By a stroke, as of Heaven's lightning, the house of joy was turned into
the house of mourning.
They bore the dead man to his room, plain and simple, even in that
mansion of luxury; the guests departed, some of them flying as from a
pestilence, some of them lingering with white and dazed faces and
hushed whispers, and Stafford was left alone with his dead; for he had
shut the door even upon Howard, who paced up and down outside, not
daring to force his sympathy upon his beloved friend.
The morning papers gave a full account of the grand ball, the
announcement of Sir Stephen's peerage, and the sudden and tragic ending
to a life which had been lived full in the public gaze, a life of
struggle and success, which had been cut down at the very moment of
extreme victory. They recited the man's marvellous career, and held it
up to the admiration and emulation of his fellow Englishmen. They
called him a pioneer, one who had added to the Empire, they hinted at a
public funeral--and they all discreetly ascribed telling upon a weak
heart. Sir Stephen's precarious condition had been known, they said, to
his medical adviser, who had for some time past tried to persuade him
to relinquish his arduous and nerve-racking occupations, and to take
repose.
Not a word was said about the cablegram which had been delivered to him
a few moments before his terribly sudden death; for it was felt by all
that nothing should be allowed to blur the glory of such a successful
career--not for the present, at any rate.
There was no need for an inquest; the great physician who had been in
attendance, quite vainly, was prepared to certify to the cause of
death, and Stafford's feelings were spared thus far. Someone high in
authority suggested the idea of a public funeral, through Howard, whom
alone Stafford saw, but Stafford declined the honour, and the first
Earl of Highcliffe was carried to his last rest as quietly as
circumstances would permit.
The press and the men of the city, with whom the dead man had worked,
kept silence about the catastrophe that had happened until after the
funeral; then rumours arose, at first in whispers and then more loudly,
and paragraphs and leaderettes appeared in the papers hinting at
something wrong in connection with Lord Highcliffe's last great scheme,
and calling for an enquiry.
The morning after the funeral, Howard found Stafford sitting in a
darkened room of the great house, his head in his hand, a morning paper
lying open on the table before him. He raised his white and haggard
face as Howard entered and took his friend's hand in silence. Howard
glanced at the paper and bit his lip.
"Yes," said Stafford, "I have been reading this. You have seen it?"
Howard nodded.
"You know what it means? I want you to tell me. I have been putting off
the question day by day, selfishly; I could not face it until--until he
was buried. But I can put it off no longer; I must know now. What was
that cablegram which they brought him just before--which you tried to
keep from him?"
"You have not read any of the newspapers?" asked Howard, gravely,
bracing himself for the task from which his soul shrank.
Stafford shook his head.
"No; I have not been able to. I have not been able to do anything,
scarcely to think. The blow came so suddenly that I have felt like a
man in a dream--dazed, bewildered. If I have been able to think at all
it is of his love for me, his goodness to me. There never was such a
father--" His voice broke, and he made a gesture with his hand. "Even
now I do not realise that he is gone, that I shall never see him again.
I was so fond of him, so proud of him! Why do you hesitate? If it is
bad news, and I suppose it is, do you think I can't bear it? Howard,
there is nothing that you could tell me that could move me, or hurt me.
Fate has dealt me its very worst blow in taking him from me, and
nothing else can matter. The cablegram, this that the paper says, what
does it mean?"
Howard sat on the table so that he could lay his hand, with a friend's
loving and consoling touch, on Stafford's arm.
"I've come to tell you, Staff," he said. "I know that you ought to
know--but it's hard work--that cablegram contained news that the Zulus
had risen _en masse_, and that for a time, perhaps for years, the
railway scheme was blocked, if not utterly ruined. It was the one weak
link in the chain, and your father was aware of it and had taken what
measures he could to guard against the danger; but Fate, circumstances,
were too much for him. A silly squabble, so silly as to be almost
childish, between some squatters on the border and the discontented
natives, upset all his carefully laid plans, and turned a gigantic
success, at its very zenith, into a tragic failure."
Stafford leant his head upon his hand and looked steadily at Howard.
"It was that that killed him?" he said. "It meant ruin, I suppose, ruin
for him and others?"
Howard nodded.
