TRIED AT THE OLD BAILEY.
"Oh, Mrs. Guy, he is coming, after all! He is indeed!"
Blanche Heriot's joyful tones, as she read the contents of a short
letter brought in by the evening post, aroused old Mrs. Guy, who was
dozing over her knitting one Tuesday evening in the May twilight.
"Eh? What, my dear? Who do you say is coming?"
"Tom. He says he must stretch a point for once. He cannot let anyone
else give me away."
"The Major is to give you away, Blanche."
"I know he intended to do so if Tom failed me. But Tom is my brother."
"Well, well, child; settle it amongst yourselves. I don't see that it
matters one way or the other. There's a knock at the door! Dear me! It
must be Lord Level."
"Lord Level cannot be back again before to-morrow. He is at Marshdale,
you know," dissented Blanche. "I think it may be Tom. I hope it is
Tom. He says here he shall be in town as soon as his letter."
"Mr. Strange," announced a servant, throwing wide the drawing-room
door.
Charles Strange had only that morning returned from Paris, having
crossed by the night mail. The legal business on which he and Mr.
Brightman were just now so much occupied, involving serious matters
for a client who lived in Paris, had kept Charles over there nearly
all the spring. Blanche ran to his arms. She looked upon him as her
brother, quite as much as she looked upon Tom.
"And so, Blanche, we are to lose you," he said, when he had kissed
her. "And within a day or two, I hear."
He knew very little of Blanche Heriot's approaching marriage, except
that the bridegroom was Archibald, Lord Level. And that little he had
heard from Mr. Brightman. Blanche did not write to him about it. She
had written to tell him she was going to be married to Captain Cross:
but when that marriage was summarily broken off by Major Carlen,
Blanche felt a little ashamed, and did not send word to Charles.
"The day after to-morrow, at eleven o'clock in the morning," put in
Mrs. Guy, in response to the last remark.
All his attention given to Blanche, Charles Strange really had not
observed the old lady. He turned to regard her.
"You cannot have forgotten Mrs. Guy, Charles," said Blanche, noticing
his doubtful look.
"I believe I had for the moment," he answered, in those pleasant,
cordial tones that won him a way with everyone, as he went up and
shook the old lady heartily by both hands. "I heard you were staying
here, Mrs. Guy, but I had forgotten it."
They sat down--Blanche and Charles near the open window, Mrs. Guy not
moving from her low easy-chair on the hearthrug--and began to talk of
the wedding.
"Tom is really coming up to give me away," said Blanche, showing him
Captain Heriot's short note. "It is _very_ good of him, for he must be
very busy: but Tom was always good. You are aware, Charles, I suppose,
that the regiment is embarking for India? Major Carlen saw the
announcement this morning in the _Times_."
At that moment Charles Strange saw, or fancied he saw, a warning look
telegraphed to him by Mrs. Guy: and, placing it in conjunction with
Blanche's words, he fancied he must know its meaning.
"Yes, I heard the regiment was ordered out," he answered shortly; and
turned the subject. "Will Lord Level be here tonight, Blanche? I
should like to see him."
"No," she replied. "He went yesterday to Marshdale House, his place in
Surrey, and will not return until to-morrow. I think you will like
him, Charles."
"I hope you do," replied Charles involuntarily. "That is the chief
consideration, Blanche."
He looked at her meaningly as he spoke, and it brought a blush to her
face. What a lovely face it was--fair and pure, its blue eyes haughty
as of yore, its golden hair brilliant and abundant! She wore a simple
evening dress of white muslin, and a blue sash, an inexpensive
necklace of twisted blue beads on her neck, no bracelets at all on her
arms. She looked what she really was--an inexperienced school-girl.
Lord Level's engagement ring on her finger, with its flashing
diamonds, was the only ornament of value she had about her.
In the momentary silence that ensued, Blanche left her seat and went
to stand at the open window.
"Oh," she exclaimed, an instant later, "I do think this may be Tom! A
cab has stopped here."
Charles Strange rose. Mrs. Guy lifted her finger, and he bent down to
her. Blanche was still at the window.
