LEWIS’S FATE.
The arrival of Lewis with Alfred Belassis at Ladywell that day, caused
a considerable amount of speculation and astonishment.
When, in addition, Lewis announced the fact that he had quarrelled with
his father, and meant to return no more to Thornton House, quite a
sensation was produced; and Miss Marjory did not hesitate to tell him
that she considered he had judged wisely and well.
‘You shall stay here, old fellow,’ said Phil warmly, ‘till we can find
you a berth of some kind; and don’t you be in any hurry. Give yourself
plenty of time to look round; something good will be sure to turn up if
you do. You’ve behaved like a brick about that money, and the least we
can do is to make you some return.’
‘The money wasn’t mine, as you all know,’ said Lewis. ‘I hope I know
better than to profit by a low trick like that, even though my father
was the one who practised it.’
‘I think we ought to divide it,’ said Maud, ‘just in case papa did mean
some of it for you.’
Miss Marjory had beckoned Alfred Belassis to her side. Mrs. Lorraine
was standing near, looking anxious. She knew on what errand he had come.
‘Have you found out about your mother’s death?’ she asked in a low
voice.
‘Yes; it was on the 2nd of May, 1850.’
Mrs. Lorraine drew a long breath of relief.
‘Well,’ said Miss Marjory, ‘I’m glad to hear it, for the sake of the
innocent, who would suffer more than the guilty; but he drove it close
enough. What a miserable coward he is!’
Alfred Belassis stood silent, looking and feeling rather awkward, in
the midst of such a company.
‘I should like to speak a word to you in private, ma’am,’ he said, ‘if
it isn’t troubling you too much. I ought to be getting back to Whitbury
as fast as I can, now that I’ve done what you asked.’
‘Come into this room, then,’ said Miss Marjory, opening a door which
stood near. ‘Let me hear what it is you have to say.’
Belassis followed her in, and sat down at her bidding. He was a
thick-set, clever-looking man, with more honesty than beauty to
recommend him.
‘Well, Belassis,’ said Miss Marjory, ‘what is it?’
‘If you please, ma’am, I want to know if I couldn’t be of some use to
that young gentleman there, who is a sort of brother to me, after all.’
‘Lewis, you mean? Well, I don’t know exactly how you could serve him.
I’m afraid he would be little good to you as a partner.’
Alfred Belassis looked almost shocked.
‘Oh no, ma’am; of course I couldn’t think of such a thing. A young
gentleman like him could never take to trade; it wouldn’t be right nor
proper. I know better than that; but he’s had education, you know, and
advantages of other kinds, and I’m thinking something might be found
for him more suitable.’
Miss Marjory reflected. She, too, could not be indifferent now to the
future of Lewis Belassis.
‘They tell me he has good abilities. He might perhaps get on in some
line, if he had a fair start. I don’t mind doing my best for him; but
in what way did you mean to help, Belassis?’
‘With money, ma’am. A deal more can be done for a man who’s got a few
thousands at his back, than one who has only got his brains to look to.
I should like to see to the money part of it—because, you know, he’s my
brother after a fashion.’
‘This is very generous of you, Belassis; but are you a man of means?’
‘Thanks to you, ma’am, I’ve done very well. You got me the place of
assistant to Mr. Hanly when I was but eighteen, and I succeeded to the
business when I was five-and-twenty. You stood my friend, and I never
wanted for work; and things have been growing and growing, until I’ve
almost more to do than I know how to get through sometimes. I’m a
plain man myself, and I’ve never married; and the money has all gone
into the bank, and been invested from time to time. There’s three
thousand as I can lay my hands upon any day, and not leave myself
pinched. I’d as soon Mr. Lewis had it to help him to a start, as spend
it any other way. So if any good thing turns up as wants a little
capital launched, you know where the money’s to come from. I think
that’s all, ma’am. I won’t detain you longer. I could best speak out to
you, because I don’t feel so strange like with you, as I do with the
other folks in there.’
‘Stop—stop, Belassis! not quite so fast!’ cried Miss Marjory. ‘This
is very generous of you, but really I’m not sure if you should do it.
Suppose he is very long in repaying you.’
‘I was not thinking about repayment,’ said Belassis. ‘I’d risk the
chance of that.’
‘But really, Belassis, you must be practical, and consider what you are
doing. Three thousand is a large sum, and Lewis has no claim upon you.’
‘Well, ma’am, he wasn’t ashamed to own me as his brother, nor to stand
by me like a brother when the old man swore at us. It isn’t every young
gentleman as would have cared to accept a man like me as a relation,
on my bare word; and it ain’t many as would have stood up for me as he
did.’
