The history of the Clement-Pells and their downfall was given in the
First Series of these stories, and the reader can have no difficulty in
recalling Fabian to his memory. There are times, even to this day, when
it seems to me that I must have been a muff, as Tod said, not to know
him. But, some years had elapsed since I saw him; and those years,
with their ill-fortune and exposure, and the hard life he had led in
Australia, had served to change him greatly; above all, there was now
the mass of hair disguising the greater part of his face. Bit by bit my
recollection came to me, and I knew that he was, beyond all shadow of
doubt, Fabian Pell.
How long we sat up that night at Mr. Tamlyn's, talking over its events,
I cannot precisely tell. For quite the half of what was left of it.
Mina, brought to his own home by Arnold for safety, was consigned to
Cattledon's charge and bed, and retired to the latter in a state of
humiliation and collapse.
The scene on the platform had soon come to a conclusion. With the
security of Mina assured by the presence of her brother and the rest of
us, Sam let go his hold of the captain. It had been a nice little plot
this, that the captain had set on foot in secret, and persuaded that
silly girl, not much better than a child, to accede to. They were to
have run away to London that night, and been married there the next day;
the captain, as was found out later, having already managed to procure a
licence. You see, if Mina became his wife without any settlement, her
money at once lapsed to him and he could do what he would with it. How,
as Captain Collinson, he would have braved the matter out to Dr. Knox
that night, and excused himself for his treachery, he best knew. Tod
checkmated him by proclaiming him as Fabian Pell. A lame attempt at
denial, which Tod, secure in his assertion, laughed at; a little
bravado, and Captain Collinson collapsed. Against the truth--that he was
Fabian Pell--brought home to him so suddenly and clearly, he could not
hold out; the man's hardihood deserted him; and he turned tail and went
off the platform, calling back that Mr. Todhetley should hear from him
in the morning.
We came away then, bringing Mina. Sam went to escort Charlotte home,
where they would have the pleasure of imparting the news to Mrs. Knox,
who probably by that time was thinking that Lotty had eloped as well as
Mina. And now we were sitting round the fire in old Tamlyn's room,
discussing what had happened. Sam came back in the midst of it. Arnold
_was_ down in the mouth, and no mistake.
"Did you see Mrs. Knox?" he asked of Sam.
"Not to speak to, sir. I saw her through the kitchen window. She was
spreading bread-and-jam for Dicky, who had come down in his night-gown
and would not be coaxed back to bed."
"What an injudicious woman she is!" put in old Tamlyn. "Enough to ruin
the boy."
Perhaps Dr. Knox was thinking, as he sat there, his hand pressed upon
his brow, that if she had been a less injudicious woman, a different
mother altogether, Mina might not have been in danger of falling into
the present escapade: but he said nothing.
"I remember hearing of the notorious break-up of the Clement-Pells at
the time it took place," observed old Tamlyn to Tod. "And to think that
this man should be one of them!"
"He must carry his impudence about with him," was Tod's remark.
"They ruined hundreds of poor men and women, if not thousands,"
continued old Tamlyn. "I conclude your people knew all about it?"
"Indeed, yes. We were in the midst of it. My father lost--how much was
it, Johnny?"
"Two hundred pounds," I answered; the question bringing vividly back to
me our adventures in Boulogne, when the pater and Mr. Brandon went over
there to try to get the money back.
"I suppose," resumed the surgeon, "your father had that much balance
lying in their hands, and lost it all?"
"No," said Tod, "he did not bank with them. A day or two before
Clement-Pell burst up, he drove to our house as bold as brass, asking my
father in the most off-hand manner to let him have a cheque for two
hundred pounds until the next day. The Squire did let him have it,
without scruple, and of course lost it. He would have let him have two
thousand had Pell asked for it."
"But that was a fraud. Pell might have been punished for it."