"She does not know he has sold out," warningly breathed Mrs. Guy. "She
knows nothing of his wild ways, or the fine market he has brought his
eggs to, poor fellow. We have kept it from her."
Charles nodded; and the servant opened the door with another
announcement.
"Captain Heriot." Blanche flew across the room and was locked in her
brother's arms.
Poor Tom Heriot had indeed, as Mrs. Guy expressed it, with more force
than elegance, brought his eggs to a fine market. It was some few
months now since he sold out of the Army; and what he was doing and
how he contrived to exist and flourish without money, his friends did
not know. During the spring he had made his appearance in Paris to
prefer an appeal for help to Charles, and Charles had answered it to
the extent of his power.
Just as gay, just as light-hearted, just as _debonnaire_ as ever was
Tom Heriot. To see him and to hear him as he sat this evening with
them in Gloucester Place, you might have thought him as free from care
as an Eton boy--as flourishing as a duke-royal. Little blame to
Blanche that she suspected nothing of the existing state of things.
When Charles rose to say "Good-night," Tom Heriot said it also, and
they went away together.
"Charley, lad," said the latter, as the street-door closed behind
them, "could you put me up at your place for two nights--until after
this wedding is over?"
"To be sure I can. Leah will manage it."
"All right. I have sent a portmanteau there."
"You did not come up from Southampton to-day, Tom? Blanche thought you
did."
"And I am much obliged to them for allowing her to think it. I would
have staked my last five-pound note, if you'll believe me, Charley,
that old Carlen had not as much good feeling in him. I am vegetating
in London; have been for some time, Blanche's letter was forwarded to
me by a comrade who lets me use his address."
"And what are you doing in London?" asked Charles.
"Hiding my 'diminished head,' old fellow," answered Tom, with a laugh.
No matter how serious the subject, he could not be serious over it.
"How much longer do you mean to stand here?" continued Charles--for
the Captain (people still gave him his title) had not moved from the
door.
"Till an empty cab goes by."
"We don't want a cab this fine night, Tom. Let us walk. Look how
bright the moon is up there."
"Ay; my lady's especially bright tonight. Rather too much so for
people who prefer the shade. How you stare, Charley! Fact is, I feel
safer inside a cab just now than parading the open streets."
"Afraid of being taken for debt?" whispered Charles.
"Worse than that," said Tom laconically.
"Worse than that!" repeated Charles. "Why, what do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing," and Tom Heriot laughed again. "Except that I am in the
deuce's own mess, and can't easily get out of it. There's a cab! Here,
driver! In with you, Charley."
* * * * *
And on the following Thursday, when his sister's marriage with Lord
Level took place, who so gay, who so free from care, who so attractive
as Tom Heriot?--when giving her away. Lord Level had never before seen
his future brother-in-law (or _half_ brother-in-law, as the more
correct term would be), and was agreeably taken with him. A random
young fellow, no doubt, given to playing the mischief with his own
prospects, but a thorough gentleman, and a very prepossessing one.
"And this is my other brother--I have always called him so," whispered
Blanche to her newly-made husband, as she presented Charles Strange to
him on their return from church to Gloucester Place. Lord Level shook
hands heartily; and Charles, who had been prejudiced against his
lordship, of whom tales were told, took rather a liking to the tall,
fine man of commanding presence, of handsome face and easy, genial
manners.
After the breakfast, to which very few guests were bidden, and at
which Mrs. Guy presided, as well as her nerves permitted, at one end
of the table and Major Carlen at the other, Lord and Lady Level
departed for Dover on their way to the Continent.
And in less than a week after the wedding, poor Thomas Heriot, who
could not do an unkind action, who never had been anyone's enemy in
the whole world, and never would be anyone's, except his own, was
taken into custody on a criminal charge.
The blow came upon Charles Strange as a clap of thunder. That Tom was
in a mess of some kind he knew well; nay, in half a dozen messes most
likely; but he never glanced at anything so terrible as this. Tom had
fenced with his questions during the day or two he stayed in Essex
Street, and laughed them off. What the precise charge was, Charles
could not learn at the first moment. Some people said felony, some
whispered forgery. By dint of much exertion and inquiry, he at last
knew that it was connected with "Bills."
