MRS. MORRICE’S CONFESSION
And this was the story told by Mrs. Morrice, as she sat facing Lane in
the small but elegantly-furnished room of her friend Alma Buckley’s
flat. She told it throughout in a low voice which now and then broke
down, indicating that she was on the verge of tears. For the most part
it flowed forth in a continuous narrative, but now and then she paused
to answer some question, to give fuller details of some incident,
at the detective’s request. She informed him at the beginning that
although Miss Buckley knew much—she did not know everything—that she
was ignorant of the robberies.
Lane thought better of the music-hall artist after that. From the
readiness to tell a lie, he had judged her to be a fairly unscrupulous
woman, with full knowledge of her friend’s criminal acts, probably
drawing a handsome share of the proceeds. It was evident that she drew
the line at actual lawbreaking.
Lettice Larchester and her father had gone straight to London after
leaving Brinkstone, and established themselves in some cheap lodgings
in the Fulham district. Larchester had left the quiet little village
for more than one reason. For one thing he had grown tired of it,
had become weary of the ignorant people who frequented the bar of
the Brinkstone Arms, his visits to which constituted his sole social
recreation. Then the inspiration which he first derived from the
charming scenery around had waned in its intensity, and stimulated
him no longer. He was also rather weary of working continually at the
one theme of landscape, and trusted that by moving to London he might
break fresh ground amongst dealers and infuse variety into his rather
monotonous art.
This hope was not realized to any considerable extent. For the
first three months he displayed a certain feverish activity both in
the business and the artistic side of his calling, with decidedly
beneficial results to his exchequer. He was fairly moderate in his use
of alcohol; out of every payment he received for a picture he put a
small proportion in the Savings Bank for “a rainy day” as he announced
with importance to his hopeful daughter, who really began to believe
he had made up his mind to turn over a new leaf.
Alas, at the end of those three comparatively bright months, the old
deterioration set in, the old dissolute habits once again assumed
mastery of his relaxed will power. He had long bouts of intemperance,
during which he could not do a stroke of work. By degrees the small
savings were withdrawn from the bank to pay rent and purchase the bare
necessities of life.
Then came the sudden death of old Mr. Buckley, and the arrival in
London of his daughter Alma. The girls had corresponded occasionally,
and the first thing Alma did when she reached London was to visit her
old friend. The acquaintance which had been so close in the country
soon ripened again, and this time into a life-long friendship. With her
father now beyond hope of salvation drifting rapidly downward, this
companionship was a great consolation to Miss Larchester. Old Buckley
had left more money behind him than people would have expected, and
every penny had gone to the daughter. It was, of course, only a very
modest competence, but it removed the girl for ever from any fear
of poverty so long as she did not touch the capital, which being a
very level-headed young woman she was never tempted to do. She was a
very kind friend to the Larchesters—helping them often in their hours
of need, which grew more and more frequent, as the artist’s powers
of self-control waxed weaker and his capacity for work declined in
consequence.
She did not, however, propose to live on a small income all her life.
Her great ambition was to go on the stage, but as her several attempts
in this direction met with no result, she grew less ambitious, and in
time blossomed into a music-hall artist who could generally rely upon
engagements at moderate fees which made a very pleasant addition to her
private income.
She was fairly launched in this career when Larchester died after a
lingering illness, the cause of death being an internal malady which
had been greatly aggravated by his dissolute habits, the doctor
declaring that his organs were those of a man ten years his senior.
One would have predicted that a man of his type would have left his
daughter absolutely penniless. Fortunately, this was not the case. At
a very early age he had taken out a life-policy for fifteen hundred
pounds, the premium being very low. To his credit, be it said, he had
strained every nerve to keep it up, even knocking off his drink when
the time approached for payment.
Under the guidance of her friend, who was a very shrewd young woman of
business, Miss Larchester invested this capital sum judiciously; the
interest would keep her from absolute starvation.
With the exception of Alma Buckley she had nobody to whom she could
turn for advice or assistance. Her father had been a member of a highly
respectable family, with members in the professions of the Church, the
Army, and the Law, but they had early parted company with the dissolute
artist, and had never seen either his wife or child. Her mother had
been a country girl, the daughter of a small village shopkeeper whom
Larchester had met in his wanderings in search of the picturesque, and
fallen in love with. Of that mother’s kith and kin she knew nothing.
