_The Hampstead Mystery._
A Novel.
BY
FLORENCE MARRYAT,
AUTHOR OF ‘LOVE’S CONFLICT,’ ‘VÉRONIQUE,’ ‘MY OWN
CHILD,’ ‘MY SISTER THE ACTRESS,’ ‘HOW LIKE
A WOMAN,’ ‘PARSON JONES,’ ETC., ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. III.
LONDON:
F. V. WHITE & CO.,
14 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1894.
_CONTENTS._
PAGE
CHAPTER I., 1
CHAPTER II., 24
CHAPTER III., 46
CHAPTER IV., 67
CHAPTER V., 91
CHAPTER VI., 114
CHAPTER VII., 138
CHAPTER VIII., 163
CHAPTER IX., 184
CHAPTER X., 208
_The Hampstead Mystery._
CHAPTER I.
Hannah Hindes did not know what answer to make to this direct appeal.
She was an honest woman, to whom a lie was an abhorrence, but she was
also a woman who held her husband’s reputation, perhaps his life, in
her hands. She hesitated so visibly, that Captain Hindes began to think
his brother’s disorder must be such as she found it impossible to speak
to him upon.
‘Well, never mind,’ he said presently, ‘I see you are unwilling to
mention it, but I shall soon get it out of old Hal. But you make me
feel rather anxious, Hannah. If my brother has not consulted a doctor,
I must make him do so. His health is too valuable to you and the
children to be trifled with. By the way, talking of children, what
induced you to send those two little fairies, Elsie and Laurie, away
from home to be educated? I thought that was altogether against your
principles, Hannah. Edith says she remembers your giving her a long
lecture on the subject when Fanny was born, and cautioning her never to
let a daughter be educated anywhere but at home. She has dinned it into
my ears whenever I have hinted the young lady was old enough to go to
school.’
‘Yes!’ replied Hannah, with a sigh. ‘Those have always been my
sentiments, Arthur, and are so still. But Henry has grown so irritable
of late, that the noise of the children playing about The Hall
disturbed him, so I thought it best to let them go. They are with an
old friend of mine, where I can see them almost every day. I daresay,’
she continued, timidly, ‘that you thought it very strange that we
could not receive you at The Old Hall, as we did before. It cost me
more than I can tell you to write and put off your coming here. But
it was for the same reason. My husband cannot bear the least noise
or confusion. I am afraid he has over-taxed his brain, and, when he
returns home, he requires absolute rest.’
‘Don’t say anything more about it, Hannah,’ replied her sister-in-law.
‘Of course, Artie and I knew there was some unavoidable reason for the
refusal. And, much as we should have liked to renew our former pleasant
relations with you, everything must give way to Henry’s health.’
‘What are your plans?’ inquired Hannah.
‘We have hardly fixed them yet,’ said Captain Hindes. ‘We thought of
staying in town for a while, just to see a few theatres and other
amusements, while we look out for a country cottage to spend the summer
in. But if my brother is seriously ill, I shall not dream of going far
away from him.’
‘Oh, Arthur! he is not so ill as that!’ exclaimed Hannah; ‘it is his
mind that is suffering, rather than his body. He works so hard at the
business, and now, of course, everything falls on his shoulders. He
seldom gets to the City before noon, and, when he comes home, he is so
exhausted, he cares for nothing but to go to bed.’
‘But neuralgia is generally due to physical weakness, Hannah. The
doctors always give Edie a tonic for it the first thing. Is Hal taking
nothing to strengthen him?’
‘I don’t think he takes anything but morphia when the pain becomes
intolerable,’ replied Hannah; ‘but, Arthur, don’t argue with him on the
subject. Nothing makes Henry so irritable as to be talked to about his
health. When you see him, treat him as if you saw no difference in his
appearance. He won’t let even _me_ mention the subject to him.’
‘He must be mightily changed,’ said Captain Hindes, sighing; ‘however,
I will take your advice, and keep silence on the matter. I shall call
at his office the first thing to-morrow. When do you think I shall
find him there?’
‘Not before twelve, Arthur; if then. Will not you and Edith have some
refreshment before you go back?’