"I don't know that it was so much a fraud as many other things Pell did,
and might have been punished for," observed Tod. "At any rate, not as
great a one. He escaped out of the way, as I dare say you know, sir, and
his family escaped with him. It was hard on them. They had been brought
up in the greatest possible extravagance, in all kinds of luxury. This
one, Fabian, was in the army. He, of course, had to retire. His own
debts would have forced that step upon him, apart from the family
disgrace."
"Did he re-enter it, I wonder."
Tod laughed. "_I_ should say not. He went to Australia. Not above a
year ago I heard that he was still there. He must have come back here
fortune-hunting; _bread_-hunting; and passed himself off as Captain
Collinson the better to do it. Miss Mina Knox's seven thousand pounds
was a prize to fight for."
"That's it!" cried Sam. "Dan has said all along it was the money he was
after, dishonourable wretch, not Mina herself. He cares too much for
Madame St. Vincent to care for Mina: at least we think so. How did he
get the funds, I wonder, that he has been flourishing about upon?"
"Won them at billiards," suggested Tod.
"No," said Sam, "I don't think that. By all accounts he lost more than
he won in the billiard-rooms."
Dr. Knox looked up from a reverie. "Was it himself that Major Leckie
saw?--and did he pass himself off as another man to escape detection?
Did he go off for the remainder of the week lest the major should look
him up again?"
And we knew it must have been so.
Little sleep did I get that night, or, rather, morning, for the small
hours had struck when we went to bed. The association of ideas is a
great thing in this world; a help in many an emergency. This association
led me from Fabian Pell to his sisters: and the mysterious memory of
Madame St. Vincent that had so puzzled my mind cleared itself up. As
though a veil had been withdrawn from my eyes, leaving the recollection
unclouded and distinct, I saw she was one of those sisters: the eldest
of them, Martha Jane. And, let not the reader call me a muff, as Tod
again did later, for not having found her out before. When I knew her
she was an angular, raw-boned girl, with rather a haggard and very pale
face, and nothing to say for herself. Now she was a filled-out woman,
her face round, her colour healthy, and one of the most self-possessed
talkers I ever listened to. In the old days her hair was reddish
and fell in curls: now it was dark, and worn in braids and plaits
fashionably incomprehensible. Whether the intervening years had
darkened the hair, or whether madame cunningly dyed it, must remain
a question.
Dan Jenkins and his brother were right. They no doubt had seen looks of
anxious interest given to Madame St. Vincent by Captain Collinson. Not
as a lover, however; they were mistaken there; but as a brother who was
living in a state of peril, and whom she was doubtless protecting and
trying to aid. But how far had her aid gone? That she kept up the
ball, as to his being Captain Collinson, the rich, honourable, and
well-connected Indian officer, went without saying, as the French have
it; and no one could expect her to proclaim him as Fabian Pell, the
swindler; but had she been helping him in his schemes upon Mina? As to
her display of formal coolness to him, it must have been put on to
mislead the public.
And what was I to do? Must I quietly bury my discovery within me and say
nothing? or must I tell Dr. Knox that Madame St. Vincent was no other
than Martha Jane Pell? What _ought_ I to do? It was that question that
kept me awake. Never liking to do harm where I could not do good, I
asked myself whether I had any right to ruin her. It might be that she
was not able to help herself; that she had done no worse than keep
Fabian's secret: it might be that she had wanted him gone just as much
as Dan Jenkins had wanted it.
"I'll tell Tod in the morning," was my final conclusion, "and hear what
he thinks."
When I got downstairs they were beginning breakfast, and Miss Cattledon
was turning from the table to carry up Mina's tea. Mina remained in the
depths of tears and contrition, and Cattledon had graciously told her
she might lie in bed. Breakfast was taken very late that morning, the
result of the previous night's disturbance, and the clock was striking
ten when we rose from it.
"Tod, I want to speak to you," I said in his ear. "I want to tell you
something."
"All right, lad. Tell away."
"Not here. Won't you come out with me somewhere? We must be alone."