Certain bills had been put into circulation by Thomas Heriot, and
there was something wrong about them. At least, about one of them;
since it bore the signature of a man who had never seen the bill.
"I am as innocent of it as a child unborn," protested Thomas Heriot to
Charles, more solemnly in earnest than he had ever been heard to
speak. "True, I got the bills discounted: accommodation bills, you
understand, and they were to have been provided for; but that any
good name had been _forged_ to one of them, I neither knew nor dreamt
of."
"Yet you knew the good name was there?"
"But I thought it had been genuinely obtained."
This was at the first interview Charles held with him in prison.
"Whence did you get the bills?" Charles continued.
"They were handed to me by Anstey. He is the true culprit in all this,
Charles, and he is slinking out of it, and will get off scot-free.
People warned me against the fellow; said he was making a cat's-paw of
me; and by Jove it's true! I could not see it then, but my eyes are
open now. He only made use of me for his own purposes. He had all, or
nearly all, the money."
And this was just the truth of the business. The man Anstey, a
gentleman once, but living by his wits for many years past, had got
hold of light-headed, careless Tom Heriot, cajoled him of his
friendship, and _used_ him. Anstey escaped completely "scot-free,"
and Tom suffered.
Tom was guilty in the eyes of the law; and the law only takes
cognizance of its own hard requirements. After examination, he was
committed for trial. Charles Strange was nearly wild with distress;
Mr. Brightman was much concerned; Arthur Lake (who was now called to
the Bar) would have moved heaven and earth in the cause. Away went
Charles to Mr. Serjeant Stillingfar: and that renowned special pleader
and good-hearted man threw his best energies into the cause.
All in vain. At the trial, which shortly came on at the Old Bailey,
Mr. Serjeant Stillingfar exerted his quiet but most telling eloquence
uselessly. He might as well have wasted it on the empty air. Though
indeed it did effect something, causing the sentence pronounced upon
the unfortunate prisoner to be more lenient than it otherwise would
have been. Thomas Heriot was sentenced to be transported for seven
years.
Transportation beyond the seas was still in force then. And Thomas
Heriot, with a cargo of greater or lesser criminals, was shipped on
board the transport _Vengeance_, to be conveyed to Botany Bay.
It seemed to have taken up such a little space of time! Very little,
compared with the greatness of the trouble. June had hardly come in
when Tom was first taken; and the _Vengeance_ sailed the beginning of
August.
If Mrs. Guy had lamented beforehand the market that poor Tom Heriot
had "brought his eggs to," what did she think of it now?
* * * * *
One evening in October a nondescript sort of vehicle, the German
makers of which could alone know the name, arrived at a small village
not far from the banks of the Rhine, clattering into the yard of the
only inn the place contained. A gentleman and lady descended from it,
and a parley ensued with the hostess, more protracted than it might
have been, in consequence of the travellers' imperfect German, and
her own imperfect French. Could madame accommodate them for the night,
was the substance of their demand.
"Well--yes," was madame's not very assured answer: "if they could put
up with a small bedroom."
"How small?"
She opened the door of--it was certainly not a room, though it might
be slightly larger than a boot-closet; madame called it a
cabinet-de-toilette. It was on the ground-floor, looking into the
yard, and contained a bed, into which one person might have crept,
provided he bargained with himself not to turn; but two people, never.
Three of her beds were taken up with a milor and miladi Anglais, and
their attendants.
Mrs. Ravensworth--a young wife--turned to her husband, and spoke in
English. "Arnold, what can we do? We cannot go on in the dark, with
such roads as these."
"My love, I see only one thing for it: you must sleep here, and I
must sit up."
Madame interrupted; it appeared she added a small stock of English to
her other acquirements. "Oh, but dat meeseraable for monsieur: he
steef in legs for morning."
"And stiff in arms too," laughed Arnold Ravensworth. "Do try and find
us a larger bedroom."
"Perhaps the miladi Anglaise might give up one of her rooms for dis
one," debated the hostess, bustling away to ask.
