AN UNPLEASANT VISIT.
"Set me down at Essex Street."
The request, proffered in a sweet and timid yoke, was made by a young
lady who had just taken her place in an omnibus. The conductor's
gracious response was to shut the door with a desperate bang, and call
out "hi" to the driver, as a signal that he might go on.
The young lady was too pretty not to be stared at; but the crape veil,
pertaining to her handsome mourning, was not raised from before her
face, as she took her seat with that quiet self-possession which
rarely forsakes the gentlewoman.
You will be at no loss to guess that it was Sara Davenal. The
expedition she was bound upon was one that nothing save obligation
could have forced upon her--a visit to Mr. Alfred King. Her note to
that gentleman had brought forth another letter from him. It was to
the effect that he could not wait longer for the money without the
utmost inconvenience, but he would do himself the honour of calling
upon her at eleven o'clock the following morning, to discuss the
matter in person. A most unsatisfactory, dismaying communication to
Sara. To receive him in her Aunt Bettina's house was out of all
question; for that estimable lady would undoubtedly have insisted upon
making a third at the interview. To have the secret brought home to
her very hearth would be too fortunate an opportunity to miss
acquainting herself with its nature and details, even though she had
to draw the information from Mr. Alfred King. Sara saw what must be
done, however she might dislike it; and she wrote a hasty note to the
gentleman, saying that it would not be convenient to receive him in
her own house, but she would instead wait upon him in Essex Street.
Hence her unwonted omnibus journey.
The omnibus dashed along on its road. It was full, and therefore there
was no loitering. Leaving Pimlico behind it, it passed Charing Cross
and gained the Strand. There it stopped for somebody to get out, and
Sara looked up at an exclamation made by the passenger seated
immediately opposite to her next the door, a lady apparently but
little older than herself: a quiet, steady, self-possessed girl with a
pleasing face and fair hair.
The passing of a gentleman on the payment, close up to which the
omnibus was drawn, had apparently caused the exclamation to escape
her. His eyes in the same moment caught the fair face bent towards him
from the door, and he approached. A bright smile greeted him, and he
took her hand and kept it as they spoke together.
"You, Jane!" he exclaimed, and the voice, subdued though it was, bore
a laughing sound. "It is about the last place I should have expected
to see you in. I thought you and omnibuses were decided foes."
"But I am going a long way this morning; too far to walk," she
answered. "We have had a letter from----"
She bent her face lower, and the words became indistinct. The
gentleman resumed.
"And you are going to inquire about it? Well, Jane, don't be in a
hurry. I'll tell you why another time. Inquire particulars if you
like, but fix nothing. The fact is, I have something else in view."
"Of course we'd not fix anything without consulting you," she answered
in her pleasant Scotch accent. "When will you be coming?"
"Tonight most likely. Goodbye, Jane. Take care of yourself."
He released her hand which he had been holding all the while, the
conductor gave the door a bang, and the omnibus dashed on. Sara had
turned white as death. A variety of emotions that she would not have
cared to analyse were at conflict within her--for the voice was the
voice of Oswald Cray.
And he had gone away, not seeing her. For _that_ she was on some
accounts thankful. He might have been as much surprised to see her in
an omnibus--perhaps more so--as he was the young lady opposite; and
least of all to Oswald Cray could Sara have explained the errand on
which she was bent. She stole a glance at the girl's interesting face:
a good and sensible face one that might well win the regard even of
Oswald Cray; and that baneful plant, jealousy, which perhaps had taken
root in her heart before, suddenly shot forth its sharp tendrils into
every corner. What right had she, Sara Davenal, to indulge any such
passion?--had she not parted from Oswald Cray for ever?
"Did you not ask to be put down at Essex Street?"
The question aroused her from her pain. It came from the same young
lady opposite, and Sara looked up with a start.
"Yes;" she answered.
"Then we must have passed it, for this that we are going through is
Temple Bar, and I know Essex Street is before we come to that. This
young lady told you to set her down at Essex Street," she added to the
conductor. And the man stopped the omnibus without offering the
slightest apology.
