THE SPENDTHRIFT.
We must now run rapidly through the next six years of Howel and Netta's
career.
After spending nearly a year abroad, where Howel amused himself, in
addition, to his usual diversions, by speculating in some German mines,
they came back to England. They went for a time to Spendall Lodge in
Yorkshire, on a visit to Sir Samuel Spendall, in order to be in the
vicinity of the Doncaster races. Thence they went to Scarborough, where
Howel left Netta, her child and maid in a lodging, whilst he attended
the various races in other parts of the country.
About this time, Sir John Simpson died, and his son came into his
fortune. Howel immediately bought a handsome house in Belgravia,
furnished it expensively, and began life as a London fine gentleman.
It is needless to describe how Howel's income and position in society
gradually dwindled down; or more properly, how his means fluctuated
according as his horses lost or won, or his various speculations
succeeded or failed. Long before his father died, he had mortgaged that
father's very mortgages; and had spent a large portion of his wealth in
paying off debts of honour, and freeing himself from the Jews, into
whose hands he had got before he went to live at Abertewey.
During his four years' residence in London, it was evident that his
means fluctuated in some wonderful way. His house was the rendezvous of
men of all ranks who were on the turf, and his life was passed in a
state of perpetual excitement. Netta did not see much of him, except at
their own table, or that of their acquaintances. When she was alone with
him, he was either quite silent, or abusive; the career of such a man
will be better understood by most of my readers, than described by me.
The resorts of black-legs, and the betting-books of men on the turf, the
dishonourable payment of so-called debts of honour, the trickery of
horse-dealers, horse-trainers, and horse-racers, and the wretched
madness of professed gamblers, are things we have all heard of, but of
which, happily, comparatively few of us know much, practically.
Howel managed to maintain his reputation as a gentleman and man of large
fortune, even when he was, from time to time, on the verge of ruin; and
the purchase of Sir Samuel Spendall's property in Yorkshire, when that
baronet was obliged to leave the country for debt, confirmed the opinion
of his wealth. Every one did not know that Sir Samuel, like Mr Simpson,
owed him an enormous sum of money, for various bets, loans, and even
mortgages, of which Howel kept quite as usurious an account as his
father would have done before him, and at which the lawyers of those
gentlemen shook their heads, although they could not disprove any item
of it. Howel had learnt enough of law to serve his purposes, and to
teach him how far he might venture to go, in the matter of interest and
compound interest, with impunity.
Howel's friend, Mr Deep, was a lawyer by profession. He had duly taken
out his stamps, and had chambers in Lincoln's Inn, and did such business
as fell in his way amongst his sporting friends.
It was he who had been Howel's attorney in all his dealings with Sir
Samuel Spendall, Mr Simpson and others, and although his reputation was
not very good amongst his professional brethren, nothing dishonourable
had ever been proved against him.
We will now look into the chambers of this worthy in Lincoln's Inn, and
listen to a conversation that is passing between him and Howel, over
what appears to be their mid-day potation of brandy and water. Howel's
manner is excited, and his face at its darkest; Mr Deep is calm, and his
face smooth as usual.
'You see, we must have money!' says Howel, 'I, at least, must have six
thousand five hundred pounds before this month is out. I owe that to
Dancy, who, of all men in the world, I don't choose to make wait. If I
lose at the Derby, I must have twenty thousand more.'
'But the chances are you will win. Alma is pretty safe, I think.'
'Yes, if we can manage to drug Magnificent. I think I have Little Bill
in my power; he will do anything for us. But this six thousand five
hundred is the first thing to think of. I have mortgaged Spendall Lodge
almost to its value. By the way, are you quite sure that Spendall has
nothing against us? They say his mother is paying his debts, and that he
will be able to come back.'
'Positive; besides, he never knows what money he has paid, or what
receipts he has had, or what the amount of his mortgages was.'
'Simpson, again, I think he is sharper since his father's death. He was
regularly frightened when he found what a sum he owed me; and if I
hadn't got into a passion, and threatened to call him out for doubting
my honour, I believe he would have checked our bill.'
'Can't you get more money on your house in town?'
'No; I have tried Levi and Jacobs, and they won't advance any more
without better security.'
'Your mother; surely she would help you, if you were to make up a good
story.'
'No; I ran down to see her the other day, and she had taken offence
because she chose to think I had neglected her, and was as obstinate as
an old mule. I believe she is getting stingy, too, and says she will
keep her money as long as she lives, and then I may do what I like with
it.'
'What is she worth?'
'Well, I should say by this time, she must have as good as six or seven
hundred a-year. She hasn't lived up to her income, and what she has
doled out to me now and then, hasn't touched the principal. She must
have from fifteen to twenty thousand pounds one way and another.'
