While the preparations for the ball at Barminster Castle had been going
on apace, trouble and confusion reigned in the little village on the
banks of the Thames.
No sooner had Mr. Jasper Vermont taken his departure, than poor Lucy
Ashford sank on the floor of the shop, and burst into a flood of tears.
So great had been the strain that she was completely unnerved, and had
quite forgotten the likelihood of her husband's return from Richmond, as
well as the mysterious disappearance of Jessica, who had not been seen
in the house since the arrival of Adrien Leroy and his unconscious
burden.
This sudden realisation of all the presentiment of evil which Lucy
Ashford had ever in her mind, had burst on her like a thunderbolt. She
had known always that the man, Mr. Jasper Vermont, who knew her secret,
was alive; but never before had she been actually threatened with its
betrayal. Her father, Mr. Harker, had always stood between her and that
dreadful possibility.
Presently, she jumped up and called to Jessica. Then she remembered that
the girl had disappeared from the time she had sent her from the room.
Fearful that Vermont might yet change his mind and return for the night,
she ran to the door, calling out Jessica's name in a paroxysm of nervous
terror, which finally, on receiving no reply, ended in a severe attack
of hysterics, in the midst of which her husband returned and found her.
With an exclamation of alarm, he raised her from the floor and bore her
upstairs to the bed on which Lady Merivale had lain such a short time
ago. He was greatly puzzled by the disordered appearance of the room,
and his first thought was of burglars. He gave no time to this, however,
but hastened to get his wife into bed, then rushed out for a doctor.
When he returned with him it was found that Lucy had relapsed into a
state of fever, and was talking deliriously, of an inn at Canterbury, an
individual of the name of Johann Wilfer, and most of all, making
plaintive appeals to Jasper Vermont not to betray her.
As the next day Jessica had not returned, Ashford found all his work cut
out for him, to see after the shop and the children, as well as his
wife. A kindly neighbour came to his rescue; but John insisted on
nursing Lucy himself, while the woman remained downstairs.
At first, the husband paid little attention to the wandering, incoherent
sentences of his wife; but as the first excitement died down, and they
began to take distinct form, he bent over her, and learned the one error
of her life. Naturally, poor John recoiled in horror; the whole thing
seemed so incredible, so impossible to believe. Yet, when he had had
time to reflect, he saw that this explained all the little strangenesses
in his wife's conduct and manner; her intense nervousness at the sight
of any stranger; her reticence as to her youthful days; all this was
borne in on his mind, and he realised that he had been deceived. His
wife, in whom he had so trusted, had loved another before him; and at
the bitter truth, John Ashford utterly broke down, and, hiding his face
in the counterpane, sobbed like a child. Tears sometimes are Nature's
own medicine, and do more to soften the heart than any words. After the
first shock had worn away, Ashford commenced to look back on the happy
days he had spent with Lucy; the way she had worked with him, and for
him. These thoughts did their healing work, and accordingly, a few days
later, when Lucy Ashford returned to consciousness, she found her
husband's eyes gazing into hers with only pitying tenderness in their
depths.
"John," she said faintly, "have I been ill?"
"Yes, dear," he replied gently.
Something in his saddened tones, or perhaps strange intuition, told Lucy
that her secret was no longer hers alone.
"John!" she cried, her voice shaking with terror and weakness. "You know
all!" And she hid her face in her hands.
Her husband bent over her tenderly and kissed the thin cheek.
"Yes, dear," he said. "You've told me all. Why didn't you trust me
before?"
She looked at him in wonder, hardly believing the evidence of her own
ears. Was this all the reproach and anger he would deal out to her?
Could it be possible that, knowing all, the man she had loved, yet
feared, solely on this account, would not only forgive but take her into
his heart again? As if in answer to her bewildered thoughts, John's arm
was around her neck, and his kiss of forgiveness fell upon her lips.
Presently, she looked up, with a look of ineffable peace and gratitude
on her face.