"Thank you," said Sara to her courteously. And she walked away with
the pleasant voice ringing in her ear: and the conviction within her
that it must be Jane Allister.
She walked slowly down Essex Street, looking out for the offices of
Messrs. Jones and Green, and soon found them. It was a large and
dusty-looking house, on the right-hand side of the street, and was
apparently let out to different occupants, as there were various names
on the door. The top one was "Mr. Carberry:" it was simply written in
black letters on the door-post; the second was on a great brass plate,
nearly as large as the post itself, "Jones and Green:" and there was
another brass plate, which had on it "Messrs. Knollys, Solicitors to
the Great Chwddyn Mining Company."
Sara stood still as the last words caught her eye, arrested by
surprise. It was not the unpronounceable name that drew her attention;
but the fact that this Great Chwddyn scheme was the very one in which
Mark Cray had embarked; the El Dorado of his friend Barker; the source
of Mark's present flourishing prosperity and of his future greatness.
She felt sure it was the same name, though nobody ever wrote it twice
alike; and whether this, or any other, might be the correct way of
spelling it, the Messrs. Knollys themselves could not have told. Mark
Cray and Barker, finding the word rather difficult to the tongue, had
got into the habit of calling it the "Great Wheal Bang Company," as
being readier than the other: "Wheal Bang" being some technical term
connected with the mine; though whether applicable to any particular
stratum of its ore, or to the works, or to the mine generally, or to
anything else, Sara had never yet clearly understood. "The Great Wheal
Bang Mining Company" was the familiar term in Mark's mouth, and in
that of others interested in the mine: so prone we are to catch up
phrases: and "The Great Wheal Bang" was certainly better for English
tongues than the Great Chwddyn, with its variety of spelling in
uninitiated hands. For once that Sara had heard the difficult name she
had heard the easier one a hundred times; nevertheless, now that her
eyes fell upon it, she knew it to be that, and no other.
The fact in itself was not of moment to her, but thought is quick; and
the thought that darted across Sara's mind was, that if Messrs.
Knollys were the solicitors to this rich and important company, there
might possibly be a chance of Mark Cray's or of his friend Barker's
calling in at these offices at any moment, in which case they might
see her. And that would not be at all convenient.
But there was no help for it. She could but go in; and the chance only
added another drop to the cup of pain. Most painful was it to Sara,
from more causes than one, to come thus publicly to these places of
business: and to come as may be almost said, in secret; not daring to
speak of her real errand.
With her crape veil drawn more closely over her face she stepped into
the passage. A door on the left bore the words "Messrs. Knollys;" and
Sara was looking around her when a young man with a paper in his hand
came hastily out of it.
"Did you want Knollys's office?" he asked, in a civil tone, noting her
look of indecision.
"I want Messrs. Jones and Green's."
"Upstairs, first floor." Sara thanked him, and passed through the
inner entrance, which stood open, and ascended the stairs. In great
white letters on the door facing her at the top, she read, "Office:
Jones and Green." She knocked at the door, and a middle-aged man in a
seedy suit of black opened it.
"I wish to see Mr. Alfred King," she said. "Is he here?"
"Mr. Alfred King?" repeated the man. "He is not here now, and I don't
know----Stay, I'll inquire."
Leaving her standing there, he retreated, and she heard a remote
colloquy carried on in an undertone. Then he came back again.
"Mr. King won't be here until twelve o'clock."
"I had an appointment with him at eleven," said Sara, wondering
whether there could be any mistake.
"Perhaps so," said the man. "But he dropped us a line this morning to
say he could not get here until twelve. I daresay if you come then you
can see him."
He shut the door, and Sara went downstairs again. What should she do
with herself this long hour--for it was not quite eleven yet. Suddenly
she bethought herself that she would go to see Watton. St. Paul's
Churchyard, as Watton had told then--for she had paid Miss Davenal and
Sara two or three visits since their arrival in London--was in a line
with Temple Bar.
Sara walked quickly through the crowded streets. Once she stopped to
look in at an attractive shop, but somebody came jostling against her,
she thought purposely, and she did not stop again. She easily found
the house of business where Watton now was, and its private door.