‘He behaved well towards you, I admit; but still——’
‘I ought to do well by him, then. I never knew before as I’d got a
brother, and it’ll be a real pleasure if I can help him. I’m a plain
man, and I don’t love money for its own sake. I’d much rather it was
helping Mr. Lewis, than lying by idle at the bank. Will you let him
know about it, if ever he wants it to make his start?’
‘Well, if you’re bent on it, Belassis, I’ll say no more. But won’t you
tell Lewis yourself?’
‘I’d sooner you did it, ma’am. It’s rather early days for me to speak,
and we don’t know yet what he’ll want, or even if he wants anything. He
may make it up with his father, and not want any help. I’d sooner leave
it in your hands, if you please. Mind you let him know that it doesn’t
matter at all about paying it back. I don’t want him hampered by debt.
I’d sooner give it outright.’
‘Oh, Belassis, Belassis! And you call yourself a man of business!’
‘Yes, ma’am, and so I am; but this isn’t business at all, and I don’t
want it to be. The poor young gentleman is worse off, to my thinking,
than if he’d got no father; and I’m his elder brother, and he’s
accepted me as one, only thinking me a poor shopkeeper. I should like
to play an elder brother’s part, and it isn’t a matter of business at
all.’
He got up as he said the last words, and Miss Marjory followed his
example.
‘Well, you talk like an honest and kind-hearted man, Belassis, and your
brother ought to be proud of the relationship.’
‘Good-day, then, ma’am. I must be getting back to Whitbury now. You’ll
kindly see after things for me here, I know.’
So Alfred Belassis escaped from Ladywell, Lewis walking with him part
of the way to the station.
‘I should like to come and see you, Alfred, one of these days,’ said
Lewis. ‘You’re the only relation I am likely to see much of for some
time to come. Have you any objection to a visit?’
‘I shall be honoured by your presence, sir.’
‘I’m afraid it won’t confer much honour; but I should like to see
Whitbury, and call upon Miss Marjory, and—and—I mean, see her in her
own house.’
‘Yes, sir.’
And so they parted, the elder man taking his way towards the inn and
the coach-road, and Lewis standing at the corner, looking doubtful and
irresolute.
‘Perhaps I’d better go back and have it out at once. It must be said
sooner or later, and I have my traps to collect. I don’t see any use in
putting off the evil day; it must come sometime. I’ll go straight up
and have done with it.’
And he turned his steps towards Thornton House.
He did not seek his father at once upon his arrival, but went straight
up to his own room. All his possessions there were his own property,
for his uncle’s legacy had supplied him with funds for his personal
wants ever since he was of age, and therefore he had the entire right
to claim as his own all that was there.
He packed up in his portmanteaux everything that he valued or that
could be of any use in the future, and then he rang and ordered the man
to carry down the boxes by the back staircase, and get them conveyed to
Ladywell.
This packing-up had occupied more than two hours, and Mr. and Mrs.
Belassis, who had seen from the window their son’s arrival, smiled a
little to themselves at his speedy return, and at the quiet way in
which it had been effected.
‘I told you he would come back like a whipped puppy,’ said Mrs.
Belassis. ‘I do not think we shall have any further trouble with Lewis.’
‘I’m sure I hope not,’ sighed the husband. ‘I’ve had enough trouble
these past months to carry a man into his grave. But I do think when
we’ve searched Ladywell and found that will, we really shall have no
more to fear. You’re sure Betsy Long is to be trusted to let us in and
to hold her tongue?’
‘Oh yes! I make it well worth her while. She loves money far too well
to betray us. We can spend as many nights as we like in the library,
and nobody be any the wiser.’
‘Ah!’ and Belassis drew a long breath, ‘it really seems as if things
were coming right at last!’
And then the door opened, and Lewis came in.
‘Well, sir!’ said the father grandly.
Mrs. Belassis folded her hands with a smile, and added, interrogatively:
‘Well, Lewis?’
‘Well, sir, I’ve come to say a rather less hasty good-bye; and to tell
you of a resolution I have taken.’
Both countenances changed slightly.
‘Say good-bye!’ echoed Belassis, with the ghost of a laugh. ‘What do
you mean?’
‘Don’t be a fool, Lewis,’ advised his mother concisely.
