whittington, where there was a glorious cook, a capital cellar,
beautiful air, splendid prospect, and above all, which was twenty
minutes' canter from the Uplands, Schröder's summer place. To this
plan Mr. Beresford consented; and after asking for a further loan of
fifty, and getting five-and-twenty, from Simnel, Beresford and his
mare Gulnare were domesticated at the Holly Bush, and he prepared to
make play.
But somehow the state of affairs did not please Mr. Simnel. One day,
when he and Mr. and Mrs. Schröder were Beresford's guests, he seemed
specially annoyed; and on the next occasion of his friend's visiting
the office, he took the opportunity of speaking to him.
"I want to say a word to you, Master Charles," said he, entering the
board-room and addressing Beresford, who was stretched on the sofa
reading the _Post_, and envying the sportsmen whose bags were recorded
therein. "I want to know how you're getting on."
"Getting on! in what way?" asked Beresford, putting down the paper and
lazily looking round; "as regards money, do you mean? because, if so,
I could take that other five-and-twenty from you with a great amount
of satisfaction."
"You're very good," said Simnel, with a sardonic grin; "but I'd rather
not. I'm afraid you've been trying some of Dr. Franklin's experiments
with kites again recently; at all events, I've seen several letters
addressed to you in Parkinson's--of Thavies Inn, I mean--handwriting;
which looks any thing but healthy. However, I didn't mean that; I
meant in the other business--the great venture."
"Oh," said Beresford, "that's all right."
"I'm glad to hear it. Satisfactory, and all that sort of thing, eh?"
"Perfectly. Why do you ask?"
"Well, to tell you the truth," said Simnel, with that kind of honest
bluntness, that inexpressible frankness, generally assumed by a man
who is going to say something disagreeable, "I had an idea that it was
quite the opposite. When we dined with you the other day,--deuced good
dinner it was too; I was right to recommend you there, wasn't I? I
haven't tasted such spitchcocked eels for years; and that man's
moselle has a finer faint flavour of the muscat than any I know in
England,--when we dined with you, as I say, I fancied things were all
wrong with the lady. I talked to the old boy, as in duty bound, and
listened to all his platitudes about the influence of money--as though
I didn't know about that, good lord! But the whole time I was
listening, and chiming in here and there with such interjections as I
thought appropriate, I kept my eye on you and madam; and from what I
saw, I judged it wasn't all plain-sailing. I was right; wasn't I?"
"Well," said Mr. Beresford, between his teeth, "you were, and that's
the truth. We've come to grief somehow; but how, I can hardly tell. It
was going on splendidly; I had followed all your instructions to the
letter, and, in fact, I was thoroughly accepted as her brother, when
she suddenly veered round; and though I can't say she's been unkind,
yet she has lost all that warmth that so pleasantly characterised her
regard; and now, I think, rather avoids me than otherwise."
"You've not overdone it, have you? Not been lapsing into your old
style of flirtation, and--"
"No; on my honour, no. I rather think some of her friends have been
putting the moral screw on. You recollect a Miss Lexden--Mrs.
Churchill that is now?"
"Perfectly! But _she_ would not be likely to object to a flirtation."
"Not as mademoiselle, but as madame she has rangéed herself, and I
believe her husband is a straight-laced party. She was up at Uplands
for a couple of days, and rather snubbed me when I presented myself
there in my fraternal character. I've been putting things together in
my mind, and I begin to think that Mrs. Schröder's coldness dated from
Mrs. Churchill's visit."
"Likely enough. I daresay Mrs. Churchill goes in tremendously now for
all the domestic virtues. If a reformed rake makes the best husband, a
penitent flirt ought to make the best wife; and, by all accounts, Miss
Barbara Lexden was a queen of the art. I hear that she and her husband
lead a perpetually billing-and-cooing existence, like a pair of
genteelly-poor turtles, in some dovecot near Gray's Inn."
"That man Lyster's been a good deal to the house lately, too. I always
hated that fellow, and I know he hates me; he looks at me sometimes as
though he could eat me. Schröder seems to have taken a fancy to him;
and I sometimes half fancy that he has a kind of spoony attachment to
Mrs. Schröder--if you recollect, I told you I thought he was after her
when we were all down at Bissett--though I don't think very much of
that. I'll tell you what it is, Simnel," continued Mr. Beresford, in a
burst of confidence, straggling up into a sitting position on the
sofa, and beating his legs with the folded newspaper as he spoke, "I'm
getting devilish sick of all this dodging and duffing, and I've been
thinking seriously of calling my creditors together, getting them to
take so much a-year, and then going in quietly and marrying Kate
Mellon after all."
