GERALD MEETS HUBBARD.
The fair invalid’s convalescence was very rapid after that, and as
soon as she was able to travel, the happy couple started for the
home of the Lyttletons, in Illinois, where, upon their arrival,
the family were astounded to learn that Mabel had been a wife
for nearly a year, and would soon leave them again, to reside
permanently in England.
The brothers, who worshiped their only sister--the baby and pet of
the household--at once accorded their new brother-in-law a hearty
welcome, and rather enjoyed the romance that had attended Mabel’s
marriage; but their father, a reserved, austere man, was inclined
to be very harsh with his daughter for having played them such a
trick.
It was not, however, in the power of any one to long resist the
frank, manly young husband, who boldly asserted that he might have
been wrong in enticing his wife into a secret marriage, but that
“he would do it over again if it were necessary, rather than run
the risk of losing her.”
Such a spirit rather staggered the old gentleman, but, on the
whole, he secretly admired the handsome sinner; while the fact of
being father-in-law to an English Baronet, to have one’s daughter
addressed as Lady Bromley, proved to be a salve to his wounded
dignity and love of authority; therefore, the erring little lady’s
indiscretion was finally condoned, and all was well.
After a few weeks spent in her home, she departed for England with
her husband, where, with the exception of occasional visits to this
country, she had resided ever since, and led a very happy life.
Her husband had died the year previous to Gerald’s connection with
Mr. Lyttleton, and the “complicated case,” which this gentleman
was conducting for his sister, was the settlement of the Bromley
estate, a distant relative having laid claim to it, upon the ground
of being nearest of kin, since Sir Charles had left no heir.
The property had been largely augmented by the fortune of the
distant cousin, whom the elder baronet had wished his son to marry.
The lady had always cherished a secret affection for the young man,
and her love proving stronger and more enduring than her resentment
against him for choosing a younger and fairer bride, she had
bequeathed everything to him upon her death, which occurred some
ten years after the present Lady Bromley had come to Bromley Court,
and of whom also she became very fond.
Thus the Bromley fortune was a magnificent inheritance, and
Richard Lyttleton was doing his utmost to save it for his sister.
Nevertheless, a court of chancery was an almost hopeless labyrinth
in which to become involved, and it might be years before the case
would be settled.
Lady Bromley was a fair, sweet-faced woman of about thirty-eight
or forty years, and, from the moment of their meeting, Gerald had
been strongly attracted to her, and she to him.
Therefore, upon learning of the terrible shock and sorrow that had
recently come to him, her sympathies were instantly enlisted in his
behalf, and she went to him often during his illness, to be sure he
had proper care and to cheer him as well as she could.
When he was able to leave his room, she conceived a plan by which
she hoped to be of real benefit to him. She made him come to lunch
with her one day, and, after she had induced him to speak freely
of his bereavement and his love for the beautiful girl whom he had
hoped to marry, she confided to him something of her own story, as
related above.
“Come and stay here with me for a while,” she pleaded during
this exchange of confidence; “I am almost alone in this great,
silent house”--glancing around the spacious, luxurious room with
a sigh--“and I should be glad to have some young life about me.
Richard, you know, is always so busy he can never spare me much
of his time, and my evenings are especially lonely. I want you to
tell me more of this lovely Allison Brewster; it will do you good
to talk of her, even though the story is so sad. Ah! I shall never
forget the dreadful day when I read that tragic account in the
newspaper and believed my husband to be lying in the depths of the
sea!”
So, with her sweet sympathy and her plea for companionship, she
won her point, and almost every day after that, when his work was
done, Gerald might have been seen driving about or visiting some
place of interest with her. There was a gentle graciousness about
her--a sort of elder-sisterly manner toward him, that made her very
charming, and he soon grew to feel as if he must always have known
her, and he became devoted to her.
This pleased Mr. Lyttleton, who was intensely relieved to see that
the face of his confidential clerk was beginning to lose its tense
look of pain, and that, when he came to his work in the morning, he
no longer appeared jaded and haggard, as if he had spent the whole
night in grieving.
Thus time passed, and it was nearly the first of October when,
one day, Mr. Lyttleton announced that, for the fourth time, the
long-contested case had been put off until another term; and
accordingly they would return to New York at the end of another
week.