‘I’m going to stay at Ladywell until I can find something to do, for
I’m sick of the life here, and don’t mean to stay to be ordered out
of the house a second time. People there are very kind, and I shall be
sure to find some sort of a berth before very long. Now I want to know
when that ten thousand pounds, with interest and compound interest for
eighteen years, will be paid in to me?’
Mr. Belassis sat silent; his jaw had fallen somewhat, his eyes were
full of anxiety. His wife spoke in his place:
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I should have thought it was a very natural question. As Maud is to be
married to some one else very shortly, I should think the money might
be paid up at once.’
‘It will be paid when your father thinks right.’
‘That won’t quite do for me,’ said Lewis boldly; ‘the money is mine,
and I want it. I want to get the transfer made out, and the thing off
my mind, before I make my own start. Now, sir, will you kindly tell me
what you mean to do?’
‘The transfer!’ gasped Belassis; ‘what the devil do you mean?’
‘I thought I had made myself plain the other night,’ said Lewis. ‘The
money is Maud’s, not mine, and I shall simply transfer it to her.’
‘You will do no such thing, Lewis,’ said Mrs. Belassis, with
significance.
‘I shall do it!’ said Lewis firmly. ‘Everybody knows it, and I shall
stand by my word.’
‘You will have no power to do so,’ answered the mother. ‘You had better
have held your tongue about it, as I advised you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that there is no money to receive. Your clever and honest
father has speculated with it—and lost it. That is all.’
Lewis stood still in astonishment and dismay.
‘But I can claim it—he is bound to repay it!’
‘If you choose you can, of course; but you will not. Maud’s five
thousand must be paid, and will be, though it is a serious loss to us;
but you will never see a penny of yours.’
‘It is not mine, it is Maud’s. I shall claim it for her. She shall not
be fleeced like this!’
‘Claim it, then, and bring ruin and disgrace upon your father! It will
be a noble part from a son!’
‘Has not my father brought disgrace upon himself without anyone’s help?
Has he not nearly brought upon you, and upon me, the worst disgrace
which the world holds? It is no doing of his that I am not at present
a nameless outcast—it is merely a chance for which we have to thank
fortune, and not him. And he appeals to me to save him from disgrace!
I will not listen! I will have justice! It is he who has disgraced
himself, not I!’
‘Lewis, consider!’ began Mrs. Belassis, who, though she cared little
for her husband, and heartily despised him, had no wish to see him
disgraced and impoverished in order to swell the wealth of Maud and
Torwood.
‘I will consider nothing but justice! I will have what is legally mine,
in order to give it to her whose right it is. My father deserves no
mercy at my hands, and he shall not get it!’
‘This, then, is my reward for scheming and sinning for your future
happiness!’ burst out Belassis, in an agony of rage and fear.
‘More shame for you to have so schemed and sinned,’ answered Lewis; but
his indignation had cooled somewhat, and it was easy to see that he
took no pleasure in the thought of bringing ruin and disgrace upon his
own house.
‘Lewis,’ said Mrs. Belassis coldly and calmly, ‘you have spoken the
truth—your father deserves no mercy at your hands. He had, for aught he
knew at the time, committed the vilest action a man could perpetrate.
He is disgraced, as you say, already, and the story of crime will be
all over the place to-morrow. Ruin and disgrace he heartily merits; but
what about me?’
‘You, mother?’
‘Yes; I am your mother. I shall be involved in whatever ruin and
disgrace overtakes your father—I and your sisters both. You must think
of that, before you take any irrevocable step.’
Lewis stood silent.
‘I have had a good deal to bear already as the fruit of your father’s
misconduct; but we have contrived to weather matters pretty well up
till now. If you strike this threatened blow, however, all is lost,
and you will be the ruin of your whole family.’
Still Lewis said nothing.
‘Well,’ she asked, after a pause, ‘what have you to say now?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘No; I must think.’
‘Yes, you had better think,’ said Mrs. Belassis, knowing well that
reflection was likely to be favourable to her own cause.
‘Good-bye,’ he said suddenly. ‘I shall be at Ladywell for some time to
come, I expect.’
And then he turned and quitted the room, without another word.
‘He is safe,’ said Mrs. Belassis; ‘he will not do it now. We are safe,
so far as he is concerned.’
Lewis went back to Ladywell, and told his story in confidence to Miss
Marjory. People had a way of going to Miss Marjory when they were in
doubt or perplexity, because such feelings seemed unknown to her.
She listened intently, and then abused Belassis with all the force of
her emphatic vocabulary.
‘What must I do?’ asked Lewis. ‘Must I denounce and ruin him?’
