AN ANONYMOUS LETTER.
Mrs. Haggard and her husband, both in deep mourning, sat in the special
boudoir at Walls End Castle which had been furnished and set apart for
his grand-nephew's wife on her first arrival years ago by old Lord Pit
Town. Haggard looked pale and weary, and well he might, for he had gone
straight to Monte Carlo and had come straight back, stopping only
forty-eight hours there, just time enough to lay Lucy Warrender in her
grave. He had not gone alone; at his wife's insistance he had taken the
young Lucius with him. He had been astonished at the determined manner
in which Georgie pressed this arrangement upon him; he yielded, though
with a bad grace. When he reached the Hotel de Russie, both he and
Lucius had declined to look on the face of the dead woman. Haggard had a
long interview with Fanchette, and then he called upon the Commissary of
Police. The night before his mother was laid in her grave, Lucius
Haggard, unknown to his companion, who was shut up in his room writing,
visited the Rooms, won a couple of thousand francs, and thoroughly
enjoyed himself.
The next day the two men stood by the side of the shallow grave; graves
are shallow in Monaco, for the ground is very rocky. A wandering English
clergyman, of more than doubtful reputation, gabbled through the service
for the burial of the dead. The stones and bits of rock rattled upon the
coffin with a hollow sound, for the grave-digger didn't trouble himself
much about the feelings of the relatives of the foreign heretic.
"I think my aunt Lucy went off tremendously in the last year," said
young Lucius to his companion as they left the cemetery.
"Let her rest, boy, let her rest," was all the answer he got.
There was a sort of grey look of horror about Haggard's face, that the
boy put down to grief for the departed. He was a hard-hearted youth, and
was frankly surprised that Haggard showed any feeling at all.
The husband and wife, as we have said, sat in Georgie's boudoir. This
was what passed between them.
"Your cousin seems to have made a nice mess of it," said Haggard. "Why
she was penniless."
"Well, that wouldn't much matter, Reginald; she could have written to
Coutts' for more."
"Gad, they write me that she drew out the last farthing she had in the
world two months ago. And that woman Fanchette, who is a very bad lot
indeed, or I'm very much, mistaken, told me she pawned her earrings the
day before she--died."
Georgie nodded. "I remember them, a pair of large single-stone earrings.
I fancy she must have bought them when she first came into her property.
I saw them quite by chance last summer, for the first time; and when I
admired them, she said that she had had them for years, that they had
been her first folly and had cost her dear."
"Well, here they are at any rate," said Haggard; "she pawned them for
seven thousand francs, and I redeemed them after a lot of bother. And
that's all that remains. She had spent or gambled away every farthing of
the rest. I don't know whether I ought to tell you, Georgie," he
continued in a softer tone.
"Tell me, Reginald, tell me what? Did you know?" and the light of love
came back into Georgie Haggard's eyes, as she thought that perhaps her
careless heartless husband had, from a wish to shield her cousin's
honour, silently and deliberately allowed poor Lucy's bastard child to
be fathered upon him. But the light quickly faded, and the eyes were
suffused with tears, as her husband answered coarsely:
"Did I know what? I know this--she poisoned herself, there's not a doubt
of that."
And then, without the slightest attempt to soften the ghastly details,
he brutally told his wife the particulars of her cousin's end.
"They manage these things much better there than here," he said. "Twelve
Tom Fools are not called upon to sit in one's dining room and give their
opinion. The Commissary of Police had the whole matter cut and dried. I
saw the official doctor too--a hungry fellow that. Of course I had to
bribe the pair of them. Lucy Warrender poisoned herself, Georgie. She
did it artfully enough, with chloral. Why, they showed me the bottle;
she had swallowed enough to kill half-a-dozen women. What a fool she
was, when one comes to think of it! Why, she could have married well any
number of times, if she'd liked; she could have had Spunyarn years and
years ago, if she had chosen to lift her finger. What a fool she was!"