'Ask her to come and visit you; take her about and make much of her, and
then seize upon her in an unwary moment. Borrow the money, and say you
will pay it back, which you know, you will be able to do, if you have
any luck.'
'That's a bright idea. The old soul has always been hankering to come to
London. Give me a pen and ink directly. Let me see; I know how she
likes me to begin. "Dear and honoured mother." Faugh! shall we go on in
the ancient style? "I hope this will find you well, as it leaves me at
present." I only wish it would find her--well--I think that will do. I
have told her that Netta and I will be delighted to see her, etc., etc.
And Netta hates her, too.'
'By the way, Jenkins, could not Mrs Howel Jenkins get Dancy to give in
about that money? She is a prime favourite.'
'Mrs Jenkins knows nothing of my money transactions, and certainly would
be the last person I should wish to interfere in such a matter. Let us
go and post this letter, and then I want to go to Tattersalls. Will you
dine with me at the club at six? and afterwards we will keep our
appointment with Dancy and Lord Dupe; we may make something of the
latter, if we can't of the former.'
It was nearly two o'clock in the morning when Howel reached his home.
His little girl was ill in the measles, and Netta, feeling anxious about
her, had been sitting up with her. When Howel entered the bedroom in
which the mother and child were, he began to talk in a loud voice.
'Why on earth don't you go to bed, Netta?'
Netta put her finger on her lips, and pointed to the little bed in which
her child was sleeping, then hurried into the next room, a kind of
nursery and play-room, and sent the maid, who was sitting there, into
the bedroom. Howel followed her; Netta saw that he had been drinking,
and was greatly excited; he never was absolutely intoxicated, but he
constantly drank too much.
'Why do you sit up I say, Netta?'
'Because Minette is so feverish; I did not like to leave her.'
The child had been called Minette by a French _bonne_, and they had all
somehow adopted it as a name; her real name was Victoria.
'You didn't sit up for me, of course?'
'Certainly not; you are not so very agreeable when you come home, as to
make me sit up for you.'
'I say, Netta, do you know I have written to invite my mother to come
and pay us a visit.'
'Your mother! then you must amuse her, for I certainly won't.'
'I beg to say you will, and will do everything in your power to make her
visit agreeable. It will be worse for you if you do not. What do you
mean by always disobeying me?'
'You had better not strike me again, you coward, you! Justine will hear
you. She can see and hear, if she can't understand.'
'I tell you what, Netta, everything may depend on our reception of my
mother--your very living, and mine, and Minette's.'
'I don't care about living; I'd rather starve than live the life I do,
and if I have Aunt 'Lizbeth, too, I shall run away, I am sure I shall.'
'With whom, madam?'
'With anybody or nobody; I don't care what becomes of me since you're so
unkind. Perhaps you'd like to see my shoulder that you hurt yesterday? I
haven't had the pleasure of seeing you since. Your shakes, and pinches
ain't very soft, sir, I assure you.'
Netta threw off a portion of the white dressing-gown she had on, and
displayed her round white neck and shoulder disfigured by a
black-and-blue mark.
'I'll do the same to the other if you aggravate me any more,' said
Howel, clenching his teeth, and moving towards Netta.
'Not to-night, anyhow,' said Netta, running through the door and short
passage into her child's bedroom. She knew that he was always
sufficiently master of himself not to expose himself before the
servants.
'Justine, I shall sleep with Minette to-night--that is to say, I shall
lie down on this sofa by her side. You can go to bed as usual,' said
Netta.
And when Minette and Justine were fast asleep in their respective beds,
poor Netta sat and cried the livelong night, with her feet upon the
fender, and her eyes fixed upon the almost-extinguished fire.
The following morning, when she was watching her child, Howel came into
the room. He went up to the bed on which Minette lay, and kissed her,
and asked her how she did. The little girl looked pleased, and putting
her arms round her father's neck, whispered,--
'Papa! do you know mamma has not been in bed all night? Will you tell
her I am quite well, and ask her to go to bed?'
'I will, darling. I have a new picture-book for you downstairs Mamma
will come and fetch it. Mamma, will you come and fetch a new book for
Minette?'
Netta looked at Howel for the first time, and seeing that his face was
tolerably pleasant, followed him out of the room, and down into the
dining-room, where his breakfast was awaiting him.
'Netta! you must make my breakfast, and have some with me. Minette is
better, and you needn't starve yourself to death,' said Howel, sitting
down at the breakfast-table.
'Thank you,' replied Netta sulkily. 'I can't eat anything, I am a great
deal too tired and wretched.'
'Netta, I am sorry I hurt you; but you do aggravate me so, and I have a
great deal on my mind.'
Netta's face brightened a little.
'Why don't you tell me what you have on your mind, instead of bullying
me from morning to night?'
