MR. KANE’S CONCERT.
Before Lord Mount Severn had completed the fortnight of his proposed
stay, the gout came on seriously. It was impossible for him to move away
from East Lynne. Mr. Carlyle assured him he was only too pleased that he
should remain as long as might be convenient, and the earl expressed his
acknowledgments; he hoped soon to be re-established on his legs.
But he was not. The gout came, and the gout went--not positively laying
him up in bed, but rendering him unable to leave his rooms; and this
continued until October, when he grew much better. The county families
had been neighborly, calling on the invalid earl, and occasionally
carrying off Lady Isabel, but his chief and constant visitor had been
Mr. Carlyle. The earl had grown to like him in no common degree, and was
disappointed if Mr. Carlyle spent an evening away from him, so that he
became, as it were, quite domesticated with the earl and Isabel. “I am
not quite equal to general society,” he observed to his daughter, “and
it is considerate and kind of Carlyle to come here and cheer my
loneliness.”
“Extremely kind,” said Isabel. “I like him very much, papa.”
“I don’t know anybody that I like half as well,” was the rejoinder of
the earl.
Mr. Carlyle went up as usual the same evening, and, in the course of it,
the earl asked Isabel to sing.
“I will if you wish, papa,” was the reply, “but the piano is so much out
of tune that it is not pleasant to sing to it. Is there any one in West
Lynne who could come here and tune my piano, Mr. Carlyle?” she added,
turning to him.
“Certainly there is. Kane would do it. Shall I send him to-morrow?”
“I should be glad, if it would not be giving you too much trouble. Not
that tuning will benefit it greatly, old thing that it is. Were we to be
much at East Lynne, I should get papa to exchange it for a good one.”
Little thought Lady Isabel that that very piano was Mr. Carlyle’s, and
not hers. The earl coughed, and exchanged a smile and a glance with his
guest.
Mr. Kane was the organist of St. Jude’s church, a man of embarrassment
and sorrow, who had long had a sore fight with the world. When he
arrived at East Lynne, the following day, dispatched by Mr. Carlyle,
Lady Isabel happened to be playing, and she stood by, and watched him
begin his work. She was courteous and affable--she was so to every one--
and the poor music master took courage to speak of his own affairs, and
to prefer a humble request--that she and Lord Mount Severn would
patronize and personally attend a concert he was about to give the
following week. A scarlet blush came into his thin cheeks as he
confessed that he was very poor, could scarcely live, and he was getting
up this concert in his desperate need. If it succeeded well, he could
then go on again; if not, he should be turned out of his home, and his
furniture sold for the two years’ rent he owed--and he had seven
children.
Isabel, all her sympathies awakened, sought the earl. “Oh, papa! I have
to ask you the greatest favor. Will you grant it?”
“Ay, child, you don’t ask them often. What is it?”
“I want you to take me to a concert at West Lynne.”
The earl fell back in surprise, and stared at Isabel. “A concert at West
Lynne!” he laughed. “To hear the rustics scraping the fiddle! My dear
Isabel!”
She poured out what she had just heard, with her own comments and
additions. “Seven children, papa! And if the concert does not succeed he
must give up his home, and turn out into the streets with them--it is,
you see, almost a matter of life or death with him. He is very poor.”
“I am poor myself,” said the earl.
“I was so sorry for him when he was speaking. He kept turning red and
white, and catching up his breath in agitation; it was painful to him to
tell of his embarrassments. I am sure he is a gentleman.”
“Well, you may take a pound’s worth of tickets, Isabel, and give them to
the upper servants. A village concert!”
“Oh, papa, it is not--can’t you see it is not? If we, you and I, will
promise to be present, all the families round West Lynne will attend,
and he will have the room full. They will go because we do--he said so.
Make a sacrifice for once, dearest papa, and go, if it be only for an
hour. I shall enjoy it if there’s nothing but a fiddle and a
tambourine.”
“You gipsy! You are as bad as a professional beggar. There--go and tell
the fellow we will look in for half an hour.”
She flew back to Mr. Kane, her eyes dancing. She spoke quietly, as she
always did, but her own satisfaction gladdened her voice.
“I am happy to tell you that papa has consented. He will take four
tickets and we will attend the concert.”
The tears rushed into Mr. Kane’s eyes; Isabel was not sure but they were
in her own. He was a tall, thin, delicate-looking man, with long, white
fingers, and a long neck. He faltered forth his thanks with an inquiry
whether he might be allowed to state openly that they would be present.
“Tell everybody,” said she, eagerly. “Everybody you come across, if, as
you think, it will be the means of inducing people to attend. I shall
tell all friends who call upon me, and ask them to go.”
When Mr. Carlyle came up in the evening, the earl was temporarily absent
from the room. Isabel began to speak of the concert.
“It is a hazardous venture for Mr. Kane,” observed Mr. Carlyle. “I fear
he will only lose money, and add to his embarrassments.”