She returned, followed by an unmistakable Englishwoman, fine both in
dress and speech. Was _she_ the miladi? She talked enough for one:
vowing she would never give up her room to promiscuous travellers, who
prowled about with no _avant courier_, taking their own chance of
rooms and beds; and casting, as she spoke, annihilating glances at the
benighted wanderers.
"Is anything the matter, Timms?" inquired a gentle voice in the
background.
Mr. Ravensworth turned round quickly, for its tones struck upon his
remembrance. There stood Blanche, Lady Level; and their hands
simultaneously met in surprise and pleasure.
"Oh, this is unexpected!" she exclaimed. "I never should have thought
of seeing you in this remote place. Are you alone?"
He drew his wife to his side. "I need not say who she is, Lady Level."
"Are you married, then?"
"Ask Mary."
It was an unnecessary question, seeing her there with him, and Lady
Level felt it to be so, and smiled. Timms came forward with an
elaborate apology and a string of curtseys, and hoped her room would
be found good enough to be honoured by any friends of my lady's.
Lady Level's delight at seeing them seemed as unrestrained as a
child's. Exiles from their native land can alone tell that to meet
with home faces in a remote spot is grateful as the long-denied water
to the traveller in the Eastern desert. And we are writing of days
when to travel abroad was the exception, rather than the rule. "There
is only one private sitting-room in the whole house, and that is mine,
so you must perforce make it yours as well," cried Lady Level, as she
laughingly led the way to it. "And oh! what a charming break it will
be to my loneliness! Last night I cried till bedtime."
"Is not Lord Level with you?" inquired Mr. Ravensworth.
"Lord Level is in England. While they are getting Timms' room ready,
will you come into mine?" she added to Mrs. Ravensworth.
"How long have you been married?" was Lady Level's first question as
they entered it.
"Only last Tuesday week."
"Are you happy?"
"Oh yes."
"I knew your husband long before you did," added Lady Level. "Did he
ever tell you so? Did he ever tell you what good friends we were?
Closer friends, I think, than he and his cousin Cecilia. He used to
come to White Littleham Rectory, and we girls there made much of him."
"Yes, he has often told me."
Mrs. Ravensworth was arranging her hair at the glass, and Lady Level
held the light for her and looked on. The description given of her by
Blanche to her father was a very good one. A pale, gentle girl, with
nice eyes, dark, inexpressively soft and attractive. "I shall like you
very much," suddenly exclaimed Lady Level. "I think you are very
pretty--I mean, you have the sort of face I like to look at." Praise
that brought a blush to the cheeks of Mrs. Ravensworth.
The landlady sent them in the best supper she could command at the
hour; mutton chops, served German fashion, and soup, which Lady
Level's man-servant, Sanders, who waited on them, persisted in calling
the potash--and very watery potash it was, flavoured with cabbage.
When the meal was over, and the cloth removed, they drew round the
fire.
"Do you ever see papa?" Lady Level inquired of Mr. Ravensworth.
"Now and then. Not often. He has let his house again in Gloucester
Place, and Mrs. Guy has gone back to the Channel Islands."
"Oh yes, I know all that," replied Blanche.
"The last time I saw Major Carlen he spoke of you--said that you and
Lord Level were making a protracted stay abroad."
"Protracted!" Blanche returned bitterly; "yes, it is protracted. I
long to be back in England, with a longing that has now grown into a
disease. You have heard of the _mal du pays_ that sometimes attacks
the Swiss when they are away from their native land; I think that same
malady has attacked me."
"But why?" asked Mr. Ravensworth, looking at her.
"I hardly know," she said, with some hesitation. "I had never been out
of England before, and everything was strange to me. We went to
Switzerland first, then on to Italy, then back again. The longer we
stayed away from England, the greater grew my yearning for it. In
Savoy I was ill; yes, I was indeed; we were at Chambery; so ill as to
require medical advice. It was on the mind, the doctor said. He was a
nice old man, and told Lord Level that I was pining for my native
country."
"Then, of course, you left for home at once?"