Watton came forward all in surprise, and took her into a plain
comfortable sitting-room, which was her own, she said. Sara inquired
if she liked the situation any better: for at first Watton had not
liked it.
"Well, yes, miss; I think I do," was the woman's answer. "Use and time
soften most things. There's a great deal of responsibility on me, and
enough work also. What I can't get reconciled to is the dust and the
noise. As to the dust and dirt, I'd never have believed in it without
seeing it. Being in mourning for my late master I have not worn white
caps yet, and don't believe I ever can wear them: I'm sure I might put
on three a-week and not be clean. Sometimes I wash my hands four times
in a morning."
"Then think what it is for my aunt Bettina, with her delicate hands
and her delicate lace," returned Sara. "I suppose the dirt is not
quite so bad with us as it is here; but it seems as if nothing could
be worse, and my aunt makes it a perpetual grievance. Shall you remain
here, Watton?"
"I have made up my mind to try it for a twelvemonth, Miss Sara," was
the answer. "It's too good a situation to be given up lightly; and it
shall have a fair trial. I miss my country life; I miss the green
fields and the gossiping neighbours at Hallingham: oftentimes I wake
from a dream, thinking I'm there, and then I am fit to cry with the
disappointment. I fear the pleasant old times have gone away from me
for ever."
"They go away from us all, Watton," was the murmured answer, "never to
return again."
"You will send the two young gentlemen to see me, Miss Sara," said
Watton, as she was showing her out. "Perhaps they'd honour me by
drinking tea here in the course of their holidays. My evenings are
my own. Master Dick should eat as much jam as he'd like. I'd get in
half-a-dozen pots assorted."
Sara could not forbear a smile: Dick would have gone to the other end
of the kingdom for half-a-dozen pots of assorted jam: but it changed
to gravity as she turned to Watton.
"Watton, do you know I have been so great a coward as not to ask my
aunt decisively whether she intends to have them up for the holidays.
I very much fear she does not; and therefore I shrink from asking,
lest the fear should be made a certainty."
"Poor boys!" ejaculated Watton. "Well, of course it's all very
different from what it was. Ah, Miss Sara! there are too many will
find cause to miss the good Dr. Davenal!"
With the rebellious sorrow, called up by the words, rising in her
heart, Sara walked along the hot and bustling streets again. It was a
little past twelve when she reached Essex Street, and in going up the
stair she happened to turn her head, and saw, stepping quickly in at
the outer door, Oswald Cray. She hoped he had not seen her; she
thought he had not; and she hastened on, her pulses beating. What
strange coincidence could have brought him there?
Mr. Alfred King had arrived. Sara was shown through a busy room into a
smaller one, long and narrow, apparently partitioned off from a third
room, which she did not see. The room contained a couple of chairs, a
table-desk, and a slender, dandy sort of gentleman; nothing more. He
was leaning against the table, doing something to his nails with a
penknife, an eye-glass in his eye, and a black moustache with rings
at its ends curling on his lip.
"Mr. Alfred King?" she said interrogatively, for there had been no
introduction.
Mr. Alfred King bowed. He removed his hat, which he had been wearing,
shut up the penknife with a flourish of his thin white hands,
courteously stepped forward, and was altogether the gentleman again.
"Miss Sara Davenal, I presume?"
How Sara entered on her task she never knew. Its nature made her feel
sadly confused and diffident, as if all self-possession had gone out
of her. Whatever her brother's crime might have been, she assumed that
the gentleman before her had cognisance of it; and it rendered her
miserably conscious in that first moment. Very much embarrassed, and
aware that she was so, she apologised for the delay in the payment of
the money, stated that she expected it daily, and begged of Mr. King
to be kind enough to wait a little longer. Just what she had stated in
her letter: in fact she had nothing else to urge.
"I am exceedingly sorry to put you to the inconvenience of coming
here, Miss Davenal," he said, in a courteous but drawling tone. "It is
reversing the appropriate order of things. I should have been better
pleased to wait upon you."
"But I could not make it convenient to receive you," replied Sara.