“Then, Richard, I am going with you,” suddenly exclaimed Lady
Bromley, as she shot a wistful look at Gerald, who had grown very
pale at the thought of going home, where the loss of Allison would
seem like a fresh grief to him. “I will leave all business matters
in the hands of Mr. Cram, the steward, and make a little visit to
my native land, where I will stay until this dreadful lawsuit is
called again. I am almost ready to give up the battle. I am tired
out with it, and begin to think that the whole Bromley fortune is
not worth the wear and tear of all this worry.”
“Nonsense, Mabel!” impatiently returned her brother, a dogged
expression settling over his face; “that is just what the other
side is working for--they want to tire you out, and I’m not going
to give up the fight, by any means. I know that Sir Charles wanted
you to be sole mistress of everything. I have often heard him say
that you were to have all, in case anything happened to him; and
how he ever allowed himself to be so negligent, and leave no will,
I cannot understand. I sometimes think he may have made one, and it
has slipped away somewhere.”
“I’m afraid not, Richard; I have hunted the house over and over,
as you know, and I am sure no such document exists,” said her
ladyship, with a sigh. “However, I am going to run away from the
whole business, and try to forget it for a while. I’m going home
with you and Gerald,” she concluded, smiling.
“Come, and welcome, dear,” said her brother cordially.
The very next morning, as Gerald was walking down the Strand,
intent upon a matter of business for Mr. Lyttleton, he was suddenly
confronted by a man the sight of whom caused him to grow deathly
pale, and his heart to throb suffocatingly, from various emotions.
This man was none other than John Hubbard.
The expert, upon recognizing Gerald, lifted his upper lip, and
showed his gleaming teeth in a vicious grin. Then he attempted to
pass on without any other sign of recognition. But the young man
resolutely placed himself in his path.
“Mr. Hubbard,” he remarked, with cold constraint, “you must excuse
me for delaying you, but I want to ask you a few questions. I wish
to inquire if any light has been thrown upon Miss Brewster’s fate
during the last few weeks?”
“Not that I am aware of,” the man stiffly replied.
“It was all true, then--the story of that railway accident, and
her--her burial by some parties unknown?” questioned Gerald, with
quivering lips.
“I suppose it was, since every possible effort was made to find
her, but without avail,” the man returned, with a frown of
annoyance, for his own pillow was, by no means, free from thorns
in view of his agency in driving Allison from her home and to her
death.
Often, during the night, he would start from his sleep, the
perspiration standing in cold beads all over him, his heart beating
wildly with fear, as if some demon had seemed to shout in his ear
the word “murderer!” and warn him that the wrongs which he had
perpetrated against her would yet be avenged.
“It was a mysterious affair,” he continued, after a moment of
hesitation, and impelled almost against his will to make the
explanation. “I went to Boston as soon as I learned of the
accident, and saw her name in the paper, and made diligent inquiry
for the--the body.”
Gerald gave utterance to a shuddering exclamation.
“It seems strange to me,” he said, “that, since her cards were
found with her--at least, the paper so stated--any one should claim
her unless there happened to be another Miss Brewster upon the
train.”
“It was strange.”
“What can you tell me about this woman who claims to be Mrs. Adam
Brewster?” Gerald asked, and abruptly leaving the other subject.
“Where did she come from? Where has she been hiding all these
years?”
“She has lived in various places in New York City during the last
few years,” responded the man, flushing hotly, for Gerald was now
probing a sensitive spot; but he seemed helpless to get away from
his inquiries. “She’s rather a fine-looking woman, though not
particularly well educated, or what one would have expected a man
like Mr. Brewster to choose for a wife. Her daughter, however, has
had far better advantages. She made her claims known to me not so
very long after her husband’s death; but I tried to stave them
off, for Allison’s sake, hoping that the matter could be quietly
settled. But after her--the accident, there was nothing to be done
but let the case come to trial.”
“It seems to me the most improbable story in the world,” said
Gerald reflectively. “Mrs. Manning should have inherited that
property.”
“She would have, but for the incontestable proofs which Mrs.
Brewster presented; even had Allison lived, she would have won the
suit,” returned John Hubbard, searching his companion’s pale, thin
face with his cruel eyes. He was secretly gloating over every stab
that he was giving him.
