Sir Simon Orville's offered Reward.
In the comfortable apartment which was made the family sitting-room,
where Miss Brabazon might usually be found by anybody who wanted her,
sat a young lady on this same afternoon. A laughing, saucy, wilful girl
of thirteen, with short petticoats, and wavy brown hair hanging down.
It was Miss Rose Brabazon. Dr. Brabazon had married two wives and lost
them both: he had several older children, all out in the world now, but
this was the only young one, and spoilt accordingly. That is, all out
in the world save his eldest daughter, whom you will see presently.
Miss Rose was supposed to be at her studies. Sundry exercise-books were
before her on the square table, covered with its handsome green cloth,
in the middle of the room; in point of fact, she was inditing a private
letter, and taking recreative trips to the window between whiles,—a
large, pleasant window, looking out on the gymnasium-ground, with a
view of the Hampstead and Highgate hills in the far distance. At least
seventeen of the boys were madly in love with Miss Rose, and Miss Rose
reciprocated the compliment to a large proportion of them.
The door opened, and Miss Brabazon came in: a middle-sized, capable,
practical young woman of thirty, with a kind, good, sensible face. She
was the prop and stay of the house; looking after everything; to the
well-being of the large household, to the comfort of her father and of
the boys, and to the education of Rose. Her dark hair was plainly
braided on her face, and she wore a dress of some soft blue material,
with lace collar and cuffs. Crossing over to a side table, she laid
down a book she was carrying, and then looked at the address of two
letters in her hand, which had just been given her by the postman as
she crossed the hall. Miss Rose, all signs of everything unorthodox
hidden away, was diligently bending over her studies.
"Is that exercise not done yet, Rose?"
"It is so very difficult, Emma."
"You have been idling away your time again, I fear. Have you
practised?" continued Miss Brabazon, glancing half round at the piano.
"Not yet, Emma."
"Have you learnt your French?"
"I've not looked at it."
"What _have_ you been doing?"
Miss Rose Brabazon lifted her pretty face, and shook back her wavy hair
from her laughing blue eyes.
"I thought you'd perhaps give me holiday this afternoon, as you were so
much occupied upstairs with Lord Shrewsbury and his mother."
"Now, Rose, you knew better. And be so kind as to call the boys by
their right names. I wish you'd be a steady child!"
Rose laughed. "Sir Simon Orville's here, Emma. I saw him at the study
window just now with papa."
"Of course! That's the way you get your lessons done, Rose."
Miss Rose tossed her pen-wiper into the air and caught it again. She
had the peculiar faculty of never listening to reproofs. At least, of
listening to profit.
"Whom are those letters for, Emma."
"Not for you," answered Emma. "You may put the books away now, and go
and wash your hands. It is tea-time."
Books, exercises, pens, ink, were all hurried into a drawer in the
side-table, and away went Rose, meeting Mr. Henry at the door, for whom
Miss Brabazon had sent. He no longer wore his grey travelling clothes,
but was in a black surtout coat, looking, Miss Brabazon thought, very
entirely a gentleman, with his quiet manner and refined face.
"Is this for you?" she asked, holding out one of the letters, which
bore a foreign post-mark. "It is addressed to Doctor Henry."
He took it from her with a smile. "Yes, thank you; it is for me. Is
there anything to pay?"
"No. Are you really Dr. Henry?"
"Oh, Miss Brabazon, it is only my degree at the Heidelberg University.
I drop it here. I see this is from one of the professors. He forgot, I
suppose: I wrote down my name for them all, 'Mr.' Henry."
"But why should you drop it?"
"It is much better to do so. Fancy a young man like I am being called
doctor here! The masters would look askance at me, and the boys make
fun of me in private. Please don't mention it, Miss Brabazon."
"Certainly not, as you wish it. I do not quite see your argument,
though. Here's papa."
Dr. Brabazon came in with a quiet step. He threw himself into a chair,
as one in utter weariness, speaking sadly. "Oh, these boys, these
boys!"
"Is anything the matter, papa?"
"Not much, Emma; save that I feel out of sorts with all things. Don't
go, Mr. Henry, I want to speak to you."
Mr. Henry had been leaving the room. He turned back, and the doctor sat
forward on his chair.
"You are acquainted with young Paradyne, I hear, Mr. Henry."
A sort of bright hectic flashed into Mr. Henry's face. Miss Brabazon
noticed it. When she knew him better, she found that any powerful
emotion always brought it there. "Yes, sir, I knew him in Germany. He
is a very clever boy."
"Ay, he seems that. I like the boy amazingly, so far as I have seen.
What about his past history?"
Dr. Brabazon looked full at the German master. Mr. Henry understood the
appeal, and found there was no help for it; he must respond. But he had
an invincible dislike to speak of the Paradynes and their misfortune.