"The truth is," she added in her candour, "that my aunt, Miss Davenal,
with whom I live, was not made cognisant of this business; and it was
my father's, Dr. Davenal's, wish that she should not be."
"Ah--I see," observed Mr. Alfred King, in the same drawling tone that
spoke so unpleasantly of affectation, of something not _true_ in his
nature. "Still I feel horribly annoyed at causing you the trouble of
coming here, Miss Davenal."
"Will you be so kind as to tell me the object of the interview?" she
said. "For what purpose did you wish to see me?"
"Ah, yes, to be sure. The fact is, Miss Davenal, some positive
understanding must be come to as to the precise time when the money
will be paid. You cannot imagine the inconvenience to which the delay
has put me: and, but for the respect I once bore Captain Davenal, I
would not have remained so passive as I have done."
There was a pointed stress on the word "once" that recalled the blush
into Sara's cheeks, the dread to her heart. She murmured a hope that
the money would be realised and paid to him ere the lapse of many
days.
"You see, Miss Davenal, had the money no ulterior destination it would
not be of so much consequence," he resumed. "Were it due to myself
only I would wait with the greatest pleasure, no matter at what
inconvenience; but that is not the case, it is these other parties who
will not be pacified. Do you comprehend me, Miss Davenal?"
"Yes, I think so," said Sara, faintly, beginning to fear the affair
was more complicated than she had thought. "Who are the parties?"
Mr. Alfred King ran his white hand and its showy ring right through
his black hair. "Well--I would tell you if I could, Miss Davenal: in
anything that concerns myself only, you may command me as you please:
but the fact is, I am not at liberty to mention the names of those
parties even to you."
There was a pause, and Sara's manner for the moment grew haughtily
distant She liked his words less and less. But she recollected
herself: she subdued her proud spirit. Was not Edward in his power?
"These parties have been angry at the delay," he resumed, breaking the
silence that had ensued. "They have badgered the life nearly out of me
over it: excuse the term, Miss Davenal, it but expresses the fact. I
assure you I have had a most difficult task to keep them from
proceeding to extremities. And, in short, they won't be put off
longer."
"From extremities?" she repeated, the one ominous word alone catching
her ear.
Mr. Alfred King looked at her, not speaking. His gaze seemed to ask
her how much she knew. She did not respond to it.
"Were this unfortunate matter made public, nothing could save Captain
Davenal," he resumed, in a low tone. "He is now in India, in apparent
safety, but--in short, it would only be a question of time, two or
three months or so. Men are brought from the ends of the world now to
answer for--for crime."
Subdued as was his voice Sara looked around in terror. That partition,
if nothing more than a partition, was probably a shallow one, allowing
sound to pass beyond it.
"Be at ease," he said, detecting her fear, "we are quite alone."
"Do you know Captain Davenal?" she asked.
"Very well indeed. He and I were at one time sworn friends, constantly
together. Until this unhappy affair arose to part us."
Perhaps she would have liked to ask the particulars that she did not
know. But her whole heart revolted from it; it would have seemed like
_acknowledging_ Edward's crime.
"You see his being in India is only a temporary safeguard, and these
parties who hold his safety in their hands might bring him home if
they chose. It is only in compliance with my urgent entreaties that
they have kept passive so long. But the delay is extending itself
beyond all reason, and they--in short, Miss Davenal, they will not
wait longer."
"But what can I do?" she urged in her helplessness. "I admit that the
delay is vexatious--Heaven knows _I_ have felt it so," she added, with
a burst of feeling that would not be suppressed--"but the money _is
there_; it will very shortly be forthcoming, and then it will be
paid."
"Yes, I have pointed out all this to them;" he said, flicking a speck
of dirt off his coat. "I--I suppose there is no foreign delay or
obstruction, beyond the delay caused by realising the different
monies?"
His sudden penetrating glance at her, the hidden earnestness of his
tone, told Sara that this was a question of importance to him. It was
nearly the only point throughout the interview which had not borne to
her ear and eye a vague and indefinite idea of something untruthful:
untruthful in himself, his voice, and his words. Possibly he had
sought the personal interview with the sole view of ascertaining this
solitary fact. An impression that it was so passed rapidly through her
mind.