Mr. Simnel's face flushed but for an instant; it was its normal colour
when he said,
"You're mad! You, with the ball at your foot, to think of such a
course! So much a-year, indeed! Butchers and bakers do that sort of
thing, I believe, when they've been let in; but not forty-per-cent
men; not money-lending insurance-offices. Breathe a hint of your
state, and they'd be down upon you at once, and sell you up like old
sticks. Besides, you couldn't come to any arrangement with your
creditors without its leaking out somehow. It would get into those
infernal trade-circulars, or protection-gazettes, or whatever they're
called; and if the Bishop or Lady Lowndes heard of it, all your
chances of inheriting in either of those quarters would be blown to
the winds. As to--to Kate Mellon, you may judge how your alliance with
her would please either of the august persons I have named."
"Jove! you're right," said Beresford, biting his nails.
"Right, of course I am; and here you've only to wait, and an
heiress--a delightful little creature to boot--is absolutely thrown
into your arms. You're a child, Charley, in some things,--you clever
men always have a slate off somewhere, you know,--and in business
you're a positive child. Can't you see that yours must be a waiting
race?--that you mustn't mind being hustled, and bothered, and cramped,
at the beginning, but must always keep your eyes open for your chance,
and then make the running? The least impetuosity, such as you hint at,
would throw away every hope, and destroy a very excellently planned
scheme. Oh, you needn't wince at the word; we are all schemers in
love, as well as in every thing else, if we only acknowledged it."
"Then you counsel my keeping on still, and endeavouring to regain my
influence?"
"Certainly; by all means. It will come back, never fear. And look
here, Charley; don't fall into that horribly common and vulgar error
of abusing the people who are supposed to be thwarting your plans. Be
specially kind, on the contrary, in all you say of them. This Captain
Lyster, for instance, I should proclaim, if I were you, a thorough
gentleman--a prolix chevalier of a type now seldom seen--a man
evidently smothering an unhappy passion for--for--any body but Mrs.
Schröder. Wouldn't the other one do? Mrs. Churchill, I mean."
"Do! What do you mean? There used certainly to be a flirtation between
them at one time, and--"
"Quite enough. Only keep Mrs. Schröder from the notion that Lyster is
spooning her; for that's enough at once to turn her silly little
thoughts to him. Speak kindly of every one; and don't show the
smallest signs of weariness, depression, or discouragement."
When Mr. Simnel returned to his own room, he settled himself down into
his chair, and fell to nursing his leg and thinking, with the old
sinister smile on his face.
"He's not the easiest fellow in the world to deal with--Beresford! At
least, he'd be difficult to some; but I think I've got him in hand.
Wants every thing to run slick off the reel at once, the idiot! As
though any great coup had ever been pulled off, save by waiting, and
watching, and patience. Marry Kate Mellon, indeed!" and here Mr.
Simnel's fingers, intertwined across his knee, cracked as he pulled at
them--"marry Kate Mellon, and with such a damned air of patronage too!
No, my young friend, never! You held a trump-card there, and you
neglected to play it; and in my game there's no revoking. I must see
Kitty, and look how the land lies. I think I've stalled Master Charley
off for some little time; and it's no use bringing about an
éclaircissement of the Schröder business; which Kitty would be safe to
do as soon as she had any tangible proof. Then I should lose my eight
hundred pounds in Charley Beresford's general and helpless smash.
But I'd sooner drop them than miss my chance of Kitty. Slippery,
though--slippery as the deuce!" and Mr. Simnel put his elbow on his
knee, and his face into his hand, and sat plucking at his chin
"hankers after Beresford, no doubt,--I think has a liking for that
young Prescott; but that I'll put a stop to to-day,--and I suppose
only thanks me for my kindness. And yet I can put the finishing stroke
to the whole thing in one moment; only want the one connecting-link
and the story's complete; and then I'll take my oath she'll have me.
I'll ride up there this afternoon, and just see how the land lies."
