THE SECRET OF THE FOOT-REST.
For a moment Gerald was stricken dumb with astonishment by the
unexpected announcement that John Hubbard had married the heiress
to Adam Brewster’s fortune, and all that it implied.
Then there arose with him a terrible indignation in view of what
he believed to be a foul wrong--the successful consummation of the
long and cunning plotting of a skilful knave.
“Do I understand that you have married this so-called Miss Anna
Brewster?” he finally demanded in a strangely calm voice.
“Exactly; that is just what I have done,” replied the man, showing
his teeth. “Miss Anna was a handsome girl, of whom almost any
man might feel proud--well educated and--ah--amiable. She is a
few years older than Allison. She was naturally grateful for the
interest which I manifested in her affairs; we found, upon a closer
acquaintance, that we were mutually congenial, and she consented to
honor me with her hand.”
“And her fortune, also--it goes without saying, I suppose?”
scornfully interposed Gerald, who was fast losing command of
himself, as he realized what consummate villainy lay behind this
revelation.
“Certainly; Miss Brewster being the only child of her father, of
course inherits the bulk of his property, although the widow has
her third; while the lady having become my wife, it naturally
devolves upon me to manage her interests,” the man responded, a
ghastly, malicious grin expressing his enjoyment of the situation.
“You are a scoundrel, sir!” said Gerald, between his compressed
teeth. “I firmly believe that for years you have been scheming for
this very thing. I know that you wanted to marry Allison when you
believed her to be rich, and when you could not carry your point in
that direction, and get her money, you doubtless plotted to bring
the same result about in some other way.”
“Well, you certainly did not succeed in getting any of Adam
Brewster’s gold!--you were rather balked in your efforts to win
the pretty heiress--eh!” sneered the wretch, but flushing guiltily
beneath the young man’s fiery, accusing glance.
“I would scorn to marry any woman for her money,” said Gerald
proudly.
“You did care, for the girl, though--you became very sweet on her,
if I remember rightly.”
“That is a matter which does not concern you in the least, sir.”
“Think so?” was the satirical rejoinder. “Possibly it does
not--now, but it did concern me very much at one time. Have you
forgotten the very significant little object-lesson which I gave
you over three years ago? I told you, when I crushed the bud which
she had given to you, that everything which stood in my path should
share the same fate.”
“I remember,” said Gerald sternly, but with bloodless lips, as
he thought how that act had symbolized Allison’s fate as she lay
crushed and bleeding beneath that fatal wreck; “but,” he continued
in the same tone, “let me now, in turn, prophesy for you--your day
of triumph will be short, for if you have been guilty of fraud--and
I firmly believe you have--if you have been false to the trust
which Mr. Brewster reposed in you, you will ere long find yourself
doomed. I am studying law, Mr. Hubbard, under one of the shrewdest
attorneys of our day, and, when I complete my studies, if not
before, I shall make it my business to investigate this singular
case, which has so recently excited the gossip of New York society,
and given a million or more of money into your greedy hands; and,
if such a thing be possible, justice shall be meted out to you.”
“Bah! you brag like a second David, aching to slay another Goliath;
but such valiant deeds are not achieved in this nineteenth century,
you insufferable boaster!” snarled John Hubbard, as he turned
resolutely aside to pursue his way.
“Hold!” commanded Gerald authoritatively; “I have yet one more
word for you. Following out your simile, let me say that my sling
is a dauntless will, and a pebble may yet be found which will do
its work and hurl you from the heights, upon which you feel so
secure, into an ignominious abyss from which you will never arise.”
Upon returning to Lady Bromley’s elegant residence in Portland
Square, Gerald informed Mr. Lyttleton of his encounter with John
Hubbard. The lawyer was deeply interested in the rehearsal of
the conversation which had taken place between the two, and when
the young man concluded, he remarked, with no little warmth and
conviction:
“There certainly has been foul play in connection with the Brewster
property. I always felt that the man was a rascal, but he is a
very clever one, and you may be very sure that he has so covered
his tracks and burned his bridges behind him that, unless some
unforeseen evidence comes to light, it would be very difficult to
depose him from his position.”
“I cannot credit that story regarding the woman who calls herself
Mrs. Brewster,” said Gerald reflectively. “I would give a good deal
to have our old friend, Plum, examine that certificate of hers, and
those old letters, which she claims were written by Mr. Brewster
before their marriage.”