‘No, thank you, Hannah. We are both tired, and should not have moved
out except to see you. Tell old Hal all about us when he wakes up, and
say I shall be in Sise Lane early to-morrow. Good-night, my dear. I’m
awfully sorry about his illness. It’s quite spoilt my coming home,
but I hope I may be able to cheer him up. If it is due, as you seem
to imagine, to his over-working himself, I think I shall be able to
persuade him to come out a little with me, and brush the cobwebs off
his brain. What need has he to ruin his health by work? He has made
plenty of money, to say nothing of the handsome legacy that Mr Crampton
left the son and heir. By the way, how is the prodigy? I conclude he
has not left home as well as the girls.’
‘No,’ said Hannah, with a wintry smile; he is not quite old enough
for that yet. He will not be three till his next birthday. He is quite
well, thank you, Arthur; but I have to keep him at the top of the
house, for fear he should disturb his father.’
‘Why, Henry was always so devoted to Master Wally. Edie and I have
often laughed together over his letters about his little son, and said,
surely no man had ever had a boy before. At one time he could write of
nothing else.’
‘Oh! yes, and he loves the child as much as ever, perhaps more, but he
cannot stand his noise. It jars upon his nerves. Sometimes I long for
the time when Wally shall be able to go too. It is a dull life for a
young child to be confined to the company of his nurse.’
‘You grieve me more and more with each word you say, Hannah,’ replied
her brother-in-law; ‘however, I shall see Henry for myself to-morrow.
Come! Edie, we must make tracks for our hotel.’
‘Won’t you wait for the carriage to take you back,’ asked Hannah
anxiously, for she was distressed at not being able to show them more
hospitality.
‘No, thanks, dear. We shall get home quicker by the Metropolitan. We
shall see you again soon. Good-night!’ and, with his wife’s arm snugly
tucked under his own, Captain Hindes walked off again.
As soon as she was sure that they were gone, Hannah sat down and
indulged in the luxury of ‘a good cry.’ It was seldom that she
permitted her feelings to get the better of her, but this interview had
upset her.
The semi-deceit she had been compelled to practise--the determination
of Captain Hindes to find out what was the matter with his brother,
and the evident suspicion with which he had received her statements,
all combined to make her fear that a crisis of some sort was at hand.
She dreaded what her husband might do or say if his brother pressed
him too hard for an explanation of the alteration in his demeanour and
appearance. His brain was at times so muddled, even in the day-time,
that he spoke more like a madman than a sane person, and if Arthur took
it upon himself to consult medical men on Henry’s behalf, or to have
him privately watched, what terrible _dénouement_ might not be the
consequence. She wished heartily that her brother and sister-in-law had
not returned home just at that particular moment, that they had given
her time to coax her husband to leave England for a while, as he had
seemed so well disposed to do, but wishing was futile. They were there,
in their midst, and she must set all her wits to work to conceal the
real state of affairs from them.
She visited her husband’s bed-chamber at once, to find him sunk into
a slumber, from which she could only rouse him to a semi-torpid
condition. So she wisely let him sleep until the morning, when he was
able to listen to her story, and conceive a hazy idea that his brother
and his wife had paid The Old Hall a visit whilst he was asleep.
When Captain Arthur Hindes walked into the office the following day,
he found his brother had not yet arrived. Naturally he was well-known
there, by Mr Bloxam and all the older employés of the firm, and he
received a hearty welcome, for he was a general favourite. Arthur
was taller and fairer than Henry--had a handsomer face and a neater
figure--was possessed, moreover, of a bright, happy temperament, and
had always a kind word or a jest on hand.
‘Not arrived yet?’ he exclaimed in answer to Bloxam’s intimation of the
‘governor’s’ absence, ‘and nearly half-past twelve! What makes him so
late, Bloxam? He used to be called “the early bird” at one time.’
