AND LAST.
Mr. Simnel was very ill indeed. Dr. Prater looked monstrous grave, and
began to talk about 'responsibility;' so they summoned other two
physicians high in esteem, who exchanged snuff-boxes, and looked out
of window together, and examined Dr. Prater's prescriptions through a
gold double-eyeglass and a pair of spectacles, and agreed that his
treatment of the case was every thing that could be wished, and
declined to commit themselves to any opinion as to whether the patient
might get better or not. Frank Churchill remaining in town until after
the funeral of poor Kate Mellon, and expecting some suggestions from
Mr. Simnel as to how and where the last rites should be performed,
called on that gentleman at his chambers in Piccadilly, and discovered
the state of affairs. Then Churchill, while he remained in London,
took to coming every day to see Mr. Simnel, and to learn whether any
thing was required for him; and, coming in to pay a farewell visit
after he had seen poor Kitty laid in the grave, he met Dr. Prater, and
heard from his lips that in all human probability the actual danger
was past, but that it might be months before the patient would be
himself again, so dreadfully had he been weakened and pulled down. So
Churchill went away in better spirits, leaving his address at
Brighton, in case Mr. Simnel required any thing done which Churchill
could do for him. Indeed Frank wanted a little rest and repose. As
though his own domestic worries had not been enough for him, he had
had to supervise the whole of the mortuary and testamentary
arrangements of poor Kate Mellon; and one other bit of business he had
had to perform, of a somewhat more pleasing character.
In coming back in all humility to her husband's arms, Barbara had made
no stipulations; but when, holding her clasped in his strong embrace,
he was talking of her return home, she looked up imploringly in his
face, and said,
"Oh, if possible, not to the old street! oh, Frank, let us retrench in
any way, but do let us leave that horrible neighbourhood!"
All things considered, he too thought it better; and as Sir
Marmaduke's legacy had materially increased his income, he felt
himself justified in looking out for some pretty suburban place, and
half his days had been spent at house-agents' offices, and in
explorations of houses to which he had been remitted.
Mr. Simnel's illness did not concern himself alone, but reflected
immediately on the Tin-Tax Office. For at that eminent establishment
things had been so long dependent on the one man, that so soon as he
was taken away, unmistakable symptoms of collapse began to show
themselves, and it seemed impossible that the business could be
carried on. For in the discharge of the business of the Tin-Tax Office
the grand thing was for every body to refer to every body else,
until the whole onus of setting the machine in gear, of supplying
steam-power, and starting the engine, fell upon Mr. Simnel; and when
he was not there to start it, it went off in a very lame and one-sided
manner. This was perceived by "one of the public," one of those
wondrous persons who, with nothing to do, are always on the look-out
to see Achilles' heel uncovered, or to spy the joints in Atrides'
armour; and the person in question, who had been overcharged
eighteenpence in a matter of tin-tax, and who had received, in reply
to an appeal, a letter from the Office in which the relative ignored
the existence of an antecedent, and the verb positively declined any
connexion with the nominative case sent the letter to the _Daily
Teaser_, where it was found so charming, that a leading article in the
richest and fullest-flavoured style of that journal was specially
devoted to it. This article was much quoted; and at the end of the
week the subject was honoured by the _Scourge_ with a yet more
ferocious attack. The _Scourge_ article happened to be read by the
Treasury Secretary on Sunday morning as he was dressing, and that
astute official at once saw that something was wrong. Early the next
morning his private secretary called at the Tin-Tax Office and learnt
of Simnel's illness--learned moreover that he had applied for six
months' leave of absence, thorough and entire rest and change being
reported as absolutely necessary in the certificate. The next man, a
political nominee, was worth nothing; and of the Commissioners none
of them had the least notion of business save Sir Hickory Maddox, who
was past his work, and Mr. Beresford, who had--well, there was no
doubt about it, all town was ringing with it--gone entirely to the bad
on racing matters, and was at that very time in Whitecross-Street
Prison. The Treasury Secretary was in a fix; he saw that the matter
was becoming serious; that the Tin-Tax--an important department--was
going to grief; that some member was safe to ask a question about the
mismanagement in the first week of the session; and that therefore
what he the Treasury Secretary had to do--and a deuced unpleasant job
it was, too--was to tell the Chancellor of the Exchequer how matters
stood, and wait for orders. The Chancellor of the Exchequer received
the news with a very bad grace; he was a nervous man and hated
newspaper-attacks; he was a strictly moral man and hated looseness of
any kind. He told the Treasury Secretary that Mr. Beresford must be
written to to resign his situation at once, or he would be removed;
and he stated that he was thoroughly sick of nepotism and 'influence'
in the choice of nominees, and that a man must be selected to fill
Beresford's berth, on whom they might really depend for the working of
the department during Simnel's absence.