“It is a mystery to me that she never put in an appearance while
Mr. Brewster was living,” the young man mused. “I suppose, however,
there must have been something questionable in her life or claim,
and she did not dare to. And you acted as her counsel?”
“I did.”
“That seems to me the strangest proceeding of all.”
“Well, and what are you going to do about it?” was the sneering
demand; and for a moment the two men stood absolutely motionless,
gazing into each other’s eyes--one with a look of dogged defiance,
the other with a stern, searching, accusing expression.
“I cannot understand your doing such a thing as that, Mr. Hubbard,”
Gerald remarked, his tone plainly indicating that he believed there
had been foul play.
“Probably not,” was the curt, ironic retort, “and I do not know
that it is necessary that you should understand it. I was the
administrator of the Brewster estate, and when it was proved that
there wasn’t a drop of Brewster blood in Allison’s veins, there
is nothing so very remarkable about the fact that I conducted the
transfer of the property--especially after the death of Allison,
who might, perhaps, have contested the woman’s claim upon the
ground that a will had been made in her favor, though that would
easily have been broken.”
“What were these proofs that Allison was not Mr. Brewster’s own
daughter?”
“Oh, some clothing and some letters that were found in a box----”
“What box--where was the box found?” queried Gerald, with
breathless interest, his mind instantly reverting to one of those
which he had taken from the secret vault at the banker’s command.
“I see you suspect the truth,” said John Hubbard, with a malicious
grin. “Yes, it was one of those we caught you lugging off that
Sunday.”
Gerald flushed at this fling, but he was too much absorbed in his
own thoughts, just then, to pay much heed to it.
“Ah! I understand now!” he said; “that was why Mr. Brewster made
me promise that I would never speak of my errand to any person. He
wanted to get that box into his hands without having any one know
of its existence--he meant to destroy the contents, so that Allison
should never learn the truth.”
“It certainly looks like it; you reason very well, young man. But
justice sometimes triumphs, as in this case,” sneered his companion.
“Justice!” repeated Gerald, with infinite scorn; “that is yet to
be proved. But did no one question the genuineness of this woman’s
proofs?”
“Oh, yes, there was some talk in that direction--there naturally
would be,” returned the attorney, with a contemptuous shrug of his
shoulders. “But it didn’t amount to anything; the evidence was so
conclusive it was promptly admitted by the court.”
“Where did this alleged marriage take place?” demanded Gerald.
“In New Haven, Connecticut.”
“And were the records pertaining to this event thoroughly examined?”
“Certainly; everything was conducted with all due regard to the
requirements of law, Mr. Winchester. Mr. Manning made a very
brave showing in the interests of his wife--he is no half-way
worker; while, as for myself, I seldom undertake anything which I
am not pretty sure of carrying to a successful end,” Mr. Hubbard
concluded, with significant emphasis.
“All the same, I do not believe one word of that woman’s story,”
stoutly affirmed our hero, a frown of perplexity gathering upon
his brow. “Mr. Brewster certainly never appeared like a man who
had any such skeleton in his closet. I believe him to have been a
strictly honorable man in every act of his life, and----”
“Yes, I believe there was a sort of mutual admiration society
between you,” sarcastically interposed John Hubbard.
“And,” the young man continued, without appearing to heed the
interruption, “I am sure that if he had known that he had an own
child living he never would have allowed it to live in such poverty
as the papers have represented was the lot of this woman and
her daughter; he would, at least, have given them a comfortable
support.”
“That is your idea of the matter, young man; but stranger things
than that are happening every day,” dryly observed his companion.
“It is rather difficult to judge just what kind of an existence
some of our aristocrats do lead; indeed, many of them have been
known to have been engaged in love-intrigues that would not bear
the light of day.”
Gerald’s hand clenched involuntarily at this indirect slur upon his
former high-minded employer.
“Mr. Brewster was never such a man,” he said sternly; “his life was
clean, through and through. Where are these women now?”
“Ahem!” said Mr. Hubbard, shifting uneasily from one foot to the
other. “Mrs. Adam Brewster is at present in New York City; her
daughter, who is now Mrs. John Hubbard, is here, in London, and we
are stopping at the Langham.”