“I fear you will never be gratified, my boy,” said his friend; “the
case has been settled, and no one has any authority to rake it
over again, unless, as I said before, some new evidence should be
forthcoming, or some barefaced fraud detected which would implicate
the victors in the recent trial. If we had been in New York at the
time the case was in court, I should have followed it with a great
deal of interest.”
Gerald said no more about the matter at that time. All the same,
he made a secret resolve that immediately upon his return he would
go to New Haven and examine the records of marriage-certificates,
to assure himself that matters were exactly as they had been
represented.
He could not--he would not believe that there had ever been an
ignoble secret in his former employer’s life. He almost felt it a
personal injury, and resented it as such, that his fair name should
have been so smirched before the public. He felt, too, that Mrs.
Manning, as the nearest of kin, was being deeply wronged by having
Mr. Brewster’s large fortune so diverted from its proper channel.
The week following found him, with Lady Bromley and Mr. Lyttleton,
on the broad Atlantic, and fast approaching the shores of their
native land.
Upon their arrival in New York her ladyship took a suite of rooms
in a hotel, saying that she wanted a place of her own in the city,
where she could go and come, making visits here and there, as she
liked. She, however, persuaded Gerald to take a room in the same
house with her.
“I shall want an escort,” she smilingly told him, “for I mean to
go about a good deal, and it will be so convenient to have you
near--that is, if you will not feel that I am imposing upon you.”
Gerald assured her that it would give him great pleasure to attend
her wherever she might feel inclined to go; and he was thankful
to her for looking to him for companionship, for it seemed to him
that it would be almost more than he could bear to be left to
himself among the familiar scenes which reminded him so forcibly of
Allison.
He did not have a suspicion that Lady Bromley had made all these
arrangements wholly on his account; that his sorrowful face and
heavy eyes so haunted her that she resolved to give him just as
little time as possible to dwell upon his trouble.
Thus it came to pass that they breakfasted and dined together,
Gerald getting his luncheon down-town, near the office, while
in the evening they almost invariably went out to some concert,
lecture, or place of amusement, or had friends come to them.
In this way they grew to be more and more fond of each other,
until the sweet, though lonely woman gradually came to regard the
high-minded fellow with almost as much affection as if he had
been her son; while he never failed to experience a feeling of
restfulness and content in her presence.
One Sunday afternoon Gerald and his friend were sitting in Lady
Bromley’s charming little parlor. The young man had been reading
aloud from a new book that was just out, until, as the daylight
began to wane, Gerald had observed that her ladyship had seemed
somewhat restless, and several times had glanced rather wistfully
around the room. At last, realizing that he was watching her, she
broke forth with an apologetic little laugh:
“Gerald, I really must have a hassock. I have acquired the habit
of using a foot-rest, and I shall not feel at home until I can get
into my natural position. I shall go out to-morrow morning and buy
three or four; then I can have one in every room.”
“Why did you not speak of it before?” Gerald inquired. “I would
have supplied your needs with pleasure. Possibly I might find
one in the house to-night for you. I will go and ask the clerk.
Ah!”--with sudden thought--“I have the very thing for you; at
least, it will answer your purpose until you are better equipped.”
With that he started up, and, going to his own room, took from his
trunk the old-fashioned cricket that had belonged to his aunt.
With a smile of amusement over the antiquated appearance of the
thing, he returned with it to his friend.
“It is as ‘old as the hills,’ and rather a shabby affair for a
modern boudoir,” he remarked as he placed it conveniently for Lady
Bromley, and then he told her the history of it, while she listened
with curious interest.
“But for Aunt Honor’s wish that I would not part with it, because
it was an heirloom which she prized, I would have gotten rid of
it long ago,” he remarked, in conclusion. “It is a veritable
‘elephant’ upon my hands, for I usually carry it in my trunk
wherever I go.”
“That must indeed be rather inconvenient for you,” Lady Bromley
observed, as she regarded the quaint old foot-rest critically. “It
is queer how tenacious of heirlooms some people are,” she added
reflectively; “I know of some attics and storerooms that are
full of just such things, and they are of no use to any one; but,
having been purchased and prized by some remote ancestor, they are
regarded as sacred, and it would be thought desecration to either
dispose of or destroy them. But, Gerald, this cricket is made of
solid mahogany! If it was repolished, the brass claw feet nicely
cleaned and laquered, and the top handsomely upholstered, it would
really be a very pretty thing.”