Miss Buckley, just beginning to feel her feet upon the music-hall stage
about this period, had taken a cosy little flat in the neighbourhood of
Southampton Row; it was handy for the halls, her connection being in
London, only entailing a moderate cab fare to and from her home.
She insisted that, as there was plenty of room for two, Miss Larchester
should take up her abode with her, saying that it was a bit lonesome
in the day time, and she would be glad of a companion. Although pretty
keen in business matters, in private life she was very generous, and
she would not allow Lettice to contribute a farthing towards the rent,
and herself bore the greater share of the housekeeping, being very fond
of good living and not averse from occasional stimulant of an expensive
kind such as champagne and old brandy.
Mrs. Morrice dwelt fully, but not unkindly, on this weakness of her
generous friend, for to this unfortunate propensity was due the
beginning of her own tragedy.
For some time before the death of the dissolute artist, his daughter
had taken up painting under his tuition and attained some little
proficiency in it, enough to enable her to supplement her tiny income
with here and there a commission from one of Larchester’s old patrons,
and occasional work in the lower branches of art.
Needless to say that, although this was better than nothing and
relieved her from the intolerable ennui of idleness, it did not satisfy
a girl who was fond of pleasure and all the amenities that money could
bring, and at heart of an ambitious nature.
Like many other girls of poor position and no particular talent, she
looked forward to a judicious marriage to give her what she wanted, to
justify her aspirations. The future was precarious. Alma Buckley was a
good enough friend now, but any day she herself might marry, and then
Lettice might no longer find herself a welcome inmate in a changed
establishment.
But opportunity was a long time coming. Alma was a jolly, genial
soul, with a great genius for friendship, and she soon gathered round
her a goodly circle of acquaintances, nearly all members of her own
profession. Truth to tell, there was not much refinement amongst the
men and women who frequented the little flat, and Miss Larchester,
due, no doubt, to the good blood on her father’s side, was rather
fastidious. She wanted a man who was not only well-off, but also a
gentleman in manners and appearance.
Her friend used to rally her upon what she considered her high-flown
notions. “No use waiting for the impossible, my dear,” she said to her,
with her loud, jolly laugh. “The Prince Charming you are sighing for
won’t make his way to our flat. Get hold of the first chap who takes
you seriously, after satisfying yourself he’s making plenty of money.
Never mind if he doesn’t come up quite to your standard in certain
things. You can try the polishing process on him after you’re married,
and as likely as not you’ll make a good job of it.”
But these accommodating views did not recommend themselves to a girl
of refinement. She thought the profession her friend had adopted was
at best a very precarious one, and the type of male artist she came
across rather repelled than attracted her. It was different, of course,
with Alma Buckley. She came from humble stock and was naturally at home
amongst her own class, she discovered nothing to find fault with in the
manners or appearance of the men who frequented her flat, sang comic
songs, made broad jokes, and often indulged in more stimulant than was
good for them.
And then suddenly Prince Charming made his appearance, and Miss Buckley
was constrained to admit that he appeared to be “quite the gentleman,”
and was distinctly on a higher social plane than the persons at whom
Lettice turned up her fastidious nose.
The meeting happened this way. Miss Buckley had been working very hard
for some time, doing two halls a night at a considerable distance from
each other, and incidentally making a considerable sum of money. When
the engagements came to an end she felt fagged and run down, and on
consulting a doctor, he prescribed a month’s holiday.
The idea pleased her and she could well afford it. Very soon she made
her plans, and with her usual generosity, included her friend in them.
“We’ll go to dear old Paris,” she announced, “and we’ll stop there not
a minute less than four weeks; if we’re enjoying ourselves very much,
I don’t say we won’t put in an extra week. Better than going to the
seaside; what we want is a complete change. ‘Gay Paree’ will give it
us.”
On board the boat Alma got into conversation with a very elegant young
man whose name she afterwards discovered to be the high-sounding one of
Darcy. He was quite good-looking, possessed a pleasant well-bred voice,
and was attired in costume appropriate to travel of a most fashionable
cut. Miss Buckley did most of the talking, but she could see that this
aristocratic young man was greatly attracted by Lettice, and that
Lettice appeared equally attracted by him.