"Then it must wait, Johnny. I am going round to the stables with
Tamlyn. He wishes me to see the horse they have got on trial. By the
description, I don't think much of him: should give him a pretty long
trial before I bought him."
They went out. Not long after that, I was strolling across the
court-yard with Sam Jenkins, who had been despatched on some
professional errand, when we saw Sir Henry Westmorland ride up and
rein in his horse. He asked for Dr. Knox. Sam went back to the house
to say so, while Sir Henry talked to me.
"Look here," said Sir Henry to the doctor, after they had shaken
hands, "I have had a curious letter from Major Leckie this morning. At
least"--taking the letter from his pocket and opening it--"it contains
an odd bit of news. He says--where is it?--stand still, sir,"--to the
horse. "Here it is; just listen, doctor. 'Dr. Knox must have made a
mistake in saying Collinson was at Lefford. Collinson is in India; has
not been home at all. I have had a letter from him by the overland mail
just in, asking me to do a commission for him. Tell Dr. Knox this. If
the man he spoke of is passing himself off for Collinson of ours, he
must be an impostor.' What do you think of that, doctor?" concluded Sir
Henry, folding the letter again.
"He is an impostor," replied Dr. Knox. "We found him out last night."
"What a rogue! Has he been taking people in--fleecing them?"
"He has taken us all in, Sir Henry, in one sense of the word; he was
on the point of doing it more effectually, when he was stopped. As to
fleecing people, I don't know about that. He seems to have had plenty
of money at his command--whence obtained is another question."
"Cheated some one out of it; rely upon that," remarked the baronet, as
he nodded a good-day to us, and rode off.
Mina was downstairs when we returned indoors. Anything more pitiful than
her state of contrition and distress I should not care to see. No doubt
the discovery, just made, tended to strengthen her repentance. In
a silly girl's mind some romance might attach to the notion of an
elopement with a gallant captain of consideration, brave in Her
Majesty's service; but to elope with Mr. Fabian Pell, the chevalier
d'industrie, was quite another affair. Mina was mild in temperament,
gentle in manners, yet she might have flown at the ex-captain's face
with sharp nails, had he come in her way.
"I did not really like him," she sobbed forth: and there was no doubt
that she spoke truth. "But they were always on at me, persuading me;
they never let me alone."
"Who persuaded you, my dear?" asked Janet.
"He did. He was for ever meeting me in private, and urging me. I could
not go out for a walk, or just cross the garden, or run into the next
door, but he would be there. Madame St. Vincent persuaded me. She did
not say to me, in words, 'you had better do as he asks you and run
away,' but all her counsels tended towards it. She would say to me how
happy his wife would be; what a fine position it was for any young lady
lucky enough to be chosen by him; and that all the world thought me old
enough to marry, though Arnold did not, and for that reason Arnold would
do his best to prevent it. And so--and so----"
"And so they persuaded you against your better judgment," added Janet
pityingly, as Mina broke down in a burst of tears.
"There, child, take this, and don't cry your eyes out," interposed
Cattledon, bringing in a beaten-up egg.
Cattledon was coming out uncommonly strong in the way of compassion, all
her tartness gone. She certainly did not look with an eye of favour on
elopements; but she was ready to take up Mina's cause against the man
who had deceived her. Cattledon hated the Pells: for Cattledon had been
done out of fifty pounds at the time of old Pell's failure, money she
had rashly entrusted to him. She could not very well afford to lose it,
and she had been bitter on the Pells, one and all, ever since.
That morning was destined to be one of elucidation. Mr. Tamlyn was in
the surgery, saying a last word to Dr. Knox before the latter went out
to visit his patients, when Lettice Lane marched in. She looked so fresh
and innocent that three parts of Tamlyn's suspicions of her melted away.
"Anything amiss at home?" asked he.