"Yes; he had staked all upon this last throw, and the sudden reverse
came at a moment when his nerves were strained to the utmost, when he
was excited with the honour and glory he had achieved. The blow was too
sudden, the revulsion of feeling from exultation to despair too swift,
too great. It is one of the most awful things of which I have ever
heard or read. Men are speaking about it with bated breath. There is
nothing but pity for him, nothing but regret at the stroke of
misfortune which cut him down in the moment of his triumph."
"And others?" repeated Stafford. "It has brought ruin upon others.
What, can I do? Is there anything I can do? I am so ignorant, I do not
even know whether I sit here absolutely penniless, or whether there is
anything left that I can give them."
"Mr. Falconer and Murray and the lawyer are in the library," said
Howard. "They have been going into affairs. They would have liked to
have had you with them; but I begged you off. I knew you would be of no
use to them."
Stafford looked his thanks.
"No, I could not have helped them," he said. "No one knew less of my
poor father's affairs than I, no one is less capable of dealing with
them than I. Mr. Falconer will know what to do. It is very good of him
to come to my assistance. I have scarcely seen him; I have not seen
anyone but you."
"And Maude?" said Howard, interrogatively.
"No," said Stafford, his brows drawn together. "I have not seen her.
She has been ill--"
"Yes," said Howard, in a low voice. "She is prostrated by the shock,
poor girl! You will go to her as soon as she is able to leave her
room?"
"Yes, of course," said Stafford, very gravely and wearily.
There was a knock at the door, and the footman, in his mourning livery,
came in and said, solemnly:
"Mr. Falconer would like to know if you will see him, my lord?"
A frown crossed Stafford's pale face at the "my lord." It sounded
strange and mockingly in his ears.
"I will come at once," he said. "Come with me, Howard."
They went to the library, and the three men who were sitting there
before a mass of papers rose to receive him; Falconer with a face as if
it were carved out of wood; Murray with anxious brow; the lawyer with a
grave and solemn countenance, and sharp, alert eyes. Stafford waved
them to their seats and took a chair at the table, and Falconer, with a
straight underlip, and eyes half concealed by their thick lids, spoke
for the others.
"Very sorry we cannot leave you in peace for a little longer, Lord
Highcliffe," he said. "But I am quite sure you would have blamed us had
we done so. We have been going into your father's affairs, and I very
much regret that we cannot give you a favourable report of them. As you
know the will, which Mr. Chaffinch," he nodded at the lawyer, "read
this morning, leaves you everything, and names Mr. Chaffinch and Mr.
Murray here executors. That's all very proper and satisfactory as it
goes, but, unfortunately, we find that there is no estate." Murray, the
secretary, passed his hand over his wrinkled forehead and sighed, as if
he himself had made away with the vast sum of money, and the lawyer
frowned and shuffled the papers before him. Stafford sat with his hands
clasped on the table, his eyes fixed on Falconer's impassive face.
"Your father's immense fortune was wholly embarked in this last
business," continued Mr. Falconer; "he believed in it and staked
everything on it. A very large number of the shares were held by him.
They are down to nothing to-day; it is very unlikely that they will
recover; it is possible that they never may; and if they should it
would be too late, for the shares your father held will, of course, go
to meet the claims--and they are heavy--on the estate. I don't know
whether I make myself understood: I am aware that you are not a
business man."
Stafford inclined his head.
"My father's debts--will they not be paid, will there not be
sufficient?" he asked, in a dry voice.
Mr. Falconer pursed his lips and shook his head.
"I'm afraid not; in fact, I can say definitely that they will not," he
replied, in a hard, uncompromising way.
Stafford looked round the large, superbly furnished room, with its
book-cases of ebony and wedgewood, its costly pictures and bronzes, and
recalled the Villa with its luxury and splendour, and the vast sums
which Sir Stephen had spent during the last few months. It seemed
difficult to realise that the wealth was all gone.
"What is to be done?" he asked, in a low voice.
Mr. Falconer was silent for a moment, as he regarded the handsome face,
which seemed to have lost its aspect of youth and taken on the lines
and hollows of age.
"I do not know. It is not for me to say. There will be a meeting of the
directors of the South African Company and others to-morrow, and some
decision will be come to, I have no doubt."
"And I--I can do nothing?" said Stafford, huskily. "I am penniless, I
suppose?"