"Let me thoroughly understand you;" she said, following her own
thoughts rather than his words. "Tell me without reserve exactly what
it is you wish to know, and I will answer you to the best of my power.
There is no other cause for the delay, except that the monies have not
been realised so quickly as they ought to have been; no other cause
whatever. Were you thinking that there was?"
"I?" and again the false drawling tone grated harshly on her ear. "Not
I, I assure you, Miss Davenal. Those parties of whom I spoke hinted to
me that with all this delay it looked as if there were no intention to
pay the money. Of course, I knew that it was nothing of the sort; that
the money _must_ be paid."
"The very day that the money reaches me it will be paid to you,
according to the instructions of my father, Dr. Davenal," she said,
impressively. "I beg you to believe this; and to convey the assurance
of it to them."
"I will do so. How much longer do you suppose the delay will extend?
Can you fix any definite date for the payment?"
"I wish I could. But you see it does not rest with me. A very, very
short period now will, I believe, see it settled."
Mr. Alfred King mused. "I will inform them of what you say, Miss
Davenal, and I do trust the period may be a short one. If protracted,
I cannot answer for it that they would remain passive."
"They must be cruel men to wish to harm Captain Davenal!"
"No," he answered. "Had they been cruel men they would not have
consented _not_ to harm him. It is not that, Miss Davenal; it is the
money itself that is wanted; and the delay vexes them."
She was feeling desperate, and she ventured on a bold step. "In their
own interest, then, they must be cautious not to harm him. Were they
to do so they would lose the money."
"Why?"
"Because I would never pay it."
Mr. Alfred King glanced at her in surprise. All her timid hesitation
of manner was gone, the expression of her face had changed to resolute
bravery. "I do not pretend to entire acquaintance with the details of
this unhappy business, but I understand so much, Mr. King--that this
money _purchases_ my brother's safety," she continued. "If that be
imperilled, the bargain would be forfeited, and the money retained.
The payment or non-payment of this money rests solely with me; and I
should not keep faith with the other parties if they did not keep
theirs with my dead father."
"There will be no question of their not keeping faith, provided they
get their rights, Miss Davenal."
"And their rights--if you mean the money--they shall have; I trust
speedily. I shall be only too glad to get the matter over."
"I'm sure I shall be," returned Mr. Kino in a tone that was certainly
a hearty one. "It will be well for all parties; _very_ well for
Captain Davenal."
Sara turned to the door. Mr. Alfred King took up his hat for the
purpose of attending her outside.
"I am glad that you have allowed me this interview, Miss Davenal. It
will be so much more satisfactory to these gentlemen now that I have
seen you. Dr. Davenal's death, occurring as it did, was most
unfortunate. By the way, did he not leave some papers behind him?"
"There are papers in my possession relating to this affair," she
answered. "I know what to do with them when the proper time shall
come."
"Ah, yes, of course; doubtless," came the untrue words in their untrue
tone. "Then I may rely on the very speedy receipt of this money, Miss
Davenal?"
"You may rely upon having it immediately that it is paid to me. That
is all, I presume, sir?"
Mr. Alfred King could not say that it was not all. He gallantly
offered his arm to pilot her through the busy office of Messrs. Jones
and Green; but Miss Sara Davenal, with a gesture far more expressive
of haughty pride than of gratitude, declined the honour. The interview
was leaving a disagreeable impression on her mind, apart from its
natural unpleasantness; and perhaps it was unreasonable of her, but
she had taken an unconquerable dislike to Mr. Alfred King.
The stairs seemed more busy than the lawyer's room. Men, some of them
rather rough-looking ones, were passing up and down. Mr. Alfred King
drawled an anathema on the tenant of the second floor, Mr. Carberry.
Mr. Carberry had only recently taken the rooms, and he appeared to
have no ostensible occupation, save the receiving of a great many
visitors and an occasional telegram. The visitors were supposed
to be mostly in the sporting line; and during the holding of distant
races the passages and door would be besieged by an eager and noisy
crowd:--as was the case on this day.