And the doctor was not alone.
"You allude to that unhappy business in Liverpool, sir?"
"I do. I am _very_ sorry the boy has been recognised here. You may
speak before my daughter, Mr. Henry,"—for the Doctor saw that he had
glanced at Miss Brabazon. "I told her of it to-day; she is quite safe.
It seems almost a fatality that the boy should have come to the very
place where Trace and the Loftuses were being educated."
"Yes it does," was the sad response: and Dr. Brabazon little thought
how bitterly that poor sensitive young German master was reproaching
himself, for he had been the means of bringing young Paradyne to
Orville College.
"I'd not hesitate to keep the boy a minute, if I were sure—"
"Oh, sir, don't turn him out!" interrupted Mr. Henry, his voice ringing
with pain. "To dismiss George Paradyne from the college, now that he
has entered it, might prove a serious blight upon him; a blight that
might follow him everywhere, for the cause could not fail to be noised
abroad. Better let him stay and face it out: he may—it is possible he
may—in time—live it down. I beg your pardon, Dr. Brabazon; I ought not
to have said so much."
"My good friend,"—and the doctor was a little agitated also,—"you never
need urge clemency on me. Heaven knows that we have, most of us, secret
cares of our own; and they render us—or ought to—lenient upon others.
If I could wipe out with a sponge the past as regards young Paradyne,
I'd do it in glad thankfulness. He is to remain; it is so decided; and
I hope the past will not ooze out to the school. That is what I fear."
"In himself he is, I think, everything that could be wished," said the
usher in a low tone; "a good, honourable, painstaking boy, with the
most implicit trust in his late father's innocence."
Dr. Brabazon lifted his eyes. "But there are no possible grounds to
hope that he was innocent! Are there?"
"Not any, I fear."
"Well, well; better perhaps that the son should think it. You were not
in Liverpool when it happened?"
"I was in Germany. The account of it was sent to me."
"By whom?—if I may ask it."
"By Mrs. Paradyne."
"_She_ does not believe her husband to have been innocent?"
"Oh, no."
"Has Mrs. Paradyne enough to live upon?" pursued the doctor, whose
interest in the affair had been growing.
"Her income is, I believe, very small indeed."
"Then how does she give the boy this expensive education?"
"I fancy some friend helps her," was the reply. "And I know that a
considerable reduction was made in the terms of the last school, on
account of the boy's fluency in French and German."
"I suppose you have kept up a correspondence with them, Mr. Henry?"
"Yes; though not a very frequent one."
"When you knew Mr. Paradyne, was he an honest man?"
"Strictly so; honourable, upright, entitled to every respect. I have
never been able to understand how he could fall from it."
"One of those sudden temptations, I suppose," observed the doctor,
musingly. "Beginning in a trifle; ending—nobody knows where. I won't
detain you longer, Mr. Henry."
Mr. Henry left the room with his letter. Miss Brabazon found her
tongue, speaking impulsively.
"Papa, how strangely sensitive he seems to be, this new master of
yours! Did you see the hectic on his face?"
"Poor fellow, yes. He is very friendless; and, to be so, gives us a
fellow-feeling for the unfortunate, Emma."
"Are you aware that he is Dr. Henry?"
"Is he? He took honours abroad, I believe. We don't think much of that,
you know."
"He drops the title over here; does not care that it should be known.
Did it strike you, papa, while he was speaking, that he must have some
secret trouble of his own?"
"No. I was thinking, Emma, of somebody else's secret trouble."
Miss Brabazon evidently understood the allusion. Her countenance fell,
and she turned her face from the doctor's view.
"I thought Sir Simon was here, papa."
"So he is. Sir Simon's gone up to see Talbot. He will take tea with us,
Emma."
The tea and Sir Simon came in together; Emma Brabazon was always glad
to see him. Miss Rose followed, and the conversation was general, on
account of the young lady's presence; otherwise it must have fallen on
the Paradynes. Sir Simon was in spirits; Mrs. Talbot, sitting with her
son, had assured him the doctor said all would be well.
But Sir Simon had something to do yet. When tea was over, he said
farewell to his friends and went in search of the boys, who were in the
cricket-field. He called aloud for Trace and for Loftus major. When the
rest of the boys came flocking up with a shout—for it was a red-letter
day when they could get Sir Simon—he sent them away again.
"I want only these two graceless ones," he said: "you all be off," and
the boys went, shouting and laughing. "Yes, you, Irby; you may stop."
Gathering the three around him, he entered on his business, and talked
to them for a few moments very plainly and earnestly. Loftus was the
first to respond, and he did it with frankness.
"I have already said, sir, that Paradyne is safe for me. I will keep my
word."