Yes, that was her epitaph: "What a fool she was!" You couldn't have put
it more tersely and more truly, Reginald Haggard. What a thoughtless
wicked fool she had been; she had wrecked her own life and her cousin's
by her wicked folly. "What a fool she was!"
I verily believe that if Haggard had shown one spark of feeling in the
matter of poor Lucy's death, his wife would have spoken, after a silence
of twenty years; but his last words had checked the impulse, and Georgie
merely nodded, while the tears rolled down her cheeks, as she silently
accepted the justice of her husband's verdict.
As she sat and pondered over her cousin's sorry ending, she felt that
the least she could do for the dead girl was still to jealously guard
her miserable secret.
While the elders were talking, the two young men were walking in the
great avenue that for nearly half a mile runs from the principal
entrance of the park to the big hall door of Walls End Castle. Lucius
had much to tell; he was full of the journey, and he went over all the
details of the funeral to the younger man.
"Battling good place, that Hotel de Russie; they gave us an uncommonly
good dinner, and ortolans. I didn't think much of them, but the governor
was very enthusiastic, and ordered them again for breakfast. By Jove!
George," continued the young fellow, "he's so fond of them that I
believe if mother, or even I, were to die to-morrow, the governor would
order ortolans for breakfast if he could get them. I say, George," he
added, "I'm in funds, and I don't mind doing the generous thing, if you
like. I know you're hard up--beastly hard up--you always are. I'll make
you a present of a pony, George."
Young George Haggard smiled, and took the five-and-twenty pounds, in
crisp bank notes, which his father's heir produced from his waistcoat
pocket. "I'll take it as a loan, Lucius," he said with a little laugh,
"to be repaid when I become Lord Chancellor."
"All right, my boy," said the other. "Now if you can keep a secret, I'll
tell you how I got it." And then he went off into a long description of
the great Temple of Fortune on the shores of the Mediterranean. How he
had retired early, on the plea of fatigue; how he had escaped
undiscovered to the Rooms; how he had backed his luck and won his money.
"Eighty pounds wasn't bad for a first attempt, you know," he said. "I
saw old Pepper," he continued, "in the thick of it; but I had to keep
dark, you know, for I shouldn't have cared for the old boy to see me
there."
George still held his brother's welcome present in his hand, and the boy
twisted the notes nervously in his fingers. He hesitated, but not for
long.
"Don't be offended, Lucius," he said; "I think I'd rather not take it,
if you don't mind."
"As you please, my boy," said the other, holding out his hand willingly
enough. "As they say in the schools, _Non olet_."
"It does to me, Lucius--it does to me."
The young men continued their walk up and down the great aisle of old
beech trees, and Lucius returned to his ecstatic description of the
scene in the Halls of Dazzling Delight; but I don't think the other
young fellow heard him, for he was thinking of the dead woman who was
sleeping in her lonely grave.
Lucky Lucy! dead a week, and you have two human beings who still mourn
your loss.
"I always thought you were a fool, George; but you really are a bigger
fool than even I ever took you to be. I actually hand you
five-and-twenty pounds, which you decline with thanks. I don't
understand you, George. You neglect your opportunities. Why don't you
make up to the old man, or cultivate a taste for art, as I do; I mean to
make art pay, my boy."
"Well, you see, Lucius, it might be awkward if his lordship found me
out. I'm afraid I find more pleasure in walking up and down this big
avenue and staring up at the rooks, than in spending my time in the Pit
Town galleries."
"Oh! I see; Child of Nature, and all that sort of thing. Why don't you
go in for being a poet, George? It's the only real business that I know
of suited for a thorough-paced fool, though as a rule it don't pay."
"Simply because I'm not a humbug, my boy."
"You might do a good deal with a rhyming dictionary, you know;
particularly if you let your hair grow."