In accordance with this determination, Mr. Simnel that afternoon
mounted his thoroughbred and cantered off to The Den. He found the
mistress of the house at home, seated on a rustic seat, in a little
grass-plot in front of the drawing-room window, with a carriage-whip
in her hand, with which she was flicking the heads off such flowers as
were within reach. She had evidently just come in from a drive, for
she still wore her bonnet and black-lace shawl, though the former was
perched on the top of her head, to keep off the sun, while the latter
hung trailing down her back. She had altered in appearance, and not
for the better: her eyes were unnaturally bright; her cheeks sunken,
and marked here and there with hectic patches. Simnel gave his horse
to a groom, and walked up the garden-path. Kate Mellon looked up at
the sound of his advancing footsteps; at first vacantly enough, but
when she recognised him, she roused herself, and got up to meet him.
"How are you Simnel?" she said, with outstretched hand. "I was
thinking of you only to-day, and wondering what had become of you.
It's ages since you've been up here."
"I've been very busy, Kate, and been unable to come. You know my wish
is to come as frequently as possible; oh, you needn't shake your head,
because you are quite certain of it; but that's neither here nor
there. I keep to my portion of the contract, and shall not bore you
about myself until I've shown you I've a right to ask you to listen to
me. And now, how are you, and what are you doing? To tell truth, I
don't think you look very bonny, young woman: a little dragged, eh?
End of the season, perhaps?"
"Oh, I'm all right!" said Kate, hurriedly; "never better in health,
and jolly; that's the great point, isn't it, Simnel, eh? I'm learning
to look after number one, you know; and when you can do that, you're
all right, ain't you? Have some lunch? No? then look here; I've got
something you must taste,--some wonderful Madeira. Oh, all right; I
know it'll put some colour into your cheeks, and do you good."
She called to a passing servant, and the wine was brought,--rare old
tawny, full-bodied, mellow Madeira,--such wine as is now to be met in
about a dozen houses in the land, and utterly different from the
mixture of mahogany-shavings and brandy which is sold under its name.
Simnel poured out two half-glasses; but Kate took the decanter from
him, filled her glass to the brim, and nodding to him, drank off half
its contents.
"Ah!" said she, with a long-drawn inspiration; "that's the stuff! No
nonsense in that, you know; doesn't pretend to be what it isn't, and
can't deceive you. Tom Gillespie sent me a lot of that: found no end
of it in the cellars of his old uncle, the East-India Director, whose
tin he came in for. I find it does me good, steadies my nerve, and
gives me fresh life. What are you shaking your head at?"
"It's dangerous tipple, Kate. I don't like to hear you talk like that.
Your nerves used to be as strong as steel, without any steadying. I
say, Kitty," said Mr. Simnel with a grave face; "you're not giving way
to this sort of thing for--"
"For what?" interrupted Kate, with a discordant laugh; "for comfort?
Oh, no, thank you; I don't want that yet: I don't want to drown my
sorrows in the bowl. I haven't got any sorrows, and I shouldn't do
that with them if I had. By the way, Simnel, how is that affair going
on,--you know what I mean? You promised to let me know."
"I believe it stands very much the same as it did," said he.
"Then it hasn't worn out yet? he isn't tired of it, eh?" she asked
eagerly.
"No; it still goes on."
"You promised to tell me the woman's name, Simnel; why haven't you
done so? You pretend friendship for me, and then you keep things from
me that I ought to know; and you don't come and see me, and,--There, I
don't believe in you a bit!"
"I keep things from you until the proper time for you to know them. I
don't come and see you, because all the leisure time I have had has
been devoted to your interests; and, by the way, Kate, that brings me
to the occasion of my present visit. I suppose you give me credit for
sincerity--"
"Oh, ah; well, what then?"
"I mean that you believe in me sufficiently to think that any step I
should take, any question I should ask, would not be out of mere idle
curiosity; but because I thought they would be beneficial to you?"
She nodded her head, and stretched her hand towards the decanter; but
seeing Simnel frown, she stopped short, took up the whip which lay
close by, and commenced flicking the flowers again.
"I want to ask you about your people,"--the girl started;--"who they
are; where you came from; what you know of them."
"You know all that fast enough,--from Yorkshire,--you've heard me say
before. What more's wanted to be known? I pay my way, don't I, and who
does more? I'm not required to show my christening certificate to
every one that wants a horse broke, I suppose?"