"I'll never tell upon him, Sir Simon," added Irby; "I'll make him my
friend, if you like."
"Is the fellow to stop?" asked Trace.
"Yes, sir, he is to stop," replied Sir Simon, turning sharply upon the
speaker. "It is Dr. Brabazon's pleasure that he should stop, and it is
mine also. What have you to say against it?"
"Nothing at all," quietly replied Trace.
"That's well," returned Sir Simon, in a cynical tone of suavity. "And
now, mind you, Trace—all of you mind—if unpleasantness does arise to
this unlucky boy through either of you, I'll—I'll—by George! I'll make
him, young Paradyne, my heir."
He turned off in the direction of the plantation, curious to examine
the scene of the last night's outrage. Quite one half of the college
had gathered there, and the rest ran up now. Sir Simon laid his hand
upon Dick Loftus.
"So! This was your doing!"
"Don't, uncle," said Dick, wincing; "I'm as vexed about it as you can
be. I'd rather have been shot myself."
"That's what Bertie says. A pretty pair of nephews I've got!" continued
Sir Simon, using his stick on the ground violently, to the admiration
of the surrounding throng. "The one smuggles pistols into the school,
and the other brings 'em out and shoots a boy!"
"I didn't shoot him," said Dick.
"You were the cause of it, sir. If Talbot dies, and the thing comes to
trial, were I the judge on the bench, I should transport you for seven
years, Dick Loftus, as accessory in a second degree."
"Talbot isn't going to die," debated hardy Dick.
"And serve him right," put in Loftus, answering the semi-threat of Sir
Simon. "Transportation for seven years would be just the thing Dick
deserves. What right had the young idiot to meddle with my pistols?"
"What right had you to have pistols to be meddled with?" cried Sir
Simon, retorting on Bertie. "And to keep 'em loaded? And to put 'em
where Dick could get to them? I'd transport _you_ for fourteen."
Mr. Loftus did not like the tables being turned on him. He drew his
head up with a jerk.
"And you the senior, save one, of the school, who might have been
expected to be a pattern to the rest!" added Sir Simon, mercilessly.
"You'd not have done it would you Gall?"
The senior boy, quietly looking on, lifted his eyes at being addressed.
"I don't think I should, Sir Simon."
It was an inoffensive answer enough, in regard to words; but the quiet
tone of condemnation, the half compassionate smile that accompanied it,
angered Loftus out of his pride and his prudence.
"It's not likely he would. Pistols would be of no use to him. What do
those city tradespeople want with pistols?"
The insolent retort was not lost on Sir Simon, for it gave him an
opportunity that he was ever ready to seize upon; ever, it may be said,
watching for—that of putting down the lofty notions of his otherwise
favourite nephew.
"Those City tradespeople," he echoed, making a circular sweep with his
stick, as if to challenge the attention of the crowd. "Hark at him!
Hold your tongue, Gall; I'll talk. Has he changed ranks with Talbot, do
you know, boys, and become a lord? City people! I'm his uncle; but he
ignores that. I wasn't in the City; never aspired to it; I was only in
Bermondsey; a tanner. A tanner, boys, as some of your fathers could
tell you; Orville & Tubbs it was. Tubbs is there, tanning still; Tubbs
& Sons; and a good snug business they've got. _I_ wasn't born with a
fortune in the bank, as some folks are; I had to make my way by hard
work, and with very little education, and I did it. I had no Orville
College to learn Latin and Greek and politeness at; though they do tell
me I'm related to its founder. Perhaps I am; but it's only a sixteenth
cousin, boys."
A shout of laughter: the boys' satisfaction had grown irrepressible.
Sir Simon laughed with them.
"We were thirteen of us to get out in the world, boys and girls, and
our father a clerk on three hundred a year. It seemed a fortune in
those days; because a man's children expected to go out and work for
themselves. I went out at twelve, boys; my father put me to a
fishmonger, and I didn't like it; and he gave me a flogging for
caprice, and sent me to a tanner's. I didn't like that—you should have
smelt the skins!—but I had to stick to it. And I did stick to it, and
in time made a business for myself, and when it got too large I took in
my young foreman, Tubbs, and gave him a share. I was a
common-councilman, then; and a very grand honour I thought it to be
such; but I didn't leave off work. Up early and to bed late, and making
my abode amidst the skins in my yard, was I. Fortune came to me, boys;
it comes to most people who patiently work for it; and they made me a
sheriff of London, and in going up with an address to Court, the Queen
knighted me: and that brings me with the handle to my name, which I
assure you I'm not at home with yet, and for months afterwards couldn't
believe that it was me being spoken to. I retired from business then,
and I bought Pond Place up here. I didn't buy it because it was near
the college, and that Dr. Orville had been a sixteenth cousin, but
because it suited me; and the situation and the air suited me. And
that's how _I_ come to be Sir Simon Orville: and what I've got I've
humbly worked for. Mr. Loftus there was born a gentleman, as his father
was before him, and he'd like me to go in for rank, and for quarterings
on my carriage, and crests on my spoons, and to make believe that I'd
never heard there was such a low thing as tanning amidst trades. Yah,
boys! I hate pretension: and so does every sincere nature ever created.