"I don't think there's much poetry about me, Lucius. I like the air, and
the light, and the green leaves, and those black chaps who hop about
from branch to branch, and who look like a lot of disreputable parsons,
all preaching at once about nothing at all."
"Oh, I see, you admire the beauties of nature. Now I look upon this old
avenue from quite another standpoint. Sooner or later it'll be mine, and
all the rest of the pomps and vanities too, I suppose--the plate and the
pictures, and the title, George. Yes, there's something in a title. But
they're a precious long while coming."
"Don't be a brute, Lucius," was all his brother replied.
While the two young fellows carelessly talked and smoked in the great
avenue, old Lord Pit Town sat in his study and held a momentous
conversation with Georgie's husband. Reginald Haggard stood before the
fire looking exceedingly uncomfortable.
"I wish you'd be candid with me, Haggard. Was there any informality
about your marriage with Georgina?"
"Good gracious, no. What makes your lordship hint at such a thing?"
"That I will explain to you directly. In the meantime answer me
honestly; don't forget that as the head of the family I stand in the
position of a father to you. Anything you may say to me will of course
be between ourselves. Can you assure me, as between gentlemen, that you
made no previous marriage? Was there any such entanglement in America?"
"It seems to me that your lordship is asking me to say that I am an
unmitigated villain. Still, to satisfy you as the head of the family, I
give you my word that nothing of the sort ever occurred. Of course like
most young fellows I have made a fool of myself with dozens of women,
or rather perhaps they made a fool of me. I sighed and dangled, perhaps
I even hinted at marriage. Doubtless I was a young idiot, like most
young fellows of my age, but my peculiar form of idiotcy never developed
itself in a matrimonial direction."
"I'm uncommonly glad to hear it, Reginald, for I have been uncomfortable
for a day or two, and now that my mind is at rest, you shall see what
caused my apparently indiscreet questions."
The old lord opened a despatch-box which lay upon his writing-table, and
taking from it a letter, handed the document to his heir. Haggard seated
himself, opened the letter, and read it carefully through. It was a
strangely written manuscript on ordinary thick note-paper. If the writer
had intended to prevent any attempt at identification, he had thoroughly
succeeded. The precaution he had taken was simple, but sufficiently
ingenious. Your ordinary anonymous letter writer is content to slope his
writing the wrong way, or if very acute he uses his left hand; but the
expert, if placed upon his trail, generally succeeds in detecting some
peculiarity sufficient to identify him. The writer of the letter which
Lord Pit Town handed to Haggard was evidently a man of originality, for
the letter and its address were not written in a running hand, but in
carelessly printed Roman capitals.
As Haggard perused the letter his brow grew black as night, but when he
had ended it, he tossed it with a contemptuous laugh upon the table.
Here is the letter _verbatim_:
"MY LORD,
"I ADDRESS YOU TO LET YOU KNOW THAT I AM POSSESSED OF INFORMATION
WHICH WILL ENABLE ME, SHOULD I FEEL SO DISPOSED, TO ENTIRELY ALTER
THE SUCCESSION TO YOUR TITLE AND TO UPSET ANY DISTRIBUTION OF YOUR
PROPERTY THAT YOU MAY MAKE. I AM PREPARED TO SELL TO YOU THE
INFORMATION FOR THE SUM OF £5000. I MAKE YOUR LORDSHIP THE FIRST
OFFER, SIMPLY BECAUSE I THINK THAT YOU WILL AT ONCE SEE THE WISDOM
OF ACCEPTING IT. SHOULD YOU DECIDE NOT TO DO SO, I SHALL STILL GET
MY PRICE, THOUGH I MAY HAVE TO WAIT TILL YOUR LORDSHIP'S DEATH.