‘Ah! Master Arthur, things are changed since then,’ replied the old
cashier. ‘Mr Henry’s not been nearly so active of late. I often think
he’s not well. He seems so mopey and dull. Perhaps it will be different
now you’ve come home, Mr Arthur. You’ll cheer him up a bit. He has
felt Mr Crampton’s death terribly, and Miss Jenny’s too, for the
matter of that, they came so quickly, one after the other, and he ought
to have taken a change long ago. I’m very glad you’ve come back, sir.
You’ll do him more good than anyone else could do.’
‘I am glad also, Bloxam, for Mrs Hindes’s account of him quite alarmed
me. But do you think he is really ill?’
‘I think he is very, _very_ ill, Mr Arthur,’ returned Bloxam,
mysteriously; ‘but here he is, so I will leave you together.’
Saying thus, the cashier retreated by a side door into his particular
sanctum, as the glass doors from the front swung slowly on their
hinges, as though propelled by an enfeebled hand, to admit Henry
Hindes. He entered, looking much as he had always done of late,
slouching along with a bent figure and a shaking frame. He had made
some attempt, at the instigation of his wife, to brighten up his
general appearance by assuming a frock coat and a tall hat, but they
only served to make the difference in him more apparent. Captain
Hindes could not for a moment believe the evidence of his senses, but
when he was convinced that it was his brother who stood before him, he
started forward to greet him with a slight cry.
‘Good God! Hal, my dear old fellow!’ he exclaimed, ‘is this you?’
‘Who else?’ demanded Henry, with an attempt at jocularity, as he held
out his hand and grasped that of Arthur.
The younger man looked him in the face for a few minutes without
speaking. He could not trust himself to do so. He was too infinitely
shocked. _This_ Henry? Henry, whose devotion to his personal appearance
had passed into a family proverb--who had always been the ‘nattiest’
youth, and the most perfectly-dressed young man, and the most faultless
gentleman in the City--whose irreproachable garb and spotless linen and
glossy hats had been cast in his teeth in bygone days, as witnesses
that he was not fit for business or anything but a _cavalier des
dames_. This limp, untidy, slovenly-looking man, with bloodshot eyes,
and unhealthy complexion, his brother Henry, of whom he used to be so
proud? Arthur felt a great lump rise in his throat, and could have sat
down and cried to see the difference a few years had made in him. But
he held his hand as in a vice instead, and replied in as hearty a voice
as he could manage,--
‘Why, dear old chap, you’re not looking yourself at all. You took me
quite by surprise, though Hannah did prepare Edie and me last night to
see a change in you.’
‘Hannah, Hannah!’ cried his brother quickly; ‘what had she to say of
me? What did she tell you? How dared she--I mean, why did she mention
me at all?’
‘My dear Henry, it would have been very extraordinary, surely, if she
had not mentioned you, considering that we went over to Hampstead to
see you, and were much disappointed to find you had already retired to
bed. You want shaking up, old fellow, that’s what it is. You’ve been
worrying yourself over this big business too much. Your late partner’s
death has thrown too much responsibility upon your shoulders. How I
wish I were not such a fool, and could help you a little. But now that
I have returned, you must come out more, Henry. It is quite time you
came back to the world. It is--let me see!--quite nine months or more,
surely, since that poor girl met with her death--’
‘Stop! stop!’ cried Henry suddenly. ‘What poor girl? What are you
talking about?’
Arthur looked bewildered.
‘Why! Miss Crampton, or rather Mrs Walcheren, of course. It was
her death, wasn’t it, that led to the other. You must have felt it
terribly. Such a sudden shock, and when you regarded her as almost one
of the family.’
‘Oh! no, I didn’t,’ replied Hindes, in an incoherent manner. ‘Why
should I have felt it? She was nothing to me. I didn’t care about her.
Why, to hear you talk in that extravagant way,’ he continued, turning
his suspicious eyes upon his brother, ‘one would think--one would
almost imagine that I had had something to do with it all.’
‘Something to do with it,’ repeated Arthur, in a distressed tone of
voice. ‘Oh, Henry! how can you say such a thing! But you felt it
deeply, I am sure. Anyone could see that from your altered appearance.