"We left soon, but we travelled like snails; halting days at one
place, and days at another. Oh, I was so sick of it! And the places
were all dull and retired, as this is; not those usually frequented by
the English. At last we arrived here; to stay also, it appeared. When
I asked why we did not go on, he said he was waiting for letters from
home."
As Lady Level spoke she appeared to be lost in the past--an expression
that you may have observed in old people when they are telling you
tales of their youth. Her eyes were fixed on vacancy, and it was
evident that she saw nothing of the objects around her, only the time
gone by. She appeared to be anything but happy.
"Something up between my lord and my lady," thought Mr. Ravensworth.
"Had your husband to wait long for the expected letters?" he asked
aloud.
"I do not know: several came for him. One morning he had one that
summoned him to England without the loss of a moment, and he said
there was not time for me to be ready to accompany him. I prayed to go
with him. I said Timms could come on afterwards with the luggage. It
was of no use."
"Would he not take you?" exclaimed Mrs. Ravensworth, her eyes full of
the astonishment her lips would not express.
Blanche shook her head. "No. He was quite angry with me; said I did
not understand my position--that noblemen's wives could not travel in
that unceremonious manner. I was on the point of telling him that I
wished, to my heart, I had never been a nobleman's wife. Why did he
marry me, unless he could look upon me as a companion and friend?"
abruptly continued Lady Level, perhaps forgetting that she was not
alone. "He treats me as a child."
What answer could be made to this?
"When do you expect him back again?" asked Mr. Ravensworth, after a
pause.
"How do I know?" flashed Lady Level, her tone proving how
inexpressibly sore was the subject. "He said he should return for me
in a few days, but nearly three weeks have gone by, and I am still
here. They have seemed to me like three months. I shall be ill if it
goes on much longer."
"Of course you hear from him?"
"Oh yes, I hear from him. A few lines at a time, saying he will come
for me as soon as he possibly can, and that I must not be impatient. I
wanted to go over alone, and he returned me such an answer, asking
what I meant by wishing to travel with servants only at my age. I
shall do something desperate if I am left here another week."
"As you once did at White Littleham when they forbade your going to a
concert, thinking you were too ill!" laughed Mr. Ravensworth.
"Dressed myself up in my best frock, and surprised them in the room. I
had ten pages of Italian translation for that escapade."
"Do you like Italy?" he inquired, after a pause.
"No, I hate it!" And the animus in Lady Level's answer was so intense
that the husband and wife exchanged stolen glances. _Something_ must
be out of gear.
"What parts of Italy did you stay in?"
"Chiefly at Pisa--that is not far from Florence, you know; and a few
days at Florence. Lord Level took a villa at Pisa for a month--and why
he did so I could not tell, for it was not the season when the
English frequent it: no one, so to say, was there. We made the
acquaintance of a Mrs. Page Reid, who had the next villa to ours."
"That was pleasant for you--if you liked her."
"But I did not like her," returned Lady Level, her delicate cheeks
flushing. "That is, I did and I did not. She was a very pleasant
woman, always ready to help us in any way; but she told dreadful tales
of people--making one suspect things that otherwise would never have
entered the imagination. Lord Level liked her at first, and ended by
disliking her."
"Got up a flirtation with her," thought Mr. Ravensworth. But in that
he was mistaken. And so they talked on.
It appeared that the mail passed through the village at night time;
and the following morning a letter lay on the breakfast-table for Lady
Level.
MY DEAR BLANCHE,--I have met with a slight accident, and must
again postpone coming to you for a few days. I dare say it
will not detain me very long. Rely upon it I shall be with you
as soon as I possibly can be.--Ever affectionately yours,
LEVEL.
"Short and sweet!" exclaimed Blanche, in her bitter disappointment, as
she read the note at the window. "Arnold, when you and your wife leave
to-morrow, what will become of me, alone here? If----"
Suddenly, as Lady Level spoke the last word, she started, and began to
creep away from the window, as if fearing to be seen.
"Arnold! Arnold! who do you think is out there?" she exclaimed in a
timid whisper.
"Why, who?" in astonishment. "Not Lord Level?"