"No, sir," replied Lettice, "I have only brought this note"--handing one
in. "Madame St. Vincent told the butler to bring it; but his pains are
worse this morning; and, as I chanced to be coming out at the moment, he
asked me to leave it here for him."
"Wait an instant," said Mr. Tamlyn, as he opened the note.
It contained nothing of consequence. Madame St. Vincent had written to
say that Lady Jenkins was pretty well, but had finished her medicine:
perhaps Mr. Tamlyn would send her some more. Old Tamlyn's injunction to
wait an instant had been given in consequence of a sudden resolution he
had then come to (as he phrased it in his mind), to "tackle" Lettice.
"Lettice Lane," he began, winking at Dr. Knox, "your mistress's state is
giving us concern. She seems to be always sleeping."
"She is nearly always dozing off, sir," replied Lettice, her tone and
looks open and honest as the day.
"Ay. I can't quite come to the bottom of it," returned old Tamlyn,
making believe to be confidential. "To me, it looks just as though she
took--took opiates."
"Opiates, sir?" repeated Lettice, as if she hardly understood the
word: while Dr. Knox, behind the desk, was glancing keenly at her from
underneath his compressed eyebrows.
"Opium. Laudanum."
Lettice shook her head. "No, sir, my mistress does not take anything of
that sort, I am sure; we have nothing of the kind in the house. But
Madame St. Vincent is for ever dosing her with brandy-and-water."
"What?" shouted old Tamlyn.
"I have said a long while, sir, that I thought you ought to know it;
I've said so to the housemaid. I don't believe an hour hardly passes,
day or night, but madame administers to her a drop of brandy-and-water.
Half a wine-glass, maybe, or a full wine-glass, as the case may happen;
and sometimes I know it's pretty strong."
"That's it," said Dr. Knox quietly: and a curious smile crossed his
face.
Mr. Tamlyn sat down on the stool in consternation. "Brandy-and-water!"
he repeated, more than once, "Perpetually dosed with brandy-and-water!
And now, Lettice Lane, how is it you have not come here before to tell
me of this?"
"I did not come to tell you now, sir," returned Lettice. "Madame St.
Vincent says that Lady Jenkins needs it: she seems to give it her for
her good. It is only lately that I have doubted whether it can be
right. I have not liked to say anything: servants don't care to
interfere. Ten times a-day she will give her these drops of cold
brandy-and-water: and I know she gets up for the same purpose once or
twice in the night."
"Does Lady Jenkins take it without remonstrance?" asked Dr. Knox,
speaking for the first time.
"She does, sir, now. At first she did not. Many a time I have heard my
lady say, 'Do you think so much brandy can be good for me, Patty? I
feel so dull after it,' and Madame St. Vincent has replied, that it is
the only thing that can get her strength back and bring her round."
"The jade!" spoke Dr. Knox, between his teeth. "And to assure us both
that all the old lady took was a drop of it weak twice a-day at her
meals! Lettice Lane," he added aloud, and there was a great sternness
in his tone, "you are to blame for not having spoken of this. A little
longer silence, and it might have cost your mistress her life." And
Lettice went out in contrition.
"What can the woman's motive be, for thus dosing her into stupidity?"
spoke the one doctor to the other when they were shut in together.
"_That_: the dosing her into it," said Dr. Knox.
"But the motive, Arnold?--the reason? She must have had a motive."
"That remains to be found out."
It turned out to be too true. The culprit was Madame St. Vincent. She
had been administering these constant doses of brandy-and-water for
months. Not giving enough at a time to put Lady Jenkins into a state of
intoxication; only to reduce her to a chronic state of semi-stupidity.
Tod called me, as I tell you, a muff: first for not knowing Madame St.
Vincent; and next for thinking to screen her. Of course this revelation
of Lettice Lane's had put a new complexion upon things. I left the
matter with Tod, and he told the doctors at once: Madame St. Vincent
was, or used to be, Martha Jane Pell, own sister to Captain Collinson
the false.