But, my dear brother, there is such a thing, you know, as giving way
too much to our feelings. You have lost two of your dearest friends,
but you have your wife and children left. You must think of them,
Henry, and also a little of me, of whom you are the last surviving
relative. For all our sakes, dear old chap, try and rouse yourself from
this morbid condition. A little amusement and gaiety will do you good.
Hannah should have urged you to go out again before this. But, now that
I have come home, I mean to persuade you to it, for my own sake as well
as yours. Will you?’
‘Of course I will,’ replied Henry, sitting upright in his chair, and
trying to look as if there were nothing the matter with him; ‘we will
go out together, Arthur, and have some larks as we used to do. I’m as
fit as a fiddle. It’s only Hannah who will have it I’m ill. Women are
such coddles. But, now you are come, it will be all right. Let’s make
a night of it. Where shall we go? Tivoli first, and a little supper at
Gatti’s afterwards. Will that suit you, Artie? By Jove! the very sight
of you has done me good.’
‘I’d rather go to the theatre to-night, Henry. I shouldn’t like to
leave my little woman at home by herself, the first evening she spends
in England. We will do the music-halls afterwards. What do you say to
this? Come straight to Haxells’ from the office, and dine with us. I
will wire for Hannah to join us, and we’ll make a party to the Lyceum
in the evening. I can go now and secure a box. Will you do it, Henry?
Do say yes!’
‘Of course I’ll do it, Arthur. What has my wife been telling you--that
I’m not able to go to theatres and places of that sort? It’s lies, I
tell you--all lies. I’m as fit as they’re made. All right, Bloxam.
I’ll attend to you in a minute.’
‘I’d better go now, Henry, and leave you to your work,’ said Captain
Hindes, with a perplexed face, ‘you’ll get on better without me. Don’t
forget. Haxells’ at five, and we’ll dine there, and spend the evening
at the theatre. And I’ll telegraph to your wife at once that she may
make no engagement for to-night. Good-bye for the present, dear old
fellow. I’m awfully glad to have met you again Hal. Good-bye till this
evening.’
But though he had said he was awfully glad, Captain Hindes looked
awfully sad as he took his way back to the hotel to tell his wife of
his interview with his brother. He fulfilled his engagements, secured
a box at the theatre, sent Hannah an invitation by wire, and ordered a
good dinner to be ready for the party at six.
But Hannah came, and the dinner came, yet there was no appearance of
Henry Hindes. After some delay, Arthur volunteered to go back to the
City and see if he had yet left the office. On reaching it, he was
told that the ‘governor’ had been gone some time, and the clerk, who
carried his papers to the hansom, had heard him distinctly give the
order to drive to Hampstead, so the only thing his brother could do,
was to jump into another hansom and follow him there. He expected to
find Henry had mistaken the time of meeting, or had returned home to
dress for the theatre, which, he had told him, was unnecessary. The man
who opened the door of The Old Hall looked so surprised to see him,
that Arthur’s first inquiry was,--
‘Has not your master returned?’
‘Yes, sir, he has been home the best part of an hour.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In the library, I think, sir.’
Captain Hindes did not wait to be announced, but hastened to the
library by himself. He found his brother seated in an arm-chair doing
nothing, with his hands folded on his lap.
‘Hullo!’ cried Arthur.
Henry started as if he had been shot, and exclaimed,--
‘Good God!’ Then, turning towards the intruder, said angrily. ‘How dare
you startle me in that way? I have told you again and again--’
‘Hal! Hal! it is I--Arthur,’ replied the captain, quickly.
Henry Hindes turned a lack-lustre eye upon him, and said in a tone of
surprise,--
‘Arthur? but where have you come from? Why didn’t you let me know you
were coming home? We should have sent the carriage or something to meet
you.
‘Henry, old boy, what are you talking of?’ said Captain Hindes. ‘Why,
I saw you at the office this morning, and you promised to dine with us
this evening, and go to the theatre afterwards. Your wife is already
in town, and I have come to see why you have not joined us. Had you
forgotten your engagement? Why did you not come straight to Haxells’,
as you promised?’
‘Did I promise?’ asked his brother in a stupid way. ‘I suppose I have
forgotten it! I have so much business to think of. But I had better
tell Hannah I am going with you, or she will wait dinner for me.’