'Because a woman cannot understand such matters. But if I do not get
some money this month we shall be ruined. I have asked my mother up to
see whether she will advance it, and that will depend on our treatment
of her. Will you be kind to her?'
'I suppose you will give me some of the money, if you get it, to pay
servants' wages, and other bills? I am dunned for money from morning to
night, and never have a farthing to pay.'
'I shall be able to pay everything next month. I am sure of plenty of
money.'
'And I suppose you want to get money from your mother to pay bets, or
something of the sort? Why won't you tell me?'
'Yes; I owe it to _your_ friend Dancy. Perhaps you will help me to pay
_him_.'
'He is no friend of mine. I don't like him; but he would do more for me
than you would, and is kinder too. But I don't want to be under any
obligation to him.'
'If you wish to keep a house over your head, or me out of a prison, you
must either ask him, as a personal favour, to let me off the debt, or
you must help me to get the money out of my mother.'
'Howel, I don't like underhand ways. I don't mind trying to be civil to
Aunt 'Lizbeth, provided you tell her exactly how you are situated, and
promise me never to bet with Captain Dancy, or borrow money of him
again.'
'I promise most faithfully.'
'And if you can't afford to live in this grand house, Howel, why don't
you give it up, and take to the law, or anything to get your living?
Perhaps, if you did, we should be happy again. I would rather work like
a slave, and not keep a servant, and live in a small lodging, or
anything, than see you so altered.'
Here Netta began to cry.
'If I get this money from mother, and what I expect from other sources,
we shall be all right again, and then--'
'And then, Howel, you will give up horse-racing and betting and gambling
and bad company, and think more of Minette and me--your poor unhappy
Netta--your wife--your little cousin that you used to say you
loved!--oh, Howel! Howel! that you hate so now, and treat so unkindly.'
Netta had been standing by the fire-place hitherto, but at this juncture
she went towards Howel timidly, and kneeling down by his side as he sat
at the table, put her hands on his arm, and fixed her tearful eyes on
his face.
Howel was touched. We know that there are moments in the lives of the
worst of men when better feelings overcome the evil ones; and Howel was
not utterly bad; and now his guardian angel seemed to be making a great
effort to reclaim him from his sins. He really loved Netta as much as he
could love anything. Was she not the only creature in the world who had
really loved him?
'Then you do not quite hate me, Netta?' he said, putting his arm round
her neck, 'I thought all the old love was gone.'
'No, no, Howel! Dear, dear Howel! I love you in my heart! but you are so
changed--so--so--you don't care for my company now. You never come home
and play and sing as you used to do. You never speak to Minette; you
never speak to me except--'
Here Netta leant her head on Howel's knees, and began to sob. He put his
hand on her head, smoothed her hair, and finally raised her from the
ground, and took her in his arms to his weak, wicked heart--a heart not
wholly depraved, because there was still in it love for his wife.
For a long time she clung to him; her arms round his neck, her cheek to
his cheek, her beating heart to his bosom, as if she was afraid that the
spell would be broken if once she let go. Howel kissed her pale cheek,
wiped those large black eyes, and comforted her as she had never hoped
to be comforted again. Vague thoughts entered his mind of the
possibility of beginning life afresh--of being a better husband and
father--of giving up his wild, sinful courses. 'Shall the Ethiopian
change his skin, or the leopard his spots.'
'I will do anything, Howel, darling--anything you wish,' suddenly
murmured Netta, returning his caresses, 'only you will promise never to
be unkind again. I will beg, starve for you as long as you love me; but
you know I am hot-tempered, and when you are cross I get angry; and then
you are violent, and I am hard and sullen and wicked--oh, so wicked! I
think I must have lived fifty years in the last five years, Howel, I
feel so old and altered. Don't make me so hard-hearted again, Howel,
bach, or I shall die, indeed I shall; I feel it now at my heart.'
Netta put her hand on her heart as she leant against Howel. He raised
her, and saw that she was of a deathly paleness.
'Don't be--frightened--I have--it--often--only--a spasm,' she gasped, as
frightened he went to the sideboard, and poured out some brandy into one
of the tea cups, and putting a little water to it, gave it her to drink.
She soon revived, and recovering a little of her old colour again, put
her arms round Howel, and thanked him for being so kind. Howel was
aware, for the first time for many years, that conscience is not a myth;
his smote him.
'Will you stay at home to-day, Howel?' asked Netta. 'I will write myself
to your mother, if you will.'
'Yes, Netta, dear, I will. Now, shall we carry the picture-book to
Minette?'
'No; you must have your breakfast now, and I will make it. Oh! I am so
happy.'
'And you do not care for Dancy, Netta?'
'No; I hate him.'
Howel kept his word, and stayed at home that one day with Netta and her
child, and she wrote that day down on the tablets of her memory as the
brightest spot in six years of trouble and distrust.