It's only a species of acted falsehood; it won't help us on the road to
heaven."
A murmur of applause, and a slight clapping of hands. Sir Simon lifted
his stick again.
"He despises the Galls, that lofty nephew of mine; he lets you know
that he does. Boys, allow me to tell you, that there's not a better man
in all London than Joseph Gall, the head of the respectable firm of
Gall & Batty. Substantial, too, Mr. Loftus."
Loftus stood like a pillar of salt, stony and upright, showing no sign
whatever of his intense annoyance. These periodical revelations of Sir
Simon's, given gratuitously to the boys on any provocation, were the
very thorns of his life. At such moments it would have puzzled Loftus
to tell which he despised most—the Galls as a whole, or his uncle as a
unit.
"And now about this shooting business," resumed Sir Simon. "Where was
the pistol fired from?"
"Just from this point, Sir Simon," spoke Leek, who was one of the
greatest admirers Sir Simon possessed. "And here"—running a few paces
onward—"is where the earl dropped."
It was growing too dusk to distinguish objects; the moon as yet did not
give much light; but Sir Simon stooped, and peered about with the
utmost interest. Suddenly he rose and confronted them.
"Now, look here, you fellows! I dare say it was an accident; the boy
got fingering the pistol, and it went off; he's not so much to blame
for that. What he is to blame for, is the not confessing; it's
dishonourable, mean, despicable; and for that he deserves no quarter.
Try to find him out, boys; hunt him up; run him down; surely a stray
word or a chance look may guide you to him. And whoever succeeds in
bringing the truth to light, may come to me for the handsomest gold
watch that is to be bought with money."
A deafening shout arose. In the midst of it the three strokes of the
great bell were heard, calling the boys to evening study. They set off
with a bound, all except Trace, who found himself detained by the hand
of his uncle until the rest were out of hearing.
"Raymond, if mischief comes of this matter, it will be through you."
"Through me!" repeated Trace, taken thoroughly aback. "Can you suppose,
sir, I went shares with Bertie in buying the pistols? Or that I knew of
his bringing them to school, loaded?"
"Not that. I am speaking of the other matter—Paradyne's. You are bitter
against the very name of Paradyne; and I don't say you have no cause.
But now, take my advice, Raymond. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't be the one to stir up the past against the boy. I have a feeling
against it."
Sir Simon, leaving his words to tell, walked away towards home, and
Trace stood looking after him, resenting the injunction. He was not a
favourite, and he knew it; even that despicable Dick was preferred to
him. As a matter of affection, perhaps Trace did not regret this; but
his policy in life was to stand well with all. The tolerating of George
Paradyne was an uncommonly bitter pill to swallow; and Trace would have
given the world to reject it. But he scarcely saw his way clear to do
this, if he wished to keep friends with his uncle. And Trace threw a
gratuitous and by no means complimentary word at the unfortunate boy,
as he went off to be in time for his studies.
Scarcely was he out of sight, when Miss Brabazon came quietly up
through the trees. She had put on a cloak and hood; and, as she threw
back the latter her face looked white with a curious fear. Searching
here, bending there, she seemed to be seeking for some traces of the
last night's work. Now she bent her ear and listened, now she knelt
down by the bench, feeling under it and about it. One might almost have
thought she was seeking for a letter. So pre-occupied was she as not to
hear the sound of footsteps.
"What are you looking for, Emma?"
The interruption was from Dr. Brabazon, who happened to be passing
through the plantation. Emma started up with a cry.
"What is it, my dear? What are you doing here?"
"I—I—was thinking who could have done it, papa," she answered, in a
frightened whisper. "I mean that dreadful thing last night. If the boys
all deny it—why, perhaps they are really not guilty. It—it was so very
easy for a stranger, coming by chance through the plantation, to have
picked up the pistol that Smart dropped, and fired it off without
thought of harm. Without thought of harm, papa."
How pleadingly, yearningly the last words were spoken, Dr. Brabazon's
own heart told him. He answered cheerfully, although it was heating
with pain.
"Emma, I see what you are thinking of. But it could not have been. It
was one of the boys beyond doubt, for he wore the college cap. Why do
you let these fancies trouble you? Run home, child; run home."