‘I left Hannah with Edith, Hal, and the sooner we join them the better.
I have my cab at the door, so come at once, like a good fellow,’ said
Arthur Hindes, who was beginning to feel seriously uneasy about his
brother.
He persuaded him to accompany him back to town, however, and in another
half-hour they had all sat down to dinner. Captain Hindes marked the
anxious look in his sister-in-law’s eye, as he related how he had
found his brother; but Henry picked up considerably during dinner, and
even attempted some feeble attempts towards jocularity, which were
accompanied, however, by such a silly, cackling laugh, that his wife’s
cheeks burned with shame to listen to him, and Arthur tried by all
means in his power to cover his shortcomings by talking a great deal
more nonsense than was his wont.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, as they started for the theatre, ‘that I was
unable to procure a box at the Lyceum. Everything was booked there for
three weeks in advance, but I got seats at another theatre, which I
daresay will prove just as amusing.’
‘I shall like anything, naturally,’ replied Edith; ‘but you, Hannah,
see so many pieces, I suppose, that you may be fastidious.’
‘Indeed, you are mistaken,’ said Hannah, with her quiet smile. ‘Henry
does not care, as a rule, to go out after dinner, and I cannot, of
course, go without him. An evening at the theatre is almost as great a
treat to me as to you, Edith.’
The theatre which Captain Hindes had selected was one of those which
provide melodrama for the public amusement. There happened to be a very
stirring piece on there at that moment, full of sensational scenes of
murder, assault, and robbery. The murder was committed in the prologue,
and the story dragged through three long acts afterwards, during which
the assassin was being hunted down until he was finally brought to
justice.
As soon as Hannah understood what they were likely to see, she became
anxious and troubled on her husband’s account, although she took great
pains to conceal her feelings. The two ladies were seated in front of
the box, whilst the gentlemen occupied the spaces behind their chairs.
She could not, therefore, see her husband’s face, but she sympathised
with him all through the play. She fancied that the conversation
between the brothers grew less and less as the piece proceeded, but
that might be due to the fact that they had become interested in it.
Her worst fears were, however, realised, when, as they were watching a
scene in which the murderer betrayed himself to a woman, who had been
on his track from the beginning, she suddenly heard Henry exclaim,--
‘This is an insult! I will stand it no longer. I consider you had no
right to bring my wife to see such a piece as this.’
Captain Hindes started to his feet at once, the two ladies looked round
in amazement, and Hannah said, in an agonised whisper,--
‘Hush, Henry, hush, for Heaven’s sake! You will attract public notice.
I am enjoying the play immensely. Do sit down and be quiet.’
‘I will not sit down,’ he continued, loudly. ‘I will not stay another
moment in this damned place. Here, Hannah, put on your cloak and bonnet
at once, and come home with me. You sha’n’t hear another line of it.’
Hannah glanced at her brother and sister-in-law with infinite distress,
which their looks returned, but, rising hastily, she whispered to
Arthur,--
‘Don’t make any fuss. Let me go home with him. He is not well. Forgive
me, Arthur; forgive us both, but don’t try to persuade him to stay.’
She threw her mantle over her shoulders as she spoke, and, putting her
hand through her husband’s arm, said gently,--
‘Come, dear, I am quite ready to go home. Good-night, dear Arthur and
Edie. Thanks so much,’ and, with that, she drew him quickly away.
When they had disappeared, Captain and Mrs Hindes looked at each other
in sorrowful surprise.
‘What _is_ the matter with him?’ asked Edith of Arthur. ‘Is he _mad_?’
‘I am very much inclined to believe it,’ replied her husband. ‘There is
certainly something very wrong about him, and I shall speak to a doctor
on the subject to-morrow. Hannah says he has refused to see anybody,
but, when a man begins to be as unreasonable as this, it is time his
friends acted for him. I have not had time to tell you how I found him
this afternoon, but I will when we get home.’
‘I would rather return now if you have no objection, dearest,’ said Mrs
Hindes. ‘This _contretemps_ has taken away all my interest in the play.
Poor Hannah! how I pity her.’