"What a fiery child it is!" said Simnel. "No one has a right to ask
any thing at all about it,--I least of all; but I think,--and I am not
sanguine, you know--that I shall be able, if you will confide in me,
to help you very greatly in the most earnest wish of your life."
"Stop!" exclaimed Kate; "do you know what that is?"
"I think I do," said Simnel, looking at her kindling eyes, quivering
nostril, and twitching lips.
"If not, I'll tell you; I don't mind telling you: revenge on Charles
Beresford! revenge! revenge!" and at each repetition of the word she
slashed savagely at the tall flowers near her.
"Well, I think I might say I could help you in that," said Simnel
quietly; "but you must be frank. You know I'm a man of the world; and
I've made it my business to go a little into this question. So now
tell me your life, from the first that you can remember of it."
"You're a cool hand, Simnel but I know you mean running straight, so
I don't mind. First thing of all I can recollect is being held out at
arm's length by Phil Fox, as the child in his great trick-act of
Rolla, or the something of Peru. The circus belonged to old Fox,
Phil's father; and I used to live with the Foxes,--the old man and
woman and Bella Fox, and Phil and his wife. Bad lot she was: had been
a splendid rider, but fell and broke her leg; and was always vicious
and snappish, and that irritating, I wonder Phil could put up with
her. They were very kind to me, the Foxes, and I was quite like their
own child; and I played fairies, and flower-girls, and columbines, and
such like, all on horseback, in all the towns we went circuit. I used
to ask the old man sometimes about myself; but he never would say more
than that I was his little apprentice, and I should find it all right
some day. And so I went on with them till I grew quite a big girl, and
used to do the barebacked-steed business, and what I liked better, the
riding-habit and the highly-trained charger dodge, until old Fox
declared there was no better rider in England than me. I was just
nineteen, when he sent for me one night,--it was at Warwick, I
recollect, and we'd had a stunning house,--and I found him with two
gentlemen standing with him. He pointed to one of them, and he said to
me: 'Express'--that's the name he used to call me,--'Express, this is
the gentleman that bound you 'prentice to me ever so many years ago.
He's come to take you away now, and make your fortune.' I cried, and
said I didn't want my fortune made, and that I wouldn't go; but after
a long talk full of business, I saw it would be for my good, and I
agreed. So this place was bought for me in my name, and here I've been
ever since."
"And who were those gentlemen?"
"That's exactly what I can't tell you."
"Can't tell?"
"Won't, if you like it better. There, don't look vexed. I'll tell you
this much, one of them was my uncle,--my real uncle, I firmly
believe,--though on which side you must find out."
"And the other?"
"The other I love dearer than any one on earth."
"Dearer than you loved--"
"I know who you're going to say; infinitely dearer! but in--there;
there's enough of that. One thing more I'll tell you: up to this hour
I've never been told my father's name or rank in life."
"And this benevolent uncle did it all? Quite like a play, by Jove!
Well, I've not learned much; but I may be able to make something of
it--something that will be good for us both."
"That's all right! and now your business is finished?"
"Yes, entirely--no, not quite, by the way; I wanted to say one word to
you on another subject. You know I'm not likely to be jealous Kitty--"
"So far as I'm concerned, you've no right to be."
"I know, of course; but still one doesn't like these things. There's a
young man named Prescott, who is in my office. I notice that he's
constantly in your company; I've met you with him half-a-dozen times,
and I hear frequently from others of his being with you."
"What of that?" she asked, with flushing cheek; "are you to settle my
company for me?"
"Not at all--not at all; but I'm speaking both for your good and his.
He's a young fellow of good abilities; but he's thoughtless and
foolish, and, what's worse than all, he's poor. Now this riding about,
horse-hiring and that sort of thing, necessarily leads him into
expense; and from what I hear, he's going a great deal too fast. I
hear all sorts of things about the young fellows who are under me,
and I'm told that your friend Mr. Prescott is getting involved in
money-matters; in fact, that he's mixed up in bill-transactions to an
amount which, for him, is heavy, with a blood-sucking rascal named
Scadgers, who is one of the pests of society in general, and
government offices in particular."
"Scadgers!" replied Kate; "what a funny name! Scadgers, eh?"
"A good many people have found it any thing but a funny name, Kitty.
Now, though I don't suppose there's any thing between you and Mr.