"John," she said, "send for poor father; it will be new life to him to
know that this dreadful weight is off my heart, and that you, knowing
what a bad woman I have been, will still call me your wife. Oh, fetch
him to me soon, dear, that he may be happy too."
Her husband kissed her again, and without another word left the room.
Giving some directions to the neighbour who was still in the shop, he
set out at once on his journey. He drove into Hampton and took the first
train to London, where he intended to tell his father-in-law the whole
story, and learn what details he could; for he did not wish ever to
bring up the subject again, so far as Lucy was concerned.
Now it happened that Mr. Harker was late at the office that night,
bending, sad and wrinkled, over his interminable papers; the whole
business connected with which was so repugnant to him. Sigh after sigh
escaped his thin lips, as he read the piteous appeals, and knew that he
must refuse them; must deal out fresh misery against his will. It was
hard to be the tool of such a merciless fiend; to be the servant of such
a master of deceit, villainy and fraud; but so greatly did the father
love his child that he would scarce have hesitated in committing a
murder had Jasper Vermont set that crime as a price of his forbearance
and silence. He would have purchased his daughter's safety and happiness
with his heart's blood, if need be.
Unconscious of the release that was so fast approaching, he worked on,
setting in order the various accounts which Vermont would require to be
laid before him on the following day; and entering in a book concise
histories of the debts and difficulties which placed dozens of Jasper's
acquaintances within his power.
A knock at the door startled him, and roused him from his task. Hastily
shutting the ledger before which he was seated, and covering the deeds
and documents with a large sheet of paper, the old man rose and opened
the door.
It was his son-in-law, John Ashford, and at the sight of his round,
kindly face, Harker staggered back, and clutched at the table.
"Lucy!" he gasped out. "Is she ill?"
"All right! All right!" said John reassuringly, but in a quieter voice
than his usual jovial one. "Don't be frightened. But when she says 'Go
and fetch father,' you see, I come and fetch you directly."
Mr. Harker was not to be deceived by this attempt at a jest.
"She is ill!" he cried, the perspiration breaking out on his forehead.
John nodded.
"She is better now," he said. "But I should like you to come down at
once. We shall catch a train to Hampton Court, and I have a trap waiting
for me there." Without any further explanation--for after thinking the
matter over, he had determined that Lucy herself should break the news
to her father--he helped the old man, still trembling and shaking, to
put on his coat, and to lock up the office; and it was not until they
were well on their way, that John told him how he had found his wife a
fortnight ago, lying unconscious on the ground.
Mr. Harker's troubled face darkened, and his thin hands clenched and
unclenched themselves, for he knew Mr. Vermont only too well, and the
thought had already crossed his mind that this sudden illness was in
some way due to that gentleman's interference.
Outside Hampton Court station they found the horse and cart for which
John had arranged; and the two men got in silently and started off once
more. They were within a short distance of their destination, when John
pulled up the horse with an exclamation of astonishment. They were in a
narrow lane, with barely room enough for the cart to pass along, and
almost within a yard of the horse's hoofs stood the figure of a young
girl.
Ashford recognised her in an instant; with a shout of warning, he threw
the reins to his father-in-law and, leaping to the ground, caught the
girl by the arm.
"Jessica!" he cried reproachfully. "What are you doing here?"
She looked up at him in silence, and her eyes filled with tears.
"I am coming back to you," she said at last, in a low voice, "if you
will have me? There was some one I wanted to see again in London, or I
would never have gone; for, oh! sir, I know how good you and Mrs.
Ashford have been to me."
John appeared relieved.
"I thought you weren't one of the sort to go off and leave my Lucy just
because she was ill and wanted extra help," he said, in a tone of
relief.
"Ill," repeated Jessica, with a look of bewilderment. "She was not ill
when I left her. It was the other lady who was ill."
John, of course, knew nothing of Lady Merivale, and gazed at Jessica as
though she had taken leave of her senses.
"I don't know what lady you mean," he said; "but my wife has been very
ill for the past two weeks, and asking for you often. You see, I thought
you had run away and left her."
"I will drive back with you, please, sir, if you have room for me. I
didn't know Mrs. Ashford was ill," said the girl, humbly following him,
as he turned towards the trap.