‘He deserves it,’ answered Miss Marjory hotly. ‘He deserves it richly;
but a man’s mother, Lewis, is his mother, and his first duty is to
protect her.’
And to the son Miss Marjory breathed none of the suspicions she had
formed as to the mother’s integrity. As she afterwards told Tor, she
was old-fashioned enough to think that loyalty to a mother stood before
every other claim.
‘Well, yes, I suppose it does,’ said Lewis gravely. ‘I can’t help
feeling it myself. I’ve not been so fond of her as I ought, perhaps;
but she’s my mother still, and it doesn’t seem fair that she should
suffer so much for what my father has done. But I should have liked
Maud to have her own.’
‘So should I. It would be a nice little fortune for her; but I don’t
see your way quite clear, though your father deserves no mercy.
However, I’m glad to know that you did really mean to make restitution
of what you felt did not rightly belong to you. It is much to your
credit.—And so you have been making love to my young cousin, I
understand, under my very nose?’
Poor Lewis flushed scarlet at this sudden and totally unexpected thrust.
‘I—I— Was it very wrong? I couldn’t help feeling——’
‘Oh, keep your feelings for Ethel. I’m not at all interested in them.
What I want to know is, what your future prospects are?’
‘Bad, I’m afraid,’ said Lewis candidly; ‘much worse than when I began
to speak to your cousin; for I’ve quarrelled with my father, and he has
been playing fast and loose with his money, I suspect. But I might get
something in time, if Ethel could wait. She said she would——’
‘Oh yes, I dare say she will. She’s a faithful little puss, and very
steady and affectionate. But you must look about you seriously. Have
you any plans?’
Lewis shook his head; and then Miss Marjory, after putting him through
an examination on his acquirements, which he got through fairly well,
informed him that she would write to an old friend of hers in London,
who had a publishing business of a lucrative kind, and had been
meditating taking in a young partner. He was childless, and a widower
to boot, and such a berth was likely to be a good one. Miss Marjory and
he were old friends, and he had known Ethel’s father and mother.
Lewis was delighted. Such an opening was just what he wanted, and
from what he could learn from Miss Marjory, the duties were of a kind
which he would be able to master without great difficulty, and would
be congenial to him. His spirits rose greatly, and he overwhelmed Miss
Marjory with thanks; and by her permission went in search of Ethel.
The answer to Miss Marjory’s letter was eagerly awaited. It came
promptly, and was favourable to Miss Marjory’s young friend, who was
invited to go to London for a personal interview. Of course it was
expected that he would have a few thousands to put into the business,
in return for a junior partnership and its prospects.
Lewis’s face fell when he read this final clause.
With a great sigh he handed back the letter.
‘Thank you very much, Miss Marjory; but of course that puts it out of
the question.’
‘Not at all. You have three thousand to back you. I dare say that will
be enough.’
‘You are joking, Miss Marjory. What little I have of my own is only
mine in trust. I cannot sink the principal; and then it would not come
to three thousand.’
‘I was not thinking of your own money.’
‘What then?’
‘Of what your brother—half-brother, I should say—wishes to advance for
you, to give you a start in life. He left it for me to tell you, if it
should be necessary. Alfred Belassis is anxious to give or lend you
that amount of money. You must settle between yourselves which it is to
be.’
‘Alfred Belassis!’ cried Lewis, astonished. ‘Why, he is only a
shopkeeper!’
‘Some shopkeepers make large fortunes. Trade is more lucrative than the
gentlemanly professions.’
‘I had no idea he had money.’
‘I know, and so did he; and he thought all the better of you because
you did not know. After all, Lewis, there is some good in you, and it
seems to me that you are on the highroad to success.’
‘But ought I to take it?’
‘Oh, settle all that with Alfred. You had better go and see him, before
going to London. I would start to-day if I were you. Time is valuable,
you know.’
Lewis received very warm congratulations from all at Ladywell, on his
sudden good fortune; and Maud was particularly delighted, only second
to Ethel in her satisfaction.
‘It is all Miss Marjory’s doing,’ she cried. ‘It seems to me everything
is Miss Marjory’s doing. Tor always did say you could do anything you
had a mind to, and I believe you can. I know you told me my fortune
wonderfully well.’
So great satisfaction reigned at Ladywell, and Lewis, in high spirits,
set out on his journey.
The result was satisfactory, and a good position in the publishing
firm was given to him, and his engagement to Ethel Hardcastle formally
announced.
Lewis, for the first time in his life, found himself a busy and a happy
man.