LITIGATION WILL, OF COURSE, ENSUE, AND A DISGRACEFUL SCANDAL WILL
BECOME COMMON PROPERTY. SHOULD YOUR LORDSHIP FEEL DISPOSED TO
LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO TELL, A LINE ADDRESSED TO 193B, BROWN'S
NEWS ROOMS, CHEAPSIDE, WILL BE SUFFICIENT. THE FACT OF MY NOT
ASKING FOR PAYMENT FOR MY INFORMATION UNTIL I HAVE GIVEN IT SHOULD
BE TO YOUR LORDSHIP A SUFFICIENT GUARANTEE OF ITS GENUINENESS."
"What can the fellow mean?" said the old lord. "Can Hetton have
contracted a secret marriage?"
Haggard shook his head. "It's probably a mere vulgar trick to obtain
money," said he. "Shall you see the fellow?"
"It would, perhaps, be better that you saw him, Reginald; you are as
much concerned as I am, nay more so. Make an appointment to see the man
in town. I will write to him, and if the secret he alludes to be genuine
it is cheap at the money, if it were only to prevent expensive
litigation and the worse horror that he hints at--the dragging of our
name through the mire."
So it was arranged. A letter was dispatched to 193 B, making an
appointment for the astute writer of the letter to see Mr. Reginald
Haggard upon a certain day at the old lord's house in Grosvenor Square.
Reginald Haggard sat for a whole hour waiting in vain. Nobody came to
him with a mysterious communication, and at the end of a week both he
and the old lord had dismissed the matter from their minds as an
impudent and stupid hoax.
To the mind of the shrewd reader the name of the writer of the anonymous
letter is no mystery. Mr. Maurice Capt had been seriously disappointed
when, for the first time in his life, one of his applications to Lucy
Warrender had been unsuccessful. But Lucy Warrender was now beyond his
reach. Capt felt aggrieved; he considered that his demands upon Miss
Warrender had been excessively moderate, and he felt a sort of pride in
the fact that he had kept her secret so long and so cheaply. But now
Lucy Warrender was dead, and the contract between Capt and the lady at
an end. Mr. Capt, when he wrote his rather ambiguous anonymous
communication to the old lord, had thought the matter well out; he had
made up his mind not to reveal the nature of what he had to tell until
he had the old lord's promise to let him have the sum he demanded. For
Mr. Capt well knew that it is possible to provide even against
extraordinary contingencies; he knew that there were such things as
family treaties, and he knew that his threat, if he could only get Lord
Pit Town to believe in its genuineness, would be only terrible to the
old man by its rendering him practically incapable of disposing of his
property, and leaving the very succession to his title in doubt. Mr.
Capt was sharp enough to know that if once he had the old lord's
promise, the five thousand pounds was as good as paid. But Mr. Capt had
a holy horror of two things. The one, which he dreaded with a natural
terror of the unknown, was the criminal law of England; the other was a
desperate fear of the wrath of big Reginald Haggard. For once his master
had lost his temper with the valet. It was nearly twenty years ago now
since Reginald Haggard, in a moment of indignation, had literally
thrashed Mr. Capt within an inch of his life, and though it was twenty
years ago Mr. Capt's bones still ached with the remembrance of that
tremendous beating. So that the suggested interview with Haggard
entirely upset all the valet's well-arranged plans. Could he but have
had a private conversation with the old lord, and the required promise,
he felt that he would have proved his case up to the hilt, and thus have
obtained what he looked upon as the honest reward of his long silence.
But though a clever man, Mr. Capt was a coward, and he feared to face
the fury of Lord Pit Town's heir.
The valet repeatedly turned the matter over in his mind, and found it a
very complicated question. Of course, the one person in the world to
whom the secret was most valuable was young George Haggard. The facts
had but to be published to the world and George would jump at once from
the precarious position of a younger son into that of the direct heir to
an earldom and the property of a man of enormous wealth, while as for
Lucius, he would become but the nameless byblow of old Warrender's
niece. But there were several disturbing influences to Mr. Capt's
calculations. To neither of the young men could he sell his secret for
money down. This was a very serious consideration indeed. As for George,
he might decline to do business at all, from loyalty to his mother;
while as for Lucius, Mr. Capt well knew that it was impossible to trust
him. The valet at length determined that he would sound young George
Haggard upon the matter, and having made up his mind, proceeded to do so
at the first opportunity.