He lifted her up, and fastened her in securely.
All this time Mr. Harker had taken no notice of the little episode, save
to wonder slightly at the delay. But directly he caught sight of the
vivid, dark beauty of the girl, he started.
"Who is this?" he asked John, who was hurriedly driving on again.
"A poor girl whom Lucy has befriended," he replied. "Why, did you think
you recognised her?"
Mr. Harker shook his head. She strongly resembled some one he had seen;
but, for the moment, he could not call to mind who that person was.
"What is her name?" he inquired.
"Jessica," replied his son-in-law. "She doesn't seem to know any other."
They drove on in silence, broken presently by Mr. Harker, who had stolen
another glance at the silent girl.
"A wonderful likeness," he murmured. "I could have sworn that was Ada
Lester, the actress, as she used to be."
He relapsed again into silence, and John was too much wrapped up in his
own thoughts to question him further.
They reached the little shop at last, and Jessica ran lightly and
quickly up to the bedroom. She was welcomed warmly by Lucy, who had
grown to like the girl, and had been greatly upset by her absence.
"I'm glad you have come back, dear," she whispered, as Jessica bent over
her. "Where have you been?"
"To London, dear Mrs. Ashford. I did not know you were ill. I came back
with Mr. Ashford."
"John!" exclaimed Lucy, the colour rising in her face. "My father as
well?"
"Yes," said the girl. "I will call them."
She did so, and a moment later John and Mr. Harker entered the room.
"Here he is, dear, you shall tell him the news yourself, while I take
the horse back," said the kindly John. He bent over and kissed her; and
Lucy followed him with wistful, adoring eyes, as he went out accompanied
by Jessica.
The next half-hour was an affecting one for father and daughter. Harker
could hardly believe the good news; for so long had they tried and
succeeded in keeping the truth back from Ashford, that it seemed
incredible indeed that he had forgiven freely and wholly. Mr. Harker
looked a different being when, after kissing his daughter
affectionately, he left her and went down to the little parlour.
John was sitting smoking his pipe; but he started up when the old man
entered.
"What is the matter?" he said, as he looked at his pale face. "Is she
worse?"
"No," said Harker. "She is better, thank Heaven! John Ashford," he
continued humbly, "I have come to beg your forgiveness for the pain we
have caused you. I knew my girl to be a good girl, although she had once
been so foolish. I knew she would make you a true loving wife, in spite
of her sin. It was I who overcame her scruples, and bade her marry you.
I did it for the best. I did it that she might be happy; for I knew how
she loved you, and she so feared to lose your love and respect. She
tells me you have forgiven her, but can you forgive me?"
John grasped his hand.
"Of course I do," he said heartily. "You did it for her so I have
nothing to forgive. If my poor darling had only plucked up courage and
told me all, the hour we were man and wife, she would have learned how
dearly I loved her, and it would have saved you both many unhappy
years."
Tears of gratitude stood in Harker's eyes, as he returned the handclasp.
"Heaven bless you, John," he murmured. "Not many men would be so
merciful. We will never speak of this again. You will not repent your
generosity."
"What are you going to do?" asked Ashford; struck by something unusual
in the old man's voice.
"I am going back to London," said Harker, smiling grimly, as in
anticipation of a pleasant task. "I have work to do, an account to
settle now--for Lucy and myself. You don't know all yet, John; you don't
know, you never will know, all that Lucy and I have suffered."
He paused as if overcome by his emotion; then continued in trembling
voice:
"We have been slaves all these years, trembling and shrinking under a
villain's nod and frown. I've sold myself to a demon, who, in
consideration of my services--of my body and soul--promised to keep his
talons from my poor Lucy. He discovered her mistake; and he threatened
to let the whole world know, to tell you all, if I did not bind myself
to do his villainous work. I have done it for years. I have endured
shame and agony unspeakable, that my darling's secret might be safe. I
have been his tool and his scapegoat. I, an old man, on my way to the
grave, have earned--and rightly earned--the names of usurer and thief.