“I really think this is Prince Charming,” she took an opportunity of
whispering to her friend. “And, my dear, there’s a look of _money_
about him. Did you notice that lovely emerald pin? It’s worth no end.”
The elegant young man devoted himself to the two girls during the
short crossing to Boulogne, his glances ever resting admiringly upon
Miss Larchester. He found seats for them in the train to Paris, and
travelled with them in the same carriage. He talked pleasantly about
his travels; there did not seem to be a city in Europe that he had not
visited.
When they were nearing their journey’s end, he inquired where they were
going to put up. Miss Buckley, who had promised herself a good time, no
matter what it cost, replied that they had selected the Hôtel Terminus;
it was convenient for everything.
Mr. Darcy approved their choice. “You couldn’t do better,” he said in
his well-bred, slightly languid voice, the cultivated tones of which
appealed strongly to Miss Larchester. “’Pon my word, I think I might as
well stay there myself. If you don’t want to see too much of me,” he
added with his charming smile, “you’ve only got to give me a hint. I
shan’t intrude.”
“You won’t intrude,” said Miss Buckley with her usual downrightness.
“We shall look upon you as rather a godsend. Neither of us has been to
Paris before; it’ll be awfully good of you to show us the ropes.”
Darcy replied cordially that it would afford him the greatest pleasure
to show them “the ropes,” as the young lady so elegantly put it. When
he was asked where he usually stayed, he named half a dozen of the most
select hotels, with each one of which he appeared intimately acquainted.
The music-hall artist, who had picked up more knowledge of things
than her friend, recognized one of them as patronized by Royalty. She
was much impressed. She was greatly addicted to slang, living in an
atmosphere of it, and she expressed her opinions freely to Lettice
later on.
“We’ve struck it rich this time, you bet your life,” she said in her
picturesque vernacular. “I’ve seen a few ‘toffs’ at the halls, but he
beats ’em hollow. He’s ‘the goods,’ and no mistake.”
Miss Larchester had drawn the same conclusions, which she would
naturally have expressed in different language.
Things went swimmingly. They had all their meals together at a table
reserved for them by an obsequious waiter. Mr. Darcy showed them all
the sights, Notre-Dame, the Louvre, the Bois de Boulogne, the Bourse;
he took them to Versailles and Fontainebleau; he accompanied them to
the music halls and the theatres where they were a bit bored, as they
knew very little of the French language.
He spent money like water. Alma, who was no sponger, had begun by
offering her share of the expenses, but Darcy would not hear of it. “No
lady pays when she is in the company of a man,” he explained with an
air of finality.
Very soon he told them all about himself with an air of the most
engaging frankness. He was an only son; his father had died some five
years ago, leaving him a snug little fortune. “By that I don’t mean
that I am what would be called a rich man, just decently well off,” was
his comment on this particular announcement, “always sure of comfort,
now and then a few luxuries.”
On their side, the two girls were equally communicative. Alma Buckley
did not suffer from false shame. She made no attempt to conceal her
humble origin, she used no camouflage about the status of the defunct
builder, she frankly avowed her profession.
Miss Larchester told the truth about herself and her position, letting
her father down as lightly as possible. A man like Darcy could not fail
to see the difference between the two women, he said as much to her one
day when they were alone.
“Miss Buckley is an awfully good sort, one can see that with half an
eye,” he remarked.
“She is a darling,” cried Lettice enthusiastically, “and my only friend
in the world.”
Darcy took her hand in his own. “No, you must not say that. We met in
a very unconventional manner certainly, but that does not matter as we
know all about each other now. I hope you feel you have another friend
in me. But what I really wanted to say was this, and, of course, you
are as aware of it as I am. You are of quite a different class from
her.”
The acquaintance, begun casually on board the boat, ripened with
amazing rapidity into friendship, swiftly into love on the part of the
young man and also of Lettice Larchester.
Alma Buckley, who had no real experience of the world, although perhaps
she was just a little more sophisticated than her friend, looked on
approvingly. Darcy was a gentleman, a man of culture and refinement, he
had plenty of money. It would be an ideal match for Lettice, and the
girl was as much in love with him as he was with her.
The visit prolonged itself to six weeks instead of the four originally
contemplated, and at the end of that time Alma Buckley returned to her
flat alone. George Darcy and Lettice Larchester were married in Paris,
and started on their honeymoon the day before she left for England.