Mr. Capt had not long to wait, for he encountered the young fellow in
one of his solitary rambles in the park, and seeing that they were
secure from interruption, plunged at once _in medias res_.
Young George Haggard was seated upon a stile meditatively gazing upon
the landscape, when he was roused by a slight cough behind him, which
proceeded from his father's discreet body servant.
"Halloa! Capt," said the youth good-naturedly; "enjoying the beauties of
nature?"
"Yes, Mr. George; one can't well help it in such a lovely place as
this."
"I suppose ordinary people like you and I, Capt, don't appreciate it as
we ought. That, as my brother tells me, requires culture. He would
doubtless see more in it than we do, being a man of culture, as he is,
you know."
"Perhaps the old place, sir, may look all the pleasanter to him, for in
the ordinary course of things, you see, sir, he must come into it some
day or other. That must be a very pleasant thought, sir," added the
valet after a pause.
"Well, I'm not so sure about that, you know; there are lots of
responsibilities, you see," and the young man proceeded to fill his pipe
philosophically.
"You may come into it yourself, sir, one of these days, who knows?" said
the valet in a carneying tone.
Young George Haggard started, and stared at Mr. Capt, who seemed to him
to have slightly forgotten himself.
"Stranger things than that have happened, sir," continued the Swiss.
"Well, you see, my man, as my father and Mr. Lucius--to say nothing of
his lordship--would both have to go to the wall first, it doesn't seem a
likely contingency. And do you know I don't think it's quite the thing
to talk about, Capt."
But the valet was not to be put down.
"Anyhow, it's a great position for so young a gentleman as Mr. Lucius,"
insisted the man. "Many a man has sold his soul for less than that," he
continued, as he gazed admiringly at the Castle, which occupied the
centre of the peacefully romantic landscape.
Young George Haggard stared at the valet in undisguised astonishment.
"Fellow's been drinking," he thought; "he seems strangely impertinent,
that accounts for it."
"Ah, they manage things differently, sir, in my country. It's share and
share alike there. My father, sir, had seven sons, and we each of us
took an equal share of his little bit of land as a matter of right."
"Well, perhaps, Capt, that's what they'll do here when England becomes a
republic. But I don't think that it'll happen in my time, and I don't
think I could persuade Lucius to go halves with me."
Seeing that the young man was disinclined to continue the conversation,
the valet touched his hat respectfully and took himself off.
It is a highly respectable thing to be a landowner; the freeholder has
many advantages, but getting rid of the property, particularly in the
present day, is as a rule both difficult and expensive. Mr. Capt was
like the proprietor of an Irish estate; far from being able to dispose
of it at a reasonable figure, he was unable to obtain even an offer for
his secret, and it was a valuable secret; but then, though a white
elephant is a valuable animal, it is not an investment that most people
would care to hold, and Mr. Capt's property now seemed indeed but a
white elephant. Had it not been for his holy fear of his master he might
have attempted to make terms with Mrs. Haggard, but his terror of Lord
Pit Town's heir was extreme and had become a second nature to him.
The love of home is specially developed among the honest and economical
inhabitants of Switzerland; like the Scotchmen they quit their dear
native land young, in the hope of making their fortunes; but unlike the
Scots they inevitably return to the Fatherland with the results of a
life of industry, and this was the dream of Mr. Capt's life. Like a wise
man, finding he could not get a cash purchaser, he determined, though
very much against his own inclination, to make a bargain with young
Lucius Haggard at the earliest opportunity; but he knew that if he
trusted to the honour of Lucy Warrender's son he would be leaning upon a
broken reed, and he walked back to the discharge of his duties at the
Castle in a state of considerable depression.