All this I have done and suffered that he should never blight my child's
happiness by his presence. He has broken the contract. He came down here
that night you went to Richmond, and, with his fiendish ways and
threats, nearly killed her. Well, now his power has gone. Thanks to your
generosity, your forgiveness, Lucy is free, and I am free. Now I take my
turn, and for every tear he has wrung from my darling's eyes, I will
wring a groan from his black heart."
John had listened to him with intense surprise. He knew his
father-in-law was in business in the City; but he did not know that the
business of "Harker's," for which he had a great respect, had anything
to do with moneylending. Still he refrained from asking any questions;
and seeing that Mr. Harker was practically exhausted by the excitement
and the news, persuaded him to spend the remainder of the night with
them, and travel back to town in the morning.
After reflection the old man agreed to this; and it was a very happy
little party that met at the breakfast-table next day.
Mr. Harker, unable to sleep, had let his thoughts go back to Jessica;
and in the silence of the night a picture had arisen before his eyes; a
theatre in which a dark-eyed young girl was dancing, amidst a crowd of
others. In his delight at having a clue he cried aloud, "Ada Lester, at
the Rockingham!" The more he thought of it the more sure he felt that
this girl must be the daughter, or at least some connection, of the
well-known actress.
On questioning Jessica, all the information he could obtain from her was
that which she had given Adrien Leroy. Johann Wilfer was the boundary of
her existence. Harker remembered the name as that of the man from whom
he had bought the picture, and he also knew now that he it was who had
been responsible for Lucy's early sin. But he was not to be shaken from
his belief that in some way Jessica must be related to Ada Lester, and
he asked the girl whether she would travel up to London with him, and
trust herself to his care.
Jessica looked up into his lined face.
"Yes," she said simply, "if you won't give me back to Johann."
Harker readily promised this, and, amid many smiles and wavings of hand
from the assembled Ashford family, the two started on their way.
On reaching London, Mr. Harker's first visit was to the Casket Theatre,
which Jessica at once remembered as the one before which she had kept
watch for Adrien Leroy; and with that recollection came the memory of
the roll of papers which she had picked up. She related this little
incident to Harker; and undoing the bag in which kind-hearted Lucy had
put some clothes for her, she found the papers and gave them to him.
Harker looked them over, and gave a cry of joy; for he realised at once
that they delivered his arch-enemy into his hands--no miracle from
Heaven itself could have done more. Jessica did not understand the
reason for his excitement, but she was quite content to let the papers
remain in his keeping.
At the theatre he inquired for Miss Lester; and, it being matinee day,
he found that the popular actress had already arrived. It took time and
money to convince the military-looking door-keeper that it was
absolutely necessary to take an urgent message to Miss Lester, but
eventually this was done, and Mr. Harker, with Jessica---who was almost
dazed by the strangeness of her surroundings--found themselves in Miss
Lester's dressing-room, a few minutes before she was due on the stage as
Prince Bon-Bon.
Mr. Harker at once hastened to apologise for the intrusion; but, in the
midst of his words, he broke off short, for Jessica and the actress were
gazing at one another in a mutual recognition. Jessica remembered her at
once as the lady who had been with Adrien Leroy; then came the earlier
memory, which had so puzzled her on the night she had seen the actress
entering the theatre.
"Jessica!" exclaimed Miss Lester, blankly, and she turned on the
astounded Harker. "What's the meaning of this?"
The few minutes were nearly up, and the call-boy and the dresser had met
in several consultations with regard to the difficulty of getting Miss
Lester on to the stage in time, before Mr. Harker's explanations were
through.
Ada, now thoroughly assured as to her own future, thanks to her recent
visit to Barminster, was quite willing to look after her niece better
than in the past; especially as her presence formed a strong link in the
chain of evidence the actress intended shortly to bring against Jasper
Vermont. She assured Harker that she would take care of the girl, and
with this he was content; then, leaving Jessica in her aunt's charge, he
made his way to his own office, prior to taking a journey down to
Barminster Castle.