"It is Captain Cross," she said with a shiver. "I would rather meet
the whole world than him. My behaviour to him was--was not right; and
I have felt ashamed of myself ever since."
Mr. Ravensworth looked out from the window. Captain Cross, seated on
the bench in the inn yard, was solacing himself with a cigar.
"I would not meet him for the world! I would not let him see me: he
might make a scene. I shall stay in my rooms all day. Why does my
husband leave me to such chances as these?"
That Captain Cross had not been well used was certain; but the fault
lay with Major Carlen, not with Blanche. Mr. Ravensworth spoke.
"Take my advice, Lady Level. Do not place yourself in Captain Cross's
way, but do not run from him. I believe him to be a gentleman; and, if
so, he will not say or do anything to annoy you. I will take care he
does not, as long as I remain here."
In the course of the morning Captain Cross and Arnold Ravensworth met.
"I find Lady Level's here!" the Captain abruptly exclaimed. "Are you
staying with her?"
"I and my wife arrived here only last night, and were surprised to
meet Lady Level."
"Where's _he_?" asked Captain Cross.
"In England."
"He in England and she here, and only six months married! Estranged, I
suppose. Well, what else could she expect? People mostly reap what
they sow."
Arnold Ravensworth laughed good-humouredly. _He_ was not going to give
a hint of the state of affairs that he suspected himself.
"You are prejudiced, Cross. Miss Heriot was not to blame for what
happened. She was a child: and they did with her as they pleased."
"A child! Old enough to engage herself to one man, and to marry
another," retorted Captain Cross, in a burst of angry feeling. "And
Level, of all people!"--with sarcastic scorn. "Why does he leave her
in Germany whilst he stays gallivanting in England? What do you say?
Met with an accident, and _can't_ come for her? That's _his_ tale, I
suppose. You may repeat it to the Marines, old boy; it won't do for
me. _I_ know Level; knew him of old."
Lady Level was as good as her word: she did not stir out of her rooms
all day. On the following morning when Mr. Ravensworth came out of his
chamber, he saw, from the corridor window, a travelling-carriage in
the yard, packed. By the coat-of-arms he knew it for Lord Level's.
Timms moved towards him in a flutter of delight.
"Oh, if you please, sir, breakfast is on the table, and my lady is
waiting there, ready dressed. We are going to England, sir."
"Has Lord Level come?"
"No, sir: we are going with you. My lady gave orders, last night, to
pack up for home. It is the happiest day I've known, sir, since I set
foot in these barbarious countries."
Lady Level met him at the door of the breakfast-room; "ready dressed,"
as Timms expressed it, for travelling, even to her bonnet.
"Do you really mean to go with us?" he exclaimed.
"Yes," was her decisive reply. "That is, you must go with me. Stay
here longer, I will not. I tell you, Arnold, I am sick to death of it.
If Lord Level is ill and unable to come for me, I am glad to embrace
the opportunity of travelling under your protection: he can't grumble
at that. Besides----"
"Besides what?" asked Mr. Ravensworth, for she suddenly stopped.
"I do not choose to remain at an inn in which Captain Cross has taken
up his abode: neither would my husband wish me to do so. After you and
Mrs. Ravensworth left me last night, I sat over the wood fire,
thinking these things over, and made my mind up. If I have not
sufficient money for the journey, and I don't think I have, I must
apply to you, Arnold."
Whether Mr. Ravensworth approved or disapproved of the decision, he
had no power to alter it. Or, rather, whether Lord Level would approve
of it. After a hasty breakfast, they went down to the carriage, which
had already its array of five horses harnessed to it; Sanders and
Timms perched side-by-side in their seat aloft. The two ladies were
helped in by Mr. Ravensworth. Captain Cross leaned against the outer
wall of the _salle-a-manger_, watching the departure. He approached
Mr. Ravensworth.
"Am I driving her ladyship off?"
"Lady Level is going to England with us, to join her husband. I told
you he had met with an accident."
"A merry meeting to them!" was the sarcastic rejoinder. And, as the
carriage drove out of the inn-yard, Captain Cross deliberately lifted
his hat to Lady Level: but lifted it, she thought, in mockery.