Gerald laughed.
“That involves a good deal of reconstruction, and I am afraid I
do not care enough for it to take all that trouble, especially as
I never use anything of the kind,” he smilingly responded, and
then they drifted to some other subject. A few days later, when he
returned at his usual hour for dinner, his friend lifted a doubtful
face to him.
“Gerald,” she said plaintively. “I have ruined your cricket!
Look!” she continued, removing her feet from it, when he saw that
the bright, intricate patchwork, which had been the work of Miss
Winchester’s patient fingers, was all discolored.
“I was trying, this afternoon, to remove some spots of iron-rust
from a couple of nice handkerchiefs, and I did not like to trust
the work to any one else,” her ladyship continued. “Suddenly the
bottle of acid slipped from my hands, the contents were spilled
upon the cricket, and the color all taken out of the cover, as you
see.”
“Never mind; pray do not give it another thought,” replied the
young man indifferently, “that patchwork was years and years
old--it has served its day and generation.”
“May I fix it over for you?” questioned his companion. “I will
have it done nicely, and then it will make a pretty ornament for my
room as long as we remain here.”
“Certainly; do with it as you like,” heartily replied Gerald. “I
would like to give it to you, since it seems to interest you so
much, but I’m afraid Aunt Honor’s ghost would haunt me for being so
unmindful of her wishes.”
“Oh, I do not want you to give it to me; but I would like to make
it a more presentable piece of furniture,” said her ladyship, and
there the matter rested.
But the next day, when she was alone, she looked it over carefully,
to consider just how she would repair it. Taking her scissors, she
cut away a portion of the patchwork covering, and then laughed out
amusedly as another, faded and worn, was revealed to her.
“There may be half a dozen, for aught I know,” she mused, “and
I have a curiosity to see what taste and texture represent the
previous generations of my Gerald’s family.”
Clipping busily away, she cut the whole outer cover off, when a
piece of worsted work came to light.
“Ah!” said Lady Bromley. “Miss Winchester’s ancestor, next removed,
was evidently fond of crewel embroidery! It is a very pretty
design--ferns and honeysuckles--and there are an endless number of
stitches in it; if it could only speak, what an interesting history
it might give me of the girl or woman who wrought it!
“But this is strange!” she added, a moment after. “It has been
partially cut away on three sides, and”--lifting it--“so has the
next cover, which is a piece of ordinary tapestry, and the next,
also, which is of ordinary horsehair, and probably the original
covering.
“Generation the fourth, and last,” she observed in a tone of
satisfaction, as she removed the ragged hair-cloth and threw it to
one side, for her occupation was becoming rather distasteful, on
account of the dust which arose from her efforts.
This left only a layer of cotton to be disposed of, and, as she
gathered it up and laid it upon the heap of rags beside her, a low,
startled exclamation burst from her lips upon observing that there
was a lid in the top of the cricket, and that a leather loop had
been tacked upon one side of it, to enable it to be readily lifted
from its place.
“Well! I am afraid I have stumbled upon some secret with which I
have no business!” rather nervously murmured her ladyship, as she
curiously eyed the ancient foot-rest. “What can it mean? Possibly
this heirloom, which he has so affected to despise, may prove,
after all, to be very precious to ‘my Gerald.’”
She had almost unconsciously grown into the habit of calling him
“my Gerald,” her constantly increasing affection for him giving her
a certain sense of possession.
“Perhaps we shall discover title-deeds to a great fortune--as we
read about in novels--in this dusty, musty little sepulcher which,
in all probability, has not been opened for many years,” she went
on, with a light, mocking laugh at her romantic suspicion. “And
yet”--with a slight start--“every cover except the last had been
partially cut away, so, of course, Miss Winchester must have known
the secret--possibly she also may have concealed something in here
for him to find, and that is why she made him promise never to part
with it.”
With her thumb and finger she laid hold of the leather loop and
lifted the cover, just enough to ascertain whether the thing was
empty or not.
The next instant she dropped it again, a quick, startled cry
breaking from her.
The receptacle was packed full of papers!
With a very grave face Lady Bromley arose from the floor, carefully
placed the cricket in one corner of the room, and dropped an afghan
over it.