It was the result of these instructions that George Harding found
himself in Downing Street, in obedience to a strongly-worded
invitation, glaring over an old red despatch-box at the Treasury
Secretary, and receiving from him the offer of that vacant berth. It
was the result of his own honesty and straightforwardness that he
declined it. "It wouldn't do, Sir George; it wouldn't do. I'm cut out
for a newspaper-man, and nothing else; though I deeply feel the honour
you've done me. No; I must decline; but I know a man who would be
exactly what you require; who--"
"Pardon me, Mr. Harding; I was only instructed to sound you as to
yourself; and--"
"Pardon _me_, you know the man of whom I am speaking well enough; he
wrote those articles on the Russian question, for which Lord Hailey
supplied the material, and with which he was so pleased."
"Ah, to be sure; I recollect; what's his name? one may make a note of
him, at any rate."
"His name is Churchill. You'll find no better clearer-headed man."
Then George Harding went away, and for the first and last time in his
life exerted his influence, and requested the return of favours which
he had frequently granted. He must have been well satisfied with the
result of his work. Three days after Harding's interview with the
Treasury Secretary, Churchill, idling at Brighton, was telegraphed for
to Downing Street. The next week the _London Gazette_ contained the
appointment of Francis Churchill, Esquire, to be one of the
Commissioners appointed for levying her Majesty's Tin-Tax, _vice_
Charles Beresford, Esquire, retired.
Mr. Beresford, pursued with the most unrelenting animosity by
Scadgers, found himself opposed at every step,--even when, in sheer
despair, he petitioned the Court,--and opposed so successfully, that
he was remanded for two years. This period he passed in prison, and in
cultivating the mysteries of racket, _écarté_ and _piquet_, in the two
last of which he became a great proficient. It is to be hoped that
they will be of service to him on the Continent, whither, having
eventually obtained his release, he has repaired; and where his
gentlemanly bearing and knowledge of the world will probably enable
him to earn a very decent income from the innocent young Englishmen
always to be picked up in travelling.
Mr. Prescott married Miss Murray, and, for a time, lived in London,
and attended his office with great regularity. But the old squire
found he could not live without his daughter, and simultaneously
discovered that it was absolutely necessary that his estate should be
more closely looked after than it had been. So, at his father-in-law's
desire, Mr. Prescott resigned his appointment, and took up his
quarters at Brooklands, where he and his wife are thoroughly happy;
and where he discharges his duties of shooting, fishing, and hunting,
to his own and his wife's great satisfaction. They have two sturdy
children; a girl Kate, to whom Mr. Simnel is sponsor, and a boy Jim,
who, under the guidance of his godfather Mr. Pringle, is already being
indoctrinated into all kinds of mischief.
Dear honest old George Pringle is still single. "Time, sir," he
sometimes says to Prescott, "has bereft me of charms once divine,"
laying his hand on a bald place about the size of a shilling on the
crown of his head; "but I defy him. I and Madame Rachel are the only
people who are beautiful for ever." He is very happy, having risen
well in his office, and he still hates Mr. Dibb with all the intensity
of former years.
Mr. Simnel, after some months, came back cured of his illness, but
quite an altered man; his hair had become quite white, and his back
was bowed like that of a very old man. Occasionally he goes down to
see his colleague Mr. Churchill, or to spend Saturday and Sunday with
Mr. Prescott's family; but his ordinary life is a very quiet one, and
seems divided between his office and the True-Blue Club, in the
card-room of which he is to be found every night prepared to hold his
own at whist against all comers.
Mr. Scadgers still pursues his trade; but I hear that he is now
considering the advances of a joint-stock company, who wish to buy his
business, under the title of The Government-Clerks' Own Friend and
Unlimited. Advance Company (limited), and who propose to make Jinks
manager with a large salary.
There is no Mrs. Schröder now, and no house appertaining to any one of
that name in Saxe-Coburg Square. Captain and Mrs. Lyster live in a
large house at Maidenhead, known to their friends as "The Staircase,"
from the enormous size of the _escalier_, but really known as
Wingroves,--a fine old-fashioned Queen-Anne mansion, facing the river,
where they are thoroughly happy. Their son Fred is supposed by his
parents to be a prodigy, and is really a healthy pleasant boy.
Near them is a little cottage with a trim garden, passing by which in
the summer you will generally see a white-haired old lady, on a rustic
seat, reading a book and enjoying the sunlight.
Then comes a shout, a clanging of the garden-gate, an irruption of
children, wild cries of "Granny!" and the old lady is hustled away to
find fruit or play at games. This is old Mrs. Churchill, who has never
been so happy in her life.
And Barbara and Frank? They live close by in a charming house, with a
lawn sloping to the Thames. Barbara has her brougham again; and all
her old acquaintance have called on her, and expressed their delight
at her husband's good fortune with great enthusiasm. Miss Lexden, now
resident in Florence, and a confirmed invalid, is perhaps the only one
of her old set who has not so acted. But Barbara has not cared to
renew the old connexions. Thoroughly happy in her husband, doting on
her three children, her chief pleasure is in her home, of which she is
now the comfort and the pride.
THE END.