“Why do you fear that?” she asked.
“Because, Lady Isabel, nothing gets patronized at West Lynne--nothing
native; and people have heard so long of poor Kane’s necessities, that
they think little of them.”
“Is he so very poor?”
“Very. He is starved half his time.”
“Starved!” repeated Isabel, an expression of perplexity arising to her
face as she looked at Mr. Carlyle, for she scarcely understood him. “Do
you mean that he does not have enough to eat?”
“Of bread he may, but not much better nourishment. His salary, as
organist, is thirty pounds, and he gets a little stray teaching. But he
has his wife and children to keep, and no doubt serves them before
himself. I dare say he scarcely knows what it is to taste meat.”
The words brought a bitter pang to Lady Isabel.
“Not enough to eat! Never to taste meat!” And she, in her carelessness,
her ignorance, her indifference--she scarcely knew what term to give it-
-had not thought to order him a meal in their house of plenty! He had
walked from West Lynne, occupied himself an hour with her piano, and set
off to walk back again, battling with his hunger. A word from her, and a
repast had been set before him out of their superfluities such as he
never sat down to, and that word she had not spoken.
“You are looking grave, Lady Isabel.”
“I’m taking contrition to myself. Never mind, it cannot now be helped,
but it will always be a dark spot on my memory.”
“What is it?”
She lifted her repentant face to his and smiled. “Never mind, I say, Mr.
Carlyle; what is past cannot be recalled. He looks like a gentleman.”
“Who? Kane? A gentleman bred; his father was a clergyman. Kane’s ruin
was his love of music--it prevented his settling to any better paid
profession; his early marriage also was a drawback and kept him down. He
is young still.”
“Mr. Carlyle I would not be one of your West Lynne people for the world.
Here is a young gentleman struggling with adversity, and you won’t put
out your hand to help him!”
He smiled at her warmth. “Some of us will take tickets--I, for one; but
I don’t know about attending the concert. I fear few would do that.”
“Because that’s just the thing that would serve him? If one went,
another would. Well, I shall try and show West Lynne that I don’t take a
lesson from their book; I shall be there before it begins, and never
come out till the last song’s over. I am not too grand to go, if West
Lynne is.”
“You surely do not think of going?”
“I surely do think of it; and papa goes with me--I persuaded him; and I
have given Mr. Kane the promise.”
Mr. Carlyle paused. “I am glad to hear it; it will be a perfect boon to
Kane. If it once gets abroad that Lord Mount Severn and Lady Isabel
intend to honor the concert, there won’t be standing room.”
She danced round with a little gleeful step. “What high and mighty
personages Lord Mount Severn and Lady Isabel seem to be! If you had any
goodness of heart, Mr. Carlyle, you would enlist yourself in the cause
also.”
“I think I will,” he smiled.
“Papa says you hold sway at West Lynne. If you proclaim that you mean to
go, you will induce others.”
“I will proclaim that you do,” he answered; “that will be all
sufficient. But, Lady Isabel, you must not expect much gratification
from the performance.”
“A tambourine will be quite enough for me; I told papa so, I shan’t
think of music; I shall think of poor Mr. Kane. Mr. Carlyle I know you
can be kind if you like; I know you would rather be kind than otherwise-
-it is to be read in your face. Try and do what you can for him.”
“Yes, I will,” he warmly answered.
Mr. Carlyle sold no end of tickets the following day, or rather caused
them to be sold. He praised up the concert far and wide, and proclaimed
that Lord Mount Severn and his daughter would not think of missing it.
Mr. Kane’s house was besieged for tickets, faster than he could write
his signature in their corner; and when Mr. Carlyle went home to
luncheon at midday, which he did not often do, he laid down two at Miss
Corny’s elbow.
“What’s this? Concert tickets! Archibald, you have never gone and bought
these!”
What would she have said had she known that the two were not the extent
of his investment?
“Ten shillings to throw away upon two paltry bits of cardboard!” chafed
Miss Carlyle. “You always were a noodle in money matters, Archibald, and
always will be. I wish I had the keeping of your purse!”
“What I have given will not hurt me, Cornelia, and Kane is badly off.
Think of his troop of children.”
“Oh, dear!” said Miss Corny. “I imagine he should think of them. I
suppose it was his own fault they came. That’s always it. Poor folks get
a heap of children about them, and then ask for pity. I should say it
would be more just if they asked for blame.”
“Well, there the tickets are, bought and paid for, so they may as well
be used. You will go with me, Cornelia.”
“And stick ourselves there upon empty benches, like two geese, and sit
staring and counting the candles! A pleasant evening?”
“You need not fear empty benches. The Mount Severns are going, and West
Lynne is in a fever, racing after tickets. I suppose you have got a--a
cap,” looking at the nondescript article decorating his sister’s head,
“that will be suitable to go in, Cornelia; if not you had better order
one.”