Both Murray and Mr. Chaffinch raised their heads with an air of
surprise.
"Penniless" echoed Mr. Chaffinch. "Certainly not, my lord! Surely you
know?"
Stafford regarded him gravely; it seemed as if he himself were too
crushed by his grief for surprise.
"Know?" he said. "What is in I should know? I do not understand." Mr.
Falconer coughed.
"We thought you were aware of the existence of the deed; that your
father had informed you, Lord Highcliffe."
"What deed?" asked Stafford, dully. "I am sorry to appear so dense; but
I have not the least idea of your meaning. As you say, Mr. Falconer, I
know nothing of business."
"It is evident that your father did not tell you that he executed a
deed of gift in your favour, a gift of one hundred thousand pounds,"
said Mr. Falconer.
"Which deed, being made when he was quite solvent, cannot be upset. The
money was placed in trust, and is quite beyond the reach of the
creditors," said Mr. Chaffinch. "We thought you were aware of this, my
lord."
Stafford shook his head. He evinced no sign of relief, the colour did
not rise to his face, and his eyes were still fixed on Falconer.
"It was a very wise provision," said Mr. Chaffinch, approvingly. "And
distinctly one I should have recommended; but Sir Stephen--Lord
Highcliffe--did it of his own accord. He was a far-seeing man, and he
was aware that fortune might fail him, that it was necessary he should
place you, my lord, out of danger. I can well believe that, even at
that time, he saw the peerage coming, and felt that you should be made
secure, that you should have a sufficient income to support the title.
It is not a tenth, a twentieth of the sum you would have inherited, but
for this unfortunate accident of the native rising, and the collapse of
the South African Company."
Stafford scarcely heard him. He was thinking of his father's loving
foresight and care for his son's future. A pang of bereavement shot
through him.
"Very wise," said Mr. Falconer, grimly. "Whatever happens, Lord
Highcliffe is safe, high and dry above water mark. Carefully invested,
the capital sum may be made to produce an income of four thousand, or
thereabouts. Not too much for an earldom, but--Ah, well, it might be so
much worse."
"The servants--the small debts--this house--is there enough for them?"
asked Stafford, after a pause.
Mr. Chaffinch waved his hand.
"No need to trouble about that, my lord. There will be sufficient at
the bank to pay such small claims. Your lordship will keep the house
on?"
Stafford looked up with a sudden energy. "No," he said; "not a moment
longer than is necessary. I shall return to my old rooms."
"There is no occasion," began Mr. Chaffinch. "I need scarcely say that
the bank will honour your lordship's cheques for any amount."
"Please get rid of this house as soon as possible," said Stafford. He
rose as he spoke. "You will remain to lunch?"
They murmured a negative, and Stafford begging to be excused, left the
room, signing to Howard to follow him. He did not mean it, but his
manner, in the abstraction of his grief was as lordly as if he had
inherited an earldom of five centuries. When they had got back to the
little darkened room in which he had sat since his father's death,
Stafford turned to Howard:
"At what time and place is this meeting to-morrow, Howard?" he asked.
"At Gloucester House, Broad Street. Four."
Stafford nodded, and was lost in thought for a moment or two, then he
said:
"Howard, will you send my horses to Tattersall's? And the yacht to the
agents, for sale? There is nothing else, I think. I used to have some
diamond studs and rings, but I've lost them. I was always careless.
Great Heaven! When I think of the money I have spent, money that I
would give my life for now!"
"But, my dear old chap, a hundred thousand pounds! Four thousand a
year--it's not too much for a man in your position, but there's no need
to sell your horses."
Stafford laid his hand on Howard's shoulder and looked into his eyes
and laughed strangely; then his hands dropped and he turned away with a
sigh.
"Leave me now, Howard," he said, "I want to think--to think."
He sank into a chair, when Howard had gone, and tried to think of his
future; but it was only the past that rose to his mind; and it was not
altogether of his father that he thought, but of--Ida. In his sacrifice
of himself, he had sacrificed her. And Fate had punished him for his
forced treachery. He sat with his head in his hands, for hours,
recalling those eyes, and yes, kissed her sweet lips. God, what a
bankrupt he was! His father, his sweetheart, his wealth--all had been
taken from him.
He did not think of Maude.