Prescott--"
"Don't you trouble any more about that; perhaps you've never noticed
that Mr. Prescott never is with me except when one of my pupils is
there too: now do you understand?"
"There was no pupil nor any one else with you when I saw him talking
to you in the Row some twelve months since; and he scuttled off as I
rode up: however, I thought I'd warn you about him. He's on the
downward road, and unless he pulls up, he'll come to grief; and it
wouldn't do for you to be mixed up in any thing of that sort."
He sat some time longer talking of ordinary matters, and rattling on
in his best style. In every thing he said there was a tinge of
attention almost bordering on respect to his companion, which she did
not fail to notice, and which decidedly impressed her in his favour.
Indeed, Kate Mellon never had imagined that Mr. Simnel could have made
such progress in her good graces as he did this day. They never
recurred to any serious topic until his horse was brought, when just
as he was mounting she touched him on the shoulder, and said, "You'll
not forget to keep me up to the mark about that business?" then, with
a half-shuddering laugh, "I'm still interested, you know, in that
young man's progress." Simnel wheeled round and looked at her steadily
under his bent eyebrows. "You shall be made acquainted with any thing
that happens, depend upon it. Adieu!" and he sprang to the saddle,
raised his hat, and rode slowly off.
"Not half cured yet," said he to himself, "not half; and yet so savage
at his slight, that she'd do him any bad turn on the spur of the
moment, and repent of it instantly. She was telling truth about
Prescott, I know; but it was best to break up that instantly. How
lovely she looked! a little flushed, a little excited; but that only
added to her charm. I didn't like that Madeira being so handy, by the
way; I must look after that. By Jove, what a fairy it is! where's
there one to compare to her? so round and plump and well put together!
And if I can only square this family history--uncle, eh? who the deuce
can that have been? That's an important link in the chain. And
somebody she loves, too; what the deuce does that mean? Ah, well, it's
coming to a head now: another month ought to enable me to pull up the
curtain on the last act of the drama."
And Kate returned to her garden-chair as the sound of the horse's
hoofs died away in the distance; and throwing herself back, and
drumming with her fingers upon the little table, went off into a
reverie. She thought of her devotion to Beresford; how the passion had
first grown when he first knew her; how she had given way to it; and
how the nourishment of it was one of the brightest phases in her
strange odd life. She remembered the first time she saw him, the first
compliment he paid her; the way in which his easy jolly behaviour
struck her as compared with the dreary vapidity, or, what was worse,
the slangy fastness of the other men of her acquaintance. And then
she thought of that eventful evening when she had knelt at his feet
and--she dashed her clenched fist upon the table as she remembered
that, and shuddered and bit her lips when she thought that a
description of that scene had been given amid ribald shouts. Mr.
Simnel had not so much share of her thoughts as probably he would have
wished; but she pondered for a few moments on his eagerness to obtain
particulars of her early life, and wondered what scheme he had in
hand. She had a very high opinion of his intellect, and felt sure he
was using it just then in her service; but she could not conceive to
what end his labours were tending. And then she remembered what he had
said about Mr. Prescott; and her face grew a little sad.
"Poor Jim!" she said to herself; "poor fellow! going to grief, is he?
in debt and dropping his money, like a young fool as he is. And that
nice girl, too, so fresh and jolly and countrified and innocent! Lord
help us! What are you at, Kitty, you idiot why should those things
give you a twinge? Steady, now; it's not often your heart buck-jumps
like that. They'll go all right, those though, if Jim can only be put
square. And that he shall be! What's the use of my hoarding in my old
stocking; it'll never be any good to me; and so I may as well have the
pleasure of helping somebody else. Scadgers, that was the name; I'll
get that put right at once. Scadgers! I wonder where he lives.
However, that'll be easily found out. Poor Jim! what a good husband
he'll make that rosy-faced girl!"
What was it that made Kate Mellon's head drop on her hands, and the
tears ooze through the fingers covering her eyes? Not the thought of
Mr. Prescott's marrying some one else surely, for had she not
resolutely snubbed his proposals? Certain it is that she remained with
her head bowed for full ten minutes, and that when she looked up, her
face was tear-dabbled and her eyes red and swollen. She took no heed
of her appearance, however, but walked into the house, and pulling out
her gaudy blotting-book, she scrawled a long letter, which, when
finished, she addressed to "E. Churchill, Esq., _Statesman_ Office,
E.C."