This suggestion put up Miss Carlyle. “Hadn’t you better have your hair
curled, and your coat tails lined with white satin, and a gold opera-
glass, and a cocked hat?” retorted she. “My gracious me! A fine new cap
to go to their mess of a concert in, after paying ten shillings for the
tickets! The world’s coming to something.”
Mr. Carlyle left her and her grumbling to return to the office. Lord
Mount Severn’s carriage was passing at the moment, and Isabel Vane was
within it. She caused it to stop when she saw Mr. Carlyle, and he
advanced to her.
“I have been to Mr. Kane’s myself for the tickets,” said she, with a
beaming look. “I came into West Lynne on purpose. I told the coachman to
find out where he lived, and he did. I thought if the people saw me and
the carriage there, they would guess what I wanted. I do hope he will
have a full concert.”
“I am sure he will,” replied Mr. Carlyle, as he released her hand. And
Lady Isabel signed to the carriage to drive on.
As Mr. Carlyle turned away, he met Otway Bethel, a nephew of Colonel
Bethel’s, who was tolerated in the colonel’s house because he had no
other home, and appeared incapable to making himself one. Some persons
persisted in calling him a gentleman--as he was by birth--others a
mauvais sujet. The two are united sometimes. He was dressed in a
velveteen suit, and had a gun in his hand. Indeed, he was rarely seen
without a gun, being inordinately fond of sport; but, if all tales
whispered were true, he supplied himself with game in other ways than by
shooting, which had the credit of going up to London dealers. For the
last six months or near upon it, he had been away from West Lynne.
“Why, where have you been hiding yourself?” exclaimed Mr. Carlyle. “The
colonel has been inconsolable.”
“Come, no gammon, Carlyle. I have been on the tramp through France and
Germany. Man likes a change sometimes. As to the revered colonel, he
would not be inconsolable if he saw me nailed up in a six-foot box, and
carried out feet foremost.”
“Bethel, I have a question to ask you,” continued Mr. Carlyle, dropping
his light manner and his voice together. “Take your thoughts back to the
night of Hallijohn’s murder.”
“I wish you may get it,” cried Mr. Bethel. “The reminiscence is not
attractive.”
“You’ll do it,” quietly said Mr. Carlyle. “It has been told me, though
it did not appear at the inquest, that Richard Hare held a conversation
with you in the wood a few minutes after the deed was done. Now--”
“Who told you that?” interrupted Bethel.
“That is not the question. My authority is indisputable.”
“It is true that he did. I said nothing about it, for I did not want to
make the case worse against Dick Hare than it already was. He certainly
did accost me, like a man flurried out of his life.”
“Asking if you had seen a certain lover of Afy’s fly from the cottage.
One Thorn.”
“That was the purport. Thorn, Thorn--I think Thorn was the name he
mentioned. My opinion was, that Dick was either wild or acting a part.”
“Now, Bethel, I want you to answer me truly. The question cannot affect
you either way, but I must know whether you did see this Thorn leave the
cottage.”
Bethel shook his head. “I know nothing whatever about any Thorn, and I
saw nobody but Dick Hare. Not but what a dozen Thorns might have run
from the cottage without my seeing them.”
“You heard the shot fired?”
“Yes; but I never gave a thought to mischief. I knew Locksley was in the
wood, and supposed it came from him. I ran across the path, bearing
toward the cottage, and struck into the wood on the other side. By and
by, Dick Hare pitched upon me, like one startled out of his seven
senses, and asked if I had seen Thorn leave the cottage. Thorn--that was
the name.”
“And you had not?”
“I had seen nobody but Dick, excepting Locksley. My impression was, that
nobody else was about; I think so still.”
“But Richard--”
“Now look you here, Carlyle, I won’t do Dick Hare an injury, even by a
single word, if I can help it; and it is of no use setting me on to it.”
“I should be the last to set you on to injure any one, especially
Richard Hare,” rejoined Mr. Carlyle; “and my motive is to do Richard
Hare good, not harm. I hold a suspicion, no matter whence gathered, that
it was not Richard Hare who committed the murder, but another. Can you
throw any light upon the subject?”
“No, I can’t. I have always thought poor wavering Dick was nobody’s
enemy but his own; but, as to throwing any light on that night’s work, I
can’t do it. Cords should not have dragged me to the inquest to give
evidence against Dick, and for that reason I was glad Locksley never let
out that I was on the spot. How the deuce it got about afterward that I
was, I can’t tell; but that was no matter; my evidence did not help on
the verdict. And talking of that, Carlyle, how has it come to your
knowledge that Richard Hare accosted me? I have not opened my lips upon
it to mortal man.”
“It is of no consequence now,” repeated Mr. Carlyle; “I do know it, and
that is sufficient. I was in hopes you had really seen this man Thorn
leave the cottage.”
Otway Bethel shook his head. “I should not lay too much stress upon any
Thorns having been there, were I you, Carlyle. Dick Hare was as one
crazy that night, and might see shapes and forms where there were none.”