"Three times have we had them scattered by the police," exclaimed Mr.
Alfred King, unmistakably in earnest now. "And that pest Carberry--or
whatever the fellow's name may be--can't be got rid of for nearly a
twelvemonth to come! Knollys's have threatened to indict the landlord
for a nuisance; Jones and Green have given conditional warning to
quit; and it's all of no use. The landlord went to Carberry with tears
in his eyes, and told him he'd be the ruin of his house, that he'd
forgive every farthing of rent, already owing, if he'd go; but
Carberry coolly said he had taken it for a twelvemonth, and he should
stop his twelvemonth. Miss Davenal, you cannot! Allow me!"
For Sara had come face to face with this crowd at the street-door, and
commenced a struggle with them, they not being polite enough to give
way in the least. Mr. Alfred King seized her arm forcibly with a view
of helping her, when she was as forcibly separated from him by an
authoritative hand, and found herself on the arm of Mr. Oswald Cray,
his face ablaze with haughty anger, as he turned it on Mr. Alfred
King.
"Thank you, sir," he said, all the pride of the Oswalds concentrating
itself in him then. "This lady is under my charge."
And Mr. Alfred King, with a somewhat subdued manner, as if he had
received a check that he did not care to resist, made as polite a bow
to Sara as the crowd allowed him, and disappeared from view.
Clear of the assemblage, Sara would have withdrawn her arm, but Oswald
Cray held it too tightly. A moment, and he turned his face upon her,
ablaze still.
"What do you do with that man? He is not a fit acquaintance for you."
At first she could not answer. Not so much from the suddenness of the
whole thing and the emotion it had brought to her, as because she did
not know what explanation to give.
"In going into Knollys's office just now I thought I saw you making
your way up the stairs," he resumed. "I said to myself that it could
not be; but I was unable to get the impression from my mind, and I
waited. One of Knollys's clerks said that the young lady gone up had
inquired for Alfred King. What can have taken you to him?"
He was growing somewhat less vehement. It had been a moment to
convince him that the love which he had safely deemed he was subduing
remained with him still in all its force. To rescue her from the
undesirable companionship of Mr. Alfred King, from contact with the
unhallowed crowd of gambling men, he would have parted with his life.
"I was compelled to go," she murmured "I could not help myself."
"Compelled to go up those stairs? Compelled to pay that man a visit?"
"Yes, I was. It was as distasteful to me as it could be, but I had no
resource. I went there on business which no one but myself could
transact. Thank you for your protection, Mr. Oswald. Cray."
She withdrew her arm now, and there was no opposition to it. Reason
was resuming her seat in Oswald's mind, and he felt angry with himself
for his excess of demonstration. All things considered, it had been
scarcely wise.
"It is not at all a place for a young lady to go to," he resumed, as
he walked by her side, and his manner became cold even to restraint.
"The Knollys' are sufficiently respectable, but as much cannot be said
for the tenants of the upper part of the house. You must not go to it
again."
Once again she knew she should have to go to it, but she fervently
hoped that would close the matter. She wished she could tell him the
nature of the business that took her there. Parted though they were,
she did care to stand well in the estimation of Oswald Cray; she
esteemed him still beyond any one on earth.
"I never saw Mr. Alfred King until this morning; he is no acquaintance
of mine, or ever likely to be. But he tells me he was once an intimate
friend of my brother Edward's."
Oswald Cray's haughty lip took an additional curl. "He may have been
looked upon as a respectable man once; but he lost himself. He is not
a desirable acquaintance for you."
"I could not help myself," she answered, her cheeks glowing. "It was
necessary that I should see him, and the interview could not be
delegated to another."
He made no reply: only continued by her side. Not until her house was
nearly reached did he leave her. Then he stopped and held out his
hand; but he had scarcely spoken a word to her all the way.
"Thank you for your kindness," said Sara. "But I am very sorry you
should have troubled yourself to come with me. It must have broken
your day greatly."
"Never mind; I shall catch it up," he answered, looking at his watch..
"I do not like to see you in these London streets alone. I cannot
forget that Dr. Davenal was once my dear friend, and that you are his
daughter."